leasanter a thousand times than
Musselburgh--pleasanter for me and my dearest Rosey, whose delicate
nature shrunk and withered up in poor mamma's society. She was never
happy except in my room, the dear child! She's all gentleness and
affection. She doesn't seem to show it: but she has the most wonderful
appreciation of wit, of genius, and talent of all kinds. She always
hides her feelings, except from her fond old mother. I went up into our
room yesterday, and found her in tears. I can't bear to see her eyes
red or to think of her suffering. I asked her what ailed her, and kissed
her. She is a tender plant, Mr. Pendennis! Heaven knows with what care
I have nurtured her! She looked up smiling on my shoulder. She looked so
pretty! 'Oh, mamma,' the darling child said, 'I couldn't help it. I have
been crying over Walter Lorraine.' (Enter Rosey.) Rosey, darling! I
have been telling Mr. Pendennis what a naughty, naughty child you were
yesterday, and how you read a book which I told you you shouldn't
read; for it is a very wicked book; and though it contains some sad sad
truths, it is a great deal too misanthropic (is that the right word? I'm
a poor soldier's wife, and no scholar, you know), and a great deal too
bitter; and though the reviews praise it, and the clever people--we
are poor simple country people--we won't praise it. Sing, dearest, that
little song" (profuse kisses to Rosey), "that pretty thing that Mr.
Pendennis likes."

"I am sure that I will sing anything that Mr. Pendennis likes," says
Rosey, with her candid bright eyes--and she goes to the piano and
warbles "Batti, Batti," with her sweet fresh artless voice.

More caresses follow. Mamma is in a rapture. How pretty they look--the
mother and daughter--two lilies twining together! The necessity of an
entertainment at the Temple-lunch from Dick's (as before mentioned),
dessert from Partington's, Sibwright's spoons, his boy to aid ours, nay,
Sib himself, and his rooms, which are so much more elegant than ours,
and where there is a piano and guitar: all these thoughts pass in rapid
and brilliant combination in the pleasant Mr. Pendennis's mind. How
delighted the ladies are with the proposal! Mrs. Mackenzie claps her
pretty hands, and kisses Rosey again. If osculation is a mark of love,
surely Mrs. Mack is the best of mothers. I may say, without false
modesty, that our little entertainment was most successful. The
champagne was iced to a nicety. The ladies did not