I keep my children out of her sight."
"Lady Jane!" cried Sir Pitt, starting up, "this is really language--"
"I have been a true and faithful wife to you, Sir Pitt," Lady Jane continued, intrepidly; "I have kept my marriage vow as I made it to God and have been obedient and gentle as a wife should.
But righteous obedience has its limits, and I declare that I will not bear that--that woman again under my roof; if she enters it, I and my children will leave it.
She is not worthy to sit down with Christian people.
You--you must choose, sir, between her and me"; and with this my Lady swept out of the room, fluttering with her own audacity, and leaving Rebecca and Sir Pitt not a little astonished at it.
As for Becky, she was not hurt; nay, she was pleased.
"It was the diamond-clasp you gave me," she said to Sir Pitt, reaching him out her hand; and before she left him (for which event you may be sure my Lady Jane was looking out from her dressing-room window in the upper story) the Baronet had promised to go and seek out his brother, and endeavour to bring about a reconciliation.
Rawdon found some of the young fellows of the regiment seated in the mess-room at breakfast, and was induced without much difficulty to partake of that meal, and of the devilled legs of fowls and soda-water with which these young gentlemen fortified themselves.
Then they had a conversation befitting the day and their time of life: about the next pigeon-match at Battersea, with relative bets upon Ross and Osbaldiston; about Mademoiselle Ariane of the French Opera, and who had left her, and how she was consoled by Panther Carr; and about the fight between the Butcher and the Pet, and the probabilities that it was a cross.
Young Tandyman, a hero of seventeen, laboriously endeavouring to get up a pair of mustachios, had seen the fight, and spoke in the most scientific manner about the battle and the condition of the men.
It was he who had driven the Butcher on to the ground in his drag and passed the whole of the previous night with him.
Had there not been foul play he must have won it.
All the old files of the Ring were in it; and Tandyman wouldn't pay; no, dammy, he wouldn't pay.
It was but a year since the young Cornet, now so knowing a hand in Cribb's parlour, had a still lingering liking for toffy, and used to be birched at Eton.
So they went on talking about dancers, fights, drinking, demireps, until Macmurdo came down and joined the boys and the conversation.
He did not appear to think that any especial reverence was due to their boyhood; the old fellow cut in with stories, to the full as choice as any the youngest rake present had to tell--nor did his own grey hairs nor their smooth faces detain him.
Old Mac was famous for his good stories.
He was not exactly a lady's man; that is, men asked him to dine rather at the houses of their mistresses than of their mothers.
There can scarcely be a life lower, perhaps, than his, but he was quite contented with it, such as it was, and led it in perfect good nature, simplicity, and modesty of demeanour.
By the time Mac had finished a copious breakfast, most of the others had concluded their meal.
Young Lord Varinas was smoking an immense Meerschaum pipe, while Captain Hugues was employed with a cigar: that violent little devil Tandyman, with his little bull-terrier between his legs, was tossing for shillings with all his might (that fellow was always at some game or other) against Captain Deuceace; and Mac and Rawdon walked off to the Club, neither, of course, having given any hint of the business which was occupying their minds.
Both, on the other hand, had joined pretty gaily in the conversation, for why should they interrupt it?
Feasting, drinking, ribaldry, laughter, go on alongside of all sorts of other occupations in Vanity Fair--the crowds were pouring out of church as Rawdon and his friend passed down St. James's Street and entered into their Club.
The old bucks and habitues, who ordinarily stand gaping and grinning out of the great front window of the Club, had not arrived at their posts as yet--the newspaper-room was almost empty.
One man was present whom Rawdon did not know; another to whom he owed a little score for whist, and whom, in consequence, he did not care to meet; a third was reading the Royalist (a periodical famous for its scandal and its attachment to Church and King) Sunday paper at the table, and looking up at Crawley with some interest, said,
"Crawley, I congratulate you."
"What do you mean?" said the Colonel.
"It's in the Observer and the Royalist too," said Mr. Smith.
"What?" Rawdon cried, turning very red.
He thought that the affair with Lord Steyne was already in the public prints.
Smith looked up wondering and smiling at the agitation which the Colonel exhibited as he took up the paper and, trembling, began to read.
Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown (the gentleman with whom Rawdon had the outstanding whist account) had been talking about the Colonel just before he came in.
"It is come just in the nick of time," said Smith.
"I suppose Crawley had not a shilling in the world."
"It's a wind that blows everybody good," Mr. Brown said.
"He can't go away without paying me a pony he owes me."
"What's the salary?" asked Smith.
"Two or three thousand," answered the other.
"But the climate's so infernal, they don't enjoy it long.
Liverseege died after eighteen months of it, and the man before went off in six weeks, I hear."
"Some people say his brother is a very clever man.
I always found him a d------ bore," Smith ejaculated.
"He must have good interest, though.
He must have got the Colonel the place."
"He!" said Brown, with a sneer.
"Pooh.
It was Lord Steyne got it."
"How do you mean?"
"A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband," answered the other enigmatically, and went to read his papers.