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As for Pen's gravity, it was sorely put to the test when, upon looking by chance toward the seats where the servants were collected, he spied out, by the side of a demure gentleman in plush, Henry Foker, Esquire,

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who had discovered this place of devotion. Following the direction of Harry's eye, which strayed a good deal from his book, Pen found that it alighted upon a yellow bonnet and a pink one: and that these bonnets were on the heads of Lady Clavering and Blanche Amory. If Pen's uncle is not the only man who has talked about his worldly affairs up to the church door, is poor Harry Foker the only one who has brought his worldly love into the aisle ?

When the congregation issued forth at the conclusion of the service,

Foker was out among the first, but Pen came up with him presently, as he was hankering about the entrance which he was unwilling to leave, until my lady's barouche, with the bewigged coachman, had borne away its mistress and her daughter from their devotions.

When the two ladies came out, they found together the Pendennises, uncle and nephew, and Harry Foker, Esquire, sucking the crook of his stick, standing there in the sunshine. To see and to ask to eat were simultaneous with the goood-natured Begum, and she invited the three gentlemen to luncheon straightway.

Blanche was, too, particularly gracious. Arthur, "if you are not too great a man.

"O! do come," she said to I want so to talk to you What would Mr.

about"-but we mustn't say what, here, you know.

Oriel say ?" And the young devotee jumped into the carriage after her mamma. "I've read every word of it. It's adorable," she added, still addressing herself to Pen.

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I know who is," said Mr. Arthur, making rather a pert bow. "What's the row about?" asked Mr. Foker, rather puzzled.

"I suppose Miss Amory means' Walter Lorraine,'" said the major, looking knowing, and nodding at Pen.

"I suppose so, sir. There was a famous review in the Pall Mall this morning. It was Warrington's doing, though, and I must not be too proud."

"A review in Pall Mall?-Walter Lorraine? What the doose do

you mean?" Foker asked. "Walter Lorraine died of the measles, poor little beggar, when we were at Gray Friars. I remember his mother coming up."

You are not a literary man, Foker," Pen said, laughing, and hooking his arm into his friend's. "You must know I have been writing a novel, and some of the papers have spoken very well of it. Perhaps you don't read the Sunday papers?"

"I read Bell's Life regular, old boy," Mr. Foker answered: at which Pen laughed again, and the three gentlemen proceeded in great goodhumor to Lady Clavering's house.

The subject of the novel was resumed after luncheon by Miss Amory, who indeed loved poets and men of letters if she loved any thing, and was sincerely an artist in feeling. Some of the passages in the book made me cry, positively they did," she said.

Yes,

Pen said, with some fatuity, "I am happy to think I have a part of vos larmes, Miss Blanche"-And the major (who had not read more than six pages of Pen's book) put on his sanctified look, saying, there are some passages quite affecting, mons'ous affecting: and,' if it makes you cry,"-Lady Amory declared she would not read it, that she wouldn't.'

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Don't, mamma," Blanche said, with a French shrug of her shoulders; and then she fell into a rhapsody about the book, about the snatches of poetry interspersed in it, about the two heroines, Leonora and Neæra; about the two heroes, Walter Lorraine and his rival the young duke" and what good company you introduce us to," said the young

lady, archly, "quel ton! How much of your life have you passed at court, and are you a prime minister's son, Mr. Arthur?"

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Pen began to laugh- "It is as cheap for a novelist to create a duke as to make a baronet," he said. Shall I tell you a secret, Miss Amory? I promoted all my characters at the request of the publisher. The young duke was only a young baron when the novel was first written; his false friend the viscount, was a simple commoner, and so on with all the characters of the story."

"What a wicked, satirical, pert young man you have become! Comme vous voilà formé !" said the young lady. "How different from Arthur Pendennis of the country! Ah! I think I like Arthur Pendennis of the country best, though!" and she gave him the full benefit of her eyes-both of the fond, appealing glance into his own, and of the modest look downward toward the carpet, which showed off her dark eyelids and long fringed lashes.

Pen of course protested that he had not changed in the least, to which the young lady replied by a tender sigh; and thinking that she had done quite enough to make Arthur happy or miserable (as the case might be), she proceeded to cajole his companion, Mr. Harry Foker, who during the literary conversation had sate silently imbibing the head of his cane, and wishing that he was a clever chap, like that Pen.

