d
take her departure. It would even be Clive's duty to separate from her
then, as it now was to humour his wife in her delicate condition, and
to soothe the poor soul who had had a great deal of ill-health,
of misfortune, of domestic calamity to wear and shatter her. Clive
acquiesced with a groan, but--with a touching and generous resignation
as we both thought. "She is right, Pen," he said, "I think your wife is
always right. I will try, Laura, and bear my part, God help me! I will
do my duty and strive my best to soothe and gratify my poor dear little
woman. They will be making caps and things, and will not interrupt me in
my studio. Of nights I can go to Clipstone Street and work at the Life.
There's nothing like the Life, Pen. So you see I shan't be much at home
except at meal-times, when by nature I shall have my mouth full, and
no opportunity of quarrelling with poor Mrs. Mac." So he went home,
followed and cheered by the love and pity of my dear wife, and
determined stoutly to bear this heavy yoke which fate had put on him.

To do Mrs. Mackenzie justice, that lady backed up with all her might the
statement which my wife had put forward, with a view of soothing poor
Clive, viz., that the residence of his mother-in-law in his house was
only to be temporary. "Temporary!" cries Mrs. Mac (who was kind enough
to make a call on Mrs. Pendennis, and treat that lady to a piece of
her mind). "Do you suppose, madam, that it could be otherwise? Do you
suppose that worlds would induce me to stay in a house where I have
received such treatment; where, after I and my daughter had been robbed
of every shilling of our fortune, where we are daily insulted by Colonel
Newcome and his son? Do you suppose, ma'am, that I do not know that
Clive's friends hate me, and give themselves airs and look down upon my
darling child, and try and make differences between my sweet Rosa and
me--Rosa who might have been dead, or might have been starving, but that
her dear mother came to her rescue? No, I would never stay. I loathe
every day that I remain in the house--I would rather beg my bread--I
would rather sweep the streets and starve--though, thank God, I have my
pension as the widow of an officer in Her Majesty's Service, and I can
live upon that--and of that Colonel Newcome cannot rob me; and when my
darling love needs a mother's care no longer, I will leave her. I
will shake the dust off my feet and leave that house. I will--And Mr.
Newcome's