Under some calico draperies in the shady embrasure of a window, Arthur Pendennis chose to assume a very gloomy and frowning countenance, and to watch Miss Bell dance her first quadrille with Mr. Pynsent for a partner. That gentleman was as solemn and severe as Englishmen are upon such occasions, and walked through the dance as he would have walked up to his pew in church, without a smile upon his face, or allowing any outward circumstance to interfere with his attention to the grave duty in which he was engaged. But Miss Laura's face was beaming with pleasure and good-nature. The lights and the crowd and music excited her. As she spread out her white robes, and performed her part of the dance, smiling and happy, her brown ringlets flowing back over her fair shoulders from her honest rosy face, more than one gentleman in the room admired and looked after her: and Lady Fogey, who had a house in London and gave herself no small airs of fashion when in the country, asked of Lady Rockminster who the young person was, mentioned a reigning beauty in London whom, in her ladyship's opinion, Laura was rather like, and pronounced that she would "do."
Lady Rockminster would have been very much surprised if anyprotégéeof hers would not "do," and wondered at Lady Fogey's impudence in judging upon the point at all. She surveyed Laura withmajestic glances through her eye-glass. She was pleased with the girl's artless looks, and gay innocent manner. Her manner is very good, her ladyship thought. Her arms are rather red, but that is a defect of her youth. Hertonis far better than that of the little pert Miss Amory, who is dancing opposite to her.
Miss Blanche was, indeed, thevis-à -visof Miss Laura, and smiled most killingly upon her dearest friend, and nodded to her, and talked to her, when they met during the quadrille evolutions, and patronized her a great deal. Her shoulders were the whitest in the whole room: and they were never easy in her frock for one single instant: nor were her eyes, which rolled about incessantly: nor was her little figure:—it seemed to say to all the people, "Come and look at me—not at that pink, healthy, bouncing country lass, Miss Bell, who scarcely knew how to dance till I taught her. This is the true Parisian manner—this is the prettiest little foot in the room, and the prettiest little chaussure, too. Look at it, Mr. Pynsent. Look at it, Mr. Pendennis, you who are scowling behind the curtain—I know you are longing to dance with me."
Laura went on dancing, and keeping an attentive eye upon Mr. Pen in the embrasure of the window. He did not quit that retirement during the first quadrille, nor until the second, when the good-natured Lady Clavering beckoned to him to come up to her to the dais or place of honor where the dowagers were, and whither Pen went blushing and exceedingly awkward, as most conceited young fellows are. He performed a haughty salutation to Lady Rockminster, who hardly acknowledged his bow, and then went and paid his respects to the widow of the late Amory, who was splendid in diamonds, velvet, lace, feathers, and all sorts of millinery and goldsmith's ware.
Young Mr. Fogey, then in the fifth form at Eton, and ardently expecting his beard and his commission in a dragoon regiment, was the second partner who was honored with Miss Bell's hand. He was rapt in admiration of that young lady. He thought he had never seen so charming a creature. "I like you much better than the French girl," (for this young gentleman had been dancing with Miss Amory before) he candidly said to her. Laura laughed, and looked more good-humored than ever; and in the midst of her laughter caught a sight of Pen, and continued to laugh as he, on his side, continued to look absurdly pompous and sulky. The next dance was a waltz, and young Fogey thought, with a sigh, that he did not know how to waltz, and vowed he would have a master the next holidays.
Mr. Pynsent again claimed Miss Bell's hand for this dance; and Pen beheld her in a fury, twirling round the room, her waist encircled by the arm of that gentleman. He never used to be angry before when, on summer evenings, the chairs and tables being removed, and the governess called down stairs to play the piano, he and the Chevalier Strong (who was a splendid performer, and could dance a British hornpipe, a German waltz, or a Spanish fandango, if need were), and the two young ladies, Blanche and Laura, improvised little balls at Clavering Park.Laura enjoyed this dancing so much, and was so animated, that she even animated Mr. Pynsent. Blanche, who could dance beautifully, had an unlucky partner, Captain Broadfoot, of the dragoons, then stationed at Chatteries. For Captain Broadfoot, though devoting himself with great energy to the object in view, could not get round in time: and, not having the least ear for music, was unaware that his movements were too slow.
So, in the waltz as in the quadrille, Miss Blanche saw that her dear friend Laura had the honors of the dance, and was by no means pleased with the latter's success. After a couple of turns with the heavy dragoon, she pleaded fatigue, and requested to be led back to her place, near her mamma, to whom Pen was talking; and she asked him why he had not asked her to waltz, and had left her to the mercies of that great odious man in spurs and a red coat.
"I thought spurs and scarlet were the most fascinating objects in the world to young ladies," Pen answered. "I never should have dared to put my black coat in competition with that splendid red jacket."
