The bills of Mr. Moss were quickly settled, perhaps to the
disappointment of that gentleman, who had counted on having the Colonel
as his guest over Sunday at least; and Jane, with beaming smiles and
happiness in her eyes, carried away Rawdon from the bailiff's house,
and they went homewards in the cab in which she had hastened to his
release. "Pitt was gone to a parliamentary dinner," she said, "when
Rawdon's note came, and so, dear Rawdon, I--I came myself"; and she put
her kind hand in his. Perhaps it was well for Rawdon Crawley that Pitt
was away at that dinner. Rawdon thanked his sister a hundred times,
and with an ardour of gratitude which touched and almost alarmed that
soft-hearted woman. "Oh," said he, in his rude, artless way, "you--you
don't know how I'm changed since I've known you, and--and little Rawdy.
I--I'd like to change somehow. You see I want--I want--to be--" He did
not finish the sentence, but she could interpret it. And that night
after he left her, and as she sat by her own little boy's bed, she
prayed humbly for that poor way-worn sinner.
Rawdon left her and walked home rapidly. It was nine o'clock at night.
He ran across the streets and the great squares of Vanity Fair, and at
length came up breathless opposite his own house. He started back and
fell against the railings, trembling as he looked up. The drawing-room
windows were blazing with light. She had said that she was in bed and
ill. He stood there for some time, the light from the rooms on his
pale face.
He took out his door-key and let himself into the house. He could hear
laughter in the upper rooms. He was in the ball-dress in which he had
been captured the night before. He went silently up the stairs,
leaning against the banisters at the stair-head. Nobody was stirring
in the house besides--all the servants had been sent away. Rawdon heard
laughter within--laughter and singing. Becky was singing a snatch of
the song of the night before; a hoarse voice shouted "Brava!
Brava!"--it was Lord Steyne's.
Rawdon opened the door and went in. A little table with a dinner was
laid out--and wine and plate. Steyne was hanging over the sofa on
which Becky sat. The wretched woman was in a brilliant full toilette,
her arms and all her fingers sparkling with bracelets and rings, and
the brilliants on her breast which Steyne had given her. He had her
hand in his, and was bowing over it to kiss it, when Becky started up
with a faint scream as she caught sight of Rawdon's white face. At the
next instant she tried a smile, a horrid smile, as if to welcome her
husband; and Steyne rose up, grinding his teeth, pale, and with fury in
his looks.