2.
"It's rather too open, though, to encourage a lover under pretence of having a tutor for your son," cried No.

3.
"Hush! here comes Mrs.Portman," some one said, as the good Rector's wife entered Madame Fribsby's shop, to inspect her monthly book of fashions just arrived from London.

And the fact is that Madame Fribsby had been able to hold out no longer; and one day, after she and her lodger had been talking of Pen's approaching departure, and the Curate had gone off to give one of his last lessons to that gentleman, Madame Fribsby had communicated to Mrs.Pybus, who happened to step in with Mrs.Speers, her strong suspicion, her certainty almost, that there was an attachment between a certain clerical gentleman and a certain lady, whose naughty son was growing quite unmanageable, and that a certain marriage would take place pretty soon.
Mrs.Portman saw it all, of course, when the matter was mentioned.

What a sly fox that Curate was! He was low-church, and she never liked him.
And to think of Mrs.Pendennis taking a fancy to him after she had been married to such a man as Mr.Pendennis! She could hardly stay five minutes at Madame Fribsby's, so eager was she to run to the Rectory and give Doctor Portman the news.
When Doctor Portman heard this piece of intelligence, he was in such a rage with his curate, that his first movement was to break with Mr.
Smirke, and to beg him to transfer his services to some other parish.
"That milksop of a creature pretend to be worthy of such a woman as Mrs.
Pendennis," broke out the Doctor: "where will impudence stop next!" "She is much too old for Mr.Smirke," Mrs.Portman remarked: "why, poor dear Mrs.Pendennis might be his mother almost." "You always choose the most charitable reason, Betsy," cried the Rector.
"A matron with a son grown up--she would never think of marrying again." "You only think men should marry again, Doctor Portman, answered his lady, bridling up.
"You stupid old woman," said the Doctor, "when I am gone, you shall marry whomsoever you like.

I will leave orders in my will, my dear, to that effect: and I'll bequeath a ring to my successor, and my Ghost shall come and dance at your wedding." "It is cruel for a clergyman to talk so," the lady answered, with a ready whimper: but these little breezes used to pass very rapidly over the surface of the Doctor's domestic bliss; and were followed by a great calm and sunshine.