s, and her fascinations,
Pen's mother had divined the girl, and did not trust her. Mrs. Pendennis
saw Blanche light-minded and frivolous, detected many wants in her which
offended the pure and pious-minded lady; a want of reverence for her
parents, and for things more sacred, Helen thought: worldliness and
selfishness couched under pretty words and tender expressions. Laura and
Pen battled these points strongly at first with the widow--Laura being
as yet enthusiastic about her new friend, and Pen not far-gone enough in
love to attempt any concealment of his feelings. He would laugh at these
objections of Helen's, and say, "Psha, mother! you are jealous about
Laura--all women are jealous."

But when, in the course of a month or two, and by watching the pair
with that anxiety with which brooding women watch over their sons'
affections--and in acknowledging which, I have no doubt there is a
sexual jealousy on the mother's part, and a secret pang--when Helen saw
that the intimacy appeared to make progress, that the two young people
were perpetually finding pretexts to meet, and that Miss Blanche was at
Fairoaks or Mr. Pen at the Park every day, the poor widow's heart began
to fail her--her darling project seemed to vanish before her; and,
giving way to her weakness, she fairly told Pen one day what her views
and longings were; that she felt herself breaking, and not long for this
world, and that she hoped and prayed before she went, that she might see
her two children one. The late events, Pen's life and career and former
passion for the actress, had broken the spirit of this tender lady. She
felt that he had escaped her, and was in the maternal nest no more; and
she clung with a sickening fondness to Laura, Laura who had been left to
her by Francis in Heaven.

Pen kissed and soothed her in his grand patronising way. He had seen
something of this, he had long thought his mother wanted to make this
marriage--did Laura know anything of it? (Not she,--Mrs. Pendennis
said--not for worlds would she have breathed a word of it to
Laura)--"Well, well, there was time enough, his mother wouldn't die,"
Pen said, laughingly: "he wouldn't hear of any such thing, and as for
the Muse, she is too grand a lady to think about poor little me--and as
for Laura, who knows that she would have me? She would do anything you
told her, to be sure. But am I worthy of her?"

"O, Pen, you might be," was the widow's reply; not that Mr. Pen
ever doubt