After the reception of the previous day, Rebecca did not care to come near her dear Amelia. She clipped the bouquet which George had brought her, and gave fresh water to the flowers, and read over the letter which he had sent her. "Poor wretch," she said, twirling round the little bit of paper in her fingers, "how I could crush her with this!--and it is for a thing like this that she must break her heart, forsooth--for a man who is stupid--a coxcomb--and who does not care for her. My poor good Rawdon is worth ten of this creature." And then she fell to thinking what she should do if--if anything happened to poor good Rawdon, and what a great piece of luck it was that he had left his horses behind.
In the course of this day too, Mrs. Crawley, who saw not without anger the Bareacres party drive off, bethought her of the precaution which the Countess had taken, and did a little needlework for her own advantage; she stitched away the major part of her trinkets, bills, and bank-notes about her person, and so prepared, was ready for any event--to fly if she thought fit, or to stay and welcome the conqueror, were he Englishman or Frenchman. And I am not sure that she did not dream that night of becoming a duchess and Madame la Marechale, while Rawdon wrapped in his cloak, and making his bivouac under the rain at Mount Saint John, was thinking, with all the force of his heart, about the little wife whom he had left behind him.

After her previous reception, Rebecca did not care to come near her dear Amelia. She clipped the bouquet which George had brought her, and gave fresh water to the flowers, and read over the letter which he had sent her.
"Poor wretch," she said, twirling the bit of paper in her fingers, "how I could crush her with this! - and she must break her heart for a stupid coxcomb who does not care for her. My poor good Rawdon is worth ten of him." And then she began thinking what she should do if anything happened to poor good Rawdon, and what a great piece of luck it was that he had left his horses behind.
During this day too, Rebecca thought of the precaution which the Countess Bareacres had taken, and did a little needlework herself; she stitched away trinkets and bank-notes about her person, and so was ready either to fly or to stay and welcome the conqueror, whether English or French. And I am not sure that she did not dream that night of becoming a duchess, while Rawdon, wrapped in his cloak, and lying in the rain, was thinking with all his heart about the little wife he had left behind.
