Chapter: Vauxhall

I know that the tune I am piping is a very mild one (although there are
some terrific chapters coming presently), and must beg the good-natured
reader to remember that we are only discoursing at present about a
stockbroker's family in Russell Square, who are taking walks, or
luncheon, or dinner, or talking and making love as people do in common
life, and without a single passionate and wonderful incident to mark
the progress of their loves.  The argument stands thus--Osborne, in
love with Amelia, has asked an old friend to dinner and to
Vauxhall--Jos Sedley is in love with Rebecca.  Will he marry her? That
is the great subject now in hand.

We might have treated this subject in the genteel, or in the romantic,
or in the facetious manner.  Suppose we had laid the scene in Grosvenor
Square, with the very same adventures--would not some people have
listened? Suppose we had shown how Lord Joseph Sedley fell in love, and
the Marquis of Osborne became attached to Lady Amelia, with the full
consent of the Duke, her noble father: or instead of the supremely
genteel, suppose we had resorted to the entirely low, and described
what was going on in Mr. Sedley's kitchen--how black Sambo was in love
with the cook (as indeed he was), and how he fought a battle with the
coachman in her behalf; how the knife-boy was caught stealing a cold
shoulder of mutton, and Miss Sedley's new femme de chambre refused to
go to bed without a wax candle; such incidents might be made to provoke
much delightful laughter, and be supposed to represent scenes of
"life." Or if, on the contrary, we had taken a fancy for the terrible,
and made the lover of the new femme de chambre a professional burglar,
who bursts into the house with his band, slaughters black Sambo at the
feet of his master, and carries off Amelia in her night-dress, not to
be let loose again till the third volume, we should easily have
constructed a tale of thrilling interest, through the fiery chapters of
which the reader should hurry, panting.  But my readers must hope for
no such romance, only a homely story, and must be content with a
chapter about Vauxhall, which is so short that it scarce deserves to be
called a chapter at all.  And yet it is a chapter, and a very important
one too.  Are not there little chapters in everybody's life, that seem
to be nothing, and yet affect all the rest of the history?

Let us then step into the coach with the Russell Square party, and be
off to the Gardens.  There is barely room between Jos and Miss Sharp,
who are on the front seat.  Mr. Osborne sitting bodkin opposite,
between Captain Dobbin and Amelia.

Every soul in the coach agreed that on that night Jos would propose to
make Rebecca Sharp Mrs. Sedley.  The parents at home had acquiesced in
the arrangement, though, between ourselves, old Mr. Sedley had a
feeling very much akin to contempt for his son.  He said he was vain,
selfish, lazy, and effeminate.  He could not endure his airs as a man
of fashion, and laughed heartily at his pompous braggadocio stories.
"I shall leave the fellow half my property," he said; "and he will
have, besides, plenty of his own; but as I am perfectly sure that if
you, and I, and his sister were to die to-morrow, he would say 'Good
Gad!' and eat his dinner just as well as usual, I am not going to make
myself anxious about him. Let him marry whom he likes.  It's no affair
of mine."

Amelia, on the other hand, as became a young woman of her prudence and
temperament, was quite enthusiastic for the match.  Once or twice Jos
had been on the point of saying something very important to her, to
which she was most willing to lend an ear, but the fat fellow could not
be brought to unbosom himself of his great secret, and very much to his
sister's disappointment he only rid himself of a large sigh and turned
away.

This mystery served to keep Amelia's gentle bosom in a perpetual
flutter of excitement.  If she did not speak with Rebecca on the tender
subject, she compensated herself with long and intimate conversations
with Mrs. Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, who dropped some hints to the
lady's-maid, who may have cursorily mentioned the matter to the cook,
who carried the news, I have no doubt, to all the tradesmen, so that
Mr. Jos's marriage was now talked of by a very considerable number of
persons in the Russell Square world.

It was, of course, Mrs. Sedley's opinion that her son would demean
himself by a marriage with an artist's daughter.  "But, lor', Ma'am,"
ejaculated Mrs. Blenkinsop, "we was only grocers when we married Mr.
S., who was a stock-broker's clerk, and we hadn't five hundred pounds
among us, and we're rich enough now." And Amelia was entirely of this
opinion, to which, gradually, the good-natured Mrs. Sedley was brought.

