The History of Pendennis

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER XVI. More Storms in the Puddle

  Pen's conduct in this business of course was soon made public, andangered his friend Doctor Portman not a little: while it only amusedMajor Pendennis. As for the good Mrs. Pendennis, she was almostdistracted when she heard of the squabble, and of Pen's unchristianbehaviour. All sorts of wretchedness, discomfort, crime, annoyance,seemed to come out of this transaction in which the luckless boy hadengaged; and she longed more than ever to see him out of Chatteris for awhile,--anywhere removed from the woman who had brought him into so muchtrouble.

  Pen, when remonstrated with by this fond parent, and angrily rebuked bythe Doctor for his violence and ferocious intentions, took the matter augrand serieux, with the happy conceit and gravity of youth: said that hehimself was very sorry for the affair, that the insult had come upon himwithout the slightest provocation on his part; that he would permit noman to insult him upon this head without vindicating his own honour, andappealing with great dignity to his uncle, asked whether he could haveacted otherwise as a gentleman, than as he did in resenting the outrageoffered to him, and in offering satisfaction to the person chastised?

  "Vous allez trop vite, my good sir," said the uncle, rather puzzled, forhe had been indoctrinating his nephew with some of his own notions uponthe point of honour--old-world notions savouring of the camp and pistola great deal more than our soberer opinions of the present day--"betweenmen of the world I don't say; but between two schoolboys, this sort ofthing is ridiculous, my dear boy--perfectly ridiculous."

  "It is extremely wicked, and unlike my son," said Mrs. Pendennis, withtears in her eyes, and bewildered with the obstinacy of the boy.

  Pen kissed her, and said with great pomposity, "Women, dear mother,don't understand these matters--I put myself into Foker's hands--I hadno other course to pursue."

  Major Pendennis grinned and shrugged his shoulders. The young ones werecertainly making great progress, he thought. Mrs. Pendennis declaredthat that Foker was a wicked horrid little wretch, and was sure that hewould lead her dear boy into mischief, if Pen went to the same Collegewith him. "I have a great mind not to let him go at all," she said: andonly that she remembered that the lad's father had always destined himfor the College in which he had had his own brief education, very likelythe fond mother would have put a veto upon his going to the University.

  That he was to go, and at the next October term, had been arrangedbetween all the authorities who presided over the lad's welfare. Fokerhad promised to introduce him to the right set; and Major Pendennis laidgreat store upon Pen's introduction into College life and society bythis admirable young gentleman. "Mr. Foker knows the very best young mennow at the University," the Major said, "and Pen will form acquaintancesthere who will be of the greatest advantage through life to him. Theyoung Marquis of Plinlimmon is there, eldest son of the Duke of SaintDavid's--Lord Magnus Charters is there, Lord Runnymede's son, and afirst cousin of Mr. Foker (Lady Runnymede, my dear, was Lady AgathaMilton, you of course remember); Lady Agnes will certainly invite him toLogwood; and far from being alarmed at his intimacy with her son, whois a singular and humorous, but most prudent and amiable young man, towhom, I am sure, we are under every obligation for his admirable conductin the affair of the Fotheringay marriage, I look upon it as one of thevery luckiest things which could have happened to Pen, that he shouldhave formed an intimacy with this most amusing young gentleman."

  Helen sighed, she supposed the Major knew best. Mr. Foker had been verykind in the wretched business with Miss Costigan, certainly, and shewas grateful to him. But she could not feel otherwise than adim presentiment of evil; and all these quarrels, and riots, andworldliness, scared her about the fate of her boy.

  Doctor Portman was decidedly of opinion that Pen should go to College.He hoped the lad would read, and have a moderate indulgence of thebest society too. He was of opinion that Pen would distinguish himself:Smirke spoke very highly of his proficiency: the Doctor himself hadheard him construe, and thought he acquitted himself remarkably well.That he should go out of Chatteris was a great point at any rate; andPen, who was distracted from his private grief by the various rows andtroubles which had risen round about him, gloomily said he would obey.

