Chapter XXXVII: The Subject Continued

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　In the first place, and as a matter of the greatestnecessity, we are bound to describe how a housemay be got for nothing a year. These mansionsare to be had either unfurnished, where, if youhave credit with Messrs. Gillows or Bantings, youcan get them splendidly montees and decoratedentirely according to your own fancy; or they areto be let furnished, a less troublesome andcomplicated arrangement to most parties. It was sothat Crawley and his wife preferred to hire their house.

　　Before Mr. Bowls came to preside over Miss Crawley'shouse and cellar in Park Lane, that lady had hadfor a butler a Mr. Raggles, who was born on the familyestate of Queen's Crawley, and indeed was a youngerson of a gardener there. By good conduct, a handsomeperson and calves, and a grave demeanour, Raggles rosefrom the knife-board to the footboard of the carriage;from the footboard to the butler's pantry. When he hadbeen a certain number of years at the head of MissCrawley's establishment, where he had had good wages,fat perquisites, and plenty of opportunities of saving, heannounced that he was about to contract a matrimonialalliance with a late cook of Miss Crawley's, who hadsubsisted in an honourable manner by the exercise of amangle, and the keeping of a small greengrocer's shop inthe neighbourhood. The truth is, that the ceremony hadbeen clandestinely performed some years back; althoughthe news of Mr. Raggles' marriage was first brought toMiss Crawley by a little boy and girl of seven and eightyears of age, whose continual presence in the kitchenhad attracted the attention of Miss Briggs.

　　Mr. Raggles then retired and personally undertook thesuperintendence of the small shop and the greens. Headded milk and cream, eggs and country-fed pork to hisstores, contenting himself whilst other retired butlerswere vending spirits in public houses, by dealing in thesimplest country produce. And having a good connectionamongst the butlers in the neighbourhood, and asnug back parlour where he and Mrs. Raggles receivedthem, his milk, cream, and eggs got to be adopted bymany of the fraternity, and his profits increased everyyear. Year after year he quietly and modestly amassedmoney, and when at length that snug and complete bachelor'sresidence at No. 201, Curzon Street, May Fair, latelythe residence of the Honourable Frederick Deuceace,gone abroad, with its rich and appropriate furniture bythe first makers, was brought to the hammer, who shouldgo in and purchase the lease and furniture of the housebut Charles Raggles? A part of the money he borrowed, itis true, and at rather a high interest, from a brotherbutler, but the chief part he paid down, and it was withno small pride that Mrs. Raggles found herself sleeping ina bed of carved mahogany, with silk curtains, with aprodigious cheval glass opposite to her, and a wardrobewhich would contain her, and Raggles, and all the family.

　　Of course, they did not intend to occupy permanentlyan apartment so splendid. It was in order to let the houseagain that Raggles purchased it. As soon as a tenantwas found, he subsided into the greengrocer's shop oncemore; but a happy thing it was for him to walk out ofthat tenement and into Curzon Street, and there surveyhis house--his own house--with geraniums in thewindow and a carved bronze knocker. The footmanoccasionally lounging at the area railing, treated him withrespect; the cook took her green stuff at his house andcalled him Mr. Landlord, and there was not one thingthe tenants did, or one dish which they had for dinner,that Raggles might not know of, if he liked.

　　He was a good man; good and happy. The housebrought him in so handsome a yearly income that he wasdetermined to send his children to good schools, andaccordingly, regardless of expense, Charles was sent toboarding at Dr. Swishtail's, Sugar-cane Lodge, andlittle Matilda to Miss Peckover's, Laurentinum House,Clapham.

　　Raggles loved and adored the Crawley family as theauthor of all his prosperity in life. He had a silhouette ofhis mistress in his back shop, and a drawing of thePorter's Lodge at Queen's Crawley, done by that spinsterherself in India ink--and the only addition he made tothe decorations of the Curzon Street House was a printof Queen's Crawley in Hampshire, the seat of Sir WalpoleCrawley, Baronet, who was represented in a gilded cardrawn by six white horses, and passing by a lakecovered with swans, and barges containing ladies in hoops,and musicians with flags and penwigs. Indeed Ragglesthought there was no such palace in all the world, andno such august family.