Mr. Sedley was neutral.  "Let Jos marry whom he likes," he said; "it's
no affair of mine.  This girl has no fortune; no more had Mrs. Sedley.
She seems good-humoured and clever, and will keep him in order,
perhaps.  Better she, my dear, than a black Mrs. Sedley, and a dozen of
mahogany grandchildren."

So that everything seemed to smile upon Rebecca's fortunes.  She took
Jos's arm, as a matter of course, on going to dinner; she had sate by
him on the box of his open carriage (a most tremendous "buck" he was,
as he sat there, serene, in state, driving his greys), and though
nobody said a word on the subject of the marriage, everybody seemed to
understand it.  All she wanted was the proposal, and ah! how Rebecca
now felt the want of a mother!--a dear, tender mother, who would have
managed the business in ten minutes, and, in the course of a little
delicate confidential conversation, would have extracted the
interesting avowal from the bashful lips of the young man!

Such was the state of affairs as the carriage crossed Westminster
bridge.

The party was landed at the Royal Gardens in due time. As the majestic
Jos stepped out of the creaking vehicle the crowd gave a cheer for the
fat gentleman, who blushed and looked very big and mighty, as he walked
away with Rebecca under his arm.  George, of course, took charge of
Amelia.  She looked as happy as a rose-tree in sunshine.

"I say, Dobbin," says George, "just look to the shawls and things,
there's a good fellow." And so while he paired off with Miss Sedley,
and Jos squeezed through the gate into the gardens with Rebecca at his
side, honest Dobbin contented himself by giving an arm to the shawls,
and by paying at the door for the whole party.

He walked very modestly behind them.  He was not willing to spoil
sport.  About Rebecca and Jos he did not care a fig.  But he thought
Amelia worthy even of the brilliant George Osborne, and as he saw that
good-looking couple threading the walks to the girl's delight and
wonder, he watched her artless happiness with a sort of fatherly
pleasure.  Perhaps he felt that he would have liked to have something
on his own arm besides a shawl (the people laughed at seeing the gawky
young officer carrying this female burthen); but William Dobbin was
very little addicted to selfish calculation at all; and so long as his
friend was enjoying himself, how should he be discontented? And the
truth is, that of all the delights of the Gardens; of the hundred
thousand extra lamps, which were always lighted; the fiddlers in cocked
hats, who played ravishing melodies under the gilded cockle-shell in
the midst of the gardens; the singers, both of comic and sentimental
ballads, who charmed the ears there; the country dances, formed by
bouncing cockneys and cockneyesses, and executed amidst jumping,
thumping and laughter; the signal which announced that Madame Saqui was
about to mount skyward on a slack-rope ascending to the stars; the
hermit that always sat in the illuminated hermitage; the dark walks, so
favourable to the interviews of young lovers; the pots of stout handed
about by the people in the shabby old liveries; and the twinkling
boxes, in which the happy feasters made-believe to eat slices of almost
invisible ham--of all these things, and of the gentle Simpson, that
kind smiling idiot, who, I daresay, presided even then over the
place--Captain William Dobbin did not take the slightest notice.

He carried about Amelia's white cashmere shawl, and having attended
under the gilt cockle-shell, while Mrs. Salmon performed the Battle of
Borodino (a savage cantata against the Corsican upstart, who had lately
met with his Russian reverses)--Mr. Dobbin tried to hum it as he walked
away, and found he was humming--the tune which Amelia Sedley sang on
the stairs, as she came down to dinner.

He burst out laughing at himself; for the truth is, he could sing no
better than an owl.

It is to be understood, as a matter of course, that our young people,
being in parties of two and two, made the most solemn promises to keep
together during the evening, and separated in ten minutes afterwards.
Parties at Vauxhall always did separate, but 'twas only to meet again
at supper-time, when they could talk of their mutual adventures in the
interval.

