rney, the handsome new quarters in which Clive has installed
his father and himself, my own altered condition in life, and what not.
During the conversation a little querulous voice makes itself audible
above-stairs, at which noise Mr. Clive begins to laugh, and the Colonel
to smile. It is for the first time in his life Mr. Clive listens to the
little voice; indeed, it is only since about six weeks that that small
organ has been heard in the world at all. Laura Pendennis believes
its tunes to be the sweetest, the most interesting, the most
mirth-inspiring, the most pitiful and pathetic, that ever baby uttered;
which opinions, of course, are backed by Mrs. Hokey, the confidential
nurse. Laura's husband is not so rapturous; but, let us trust, behaves
in a way becoming a man and a father. We forgo the description of
his feelings as not pertaining to the history at present under
consideration. A little while before the dinner is served, the lady of
the cottage comes down to greet her husband's old friends.

And here I am sorely tempted to a third description, which has nothing
to do with the story, to be sure, but which, if properly his off might
fill half a page very prettily. For is not a young mother one of the
sweetest sights which life shows us? If she has been beautiful before,
does not her present pure joy give a character of refinement and
sacredness almost to her beauty, touch her sweet cheeks with fairer
blushes, and impart I know not what serene brightness to her eyes? I
give warning to the artist who designs the pictures for this veracious
story, to make no attempt at this subject. I never would be satisfied
with it were his drawing ever so good.

When Sir Charles Grandison stepped up and made his very beautifullest
bow to Miss Byron, I am sure his gracious dignity never exceeded that of
Colonel Newcome's first greeting to Mrs. Pendennis. Of course from the
very moment they beheld one another they became friends. Are not most of
our likings thus instantaneous? Before she came down to see him, Laura
had put on one of the Colonel's shawls--the crimson one, with the red
palm-leaves and the border of many colours. As for the white one, the
priceless, the gossamer, the fairy web, which might pass through a ring,
that, every lady must be aware, was already appropriated to cover the
cradle, or what I believe is called the bassinet, of Master Pendennis.

So we all became the very best of friends; and during the winter