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At such times stories were told by installments, things of a satisfying nature were either produced and eaten or hastily tucked into pockets to be disposed of at night, when Becky went upstairs to her attic to bed. "But I has to eat 'em careful, miss," she said once; "'cos if I leaves crumbs the rats come out to get 'em." "Rats!" exclaimed Sara, in horror. "Are there RATS there?"
Everybody is interested in Nero, but not one person in ten thousand can tell you anything definite about Constantine or even Marcus Aurelius. If you should speak off-handedly about Amelia Sedley in the presence of a thousand average readers you would probably miss 85 per cent. of effect; if you said Becky Sharp the whole thousand would understand.
If he lacked the air of aristocratic calm which gave distinction to Judge Bannister, he supplied in its place a sophistication due to his contact with a world which moved faster than the Judge's world in Virginia. He adored Becky, and resented her long sojourn in the South.
Flora, lying inert and bloodless, opened her eyes. "Say it again," she whispered. "Say it again." Randy rode straight from Hamilton Hill to Huntersfield. He found Becky in the Bird Room. She had her head tied up in a white cloth, and a big white apron enveloped her. She was as white as the whiteness in which she was clad, and there were purple shadows under her eyes.
He once told me he had been intimate with Thackeray when they were wild young men in Paris, and that they had both of them known the woman whom Thackeray had taken for the original of Becky Sharp. The Foster songs quite captivated my boyhood. I could sing a little, as well as play, and learned each of them especially Old Folks at Home and My Old Kentucky Home as they appeared.
It is what we know of ourselves, Mary," she drew a quick breath. "It is what we know of ourselves " Becky was wearing the simple frock of pale blue in which George had seen her on that first night when he came to Huntersfield. "Aren't you going to change?" Mary asked. "No. It is too much trouble." Becky was in front of the mirror. Her pearls caught the light of the candles.
Becky Sharp is an adventuress who would go pretty close to, and perhaps not stop at, positive crime, but she is first of all Becky Sharp. Pamela Andrews is not first of all perhaps she is hardly at all Pamela Andrews. There might be fifty or five hundred Pamelas, while there could be only one of each of the others.
"No, indeed, marm," answered Becky; "I often says, says I: 'Child, you be the son of Sint Poll's." Beck smiled proudly. "It was agin the grit church, marm But it's a long story.
As she listened, Becky seemed to have two minds, one that caught his words, and answered them, and another which went back and back to the things which had happened since she had last walked this bluff with the wind in her face and the sound of the sea in her ears. It seemed to her as if a lifetime had elapsed since last she had looked at the Sankaty light.
"They were surprised, I observed, when you and I came up the street together last night; quite a voyage we had," said the captain. "Some day I mean to go down and come back again in the old packet; can't you go too, Becky?" said our friend. "Captain Beck'll be going again, won't you, Captain Beck? I didn't look at the river half enough because I was in such a hurry to get here."
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