"You are very unkind, and cruel, and sulky, and naughty," said Miss Amory, with another shrug of the shoulders. "You had better go away. Your cousin is looking at us over Mr. Pynsent's shoulder."
"Will you waltz with me?" said Pen.
"Not this waltz. I can't, having just sent away that great hot Captain Broadfoot. Look at Mr. Pynsent, did you ever see such a creature? But I will dance the next waltz with you, and the quadrille too. I am promised, but I will tell Mr. Poole that I had forgotten my engagement to you."
"Women forget very readily," Pendennis said.
"But they always come back, and are very repentant and sorry for what they've done," Blanche said. "See, here comes the Poker, and dear Laura leaning on him. How pretty she looks!"
Laura came up, and put out her hand to Pen, to whom Pynsent made a sort of bow, appearing to be not much more graceful than that domestic instrument to which Miss Amory compared him.
But Laura's face was full of kindness. "I am so glad you have come, dear Pen," she said. "I can speak to you now. How is mamma? The three dances are over, and I am engaged to you for the next, Pen."
"I have just engaged myself to Miss Amory," said Pen; and Miss Amory nodded her head, and made her usual little courtesy. "I don't intend to give him up, dearest Laura," she said.
"Well, then, he'll waltz with me, dear Blanche," said the other. "Won't you, Pen?"
"I promised to waltz with Miss Amory."
"Provoking!" said Laura, and making a courtesy in her turn, she went and placed herself under the ample wing of Lady Rockminster.
Pen was delighted with his mischief. The two prettiest girls in the room were quarreling about him. He flattered himself he had punishedMiss Laura. He leaned in a dandified air, with his elbow over the wall, and talked to Blanche: he quizzed unmercifully all the men in the room—the heavy dragoons in their tight jackets—the country dandies in their queer attire—the strange toilets of the ladies. One seemed to have a bird's nest in her head; another had six pounds of grapes in her hair, besides her false pearls. "It's acoiffureof almonds and raisins," said Pen, "and might be served up for dessert." In a word, he was exceedingly satirical and amusing.
During the quadrille he carried on this kind of conversation with unflinching bitterness and vivacity, and kept Blanche continually laughing both at his wickedness and jokes, which were good, and also because Laura was again theirvis-Ã -vis, and could see and hear how merry and confidential they were.
"Arthur is charming to-night," she whispered to Laura, across Cornet Perch's shell jacket, as Pen was performingcavalier seulbefore them, drawling through that figure with a thumb in the pocket of each waistcoat.
"Who?" said Laura.
"Arthur," answered Blanche, in French. "Oh, it's such a pretty name!" And now the young ladies went over to Pen's side, and Cornet Perch performed apas seulin his turn. He had no waistcoat pocket to put his hands into, and they looked large and swollen as they hung before him depending from the tight arms in the jacket.
During the interval between the quadrille and the succeeding waltz, Pen did not take any notice of Laura, except to ask her whether her partner, Cornet Perch, was an amusing youth, and whether she liked him so well as her other partner, Mr. Pynsent. Having planted which two daggers in Laura's gentle bosom, Mr. Pendennis proceeded to rattle on with Blanche Amory, and to make jokes, good or bad, but which were always loud. Laura was at a loss to account for her cousin's sulky behavior, and ignorant in what she had offended him; however, she was not angry in her turn at Pen's splenetic mood, for she was the most good-natured and forgiving of women, and besides, an exhibition of jealousy on a man's part is not always disagreeable to a lady.
As Pen would not dance with her, she was glad to take up with the active Chevalier Strong, who was a still better performer than Pen; and being very fond of dancing, as every brisk and innocent young girl should be, when the waltz music began she set off, and chose to enjoy herself with all her heart. Captain Broadfoot on this occasion occupied the floor in conjunction with a lady of proportions scarcely inferior to his own; Miss Roundle, a large young woman in a strawberry-ice colored crape dress, the daughter of the lady with the grapes in her head, whose bunches Pen had admired.
And now taking his time, and with his fair partner Blanche hanging lovingly on the arm which encircled her, Mr. Arthur Pendennis set out upon his waltzing career, and felt, as he whirled round to the music, that he and Blanche were performing very brilliantly indeed. Verylikely he looked to see if Miss Bell thought so too; but she did not or would not see him, and was always engaged with her partner Captain Strong. But Pen's triumph was not destined to last long; and it was doomed that poor Blanche was to have yet another discomfiture on that unfortunate night. While she and Pen were whirling round as light and brisk as a couple of opera-dancers, honest Captain Broadfoot and the lady round whose large waist he was clinging, were twisting round very leisurely according to their natures, and indeed were in every body's way. But they were more in Pendennis's way than in any body's else, for he and Blanche, while executing their rapid gyrations, came bolt up against the heavy dragoon and his lady, and with such force that the center of gravity was lost by all four of the circumvolving bodies; Captain Broadfoot and Miss Roundle were fairly upset, as was Pen himself, who was less lucky than his partner Miss Amory, who was only thrown upon, a bench against a wall.
