I fear the gentleman to whom Miss Amelia's letters were addressed wasrather an obdurate critic. Such a number of notes followed LieutenantOsborne about the country, that he became almost ashamed of the jokesof his mess-room companions regarding them, and ordered his servantnever to deliver them except at his private apartment. He was seenlighting his cigar with one, to the horror of Captain Dobbin, who, itis my belief, would have given a bank-note for the document.

For some time George strove to keep the liaison a secret. There was awoman in the case, that he admitted. "And not the first either," saidEnsign Spooney to Ensign Stubble. "That Osborne's a devil of a fellow.There was a judge's daughter at Demerara went almost mad about him;then there was that beautiful quadroon girl, Miss Pye, at St.Vincent's, you know; and since he's been home, they say he's a regularDon Giovanni, by Jove."

Stubble and Spooney thought that to be a "regular Don Giovanni, byJove" was one of the finest qualities a man could possess, andOsborne's reputation was prodigious amongst the young men of theregiment. He was famous in field-sports, famous at a song, famous onparade; free with his money, which was bountifully supplied by hisfather. His coats were better made than any man's in the regiment, andhe had more of them. He was adored by the men. He could drink morethan any officer of the whole mess, including old Heavytop, thecolonel. He could spar better than Knuckles, the private (who wouldhave been a corporal but for his drunkenness, and who had been in theprize-ring); and was the best batter and bowler, out and out, of theregimental club. He rode his own horse, Greased Lightning, and won theGarrison cup at Quebec races. There were other people besides Ameliawho worshipped him. Stubble and Spooney thought him a sort of Apollo;Dobbin took him to be an Admirable Crichton; and Mrs. Major O'Dowdacknowledged he was an elegant young fellow, and put her in mind ofFitzjurld Fogarty, Lord Castlefogarty's second son.

Well, Stubble and Spooney and the rest indulged in most romanticconjectures regarding this female correspondent of Osborne's--opiningthat it was a Duchess in London who was in love with him--or that itwas a General's daughter, who was engaged to somebody else, and madlyattached to him--or that it was a Member of Parliament's lady, whoproposed four horses and an elopement--or that it was some other victimof a passion delightfully exciting, romantic, and disgraceful to allparties, on none of which conjectures would Osborne throw the leastlight, leaving his young admirers and friends to invent and arrangetheir whole history.

And the real state of the case would never have been known at all inthe regiment but for Captain Dobbin's indiscretion. The Captain waseating his breakfast one day in the mess-room, while Cackle, theassistant-surgeon, and the two above-named worthies were speculatingupon Osborne's intrigue--Stubble holding out that the lady was aDuchess about Queen Charlotte's court, and Cackle vowing she was anopera-singer of the worst reputation. At this idea Dobbin became somoved, that though his mouth was full of eggs and bread-and-butter atthe time, and though he ought not to have spoken at all, yet hecouldn't help blurting out, "Cackle, you're a stupid fool. You'realways talking nonsense and scandal. Osborne is not going to run offwith a Duchess or ruin a milliner. Miss Sedley is one of the mostcharming young women that ever lived. He's been engaged to her ever solong; and the man who calls her names had better not do so in myhearing." With which, turning exceedingly red, Dobbin ceased speaking,and almost choked himself with a cup of tea. The story was over theregiment in half-an-hour; and that very evening Mrs. Major O'Dowd wroteoff to her sister Glorvina at O'Dowdstown not to hurry fromDublin--young Osborne being prematurely engaged already.

She complimented the Lieutenant in an appropriate speech over a glassof whisky-toddy that evening, and he went home perfectly furious toquarrel with Dobbin (who had declined Mrs. Major O'Dowd's party, andsat in his own room playing the flute, and, I believe, writing poetryin a very melancholy manner)--to quarrel with Dobbin for betraying hissecret.

"Who the deuce asked you to talk about my affairs?" Osborne shoutedindignantly. "Why the devil is all the regiment to know that I amgoing to be married? Why is that tattling old harridan, Peggy O'Dowd,to make free with my name at her d--d supper-table, and advertise myengagement over the three kingdoms? After all, what right have you tosay I am engaged, or to meddle in my business at all, Dobbin?"

