CHAPTER XXVIII.
WHICH IS BOTH QUARRELSOME AND SENTIMENTAL.
Civil war was raging, high words passing, people pushing and squeezingtogether in an unseemly manner, round a window in the corner of theball-room, close by the door through which the Chevalier Strongshouldered his way. Through the opened window, the crowd in the streetbelow was sending up sarcastic remarks, such as "Pitch into him!""Where are the police?" and the like; and a ring of individuals, amongwhom Madame Fribsby was conspicuous, was gathered round MonsieurAlcide Mirobolant on the one side; while several gentlemen and ladiessurrounded our friend Arthur Pendennis on the other. Strong penetratedinto this assembly, elbowing by Madame Fribsby, who was charmed at thechevalier's appearance, and cried, "Save him, save him!" in frantic andpathetic accents.
The cause of the disturbance, it appeared, was the angry little chef ofSir Francis Clavering's culinary establishment. Shortly after Strong hadquitted the room, and while Mr. Pen, greatly irate at his downfall inthe 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 insultedhis dignity, was endeavoring to get some coolness of body and temper,by looking out of window toward the sea, which was sparkling in thedistance, and murmuring in a wonderful calm--while he was really tryingto compose himself, and owning to himself, perhaps, that he had acted ina very absurd and peevish manner during the night--he felt a hand uponhis shoulder; and, on looking round, beheld, to his utter surprise andhorror, that the hand in question belonged to Monsieur Mirobolant, whoseeyes were glaring out of his pale face and ringlets at Mr. Pen. To betapped on the shoulder by a French cook was a piece of familiaritywhich made the blood of the Pendennises to boil up in the veins of theirdescendant, and he was astounded, almost more than enraged, at such anindignity.
"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 prettywell."
"Vous me comprendrez alors, Monsieur Pendennis," replied the other,rolling out his _r_ with Gascon force, "quand je vous dis que vous etesun lache. Monsieur Pendennis--un lache, entendez-vous?"
"What?" said Pen, starting round on him.
"You understand the meaning of the word and its consequences among menof honor?" the artist said, putting his hand on his hip, and staring atPen.
"The consequences are, that I will fling you out of window,you--impudent scoundrel," bawled out Mr. Pen; and darting upon theFrenchman, 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 theyoung gentleman--had not Captain Broadfoot and another heavy officerflung themselves between the combatants--had not the ladies begun toscream--had not the fiddles stopped--had not the crowd of people comerunning 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--hadnot the opportune Strong made his appearance from the refreshment-room,and found Alcides grinding his teeth and jabbering oaths in his GasconFrench, and Pen looking uncommonly wicked, although trying to appearas 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, "andhe has insulted me."
"What has he said to you?" asked Strong.
"Il m'a appele--_Cuisinier_?" hissed out the little Frenchman.
Strong could hardly help laughing. "Come away with me, my poorchevalier," he said. "We must not quarrel before ladies. Come away; Iwill carry your message to Mr. Pendennis.--The poor fellow is not rightin his head," he whispered to one or two people about him;--and others,and anxious Laura's face visible among these, gathered round Pen, andasked 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 andchallenged me to fight. I own I was so surprised and indignant that ifyou, gentlemen, had not stopped me, I should have thrown him out ofwindow," 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 Laurawas glad to hear him say that; although some of the young bucks said,"No, hang the fellow--hang those impudent foreigners--little thrashingwould 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 susceptiblethan we are, and have different manners. If you hurt a poor man'sfeelings, I am sure you would be the first to ask his pardon. Wouldn'tyou, 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 businesswith the Frenchman over."
Laura asked--Wouldn't he stop and dance with her? She was as anxious tokeep him in the room, as he to quit it. "Won't you stop and waltz withme, Pen? _I_'m not afraid to waltz with you."
This was an affectionate, but an unlucky speech. Pen saw himselfprostrate on the ground, having tumbled over Miss Roundle and thedragoon, and flung Blanche up against the wall--saw himself on theground, and all the people laughing at him, Laura and Pynsent amongthem.
"I shall never dance again," he replied, with a dark and determinedface. "Never. I'm surprised you should ask me."
"Is it because you can't get Blanche for a partner?" asked Laura, witha wicked, unlucky captiousness.
"Because I don't wish to make a fool of myself, for other people tolaugh at me," Pen answered--"for _you_ to laugh at me, Laura. I saw youand Pynsent. By Jove! no man shall laugh at me."
