CHAPTER VII.
MISS AMORY'S PARTNERS.
The noble Henry Foker, of whom we have lost sight for a few pages, hasbeen in the mean while occupied, as we might suppose a man of hisconstancy would be, in the pursuit and indulgence of his all-absorbingpassion of love.
I wish that a few of my youthful readers who are inclined to thatamusement would take the trouble to calculate the time which is spentin the pursuit, when they would find it to be one of the most costlyoccupations in which a man can possibly indulge. What don't yousacrifice to it, indeed, young gentlemen and young ladies ofill-regulated minds? Many hours of your precious sleep, in the firstplace, in which you lie tossing and thinking about the adored object,whence you come down late to breakfast, when noon is advancing, andall the family is long since away to its daily occupations. Then whenyou at length get to these occupations you pay no attention to them,and engage in them with no ardor, all your thoughts and powers of mindbeing fixed elsewhere. Then the day's work being slurred over, youneglect your friends and relatives, your natural companions and usualassociates in life, that you may go and have a glance at the dearpersonage, or a look up at her windows, or a peep at her carriage inthe Park. Then at night the artless blandishments of home bore you;mamma's conversation palls upon you; the dishes which that good soulprepares for the dinner of her favorite are sent away untasted, thewhole meal of life, indeed, except one particular _plat_, has norelish. Life, business, family ties, home, all things useful and dearonce become intolerable, and you are never easy except when you are inpursuit of your flame.
Such I believe to be not unfrequently the state of mind amongill-regulated young gentlemen, and such, indeed, was Mr. H. Foker'scondition, who, having been bred up to indulge in every propensitytoward which he was inclined, abandoned himself to this one with hisusual selfish enthusiasm. Nor because he had given his friend ArthurPendennis a great deal of good advice on a former occasion, need menof the world wonder that Mr. Foker became passion's slave in his turn.Who among us has not given a plenty of the very best advice to hisfriends? Who has not preached, and who has practiced? To be sure, you,madam, are perhaps a perfect being, and never had a wrong thought inthe whole course of your frigid and irreproachable existence: or you,sir, are a great deal too strong-minded to allow any foolish passionto interfere with your equanimity in chambers or your attendance on'Change; you are so strong that you don't want any sympathy. We don'tgive you any, then; we keep ours for the humble and weak, thatstruggle and stumble and get up again, and so march with the rest ofmortals. What need have _you_ of a hand who never fall? Your serenevirtue is never shaded by passion, or ruffled by temptation, ordarkened by remorse; compassion would be impertinence for such anangel: but then, with such a one companionship becomes intolerable;you are, from the very elevation of your virtue and high attributes,of necessity lonely; we can't reach up and talk familiarly with suchpotentates. Good-by, then; our way lies with humble folks, and notwith serene highnesses like you; and we give notice that there are noperfect characters in this history, except, perhaps, one little one,and that one is not perfect either, for she never knows to this daythat she is perfect, and with a deplorable misapprehension andperverseness of humility, believes herself to be as great a sinneras need be.
This young person does not happen to be in London at the presentperiod of our story, and it is by no means for the like of her thatMr. Henry Foker's mind is agitated. But what matters a 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 mostvapid, the greatest criminal, tyrant, booby, Bluebeard, CatherineHayes, George Barnwell, among us, we need never despair. I have readof the passion of a transported pickpocket for a female convict (eachof them being advanced in age, repulsive in person, ignorant,quarrelsome, and given to drink), that was as magnificent as the lovesof Cleopatra and Antony, or Lancelot and Guinever. The passion whichCount Borulawski, the Polish dwarf, inspired in the bosom of the mostbeautiful baroness at the court of Dresden, is a matter with which weare all of us acquainted: the flame which burned in the heart of youngCornet Tozer but the other day, and caused him to run off and espouseMrs. Battersby, who was old enough to be his mamma; all theseinstances are told in the page of history or the newspaper column. Arewe to be ashamed or pleased to think that our hearts are formed sothat the biggest and highest-placed Ajax among us may some day findhimself prostrate before the pattens of his kitchen-maid; as thatthere is no poverty or shame or crime, which will not be supported,hugged, even with delight, and cherished more closely than virtuewould be, by the perverse fidelity and admirable constant folly ofa woman?
