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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:25:15 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:25:15 -0700 |
| commit | df9c49a71b15e91415647ec3b929e971e64f6460 (patch) | |
| tree | 642709ac2a7278e6369ce3169820b80780770a2c /5231-h | |
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diff --git a/5231-h/5231-h.htm b/5231-h/5231-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..34927a9 --- /dev/null +++ b/5231-h/5231-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,39153 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Way We Live Now, by Anthony Trollope</title> +<style type="text/css"> + body {background:#fdfdfd; + color:black; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + margin-left:12%; + margin-right:12%; + text-align:justify; } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center; + clear: both; } + hr.narrow { width: 40%; + text-align: center; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; } + hr { width: 100%; } + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + img { border: 0; } + img.left { float:left; + margin: 0px 8px 6px 0px; } + .caption { font-size: small; + font-weight: bold; } + blockquote { margin-left: 8%; + margin-right: 8%; } + blockquote.med { font-size: medium; + margin-left: 6%; + margin-right: 6%; } + table { text-align: left; } + table.med { font-size: medium; + text-align: left; } + td.just { text-align: justify; } + td.dollar { text-align: right; + vertical-align: bottom; } + td.center { text-align: center; } + p {text-indent: 4%; } + p.noindent { text-indent: 0%; } + .center { text-align: center; } + .ind2 { margin-left: 8%; } + .ind4 { margin-left: 16%; } + .ind6 { margin-left: 24%; } + .ind8 { margin-left: 32%; } + .ind10 { margin-left: 40%; } + .ind12 { margin-left: 48%; } + .ind14 { margin-left: 56%; } + .ind15 { margin-left: 60%; } + .ind16 { margin-left: 64%; } + .ind18 { margin-left: 72%; } + .ind20 { margin-left: 80%; } + .jright { text-align: right; } + .wide { letter-spacing: 2em; } + .nowrap { white-space: nowrap; } + .small { font-size: 85%; } + .large { font-size: 130%; } + .smallcaps { font-variant: small-caps; } + .u { text-decoration: underline; } + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red; + text-decoration: underline; } + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Way We Live Now, by Anthony Trollope</h1> +<p class="noindent">This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a +href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></p> +<p class="noindent">Title: The Way We Live Now</p> +<p class="noindent">Author: Anthony Trollope</p> +<p class="noindent">Release Date: June 10, 2002 [eBook #5231]<br /> +This revision was first posted on July 18, 2013</p> +<p class="noindent">Language: English</p> +<p class="noindent">Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p class="noindent">***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAY WE LIVE NOW***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Andrew Turek<br /> + and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.<br /> + <br /> + HTML version prepared by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.<br /> + <br /> + The illustrations for Chapters I-L<br /> + were generously made available by<br /> + the Google Books Library Project<br /> + (<a href="http://books.google.com">http://books.google.com</a>)<br /> + and for Chapters LI-C by<br /> + Internet Archive<br /> + (<a href="http://archive.org">http://archive.org</a>).</h3> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Editorial Note:<br /> + <br /> + <i>The Way We Live Now</i> was first published in twenty monthly + parts from February, 1874, to September, 1875, and in book + form by Chapman and Hall in 1875.<br /> + <br /> + Both the monthly parts and the Chapman and Hall first edition + contained the forty illustrations included in this e-book. The + artist, whose name is not listed on the title page, was long + thought to be Samuel Luke Fildes, but recent scholarship + attributes the illustrations to Lionel Grimston Fawkes.<br /> + <br /> + Images of the original illustrations for Chapters I-L are + available through the Google Books Library Project. See + <a href="http://www.google.com/books?id=TvsBAAAAQAAJ"> + http://www.google.com/books?id=TvsBAAAAQAAJ</a>. + Those for Chapters LI-C are available through + Internet Archive. See + <a href="http://archive.org/details/waywelivenow02trolrich"> + http://archive.org/details/waywelivenow02trolrich</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>THE WAY WE LIVE NOW</h1> + +<h3>by</h3> + +<h2>ANTHONY TROLLOPE</h2> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto"> +<tr><td align="right">Chapter </td> <td></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">I. </td> <td><a href="#c1" >THREE EDITORS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">II. </td> <td><a href="#c2" >THE CARBURY FAMILY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">III. </td> <td><a href="#c3" >THE BEARGARDEN.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV. </td> <td><a href="#c4" >MADAME MELMOTTE'S BALL.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V. </td> <td><a href="#c5" >AFTER THE BALL.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI. </td> <td><a href="#c6" >ROGER CARBURY AND PAUL MONTAGUE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII. </td> <td><a href="#c7" >MENTOR.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VIII. </td> <td><a href="#c8" >LOVE-SICK.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IX. </td> <td><a href="#c9" >THE GREAT RAILWAY TO VERA CRUZ.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">X. </td> <td><a href="#c10">MR. FISKER'S SUCCESS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XI. </td> <td><a href="#c11">LADY CARBURY AT HOME.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XII. </td> <td><a href="#c12">SIR FELIX IN HIS MOTHER'S HOUSE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIII. </td> <td><a href="#c13">THE LONGESTAFFES.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIV. </td> <td><a href="#c14">CARBURY MANOR.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XV. </td> <td><a href="#c15">"YOU SHOULD REMEMBER THAT I AM HIS MOTHER."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVI. </td> <td><a href="#c16">THE BISHOP AND THE PRIEST.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVII. </td> <td><a href="#c17">MARIE MELMOTTE HEARS A LOVE TALE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c18">RUBY RUGGLES HEARS A LOVE TALE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIX. </td> <td><a href="#c19">HETTA CARBURY HEARS A LOVE TALE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XX. </td> <td><a href="#c20">LADY POMONA'S DINNER PARTY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXI. </td> <td><a href="#c21">EVERYBODY GOES TO THEM.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXII. </td> <td><a href="#c22">LORD NIDDERDALE'S MORALITY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIII. </td> <td><a href="#c23">"YES;—I'M A BARONET."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIV. </td> <td><a href="#c24">MILES GRENDALL'S TRIUMPH.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXV. </td> <td><a href="#c25">IN GROSVENOR SQUARE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVI. </td> <td><a href="#c26">MRS. HURTLE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVII. </td> <td><a href="#c27">MRS. HURTLE GOES TO THE PLAY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c28">DOLLY LONGESTAFFE GOES INTO THE CITY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIX. </td> <td><a href="#c29">MISS MELMOTTE'S COURAGE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXX. </td> <td><a href="#c30">MR. MELMOTTE'S PROMISE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXI. </td> <td><a href="#c31">MR. BROUNE HAS MADE UP HIS MIND.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXII. </td> <td><a href="#c32">LADY MONOGRAM.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXIII. </td> <td><a href="#c33">JOHN CRUMB.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXIV. </td> <td><a href="#c34">RUBY RUGGLES OBEYS HER GRANDFATHER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXV. </td> <td><a href="#c35">MELMOTTE'S GLORY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXVI. </td> <td><a href="#c36">MR. BROUNE'S PERILS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXVII. </td> <td><a href="#c37">THE BOARD-ROOM.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c38">PAUL MONTAGUE'S TROUBLES.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXIX. </td> <td><a href="#c39">"I DO LOVE HIM."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right" valign="top">XL. </td> <td><a href="#c40">"UNANIMITY IS THE VERY SOUL OF THESE THINGS."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XLI. </td> <td><a href="#c41">ALL PREPARED.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XLII. </td> <td><a href="#c42">"CAN YOU BE READY IN TEN MINUTES?"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XLIII. </td> <td><a href="#c43">THE CITY ROAD.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XLIV. </td> <td><a href="#c44">THE COMING ELECTION.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XLV. </td> <td><a href="#c45">MR. MELMOTTE IS PRESSED FOR TIME.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XLVI. </td> <td><a href="#c46">ROGER CARBURY AND HIS TWO FRIENDS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XLVII. </td> <td><a href="#c47">MRS. HURTLE AT LOWESTOFT.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XLVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c48">RUBY A PRISONER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XLIX. </td> <td><a href="#c49">SIR FELIX MAKES HIMSELF READY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">L. </td> <td><a href="#c50">THE JOURNEY TO LIVERPOOL.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LI. </td> <td><a href="#c51">WHICH SHALL IT BE?</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LII. </td> <td><a href="#c52">THE RESULTS OF LOVE AND WINE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LIII. </td> <td><a href="#c53">A DAY IN THE CITY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LIV. </td> <td><a href="#c54">THE INDIA OFFICE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LV. </td> <td><a href="#c55">CLERICAL CHARITIES.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LVI. </td> <td><a href="#c56">FATHER BARHAM VISITS LONDON.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LVII. </td> <td><a href="#c57">LORD NIDDERDALE TRIES HIS HAND AGAIN.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c58">MR. SQUERCUM IS EMPLOYED.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LIX. </td> <td><a href="#c59">THE DINNER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LX. </td> <td><a href="#c60">MISS LONGESTAFFE'S LOVER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXI. </td> <td><a href="#c61">LADY MONOGRAM PREPARES FOR THE PARTY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXII. </td> <td><a href="#c62">THE PARTY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXIII. </td> <td><a href="#c63">MR. MELMOTTE ON THE DAY OF THE ELECTION.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXIV. </td> <td><a href="#c64">THE ELECTION.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXV. </td> <td><a href="#c65">MISS LONGESTAFFE WRITES HOME.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXVI. </td> <td><a href="#c66">"SO SHALL BE MY ENMITY."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXVII. </td> <td><a href="#c67">SIR FELIX PROTECTS HIS SISTER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c68">MISS MELMOTTE DECLARES HER PURPOSE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXIX. </td> <td><a href="#c69">MELMOTTE IN PARLIAMENT.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXX. </td> <td><a href="#c70">SIR FELIX MEDDLES WITH MANY MATTERS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXI. </td> <td><a href="#c71">JOHN CRUMB FALLS INTO TROUBLE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXII. </td> <td><a href="#c72">"ASK HIMSELF."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXIII. </td> <td><a href="#c73">MARIE'S FORTUNE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXIV. </td> <td><a href="#c74">MELMOTTE MAKES A FRIEND.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXV. </td> <td><a href="#c75">IN BRUTON STREET.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXVI. </td> <td><a href="#c76">HETTA AND HER LOVER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXVII. </td> <td><a href="#c77">ANOTHER SCENE IN BRUTON STREET.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c78">MISS LONGESTAFFE AGAIN AT CAVERSHAM.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXIX. </td> <td><a href="#c79">THE BREHGERT CORRESPONDENCE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXX. </td> <td><a href="#c80">RUBY PREPARES FOR SERVICE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXXI. </td> <td><a href="#c81">MR. COHENLUPE LEAVES LONDON.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXXII. </td> <td><a href="#c82">MARIE'S PERSEVERANCE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXXIII. </td> <td><a href="#c83">MELMOTTE AGAIN AT THE HOUSE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXXIV. </td> <td><a href="#c84">PAUL MONTAGUE'S VINDICATION.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXXV. </td> <td><a href="#c85">BREAKFAST IN BERKELEY SQUARE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXXVI. </td> <td><a href="#c86">THE MEETING IN BRUTON STREET.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXXVII. </td> <td><a href="#c87">DOWN AT CARBURY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXXVIII. </td><td><a href="#c88">THE INQUEST.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">LXXXIX. </td> <td><a href="#c89">"THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XC. </td> <td><a href="#c90">HETTA'S SORROW.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XCI. </td> <td><a href="#c91">THE RIVALS.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XCII. </td> <td><a href="#c92">HAMILTON K. FISKER AGAIN.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XCIII. </td> <td><a href="#c93">A TRUE LOVER.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XCIV. </td> <td><a href="#c94">JOHN CRUMB'S VICTORY.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XCV. </td> <td><a href="#c95">THE LONGESTAFFE MARRIAGES.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XCVI. </td> <td><a href="#c96">WHERE "THE WILD ASSES QUENCH THEIR THIRST."</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XCVII. </td> <td><a href="#c97">MRS. HURTLE'S FATE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XCVIII. </td> <td><a href="#c98">MARIE MELMOTTE'S FATE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XCIX. </td> <td><a href="#c99">LADY CARBURY AND MR. BROUNE.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">C. </td> <td><a href="#c100">DOWN IN SUFFOLK.</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> + +<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> +<div class="center"> +<table class="med" style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="3"> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill003">"JUST SO, MOTHER;—BUT HOW ABOUT<br />THE TWENTY POUNDS?"</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER III.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill004">THE DUCHESS FOLLOWED WITH THE MALE VICTIM.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER IV.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill007">"THERE'S THE £20."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER VII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill009">THEN MR. FISKER BEGAN HIS ACCOUNT.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER IX.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill013">THEN THE SQUIRE LED THE WAY OUT OF<br />THE ROOM, AND DOLLY FOLLOWED.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XIII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill015">"YOU SHOULD REMEMBER THAT I AM HIS MOTHER."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XV.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill016">THE BISHOP THINKS THAT THE PRIEST'S<br />ANALOGY IS NOT CORRECT.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XVI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill017">"YOU KNOW WHY I HAVE COME DOWN HERE?"</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XVII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill021">SHE MARCHED MAJESTICALLY OUT OF THE ROOM.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XXI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill023">"IN THE MEANTIME WHAT IS YOUR OWN PROPERTY?"</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XXIII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill026">"I HAVE COME ACROSS THE ATLANTIC TO SEE YOU."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XXVI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill029">"GET TO YOUR ROOM."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XXIX.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill032">SIR DAMASK SOLVING THE DIFFICULTY.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XXXII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill033">"I LOIKS TO SEE HER LOIK O' THAT."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XXXIII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill037">THE BOARD-ROOM.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XXXVII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill039">LADY CARBURY ALLOWED HERSELF<br />TO BE KISSED.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XXXIX.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill041">"IT'S NO GOOD SCOLDING."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XLI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill043">"I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANY MAN'S COAT."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XLIII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill046">THE SANDS AT LOWESTOFT.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XLVI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill050">"YOU, I THINK, ARE MISS MELMOTTE."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER L.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill051">THE DOOR WAS OPENED FOR HIM BY RUBY.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill052">"CAN I MARRY THE MAN I DO NOT LOVE?"</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill056">FATHER BARHAM.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LVI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill058">MR. SQUERCUM IN HIS OFFICE.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LVIII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill061">"HAVE YOU HEARD WHAT'S UP, JU?"</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LXI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill062">MR. MELMOTTE SPECULATES.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LXII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill069a">"NOT A BOTTLE OF CHAMPAGNE IN THE HOUSE."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LXIX.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill069b">MELMOTTE IN PARLIAMENT.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LXIX.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill071">"GET UP, YOU WIPER."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LXXI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill075">"I MIGHT AS WELL SEE WHETHER THERE<br />IS ANY SIGN OF VIOLENCE HAVING<br />BEEN USED."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LXXV.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill076">"YOU HAD BETTER GO BACK TO MRS. HURTLE."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LXXVI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill077">"AH, MA'AM-MOISELLE," SAID CROLL,<br />"YOU SHOULD OBLIGE YOUR FADER."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LXXVII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill082">"HE THOUGHT I HAD BETTER BRING THESE<br />BACK TO YOU."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LXXXII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill085">"WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES THAT MAKE?"</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LXXXV.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill087">"SHE'S A COOMIN; SHE'S A COOMIN."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LXXXVII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill089">"OF COURSE YOU HAVE BEEN A DRAGON OF VIRTUE."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER LXXXIX.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill091">"SIT DOWN SO THAT I MAY LOOK AT YOU."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XCI.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill094">THE HAPPY BRIDEGROOM.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XCIV.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill097">MRS. HURTLE AT THE WINDOW.</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER XCVII.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ill100">"THERE GOES THE LAST OF MY ANGER."</a> </td><td valign="top"> <span class="nowrap">CHAPTER C.</span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> + + +<p><a id="c1"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> +<h4>THREE EDITORS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Let the reader be introduced to Lady Carbury, upon whose character +and doings much will depend of whatever interest these pages may +have, as she sits at her writing-table in her own room in her own +house in Welbeck Street. Lady Carbury spent many hours at her desk, +and wrote many letters,—wrote also very much beside letters. She +spoke of herself in these days as a woman devoted to Literature, +always spelling the word with a big L. Something of the nature of her +devotion may be learned by the perusal of three letters which on this +morning she had written with a quickly running hand. Lady Carbury was +rapid in everything, and in nothing more rapid than in the writing of +letters. Here is Letter No. +<span class="nowrap">1;—</span><br /> </p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Thursday,<br /> +Welbeck Street.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Friend</span>,—</p> + +<p>I have taken care that you shall have the early sheets of +my two new volumes to-morrow, or Saturday at latest, so +that you may, if so minded, give a poor struggler like +myself a lift in your next week's paper. Do give a poor +struggler a lift. You and I have so much in common, and I +have ventured to flatter myself that we are really +friends! I do not flatter you when I say, that not only +would aid from you help me more than from any other +quarter, but also that praise from you would gratify my +vanity more than any other praise. I almost think you will +like my "Criminal Queens." The sketch of Semiramis is at +any rate spirited, though I had to twist it about a little +to bring her in guilty. Cleopatra, of course, I have taken +from Shakespeare. What a wench she was! I could not quite +make Julia a queen; but it was impossible to pass over so +piquant a character. You will recognise in the two or +three ladies of the empire how faithfully I have studied +my Gibbon. Poor dear old Belisarius! I have done the best +I could with Joanna, but I could not bring myself to care +for her. In our days she would simply have gone to +Broadmore. I hope you will not think that I have been too +strong in my delineations of Henry VIII. and his sinful +but unfortunate Howard. I don't care a bit about Anne +Boleyne. I am afraid that I have been tempted into too +great length about the Italian Catherine; but in truth she +has been my favourite. What a woman! What a devil! Pity +that a second Dante could not have constructed for her a +special hell. How one traces the effect of her training in +the life of our Scotch Mary. I trust you will go with me +in my view as to the Queen of Scots. Guilty! guilty +always! Adultery, murder, treason, and all the rest of it. +But recommended to mercy because she was royal. A queen +bred, born and married, and with such other queens around +her, how could she have escaped to be guilty? Marie +Antoinette I have not quite acquitted. It would be +uninteresting;—perhaps untrue. I have accused her +lovingly, and have kissed when I scourged. I trust the +British public will not be angry because I do not +whitewash Caroline, especially as I go along with them +altogether in abusing her husband.</p> + +<p>But I must not take up your time by sending you another +book, though it gratifies me to think that I am writing +what none but yourself will read. Do it yourself, like a +dear man, and, as you are great, be merciful. Or rather, +as you are a friend, be loving.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours gratefully and faithfully,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Matilda Carbury</span>.</p> + +<p class="noindent">After all how +few women there are who can raise themselves +above the quagmire of what we call love, and make +themselves anything but playthings for men. Of almost all +these royal and luxurious sinners it was the chief sin +that in some phase of their lives they consented to be +playthings without being wives. I have striven so hard to +be proper; but when girls read everything, why should not +an old woman write anything?<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This letter was addressed to Nicholas Broune, Esq., the editor of the +"Morning Breakfast Table," a daily newspaper of high character; and, +as it was the longest, so was it considered to be the most important +of the three. Mr. Broune was a man powerful in his profession,—and +he was fond of ladies. Lady Carbury in her letter had called herself +an old woman, but she was satisfied to do so by a conviction that no +one else regarded her in that light. Her age shall be no secret to +the reader, though to her most intimate friends, even to Mr. Broune, +it had never been divulged. She was forty-three, but carried her +years so well, and had received such gifts from nature, that it was +impossible to deny that she was still a beautiful woman. And she used +her beauty not only to increase her influence,—as is natural to +women who are well-favoured,—but also with a well-considered +calculation that she could obtain material assistance in the +procuring of bread and cheese, which was very necessary to her, by a +prudent adaptation to her purposes of the good things with which +providence had endowed her. She did not fall in love, she did not +wilfully flirt, she did not commit herself; but she smiled and +whispered, and made confidences, and looked out of her own eyes into +men's eyes as though there might be some mysterious bond between her +and them—if only mysterious circumstances would permit it. But the +end of all was to induce some one to do something which would cause a +publisher to give her good payment for indifferent writing, or an +editor to be lenient when, upon the merits of the case, he should +have been severe. Among all her literary friends, Mr. Broune was the +one in whom she most trusted; and Mr. Broune was fond of handsome +women. It may be as well to give a short record of a scene which had +taken place between Lady Carbury and her friend about a month before +the writing of this letter which has been produced. She had wanted +him to take a series of papers for the "Morning Breakfast Table," and +to have them paid for at rate No. 1, whereas she suspected that he +was rather doubtful as to their merit, and knew that, without special +favour, she could not hope for remuneration above rate No. 2, or +possibly even No. 3. So she had looked into his eyes, and had left +her soft, plump hand for a moment in his. A man in such circumstances +is so often awkward, not knowing with any accuracy when to do one +thing and when another! Mr. Broune, in a moment of enthusiasm, had +put his arm round Lady Carbury's waist and had kissed her. To say +that Lady Carbury was angry, as most women would be angry if so +treated, would be to give an unjust idea of her character. It was a +little accident which really carried with it no injury, unless it +should be the injury of leading to a rupture between herself and a +valuable ally. No feeling of delicacy was shocked. What did it +matter? No unpardonable insult had been offered; no harm had been +done, if only the dear susceptible old donkey could be made at once +to understand that that wasn't the way to go on!</p> + +<p>Without a flutter, and without a blush, she escaped from his arm, and +then made him an excellent little speech. "Mr. Broune, how foolish, +how wrong, how mistaken! Is it not so? Surely you do not wish to put +an end to the friendship between us!"</p> + +<p>"Put an end to our friendship, Lady Carbury! Oh, certainly not that."</p> + +<p>"Then why risk it by such an act? Think of my son and of my +daughter,—both grown up. Think of the past troubles of my life;—so +much suffered and so little deserved. No one knows them so well as +you do. Think of my name, that has been so often slandered but never +disgraced! Say that you are sorry, and it shall be forgotten."</p> + +<p>When a man has kissed a woman it goes against the grain with him to +say the very next moment that he is sorry for what he has done. It is +as much as to declare that the kiss had not answered his expectation. +Mr. Broune could not do this, and perhaps Lady Carbury did not quite +expect it. "You know that for worlds I would not offend you," he +said. This sufficed. Lady Carbury again looked into his eyes, and a +promise was given that the articles should be printed—and with +generous remuneration.</p> + +<p>When the interview was over Lady Carbury regarded it as having been +quite successful. Of course when struggles have to be made and hard +work done, there will be little accidents. The lady who uses a street +cab must encounter mud and dust which her richer neighbour, who has a +private carriage, will escape. She would have preferred not to have +been kissed;—but what did it matter? With Mr. Broune the affair was +more serious. "Confound them all," he said to himself as he left the +house; "no amount of experience enables a man to know them." As he +went away he almost thought that Lady Carbury had intended him to +kiss her again, and he was almost angry with himself in that he had +not done so. He had seen her three or four times since, but had not +repeated the offence.</p> + +<p>We will now go on to the other letters, both of which were addressed +to the editors of other newspapers. The second was written to Mr. +Booker, of the "Literary Chronicle." Mr. Booker was a hard-working +professor of literature, by no means without talent, by no means +without influence, and by no means without a conscience. But, from +the nature of the struggles in which he had been engaged, by +compromises which had gradually been driven upon him by the +encroachment of brother authors on the one side and by the demands on +the other of employers who looked only to their profits, he had +fallen into a routine of work in which it was very difficult to be +scrupulous, and almost impossible to maintain the delicacies of a +literary conscience. He was now a bald-headed old man of sixty, with +a large family of daughters, one of whom was a widow dependent on him +with two little children. He had five hundred a year for editing the +"Literary Chronicle," which, through his energy, had become a +valuable property. He wrote for magazines, and brought out some book +of his own almost annually. He kept his head above water, and was +regarded by those who knew about him, but did not know him, as a +successful man. He always kept up his spirits, and was able in +literary circles to show that he could hold his own. But he was +driven by the stress of circumstances to take such good things as +came in his way, and could hardly afford to be independent. It must +be confessed that literary scruple had long departed from his mind. +Letter No. 2 was as +<span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Welbeck Street,<br /> +25th February, 187—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Mr. Booker</span>,</p> + +<p>I have told Mr. Leadham—[Mr. Leadham was senior partner +in the enterprising firm of publishers known as Messrs. +Leadham and Loiter]—to send you an early copy of my +"Criminal Queens." I have already settled with my friend +Mr. Broune that I am to do your "New Tale of a Tub" in the +"Breakfast Table." Indeed, I am about it now, and am +taking great pains with it. If there is anything you wish +to have specially said as to your view of the +Protestantism of the time, let me know. I should like you +to say a word as to the accuracy of my historical details, +which I know you can safely do. Don't put it off, as the +sale does so much depend on early notices. I am only +getting a royalty, which does not commence till the first +four hundred are sold.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours sincerely,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Matilda Carbury</span>.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Alfred Booker, Esq</span>.,<br /> +"Literary Chronicle," Office, Strand.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>There was nothing in this which shocked Mr. Booker. He laughed +inwardly, with a pleasantly reticent chuckle, as he thought of Lady +Carbury dealing with his views of Protestantism,—as he thought also +of the numerous historical errors into which that clever lady must +inevitably fall in writing about matters of which he believed her to +know nothing. But he was quite alive to the fact that a favourable +notice in the "Breakfast Table" of his very thoughtful work, called +the "New Tale of a Tub," would serve him, even though written by the +hand of a female literary charlatan, and he would have no compunction +as to repaying the service by fulsome praise in the "Literary +Chronicle." He would not probably say that the book was accurate, but +he would be able to declare that it was delightful reading, that the +feminine characteristics of the queens had been touched with a +masterly hand, and that the work was one which would certainly make +its way into all drawing-rooms. He was an adept at this sort of work, +and knew well how to review such a book as Lady Carbury's "Criminal +Queens," without bestowing much trouble on the reading. He could +almost do it without cutting the book, so that its value for purposes +of after sale might not be injured. And yet Mr. Booker was an honest +man, and had set his face persistently against many literary +malpractices. Stretched-out type, insufficient lines, and the French +habit of meandering with a few words over an entire page, had been +rebuked by him with conscientious strength. He was supposed to be +rather an Aristides among reviewers. But circumstanced as he was he +could not oppose himself altogether to the usages of the time. "Bad; +of course it is bad," he said to a young friend who was working with +him on his periodical. "Who doubts that? How many very bad things are +there that we do! But if we were to attempt to reform all our bad +ways at once, we should never do any good thing. I am not strong +enough to put the world straight, and I doubt if you are." Such was +Mr. Booker.</p> + +<p>Then there was letter No. 3, to Mr. Ferdinand Alf. Mr. Alf managed, +and, as it was supposed, chiefly owned, the "Evening Pulpit," which +during the last two years had become "quite a property," as men +connected with the press were in the habit of saying. The "Evening +Pulpit" was supposed to give daily to its readers all that had been +said and done up to two o'clock in the day by all the leading people +in the metropolis, and to prophesy with wonderful accuracy what would +be the sayings and doings of the twelve following hours. This was +effected with an air of wonderful omniscience, and not unfrequently +with an ignorance hardly surpassed by its arrogance. But the writing +was clever. The facts, if not true, were well invented; the +arguments, if not logical, were seductive. The presiding spirit of +the paper had the gift, at any rate, of knowing what the people for +whom he catered would like to read, and how to get his subjects +handled, so that the reading should be pleasant. Mr. Booker's +"Literary Chronicle" did not presume to entertain any special +political opinions. The "Breakfast Table" was decidedly Liberal. The +"Evening Pulpit" was much given to politics, but held strictly to the +motto which it had +<span class="nowrap">assumed;</span>—</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0"><tr><td> +"Nullius addictus jurare in verba +<span class="nowrap">magistri;"—</span> +</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">and consequently +had at all times the invaluable privilege of abusing +what was being done, whether by one side or by the other. A newspaper +that wishes to make its fortune should never waste its columns and +weary its readers by praising anything. Eulogy is invariably dull,—a +fact that Mr. Alf had discovered and had utilized.</p> + +<p>Mr. Alf had, moreover, discovered another fact. Abuse from those who +occasionally praise is considered to be personally offensive, and +they who give personal offence will sometimes make the world too hot +to hold them. But censure from those who are always finding fault is +regarded so much as a matter of course that it ceases to be +objectionable. The caricaturist, who draws only caricatures, is held +to be justifiable, let him take what liberties he may with a man's +face and person. It is his trade, and his business calls upon him to +vilify all that he touches. But were an artist to publish a series of +portraits, in which two out of a dozen were made to be hideous, he +would certainly make two enemies, if not more. Mr. Alf never made +enemies, for he praised no one, and, as far as the expression of his +newspaper went, was satisfied with nothing.</p> + +<p>Personally, Mr. Alf was a remarkable man. No one knew whence he came +or what he had been. He was supposed to have been born a German Jew; +and certain ladies said that they could distinguish in his tongue the +slightest possible foreign accent. Nevertheless it was conceded to +him that he knew England as only an Englishman can know it. During +the last year or two he had "come up" as the phrase goes, and had +come up very thoroughly. He had been black-balled at three or four +clubs, but had effected an entrance at two or three others, and had +learned a manner of speaking of those which had rejected him +calculated to leave on the minds of hearers a conviction that the +societies in question were antiquated, imbecile, and moribund. He was +never weary of implying that not to know Mr. Alf, not to be on good +terms with Mr. Alf, not to understand that let Mr. Alf have been born +where he might and how he might he was always to be recognised as a +desirable acquaintance, was to be altogether out in the dark. And +that which he so constantly asserted, or implied, men and women +around him began at last to believe,—and Mr. Alf became an +acknowledged something in the different worlds of politics, letters, +and fashion.</p> + +<p>He was a good-looking man, about forty years old, but carrying +himself as though he was much younger, spare, below the middle +height, with dark brown hair which would have shown a tinge of grey +but for the dyer's art, with well-cut features, with a smile +constantly on his mouth the pleasantness of which was always belied +by the sharp severity of his eyes. He dressed with the utmost +simplicity, but also with the utmost care. He was unmarried, had a +small house of his own close to Berkeley Square at which he gave +remarkable dinner parties, kept four or five hunters in +Northamptonshire, and was reputed to earn £6,000 a year out of the +"Evening Pulpit" and to spend about half of that income. He also was +intimate after his fashion with Lady Carbury, whose diligence in +making and fostering useful friendships had been unwearied. Her +letter to Mr. Alf was as +<span class="nowrap">follows;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Mr. Alf</span>,—</p> + + +<p>Do tell me who wrote the review on Fitzgerald Barker's +last poem. Only I know you won't. I remember nothing done +so well. I should think the poor wretch will hardly hold +his head up again before the autumn. But it was fully +deserved. I have no patience with the pretensions of +would-be poets who contrive by toadying and underground +influences to get their volumes placed on every +drawing-room table. I know no one to whom the world has +been so good-natured in this way as to Fitzgerald Barker, +but I have heard of no one who has extended the good +nature to the length of reading his poetry.</p> + +<p>Is it not singular how some men continue to obtain the +reputation of popular authorship without adding a word to +the literature of their country worthy of note? It is +accomplished by unflagging assiduity in the system of +puffing. To puff and to get one's self puffed have become +different branches of a new profession. Alas, me! I wish I +might find a class open in which lessons could be taken by +such a poor tyro as myself. Much as I hate the thing from +my very soul, and much as I admire the consistency with +which the "Pulpit" has opposed it, I myself am so much in +want of support for my own little efforts, and am +struggling so hard honestly to make for myself a +remunerative career, that I think, were the opportunity +offered to me, I should pocket my honour, lay aside the +high feeling which tells me that praise should be bought +neither by money nor friendship, and descend among the low +things, in order that I might one day have the pride of +feeling that I had succeeded by my own work in providing +for the needs of my children.</p> + +<p>But I have not as yet commenced the descent downwards; and +therefore I am still bold enough to tell you that I shall +look, not with concern but with a deep interest, to +anything which may appear in the "Pulpit" respecting my +"Criminal Queens." I venture to think that the +book,—though I wrote it myself,—has an importance of its +own which will secure for it some notice. That my +inaccuracy will be laid bare and presumption scourged I do +not in the least doubt, but I think your reviewer will be +able to certify that the sketches are life-like and the +portraits well considered. You will not hear me told, at +any rate, that I had better sit at home and darn my +stockings, as you said the other day of that poor +unfortunate Mrs. Effington Stubbs.</p> + +<p>I have not seen you for the last three weeks. I have a few +friends every Tuesday evening;—pray come next week or the +week following. And pray believe that no amount of +editorial or critical severity shall make me receive you +otherwise than with a smile.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Most sincerely yours,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Matilda Carbury</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Lady Carbury, having finished her third letter, threw herself back in +her chair, and for a moment or two closed her eyes, as though about +to rest. But she soon remembered that the activity of her life did +not admit of such rest. She therefore seized her pen and began +scribbling further notes.</p> + + +<p><a id="c2"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> +<h4>THE CARBURY FAMILY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Something of herself and condition Lady Carbury has told the reader +in the letters given in the former chapter, but more must be added. +She has declared she had been cruelly slandered; but she has also +shown that she was not a woman whose words about herself could be +taken with much confidence. If the reader does not understand so much +from her letters to the three editors they have been written in vain. +She has been made to say that her object in work was to provide for +the need of her children, and that with that noble purpose before her +she was struggling to make for herself a career in literature. +Detestably false as had been her letters to the editors, absolutely +and abominably foul as was the entire system by which she was +endeavouring to achieve success, far away from honour and honesty as +she had been carried by her ready subserviency to the dirty things +among which she had lately fallen, nevertheless her statements about +herself were substantially true. She had been ill-treated. She had +been slandered. She was true to her children,—especially devoted to +one of them,—and was ready to work her nails off if by doing so she +could advance their interests.</p> + +<p>She was the widow of one Sir Patrick Carbury, who many years since +had done great things as a soldier in India, and had been thereupon +created a baronet. He had married a young wife late in life and, +having found out when too late that he had made a mistake, had +occasionally spoilt his darling and occasionally ill used her. In +doing each he had done it abundantly. Among Lady Carbury's faults had +never been that of even incipient,—not even of sentimental +infidelity to her husband. When as a very lovely and penniless girl +of eighteen she had consented to marry a man of forty-four who had +the spending of a large income, she had made up her mind to abandon +all hope of that sort of love which poets describe and which young +people generally desire to experience. Sir Patrick at the time of his +marriage was red-faced, stout, bald, very choleric, generous in +money, suspicious in temper, and intelligent. He knew how to govern +men. He could read and understand a book. There was nothing mean +about him. He had his attractive qualities. He was a man who might be +loved;—but he was hardly a man for love. The young Lady Carbury had +understood her position and had determined to do her duty. She had +resolved before she went to the altar that she would never allow +herself to flirt and she had never flirted. For fifteen years things +had gone tolerably well with her,—by which it is intended that the +reader should understand that they had so gone that she had been able +to tolerate them. They had been home in England for three or four +years, and then Sir Patrick had returned with some new and higher +appointment. For fifteen years, though he had been passionate, +imperious, and often cruel, he had never been jealous. A boy and a +girl had been born to them, to whom both father and mother had been +over indulgent;—but the mother, according to her lights, had +endeavoured to do her duty by them. But from the commencement of her +life she had been educated in deceit, and her married life had seemed +to make the practice of deceit necessary to her. Her mother had run +away from her father, and she had been tossed to and fro between this +and that protector, sometimes being in danger of wanting any one to +care for her, till she had been made sharp, incredulous, and +untrustworthy by the difficulties of her position. But she was +clever, and had picked up an education and good manners amidst the +difficulties of her childhood,—and had been beautiful to look at. To +marry and have the command of money, to do her duty correctly, to +live in a big house and be respected, had been her ambition,—and +during the first fifteen years of her married life she was successful +amidst great difficulties. She would smile within five minutes of +violent ill-usage. Her husband would even strike her,—and the first +effort of her mind would be given to conceal the fact from all the +world. In latter years he drank too much, and she struggled hard +first to prevent the evil, and then to prevent and to hide the ill +effects of the evil. But in doing all this she schemed, and lied, and +lived a life of manœuvres. Then, at last, when she felt that she +was no longer quite a young woman, she allowed herself to attempt to +form friendships for herself, and among her friends was one of the +other sex. If fidelity in a wife be compatible with such friendship, +if the married state does not exact from a woman the necessity of +debarring herself from all friendly intercourse with any man except +her lord, Lady Carbury was not faithless. But Sir Carbury became +jealous, spoke words which even she could not endure, did things +which drove even her beyond the calculations of her prudence,—and +she left him. But even this she did in so guarded a way that, as to +every step she took, she could prove her innocence. Her life at that +period is of little moment to our story, except that it is essential +that the reader should know in what she had been slandered. For a +month or two all hard words had been said against her by her +husband's friends, and even by Sir Patrick himself. But gradually the +truth was known, and after a year's separation they came again +together and she remained the mistress of his house till he died. She +brought him home to England, but during the short period left to him +of life in his old country he had been a worn-out, dying invalid. But +the scandal of her great misfortune had followed her, and some people +were never tired of reminding others that in the course of her +married life Lady Carbury had run away from her husband, and had been +taken back again by the kind-hearted old gentleman.