he did not think it was a bargain
at all--not particularly pretty, in fact, rather dear at the money. When
we met Mr. and Mrs. Clive Newcome in London, whither they came a few
months after their marriage, and where Rosey appeared as pretty,
happy, good-humoured a little blushing bride as eyes need behold, Mrs.
Pendennis's reception of her was quite a curiosity of decorum. "I, not
receive her well?" cried Laura. "How on earth would you have me receive
her? I talked to her about everything, and she only answered yes or
no. I showed her the children, and she did not seem to care. Her only
conversation was about millinery and Brussels balls, and about her dress
at the drawing-room. The drawing-room! What business has she with such
follies?"

The fact is, that the drawing-room was Tom Newcome's affair, not his
son's, who was heartily ashamed of the figure he cut in that astounding
costume, which English private gentlemen are made to sport when they
bend the knee before their gracious Sovereign.

Warrington roasted poor Clive upon the occasion, and complimented him
with his usual gravity, until the young fellow blushed and his father
somewhat testily signified to our friend that his irony was not
agreeable. "I suppose," says the Colonel, with great hauteur, "that
there is nothing ridiculous in an English gentleman entertaining
feelings of loyalty and testifying his respect to his Queen: and I
presume that Her Majesty knows best, and has a right to order in what
dress her subjects shall appear before her and I don't think it's kind
of you, George, I say, I don't think it's kind of you to quiz my boy for
doing his duty to his Queen and to his father too, sir,--for it was at
my request that Clive went, and we went together, sir--to the levee and
then to the drawing-room afterwards with Rosey, who was presented by the
lady of my old friend, Sir George Tufto, a lady of rank herself, and the
wife of as brave an officer as ever drew a sword."

Warrington stammered an apology for his levity, but no explanations were
satisfactory, and it was clear George had wounded the feelings of our
dear simple old friend.

After Clive's marriage, which was performed at Brussels, Uncle James and
the lady, his sister, whom we have sometimes flippantly ventured to call
the Campaigner, went off to perform that journey to Scotland which James
had meditated for ten years past; and, now little Rosey was made happy
for life, to renew acquaintance with