　　As luck would have it, Raggles' house in Curzon Streetwas to let when Rawdon and his wife returned to London.The Colonel knew it and its owner quite well; the latter'sconnection with the Crawley family had been kept upconstantly, for Raggles helped Mr. Bowls whenever MissCrawley received friends. And the old man not only lethis house to the Colonel but officiated as his butlerwhenever he had company; Mrs. Raggles operating in thekitchen below and sending up dinners of which old MissCrawley herself might have approved. This was the way,then, Crawley got his house for nothing; for thoughRaggles had to pay taxes and rates, and the interest of themortgage to the brother butler; and the insurance of hislife; and the charges for his children at school; and thevalue of the meat and drink which his own family--andfor a time that of Colonel Crawley too--consumed; andthough the poor wretch was utterly ruined by thetransaction, his children being flung on the streets, and himselfdriven into the Fleet Prison: yet somebody must pay evenfor gentlemen who live for nothing a year--and so it wasthis unlucky Raggles was made the representative ofColonel Crawley's defective capital.

　　I wonder how many families are driven to roguery andto ruin by great practitioners in Crawlers way?--howmany great noblemen rob their petty tradesmen,condescend to swindle their poor retainers out of wretchedlittle sums and cheat for a few shillings? When we readthat a noble nobleman has left for the Continent, or thatanother noble nobleman has an execution in his house--and that one or other owes six or seven millions, thedefeat seems glorious even, and we respect the victim inthe vastness of his ruin. But who pities a poor barber whocan't get his money for powdering the footmen's heads;or a poor carpenter who has ruined himself by fixing upornaments and pavilions for my lady's dejeuner; or thepoor devil of a tailor whom the steward patronizes, andwho has pledged all he is worth, and more, to get theliveries ready, which my lord has done him the honourto bespeak? When the great house tumbles down, thesemiserable wretches fall under it unnoticed: as they say inthe old legends, before a man goes to the devil himself,he sends plenty of other souls thither.

　　Rawdon and his wife generously gave their patronageto all such of Miss Crawley's tradesmen and purveyorsas chose to serve them. Some were willing,enough,especially the poor ones. It was wonderful to see thepertinacity with which the washerwoman from Tootingbrought the cart every Saturday, and her bills week after week.Mr. Raggles himself had to supply the greengroceries. Thebill for servants' porter at the Fortune of War publichouse is a curiosity in the chronicles of beer. Everyservant also was owed the greater part of his wages, andthus kept up perforce an interest in the house. Nobody infact was paid. Not the blacksmith who opened the lock;nor the glazier who mended the pane; nor the jobber wholet the carriage; nor the groom who drove it; nor thebutcher who provided the leg of mutton; nor the coalswhich roasted it; nor the cook who basted it; nor theservants who ate it: and this I am given to understand is notunfrequently the way in which people live elegantly onnothing a year.

　　In a little town such things cannot be done withoutremark. We know there the quantity of milk ourneighbour takes and espy the joint or the fowls which aregoing in for his dinner. So, probably, 200 and 202 in CurzonStreet might know what was going on in the housebetween them, the servants communicating through thearea-railings; but Crawley and his wife and his friendsdid not know 200 and 202. When you came to 201 therewas a hearty welcome, a kind smile, a good dinner, anda jolly shake of the hand from the host and hostess there,just for all the world as if they had been undisputedmasters of three or four thousand a year--and so they were,not in money, but in produce and labour--if they didnot pay for the mutton, they had it: if they did not givebullion in exchange for their wine, how should we know?Never was better claret at any man's table than at honestRawdon's; dinners more gay and neatly served. Hisdrawing-rooms were the prettiest, little, modest salonsconceivable: they were decorated with the greatest taste,and a thousand knick-knacks from Paris, by Rebecca:and when she sat at her piano trilling songs with alightsome heart, the stranger voted himself in a littleparadise of domestic comfort and agreed that, if thehusband was rather stupid, the wife was charming, and thedinners the pleasantest in the world.