But Pendennis came fairly down upon the floor, sprawling in the general ruin with Broadfoot and Miss Roundle. The captain, though heavy, was good-natured, and was the first to burst out into a loud laugh at his own misfortune, which nobody therefore heeded. But Miss Amory was savage at her mishap; Miss Roundle placed on herséant, and looking pitifully round, presented an object which very few people could see without laughing; and Pen was furious when he heard the people giggling about him. He was one of those sarcastic young fellows that did not bear a laugh at his own expense, and of all things in the world feared ridicule most.
As he got up Laura and Strong were laughing at him; every body was laughing; Pynsent and his partner were laughing; and Pen boiled with wrath against the pair, and could have stabbed them both on the spot. He turned away in a fury from them, and began blundering out apologies to Miss Amory. It was the other couple's fault—the woman in pink had done it—Pen hoped Miss Amory was not hurt—would she not have the courage to take another turn?
Miss Amory in a pet said shewasvery much hurt indeed, and she would not take another turn; and she accepted with great thanks a glass of water which a cavalier, who wore a blue ribbon and a three-pointed star, rushed to fetch for her when he had seen the deplorable accident. She drank the water, smiled upon the bringer gracefully, and turning her white shoulder at Mr. Pen in the most marked and haughty manner, besought the gentleman with the star to conduct her to her mamma; and she held out her hand in order to take his arm.
The man with the star trembled with delight at this mark of her favor; he bowed over her hand, pressed it to his coat fervidly, and looked round him with triumph.
It was no other than the happy Mirobolant whom Blanche had selected as an escort. But the truth is, that the young lady had never fairly looked in the artist's face since he had been employed in her mother's family, and had no idea but it was a foreign nobleman on whosearm she was leaning. As she went off, Pen forgot his humiliation in his surprise, and cried out, "By Jove, it's the cook!"
The instant he had uttered the words, he was sorry for having spoken them—for it was Blanche who had herself invited Mirobolant to escort her, nor could the artist do otherwise than comply with a lady's command. Blanche in her flutter did not hear what Arthur said; but Mirobolant heard him, and cast a furious glance at him over his shoulder, which rather amused Mr. Pen. He was in a mischievous and sulky humor; wanting perhaps to pick a quarrel with somebody; but the idea of having insulted a cook, or that such an individual should have any feeling of honor at all, did not much enter into the mind of this lofty young aristocrat, the apothecary's son.
It had never entered that poor artist's head, that he as a man was not equal to any other mortal, or that there was any thing in his position so degrading as to prevent him from giving his arm to a lady who asked for it. He had seen in the fêtes in his own country fine ladies, not certainly demoiselles (but the demoiselle Anglaise he knew was a great deal more free than the spinster in France) join in the dance with Blaise or Pierre; and he would have taken Blanche up to Lady Clavering, and possibly have asked her to dance too, but he heard Pen's exclamation, which struck him as if it had shot him, and cruelly humiliated and angered him. She did not know what caused him to start, and to grind a Gascon oath between his teeth.
But Strong, who was acquainted with the poor fellow's state of mind, having had the interesting information from our friend Madame Fribsby, was luckily in the way when wanted, and saying something rapidly in Spanish, which the other understood, the Chevalier begged Miss Amory to come and take an ice before she went back to Lady Clavering. Upon which the unhappy Mirobolant relinquished the arm which he had held for a minute, and with a most profound and piteous bow, fell back. "Don't you know who it is?" Strong asked of Miss Amory, as he led her away. "It is the Chef Mirobolant."
"How should I know?" asked Blanche. "He has acroix; he is verydistingué; he has beautiful eyes."
"The poor fellow is mad for yourbeaux yeux, I believe," Strong said. "He is a very good cook, but he is not quite right in the head."
"What did you say to him in the unknown tongue?" asked Miss Blanche.
"He is a Gascon, and comes from the borders of Spain," Strong answered. "I told him he would lose his place if he walked with you."
"Poor Monsieur Mirobolant!" said Blanche.
"Did you see the look he gave Pendennis?"—Strong asked, enjoying the idea of the mischief—"I think he would like to run little Pen through with one of his spits."
"He is an odious, conceited, clumsy creature, that Mr. Pen," said Blanche.
"Broadfoot looked as if he would like to kill him too, so did Pynsent," Strong said. "What ice will you have—water ice or cream ice?"
