CHAPTER XLVI. Miss Amory's Partners
The noble Henry Foker, of whom we have lost sight for a few pages,has been in the meanwhile occupied, as we might suppose a man of hisconstancy would be, in the pursuit and indulgence of his all-absorbingpassion of love.
I wish that a few of my youthful readers who are inclined to thatamusement would take the trouble to calculate the time which is spentin the pursuit, when they would find it to be one of the most costlyoccupations in which a man can possibly indulge. What don't yousacrifice to it, indeed, young gentlemen and young ladies ofill-regulated minds? Many hours of your precious sleep in the firstplace, in which you lie tossing and thinking about the adored object,whence you come down late to breakfast, when noon is advancing and allthe family is long since away to its daily occupations. Then when you atlength get to these occupations you pay no attention to them, and engagein them with no ardour--all your thoughts and powers of mind being fixedelsewhere. Then the day's work being slurred over, you neglect yourfriends and relatives, your natural companions and usual associates inlife, that you may go and have a glance at the dear personage, or a lookup at her windows, or a peep at her carriage in the Park. Then at nightthe artless blandishments of home bore you; mamma's conversation pallsupon you; the dishes which that good soul prepares for the dinner ofher favourite are sent away untasted,--the whole meal of life, indeed,except one particular plat, has no relish. Life, business, family ties,home, all things useful and dear once, become intolerable, and you arenever easy except when you are in pursuit of your flame.
Such I believe to be not unfrequently the state of mind amongstill-regulated young gentlemen, and such indeed was Mr. H. Foker'scondition, who, having been bred up to indulge in every propensitytowards which he was inclined, abandoned himself to this one with hisusual selfish enthusiasm. Nor because he had given his friend ArthurPendennis a great deal of good advice on a former occasion, need men ofthe world wonder that Mr. Foker became passion's slave in his turn. Whoamong us has not given a plenty of the very best advice to his friends?Who has not preached, and who has practised? To be sure, you, madam,are perhaps a perfect being, and never had a wrong thought in the wholecourse of your frigid and irreproachable existence: or sir, you are agreat deal too strong-minded to allow any foolish passion to interferewith your equanimity in chambers or your attendance on 'Change; you areso strong that you don't want any sympathy. We don't give you any, then;we keep ours for the humble and weak, that struggle and stumble and getup again, and so march with the rest of mortals. What need have you ofa hand who never fall? Your serene virtue is never shaded by passion,or ruffled by temptation, or darkened by remorse; compassion would beimpertinence for such an angel: but then with such a one companionshipbecomes intolerable; you are, from the elevation of your very virtueand high attributes, of necessity lonely; we can't reach up and talkfamiliarly with such potentatess good-bye, then; our way lies withhumble folks, and not with serene highnesses like you; and we givenotice that there are no perfect characters in this history, except,perhaps, one little one, and that one is not perfect either, for shenever knows to this day that she is perfect, and with a deplorablemisapprehension and perverseness of humility, believes herself to be asgreat a sinner as need be.
This young person does not happen to be in London at the present periodof our story, and it is by no means for the like of her that Mr. HenryFoker's mind is agitated. But what matters a few failings? Need we beangels, male or female, in order to be worshipped as such? Let us admirethe diversity of the tastes of mankind; and the oldest, the ugliest, thestupidest and most pompous, the silliest and most vapid, the greatestcriminal, tyrant booby, Bluebeard, Catherine Hayes, George Barnwell,amongst us, we need never despair. I have read of the passion of atransported pickpocket for a female convict (each of them advanced inage, being repulsive in person, ignorant, quarrelsome, and given todrink), that was as magnificent as the loves of Cleopatra and Antony,or Lancelot and Guinever. The passion which Count Borulawski, the Polishdwarf, inspired in the bosom of the most beautiful Baroness at the Courtof Dresden, is a matter with which we are all of us acquainted: theflame which burned in the heart of young Cornet Tozer but the other day,and caused him to run off and espouse Mrs. Battersby, who was old enoughto be his mamma,--all these instances are told in the page of history orthe newspaper column. Are we to be ashamed or pleased to think that ourhearts are formed so that the biggest and highest-placed Ajax amongus may some day find himself prostrate before the pattens of hiskitchen-maid; as that there is no poverty or shame or crime, which willnot be supported, hugged even with delight, and cherished more closelythan virtue would be, by the perverse fidelity and admirable constantfolly of a woman?
