"I hear they are the most picturesque in the world"; and so she had a sudden interest for Hampstead, and Hornsey, and found that Dulwich had great charms for her, and getting her victim into her carriage, drove her to those rustic spots, beguiling the little journeys with conversations about Rawdon and his wife, and telling every story to the old lady which could add to her indignation against this pair of reprobates.

"I hear they are the most picturesque in the world." Getting her victim into her carriage, she drove her to the rustic spots of Hampstead and Dulwich, beguiling the journeys with conversations about Rawdon and his wife, and telling every story to the old lady which could add to her indignation.


Perhaps Mrs. Bute pulled the string unnecessarily tight.


For though she worked up Miss Crawley to a proper dislike of her disobedient nephew, the invalid had a great hatred and secret terror of her victimizer, and panted to escape from her.

For the invalid had a hatred and secret terror of her victimizer, and panted to escape from her.


After a brief space, she rebelled against Highgate and Hornsey utterly. She would go into the Park.

After a brief time, she rebelled: she would go to the Park.


Mrs. Bute knew they would meet the abominable Rawdon there, and she was right.


One day in the ring, Rawdon's stanhope came in sight; Rebecca was seated by him.

One day in the Park, Rawdon's carriage came in sight; Rebecca was seated by him.


In the enemy's equipage Miss Crawley occupied her usual place, with Mrs. Bute on her left, the poodle and Miss Briggs on the back seat.

In the enemy's carriage Miss Crawley occupied her usual place, with Mrs. Bute on her left, and Miss Briggs on the back seat.


It was a nervous moment, and Rebecca's heart beat quick as she recognized the carriage; and as the two vehicles crossed each other in a line, she clasped her hands, and looked towards the spinster with a face of agonized attachment and devotion.

It was a nervous moment, and Rebecca's heart beat quick when she recognized them. As the two vehicles crossed each other, she clasped her hands, and looked towards the spinster with a face of agonized attachment and devotion.


Rawdon himself trembled, and his face grew purple behind his dyed mustachios.

Rawdon trembled, and his face grew purple behind his dyed mustachios.


Only old Briggs was moved in the other carriage, and cast her great eyes nervously towards her old friends.

In the other carriage, old Briggs cast her great eyes nervously towards her old friends.


Miss Crawley's bonnet was resolutely turned towards the Serpentine.


Mrs. Bute happened to be in ecstasies with the poodle, and was calling him a little darling, and a sweet little zoggy, and a pretty pet. The carriages moved on, each in his line.

Mrs. Bute was busy playing with the poodle; and the carriages moved on.


"Done, by Jove," Rawdon said to his wife.


"Try once more, Rawdon," Rebecca answered.


"Could not you lock your wheels into theirs, dearest?"


Rawdon had not the heart for that manoeuvre.


When the carriages met again, he stood up in his stanhope; he raised his hand ready to doff his hat; he looked with all his eyes.

When the carriages met again, he stood up, and raised his hand ready to doff his hat.


But this time Miss Crawley's face was not turned away; she and Mrs. Bute looked him full in the face, and cut their nephew pitilessly.

But this time Miss Crawley did not turn away; she and Mrs. Bute looked him full in the face, and cut their nephew pitilessly.


He sank back in his seat with an oath, and striking out of the ring, dashed away desperately homewards.

He sank back in his seat with an oath, and dashed desperately homewards.


It was a gallant and decided triumph for Mrs. Bute.


But she felt the danger of many such meetings, as she saw the evident nervousness of Miss Crawley; and she determined that it was most necessary for her dear friend's health, that they should leave town for a while, and recommended Brighton very strongly.

But she felt the danger of many such meetings, and decided that for the sake of her dear friend's health, they should leave town for a while; and she recommended Brighton very strongly.


Good fortune now begins to smile upon Amelia.


We are glad to get her out of that low sphere in which she has been creeping hitherto and introduce her into a polite circle--not so grand and refined as that in which our other female friend, Mrs. Becky, has appeared, but still having no small pretensions to gentility and fashion.

We are glad to introduce her into a polite circle - not so grand as that in which Mrs. Becky has appeared, but still genteel and fashionable.


Jos's friends were all from the three presidencies, and his new house was in the comfortable Anglo-Indian district of which Moira Place is the centre.

Jos's new house was in the comfortable Anglo-Indian district around Moira Place.


Minto Square, Great Clive Street, Warren Street, Hastings Street, Ochterlony Place, Plassy Square, Assaye Terrace ("gardens" was a felicitous word not applied to stucco houses with asphalt terraces in front, so early as 1827)--who does not know these respectable abodes of the retired Indian aristocracy, and the quarter which Mr. Wenham calls the Black Hole, in a word?

Who does not know these respectable homes of the retired Indian aristocracy, and the quarter which Mr. Wenham calls the Black Hole?


Jos's position in life was not grand enough to entitle him to a house in Moira Place, where none can live but retired Members of Council, and partners of Indian firms (who break, after having settled a hundred thousand pounds on their wives, and retire into comparative penury to a country place and four thousand a year); he engaged a comfortable house of a second- or third-rate order in Gillespie Street, purchasing the carpets, costly mirrors, and handsome and appropriate planned furniture by Seddons from the assignees of Mr. Scape, lately admitted partner into the great Calcutta House of Fogle, Fake, and Cracksman, in which poor Scape had embarked seventy thousand pounds, the earnings of a long and honourable life, taking Fake's place, who retired to a princely park in Sussex (the Fogles have been long out of the firm, and Sir Horace Fogle is about to be raised to the peerage as Baron Bandanna)--admitted, I say, partner into the great agency house of Fogle and Fake two years before it failed for a million and plunged half the Indian public into misery and ruin.

Jos's position was not grand enough for a house in Moira Place itself, but he rented a comfortable house of a second-rate order in Gillespie Street.


Scape, ruined, honest, and broken-hearted at sixty-five years of age, went out to Calcutta to wind up the affairs of the house.


Walter Scape was withdrawn from Eton and put into a merchant's house.


Florence Scape, Fanny Scape, and their mother faded away to Boulogne, and will be heard of no more.


To be brief, Jos stepped in and bought their carpets and sideboards and admired himself in the mirrors which had reflected their kind handsome faces.


The Scape tradesmen, all honourably paid, left their cards, and were eager to supply the new household.


The large men in white waistcoats who waited at Scape's dinners, greengrocers, bank-porters, and milkmen in their private capacity, left their addresses and ingratiated themselves with the butler.


Mr. Chummy, the chimney-purifier, who had swept the last three families, tried to coax the butler and the boy under him, whose duty it was to go out covered with buttons and with stripes down his trousers, for the protection of Mrs. Amelia whenever she chose to walk abroad.


The butler was Jos's valet also, and never was more drunk than a butler in a small family should be who has a proper regard for his master's wine. Emmy was supplied with a maid, grown on Sir William Dobbin's suburban estate; a good girl, whose kindness and humility disarmed Mrs. Osborne, who was at first terrified at the idea of having a servant to wait upon herself, who did not in the least know how to use one, and who always spoke to domestics with the most reverential politeness.

The butler was also Jos's valet; Emmy had a maid, grown on Sir William Dobbin's estate; a good girl, whose kindness and humility disarmed Mrs. Osborne, who was terrified at the idea of having a servant to wait upon her.


But this maid was very useful in the family, in dexterously tending old Mr. Sedley, who kept almost entirely to his own quarter of the house and never mixed in any of the gay doings which took place there.

But this maid was very useful in skilfully tending old Mr. Sedley, who kept to his own part of the house.


Numbers of people came to see Mrs. Osborne.


Lady Dobbin and daughters were delighted at her change of fortune, and waited upon her.

Lady Dobbin and her daughters were delighted at her change of fortune, and visited her.


Miss Osborne from Russell Square came in her grand chariot with the flaming hammer-cloth emblazoned with the Leeds arms.

Miss Osborne from Russell Square came in her grand chariot.


Jos was reported to be immensely rich. Old Osborne had no objection that Georgy should inherit his uncle's property as well as his own.

Jos was reported to be immensely rich, and Old Osborne had no objection to Georgy inheriting his uncle's property as well as his own.


"Damn it, we will make a man of the feller," he said; "and I'll see him in Parliament before I die.

"Damn it, I'll see him in Parliament before I die," he said.


You may go and see his mother, Miss O., though I'll never set eyes on her": and Miss Osborne came.

"You may visit his mother, Miss O., though I won't."


Emmy, you may be sure, was very glad to see her, and so be brought nearer to George.

Emmy was very glad to see Miss Osborne, and so be brought nearer to Georgy.


That young fellow was allowed to come much more frequently than before to visit his mother.

That young fellow was allowed to visit his mother more frequently.


He dined once or twice a week in Gillespie Street and bullied the servants and his relations there, just as he did in Russell Square.

He dined once or twice a week in Gillespie Street, and bullied the servants and his relations there, just as he did in Russell Square.


He was always respectful to Major Dobbin, however, and more modest in his demeanour when that gentleman was present.

He was always respectful to Major Dobbin, however.


He was a clever lad and afraid of the Major.


George could not help admiring his friend's simplicity, his good humour, his various learning quietly imparted, his general love of truth and justice.

George could not help admiring his simplicity, his good humour, his learning quietly imparted, and his general love of truth and justice.


He had met no such man as yet in the course of his experience, and he had an instinctive liking for a gentleman. He hung fondly by his godfather's side, and it was his delight to walk in the parks and hear Dobbin talk.

He had met no such man before, and he hung fondly by Dobbin's side, delighting to walk in the parks with him.


William told George about his father, about India and Waterloo, about everything but himself.


When George was more than usually pert and conceited, the Major made jokes at him, which Mrs. Osborne thought very cruel.


One day, taking him to the play, and the boy declining to go into the pit because it was vulgar, the Major took him to the boxes, left him there, and went down himself to the pit.

One day, the Major took him to the play, and the boy declined to go into the pit because it was vulgar. So the Major took him to the boxes, left him there, and went down himself to the pit.


He had not been seated there very long before he felt an arm thrust under his and a dandy little hand in a kid glove squeezing his arm. George had seen the absurdity of his ways and come down from the upper region.

He had not been seated there very long before he felt a little arm thrust under his: George had seen the absurdity of his ways and come down.


A tender laugh of benevolence lighted up old Dobbin's face and eyes as he looked at the repentant little prodigal.


He loved the boy, as he did everything that belonged to Amelia.

Dobbin loved the boy, as he did everything that belonged to Amelia.


