demoiselles Ameliar-Ann
and Betsy-Jane. He blushed more than ever at seeing them, and seizing
the one whom he had nearly upset, jumped her up into the air, and kissed
her: at which sudden assault Ameliar-Ann began to cry in great alarm.

This cry brought up instantly two ladies in clean collars and new
ribbons, and grand shawls, namely: Mrs. Bolton in a rich scarlet
Caledonian Cashmere, and a black silk dress, and Miss F. Bolton with a
yellow scarf and a sweet sprigged muslin, and a parasol--quite the lady.
Fanny did not say one single word: though; her eyes flashed a welcome,
and shone as bright--as bright as the most blazing windows in Paper
Buildings. But Mrs. Bolton, after admonishing Betsy-Jane, said, "Lor
sir--how very odd that we should meet you year! I ope you ave your ealth
well, sir.--Ain't it odd, Fanny, that we should meet Mr. Pendennis?"
What do you mean by sniggering, Mesdames? When young Croesus has been
staying at a country-house, have you never, by any singular coincidence,
been walking with your Fanny in the shrubberies? Have you and your Fanny
never happened to be listening to the band of the Heavies at Brighton,
when young De Boots and Captain Padmore came clinking down the Pier?
Have you and your darling Frances never chanced to be visiting old widow
Wheezy at the cottage on the common, when the young curate has stepped
in with a tract adapted to the rheumatism? Do you suppose that, if
singular coincidences occur at the Hall, they don't also happen at the
Lodge?

It was a coincidence, no doubt: that was all. In the course of the
conversation on the day previous, Mr. Pendennis had merely said, in the
simplest way imaginable, and in reply to a question of Miss Bolton, that
although some of the courts were gloomy, parts of the Temple were very
cheerful and agreeable, especially the chambers looking on the river and
around the gardens, and that the gardens were a very pleasant walk on
Sunday evenings and frequented by a great number of people--and here, by
the merest chance, all our acquaintances met together, just like so many
people in genteel life. What could be more artless, good-natured, or
natural?

Pen looked very grave, pompous, and dandified. He was unusually smart
and brilliant in his costume. His white duck trousers and white hat,
his neckcloth of many colours, his light waistcoat, gold chains, and
shirt-studs, gave him the air of a prince of the blood at least. How
his splendour became hi