Part 91 (1/2)

”It was but a short word I had to say,” said Blanche to Pen, with great calm, when they were alone. ”You never loved me, Mr. Pendennis.”

”I told you how much,” said Arthur. ”I never deceived you.”

”I suppose you will go back and marry Laura,” continued Blanche.

”Was that what you had to say?” said Pen.

”You are going to her this very night, I am sure of it. There is no denying it. You never cared for me.”

”Et vous?”

”Et moi, c'est different. I have been spoilt early. I cannot live out of the world, out of excitement. I could have done so, but it is too late.

If I cannot have emotions, I must have the world. You would offer me neither one nor the other. You are blase in everything, even in ambition. You had a career before you, and you would not take it. You give it up!--for what?--for a betise, for an absurd scruple. Why would you not have that seat, and be such a puritain? Why should you refuse what is mine by right, by right, entendez-vous?”

”You know all, then?” said Pen.

”Only within a month. But I have suspected ever since Baymouth--n'importe since when. It is not too late. He is as if he had never been; and there is a position in the world before you yet. Why not sit in Parliament, exert your talent, and give a place in the world to yourself, to your wife? I take celui-la. Il est bon. Il est riche. Il est--vous le connaissez autant que moi enfin. Think you that I would not prefer un homme qui fera parler de moi? If the secret appears I am rich a millions. How does it affect me? It is not my fault. It will never appear.”

”You will tell Harry everything, won't you?”

”Je comprends. Vous refusez,” said Blanche, savagely. ”I will tell Harry at my own time, when we are married. You will not betray me, will you?

You, having a defenceless girl's secret, will not turn upon her and use it? S'il me plait de le cacher, mon secret; pourquoi le donnerai je? Je l'aime, mon pauvre pere, voyez-vous? I would rather live with that man than with you fades intriguers of the world. I must have emotions--it m'en donne. Il m'ecrit. Il ecrit tres-bien, voyez-vous--comme un pirate--comme un Bohemien--comme un homme. But for this I would have said to my mother--Ma mere! quittons ce lache mari, cette lache societe--retournons a mon pere.”

”The pirate would have wearied you like the rest,” said Pen.

”Eh! Il me faut des emotions,” said Blanche. Pen had never seen her or known so much about her in all the years of their intimacy as he saw and knew now: though he saw more than existed in reality. For this young lady was not able to carry out any emotion to the full; but had a sham enthusiasm, a sham hatred, a sham love, a sham taste, a sham grief, each of which flared and shone very vehemently for an instant, but subsided and gave place to the next sham emotion.

CHAPTER LXXV. A Chapter of Match-making

Upon the platform at Tunbridge, Pen fumed and fretted until the arrival of the evening train to London, a full half-hour,--six hours it seemed to him; but even this immense interval was pa.s.sed, the train arrived, the train sped on, the London lights came in view--a gentleman who forgot his carpet-bag in the train rushed at a cab, and said to the man, ”Drive as hard as you can go to Jermyn Street.” The cabman, although a hansom-cabman, said Thank you for the gratuity which was put into his hand, and Pen ran up the stairs of the hotel to Lady Rockminster's apartments. Laura was alone in the drawing-room, reading, with a pale face, by the lamp. The pale face looked up when Pen opened the door.

May we follow him? The great moments of life are but moments like the others. Your doom is spoken in a word or two. A single look from the eyes; a mere pressure of the hand may decide it; or of the lips, though they cannot speak.

When Lady Rockminster, who has had her after-dinner nap, gets up and goes into her sitting-room, we may enter with her ladys.h.i.+p.

”Upon my word, young people!” are the first words she says, and her attendant makes wondering eyes over her shoulder. And well may she say so; and well may the attendant cast wondering eyes; for the young people are in an att.i.tude; and Pen in such a position as every young lady who reads this has heard tell of, or has seen, or hopes, or at any rate deserves to see.

In a word, directly he entered the room, Pen went up to Laura of the pale face, who had not time even to say, What, back so soon? and seizing her outstretched and trembling hand just as she was rising from her chair, fell down on his knees before her, and said quickly, ”I have seen her. She has engaged herself to Harry Foker--and--and Now, Laura?”

The hand gives a pressure--the eyes beam a reply--the quivering lips answer, though speechless. Pen's head sinks down in the girl's lap, as he sobs out, ”Come and bless us, dear mother,” and arms as tender as Helen's once more enfold him.

In this juncture it is that Lady Rockminster comes in and says, ”Upon my word, young people! Beck! leave the room. What do you want poking your nose in here?”

Pen starts up with looks of triumph, still holding Laura's hand. ”She is consoling me for my misfortune, ma'am,” he says.

”What do you mean by kissing her hand? I don't know what you will be next doing.”

Pen kissed her Ladys.h.i.+p's. ”I have been to Tunbridge,” he says, ”and seen Miss Amory; and find on my arrival that--that a villain has transplanted me in her affections,” he says with a tragedy air.