  There were assizes, races, and the entertainments and the flux ofcompany consequent upon them, at Chatteris, during a part of the monthsof August and September, and Miss Fotheringay still continued to act,and take farewell of the audiences at the Chatteris Theatre during thattime. Nobody seemed to be particularly affected by her presence, or herannounced departure, except those persons whom we have named; nor couldthe polite county folks, who had houses in London, and very likelyadmired the Fotheringay prodigiously in the capital, when they had beentaught to do so by the Fashion which set in in her favour, find anythingremarkable in the actress performing on the little Chatteris boards.Many genius and many a quack, for that matter, has met with a similarfate before and since Miss Costigan's time. This honest woman meanwhilebore up against the public neglect, and any other crosses or vexationswhich she might have in life, with her usual equanimity; and ate, drank,acted, slept, with that regularity and comfort which belongs to peopleof her temperament. What a deal of grief, care, and other harmfulexcitement does a healthy dulness and cheerful insensibility avoid! Nordo I mean to say that Virtue is not Virtue because it is never temptedto go astray; only that dulness is a much finer gift than we give itcredit for being; and that some people are very lucky whom Nature hasendowed with a good store of that great anodyne.

  Pen used to go drearily in and out from the play at Chatteris duringthis season, and pretty much according to his fancy. His proceedingstortured his mother not a little, and her anxiety would have led heroften to interfere, had not the Major constantly checked, and at thesame time encouraged her; for the wily man of the world fancied he sawthat a favourable turn had occurred in Pen's malady. It was the violentefflux of versification, among other symptoms, which gave Pen's guardianand physician satisfaction. He might be heard spouting verses in theshrubbery walks, or muttering them between his teeth as he sat withthe home party of evenings. One day prowling about the house in Pen'sabsence, the Major found a great book full of verses in the lad's study.They were in English, and in Latin; quotations from the classic authorswere given in the scholastic manner in the foot-notes. He can't be verybad, wisely thought the Pall-Mall Philosopher: and he made Pen's motherremark (not, perhaps, without a secret feeling of disappointment, forshe loved romance like other soft women), that the young gentlemanduring the last fortnight came home quite hungry to dinner at night,and also showed a very decent appetite at the breakfast-table in themorning. "Gad, I wish I could," said the Major, thinking ruefully of hisdinner pills. "The boy begins to sleep well, depend upon that." It wascruel, but it was true.

  Having no other soul to confide in--for he could not speak to his motherof his loves and disappointments--his uncle treated them in a scornfuland worldly tone, which, though carefully guarded and polite, yet jarredgreatly on the feelings of Mr. Pen--and Foker was much too coarse toappreciate those refined sentimental secrets--the lad's friendship forthe Curate redoubled, or rather, he was never tired of having Smirke fora listener on that one subject. What is a lovee without a confidant?Pen employed Mr. Smirke, as Corydon does the elm-tree, to cut out hismistress's name upon. He made him echo with the name of the beautifulAmaryllis. When men have left off playing the tune, they do not caremuch for the pipe: but Pen thought he had a great friendship for Smirke,because he could sigh out his loves and griefs into his tutor's ears;and Smirke had his own reasons for always being ready at the lad's call.

  Pen's affection gushed out in a multitude of sonnets to the friend ofhis heart, as he styled the Curate, which the other received withgreat sympathy. He plied Smirke with Latin Sapphics and Alcaics. Thelove-songs multiplied under his fluent pen; and Smirke declared andbelieved that they were beautiful. On the other hand, Pen expressed aboundless gratitude to think that Heaven should have sent him such afriend at
such a moment. He presented his tutor with his best-boundbooks, and his gold guard-chain, and wanted him to take hisdouble-barrelled gun. He went into Chatteris and got a gold pencil-caseon credit (for he had no money, and indeed was still in debt to Smirkefor some of the Fotheringay presents), which he presented to Smirke,with an inscription indicative of his unalterable and eternal regardfor the Curate; who of course was pleased with every mark of the boy'sattachment.

  The poor Curate was naturally very much dismayed at the contemplateddeparture of his pupil. When Arthur should go, Smirke's occupation anddelight would go too. What pretext could he find for a daily visit toFairoaks and that kind word or glance from the lady there, which was asnecessary to the Curate as the frugal dinner which Madame Fribsby servedhim? Arthur gone, he would only be allowed to make visits like any otheracquaintance: little Laura could not accommodate him by learning theCatechism more than once a week: he had curled himself like ivy roundFairoaks: he pined at the thought that he must lose his hold of theplace. Should he speak his mind and go down on his knees to the widow?He thought over any indications in her behaviour which flattered hishopes. She had praised his sermons three weeks before: she had thankedhim exceedingly for his present of a melon, for a small dinner-partywhich Mrs. Pendennis gave: she said she should always be grateful tohim for his kindness to Arthur, and when he declared that there were nobounds to his love and affection for that dear boy, she had certainlyreplied in a romantic manner, indicating her own strong gratitude andregard to all her son's friends. Should he speak out?--or should hedelay? If he spoke and she refused him, it was awful to think that thegate of Fairoaks might be shut upon him for ever--and within that doorlay all the world for Mr. Smirke.

