 CHAPTER 45 A CHAPTER OF CONVERSATIONS Every day after the entertainment at Groves-Vener Place and Greenwich, of which we have seen major pendentis partake, the worthy gentleman's friendship and cordiality for the clovering family seemed to increase. His calls were frequent, his attentions to the lady of the house, unremitting, an old man about town, he had the good fortune to be received in many houses, at which a lady of clovering's distinction ought to be seen. Would her ladyship not like to be present at the grand entertainment at Gaunt House? There was to be a very pretty breakfast ball at Bicount, Marrow Fats, at Fulham, everybody was to be there, including Auguste's personages, of the highest rank, and there was to be a Watteau quadril in which Miss Amory would surely look charming. To these and other amusements the obsequious old gentleman kindly offered to conduct lady clovering, and was also ready to make himself useful to the baronet in any way agreeable to the latter. In spite of his present station and fortune, the world persisted in looking rather coldly upon clovering, and strange, suspicious rumors followed him about. He was blackballed at two clubs in succession. In the House of Commons he only conversed with a few of the most disreputable members of that famous body, having a happy knack of choosing bad society and adapting himself naturally to it as other people do to the company of their betters. To name of all the senators with whom clovering consorted would be invidious, we may mention only a few. There was Captain Rath, the Honourable Member for Epsom, who retired after the last Goodwood races, having accepted, as Mr. Hotspur, the whip of the party, said a mission to the Levant. There was Husting Sun, the patriotic member for Islington, whose voice is never heard now, denunciating corruption since his appointment to the governorship of Coventry Island. There was Bob Freeney of the Butters Town, Freeneys, who is a dead shot and of whom we therefore wish to speak with every respect. And of all these gentlemen with whom in the course of his professional duty Mr. Hotspur had to confer there was none for whom he had a more thorough contempt and dislike than for Sir Francis clovering, the representative of an ancient race, who had sat for their own borough of clovering time out of mind in the house. If that man is wanted for a division, Hotspur said ten to one, he is to be found in a hell. He was educated in the fleet, and he has not heard the end of Nuget yet. Take my word for it. He will muddle away the beagams fortune at Thimble Rig, be caught picking pockets and finish on board the hawks. And if the high-born Hotspur was such an opinion of clovering, could yet from professional reasons be civil to him, why should not Major Pandanus also have reasons of his own for being attentive to this unlucky gentleman. He has a very good cellar and a very good cook, the Major said, as long as he is silent, he is not offensive, and he very seldom speaks. If he chooses to frequent gambling tables and lose his money to black legs, what matters to me? Don't look too curiously into any man's affairs, pen, my boy, every fellow has some cupboard in his house, begat, which you would not like you and me to peep into. Why should we try when the rest of the house is open to us, and a devilish good house too, as you and I know, and if the man of the family is not all one could wish, the women are excellent. The beagam is not over-refined, but as kind a woman as ever lived, and devilish clever too, and as for the little blanche, you know my opinion about her, you rogue, you know my belief is that she is sweet on you, and would have you for the asking, but you are growing such a great man, that I suppose you won't be content under a duke's daughter. Hey, sir, I recommend you to ask one of them and try. Perhaps pen was somewhat intoxicated by his success in the world, and it may also have entered into the young man's mind, his uncle's perpetual hints, serving not a little to encourage the notion that Miss Amory was tolerably well disposed to renew the little flirtation which had been carried on in the early days of both of them by the banks of the rural brawl, but he was little disposed to marriage, he said at that moment, and adopting some of his uncle's worldly tone, spoke rather contemptuously of the institution, and in favor of a bachelor life. You are very happy, sir, said he, and you get on very well alone, and so do I, with the wife at my side, I should lose my place in society, and I don't for my part much fancy retiring into the country with a Mrs. Penn Dennis, or taking my wife into lodgings to be waited upon by the servant of all work. The period of my little illusions is over. You cured me of my first love, who certainly was a fool, and would have had a fool for her husband, and a very sulky, discontented husband, too, if she had taken me. We young fellows live fast, sir, and I feel as old at five and twenty as many of the old foe, the old bachelors whom I see in the bow, window, at bases. Don't look offended, I only mean that I am blasé about love matters, and that I could no more fan myself into a flame from Miss Amory now than I could adore Lady Mirabelle over again. I wish I could, I rather like old Mirabelle for his infatuation about her and think his passion is the most respectable part of his life. Sir Charles Mirabelle was always a theatrical man, sir, the major said, annoyed that his nephew should speak flippantly of any person of Sir Charles's rank in station. He has been occupied with theatrical since his early days. He acted at Carleton House when he was paged to the Prince. He has been mixed up with that sort of thing he could afford to marry whom he chooses. And Lady Mirabelle is the most respectable woman, received everywhere, everywhere mind. The Duchess of Canacht receives her, Lady Rockminster receives her, it doesn't become young fellows to speak lightly of people in that station. There's not a more respectable woman in England than Lady Mirabelle. And the old fogeys, as you call them, at bases, are some of the first gentlemen in England, of whom you youngsters had best learn a little manners and a little breeding and a little modesty. And the major began to think that Penn was growing exceedingly pert and conceded and that the world made a great deal too much of him. The major's anger amused Penn. He studied his uncle's peculiarities with a constant relish and was always in a good humor with his worldly old mentor. I'm a youngster of 15 years standing, sir, he said adroitly. And if you think that we are disrespectful, you should see those of the present generation. A protege of yours came to breakfast with me the other day. You told me to ask him and I did it to please you. We had a day's sights together and dined at the club and went to the play. He said the wine at the polyanthus was not so good as Ellis's wine at Richmond smoked Warrington's Cavendish after breakfast and when I gave him a sovereign as a farewell token said he had plenty of them but would take it to show he wasn't proud. Did he? Did you ask young Cleverine cried the major appeased at once, fine boy rather wild but a fine boy, parents like that sort of attention and you can't do better than pay it to our worthy friends of growths in their place. And so you took him to the play and tipped him. That was right, sir, that was right with which mentor quitted Telemachus, thinking that the young men were not so very bad and that he should make something of that fellow yet. As master Cleverine grew into years in stature, he became too strong for the authority of his fond parents and governess and rather governed them than permitted himself to be led by their orders. With his papa he was silent and sulky seldom making his appearance. However, in the neighborhood of that gentleman, with his mama he roared and fought when any contest between them arose as to the gratification of his appetite or other wish of his heart. And in his disputes with his governess over his book, he kicked that quiet creature's shin so fiercely that she was entirely over-mastered and subdued by him. And he would have so treated his sister Blanche too and did on one or two occasions attempt to prevail over her, but she showed an immense resolution and spirit on her part and boxed his ears so soundly that he forebore from molesting Miss Amory as he did the governess and his mama and his mamas made. At length when the family came to London, Sir Francis gave forth his opinion that the little beggar had best be sent to school. Accordingly the young son and heir of the House of Clevering was dispatched to the Reverend Otto Rosa's establishment at Twickenham, where young noblemen and gentlemen were received preparatory to their introduction to the great English public schools. It is not our intention to follow Master Clevering in his scholastic career, the paths to the temple of learning were made more easy to him than they were to some of us of earlier generations. He advanced towards that fain in a carriage in four, so to speak, and might halt and take refreshment almost whenever he pleased. He wore varnished boots from the earliest period of youth and had cambrick, handkerchiefs and lemon-colored kid gloves of the smallest size ever manufactured by Privet. They dressed regularly at Mr. Rosa's to come down to dinner. The young gentlemen had shawl, dressing gowns, fires in their bedrooms, horse and carriage exos size occasionally, and oil for their hair. Corporal punishment was altogether dispensed with by the principal who thought that moral discipline was entirely sufficient to lead youth, and the boys were so rapidly advanced in many branches of learning that they acquired the art of drinking spirits and smoking cigars even before they were old enough to enter a public school. Young Frank Clevering stole his father's savannas and conveyed them to school or smoke them in the stables at a surprisingly early period of life, and at ten years old drank his champagne almost as stoutly as any whiskered cornet of dragoons could do. When this interesting youth came home for his vacations, Major Pandenis was as laboriously civil and gracious to him as he was to the rest of the family. Although the boy had rather contempt for old Wigsby as the major was denominated, mimicked him behind his back as the polite major bowed and smirked with Lady Clevering or Miss Amory and drew crude caricatures such as designed by ingenious youths in which the major's wig, his nose, his tie, etc., were represented with artless exaggeration. Untowering in his efforts to be agreeable, the major wished that Pandenis too should take particular notice of this child, incited Arthur to invite him to his chambers to give him a dinner at the club to take him to Madame Tussaud's. The tower, the play, and so forth and to tip him as the phrase is at the end of the day's plest. Arthur, who was good-natured and fond of children, went through all these ceremonies one day, had the boy to breakfast at the temple where it made the most contemptuous remarks regarding the furniture, the crockery, and the tattered state of Warrington's dressing gown, and smoked a short pipe and recounted the history of a fight between toughy and long biggings at roses greatly to the edification of the two gentlemen, his hosts. As the major rightly predicted, Lady Clevering was very grateful for Arthur's attention to the boy, more grateful than the lad himself who took attentions as a matter of course, and very likely had more sovereigns in his pocket than poor Penn, who generously gave him one of his own slender stock of those coins. The major with the sharp eyes with which nature endowed him, and with the glasses of age and experience, watched this boy and surveyed his position in the family without seeming to be rudely curious about their affairs. But as a country neighbor, one who had many family obligations to the Cleverings, an old man of the world he took occasion to find out what Lady Clevering's means were. How her capital was disposed and what the boy was to inherit, and setting himself to work for what purposes will appear no doubt ulteriorly. He soon had got a pretty accurate knowledge of Lady Clevering's affairs and fortune and of the prospects of her daughter and son. The daughter was to have but a slender provision. The bulk of the property was, as before, has been said to go to the son. His father did not care for him or anybody else. His mother was dotingly fond of him as the child of her latter days. His sister disliked him. Such may be stated in round numbers to be the result of the information which Major Pandena Scott. Ah, my dear madam, he would say patting the head of the boy. This boy may wear a baron's cornet on his head on some future coronation if matters are but managed rightly, and if Sir Francis Clevering would but play his cards well. At this, the widow Amory heaved a deep sigh. He plays only much of his cards, major, I'm afraid. She said the major owned that he knew as much