Exeunt servants, save those two who warm the newspaper, administer the muffins, and serve out the tea. Sir Brian reads his letters, and chumps his dry toast. Ethel whispers to her mother, she thinks Eliza is looking very ill. Lady Anne asks, which is Eliza? Is it the woman that was ill before they left town? If she is ill, Mrs. Trotter had better send her away. Mrs. Trotter is only a great deal too good-natured. She is always keeping people who are ill. Then her ladyship begins to read the _Morning Post_, and glances over the names of the persons who were present at Baroness Bosco’s ball, and Mrs. Toddle Tompkyns’s _soirée dansante_ in Belgrave Square. “Everybody was there,” says Barnes, looking over from his paper. “But who is Mrs. Toddle Tompkyns?” asks mamma. “Who ever heard of a Mrs. Toddle Tompkyns? What do people mean by going to such a person?” “Lady Popinjoy asked the people,” Barnes says gravely. “The thing was really doosed well done. The woman looked frightened; but she’s pretty, and I am told the daughter will have a great lot of money.” “Is she pretty, and did you dance with her?” asks Ethel. “Me dance!” says Mr. Barnes. We are speaking of a time before casinos were, and when the British youth were by no means so active in dancing practice as at this present period. Barnes resumed the reading of his county paper, but presently laid it down, with an execration so brisk and loud, that his mother gave a little outcry, and even his father looked up from his letters to ask the meaning of an oath so unexpected and ungenteel. “My uncle, the Colonel of sepoys, and his amiable son have been paying a visit to Newcome—that’s the news which I have the pleasure to announce to you,” says Mr. Barnes. “You are always sneering about our uncle,” breaks in Ethel, with impetuous voice, “and saying unkind things about Clive. Our uncle is a dear, good, kind man, and I love him. He came to Brighton to see us, and went out every day for hours and hours with Alfred; and Clive, too, drew pictures for him. And he is good, and kind, and generous, and honest as his father. And Barnes is always speaking ill of him behind his back.” “And his aunt lets very nice lodgings, and is altogether a most desirable acquaintance,” says Mr. Barnes. “What a shame it is that we have not cultivated that branch of the family!” “My dear fellow,” cries Sir Brian, “I have no doubt Miss Honeyman is a most respectable person. Nothing is so ungenerous as to rebuke a gentleman or a lady on account of their poverty, and I coincide with Ethel in thinking that you speak of your uncle and his son in terms which, to say the least, are disrespectful.” “Miss Honeyman is a dear little old woman,” breaks in Ethel. “Was not she kind to Alfred, mamma, and did not she make him nice jelly? And a Doctor of Divinity—you know Clive’s grandfather was a Doctor of Divinity, mamma, there’s a picture of him in a wig—is just as good as a banker, you know he is.”