  Thus, oh friendly readers, we see how every man in the world has his ownprivate griefs and business, by which he is more cast down or occupiedthan by the affairs or sorrows of any other person. While Mrs. Pendennisis disquieting herself about losing her son, and that anxious hold shehas had of him, as long as he has remained in the mother's nest, whencehe is about to take flight into the great world beyond--while theMajor's great soul chafes and frets, inwardly vexed as he thinks whatgreat parties are going on in London, and that he might be sunninghimself in the glances of Dukes and Duchesses, but for those cursedaffairs which keep him in a wretched little country hole--while Penis tossing between his passion and a more agreeable sensation,unacknowledged yet, but swaying him considerably, namely, his longingto see the world--Mr. Smirke has a private care watching at his bedside,and sitting behind him on his pony; and is no more satisfied than therest of us. How lonely we are in the world; how selfish and secret,everybody! You and your wife have pressed the same pillow for fortyyears and fancy yourselves united. Psha, does she cry out when you havethe gout, or do you lie awake when she has the toothache? Your artlessdaughter, seemingly all innocence and devoted to her mamma and herpiano-lesson, is thinking of neither, but of the young Lieutenant withwhom she danced at the last ball--the honest frank boy just returnedfrom school is secretly speculating upon the money you will give him,and the debts he owes the tart-man. The old grandmother crooning in thecorner and bound to another world within a few months, has some businessor cares which are quite private and her own--very likely she isthinking of fifty years back, and that night when she made such animpression, and danced a cotillon with the Captain before your fatherproposed for her: or, what a silly little overrated creature your wifeis, and how absurdly you are infatuated about her--and, as for yourwife--O philosophic reader, answer and say,--Do you tell her all? Ah,sir--a distinct universe walks about under your hat and under mine--allthings in nature are different to each--the woman we look at has not thesame features, the dish we eat from has not the same taste to the oneand the other--you and I are but a pair of infinite isolations, withsome fellow-islands a little more or less near to us. Let us return,however, to the solitary Smirke.

  Smirke had one confidante for his passion--that most injudicious woman,Madame Fribsby. How she became Madame Fribsby, nobody knows: she hadleft Clavering to go to a milliner's in London as Miss Fribsby--shepretended that she had got the rank in Paris during her residence inthat city. But how could the French king, were he ever so much disposed,give her any such title? We shall not inquire into this mystery,however. Suffice to say, she went away from home a bouncing young lass;she returned a rather elderly character, with a Madonna front and amelancholy countenance--bought the late Mrs. Harbottle's business fora song--took her elderly mother to live with her; was very good to thepoor, was constant at church, and had the best of characters. But therewas no one in all Clavering, not Mrs. Portman herself, who read so manynovels as Madame Fribsby. She had plenty of time for this amusement,for, in truth, very few people besides the folks at the Rectory andFairoaks employed her; and by a perpetual perusal of such works (whichwere by no means so moral or edifying in the days of which we write, asthey are at present) she had got to be so absurdly sentimental, that inher eyes life was nothing but an immense love-match; and she nevercould see two people together, but she fancied they were dying for oneanother.

  On the day after Mrs. Pendennis's visit to the Curate, which we haverecorded many pages back, Madame Fribsby settled in her mind that Mr.Smirke must be in love with the widow, and did everything in her powerto encourage this passion on both sides. Mrs. Pendennis she very seldomsaw, indeed, except in public, and in her pew at church. That lady hadvery little need of millinery, or made most of her own dresses and caps;but on the rare occasions when Madame Fribsby received visits fromMrs. Pendennis or paid her respects at Fairoaks, she never failed toentertain the widow with praises of the Curate, pointing out what anangelical man he was, how gentle, how studious, how lonely; and shewould wonder that no lady would take pity upon him.

