blooms out with appearances for which Rowland’s Kalydor is said to act as a cure; when boys are seen to shave furtively with their sister’s scissors, and the sight of other young women produces intolerable sensations of terror in them; when the great hands and ankles protrude a long way from garments which have grown too tight for them; when their presence after dinner is at once frightful to the ladies, who are whispering in the twilight in the drawing-room, and inexpressibly odious to the gentlemen over the mahogany, who are restrained from freedom of intercourse and delightful interchange of wit by the presence of that gawky innocence; when, at the conclusion of the second glass, papa says, “Jack, my boy, go out and see if the evening holds up,” and the youth, willing to be free, yet hurt at not being yet a man, quits the incomplete banquet. James, then a hobbadehoy, was now become a young man, having had the benefits of a university education, and acquired the inestimable polish which is gained by living in a fast set at a small college, and contracting debts, and being rusticated, and being plucked.

He was a handsome lad, however, when he came to present himself to his aunt at Brighton, and good looks were always a title to the fickle old lady’s favour. Nor did his blushes and awkwardness take away from it: she was pleased with these healthy tokens of the young gentleman’s ingenuousness.

He said “he had come down for a couple of days to see a man of his college, and—and to pay my respects to you, Ma’am, and my father’s and mother’s, who hope you are well.”

Pitt was in the room with Miss Crawley when the lad was announced, and looked very blank when his name was mentioned. The old lady had plenty of humour, and enjoyed her correct nephew’s perplexity. She asked after all the people at the Rectory with great interest; and said she was thinking of paying them a visit. She praised the lad to his face, and said he was well-grown and very much improved, and that it was a pity his sisters had not some of his good looks; and finding, on inquiry, that he had taken up his quarters at an hotel, would not hear of his stopping there, but bade Mr. Bowls send for Mr. James Crawley’s things instantly; “and hark ye, Bowls,” she added, with great graciousness, “you will have the goodness to pay Mr. James’s bill.”

She flung Pitt a look of arch triumph, which caused that diplomatist almost to choke with envy. Much as he had ingratiated himself with his aunt, she had never yet invited him to stay under her roof, and here was a young whipper-snapper, who at first sight was made welcome there.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” says Bowls, advancing with a profound bow; “what otel, sir, shall Thomas fetch the luggage from?”

“O, dam,” said young James, starting up, as if in some alarm, “I’ll go.”

“What!” said Miss Crawley.

“The Tom Cribb’s Arms,” said James, blushing deeply.

Miss Crawley burst out laughing at this title. Mr. Bowls gave one abrupt guffaw, as a confidential servant of the family, but choked the rest of the volley; the diplomatist only smiled.

“I—I didn’t know any better,” said James, looking down. “I’ve never been here before; it was the coachman told me.” The young story-teller! The fact is, that on the Southampton coach, the day previous, James Crawley had met the Tutbury Pet, who was coming to Brighton to make a match with the Rottingdean Fibber; and enchanted by the Pet’s conversation, had passed the evening in company with that scientific man and his friends, at the inn in question.

“I—I’d best go and settle the score,” James continued. “Couldn’t think of asking you, Ma’am,” he added, generously.

This delicacy made his aunt laugh the more.