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Mrs Rawdon Crawley knew that to gain acceptance into the highest society, she must be presented to the King at court. After she had made her curtsy to the highest person in the land, the noble families of England would be obliged, however unwillingly, to recognize her.

Her sister-in-law, Lady Jane, being from a noble family, was the ideal person to present Becky at court, so Becky made herself very agreeable to Sir Pitt when he was in London. She helped him write his political speeches, and discussed political events with him. She introduced him to important gentlemen at her parties, and he was deeply impressed by Becky's friendly relationship with the wealthy Lord Steyne. He had no idea that behind his back Becky made fun of him to the great Lord.

While his house in Great Gaunt Street was being made ready for his family, Sir Pitt stayed in Curzon Street, where Becky daily fussed over his comfort. One evening she even cooked a little supper for him with her own hands.

"It is an excellent meal, my dear Rebecca," said Sir Pitt. "But everything you do, you do well."

And later, sitting by the fire, Becky let him talk, listening to him with kindly interest and sewing a shirt for her dear little son. Whenever she wished to appear a model of wifely goodness, this little shirt was brought out of her sewing-box. It was too small for Rawdy long before it was finished.

When the house in Great Gaunt Street was ready and Lady Jane had moved in, Becky would call on her from time to time, but in general the two women saw little of each other. Sir Pitt, however, found time to see his sister-in-law daily, and was a regular guest at her evening parties.

"You could be the wife of a king, with all your skills," Sir Pitt said. He thought to himself how Rawdon was a foolish, dull fellow, who didn't appreciate his brilliant wife; and how pretty Becky looked, sitting opposite him at the table.

"A poor man's wife," Becky replied cheerfully, "must make herself useful, you know."

In the middle of these fine parties and brilliant people, Colonel Rawdon found himself more isolated every day. He was rarely required for social duties these days, and would often walk round to Gaunt Street with young Rawdy, and sit with Lady Jane and the children. He was glad to be given small jobs to do -- taking messages, helping with the children's dinner. The brave and daring young soldier of ten years before had become a dull, lazy, obedient, middle-aged gentleman.

And the diamonds…"Where the devil did you get the diamonds, Becky?" said her husband, admiring the jewels which sparkled on her arms and neck with great brilliance.

And poor Lady Jane knew that her husband had become a victim of Becky's charm, although when they met, she and Mrs Rawdon still behaved as though they were the best of friends.

Becky's dress that day put the dresses of all other women in the shade, as even Lady Jane was forced to admit.

At last Becky's kindness and attention to the head of her husband's family were given their due reward, and the great day came when Sir Pitt's carriage arrived in Curzon Street to take Mrs Rawdon Crawley and her husband to meet the King.

Becky blushed a little, and looked at him hard. Pitt Crawley blushed too, and looked uneasy. He had given her a little bracelet himself -- but had failed to mention this fact to his wife.

Becky smiled at Rawdon. "Guess!" she said. "Where do you think I got them, you silly man? I hired them, of course."

Becky's diamonds, however, never returned to any hire-shop. They were later locked away in a secret little desk that she had, and Rawdon knew nothing about the diamonds which shone on his wife's neck that day.

But Lord Steyne knew where the jewels came from, and who paid for them. As he bowed over Becky's hand in the royal rooms that day, he gave her a knowing smile, which was returned. And many people there noted the particular attention that the great Lord Steyne paid to the Colonel's little wife.

Lord Steyne was amused by Becky's victorious social progress. "It won't last," he told her. "You can't compete with them for long, you silly little fool. You have no money."

And so began Becky's victory over her enemies. How angrily did those grand ladies now send their cards of invitation to Mrs Rawdon Crawley! How they smiled at her, tight-lipped and with icy stares! How Becky's eyes sparkled with delight at their silent and terrible fury! And the more the ladies hated her, the more the gentlemen were devoted in their admiration. Hungarian princes sighed over her little hand, government ministers begged her to sing to them at evening parties, handsome young men competed with each other to fetch her shawl, to hold her carriage door, to write poems in praise of her bright eyes.