"It seems to me," Captain Dobbin began.

"Seems be hanged, Dobbin," his junior interrupted him. "I am underobligations to you, I know it, a d--d deal too well too; but I won't bealways sermonised by you because you're five years my senior. I'mhanged if I'll stand your airs of superiority and infernal pity andpatronage. Pity and patronage! I should like to know in what I'm yourinferior?"

"Are you engaged?" Captain Dobbin interposed.

"What the devil's that to you or any one here if I am?"

"Are you ashamed of it?" Dobbin resumed.

"What right have you to ask me that question, sir? I should like toknow," George said.

"Good God, you don't mean to say you want to break off?" asked Dobbin,starting up.

"In other words, you ask me if I'm a man of honour," said Osborne,fiercely; "is that what you mean? You've adopted such a tone regardingme lately that I'm ------ if I'll bear it any more."

"What have I done? I've told you you were neglecting a sweet girl,George. I've told you that when you go to town you ought to go to her,and not to the gambling-houses about St. James's."

"You want your money back, I suppose," said George, with a sneer.

"Of course I do--I always did, didn't I?" says Dobbin. "You speak likea generous fellow."

"No, hang it, William, I beg your pardon"--here George interposed in afit of remorse; "you have been my friend in a hundred ways, Heavenknows. You've got me out of a score of scrapes. When Crawley of theGuards won that sum of money of me I should have been done but for you:I know I should. But you shouldn't deal so hardly with me; youshouldn't be always catechising me. I am very fond of Amelia; I adoreher, and that sort of thing. Don't look angry. She's faultless; Iknow she is. But you see there's no fun in winning a thing unless youplay for it. Hang it: the regiment's just back from the West Indies, Imust have a little fling, and then when I'm married I'll reform; I willupon my honour, now. And--I say--Dob--don't be angry with me, andI'll give you a hundred next month, when I know my father will standsomething handsome; and I'll ask Heavytop for leave, and I'll go totown, and see Amelia to-morrow--there now, will that satisfy you?"

"It is impossible to be long angry with you, George," said thegood-natured Captain; "and as for the money, old boy, you know if I wantedit you'd share your last shilling with me."

"That I would, by Jove, Dobbin," George said, with the greatestgenerosity, though by the way he never had any money to spare.

"Only I wish you had sown those wild oats of yours, George. If youcould have seen poor little Miss Emmy's face when she asked me aboutyou the other day, you would have pitched those billiard-balls to thedeuce. Go and comfort her, you rascal. Go and write her a longletter. Do something to make her happy; a very little will."

"I believe she's d--d fond of me," the Lieutenant said, with aself-satisfied air; and went off to finish the evening with some jollyfellows in the mess-room.

Amelia meanwhile, in Russell Square, was looking at the moon, which wasshining upon that peaceful spot, as well as upon the square of theChatham barracks, where Lieutenant Osborne was quartered, and thinkingto herself how her hero was employed. Perhaps he is visiting thesentries, thought she; perhaps he is bivouacking; perhaps he isattending the couch of a wounded comrade, or studying the art of war upin his own desolate chamber. And her kind thoughts sped away as if theywere angels and had wings, and flying down the river to Chatham andRochester, strove to peep into the barracks where George was. . . . Allthings considered, I think it was as well the gates were shut, and thesentry allowed no one to pass; so that the poor little white-robedangel could not hear the songs those young fellows were roaring overthe whisky-punch.

The day after the little conversation at Chatham barracks, youngOsborne, to show that he would be as good as his word, prepared to goto town, thereby incurring Captain Dobbin's applause. "I should haveliked to make her a little present," Osborne said to his friend inconfidence, "only I am quite out of cash until my father tips up." ButDobbin would not allow this good nature and generosity to be balked,and so accommodated Mr. Osborne with a few pound notes, which thelatter took after a little faint scruple.