"Pen, Pen, don't be so wicked!" cried out the poor girl, hurt at themorbid perverseness and savage vanity of Pen. He was glaring round inthe direction of Mr. Pynsent as if he would have liked to engage thatgentleman as he had done the cook. "Who thinks the worse of you forstumbling in a waltz?" If Laura does, we don't. "Why are you sosensitive and ready to think evil?"
Here again, by ill luck, Mr. Pynsent came up to Laura, and said, "I haveit in command from Lady Rockminster to ask whether I may take you in tosupper?"
"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 dobetter than leave you; and I'm going home."
"Good night, Mr. Pendennis," Pynsent said, drily--to which speech (whichin fact, meant, "Go to the deuce for an insolent, jealous, impertinentjackanapes, whose ears I should like to box"), Mr. Pendennis did notvouchsafe any reply, except a bow: and, in spite of Laura's imploringlooks, 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 bewalking on the beach, than in this hot room."
"Very," said Laura.
"What a strange congregation of people," continued Pynsent. "I havehad to go up and perform the agreeable to most of them--the attorney'sdaughters--the apothecary's wife--I scarcely know whom. There was a manin the refreshment room, who insisted upon treating me to champagne--aseafaring looking man--extraordinarily dressed, and seeming half tipsy.As a public man, one is bound to conciliate all these people, but itis a hard task--especially when one would so very much like to beelsewhere"--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 andthat--that--that--French person."
"Your cousin has been rather unlucky to-night," Pynsent said. "Thereare three or four persons whom he has not succeeded in pleasing--CaptainBroadwood; what is his name--the officer--and the young l
ady in red withwhom he danced--and Miss Blanche--and the poor chef--and I don't thinkhe 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 littlestory-telling coquette.
"Indeed, I can forgive him a good deal for that," Pynsent eagerly criedout, and she took his arm, and he led off his little prize in thedirection of the supper-room.
She had no great desire for that repast, though it was served inRincer's well known style, as the county paper said, giving an accountof the entertainment afterward; indeed, she was very _distraite_; andexceedingly pained and unhappy about Pen. Captious and quarrelsome;jealous and selfish; fickle and violent and unjust when his anger ledhim astray; how could her mother (as indeed Helen had by a thousandwords and hints) ask her to give her heart to such a man? And supposeshe were to do so, would it make him happy?
But she got some relief at length, when at the end of half an hour--along half-hour it had seemed to her--a waiter brought her a little notein 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 youto-night, but will keep what I had to say till you come home. Godbless you. Dance away all night with Pynsent, and be very happy.PEN."--Laura was very thankful for this letter, and to thinkthat there was goodness and forgiveness still in her mother's boy.
* * * * *
Pen went down stairs, his heart reproaching him for his absurd behaviorto Laura, whose gentle and imploring looks followed and rebuked him; andhe was scarcely out of the ball-room door but he longed to turn backand ask her pardon. But he remembered that he had left her with thatconfounded Pynsent. He could not apologize before _him_. He wouldcompromise, and forget his wrath, and make his peace with the Frenchman.
The chevalier was pacing down below in the hall of the inn when Pendescended from the ball-room; and he came up to Pen, with all sorts offun and mischief lighting up his jolly face.
"I have got him in the coffee-room," he said, "with a brace of pistolsand a candle. Or would you like swords on the beach? Mirobolant is adead hand with the foils, and killed four _gardes-du-corps_ with his ownpoint 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 tohim in his own country."
"And do you ask me, Captain Strong, to go out with a servant?" Pen askedfiercely; "I'll call a policeman for _him_; but--but--"
"You'll invite me to hair triggers?" cried Strong, with a laugh. "Thankyou for nothing; I was but joking. I came to settle quarrels, not tofight them. I have been soothing down Mirobolant; I have told him thatyou did not apply the word 'cook' to him in an offensive sense; that itwas contrary to all the customs of the country that a hired officer ofa household, as I called it, should give his arm to the daughter of thehouse." And then he told Pen the grand secret which he had had fromMadame Fribsby of the violent passion under which the poor artist waslaboring.
When Arthur heard this tale, he broke out into a hearty laugh, in whichStrong joined, and his rage against the poor cook vanished at once. Hehad been absurdly jealous himself all the evening, and had longed for apretext to insult Pynsent. He remembered how jealous he had been of Oaksin his first affair; he was ready to pardon any thing to a man under apassion like that; and he went into the coffee-room where Mirobolant waswaiting, with an outstretched hand, and made him a speech in French,in which he declared that he was "Sincerement fache d'avoir use uneexpression qui avoit pu blesser Monsieur Mirobolant, et qu'il donnoit saparole comme un gentlehomme qu'il ne l'avoit jamais, jamais--intende,"said Pen, who made a shot at a French word for "intended," and wassecretly much pleased with his own fluency and correctness in speakingthat language.
