Amelia's settlement, would enable them to take a snug
place in the country somewhere, in a good sporting
neighbourhood; and he would hunt a little, and farm a
little; and they would be very happy. As for remaining
in the army as a married man, that was impossible.
Fancy Mrs. George Osborne in lodgings in a county
town; or, worse still, in the East or West Indies, with a
society of officers, and patronized by Mrs. Major O'Dowd!
Amelia died with laughing at Osborne's stories about
Mrs. Major O'Dowd. He loved her much too fondly to
subject her to that horrid woman and her vulgarities,
and the rough treatment of a soldier's wife. He didn't
care for himself--not he; but his dear little girl should
take the place in society to which, as his wife, she was
entitled: and to these proposals you may be sure she
acceded, as she would to any other from the same author.
Holding this kind of conversation, and building
numberless castles in the air (which Amelia adorned with all
sorts of flower-gardens, rustic walks, country churches,
Sunday schools, and the like; while George had his
mind's eye directed to the stables, the kennel, and the
cellar), this young pair passed away a couple of hours
very pleasantly; and as the Lieutenant had only that
single day in town, and a great deal of most important
business to transact, it was proposed that Miss Emmy should
dine with her future sisters-in-law. This invitation was
accepted joyfully. He conducted her to his sisters; where
he left her talking and prattling in a way that astonished
those ladies, who thought that George might make
something of her; and he then went off to transact
his business.
In a word, he went out and ate ices at a pastry-cook's
shop in Charing Cross; tried a new coat in Pall Mall;
dropped in at the Old Slaughters', and called for Captain
Cannon; played eleven games at billiards with the
Captain, of which he won eight, and returned to Russell
Square half an hour late for dinner, but in very good
humour.
It was not so with old Mr. Osborne. When that
gentleman came from the City, and was welcomed in the
drawing-room by his daughters and the elegant Miss
Wirt, they saw at once by his face--which was puffy,
solemn, and yellow at the best of times--and by the
scowl and twitching of his black eyebrows, that the heart
within his large white waistcoat was disturbed and
uneasy. When Amelia stepped forward to salute him, which
she always did with great trembling and timidity, he gave
a surly grunt of recognition, and dropped the little hand
out of his great hirsute paw without any attempt to hold
it there. He looked round gloomily at his eldest daughter;
who, comprehending the meaning of his look, which
asked unmistakably, "Why the devil is she here?" said
at once:
"George is in town, Papa; and has gone to the Horse
Guards, and will be back to dinner."
"O he is, is he? I won't have the dinner kept waiting
for him, Jane"; with which this worthy man lapsed into
his particular chair, and then the utter silence in his
genteel, well-furnished drawing-room was only
interrupted by the alarmed ticking of the great French clock.
When that chronometer, which was surmounted by a
cheerful brass group of the sacrifice of Iphigenia, tolled
five in a heavy cathedral tone, Mr. Osborne pulled the
bell at his right hand-violently, and the butler rushed up.
"Dinner!" roared Mr. Osborne.
"Mr. George isn't come in, sir," interposed the man.
"Damn Mr. George, sir. Am I master of the house?
DINNER!~ Mr. Osborne scowled. Amelia trembled. A
telegraphic communication of eyes passed between the other
three ladies. The obedient bell in the lower regions began
ringing the announcement of the meal. The tolling over,
the head of the family thrust his hands into the great
tail-pockets of his great blue coat with brass buttons, and
without waiting for a further announcement strode
downstairs alone, scowling over his shoulder at the four
females.
"What's the matter now, my dear?" asked one of the
other, as they rose and tripped gingerly behind the sire.
"I suppose the funds are falling," whispered Miss Wirt;
and so, trembling and in silence, this hushed female
company followed their dark leader. They took their places
in silence. He growled out a blessing, which sounded as
gruffly as a curse. The great silver dish-covers were
removed. Amelia trembled in her place, for she was next
to the awful Osborne, and alone on her side of the table
--the gap being occasioned by the absence of George.
