and there was no horse in the Park that
was so handsome, and surely no girl who looked more beautiful than Ethel
Newcome with her broad hat and red ribbon, with her thick black locks
waving round her bright face, galloping along the ride on Bhurtpore.
Occasionally Clive was at their riding-parties, when the Colonel would
fall back and fondly survey the young people cantering side by side over
the grass: but by a tacit convention it was arranged that the cousins
should be but seldom together; the Colonel might be his niece's
companion and no one could receive him with a more joyous welcome, but
when Mr. Clive made his appearance with his father at the Park Lane
door, a certain gene was visible in Miss Ethel, who would never mount
except with Colonel Newcome's assistance, and who, especially after
Mr. Clive's famous mustachios made their appearance, rallied him, and
remonstrated with him regarding those ornaments, and treated him with
much distance and dignity. She asked him if he was going into the army?
she could not understand how any but military men could wear mustachios;
and then she looked fondly and archly at her uncle, and said she liked
none that were not grey.

Clive set her down as a very haughty, spoiled, aristocratic young
creature. If he had been in love with her, no doubt he would have
sacrificed even those beloved new-born whiskers for the charmer. Had
he not already bought on credit the necessary implements in a fine
dressing-case, from young Moss? But he was not in love with her;
otherwise he would have found a thousand opportunities of riding with
her, walking with her, meeting her, in spite of all prohibitions tacit
or expressed, all governesses, guardians, mamma's punctilios, and kind
hints from friends. For a while, Mr. Clive thought himself in love with
his cousin; than whom no more beautiful young girl could be seen in any
park, ball, or drawing-room; and he drew a hundred pictures of her, and
discoursed about her beauties to J. J., who fell in love with her on
hearsay. But at this time Mademoiselle Saltarelli was dancing at Drury
Lane Theatre, and it certainly may be said that Clive's first love was
bestowed upon that beauty: whose picture of course he drew in most of
her favourite characters; and for whom his passion lasted until the end
of the season, when her night was announced, tickets to be had at the
theatre, or of Mademoiselle Saltarelli, Buckingham Street, Strand. Then
it was that with