Page 586 - vanity-fair

a thousand wrinkles. His jaw was underhung, and when he
laughed, two white buck-teeth protruded themselves and
glistened savagely in the midst of the grin. He had been din-
ing with royal personages, and wore his garter and ribbon.
A short man was his Lordship, broad-chested and bow-
legged, but proud of the fineness of his foot and ankle, and
always caressing his garter-knee.
‘And so the shepherd is not enough,’ said he, ‘to defend
his lambkin?’
‘The shepherd is too fond of playing at cards and going to
his clubs,’ answered Becky, laughing.
‘‘Gad, what a debauched Corydon!’ said my lord—‘what
a mouth for a pipe!’
‘I take your three to two,’ here said Rawdon, at the card-
table.
‘Hark at Meliboeus,’ snarled the noble marquis; ‘he’s pas-
torally occupied too: he’s shearing a Southdown. What an
innocent mutton, hey? Damme, what a snowy fleece!’
Rebecca’s eyes shot out gleams of scornful humour. ‘My
lord,’ she said, ‘you are a knight of the Order.’ He had the
collar round his neck, indeed—a gift of the restored princes
of Spain.
Lord Steyne in early life had been notorious for his dar-
ing and his success at play. He had sat up two days and two
nights with Mr. Fox at hazard. He had won money of the
most august personages of the realm: he had won his mar-
quisate, it was said, at the gaming-table; but he did not like
an allusion to those bygone fredaines. Rebecca saw the
scowl gathering over his heavy brow.

586 Vanity Fair