prompt:
Chapter: A Rescue and a Catastrophe

Friend Rawdon drove on then to Mr. Moss's mansion in Cursitor Street,
and was duly inducted into that dismal place of hospitality. Morning
was breaking over the cheerful house-tops of Chancery Lane as the
rattling cab woke up the echoes there.  A little pink-eyed Jew-boy,
with a head as ruddy as the rising morn, let the party into the house,
and Rawdon was welcomed to the ground-floor apartments by Mr. Moss, his
travelling companion and host, who cheerfully asked him if he would
like a glass of something warm after his drive.

The Colonel was not so depressed as some mortals would be, who,
quitting a palace and a placens uxor, find themselves barred into a
spunging-house; for, if the truth must be told, he had been a lodger at
Mr. Moss's establishment once or twice before.  We have not thought it
necessary in the previous course of this narrative to mention these
trivial little domestic incidents:  but the reader may be assured that
they can't unfrequently occur in the life of a man who lives on nothing
a year.

Upon his first visit to Mr. Moss, the Colonel, then a bachelor, had
been liberated by the generosity of his aunt; on the second mishap,
little Becky, with the greatest spirit and kindness, had borrowed a sum
of money from Lord Southdown and had coaxed her husband's creditor (who
was her shawl, velvet-gown, lace pocket-handkerchief, trinket, and
gim-crack purveyor, indeed) to take a portion of the sum claimed and
Rawdon's promissory note for the remainder:  so on both these occasions
the capture and release had been conducted with the utmost gallantry on
all sides, and Moss and the Colonel were therefore on the very best of
terms.

"You'll find your old bed, Colonel, and everything comfortable," that
gentleman said, "as I may honestly say. You may be pretty sure its kep
aired, and by the best of company, too.  It was slep in the night afore
last by the Honorable Capting Famish, of the Fiftieth Dragoons, whose
Mar took him out, after a fortnight, jest to punish him, she said.
But, Law bless you, I promise you, he punished my champagne, and had a
party ere every night--reglar tip-top swells, down from the clubs and
the West End--Capting Ragg, the Honorable Deuceace, who lives in the
Temple, and some fellers as knows a good glass of wine, I warrant you.
I've got a Doctor of Diwinity upstairs, five gents in the coffee-room,
and Mrs. Moss has a tably-dy-hoty at half-past five, and a little
cards or music afterwards, when we shall be most happy to see you."

"I'll ring when I want anything," said Rawdon and went quietly to his
bedroom.  He was an old soldier, we have said, and not to be disturbed
by any little shocks of fate.  A weaker man would have sent off a
letter to his wife on the instant of his capture.  "But what is the use
of disturbing her night's rest?" thought Rawdon. "She won't know
whether I am in my room or not.  It will be time enough to write to her
when she has had her sleep out, and I have had mine.  It's only a
hundred-and-seventy, and the deuce is in it if we can't raise that."
And so, thinking about little Rawdon (whom he would not have know that
he was in such a queer place), the Colonel turned into the bed lately
occupied by Captain Famish and fell asleep.  It was ten o'clock when he
woke up, and the ruddy-headed youth brought him, with conscious pride,
a fine silver dressing-case, wherewith he might perform the operation
of shaving. Indeed Mr. Moss's house, though somewhat dirty, was
splendid throughout.  There were dirty trays, and wine-coolers en
permanence on the sideboard, huge dirty gilt cornices, with dingy
yellow satin hangings to the barred windows which looked into Cursitor
Street--vast and dirty gilt picture frames surrounding pieces sporting
and sacred, all of which works were by the greatest masters--and
fetched the greatest prices, too, in the bill transactions, in the
course of which they were sold and bought over and over again.  The
Colonel's breakfast was served to him in the same dingy and gorgeous
plated ware.  Miss Moss, a dark-eyed maid in curl-papers, appeared with
the teapot, and, smiling, asked the Colonel how he had slep? And she
brought him in the Morning Post, with the names of all the great people
who had figured at Lord Steyne's entertainment the night before.  It
contained a brilliant account of the festivities and of the beautiful
and accomplished Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's admirable personifications.

After a lively chat with this lady (who sat on the edge of the
breakfast table in an easy attitude displaying the drapery of her
stocking and an ex-white satin shoe, which was down at heel), Colonel
Crawley called for pens and ink, and paper, and being asked how many
sheets, chose one which was brought to him between Miss Moss's own
finger and thumb.  Many a sheet had that dark-eyed damsel brought in;
many a poor fellow had scrawled and blotted hurried lines of entreaty
and paced up and down that awful room until his messenger brought back
the reply.  Poor men always use messengers instead of the post.  Who
has not had their letters, with the wafers wet, and the announcement
that a person is waiting in the hall?

Now on the score of his application, Rawdon had not many misgivings.

DEAR BECKY, (Rawdon wrote)

I HOPE YOU SLEPT WELL.  Don't be FRIGHTENED if I don't bring you in
your COFFY.  Last night as I was coming home smoaking, I met with an
ACCADENT.  I was NABBED by Moss of Cursitor Street--from whose GILT AND
SPLENDID PARLER I write this--the same that had me this time two years.
Miss Moss brought in my tea--she is grown very FAT, and, as usual, had
her STOCKENS DOWN AT HEAL.

It's Nathan's business--a hundred-and-fifty--with costs,
hundred-and-seventy.  Please send me my desk and some CLOTHS--I'm in
pumps and a white tye (something like Miss M's stockings)--I've seventy
in it.  And as soon as you get this, Drive to Nathan's--offer him
seventy-five down, and ASK HIM TO RENEW--say I'll take wine--we may as
well have some dinner sherry; but not PICTURS, they're too dear.

If he won't stand it.  Take my ticker and such of your things as you
can SPARE, and send them to Balls--we must, of coarse, have the sum
to-night.  It won't do to let it stand over, as to-morrow's Sunday; the
beds here are not very CLEAN, and there may be other things out against
me--I'm glad it an't Rawdon's Saturday for coming home.  God bless you.

Yours in haste, R. C. P.S.  Make haste and come.

This letter, sealed with a wafer, was dispatched by one of the
messengers who are always hanging about Mr. Moss's establishment, and
Rawdon, having seen him depart, went out in the court-yard and smoked
his cigar with a tolerably easy mind--in spite of the bars
overhead--for Mr. Moss's court-yard is railed in like a cage, lest the
gentlemen who are boarding with him should take a fancy to escape from
his hospitality.

Three hours, he calculated, would be the utmost time required, before
Becky should arrive and open his prison doors, and he passed these
pretty cheerfully in smoking, in reading the paper, and in the
coffee-room with an acquaintance, Captain Walker, who happened to be
there, and with whom he cut for sixpences for some hours, with pretty
equal luck on either side.

But the day passed away and no messenger returned--no Becky.  Mr.
Moss's tably-dy-hoty was served at the appointed hour of half-past
five, when such of the gentlemen lodging in the house as could afford
to pay for the banquet came and partook of it in the splendid front
parlour before described, and with which Mr. Crawley's temporary
lodging communicated, when Miss M.  (Miss Hem, as her papa called her)
appeared without the curl-papers of the morning, and Mrs. Hem did the
honours of a prime boiled leg of mutton and turnips, of which the
Colonel ate with a very faint appetite.  Asked whether he would "stand"
a bottle of champagne for the company, he consented, and the ladies
drank to his 'ealth, and Mr. Moss, in the most polite manner, "looked
towards him."

In the midst of this repast, however, the doorbell was heard--young
Moss of the ruddy hair rose up with the keys and answered the summons,
and coming back, told the Colonel that the messenger had returned with
a bag, a desk and a letter, which he gave him.  "No ceramony, Colonel,
I beg," said Mrs. Moss with a wave of her hand, and he opened the
letter rather tremulously.  It was a beautiful letter, highly scented,
on a pink paper, and with a light green seal.

MON PAUVRE CHER PETIT, (Mrs. Crawley wrote)

I could not sleep ONE WINK for thinking of what had become of my odious
old monstre, and only got to rest in the morning after sending for Mr.
Blench (for I was in a fever), who gave me a composing draught and left
orders with Finette that I should be disturbed ON NO ACCOUNT.  So that
my poor old man's messenger, who had bien mauvaise mine Finette says,
and sentoit le Genievre, remained in the hall for some hours waiting my
bell. You may fancy my state when I read your poor dear old ill-spelt
letter.

Ill as I was, I instantly called for the carriage, and as soon as I was
dressed (though I couldn't drink a drop of chocolate--I assure you I
couldn't without my monstre to bring it to me), I drove ventre a terre
to Nathan's.  I saw him--I wept--I cried--I fell at his odious knees.
Nothing would mollify the horrid man. He would have all the money, he
said, or keep my poor monstre in prison.  I drove home with the
intention of paying that triste visite chez mon oncle (when every
trinket I have should be at your disposal though they would not fetch a
hundred pounds, for some, you know, are with ce cher oncle already),
and found Milor there with the Bulgarian old sheep-faced monster, who
had come to compliment me upon last night's performances. Paddington
came in, too, drawling and lisping and twiddling his hair; so did
Champignac, and his chef--everybody with foison of compliments and
pretty speeches--plaguing poor me, who longed to be rid of them, and
was thinking every moment of the time of mon pauvre prisonnier.

