with the state of Amelia’s affairs; how she
was living with her father and mother; how poor they
were; how they wondered what men, and such men as
their brother and dear Captain Osborne, could find
in such an insignificant little chit; how she was
still, as heretofore, a namby-pamby milk-and-water
affected creature—but how the boy was really
the noblest little boy ever seen—for the
hearts of all women warm towards young children, and
the sourest spinster is kind to them.
One day, after great entreaties on the part of the
Misses Dobbin, Amelia allowed little George to go
and pass a day with them at Denmark Hill—a
part of which day she spent herself in writing to
the Major in India. She congratulated him on
the happy news which his sisters had just conveyed
to her. She prayed for his prosperity and that
of the bride he had chosen. She thanked him for
a thousand thousand kind offices and proofs of stead
fast friendship to her in her affliction. She
told him the last news about little Georgy, and how
he was gone to spend that very day with his sisters
in the country. She underlined the letter a
great deal, and she signed herself affectionately
his friend, Amelia Osborne. She forgot to send
any message of kindness to Lady O’Dowd, as her
wont was—and did not mention Glorvina by
name, and only in italics, as the Major’s bride,
for whom she begged blessings. But the news of
the marriage removed the reserve which she had kept
up towards him. She was glad to be able to own
and feel how warmly and gratefully she regarded him—and
as for the idea of being jealous of Glorvina (Glorvina,
indeed!), Amelia would have scouted it, if an angel
from heaven had hinted it to her. That night,
when Georgy came back in the pony-carriage in which
he rejoiced, and in which he was driven by Sir Wm.
Dobbin’s old coachman, he had round his neck
a fine gold chain and watch. He said an old
lady, not pretty, had given it him, who cried and
kissed him a great deal. But he didn’t
like her. He liked grapes very much. And
he only liked his mamma. Amelia shrank and started;
the timid soul felt a presentiment of terror when she
heard that the relations of the child’s father
had seen him.
Miss Osborne came back to give her father his dinner.
He had made a good speculation in the City, and was
rather in a good humour that day, and chanced to remark
the agitation under which she laboured. “What’s
the matter, Miss Osborne?” he deigned to say.
The woman burst into tears. “Oh, sir,”
she said, “I’ve seen little George.
He is as beautiful as an angel—and so like
him!” The old man opposite to her did not say
a word, but flushed up and began to tremble in every
limb.
