"It's pleasant to have one's domestic relations so happily arranged by such very competent persons. I'm much obliged to all the world for the parental interest it takes in my private concerns." "And it also strikes some people that a perfectly safe seat in the House of Commons is not to be had for nothing by every fellow who wishes it." "But suppose I _don't_ wish it." "Oh! we may suppose anything." Tom Sedley laughed as he said this, and Cleve looked at him sharply, but saw no uncomfortable meaning in his face. "There is no good in talking of what one has not tried," said he. "If you had to go down to that tiresome House of Commons every time it sits; and had an uncle like mine to take you to task every time you missed a division--you'd soon be as tired of it as I am." "I see, my dear fellow, you are bowed down under a load of good luck." They were at the door of Tom Sedley's lodgings by this time, and opening it, he continued, "I've something in my room to show you; just run up with me for a minute, and you'll say I'm a conjuror." Cleve, not to be got into good spirits that evening, followed him upstairs, thinking of something else. "I've got a key to your melancholy, Cleve," said he, leading the way into his drawing-room. "Look _there_," and he pointed to a clever copy in crayons of the famous Beatrice Cenci, which he had hung over his chimney-piece. Tom Sedley laughed, looking in Cleve's eyes. A slight flush had suddenly tinged his visitor's face, as he saw the portrait. But he did not seem to enjoy the joke, on the contrary, he looked a little embarrassed and angry. "That's Guido's portrait--well, what about it?" he asked, rather surlily. "Yes, of course; but who is it like?" "Very few, I dare say, for _it_ is very pretty; and except on canvas, there is hardly such a thing as a pretty girl to be seen. Is that all? for the life of me, I can't see where the conjuring lies." "Not in the picture, but the _likeness_; don't you see it?" "_No_" said Cleve. "I must go; are you coming?" "Not see it!" said Tom. "Why if it were painted for her, it could not be more like. Why, it's the Flower of Cardyllian, the Star of Malory. It is _your_ Miss Fanshawe--_my_ Margaret--_our_ Miss Margaret Fanshawe. I'm making the fairest division I can, you see; and I would not be without it for all the world." "She would be very much gratified if she heard it. It is so flattering to a young lady to have a fellow buy a coloured lithograph, and call it by her name, and crack jokes and spout mock heroics over it. It is the modern way of celebrating a lady's name. Don't you seriously think, Sedley, it would be better to smash it with a poker, and throw it into the fire, than go on taking such liberties with any young lady's name?"