"Water ice. Who is that odd man staring at me—he isdecorétoo."
"That is my friend Colonel Altamont, a very queer character, in the service of the Nawaub of Lucknow. Hallo! what's that noise! I'll be back in an instant," said the chevalier, and sprang out of the room to the ball-room, where a scuffle and a noise of high voices was heard.
The refreshment room in which Miss Amory now found herself, was a room set apart for the purposes of supper, which Mr. Rincer the landlord had provided for those who chose to partake, at the rate of five shillings per head. Also, refreshments of a superior class were here ready for the ladies and gentlemen of the county families who came to the ball; but the commoner sort of persons were kept out of the room by a waiter who stood at the portal, and who said that was a select room for Lady Clavering and Lady Rockminster's parties, and not to be opened to the public till supper-time, which was not to be until past midnight. Pynsent, who danced with his constituents' daughters, took them and their mammas in for their refreshment there. Strong, who was manager and master of the revels wherever he went, had of course theentrée—and the only person who was now occupying the room, was the gentleman with the black wig and the orders in his button-hole; the officer in the service of his Highness the Nawaub of Lucknow.
This gentleman had established himself very early in the evening in this apartment, where, saying he was confoundedly thirsty, he called for a bottle of champagne. At this order, the waiter instantly supposed that he had to do with a grandee, and the colonel sate down and began to eat his supper and absorb his drink, and enter affably into conversation with any body who entered the room.
Sir Francis Clavering and Mr. Wagg found him there; when they left the ball-room which they did pretty early—Sir Francis to go and smoke a cigar and look at the people gathered outside the ball-room on the shore, which he declared was much better fun than to remain within; Mr. Wagg to hang on to a baronet's arm, as he was always pleased to do on the arm of the greatest man in the company. Colonel Altamont had stared at these gentleman in so odd a manner, as they passed through the "select" room, that Clavering made inquiries of the landlord who he was, and hinted a strong opinion that the officer of the Nawaub's service was drunk.
Mr. Pynsent, too, had had the honor of a conversation with the servant of the Indian potentate. It was Pynsent's cue to speak to every body (which he did, to do him justice, in the most ungracious manner); and he took the gentleman in the black wig for some constituent, some merchant captain, or other outlandish man of the place. Mr. Pynsent, then coming into the refreshment-room with a lady, the wife of a constituent, on his arm, the colonel asked him if he would try a glassof Sham? Pynsent took it with great gravity, bowed, tasted the wine, and pronounced it excellent, and with the utmost politeness retreated before Colonel Altamont. This gravity and decorum routed and surprised the colonel more than any other kind of behavior probably would: he stared after Pynsent stupidly, and pronounced to the landlord over the counter that he was a rum one. Mr. Rincer blushed, and hardly knew what to say. Mr. Pynsent was a county earl's grandson, going to set up as a Parliament man. Colonel Altamont, on the other hand, wore orders and diamonds, jingled sovereigns constantly in his pocket, and paid his way like a man; so not knowing what to say, Mr. Rincer said, "Yes, colonel—yes, ma'am, did you say tea? Cup a tea for Mrs. Jones, Mrs. R.," and so got off that discussion regarding Mr. Pynsent's qualities, into which the Nizam's officer appeared inclined to enter.
In fact, if the truth must be told, Mr. Altamont, having remained atthe buffet almost all night, and employed himself very actively while there, had considerably flushed his brain by drinking, and he was still going on drinking when Mr. Strong and Miss Amory entered the room.
When the chevalier ran out of the apartment, attracted by the noise in the dancing-room, the colonel rose from his chair with his little red eyes glowing like coals, and, with rather an unsteady gait, advanced toward Blanche, who was sipping her ice. She was absorbed in absorbing it, for it was very fresh and good; or she was not curious to know what was going on in the adjoining room, although the waiters were, who ran after Chevalier Strong. So that when she looked up from the glass, she beheld this strange man staring at her out of his little red eyes. "Who was he? It was quite exciting."
"And so you're Betsy Amory," said he, after gazing at her. "Betsy Amory, by Jove!"
"Who—who speaks to me?" said Betsy, alias Blanche.
But the noise in the ball-room is really becoming so loud, that we must rush back thither, and see what is the cause of the disturbance.
Civil war was raging, high words passing, people pushing and squeezing together in an unseemly manner, round a window in the corner of the ball-room, close by the door through which the Chevalier Strong shouldered his way. Through the opened window, the crowd in the street below was sending up sarcastic remarks, such as "Pitch into him!" "Where are the police?" and the like; and a ring of individuals, among whom Madame Fribsby was conspicuous, was gathered round Monsieur Alcide Mirobolant on the one side; while several gentlemen and ladies surrounded our friend Arthur Pendennis on the other. Strong penetrated into this assembly, elbowing by Madame Fribsby, who was charmed at the chevalier's appearance, and cried, "Save him, save him!" in frantic and pathetic accents.