What were the adventures of Mr. Osborne and Miss Amelia? That is a
secret.  But be sure of this--they were perfectly happy, and correct in
their behaviour; and as they had been in the habit of being together
any time these fifteen years, their tete-a-tete offered no particular
novelty.

But when Miss Rebecca Sharp and her stout companion lost themselves in
a solitary walk, in which there were not above five score more of
couples similarly straying, they both felt that the situation was
extremely tender and critical, and now or never was the moment Miss
Sharp thought, to provoke that declaration which was trembling on the
timid lips of Mr. Sedley.  They had previously been to the panorama of
Moscow, where a rude fellow, treading on Miss Sharp's foot, caused her
to fall back with a little shriek into the arms of Mr. Sedley, and this
little incident increased the tenderness and confidence of that
gentleman to such a degree, that he told her several of his favourite
Indian stories over again for, at least, the sixth time.

"How I should like to see India!" said Rebecca.

"SHOULD you?" said Joseph, with a most killing tenderness; and was no
doubt about to follow up this artful interrogatory by a question still
more tender (for he puffed and panted a great deal, and Rebecca's hand,
which was placed near his heart, could count the feverish pulsations of
that organ), when, oh, provoking! the bell rang for the fireworks, and,
a great scuffling and running taking place, these interesting lovers
were obliged to follow in the stream of people.

Captain Dobbin had some thoughts of joining the party at supper: as, in
truth, he found the Vauxhall amusements not particularly lively--but he
paraded twice before the box where the now united couples were met, and
nobody took any notice of him.  Covers were laid for four.  The mated
pairs were prattling away quite happily, and Dobbin knew he was as
clean forgotten as if he had never existed in this world.

"I should only be de trop," said the Captain, looking at them rather
wistfully.  "I'd best go and talk to the hermit,"--and so he strolled
off out of the hum of men, and noise, and clatter of the banquet, into
the dark walk, at the end of which lived that well-known pasteboard
Solitary.  It wasn't very good fun for Dobbin--and, indeed, to be alone
at Vauxhall, I have found, from my own experience, to be one of the
most dismal sports ever entered into by a bachelor.

The two couples were perfectly happy then in their box: where the most
delightful and intimate conversation took place.  Jos was in his glory,
ordering about the waiters with great majesty.  He made the salad; and
uncorked the Champagne; and carved the chickens; and ate and drank the
greater part of the refreshments on the tables. Finally, he insisted
upon having a bowl of rack punch; everybody had rack punch at Vauxhall.
"Waiter, rack punch."

That bowl of rack punch was the cause of all this history.  And why not
a bowl of rack punch as well as any other cause? Was not a bowl of
prussic acid the cause of Fair Rosamond's retiring from the world? Was
not a bowl of wine the cause of the demise of Alexander the Great, or,
at least, does not Dr. Lempriere say so?--so did this bowl of rack
punch influence the fates of all the principal characters in this
"Novel without a Hero," which we are now relating.  It influenced their
life, although most of them did not taste a drop of it.

The young ladies did not drink it; Osborne did not like it; and the
consequence was that Jos, that fat gourmand, drank up the whole
contents of the bowl; and the consequence of his drinking up the whole
contents of the bowl was a liveliness which at first was astonishing,
and then became almost painful; for he talked and laughed so loud as to
bring scores of listeners round the box, much to the confusion of the
innocent party within it; and, volunteering to sing a song (which he
did in that maudlin high key peculiar to gentlemen in an inebriated
state), he almost drew away the audience who were gathered round the
musicians in the gilt scollop-shell, and received from his hearers a
great deal of applause.

"Brayvo, Fat un!" said one; "Angcore, Daniel Lambert!" said another;
"What a figure for the tight-rope!" exclaimed another wag, to the
inexpressible alarm of the ladies, and the great anger of Mr. Osborne.

"For Heaven's sake, Jos, let us get up and go," cried that gentleman,
and the young women rose.

