he could gently and gradually bring the Misses Osborne
to a knowledge of their brother's secret.
By a little inquiry regarding his mother's engagements,
he was pretty soon able to find out by whom of her ladyship's
friends parties were given at that season; where
he would be likely to meet Osborne's sisters; and, though
he had that abhorrence of routs and evening parties
which many sensible men, alas! entertain, he soon found
one where the Misses Osborne were to be present.
Making his appearance at the ball, where he danced a couple
of sets with both of them, and was prodigiously polite, he
actually had the courage to ask Miss Osborne for a few
minutes' conversation at an early hour the next day, when
he had, he said, to communicate to her news of the
very greatest interest.
What was it that made her start back, and gaze upon
him for a moment, and then on the ground at her feet,
and make as if she would faint on his arm, had he not by
opportunely treading on her toes, brought the young lady
back to self-control? Why was she so violently agitated
at Dobbin's request? This can never be known. But when
he came the next day, Maria was not in the drawing-room
with her sister, and Miss Wirt went off for the purpose
of fetching the latter, and the Captain and Miss Osborne
were left together. They were both so silent that the ticktock
of the Sacrifice of Iphigenia clock on the mantelpiece
became quite rudely audible.
"What a nice party it was last night," Miss Osborne at
length began, encouragingly; "and--and how you're
improved in your dancing, Captain Dobbin. Surely somebody
has taught you," she added, with amiable archness.
"You should see me dance a reel with Mrs. Major
O'Dowd of ours; and a jig--did you ever see a jig? But
I think anybody could dance with you, Miss Osborne,
who dance so well."
"Is the Major's lady young and beautiful, Captain?" the
fair questioner continued. "Ah, what a terrible thing it
must be to be a soldier's wife! I wonder they have any
spirits to dance, and in these dreadful times of war, too!
O Captain Dobbin, I tremble sometimes when I think of
our dearest George, and the dangers of the poor soldier.
Are there many married officers of the --th, Captain
Dobbin?"
"Upon my word, she's playing her hand rather too
openly," Miss Wirt thought; but this observation is merely
parenthetic, and was not heard through the crevice of
the door at which the governess uttered it.
"One of our young men is just married," Dobbin said,
now coming to the point. "It was a very old attachment,
and the young couple are as poor as church mice."
"O, how delightful! O, how romantic!" Miss Osborne
cried, as the Captain said "old attachment" and "poor."
Her sympathy encouraged him.
"The finest young fellow in the regiment," he continued.
"Not a braver or handsomer officer in the army; and
such a charming wife! How you would like her! how
you will like her when you know her, Miss Osborne." The
young lady thought the actual moment had arrived, and
that Dobbin's nervousness which now came on and was
visible in many twitchings of his face, in his manner of
beating the ground with his great feet, in the rapid
buttoning and unbuttoning of his frock-coat, &c.--Miss
Osborne, I say, thought that when he had given himself a
little air, he would unbosom himself entirely, and
prepared eagerly to listen. And the clock, in the altar on
which Iphigenia was situated, beginning, after a preparatory
convulsion, to toll twelve, the mere tolling seemed
as if it would last until one--so prolonged was the knell
to the anxious spinster.
"But it's not about marriage that I came to speak--
that is that marriage--that is--no, I mean--my dear
Miss Osborne, it's about our dear friend George,"
Dobbin said.
"About George?" she said in a tone so discomfited
that Maria and Miss Wirt laughed at the other side of
the door, and even that abandoned wretch of a Dobbin
felt inclined to smile himself; for he was not altogether
unconscious of the state of affairs: George having often
bantered him gracefully and said, "Hang it, Will, why
don't you take old Jane? She'll have you if you ask her.
I'll bet you five to two she will."
