iece's pleasant letter;
"Clive," he said, "would be happy to bargain to paint her, and nobody
else but her, all the days of his life; and," the Colonel was sure,
"would admire her at sixty as much as he did now, when she was forty
years younger." But, determined on maintaining his appointed line of
conduct respecting Miss Newcome, he carried his letter to Sir Barnes,
and desired him to forward it to his sister. Sir Barnes took the note,
and promised to despatch it. The communications between him and his
uncle had been very brief and cold, since the telling of these little
fibs concerning old Lady Kew's visits to London, which the Baronet
dismissed from his mind as soon as they were spoken, and which the good
Colonel never could forgive. Barnes asked his uncle to dinner once or
twice, but the Colonel was engaged. How was Barnes to know the reason of
the elder's refusal? A London man, a banker, and a Member of Parliament,
has a thousand things to think of; and no time to wonder that friends
refuse his invitations to dinner. Barnes continued to grin and smile
most affectionately when he met the Colonel; to press his hand, to
congratulate him on the last accounts from India, unconscious of the
scorn and distrust with which his senior mentally regarded him. "Old
boy is doubtful about the young cub's love-affair," the Baronet may have
thought. "We'll ease his old mind on that point some time hence." No
doubt Barnes thought he was conducting the business very smartly and
diplomatically.

I heard myself news at this period from the gallant Crackthorpe, which,
being interested in my young friend's happiness, filled me with some
dismay. "Our friend the painter and glazier has been hankering about our
barracks at Knightsbridge" (the noble Life Guards Green had now pitched
their tents in that suburb), "and pumping me about la belle cousin. I
don't like to break it to him--I don't really, now. But it's all up with
his chance, I think. Those private theatricals at Fallowfield have done
Farintosh's business. He used to rave about the Newcomes to me, as we
were riding home from hunting. He gave Bob Henchman the lie, who told
a story which Bob got from his man, who had it from Miss Newcome's
lady's-maid, about--about some journey to Brighton, which the cousins
took." Here Mr. Crackthorpe grinned most facetiously. "Farintosh swore
he'd knock Henchman down; and vows he will be the death of--will murder
our friend Clive when he comes to to