"Stop, my dearest diddle-diddle-darling," shouted Jos, now as bold as a
lion, and clasping Miss Rebecca round the waist.  Rebecca started, but
she could not get away her hand.  The laughter outside redoubled.  Jos
continued to drink, to make love, and to sing; and, winking and waving
his glass gracefully to his audience, challenged all or any to come in
and take a share of his punch.

Mr. Osborne was just on the point of knocking down a gentleman in
top-boots, who proposed to take advantage of this invitation, and a
commotion seemed to be inevitable, when by the greatest good luck a
gentleman of the name of Dobbin, who had been walking about the
gardens, stepped up to the box.  "Be off, you fools!" said this
gentleman--shouldering off a great number of the crowd, who vanished
presently before his cocked hat and fierce appearance--and he entered
the box in a most agitated state.

"Good Heavens! Dobbin, where have you been?" Osborne said, seizing the
white cashmere shawl from his friend's arm, and huddling up Amelia in
it.--"Make yourself useful, and take charge of Jos here, whilst I take
the ladies to the carriage."

Jos was for rising to interfere--but a single push from Osborne's
finger sent him puffing back into his seat again, and the lieutenant
was enabled to remove the ladies in safety.  Jos kissed his hand to
them as they retreated, and hiccupped out "Bless you! Bless you!" Then,
seizing Captain Dobbin's hand, and weeping in the most pitiful way, he
confided to that gentleman the secret of his loves.  He adored that
girl who had just gone out; he had broken her heart, he knew he had, by
his conduct; he would marry her next morning at St. George's, Hanover
Square; he'd knock up the Archbishop of Canterbury at Lambeth: he
would, by Jove! and have him in readiness; and, acting on this hint,
Captain Dobbin shrewdly induced him to leave the gardens and hasten to
Lambeth Palace, and, when once out of the gates, easily conveyed Mr.
Jos Sedley into a hackney-coach, which deposited him safely at his
lodgings.

George Osborne conducted the girls home in safety: and when the door
was closed upon them, and as he walked across Russell Square, laughed
so as to astonish the watchman.  Amelia looked very ruefully at her
friend, as they went up stairs, and kissed her, and went to bed without
any more talking.

"He must propose to-morrow," thought Rebecca.  "He called me his soul's
darling, four times; he squeezed my hand in Amelia's presence.  He must
propose to-morrow." And so thought Amelia, too. And I dare say she
thought of the dress she was to wear as bridesmaid, and of the presents
which she should make to her nice little sister-in-law, and of a
subsequent ceremony in which she herself might play a principal part,
&c., and &c., and &c., and &c.

Oh, ignorant young creatures! How little do you know the effect of rack
punch! What is the rack in the punch, at night, to the rack in the head
of a morning? To this truth I can vouch as a man; there is no headache
in the world like that caused by Vauxhall punch. Through the lapse of
twenty years, I can remember the consequence of two glasses! two
wine-glasses! but two, upon the honour of a gentleman; and Joseph
Sedley, who had a liver complaint, had swallowed at least a quart of
the abominable mixture.

That next morning, which Rebecca thought was to dawn upon her fortune,
found Sedley groaning in agonies which the pen refuses to describe.
Soda-water was not invented yet.  Small beer--will it be believed!--was
the only drink with which unhappy gentlemen soothed the fever of their
previous night's potation.  With this mild beverage before him, George
Osborne found the ex-Collector of Boggley Wollah groaning on the sofa
at his lodgings.  Dobbin was already in the room, good-naturedly
tending his patient of the night before.  The two officers, looking at
the prostrate Bacchanalian, and askance at each other, exchanged the
most frightful sympathetic grins.  Even Sedley's valet, the most solemn
and correct of gentlemen, with the muteness and gravity of an
undertaker, could hardly keep his countenance in order, as he looked at
his unfortunate master.

"Mr. Sedley was uncommon wild last night, sir," he whispered in
confidence to Osborne, as the latter mounted the stair.  "He wanted to
fight the 'ackney-coachman, sir. The Capting was obliged to bring him
upstairs in his harms like a babby." A momentary smile flickered over
Mr. Brush's features as he spoke; instantly, however, they relapsed
into their usual unfathomable calm, as he flung open the drawing-room
door, and announced "Mr. Hosbin."