Becky laughed, but a little later suggested to Miss Briggs that she took Rawdy out for a walk in the park.

"All women are the same," said the noble Lord. "Wanting this, demanding that. None of it is worth having."

Becky turned her big green eyes on him and sighed. "You must get my husband a position," she said, "as soon as possible."

Miss Briggs, seated at the work-table at the back of the room, looked up nervously at the sound of his fierce voice. Lord Steyne saw her looking, and turned angrily to Becky.

There was a brief silence. "Damned fool!" said the Lord. "How much is it?"

"Why don't you get rid of your watch-dog?" he growled.

"You owe her her wages, I suppose?" said Lord Steyne.

Becky thought about the size of Lord Steyne's fortune, and mentioned an amount twice the size of the debt to Miss Briggs. Lord Steyne swore again, at which Becky held her head down and began to cry bitterly. Lord Steyne then took his hat and left.

"I can't send her away," Becky said sadly, when she had gone.

"Yes, and worse than that," said Becky. "I have ruined her. I have borrowed all her savings, and can't pay a penny back. My husband would kill me if he knew."

Lord Steyne continued to be generous to the Crawley family. He pointed out to the parents that it was time young Rawdy was sent away to a good school, and when the father said he could not pay the fees, Lord Steyne offered to take care of the matter. Rawdon agreed to the plan for his son's sake, but he missed the boy greatly, and was sad and lonely when he had gone.

That night Becky received a note with Lord Steyne's signature, and an instruction to his bankers. In the morning she hurried to the bank. How will you take the money, madam? A hundred and fifty pounds in small notes, and the rest in one note.

On the way home she stopped to buy a handsome black silk dress for Miss Briggs. She called into the landlord's house and gave him fifty pounds on account, and did the same at the stables where she hired her carriages. The one note that the bank had given her she locked away in her secret little desk.

Becky hardly noticed that her son had gone. Nor did she notice her husband's unhappiness. She was too busy thinking about her position, her pleasures, her advancement in society.

"What a clever little devil she is!" he thought. "I'm a fool compared to her. She's the best liar I have ever met!"

He arranged a pleasant, well-paid job for Miss Briggs in one of his country houses. Miss Briggs was delighted with the plan, and Rawdon was glad that Miss Briggs would at last receive some wages, even if the debt to her was still unpaid. But he was uneasy in his mind. His brother shared his unease.

Having got rid of the child, Lord Steyne suggested before long that there was no further need for Miss Briggs in the Crawley household. He found out from the lady herself how Becky had deceived him about the money, and this amused him greatly.

"Rebecca should not receive guests without a companion," Sir Pitt said. "You must be with her, Rawdon, at all times."

In fact, Sir Pitt was so alarmed that he went to see Becky and came close to a quarrel with his once admired sister-in-law.

"People are talking about you," he said. "These wild young men of fashion who visit you, the fact that Lord Steyne's carriage is always at your door -- it's not only your reputation that suffers, but that of the whole Crawley family. I am the head of the family and I beg you, I command you, to be more careful."

It was like the early days of their marriage over again, and Rawdon wondered why he had ever had suspicions. She was fond of him; she always had been. As for her shining in society, it was no fault of hers; she was made to shine. Was there any woman who could talk, or sing, or do anything like her?

Tears, smiles, excuses -- nothing would calm Sir Pitt, and Becky promised everything Pitt wanted; but Lord Steyne came to her house as often as ever, and Sir Pitt's anger increased.

Rawdon, aware of his brother's anger, became more watchful. He stopped gambling and stayed at home. He went with Becky to all her parties. Whenever Lord Steyne visited, he was sure to find the Colonel there.

At one grand party at Lord Steyne's house, when a very Royal person was present, Rawdon was reminded yet again of his wife's social success. It was a night when charades were played, and Becky acted the part of Clytemnestra, a Greek queen of long ago who murdered her husband. The style and brilliance of her acting delighted the guests. The company roared their admiration, the Royal person said she was perfection itself, and the great and noble Lord Steyne bowed low before her.

