It was carried from house to house, and formed the subject of talk at high-church, low-church, and no-church tables; it was canvassed by the Misses Finucane and their teachers, and very likely debated by the young ladies in the dormitories for what we know; Wapshot's big boys had their version of the story, and eyed Pen curiously as he sate in his pew at church, or raised the finger of scorn at him as he passed through Chatteris.

They always hated him and called him Lord Pendennis, because he did not wear corduroys as they did, and rode a horse, and gave himself the airs of a buck.
And if the truth must be told, it was Mrs.Portman herself who was the chief narrator of the story of Pen's loves.

Whatever tales this candid woman heard, she was sure to impart them to her neighbours; and after she had been put into possession of Pen's secret by the little scandal at Chatteris, poor Doctor Portman knew that it would next day be about the parish of which he was the Rector.

And so indeed it was; the whole society there had the legend--at the news-room, at the milliner's, at the shoe-shop, and the general warehouse at the corner of the market; at Mrs.Pybus's, at the Glanders's, at the Honourable Mrs.Simcoe's soiree, at the Factory; nay, through the mill itself the tale was current in a few hours, and young Arthur Pendennis's madness was in every mouth.
All Dr.Portman's acquaintances barked out upon him when he walked the street the next day.

The poor divine knew that his Betsy was the author of the rumour, and groaned in spirit.