That is why we decline to publish any of the letters and verses which Mr. Pen wrote at this period of his life, out of mere regard for the young fellow's character. They are too spooney and wild. Young ladies ought not to be called upon to read them in cold blood. Bide your time young women; perhaps you will get and write them on your own account soon. Meanwhile we will respect Mr. Pen's first outpourings, and keep them tied up in the newspapers with Miss Fotheringay's string, and sealed with Captain Costigan's great silver seal.
The major came away from his interview with Captain Costigan in a state of such concentrated fury as rendered him terrible to approach!
"The impudent bog-trotting scamp," he thought, "dare to threaten _me_!
Dare to talk of permitting his damned Costigans to marry with the Pendennises! Send me a challenge! If the fellow can get any thing in the shape of a genleman to carry it, I have the greatest mind in life not to balk him.--Psha! what would people say if I were to go out with a tipsy mountebank, about a row with an actress in a barn!" So when the major saw Dr. Portman, who asked anxiously regarding the issue of his battle with the dragon, Mr. Pendennis did not care to inform the divine of the general's insolent behavior, but stated that the affair was a very ugly and disagreeable one, and that it was by no means over yet.
He enjoined Doctor and Mrs. Portman to say nothing about the business at Fairoaks; whither he contented himself with dispatching the note we have before mentioned. And then he returned to his hotel, where he vented his wrath upon Mr. Morgan, his valet, "dammin and cussin up stairs and down stairs," as that gentleman observed to Mr. Foker's man, in whose company he partook of dinner in the servants' room of the George.
The servant carried the news to his master; and Mr. Foker having finished his breakfast about this time, it being two o'clock in the afternoon, remembered that he was anxious to know the result of the interview between his two friends, and having inquired the number of the major's sitting-room, went over in his brocade dressing-gown, and knocked for admission.
Major Pendennis had some business, as he had stated, respecting a lease of the widow's, about which he was desirous of consulting old Mr.
Tatham, the lawyer, who had been his brother's man of business, and who had a branch-office at Clavering, where he and his son attended market and other days three or four in the week. This gentleman and his client were now in consultation when Mr. Foker showed his grand dressing-gown and embroidered skull-cap at Major Pendennis's door.
Seeing the major engaged with papers and red-tape, and an old man with a white head, the modest youth was for drawing back--and said, "O, you're busy--call again another time." But Mr. Pendennis wanted to see him, and begged him, with a smile, to enter: whereupon Mr. Foker took off the embroidered tarboosh or fez (it had been worked by the fondest of mothers), and advanced, bowing to the gentlemen, and smiling on them graciously. Mr. Tatham had never seen so splendid an apparition before as this brocaded youth, who seated himself in an arm chair, spreading out his crimson skirts, and looking with exceeding kindness and frankness on the other two tenants of the room. "You seem to like my dressing-gown, sir," he said to Mr. Tatham. "A pretty thing, isn't it?
Neat, but not in the least gaudy. And how do _you_ do? Major Pendennis, sir, and how does the world treat you?"
There was that in Foker's manner and appearance which would have put an Inquisitor into good humor, and it smoothed the wrinkles under Pendennis's head of hair.
"I have had an interview with that Irishman (you may speak before my friend, Mr. Tatham here, who knows all the affairs of the family), and it has not, I own, been very satisfactory. He won't believe that my nephew is poor: he says we are both liars; he did me the honor to hint that I was a coward, as I took leave. And I thought when you knocked at the door, that you might be the gentleman whom I expect with a challenge from Mr. Costigan--that is how the world treats me, Mr. Foker."
"You don't mean that Irishman, the actress's father?" cried Mr. Tatham, who was a dissenter himself, and did not patronize the drama.
"That Irishman, the actress's father--the very man. Have not you heard what a fool my nephew has made of himself about the girl?"--Mr. Tatham, who never entered the walls of a theater, had heard nothing: and Major Pendennis had to recount the story of his nephew's loves to the lawyer, Mr. Foker coming in with appropriate comments in his usual familiar language.
Tatham was lost in wonder at the narrative. Why had not Mrs. Pendennis married a serious man, he thought--Mr. Tatham was a widower--and kept this unfortunate boy from perdition? As for Miss Costigan he would say nothing: her profession was sufficient to characterize _her_. Mr. Foker here interposed to say he had known some uncommon good people in the booths, as he called the temple of the muses. Well, it might be so, Mr.
Tatham hoped so--but the father, Tatham knew personally--a man of the worst character, a wine-bibber and an idler in taverns and billiard-rooms, and a notorious insolvent. "I can understand the reason, major," he said, "why the fellow would not come to my office to ascertain the truth of the statements which you made him.--We have a writ out against him and another disreputable fellow, one of the play-actors, for a bill given to Mr. Skinner of this city, a most respectable grocer and wine and spirit merchant, and a member of the Society of Friends. This Costigan came crying to Mr. Skinner--crying in the shop, sir--and we have not proceeded against him or the other, as neither were worth powder and shot."