When they were gone, I went down on my knees to Milor; told him we were
going to pawn everything, and begged and prayed him to give me two
hundred pounds. He pish'd and psha'd in a fury--told me not to be such
a fool as to pawn--and said he would see whether he could lend me the
money.  At last he went away, promising that he would send it me in the
morning:  when I will bring it to my poor old monster with a kiss from
his affectionate

BECKY

I am writing in bed.  Oh I have such a headache and such a heartache!

When Rawdon read over this letter, he turned so red and looked so
savage that the company at the table d'hote easily perceived that bad
news had reached him.  All his suspicions, which he had been trying to
banish, returned upon him.  She could not even go out and sell her
trinkets to free him.  She could laugh and talk about compliments paid
to her, whilst he was in prison.  Who had put him there? Wenham had
walked with him.  Was there....  He could hardly bear to think of what
he suspected.  Leaving the room hurriedly, he ran into his own--opened
his desk, wrote two hurried lines, which he directed to Sir Pitt or
Lady Crawley, and bade the messenger carry them at once to Gaunt
Street, bidding him to take a cab, and promising him a guinea if he was
back in an hour.

In the note he besought his dear brother and sister, for the sake of
God, for the sake of his dear child and his honour, to come to him and
relieve him from his difficulty.  He was in prison, he wanted a hundred
pounds to set him free--he entreated them to come to him.

He went back to the dining-room after dispatching his messenger and
called for more wine.  He laughed and talked with a strange
boisterousness, as the people thought.  Sometimes he laughed madly at
his own fears and went on drinking for an hour, listening all the while
for the carriage which was to bring his fate back.

At the expiration of that time, wheels were heard whirling up to the
gate--the young janitor went out with his gate-keys.  It was a lady
whom he let in at the bailiff's door.

"Colonel Crawley," she said, trembling very much.  He, with a knowing
look, locked the outer door upon her--then unlocked and opened the
inner one, and calling out, "Colonel, you're wanted," led her into the
back parlour, which he occupied.

Rawdon came in from the dining-parlour where all those people were
carousing, into his back room; a flare of coarse light following him
into the apartment where the lady stood, still very nervous.

"It is I, Rawdon," she said in a timid voice, which she strove to
render cheerful.  "It is Jane." Rawdon was quite overcome by that kind
voice and presence.  He ran up to her--caught her in his arms--gasped
out some inarticulate words of thanks and fairly sobbed on her
shoulder.  She did not know the cause of his emotion.

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.

He, too, attempted a laugh--and came forward holding out his hand.
"What, come back!  How d'ye do, Crawley?" he said, the nerves of his
mouth twitching as he tried to grin at the intruder.

There was that in Rawdon's face which caused Becky to fling herself
before him.  "I am innocent, Rawdon," she said; "before God, I am
innocent." She clung hold of his coat, of his hands; her own were all
covered with serpents, and rings, and baubles.  "I am innocent. Say I
am innocent," she said to Lord Steyne.

He thought a trap had been laid for him, and was as furious with the
wife as with the husband.  "You innocent!  Damn you," he screamed out.
"You innocent!  Why every trinket you have on your body is paid for by
me. I have given you thousands of pounds, which this fellow has spent
and for which he has sold you.  Innocent, by ----! You're as innocent as
your mother, the ballet-girl, and your husband the bully.  Don't think
to frighten me as you have done others. Make way, sir, and let me
pass"; and Lord Steyne seized up his hat, and, with flame in his eyes,
and looking his enemy fiercely in the face, marched upon him, never for
a moment doubting that the other would give way.

But Rawdon Crawley springing out, seized him by the neckcloth, until
Steyne, almost strangled, writhed and bent under his arm.  "You lie,
you dog!" said Rawdon. "You lie, you coward and villain!" And he struck
the Peer twice over the face with his open hand and flung him bleeding
to the ground.  It was all done before Rebecca could interpose.  She
stood there trembling before him.  She admired her husband, strong,
brave, and victorious.

"Come here," he said.  She came up at once.

"Take off those things." She began, trembling, pulling the jewels from
her arms, and the rings from her shaking fingers, and held them all in
a heap, quivering and looking up at him.  "Throw them down," he said,
and she dropped them.  He tore the diamond ornament out of her breast
and flung it at Lord Steyne.  It cut him on his bald forehead.  Steyne
wore the scar to his dying day.

"Come upstairs," Rawdon said to his wife.  "Don't kill me, Rawdon," she
said.  He laughed savagely.  "I want to see if that man lies about the
money as he has about me.  Has he given you any?"

"No," said Rebecca, "that is--"

"Give me your keys," Rawdon answered, and they went out together.

Rebecca gave him all the keys but one, and she was in hopes that he
would not have remarked the absence of that.  It belonged to the little
desk which Amelia had given her in early days, and which she kept in a
secret place.  But Rawdon flung open boxes and wardrobes, throwing the
multifarious trumpery of their contents here and there, and at last he
found the desk.  The woman was forced to open it.  It contained papers,
love-letters many years old--all sorts of small trinkets and woman's
memoranda.  And it contained a pocket-book with bank-notes. Some of
these were dated ten years back, too, and one was quite a fresh one--a
note for a thousand pounds which Lord Steyne had given her.

"Did he give you this?" Rawdon said.

"Yes," Rebecca answered.

"I'll send it to him to-day," Rawdon said (for day had dawned again,
and many hours had passed in this search), "and I will pay Briggs, who
was kind to the boy, and some of the debts.  You will let me know where
I shall send the rest to you.  You might have spared me a hundred
pounds, Becky, out of all this--I have always shared with you."

"I am innocent," said Becky.  And he left her without another word.

What were her thoughts when he left her? She remained for hours after
he was gone, the sunshine pouring into the room, and Rebecca sitting
alone on the bed's edge.  The drawers were all opened and their
contents scattered about--dresses and feathers, scarfs and trinkets, a
heap of tumbled vanities lying in a wreck.  Her hair was falling over
her shoulders; her gown was torn where Rawdon had wrenched the
brilliants out of it.  She heard him go downstairs a few minutes after
he left her, and the door slamming and closing on him.  She knew he
would never come back.  He was gone forever. Would he kill
himself?--she thought--not until after he had met Lord Steyne.  She
thought of her long past life, and all the dismal incidents of it.  Ah,
how dreary it seemed, how miserable, lonely and profitless!  Should she
take laudanum, and end it, to have done with all hopes, schemes, debts,
and triumphs? The French maid found her in this position--sitting in
the midst of her miserable ruins with clasped hands and dry eyes.  The
woman was her accomplice and in Steyne's pay.  "Mon Dieu, madame, what
has happened?" she asked.

What had happened? Was she guilty or not? She said not, but who could
tell what was truth which came from those lips, or if that corrupt
heart was in this case pure?

All her lies and her schemes, and her selfishness and her wiles, all her
wit and genius had come to this bankruptcy.  The woman closed the
curtains and, with some entreaty and show of kindness, persuaded her
mistress to lie down on the bed.  Then she went below and gathered up
the trinkets which had been lying on the floor since Rebecca dropped
them there at her husband's orders, and Lord Steyne went away.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Rawdon goes with the bailiffs who arrested him to the debtors holding prison. He's not too worried, since the amount he owes isn't huge. Everyone at the prison is very nice to him because apparently he has been there a couple times before. Debtors' prisons were more like inns with walls around them than jails. The idea was that the debtor would call in all his favors to pay the debt back and be released. The warden shows Rawdon to his room, tells him when food will be served and asks him if he needs anything. Rawdon decides to wait until morning to tell Becky what's happened, since she most likely wouldn't have noticed that he's not there. He goes to sleep. The next morning Rawdon has breakfast, chats with the chambermaid, then writes a letter to Becky asking her to bail him out ASAP. At this point, he's thinking it'll be about three hours until he's out of there. Becky will need to first pawn something to raise the money, then pay back the creditor who called the debt in, then come get him. Three hours pass...nothing. The whole day passes...nothing. Finally, during dinner, a messenger comes with a letter from Becky. In it, she claims to be have been too overcome by the news of his arrest to run the necessary errands to get him out. She says she had people over and told Lord Steyne what had happened. He agreed to lend her the needed money so she wouldn't have to go to the pawn shop. Rawdon is beyond furious. He realizes several things all at once: 1) Becky doesn't care enough about him to sell her stuff to get him out of prison; 2) she had guests over that day; and 3) the timing of all of this is crazily suspicious. He quickly writes another letter to Pitt and Lady Jane. He is particularly eager to get out now because he doesn't want Rawdon Jr. to find out that he had been in debtors prison. A little while later a woman comes to the gate with his release. It turns out to be...Jane! We know, we know - we were hoping Becky would come through, too. Rawdon is all emotional and confesses to Jane how his love for Rawdon Jr. makes him want to be a better man. Then he leaves her and goes home. Guys, things are about to hit the fan. You'd better sit down. Rawdon looks at the house. The lights are on. But didn't Becky say she was sick? He opens the front door and hears sounds of laughter and singing. He looks around. All the servants are gone. He opens the door to the living room and sees Becky and Lord Steyne alone together! She is dressed to the nines with all her jewelry . Steyne is holding her hand and is about to kiss it. There are two plates and two wine glasses out. OK, insanity breaks out. Becky screams that she is innocent and asks Steyne to confirm. Steyne is all, as if! He yells that he bought all the jewels she is wearing and has given her a ton of money. So what does that mean? Well, Becky means she is innocent of adultery. It's not clear if that's true or not. Steyne's response is ambiguous; either he is saying 1) oh, please, we totally had a bunch of sex and you know it, or 2) all you've done is extort money from me which is not what an innocent person would do. Rawdon grabs Steyne around the neck and punches him in the face until he bleeds. He makes Becky take off all the jewelry and throw it on the ground. He flings one of the pieces at Steyne, leaving a mark that scars him for life. Finally he makes Becky go upstairs and searches all of her rooms for the money and jewels Steyne was talking about. Eventually he finds the locked desk drawer, opens it, and sees all the checks and things. One of them is a check from Steyne for 1,000 pounds. Rawdon's last words to Becky are: "You might have spared me a hundred pounds, Becky, out of all this - I have always shared with you" . Wow, harsh. And sad. Becky gets out another "I am innocent" , but Rawdon leaves. Becky collapses. She contemplates suicide briefly until her maid finds her and gets her to lie down. The narrator has a coy moment telling us that even he doesn't know whether she is innocent or not.