So then Henry Foker, Esquire, longed after his love, and cursed the fatewhich separated him from her. When Lord Gravesend's family retired tothe country (his lordship leaving his proxy with the venerable LordBagwig), Harry still remained lingering on in London, certainly not muchto the sorrow of Lady Ann, to whom he was affianced, and who did not inthe least miss him. Wherever Miss Clavering went, this infatuated youngfellow continued to follow her; and being aware that his engagement tohis cousin was known in the world, he was forced to make a mystery ofhis passion, and confine it to his own breast, so that it was so pent inthere and pressed down, that it is a wonder he did not explode some daywith the stormy secret, and perish collapsed after the outburst.
There had been a grand entertainment at Gaunt House on one beautifulevening in June, and the next day's journals contained almost twocolumns of the names of the most closely printed nobility and gentry whohad been honoured with invitations to the ball. Among the guestswere Sir Francis and Lady Clavering and Miss Amory, for whom theindefatigable Major Pendennis had procured an invitation, and our twoyoung friends Arthur and Harry. Each exerted himself, and danced a greatdeal with Miss Blanche. As for the worthy Major, he assumed the chargeof Lady Clavering, and took care to introduce her to that department ofthe mansion where her ladyship specially distinguished herself, namely,the refreshment-room, where, amongst pictures of Titian and Giorgione,and regal portraits of Vandyke and Reynolds, and enormous salvers ofgold and silver, and pyramids of large flowers, and constellations ofwax candles--in a manner perfectly regardless of expense, in a word--asupper was going on all night. Of how many creams, jellies, salads,peaches, white soups, grapes, pates, galantines, cups of tea, champagne,and so forth, Lady Clavering partook, it does not become us to say. Howmuch the Major suffered as he followed the honest woman about,calling to the solemn male attendants and lovely servant-maids, andadministering to Lady Clavering's various wants with admirable patience,nobody knows;--he never confessed. He never allowed his agony to appearon his countenance in the least; but with a constant kindness broughtplate after plate to the Begum.
Mr. Wagg counted up all the dishes of which Lady Clavering partookas long as he could count (but as he partook very freely himself ofchampagne during the evening, his powers of calculation were not tobe trusted at the close of the entertainment), and he recommended Mr.Honeyman, Lady Steyne's medical man, to look carefully after the Begum,and to call and get news of her ladyship the next day.
Sir Francis Clavering made his appearance, and skulked for a while aboutthe magnificent rooms; but the company and the splendour which he metthere were not to the Baronet's taste, and after tossing off atumbler of wine or two at the buffet, he quitted Gaunt House for theneighbourhood of Jermyn Street, where his friends Loder, Punter, littleMoss Abramns, and Captain Skewball were assembled at the familiar greentable. In the rattle of the box, and of their agreeable conversation,Sir Francis's spirits rose to their accustomed point of feeble hilarity.
Mr. Pynsent, who had asked Miss Amory to dance, came up on one occasionto claim her hand, but scowls of recognition having already passedbetween him and Mr. Arthur Pendennis in the dancing-room, Arthursuddenly rose up and claimed Miss Amory as his partner for the presentdance, on which Mr. Pynsent, biting his lips and scowling yet moresavagely, withdr
ew with a profound bow, saying that he gave up hisclaim. There are some men who are always falling in one's way in life.Pynsent and Pen had this view of each other; and each regarded otheraccordingly.
"What a confounded conceited provincial fool that is!" thought the one."Because he has written a twopenny novel, his absurd head is turned, anda kicking would take his conceit out of him."
"What an impertinent idiot that man is!" remarked the other to hispartner. "His soul is in Downing Street; his neckcloth is foolscap; hishair is sand; his legs are rulers; his vitals are tape and sealing-wax;he was a prig in his cradle; and never laughed since he was born, exceptthree times at the same joke of his chief. I have the same liking forthat man, Miss Amory, I have for that cold boiled veal." Upon whichBlanche of course remarked, that Mr. Pendennis was wicked, mechant,perfectly abominable, and wondered what he would say when her back wasturned.
"Say!--Say that you have the most beautiful figure, and the slimmestwaist in the world, Blanche--Miss Amory, I mean. I beg your pardon.Another turn; this music would make an alderman dance."