The cause of the disturbance, it appeared, was the angry little chef of Sir Francis Clavering's culinary establishment. Shortly after Strong had quitted the room, and while Mr. Pen, greatly irate at his downfall in the waltz, which had made him look ridiculous in the eyes of the nation, and by Miss Amory's behavior to him, which had still further insulted his dignity, was endeavoring to get some coolness of body and temper, by looking out of window toward the sea, which was sparkling in the distance, and murmuring in a wonderful calm—while he was really trying to compose himself, and owning to himself, perhaps, that he had acted in a very absurd and peevish manner during the night—he felt a hand upon his shoulder; and, on looking round, beheld, to hisutter surprise and horror, that the hand in question belonged to Monsieur Mirobolant, whose eyes were glaring out of his pale face and ringlets at Mr. Pen. To be tapped on the shoulder by a French cook was a piece of familiarity which made the blood of the Pendennises to boil up in the veins of their descendant, and he was astounded, almost more than enraged, at such an indignity.
"You speak French?" Mirobolant said, in his own language, to Pen.
"What is that to you, pray?" said Pen, in English.
"At any rate, you understand it?" continued the other, with a bow.
"Yes, sir," said Pen, with a stamp of his foot; "I understand it pretty well."
"Vous me comprendrez alors, Monsieur Pendennis," replied the other, rolling out hisrwith Gascon force, "quand je vous dis que vous êtes un lâche. Monsieur Pendennis—un lâche, entendez-vous?"
"What?" said Pen, starting round on him.
"You understand the meaning of the word and its consequences among men of honor?" the artist said, putting his hand on his hip, and staring at Pen.
"The consequences are, that I will fling you out of window, you—impudent scoundrel," bawled out Mr. Pen; and darting upon the Frenchman, he would very likely have put his threat into execution, for the window was at hand, and the artist by no means a match for the young gentleman—had not Captain Broadfoot and another heavy officer flung themselves between the combatants—had not the ladies begun to scream—had not the fiddles stopped—had not the crowd of people come running in that direction—had not Laura, with a face of great alarm, looked over their heads and asked for Heaven's sake what was wrong—had not the opportune Strong made his appearance from the refreshment-room, and found Alcides grinding his teeth and jabbering oaths in his Gascon French, and Pen looking uncommonly wicked, although trying to appear as calm as possible, when the ladies and the crowd came up.
"What has happened?" Strong asked of the chef in Spanish.
"I am Chevalier de Juillet," said the other, slapping his breast, "and he has insulted me."
"What has he said to you?" asked Strong.
"Il m'a appelé—Cuisinier?" hissed out the little Frenchman.
Strong could hardly help laughing. "Come away with me, my poor chevalier," he said. "We must not quarrel before ladies. Come away; I will carry your message to Mr. Pendennis.—The poor fellow is not right in his head," he whispered to one or two people about him;—and others, and anxious Laura's face visible among these, gathered round Pen, and asked the cause of the disturbance.
Pen did not know. "The man was going to give his arm to a young lady, on which I said that he was a cook, and the man called me a coward and challenged me to fight. I own I was so surprised and indignant that if you, gentlemen, had not stopped me, I should have thrown him out of window," Pen said.
"D—— him, serve him right, too—the d— impudent foreign scoundrel," the gentlemen said.
"I—I'm very sorry if I hurt his feelings, though," Pen added; and Laura was glad to hear him say that; although some of the young bucks said, "No, hang the fellow—hang those impudent foreigners—little thrashing would do them good."
"You will go and shake hands with him before you go to sleep—won't you, Pen?" said Laura, coming up to him. "Foreigners may be more susceptible than we are, and have different manners. If you hurt a poor man's feelings, I am sure you would be the first to ask his pardon. Wouldn't you, dear Pen?"
She looked all forgiveness and gentleness, like an angel, as she spoke; and Pen took both her hands, and looked into her kind face, and said, indeed he would.
"How fond that girl is of me!" he thought, as she stood gazing at him. "Shall I speak to her now? No—not now. I must have this absurd business with the Frenchman over."
Laura asked—Wouldn't he stop and dance with her? She was as anxious to keep him in the room, as he to quit it. "Won't you stop and waltz with me, Pen?I'm not afraid to waltz with you."
This was an affectionate, but an unlucky speech. Pen saw himself prostrate on the ground, having tumbled over Miss Roundle and the dragoon, and flung Blanche up against the wall—saw himself on the ground, and all the people laughing at him, Laura and Pynsent among them.