And I dare say he would have bought something very handsome for Amelia;only, getting off the coach in Fleet Street, he was attracted by ahandsome shirt-pin in a jeweller's window, which he could not resist;and having paid for that, had very little money to spare for indulgingin any further exercise of kindness. Never mind: you may be sure itwas not his presents Amelia wanted. When he came to Russell Square,her face lighted up as if he had been sunshine. The little cares,fears, tears, timid misgivings, sleepless fancies of I don't know howmany days and nights, were forgotten, under one moment's influence ofthat familiar, irresistible smile. He beamed on her from thedrawing-room door--magnificent, with ambrosial whiskers, like a god.Sambo, whose face as he announced Captain Osbin (having conferred abrevet rank on that young officer) blazed with a sympathetic grin, sawthe little girl start, and flush, and jump up from her watching-placein the window; and Sambo retreated: and as soon as the door was shut,she went fluttering to Lieutenant George Osborne's heart as if it wasthe only natural home for her to nestle in. Oh, thou poor pantinglittle soul! The very finest tree in the whole forest, with thestraightest stem, and the strongest arms, and the thickest foliage,wherein you choose to build and coo, may be marked, for what you know,and may be down with a crash ere long. What an old, old simile thatis, between man and timber!

In the meanwhile, George kissed her very kindly on her forehead andglistening eyes, and was very gracious and good; and she thought hisdiamond shirt-pin (which she had not known him to wear before) theprettiest ornament ever seen.

The observant reader, who has marked our young Lieutenant's previousbehaviour, and has preserved our report of the brief conversation whichhe has just had with Captain Dobbin, has possibly come to certainconclusions regarding the character of Mr. Osborne. Some cynicalFrenchman has said that there are two parties to a love-transaction:the one who loves and the other who condescends to be so treated.Perhaps the love is occasionally on the man's side; perhaps on thelady's. Perhaps some infatuated swain has ere this mistakeninsensibility for modesty, dulness for maiden reserve, mere vacuity forsweet bashfulness, and a goose, in a word, for a swan. Perhaps somebeloved female subscriber has arrayed an ass in the splendour and gloryof her imagination; admired his dulness as manly simplicity; worshippedhis selfishness as manly superiority; treated his stupidity as majesticgravity, and used him as the brilliant fairy Titania did a certainweaver at Athens. I think I have seen such comedies of errors going onin the world. But this is certain, that Amelia believed her lover tobe one of the most gallant and brilliant men in the empire: and it ispossible Lieutenant Osborne thought so too.

He was a little wild: how many young men are; and don't girls like arake better than a milksop? He hadn't sown his wild oats as yet, buthe would soon: and quit the army now that peace was proclaimed; theCorsican monster locked up at Elba; promotion by consequence over; andno chance left for the display of his undoubted military talents andvalour: and his allowance, with Amelia's settlement, would enable themto take a snug place in the country somewhere, in a good sportingneighbourhood; and he would hunt a little, and farm a little; and theywould be very happy. As for remaining in the army as a married man,that was impossible. Fancy Mrs. George Osborne in lodgings in a countytown; or, worse still, in the East or West Indies, with a society ofofficers, and patronized by Mrs. Major O'Dowd! Amelia died withlaughing at Osborne's stories about Mrs. Major O'Dowd. He loved hermuch too fondly to subject her to that horrid woman and hervulgarities, and the rough treatment of a soldier's wife. He didn'tcare for himself--not he; but his dear little girl should take theplace in society to which, as his wife, she was entitled: and to theseproposals you may be sure she acceded, as she would to any other fromthe same author.

Holding this kind of conversation, and building numberless castles inthe air (which Amelia adorned with all sorts of flower-gardens, rusticwalks, country churches, Sunday schools, and the like; while George hadhis mind's eye directed to the stables, the kennel, and the cellar),this young pair passed away a couple of hours very pleasantly; and asthe Lieutenant had only that single day in town, and a great deal ofmost important business to transact, it was proposed that Miss Emmyshould dine with her future sisters-in-law. This invitation wasaccepted joyfully. He conducted her to his sisters; where he left hertalking and prattling in a way that astonished those ladies, whothought that George might make something of her; and he then went offto transact his business.

