The things we do!

He painted
imaginary portraits with a strawberry stalk; he looked into his
water-glass as though he would plunge and drown there; and Bayham had to
remind him that the claret jug was anxious to have another embrace from
its constant friend, F. B. When Mrs. Mack went away distributing smiles,
Clive groaned out, "Good heavens! how that story does bore me!" and
lapsed into his former moodiness, not giving so much as a glance to
Rosey, whose sweet face looked at him kindly for a moment, as she
followed in the wake of her mamma.
"The mother's the woman for my money," I heard F. B. whisper to
Warrington. "Splendid figure-head, sir--magnificent build, sir, from bows
to stern--I like 'em of that sort. Thank you, Mr. Binnie, I will take a
back-hander, as Clive don't seem to drink. The youth, sir, has grown
melancholy with his travels; I'm inclined to think some noble Roman has
stolen the young man's heart. Why did you not send us over a picture of
the charmer, Clive? Young Ridley, Mr.


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