"Soup?" says Mr. Osborne, clutching the ladle, fixing
his eyes on her, in a sepulchral tone; and having helped
her and the rest, did not speak for a while.
"Take Miss Sedley's plate away," at last he said. "She
can't eat the soup--no more can I. It's beastly. Take away
the soup, Hicks, and to-morrow turn the cook out of
the house, Jane."
Having concluded his observations upon the soup, Mr.
Osborne made a few curt remarks respecting the fish,
also of a savage and satirical tendency, and cursed
Billingsgate with an emphasis quite worthy of the place.
Then he lapsed into silence, and swallowed sundry
glasses of wine, looking more and more terrible, till a
brisk knock at the door told of George's arrival when
everybody began to rally.
"He could not come before. General Daguilet had kept
him waiting at the Horse Guards. Never mind soup or
fish. Give him anything--he didn't care what. Capital
mutton--capital everything." His good humour contrasted
with his father's severity; and he rattled on unceasingly
during dinner, to the delight of all--of one especially,
who need not be mentioned.
As soon as the young ladies had discussed the orange
and the glass of wine which formed the ordinary
conclusion of the dismal banquets at Mr. Osborne's house,
the signal to make sail for the drawing-room was given,
and they all arose and departed. Amelia hoped George
would soon join them there. She began playing some of
his favourite waltzes (then newly imported) at the great
carved-legged, leather-cased grand piano in the drawing-
room overhead. This little artifice did not bring him. He
was deaf to the waltzes; they grew fainter and fainter;
the discomfited performer left the huge instrument
presently; and though her three friends performed some of
the loudest and most brilliant new pieces of their
repertoire, she did not hear a single note, but sate thinking,
and boding evil. Old Osborne's scowl, terrific always, had
never before looked so deadly to her. His eyes followed
her out of the room, as if she had been guilty of something.
When they brought her coffee, she started as
though it were a cup of poison which Mr. Hicks, the
butler, wished to propose to her. What mystery was
there lurking? Oh, those women! They nurse and cuddle
their presentiments, and make darlings of their ugliest
thoughts, as they do of their deformed children.
The gloom on the paternal countenance had also
impressed George Osborne with anxiety. With such
eyebrows, and a look so decidedly bilious, how was he to
extract that money from the governor, of which George
was consumedly in want? He began praising his father's
wine. That was generally a successful means of cajoling
the old gentleman.
"We never got such Madeira in the West Indies, sir, as
yours. Colonel Heavytop took off three bottles of that you
sent me down, under his belt the other day."
"Did he?" said the old gentleman. "It stands me in
eight shillings a bottle."
"Will you take six guineas a dozen for it, sir?" said
George, with a laugh. "There's one of the greatest men in
the kingdom wants some."
"Does he?" growled the senior. "Wish he may get it."
"When General Daguilet was at Chatham, sir, Heavytop
gave him a breakfast, and asked me for some of the
wine. The General liked it just as well--wanted a pipe
for the Commander-in-Chief. He's his Royal Highness's
right-hand man."
"It is devilish fine wine," said the Eyebrows, and they
looked more good-humoured; and George was going to
take advantage of this complacency, and bring the
supply question on the mahogany, when the father, relapsing
into solemnity, though rather cordial in manner, bade
him ring the bell for claret. "And we'll see if that's as
good as the Madeira, George, to which his Royal
Highness is welcome, I'm sure. And as we are drinking it,
I'll talk to you about a matter of importance."
Amelia heard the claret bell ringing as she sat
nervously upstairs. She thought, somehow, it was a
mysterious and presentimental bell. Of the presentiments
which some people are always having, some surely
must come right.
"What I want to know, George," the old gentleman
said, after slowly smacking his first bumper--"what I
want to know is, how you and--ah--that little thing
upstairs, are carrying on?"