In a word, he went out and ate ices at a pastry-cook's shop in CharingCross; tried a new coat in Pall Mall; dropped in at the OldSlaughters', and called for Captain Cannon; played eleven games atbilliards with the Captain, of which he won eight, and returned toRussell Square half an hour late for dinner, but in very good humour.

It was not so with old Mr. Osborne. When that gentleman came from theCity, and was welcomed in the drawing-room by his daughters and theelegant Miss Wirt, they saw at once by his face--which was puffy,solemn, and yellow at the best of times--and by the scowl and twitchingof his black eyebrows, that the heart within his large white waistcoatwas disturbed and uneasy. When Amelia stepped forward to salute him,which she always did with great trembling and timidity, he gave a surlygrunt of recognition, and dropped the little hand out of his greathirsute paw without any attempt to hold it there. He looked roundgloomily at his eldest daughter; who, comprehending the meaning of hislook, which asked unmistakably, "Why the devil is she here?" said atonce:

"George is in town, Papa; and has gone to the Horse Guards, and will beback to dinner."

"O he is, is he? I won't have the dinner kept waiting for him, Jane";with which this worthy man lapsed into his particular chair, and thenthe utter silence in his genteel, well-furnished drawing-room was onlyinterrupted by the alarmed ticking of the great French clock.

When that chronometer, which was surmounted by a cheerful brass groupof the sacrifice of Iphigenia, tolled five in a heavy cathedral tone,Mr. Osborne pulled the bell at his right hand--violently, and thebutler rushed up.

"Dinner!" roared Mr. Osborne.

"Mr. George isn't come in, sir," interposed the man.

"Damn Mr. George, sir. Am I master of the house? DINNER!" Mr. Osbornescowled. Amelia trembled. A telegraphic communication of eyes passedbetween the other three ladies. The obedient bell in the lower regionsbegan ringing the announcement of the meal. The tolling over, the headof the family thrust his hands into the great tail-pockets of his greatblue coat with brass buttons, and without waiting for a furtherannouncement strode downstairs alone, scowling over his shoulder at thefour females.

"What's the matter now, my dear?" asked one of the other, as they roseand tripped gingerly behind the sire. "I suppose the funds arefalling," whispered Miss Wirt; and so, trembling and in silence, thishushed female company followed their dark leader. They took theirplaces in silence. He growled out a blessing, which sounded as grufflyas a curse. The great silver dish-covers were removed. Amelia trembledin her place, for she was next to the awful Osborne, and alone on herside of the table--the gap being occasioned by the absence of George.

"Soup?" says Mr. Osborne, clutching the ladle, fixing his eyes on her,in a sepulchral tone; and having helped her and the rest, did not speakfor a while.

"Take Miss Sedley's plate away," at last he said. "She can't eat thesoup--no more can I. It's beastly. Take away the soup, Hicks, andto-morrow turn the cook out of the house, Jane."

Having concluded his observations upon the soup, Mr. Osborne made a fewcurt remarks respecting the fish, also of a savage and satiricaltendency, and cursed Billingsgate with an emphasis quite worthy of theplace. Then he lapsed into silence, and swallowed sundry glasses ofwine, looking more and more terrible, till a brisk knock at the doortold of George's arrival when everybody began to rally.

"He could not come before. General Daguilet had kept him waiting atthe Horse Guards. Never mind soup or fish. Give him anything--hedidn't care what. Capital mutton--capital everything." His good humourcontrasted with his father's severity; and he rattled on unceasinglyduring dinner, to the delight of all--of one especially, who need notbe mentioned.