So then Henry Foker, Esquire, longed after his love, and cursed thefate which separated him from her. When Lord Gravesend's familyretired to the country (his lordship leaving his proxy with thevenerable Lord Bagwig), Harry still remained lingering on in London,certainly not much to the sorrow of Lady Ann, to whom he wasaffianced, and who did not in the least miss him. Wherever MissClavering went, this infatuated young fellow continued to follow her;and being aware that his engagement to his cousin was known in theworld, he was forced to make a mystery of his passion, and confine itto 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 stormysecret, and perish collapsed after the outburst.
There had been a grand entertainment at Gaunt House on one beautifulevening in June, and the next day's journals contained almost twocolumns of the names of the most closely-printed nobility and gentrywho had been honored with invitations to the ball. Among the guestswere Sir Francis and Lady Clavering and Miss Amory, for whom theindefatigable Major Pendennis had procured an invitation, and our twoyoung friends Arthur and Harry. Each exerted himself, and danced agreat deal with Miss Blanche. As for the worthy major, he assumed thecharge of Lady Clavering, and took care to introduce her to thatdepartment of the mansion where her ladyship specially distinguishedherself, namely, the refreshment-room, where, among pictures of Titianand Giorgione, and regal portraits of Vandyke and Reynolds, andenormous salvers of gold and silver, and pyramids of large flowers,and constellations of wax candles--in a manner perfectly regardless ofexpense, in a word--a supper was going on all night. Of how manycreams, jellies, salads, peaches, white soups, grapes, pates,galantines, cups of tea, champagne, and so forth, Lady Claveringpartook, it does not become us to say. How much the major suffered ashe followed the honest woman about, calling to the solemn maleattendants, and lovely servant-maids, and administering to LadyClavering's various wants with admirable patience, nobody knows; henever confessed. He never allowed his agony to appear on hiscountenance in the least; but with a constant kindness brought plateafter plate to the Begum.
Mr. Wagg counted up all the dishes of which Lady Clavering partook aslong as he could count (but as he partook very freely himself ofChampagne during the evening, his powers of calculation were not to betrusted at the close of the entertainment), and he recommended Mr.Honeyman, Lady Steyne's medical man, to look carefully after theBegum, and to call and get news of her ladyship the next day.
Sir Francis Clavering made his appearance, and skulked for a whileabout the magnificent rooms; but the company and the splendor which hemet there were not to the baronet's taste, and after tossing off atumbler of wine or two at the buffet, he quitted Gaunt House for theneighborhood of Jermyn-street, where his friends Loder, Punter, littleMoss Abrams, and Captain Skewball were assembled at the familiar greentable. In the rattle of the box, and of their agreeable conversation,Sir Francis's spirits rose to their accustomed point offeeble hilarity.
Mr. Pynsent, who had asked Miss Amory to dance, came up on oneoccasion to claim her hand, but scowls of recognition having alreadypassed between him and Mr. Arthur Pendennis in the dancing-room,Arthur suddenly rose up and claimed Miss Amory as his partner for thepresent dance, on which Mr. Pynsent, biting his lips and scowling yetmore savagely
, withdrew with a profound bow, saying that he gave uphis claim. There are some men who are always falling in one's way inlife. Pynsent and Pen had this view of each other, and regarded eachother accordingly.
"What a confounded, conceited provincial fool that is!" thought theone. "Because he has written a twopenny novel, his absurd head isturned, and a kicking would take his conceit out of him."
"What an impertinent idiot that man is!" remarked the other to hispartner. "His soul is in Downing-street; his neckcloth is foolscap;his hair is sand; his legs are rulers; his vitals are tape andsealing-wax; he was a prig in his cradle; and never laughed since hewas born, except three times at the same joke of his chief. I have thesame liking for that man, Miss Amory, that I have for cold boiledveal." Upon which Blanche of course remarked, that Mr. Pendennis waswicked, _mechant_, perfectly abominable, and wondered what he wouldsay when _her_ back was turned.
"Say!--Say that you have the most beautiful figure and the slimmestwaist 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 her partner's face.
