Chapter XIV: Miss Crawley at Home

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　About this time there drove up to an exceedingly snugand well-appointed house in Park Lane, a travelling chariotwith a lozenge on the panels, a discontented female in agreen veil and crimped curls on the rumble, and a largeand confidential man on the box. It was the equipage ofour friend Miss Crawley, returning from Hants. Thecarriage windows were shut; the fat spaniel, whose head andtongue ordinarily lolled out of one of them, reposed on thelap of the discontented female. When the vehicle stopped,a large round bundle of shawls was taken out of thecarriage by the aid of various domestics and a younglady who accompanied the heap of cloaks. That bundlecontained Miss Crawley, who was conveyed upstairsforthwith, and put into a bed and chamber warmed properlyas for the reception of an invalid. Messengers went offfor her physician and medical man. They came,consulted, prescribed, vanished. The young companion ofMiss Crawley, at the conclusion of their interview, camein to receive their instructions, and administered thoseantiphlogistic medicines which the eminent men ordered.

　　Captain Crawley of the Life Guards rode up fromKnightsbridge Barracks the next day; his black chargerpawed the straw before his invalid aunt's door. He wasmost affectionate in his inquiries regarding that amiablerelative. There seemed to be much source of apprehension.He found Miss Crawley's maid (the discontentedfemale) unusually sulky and despondent; he found MissBriggs, her dame de compagnie, in tears alone in thedrawing-room. She had hastened home, hearing of herbeloved friend's illness. She wished to fly to her couch,that couch which she, Briggs, had so often smoothed inthe hour of sickness. She was denied admission to MissCrawley's apartment. A stranger was administering hermedicines--a stranger from the country--an odious Miss. . .--tears choked the utterance of the dame decompagnie, and she buried her crushed affections and herpoor old red nose in her pocket handkerchief.

　　Rawdon Crawley sent up his name by the sulky femmede chambre, and Miss Crawley's new companion, comingtripping down from the sick-room, put a little hand intohis as he stepped forward eagerly to meet her, gave aglance of great scorn at the bewildered Briggs, andbeckoning the young Guardsman out of the back drawing-room, led him downstairs into that now desolate dining-parlour, where so many a good dinner had beencelebrated.

　　Here these two talked for ten minutes, discussing, nodoubt, the symptoms of the old invalid above stairs; atthe end of which period the parlour bell was rung briskly,and answered on that instant by Mr. Bowls, MissCrawley's large confidential butler (who, indeed, happened tobe at the keyhole during the most part of the interview);and the Captain coming out, curling his mustachios,mounted the black charger pawing among the straw, tothe admiration of the little blackguard boys collected inthe street. He looked in at the dining-room window,managing his horse, which curvetted and capered beautifully--for one instant the young person might be seen at thewindow, when her figure vanished, and, doubtless, shewent upstairs again to resume the affecting duties ofbenevolence.

　　Who could this young woman be, I wonder? Thatevening a little dinner for two persons was laid in the dining-room--when Mrs. Firkin, the lady's maid, pushed into hermistress's apartment, and bustled about there duringthe vacancy occasioned by the departure of the newnurse--and the latter and Miss Briggs sat down to theneat little meal.

　　Briggs was so much choked by emotion that she couldhardly take a morsel of meat. The young person carved afowl with the utmost delicacy, and asked so distinctly foregg-sauce, that poor Briggs, before whom that deliciouscondiment was placed, started, made a great clatteringwith the ladle, and once more fell back in the mostgushing hysterical state.

　　"Had you not better give Miss Briggs a glass of wine?"said the person to Mr. Bowls, the large confidential man.He did so. Briggs seized it mechanically, gasped it downconvulsively, moaned a little, and began to play with thechicken on her plate.

　　"I think we shall be able to help each other," saidthe person with great suavity: "and shall have no needof Mr. Bowls's kind services. Mr. Bowls, if you please,we will ring when we want you." He went downstairs,where, by the way, he vented the most horrid cursesupon the unoffending footman, his subordinate.

　　"It is a pity you take on so, Miss Briggs," the younglady said, with a cool, slightly sarcastic, air.

　　"My dearest friend is so ill, and wo--o--on't seeme," gurgled out Briggs in an agony of renewed grief.

　　"She's not very ill any more. Console yourself, dearMiss Briggs. She has only overeaten herself--that is all.She is greatly better. She will soon be quite restored again.She is weak from being cupped and from medicaltreatment, but she will rally immediately. Pray consoleyourself, and take a little more wine."

　　"But why, why won't she see me again?" Miss Briggsbleated out. "Oh, Matilda, Matilda, after three-and-twenty years' tenderness! is this the return to your poor,poor Arabella?"

　　"Don't cry too much, poor Arabella," the other said(with ever so little of a grin); "she only won't see you,because she says you don't nurse her as well as I do.It's no pleasure to me to sit up all night. I wish youmight do it instead."

