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"And so you are Arthur Pendennis's uncle, are you?" "And guardian," added the Major. "He's as good a fellow as ever stepped, sir," said Mr. Foker. "I am glad you think so." "And clever, too I was always a stupid chap, I was but you see, sir, I know 'em when they are clever, and like 'em of that sort." "You show your taste and your modesty, too," said the Major.
Pen sprang up with very bright eyes, and a flushed face; and they moved off towards the theatre, where they paid their money to the wheezy old lady slumbering in the money-taker's box. "Mrs. Dropsicum, Bingley's mother-in-law, great in Lady Macbeth," Foker said to his companion. Foker knew her, too.
"Drive to Tattersall's," he said to the groom, in a voice smothered with emotion, "And bring my pony round," he added, as the man drove rapidly away. As good luck would have it, that splendid barouche of Lady Clavering's, which has been inadequately described in a former chapter, drove up to her ladyship's door just as Foker mounted the pony which was in waiting for him.
You're ill," Pen said, in a tone of real concern. "You think it was the Champagne at Gaunt House, don't you? It ain't that. Come in; let me talk to you for a minute. I'll tell you what it is. D it, let me tell somebody," Foker said. They were at Mr.
The face of Foker looking up from his profound mourning that face, so piteous and puzzled, was one which the reader's imagination must depict for himself; also that of Master Frank Clavering, who, looking at the three interesting individuals with an expression of the utmost knowingness, had only time to ejaculate the words, "Here's a jolly go!" and to disappear sniggering.
I promise you I won't ask her before she goes. There's no hurry: there's time for every body. But, suppose you got her, Foker. Remember what you said about marriages just now, and the misery of a man who doesn't care for his wife: and what sort of a wife would you have who didn't care for her husband?" "But she would care for me," said Foker, from his sofa "that is, I think she would.
How relieved the lad was when the scene ended, and Foker, tapping with his cane, cried out "Bravo, Bingley!" "Give him a hand, Pendennis; you know every chap likes a hand," Mr. Foker said; and the good-natured young gentleman, and Pendennis laughing, and the dragoons in the opposite box, began clapping hands to the best of their power.
Foker, who was something of a sport, was acquainted with the troupe who were then acting at that theatre, and the entire atmosphere was so new and exciting to Pen that his emotional nature, which had been waiting for many months for a sensational thrill, responded at once to the idea; and later on to the applause of pit and gallery, and to the personal magnetism of the heroine of the play, one Miss Fotheringay.
Were I in grief, I would discharge my grief upon his sympathizing bosom " "Gammon, Pen; go on," Foker said. "I would, Henrico, upon thy studs, and upon thy cambric, worked by the hands of beauty, to adorn the breast of valor!
Perhaps it would have been much better for him had he taken the parson's advice and company home. But which of us knows his fate? Haller Having returned to the George, Mr. Foker and his guest sate down to a handsome repast in the coffee-room; where Mr. Rincer brought in the first dish, and bowed as gravely as if he was waiting upon the Lord-Lieutenant of the county. Mr.
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