"Bravo, bravo!" cried Strong, as much amused with Pen's speech aspleased by his kind manner. "And the Chevalier Mirobolant of coursewithdraws, and sincerely regrets the expression of which he made use."
"Monsieur Pendennis has disproved my words himself," said Alcide, withgreat politeness; "he has shown that he is a _galant homme_."
And so they shook hands and parted, Arthur in the first placedispatching his note to Laura before he and Strong committed themselvesto the Butcher Boy.
As they drove along, Strong complimented Pen upon his behavior, as wellas upon his skill in French. "You're a good fellow, Pendennis, and youspeak French like Chateaubriand, by Jove."
"I've been accustomed to it from my youth upward," said Pen; and Stronghad the grace not to laugh for five minutes, when he exploded into fitsof hilarity which Pendennis has never, perhaps, understood up to thisday.
It was daybreak when they got to the Brawl, where they separated.By that time the ball at Baymouth was over too. Madame Fribsby andMirobolant were on their way home in the Clavering fly; Laura was inbed, with an easy heart, and asleep at Lady Rockminster's; and theClaverings at rest at the inn at Baymouth, where they had quarters forthe night. A short time after the disturbance between Pen and the chef,Blanche had come out of the refreshment-room, looking as pale as alemon-ice. She told her maid, having no other _confidante_ at hand, thatshe had met with the most romantic adventure--the most singular man--onewho had known the author of her being--her persecuted--her unhappy--herheroic--her murdered father; and she began a sonnet to his manes beforeshe 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 soanxious to deliver to Laura at Baymouth. He could wait, however, untilher return home, which was to take place on the succeeding day. He wasnot seriously jealous of the progress made by Mr. Pynsent in her favor;and he felt pretty certain that in this, as in any other familyarrangement, 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 atBaymouth, and whether her darling project was fulfilled, Pen, in a gaytone, told of the calamity which had befallen; laughingly said, that noman could think about declarations under such a mishap, and made lightof 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 akilling air, and his mother put his hair off his forehead and kissedhim, and of course thought, for her part, that no woman could resisthim: and was exceedingly happy that day.
When he was not with her, Mr. Pen occupied himself in packing books andportmanteaus, burning and arranging papers, cleaning his gun and puttingit into its case: in fact, in making dispositions for departure. Forthough he was ready to marry, this gentleman was eager to go to Londontoo, rightly considering that at three-and-twenty it was quite time forhim to begin upon the serious business of life, and to set about makinga fortune as quickly as possible.
The means to this end he had already shaped out for himself. "I shalltake chambers," he said, "and enter myself at an Inn of Court. With acouple of hundred pounds I shall be able to carry through the first yearvery well; after that I have little doubt my pen will support me, asit is doing with several Oxbridge men now in town. I have a tragedy, acomedy, and a novel, all nearly finished, and for which I can't fail toget a price. And so I shall be able to live pretty well, without drawingupon my poor mother, until I have made my way at the bar. Then, some dayI will come back and make her dear soul happy by marrying Laura. She isas good and as sweet-tempered a girl as ever lived, besides being reallyvery 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 saunteredthrough the gardens and orchards of the little domain of Fairoaks, thisyoung day-dreamer built castles in the air for himself: "Yes, she'llsteady me, won't she? And you'll miss me when I've gone, won't you, oldboy?" he asked of Ponto, who quivered his tail and thrust his brown noseinto his master's fist. Ponto licked his hand and shoe, as they all d
idin that house, and Mr. Pen received their homage as other folks do theflattery 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 poorgirl could not refuse his offer, but his appearance brought a dark cloudupon the brow of Arthur Pendennis. Laura saw this, and was pained byit; the eager widow, however, was aware of nothing, and being anxious,doubtless, that the delicate question should be asked at once, was forgoing to bed very soon after Laura's arrival, and rose for that purposeto leave the sofa where she now generally lay, and where Laura wouldcome 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 tiredand wanted to go to bed: so that the widow was disappointed in herscheme for that night at least, and Mr. Pen was left another day insuspense regarding his fate.
