It was almost like Old England. The house was filled with familiar British faces, and those toilettes for which the British female has long been celebrated. Mrs. O'Dowd's was not the least splendid amongst these, and she had a curl on her forehead, and a set of Irish diamonds and Cairngorms, which outshone all the decorations in the house, in her notion. Her presence used to excruciate Osborne; but go she would upon all parties of pleasure on which she heard her young friends were bent. It never entered into her thought but that they must be charmed with her company.

The opera-house was filled with familiar British faces. Mrs. O'Dowd's was not the least splendid outfit, and she had a set of Irish diamonds and Cairngorms which outshone all the decorations in the house, to her thinking. Her presence excruciated Osborne; but she assumed that her young friends were charmed with her company.


"She's been useful to you, my dear," George said to his wife, whom he could leave alone with less scruple when she had this society. "But what a comfort it is that Rebecca's come: you will have her for a friend, and we may get rid now of this damn'd Irishwoman." To this Amelia did not answer, yes or no: and how do we know what her thoughts were?

"What a comfort it is that Rebecca's come," George said to his wife. "You will have her now for a friend, and we may get rid of this damn'd Irishwoman." Amelia did not answer.


The coup d'oeil of the Brussels opera-house did not strike Mrs. O'Dowd as being so fine as the theatre in Fishamble Street, Dublin, nor was French music at all equal, in her opinion, to the melodies of her native country. She favoured her friends with these and other opinions in a very loud tone of voice, and tossed about a great clattering fan she sported, with the most splendid complacency.

Mrs. O'Dowd did not consider the opera-house to be so fine as the theatre in Fishamble Street, Dublin, nor was French music at all equal, in her opinion, to the Irish melodies. She gave these opinions in a very loud voice, and tossed about a great clattering fan with the most splendid complacency.


"Who is that wonderful woman with Amelia, Rawdon, love?" said a lady in an opposite box (who, almost always civil to her husband in private, was more fond than ever of him in company).

"Who is that wonderful woman with Amelia, Rawdon love?" said a lady in a box opposite.


"Don't you see that creature with a yellow thing in her turban, and a red satin gown, and a great watch?"


"Near the pretty little woman in white?" asked a middle-aged gentleman seated by the querist's side, with orders in his button, and several under-waistcoats, and a great, choky, white stock.

"Near the pretty little woman in white?" asked a middle-aged gentleman seated by her side.


"That pretty woman in white is Amelia, General: you are remarking all the pretty women, you naughty man."

"That pretty woman in white is Amelia, General: you are noticing all the pretty women, you naughty man."


"Only one, begad, in the world!" said the General, delighted, and the lady gave him a tap with a large bouquet which she had.

"Only one, begad, in the world!" said the General, delighted, and the lady gave him a tap with her large bouquet.


"Bedad it's him," said Mrs. O'Dowd; "and that's the very bokay he bought in the Marshy aux Flures!" and when Rebecca, having caught her friend's eye, performed the little hand-kissing operation once more, Mrs. Major O'D., taking the compliment to herself, returned the salute with a gracious smile, which sent that unfortunate Dobbin shrieking out of the box again.

"Bedad it's him," said Mrs. O'Dowd; "and that's the very bokay he bought!" When Rebecca kissed her hand to Amelia, Mrs. Major O'D., taking the compliment to herself, returned the salute with a gracious smile, which sent Dobbin shrieking out of the box again.


At the end of the act, George was out of the box in a moment, and he was even going to pay his respects to Rebecca in her loge. He met Crawley in the lobby, however, where they exchanged a few sentences upon the occurrences of the last fortnight.

At the end of the act, George went to pay his respects to Rebecca. He met Crawley in the lobby with two brilliant young gentlemen of fashion, like himself on the staff of a general officer.


"You found my cheque all right at the agent's? George said, with a knowing air.

"You found my cheque all right at the agent's?" George said.


"All right, my boy," Rawdon answered. "Happy to give you your revenge. Governor come round?"


"Not yet," said George, "but he will; and you know I've some private fortune through my mother. Has Aunty relented?"


"Sent me twenty pound, damned old screw. When shall we have a meet? The General dines out on Tuesday. Can't you come Tuesday? I say, make Sedley cut off his moustache. What the devil does a civilian mean with a moustache and those infernal frogs to his coat! By-bye. Try and come on Tuesday"; and Rawdon was going-off with two brilliant young gentlemen of fashion, who were, like himself, on the staff of a general officer.

"Sent me twenty pound, damned old screw. When shall we have a meet? Can you come Tuesday?"


George was only half pleased to be asked to dinner on that particular day when the General was not to dine. "I will go in and pay my respects to your wife," said he; at which Rawdon said, "Hm, as you please," looking very glum, and at which the two young officers exchanged knowing glances. George parted from them and strutted down the lobby to the General's box, the number of which he had carefully counted.

"I will go and pay my respects to your wife," said George; at which Rawdon said, "Hm, as you please," looking very glum, and the two young officers exchanged knowing glances. George strutted down to the General's box.


"Entrez," said a clear little voice, and our friend found himself in Rebecca's presence; who jumped up, clapped her hands together, and held out both of them to George, so charmed was she to see him. The General, with the orders in his button, stared at the newcomer with a sulky scowl, as much as to say, who the devil are you?

"Entrez," said a clear little voice. Aa he entered Rebecca jumped up, clapped her hands and held them out to him. The General stared at the newcomer with a sulky, inquiring scowl.


"My dear Captain George!" cried little Rebecca in an ecstasy. "How good of you to come. The General and I were moping together tete-a-tete. General, this is my Captain George of whom you heard me talk."

"My dear Captain George!" cried little Rebecca in an ecstasy. "General, this is my Captain George of whom you've heard me talk."


"Indeed," said the General, with a very small bow; "of what regiment is Captain George?"

"Indeed," said the General, with a very small bow; "of which regiment?"


George mentioned the --th: how he wished he could have said it was a crack cavalry corps.

George told him; he wished he could have said a crack cavalry corps.


"Come home lately from the West Indies, I believe. Not seen much service in the late war. Quartered here, Captain George?"--the General went on with killing haughtiness.

"Come home from the West Indies, I believe. Not seen much service lately. Quartered here, Captain George?" the General went on haughtily.


"Not Captain George, you stupid man; Captain Osborne," Rebecca said. The General all the while was looking savagely from one to the other.

"Not Captain George, you stupid man; Captain Osborne," Rebecca said. The General looked savage.


"Captain Osborne, indeed! Any relation to the L------ Osbornes?"

"Captain Osborne, indeed! Any relation to the L____ Osbornes?"


"We bear the same arms," George said, as indeed was the fact; Mr. Osborne having consulted with a herald in Long Acre, and picked the L------ arms out of the peerage, when he set up his carriage fifteen years before. The General made no reply to this announcement; but took up his opera-glass--the double-barrelled lorgnon was not invented in those days--and pretended to examine the house; but Rebecca saw that his disengaged eye was working round in her direction, and shooting out bloodshot glances at her and George.

"We bear the same coat of arms," George said, as indeed they did; Mr. Osborne having picked the L_____ arms out of the peerage, when he set up his carriage fifteen years before.
The General made no reply. He took up his opera-glass and pretended to look around; but Rebecca saw him shooting bloodshot glances at her and George.


She redoubled in cordiality. "How is dearest Amelia? But I needn't ask: how pretty she looks! And who is that nice good-natured looking creature with her--a flame of yours? O, you wicked men! And there is Mr. Sedley eating ice, I declare: how he seems to enjoy it! General, why have we not had any ices?"

She redoubled in cordiality. "How is dearest Amelia? But I needn't ask: how pretty she looks! And who is that good-natured looking creature with her - a flame of yours? O, you wicked men! And there is Mr. Sedley eating ice! General, why have we not had any ices?"


"Shall I go and fetch you some?" said the General, bursting with wrath.


"Let ME go, I entreat you," George said.

"Let me go, I entreat you," George said.


"No, I will go to Amelia's box. Dear, sweet girl! Give me your arm, Captain George"; and so saying, and with a nod to the General, she tripped into the lobby. She gave George the queerest, knowingest look, when they were together, a look which might have been interpreted, "Don't you see the state of affairs, and what a fool I'm making of him?" But he did not perceive it. He was thinking of his own plans, and lost in pompous admiration of his own irresistible powers of pleasing.

"No, I will go to Amelia's box. Give me your arm, Captain George," and with a nod to the General, she tripped into the lobby. She gave George the queerest, knowingest look, which might have been interpreted as, "Don't you see what a fool I'm making of him?" But George did not perceive it. He was thinking of his own plans, and lost in pompous admiration of his own irresistible powers of pleasing.


The curses to which the General gave a low utterance, as soon as Rebecca and her conqueror had quitted him, were so deep, that I am sure no compositor would venture to print them were they written down. They came from the General's heart; and a wonderful thing it is to think that the human heart is capable of generating such produce, and can throw out, as occasion demands, such a supply of lust and fury, rage and hatred.

As soon as they left him, the General uttered curses that I am sure no compositor would venture to print.


Amelia's gentle eyes, too, had been fixed anxiously on the pair, whose conduct had so chafed the jealous General; but when Rebecca entered her box, she flew to her friend with an affectionate rapture which showed itself, in spite of the publicity of the place; for she embraced her dearest friend in the presence of the whole house, at least in full view of the General's glass, now brought to bear upon the Osborne party. Mrs. Rawdon saluted Jos, too, with the kindliest greeting: she admired Mrs. O'Dowd's large Cairngorm brooch and superb Irish diamonds, and wouldn't believe that they were not from Golconda direct. She bustled, she chattered, she turned and twisted, and smiled upon one, and smirked on another, all in full view of the jealous opera-glass opposite. And when the time for the ballet came (in which there was no dancer that went through her grimaces or performed her comedy of action better), she skipped back to her own box, leaning on Captain Dobbin's arm this time. No, she would not have George's: he must stay and talk to his dearest, best, little Amelia.

Amelia's eyes, too, had been fixed anxiously on the pair who had so enraged the jealous General; but when Rebecca entered her box, she flew to her friend with affectionate rapture, and embraced her in full view of the house. Then Mrs. Rawdon saluted Jos kindly: she admired Mrs. O'Dowd's diamonds; she bustled, she chattered, she smiled and smirked, all in full view of the General's jealous opera-glass.
And when the time came for the ballet, she skipped back to her own box, leaning on Captain Dobbin's arm this time.


