"Does your mother know of this, Arthur?" said Miss Fotheringay, slowly.
He seized her hand madly and kissed it a thousand times. She did not
withdraw it. "Does the old lady know it?" Miss Costigan thought to
herself, "well, perhaps she may," and then she remembered what a handsome
diamond cross Mrs. Pendennis had on the night of the play, and thought,
"Sure 'twill go in the family."

"Calm yourself, dear Arthur," she said, in her low rich voice, and
sniffled sweetly and gravely upon him. Then, with her disengaged hand,
she put the hair lightly off his throbbing forehead. He was in such a
rapture and whirl of happiness that he could hardly speak. At last he
gasped out, "My mother has seen you, and admires you beyond measure. She
will learn to love you soon: who can do otherwise? She will love you
because I do."

"'Deed then, I think you do," said Miss Costigan, perhaps with a sort of
pity for Pen.

Think she did! Of course here Mr. Pen went off into a rhapsody through
which, as we have perfect command over our own feelings, we have no
reason to follow the lad. Of course, love, truth, and eternity were
produced: and words were tried but found impossible to plumb the
tremendous depth of his affection. This speech, we say, is no business of
ours. It was most likely not very wise, but what right have we to
overhear? Let the poor boy fling out his simple heart at the woman's
feet, and deal gently with him. It is best to love wisely, no doubt: but
to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all. Some of
us can't: and are proud of our impotence too.

At the end of his speech Pen again kissed the imperial hand with rapture