How charmed she was when she heard of this instance of George's goodness!


Her eyes looked more kindly on Dobbin than they ever had done.

Her eyes looked more kindly on Dobbin than they had ever done.


She blushed, he thought, after looking at him so.


Georgy never tired of his praises of the Major to his mother.

Georgy never tired of praising the Major to his mother.


"I like him, Mamma, because he knows such lots of things; and he ain't like old Veal, who is always bragging and using such long words, don't you know?

"I like him, Mamma, because he knows such lots of things; and he ain't like old Veal, who is always bragging and using such long words.


The chaps call him 'Longtail' at school.


But Dob reads Latin like English, and French and that; and when we go out together he tells me stories about my Papa, and never about himself; though I heard Colonel Buckler, at Grandpapa's, say that he was one of the bravest officers in the army, and had distinguished himself ever so much.

But Dob reads Latin like English, and French and that; and he tells me stories about my Papa, and never about himself; though I heard Colonel Buckler say that he was one of the bravest officers in the army, and had distinguished himself ever so much.


Grandpapa was quite surprised, and said, 'THAT feller!

Grandpapa was quite surprised, and said, 'That feller!


Why, I didn't think he could say Bo to a goose'--but I know he could, couldn't he, Mamma?"

Why, I didn't think he could say Boo to a goose' - but he could, couldn't he, Mamma?"


Emmy laughed: she thought it was very likely the Major could do thus much.

Emmy laughed: she thought it very likely.


If there was a sincere liking between George and the Major, it must be confessed that between the boy and his uncle no great love existed.

However, there was no great love between George and his uncle Joseph.


George had got a way of blowing out his cheeks, and putting his hands in his waistcoat pockets, and saying, "God bless my soul, you don't say so," so exactly after the fashion of old Jos that it was impossible to refrain from laughter. The servants would explode at dinner if the lad, asking for something which wasn't at table, put on that countenance and used that favourite phrase.

George had got a way of blowing out his cheeks, and putting his hands in his waistcoat pockets, and saying, "God bless my soul, you don't say," so exactly like Jos that the servants would explode if the lad did it at dinner.


Even Dobbin would shoot out a sudden peal at the boy's mimicry.

Even Dobbin would shoot out a sudden peal of laughter.


If George did not mimic his uncle to his face, it was only by Dobbin's rebukes and Amelia's terrified entreaties that the little scapegrace was induced to desist.

The little scapegrace did not mimic his uncle to his face only because of Dobbin's rebukes and Amelia's entreaties.


And the worthy civilian being haunted by a dim consciousness that the lad thought him an ass, and was inclined to turn him into ridicule, used to be extremely timorous and, of course, doubly pompous and dignified in the presence of Master Georgy.

Jos, haunted by a dim consciousness that the lad thought him an ass, was doubly pompous and dignified in his presence.


When it was announced that the young gentleman was expected in Gillespie Street to dine with his mother, Mr. Jos commonly found that he had an engagement at the Club.

When Georgy was expected in Gillespie Street, Mr. Jos usually found that he had an engagement at his Club.


Perhaps nobody was much grieved at his absence.


On those days Mr. Sedley would commonly be induced to come out from his place of refuge in the upper stories, and there would be a small family party, whereof Major Dobbin pretty generally formed one.


He was the ami de la maison--old Sedley's friend, Emmy's friend, Georgy's friend, Jos's counsel and adviser.


"He might almost as well be at Madras for anything WE see of him," Miss Ann Dobbin remarked at Camberwell.


Miss Ann, did it not strike you that it was not YOU whom the Major wanted to marry?


Joseph Sedley then led a life of dignified otiosity such as became a person of his eminence.

Joseph Sedley, then, led a life of dignified idleness.


His very first point, of course, was to become a member of the Oriental Club, where he spent his mornings in the company of his brother Indians, where he dined, or whence he brought home men to dine.

He became a member of the Oriental Club, where he spent his mornings in the company of his brother Indians, where he dined, or whence he brought home men to dine.


Amelia had to receive and entertain these gentlemen and their ladies.


From these she heard how soon Smith would be in Council; how many lacs Jones had brought home with him, how Thomson's House in London had refused the bills drawn by Thomson, Kibobjee, and Co., the Bombay House, and how it was thought the Calcutta House must go too; how very imprudent, to say the least of it, Mrs. Brown's conduct (wife of Brown of the Ahmednuggur Irregulars) had been with young Swankey of the Body Guard, sitting up with him on deck until all hours, and losing themselves as they were riding out at the Cape; how Mrs. Hardyman had had out her thirteen sisters, daughters of a country curate, the Rev: Felix Rabbits, and married eleven of them, seven high up in the service; how Hornby was wild because his wife would stay in Europe, and Trotter was appointed Collector at Ummerapoora.

She heard all about the imprudent doings of the Bombay House and the Calcutta House; she learnt that the wife of Brown of the Ahmednuggur Irregulars had been sitting up with young Swankey of the Body Guard, and that Trotter was appointed Collector at Ummerapoora.


This and similar talk took place at the grand dinners all round. They had the same conversation; the same silver dishes; the same saddles of mutton, boiled turkeys, and entrees.

This talk took place at the grand dinners: always with the same conversation; the same silver dishes and the same saddles of mutton.


Politics set in a short time after dessert, when the ladies retired upstairs and talked about their complaints and their children.


Don't the barristers' wives talk about Circuit?


Don't the soldiers' ladies gossip about the Regiment?


Don't the clergymen's ladies discourse about Sunday-schools and who takes whose duty?


Don't the very greatest ladies of all talk about that small clique of persons to whom they belong?


And why should our Indian friends not have their own conversation?--only I admit it is slow for the laymen whose fate it sometimes is to sit by and listen.


Before long Emmy had a visiting-book, and was driving about regularly in a carriage, calling upon Lady Bludyer (wife of Major-General Sir Roger Bludyer, K.C.B., Bengal Army); Lady Huff, wife of Sir G. Huff, Bombay ditto; Mrs. Pice, the Lady of Pice the Director, &c. We are not long in using ourselves to changes in life.

Before long Emmy was driving about regularly in a carriage, calling upon Lady Bludyer, Lady Huff, and other distinguished wives.


That carriage came round to Gillespie Street every day; that buttony boy sprang up and down from the box with Emmy's and Jos's visiting-cards; at stated hours Emmy and the carriage went for Jos to the Club and took him an airing; or, putting old Sedley into the vehicle, she drove the old man round the Regent's Park.

The carriage came to Gillespie Street every day; at stated hours Emmy and the carriage went to Jos's Club, or drove her father round Regent's Park.


The lady's maid and the chariot, the visiting-book and the buttony page, became soon as familiar to Amelia as the humble routine of Brompton.


She accommodated herself to one as to the other.


If Fate had ordained that she should be a Duchess, she would even have done that duty too.


She was voted, in Jos's female society, rather a pleasing young person--not much in her, but pleasing, and that sort of thing.

She was voted, by Jos's female society, rather a pleasing young person - not much in her, but pleasing.


The men, as usual, liked her artless kindness and simple refined demeanour.

The men, as usual, liked her artless kindness and simple refined manner.


The gallant young Indian dandies at home on furlough--immense dandies these--chained and moustached--driving in tearing cabs, the pillars of the theatres, living at West End hotels--nevertheless admired Mrs. Osborne, liked to bow to her carriage in the park, and to be admitted to have the honour of paying her a morning visit.

The gallant young Indian dandies at home on leave - tearing around in cabs, frequenting theatres, living at West End hotels - nevertheless admired Mrs. Osborne, and liked to pay her morning visits.


Swankey of the Body Guard himself, that dangerous youth, and the greatest buck of all the Indian army now on leave, was one day discovered by Major Dobbin tete-a-tete with Amelia, and describing the sport of pig-sticking to her with great humour and eloquence; and he spoke afterwards of a d--d king's officer that's always hanging about the house--a long, thin, queer-looking, oldish fellow--a dry fellow though, that took the shine out of a man in the talking line.

Swankey of the Body Guard, the greatest buck in the Indian army, was one day discovered by Major Dobbin tete-a-tete with Amelia, describing the sport of pig-sticking to her; and Swankey spoke afterwards of a d__d officer that was always hanging about the house - a long, thin, queer-looking, oldish fellow - with a dry humour, though.


Had the Major possessed a little more personal vanity he would have been jealous of so dangerous a young buck as that fascinating Bengal Captain.

Had the Major been more vain he would have been jealous of Swankey.


But Dobbin was of too simple and generous a nature to have any doubts about Amelia.


He was glad that the young men should pay her respect, and that others should admire her.

He was glad that people should admire her.


Ever since her womanhood almost, had she not been persecuted and undervalued?

Ever since her womanhood, had she not been undervalued?


It pleased him to see how kindness bought out her good qualities and how her spirits gently rose with her prosperity.

It pleased him to see how her spirits gently rose with her prosperity.


Any person who appreciated her paid a compliment to the Major's good judgement--that is, if a man may be said to have good judgement who is under the influence of Love's delusion.


After Jos went to Court, which we may be sure he did as a loyal subject of his Sovereign (showing himself in his full court suit at the Club, whither Dobbin came to fetch him in a very shabby old uniform) he who had always been a staunch Loyalist and admirer of George IV, became such a tremendous Tory and pillar of the State that he was for having Amelia to go to a Drawing-room, too.

After Jos went to Court, as a loyal subject of his Sovereign, he became such a tremendous Tory and pillar of the State that he wanted Amelia to go to a royal Drawing-room, too.


He somehow had worked himself up to believe that he was implicated in the maintenance of the public welfare and that the Sovereign would not be happy unless Jos Sedley and his family appeared to rally round him at St. James's.

He somehow had worked himself up to believe that he was involved in the maintenance of the public welfare and that the Sovereign would not be happy unless Jos Sedley and his family rallied round him at St. James's Palace.


"Shall I wear the family diamonds, Jos?"


"I wish you would let me buy you some," thought the Major.


"I should like to see any that were too good for you."


How they were married is not of the slightest consequence to anybody.

How they were married is of no consequence.


What is to hinder a Captain who is a major, and a young lady who is of age, from purchasing a licence, and uniting themselves at any church in this town?

What is to stop a Captain and a young lady over twenty-one from purchasing a licence, and marrying at any church?


