suffer by
it, I own it. He has a heart, he has: but the girl hasn't, sir. That
girl will do anything to win a man, and fling him away without a pang,
sir. If she's flung away herself, sir, she'll feel it and cry. She had a
fever when Mrs. Pendennis turned her out of doors; and she made love to
the Doctor, Doctor Goodenough, who came to cure her. Now she has taken
on with another chap--another sawbones, ha, ha! d---- it, sir, she likes
the pestle and mortar, and hangs round the pill-boxes, she's so fond
of 'em, and she has got a fellow from Saint Bartholomew's, who grins
through a horse-collar for her sisters, and charms away her melancholy.
Go and see, sir: very likely he's in the lodge now. If you want news
about Miss Fanny, you must ask at the Doctor's shop, sir, not of an old
fiddler like me--Good-bye, sir. There's my patient calling."

And a voice was heard from the Captain's bedroom, a well-known voice,
which said, "I'd loike a dthrop of dthrink, Bows, I'm thirstee." And
not sorry, perhaps, to hear that such was the state of things, and that
Pen's forsaken was consoling herself, Warrington took his leave of the
irascible musician.

As luck would have it, he passed the lodge door just as Mr. Huxter was
in the act of frightening the children with the mask whereof we have
spoken, and Fanny was smiling languidly at his farces. Warrington
laughed bitterly. "Are all women like that?" he thought. "I think
there's one that's not," he added, with a sigh.

At Piccadilly, waiting for the Richmond omnibus, George fell in with
Major Pendennis, bound in the same direction, and he told the old
gentleman of what he had seen and heard respecting Fanny.

Major Pendennis was highly delighted: and as might be expected of such
a philosopher, made precisely the same observation as that which had
escaped from Warrington. "All women are the same," he said. "La petite
se console. Daymy, when I used to read 'Telemaque' at school, Calypso ne
pouvait se consoler,--you know the rest, Warrington,--I used to say
it was absard. Absard, by Gad, and so it is. And so she's got a new
soupirant, has she, the little porteress? Dayvlish nice little girl. How
mad Pen will be--eh, Warrington? But we must break it to him gently, or
he'll be in such a rage that he will be going after her again. We must
menager the young fellow."

"I think Mrs. Pendennis ought to know that Pen acted very well in the
business. She evidently thinks him guilty, and accordi