did not disguise that he had heard of Sir Francis Clevering's unfortunate propensity to play. Pityed Lady Clevering sincerely but spoke with such genuine sentiment and sense that her ladyship glad to find a person of experience to whom she could confide her grief, and her condition talked about them pretty unreservedly to Major Pandena's and was eager to have his advice and consolation. Major Pandena's became the Begum's confidant and house friend and as a mother, a wife, and a capitalist, she consulted him. He gave her to understand, showing at the same time a great deal of respectful sympathy, that he was acquainted with some of the circumstances of her first unfortunate marriage, and with even the person of her late husband whom he remembered in Calcutta when she was living in seclusion with her father. The poor lady with tears of shame, more than of grief in her eyes, told her version of her story, going back a child to India after two years at a European school she had met Amory and foolishly married him. Oh, you don't know how miserable that man made me, she said, or what a life I passed, betwixt him and my father. Before I saw him, I had never seen a man except my father's clerks and native servants. You know, we didn't go into society in India on account of, you know. I know, said Major Pandena's with a bow. I was a wild, romantic child. My head was full of novels, which I'd read at school. I listened to his wild stories and adventures where he was a daring fellow and I thought he talked beautifully of those calm nights on the passage out when he used to a blank. Well, I married him and I was wretched from that day wretched with my father, whose character you know, Major Pandena's and I won't speak up. But he wasn't a good man, sir, neither to my poor mother nor to me except that he left me his money, nor to no one else that I ever heard of. And he didn't do many kind actions in his lifetime, I'm not afraid. And as for Amory, he was almost worse. He was a spendthrift when my father was close. He drank dreadfully and was furious when in that way he wasn't in any way a good or a faithful husband to me, Major Pandena's. And if he'd died in the jail before this trial instead of afterwards, he would have saved me a deal of shame and of unhappiness since, sir. Lady Clevering added for perhaps I should not have married at all if I had not been so anxious to change his horrid name and I have not been happy in my second husband as I suppose you know, sir. Major Pandena's I've got money to be sure. And I'm a lady and people fancy I'm very happy, but I ain't. We all have our cares and griefs and troubles. And many's the day that I sit down to one of my grand dinners within the aching heart. And many a night do I lay awake on my fine bed a great deal more unhappy than the maid that makes for it. I'm not a happy woman, Major, for all the world says, in Envy's The Begum, her diamonds and carriages and the great company that comes to my house. I'm not happy in my husband. I'm not in my daughter. She ain't a good girl like that dear Laura Bell at Faroaks. She cost me many a tear, though you don't see him. And she sneers at her mother because I haven't had learning in that. How should I was brought up amongst natives till I was 12 and back to India when I was 14. I'm major I should have been a good woman if I'd had a good husband. And now I must go upstairs and wipe my eyes for the red with crying and Lady Rockminster's a common and we're going to have a drive in the park and Lady Rockminster made her appearance. There was not a trace of tears or vexation on Lady Clevering's face, but she was full of spirits and bounced out with her lenders and talk and murdered the King's English with the utmost liveliness and good humor. Begad, she is not such a bad woman. The major thought within himself. She is not refined, certainly and cause Apollo Apollo, but she has some heart and I like this sort of thing and a devilish deal of money to three stars in India stock to her name. Begad, which that young cub is to have easy, and he thought how he should like to see a little of the money transferred to Miss Blanche and better still one of those stars shining in the name of Mr. Arthur Pendennis, still bent upon pursuing your schemes whatsoever they might be the old negotiator took the privilege of his intimacy and age to talk in a kindly and fatherly manner to Miss Blanche when he found occasion to see her alone. He came in so frequently in lunch and time and became so familiar with the ladies that they did not even hesitate to quarrel before him. And Lady Clevering, whose tongue was loud and tempered brusque had many a battle with the Sylphied in the family friend's presence. Blanche's wit seldom failed to have the mastery in these encounters and the keen barbs of her errors drove her adversary discomforted away. I am an old fellow, the major said, I have nothing to do in life. I have my eyes open. I keep good counsel. I'm the friend of both of you. And if you choose to quarrel before me, why? I shouldn't tell anyone. But you are two good people and I intend to make it up between you. I have between lots of people, husbands and wives, fathers and sons, daughters and mamas. Before this, I like it. I have nothing else to do. One day then the old diplomatist entered Lady Clevering's drawing room just as the latter quitted it evidently in a high state of indignation and ran past him up the stairs to her own apartments. She couldn't speak to him now. She said she was a great deal too angry with that, that little wicked anger choked the rest of the words or prevented their utterance until Lady Clevering had passed out of hearing. My dear goodness Amherst, the major said, entering the drawing room I see what is happening. You and my ma have been disagreeing, mothers and daughters disagree in the best families. It was but last week that I healed up a quarrel between Lady Clapperton and her daughter, Lady Claudia, Lady Lear and her eldest daughter have not spoken for 14 years. Kinder and more worthy people than these I never knew in the whole course of my life, for everybody by each other admirable. But they can't live together, they oughtn't to live together. And I wish my dear creature with all my soul that I could see you with an establishment of your own, for there is no woman in London who could conduct one better with your own establishment, making your own home happy. I am not very happy in this one said that Sylphied and the stupidity of Amma is enough to provoke a saint. Precisely so, you are not suited to one another, your mother committed one fault in early life, or was it nature my dear in your case, she ought not to have educated you. You ought not to have been brought up to become the refined and intellectual being you are surrounded as I own you are by those who have not your genius or your refinement. Your place would be to lead in the most brilliant circles not to follow and take a second place in any society I've watched you Miss Amory. You are ambitious in your proper spheres command you ought to shine and you never can in this house. I know it. I hope I shall see you in another and a happier one someday and the mistress of it. The Sylphied shrugged her lily shoulders with a look of scorn. Where is the prince and where is the palace major pendentist? She said. I am ready. But there's no romance in the world now. No real affection. No indeed said the major with the most sentimental and simple air which you could muster. Not that I know anything about it said Blanche casting her eyes down except what I have read in novels. Of course not major pendentist cried how should you my dear young lady and novels ain't true as you remark admirably. And there's no romance left in the world. Beg ad. I wish I was a young fellow like my nephew. And what continued the same amusing? What are the men whom we see about at the balls every night? Dancing guardsmen, panelist, treasury clerks, boobies. If I had my brother's fortune I might have such an establishment as you promised me. But with my name and with my little means what am I to look to a country parson or barrister in a street near Russell Square or captain in a derune regimen who will take lodgings for me and come home from the mess, tipsy and smelling of smoke like Sir Francis Cleveron. That is how we girls are destined to end life. Oh major pendentist I'm sick of London and of balls and of young dandies with their chin tips and of the insolent great ladies who know us one day and cut us the next. And of the world altogether I should like to leave it and to go into a content that I should. I shall never find anybody to understand me and I live here as much alone in my family as in the world as if I were in a cell locked up forever. I wish there were sisters of charity here and that I could be one and catch the plague and die of it. I wish to quit the world. I'm not very old but I'm tired. I've suffered so much. I've been so disillusionated. I'm weary. I'm weary. Oh that the angel of death were coming back a me away. This speech may be interpreted as follows. A few nights since a great lady, Lady Flamingo had cut Miss Amory and Lady Cleveron. She was quite mad because she could not get an invitation to Lady Drum's Ball. It was the end of the season and nobody had proposed to her. She had made no sensation at all. She who was so much cleverer than any girl of the year and of the young ladies forming her special circle. Dora who had but five thousand pounds, Flora who had nothing and Leonora who had red hair were going to be married and nobody had come for Blanche Amory. You judge wisely about the world and about your position, my dear Miss Blanche, the major said, the prince don't marry nowadays, as you say, unless the princess has a do-sa-deal of money in the funds or is a lady of his own rank. The young folks of the great families marry into the great families. If they haven't fortune, they have each other's shoulders to push on in the world, which is pretty nearly as good. A girl with your fortune can scarcely hope for a great match, but a girl with your genius and your admirable tact and fine manners with a clever husband by her side may make any place for herself in the world. We are grown duced republican talent ranks with birth and wealth now began and a clever man with a clever wife may take any place they please. Miss Amory did not of course in the least understand what Major Pendennis meant. Perhaps she thought over circumstances in her mind and asked herself could he be a negotiator for a former suitor of hers and could he mean pen? No, it was impossible. He'd been civil but nothing more. So she said laughing who is the clever man and will you bring him to meet Major Pendennis? I'm dying to see him. At this moment a servant threw open the door and announced Mr. Henry Foker at which name and at the appearance of our friend both the lady and the gentleman burst out laughing. That is not the man Major Pendennis said. He is engaged to his cousin Lord Graves Ends' daughter. Goodbye, my dear Miss Amory. Was Pen growing worldly and should a man not get the experience of the world and lay it to his account? He felt for his part as he said that he was growing very old very soon. How this town forms and changes us he said once to Warrington each had come in from his night's amusement and Pen was smoking his pipe and recounting as his habit was to his friend the observations and adventures of the evening just passed. How I am changed he said from the simpleton boy at Fair Oaks who was fit to break his heart about his first love. Lady Mirabelle had a reception tonight and was as grave and collected as if she had been born a duchess and had never seen a trapdoor in her life. She gave me the honor of her conversation and patronized me about Walter Lorraine quite kindly. What condescension broke in Warrington wasn't it? Pen said simply at which the other burst out laughing according to his one is it possible he said that anybody should think of patronizing the eminent author of Walter Lorraine. You laugh at both of us. Pen said blushing a little. I was coming to that myself. She told me that she had not read the book as indeed I believe she never read a book in her life. But that lady Rockminster had and that the duchess of Connacht pronounced it to be very clever. In that case I said I should die happy for that to please those two ladies was in fact the great aim of my existence and having their approbation of course I need look for no other. Lady Mirabelle looked at me solemnly out of her fine eyes and said oh indeed as if she understood me. And then she asked me whether I went to the duchess this Thursdays. And when I said no hope she should see me there and that I must try and get there. Everybody went there. Everybody who was in society. And then we talked to the new ambassador from Timbuktu and how he was better than the old one. And now Lady Mary Billington was going to marry a clergyman quite below her in rank. Now Lord and Lady Ringdove had fallen out three