　　"Have I not tended that dear couch for years?"Arabella said, "and now--"

　　"Now she prefers somebody else. Well, sick peoplehave these fancies, and must be humoured. When she'swell I shall go."

　　"Never, never," Arabella exclaimed, madly inhaling hersalts-bottle.

　　"Never be well or never go, Miss Briggs?" the othersaid, with the same provoking good-nature. "Pooh--shewill be well in a fortnight, when I shall go back to mylittle pupils at Queen's Crawley, and to their mother,who is a great deal more sick than our friend. You neednot be jealous about me, my dear Miss Briggs. I am apoor little girl without any friends, or any harm in me.I don't want to supplant you in Miss Crawley's goodgraces. She will forget me a week after I am gone: andher affection for you has been the work of years. Giveme a little wine if you please, my dear Miss Briggs,and let us be friends. I'm sure I want friends."

　　The placable and soft-hearted Briggs speechlesslypushed out her hand at this appeal; but she felt thedesertion most keenly for all that, and bitterly, bitterlymoaned the fickleness of her Matilda. At the end of halfan hour, the meal over, Miss Rebecca Sharp (for such,astonishing to state, is the name of her who has beendescribed ingeniously as "the person" hitherto), wentupstairs again to her patient's rooms, from which, withthe most engaging politeness, she eliminated poor Firkin."Thank you, Mrs. Firkin, that will quite do; how nicelyyou make it! I will ring when anything is wanted." "Thankyou"; and Firkin came downstairs in a tempest ofjealousy, only the more dangerous because she was forcedto confine it in her own bosom.

　　Could it be the tempest which, as she passed thelanding of the first floor, blew open the drawing-room door?No; it was stealthily opened by the hand of Briggs.Briggs had been on the watch. Briggs too well heard thecreaking Firkin descend the stairs, and the clink of thespoon and gruel-basin the neglected female carried.

　　"Well, Firkin?" says she, as the other entered theapartment. "Well, Jane?"

　　"Wuss and wuss, Miss B.," Firkin said, wagging herhead.

　　"Is she not better then?"

　　"She never spoke but once, and I asked her if she felta little more easy, and she told me to hold my stupidtongue. Oh, Miss B., I never thought to have seen thisday!" And the water-works again began to play.

　　"What sort of a person is this Miss Sharp, Firkin? Ilittle thought, while enjoying my Christmas revels in theelegant home of my firm friends, the Reverend LionelDelamere and his amiable lady, to find a stranger hadtaken my place in the affections of my dearest, my stilldearest Matilda!" Miss Briggs, it will be seen by herlanguage, was of a literary and sentimental turn, and hadonce published a volume of poems--"Trills of theNightingale"--by subscription.

　　"Miss B., they are all infatyated about that youngwoman," Firkin replied. "Sir Pitt wouldn't have let hergo, but he daredn't refuse Miss Crawley anything. Mrs.Bute at the Rectory jist as bad--never happy out of hersight. The Capting quite wild about her. Mr. Crawleymortial jealous. Since Miss C. was took ill, she won'thave nobody near her but Miss Sharp, I can't tell forwhere nor for why; and I think somethink has bewidgedeverybody."

　　Rebecca passed that night in constant watching uponMiss Crawley; the next night the old lady slept socomfortably, that Rebecca had time for several hours'comfortable repose herself on the sofa, at the foot of herpatroness's bed; very soon, Miss Crawley was so wellthat she sat up and laughed heartily at a perfectimitation of Miss Briggs and her grief, which Rebeccadescribed to her. Briggs' weeping snuffle, and her mannerof using the handkerchief, were so completely renderedthat Miss Crawley became quite cheerful, to theadmiration of the doctors when they visited her, who usuallyfound this worthy woman of the world, when the leastsickness attacked her, under the most abject depressionand terror of death.

　　Captain Crawley came every day, and received bulletinsfrom Miss Rebecca respecting his aunt's health.This improved so rapidly, that poor Briggs was allowedto see her patroness; and persons with tender heartsmay imagine the smothered emotions of that sentimentalfemale, and the affecting nature of the interview.

　　Miss Crawley liked to have Briggs in a good dealsoon. Rebecca used to mimic her to her face with themost admirable gravity, thereby rendering the imitationdoubly piquant to her worthy patroness.

　　The causes which had led to the deplorable illness ofMiss Crawley, and her departure from her brother'shouse in the country, were of such an unromantic naturethat they are hardly fit to be explained in this genteeland sentimental novel. For how is it possible to hint of adelicate female, living in good society, that she ate anddrank too much, and that a hot supper of lobstersprofusely enjoyed at the Rectory was the reason of anindisposition which Miss Crawley herself persisted wassolely attributable to the dampness of the weather? Theattack was so sharp that Matilda--as his Reverenceexpressed it--was very nearly "off the hooks"; all thefamily were in a fever of expectation regarding the will,and Rawdon Crawley was making sure of at least fortythousand pounds before the commencement of theLondon season. Mr. Crawley sent over a choice parcel oftracts, to prepare her for the change from Vanity Fairand Park Lane for another world; but a good doctorfrom Southampton being called in in time, vanquishedthe lobster which was so nearly fatal to her, and gaveher sufficient strength to enable her to return to London.The Baronet did not disguise his exceeding mortificationat the turn which affairs took.

