CHAPTER LXVII. In which Pen begins to doubt about his Election
Whilst Pen, in his own county, was thus carrying on his selfish plansand parliamentary schemes, news came to him that Lady Rockminster hadarrived at Baymouth, and had brought with her our friend Laura. At theannouncement that Laura his sister was near him, Pen felt rather guilty.His wish was to stand higher in her esteem, perhaps; than in that of anyother person in the world. She was his mother's legacy to him. He was tobe her patron and protector in some sort. How would she brave the newswhich he had to tell her; and how should he explain the plans which hewas meditating? He felt as if neither he nor Blanche could bear Laura'sdazzling glance of calm scrutiny, and as if he would not dare todisclose his worldly hopes and ambitions to that spotless judge. At herarrival at Baymouth, he wrote a letter thither which contained a greatnumber of fine phrases and protests of affection, and a great deal ofeasy satire and raillery; in the midst of all which Mr. Pen could nothelp feeling that he was in panic, and that he was acting like a rogueand hypocrite.
How was it that a simple country girl should be the object of fear andtrembling to such an accomplished gentleman as Mr. Pen? His worldlytactics and diplomacy, his satire and knowledge of the world, couldnot bear the test of her purity, he felt somehow. And he had to own tohimself that his affairs were in such a position, that he could not tellthe truth to that honest soul. As he rode from Clavering to Baymouth hefelt as guilty as a schoolboy who doesn't know his lesson and is aboutto face the awful master. For is not truth the master always, and doesshe not have the power and hold the book?
Under the charge of her kind, though somewhat wayward and absolutepatroness, Lady Rockminster, Laura had seen somewhat of the world inthe last year, had gathered some accomplishments, and profited by thelessons of society. Many a girl who had been accustomed to that toogreat tenderness in which Laura's early life had been passed, would havebeen unfitted for the changed existence which she now had to lead. Helenworshipped her two children, and thought, as home-bred women will, thatall the world was made for them, or to be considered after them. Shetended Laura with a watchfulness of affection which never left her. Ifshe had a headache, the widow was as alarmed as if there had never beenan aching head before in the world. She slept and woke, read and movedunder her mother's fond superintendence, which was now withdrawn fromher, along with the tender creature whose anxious heart would beat nomore. And painful moments of grief and depression no doubt Laura had,when she stood in the great careless world alone. Nobody heeded hergriefs or her solitude. She was not quite the equal, in social rank, ofthe lady whose companion she was, or of the friends and relatives ofthe imperious, but kind old dowager. Some very likely bore her nogoodwill--some, perhaps, slighted her: it might have been that servantswere occasionally rude; their mistress certainly was often. Laura notseldom found herself in family meetings, the confidence and familiarityof which she felt were interrupted by her intrusion; and hersensitiveness of course was wounded at the idea that she should giveor feel this annoyance. How many governesses are there in the world,thought cheerful Laura,--how many ladies, whose necessities makethem slaves and companions by profession! What bad tempers and coarseunkindness have not these to encounter? How infinitely better my lot iswith these really kind and affectionate people than that of thousands ofunprotected girls! It was with this cordial spirit that our young ladyadapted herself to her new position; and went in advance of her fortunewith a trustful smile.
Did you ever know a person who met Fortune in that way, whom thegoddess did not regard kindly? Are not even bad people won by a constantcheerfulness and a pure and affectionate heart? When the babes in thewood, in the ballad, looked up fondly and trustfully at those notoriousrogues whom their uncle had set to make away with the little folks,we all know how one of the rascals relented, and made away with theother--not having the heart to be unkind to so much innocence andbeauty. Oh, happy they who have that virgin loving trust and sweetsmiling confidence in the world, and fear no evil because they thinknone! Miss Laura Bell was one of these fortunate persons; and besidesthe gentle widow's little cross, which, as we have seen, Pen gave her,had such a sparkling and brilliant kohinoor in her bosom, as is evenmore precious than that famous jewel; for it not only fetches a price,and is retained, by its owner in another world where diamonds arestated to be of no value, but here, too, is of inestimable worth to itspossessor; is a talisman against evil, and lightens up the darkness oflife, like Cogia Hassan's famous stone.
