He can't be very bad, wisely thought the Pall-Mall Philosopher: and he made Pen's mother remark (not, perhaps, without a secret feeling of disappointment, for she loved romance like other soft women), that the young gentleman during the last fortnight came home quite hungry to dinner at night, and also showed a very decent appetite at the breakfast-table in the morning.

"Gad, I wish I could," said the Major, thinking ruefully of his dinner pills.

"The boy begins to sleep well, depend upon that." It was cruel, but it was true.
Having no other soul to confide in--for he could not speak to his mother of his loves and disappointments--his uncle treated them in a scornful and worldly tone, which, though carefully guarded and polite, yet jarred greatly on the feelings of Mr.Pen--and Foker was much too coarse to appreciate those refined sentimental secrets--the lad's friendship for the Curate redoubled, or rather, he was never tired of having Smirke for a listener on that one subject.

What is a lovee without a confidant?
Pen employed Mr.Smirke, as Corydon does the elm-tree, to cut out his mistress's name upon.

He made him echo with the name of the beautiful Amaryllis.