a higher position in life; but I begin
to think now, Arthur, that I was wrong; and as for that girl, sir, I am
sure she is an angel."

May I not inscribe the words with a grateful heart? Blessed he--blessed
though maybe undeserving--who has the love of a good woman.

CHAPTER L. Clive in New Quarters

My wife was much better pleased with Clive than with some of his
relatives to whom I had presented her. His face carried a recommendation
with it that few honest people could resist. He was always a welcome
friend in our lodgings, and even our uncle the Major signified his
approval of the lad as a young fellow of very good manners and feelings,
who, if he chose to throw himself away and be a painter, ma foi, was
rich enough no doubt to follow his own caprices. Clive executed a
capital head of Major Pendennis, which now hangs in our drawing-room
at Fairoaks, and reminds me of that friend of my youth. Clive occupied
ancient lofty chambers in Hanover Square now. He had furnished them in
an antique manner, with hangings, cabinets, carved work, Venice glasses,
fine prints, and water-colour sketches of good pictures by his own and
other hands. He had horses to ride, and a liberal purse full of paternal
money. Many fine equipages drew up opposite to his chambers: few artists
had such luck as young Mr. Clive. And above his own chambers were other
three which the young gentleman had hired, and where, says he, "I hope
ere very long my dear old father will be lodging with me. In another
year he says he thinks he will be able to come home; when the affairs
of the Bank are quite settled. You shake your head! why? The shares are
worth four times what we gave for them. We are men of fortune, Pen, I
give you my word. You should see how much they make of me at Baynes and
Jolly's, and how civil they are to me at Hobson Brothers'! I go into the
City now and then, and see our manager, Mr. Blackmore. He tells me
such stories about indigo, and wool, and copper, and sicca rupees,
and Company's rupees. I don't know anything about the business, but my
father likes me to go and see Mr. Blackmore. Dear cousin Barnes is for
ever asking me to dinner; I might call Lady Clara Clara if I liked, as
Sam Newcome does in Bryanstone Square. You can't think how kind they
are to me there. My aunt reproaches me tenderly for not going there
oftener--it's not very good fun dining in Bryanstone Square, is it? And
she praises my cousin Maria to me--you sho