His dignity was offended at being thus obliged to remain in theante-chamber when he wanted an audience. Such, a sultan as he, could notafford to be kept waiting. However, he went to bed and slept upon hisdisappointment pretty comfortably, and did not wake until the earlymorning, 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 mostbeautiful morning in the world. I have not been able to sleep sincedaybreak; 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'sheart. His good-natured laughter cheered the widow. "Oh you profounddissembler," he said, kissing his mother. "Oh you artful creature! Cannobody escape from your wicked tricks? and will you make your only sonyour victim?" Helen too laughed, she blushed, she fluttered, and wasagitated. She was as happy as she could be--a good, tender, match-makingwoman, the dearest project of whose heart was about to be accomplished.
So, after exchanging some knowing looks and hasty words, Helen leftArthur; and this young hero, rising from his bed, proceeded to decoratehis beautiful person, and shave his ambrosial chin; and in half an hourhe issued out from his apartment into the garden in quest of Laura. Hisreflections as he made his toilet were rather dismal. "I am going to tiemyself for life," he thought, "to please my mother. Laura is the bestof women, and--and she has given me her money. I wish to heaven I hadnot received it; I wish I had not this duty to perform just yet. But asboth the women have set their hearts on the match, why I suppose I mustsatisfy them--and now for it. A man may do worse than make happy two ofthe best creatures in the world." So Pen, now he was actually come tothe point, felt very grave, and by no means elated, and, indeed, thoughtit was a great sacrifice he was going to perform.
It was Miss Laura's custom, upon her garden excursions, to wear a sortof uniform, which, though homely, was thought by many people to be notunbecoming. She had a large straw hat, with a streamer of broad ribbon,which was useless probably, but the hat sufficiently protected theowner's pretty face from the sun. Over her accustomed gown she wore ablouse or pinafore, which, being fastened round her little waist by asmart belt, looked extremely well, and her hands were guaranteed fromthe thorns of her favorite rose-bushes by a pair of gauntlets, whichgave this young lady a military and resolute air.
Somehow she had the very same smile with which she had laughed at him onthe night previous, and the recollection of his disaster again offendedPen. But Laura, though she saw him coming down the walk looking sogloomy and full of care, accorded to him a smile of the most perfect andprovoking good-humor, and went to meet him, holding one of the gauntletsto him, so that he might shake it if he liked--and Mr. Pen condescendedto do so. His face, however, did not lose its tragic expression inconsequence of this favor, and he continued to regard her with a dismaland solemn air.
"Excuse my glove," said Laura, with a laugh, pressing Pen's hand kindlywith it. "We are not angry again, are we, Pen?"
"Why do you laugh at me?" said Pen. "You did the other night, and made afool of me to the people at Baymouth."
"My dear Arthur, I meant you no wrong," the girl answered. "You and MissRoundle 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 seriousfall. 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 aninstant; but that poor lady sitting on the ground in her red crapedress, and looking about her with that piteous face--can I ever forgether?"--and Laura began to make a face in imitation of Miss Roundle'sunder the disaster, but she checked herself repentantly, saying, "Well,we must not laugh at her, but I am sure we ought to laugh at you, Pen,if you were angry about such a trifle."
"_You_ should not laugh at me, Laura," said Pen, with some bitterness;"not you, of all people."
"And why not? Are you such a great man?" asked Laura.
"Ah no, Laura, I'm such a poor one," Pen answered. "Haven't you baitedme enough already?"
"My dear Pen, and how?" cried Laura. "Indeed, indeed, I didn't think tovex you by such a trifle. I thought such a clever man as you could beara harmless little joke from his sister," she said, holding her hand outagain. "Dear Arthur, if I have hurt you, I beg your pardon."
"It is your kindness that humiliates me more even than your laughter,Laura," Pen said. "You are always my superior."
"What! superior to the great Arthur Pendennis? How can it be possible?"said Miss Laura, who may have had a little wickedness as well as a greatdeal of kindness in her composition. "You can't mean that any woman isyour equal?"
"Those who confer benefits should not sneer," said Pen. "I don't like mybenefactor to laugh at me, Laura; it makes the obligation very hard tobear. You scorn me because I have taken your money, and I am worthy tobe scorned; but the blow is hard coming from you."
