Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray (best thriller novels to read TXT) 📕

“You are a good fellow, William,” said Mr. Osborne in a softened voice; “and me and George shouldn’t part in anger, that is true. Look here. I’ve done for him as much as any father ever did. He’s had three times as much money from me, as I warrant your father ever gave you. But I don’t brag about that. How I’ve toiled for him, and worked and employed my talents and energy, I won’t say. Ask Chopper. Ask himself. Ask the City of London. Well, I propose to him such a marriage as any nobleman in the land might be proud of⁠—the only thing in life I ever asked him⁠—and he refuses me. Am I wrong? Is the quarrel of my making? What do I seek but his good, for which I’ve been toiling like a convict ever since he was born? Nobody can say there’s anything selfish in me. Let him come back. I say, here’s my hand. I say, forget and forgive. As for marrying now, it’s out of the question. Let him and Miss S. make it up, and make out the marriage afterwards, when he comes back a Colonel; for he shall be a Colonel, by G⁠⸺ he shall, if money can do it. I’m glad you’ve brought him round. I know it’s you, Dobbin. You’ve took him out of many a scrape before. Let him come. I shan’t be hard. Come along, and dine in Russell Square today: both of you. The old shop, the old hour. You’ll find a neck of venison, and no questions asked.”

This praise and confidence smote Dobbin’s heart very keenly. Every moment the colloquy continued in this tone, he felt more and more guilty. “Sir,” said he, “I fear you deceive yourself. I am sure you do. George is much too high-minded a man ever to marry for money. A threat on your part that you would disinherit him in case of disobedience would only be followed by resistance on his.”

“Why, hang it, man, you don’t call offering him eight or ten thousand a year threatening him?” Mr. Osborne said, with still provoking good humour. “ ’Gad, if Miss S. will have me, I’m her man. I ain’t particular about a shade or so of tawny.” And the old gentleman gave his knowing grin and coarse laugh.

“You forget, sir, previous engagements into which Captain Osborne had entered,” the ambassador said, gravely.

“What engagements? What the devil do you mean? You don’t mean,” Mr. Osborne continued, gathering wrath and astonishment as the thought now first came upon him; “you don’t mean that he’s such a d⁠⸺ fool as to be still hankering after that swindling old bankrupt’s daughter? You’ve not come here for to make me suppose that he wants to marry her? Marry her, that is a good one. My son and heir marry a beggar’s girl out of a gutter. D⁠⸺ him, if he does, let him buy a broom and sweep a crossing. She was always dangling and ogling after him, I recollect now; and I’ve no doubt she was put on by her old sharper of a father.”

“Mr. Sedley was your very good friend, sir,” Dobbin interposed, almost pleased at finding himself growing angry. “Time was you called him better names than rogue and swindler. The match was of your making. George had no right to play fast and loose⁠—”

“Fast and loose!” howled out old Osborne. “Fast and loose! Why, hang me, those are the very words my gentleman used himself when he gave himself airs, last Thursday was a fortnight, and talked about the British army to his father who made him. What, it’s you who have been a setting of him up⁠—is it? and my service to you, Captain. It’s you who want to introduce beggars into my family. Thank you for nothing, Captain. Marry her indeed⁠—he, he! why should he? I warrant you she’d go to him fast enough without.”

“Sir,” said Dobbin, starting up in undisguised anger; “no man shall abuse that lady in my hearing, and you least of all.”

“O, you’re a-going to call me out, are you? Stop, let me ring the bell for pistols for two. Mr. George sent you here to insult his father, did he?” Osborne said, pulling at the bell-cord.

“Mr. Osborne,” said Dobbin, with a faltering voice, “it’s you who are insulting the best creature in the world. You had best spare her, sir, for she’s your son’s wife.”

And with this, feeling that he could say no more, Dobbin went away, Osborne sinking back in his chair, and looking wildly after him. A clerk came in, obedient to the bell; and the Captain was scarcely out of the court where Mr. Osborne’s offices were, when Mr. Chopper the chief clerk came rushing hatless after him.

“For God’s sake, what is it?” Mr. Chopper said, catching the Captain by the skirt. “The governor’s in a fit. What has Mr. George been doing?”

“He married Miss Sedley five days ago,” Dobbin replied. “I was his groomsman, Mr. Chopper, and you must stand his friend.”

The old clerk shook his head. “If that’s your news, Captain, it’s bad. The governor will never forgive him.”

Dobbin begged Chopper to report progress to him at the hotel where he was stopping, and walked off moodily westwards, greatly perturbed as to the past and the future.

When the Russell Square family came to dinner that evening, they found the father of the house seated in his usual place, but with that air of gloom on his face, which, whenever it appeared there, kept the whole circle silent. The ladies, and Mr. Bullock who dined with them, felt that the news had been communicated to Mr. Osborne. His dark looks affected Mr. Bullock so far as to render him still and quiet: but he was unusually bland and attentive to Miss Maria, by whom he sat, and to her sister presiding at the head of the table.

Miss Wirt, by consequence, was alone on her side of the board, a gap being left between her and Miss Jane Osborne. Now