es on the
previous night. "You seem to be packing up to go, too," says Lord
Kew, with a momentary glance of humour darting from his keen eyes.
"The weather is breaking up here, and if you are going to cross the St.
Gothard, as the Newcomes told me, the sooner the better. It's bitter
cold over the mountains in October."

"Very cold," says Clive, biting his nails.

"Post or Vett.?" asks my lord.

"I bought a carriage at Frankfort," says Clive, in an offhand manner.

"Hulloh!" cries the other, who was perfectly kind, and entirely frank
and pleasant, and showed no difference in his conversation with men of
any degree, except perhaps that to his inferiors in station he was
a little more polite than to his equals; but who would as soon have
thought of a young artist leaving Baden in a carriage of his own as of
his riding away on a dragon.

"I only gave twenty pounds for the carriage; it's a little light thing,
we are two, a couple of horses carry us and our traps, you know, and we
can stop where we like. I don't depend upon my profession," Clive added,
with a blush. "I made three guineas once, and that is the only money I
ever gained in my life."

"Of course, my dear fellow, have not I been to your father's house? At
that pretty ball, and seen no end of fine people there? We are young
swells. I know that very well. We only paint for pleasure."

"We are artists, and we intend to paint for money, my lord," says Clive.
"Will your lordship give me an order?"

"My lordship serves me right," the other said. "I think, Newcome, as you
are going, I think you might do some folks here a good turn, though the
service is rather a disagreeable one. Jack Belsize is not fit to be left
alone. I can't go away from here just now for reasons of state. Do be
a good fellow and take him with you. Put the Alps between him and
this confounded business, and if I can serve you in any way I shall be
delighted, if you will furnish me with the occasion. Jack does not know
yet that our amiable Barnes is here. I know how fond you are of him. I
have heard the story--glass of claret and all. We all love Barnes.
How that poor Lady Clara can have accepted him the Lord knows. We are
fearfully and wonderfully made, especially women."

"Good heavens," Clive broke out, "can it be possible that a young
creature can have been brought to like such a selfish, insolent coxcomb
as that, such a cocktail as Barnes Newcome? You know very well, Lord
Kew, what his