As soon as the young ladies had discussed the orange and the glass ofwine which formed the ordinary conclusion of the dismal banquets at Mr.Osborne's house, the signal to make sail for the drawing-room wasgiven, and they all arose and departed. Amelia hoped George would soonjoin them there. She began playing some of his favourite waltzes (thennewly imported) at the great carved-legged, leather-cased grand pianoin the drawing-room overhead. This little artifice did not bring him.He was deaf to the waltzes; they grew fainter and fainter; thediscomfited performer left the huge instrument presently; and thoughher three friends performed some of the loudest and most brilliant newpieces of their repertoire, she did not hear a single note, but satethinking, and boding evil. Old Osborne's scowl, terrific always, hadnever before looked so deadly to her. His eyes followed her out of theroom, as if she had been guilty of something. When they brought hercoffee, she started as though it were a cup of poison which Mr. Hicks,the butler, wished to propose to her. What mystery was there lurking?Oh, those women! They nurse and cuddle their presentiments, and makedarlings of their ugliest thoughts, as they do of their deformedchildren.

The gloom on the paternal countenance had also impressed George Osbornewith anxiety. With such eyebrows, and a look so decidedly bilious, howwas he to extract that money from the governor, of which George wasconsumedly in want? He began praising his father's wine. That wasgenerally a successful means of cajoling the old gentleman.

"We never got such Madeira in the West Indies, sir, as yours. ColonelHeavytop took off three bottles of that you sent me down, under hisbelt the other day."

"Did he?" said the old gentleman. "It stands me in eight shillings abottle."

"Will you take six guineas a dozen for it, sir?" said George, with alaugh. "There's one of the greatest men in the kingdom wants some."

"Does he?" growled the senior. "Wish he may get it."

"When General Daguilet was at Chatham, sir, Heavytop gave him abreakfast, and asked me for some of the wine. The General liked itjust as well--wanted a pipe for the Commander-in-Chief. He's his RoyalHighness's right-hand man."

"It is devilish fine wine," said the Eyebrows, and they looked moregood-humoured; and George was going to take advantage of thiscomplacency, and bring the supply question on the mahogany, when thefather, relapsing into solemnity, though rather cordial in manner, badehim ring the bell for claret. "And we'll see if that's as good as theMadeira, George, to which his Royal Highness is welcome, I'm sure. Andas we are drinking it, I'll talk to you about a matter of importance."

Amelia heard the claret bell ringing as she sat nervously upstairs. Shethought, somehow, it was a mysterious and presentimental bell. Of thepresentiments which some people are always having, some surely mustcome right.

"What I want to know, George," the old gentleman said, after slowlysmacking his first bumper--"what I want to know is, how youand--ah--that little thing upstairs, are carrying on?"

"I think, sir, it is not hard to see," George said, with aself-satisfied grin. "Pretty clear, sir.--What capital wine!"

"What d'you mean, pretty clear, sir?"

"Why, hang it, sir, don't push me too hard. I'm a modest man.I--ah--I don't set up to be a lady-killer; but I do own that she's asdevilish fond of me as she can be. Anybody can see that with half aneye."

"And you yourself?"

"Why, sir, didn't you order me to marry her, and ain't I a good boy?Haven't our Papas settled it ever so long?"

"A pretty boy, indeed. Haven't I heard of your doings, sir, with LordTarquin, Captain Crawley of the Guards, the Honourable Mr. Deuceace andthat set. Have a care sir, have a care."

The old gentleman pronounced these aristocratic names with the greatestgusto. Whenever he met a great man he grovelled before him, andmy-lorded him as only a free-born Briton can do. He came home andlooked out his history in the Peerage: he introduced his name into hisdaily conversation; he bragged about his Lordship to his daughters. Hefell down prostrate and basked in him as a Neapolitan beggar does inthe sun. George was alarmed when he heard the names. He feared hisfather might have been informed of certain transactions at play. Butthe old moralist eased him by saying serenely:

"Well, well, young men will be young men. And the comfort to me is,George, that living in the best society in England, as I hope you do;as I think you do; as my means will allow you to do--"

"Thank you, sir," says George, making his point at once. "One can'tlive with these great folks for nothing; and my purse, sir, look atit"; and he held up a little token which had been netted by Amelia, andcontained the very last of Dobbin's pound notes.