"One falls and one gets up again in life, Blanche; you know I used tocall you so in old times, and it is the prettiest name in the world:besides, I have practiced since then."
"And with a great number of partners, I'm afraid," Blanche said, witha little sham sigh, and a shrug of the shoulders. And so in truth Mr.Pen had practiced a good deal in this life; and had undoubtedlyarrived at being able to dance better.
If Pendennis was impertinent in his talk, Foker, on the other hand, sobland and communicative on most occasions, was entirely mum andmelancholy when he danced with Miss Amory. To clasp her slender waistwas a rapture, to whirl round the room with her was a delirium; but tospeak to her, what could he say that was worthy of her? What pearl ofconversation could he bring that was fit for the acceptance of such aqueen of love and wit as Blanche? It was she who made the talk whenshe was in the company of this love-stricken partner. It was she whoasked him how that dear little pony was, and looked at him and thankedhim with such a tender kindness and regret, and refused the dearlittle pony with such a delicate sigh when he offered it. "I havenobody to ride with in London," she said. "Mamma is timid, and herfigure is not pretty on horseback. Sir Francis never goes out with me,He loves me like--like a step-daughter. Oh, how delightful it must beto 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 justbefore assumed, Blanche's gray eyes gazed at Foker with such an archtwinkle, that both of them burst out laughing, and Harry, enrapturedand at his ease, began to entertain her with a variety of innocentprattle--good, kind, simple, Foker talk, flavored with manyexpressions by no means to be discovered in dictionaries, and relatingto the personal history of himself or horses, or other things dear andimportant to him, or to persons in the ball-room then passing beforethem, and about whose appearance or character Mr. Harry spoke withartless freedom, and a considerable dash of humor.
And it was Blanche who, when the conversation flagged, and the youth'smodesty came rushing back and overpowering him, knew how to reanimateher companion: asked him questions about Logwood, and whether it was apretty place? Whether he was a hunting-man, and whether he liked womento hunt? (in which case she was prepared to say that she adoredhunting)--but Mr. Foker expressing his opinion against sportingfemales, and pointing out Lady Bullfinch, who happened to pass by, asa horse god-mother, whom he had seen at cover with a cigar in herface, Blanche too expressed her detestation of the sports of thefield, and said it would make her shudder to think of a dear, sweetlittle fox being killed, on which Foker danced and waltzed withrenewed vigor and grace.
At the end of the waltz--the last waltz they 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 Erith she hadmet, and which of his cousins was his favorite? Was it not Lady Ann?Yes, she was sure it was she: sure by his looks and his blushes. Shewas tired of dancing; it was getting very late; she must go to mamma;and, without another word, she sprang away from Harry Foker's arm, andseized upon Pen's, who was swaggering about the dancing-room, andagain said, "Mamma, mamma!--take me to mamma, dear Mr. Pendennis!"transfixing Harry with a Parthian shot, as she fled from him.
My Lord Steyne, with garter and ribbon, with a bald head and shiningeyes, and a collar of red whiskers round his face, always looked grandupon an occasion of state; and made a great effect upon LadyClavering, when he introduced himself to her at the request of theobsequious Major Pendennis. With his own white and royal hand, hehanded to her ladyship a glass of wine, said he had heard of hercharming daughter, and begged to be presented to her; and, at thisvery juncture, Mr. Arthur Pendennis came up with the young lady onhis arm.
The peer made a profound bow, and Blanche the deepest courtesy thatever was seen. His lordship gave Mr. Arthur Pendennis his hand toshake; said he had read his book, which was very wicked and clever;asked Miss Blanche if she had read it, at which Pen blushed andwinced. Why, Blanche was one of the heroines of the novel. Blanche, inblack ringlets and a little altered, was the Neaera of Walter Lorraine.
Blanche had read it; the language of the eyes expressed her admirationand rapture at the performance. This little play being achieved, theMarquis of Steyne made other two profound bows to Lady Clavering andher daughter, and passed on to some other of his guests at thesplendid entertainment.
