["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> In Which a Charade Is Acted Which May or May Not Puzzle the Reader\n\nAfter Becky's appearance at my Lord Steyne's private and select\nparties, the claims of that estimable woman as regards fashion were\nsettled, and some of the very greatest and tallest doors in the\nmetropolis were speedily opened to her--doors so great and tall that\nthe beloved reader and writer hereof may hope in vain to enter at them. Dear brethren, let us tremble before those august portals. I fancy\nthem guarded by grooms of the chamber with flaming silver forks with\nwhich they prong all those who have not the right of the entree. They\nsay the honest newspaper-fellow who sits in the hall and takes down the\nnames of the great ones who are admitted to the feasts dies after a\nlittle time. He can't survive the glare of fashion long. It scorches\nhim up, as the presence of Jupiter in full dress wasted that poor\nimprudent Semele--a giddy moth of a creature who ruined herself by\nventuring out of her natural atmosphere. Her myth ought to be taken to\nheart amongst the Tyburnians, the Belgravians--her story, and perhaps\nBecky's too. Ah, ladies!--ask the Reverend Mr. Thurifer if Belgravia is\nnot a sounding brass and Tyburnia a tinkling cymbal. These are\nvanities. Even these will pass away. And some day or other (but it\nwill be after our time, thank goodness) Hyde Park Gardens will be no\nbetter known than the celebrated horticultural outskirts of Babylon,\nand Belgrave Square will be as desolate as Baker Street, or Tadmor in\nthe wilderness. Ladies, are you aware that the great Pitt lived in Baker Street? What\nwould not your grandmothers have given to be asked to Lady Hester's\nparties in that now decayed mansion? I have dined in it--moi qui vous\nparle, I peopled the chamber with ghosts of the mighty dead. As we sat\nsoberly drinking claret there with men of to-day, the spirits of the\ndeparted came in and took their places round the darksome board. The\npilot who weathered the storm tossed off great bumpers of spiritual\nport; the shade of Dundas did not leave the ghost of a heeltap. Addington sat bowing and smirking in a ghastly manner, and would not be\nbehindhand when the noiseless bottle went round; Scott, from under\nbushy eyebrows, winked at the apparition of a beeswing; Wilberforce's\neyes went up to the ceiling, so that he did not seem to know how his\nglass went up full to his mouth and came down empty; up to the ceiling\nwhich was above us only yesterday, and which the great of the past days\nhave all looked at. They let the house as a furnished lodging now. Yes, Lady Hester once lived in Baker Street, and lies asleep in the\nwilderness. Eothen saw her there--not in Baker Street, but in the other\nsolitude. It is all vanity to be sure, but who will not own to liking a little of\nit? I should like to know what well-constituted mind, merely because it\nis transitory, dislikes roast beef? That is a vanity, but may every man\nwho reads this have a wholesome portion of it through life, I beg:\naye, though my readers were five hundred thousand. Sit down, gentlemen,\nand fall to, with a good hearty appetite; the fat, the lean, the gravy,\nthe horse-radish as you like it--don't spare it. Another glass of\nwine, Jones, my boy--a little bit of the Sunday side. Yes, let us eat\nour fill of the vain thing and be thankful therefor. And let us make\nthe best of Becky's aristocratic pleasures likewise--for these too,\nlike all other mortal delights, were but transitory. The upshot of her visit to Lord Steyne was that His Highness the Prince\nof Peterwaradin took occasion to renew his acquaintance with Colonel\nCrawley, when they met on the next day at the Club, and to compliment\nMrs. Crawley in the Ring of Hyde Park with a profound salute of the\nhat. She and her husband were invited immediately to one of the\nPrince's small parties at Levant House, then occupied by His Highness\nduring the temporary absence from England of its noble proprietor. She\nsang after dinner to a very little comite. The Marquis of Steyne was\npresent, paternally superintending the progress of his pupil. At Levant House Becky met one of the finest gentlemen and greatest\nministers that Europe has produced--the Duc de la Jabotiere, then\nAmbassador from the Most Christian King, and subsequently Minister to\nthat monarch. I declare I swell with pride as these august names are\ntranscribed by my pen, and I think in what brilliant company my dear\nBecky is moving. She became a constant guest at the French Embassy,\nwhere no party was considered to be complete without the presence of\nthe charming Madame Ravdonn Cravley. Messieurs de Truffigny (of the\nPerigord family) and Champignac, both attaches of the Embassy, were\nstraightway smitten by the charms of the fair Colonel's wife, and both\ndeclared, according to the wont of their nation (for who ever yet met a\nFrenchman, come out of England, that has not left half a dozen families\nmiserable, and brought away as many hearts in his pocket-book? ), both,\nI say, declared that they were au mieux with the charming Madame\nRavdonn. But I doubt the correctness of the assertion. Champignac was very fond\nof ecarte, and made many parties with the Colonel of evenings, while\nBecky was singing to Lord Steyne in the other room; and as for\nTruffigny, it is a well-known fact that he dared not go to the\nTravellers', where he owed money to the waiters, and if he had not had\nthe Embassy as a dining-place, the worthy young gentleman must have\nstarved. I doubt, I say, that Becky would have selected either of\nthese young men as a person on whom she would bestow her special\nregard. They ran of her messages, purchased her gloves and flowers,\nwent in debt for opera-boxes for her, and made themselves amiable in a\nthousand ways. And they talked English with adorable simplicity, and\nto the constant amusement of Becky and my Lord Steyne, she would mimic\none or other to his face, and compliment him on his advance in the\nEnglish language with a gravity which never failed to tickle the\nMarquis, her sardonic old patron. Truffigny gave Briggs a shawl by way\nof winning over Becky's confidante, and asked her to take charge of a\nletter which the simple spinster handed over in public to the person to\nwhom it was addressed, and the composition of which amused everybody\nwho read it greatly. Lord Steyne read it, everybody but honest Rawdon,\nto whom it was not necessary to tell everything that passed in the\nlittle house in May Fair. Here, before long, Becky received not only \"the best\" foreigners (as\nthe phrase is in our noble and admirable society slang), but some of\nthe best English people too. I don't mean the most virtuous, or indeed\nthe least virtuous, or the cleverest, or the stupidest, or the richest,\nor the best born, but \"the best,\"--in a word, people about whom there\nis no question--such as the great Lady Fitz-Willis, that Patron Saint\nof Almack's, the great Lady Slowbore, the great Lady Grizzel Macbeth\n(she was Lady G.  Glowry, daughter of Lord Grey of Glowry), and the\nlike. When the Countess of Fitz-Willis (her Ladyship is of the\nKingstreet family, see Debrett and Burke) takes up a person, he or she\nis safe. There is no question about them any more. Not that my Lady\nFitz-Willis is any better than anybody else, being, on the contrary, a\nfaded person, fifty-seven years of age, and neither handsome, nor\nwealthy, nor entertaining; but it is agreed on all sides that she is of\nthe \"best people.\" Those who go to her are of the best:  and from an\nold grudge probably to Lady Steyne (for whose coronet her ladyship,\nthen the youthful Georgina Frederica, daughter of the Prince of Wales's\nfavourite, the Earl of Portansherry, had once tried), this great and\nfamous leader of the fashion chose to acknowledge Mrs. Rawdon Crawley;\nmade her a most marked curtsey at the assembly over which she presided;\nand not only encouraged her son, St.  Kitts (his lordship got his place\nthrough Lord Steyne's interest), to frequent Mrs. Crawley's house, but\nasked her to her own mansion and spoke to her twice in the most public\nand condescending manner during dinner. The important fact was known\nall over London that night. People who had been crying fie about Mrs.\nCrawley were silent.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Wenham, the wit and lawyer, Lord Steyne's\nright-hand man, went about everywhere praising her:  some who had\nhesitated, came forward at once and welcomed her; little Tom Toady, who\nhad warned Southdown about visiting such an abandoned woman, now\nbesought to be introduced to her. In a word, she was admitted to be\namong the \"best\" people. Ah, my beloved readers and brethren, do not\nenvy poor Becky prematurely--glory like this is said to be fugitive. It is currently reported that even in the very inmost circles, they are\nno happier than the poor wanderers outside the zone; and Becky, who\npenetrated into the very centre of fashion and saw the great George IV\nface to face, has owned since that there too was Vanity. We must be brief in descanting upon this part of her career. As I\ncannot describe the mysteries of freemasonry, although I have a shrewd\nidea that it is a humbug, so an uninitiated man cannot take upon\nhimself to portray the great world accurately, and had best keep his\nopinions to himself, whatever they are. Becky has often spoken in subsequent years of this season of her life,\nwhen she moved among the very greatest circles of the London fashion. Her success excited, elated, and then bored her. At first no\noccupation was more pleasant than to invent and procure (the latter a\nwork of no small trouble and ingenuity, by the way, in a person of Mrs.\nRawdon Crawley's very narrow means)--to procure, we say, the prettiest\nnew dresses and ornaments; to drive to fine dinner parties, where she\nwas welcomed by great people; and from the fine dinner parties to fine\nassemblies, whither the same people came with whom she had been dining,\nwhom she had met the night before, and would see on the morrow--the\nyoung men faultlessly appointed, handsomely cravatted, with the neatest\nglossy boots and white gloves--the elders portly, brass-buttoned,\nnoble-looking, polite, and prosy--the young ladies blonde, timid, and\nin pink--the mothers grand, beautiful, sumptuous, solemn, and in\ndiamonds. They talked in English, not in bad French, as they do in the\nnovels. They talked about each others' houses, and characters, and\nfamilies--just as the Joneses do about the Smiths. Becky's former\nacquaintances hated and envied her; the poor woman herself was yawning\nin spirit. \"I wish I were out of it,\" she said to herself. \"I would\nrather be a parson's wife and teach a Sunday school than this; or a\nsergeant's lady and ride in the regimental waggon; or, oh, how much\ngayer it would be to wear spangles and trousers and dance before a\nbooth at a fair.\" \"You would do it very well,\" said Lord Steyne, laughing. She used to\ntell the great man her ennuis and perplexities in her artless way--they\namused him. \"Rawdon would make a very good Ecuyer--Master of the Ceremonies--what\ndo you call him--the man in the large boots and the uniform, who goes\nround the ring cracking the whip? He is large, heavy, and of a military\nfigure. I recollect,\" Becky continued pensively, \"my father took me to\nsee a show at Brookgreen Fair when I was a child, and when we came\nhome, I made myself a pair of stilts and danced in the studio to the\nwonder of all the pupils.