"Money! Obligation! For shame, Pen; this is ungenerous," Laura said,flushing red. "May not our mother claim every thing that belongs to us?Don't I owe her all my happiness in this world, Arthur? What mattersabout a few paltry guineas, if we can set her tender heart at rest, andease her mind regarding you? I would dig in the fields, I would go outand be a servant--I would die for her. You know I would," said MissLaura, kindling up; "and you call this paltry money an obligation? Oh,Pen, it's cruel--it's unworthy of you to take it so! If my brother maynot share with me my superfluity, who may?--mine?--I tell you it was notmine; it was all mamma's to do with as she chose, and so is every thingI have," said Laura; "my life is hers." And the enthusiastic girl lookedtoward the windows of the widow's room, and blessed in her heart thekind creature within.
Helen was looking, unseen, out of that window toward which Laura's eyesand heart were turned as she spoke, and was watching her two childrenwith the deepest interest and emotion, longing and hoping that theprayer of her life might be fulfilled: and if Laura had spoken as Helenhoped, who knows what temptations Arthur Pendennis might have beenspared, or what different trials he would have had to undergo? He mighthave remained at Fairoaks all his days, and died a country gentleman.But would he have escaped then? Temptation is an obsequious servant thathas no objection to the country, and we know that it takes up itslodging in hermitages as well as in cities; and that in the most remoteand inaccessible desert it keeps company with the fugitive solitary.
"Is your life my mother's," said Pen, beginning to tremble, and speak ina very agitated manner. "You know, Laura, what the great object of hersis?" And he took her hand once more.
"What, Arthur?" she said, dropping it, and looking at him, at the windowagain, and then dropping her eyes to the ground, so that they avoidedPen's gaze. She, too, trembled, for she felt that the crisis for whichshe had been secretly preparing was come.
"Our mother has one wish above all others in the world, Laura," Pensaid; "and I think you know it. I own to you that she has spoken to meof it; and if you will fulfill it, de
ar sister, I am ready. I am butvery young as yet; but I have had so many pains and disappointments,that I am old and weary. I think I have hardly got a heart to offer.Before I have almost begun the race in life, I am a tired man. My careerhas been a failure; I have been protected by those whom I by rightshould have protected. I own that your nobleness and generosity, dearLaura, shame me, while they render me grateful. When I heard from ourmother what you had done for me: that it was you who armed me and bademe go out for one struggle more; I longed to go and throw myself at yourfeet, and say, 'Laura, will you come and share the contest with me? Yoursympathy will cheer me while it lasts. I shall have one of the tenderestand most generous creatures under heaven to aid and bear me company.'Will you take me, dear Laura, and make our mother happy?"
"Do you think mamma would be happy if you were otherwise, Arthur?" Laurasaid, in a low sad voice.
"And why should I not be," asked Pen, eagerly, "with so dear a creatureas you by my side? I have not my first love to give you. I am a brokenman. But indeed I would love you fondly and truly. I have lost many anillusion and ambition, but I am not without hope still. Talents I know Ihave, wretchedly as I have misapplied them; they may serve me yet; theywould, had I a motive for action. Let me go away, and think that I ampledged to return to you. Let me go and work, and hope that you willshare my success if I gain it. You have given me so much, dear Laura,will you take from me nothing?"
"What have you got to give, Arthur?" Laura said, with a grave sadness oftone, which made Pen start, and see that his words had committed him.Indeed, his declaration had not been such as he would have made it twodays earlier, when full of hope and gratitude, he had run over to Laura,his liberatress, to thank her for his recovered freedom. Had he beenpermitted to speak then, he had spoken, and she, perhaps, had listeneddifferently. It would have been a grateful heart asking for hers; not aweary one offered to her, to take or to leave. Laura was offended withthe terms in which Pen offered himself to her. He had, in fact, saidthat he had no love, and yet would take no denial. "I give myself to youto please my mother," he had said; "take me, as she wishes that I shouldmake this sacrifice." The girl's spirit would brook a husband under nosuch conditions: she was not minded to run forward because Pen chose tohold out the handkerchief, and her tone, in reply to Arthur, showed herdetermination to be independent.
"No, Arthur," she said, "our marriage would not make mamma happy, as shefancies; for it would not content you very long. I, too, have known whather wishes were; for she is too open to conceal any thing she has atheart: and once, perhaps, I thought--but that is over now--that I couldhave made you--that it might have been as she wished."
"You have seen somebody else," said Pen, angry at her tone, andrecalling the incidents of the past days.
"That allusion might have been spared," Laura replied, flinging up herhead. "A heart which has worn out love at three-and-twenty, as yourshas, you say, should have survived jealousy too. I do not condescend tosay whether I have seen or encouraged any other person. I shall neitheradmit the charge, nor deny it: and beg you also to allude to it nomore."