So that before Miss Bell had been a year in Lady Rockminster's house,there was not a single person in it whose love she had not won by theuse of this talisman. From the old lady to the lowest dependent of herbounty, Laura had secured the goodwill and kindness of everybody. With amistress of such a temper, my Lady's woman (who had endured her mistressfor forty years, and had been clawed and scolded and jibed every day andnight in that space of time) could not be expected to have a good temperof her own; and was at first angry against Miss Laura, as she had beenagainst her Ladyship's fifteen preceding companions. But when Laura wasill at Paris, this old woman nursed her in spite of her mistress, whowas afraid of catching the fever, and absolutely fought for her medicinewith Martha from Fairoaks, now advanced to be Miss Laura's own maid. Asshe was recovering, Grandjean the chef wanted to kill her by the numbersof delicacies which he dressed for her, and wept when she ate her firstslice of chicken. The Swiss major-domo of the house celebrated MissBell's praises in almost every European language, which he spoke withindifferent incorrectness; the coachman was happy to drive her out;the page cried when he heard she was ill; and Calverley and Coldstream(those two footmen, so large, so calm ordinarily, and so difficultto move) broke out into extraordinary hilarity at the news of herconvalescence, and intoxicated the page at a wine-shop, to fete Laura'srecovery. Even Lady Diana Pynsent (our former acquaintance Mr. Pynsenthad married by this time), Lady Diana, who had had a considerabledislike to Laura for some time, was so enthusiastic as to say that shethought Miss Bell was a very agreeable person, and that grandmamma hadfound a great trouvaille in her. All this goodwill and kindness Laurahad acquired, not by any arts, not by any flattery, but by the simpleforce of good-nature, and by the blessed gift of pleasing and beingpleased.
On the one or two occasions when he had seen Lady Rockminster, the oldlady, who did not admire him, had been very pitiless and abrupt with ouryoung friend, and perhaps Pen expected when he came to Baymouth to findLaura installed in her house in the quality of humble companion, andtreated no better than himself. When she heard of his arrival she camerunning downstairs, and I am not sure that she did not embrace him inthe presence of Calverley and Coldstream: not that those gentlemen evertold: if the fractus orbis had come to a smash, if Laura, instead ofkissing Pen, had taken her scissors and snipped off his head--Calverleyand Coldstream would have looked on impavidly, without allowing a grainof powder to be disturbed by the calamity.
Laura had so much improved in health and looks that Pen could notbut admire her. The frank and kind eyes which met his, beamed withgood-health; the cheek which he kissed blushed with beauty. As he lookedat her, artless and graceful, pure and candid, he thought he had neverseen her so beautiful. Why should he remark her beauty now so much, andremark too to himself that he had not remarked it sooner? He took herfair trustful hand and kissed it fondly: he looked in her bright cleareyes, and read in them that kindling welcome which he was always sure tofind there. He was affected and touched by the tender tone and the puresparkling glance; their innocence smote him somehow and moved him.
"How good you are to me, Laura--sister!" said Pen; "I don't deserve thatyou should--that you should be so kind to me."
"Mamma left you to me," she said, stooping down and brushing hisforehead with her lips hastily. "You know you were to come to me whenyou were in trouble, or to tell me when you were very happy: that wasour compact, Arthur, last year, before we parted. Are you very happynow, or are you in trouble--which is it?" and she looked at him withan arch glanc
e of kindness. "Do you like going into Parliament! Do youintend to distinguish yourself there? How I shall tremble for your firstspeech!"
"Do you know about the Parliament plan, then?" Pen asked.
