she will come down very handsomely. And I think Blanche is
dev'lish fond of me," said Arthur, with a sigh.

"That means that we accept her caresses and her money."

"Haven't we said before that life was a transaction?" Pendennis said. "I
don't pretend to break my heart about her. I have told her pretty fairly
what my feelings are--and--and have engaged myself to her. And since I
saw her last, and for the last two months especially, whilst I have been
in the country, I think she has been growing fonder and fonder of me;
and her letters to me, and especially to Laura, seem to show it. Mine
have been simple enough--no raptures, nor vows, you understand--but
looking upon the thing as an affaire faite; and not desirous to hasten
or defer the completion."

"And Laura? how is she?" Warrington asked frankly.

"Laura, George," said Pen, looking his friend hard in the face--"by
heaven, Laura is the best, and noblest, and dearest girl the sun ever
shone upon." His own voice fell as he spoke: it seemed as if he could
hardly utter the words: he stretched out his hand to his comrade, who
took it and nodded his head.

"Have you only found out that now, young un?" Warrington said after a
pause.

"Who has not learned things too late, George?" cried Arthur, in his
impetuous way, gathering words and emotion as he went on. "Whose life is
not a disappointment? Who carries his heart entire to the grave without
a mutilation? I never knew anybody who was happy quite: or who has not
had to ransom himself out of the hands of Fate with the payment of some
dearest treasure or other. Lucky if we are left alone afterwards, when
we have paid our fine, and if the tyrant visits us no more. Suppose I
have found out that I have lost the greatest prize in the world, now
that it can't be mine--that for years I had an angel under my tent, and
let her go?--am I the only one--ah, dear old boy, am I the only one? And
do you think my lot is easier to bear because I own that I deserve it?
She's gone from us. God's blessing be with her! She might have stayed,
and I lost her; it's like Undine: isn't it, George?"

"She was in this room once," said George.

He saw her there--he heard the sweet low voice--he saw the sweet smile
and eyes shining so kindly--the face remembered so fondly--thought of in
what night-watches--blest and loved always--gone now! A glass that had
held a nosegay--a bible with Helen's handwriting--were all that were
left him of that brie