better than Mr. Warrington's articles," says Mr. Potts. "We have sold
no end of Independents; and if you polled the whole borough, I bet that
five to one would say Sir Screwcome Screwcome was served right. By the
way, what's up about the Marquis of Farintosh, Mr. Pendennis? He arrived
at the Arms last night; went over to the Park this morning, and is gone
back to town by the afternoon train."

What had happened between the Marquis of Farintosh and Miss Newcome I
am enabled to know from the report of Miss Newcome's confidante. On the
receipt of that letter of conge which has been mentioned in a former
chapter, his lordship must have been very much excited, for he left town
straightway by that evening's mail, and on the next morning, after a few
hours of rest at his inn, was at Newcome lodge-gate demanding to see the
Baronet.

On that morning it chanced that Sir Barnes had left home with Mr Speer,
his legal adviser; and hereupon the Marquis asked to see Miss Newcome;
nor could the lodge-keeper venture to exclude so distinguished a person
from the Park. His lordship drove up to the house, and his name was
taken to Miss Ethel. She turned very pale when she heard it; and my wife
divined at once who was her visitor. Lady Anne had not left her room
as yet. Laura Pendennis remained in command of the little conclave of
children, with whom the two ladies were sitting when Lord Farintosh
arrived. Little Clara wanted to go with her aunt as she rose to leave
the room--the child could scarcely be got to part from her now.

At the end of an hour the carriage was seen driving away, and Ethel
returned looking as pale as before, and red about the eyes. Miss Clara's
mutton-chop for dinner coming in at the same time, the child was not
so presently eager for her aunt's company. Aunt Ethel cut up the
mutton-chop very neatly, and then, having seen the child comfortably
seated at her meal, went with her friend into a neighbouring apartment
(of course, with some pretext of showing Laura a picture, or a piece of
china, or a new child's frock, or with some other hypocritical pretence
by which the ingenuous female attendants pretended to be utterly
blinded), and there, I have no doubt, before beginning her story,
dearest Laura embraced dearest Ethel, and vice versa.

"He is gone!" at length gasps dearest Ethel.

"Pour toujours? poor young man!" sighs dearest Laura. "Was he very
unhappy, Ethel?"

"He was more angry," Ethel answers. "He had