"I shall never dance again," he replied, with a dark and determined face. "Never. I'm surprised you should ask me."
"Is it because you can't get Blanche for a partner?" asked Laura, with a wicked, unlucky captiousness.
"Because I don't wish to make a fool of myself, for other people to laugh at me," Pen answered—"foryouto laugh at me, Laura. I saw you and Pynsent. By Jove! no man shall laugh at me."
"Pen, Pen, don't be so wicked!" cried out the poor girl, hurt at the morbid perverseness and savage vanity of Pen. He was glaring round in the direction of Mr. Pynsent as if he would have liked to engage that gentleman as he had done the cook. "Who thinks the worse of you for stumbling in a waltz?" If Laura does, we don't. "Why are you so sensitive and ready to think evil?"
Here again, by ill luck, Mr. Pynsent came up to Laura, and said, "I have it in command from Lady Rockminster to ask whether I may take you in to supper?"
"I—I was going in with my cousin," Laura said.
"O—pray no!" said Pen. "You are in such good hands that I can't do better than leave you; and I'm going home."
"Good night, Mr. Pendennis," Pynsent said, drily—to which speech (which in fact, meant, "Go to the deuce for an insolent, jealous, impertinent jackanapes, whose ears I should like to box"), Mr. Pendennis did not vouchsafe any reply, except a bow: and, in spite of Laura's imploring looks, he left the room.
"How beautifully calm and bright the night outside is!" said Mr. Pynsent; "and what a murmur the sea is making! It would be pleasanter to be walking on the beach, than in this hot room."
"Very," said Laura.
"What a strange congregation of people," continued Pynsent. "I have had to go up and perform the agreeable to most of them—the attorney's daughters—the apothecary's wife—I scarcely know whom. There was a man in the refreshment room, who insisted upon treating me to champagne—a seafaring looking man—extraordinarily dressed, and seeming half tipsy. As a public man, one is bound to conciliate all these people, but it is a hard task—especially when one would so very much like to be elsewhere"—and he blushed rather as he spoke.
"I beg your pardon," said Laura—"I—I was not listening. Indeed—I was frightened about that quarrel between my cousin and that—that—that—French person."
"Your cousin has been rather unlucky to-night," Pynsent said. "There are three or four persons whom he has not succeeded in pleasing—Captain Broadwood; what is his name—the officer—and the young lady in red with whom he danced—and Miss Blanche—and the poor chef—and I don't think he seemed particularly pleased with me."
"Didn't he leave me in charge to you?" Laura said, looking up into Mr. Pynsent's face, and dropping her eyes instantly, like a guilty little story-telling coquette.
"Indeed, I can forgive him a good deal for that," Pynsent eagerly cried out, and she took his arm, and he led off his little prize in the direction of the supper-room.
She had no great desire for that repast, though it was served in Rincer's well known style, as the county paper said, giving an account of the entertainment afterward; indeed, she was verydistraite; and exceedingly pained and unhappy about Pen. Captious and quarrelsome; jealous and selfish; fickle and violent and unjust when his anger led him astray; how could her mother (as indeed Helen had by a thousand words and hints) ask her to give her heart to such a man? And suppose she were to do so, would it make him happy?
But she got some relief at length, when at the end of half an hour—a long half-hour it had seemed to her—a waiter brought her a little note in pencil from Pen, who said, "I met Cooky below ready to fight me; and I asked his pardon. I'm glad I did it. I wanted to speak to you to-night, but will keep what I had to say till you come home. God bless you. Dance away all night with Pynsent, and be very happy.Pen."—Laura was very thankful for this letter, and to think that there was goodness and forgiveness still in her mother's boy.
Pen went down stairs, his heart reproaching him for his absurd behavior to Laura, whose gentle and imploring looks followed and rebuked him; and he was scarcely out of the ball-room door but he longed to turnback and ask her pardon. But he remembered that he had left her with that confounded Pynsent. He could not apologize beforehim. He would compromise, and forget his wrath, and make his peace with the Frenchman.
The chevalier was pacing down below in the hall of the inn when Pen descended from the ball-room; and he came up to Pen, with all sorts of fun and mischief lighting up his jolly face.
"I have got him in the coffee-room," he said, "with a brace of pistols and a candle. Or would you like swords on the beach? Mirobolant is a dead hand with the foils, and killed fourgardes-du-corpswith his own point in the barricades of July."
"Confound it," said Pen, in a fury, "I can't fight a cook!"
"He is a Chevalier of July," replied the other. "They present arms to him in his own country."
