In the will I shall some day leave behind me there will be devised, in primogenitural trust forever, the priceless treasure of conviction that Becky was innocent of Lord Steyne. I leave it to any gentleman who has had the great opportunity to look in familiarly upon the outer and upper fringes of the world of unclassed and predatory women and the noble lords that abound thereamong. Let him read over again that famous scene where Becky writes her scorn upon Steyne's forehead in the noble blood of that aristocratic wolf. Then let him give his decision, as an honest juryman upon his oath, whether he is convinced that the most noble Marquis was raging because he was losing a woman, or from the discovery that he was one of two dupes facing each other, and that he was the fool who had paid for both and had had “no run for his money!” Marquises of Steyne do not resent sentimental losses--they can be hurt only in their sportsmanship. You may begin with the Misses Pinkerton (in whose select school Becky absorbed the intricate hypocrisies and saturated snobbery of the highest English society) and follow her through all the little and big turmoils of her life, meeting on the way of it all the elaborated differentials of the country-gentleman and lady tribe of Crawley, the line officers and bemedalled generals of the army (except honest O'Dowd and his lady), the most noble Marquis and his shadowy and resigned Marchioness, the R--y--l P--rs--n--ge himself--even down to the tuft-hunters Punter and Loder--and if Becky is not superior to every man and woman of them in every personal trait and grace that calls for admiration--then, why, by George! do you take such an interest, such an undying interest, in her? You invariably take the greatest interest in the best character in a story--unless it's too good and gets “sweety” and “sticky” and so sours on your philosophical stomach. You can't possibly take any interest in Dobbin--you just naturally, emphatically, and in the most unreflecting way in the world, say “Oh, d--n Dobbin!” and go right ahead after somebody else. I don't say Becky was all that a perfect Sunday School teacher should have been, but in the group in which she was born to move she smells cleaner than the whole raft of them--to me. * * * * *