Who needs to be told, that if a woman has a will she will assuredly find a way?--My belief is that one day, when Miss Sharp had gone to pass the forenoon with her dear friend Miss Amelia Sedley in Russell Square, a lady very like her might have been seen entering a church in the City, in company with a gentleman with dyed mustachios, who, after a quarter of an hour's interval, escorted her back to the hackney-coach in waiting, and that this was a quiet bridal party.

My belief is that one day, when Miss Sharp had gone to pass the morning with her dear friend Miss Amelia Sedley, a lady very like her might have been seen entering a church in the City, along with a gentleman with dyed mustachios, who, after a quarter of an hour, escorted her to the hackney-coach in waiting.


And who on earth, after the daily experience we have, can question the probability of a gentleman marrying anybody?

And who can question the probability of a gentleman marrying anybody?


How many of the wise and learned have married their cooks?


Did not Lord Eldon himself, the most prudent of men, make a runaway match?


Were not Achilles and Ajax both in love with their servant maids?


And are we to expect a heavy dragoon with strong desires and small brains, who had never controlled a passion in his life, to become prudent all of a sudden, and to refuse to pay any price for an indulgence to which he had a mind?

And are we to expect a heavy dragoon with strong desires and small brains, who had never controlled a passion in his life, to become prudent all of a sudden?


If people only made prudent marriages, what a stop to population there would be!


It seems to me, for my part, that Mr. Rawdon's marriage was one of the honestest actions which we shall have to record in any portion of that gentleman's biography which has to do with the present history.

It seems to me that Mr. Rawdon's marriage was one of the most honest actions which we shall record about him in this history.


No one will say it is unmanly to be captivated by a woman, or, being captivated, to marry her; and the admiration, the delight, the passion, the wonder, the unbounded confidence, and frantic adoration with which, by degrees, this big warrior got to regard the little Rebecca, were feelings which the ladies at least will pronounce were not altogether discreditable to him.

No one will say it is unmanly to be captivated by a woman, or to marry her; and the admiration, the delight, the passion, the wonder, the unbounded confidence, and frantic adoration with which, by degrees, this big warrior came to regard little Rebecca, were feelings which ladies at least will say did him credit.


When she sang, every note thrilled in his dull soul, and tingled through his huge frame.


When she spoke, he brought all the force of his brains to listen and wonder.

When she spoke, he brought all the force of his brains to listen.


If she was jocular, he used to revolve her jokes in his mind, and explode over them half an hour afterwards in the street, to the surprise of the groom in the tilbury by his side, or the comrade riding with him in Rotten Row.

If she made jokes, he used to revolve them in his mind, and explode over them half an hour afterwards in the street, to the surprise of his comrades.


Her words were oracles to him, her smallest actions marked by an infallible grace and wisdom.


"How she sings,--how she paints," thought he.

"How she sings, how she paints," thought he.


"How she rode that kicking mare at Queen's Crawley!"


And he would say to her in confidential moments, "By Jove, Beck, you're fit to be Commander-in-Chief, or Archbishop of Canterbury, by Jove."

And he would say to her, "By Jove, Beck, you're fit to be Commander-in-Chief, or Archbishop of Canterbury, by Jove."


and don't we see every day in the world many an honest Hercules at the apron-strings of Omphale, and great whiskered Samsons prostrate in Delilah's lap?


When, then, Becky told him that the great crisis was near, and the time for action had arrived, Rawdon expressed himself as ready to act under her orders, as he would be to charge with his troop at the command of his colonel.

So when Becky told him that the crisis was near, and the time for action had arrived, Rawdon was ready to follow her orders.


There was no need for him to put his letter into the third volume of Porteus.


Rebecca easily found a means to get rid of Briggs, her companion, and met her faithful friend in "the usual place" on the next day.


She had thought over matters at night, and communicated to Rawdon the result of her determinations.

She had thought over matters, and told Rawdon what she had decided.


He agreed, of course, to everything; was quite sure that it was all right: that what she proposed was best; that Miss Crawley would infallibly relent, or "come round," as he said, after a time.

He agreed to everything; was quite sure that what she proposed was best; that Miss Crawley would certainly relent after a time.


Had Rebecca's resolutions been entirely different, he would have followed them as implicitly.


"You have head enough for both of us, Beck," said he.


"You're sure to get us out of the scrape.


I never saw your equal, and I've met with some clippers in my time too."


And with this simple confession of faith, the love-stricken dragoon left her to execute his part of the project which she had formed for the pair.

And the love-stricken dragoon left her, to carry out his part of her plan.


It consisted simply in the hiring of quiet lodgings at Brompton, or in the neighbourhood of the barracks, for Captain and Mrs. Crawley.

This consisted simply in the hiring of quiet lodgings at Brompton for Captain and Mrs. Crawley.


For Rebecca had determined, and very prudently, we think, to fly.

For Rebecca had prudently determined to fly.


Rawdon was only too happy at her resolve; he had been entreating her to take this measure any time for weeks past.

Rawdon was only too happy; he had been entreating her to do this for weeks.


He pranced off to engage the lodgings with all the impetuosity of love. He agreed to pay two guineas a week so readily, that the landlady regretted she had asked him so little. He ordered in a piano, and half a nursery-house full of flowers: and a heap of good things. As for shawls, kid gloves, silk stockings, gold French watches, bracelets and perfumery, he sent them in with the profusion of blind love and unbounded credit.

He pranced off to engage the lodgings, and ordered in a piano, and half a nursery-house full of flowers: and a heap of shawls, kid gloves, silk stockings, bracelets and perfumery, bought with the profusion of blind love and unbounded credit.


And having relieved his mind by this outpouring of generosity, he went and dined nervously at the club, waiting until the great moment of his life should come.

Then he went and dined nervously at the club, waiting until the great moment of his life should come.


The occurrences of the previous day; the admirable conduct of Rebecca in refusing an offer so advantageous to her, the secret unhappiness preying upon her, the sweetness and silence with which she bore her affliction, made Miss Crawley much more tender than usual.

Rebecca's admirable refusal of Sir Pitt's offer, and her secret unhappiness, made Miss Crawley much more tender to her than usual.


An event of this nature, a marriage, or a refusal, or a proposal, thrills through a whole household of women, and sets all their hysterical sympathies at work.

A marriage, or a refusal, or a proposal, thrills through a whole household of women.


As an observer of human nature, I regularly frequent St. George's, Hanover Square, during the genteel marriage season; and though I have never seen the bridegroom's male friends give way to tears, or the beadles and officiating clergy any way affected, yet it is not at all uncommon to see women who are not in the least concerned in the operations going on--old ladies who are long past marrying, stout middle-aged females with plenty of sons and daughters, let alone pretty young creatures in pink bonnets, who are on their promotion, and may naturally take an interest in the ceremony--I say it is quite common to see the women present piping, sobbing, sniffling; hiding their little faces in their little useless pocket-handkerchiefs; and heaving, old and young, with emotion.


When my friend, the fashionable John Pimlico, married the lovely Lady Belgravia Green Parker, the excitement was so general that even the little snuffy old pew-opener who let me into the seat was in tears.


I inquired of my own soul: she was not going to be married.


Miss Crawley and Briggs in a word, after the affair of Sir Pitt, indulged in the utmost luxury of sentiment, and Rebecca became an object of the most tender interest to them.

Miss Crawley and Briggs indulged in the luxury of sentiment, and Rebecca became an object of interest to them.


In her absence Miss Crawley solaced herself with the most sentimental of the novels in her library.


Little Sharp, with her secret griefs, was the heroine of the day.


That night Rebecca sang more sweetly and talked more pleasantly than she had ever been heard to do in Park Lane.

That night Rebecca sang more sweetly and talked more pleasantly than ever before.


She twined herself round the heart of Miss Crawley.

She twined herself round Miss Crawley's heart.


She spoke lightly and laughingly of Sir Pitt's proposal, ridiculed it as the foolish fancy of an old man; and her eyes filled with tears, and Briggs's heart with unutterable pangs of defeat, as she said she desired no other lot than to remain for ever with her dear benefactress.

She spoke lightly of Sir Pitt's proposal, as the foolish fancy of an old man; and her eyes filled with tears, and Briggs's heart filled with unutterable pangs of defeat, as she said she desired nothing more than to remain for ever with her dear mistress.


"My dear little creature," the old lady said, "I don't intend to let you stir for years, that you may depend upon it.

"My dear little creature," the old lady said, "You may depend on that.


As for going back to that odious brother of mine after what has passed, it is out of the question.

As for going back to that odious brother of mine, it is out of the question.


Here you must stay, with me and Briggs."


Briggs wants to go to see her relations very often.


But as for you, my dear, you must stay and take care of the old woman."


If Rawdon Crawley had been then and there present, instead of being at the club nervously drinking claret, the pair might have gone down on their knees before the old spinster, avowed all, and been forgiven in a twinkling.

If Rawdon Crawley had been present, instead of at the club nervously drinking claret, the pair might have gone down on their knees before the old spinster, revealed all, and been forgiven in a twinkling.


But that good chance was denied to the young couple, doubtless in order that this story might be written, in which numbers of their wonderful adventures are narrated--adventures which could never have occurred to them if they had been housed and sheltered under the comfortable uninteresting forgiveness of Miss Crawley.

But that chance was denied to them, doubtless in order that this story of their consequent wonderful adventures might be written.


Under Mrs. Firkin's orders, in the Park Lane establishment, was a young woman from Hampshire, whose business it was, among other duties, to knock at Miss Sharp's door with that jug of hot water which Firkin would rather have perished than have presented to the intruder.

There was a young maid-servant at the Park Lane house, whose duty it was to knock at Miss Sharp's door with a jug of hot water every morning.


This girl, bred on the family estate, had a brother in Captain Crawley's troop, and if the truth were known, I daresay it would come out that she was aware of certain arrangements, which have a great deal to do with this history.

This girl had a brother in Captain Crawley's troop, and I daresay she was aware of certain arrangements.


At any rate she purchased a yellow shawl, a pair of green boots, and a light blue hat with a red feather with three guineas which Rebecca gave her, and as little Sharp was by no means too liberal with her money, no doubt it was for services rendered that Betty Martin was so bribed.

At any rate she bought a yellow shawl, a pair of green boots, and a blue hat with three guineas which Rebecca gave her; and no doubt it was for services rendered that Betty Martin was so bribed.


On the second day after Sir Pitt Crawley's offer to Miss Sharp, the sun rose as usual, and at the usual hour Betty Martin, the upstairs maid, knocked at the door of the governess's bedchamber.