"I think, sir, it is not hard to see," George said, with a
self-satisfied grin. "Pretty clear, sir.--What capital wine!"
"What d'you mean, pretty clear, sir?"
"Why, hang it, sir, don't push me too hard. I'm a
modest man. I--ah--I don't set up to be a lady-killer;
but I do own that she's as devilish fond of me as she
can be. Anybody can see that with half an eye."
"And you yourself?"
"Why, sir, didn't you order me to marry her, and ain't
I a good boy? Haven't our Papas settled it ever so long?"
"A pretty boy, indeed. Haven't I heard of your doings,
sir, with Lord Tarquin, Captain Crawley of the Guards,
~the Honourable Mr. Deuceace and that set. Have a care
sir, have a care."
The old gentleman pronounced these aristocratic
names with the greatest gusto. Whenever he met a great
man he grovelled before him, and my-lorded him as only
a free-born Briton can do. He came home and looked
out his history in the Peerage: he introduced his name
into his daily conversation; he bragged about his
Lordship to his daughters. He fell down prostrate and basked
in him as a Neapolitan beggar does in the sun. George
was alarmed when he heard the names. He feared his
father might have been informed of certain transactions
at play. But the old moralist eased him by saying
serenely:
"Well, well, young men will be young men. And the
comfort to me is, George, that living in the best society
in England, as I hope you do; as I think you do; as my
means will allow you to do--"
"Thank you, sir," says George, making his point at
once. "One can't live with these great folks for nothing;
and my purse, sir, look at it"; and he held up a little
token which had been netted by Amelia, and contained
the very last of Dobbin's pound notes.
"You shan't want, sir. The British merchant's son
shan't want, sir. My guineas are as good as theirs,
George, my boy; and I don't grudge 'em. Call on Mr.
Chopper as you go through the City to-morrow; he'll
have something for you. I don't grudge money when I
know you're in good society, because I know that good
society can never go wrong. There's no pride in me. I
was a humbly born man--but you have had advantages.
Make a good use of 'em. Mix with the young nobility.
There's many of 'em who can't spend a dollar to your
guinea, my boy. And as for the pink bonnets (here from
under the heavy eyebrows there came a knowing and not
very pleasing leer)--why boys will be boys. Only there's
one thing I order you to avoid, which, if you do not, I'll
cut you off with a shilling, by Jove; and that's gambling,
"Oh, of course, sir," said George.
"But to return to the other business about Amelia:
why shouldn't you marry higher than a stockbroker's
daughter, George--that's what I want to know?"
"It's a family business, sir,".says George, cracking
filberts. "You and Mr. Sedley made the match a hundred
years ago."
"I don't deny it; but people's positions alter, sir. I don't
deny that Sedley made my fortune, or rather put me in
the way of acquiring, by my own talents and genius, that
proud position, which, I may say, I occupy in the tallow
trade and the City of London. I've shown my gratitude
to Sedley; and he's tried it of late, sir, as my cheque-book
can show. George! I tell you in confidence I don't
like the looks of Mr. Sedley's affairs. My chief clerk,
Mr. Chopper, does not like the looks of 'em, and he's an
old file, and knows 'Change as well as any man in
London. Hulker & Bullock are looking shy at him. He's been
dabbling on his own account I fear. They say the Jeune
Amelie was his, which was taken by the Yankee
privateer Molasses. And that's flat--unless I see Amelia's ten
thousand down you don't marry her. I'll have no lame
duck's daughter in my family. Pass the wine, sir--or
ring for coffee."
With which Mr. Osborne spread out the evening
paper, and George knew from this signal that the
colloquy was ended, and that his papa was about to
take a nap.
He hurried upstairs to Amelia in the highest spirits.
What was it that made him more attentive to her on that
night than he had been for a long time--more eager to
amuse her, more tender, more brilliant in talk? Was it
that his generous heart warmed to her at the prospect of
misfortune; or that the idea of losing the dear little prize
made him value it more?
