Blanche looked up seraphically again. Her gentle bosom heaved. She held out one hand as if to bless Harry, and then royally permitted him to kiss it. She took up the pocket-handkerchief and hid her own eyes, as the other fair hand was abandoned to poor Harry’s tearful embrace.
“I swear that is a villain who deceives such a loving creature as that,” said Pen.
Blanche laid down the handkerchief, and put hand No. 2 softly on Foker’s head, which was bent down kissing and weeping over hand No. 1. “Foolish boy?” she said, “it shall be loved as it deserves: who could help loving such a silly creature!”
And at this moment Frank Clavering broke in upon the sentimental trio.
“I say, Pendennis!” he said.
“Well, Frank!”
“The man wants to be paid, and go back. He’s had some beer.”
“I’ll go back with him,” cried Pen. “Good-bye, Blanche. God bless you, Foker, old friend. You know, neither of you want me here.” He longed to be off that instant.
“Stay—I must say one word to you. One word in private, if you please,” Blanche said. “You can trust us together, can’t you, Henry?” The tone in which the word Henry was spoken, and the appeal, ravished Foker with delight. “Trust you!” said he. “Oh, who wouldn’t trust you! Come along, Franky, my boy.”
“Let’s have a cigar,” said Frank, as they went into the hall.