"Yes, about George, then," he continued. "There has
been a difference between him and Mr. Osborne. And I
regard him so much--for you know we have been like
brothers--that I hope and pray the quarrel may be
settled. We must go abroad, Miss Osborne. We may be
ordered off at a day's warning. Who knows what may
happen in the campaign? Don't be agitated, dear Miss
Osborne; and those two at least should part friends."
"There has been no quarrel, Captain Dobbin, except
a little usual scene with Papa," the lady said. "We are
expecting George back daily. What Papa wanted was only
for his good. He has but to come back, and I'm sure all
will be well; and dear Rhoda, who went away from here
in sad sad anger, I know will forgive him. Woman forgives
but too readily, Captain."
"Such an angel as YOU I am sure would," Mr. Dobbin
said, with atrocious astuteness. "And no man can pardon
himself for giving a woman pain. What would you feel,
if a man were faithless to you?"
"I should perish--I should throw myself out of window--
I should take poison--I should pine and die. I
know I should," Miss cried, who had nevertheless gone
through one or two affairs of the heart without any idea
of suicide.
"And there are others," Dobbin continued, "as true
and as kind-hearted as yourself. I'm not speaking about
the West Indian heiress, Miss Osborne, but about a poor
girl whom George once loved, and who was bred from
her childhood to think of nobody but him. I've seen her
in her poverty uncomplaining, broken-hearted, without a
fault. It is of Miss Sedley I speak. Dear Miss Osborne,
can your generous heart quarrel with your brother for
being faithful to her? Could his own conscience ever
forgive him if he deserted her? Be her friend--she always
loved you--and--and I am come here charged by George
to tell you that he holds his engagement to her as the
most sacred duty he has; and to entreat you, at least,
to be on his side."
When any strong emotion took possession of Mr. Dobbin,
and after the first word or two of hesitation, he could
speak with perfect fluency, and it was evident that his
eloquence on this occasion made some impression upon
the lady whom he addressed.
"Well," said she, "this is--most surprising--most painful--
most extraordinary--what will Papa say?--that
George should fling away such a superb establishment as
was offered to him but at any rate he has found a very
brave champion in you, Captain Dobbin. It is of no use,
however," she continued, after a pause; "I feel for poor
Miss Sedley, most certainly--most sincerely, you know.
We never thought the match a good one, though we were
always very kind to her here--very. But Papa will never
consent, I am sure. And a well brought up young woman,
you know--with a well-regulated mind, must--George
must give her up, dear Captain Dobbin, indeed he must."
"Ought a man to give up the woman he loved, just
when misfortune befell her?" Dobbin said, holding out
his hand. "Dear Miss Osborne, is this the counsel I hear
from you? My dear young lady! you must befriend her.
He can't give her up. He must not give her up. Would a
man, think you, give YOU up if you were poor?"
This adroit question touched the heart of Miss Jane
Osborne not a little. "I don't know whether we poor girls
ought to believe what you men say, Captain," she said.
"There is that in woman's tenderness which induces her
to believe too easily. I'm afraid you are cruel, cruel
deceivers,"--and Dobbin certainly thought he felt a
pressure of the hand which Miss Osborne had extended
to him.
He dropped it in some alarm. "Deceivers!" said he.
"No, dear Miss Osborne, all men are not; your brother
is not; George has loved Amelia Sedley ever since they
were children; no wealth would make him marry any but
her. Ought he to forsake her? Would you counsel him to
do so?"
What could Miss Jane say to such a question, and with
her own peculiar views? She could not answer it, so she
parried it by saying, "Well, if you are not a deceiver, at
least you are very romantic"; and Captain William let
this observation pass without challenge.
At length when, by the help of farther polite speeches,
he deemed that Miss Osborne was sufficiently prepared to
receive the whole news, he poured it into her ear.