"What a humbug that woman is!" honest old Dobbin mumbled to George, when he came back from Rebecca's box, whither he had conducted her in perfect silence, and with a countenance as glum as an undertaker's. "She writhes and twists about like a snake. All the time she was here, didn't you see, George, how she was acting at the General over the way?"

"What a humbug that woman is!" Dobbin muttered to George on his return. "She writhes and twists about like a snake. All the time she was here, didn't you see, George, how she was acting at the General over the way?"


"Humbug--acting! Hang it, she's the nicest little woman in England," George replied, showing his white teeth, and giving his ambrosial whiskers a twirl. "You ain't a man of the world, Dobbin. Dammy, look at her now, she's talked over Tufto in no time. Look how he's laughing! Gad, what a shoulder she has! Emmy, why didn't you have a bouquet? Everybody has a bouquet."

"Humbug - acting! Hang it, she's the nicest little woman in England," George replied, giving his whiskers a twirl. "You ain't a man of the world, Dobbin. Damme, she's talked over Tufto already. Look how he's laughing now! Gad, what a shoulder she has! Emmy, why didn't you have a bouquet? Everybody has a bouquet."


"Faith, then, why didn't you BOY one?" Mrs. O'Dowd said; and both Amelia and William Dobbin thanked her for this timely observation. But beyond this neither of the ladies rallied. Amelia was overpowered by the flash and the dazzle and the fashionable talk of her worldly rival. Even the O'Dowd was silent and subdued after Becky's brilliant apparition, and scarcely said a word more about Glenmalony all the evening.

"Faith, then, why didn't you BOY one?" Mrs. O'Dowd said; and both Amelia and William Dobbin thanked her for this observation. But beyond this neither of the ladies rallied. Amelia was overpowered by the dazzle of her worldly rival. Even the O'Dowd was subdued after Becky's brilliant apparition.


"When do you intend to give up play, George, as you have promised me, any time these hundred years?" Dobbin said to his friend a few days after the night at the Opera. "When do you intend to give up sermonising?" was the other's reply. "What the deuce, man, are you alarmed about? We play low; I won last night. You don't suppose Crawley cheats? With fair play it comes to pretty much the same thing at the year's end."

"When do you intend to give up gambling, George, as you have promised many times?" Dobbin said to his friend a few days after this.
"When do you intend to give up sermonising?" was George's reply. "What the deuce are you alarmed about? We play low; I won last night. You don't suppose Crawley cheats?"


"But I don't think he could pay if he lost," Dobbin said; and his advice met with the success which advice usually commands. Osborne and Crawley were repeatedly together now. General Tufto dined abroad almost constantly. George was always welcome in the apartments (very close indeed to those of the General) which the aide-de-camp and his wife occupied in the hotel.

"I don't think he could pay if he lost," Dobbin said; but his advice was ignored. Osborne and Crawley were repeatedly together now.


Amelia's manners were such when she and George visited Crawley and his wife at these quarters, that they had very nearly come to their first quarrel; that is, George scolded his wife violently for her evident unwillingness to go, and the high and mighty manner in which she comported herself towards Mrs. Crawley, her old friend; and Amelia did not say one single word in reply; but with her husband's eye upon her, and Rebecca scanning her as she felt, was, if possible, more bashful and awkward on the second visit which she paid to Mrs. Rawdon, than on her first call.

When Amelia and George visited Crawley and his wife at their quarters, which were shared with General Tufto, they nearly had their first quarrel. That is, George scolded his wife violently for her unwillingness to go, and for the high and mighty manner in which she behaved towards Mrs. Crawley; and Amelia did not say one word in reply. With her husband's eye upon her, and Rebecca scanning her, she was, if possible, more awkward on the second visit than the first.


Rebecca was doubly affectionate, of course, and would not take notice, in the least, of her friend's coolness. "I think Emmy has become prouder since her father's name was in the--since Mr. Sedley's MISFORTUNES," Rebecca said, softening the phrase charitably for George's ear.

Rebecca was doubly affectionate, of course, and would not take notice of her friend's coolness.
"I think Emmy has become prouder," she said to George.


"Upon my word, I thought when we were at Brighton she was doing me the honour to be jealous of me; and now I suppose she is scandalised because Rawdon, and I, and the General live together. Why, my dear creature, how could we, with our means, live at all, but for a friend to share expenses? And do you suppose that Rawdon is not big enough to take care of my honour? But I'm very much obliged to Emmy, very," Mrs. Rawdon said.

"Upon my word, I thought when we were at Brighton she was jealous of me; and now I suppose she is scandalised because Rawdon and I and the General live together. Why, how could we, with our means, live at all, but for a friend to share expenses? And do you suppose that Rawdon is not big enough to take care of my honour? But I'm very much obliged to Emmy, very," Mrs. Rawdon said.


"Pooh, jealousy!" answered George, "all women are jealous."

"Pooh!" answered George, "all women are jealous."


"And all men too. Weren't you jealous of General Tufto, and the General of you, on the night of the Opera? Why, he was ready to eat me for going with you to visit that foolish little wife of yours; as if I care a pin for either of you," Crawley's wife said, with a pert toss of her head. "Will you dine here? The dragon dines with the Commander-in-Chief. Great news is stirring. They say the French have crossed the frontier. We shall have a quiet dinner."

"And all men too. Weren't you jealous of General Tufto, and the General of you, at the Opera? Why, he was ready to eat me for going with you to visit that foolish little wife of yours; as if I care a pin for either of you," Crawley's wife said, with a pert toss of her head. "Will you dine here? The dragon dines with the Commander-in-Chief. Great news is stirring. They say the French have crossed the frontier. We shall have a quiet dinner."


George accepted the invitation, although his wife was a little ailing. They were now not quite six weeks married. Another woman was laughing or sneering at her expense, and he not angry. He was not even angry with himself, this good-natured fellow. It is a shame, he owned to himself; but hang it, if a pretty woman WILL throw herself in your way, why, what can a fellow do, you know? I AM rather free about women, he had often said, smiling and nodding knowingly to Stubble and Spooney, and other comrades of the mess-table; and they rather respected him than otherwise for this prowess. Next to conquering in war, conquering in love has been a source of pride, time out of mind, amongst men in Vanity Fair, or how should schoolboys brag of their amours, or Don Juan be popular?

George accepted the invitation, although his wife was a little ailing. They were now not quite six weeks married. Another woman was laughing or sneering at her expense, and he was not angry. He was not even angry with himself. Hang it, if a pretty woman will throw herself in your way, what can a fellow do? I am rather free about women, he had often said, smiling, to Stubble and Spooney at the mess-table.


So Mr. Osborne, having a firm conviction in his own mind that he was a woman-killer and destined to conquer, did not run counter to his fate, but yielded himself up to it quite complacently. And as Emmy did not say much or plague him with her jealousy, but merely became unhappy and pined over it miserably in secret, he chose to fancy that she was not suspicious of what all his acquaintance were perfectly aware--namely, that he was carrying on a desperate flirtation with Mrs. Crawley. He rode with her whenever she was free. He pretended regimental business to Amelia (by which falsehood she was not in the least deceived), and consigning his wife to solitude or her brother's society, passed his evenings in the Crawleys' company; losing money to the husband and flattering himself that the wife was dying of love for him. It is very likely that this worthy couple never absolutely conspired and agreed together in so many words: the one to cajole the young gentleman, whilst the other won his money at cards: but they understood each other perfectly well, and Rawdon let Osborne come and go with entire good humour.

So Mr. Osborne, convinced that he was a lady-killer, yielded himself up to it complacently. And as Emmy did not plague him with her jealousy, but merely pined over it miserably in secret, he chose to imagine that she did not suspect what all his acquaintance knew - namely, that he was carrying on a desperate flirtation with Mrs. Crawley.
He rode with her whenever she was free. He pretended regimental business to Amelia (who was not in the least deceived), and leaving her to solitude or her brother's society, passed his evenings in the Crawleys' company; losing money to the husband and flattering himself that the wife was dying of love for him. This worthy couple never actually conspired - the one to cajole the young gentleman, whilst the other won his money at cards - but they understood each other perfectly, and Rawdon let Osborne come and go with entire good humour.


George was so occupied with his new acquaintances that he and William Dobbin were by no means so much together as formerly. George avoided him in public and in the regiment, and, as we see, did not like those sermons which his senior was disposed to inflict upon him. If some parts of his conduct made Captain Dobbin exceedingly grave and cool; of what use was it to tell George that, though his whiskers were large, and his own opinion of his knowingness great, he was as green as a schoolboy? that Rawdon was making a victim of him as he had done of many before, and as soon as he had used him would fling him off with scorn? He would not listen: and so, as Dobbin, upon those days when he visited the Osborne house, seldom had the advantage of meeting his old friend, much painful and unavailing talk between them was spared. Our friend George was in the full career of the pleasures of Vanity Fair.

George and William Dobbin were not so much together as formerly. George avoided him; he did not like those sermons which William inflicted upon him. If his conduct made Captain Dobbin exceedingly grave, of what use was it to tell George that he was as green as a schoolboy? that Rawdon was making a victim of him as he had done of many before? He would not listen. In any case, Dobbin seldom met his old friend. George was in the full career of the pleasures of Vanity Fair.


There never was, since the days of Darius, such a brilliant train of camp-followers as hung round the Duke of Wellington's army in the Low Countries, in 1815; and led it dancing and feasting, as it were, up to the very brink of battle. A certain ball which a noble Duchess gave at Brussels on the 15th of June in the above-named year is historical. All Brussels had been in a state of excitement about it, and I have heard from ladies who were in that town at the period, that the talk and interest of persons of their own sex regarding the ball was much greater even than in respect of the enemy in their front. The struggles, intrigues, and prayers to get tickets were such as only English ladies will employ, in order to gain admission to the society of the great of their own nation.

There never was such a brilliant train of camp-followers as hung round the Duke of Wellington's army in 1815, and led it dancing and feasting up to the very brink of battle. A certain ball which a noble Duchess gave at Brussels on the 15th of June is historical. All Brussels was excited about it, talking more about the ball than about the nearness of the enemy, and desperate to gain admission.


Jos and Mrs. O'Dowd, who were panting to be asked, strove in vain to procure tickets; but others of our friends were more lucky. For instance, through the interest of my Lord Bareacres, and as a set-off for the dinner at the restaurateur's, George got a card for Captain and Mrs. Osborne; which circumstance greatly elated him. Dobbin, who was a friend of the General commanding the division in which their regiment was, came laughing one day to Mrs. Osborne, and displayed a similar invitation, which made Jos envious, and George wonder how the deuce he should be getting into society. Mr. and Mrs. Rawdon, finally, were of course invited; as became the friends of a General commanding a cavalry brigade.