　　Rebecca's wit, cleverness, and flippancy made her speedilythe vogue in London among a certain class. You sawdemure chariots at her door, out of which stepped verygreat people. You beheld her carriage in the park,surrounded by dandies of note. The little box in the thirdtier of the opera was crowded with heads constantlychanging; but it must be confessed that the ladies heldaloof from her, and that their doors were shut to ourlittle adventurer.

　　With regard to the world of female fashion and itscustoms, the present writer of course can only speak atsecond hand. A man can no more penetrate or under-stand those mysteries than he can know what the ladiestalk about when they go upstairs after dinner. It is onlyby inquiry and perseverance that one sometimes getshints of those secrets; and by a similar diligence everyperson who treads the Pall Mall pavement and frequentsthe clubs of this metropolis knows, either through hisown experience or through some acquaintance with whomhe plays at billiards or shares the joint, something aboutthe genteel world of London, and how, as there are men(such as Rawdon Crawley, whose position we mentionedbefore) who cut a good figure to the eyes of the ignorantworld and to the apprentices in the park, who beholdthem consorting with the most notorious dandies there,so there are ladies, who may be called men's women,being welcomed entirely by all the gentlemen and cutor slighted by all their wives. Mrs. Firebrace is of this sort;the lady with the beautiful fair ringlets whom you seeevery day in Hyde Park, surrounded by the greatest andmost famous dandies of this empire. Mrs. Rockwood isanother, whose parties are announced laboriously in thefashionable newspapers and with whom you see that allsorts of ambassadors and great noblemen dine; andmany more might be mentioned had they to do with thehistory at present in hand. But while simple folks whoare out of the world, or country people with a taste forthe genteel, behold these ladies in their seeming glory inpublic places, or envy them from afar off, persons whoare better instructed could inform them that these enviedladies have no more chance of establishing themselvesin "society," than the benighted squire's wife inSomersetshire who reads of their doings in the Morning Post.Men living about London are aware of these awful truths.You hear how pitilessly many ladies of seeming rank andwealth are excluded from this "society." The franticefforts which they make to enter this circle, the meannessesto which they submit, the insults which they undergo,are matters of wonder to those who take human orwomankind for a study; and the pursuit of fashion underdifficulties would be a fine theme for any very greatperson who had the wit, the leisure, and the knowledge ofthe English language necessary for the compiling ofsuch a history.

　　Now the few female acquaintances whom Mrs. Crawleyhad known abroad not only declined to visit her whenshe came to this side of the Channel, but cut her severelywhen they met in public places. It was curious to see howthe great ladies forgot her, and no doubt not altogethera pleasant study to Rebecca. When Lady Bareacres mether in the waiting-room at the opera, she gathered herdaughters about her as if they would be contaminatedby a touch of Becky, and retreating a step or two, placedherself in front of them, and stared at her little enemy.To stare Becky out of countenance required a severerglance than even the frigid old Bareacres could shoot outof her dismal eyes. When Lady de la Mole, who had riddena score of times by Becky's side at Brussels, met Mrs.Crawley's open carriage in Hyde Park, her Ladyship wasquite blind, and could not in the least recognize herformer friend. Even Mrs. Blenkinsop, the banker's wife,cut her at church. Becky went regularly to church now; itwas edifying to see her enter there with Rawdon by herside, carrying a couple of large gilt prayer-books, andafterwards going through the ceremony with the gravestresignation.

