"The secret is out," said Mr. Wenham, "There's a woman in the case."
"Why d—— it, Wenham, he's your age," said the gentleman behind the curtain.
"Pour les âmes bien nées, l'amour ne compte pas le nombre des années," said Mr. Wenham, with a gallant air. "For my part I hope to be a victim till I die, and to break my heart every year of my life." The meaning of which sentence was, "My lord, you need not talk; I'm three years younger than you, and twice as well conservé."
"Wenham, you affect me," said the great man, with one of his usual oaths. "By —— you do. I like to see a fellow preserving all the illusions of youth up to our time of life—and keeping his heart warm as yours is. Hang it, sir—it's a comfort to meet with such a generous, candid creature.—Who's that gal in the second row, with blue ribbons, third from the stage?—fine gal. Yes, you and I are sentimentalists. Wagg I don't think so much cares—it's the stomach rather more than the heart with you, eh, Wagg, my boy?"
"I like every thing that's good," said Mr. Wagg, generously. "Beauty and Burgundy, Venus and Venison. I don't say that Venus's turtles are to be despised, because they don't cook them at the London Tavern: but—but tell us about old Pendennis, Mr. Wenham," he abruptly concluded—for his joke flagged just then, as he saw that his patron was not listening. In fact, Steyne's glasses were up, and he was examining some object on the stage.
"Yes, I've heard that joke about Venus's turtles and the London Tavern before—you begin to fail, my poor Wagg. If you don't mind I shall be obliged to have a new Jester," Lord Steyne said, laying down his glass. "Go on, Wenham, about old Pendennis."
"'Dear Wenham,'—he begins," Mr. Wenham read,—"'as you have had my character in your hands for the last three weeks, and no doubt have torn me to shreds, according to your custom, I think you can afford to be good-humored by way of variety, and to do me a service. It is a delicate matter, entre nous, une affaire de c[oe]ur. There is a young friend of mine who is gone wild about a certain Miss Fotheringay, an actress at the theater here, and I must own to you, as handsome a woman, and, as it appears to me, as good an actress as ever put on rouge. She does Ophelia, Lady Teazle, Mrs. Haller—that sort of thing. Upon my word, she is as splendid as Georges in her best days, and as far as I know, utterly superior to any thing we have on our scene. I want a London engagement for her. Can't you get your friend Dolphin to come and see her—to engage her—to take her out of this place? A word from a noble friend of ours (you understand) would be invaluable, and if you could get the Gaunt House interest for me—I will promise any thing I can in return for your service—which I shall consider as one of the greatest that can be done to me. Do, do this now as a good fellow, which I always said you were: and, in return, command yours truly, A. Pendennis.'"
"It's a clear case," said Mr. Wenham, having read this letter; "old Pendennis is in love."
"And wants to get the woman up to London—evidently," continued Mr. Wagg.
"I should like to see Pendennis on his knees, with the rheumatism," said Mr. Wenham.