"And you have left off tumbling when you waltz now?" Blanche asked,archly looking up at her partner's face.
"One falls and one gets up again in life, Blanche; you know I used tocall you so in old times, and it is the prettiest name in the world.Besides, I have practised since then."
"And with a great number of partners, I'm afraid," Blanche said, with alittle sham sigh, and a shrug of the shoulders. And so in truth Mr. Penhad practised a good deal in this life; and had undoubtedly arrived atbeing able to dance better.
If Pendennis was impertinent in his talk, Foker, on the other hand,so bland and communicative on most occasions, was entirely mum andmelancholy when he danced with Miss Amory. To clasp her slender waistwas a rapture, to whirl round the room with her was a delirium; but tospeak to her, what could he say that was worthy of her? What pearl ofconversation could he bring that was fit for the acceptance of such aQueen of love and wit as Blanche? It was she who made the talk when shewas in the company of this love-stricken partner. It was she who askedhim how that dear little pony was, and looked at him and thanked himwith such a tender kindness and regret, and refused the dear little ponywith such a delicate sigh when he offered it. "I have nobody to ridewith in London," she said. "Mamma is timid, and her figure is not prettyon horseback. Sir Francis never goes out with me. He loves me like--likea stepdaughter. Oh, how delightful it must be to have a father--afather, Mr. Foker!"
"Oh, uncommon," said Mr. Harry, who enjoyed that blessing very calmly,upon which, and forgetting the sentimental air which she had just beforeassumed, Blanche's grey eyes gazed at Foker with such an arch twinklethat both of them burst out laughing, and Harry enraptured and at hisease began to entertain her with a variety of innocent prattle--goodkind simple Foker talk, flavoured with many expressions by no means tobe discovered in dictionaries, and relating to the personal historyof himself or horses, or other things dear and important to him, orto persons in the ballroom then passing before them, and about whoseappearance or character Mr. Harry spoke with artless freedom, and aconsiderable dash of humour.
And it was Blanche who, when the conversation flagged, and the youth'smodesty came rushing back and overpowering him, knew how to reanimateher companion: asked him questions about Logwood, and whether it was apretty place? Whether he was a hunting man, and whether he likedwomen to hunt? (in which case she was prepared to say that she adoredhunting)--but Mr. Foker expressing his opinion against sportingfemales, and pointing out Lady Bullfinch, who happened to pass by, asa horse-godmother, whom he had seen at cover with a cigar in her face,Blanche too expressed her detestation of the sports of the field, andsaid it would make her shudder to think of a dear sweet little foxbeing killed, on which Foker laughed and waltzed with renewed vigour andgrace.
And at the end of the waltz,--the last waltz they had on thatnight,--Blanche asked him about Drummington, and whether it was a finehouse. His cousins, she had heard, were very accomplished: Lord Erithshe had met, and which of his cousins was his favourite? Was it not LadyAnn? Yes, she was sure it was she; sure by his looks and his blushes.She was tired of dancing; it was getting very late; she must go tomamma;--and, without another word, she sprang away from Harry Foker'sarm, and seized upon Pen's, who was swaggering about the dancing-room,and again said, "Mamma, mamma!--take me to mamma, dear, Mr. Pendennis!"transfixing Harry with a Parthian shot, as she fled from him.
My Lord Steyne, with garter and ribbon, with a bald head and shiningeyes, and a collar of red whiskers round his face, always looked grandupon an occasion of state; and made a great effect upon Lady Clavering,when he introduced himself to her at the request of the obsequious MajorPendennis. With his own white and royal hand, he handed to her ladyshipa glass of wine, said he had heard of her charming daughter, and beggedto be presented to her; and, at this very juncture, Mr. Arthur Pendenniscame up with the young lady on his arm.
The peer made a profound bow, and Blanche the deepest curtesy that everwas seen. His lordship gave Mr. Arthur Pendennis his hand to shake;said he had read his book, which was very wicked and clever; askedMiss Blanche if she had read it,--at which Pen blushed and winced. Why,Blanche was one of the heroines of the novel. Blanche, in black ringletsand a little altered, was the Neaera of 'Walter Lorraine.'
Blanche had read it: the language of the eyes expressed her admirationand rapture at the performance. This little play being achieved, theMarquis of Steyne made other two profound bows to Lady Clavering andher daughter, and passed on to some other of his guests at the splendidentertainment.
