first, but galloped like a madman as soon as he thought that he was out
of hearing.

Smirke, thinking of his own affairs, and softly riding with his toes out,
to give Pen his three hours' reading at Fairoaks, met his pupil, who shot
by him like the wind. Smirke's pony shied, as the other thundered past
him; the gentle curate went over his head among the stinging-nettles in
the hedge. Pen laughed as they met, pointed towards the Baymouth road,
and was gone half a mile in that direction before poor Smirke had picked
himself up.

Pen had resolved in his mind that he must see Foker that morning; he must
hear about her; know about her; be with somebody who knew her; and honest
Smirke, for his part, sitting up among the stinging-nettles, as his pony
cropped quietly in the hedge, thought dismally to himself, ought he to go
to Fairoaks now that his pupil was evidently gone away for the day. Yes,
he thought he might go, too. He might go and ask Mrs. Pendennis when
Arthur would be back; and hear Miss Laura her Watts's Catechism. He got
up on the little pony--both were used to his slipping off--and advanced
upon the house from which his scholar had just rushed away in a
whirlwind.

Thus love makes fools of all of us, big and little; and the curate had
tumbled over head and heels in pursuit of it, and Pen had started in the
first heat of the mad race.




CHAPTER V