“Go on, sir, go on,” the old gentleman
said, his eyes starting out of his head.
“Go on about what, sir? about the way in which
we’ve treated that angel of a girl? Who
told me to love her? It was your doing.
I might have chosen elsewhere, and looked higher,
perhaps, than your society: but I obeyed you.
And now that her heart’s mine you give me orders
to fling it away, and punish her, kill her perhaps—for
the faults of other people. It’s a shame,
by Heavens,” said George, working himself up
into passion and enthusiasm as he proceeded, “to
play at fast and loose with a young girl’s affections—and
with such an angel as that—one so superior
to the people amongst whom she lived, that she might
have excited envy, only she was so good and gentle,
that it’s a wonder anybody dared to hate her.
If I desert her, sir, do you suppose she forgets me?”
“I ain’t going to have any of this dam
sentimental nonsense and humbug here, sir,”
the father cried out. “There shall be no
beggar-marriages in my family. If you choose
to fling away eight thousand a year, which you may
have for the asking, you may do it: but by Jove
you take your pack and walk out of this house, sir.
Will you do as I tell you, once for all, sir, or
will you not?”
“Marry that mulatto woman?” George said,
pulling up his shirt-collars. “I don’t
like the colour, sir. Ask the black that sweeps
opposite Fleet Market, sir. I’m not going
to marry a Hottentot Venus.”
Mr. Osborne pulled frantically at the cord by which
he was accustomed to summon the butler when he wanted
wine—and almost black in the face, ordered
that functionary to call a coach for Captain Osborne.
“I’ve done it,” said George, coming
into the Slaughters’ an hour afterwards, looking
very pale.
“What, my boy?” says Dobbin.
George told what had passed between his father and
himself.
“I’ll marry her to-morrow,” he said
with an oath. “I love her more every day,
Dobbin.”
A Marriage and Part of a Honeymoon
Enemies the most obstinate and courageous can’t
hold out against starvation; so the elder Osborne
felt himself pretty easy about his adversary in the
encounter we have just described; and as soon as George’s
supplies fell short, confidently expected his unconditional
submission. It was unlucky, to be sure, that the
lad should have secured a stock of provisions on the
very day when the first encounter took place; but
this relief was only temporary, old Osborne thought,
and would but delay George’s surrender.
No communication passed between father and son for
some days. The former was sulky at this silence,
but not disquieted; for, as he said, he knew where
he could put the screw upon George, and only waited
the result of that operation. He told the sisters
the upshot of the dispute between them, but ordered
them to take no notice of the matter, and welcome
George on his return as if nothing had happened.
His cover was laid as usual every day, and perhaps
the old gentleman rather anxiously expected him; but
he never came. Some one inquired at the Slaughters’
regarding him, where it was said that he and his friend
Captain Dobbin had left town.
