The History of Pendennis, Volume 2

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  Produced by Lee Dawei, Michael Lockey and PG Distributed Proofreaders

  THE HISTORY OF PENDENNIS.

  HIS FORTUNES AND MISFORTUNES, HIS FRIENDS AND HIS GREATEST ENEMY.

  BY WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS ON WOOD BY THE AUTHOR,

  IN TWO VOLUMES.

  VOLUME II.

  1858

  CHAPTER

  1.--RELATES TO MR. HARRY FOKER's AFFAIRS

  2.--CARRIES THE READER BOTH TO RICHMOND AND GREENWICH

  3.--CONTAINS A NOVEL INCIDENT

  4.--ALSATIA

  5.--IN WHICH THE COLONEL NARRATES SOME OF HIS ADVENTURES

  6.--A CHAPTER OF CONVERSATIONS

  7.--MISS AMORY'S PARTNERS

  8.--MONSEIGNEUR S'AMUSE

  9.--A VISIT OF POLITENESS

  10.--IN SHEPHERD'S INN

  11.--IN OR NEAR THE TEMPLE GARDEN

  12.--THE HAPPY VILLAGE AGAIN

  13.--WHICH HAD VERY NEARLY BEEN THE LAST OF THE STORY

  14.--A CRITICAL CHAPTER

  15.--CONVALESCENCE

  16.--FANNY'S OCCUPATION'S GONE

  17.--IN WHICH FANNY ENGAGES A NEW MEDICAL MAN

  18.--FOREIGN GROUND

  19.--"FAIROAKS TO LET"

  20.--OLD FRIENDS

  21.--EXPLANATIONS

  22.--CONVERSATIONS

  23.--THE WAY OF THE WORLD

  24.--WHICH ACCOUNTS PERHAPS FOR CHAPTER XXIII

  25.--PHILLIS AND CORYDON

  26.--TEMPTATIONS

  27.--IN WHICH PEN BEGINS HIS CANVASS

  28.--IN WHICH PEN BEGINS TO DOUBT ABOUT HIS ELECTION

  29.--IN WHICH THE MAJOR IS BIDDEN TO STAND AND DELIVER

  30.--IN WHICH THE MAJOR NEITHER YIELDS HIS MONEY NOR HIS LIFE

  31.--IN WHICH PENDENNIS COUNTS HIS EGGS

  32.--FIAT JUSTITIA

  33.--IN WHICH THE DECKS BEGIN TO CLEAR

  34.--MR. AND MRS. SAM HUXTER

  35.--SHOWS HOW ARTHUR HAD BETTER HAVE TAKEN A RETURN-TICKET

  36.--A CHAPTER OF MATCH-MAKING

  37.--EXEUNT OMNES PENDENNIS.

  CHAPTER I.

  RELATES TO MR. HARRY FOKER'S AFFAIRS.

  Since that fatal but delightful night in Grosvenor place, Mr. HarryFoker's heart had been in such a state of agitation as you wouldhardly have thought so great a philosopher could endure. When weremember what good advice he had given to Pen in former days, how anearly wisdom and knowledge of the world had manifested itself in thegifted youth; how a constant course of self-indulgence, such asbecomes a gentleman of his means and expectations, ought by right tohave increased his cynicism, and made him, with every succeeding dayof his life, care less and less for every individual in the world,with the single exception of Mr. Harry Foker, one may wonder that heshould fall into the mishap to which most of us are subject once ortwice in our lives, and disquiet his great mind about a woman. ButFoker, though early wise, was still a man. He could no more escape thecommon lot than Achilles, or Ajax, or Lord Nelson, or Adam our firstfather, and now, his time being come, young Harry became a victim toLove, the All-conqueror.

  When he went to the Back Kitchen that night after quitting ArthurPendennis at his staircase-door in Lamb-court, the gin-twist anddeviled turkey had no charms for him, the jokes of his companionsfell flatly on his ear; and when Mr. Hodgen, the singer of "The BodySnatcher," had a new chant even more dreadful and humorous than thatfamous composition, Foker, although he appeared his friend, and said"Bravo Hodgen," as common politeness, and his position as one of thechiefs of the Back Kitchen bound him to do, yet never distinctly heardone word of the song, which under its title of "The Cat in theCupboard," Hodgen has since rendered so famous. Late and very tired,he slipped into his private apartments at home and sought the downypillow, but his slumbers were disturbed by the fever of his soul, andthe very instant that he woke from his agitated sleep, the image ofMiss Amory presented itself to him, and said, "Here I am, I am yourprincess and beauty, you have discovered me, and shall care fornothing else hereafter."

