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Rawdon Crawley retreated with Lord Southdown into a window, where the latter was heard to laugh immoderately, as Rawdon told him the story of Lady Bareacres wanting horses and "knuckling down by Jove," to Mrs. Crawley. "I think I needn't be afraid of THAT woman," Becky thought.
Becky's wild little threats, and the way she expressed herself, had made a strong impression; and when presently Lizzie laughingly asked, "Who's Tim, Becky?" and Becky had answered in that lawless manner of hers: "Oh, he's a fren' o' mine, a great big fightin' gentleman what lives in the house where we do," there was a general exchange of glances, and a general conviction that the Riker girls had not been altogether wrong in some of their statements.
James takes you all the way home, Mrs. Fischlowitz. I get out because my Becky likes I should get home early and get dressed up for dinner." "But Mrs. Meyerburg " "No, no. Right in you stay. 'Sh-h-h, just don't mention it. Enough pleasure you give me to ride by me. Take good care your foot. Good-by, Mrs. Fischlowitz. All the way home you should take her, James."
In a moment a new burst of grief from Becky showed Tom that the thing in his mind had struck hers also that the Sabbath morning might be half spent before Mrs. Thatcher discovered that Becky was not at Mrs. Harper's.
Colonel Stafford, standing by, she had extemporised a living Watteau, and indeed it was a very pretty picture, or Aunt Becky would not have said so; and 'craning' from this eminence she saw her niece coming leisurely round, not in company of Mervyn.
"Honey," he said again, after a pause, "I must keep my word and let him have the business." She did not reproach him. "There is a little left, a very little," he continued slowly, painfully. "I thank God that it is yours. It was left you by Becky by your mother. It is in a railroad company in New York, and safe, Jinny." "Oh, Pa, you know that I do not care," she cried.
I heard the deep voice of the big Irish wash-woman I had engaged, conversing with the rough Norwegian. Becky was hanging on to Ruth's skirt and begging to be taken up. In the apartment below some one was playing a victrola. I hoped Ruth was not as conscious as I of Van de Vere's at this time in the morning low bells, subdued voices, velvet-footed attendants, system, order.
"Do you remember this?" said he. Becky almost smiled. "It's our wedding-cake, Tom." "Yes I wish it was as big as a barrel, for it's all we've got." "I saved it from the picnic for us to dream on, Tom, the way grown-up people do with wedding-cake but it'll be our " She dropped the sentence where it was. Tom divided the cake and Becky ate with good appetite, while Tom nibbled at his moiety.
You you could run the big estate for us, ma, order and " "You heard what I said, Becky." "Well, then, ma, why why don't you get the Memorial out of your head, dear? Pa built his own Memorial, ma. His memory lasts with everybody, anyway." Aspen trembling laid hold of Mrs. Meyerburg, muddling her words. "You ach from her dead father yet she would take away the marble to his memory." "Ma!"
Rawdon Crawley, who had, he believed, made some noise in London; and then Tapeworm, who of course knew all the London gossip, and was besides a relative of Lady Gaunt, poured out into the astonished Major's ears such a history about Becky and her husband as astonished the querist, and supplied all the points of this narrative, for it was at that very table years ago that the present writer had the pleasure of hearing the tale.
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