</p> + +<p>Sir Patrick had left behind him a moderate fortune, though by no +means great wealth. To his son, who was now Sir Felix Carbury, he had +left £1,000 a year; and to his widow as much, with a provision that +after her death the latter sum should be divided between his son and +daughter. It therefore came to pass that the young man, who had +already entered the army when his father died, and upon whom devolved +no necessity of keeping a house, and who in fact not unfrequently +lived in his mother's house, had an income equal to that with which +his mother and his sister were obliged to maintain a roof over their +head. Now Lady Carbury, when she was released from her thraldom at +the age of forty, had no idea at all of passing her future life +amidst the ordinary penances of widowhood. She had hitherto +endeavoured to do her duty, knowing that in accepting her position +she was bound to take the good and the bad together. She had +certainly encountered hitherto much that was bad. To be scolded, +watched, beaten, and sworn at by a choleric old man till she was at +last driven out of her house by the violence of his ill-usage; to be +taken back as a favour with the assurance that her name would for the +remainder of her life be unjustly tarnished; to have her flight +constantly thrown in her face; and then at last to become for a year +or two the nurse of a dying debauchee, was a high price to pay for +such good things as she had hitherto enjoyed. Now at length had come +to her a period of relaxation—her reward, her freedom, her chance of +happiness. She thought much about herself, and resolved on one or two +things. The time for love had gone by, and she would have nothing to +do with it. Nor would she marry again for convenience. But she would +have friends,—real friends; friends who could help her,—and whom +possibly she might help. She would, too, make some career for +herself, so that life might not be without an interest to her. She +would live in London, and would become somebody at any rate in some +circle. Accident at first rather than choice had thrown her among +literary people, but that accident had, during the last two years, +been supported and corroborated by the desire which had fallen upon +her of earning money. She had known from the first that economy would +be necessary to her,—not chiefly or perhaps not at all from a +feeling that she and her daughter could not live comfortably together +on a thousand a year,—but on behalf of her son. She wanted no luxury +but a house so placed that people might conceive of her that she +lived in a proper part of the town. Of her daughter's prudence she +was as well convinced as of her own. She could trust Henrietta in +everything. But her son, Sir Felix, was not very trustworthy. And yet +Sir Felix was the darling of her heart.</p> + +<p>At the time of the writing of the three letters, at which our story +is supposed to begin, she was driven very hard for money. Sir Felix +was then twenty-five, had been in a fashionable regiment for four +years, had already sold out, and, to own the truth at once, had +altogether wasted the property which his father had left him. So much +the mother knew,—and knew, therefore, that with her limited income +she must maintain not only herself and daughter, but also the +baronet. She did not know, however, the amount of the baronet's +obligations;—nor, indeed, did he, or any one else. A baronet, +holding a commission in the Guards, and known to have had a fortune +left him by his father, may go very far in getting into debt; and Sir +Felix had made full use of all his privileges. His life had been in +every way bad. He had become a burden on his mother so heavy,—and on +his sister also,—that their life had become one of unavoidable +embarrassments. But not for a moment had either of them ever +quarrelled with him. Henrietta had been taught by the conduct of both +father and mother that every vice might be forgiven in a man and in a +son, though every virtue was expected from a woman, and especially +from a daughter. The lesson had come to her so early in life that she +had learned it without the feeling of any grievance. She lamented her +brother's evil conduct as it affected him, but she pardoned it +altogether as it affected herself. That all her interests in life +should be made subservient to him was natural to her; and when she +found that her little comforts were discontinued, and her moderate +expenses curtailed because he, having eaten up all that was his own, +was now eating up also all that was his mother's, she never +complained. Henrietta had been taught to think that men in that rank +of life in which she had been born always did eat up everything.</p> + +<p>The mother's feeling was less noble,—or perhaps, it might better be +said, more open to censure. The boy, who had been beautiful as a +star, had ever been the cynosure of her eyes, the one thing on which +her heart had rivetted itself. Even during the career of his folly +she had hardly ventured to say a word to him with the purport of +stopping him on his road to ruin. In everything she had spoilt him as +a boy, and in everything she still spoilt him as a man. She was +almost proud of his vices, and had taken delight in hearing of doings +which if not vicious of themselves had been ruinous from their +extravagance. She had so indulged him that even in her own presence +he was never ashamed of his own selfishness or apparently conscious +of the injustice which he did to others.</p> + +<p>From all this it had come to pass that that dabbling in literature +which had been commenced partly perhaps from a sense of pleasure in +the work, partly as a passport into society, had been converted into +hard work by which money if possible might be earned. So that Lady +Carbury when she wrote to her friends, the editors, of her struggles +was speaking the truth. Tidings had reached her of this and the other +man's success, and,—coming near to her still,—of this and that +other woman's earnings in literature. And it had seemed to her that, +within moderate limits, she might give a wide field to her hopes. Why +should she not add a thousand a year to her income, so that Felix +might again live like a gentleman and marry that heiress who, in Lady +Carbury's look-out into the future, was destined to make all things +straight! Who was so handsome as her son? Who could make himself more +agreeable? Who had more of that audacity which is the chief thing +necessary to the winning of heiresses? And then he could make his +wife Lady Carbury. If only enough money might be earned to tide over +the present evil day, all might be well.</p> + +<p>The one most essential obstacle to the chance of success in all this +was probably Lady Carbury's conviction that her end was to be +obtained not by producing good books, but by inducing certain people +to say that her books were good. She did work hard at what she +wrote,—hard enough at any rate to cover her pages quickly; and was, +by nature, a clever woman. She could write after a glib, +common-place, sprightly fashion, and had already acquired the knack +of spreading all she knew very thin, so that it might cover a vast +surface. She had no ambition to write a good book, but was painfully +anxious to write a book that the critics should say was good. Had Mr. +Broune, in his closet, told her that her book was absolutely trash, +but had undertaken at the same time to have it violently praised in +the "Breakfast Table," it may be doubted whether the critic's own +opinion would have even wounded her vanity. The woman was false from +head to foot, but there was much of good in her, false though she +was.</p> + +<p>Whether Sir Felix, her son, had become what he was solely by bad +training, or whether he had been born bad, who shall say? It is +hardly possible that he should not have been better had he been taken +away as an infant and subjected to moral training by moral teachers. +And yet again it is hardly possible that any training or want of +training should have produced a heart so utterly incapable of feeling +for others as was his. He could not even feel his own misfortunes +unless they touched the outward comforts of the moment. It seemed +that he lacked sufficient imagination to realise future misery though +the futurity to be considered was divided from the present but by a +single month, a single week,—but by a single night. He liked to be +kindly treated, to be praised and petted, to be well fed and +caressed; and they who so treated him were his chosen friends. He had +in this the instincts of a horse, not approaching the higher +sympathies of a dog. But it cannot be said of him that he had ever +loved any one to the extent of denying himself a moment's +gratification on that loved one's behalf. His heart was a stone. But +he was beautiful to look at, ready-witted, and intelligent. He was +very dark, with that soft olive complexion which so generally gives +to young men an appearance of aristocratic breeding. His hair, which +was never allowed to become long, was nearly black, and was soft and +silky without that taint of grease which is so common with +silken-headed darlings. His eyes were long, brown in colour, and were +made beautiful by the perfect arch of the perfect eyebrow. But +perhaps the glory of the face was due more to the finished moulding +and fine symmetry of the nose and mouth than to his other features. +On his short upper lip he had a moustache as well formed as his +eyebrows, but he wore no other beard. The form of his chin too was +perfect, but it lacked that sweetness and softness of expression, +indicative of softness of heart, which a dimple conveys. He was about +five feet nine in height, and was as excellent in figure as in face. +It was admitted by men and clamorously asserted by women that no man +had ever been more handsome than Felix Carbury, and it was admitted +also that he never showed consciousness of his beauty. He had given +himself airs on many scores;—on the score of his money, poor fool, +while it lasted; on the score of his title; on the score of his army +standing till he lost it; and especially on the score of superiority +in fashionable intellect. But he had been clever enough to dress +himself always with simplicity and to avoid the appearance of thought +about his outward man. As yet the little world of his associates had +hardly found out how callous were his affections,—or rather how +devoid he was of affection. His airs and his appearance, joined with +some cleverness, had carried him through even the viciousness of his +life. In one matter he had marred his name, and by a moment's +weakness had injured his character among his friends more than he had +done by the folly of three years. There had been a quarrel between +him and a brother officer, in which he had been the aggressor; and, +when the moment came in which a man's heart should have produced +manly conduct, he had first threatened and had then shown the white +feather. That was now a year since, and he had partly outlived the +evil;—but some men still remembered that Felix Carbury had been +cowed, and had cowered.</p> + +<p>It was now his business to marry an heiress. He was well aware that +it was so, and was quite prepared to face his destiny. But he lacked +something in the art of making love. He was beautiful, had the +manners of a gentleman, could talk well, lacked nothing of audacity, +and had no feeling of repugnance at declaring a passion which he did +not feel. But he knew so little of the passion, that he could hardly +make even a young girl believe that he felt it. When he talked of +love, he not only thought that he was talking nonsense, but showed +that he thought so. From this fault he had already failed with one +young lady reputed to have £40,000, who had refused him because, as +she naively said, she knew "he did not really care." "How can I show +that I care more than by wishing to make you my wife?" he had asked. +"I don't know that you can, but all the same you don't care," she +said. And so that young lady escaped the pit-fall. Now there was +another young lady, to whom the reader shall be introduced in time, +whom Sir Felix was instigated to pursue with unremitting diligence. +Her wealth was not defined, as had been the £40,000 of her +predecessor, but was known to be very much greater than that. It was, +indeed, generally supposed to be fathomless, bottomless, endless. It +was said that in regard to money for ordinary expenditure, money for +houses, servants, horses, jewels, and the like, one sum was the same +as another to the father of this young lady. He had great +concerns;—concerns so great that the payment of ten or twenty +thousand pounds upon any trifle was the same thing to him,—as to men +who are comfortable in their circumstances it matters little whether +they pay sixpence or ninepence for their mutton chops. Such a man may +be ruined at any time; but there was no doubt that to any one +marrying his daughter during the present season of his outrageous +prosperity he could give a very large fortune indeed. Lady Carbury, +who had known the rock on which her son had been once wrecked, was +very anxious that Sir Felix should at once make a proper use of the +intimacy which he had effected in the house of this topping Crœsus +of the day.</p> + +<p>And now there must be a few words said about Henrietta Carbury. Of +course she was of infinitely less importance than her brother, who +was a baronet, the head of that branch of the Carburys, and her +mother's darling; and, therefore, a few words should suffice. She +also was very lovely, being like her brother; but somewhat less dark +and with features less absolutely regular. But she had in her +countenance a full measure of that sweetness of expression which +seems to imply that consideration of self is subordinated to +consideration for others. This sweetness was altogether lacking to +her brother. And her face was a true index of her character. Again, +who shall say why the brother and sister had become so opposite to +each other; whether they would have been thus different had both been +taken away as infants from their father's and mother's training, or +whether the girl's virtues were owing altogether to the lower place +which she had held in her parent's heart? She, at any rate, had not +been spoilt by a title, by the command of money, and by the +temptations of too early acquaintance with the world. At the present +time she was barely twenty-one years old, and had not seen much of +London society. Her mother did not frequent balls, and during the +last two years there had grown upon them a necessity for economy +which was inimical to many gloves and costly dresses. Sir Felix went +out of course, but Hetta Carbury spent most of her time at home with +her mother in Welbeck Street. Occasionally the world saw her, and +when the world did see her the world declared that she was a charming +girl. The world was so far right.</p> + +<p>But for Henrietta Carbury the romance of life had already commenced +in real earnest. There was another branch of the Carburys, the head +branch, which was now represented by one Roger Carbury, of Carbury +Hall. Roger Carbury was a gentleman of whom much will have to be +said, but here, at this moment, it need only be told that he was +passionately in love with his cousin Henrietta. He was, however, +nearly forty years old, and there was one Paul Montague whom +Henrietta had seen.</p> + + +<p><a id="c3"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> +<h4>THE BEARGARDEN.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lady Carbury's house in Welbeck Street was a modest house +enough,—with no pretensions to be a mansion, hardly assuming even to +be a residence; but, having some money in her hands when she first +took it, she had made it pretty and pleasant, and was still proud to +feel that in spite of the hardness of her position she had +comfortable belongings around her when her literary friends came to +see her on her Tuesday evenings. Here she was now living with her son +and daughter. The back drawing-room was divided from the front by +doors that were permanently closed, and in this she carried on her +great work. Here she wrote her books and contrived her system for the +inveigling of editors and critics. Here she was rarely disturbed by +her daughter, and admitted no visitors except editors and critics. +But her son was controlled by no household laws, and would break in +upon her privacy without remorse. She had hardly finished two +galloping notes after completing her letter to Mr. Ferdinand Alf, +when Felix entered the room with a cigar in his mouth and threw +himself upon the sofa.</p> + +<p>"My dear boy," she said, "pray leave your tobacco below when you come +in here."</p> + +<p>"What affectation it is, mother," he said, throwing, however, the +half-smoked cigar into the fire-place. "Some women swear they like +smoke, others say they hate it like the devil. It depends altogether +on whether they wish to flatter or snub a fellow."</p> + +<p>"You don't suppose that I wish to snub you?"</p> + +<p>"Upon my word I don't know. I wonder whether you can let me have +twenty pounds?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Felix!"</p> + +<p>"Just so, mother;—but how about the twenty pounds?"</p> + + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill003"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill003.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill003-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"Just so, mother;--but how about the twenty pounds?"' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"Just so, + mother;—but how about the twenty pounds?"</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill003.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + + +<p>"What is it for, Felix?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—to tell the truth, to carry on the game for the nonce till +something is settled. A fellow can't live without some money in his +pocket. I do with as little as most fellows. I pay for nothing that I +can help. I even get my hair cut on credit, and as long as it was +possible I had a brougham, to save cabs."</p> + +<p>"What is to be the end of it, Felix?"</p> + +<p>"I never could see the end of anything, mother. I never could nurse a +horse when the hounds were going well in order to be in at the +finish. I never could pass a dish that I liked in favour of those +that were to follow. What's the use?" The young man did not say +"carpe diem," but that was the philosophy which he intended to +preach.</p> + +<p>"Have you been at the Melmottes' to-day?" It was now five o'clock on +a winter afternoon, the hour at which ladies are drinking tea, and +idle men playing whist at the clubs,—at which young idle men are +sometimes allowed to flirt, and at which, as Lady Carbury thought, +her son might have been paying his court to Marie Melmotte the great +heiress.</p> + +<p>"I have just come away."</p> + +<p>"And what do you think of her?"</p> + +<p>"To tell the truth, mother, I have thought very little about her. She +is not pretty, she is not plain; she is not clever, she is not +stupid; she is neither saint nor sinner."</p> + +<p>"The more likely to make a good wife."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so. I am at any rate quite willing to believe that as wife +she would be 'good enough for me.'"</p> + +<p>"What does the mother say?"</p> + +<p>"The mother is a caution. I cannot help speculating whether, if I +marry the daughter, I shall ever find out where the mother came from. +Dolly Longestaffe says that somebody says that she was a Bohemian +Jewess; but I think she's too fat for that."</p> + +<p>"What does it matter, Felix?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least."</p> + +<p>"Is she civil to you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, civil enough."</p> + +<p>"And the father?"</p> + +<p>"Well, he does not turn me out, or anything of that sort. Of course +there are half-a-dozen after her, and I think the old fellow is +bewildered among them all. He's thinking more of getting dukes to +dine with him than of his daughter's lovers. Any fellow might pick +her up who happened to hit her fancy."</p> + +<p>"And why not you?"</p> + +<p>"Why not, mother? I am doing my best, and it's no good flogging a +willing horse. Can you let me have the money?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Felix, I think you hardly know how poor we are. You have still +got your hunters down at the place!"</p> + +<p>"I have got two horses, if you mean that; and I haven't paid a +shilling for their keep since the season began. Look here, mother; +this is a risky sort of game, I grant, but I am playing it by your +advice. If I can marry Miss Melmotte, I suppose all will be right. +But I don't think the way to get her would be to throw up everything +and let all the world know that I haven't got a copper. To do that +kind of thing a man must live a little up to the mark. I've brought +my hunting down to a minimum, but if I gave it up altogether there +would be lots of fellows to tell them in Grosvenor Square why I had +done so."</p> + +<p>There was an apparent truth in this argument which the poor woman was +unable to answer. Before the interview was over the money demanded +was forthcoming, though at the time it could be but ill afforded, and +the youth went away apparently with a light heart, hardly listening +to his mother's entreaties that the affair with Marie Melmotte might, +if possible, be brought to a speedy conclusion.</p> + +<p>Felix, when he left his mother, went down to the only club to which +he now belonged. Clubs are pleasant resorts in all respects but one. +They require ready money, or even worse than that in respect to +annual payments,—money in advance; and the young baronet had been +absolutely forced to restrict himself. He, as a matter of course, out +of those to which he had possessed the right of entrance, chose the +worst. It was called the Beargarden, and had been lately opened with +the express view of combining parsimony with profligacy. Clubs were +ruined, so said certain young parsimonious profligates, by providing +comforts for old fogies who paid little or nothing but their +subscriptions, and took out by their mere presence three times as +much as they gave. This club was not to be opened till three o'clock +in the afternoon, before which hour the promoters of the Beargarden +thought it improbable that they and their fellows would want a club. +There were to be no morning papers taken, no library, no +morning-room. Dining-rooms, billiard-rooms, and card-rooms would +suffice for the Beargarden. Everything was to be provided by a +purveyor, so that the club should be cheated only by one man. +Everything was to be luxurious, but the luxuries were to be achieved +at first cost. It had been a happy thought, and the club was said to +prosper. Herr Vossner, the purveyor, was a jewel, and so carried on +affairs that there was no trouble about anything. He would assist +even in smoothing little difficulties as to the settling of card +accounts, and had behaved with the greatest tenderness to the drawers +of cheques whose bankers had harshly declared them to have "no +effects." Herr Vossner was a jewel, and the Beargarden was a success. +Perhaps no young man about town enjoyed the Beargarden more +thoroughly than did Sir Felix Carbury. The club was in the close +vicinity of other clubs, in a small street turning out of St. James's +Street, and piqued itself on its outward quietness and sobriety. Why +pay for stone-work for other people to look at;—why lay out money in +marble pillars and cornices, seeing that you can neither eat such +things, nor drink them, nor gamble with them? But the Beargarden had +the best wines,—or thought that it had,—and the easiest chairs, and +two billiard-tables than which nothing more perfect had ever been +made to stand upon legs. Hither Sir Felix wended on that January +afternoon as soon as he had his mother's cheque for £20 in his +pocket.</p> + +<p>He found his special friend, Dolly Longestaffe, standing on the steps +with a cigar in his mouth, and gazing vacantly at the dull brick +house opposite. "Going to dine here, Dolly?" said Sir Felix.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I shall, because it's such a lot of trouble to go anywhere +else. I'm engaged somewhere, I know; but I'm not up to getting home +and dressing. By George! I don't know how fellows do that kind of +thing. I can't."</p> + +<p>"Going to hunt to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes; but I don't suppose I shall. I was going to hunt every +day last week, but my fellow never would get me up in time. I can't +tell why it is that things are done in such a beastly way. Why +shouldn't fellows begin to hunt at two or three, so that a fellow +needn't get up in the middle of the night?"</p> + +<p>"Because one can't ride by moonlight, Dolly."</p> + +<p>"It isn't moonlight at three. At any rate I can't get myself to +Euston Square by nine. I don't think that fellow of mine likes +getting up himself. He says he comes in and wakes me, but I never +remember it."</p> + +<p>"How many horses have you got at Leighton, Dolly?"</p> + +<p>"How many? There were five, but I think that fellow down there sold +one; but then I think he bought another. I know he did something."</p> + +<p>"Who rides them?"</p> + +<p>"He does, I suppose. That is, of course, I ride them myself, only I +so seldom get down. Somebody told me that Grasslough was riding two +of them last week. I don't think I ever told him he might. I think he +tipped that fellow of mine; and I call that a low kind of thing to +do. I'd ask him, only I know he'd say that I had lent them. Perhaps I +did when I was tight, you know."</p> + +<p>"You and Grasslough were never pals."</p> + +<p>"I don't like him a bit. He gives himself airs because he is a lord, +and is devilish ill-natured. I don't know why he should want to ride +my horses."</p> + +<p>"To save his own."</p> + +<p>"He isn't hard up. Why doesn't he have his own horses? I'll tell you +what, Carbury, I've made up my mind to one thing, and, by Jove, I'll +stick to it. I never will lend a horse again to anybody. If fellows +want horses let them buy them."</p> + +<p>"But some fellows haven't got any money, Dolly."</p> + +<p>"Then they ought to go tick. I don't think I've paid for any of mine +I've bought this season. There was somebody here +<span class="nowrap">yesterday—"</span></p> + +<p>"What! here at the club?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; followed me here to say he wanted to be paid for something! It +was horses, I think, because of the fellow's trousers."</p> + +<p>"What did you say?"</p> + +<p>"Me! Oh, I didn't say anything."</p> + +<p>"And how did it end?"</p> + +<p>"When he'd done talking I offered him a cigar, and while he was +biting off the end I went up-stairs. I suppose he went away when he +was tired of waiting."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what, Dolly; I wish you'd let me ride two of yours for +a couple of days,—that is, of course, if you don't want them +yourself. You ain't tight now, at any rate."</p> + +<p>"No; I ain't tight," said Dolly, with melancholy acquiescence.</p> + +<p>"I mean that I wouldn't like to borrow your horses without your +remembering all about it. Nobody knows as well as you do how awfully +done up I am. I shall pull through at last, but it's an awful squeeze +in the meantime. There's nobody I'd ask such a favour of except you."</p> + +<p>"Well, you may have them;—that is, for two days. I don't know +whether that fellow of mine will believe you. He wouldn't believe +Grasslough, and told him so. But Grasslough took them out of the +stables. That's what somebody told me."</p> + +<p>"You could write a line to your groom."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear fellow, that is such a bore; I don't think I could do +that. My fellow will believe you, because you and I have been pals. I +think I'll have a little drop of curaçoa before dinner. Come along +and try it. It'll give us an appetite."</p> + +<p>It was then nearly seven o'clock. Nine hours afterwards the same two +men, with two others,—of whom young Lord Grasslough, Dolly +Longestaffe's peculiar aversion, was one,—were just rising from a +card-table in one of the up-stairs rooms of the club. For it was +understood that, though the Beargarden was not to be open before +three o'clock in the afternoon, the accommodation denied during the +day was to be given freely during the night. No man could get a +breakfast at the Beargarden, but suppers at three o'clock in the +morning were quite within the rule. Such a supper, or rather +succession of suppering, there had been to-night, various devils and +broils and hot toasts having been brought up from time to time first +for one and then for another. But there had been no cessation of +gambling since the cards had first been opened about ten o'clock. At +four in the morning Dolly Longestaffe was certainly in a condition to +lend his horses and to remember nothing about it. He was quite +affectionate with Lord Grasslough, as he was also with his other +companions,—affection being the normal state of his mind when in +that condition. He was by no means helplessly drunk, and was, +perhaps, hardly more silly than when he was sober; but he was willing +to play at any game whether he understood it or not, and for any +stakes. When Sir Felix got up and said he would play no more, Dolly +also got up, apparently quite contented. When Lord Grasslough, with a +dark scowl on his face, expressed his opinion that it was not just +the thing for men to break up like that when so much money had been +lost, Dolly as willingly sat down again. But Dolly's sitting down was +not sufficient. "I'm going to hunt to-morrow," said Sir +Felix,—meaning that day,—"and I shall play no more. A man must go +to bed at some time."</p> + +<p>"I don't see it at all," said Lord Grasslough. "It's an understood +thing that when a man has won as much as you have he should stay."</p> + +<p>"Stay how long?" said Sir Felix, with an angry look. "That's +nonsense; there must be an end of everything, and there's an end of +this for me to-night."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you choose," said his lordship.</p> + +<p>"I do choose. Good night, Dolly; we'll settle this next time we meet. +I've got it all entered."</p> + +<p>The night had been one very serious in its results to Sir Felix. He +had sat down to the card-table with the proceeds of his mother's +cheque, a poor £20, and now he had,—he didn't at all know how much +in his pockets. He also had drunk, but not so as to obscure his mind. +He knew that Longestaffe owed him over £800, and he knew also that he +had received more than that in ready money and cheques from Lord +Grasslough and the other player. Dolly Longestaffe's money, too, +would certainly be paid, though Dolly did complain of the importunity +of his tradesmen. As he walked up St. James's Street, looking for a +cab, he presumed himself to be worth over £700. When begging for a +small sum from Lady Carbury, he had said that he could not carry on +the game without some ready money, and had considered himself +fortunate in fleecing his mother as he had done. Now he was in the +possession of wealth,—of wealth that might, at any rate, be +sufficient to aid him materially in the object he had in hand. He +never for a moment thought of paying his bills. Even the large sum of +which he had become so unexpectedly possessed would not have gone far +with him in such a quixotic object as that; but he could now look +bright, and buy presents, and be seen with money in his hands. It is +hard even to make love in these days without something in your purse.</p> + +<p>He found no cab, but in his present frame of mind was indifferent to +the trouble of walking home. There was something so joyous in the +feeling of the possession of all this money that it made the night +air pleasant to him. Then, of a sudden, he remembered the low wail +with which his mother had spoken of her poverty when he demanded +assistance from her. Now he could give her back the £20. But it +occurred to him sharply, with an amount of carefulness quite new to +him, that it would be foolish to do so. How soon might he want it +again? And, moreover, he could not repay the money without explaining +to her how he had gotten it. It would be preferable to say nothing +about his money. As he let himself into the house and went up to his +room he resolved that he would not say anything about it.</p> + +<p>On that morning he was at the station at nine, and hunted down in +Buckinghamshire, riding two of Dolly Longestaffe's horses,—for the +use of which he paid Dolly Longestaffe's "fellow" thirty shillings.</p> + + +<p><a id="c4"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> +<h4>MADAME MELMOTTE'S BALL.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The next night but one after that of the gambling transaction at the +Beargarden, a great ball was given in Grosvenor Square. It was a ball +on a scale so magnificent that it had been talked about ever since +Parliament met, now about a fortnight since. Some people had +expressed an opinion that such a ball as this was intended to be +could not be given successfully in February. Others declared that the +money which was to be spent,—an amount which would make this affair +something quite new in the annals of ball-giving,—would give the +thing such a character that it would certainly be successful. And +much more than money had been expended. Almost incredible efforts had +been made to obtain the co-operation of great people, and these +efforts had at last been grandly successful. The Duchess of Stevenage +had come up from Castle Albury herself to be present at it and to +bring her daughters, though it has never been her Grace's wont to be +in London at this inclement season. No doubt the persuasion used with +the Duchess had been very strong. Her brother, Lord Alfred Grendall, +was known to be in great difficulties, which,—so people said,—had +been considerably modified by opportune pecuniary assistance. And +then it was certain that one of the young Grendalls, Lord Alfred's +second son, had been appointed to some mercantile position, for which +he received a salary which his most intimate friends thought that he +was hardly qualified to earn. It was certainly a fact that he went to +Abchurch Lane, in the City, four or five days a week, and that he did +not occupy his time in so unaccustomed a manner for nothing. Where +the Duchess of Stevenage went all the world would go. And it became +known at the last moment, that is to say only the day before the +party, that a prince of the blood royal was to be there. How this had +been achieved nobody quite understood; but there were rumours that a +certain lady's jewels had been rescued from the pawnbroker's. +Everything was done on the same scale. The Prime Minister had indeed +declined to allow his name to appear on the list; but one Cabinet +Minister and two or three under-secretaries had agreed to come +because it was felt that the giver of the ball might before long be +the master of considerable parliamentary interest. It was believed +that he had an eye to politics, and it is always wise to have great +wealth on one's own side. There had at one time been much solicitude +about the ball. Many anxious thoughts had been given. When great +attempts fail, the failure is disastrous, and may be ruinous. But +this ball had now been put beyond the chance of failure.</p> + +<p>The giver of the ball was Augustus Melmotte, Esq., the father of the +girl whom Sir Felix Carbury desired to marry, and the husband of the +lady who was said to have been a Bohemian Jewess. It was thus that +the gentleman chose to have himself designated, though within the +last two years he had arrived in London from Paris, and had at first +been known as M. Melmotte. But he had declared of himself that he had +been born in England, and that he was an Englishman. He admitted that +his wife was a foreigner,—an admission that was necessary as she +spoke very little English. Melmotte himself spoke his "native" +language fluently, but with an accent which betrayed at least a long +expatriation. Miss Melmotte,—who a very short time since had been +known as Mademoiselle Marie,—spoke English well, but as a foreigner. +In regard to her it was acknowledged that she had been born out of +England,—some said in New York; but Madame Melmotte, who must have +known, had declared that the great event had taken place in Paris.</p> + +<p>It was at any rate an established fact that Mr. Melmotte had made his +wealth in France. He no doubt had had enormous dealings in other +countries, as to which stories were told which must surely have been +exaggerated. It was said that he had made a railway across Russia, +that he provisioned the Southern army in the American civil war, that +he had supplied Austria with arms, and had at one time bought up all +the iron in England. He could make or mar any company by buying or +selling stock, and could make money dear or cheap as he pleased. All +this was said of him in his praise,—but it was also said that he was +regarded in Paris as the most gigantic swindler that had ever lived; +that he had made that City too hot to hold him; that he had +endeavoured to establish himself in Vienna, but had been warned away +by the police; and that he had at length found that British freedom +would alone allow him to enjoy, without persecution, the fruits of +his industry. He was now established privately in Grosvenor Square +and officially in Abchurch Lane; and it was known to all the world +that a Royal Prince, a Cabinet Minister, and the very cream of +duchesses were going to his wife's ball. All this had been done +within twelve months.</p> + +<p>There was but one child in the family, one heiress for all this +wealth. Melmotte himself was a large man, with bushy whiskers and +rough thick hair, with heavy eyebrows, and a wonderful look of power +about his mouth and chin. This was so strong as to redeem his face +from vulgarity; but the countenance and appearance of the man were on +the whole unpleasant, and, I may say, untrustworthy. He looked as +though he were purse-proud and a bully. She was fat and fair,—unlike +in colour to our traditional Jewesses; but she had the Jewish nose +and the Jewish contraction of the eyes. There was certainly very +little in Madame Melmotte to recommend her, unless it was a readiness +to spend money on any object that might be suggested to her by her +new acquaintances. It sometimes seemed that she had a commission from +her husband to give away presents to any who would accept them. The +world had received the man as Augustus Melmotte, Esq. The world so +addressed him on the very numerous letters which reached him, and so +inscribed him among the directors of three dozen companies to which +he belonged. But his wife was still Madame Melmotte. The daughter had +been allowed to take her rank with an English title. She was now Miss +Melmotte on all occasions.</p> + +<p>Marie Melmotte had been accurately described by Felix Carbury to his +mother. She was not beautiful, she was not clever, and she was not a +saint. But then neither was she plain, nor stupid, nor, especially, a +sinner. She was a little thing, hardly over twenty years of age, very +unlike her father or mother, having no trace of the Jewess in her +countenance, who seemed to be overwhelmed by the sense of her own +position. With such people as the Melmottes things go fast, and it +was very well known that Miss Melmotte had already had one lover who +had been nearly accepted. The affair, however, had gone off. In this +"going off" no one imputed to the young lady blame or even +misfortune. It was not supposed that she had either jilted or been +jilted. As in royal espousals interests of State regulate their +expedience with an acknowledged absence, with even a proclaimed +impossibility, of personal predilections, so in this case was money +allowed to have the same weight. Such a marriage would or would not +be sanctioned in accordance with great pecuniary arrangements. The +young Lord Nidderdale, the eldest son of the Marquis of Auld Reekie, +had offered to take the girl and make her Marchioness in the process +of time for half a million down. Melmotte had not objected to the +sum,—so it was said,—but had proposed to tie it up. Nidderdale had +desired to have it free in his own grasp, and would not move on any +other terms. Melmotte had been anxious to secure the Marquis,—very +anxious to secure the Marchioness; for at that time terms had not +been made with the Duchess; but at last he had lost his temper, and +had asked his lordship's lawyer whether it was likely that he would +entrust such a sum of money to such a man. "You are willing to trust +your only child to him," said the lawyer. Melmotte scowled at the man +for a few seconds from under his bushy eyebrows; then told him that +his answer had nothing in it, and marched out of the room. So that +affair was over. I doubt whether Lord Nidderdale had ever said a word +of love to Marie Melmotte,—or whether the poor girl had expected it. +Her destiny had no doubt been explained to her.</p> + +<p>Others had tried and had broken down somewhat in the same fashion. +Each had treated the girl as an encumbrance he was to undertake,—at +a very great price. But as affairs prospered with the Melmottes, as +princes and duchesses were obtained by other means,—costly no doubt, +but not so ruinously costly,—the immediate disposition of Marie +became less necessary, and Melmotte reduced his offers. The girl +herself, too, began to have an opinion. It was said that she had +absolutely rejected Lord Grasslough, whose father indeed was in a +state of bankruptcy, who had no income of his own, who was ugly, +vicious, ill-tempered, and without any power of recommending himself +to a girl. She had had experience since Lord Nidderdale, with a half +laugh, had told her that he might just as well take her for his wife, +and was now tempted from time to time to contemplate her own +happiness and her own condition. People around were beginning to say +that if Sir Felix Carbury managed his affairs well he might be the +happy man.</p> + +<p>There was considerable doubt whether Marie was the daughter of that +Jewish-looking woman. Enquiries had been made, but not successfully, +as to the date of the Melmotte marriage. There was an idea abroad +that Melmotte had got his first money with his wife, and had gotten +it not very long ago. Then other people said that Marie was not his +daughter at all. Altogether the mystery was rather pleasant as the +money was certain. Of the certainty of the money in daily use there +could be no doubt. There was the house. There was the furniture. +There were the carriages, the horses, the servants with the livery +coats and powdered heads, and the servants with the black coats and +unpowdered heads. There were the gems, and the presents, and all the +nice things that money can buy. There were two dinner parties every +day, one at two o'clock called lunch, and the other at eight. The +tradesmen had learned enough to be quite free of doubt, and in the +City Mr. Melmotte's name was worth any money,—though his character +was perhaps worth but little.</p> + +<p>The large house on the south side of Grosvenor Square was all ablaze +by ten o'clock. The broad verandah had been turned into a +conservatory, had been covered in with boards contrived to look like +trellis-work, was heated with hot air and filled with exotics at some +fabulous price. A covered way had been made from the door, down +across the pathway, to the road, and the police had, I fear, been +bribed to frighten foot passengers into a belief that they were bound +to go round. The house had been so arranged that it was impossible to +know where you were, when once in it. The hall was a paradise. The +staircase was fairyland. The lobbies were grottoes rich with ferns. +Walls had been knocked away and arches had been constructed. The +leads behind had been supported and walled in, and covered and +carpeted. The ball had possession of the ground floor and first +floor, and the house seemed to be endless. "It's to cost sixty +thousand pounds," said the Marchioness of Auld Reekie to her old +friend the Countess of Mid-Lothian. The Marchioness had come in spite +of her son's misfortune when she heard that the Duchess of Stevenage +was to be there. "And worse spent money never was wasted," said the +Countess. "By all accounts it was as badly come by," said the +Marchioness. Then the two old noblewomen, one after the other, made +graciously flattering speeches to the much-worn Bohemian Jewess, who +was standing in fairyland to receive her guests, almost fainting +under the greatness of the occasion.</p> + +<p>The three saloons on the first or drawing-room floor had been +prepared for dancing, and here Marie was stationed. The Duchess had +however undertaken to see that somebody should set the dancing going, +and she had commissioned her nephew Miles Grendall, the young +gentleman who now frequented the City, to give directions to the band +and to make himself generally useful. Indeed there had sprung up a +considerable intimacy between the Grendall family,—that is Lord +Alfred's branch of the Grendalls,—and the Melmottes; which was as it +should be, as each could give much and each receive much. It was +known that Lord Alfred had not a shilling; but his brother was a duke +and his sister was a duchess, and for the last thirty years there had +been one continual anxiety for poor dear Alfred, who had tumbled into +an unfortunate marriage without a shilling, had spent his own +moderate patrimony, had three sons and three daughters, and had lived +now for a very long time entirely on the unwilling contributions of +his noble relatives. Melmotte could support the whole family in +affluence without feeling the burden;—and why should he not? There +had once been an idea that Miles should attempt to win the heiress, +but it had soon been found expedient to abandon it. Miles had no +title, no position of his own, and was hardly big enough for the +place. It was in all respects better that the waters of the fountain +should be allowed to irrigate mildly the whole Grendall family;—and +so Miles went into the city.</p> + +<p>The ball was opened by a quadrille in which Lord Buntingford, the +eldest son of the Duchess, stood up with Marie. Various arrangements +had been made, and this among them. We may say that it had been part +of a bargain. Lord Buntingford had objected mildly, being a young man +devoted to business, fond of his own order, rather shy, and not given +to dancing. But he had allowed his mother to prevail. "Of course they +are vulgar," the Duchess had said,—"so much so as to be no longer +distasteful because of the absurdity of the thing. I dare say he +hasn't been very honest. When men make so much money, I don't know +how they can have been honest. Of course it's done for a purpose. +It's all very well saying that it isn't right, but what are we to do +about Alfred's children? Miles is to have £500 a-year. And then he is +always about the house. And between you and me they have got up those +bills of Alfred's, and have said they can lie in their safe till it +suits your uncle to pay them."</p> + +<p>"They will lie there a long time," said Lord Buntingford.</p> + +<p>"Of course they expect something in return; do dance with the girl +once." Lord Buntingford disapproved—mildly, and did as his mother +asked him.</p> + +<p>The affair went off very well. There were three or four card-tables +in one of the lower rooms, and at one of them sat Lord Alfred +Grendall and Mr. Melmotte, with two or three other players, cutting +in and out at the end of each rubber. Playing whist was Lord Alfred's +only accomplishment, and almost the only occupation of his life. He +began it daily at his club at three o'clock, and continued playing +till two in the morning with an interval of a couple of hours for his +dinner. This he did during ten months of the year, and during the +other two he frequented some watering-place at which whist prevailed. +He did not gamble, never playing for more than the club stakes and +bets. He gave to the matter his whole mind, and must have excelled +those who were generally opposed to him. But so obdurate was fortune +to Lord Alfred that he could not make money even of whist. Melmotte +was very anxious to get into Lord Alfred's club,—The Peripatetics. +It was pleasant to see the grace with which he lost his money, and +the sweet intimacy with which he called his lordship Alfred. Lord +Alfred had a remnant of feeling left, and would have liked to kick +him. Though Melmotte was by far the bigger man, and was also the +younger, Lord Alfred would not have lacked the pluck to kick him. +Lord Alfred, in spite of his habitual idleness and vapid uselessness, +had still left about him a dash of vigour, and sometimes thought that +he would kick Melmotte and have done with it. But there were his poor +boys, and those bills in Melmotte's safe. And then Melmotte lost his +points so regularly, and paid his bets with such absolute good +humour! "Come and have a glass of champagne, Alfred," Melmotte said, +as the two cut out together. Lord Alfred liked champagne, and +followed his host; but as he went he almost made up his mind that on +some future day he would kick the man.</p> + +<p>Late in the evening Marie Melmotte was waltzing with Felix Carbury, +and Henrietta Carbury was then standing by talking to one Mr. Paul +Montague. Lady Carbury was also there. She was not well inclined +either to balls or to such people as the Melmottes; nor was +Henrietta. But Felix had suggested that, bearing in mind his +prospects as to the heiress, they had better accept the invitation +which he would cause to have sent to them. They did so; and then Paul +Montague also got a card, not altogether to Lady Carbury's +satisfaction. Lady Carbury was very gracious to Madame Melmotte for +two minutes, and then slid into a chair expecting nothing but misery +for the evening. She, however, was a woman who could do her duty and +endure without complaint.</p> + +<p>"It is the first great ball I ever was at in London," said Hetta +Carbury to Paul Montague.</p> + +<p>"And how do you like it?