"It isn't difficult to be a country gentleman's wife,"Rebecca thought."I think I could be a good woman if I had five thousand a year.I could dawdle about in the nursery and count the apricots on the wall.I could water plants in a green-house and pick off dead leaves from the geraniums.I could ask old women about their rheumatisms and order half-a-crown's worth of soup for the poor.I shouldn't miss it much, out of five thousand a year.I could even drive out ten miles to dine at a neighbour's, and dress in the fashions of the year before last.
I could go to church and keep awake in the great family pew, or go to sleep behind the curtains, with my veil down, if I only had practice.I could pay everybody, if I had but the money.This is what the conjurors here pride themselves upon doing.They look down with pity upon us miserable sinners who have none.They think themselves generous if they give our children a five-pound note, and us contemptible if we are without one." And who knows but Rebecca was right in her speculations --and that it was only a question of money and fortune which made the difference between her and an honest woman? If you take temptations into account, who is to say that he is better than his neighbour? A comfortable career of prosperity, if it does not make people honest, at least keeps them so.An alderman coming from a turtle feast will not step out of his carnage to steal a leg of mutton; but put him to starve, and see if he will not purloin a loaf.Becky consoled herself by so balancing the chances and equalizing the distribution of good and evil in the world.
The old haunts, the old fields and woods, the copses, ponds, and gardens, the rooms of the old house where she had spent a couple of years seven years ago, were all carefully revisited by her.She had been young there, or comparatively so, for she forgot the time when she ever WAS young--but she remembered her thoughts and feelings seven years back and contrasted them with those which she had at present, now that she had seen the world, and lived with great people, and raised herself far beyond her original humble station.
"I have passed beyond it, because I have brains," Becky thought, "and almost all the rest of the world are fools.
I could not go back and consort with those people now, whom I used to meet in my father's studio.Lords come up to my door with stars and garters, instead of poor artists with screws of tobacco in their pockets.I have a gentleman for my husband, and an Earl's daughter for my sister, in the very house where I was little better than a servant a few years ago.But am I much better to do now in the world than I was when I was the poor painter's daughter and wheedled the grocer round the corner for sugar and tea? Suppose I had married Francis who was so fond of me--I couldn't have been much poorer than I am now.Heigho! I wish I could exchange my position in society, and all my relations for a snug sum in the Three Per Cent.Consols"; for so it was that Becky felt the Vanity of human affairs, and it was in those securities that she would have liked to cast anchor.
It may, perhaps, have struck her that to have been honest and humble, to have done her duty, and to have marched straightforward on her way, would have brought her as near happiness as that path by which she was striving to attain it.But--just as the children at Queen's Crawley went round the room where the body of their father lay--if ever Becky had these thoughts, she was accustomed to walk round them and not look in.She eluded them and despised them--or at least she was committed to the other path from which retreat was now impossible.And for my part I believe that remorse is the least active of all a man's moral senses--the very easiest to be deadened when wakened, and in some never wakened at all.We grieve at being found out and at the idea of shame or punishment, but the mere sense of wrong makes very few people unhappy in Vanity Fair.
So Rebecca, during her stay at Queen's Crawley, made as many friends of the Mammon of Unrighteousness as she could possibly bring under control.Lady Jane and her husband bade her farewell with the warmest demonstrations of good-will.They looked forward with pleasure to the time when, the family house in Gaunt Street being repaired and beautified, they were to meet again in London.Lady Southdown made her up a packet of medicine and sent a letter by her to the Rev.Lawrence Grills, exhorting that gentleman to save the brand who "honoured" the letter from the burning.Pitt accompanied them with four horses in the carriage to Mudbury, having sent on their baggage in a cart previously, accompanied with loads of game.
"How happy you will be to see your darling little boy again!" Lady Crawley said, taking leave of her kinswoman.
"Oh so happy!" said Rebecca, throwing up the green eyes.
She was immensely happy to be free of the place, and yet loath to go.Queen's Crawley was abominably stupid, and yet the air there was somehow purer than that which she had been accustomed to breathe.Everybody had been dull, but had been kind in their way."It is all the influence of a long course of Three Per Cents," Becky said to herself, and was right very likely.
However, the London lamps flashed joyfully as the stage rolled into Piccadilly, and Briggs had made a beautiful fire in Curzon Street, and little Rawdon was up to welcome back his papa and mamma.