Lady Anne Newcome had been as gracious on this occasion as her sister-in-law had been out of humour. Everything pleased her in the house. She had no idea that there were such fine houses in that quarter of the town. She thought the dinner so very nice,—that Mr. Binnie such a good-humoured-looking gentleman. That stout gentleman with his collars turned down like Lord Byron, so exceedingly clever and full of information. A celebrated artist was he? (courtly Mr. Smee had his own opinion upon that point, but did not utter it). All those artists are so eccentric and amusing and clever. Before dinner she insisted upon seeing Clive’s den with its pictures and casts and pipes. “You horrid young wicked creature, have you begun to smoke already?” she asks, as she admires his room. She admired everything. Nothing could exceed her satisfaction. The sisters-in-law kissed on meeting, with that cordiality so delightful to witness in sisters who dwell together in unity. It was, “My dear Maria, what an age since I have seen you!” “My dear Anne, our occupations are so engrossing, our circles are so different,” in a languid response from the other. “Sir Brian is not coming, I suppose? Now, Colonel,” she turns in a frisky manner towards him, and taps her fan, “did I not tell you Sir Brian would not come?” “He is kept at the House of Commons, my dear. Those dreadful committees. He was quite vexed at not being able to come.” “I know, I know, dear Anne, there are always excuses to gentlemen in Parliament; I have received many such. Mr. Shaloo and Mr. M’Sheny, the leaders of our party, often and often disappoint me. I _knew_ Brian would not come. _My_ husband came down from Marble Head on purpose this morning. Nothing would have induced us to give up our brother’s party.” “I believe you. I did come down from Marble Head this morning, and I was four hours in the hay-field before I came away, and in the City till five, and I’ve been to look at a horse afterwards at Tattersall’s, and I’m as hungry as a hunter, and as tired as a hodman,” says Mr. Newcome, with his hands in his pockets. “How do you do, Mr. Pendennis? Maria, you remember Mr. Pendennis—don’t you?”