　　Rawdon at first felt very acutely the slights which werepassed upon his wife, and was inclined to be gloomy andsavage. He talked of calling out the husbands or brothersof every one of the insolent women who did not pay aproper respect to his wife; and it was only by the strongest commands and entreaties on her part that he wasbrought into keeping a decent behaviour. "You can'tshoot me into society," she said good-naturedly. "Remember,my dear, that I was but a governess, and you, youpoor silly old man, have the worst reputation for debt, anddice, and all sorts of wickedness. We shall get quite asmany friends as we want by and by, and in the meanwhileyou must be a good boy and obey your schoolmistress ineverything she tells you to do. When we heard that youraunt had left almost everything to Pitt and his wife, doyou remember what a rage you were in? You wouldhave told all Paris, if I had not made you keep yourtemper, and where would you have been now?--inprison at Ste. Pelagie for debt, and not established inLondon in a handsome house, with every comfort aboutyou--you were in such a fury you were ready to murderyour brother, you wicked Cain you, and what goodwould have come of remaining angry? All the rage in theworld won't get us your aunt's money; and it is muchbetter that we should be friends with your brother'sfamily than enemies, as those foolish Butes are. Whenyour father dies, Queen's Crawley will be a pleasant housefor you and me to pass the winter in. If we are ruined,you can carve and take charge of the stable, and I canbe a governess to Lady Jane's children. Ruined!fiddlede-dee! I will get you a good place before that; or Pittand his little boy will die, and we will be Sir Rawdon and mylady. While there is life, there is hope, my dear, and Iintend to make a man of you yet. Who sold your horses foryou? Who paid your debts for you?" Rawdon was obligedto confess that he owed all these benefits to his wife, andto trust himself to her guidance for the future.

　　Indeed, when Miss Crawley quitted the world, and thatmoney for which all her relatives had been fighting soeagerly was finally left to Pitt, Bute Crawley, who foundthat only five thousand pounds had been left to himinstead of the twenty upon which he calculated, was insuch a fury at his disappointment that he vented it insavage abuse upon his nephew; and the quarrel alwaysrankling between them ended in an utter breach ofintercourse. Rawdon Crawley's conduct, on the other hand,who got but a hundred pounds, was such as to astonishhis brother and delight his sister-in-law, who wasdisposed to look kindly upon all the members of herhusband's family. He wrote to his brother a very frank, manly,good-humoured letter from Paris. He was aware, he said,that by his own marriage he had forfeited his aunt'sfavour; and though he did not disguise his disappointmentthat she should have been so entirely relentless towardshim, he was glad that the money was still kept in theirbranch of the family, and heartily congratulated his brotheron his good fortune. He sent his affectionate remembrancesto his sister, and hoped to have her good-will forMrs. Rawdon; and the letter concluded with a postscriptto Pitt in the latter lady's own handwriting. She, too,begged to join in her husband's congratulations. She shouldever remember Mr. Crawley's kindness to her in earlydays when she was a friendless orphan, the instructress ofhis little sisters, in whose welfare she still took thetenderest interest. She wished him every happiness in hismarried life, and, asking his permission to offer herremembrances to Lady Jane (of whose goodness all theworld informed her), she hoped that one day she mightbe allowed to present her little boy to his uncle and aunt,and begged to bespeak for him their good-will andprotection.

　　Pitt Crawley received this communication verygraciously--more graciously than Miss Crawley had receivedsome of Rebecca's previous compositions in Rawdon'shandwriting; and as for Lady Jane, she was so charmedwith the letter that she expected her husband wouldinstantly divide his aunt's legacy into two equal portionsand send off one-half to his brother at Paris.

　　To her Ladyship's surprise, however, Pitt declined toaccommodate his brother with a cheque for thirtythousand pounds. But he made Rawdon a handsome offerof his hand whenever the latter should come to Englandand choose to take it; and, thanking Mrs. Crawley forher good opinion of himself and Lady Jane, he graciouslypronounced his willingness to take any opportunity toserve her little boy.