"Know?--all the world knows! I have heard it talked about many times.Lady Rockminster's doctor talked about it to-day. I daresay it will bein the Chatteris paper to-morrow. It is all over the county that SirFrancis Clavering, of Clavering, is going to retire, in behalf of Mr.Arthur Pendennis, of Fairoaks; and that the young and beautiful MissBlanche Amory is----"
"What! that too?" asked Pendennis.
"That, too, dear Arthur. Tout se sait, as somebody would say, whom Iintend to be very fond of; and who I am sure is very clever and pretty.I have had a letter from Blanche. The kindest of letters. She speaks sowarmly of you, Arthur! I hope--I know she feels what she writes.--Whenis it to be, Arthur? Why did you not tell me? I may come and live withyou then, mayn't I?"
"My home is yours, dear Laura, and everything I have," Pen said. "IfI did not tell you, it was because--because--I do not know: nothing isdecided as yet. No words have passed between us. But you think Blanchecould be happy with me--don't you? Not a romantic fondness, you know.I have no heart, I think; I've told her so: only a sober-sidedattachment:--and want my wife on one side of the fire and my sister onthe other,--Parliament in the session and Fairoaks in the holidays, andmy Laura never to leave me until somebody who has a right comes to takeher away."
Somebody who has a right--somebody with a right! Why did Pen, as helooked at the girl and slowly uttered the words, begin to feel angryand jealous of the invisible somebody with the right to take her away?Anxious, but a minute ago, how she would take the news regarding hisprobable arrangements with Blanche, Pen was hurt somehow that shereceived the intelligence so easily, and took his happiness for granted.
"Until somebody comes," Laura said, with a laugh, "I will stay at homeand be aunt Laura, and take care of the children when Blanche is in theworld. I have arranged it all. I am an excellent housekeeper. Do youknow I have been to market at Paris with Mrs. Beck, and have takensome lessons from M. Grandjean? And I have had some lessons in Paris insinging too, with the money which you sent me, you kind boy: and I cansing much better now: and I have learned to dance, though not so well asBlanche; and when you become a minister of state, Blanche shall presentme:" and with this, and with a provoking good-humour, she performed forhim the last Parisian curtsey.
Lady Rockminster came in whilst this curtsey was being performed, andgave to Arthur one finger to shake; which he took, and over which hebowed as well as he could, which, in truth, was very clumsily.
"So you are going to be married, sir," said the old lady.
"Scold him, Lady Rockminster, for not telling us," Laura said, goingaway: which, in truth, the old lady began instantly to do. "So youare going to marry, and to go into Parliament in place of thatgood-for-nothing Sir Francis Clavering. I wanted him to give my grandsonhis seat--why did he not give my grandson his seat? I hope you are tohave a great deal of money with Miss Amory. I wouldn't take her withouta great deal."
"Sir Francis Clavering is tired of Parliament," Pen said, wincing,"and--and I rather wish to attempt that career. The rest of the story isat least premature."
"I wonder, when you had Laura at home, you could take up with such anaffected little creature as that," the old lady continued.
"I am very sorry Miss Amory does not please your ladyship," said Pen,smiling.
"You mean--that it is no affair of mine, and that I am not going tomarry her. Well, I'm not, and I'm very glad I am not--a little odiousthing--when I think that a man could prefer her to my Laura, I've nopatience with him, and so I tell you, Mr. Arthur Pendennis."
"I am very glad you see Laura with such favourable eyes," Pen said.
"You are very glad, and you are very sorry. What does it matter, sir,whether you are very glad or very sorry? A young man who prefers MissAmory to Miss Bell has no business to be sorry or glad. A young manwho takes up with such a crooked lump of affectation as that littleAmory,--for she is crooked, I tell you she is,--after seeing my Laura,has no right to hold up his head again. Where is your friend Bluebeard?The tall young man, I mean,--Warrington, isn't his name? Why does he notcome down, and marry Laura? What do the young men mean by not marryingsuch a girl as that? They all marry for money now. You are all selfishand cowards. We ran away with each other, and made foolish matches in mytime. I have no patience with the young men! When I was at Paris in thewinter, I asked all the three attaches at the Embassy why they did notfall in love with Miss Bell? They laughed--they said they wanted money.You are all selfish--you are all cowards."