prompt:
Chapter: Sunday After the Battle

The mansion of Sir Pitt Crawley, in Great Gaunt Street, was just
beginning to dress itself for the day, as Rawdon, in his evening
costume, which he had now worn two days, passed by the scared female
who was scouring the steps and entered into his brother's study. Lady
Jane, in her morning-gown, was up and above stairs in the nursery
superintending the toilettes of her children and listening to the
morning prayers which the little creatures performed at her knee.
Every morning she and they performed this duty privately, and before
the public ceremonial at which Sir Pitt presided and at which all the
people of the household were expected to assemble. Rawdon sat down in
the study before the Baronet's table, set out with the orderly blue
books and the letters, the neatly docketed bills and symmetrical
pamphlets, the locked account-books, desks, and dispatch boxes, the
Bible, the Quarterly Review, and the Court Guide, which all stood as if
on parade awaiting the inspection of their chief.

A book of family sermons, one of which Sir Pitt was in the habit of
administering to his family on Sunday mornings, lay ready on the study
table, and awaiting his judicious selection.  And by the sermon-book
was the Observer newspaper, damp and neatly folded, and for Sir Pitt's
own private use.  His gentleman alone took the opportunity of perusing
the newspaper before he laid it by his master's desk.  Before he had
brought it into the study that morning, he had read in the journal a
flaming account of "Festivities at Gaunt House," with the names of all
the distinguished personages invited by the Marquis of Steyne to meet
his Royal Highness.  Having made comments upon this entertainment to
the housekeeper and her niece as they were taking early tea and hot
buttered toast in the former lady's apartment, and wondered how the
Rawding Crawleys could git on, the valet had damped and folded the
paper once more, so that it looked quite fresh and innocent against the
arrival of the master of the house.

Poor Rawdon took up the paper and began to try and read it until his
brother should arrive.  But the print fell blank upon his eyes, and he
did not know in the least what he was reading.  The Government news and
appointments (which Sir Pitt as a public man was bound to peruse,
otherwise he would by no means permit the introduction of Sunday papers
into his household), the theatrical criticisms, the fight for a hundred
pounds a side between the Barking Butcher and the Tutbury Pet, the
Gaunt House chronicle itself, which contained a most complimentary
though guarded account of the famous charades of which Mrs. Becky had
been the heroine--all these passed as in a haze before Rawdon, as he
sat waiting the arrival of the chief of the family.

Punctually, as the shrill-toned bell of the black marble study clock
began to chime nine, Sir Pitt made his appearance, fresh, neat, smugly
shaved, with a waxy clean face, and stiff shirt collar, his scanty hair
combed and oiled, trimming his nails as he descended the stairs
majestically, in a starched cravat and a grey flannel dressing-gown--a
real old English gentleman, in a word--a model of neatness and every
propriety.  He started when he saw poor Rawdon in his study in tumbled
clothes, with blood-shot eyes, and his hair over his face.  He thought
his brother was not sober, and had been out all night on some orgy.
"Good gracious, Rawdon," he said, with a blank face, "what brings you
here at this time of the morning? Why ain't you at home?"

"Home," said Rawdon with a wild laugh.  "Don't be frightened, Pitt. I'm
not drunk.  Shut the door; I want to speak to you."

Pitt closed the door and came up to the table, where he sat down in the
other arm-chair--that one placed for the reception of the steward,
agent, or confidential visitor who came to transact business with the
Baronet--and trimmed his nails more vehemently than ever.

"Pitt, it's all over with me," the Colonel said after a pause.  "I'm
done."

"I always said it would come to this," the Baronet cried peevishly, and
beating a tune with his clean-trimmed nails.  "I warned you a thousand
times.  I can't help you any more.  Every shilling of my money is tied
up.  Even the hundred pounds that Jane took you last night were
promised to my lawyer to-morrow morning, and the want of it will put me
to great inconvenience. I don't mean to say that I won't assist you
ultimately. But as for paying your creditors in full, I might as well
hope to pay the National Debt.  It is madness, sheer madness, to think
of such a thing.  You must come to a compromise.  It's a painful thing
for the family, but everybody does it.  There was George Kitely, Lord
Ragland's son, went through the Court last week, and was what they call
whitewashed, I believe. Lord Ragland would not pay a shilling for him,
and--"

"It's not money I want," Rawdon broke in.  "I'm not come to you about
myself.  Never mind what happens to me."

"What is the matter, then?" said Pitt, somewhat relieved.

"It's the boy," said Rawdon in a husky voice.  "I want you to promise
me that you will take charge of him when I'm gone.  That dear good wife
of yours has always been good to him; and he's fonder of her than he is
of his . . .--Damn it.  Look here, Pitt--you know that I was to have
had Miss Crawley's money.  I wasn't brought up like a younger brother,
but was always encouraged to be extravagant and kep idle.  But for this
I might have been quite a different man.  I didn't do my duty with the
regiment so bad.  You know how I was thrown over about the money, and
who got it."

"After the sacrifices I have made, and the manner in which I have stood
by you, I think this sort of reproach is useless," Sir Pitt said.
"Your marriage was your own doing, not mine."

"That's over now," said Rawdon.  "That's over now." And the words were
wrenched from him with a groan, which made his brother start.

"Good God!  is she dead?" Sir Pitt said with a voice of genuine alarm
and commiseration.

"I wish I was," Rawdon replied.  "If it wasn't for little Rawdon I'd
have cut my throat this morning--and that damned villain's too."

Sir Pitt instantly guessed the truth and surmised that Lord Steyne was
the person whose life Rawdon wished to take.  The Colonel told his
senior briefly, and in broken accents, the circumstances of the case.
"It was a regular plan between that scoundrel and her," he said.  "The
bailiffs were put upon me; I was taken as I was going out of his house;
when I wrote to her for money, she said she was ill in bed and put me
off to another day. And when I got home I found her in diamonds and
sitting with that villain alone." He then went on to describe hurriedly
the personal conflict with Lord Steyne.  To an affair of that nature,
of course, he said, there was but one issue, and after his conference
with his brother, he was going away to make the necessary arrangements
for the meeting which must ensue.  "And as it may end fatally with me,"
Rawdon said with a broken voice, "and as the boy has no mother, I must
leave him to you and Jane, Pitt--only it will be a comfort to me if you
will promise me to be his friend."

The elder brother was much affected, and shook Rawdon's hand with a
cordiality seldom exhibited by him. Rawdon passed his hand over his
shaggy eyebrows. "Thank you, brother," said he.  "I know I can trust
your word."

"I will, upon my honour," the Baronet said.  And thus, and almost
mutely, this bargain was struck between them.

Then Rawdon took out of his pocket the little pocket-book which he had
discovered in Becky's desk, and from which he drew a bundle of the
notes which it contained. "Here's six hundred," he said--"you didn't
know I was so rich.  I want you to give the money to Briggs, who lent
it to us--and who was kind to the boy--and I've always felt ashamed of
having taken the poor old woman's money.  And here's some more--I've
only kept back a few pounds--which Becky may as well have, to get on
with." As he spoke he took hold of the other notes to give to his
brother, but his hands shook, and he was so agitated that the
pocket-book fell from him, and out of it the thousand-pound note which
had been the last of the unlucky Becky's winnings.

Pitt stooped and picked them up, amazed at so much wealth.  "Not that,"
Rawdon said.  "I hope to put a bullet into the man whom that belongs
to." He had thought to himself, it would be a fine revenge to wrap a
ball in the note and kill Steyne with it.

After this colloquy the brothers once more shook hands and parted. Lady
Jane had heard of the Colonel's arrival, and was waiting for her
husband in the adjoining dining-room, with female instinct, auguring
evil.  The door of the dining-room happened to be left open, and the
lady of course was issuing from it as the two brothers passed out of
the study.  She held out her hand to Rawdon and said she was glad he
was come to breakfast, though she could perceive, by his haggard
unshorn face and the dark looks of her husband, that there was very
little question of breakfast between them.  Rawdon muttered some
excuses about an engagement, squeezing hard the timid little hand which
his sister-in-law reached out to him.  Her imploring eyes could read
nothing but calamity in his face, but he went away without another
word.  Nor did Sir Pitt vouchsafe her any explanation. The children
came up to salute him, and he kissed them in his usual frigid manner.
The mother took both of them close to herself, and held a hand of each
of them as they knelt down to prayers, which Sir Pitt read to them, and
to the servants in their Sunday suits or liveries, ranged upon chairs
on the other side of the hissing tea-urn. Breakfast was so late that
day, in consequence of the delays which had occurred, that the
church-bells began to ring whilst they were sitting over their meal;
and Lady Jane was too ill, she said, to go to church, though her
thoughts had been entirely astray during the period of family devotion.

