“She don’t like it,” said Foker, gently.
“Law bless you—she don’t mind. Pendennis used to smoke regular,” said the candid youth.
“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.