went out of
the room, leaving it to Pen and his uncle, that they might talk over
family affairs were they so inclined.

"Rough and ready, your chum seems," the Major said. "Somewhat different
from your dandy friends at Oxbridge."

"Times are altered," Arthur replied, with a blush. "Warrington is only
just called, and has no business, but he knows law pretty well; and
until I can afford to read with a pleader, I use his books, and get his
help."

"Is that one of the books?" the Major asked, with a smile. A French
novel was lying at the foot of Pen's chair.

"This is not a working day, sir," the lad said. "We were out very
late at a party last night--at Lady Whiston's," Pen added, knowing his
uncle's weakness. "Everybody in town was there except you, sir; Counts,
Ambassadors, Turks, Stars and Garters--I don't know who--it's all in the
paper--and my name, too," said Pen, with great glee. "I met an old flame
of mine there, sir," he added, with a laugh. "You know whom I mean,
sir,--Lady Mirabel--to whom I was introduced over again. She shook
hands, and was gracious enough. I may thank you for being out of that
scrape, sir. She presented me to the husband, too--an old beau in a star
and a blonde wig. He does not seem very wise. She has asked me to call
on her, sir: and I may go now without any fear of losing my heart."

"What, we have had some new loves, have we?" the Major asked in high
good-humour.

"Some two or three," Mr. Pen said, laughing. "But I don't put on my
grand serieux any more, sir. That goes off after the first flame."

"Very right, my dear boy. Flames and darts and passion, and that sort of
thing, do very well for a lad: and you were but a lad when that affair
with the Fotheringill--Fotheringay--(what's her name?) came off. But a
man of the world gives up those follies. You still may do very well.
You have been bit, but you may recover. You are heir to a little
independence; which everybody fancies is a doosid deal more. You have
a good name, good wits, good manners, and a good person--and, begad!
I don't see why you shouldn't marry a woman with money--get into
Parliament--distinguish yourself, and--and, in fact, that sort of thing.
Remember, it's as easy to marry a rich woman as a poor woman: and a
devilish deal pleasanter to sit down to a good dinner, than to a scrag
of mutton in lodgings. Make up your mind to that. A woman with a good
jointure is a doosid deal easier a profession than the law, let