On the second morning after Sir Pitt Crawley's offer, this maid knocked at the door of Rebecca's bedchamber.


No answer was returned, and she knocked again.


Silence was still uninterrupted; and Betty, with the hot water, opened the door and entered the chamber.


The little white dimity bed was as smooth and trim as on the day previous, when Betty's own hands had helped to make it.

The little white bed was as smooth as on the day before.


Two little trunks were corded in one end of the room; and on the table before the window--on the pincushion--the great fat pincushion lined with pink inside, and twilled like a lady's nightcap--lay a letter.

On the table before the window lay a letter.


It had been reposing there probably all night.


Betty advanced towards it on tiptoe, as if she were afraid to awake it--looked at it, and round the room, with an air of great wonder and satisfaction; took up the letter, and grinned intensely as she turned it round and over, and finally carried it into Miss Briggs's room below.

Betty advanced towards it on tiptoe - looked around the room, with an air of great wonder and satisfaction; took up the letter, and grinned intensely as she turned it over, and finally carried it to Miss Briggs.


How could Betty tell that the letter was for Miss Briggs, I should like to know?


All the schooling Betty had had was at Mrs. Bute Crawley's Sunday school, and she could no more read writing than Hebrew.


"La, Miss Briggs," the girl exclaimed, "O, Miss, something must have happened--there's nobody in Miss Sharp's room; the bed ain't been slep in, and she've run away, and left this letter for you, Miss."

"La, Miss Briggs," the girl exclaimed, "Something must have happened - there's nobody in Miss Sharp's room; the bed ain't been slep in, and she've run away, and left this letter for you, Miss."


cries Briggs, dropping her comb, the thin wisp of faded hair falling over her shoulders; "an elopement!

cried Briggs, dropping her comb; "an elopement!


and she eagerly broke the neat seal, and, as they say, "devoured the contents" of the letter addressed to her.

and she eagerly broke the seal, and read.


Dear Miss Briggs [the refugee wrote], the kindest heart in the world, as yours is, will pity and sympathise with me and excuse me.

Dear Miss Briggs,
Your kind heart will pity and excuse me.


With tears, and prayers, and blessings, I leave the home where the poor orphan has ever met with kindness and affection.

With tears and prayers, I leave the home where the poor orphan has always met with kindness.


Claims even superior to those of my benefactress call me hence.


My husband COMMANDS me to seek the HUMBLE HOME which we call ours.

My husband commands me to seek the humble home which we call ours.


Dearest Miss Briggs, break the news as your delicate sympathy will know how to do it--to my dear, my beloved friend and benefactress.

Dearest Miss Briggs, break the news as your delicate sympathy will know how, to my beloved benefactress.


Tell her, ere I went, I shed tears on her dear pillow--that pillow that I have so often soothed in sickness--that I long AGAIN to watch--Oh, with what joy shall I return to dear Park Lane!

Tell her I shed tears on her dear pillow that I have so often soothed in sickness - Oh, with what joy shall I return to dear Park Lane!


How I tremble for the answer which is to SEAL MY FATE!


When Sir Pitt deigned to offer me his hand, an honour of which my beloved Miss Crawley said I was DESERVING (my blessings go with her for judging the poor orphan worthy to be HER SISTER!) I told Sir Pitt that I was already A WIFE.

When Sir Pitt deigned to offer me his hand, I told him that I was already A WIFE.


But my courage failed me, when I should have told him all--that I could not be his wife, for I WAS HIS DAUGHTER!

But my courage failed me, when I should have told him all - that I could not be his wife, for I WAS HIS DAUGHTER!


I am wedded to the best and most generous of men--Miss Crawley's Rawdon is MY Rawdon.

I am wedded to the best of men - to Rawdon Crawley.


At his COMMAND I open my lips, and follow him to our humble home, as I would THROUGH THE WORLD.

I follow him to our humble home, as I would THROUGH THE WORLD.


O, my excellent and kind friend, intercede with my Rawdon's beloved aunt for him and the poor girl to whom all HIS NOBLE RACE have shown such UNPARALLELED AFFECTION. Ask Miss Crawley to receive HER CHILDREN.

O, my excellent friend, ask Miss Crawley to receive HER CHILDREN with her previous affection.


I can say no more, but blessings, blessings on all in the dear house I leave, prays


Your affectionate and GRATEFUL Rebecca Crawley.


Just as Briggs had finished reading this affecting and interesting document, which reinstated her in her position as first confidante of Miss Crawley, Mrs. Firkin entered the room.

Just as Briggs had finished reading this interesting document, Mrs. Firkin entered the room.


"Here's Mrs. Bute Crawley just arrived by the mail from Hampshire, and wants some tea; will you come down and make breakfast, Miss?"

"Here's Mrs. Bute Crawley just arrived by the mail coach from Hampshire, and wants some tea; will you come down, Miss?"


And to the surprise of Firkin, clasping her dressing-gown around her, the wisp of hair floating dishevelled behind her, the little curl-papers still sticking in bunches round her forehead, Briggs sailed down to Mrs. Bute with the letter in her hand containing the wonderful news.

And to Firkin's surprise, Briggs, in her dressing-gown, with curl-papers sticking out around her head, sailed down to Mrs. Bute with the letter in her hand.


"Oh, Mrs. Firkin," gasped Betty, "sech a business.


Miss Sharp have a gone and run away with the Capting, and they're off to Gretney Green!"


We would devote a chapter to describe the emotions of Mrs. Firkin, did not the passions of her mistresses occupy our genteeler muse.


When Mrs. Bute Crawley, numbed with midnight travelling, and warming herself at the newly crackling parlour fire, heard from Miss Briggs the intelligence of the clandestine marriage, she declared it was quite providential that she should have arrived at such a time to assist poor dear Miss Crawley in supporting the shock--that Rebecca was an artful little hussy of whom she had always had her suspicions; and that as for Rawdon Crawley, she never could account for his aunt's infatuation regarding him, and had long considered him a profligate, lost, and abandoned being.

When Mrs. Bute Crawley, warming herself at the parlour fire, heard the news of the secret marriage, she declared it was lucky that she should have arrived in time to assist poor dear Miss Crawley in bearing the shock. She said that Rebecca was an artful little hussy of whom she had always been suspicious; and that as for Rawdon Crawley, she never could understand his aunt's infatuation over that profligate, abandoned man.


And this awful conduct, Mrs. Bute said, will have at least this good effect, it will open poor dear Miss Crawley's eyes to the real character of this wicked man.


Then Mrs. Bute had a comfortable hot toast and tea; and as there was a vacant room in the house now, there was no need for her to remain at the Gloster Coffee House where the Portsmouth mail had set her down, and whence she ordered Mr. Bowls's aide-de-camp the footman to bring away her trunks.

Then Mrs. Bute had a comfortable tea and toast; and as there was a vacant room in the house now, she ordered the footman to bring in her trunks.


Miss Crawley, be it known, did not leave her room until near noon--taking chocolate in bed in the morning, while Becky Sharp read the Morning Post to her, or otherwise amusing herself or dawdling.

Miss Crawley took chocolate in bed, and did not leave her room until nearly noon.


The conspirators below agreed that they would spare the dear lady's feelings until she appeared in her drawing-room: meanwhile it was announced to her that Mrs. Bute Crawley had come up from Hampshire by the mail, was staying at the Gloster, sent her love to Miss Crawley, and asked for breakfast with Miss Briggs.

The conspirators below agreed that they would spare the dear lady's feelings until she came downstairs. Meanwhile it was announced to her that Mrs. Bute Crawley had come from Hampshire and sent her love.


The arrival of Mrs. Bute, which would not have caused any extreme delight at another period, was hailed with pleasure now; Miss Crawley being pleased at the notion of a gossip with her sister-in-law regarding the late Lady Crawley, the funeral arrangements pending, and Sir Pitt's abrupt proposal to Rebecca.

Her arrival, which would not have caused any delight at another time, was hailed with pleasure now; Miss Crawley being pleased at the idea of a gossip with her sister-in-law about the late Lady Crawley, the funeral arrangements, and Sir Pitt's abrupt proposal to Rebecca.


It was not until the old lady was fairly ensconced in her usual arm-chair in the drawing-room, and the preliminary embraces and inquiries had taken place between the ladies, that the conspirators thought it advisable to submit her to the operation. Who has not admired the artifices and delicate approaches with which women "prepare" their friends for bad news? Miss Crawley's two friends made such an apparatus of mystery before they broke the intelligence to her, that they worked her up to the necessary degree of doubt and alarm.

It was not until the old lady was ensconced in her usual arm-chair in the drawing-room that the conspirators prepared to break the news, with such an apparatus of mystery that they worked her up to a high degree of doubt and alarm.


"And she refused Sir Pitt, my dear, dear Miss Crawley, prepare yourself for it," Mrs. Bute said, "because--because she couldn't help herself."

"And she refused Sir Pitt, my dear Miss Crawley, prepare yourself for it," Mrs. Bute said, "because she couldn't help herself."


"Of course there was a reason," Miss Crawley answered.


Briggs gasped. "O my dear friend, she is married already."

"O my dear friend," Briggs gasped, "she is married already!"


"Married already," Mrs. Bute chimed in; and both sate with clasped hands looking from each other at their victim.


"Send her to me, the instant she comes in.


The little sly wretch: how dared she not tell me?"


Prepare yourself, dear friend--she's gone out for a long time--she's--she's gone altogether."

Prepare yourself, dear friend - she's gone."


"Gracious goodness, and who's to make my chocolate?


Send for her and have her back; I desire that she come back," the old lady said.

Send for her and make her come," the old lady said.


"She decamped last night, Ma'am," cried Mrs. Bute.


"She left a letter for me," Briggs exclaimed.


Don't torture her, my dear Miss Briggs."


"She refused Sir Pitt," cried the victim.


"O Ma'am--prepare her, Miss Briggs--she's married to Rawdon Crawley."

"O Ma'am - she's married to Rawdon Crawley."


"Rawdon married Rebecca--governess--nobod-- Get out of my house, you fool, you idiot--you stupid old Briggs--how dare you?

"Rawdon married Rebecca! - governess - Get out of my house, you fool, you stupid Briggs - how dare you?


You're in the plot--you made him marry, thinking that I'd leave my money from him--you did, Martha," the poor old lady screamed in hysteric sentences.

You're in the plot - you made him marry, so I wouldn't leave him my money - you did, Martha Bute," the poor old lady screamed.


"I, Ma'am, ask a member of this family to marry a drawing-master's daughter?"