　　While everybody was attending on Miss Crawley, andmessengers every hour from the Rectory were carryingnews of her health to the affectionate folks there, therewas a lady in another part of the house, being exceedinglyill, of whom no one took any notice at all; and this wasthe lady of Crawley herself. The good doctor shook hishead after seeing her; to which visit Sir Pitt consented,as it could be paid without a fee; and she was left fadingaway in her lonely chamber, with no more heed paid toher than to a weed in the park.

　　The young ladies, too, lost much of the inestimablebenefit of their governess's instruction, So affectionate anurse was Miss Sharp, that Miss Crawley would takeher medicines from no other hand. Firkin had beendeposed long before her mistress's departure from thecountry. That faithful attendant found a gloomy consolationon returning to London, in seeing Miss Briggs sufferthe same pangs of jealousy and undergo the samefaithless treatment to which she herself had been subject.

　　Captain Rawdon got an extension of leave on hisaunt's illness, and remained dutifully at home. He wasalways in her antechamber. (She lay sick in the statebedroom, into which you entered by the little bluesaloon.) His father was always meeting him there; or if hecame down the corridor ever so quietly, his father'sdoor was sure to open, and the hyena face of the oldgentleman to glare out. What was it set one to watchthe other so? A generous rivalry, no doubt, as to whichshould be most attentive to the dear sufferer in the statebedroom. Rebecca used to come out and comfort bothof them; or one or the other of them rather. Both ofthese worthy gentlemen were most anxious to have newsof the invalid from her little confidential messenger.

　　At dinner--to which meal she descended for half anhour--she kept the peace between them: after which shedisappeared for the night; when Rawdon would ride overto the depot of the 150th at Mudbury, leaving his papato the society of Mr. Horrocks and his rum and water.She passed as weary a fortnight as ever mortal spent inMiss Crawley's sick-room; but her little nerves seemedto be of iron, as she was quite unshaken by the duty andthe tedium of the sick-chamber.

　　She never told until long afterwards how painful thatduty was; how peevish a patient was the jovial old lady;how angry; how sleepless; in what horrors of death;during what long nights she lay moaning, and in almostdelirious agonies respecting that future world which shequite ignored when she was in good health.--Picture toyourself, oh fair young reader, a worldly, selfish,graceless, thankless, religionless old woman, writhing in painand fear, and without her wig. Picture her to yourself,and ere you be old, learn to love and pray!

　　Sharp watched this graceless bedside with indomitablepatience. Nothing escaped her; and, like a prudent steward,she found a use for everything. She told many agood story about Miss Crawley's illness in after days--stories which made the lady blush through her artificialcarnations. During the illness she was never out oftemper; always alert; she slept light, having a perfectly clearconscience; and could take that refreshment at almostany minute's warning. And so you saw very few traces offatigue in her appearance. Her face might be a triflepaler, and the circles round her eyes a little blacker thanusual; but whenever she came out from the sick-roomshe was always smiling, fresh, and neat, and looked astrim in her little dressing-gown and cap, as in hersmartest evening suit.

　　The Captain thought so, and raved about her inuncouth convulsions. The barbed shaft of love hadpenetrated his dull hide. Six weeks--appropinquity--opportunity--had victimised him completely. He made aconfidante of his aunt at the Rectory, of all persons in theworld. She rallied him about it; she had perceived hisfolly; she warned him; she finished by owning that littleSharp was the most clever, droll, odd, good-natured,simple, kindly creature in England. Rawdon must nottrifle with her affections, though--dear Miss Crawleywould never pardon him for that; for she, too, was quiteovercome by the little governess, and loved Sharp like adaughter. Rawdon must go away--go back to hisregiment and naughty London, and not play with a poorartless girl's feelings.

　　Many and many a time this good-natured lady,compassionating the forlorn life-guardsman's condition,gave him an opportunity of seeing Miss Sharp at the Rectory,and of walking home with her, as we have seen. Whenmen of a certain sort, ladies, are in love, though theysee the hook and the string, and the whole apparatuswith which they are to be taken, they gorge the baitnevertheless--they must come to it--they must swallowit--and are presently struck and landed gasping. Rawdonsaw there was a manifest intention on Mrs. Bute's partto captivate him with Rebecca. He was not very wise;but he was a man about town, and had seen severalseasons. A light dawned upon his dusky soul, as he thought,through a speech of Mrs. Bute's.

　　"Mark my words, Rawdon," she said. "You will haveMiss Sharp one day for your relation."

