name is a very ancient and noble one). There was a reverend friend of
mine, who went home in raptures with Ophelia; and I saw Sir Derby Oaks
fling a bouquet which no actress ever merited better. I should have
brought one myself, had I known what I was going to see. Are not those
the very flowers in a glass of water on the mantelpiece yonder?"

"I am very fond of flowers," said Miss Fotheringay, with a languishing
ogle at Sir Derby Oaks--but the Baronet still scowled sulkily.

"Sweets to the sweet--isn't that the expression of the play?" Mr.
Pendennis asked, bent upon being good-humoured.

"'Pon my life, I don't know. Very likely it is. I ain't much of a
literary man," answered Sir Derby.

"Is it possible?" the Major continued, with an air of surprise. You don't
inherit your father's love of letters, then, Sir Derby? He was a
remarkably fine scholar, and I had the honour of knowing him very well."

"Indeed," said the other, and gave a sulky wag of his head.

"He saved my life," continued Pendennis.

"Did he now?" cried Miss Fotheringay, rolling her eyes first upon the
Major with surprise, then towards Sir Derby with gratitude--but the
latter was proof against those glances: and far from appearing to be
pleased that the Apothecary, his father, should have saved Major
Pendennis's life, the young man actually looked as if he wished the event
had turned the other way.