months after their marriage about Tom Powder of the blues Lady Ringdove's cousin and so forth from the gravity of that woman you would have fancied she had been born in a palace and lived all the seasons of her life in Belgrave Square. And you I suppose you took your part in the conversation pretty well as the descendant of the Earl your father and the heir of Fair Oaks Castle. Warrington said yes I remember reading of the festivities which occurred when you came of age the Countess gave a brilliant tea squarray to the neighboring nobility and the tenantry were regaled in the kitchen with a leg of mutton and a quart of ale. The remains of the banquet were distributed amongst the poor of the village and the entrance to the park was illuminated until old John put the candle out on her time to rest at his usual hour. My mother is not a Countess a pen though she has very good blood in her veins too but commoner as she is I have never met a Peeress who was more than her Peer Mr. George and if you will come to Fair Oaks Castle you shall judge for yourself of her and of my cousin too they are not so witty as the London women but they certainly are as well bred the thoughts of women in the country are turned to other objects than those which occupy your London ladies in the country a woman has her household and her poor her long calm days and long calm evenings devilish long warrington set and a great deal too calm I've tried them the monotony of that existence must be to a certain degree melancholy like the tune of a long ballad and it's harmony grave and gentle sad and tender it would be an indurable elves the loneliness of women in the country makes them of necessity soft and sentimental leading a life of calm duty constant routine mystic reverie a sort of nuns at large too much gayity or laughter would jar upon their almost sacred quiet and would be as out of place there as in a church where you go to sleep over the sermon warrington set you are a profess misoginous and hate this sex because I suspect you know very little about them Mr. Penn continued with an air of considerable self complacency if you dislike the women in the country for being too slow surely the London woman ought to be fast enough for you the pace of London life is enormous how do people last at it I wonder male and female take a woman of the world follow her course through the season one asks how she can survive it or if she tumbles into a sleep at the end of August and lies torped until the spring she goes into the world every night and sits watching her marriageable daughters dancing till long after dawn she has a nursery of little ones very likely at home to whom she administers example and affection having an I likewise to bread and milk catechism music and French and Rose leg of mutton at one o'clock she has to call upon ladies of her own station either domestically or in her public character in which she sits upon charity committees committees and discharges I don't know what more duties of British states woman ship she very likely keeps a poor visiting list has conversations with the clergymen about super flannel or proper religious teaching for the parish and if she lives in certain districts probably attends early church she has the newspapers to read and at least must know what her husband's party is about so as to be able to talk to her neighbor at dinner and it is a fact that she reads every new book that comes out for it she can talk and very smartly and well about them all and you see them all upon her drawing room table she has the cares of her household besides to make both ends meet to make the girl's milliner's bills appear not too dreadful to the father and pay master the family to snip off and secret a little extra article of expenditure here and there and convey it in the shape of a bank note to the boys at college or at sea to check the encroachments of tradesmen and housekeepers financial fallacies to keep upper and lower servants from jangling with one another and the household in order add to this that she has a secret taste for some art or science models in clay makes experiments in chemistry or plays in private on the be all on cellar and I say without exaggeration many London ladies are doing this and you have a character before you such as our ancestors never heard of and such as belongs entirely to our era and period of civilization e gods how rapidly we live and grow in nine months Mr. Paxton grows you a pineapple as large as a portmanteau whereas a little one no bigger than a Dutch cheese took three years to attain his majority in old times and as the race of pineapples so is the race of man oh yeah what's the Greek for pineapple warrington stop for mercy six stop with the English and before you come to the Greek warrington cried out laughing and never heard you make such a long speech or was aware that you have penetrated so deeply into the female mysteries who taught you all this and into whose boudoirs and nurseries have you been peeping whilst I was smoking my pipe and reading my book lying on my straw bed you are on a tent to watch the waves tossing in the winds and the struggles of others at sea Penn said I'm in the stream now and by Jove I like it how rapidly we go down at a strong and feeble old and young the metal pitchers and the earthen pitchers the pretty little china boat swims gaily till the big bruise brazen one bumps him and sends him down a vogue la glare you see a man sink in the race and say goodbye to him look he's only dived under the other fellow's legs and comes up shaking his pole and striking out so far ahead hey vogue la glare I say it's good sport Warrington not winning merely but playing well go in and win young and now sit and mark the game Warrington said surveying the art and young fellow with an almost fatherly pleasure a generous fellow plays for the play assorted one for the steak an old foggy sits by and smokes the pipe of tranquility while Jack and Tom are pummeling each other in the ring why don't you come in George and have a turn with the gloves you were big enough and strong enough Penn said dear oh boy you are worth ten of me you're not quite as tall as Goliath certainly the other answered with a laugh that was rough and yet tender as for me I am disabled I had a fatal hit in early life I will tell you about it some day you may too meet with your master don't be too eager or too confident or too worldly my boy was Penn Dennis becoming worldly or only seeing the worldly or both it is a man very wrong for being after all only a man which is the most reasonable and does his duty best he who stands aloof from the struggle of life calmly contemplating or he who descends to the ground and takes his part in the contest that philosopher Penn said had held a great place amongst the leaders of the world and enjoyed to the full what it had to give of rank and riches renowned and pleasure who came weary hearted out of it and said that all was vanity and vexation of spirit many a teacher of those whom we reverence and who steps out of his carriage up to his carved cathedral place shakes his lawn ruffles over the velvet cushions and cries out that the whole struggle is an accursed one and the works of the world are evil many a conscience stricken mystic flies from it all together and shuts himself out from it within convent walls real or spiritual whence he can only look up to the sky and contemplate the heaven out of which there is no rest and no good but the earth where our feet are is the work of the same power as the immeasurable blue yonder in which the future lies into which we would peer who ordered toil as the condition of life ordered weiriness ordered sickness ordered poverty failure success to this man a foremost place to the other a nameless struggle with the crowd to that a shameful fall or paralyzed limb or sudden accident to each some work upon the ground he stands on until he is laid beneath it while they were talking the dawn came shining through the windows of the room and penned through them open to receive the fresh morning air look George said he look and see the sunrise he sees the laborer on his way afield the work girl plying her poor needle the lawyer at his desk perhaps the beauty smiling asleep upon her pillow of down or the jaded reveler reeling to bed or the fevered patient tossing on it or the doctor watching by it over the throes of the mother for the child that is to be born into the world to be born and to take his part in the suffering and struggling the tears and laughter the crime remorse love folly sorrow End of Chapter 45 Chapter 46 of the history of Pendennis This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The History of Pendennis by William Makepeace Thackeray Chapter 46 Miss Amory's Partners The noble Henry Foker of whom we have lost sight for a few pages has been in the meanwhile occupied as we might suppose a man of his constancy would be in the pursuit an indulgence of his all-absorbing passion of love. I wish that a few of my youthful readers who are inclined to that amusement would take the trouble to calculate the time which is spent in the pursuit when they would find it to be one of the most costly occupations in which a man can possibly indulge. What don't you sacrifice to it indeed, young gentlemen and young ladies of ill-regulated minds? Many hours of your precious sleep in the first place in which you lie tossing and thinking about the adored object whence you come down late to breakfast, when noon is advancing and all the families long sense away to its daily occupations. Then when you at length get to these occupations you pay no attention to them and engage in them with no ardour, all your thoughts and powers of mind being fixed elsewhere, then the day's work being slurred over you neglect your friends and relatives, your natural companions and usual associates in life that you may go and have a glance of the dear personage or look up at her windows or a peep at her carriage in the park, then at night the artless blandishments of home bore you, mama's conversation pauls upon you, the dishes which that good soul prepares for the dinner of her favorite art sent away untasted, the whole meal of life indeed except one particular plate has no relish, life, business, family ties, home, all things useful and dear at once, become intolerable and you are never easy except when you are in pursuit of your flame. Such I believe to be not unfrequently the state of mind amongst ill-regulated young gentlemen and such indeed was Mr. H. Foker's condition, who having been brought up to indulge in every propensity towards which he was inclined, abandoned himself to this one with his usual selfish enthusiasm. Nor because he had given his friend Arthur Pendennis a great deal of good advice on a former occasion, need men of the world wonder that Mr. Foker became passion, slave, and his turn. Who among us has not given a plenty of the very best advice to his friends who has not preached and who has practiced to be sure you, madam, are perhaps a perfect being and never had a wrong thought in the whole course of your frigid and irreproachable existence or, sir, you are a great deal too strong-minded to allow any foolish passion to interfere with your equanimity in chambers or your attendance on change. You are so strong that you don't want any sympathy. We don't give you any then. We keep ours for the humble and weak that struggle and stumble and get up again and so march with the rest of mortals. What need have you of a hand who never fall? Your serene virtue is never shaded by passion or ruffled by temptation or darkened by remorse. Compassion would be impertinence for such an angel. But then with such one companionship becomes intolerable. You are from the elevation of your very virtue and high attributes of necessity lonely. We can't reach up and talk familiarly with such potentates. Goodbye then. Our way lies with humble folks and not with serene highnesses like you. And we give notice that there are no perfect characters in this history, except perhaps one little one. And that one is not perfect either, for she never knows to this day that she is perfect and with a deplorable misapprehension and perverseness if humility believes herself to be as great a sinner as need be. This young person does not happen to be in London at the present period of our story. And it is by no means for the like of her that Mr. Henry Fokker's mind is agitated. But what matters are few failings. Need we be angels, male or female, in order to be worshiped as such? Let us admire the diversity of the tastes of mankind. And the oldest, the ugliest, the stupidest, and most pompous, the silliest and most vapid, the greatest criminal, tyrant, booby, bluebeard, Catherine Hayes, George Barnwell, amongst us, we need never despair. I've read of the passion of a transported pickpocket for a female convict, each of them advanced in age, being repulsive in person, ignorant, quarrelsome, and given to drink. That was as magnificent as the loves of Cleopatra