\" \"I should have liked to see it,\" said Lord Steyne. \"I should like to do it now,\" Becky continued. \"How Lady Blinkey would\nopen her eyes, and Lady Grizzel Macbeth would stare! Hush! silence! there is Pasta beginning to sing.\" Becky always made a point of being\nconspicuously polite to the professional ladies and gentlemen who\nattended at these aristocratic parties--of following them into the\ncorners where they sat in silence, and shaking hands with them, and\nsmiling in the view of all persons. She was an artist herself, as she\nsaid very truly; there was a frankness and humility in the manner in\nwhich she acknowledged her origin, which provoked, or disarmed, or\namused lookers-on, as the case might be. \"How cool that woman is,\" said\none; \"what airs of independence she assumes, where she ought to sit\nstill and be thankful if anybody speaks to her!\" \"What an honest and\ngood-natured soul she is!\" said another. \"What an artful little minx\"\nsaid a third. They were all right very likely, but Becky went her own\nway, and so fascinated the professional personages that they would\nleave off their sore throats in order to sing at her parties and give\nher lessons for nothing. Yes, she gave parties in the little house in Curzon Street. Many\nscores of carriages, with blazing lamps, blocked up the street, to the\ndisgust of No. 100, who could not rest for the thunder of the knocking,\nand of 102, who could not sleep for envy. The gigantic footmen who\naccompanied the vehicles were too big to be contained in Becky's little\nhall, and were billeted off in the neighbouring public-houses, whence,\nwhen they were wanted, call-boys summoned them from their beer. Scores\nof the great dandies of London squeezed and trod on each other on the\nlittle stairs, laughing to find themselves there; and many spotless and\nsevere ladies of ton were seated in the little drawing-room, listening\nto the professional singers, who were singing according to their wont,\nand as if they wished to blow the windows down. And the day after,\nthere appeared among the fashionable reunions in the Morning Post a\nparagraph to the following effect:\n\n\"Yesterday, Colonel and Mrs. Crawley entertained a select party at\ndinner at their house in May Fair. Their Excellencies the Prince and\nPrincess of Peterwaradin, H. E. Papoosh Pasha, the Turkish Ambassador\n(attended by Kibob Bey, dragoman of the mission), the Marquess of\nSteyne, Earl of Southdown, Sir Pitt and Lady Jane Crawley, Mr. Wagg,\n&c.  After dinner Mrs. Crawley had an assembly which was attended by\nthe Duchess (Dowager) of Stilton, Duc de la Gruyere, Marchioness of\nCheshire, Marchese Alessandro Strachino, Comte de Brie, Baron\nSchapzuger, Chevalier Tosti, Countess of Slingstone, and Lady F.\nMacadam, Major-General and Lady G. Macbeth, and (2) Miss Macbeths;\nViscount Paddington, Sir Horace Fogey, Hon. Sands Bedwin, Bobachy\nBahawder,\" and an &c., which the reader may fill at his pleasure\nthrough a dozen close lines of small type. And in her commerce with the great our dear friend showed the same\nfrankness which distinguished her transactions with the lowly in\nstation. On one occasion, when out at a very fine house, Rebecca was\n(perhaps rather ostentatiously) holding a conversation in the French\nlanguage with a celebrated tenor singer of that nation, while the Lady\nGrizzel Macbeth looked over her shoulder scowling at the pair. \"How very well you speak French,\" Lady Grizzel said, who herself spoke\nthe tongue in an Edinburgh accent most remarkable to hear. \"I ought to know it,\" Becky modestly said, casting down her eyes. \"I\ntaught it in a school, and my mother was a Frenchwoman.\" Lady Grizzel was won by her humility and was mollified towards the\nlittle woman. She deplored the fatal levelling tendencies of the age,\nwhich admitted persons of all classes into the society of their\nsuperiors, but her ladyship owned that this one at least was well\nbehaved and never forgot her place in life. She was a very good woman:\ngood to the poor; stupid, blameless, unsuspicious. It is not her\nladyship's fault that she fancies herself better than you and me. The\nskirts of her ancestors' garments have been kissed for centuries; it is\na thousand years, they say, since the tartans of the head of the family\nwere embraced by the defunct Duncan's lords and councillors, when the\ngreat ancestor of the House became King of Scotland. Lady Steyne, after the music scene, succumbed before Becky, and perhaps\nwas not disinclined to her. The younger ladies of the house of Gaunt\nwere also compelled into submission. Once or twice they set people at\nher, but they failed. The brilliant Lady Stunnington tried a passage\nof arms with her, but was routed with great slaughter by the intrepid\nlittle Becky. When attacked sometimes, Becky had a knack of adopting a\ndemure ingenue air, under which she was most dangerous.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-07 The user is reading a book]\n<User> She said the\nwickedest things with the most simple unaffected air when in this mood,\nand would take care artlessly to apologize for her blunders, so that\nall the world should know that she had made them. Mr. Wagg, the celebrated wit, and a led captain and trencher-man of my\nLord Steyne, was caused by the ladies to charge her; and the worthy\nfellow, leering at his patronesses and giving them a wink, as much as\nto say, \"Now look out for sport,\" one evening began an assault upon\nBecky, who was unsuspiciously eating her dinner. The little woman,\nattacked on a sudden, but never without arms, lighted up in an instant,\nparried and riposted with a home-thrust, which made Wagg's face tingle\nwith shame; then she returned to her soup with the most perfect calm\nand a quiet smile on her face. Wagg's great patron, who gave him\ndinners and lent him a little money sometimes, and whose election,\nnewspaper, and other jobs Wagg did, gave the luckless fellow such a\nsavage glance with the eyes as almost made him sink under the table and\nburst into tears. He looked piteously at my lord, who never spoke to\nhim during dinner, and at the ladies, who disowned him. At last Becky\nherself took compassion upon him and tried to engage him in talk. He\nwas not asked to dinner again for six weeks; and Fiche, my lord's\nconfidential man, to whom Wagg naturally paid a good deal of court, was\ninstructed to tell him that if he ever dared to say a rude thing to\nMrs. Crawley again, or make her the butt of his stupid jokes, Milor\nwould put every one of his notes of hand into his lawyer's hands and\nsell him up without mercy. Wagg wept before Fiche and implored his\ndear friend to intercede for him. He wrote a poem in favour of Mrs. R.\nC., which appeared in the very next number of the Harum-scarum\nMagazine, which he conducted. He implored her good-will at parties\nwhere he met her. He cringed and coaxed Rawdon at the club. He was\nallowed to come back to Gaunt House after a while. Becky was always\ngood to him, always amused, never angry. His lordship's vizier and chief confidential servant (with a seat in\nparliament and at the dinner table), Mr. Wenham, was much more prudent\nin his behaviour and opinions than Mr. Wagg. However much he might be\ndisposed to hate all parvenus (Mr. Wenham himself was a staunch old\nTrue Blue Tory, and his father a small coal-merchant in the north of\nEngland), this aide-de-camp of the Marquis never showed any sort of\nhostility to the new favourite, but pursued her with stealthy\nkindnesses and a sly and deferential politeness which somehow made\nBecky more uneasy than other people's overt hostilities. How the Crawleys got the money which was spent upon the entertainments\nwith which they treated the polite world was a mystery which gave rise\nto some conversation at the time, and probably added zest to these\nlittle festivities. Some persons averred that Sir Pitt Crawley gave\nhis brother a handsome allowance; if he did, Becky's power over the\nBaronet must have been extraordinary indeed, and his character greatly\nchanged in his advanced age. Other parties hinted that it was Becky's\nhabit to levy contributions on all her husband's friends: going to this\none in tears with an account that there was an execution in the house;\nfalling on her knees to that one and declaring that the whole family\nmust go to gaol or commit suicide unless such and such a bill could be\npaid. Lord Southdown, it was said, had been induced to give many\nhundreds through these pathetic representations. Young Feltham, of the\n--th Dragoons (and son of the firm of Tiler and Feltham, hatters and\narmy accoutrement makers), and whom the Crawleys introduced into\nfashionable life, was also cited as one of Becky's victims in the\npecuniary way. People declared that she got money from various simply\ndisposed persons, under pretence of getting them confidential\nappointments under Government. Who knows what stories were or were not\ntold of our dear and innocent friend? Certain it is that if she had had\nall the money which she was said to have begged or borrowed or stolen,\nshe might have capitalized and been honest for life, whereas,--but this\nis advancing matters. The truth is, that by economy and good management--by a sparing use of\nready money and by paying scarcely anybody--people can manage, for a\ntime at least, to make a great show with very little means: and it is\nour belief that Becky's much-talked-of parties, which were not, after\nall was said, very numerous, cost this lady very little more than the\nwax candles which lighted the walls. Stillbrook and Queen's Crawley\nsupplied her with game and fruit in abundance. Lord Steyne's cellars\nwere at her disposal, and that excellent nobleman's famous cooks\npresided over her little kitchen, or sent by my lord's order the rarest\ndelicacies from their own. I protest it is quite shameful in the world\nto abuse a simple creature, as people of her time abuse Becky, and I\nwarn the public against believing one-tenth of the stories against her. If every person is to be banished from society who runs into debt and\ncannot pay--if we are to be peering into everybody's private life,\nspeculating upon their income, and cutting them if we don't approve of\ntheir expenditure--why, what a howling wilderness and intolerable\ndwelling Vanity Fair would be! Every man's hand would be against his\nneighbour in this case, my dear sir, and the benefits of civilization\nwould be done away with. We should be quarrelling, abusing, avoiding\none another. Our houses would become caverns, and we should go in rags\nbecause we cared for nobody. Rents would go down. Parties wouldn't be\ngiven any more. All the tradesmen of the town would be bankrupt. Wine,\nwax-lights, comestibles, rouge, crinoline-petticoats, diamonds, wigs,\nLouis-Quatorze gimcracks, and old china, park hacks, and splendid\nhigh-stepping carriage horses--all the delights of life, I say,--would\ngo to the deuce, if people did but act upon their silly principles