  Heavens, how stale and distasteful his former pursuits and friendshipsappeared to him! He had not been, up to the present time, muchaccustomed to the society of females of his own rank in life. When hespoke of such, he called them "modest women." That virtue which, letus hope they possessed, had not hitherto compensated to Mr. Foker forthe absence of more lively qualities which most of his own relativesdid not enjoy, and which he found in Mesdemoiselles, the ladies of thetheater. His mother, though good and tender, did not amuse her boy;his cousins, the daughters of his maternal uncle, the respectable Earlof Rosherville, wearied him beyond measure. One was blue, and ageologist; one was a horsewoman, and smoked cigars; one wasexceedingly Low Church, and had the most heterodox views on religiousmatters; at least, so the other said, who was herself of the veryHighest Church faction, and made the cupboard in her room into anoratory, and fasted on every Friday in the year. Their paternal houseof Drummington, Foker could very seldom be got to visit. He swore hehad rather go to the tread-mill than stay there. He was not muchbeloved by the inhabitants. Lord Erith, Lord Rosherville's heir,considered his cousin a low person, of deplorably vulgar habits andmanners; while Foker, and with equal reason, voted Erith a prig and adullard, the nightcap of the House of Commons, the Speaker'sopprobrium, the dreariest of philanthropic spouters. Nor could GeorgeRobert, Earl of Gravesend and Rosherville, ever forget that on oneevening when he condescended to play at billiards with his nephew,that young gentleman poked his lordship in the side with his cue, andsaid, "Well, old cock, I've seen many a bad stroke in my life, but Inever saw such a bad one as that there." He played the game out withangelic sweetness of temper, for Harry was his guest as well as hisnephew; but he was nearly having a fit in the night; and he kept tohis own rooms until young Harry quitted Drummington on his return toOxbridge, where the interesting youth was finishing his education atthe time when the occurrence took place. It was an awful blow to thevenerable earl; the circumstance was never alluded to in the family:he shunned Foker whenever he came to see them in London or in thecountry, and could hardly be brought to gasp out a "How d'ye do?" tothe young blasphemer. But he would not break his sister Agnes'sheart, by banishing Harry from the family altogether; nor, indeed,could he afford to break with Mr. Foker, senior, between whom and hislordship there had been many private transactions, producing anexchange of bank checks from Mr. Foker, and autographs from the earlhimself, with the letters I O U written over his illustrioussignature.

  Besides the four daughters of Lord Gravesend whose various qualitieshave been enumerated in the former paragraph, his lordship was blessedwith a fifth girl, the Lady Ann Milton, who, from her earliest yearsand nursery, had been destined to a peculiar position in life. It wasordained between her parents and her aunt, that when Mr. Harry Fokerattained a proper age, Lady Ann should become his wife. The idea hadbeen familiar to her mind when she yet wore pinafores, and whenHarry, the dirtiest of little boys, used to come back with black eyesfrom school to Drummington, or to his father's house of Logwood, whereLady Ann lived much with her aunt. Both of the young people coincidedwith the arrangement proposed by the elders, without any protests ordifficulty. It no more entered Lady Ann's mind to question the orderof her father, than it would have entered Esther's to dispute thecommands of Ahasuerus. The heir-apparent of the house of Foker wasalso obedient, for when the old gentleman said, "Harry, your uncle andI have agreed that when you're of a proper age, you'll marry Lady Ann.She won't have any money, but she's good blood, and a good one to lookat, and I shall make you comfortable. If you refuse, you'll have yourmother's jointure, and two hundred a year during my life:" Harry, whoknew that his sire, though a man
of few words, was yet implicitly tobe trusted, acquiesced at once in the parental decree, and said,"Well, sir, if Ann's agreeable, I say ditto. She's not abad-looking girl."

  "And she has the best blood in England, sir. Your mother's blood, yourown blood, sir," said the brewer. "There's nothing like it, sir."