　　Thus an almost reconciliation was brought aboutbetween the brothers. When Rebecca came to town Pittand his wife were not in London. Many a time she droveby the old door in Park Lane to see whether they hadtaken possession of Miss Crawley's house there. But thenew family did not make its appearance; it was onlythrough Raggles that she heard of their movements--howMiss Crawley's domestics had been dismissed with decentgratuities, and how Mr. Pitt had only once made hisappearance in London, when he stopped for a few daysat the house, did business with his lawyers there, and soldoff all Miss Crawley's French novels to a bookseller outof Bond Street. Becky had reasons of her own whichcaused her to long for the arrival of her new relation."When Lady Jane comes," thought she, "she shall be mysponsor in London society; and as for the women! bah!the women will ask me when they find the men want tosee me."

　　An article as necessary to a lady in this position as herbrougham or her bouquet is her companion. I havealways admired the way in which the tender creatures, whocannot exist without sympathy, hire an exceedingly plainfriend of their own sex from whom they are almostinseparable. The sight of that inevitable woman in herfaded gown seated behind her dear friend in the opera-box, or occupying the back seat of the barouche, isalways a wholesome and moral one to me, as jolly areminder as that of the Death's-head which figured inthe repasts of Egyptian bon-vivants, a strange sardonicmemorial of Vanity Fair. What? even battered, brazen,beautiful, conscienceless, heartless, Mrs. Firebrace, whosefather died of her shame: even lovely, daring Mrs.Mantrap, who will ride at any fence which any man inEngland will take, and who drives her greys in thepark, while her mother keeps a huckster's stall in Bathstill--even those who are so bold, one might fancythey could face anything dare not face the world withouta female friend. They must have somebody to cling to, theaffectionate creatures! And you will hardly see them inany public place without a shabby companion in a dyedsilk, sitting somewhere in the shade close behind them.

　　"Rawdon," said Becky, very late one night, as a partyof gentlemen were seated round her crackling drawing-room fire (for the men came to her house to finish thenight; and she had ice and coffee for them, the best inLondon): "I must have a sheep-dog."

　　"A what?" said Rawdon, looking up from an ecartetable.

　　"A sheep-dog!" said young Lord Southdown. "My dearMrs. Crawley, what a fancy! Why not have a Danishdog? I know of one as big as a camel-leopard, by Jove.It would almost pull your brougham. Or a Persiangreyhound, eh? (I propose, if you please); or a little pugthat would go into one of Lord Steyne's snuff-boxes?There's a man at Bayswater got one with such a nose thatyou might--I mark the king and play--that you mighthang your hat on it."

　　"I mark the trick," Rawdon gravely said. He attendedto his game commonly and didn't much meddle withthe conversation, except when it was about horses andbetting.

　　"What can you want with a shepherd's dog?" the livelylittle Southdown continued.

　　"I mean a moral shepherd's dog," said Becky, laughingand looking up at Lord Steyne.

　　"What the devil's that?" said his Lordship.

　　"A dog to keep the wolves off me," Rebecca continued."A companion."

　　"Dear little innocent lamb, you want one," said themarquis; and his jaw thrust out, and he began to grinhideously, his little eyes leering towards Rebecca.

　　The great Lord of Steyne was standing by the firesipping coffee. The fire crackled and blazed pleasantlyThere was a score of candles sparkling round the mantelpiece, in all sorts of quaint sconces, of gilt and bronze andporcelain. They lighted up Rebecca's figure to admiration,as she sat on a sofa covered with a pattern of gaudyflowers. She was in a pink dress that looked as fresh asa rose; her dazzling white arms and shoulders were half-covered with a thin hazy scarf through which theysparkled; her hair hung in curls round her neck; one of herlittle feet peeped out from the fresh crisp folds of thesilk: the prettiest little foot in the prettiest little sandalin the finest silk stocking in the world.