"I hope before you offered Miss Bell to the attaches," said Pen, withsome heat, "you did her the favour to consult her?"
"Miss Bell has only a little money. Miss Bell must marry soon. Somebodymust make a match for her, sir; and a girl can't offer herself," saidthe old dowager, with great state. "Laura, my dear, I've been tellingyour cousin that all the young men are selfish; and that there is not apennyworth of romance left among them. He is as bad as the rest."
"Have you been asking Arthur why he won't marry me?" said Laura, with akindling smile, coming back and taking her cousin's hand. (She had beenaway, perhaps, to hide some traces of emotion, which she did not wishothers to see.) "He is going to marry somebody else; and I intend to bevery fond of her, and to go and live with them, provided he then doesnot ask every bachelor who comes to his house, why he does not marryme?"
The terrors of Pen's conscience being thus appeased, and his examinationbefore Laura over without any reproaches on the part of the latter,Pen began to find that his duty and inclination led him constantly toBaymouth, where Lady Rockminster informed him that a place was alwaysreserved for him at her table. "And I recommend you to come often," theold lady said, "for Grandjean is an excellent cook, and to be with Lauraand me will do your manners good. It is easy to see that you are alwaysthinking about yourself. Don't blush and stammer--almost all young menare always thinking about themselves. My sons and grandsons always wereuntil I cured them. Come here, and let us teach you to behave properly;you will not have to carve, that is done at the side-table. Hecker willgive you as much wine as is good for you; and on days when you are verygood and amusing you shall have some champagne. Hecker, mind what Isay. Mr. Pendennis is Miss Laura's brother; and you will make himcomfortable, and see that he does not have too much wine, or disturbme whilst I am taking my nap after dinner. You are selfish: I intendto cure you of being selfish. You will dine here when you have no otherengagements; and if it rains you had better put up at the hotel." Aslong as the good lady could order everybody round about her, she was nothard to please; and all the slaves and subjects of her little dowagercourt trembled before her, but loved her.
She did not receive a very numerous or brilliant society. The doctor, ofcourse, was admitted as a constant and faithful visitor; the vicar andhis curate; and on public days the vicar's wife and daughters, and someof the season visitors at Baymouth, were received at the old lady'sentertainments: but generally the company was a small one, and Mr.Arthur drank his wine by himself, when Lady Rockminster retired to takeher doze, and to be played and sung to sleep by Laura after dinner.
"If my music can give her a nap," said the good-natured girl, "ought Inot to be very glad that it can do so much good? Lady Rockminster sleepsvery little of nights: and I used to read to her until I fell ill atParis, since when she will not hear of my sitting up."
"Why did you not write to me when you were ill?" asked Pen, with ablush.
"What good could you do me? I had Martha to nurse me and the doctorevery day. You are too busy to write to women or to think about them.You have your books and your newspapers, and your politics and yourrailroads to occupy you. I wrote when I was well."
And Pen looked at her, and blushed again, as he remembered that,during all the time of her illness, he had never written to her and hadscarcely thought about her.
In cons
equence of his relationship, Pen was free to walk and ride withhis cousin constantly, and in the course of those walks and rides,could appreciate the sweet frankness of her disposition, and the truth,simplicity, and kindliness of her fair and spotless heart. In theirmother's lifetime, she had never spoken so openly or so cordially asnow. The desire of poor Helen to make an union between her two children,had caused a reserve on Laura's part towards Pen; for which, under thealtered circumstances of Arthur's life, there was now no necessity.He was engaged to another woman; and Laura became his sister atonce,--hiding, or banishing from herself, any doubts which she mighthave as to his choice; striving to look cheerfully forward, and hope forhis prosperity; promising herself to do all that affection might do tomake her mother's darling happy.