"How are you, Sedley?" that young wag began, after surveying his
victim.  "No bones broke? There's a hackney-coachman downstairs with a
black eye, and a tied-up head, vowing he'll have the law of you."

"What do you mean--law?" Sedley faintly asked.

"For thrashing him last night--didn't he, Dobbin? You hit out, sir,
like Molyneux.  The watchman says he never saw a fellow go down so
straight.  Ask Dobbin."

"You DID have a round with the coachman," Captain Dobbin said, "and
showed plenty of fight too."

"And that fellow with the white coat at Vauxhall! How Jos drove at him!
How the women screamed! By Jove, sir, it did my heart good to see you.
I thought you civilians had no pluck; but I'll never get in your way
when you are in your cups, Jos."

"I believe I'm very terrible, when I'm roused," ejaculated Jos from the
sofa, and made a grimace so dreary and ludicrous, that the Captain's
politeness could restrain him no longer, and he and Osborne fired off a
ringing volley of laughter.

Osborne pursued his advantage pitilessly.  He thought Jos a milksop. He
had been revolving in his mind the marriage question pending between
Jos and Rebecca, and was not over well pleased that a member of a
family into which he, George Osborne, of the --th, was going to marry,
should make a mesalliance with a little nobody--a little upstart
governess.  "You hit, you poor old fellow!" said Osborne. "You
terrible! Why, man, you couldn't stand--you made everybody laugh in the
Gardens, though you were crying yourself.  You were maudlin, Jos.
Don't you remember singing a song?"

"A what?" Jos asked.

"A sentimental song, and calling Rosa, Rebecca, what's her name,
Amelia's little friend--your dearest diddle-diddle-darling?" And this
ruthless young fellow, seizing hold of Dobbin's hand, acted over the
scene, to the horror of the original performer, and in spite of
Dobbin's good-natured entreaties to him to have mercy.

"Why should I spare him?" Osborne said to his friend's remonstrances,
when they quitted the invalid, leaving him under the hands of Doctor
Gollop.  "What the deuce right has he to give himself his patronizing
airs, and make fools of us at Vauxhall? Who's this little schoolgirl
that is ogling and making love to him? Hang it, the family's low enough
already, without HER.  A governess is all very well, but I'd rather
have a lady for my sister-in-law. I'm a liberal man; but I've proper
pride, and know my own station: let her know hers.  And I'll take down
that great hectoring Nabob, and prevent him from being made a greater
fool than he is.  That's why I told him to look out, lest she brought
an action against him."

"I suppose you know best," Dobbin said, though rather dubiously. "You
always were a Tory, and your family's one of the oldest in England.
But--"

"Come and see the girls, and make love to Miss Sharp yourself," the
lieutenant here interrupted his friend; but Captain Dobbin declined to
join Osborne in his daily visit to the young ladies in Russell Square.

As George walked down Southampton Row, from Holborn, he laughed as he
saw, at the Sedley Mansion, in two different stories two heads on the
look-out.

The fact is, Miss Amelia, in the drawing-room balcony, was looking very
eagerly towards the opposite side of the Square, where Mr. Osborne
dwelt, on the watch for the lieutenant himself; and Miss Sharp, from
her little bed-room on the second floor, was in observation until Mr.
Joseph's great form should heave in sight.

"Sister Anne is on the watch-tower," said he to Amelia, "but there's
nobody coming"; and laughing and enjoying the joke hugely, he described
in the most ludicrous terms to Miss Sedley, the dismal condition of her
brother.

"I think it's very cruel of you to laugh, George," she said, looking
particularly unhappy; but George only laughed the more at her piteous
and discomfited mien, persisted in thinking the joke a most diverting
one, and when Miss Sharp came downstairs, bantered her with a great
deal of liveliness upon the effect of her charms on the fat civilian.

"O Miss Sharp! if you could but see him this morning," he
said--"moaning in his flowered dressing-gown--writhing on his sofa; if
you could but have seen him lolling out his tongue to Gollop the
apothecary."

