Vanity Fair (illustrated)

And the real state of the case would never have been known at all in the regiment but for Captain Dobbin’s indiscretion. The Captain was eating his breakfast one day in the mess-room, while Cackle, the assistant-surgeon, and the two above-named worthies were speculating upon Osborne’s intrigue - Stubble holding out that the lady was a Duchess about Queen Charlotte’s court, and Cackle vowing she was an opera-singer of the worst reputation. At this idea Dobbin became so moved, that though his mouth was full of eggs and bread-and-butter at the time, and though he ought not to have spoken at all, yet he couldn’t help blurting out, “Cackle, you’re a stupid fool. You’re always talking nonsense and scandal. Osborne is not going to run off with a Duchess or ruin a milliner. Miss Sedley is one of the most charming young women that ever lived. He’s been engaged to her ever so long; and the man who calls her names had better not do so in my hearing.” With which, turning exceedingly red, Dobbin ceased speaking, and almost choked himself with a cup of tea. The story was over the regiment in half-an-hour; and that very evening Mrs. Major O’Dowd wrote off to her sister Glorvina at O’Dowdstown not to hurry from Dublin - young Osborne being prematurely engaged already.

She complimented the Lieutenant in an appropriate speech over a glass of whisky-toddy that evening, and he went home perfectly furious to quarrel with Dobbin (who had declined Mrs. Major O’Dowd’s party, and sat in his own room playing the flute, and, I believe, writing poetry in a very melancholy manner) - to quarrel with Dobbin for betraying his secret.

“Who the deuce asked you to talk about my affairs?” Osborne shouted indignantly. “Why the devil is all the regiment to know that I am going to be married? Why is that tattling old harridan, Peggy O’Dowd, to make free with my name at her d--d supper-table, and advertise my engagement over the three kingdoms? After all, what right have you to say I am engaged, or to meddle in my business at all, Dobbin?”

“It seems to me,” Captain Dobbin began.

“Seems be hanged, Dobbin,” his junior interrupted him. “I am under obligations to you, I know it, a d--d deal too well too; but I won’t be always sermonised by you because you’re five years my senior. I’m hanged if I’ll stand your airs of superiority and infernal pity and patronage. Pity and patronage! I should like to know in what I’m your inferior?”

“Are you engaged?” Captain Dobbin interposed.

“What the devil’s that to you or any one here if I am?”

“Are you ashamed of it?” Dobbin resumed.

“What right have you to ask me that question, sir? I should like to know,” George said.

“Good God, you don’t mean to say you want to break off?” asked Dobbin, starting up.

“In other words, you ask me if I’m a man of honour,” said Osborne, fiercely; “is that what you mean? You’ve adopted such a tone regarding me lately that I’m -- if I’ll bear it any more.”

“What have I done? I’ve told you you were neglecting a sweet girl, George. I’ve told you that when you go to town you ought to go to her, and not to the gambling-houses about St. James’s.”

“You want your money back, I suppose,” said George, with a sneer.

“Of course I do - I always did, didn’t I?” says Dobbin. “You speak like a generous fellow.”

“No, hang it, William, I beg your pardon” - here George interposed in a fit of remorse; “you have been my friend in a hundred ways, Heaven knows. You’ve got me out of a score of scrapes. When Crawley of the Guards won that sum of money of me I should have been done but for you: I know I should. But you shouldn’t deal so hardly with me; you shouldn’t be always catechising me. I am very fond of Amelia; I adore her, and that sort of thing. Don’t look angry. She’s faultless; I know she is. But you see there’s no fun in winning a thing unless you play for it. Hang it: the regiment’s just back from the West Indies, I must have a little fling, and then when I’m married I’ll reform; I will upon my honour, now. And - I say - Dob - don’t be angry with me, and I’ll give you a hundred next month, when I know my father will stand something handsome; and I’ll ask Heavytop for leave, and I’ll go to town, and see Amelia to-morrow - there now, will that satisfy you?”

“It is impossible to be long angry with you, George,” said the good-natured Captain; “and as for the money, old boy, you know if I wanted it you’d share your last shilling with me.”

“That I would, by Jove, Dobbin,” George said, with the greatest generosity, though by the way he never had any money to spare.

“Only I wish you had sown those wild oats of yours, George. If you could have seen poor little Miss Emmy’s face when she asked me about you the other day, you would have pitched those billiard-balls to the deuce. Go and comfort her, you rascal. Go and write her a long letter. Do something to make her happy; a very little will.”