Their talk was often about the departed mother. And it was from athousand stories which Laura told him that Arthur was made aware howconstant and absorbing that silent maternal devotion had been; which hadaccompanied him present and absent through life, and had only ended withthe fond widow's last breath. One day the people in Clavering saw a ladin charge of a couple of horses at the churchyard-gate: and it was toldover the place that Pen and Laura had visited Helen's grave together.Since Arthur had come down into the country, he had been there once ortwice: but the sight of the sacred stone had brought no consolation tohim. A guilty man doing a guilty deed: a mere speculator, content to laydown his faith and honour for a fortune and a worldly career; and owningthat his life was but a contemptible surrender--what right had he in theholy place? what booted it to him in the world he lived in, that otherswere no better than himself? Arthur and Laura rode by the gates ofFairoaks; and he shook hands with his tenant's children, playing on thelawn and the terrace--Laura looked steadily at the cottage wall, at thecreeper on the porch and the magnolia growing up to her window. "Mr.Pendennis rode by to-day," one of the boys told his mother, "witha lady, and he stopped and talked to us, and he asked for a bit ofhoneysuckle off the porch, and gave it the lady. I couldn't see if shewas pretty; she had her veil down. She was riding one of Cramp's horses,out of Baymouth."
As they rode over the downs between home and Baymouth, Pen did notspeak much, though they rode very close together. He was thinking whata mockery life was, and how men refuse happiness when they may have it;or, having it, kick it down; or barter it, with their eyes open, for alittle worthless money or beggarly honour. And then the thought came,what does it matter for the little space? The lives of the best andpurest of us are consumed in a vain desire, and end in a disappointment:as the dear soul's who sleeps in her grave yonder. She had her selfishambition, as much as Caesar had; and died, baulked of her life'slonging. The stone covers over our hopes and our memories. Our placeknows us not. "Other people's children are playing on the grass," hebroke out, in a hard voice, "where you and I used to play, Laura. Andyou see how the magnolia we planted has grown up since our time. I havebeen round to one or two of the cottages where my mother used to visit.It is scarcely more than a year that she is gone, and the people whomshe used to benefit care no more for her death than for Queen Anne's. Weare all selfish: the world is selfish: there are but a few exceptions,like you, my dear, to shine like good deeds in a naughty world, and makethe blackness more dismal."
"I wish you would not speak in that way, Arthur," said Laura, lookingdown and bending her head to the honeysuckle on her breast. "When youtold the little boy to give me this, you were not selfish."
"A pretty sacrifice I made to get it for you!" said the sneerer.
"But your heart was kind and full of love when you did so. One cannotask for more than love and kindness; and if you think humbly of yourselfArthur, the love and kindness are--diminished--are they? I often thoughtour dearest mother spoiled you at home, by worshipping you; and that ifyou are--I hate the word--what you say, her too great fondness helpedto make you so. And as for the world, when men go out into it, I supposethey cannot be otherwise than selfish. You have to fight for yourself,and to get on for yourself, and to make a name for yourself. Mamma andyour uncle both encouraged you in this ambition. If it is a vain thing,why pursue it? I suppose such a clever man as you intend to do a greatdeal of good to the country, by going into Parliament, or you would notwish to be there. What are you going to do when you are in the House ofCommons?"
"Women don't understand about politics, my dear," Pen said sneering athimself as he spoke.
"But why don't you make us understand? I could never tell about Mr.Pynsent why he should like to be there so much. He is not a cleverman----"
"He certainly is not a genius, Pynsent," said Pen.
"Lady Diana says that he attends Committees all day; that then again heis at the House all night; that he always votes as he is told; that henever speaks; that he will never get on beyond a subordinate place; andas his grandmother tells him, he is choked with red-tape. Are you goingto follow the same career; Arthur? What is there in it so brilliant thatyou should be so eager for it? I would rather that you should stopat home, and write books--good books, kind books, with gentle kindthoughts, such as you have, dear Arthur, and such as might do peoplegood to read. And if you do not win fame, what then? You own it isvanity, and you can live very happily without it. I must not pretend toadvise; but I take you at your own word about the world; and as you ownit is wicked, and that it tires you, ask you why you don't leave it?"