  Helen laughed at these sentimental remarks, and wondered that Madameherself did not compassionate her lodger, and console him. MadameFribsby shook her Madonna front, "Mong cure a boco souffare," she said,laying her hand on the part she designated as her cure. "It est moreen Espang, Madame," she said with a sigh. She was proud of her intimacywith the French language, and spoke it with more volubility thancorrectness. Mrs. Pendennis did not care to penetrate the secrets ofthis wounded heart: except to her few intimates she was a reserved andit may be a very proud woman; she looked upon her son's tutor merelyas an attendant on that young Prince, to be treated with respect as aclergyman certainly, but with proper dignity as a dependant on thehouse of Pendennis. Nor were Madame's constant allusions to the Curateparticularly agreeable to her. It required a very ingenious sentimentalturn indeed to find out that the widow had a secret regard for Mr.Smirke, to which pernicious error however Madame Fribsby persisted inholding.

  Her lodger was very much more willing to talk on this subject with hissoft-hearted landlady. Every time after that she praised the Curate toMrs. Pendennis, she came away from the latter with the notion thatthe widow herself had been praising him. "Etre soul au monde est bienouneeyoung," she would say, glancing up at a print of a French carbineerin a green coat and brass cuirass which decorated her apartment--"Dependupon it when Master Pendennis goes to College, his Ma will find herselfvery lonely. She is quite young yet.--You wouldn't suppose her to befive-and-twenty. Monsieur le Cury, song cure est touchy--j'ang suissure--Je conny cela biang--Ally Monsieur Smirke."

  He softly blushed; he sighed; he hoped; he feared; he doubted; hesometimes yielded to the delightful idea--his pleasure was to sit inMadame Fribsby's apartment, and talk upon the subject, where, asthe greater part of the conversation was carried on in French by theMilliner, and her old mother was deaf, that retired old individual (whohad once been a housekeeper, wife and widow of a butler in the Claveringfamily) could understand scarce one syllable of their talk.

  Thus it was, that when Major Pendennis announced to his nephew's tutorthat the young fellow would go to College in October, and that Mr.Smirke's valuable services would no longer be needful to his pupil,for which services the Major, who spoke as grandly as a lord, professedhim
self exceedingly grateful, and besought Mr. Smirke to commandhis interests in any way--thus it was, that the Curate felt that thecritical moment was come for him, and was racked and tortured by thosesevere pangs which the occasion warranted.

  Madame Fribsby had, of course, taken the strongest interest in theprogress of Mr. Pen's love affair with Miss Fotheringay. She had beenover to Chatteris, and having seen that actress perform, had pronouncedthat she was old and overrated: and had talked over Master Pen's passionin her shop many and many a time to the half-dozen old maids, and oldwomen in male clothes, who are to be found in little country towns, andwho formed the genteel population of Clavering. Captain Glanders, H.P.,had pronounced that Pen was going to be a devil of a fellow, andhad begun early: Mrs. Glanders had told him to check his horridobservations, and to respect his own wife, if he pleased. She said itwould be a lesson to Helen for her pride and absurd infatuation aboutthat boy. Mrs. Pybus said many people were proud of very small things,and for her part, she didn't know why an apothecary's wife should giveherself such airs. Mrs. Wapshot called her daughters away from thatside of the street, one day when Pen, on Rebecca, was stopping at thesaddler's, to get a new lash to his whip--one and all of these peoplehad made visits of curiosity to Fairoaks, and had tried to condole withthe widow, or bring the subject of the Fotheringay affair on the tapis,and had been severally checked by the haughty reserve of Mrs. Pendennis,supported by the frigid politeness of the Major her brother.

  These rebuffs, however, did not put an end to the gossip, and slanderwent on increasing about the unlucky Fairoaks' family. Glanders (H.P.),a retired cavalry officer, whose half-pay and large family compelledhim to fuddle himself with brandy-and-water instead of claret after hequitted the Dragoons, had the occasional entree at Fairoaks, and kepthis friend the Major there informed of all the stories which werecurrent at Clavering. Mrs. Pybus had taken an inside place by the coachto Chatteris, and gone to the George on purpose to get the particulars.Mrs. Speers's man, had treated Mr. Foker's servant to drink at Baymouthfor a similar purpose. It was said that Pen had hanged himself fordespair in the orchard, and that his uncle had cut him down; that, onthe contrary, it was Miss Costigan who was jilted, and not young Arthur;and that the affair had only been hushed up by the payment of a largesum of money, the exact amount of which there were several people inClavering could testify--the sum of course varying according to thecalculation of the individual narrator of the story.