"And do you ask me, Captain Strong, to go out with a servant?" Pen asked fiercely; "I'll call a policeman forhim; but—but—"
"You'll invite me to hair triggers?" cried Strong, with a laugh. "Thank you for nothing; I was but joking. I came to settle quarrels, not to fight them. I have been soothing down Mirobolant; I have told him that you did not apply the word 'cook' to him in an offensive sense; that it was contrary to all the customs of the country that a hired officer of a household, as I called it, should give his arm to the daughter of the house." And then he told Pen the grand secret which he had had from Madame Fribsby of the violent passion under which the poor artist was laboring.
When Arthur heard this tale, he broke out into a hearty laugh, in which Strong joined, and his rage against the poor cook vanished at once. He had been absurdly jealous himself all the evening, and had longed for a pretext to insult Pynsent. He remembered how jealous he had been of Oaks in his first affair; he was ready to pardon any thing to a man under a passion like that; and he went into the coffee-room where Mirobolant was waiting, with an outstretched hand, and made him a speech in French, in which he declared that he was "Sincèrement fache d'avoir usé une expression qui avoit pu blesser Monsieur Mirobolant, et qu'il donnoit sa parole comme un gentlehomme qu'il ne l'avoit jamais, jamais—intendé," said Pen, who made a shot at a French word for "intended," and was secretly much pleased with his own fluency and correctness in speaking that language.
"Bravo, bravo!" cried Strong, as much amused with Pen's speech as pleased by his kind manner. "And the Chevalier Mirobolant of course withdraws, and sincerely regrets the expression of which he made use."
"Monsieur Pendennis has disproved my words himself," said Alcide, with great politeness; "he has shown that he is agalant homme."
And so they shook hands and parted, Arthur in the first place dispatching his note to Laura before he and Strong committed themselves to the Butcher Boy.
As they drove along, Strong complimented Pen upon his behavior,as well as upon his skill in French. "You're a good fellow, Pendennis, and you speak French like Chateaubriand, by Jove."
"I've been accustomed to it from my youth upward," said Pen; and Strong had the grace not to laugh for five minutes, when he exploded into fits of hilarity which Pendennis has never, perhaps, understood up to this day.
It was daybreak when they got to the Brawl, where they separated. By that time the ball at Baymouth was over too. Madame Fribsby and Mirobolant were on their way home in the Clavering fly; Laura was in bed, with an easy heart, and asleep at Lady Rockminster's; and the Claverings at rest at the inn at Baymouth, where they had quarters for the night. A short time after the disturbance between Pen and the chef, Blanche had come out of the refreshment-room, looking as pale as a lemon-ice. She told her maid, having no otherconfidanteat hand, that she had met with the most romantic adventure—the most singular man—one who had known the author of her being—her persecuted—her unhappy—her heroic—her murdered father; and she began a sonnet to his manes before she went to sleep.
So Pen returned to Fairoaks, in company with his friend the chevalier, without having uttered a word of the message which he had been so anxious to deliver to Laura at Baymouth. He could wait, however, until her return home, which was to take place on the succeeding day. He was not seriously jealous of the progress made by Mr. Pynsent in her favor; and he felt pretty certain that in this, as in any other family arrangement, he had but to ask and have, and Laura, like his mother, could refuse him nothing.
When Helen's anxious looks inquired of him what had happened at Baymouth, and whether her darling project was fulfilled, Pen, in a gay tone, told of the calamity which had befallen; laughingly said, that no man could think about declarations under such a mishap, and made light of the matter. "There will be plenty of time for sentiment, dear mother, when Laura comes back," he said, and he looked in the glass with a killing air, and his mother put his hair off his forehead and kissed him, and of course thought, for her part, that no woman could resist him: and was exceedingly happy that day.
When he was not with her, Mr. Pen occupied himself in packing books and portmanteaus, burning and arranging papers, cleaning his gun and putting it into its case: in fact, in making dispositions for departure. For though he was ready to marry, this gentleman was eager to go to London too, rightly considering that at three-and-twenty it was quite time for him to begin upon the serious business of life, and to set about making a fortune as quickly as possible.
The means to this end he had already shaped out for himself. "I shall take chambers," he said, "and enter myself at an Inn of Court. With a couple of hundred pounds I shall be able to carry through the first year very well; after that I have little doubt my pen will support me, as it is doing with several Oxbridge men now in town. I have atragedy, a comedy, and a novel, all nearly finished, and for which I can't fail to get a price. And so I shall be able to live pretty well, without drawing upon my poor mother, until I have made my way at the bar. Then, some day I will come back and make her dear soul happy by marrying Laura. She is as good and as sweet-tempered a girl as ever lived, besides being really very good-looking, and the engagement will serve to steady me—won't it, Ponto?" Thus, smoking his pipe, and talking to his dog as he sauntered through the gardens and orchards of the little domain of Fairoaks, this young day-dreamer built castles in the air for himself: "Yes, she'll steady me, won't she? And you'll miss me when I've gone, won't you, old boy?" he asked of Ponto, who quivered his tail and thrust his brown nose into his master's fist. Ponto licked his hand and shoe, as they all did in that house, and Mr. Pen received their homage as other folks do the flattery which they get.