Mamma and daughter were loud in their expression of admiration of thenoble marquis so soon as his broad back was turned upon them. "He saidthey make a very nice couple," whispered Major Pendennis to LadyClavering. Did he now, really? Mamma thought they would; Mamma was soflustered with the honor which had just been shown to her, and withother intoxicating events of the evening, that her good humor knew nobounds. She laughed, she winked, and nodded knowingly at Pen; shetapped him on the arm with her fan; she tapped Blanche; she tapped themajor; her contentment was boundless; and her method of showing herjoy equally expansive.
As the party went down the great staircase of Gaunt House, the morninghad risen stark and clear over the black trees of the square, theskies were tinged with pink; and the cheeks of some of the people atthe ball--ah, how ghastly they looked! That admirable and devotedmajor above all--who had been for hours by Lady Clavering's side,ministering to her and feeding her body with every thing that wasnice, and her ear with every thing that was sweet and flattering--oh!what an object he was! The rings round his eyes were of the color ofbistre; those orbs themselves were like the plovers' eggs whereof LadyClavering and Blanche had each tasted; the wrinkles in his old facewere furrowed in deep gashes; and a silver stubble, like an elderlymorning dew, was glittering on his chin, and alongside the dyedwhiskers, now limp and out of curl.
There he stood, with admirable patience, enduring uncomplainingly, asilent agony; knowing that people could see the state of his face (forcould he not himself perceive the condition of others, males andfemales, of his own age?)--longing to go to rest for hours past; awarethat suppers disagreed with him, and yet having eaten a little so asto keep his friend, Lady Clavering, in good humor; with twinges ofrheumatism in the back and knees; with weary feet burning in hisvarnished boots; so tired, oh, so tired, and longing for bed! If aman, struggling with hardship and bravely overcoming it, is an objectof admiration for the gods, that Power in whose chapels the old majorwas a faithful worshiper must have looked upward approvingly upon theconstancy of Pendennis's martyrdom. There are sufferers in that causeas in the other; the negroes in the service of Mumbo Jumbo tattoo anddrill themselves with burning skewers with great fortitude; and weread that the priests in the service of Baal gashed themselves andbled 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 bestthing they know.
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nbsp; The Pendennises, the elder and the younger, waited with Lady Claveringand her daughter until her ladyship's carriage was announced, when theelder's martyrdom may be said to have come to an end, for thegood-natured Begum insisted upon leaving him at his door inBury-street; so he took the back seat of the carriage, after a feeblebow or two, and speech of thanks, polite to the last, and resolute indoing his duty. The Begum waved her dumpy little hand by way offarewell to Arthur and Foker, and Blanche smiled languidly out uponthe young men, thinking whether she looked very wan and green underher rose-colored hood, and whether it was the mirrors at Gaunt House,or the fatigue and fever of her own eyes, which made her fancyherself so pale.
Arthur, perhaps, saw quite well how yellow Blanche looked, but did notattribute that peculiarity of her complexion to the effect of thelooking-glasses, or to any error in his sight or her own. Our youngman of the world could use his eyes very keenly, and could seeBlanche's face pretty much as nature had made it. But for poor Fokerit had a radiance which dazzled and blinded him: he could see nomore faults in it than in the sun, which was now flaring over thehouse-tops.
Among other wicked London habits which Pen had acquired, the moralistwill remark that he had got to keep very bad hours; and often wasgoing to bed at the time when sober country people were thinking ofleaving it. Men get used to one hour as to another. Editors ofnewspapers, Covent-Garden market people, night cabmen, andcoffee-sellers, chimney-sweeps, and gentlemen and ladies of fashionwho frequent balls, are often quite lively at three or four o'clock ofa morning, when ordinary mortals are snoring. We have shown in thelast chapter how Pen was in a brisk condition of mind at this period,inclined to smoke his cigar at ease, and to speak freely.
Foker and Pen walked away from Gaunt House, then, indulging in boththe above amusements; or rather Pen talked, and Foker looked as if hewanted to say something. Pen was sarcastic and dandyfied when he hadbeen in the company of great folks; he could not help imitating someof their airs and tones, and having a most lively imagination, mistookhimself for a person of importance very easily. He rattled away, andattacked this person and that; sneered at Lady John Turnbull's badFrench, which her ladyship will introduce into all conversations, inspite of the sneers of every body: at Mrs. Slack Roper's extraordinarycostume and sham jewels; at the old dandies and the young ones; atwhom didn't he sneer and laugh?