"Would I ask him to marry a drawing-master's daughter?"


"Her mother was a Montmorency," cried out the old lady, pulling at the bell with all her might.

"Her mother was a Montmorency," cried the old lady, pulling at the bell.


"Her mother was an opera girl, and she has been on the stage or worse herself," said Mrs. Bute.

"Her mother was an opera girl," said Mrs. Bute.


Miss Crawley gave a final scream, and fell back in a faint.


They were forced to take her back to the room which she had just quitted. One fit of hysterics succeeded another.

They were forced to take her back to her bedroom, where she had hysterics.


The doctor was sent for--the apothecary arrived. Mrs. Bute took up the post of nurse by her bedside.

The doctor was sent for; Mrs. Bute took up the post of nurse by her bedside.


"Her relations ought to be round about her," that amiable woman said.

"Her relations ought to be around her," that amiable woman said.


She had scarcely been carried up to her room, when a new person arrived to whom it was also necessary to break the news. This was Sir Pitt.


"She's coming with me to Queen's Crawley."


"Have you not heard the astonishing intelligence regarding her surreptitious union?"

"Have you not heard the astonishing news about her marriage?"


Tell her to come down at once, and not keep me."


"Are you not aware, sir," Miss Briggs asked, "that she has left our roof, to the dismay of Miss Crawley, who is nearly killed by the intelligence of Captain Rawdon's union with her?"

"Are you not aware, sir," Miss Briggs said, "that she has left our roof, to the dismay of Miss Crawley, who is nearly killed by the news of Captain Rawdon's union with her?"


When Sir Pitt Crawley heard that Rebecca was married to his son, he broke out into a fury of language, which it would do no good to repeat in this place, as indeed it sent poor Briggs shuddering out of the room; and with her we will shut the door upon the figure of the frenzied old man, wild with hatred and insane with baffled desire.

When Sir Pitt Crawley heard that Rebecca was married to his son, he broke out in a fury, with language which I shall not repeat, as indeed it sent poor Briggs shuddering out of the room; and with her we will shut the door upon his frenzied figure.


One day after he went to Queen's Crawley, he burst like a madman into the room she had used when there--dashed open her boxes with his foot, and flung about her papers, clothes, and other relics.


Miss Horrocks, the butler's daughter, took some of them.


The children dressed themselves and acted plays in the others.


It was but a few days after the poor mother had gone to her lonely burying-place; and was laid, unwept and disregarded, in a vault full of strangers.


"Suppose the old lady doesn't come to," Rawdon said to his little wife, as they sate together in the snug little Brompton lodgings.

"Suppose the old lady doesn't come round," Rawdon said to his little wife, as they sat together in the snug Brompton lodgings.


She had been trying the new piano all the morning.


The new gloves fitted her to a nicety; the new shawls became her wonderfully; the new rings glittered on her little hands, and the new watch ticked at her waist; "suppose she don't come round, eh, Becky?"

The new gloves fitted her perfectly; the new shawls became her wonderfully; the new rings glittered on her little hands. "Suppose she don't come round, eh, Becky?"


"I'LL make your fortune," she said; and Delilah patted Samson's cheek.

"I'll make your fortune," she said, and patted his cheek.


"You can do anything," he said, kissing the little hand.


"By Jove you can; and we'll drive down to the Star and Garter, and dine, by Jove."


What is the secret mesmerism which friendship possesses, and under the operation of which a person ordinarily sluggish, or cold, or timid, becomes wise, active, and resolute, in another's behalf?


As Alexis, after a few passes from Dr. Elliotson, despises pain, reads with the back of his head, sees miles off, looks into next week, and performs other wonders, of which, in his own private normal condition, he is quite incapable; so you see, in the affairs of the world and under the magnetism of friendships, the modest man becomes bold, the shy confident, the lazy active, or the impetuous prudent and peaceful.

Under the magnetism of friendships, the modest man becomes bold, the shy confident, the lazy active, and the impetuous prudent.


What is it, on the other hand, that makes the lawyer eschew his own cause, and call in his learned brother as an adviser?


And what causes the doctor, when ailing, to send for his rival, and not sit down and examine his own tongue in the chimney glass, or write his own prescription at his study-table?


I throw out these queries for intelligent readers to answer, who know, at once, how credulous we are, and how sceptical, how soft and how obstinate, how firm for others and how diffident about ourselves: meanwhile, it is certain that our friend William Dobbin, who was personally of so complying a disposition that if his parents had pressed him much, it is probable he would have stepped down into the kitchen and married the cook, and who, to further his own interests, would have found the most insuperable difficulty in walking across the street, found himself as busy and eager in the conduct of George Osborne's affairs, as the most selfish tactician could be in the pursuit of his own.

We can be firm for others, though diffident about ourselves; and so William Dobbin - who was so complying that if his parents had pressed him to, he would have married the cook - found himself as busy and eager in George Osborne's affairs as the most selfish man could be in pursuit of his own.


Whilst our friend George and his young wife were enjoying the first blushing days of the honeymoon at Brighton, honest William was left as George's plenipotentiary in London, to transact all the business part of the marriage.

Whilst George and his young wife were enjoying the first blushing days of the honeymoon at Brighton, honest William was left in London, to transact the business part of the marriage.


His duty it was to call upon old Sedley and his wife, and to keep the former in good humour: to draw Jos and his brother-in-law nearer together, so that Jos's position and dignity, as collector of Boggley Wollah, might compensate for his father's loss of station, and tend to reconcile old Osborne to the alliance: and finally, to communicate it to the latter in such a way as should least irritate the old gentleman.

He had to call upon old Sedley and his wife: to draw Jos and his new brother-in-law nearer together, so that Jos's position as collector of Boggley Wollah might compensate for his father's loss of status, and help to reconcile old Osborne to the alliance: and finally, he had to tell the news of the marriage to George's father.


Now, before he faced the head of the Osborne house with the news which it was his duty to tell, Dobbin bethought him that it would be politic to make friends of the rest of the family, and, if possible, have the ladies on his side.

Now, before he faced the head of the Osborne house, Dobbin thought it would be wise to make friends of the rest of the family, and, if possible, have the ladies on his side.


They can't be angry in their hearts, thought he. No woman ever was really angry at a romantic marriage.

They can't be angry, thought he: no woman ever was really angry at a romantic marriage.


A little crying out, and they must come round to their brother; when the three of us will lay siege to old Mr. Osborne.

They must come round; and the three of us will lay siege to old Mr. Osborne.


So this Machiavellian captain of infantry cast about him for some happy means or stratagem by which he could gently and gradually bring the Misses Osborne to a knowledge of their brother's secret.

So this Machiavellian captain of infantry cast about him for some means by which he could gently bring the Misses Osborne to a knowledge of the secret.


By a little inquiry regarding his mother's engagements, he was pretty soon able to find out by whom of her ladyship's friends parties were given at that season; where he would be likely to meet Osborne's sisters; and, though he had that abhorrence of routs and evening parties which many sensible men, alas! entertain, he soon found one where the Misses Osborne were to be present. Making his appearance at the ball, where he danced a couple of sets with both of them, and was prodigiously polite, he actually had the courage to ask Miss Osborne for a few minutes' conversation at an early hour the next day, when he had, he said, to communicate to her news of the very greatest interest.

He learnt at which parties he would be likely to meet Osborne's sisters; and though he abhorred evening parties, he made his appearance at a ball where they were present. Here he danced a couple of sets with them, and asked Miss Jane Osborne for a few minutes' conversation early next day, in order, he said, to give her news of the very greatest interest.


What was it that made her start back, and gaze upon him for a moment, and then on the ground at her feet, and make as if she would faint on his arm, had he not by opportunely treading on her toes, brought the young lady back to self-control?

Why did she start back, and gaze upon him, and then at the ground, and act as if she would faint on his arm?


Why was she so violently agitated at Dobbin's request?


But when he came the next day, Maria was not in the drawing-room with her sister, and Miss Wirt went off for the purpose of fetching the latter, and the Captain and Miss Osborne were left together. They were both so silent that the ticktock of the Sacrifice of Iphigenia clock on the mantelpiece became quite rudely audible.

But when he came the next day, Miss Maria was not in the drawing-room with her sister, and Miss Wirt went off. The Captain and Miss Osborne were left together in silence.


"What a nice party it was last night," Miss Osborne at length began, encouragingly; "and--and how you're improved in your dancing, Captain Dobbin.

"What a nice party it was last night," Miss Osborne at length began, encouragingly; "and - and how you're improved in your dancing, Captain Dobbin.


Surely somebody has taught you," she added, with amiable archness.

Surely somebody has taught you," she added archly.


"You should see me dance a reel with Mrs. Major O'Dowd of ours; and a jig--did you ever see a jig?

"You should see me dance a reel with Mrs. Major O'Dowd.


But I think anybody could dance with you, Miss Osborne, who dance so well."


"Is the Major's lady young and beautiful, Captain?"


"Ah, what a terrible thing it must be to be a soldier's wife!

"Ah, how terrible to be a soldier's wife!


I wonder they have any spirits to dance, and in these dreadful times of war, too!

I wonder they can dance in these dreadful times of war!


O Captain Dobbin, I tremble sometimes when I think of our dearest George, and the dangers of the poor soldier.


Are there many married officers of the --th, Captain Dobbin?"

Are there many married officers in your regiment?"


"Upon my word, she's playing her hand rather too openly," Miss Wirt thought; but this observation is merely parenthetic, and was not heard through the crevice of the door at which the governess uttered it.

"Upon my word, she's playing her hand rather too openly," Miss Wirt thought, from the crevice of the doorway.


"One of our young men is just married," Dobbin said, now coming to the point.

"One of our young men is just married," Dobbin said.


"It was a very old attachment, and the young couple are as poor as church mice."


Miss Osborne cried, as the Captain said "old attachment" and "poor."


"The finest young fellow in the regiment," he continued.

"The finest young fellow in the regiment," he continued, encouraged.


"Not a braver or handsomer officer in the army; and such a charming wife!


how you will like her when you know her, Miss Osborne."

You will when you know her, Miss Osborne."


The young lady thought the actual moment had arrived, and that Dobbin's nervousness which now came on and was visible in many twitchings of his face, in his manner of beating the ground with his great feet, in the rapid buttoning and unbuttoning of his frock-coat, &c.--Miss Osborne, I say, thought that when he had given himself a little air, he would unbosom himself entirely, and prepared eagerly to listen.