"George could not give up Amelia--George was married
to her"--and then he related the circumstances of the
marriage as we know them already: how the poor girl
would have died had not her lover kept his faith: how
Old Sedley had refused all consent to the match, and a
licence had been got: and Jos Sedley had come from
Cheltenham to give away the bride: how they had gone
to Brighton in Jos's chariot-and-four to pass the honeymoon:
and how George counted on his dear kind sisters to
befriend him with their father, as women--so true
and tender as they were--assuredly would do. And so,
asking permission (readily granted) to see her again, and
rightly conjecturing that the news he had brought would
be told in the next five minutes to the other ladies,
Captain Dobbin made his bow and took his leave.
He was scarcely out of the house, when Miss Maria
and Miss Wirt rushed in to Miss Osborne, and the
whole wonderful secret was imparted to them by that
lady. To do them justice, neither of the sisters was very
much displeased. There is something about a runaway
match with which few ladies can be seriously angry, and
Amelia rather rose in their estimation, from the spirit
which she had displayed in consenting to the union. As
they debated the story, and prattled about it, and wondered
what Papa would do and say, came a loud knock,
as of an avenging thunder-clap, at the door, which made
these conspirators start. It must be Papa, they thought.
But it was not he. It was only Mr. Frederick Bullock,
who had come from the City according to appointment,
to conduct the ladies to a flower-show.
This gentleman, as may be imagined, was not kept
long in ignorance of the secret. But his face, when he
heard it, showed an amazement which was very different
to that look of sentimental wonder which the countenances
of the sisters wore. Mr. Bullock was a man of the world,
and a junior partner of a wealthy firm. He knew what
money was, and the value of it: and a delightful throb
of expectation lighted up his little eyes, and caused him
to smile on his Maria, as he thought that by this piece
of folly of Mr. George's she might be worth thirty
thousand pounds more than he had ever hoped to
get with her.
"Gad! Jane," said he, surveying even the elder sister
with some interest, "Eels will be sorry he cried off. You
may be a fifty thousand pounder yet."
The sisters had never thought of the money question
up to that moment, but Fred Bullock bantered them
with graceful gaiety about it during their forenoon's
excursion; and they had risen not a little in their own
esteem by the time when, the morning amusement over,
they drove back to dinner. And do not let my respected
reader exclaim against this selfishness as unnatural. It
was but this present morning, as he rode on the omnibus
from Richmond; while it changed horses, this present
chronicler, being on the roof, marked three little children
playing in a puddle below, very dirty, and friendly, and
happy. To these three presently came another little one.
"POLLY," says she, "YOUR SISTER'S GOT A PENNY." At which
the children got up from the puddle instantly, and ran
off to pay their court to Peggy. And as the omnibus drove
off I saw Peggy with the infantine procession at her
tail, marching with great dignity towards the stall of a
neighbouring lollipop-woman.
CHAPTER XXIV
In Which Mr. Osborne Takes Down the Family Bible
So having prepared the sisters, Dobbin hastened away
to the City to perform the rest and more difficult part
of the task which he had undertaken. The idea of facing
old Osborne rendered him not a little nervous, and more
than once he thought of leaving the young ladies to
communicate the secret, which, as he was aware, they could
not long retain. But he had promised to report to George
upon the manner in which the elder Osborne bore the
intelligence; so going into the City to the paternal
counting-house in Thames Street, he despatched thence
a note to Mr. Osborne begging for a half-hour's conversation
relative to the affairs of his son George. Dobbin's messenger
returned from Mr. Osborne's house of business, with the
compliments of the latter, who would be very happy to see the
Captain immediately, and away accordingly Dobbin went
to confront him.
The Captain, with a half-guilty secret to confess, and
with the prospect of a painful and stormy interview
before him, entered Mr. Osborne's offices with a most
dismal countenance and abashed gait, and, passing through
the outer room where Mr. Chopper presided, was greeted
by that functionary from his desk with a waggish air
which farther discomfited him. Mr. Chopper winked and
nodded and pointed his pen towards his patron's door,
and said, "You'll find the governor all right," with the
most provoking good humour.
Osborne rose too, and shook him heartily by the hand,