  "Well, sir, as you like it," Harry replied. "When you want me, pleasering the bell. Only there's no hurry, and I hope you'll give us a longday. I should like to have my fling out before I marry."

  "Fling away, Harry," answered the benevolent father. "Nobody preventsyou, do they?" And so very little more was said upon this subject, andMr. Harry pursued those amusements in life which suited him best; andhung up a little picture of his cousin in his sitting-room, amidst theFrench prints, the favorite actresses and dancers, the racing andcoaching works of art, which suited his taste and formed his gallery.It was an insignificant little picture, representing a simple roundface with ringlets; and it made, as it must be confessed, a very poorfigure by the side of Mademoiselle Petitot, dancing over a rainbow, orMademoiselle Redowa, grinning in red boots and a lancer's cap.

  Being engaged and disposed of, Lady Ann Milton did not go out so muchin the world as her sisters; and often stayed at home in London at theparental house in Gaunt-square, when her mamma with the other ladieswent abroad. They talked and they danced with one man after another,and the men came and went, and the stories about them were various.But there was only this one story about Ann: she was engaged to HarryFoker: she never was to think about any body else. It was not a veryamusing story.

  Well, the instant Foker awoke on the day after Lady Clavering'sdinner, there was Blanche's image glaring upon him with its clear grayeyes, and winning smile. There was her tune ringing in his ears, "Yetround about the spot, ofttimes I hover, ofttimes I hover," which poorFoker began piteously to hum, as he sat up in his bed under thecrimson silken coverlet. Opposite him was a French print, of a Turkishlady and her Greek lover, surprised by a venerable Ottoman, thelady's husband; on the other wall, was a French print of a gentlemanand lady, riding and kissing each other at the full gallop; all roundthe chaste bed-room were more French prints, either portraits of gauzynymphs of the Opera or lovely illustrations of the novels; or mayhap,an English chef-d'oeuvre or two, in which Miss Calverley of T. R. E. O.would be represented in tight pantaloons in her favorite page part; orMiss Rougemont as Venus; their value enhanced by the signatures ofthese ladies, Maria Calverley, or Frederica Rougemont, inscribedunderneath the prints in an exquisite fac-simile. Such were thepictures in which honest Harry delighted. He was no worse than many ofhis neighbors; he was an idle, jovial, kindly fast man about town; andif his rooms were rather profusely decorated with works of French art,so that simple Lady Agnes, his mamma, on entering the apartments whereher darling sate enveloped in fragrant clouds of Latakia, was oftenbewildered by the novelties which she beheld there, why, it must beremembered, that he was richer than most young men, and could betterafford to gratify his taste.

  A letter from Miss Calverley written in a very degage style ofspelling and hand-writing, scrawling freely over the filigree paper,and commencing by calling Mr. Harry, her dear Hokey-pokey-fokey, layon his bed table by his side, amid keys, sovereigns, cigar-cases, anda bit of verbena, which Miss Amory had given him, and reminding him ofthe arrival of the day when he was "to stand that dinner at theElefant and Castle, at Richmond, which he had promised;" a card for aprivate box at Miss Rougemont's approaching benefit, a bundle oftickets for "Ben Budgeon's night, the North Lancashire Pippin, atMartin Faunce's, the Three-corned Hat in St. Martin's Lane; whereConkey Sam, Dick the Nailor, and Deadman (the Worcestershire Nobber),would put on the gloves, and the lovers of the good old British sportwere invited to attend"--these and sundry other memoirs of Mr. Foker'spursuits and pleasures lay on the table by his side when he woke.

  Ah! how faint all these pleasures seemed now. What did he care forConkey Sam or the Worcestershire Nobber? What for the French printsogling him from all sides of the room; those regular stunning slap-upout-and-outers? And Calverley spelling bad, and calling himHokey-fokey, confound her impudence! The idea of being engaged to adinner at the Elephant and Castle at Richmond, with that old woman(who was seven and thirty years old, if she was a day), filled hismind with dreary disgust now, instead of that pleasure which he hadonly yesterday expected to find from the entertainment.

  When his fond mamma beheld her boy that morning, she remarked on thepallor of his cheek, and the general gloom of his aspect. "Why do yougo on playing billiards at that wicked Spratt's?" Lady Agnes asked."My dearest child, those billiards will kill you, I'm sure they will."

