our circles are so different," in a
languid response from the other. "Sir Brian is not coming, I suppose?
Now, Colonel," she turns in a frisky manner towards him, and taps her
fan, "did I not tell you Sir Brian would not come?"

"He is kept at the House of Commons, my dear. Those dreadful committees.
He was quite vexed at not being able to come."

"I know, I know, dear Anne, there are always excuses to gentlemen in
Parliament; I have received many such. Mr. Shaloo and Mr. M'Sheny, the
leaders of our party, often and often disappoint me. I knew Brian would
not come. My husband came down from Marble Head on purpose this morning.
Nothing would have induced us to give up our brother's party."

"I believe you. I did come down from Marble Head this morning, and I
was four hours in the hay-field before I came away, and in the City till
five, and I've been to look at a horse afterwards at Tattersall's, and
I'm as hungry as a hunter, and as tired as a hodman," says Mr. Newcome,
with his hands in his pockets. "How do you do, Mr. Pendennis? Maria, you
remember Mr. Pendennis--don't you?"

"Perfectly," replies the languid Maria. Mrs. Gandish, Colonel Topham,
Major M'Cracken, are announced, and then, in diamonds, feathers, and
splendour, Lady Baughton and Miss Baughton, who are going to the Queen's
ball, and Sir Curry Baughton, not quite in his deputy-lieutenant's
uniform as yet, looking very shy in a pair of blue trousers, with a
glittering stripe of silver down the seams. Clive looks with wonder
and delight at these ravishing ladies, rustling in fresh brocades, with
feathers, diamonds, and every magnificence. Aunt Anne has not her Court
dress on as yet; and Aunt Maria blushes as she beholds the new comers,
having thought fit to attire herself in a high dress, with a Quaker-like
simplicity, and a pair of gloves more than ordinarily dingy. The pretty
little foot she has, it is true, and sticks it out from habit; but what
is Mrs. Newcome's foot compared with that sweet little chaussure which
Miss Baughton exhibits and withdraws? The shiny white satin slipper, the
pink stocking which ever and anon peeps from the rustling folds of her
robe, and timidly retires into its covert--that foot, light as it is,
crushes Mrs. Newcome.

No wonder she winces, and is angry; there are some mischievous persons
who rather like to witness that discomfiture. All Mr. Smee's flatteries
that day failed to soothe her. She was in the state in which his
c