that the fond widow urged how constant
Arthur's occupations and studies were and how many his engagements.
"It is better that he should lose a prize" Laura said "than forget his
mother; and indeed, mamma, I don't see that he gets many prizes. Why
doesn't he come home and stay with you, instead of passing his vacations
at his great friends' fine houses? There is nobody there will love him
half so much as--as you do." "As I do only, Laura?" sighed out Mrs.
Pendennis. Laura declared stoutly that she did not love Pen a bit, when
he did not do his duty to his mother nor would she be convinced by any
of Helen's fond arguments, that the boy must make his way in the
world; that his uncle was most desirous that Pen should cultivate the
acquaintance of persons who were likely to befriend him in life; that
men had a thousand ties and calls which women could not understand,
and so forth. Perhaps Helen no more believed in these excuses than her
adopted daughter did; but she tried to believe that she believed them,
and comforted herself with the maternal infatuation. And that is a point
whereon I suppose many a gentleman has reflected, that, do what we will,
we are pretty sure of the woman's love that once has been ours; and that
that untiring tenderness and forgiveness never fail us.

Also, there had been that freedom, not to say audacity, in Arthur's
latter talk and ways, which had shocked and displeased Laura. Not that
he ever offended her by rudeness, or addressed to her a word which
she ought not to hear, for Mr. Pen was a gentleman, and by nature and
education polite to every woman high and low; but he spoke lightly and
laxly of women in general; was less courteous in his actions than in his
words--neglectful in sundry ways, and in many of the little offices of
life. It offended Miss Laura that he should smoke his horrid pipes in
the house; that he should refuse to go to church with his mother, or
on walks or visits with her, and be found yawning over his novel in his
dressing-gown, when the gentle widow returned from those duties. The
hero of Laura's early infancy, about whom she had passed so many, many
nights talking with Helen (who recited endless stories of the boy's
virtues, and love, and bravery, when he was away at school), was a
very different person from the young man whom now she knew; bold
and brilliant, sarcastic and defiant, seeming to scorn the simple
occupations or pleasures, or even devotions, of the women with