Vanity Fair - Page 107/573

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. When men of a certain sort, ladies, are in love, though they see

the hook and the string, and the whole apparatus with which they are to

be taken, they gorge the bait nevertheless--they must come to it--they

must swallow it--and are presently struck and landed gasping. Rawdon

saw there was a manifest intention on Mrs. Bute's part to captivate him

with Rebecca. He was not very wise; but he was a man about town, and

had seen several seasons. 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 have Miss Sharp one day

for your relation."

"What relation--my cousin, hey, Mrs. Bute? James sweet on her, hey?"

inquired the waggish officer.

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

"Not Pitt? He sha'n't have her. The sneak a'n't worthy 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 will be your mother-in-law; and

that's what will happen."

Rawdon Crawley, Esquire, gave vent to a prodigious whistle, in token of

astonishment at this announcement. He couldn't deny it. His father's

evident liking for Miss Sharp had not escaped him. He knew the old

gentleman's character well; and a more unscrupulous old--whyou--he did

not conclude the sentence, but walked home, curling his mustachios, and

convinced he had found a clue to Mrs. Bute's mystery.

"By Jove, it's too bad," thought Rawdon, "too bad, by Jove! I do

believe the woman wants the poor girl to be ruined, in order that she

shouldn't come into the family as Lady Crawley."

When he saw Rebecca alone, he rallied her about his father's attachment

in his graceful way. She flung up her head scornfully, looked him full

in the face, and said, "Well, suppose he is fond of me. I know he is, and others too. You

don't think I am afraid of him, Captain Crawley? You don't suppose I

can't defend my own honour," said the little woman, looking as stately

as a queen.

"Oh, ah, why--give you fair warning--look out, you know--that's all,"

said the mustachio-twiddler.

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

"O Gad--really--Miss Rebecca," the heavy dragoon interposed.

"Do you suppose I have no feeling of self-respect, because I am poor

and friendless, and because rich people have none? Do you think,

because I am a governess, I have not as much sense, and feeling, and

good breeding as you gentlefolks in Hampshire? I'm a Montmorency. Do

you suppose a Montmorency is not as good as a Crawley?"