"You fire at everybody, Pen--you're grown awful, that you are," Fokersaid. "Now, you've pulled about Blondel's yellow wig, and Colchicum'sblack one, why don't you have a shy at a brown one, hay? you knowwhose I mean. It got into Lady Clavering's carriage."
"Under my uncle's hat? My uncle is a martyr, Foker, my boy. My unclehas been doing excruciating duties all night. He likes to go to bedrather early. He has a dreadful headache if he sits up and touchessupper. He always has the gout if he walks or stands much at a ball.He has been sitting up, and standing up, and supping. He has gone hometo the gout and the headache, and for my sake. Shall I make fun of theold boy? no, not for Venice!"
"How do you mean that he has been doing it for your sake?" Fokerasked, looking rather alarmed.
"Boy! canst thou keep a secret if I impart it to thee?" Pen cried out,in high spirits. "Art thou of good counsel? Wilt thou swear? Wilt thoube mum, or wilt thou peach? Wilt thou be silent and hear, or wilt thouspeak and die?" And as he spoke, flinging himself into an absurdtheatrical attitude, the men in the cab-stand in Piccadilly wonderedand grinned at the antics of the two young swells.
"What the doose are you driving at?" Foker asked, looking very muchagitated.
Pen, however, did not remark this agitation much, but continued in thesame bantering and excited vein. "Henry, friend of my youth," hesaid, "and witness of my early follies, though dull at thy books, yetthou art not altogether deprived of sense; nay, blush not, Henrico,thou hast a good portion of that, and of courage and kindness too, atthe service of thy friends. Were I in a strait of poverty, I wouldcome to my Foker's purse. Were I in grief, I would discharge my griefupon his sympathizing bosom--"
"Gammon, Pen; go on," Foker said.
"I would, Henrico, upon thy studs, and upon thy cambric, worked by thehands of beauty, to adorn the breast of valor! Know then, friend of myboyhood's days, that Arthur Pendennis, of the Upper Temple,student-at-law, feels that he is growing lonely, and old Care isfurrowing his temples, and Baldness is busy with his crown. Shall westop and have a drop of coffee at this stall, it looks very hot andnice? Look how that cabman is blowing at his saucer. No, you won't?Aristocrat! I resume my tale. I am getting on in life. I have gotdevilish little money. I want some. I am thinking of getting some, andsettling in life. I'm thinking of settling. I'm thinking of marrying,old boy. I'm thinking of becoming a moral man; a steady port andsherry character: with a good reputation in my _quartier_, and amoderate establishment of two maids and a man; with an occasionalbrougham to drive out Mrs. Pendennis, and a house near the Parks forthe accommodation of the children. Ha! what sayest thou? Answer thyfriend, thou worthy child of beer. Speak, I adjure thee, by allthy vats."
"But you ain't got any money, Pen," said the other, still lookingalarmed.
"I ain't? No, but _she_ ave. I tell thee there is gold in store for me--not what _you_ call money, nursed in the lap of luxury, and cradledon grains, and drinking in wealth from a thousand mash-tubs. What doyou know about money? What is poverty to you, is splendor to the hardyson of the humble apothecary. You can't live without an establishment,and your houses in town and country. A snug little house somewhere offBelgravia, a brougham for my wife, a decent cook, and a fair bottle ofwine for my friends at home sometimes; these simple necessariessuffice for me, my Foker." And here Pendennis began to look moreserious. Without bantering further, Pen continued, "I've ratherserious thoughts of settling and marrying. No man can get on in theworld without some money at his back. You must have a certain stake tobegin with, before you can go in and play the great game. Who knowsthat I'm not going to try, old fellow? Worse men than I have won atit. And as I have not got enough capital from my fathers, I must getsome by my wife--that's all."
They were walking down Grosvenor-street, as they talked, or rather asPen talked, in the selfish fullness of his heart; and Mr. Pen musthave been too much occupied with his own affairs to remark the concernand agitation of his neighbor, for he continued, "We are no longerchildren, you know, you and I, Harry. Bah! the time of our romance haspassed away. We don't marry for passion, but for prudence and forestablishment. What do you take your cousin for? Because she is a nicegirl, and an earl's daughter, and the old folks wish it, and that sortof thing."