　　The candles lighted up Lord Steyne's shining bald head,which was fringed with red hair. He had thick bushyeyebrows, with little twinkling bloodshot eyes, surroundedby a thousand wrinkles. His jaw was underhung, andwhen he laughed, two white buck-teeth protrudedthemselves and glistened savagely in the midst of the grin.He had been dining with royal personages, and worehis garter and ribbon. A short man was his Lordship,broad-chested and bow-legged, but proud of the finenessof his foot and ankle, and always caressing his garter-knee.

　　"And so the shepherd is not enough," said he, "todefend his lambkin?"

　　"The shepherd is too fond of playing at cards and goingto his clubs," answered Becky, laughing.

　　" 'Gad, what a debauched Corydon!" said my lord--"what a mouth for a pipe!"

　　"I take your three to two," here said Rawdon, at thecard-table.

　　"Hark at Meliboeus," snarled the noble marquis; "he'spastorally occupied too: he's shearing a Southdown.What an innocent mutton, hey? Damme, what a snowyfleece!"

　　Rebecca's eyes shot out gleams of scornful humour."My lord," she said, "you are a knight of the Order."He had the collar round his neck, indeed--a gift of therestored princes of Spain.

　　Lord Steyne in early life had been notorious for hisdaring and his success at play. He had sat up two daysand two nights with Mr. Fox at hazard. He had wonmoney of the most august personages of the realm: hehad won his marquisate, it was said, at the gaming-table; but he did not like an allusion to those bygonefredaines. Rebecca saw the scowl gathering over his heavybrow.

　　She rose up from her sofa and went and took his coffeecup out of his hand with a little curtsey. "Yes," she said,"I must get a watchdog. But he won't bark at you.And, going into the other drawing-room, she sat down tothe piano and began to sing little French songs in such acharming, thrilling voice that the mollified noblemanspeedily followed her into that chamber, and might be seennodding his head and bowing time over her.

　　Rawdon and his friend meanwhile played ecarte untilthey had enough. The Colonel won; but, say that he wonever so much and often, nights like these, which occurredmany times in the week--his wife having all the talk andall the admiration, and he sitting silent without the circle,not comprehending a word of the jokes, the allusions, themystical language within--must have been ratherwearisome to the ex-dragoon.

　　"How is Mrs. Crawley's husband?" Lord Steyne usedto say to him by way of a good day when they met; andindeed that was now his avocation in life. He wasColonel Crawley no more. He was Mrs. Crawley's husband.

　　About the little Rawdon, if nothing has been said allthis while, it is because he is hidden upstairs in a garretsomewhere, or has crawled below into the kitchen forcompanionship. His mother scarcely ever took notice ofhim. He passed the days with his French bonne as longas that domestic remained in Mr. Crawley's family, andwhen the Frenchwoman went away, the little fellow,howling in the loneliness of the night, had compassion takenon him by a housemaid, who took him out of his solitarynursery into her bed in the garret hard by and comfortedhim.

　　Rebecca, my Lord Steyne, and one or two more werein the drawing-room taking tea after the opera, when thisshouting was heard overhead. "It's my cherub crying forhis nurse," she said. She did not offer to move to go andsee the child. "Don't agitate your feelings by going to lookfor him," said Lord Steyne sardonically. "Bah!" repliedthe other, with a sort of blush, "he'll cry himself to sleep";and they fell to talking about the opera.

　　Rawdon had stolen off though, to look after his sonand heir; and came back to the company when he foundthat honest Dolly was consoling the child. The Colonel'sdressing-room was in those upper regions. He used to seethe boy there in private. They had interviews togetherevery morning when he shaved; Rawdon minor sitting on abox by his father's side and watching the operation withnever-ceasing pleasure. He and the sire were great friends.The father would bring him sweetmeats from the dessertand hide them in a certain old epaulet box, where thechild went to seek them, and laughed with joy ondiscovering the treasure; laughed, but not too loud: for mammawas below asleep and must not be disturbed. She did notgo to rest till very late and seldom rose till after noon.