　　"What relation--my cousin, hey, Mrs. Bute? Jamessweet on her, hey?" inquired the waggish officer.

　　"More than that," Mrs. Bute said, with a flash fromher black eyes.

　　"Not Pitt? He sha'n't have her. The sneak a'n'tworthy of her. He's booked to Lady Jane Sheepshanks."

　　"You men perceive nothing. You silly, blind creature--if anything happens to Lady Crawley, Miss Sharp willbe your mother-in-law; and that's what will happen."

　　Rawdon Crawley, Esquire, gave vent to a prodigiouswhistle, in token of astonishment at this announcement.He couldn't deny it. His father's evident liking for MissSharp had not escaped him. He knew the old gentleman'scharacter well; and a more unscrupulous old--whyou--he did not conclude the sentence, but walked home,curling his mustachios, and convinced he had found aclue to Mrs. Bute's mystery.

　　"By Jove, it's too bad," thought Rawdon, "too bad, byJove! I do believe the woman wants the poor girl to beruined, in order that she shouldn't come into the familyas Lady Crawley."

　　When he saw Rebecca alone, he rallied her about hisfather's attachment in his graceful way. She flung up herhead scornfully, looked him full in the face, and said,

　　"Well, suppose he is fond of me. I know he is, andothers too. You don't think I am afraid of him, CaptainCrawley? You don't suppose I can't defend my ownhonour," said the little woman, looking as stately as aqueen.

　　"Oh, ah, why--give you fair warning--look out, youknow--that's all," said the mustachio-twiddler.

　　"You hint at something not honourable, then?" saidshe, flashing out.

　　"O Gad--really--Miss Rebecca," the heavy dragooninterposed.

　　"Do you suppose I have no feeling of self-respect,because I am poor and friendless, and because rich peoplehave none? Do you think, because I am a governess, Ihave not as much sense, and feeling, and good breedingas you gentlefolks in Hampshire? I'm a Montmorency.Do you suppose a Montmorency is not as good as aCrawley?"

　　When Miss Sharp was agitated, and alluded to hermaternal relatives, she spoke with ever so slight aforeign accent, which gave a great charm to her clearringing voice. "No," she continued, kindling as she spoke tothe Captain; "I can endure poverty, but not shame--neglect, but not insult; and insult from--from you."

　　Her feelings gave way, and she burst into tears.

　　"Hang it, Miss Sharp--Rebecca--by Jove--upon mysoul, I wouldn't for a thousand pounds. Stop, Rebecca!"

　　She was gone. She drove out with Miss Crawley thatday. It was before the latter's illness. At dinner she wasunusually brilliant and lively; but she would take nonotice of the hints, or the nods, or the clumsy expostulationsof the humiliated, infatuated guardsman. Skirmishesof this sort passed perpetually during the little campaign--tedious to relate, and similar in result. The Crawleyheavy cavalry was maddened by defeat, and routedevery day.

　　If the Baronet of Queen's Crawley had not had thefear of losing his sister's legacy before his eyes, he neverwould have permitted his dear girls to lose the educationalblessings which their invaluable governess was conferringupon them. The old house at home seemed a desertwithout her, so useful and pleasant had Rebeccamade herself there. Sir Pitt's letters were not copied andcorrected; his books not made up; his householdbusiness and manifold schemes neglected, now that his littlesecretary was away. And it was easy to see how necessarysuch an amanuensis was to him, by the tenor andspelling of the numerous letters which he sent to her,entreating her and commanding her to return. Almost everyday brought a frank from the Baronet, enclosing themost urgent prayers to Becky for her return, or conveyingpathetic statements to Miss Crawley, regarding theneglected state of his daughters' education; of whichdocuments Miss Crawley took very little heed.

　　Miss Briggs was not formally dismissed, but her placeas companion was a sinecure and a derision; and hercompany was the fat spaniel in the drawing-room, oroccasionally the discontented Firkin in the housekeeper'scloset. Nor though the old lady would by no meanshear of Rebecca's departure, was the latter regularlyinstalled in office in Park Lane. Like many wealthy people,it was Miss Crawley's habit to accept as much service asshe could get from her inferiors; and good-naturedly totake leave of them when she no longer found themuseful. Gratitude among certain rich folks is scarcely naturalor to be thought of. They take needy people's servicesas their due. Nor have you, O poor parasite and humblehanger-on, much reason to complain! Your friendshipfor Dives is about as sincere as the return which it usuallygets. It is money you love, and not the man; and wereCroesus and his footman to change places you know,you poor rogue, who would have the benefit of yourallegiance.

　　And I am not sure that, in spite of Rebecca's simplicityand activity, and gentleness and untiring goodhumour, the shrewd old London lady, upon whom thesetreasures of friendship were lavished, had not a lurkingsuspicion all the while of her affectionate nurse and friend.It must have often crossed Miss Crawley's mind thatnobody does anything for nothing. If she measured her ownfeeling towards the world, she must have been prettywell able to gauge those of the world towards herself;and perhaps she reflected that it is the ordinary lot ofpeople to have no friends if they themselves care fornobody.