and\navoid those whom they dislike and abuse. Whereas, by a little charity\nand mutual forbearance, things are made to go on pleasantly enough:  we\nmay abuse a man as much as we like, and call him the greatest rascal\nunhanged--but do we wish to hang him therefore? No. We shake hands when\nwe meet. If his cook is good we forgive him and go and dine with him,\nand we expect he will do the same by us. Thus trade\nflourishes--civilization advances; peace is kept; new dresses are\nwanted for new assemblies every week; and the last year's vintage of\nLafitte will remunerate the honest proprietor who reared it. At the time whereof we are writing, though the Great George was on the\nthrone and ladies wore gigots and large combs like tortoise-shell\nshovels in their hair, instead of the simple sleeves and lovely wreaths\nwhich are actually in fashion, the manners of the very polite world\nwere not, I take it, essentially different from those of the present\nday:  and their amusements pretty similar. To us, from the outside,\ngazing over the policeman's shoulders at the bewildering beauties as\nthey pass into Court or ball, they may seem beings of unearthly\nsplendour and in the enjoyment of an exquisite happiness by us\nunattainable. It is to console some of these dissatisfied beings that\nwe are narrating our dear Becky's struggles, and triumphs, and\ndisappointments, of all of which, indeed, as is the case with all\npersons of merit, she had her share. At this time the amiable amusement of acting charades had come among us\nfrom France, and was considerably in vogue in this country, enabling\nthe many ladies amongst us who had beauty to display their charms, and\nthe fewer number who had cleverness to exhibit their wit. My Lord\nSteyne was incited by Becky, who perhaps believed herself endowed with\nboth the above qualifications, to give an entertainment at Gaunt House,\nwhich should include some of these little dramas--and we must take\nleave to introduce the reader to this brilliant reunion, and, with a\nmelancholy welcome too, for it will be among the very last of the\nfashionable entertainments to which it will be our fortune to conduct\nhim. A portion of that splendid room, the picture gallery of Gaunt House,\nwas arranged as the charade theatre.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-07, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-10 The user is reading a book]\n<User> It had been so used when George\nIII was king; and a picture of the Marquis of Gaunt is still extant,\nwith his hair in powder and a pink ribbon, in a Roman shape, as it was\ncalled, enacting the part of Cato in Mr. Addison's tragedy of that\nname, performed before their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales, the\nBishop of Osnaburgh, and Prince William Henry, then children like the\nactor. One or two of the old properties were drawn out of the garrets,\nwhere they had lain ever since, and furbished up anew for the present\nfestivities. Young Bedwin Sands, then an elegant dandy and Eastern traveller, was\nmanager of the revels. An Eastern traveller was somebody in those\ndays, and the adventurous Bedwin, who had published his quarto and\npassed some months under the tents in the desert, was a personage of no\nsmall importance. In his volume there were several pictures of Sands\nin various oriental costumes; and he travelled about with a black\nattendant of most unprepossessing appearance, just like another Brian\nde Bois Guilbert. Bedwin, his costumes, and black man, were hailed at\nGaunt House as very valuable acquisitions. He led off the first charade. A Turkish officer with an immense plume\nof feathers (the Janizaries were supposed to be still in existence, and\nthe tarboosh had not as yet displaced the ancient and majestic\nhead-dress of the true believers) was seen couched on a divan, and\nmaking believe to puff at a narghile, in which, however, for the sake\nof the ladies, only a fragrant pastille was allowed to smoke. The\nTurkish dignitary yawns and expresses signs of weariness and idleness. He claps his hands and Mesrour the Nubian appears, with bare arms,\nbangles, yataghans, and every Eastern ornament--gaunt, tall, and\nhideous. He makes a salaam before my lord the Aga. A thrill of terror and delight runs through the assembly. The ladies\nwhisper to one another. The black slave was given to Bedwin Sands by\nan Egyptian pasha in exchange for three dozen of Maraschino. He has\nsewn up ever so many odalisques in sacks and tilted them into the Nile. \"Bid the slave-merchant enter,\" says the Turkish voluptuary with a wave\nof his hand. Mesrour conducts the slave-merchant into my lord's\npresence; he brings a veiled female with him. He removes the veil. A\nthrill of applause bursts through the house. It is Mrs. Winkworth (she\nwas a Miss Absolom) with the beautiful eyes and hair. She is in a\ngorgeous oriental costume; the black braided locks are twined with\ninnumerable jewels; her dress is covered over with gold piastres. The\nodious Mahometan expresses himself charmed by her beauty. She falls\ndown on her knees and entreats him to restore her to the mountains\nwhere she was born, and where her Circassian lover is still deploring\nthe absence of his Zuleikah. No entreaties will move the obdurate\nHassan. He laughs at the notion of the Circassian bridegroom. Zuleikah\ncovers her face with her hands and drops down in an attitude of the\nmost beautiful despair. There seems to be no hope for her, when--when\nthe Kislar Aga appears. The Kislar Aga brings a letter from the Sultan. Hassan receives and\nplaces on his head the dread firman. A ghastly terror seizes him,\nwhile on the Negro's face (it is Mesrour again in another costume)\nappears a ghastly joy. \"Mercy! mercy!\" cries the Pasha:  while the\nKislar Aga, grinning horribly, pulls out--a bow-string. The curtain draws just as he is going to use that awful weapon. Hassan\nfrom within bawls out, \"First two syllables\"--and Mrs. Rawdon Crawley,\nwho is going to act in the charade, comes forward and compliments Mrs.\nWinkworth on the admirable taste and beauty of her costume. The second part of the charade takes place. It is still an Eastern\nscene. Hassan, in another dress, is in an attitude by Zuleikah, who is\nperfectly reconciled to him. The Kislar Aga has become a peaceful black\nslave. It is sunrise on the desert, and the Turks turn their heads\neastwards and bow to the sand. As there are no dromedaries at hand,\nthe band facetiously plays \"The Camels are coming.\" An enormous\nEgyptian head figures in the scene. It is a musical one--and, to the\nsurprise of the oriental travellers, sings a comic song, composed by\nMr. Wagg. The Eastern voyagers go off dancing, like Papageno and the\nMoorish King in The Magic Flute. \"Last two syllables,\" roars the head. The last act opens. It is a Grecian tent this time. A tall and\nstalwart man reposes on a couch there. Above him hang his helmet and\nshield. There is no need for them now. Ilium is down. Iphigenia is\nslain. Cassandra is a prisoner in his outer halls. The king of men (it\nis Colonel Crawley, who, indeed, has no notion about the sack of Ilium\nor the conquest of Cassandra), the anax andron is asleep in his chamber\nat Argos. A lamp casts the broad shadow of the sleeping warrior\nflickering on the wall--the sword and shield of Troy glitter in its\nlight. The band plays the awful music of Don Juan, before the statue\nenters. Aegisthus steals in pale and on tiptoe. What is that ghastly face\nlooking out balefully after him from behind the arras? He raises his\ndagger to strike the sleeper, who turns in his bed, and opens his broad\nchest as if for the blow. He cannot strike the noble slumbering\nchieftain. Clytemnestra glides swiftly into the room like an\napparition--her arms are bare and white--her tawny hair floats down her\nshoulders--her face is deadly pale--and her eyes are lighted up with a\nsmile so ghastly that people quake as they look at her. A tremor ran through the room. \"Good God!\" somebody said, \"it's Mrs.\nRawdon Crawley.\" Scornfully she snatches the dagger out of Aegisthus's hand and advances\nto the bed. You see it shining over her head in the glimmer of the\nlamp, and--and the lamp goes out, with a groan, and all is dark. The darkness and the scene frightened people. Rebecca performed her\npart so well, and with such ghastly truth, that the spectators were all\ndumb, until, with a burst, all the lamps of the hall blazed out again,\nwhen everybody began to shout applause. \"Brava! brava!\" old Steyne's\nstrident voice was heard roaring over all the rest. \"By--, she'd do it\ntoo,\" he said between his teeth. The performers were called by the\nwhole house, which sounded with cries of \"Manager! Clytemnestra!\" Agamemnon could not be got to show in his classical tunic, but stood in\nthe background with Aegisthus and others of the performers of the\nlittle play. Mr. Bedwin Sands led on Zuleikah and Clytemnestra. A\ngreat personage insisted on being presented to the charming\nClytemnestra. \"Heigh ha? Run him through the body. Marry somebody\nelse, hay?\" was the apposite remark made by His Royal Highness. \"Mrs. Rawdon Crawley was quite killing in the part,\" said Lord Steyne. Becky laughed, gay and saucy looking, and swept the prettiest little\ncurtsey ever seen. Servants brought in salvers covered with numerous cool dainties, and\nthe performers disappeared to get ready for the second charade-tableau. The three syllables of this charade were to be depicted in pantomime,\nand the performance took place in the following wise:\n\nFirst syllable. Colonel Rawdon Crawley, C.B., with a slouched hat and\na staff, a great-coat, and a lantern borrowed from the stables, passed\nacross the stage bawling out, as if warning the inhabitants of the\nhour. In the lower window are seen two bagmen playing apparently at\nthe game of cribbage, over which they yawn much. To them enters one\nlooking like Boots (the Honourable G.  Ringwood), which character the\nyoung gentleman performed to perfection, and divests them of their\nlower coverings; and presently Chambermaid (the Right Honourable Lord\nSouthdown) with two candlesticks, and a warming-pan. She ascends to\nthe upper apartment and warms the bed.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-10, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-13 The user is reading a book]\n<User> She uses the warming-pan as a\nweapon wherewith she wards off the attention of the bagmen. She exits. They put on their night-caps and pull down the blinds. Boots comes out\nand closes the shutters of the ground-floor chamber. You hear him\nbolting and chaining the door within. All the lights go out. The\nmusic plays Dormez, dormez, chers Amours. A voice from behind the\ncurtain says, \"First syllable.\" Second syllable. The lamps are lighted up all of a sudden. The music\nplays the old air from John of Paris, Ah quel plaisir d'etre en voyage. It is the same scene. Between the first and second floors of the house\nrepresented, you behold a sign on which the Steyne arms are painted. All the bells are ringing all over the house. In the lower apartment\nyou see a man with a long slip of paper presenting it to another, who\nshakes his fists, threatens and vows that it is monstrous. \"Ostler,\nbring round my gig,\" cries another at the door. He chucks Chambermaid\n(the Right Honourable Lord Southdown) under the chin; she seems to\ndeplore his absence, as Calypso did that of that other eminent\ntraveller Ulysses. Boots (the Honourable G.  