Morgan still called out, “Arrest him!” But Mrs. Lightfoot said, “Arrest him! arrest you, you mean spy! What! stop the marriage and ruin my lady, and take away the Clavering Arms from us?”
“Did he say he’d take away the Clavering Arms from us?” asked Mr. Lightfoot, turning round. “Hang him, I’ll throttle him.”
“Keep him, darling, till the coach passes to the up train. It’ll be here now directly.”
“D—— him, I’ll choke him if he stirs,” said Lightfoot. And so they kept Morgan until the coach came, and Mr. Amory or Armstrong went away back to London.
Morgan had followed him: but of this event Arthur Pendennis did not inform Lady Clavering, and left her invoking blessings upon him at her son’s door, going to kiss him as he was asleep. It had been a busy day.
We have to chronicle the events of but one day more, and that was a day when Mr. Arthur, attired in a new hat, a new blue frock-coat and blue handkerchief, in a new fancy waistcoat, new boots, and new shirt-studs (presented by the Right Honourable the Countess Dowager of Rockminster), made his appearance at a solitary breakfast-table, in Clavering Park, where he could scarce eat a single morsel of food. Two letters were laid by his worship’s plate; and he chose to open the first, which was in a round clerk-like hand, in preference to the second more familiar superscription.
Note 1 ran as follows:—
“Garbanzos Wine Company, Shepherd’s Inn.—Monday.
“My Dear Pendennis,—In congratulating you heartily upon the event which is to make you happy for life, I send my very kindest remembrances to Mrs. Pendennis, whom I hope to know even longer than I have already known her. And when I call her attention to the fact, that one of the most necessary articles to her husband’s comfort is pure sherry, I know I shall have her for a customer for your worship’s sake.
“But I have to speak to you of other than my own concerns. Yesterday afternoon, a certain J. A. arrived at my chambers from Clavering, which he had left under circumstances of which you are doubtless now aware. In spite of our difference, I could not but give him food and shelter (and he partook freely both of the Garbanzos Amontillado and the Toboso ham), and he told me what had happened to him, and many other surprising adventures. The rascal married at sixteen, and has repeatedly since performed that ceremony—in Sydney, in New Zealand, in South America, in Newcastle, he says, first, before he knew our poor friend the milliner. He is a perfect Don Juan.