ir Pitt not a little astonished at it.

As for Becky, she was not hurt; nay, she was pleased. "It was the
diamond-clasp you gave me," she said to Sir Pitt, reaching him out her
hand; and before she left him (for which event you may be sure my Lady
Jane was looking out from her dressing-room window in the upper story)
the Baronet had promised to go and seek out his brother, and endeavour
to bring about a reconciliation.

Rawdon found some of the young fellows of the regiment seated in the
mess-room at breakfast, and was induced without much difficulty to
partake of that meal, and of the devilled legs of fowls and soda-water
with which these young gentlemen fortified themselves. Then they had a
conversation befitting the day and their time of life: about the next
pigeon-match at Battersea, with relative bets upon Ross and
Osbaldiston; about Mademoiselle Ariane of the French Opera, and who had
left her, and how she was consoled by Panther Carr; and about the fight
between the Butcher and the Pet, and the probabilities that it was a
cross. Young Tandyman, a hero of seventeen, laboriously endeavouring
to get up a pair of mustachios, had seen the fight, and spoke in the
most scientific manner about the battle and the condition of the men.
It was he who had driven the Butcher on to the ground in his drag and
passed the whole of the previous night with him. Had there not been
foul play he must have won it. All the old files of the Ring were in
it; and Tandyman wouldn't pay; no, dammy, he wouldn't pay. It was but
a year since the young Cornet, now so knowing a hand in Cribb's
parlour, had a still lingering liking for toffy, and used to be birched
at Eton.

So they went on talking about dancers, fights, drinking, demireps,
until Macmurdo came down and joined the boys and the conversation. He
did not appear to think that any especial reverence was due to their
boyhood; the old fellow cut in with stories, to the full as choice as
any the youngest rake present had to tell--nor did his own grey hairs
nor their smooth faces detain him. Old Mac was famous for his good
stories. He was not exactly a lady's man; that is, men asked him to
dine rather at the houses of their mistresses than of their mothers.
There can scarcely be a life lower, perhaps, than his, but he was quite
contented with it, such as it was, and led it in perfect good nature,
simplicity, and modesty of demeanour.

By the time Mac had finished a copious breakf