Ringwood) passes with a\nwooden box, containing silver flagons, and cries \"Pots\" with such\nexquisite humour and naturalness that the whole house rings with\napplause, and a bouquet is thrown to him. Crack, crack, crack, go the\nwhips. Landlord, chambermaid, waiter rush to the door, but just as\nsome distinguished guest is arriving, the curtains close, and the\ninvisible theatrical manager cries out \"Second syllable.\" \"I think it must be 'Hotel,'\" says Captain Grigg of the Life Guards;\nthere is a general laugh at the Captain's cleverness. He is not very\nfar from the mark. While the third syllable is in preparation, the band begins a nautical\nmedley--\"All in the Downs,\" \"Cease Rude Boreas,\" \"Rule Britannia,\" \"In\nthe Bay of Biscay O!\" --some maritime event is about to take place. A\nbell is heard ringing as the curtain draws aside. \"Now, gents, for the\nshore!\" a voice exclaims. People take leave of each other. They point\nanxiously as if towards the clouds, which are represented by a dark\ncurtain, and they nod their heads in fear. Lady Squeams (the Right\nHonourable Lord Southdown), her lap-dog, her bags, reticules, and\nhusband sit down, and cling hold of some ropes. It is evidently a ship. The Captain (Colonel Crawley, C.B. ), with a cocked hat and a telescope,\ncomes in, holding his hat on his head, and looks out; his coat tails\nfly about as if in the wind. When he leaves go of his hat to use his\ntelescope, his hat flies off, with immense applause. It is blowing\nfresh. The music rises and whistles louder and louder; the mariners go\nacross the stage staggering, as if the ship was in severe motion. The\nSteward (the Honourable G. Ringwood) passes reeling by, holding six\nbasins. He puts one rapidly by Lord Squeams--Lady Squeams, giving a\npinch to her dog, which begins to howl piteously, puts her\npocket-handkerchief to her face, and rushes away as for the cabin. The\nmusic rises up to the wildest pitch of stormy excitement, and the third\nsyllable is concluded. There was a little ballet, \"Le Rossignol,\" in which Montessu and Noblet\nused to be famous in those days, and which Mr. Wagg transferred to the\nEnglish stage as an opera, putting his verse, of which he was a skilful\nwriter, to the pretty airs of the ballet. It was dressed in old French\ncostume, and little Lord Southdown now appeared admirably attired in\nthe disguise of an old woman hobbling about the stage with a faultless\ncrooked stick. Trills of melody were heard behind the scenes, and gurgling from a\nsweet pasteboard cottage covered with roses and trellis work. \"Philomele, Philomele,\" cries the old woman, and Philomele comes out. More applause--it is Mrs. Rawdon Crawley in powder and patches, the\nmost ravissante little Marquise in the world. She comes in laughing, humming, and frisks about the stage with all the\ninnocence of theatrical youth--she makes a curtsey. Mamma says \"Why,\nchild, you are always laughing and singing,\" and away she goes, with--\n\n  THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY\n\n  The rose upon my balcony the morning air perfuming\n  Was leafless all the winter time and pining for the spring;\n  You ask me why her breath is sweet and why her cheek is blooming,\n  It is because the sun is out and birds begin to sing. The nightingale, whose melody is through the greenwood ringing,\n  Was silent when the boughs were bare and winds were blowing keen:\n  And if, Mamma, you ask of me the reason of his singing,\n  It is because the sun is out and all the leaves are green. Thus each performs his part, Mamma, the birds have found their voices,\n  The blowing rose a flush, Mamma, her bonny cheek to dye;\n  And there's sunshine in my heart, Mamma, which wakens and rejoices,\n  And so I sing and blush, Mamma, and that's the reason why. During the intervals of the stanzas of this ditty, the good-natured\npersonage addressed as Mamma by the singer, and whose large whiskers\nappeared under her cap, seemed very anxious to exhibit her maternal\naffection by embracing the innocent creature who performed the\ndaughter's part. Every caress was received with loud acclamations of\nlaughter by the sympathizing audience. At its conclusion (while the\nmusic was performing a symphony as if ever so many birds were warbling)\nthe whole house was unanimous for an encore:  and applause and bouquets\nwithout end were showered upon the Nightingale of the evening. Lord\nSteyne's voice of applause was loudest of all. Becky, the nightingale,\ntook the flowers which he threw to her and pressed them to her heart\nwith the air of a consummate comedian. Lord Steyne was frantic with\ndelight. His guests' enthusiasm harmonized with his own. Where was\nthe beautiful black-eyed Houri whose appearance in the first charade\nhad caused such delight? She was twice as handsome as Becky, but the\nbrilliancy of the latter had quite eclipsed her. All voices were for\nher. Stephens, Caradori, Ronzi de Begnis, people compared her to one\nor the other, and agreed with good reason, very likely, that had she\nbeen an actress none on the stage could have surpassed her. She had\nreached her culmination: her voice rose trilling and bright over the\nstorm of applause, and soared as high and joyful as her triumph. There\nwas a ball after the dramatic entertainments, and everybody pressed\nround Becky as the great point of attraction of the evening. The Royal\nPersonage declared with an oath that she was perfection, and engaged\nher again and again in conversation. Little Becky's soul swelled with\npride and delight at these honours; she saw fortune, fame, fashion\nbefore her. Lord Steyne was her slave, followed her everywhere, and\nscarcely spoke to any one in the room beside, and paid her the most\nmarked compliments and attention. She still appeared in her Marquise\ncostume and danced a minuet with Monsieur de Truffigny, Monsieur Le Duc\nde la Jabotiere's attache; and the Duke, who had all the traditions of\nthe ancient court, pronounced that Madame Crawley was worthy to have\nbeen a pupil of Vestris, or to have figured at Versailles. Only a\nfeeling of dignity, the gout, and the strongest sense of duty and\npersonal sacrifice prevented his Excellency from dancing with her\nhimself, and he declared in public that a lady who could talk and dance\nlike Mrs. Rawdon was fit to be ambassadress at any court in Europe. He\nwas only consoled when he heard that she was half a Frenchwoman by\nbirth. \"None but a compatriot,\" his Excellency declared, \"could have\nperformed that majestic dance in such a way.\" Then she figured in a waltz with Monsieur de Klingenspohr, the Prince\nof Peterwaradin's cousin and attache. The delighted Prince, having\nless retenue than his French diplomatic colleague, insisted upon taking\na turn with the charming creature, and twirled round the ball-room with\nher, scattering the diamonds out of his boot-tassels and hussar jacket\nuntil his Highness was fairly out of breath.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-13, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-14 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Papoosh Pasha himself\nwould have liked to dance with her if that amusement had been the\ncustom of his country. The company made a circle round her and\napplauded as wildly as if she had been a Noblet or a Taglioni. Everybody was in ecstacy; and Becky too, you may be sure. She passed\nby Lady Stunnington with a look of scorn. She patronized Lady Gaunt\nand her astonished and mortified sister-in-law--she ecrased all rival\ncharmers. As for poor Mrs. Winkworth, and her long hair and great\neyes, which had made such an effect at the commencement of the\nevening--where was she now? Nowhere in the race. She might tear her\nlong hair and cry her great eyes out, but there was not a person to\nheed or to deplore the discomfiture. The greatest triumph of all was at supper time. She was placed at the\ngrand exclusive table with his Royal Highness the exalted personage\nbefore mentioned, and the rest of the great guests. She was served on\ngold plate. She might have had pearls melted into her champagne if she\nliked--another Cleopatra--and the potentate of Peterwaradin would have\ngiven half the brilliants off his jacket for a kind glance from those\ndazzling eyes. Jabotiere wrote home about her to his government. The\nladies at the other tables, who supped off mere silver and marked Lord\nSteyne's constant attention to her, vowed it was a monstrous\ninfatuation, a gross insult to ladies of rank. If sarcasm could have\nkilled, Lady Stunnington would have slain her on the spot. Rawdon Crawley was scared at these triumphs. They seemed to separate\nhis wife farther than ever from him somehow. He thought with a feeling\nvery like pain how immeasurably she was his superior. When the hour of departure came, a crowd of young men followed her to\nher carriage, for which the people without bawled, the cry being caught\nup by the link-men who were stationed outside the tall gates of Gaunt\nHouse, congratulating each person who issued from the gate and hoping\nhis Lordship had enjoyed this noble party. Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's carriage, coming up to the gate after due\nshouting, rattled into the illuminated court-yard and drove up to the\ncovered way. Rawdon put his wife into the carriage, which drove off. Mr. Wenham had proposed to him to walk home, and offered the Colonel\nthe refreshment of a cigar. They lighted their cigars by the lamp of one of the many link-boys\noutside, and Rawdon walked on with his friend Wenham. Two persons\nseparated from the crowd and followed the two gentlemen; and when they\nhad walked down Gaunt Square a few score of paces, one of the men came\nup and, touching Rawdon on the shoulder, said, \"Beg your pardon,\nColonel, I vish to speak to you most particular.\" This gentleman's\nacquaintance gave a loud whistle as the latter spoke, at which signal a\ncab came clattering up from those stationed at the gate of Gaunt\nHouse--and the aide-de-camp ran round and placed himself in front of\nColonel Crawley. That gallant officer at once knew what had befallen him. He was in the\nhands of the bailiffs. He started back, falling against the man who\nhad first touched him. \"We're three on us--it's no use bolting,\" the man behind said. \"It's you, Moss, is it?\" said the Colonel, who appeared to know his\ninterlocutor. \"How much is it?\" \"Only a small thing,\" whispered Mr. Moss, of Cursitor Street, Chancery\nLane, and assistant officer to the Sheriff of Middlesex--\"One hundred\nand sixty-six, six and eight-pence, at the suit of Mr. Nathan.\" \"Lend me a hundred, Wenham, for God's sake,\" poor Rawdon said--\"I've\ngot seventy at home.\" \"I've not got ten pounds in the world,\" said poor Mr. Wenham--\"Good\nnight, my dear fellow.