Page 863 - vanity-fair

country in the world, and stated to her young pupils that
she had been affreusement vole by natives of that island.
It was no doubt compassion for her misfortunes which in-
duced the Marquis of Steyne to be so very kind to Madame
de Saint-Amaranthe. May she flourish as she deserves—she
appears no more in our quarter of Vanity Fair.
Hearing a buzz and a stir below, and indignant at the
impudence of those servants who would not answer her
summons, Mrs. Crawley flung her morning robe round her
and descended majestically to the drawing-room, whence
the noise proceeded.
The cook was there with blackened face, seated on the
beautiful chintz sofa by the side of Mrs. Raggles, to whom
she was administering Maraschino. The page with the sug-
ar-loaf buttons, who carried about Becky’s pink notes, and
jumped about her little carriage with such alacrity, was now
engaged putting his fingers into a cream dish; the footman
was talking to Raggles, who had a face full of perplexity and
woe—and yet, though the door was open, and Becky had
been screaming a half-dozen of times a few feet off, not one
of her attendants had obeyed her call. ‘Have a little drop,
do’ee now, Mrs. Raggles,’ the cook was saying as Becky en-
tered, the white cashmere dressing-gown flouncing around
her.
‘Simpson! Trotter!’ the mistress of the house cried in
great wrath. ‘How dare you stay here when you heard me
call? How dare you sit down in my presence? Where’s my
maid?’ The page withdrew his fingers from his mouth with
a momentary terror, but the cook took off a glass of Mara-

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