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Updated: May 17, 2025
Ponto licked his hand and shoe, as they all did in that house, and Mr. Pen received their homage as other folks do the flattery which they get. Laura came home rather late in the evening of the second day; and Mr. Pynsent, as ill luck would have it, drove her from Clavering. The poor girl could not refuse his offer, but his appearance brought a dark cloud upon the brow of Arthur Pendennis.
It was, perhaps, natural that the son of a poor man, who had been poor all his life, and owed his success to his own brains and his power of continued work, should look a little enviously on the position so readily attained by men of inferior mental calibre, but of inherited and ever-increasing influence, like Sir John Pynsent and his friends.
The last of the circle was Brooke Dalton, of whom this narrative has already had something to record. "So Tourmaline has thrown up the sponge, Pynsent?" Charles Milton began, after a short pause in the conversation. "Had enough of the Radical crew by this time!" "Yes. Of course, he has been out of sympathy with them for a long while. So have twenty or thirty more, if the truth were known."
This gravity and decorum routed and surprised the Colonel more than any other kind of behaviour probably would: he stared after Pynsent stupidly, and pronounced to the landlord over the counter that he was a rum one. Mr. Rincer blushed, and hardly knew what to say. Mr. Pynsent was a county Earl's grandson, going to set up as a Parliament man.
"If Lady Rockminster asks you herself, will you listen to her?" Pynsent cried, eagerly. "No," Laura said. "I beg you never to speak of this any more. I must go away if you do;" and with this she left him. Pynsent never asked for Lady Rockminster's intercession; he knew how vain it was to look for that: and he never spoke again on that subject to Laura or to any person.
Pynsent, supposed to be so cold and so ambitious, had formally offered his hand to Miss Bell. No one except herself and her admirer knew of this proposal: or that Pynsent had been rejected by her, and probably the reasons she gave to the mortified young man himself, were not those which actuated her refusal, or those which she chose to acknowledge to herself.
But whether Lettice had written to him and told him of her intentions and opinions, Mrs. Hartley did not know. Sydney Campion and Anna Pynsent were married early in September, while Lettice was still in Italy. She had no bridesmaids, and did without a wedding-feast; and, strange to say, Sydney was perfectly well content.
He had dined at the Wentworths' house more than once, and he began to search in his memory for any face or figure which should recall Sir John's sister to his mind. But he could not remember her, and concluded, therefore, that she was in no way remarkable. "I think I have not met Miss Pynsent," he took an opportunity of saying, by way of an attempt to refresh his memory. "No?
Sir John Pynsent and his friends had been discussing with much animation the probable distribution of the patronage which the see-saw of party government had now placed in the hands of the Conservative leader.
The long and short of it is that they want a strong candidate with five hundred pounds, and we are prepared to send you down, my boy, and to be good for that amount." Sydney took out his cigar case, and offered the beaming baronet a choice Villar. "It's uncommonly good of you, Pynsent, to give me a look in at Dormer, and to suggest the other thing in such a friendly way.
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