and Antony or Lancelot and Guinevere. The passion which count Baroloski, the Polish dwarf, inspired in the bosom of the most beautiful Baroness at the court of Dresden is a matter with which we are all of us acquainted. The flame which burned in the heart of young Cornette Tozer, but the other day, and caused him to run off and espouse Mrs. Battersby, who was old enough to be his mama. All these instances are told in the page of history or the newspaper column. Are we to be ashamed or pleased to think that our hearts are formed so that the biggest and highest placed Ajax, among us may someday find himself prostrate before the patterns of his kitchen maid, as that there is no poverty or shame or crime which will not be supported, hugged even with delight and cherished more closely than virtue would be by the perverse fidelity and admirable constant folly of a woman. So then Henry Foker Esquire, longed after his love and cursed the fate which separated him from her. When Lord Graves Ends, family retired to the country, his lordship leaving his proxy with the venerable Lord Bagwig, Harry still remained lingering on in London, certainly not much to the sorrow of Lady Anne, to whom he was affianced and who did not in the least miss him. Wherever Miss Clevering went, this infatuated young fellow continued to follow her and being aware that his engagement to his cousin was known in the world, he was forced to make a mystery of his passion and confine it to his own breast so that it was so pent in there and pressed down that it is a wonder he did not explode some day with the stormy secret and perish collapsed after the outburst. There had been a grand entertainment at Gaunt House on one beautiful evening in June and the next day's journals contained almost two columns of the names of the most closely printed nobility and gentry who had been honored with invitations to the ball. Among the guests were Sir Francis and Lady Clevering and Miss Amory for whom the indefatigable major pandenas have procured an invitation and our two young friends, Arthur and Harry, each exerted himself and danced a great deal with Miss Blanche. As for the worthy major, he assumed the charge of Lady Clevering and took care to introduce her to that department of the mansion where her ladyship especially distinguished herself, namely the refreshment room where amongst pictures of Titian and Giorgioni and regal portraits of Van Dyke and Reynolds and enormous salvers of gold and silver and pyramids of large flowers and constellations of wax candles in a manner perfectly regardless of expense in a word, a supper was going on all night. Of how many creams, jellies, salads, peaches, white soups, grapes, pâtés, gallantines, cups of tea, champagne, and so forth, Lady Clevering partook, it does not become us to say. How much the major suffered as he followed the honest woman about calling to the solemn male attendants and lovely servant-maids and administering to Lady Clevering's various wants with admirable patience nobody knows. He never confessed. He never allowed his agony to appear on his countenance in the least, but with a constant kindness brought plate after plate to the beagle. Mr. Wagg counted up all the dishes of which Lady Clevering partook as long as he could count, but as he partook very freely himself of champagne during the evening, his powers of calculation were not to be trusted at the close of the entertainment. And he recommended Mr. Honeyman, Lady Stain's medical man to look carefully after the beagle and to call and get news of her ladyship the next day. Sir Francis Clevering made his appearance and sulked for a while about the magnificent rooms, but the company and the splendor which he met there were not to the baronet's taste. And after tossing off a tumbler of wine or two at the buffet, he quitted Gaunt House for the neighborhood and German street, where his friends Loder, Punter, Little Moss, Abrams, and Captain's Gubal were assembled at the familiar green table. In the rattle of the box and of their agreeable conversations, Sir Francis's spirits rose to their custom point of feeble hilarity. Mr. Pin sent who had asked Miss Amory to dance came up on one occasion to claim her hand, but scowls of recognition having already passed between him and Mr. Arthur Pendennis in the dancing room, Arthur suddenly rose up and claimed Miss Amory as his partner for the present dance on which Mr. Pin sent biting his lips and scowling yet more savagely with three with a profound bow, saying that he gave up his claim. There are some men who are always falling in one's way in life. Pin sent and Pend had this view of each other and each regarded other accordingly. What a confounded conceited provincial fool that is, thought the one, because he has written a two-penny novel his absurd head has turned and a kicking would take his conceit out of him. What an apartment idiot that man is, remarked the other to his partner. His soul is in Downing Street. His neck cloth is full of scab. His hair is sand. His legs are rulers. His vitals are tape and ceiling wax. He was upprigging his cradle and never laughed since he was born except three times at the same joke of his chief. I have the same liking for that man, Miss Amory. I have that cold boil veal upon which Blanche, of course, remarked that Mr. Pendennis was wicked, machan, perfectly abominable, and wondered what he would say when her back was turned. Say that you have the most beautiful figure and the slimmest waist in the world, Blanche. Miss Amory, I mean, I beg your pardon. Another turn. This music would make an alderman dance. And you have left off tumbling when you waltz now, Blanche asked, archly looking up at our partner's face. One falls and one gets up again in life, Blanche. You know I used to call you so in old times. And it is the prettiest name in the world besides I've practiced since then. And with a great number of partners, I'm afraid, Blanche said, with a little sham sigh and a shrug of the shoulders and so in truth, Mr. Pan had practiced a good deal in this life and had undoubtedly arrived at being able to dance better. If Pendenis was in pertinent in his talk, folk are on the other hand, so bland and communicative on most occasions, was entirely mom and melancholy when he danced with Miss Amory. To clasp her slender waist was a rapture. To whirl round the room with her was a delirium. But to speak to her, what could he say that was worthy of her? What pearl of conversation could he bring that was fit for the acceptance of such a queen of love and wit as Blanche? It was she who made the talk when she was in the company of this love-stricken partner. It was she who asked him how that dear little pony was and looked at him and thanked him with such a tender kindness and regret and refused the dear little pony with such a delicate sigh when he offered it. I have nobody to ride within London, she said, but Ma is timid and her figure is not pretty on horseback. So Francis never goes out with me. He loves me like a stepdaughter. Oh, how delightful it must be to have a father, a father, Mr. Foker. Oh, uncommon, said Mr. Harry, who enjoyed that blessing very calmly upon which and forgetting the sentimental air which she had just before assumed, Blanche's gray eyes gazed at Foker with such an arch-twinkle that both of them burst out laughing and Harry enraptured and that disease began to entertain her with a variety of innocent bridal, good kind, simple Foker talk, flavored with many expressions by no means to be discovered in dictionaries and relating to the personal history of himself or horses or other things dear and important to him or to persons in the ballroom than passing before them and about whose appearance or character Mr. Harry spoke with heartless freedom and a considerable dash of humor. And it was Blanche who when the conversation flagged and the youth's modesty came rushing back and overpowering him knew how to reanimate her companion, asked him questions about logwood and whether it was a pretty place, whether he was a hunting man or whether he liked women to hunt, in which case she was prepared to say that she adored hunting. But Mr. Foker expressing his opinion against sporting females and pointing out Lady Bullfinch who happened to pass by as a horse godmother whom he had seen at cover with a cigar in her face, Blanche do expressed her detestation of the sports of the field and said it would make her shudder to think of a dear sweet little fox being killed on which Foker laughed and waltzed with renewed vigor and grace. And at the end of the walls, the last walls that had on that night, Blanche asked him about Drummington and whether it was a fine house. His cousins she had heard were very accomplished. Lord Aerith she had met and which of his cousins was his favorite was it not Lady Anne? Yes, she was sure it was she, sure by his looks in his bushes. She was tired of dancing. It was getting very late. She must go to Mama. And without another word she sprang away from Harry Foker's arm and seized the pumpkins who was swaggering about the dancing room and again said, Mama, Mama, take me to Mama, dear Mr. Pendennis, transfixing Harry with a Parthian shot as she fled from him. My Lord stained with garter and ribbon with a bald head and shining eyes and a collar of red whiskers around his face always looked grand upon an occasion of state and made a great effect upon Lady Claverine when he introduced himself to her at the request of the obsequious Major Pendennis. With his own white and royal hand he handed to her ladyship a glass of wine said he had heard of her charming daughter and begged to be presented to her. And at this very juncture, Mr. Arthur Pendennis came up with the young lady on his arm. The peer made a profound bow and blanched the deepest curtsy that ever was seen. His lordship gave Mr. Arthur Pendennis his hand to shake, said he had read his book which was very wicked and clever, asked Miss Blanche if she had read it, at which Ben bludged and winced while Blanche was one of the heroines of the novel. Blanche in black ringlands and a little altered was the knee era of Walter Lorraine. Blanche had read it, the language of the eyes expressed her admiration and rapture at the performance, this little play being achieved. The mark was sustained, made other two profound bows to Lady Claverine and her daughter and passed on to some other of his guests at the splendid entertainment. Mama and daughter were loud in their expressions of admiration of the noble mark was so soon as his broad back was turned upon them. He said they make a very nice couple whispered Major Pendennis to Lady Claverine, did he now really? Mama thought they would. Mama was so flustered with the honor which had just been shown to her and with other intoxicating events of the evening that her good humor knew no bounds. She laughed, she winked and nodded knowingly at Penn. She tapped him on the arm with her fan. She tapped Blanche, she tapped the Major. Her contentment was boundless and her method of showing her joy equally expansive. As the party went down the great staircase of Gaunt House, the morning had risen dark and clear over the black trees of the square. The skies were tinged with pink in the cheeks of some of the people at the ball. Ah, how ghastly they looked, that admirable and devoted Major above all who had been for hours by Lady Claverine's side ministering to her and feeding her body with everything that was nice and her ear with everything that was sweet and flattering. Oh, what an object he was. The rings round his eyes were of the color of bistro. Those orbs themselves were like the clover's eggs where of Lady Claverine and Blanche had each tasted. The wrinkles in his old face were furrowed in deep gashes and a silver stubble like an elderly morning dew was glittering on his chin and alongside the dyed whiskers now limp and out of curl. There he stood with admirable patience enduring uncomplainingly a silent agony knowing that people could see the state of his face for could he not himself perceive the condition of others, males and females of his own age longing to go to rest for hours past aware that supper's disagreed with him and yet having eaten a little so as to keep his friend Lady Claverine in good humor with twinges of rheumatism in the back and knees with weary feet burning in his varnished boots so tired oh so tired and longing for bed. If a man struggling with hardship and bravely overcoming it is an object of admiration for the gods that power in whose chapels the old major was a faithful worshiper must have looked upwards approvingly upon the constancy of Pendena says martyrdom. There are sufferers in that cause as in the other the Negroes in the service of mumbo jumbo tattoo and drill themselves with burning skewers with great fortitude. And we read that the priests in the service of bail gassed themselves in blood freely you who can smash the idols do so with a good courage but do not be too fierce with the idolaters they worship the