"And you, Pendennis," asked Foker, "you ain't very fond of thegirl--you're going to marry?"
Pen shrugged his shoulders. "_Comme ca_," said he; "I like her wellenough. She's pretty enough; she's clever enough. I think she'll dovery well. And she has got money enough--that's the great point. Psha!you know who she is, don't you? I thought you were sweet on heryourself one night when we dined with her mamma. It's little Amory."
"I--I thought so," Foker said; "and has she accepted you?"
"Not quite," Arthur replied, with a confident smile, which seemed tosay, I have but to ask, and she comes to me that instant.
"Oh, not quite," said Foker; and he broke out with such a dreadfullaugh, that Pen, for the first time, turned his thoughts from himselftoward his companion, and was struck by the other's ghastly pale face.
"My dear fellow, Fo! what's the matter? You're ill," Pen said, in atone of real concern.
"You think it was the Champagne at Gaunt House, don't you? It ain'tthat. Come in; let me talk to you for a minute. I'll tell you what itis. D--it, let me tell somebody," Foker said.
They were at Mr. Foker's door by this time, and, opening it, Harrywalked with his friend into his apartments, which were situated in theback part of the house, and behind the family dining-room, where theelder Foker received his guests, surrounded by pictures of himself,his wife, his infant son on a donkey, and the late Earl of Gravesendin his robes as a pe
er. Foker and Pen passed by this chamber, nowclosed with death-like shutters, and entered into the young man's ownquarters. Dusky streams of sunbeams were playing into that room, andlighting up poor Harry's gallery of dancing girls and opera nymphswith flickering illuminations.
"Look here! I can't help telling you, Pen," he said. "Ever since thenight we dined there, I'm so fond of that girl, that I think I shalldie if I don't get her. I feel as if I should go mad sometimes. Ican't stand it, Pen. I couldn't bear to hear you talking about her,just now, about marrying her only because she's money. Ah, Pen! _that_ain't the question in marrying. I'd bet any thing it ain't. Talkingabout money and such a girl as that, it's--it's--what-d'ye-callem--_you_know what I mean--I ain't good at talking--sacrilege, then. If she'd haveme, I'd take and sweep a crossing, that I would!"
"Poor Fo! I don't think that would tempt her," Pen said, eying hisfriend with a great deal of real good-nature and pity. "She is not agirl for love and a cottage."
"She ought to be a duchess, I know that very well, and I know shewouldn't take me unless I could make her a great place in theworld--for I ain't good for any thing myself much--I ain't clever andthat sort of thing," Foker said, sadly. "If I had all the diamondsthat all the duchesses and marchionesses had on to-night, wouldn't Iput 'em in her lap? But what's the use of talking? I'm booked foranother race. It's that kills me, Pen. I can't get out of it; though Idie, I can't get out of it. And though my cousin's a nice girl, and Ilike her very well, and that, yet I hadn't seen this one when ourgovernors settled that matter between us. And when you talked, justnow, about her doing very well, and about her having money enough forboth of you, I thought to myself, it isn't money or mere liking agirl, that ought to be enough to make a fellow marry. He may marry,and find he likes somebody else better. All the money in the worldwon't make you happy then. Look at me; I've plenty of money, or shallhave, out of the mash-tubs, as you call 'em. My governor thought he'dmade it all right for me in settling my marriage with my cousin. Itell you it won't do; and when Lady Ann has got her husband, it won'tbe happy for either of us, and she'll have the most miserablebeggar in town."
"Poor old fellow!" Pen said, with rather a cheap magnanimity, "I wishI could help you. I had no idea of this, and that you were so wildabout the girl. Do you think she would have you without your money?No. Do you think your father would agree to break off your engagementwith your cousin? You know him very well, and that he would cast youoff rather than do so."
The unhappy Foker only groaned a reply, flinging himself prostrate onthe sofa, face forward, his head in his hands.
