"And, now, landlady, I wish you would send up my boxes; and get me a
newspaper, if you please."

"Yes, sir," said the landlady, and she rose to retire.

"I do not think," said the youth to himself, "that I could have hit on
a prettier name, and so novel a one too!--Clarence Linden,--why, if I
were that pretty girl at the bar I could fall in love with the very
words. Shakspeare was quite wrong when he said,--

'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'"

"A rose by any name would not smell as sweet; if a rose's name was
Jeremiah Bossolton, for instance, it would not, to my nerves at least,
smell of anything but an apothecary's shop!"

When Mordaunt called the next morning, he found Clarence much better,
and carelessly turning over various books, part of the contents of the
luggage superscribed C. L. A book of whatever description was among
the few companions for whom Mordaunt had neither fastidiousness nor
reserve; and the sympathy of taste between him and the sufferer gave
rise to a conversation less cold and commonplace than it might
otherwise have been. And when Mordaunt, after a stay of some length,
rose to depart, he pressed Linden to return his visit before he left
that part of the country; his place, he added, was only about five
miles distant from W----. Linden, greatly interested in his visitor,
was not slow in accepting the invitation, and, perhaps for the first
time in his life, Mordaunt was shaking hands with a stranger he had
only known two days.