"You shan't want, sir. The British merchant's son shan't want, sir. Myguineas are as good as theirs, George, my boy; and I don't grudge 'em.Call on Mr. Chopper as you go through the City to-morrow; he'll havesomething for you. I don't grudge money when I know you're in goodsociety, because I know that good society can never go wrong. There'sno pride in me. I was a humbly born man--but you have had advantages.Make a good use of 'em. Mix with the young nobility. There's many of'em who can't spend a dollar to your guinea, my boy. And as for thepink bonnets (here from under the heavy eyebrows there came a knowingand not very pleasing leer)--why boys will be boys. Only there's onething I order you to avoid, which, if you do not, I'll cut you off witha shilling, by Jove; and that's gambling."

"Oh, of course, sir," said George.

"But to return to the other business about Amelia: why shouldn't youmarry higher than a stockbroker's daughter, George--that's what I wantto know?"

"It's a family business, sir,".says George, cracking filberts. "Youand Mr. Sedley made the match a hundred years ago."

"I don't deny it; but people's positions alter, sir. I don't deny thatSedley made my fortune, or rather put me in the way of acquiring, by myown talents and genius, that proud position, which, I may say, I occupyin the tallow trade and the City of London. I've shown my gratitude toSedley; and he's tried it of late, sir, as my cheque-book can show.George! I tell you in confidence I don't like the looks of Mr.Sedley's affairs. My chief clerk, Mr. Chopper, does not like the looksof 'em, and he's an old file, and knows 'Change as well as any man inLondon. Hulker & Bullock are looking shy at him. He's been dabblingon his own account I fear. They say the Jeune Amelie was his, which wastaken by the Yankee privateer Molasses. And that's flat--unless I seeAmelia's ten thousand down you don't marry her. I'll have no lameduck's daughter in my family. Pass the wine, sir--or ring for coffee."

With which Mr. Osborne spread out the evening paper, and George knewfrom this signal that the colloquy was ended, and that his papa wasabout to take a nap.

He hurried upstairs to Amelia in the highest spirits. What was it thatmade him more attentive to her on that night than he had been for along time--more eager to amuse her, more tender, more brilliant intalk? Was it that his generous heart warmed to her at the prospect ofmisfortune; or that the idea of losing the dear little prize made himvalue it more?

She lived upon the recollections of that happy evening for many daysafterwards, remembering his words; his looks; the song he sang; hisattitude, as he leant over her or looked at her from a distance. As itseemed to her, no night ever passed so quickly at Mr. Osborne's housebefore; and for once this young person was almost provoked to be angryby the premature arrival of Mr. Sambo with her shawl.

George came and took a tender leave of her the next morning; and thenhurried off to the City, where he visited Mr. Chopper, his father'shead man, and received from that gentleman a document which heexchanged at Hulker & Bullock's for a whole pocketful of money. AsGeorge entered the house, old John Sedley was passing out of thebanker's parlour, looking very dismal. But his godson was much tooelated to mark the worthy stockbroker's depression, or the dreary eyeswhich the kind old gentleman cast upon him. Young Bullock did not comegrinning out of the parlour with him as had been his wont in formeryears.

And as the swinging doors of Hulker, Bullock & Co. closed upon Mr.Sedley, Mr. Quill, the cashier (whose benevolent occupation it is tohand out crisp bank-notes from a drawer and dispense sovereigns out ofa copper shovel), winked at Mr. Driver, the clerk at the desk on hisright. Mr. Driver winked again.

"No go," Mr. D. whispered.

"Not at no price," Mr. Q. said. "Mr. George Osborne, sir, how willyou take it?" George crammed eagerly a quantity of notes into hispockets, and paid Dobbin fifty pounds that very evening at mess.

That very evening Amelia wrote him the tenderest of long letters. Herheart was overflowing with tenderness, but it still foreboded evil.What was the cause of Mr. Osborne's dark looks? she asked. Had anydifference arisen between him and her papa? Her poor papa returned somelancholy from the City, that all were alarmed about him at home--infine, there were four pages of loves and fears and hopes andforebodings.

"Poor little Emmy--dear little Emmy. How fond she is of me," Georgesaid, as he perused the missive--"and Gad, what a headache that mixedpunch has given me!" Poor little Emmy, indeed.