Mamma and daughter were loud in their expressions of admiration of thenoble Marquis so soon as his broad back was turned upon them. "Hesaid they make a very nice couple," whispered major Pendennis to LadyClavering. Did he now, really? Mamma thought they would; Mamma was soflustered with the honour which had just been shown to her, and withother intoxicating events of the evening, that her good-humour knew nobounds. She laughed, she winked, and nodded knowingly at Pen; shetapped him on the arm with her fan; she tapped Blanche; she tapped theMajor;--her contentment was boundless, and her method of showing her joyequally expansive.
As the party went down the great staircase of Gaunt House, the morninghad risen stark and clear over the black trees of the square; the skieswere tinged with pink; and the cheeks of some of the people at theball,--ah, how ghastly they looked! That admirable and devoted Majorabove all,--who had been for hours by Lady Clavering's side, ministeringto her and feeding her body with everything that was nice, and her earwith everything that was sweet and flattering,--oh! what an object hewas! The rings round his eyes were of the colour of bistre; thoseorbs themselves were like the plovers' eggs whereof Lady Clavering andBlanche had each tasted; the wrinkles in his old face were furrowedin deep gashes; and a silver stubble, like an elderly morning dew wasglittering on his chin, and alongside the dyed whiskers now limp and outof curl.
There he stood, with admirable patience, enduring, uncomplainingly, asilent agony; knowing that people could see the state of his face(for could he not himself perceive the condition of others, males andfemales, of his own age?)--longing to go to rest for hours past; awarethat suppers disagreed with him, and yet having eaten a little so asto keep his friend, Lady Clavering, in good-humour; with twingesof rheumatism in the back and knees; with weary feet burning in hisvarnished boots,--so tired, oh, so tired and longing for bed! If a man,struggling with hardship and bravely overcoming it, is an object ofadmiration for the gods, that Power in whose chapels the old Major wasa faithful worshipper must have looked upwards approvingly upon theconstancy of Pendennis's martyrdom. There are sufferers in that cause asin the other: the negroes in the service of Mumbo Jumbo tattoo and drillthemselves with burning skewers with great fortitude; and we read thatthe priests in the service of Baal gashed themselves and bled freely.You who can smash the idols, do so with a good courage; but do not betoo fierce with the idolaters,--they worship the best thing they know.
The Pendennises, the elder and the younger, waited with Lady Claveringand her daughter until her ladyship's carriage was announced, whenthe elder's martyrdom may be said to have come to an end, for thegood-natured Begum insisted upon leaving him at his door in Bury Street;so he took the back seat of the carriage after a feeble bow or two, andspeech of thanks, polite to the last, and resolute in doing his duty.The Begum waved her dumpy little hand by way of farewell to Arthur andFoker, and Blanche smiled languidly out upon the young men, thinkingwhether she looked very wan and green under her rose-coloured hood, andwhether it was the mirrors at Gaunt House, or the fatigue and fever ofher own eyes, which made her fancy herself so pale.
Arthur, perhaps, saw quite well how yellow Blanche looked, but didnot attribute that peculiarity of her complexion to the effect of thelooking-glasses, or to any error in his sight or her own. Our young manof the world could use his eyes very keenly, and could see Blanche'sface pretty much as nature had made it. But for poor Foker it had aradiance which dazzled and blinded him: he could see no more faults init than in the sun, which was now flaring over the house-tops.
Amongst other wicked London habits which Pen had acquired, the moralistwill remark that he had got to keep very bad hours; and often was goingto bed at the time when sober country-people were thinking of leavingit. Men get used to one hour as to another. Editors of newspapers,Covent Garden market-people, night cabmen and coffee-sellers,chimney-sweeps, and gentlemen and ladies of fashion who frequent balls,are often quite lively at three or four o'clock of a morning, whenordinary mortals are snoring. We have shown in the last chapter how Penwas in a brisk condition of mind at this period, inclined to smoke hiscigar at ease, and to speak freely.