best thing they know. The Pendena says the elder and the younger waited with Lady Claverine and her daughter until her ladyship's carriage was announced when the elders martyrdom may be said to have come to an end for the good nature Begum insisted upon leaving him at his door in Berry Street. So he took the back seat of the carriage after a feeble bow or two and speech of thanks polite to the last and resolute in doing his duty. The Begum waved her dumpy little hand by way of farewell to Arthur and Foker and Blanche smiled languidly out upon the young men thinking whether she looked very wan and green under a rose colored hood and whether it was the mirrors at Gone House or the fatigue and fever of her own eyes which made her fancy herself so pale. Arthur perhaps saw quite well how yellow Blanche looked but did not attribute that peculiarity of her complexion to the effect of the looking glasses or to any era in his sight or her own. Our young man of the world could use his eyes very keenly that could see Blanche's face pretty much as nature had made it. But for poor Foker it had a radiance which dazzled and blinded him. He could see no more faults in it than in the sun which was now flaring over the house tops. Amongst other wicked London habits which Penn had acquired, the moralist will remark that he had got to keep very bad hours and often was going to bed at the time when sober country people were thinking of leaving it. Men get used to one hour as to another, editors of newspapers, Covent Garden market people, night cabin and coffee sellers, Jimmy Sweeps and gentlemen and ladies of fashion who frequent balls are often quite lively at three or four o'clock of a morning when ordinary mortals are snoring. We have shown in the last chapter how Penn was in a brisk condition of mind at this period inclined to smoke his cigar at ease and to speak freely. Foker and Penn walked away from Godhouse then indulging in both the above amusements or rather Penn talked and Foker looked as if he wanted to say something. Penn was sarcastic and then defied when he had been in the company of great folks he could not help imitating some of their heirs and tones, neving a most lively imagination and thus took himself for a person of importance very easily. He rattled away and attacked this person and that sneered at Lady John Trumbull's Bad French which her ladyship will introduce into all conversations in spite of the sneers of everybody at Mrs. Slack Roper's extraordinary costume and sham jewels at the old dandies and the young ones at whom didn't he sneer and laugh. You fired everybody, Penn. You're grown awful that you are, Foker said. Now you've pulled about blondles, yellow wig and culture comes black one. Why don't you have a shy at a brown one, eh? You know who's I mean? He got into Lady Cleveron's carriage under my uncle's head. My uncle is a martyr, Foker, my boy. My uncle has been doing excruciating duties all night. He likes to go to bed rather early. He has a dreadful headache if he sits up and touches supper. He always has the gout if he walks or stands much at a ball. He's been sitting up and standing up and supping. He's gone home to the gout and the headache and for my sake, shall I make fun of the old boy? No, not for Venice. How do you mean that he has been doing it for your sake, Foker asked, looking rather alarmed. Boy, canst thou keep a secret if I impart it to thee? Penn cried out in high spirits, art thou of good counsel, wilt thou swear, wilt thou be mom, or wilt thou preach, wilt thou be silent in here, or wilt thou speak and die? And as he spoke, clinging himself into an absurd theatrical attitude, the men in the cab stand in Piccadilly wandered and grinned at the antics of the two young swells. What to do so you driving at, Foker asked, looking very much agitated. Penn, however, did not remark this agitation much, but continued in the same bantering and excited vein. Henry, friend of my youth, he said, and witness of my early follies, though dull at thy books, yet thou art not altogether deprived of sense. Nay blush not, Henryco, thou hast a good portion of that, and of courage and kindness too at the service of thy friends. Were I in a strait of poverty, I would come to my focus purse, where I, in grief, I would discharge my grief upon his sympathizing bosom. Gammon Penn, go on, Foker said. I would, Henryco, upon thy studs and upon thy cambrick, worked by the hands of beauty, to adorn the breast of valor, know then friend of my boyhood's days, that, Arthur Penn Dennis of the Upper Temple, student at law, feels that he is growing lonely, and all care is furrowing his temples, and baldness is busy with his crown. Shall we stop and have a drop of coffee at this stall? It looks very hot and nice. Look how that cab man is blowing at his saucer. No, you won't, Aristocrat. I resume my tale, and I'm getting on in life. I've got devilish little money, I want some. I'm thinking of getting some and settling in life. I'm thinking of settling. I'm thinking of marrying, oh boy. I'm thinking of becoming a moral man, a steady port and sherry character with a good reputation in my Cartier, and a moderate establishment of two maids and a man with an occasional broom to drive out Mrs. Penn Dennis and a house near the parks for the accommodation of the children. Ah, what says thou? Answer, thy friend, thou worthy child of beer, speak, adjure thee by all thy vats, but you ain't got any money, Penn, said the other, still looking along. I ain't, no, but she hath. I tell thee, there is gold in store for me, not what you call money, nursed in the lap of luxury, and cradled on grains and drinking and wealth from a thousand mash tubs. What do you know about money? What is poverty to you? Is splendid to the hearty son of the humble apothecary. You can't live without an establishment, and your houses in town and country, a snug little house somewhere off Belgravia, a broom for my wife, a decent cook, and a fair bottle of wine for my friends at home sometimes. These simple necessaries suffice for me, my folker, and your Penn Dennis began to look more serious without bantering further, Penn, continue. I've rather serious thoughts of settling and marrying. No man can get on in the world without some money at his back. You must have a certain stake to begin with before you can go in and play the great game. Who knows that I'm not going to try, old fellow, worse men than I have won at it, and as I have not got enough capital from my fathers, I must get some by my wife. That's all. They were walking down Grovesfiner Street as they talked, or rather as Penn talked, in the selfish fullness of his heart, and Mr. Penn must have been too much occupied with his own affairs to remark the concern and agitation of his neighbor before he continued, we are no longer children, you know. You and I, Harry, Bob, the time of our romance has passed away. We don't marry for passion, but for prudence, and for establishment. What do you take your cousin for? Because she is a nice girl and an Earl's daughter, and the old folks wish it, and that sort of thing. And you, Penn Dennis, as a poker, you ain't very fond of the girl, you're going to marry? Penn shrugged his shoulders. Come saw, said he, I like her well enough, she's pretty enough, she's clever enough, I think she'll do very well, and she's got money enough, that's the great point. Pasha, you know who she is, don't you? I thought you were sweet on her yourself one night when we dined with her mama. It's the lamery. Hi, I thought so, Foker said, and has she accepted you? Not quite, Arthur replied with a confident smile, which seemed to say, I have but to ask, and she comes to me that instant. Oh, not quite, said Foker, and he broke out with such a dreadful laugh that Penn, for the first time, turned his thoughts from himself towards his companion, and was struck by the other's ghastly pale face. My dear fellow foe, what's the matter? You're ill, Penn said, in a tone of real concern. You think it was the champagne it caught, or the house, don't you? It ain't that, come in. Let me talk to you for a minute. I'll tell you what it is. Dern did, let me tell somebody, Foker said. They were at Mr. Foker's door by this time, and opening it, Harry walked with his friend into his apartments, which were situated in the back part of the house and behind the family dining room, where the elder, Foker, received his guests, surrounded by pictures of himself, his wife, his infant son on a donkey, and the late Earl of Gravesend in his robes as a peer. Foker and Penn passed by this chamber, now closed with death-like shutters and entered into the young man's own quarters. Dusky streams of sunbeams were playing into that room, and lighting up poor Harry's gallery of dancing girls and opera nymphs with flickering illuminations. Look here, I can't help telling you, Penn, he said ever since the night we dined there, I'm so fond of that girl that I think I shall die. If I don't get her, I feel as if I should go mad sometimes, I can't stand it, Penn. I couldn't bear to hear you talking about her just now about marrying her only because she's money. Ah, Penn, that ain't the question of marrying. I'd bet anything it ain't, talking about money in such a girl as that, it's, what do you call them? You know what I mean? I ain't good at talking sacrilege, then. If she'd have me, I'd take in sweep or crossing that I would. Poor foe, I don't think that would tempt her. Penn said I and his friend were the great deal of real good nature and pity. She is not a girl for love and a cottage. She ought to be a Duchess, I know that very well, and I know she wouldn't take me unless I could make her a great place in the world. For I ain't good for anything myself much. I ain't clever in that sort of thing. Voker said sadly, if I had all the diamonds that all the Duchesses and Marshmusses had on tonight, wouldn't I put them in her lap? But what's the use of talking? I'm booked for another race. It's that kills me, Penn. I can't get out of it. Though I die, I can't get out of it. And though my cousin's a nice girl, and I like her very well and that, yet I hadn't seen this one when our governors settled that matter between us. And when you talked just now about her doing very well and about her having money enough for both of you, I thought to myself it isn't money or mere liking a girl that ought to be enough to make a fellow marry. He may marry and find you like somebody else better, although money in the world won't make you happy then. Look at me, I plenty of money or shall have out of the mash tubs as you call them. My governor thought he made it all right for me in settling my marriage with my cousin. I tell you it won't do. And when Lady Anne has got her husband, he won't be happy for either of us and she'll have the most miserable beggar in town. Poor old fellow, Penn said, with rather a cheap magnanimity, I wish I could help you. I had no idea of this. And that you were so wild about the girl. Do you think she would have you without your money? No. Do you think your father would agree to break off your engagement with your cousin? You know him very well, and that he would cast you off rather than do so. The unhappy folk are only grown to reply, flinging himself prostrate on a sofa, face forwards, his head in his hands. As for my fair pen went on, my dear fellow, if I had thought matters were so critical with you, at least I would not have pained you by choosing you as my confidant. And my business is not serious, at least not as yet. I've not spoken a word about it to Miss Emery. Very likely she would not have me if I asked her. Only I've had a great deal of talk about it with my uncle, who says that the match might be an eligible one for me. I'm ambitious and I'm poor. And it appears Lady Clevering will give her a good deal of money. And so Francis might be got to never mind the rest. Nothing is settled, Harry. They are going out of town directly. I promise you, I won't ask her before she goes. There's no hurry. There's time for everybody. But suppose you got her, Folker. Remember what you said about marriage is just now. And the misery of a man who doesn't care for his wife. And what sort of a wife would you have who didn't care for her husband? But she would care for me, said Folker from his sofa. That is, I think she would last night only as we were dancing. She said, what did she say? Then cried, starting up in great wrath. But he saw his own meaning more clearly than Folker and broke off with a laugh. Will never mind what she said. Harry, Miss Emery is a clever girl and says numbers of civil things to you, to me perhaps, and to the deuce knows to whom besides. Nothing is settled, oh boy. At least my heart won't break if I don't get her. Winner if you can, and I wish you joy of her. Goodbye, don't think about what I said to you. I was excited and confoundedly thirsty in those hot rooms and didn't, I suppose, put enough salts of water into the champagne. Good night, I'll keep your counsel, too. Mom is the word