\" \"Good night,\" said Rawdon ruefully. And Wenham walked away--and Rawdon\nCrawley finished his cigar as the cab drove under Temple Bar. In Which Lord Steyne Shows Himself in a Most Amiable Light\n\nWhen Lord Steyne was benevolently disposed, he did nothing by halves,\nand his kindness towards the Crawley family did the greatest honour to\nhis benevolent discrimination. His lordship extended his good-will to\nlittle Rawdon:  he pointed out to the boy's parents the necessity of\nsending him to a public school, that he was of an age now when\nemulation, the first principles of the Latin language, pugilistic\nexercises, and the society of his fellow-boys would be of the greatest\nbenefit to the boy. His father objected that he was not rich enough to\nsend the child to a good public school; his mother that Briggs was a\ncapital mistress for him, and had brought him on (as indeed was the\nfact) famously in English, the Latin rudiments, and in general\nlearning:  but all these objections disappeared before the generous\nperseverance of the Marquis of Steyne. His lordship was one of the\ngovernors of that famous old collegiate institution called the\nWhitefriars. It had been a Cistercian Convent in old days, when the\nSmithfield, which is contiguous to it, was a tournament ground. Obstinate heretics used to be brought thither convenient for burning\nhard by. Henry VIII, the Defender of the Faith, seized upon the\nmonastery and its possessions and hanged and tortured some of the monks\nwho could not accommodate themselves to the pace of his reform. Finally, a great merchant bought the house and land adjoining, in\nwhich, and with the help of other wealthy endowments of land and money,\nhe established a famous foundation hospital for old men and children. An extern school grew round the old almost monastic foundation, which\nsubsists still with its middle-age costume and usages--and all\nCistercians pray that it may long flourish. Of this famous house, some of the greatest noblemen, prelates, and\ndignitaries in England are governors:  and as the boys are very\ncomfortably lodged, fed, and educated, and subsequently inducted to\ngood scholarships at the University and livings in the Church, many\nlittle gentlemen are devoted to the ecclesiastical profession from\ntheir tenderest years, and there is considerable emulation to procure\nnominations for the foundation. It was originally intended for the\nsons of poor and deserving clerics and laics, but many of the noble\ngovernors of the Institution, with an enlarged and rather capricious\nbenevolence, selected all sorts of objects for their bounty. To get an\neducation for nothing, and a future livelihood and profession assured,\nwas so excellent a scheme that some of the richest people did not\ndisdain it; and not only great men's relations, but great men\nthemselves, sent their sons to profit by the chance--Right Rev. prelates sent their own kinsmen or the sons of their clergy, while, on\nthe other hand, some great noblemen did not disdain to patronize the\nchildren of their confidential servants--so that a lad entering this\nestablishment had every variety of youthful society wherewith to mingle. Rawdon Crawley, though the only book which he studied was the Racing\nCalendar, and though his chief recollections of polite learning were\nconnected with the floggings which he received at Eton in his early\nyouth, had that decent and honest reverence for classical learning\nwhich all English gentlemen feel, and was glad to think that his son\nwas to have a provision for life, perhaps, and a certain opportunity of\nbecoming a scholar. And although his boy was his chief solace and\ncompanion, and endeared to him by a thousand small ties, about which he\ndid not care to speak to his wife, who had all along shown the utmost\nindifference to their son, yet Rawdon agreed at once to part with him\nand to give up his own greatest comfort and benefit for the sake of the\nwelfare of the little lad. He did not know how fond he was of the\nchild until it became necessary to let him go away. When he was gone,\nhe felt more sad and downcast than he cared to own--far sadder than the\nboy himself, who was happy enough to enter a new career and find\ncompanions of his own age. Becky burst out laughing once or twice when\nthe Colonel, in his clumsy, incoherent way, tried to express his\nsentimental sorrows at the boy's departure. The poor fellow felt that\nhis dearest pleasure and closest friend was taken from him. He looked\noften and wistfully at the little vacant bed in his dressing-room,\nwhere the child used to sleep. He missed him sadly of mornings and\ntried in vain to walk in the park without him. He did not know how\nsolitary he was until little Rawdon was gone.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-14, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-15 The user is reading a book]\n<User> He liked the people who\nwere fond of him, and would go and sit for long hours with his\ngood-natured sister Lady Jane, and talk to her about the virtues, and\ngood looks, and hundred good qualities of the child. Young Rawdon's aunt, we have said, was very fond of him, as was her\nlittle girl, who wept copiously when the time for her cousin's\ndeparture came. The elder Rawdon was thankful for the fondness of\nmother and daughter. The very best and honestest feelings of the man\ncame out in these artless outpourings of paternal feeling in which he\nindulged in their presence, and encouraged by their sympathy. He\nsecured not only Lady Jane's kindness, but her sincere regard, by the\nfeelings which he manifested, and which he could not show to his own\nwife. The two kinswomen met as seldom as possible. Becky laughed\nbitterly at Jane's feelings and softness; the other's kindly and gentle\nnature could not but revolt at her sister's callous behaviour. It estranged Rawdon from his wife more than he knew or acknowledged to\nhimself. She did not care for the estrangement. Indeed, she did not\nmiss him or anybody. She looked upon him as her errand-man and humble\nslave. He might be ever so depressed or sulky, and she did not mark\nhis demeanour, or only treated it with a sneer. She was busy thinking\nabout her position, or her pleasures, or her advancement in society;\nshe ought to have held a great place in it, that is certain. It was honest Briggs who made up the little kit for the boy which he\nwas to take to school. Molly, the housemaid, blubbered in the passage\nwhen he went away--Molly kind and faithful in spite of a long arrear of\nunpaid wages. Mrs. Becky could not let her husband have the carriage\nto take the boy to school. Take the horses into the City!--such a\nthing was never heard of. Let a cab be brought. She did not offer to\nkiss him when he went, nor did the child propose to embrace her; but\ngave a kiss to old Briggs (whom, in general, he was very shy of\ncaressing), and consoled her by pointing out that he was to come home\non Saturdays, when she would have the benefit of seeing him. As the\ncab rolled towards the City, Becky's carriage rattled off to the park. She was chattering and laughing with a score of young dandies by the\nSerpentine as the father and son entered at the old gates of the\nschool--where Rawdon left the child and came away with a sadder purer\nfeeling in his heart than perhaps that poor battered fellow had ever\nknown since he himself came out of the nursery. He walked all the way home very dismally, and dined alone with Briggs. He was very kind to her and grateful for her love and watchfulness over\nthe boy. His conscience smote him that he had borrowed Briggs's money\nand aided in deceiving her. They talked about little Rawdon a long\ntime, for Becky only came home to dress and go out to dinner--and then\nhe went off uneasily to drink tea with Lady Jane, and tell her of what\nhad happened, and how little Rawdon went off like a trump, and how he\nwas to wear a gown and little knee-breeches, and how young Blackball,\nJack Blackball's son, of the old regiment, had taken him in charge and\npromised to be kind to him. In the course of a week, young Blackball had constituted little Rawdon\nhis fag, shoe-black, and breakfast toaster; initiated him into the\nmysteries of the Latin Grammar; and thrashed him three or four times,\nbut not severely. The little chap's good-natured honest face won his\nway for him. He only got that degree of beating which was, no doubt,\ngood for him; and as for blacking shoes, toasting bread, and fagging in\ngeneral, were these offices not deemed to be necessary parts of every\nyoung English gentleman's education? Our business does not lie with the second generation and Master\nRawdon's life at school, otherwise the present tale might be carried to\nany indefinite length. The Colonel went to see his son a short time\nafterwards and found the lad sufficiently well and happy, grinning and\nlaughing in his little black gown and little breeches. His father sagaciously tipped Blackball, his master, a sovereign, and\nsecured that young gentleman's good-will towards his fag. As a protege\nof the great Lord Steyne, the nephew of a County member, and son of a\nColonel and C.B., whose name appeared in some of the most fashionable\nparties in the Morning Post, perhaps the school authorities were\ndisposed not to look unkindly on the child. He had plenty of\npocket-money, which he spent in treating his comrades royally to\nraspberry tarts, and he was often allowed to come home on Saturdays to\nhis father, who always made a jubilee of that day. When free, Rawdon\nwould take him to the play, or send him thither with the footman; and\non Sundays he went to church with Briggs and Lady Jane and his cousins. Rawdon marvelled over his stories about school, and fights, and\nfagging. Before long, he knew the names of all the masters and the\nprincipal boys as well as little Rawdon himself. He invited little\nRawdon's crony from school, and made both the children sick with\npastry, and oysters, and porter after the play. He tried to look\nknowing over the Latin grammar when little Rawdon showed him what part\nof that work he was \"in.\" \"Stick to it, my boy,\" he said to him with\nmuch gravity, \"there's nothing like a good classical education! Nothing!\" Becky's contempt for her husband grew greater every day. \"Do what you\nlike--dine where you please--go and have ginger-beer and sawdust at\nAstley's, or psalm-singing with Lady Jane--only don't expect me to busy\nmyself with the boy. I have your interests to attend to, as you can't\nattend to them yourself. I should like to know where you would have\nbeen now, and in what sort of a position in society, if I had not\nlooked after you.\" Indeed, nobody wanted poor old Rawdon at the parties\nwhither Becky used to go. She was often asked without him now. She\ntalked about great people as if she had the fee-simple of May Fair, and\nwhen the Court went into mourning, she always wore black. Little Rawdon being disposed of, Lord Steyne, who took such a parental\ninterest in the affairs of this amiable poor family, thought that their\nexpenses might be very advantageously curtailed by the departure of\nMiss Briggs, and that Becky was quite clever enough to take the\nmanagement of her own house. It has been narrated in a former chapter\nhow the benevolent nobleman had given his protegee money to pay off her\nlittle debt to Miss Briggs, who however still remained behind with her\nfriends; whence my lord came to the painful conclusion that Mrs.