　　Rawdon bought the boy plenty of picture-books andcrammed his nursery with toys. Its walls were covered withpictures pasted up by the father's own hand and purchasedby him for ready money. When he was off duty withMrs. Rawdon in the park, he would sit up here, passinghours with the boy; who rode on his chest, who pulled hisgreat mustachios as if they were driving-reins, and spentdays with him in indefatigable gambols. The room wasa low room, and once, when the child was not five yearsold, his father, who was tossing him wildly up in hisarms, hit the poor little chap's skull so violently againstthe ceiling that he almost dropped the child, so terrifiedwas he at the disaster.

　　Rawdon minor had made up his face for a tremendoushowl--the severity of the blow indeed authorized thatindulgence; but just as he was going to begin, the fatherinterposed.

　　"For God's sake, Rawdy, don't wake Mamma," hecried. And the child, looking in a very hard and piteousway at his father, bit his lips, clenched his hands, anddidn't cry a bit. Rawdon told that story at the clubs, atthe mess, to everybody in town. "By Gad, sir," heexplained to the public in general, "what a good plucked onethat boy of mine is--what a trump he is! I half-sent hishead through the ceiling, by Gad, and he wouldn't cry forfear of disturbing his mother."

　　Sometimes--once or twice in a week--that lady visitedthe upper regions in which the child lived. She came likea vivified figure out of the Magasin des Modes--blandlysmiling in the most beautiful new clothes and little glovesand boots. Wonderful scarfs, laces, and jewels glitteredabout her. She had always a new bonnet on, and flowersbloomed perpetually in it, or else magnificent curlingostrich feathers, soft and snowy as camellias. She noddedtwice or thrice patronizingly to the little boy, who lookedup from his dinner or from the pictures of soldiers he waspainting. When she left the room, an odour of rose, orsome other magical fragrance, lingered about the nursery.She was an unearthly being in his eyes, superior to hisfather--to all the world: to be worshipped and admiredat a distance. To drive with that lady in the carriage wasan awful rite: he sat up in the back seat and did not dareto speak: he gazed with all his eyes at the beautifullydressed Princess opposite to him. Gentlemen on splendidprancing horses came up and smiled and talked with her.How her eyes beamed upon all of them! Her hand usedto quiver and wave gracefully as they passed. Whenhe went out with her he had his new red dress on. His oldbrown holland was good enough when he stayed at home.Sometimes, when she was away, and Dolly his maid wasmaking his bed, he came into his mother's room. It was asthe abode of a fairy to him--a mystic chamber ofsplendour and delights. There in the wardrobe hung thosewonderful robes--pink and blue and many-tinted. Therewas the jewel-case, silver-clasped, and the wondrousbronze hand on the dressing-table, glistening all overwith a hundred rings. There was the cheval-glass, thatmiracle of art, in which he could just see his ownwondering head and the reflection of Dolly (queerlydistorted, and as if up in the ceiling), plumping and pattingthe pillows of the bed. Oh, thou poor lonely littlebenighted boy! Mother is the name for God in the lips andhearts of little children; and here was one who wasworshipping a stone!

　　Now Rawdon Crawley, rascal as the Colonel was, hadcertain manly tendencies of affection in his heart andcould love a child and a woman still. For Rawdon minorhe had a great secret tenderness then, which did notescape Rebecca, though she did not talk about it to herhusband. It did not annoy her: she was too good-natured. It only increased her scorn for him. He feltsomehow ashamed of this paternal softness and hid itfrom his wife--only indulging in it when alone with theboy.