Rawdon Crawley meanwhile hurried on from Great Gaunt Street, and
knocking at the great bronze Medusa's head which stands on the portal
of Gaunt House, brought out the purple Silenus in a red and silver
waistcoat who acts as porter of that palace.  The man was scared also
by the Colonel's dishevelled appearance, and barred the way as if
afraid that the other was going to force it.  But Colonel Crawley only
took out a card and enjoined him particularly to send it in to Lord
Steyne, and to mark the address written on it, and say that Colonel
Crawley would be all day after one o'clock at the Regent Club in St.
James's Street--not at home.  The fat red-faced man looked after him
with astonishment as he strode away; so did the people in their Sunday
clothes who were out so early; the charity-boys with shining faces,
the greengrocer lolling at his door, and the publican shutting his
shutters in the sunshine, against service commenced.  The people joked
at the cab-stand about his appearance, as he took a carriage there, and
told the driver to drive him to Knightsbridge Barracks.

All the bells were jangling and tolling as he reached that place. He
might have seen his old acquaintance Amelia on her way from Brompton to
Russell Square, had he been looking out.  Troops of schools were on
their march to church, the shiny pavement and outsides of coaches in
the suburbs were thronged with people out upon their Sunday pleasure;
but the Colonel was much too busy to take any heed of these phenomena,
and, arriving at Knightsbridge, speedily made his way up to the room of
his old friend and comrade Captain Macmurdo, who Crawley found, to his
satisfaction, was in barracks.

Captain Macmurdo, a veteran officer and Waterloo man, greatly liked by
his regiment, in which want of money alone prevented him from attaining
the highest ranks, was enjoying the forenoon calmly in bed.  He had
been at a fast supper-party, given the night before by Captain the
Honourable George Cinqbars, at his house in Brompton Square, to several
young men of the regiment, and a number of ladies of the corps de
ballet, and old Mac, who was at home with people of all ages and ranks,
and consorted with generals, dog-fanciers, opera-dancers, bruisers, and
every kind of person, in a word, was resting himself after the night's
labours, and, not being on duty, was in bed.

His room was hung round with boxing, sporting, and dancing pictures,
presented to him by comrades as they retired from the regiment, and
married and settled into quiet life.  And as he was now nearly fifty
years of age, twenty-four of which he had passed in the corps, he had a
singular museum.  He was one of the best shots in England, and, for a
heavy man, one of the best riders; indeed, he and Crawley had been
rivals when the latter was in the Army.  To be brief, Mr. Macmurdo was
lying in bed, reading in Bell's Life an account of that very fight
between the Tutbury Pet and the Barking Butcher, which has been before
mentioned--a venerable bristly warrior, with a little close-shaved grey
head, with a silk nightcap, a red face and nose, and a great dyed
moustache.

When Rawdon told the Captain he wanted a friend, the latter knew
perfectly well on what duty of friendship he was called to act, and
indeed had conducted scores of affairs for his acquaintances with the
greatest prudence and skill.  His Royal Highness the late lamented
Commander-in-Chief had had the greatest regard for Macmurdo on this
account, and he was the common refuge of gentlemen in trouble.

"What's the row about, Crawley, my boy?" said the old warrior.  "No
more gambling business, hay, like that when we shot Captain Marker?"

"It's about--about my wife," Crawley answered, casting down his eyes
and turning very red.

The other gave a whistle.  "I always said she'd throw you over," he
began--indeed there were bets in the regiment and at the clubs
regarding the probable fate of Colonel Crawley, so lightly was his
wife's character esteemed by his comrades and the world; but seeing the
savage look with which Rawdon answered the expression of this opinion,
Macmurdo did not think fit to enlarge upon it further.

"Is there no way out of it, old boy?" the Captain continued in a grave
tone.  "Is it only suspicion, you know, or--or what is it? Any letters?
Can't you keep it quiet? Best not make any noise about a thing of that
sort if you can help it." "Think of his only finding her out now," the
Captain thought to himself, and remembered a hundred particular
conversations at the mess-table, in which Mrs. Crawley's reputation had
been torn to shreds.

"There's no way but one out of it," Rawdon replied--"and there's only a
way out of it for one of us, Mac--do you understand? I was put out of
the way--arrested--I found 'em alone together.  I told him he was a
liar and a coward, and knocked him down and thrashed him."

"Serve him right," Macmurdo said.  "Who is it?"

Rawdon answered it was Lord Steyne.

"The deuce!  a Marquis!  they said he--that is, they said you--"

"What the devil do you mean?" roared out Rawdon; "do you mean that you
ever heard a fellow doubt about my wife and didn't tell me, Mac?"

"The world's very censorious, old boy," the other replied.  "What the
deuce was the good of my telling you what any tom-fools talked about?"

"It was damned unfriendly, Mac," said Rawdon, quite overcome; and,
covering his face with his hands, he gave way to an emotion, the sight
of which caused the tough old campaigner opposite him to wince with
sympathy. "Hold up, old boy," he said; "great man or not, we'll put a
bullet in him, damn him.  As for women, they're all so."

"You don't know how fond I was of that one," Rawdon said,
half-inarticulately.  "Damme, I followed her like a footman.  I gave up
everything I had to her.  I'm a beggar because I would marry her. By
Jove, sir, I've pawned my own watch in order to get her anything she
fancied; and she--she's been making a purse for herself all the time,
and grudged me a hundred pound to get me out of quod." He then fiercely
and incoherently, and with an agitation under which his counsellor had
never before seen him labour, told Macmurdo the circumstances of the
story.  His adviser caught at some stray hints in it. "She may be
innocent, after all," he said.  "She says so. Steyne has been a hundred
times alone with her in the house before."

"It may be so," Rawdon answered sadly, "but this don't look very
innocent":  and he showed the Captain the thousand-pound note which he
had found in Becky's pocket-book.  "This is what he gave her, Mac, and
she kep it unknown to me; and with this money in the house, she refused
to stand by me when I was locked up." The Captain could not but own
that the secreting of the money had a very ugly look.

Whilst they were engaged in their conference, Rawdon dispatched Captain
Macmurdo's servant to Curzon Street, with an order to the domestic
there to give up a bag of clothes of which the Colonel had great need.
And during the man's absence, and with great labour and a Johnson's
Dictionary, which stood them in much stead, Rawdon and his second
composed a letter, which the latter was to send to Lord Steyne.
Captain Macmurdo had the honour of waiting upon the Marquis of Steyne,
on the part of Colonel Rawdon Crawley, and begged to intimate that he
was empowered by the Colonel to make any arrangements for the meeting
which, he had no doubt, it was his Lordship's intention to demand, and
which the circumstances of the morning had rendered inevitable.
Captain Macmurdo begged Lord Steyne, in the most polite manner, to
appoint a friend, with whom he (Captain M.M.) might communicate, and
desired that the meeting might take place with as little delay as
possible.

In a postscript the Captain stated that he had in his possession a
bank-note for a large amount, which Colonel Crawley had reason to
suppose was the property of the Marquis of Steyne.  And he was anxious,
on the Colonel's behalf, to give up the note to its owner.

By the time this note was composed, the Captain's servant returned from
his mission to Colonel Crawley's house in Curzon Street, but without
the carpet-bag and portmanteau, for which he had been sent, and with a
very puzzled and odd face.

"They won't give 'em up," said the man; "there's a regular shinty in
the house, and everything at sixes and sevens.  The landlord's come in
and took possession.  The servants was a drinkin' up in the
drawingroom.  They said--they said you had gone off with the plate,
Colonel"--the man added after a pause--"One of the servants is off
already.  And Simpson, the man as was very noisy and drunk indeed, says
nothing shall go out of the house until his wages is paid up."

The account of this little revolution in May Fair astonished and gave a
little gaiety to an otherwise very triste conversation.  The two
officers laughed at Rawdon's discomfiture.

"I'm glad the little 'un isn't at home," Rawdon said, biting his nails.
"You remember him, Mac, don't you, in the Riding School? How he sat the
kicker to be sure! didn't he?"

"That he did, old boy," said the good-natured Captain.

Little Rawdon was then sitting, one of fifty gown boys, in the Chapel
of Whitefriars School, thinking, not about the sermon, but about going
home next Saturday, when his father would certainly tip him and perhaps
would take him to the play.

"He's a regular trump, that boy," the father went on, still musing
about his son.  "I say, Mac, if anything goes wrong--if I drop--I
should like you to--to go and see him, you know, and say that I was
very fond of him, and that.  And--dash it--old chap, give him these
gold sleeve-buttons:  it's all I've got." He covered his face with his
black hands, over which the tears rolled and made furrows of white.
Mr. Macmurdo had also occasion to take off his silk night-cap and rub
it across his eyes.

"Go down and order some breakfast," he said to his man in a loud
cheerful voice.  "What'll you have, Crawley? Some devilled kidneys and
a herring--let's say.  And, Clay, lay out some dressing things for the
Colonel:  we were always pretty much of a size, Rawdon, my boy, and
neither of us ride so light as we did when we first entered the corps."
With which, and leaving the Colonel to dress himself, Macmurdo turned
round towards the wall, and resumed the perusal of Bell's Life, until
such time as his friend's toilette was complete and he was at liberty
to commence his own.

