Whilst her appearance was an utter failure (as her husband felt with a
sort of rage), Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's debut was, on the contrary, very
brilliant. She arrived very late. Her face was radiant; her dress
perfection. In the midst of the great persons assembled, and the
eye-glasses directed to her, Rebecca seemed to be as cool and collected
as when she used to marshal Miss Pinkerton's little girls to church.
Numbers of the men she knew already, and the dandies thronged round
her. As for the ladies, it was whispered among them that Rawdon had
run away with her from out of a convent, and that she was a relation of
the Montmorency family. She spoke French so perfectly that there might
be some truth in this report, and it was agreed that her manners were
fine, and her air distingue. Fifty would-be partners thronged round
her at once, and pressed to have the honour to dance with her. But she
said she was engaged, and only going to dance very little; and made her
way at once to the place where Emmy sate quite unnoticed, and dismally
unhappy. And so, to finish the poor child at once, Mrs. Rawdon ran and
greeted affectionately her dearest Amelia, and began forthwith to
patronise her. She found fault with her friend's dress, and her
hairdresser, and wondered how she could be so chaussee, and vowed that
she must send her corsetiere the next morning. She vowed that it was a
delightful ball; that there was everybody that every one knew, and only
a VERY few nobodies in the whole room. It is a fact, that in a
fortnight, and after three dinners in general society, this young woman
had got up the genteel jargon so well, that a native could not speak it
better; and it was only from her French being so good, that you could
know she was not a born woman of fashion.
George, who had left Emmy on her bench on entering the ball-room, very
soon found his way back when Rebecca was by her dear friend's side.
Becky was just lecturing Mrs. Osborne upon the follies which her
husband was committing. "For God's sake, stop him from gambling, my
dear," she said, "or he will ruin himself. He and Rawdon are playing at
cards every night, and you know he is very poor, and Rawdon will win
every shilling from him if he does not take care. Why don't you
prevent him, you little careless creature? Why don't you come to us of
an evening, instead of moping at home with that Captain Dobbin? I dare
say he is tres aimable; but how could one love a man with feet of such
size? Your husband's feet are darlings--Here he comes. Where have you
been, wretch? Here is Emmy crying her eyes out for you. Are you
coming to fetch me for the quadrille?" And she left her bouquet and
shawl by Amelia's side, and tripped off with George to dance. Women
only know how to wound so. There is a poison on the tips of their
little shafts, which stings a thousand times more than a man's blunter
weapon. Our poor Emmy, who had never hated, never sneered all her
life, was powerless in the hands of her remorseless little enemy.