not slow to comprehend. The
point was, "Young man, if certain persons of rank choose to receive you
very kindly, who have but a comely face, good manners, and three or four
hundred pounds a year, do not presume upon their good-nature, or indulge
in certain ambitious hopes which your vanity may induce you to form.
Sail down the stream with the brass-pots, Master Earthen-pot, but beware
of coming too near! You are a nice young man, but there are prizes which
are some too good for you, and are meant for your betters. And you might
as well ask the prime minister for the next vacant garter as expect to
wear on your breast such a star as Ethel Newcome."

Before Clive made his accustomed visit to his friends at the hotel
opposite, the last great potentiary had arrived who was to take part in
the family Congress of Baden. In place of Ethel's flushing cheeks and
bright eyes, Clive found, on entering Lady Anne Newcome's sitting-room,
the parchment-covered features and the well-known hooked beak of the
old Countess of Kew. To support the glances from beneath the bushy black
eyebrows on each side of that promontory was no pleasant matter. The
whole family cowered under Lady Kew's eyes and nose, and she ruled
by force of them. It was only Ethel whom these awful features did not
utterly subdue and dismay.

Besides Lady Kew, Clive had the pleasure of finding his lordship, her
grandson, Lady Anne and children of various sizes, and Mr. Barnes; not
one of whom was the person whom Clive desired to behold.

The queer glance in Kew's eye directed towards Clive, who was himself
not by any means deficient in perception, informed him that there had
just been a conversation in which his own name had figured. Having been
abusing Clive extravagantly as he did whenever he mentioned his cousin's
name, Barnes must needs hang his head when the young fellow came in. His
hand was yet on the chamber-door, and Barnes was calling his miscreant
and scoundrel within; so no wonder Barnes had a hangdog look. But as for
Lady Kew, that veteran diplomatist allowed no signs of discomfiture, or
any other emotion, to display themselves on her ancient countenance. Her
bushy eyebrows were groves of mystery, her unfathomable eyes were wells
of gloom.

She gratified Clive by a momentary loan of two knuckly old fingers,
which he was at liberty to hold or to drop; and then he went on to
enjoy the felicity of shaking hands with Mr. Barnes, who, observing
and enjoying