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. How should I like it? I know nobody here. I don't +understand how it is that at these parties people do know each other, +or whether they all go dancing about without knowing."</p> + +<p>"Just that; I suppose when they are used to it they get introduced +backwards and forwards, and then they can know each other as fast as +they like. If you would wish to dance why won't you dance with me?"</p> + +<p>"I have danced with you,—twice already."</p> + +<p>"Is there any law against dancing three times?"</p> + +<p>"But I don't especially want to dance," said Henrietta. "I think I'll +go and console poor mamma, who has got nobody to speak to her." Just +at this moment, however, Lady Carbury was not in that wretched +condition, as an unexpected friend had come to her relief.</p> + +<p>Sir Felix and Marie Melmotte had been spinning round and round +throughout a long waltz, thoroughly enjoying the excitement of the +music and the movement. To give Felix Carbury what little praise +might be his due, it is necessary to say that he did not lack +physical activity. He would dance, and ride, and shoot eagerly, with +an animation that made him happy for the moment. It was an affair not +of thought or calculation, but of physical organisation. And Marie +Melmotte had been thoroughly happy. She loved dancing with all her +heart if she could only dance in a manner pleasant to herself. She +had been warned especially as to some men,—that she should not dance +with them. She had been almost thrown into Lord Nidderdale's arms, +and had been prepared to take him at her father's bidding. But she +had never had the slightest pleasure in his society, and had only not +been wretched because she had not as yet recognised that she had an +identity of her own in the disposition of which she herself should +have a voice. She certainly had never cared to dance with Lord +Nidderdale. Lord Grasslough she had absolutely hated, though at first +she had hardly dared to say so. One or two others had been obnoxious +to her in different ways, but they had passed on, or were passing on, +out of her way. There was no one at the present moment whom she had +been commanded by her father to accept should an offer be made. But +she did like dancing with Sir Felix Carbury.</p> + +<p>It was not only that the man was handsome but that he had a power of +changing the expression of his countenance, a play of face, which +belied altogether his real disposition. He could seem to be hearty +and true till the moment came in which he had really to expose his +heart,—or to try to expose it. Then he failed, knowing nothing about +it. But in the approaches to intimacy with a girl he could be very +successful. He had already nearly got beyond this with Marie +Melmotte; but Marie was by no means quick in discovering his +deficiencies. To her he had seemed like a god. If she might be +allowed to be wooed by Sir Felix Carbury, and to give herself to him, +she thought that she would be contented.</p> + +<p>"How well you dance," said Sir Felix, as soon as he had breath for +speaking.</p> + +<p>"Do I?" She spoke with a slightly foreign accent, which gave a little +prettiness to her speech. "I was never told so. But nobody ever told +me anything about myself."</p> + +<p>"I should like to tell you everything about yourself, from the +beginning to the end."</p> + +<p>"Ah,—but you don't know."</p> + +<p>"I would find out. I think I could make some good guesses. I'll tell +you what you would like best in all the world."</p> + +<p>"What is that?"</p> + +<p>"Somebody that liked you best in all the world."</p> + +<p>"Ah,—yes; if one knew who?"</p> + +<p>"How can you know, Miss Melmotte, but by believing?"</p> + +<p>"That is not the way to know. If a girl told me that she liked me +better than any other girl, I should not know it, just because she +said so. I should have to find it out."</p> + +<p>"And if a gentleman told you so?"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't believe him a bit, and I should not care to find out. +But I should like to have some girl for a friend whom I could love, +oh, ten times better than myself."</p> + +<p>"So should I."</p> + +<p>"Have you no particular friend?"</p> + +<p>"I mean a girl whom I could love,—oh, ten times better than myself."</p> + +<p>"Now you are laughing at me, Sir Felix," said Miss Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether that will come to anything?" said Paul Montague to +Miss Carbury. They had come back into the drawing-room, and had been +watching the approaches to love-making which the baronet was opening.</p> + +<p>"You mean Felix and Miss Melmotte. I hate to think of such things, +Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"It would be a magnificent chance for him."</p> + +<p>"To marry a girl, the daughter of vulgar people, just because she +will have a great deal of money? He can't care for her +really,—because she is rich."</p> + +<p>"But he wants money so dreadfully! It seems to me that there is no +other condition of things under which Felix can face the world, but +by being the husband of an heiress."</p> + +<p>"What a dreadful thing to say!"</p> + +<p>"But isn't it true? He has beggared himself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"And he will beggar you and your mother."</p> + +<p>"I don't care about myself."</p> + +<p>"Others do though." As he said this he did not look at her, but spoke +through his teeth, as if he were angry both with himself and her.</p> + +<p>"I did not think you would have spoken so harshly of Felix."</p> + +<p>"I don't speak harshly of him, Miss Carbury. I haven't said that it +was his own fault. He seems to be one of those who have been born to +spend money; and as this girl will have plenty of money to spend, I +think it would be a good thing if he were to marry her. If Felix had +£20,000 a year, everybody would think him the finest fellow in the +world." In saying this, however, Mr. Paul Montague showed himself +unfit to gauge the opinion of the world. Whether Sir Felix be rich or +poor, the world, evil-hearted as it is, will never think him a fine +fellow.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury had been seated for nearly half an hour in uncomplaining +solitude under a bust, when she was delighted by the appearance of +Mr. Ferdinand Alf. "You here?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Why not? Melmotte and I are brother adventurers."</p> + +<p>"I should have thought you would find so little here to amuse you."</p> + +<p>"I have found you; and, in addition to that, duchesses and their +daughters without number. They expect Prince George!"</p> + +<p>"Do they?"</p> + +<p>"And Legge Wilson from the India Office is here already. I spoke to +him in some jewelled bower as I made my way here, not five minutes +since. It's quite a success. Don't you think it very nice, Lady +Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether you are joking or in earnest."</p> + +<p>"I never joke. I say it is very nice. These people are spending +thousands upon thousands to gratify you and me and others, and all +they want in return is a little countenance."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to give it then?"</p> + +<p>"I am giving it them."</p> + +<p>"Ah;—but the countenance of the 'Evening Pulpit.' Do you mean to +give them that?"</p> + +<p>"Well; it is not in our line exactly to give a catalogue of names and +to record ladies' dresses. Perhaps it may be better for our host +himself that he should be kept out of the newspapers."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to be very severe upon poor me, Mr. Alf?" said the +lady after a pause.</p> + +<p>"We are never severe upon anybody, Lady Carbury. Here's the Prince. +What will they do with him now they've caught him! Oh, they're going +to make him dance with the heiress. Poor heiress!"</p> + +<p>"Poor Prince!" said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"Not at all. She's a nice little girl enough, and he'll have nothing +to trouble him. But how is she, poor thing, to talk to royal blood?"</p> + +<p>Poor thing indeed! The Prince was brought into the big room where +Marie was still being talked to by Felix Carbury, and was at once +made to understand that she was to stand up and dance with royalty. +The introduction was managed in a very business-like manner. Miles +Grendall first came in and found the female victim; the Duchess +followed with the male victim. Madame Melmotte, who had been on her +legs till she was ready to sink, waddled behind, but was not allowed +to take any part in the affair. The band were playing a galop, but +that was stopped at once, to the great confusion of the dancers. In +two minutes Miles Grendall had made up a set. He stood up with his +aunt, the Duchess, as vis-a-vis to Marie and the Prince, till, about +the middle of the quadrille, Legge Wilson was found and made to take +his place. Lord Buntingford had gone away; but then there were still +present two daughters of the Duchess who were rapidly caught. Sir +Felix Carbury, being good-looking and having a name, was made to +dance with one of them, and Lord Grasslough with the other. There +were four other couples, all made up of titled people, as it was +intended that this special dance should be chronicled, if not in the +"Evening Pulpit," in some less serious daily journal. A paid reporter +was present in the house ready to rush off with the list as soon as +the dance should be a realized fact. The Prince himself did not quite +understand why he was there, but they who marshalled his life for him +had so marshalled it for the present moment. He himself probably knew +nothing about the lady's diamonds which had been rescued, or the +considerable subscription to St. George's Hospital which had been +extracted from Mr. Melmotte as a make-weight. Poor Marie felt as +though the burden of the hour would be greater than she could bear, +and looked as though she would have fled had flight been possible. +But the trouble passed quickly, and was not really severe. The Prince +said a word or two between each figure, and did not seem to expect a +reply. He made a few words go a long way, and was well trained in the +work of easing the burden of his own greatness for those who were for +the moment inflicted with it. When the dance was over he was allowed +to escape after the ceremony of a single glass of champagne drank in +the presence of the hostess. Considerable skill was shown in keeping +the presence of his royal guest a secret from the host himself till +the Prince was gone. Melmotte would have desired to pour out that +glass of wine with his own hands, to solace his tongue by Royal +Highnesses, and would probably have been troublesome and +disagreeable. Miles Grendall had understood all this and had managed +the affair very well. "Bless my soul;—his Royal Highness come and +gone!" exclaimed Melmotte. "You and my father were so fast at your +whist that it was impossible to get you away," said Miles. Melmotte +was not a fool, and understood it all;—understood not only that it +had been thought better that he should not speak to the Prince, but +also that it might be better that it should be so. He could not have +everything at once. Miles Grendall was very useful to him, and he +would not quarrel with Miles, at any rate as yet.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill004"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill004.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill004-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="The Duchess followed with the male victim." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">The Duchess + followed with the male victim.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill004.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"Have another rubber, Alfred?" he said to Miles's father as the +carriages were taking away the guests.</p> + +<p>Lord Alfred had taken sundry glasses of champagne, and for a moment +forgot the bills in the safe, and the good things which his boys were +receiving. "Damn that kind of nonsense," he said. "Call people by +their proper names." Then he left the house without a further word to +the master of it. That night before they went to sleep Melmotte +required from his weary wife an account of the ball, and especially +of Marie's conduct. "Marie," Madame Melmotte said, "had behaved well, +but had certainly preferred 'Sir Carbury' to any other of the young +men." Hitherto Mr. Melmotte had heard very little of "Sir Carbury," +except that he was a baronet. Though his eyes and ears were always +open, though he attended to everything, and was a man of sharp +intelligence, he did not yet quite understand the bearing and +sequence of English titles. He knew that he must get for his daughter +either an eldest son, or one absolutely in possession himself. Sir +Felix, he had learned, was only a baronet; but then he was in +possession. He had discovered also that Sir Felix's son would in +course of time also become Sir Felix. He was not therefore at the +present moment disposed to give any positive orders as to his +daughter's conduct to the young baronet. He did not, however, +conceive that the young baronet had as yet addressed his girl in such +words as Felix had in truth used when they parted. "You know who it +is," he whispered, "likes you better than any one else in the world."</p> + +<p>"Nobody does;—don't, Sir Felix."</p> + +<p>"I do," he said as he held her hand for a minute. He looked into her +face and she thought it very sweet. He had studied the words as a +lesson, and, repeating them as a lesson, he did it fairly well. He +did it well enough at any rate to send the poor girl to bed with a +sweet conviction that at last a man had spoken to her whom she could +love.</p> + + +<p><a id="c5"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3> +<h4>AFTER THE BALL.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>"It's weary work," said Sir Felix as he got into the brougham with +his mother and sister.</p> + +<p>"What must it have been to me then, who had nothing to do?" said his +mother.</p> + +<p>"It's the having something to do that makes me call it weary work. +By-the-bye, now I think of it, I'll run down to the club before I go +home." So saying he put his head out of the brougham, and stopped the +driver.</p> + +<p>"It is two o'clock, Felix," said his mother.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid it is, but you see I'm hungry. You had supper, perhaps; I +had none."</p> + +<p>"Are you going down to the club for supper at this time in the +morning?"</p> + +<p>"I must go to bed hungry if I don't. Good night." Then he jumped out +of the brougham, called a cab, and had himself driven to the +Beargarden. He declared to himself that the men there would think it +mean of him if he did not give them their revenge. He had renewed his +play on the preceding night, and had again won. Dolly Longestaffe +owed him now a considerable sum of money, and Lord Grasslough was +also in his debt. He was sure that Grasslough would go to the club +after the ball, and he was determined that they should not think that +he had submitted to be carried home by his mother and sister. So he +argued with himself; but in truth the devil of gambling was hot +within his bosom; and though he feared that in losing he might lose +real money, and that if he won it would be long before he was paid, +yet he could not keep himself from the card-table.</p> + +<p>Neither mother or daughter said a word till they reached home and had +got up-stairs. Then the elder spoke of the trouble that was nearest +to her heart at the moment. "Do you think he gambles?"</p> + +<p>"He has got no money, mamma."</p> + +<p>"I fear that might not hinder him. And he has money with him, though, +for him and such friends as he has, it is not much. If he gambles +everything is lost."</p> + +<p>"I suppose they all do play,—more or less."</p> + +<p>"I have not known that he played. I am wearied too, out of all heart, +by his want of consideration to me. It is not that he will not obey +me. A mother perhaps should not expect obedience from a grown-up son. +But my word is nothing to him. He has no respect for me. He would as +soon do what is wrong before me as before the merest stranger."</p> + +<p>"He has been so long his own master, mamma."</p> + +<p>"Yes,—his own master! And yet I must provide for him as though he +were but a child. Hetta, you spent the whole evening talking to Paul +Montague."</p> + +<p>"No, mamma;—that is unjust."</p> + +<p>"He was always with you."</p> + +<p>"I knew nobody else. I could not tell him not to speak to me. I +danced with him twice." Her mother was seated, with both her hands up +to her forehead, and shook her head. "If you did not want me to speak +to Paul you should not have taken me there."</p> + +<p>"I don't wish to prevent your speaking to him. You know what I want." +Henrietta came up and kissed her, and bade her good night. "I think I +am the unhappiest woman in all London," she said, sobbing +hysterically.</p> + +<p>"Is it my fault, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"You could save me from much if you would. I work like a horse, and I +never spend a shilling that I can help. I want nothing for +myself,—nothing for myself. Nobody has suffered as I have. But Felix +never thinks of me for a moment."</p> + +<p>"I think of you, mamma."</p> + +<p>"If you did you would accept your cousin's offer. What right have you +to refuse him? I believe it is all because of that young man."</p> + +<p>"No, mamma; it is not because of that young man. I like my cousin +very much;—but that is all. Good night, mamma." Lady Carbury just +allowed herself to be kissed, and then was left alone.</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock the next morning daybreak found four young men who +had just risen from a card-table at the Beargarden. The Beargarden +was so pleasant a club that there was no rule whatsoever as to its +being closed,—the only law being that it should not be opened before +three in the afternoon. A sort of sanction had, however, been given +to the servants to demur to producing supper or drinks after six in +the morning, so that, about eight, unrelieved tobacco began to be too +heavy even for juvenile constitutions. The party consisted of Dolly +Longestaffe, Lord Grasslough, Miles Grendall, and Felix Carbury, and +the four had amused themselves during the last six hours with various +innocent games. They had commenced with whist, and had culminated +during the last half-hour with blind hookey. But during the whole +night Felix had won. Miles Grendall hated him, and there had been an +expressed opinion between Miles and the young lord that it would be +both profitable and proper to relieve Sir Felix of the winnings of +the last two nights. The two men had played with the same object, and +being young had shown their intention,—so that a certain feeling of +hostility had been engendered. The reader is not to understand that +either of them had cheated, or that the baronet had entertained any +suspicion of foul play. But Felix had felt that Grendall and +Grasslough were his enemies, and had thrown himself on Dolly for +sympathy and friendship. Dolly, however, was very tipsy.</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock in the morning there came a sort of settling, though +no money then passed. The ready-money transactions had not lasted +long through the night. Grasslough was the chief loser, and the +figures and scraps of paper which had been passed over to Carbury, +when counted up, amounted to nearly £2,000. His lordship contested +the fact bitterly, but contested it in vain. There were his own +initials and his own figures, and even Miles Grendall, who was +supposed to be quite wide awake, could not reduce the amount. Then +Grendall had lost over £400 to Carbury,—an amount, indeed, that +mattered little, as Miles could, at present, as easily have raised +£40,000. However, he gave his I.O.U. to his opponent with an easy +air. Grasslough, also, was impecunious; but he had a father,—also +impecunious, indeed; but with them the matter would not be hopeless. +Dolly Longestaffe was so tipsy that he could not even assist in +making up his own account. That was to be left between him and +Carbury for some future occasion.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you'll be here to-morrow,—that is to-night," said Miles.</p> + +<p>"Certainly,—only one thing," answered Felix.</p> + +<p>"What one thing?"</p> + +<p>"I think these things should be squared before we play any more!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?" said Grasslough angrily. "Do you mean to +hint anything?"</p> + +<p>"I never hint anything, my Grassy," said Felix. "I believe when +people play cards, it's intended to be ready-money, that's all. But +I'm not going to stand on P's and Q's with you. I'll give you your +revenge to-night."</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Miles.</p> + +<p>"I was speaking to Lord Grasslough," said Felix. "He is an old +friend, and we know each other. You have been rather rough to-night, +Mr. Grendall."</p> + +<p>"Rough;—what the devil do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>"And I think it will be as well that our account should be settled +before we begin again."</p> + +<p>"A settlement once a week is the kind of thing I'm used to," said +Grendall.</p> + +<p>There was nothing more said; but the young men did not part on good +terms. Felix, as he got himself taken home, calculated that if he +could realize his spoil, he might begin the campaign again with +horses, servants, and all luxuries as before. If all were paid, he +would have over £3,000!</p> + + +<p><a id="c6"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3> +<h4>ROGER CARBURY AND PAUL MONTAGUE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Roger Carbury, of Carbury Hall, the owner of a small property in +Suffolk, was the head of the Carbury family. The Carburys had been in +Suffolk a great many years,—certainly from the time of the War of +the Roses,—and had always held up their heads. But they had never +held them very high. It was not known that any had risen ever to the +honour of knighthood before Sir Patrick, going higher than that, had +been made a baronet. They had, however, been true to their acres and +their acres true to them through the perils of civil wars, +Reformation, Commonwealth, and Revolution, and the head Carbury of +the day had always owned, and had always lived at, Carbury Hall. At +the beginning of the present century the squire of Carbury had been a +considerable man, if not in his county, at any rate in his part of +the county. The income of the estate had sufficed to enable him to +live plenteously and hospitably, to drink port wine, to ride a stout +hunter, and to keep an old lumbering coach for his wife's use when +she went avisiting. He had an old butler who had never lived anywhere +else, and a boy from the village who was in a way apprenticed to the +butler. There was a cook, not too proud to wash up her own dishes, +and a couple of young women;—while the house was kept by Mrs. +Carbury herself, who marked and gave out her own linen, made her own +preserves, and looked to the curing of her own hams. In the year 1800 +the Carbury property was sufficient for the Carbury house. Since that +time the Carbury property has considerably increased in value, and +the rents have been raised. Even the acreage has been extended by the +enclosure of commons. But the income is no longer comfortably +adequate to the wants of an English gentleman's household. If a +moderate estate in land be left to a man now, there arises the +question whether he is not damaged unless an income also be left to +him wherewith to keep up the estate. Land is a luxury, and of all +luxuries is the most costly. Now the Carburys never had anything but +land. Suffolk has not been made rich and great either by coal or +iron. No great town had sprung up on the confines of the Carbury +property. No eldest son had gone into trade or risen high in a +profession so as to add to the Carbury wealth. No great heiress had +been married. There had been no ruin,—no misfortune. But in the days +of which we write the Squire of Carbury Hall had become a poor man +simply through the wealth of others. His estate was supposed to bring +him in £2,000 a year. Had he been content to let the Manor House, to +live abroad, and to have an agent at home to deal with the tenants, +he would undoubtedly have had enough to live luxuriously. But he +lived on his own land among his own people, as all the Carburys +before him had done, and was poor because he was surrounded by rich +neighbours. The Longestaffes of Caversham,—of which family Dolly +Longestaffe was the eldest son and hope,—had the name of great +wealth, but the founder of the family had been a Lord Mayor of London +and a chandler as lately as in the reign of Queen Anne. The +Hepworths, who could boast good blood enough on their own side, had +married into new money. The Primeros,—though the good nature of the +country folk had accorded to the head of them the title of Squire +Primero,—had been trading Spaniards fifty years ago, and had bought +the Bundlesham property from a great duke. The estates of those three +gentlemen, with the domain of the Bishop of Elmham, lay all around +the Carbury property, and in regard to wealth enabled their owners +altogether to overshadow our squire. The superior wealth of a bishop +was nothing to him. He desired that bishops should be rich, and was +among those who thought that the country had been injured when the +territorial possessions of our prelates had been converted into +stipends by Act of Parliament. But the grandeur of the Longestaffes +and the too apparent wealth of the Primeros did oppress him, though +he was a man who would never breathe a word of such oppression into +the ear even of his dearest friend. It was his opinion,—which he did +not care to declare loudly, but which was fully understood to be his +opinion by those with whom he lived intimately,—that a man's +standing in the world should not depend at all upon his wealth. The +Primeros were undoubtedly beneath him in the social scale, although +the young Primeros had three horses apiece, and killed legions of +pheasants annually at about 10<i>s</i>. a head. Hepworth of Eardly was a +very good fellow, who gave himself no airs and understood his duties +as a country gentleman; but he could not be more than on a par with +Carbury of Carbury, though he was supposed to enjoy £7,000 a year. +The Longestaffes were altogether oppressive. Their footmen, even in +the country, had powdered hair. They had a house in town,—a house of +their own,—and lived altogether as magnates. The lady was Lady +Pomona Longestaffe. The daughters, who certainly were handsome, had +been destined to marry peers. The only son, Dolly, had, or had had, a +fortune of his own. They were an oppressive people in a country +neighbourhood. And to make the matter worse, rich as they were, they +never were able to pay anybody anything that they owed. They +continued to live with all the appurtenances of wealth. The girls +always had horses to ride, both in town and country. The acquaintance +of Dolly the reader has already made. Dolly, who certainly was a poor +creature though good natured, had energy in one direction. He would +quarrel perseveringly with his father, who only had a life interest +in the estate. The house at Caversham Park was during six or seven +months, of the year full of servants, if not of guests, and all the +tradesmen in the little towns around, Bungay, Beccles, and +Harlestone, were aware that the Longestaffes were the great people of +that country. Though occasionally much distressed for money, they +would always execute the Longestaffe orders with submissive +punctuality, because there was an idea that the Longestaffe property +was sound at the bottom. And, then, the owner of a property so +managed cannot scrutinise bills very closely.</p> + +<p>Carbury of Carbury had never owed a shilling that he could not pay, +or his father before him. His orders to the tradesmen at Beccles were +not extensive, and care was used to see that the goods supplied were +neither overcharged nor unnecessary. The tradesmen, consequently, of +Beccles did not care much for Carbury of Carbury;—though perhaps one +or two of the elders among them entertained some ancient reverence +for the family. Roger Carbury, Esq., was Carbury of Carbury,—a +distinction of itself, which, from its nature, could not belong to +the Longestaffes and Primeros, which did not even belong to the +Hepworths of Eardly. The very parish in which Carbury Hall stood,—or +Carbury Manor House, as it was more properly called,—was Carbury +parish. And there was Carbury Chase, partly in Carbury parish and +partly in Bundlesham,—but belonging, unfortunately, in its entirety +to the Bundlesham estate.</p> + +<p>Roger Carbury himself was all alone in the world. His nearest +relatives of the name were Sir Felix and Henrietta, but they were no +more than second cousins. He had sisters, but they had long since +been married and had gone away into the world with their husbands, +one to India, and another to the far west of the United States. At +present he was not much short of forty years of age, and was still +unmarried. He was a stout, good-looking man, with a firmly set square +face, with features finely cut, a small mouth, good teeth, and +well-formed chin. His hair was red, curling round his head, which was +now partly bald at the top. He wore no other beard than small, almost +unnoticeable whiskers. His eyes were small, but bright, and very +cheery when his humour was good. He was about five feet nine in +height, having the appearance of great strength and perfect health. A +more manly man to the eye was never seen. And he was one with whom +you would instinctively wish at first sight to be on good +terms,—partly because in looking at him there would come on you an +unconscious conviction that he would be very stout in holding his own +against his opponents; partly also from a conviction equally strong, +that he would be very pleasant to his friends.</p> + +<p>When Sir Patrick had come home from India as an invalid, Roger +Carbury had hurried up to see him in London, and had proffered him +all kindness. Would Sir Patrick and his wife and children like to go +down to the old place in the country? Sir Patrick did not care a +straw for the old place in the country, and so told his cousin in +almost those very words. There had not, therefore, been much +friendship during Sir Patrick's life. But when the violent +ill-conditioned old man was dead, Roger paid a second visit, and +again offered hospitality to the widow and her daughter,—and to the +young baronet. The young baronet had just joined his regiment and did +not care to visit his cousin in Suffolk; but Lady Carbury and +Henrietta had spent a month there, and everything had been done to +make them happy. The effort as regarded Henrietta had been altogether +successful. As regarded the widow, it must be acknowledged that +Carbury Hall had not quite suited her tastes. She had already begun +to sigh for the glories of a literary career. A career of some +kind,—sufficient to repay her for the sufferings of her early +life,—she certainly desired. "Dear cousin Roger," as she called him, +had not seemed to her to have much power of assisting her in these +views. She was a woman who did not care much for country charms. She +had endeavoured to get up some mild excitement with the bishop, but +the bishop had been too plain spoken and sincere for her. The +Primeros had been odious; the Hepworths stupid; the +Longestaffes,—she had endeavoured to make up a little friendship +with Lady Pomona,—insufferably supercilious. She had declared to +Henrietta "that Carbury Hall was very dull."</p> + +<p>But then there had come a circumstance which altogether changed her +opinions as to Carbury Hall, and its proprietor. The proprietor after +a few weeks followed them up to London, and made a most +matter-of-fact offer to the mother for the daughter's hand. He was at +that time thirty-six, and Henrietta was not yet twenty. He was very +cool;—some might have thought him phlegmatic in his love-making. +Henrietta declared to her mother that she had not in the least +expected it. But he was very urgent, and very persistent. Lady +Carbury was eager on his side. Though the Carbury Manor House did not +exactly suit her, it would do admirably for Henrietta. And as for +age, to her thinking, she being then over forty, a man of thirty-six +was young enough for any girl. But Henrietta had an opinion of her +own. She liked her cousin, but did not love him. She was amazed, and +even annoyed by the offer. She had praised him and praised the house +so loudly to her mother,—having in her innocence never dreamed of +such a proposition as this,—so that now she found it difficult to +give an adequate reason for her refusal. Yes;—she had undoubtedly +said that her cousin was charming, but she had not meant charming in +that way. She did refuse the offer very plainly, but still with some +apparent lack of persistency. When Roger suggested that she should +take a few months to think of it, and her mother supported Roger's +suggestion, she could say nothing stronger than that she was afraid +that thinking about it would not do any good. Their first visit to +Carbury had been made in September. In the following February she +went there again,—much against the grain as far as her own wishes +were concerned; and when there had been cold, constrained, almost +dumb in the presence of her cousin. Before they left the offer was +renewed, but Henrietta declared that she could not do as they would +have her. She could give no reason, only she did not love her cousin +in that way. But Roger declared that he by no means intended to +abandon his suit. In truth he verily loved the girl, and love with +him was a serious thing. All this happened a full year before the +beginning of our present story.</p> + +<p>But something else happened also. While that second visit was being +made at Carbury there came to the hall a young man of whom Roger +Carbury had said much to his cousins,—one Paul Montague, of whom +some short account shall be given in this chapter. The squire,—Roger +Carbury was always called the squire about his own place,—had +anticipated no evil when he so timed this second visit of his cousins +to his house that they must of necessity meet Paul Montague there. +But great harm had come of it. Paul Montague had fallen into love +with his cousin's guest, and there had sprung up much unhappiness.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury and Henrietta had been nearly a month at Carbury, and +Paul Montague had been there barely a week, when Roger Carbury thus +spoke to the guest who had last arrived. "I've got to tell you +something, Paul."</p> + +<p>"Anything serious?"</p> + +<p>"Very serious to me. I may say so serious that nothing in my own life +can approach it in importance." He had unconsciously assumed that +look, which his friend so thoroughly understood, indicating his +resolve to hold to what he believed to be his own, and to fight if +fighting be necessary. Montague knew him well, and became half aware +that he had done something, he knew not what, militating against this +serious resolve of his friend. He looked up, but said nothing. "I +have offered my hand in marriage to my cousin Henrietta," said Roger +very gravely.</p> + +<p>"Miss Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; to Henrietta Carbury. She has not accepted it. She has refused +me twice. But I still have hopes of success. Perhaps I have no right +to hope, but I do. I tell it you just as it is. Everything in life to +me depends upon it. I think I may count upon your sympathy."</p> + +<p>"Why did you not tell me before?" said Paul Montague in a hoarse +voice.</p> + +<p>Then there had come a sudden and rapid interchange of quick speaking +between the men, each of them speaking the truth exactly, each of +them declaring himself to be in the right and to be ill-used by the +other, each of them equally hot, equally generous, and equally +unreasonable. Montague at once asserted that he also loved Henrietta +Carbury. He blurted out his assurance in the baldest and most +incomplete manner, but still in such words as to leave no doubt. +No;—he had not said a word to her. He had intended to consult Roger +Carbury himself,—should have done so in a day or two,—perhaps on +that very day had not Roger spoken to him. "You have neither of you a +shilling in the world," said Roger; "and now you know what my +feelings are you must abandon it." Then Montague declared that he had +a right to speak to Miss Carbury. He did not suppose that Miss +Carbury cared a straw about him. He had not the least reason to think +that she did. It was altogether impossible. But he had a right to his +chance. That chance was all the world to him. As to money,—he would +not admit that he was a pauper, and, moreover, he might earn an +income as well as other men. Had Carbury told him that the young lady +had shown the slightest intention to receive his, Carbury's, +addresses, he, Paul, would at once have disappeared from the scene. +But as it was not so, he would not say that he would abandon his +hope.</p> + +<p>The scene lasted for above an hour. When it was ended, Paul Montague +packed up all his clothes and was driven away to the railway station +by Roger himself, without seeing either of the ladies. There had been +very hot words between the men, but the last words which Roger spoke +to the other on the railway platform were not quarrelsome in their +nature. "God bless you, old fellow," he said, pressing Paul's hands. +Paul's eyes were full of tears, and he replied only by returning the +pressure.</p> + +<p>Paul Montague's father and mother had long been dead. The father had +been a barrister in London, having perhaps some small fortune of his +own. He had, at any rate, left to this son, who was one among others, +a sufficiency with which to begin the world. Paul when he had come of +age had found himself possessed of about £6,000. He was then at +Oxford, and was intended for the bar. An uncle of his, a younger +brother of his father, had married a Carbury, the younger sister of +two, though older than her brother Roger. This uncle many years since +had taken his wife out to California, and had there become an +American. He had a large tract of land, growing wool, and wheat, and +fruit; but whether he prospered or whether he did not, had not always +been plain to the Montagues and Carburys at home. The intercourse +between the two families had in the quite early days of Paul +Montague's life, created an affection between him and Roger, who, as +will be understood by those who have carefully followed the above +family history, were not in any degree related to each other. Roger, +when quite a young man, had had the charge of the boy's education, +and had sent him to Oxford. But the Oxford scheme, to be followed by +the bar, and to end on some one of the many judicial benches of the +country, had not succeeded. Paul had got into a "row" at Balliol, and +had been rusticated,—had then got into another row, and was sent +down. Indeed he had a talent for rows,—though, as Roger Carbury +always declared, there was nothing really wrong about any of them. +Paul was then twenty-one, and he took himself and his money out to +California, and joined his uncle. He had perhaps an idea,—based on +very insufficient grounds,—that rows are popular in California. At +the end of three years he found that he did not like farming life in +California,—and he found also that he did not like his uncle. So he +returned to England, but on returning was altogether unable to get +his £6,000 out of the Californian farm. Indeed he had been compelled +to come away without any of it, with funds insufficient even to take +him home, accepting with much dissatisfaction an assurance from his +uncle that an income amounting to ten per cent. upon his capital +should be remitted to him with the regularity of clockwork. The clock +alluded to must have been one of Sam Slick's. It had gone very badly. +At the end of the first quarter there came the proper +remittance;—then half the amount;—then there was a long interval +without anything; then some dropping payments now and again;—and +then a twelvemonth without anything. At the end of that twelvemonth +he paid a second visit to California, having borrowed money from +Roger for his journey. He had now again returned, with some little +cash in hand, and with the additional security of a deed executed in +his favour by one Hamilton K. Fisker, who had gone into partnership +with his uncle, and who had added a vast flour-mill to his uncle's +concerns. In accordance with this deed he was to get twelve per cent. +on his capital, and had enjoyed the gratification of seeing his name +put up as one of the firm, which now stood as Fisker, Montague, and +Montague. A business declared by the two elder partners to be most +promising had been opened at Fiskerville, about two hundred and fifty +miles from San Francisco, and the hearts of Fisker and the elder +Montague were very high. Paul hated Fisker horribly, did not love his +uncle much, and would willingly have got back his £6,000 had he been +able. But he was not able, and returned as one of Fisker, Montague, +and Montague, not altogether unhappy, as he had succeeded in +obtaining enough of his back income to pay what he owed to Roger, and +to live for a few months. He was intent on considering how he should +bestow himself, consulting daily with Roger on the subject, when +suddenly Roger had perceived that the young man was becoming attached +to the girl whom he himself loved. What then occurred has been told.</p> + +<p>Not a word was said to Lady Carbury or her daughter of the real cause +of Paul's sudden disappearance. It had been necessary that he should +go to London. Each of the ladies probably guessed something of the +truth, but neither spoke a word to the other on the subject. Before +they left the Manor the squire again pleaded his cause with +Henrietta, but he pleaded it in vain. Henrietta was colder than +ever,—but she made use of one unfortunate phrase which destroyed all +the effect which her coldness might have had. She said that she was +too young to think of marrying yet. She had meant to imply that the +difference in their ages was too great, but had not known how to say +it. It was easy to tell her that in a twelvemonth she would be +older;—but it was impossible to convince her that any number of +twelvemonths would alter the disparity between her and her cousin. +But even that disparity was not now her strongest reason for feeling +sure that she could not marry Roger Carbury.</p> + +<p>Within a week of the departure of Lady Carbury from the Manor House, +Paul Montague returned, and returned as a still dear friend. He had +promised before he went that he would not see Henrietta again for +three months, but he would promise nothing further. "If she won't +take you, there is no reason why I shouldn't try." That had been his +argument. Roger would not accede to the justice even of this. It +seemed to him that Paul was bound to retire altogether, partly +because he had got no income, partly because of Roger's previous +claim,—partly no doubt in gratitude, but of this last reason Roger +never said a word. If Paul did not see this himself, Paul was not +such a man as his friend had taken him to be.</p> + +<p>Paul did see it himself, and had many scruples. But why should his +friend be a dog in the manger? He would yield at once to Roger +Carbury's older claims if Roger could make anything of them. Indeed +he could have no chance if the girl were disposed to take Roger for +her husband. Roger had all the advantage of Carbury Manor at his +back, whereas he had nothing but his share in the doubtful business +of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, in a wretched little town 250 +miles further off than San Francisco! But if, with all this, Roger +could not prevail, why should he not try? What Roger said about want +of money was mere nonsense. Paul was sure that his friend would have +created no such difficulty had not he himself been interested. Paul +declared to himself that he had money, though doubtful money, and +that he certainly would not give up Henrietta on that score.</p> + +<p>He came up to London at various times in search of certain employment +which had been half promised him, and, after the expiration of the +three months, constantly saw Lady Carbury and her daughter. But from +time to time he had given renewed promises to Roger Carbury that he +would not declare his passion,—now for two months, then for six +weeks, then for a month. In the meantime the two men were fast +friends,—so fast that Montague spent by far the greater part of his +time as his friend's guest,—and all this was done with the +understanding that Roger Carbury was to blaze up into hostile wrath +should Paul ever receive the privilege to call himself Henrietta +Carbury's favoured lover, but that everything was to be smooth +between them should Henrietta be persuaded to become the mistress of +Carbury Hall. So things went on up to the night at which Montague met +Henrietta at Madame Melmotte's ball. The reader should also be +informed that there had been already a former love affair in the +young life of Paul Montague. There had been, and indeed there still +was, a widow, one Mrs. Hurtle, whom he had been desperately anxious +to marry before his second journey to California;—but the marriage +had been prevented by the interference of Roger Carbury.</p> + + +<p><a id="c7"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3> +<h4>MENTOR.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lady Carbury's desire for a union between Roger and her daughter was +greatly increased by her solicitude in respect to her son. Since +Roger's offer had first been made, Felix had gone on from bad to +worse, till his condition had become one of hopeless embarrassment. +If her daughter could but be settled in the world, Lady Carbury said +to herself, she could then devote herself to the interests of her +son. She had no very clear idea of what that devotion would be. But +she did know that she had paid so much money for him, and would have +so much more extracted from her, that it might well come to pass that +she would be unable to keep a home for her daughter. In all these +troubles she constantly appealed to Roger Carbury for advice,—which, +however, she never followed. He recommended her to give up her house +in town, to find a home for her daughter elsewhere, and also for +Felix if he would consent to follow her. Should he not so consent, +then let the young man bear the brunt of his own misdoings. +Doubtless, when he could no longer get bread in London he would find +her out. Roger was always severe when he spoke of the baronet,—or +seemed to Lady Carbury to be severe.</p> + +<p>But, in truth, she did not ask for advice in order that she might +follow it. She had plans in her head with which she knew that Roger +would not sympathise. She still thought that Sir Felix might bloom +and burst out into grandeur, wealth, and fashion, as the husband of a +great heiress, and in spite of her son's vices, was proud of him in +that anticipation. When he succeeded in obtaining from her money, as +in the case of that £20,—when, with brazen-faced indifference to her +remonstrances, he started off to his club at two in the morning, when +with impudent drollery he almost boasted of the hopelessness of his +debts, a sickness of heart would come upon her, and she would weep +hysterically, and lie the whole night without sleeping. But could he +marry Miss Melmotte, and thus conquer all his troubles by means of +his own personal beauty,—then she would be proud of all that had +passed. With such a condition of mind Roger Carbury could have no +sympathy. To him it seemed that a gentleman was disgraced who owed +money to a tradesman which he could not pay. And Lady Carbury's heart +was high with other hopes,—in spite of her hysterics and her fears. +The "Criminal Queens" might be a great literary success. She almost +thought that it would be a success. Messrs. Leadham and Loiter, the +publishers, were civil to her. Mr. Broune had promised. Mr. Booker +had said that he would see what could be done. She had gathered from +Mr. Alf's caustic and cautious words that the book would be noticed +in the "Evening Pulpit." No;—she would not take dear Roger's advice +as to leaving London. But she would continue to ask Roger's advice. +Men like to have their advice asked. And, if possible, she would +arrange the marriage. What country retirement could be so suitable +for a Lady Carbury when she wished to retire for awhile,—as Carbury +Manor, the seat of her own daughter? And then her mind would fly away +into regions of bliss. If only by the end of this season Henrietta +could be engaged to her cousin, Felix be the husband of the richest +bride in Europe, and she be the acknowledged author of the cleverest +book of the year, what a Paradise of triumph might still be open to +her after all her troubles! Then the sanguine nature of the woman +would bear her up almost to exultation, and for an hour she would be +happy, in spite of everything.</p> + +<p>A few days after the ball Roger Carbury was up in town, and was +closeted with her in her back drawing-room. The declared cause of his +coming was the condition of the baronet's affairs and the +indispensable necessity,—so Roger thought,—of taking some steps by +which at any rate the young man's present expenses might be brought +to an end. It was horrible to him that a man who had not a shilling +in the world or any prospect of a shilling, who had nothing and never +thought of earning anything, should have hunters! He was very much in +earnest about it, and quite prepared to speak his mind to the young +man himself,—if he could get hold of him. "Where is he now, Lady +Carbury;—at this moment?"