　　He used to take him out of mornings when they wouldgo to the stables together and to the park. Little LordSouthdown, the best-natured of men, who would makeyou a present of the hat from his head, and whose mainoccupation in life was to buy knick-knacks that he mightgive them away afterwards, bought the little chap apony not much bigger than a large rat, the donor said,and on this little black Shetland pygmy young Rawdon'sgreat father was pleased to mount the boy, and to walkby his side in the park. It pleased him to see his oldquarters, and his old fellow-guardsmen at Knightsbridge:he had begun to think of his bachelorhood withsomething like regret. The old troopers were glad to recognizetheir ancient officer and dandle the little colonel.Colonel Crawley found dining at mess and with hisbrother-officers very pleasant. "Hang it, I ain't cleverenough for her--I know it. She won't miss me," he used tosay: and he was right, his wife did not miss him.

　　Rebecca was fond of her husband. She was alwaysperfectly good-humoured and kind to him. She did noteven show her scorn much for him; perhaps she likedhim the better for being a fool. He was her upper servantand maitre d'hotel. He went on her errands; obeyedher orders without question; drove in the carriage in thering with her without repining; took her to the opera-box,solaced himself at his club during the performance, andcame punctually back to fetch her when due. He wouldhave liked her to be a little fonder of the boy, but evento that he reconciled himself. "Hang it, you know she's soclever," he said, "and I'm not literary and that, youknow." For, as we have said before, it requires no greatwisdom to be able to win at cards and billiards, andRawdon made no pretensions to any other sort of skill.

　　When the companion came, his domestic duties becamevery light. His wife encouraged him to dineabroad: she would let him off duty at the opera. "Don'tstay and stupefy yourself at home to-night, my dear,"she would say. "Some men are coming who will only boreyou. I would not ask them, but you know it's for yourgood, and now I have a sheep-dog, I need not be afraidto be alone."

　　"A sheep-dog--a companion! Becky Sharp with acompanion! Isn't it good fun?" thought Mrs. Crawley toherself. The notion tickled hugely her sense of humour.

　　One Sunday morning, as Rawdon Crawley, his littleson, and the pony were taking their accustomed walk inthe park, they passed by an old acquaintance of theColonel's, Corporal Clink, of the regiment, who was inconversation with a friend, an old gentleman, who helda boy in his arms about the age of little Rawdon. Thisother youngster had seized hold of the Waterloo medalwhich the Corporal wore, and was examining it withdelight.

　　"Good morning, your Honour," said Clink, in reply tothe "How do, Clink?" of the Colonel. "This ere younggentleman is about the little Colonel's age, sir,"continued the corporal.

　　"His father was a Waterloo man, too," said the oldgentleman, who carried the boy. "Wasn't he, Georgy?"

　　"Yes," said Georgy. He and the little chap on the ponywere looking at each other with all their might--solemnlyscanning each other as children do.

　　"In a line regiment," Clink said with a patronizing air.

　　"He was a Captain in the --th regiment," said the oldgentleman rather pompously. "Captain George Osborne,sir--perhaps you knew him. He died the death of ahero, sir, fighting against the Corsican tyrant."Colonel Crawley blushed quite red. "I knew him verywell, sir," he said, "and his wife, his dear little wife,sir--how is she?"

　　"She is my daughter, sir," said the old gentleman,putting down the boy and taking out a card with greatsolemnity, which he handed to the Colonel. On itwritten--

　　"Mr. Sedley, Sole Agent for the Black Diamond andAnti-Cinder Coal Association, Bunker's Wharf, ThamesStreet, and Anna-Maria Cottages, Fulham Road West."

　　Little Georgy went up and looked at the Shetlandpony.

　　"Should you like to have a ride?" said Rawdon minorfrom the saddle.

　　"Yes," said Georgy. The Colonel, who had beenlooking at him with some interest, took up the childand put him on the pony behind Rawdon minor.

　　"Take hold of him, Georgy," he said--"take my littleboy round the waist--his name is Rawdon." And both thechildren began to laugh.

　　"You won't see a prettier pair I think, this summer'sday, sir," said the good-natured Corporal; and theColonel, the Corporal, and old Mr. Sedley with his umbrella,walked by the side of the children.