Laura came home rather late in the evening of the second day; and Mr. Pynsent, as ill luck would have it, drove her from Clavering. The poor girl could not refuse his offer, but his appearance brought a dark cloud upon the brow of Arthur Pendennis. Laura saw this, and was pained by it; the eager widow, however, was aware of nothing, and being anxious, doubtless, that the delicate question should be asked at once, was for going to bed very soon after Laura's arrival, and rose for that purpose to leave the sofa where she now generally lay, and where Laura would come and sit and work or read by her. But when Helen rose, Laura said, with a blush and rather an alarmed voice, that she was also very tired and wanted to go to bed: so that the widow was disappointed in her scheme for that night at least, and Mr. Pen was left another day in suspense regarding his fate.
His dignity was offended at being thus obliged to remain in the ante-chamber when he wanted an audience. Such, a sultan as he, could not afford to be kept waiting. However, he went to bed and slept upon his disappointment pretty comfortably, and did not wake until the early morning, when he looked up and saw his mother standing in his room.
"Dear Pen, rouse up," said this lady. "Do not be lazy. It is the most beautiful morning in the world. I have not been able to sleep since daybreak; and Laura has been out for an hour. She is in the garden. Every body ought to be in the garden and out on such a morning as this."
Pen laughed. He saw what thoughts were uppermost in the simple woman's heart. His good-natured laughter cheered the widow. "Oh you profound dissembler," he said, kissing his mother. "Oh you artful creature! Can nobody escape from your wicked tricks? and will you make your only son your victim?" Helen too laughed, she blushed, she fluttered, and was agitated. She was as happy as she could be—a good, tender, match-making woman, the dearest project of whose heart was about to be accomplished.
So, after exchanging some knowing looks and hasty words, Helen left Arthur; and this young hero, rising from his bed, proceeded to decorate his beautiful person, and shave his ambrosial chin; and in half an hour he issued out from his apartment into the garden in quest of Laura. His reflections as he made his toilet were rather dismal. "I am going to tie myself for life," he thought, "to please my mother. Laura is the best of women, and—and she has given me her money. I wish to heaven I had not received it; I wish I had not this duty to perform just yet. But as both the women have set their hearts on the match, why I suppose I must satisfy them—and now for it. A man may do worse than make happy two of the best creatures in the world." So Pen, now he was actually come to the point, felt very grave, and by no means elated, and, indeed, thought it was a great sacrifice he was going to perform.
It was Miss Laura's custom, upon her garden excursions, to wear a sort of uniform, which, though homely, was thought by many people to be not unbecoming. She had a large straw hat, with a streamer of broad ribbon, which was useless probably, but the hat sufficiently protected the owner's pretty face from the sun. Over her accustomed gown she wore a blouse or pinafore, which, being fastened round her little waist by a smart belt, looked extremely well, and her hands were guaranteed from the thorns of her favorite rose-bushes by a pair of gauntlets, which gave this young lady a military and resolute air.
Somehow she had the very same smile with which she had laughed at him on the night previous, and the recollection of his disaster again offended Pen. But Laura, though she saw him coming down the walk looking so gloomy and full of care, accorded to him a smile of the most perfect and provoking good-humor, and went to meet him, holding one of the gauntlets to him, so that he might shake it if he liked—and Mr. Pen condescended to do so. His face, however, did not lose its tragic expression in consequence of this favor, and he continued to regard her with a dismal and solemn air.
"Excuse my glove," said Laura, with a laugh, pressing Pen's hand kindly with it. "We are not angry again, are we, Pen?"
"Why do you laugh at me?" said Pen. "You did the other night, and made a fool of me to the people at Baymouth."
"My dear Arthur, I meant you no wrong," the girl answered. "You and Miss Roundle looked so droll as you—as you met with your little accident, that I could not make a tragedy of it. Dear Pen, it wasn't a serious fall. And, besides, it was Miss Roundle who was the most unfortunate."
"Confound Miss Roundle," bellowed out Pen.
"I'm sure she looked so," said Laura, archly. "You were up in an instant; but that poor lady sitting on the ground in her red crape dress, and looking about her with that piteous face—can I ever forget her?"—and Laura began to make a face in imitation of Miss Roundle's under the disaster, but she checked herself repentantly, saying, "Well, wemust not laugh at her, but I am sure we ought to laugh at you, Pen, if you were angry about such a trifle."