at apartment was occupied by little Boy already seated in his high
chair, and by the Campaigner only, who stood at the mantelpiece in a
majestic attitude. On parting with her, before we adjourned to Clive's
studio, I had made my bow and taken my leave in form, not supposing that
I was about to enjoy her hospitality yet once again. My return did not
seem to please her. "Does Mr. Pendennis favour us with his company to
dinner again, Clive?" she said, turning to her son-in-law. Clive curtly
said, Yes, he had asked Mr. Pendennis to stay.

"You might at least have been so kind as to give me notice," says the
Campaigner, still majestic, but ironical. "You will have but a poor
meal, Mr. Pendennis; and one such as I'm not accustomed to give my
guests."

"Cold beef! what the deuce does it matter;" says Clive, beginning to
carve the joint, which, hot, had served our yesterday's Christmas table.

"It does matter, sir! I am not accustomed to treat my guests in this way
Maria! who had been cutting that beef? Three pounds of that beef have
been cut away since one o'clock to-day," and with flashing eyes, and
a finger twinkling all over with rings, she pointed towards the guilty
joint.

Whether Maria had been dispensing secret charities, or kept company with
an occult policeman partial to roast-beef, I do not know; but she
looked very much alarmed, and said, Indeed, and indeed, mum, she had not
touched a morsel of it!--not she.

"Confound the beef!" says Clive, carving on.

"She has been cutting it!" cries the Campaigner, bringing her fist down
with a thump upon the table. "Mr. Pendennis! you saw the beef yesterday;
eighteen pounds it weighed, and this is what comes up of it! As if there
was not already ruin enough in the house!"

"D--n the beef!" cries out Clive.

"No! no! Thank God for our good dinner! Benedicti benedicamus, Clivy my
boy," says the Colonel, in a tremulous voice.

"Swear on, sir! let the child hear your oaths! Let my blessed child,
who is too ill to sit at table and picks her bite! sweetbread on her
sofa,--which her poor mother prepares for her, Mr. Pendennis,--which
I cooked it, and gave it to her with these hands,--let her hear your
curses and blasphemies, Clive Newcome! They are loud enough."

"Do let us have a quiet life," groans out Clive; and for me, I must
confess, I kept my eyes steadily down upon my plate, nor dared to lift
them until my portion of cold beef had vanished.

No further outbreak too