Vanity Fair
poured it into her ear. "George could not give up Amelia--George was
married to her"--and then he related the circumstances of the marriage
as we know them already: how the poor girl would have died had not her
lover kept his faith: how Old Sedley had refused all consent to the
match, and a licence had been got: and Jos Sedley had come from
Cheltenham to give away the bride: how they had gone to Brighton in
Jos's chariot-and-four to pass the honeymoon: and how George counted on
his dear kind sisters to befriend him with their father, as women--so
true and tender as they were--assuredly would do. And so, asking
permission (readily granted) to see her again, and rightly conjecturing
that the news he had brought would be told in the next five minutes to
the other ladies, Captain Dobbin made his bow and took his leave.
He was scarcely out of the house, when Miss Maria and Miss Wirt rushed
in to Miss Osborne, and the whole wonderful secret was imparted to them
by that lady. To do them justice, neither of the sisters was very much
displeased. There is something about a runaway match with which few
ladies can be seriously angry, and Amelia rather rose in their
estimation, from the spirit which she had displayed in consenting to
the union. As they debated the story, and prattled about it, and
wondered what Papa would do and say, came a loud knock, as of an
avenging thunder-clap, at the door, which made these conspirators
start. It must be Papa, they thought. But it was not he. It was only
Mr. Frederick Bullock, who had come from the City according to
appointment, to conduct the ladies to a flower-show.
This gentleman, as may be imagined, was not kept long in ignorance of
the secret. But his face, when he heard it, showed an amazement which
was very different to that look of sentimental wonder which the
countenances of the sisters wore. Mr. Bullock was a man of the world,
and a junior partner of a wealthy firm. He knew what money was, and
the value of it: and a delightful throb of expectation lighted up his
little eyes, and caused him to smile on his Maria, as he thought that
by this piece of folly of Mr. George's she might be worth thirty
thousand pounds more than he had ever hoped to get with her.
"Gad! Jane," said he, surveying even the elder sister with some
interest, "Eels will be sorry he cried off. You may be a fifty
thousand pounder yet."
The sisters had never thought of the money question up to that moment,
but Fred Bullock bantered them with graceful gaiety about it during
their forenoon's excursion; and they had risen not a little in their
own esteem by the time when, the morning amusement over, they drove
back to dinner. And do not let my respected reader exclaim against
this selfishness as unnatural. It was but this present morning, as he
rode on the omnibus from Richmond; while it changed horses, this
present chronicler, being on the roof, marked three little children
playing in a puddle below, very dirty, and friendly, and happy. To
these three presently came another little one. "POLLY," says she, "YOUR
SISTER'S GOT A PENNY." At which the children got up from the puddle
instantly, and ran off to pay their court to Peggy. And as the omnibus
drove off I saw Peggy with the infantine procession at her tail,
marching with great dignity towards the stall of a neighbouring
lollipop-woman.
CHAPTER XXIV
In Which Mr. Osborne Takes Down the Family Bible
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.
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.
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.
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.
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."
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.
"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."
"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?"
"I only mean, that before we go, and considering the great and certain
risk that hangs over every one of us--if there are any differences
between you and George--it would be as well, sir, that--that you
should shake hands: wouldn't it? Should anything happen to him, I
think you would never forgive yourself if you hadn't parted in charity."
As he said this, poor William Dobbin blushed crimson, and felt and
owned that he himself was a traitor. But for him, perhaps, this
severance need never have taken place. Why had not George's marriage
been delayed? What call was there to press it on so eagerly? He felt
that George would have parted from Amelia at any rate without a mortal
pang. Amelia, too, MIGHT have recovered the shock of losing him. It
was his counsel had brought about this marriage, and all that was to
ensue from it. And why was it? Because he loved her so much that he
could not bear to see her unhappy: or because his own sufferings of
suspense were so unendurable that he was glad to crush them at once--as
we hasten a funeral after a death, or, when a separation from those we
love is imminent, cannot rest until the parting be over.
"You are a good fellow, William," said Mr. Osborne in a softened voice;
"and me and George shouldn't part in anger, that is true. Look here.
I've done for him as much as any father ever did. He's had three times
as much money from me, as I warrant your father ever gave you. But I
don't brag about that. How I've toiled for him, and worked and
employed my talents and energy, I won't say. Ask Chopper. Ask
himself. Ask the City of London. Well, I propose to him such a
marriage as any nobleman in the land might be proud of--the only thing
in life I ever asked him--and he refuses me. Am I wrong? Is the
quarrel of MY making? What do I seek but his good, for which I've been
toiling like a convict ever since he was born? Nobody can say there's
anything selfish in me. Let him come back. I say, here's my hand. I
say, forget and forgive. As for marrying now, it's out of the
question. Let him and Miss S. make it up, and make out the marriage
afterwards, when he comes back a Colonel; for he shall be a Colonel, by
G-- he shall, if money can do it. I'm glad you've brought him round.
I know it's you, Dobbin. You've took him out of many a scrape before.
Let him come. I shan't be hard. Come along, and dine in Russell
Square to-day: both of you. The old shop, the old hour. You'll find a
neck of venison, and no questions asked."
This praise and confidence smote Dobbin's heart very keenly. Every
moment the colloquy continued in this tone, he felt more and more
guilty. "Sir," said he, "I fear you deceive yourself. I am sure you
do. George is much too high-minded a man ever to marry for money. A
threat on your part that you would disinherit him in case of
disobedience would only be followed by resistance on his."
"Why, hang it, man, you don't call offering him eight or ten thousand a
year threatening him?" Mr. Osborne said, with still provoking good
humour. "'Gad, if Miss S. will have me, I'm her man. I ain't
particular about a shade or so of tawny." And the old gentleman gave
his knowing grin and coarse laugh.
"You forget, sir, previous engagements into which Captain Osborne had
entered," the ambassador said, gravely.
"What engagements? What the devil do you mean? You don't mean," Mr.
Osborne continued, gathering wrath and astonishment as the thought now
first came upon him; "you don't mean that he's such a d---- fool as to
be still hankering after that swindling old bankrupt's daughter? You've
not come here for to make me suppose that he wants to marry HER? Marry
HER, that IS a good one. My son and heir marry a beggar's girl out of
a gutter. D---- him, if he does, let him buy a broom and sweep a
crossing. She was always dangling and ogling after him, I recollect
now; and I've no doubt she was put on by her old sharper of a father."
"Mr. Sedley was your very good friend, sir," Dobbin interposed, almost
pleased at finding himself growing angry. "Time was you called him
better names than rogue and swindler. The match was of your making.
George had no right to play fast and loose--"
"Fast and loose!" howled out old Osborne. "Fast and loose! Why, hang
me, those are the very words my gentleman used himself when he gave
himself airs, last Thursday was a fortnight, and talked about the
British army to his father who made him. What, it's you who have been
a setting of him up--is it? and my service to you, CAPTAIN. It's you
who want to introduce beggars into my family. Thank you for nothing,