Jos and Mrs. O'Dowd tried in vain to get tickets; but others were more lucky. Lord Bareacres, in return for the dinner, arranged an invitation card for Captain and Mrs. Osborne; which greatly elated George. Dobbin, who was a friend of the General commanding their division, came laughing to Mrs. Osborne and displayed a similar invitation, which made Jos envious, and made George wonder how the deuce he was getting into society. Mr. and Mrs. Rawdon were invited as friends of General Tufto.


On the appointed night, George, having commanded new dresses and ornaments of all sorts for Amelia, drove to the famous ball, where his wife did not know a single soul. After looking about for Lady Bareacres, who cut him, thinking the card was quite enough--and after placing Amelia on a bench, he left her to her own cogitations there, thinking, on his own part, that he had behaved very handsomely in getting her new clothes, and bringing her to the ball, where she was free to amuse herself as she liked. Her thoughts were not of the pleasantest, and nobody except honest Dobbin came to disturb them.

On the night, George, having commanded new ornaments for Amelia, drove to the famous ball, where his wife did not know a soul. After looking about for Lady Bareacres - who cut him, thinking the card was quite enough - and after placing Amelia on a bench, he left her there, thinking he had behaved very handsomely in getting her new clothes, and bringing her to the ball, where she was free to amuse herself as she liked. Her thoughts were not pleasant, and nobody except honest Dobbin came to disturb them.


Whilst her appearance was an utter failure (as her husband felt with a sort of rage), Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's debut was, on the contrary, very brilliant. She arrived very late. Her face was radiant; her dress perfection. In the midst of the great persons assembled, and the eye-glasses directed to her, Rebecca seemed to be as cool and collected as when she used to marshal Miss Pinkerton's little girls to church. Numbers of the men she knew already, and the dandies thronged round her. As for the ladies, it was whispered among them that Rawdon had run away with her from out of a convent, and that she was a relation of the Montmorency family. She spoke French so perfectly that there might be some truth in this report, and it was agreed that her manners were fine, and her air distingue. Fifty would-be partners thronged round her at once, and pressed to have the honour to dance with her. But she said she was engaged, and only going to dance very little; and made her way at once to the place where Emmy sate quite unnoticed, and dismally unhappy. And so, to finish the poor child at once, Mrs. Rawdon ran and greeted affectionately her dearest Amelia, and began forthwith to patronise her. She found fault with her friend's dress, and her hairdresser, and wondered how she could be so chaussee, and vowed that she must send her corsetiere the next morning. She vowed that it was a delightful ball; that there was everybody that every one knew, and only a VERY few nobodies in the whole room. It is a fact, that in a fortnight, and after three dinners in general society, this young woman had got up the genteel jargon so well, that a native could not speak it better; and it was only from her French being so good, that you could know she was not a born woman of fashion.

Whilst her appearance was a failure (as her husband felt with a sort of rage), Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's was very brilliant. She arrived late. Her face was radiant; her dress perfection. In the midst of the great persons and eye-glasses directed to her, Rebecca was cool and collected. Many of the men she knew already, and the dandies thronged around her. The ladies whispered that Rawdon had run away with her from a convent, and that she was a relation of the Montmorency family. She spoke French so perfectly that there might be some truth in this report, and it was agreed that her manners were fine.
Fifty would-be partners pressed to have the honour to dance with her. But she said she was engaged, and was going to dance very little; and went at once to the place where Emmy sat quite unnoticed and unhappy.
And so, to finish the poor child, Mrs. Rawdon affectionately greeted her dearest Amelia, and began to patronise her. She found fault with her friend's dress, and her hairdresser, and her shoes. She vowed that it was a delightful ball, with only a very few nobodies in the room, and generally acted like a woman of fashion.


George, who had left Emmy on her bench on entering the ball-room, very soon found his way back when Rebecca was by her dear friend's side. Becky was just lecturing Mrs. Osborne upon the follies which her husband was committing. "For God's sake, stop him from gambling, my dear," she said, "or he will ruin himself. He and Rawdon are playing at cards every night, and you know he is very poor, and Rawdon will win every shilling from him if he does not take care. Why don't you prevent him, you little careless creature? Why don't you come to us of an evening, instead of moping at home with that Captain Dobbin? I dare say he is tres aimable; but how could one love a man with feet of such size? Your husband's feet are darlings--Here he comes. Where have you been, wretch? Here is Emmy crying her eyes out for you. Are you coming to fetch me for the quadrille?" And she left her bouquet and shawl by Amelia's side, and tripped off with George to dance. Women only know how to wound so. There is a poison on the tips of their little shafts, which stings a thousand times more than a man's blunter weapon. Our poor Emmy, who had never hated, never sneered all her life, was powerless in the hands of her remorseless little enemy.

George soon found his way back to Emmy when Rebecca was by her dear friend's side. Becky was just lecturing Mrs. Osborne upon her husband's follies.
"For God's sake, stop him from gambling, my dear," she said, "or he will ruin himself. He and Rawdon are playing at cards every night, and you know he is very poor, and Rawdon will win every shilling from him if he does not take care. Why don't you prevent him, you little careless creature? Why don't you come to us of an evening, instead of moping at home with that Captain Dobbin? I dare say he is tres aimable; but how could one love a man with such big feet? Your husband's feet are darlings - here he comes. Where have you been, wretch? Here is Emmy crying her eyes out for you. Are you coming to fetch me for the quadrille?"
And she left her bouquet and shawl by Amelia's side, and tripped off with George to dance. Only women know how to wound so. Our poor Emmy, who had never sneered in her life, was powerless in the hands of her remorseless little enemy.


George danced with Rebecca twice or thrice--how many times Amelia scarcely knew. She sat quite unnoticed in her corner, except when Rawdon came up with some words of clumsy conversation: and later in the evening, when Captain Dobbin made so bold as to bring her refreshments and sit beside her. He did not like to ask her why she was so sad; but as a pretext for the tears which were filling in her eyes, she told him that Mrs. Crawley had alarmed her by telling her that George would go on playing.

George danced with Rebecca, while Amelia sat quite unnoticed in her corner; except when Rawdon came up with some words of clumsy conversation: and later, when Captain Dobbin brought her refreshments and sat beside her. He did not like to ask her why she was so sad; but to account for her tears, she told him that Mrs. Crawley had alarmed her by telling her that George was still playing cards.


"It is curious, when a man is bent upon play, by what clumsy rogues he will allow himself to be cheated," Dobbin said; and Emmy said, "Indeed." She was thinking of something else. It was not the loss of the money that grieved her.


At last George came back for Rebecca's shawl and flowers. She was going away. She did not even condescend to come back and say good-bye to Amelia. The poor girl let her husband come and go without saying a word, and her head fell on her breast. Dobbin had been called away, and was whispering deep in conversation with the General of the division, his friend, and had not seen this last parting. George went away then with the bouquet; but when he gave it to the owner, there lay a note, coiled like a snake among the flowers. Rebecca's eye caught it at once. She had been used to deal with notes in early life. She put out her hand and took the nosegay. He saw by her eyes as they met, that she was aware what she should find there. Her husband hurried her away, still too intent upon his own thoughts, seemingly, to take note of any marks of recognition which might pass between his friend and his wife. These were, however, but trifling. Rebecca gave George her hand with one of her usual quick knowing glances, and made a curtsey and walked away. George bowed over the hand, said nothing in reply to a remark of Crawley's, did not hear it even, his brain was so throbbing with triumph and excitement, and allowed them to go away without a word.

At last George came back for Rebecca's shawl and flowers. Amelia let her husband come and go without a word, and her head drooped. George went off with the bouquet; but when he gave it to Rebecca, there lay a note coiled like a snake among the flowers.
Rebecca's eye caught it at once. She put out her hand and took the nosegay, and he saw that she was aware of his note. With one of her quick knowing glances, she curtseyed and walked away with her husband. George said nothing in reply to a remark of Crawley's, did not hear it even, his brain was so throbbing with triumph and excitement.


His wife saw the one part at least of the bouquet-scene. It was quite natural that George should come at Rebecca's request to get her her scarf and flowers: it was no more than he had done twenty times before in the course of the last few days; but now it was too much for her. "William," she said, suddenly clinging to Dobbin, who was near her, "you've always been very kind to me--I'm--I'm not well. Take me home." She did not know she called him by his Christian name, as George was accustomed to do. He went away with her quickly. Her lodgings were hard by; and they threaded through the crowd without, where everything seemed to be more astir than even in the ball-room within.

His wife saw only part of the bouquet-scene. It was quite natural that George should come to get Rebecca's scarf and flowers: it was no more than he had done twenty times before; but now it was too much for her.
"William," she said, suddenly clinging to Dobbin, who was near her, "you've always been very kind to me - I'm - I'm not well. Take me home." She did not know she called him by his Christian name. He went away with her quickly, threading through the restless crowd outside, and took her to her lodgings nearby.


George had been angry twice or thrice at finding his wife up on his return from the parties which he frequented: so she went straight to bed now; but although she did not sleep, and although the din and clatter, and the galloping of horsemen were incessant, she never heard any of these noises, having quite other disturbances to keep her awake.

George had been angry previously at finding his wife up when he returned from his parties: so she went straight to bed now. She did not sleep; although the din and clatter and galloping of horsemen were incessant, she never heard these noises, having other disturbances to keep her awake.


Osborne meanwhile, wild with elation, went off to a play-table, and began to bet frantically. He won repeatedly. "Everything succeeds with me to-night," he said. But his luck at play even did not cure him of his restlessness, and he started up after awhile, pocketing his winnings, and went to a buffet, where he drank off many bumpers of wine.

Meanwhile Osborne, wild with elation, went off to a card-table, and began to bet frantically. He won.
"Everything succeeds with me to-night," he said. But he got up after a while, pocketing his winnings, and went to a buffet where he drank a good deal of wine.


Here, as he was rattling away to the people around, laughing loudly and wild with spirits, Dobbin found him. He had been to the card-tables to look there for his friend. Dobbin looked as pale and grave as his comrade was flushed and jovial.

Here, as he was chatting and laughing loudly with high spirits, Dobbin found him. Dobbin looked as pale and grave as his comrade was flushed and jovial.


"Hullo, Dob! Come and drink, old Dob! The Duke's wine is famous. Give me some more, you sir"; and he held out a trembling glass for the liquor.

"Hullo, Dob! Come and drink, old Dob! The Duke's wine is famous. Give me some more, sir," and he held out a trembling glass.


"Come out, George," said Dobbin, still gravely; "don't drink."