The young lady thought the actual moment had arrived, and prepared eagerly to listen.


And the clock, in the altar on which Iphigenia was situated, beginning, after a preparatory convulsion, to toll twelve, the mere tolling seemed as if it would last until one--so prolonged was the knell to the anxious spinster.


"But it's not about marriage that I came to speak--that is that marriage--that is--no, I mean--my dear Miss Osborne, it's about our dear friend George," Dobbin said.

"But it's not about marriage that I came to speak - that is - no, I mean - my dear Miss Osborne, it's about our dear friend George," Dobbin said.


she said in a tone so discomfited that Maria and Miss Wirt laughed at the other side of the door, and even that abandoned wretch of a Dobbin felt inclined to smile himself; for he was not altogether unconscious of the state of affairs: George having often bantered him gracefully and said, "Hang it, Will, why don't you take old Jane?

she said in a tone so discomfited that Maria and Miss Wirt laughed at the other side of the door, and even Dobbin felt inclined to smile; for he was aware of the state of affairs.


"Yes, about George, then," he continued.


"There has been a difference between him and Mr. Osborne.


And I regard him so much--for you know we have been like brothers--that I hope and pray the quarrel may be settled.

I regard him so highly that I hope the quarrel may be settled.


We may be ordered off at a day's warning.

We may be ordered abroad at a day's warning.


Who knows what may happen in the campaign?


Don't be agitated, dear Miss Osborne; and those two at least should part friends."

Don't be agitated, dear Miss Osborne; but those two at least should part friends."


"There has been no quarrel, Captain Dobbin, except a little usual scene with Papa," the lady said.

"There has been no quarrel, Captain Dobbin, except a little scene with Papa," the lady said.


He has but to come back, and I'm sure all will be well; and dear Rhoda, who went away from here in sad sad anger, I know will forgive him.

He has only to come back, and all will be well; and dear Miss Swartz, who went away from here in sad anger, I know will forgive him.


Woman forgives but too readily, Captain."


"Such an angel as YOU I am sure would," Mr. Dobbin said, with atrocious astuteness.

"Such an angel as you I am sure would," Mr. Dobbin said, with atrocious astuteness.


"And no man can pardon himself for giving a woman pain.


"What would you feel, if a man were faithless to you?"


"I should perish--I should throw myself out of window--I should take poison--I should pine and die. I know I should," Miss cried, who had nevertheless gone through one or two affairs of the heart without any idea of suicide.

"I should perish - I should take poison - I should pine and die," Miss cried, who had nevertheless gone through one or two affairs of the heart without any idea of suicide.


"And there are others," Dobbin continued, "as true and as kind-hearted as yourself.

"And there are others," Dobbin continued, "as true as yourself.


I'm not speaking about the West Indian heiress, Miss Osborne, but about a poor girl whom George once loved, and who was bred from her childhood to think of nobody but him.

I'm talking about a poor girl whom George once loved, and who was bred from her childhood to think of nobody but him.


I've seen her in her poverty uncomplaining, broken-hearted, without a fault.


Dear Miss Osborne, can your generous heart quarrel with your brother for being faithful to her?


Could his own conscience ever forgive him if he deserted her?


Be her friend--she always loved you--and--and I am come here charged by George to tell you that he holds his engagement to her as the most sacred duty he has; and to entreat you, at least, to be on his side."

Be her friend. I am come here charged by George to tell you that he holds his engagement to her as sacred; and to entreat you to be on his side."


When any strong emotion took possession of Mr. Dobbin, and after the first word or two of hesitation, he could speak with perfect fluency, and it was evident that his eloquence on this occasion made some impression upon the lady whom he addressed.

When any strong emotion possessed Mr. Dobbin, he could speak with eloquence, and this made some impression upon the lady.


"Well," said she, "this is--most surprising--most painful--most extraordinary--what will Papa say?--that George should fling away such a superb establishment as was offered to him but at any rate he has found a very brave champion in you, Captain Dobbin.

"Well," said she, "this is most surprising - most painful - what will Papa say? But at any rate George has found a very brave champion in you, Captain Dobbin.


It is of no use, however," she continued, after a pause; "I feel for poor Miss Sedley, most certainly--most sincerely, you know.

It is of no use, however," she continued, after a pause; "I feel for poor Miss Sedley.


We never thought the match a good one, though we were always very kind to her here--very.


And a well brought up young woman, you know--with a well-regulated mind, must--George must give her up, dear Captain Dobbin, indeed he must."


"Ought a man to give up the woman he loved, just when misfortune befell her?"


"Dear Miss Osborne, is this the counsel I hear from you?


Would a man, think you, give YOU up if you were poor?"

Would a man, think you, give you up if you were poor?"


This adroit question touched the heart of Miss Jane Osborne not a little.

This adroit question touched the heart of Miss Jane Osborne.


"I don't know whether we poor girls ought to believe what you men say, Captain," she said.


"There is that in woman's tenderness which induces her to believe too easily.


I'm afraid you are cruel, cruel deceivers,"--and Dobbin certainly thought he felt a pressure of the hand which Miss Osborne had extended to him.
He dropped it in some alarm.

"I'm afraid you are cruel, cruel deceivers." Dobbin thought he felt a pressure of her hand, and dropped it in some alarm.


"No, dear Miss Osborne, all men are not; your brother is not; George has loved Amelia Sedley ever since they were children; no wealth would make him marry any but her.

"No, dear Miss Osborne, not all men are; your brother is not. George has loved Amelia ever since they were children.


What could Miss Jane say to such a question, and with her own peculiar views?

How could Miss Jane answer such a question?


She could not answer it, so she parried it by saying, "Well, if you are not a deceiver, at least you are very romantic"; and Captain William let this observation pass without challenge.

She parried it by saying, "Well, if you are not a deceiver, at least you are very romantic," and Captain William let that pass without challenge.


At length when, by the help of farther polite speeches, he deemed that Miss Osborne was sufficiently prepared to receive the whole news, he poured it into her ear.

When he judged that Miss Osborne was sufficiently prepared to hear the whole news, he poured it out.


"George could not give up Amelia--George was married to her"--and then he related the circumstances of the marriage as we know them already: how the poor girl would have died had not her lover kept his faith: how Old Sedley had refused all consent to the match, and a licence had been got: and Jos Sedley had come from Cheltenham to give away the bride: how they had gone to Brighton in Jos's chariot-and-four to pass the honeymoon: and how George counted on his dear kind sisters to befriend him with their father, as women--so true and tender as they were--assuredly would do.

"George was married to Amelia" - and then he related the circumstances of the marriage; how they had gone to Brighton in Jos's chariot for the honeymoon: and how George counted on his dear kind sisters to befriend him with their father, as true and tender women would do.


And so, asking permission (readily granted) to see her again, and rightly conjecturing that the news he had brought would be told in the next five minutes to the other ladies, Captain Dobbin made his bow and took his leave.

And so, asking permission (readily granted) to see her again, and rightly guessing that the news would be told in the next five minutes to the other ladies, Captain Dobbin bowed and took his leave.


He was scarcely out of the house, when Miss Maria and Miss Wirt rushed in to Miss Osborne, and the whole wonderful secret was imparted to them by that lady.

He was scarcely out of the house, when Miss Maria and Miss Wirt rushed in to Miss Osborne, and learnt the whole wonderful secret from her.


To do them justice, neither of the sisters was very much displeased.


There is something about a runaway match with which few ladies can be seriously angry, and Amelia rather rose in their estimation, from the spirit which she had displayed in consenting to the union.

There is something about a runaway match with which few ladies can be seriously angry, and Amelia rather rose in their estimation.


As they debated the story, and prattled about it, and wondered what Papa would do and say, came a loud knock, as of an avenging thunder-clap, at the door, which made these conspirators start.

As they prattled about the story, and wondered what Papa would say, there was a loud knock, which made them start.


It was only Mr. Frederick Bullock, who had come from the City according to appointment, to conduct the ladies to a flower-show.

But it was only Mr. Frederick Bullock, who had come to conduct the ladies to a flower-show.


This gentleman, as may be imagined, was not kept long in ignorance of the secret.

This gentleman was soon told the secret.


But his face, when he heard it, showed an amazement which was very different to that look of sentimental wonder which the countenances of the sisters wore.

His amazement was very different to the sentimental wonder of the sisters.


Mr. Bullock was a man of the world, and a junior partner of a wealthy firm.


He knew what money was, and the value of it: and a delightful throb of expectation lighted up his little eyes, and caused him to smile on his Maria, as he thought that by this piece of folly of Mr. George's she might be worth thirty thousand pounds more than he had ever hoped to get with her.

He knew what money was: and a delightful throb of expectation lit up his little eyes, and caused him to smile on his Maria, as he thought that by Mr. George's folly she might be worth thirty thousand pounds more than he had hoped.


Jane," said he, surveying even the elder sister with some interest, "Eels will be sorry he cried off. You may be a fifty thousand pounder yet."

Jane," said he, surveying even the elder sister with some interest, "you may be a fifty thousand pounder yet."


The sisters had never thought of the money question up to that moment, but Fred Bullock bantered them with graceful gaiety about it during their forenoon's excursion; and they had risen not a little in their own esteem by the time when, the morning amusement over, they drove back to dinner.

The sisters had never thought of the money up to that moment, but Fred Bullock bantered them with graceful gaiety during their outing; and they had risen in their own esteem by the time they drove back to dinner.


And do not let my respected reader exclaim against this selfishness as unnatural.


It was but this present morning, as he rode on the omnibus from Richmond; while it changed horses, this present chronicler, being on the roof, marked three little children playing in a puddle below, very dirty, and friendly, and happy.

Why, only this morning, when the omnibus I rode on stopped to change horses, I noticed three little children playing in a puddle, very dirty and friendly.


To these three presently came another little one.


"POLLY," says she, "YOUR SISTER'S GOT A PENNY."


At which the children got up from the puddle instantly, and ran off to pay their court to Peggy.


And as the omnibus drove off I saw Peggy with the infantine procession at her tail, marching with great dignity towards the stall of a neighbouring lollipop-woman.

And as the omnibus drove off I saw Peggy with the infant procession at her tail, marching with great dignity towards a lollipop stall.


Love may be felt for any young lady endowed with such qualities as Miss Swartz possessed; and a great dream of ambition entered into old Mr. Osborne's soul, which she was to realize. He encouraged, with the utmost enthusiasm and friendliness, his daughters' amiable attachment to the young heiress, and protested that it gave him the sincerest pleasure as a father to see the love of his girls so well disposed.