  "It isn't the billiards," Harry said, gloomily. "Then it's thedreadful Back Kitchen," said the Lady Agnes. "I've often thought,d'you know, Harry, of writing to the landlady, and begging that shewould have the kindness to put only very little wine in the neguswhich you take, and see that you have your shawl on before you getinto your brougham."

  "Do, ma'am. Mrs. Cutts is a most kind, motherly woman," Harry said."But it isn't the Back Kitchen, neither," he added with aghastly sigh.

  As Lady Agnes never denied her son any thing, and fell into all hisways with the fondest acquiescence, she was rewarded by a perfectconfidence on young Harry's part, who never thought to disguise fromher a knowledge of the haunts which he frequented; and, on thecontrary, brought her home choice anecdotes from the clubs andbilliard-rooms, which the simple lady relished, if she did notunderstand. "My son goes to Spratt's," she would say to herconfidential friends. "All the young men go to Spratt's after theirballs. It is _de rigeur_, my dear; and they play billiards as theyused to play macao and hazard in Mr. Fox's time. Yes, my dear fatheroften told me that they sate up _always_ until nine o'clock the nextmorning with Mr. Fox at Brooks's, whom I remember at Drummington, whenI was a little girl, in a buff waistcoat and black satin smallclothes. My brother Erith never played as a young man, nor sate uplate--he had no health for it; but my boy must do as every body does,you know. Yes, and then he often goes to a place called the BackKitchen, frequented by all the wits and authors, you know, whom onedoes not see in society, but whom it is a great privilege and pleasurefor Harry to meet, and there he hears the questions of the daydiscussed; and my dear father often said that it was our duty toencourage literature, and he had hoped to see the late Dr. Johnson atDrummington, only Dr. Johnson died. Yes, and Mr. Sheridan came overand drank a great deal of wine--every body drank a great deal of winein those days--and papa's wine-merchant's bill was ten times as muchas Erith's is, who gets it as he wants it from Fortnum and Mason's,and doesn't keep any stock at all."

  "That was an uncommon good dinner we had yesterday, ma'am," the artfulHarry broke out. "Their clear soup's better than ours. Moufflet willput too much taragon into every thing. The supreme de volaille wasvery good--uncommon, and the sweets were better than Moufflet'ssweets. Did you taste the plombiere, ma'am and the maraschino jelly?Stunningly good that maraschino jelly!"

  Lady Agnes expressed her agreement in these, as in almost all othersentiments of her son, who continued the artful conversation, saying,

  "Very handsome house that of the Claverings. Furniture, I should say,got up regardless of expense. Magnificent display of plate, ma'am."The lady assented to all these propositions.

  "Very nice people the Claverings."

  "Hem!" said Lady Agnes.

  "I know what you mean. Lady C. ain't distangy exactly, but she is verygood-natured." "O very," mamma said, who was herself one of themost good-natured of women.

  "And Sir Francis, he don't talk much before ladies: but after dinnerhe comes out uncommon strong, ma'am--a highly agreeable well-informedman. When will you ask them to dinner? Look out for an early day,ma'am;" and looking into Lady Agnes's pocket-book, he chose a day onlya fortnight hence (an age that fortnight seemed to the younggentleman), when the Claverings were to be invited to Grosvenor-street.

  The obedient Lady Agnes wrote the required invitation. She wasaccustomed to do so without
consulting her husband, who had his ownsociety and habits, and who left his wife to see her own friendsalone. Harry looked at the card; but there was an omission in theinvitation which did not please him.

  "You have not asked Miss Whatdyecallem--Miss Emery, Lady Clavering'sdaughter."

  "O, that little creature!" Lady Agnes cried. "No, I think not, Harry."

  "We must ask Miss Amory," Foker said. "I--I want to ask Pendennis; andhe's very sweet upon her. Don't you think she sings very well, ma'am?"

  "I thought her rather forward, and didn't listen to her singing. Sheonly sang at you and Mr. Pendennis, it seemed to me. But I will askher if you wish, Harry," and so Miss Amory's name was written on thecard with her mother's.