"Come out, George," said Dobbin gravely; "don't drink."


"Drink! there's nothing like it. Drink yourself, and light up your lantern jaws, old boy. Here's to you."

"Drink yourself, and light up your lantern jaws, old boy! Here's to you."


Dobbin went up and whispered something to him, at which George, giving a start and a wild hurray, tossed off his glass, clapped it on the table, and walked away speedily on his friend's arm. "The enemy has passed the Sambre," William said, "and our left is already engaged. Come away. We are to march in three hours."

Dobbin whispered something, at which George, giving a start and a wild hurray, drained his glass and walked away speedily on his friend's arm.
"The enemy has passed the Sambre," William said, "and our left is already engaged. We are to march in three hours."


Away went George, his nerves quivering with excitement at the news so long looked for, so sudden when it came. What were love and intrigue now? He thought about a thousand things but these in his rapid walk to his quarters--his past life and future chances--the fate which might be before him--the wife, the child perhaps, from whom unseen he might be about to part. Oh, how he wished that night's work undone! and that with a clear conscience at least he might say farewell to the tender and guileless being by whose love he had set such little store!

Away went George, his nerves quivering with excitement. What were love and intrigue now? He thought about a thousand things in his rapid walk to his quarters - his past life and future chances - the fate which might be before him - the wife, the child perhaps, from whom he might be about to part. Oh, how he wished that night's work undone! so that with a clear conscience he might say farewell to the tender being by whose love he had set such little store!


He thought over his brief married life. In those few weeks he had frightfully dissipated his little capital. How wild and reckless he had been! Should any mischance befall him: what was then left for her? How unworthy he was of her. Why had he married her? He was not fit for marriage. Why had he disobeyed his father, who had been always so generous to him? Hope, remorse, ambition, tenderness, and selfish regret filled his heart. He sate down and wrote to his father, remembering what he had said once before, when he was engaged to fight a duel. Dawn faintly streaked the sky as he closed this farewell letter. He sealed it, and kissed the superscription. He thought how he had deserted that generous father, and of the thousand kindnesses which the stern old man had done him.

He thought over his brief married life. In those few weeks he had frightfully dissipated his little money. How reckless he had been! If anything should happen to him, what was left for her? How unworthy he was of her. Why had he married her? He was not fit for marriage. Why had he disobeyed his father? Hope, remorse, ambition, tenderness, and selfish regret filled his heart.
He sat down and wrote to his father. Dawn faintly streaked the sky as he closed this farewell letter. He sealed it, and kissed it, thinking how he had deserted that generous father, and of the thousand kindnesses of the stern old man.


He had looked into Amelia's bedroom when he entered; she lay quiet, and her eyes seemed closed, and he was glad that she was asleep. On arriving at his quarters from the ball, he had found his regimental servant already making preparations for his departure: the man had understood his signal to be still, and these arrangements were very quickly and silently made. Should he go in and wake Amelia, he thought, or leave a note for her brother to break the news of departure to her? He went in to look at her once again.

He had looked into Amelia's bedroom when he entered; she lay quiet, and seemed asleep. His regimental servant was already making silent preparations for his departure. Should he wake Amelia, he thought, or leave a note for her brother to break the news to her? He went in to look at her once again.


She had been awake when he first entered her room, but had kept her eyes closed, so that even her wakefulness should not seem to reproach him. But when he had returned, so soon after herself, too, this timid little heart had felt more at ease, and turning towards him as he stept softly out of the room, she had fallen into a light sleep. George came in and looked at her again, entering still more softly. By the pale night-lamp he could see her sweet, pale face--the purple eyelids were fringed and closed, and one round arm, smooth and white, lay outside of the coverlet. Good God! how pure she was; how gentle, how tender, and how friendless! and he, how selfish, brutal, and black with crime! Heart-stained, and shame-stricken, he stood at the bed's foot, and looked at the sleeping girl. How dared he--who was he, to pray for one so spotless! God bless her! God bless her! He came to the bedside, and looked at the hand, the little soft hand, lying asleep; and he bent over the pillow noiselessly towards the gentle pale face.

She had been awake when he first entered her room, but had kept her eyes closed. But then this timid little heart had felt more at ease, and she had fallen into a light sleep.
George came in again, entering softly. By the night-lamp he could see her sweet, pale face - the purple eyelids closed; one round arm, smooth and white, lay outside the coverlet. Good God! how pure she was; how gentle, and how friendless! and he, how selfish, brutal, and black with crime! Shame-stricken, he stood at the bed's foot, and looked at the sleeping girl. God bless her! God bless her! He came to the bedside, and looked at the little soft hand; and he bent over the pillow noiselessly towards the gentle pale face.


Two fair arms closed tenderly round his neck as he stooped down. "I am awake, George," the poor child said, with a sob fit to break the little heart that nestled so closely by his own. She was awake, poor soul, and to what? At that moment a bugle from the Place of Arms began sounding clearly, and was taken up through the town; and amidst the drums of the infantry, and the shrill pipes of the Scotch, the whole city awoke.

Two fair arms closed tenderly round his neck as he stooped down.
"I am awake, George," the poor child said, with a sob fit to break her little heart. At that moment a bugle began sounding clearly, and was taken up through the town; and amidst the drums of the infantry, and the shrill pipes of the Scotch, the whole city awoke.


Poor Joe's panic lasted for two or three days; during which he did not visit the house, nor during that period did Miss Rebecca ever mention his name. She was all respectful gratitude to Mrs. Sedley; delighted beyond measure at the Bazaars; and in a whirl of wonder at the theatre, whither the good-natured lady took her. One day, Amelia had a headache, and could not go upon some party of pleasure to which the two young people were invited: nothing could induce her friend to go without her. "What! you who have shown the poor orphan what happiness and love are for the first time in her life--quit YOU? Never!" and the green eyes looked up to Heaven and filled with tears; and Mrs. Sedley could not but own that her daughter's friend had a charming kind heart of her own.

Poor Joe's panic lasted for two or three days; during which he did not visit the house, nor did Miss Rebecca mention his name. She was all respectful gratitude to Mrs. Sedley; delighted at the Bazaars, and in a whirl of wonder at the theatre, where the good-natured lady took her. One day, when Amelia had a headache, and could not go on some outing, nothing could induce Becky to go without her.
"What! you who have shown the poor orphan what happiness and love are for the first time in her life - quit you? Never!" Rebecca's green eyes looked up to Heaven and filled with tears; and Mrs. Sedley thought that her daughter's friend had a charming kind heart.


As for Mr. Sedley's jokes, Rebecca laughed at them with a cordiality and perseverance which not a little pleased and softened that good-natured gentleman. Nor was it with the chiefs of the family alone that Miss Sharp found favour. She interested Mrs. Blenkinsop by evincing the deepest sympathy in the raspberry-jam preserving, which operation was then going on in the Housekeeper's room; she persisted in calling Sambo "Sir," and "Mr. Sambo," to the delight of that attendant; and she apologised to the lady's maid for giving her trouble in venturing to ring the bell, with such sweetness and humility, that the Servants' Hall was almost as charmed with her as the Drawing Room.

As for Mr. Sedley's jokes, Rebecca laughed at them with a cordiality which pleased that good-natured gentleman. She found favour with Mrs. Blenkinsop the Housekeeper by showing deep sympathy in the raspberry-jam preserving; she persisted in calling Sambo "Sir" and "Mr. Sambo," to his delight; and she apologised to the lady's maid for ringing the bell, with such sweetness and humility that the Servants' Hall was almost as charmed with her as the Drawing Room.


Once, in looking over some drawings which Amelia had sent from school, Rebecca suddenly came upon one which caused her to burst into tears and leave the room. It was on the day when Joe Sedley made his second appearance.

Once, on the day when Joe Sedley made his second appearance, Rebecca was looking over some drawings of Amelia's from school; when she came upon one which caused her to burst into tears and leave the room.


Amelia hastened after her friend to know the cause of this display of feeling, and the good-natured girl came back without her companion, rather affected too. "You know, her father was our drawing-master, Mamma, at Chiswick, and used to do all the best parts of our drawings."

Amelia hastened after her friend, and came back alone, rather affected. "Her father was our drawing-master at school, Mamma, and used to do the best parts of our drawings."


"My love! I'm sure I always heard Miss Pinkerton say that he did not touch them--he only mounted them." "It was called mounting, Mamma. Rebecca remembers the drawing, and her father working at it, and the thought of it came upon her rather suddenly--and so, you know, she--"


"The poor child is all heart," said Mrs. Sedley.


"I wish she could stay with us another week," said Amelia.


"She's devilish like Miss Cutler that I used to meet at Dumdum, only fairer. She's married now to Lance, the Artillery Surgeon. Do you know, Ma'am, that once Quintin, of the 14th, bet me--"

"She's devilish like Miss Cutler that I used to meet at Dumdum, only fairer. She's married now to the Artillery Surgeon. Do you know, Ma'am, that once Quintin, of the 14th, bet me-"


"O Joseph, we know that story," said Amelia, laughing. "Never mind about telling that; but persuade Mamma to write to Sir Something Crawley for leave of absence for poor dear Rebecca: here she comes, her eyes red with weeping."

"O Joseph, we know that story," said Amelia, laughing. "Never mind about that; but persuade Mamma to write to Sir Something Crawley for leave of absence for poor dear Rebecca: here she comes."


"I'm better, now," said the girl, with the sweetest smile possible, taking good-natured Mrs. Sedley's extended hand and kissing it respectfully. "How kind you all are to me! All," she added, with a laugh, "except you, Mr. Joseph."

"I'm better now," said the girl, with a sweet smile, taking Mrs. Sedley's hand and kissing it respectfully. "How kind you all are to me! All," she added, with a laugh, "except you, Mr. Joseph."


"Me!" said Joseph, meditating an instant departure. "Gracious Heavens! Good Gad! Miss Sharp!'

"Me!" said Joseph, meditating an instant departure. "Good Gad! Miss Sharp!'


"Yes; how could you be so cruel as to make me eat that horrid pepper-dish at dinner, the first day I ever saw you? You are not so good to me as dear Amelia."

"Yes; how could you be so cruel as to make me eat that horrid pepper-dish, the first day I saw you? You are not so good to me as dear Amelia."


"He doesn't know you so well," cried Amelia.


"I defy anybody not to be good to you, my dear," said her mother.


"The curry was capital; indeed it was," said Joe, quite gravely. "Perhaps there was NOT enough citron juice in it--no, there was NOT."

"The curry was capital; indeed it was," said Joe gravely.