\nCrawley had made some other use of the money confided to her than that\nfor which her generous patron had given the loan. However, Lord Steyne\nwas not so rude as to impart his suspicions upon this head to Mrs.\nBecky, whose feelings might be hurt by any controversy on the\nmoney-question, and who might have a thousand painful reasons for\ndisposing otherwise of his lordship's generous loan. But he determined\nto satisfy himself of the real state of the case, and instituted the\nnecessary inquiries in a most cautious and delicate manner. In the first place he took an early opportunity of pumping Miss Briggs. That was not a difficult operation. A very little encouragement would\nset that worthy woman to talk volubly and pour out all within her. And\none day when Mrs. Rawdon had gone out to drive (as Mr. Fiche, his\nlordship's confidential servant, easily learned at the livery stables\nwhere the Crawleys kept their carriage and horses, or rather, where the\nlivery-man kept a carriage and horses for Mr. and Mrs. Crawley)--my\nlord dropped in upon the Curzon Street house--asked Briggs for a cup of\ncoffee--told her that he had good accounts of the little boy at\nschool--and in five minutes found out from her that Mrs. Rawdon had\ngiven her nothing except a black silk gown, for which Miss Briggs was\nimmensely grateful. He laughed within himself at this artless story. For the truth is, our\ndear friend Rebecca had given him a most circumstantial narration of\nBriggs's delight at receiving her money--eleven hundred and twenty-five\npounds--and in what securities she had invested it; and what a pang\nBecky herself felt in being obliged to pay away such a delightful sum\nof money. \"Who knows,\" the dear woman may have thought within herself,\n\"perhaps he may give me a little more?\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-15, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-17 The user is reading a book]\n<User> My lord, however, made no such\nproposal to the little schemer--very likely thinking that he had been\nsufficiently generous already. He had the curiosity, then, to ask Miss Briggs about the state of her\nprivate affairs--and she told his lordship candidly what her position\nwas--how Miss Crawley had left her a legacy--how her relatives had had\npart of it--how Colonel Crawley had put out another portion, for which\nshe had the best security and interest--and how Mr. and Mrs. Rawdon\nhad kindly busied themselves with Sir Pitt, who was to dispose of the\nremainder most advantageously for her, when he had time. My lord asked\nhow much the Colonel had already invested for her, and Miss Briggs at\nonce and truly told him that the sum was six hundred and odd pounds. But as soon as she had told her story, the voluble Briggs repented of\nher frankness and besought my lord not to tell Mr. Crawley of the\nconfessions which she had made. \"The Colonel was so kind--Mr. Crawley\nmight be offended and pay back the money, for which she could get no\nsuch good interest anywhere else.\" Lord Steyne, laughing, promised he\nnever would divulge their conversation, and when he and Miss Briggs\nparted he laughed still more. \"What an accomplished little devil it is!\" thought he. \"What a splendid\nactress and manager! She had almost got a second supply out of me the\nother day; with her coaxing ways. She beats all the women I have ever\nseen in the course of all my well-spent life. They are babies compared\nto her. I am a greenhorn myself, and a fool in her hands--an old fool. She is unsurpassable in lies.\" His lordship's admiration for Becky rose\nimmeasurably at this proof of her cleverness. Getting the money was\nnothing--but getting double the sum she wanted, and paying nobody--it\nwas a magnificent stroke. And Crawley, my lord thought--Crawley is not\nsuch a fool as he looks and seems. He has managed the matter cleverly\nenough on his side. Nobody would ever have supposed from his face and\ndemeanour that he knew anything about this money business; and yet he\nput her up to it, and has spent the money, no doubt. In this opinion\nmy lord, we know, was mistaken, but it influenced a good deal his\nbehaviour towards Colonel Crawley, whom he began to treat with even\nless than that semblance of respect which he had formerly shown towards\nthat gentleman. It never entered into the head of Mrs. Crawley's\npatron that the little lady might be making a purse for herself; and,\nperhaps, if the truth must be told, he judged of Colonel Crawley by his\nexperience of other husbands, whom he had known in the course of the\nlong and well-spent life which had made him acquainted with a great\ndeal of the weakness of mankind. My lord had bought so many men during\nhis life that he was surely to be pardoned for supposing that he had\nfound the price of this one. He taxed Becky upon the point on the very first occasion when he met\nher alone, and he complimented her, good-humouredly, on her cleverness\nin getting more than the money which she required. Becky was only a\nlittle taken aback. It was not the habit of this dear creature to tell\nfalsehoods, except when necessity compelled, but in these great\nemergencies it was her practice to lie very freely; and in an instant\nshe was ready with another neat plausible circumstantial story which\nshe administered to her patron. The previous statement which she had\nmade to him was a falsehood--a wicked falsehood--she owned it. But who\nhad made her tell it? \"Ah, my Lord,\" she said, \"you don't know all I\nhave to suffer and bear in silence; you see me gay and happy before\nyou--you little know what I have to endure when there is no protector\nnear me. It was my husband, by threats and the most savage treatment,\nforced me to ask for that sum about which I deceived you. It was he\nwho, foreseeing that questions might be asked regarding the disposal of\nthe money, forced me to account for it as I did. He took the money. He told me he had paid Miss Briggs; I did not want, I did not dare to\ndoubt him. Pardon the wrong which a desperate man is forced to commit,\nand pity a miserable, miserable woman.\" She burst into tears as she\nspoke. Persecuted virtue never looked more bewitchingly wretched. They had a long conversation, driving round and round the Regent's Park\nin Mrs. Crawley's carriage together, a conversation of which it is not\nnecessary to repeat the details, but the upshot of it was that, when\nBecky came home, she flew to her dear Briggs with a smiling face and\nannounced that she had some very good news for her. Lord Steyne had\nacted in the noblest and most generous manner. He was always thinking\nhow and when he could do good. Now that little Rawdon was gone to\nschool, a dear companion and friend was no longer necessary to her. She was grieved beyond measure to part with Briggs, but her means\nrequired that she should practise every retrenchment, and her sorrow\nwas mitigated by the idea that her dear Briggs would be far better\nprovided for by her generous patron than in her humble home. Mrs.\nPilkington, the housekeeper at Gauntly Hall, was growing exceedingly\nold, feeble, and rheumatic: she was not equal to the work of\nsuperintending that vast mansion, and must be on the look out for a\nsuccessor. It was a splendid position. The family did not go to\nGauntly once in two years. At other times the housekeeper was the\nmistress of the magnificent mansion--had four covers daily for her\ntable; was visited by the clergy and the most respectable people of the\ncounty--was the lady of Gauntly, in fact; and the two last housekeepers\nbefore Mrs. Pilkington had married rectors of Gauntly--but Mrs. P.\ncould not, being the aunt of the present Rector. The place was not to\nbe hers yet, but she might go down on a visit to Mrs. Pilkington and\nsee whether she would like to succeed her. What words can paint the ecstatic gratitude of Briggs! All she\nstipulated for was that little Rawdon should be allowed to come down\nand see her at the Hall. Becky promised this--anything. She ran up to\nher husband when he came home and told him the joyful news. Rawdon was\nglad, deuced glad; the weight was off his conscience about poor\nBriggs's money. She was provided for, at any rate, but--but his mind\nwas disquiet. He did not seem to be all right, somehow. He told\nlittle Southdown what Lord Steyne had done, and the young man eyed\nCrawley with an air which surprised the latter. He told Lady Jane of this second proof of Steyne's bounty, and she,\ntoo, looked odd and alarmed; so did Sir Pitt. \"She is too clever\nand--and gay to be allowed to go from party to party without a\ncompanion,\" both said. \"You must go with her, Rawdon, wherever she\ngoes, and you must have somebody with her--one of the girls from\nQueen's Crawley, perhaps, though they were rather giddy guardians for\nher.\" Somebody Becky should have. But in the meantime it was clear that\nhonest Briggs must not lose her chance of settlement for life, and so\nshe and her bags were packed, and she set off on her journey. And so\ntwo of Rawdon's out-sentinels were in the hands of the enemy. Sir Pitt went and expostulated with his sister-in-law upon the subject\nof the dismissal of Briggs and other matters of delicate family\ninterest. In vain she pointed out to him how necessary was the\nprotection of Lord Steyne for her poor husband; how cruel it would be\non their part to deprive Briggs of the position offered to her. Cajolements, coaxings, smiles, tears could not satisfy Sir Pitt, and he\nhad something very like a quarrel with his once admired Becky. He\nspoke of the honour of the family, the unsullied reputation of the\nCrawleys; expressed himself in indignant tones about her receiving\nthose young Frenchmen--those wild young men of fashion, my Lord Steyne\nhimself, whose carriage was always at her door, who passed hours daily\nin her company, and whose constant presence made the world talk about\nher. As the head of the house he implored her to be more prudent. Society was already speaking lightly of her. Lord Steyne, though a\nnobleman of the greatest station and talents, was a man whose\nattentions would compromise any woman; he besought, he implored, he\ncommanded his sister-in-law to be watchful in her intercourse with that\nnobleman.