  This piece of diplomacy being triumphantly executed, Harry embracedhis fond parent with the utmost affection, and retired to his ownapartments, where he stretched himself on his ottoman, and laybrooding silently, sighing for the day which was to bring the fairMiss Amory under his paternal roof, and devising a hundred wildschemes for meeting her.

  On his return from making the grand tour, Mr. Foker, junior, hadbrought with him a polyglot valet, who took the place of Stoopid, andcondescended to wait at dinner, attired in shirt fronts of workedmuslin, with many gold studs and chains, upon his master and theelders of the family. This man, who was of no particular country, andspoke all languages indifferently ill, made himself useful to Mr.Harry in a variety of ways--read all the artless youth'scorrespondence, knew his favorite haunts and the addresses of hisacquaintance, and officiated at the private dinners which the younggentleman gave. As Harry lay upon his sofa after his interview withhis mamma, robed in a wonderful dressing-gown, and puffing his pipe ingloomy silence, Anatole, too, must have remarked that somethingaffected his master's spirits; though he did not betray any ill-bredsympathy with Harry's agitation of mind. When Harry began to dresshimself in his out-of-door morning costume: he was very hard indeed toplease, and particularly severe and snappish about his toilet: hetried, and cursed, pantaloons of many different stripes, checks, andcolors: all the boots were villainously varnished, the shirts too"loud" in pattern. He scented his linen and person with peculiarrichness this day; and what must have been the valet's astonishment,when, after some blushing and hesitation on Harry's part, the younggentleman asked, "I say, Anatole, when I engaged you, didn'tyou--hem--didn't you say that you could dress--hem--dress hair?"

  The valet said, "Yes, he could."

  "_Cherchy alors une paire de tongs--et--curly moi un pew_" Mr. Fokersaid, in an easy manner; and the valet wondering whether his masterwas in love or was going masquerading, went in search of thearticles--first from the old butler who waited upon Mr. Foker, senior,on whose bald pate the tongs would have scarcely found a hundred hairsto seize, and finally of the lady who had the charge of the meekauburn fronts of the Lady Agnes. And the tongs being got, MonsieurAnatole twisted his young master's locks until he had made Harry'shead as curly as a negro's; after which the youth dressed himself withthe utmost care and splendor and proceeded to sally out.

  "At what time sall I order de drag, sir, to be to Miss Calverley'sdoor, sir?" the attendant whispered as his master was going forth.

  "Confound her! Put the dinner off--I can't go!" said Foker. "No, hangit--I must go. Poyntz and Rougemont, and ever so many more are coming.The drag at Pelham Corner at six o'clock, Anatole."

  The drag was not one of Mr. Foker's own equipages, but was hired froma livery stable for festive purposes; Foker, however, put his owncarriage into requisition that morning, and for what purpose does thekind reader suppose? Why to drive down to Lamb-court, Temple, takingGrosvenor-place by the way (which lies in the exact direction of theTemple from Grosvenor-street, as every body knows), where he just hadthe pleasure of peeping upward at Miss Amory's pink window curtains,having achieved which satisfactory feat, he drove off to Pen'schambers. Why did he want to see his dear friend Pen so much? Why didhe yearn and long after him; and did it seem necessary to Foker's veryexistence that he should see Pen that morning, having parted with himin perfect health on the night previous? Pen had lived two years inLondon, and Foker had not paid half a dozen visits to his chambers.What sent him thither now in such a hurry?

