Then it was bonjour.

As the lodge-gates closed upon him, Mrs.Newcome's heart shut up too and confined itself within the firs, laurels, and palings which bound the home precincts.
Had not she her own children and affairs?
her brood of fowls, her Sunday-school, her melon-beds, her rose-garden, her quarrel with the parson, etc., to attend to?
Mr.Newcome, arriving on a Saturday night; hears he is gone, says "Oh!" and begins to ask about the new gravel-walk along the cliff, and whether it is completed, and if the China pig fattens kindly upon the new feed.
Clive, in the avuncular gig, is driven over the downs to Brighton to his maternal aunt there; and there he is a king.

He has the best bedroom, Uncle Honeyman turning out for him sweetbreads for dinner; no end of jam for breakfast; excuses from church on the plea of delicate health; his aunt's maid to see him to bed; his aunt to come smiling in when he rings his bell of a morning.

He is made much of, and coaxed, and dandled and fondled, as if he were a young duke.

So he is to Miss Honeyman.