to make such advances to me!"

A still greater cause of dislike to Clarence arose from jealousy.
Ever since the first night of his acquaintance with Lady Flora, Lord
Borodaile had paid her unceasing attention. In good earnest, he was
greatly struck by her beauty, and had for the last year meditated the
necessity of presenting the world with a Lady Borodaile. Now, though
his lordship did look upon himself in as favourable a light as a man
well can do, yet he could not but own that Clarence was very handsome,
had a devilish gentlemanlike air, talked with a better grace than the
generality of young men, and danced to perfection. "I detest that
fellow!" said Lord Borodaile, involuntarily and aloud, as these
unwilling truths forced themselves upon his mind.

"Whom do you detest?" asked Mr. Percy Bobus, who was lying on the sofa
in Lord Borodaile's drawing-room, and admiring a pair of red-heeled
shoes which decorated his feet.

"That puppy Linden!" said Lord Borodaile, adjusting his cravat.

"He is a deuced puppy, certainly!" rejoined Mr. Percy Bobus, turning
round in order to contemplate more exactly the shape of his right
shoe. "I can't bear conceit, Borodaile."

"Nor I: I abhor it; it is so d--d disgusting!" replied Lord Borodaile,
leaning his chin upon his two hands, and looking full into the glass.
"Do you use MacNeile's divine pomatum?"

"No, it's too hard; I get mine from Paris: shall I send you some?"