  What?--if any young ladies read this page, I have only to inform themthat when the same mishap befalls them, which now had for more thantwelve hours befallen Harry Foker, people will grow interesting tothem for whom they did not care sixpence on the day before; as on theother hand persons of whom they fancied themselves fond will be foundto have become insipid and disagreeable. Then your dearest Eliza orMaria of the other day, to whom you wrote letters and sent locks ofhair yards long, will on a sudden be as indifferent to you as yourstupidest relation: while, on the contrary, about _his_ relations youwill begin to feel such a warm interest! such a loving desire toingratiate yourself with _his_ mamma; such a liking for that dear kindold man _his_ father! If He is in the habit of visiting at any house,what advances you will make in order to visit there too. If He has amarried sister you will like to spend long mornings with her. You willfatigue your servant by sending notes to her, for which there will bethe most pressing occasion, twice or thrice in a day. You will cry ifyour mamma objects to your going too often to see His family. The onlyone of them you will dislike, is perhaps his younger brother, who isat home for the holidays, and who will persist in staying in the roomwhen you come to see your dear new-found friend, his darling secondsister. Something like this will happen to you, young ladies, or, atany rate, let us hope it may. Yes, you must go through the hot fitsand the cold fits of that pretty fever. Your mothers, if they wouldacknowledge it, have passed through it before you were born, your dearpapa being the object of the passion of course--who could it be buthe? And as you suffer it so will your brothers in their way--and aftertheir kind. More selfish than you: more eager and headstrong than you:they will rush on their destiny when the doomed charmer makes herappearance. Or if they don't, and you don't, Heaven help you! As thegambler said of his dice, to love and win is the best thing, to loveand lose is the next best. You don't die of the complaint: or very fewdo. The generous wounded heart suffers and survives it. And he is nota man, or she a woman, who is not conquered by it, or who does notconquer it in his time...... Now, then, if you ask why Henry Foker,Esquire, was in such a hurry to see Arthur Pendennis, and felt such asudden value and esteem for him, there is no difficulty in saying itwas because Pen had become really valuable in Mr. Foker's eyes;because if Pen was not the rose, he yet had been near that fragrantflower of love. Was not he in the habit of going to her house inLondon? Did he not live near her in the country?--know all about theenchantress? What, I wonder, would Lady Ann Milton, Mr. Foker's cousinand _pretendue_, have said, if her ladyship had known all that wasgoing on in the bosom of that funny little gentleman?

  Alas! when Foker reached Lamb-court, leaving his carriage for theadmiration of the little clerks who were lounging in the arch-way thatleads thence into Flag-court which leads into Upper Temple-lane,Warrington was in the chambers, but Pen was absent. Pen was gone tothe printing-office to see his proofs. "Would Foker have a pipe, andshould the laundress go to the Cock and get him some beer?"--Warrington asked, remarking with a pleased surprise thesplendid toilet of this scented and shiny-booted young aristocrat; butFoker had not the slightest wish for beer or tobacco: he had veryimportant business: he rushed away to the "Pall-Mall Gazette" office,still bent upon finding Pen. Pen had quitted that place. Foker wantedhim that they might go together to call upon Lady Clavering. Fokerwent away disconsolate, and whiled away an hour or two vaguely atclubs: and when it was time to pay a visit, he thought it would be butdecent and polite to drive to Grosvenor-place and leave a card uponLady Clavering. He had not the courage to ask to see her when the doorwas opened, he only delivered two cards, with Mr. Henry Foker engravedupon them, to Jeames, in a speechless agony. Jeames received thetickets bowing his powdered head. The varnished doors closed upon him.The beloved object was as far as ever from him, though so near. He
thought he heard the tones of a piano and of a siren singing, comingfrom the drawing-room and sweeping over the balcony-shrubbery ofgeraniums. He would have liked to stop and listen, but it might notbe. "Drive to Tattersall's," he said to the groom, in a voicesmothered with emotion--"And bring my pony round," he added, as theman drove rapidly away.

  As good luck would have it, that splendid barouche of LadyClavering's, which has been inadequately described in a formerchapter, drove up to her ladyship's door just as Foker mounted thepony which was in waiting for him. He bestrode the fiery animal, anddodged about the arch of the Green Park, keeping the carriage well inview, until he saw Lady Clavering enter, and with her--whose could bethat angel form, but the enchantress's, clad in a sort of gossamer,with a pink bonnet and a light-blue parasol--but Miss Amory?

  The carriage took its fair owners to Madame Rigodon's cap and laceshop, to Mrs. Wolsey's Berlin worsted shop--who knows to what otherresorts of female commerce? Then it went and took ices at Hunter's,for Lady Clavering was somewhat florid in her tastes and amusements,and not only liked to go abroad in the most showy carriage in London,but that the public should see her in it too. And so, in a whitebonnet with a yellow feather, she ate a large pink ice in the sunshinebefore Hunter's door, till Foker on his pony, and the red jacket whoaccompanied him, were almost tired of dodging.