"And what would you have me do?" asked Arthur.
"I would have you bring your wife to Fairoaks to live there, and study,and do good round about you. I would like to see your own childrenplaying on the lawn, Arthur, and that we might pray in our mother'schurch again once more, dear brother. If the world is a temptation, arewe not told to pray that we may not be led into it?"
"Do you think Blanche would make a good wife for a petty countrygentleman? Do you think I should become the character very well, Laura?"Pen asked. "Remember temptation walks about the hedgerows as well as thecity streets: and idleness is the greatest tempter of all."
"What does--does Mr. Warrington say?" said Laura, as a blush mounted upto her cheek, and of which Pen saw the fervour, though Laura's veil fellover her face to hide it.
Pen rode on by Laura's side silently for a while. George's name somentioned brought back the past to him, and the thoughts which he hadonce had regarding George and Laura. Why should the recurrence of thethought agitate him, now that he knew the union was impossible? Whyshould he be curious to know if, during the months of their intimacy,Laura had felt a regard for Warrington? From that day until the presenttime George had never alluded to his story, and Arthur remembered nowthat since then George had scarcely ever mentioned Laura's name.
At last he cane close to her. "Tell me something, Laura," he said.
She put back her veil and looked at him. "What is it, Arthur?" sheasked--though from the tremor of her voice she guessed very well.
"Tell me--but for George's misfortune--I never knew him speak of itbefore or since that day--would you--would you have given him--what yourefused me?"
"Yes, Pen," she said, bursting into tears.
"He deserved you better than I did," poor Arthur groaned forth, with anindescribable pang at his heart. "I am but a selfish wretch, and Georgeis better, nobler, truer, than I am. God bless him!"
"Yes, Pen," said Laura, reaching out her hand to her cousin, and he puthis arm round her, and for a moment she sobbed on his shoulder.
The gentle girl had had her secret, and told it. In the widow's lastjourney from Fairoaks, when hastening with her mother to Arthur'ssick-bed, Laura had made a different confession; and it was only whenWarrington told his own story, and described the hopeless condition ofhis life, that she discovered how much her feelings had changed,and with what tender sympathy, with what great respect, delight, andadmiration she had grown to regard her cousin's friend. Until she knewthat some plans she might have dreamed of were impossible, and thatWarrington, reading in her heart, perhaps, had told his melancholy storyto warn her, she had not asked herself whether it was possibl
e thather affections could change; and had been shocked and seared by thediscovery of the truth. How should she have told it to Helen, andconfessed her shame? Poor Laura felt guilty before her friend, withthe secret which she dared not confide to her; felt as if she had beenungrateful for Helen's love and regard; felt as if she had been wickedlyfaithless to Pen in withdrawing that love from him which he did not evencare to accept; humbled even and repentant before Warrington, lest sheshould have encouraged him by undue sympathy, or shown the preferencewhich she began to feel.
The catastrophe which broke up Laura's home, and the grief and anguishwhich she felt for her mother's death, gave her little leisure forthoughts more selfish; and by the time she rallied from that grief theminor one was also almost cured. It was but for a moment that she hadindulged a hope about Warrington. Her admiration and respect for himremained as strong as ever. But the tender feeling with which she knewshe had regarded him, was schooled into such calmness, that it may besaid to have been dead and passed away. The pang which it left behindwas one of humility and remorse. "Oh, how wicked and proud I was aboutArthur," she thought, "how self-confident and unforgiving! I neverforgave from my heart this poor girl, who was fond of him, or himfor encouraging her love; and I have been more guilty than she, poor,little, artless creature! I, professing to love one man, could listen toanother only too eagerly; and would not pardon the change of feelings inArthur, whilst I myself was changing and unfaithful:" And so humiliatingherself, and acknowledging her weakness, the poor girl sought forstrength and refuge in the manner in which she had been accustomed tolook for them.
