The mind of Tippetson, if such expression be consistent, was of such a nature as to be totally unable to exist without some stimulus, and yet absolutely without power to frame amusement or employment for itself. He had an ambition, but not a laborious ambition; it was composed of and impelled by trick and artifice. He could only ascend by creeping; and he found it easier to distinguish himself by singularity than by strength, to attract attention by eccentricity than to gain notice by excellence. He had been for a long while Clara’s companion. By the sufferance of the odd old gentleman, Mr. John Martindale, he had been in the habit of considering and finding himself at home at their house. He had never so far committed himself as to give Clara an opportunity of refusing him, nor had his behaviour to her been such as she could at all take notice of. There was nothing in his manner which demanded an explanation; and had he been asked what were his intentions, he could have replied that no one had any right to ask such a question from any part of his conduct. In the same manner as he deported himself towards Clara Rivolta did he, considering the different circumstances of the parties, behave towards the Countess of Trimmerstone. There was, however, this difference in the two cases; viz. that while his attentions were indifferent to the former, they were manifestly agreeable to the latter. In his company Clara was grave and silent, but Lady Trimmerstone cheerful and loquacious. Her ladyship’s ignorance attributed to the young gentleman a high degree of fashionable and scientific knowledge. Few were the Countess’s friends and intimates among persons of real consequence in society. Her parties were as numerously attended as need be, and the report of them looked as well in the Morning Post as the record of any other congregation of the superfine. But though many were her visitors, few were her friends. The cards which announced calls did not bear the names of those with whom she was personally intimate; and if by any accident she met any of the number, their chilling, freezing formality kept her at a mighty distance from them; and so far as acquaintance went, her intimacy with them was no more than if she had been presented at the court of the Emperor of China: she had an audience, but not any understanding of the party. We have, in the course of this narrative, mentioned it as a misfortune that Clara Rivolta had a female friend. We may here state that it was a misfortune that the Countess of Trimmerstone had not a female friend; for the Dowager Lady Martindale had taken herself quite out of the world, and had gone to reside at a distance from town, that she might give her undivided attention to her family. Of her eldest son she had long ceased to have any hopes; and of her daughter-in-law such was her opinion, that she was happy in any excuse to avoid her society.