Vanity Fair - Page 405/573

Briggs looked up from the work-table at which she was seated in the

farther room and gave a deep sigh as she heard the great Marquis speak

so lightly of her sex.

"If you don't turn off that abominable sheep-dog," said Lord Steyne,

with a savage look over his shoulder at her, "I will have her poisoned."

"I always give my dog dinner from my own plate," said Rebecca, laughing

mischievously; and having enjoyed for some time the discomfiture of my

lord, who hated poor Briggs for interrupting his tete-a-tete with the

fair Colonel's wife, Mrs. Rawdon at length had pity upon her admirer,

and calling to Briggs, praised the fineness of the weather to her and

bade her to take out the child for a walk.

"I can't send her away," Becky said presently, after a pause, and in a

very sad voice. Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, and she

turned away her head.

"You owe her her wages, I suppose?" said the Peer.

"Worse than that," said Becky, still casting down her eyes; "I have

ruined her."

"Ruined her? Then why don't you turn her out?" the gentleman asked.

"Men do that," Becky answered bitterly. "Women are not so bad as you.

Last year, when we were reduced to our last guinea, she gave us

everything. She shall never leave me, until we are ruined utterly

ourselves, which does not seem far off, or until I can pay her the

utmost farthing."

"------ it, how much is it?" said the Peer with an oath. And Becky,

reflecting on the largeness of his means, mentioned not only the sum

which she had borrowed from Miss Briggs, but one of nearly double the

amount.

This caused the Lord Steyne to break out in another brief and energetic

expression of anger, at which Rebecca held down her head the more and

cried bitterly. "I could not help it. It was my only chance. I dare

not tell my husband. He would kill me if I told him what I have done.

I have kept it a secret from everybody but you--and you forced it from

me. Ah, what shall I do, Lord Steyne? for I am very, very unhappy!"

Lord Steyne made no reply except by beating the devil's tattoo and

biting his nails. At last he clapped his hat on his head and flung out

of the room. Rebecca did not rise from her attitude of misery until

the door slammed upon him and his carriage whirled away. Then she rose

up with the queerest expression of victorious mischief glittering in

her green eyes. She burst out laughing once or twice to herself, as

she sat at work, and sitting down to the piano, she rattled away a

triumphant voluntary on the keys, which made the people pause under her

window to listen to her brilliant music.