e of the
family about whom the village began to chatter, and his unlucky mother
was the next to become a victim to their gossip.

"It is all settled," said Mrs. Pybus to Mrs. Speers, "the boy is to go
to College, and then the widow is to console herself."

"He's been there every day, in the most open manner, my dear," continued
Mrs. Speers.

"Enough to make poor Mr. Pendennis turn in his grave," said Mrs.
Wapshot.

"She never liked him, that we know," says No. 1.

"Married him for his money. Everybody knows that: was a penniless
hanger-on of Lady Pontypool's," says No. 2.

"It's rather too open, though, to encourage a lover under pretence of
having a tutor for your son," cried No. 3.

"Hush! here comes Mrs. Portman," some one said, as the good Rector's
wife entered Madame Fribsby's shop, to inspect her monthly book of
fashions just arrived from London. And the fact is that Madame Fribsby
had been able to hold out no longer; and one day, after she and her
lodger had been talking of Pen's approaching departure, and the Curate
had gone off to give one of his last lessons to that gentleman, Madame
Fribsby had communicated to Mrs. Pybus, who happened to step in with
Mrs. Speers, her strong suspicion, her certainty almost, that there was
an attachment between a certain clerical gentleman and a certain lady,
whose naughty son was growing quite unmanageable, and that a certain
marriage would take place pretty soon.

Mrs. Portman saw it all, of course, when the matter was mentioned. What
a sly fox that Curate was! He was low-church, and she never liked him.
And to think of Mrs. Pendennis taking a fancy to him after she had
been married to such a man as Mr. Pendennis! She could hardly stay five
minutes at Madame Fribsby's, so eager was she to run to the Rectory and
give Doctor Portman the news.

When Doctor Portman heard this piece of intelligence, he was in such
a rage with his curate, that his first movement was to break with Mr.
Smirke, and to beg him to transfer his services to some other parish.
"That milksop of a creature pretend to be worthy of such a woman as Mrs.
Pendennis," broke out the Doctor: "where will impudence stop next!"

"She is much too old for Mr. Smirke," Mrs. Portman remarked: "why, poor
dear Mrs. Pendennis might be his mother almost."

"You always choose the most charitable reason, Betsy," cried the Rector.
"A matron with a son grown up--she would never think of marrying again."

"You only t