　　Well, meanwhile Becky was the greatest comfort andconvenience to her, and she gave her a couple of newgowns, and an old necklace and shawl, and showed herfriendship by abusing all her intimate acquaintances toher new confidante (than which there can't be a moretouching proof of regard), and meditated vaguely somegreat future benefit--to marry her perhaps to Clump,the apothecary, or to settle her in some advantageousway of life; or at any rate, to send her back to Queen'sCrawley when she had done with her, and the fullLondon season had begun.

　　When Miss Crawley was convalescent and descendedto the drawing-room, Becky sang to her, and otherwiseamused her; when she was well enough to drive out,Becky accompanied her. And amongst the drives whichthey took, whither, of all places in the world, did MissCrawley's admirable good-nature and friendship actuallyinduce her to penetrate, but to Russell Square,Bloomsbury, and the house of John Sedley, Esquire.

　　Ere that event, many notes had passed, as may beimagined, between the two dear friends. During themonths of Rebecca's stay in Hampshire, the eternalfriendship had (must it be owned?) suffered considerablediminution, and grown so decrepit and feeble with oldage as to threaten demise altogether. The fact is, bothgirls had their own real affairs to think of: Rebecca heradvance with her employers--Amelia her own absorbingtopic. When the two girls met, and flew into each other'sarms with that impetuosity which distinguishes thebehaviour of young ladies towards each other, Rebeccaperformed her part of the embrace with the most perfectbriskness and energy. Poor little Amelia blushed as shekissed her friend, and thought she had been guilty ofsomething very like coldness towards her.

　　Their first interview was but a very short one. Ameliawas just ready to go out for a walk. Miss Crawley waswaiting in her carriage below, her people wondering atthe locality in which they found themselves, and gazingupon honest Sambo, the black footman of Bloomsbury,as one of the queer natives of the place. But when Ameliacame down with her kind smiling looks (Rebecca mustintroduce her to her friend, Miss Crawley was longingto see her, and was too ill to leave her carriage)--when,I say, Amelia came down, the Park Lane shoulder-knotaristocracy wondered more and more that such a thingcould come out of Bloomsbury; and Miss Crawley wasfairly captivated by the sweet blushing face of the younglady who came forward so timidly and so gracefully topay her respects to the protector of her friend.

　　"What a complexion, my dear! What a sweet voice!"Miss Crawley said, as they drove away westward afterthe little interview. "My dear Sharp, your young friendis charming. Send for her to Park Lane, do you hear?"Miss Crawley had a good taste. She liked naturalmanners--a little timidity only set them off. She liked prettyfaces near her; as she liked pretty pictures and nicechina. She talked of Amelia with rapture half a dozentimes that day. She mentioned her to Rawdon Crawley,who came dutifully to partake of his aunt's chicken.

　　Of course, on this Rebecca instantly stated that Ameliawas engaged to be married--to a Lieutenant Osborne--a very old flame.

　　"Is he a man in a line-regiment?" Captain Crawleyasked, remembering after an effort, as became aguardsman, the number of the regiment, the --th.

　　Rebecca thought that was the regiment. "TheCaptain's name," she said, "was Captain Dobbin."

　　"A lanky gawky fellow," said Crawley, "tumbles overeverybody. I know him; and Osborne's a goodish-lookingfellow, with large black whiskers?"

　　"Enormous," Miss Rebecca Sharp said, "andenormously proud of them, I assure you."

　　Captain Rawdon Crawley burst into a horse-laugh byway of reply; and being pressed by the ladies to explain,did so when the explosion of hilarity was over. "Hefancies he can play at billiards," said he. "I won twohundred of him at the Cocoa-Tree. He play, the youngflat! He'd have played for anything that day, but his friendCaptain Dobbin carried him off, hang him!"

　　"Rawdon, Rawdon, don't be so wicked," Miss Crawleyremarked, highly pleased.

　　"Why, ma'am, of all the young fellows I've seen outof the line, I think this fellow's the greenest. Tarquin andDeuceace get what money they like out of him. He'd goto the deuce to be seen with a lord. He pays theirdinners at Greenwich, and they invite the company."

　　"And very pretty company too, I dare say."

　　"Quite right, Miss Sharp. Right, as usual, Miss Sharp.Uncommon pretty company--haw, haw!" and theCaptain laughed more and more, thinking he had made agood joke.

　　"Rawdon, don't be naughty!" his aunt exclaimed.

　　"Well, his father's a City man--immensely rich, theysay. Hang those City fellows, they must bleed; and I'venot done with him yet, I can tell you. Haw, haw!"

　　"Fie, Captain Crawley; I shall warn Amelia. Agambling husband!"

