Vanity Fair - Page 94/573

She complimented the Lieutenant in an appropriate speech over a glass

of whisky-toddy that evening, and he went home perfectly furious to

quarrel with Dobbin (who had declined Mrs. Major O'Dowd's party, and

sat in his own room playing the flute, and, I believe, writing poetry

in a very melancholy manner)--to quarrel with Dobbin for betraying his

secret.

"Who the deuce asked you to talk about my affairs?" Osborne shouted

indignantly. "Why the devil is all the regiment to know that I am

going to be married? Why is that tattling old harridan, Peggy O'Dowd,

to make free with my name at her d--d supper-table, and advertise my

engagement over the three kingdoms? After all, what right have you to

say I am engaged, or to meddle in my business at all, Dobbin?"

"It seems to me," Captain Dobbin began.

"Seems be hanged, Dobbin," his junior interrupted him. "I am under

obligations to you, I know it, a d--d deal too well too; but I won't be

always sermonised by you because you're five years my senior. I'm

hanged if I'll stand your airs of superiority and infernal pity and

patronage. Pity and patronage! I should like to know in what I'm your

inferior?"

"Are you engaged?" Captain Dobbin interposed.

"What the devil's that to you or any one here if I am?"

"Are you ashamed of it?" Dobbin resumed.

"What right have you to ask me that question, sir? I should like to

know," George said.

"Good God, you don't mean to say you want to break off?" asked Dobbin,

starting up.

"In other words, you ask me if I'm a man of honour," said Osborne,

fiercely; "is that what you mean? You've adopted such a tone regarding

me lately that I'm ------ if I'll bear it any more."

"What have I done? I've told you you were neglecting a sweet girl,

George. I've told you that when you go to town you ought to go to her,

and not to the gambling-houses about St. James's."

"You want your money back, I suppose," said George, with a sneer.

"Of course I do--I always did, didn't I?" says Dobbin. "You speak like

a generous fellow."

"No, hang it, William, I beg your pardon"--here George interposed in a

fit of remorse; "you have been my friend in a hundred ways, Heaven

knows. You've got me out of a score of scrapes. When Crawley of the

Guards won that sum of money of me I should have been done but for you:

I know I should. But you shouldn't deal so hardly with me; you

shouldn't be always catechising me. I am very fond of Amelia; I adore

her, and that sort of thing. Don't look angry. She's faultless; I

know she is. But you see there's no fun in winning a thing unless you

play for it. Hang it: the regiment's just back from the West Indies, I

must have a little fling, and then when I'm married I'll reform; I will

upon my honour, now. And--I say--Dob--don't be angry with me, and

I'll give you a hundred next month, when I know my father will stand

something handsome; and I'll ask Heavytop for leave, and I'll go to

town, and see Amelia to-morrow--there now, will that satisfy you?"