This, as he was about to meet a lord, Captain Macmurdo performed with
particular care.  He waxed his mustachios into a state of brilliant
polish and put on a tight cravat and a trim buff waistcoat, so that all
the young officers in the mess-room, whither Crawley had preceded his
friend, complimented Mac on his appearance at breakfast and asked if he
was going to be married that Sunday.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: It's now morning, and Rawdon stumbles into Pitt and Lady Jane's mansion. He tries to read the paper in Pitt's study but is too crazed to make out the words. Pitt comes downstairs and is alarmed to see his disheveled brother . Rawdon tells him that it's all over. At first Pitt thinks he's talking about money and starts a long speech about how he doesn't have any to give to his brother. Rawdon interrupts and in fits and starts tell Pitt what happened. For insulting an aristocrat and physically assaulting him, the only recourse to restore honor is a duel. Rawdon is expecting a challenge from Lord Steyne any moment. Then Rawdon tearfully asks his brother to promise to take care of Rawdon Jr. if anything should happen. After all, Lady Jane is more of a mother to him than Becky. Pitt is deeply moved and makes a solemn promise. Rawdon hurries off to Lord Steyne's mansion. He hands the servant a card with the address of his club, still assuming that Steyne will send a challenge to him that day. Finally he goes to his club. There he finds an old friend, Captain Macmurdo, and asks him to be his second in the duel. Macmurdo has done this before, so he's game. He asks whether it's about debts. When Rawdon tells him that it's about his wife, Macmurdo is entirely unsurprised. Actually, he says he's shocked it's taken Rawdon this long to catch on to Becky's doings. Macmurdo is kind of floored to hear that the challenger will be a Marquis and wonders if there's a way to settle the problem peacefully. After all, Rawdon doesn't have definitive proof that anything actually happened and that Becky did anything wrong. Rawdon won't hear it. He sends a servant to his old house to get some clothes together. After a while the man comes back and says the people at the house won't give him Rawdon's clothes and that the house is in a state of total chaos. Macmurdo tells Rawdon to forget about it and gives him some of his own clothes, since they are about the same size.


prompt:
Chapter: In Which the Same Subject is Pursued

Becky did not rally from the state of stupor and confusion in which the
events of the previous night had plunged her intrepid spirit until the
bells of the Curzon Street Chapels were ringing for afternoon service,
and rising from her bed she began to ply her own bell, in order to
summon the French maid who had left her some hours before.

Mrs. Rawdon Crawley rang many times in vain; and though, on the last
occasion, she rang with such vehemence as to pull down the bell-rope,
Mademoiselle Fifine did not make her appearance--no, not though her
mistress, in a great pet, and with the bell-rope in her hand, came out
to the landing-place with her hair over her shoulders and screamed out
repeatedly for her attendant.

The truth is, she had quitted the premises for many hours, and upon
that permission which is called French leave among us.  After picking up
the trinkets in the drawing-room, Mademoiselle had ascended to her own
apartments, packed and corded her own boxes there, tripped out and
called a cab for herself, brought down her trunks with her own hand,
and without ever so much as asking the aid of any of the other
servants, who would probably have refused it, as they hated her
cordially, and without wishing any one of them good-bye, had made her
exit from Curzon Street.

The game, in her opinion, was over in that little domestic
establishment.  Fifine went off in a cab, as we have known more exalted
persons of her nation to do under similar circumstances: but, more
provident or lucky than these, she secured not only her own property,
but some of her mistress's (if indeed that lady could be said to have
any property at all)--and not only carried off the trinkets before
alluded to, and some favourite dresses on which she had long kept her
eye, but four richly gilt Louis Quatorze candlesticks, six gilt albums,
keepsakes, and Books of Beauty, a gold enamelled snuff-box which had
once belonged to Madame du Barri, and the sweetest little inkstand and
mother-of-pearl blotting book, which Becky used when she composed her
charming little pink notes, had vanished from the premises in Curzon
Street together with Mademoiselle Fifine, and all the silver laid on
the table for the little festin which Rawdon interrupted.  The plated
ware Mademoiselle left behind her was too cumbrous, probably for which
reason, no doubt, she also left the fire irons, the chimney-glasses,
and the rosewood cottage piano.

A lady very like her subsequently kept a milliner's shop in the Rue du
Helder at Paris, where she lived with great credit and enjoyed the
patronage of my Lord Steyne.  This person always spoke of England as of
the most treacherous country in the world, and stated to her young
pupils that she had been affreusement vole by natives of that island.
It was no doubt compassion for her misfortunes which induced the
Marquis of Steyne to be so very kind to Madame de Saint-Amaranthe.  May
she flourish as she deserves--she appears no more in our quarter of
Vanity Fair.

Hearing a buzz and a stir below, and indignant at the impudence of
those servants who would not answer her summons, Mrs. Crawley flung her
morning robe round her and descended majestically to the drawing-room,
whence the noise proceeded.

The cook was there with blackened face, seated on the beautiful chintz
sofa by the side of Mrs. Raggles, to whom she was administering
Maraschino.  The page with the sugar-loaf buttons, who carried about
Becky's pink notes, and jumped about her little carriage with such
alacrity, was now engaged putting his fingers into a cream dish; the
footman was talking to Raggles, who had a face full of perplexity and
woe--and yet, though the door was open, and Becky had been screaming a
half-dozen of times a few feet off, not one of her attendants had
obeyed her call.  "Have a little drop, do'ee now, Mrs. Raggles," the
cook was saying as Becky entered, the white cashmere dressing-gown
flouncing around her.

"Simpson!  Trotter!" the mistress of the house cried in great wrath.
"How dare you stay here when you heard me call? How dare you sit down
in my presence? Where's my maid?" The page withdrew his fingers from
his mouth with a momentary terror, but the cook took off a glass of
Maraschino, of which Mrs. Raggles had had enough, staring at Becky over
the little gilt glass as she drained its contents. The liquor appeared
to give the odious rebel courage.

"YOUR sofy, indeed!" Mrs. Cook said.  "I'm a settin' on Mrs. Raggles's
sofy.  Don't you stir, Mrs. Raggles, Mum. I'm a settin' on Mr. and Mrs.
Raggles's sofy, which they bought with honest money, and very dear it
cost 'em, too.  And I'm thinkin' if I set here until I'm paid my wages,
I shall set a precious long time, Mrs. Raggles; and set I will,
too--ha!  ha!" and with this she filled herself another glass of the
liquor and drank it with a more hideously satirical air.

"Trotter!  Simpson!  turn that drunken wretch out," screamed Mrs.
Crawley.

"I shawn't," said Trotter the footman; "turn out yourself.  Pay our
selleries, and turn me out too.  WE'LL go fast enough."

"Are you all here to insult me?" cried Becky in a fury; "when Colonel
Crawley comes home I'll--"

At this the servants burst into a horse haw-haw, in which, however,
Raggles, who still kept a most melancholy countenance, did not join.
"He ain't a coming back," Mr. Trotter resumed.  "He sent for his
things, and I wouldn't let 'em go, although Mr. Raggles would; and I
don't b'lieve he's no more a Colonel than I am.  He's hoff, and I
suppose you're a goin' after him.  You're no better than swindlers,
both on you.  Don't be a bullyin' ME.  I won't stand it.  Pay us our
selleries, I say.  Pay us our selleries." It was evident, from Mr.
Trotter's flushed countenance and defective intonation, that he, too,
had had recourse to vinous stimulus.

"Mr. Raggles," said Becky in a passion of vexation, "you will not
surely let me be insulted by that drunken man?" "Hold your noise,
Trotter; do now," said Simpson the page.  He was affected by his
mistress's deplorable situation, and succeeded in preventing an
outrageous denial of the epithet "drunken" on the footman's part.

"Oh, M'am," said Raggles, "I never thought to live to see this year
day:  I've known the Crawley family ever since I was born.  I lived
butler with Miss Crawley for thirty years; and I little thought one of
that family was a goin' to ruing me--yes, ruing me"--said the poor
fellow with tears in his eyes.  "Har you a goin' to pay me? You've
lived in this 'ouse four year.  You've 'ad my substance: my plate and
linning.  You ho me a milk and butter bill of two 'undred pound, you
must 'ave noo laid heggs for your homlets, and cream for your spanil
dog."

"She didn't care what her own flesh and blood had," interposed the
cook.  "Many's the time, he'd have starved but for me."

"He's a charaty-boy now, Cooky," said Mr. Trotter, with a drunken "ha!
ha!"--and honest Raggles continued, in a lamentable tone, an
enumeration of his griefs.  All he said was true.  Becky and her
husband had ruined him. He had bills coming due next week and no means
to meet them.  He would be sold up and turned out of his shop and his
house, because he had trusted to the Crawley family.  His tears and
lamentations made Becky more peevish than ever.

"You all seem to be against me," she said bitterly. "What do you want?
I can't pay you on Sunday.  Come back to-morrow and I'll pay you
everything.  I thought Colonel Crawley had settled with you.  He will
to-morrow. I declare to you upon my honour that he left home this
morning with fifteen hundred pounds in his pocket-book. He has left me
nothing.  Apply to him.  Give me a bonnet and shawl and let me go out
and find him.  There was a difference between us this morning.  You all
seem to know it.  I promise you upon my word that you shall all be
paid.  He has got a good appointment.  Let me go out and find him."