"By Jove, how they made you cry out!" said Joe, caught by the ridicule of the circumstance, and exploding in a fit of laughter which ended quite suddenly, as usual.

"By Jove, how they made you cry out!" said Joe, exploding in a fit of laughter.


"I shall take care how I let YOU choose for me another time," said Rebecca, as they went down again to dinner. "I didn't think men were fond of putting poor harmless girls to pain."

"I shall take care how I let you choose for me another time," said Rebecca, as they went down again to dinner. "I didn't think men were fond of putting poor harmless girls in pain."


"By Gad, Miss Rebecca, I wouldn't hurt you for the world."


"No," said she, "I KNOW you wouldn't"; and then she gave him ever so gentle a pressure with her little hand, and drew it back quite frightened, and looked first for one instant in his face, and then down at the carpet-rods; and I am not prepared to say that Joe's heart did not thump at this little involuntary, timid, gentle motion of regard on the part of the simple girl.

"No," said she, "I know you wouldn't." She gave him ever so gentle a pressure with her little hand, and drew it back quite frightened, and looked first for one instant in his face, and then down at the carpet. Joe's heart thumped at this little involuntary, timid motion of regard on the part of the simple girl.


It was an advance, and as such, perhaps, some ladies of indisputable correctness and gentility will condemn the action as immodest; but, you see, poor dear Rebecca had all this work to do for herself. If a person is too poor to keep a servant, though ever so elegant, he must sweep his own rooms: if a dear girl has no dear Mamma to settle matters with the young man, she must do it for herself. And oh, what a mercy it is that these women do not exercise their powers oftener! We can't resist them, if they do. Let them show ever so little inclination, and men go down on their knees at once: old or ugly, it is all the same. And this I set down as a positive truth. A woman with fair opportunities, and without an absolute hump, may marry WHOM SHE LIKES. Only let us be thankful that the darlings are like the beasts of the field, and don't know their own power. They would overcome us entirely if they did.

Perhaps some ladies will condemn the action as immodest; but, you see, poor dear Rebecca had all this work to do for herself. If a person is too poor to keep a servant, he must sweep his own rooms: if a girl has no Mamma to settle matters with the young man, she must do it for herself.
And oh, what a mercy it is that these women do not exercise their powers oftener! We can't resist them, if they do. A woman with fair opportunities, and without an absolute hump, may marry WHOM SHE LIKES. Only let us be thankful that the darlings don't know their own power. They would overcome us entirely if they did.


"Egad!" thought Joseph, entering the dining-room, "I exactly begin to feel as I did at Dumdum with Miss Cutler." Many sweet little appeals, half tender, half jocular, did Miss Sharp make to him about the dishes at dinner; for by this time she was on a footing of considerable familiarity with the family, and as for the girls, they loved each other like sisters. Young unmarried girls always do, if they are in a house together for ten days.

"Egad!" thought Joseph, entering the dining-room, "I begin to feel as I did at Dumdum with Miss Cutler." Miss Sharp made many sweet little appeals, half tender, half jocular, to him about the dishes at dinner. By this time she was on a familiar footing with the family; the girls loved each other like sisters.


As if bent upon advancing Rebecca's plans in every way--what must Amelia do, but remind her brother of a promise made last Easter holidays--"When I was a girl at school," said she, laughing--a promise that he, Joseph, would take her to Vauxhall. "Now," she said, "that Rebecca is with us, will be the very time."

As if bent upon advancing Rebecca's plans, Amelia reminded her brother of a promise he had made that he would take her to Vauxhall. "Now," she said, "that Rebecca is with us, is the very time."


"O, delightful!" said Rebecca, going to clap her hands; but she recollected herself, and paused, like a modest creature, as she was.

"O, delightful!" said Rebecca. About to clap her hands, she recollected herself, and paused modestly.


"To-morrow your Papa and I dine out," said Mrs. Sedley.

"Tomorrow your Papa and I dine out," said Mrs. Sedley.


"You don't suppose that I'm going, Mrs. Sed?" said her husband, "and that a woman of your years and size is to catch cold, in such an abominable damp place?"


"The children must have someone with them," cried Mrs. Sedley.


"Let Joe go," said-his father, laughing. "He's big enough." At which speech even Mr. Sambo at the sideboard burst out laughing, and poor fat Joe felt inclined to become a parricide almost.

"Let Joe go," said his father, smiling. "He's big enough." At which even Mr. Sambo at the sideboard burst out laughing, and poor Joe felt almost inclined to commit patricide.


"Undo his stays!" continued the pitiless old gentleman. "Fling some water in his face, Miss Sharp, or carry him upstairs: the dear creature's fainting. Poor victim! carry him up; he's as light as a feather!"

"Undo his stays!" continued the pitiless old gentleman. "Fling some water in his face, Miss Sharp: the dear creature's fainting. Poor victim! carry him up; he's as light as a feather!"


"If I stand this, sir, I'm d------!" roared Joseph.

"If I stand this, sir, I'm d_____!" roared Joseph.


"Order Mr. Jos's elephant, Sambo!" cried the father. "Send to Exeter 'Change, Sambo"; but seeing Jos ready almost to cry with vexation, the old joker stopped his laughter, and said, holding out his hand to his son, "It's all fair on the Stock Exchange, Jos--and, Sambo, never mind the elephant, but give me and Mr. Jos a glass of Champagne. Boney himself hasn't got such in his cellar, my boy!"

"Order Mr. Jos's elephant, Sambo!" cried the father; but seeing Jos ready to cry with vexation, he stopped, and held out his hand to his son. "Sambo, never mind the elephant, but give me and Mr. Jos a glass of Champagne. Boney himself hasn't got such in his cellar, my boy!"


A goblet of Champagne restored Joseph's equanimity, and before the bottle was emptied, of which as an invalid he took two-thirds, he had agreed to take the young ladies to Vauxhall.

A goblet of Champagne restored Joseph's temper, and before the bottle was emptied, he had agreed to take the young ladies to Vauxhall.


"The girls must have a gentleman apiece," said the old gentleman. "Jos will be sure to leave Emmy in the crowd, he will be so taken up with Miss Sharp here. Send to 96, and ask George Osborne if he'll come."

"The girls must have a gentleman each," said the old gentleman. "Send to 96, and ask George Osborne if he'll come."


At this, I don't know in the least for what reason, Mrs. Sedley looked at her husband and laughed. Mr. Sedley's eyes twinkled in a manner indescribably roguish, and he looked at Amelia; and Amelia, hanging down her head, blushed as only young ladies of seventeen know how to blush, and as Miss Rebecca Sharp never blushed in her life--at least not since she was eight years old, and when she was caught stealing jam out of a cupboard by her godmother. "Amelia had better write a note," said her father; "and let George Osborne see what a beautiful handwriting we have brought back from Miss Pinkerton's. Do you remember when you wrote to him to come on Twelfth-night, Emmy, and spelt twelfth without the f?"

At this, Mrs. Sedley looked at her husband and laughed. Mr. Sedley's eyes twinkled roguishly; and Amelia, hanging down her head, blushed as only young ladies of seventeen know how to blush, and as Miss Rebecca Sharp never had blushed since she was eight years old, when she was caught stealing jam by her godmother.
"Amelia had better write a note," said her father, "and let George Osborne see what beautiful handwriting we have brought back from Miss Pinkerton's. Do you remember when you wrote to him to come on Twelfth-night, Emmy, and spelt twelfth without the f?"


"It seems like yesterday, don't it, John?" said Mrs. Sedley to her husband; and that night in a conversation which took place in a front room in the second floor, in a sort of tent, hung round with chintz of a rich and fantastic India pattern, and double with calico of a tender rose-colour; in the interior of which species of marquee was a featherbed, on which were two pillows, on which were two round red faces, one in a laced nightcap, and one in a simple cotton one, ending in a tassel--in a CURTAIN LECTURE, I say, Mrs. Sedley took her husband to task for his cruel conduct to poor Joe.

"It seems like yesterday, don't it, John?" said Mrs. Sedley.
That night, in their front room, Mrs. Sedley took her husband to task for his cruel conduct to poor Joseph.


"It was quite wicked of you, Mr. Sedley," said she, "to torment the poor boy so."

"It was quite wicked of you," said she, "to torment the poor boy so."


"My dear," said the cotton-tassel in defence of his conduct, "Jos is a great deal vainer than you ever were in your life, and that's saying a good deal. Though, some thirty years ago, in the year seventeen hundred and eighty--what was it?--perhaps you had a right to be vain--I don't say no. But I've no patience with Jos and his dandified modesty. It is out-Josephing Joseph, my dear, and all the while the boy is only thinking of himself, and what a fine fellow he is. I doubt, Ma'am, we shall have some trouble with him yet. Here is Emmy's little friend making love to him as hard as she can; that's quite clear; and if she does not catch him some other will. That man is destined to be a prey to woman, as I am to go on 'Change every day. It's a mercy he did not bring us over a black daughter-in-law, my dear. But, mark my words, the first woman who fishes for him, hooks him."

"My dear," said he, "Jos is a great deal vainer than you ever were; though thirty years ago you had a right to be vain. But I've no patience with Jos and his dandified modesty. The boy is only thinking of himself, and what a fine fellow he is. We shall have some trouble with him, Ma'am. Here is Emmy's little friend making love to him as hard as she can; and if she does not catch him some other will. That man is destined to be a prey to women. Mark my words, the first woman who fishes for him, will hook him."


"She shall go off to-morrow, the little artful creature," said Mrs. Sedley, with great energy.

"She shall go off tomorrow, the little artful creature," said Mrs. Sedley.


"Why not she as well as another, Mrs. Sedley? The girl's a white face at any rate. I don't care who marries him. Let Joe please himself."

"Why not she as well as another? I don't care who marries him. Let Jos please himself."


And presently the voices of the two speakers were hushed, or were replaced by the gentle but unromantic music of the nose; and save when the church bells tolled the hour and the watchman called it, all was silent at the house of John Sedley, Esquire, of Russell Square, and the Stock Exchange.


When morning came, the good-natured Mrs. Sedley no longer thought of executing her threats with regard to Miss Sharp; for though nothing is more keen, nor more common, nor more justifiable, than maternal jealousy, yet she could not bring herself to suppose that the little, humble, grateful, gentle governess would dare to look up to such a magnificent personage as the Collector of Boggley Wollah. The petition, too, for an extension of the young lady's leave of absence had already been despatched, and it would be difficult to find a pretext for abruptly dismissing her.

