Our old friends the Crawleys' family house, in Great Gaunt Street,

still bore over its front the hatchment which had been placed there as

a token of mourning for Sir Pitt Crawley's demise, yet this heraldic

emblem was in itself a very splendid and gaudy piece of furniture, and

all the rest of the mansion became more brilliant than it had ever been

during the late baronet's reign. The black outer-coating of the bricks

was removed, and they appeared with a cheerful, blushing face streaked

with white: the old bronze lions of the knocker were gilt handsomely,

the railings painted, and the dismallest house in Great Gaunt Street

became the smartest in the whole quarter, before the green leaves in

Hampshire had replaced those yellowing ones which were on the trees in

Queen's Crawley Avenue when old Sir Pitt Crawley passed under them for

the last time.

A little woman, with a carriage to correspond, was perpetually seen

about this mansion; an elderly spinster, accompanied by a little boy,

also might be remarked coming thither daily. It was Miss Briggs and

little Rawdon, whose business it was to see to the inward renovation of

Sir Pitt's house, to superintend the female band engaged in stitching

the blinds and hangings, to poke and rummage in the drawers and

cupboards crammed with the dirty relics and congregated trumperies of a

couple of generations of Lady Crawleys, and to take inventories of the

china, the glass, and other properties in the closets and store-rooms.

Mrs. Rawdon Crawley was general-in-chief over these arrangements, with

full orders from Sir Pitt to sell, barter, confiscate, or purchase

furniture, and she enjoyed herself not a little in an occupation which

gave full scope to her taste and ingenuity. The renovation of the

house was determined upon when Sir Pitt came to town in November to see

his lawyers, and when he passed nearly a week in Curzon Street, under

the roof of his affectionate brother and sister.

He had put up at an hotel at first, but, Becky, as soon as she heard of

the Baronet's arrival, went off alone to greet him, and returned in an

hour to Curzon Street with Sir Pitt in the carriage by her side. It

was impossible sometimes to resist this artless little creature's

hospitalities, so kindly were they pressed, so frankly and amiably

offered. Becky seized Pitt's hand in a transport of gratitude when he

agreed to come. "Thank you," she said, squeezing it and looking into

the Baronet's eyes, who blushed a good deal; "how happy this will make

Rawdon!" She bustled up to Pitt's bedroom, leading on the servants, who

were carrying his trunks thither. She came in herself laughing, with a

coal-scuttle out of her own room.

A fire was blazing already in Sir Pitt's apartment (it was Miss

Briggs's room, by the way, who was sent upstairs to sleep with the

maid). "I knew I should bring you," she said with pleasure beaming in

her glance. Indeed, she was really sincerely happy at having him for a

guest.




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