between us, and let there be a fair fight, and let the best man win, as Peter Crawley says. So saying Mr. Arthur Pendennis, giving a very queer and rather dangerous look at his companion, shook him by the hand with something of that sort of cordiality, which befitted his just repeated simile of the boxing match and which Mr. Bendigo displays when he shakes hands with Mr. Gaunt before they fight each other for the champion's belt and 200 pounds aside. Fokker returned his friend Salute with an imploring look and a piteous squeeze of the hand sank back on his Christians again and Pen, putting on his hat, stirred forth into the air and almost over the body of the latitudinal housemaid who was rubbing the steps of the door. And so he once or two does he thought Pen as he marched along and noted within himself with a fatal keenness of perception and almost an infernal mischief that the very pains and tortures which that honest heart of Fokker's was suffering gave a zest and an impetus to his own pursuit of blanche. His pursuit might be called which had been no pursuit as yet but mere sport and idle dallying. She said something to him, did she? Perhaps she gave him the fellow flower to this. And he took out of his coat and twiddled in his thumb and finger a poor little shriveled crumpled bud that had faded and blackened with the heat and flair of the night. I wonder to how many more she has given her artless tokens of affection, the little flirt, and he flung his into the gutter where the water may have refreshed it and where any amateur of rose buds may have picked it up. And then befinking him that the day was quite bright and that the passer's might be staring at his beard and white neckloth, our modest young gentleman took her cab and drove to the temple. Ah, is this the boy that braided his mother's knee but a few years since and for whom very likely at this hour of mourning she is praying. Is this jaded and selfish worldly? The lad who a short while back was ready to fling away his worldly all, his hope, his ambition, his chance of life for his love. This is the man you are proud of. Oh, Pendenis, you boast of having formed him and of having reasoned him out of his absurd romance and folly and groaning in your bed over your pains and rheumatisms, satisfy yourself still by thinking that at last that lad will do something to better himself in life and that the Pendenis's will take a good place in the world and is he the only one who in his progress through this dark life goes willfully or fatally astray whilst the natural truth and love which should illumine him grow dim in the poisoned air and suffice to light him no more. When Pen was gone away poor Harry Boker got up from the sofa and taking out from his waistcoat the splendidly buttoned but the gorgeously embroidered the work of his mama a little white rose but he drew from his dressing case also the maternal present, a pair of scissors with which he nipped carefully the stalk of the flower and placing it in a glass of water opposite his bed he sought refuge there from care and bitter remembrances. It is to be presumed that Ms. Blanche Emery had more than one rose in her bouquet and why should not the kind young creature give out of her superfluity and make as many partners as possible happy. End of chapter 46. Chapter 47 of the history of Pendenis. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. The History of Pendenis by William Makepeace Thackery Chapter 47. Monseigneur Samuse. The exertions of that last night at Gaunt House approved almost too much for a major Pendenis and as soon as he could move his weary old body with safety he transported himself groaning to Buxton and sought relief in the healing waters of that place. Parliament broke up, Sir Francis Clevering and family left town and the affairs which we have just mentioned to the reader were not advanced in the brief interval of a few days or weeks which have occurred between this and the last chapter. The town was however emptied since then. The season was now come to a conclusion. Penn's neighbors, the lawyers were gone upon circuit and his more fashionable friends had taken their passports for the continent or had fled for health or excitement to the Scotch Moors. Scares a man was to be seen in the bow windows of the clubs or on the solitary pale mill pavement. The red jackets had disappeared from before the palace gate. The tradesmen of St. James's were abroad taking their pleasure. The tailors had grown mustaceous and were gone up the Rhine. The bootmakers were at Ems or Bodden blushing when they met their customers at those places of recreation or punting beside their creditors at the gambling tables. The clergymen of St. James's only preached to half a congregation in which there was not a single center of distinction. The band in Kensington Gardens had shut up their instruments of brass and trumpets of silver. Only two or three old flies and chases crawled by the banks of the serpentine and Clarence Bulbel who was retained in town by his arduous duties as a treasury clerk when he took his afternoon ride in Rotten Row, compared its loneliness to the vastness of the Arabian desert and himself to a Bedouin wending his way through that dusty solitude. Warrington stowed away a quantity of Cavendish tobacco in his carpet bag and betook himself as his custom was in the vacation to his brother's house in Norfolk. Penn was left alone in chambers for a while for this man of fashion, could not quit the metropolis when he chose always and was at present detained by the affairs of his newspaper, the Palmel Gazette of which he acted as the editor and charged affair during the temporary absence of the chief, Captain Shandon, who was with his family at the salutary watering place of Boulogne-sur-Mer. Although as we have seen, Mr. Penn had pronounced himself for years past to be a man perfectly blasé and worried of life, yet the truth is that he was an exceedingly healthy young fellow still with a fine appetite which he satisfied with the greatest relish and satisfaction at least once a day and a constant desire for society which showed him to be anything but misanthropical. If he could not get a good dinner, he sat down to a bad one with perfect contentment. If he could not procure the company of woody or great or beautiful persons, he put up with any society that came to hand and was perfectly satisfied in a tavern parlor or on board a Greenwich steamboat or in a jaunt to Hampstead with Mr. Finucane, his colleague at the Palmel Gazette or in a visit to the summer theaters across the river or to the royal gardens of Vlox Hall where he was on terms of friendship with the great Simpson and where he shook the principal comic singer of the lovely equestrian of the arena by the hand. And while he could watch the grimaces or the graces of these with a satiric humor that was not deprived of sympathy, he could look on with an eye of kindness at the lookers on too. At the Roy Street youth bent upon enjoyment and here taking it, at the honest parents with their delighted children, laughing and clapping their hands at the show, at the poor outcasts whose laughter was less innocent, though perhaps louder, and who brought their shame and their youth here to dance and be married till the dawn at least and to get bread and drowned care. Of this sympathy with all conditions of men, Arthur often boasted, said he was pleased to possess it and that he hoped thus to the last he should retain it. As another man has an ardor for ardor music or natural science, Mr. Penn said that anthropology was his favorite pursuit and had his eyes always eagerly open to its infinite varieties and beauties, contemplating with an unfailing delight all specimens of it in all places to which he resorted, whether it was the cokeheading of a wrinkled dowager in a ballroom or a hybrid young beauty blushing in her prime there, whether it was a hawking guardsman coaxing a servant girl in the park or innocent little Tommy that was feeding the ducks whilst the nurse listened. And indeed a man whose heart is pretty clean can indulge in this pursuit with an enjoyment that never ceases and is only perhaps the more keen because it is secret and has a touch of sadness in it because he is of his mood and humor lonely and apart although not alone. Yes, Penn used to brag and talk in his impetuous way to Warrington, I was in love so fiercely in my youth that I have burned out that flame forever I think and if ever I marry it will be a marriage of reason that I will make with a well bred, good tempered, good looking person who has a little money and so forth that will cushion our carriage in its course through life. As for romance, it is all done. I've spent that out and am old before my time. I'm proud of it. Stuff, growled the other. You fancied you were getting bald the other day and bragged about it as you do about everything but you began to use the bear's grease pot directly the hairdresser told you and are scented like a barber ever since. You are the agonies the other answered and you want every man to live in a tub like yourself. Violets smell better than stale tobacco, you grisly old cynic. But Mr. Penn was blushing whilst he made this reply to his unruly, manticle friend and indeed cared a great deal more about himself still than such a philosopher perhaps should have done. Indeed, considering that he was careless about the world Mr. Penn ornamented his person with no small pains in order to make himself agreeable to it and for a weary pilgrim as he was wore very tight boots and bright varnish. It was in this dull season of the year then of a shining Friday night in autumn that Mr. Penn Dennis having completed at his newspaper office a brilliant leading article such as Captain Shandon himself might have written had the captain been in good humor and inclined to work which he never would do except under compulsion that Mr. Arthur Penn Dennis having written his article and reviewed it approvingly as it lay before him in his wet proof sheet at the office of the paper but thought him that he would cross the water and regale himself with the fireworks and other amusements of Vox Hall. So he affably put in his pocket the order which admitted editor of Pelmel Gazette and friend to that place of recreation and paid with the coin of the realm a sufficient sum to enable him to cross Waterloo Bridge. The walk thence to the gardens was pleasant. The stars were shining in the skies above looking down upon the royal property whence the rockets and Roman candles had not yet ascended to outshine the stars. Before you enter the enchanted ground where 20,000 additional lamps are burned every night as usual, most of us have passed through the black and dreary passage and wickets which hide the splendors of Vox Hall from uninitiated men. In the walls of this passage are two holes strongly illuminated in the midst of which you see two gentlemen at desks where they will take either your money as a private individual or your order of admission if you are provided with that passport to the gardens. Penn went to exhibit his ticket at the last named orifice where however a gentleman and two ladies were already in parlay before him. The gentleman whose hat was very much on one side and who wore a short and shabby cloak and an excessively smart manner was crying out in a voice which Penn had once recognized, "'Beddad, sir, if ye doubt me, honor, will ye oblige me by stepping out of that box and lore-capting,' cried the elder lady, "'Don't bother me,' said the man in the box and asked Mr. Hodgin himself, who's in the gardens to let these ladies pass. Don't be frightened, my dear madam. I'm not going to quarrel with this gentleman at any rink before ladies. We go, sir, in desirous Mr. Hodgin, whose order I came in with and he's my most intimate friend. I know he's gone to sing the body snatcher here tonight with Captain Costigan's compliments to step out and let in the ladies for myself. Sir, I've seen Vauxhall and I scrawl run any interference on my account. But for these ladies, one of them has never been there and should thank ye, hardly take advantage of me, Miss Fortune, in losing the ticket to deprive her of her pleasure. It ain't no use, Captain. I can't go about your business, the cheque taker said, on which the captain swore an oath and the elder lady said, Lord, I'll provoke him. As for the young one, she looked up at the captain and said, never mind, Captain Costigan, I'm sure I don't want to go at all. Come away, mama. And with this, although she did not want to go at all, her feelings overcame her and she began to cry. Me poor child, the captain said, can ye see that, sir? And will ye not let this innocent creature in? It ain't my business, cried the doorkeeper, peevishly, out of the illuminated box. And at this minute, Arthur came up and recognizing Costigan said, don't you know me, Captain? Pendennis, and he took off his hat and made a bow to the two ladies. Me dear boy, me dear friend, cried the captain extending towards Pendennis the grasp