This audacious statement caused Raggles and the other personages
present to look at one another with a wild surprise, and with it
Rebecca left them.  She went upstairs and dressed herself this time
without the aid of her French maid.  She went into Rawdon's room, and
there saw that a trunk and bag were packed ready for removal, with a
pencil direction that they should be given when called for; then she
went into the Frenchwoman's garret; everything was clean, and all the
drawers emptied there. She bethought herself of the trinkets which had
been left on the ground and felt certain that the woman had fled. "Good
Heavens!  was ever such ill luck as mine?" she said; "to be so near,
and to lose all.  Is it all too late?" No; there was one chance more.

She dressed herself and went away unmolested this time, but alone. It
was four o'clock.  She went swiftly down the streets (she had no money
to pay for a carriage), and never stopped until she came to Sir Pitt
Crawley's door, in Great Gaunt Street.  Where was Lady Jane Crawley?
She was at church.  Becky was not sorry. Sir Pitt was in his study, and
had given orders not to be disturbed--she must see him--she slipped by
the sentinel in livery at once, and was in Sir Pitt's room before the
astonished Baronet had even laid down the paper.

He turned red and started back from her with a look of great alarm and
horror.

"Do not look so," she said.  "I am not guilty, Pitt, dear Pitt; you
were my friend once.  Before God, I am not guilty.  I seem so.
Everything is against me.  And oh!  at such a moment!  just when all my
hopes were about to be realized:  just when happiness was in store for
us."

"Is this true, what I see in the paper then?" Sir Pitt said--a
paragraph in which had greatly surprised him.

"It is true.  Lord Steyne told me on Friday night, the night of that
fatal ball.  He has been promised an appointment any time these six
months.  Mr. Martyr, the Colonial Secretary, told him yesterday that it
was made out. That unlucky arrest ensued; that horrible meeting. I was
only guilty of too much devotedness to Rawdon's service.  I have
received Lord Steyne alone a hundred times before. I confess I had
money of which Rawdon knew nothing. Don't you know how careless he is
of it, and could I dare to confide it to him?" And so she went on with
a perfectly connected story, which she poured into the ears of her
perplexed kinsman.

It was to the following effect.  Becky owned, and with perfect
frankness, but deep contrition, that having remarked Lord Steyne's
partiality for her (at the mention of which Pitt blushed), and being
secure of her own virtue, she had determined to turn the great peer's
attachment to the advantage of herself and her family.  "I looked for a
peerage for you, Pitt," she said (the brother-in-law again turned red).
"We have talked about it.  Your genius and Lord Steyne's interest made
it more than probable, had not this dreadful calamity come to put an
end to all our hopes.  But, first, I own that it was my object to
rescue my dear husband--him whom I love in spite of all his ill usage
and suspicions of me--to remove him from the poverty and ruin which was
impending over us.  I saw Lord Steyne's partiality for me," she said,
casting down her eyes.  "I own that I did everything in my power to
make myself pleasing to him, and as far as an honest woman may, to
secure his--his esteem. It was only on Friday morning that the news
arrived of the death of the Governor of Coventry Island, and my Lord
instantly secured the appointment for my dear husband. It was intended
as a surprise for him--he was to see it in the papers to-day.  Even
after that horrid arrest took place (the expenses of which Lord Steyne
generously said he would settle, so that I was in a manner prevented
from coming to my husband's assistance), my Lord was laughing with me,
and saying that my dearest Rawdon would be consoled when he read of his
appointment in the paper, in that shocking spun--bailiff's house. And
then--then he came home.  His suspicions were excited,--the dreadful
scene took place between my Lord and my cruel, cruel Rawdon--and, O my
God, what will happen next? Pitt, dear Pitt!  pity me, and reconcile
us!" And as she spoke she flung herself down on her knees, and bursting
into tears, seized hold of Pitt's hand, which she kissed passionately.

It was in this very attitude that Lady Jane, who, returning from
church, ran to her husband's room directly she heard Mrs. Rawdon
Crawley was closeted there, found the Baronet and his sister-in-law.

"I am surprised that woman has the audacity to enter this house," Lady
Jane said, trembling in every limb and turning quite pale. (Her
Ladyship had sent out her maid directly after breakfast, who had
communicated with Raggles and Rawdon Crawley's household, who had told
her all, and a great deal more than they knew, of that story, and many
others besides).  "How dare Mrs. Crawley to enter the house of--of an
honest family?"

Sir Pitt started back, amazed at his wife's display of vigour. Becky
still kept her kneeling posture and clung to Sir Pitt's hand.

"Tell her that she does not know all:  Tell her that I am innocent,
dear Pitt," she whimpered out.

"Upon my word, my love, I think you do Mrs. Crawley injustice," Sir
Pitt said; at which speech Rebecca was vastly relieved.  "Indeed I
believe her to be--"

"To be what?" cried out Lady Jane, her clear voice thrilling and, her
heart beating violently as she spoke. "To be a wicked woman--a
heartless mother, a false wife? She never loved her dear little boy,
who used to fly here and tell me of her cruelty to him.  She never came
into a family but she strove to bring misery with her and to weaken the
most sacred affections with her wicked flattery and falsehoods.  She
has deceived her husband, as she has deceived everybody; her soul is
black with vanity, worldliness, and all sorts of crime.  I tremble when
I touch her.  I keep my children out of her sight."

"Lady Jane!" cried Sir Pitt, starting up, "this is really language--"
"I have been a true and faithful wife to you, Sir Pitt," Lady Jane
continued, intrepidly; "I have kept my marriage vow as I made it to God
and have been obedient and gentle as a wife should.  But righteous
obedience has its limits, and I declare that I will not bear that--that
woman again under my roof; if she enters it, I and my children will
leave it.  She is not worthy to sit down with Christian people.
You--you must choose, sir, between her and me"; and with this my Lady
swept out of the room, fluttering with her own audacity, and leaving
Rebecca and Sir Pitt not a little astonished at it.

As for Becky, she was not hurt; nay, she was pleased. "It was the
diamond-clasp you gave me," she said to Sir Pitt, reaching him out her
hand; and before she left him (for which event you may be sure my Lady
Jane was looking out from her dressing-room window in the upper story)
the Baronet had promised to go and seek out his brother, and endeavour
to bring about a reconciliation.

Rawdon found some of the young fellows of the regiment seated in the
mess-room at breakfast, and was induced without much difficulty to
partake of that meal, and of the devilled legs of fowls and soda-water
with which these young gentlemen fortified themselves.  Then they had a
conversation befitting the day and their time of life: about the next
pigeon-match at Battersea, with relative bets upon Ross and
Osbaldiston; about Mademoiselle Ariane of the French Opera, and who had
left her, and how she was consoled by Panther Carr; and about the fight
between the Butcher and the Pet, and the probabilities that it was a
cross.  Young Tandyman, a hero of seventeen, laboriously endeavouring
to get up a pair of mustachios, had seen the fight, and spoke in the
most scientific manner about the battle and the condition of the men.
It was he who had driven the Butcher on to the ground in his drag and
passed the whole of the previous night with him.  Had there not been
foul play he must have won it.  All the old files of the Ring were in
it; and Tandyman wouldn't pay; no, dammy, he wouldn't pay.  It was but
a year since the young Cornet, now so knowing a hand in Cribb's
parlour, had a still lingering liking for toffy, and used to be birched
at Eton.

So they went on talking about dancers, fights, drinking, demireps,
until Macmurdo came down and joined the boys and the conversation. He
did not appear to think that any especial reverence was due to their
boyhood; the old fellow cut in with stories, to the full as choice as
any the youngest rake present had to tell--nor did his own grey hairs
nor their smooth faces detain him.  Old Mac was famous for his good
stories.  He was not exactly a lady's man; that is, men asked him to
dine rather at the houses of their mistresses than of their mothers.
There can scarcely be a life lower, perhaps, than his, but he was quite
contented with it, such as it was, and led it in perfect good nature,
simplicity, and modesty of demeanour.

By the time Mac had finished a copious breakfast, most of the others
had concluded their meal.  Young Lord Varinas was smoking an immense
Meerschaum pipe, while Captain Hugues was employed with a cigar: that
violent little devil Tandyman, with his little bull-terrier between his
legs, was tossing for shillings with all his might (that fellow was
always at some game or other) against Captain Deuceace; and Mac and
Rawdon walked off to the Club, neither, of course, having given any
hint of the business which was occupying their minds.  Both, on the
other hand, had joined pretty gaily in the conversation, for why should
they interrupt it? Feasting, drinking, ribaldry, laughter, go on
alongside of all sorts of other occupations in Vanity Fair--the crowds
were pouring out of church as Rawdon and his friend passed down St.
James's Street and entered into their Club.

The old bucks and habitues, who ordinarily stand gaping and grinning
out of the great front window of the Club, had not arrived at their
posts as yet--the newspaper-room was almost empty.  One man was present
whom Rawdon did not know; another to whom he owed a little score for
whist, and whom, in consequence, he did not care to meet; a third was
reading the Royalist (a periodical famous for its scandal and its
attachment to Church and King) Sunday paper at the table, and looking
up at Crawley with some interest, said, "Crawley, I congratulate you."

"What do you mean?" said the Colonel.

"It's in the Observer and the Royalist too," said Mr. Smith.

"What?" Rawdon cried, turning very red.  He thought that the affair
with Lord Steyne was already in the public prints.  Smith looked up
wondering and smiling at the agitation which the Colonel exhibited as
he took up the paper and, trembling, began to read.

Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown (the gentleman with whom Rawdon had the
outstanding whist account) had been talking about the Colonel just
before he came in.

"It is come just in the nick of time," said Smith.  "I suppose Crawley
had not a shilling in the world."

"It's a wind that blows everybody good," Mr. Brown said.  "He can't go
away without paying me a pony he owes me."

"What's the salary?" asked Smith.

"Two or three thousand," answered the other.  "But the climate's so
infernal, they don't enjoy it long. Liverseege died after eighteen
months of it, and the man before went off in six weeks, I hear."

"Some people say his brother is a very clever man.  I always found him
a d------ bore," Smith ejaculated.  "He must have good interest, though.
He must have got the Colonel the place."

"He!" said Brown, with a sneer.  "Pooh.  It was Lord Steyne got it."

"How do you mean?"

"A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband," answered the other
enigmatically, and went to read his papers.

Rawdon, for his part, read in the Royalist the following astonishing
paragraph:

GOVERNORSHIP OF COVENTRY ISLAND.--H.M.S. Yellowjack, Commander
Jaunders, has brought letters and papers from Coventry Island.  H. E.
Sir Thomas Liverseege had fallen a victim to the prevailing fever at
Swampton.  His loss is deeply felt in the flourishing colony.  We hear
that the Governorship has been offered to Colonel Rawdon Crawley, C.B.,
a distinguished Waterloo officer.  We need not only men of acknowledged
bravery, but men of administrative talents to superintend the affairs
of our colonies, and we have no doubt that the gentleman selected by
the Colonial Office to fill the lamented vacancy which has occurred at
Coventry Island is admirably calculated for the post which he is about
to occupy.

"Coventry Island!  Where was it? Who had appointed him to the
government? You must take me out as your secretary, old boy," Captain
Macmurdo said laughing; and as Crawley and his friend sat wondering and
perplexed over the announcement, the Club waiter brought in to the
Colonel a card on which the name of Mr. Wenham was engraved, who begged
to see Colonel Crawley.

The Colonel and his aide-de-camp went out to meet the gentleman,
rightly conjecturing that he was an emissary of Lord Steyne.  "How d'ye
do, Crawley? I am glad to see you," said Mr. Wenham with a bland smile,
and grasping Crawley's hand with great cordiality.

"You come, I suppose, from--"

"Exactly," said Mr. Wenham.

"Then this is my friend Captain Macmurdo, of the Life Guards Green."

"Delighted to know Captain Macmurdo, I'm sure," Mr. Wenham said and
tendered another smile and shake of the hand to the second, as he had
done to the principal. Mac put out one finger, armed with a buckskin
glove, and made a very frigid bow to Mr. Wenham over his tight cravat.
He was, perhaps, discontented at being put in communication with a
pekin, and thought that Lord Steyne should have sent him a Colonel at
the very least.

"As Macmurdo acts for me, and knows what I mean," Crawley said, "I had
better retire and leave you together."

"Of course," said Macmurdo.

"By no means, my dear Colonel," Mr. Wenham said; "the interview which I
had the honour of requesting was with you personally, though the
company of Captain Macmurdo cannot fail to be also most pleasing.  In
fact, Captain, I hope that our conversation will lead to none but the
most agreeable results, very different from those which my friend
Colonel Crawley appears to anticipate."

"Humph!" said Captain Macmurdo.  Be hanged to these civilians, he
thought to himself, they are always for arranging and speechifying. Mr.
Wenham took a chair which was not offered to him--took a paper from his
pocket, and resumed--

"You have seen this gratifying announcement in the papers this morning,
Colonel? Government has secured a most valuable servant, and you, if
you accept office, as I presume you will, an excellent appointment.
Three thousand a year, delightful climate, excellent government-house,
all your own way in the Colony, and a certain promotion.  I
congratulate you with all my heart.  I presume you know, gentlemen, to
whom my friend is indebted for this piece of patronage?"

"Hanged if I know," the Captain said; his principal turned very red.

"To one of the most generous and kindest men in the world, as he is one
of the greatest--to my excellent friend, the Marquis of Steyne."

"I'll see him d---- before I take his place," growled out Rawdon.

"You are irritated against my noble friend," Mr. Wenham calmly resumed;
"and now, in the name of common sense and justice, tell me why?"

"WHY?" cried Rawdon in surprise.

"Why? Dammy!" said the Captain, ringing his stick on the ground.

"Dammy, indeed," said Mr. Wenham with the most agreeable smile; "still,
look at the matter as a man of the world--as an honest man--and see if
you have not been in the wrong.  You come home from a journey, and
find--what?--my Lord Steyne supping at your house in Curzon Street with
Mrs. Crawley.  Is the circumstance strange or novel? Has he not been a
hundred times before in the same position? Upon my honour and word as a
gentleman"--Mr. Wenham here put his hand on his waistcoat with a
parliamentary air--"I declare I think that your suspicions are
monstrous and utterly unfounded, and that they injure an honourable
gentleman who has proved his good-will towards you by a thousand
benefactions--and a most spotless and innocent lady."

"You don't mean to say that--that Crawley's mistaken?" said Mr.
Macmurdo.

"I believe that Mrs. Crawley is as innocent as my wife, Mrs. Wenham,"
Mr. Wenham said with great energy.  "I believe that, misled by an
infernal jealousy, my friend here strikes a blow against not only an
infirm and old man of high station, his constant friend and benefactor,
but against his wife, his own dearest honour, his son's future
reputation, and his own prospects in life."

"I will tell you what happened," Mr. Wenham continued with great
solemnity; "I was sent for this morning by my Lord Steyne, and found
him in a pitiable state, as, I need hardly inform Colonel Crawley, any
man of age and infirmity would be after a personal conflict with a man
of your strength.  I say to your face; it was a cruel advantage you
took of that strength, Colonel Crawley.  It was not only the body of my
noble and excellent friend which was wounded--his heart, sir, was
bleeding.  A man whom he had loaded with benefits and regarded with
affection had subjected him to the foulest indignity.  What was this
very appointment, which appears in the journals of to-day, but a proof
of his kindness to you? When I saw his Lordship this morning I found
him in a state pitiable indeed to see, and as anxious as you are to
revenge the outrage committed upon him, by blood.  You know he has
given his proofs, I presume, Colonel Crawley?"

"He has plenty of pluck," said the Colonel.  "Nobody ever said he
hadn't."

"His first order to me was to write a letter of challenge, and to carry
it to Colonel Crawley.  One or other of us," he said, "must not survive
the outrage of last night."

Crawley nodded.  "You're coming to the point, Wenham," he said.

"I tried my utmost to calm Lord Steyne. 'Good God! sir,' I said, 'how I
regret that Mrs. Wenham and myself had not accepted Mrs. Crawley's
invitation to sup with her!'"

"She asked you to sup with her?" Captain Macmurdo said.

"After the opera.  Here's the note of invitation--stop--no, this is
another paper--I thought I had it, but it's of no consequence, and I
pledge you my word to the fact.  If we had come--and it was only one of
Mrs. Wenham's headaches which prevented us--she suffers under them a
good deal, especially in the spring--if we had come, and you had
returned home, there would have been no quarrel, no insult, no
suspicion--and so it is positively because my poor wife has a headache
that you are to bring death down upon two men of honour and plunge two
of the most excellent and ancient families in the kingdom into disgrace
and sorrow."

Mr. Macmurdo looked at his principal with the air of a man profoundly
puzzled, and Rawdon felt with a kind of rage that his prey was escaping
him.  He did not believe a word of the story, and yet, how discredit or
disprove it?

Mr. Wenham continued with the same fluent oratory, which in his place
in Parliament he had so often practised--"I sat for an hour or more by
Lord Steyne's bedside, beseeching, imploring Lord Steyne to forego his
intention of demanding a meeting.  I pointed out to him that the
circumstances were after all suspicious--they were suspicious.  I
acknowledge it--any man in your position might have been taken in--I
said that a man furious with jealousy is to all intents and purposes a
madman, and should be as such regarded--that a duel between you must
lead to the disgrace of all parties concerned--that a man of his
Lordship's exalted station had no right in these days, when the most
atrocious revolutionary principles, and the most dangerous levelling
doctrines are preached among the vulgar, to create a public scandal;
and that, however innocent, the common people would insist that he was
guilty.  In fine, I implored him not to send the challenge."

"I don't believe one word of the whole story," said Rawdon, grinding
his teeth.  "I believe it a d------ lie, and that you're in it, Mr.
Wenham.  If the challenge don't come from him, by Jove it shall come
from me."

Mr. Wenham turned deadly pale at this savage interruption of the
Colonel and looked towards the door.

But he found a champion in Captain Macmurdo.  That gentleman rose up
with an oath and rebuked Rawdon for his language.  "You put the affair
into my hands, and you shall act as I think fit, by Jove, and not as
you do. You have no right to insult Mr. Wenham with this sort of
language; and dammy, Mr. Wenham, you deserve an apology.  And as for a
challenge to Lord Steyne, you may get somebody else to carry it, I
won't.  If my lord, after being thrashed, chooses to sit still, dammy
let him. And as for the affair with--with Mrs. Crawley, my belief is,
there's nothing proved at all:  that your wife's innocent, as innocent
as Mr. Wenham says she is; and at any rate that you would be a d--fool
not to take the place and hold your tongue."

