Vanity Fair - Page 25/573

"That was years ago," said Amelia.

"It seems like yesterday, don't it, John?" said Mrs. Sedley to her

husband; and that night in a conversation which took place in a front

room in the second floor, in a sort of tent, hung round with chintz of

a rich and fantastic India pattern, and double with calico of a tender

rose-colour; in the interior of which species of marquee was a

featherbed, on which were two pillows, on which were two round red

faces, one in a laced nightcap, and one in a simple cotton one, ending

in a tassel--in a CURTAIN LECTURE, I say, Mrs. Sedley took her husband

to task for his cruel conduct to poor Joe.

"It was quite wicked of you, Mr. Sedley," said she, "to torment the

poor boy so."

"My dear," said the cotton-tassel in defence of his conduct, "Jos is a

great deal vainer than you ever were in your life, and that's saying a

good deal. Though, some thirty years ago, in the year seventeen

hundred and eighty--what was it?--perhaps you had a right to be vain--I

don't say no. But I've no patience with Jos and his dandified modesty.

It is out-Josephing Joseph, my dear, and all the while the boy is only

thinking of himself, and what a fine fellow he is. I doubt, Ma'am, we

shall have some trouble with him yet. Here is Emmy's little friend

making love to him as hard as she can; that's quite clear; and if she

does not catch him some other will. That man is destined to be a prey

to woman, as I am to go on 'Change every day. It's a mercy he did not

bring us over a black daughter-in-law, my dear. But, mark my words,

the first woman who fishes for him, hooks him."

"She shall go off to-morrow, the little artful creature," said Mrs.

Sedley, with great energy.

"Why not she as well as another, Mrs. Sedley? The girl's a white face

at any rate. I don't care who marries him. Let Joe please himself."

And presently the voices of the two speakers were hushed, or were

replaced by the gentle but unromantic music of the nose; and save when

the church bells tolled the hour and the watchman called it, all was

silent at the house of John Sedley, Esquire, of Russell Square, and the

Stock Exchange.

When morning came, the good-natured Mrs. Sedley no longer thought of

executing her threats with regard to Miss Sharp; for though nothing is

more keen, nor more common, nor more justifiable, than maternal

jealousy, yet she could not bring herself to suppose that the little,

humble, grateful, gentle governess would dare to look up to such a

magnificent personage as the Collector of Boggley Wollah. The petition,

too, for an extension of the young lady's leave of absence had already

been despatched, and it would be difficult to find a pretext for

abruptly dismissing her.