at the Major’s order to measure the young gentleman
for a suit of clothes. He had had the honour
of making for the Captain, the young gentleman’s
father. Sometimes, too, and by the Major’s
desire no doubt, his sisters, the Misses Dobbin, would
call in the family carriage to take Amelia and the
little boy to drive if they were so inclined.
The patronage and kindness of these ladies was very
uncomfortable to Amelia, but she bore it meekly enough,
for her nature was to yield; and, besides, the carriage
and its splendours gave little Georgy immense pleasure.
The ladies begged occasionally that the child might
pass a day with them, and he was always glad to go
to that fine garden-house at Denmark Hill, where they
lived, and where there were such fine grapes in the
hot-houses and peaches on the walls.
One day they kindly came over to Amelia with news
which they were sure would delight her—something
very interesting about their dear William.
“What was it: was he coming home?”
she asked with pleasure beaming in her eyes.
“Oh, no—not the least—but
they had very good reason to believe that dear William
was about to be married—and to a relation
of a very dear friend of Amelia’s—to
Miss Glorvina O’Dowd, Sir Michael O’Dowd’s
sister, who had gone out to join Lady O’Dowd
at Madras—a very beautiful and accomplished
girl, everybody said.”
Amelia said “Oh!” Amelia was very very
happy indeed. But she supposed Glorvina could
not be like her old acquaintance, who was most kind—but—but
she was very happy indeed. And by some impulse
of which I cannot explain the meaning, she took George
in her arms and kissed him with an extraordinary tenderness.
Her eyes were quite moist when she put the child
down; and she scarcely spoke a word during the whole
of the drive—though she was so very happy
indeed.
A Cynical Chapter
Our duty now takes us back for a brief space to some
old Hampshire acquaintances of ours, whose hopes respecting
the disposal of their rich kinswoman’s property
were so woefully disappointed. After counting
upon thirty thousand pounds from his sister, it was
a heavy blow. to Bute Crawley to receive but five;
out of which sum, when he had paid his own debts and
those of Jim, his son at college, a very small fragment
remained to portion off his four plain daughters.
Mrs. Bute never knew, or at least never acknowledged,
how far her own tyrannous behaviour had tended to ruin
her husband. All that woman could do, she vowed
and protested she had done. Was it her fault
if she did not possess those sycophantic arts which
her hypocritical nephew, Pitt Crawley, practised?
She wished him all the happiness which he merited
out of his ill-gotten gains. “At least
the money will remain in the family,” she said
charitably. “Pitt will never spend it,
my dear, that is quite certain; for a greater miser
does not exist in England, and he is as odious, though
in a different way, as his spendthrift brother, the
abandoned Rawdon.”