It was while Mr. Tatham was engaged in telling this story that a third knock came to the door, and there entered an athletic gentleman in a shabby braided frock, bearing in his hand a letter with a large blotched red seal.
"Can I have the honor of speaking with Major Pendennis in private?" he began--"I have a few words, for your ear, sir. I am the bearer of a mission from my friend Captain Costigan,"--but here the man with the bass voice paused, faltered, and turned pale--he caught sight of the red and well-remembered face of Mr. Tatham.
"Hullo, Garbetts, speak up!" cried Mr. Foker, delighted.
"Why, bless my soul, it is the other party to the bill!" said Mr. Tatham.
"I say, sir; stop, I say." But Garbetts, with a face as blank as Macbeth's when Banquo's ghost appears upon him, gasped some inarticulate words, and fled out of the room.
The major's gravity was also altogether upset, and he burst out laughing. So did Mr. Foker, who said, "By Jove, it was a good 'un."
So did the attorney, although by profession a serious man.
"I don't think there'll be any fight, major," young Foker said; and began mimicking the tragedian. "If there is, the old gentleman--your name Tatham?--very happy to make your acquaintance Mr. Tatham--may send the bailiffs to separate the men;" and Mr. Tatham--promised to do so.
The major was by no means sorry at the ludicrous issue of the quarrel.
"It seems to me, sir," he said to Mr. Foker, "that you always arrive to put me into good humor."
Nor was this the only occasion on which Mr. Foker this day was destined to be of service to the Pendennis family. We have said that he had the _entree_ of Captain Costigan's lodgings, and in the course of the afternoon he thought he would pay the general a visit, and hear from his own lips what had occurred in the conversation, in the morning, with Mr.
Pendennis. Captain Costigan was not at home. He had received permission, nay, encouragement from his daughter, to go to the convivial club at the Magpie Hotel, where no doubt he was bragging at that moment of his desire to murder a certain ruffian; for he was not only brave, but he knew it too, and liked to take out his courage, and, as it were, give it an airing in company.
Costigan then was absent, but Miss Fotheringay was at home washing the tea-cups while Mr. Bows sate opposite to her.
"Just done breakfast I see--how do?" said Mr. Foker, popping in his little funny head.
"Get out you funny little man," cried Miss Fotheringay.
"You mean come in," answered the other.--"Here we are!" and entering the room he folded his arms and began twirling his head round and round with immense rapidity, like Harlequin in the Pantomime when he first issues from his cocoon or envelope. Miss Fotheringay laughed with all her heart: a wink of Foker's would set her off laughing, when the bitterest joke Bows ever made could not get a smile from her, or the finest of poor Pen's speeches would only puzzle her. At the end of the harlequinade he sank down on one knee and kissed her hand. "You're the drollest little man," she said, and gave him a great good-humored slap. Pen used to tremble as he kissed her hand. Pen would have died of a slap.
These preliminaries over, the three began to talk; Mr. Foker amused his companions by recounting to them the scene which he had just witnessed of the discomfiture of Mr. Garbetts, by which they learned, for the first time, how far the general had carried his wrath against Major Pendennis. Foker spoke strongly in favor of the major's character for veracity and honor, and described him as a tip-top swell, moving in the upper circle of society, who would never submit to any deceit--much more to deceive such a charming young woman as Miss Foth.
He touched delicately upon the delicate marriage question, though he couldn't help showing that he held Pen rather cheap. In fact, he had a perhaps just contempt for Mr. Pen's high flown sentimentality; his own weakness, as he thought, not lying that way. "I knew it wouldn't do, Miss Foth," said he, nodding his little head. "Couldn't do.--Didn't like to put _my_ hand into the bag, but knew it couldn't do. He's too young for you: too green: a deal too green: and he turns out to be poor as Job. Can't have him at no price, can she, Mr. Bo?"
"Indeed he's a nice poor boy," said the Fotheringay, rather sadly.
"Poor little beggar," said Bows, with his hands in his pockets, and stealing up a queer look at Miss Fotheringay. Perhaps he thought and wondered at the way in which women play with men, and coax them and win them and drop them.
But Mr. Bows had not the least objection to acknowledge that he thought Miss Fotheringay was perfectly right in giving up Mr. Arthur Pendennis, and that in his idea the match was always an absurd one: and Miss Costigan owned that she thought so herself, only she couldn't send away two thousand a year. "It all comes of believing papa's silly stories,"
she said; "faith, I'll choose for meself another time"--and very likely the large image of Lieutenant Sir Derby Oaks entered into her mind at that instant.