Foker and Pen walked away from Gaunt House, then, indulging in both theabove amusements: or rather Pen talked, and Foker looked as if he wantedto say something. Pen was sarcastic and dandified when he had been inthe company of great folks; he could not help imitating some of theirairs and tones, and having a most lively imagination, mistook himselffor a person of importance very easily. He rattled away, and attackedthis person and that; sneered at Lady John Turnbull's bad French, whichher ladyship will introduce into all conversations in spite of thesneers of everybody; at Mrs. Slack Roper's extraordinary costume andsham jewels; at the old dandies and the young ones;--at whom didn't hesneer and laugh?
"You fire at everybody, Pen--you're grown awful, that you are," Fokersaid. "Now you've pulled about Blondel's yellow wig, and Colchicum'sblack one, why don't you have a shy at a brown one, hay? you know whoseI mean. It got into Lady Clavering's carriage."
"Under my uncle's hat? My uncle is a martyr, Foker, my boy. My uncle hasbeen doing excruciating duties all night. He likes to go to bed ratherearly. He has a dreadful headache if he sits up and touches supper. Healways has the gout if he walks or stands much at a ball. He has beensitting up, and standing up, and supping. He has gone home to the goutand the headache, and for my sake. Shall I make fun of the old boy? no,not for Venice!"
"How do you mean that he has been doing it for your sake?" Foker asked,looking rather alarmed.
"Boy! canst thou keep a secret if I impart it to thee?" Pen cried out,in high spirits. "Art thou of good counsel? Wilt thou swear? Wilt thoube mum, or wilt thou preach? Wilt thou be silent and hear, or wiltthou speak and die?" And as he spoke, flinging himself into an absurdtheatrical attitude, the men in the cabstand in Piccadilly wondered andgrinned at the antics of the two young swells.
"What the doose are you driving at?" Foker asked, looking very muchagitated.
Pen, however, did not remark this agitation much, but continued in thesame bantering and excited vein. "Henry, friend of my youth," he said,"and witness of my early follies, though dull at thy books, yet thou artnot altogether deprived of sense,--nay, blush not, Henrico, thou hast agood portion of that, and of courage and kindness too, at the service ofthy friends. Were I in a strait of poverty, I would come to my Foker'spurse. Were I in grief, I would discharge my grief upon his sympathisingbosom----"
"Gammon, Pen--go on," Foker said.
"I would, Henrico, upon thy studs, and upon thy cambric worked by thehands of beauty, to adorn the breast of valour! Know then, friend ofmy boyhood's days, that Arthur Pendennis of the Upper Temple,student-at-law, feels that he is growing lonely and old Care isfurrowing his temples, and Baldness is busy with his crown. Shall westop and have a drop of coffee at this stall, it looks very hot andnice? Look how that cabman is blowing at his saucer. No, you won't?Aristocrat! I resume my tale. I am getting on in life. I have gotdevilish little money. I want some. I am thinking of getting some, andsettling in life. I'm thinking of settling. I'm thinking of marrying,old boy. I'm thinking of becoming a moral man; a steady port andsherry character: with a good reputation in my quartier, and a moderateestablishment of two maids and a man--with an occasional broughamto drive out Mrs. Pendennis, and a house near the Parks for theaccommodation of the children. Ha! what sayest thou? Answer thy friend,thou worthy child of beer. Speak, I adjure thee by all thy vats.
"But you ain't got any money, Pen," said the other, still lookingalarmed.
"I ain't? No, but she ave. I tell thee there is gold in store forme--not what you call money, nursed in the lap of luxury, and cradledon grains, and drinking in wealth from a thousand mash-tubs. What do youknow about money? What is poverty to you, is splendour to the hardy sonof the humble apothecary. You can't live without an establishment,and your houses in town and country. A snug little house somewhere offBelgravia, a brougham for my wife, a decent cook, and a fair bottle ofwine for my friends at home sometimes; these simple necessaries sufficefor me, my Foker." And here Pendennis began to look more serious.Without bantering further, Pen continued, "I've rather serious thoughtsof settling and marrying. No man can get on in the world without somemoney at his back. You must have a certain stake to begin with, beforeyou can go in and play the great game. Who knows that I'm not going totry, old fellow? Worse men than I have won at it. And as I have not gotenough capital from my fathers, I must get some by my wife--that's all."
