the Major means the god of war, Milly, my dear," interposed the
parent.

"It is not that Mars I meant, though Venus, I suppose, may be pardoned
for thinking about him," the Major replied with a smile directed in full
to Sir Derby Oaks, who now re-entered in his shell-jacket; but the
lady did not understand the words of which he made use, nor did the
compliment at all pacify Sir Derby, who, probably, did not understand it
either, and at any rate received it with great sulkiness and stiffness,
scowling uneasily at Miss Fotheringay, with an expression which seemed
to ask what the deuce does this man here?

Major Pendennis was not in the least annoyed by the gentleman's
ill-humour. On the contrary, it delighted him. "So," thought he, "a
rival is in the field;" and he offered up vows that Sir Derby might be,
not only a rival, but a winner too, in this love-match in which he and
Pen were engaged.

"I fear I interrupted your fencing lesson; but my stay in Chatteris
is very short, and I was anxious to make myself known to my old
fellow-campaigner Captain Costigan, and to see a lady nearer who had
charmed me so much from the stage. I was not the only man epris last
night, Miss Fotheringay (if I must call you so, though your own family
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 a