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 Ladyship’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.
“Is that all? Is that what you were whimpering on your knees about?” says the old lady, growing angry. “You might have kept the news till to-morrow.”
“Yes—another has superseded me,” goes on Pen; “but why call him villain? He is brave, he is constant, he is young, he is wealthy, he is beautiful.”
“What stuff are you talking, sir?” cried the old lady. “What has happened?”
“Miss Amory has jilted me, and accepted Henry Foker, Esq. I found her warbling ditties to him as he lay at her feet; presents had been accepted, vows exchanged, these ten days. Harry was old Mrs. Planter’s rheumatism, which kept dearest Laura out of the house. He is the most constant and generous of men. He has promised the living of Logwood to Lady Ann’s husband, and given her a splendid present on her marriage; and he rushed to fling himself at Blanche’s feet the instant he found he was free.”
“And so, as you can’t get Blanche, you put up with Laura; is that it, sir?” asked the old lady.