t to him in the world he lived in, that others
were no better than himself? Arthur and Laura rode by the gates of
Fairoaks; and he shook hands with his tenant's children, playing on the
lawn and the terrace--Laura looked steadily at the cottage wall, at the
creeper on the porch and the magnolia growing up to her window. "Mr.
Pendennis rode by to-day," one of the boys told his mother, "with
a lady, and he stopped and talked to us, and he asked for a bit of
honeysuckle off the porch, and gave it the lady. I couldn't see if she
was pretty; she had her veil down. She was riding one of Cramp's horses,
out of Baymouth."

As they rode over the downs between home and Baymouth, Pen did not
speak much, though they rode very close together. He was thinking what
a mockery life was, and how men refuse happiness when they may have it;
or, having it, kick it down; or barter it, with their eyes open, for a
little worthless money or beggarly honour. And then the thought came,
what does it matter for the little space? The lives of the best and
purest of us are consumed in a vain desire, and end in a disappointment:
as the dear soul's who sleeps in her grave yonder. She had her selfish
ambition, as much as Caesar had; and died, baulked of her life's
longing. The stone covers over our hopes and our memories. Our place
knows us not. "Other people's children are playing on the grass," he
broke out, in a hard voice, "where you and I used to play, Laura. And
you see how the magnolia we planted has grown up since our time. I have
been round to one or two of the cottages where my mother used to visit.
It is scarcely more than a year that she is gone, and the people whom
she used to benefit care no more for her death than for Queen Anne's. We
are all selfish: the world is selfish: there are but a few exceptions,
like you, my dear, to shine like good deeds in a naughty world, and make
the blackness more dismal."

"I wish you would not speak in that way, Arthur," said Laura, looking
down and bending her head to the honeysuckle on her breast. "When you
told the little boy to give me this, you were not selfish."

"A pretty sacrifice I made to get it for you!" said the sneerer.

"But your heart was kind and full of love when you did so. One cannot
ask for more than love and kindness; and if you think humbly of yourself
Arthur, the love and kindness are--diminished--are they? I often thought
our dearest mother spoiled you at home, by worshipping you