　　"Horrid, ain't he, hey?" the Captain said with greatsolemnity; and then added, a sudden thought havingstruck him: "Gad, I say, ma'am, we'll have him here."

　　"Is he a presentable sort of a person?" the auntinquired.

　　"Presentable?--oh, very well. You wouldn't see anydifference," Captain Crawley answered. "Do let's havehim, when you begin to see a few people; and hiswhatdyecallem--his inamorato--eh, Miss Sharp; that's whatyou call it--comes. Gad, I'll write him a note, and havehim; and I'll try if he can play piquet as well as billiards.Where does he live, Miss Sharp?"

　　Miss Sharp told Crawley the Lieutenant's town address;and a few days after this conversation, LieutenantOsborne received a letter, in Captain Rawdon'sschoolboy hand, and enclosing a note of invitation fromMiss Crawley.

　　Rebecca despatched also an invitation to her darlingAmelia, who, you may be sure, was ready enough toaccept it when she heard that George was to be of theparty. It was arranged that Amelia was to spend themorning with the ladies of Park Lane, where all werevery kind to her. Rebecca patronised her with calmsuperiority: she was so much the cleverer of the two, andher friend so gentle and unassuming, that she alwaysyielded when anybody chose to command, and so tookRebecca's orders with perfect meekness and good humour.Miss Crawley's graciousness was also remarkable. Shecontinued her raptures about little Amelia, talked abouther before her face as if she were a doll, or a servant,or a picture, and admired her with the most benevolentwonder possible. I admire that admiration which thegenteel world sometimes extends to the commonalty.There is no more agreeable object in life than to seeMayfair folks condescending. Miss Crawley's prodigiousbenevolence rather fatigued poor little Amelia, and I amnot sure that of the three ladies in Park Lane she didnot find honest Miss Briggs the most agreeable. Shesympathised with Briggs as with all neglected or gentlepeople: she wasn't what you call a woman of spirit.

　　George came to dinner--a repast en garcon withCaptain Crawley.

　　The great family coach of the Osbornes transportedhim to Park Lane from Russell Square; where the youngladies, who were not themselves invited, and professedthe greatest indifference at that slight, nevertheless lookedat Sir Pitt Crawley's name in the baronetage; and learnedeverything which that work had to teach about theCrawley family and their pedigree, and the Binkies, theirrelatives, &c., &c. Rawdon Crawley received George Osbornewith great frankness and graciousness: praised his play atbilliards: asked him when he would have his revenge:was interested about Osborne's regiment: and would haveproposed piquet to him that very evening, but MissCrawley absolutely forbade any gambling in her house;so that the young Lieutenant's purse was not lightenedby his gallant patron, for that day at least. However, theymade an engagement for the next, somewhere: to lookat a horse that Crawley had to sell, and to try him in thePark; and to dine together, and to pass the evening withsome jolly fellows. "That is, if you're not on duty to thatpretty Miss Sedley," Crawley said, with a knowing wink."Monstrous nice girl, 'pon my honour, though, Osborne,"he was good enough to add. "Lots of tin, I suppose, eh?"

　　Osborne wasn't on duty; he would join Crawley withpleasure: and the latter, when they met the next day,praised his new friend's horsemanship--as he might withperfect honesty--and introduced him to three or fouryoung men of the first fashion, whose acquaintanceimmensely elated the simple young officer.

　　"How's little Miss Sharp, by-the-bye?" Osborne inquiredof his friend over their wine, with a dandified air."Good-natured little girl that. Does she suit you well atQueen's Crawley? Miss Sedley liked her a good deal lastyear."

　　Captain Crawley looked savagely at the Lieutenant outof his little blue eyes, and watched him when he went upto resume his acquaintance with the fair governess. Herconduct must have relieved Crawley if there was anyjealousy in the bosom of that life-guardsman.

　　When the young men went upstairs, and afterOsborne's introduction to Miss Crawley, he walked up toRebecca with a patronising, easy swagger. He was goingto be kind to her and protect her. He would even shakehands with her, as a friend of Amelia's; and saying, "Ah,Miss Sharp! how-dy-doo?" held out his left hand towardsher, expecting that she would be quite confounded atthe honour.

　　Miss Sharp put out her right forefinger, and gave hima little nod, so cool and killing, that Rawdon Crawley,watching the operations from the other room, couldhardly restrain his laughter as he saw the Lieutenant'sentire discomfiture; the start he gave, the pause, and theperfect clumsiness with which he at length condescendedto take the finger which was offered for his embrace.

　　"She'd beat the devil, by Jove!" the Captain said, in arapture; and the Lieutenant, by way of beginning theconversation, agreeably asked Rebecca how she liked hernew place.

　　"My place?" said Miss Sharp, coolly, "how kind of youto remind me of it! It's a tolerably good place: the wagesare pretty good--not so good as Miss Wirt's, I believe,with your sisters in Russell Square. How are those youngladies?--not that I ought to ask."

　　"Why not?" Mr. Osborne said, amazed.