  Pen shook his mane and raged like a furious lion when these scandals,affecting Miss Costigan's honour and his own, came to his ears. Why wasnot Pybus a man (she had whiskers enough), that he might call her outand shoot her? Seeing Simcoe pass by, Pen glared at him so from hissaddle on Rebecca, and clutched his whip in a manner so menacing, thatthat clergyman went home and wrote a sermon, or thought over a sermon(for he delivered oral testimony at great length), in which he spokeof Jezebel, theatrical entertainments (a double cut this--for DoctorPortman, the Rector of the old church, was known to frequent such), andof youth going to perdition, in a manner which made it clear to everycapacity that Pen was the individual meant, and on the road alluded to.What stories more were there not against young Pendennis, whilst hesate sulking, Achilles-like in his tent, for the loss of his ravishedBriseis?

  After the affair with Hobnell, Pen was pronounced to be a murderer aswell as a profligate, and his name became a name of terror and a bywordin Clavering. But this was not all; he was not the only one of thefamily about whom the village began to chatter, and his unlucky motherwas the next to become a victim to their gossip.

  "It is all settled," said Mrs. Pybus to Mrs. Speers, "the boy is to goto College, and then the widow is to console herself."

  "He's been there every day, in the most open manner, my dear," continuedMrs. Speers.

  "Enough to make poor Mr. Pendennis turn in his grave," said Mrs.Wapshot.

  "She never liked him, that we know," says No. 1.

  "Married him for his money. Everybody knows that: was a pennilesshanger-on of Lady Pontypool's," says No. 2.

  "It's rather too open, though, to encourage a lover under pretence ofhaving a tutor for your son," cried No. 3.

  "Hush! here comes Mrs. Portman," some one said, as the good Rector'swife entered Madame Fribsby's shop, to inspect her monthly book offashions just arrived from London. And the fact is that Madame Fribsbyhad been able to hold out no longer; and one day, after she and herlodger had been talking of Pen's approaching departure, and the Curatehad gone off to give one of his last lessons to that gentleman, MadameFribsby had communicated to Mrs. Pybus, who happened to step in withMrs. Speers, her strong suspicion, her certainty almost, that there wasan attachment between a certain clerical gentleman and a certain lady,whose naughty son was growing quite unmanageable, and that a certainmarriage would take place pretty soon.

  Mrs. Portman saw it all, of course, when the matter was mentioned. Whata sly fox that Curate was! He was low-church, and she never liked him.And to think of Mrs. Pendennis taking a fancy to him after she hadbeen married to such a man as Mr. Pendennis! She could hardly stay fiveminutes at Madame Fribsby's, so eager was she to run to the Rectory andgive Doctor Portman the news.

  When Doctor Portman heard this piece of intelligence, he was in sucha rage with his curate, that his first movement was to break with Mr.Smirke, and to beg him to transfer his services to some other parish."That milksop of a creature pretend to be worthy of such a woman as Mrs.Pendennis," broke out the Doctor: "where will impudence stop next!"

  "She is much too old for Mr. Smirke," Mrs. Portman remarked: "why, poordear Mrs. Pendennis might be his mother almost."

  "You always choose the most charitable reason, Betsy," cried the Rector."A matron with a son grown up--she would never think of marrying again."

  "You only think men should marry again, Doctor Portman, answered hislady, bridling up.

  "You stupid old woman," said the Doctor, "when I am gone, you shallmarry whomsoever you like. I will leave orders in my will, my dear,to that effect: and I'll bequeath a ring to my successor, and my Ghostshall come and dance at your wedding."

  "It is cruel for a clergyman to talk so," the lady answered, with aready whimper: but these little breezes used to pass very rapidly overthe surface of the Doctor's domestic bliss; and were followed by a greatcalm and sunshine. The Doctor adopted a plan for soothing Mrs. Portman'sruffled countenance, which has a great effect when it is tried between aworthy couple who are sincerely fond of one another; and which, I think,becomes 'John Anderson' at three-score, just as much as it used to dowhen he was a black-haired young Jo of five-and-twenty.