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-17, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-18 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Becky promised anything and everything Pitt wanted; but Lord Steyne\ncame to her house as often as ever, and Sir Pitt's anger increased. I\nwonder was Lady Jane angry or pleased that her husband at last found\nfault with his favourite Rebecca? Lord Steyne's visits continuing, his\nown ceased, and his wife was for refusing all further intercourse with\nthat nobleman and declining the invitation to the charade-night which\nthe marchioness sent to her; but Sir Pitt thought it was necessary to\naccept it, as his Royal Highness would be there. Although he went to the party in question, Sir Pitt quitted it very\nearly, and his wife, too, was very glad to come away. Becky hardly so\nmuch as spoke to him or noticed her sister-in-law. Pitt Crawley\ndeclared her behaviour was monstrously indecorous, reprobated in strong\nterms the habit of play-acting and fancy dressing as highly unbecoming\na British female, and after the charades were over, took his brother\nRawdon severely to task for appearing himself and allowing his wife to\njoin in such improper exhibitions. Rawdon said she should not join in any more such amusements--but\nindeed, and perhaps from hints from his elder brother and sister, he\nhad already become a very watchful and exemplary domestic character. He\nleft off his clubs and billiards. He never left home. He took Becky\nout to drive; he went laboriously with her to all her parties. Whenever\nmy Lord Steyne called, he was sure to find the Colonel. And when Becky\nproposed to go out without her husband, or received invitations for\nherself, he peremptorily ordered her to refuse them: and there was that\nin the gentleman's manner which enforced obedience. Little Becky, to\ndo her justice, was charmed with Rawdon's gallantry. If he was surly,\nshe never was. Whether friends were present or absent, she had always a\nkind smile for him and was attentive to his pleasure and comfort. It\nwas the early days of their marriage over again:  the same good humour,\nprevenances, merriment, and artless confidence and regard. \"How much\npleasanter it is,\" she would say, \"to have you by my side in the\ncarriage than that foolish old Briggs! Let us always go on so, dear\nRawdon. How nice it would be, and how happy we should always be, if we\nhad but the money!\" He fell asleep after dinner in his chair; he did\nnot see the face opposite to him, haggard, weary, and terrible; it\nlighted up with fresh candid smiles when he woke. It kissed him gaily. He wondered that he had ever had suspicions. No, he never had\nsuspicions; all those dumb doubts and surly misgivings which had been\ngathering on his mind were mere idle jealousies. She was fond of him;\nshe always had been. As for her shining in society, it was no fault of\nhers; she was formed to shine there. Was there any woman who could\ntalk, or sing, or do anything like her? If she would but like the boy! Rawdon thought. But the mother and son never could be brought together. And it was while Rawdon's mind was agitated with these doubts and\nperplexities that the incident occurred which was mentioned in the last\nchapter, and the unfortunate Colonel found himself a prisoner away from\nhome. A Rescue and a Catastrophe\n\nFriend Rawdon drove on then to Mr. Moss's mansion in Cursitor Street,\nand was duly inducted into that dismal place of hospitality. Morning\nwas breaking over the cheerful house-tops of Chancery Lane as the\nrattling cab woke up the echoes there. A little pink-eyed Jew-boy,\nwith a head as ruddy as the rising morn, let the party into the house,\nand Rawdon was welcomed to the ground-floor apartments by Mr. Moss, his\ntravelling companion and host, who cheerfully asked him if he would\nlike a glass of something warm after his drive. The Colonel was not so depressed as some mortals would be, who,\nquitting a palace and a placens uxor, find themselves barred into a\nspunging-house; for, if the truth must be told, he had been a lodger at\nMr. Moss's establishment once or twice before. We have not thought it\nnecessary in the previous course of this narrative to mention these\ntrivial little domestic incidents:  but the reader may be assured that\nthey can't unfrequently occur in the life of a man who lives on nothing\na year. Upon his first visit to Mr. Moss, the Colonel, then a bachelor, had\nbeen liberated by the generosity of his aunt; on the second mishap,\nlittle Becky, with the greatest spirit and kindness, had borrowed a sum\nof money from Lord Southdown and had coaxed her husband's creditor (who\nwas her shawl, velvet-gown, lace pocket-handkerchief, trinket, and\ngim-crack purveyor, indeed) to take a portion of the sum claimed and\nRawdon's promissory note for the remainder:  so on both these occasions\nthe capture and release had been conducted with the utmost gallantry on\nall sides, and Moss and the Colonel were therefore on the very best of\nterms. \"You'll find your old bed, Colonel, and everything comfortable,\" that\ngentleman said, \"as I may honestly say. You may be pretty sure its kep\naired, and by the best of company, too. It was slep in the night afore\nlast by the Honorable Capting Famish, of the Fiftieth Dragoons, whose\nMar 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\nparty ere every night--reglar tip-top swells, down from the clubs and\nthe West End--Capting Ragg, the Honorable Deuceace, who lives in the\nTemple, 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,\nand Mrs. Moss has a tably-dy-hoty at half-past five, and a little\ncards 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\nbedroom. He was an old soldier, we have said, and not to be disturbed\nby any little shocks of fate. A weaker man would have sent off a\nletter to his wife on the instant of his capture. \"But what is the use\nof disturbing her night's rest?\" thought Rawdon. \"She won't know\nwhether I am in my room or not. It will be time enough to write to her\nwhen she has had her sleep out, and I have had mine. It's only a\nhundred-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\nhe was in such a queer place), the Colonel turned into the bed lately\noccupied by Captain Famish and fell asleep. It was ten o'clock when he\nwoke up, and the ruddy-headed youth brought him, with conscious pride,\na fine silver dressing-case, wherewith he might perform the operation\nof shaving. Indeed Mr. Moss's house, though somewhat dirty, was\nsplendid throughout. There were dirty trays, and wine-coolers en\npermanence on the sideboard, huge dirty gilt cornices, with dingy\nyellow satin hangings to the barred windows which looked into Cursitor\nStreet--vast and dirty gilt picture frames surrounding pieces sporting\nand sacred, all of which works were by the greatest masters--and\nfetched the greatest prices, too, in the bill transactions, in the\ncourse of which they were sold and bought over and over again. The\nColonel's breakfast was served to him in the same dingy and gorgeous\nplated ware. Miss Moss, a dark-eyed maid in curl-papers, appeared with\nthe teapot, and, smiling, asked the Colonel how he had slep? And she\nbrought him in the Morning Post, with the names of all the great people\nwho had figured at Lord Steyne's entertainment the night before. It\ncontained a brilliant account of the festivities and of the beautiful\nand accomplished Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's admirable personifications. After a lively chat with this lady (who sat on the edge of the\nbreakfast table in an easy attitude displaying the drapery of her\nstocking and an ex-white satin shoe, which was down at heel), Colonel\nCrawley called for pens and ink, and paper, and being asked how many\nsheets, chose one which was brought to him between Miss Moss's own\nfinger and thumb. Many a sheet had that dark-eyed damsel brought in;\nmany a poor fellow had scrawled and blotted hurried lines of entreaty\nand paced up and down that awful room until his messenger brought back\nthe reply. Poor men always use messengers instead of the post.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-18, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-20 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Who\nhas not had their letters, with the wafers wet, and the announcement\nthat a person is waiting in the hall? Now on the score of his application, Rawdon had not many misgivings. DEAR BECKY, (Rawdon wrote)\n\nI HOPE YOU SLEPT WELL. Don't be FRIGHTENED if I don't bring you in\nyour COFFY. Last night as I was coming home smoaking, I met with an\nACCADENT. I was NABBED by Moss of Cursitor Street--from whose GILT AND\nSPLENDID 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\nher STOCKENS DOWN AT HEAL. It's Nathan's business--a hundred-and-fifty--with costs,\nhundred-and-seventy. Please send me my desk and some CLOTHS--I'm in\npumps and a white tye (something like Miss M's stockings)--I've seventy\nin it. And as soon as you get this, Drive to Nathan's--offer him\nseventy-five down, and ASK HIM TO RENEW--say I'll take wine--we may as\nwell 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\ncan SPARE, and send them to Balls--we must, of coarse, have the sum\nto-night. It won't do to let it stand over, as to-morrow's Sunday; the\nbeds here are not very CLEAN, and there may be other things out against\nme--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\nmessengers who are always hanging about Mr. Moss's establishment, and\nRawdon, having seen him depart, went out in the court-yard and smoked\nhis cigar with a tolerably easy mind--in spite of the bars\noverhead--for Mr. Moss's court-yard is railed in like a cage, lest the\ngentlemen who are boarding with him should take a fancy to escape from\nhis hospitality. Three hours, he calculated, would be the utmost time required, before\nBecky should arrive and open his prison doors, and he passed these\npretty cheerfully in smoking, in reading the paper, and in the\ncoffee-room with an acquaintance, Captain Walker, who happened to be\nthere, and with whom he cut for sixpences for some hours, with pretty\nequal luck on either side. But the day passed away and no messenger returned--no Becky. Mr.\nMoss's tably-dy-hoty was served at the appointed hour of half-past\nfive, when such of the gentlemen lodging in the house as could afford\nto pay for the banquet came and partook of it in the splendid front\nparlour before described, and with which Mr. Crawley's temporary\nlodging communicated, when Miss M.  (Miss Hem, as her papa called her)\nappeared without the curl-papers of the morning, and Mrs. Hem did the\nhonours of a prime boiled leg of mutton and turnips, of which the\nColonel ate with a very faint appetite. Asked whether he would \"stand\"\na bottle of champagne for the company, he consented, and the ladies\ndrank to his 'ealth, and Mr. Moss, in the most polite manner, \"looked\ntowards him.\" In the midst of this repast, however, the doorbell was heard--young\nMoss of the ruddy hair rose up with the keys and answered the summons,\nand coming back, told the Colonel that the messenger had returned with\na bag, a desk and a letter, which he gave him. \"No ceramony, Colonel,\nI beg,\" said Mrs. Moss with a wave of her hand, and he opened the\nletter rather tremulously. It was a beautiful letter, highly scented,\non a pink paper, and with a light green seal. MON PAUVRE CHER PETIT, (Mrs. Crawley wrote)\n\nI could not sleep ONE WINK for thinking of what had become of my odious\nold monstre, and only got to rest in the morning after sending for Mr.