Becky was charmed by Rawdon's attention. "How much nicer it is to have you by my side than foolish old Briggs!" she said. "How happy we would be, if we only had money."

Rawdon Crawley was frightened by Becky's success. It seemed to separate his wife from him further than ever. He thought, with a feeling very like pain, how much above him she was. At the end of the evening he put his wife into the carriage, and decided to go home himself on foot, enjoying a cigar as he walked.

He did not notice the men following him until one of them, touching him on the shoulder, said,

Rawdon looked round.

Rawdon threw away his cigar. He knew exactly what was happening to him, because it had happened to him before. He was being arrested for debt.

"Excuse me, Colonel, I wish to speak to you."

"There's three of us. No use running," the man said.

In the quiet suburb of London where the Sedleys lived, debt was not unknown either. There came a time when Joseph's money from India stopped coming through, and the Sedleys could no longer pay their bills. The knowledge was kept from Amelia for quite a while, though anxiety about their debts made old Mrs Sedley sharp-tongued and bitter, and often critical of Amelia's efforts at kindness and of her pride in her child.

"Do let Georgy spend the day with me next Saturday," she said to Amelia one day. "Miss Osborne is coming to visit, and I know she'd love to see her brother's son. And who knows, perhaps the boy's grandfather will do something for him one day."

There was a long friendship between the Dobbin and Osborne families. The younger Osborne sister was now married, but the elder, Miss Jane Osborne, still lived at home with her father, old Mr Osborne, whose violent temper and black moods had grown worse year by year since his son's death at Waterloo. Miss Osborne led a sad, gloomy life, and was always asking her friend Miss Dobbin for news of her young nephew.

Miss Dobbin followed Georgy's progress with interest, and was keen to be helpful, well aware how poor the Sedleys were.

Georgy was now a schoolboy, though it had given Amelia great pain to release him from her care, to mix with rough boys and to be scolded by stern schoolteachers. It was a little local school (run by a friend of Amelia's constant admirer, Mr Linton), and Georgy loved it, doing well at all his lessons and coming home in the evenings with boastful stories of this and that -- all of which were believed by his fond mother.

"What's the matter?" old Mr Osborne growled at last.

The meeting took place, and Georgy charmed his aunt, as he did all the women in his life. Miss Osborne, at the dinner table with her father that night, could not hide her emotion.

Georgy's aunt burst into tears. "Oh sir," she said. "I've seen little George. He's such a beautiful boy -- and so like his father!"

Soon Georgy told his mother about another visitor at the house on a day he spent with Miss Dobbin.

"An old gentleman came today," the boy said. "He watched when I had my riding lesson with Miss Dobbin's coachman. He had very thick eyebrows, and he stared and stared at me."

The old man did not say a word, but his hands trembled, and he sat staring at the table for a long time.

Then Amelia knew that the boy had seen his grandfather, and she waited fearfully to see what would happen next.

It was a visit from a lawyer, with a letter from Mr Osborne, read aloud in the lawyer's dry voice.

"Mr Osborne offers to take his grandson George, who will then inherit the fortune which would have gone to his father. He will also give Mrs Amelia Osborne a regular allowance, to enable her and her family to live in comfort. If she marries again, as is said to be likely, this allowance will still continue. In return, the boy will live with Mr Osborne, who will permit him to visit his mother occasionally in her own home."

Amelia was rarely angry, but today she stood up, tore this letter into a hundred pieces, and threw them on the floor.

"Marry again! Take money -- to part from my child! Who dares to insult me in this way? Tell Mr Osborne it is a cowardly letter. I will not answer it. Good day, sir!"

Her parents were not present at this interview, and nothing was said at the time. But it soon became clearer than ever that there were financial difficulties. Dinners became smaller and meaner; both the old people wore worried frowns all the time.

