lf entangled with that Miss
Amory, She is forward, affected, and under-bred; and her character is
somewhat--never mind what. But don't think of her; ten thousand pound
won't do for you. What, my good fellow, is ten thousand pound? I would
scarcely pay that girl's milliner's bill with the interest of the
money."

"You seem to be a connoisseur in millinery, Uncle" Pen said.

"I was, sir, I was," replied the senior; "and the old war-horse, you
know, never hears the sound of a trumpet, but he begins to he, he!--you
understand,"--and he gave a killing and somewhat superannuated leer and
bow to a carriage that passed them and entered the Park.

"Lady Catherine Martingale's carriage" he said "mons'ous fine girls
the daughters, though, gad, I remember their mother a thousand
times handsomer. No, Arthur, my dear fellow, with your person and
expectations, you ought to make a good coup in marriage some day or
other; and though I wouldn't have this repeated at Fairoaks, you rogue,
ha! ha! a reputation for a little wickedness, and for being an homme
dangereux, don't hurt a young fellow with the women. They like it, sir,
they hate a milksop--young men must be young men, you know. But for
marriage," continued the veteran moralist, "that is a very different
matter. Marry a woman with money. I've told you before it is as easy to
get a rich wife as a poor one; and a doosed deal more comfortable to sit
down to a well-cooked dinner, with your little entrees nicely served,
than to have nothing but a damned cold leg of mutton between you and
your wife. We shall have a good dinner on the 14th, when we dine with
Sir Francis Clavering: stick to that, my boy, in your relations with the
family. Cultivate 'em, but keep 'em for dining. No more of your youthful
follies and nonsense about love in a cottage."

"It must be a cottage with a double coach-house, a cottage of gentility,
sir," said Pen, quoting the hackneyed ballad of the Devil's Walk: but
his Uncle did not know that poem (though, perhaps, he might be
leading Pen upon the very promenade in question), and went on with his
philosophical remarks, very much pleased with the aptness of the pupil
to whom he addressed them. Indeed Arthur Pendennis was a clever fellow,
who took his colour very readily from his neighbour, and found the
adaptation only too easy.

Warrington, the grumbler, growled out that Pen was becoming such a puppy
that soon there would be no bearing him. But the truth is, th