When morning came, the good-natured Mrs. Sedley no longer thought of sending away Miss Sharp; for she could not bring herself to suppose that the little, humble, grateful governess would dare to look up to such a magnificent personage as the Collector of Boggley Wollah. In any case, the letter asking for the young lady's stay to be extended had already been sent, and it would be difficult to find an excuse for dismissing her.


And as if all things conspired in favour of the gentle Rebecca, the very elements (although she was not inclined at first to acknowledge their action in her behalf) interposed to aid her. For on the evening appointed for the Vauxhall party, George Osborne having come to dinner, and the elders of the house having departed, according to invitation, to dine with Alderman Balls at Highbury Barn, there came on such a thunder-storm as only happens on Vauxhall nights, and as obliged the young people, perforce, to remain at home. Mr. Osborne did not seem in the least disappointed at this occurrence. He and Joseph Sedley drank a fitting quantity of port-wine, tete-a-tete, in the dining-room, during the drinking of which Sedley told a number of his best Indian stories; for he was extremely talkative in man's society; and afterwards Miss Amelia Sedley did the honours of the drawing-room; and these four young persons passed such a comfortable evening together, that they declared they were rather glad of the thunder-storm than otherwise, which had caused them to put off their visit to Vauxhall.

The very elements conspired to favour Rebecca. For on the evening of the Vauxhall party, George Osborne having come to dinner, and the elders of the house having gone out to dine, there came on such a thunder-storm as obliged the young people to remain at home.
Mr. Osborne did not seem in the least disappointed. He and Joseph Sedley drank a quantity of port-wine together in the dining-room, while Sedley told a number of his best Indian stories. Afterwards Miss Amelia Sedley did the honours of the drawing-room; and the four young persons passed such a comfortable evening together that they declared they were glad of the thunder-storm.


Osborne was Sedley's godson, and had been one of the family any time these three-and-twenty years. At six weeks old, he had received from John Sedley a present of a silver cup; at six months old, a coral with gold whistle and bells; from his youth upwards he was "tipped" regularly by the old gentleman at Christmas: and on going back to school, he remembered perfectly well being thrashed by Joseph Sedley, when the latter was a big, swaggering hobbadyhoy, and George an impudent urchin of ten years old. In a word, George was as familiar with the family as such daily acts of kindness and intercourse could make him.

Osborne was Mr. Sedley's godson, and had been one of the family for three-and-twenty years. At six weeks old, he had received from John Sedley a present of a silver cup; from his youth he was "tipped" regularly by the old gentleman at Christmas: and he remembered being thrashed by Joseph Sedley, when the latter was a big, swaggering hobbadyhoy, and George an impudent urchin of ten years old.


"Do you remember, Sedley, what a fury you were in, when I cut off the tassels of your Hessian boots, and how Miss--hem!--how Amelia rescued me from a beating, by falling down on her knees and crying out to her brother Jos, not to beat little George?"

"Do you remember, Sedley, what a fury you were in, when I cut off the tassels of your Hessian boots, and how Miss - how Amelia rescued me from a beating, by falling on her knees and crying out to her brother not to beat little George?"


Jos remembered this remarkable circumstance perfectly well, but vowed that he had totally forgotten it.

Jos remembered this perfectly well, but vowed that he had forgotten it.


"Well, do you remember coming down in a gig to Dr. Swishtail's to see me, before you went to India, and giving me half a guinea and a pat on the head? I always had an idea that you were at least seven feet high, and was quite astonished at your return from India to find you no taller than myself."

"Well, do you remember coming down in a gig to Dr. Swishtail's to see me, before you went to India, and giving me half a guinea and a pat on the head? I always thought you were at least seven feet high, and was quite astonished at your return to find you no taller than myself."


"How good of Mr. Sedley to go to your school and give you the money!" exclaimed Rebecca, in accents of extreme delight.

"How good of Mr. Sedley to go to your school and give you money!" exclaimed Rebecca.


"Yes, and after I had cut the tassels of his boots too. Boys never forget those tips at school, nor the givers."

"Yes, and after I had cut the tassels of his boots, too."


"I delight in Hessian boots," said Rebecca. Jos Sedley, who admired his own legs prodigiously, and always wore this ornamental chaussure, was extremely pleased at this remark, though he drew his legs under his chair as it was made.

"I delight in Hessian boots," said Rebecca. Jos Sedley, who admired his own legs prodigiously, and always wore Hessians, was extremely pleased at this remark, though he drew his legs under his chair as it was made.


"Miss Sharp!" said George Osborne, "you who are so clever an artist, you must make a grand historical picture of the scene of the boots. Sedley shall be represented in buckskins, and holding one of the injured boots in one hand; by the other he shall have hold of my shirt-frill. Amelia shall be kneeling near him, with her little hands up; and the picture shall have a grand allegorical title, as the frontispieces have in the Medulla and the spelling-book."

"Miss Sharp!" said George Osborne, "you who are so clever an artist, you must make a grand historical picture of the scene of the boots. Sedley shall be shown with an injured boot in one hand; the other shall be holding my shirt. Amelia shall be kneeling with her little hands up; and the picture shall have an allegorical title."


"I shan't have time to do it here," said Rebecca. "I'll do it when--when I'm gone." And she dropped her voice, and looked so sad and piteous, that everybody felt how cruel her lot was, and how sorry they would be to part with her.

"I shan't have time to do it here," said Rebecca. "I'll do it when - when I'm gone." And she dropped her voice, and looked so sad that everybody felt how cruel her lot was, and how sorry they would be to part with her.


"O that you could stay longer, dear Rebecca," said Amelia.

"If only you could stay longer, dear Rebecca," said Amelia.


"Why?" answered the other, still more sadly. "That I may be only the more unhap--unwilling to lose you?" And she turned away her head. Amelia began to give way to that natural infirmity of tears which, we have said, was one of the defects of this silly little thing. George Osborne looked at the two young women with a touched curiosity; and Joseph Sedley heaved something very like a sigh out of his big chest, as he cast his eyes down towards his favourite Hessian boots.

"Why? So that I may be only the more unwilling to lose you?" And she turned away her head. Amelia began to weep. George Osborne looked on with a touched curiosity; and Joseph Sedley heaved something like a sigh, as he cast his eyes down towards his favourite boots.


"Let us have some music, Miss Sedley--Amelia," said George, who felt at that moment an extraordinary, almost irresistible impulse to seize the above-mentioned young woman in his arms, and to kiss her in the face of the company; and she looked at him for a moment, and if I should say that they fell in love with each other at that single instant of time, I should perhaps be telling an untruth, for the fact is that these two young people had been bred up by their parents for this very purpose, and their banns had, as it were, been read in their respective families any time these ten years. They went off to the piano, which was situated, as pianos usually are, in the back drawing-room; and as it was rather dark, Miss Amelia, in the most unaffected way in the world, put her hand into Mr. Osborne's, who, of course, could see the way among the chairs and ottomans a great deal better than she could. But this arrangement left Mr. Joseph Sedley tete-a-tete with Rebecca, at the drawing-room table, where the latter was occupied in knitting a green silk purse.

"Let us have some music, Miss Sedley - Amelia," said George, who felt at that moment an extraordinary impulse to seize her in his arms, and to kiss her. Amelia looked at him for a moment, and if I said they fell in love with each other at that instant, I should be telling an untruth, for these two young people had been bred up by their parents for this very purpose, and their marriage had been planned ten years before.
They went off to the piano, which was in the back drawing-room; and as it was rather dark, Miss Amelia, in the most unaffected way in the world, put her hand into Mr. Osborne's, who, of course, could see a great deal better than she could. But this arrangement left Mr. Joseph Sedley alone with Rebecca, at the drawing-room table, where she was occupied in knitting a green silk purse.


"There is no need to ask family secrets," said Miss Sharp. "Those two have told theirs."


"As soon as he gets his company," said Joseph, "I believe the affair is settled. George Osborne is a capital fellow."

"I believe the affair is settled," said Joseph. "George Osborne is a capital fellow."


"And your sister the dearest creature in the world," said Rebecca. "Happy the man who wins her!" With this, Miss Sharp gave a great sigh.

"And your sister is the dearest creature in the world," said Rebecca. "Happy the man who wins her!" With this, she gave a great sigh.


When two unmarried persons get together, and talk upon such delicate subjects as the present, a great deal of confidence and intimacy is presently established between them. There is no need of giving a special report of the conversation which now took place between Mr. Sedley and the young lady; for the conversation, as may be judged from the foregoing specimen, was not especially witty or eloquent; it seldom is in private societies, or anywhere except in very high-flown and ingenious novels. As there was music in the next room, the talk was carried on, of course, in a low and becoming tone, though, for the matter of that, the couple in the next apartment would not have been disturbed had the talking been ever so loud, so occupied were they with their own pursuits.

When two unmarried persons get together, and talk upon such delicate subjects, a great deal of intimacy is established between them. There is no need to report the conversation which now took place between Mr. Sedley and the young lady; for it was not especially witty or eloquent. As there was music in the next room, the talk was carried on in a low tone, though the other couple would not have been disturbed by a loud conversation, so preoccupied were they.


Almost for the first time in his life, Mr. Sedley found himself talking, without the least timidity or hesitation, to a person of the other sex. Miss Rebecca asked him a great number of questions about India, which gave him an opportunity of narrating many interesting anecdotes about that country and himself. He described the balls at Government House, and the manner in which they kept themselves cool in the hot weather, with punkahs, tatties, and other contrivances; and he was very witty regarding the number of Scotchmen whom Lord Minto, the Governor-General, patronised; and then he described a tiger-hunt; and the manner in which the mahout of his elephant had been pulled off his seat by one of the infuriated animals. How delighted Miss Rebecca was at the Government balls, and how she laughed at the stories of the Scotch aides-de-camp, and called Mr. Sedley a sad wicked satirical creature; and how frightened she was at the story of the elephant! "For your mother's sake, dear Mr. Sedley," she said, "for the sake of all your friends, promise NEVER to go on one of those horrid expeditions."

Almost for the first time in his life, Mr. Sedley found himself talking without timidity to a person of the other sex. Miss Rebecca asked him a great many questions about India, which gave him an opportunity of narrating many interesting anecdotes. He described the balls at Government House, and how they kept themselves cool in hot weather, with punkahs and other contrivances; and he was very witty about the number of Scotchmen whom Lord Minto, the Governor-General, patronised; and then he described a tiger-hunt, and how the mahout of his elephant had been pulled off his seat by an infuriated tiger. How delighted Miss Rebecca was at the Government balls, and how she laughed at the stories of the Scotch aides-de-camp, and called Mr. Sedley a wicked satirical creature; and how frightened she was at the story of the elephant!
"For your mother's sake, dear Mr. Sedley," she said, "promise never to go on one of those horrid expeditions."


