to her Director for the time being.

When, then, she asked the Major what course she ought to pursue,
about this dreadful--this horrid affair, and whether he knew anything
regarding it? the old gentleman puckered up his face, so that you could
not tell whether he was smiling or not; gave the widow one queer look
with his little eyes; cast them down to the carpet again, and said, "My
dear, good creature, I don't know anything about it; and I don't wish to
know anything about it; and, as you ask me my opinion, I think you had
best know nothing about it too. Young men will be young men; begad, and,
my good ma'am, if you think our boy is a Jo----"

"Pray, spare me this," Helen broke in, looking very stately.

"My dear creature, I did not commence the conversation, permit me to
say," the Major said, bowing very blandly.

"I can't bear to hear such a sin--such a dreadful sin--spoken of in such
a way," the widow said, with tears of annoyance starting from her eyes.
"I can't bear to think that my boy should commit such a crime. I wish he
had died, almost, before he had done it. I don't know how I survive it
myself; for it is breaking my heart, Major Pendennis, to think that his
father's son--my child--whom I remember so good--oh, so good, and full
of honour!--should be fallen so dreadfully low, as to--as to----"

"As to flirt with a little grisette, my dear creature?" said the
Major. "Egad, if all the mothers in England were to break their
hearts because--Nay, nay; upon my word and honour, now, don't agitate
yourself--don't cry. I can't bear to see a woman's tears--I never
could--never. But how do we know that anything serious has happened? Has
Arthur said anything?"

"His silence confirms it," sobbed Mrs. Pendennis, behind her
pocket-handkerchief.

"Not at all. There are subjects, my dear, about which a young fellow
cannot surely talk to his mamma," insinuated the brother-in-law.

"She has written to him," cried the lady, behind the cambric.

"What, before he was ill? Nothing more likely."

"No, since," the mourner with the batiste mask gasped out; "not before;
that is, I don't think so--that is, I----"

"Only since; and you have--yes, I understand. I suppose when he was too
ill to read his own correspondence, you took charge of it, did you?"

"I am the most unhappy mother in the world," cried out the unfortunate
Helen.

"The most unhappy mother in the world, because your son is a man and
not a hermit! Have a c