Old Mr. Osborne had a great ambition, and encouraged his daughters' friendship with Miss Swartz enthusiastically.


"You won't find," he would say to Miss Rhoda, "that splendour and rank to which you are accustomed at the West End, my dear Miss, at our humble mansion in Russell Square.

"You won't find that splendour to which you are accustomed," he would say to Miss Rhoda Swartz, "at our humble mansion in Russell Square.


My daughters are plain, disinterested girls, but their hearts are in the right place, and they've conceived an attachment for you which does them honour--I say, which does them honour.

My daughters are plain, disinterested girls, but their hearts are in the right place, and their affection for you does them honour.


I'm a plain, simple, humble British merchant--an honest one, as my respected friends Hulker and Bullock will vouch, who were the correspondents of your late lamented father. You'll find us a united, simple, happy, and I think I may say respected, family--a plain table, a plain people, but a warm welcome, my dear Miss Rhoda--Rhoda, let me say, for my heart warms to you, it does really.

I'm a plain, humble British merchant; but you'll find us a united, simple, happy, and I think I may say respected family - a plain table, a plain people, but a warm welcome, my dear Miss Rhoda.


There is little doubt that old Osborne believed all he said, and that the girls were quite earnest in their protestations of affection for Miss Swartz.

There is little doubt that old Osborne believed all he said, and that the girls were quite earnest in protesting their love for Miss Swartz.


People in Vanity Fair fasten on to rich folks quite naturally.


If the simplest people are disposed to look not a little kindly on great Prosperity (for I defy any member of the British public to say that the notion of Wealth has not something awful and pleasing to him; and you, if you are told that the man next you at dinner has got half a million, not to look at him with a certain interest)--if the simple look benevolently on money, how much more do your old worldlings regard it!


Their affections rush out to meet and welcome money.


Their kind sentiments awaken spontaneously towards the interesting possessors of it.


I know some respectable people who don't consider themselves at liberty to indulge in friendship for any individual who has not a certain competency, or place in society.


They give a loose to their feelings on proper occasions.


And the proof is, that the major part of the Osborne family, who had not, in fifteen years, been able to get up a hearty regard for Amelia Sedley, became as fond of Miss Swartz in the course of a single evening as the most romantic advocate of friendship at first sight could desire.

The Osborne family, who had not, in fifteen years, been able to get up a regard for Amelia Sedley, became as fond of Miss Swartz during a single evening as the most romantic reader could desire.


What a match for George she'd be (the sisters and Miss Wirt agreed), and how much better than that insignificant little Amelia!


Such a dashing young fellow as he is, with his good looks, rank, and accomplishments, would be the very husband for her.

He would make her such a dashing husband.


Visions of balls in Portland Place, presentations at Court, and introductions to half the peerage, filled the minds of the young ladies; who talked of nothing but George and his grand acquaintances to their beloved new friend.

Visions of balls in Portland Place, presentations at Court, and introductions to half the peerage, filled the minds of the young ladies.


Old Osborne thought she would be a great match, too, for his son.

Old Osborne thought she would be a great match for his son.


He should leave the army; he should go into Parliament; he should cut a figure in the fashion and in the state.

He should leave the army; he should go into Parliament.


His blood boiled with honest British exultation, as he saw the name of Osborne ennobled in the person of his son, and thought that he might be the progenitor of a glorious line of baronets.

With honest British exultation, he saw the name of Osborne ennobled in his son's person, and thought that he might be the first of a glorious line of baronets.


He worked in the City and on 'Change, until he knew everything relating to the fortune of the heiress, how her money was placed, and where her estates lay.

Through working in the City, he knew everything about the heiress's fortune and where her estates lay.


Young Fred Bullock, one of his chief informants, would have liked to make a bid for her himself (it was so the young banker expressed it), only he was booked to Maria Osborne.

Young Fred Bullock, one of his informants, would have liked to make a bid for her himself, only he was booked to Maria Osborne.


But not being able to secure her as a wife, the disinterested Fred quite approved of her as a sister-in-law.

But not being able to secure her as a wife, Fred quite approved of her as a sister-in-law.


"Let George cut in directly and win her," was his advice.


"Strike while the iron's hot, you know--while she's fresh to the town: in a few weeks some d---- fellow from the West End will come in with a title and a rotten rent-roll and cut all us City men out, as Lord Fitzrufus did last year with Miss Grogram, who was actually engaged to Podder, of Podder & Brown's.

"Strike while the iron's hot, you know - while she's fresh to the town: in a few weeks some fellow from the West End will come in with a title and cut us City men out.


The sooner it is done the better, Mr. Osborne; them's my sentiments," the wag said; though, when Osborne had left the bank parlour, Mr. Bullock remembered Amelia, and what a pretty girl she was, and how attached to George Osborne; and he gave up at least ten seconds of his valuable time to regretting the misfortune which had befallen that unlucky young woman.

The sooner the better, Mr. Osborne," Mr. Bullock said; though later, he remembered Amelia, and how pretty she was, and how attached to George Osborne; and he gave up at least ten seconds of his valuable time to regretting her misfortune.


While thus George Osborne's good feelings, and his good friend and genius, Dobbin, were carrying back the truant to Amelia's feet, George's parent and sisters were arranging this splendid match for him, which they never dreamed he would resist.

So while George Osborne's good feelings, and his good friend Dobbin, were carrying back the truant to Amelia, his father and sisters were arranging this splendid match for him, which they never dreamed he would resist.


When the elder Osborne gave what he called "a hint," there was no possibility for the most obtuse to mistake his meaning.

When the elder Osborne gave what he called "a hint," there was no possibility of mistaking his meaning.


He called kicking a footman downstairs a hint to the latter to leave his service.

He called kicking a footman downstairs a hint to leave his service.


With his usual frankness and delicacy he told Mrs. Haggistoun that he would give her a cheque for five thousand pounds on the day his son was married to her ward; and called that proposal a hint, and considered it a very dexterous piece of diplomacy.

With his usual frankness and delicacy he told Mrs. Haggistoun that he would give her five thousand pounds on the day his son was married to her ward; and considered that proposal a great piece of diplomacy.


He gave George finally such another hint regarding the heiress; and ordered him to marry her out of hand, as he would have ordered his butler to draw a cork, or his clerk to write a letter.

He gave George another hint about the heiress; and ordered him to marry her, as he would have ordered his butler to draw a cork, or his clerk to write a letter.


This imperative hint disturbed George a good deal.

This order disturbed George a good deal.


He was in the very first enthusiasm and delight of his second courtship of Amelia, which was inexpressibly sweet to him.

He was in his second courtship of Amelia, which was inexpressibly sweet to him.


The contrast of her manners and appearance with those of the heiress, made the idea of a union with the latter appear doubly ludicrous and odious.

The contrast of her manners and appearance with those of the heiress made the idea of a union with the latter appear ludicrous.


Carriages and opera-boxes, thought he; fancy being seen in them by the side of such a mahogany charmer as that!

Fancy being seen by the side of such a mahogany charmer as that! he thought.


Add to all that the junior Osborne was quite as obstinate as the senior: when he wanted a thing, quite as firm in his resolution to get it; and quite as violent when angered, as his father in his most stern moments.

And he was quite as obstinate as his father, and quite as violent when angered.


On the first day when his father formally gave him the hint that he was to place his affections at Miss Swartz's feet, George temporised with the old gentleman.

When his father first gave him the hint about Miss Swartz, George put him off.


"You should have thought of the matter sooner, sir," he said.


"It can't be done now, when we're expecting every day to go on foreign service.


Wait till my return, if I do return"; and then he represented, that the time when the regiment was daily expecting to quit England, was exceedingly ill-chosen: that the few days or weeks during which they were still to remain at home, must be devoted to business and not to love-making: time enough for that when he came home with his majority; "for, I promise you," said he, with a satisfied air, "that one way or other you shall read the name of George Osborne in the Gazette."

Wait till my return, if I do return." He argued that the time for marriage was when he came home with his promotion; "for, I promise you," said he, with a satisfied air, "that one way or other you shall read the name of George Osborne in the Gazette."


The father's reply to this was founded upon the information which he had got in the City: that the West End chaps would infallibly catch hold of the heiress if any delay took place: that if he didn't marry Miss S., he might at least have an engagement in writing, to come into effect when he returned to England; and that a man who could get ten thousand a year by staying at home, was a fool to risk his life abroad.

The father replied that the West End chaps would catch the heiress if any delay took place: that if he didn't marry Miss S., he might at least have an engagement in writing; and that a man who could get ten thousand a year by staying at home, was a fool to risk his life abroad.


"So that you would have me shown up as a coward, sir, and our name dishonoured for the sake of Miss Swartz's money," George interposed.

"So you would have me shown up as a coward, sir, and our name dishonoured for the sake of Miss Swartz's money," George interposed.


This remark staggered the old gentleman; but as he had to reply to it, and as his mind was nevertheless made up, he said, "You will dine here to-morrow, sir, and every day Miss Swartz comes, you will be here to pay your respects to her.

This remark staggered the old gentleman; but his mind was made up. He said, "You will dine here tomorrow, sir, and every day Miss Swartz comes, you will be here to pay your respects to her.


If you want for money, call upon Mr. Chopper."

If you need money, call upon Mr. Chopper."


Thus a new obstacle was in George's way, to interfere with his plans regarding Amelia; and about which he and Dobbin had more than one confidential consultation. His friend's opinion respecting the line of conduct which he ought to pursue, we know already. And as for Osborne, when he was once bent on a thing, a fresh obstacle or two only rendered him the more resolute.

Thus a new obstacle was in George's way: but it only made him the more resolute.


The dark object of the conspiracy into which the chiefs of the Osborne family had entered, was quite ignorant of all their plans regarding her (which, strange to say, her friend and chaperon did not divulge), and, taking all the young ladies' flattery for genuine sentiment, and being, as we have before had occasion to show, of a very warm and impetuous nature, responded to their affection with quite a tropical ardour.

Miss Swartz herself was quite ignorant of all these plans for her (which, strange to say, her chaperone did not divulge). She took the Misses Osbornes' flattery for genuine feeling, and being of a very warm and impetuous nature, responded to their affection ardently.


And if the truth may be told, I dare say that she too had some selfish attraction in the Russell Square house; and in a word, thought George Osborne a very nice young man.

And I dare say that she thought George Osborne a very nice young man.


