arm, and an ineffable grin
of politeness on his face, and announced that he had brought 'ome Mr.
Pendennis's 'ead of 'air.

It must have been a grand but melancholy sight to see Pen in the
recesses of his apartment, sadly contemplating his ravaged beauty, and
the artificial means of hiding its ruin. He appeared at length in the
'ead of 'air; but Warrington laughed so, that Pen grew sulky, and went
back for his velvet cap, a neat turban which the fondest of mammas had
worked for him. Then Mr. Warrington and Miss Bell got some flowers off
the ladies' bonnets and made a wreath, with which they decorated the wig
and brought it out in procession, and did homage before it. In fact they
indulged in a hundred sports, jularities, waggeries, and petits jeux
innocens: so that the second and third floors of Number 6 Lamb Court,
Temple, rang with more cheerfulness and laughter than had been known in
those precincts for many a long day.

At last, after about ten days of this life, one evening when the little
spy of the court came out to take her usual post of observation at the
lamp, there was no music from the second-floor window, there were no
lights in the third-story chambers, the windows of each were open, and
the occupants were gone. Mrs. Flanagan, the laundress, told Fanny what
had happened. The ladies and all the party had gone to Richmond for
change of air. The antique travelling chariot was brought out again and
cushioned with many pillows for Pen and his mother; and Miss Laura went
in the most affable manner in the omnibus under the guardianship of Mr.
George Warrington. He came back and took possession of his old bed that
night in the vacant and cheerless chambers, and to his old books and his
old pipes, but not perhaps to his old sleep.

The widow had left a jar full of flowers upon his table, prettily
arranged, and when he entered they filled the solitary room with odour.
They were memorials of the kind, gentle souls who had gone away, and who
had decorated for a little while that lonely cheerless place. He had
had the happiest days of his whole life George felt--he knew it now
they were just gone: he went and took up the flowers and put his face
to them, and smelt them--perhaps kissed them. As he put them down, he
rubbed his rough hand across his eyes with a bitter word and laugh. He
would have given his whole life and soul to win that prize which Arthur
rejected. Did she want fame? he would have won it for her:--dev