</p> + +<p>"I think he's out with the Baron." Being "out with the Baron" meant +that the young man was hunting with the stag hounds some forty miles +away from London.</p> + +<p>"How does he manage it? Whose horses does he ride? Who pays for +them?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be angry with me, Roger. What can I do to prevent it?"</p> + +<p>"I think you should refuse to have anything to do with him while he +continues in such courses."</p> + +<p>"My own son!"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—exactly. But what is to be the end of it? Is he to be allowed +to ruin you, and Hetta? It can't go on long."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't have me throw him over."</p> + +<p>"I think he is throwing you over. And then it is so thoroughly +dishonest,—so ungentlemanlike! I don't understand how it goes on +from day to day. I suppose you don't supply him with ready money."</p> + +<p>"He has had a little."</p> + +<p>Roger frowned angrily. "I can understand that you should provide him +with bed and food, but not that you should pander to his vices by +giving him money." This was very plain speaking, and Lady Carbury +winced under it. "The kind of life that he is leading requires a +large income of itself. I understand the thing, and know that with +all I have in the world I could not do it myself."</p> + +<p>"You are so different."</p> + +<p>"I am older of course,—very much older. But he is not so young that +he should not begin to comprehend. Has he any money beyond what you +give him?"</p> + +<p>Then Lady Carbury revealed certain suspicions which she had begun to +entertain during the last day or two. "I think he has been playing."</p> + +<p>"That is the way to lose money,—not to get it," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"I suppose somebody wins,—sometimes."</p> + +<p>"They who win are the sharpers. They who lose are the dupes. I would +sooner that he were a fool than a knave."</p> + +<p>"O Roger, you are so severe!"</p> + +<p>"You say he plays. How would he pay, were he to lose?"</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about it. I don't even know that he does play; but I +have reason to think that during the last week he has had money at +his command. Indeed I have seen it. He comes home at all manner of +hours and sleeps late. Yesterday I went into his room about ten and +did not wake him. There were notes and gold lying on his table;—ever +so much."</p> + +<p>"Why did you not take them?"</p> + +<p>"What; rob my own boy?"</p> + +<p>"When you tell me that you are absolutely in want of money to pay +your own bills, and that he has not hesitated to take yours from you! +Why does he not repay you what he has borrowed?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, indeed;—why not? He ought to if he has it. And there were +papers there;—I. O. U.'s, signed by other men."</p> + +<p>"You looked at them."</p> + +<p>"I saw as much as that. It is not that I am curious, but one does +feel about one's own son. I think he has bought another horse. A +groom came here and said something about it to the servants."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear;—oh dear!"</p> + +<p>"If you could only induce him to stop the gambling! Of course it is +very bad whether he wins or loses,—though I am sure that Felix would +do nothing unfair. Nobody ever said that of him. If he has won money, +it would be a great comfort if he would let me have some of it,—for, +to tell the truth, I hardly know how to turn. I am sure nobody can +say that I spend it on myself."</p> + +<p>Then Roger again repeated his advice. There could be no use in +attempting to keep up the present kind of life in Welbeck Street. +Welbeck Street might be very well without a penniless spendthrift +such as Sir Felix, but must be ruinous under the present conditions. +If Lady Carbury felt, as no doubt she did feel, bound to afford a +home to her ruined son in spite of all his wickedness and folly, that +home should be found far away from London. If he chose to remain in +London, let him do so on his own resources. The young man should make +up his mind to do something for himself. A career might possibly be +opened for him in India. "If he be a man he would sooner break stones +than live on you," said Roger. Yes, he would see his cousin to-morrow +and speak to him;—that is if he could possibly find him. "Young men +who gamble all night, and hunt all day are not easily found." But he +would come at twelve as Felix generally breakfasted at that hour. +Then he gave an assurance to Lady Carbury which to her was not the +least comfortable part of the interview. In the event of her son not +giving her the money which she at once required he, Roger, would lend +her a hundred pounds till her half year's income should be due. After +that his voice changed altogether, as he asked a question on another +subject, "Can I see Henrietta to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly;—why not? She is at home now, I think."</p> + +<p>"I will wait till to-morrow,—when I call to see Felix. I should like +her to know that I am coming. Paul Montague was in town the other +day. He was here, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—he called."</p> + +<p>"Was that all you saw of him?"</p> + +<p>"He was at the Melmottes' ball. Felix got a card for him;—and we +were there. Has he gone down to Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"No;—not to Carbury. I think he had some business about his partners +at Liverpool. There is another case of a young man without anything +to do. Not that Paul is at all like Sir Felix." This he was induced +to say by the spirit of honesty which was always strong within him.</p> + +<p>"Don't be too hard upon poor Felix," said Lady Carbury. Roger, as he +took his leave, thought that it would be impossible to be too hard +upon Sir Felix Carbury.</p> + +<p>The next morning Lady Carbury was in her son's bedroom before he was +up, and with incredible weakness told him that his cousin Roger was +coming to lecture him. "What the Devil's the use of it?" said Felix +from beneath the bedclothes.</p> + +<p>"If you speak to me in that way, Felix, I must leave the room."</p> + +<p>"But what is the use of his coming to me? I know what he has got to +say just as if it were said. It's all very well preaching sermons to +good people, but nothing ever was got by preaching to people who +ain't good."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't you be good?"</p> + +<p>"I shall do very well, mother, if that fellow will leave me alone. I +can play my hand better than he can play it for me. If you'll go now +I'll get up." She had intended to ask him for some of the money which +she believed he still possessed, but her courage failed her. If she +asked for his money, and took it, she would in some fashion recognise +and tacitly approve his gambling. It was not yet eleven, and it was +early for him to leave his bed; but he had resolved that he would get +out of the house before that horrible bore should be upon him with +his sermon. To do this he must be energetic. He was actually eating +his breakfast at half-past eleven, and had already contrived in his +mind how he would turn the wrong way as soon as he got into the +street,—towards Marylebone Road, by which route Roger would +certainly not come. He left the house at ten minutes before twelve, +cunningly turned away, dodging round by the first corner,—and just +as he had turned it encountered his cousin. Roger, anxious in regard +to his errand, with time at his command, had come before the hour +appointed and had strolled about, thinking not of Felix but of +Felix's sister. The baronet felt that he had been caught,—caught +unfairly, but by no means abandoned all hope of escape. "I was going +to your mother's house on purpose to see you," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"Were you indeed? I am so sorry. I have an engagement out here with a +fellow which I must keep. I could meet you at any other time, you +know."</p> + +<p>"You can come back for ten minutes," said Roger, taking him by the +arm.</p> + +<p>"Well;—not conveniently at this moment."</p> + +<p>"You must manage it. I am here at your mother's request, and can't +afford to remain in town day after day looking for you. I go down to +Carbury this afternoon. Your friend can wait. Come along." His +firmness was too much for Felix, who lacked the courage to shake his +cousin off violently, and to go his way. But as he returned he +fortified himself with the remembrance of all the money in his +pocket,—for he still had his winnings,—remembered too certain sweet +words which had passed between him and Marie Melmotte since the ball, +and resolved that he would not be "sat upon" by Roger Carbury. The +time was coming,—he might almost say that the time had come,—in +which he might defy Roger Carbury. Nevertheless, he dreaded the words +which were now to be spoken to him with a craven fear.</p> + +<p>"Your mother tells me," said Roger, "that you still keep hunters."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what she calls hunters. I have one that I didn't part +with when the others went."</p> + +<p>"You have only one horse?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—if you want to be exact, I have a hack as well as the horse I +ride."</p> + +<p>"And another up here in town?"</p> + +<p>"Who told you that? No; I haven't. At least there is one staying at +some stables which has been sent for me to look at."</p> + +<p>"Who pays for all these horses?"</p> + +<p>"At any rate I shall not ask you to pay for them."</p> + +<p>"No;—you would be afraid to do that. But you have no scruple in +asking your mother, though you should force her to come to me or to +other friends for assistance. You have squandered every shilling of +your own, and now you are ruining her."</p> + +<p>"That isn't true. I have money of my own."</p> + +<p>"Where did you get it?"</p> + +<p>"This is all very well, Roger; but I don't know that you have any +right to ask me these questions. I have money. If I buy a horse I can +pay for it. If I keep one or two I can pay for them. Of course I owe +a lot of money, but other people owe me money too. I'm all right, and +you needn't frighten yourself."</p> + +<p>"Then why do you beg her last shilling from your mother, and when you +have money not pay it back to her?"</p> + +<p>"She can have the twenty pounds, if you mean that."</p> + +<p>"I mean that, and a good deal more than that. I suppose you have been +gambling."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I am bound to answer your questions, and I won't +do it. If you have nothing else to say, I'll go about my own +business."</p> + +<p>"I have something else to say, and I mean to say it." Felix had +walked towards the door, but Roger was before him, and now leaned his +back against it.</p> + +<p>"I am not going to be kept here against my will," said Felix.</p> + +<p>"You have to listen to me, so you may as well sit still. Do you wish +to be looked upon as a blackguard by all the world?"</p> + +<p>"Oh,—go on."</p> + +<p>"That is what it will be. You have spent every shilling of your +own,—and because your mother is affectionate and weak, you are now +spending all that she has, and are bringing her and your sister to +beggary."</p> + +<p>"I don't ask them to pay anything for me."</p> + +<p>"Not when you borrow her money?"</p> + +<p>"There is the £20. Take it and give it her," said Felix, counting the +notes out of the pocket-book. "When I asked her for it, I did not +think she would make such a row about such a trifle." Roger took up +the notes and thrust them into his pocket. "Now, have you done?" said +Felix.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill007"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill007.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill007-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"There’s the £20."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"There’s the £20."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill007.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"Not quite. Do you purpose that your mother should keep you and +clothe you for the rest of your life?"</p> + +<p>"I hope to be able to keep her before long, and to do it much better +than it has ever been done before. The truth is, Roger, you know +nothing about it. If you'll leave me to myself, you'll find that I +shall do very well."</p> + +<p>"I don't know any young man who ever did worse, or one who had less +moral conception of what is right and wrong."</p> + +<p>"Very well. That's your idea. I differ from you. People can't all +think alike, you know. Now, if you please, I'll go."</p> + +<p>Roger felt that he hadn't half said what he had to say, but he hardly +knew how to get it said. And of what use could it be to talk to a +young man who was altogether callous and without feeling? The remedy +for the evil ought to be found in the mother's conduct rather than +the son's. She, were she not foolishly weak, would make up her mind +to divide herself utterly from her son, at any rate for a while, and +to leave him to suffer utter penury. That would bring him round. And +then when the agony of want had tamed him, he would be content to +take bread and meat from her hand and would be humble. At present he +had money in his pocket, and would eat and drink of the best, and be +free from inconvenience for the moment. While this prosperity +remained it would be impossible to touch him. "You will ruin your +sister, and break your mother's heart," said Roger, firing a last +harmless shot after the young reprobate.</p> + +<p>When Lady Carbury came into the room, which she did as soon as the +front door was closed behind her son, she seemed to think that a +great success had been achieved because the £20 had been recovered. +"I knew he would give it me back, if he had it," she said.</p> + +<p>"Why did he not bring it to you of his own accord?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose he did not like to talk about it. Has he said that he got +it by—playing?"</p> + +<p>"No,—he did not speak a word of truth while he was here. You may +take it for granted that he did get it by gambling. How else should +he have it? And you may take it for granted also that he will lose +all that he has got. He talked in the wildest way,—saying that he +would soon have a home for you and Hetta."</p> + +<p>"Did he;—dear boy!"</p> + +<p>"Had he any meaning?"</p> + +<p>"Oh; yes. And it is quite on the cards that it should be so. You have +heard of Miss Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"I have heard of the great French swindler who has come over here, +and who is buying his way into society."</p> + +<p>"Everybody visits them now, Roger."</p> + +<p>"More shame for everybody. Who knows anything about him,—except that +he left Paris with the reputation of a specially prosperous rogue? +But what of him?"</p> + +<p>"Some people think that Felix will marry his only child. Felix is +handsome; isn't he? What young man is there nearly so handsome? They +say she'll have half a million of money."</p> + +<p>"That's his game;—is it?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you think he is right?"</p> + +<p>"No; I think he's wrong. But we shall hardly agree with each other +about that. Can I see Henrietta for a few minutes?"</p> + + +<p><a id="c8"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> +<h4>LOVE-SICK.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Roger Carbury said well that it was very improbable that he and his +cousin, the widow, should agree in their opinions as to the +expedience of fortune-hunting by marriage. It was impossible that +they should ever understand each other. To Lady Carbury the prospect +of a union between her son and Miss Melmotte was one of unmixed joy +and triumph. Could it have been possible that Marie Melmotte should +be rich and her father be a man doomed to a deserved sentence in a +penal settlement, there might perhaps be a doubt about it. The wealth +even in that case would certainly carry the day against the disgrace, +and Lady Carbury would find reasons why "poor Marie" should not be +punished for her father's sins, even while enjoying the money which +those sins had produced. But how different were the existing facts? +Mr. Melmotte was not at the galleys, but was entertaining duchesses +in Grosvenor Square. People said that Mr. Melmotte had a reputation +throughout Europe as a gigantic swindler,—as one who in the +dishonest and successful pursuit of wealth had stopped at nothing. +People said of him that he had framed and carried out long +premeditated and deeply laid schemes for the ruin of those who had +trusted him, that he had swallowed up the property of all who had +come in contact with him, that he was fed with the blood of widows +and children;—but what was all this to Lady Carbury? If the +duchesses condoned it all, did it become her to be prudish? People +also said that Melmotte would yet get a fall,—that a man who had +risen after such a fashion never could long keep his head up. But he +might keep his head up long enough to give Marie her fortune. And +then Felix wanted a fortune so badly;—was so exactly the young man +who ought to marry a fortune! To Lady Carbury there was no second way +of looking at the matter.</p> + +<p>And to Roger Carbury also there was no second way of looking at it. +That condonation of antecedents which, in the hurry of the world, is +often vouchsafed to success, that growing feeling which induces +people to assert to themselves that they are not bound to go outside +the general verdict, and that they may shake hands with whomsoever +the world shakes hands with, had never reached him. The old-fashioned +idea that the touching of pitch will defile still prevailed with him. +He was a gentleman;—and would have felt himself disgraced to enter +the house of such a one as Augustus Melmotte. Not all the duchesses +in the peerage, or all the money in the city, could alter his notions +or induce him to modify his conduct. But he knew that it would be +useless for him to explain this to Lady Carbury. He trusted, however, +that one of the family might be taught to appreciate the difference +between honour and dishonour. Henrietta Carbury had, he thought, a +higher turn of mind than her mother, and had as yet been kept free +from soil. As for Felix,—he had so grovelled in the gutters as to be +dirt all over. Nothing short of the prolonged sufferings of half a +life could cleanse him.</p> + +<p>He found Henrietta alone in the drawing-room. "Have you seen Felix?" +she said, as soon as they had greeted each other.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I caught him in the street."</p> + +<p>"We are so unhappy about him."</p> + +<p>"I cannot say but that you have reason. I think, you know, that your +mother indulges him foolishly."</p> + +<p>"Poor mamma! She worships the very ground he treads on."</p> + +<p>"Even a mother should not throw her worship away like that. The fact +is that your brother will ruin you both if this goes on."</p> + +<p>"What can mamma do?"</p> + +<p>"Leave London, and then refuse to pay a shilling on his behalf."</p> + +<p>"What would Felix do in the country?"</p> + +<p>"If he did nothing, how much better would that be than what he does +in town? You would not like him to become a professional gambler."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Carbury; you do not mean that he does that!"</p> + +<p>"It seems cruel to say such things to you,—but in a matter of such +importance one is bound to speak the truth. I have no influence over +your mother; but you may have some. She asks my advice, but has not +the slightest idea of listening to it. I don't blame her for that; +but I am anxious for the sake of—, for the sake of the family."</p> + +<p>"I am sure you are."</p> + +<p>"Especially for your sake. You will never throw him over."</p> + +<p>"You would not ask me to throw him over."</p> + +<p>"But he may drag you into the mud. For his sake you have already been +taken into the house of that man Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"I do not think that I shall be injured by anything of that kind," +said Henrietta, drawing herself up.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me if I seem to interfere."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no;—it is no interference from you."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me then if I am rough. To me it seems that an injury is done +to you if you are made to go to the house of such a one as this man. +Why does your mother seek his society? Not because she likes him; not +because she has any sympathy with him or his family;—but simply +because there is a rich daughter."</p> + +<p>"Everybody goes there, Mr. Carbury."</p> + +<p>"Yes,—that is the excuse which everybody makes. Is that sufficient +reason for you to go to a man's house? Is there not another place to +which we are told that a great many are going, simply because the +road has become thronged and fashionable? Have you no feeling that +you ought to choose your friends for certain reasons of your own? I +admit there is one reason here. They have a great deal of money, and +it is thought possible that he may get some of it by falsely swearing +to a girl that he loves her. After what you have heard, are the +Melmottes people with whom you would wish to be connected?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"I do. I know very well. They are absolutely disgraceful. A social +connection with the first crossing-sweeper would be less +objectionable." He spoke with a degree of energy of which he was +himself altogether unaware. He knit his brows, and his eyes flashed, +and his nostrils were extended. Of course she thought of his own +offer to herself. Of course her mind at once conceived,—not that the +Melmotte connection could ever really affect him, for she felt sure +that she would never accept his offer,—but that he might think that +he would be so affected. Of course she resented the feeling which she +thus attributed to him. But, in truth, he was much too simple-minded +for any such complex idea. "Felix," he continued, "has already +descended so far that I cannot pretend to be anxious as to what +houses he may frequent. But I should be sorry to think that you +should often be seen at Mr. Melmotte's."</p> + +<p>"I think, Mr. Carbury, that mamma will take care that I am not taken +where I ought not to be taken."</p> + +<p>"I wish you to have some opinion of your own as to what is proper for +you."</p> + +<p>"I hope I have. I am sorry you should think that I have not."</p> + +<p>"I am old-fashioned, Hetta."</p> + +<p>"And we belong to a newer and worse sort of world. I dare say it is +so. You have been always very kind, but I almost doubt whether you +can change us now. I have sometimes thought that you and mamma were +hardly fit for each other."</p> + +<p>"I have thought that you and I were,—or possibly might be fit for +each other."</p> + +<p>"Oh,—as for me, I shall always take mamma's side. If mamma chooses +to go to the Melmottes I shall certainly go with her. If that is +contamination, I suppose I must be contaminated. I don't see why I'm +to consider myself better than any one else."</p> + +<p>"I have always thought that you were better than any one else."</p> + +<p>"That was before I went to the Melmottes. I am sure you have altered +your opinion now. Indeed, you have told me so. I am afraid, Mr. +Carbury, you must go your way, and we must go ours."</p> + +<p>He looked into her face as she spoke, and gradually began to perceive +the working of her mind. He was so true himself that he did not +understand that there should be with her even that violet-coloured +tinge of prevarication which women assume as an additional charm. +Could she really have thought that he was attending to his own +possible future interests when he warned her as to the making of new +acquaintances?</p> + +<p>"For myself," he said, putting out his hand and making a slight vain +effort to get hold of hers, "I have only one wish in the world; and +that is, to travel the same road with you. I do not say that you +ought to wish it too; but you ought to know that I am sincere. When I +spoke of the Melmottes, did you believe that I was thinking of +myself?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no;—how should I?"</p> + +<p>"I was speaking to you then as to a cousin who might regard me as an +elder brother. No contact with legions of Melmottes could make you +other to me than the woman on whom my heart has settled. Even were +you in truth disgraced,—could disgrace touch one so pure as you,—it +would be the same. I love you so well that I have already taken you +for better or for worse. I cannot change. My nature is too stubborn +for such changes. Have you a word to say to comfort me?" She turned +away her head, but did not answer him at once. "Do you understand how +much I am in need of comfort?"</p> + +<p>"You can do very well without comfort from me."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed. I shall live, no doubt; but I shall not do very well. As +it is, I am not doing at all well. I am becoming sour and moody, and +ill at ease with my friends. I would have you believe me, at any +rate, when I say I love you."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you mean something."</p> + +<p>"I mean a great deal, dear. I mean all that a man can mean. That is +it. You hardly understand that I am serious to the extent of ecstatic +joy on the one side, and utter indifference to the world on the +other. I shall never give it up till I learn that you are to be +married to some one else."</p> + +<p>"What can I say, Mr. Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"That you will love me."</p> + +<p>"But if I don't?"</p> + +<p>"Say that you will try."</p> + +<p>"No; I will not say that. Love should come without a struggle. I +don't know how one person is to try to love another in that way. I +like you very much; but being married is such a terrible thing."</p> + +<p>"It would not be terrible to me, dear."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—when you found that I was too young for your tastes."</p> + +<p>"I shall persevere, you know. Will you assure me of this,—that if +you promise your hand to another man, you will let me know at once?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I may promise that," she said, after pausing for a moment.</p> + +<p>"There is no one as yet?"</p> + +<p>"There is no one. But, Mr. Carbury, you have no right to question me. +I don't think it generous. I allow you to say things that nobody else +could say because you are a cousin and because mamma trusts you so +much. No one but mamma has a right to ask me whether I care for any +one."</p> + +<p>"Are you angry with me?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"If I have offended you it is because I love you so dearly."</p> + +<p>"I am not offended, but I don't like to be questioned by a gentleman. +I don't think any girl would like it. I am not to tell everybody all +that happens."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps when you reflect how much of my happiness depends upon it +you will forgive me. Good-bye now." She put out her hand to him and +allowed it to remain in his for a moment. "When I walk about the old +shrubberies at Carbury where we used to be together, I am always +asking myself what chance there is of your walking there as the +mistress."</p> + +<p>"There is no chance."</p> + +<p>"I am, of course, prepared to hear you say so. Well; good-bye, and +may God bless you."</p> + +<p>The man had no poetry about him. He did not even care for romance. +All the outside belongings of love which are so pleasant to many men +and which to many women afford the one sweetness in life which they +really relish, were nothing to him. There are both men and women to +whom even the delays and disappointments of love are charming, even +when they exist to the detriment of hope. It is sweet to such persons +to be melancholy, sweet to pine, sweet to feel that they are now +wretched after a romantic fashion as have been those heroes and +heroines of whose sufferings they have read in poetry. But there was +nothing of this with Roger Carbury. He had, as he believed, found the +woman that he really wanted, who was worthy of his love, and now, +having fixed his heart upon her, he longed for her with an amazing +longing. He had spoken the simple truth when he declared that life +had become indifferent to him without her. No man in England could be +less likely to throw himself off the Monument or to blow out his +brains. But he felt numbed in all the joints of his mind by this +sorrow. He could not make one thing bear upon another, so as to +console himself after any fashion. There was but one thing for +him;—to persevere till he got her, or till he had finally lost her. +And should the latter be his fate, as he began to fear that it would +be, then, he would live, but live only, like a crippled man.</p> + +<p>He felt almost sure in his heart of hearts that the girl loved that +other, younger man. That she had never owned to such love he was +quite sure. The man himself and Henrietta also had both assured him +on this point, and he was a man easily satisfied by words and prone +to believe. But he knew that Paul Montague was attached to her, and +that it was Paul's intention to cling to his love. Sorrowfully +looking forward through the vista of future years, he thought he saw +that Henrietta would become Paul's wife. Were it so, what should he +do? Annihilate himself as far as all personal happiness in the world +was concerned, and look solely to their happiness, their prosperity, +and their joys? Be as it were a beneficent old fairy to them, though +the agony of his own disappointment should never depart from him? +Should he do this, and be blessed by them,—or should he let Paul +Montague know what deep resentment such ingratitude could produce? +When had a father been kinder to a son, or a brother to a brother, +than he had been to Paul? His home had been the young man's home, and +his purse the young man's purse. What right could the young man have +to come upon him just as he was perfecting his bliss and rob him of +all that he had in the world? He was conscious all the while that +there was a something wrong in his argument,—that Paul when he +commenced to love the girl knew nothing of his friend's love,—that +the girl, though Paul had never come in the way, might probably have +been as obdurate as she was now to his entreaties. He knew all this +because his mind was clear. But yet the injustice,—at any rate, the +misery was so great, that to forgive it and to reward it would be +weak, womanly, and foolish. Roger Carbury did not quite believe in +the forgiveness of injuries. If you pardon all the evil done to you, +you encourage others to do you evil! If you give your cloak to him +who steals your coat, how long will it be before your shirt and +trousers will go also? Roger Carbury returned that afternoon to +Suffolk, and as he thought of it all throughout the journey, he +resolved that he would never forgive Paul Montague if Paul Montague +should become his cousin's husband.</p> + + +<p><a id="c9"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3> +<h4>THE GREAT RAILWAY TO VERA CRUZ.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>"You have been a guest in his house. Then, I guess, the thing's about +as good as done." These words were spoken with a fine, sharp, nasal +twang by a brilliantly-dressed American gentleman in one of the +smartest private rooms of the great railway hotel at Liverpool, and +they were addressed to a young Englishman who was sitting opposite to +him. Between them there was a table covered with maps, schedules, and +printed programmes. The American was smoking a very large cigar, +which he kept constantly turning in his mouth, and half of which was +inside his teeth. The Englishman had a short pipe. Mr. Hamilton K. +Fisker, of the firm of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, was the +American, and the Englishman was our friend Paul, the junior member +of that firm.</p> + +<p>"But I didn't even speak to him," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"In commercial affairs that matters nothing. It quite justifies you +in introducing me. We are not going to ask your friend to do us a +favour. We don't want to borrow money."</p> + +<p>"I thought you did."</p> + +<p>"If he'll go in for the thing he'd be one of us, and there would be +no borrowing then. He'll join us if he's as clever as they say, +because he'll see his way to making a couple of million of dollars +out of it. If he'd take the trouble to run over and show himself in +San Francisco, he'd make double that. The moneyed men would go in +with him at once, because they know that he understands the game and +has got the pluck. A man who has done what he has by financing in +Europe,—by George! there's no limit to what he might do with us. +We're a bigger people than any of you and have more room. We go after +bigger things, and don't stand shilly-shally on the brink as you do. +But Melmotte pretty nigh beats the best among us. Anyway he should +come and try his luck, and he couldn't have a bigger thing or a safer +thing than this. He'd see it immediately if I could talk to him for +half an hour."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fisker," said Paul mysteriously, "as we are partners, I think I +ought to let you know that many people speak very badly of Mr. +Melmotte's honesty."</p> + +<p>Mr. Fisker smiled gently, turned his cigar twice round in his mouth, +and then closed one eye. "There is always a want of charity," he +said, "when a man is successful."</p> + +<p>The scheme in question was the grand proposal for a South Central +Pacific and Mexican railway, which was to run from the Salt Lake +City, thus branching off from the San Francisco and Chicago +line,—and pass down through the fertile lands of New Mexico and +Arizona, into the territory of the Mexican Republic, run by the city +of Mexico, and come out on the gulf at the port of Vera Cruz. Mr. +Fisker admitted at once that it was a great undertaking, acknowledged +that the distance might be perhaps something over 2,000 miles, +acknowledged that no computation had or perhaps could be made as to +the probable cost of the railway; but seemed to think that questions +such as these were beside the mark and childish. Melmotte, if he +would go into the matter at all, would ask no such questions.</p> + +<p>But we must go back a little. Paul Montague had received a telegram +from his partner, Hamilton K. Fisker, sent on shore at Queenstown +from one of the New York liners, requesting him to meet Fisker at +Liverpool immediately. With this request he had felt himself bound to +comply. Personally he had disliked Fisker,—and perhaps not the less +so because when in California he had never found himself able to +resist the man's good humour, audacity, and cleverness combined. He +had found himself talked into agreeing with any project which Mr. +Fisker might have in hand. It was altogether against the grain with +him, and yet by his own consent, that the flour-mill had been opened +at Fiskerville. He trembled for his money and never wished to see +Fisker again; but still, when Fisker came to England, he was proud to +remember that Fisker was his partner, and he obeyed the order and +went down to Liverpool.</p> + +<p>If the flour-mill had frightened him, what must the present project +have done! Fisker explained that he had come with two objects,—first +to ask the consent of the English partner to the proposed change in +their business, and secondly to obtain the co-operation of English +capitalists. The proposed change in the business meant simply the +entire sale of the establishment at Fiskerville, and the absorption +of the whole capital in the work of getting up the railway. "If you +could realise all the money it wouldn't make a mile of the railway," +said Paul. Mr. Fisker laughed at him. The object of Fisker, Montague, +and Montague was not to make a railway to Vera Cruz, but to float a +company. Paul thought that Mr. Fisker seemed to be indifferent +whether the railway should ever be constructed or not. It was clearly +his idea that fortunes were to be made out of the concern before a +spadeful of earth had been moved. If brilliantly printed programmes +might avail anything, with gorgeous maps, and beautiful little +pictures of trains running into tunnels beneath snowy mountains and +coming out of them on the margin of sunlit lakes, Mr. Fisker had +certainly done much. But Paul, when he saw all these pretty things, +could not keep his mind from thinking whence had come the money to +pay for them. Mr. Fisker had declared that he had come over to obtain +his partner's consent, but it seemed to that partner that a great +deal had been done without any consent. And Paul's fears on this hand +were not allayed by finding that on all these beautiful papers he +himself was described as one of the agents and general managers of +the company. Each document was signed Fisker, Montague, and Montague. +References on all matters were to be made to Fisker, Montague, and +Montague,—and in one of the documents it was stated that a member of +the firm had proceeded to London with the view of attending to +British interests in the matter. Fisker had seemed to think that his +young partner would express unbounded satisfaction at the greatness +which was thus falling upon him. A certain feeling of importance, not +altogether unpleasant, was produced, but at the same time there was +another conviction forced upon Montague's mind, not altogether +pleasant, that his money was being made to disappear without any +consent given by him, and that it behoved him to be cautious lest +such consent should be extracted from him unawares.</p> + +<p>"What has become of the mill?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"We have put an agent into it."</p> + +<p>"Is not that dangerous? What check have you on him?"</p> + +<p>"He pays us a fixed sum, sir. But, my word! when there is such a +thing as this on hand a trumpery mill like that is not worth speaking +of."</p> + +<p>"You haven't sold it?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—no. But we've arranged a price for a sale."</p> + +<p>"You haven't taken the money for it?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—yes; we have. We've raised money on it, you know. You see you +weren't there, and so the two resident partners acted for the firm. +But Mr. Montague, you'd better go with us. You had indeed."</p> + +<p>"And about my own income?"</p> + +<p>"That's a flea-bite. When we've got a little ahead with this it won't +matter, sir, whether you spend twenty thousand or forty thousand +dollars a year. We've got the concession from the United States +Government through the territories, and we're in correspondence with +the President of the Mexican Republic. I've no doubt we've an office +open already in Mexico and another at Vera Cruz."</p> + +<p>"Where's the money to come from?"</p> + +<p>"Money to come from, sir? Where do you suppose the money comes from +in all these undertakings? If we can float the shares, the money'll +come in quick enough. We hold three million dollars of the stock +ourselves."</p> + +<p>"Six hundred thousand pounds!" said Montague.</p> + +<p>"We take them at par, of course,—and as we sell we shall pay for +them. But of course we shall only sell at a premium. If we can run +them up even to 110, there would be three hundred thousand dollars. +But we'll do better than that. I must try and see Melmotte at once. +You had better write a letter now."</p> + +<p>"I don't know the man."</p> + +<p>"Never mind. Look here—I'll write it, and you can sign it." +Whereupon Mr. Fisker did write the following +<span class="nowrap">letter:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Langham Hotel, London.<br /> +March 4, 18—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Sir</span>,—I have +the pleasure of informing you that my +partner, Mr. Fisker,—of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, +of San Francisco,—is now in London with the view of +allowing British capitalists to assist in carrying out +perhaps the greatest work of the age,—namely, the South +Central Pacific and Mexican Railway, which is to give +direct communication between San Francisco and the Gulf of +Mexico. He is very anxious to see you upon his arrival, as +he is aware that your co-operation would be desirable. We +feel assured that with your matured judgment in such +matters you would see at once the magnificence of the +enterprise. If you will name a day and an hour, Mr. Fisker +will call upon you.</p> + +<p>I have to thank you and Madame Melmotte for a very +pleasant evening spent at your house last week.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fisker proposes returning to New York. I shall remain +here, superintending the British interests which may be +involved.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind8">I have the honour to be,</span><br /> +<span class="ind10">Dear Sir,</span><br /> +<span class="ind12">Most faithfully yours.</span></p> + +<p class="ind14">—— ——.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>"But I have never said that I would superintend the interests," said +Montague.</p> + +<p>"You can say so now. It binds you to nothing. You regular John Bull +Englishmen are so full of scruples that you lose as much of life as +should serve to make an additional fortune."</p> + +<p>After some further conversation Paul Montague recopied the letter and +signed it. He did it with doubt,—almost with dismay. But he told +himself that he could do no good by refusing. If this wretched +American, with his hat on one side and rings on his fingers, had so +far got the upper hand of Paul's uncle as to have been allowed to do +what he liked with the funds of the partnership, Paul could not stop +it. On the following morning they went up to London together, and in +the course of the afternoon Mr. Fisker presented himself in Abchurch +Lane. The letter written at Liverpool, but dated from the Langham +Hotel, had been posted at the Euston Square Railway Station at the +moment of Fisker's arrival. Fisker sent in his card, and was asked to +wait. In the course of twenty minutes he was ushered into the great +man's presence by no less a person than Miles Grendall.</p> + +<p>It has been already said that Mr. Melmotte was a big man with large +whiskers, rough hair, and with an expression of mental power on a +harsh vulgar face. He was certainly a man to repel you by his +presence unless attracted to him by some internal consideration. He +was magnificent in his expenditure, powerful in his doings, +successful in his business, and the world around him therefore was +not repelled. Fisker, on the other hand, was a shining little +man,—perhaps about forty years of age, with a well-twisted +moustache, greasy brown hair, which was becoming bald at the top, +good-looking if his features were analysed, but insignificant in +appearance. He was gorgeously dressed, with a silk waistcoat and +chains, and he carried a little stick. One would at first be inclined +to say that Fisker was not much of a man; but after a little +conversation most men would own that there was something in Fisker. +He was troubled by no shyness, by no scruples, and by no fears. His +mind was not capacious, but such as it was it was his own, and he +knew how to use it.</p> + +<p>Abchurch Lane is not a grand site for the offices of a merchant +prince. Here, at a small corner house, there was a small brass plate +on a swing door, bearing the words "Melmotte & Co." Of whom the Co. +was composed no one knew. In one sense Mr. Melmotte might be said to +be in company with all the commercial world, for there was no +business to which he would refuse his co-operation on certain terms. +But he had never burthened himself with a partner in the usual sense +of the term. Here Fisker found three or four clerks seated at desks, +and was desired to walk up-stairs. The steps were narrow and crooked, +and the rooms were small and irregular. Here he stayed for a while in +a small dark apartment in which "The Daily Telegraph" was left for +the amusement of its occupant till Miles Grendall announced to him +that Mr. Melmotte would see him. The millionaire looked at him for a +moment or two, just condescending to touch with his fingers the hand +which Fisker had projected.</p> + +<p>"I don't seem to remember," he said, "the gentleman who has done me +the honour of writing to me about you."</p> + +<p>"I dare say not, Mr. Melmotte. When I'm at home in San Francisco, I +make acquaintance with a great many gents whom I don't remember +afterwards. My partner I think told me that he went to your house +with his friend, Sir Felix Carbury."</p> + +<p>"I know a young man called Sir Felix Carbury."</p> + +<p>"That's it. I could have got any amount of introductions to you if I +had thought this would not have sufficed." Mr. Melmotte bowed. "Our +account here in London is kept with the City and West End Joint +Stock. But I have only just arrived, and as my chief object in coming +to London is to see you, and as I met my partner, Mr. Montague, in +Liverpool, I took a note from him and came on straight."</p> + +<p>"And what can I do for you, Mr. Fisker?"</p> + +<p>Then Mr. Fisker began his account of the Great South Central Pacific +and Mexican Railway, and exhibited considerable skill by telling it +all in comparatively few words. And yet he was gorgeous and florid. +In two minutes he had displayed his programme, his maps, and his +pictures before Mr. Melmotte's eyes, taking care that Mr. Melmotte +should see how often the names of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, +reappeared upon them. As Mr. Melmotte read the documents, Fisker from +time to time put in a word. But the words had no reference at all to +the future profits of the railway, or to the benefit which such means +of communication would confer upon the world at large; but applied +solely to the appetite for such stock as theirs, which might +certainly be produced in the speculating world by a proper +manipulation of the affairs.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill009"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill009.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill009-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="Then Mr. Fisker began his account." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">Then + Mr. Fisker began his account.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill009.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"You seem to think you couldn't get it taken up in your own country," +said Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"There's not a doubt about getting it all taken up there. Our folk, +sir, are quick enough at the game; but you don't want me to teach +you, Mr. Melmotte, that nothing encourages this kind of thing like +competition. When they hear at St. Louis and Chicago that the thing +is alive in London, they'll be alive there. And it's the same here, +sir. When they know that the stock is running like wildfire in +America, they'll make it run here too."</p> + +<p>"How far have you got?"</p> + +<p>"What we've gone to work upon is a concession for making the line +from the United States Congress. We're to have the land for nothing, +of course, and a grant of one thousand acres round every station, the +stations to be twenty-five miles apart."</p> + +<p>"And the land is to be made over to you,—when?"</p> + +<p>"When we have made the line up to the station." Fisker understood +perfectly that Mr. Melmotte did not ask the question in reference to +any value that he might attach to the possession of such lands, but +to the attractiveness of such a prospectus in the eyes of the outside +world of speculators.</p> + +<p>"And what do you want me to do, Mr. Fisker?"</p> + +<p>"I want to have your name there," he said. And he placed his finger +down on a spot on which it was indicated that there was, or was to +be, a chairman of an English Board of Directors, but with a space for +the name, hitherto blank.</p> + +<p>"Who are to be your directors here, Mr. Fisker?"</p> + +<p>"We should ask you to choose them, sir. Mr. Paul Montague should be +one, and perhaps his friend Sir Felix Carbury might be another. We +could get probably one of the Directors of the City and West End. But +we would leave it all to you,—as also the amount of stock you would +like to take yourself. If you gave yourself to it, heart and soul, +Mr. Melmotte, it would be the finest thing that there has been out +for a long time. There would be such a mass of stock!"</p> + +<p>"You have to back that with a certain amount of paid-up capital?"</p> + +<p>"We take care, sir, in the West not to cripple commerce too closely +by old-fashioned bandages. Look at what we've done already, sir, by +having our limbs pretty free. Look at our line, sir, right across the +continent, from San Francisco to New York. Look +<span class="nowrap">at—"</span></p> + +<p>"Never mind that, Mr. Fisker. People wanted to go from New York to +San Francisco, and I don't know that they do want to go to Vera Cruz. +But I will look at it, and you shall hear from me." The interview was +over, and Mr. Fisker was contented with it. Had Mr. Melmotte not +intended at least to think of it he would not have given ten minutes +to the subject. After all, what was wanted from Mr. Melmotte was +little more than his name, for the use of which Mr. Fisker proposed +that he should receive from the speculative public two or three +hundred thousand pounds.