The widow's pension that Amelia received (which, unknown to her, had been increased by payments from Dobbin) was not large. Amelia had always paid part of it to her parents, but this left little to spend on Georgy. And Georgy must have presents. Georgy must have a new suit every Christmas. Georgy must have everything that other boys at the school had.

At Christmas Georgy complained loudly at not having a new suit. Desperate to please him, Amelia sold Dobbin's Indian shawl in order to buy Georgy some books he wanted.

"Books!" cried the old lady. "Books! When we need food!"

"You're too selfish to care about anyone except your son! And he could be rich -- he could have whatever he wants, but you will not part with him." Mrs Sedley was now crying bitterly. "Amelia, you break my heart!"

"Oh, mother, mother! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I've had to sell everything I own," her mother said furiously, "just to pay the rent, and to keep your dear father out of prison. Jos hasn't sent us any money for months and months, and now you buy books -- books! -- for your son."

"Oh, mother, I -- I sold my Indian shawl to get the money."

How selfish she had been! One word from her, and Georgy could be rich, and she could save her parents. But she could not bear it, no, no… she could not bear to lose her son.

She fetched all her little store of money, pushed it into her mother's hand, and ran weeping back to her room.

"I'll give you everything, mother, all the money I have!"

"Books for Georgy," Amelia said. "I promised them to him."

Mrs Sedley saw her putting the new books on Georgy's table.

"What are those?" she said.

She tried every way she could think of to earn some money, but she had no skills, and every attempt failed. She wrote to Jos in India, begging him to continue sending money to her parents. One night, finding her father alone and sad in the sitting-room, she tried to comfort him by telling him she had written to Jos, but her father's face turned white with terror.

It was over. The battle was lost, the boy must go from her -- to others, to forget her. Her joy, hope, love, her whole life. She must give him up.

It all seemed to happen very quickly. Letters were written, arrangements made, legal documents signed. Georgy himself was pleased and excited by the change, boasting to the boys at school that he was going to be rich and live in a big house and have a carriage and a horse and would buy cakes for all his friends.

"Oh, no, papa!" Amelia threw her arms around him. "You are always good and kind. You tried your best. It's not the money, it's just that -- that…" She kissed him wildly, and ran away.

"It's no good, Emmy my dear," he whispered. "Jos still sends the money to his agent in London, but it has to go straight to the money-lender, to pay back all the money I borrowed." He turned his face away from her. "You'll hate your old father now."

Poor Amelia! Nobody really understood the misery she felt at giving away her son: not her parents, nor her friends, and certainly not Miss Dobbin, who wrote to her brother with this and other news -- though where she got the other news from was not at all clear.

So Georgy left his mother, with a cheerful smile on his face, and a promise to come and see her often.

When this letter arrived in India, Dobbin left it unopened for a few days because his sister's letters usually depressed him. She was always getting her facts wrong, and it was not long ago that he had received Amelia's letter congratulating him on his future marriage. This had upset him deeply, and alone and sleepless in the hot Indian night, he had spoken out loud to her in his room.

"Good God, Amelia! Don't you know that I only love you in the world? You, whom I cared for through months of illness and sorrow, and who said goodbye to me with a smile on your face, and forgot me before the door shut behind me!"

These were not happy memories, but returning to his rooms late one evening, Dobbin decided he must open his sister's letter.

"Colonel!" he shouted. "I must have permission to leave!"

"What is it, Dob, my boy? Is there a fire? What is it?"

MY DEAR WILLIAM -- Have you heard the news about your old friend, Mrs Osborne? Her son Georgy, a fine boy though very spoiled, has gone to live with his grandfather, Mr Osborne. Amelia is probably not too unhappy about giving him up as she is about to marry again -- a doctor's assistant, I believe. Not a very good marriage, but Mrs O. is not as young as she was…

Dobbin threw the letter down and rushed out of the house. A few minutes later he was banging on his commander's door.

"I must go back to England," Dobbin shouted. "On the most urgent private business! I must leave tonight!"

A window opened above him, and the Colonel's head looked out. He was a good-hearted Irishman, popular with his men.