"Pooh, pooh, Miss Sharp," said he, pulling up his shirt-collars; "the danger makes the sport only the pleasanter." He had never been but once at a tiger-hunt, when the accident in question occurred, and when he was half killed--not by the tiger, but by the fright. And as he talked on, he grew quite bold, and actually had the audacity to ask Miss Rebecca for whom she was knitting the green silk purse? He was quite surprised and delighted at his own graceful familiar manner.

"Pooh, pooh, Miss Sharp," said he, "the danger makes the sport pleasanter." He had been only once at a tiger-hunt, when the accident in question occurred, and when he was half killed - not by the tiger, but by fright.
As he talked on, he grew quite bold, and actually had the audacity to ask Miss Rebecca for whom she was knitting the green silk purse? He was quite surprised and delighted at his own graceful manner.


"For any one who wants a purse," replied Miss Rebecca, looking at him in the most gentle winning way. Sedley was going to make one of the most eloquent speeches possible, and had begun--"O Miss Sharp, how--" when some song which was performed in the other room came to an end, and caused him to hear his own voice so distinctly that he stopped, blushed, and blew his nose in great agitation.

"For anyone who wants a purse," replied Miss Rebecca, looking at him in the most gentle winning way. Sedley was about to make an eloquent speech, and had begun, "O Miss Sharp, how-" when a song in the other room paused, and made him hear his own voice so distinctly that he stopped, blushed, and blew his nose in great agitation.


"Did you ever hear anything like your brother's eloquence?" whispered Mr. Osborne to Amelia. "Why, your friend has worked miracles."

"Did you ever hear anything like your brother's eloquence?" whispered Mr. Osborne to Amelia at the piano. "Why, your friend has worked miracles."


"The more the better," said Miss Amelia; who, like almost all women who are worth a pin, was a match-maker in her heart, and would have been delighted that Joseph should carry back a wife to India. She had, too, in the course of this few days' constant intercourse, warmed into a most tender friendship for Rebecca, and discovered a million of virtues and amiable qualities in her which she had not perceived when they were at Chiswick together. For the affection of young ladies is of as rapid growth as Jack's bean-stalk, and reaches up to the sky in a night. It is no blame to them that after marriage this Sehnsucht nach der Liebe subsides. It is what sentimentalists, who deal in very big words, call a yearning after the Ideal, and simply means that women are commonly not satisfied until they have husbands and children on whom they may centre affections, which are spent elsewhere, as it were, in small change.

"The more the better," said Miss Amelia, who was a match-maker in her heart, and would have been delighted for Joseph to carry back a wife to India. She had, too, warmed into a most tender friendship for Rebecca, and discovered a million amiable virtues in her which she had not seen when they were at school.


Having expended her little store of songs, or having stayed long enough in the back drawing-room, it now appeared proper to Miss Amelia to ask her friend to sing. "You would not have listened to me," she said to Mr. Osborne (though she knew she was telling a fib), "had you heard Rebecca first."

Having expended her little store of songs, Amelia asked her friend to sing. "You would not have listened to me," she said to Mr. Osborne, "had you heard Rebecca first."


"I give Miss Sharp warning, though," said Osborne, "that, right or wrong, I consider Miss Amelia Sedley the first singer in the world."

"I give Miss Sharp warning, though," said Osborne, "that, right or wrong, I consider Miss Amelia Sedley the best singer in the world."


"You shall hear," said Amelia; and Joseph Sedley was actually polite enough to carry the candles to the piano. Osborne hinted that he should like quite as well to sit in the dark; but Miss Sedley, laughing, declined to bear him company any farther, and the two accordingly followed Mr. Joseph. Rebecca sang far better than her friend (though of course Osborne was free to keep his opinion), and exerted herself to the utmost, and, indeed, to the wonder of Amelia, who had never known her perform so well. She sang a French song, which Joseph did not understand in the least, and which George confessed he did not understand, and then a number of those simple ballads which were the fashion forty years ago, and in which British tars, our King, poor Susan, blue-eyed Mary, and the like, were the principal themes. They are not, it is said, very brilliant, in a musical point of view, but contain numberless good-natured, simple appeals to the affections, which people understood better than the milk-and-water lagrime, sospiri, and felicita of the eternal Donizettian music with which we are favoured now-a-days.

"You shall hear," said Amelia; and Joseph Sedley was actually polite enough to carry the candles to the piano. Rebecca sang far better than her friend (though of course Osborne was free to keep his opinion), and exerted herself to the utmost. Amelia had never known her perform so well. She sang a French song, which Joseph did not understand, and then a number of those simple ballads which were the fashion forty years ago, and in which British tars, our King, blue-eyed Mary, and the like, were the principal themes. They are not very brilliant musically, but contain simple appeals to the affections.


Conversation of a sentimental sort, befitting the subject, was carried on between the songs, to which Sambo, after he had brought the tea, the delighted cook, and even Mrs. Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, condescended to listen on the landing-place.

Sambo, who was bringing the tea, and Mrs. Blenkinsop the housekeeper stopped to listen on the landing.


Among these ditties was one, the last of the concert, and to the following effect:


Ah! bleak and barren was the moor, Ah! loud and piercing was the storm, The cottage roof was shelter'd sure, The cottage hearth was bright and warm--An orphan boy the lattice pass'd, And, as he mark'd its cheerful glow, Felt doubly keen the midnight blast, And doubly cold the fallen snow.

Ah! bleak and barren was the moor,
Ah! loud and piercing was the storm
The cottage roof was shelter'd sure,
The cottage hearth was bright and warm.
An orphan boy the lattice pass'd,
And, as he mark'd its cheerful glow,
Felt doubly keen the midnight blast
And doubly cold the fallen snow.


They mark'd him as he onward prest, With fainting heart and weary limb; Kind voices bade him turn and rest, And gentle faces welcomed him. The dawn is up--the guest is gone, The cottage hearth is blazing still; Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone! Hark to the wind upon the hill!

They mark'd him as he onward prest,
With fainting heart and weary limb;
Kind voices bade him turn and rest,
And gentle faces welcomed him.
The dawn is up-the guest is gone
The cottage hearth is blazing still;
Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone
Hark to the wind upon the hill!


It was the sentiment of the before-mentioned words, "When I'm gone," over again. As she came to the last words, Miss Sharp's "deep-toned voice faltered." Everybody felt the allusion to her departure, and to her hapless orphan state. Joseph Sedley, who was fond of music, and soft-hearted, was in a state of ravishment during the performance of the song, and profoundly touched at its conclusion. If he had had the courage; if George and Miss Sedley had remained, according to the former's proposal, in the farther room, Joseph Sedley's bachelorhood would have been at an end, and this work would never have been written. But at the close of the ditty, Rebecca quitted the piano, and giving her hand to Amelia, walked away into the front drawing-room twilight; and, at this moment, Mr. Sambo made his appearance with a tray, containing sandwiches, jellies, and some glittering glasses and decanters, on which Joseph Sedley's attention was immediately fixed. When the parents of the house of Sedley returned from their dinner-party, they found the young people so busy in talking, that they had not heard the arrival of the carriage, and Mr. Joseph was in the act of saying, "My dear Miss Sharp, one little teaspoonful of jelly to recruit you after your immense--your--your delightful exertions."

As she came to the last words, Miss Sharp's voice faltered. Everybody felt the allusion to her departure, and to her orphan state. Joseph Sedley, who was fond of music, and soft-hearted, was profoundly touched. If he had had the courage, and George and Miss Sedley had stayed in the other room, Joseph's bachelorhood would have been at an end, and this work would never have been written.
But at the close of the song, Rebecca quitted the piano, and walked away into the front drawing-room twilight. Mr. Sambo appeared with a tray containing sandwiches, jellies, and glittering glasses and decanters, on which Joseph's attention was immediately fixed.
When the parents of the house returned from their dinner-party, they found the young people busy talking. Mr. Joseph was just saying, "My dear Miss Sharp, one little teaspoonful of jelly to recruit you after your - your delightful exertions."


"Bravo, Jos!" said Mr. Sedley; on hearing the bantering of which well-known voice, Jos instantly relapsed into an alarmed silence, and quickly took his departure. He did not lie awake all night thinking whether or not he was in love with Miss Sharp; the passion of love never interfered with the appetite or the slumber of Mr. Joseph Sedley; but he thought to himself how delightful it would be to hear such songs as those after Cutcherry--what a distinguee girl she was--how she could speak French better than the Governor-General's lady herself--and what a sensation she would make at the Calcutta balls. "It's evident the poor devil's in love with me," thought he. "She is just as rich as most of the girls who come out to India. I might go farther, and fare worse, egad!" And in these meditations he fell asleep.

"Bravo, Jos!" said Mr. Sedley. Jos instantly relapsed into an alarmed silence, and soon departed. He did not lie awake all night thinking whether or not he was in love with Miss Sharp; the passion of love never interfered with his appetite or sleep; but he thought how delightful it would be to hear such songs as those after dinner - how well she could speak French - and what a sensation she would make at the Calcutta balls.
"It's evident the poor devil's in love with me," thought he. "She is just as rich as most of the girls who come out to India. I might go farther, and fare worse, egad!" And in these meditations he fell asleep.


How Miss Sharp lay awake, thinking, will he come or not to-morrow? need not be told here. To-morrow came, and, as sure as fate, Mr. Joseph Sedley made his appearance before luncheon. He had never been known before to confer such an honour on Russell Square. George Osborne was somehow there already (sadly "putting out" Amelia, who was writing to her twelve dearest friends at Chiswick Mall), and Rebecca was employed upon her yesterday's work. As Joe's buggy drove up, and while, after his usual thundering knock and pompous bustle at the door, the ex-Collector of Boggley Wollah laboured up stairs to the drawing-room, knowing glances were telegraphed between Osborne and Miss Sedley, and the pair, smiling archly, looked at Rebecca, who actually blushed as she bent her fair ringlets over her knitting. How her heart beat as Joseph appeared--Joseph, puffing from the staircase in shining creaking boots--Joseph, in a new waistcoat, red with heat and nervousness, and blushing behind his wadded neckcloth. It was a nervous moment for all; and as for Amelia, I think she was more frightened than even the people most concerned.

