on.

The Earl's appearance created, as usual, a sensation upon the public
promenade; but whether it was the suggestion of his own alarmed
conscience, or that there was some real cause for the remark, he could
not help thinking his reception was of a more doubtful character than
usual. His fine figure and easy manners produced their usual effect, and
all whom he spoke to received his attention as an honour; but none
offered, as usual, to unite themselves to him, or to induce him to join
their party. He seemed to be looked on rather as an object of
observation and attention, than as making one of the company; and to
escape from a distant gaze, which became rather embarrassing, he turned
into the little emporium of news and literature.

He entered unobserved, just as Lady Penelope had finished reading some
verses, and was commenting upon them with all the alacrity of a _femme
savante_, in possession of something which no one is to hear repeated
oftener than once.

"Copy--no indeed!" these were the snatches which reached Lord
Etherington's ear, from the group of which her ladyship formed the
centre--"honour bright--I must not betray poor Chatterly--besides, his
lordship is my friend, and a person of rank, you know--so one would
not--You have not got the book, Mr. Pott?--you have not got
Statius?--you never have any thing one longs to see."

"Very sorry, my lady--quite out of copies at present--I expect some in
my next monthly parcel."

"Good lack, Mr. Pott, that is your never-failing answer," said Lady
Penelope; "I believe if I were to ask you for the last new edition of
the Alkoran, you would tell me it was coming down in your next monthly
parcel."

"Can't say, my lady, really," answered Mr. Pott; "have not seen the work
advertised yet; but I have no doubt, if it is likely to take, there will
be copies in my next monthly parcel."

"Mr. Pott's supplies are always in the _paullo post futurum_ tense,"
said Mr. Chatterly, who was just entering the shop.

"Ah! Mr. Chatterly, are you there?" said Lady Penelope; "I lay my death
at your door--I cannot find this Thebaid, where Polynices and his
brother"----

"Hush, my lady!--hush, for Heaven's sake!" said the poetical divine, and
looked towards Lord Etherington. Lady Penelope took the hint, and was
silent; but she had said enough to call up the traveller Touchwood, who
raised his head from the newspaper which he was studying, and, without
addressing his discourse to any