Howbeit, Mr. Pen was content with what tokens of regard he had got, and
mumbled over his three letters in a rapture of high spirits, and went to
sleep delighted with his kind old uncle from London, who must evidently
yield to his wishes in time; and, in a word, in a preposterous state of
contentment with himself and all the world.
CHAPTER IX
In which the Major opens the Campaign
Let those who have a real and heartfelt relish for London society and the
privilege of an entree into its most select circles, admit that Major
Pendennis was a man of no ordinary generosity and affection, in the
sacrifice which he now made. He gave up London in May,--his newspapers
and his mornings--his afternoons from club to club, his little
confidential visits to my Ladies, his rides in Rotten Row, his dinners,
and his stall at the Opera, his rapid escapades to Fulham or Richmond on
Saturdays and Sundays, his bow from my Lord Duke or my Lord Marquis at
the great London entertainments, and his name in the Morning Post of the
succeeding day,--his quieter little festivals, more select, secret, and
delightful--all these he resigned to lock himself into a lone little
country house, with a simple widow and a greenhorn of a son, a mawkish
curate, and a little girl of ten years of age.
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