　　"Why, they never condescended to speak to me, or toask me into their house, whilst I was staying with Amelia;but we poor governesses, you know, are used to slights ofthis sort."

　　"My dear Miss Sharp!" Osborne ejaculated.

　　"At least in some families," Rebecca continued. "Youcan't think what a difference there is though. We are notso wealthy in Hampshire as you lucky folks of the City.But then I am in a gentleman's family--good oldEnglish stock. I suppose you know Sir Pitt's father refused apeerage. And you see how I am treated. I am prettycomfortable. Indeed it is rather a good place. But howvery good of you to inquire!"

　　Osborne was quite savage. The little governesspatronised him and persiffled him until this youngBritish Lion felt quite uneasy; nor could he muster sufficientpresence of mind to find a pretext for backing outof this most delectable conversation.

　　"I thought you liked the City families pretty well," hesaid, haughtily.

　　"Last year you mean, when I was fresh from thathorrid vulgar school? Of course I did. Doesn't every girl liketo come home for the holidays? And how was I to knowany better? But oh, Mr. Osborne, what a differenceeighteen months' experience makes! eighteen months spent,pardon me for saying so, with gentlemen. As for dearAmelia, she, I grant you, is a pearl, and would be charming anywhere. There now, I see you are beginning to bein a good humour; but oh these queer odd City people!And Mr. Jos--how is that wonderful Mr. Joseph?"

　　"It seems to me you didn't dislike that wonderful Mr.Joseph last year," Osborne said kindly.

　　"How severe of you! Well, entre nous, I didn't breakmy heart about him; yet if he had asked me to do whatyou mean by your looks (and very expressive and kindthey are, too), I wouldn't have said no."

　　Mr. Osborne gave a look as much as to say, "Indeed,how very obliging!"

　　"What an honour to have had you for a brother-in-law,you are thinking? To be sister-in-law to GeorgeOsborne, Esquire, son of John Osborne, Esquire, son of--what was your grandpapa, Mr. Osborne? Well, don't beangry. You can't help your pedigree, and I quite agreewith you that I would have married Mr. Joe Sedley; forcould a poor penniless girl do better? Now you knowthe whole secret. I'm frank and open; considering allthings, it was very kind of you to allude to thecircumstance--very kind and polite. Amelia dear, Mr.Osborne and I were talking about your poor brother Joseph.How is he?"

　　Thus was George utterly routed. Not that Rebecca wasin the right; but she had managed most successfully toput him in the wrong. And he now shamefully fled,feeling, if he stayed another minute, that he would havebeen made to look foolish in the presence of Amelia.

　　Though Rebecca had had the better of him, George wasabove the meanness of talebearing or revenge upon alady--only he could not help cleverly confiding toCaptain Crawley, next day, some notions of his regardingMiss Rebecca--that she was a sharp one, a dangerousone, a desperate flirt, &c.; in all of which opinionsCrawley agreed laughingly, and with every one of which MissRebecca was made acquainted before twenty-four hourswere over. They added to her original regard for Mr.Osborne. Her woman's instinct had told her that it wasGeorge who had interrupted the success of her firstlove-passage, and she esteemed him accordingly.

　　"I only just warn you," he said to Rawdon Crawley,with a knowing look--he had bought the horse, and lostsome score of guineas after dinner, "I just warn you--Iknow women, and counsel you to be on the look-out."

　　"Thank you, my boy," said Crawley, with a look ofpeculiar gratitude. "You're wide awake, I see." AndGeorge went off, thinking Crawley was quite right.

　　He told Amelia of what he had done, and how he hadcounselled Rawdon Crawley--a devilish good,straightforward fellow--to be on his guard against thatlittle sly, scheming Rebecca.

　　"Against whom?" Amelia cried.

　　"Your friend the governess.--Don't look so astonished."

　　"O George, what have you done?" Amelia said. For herwoman's eyes, which Love had made sharp-sighted, hadin one instant discovered a secret which was invisible toMiss Crawley, to poor virgin Briggs, and above all,to the stupid peepers of that young whiskered prig,Lieutenant Osborne.

　　For as Rebecca was shawling her in an upper apartment,where these two friends had an opportunity for alittle of that secret talking and conspiring which formthe delight of female life, Amelia, coming up to Rebecca,and taking her two little hands in hers, said, "Rebecca,I see it all."

　　Rebecca kissed her.

　　And regarding this delightful secret, not one syllablemore was said by either of the young women. But it wasdestined to come out before long.