She had done no wrong: but there are some folks who suffer for a faultever so trifling as much as others whose stout consciences can walkunder crimes of almost any weight; and poor Laura chose to fancy thatshe had acted in this delicate juncture of her life as a very greatcriminal. She determined that she had done Pen a great injury bywithdrawing that love which, privately in her mother's hearing, she hadbestowed upon him; that she had been ungrateful to her dead benefactressby ever allowing herself to think of another or of violating herpromise; and that, considering her own enormous crimes, she ought tobe very gentle in judging those of others, whose temptations were muchgreater, very likely, and whose motives she could not understand.
A year back Laura would have been indignant at the idea that Arthurshould marry Blanche: and her high spirit would have risen, as shethought that from worldly motives he should stoop to one so unworthy.Now when the news was brought to her of such a chance (the intelligencewas given to her by old Lady Rockminster, whose speeches were as directand rapid as a slap on the face), the humbled girl winced a little atthe blow, but bore it meekly, and with a desperate acquiescence. "He hasa right to marry, he knows a great deal more of the world than I do,"she argued with herself. "Blanche may not be so light-minded as sheseemed, and who am I to be her judge? I daresay it is very good thatArthur should go into Parliament and distinguish himself, and my dutyis to do everything that lies in my power to aid him and Blanche, and tomake his home happy. I daresay I shall live with them. If I am godmotherto one of their children, I will leave her my three thousand pounds!"And forthwith she began to think what she could give Blanche out of hersmall treasures, and how best to conciliate her affection. She wrote herforthwith a kind letter, in which, of course, no mention was made of theplans in contemplation, but in which Laura recalled old times, and spokeher goodwill, and in reply to this she received an eager answer fromBlanche: in which not a word about marriage was said, to be sure, butMr. Pendennis was mentioned two or three times in the letter, and theywere to be henceforth, dearest Laura, and dearest Blanche, and lovingsisters, and so forth.
When Pen and Laura reached home, after Laura's confession (Pen's nobleacknowledgment of his own inferiority and generous expression of lovefor Warrington, causing the girl's heart to throb, and rendering doublykeen those tears which she sobbed on his shoulder), a little slim letterwas awaiting Miss Bell in the hall, which she trembled rather guiltilyas she unsealed, and which Pen blushed as he recognised: for he sawinstantly that it was from Blanche.
Laura opened it hastily, and cast her eyes quickly over it, as Pen kepthis fixed on her, blushing.
"She dates from London," Laura said. "She has been with old Bonner, LadyClavering's maid. Bonner is going to marry Lightfoot the butler. Wheredo you think Blanche has been?" she cried out eagerly.
"To Paris, to Scotland, to the Casino?"
"To Shepherd's Inn, to see Fanny; but Fanny wasn't there, and Blanche isgoing to leave a present for her. Isn't it kind of her and thoughtful?"And she handed the letter to Pen, who read--
"'I saw Madame Mere, who was scrubbing the room, and looked at me withvery scrubby looks; but la belle Fanny was not au logis; and as I heardthat she was in Captain Strong's apartments, Bonner and I mounted autroisieme to see this famous beauty. Another disappointment--only theChevalier Strong and a friend of his in the room: so we came away afterall without seeing the enchanting Fanny.
"'Je t'envoie mille et mille baisers. When will that horrid canvassingbe over? Sleeves are worn, etc. etc. etc.'"
After dinner the doctor was reading the Times. "A young gentleman Iattended when he was here some eight or nine years ago, has come into afine fortune," the doctor said. "I see here announced the death of JohnHenry Foker, Esq., of Logwood Hall, at Pau, in the Pyrenees, on the 15thult."
The History of Pendennis Page 69