of friendship. And he rapidly explained to the other what he called a most unlucky con-thra-tong. He had an order for Vauxhall admitting to, from Mr. Hodgin, then within the gardens and singing as he did at the back kitchen and the nobility's concerts, the body's snatcher, the death of General Wolfe, the banner of blood and other favorite melodies. And having this order for the admission of two persons, he thought that it would admit three and had come accordingly to the gardens with his friends. But on his way, Captain Costigan had lost the paper of admission. It was not forthcoming at all, and the ladies must go back again to the great disappointment of one of them as Pendennis saw. Arthur had a great deal of good nature for everybody and sympathized with the misfortunes of all sorts of people. How could he refuse his sympathy in such a case as this? He had seen the innocent face as it looked up to the captain, the appealing look of the girl, the piteous quiver of the mouth, and the final outburst of tears. If it had been his last guinea in the world, he must have paid it to have given the poor little thing pleasure. She turned the sad imploring eyes away directly. They lighted upon a stranger and began to wipe them with her handkerchief. Arthur looked very handsome and kind as he stood before the women with his hat off, blushing, bowing, generous, a gentleman. Who are they? he asked of himself. He thought he had seen the elder lady before. If I can be of any service to you, Captain Costigan, the young man said, I hope you will command me. Is there any difficulty about taking these ladies into the garden? Will you kindly make use of my purse? And, and I have a ticket myself, which we'll admit to. I hope, ma'am, you will permit me. The first impulse of the Prince of Fair Oaks was to pay for the whole party and to make a way with his newspaper order as poor Costigan had done with his own ticket. But his instinct and the appearance of the two women told him that they would be better pleased if he did not give himself the heirs of a grand senior. And he handed his purse to Costigan and laughingly pulled out his ticket with one hand as he offered the other to the elder of the ladies. Ladies was not the word. They had bonnets and shawls and collars and ribbons and the youngest showed a pretty little foot and boot under a modest gray gown. But his highness of Fair Oaks was courteous to every person who wore a petticoat, whatever its texture was, and the humbler the wearer, only the more stately and polite in his demeanor. Fanny, take the gentleman's arm, the elder said, since you will be so very kind, I've seen you often come in at our gate, sir, and go into Captain Strong's at number three. Fanny made a little curtsy and put her hand under Arthur's arm. It had on a shabby little glove, but it was pretty and small. She was not a child, but she was scarcely a woman as yet. Her tears had dried up and her cheek mantled with youthful blushes and her eyes glistened with pleasure and gratitude as she looked up into Arthur's kind face. Arthur, in a protecting way, put his other hand upon the little one resting on his arm. Fanny's a very pretty little name, he said, and so you know me, do you? We keep the lodge, sir, at Shepherd's Inn. Fanny said with a curtsy, and I've never been at Vauxhall, sir, but Pa didn't like me to go, and oh, oh, law, how beautiful. She shrank back as she spoke, starting with wonder, and delighted as she saw the royal garden's blaze before her with a hundred million of lamps with a splendor such as the finest fairy tale, the finest pantomime she had ever witnessed at the theater had never realized. Penn was pleased with her pleasure and pressed to his side the little hand which clung so kindly to him. What would I not give for a little of this pleasure, said the blaze, young man? Your purse, Pendenis, my dear boy, said the captain's voice behind him. Will ye count it? It's all right. No, ye thrust in old Jack Costigan. He thrusts me, you see, madam. He'd been me preserver, Penn. I've known him since childhood, Mrs. Bolton. He's the proprietor of Fair Oaks Castle, and then he's the Cooper of Clark. I've defrunked there with the first nobility of his native county. Mr. Pendenis, he'd been me preserver, and of thank ye. Me, doctor, will thank ye. Mr. Simpson, your humble servant, sir. If Penn was magnificent in his courtesy to the ladies, what was his splendor in comparison to Captain Costigan's bowing here and there and crying bravo to the singers? A man descended like Costigan from a long line of hibernian kings, chieftains, and other magnets, and sheriffs of the county had, of course, too much dignity and self-respect to walk in arm, as the captain phrased it, with a lady who occasionally swept his room out and cooked his mutton chops. In the course of their journey from shepherd's into Vox Hall Gardens, Captain Costigan had walked by the side of the two ladies in a patronizing and affable manner, pointing out to them the edifice is worthy of note and his scores sing according to his want about other cities and countries which he had visited and the people of rank and fashion with whom he had the honor of an acquaintance. Nor could it be expected, nor indeed did Mrs. Bolton expect that arrived in the royal property and strongly illuminated by the flair of the 20,000 additional lamps, the captain could relax from his dignity and give an arm to a lady who was, in fact, little better than a housekeeper or charwoman. But then, on his part, had no such scruples, Miss Fanny Bolton did not make his bed nor sweep his chambers, and he did not choose to let go his pretty little partner. As for Fanny, her color heightened and her bright eyes shone the brighter with pleasure as she leaned for protection on the arm of such a fine gentleman as Mr. Penn, and she looked at numbers of other ladies in the place and at scores of other gentlemen under whose protection they were walking here and there, and she thought that her gentleman was handsomer and grander looking than any other gent in the place. Of course, there were votaries of pleasure of all ranks there, Reiki young surgeons, fast young clerks and commercialists, occasional dandies of the guard regiments and the rest. Old Lord Colt-Tucum was there in attendance upon Mademoiselle Caroline, who had been writing in the ring and who talked to her native French very loud and used idiomatic expressions of exceeding strength as she walked about, leaning on the arm of his lordship. Colt-Tucum was in attendance upon Mademoiselle, Kyren Dean, little Tom Tufton was in attendance upon Lord Colt-Tucum, and rather pleased too with his position. When Don Juan scales the wall, there's never a want of a laporello to hold the ladder. Tom Tufton was quite happy to act as friend to the elderly by count and to carve the foul and to make the salad at supper. When Penn and his young lady met the by counts party, that noble poor only gave Arthur a passing leer of recognition as his lordship's eyes passed from Penn's face under the bonnet of Penn's companion. But Tom Tufton wagged his head very good naturedly at Mr. Arthur and said, how are you, oh boy? And looked extremely knowing at the godfather of this history. That is the great writer at Astley's. I have seen her there, Miss Bolton said, looking after Mademoiselle Caroline, and who is that old man? Is it not the gentleman in the ring? That is Lord Viscount Colt-Tucum, Miss Fanny, said Penn with an air of protection. He meant no harm. He was pleased to patronize the young girl, and he was not displeased that she should be so pretty and that she should be hanging upon his arm and that yonder elderly Don Juan should have seen her there. Fanny was very pretty. Her eyes were dark and brilliant. Her teeth were like little pearls. Her mouth was almost as red as Mademoiselle Caroline's when the latter had put on her vermilion. And what a difference there was between the one's voice and the others, between the girl's laugh and the woman's. It was only very lately indeed that Fanny, when looking in the little glass over the bow's caustic and mantelpiece, as she was dusting it, had begun to suspect it. She was a beauty. But a year ago, she was a clumsy gawky girl at whom her father sneered and of whom the girls at the day school, Miss Minifers, Newcastle Street strand Miss M, the younger sister, took the leading business at the Norwich Circuit in 1820-something. And she herself had played for two sessions with some credit, T-R-E-O-T-R-S-W, until she fell down a trapdoor and broke her leg. The girls at Fanny's school, we say, took no account of her and thought her a dowdy little creature as long as she remained under Miss Minifers' instruction. And it was unremarked and almost unseen in the porter's dark lodge of shepherd's inn that this little flower bloomed into beauty. So this young person hung upon Mr. Penn's arm and they paced the gardens together. Empty as London was, there were still some two millions of people left lingering about it, and amongst them one or two of the acquaintances of Mr. Arthur Penn Dennis. Amongst them, silent and alone, pale with his hands in his pockets and a rueful nod of the head to Arthur as they met, past Henry Foker Esquire. Young Henry was trying to ease his mind by moving from place to place and from excitement to excitement, but he thought about Blanche as he sauntered in the dark walks. He thought about Blanche as he looked at the devices of the lamps. He consulted the fortune teller about her and was disappointed when that gypsy told him that he was in love with a dark lady who would make him happy. And at the concert, though, Mr. Momus sang his most stunning comic songs and asked his most astonishing riddles, never did a kind smile come to visit Foker's lips. In fact, he never heard Mr. Momus at all. Penn and Miss Bolton were hard by listening to the same concert and the latter remarked and Penn laughed that Mr. Foker's will be gone face. Fanny asked what it was that made that odd-looking little man so dismal. I think he is crossed in love. Penn said, isn't that enough to make any man dismal, Fanny? And he looked down at her, splendidly protecting her, like Egmont at Clare and Gertis Play or Lester at Amy in Scott's novel. Crossed in love, is he? Poor gentleman, said Fanny with a sigh and her eyes turned round towards him with no little kindness and pity, but here he did not see the beautiful dark eyes. How do you do, Mr. Pendennis? A voice broke in here. It was that of a young man in a large white coat with a red netcloth over which a dingy shirt collar was turned so as to exhibit a dubious neck with a large pin of bullion or other metal and an imaginative waistcoat with exceedingly fanciful glass buttons and trousers that cried with a loud voice. Come look at me and see how cheap and tawdry I am. My master, what a dirty buck and a little stick in one pocket of his coat and a lady in pink satin on the other arm. How do you do? Forgive me, I dare say. Huxter, clevering. How do you do, Mr. Huxter? The Prince of Fair Oaks said in his most princely manner. I hope you are very well. Pretty, bobbyish, thank you. And Mr. Huxter wagged his head. I say, Pendennis, you've been coming yet uncommon strong since we had the row. I'd wop shots, don't you remember? Great author, hey, go about with the swells. Saw your name in the morning post. I suppose you're too much of a swell to come and have a bit of supper with an old friend. Charter House Lane, tomorrow night, some devilish goodfellas from Bartholomew's and some stunning gin punch. Here's my card. And with this, Mr. Huxter released his hand from the pocket where his cane was and pulling off the top of his card case with his teeth, produced thence a visiting ticket, which he handed to Pend. You are exceedingly kind, I'm sure, said Pend, but I regret that I have an engagement which will take me out of town tomorrow night. And the mark was of Fair Oaks wondering that such a creature as this could have the audacity to give him a card, put Mr. Huxter's card into his waistcoat pocket without lofty courtesy. Possibly, Mr. Samuel Huxter was not aware that there was any great social difference between Mr. Arthur Pendennis and himself. Mr. Huxter's father was a surgeon and apothecary at Clavering just as Mr. Pendennis's papa had been a surgeon and apothecary a bath, but the impedance of some men is beyond all calculation. Well, old fellow, never mind, said Mr. Huxter, who always frank and familiar was, from Binus' excitement, even more affable than usual. If ever you are passing, look up our place. I'm mostly at home Saturdays, and there's generally a cheese cupboard. Ta-ta, there's the bell for the fireworks ringing. Come along, Mary, and he set off running with the rest of the crowd in the direction of the fireworks. So did Penn, presently, when this agreeable youth was out of sight, begin to run with his little companion, Mrs. Bolton, following after them with Captain Costigan at her side. But the captain was too majestic and dignified in