How Miss Sharp lay awake, thinking, will he come tomorrow? need not be told here. Tomorrow came, and Mr. Joseph Sedley arrived before luncheon. George Osborne was there already, and Rebecca was knitting her purse.
While the ex-Collector of Boggley Wollah laboured upstairs from his carriage to the drawing-room, knowing glances were telegraphed between Osborne and Miss Sedley. They looked at Rebecca, who actually blushed as she bent her fair ringlets over her knitting. How her heart beat as Joseph appeared, puffing, in shining creaking boots - Joseph, in a new waistcoat, red with heat and nervousness, and blushing behind his wadded neckcloth. It was a nervous moment for all.


Sambo, who flung open the door and announced Mr. Joseph, followed grinning, in the Collector's rear, and bearing two handsome nosegays of flowers, which the monster had actually had the gallantry to purchase in Covent Garden Market that morning--they were not as big as the haystacks which ladies carry about with them now-a-days, in cones of filigree paper; but the young women were delighted with the gift, as Joseph presented one to each, with an exceedingly solemn bow.

Sambo, who announced Mr. Joseph, followed him grinning and bearing two handsome nosegays of flowers, which Joe had actually had the gallantry to buy that morning. The young women were delighted as he presented one to each, with an exceedingly solemn bow.


"Thank you, dear Joseph," said Amelia, quite ready to kiss her brother, if he were so minded. (And I think for a kiss from such a dear creature as Amelia, I would purchase all Mr. Lee's conservatories out of hand.)


"O heavenly, heavenly flowers!" exclaimed Miss Sharp, and smelt them delicately, and held them to her bosom, and cast up her eyes to the ceiling, in an ecstasy of admiration. Perhaps she just looked first into the bouquet, to see whether there was a billet-doux hidden among the flowers; but there was no letter.

"O heavenly, heavenly flowers!" exclaimed Miss Sharp. She smelt them delicately, and held them to her bosom, and cast up her eyes in an ecstasy of admiration. Perhaps she just looked first into the bouquet, to see whether there was a note hidden among the flowers; but there was none.


"Do they talk the language of flowers at Boggley Wollah, Sedley?" asked Osborne, laughing.


"Pooh, nonsense!" replied the sentimental youth. "Bought 'em at Nathan's; very glad you like 'em; and eh, Amelia, my dear, I bought a pine-apple at the same time, which I gave to Sambo. Let's have it for tiffin; very cool and nice this hot weather." Rebecca said she had never tasted a pine, and longed beyond everything to taste one.

"Pooh, nonsense!" replied Joe. "Bought 'em at Nathan's; very glad you like 'em; and Amelia, my dear, I bought a pine-apple at the same time, which I gave to Sambo. Let's have it for tiffin; very cool and nice this hot weather." Rebecca said she had never tasted a pineapple, and longed beyond everything to taste one.


So the conversation went on. I don't know on what pretext Osborne left the room, or why, presently, Amelia went away, perhaps to superintend the slicing of the pine-apple; but Jos was left alone with Rebecca, who had resumed her work, and the green silk and the shining needles were quivering rapidly under her white slender fingers.

So the conversation went on. I don't know why first Osborne, and then Amelia went out of the room; but Jos was left alone with Rebecca, who had resumed her work; the green silk and the shining needles were quivering rapidly under her white slender fingers.


"What a beautiful, BYOO-OOTIFUL song that was you sang last night, dear Miss Sharp," said the Collector. "It made me cry almost; 'pon my honour it did."

"What a beautiful song you sang last night, dear Miss Sharp," said the Collector. "It made me cry almost, 'pon my honour."


"Because you have a kind heart, Mr. Joseph; all the Sedleys have, I think."

"Because you have a kind heart, Mr. Joseph."


"It kept me awake last night, and I was trying to hum it this morning, in bed; I was, upon my honour. Gollop, my doctor, came in at eleven (for I'm a sad invalid, you know, and see Gollop every day), and, 'gad! there I was, singing away like--a robin."

"It kept me awake last night, and I was trying to hum it this morning, upon my honour. Gollop, my doctor, came in at eleven (for I'm a sad invalid, you know, and see Gollop every day), and, gad! there I was, singing away like - a robin."


"O you droll creature! Do let me hear you sing it."


"Me? No, you, Miss Sharp; my dear Miss Sharp, do sing it." "Not now, Mr. Sedley," said Rebecca, with a sigh. "My spirits are not equal to it; besides, I must finish the purse. Will you help me, Mr. Sedley?" And before he had time to ask how, Mr. Joseph Sedley, of the East India Company's service, was actually seated tete-a-tete with a young lady, looking at her with a most killing expression; his arms stretched out before her in an imploring attitude, and his hands bound in a web of green silk, which she was unwinding.

"No, you, Miss Sharp."
"Not now, Mr. Sedley," said Rebecca, with a sigh. "My spirits are not equal to it; besides, I must finish the purse. Will you help me, Mr. Sedley?" And before he had time to ask how, Mr. Joseph Sedley was actually seated tete-a-tete with a young lady, his arms stretched out in an imploring attitude, and his hands bound in a web of green silk, which she was unwinding.


In this romantic position Osborne and Amelia found the interesting pair, when they entered to announce that tiffin was ready. The skein of silk was just wound round the card; but Mr. Jos had never spoken.

In this romantic position Osborne and Amelia found them. The skein of silk was wound round the card; but Mr. Jos had not spoken.


"I am sure he will to-night, dear," Amelia said, as she pressed Rebecca's hand; and Sedley, too, had communed with his soul, and said to himself, "'Gad, I'll pop the question at Vauxhall."

"I am sure he will tonight, dear," Amelia said, as she pressed Rebecca's hand; and Sedley, too, said to himself, "'Gad, I'll pop the question at Vauxhall."


So having prepared the sisters, Dobbin hastened away to the City to perform the rest and more difficult part of the task which he had undertaken. The idea of facing old Osborne rendered him not a little nervous, and more than once he thought of leaving the young ladies to communicate the secret, which, as he was aware, they could not long retain. But he had promised to report to George upon the manner in which the elder Osborne bore the intelligence; so going into the City to the paternal counting-house in Thames Street, he despatched thence a note to Mr. Osborne begging for a half-hour's conversation relative to the affairs of his son George. Dobbin's messenger returned from Mr. Osborne's house of business, with the compliments of the latter, who would be very happy to see the Captain immediately, and away accordingly Dobbin went to confront him.

Dobbin now hastened away to the City to perform the more difficult part of his task. He was nervous at the idea of facing old Osborne, and considered leaving the young ladies to tell the secret. But he had promised to report to George on how the elder Osborne bore the news; so, going to the counting-house in Thames Street, he sent a note to Mr. Osborne begging for a half-hour's conversation about his son's affairs. This was accordingly arranged.

Chapter 24: In Which Mr. Osborne Takes Down the Family Bible


The Captain, with a half-guilty secret to confess, and with the prospect of a painful and stormy interview before him, entered Mr. Osborne's offices with a most dismal countenance and abashed gait, and, passing through the outer room where Mr. Chopper presided, was greeted by that functionary from his desk with a waggish air which farther discomfited him. Mr. Chopper winked and nodded and pointed his pen towards his patron's door, and said, "You'll find the governor all right," with the most provoking good humour.

The Captain, expecting a painful and stormy interview, entered Mr. Osborne's offices with a dismal face. As he passed through the outer room, Mr. Chopper winked and nodded from his desk, saying, "You'll find the governor all right," with provoking good humour.


Osborne rose too, and shook him heartily by the hand, and said, "How do, my dear boy?" with a cordiality that made poor George's ambassador feel doubly guilty. His hand lay as if dead in the old gentleman's grasp. He felt that he, Dobbin, was more or less the cause of all that had happened. It was he had brought back George to Amelia: it was he had applauded, encouraged, transacted almost the marriage which he was come to reveal to George's father: and the latter was receiving him with smiles of welcome; patting him on the shoulder, and calling him "Dobbin, my dear boy." The envoy had indeed good reason to hang his head.

Inside, Osborne rose, shook him heartily by the hand, and said, "How do, my dear boy?" with a cordiality that made poor Dobbin feel doubly guilty. It was he who had brought back George to Amelia: it was he who had encouraged their marriage; and meanwhile George's father was patting him on the shoulder, and calling him "Dobbin, my dear boy."


Osborne fully believed that Dobbin had come to announce his son's surrender. Mr. Chopper and his principal were talking over the matter between George and his father, at the very moment when Dobbin's messenger arrived. Both agreed that George was sending in his submission. Both had been expecting it for some days--and "Lord! Chopper, what a marriage we'll have!" Mr. Osborne said to his clerk, snapping his big fingers, and jingling all the guineas and shillings in his great pockets as he eyed his subordinate with a look of triumph.

Osborne believed that Dobbin had come to announce his son's surrender. He had been talking over the likelihood of this with Mr. Chopper just before Dobbin arrived. Both had been expecting George's submission for some days.
"Lord! Chopper, what a marriage we'll have!" Mr. Osborne said to his clerk, jingling the guineas in his great pockets with triumph.


With similar operations conducted in both pockets, and a knowing jolly air, Osborne from his chair regarded Dobbin seated blank and silent opposite to him. "What a bumpkin he is for a Captain in the army," old Osborne thought. "I wonder George hasn't taught him better manners."

With a knowing air, Osborne regarded Dobbin seated blank and silent opposite him. "What a bumpkin he is for an army Captain," old Osborne thought. "I wonder George hasn't taught him better manners."


At last Dobbin summoned courage to begin. "Sir," said he, "I've brought you some very grave news. I have been at the Horse Guards this morning, and there's no doubt that our regiment will be ordered abroad, and on its way to Belgium before the week is over. And you know, sir, that we shan't be home again before a tussle which may be fatal to many of us." Osborne looked grave. "My s--, the regiment will do its duty, sir, I daresay," he said.

At last Dobbin summoned courage to begin. "Sir, I've brought you some very grave news. I have been at the Horse Guards this morning, and there's no doubt that our regiment will be ordered abroad before the week is over. And you know, sir, that we shan't be home again before a tussle which may be fatal to many of us.
"The regiment will do its duty, sir, I daresay," said Osborne.


"The French are very strong, sir," Dobbin went on. "The Russians and Austrians will be a long time before they can bring their troops down. We shall have the first of the fight, sir; and depend on it Boney will take care that it shall be a hard one."

"The French are very strong, sir," Dobbin went on. "The Russians and Austrians will be a long time bringing their troops down. We shall have the first of the fight, sir; and Boney will take care that it shall be a hard one."


"What are you driving at, Dobbin?" his interlocutor said, uneasy and with a scowl. "I suppose no Briton's afraid of any d---- Frenchman, hey?"

"What are you driving at, Dobbin?" Osborne said, with an uneasy scowl. "I suppose no Briton's afraid of any d___ d Frenchman, hey?"