They were walking down Grosvenor Street, as they talked, or rather asPen talked, in the selfish fulness of his heart; and Mr. Pen must havebeen too much occupied with his own affairs to remark the concernand agitation of his neighbour, for he continued: "We are no longerchildren, you know, you and I, Harry. Bah! the time of our romancehas passed away. We don't marry for passion, but for prudence and forestablishment. What do you take your cousin for? Because she is a nicegirl, and an Earl's daughter, and the old folks wish it, and that sortof thing."
"And you, Pendennis," asked Foker, "you ain't very fond of thegirl--you're going to marry?"
Pen shrugged his shoulders. "Comme ca," said he; "I like her wellenough. She's pretty enough; she's clever enough. I think she'll do verywell. And she has got money enough--that's the great point. Psha! youknow who she is, don't you? I thought you were sweet on her yourself onenight when we dined with her mamma. It's little Amory."
"I--I thought so," Foker said; "and has she accepted you!"
"Not quite," Arthur replied, with a confident smile, which seemed tosay, I have but to ask, and she comes to me that instant.
"Oh, not quite," said Foker; and he broke out with such a dreadfullaugh, that Pen, for the first time, turned his thoughts from himselftowards his companion, and was struck by the other's ghastly pale face.
"My dear fellow, Fo! what's the matter? You're ill," Pen said, in a toneof real concern.
"You think it was the champagne at Gaunt House, don't you? It ain'tthat. Come in; let me talk to you for a minute. I'll tell you what itis. D----it, let me tell somebody," Foker said.
They were at Mr. Foker's door by this time, and, opening it, Harrywalked with his friend into his apartments, which were situated in theback part of the house, and behind the family dining-room where theelder Foker received his guests, surrounded by pictures of himself, hiswife, his infant son on a donkey, and the late Earl of Gravesend in hisrobes as a Peer
. Foker and Pen passed by this chamber, now closed withdeath-like shutters, and entered into the young man's own quarters.Dusky streams of sunbeams were playing into that room, and lighting uppoor Harry's gallery of dancing-girls and opera nymphs with flickeringilluminations.
"Look here! I can't help telling you, Pen," he said. "Ever since thenight we dined there, I'm so fond of that girl, that I think I shalldie if I don't get her. I feel as if I should go mad sometimes. I can'tstand it, Pen. I couldn't bear to hear you talking about her, just now,about marrying her only because she's money. Ah, Pen! that ain't thequestion in marrying. I'd bet anything it ain't. Talking about moneyand such a girl as that, it's--it's--what-d'ye-call-'em--you know whatI mean--I ain't good at talking--sacrilege, then. If she'd have me, I'dtake and sweep a crossing, that I would!"
"Poor Fo! I don't think that would tempt her," Pen said, eyeing hisfriend with a great deal of real good-nature and pity. "She is not agirl for love and a cottage."
"She ought to be a duchess, I know that very well, and I know shewouldn't take me unless I could make her a great place in the world--forI ain't good for anything myself much--I ain't clever and that sortof thing," Foker said sadly. "If I had all the diamonds that all theduchesses and marchionesses had on to-night, wouldn't I put 'em in herlap? But what's the use of talking? I'm booked for another race. It'sthat kills me, Pen. I can't get out of it; though I die, I can't get outof it. And though my cousin's a nice girl, and I like her very well, andthat, yet I hadn't seen this one when our Governors settled that matterbetween us. And when you talked, just now, about her doing very well,and about her having money enough for both of you, I thought to myselfit isn't money or mere liking a girl, that ought to be enough to make afellow marry. He may marry, and find he likes somebody else better.All the money in the world won't make you happy then. Look at me; I'veplenty of money, or shall have out of the mash-tubs, as you call 'em. MyGovernor thought he'd made it all right for me in settling my marriagewith my cousin. I tell you it won't do; and when Lady Ann has got herhusband, it won't be happy for either of us, and she'll have the mostmiserable beggar in town."
"Poor old fellow!" Pen said, with rather a cheap magnanimity, "I wish Icould help you. I had no idea of this, and that you were so wild aboutthe girl. Do you think she would have you without your money? No. Doyou think your father would agree to break off your engagement with yourcousin? You know him very well, and that he would cast you off ratherthan do so."
The unhappy Foker only groaned a reply, flinging himself prostrate on asofa, face forwards, his head in his hands.