</p> + +<p>At the end of a fortnight from the date of Mr. Fisker's arrival in +London, the company was fully launched in England, with a body of +London directors, of whom Mr. Melmotte was the chairman. Among the +directors were Lord Alfred Grendall, Sir Felix Carbury, Samuel +Cohenlupe, Esq., Member of Parliament for Staines, a gentleman of the +Jewish persuasion, Lord Nidderdale, who was also in Parliament, and +Mr. Paul Montague. It may be thought that the directory was not +strong, and that but little help could be given to any commercial +enterprise by the assistance of Lord Alfred or Sir Felix;—but it was +felt that Mr. Melmotte was himself so great a tower of strength that +the fortune of the company,—as a company,—was made.</p> + + +<p><a id="c10"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3> +<h4>MR. FISKER'S SUCCESS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Mr. Fisker was fully satisfied with the progress he had made, but he +never quite succeeded in reconciling Paul Montague to the whole +transaction. Mr. Melmotte was indeed so great a reality, such a fact +in the commercial world of London, that it was no longer possible for +such a one as Montague to refuse to believe in the scheme. Melmotte +had the telegraph at his command, and had been able to make as close +inquiries as though San Francisco and Salt Lake City had been suburbs +of London. He was chairman of the British branch of the Company, and +had had shares allocated to him,—or as he said to the house,—to the +extent of two millions of dollars. But still there was a feeling of +doubt, and a consciousness that Melmotte, though a tower of strength, +was thought by many to have been built upon the sands.</p> + +<p>Paul had now of course given his full authority to the work, much in +opposition to the advice of his old friend Roger Carbury,—and had +come up to live in town, that he might personally attend to the +affairs of the great railway. There was an office just behind the +Exchange, with two or three clerks and a secretary, the latter +position being held by Miles Grendall, Esq. Paul, who had a +conscience in the matter and was keenly alive to the fact that he was +not only a director but was also one of the firm of Fisker, Montague, +and Montague which was responsible for the whole affair, was +grievously anxious to be really at work, and would attend most +inopportunely at the Company's offices. Fisker, who still lingered in +London, did his best to put a stop to this folly, and on more than +one occasion somewhat snubbed his partner. "My dear fellow, what's +the use of your flurrying yourself? In a thing of this kind, when it +has once been set agoing, there is nothing else to do. You may have +to work your fingers off before you can make it move, and then fail. +But all that has been done for you. If you go there on the Thursdays +that's quite as much as you need do. You don't suppose that such a +man as Melmotte would put up with any real interference." Paul +endeavoured to assert himself, declaring that as one of the managers +he meant to take a part in the management;—that his fortune, such as +it was, had been embarked in the matter, and was as important to him +as was Mr. Melmotte's fortune to Mr. Melmotte. But Fisker got the +better of him and put him down. "Fortune! what fortune had either of +us? a few beggarly thousands of dollars not worth talking of, and +barely sufficient to enable a man to look at an enterprise. And now +where are you? Look here, sir;—there's more to be got out of the +smashing up of such an affair as this, if it should smash up, than +could be made by years of hard work out of such fortunes as yours and +mine in the regular way of trade."</p> + +<p>Paul Montague certainly did not love Mr. Fisker personally, nor did +he relish his commercial doctrines; but he allowed himself to be +carried away by them. "When and how was I to have helped myself?" he +wrote to Roger Carbury. "The money had been raised and spent before +this man came here at all. It's all very well to say that he had no +right to do it; but he had done it. I couldn't even have gone to law +with him without going over to California, and then I should have got +no redress." Through it all he disliked Fisker, and yet Fisker had +one great merit which certainly recommended itself warmly to +Montague's appreciation. Though he denied the propriety of Paul's +interference in the business, he quite acknowledged Paul's right to a +share in the existing dash of prosperity. As to the real facts of the +money affairs of the firm he would tell Paul nothing. But he was well +provided with money himself, and took care that his partner should be +in the same position. He paid him all the arrears of his stipulated +income up to the present moment, and put him nominally into +possession of a large number of shares in the railway,—with, +however, an understanding that he was not to sell them till they had +reached ten per cent. above par, and that in any sale transacted he +was to touch no other money than the amount of profit which would +thus accrue. What Melmotte was to be allowed to do with his shares, +he never heard. As far as Montague could understand, Melmotte was in +truth to be powerful over everything. All this made the young man +unhappy, restless, and extravagant. He was living in London and had +money at command, but he never could rid himself of the fear that the +whole affair might tumble to pieces beneath his feet and that he +might be stigmatised as one among a gang of swindlers.</p> + +<p>We all know how, in such circumstances, by far the greater proportion +of a man's life will be given up to the enjoyments that are offered +to him and the lesser proportion to the cares, sacrifices, and +sorrows. Had this young director been describing to his intimate +friend the condition in which he found himself, he would have +declared himself to be distracted by doubts, suspicions, and fears +till his life was a burden to him. And yet they who were living with +him at this time found him to be a very pleasant fellow, fond of +amusement, and disposed to make the most of all the good things which +came in his way. Under the auspices of Sir Felix Carbury he had +become a member of the Beargarden, at which best of all possible +clubs the mode of entrance was as irregular as its other proceedings. +When any young man desired to come in who was thought to be unfit for +its style of living, it was shown to him that it would take three +years before his name could be brought up at the usual rate of +vacancies; but in regard to desirable companions the committee had a +power of putting them at the top of the list of candidates and +bringing them in at once. Paul Montague had suddenly become credited +with considerable commercial wealth and greater commercial influence. +He sat at the same Board with Melmotte and Melmotte's men; and was on +this account elected at the Beargarden without any of that harassing +delay to which other less fortunate candidates are subjected.</p> + +<p>And,—let it be said with regret, for Paul Montague was at heart +honest and well-conditioned,—he took to living a good deal at the +Beargarden. A man must dine somewhere, and everybody knows that a man +dines cheaper at his club than elsewhere. It was thus he reasoned +with himself. But Paul's dinners at the Beargarden were not cheap. He +saw a good deal of his brother directors, Sir Felix Carbury and Lord +Nidderdale, entertained Lord Alfred more than once at the club, and +had twice dined with his great chairman amidst all the magnificence +of merchant-princely hospitality in Grosvenor Square. It had indeed +been suggested to him by Mr. Fisker that he also ought to enter +himself for the great Marie Melmotte plate. Lord Nidderdale had again +declared his intention of running, owing to considerable pressure put +upon him by certain interested tradesmen, and with this intention had +become one of the directors of the Mexican Railway Company. At the +time, however, of which we are now writing, Sir Felix was the +favourite for the race among fashionable circles generally.</p> + +<p>The middle of April had come, and Fisker was still in London. When +millions of dollars are at stake,—belonging perhaps to widows and +orphans, as Fisker remarked,—a man was forced to set his own +convenience on one side. But this devotion was not left without +reward, for Mr. Fisker had "a good time" in London. He also was made +free of the Beargarden, as an honorary member, and he also spent a +good deal of money. But there is this comfort in great affairs, that +whatever you spend on yourself can be no more than a trifle. +Champagne and ginger-beer are all the same when you stand to win or +lose thousands,—with this only difference, that champagne may have +deteriorating results which the more innocent beverage will not +produce. The feeling that the greatness of these operations relieved +them from the necessity of looking to small expenses operated in the +champagne direction, both on Fisker and Montague, and the result was +deleterious. The Beargarden, no doubt, was a more lively place than +Carbury Manor, but Montague found that he could not wake up on these +London mornings with thoughts as satisfactory as those which attended +his pillow at the old Manor House.</p> + +<p>On Saturday, the 19th of April, Fisker was to leave London on his +return to New York, and on the 18th a farewell dinner was to be given +to him at the club. Mr. Melmotte was asked to meet him, and on such +an occasion all the resources of the club were to be brought forth. +Lord Alfred Grendall was also to be a guest, and Mr. Cohenlupe, who +went about a good deal with Melmotte. Nidderdale, Carbury, Montague, +and Miles Grendall were members of the club, and gave the dinner. No +expense was spared. Herr Vossner purveyed the viands and wines,—and +paid for them. Lord Nidderdale took the chair, with Fisker on his +right hand, and Melmotte on his left, and, for a fast-going young +lord, was supposed to have done the thing well. There were only two +toasts drunk, to the healths of Mr. Melmotte and Mr. Fisker, and two +speeches were of course made by them. Mr. Melmotte may have been held +to have clearly proved the genuineness of that English birth which he +claimed by the awkwardness and incapacity which he showed on the +occasion. He stood with his hands on the table and with his face +turned to his plate blurted out his assurance that the floating of +this railway company would be one of the greatest and most successful +commercial operations ever conducted on either side of the Atlantic. +It was a great thing,—a very great thing;—he had no hesitation in +saying that it was one of the greatest things out. He didn't believe +a greater thing had ever come out. He was happy to give his humble +assistance to the furtherance of so great a thing,—and so on. These +assertions, not varying much one from the other, he jerked out like +so many separate interjections, endeavouring to look his friends in +the face at each, and then turning his countenance back to his plate +as though seeking for inspiration for the next attempt. He was not +eloquent; but the gentlemen who heard him remembered that he was the +great Augustus Melmotte, that he might probably make them all rich +men, and they cheered him to the echo. Lord Alfred had reconciled +himself to be called by his Christian name, since he had been put in +the way of raising two or three hundred pounds on the security of +shares which were to be allotted to him, but of which in the flesh he +had as yet seen nothing. Wonderful are the ways of trade! If one can +only get the tip of one's little finger into the right pie, what +noble morsels, what rich esculents, will stick to it as it is +extracted!</p> + +<p>When Melmotte sat down Fisker made his speech, and it was fluent, +fast, and florid. Without giving it word for word, which would be +tedious, I could not adequately set before the reader's eye the +speaker's pleasing picture of world-wide commercial love and harmony +which was to be produced by a railway from Salt Lake City to Vera +Cruz, nor explain the extent of gratitude from the world at large +which might be claimed by, and would finally be accorded to, the +great firms of Melmotte & Co. of London, and Fisker, Montague, and +Montague of San Francisco. Mr. Fisker's arms were waved gracefully +about. His head was turned now this way and now that, but never +towards his plate. It was very well done. But there was more faith in +one ponderous word from Mr. Melmotte's mouth than in all the +American's oratory.</p> + +<p>There was not one of them then present who had not after some fashion +been given to understand that his fortune was to be made, not by the +construction of the railway, but by the floating of the railway +shares. They had all whispered to each other their convictions on +this head. Even Montague did not beguile himself into an idea that he +was really a director in a company to be employed in the making and +working of a railway. People out of doors were to be advertised into +buying shares, and they who were so to say indoors were to have the +privilege of manufacturing the shares thus to be sold. That was to be +their work, and they all knew it. But now, as there were eight of +them collected together, they talked of humanity at large and of the +coming harmony of nations.</p> + +<p>After the first cigar, Melmotte withdrew, and Lord Alfred went with +him. Lord Alfred would have liked to remain, being a man who enjoyed +tobacco and soda and brandy,—but momentous days had come upon him, +and he thought it well to cling to his Melmotte. Mr. Samuel Cohenlupe +also went, not having taken a very distinguished part in the +entertainment. Then the young men were left alone, and it was soon +proposed that they should adjourn to the cardroom. It had been rather +hoped that Fisker would go with the elders. Nidderdale, who did not +understand much about the races of mankind, had his doubts whether +the American gentleman might not be a "Heathen Chinee," such as he +had read of in poetry. But Mr. Fisker liked to have his amusement as +well as did the others, and went up resolutely into the cardroom. +Here they were joined by Lord Grasslough, and were very quickly at +work, having chosen loo as their game. Mr. Fisker made an allusion to +poker as a desirable pastime, but Lord Nidderdale, remembering his +poetry, shook his head. "Oh! bother," he said, "let's have some game +that Christians play." Mr. Fisker declared himself ready for any +game,—irrespective of religious prejudices.</p> + +<p>It must be explained that the gambling at the Beargarden had gone on +with very little interruption, and that on the whole Sir Felix +Carbury kept his luck. There had of course been vicissitudes, but his +star had been in the ascendant. For some nights together this had +been so continual that Mr. Miles Grendall had suggested to his friend +Lord Grasslough that there must be foul play. Lord Grasslough, who +had not many good gifts, was, at least, not suspicious, and +repudiated the idea. "We'll keep an eye on him," Miles Grendall had +said. "You may do as you like, but I'm not going to watch any one," +Grasslough had replied. Miles had watched, and had watched in vain, +and it may as well be said at once that Sir Felix, with all his +faults, was not as yet a blackleg. Both of them now owed Sir Felix a +considerable sum of money, as did also Dolly Longestaffe, who was not +present on this occasion. Latterly very little ready money had passed +hands,—very little in proportion to the sums which had been written +down on paper,—though Sir Felix was still so well in funds as to +feel himself justified in repudiating any caution that his mother +might give him.</p> + +<p>When I.O.U.'s have for some time passed freely in such a company as +that now assembled the sudden introduction of a stranger is very +disagreeable, particularly when that stranger intends to start for +San Francisco on the following morning. If it could be arranged that +the stranger should certainly lose, no doubt then he would be +regarded as a godsend. Such strangers have ready money in their +pockets, a portion of which would be felt to descend like a soft +shower in a time of drought. When these dealings in unsecured paper +have been going on for a considerable time real bank notes come to +have a loveliness which they never possessed before. But should the +stranger win, then there may arise complications incapable of any +comfortable solution. In such a state of things some Herr Vossner +must be called in, whose terms are apt to be ruinous. On this +occasion things did not arrange themselves comfortably. From the very +commencement Fisker won, and quite a budget of little papers fell +into his possession, many of which were passed to him from the hands +of Sir Felix,—bearing, however, a "G" intended to stand for +Grasslough, or an "N" for Nidderdale, or a wonderful hieroglyphic +which was known at the Beargarden to mean D. +<span class="nowrap">L——,</span> or Dolly +Longestaffe, the fabricator of which was not present on the occasion. +Then there was the M. G. of Miles Grendall, which was a species of +paper peculiarly plentiful and very unattractive on these commercial +occasions. Paul Montague hitherto had never given an I.O.U. at the +Beargarden,—nor of late had our friend Sir Felix. On the present +occasion Montague won, though not heavily. Sir Felix lost +continually, and was almost the only loser. But Mr. Fisker won nearly +all that was lost. He was to start for Liverpool by train at 8.30 +<span class="smallcaps">a.m.</span>, and at +6 <span class="smallcaps">a.m.</span> he +counted up his bits of paper and found himself +the winner of about £600. "I think that most of them came from you, +Sir Felix," he said,—handing the bundle across the table.</p> + +<p>"I dare say they did, but they are all good against these other +fellows." Then Fisker, with most perfect good humour, extracted one +from the mass which indicated Dolly Longestaffe's indebtedness to the +amount of £50. "That's Longestaffe," said Felix, "and I'll change +that of course." Then out of his pocket-book he extracted other +minute documents bearing that M. G. which was so little esteemed +among them,—and so made up the sum. "You seem to have £150 from +Grasslough, £145 from Nidderdale, and £322 10<i>s.</i> from Grendall," +said the baronet. Then Sir Felix got up as though he had paid his +score. Fisker, with smiling good humour, arranged the little bits of +paper before him and looked round upon the company.</p> + +<p>"This won't do, you know," said Nidderdale. "Mr. Fisker must have his +money before he leaves. You've got it, Carbury."</p> + +<p>"Of course he has," said Grasslough.</p> + +<p>"As it happens I have not," said Sir Felix;—"but what if I had?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fisker starts for New York immediately," said Lord Nidderdale. +"I suppose we can muster £600 among us. Ring the bell for Vossner. I +think Carbury ought to pay the money as he lost it, and we didn't +expect to have our I.O.U.'s brought up in this way."</p> + +<p>"Lord Nidderdale," said Sir Felix, "I have already said that I have +not got the money about me. Why should I have it more than you, +especially as I knew I had I.O.U.'s more than sufficient to meet +anything I could lose when I sat down?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fisker must have his money at any rate," said Lord Nidderdale, +ringing the bell again.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter one straw, my lord," said the American. "Let it be +sent to me to Frisco, in a bill, my lord." And so he got up to take +his hat, greatly to the delight of Miles Grendall.</p> + +<p>But the two young lords would not agree to this. "If you must go this +very minute I'll meet you at the train with the money," said +Nidderdale. Fisker begged that no such trouble should be taken. Of +course he would wait ten minutes if they wished. But the affair was +one of no consequence. Wasn't the post running every day? Then Herr +Vossner came from his bed, suddenly arrayed in a dressing-gown, and +there was a conference in a corner between him, the two lords, and +Mr. Grendall. In a very few minutes Herr Vossner wrote a cheque for +the amount due by the lords, but he was afraid that he had not money +at his banker's sufficient for the greater claim. It was well +understood that Herr Vossner would not advance money to Mr. Grendall +unless others would pledge themselves for the amount.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I'd better send you a bill over to America," said Miles +Grendall, who had taken no part in the matter as long as he was in +the same boat with the lords.</p> + +<p>"Just so. My partner, Montague, will tell you the address." Then +bustling off, taking an affectionate adieu of Paul, shaking hands +with them all round, and looking as though he cared nothing for the +money, he took his leave. "One cheer for the South Central Pacific +and Mexican Railway," he said as he went out of the room.</p> + +<p>Not one there had liked Fisker. His manners were not as their +manners; his waistcoat not as their waistcoats. He smoked his cigar +after a fashion different from theirs, and spat upon the carpet. He +said "my lord" too often, and grated their prejudices equally whether +he treated them with familiarity or deference. But he had behaved +well about the money, and they felt that they were behaving badly. +Sir Felix was the immediate offender, as he should have understood +that he was not entitled to pay a stranger with documents which, by +tacit contract, were held to be good among themselves. But there was +no use now in going back to that. Something must be done.</p> + +<p>"Vossner must get the money," said Nidderdale. "Let's have him up +again."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's my fault," said Miles. "Of course no one thought +he was to be called upon in this sort of way."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't you be called upon?" said Carbury. "You acknowledge +that you owe the money."</p> + +<p>"I think Carbury ought to have paid it," said Grasslough.</p> + +<p>"Grassy, my boy," said the baronet, "your attempts at thinking are +never worth much. Why was I to suppose that a stranger would be +playing among us? Had you a lot of ready money with you to pay if you +had lost it? I don't always walk about with six hundred pounds in my +pocket;—nor do you!"</p> + +<p>"It's no good jawing," said Nidderdale; "let's get the money." Then +Montague offered to undertake the debt himself, saying that there +were money transactions between him and his partner. But this could +not be allowed. He had only lately come among them, had as yet had no +dealing in I.O.U.'s, and was the last man in the company who ought to +be made responsible for the impecuniosity of Miles Grendall. He, the +impecunious one,—the one whose impecuniosity extended to the +absolute want of credit,—sat silent, stroking his heavy moustache.</p> + +<p>There was a second conference between Herr Vossner and the two lords +in another room, which ended in the preparation of a document by +which Miles Grendall undertook to pay to Herr Vossner £450 at the end +of three months, and this was endorsed by the two lords, by Sir +Felix, and by Paul Montague; and in return for this the German +produced £322 10<i>s.</i> in notes and gold. This had taken some +considerable time. Then a cup of tea was prepared and swallowed; +after which Nidderdale, with Montague, started off to meet Fisker at +the railway station. "It'll only be a trifle over £100 each," said +Nidderdale, in the cab.</p> + +<p>"Won't Mr. Grendall pay it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear no. How the devil should he?"</p> + +<p>"Then he shouldn't play."</p> + +<p>"That 'd be hard on him, poor fellow. If you went to his uncle the +duke, I suppose you could get it. Or Buntingford might put it right +for you. Perhaps he might win, you know, some day, and then he'd make +it square. He'd be fair enough if he had it. Poor Miles!"</p> + +<p>They found Fisker wonderfully brilliant with bright rugs, and +greatcoats with silk linings. "We've brought you the tin," said +Nidderdale, accosting him on the platform.</p> + +<p>"Upon my word, my lord, I'm sorry you have taken so much trouble +about such a trifle."</p> + +<p>"A man should always have his money when he wins."</p> + +<p>"We don't think anything about such little matters at Frisco, my +lord."</p> + +<p>"You're fine fellows at Frisco, I dare say. Here we pay up,—when we +can. Sometimes we can't, and then it is not pleasant." Fresh adieus +were made between the two partners, and between the American and the +lord;—and then Fisker was taken off on his way towards Frisco. "He's +not half a bad fellow, but he's not a bit like an Englishman," said +Lord Nidderdale, as he walked out of the station.</p> + + +<p><a id="c11"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3> +<h4>LADY CARBURY AT HOME.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>During the last six weeks Lady Carbury had lived a life of very mixed +depression and elevation. Her great work had come out,—the "Criminal +Queens,"—and had been very widely reviewed. In this matter it had +been by no means all pleasure, in as much as many very hard words had +been said of her. In spite of the dear friendship between herself and +Mr. Alf, one of Mr. Alf's most sharp-nailed subordinates had been set +upon her book, and had pulled it to pieces with almost rabid +malignity. One would have thought that so slight a thing could hardly +have been worthy of such protracted attention. Error after error was +laid bare with merciless prolixity. No doubt the writer of the +article must have had all history at his finger-ends, as in pointing +out the various mistakes made he always spoke of the historical facts +which had been misquoted, misdated, or misrepresented, as being +familiar in all their bearings to every schoolboy of twelve years +old. The writer of the criticism never suggested the idea that he +himself, having been fully provided with books of reference, and +having learned the art of finding in them what he wanted at a +moment's notice, had, as he went on with his work, checked off the +blunders without any more permanent knowledge of his own than a +housekeeper has of coals when she counts so many sacks into the +coal-cellar. He spoke of the parentage of one wicked ancient lady, +and the dates of the frailties of another, with an assurance intended +to show that an exact knowledge of all these details abided with him +always. He must have been a man of vast and varied erudition, and his +name was Jones. The world knew him not, but his erudition was always +there at the command of Mr. Alf,—and his cruelty. The greatness of +Mr. Alf consisted in this, that he always had a Mr. Jones or two +ready to do his work for him. It was a great business, this of Mr. +Alf's, for he had his Jones also for philology, for science, for +poetry, for politics, as well as for history, and one special Jones, +extraordinarily accurate and very well posted up in his references, +entirely devoted to the Elizabethan drama.</p> + +<p>There is the review intended to sell a book,—which comes out +immediately after the appearance of the book, or sometimes before it; +the review which gives reputation, but does not affect the sale, and +which comes a little later; the review which snuffs a book out +quietly; the review which is to raise or lower the author a single +peg, or two pegs, as the case may be; the review which is suddenly to +make an author, and the review which is to crush him. An exuberant +Jones has been known before now to declare aloud that he would crush +a man, and a self-confident Jones has been known to declare that he +has accomplished the deed. Of all reviews, the crushing review is the +most popular, as being the most readable. When the rumour goes abroad +that some notable man has been actually crushed,—been positively +driven over by an entire Juggernaut's car of criticism till his +literary body be a mere amorphous mass,—then a real success has been +achieved, and the Alf of the day has done a great thing; but even the +crushing of a poor Lady Carbury, if it be absolute, is effective. +Such a review will not make all the world call for the "Evening +Pulpit," but it will cause those who do take the paper to be +satisfied with their bargain. Whenever the circulation of such a +paper begins to slacken, the proprietors should, as a matter of +course, admonish their Alf to add a little power to the crushing +department.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury had been crushed by the "Evening Pulpit." We may fancy +that it was easy work, and that Mr. Alf's historical Mr. Jones was +not forced to fatigue himself by the handling of many books of +reference. The errors did lie a little near the surface; and the +whole scheme of the work, with its pandering to bad tastes by +pretended revelations of frequently fabulous crime, was reprobated in +Mr. Jones's very best manner. But the poor authoress, though utterly +crushed, and reduced to little more than literary pulp for an hour or +two, was not destroyed. On the following morning she went to her +publishers, and was closeted for half an hour with the senior +partner, Mr. Leadham. "I've got it all in black and white," she said, +full of the wrong which had been done her, "and can prove him to be +wrong. It was in 1522 that the man first came to Paris, and he +couldn't have been her lover before that. I got it all out of the +'Biographie Universelle.' I'll write to Mr. Alf myself,—a letter to +be published, you know."</p> + +<p>"Pray don't do anything of the kind, Lady Carbury."</p> + +<p>"I can prove that I'm right."</p> + +<p>"And they can prove that you're wrong."</p> + +<p>"I've got all the facts,—and the figures."</p> + +<p>Mr. Leadham did not care a straw for facts or figures,—had no +opinion of his own whether the lady or the reviewer were right; but +he knew very well that the "Evening Pulpit" would surely get the +better of any mere author in such a contention. "Never fight the +newspapers, Lady Carbury. Who ever yet got any satisfaction by that +kind of thing? It's their business, and you are not used to it."</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Alf is my particular friend! It does seem so hard," said +Lady Carbury, wiping hot tears from her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"It won't do us the least harm, Lady Carbury."</p> + +<p>"It'll stop the sale?"</p> + +<p>"Not much. A book of that sort couldn't hope to go on very long, you +know. The 'Breakfast Table' gave it an excellent lift, and came just +at the right time. I rather like the notice in the 'Pulpit,' myself."</p> + +<p>"Like it!" said Lady Carbury, still suffering in every fibre of her +self-love from the soreness produced by those Juggernaut's +car-wheels.</p> + +<p>"Anything is better than indifference, Lady Carbury. A great many +people remember simply that the book has been noticed, but carry away +nothing as to the purport of the review. It's a very good +advertisement."</p> + +<p>"But to be told that I have got to learn the ABC of history,—after +working as I have worked!"</p> + +<p>"That's a mere form of speech, Lady Carbury."</p> + +<p>"You think the book has done pretty well?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty well;—just about what we hoped, you know."</p> + +<p>"There'll be something coming to me, Mr. Leadham?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Leadham sent for a ledger, and turned over a few pages and ran up +a few figures, and then scratched his head. There would be something, +but Lady Carbury was not to imagine that it could be very much. It +did not often happen that a great deal could be made by a first book. +Nevertheless, Lady Carbury, when she left the publisher's shop, did +carry a cheque with her. She was smartly dressed and looked very +well, and had smiled on Mr. Leadham. Mr. Leadham, too, was no more +than man, and had written—a small cheque.</p> + +<p>Mr. Alf certainly had behaved badly to her; but both Mr. Broune of +the "Breakfast Table," and Mr. Booker of the "Literary Chronicle," +had been true to her interests. Lady Carbury had, as she promised, +"done" Mr. Booker's "New Tale of a Tub" in the "Breakfast Table." +That is, she had been allowed, as a reward for looking into Mr. +Broune's eyes, and laying her soft hand on Mr. Broune's sleeve, and +suggesting to Mr. Broune that no one understood her so well as he +did, to bedaub Mr. Booker's very thoughtful book in a very +thoughtless fashion,—and to be paid for her work. What had been said +about his work in the "Breakfast Table" had been very distasteful to +poor Mr. Booker. It grieved his inner contemplative intelligence that +such rubbish should be thrown upon him; but in his outside experience +of life he knew that even the rubbish was valuable, and that he must +pay for it in the manner to which he had unfortunately become +accustomed. So Mr. Booker himself wrote the article on the "Criminal +Queens" in the "Literary Chronicle," knowing that what he wrote would +also be rubbish. "Remarkable vivacity." "Power of delineating +character." "Excellent choice of subject." "Considerable intimacy +with the historical details of various periods." "The literary world +would be sure to hear of Lady Carbury again." The composition of the +review, together with the reading of the book, consumed altogether +perhaps an hour of Mr. Booker's time. He made no attempt to cut the +pages, but here and there read those that were open. He had done this +kind of thing so often, that he knew well what he was about. He could +have reviewed such a book when he was three parts asleep. When the +work was done he threw down his pen and uttered a deep sigh. He felt +it to be hard upon him that he should be compelled, by the exigencies +of his position, to descend so low in literature; but it did not +occur to him to reflect that in fact he was not compelled, and that +he was quite at liberty to break stones, or to starve honestly, if no +other honest mode of carrying on his career was open to him. "If I +didn't, somebody else would," he said to himself.</p> + +<p>But the review in the "Morning Breakfast Table" was the making of +Lady Carbury's book, as far as it ever was made. Mr. Broune saw the +lady after the receipt of the letter given in the first chapter of +this Tale, and was induced to make valuable promises which had been +fully performed. Two whole columns had been devoted to the work, and +the world had been assured that no more delightful mixture of +amusement and instruction had ever been concocted than Lady Carbury's +"Criminal Queens." It was the very book that had been wanted for +years. It was a work of infinite research and brilliant imagination +combined. There had been no hesitation in the laying on of the paint. +At that last meeting Lady Carbury had been very soft, very handsome, +and very winning; Mr. Broune had given the order with good will, and +it had been obeyed in the same feeling.</p> + +<p>Therefore, though the crushing had been very real, there had also +been some elation; and as a net result, Lady Carbury was disposed to +think that her literary career might yet be a success. Mr. Leadham's +cheque had been for a small amount, but it might probably lead the +way to something better. People at any rate were talking about her, +and her Tuesday evenings at home were generally full. But her +literary life, and her literary successes, her flirtations with Mr. +Broune, her business with Mr. Booker, and her crushing by Mr. Alf's +Mr. Jones, were after all but adjuncts to that real inner life of +hers of which the absorbing interest was her son. And with regard to +him too she was partly depressed, and partly elated, allowing her +hopes however to dominate her fears. There was very much to frighten +her. Even the moderate reform in the young man's expenses which had +been effected under dire necessity had been of late abandoned. Though +he never told her anything, she became aware that during the last +month of the hunting season he had hunted nearly every day. She knew, +too, that he had a horse up in town. She never saw him but once in +the day, when she visited him in his bed about noon, and was aware +that he was always at his club throughout the night. She knew that he +was gambling, and she hated gambling as being of all pastimes the +most dangerous. But she knew that he had ready money for his +immediate purposes, and that two or three tradesmen who were gifted +with a peculiar power of annoying their debtors, had ceased to +trouble her in Welbeck Street. For the present, therefore, she +consoled herself by reflecting that his gambling was successful. But +her elation sprung from a higher source than this. From all that she +could hear, she thought it likely that Felix would carry off the +great prize; and then,—should he do that,—what a blessed son would +he have been to her! How constantly in her triumph would she be able +to forget all his vices, his debts, his gambling, his late hours, and +his cruel treatment of herself! As she thought of it the bliss seemed +to be too great for the possibility of realisation. She was taught to +understand that £10,000 a year, to begin with, would be the least of +it; and that the ultimate wealth might probably be such as to make +Sir Felix Carbury the richest commoner in England. In her very heart +of hearts she worshipped wealth, but desired it for him rather than +for herself. Then her mind ran away to baronies and earldoms, and she +was lost in the coming glories of the boy whose faults had already +nearly engulfed her in his own ruin.</p> + +<p>And she had another ground for elation, which comforted her much, +though elation from such a cause was altogether absurd. She had +discovered that her son had become a Director of the South Central +Pacific and Mexican Railway Company. She must have known,—she +certainly did know,—that Felix, such as he was, could not lend +assistance by his work to any company or commercial enterprise in the +world. She was aware that there was some reason for such a choice +hidden from the world, and which comprised and conveyed a falsehood. +A ruined baronet of five-and-twenty, every hour of whose life since +he had been left to go alone had been loaded with vice and +folly,—whose egregious misconduct warranted his friends in regarding +him as one incapable of knowing what principle is,—of what service +could he be, that he should be made a Director? But Lady Carbury, +though she knew that he could be of no service, was not at all +shocked. She was now able to speak up a little for her boy, and did +not forget to send the news by post to Roger Carbury. And her son sat +at the same Board with Mr. Melmotte! What an indication was this of +coming triumphs!</p> + +<p>Fisker had started, as the reader will perhaps remember, on the +morning of Saturday, 19th April, leaving Sir Felix at the Club at +about seven in the morning. All that day his mother was unable to see +him. She found him asleep in his room at noon and again at two; and +when she sought him again he had flown. But on the Sunday she caught +him. "I hope," she said, "you'll stay at home on Tuesday evening." +Hitherto she had never succeeded in inducing him to grace her evening +parties by his presence.</p> + +<p>"All your people are coming! You know, mother, it is such an awful +bore."</p> + +<p>"Madame Melmotte and her daughter will be here."</p> + +<p>"One looks such a fool carrying on that kind of thing in one's own +house. Everybody sees that it has been contrived. And it is such a +pokey, stuffy little place!"</p> + +<p>Then Lady Carbury spoke out her mind. "Felix, I think you must be a +fool. I have given over ever expecting that you would do anything to +please me. I sacrifice everything for you and I do not even hope for +a return. But when I am doing everything to advance your own +interests, when I am working night and day to rescue you from ruin, I +think you might at any rate help a little,—not for me of course, but +for yourself."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by working day and night. I don't want +you to work day and night."</p> + +<p>"There is hardly a young man in London that is not thinking of this +girl, and you have chances that none of them have. I am told they are +going out of town at Whitsuntide, and that she's to meet Lord +Nidderdale down in the country."</p> + +<p>"She can't endure Nidderdale. She says so herself."</p> + +<p>"She will do as she is told,—unless she can be made to be downright +in love with some one like yourself. Why not ask her at once on +Tuesday?"</p> + +<p>"If I'm to do it at all I must do it after my own fashion. I'm not +going to be driven."</p> + +<p>"Of course if you will not take the trouble to be here to see her +when she comes to your own house, you cannot expect her to think that +you really love her."</p> + +<p>"Love her! what a bother there is about loving! Well;—I'll look in. +What time do the animals come to feed?"</p> + +<p>"There will be no feeding. Felix, you are so heartless and so cruel +that I sometimes think I will make up my mind to let you go your own +way and never to speak to you again. My friends will be here about +ten;—I should say from ten till twelve. I think you should be here +to receive her, not later than ten."</p> + +<p>"If I can get my dinner out of my throat by that time, I will come."</p> + +<p>When the Tuesday came, the over-driven young man did contrive to get +his dinner eaten, and his glass of brandy sipped, and his cigar +smoked, and perhaps his game of billiards played, so as to present +himself in his mother's drawing-room not long after half-past ten. +Madame Melmotte and her daughter were already there,—and many +others, of whom the majority were devoted to literature. Among them +Mr. Alf was in the room, and was at this very moment discussing Lady +Carbury's book with Mr. Booker. He had been quite graciously +received, as though he had not authorised the crushing. Lady Carbury +had given him her hand with that energy of affection with which she +was wont to welcome her literary friends, and had simply thrown one +glance of appeal into his eyes as she looked into his face,—as +though asking him how he had found it in his heart to be so cruel to +one so tender, so unprotected, so innocent as herself. "I cannot +stand this kind of thing," said Mr. Alf, to Mr. Booker. "There's a +regular system of touting got abroad, and I mean to trample it down."</p> + +<p>"If you're strong enough," said Mr. Booker.</p> + +<p>"Well, I think I am. I'm strong enough, at any rate, to show that I'm +not afraid to lead the way. I've the greatest possible regard for our +friend here;—but her book is a bad book, a thoroughly rotten book, +an unblushing compilation from half-a-dozen works of established +reputation, in pilfering from which she has almost always managed to +misapprehend her facts, and to muddle her dates. Then she writes to +me and asks me to do the best I can for her. I have done the best I +could."</p> + +<p>Mr. Alf knew very well what Mr. Booker had done, and Mr. Booker was +aware of the extent of Mr. Alf's knowledge. "What you say is all very +right," said Mr. Booker; "only you want a different kind of world to +live in."</p> + +<p>"Just so;—and therefore we must make it different. I wonder how our +friend Broune felt when he saw that his critic had declared that the +'Criminal Queens' was the greatest historical work of modern days."</p> + +<p>"I didn't see the notice. There isn't much in the book, certainly, as +far as I have looked at it. I should have said that violent censure +or violent praise would be equally thrown away upon it. One doesn't +want to break a butterfly on the wheel;—especially a friendly +butterfly."</p> + +<p>"As to the friendship, it should be kept separate. That's my idea," +said Mr. Alf, moving away.</p> + +<p>"I'll never forget what you've done for me,—never!" said Lady +Carbury, holding Mr. Broune's hand for a moment, as she whispered to +him.</p> + +<p>"Nothing more than my duty," said he, smiling.</p> + +<p>"I hope you'll learn to know that a woman can really be grateful," +she replied. Then she let go his hand and moved away to some other +guest. There was a dash of true sincerity in what she had said. Of +enduring gratitude it may be doubtful whether she was capable: but at +this moment she did feel that Mr. Broune had done much for her, and +that she would willingly make him some return of friendship. Of any +feeling of another sort, of any turn at the moment towards +flirtation, of any idea of encouragement to a gentleman who had once +acted as though he were her lover, she was absolutely innocent. She +had forgotten that little absurd episode in their joint lives. She +was at any rate too much in earnest at the present moment to think +about it. But it was otherwise with Mr. Broune. He could not quite +make up his mind whether the lady was or was not in love with +him,—or whether, if she were, it was incumbent on him to indulge +her;—and if so, in what manner. Then as he looked after her, he told +himself that she was certainly very beautiful, that her figure was +distinguished, that her income was certain, and her rank +considerable. Nevertheless, Mr. Broune knew of himself that he was +not a marrying man. He had made up his mind that marriage would not +suit his business, and he smiled to himself as he reflected how +impossible it was that such a one as Lady Carbury should turn him +from his resolution.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad that you have come to-night, Mr. Alf," Lady Carbury +said to the high-minded editor of the "Evening Pulpit."</p> + +<p>"Am I not always glad to come, Lady Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"You are very good. But I +<span class="nowrap">feared,—"</span></p> + +<p>"Feared what, Lady Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"That you might perhaps have felt that I should be unwilling to +welcome you after,—well, after the compliments of last Thursday."</p> + +<p>"I never allow the two things to join themselves together. You see, +Lady Carbury, I don't write all these things myself."</p> + +<p>"No indeed. What a bitter creature you would be if you did."</p> + +<p>"To tell the truth, I never write any of them. Of course we endeavour +to get people whose judgments we can trust, and if, as in this case, +it should unfortunately happen that the judgment of our critic should +be hostile to the literary pretensions of a personal friend of my +own, I can only lament the accident, and trust that my friend may +have spirit enough to divide me as an individual from that Mr. Alf +who has the misfortune to edit a newspaper."</p> + +<p>"It is because you have so trusted me that I am obliged to you," said +Lady Carbury with her sweetest smile. She did not believe a word that +Mr. Alf had said to her. She thought, and thought rightly, that Mr. +Alf's Mr. Jones had taken direct orders from his editor, as to his +treatment of the "Criminal Queens." But she remembered that she +intended to write another book, and that she might perhaps conquer +even Mr. Alf by spirit and courage under her present infliction.</p> + +<p>It was Lady Carbury's duty on the occasion to say pretty things to +everybody. And she did her duty. But in the midst of it all she was +ever thinking of her son and Marie Melmotte, and she did at last +venture to separate the girl from her mother. Marie herself was not +unwilling to be talked to by Sir Felix. He had never bullied her, had +never seemed to scorn her; and then he was so beautiful! She, poor +girl, bewildered among various suitors, utterly confused by the life +to which she was introduced, troubled by fitful attacks of admonition +from her father, who would again, fitfully, leave her unnoticed for a +week at a time; with no trust in her pseudo-mother—for poor Marie +had in truth been born before her father had been a married man, and +had never known what was her own mother's fate,—with no enjoyment in +her present life, had come solely to this conclusion, that it would +be well for her to be taken away somewhere by somebody. Many a varied +phase of life had already come in her way. She could just remember +the dirty street in the German portion of New York in which she had +been born and had lived for the first four years of her life, and +could remember too the poor, hardly-treated woman who had been her +mother. She could remember being at sea, and her sickness,—but could +not quite remember whether that woman had been with her. Then she had +run about the streets of Hamburgh, and had sometimes been very +hungry, sometimes in rags,—and she had a dim memory of some trouble +into which her father had fallen, and that he was away from her for a +time. She had up to the present splendid moment her own convictions +about that absence, but she had never mentioned them to a human +being. Then her father had married her present mother in Francfort. +That she could remember distinctly, as also the rooms in which she +was then taken to live, and the fact that she was told that from +henceforth she was to be a Jewess. But there had soon come another +change. They went from Francfort to Paris, and there they were all +Christians. From that time they had lived in various apartments in +the French capital, but had always lived well. Sometimes there had +been a carriage, sometimes there had been none. And then there came a +time in which she was grown woman enough to understand that her +father was being much talked about. Her father to her had always been +alternately capricious and indifferent rather than cross or cruel, +but just at this period he was cruel both to her and to his wife. And +Madame Melmotte would weep at times and declare that they were all +ruined. Then, at a moment, they burst out into sudden splendour at +Paris. There was an hotel, with carriages and horses almost +unnumbered;—and then there came to their rooms a crowd of dark, +swarthy, greasy men, who were entertained sumptuously; but there were +few women. At this time Marie was hardly nineteen, and young enough +in manner and appearance to be taken for seventeen. Suddenly again +she was told that she was to be taken to London, and the migration +had been effected with magnificence. She was first taken to Brighton, +where the half of an hotel had been hired, and had then been brought +to Grosvenor Square, and at once thrown into the matrimonial market. +No part of her life had been more disagreeable to her, more +frightful, than the first months in which she had been trafficked for +by the Nidderdales and Grassloughs. She had been too frightened, too +much of a coward to object to anything proposed to her, but still had +been conscious of a desire to have some hand in her own future +destiny. Luckily for her, the first attempts at trafficking with the +Nidderdales and Grassloughs had come to nothing; and at length she +was picking up a little courage, and was beginning to feel that it +might be possible to prevent a disposition of herself which did not +suit her own tastes. She was also beginning to think that there might +be a disposition of herself which would suit her own tastes.