His whiskers had made an impression upon her, on the very first night she beheld them at the ball at Messrs. Hulkers; and, as we know, she was not the first woman who had been charmed by them.

His whiskers had made an impression upon her, on the first night she beheld them at the ball.


George had an air at once swaggering and melancholy, languid and fierce.


He looked like a man who had passions, secrets, and private harrowing griefs and adventures.

He looked like a man with passions, secrets, and private harrowing griefs and adventures.


He would say it was a warm evening, or ask his partner to take an ice, with a tone as sad and confidential as if he were breaking her mother's death to her, or preluding a declaration of love.

He would say it was a warm evening with a tone as sad and confidential as a declaration of love.


He trampled over all the young bucks of his father's circle, and was the hero among those third-rate men.

He trampled over all the young bucks of his father's circle.


Some few sneered at him and hated him. Some, like Dobbin, fanatically admired him.

A few sneered at him; some, like Dobbin, fanatically admired him.


And his whiskers had begun to do their work, and to curl themselves round the affections of Miss Swartz.

And his whiskers had begun to curl themselves round the affections of Miss Swartz.


Whenever there was a chance of meeting him in Russell Square, that simple and good-natured young woman was quite in a flurry to see her dear Misses Osborne.

Whenever there was a chance of meeting him, that good-natured young woman was quite in a flurry to see her dear Misses Osborne.


She went to great expenses in new gowns, and bracelets, and bonnets, and in prodigious feathers. She adorned her person with her utmost skill to please the Conqueror, and exhibited all her simple accomplishments to win his favour.

She went to great expense in new gowns, bracelets, bonnets and feathers, adorning herself with her utmost skill to please him.


The girls would ask her, with the greatest gravity, for a little music, and she would sing her three songs and play her two little pieces as often as ever they asked, and with an always increasing pleasure to herself. During these delectable entertainments, Miss Wirt and the chaperon sate by, and conned over the peerage, and talked about the nobility.

The girls would ask her for a little music, and she would sing her three songs and play her two pieces, while Miss Wirt and the chaperone sat by.


The day after George had his hint from his father, and a short time before the hour of dinner, he was lolling upon a sofa in the drawing-room in a very becoming and perfectly natural attitude of melancholy.

The day after George had his hint from his father, he was lolling upon a sofa before dinner in a very becoming attitude of melancholy.


He had been, at his father's request, to Mr. Chopper in the City (the old gentleman, though he gave great sums to his son, would never specify any fixed allowance for him, and rewarded him only as he was in the humour).

He had been, at his father's request, to Mr. Chopper in the City.


He had then been to pass three hours with Amelia, his dear little Amelia, at Fulham; and he came home to find his sisters spread in starched muslin in the drawing-room, the dowagers cackling in the background, and honest Swartz in her favourite amber-coloured satin, with turquoise bracelets, countless rings, flowers, feathers, and all sorts of tags and gimcracks, about as elegantly decorated as a she chimney-sweep on May-day.

He had then passed three hours with his dear little Amelia, at Fulham; and he came home to find his sisters in starched muslin in the drawing-room, the dowagers cackling in the background, and honest Swartz in her favourite amber-coloured satin, with turquoise bracelets, countless rings, flowers and feathers, about as elegantly decorated as a chimney-sweep on May-day.


The girls, after vain attempts to engage him in conversation, talked about fashions and the last drawing-room until he was perfectly sick of their chatter.

The girls talked about fashions until he was perfectly sick of their chatter.


He contrasted their behaviour with little Emmy's--their shrill voices with her tender ringing tones; their attitudes and their elbows and their starch, with her humble soft movements and modest graces.

He contrasted their behaviour with little Emmy's - their shrill voices with her tender tones; their attitudes and starch with her soft movements and modest graces.


Poor Swartz was seated in a place where Emmy had been accustomed to sit.

Poor Swartz was seated where Emmy used to sit.


Her bejewelled hands lay sprawling in her amber satin lap.


Her tags and ear-rings twinkled, and her big eyes rolled about.

Her ear-rings twinkled, and her big eyes rolled about.


She was doing nothing with perfect contentment, and thinking herself charming.


Anything so becoming as the satin the sisters had never seen.


"Dammy," George said to a confidential friend, "she looked like a China doll, which has nothing to do all day but to grin and wag its head.

"Damme," George said to a confidential friend, "she looked like a China doll, which has nothing to do all day but to grin and wag its head.


By Jove, Will, it was all I I could do to prevent myself from throwing the sofa-cushion at her."

It was all I could do to prevent myself from throwing the sofa-cushion at her."


He restrained that exhibition of sentiment, however.


The sisters began to play the Battle of Prague.

The sisters began to play the Battle of Prague at the piano.


"Stop that d---- thing," George howled out in a fury from the sofa.

"Stop that d___ d thing," George howled from the sofa.


Sing something, anything but the Battle of Prague."

Sing anything but the Battle of Prague."


"Shall I sing 'Blue Eyed Mary' or the air from the Cabinet?"


"That sweet thing from the Cabinet," the sisters said.


"We've had that," replied the misanthrope on the sofa.


"I can sing 'Fluvy du Tajy,'" Swartz said, in a meek voice, "if I had the words."

"I can sing Fluvy du Tajy," Miss Swartz said meekly, "if I had the words."


It was the last of the worthy young woman's collection.


"O, 'Fleuve du Tage,'" Miss Maria cried; "we have the song," and went off to fetch the book in which it was.

"O, 'Fleuve du Tage,'" Miss Maria cried; "we have the song," and she went off to fetch the book it was in.


Now it happened that this song, then in the height of the fashion, had been given to the young ladies by a young friend of theirs, whose name was on the title, and Miss Swartz, having concluded the ditty with George's applause (for he remembered that it was a favourite of Amelia's), was hoping for an encore perhaps, and fiddling with the leaves of the music, when her eye fell upon the title, and she saw "Amelia Sedley" written in the comer.

Now it happened that this song had been given to the young ladies by a friend of theirs, whose name was on the title page, and Miss Swartz saw "Amelia Sedley" written in the comer.


cried Miss Swartz, spinning swiftly round on the music-stool, "is it my Amelia?


Amelia that was at Miss P.'s at Hammersmith?


It's her, and-- Tell me about her--where is she?"


"Don't mention her," Miss Maria Osborne said hastily.


Her father cheated Papa, and as for her, she is never to be mentioned HERE."

Her father cheated Papa, and as for her, she is never to be mentioned here."


This was Miss Maria's return for George's rudeness about the Battle of Prague.


"You know you're not to speak about her, George," cried Jane.


I say she's the best, the kindest, the gentlest, the sweetest girl in England; and that, bankrupt or no, my sisters are not fit to hold candles to her.

"I say she's the best, the kindest, gentlest, sweetest girl in England; and that, bankrupt or no, my sisters are not fit to hold candles to her.


If you like her, go and see her, Miss Swartz; she wants friends now; and I say, God bless everybody who befriends her.

Go and see her, Miss Swartz; she needs friends now; and I say, God bless everybody who befriends her.


Anybody who speaks kindly of her is my friend; anybody who speaks against her is my enemy.

Anybody who speaks kindly of her is my friend.


Thank you, Miss Swartz"; and he went up and wrung her hand.

Thank you, Miss Swartz;" and he went up and wrung her hand.


"I say," George said fiercely, "I thank everybody who loves Amelia Sed--" He stopped.

"I say," George said fiercely, "I thank everybody who loves Amelia Sed-" He stopped.


Old Osborne was in the room with a face livid with rage, and eyes like hot coals.


Though George had stopped in his sentence, yet, his blood being up, he was not to be cowed by all the generations of Osborne; rallying instantly, he replied to the bullying look of his father, with another so indicative of resolution and defiance that the elder man quailed in his turn, and looked away.

Though George had stopped, yet his blood was up. He was not to be cowed; rallying instantly, he replied to the bullying frown of his father with a look so resolute and defiant that the elder man quailed and turned away.


"Mrs. Haggistoun, let me take you down to dinner," he said.


"Give your arm to Miss Swartz, George," and they marched.


"Miss Swartz, I love Amelia, and we've been engaged almost all our lives," Osborne said to his partner; and during all the dinner, George rattled on with a volubility which surprised himself, and made his father doubly nervous for the fight which was to take place as soon as the ladies were gone.

"Miss Swartz, I love Amelia, and we've been engaged almost all our lives," Osborne said to his partner; and during the dinner, he rattled on with a volubility which made his father nervous about the fight which was to take place once the ladies were gone.


The difference between the pair was, that while the father was violent and a bully, the son had thrice the nerve and courage of the parent, and could not merely make an attack, but resist it; and finding that the moment was now come when the contest between him and his father was to be decided, he took his dinner with perfect coolness and appetite before the engagement began.

The difference between the pair was that while the father was a violent bully, the son had three times his courage. He could not merely make an attack, but resist it; and he took his dinner with perfect coolness.


Old Osborne, on the contrary, was nervous, and drank much.


He floundered in his conversation with the ladies, his neighbours: George's coolness only rendering him more angry.

He floundered in his conversation with the ladies, George's coolness only making him more angry.


It made him half mad to see the calm way in which George, flapping his napkin, and with a swaggering bow, opened the door for the ladies to leave the room; and filling himself a glass of wine, smacked it, and looked his father full in the face, as if to say, "Gentlemen of the Guard, fire first."

It made him half mad to see the calm way in which George, with a swaggering bow, opened the door for the ladies to leave the room; and filling himself a glass of wine, looked his father full in the face, as if to say, "Fire first."


The old man also took a supply of ammunition, but his decanter clinked against the glass as he tried to fill it.


After giving a great heave, and with a purple choking face, he then began.

With a purple choking face, he then began.


"How dare you, sir, mention that person's name before Miss Swartz to-day, in my drawing-room?

"How dare you, sir, mention that person's name before Miss Swartz, in my drawing-room?


"Stop, sir," says George, "don't say dare, sir.


Dare isn't a word to be used to a Captain in the British Army."


"I shall say what I like to my son, sir.


I can cut him off with a shilling if I like.


I can make him a beggar if I like. I WILL say what I like," the elder said.

I can make him a beggar if I like," the elder said.


"I'm a gentleman though I AM your son, sir," George answered haughtily.

"I'm a gentleman though I am your son, sir," George answered haughtily.


"Any communications which you have to make to me, or any orders which you may please to give, I beg may be couched in that kind of language which I am accustomed to hear."


Whenever the lad assumed his haughty manner, it always created either great awe or great irritation in the parent.