"As for my affair," Pen went on, "my dear fellow, if I had thoughtmatters were so critical with you, at least I would not have painedyou by choosing you as my confidant. And my business is not serious, atleast not as yet. I have not spoken a word about it to Miss Amory. Verylikely she would not have me if I asked her. Only I have had a greatdeal of talk about it with my uncle, who says that the match might bean eligible one for me. I'm ambitious and I'm poor. And it appears LadyClavering will give her a good deal of money, and Sir Francis might begot to never mind the rest. Nothing is settled, Harry. They are goingout of town directly. I promise you I won't ask her before she goes.There's no hurry: there's time for everybody. But, suppose you got her,Foker. Remember what you said about marriages just now, and the miseryof a man who doesn't care for his wife; and what sort of a wife wouldyou have who didn't care for her husband?"
"But she would care for me," said Foker, from his sofa--"that is, Ithink she would. Last night only, as we were dancing, she said----"
"What did she say?" Pen cried, starting up in great wrath. But hesaw his own meaning more clearly than Foker, and broke off with alaugh--"Well, never mind what she said, Harry. Miss Amory is a clevergirl, and says numbers of civil things--to you--to me, perhaps--and whothe deuce knows to whom besides? Nothing's settled, old boy. At least,my heart won't break if I don't get her. Win her if you can, and I wishyou joy of her. Good-bye! Don't think about what I said to you. I wasexcited, and confoundedly thirsty in those hot rooms, and didn't, Isuppose, put enough Seltzer-water into the champagne. Good night! I'llkeep your counsel too. 'Mum' is the word between us; and 'let there be afair fight, and let the best man win,' as Peter Crawley says."
So saying, Mr. Arthur Pendennis, giving a very queer and ratherdangerous look at his companion, shook him by the hand, with somethingof that sort of cordiality which befitted his just repeated simile ofthe boxing-match, and which Mr. Bendigo displays when he shakes handswith Mr. Gaunt before they fight each other for the champion's belt andtwo hundred pounds a side. Foker returned his friend's salute with animploring look, and a piteous squeeze of the hand, sank back on hiscushions again, and Pen, putting on his hat, strode forth into the air,and almost over the body of the matutinal housemaid, who was rubbing thesteps at the door.
"And so he wants her too, does be?" thought Pen as he marched along--andnoted within himself with a fatal keenness of perception and almost aninfernal mischief, that the very pains and tortures which that honestheart of Foker's was suffering gave a zest and an impetus to his ownpursuit of Blanche: if pursuit might be called which had been no pursuitas yet, but mere sport and idle dallying. "She said something to him,did she? perhaps she gave him the fellow flower to this;" and he tookout of his coat and twiddled in his thumb and finger a poor littleshrivelled crumpled bud that had faded and blackened with the heat andflare of the night--"I wonder to how many more she has given her artlesstokens of affection--the little flirt"--and he flung his into thegutter, where the water may have refreshed it, and where any amateur ofrosebuds may have picked it up. And then bethinking him that the day wasquite bright, and that the passers-by by might be staring at his beardand white neckcloth, our modest young gentleman took a cab and drove tothe Temple.
Ah! is this the boy that prayed at his mother's knee but a few yearssince, and for whom very likely at this hour of morning she is praying?Is this jaded and selfish worldling the lad who, a short while back, wasready to fling away his worldly all, his hope, his ambition, his chanceof life, for his love? This is the man you are proud of, old Pendennis.You boast of having formed him: and of having reasoned him out of hisabsurd romance and folly--and groaning in your bed over your pains andrheumatisms, satisfy yourself still by thinking, that, at last, that ladwill do something to better himself in life, and that the Pendenniseswill take a good place in the world. And is he the only one, who in hisprogress through this dark life goes wilfully or fatally astray, whilstthe natural truth and love which should illumine him grow dim in thepoisoned air, and suffice to light him no more?
When Pen was gone away, poor Harry Foker got up from the sofa, andtaking out from his waistcoat--the splendidly buttoned, but thegorgeously embroidered, the work of his mamma--a little white rosebud,he drew from his dressing-case, also the maternal present, a pair ofscissors, with which he nipped carefully the stalk of the flower, andplacing it in a glass of water opposite his bed, he sought refuge therefrom care and bitter remembrances.
It is to be presumed that Miss Blanche Amory had more than one rose inher bouquet, and why should not the kind young creature give out of hersuperfluity, and make as many partners as possible happy?
The History of Pendennis Page 48