</p> + +<p>Felix Carbury was standing leaning against a wall, and she was seated +on a chair close to him. "I love you better than anyone in the +world," he said, speaking plainly enough for her to hear, perhaps +indifferent as to the hearing of others.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sir Felix, pray do not talk like that."</p> + +<p>"You knew that before. Now I want you to say whether you will be my +wife."</p> + +<p>"How can I answer that myself? Papa settles everything."</p> + +<p>"May I go to papa?"</p> + +<p>"You may if you like," she replied in a very low whisper. It was thus +that the greatest heiress of the day, the greatest heiress of any day +if people spoke truly, gave herself away to a man without a penny.</p> + + +<p><a id="c12"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3> +<h4>SIR FELIX IN HIS MOTHER'S HOUSE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When all her friends were gone Lady Carbury looked about for her +son,—not expecting to find him, for she knew how punctual was his +nightly attendance at the Beargarden, but still with some faint hope +that he might have remained on this special occasion to tell her of +his fortune. She had watched the whispering, had noticed the cool +effrontery with which Felix had spoken,—for without hearing the +words she had almost known the very moment in which he was +asking,—and had seen the girl's timid face, and eyes turned to the +ground, and the nervous twitching of her hands as she replied. As a +woman, understanding such things, who had herself been wooed, who had +at least dreamed of love, she had greatly disapproved her son's +manner. But yet, if it might be successful, if the girl would put up +with love-making so slight as that, and if the great Melmotte would +accept in return for his money a title so modest as that of her son, +how glorious should her son be to her in spite of his indifference!</p> + +<p>"I heard him leave the house before the Melmottes went," said +Henrietta, when the mother spoke of going up to her son's bedroom.</p> + +<p>"He might have stayed to-night. Do you think he asked her?"</p> + +<p>"How can I say, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"I should have thought you would have been anxious about your +brother. I feel sure he did,—and that she accepted him."</p> + +<p>"If so I hope he will be good to her. I hope he loves her."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't he love her as well as any one else? A girl need not +be odious because she has money. There is nothing disagreeable about +her."</p> + +<p>"No,—nothing disagreeable. I do not know that she is especially +attractive."</p> + +<p>"Who is? I don't see anybody specially attractive. It seems to me you +are quite indifferent about Felix."</p> + +<p>"Do not say that, mamma."</p> + +<p>"Yes you are. You don't understand all that he might be with this +girl's fortune, and what he must be unless he gets money by marriage. +He is eating us both up."</p> + +<p>"I would not let him do that, mamma."</p> + +<p>"It's all very well to say that, but I have some heart. I love him. I +could not see him starve. Think what he might be with £20,000 +a-year!"</p> + +<p>"If he is to marry for that only, I cannot think that they will be +happy."</p> + +<p>"You had better go to bed, Henrietta. You never say a word to comfort +me in all my troubles."</p> + +<p>Then Henrietta went to bed, and Lady Carbury absolutely sat up the +whole night waiting for her son, in order that she might hear his +tidings. She went up to her room, disembarrassed herself of her +finery, and wrapped herself in a white dressing-gown. As she sat +opposite to her glass, relieving her head from its garniture of false +hair, she acknowledged to herself that age was coming on her. She +could hide the unwelcome approach by art,—hide it more completely +than can most women of her age; but, there it was, stealing on her +with short grey hairs over her ears and around her temples, with +little wrinkles round her eyes easily concealed by unobjectionable +cosmetics, and a look of weariness round the mouth which could only +be removed by that self-assertion of herself which practice had made +always possible to her in company, though it now so frequently +deserted her when she was alone.</p> + +<p>But she was not a woman to be unhappy because she was growing old. +Her happiness, like that of most of us, was ever in the +future,—never reached but always coming. She, however, had not +looked for happiness to love and loveliness, and need not therefore +be disappointed on that score. She had never really determined what +it was that might make her happy,—having some hazy aspiration after +social distinction and literary fame, in which was ever commingled +solicitude respecting money. But at the present moment her great +fears and her great hopes were centred on her son. She would not care +how grey might be her hair, or how savage might be Mr. Alf, if her +Felix were to marry this heiress. On the other hand, nothing that +pearl-powder or the "Morning Breakfast Table" could do would avail +anything, unless he could be extricated from the ruin that now +surrounded him. So she went down into the dining-room, that she might +be sure to hear the key in the door, even should she sleep, and +waited for him with a volume of French memoirs in her hand.</p> + +<p>Unfortunate woman! she might have gone to bed and have been duly +called about her usual time, for it was past eight and the full +staring daylight shone into her room when Felix's cab brought him to +the door. The night had been very wretched to her. She had slept, and +the fire had sunk nearly to nothing and had refused to become again +comfortable. She could not keep her mind to her book, and while she +was awake the time seemed to be everlasting. And then it was so +terrible to her that he should be gambling at such hours as these! +Why should he desire to gamble if this girl's fortune was ready to +fall into his hands? Fool, to risk his health, his character, his +beauty, the little money which at this moment of time might be so +indispensable to his great project, for the chance of winning +something which in comparison with Marie Melmotte's money must be +despicable! But at last he came! She waited patiently till he had +thrown aside his hat and coat, and then she appeared at the +dining-room door. She had studied her part for the occasion. She +would not say a harsh word, and now she endeavoured to meet him with +a smile. "Mother," he said, "you up at this hour!" His face was +flushed, and she thought that there was some unsteadiness in his +gait. She had never seen him tipsy, and it would be doubly terrible +to her if such should be his condition.</p> + +<p>"I could not go to bed till I had seen you."</p> + +<p>"Why not? why should you want to see me? I'll go to bed now. There'll +be plenty of time by-and-bye."</p> + +<p>"Is anything the matter, Felix?"</p> + +<p>"Matter;—what should be the matter? There's been a gentle row among +the fellows at the club;—that's all. I had to tell Grasslough a bit +of my mind, and he didn't like it. I didn't mean that he should."</p> + +<p>"There is not going to be any fighting, Felix?"</p> + +<p>"What, duelling; oh no,—nothing so exciting as that. Whether +somebody may not have to kick somebody is more than I can say at +present. You must let me go to bed now, for I am about used up."</p> + +<p>"What did Marie Melmotte say to you?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing particular." And he stood with his hand on the door as he +answered her.</p> + +<p>"And what did you say to her?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing particular. Good heavens, mother, do you think that a man is +in a condition to talk about such stuff as that at eight o'clock in +the morning, when he has been up all night?"</p> + +<p>"If you knew all that I suffer on your behalf you would speak a word +to me," she said, imploring him, holding him by the arm, and looking +into his purple face and bloodshot eyes. She was sure that he had +been drinking. She could smell it in his breath.</p> + +<p>"I must go to the old fellow, of course."</p> + +<p>"She told you to go to her father?"</p> + +<p>"As far as I remember, that was about it. Of course, he means to +settle it as he likes. I should say that it's ten to one against me." +Pulling himself away with some little roughness from his mother's +hold, he made his way up to his own bedroom, occasionally stumbling +against the stairs.</p> + +<p>Then the heiress herself had accepted her son! If so, surely the +thing might be done. Lady Carbury recalled to mind her old conviction +that a daughter may always succeed in beating a hard-hearted parent +in a contention about marriage, if she be well in earnest. But then +the girl must be really in earnest, and her earnestness will depend +on that of her lover. In this case, however, there was as yet no +reason for supposing that the great man would object. As far as +outward signs went, the great man had shown some partiality for her +son. No doubt it was Mr. Melmotte who had made Sir Felix a director +of the great American Company. Felix had also been kindly received in +Grosvenor Square. And then Sir Felix was Sir Felix,—a real baronet. +Mr. Melmotte had no doubt endeavoured to catch this and that lord; +but, failing a lord, why should he not content himself with a +baronet? Lady Carbury thought that her son wanted nothing but money +to make him an acceptable suitor to such a father-in-law as Mr. +Melmotte;—not money in the funds, not a real fortune, not so many +thousands a-year that could be settled;—the man's own enormous +wealth rendered this unnecessary;—but such a one as Mr. Melmotte +would not like outward palpable signs of immediate poverty. There +should be means enough for present sleekness and present luxury. He +must have a horse to ride, and rings and coats to wear, and bright +little canes to carry, and above all the means of making presents. He +must not be seen to be poor. Fortunately, most fortunately, Chance +had befriended him lately and had given him some ready money. But if +he went on gambling Chance would certainly take it all away again. +For aught that the poor mother knew, Chance might have done so +already. And then again, it was indispensable that he should abandon +the habit of play—at any rate for the present, while his prospects +depended on the good opinions of Mr. Melmotte. Of course such a one +as Mr. Melmotte could not like gambling at a club, however much he +might approve of it in the City. Why, with such a preceptor to help +him, should not Felix learn to do his gambling on the Exchange, or +among the brokers, or in the purlieus of the Bank? Lady Carbury would +at any rate instigate him to be diligent in his position as director +of the Great Mexican Railway,—which position ought to be the +beginning to him of a fortune to be made on his own account. But what +hope could there be for him if he should take to drink? Would not all +hopes be over with Mr. Melmotte should he ever learn that his +daughter's lover reached home and tumbled up-stairs to bed between +eight and nine o'clock in the morning?</p> + +<p>She watched for his appearance on the following day, and began at +once on the subject.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Felix, I think I shall go down to your cousin Roger for +Whitsuntide."</p> + +<p>"To Carbury Manor!" said he, as he eat some devilled kidneys which +the cook had been specially ordered to get for his breakfast. "I +thought you found it so dull that you didn't mean to go there any +more."</p> + +<p>"I never said so, Felix. And now I have a great object."</p> + +<p>"What will Hetta do?"</p> + +<p>"Go too—why shouldn't she?"</p> + +<p>"Oh; I didn't know. I thought that perhaps she mightn't like it."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why she shouldn't like it. Besides, everything can't +give way to her."</p> + +<p>"Has Roger asked you?"</p> + +<p>"No; but I'm sure he'd be pleased to have us if I proposed that we +should all go."</p> + +<p>"Not me, mother!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; you especially."</p> + +<p>"Not if I know it, mother. What on earth should I do at Carbury +Manor?"</p> + +<p>"Madame Melmotte told me last night that they were all going down to +Caversham to stay three or four days with the Longestaffes. She spoke +of Lady Pomona as quite her particular friend."</p> + +<p>"Oh—h! that explains it all."</p> + +<p>"Explains what, Felix?" said Lady Carbury, who had heard of Dolly +Longestaffe, and was not without some fear that this projected visit +to Caversham might have some matrimonial purpose in reference to that +delightful young heir.</p> + +<p>"They say at the club that Melmotte has taken up old Longestaffe's +affairs, and means to put them straight. There's an old property in +Sussex as well as Caversham, and they say that Melmotte is to have +that himself. There's some bother because Dolly, who would do +anything for anybody else, won't join his father in selling. So the +Melmottes are going to Caversham!"</p> + +<p>"Madame Melmotte told me so."</p> + +<p>"And the Longestaffes are the proudest people in England."</p> + +<p>"Of course we ought to be at Carbury Manor while they are there. What +can be more natural? Everybody goes out of town at Whitsuntide; and +why shouldn't we run down to the family place?"</p> + +<p>"All very natural if you can manage it, mother."</p> + +<p>"And you'll come?"</p> + +<p>"If Marie Melmotte goes, I'll be there at any rate for one day and +night," said Felix.</p> + +<p>His mother thought that, for him, the promise had been graciously +made.</p> + + +<p><a id="c13"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIII.</h3> +<h4>THE LONGESTAFFES.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Mr. Adolphus Longestaffe, the squire of Caversham in Suffolk, and of +Pickering Park in Sussex, was closeted on a certain morning for the +best part of an hour with Mr. Melmotte in Abchurch Lane, had there +discussed all his private affairs, and was about to leave the room +with a very dissatisfied air. There are men,—and old men too, who +ought to know the world,—who think that if they can only find the +proper Medea to boil the cauldron for them, they can have their +ruined fortunes so cooked that they shall come out of the pot fresh +and new and unembarrassed. These great conjurors are generally sought +for in the City; and in truth the cauldrons are kept boiling though +the result of the process is seldom absolute rejuvenescence. No +greater Medea than Mr. Melmotte had ever been potent in money +matters, and Mr. Longestaffe had been taught to believe that if he +could get the necromancer even to look at his affairs everything +would be made right for him. But the necromancer had explained to the +squire that property could not be created by the waving of any wand +or the boiling of any cauldron. He, Mr. Melmotte, could put Mr. +Longestaffe in the way of realising property without delay, of +changing it from one shape into another, or could find out the real +market value of the property in question; but he could create +nothing. "You have only a life interest, Mr. Longestaffe."</p> + +<p>"No; only a life interest. That is customary with family estates in +this country, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"Just so. And therefore you can dispose of nothing else. Your son, of +course, could join you, and then you could sell either one estate or +the other."</p> + +<p>"There is no question of selling Caversham, sir. Lady Pomona and I +reside there."</p> + +<p>"Your son will not join you in selling the other place?"</p> + +<p>"I have not directly asked him; but he never does do anything that I +wish. I suppose you would not take Pickering Park on a lease for my +life."</p> + +<p>"I think not, Mr. Longestaffe. My wife would not like the +uncertainty."</p> + +<p>Then Mr. Longestaffe took his leave with a feeling of outraged +aristocratic pride. His own lawyer would almost have done as much for +him, and he need not have invited his own lawyer as a guest to +Caversham,—and certainly not his own lawyer's wife and daughter. He +had indeed succeeded in borrowing a few thousand pounds from the +great man at a rate of interest which the great man's head clerk was +to arrange, and this had been effected simply on the security of the +lease of a house in town. There had been an ease in this, an absence +of that delay which generally took place between the expression of +his desire for money and the acquisition of it,—and this had +gratified him. But he was already beginning to think that he might +pay too dearly for that gratification. At the present moment, too, +Mr. Melmotte was odious to him for another reason. He had +condescended to ask Mr. Melmotte to make him a director of the South +Central Pacific and Mexican Railway, and he,—Adolphus Longestaffe of +Caversham,—had had his request refused! Mr. Longestaffe had +condescended very low. "You have made Lord Alfred Grendall one!" he +had said in a complaining tone. Then Mr. Melmotte explained that Lord +Alfred possessed peculiar aptitudes for the position. "I'm sure I +could do anything that he does," said Mr. Longestaffe. Upon this Mr. +Melmotte, knitting his brows and speaking with some roughness, +replied that the number of directors required was completed. Since he +had had two duchesses at his house Mr. Melmotte was beginning to feel +that he was entitled to bully any mere commoner, especially a +commoner who could ask him for a seat at his board.</p> + +<p>Mr. Longestaffe was a tall, heavy man, about fifty, with hair and +whiskers carefully dyed, whose clothes were made with great care, +though they always seemed to fit him too tightly, and who thought +very much of his personal appearance. It was not that he considered +himself handsome, but that he was specially proud of his aristocratic +bearing. He entertained an idea that all who understood the matter +would perceive at a single glance that he was a gentleman of the +first water, and a man of fashion. He was intensely proud of his +position in life, thinking himself to be immensely superior to all +those who earned their bread. There were no doubt gentlemen of +different degrees, but the English gentleman of gentlemen was he who +had land, and family title-deeds, and an old family place, and family +portraits, and family embarrassments, and a family absence of any +useful employment. He was beginning even to look down upon peers, +since so many men of much less consequence than himself had been made +lords; and, having stood and been beaten three or four times for his +county, he was of opinion that a seat in the House was rather a mark +of bad breeding. He was a silly man, who had no fixed idea that it +behoved him to be of use to any one; but, yet, he had compassed a +certain nobility of feeling. There was very little that his position +called upon him to do, but there was much that it forbad him to do. +It was not allowed to him to be close in money matters. He could +leave his tradesmen's bills unpaid till the men were clamorous, but +he could not question the items in their accounts. He could be +tyrannical to his servants, but he could not make inquiry as to the +consumption of his wines in the servants' hall. He had no pity for +his tenants in regard to game, but he hesitated much as to raising +their rent. He had his theory of life and endeavoured to live up to +it; but the attempt had hardly brought satisfaction to himself or to +his family.</p> + +<p>At the present moment, it was the great desire of his heart to sell +the smaller of his two properties and disembarrass the other. The +debt had not been altogether of his own making, and the arrangement +would, he believed, serve his whole family as well as himself. It +would also serve his son, who was blessed with a third property of +his own which he had already managed to burden with debt. The father +could not bear to be refused; and he feared that his son would +decline. "But Adolphus wants money as much as any one," Lady Pomona +had said. He had shaken his head and pished and pshawed. Women never +could understand anything about money. Now he walked down sadly from +Mr. Melmotte's office and was taken in his brougham to his lawyer's +chambers in Lincoln's Inn. Even for the accommodation of those few +thousand pounds he was forced to condescend to tell his lawyers that +the title-deeds of his house in town must be given up. Mr. +Longestaffe felt that the world in general was very hard on him.</p> + +<p>"What on earth are we to do with them?" said Sophia, the eldest Miss +Longestaffe, to her mother.</p> + +<p>"I do think it's a shame of papa," said Georgiana, the second +daughter. "I certainly shan't trouble myself to entertain them."</p> + +<p>"Of course you will leave them all on my hands," said Lady Pomona +wearily.</p> + +<p>"But what's the use of having them?" urged Sophia. "I can understand +going to a crush at their house in town when everybody else goes. One +doesn't speak to them, and need not know them afterwards. As to the +girl, I'm sure I shouldn't remember her if I were to see her."</p> + +<p>"It would be a fine thing if Adolphus would marry her," said Lady +Pomona.</p> + +<p>"Dolly will never marry anybody," said Georgiana. "The idea of his +taking the trouble of asking a girl to have him! Besides, he won't +come down to Caversham; cart-ropes wouldn't bring him. If that is to +be the game, mamma, it is quite hopeless."</p> + +<p>"Why should Dolly marry such a creature as that?" asked Sophia.</p> + +<p>"Because everybody wants money," said Lady Pomona. "I'm sure I don't +know what your papa is to do, or how it is that there never is any +money for anything. I don't spend it."</p> + +<p>"I don't think that we do anything out of the way," said Sophia. "I +haven't the slightest idea what papa's income is; but if we're to +live at all, I don't know how we are to make a change."</p> + +<p>"It's always been like this ever since I can remember," said +Georgiana, "and I don't mean to worry about it any more. I suppose +it's just the same with other people, only one doesn't know it."</p> + +<p>"But, my dears—when we are obliged to have such people as these +Melmottes!"</p> + +<p>"As for that, if we didn't have them somebody else would. I shan't +trouble myself about them. I suppose it will only be for two days."</p> + +<p>"My dear, they're coming for a week!"</p> + +<p>"Then papa must take them about the country, that's all. I never did +hear of anything so absurd. What good can they do papa by being down +there?"</p> + +<p>"He is wonderfully rich," said Lady Pomona.</p> + +<p>"But I don't suppose he'll give papa his money," continued Georgiana. +"Of course I don't pretend to understand, but I think there is more +fuss about these things than they deserve. If papa hasn't got money +to live at home, why doesn't he go abroad for a year? The Sydney +Beauchamps did that, and the girls had quite a nice time of it in +Florence. It was there that Clara Beauchamp met young Lord Liffey. I +shouldn't at all mind that kind of thing, but I think it quite +horrible to have these sort of people brought down upon us at +Caversham. No one knows who they are, or where they came from, or +what they'll turn to." So spoke Georgiana, who among the Longestaffes +was supposed to have the strongest head, and certainly the sharpest +tongue.</p> + +<p>This conversation took place in the drawing-room of the Longestaffes' +family town-house in Bruton Street. It was not by any means a +charming house, having but few of those luxuries and elegancies which +have been added of late years to newly-built London residences. It +was gloomy and inconvenient, with large drawing-rooms, bad bedrooms, +and very little accommodation for servants. But it was the old family +town-house, having been inhabited by three or four generations of +Longestaffes, and did not savour of that radical newness which +prevails, and which was peculiarly distasteful to Mr. Longestaffe. +Queen's Gate and the quarters around were, according to Mr. +Longestaffe, devoted to opulent tradesmen. Even Belgrave Square, +though its aristocratic properties must be admitted, still smelt of +the mortar. Many of those living there and thereabouts had never +possessed in their families real family town-houses. The old streets +lying between Piccadilly and Oxford Street, with one or two +well-known localities to the south and north of these boundaries, +were the proper sites for these habitations. When Lady Pomona, +instigated by some friend of high rank but questionable taste, had +once suggested a change to Eaton Square, Mr. Longestaffe had at once +snubbed his wife. If Bruton Street wasn't good enough for her and the +girls then they might remain at Caversham. The threat of remaining at +Caversham had been often made, for Mr. Longestaffe, proud as he was +of his town-house, was, from year to year, very anxious to save the +expense of the annual migration. The girls' dresses and the girls' +horses, his wife's carriage and his own brougham, his dull London +dinner-parties, and the one ball which it was always necessary that +Lady Pomona should give, made him look forward to the end of July, +with more dread than to any other period. It was then that he began +to know what that year's season would cost him. But he had never yet +been able to keep his family in the country during the entire year. +The girls, who as yet knew nothing of the Continent beyond Paris, had +signified their willingness to be taken about Germany and Italy for +twelve months, but had shown by every means in their power that they +would mutiny against any intention on their father's part to keep +them at Caversham during the London season.</p> + +<p>Georgiana had just finished her strong-minded protest against the +Melmottes, when her brother strolled into the room. Dolly did not +often show himself in Bruton Street. He had rooms of his own, and +could seldom even be induced to dine with his family. His mother +wrote to him notes without end,—notes every day, pressing +invitations of all sorts upon him; would he come and dine; would he +take them to the theatre; would he go to this ball; would he go to +that evening-party? These Dolly barely read, and never answered. He +would open them, thrust them into some pocket, and then forget them. +Consequently his mother worshipped him; and even his sisters, who +were at any rate superior to him in intellect, treated him with a +certain deference. He could do as he liked, and they felt themselves +to be slaves, bound down by the dulness of the Longestaffe regime. +His freedom was grand to their eyes, and very enviable, although they +were aware that he had already so used it as to impoverish himself in +the midst of his wealth.</p> + +<p>"My dear Adolphus," said the mother, "this is so nice of you."</p> + +<p>"I think it is rather nice," said Dolly, submitting himself to be +kissed.</p> + +<p>"Oh Dolly, whoever would have thought of seeing you?" said Sophia.</p> + +<p>"Give him some tea," said his mother. Lady Pomona was always having +tea from four o'clock till she was taken away to dress for dinner.</p> + +<p>"I'd sooner have soda and brandy," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"My darling boy!"</p> + +<p>"I didn't ask for it, and I don't expect to get it; indeed I don't +want it. I only said I'd sooner have it than tea. Where's the +governor?" They all looked at him with wondering eyes. There must be +something going on more than they had dreamed of, when Dolly asked to +see his father.</p> + +<p>"Papa went out in the brougham immediately after lunch," said Sophia +gravely.</p> + +<p>"I'll wait a little for him," said Dolly, taking out his watch.</p> + +<p>"Do stay and dine with us," said Lady Pomona.</p> + +<p>"I could not do that, because I've got to go and dine with some +fellow."</p> + +<p>"Some fellow! I believe you don't know where you're going," said +Georgiana.</p> + +<p>"My fellow knows. At least he's a fool if he don't."</p> + +<p>"Adolphus," began Lady Pomona very seriously, "I've got a plan and I +want you to help me."</p> + +<p>"I hope there isn't very much to do in it, mother."</p> + +<p>"We're all going to Caversham, just for Whitsuntide, and we +particularly want you to come."</p> + +<p>"By George! no; I couldn't do that."</p> + +<p>"You haven't heard half. Madame Melmotte and her daughter are +coming."</p> + +<p>"The d—— they are!" ejaculated Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Dolly!" said Sophia, "do remember where you are."</p> + +<p>"Yes I will;—and I'll remember too where I won't be. I won't go to +Caversham to meet old mother Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"My dear boy," continued the mother, "do you know that Miss Melmotte +will have twenty—thousand—a year the day she marries; and that in +all probability her husband will some day be the richest man in +Europe?"</p> + +<p>"Half the fellows in London are after her," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't you be one of them?"</p> + +<p>"She isn't going to stay in the same house with half the fellows in +London," suggested Georgiana. "If you've a mind to try it you'll have +a chance which nobody else can have just at present."</p> + +<p>"But I haven't any mind to try it. Good gracious me;—oh dear! it +isn't at all in my way, mother."</p> + +<p>"I knew he wouldn't," said Georgiana.</p> + +<p>"It would put everything so straight," said Lady Pomona.</p> + +<p>"They'll have to remain crooked if nothing else will put them +straight. There's the governor. I heard his voice. Now for a row." +Then Mr. Longestaffe entered the room.</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Lady Pomona, "here's Adolphus come to see us." The +father nodded his head at his son but said nothing. "We want him to +stay and dine, but he's engaged."</p> + +<p>"Though he doesn't know where," said Sophia.</p> + +<p>"My fellow knows;—he keeps a book. I've got a letter, sir, ever so +long, from those fellows in Lincoln's Inn. They want me to come and +see you about selling something; so I've come. It's an awful bore, +because I don't understand anything about it. Perhaps there isn't +anything to be sold. If so I can go away again, you know."</p> + +<p>"You'd better come with me into the study," said the father. "We +needn't disturb your mother and sisters about business." Then the +squire led the way out of the room, and Dolly followed, making a +woful grimace at his sisters. The three ladies sat over their tea for +about half-an-hour, waiting,—not the result of the conference, for +with that they did not suppose that they would be made +acquainted,—but whatever signs of good or evil might be collected +from the manner and appearance of the squire when he should return to +them. Dolly they did not expect to see again,—probably for a month. +He and the squire never did come together without quarrelling, and +careless as was the young man in every other respect, he had hitherto +been obdurate as to his own rights in any dealings which he had with +his father. At the end of the half hour Mr. Longestaffe returned to +the drawing-room, and at once pronounced the doom of the family. "My +dear," he said, "we shall not return from Caversham to London this +year." He struggled hard to maintain a grand dignified tranquillity +as he spoke, but his voice quivered with emotion.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill013"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill013.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill013-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="Then the squire led the way out of + the room, and Dolly followed." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">Then the + squire led the way out of the room, and Dolly followed.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill013.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"Papa!" screamed Sophia.</p> + +<p>"My dear, you don't mean it," said Lady Pomona.</p> + +<p>"Of course papa doesn't mean it," said Georgiana rising to her feet.</p> + +<p>"I mean it accurately and certainly," said Mr. Longestaffe. "We go to +Caversham in about ten days, and we shall not return from Caversham +to London this year."</p> + +<p>"Our ball is fixed," said Lady Pomona.</p> + +<p>"Then it must be unfixed." So saying, the master of the house left +the drawing-room and descended to his study.</p> + +<p>The three ladies, when left to deplore their fate, expressed their +opinions as to the sentence which had been pronounced very strongly. +But the daughters were louder in their anger than was their mother.</p> + +<p>"He can't really mean it," said Sophia.</p> + +<p>"He does," said Lady Pomona, with tears in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"He must unmean it again;—that's all," said Georgiana. "Dolly has +said something to him very rough, and he resents it upon us. Why did +he bring us up at all if he means to take us down before the season +has begun?"</p> + +<p>"I wonder what Adolphus has said to him. Your papa is always hard +upon Adolphus."</p> + +<p>"Dolly can take care of himself," said Georgiana, "and always does do +so. Dolly does not care for us."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," said Sophia.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what you must do, mamma. You mustn't stir from this at +all. You must give up going to Caversham altogether, unless he +promises to bring us back. I won't stir,—unless he has me carried +out of the house."</p> + +<p>"My dear, I couldn't say that to him."</p> + +<p>"Then I will. To go and be buried down in that place for a whole year +with no one near us but the rusty old bishop and Mr. Carbury, who is +rustier still. I won't stand it. There are some sort of things that +one ought not to stand. If you go down I shall stay up with the +Primeros. Mrs. Primero would have me I know. It wouldn't be nice of +course. I don't like the Primeros. I hate the Primeros. Oh yes;—it's +quite true; I know that as well as you, Sophia; they are vulgar; but +not half so vulgar, mamma, as your friend Madame Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"That's ill-natured, Georgiana. She is not a friend of mine."</p> + +<p>"But you're going to have her down at Caversham. I can't think what +made you dream of going to Caversham just now, knowing as you do how +hard papa is to manage."</p> + +<p>"Everybody has taken to going out of town at Whitsuntide, my dear."</p> + +<p>"No, mamma; everybody has not. People understand too well the trouble +of getting up and down for that. The Primeros aren't going down. I +never heard of such a thing in all my life. What does he expect is to +become of us? If he wants to save money why doesn't he shut Caversham +up altogether and go abroad? Caversham costs a great deal more than +is spent in London, and it's the dullest house, I think, in all +England."</p> + +<p>The family party in Bruton Street that evening was not very gay. +Nothing was being done, and they sat gloomily in each other's +company. Whatever mutinous resolutions might be formed and carried +out by the ladies of the family, they were not brought forward on +that occasion. The two girls were quite silent, and would not speak +to their father, and when he addressed them they answered simply by +monosyllables. Lady Pomona was ill, and sat in a corner of a sofa, +wiping her eyes. To her had been imparted up-stairs the purport of +the conversation between Dolly and his father. Dolly had refused to +consent to the sale of Pickering unless half the produce of the sale +were to be given to him at once. When it had been explained to him +that the sale would be desirable in order that the Caversham property +might be freed from debt, which Caversham property would eventually +be his, he replied that he also had an estate of his own which was a +little mortgaged and would be the better for money. The result seemed +to be that Pickering could not be sold,—and, as a consequence of +that, Mr. Longestaffe had determined that there should be no more +London expenses that year.</p> + +<p>The girls, when they got up to go to bed, bent over him and kissed +his head, as was their custom. There was very little show of +affection in the kiss. "You had better remember that what you have to +do in town must be done this week," he said. They heard the words, +but marched in stately silence out of the room without deigning to +notice them.</p> + + +<p><a id="c14"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIV.</h3> +<h4>CARBURY MANOR.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>"I don't think it quite nice, mamma; that's all. Of course if you +have made up your mind to go, I must go with you."</p> + +<p>"What on earth can be more natural than that you should go to your +own cousin's house?"</p> + +<p>"You know what I mean, mamma."</p> + +<p>"It's done now, my dear, and I don't think there is anything at all +in what you say."</p> + +<p>This little conversation arose from Lady Carbury's announcement to +her daughter of her intention of soliciting the hospitality of +Carbury Manor for the Whitsun week. It was very grievous to Henrietta +that she should be taken to the house of a man who was in love with +her, even though he was her cousin. But she had no escape. She could +not remain in town by herself, nor could she even allude to her +grievance to anyone but to her mother. Lady Carbury, in order that +she might be quite safe from opposition, had posted the following +letter to her cousin before she spoke to her +<span class="nowrap">daughter:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Welbeck Street,<br /> +24th April, 18—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Roger</span>,</p> + +<p>We know how kind you are and how sincere, and that if what +I am going to propose doesn't suit you'll say so at once. +I have been working very hard,—too hard indeed, and I +feel that nothing will do me so much real good as getting +into the country for a day or two. Would you take us for a +part of Whitsun week? We would come down on the 20th May +and stay over the Sunday if you would keep us. Felix says +he would run down though he would not trouble you for so +long a time as we talk of staying.</p> + +<p>I'm sure you must have been glad to hear of his being put +upon that Great American Railway Board as a Director. It +opens a new sphere of life to him, and will enable him to +prove that he can make himself useful. I think it was a +great confidence to place in one so young.</p> + +<p>Of course you will say so at once if my little proposal +interferes with any of your plans, but you have been so +very very kind to us that I have no scruple in making it.</p> + +<p>Henrietta joins with me in kind love.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Your affectionate cousin,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Matilda Carbury</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>There was much in this letter that disturbed and even annoyed Roger +Carbury. In the first place he felt that Henrietta should not be +brought to his house. Much as he loved her, dear as her presence to +him always was, he hardly wished to have her at Carbury unless she +would come with a resolution to be its future mistress. In one +respect he did Lady Carbury an injustice. He knew that she was +anxious to forward his suit, and he thought that Henrietta was being +brought to his house with that object. He had not heard that the +great heiress was coming into his neighbourhood, and therefore knew +nothing of Lady Carbury's scheme in that direction. He was, too, +disgusted by the ill-founded pride which the mother expressed at her +son's position as a director. Roger Carbury did not believe in the +Railway. He did not believe in Fisker, nor in Melmotte, and certainly +not in the Board generally. Paul Montague had acted in opposition to +his advice in yielding to the seductions of Fisker. The whole thing +was to his mind false, fraudulent, and ruinous. Of what nature could +be a Company which should have itself directed by such men as Lord +Alfred Grendall and Sir Felix Carbury? And then as to their great +Chairman, did not everybody know, in spite of all the duchesses, that +Mr. Melmotte was a gigantic swindler? Although there was more than +one immediate cause for bitterness between them, Roger loved Paul +Montague well and could not bear with patience the appearance of his +friend's name on such a list. And now he was asked for warm +congratulations because Sir Felix Carbury was one of the Board! He +did not know which to despise most, Sir Felix for belonging to such a +Board, or the Board for having such a director. "New sphere of life!" +he said to himself. "The only proper sphere for them all would be +Newgate!"</p> + +<p>And there was another trouble. He had asked Paul Montague to come to +Carbury for this special week, and Paul had accepted the invitation. +With the constancy, which was perhaps his strongest characteristic, +he clung to his old affection for the man. He could not bear the idea +of a permanent quarrel, though he knew that there must be a quarrel +if the man interfered with his dearest hopes. He had asked him down +to Carbury intending that the name of Henrietta Carbury should not be +mentioned between them;—and now it was proposed to him that +Henrietta Carbury should be at the Manor House at the very time of +Paul's visit! He made up his mind at once that he must tell Paul not +to come.</p> + +<p>He wrote his two letters at once. That to Lady Carbury was very +short. He would be delighted to see her and Henrietta at the time +named,—and would be very glad should it suit Felix to come also. He +did not say a word about the Board, or the young man's probable +usefulness in his new sphere of life. To Montague his letter was +longer. "It is always best to be open and true," he said. "Since you +were kind enough to say that you would come to me, Lady Carbury has +proposed to visit me just at the same time and to bring her daughter. +After what has passed between us I need hardly say that I could not +make you both welcome here together. It is not pleasant to me to have +to ask you to postpone your visit, but I think you will not accuse me +of a want of hospitality towards you." Paul wrote back to say that he +was sure that there was no want of hospitality, and that he would +remain in town.</p> + +<p>Suffolk is not especially a picturesque county, nor can it be said +that the scenery round Carbury was either grand or beautiful; but +there were little prettinesses attached to the house itself and the +grounds around it which gave it a charm of its own. The Carbury +River,—so called, though at no place is it so wide but that an +active schoolboy might jump across it,—runs, or rather creeps into +the Waveney, and in its course is robbed by a moat which surrounds +Carbury Manor House. The moat has been rather a trouble to the +proprietors, and especially so to Roger, as in these days of sanitary +considerations it has been felt necessary either to keep it clean +with at any rate moving water in it, or else to fill it up and +abolish it altogether. That plan of abolishing it had to be thought +of and was seriously discussed about ten years since; but then it was +decided that such a proceeding would altogether alter the character +of the house, would destroy the gardens, and would create a waste of +mud all round the place which it would take years to beautify, or +even to make endurable. And then an important question had been asked +by an intelligent farmer who had long been a tenant on the property; +"Fill un oop;—eh, eh; sooner said than doone, squoire. Where be the +stoof to come from?" The squire, therefore, had given up that idea, +and instead of abolishing his moat had made it prettier than ever. +The high road from Bungay to Beccles ran close to the house,—so +close that the gable ends of the building were separated from it only +by the breadth of the moat. A short, private road, not above a +hundred yards in length, led to the bridge which faced the front +door. The bridge was old, and high, with sundry architectural +pretensions, and guarded by iron gates in the centre, which, however, +were very rarely closed. Between the bridge and the front door there +was a sweep of ground just sufficient for the turning of a carriage, +and on either side of this the house was brought close to the water, +so that the entrance was in a recess, or irregular quadrangle, of +which the bridge and moat formed one side. At the back of the house +there were large gardens screened from the road by a wall ten feet +high, in which there were yew trees and cypresses said to be of +wonderful antiquity. The gardens were partly inside the moat, but +chiefly beyond them, and were joined by two bridges—a foot bridge +and one with a carriage way,—and there was another bridge at the end +of the house furthest from the road, leading from the back door to +the stables and farmyard.</p> + +<p>The house itself had been built in the time of Charles II., when that +which we call Tudor architecture was giving way to a cheaper, less +picturesque, though perhaps more useful form. But Carbury Manor +House, through the whole county, had the reputation of being a Tudor +building. The windows were long, and for the most part low, made with +strong mullions, and still contained small, old-fashioned panes; for +the squire had not as yet gone to the expense of plate glass. There +was one high bow window, which belonged to the library, and which +looked out on to the gravel sweep, at the left of the front door as +you entered it. All the other chief rooms faced upon the garden. The +house itself was built of a stone that had become buff, or almost +yellow with years, and was very pretty. It was still covered with +tiles, as were all the attached buildings. It was only two stories +high, except at the end, where the kitchens were placed and the +offices, which thus rose above the other part of the edifice. The +rooms throughout were low, and for the most part long and narrow, +with large wide fire-places and deep wainscotings. Taking it +altogether, one would be inclined to say, that it was picturesque +rather than comfortable. Such as it was its owner was very proud of +it,—with a pride of which he never spoke to anyone, which he +endeavoured studiously to conceal, but which had made itself known to +all who knew him well. The houses of the gentry around him were +superior to his in material comfort and general accommodation, but to +none of them belonged that thoroughly established look of old county +position which belonged to Carbury. Bundlesham, where the Primeros +lived, was the finest house in that part of the county, but it looked +as if it had been built within the last twenty years. It was +surrounded by new shrubs and new lawns, by new walls and new +outhouses, and savoured of trade;—so at least thought Roger Carbury, +though he never said the words. Caversham was a very large mansion, +built in the early part of George III.'s reign, when men did care +that things about them should be comfortable, but did not care that +they should be picturesque. There was nothing at all to recommend +Caversham but its size. Eardly Park, the seat of the Hepworths, had, +as a park, some pretensions. Carbury possessed nothing that could be +called a park, the enclosures beyond the gardens being merely so many +home paddocks. But the house of Eardly was ugly and bad. The Bishop's +palace was an excellent gentleman's residence, but then that too was +comparatively modern, and had no peculiar features of its own. Now +Carbury Manor House was peculiar, and in the eyes of its owner was +pre-eminently beautiful.</p> + +<p>It often troubled him to think what would come of the place when he +was gone. He was at present forty years old, and was perhaps as +healthy a man as you could find in the whole county. Those around who +had known him as he grew into manhood among them, especially the +farmers of the neighbourhood, still regarded him as a young man. They +spoke of him at the country fairs as the young squire. When in his +happiest moods he could be almost a boy, and he still had something +of old-fashioned boyish reverence for his elders. But of late there +had grown up a great care within his breast,—a care which does not +often, perhaps, in these days bear so heavily on men's hearts as it +used to do. He had asked his cousin to marry him,—having assured +himself with certainty that he did love her better than any other +woman,—and she had declined. She had refused him more than once, and +he believed her implicitly when she told him that she could not love +him. He had a way of believing people, especially when such belief +was opposed to his own interests, and had none of that +self-confidence which makes a man think that if opportunity be +allowed him he can win a woman even in spite of herself. But if it +were fated that he should not succeed with Henrietta, then,—so he +felt assured,—no marriage would now be possible to him. In that case +he must look out for an heir, and could regard himself simply as a +stop-gap among the Carburys. In that case he could never enjoy the +luxury of doing the best he could with the property in order that a +son of his own might enjoy it.