"See whom?" said Miss Sharp.

"Whom? O whom?  Captain Dobbin, of course, to whom we were all so
attentive, by the way, last night."

"We were very unkind to him," Emmy said, blushing very much.  "I--I
quite forgot him."

"Of course you did," cried Osborne, still on the laugh.

"One can't be ALWAYS thinking about Dobbin, you know, Amelia.  Can one,
Miss Sharp?"

"Except when he overset the glass of wine at dinner," Miss Sharp said,
with a haughty air and a toss of the head, "I never gave the existence
of Captain Dobbin one single moment's consideration."

"Very good, Miss Sharp, I'll tell him," Osborne said; and as he spoke
Miss Sharp began to have a feeling of distrust and hatred towards this
young officer, which he was quite unconscious of having inspired.  "He
is to make fun of me, is he?" thought Rebecca.  "Has he been laughing
about me to Joseph?  Has he frightened him? Perhaps he won't come."--A
film passed over her eyes, and her heart beat quite quick.

"You're always joking," said she, smiling as innocently as she could.
"Joke away, Mr. George; there's nobody to defend ME." And George
Osborne, as she walked away--and Amelia looked reprovingly at him--felt
some little manly compunction for having inflicted any unnecessary
unkindness upon this helpless creature.  "My dearest Amelia," said he,
"you are too good--too kind.  You don't know the world.  I do.  And
your little friend Miss Sharp must learn her station."

"Don't you think Jos will--"

"Upon my word, my dear, I don't know.  He may, or may not.  I'm not his
master.  I only know he is a very foolish vain fellow, and put my dear
little girl into a very painful and awkward position last night.  My
dearest diddle-diddle-darling!" He was off laughing again, and he did
it so drolly that Emmy laughed too.

All that day Jos never came.  But Amelia had no fear about this; for
the little schemer had actually sent away the page, Mr. Sambo's
aide-de-camp, to Mr. Joseph's lodgings, to ask for some book he had
promised, and how he was; and the reply through Jos's man, Mr. Brush,
was, that his master was ill in bed, and had just had the doctor with
him.  He must come to-morrow, she thought, but she never had the
courage to speak a word on the subject to Rebecca; nor did that young
woman herself allude to it in any way during the whole evening after
the night at Vauxhall.

The next day, however, as the two young ladies sate on the sofa,
pretending to work, or to write letters, or to read novels, Sambo came
into the room with his usual engaging grin, with a packet under his
arm, and a note on a tray.  "Note from Mr. Jos, Miss," says Sambo.

How Amelia trembled as she opened it!

So it ran:

Dear Amelia,--I send you the "Orphan of the Forest." I was too ill to
come yesterday.  I leave town to-day for Cheltenham.  Pray excuse me,
if you can, to the amiable Miss Sharp, for my conduct at Vauxhall, and
entreat her to pardon and forget every word I may have uttered when
excited by that fatal supper.  As soon as I have recovered, for my
health is very much shaken, I shall go to Scotland for some months, and
am

Truly yours, Jos Sedley

It was the death-warrant.  All was over.  Amelia did not dare to look
at Rebecca's pale face and burning eyes, but she dropt the letter into
her friend's lap; and got up, and went upstairs to her room, and cried
her little heart out.

Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, there sought her presently with
consolation, on whose shoulder Amelia wept confidentially, and relieved
herself a good deal.  "Don't take on, Miss.  I didn't like to tell you.
But none of us in the house have liked her except at fust.  I sor her
with my own eyes reading your Ma's letters.  Pinner says she's always
about your trinket-box and drawers, and everybody's drawers, and she's
sure she's put your white ribbing into her box."

"I gave it her, I gave it her," Amelia said.

But this did not alter Mrs. Blenkinsop's opinion of Miss Sharp.  "I
don't trust them governesses, Pinner," she remarked to the maid. "They
give themselves the hairs and hupstarts of ladies, and their wages is
no better than you nor me."