\nBlench (for I was in a fever), who gave me a composing draught and left\norders with Finette that I should be disturbed ON NO ACCOUNT. So that\nmy poor old man's messenger, who had bien mauvaise mine Finette says,\nand sentoit le Genievre, remained in the hall for some hours waiting my\nbell. You may fancy my state when I read your poor dear old ill-spelt\nletter. Ill as I was, I instantly called for the carriage, and as soon as I was\ndressed (though I couldn't drink a drop of chocolate--I assure you I\ncouldn't without my monstre to bring it to me), I drove ventre a terre\nto 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\nsaid, or keep my poor monstre in prison. I drove home with the\nintention of paying that triste visite chez mon oncle (when every\ntrinket I have should be at your disposal though they would not fetch a\nhundred pounds, for some, you know, are with ce cher oncle already),\nand found Milor there with the Bulgarian old sheep-faced monster, who\nhad come to compliment me upon last night's performances. Paddington\ncame in, too, drawling and lisping and twiddling his hair; so did\nChampignac, and his chef--everybody with foison of compliments and\npretty speeches--plaguing poor me, who longed to be rid of them, and\nwas 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\ngoing to pawn everything, and begged and prayed him to give me two\nhundred pounds. He pish'd and psha'd in a fury--told me not to be such\na fool as to pawn--and said he would see whether he could lend me the\nmoney. At last he went away, promising that he would send it me in the\nmorning:  when I will bring it to my poor old monster with a kiss from\nhis affectionate\n\nBECKY\n\nI 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\nsavage that the company at the table d'hote easily perceived that bad\nnews had reached him. All his suspicions, which he had been trying to\nbanish, returned upon him. She could not even go out and sell her\ntrinkets to free him. She could laugh and talk about compliments paid\nto her, whilst he was in prison. Who had put him there? Wenham had\nwalked with him. Was there.... He could hardly bear to think of what\nhe suspected. Leaving the room hurriedly, he ran into his own--opened\nhis desk, wrote two hurried lines, which he directed to Sir Pitt or\nLady Crawley, and bade the messenger carry them at once to Gaunt\nStreet, bidding him to take a cab, and promising him a guinea if he was\nback in an hour. In the note he besought his dear brother and sister, for the sake of\nGod, for the sake of his dear child and his honour, to come to him and\nrelieve him from his difficulty. He was in prison, he wanted a hundred\npounds to set him free--he entreated them to come to him. He went back to the dining-room after dispatching his messenger and\ncalled for more wine. He laughed and talked with a strange\nboisterousness, as the people thought. Sometimes he laughed madly at\nhis own fears and went on drinking for an hour, listening all the while\nfor the carriage which was to bring his fate back. At the expiration of that time, wheels were heard whirling up to the\ngate--the young janitor went out with his gate-keys. It was a lady\nwhom he let in at the bailiff's door. \"Colonel Crawley,\" she said, trembling very much. He, with a knowing\nlook, locked the outer door upon her--then unlocked and opened the\ninner one, and calling out, \"Colonel, you're wanted,\" led her into the\nback parlour, which he occupied. Rawdon came in from the dining-parlour where all those people were\ncarousing, into his back room; a flare of coarse light following him\ninto the apartment where the lady stood, still very nervous. \"It is I, Rawdon,\" she said in a timid voice, which she strove to\nrender cheerful. \"It is Jane.\" Rawdon was quite overcome by that kind\nvoice and presence. He ran up to her--caught her in his arms--gasped\nout some inarticulate words of thanks and fairly sobbed on her\nshoulder.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-20, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-23 The user is reading a book]\n<User> She did not know the cause of his emotion. The bills of Mr. Moss were quickly settled, perhaps to the\ndisappointment of that gentleman, who had counted on having the Colonel\nas his guest over Sunday at least; and Jane, with beaming smiles and\nhappiness in her eyes, carried away Rawdon from the bailiff's house,\nand they went homewards in the cab in which she had hastened to his\nrelease. \"Pitt was gone to a parliamentary dinner,\" she said, \"when\nRawdon's note came, and so, dear Rawdon, I--I came myself\"; and she put\nher kind hand in his. Perhaps it was well for Rawdon Crawley that Pitt\nwas away at that dinner. Rawdon thanked his sister a hundred times,\nand with an ardour of gratitude which touched and almost alarmed that\nsoft-hearted woman. \"Oh,\" said he, in his rude, artless way, \"you--you\ndon'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\nnot finish the sentence, but she could interpret it. And that night\nafter he left her, and as she sat by her own little boy's bed, she\nprayed 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\nlength came up breathless opposite his own house. He started back and\nfell against the railings, trembling as he looked up. The drawing-room\nwindows were blazing with light. She had said that she was in bed and\nill. He stood there for some time, the light from the rooms on his\npale face. He took out his door-key and let himself into the house. He could hear\nlaughter in the upper rooms. He was in the ball-dress in which he had\nbeen captured the night before. He went silently up the stairs,\nleaning against the banisters at the stair-head. Nobody was stirring\nin the house besides--all the servants had been sent away. Rawdon heard\nlaughter within--laughter and singing. Becky was singing a snatch of\nthe 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\nlaid out--and wine and plate. Steyne was hanging over the sofa on\nwhich Becky sat. The wretched woman was in a brilliant full toilette,\nher arms and all her fingers sparkling with bracelets and rings, and\nthe brilliants on her breast which Steyne had given her. He had her\nhand in his, and was bowing over it to kiss it, when Becky started up\nwith a faint scream as she caught sight of Rawdon's white face. At the\nnext instant she tried a smile, a horrid smile, as if to welcome her\nhusband; and Steyne rose up, grinding his teeth, pale, and with fury in\nhis 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\nmouth twitching as he tried to grin at the intruder. There was that in Rawdon's face which caused Becky to fling herself\nbefore him. \"I am innocent, Rawdon,\" she said; \"before God, I am\ninnocent.\" She clung hold of his coat, of his hands; her own were all\ncovered with serpents, and rings, and baubles. \"I am innocent. Say I\nam innocent,\" she said to Lord Steyne. He thought a trap had been laid for him, and was as furious with the\nwife 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\nme. I have given you thousands of pounds, which this fellow has spent\nand for which he has sold you. Innocent, by ----! You're as innocent as\nyour mother, the ballet-girl, and your husband the bully. Don't think\nto frighten me as you have done others. Make way, sir, and let me\npass\"; and Lord Steyne seized up his hat, and, with flame in his eyes,\nand looking his enemy fiercely in the face, marched upon him, never for\na moment doubting that the other would give way. But Rawdon Crawley springing out, seized him by the neckcloth, until\nSteyne, almost strangled, writhed and bent under his arm. \"You lie,\nyou dog!\" said Rawdon. \"You lie, you coward and villain!\" And he struck\nthe Peer twice over the face with his open hand and flung him bleeding\nto the ground. It was all done before Rebecca could interpose. She\nstood there trembling before him. She admired her husband, strong,\nbrave, and victorious. \"Come here,\" he said. She came up at once. \"Take off those things.\" She began, trembling, pulling the jewels from\nher arms, and the rings from her shaking fingers, and held them all in\na heap, quivering and looking up at him. \"Throw them down,\" he said,\nand she dropped them. He tore the diamond ornament out of her breast\nand flung it at Lord Steyne. It cut him on his bald forehead. Steyne\nwore the scar to his dying day. \"Come upstairs,\" Rawdon said to his wife. \"Don't kill me, Rawdon,\" she\nsaid. He laughed savagely. \"I want to see if that man lies about the\nmoney as he has about me. Has he given you any?\" \"No,\" said Rebecca, \"that is--\"\n\n\"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\nwould not have remarked the absence of that. It belonged to the little\ndesk which Amelia had given her in early days, and which she kept in a\nsecret place. But Rawdon flung open boxes and wardrobes, throwing the\nmultifarious trumpery of their contents here and there, and at last he\nfound the desk. The woman was forced to open it. It contained papers,\nlove-letters many years old--all sorts of small trinkets and woman's\nmemoranda. And it contained a pocket-book with bank-notes. Some of\nthese were dated ten years back, too, and one was quite a fresh one--a\nnote 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,\nand many hours had passed in this search), \"and I will pay Briggs, who\nwas kind to the boy, and some of the debts. You will let me know where\nI shall send the rest to you. You might have spared me a hundred\npounds, 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\nhe was gone, the sunshine pouring into the room, and Rebecca sitting\nalone on the bed's edge. The drawers were all opened and their\ncontents scattered about--dresses and feathers, scarfs and trinkets, a\nheap of tumbled vanities lying in a wreck. Her hair was falling over\nher shoulders; her gown was torn where Rawdon had wrenched the\nbrilliants out of it. She heard him go downstairs a few minutes after\nhe left her, and the door slamming and closing on him. She knew he\nwould never come back. He was gone forever. Would he kill\nhimself?--she thought--not until after he had met Lord Steyne. She\nthought of her long past life, and all the dismal incidents of it. Ah,\nhow dreary it seemed, how miserable, lonely and profitless! Should she\ntake laudanum, and end it, to have done with all hopes, schemes, debts,\nand triumphs? The French maid found her in this position--sitting in\nthe midst of her miserable ruins with clasped hands and dry eyes. The\nwoman was her accomplice and in Steyne's pay. \"Mon Dieu, madame, what\nhas happened?\" she asked. What had happened? Was she guilty or not? She said not, but who could\ntell what was truth which came from those lips, or if that corrupt\nheart was in this case pure? All her lies and her schemes, and her selfishness and her wiles, all her\nwit and genius had come to this bankruptcy. The woman closed the\ncurtains and, with some entreaty and show of kindness, persuaded her\nmistress to lie down on the bed.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-23, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-25 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Then she went below and gathered up\nthe trinkets which had been lying on the floor since Rebecca dropped\nthem there at her husband's orders, and Lord Steyne went away.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-25, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-25", "answer": "Becky, Rawdon, Lord Steyne, Lady Jane, Sir Pitt, Briggs, little Rawdon, Gauntly Hall, charade party, Clytemnestra, royal personage, bailiffs, jail for debts, special school, diamond pin, permanent scar, secret hoard, thousand pound note, creditors, French maid, jewels, fashion doors, Vanity Fair, economy and good management, charades, social snubbing, separation, strained relations, watchdog, suspicion, plea for assistance, violent appreciation, accusation, innocence, departure, comfort"}]