My Lord Steyne coming to call a couple of hours afterwards, and looking

about him, and observing everything as was his wont, found his ladies'

cards already ranged as the trumps of Becky's hand, and grinned, as

this old cynic always did at any naive display of human weakness.

Becky came down to him presently; whenever the dear girl expected his

lordship, her toilette was prepared, her hair in perfect order, her

mouchoirs, aprons, scarfs, little morocco slippers, and other female

gimcracks arranged, and she seated in some artless and agreeable

posture ready to receive him--whenever she was surprised, of course,

she had to fly to her apartment to take a rapid survey of matters in

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the glass, and to trip down again to wait upon the great peer.

She found him grinning over the bowl. She was discovered, and she

blushed a little. "Thank you, Monseigneur," she said. "You see your

ladies have been here. How good of you! I couldn't come before--I was

in the kitchen making a pudding."

"I know you were, I saw you through the area-railings as I drove up,"

replied the old gentleman.

"You see everything," she replied.

"A few things, but not that, my pretty lady," he said good-naturedly.

"You silly little fibster! I heard you in the room overhead, where I

have no doubt you were putting a little rouge on--you must give some

of yours to my Lady Gaunt, whose complexion is quite preposterous--and

I heard the bedroom door open, and then you came downstairs."

"Is it a crime to try and look my best when YOU come here?" answered

Mrs. Rawdon plaintively, and she rubbed her cheek with her handkerchief

as if to show there was no rouge at all, only genuine blushes and

modesty in her case. About this who can tell? I know there is some

rouge that won't come off on a pocket-handkerchief, and some so good

that even tears will not disturb it.

"Well," said the old gentleman, twiddling round his wife's card, "you

are bent on becoming a fine lady. You pester my poor old life out to

get you into the world. You won't be able to hold your own there, you

silly little fool. You've got no money."

"You will get us a place," interposed Becky, "as quick as possible."

"You've got no money, and you want to compete with those who have. You

poor little earthenware pipkin, you want to swim down the stream along

with the great copper kettles. All women are alike. Everybody is

striving for what is not worth the having! Gad! I dined with the King

yesterday, and we had neck of mutton and turnips. A dinner of herbs is

better than a stalled ox very often. You will go to Gaunt House. You

give an old fellow no rest until you get there. It's not half so nice

as here. You'll be bored there. I am. My wife is as gay as Lady

Macbeth, and my daughters as cheerful as Regan and Goneril. I daren't

sleep in what they call my bedroom. The bed is like the baldaquin of

St. Peter's, and the pictures frighten me. I have a little brass bed

in a dressing-room, and a little hair mattress like an anchorite. I am

an anchorite. Ho! ho! You'll be asked to dinner next week. And gare

aux femmes, look out and hold your own! How the women will bully you!"

This was a very long speech for a man of few words like my Lord Steyne;

nor was it the first which he uttered for Becky's benefit on that day.




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