  Then at last she made her way into the Park, and the rapid Foker madehis dash forward. What to do? Just to get a nod of recognition fromMiss Amory and her mother; to cross them a half-dozen times in thedrive; to watch and ogle them from the other side of the ditch, wherethe horsemen assemble when the band plays in Kensington Gardens. Whatis the use of looking at a woman in a pink bonnet across a ditch? Whatis the earthly good to be got out of a nod of the head? Strange thatmen will be contented with such pleasures, or if not contented, atleast that they will be so eager in seeking them. Not one word didHarry, he so fluent of conversation ordinarily, change with hischarmer on that day. Mutely he beheld her return to her carriage, anddrive away among rather ironical salutes from the young men in thePark. One said that the Indian widow was making the paternal rupeesspin rapidly; another said that she ought to have burned herselfalive, and left the money to her daughter. This one asked whoClavering was?--and old Tom Eales, who knew every body, and nevermissed a day in the Park on his gray cob, kindly said that Claveringhad come into an estate over head and heels in mortgage: that therewere dev'lish ugly stories about him when he was a young man, and thatit was reported of him that he had a share in a gambling house, andhad certainly shown the white feather in his regiment. "He playsstill; he is in a hell every night almost," Mr. Eales added. "Ishould think so, since his marriage," said a wag.

  "He gives devilish good dinners," said Foker, striking up for thehonor of his host of yesterday.

  "I daresay, and I daresay he doesn't ask Eales," the wag said. "I say,Eales, do you dine at Clavering's--at the Begum's?"

  "_I_ dine there?" said Mr. Eales, who would have dined with Beelzebub,if sure of a good cook, and when he came away, would have painted hishost blacker than fate had made him.

  "You might, you know, although you _do_ abuse him so," continued thewag. "They say it's very pleasant. Clavering goes to sleep afterdinner; the Begum gets tipsy with cherry-brandy, and the young ladysings songs to the young gentlemen. She sings well, don't she, Fo?"

  "Slap up," said Fo. "I tell you what, Poyntz, she sings like a--whatdyecallum--you know what I mean--like a mermaid, you know, butthat's not their name."

  "I never heard a mermaid sing," Mr. Poyntz, the wag replied. "Who everheard a mermaid? Eales, you are an old fellow, did you?"

  "Don't make a lark of me, hang it, Poyntz," said Foker, turning red,and with tears almost in his eyes, "you know what I mean: it's thosewhat's-his-names--in Homer, you know. I never said I was agood scholar."

  "And nobody ever said it of you, my boy," Mr. Poyntz remarked, andFoker striking spurs into his pony, cantered away down Rotten Row, hismind agitated with various emotions, ambitions, mortifications. He_was_ sorry that he had not been good at his books in early life--thathe might have cut out all those chaps who were about her, and whotalked the languages, and wrote poetry, and painted pictures in heralbum, and--and that. "What am I," thought little Foker, "compared toher? She's all soul, she is, and can write poetry or compose music, aseasy as I could drink a glass of beer. Beer?--damme, that's all I'mfit for, is beer. I am a poor, ignorant little beggar, good fornothing but Foker's Entire. I misspent my youth, and used to get thechaps to do my exercises. And what's the consequences now? O, HarryFoker, what a confounded little fool you have been!"

  As he made this dreary soliloquy, he had cantered out of Rotten Rowinto the Park, and there was on the point of riding down a large, old,roomy family carriage, of which he took no heed, when a cheery voicecried out, "Harry, Harry!" and looking up, he beheld his aunt, theLady Rosherville, and two of her daughters, of whom the one who spokewas Harry's betrothed, the Lady Ann.

  He started back with a pale, scared look, as a truth about which hehad not thought during the whole day, came across him. _There_ was hisfate, there, in the back seat of that carriage.

  "What is the matter Harry? why are you so pale? You have been rakingand smoking too much, you wicked boy," said Lady Ann.

  Foker said, "How do, aunt?" "How do, Ann?" in a perturbedmanner--muttered something about a pressing engagement--indeed he sawby the Park clock that he must have been keeping his party in thedrag waiting for nearly an hour--and waved a good-by. The little manand the little pony were out of sight in an instant--the greatcarriage rolled away. Nobody inside was very much interested about hiscoming or going; the countess being occupied with her spaniel, theLady Lucy's thoughts and eyes being turned upon a volume of sermons,and those of Lady Ann upon a new novel, which the sisters had justprocured from the library.