his movements to run for a friend or enemy, and he pursued his course with the usual jaunty swagger, which distinguished his steps so that he and his companion were speedily distanced by Penn and Miss Fanny. Perhaps Arthur forgot, or perhaps he did not choose to remember that the elder couple had no money in their pockets, as had been proved by their adventure at the entrance of the gardens. Albeit Penn paid a couple of shillings for himself and his partner, and with her hanging close on his arm, scaled the staircase, which leads to the fireworks gallery. The captain and Mama might have followed them if they liked, but Arthur and Fanny were too busy to look back. People were pushing and squeezing there beside and behind them. One eager individual rushed by Fanny and elbowed her so that she fell back with a little cry, upon which, of course, Arthur caught her adroitly in his arms, and just for protection, kept her so defended until they mounted the stair and took their places. Poor Voker sat alone on one of the highest benches, his face illuminated by the fireworks or in their absence by the moon. Arthur saw him and laughed, but did not occupy himself about his friend much. He was engaged with Fanny. How she wondered how happy she was, how she cried, oh, oh, oh, as the rocket soared into the air and showered down in Azure and Emerald and Vermilion. As these wonders blazed and disappeared before her, the little girl thrilled and trembled with delight at Arthur's side. Her hand was under his arm still. He felt it pressing him as she looked up delighted. How beautiful they are, sir, she cried. Don't call me, sir, Fanny, Arthur said. A quick blush rushed up into the girl's face. What shall I call you, she said, in a low voice, sweet and tremulous. What would you wish me to say, sir? Again, Fanny, well, I forgot. It is best, sir, my dear, Pandena said, very kindly and gently, I may call you Fanny. Oh, yes, she said, and the little hand pressed his arm once more very eagerly, and the girl clung to him so that he could feel her heart beating on his shoulder. I may call you Fanny because you are a young girl and a good girl, Fanny, and I am an old gentleman. But you mustn't call me anything but, sir, or Mr. Pandenas, if you like, for we live in very different stations, Fanny, and don't think I speak unkindly. And why do you take your hand away, Fanny? Are you afraid of me? Do you think I would hurt you? Not for all the world, my dear little girl. And look how beautiful the moon and stars are, and how calmly they shine when the rockets have gone out, and the noisy wheels have done hissing and blazing. When I came here tonight, I did not think I should have had such a pretty little companion to sit by my side and see these fine fireworks. You must know I live by myself and work very hard. I write in books and newspapers, Fanny, and I'm quite tired out, and was expected to sit alone all night, and don't cry, my dear, dear little girl. Here, Penn broke out, rapidly putting an end to the calm oration which he had begun to deliver, for the sight of a woman's tears always put his nerves in a quiver, and he began forthwith to coax her and soothe her, and to utter 120 little ejaculations of pity and sympathy which need not be repeated here, because it would be absurd in print. So would a mother's talk to a child be absurd in print, so would a lover's to his bride. That sweet, artless poetry bears no translation, and is too subtle for grammarians, clumsy definitions. You have but the same four letters to describe the salute which you perform on your grandmother's forehead, and that which you bestow on the sacred cheek of your mistress, but the same four letters and not one of them a labial. Do we mean to hint that are? Arthur Pandemis made any use of the mala syllable in question? Not so. In the first place it was dark. The fireworks were over, and nobody could see him. Secondly, he was not a man to have this kind of secret intellect. Thirdly and lastly, let the honest fellow who has kissed a pretty girl say what would have been his own conduct in such a delicate juncture. Well, the truth is that however you may suspect him, and whatever you would have done under the circumstances, or Mr. Penn would have liked to do, he behaved honestly and like a man. I will not play with this little girl's heart, he said within himself, and forget my own or her honor, she seems to have a great deal of dangerous and rather contagious sensibility. And I'm very glad the fireworks are over and that I can take her back to her mother. Come along, Fanny, mind the steps and lean on me. Don't stumble, you heedless little thing. This is the way, and there's your mama at the door. And there indeed Mrs. Bolton was, unquiet in spirit and grasping her umbrella. She sees Fanny with maternal fierceness and eagerness and uttered some rapid abuse to the girl in an undertone. The expression of Captain Costigan's eye, standing behind the matron and winking at pendentness from under his hat, was, I'm bound to say, indefinably humorous. It was so much so that Penn could not refrain from bursting into a laugh. You should have taken my arm, Mrs. Bolton, he said, offering it. I'm very glad to bring Ms. Fanny back quite safe to you. We thought you would have followed us up into the gallery. We enjoyed the fireworks, didn't we? Oh yes, said Ms. Fanny with rather a demure look. And the bouquet was magnificent, said Penn. And it is 10 hours since I had anything to eat, ladies, and I wish you would permit me to invite you to supper. Dad, said Costigan, I'd like a snack too, only I forgot the purse, or I should have invited these ladies to a collection. Mrs. Bolton with considerable asperity said, she had an headache and would much rather go home. A lot to salad is the best thing in the world for a headache, Penn said gallantly, and a glass of wine, I'm sure will do you good. Come, Mrs. Bolton, be kind to me and oblige me. I shan't have the heart to supper without you, and upon my word, I've had no dinner. Give me your arm, give me the umbrella. Costigan, I'm sure you'll take care of Ms. Fanny, and I shall think Mrs. Bolton angry with me, unless she will favor me with her society. And we will all step quietly and go back in your cab together. The cab, the lobster salad, the frank and good-humored look of Penn Dennis, as he smilingly invited the worthy matron, subdued her suspicions and her anger. Since he would be so obliging, she thought she could take a little bit of lobster, and so they all marched away to a box. And Costigan called for a weather with such a loud and belligerent voice as caused one of those officials instantly to run to him. The cart was examined on the wall, and Fanny was asked to choose her favorite dish, upon which the young creature said she was fond of lobster too, but also owned to a partiality for raspberry tart. This delicacy was provided by Penn, and a bottle of the most frisky champagne was moreover ordered for the delight of the ladies. Little Fanny drank this, what other sweet intoxication had she not drunk in the course of the night? When the supper, which was very brisk and gay, was over, and Captain Costigan and Mrs. Bolton had partaken of some of the rack punch that is so fragrant at Vox Hall, the bill was called and discharged by Penn with great generosity. Like a fine young English gentleman of the olden time, B. Joe, Costigan enthusiastically remarked, and as when they went out of the box, he stepped forward and gave Mrs. Bolton his arm, Fanny fell to Penn's lot, and the young people walked away in high good humor together in the wake of their seniors. The champagne and the rack punch they're taken in moderation by all persons, except perhaps poor costs, who lurched ever so little in his gate, had set them in high spirits in good humor so that Fanny began to skip and move her brisk little feet in time to the band, which was playing waltzes and gallops for the dancers. As they came up to the dancing, the music and Fanny's feet seemed to go quicker together. She seemed to spring as if naturally from the ground, as if she required repression to keep her there. Shouldn't you like her turn? Said the Prince of Fair Oaks. What fun it would be. Mrs. Bolton, ma'am, do let me take her once round, upon which Mr. Costigan said, "'Off with you,' and Mrs. Bolton not refusing. Indeed, she was an old warhorse and would have liked that the trumpet sound to have entered the arena herself. Fanny, Shaw was off for back in a minute, and she and Arthur were whirling round in a waltz in the midst of a great deal of queer but exceedingly joyful company. Penn had no mishap this time with little Fanny, as he had with Miss Blanche in old days. At least there was no mishap of his making. The pair danced away with great agility and contentment, first a waltz, then a gallop, then a waltz again, until in the second waltz they were bumped by another couple who had joined the Terpsichore Enquirer. This was Mr. Huckster and his pink satin young friend of whom we have already had a glimpse. Mr. Huckster very probably had been also partaking of supper, for he was even more excited now than at the time when he had previously claimed Penn's acquaintance. And having run against Arthur and his partner and nearly knocked them down, the same evil gentleman, of course, began to abuse the people whom he had injured and broke out into a volley of slang against the unoffending couple. Now then, stupid, don't keep the ground if you can't dance, oh slow coach, the young surgeon Rorda, using at the same time other expressions for more emphatic, and was joined in his abuse by the shrill language and laughter of his partner to the interruption of the ball, the terror of poor little Fanny, and the immense indignation of Penn. Arthur was furious and not so angry at the quarrel as at the shame attending it. A battle with a fellow like that, a row in a public garden and with a porter's daughter on his arm, would a position for Arthur Penn Dennis. He drew poor little Fanny hastily away from the dancers to her mother and wished that Lee and Costigan and poor Fanny underground, rather than there in his companionship and under his protection. When Huckster commenced his attack, that free-spoken young gentleman had not seen who was his opponent. And directly he was aware that it was Arthur whom he had insulted. He began to make apologies. Hold your stupid tongue, Mary, he said to his partner. It's an old friend and crony at home. I beg pardon, Penn Dennis, wasn't it where it was you, old boy? Mr. Huckster had been one of the boys of the Clevering School who had been present at a combat which has been mentioned in the early part of this story when young Penn knocked down the biggest champion of the academy. And Huckster knew that it was dangerous to quarrel with Arthur. His apologies were as odious to the other as his abuse had been. Penn stopped his tipsy remonstrance by telling him to hold his tongue and desiring him not to use his Penn Dennis's name in that place or any other. And he walked out of the gardens with a titter behind him from the crowd, every one of whom he would have liked to massacre for having been witness to the degrading broil. He walked out of the gardens quite forgetting poor little Fanny who came trembling behind him with her mother and the stately costigan. He was brought back to himself by a word from the captain who touched him on the shoulder just as they were passing the inner gate. There's no ray admittance except he paid again, the captain said. Hadn't I better go back and take the fellow your message? Penn burst out laughing, take him a message. Do you think I would fight with such a fellow as that? He asked. No, no, don't, don't cry it out, little Fanny. How can you be so wicked, Captain Costigan? The captain muttered something about honor and winked knowingly at Penn. But Arthur said gallantly, no, Fanny, don't be frightened. It was my fault to have danced in such a place. I beg your pardon to have asked you to dance there. And he gave her his arm once more and called the cab and put his three friends into it. He was about to pay the driver and to take another carriage for himself when little Fanny, still alarmed, put her little hand out and caught him by the coat and implored him and besought him to come in. Will nothing satisfy you, said Penn, in great good humor, that I am not going back to fight him? Well, I will come home with you. Drive to Shepherd's Inn, cab. The cab drove to its destination. Arthur was immensely pleased by the girls' solicitude about him. Her tender tears quite made him forget his previous annoyance. Penn put the ladies into their lodge, having shaken hands kindly with both of them and the captain again whispered to him that he would see him in the morning if he was inclined and take his message to that scoundrel. But the captain was in his usual condition when he made the proposal and Penn was perfectly sure that neither he nor Mr. Huxter, when they awoke, would remember anything about the dispute. End of chapter 47.