Vanity Fair - Page 125/573

When, then, Becky told him that the great crisis was near, and the time

for action had arrived, Rawdon expressed himself as ready to act under

her orders, as he would be to charge with his troop at the command of

his colonel. There was no need for him to put his letter into the

third volume of Porteus. Rebecca easily found a means to get rid of

Briggs, her companion, and met her faithful friend in "the usual place"

on the next day. She had thought over matters at night, and

communicated to Rawdon the result of her determinations. He agreed, of

course, to everything; was quite sure that it was all right: that what

she proposed was best; that Miss Crawley would infallibly relent, or

"come round," as he said, after a time. Had Rebecca's resolutions been

entirely different, he would have followed them as implicitly. "You

have head enough for both of us, Beck," said he. "You're sure to get

us out of the scrape. I never saw your equal, and I've met with some

clippers in my time too." And with this simple confession of faith, the

love-stricken dragoon left her to execute his part of the project which

she had formed for the pair.

It consisted simply in the hiring of quiet lodgings at Brompton, or in

the neighbourhood of the barracks, for Captain and Mrs. Crawley. For

Rebecca had determined, and very prudently, we think, to fly. Rawdon

was only too happy at her resolve; he had been entreating her to take

this measure any time for weeks past. He pranced off to engage the

lodgings with all the impetuosity of love. He agreed to pay two

guineas a week so readily, that the landlady regretted she had asked

him so little. He ordered in a piano, and half a nursery-house full of

flowers: and a heap of good things. As for shawls, kid gloves, silk

stockings, gold French watches, bracelets and perfumery, he sent them

in with the profusion of blind love and unbounded credit. And having

relieved his mind by this outpouring of generosity, he went and dined

nervously at the club, waiting until the great moment of his life

should come.

The occurrences of the previous day; the admirable conduct of

Rebecca in refusing an offer so advantageous to her, the secret

unhappiness preying upon her, the sweetness and silence with which she

bore her affliction, made Miss Crawley much more tender than usual. An

event of this nature, a marriage, or a refusal, or a proposal, thrills

through a whole household of women, and sets all their hysterical

sympathies at work. As an observer of human nature, I regularly

frequent St. George's, Hanover Square, during the genteel marriage

season; and though I have never seen the bridegroom's male friends give

way to tears, or the beadles and officiating clergy any way affected,

yet it is not at all uncommon to see women who are not in the least

concerned in the operations going on--old ladies who are long past

marrying, stout middle-aged females with plenty of sons and daughters,

let alone pretty young creatures in pink bonnets, who are on their

promotion, and may naturally take an interest in the ceremony--I say it

is quite common to see the women present piping, sobbing, sniffling;

hiding their little faces in their little useless pocket-handkerchiefs;

and heaving, old and young, with emotion. When my friend, the

fashionable John Pimlico, married the lovely Lady Belgravia Green

Parker, the excitement was so general that even the little snuffy old

pew-opener who let me into the seat was in tears. And wherefore? I

inquired of my own soul: she was not going to be married.