</p> + +<p>Now Sir Felix was the next heir. Roger was hampered by no entail, and +could leave every acre of the property as he pleased. In one respect +the natural succession to it by Sir Felix would generally be +considered fortunate. It had happened that a title had been won in a +lower branch of the family, and were this succession to take place +the family title and the family property would go together. No doubt +to Sir Felix himself such an arrangement would seem to be the most +proper thing in the world,—as it would also to Lady Carbury were it +not that she looked to Carbury Manor as the future home of another +child. But to all this the present owner of the property had very +strong objections. It was not only that he thought ill of the baronet +himself,—so ill as to feel thoroughly convinced that no good could +come from that quarter,—but he thought ill also of the baronetcy +itself. Sir Patrick, to his thinking, had been altogether +unjustifiable in accepting an enduring title, knowing that he would +leave behind him no property adequate for its support. A baronet, so +thought Roger Carbury, should be a rich man, rich enough to grace the +rank which he assumed to wear. A title, according to Roger's doctrine +on such subjects, could make no man a gentleman, but, if improperly +worn, might degrade a man who would otherwise be a gentleman. He +thought that a gentleman, born and bred, acknowledged as such without +doubt, could not be made more than a gentleman by all the titles +which the Queen could give. With these old-fashioned notions Roger +hated the title which had fallen upon a branch of his family. He +certainly would not leave his property to support the title which Sir +Felix unfortunately possessed. But Sir Felix was the natural heir, +and this man felt himself constrained, almost as by some divine law, +to see that his land went by natural descent. Though he was in no +degree fettered as to its disposition, he did not presume himself to +have more than a life interest in the estate. It was his duty to see +that it went from Carbury to Carbury as long as there was a Carbury +to hold it, and especially his duty to see that it should go from his +hands, at his death, unimpaired in extent or value. There was no +reason why he should himself die for the next twenty or thirty +years,—but were he to die Sir Felix would undoubtedly dissipate the +acres, and then there would be an end of Carbury. But in such case +he, Roger Carbury, would at any rate have done his duty. He knew that +no human arrangements can be fixed, let the care in making them be +ever so great. To his thinking it would be better that the estate +should be dissipated by a Carbury than held together by a stranger. +He would stick to the old name while there was one to bear it, and to +the old family while a member of it was left. So thinking he had +already made his will, leaving the entire property to the man whom of +all others he most despised, should he himself die without child.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon of the day on which Lady Carbury was expected, he +wandered about the place thinking of all this. How infinitely better +it would be that he should have an heir of his own. How wonderfully +beautiful would the world be to him if at last his cousin would +consent to be his wife! How wearily insipid must it be if no such +consent could be obtained from her. And then he thought much of her +welfare too. In very truth he did not like Lady Carbury. He saw +through her character, judging her with almost absolute accuracy. The +woman was affectionate, seeking good things for others rather than +for herself; but she was essentially worldly, believing that good +could come out of evil, that falsehood might in certain conditions be +better than truth, that shams and pretences might do the work of true +service, that a strong house might be built upon the sand! It was +lamentable to him that the girl he loved should be subjected to this +teaching, and live in an atmosphere so burdened with falsehood. Would +not the touch of pitch at last defile her? In his heart of hearts he +believed that she loved Paul Montague; and of Paul himself he was +beginning to fear evil. What but a sham could be a man who consented +to pretend to sit as one of a Board of Directors to manage an +enormous enterprise with such colleagues as Lord Alfred Grendall and +Sir Felix Carbury, under the absolute control of such a one as Mr. +Augustus Melmotte? Was not this building a house upon the sand with a +vengeance? What a life it would be for Henrietta Carbury were she to +marry a man striving to become rich without labour and without +capital, and who might one day be wealthy and the next a beggar,—a +city adventurer, who of all men was to him the vilest and most +dishonest? He strove to think well of Paul Montague, but such was the +life which he feared the young man was preparing for himself.</p> + +<p>Then he went into the house and wandered up through the rooms which +the two ladies were to occupy. As their host, a host without a wife +or mother or sister, it was his duty to see that things were +comfortable, but it may be doubted whether he would have been so +careful had the mother been coming alone. In the smaller room of the +two the hangings were all white, and the room was sweet with May +flowers; and he brought a white rose from the hot-house, and placed +it in a glass on the dressing table. Surely she would know who put it +there.</p> + +<p>Then he stood at the open window, looking down upon the lawn, gazing +vacantly for half an hour, till he heard the wheels of the carriage +before the front door. During that half hour he resolved that he +would try again as though there had as yet been no repulse.</p> + + +<p><a id="c15"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XV.</h3> +<h4>"YOU SHOULD REMEMBER THAT I AM HIS MOTHER."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>"This is so kind of you," said Lady Carbury, grasping her cousin's +hand as she got out of the carriage.</p> + +<p>"The kindness is on your part," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"I felt so much before I dared to ask you to take us. But I did so +long to get into the country, and I do so love Carbury. +And—<span class="nowrap">and—"</span></p> + +<p>"Where should a Carbury go to escape from London smoke, but to the +old house? I am afraid Henrietta will find it dull."</p> + +<p>"Oh no," said Hetta smiling. "You ought to remember that I am never +dull in the country."</p> + +<p>"The bishop and Mrs. Yeld are coming here to dine to-morrow,—and the +Hepworths."</p> + +<p>"I shall be so glad to meet the bishop once more," said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"I think everybody must be glad to meet him, he is such a dear, good +fellow, and his wife is just as good. And there is another gentleman +coming whom you have never seen."</p> + +<p>"A new neighbour?"</p> + +<p>"Yes,—a new neighbour;—Father John Barham, who has come to Beccles +as priest. He has got a little cottage about a mile from here, in +this parish, and does duty both at Beccles and Bungay. I used to know +something of his family."</p> + +<p>"He is a gentleman then?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly he is a gentleman. He took his degree at Oxford, and then +became what we call a pervert, and what I suppose they call a +convert. He has not got a shilling in the world beyond what they pay +him as a priest, which I take it amounts to about as much as the +wages of a day labourer. He told me the other day that he was +absolutely forced to buy second-hand clothes."</p> + +<p>"How shocking!" said Lady Carbury, holding up her hands.</p> + +<p>"He didn't seem to be at all shocked at telling it. We have got to be +quite friends."</p> + +<p>"Will the bishop like to meet him?"</p> + +<p>"Why should not the bishop like to meet him? I've told the bishop all +about him, and the bishop particularly wishes to know him. He won't +hurt the bishop. But you and Hetta will find it very dull."</p> + +<p>"I shan't find it dull, Mr. Carbury," said Henrietta.</p> + +<p>"It was to escape from the eternal parties that we came down here," +said Lady Carbury. She had nevertheless been anxious to hear what +guests were expected at the Manor House. Sir Felix had promised to +come down on Saturday, with the intention of returning on Monday, and +Lady Carbury had hoped that some visiting might be arranged between +Caversham and the Manor House, so that her son might have the full +advantage of his closeness to Marie Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"I have asked the Longestaffes for Monday," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"They are down here then?"</p> + +<p>"I think they arrived yesterday. There is always a flustering breeze +in the air and a perturbation generally through the county when they +come or go, and I think I perceived the effects about four in the +afternoon. They won't come, I dare say."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"They never do. They have probably a house full of guests, and they +know that my accommodation is limited. I've no doubt they'll ask us +on Tuesday or Wednesday, and if you like we will go."</p> + +<p>"I know they are to have guests," said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"What guests?"</p> + +<p>"The Melmottes are coming to them." Lady Carbury, as she made the +announcement, felt that her voice and countenance and self-possession +were failing her, and that she could not mention the thing as she +would any matter that was indifferent to her.</p> + +<p>"The Melmottes coming to Caversham!" said Roger, looking at +Henrietta, who blushed with shame as she remembered that she had been +brought into her lover's house solely in order that her brother might +have an opportunity of seeing Marie Melmotte in the country.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes,—Madame Melmotte told me. I take it they are very intimate."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Longestaffe ask the Melmottes to visit him at Caversham!"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I should almost as soon have believed that I myself might have been +induced to ask them here."</p> + +<p>"I fancy, Roger, that Mr. Longestaffe does want a little pecuniary +assistance."</p> + +<p>"And he condescends to get it in this way! I suppose it will make no +difference soon whom one knows, and whom one doesn't. Things aren't +as they were, of course, and never will be again. Perhaps it's all +for the better;—I won't say it isn't. But I should have thought that +such a man as Mr. Longestaffe might have kept such another man as Mr. +Melmotte out of his wife's drawing-room." Henrietta became redder +than ever. Even Lady Carbury flushed up, as she remembered that Roger +Carbury knew that she had taken her daughter to Madame Melmotte's +ball. He thought of this himself as soon as the words were spoken, +and then tried to make some half apology. "I don't approve of them in +London, you know; but I think they are very much worse in the +country."</p> + +<p>Then there was a movement. The ladies were shown into their rooms, +and Roger again went out into the garden. He began to feel that he +understood it all. Lady Carbury had come down to his house in order +that she might be near the Melmottes! There was something in this +which he felt it difficult not to resent. It was for no love of him +that she was there. He had felt that Henrietta ought not to have been +brought to his house; but he could have forgiven that, because her +presence there was a charm to him. He could have forgiven that, even +while he was thinking that her mother had brought her there with the +object of disposing of her. If it were so, the mother's object would +be the same as his own, and such a manœuvre he could pardon, +though he could not approve. His self-love had to some extent been +gratified. But now he saw that he and his house had been simply used +in order that a vile project of marrying two vile people to each +other might be furthered!</p> + +<p>As he was thinking of all this, Lady Carbury came out to him in the +garden. She had changed her travelling dress, and made herself +pretty, as she well knew how to do. And now she dressed her face in +her sweetest smiles. Her mind, also, was full of the Melmottes, and +she wished to explain to her stern, unbending cousin all the good +that might come to her and hers by an alliance with the heiress. "I +can understand, Roger," she said, taking his arm, "that you should +not like those people."</p> + +<p>"What people?"</p> + +<p>"The Melmottes."</p> + +<p>"I don't dislike them. How should I dislike people that I never saw? +I dislike those who seek their society simply because they have the +reputation of being rich."</p> + +<p>"Meaning me."</p> + +<p>"No; not meaning you. I don't dislike you, as you know very well, +though I do dislike the fact that you should run after these people. +I was thinking of the Longestaffes then."</p> + +<p>"Do you suppose, my friend, that I run after them for my own +gratification? Do you think that I go to their house because I find +pleasure in their magnificence; or that I follow them down here for +any good that they will do me?"</p> + +<p>"I would not follow them at all."</p> + +<p>"I will go back if you bid me, but I must first explain what I mean. +You know my son's condition,—better, I fear, than he does himself." +Roger nodded assent to this, but said nothing. "What is he to do? The +only chance for a young man in his position is that he should marry a +girl with money. He is good-looking; you can't deny that."</p> + +<p>"Nature has done enough for him."</p> + +<p>"We must take him as he is. He was put into the army very young, and +was very young when he came into possession of his own small fortune. +He might have done better; but how many young men placed in such +temptations do well? As it is, he has nothing left."</p> + +<p>"I fear not."</p> + +<p>"And therefore is it not imperative that he should marry a girl with +money?"</p> + +<p>"I call that stealing a girl's money, Lady Carbury."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roger, how hard you are!"</p> + +<p>"A man must be hard or soft,—which is best?"</p> + +<p>"With women I think that a little softness has the most effect. I +want to make you understand this about the Melmottes. It stands to +reason that the girl will not marry Felix unless she loves him."</p> + +<p>"But does he love her?"</p> + +<p>"Why should he not? Is a girl to be debarred from being loved because +she has money? Of course she looks to be married, and why should she +not have Felix if she likes him best? Cannot you sympathize with my +anxiety so to place him that he shall not be a disgrace to the name +and to the family?"</p> + +<p>"We had better not talk about the family, Lady Carbury."</p> + +<p>"But I think so much about it."</p> + +<p>"You will never get me to say that I think the family will be +benefited by a marriage with the daughter of Mr. Melmotte. I look +upon him as dirt in the gutter. To me, in my old-fashioned way, all +his money, if he has it, can make no difference. When there is a +question of marriage people at any rate should know something of each +other. Who knows anything of this man? Who can be sure that she is +his daughter?"</p> + +<p>"He would give her her fortune when she married."</p> + +<p>"Yes; it all comes to that. Men say openly that he is an adventurer +and a swindler. No one pretends to think that he is a gentleman. +There is a consciousness among all who speak of him that he amasses +his money not by honest trade, but by unknown tricks,—as does a card +sharper. He is one whom we would not admit into our kitchens, much +less to our tables, on the score of his own merits. But because he +has learned the art of making money, we not only put up with him, but +settle upon his carcase as so many birds of prey."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that Felix should not marry the girl, even if they love +each other?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head in disgust, feeling sure that any idea of love on +the part of the young man was a sham and a pretence, not only as +regarded him, but also his mother. He could not quite declare this, +and yet he desired that she should understand that he thought so. "I +have nothing more to say about it," he continued. "Had it gone on in +London I should have said nothing. It is no affair of mine. When I am +told that the girl is in the neighbourhood, at such a house as +Caversham, and that Felix is coming here in order that he may be near +to his prey, and when I am asked to be a party to the thing, I can +only say what I think. Your son would be welcome to my house, because +he is your son and my cousin, little as I approve his mode of life; +but I could have wished that he had chosen some other place for the +work that he has on hand."</p> + +<p>"If you wish it, Roger, we will return to London. I shall find it +hard to explain to Hetta;—but we will go."</p> + +<p>"No; I certainly do not wish that."</p> + +<p>"But you have said such hard things! How are we to stay? You speak of +Felix as though he were all bad." She looked at him hoping to get +from him some contradiction of this, some retractation, some kindly +word; but it was what he did think, and he had nothing to say. She +could bear much. She was not delicate as to censure implied, or even +expressed. She had endured rough usage before, and was prepared to +endure more. Had he found fault with herself, or with Henrietta, she +would have put up with it, for the sake of benefits to come,—would +have forgiven it the more easily because perhaps it might not have +been deserved. But for her son she was prepared to fight. If she did +not defend him, who would? "I am grieved, Roger, that we should have +troubled you with our visit, but I think that we had better go. You +are very harsh, and it crushes me."</p> + +<p>"I have not meant to be harsh."</p> + +<p>"You say that Felix is seeking for his—prey, and that he is to be +brought here to be near—his prey. What can be more harsh than that? +At any rate, you should remember that I am his mother."</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill015"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill015.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill015-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"You should remember that I am his mother."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"You + should remember that I am his mother."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill015.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>She expressed her sense of injury very well. Roger began to be +ashamed of himself, and to think that he had spoken unkind words. And +yet he did not know how to recall them. "If I have hurt you, I regret +it much."</p> + +<p>"Of course you have hurt me. I think I will go in now. How very hard +the world is! I came here thinking to find peace and sunshine, and +there has come a storm at once."</p> + +<p>"You asked me about the Melmottes, and I was obliged to speak. You +cannot think that I meant to offend you." They walked on in silence +till they had reached the door leading from the garden into the +house, and here he stopped her. "If I have been over hot with you, +let me beg your pardon." She smiled and bowed; but her smile was not +one of forgiveness; and then she essayed to pass on into the house. +"Pray do not speak of going, Lady Carbury."</p> + +<p>"I think I will go to my room now. My head aches so that I can hardly +stand."</p> + +<p>It was late in the afternoon,—about six,—and according to his daily +custom he should have gone round to the offices to see his men as +they came from their work, but he stood still for a few moments on +the spot where Lady Carbury had left him and went slowly across the +lawn to the bridge and there seated himself on the parapet. Could it +really be that she meant to leave his house in anger and to take her +daughter with her? Was it thus that he was to part with the one human +being in the world that he loved? He was a man who thought much of +the duties of hospitality, feeling that a man in his own house was +bound to exercise a courtesy towards his guests sweeter, softer, more +gracious than the world required elsewhere. And of all guests those +of his own name were the best entitled to such courtesy at Carbury. +He held the place in trust for the use of others. But if there were +one among all others to whom the house should be a house of refuge +from care, not an abode of trouble, on whose behalf were it possible +he would make the very air softer, and the flowers sweeter than their +wont, to whom he would declare, were such words possible to his +tongue, that of him and of his house, and of all things there she was +the mistress, whether she would condescend to love him or no,—that +one was his cousin Hetta. And now he had been told by his guest that +he had been so rough to her that she and her daughter must return to +London!</p> + +<p>And he could not acquit himself. He knew that he had been rough. He +had said very hard words. It was true that he could not have +expressed his meaning without hard words, nor have repressed his +meaning without self-reproach. But in his present mood he could not +comfort himself by justifying himself. She had told him that he ought +to have remembered that Felix was her son; and as she spoke she had +acted well the part of an outraged mother. His heart was so soft that +though he knew the woman to be false and the son to be worthless, he +utterly condemned himself. Look where he would there was no comfort. +When he had sat half-an-hour upon the bridge he turned towards the +house to dress for dinner,—and to prepare himself for an apology, if +any apology might be accepted. At the door, standing in the doorway +as though waiting for him, he met his cousin Hetta. She had on her +bosom the rose he had placed in her room, and as he approached her he +thought that there was more in her eyes of graciousness towards him +than he had ever seen there before.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carbury," she said, "mamma is so unhappy!"</p> + +<p>"I fear that I have offended her."</p> + +<p>"It is not that, but that you should be so,—so angry about Felix."</p> + +<p>"I am vexed with myself that I have vexed her,—more vexed than I can +tell you."</p> + +<p>"She knows how good you are."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not. I was very bad just now. She was so offended with me +that she talked of going back to London." He paused for her to speak, +but Hetta had no words ready for the moment. "I should be wretched +indeed if you and she were to leave my house in anger."</p> + +<p>"I do not think she will do that."</p> + +<p>"And you?"</p> + +<p>"I am not angry. I should never dare to be angry with you. I only +wish that Felix would be better. They say that young men have to be +bad, and that they do get to be better as they grow older. He is +something in the city now, a director they call him, and mamma thinks +that the work will be of service to him." Roger could express no hope +in this direction or even look as though he approved of the +directorship. "I don't see why he should not try at any rate."</p> + +<p>"Dear Hetta, I only wish he were like you."</p> + +<p>"Girls are so different, you know."</p> + +<p>It was not till late in the evening, long after dinner, that he made +his apology in form to Lady Carbury; but he did make it, and at last +it was accepted. "I think I was rough to you, talking about Felix," +he said,—"and I beg your pardon."</p> + +<p>"You were energetic, that was all."</p> + +<p>"A gentleman should never be rough to a lady, and a man should never +be rough to his own guests. I hope you will forgive me." She answered +him by putting out her hand and smiling on him; and so the quarrel +was over.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury understood the full extent of her triumph, and was +enabled by her disposition to use it thoroughly. Felix might now come +down to Carbury, and go over from thence to Caversham, and prosecute +his wooing, and the master of Carbury could make no further +objection. And Felix, if he would come, would not now be snubbed. +Roger would understand that he was constrained to courtesy by the +former severity of his language. Such points as these Lady Carbury +never missed. He understood it too, and though he was soft and +gracious in his bearing, endeavouring to make his house as pleasant +as he could to his two guests, he felt that he had been cheated out +of his undoubted right to disapprove of all connection with the +Melmottes. In the course of the evening there came a note,—or rather +a bundle of notes,—from Caversham. That addressed to Roger was in +the form of a letter. Lady Pomona was sorry to say that the +Longestaffe party were prevented from having the pleasure of dining +at Carbury Hall by the fact that they had a house full of guests. +Lady Pomona hoped that Mr. Carbury and his relatives, who, Lady +Pomona heard, were with him at the Hall, would do the Longestaffes +the pleasure of dining at Caversham either on the Monday or Tuesday +following, as might best suit the Carbury plans. That was the purport +of Lady Pomona's letter to Roger Carbury. Then there were cards of +invitation for Lady Carbury and her daughter, and also for Sir Felix.</p> + +<p>Roger, as he read his own note, handed the others over to Lady +Carbury, and then asked her what she would wish to have done. The +tone of his voice, as he spoke, grated on her ear, as there was +something in it of his former harshness. But she knew how to use her +triumph. "I should like to go," she said.</p> + +<p>"I certainly shall not go," he replied; "but there will be no +difficulty whatever in sending you over. You must answer at once, +because their servant is waiting."</p> + +<p>"Monday will be best," she said; "—that is, if nobody is coming +here."</p> + +<p>"There will be nobody here."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I had better say that I, and Hetta,—and Felix will accept +their invitation."</p> + +<p>"I can make no suggestion," said Roger, thinking how delightful it +would be if Henrietta could remain with him; how objectionable it was +that Henrietta should be taken to Caversham to meet the Melmottes. +Poor Hetta herself could say nothing. She certainly did not wish to +meet the Melmottes, nor did she wish to dine, alone, with her cousin +Roger.</p> + +<p>"That will be best," said Lady Carbury after a moment's thought. "It +is very good of you to let us go, and to send us."</p> + +<p>"Of course you will do here just as you please," he replied. But +there was still that tone in his voice which Lady Carbury feared. A +quarter of an hour later the Caversham servant was on his way home +with two letters,—the one from Roger expressing his regret that he +could not accept Lady Pomona's invitation, and the other from Lady +Carbury declaring that she and her son and daughter would have great +pleasure in dining at Caversham on the Monday.</p> + + +<p><a id="c16"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVI.</h3> +<h4>THE BISHOP AND THE PRIEST.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The afternoon on which Lady Carbury arrived at her cousin's house had +been very stormy. Roger Carbury had been severe, and Lady Carbury had +suffered under his severity,—or had at least so well pretended to +suffer as to leave on Roger's mind a strong impression that he had +been cruel to her. She had then talked of going back at once to +London, and when consenting to remain, had remained with a very bad +feminine headache. She had altogether carried her point, but had done +so in a storm. The next morning was very calm. That question of +meeting the Melmottes had been settled, and there was no need for +speaking of them again. Roger went out by himself about the farm, +immediately after breakfast, having told the ladies that they could +have the waggonnette when they pleased. "I'm afraid you'll find it +tiresome driving about our lanes," he said. Lady Carbury assured him +that she was never dull when left alone with books. Just as he was +starting he went into the garden and plucked a rose which he brought +to Henrietta. He only smiled as he gave it her, and then went his +way. He had resolved that he would say nothing to her of his suit +till Monday. If he could prevail with her then he would ask her to +remain with him when her mother and brother would be going out to +dine at Caversham. She looked up into his face as she took the rose +and thanked him in a whisper. She fully appreciated the truth, and +honour, and honesty of his character, and could have loved him so +dearly as her cousin if he would have contented himself with such +cousinly love! She was beginning, within her heart, to take his side +against her mother and brother, and to feel that he was the safest +guide that she could have. But how could she be guided by a lover +whom she did not love?</p> + +<p>"I am afraid, my dear, we shall have a bad time of it here," said +Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"Why so, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"It will be so dull. Your cousin is the best friend in all the world, +and would make as good a husband as could be picked out of all the +gentlemen of England; but in his present mood with me he is not a +comfortable host. What nonsense he did talk about the Melmottes!"</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose, mamma, that Mr. and Mrs. Melmotte can be nice +people."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't they be as nice as anybody else? Pray, Henrietta, +don't let us have any of that nonsense from you. When it comes from +the superhuman virtue of poor dear Roger it has to be borne, but I +beg that you will not copy him."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, I think that is unkind."</p> + +<p>"And I shall think it very unkind if you take upon yourself to abuse +people who are able and willing to set poor Felix on his legs. A word +from you might undo all that we are doing."</p> + +<p>"What word?"</p> + +<p>"What word? Any word! If you have any influence with your brother you +should use it in inducing him to hurry this on. I am sure the girl is +willing enough. She did refer him to her father."</p> + +<p>"Then why does he not go to Mr. Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose he is delicate about it on the score of money. If Roger +could only let it be understood that Felix is the heir to this place, +and that some day he will be Sir Felix Carbury of Carbury, I don't +think there would be any difficulty even with old Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"How could he do that, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"If your cousin were to die as he is now, it would be so. Your +brother would be his heir."</p> + +<p>"You should not think of such a thing, mamma."</p> + +<p>"Why do you dare to tell me what I am to think? Am I not to think of +my own son? Is he not to be dearer to me than any one? And what I +say, is so. If Roger were to die to-morrow he would be Sir Felix +Carbury of Carbury."</p> + +<p>"But, mamma, he will live and have a family. Why should he not?"</p> + +<p>"You say he is so old that you will not look at him."</p> + +<p>"I never said so. When we were joking, I said he was old. You know I +did not mean that he was too old to get married. Men a great deal +older get married every day."</p> + +<p>"If you don't accept him he will never marry. He is a man of that +kind,—so stiff and stubborn and old-fashioned that nothing will +change him. He will go on boodying over it, till he will become an +old misanthrope. If you would take him I would be quite contented. +You are my child as well as Felix. But if you mean to be obstinate I +do wish that the Melmottes should be made to understand that the +property and title and name of the place will all go together. It +will be so, and why should not Felix have the advantage?"</p> + +<p>"Who is to say it?"</p> + +<p>"Ah;—that's where it is. Roger is so violent and prejudiced that one +cannot get him to speak rationally."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma;—you wouldn't suggest it to him;—that this place is to +go to—Felix, when he—is dead!"</p> + +<p>"It would not kill him a day sooner."</p> + +<p>"You would not dare to do it, mamma."</p> + +<p>"I would dare to do anything for my children. But you need not look +like that, Henrietta. I am not going to say anything to him of the +kind. He is not quick enough to understand of what infinite service +he might be to us without in any way hurting himself." Henrietta +would fain have answered that their cousin was quick enough for +anything, but was by far too honest to take part in such a scheme as +that proposed. She refrained, however, and was silent. There was no +sympathy on the matter between her and her mother. She was beginning +to understand the tortuous mazes of manœuvres in which her +mother's mind had learned to work, and to dislike and almost to +despise them. But she felt it to be her duty to abstain from rebukes.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon Lady Carbury, alone, had herself driven into Beccles +that she might telegraph to her son. "You are to dine at Caversham on +Monday. Come on Saturday if you can. She is there." Lady Carbury had +many doubts as to the wording of this message. The female in the +office might too probably understand who was the "She," who was +spoken of as being at Caversham, and might understand also the +project, and speak of it publicly. But then it was essential that +Felix should know how great and certain was the opportunity afforded +to him. He had promised to come on Saturday and return on +Monday,—and, unless warned, would too probably stick to his plan and +throw over the Longestaffes and their dinner-party. Again if he were +told to come simply for the Monday, he would throw over the chance of +wooing her on the Sunday. It was Lady Carbury's desire to get him +down for as long a period as was possible, and nothing surely would +so tend to bring him and to keep him, as a knowledge that the heiress +was already in the neighbourhood. Then she returned, and shut herself +up in her bedroom, and worked for an hour or two at a paper which she +was writing for the "Breakfast Table." Nobody should ever accuse her +justly of idleness. And afterwards, as she walked by herself round +and round the garden, she revolved in her mind the scheme of a new +book. Whatever might happen she would persevere. If the Carburys were +unfortunate their misfortunes should come from no fault of hers. +Henrietta passed the whole day alone. She did not see her cousin from +breakfast till he appeared in the drawing-room before dinner. But she +was thinking of him during every minute of the day,—how good he was, +how honest, how thoroughly entitled to demand at any rate kindness at +her hand! Her mother had spoken of him as of one who might be +regarded as all but dead and buried, simply because of his love for +her. Could it be true that his constancy was such that he would never +marry unless she would take his hand? She came to think of him with +more tenderness than she had ever felt before, but, yet, she would +not tell herself she loved him. It might, perhaps, be her duty to +give herself to him without loving him,—because he was so good; but +she was sure that she did not love him.</p> + +<p>In the evening the bishop came, and his wife, Mrs. Yeld, and the +Hepworths of Eardly, and Father John Barham, the Beccles priest. The +party consisted of eight, which is, perhaps, the best number for a +mixed gathering of men and women at a dinner-table,—especially if +there be no mistress whose prerogative and duty it is to sit opposite +to the master. In this case Mr. Hepworth faced the giver of the +feast, the bishop and the priest were opposite to each other, and the +ladies graced the four corners. Roger, though he spoke of such things +to no one, turned them over much in his mind, believing it to be the +duty of a host to administer in all things to the comfort of his +guests. In the drawing-room he had been especially courteous to the +young priest, introducing him first to the bishop and his wife, and +then to his cousins. Henrietta watched him through the whole evening, +and told herself that he was a very mirror of courtesy in his own +house. She had seen it all before, no doubt; but she had never +watched him as she now watched him since her mother had told her that +he would die wifeless and childless because she would not be his wife +and the mother of his children.</p> + +<p>The bishop was a man sixty years of age, very healthy and handsome, +with hair just becoming grey, clear eyes, a kindly mouth, and +something of a double chin. He was all but six feet high, with a +broad chest, large hands, and legs which seemed to have been made for +clerical breeches and clerical stockings. He was a man of fortune +outside his bishopric; and, as he never went up to London, and had no +children on whom to spend his money, he was able to live as a +nobleman in the country. He did live as a nobleman, and was very +popular. Among the poor around him he was idolized, and by such +clergy of his diocese as were not enthusiastic in their theology +either on the one side or on the other, he was regarded as a model +bishop. By the very high and the very low,—by those rather who +regarded ritualism as being either heavenly or devilish,—he was +looked upon as a time-server, because he would not put to sea in +either of those boats. He was an unselfish man, who loved his +neighbour as himself, and forgave all trespasses, and thanked God for +his daily bread from his heart, and prayed heartily to be delivered +from temptation. But I doubt whether he was competent to teach a +creed,—or even to hold one, if it be necessary that a man should +understand and define his creed before he can hold it. Whether he was +free from, or whether he was scared by, any inward misgivings, who +shall say? If there were such he never whispered a word of them even +to the wife of his bosom. From the tone of his voice and the look of +his eye, you would say that he was unscathed by that agony which +doubt on such a matter would surely bring to a man so placed. And yet +it was observed of him that he never spoke of his faith, or entered +into arguments with men as to the reasons on which he had based it. +He was diligent in preaching,—moral sermons that were short, pithy, +and useful. He was never weary in furthering the welfare of his +clergymen. His house was open to them and to their wives. The edifice +of every church in his diocese was a care to him. He laboured at +schools, and was zealous in improving the social comforts of the +poor; but he was never known to declare to man or woman that the +human soul must live or die for ever according to its faith. Perhaps +there was no bishop in England more loved or more useful in his +diocese than the Bishop of Elmham.</p> + +<p>A man more antagonistic to the bishop than Father John Barham, the +lately appointed Roman Catholic priest at Beccles, it would be +impossible to conceive;—and yet they were both eminently good men. +Father John was not above five feet nine in height, but so thin, so +meagre, so wasted in appearance, that, unless when he stooped, he was +taken to be tall. He had thick dark brown hair, which was cut short +in accordance with the usage of his Church; but which he so +constantly ruffled by the action of his hands, that, though short, it +seemed to be wild and uncombed. In his younger days, when long locks +straggled over his forehead, he had acquired a habit, while talking +energetically, of rubbing them back with his finger, which he had not +since dropped. In discussions he would constantly push back his hair, +and then sit with his hand fixed on the top of his head. He had a +high, broad forehead, enormous blue eyes, a thin, long nose, cheeks +very thin and hollow, a handsome large mouth, and a strong square +chin. He was utterly without worldly means, except those which came +to him from the ministry of his church, and which did not suffice to +find him food and raiment; but no man ever lived more indifferent to +such matters than Father John Barham. He had been the younger son of +an English country gentleman of small fortune, had been sent to +Oxford that he might hold a family living, and on the eve of his +ordination had declared himself a Roman Catholic. His family had +resented this bitterly, but had not quarrelled with him till he had +drawn a sister with him. When banished from the house he had still +striven to achieve the conversion of other sisters by his letters, +and was now absolutely an alien from his father's heart and care. But +of this he never complained. It was a part of the plan of his life +that he should suffer for his faith. Had he been able to change his +creed without incurring persecution, worldly degradation, and +poverty, his own conversion would not have been to him comfortable +and satisfactory as it was. He considered that his father, as a +Protestant,—and in his mind Protestant and heathen were all the +same,—had been right to quarrel with him. But he loved his father, +and was endless in prayer, wearying his saints with supplications, +that his father might see the truth and be as he was.</p> + +<p>To him it was everything that a man should believe and obey,—that he +should abandon his own reason to the care of another or of others, +and allow himself to be guided in all things by authority. Faith +being sufficient and of itself all in all, moral conduct could be +nothing to a man, except as a testimony of faith; for to him, whose +belief was true enough to produce obedience, moral conduct would +certainly be added. The dogmas of his Church were to Father Barham a +real religion; and he would teach them in season and out of season, +always ready to commit himself to the task of proving their truth, +afraid of no enemy, not even fearing the hostility which his +perseverance would create. He had but one duty before him,—to do his +part towards bringing over the world to his faith. It might be that +with the toil of his whole life he should convert but one; that he +should but half convert one; that he should do no more than disturb +the thoughts of one so that future conversion might be possible. But +even that would be work done. He would sow the seed if it might be +so; but if it were not given to him to do that, he would at any rate +plough the ground.</p> + +<p>He had come to Beccles lately, and Roger Carbury had found out that +he was a gentleman by birth and education. Roger had found out also +that he was very poor, and had consequently taken him by the hand. +The young priest had not hesitated to accept his neighbour's +hospitality, having on one occasion laughingly protested that he +should be delighted to dine at Carbury, as he was much in want of a +dinner. He had accepted presents from the garden and the poultry +yard, declaring that he was too poor to refuse anything. The apparent +frankness of the man about himself had charmed Roger, and the charm +had not been seriously disturbed when Father Barham, on one winter +evening in the parlour at Carbury, had tried his hand at converting +his host. "I have the most thorough respect for your religion," Roger +had said; "but it would not suit me." The priest had gone on with his +logic; if he could not sow the seed he might plough the ground. This +had been repeated two or three times, and Roger had begun to feel it +to be disagreeable. But the man was in earnest, and such earnestness +commanded respect. And Roger was quite sure that though he might be +bored, he could not be injured by such teaching. Then it occurred to +him one day that he had known the Bishop of Elmham intimately for a +dozen years, and had never heard from the bishop's mouth,—except +when in the pulpit,—a single word of religious teaching; whereas +this man, who was a stranger to him, divided from him by the very +fact of his creed, was always talking to him about his faith. Roger +Carbury was not a man given to much deep thinking, but he felt that +the bishop's manner was the pleasanter of the two.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury at dinner was all smiles and pleasantness. No one +looking at her, or listening to her, could think that her heart was +sore with many troubles. She sat between the bishop and her cousin, +and was skilful enough to talk to each without neglecting the other. +She had known the bishop before, and had on one occasion spoken to +him of her soul. The first tone of the good man's reply had convinced +her of her error, and she never repeated it. To Mr. Alf she commonly +talked of her mind; to Mr. Broune of her heart; to Mr. Booker of her +body—and its wants. She was quite ready to talk of her soul on a +proper occasion, but she was much too wise to thrust the subject even +on a bishop. Now she was full of the charms of Carbury and its +neighbourhood. "Yes, indeed," said the bishop, "I think Suffolk is a +very nice county; and as we are only a mile or two from Norfolk, I'll +say as much for Norfolk too. 'It's an ill bird that fouls its own +nest.'"</p> + +<p>"I like a county in which there is something left of county feeling," +said Lady Carbury. "Staffordshire and Warwickshire, Cheshire and +Lancashire have become great towns, and have lost all local +distinctions."</p> + +<p>"We still keep our name and reputation," said the bishop; "Silly +Suffolk!"</p> + +<p>"But that was never deserved."</p> + +<p>"As much, perhaps, as other general epithets. I think we are a sleepy +people. We've got no coal, you see, and no iron. We have no beautiful +scenery, like the lake country,—no rivers great for fishing, like +Scotland,—no hunting grounds, like the shires."</p> + +<p>"Partridges!" pleaded Lady Carbury, with pretty energy.</p> + +<p>"Yes; we have partridges, fine churches, and the herring fishery. We +shall do very well if too much is not expected of us. We can't +increase and multiply as they do in the great cities."</p> + +<p>"I like this part of England so much the best for that very reason. +What is the use of a crowded population?"</p> + +<p>"The earth has to be peopled, Lady Carbury."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said her ladyship, with some little reverence added to her +voice, feeling that the bishop was probably adverting to a divine +arrangement. "The world must be peopled; but for myself I like the +country better than the town."</p> + +<p>"So do I," said Roger; "and I like Suffolk. The people are hearty, +and radicalism is not quite so rampant as it is elsewhere. The poor +people touch their hats, and the rich people think of the poor. There +is something left among us of old English habits."</p> + +<p>"That is so nice," said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"Something left of old English ignorance," said the bishop. "All the +same I dare say we're improving, like the rest of the world. What +beautiful flowers you have here, Mr. Carbury! At any rate, we can +grow flowers in Suffolk."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Yeld, the bishop's wife, was sitting next to the priest, and was +in truth somewhat afraid of her neighbour. She was, perhaps, a little +stauncher than her husband in Protestantism; and though she was +willing to admit that Mr. Barham might not have ceased to be a +gentleman when he became a Roman Catholic priest, she was not quite +sure that it was expedient for her or her husband to have much to do +with him. Mr. Carbury had not taken them unawares. Notice had been +given that the priest was to be there, and the bishop had declared +that he would be very happy to meet the priest. But Mrs. Yeld had had +her misgivings. She never ventured to insist on her opinion after the +bishop had expressed his; but she had an idea that right was right, +and wrong wrong,—and that Roman Catholics were wrong, and therefore +ought to be put down. And she thought also that if there were no +priests there would be no Roman Catholics. Mr. Barham was, no doubt, +a man of good family, which did make a difference.</p> + +<p>Mr. Barham always made his approaches very gradually. The taciturn +humility with which he commenced his operations was in exact +proportion to the enthusiastic volubility of his advanced intimacy. +Mrs. Yeld thought that it became her to address to him a few civil +words, and he replied to her with a shame-faced modesty that almost +overcame her dislike to his profession. She spoke of the poor of +Beccles, being very careful to allude only to their material +position. There was too much beer drunk, no doubt, and the young +women would have finery. Where did they get the money to buy those +wonderful bonnets which appeared every Sunday? Mr. Barham was very +meek, and agreed to everything that was said. No doubt he had a plan +ready formed for inducing Mrs. Yeld to have mass said regularly +within her husband's palace, but he did not even begin to bring it +about on this occasion. It was not till he made some apparently +chance allusion to the superior church-attending qualities of "our +people," that Mrs. Yeld drew herself up and changed the conversation +by observing that there had been a great deal of rain lately.</p> + +<p>When the ladies were gone the bishop at once put himself in the way +of conversation with the priest, and asked questions as to the +morality of Beccles. It was evidently Mr. Barham's opinion that "his +people" were more moral than other people, though very much poorer. +"But the Irish always drink," said Mr. Hepworth.</p> + +<p>"Not so much as the English, I think," said the priest. "And you are +not to suppose that we are all Irish. Of my flock the greater +proportion are English."