If the major thought that by telling Miss Amory of Mr. Foker's engagement to his cousin, Lady Ann Milton (which information the old gentleman neatly conveyed to the girl as he sate by her side at luncheon below stairs)-if, we say, the major thought that the knowledge of this fact would prevent Blanche from paying any further attention to the young heir of Foker's Entire, he was entirely mistaken. She became only the more gracious to Foker: she praised him, and every thing belonging to him; she praised his mamma; she praised the pony which he rode in the Park; she praised the lovely breloques or gimcracks which the young gentleman wore at his watch-chain, and that dear little darling of a cane, and those dear little delicious monkeys' heads with ruby eyes, which ornamented Harry's shirt, and formed the buttons of his waistcoat. And then, having praised and coaxed the weak youth until he blushed and tingled with pleasure, and until Pen thought she really had gone quite far enough, she took another theme.

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"I am afraid Mr. Foker is a very sad young man," she said, turning round to Pen.

"He does not look so," Pen answered with a sneer.

"I mean we have heard sad stories about him. Haven't we, mamma? What was Mr. Poyntz saying here, the other day, about that party at Richmond? O you naughty creature!" But here, seeing that Harry's countenance assumed a great expression of alarm, while Pen's wore a look of amusement, she turned to the latter and said, "I believe you are just as bad: I believe you would have liked to have been therewouldn't you? I know you would: yes-and so should I."

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Lor, Blanche !" mamma cried.

"Well, I would. I never saw an actress in my life. I would give

any thing to know one; for I adore talent.

And I adore Richmond,

that I do; and I adore Greenwich, and I say I should like to go there."

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Why should not we three bachelors," the major here broke out, gallantly, and to his nephew's special surprise, "beg these ladies to honor us with their company at Greenwich? Is Lady Clavering to go on forever being hospitable to us, and may we make no return? Speak for yourselves young men-eh, begad! Here is my nephew, with his pockets full of money-his pockets full, begad! and Mr. Henry Foker, who as I have heard say is pretty well to do in the world, how is your lovely cousin, Lady Ann, Mr. Foker?-here are these two young ones-and they allow an old fellow like me to speak. Lady Clavering will you do me the favor to be my guest? and Miss Blanche shall be Arthur's, if she will be so good."

"O delightful," cried Blanche,

I like a bit of fun, too," said Lady Clavering; "and we will take some day when Sir Francis-'

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"When Sir Francis dines out-yes mamma," the daughter said, “it will be charming."

And a charming day it was. The dinner was ordered at Greenwich, and Foker, though he did not invite Miss Amory, had some delicious opportunities of conversation with her during the repast, and afterward on the balcony of their room at the hotel, and again during the drive home in her ladyship's barouche. Pen came down with his uncle, in Sir Hugh Trumpington's brougham, which the major borrowed for the

occasion.

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I am an old soldier, begad," he said, "and I learned in early life to make myself comfortable."

And, being an old soldier, he allowed the two young men to pay for the dinner between them, and all the way home in the brougham he rallied Pen about Miss Amory's evident partiality for him: praised her good looks, spirits, and wit: and again told Pen in the strictest confidence, that she would be a devilish deal richer than people thought.

CHAPTER III.

CONTAINS A NOVEL INCIDENT.

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OME account has been given in a former part of this story, how Mr. Pen, during his residence at home, after his defeat at Oxbridge, had occupied himself with various literary compositions, and among other works, had written the greater part of a novel. This book, written under the influence of his youthful embarrassments, amatory and pecuniary, was of a very fierce, gloomy and passionate sort-the Byronic despair, the Wertherian despondency, the mocking bitterness of Mephistopheles of Faust, were all reproduced and developed in the character of the hero; for our youth had just been learning the German language, and imitated, as almost all clever lads do, his favorite poets and writers. Passages in the volumes once so loved, and now read so seldom, still bear the mark of the pencil with which he noted them in those days. Tears fell upon the leaf of the book, perhaps, or blistered the pages of his manuscript as the passionate young man dashed his thoughts down. If he took up the books afterward, he had no ability or wish to sprinkle the leaves with that early dew of former times: his pencil was no longer eager to score its marks of approval: but as he looked over the pages of his manuscript, he remembered what had been the overflowing feelings which had caused him to blot it, and the pain which had inspired the line. If the secret history of books could be written, and the author's private thoughts and meanings noted down alongside of his story, how many insipid volumes would become interesting, and dull tales excite the reader! Many a bitter smile passed over Pen's face as he read his novel, and recalled the time and feelings which gave it birth. How pompous some of the grand passages appeared; and how weak others

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