"As for my affair," Pen went on--"my dear fellow, if I had thoughtmatters were so critical with you, at least I would not have painedyou by choosing you as my confidant. And my business is not serious,at least, not as yet. I have not spoken a word about it to Miss Amory.Very likely she would not have me if I asked her. Only I have had agreat deal of talk about it with my uncle, who says that the matchmight be an eligible one for me. I'm ambitious and I'm poor. And itappears Lady Clavering will give her a good deal of money, and SirFrancis 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 askher before she goes. There's no hurry: there's time for every body.But, suppose you got her, Foker. Remember what you said aboutmarriages just now, and the misery of a man who doesn't care for hiswife: and what sort of a wife would you have who didn't care forher husband?"
"But she would care for me," said Foker, from his sofa--"that is, Ithink she would. Last night only, as we were dancing, she said--"
"What did she say?" Pen cried, starting up in great wrath. But he sawhis own meaning more clearly than Foker, and broke off with alaugh--"Well, never mind what she said, Harry. Miss Amory is a clevergirl, and says numbers of civil things--to you--to me, perhaps--andwho the deuce knows to whom besides? Nothing's settled, old boy. Atleast, _my_ heart won't break if I don't get her. Win her if you can, and I wish you joy of her. Good-by! Don't think about what I said toyou. I was excited, and confoundedly thirsty in those hot rooms, anddidn't, I suppose, put enough Seltzer water into the Champagne. Goodnight! I'll keep your counsel too. 'Mum' is the word between us; and'let there be a fair fight, and let the best man win,' as PeterCrawley says."
So saying, Mr. Arthur Pendennis, giving a very queer and ratherdangerous look at his companion, shook him by the hand, with somethingof that sort of cordiality which befitted his just repeated simile ofthe boxing-match, and which Mr. Bendigo displays when he shakes handswith Mr. Gaunt before they fight each other for the champion's beltand two hundred pounds a side. Foker returned his friend's salute withan imploring look, and a piteous squeeze of the hand, sank back on hiscushions again, and Pen, putting on his hat, strode forth into theair, and almost over the body of the matutinal housemaid, who wasrubbing the steps at the door.
"And so he wants her too? does he?" thought Pen as he marchedalong--and noted within himself with a fatal keenness of perceptionand almost an infernal mischief, that the very pains and tortureswhich that honest heart of Foker's was suffering gave a zest and animpetus to his own pursuit of Blanche: if pursuit that might be calledwhich had been no pursuit as yet, but mere sport and idle dallying."She said something to him, did she? perhaps she gave him the fellowflower to this;" and he took out of his coat and twiddled in his thumband finger a poor little shriveled, crumpled bud that had faded andblackened with the heat and flare of the night. "I wonder to how manymore she has given her artless tokens of affection--the littleflirt"--and he flung his into the gutter, where the water may haverefreshed it, and where any amateur of rosebuds may have picked it up.And then bethinking him that the day was quite bright, and that thepassers-by might be staring at his beard and white neckcloth, ourmodest young gentleman took a cab and drove to the Temple. Ah! is thisthe boy that prayed at his mother's knee but a few years since, andfor whom very likely at this hour of morning she is praying? Is thisjaded and selfish worldling the lad who, a short while back, was readyto fling away his worldly all, his hope, his ambition, his chance oflife, for his love? This is the man you are proud of, old Pendennis.You boast of having formed him: and of having reasoned him out of hisabsurd romance and folly--and groaning in your bed over your pains andrheumatisms, satisfy yourself still by thinking, that, at last, thatlad will do something to better himself in life, and that thePendennises will take a good place in the world. And is he the onlyone, who in his progress through this dark life goes willfully orfatally astray, while the natural truth and love which should illuminehim grew dim in the poisoned air, and suffice to light him no more?
When Pen was gone away, poor Harry Foker got up from the sofa, andtaking out from his waistcoat--the splendidly buttoned, the gorgeouslyembroidered, the work of his mamma--a little white rosebud, he drewfrom his dressing-case, also the maternal present, a pair of scissors,with which he nipped carefully the stalk of the flower, and placing itin a glass of water opposite his bed, he sought refuge there from careand bitter remembrances.
It is to be presumed that Miss Blanche Amory had more than one rose inher bouquet, and why should not the kind young creature give out ofher superfluity, and make as many partners as possible happy?