"I ask your pardon, Laura, if I have offended you: but if I am jealous,does it not prove that I have a heart?"
"Not for me, Arthur. Perhaps you think you love me now: but it is onlyfor an instant, and because you are foiled. Were there no obstacle, youwould feel no ardor to overcome it. No, Arthur, you don't love me. Youwould weary of me in three months, as--as you do of most things; andmamma, seeing you tired of me, would be more unhappy than at my refusalto be yours. Let us be brother and sister, Arthur, as heretofore--but nomore. You will get over this little disappointment."
"I will try," said Arthur, in a great indignation.
"Have you not tried before?" Laura said, with some anger, for she hadbeen angry with Arthur for a very long time, and was now determined, Isuppose, to speak her mind. "And the next time, Arthur, when you offeryourself to a woman, do not say as you have done to me, 'I have noheart--I do not love you; but I am ready to marry you because my motherwishes for the match.' We require more than this in return for ourlove--that is, I think so. I have had no experience hitherto, and havenot had the--the practice which you supposed me to have, when you spokebut now of my having seen somebody else. Did you tell your first lovethat you had no heart, Arthur? or your second that you did not love her,but that she might have you if she liked?"
"What--what do you mean?" asked Arthur, blushing, and still in greatwrath.
"I mean Blanche Amory, Arthur Pendennis," Laura said, proudly. "It isbut two months since you were sighing at her feet--making poems toher--placing them in hollow trees by the river-side. I knew all. Iwatched you--that is, she showed them to me. Neither one nor the otherwere in earnest perhaps; but it is too soon now, Arthur, to begin a newattachment. Go through the time of your--your widowhood at least, and donot think of marrying until you are out of mourning."--(Here the girl'seyes filled with tears, and she passed her hand across them). "I amangry and hurt, and I have no right to be so, and I ask your pardon inmy turn now, dear Arthur. You had a right to love Blanche. She was athousand times prettier and more accomplished than--than any girl nearus here; and you could not know that she had no heart; and so you wereright to leave her too. I ought not to rebuke you about Blanche Amory,and because she deceived you. Pardon me, Pen,"--and she held the kindhand out to Pen once more.
"We were both jealous," said Pen. "Dear Laura, let us both forgive"--andhe seized her hand and would have drawn her toward him. He thought thatshe was relenting, and already assumed the airs of a victor.
But she shrank back, and her tears passed away; and she fixed on him alook so melancholy, and severe, that the young man in his turn shrankbefore it. "Do not mistake me, Arthur," she said, "it can not be. You donot know what you ask, and do not be too angry with me for saying that Ithink you do not deserve it. What do you offer in exchange to a womanfor her love, honor, and obedience? If ever I say these words, dear Pen,I hope to say them in earnest, and by the blessing of God to keep myvow. But you--what tie binds you? You do not care about many thingswhich we poor women hold sacred. I do not like to think or ask how faryour incredulity leads you. You offer to marry to please our mother, andown that you have no heart to give away? Oh, Arthur, what is it youoffer me? What a rash compact would you enter into so lightly? A monthago, and you would have given yourself to another. I pray you do nottrifle with your own or others' hearts so recklessly. Go and work; goand mend, dear Arthur, for I see your faults, and dare speak of themnow: go and get fame, as you say that you can, and I will pray for mybrother, and watch our dearest mother at home."
"Is that your final decision, Laura?" Arthur cried.
"Yes," said Laura, bowing her head; and once more giving him her hand,she went away. He saw her pass under the creepers of the little porch,and disappear into the house. The curtains of his mother's window fellat the same minute, but he did not mark that, or suspect that Helen hadbeen witnessing the scene.
Was he pleased, or was he angry at its termination? He had asked her,and a secret triumph filled his heart to think that he was still free.She had refused him, but did she not love him? That avowal of jealousymade him still think that her heart was his own, whatever her lips mightutter.
* * * * *
And now we ought, perhaps, to describe another scene which took placeat Fairoaks, between the widow and Laura, when the latter had to tellHelen that she had refused Arthur Pendennis. Perhaps it was the hardesttask of all which Laura had to go through in this matter: and the onewhich gave her the most pain. But as we do not like to see a good womanunjust, we shall not say a word more of the quarrel which now befellbetween Helen and her adopted daughter, or of the bitter tears which thepoor girl was made to shed. It was the only difference which she and thewidow had ever had as yet, and the more cruel from this cause. Pen lefthome while it was as yet pending--and Helen, who could pardon almostevery thing, could not pardon an act of justice in Laura.