After praising Major Pendennis, whom Miss Costigan declared to be a proper gentleman entirely, smelling of lavender, and as neat as a pin--and who was pronounced by Mr. Bows to be the right sort of fellow, though rather too much of an old buck, Mr. Foker suddenly bethought him to ask the pair to come and meet the major that very evening at dinner at his apartment at the George. "He agreed to dine with me, and I think after the--after the little shindy this morning, in which I must say the general was wrong, it would look kind, you know.--I know the major fell in love with you Miss Foth: he said so."
"So she may be Mrs. Pendennis still," Bows said, with a sneer--"No thank you, Mr. F.--I've dined."
"Sure, that was at three o'clock," said Miss Costigan, who had an honest appetite, "and I can't go without you."
"We'll have lobster salad and Champagne," said the little monster, who could not construe a line of Latin, or do a sum beyond the Rule of Three. Now, for lobster-salad and Champagne in an honorable manner Miss Costigan would have gone any where--and Major Pendennis actually found himself at seven o'clock, seated at a dinner-table in company with Mr.
Bows, a professional fiddler, and Miss Costigan, whose father had wanted to blow his brains out a few hours before.
To make the happy meeting complete, Mr. Foker, who knew Costigan's haunts, dispatched Stoopid to the club at the Magpie, where the general was in the act of singing a pathetic song, and brought him off to supper. To find his daughter and Bows seated at the board was a surprise indeed--Major Pendennis laughed, and cordially held out his hand, which the general officer grasped _avec effusion_, as the French say. In fact, he was considerably inebriated, and had already been crying over his own song before he joined the little party at the George. He burst into tears more than once, during the entertainment, and called the major his dearest friend. Stoopid and Mr. Foker walked home with him; the major gallantly giving his arm to Miss Costigan. He was received with great friendliness when he called the next day, when many civilities passed between the gentlemen. On taking leave he expressed his anxious desire to serve Miss Costigan on any occasion in which he could be useful to her, and he shook hands with Mr. Foker most cordially and gratefully, and said that gentleman had done him the very greatest service.
"All right," said Mr. Foker: and they parted with mutual esteem.
On his return to Fairoaks the next day, Major Pendennis did not say what had happened to him on the previous night, or allude to the company in which he had passed it. But he engaged Mr. Smirke to stop to dinner; and any person accustomed to watch his manner might have remarked that there was something constrained in his hilarity and talkativeness, and that he was unusually gracious and watchful in his communications with his nephew. He gave Pen an emphatic God-bless-you, when the lad went to bed; and as they were about to part for the night, he seemed as if he was going to say something to Mrs. Pendennis, but he bethought him that if he spoke he might spoil her night's rest, and allowed her to sleep in peace.
The next morning he was down in the breakfast-room earlier than was his custom, and saluted every body there with great cordiality. The post used to arrive commonly about the end of this meal. When John, the old servant entered, and discharged the bag of its letters and papers, the major looked hard at Pen as the lad got his--Arthur blushed, and put his letter down. He knew the hand, it was that of old Costigan, and he did not care to read it in public. Major Pendennis knew the letter, too. He had put it into the post himself in Chatteries the day before.
He told little Laura to go away, which the child did, having a thorough dislike to him; and as the door closed on her, he took Mrs. Pendennis's hand, and giving her a look full of meaning, pointed to the letter under the newspaper which Pen was pretending to read. "Will you come into the drawing-room?" he said. "I want to speak to you." And she followed him, wondering, into the hall.
"What is it?" she said, nervously.
"The affair is at an end," Major Pendennis said. "He has a letter there giving him his dismissal. I dictated it myself yesterday. There are a few lines from the lady, too, bidding him farewell. It is all over."
Helen ran back to the dining-room, her brother following. Pen had jumped at his letter the instant they were gone. He was reading it, with a stupefied face. It stated what the major had said, that Mr. Costigan was most gratified for the kindness with which Arthur had treated his daughter, but that he was only now made aware of Mr. Pendennis's pecuniary circumstances. They were such that marriage was at present out of the question, and considering the great disparity in the age of the two, a future union was impossible. Under these circumstances, and with the deepest regret and esteem for him, Mr. Costigan bade Arthur farewell, and suggested that he should cease visiting, for some time at least, at his house.
A few lines from Miss Costigan were inclosed. She acquiesced in the decision of her papa. She pointed out that she was many years older than Arthur, and that an engagement was not to be thought of. She would always be grateful for his kindness to her, and hoped to keep his friendship. But at present, and until the pain of the separation should be over, she entreated they should not meet.
Pen read Costigan's letter and its inclosure mechanically, hardly knowing what was before his eyes. He looked up wildly, and saw his mother and uncle regarding him with sad faces. Helen's, indeed, was full of tender maternal anxieties.
"What--what is this?" Pen said. "It's some joke. This is not her writing. This is some servant's writing. Who's playing these tricks upon me?"
"It comes under her father's envelope," the major said. "Those letters you had before were not in her hand: that is hers."