“Devlish fine horse—who is it?”
George asked.
“You should see me brother Molloy Malony’s
horse, Molasses, that won the cop at the Curragh,”
the Major’s wife was exclaiming, and was continuing
the family history, when her husband interrupted her
by saying—
“It’s General Tufto, who commands the
—— cavalry division”; adding
quietly, “he and I were both shot in the same
leg at Talavera.”
“Where you got your step,” said George
with a laugh. “General Tufto! Then,
my dear, the Crawleys are come.”
Amelia’s heart fell—she knew not
why. The sun did not seem to shine so bright.
The tall old roofs and gables looked less picturesque
all of a sudden, though it was a brilliant sunset,
and one of the brightest and most beautiful days at
the end of May.
Brussels
Mr. Jos had hired a pair of horses for his open carriage,
with which cattle, and the smart London vehicle, he
made a very tolerable figure in the drives about Brussels.
George purchased a horse for his private riding, and
he and Captain Dobbin would often accompany the carriage
in which Jos and his sister took daily excursions of
pleasure. They went out that day in the park
for their accustomed diversion, and there, sure enough,
George’s remark with regard to the arrival of
Rawdon Crawley and his wife proved to be correct.
In the midst of a little troop of horsemen, consisting
of some of the very greatest persons in Brussels,
Rebecca was seen in the prettiest and tightest of
riding-habits, mounted on a beautiful little Arab,
which she rode to perfection (having acquired the art
at Queen’s Crawley, where the Baronet, Mr. Pitt,
and Rawdon himself had given her many lessons), and
by the side of the gallant General Tufto.
“Sure it’s the Juke himself,” cried
Mrs. Major O’Dowd to Jos, who began to blush
violently; “and that’s Lord Uxbridge on
the bay. How elegant he looks! Me brother,
Molloy Malony, is as like him as two pays.”
Rebecca did not make for the carriage; but as soon
as she perceived her old acquaintance Amelia seated
in it, acknowledged her presence by a gracious nod
and smile, and by kissing and shaking her fingers
playfully in the direction of the vehicle. Then
she resumed her conversation with General Tufto, who
asked “who the fat officer was in the gold-laced
cap?” on which Becky replied, “that he
was an officer in the East Indian service.”
But Rawdon Crawley rode out of the ranks of his company,
and came up and shook hands heartily with Amelia,
and said to Jos, “Well, old boy, how are you?”
and stared in Mrs. O’Dowd’s face and at
the black cock’s feathers until she began to
think she had made a conquest of him.
George, who had been delayed behind, rode up almost
immediately with Dobbin, and they touched their caps
to the august personages, among whom Osborne at once
perceived Mrs. Crawley. He was delighted to
see Rawdon leaning over his carriage familiarly and
talking to Amelia, and met the aide-de-camp’s
cordial greeting with more than corresponding warmth.
The nods between Rawdon and Dobbin were of the very
faintest specimens of politeness.