  "Hadn't you better speak to Mr. Smirke, John?" Mrs Portman asked.

  "When Pen goes to College, cadit quaestio," replied the Rector,"Smirke's visits at Fairoaks will cease of themselves, and there will beno need to bother the widow. She has trouble enough on her hands, withthe affairs of that silly young scapegrace, without being pestered bythe tittle-tattle of this place. It is all an invention of that fool,Fribsby."

  "Against whom I always warned you,--you know I did, my dear John,"interposed Mrs. Portman.

  "That you did; you very often do, my love," the Doctor answered with alaugh. "It is not for want of warning on your part, I am sure, that Ihave formed my opinion of most women with whom we are acquainted. MadameFribsby is a fool, and fond of gossip, and so are some other folks. Butshe is good to the poor: she takes care of her mother, and she comesto church twice every Sunday. And as for Smirke, my dear----" here theDoctor's face assumed for one moment a comical expression, which Mrs.Portman did not perceive (for she was looking out of the drawing-roomwindow, and wondering what Mrs. Pybus could want cheapening fowlsagain in the market, when she had bad poultry from Livermore's two daysbefore)--"and as for Mr. Smirke, my dear Betsy, will you promise me thatyou will never breathe to any mortal what I am going to tell you as aprofound secret?"

  "What is it, my dear John!--of course I won't," answered the Rector'slady.

  "Well, then--I cann
ot say it is a fact, mind--but if you find thatSmirke is at this moment--ay, and has been for years--engaged to a younglady, a Miss--a Miss Thompson, if you will have the name, who liveson Clapham Common--yes, on Clapham Common, not far from Mrs. Smirke'shouse, what becomes of your story then about Smirke and Mrs. Pendennis?"

  "Why did you not tell me this before?" asked the Doctor's wife.--"Howlong have you known it?--How we all of us have been deceived in thatman!"

  "Why should I meddle in other folks' business, my dear?" the Doctoranswered. "I know how to keep a secret--and perhaps this is only aninvention like that other absurd story; at least, Madame Portman, Ishould never have told you this but for the other, which I beg you tocontradict whenever you hear it." And so saying the Doctor went away tohis study, and Mrs. Portman seeing that the day was a remarkably fineone, thought she would take advantage of the weather and pay a fewvisits.

  The Doctor looking out of his study window saw the wife of hisbosom presently issue forth, attired in her best. She crossed theMarket-place, saluting the market-women right and left, and giving aglance at the grocery and general emporium at the corner: then enteringLondon Street (formerly Hog Lane), she stopped for a minute atMadame Fribsby's window, and looking at the fashions which hung upthere,--seemed hesitating whether she should enter; but she passed onand never stopped again until she came to Mrs. Pybus's little green gateand garden, through which she went to that lady's cottage.

  There, of course, her husband lost sight of Mrs. Portman. "Oh, what along bow I have pulled," he said inwardly--"Goodness forgive me! andshot my own flesh and blood. There must be no more tattling and scandalabout that house. I must stop it, and speak to Smirke. I'll ask him todinner this very day."

  Having a sermon to compose, the Doctor sat down to that work, and was soengaged in the composition, that he had not concluded it until near fiveo'clock in the afternoon: when he stepped over to Mr. Smirke's lodgings,to put his hospitable intentions, regarding that gentleman, into effect.He reached Madame Fribsby's door, just as the Curate issued from it.

  Mr. Smirke was magnificently dressed, and as he turned out his toes, heshowed a pair of elegant open-worked silk stockings and glossy pumps.His white cravat was arranged in a splendid stiff tie, and his goldshirt studs shone on his spotless linen. His hair was curled round hisfair temples. Had he borrowed Madame Fribsby's irons to give that curlygrace? His white cambric pocket-handkerchief was scented with the mostdelicious eau-de-Cologne.

  "O gracilis puer,"--cried the Doctor.--"Whither are you bound? I wantedyou to come home to dinner."

  "I am engaged to dine at--at Fairoaks," said Mr. Smirke, blushingfaintly and whisking the scented pocket-handkerchief, and his ponybeing in waiting, he mounted and rode away simpering down the street.No accident befell him that day, and he arrived with his tie in the verybest order at Mrs. Pendennis's house.