　　Some short period after the above events, and MissRebecca Sharp still remaining at her patroness's housein Park Lane, one more hatchment might have been seenin Great Gaunt Street, figuring amongst the many whichusually ornament that dismal quarter. It was over SirPitt Crawley's house; but it did not indicate the worthybaronet's demise. It was a feminine hatchment, andindeed a few years back had served as a funeral complimentto Sir Pitt's old mother, the late dowager Lady Crawley.Its period of service over, the hatchment had comedown from the front of the house, and lived in retirementsomewhere in the back premises of Sir Pitt's mansion.It reappeared now for poor Rose Dawson. Sir Pittwas a widower again. The arms quartered on the shieldalong with his own were not, to be sure, poor Rose's.She had no arms. But the cherubs painted on thescutcheon answered as well for her as for Sir Pitt'smother, and Resurgam was written under the coat,flanked by the Crawley Dove and Serpent. Arms andHatchments, Resurgam.--Here is an opportunity formoralising!

　　Mr. Crawley had tended that otherwise friendlessbedside. She went out of the world strengthened by suchwords and comfort as he could give her. For many yearshis was the only kindness she ever knew; the onlyfriendship that solaced in any way that feeble, lonely soul.Her heart was dead long before her body. She had soldit to become Sir Pitt Crawley's wife. Mothers anddaughters are making the same bargain every day inVanity Fair.

　　When the demise took place, her husband was inLondon attending to some of his innumerable schemes,and busy with his endless lawyers. He had found time,nevertheless, to call often in Park Lane, and to despatchmany notes to Rebecca, entreating her, enjoining her,commanding her to return to her young pupils in thecountry, who were now utterly without companionshipduring their mother's illness. But Miss Crawley wouldnot hear of her departure; for though there was no ladyof fashion in London who would desert her friends morecomplacently as soon as she was tired of their society,and though few tired of them sooner, yet as long as herengoument lasted her attachment was prodigious, andshe clung still with the greatest energy to Rebecca.

　　The news of Lady Crawley's death provoked no moregrief or comment than might have been expected in MissCrawley's family circle. "I suppose I must put off myparty for the 3rd," Miss Crawley said; and added, after apause, "I hope my brother will have the decency not tomarry again." "What a confounded rage Pitt will be in ifhe does," Rawdon remarked, with his usual regard for hiselder brother. Rebecca said nothing. She seemed by far thegravest and most impressed of the family. She left theroom before Rawdon went away that day; but they metby chance below, as he was going away after taking leave,and had a parley together.

　　On the morrow, as Rebecca was gazing from the window,she startled Miss Crawley, who was placidly occupiedwith a French novel, by crying out in an alarmedtone, "Here's Sir Pitt, Ma'am!" and the Baronet's knockfollowed this announcement.

　　"My dear, I can't see him. I won't see him. Tell Bowlsnot at home, or go downstairs and say I'm too ill toreceive any one. My nerves really won't bear my brotherat this moment," cried out Miss Crawley, and resumedthe novel.

　　"She's too ill to see you, sir," Rebecca said, trippingdown to Sir Pitt, who was preparing to ascend.

　　"So much the better," Sir Pitt answered. "I want tosee you, Miss Becky. Come along a me into the parlour,"and they entered that apartment together.

　　"I wawnt you back at Queen's Crawley, Miss," thebaronet said, fixing his eyes upon her, and taking off hisblack gloves and his hat with its great crape hat-band.His eyes had such a strange look, and fixed upon her sosteadfastly, that Rebecca Sharp began almost to tremble.

　　"I hope to come soon," she said in a low voice, "assoon as Miss Crawley is better--and return to--to thedear children."

　　"You've said so these three months, Becky," repliedSir Pitt, "and still you go hanging on to my sister, who'llfling you off like an old shoe, when she's wore you out.I tell you I want you. I'm going back to the Vuneral.Will you come back? Yes or no?"

　　"I daren't--I don't think--it would be right--to bealone--with you, sir," Becky said, seemingly in greatagitation.

　　"I say agin, I want you," Sir Pitt said, thumping thetable. "I can't git on without you. I didn't see what it wastill you went away. The house all goes wrong. It's notthe same place. All my accounts has got muddled agin.You must come back. Do come back. Dear Becky, docome."

　　"Come--as what, sir?" Rebecca gasped out.

　　"Come as Lady Crawley, if you like," the Baronetsaid, grasping his crape hat. "There! will that zatusfy you?Come back and be my wife. Your vit vor't. Birth behanged. You're as good a lady as ever I see. You've gotmore brains in your little vinger than any baronet's wifein the county. Will you come? Yes or no?"

　　"Oh, Sir Pitt!" Rebecca said, very much moved.

　　"Say yes, Becky," Sir Pitt continued. "I'm an old man,but a good'n. I'm good for twenty years. I'll make youhappy, zee if I don't. You shall do what you like; spendwhat you like; and 'ave it all your own way. I'll makeyou a zettlement. I'll do everything reglar. Look year!"and the old man fell down on his knees and leered ather like a satyr.

　　Rebecca started back a picture of consternation. Inthe course of this history we have never seen her lose herpresence of mind; but she did now, and wept some of themost genuine tears that ever fell from her eyes.

　　"Oh, Sir Pitt!" she said. "Oh, sir--I--I'm marriedalready."