Have you good accounts of your aunt Lady Fanny?«

»Lady Fanny is as well as can be expected, and the baby is going on perfectly well, thank you,« Barnes said dryly; and his aunt, obstinately gracious with him, turned away to some other new comet.

»It's interesting, isn't it, sir,« says Barnes, turning to the Colonel, »to see such union in families? Whenever I come here, my aunt trots out all my relations; and I send a man round in the mornin' to ask how they all are. So Uncle Hobson is gone to bed sick with a hookah. I know there was a deuce of a row made when I smoked at Marble Head. You are promised to us for Wednesday, please. Is there anybody you would like to meet? Not our friend the Rummun? How the girls crowd round him! By Gad, a fellow who's rich in London may have the pick of any gal – not here – not in this sort of thing; I mean in society, you know,« says Barnes confidentially. »I've seen the old dowagers crowdin' round that fellow, and the girls snugglin' up to his india-rubber face. He's known to have two wives already in India; but, by Gad, for a settlement, I believe some of 'em here would marry – I mean of the girls in society.«

»But isn't this society?« asked the Colonel.

»Oh, of course. It's very good society and that sort of thing – but it's not, you know – you understand. I give you my honour there are not three people in the room one meets anywhere, except the Rummun. What is he at home, sir? I know he ain't a Prince, you know, any more than I am.«

»I believe he is a rich man now,« said the Colonel. »He began from very low beginnings, and odd stories are told about the origin of his fortune.«

»That may be,« says the young man; »of course, as business men, that's not our affair. But has he got the fortune? He keeps a large account with us, and, I think, wants to have larger dealings with us still. As one of the family we may ask you to stand by us, and tell us anything you know. My father has asked him down to Newcome, and we've taken him up; wisely or not, I can't say. I think otherwise; but I'm quite young in the house, and of course the elders have the chief superintendence.« The young man of business had dropped his drawl or his languor, and was speaking quite unaffectedly, good-naturedly, and selfishly. Had you talked to him for a week, you could not have made him understand the scorn and loathing with which the Colonel regarded him. Here was a young fellow as keen as the oldest curmudgeon; a lad with scarce a beard to his chin that would pursue his bond as rigidly as Shylock. »If he is like this at twenty, what will he be at fifty?« groaned the Colonel. »I'd rather Clive were dead than have him such a heartless worldling as this.« And yet the young man was not ungenerous, not untruthtelling, not unserviceable. He thought his life was good enough. It was as good as that of other folks he lived with. You don't suppose he had any misgivings, provided he was in the City early enough in the morning; or slept badly, unless he indulged too freely overnight; or twinges of conscience that his life was misspent? He thought his life a most lucky and reputable one. He had a share in a good business, and felt that he could increase it. Some day he would marry a good match, with a good fortune; meanwhile he could take his pleasure decorously, and sow his wild oats as some of the young Londoners sow them, not broadcast after the fashion of careless, scatter-brained youth, but trimly and neatly, in quiet places, where the crop can come up unobserved, and be taken in without bustle or scandal. Barnes Newcome never missed going to church or dressing for dinner. He never kept a tradesman waiting for his money. He never drank too much, except when other fellows did, and in good company. He never was late for business, or huddled over his toilet, however brief had been his sleep, or severe his headache. In a word, he was as scrupulously whited as any sepulchre in the whole bills of mortality.

Whilst young Barnes and his uncle were thus holding parley, a slim gentleman of bland aspect, with a roomy forehead, or what his female admirers called ›a noble brow,‹ and a neat white neckcloth tied with clerical skill, was surveying Colonel Newcome through his shining spectacles, and waiting for an opportunity to address him. The Colonel remarked the eagerness with which the gentleman in black regarded him, and asked Mr.