"Captain Macmurdo, you speak like a man of sense," Mr. Wenham cried
out, immensely relieved--"I forget any words that Colonel Crawley has
used in the irritation of the moment."

"I thought you would," Rawdon said with a sneer.

"Shut your mouth, you old stoopid," the Captain said good-naturedly.
"Mr. Wenham ain't a fighting man; and quite right, too."

"This matter, in my belief," the Steyne emissary cried, "ought to be
buried in the most profound oblivion.  A word concerning it should
never pass these doors.  I speak in the interest of my friend, as well
as of Colonel Crawley, who persists in considering me his enemy."

"I suppose Lord Steyne won't talk about it very much," said Captain
Macmurdo; "and I don't see why our side should.  The affair ain't a
very pretty one, any way you take it, and the less said about it the
better. It's you are thrashed, and not us; and if you are satisfied,
why, I think, we should be."

Mr. Wenham took his hat, upon this, and Captain Macmurdo following him
to the door, shut it upon himself and Lord Steyne's agent, leaving
Rawdon chafing within.  When the two were on the other side, Macmurdo
looked hard at the other ambassador and with an expression of anything
but respect on his round jolly face.

"You don't stick at a trifle, Mr. Wenham," he said.

"You flatter me, Captain Macmurdo," answered the other with a smile.
"Upon my honour and conscience now, Mrs. Crawley did ask us to sup
after the opera."

"Of course; and Mrs. Wenham had one of her head-aches.  I say, I've got
a thousand-pound note here, which I will give you if you will give me a
receipt, please; and I will put the note up in an envelope for Lord
Steyne. My man shan't fight him.  But we had rather not take his money."

"It was all a mistake--all a mistake, my dear sir," the other said with
the utmost innocence of manner; and was bowed down the Club steps by
Captain Macmurdo, just as Sir Pitt Crawley ascended them. There was a
slight acquaintance between these two gentlemen, and the Captain, going
back with the Baronet to the room where the latter's brother was, told
Sir Pitt, in confidence, that he had made the affair all right between
Lord Steyne and the Colonel.

Sir Pitt was well pleased, of course, at this intelligence, and
congratulated his brother warmly upon the peaceful issue of the affair,
making appropriate moral remarks upon the evils of duelling and the
unsatisfactory nature of that sort of settlement of disputes.

And after this preface, he tried with all his eloquence to effect a
reconciliation between Rawdon and his wife. He recapitulated the
statements which Becky had made, pointed out the probabilities of their
truth, and asserted his own firm belief in her innocence.

But Rawdon would not hear of it.  "She has kep money concealed from me
these ten years," he said "She swore, last night only, she had none
from Steyne.  She knew it was all up, directly I found it.  If she's
not guilty, Pitt, she's as bad as guilty, and I'll never see her
again--never." His head sank down on his chest as he spoke the words,
and he looked quite broken and sad.

"Poor old boy," Macmurdo said, shaking his head.

Rawdon Crawley resisted for some time the idea of taking the place
which had been procured for him by so odious a patron, and was also for
removing the boy from the school where Lord Steyne's interest had
placed him.  He was induced, however, to acquiesce in these benefits by
the entreaties of his brother and Macmurdo, but mainly by the latter,
pointing out to him what a fury Steyne would be in to think that his
enemy's fortune was made through his means.

When the Marquis of Steyne came abroad after his accident, the Colonial
Secretary bowed up to him and congratulated himself and the Service
upon having made so excellent an appointment.  These congratulations
were received with a degree of gratitude which may be imagined on the
part of Lord Steyne.

The secret of the rencontre between him and Colonel Crawley was buried
in the profoundest oblivion, as Wenham said; that is, by the seconds
and the principals. But before that evening was over it was talked of
at fifty dinner-tables in Vanity Fair.  Little Cackleby himself went to
seven evening parties and told the story with comments and emendations
at each place.  How Mrs. Washington White revelled in it!  The
Bishopess of Ealing was shocked beyond expression; the Bishop went and
wrote his name down in the visiting-book at Gaunt House that very day.
Little Southdown was sorry; so you may be sure was his sister Lady
Jane, very sorry.  Lady Southdown wrote it off to her other daughter at
the Cape of Good Hope.  It was town-talk for at least three days, and
was only kept out of the newspapers by the exertions of Mr. Wagg,
acting upon a hint from Mr. Wenham.

The bailiffs and brokers seized upon poor Raggles in Curzon Street, and
the late fair tenant of that poor little mansion was in the
meanwhile--where? Who cared!  Who asked after a day or two? Was she
guilty or not? We all know how charitable the world is, and how the
verdict of Vanity Fair goes when there is a doubt.  Some people said
she had gone to Naples in pursuit of Lord Steyne, whilst others averred
that his Lordship quitted that city and fled to Palermo on hearing of
Becky's arrival; some said she was living in Bierstadt, and had become
a dame d'honneur to the Queen of Bulgaria; some that she was at
Boulogne; and others, at a boarding-house at Cheltenham.

Rawdon made her a tolerable annuity, and we may be sure that she was a
woman who could make a little money go a great way, as the saying is.
He would have paid his debts on leaving England, could he have got any
Insurance Office to take his life, but the climate of Coventry Island
was so bad that he could borrow no money on the strength of his salary.
He remitted, however, to his brother punctually, and wrote to his
little boy regularly every mail.  He kept Macmurdo in cigars and sent
over quantities of shells, cayenne pepper, hot pickles, guava jelly,
and colonial produce to Lady Jane. He sent his brother home the Swamp
Town Gazette, in which the new Governor was praised with immense
enthusiasm; whereas the Swamp Town Sentinel, whose wife was not asked
to Government House, declared that his Excellency was a tyrant,
compared to whom Nero was an enlightened philanthropist.  Little Rawdon
used to like to get the papers and read about his Excellency.

His mother never made any movement to see the child. He went home to
his aunt for Sundays and holidays; he soon knew every bird's nest about
Queen's Crawley, and rode out with Sir Huddlestone's hounds, which he
admired so on his first well-remembered visit to Hampshire.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Meanwhile, after lying in bed a little bit, Becky comes around and rings the bell to summon her maid. Nothing happens. She rings again and again, until finally she rips the bell rope out of the wall. It turns out that the maid, realizing that the household was probably about to be bankrupt, had already taken as many valuables as she could, packed her bags, and left. Becky walks out of her room and goes downstairs. There she sees the cook and the other servants sitting around in the drawing room, drinking wine with the Raggleses. Becky at first acts scandalized by the fact that they are not answering her rings, sitting down in her presence, getting drunk, and all manner of other things. The drunken footman totally tells her off. The other servants join in. They tell Becky that this isn't her house anyway, that her husband is most likely not coming back, and that she never took care of her son. It's hard to have live-in servants - they tend to know everything about you. Becky tries to maintain her dignity and says that Rawdon just got a great job. She gets dressed and says she's going to go out to find him. Privately she hopes it's not too late to salvage the situation. Becky goes to Pitt's house. He is shocked to see her, but she immediately starts to tell him that she is not guilty. He is also surprised by an announcement he saw in the paper. Becky confirms it - Rawdon has just been appointed governor of Coventry Island, a small island that is part of the British Empire. It's a very impressive post that pays about three thousand pounds a year. Becky tells Pitt her version of events, which is basically that she flirted with Lord Steyne but never went past that, and all the time was just trying to get a good job for Rawdon out of him. Pitt buys this story, and Becky kneels and kisses his hand. Lady Jane walks in and sees them like this. To the shock and surprise of everyone, including herself probably, Lady Jane busts out with a long, amazing speech about what a horrid monster Becky is and how if Pitt has anything more to do with her, Lady Jane is going to take their children and move out of the house. Becky is too unclean and immoral to exist in the same space with, Lady Jane says, then leaves the room. Becky goes away, but first Pitt promises to go see Rawdon to try to patch things up between them. Meanwhile, at the club, Rawdon is getting ready and having some dinner when some of the other club members come up and congratulate him on his appointment. They've seen it in the paper too. Rawdon is totally floored by the newspaper article. While he's still in shock, Mr. Wenham comes in to see him. Rawdon assumes that Wenham is Steyne's second and wants to leave him and Macmurdo to work out the details, but Wenham wants nothing of the sort. Wenham is there to do the opposite - to smooth things over so that there is no duel. He's a really good, silver-tongued lawyer with an answer for everything. The general version of events he tells is that actually, Becky invited him and Mrs. Wenham over that night too, not just Lord Steyne. But sadly, Mrs. Wenham had a headache so they couldn't come. So it was all totally innocent. His other story is that Steyne really desperately wants to fight this duel, but that Wenham managed to calm him down and get him to not issue a challenge. Rawdon isn't buying any of this baloney. But then again, he doesn't have proof that any of it is not true. Still, Rawdon says that if Steyne doesn't issue a challenge, then he himself will. Macmurdo tells him to sit down and shut up and accept the peaceful resolution of the fight. Macmurdo shows Wenham out and gives him back the thousand-pound check that Rawdon took from Becky. Just then Pitt arrives at the club. He tries his best to get Rawdon to give Becky another chance. No dice. The upshot of all of this? Well, Rawdon takes the job on the island. Becky disappears to no-one-knows where. Raggles is seized and put in jail for his debts. And little Rawdon Jr. is taken in by his aunt and uncle. . Rawdon sends him letters and newspaper clippings about himself.