A History of Pendennis, Volume 1

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 unchristianbehavior. 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 Chatteries fora while--any where removed from the woman who had brought him into somuch trouble.

  Pen, when remonstrated with by this fond parent, and angrily rebuked bythe doctor for his violence and ferocious intentions, took the matter_au grand serieux_, with the happy conceit and gravity of youth: saidthat he himself was very sorry for the affair, that the insult had comeupon him without the slightest provocation on his part; that he wouldpermit no man to insult him upon this head without vindicating his ownhonor, and appealing with great dignity to his uncle, asked whether hecould have acted otherwise as a gentleman, than as he did in resentingthe outrage offered to him, and in offering satisfaction to the personchastised?

  "_Vous allez trop vite_, my good sir," said the uncle, ratherpuzzled, for he had been indoctrinating his nephew with some of hisown notions upon the point of honor--old-world notions savoring ofthe camp and pistol a great deal more than our soberer opinions of thepresent day--"between men of the world I don't say; but between twoschool-boys, this sort of thing is ridiculous, my dear boy--perfectlyridiculous."

  "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, who isa 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 beenvery kind in the wretched business with Miss Costigan, certainly, andshe was grateful to him. But she could not feel otherwise than a dimpresentiment of evil; and all these quarrels, and riots, and worldliness,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 the bestsociety 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 Chatteries 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 Chatteries, during a part of themonths of August and September, and Miss Fotheringay still continued toact, and take farewell of the audiences at the Chatteries Theater duringthat time. Nobody seemed to be particularly affected by her presence, orher announced departure, except those persons whom we have named; norcould the 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 favor find any thingremarkable in the actress performing on the little Chatteries boards.Many a 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 dullness and cheerful insensibility avoid!Nor do I mean to say that Virtue is not Virtue because it is nevertempted to go astray; only that dullness is a much finer gift than wegive it credit for being, and that some people are very lucky whomNature has endowed with a good store of that great anodyne.

  Pen used to go drearily in and out from the play at Chatteries 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 favorable 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 lover 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 friendof his 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 expresseda boundless gratitude to think that Heaven should h
ave sent himsuch a friend at such a moment. He presented his tutor with his bestbound books, and his gold guard chain, and wanted him to take hisdouble-barreled gun. He went into Chatteries 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 Madam 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 behavior which flattered hishopes. She had praised his sermon 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 forever--and within that doorlay all the world for Mr. Smirke.

  Thus, oh friendly readers, we see how every man in the world, has hisown private griefs and business, by which he is more cast down oroccupied than by the affairs or sorrows of any other person. While Mrs.Pendennis is disquieting herself about losing her son and that anxioushold she has had of him, as long as he has remained in the mother'snest, whence he is about to take flight into the great worldbeyond--while the major's great soul chafes and frets, inwardly vexed ashe thinks what great parties are going on in London, and that he mightbe sunning himself in the glances of dukes and duchesses, but for thosecursed affairs which keep him in a wretched little country hole--whilePen is tossing between his passion and a more agreeable sensation,unacknowledged yet, but swaying him considerably, namely, his longing tosee the world--Mr. Smirke has a private care watching at his bed side,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,every body! You and your wife have pressed the same pillow for fortyyears and fancy yourselves united.--Pshaw, does she cry out when youhave the gout, or do you lie awake when she has the tooth-ache? Yourartless daughter, seemingly all innocence, and devoted to her mamma andher piano lesson, is thinking of neither, but of the young lieutenantwith whom she danced at the last ball--the honest frank boy justreturned from school is secretly speculating upon the money you willgive him, and the debts he owes the tart man. The old grandmothercrooning in the corner and bound to another world within a few months,has some business or cares which are quite private and her own--verylikely she is thinking of fifty years back, and that night when she madesuch an impression, and danced a cotillion with the captain, before yourfather proposed for her; or, what a silly little over-rated creatureyour wife is, and how absurdly you are infatuated about her--and, as foryour wife--O philosophic reader, answer and say--Do you tell her all?Ah, sir--a distinct universe walks about under your hat and undermine--all things in nature are different to each--the woman we lookat has not the same features, the dish we eat from has not the sametaste to the one and the other--you and I are but a pair of infiniteisolations, with some 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 never couldsee 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 every thing 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_," shesaid, laying her hand on the part she designated as her cure. "_Il estmore en Espang, Madame_," she said with a sigh. She was proud of herintimacy with the French language, and spoke it with more volubilitythan correctness. Mrs. Pendennis did not care to penetrate the secretsof this wounded heart: except to her few intimates she was a reservedand it 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 asa clergyman, certainly, but with proper dignity as a dependent 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 persistedin holding.

  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 that thewidow herself had been praising him. "_Etre soul au monde est bienouneeyong_," 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'ong 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 sitin Madame 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(who had once been a housekeeper, wife and widow of a butler in theClavering family), 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 coll
ege in October, and that Mr.Smirke's valuable services would no longer be needful to his pupil, forwhich services the major, who spoke as grandly as a lord, professedhimself exceedingly grateful, and besought Mr. Smirke to command hisinterest in any way--thus it was, that the curate felt that the criticalmoment was come for him, and was racked and tortured by those severepangs 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 Chatteries, 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,and who formed the genteel population of Clavering. Captain Glanders,H.P., had pronounced that Pen was going to be a devil of a fellow,and had 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, afterhe quitted the dragoons, had the occasional _entree_ at Fairoaks, andkept his friend the major there informed of all the stories which werecurrent at Clavering. Mrs. Pybus had taken an inside place by the coachto Chatteries, 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 honor 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, while he satesulking, 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. Every body knows that; was a pennilesshanger-on of Lady Pontypool's," says No. 2.

  "It's rather too open, though, to encourage a lover under pretense 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 had beenmarried 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 withMr. Smirke, and to beg him to transfer his services to some otherparish. "That milksop of a creature pretend to be worthy of such a womanas Mrs. Pendennis," broke out the doctor: "where will impudence stopnext?"

  "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, tothat 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 thinkbecomes "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 from want of warning on your part, I am sure, that Ihave formed my opinion of most women with whom we are acquainted. MadamFribsby 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 comes tochurch 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 fowls againin the market, when she had had 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 a
m 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 can not 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, Madam 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 at MadameFribsby's window, and looking at the fashions which hung up there,seemed hesitating whether she should enter; but she passed on, and neverstopped again until she came to Mrs. Pybus's little green gate andgarden, 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? Iwanted you 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 pony beingin waiting, he mounted and rode away simpering down the street. Noaccident befell him that day, and he arrived with his tie in the verybest order at Mrs. Pendennis's house.