,
set on by the laughter of the rest of the audience, she laughs very
freely at that odd man, and calls him "you droll satirical creature
you!" and says "she never was so much amused in her life. Were you, Mrs.
Pendennis?"

Meanwhile Clive, who has been sitting apart moodily biting his nails,
not listening to F. B.'s remarks, has broken into a laugh once or twice,
and gone to a writing-book, on which, whilst George is still disserting,
Clive is drawing.

At the end of the other's speech, F. B. goes up to the draughtsman,
looks over his shoulder, makes one or two violent efforts as of inward
convulsion, and finally explodes in an enormous guffaw. "It's capital!
By Jove, it's capital! Sir Barnes would never dare to face his
constituents with that picture of him hung up in Newcome!"

And F. B. holds up the drawing, at which we all laugh except Laura. As
for the Colonel, he paces up and down the room, holding the sketch close
to his eyes, holding it away from him, patting it, clapping his son
delightedly on the shoulder. "Capital! capital! We'll have the picture
printed, by Jove, sir; show vice it's own image; and shame the viper in
his own nest, sir. That's what we will."

Mrs. Pendennis came away with rather a heavy heart from this party. She
chose to interest herself about the right or wrong of her friends;
and her mind was disturbed by the Colonel's vindictive spirit. On
the subsequent day we had occasion to visit our friend J. J. (who was
completing the sweetest little picture, No. 263 in the Exhibition,
"Portrait of a Lady and Child"), and we found that Clive had been with
the painter that morning likewise; and that J. J. was acquainted with
his scheme. That he did not approve of it we could read in the artist's
grave countenance. "Nor does Clive approve of it either!" cried Ridley,
with greater eagerness than he usually displayed, and more openness than
he was accustomed to exhibit in judging unfavourably of his friends.

"Among them they have taken him away from his art," Ridley said. "They
don't understand him when he talks about it; they despise him for
pursuing it. Why should I wonder at that? my parents despised it
too, and my father was not a grand gentleman like the Colonel, Mrs.
Pendennis. Ah! why did the Colonel ever grow rich? Why had not Clive to
work for his bread as have? He would have done something that was worthy
of him then; now his time must be spent in dancing attendance at balls
land operas,