It now became clear to every soul in the house, except poor Amelia,
that Rebecca should take her departure, and high and low (always with
the one exception) agreed that that event should take place as speedily
as possible. Our good child ransacked all her drawers, cupboards,
reticules, and gimcrack boxes--passed in review all her gowns, fichus,
tags, bobbins, laces, silk stockings, and fallals--selecting this thing
and that and the other, to make a little heap for Rebecca.  And going
to her Papa, that generous British merchant, who had promised to give
her as many guineas as she was years old--she begged the old gentleman
to give the money to dear Rebecca, who must want it, while she lacked
for nothing.

She even made George Osborne contribute, and nothing loth (for he was
as free-handed a young fellow as any in the army), he went to Bond
Street, and bought the best hat and spenser that money could buy.

"That's George's present to you, Rebecca, dear," said Amelia, quite
proud of the bandbox conveying these gifts.  "What a taste he has!
There's nobody like him."

"Nobody," Rebecca answered.  "How thankful I am to him!" She was
thinking in her heart, "It was George Osborne who prevented my
marriage."--And she loved George Osborne accordingly.

She made her preparations for departure with great equanimity; and
accepted all the kind little Amelia's presents, after just the proper
degree of hesitation and reluctance.  She vowed eternal gratitude to
Mrs. Sedley, of course; but did not intrude herself upon that good lady
too much, who was embarrassed, and evidently wishing to avoid her.  She
kissed Mr. Sedley's hand, when he presented her with the purse; and
asked permission to consider him for the future as her kind, kind
friend and protector.  Her behaviour was so affecting that he was going
to write her a cheque for twenty pounds more; but he restrained his
feelings: the carriage was in waiting to take him to dinner, so he
tripped away with a "God bless you, my dear, always come here when you
come to town, you know.--Drive to the Mansion House, James."

Finally came the parting with Miss Amelia, over which picture I intend
to throw a veil.  But after a scene in which one person was in earnest
and the other a perfect performer--after the tenderest caresses, the
most pathetic tears, the smelling-bottle, and some of the very best
feelings of the heart, had been called into requisition--Rebecca and
Amelia parted, the former vowing to love her friend for ever and ever
and ever.

 The narrator wonders how the story would change if the main characters were at the top of the social heap , or if they were servants. It seems that necessarily at least the tone of the novel would be completely different. Anyhoodle, the five young people finally go to Vauxhall. Everyone is convinced that Jos will propose there. As predicted, Dobbin is the fifth wheel, walking behind the two couples carrying their bags and shawls. He doesn't seem to mind too much and thinks about Amelia. The couples split up. George and Amelia have a "perfectly happy and correct" time, just like every other time they've been alone together for the past fifteen years . Becky and Jos, meanwhile, are talking, but just as Jos is about to ask Becky how she'd like to come to India for good, the bell rings to announce the Vauxhall fireworks. Fireworks time is dinnertime. At dinner, Jos eats an enormous amount of food. He also drinks a bottle of champagne almost by himself, as well as a bowl of alcoholic punch. Jos is wasted. He sings songs, is loud, calls Becky his "dearest diddle-diddle-darling" , and makes a huge fool out of himself. It's a ridiculous disaster. Dobbin and George take Becky and Amelia home, then carry Jos home half passed out. That night, Becky thinks Jos will propose tomorrow. Amelia agrees. George, meanwhile, is not too psyched to have a poor art teacher's daughter for a sister-in-law. The next morning, George mercilessly teases Jos about what an idiot he made out of himself. Jos is beyond embarrassed and does not come to see Becky. George does come to see Becky and Amelia, and Becky quickly figures out that he scared Jos out of coming and proposing. So Becky is no longer a big fan of George. Meanwhile, Jos writes a note to Amelia saying that he is leaving the country and going off to Scotland. So, the whole proposal-and-marriage thing is totally off. Becky gets ready to leave. Mrs. Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, confesses to Amelia that no one really likes Becky anymore. She's been sneaking around, spying on the family, and maybe even stealing things. Amelia doesn't want to hear it, and it seems like she's really the only one who is sad to see Becky go. Still, the Sedleys and George give Becky a bunch of money as a going-away present.