</p> + +<p>"It is astonishing how little we know of our neighbours," said the +bishop. "Of course I am aware that there are a certain number of +persons of your persuasion round about us. Indeed, I could give the +exact number in this diocese. But in my own immediate neighbourhood I +could not put my hand upon any families which I know to be Roman +Catholic."</p> + +<p>"It is not, my lord, because there are none."</p> + +<p>"Of course not. It is because, as I say, I do not know my +neighbours."</p> + +<p>"I think, here in Suffolk, they must be chiefly the poor," said Mr. +Hepworth.</p> + +<p>"They were chiefly the poor who at first put their faith in our +Saviour," said the priest.</p> + +<p>"I think the analogy is hardly correctly drawn," said the bishop, +with a curious smile. "We were speaking of those who are still +attached to an old creed. Our Saviour was the teacher of a new +religion. That the poor in the simplicity of their hearts should be +the first to acknowledge the truth of a new religion is in accordance +with our idea of human nature. But that an old faith should remain +with the poor after it has been abandoned by the rich is not so +easily intelligible."</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill016"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill016.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill016-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="The bishop thinks that the priest's + analogy is not correct." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">The bishop + thinks that the priest's analogy is not correct.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill016.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"The Roman population still believed," said Carbury, "when the +patricians had learned to regard their gods as simply useful +bugbears."</p> + +<p>"The patricians had not ostensibly abandoned their religion. The +people clung to it thinking that their masters and rulers clung to it +also."</p> + +<p>"The poor have ever been the salt of the earth, my lord," said the +priest.</p> + +<p>"That begs the whole question," said the bishop, turning to his host, +and beginning to talk about a breed of pigs which had lately been +imported into the palace styes. Father Barham turned to Mr. Hepworth +and went on with his argument, or rather began another. It was a +mistake to suppose that the Catholics in the county were all poor. +There were the +<span class="nowrap">A——s</span> and the +<span class="nowrap">B——s,</span> and the +<span class="nowrap">C——s</span> and the +<span class="nowrap">D——s.</span> +He knew all their names and was proud of their fidelity. To him these +faithful ones were really the salt of the earth, who would some day +be enabled by their fidelity to restore England to her pristine +condition. The bishop had truly said that of many of his neighbours +he did not know to what Church they belonged; but Father Barham, +though he had not as yet been twelve months in the county, knew the +name of nearly every Roman Catholic within its borders.</p> + +<p>"Your priest is a very zealous man," said the bishop afterwards to +Roger Carbury, "and I do not doubt but that he is an excellent +gentleman; but he is perhaps a little indiscreet."</p> + +<p>"I like him because he is doing the best he can according to his +lights; without any reference to his own worldly welfare."</p> + +<p>"That is all very grand, and I am perfectly willing to respect him. +But I do not know that I should care to talk very freely in his +company."</p> + +<p>"I am sure he would repeat nothing."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not; but he would always be thinking that he was going to +get the best of me."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it answers," said Mrs. Yeld to her husband as they +went home. "Of course I don't want to be prejudiced; but Protestants +are Protestants, and Roman Catholics are Roman Catholics."</p> + +<p>"You may say the same of Liberals and Conservatives, but you wouldn't +have them decline to meet each other."</p> + +<p>"It isn't quite the same, my dear. After all religion is religion."</p> + +<p>"It ought to be," said the bishop.</p> + +<p>"Of course I don't mean to put myself up against you, my dear; but I +don't know that I want to meet Mr. Barham again."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I do, either," said the bishop; "but if he comes +in my way I hope I shall treat him civilly."</p> + + +<p><a id="c17"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVII.</h3> +<h4>MARIE MELMOTTE HEARS A LOVE TALE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>On the following morning there came a telegram from Felix. He was to +be expected at Beccles on that afternoon by a certain train; and +Roger, at Lady Carbury's request, undertook to send a carriage to the +station for him. This was done, but Felix did not arrive. There was +still another train by which he might come so as to be just in time +for dinner if dinner were postponed for half an hour. Lady Carbury +with a tender look, almost without speaking a word, appealed to her +cousin on behalf of her son. He knit his brows, as he always did, +involuntarily, when displeased; but he assented. Then the carriage +had to be sent again. Now carriages and carriage-horses were not +numerous at Carbury. The squire kept a waggonnette and a pair of +horses which, when not wanted for house use, were employed about the +farm. He himself would walk home from the train, leaving the luggage +to be brought by some cheap conveyance. He had already sent the +carriage once on this day,—and now sent it again, Lady Carbury +having said a word which showed that she hoped that this would be +done. But he did it with deep displeasure. To the mother her son was +Sir Felix, the baronet, entitled to special consideration because of +his position and rank,—because also of his intention to marry the +great heiress of the day. To Roger Carbury, Felix was a vicious young +man, peculiarly antipathetic to himself, to whom no respect whatever +was due. Nevertheless the dinner was put off, and the waggonnette was +sent. But the waggonnette again came back empty. That evening was +spent by Roger, Lady Carbury, and Henrietta, in very much gloom.</p> + +<p>About four in the morning the house was roused by the coming of the +baronet. Failing to leave town by either of the afternoon trains, he +had contrived to catch the evening mail, and had found himself +deposited at some distant town from which he had posted to Carbury. +Roger came down in his dressing-gown to admit him, and Lady Carbury +also left her room. Sir Felix evidently thought that he had been a +very fine fellow in going through so much trouble. Roger held a very +different opinion, and spoke little or nothing. "Oh, Felix," said the +mother, "you have so terrified us!"</p> + +<p>"I can tell you I was terrified myself when I found that I had to +come fifteen miles across the country with a pair of old jades who +could hardly get up a trot."</p> + +<p>"But why didn't you come by the train you named?"</p> + +<p>"I couldn't get out of the city," said the baronet with a ready lie.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you were at the Board?" To this Felix made no direct +answer. Roger knew that there had been no Board. Mr. Melmotte was in +the country and there could be no Board, nor could Sir Felix have had +business in the city. It was sheer impudence,—sheer indifference, +and, into the bargain, a downright lie. The young man, who was of +himself so unwelcome, who had come there on a project which he, +Roger, utterly disapproved,—who had now knocked him and his +household up at four o'clock in the morning,—had uttered no word of +apology. "Miserable cub!" Roger muttered between his teeth. Then he +spoke aloud, "You had better not keep your mother standing here. I +will show you your room."</p> + +<p>"All right, old fellow," said Sir Felix. "I'm awfully sorry to +disturb you all in this way. I think I'll just take a drop of brandy +and soda before I go to bed, though." This was another blow to Roger.</p> + +<p>"I doubt whether we have soda-water in the house, and if we have, I +don't know where to get it. I can give you some brandy if you will +come with me." He pronounced the word "brandy" in a tone which +implied that it was a wicked, dissipated beverage. It was a wretched +work to Roger. He was forced to go up-stairs and fetch a key in order +that he might wait upon this cub,—this cur! He did it, however, and +the cub drank his brandy-and-water, not in the least disturbed by his +host's ill-humour. As he went to bed he suggested the probability of +his not showing himself till lunch on the following day, and +expressed a wish that he might have breakfast sent to him in bed. "He +is born to be hung," said Roger to himself as he went to his +room,—"and he'll deserve it."</p> + +<p>On the following morning, being Sunday, they all went to +church,—except Felix. Lady Carbury always went to church when she +was in the country, never when she was at home in London. It was one +of those moral habits, like early dinners and long walks, which +suited country life. And she fancied that were she not to do so, the +bishop would be sure to know it and would be displeased. She liked +the bishop. She liked bishops generally; and was aware that it was a +woman's duty to sacrifice herself for society. As to the purpose for +which people go to church, it had probably never in her life occurred +to Lady Carbury to think of it. On their return they found Sir Felix +smoking a cigar on the gravel path, close in front of the open +drawing-room window.</p> + +<p>"Felix," said his cousin, "take your cigar a little farther. You are +filling the house with tobacco."</p> + +<p>"Oh heavens,—what a prejudice!" said the baronet.</p> + +<p>"Let it be so, but still do as I ask you." Sir Felix chucked the +cigar out of his mouth on to the gravel walk, whereupon Roger walked +up to the spot and kicked the offending weed away. This was the first +greeting of the day between the two men.</p> + +<p>After lunch Lady Carbury strolled about with her son, instigating him +to go over at once to Caversham. "How the deuce am I to get there?"</p> + +<p>"Your cousin will lend you a horse."</p> + +<p>"He's as cross as a bear with a sore head. He's a deal older than I +am, and a cousin and all that, but I'm not going to put up with +insolence. If it were anywhere else I should just go into the yard +and ask if I could have a horse and saddle as a matter of course."</p> + +<p>"Roger has not a great establishment."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he has a horse and saddle, and a man to get it ready. I +don't want anything grand."</p> + +<p>"He is vexed because he sent twice to the station for you yesterday."</p> + +<p>"I hate the kind of fellow who is always thinking of little +grievances. Such a man expects you to go like clockwork, and because +you are not wound up just as he is, he insults you. I shall ask him +for a horse as I would any one else, and if he does not like it, he +may lump it." About half an hour after this he found his cousin. "Can +I have a horse to ride over to Caversham this afternoon?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Our horses never go out on Sunday," said Roger. Then he added, after +a pause, "You can have it. I'll give the order." Sir Felix would be +gone on Tuesday, and it should be his own fault if that odious cousin +ever found his way into Carbury House again! So he declared to +himself as Felix rode out of the yard; but he soon remembered how +probable it was that Felix himself would be the owner of Carbury. And +should it ever come to pass,—as still was possible,—that Henrietta +should be the mistress of Carbury, he could hardly forbid her to +receive her brother. He stood for a while on the bridge watching his +cousin as he cantered away upon the road, listening to the horse's +feet. The young man was offensive in every possible way. Who does not +know that ladies only are allowed to canter their friends' horses +upon roads? A gentleman trots his horse, and his friend's horse. +Roger Carbury had but one saddle horse,—a favourite old hunter that +he loved as a friend. And now this dear old friend, whose legs +probably were not quite so good as they once were, was being galloped +along the hard road by that odious cub! "Soda and brandy!" Roger +exclaimed to himself almost aloud, thinking of the discomfiture of +that early morning. "He'll die some day of delirium tremens in a +hospital!"</p> + +<p>Before the Longestaffes left London to receive their new friends the +Melmottes at Caversham, a treaty had been made between Mr. +Longestaffe, the father, and Georgiana, the strong-minded daughter. +The daughter on her side undertook that the guests should be treated +with feminine courtesy. This might be called the most-favoured-nation +clause. The Melmottes were to be treated exactly as though old +Melmotte had been a gentleman and Madame Melmotte a lady. In return +for this the Longestaffe family were to be allowed to return to town. +But here again the father had carried another clause. The prolonged +sojourn in town was to be only for six weeks. On the 10th of July the +Longestaffes were to be removed into the country for the remainder of +the year. When the question of a foreign tour was proposed, the +father became absolutely violent in his refusal. "In God's name where +do you expect the money is to come from?" When Georgiana urged that +other people had money to go abroad, her father told her that a time +was coming in which she might think it lucky if she had a house over +her head. This, however, she took as having been said with poetical +licence, the same threat having been made more than once before. The +treaty was very clear, and the parties to it were prepared to carry +it out with fair honesty. The Melmottes were being treated with +decent courtesy, and the house in town was not dismantled.</p> + +<p>The idea, hardly ever in truth entertained but which had been barely +suggested from one to another among the ladies of the family, that +Dolly should marry Marie Melmotte, had been abandoned. Dolly, with +all his vapid folly, had a will of his own, which, among his own +family, was invincible. He was never persuaded to any course either +by his father or mother. Dolly certainly would not marry Marie +Melmotte. Therefore when the Longestaffes heard that Sir Felix was +coming to the country, they had no special objection to entertaining +him at Caversham. He had been lately talked of in London as the +favourite in regard to Marie Melmotte. Georgiana Longestaffe had a +grudge of her own against Lord Nidderdale, and was on that account +somewhat well inclined towards Sir Felix's prospects. Soon after the +Melmottes' arrival she contrived to say a word to Marie respecting +Sir Felix. "There is a friend of yours going to dine here on Monday, +Miss Melmotte." Marie, who was at the moment still abashed by the +grandeur and size and general fashionable haughtiness of her new +acquaintances, made hardly any answer. "I think you know Sir Felix +Carbury," continued Georgiana.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, we know Sir Felix Carbury."</p> + +<p>"He is coming down to his cousin's. I suppose it is for your bright +eyes, as Carbury Manor would hardly be just what he would like."</p> + +<p>"I don't think he is coming because of me," said Marie blushing. She +had once told him that he might go to her father, which according to +her idea had been tantamount to accepting his offer as far as her +power of acceptance went. Since that she had seen him, indeed, but he +had not said a word to press his suit, nor, as far as she knew, had +he said a word to Mr. Melmotte. But she had been very rigorous in +declining the attentions of other suitors. She had made up her mind +that she was in love with Felix Carbury, and she had resolved on +constancy. But she had begun to tremble, fearing his faithlessness.</p> + +<p>"We had heard," said Georgiana, "that he was a particular friend of +yours." And she laughed aloud, with a vulgarity which Madame Melmotte +certainly could not have surpassed.</p> + +<p>Sir Felix, on the Sunday afternoon, found all the ladies out on the +lawn, and he also found Mr. Melmotte there. At the last moment Lord +Alfred Grendall had been asked,—not because he was at all in favour +with any of the Longestaffes, but in order that he might be useful in +disposing of the great Director. Lord Alfred was used to him and +could talk to him, and might probably know what he liked to eat and +drink. Therefore Lord Alfred had been asked to Caversham, and Lord +Alfred had come, having all his expenses paid by the great Director. +When Sir Felix arrived, Lord Alfred was earning his entertainment by +talking to Mr. Melmotte in a summer-house. He had cool drink before +him and a box of cigars, but was probably thinking at the time how +hard the world had been to him. Lady Pomona was languid, but not +uncivil in her reception. She was doing her best to perform her part +of the treaty in reference to Madame Melmotte. Sophia was walking +apart with a certain Mr. Whitstable, a young squire in the +neighbourhood, who had been asked to Caversham because as Sophia was +now reputed to be twenty-eight,—they who decided the question might +have said thirty-one without falsehood,—it was considered that Mr. +Whitstable was good enough, or at least as good as could be expected. +Sophia was handsome, but with a big, cold, unalluring handsomeness, +and had not quite succeeded in London. Georgiana had been more +admired, and boasted among her friends of the offers which she had +rejected. Her friends on the other hand were apt to tell of her many +failures. Nevertheless she held her head up, and had not as yet come +down among the rural Whitstables. At the present moment her hands +were empty, and she was devoting herself to such a performance of the +treaty as should make it impossible for her father to leave his part +of it unfulfilled.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes Sir Felix sat on a garden chair making conversation +to Lady Pomona and Madame Melmotte. "Beautiful garden," he said; "for +myself I don't much care for gardens; but if one is to live in the +country, this is the sort of thing that one would like."</p> + +<p>"Delicious," said Madame Melmotte, repressing a yawn, and drawing her +shawl higher round her throat. It was the end of May, and the weather +was very warm for the time of the year; but, in her heart of hearts, +Madame Melmotte did not like sitting out in the garden.</p> + +<p>"It isn't a pretty place; but the house is comfortable, and we make +the best of it," said Lady Pomona.</p> + +<p>"Plenty of glass, I see," said Sir Felix. "If one is to live in the +country, I like that kind of thing. Carbury is a very poor place."</p> + +<p>There was offence in this;—as though the Carbury property and the +Carbury position could be compared to the Longestaffe property and +the Longestaffe position. Though dreadfully hampered for money, the +Longestaffes were great people. "For a small place," said Lady +Pomona, "I think Carbury is one of the nicest in the county. Of +course it is not extensive."</p> + +<p>"No, by Jove," said Sir Felix, "you may say that, Lady Pomona. It's +like a prison to me with that moat round it." Then he jumped up and +joined Marie Melmotte and Georgiana. Georgiana, glad to be released +for a time from performance of the treaty, was not long before she +left them together. She had understood that the two horses now in the +running were Lord Nidderdale and Sir Felix; and though she would not +probably have done much to aid Sir Felix, she was quite willing to +destroy Lord Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>Sir Felix had his work to do, and was willing to do it,—as far as +such willingness could go with him. The prize was so great, and the +comfort of wealth was so sure, that even he was tempted to exert +himself. It was this feeling which had brought him into Suffolk, and +induced him to travel all night, across dirty roads, in an old cab. +For the girl herself he cared not the least. It was not in his power +really to care for anybody. He did not dislike her much. He was not +given to disliking people strongly, except at the moments in which +they offended him. He regarded her simply as the means by which a +portion of Mr. Melmotte's wealth might be conveyed to his uses. In +regard to feminine beauty he had his own ideas, and his own +inclinations. He was by no means indifferent to such attraction. But +Marie Melmotte, from that point of view, was nothing to him. Such +prettiness as belonged to her came from the brightness of her youth, +and from a modest shy demeanour joined to an incipient aspiration for +the enjoyment of something in the world which should be her own. +There was, too, arising within her bosom a struggle to be something +in the world, an idea that she, too, could say something, and have +thoughts of her own, if only she had some friend near her whom she +need not fear. Though still shy, she was always resolving that she +would abandon her shyness, and already had thoughts of her own as to +the perfectly open confidence which should exist between two lovers. +When alone,—and she was much alone,—she would build castles in the +air, which were bright with art and love, rather than with gems and +gold. The books she read, poor though they generally were, left +something bright on her imagination. She fancied to herself brilliant +conversations in which she bore a bright part, though in real life +she had hitherto hardly talked to any one since she was a child. Sir +Felix Carbury, she knew, had made her an offer. She knew also, or +thought that she knew, that she loved the man. And now she was with +him alone! Now surely had come the time in which some one of her +castles in the air might be found to be built of real materials.</p> + +<p>"You know why I have come down here?" he said.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill017"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill017.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill017-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"You know why I have come down here?"' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"You + know why I have come down here?"</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill017.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"To see your cousin."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed. I'm not particularly fond of my cousin, who is a +methodical stiff-necked old bachelor,—as cross as the mischief."</p> + +<p>"How disagreeable!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he is disagreeable. I didn't come down to see him, I can tell +you. But when I heard that you were going to be here with the +Longestaffes, I determined to come at once. I wonder whether you are +glad to see me?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Marie, who could not at once find that +brilliancy of words with which her imagination supplied her readily +enough in her solitude.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember what you said to me that evening at my mother's?"</p> + +<p>"Did I say anything? I don't remember anything particular."</p> + +<p>"Do you not? Then I fear you can't think very much of me." He paused +as though he supposed that she would drop into his mouth like a +cherry. "I thought you told me that you would love me."</p> + +<p>"Did I?"</p> + +<p>"Did you not?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what I said. Perhaps if I said that, I didn't mean it."</p> + +<p>"Am I to believe that?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you didn't mean it yourself."</p> + +<p>"By George, I did. I was quite in earnest. There never was a fellow +more in earnest than I was. I've come down here on purpose to say it +again."</p> + +<p>"To say what?"</p> + +<p>"Whether you'll accept me?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether you love me well enough." She longed to be told +by him that he loved her. He had no objection to tell her so, but, +without thinking much about it, felt it to be a bore. All that kind +of thing was trash and twaddle. He desired her to accept him; and he +would have wished, were it possible, that she should have gone to her +father for his consent. There was something in the big eyes and heavy +jaws of Mr. Melmotte which he almost feared. "Do you really love me +well enough?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. I'm bad at making pretty speeches, and all that, but +you know I love you."</p> + +<p>"Do you?"</p> + +<p>"By George, yes. I always liked you from the first moment I saw you. +I did indeed."</p> + +<p>It was a poor declaration of love, but it sufficed. "Then I will love +you," she said. "I will with all my heart."</p> + +<p>"There's a darling!"</p> + +<p>"Shall I be your darling? Indeed I will. I may call you Felix +now;—mayn't I?"</p> + +<p>"Rather."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Felix, I hope you will love me. I will so dote upon you. You +know a great many men have asked me to love them."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"But I have never, never cared for one of them in the least;—not in +the least."</p> + +<p>"You do care for me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes." She looked up into his beautiful face as she spoke, and he +saw that her eyes were swimming with tears. He thought at the moment +that she was very common to look at. As regarded appearance only he +would have preferred even Sophia Longestaffe. There was indeed a +certain brightness of truth which another man might have read in +Marie's mingled smiles and tears, but it was thrown away altogether +upon him. They were walking in some shrubbery quite apart from the +house, where they were unseen; so, as in duty bound, he put his arm +round her waist and kissed her. "Oh, Felix," she said, giving her +face up to him; "no one ever did it before." He did not in the least +believe her, nor was the matter one of the slightest importance to +him. "Say that you will be good to me, Felix. I will be so good to +you."</p> + +<p>"Of course I will be good to you."</p> + +<p>"Men are not always good to their wives. Papa is often very cross to +mamma."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he can be cross?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he can. He does not often scold me. I don't know what he'll say +when we tell him about this."</p> + +<p>"But I suppose he intends that you shall be married?"</p> + +<p>"He wanted me to marry Lord Nidderdale and Lord Grasslough, but I +hated them both. I think he wants me to marry Lord Nidderdale again +now. He hasn't said so, but mamma tells me. But I never +will;—never!"</p> + +<p>"I hope not, Marie."</p> + +<p>"You needn't be a bit afraid. I would not do it if they were to kill +me. I hate him,—and I do so love you." Then she leaned with all her +weight upon his arm and looked up again into his beautiful face. "You +will speak to papa; won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Will that be the best way?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so. How else?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether Madame Melmotte ought +<span class="nowrap">not—"</span></p> + +<p>"Oh dear no. Nothing would induce her. She is more afraid of him than +anybody;—more afraid of him than I am. I thought the gentleman +always did that."</p> + +<p>"Of course I'll do it," said Sir Felix. "I'm not afraid of him. Why +should I? He and I are very good friends, you know."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of that."</p> + +<p>"He made me a Director of one of his companies the other day."</p> + +<p>"Did he? Perhaps he'll like you for a son-in-law."</p> + +<p>"There's no knowing;—is there?"</p> + +<p>"I hope he will. I shall like you for papa's son-in-law. I hope it +isn't wrong to say that. Oh, Felix, say that you love me." Then she +put her face up towards his again.</p> + +<p>"Of course I love you," he said, not thinking it worth his while to +kiss her. "It's no good speaking to him here. I suppose I had better +go and see him in the city."</p> + +<p>"He is in a good humour now," said Marie.</p> + +<p>"But I couldn't get him alone. It wouldn't be the thing to do down +here."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the country,—in another person's house. Shall you tell +Madame Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I shall tell mamma; but she won't say anything to him. Mamma +does not care much about me. But I'll tell you all that another time. +Of course I shall tell you everything now. I never yet had anybody to +tell anything to, but I shall never be tired of telling you." Then he +left her as soon as he could, and escaped to the other ladies. Mr. +Melmotte was still sitting in the summer-house, and Lord Alfred was +still with him, smoking and drinking brandy and seltzer. As Sir Felix +passed in front of the great man he told himself that it was much +better that the interview should be postponed till they were all in +London. Mr. Melmotte did not look as though he were in a good humour. +Sir Felix said a few words to Lady Pomona and Madame Melmotte. Yes; +he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing them with his mother and +sister on the following day. He was aware that his cousin was not +coming. He believed that his cousin Roger never did go any where like +any one else. No; he had not seen Mr. Longestaffe. He hoped to have +the pleasure of seeing him to-morrow. Then he escaped, and got on his +horse, and rode away.</p> + +<p>"That's going to be the lucky man," said Georgiana to her mother, +that evening.</p> + +<p>"In what way lucky?"</p> + +<p>"He is going to get the heiress and all the money. What a fool Dolly +has been!"</p> + +<p>"I don't think it would have suited Dolly," said Lady Pomona. "After +all, why should not Dolly marry a lady?"</p> + + +<p><a id="c18"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XVIII.</h3> +<h4>RUBY RUGGLES HEARS A LOVE TALE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Miss Ruby Ruggles, the granddaughter of old Daniel Ruggles, of +Sheep's Acre, in the parish of Sheepstone, close to Bungay, received +the following letter from the hands of the rural post letter-carrier +on that Sunday morning;—"A friend will be somewhere near Sheepstone +Birches between four and five o'clock on Sunday afternoon." There was +not another word in the letter, but Miss Ruby Ruggles knew well from +whom it came.</p> + +<p>Daniel Ruggles was a farmer, who had the reputation of considerable +wealth, but who was not very well looked on in the neighbourhood as +being somewhat of a curmudgeon and a miser. His wife was dead;—he +had quarrelled with his only son, whose wife was also dead, and had +banished him from his home;—his daughters were married and away; and +the only member of his family who lived with him was his +granddaughter Ruby. And this granddaughter was a great trouble to the +old man. She was twenty-three years old, and had been engaged to a +prosperous young man at Bungay in the meal and pollard line, to whom +old Ruggles had promised to give £500 on their marriage. But Ruby had +taken it into her foolish young head that she did not like meal and +pollard, and now she had received the above very dangerous letter. +Though the writer had not dared to sign his name she knew well that +it came from Sir Felix Carbury,—the most beautiful gentleman she had +ever set her eyes upon. Poor Ruby Ruggles! Living down at Sheep's +Acre, on the Waveney, she had heard both too much and too little of +the great world beyond her ken. There were, she thought, many +glorious things to be seen which she would never see were she in +these her early years to become the wife of John Crumb, the dealer in +meal and pollard at Bungay. Therefore she was full of a wild joy, +half joy half fear, when she got her letter; and, therefore, +punctually at four o'clock on that Sunday she was ensconced among the +Sheepstone Birches, so that she might see without much danger of +being seen. Poor Ruby Ruggles, who was left to be so much mistress of +herself at the time of her life in which she most required the +kindness of a controlling hand!</p> + +<p>Mr. Ruggles held his land, or the greater part of it, on what is +called a bishop's lease, Sheep's Acre Farm being a part of the +property which did belong to the bishopric of Elmham, and which was +still set apart for its sustentation;—but he also held a small +extent of outlying meadow which belonged to the Carbury estate, so +that he was one of the tenants of Roger Carbury. Those Sheepstone +Birches, at which Felix made his appointment, belonged to Roger. On a +former occasion, when the feeling between the two cousins was kinder +than that which now existed, Felix had ridden over with the landlord +to call on the old man, and had then first seen Ruby;—and had heard +from Roger something of Ruby's history up to that date. It had then +been just made known that she was to marry John Crumb. Since that +time not a word had been spoken between the men respecting the girl. +Mr. Carbury had heard, with sorrow, that the marriage was either +postponed or abandoned,—but his growing dislike to the baronet had +made it very improbable that there should be any conversation between +them on the subject. Sir Felix, however, had probably heard more of +Ruby Ruggles than her grandfather's landlord.</p> + +<p>There is, perhaps, no condition of mind more difficult for the +ordinarily well-instructed inhabitant of a city to realise than that +of such a girl as Ruby Ruggles. The rural day labourer and his wife +live on a level surface which is comparatively open to the eye. Their +aspirations, whether for good or evil,—whether for food and drink to +be honestly earned for themselves and children, or for drink first, +to be come by either honestly or dishonestly,—are, if looked at at +all, fairly visible. And with the men of the Ruggles class one can +generally find out what they would be at, and in what direction their +minds are at work. But the Ruggles woman,—especially the Ruggles +young woman,—is better educated, has higher aspirations and a +brighter imagination, and is infinitely more cunning than the man. If +she be good-looking and relieved from the pressure of want, her +thoughts soar into a world which is as unknown to her as heaven is to +us, and in regard to which her longings are apt to be infinitely +stronger than are ours for heaven. Her education has been much better +than that of the man. She can read, whereas he can only spell words +from a book. She can write a letter after her fashion, whereas he can +barely spell words out on a paper. Her tongue is more glib, and her +intellect sharper. But her ignorance as to the reality of things is +much more gross than his. By such contact as he has with men in +markets, in the streets of the towns he frequents, and even in the +fields, he learns something unconsciously of the relative condition +of his countrymen,—and, as to that which he does not learn, his +imagination is obtuse. But the woman builds castles in the air, and +wonders, and longs. To the young farmer the squire's daughter is a +superior being very much out of his way. To the farmer's daughter the +young squire is an Apollo, whom to look at is a pleasure,—by whom to +be looked at is a delight. The danger for the most part is soon over. +The girl marries after her kind, and then husband and children put +the matter at rest for ever.</p> + +<p>A mind more absolutely uninstructed than that of Ruby Ruggles as to +the world beyond Suffolk and Norfolk it would be impossible to find. +But her thoughts were as wide as they were vague, and as active as +they were erroneous. Why should she with all her prettiness, and all +her cleverness,—with all her fortune to boot,—marry that dustiest +of all men, John Crumb, before she had seen something of the beauties +of the things of which she had read in the books which came in her +way? John Crumb was not bad-looking. He was a sturdy, honest fellow, +too,—slow of speech but sure of his points when he had got them +within his grip,—fond of his beer but not often drunk, and the very +soul of industry at his work. But though she had known him all her +life she had never known him otherwise than dusty. The meal had so +gotten within his hair, and skin, and raiment, that it never came out +altogether even on Sundays. His normal complexion was a healthy +pallor, through which indeed some records of hidden ruddiness would +make themselves visible, but which was so judiciously assimilated to +his hat and coat and waistcoat, that he was more like a stout ghost +than a healthy young man. Nevertheless it was said of him that he +could thrash any man in Bungay, and carry two hundred weight of flour +upon his back. And Ruby also knew this of him,—that he worshipped +the very ground on which she trod.</p> + +<p>But, alas, she thought there might be something better than such +worship; and, therefore, when Felix Carbury came in her way, with his +beautiful oval face, and his rich brown colour, and his bright hair +and lovely moustache, she was lost in a feeling which she mistook for +love; and when he sneaked over to her a second and a third time, she +thought more of his listless praise than ever she had thought of John +Crumb's honest promises. But, though she was an utter fool, she was +not a fool without a principle. She was miserably ignorant; but she +did understand that there was a degradation which it behoved her to +avoid. She thought, as the moths seem to think, that she might fly +into the flame and not burn her wings. After her fashion she was +pretty, with long glossy ringlets, which those about the farm on week +days would see confined in curl-papers, and large round dark eyes, +and a clear dark complexion, in which the blood showed itself plainly +beneath the soft brown skin. She was strong, and healthy, and +tall,—and had a will of her own which gave infinite trouble to old +Daniel Ruggles, her grandfather.</p> + +<p>Felix Carbury took himself two miles out of his way in order that he +might return by Sheepstone Birches, which was a little copse distant +not above half a mile from Sheep's Acre farmhouse. A narrow angle of +the little wood came up to the road, by which there was a gate +leading into a grass meadow, which Sir Felix had remembered when he +made his appointment. The road was no more than a country lane, +unfrequented at all times, and almost sure to be deserted on Sundays. +He approached the gate in a walk, and then stood awhile looking into +the wood. He had not stood long before he saw the girl's bonnet +beneath a tree standing just outside the wood, in the meadow, but on +the bank of the ditch. Thinking for a moment what he would do about +his horse, he rode him into the field, and then, dismounting, +fastened him to a rail which ran down the side of the copse. Then he +sauntered on till he stood looking down upon Ruby Ruggles as she sat +beneath the tree. "I like your impudence," she said, "in calling +yourself a friend."</p> + +<p>"Ain't I a friend, Ruby?"</p> + +<p>"A pretty sort of friend, you! When you was going away, you was to be +back at Carbury in a fortnight; and that is,—oh, ever so long ago +now."</p> + +<p>"But I wrote to you, Ruby."</p> + +<p>"What's letters? And the postman to know all as in 'em for anything +anybody knows, and grandfather to be almost sure to see 'em. I don't +call letters no good at all, and I beg you won't write 'em any more."</p> + +<p>"Did he see them?"</p> + +<p>"No thanks to you if he didn't. I don't know why you are come here, +Sir Felix,—nor yet I don't know why I should come and meet you. It's +all just folly like."</p> + +<p>"Because I love you;—that's why I come; eh, Ruby? And you have come +because you love me; eh, Ruby? Is not that about it?" Then he threw +himself on the ground beside her, and got his arm round her waist.</p> + +<p>It would boot little to tell here all that they said to each other. +The happiness of Ruby Ruggles for that half hour was no doubt +complete. She had her London lover beside her; and though in every +word he spoke there was a tone of contempt, still he talked of love, +and made her promises, and told her that she was pretty. He probably +did not enjoy it much; he cared very little about her, and carried on +the liaison simply because it was the proper sort of thing for a +young man to do. He had begun to think that the odour of patchouli +was unpleasant, and that the flies were troublesome, and the ground +hard, before the half hour was over. She felt that she could be +content to sit there for ever and to listen to him. This was a +realisation of those delights of life of which she had read in the +thrice-thumbed old novels which she had gotten from the little +circulating library at Bungay.</p> + +<p>But what was to come next? She had not dared to ask him to marry +her,—had not dared to say those very words; and he had not dared to +ask her to be his mistress. There was an animal courage about her, +and an amount of strength also, and a fire in her eye, of which he +had learned to be aware. Before the half hour was over I think that +he wished himself away;—but when he did go, he made a promise to see +her again on the Tuesday morning. Her grandfather would be at +Harlestone market, and she would meet him at about noon at the bottom +of the kitchen garden belonging to the farm. As he made the promise +he resolved that he would not keep it. He would write to her again, +and bid her come to him in London, and would send her money for the +journey.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I am to be his wedded wife," said Ruby to herself, as she +crept away down from the road, away also from her own home;—so that +on her return her presence should not be associated with that of the +young man, should any one chance to see the young man on the road. +"I'll never be nothing unless I'm that," she said to herself. Then +she allowed her mind to lose itself in expatiating on the difference +between John Crumb and Sir Felix Carbury.</p> + + +<p><a id="c19"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XIX.</h3> +<h4>HETTA CARBURY HEARS A LOVE TALE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>"I have half a mind to go back to-morrow morning," Felix said to his +mother that Sunday evening after dinner. At that moment Roger was +walking round the garden by himself, and Henrietta was in her own +room.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow morning, Felix! You are engaged to dine with the +Longestaffes!"</p> + +<p>"You could make any excuse you like about that."</p> + +<p>"It would be the most uncourteous thing in the world. The +Longestaffes you know are the leading people in this part of the +country. No one knows what may happen. If you should ever be living +at Carbury, how sad it would be that you should have quarrelled with +them."</p> + +<p>"You forget, mother, that Dolly Longestaffe is about the most +intimate friend I have in the world."</p> + +<p>"That does not justify you in being uncivil to the father and mother. +And you should remember what you came here for."</p> + +<p>"What did I come for?"</p> + +<p>"That you might see Marie Melmotte more at your ease than you can in +their London house."</p> + +<p>"That's all settled," said Sir Felix, in the most indifferent tone +that he could assume.</p> + +<p>"Settled!"</p> + +<p>"As far as the girl is concerned. I can't very well go to the old +fellow for his consent down here."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say, Felix, that Marie Melmotte has accepted you?"</p> + +<p>"I told you that before."</p> + +<p>"My dear Felix. Oh, my boy!" In her joy the mother took her unwilling +son in her arms and caressed him. Here was the first step taken not +only to success, but to such magnificent splendour as should make her +son to be envied by all young men, and herself to be envied by all +mothers in England! "No, you didn't tell me before. But I am so +happy. Is she really fond of you? I don't wonder that any girl should +be fond of you."</p> + +<p>"I can't say anything about that, but I think she means to stick to +it."</p> + +<p>"If she is firm, of course her father will give way at last. Fathers +always do give way when the girl is firm. Why should he oppose it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know that he will."</p> + +<p>"You are a man of rank, with a title of your own. I suppose what he +wants is a gentleman for his girl. I don't see why he should not be +perfectly satisfied. With all his enormous wealth a thousand a year +or so can't make any difference. And then he made you one of the +Directors at his Board. Oh Felix;—it is almost too good to be true."</p> + +<p>"I ain't quite sure that I care very much about being married, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Felix, pray don't say that. Why shouldn't you like being +married? She is a very nice girl, and we shall all be so fond of her! +Don't let any feeling of that kind come over you; pray don't. You +will be able to do just what you please when once the question of her +money is settled. Of course you can hunt as often as you like, and +you can have a house in any part of London you please. You must +understand by this time how very disagreeable it is to have to get on +without an established income."</p> + +<p>"I quite understand that."</p> + +<p>"If this were once done you would never have any more trouble of that +kind. There would be plenty of money for everything as long as you +live. It would be complete success. I don't know how to say enough to +you, or to tell you how dearly I love you, or to make you understand +how well I think you have done it all." Then she caressed him again, +and was almost beside herself in an agony of mingled anxiety and joy. +If, after all, her beautiful boy, who had lately been her disgrace +and her great trouble because of his poverty, should shine forth to +the world as a baronet with £20,000 a year, how glorious would it be! +She must have known,—she did know,—how poor, how selfish a creature +he was. But her gratification at the prospect of his splendour +obliterated the sorrow with which the vileness of his character +sometimes oppressed her. Were he to win this girl with all her +father's money, neither she nor his sister would be the better for +it, except in this, that the burden of maintaining him would be taken +from her shoulders. But his magnificence would be established. He was +her son, and the prospect of his fortune and splendour was sufficient +to elate her into a very heaven of beautiful dreams. "But, Felix," +she continued, "you really must stay and go to the Longestaffes' +to-morrow. It will only be one day.—And now were you to run +<span class="nowrap">away—"</span></p> + +<p>"Run away! What nonsense you talk."</p> + +<p>"If you were to start back to London at once I mean, it would be an +affront to her, and the very thing to set Melmotte against you. You +should lay yourself out to please him;—indeed you should."</p> + +<p>"Oh, bother!" said Sir Felix. But nevertheless he allowed himself to +be persuaded to remain. The matter was important even to him, and he +consented to endure the almost unendurable nuisance of spending +another day at the Manor House. Lady Carbury, almost lost in delight, +did not know where to turn for sympathy. If her cousin were not so +stiff, so pig-headed, so wonderfully ignorant of the affairs of the +world, he would have at any rate consented to rejoice with her. +Though he might not like Felix,—who, as his mother admitted to +herself, had been rude to her cousin,—he would have rejoiced for the +sake of the family. But, as it was, she did not dare to tell him. He +would have received her tidings with silent scorn. And even Henrietta +would not be enthusiastic. She felt that though she would have +delighted to expatiate on this great triumph, she must be silent at +present. It should now be her great effort to ingratiate herself with +Mr. Melmotte at the dinner party at Caversham.</p> + +<p>During the whole of that evening Roger Carbury hardly spoke to his +cousin Hetta. There was not much conversation between them till quite +late, when Father Barham came in for supper. He had been over at +Bungay among his people there, and had walked back, taking Carbury on +the way. "What did you think of our bishop?" Roger asked him, rather +imprudently.</p> + +<p>"Not much of him as a bishop. I don't doubt that he makes a very nice +lord, and that he does more good among his neighbours than an average +lord. But you don't put power or responsibility into the hands of any +one sufficient to make him a bishop."</p> + +<p>"Nine-tenths of the clergy in the diocese would be guided by him in +any matter of clerical conduct which might come before him."</p> + +<p>"Because they know that he has no strong opinion of his own, and +would not therefore desire to dominate theirs. Take any of your +bishops that has an opinion,—if there be one left,—and see how far +your clergy consent to his teaching!" Roger turned round and took up +his book. He was already becoming tired of his pet priest. He himself +always abstained from saying a word derogatory to his new friend's +religion in the man's hearing; but his new friend did not by any +means return the compliment. Perhaps also Roger felt that were he to +take up the cudgels for an argument he might be worsted in the +combat, as in such combats success is won by practised skill rather +than by truth. Henrietta was also reading, and Felix was smoking +elsewhere,—wondering whether the hours would ever wear themselves +away in that castle of dulness, in which no cards were to be seen, +and where, except at meal-times, there was nothing to drink. But Lady +Carbury was quite willing to allow the priest to teach her that all +appliances for the dissemination of religion outside his own church +must be naught.</p> + +<p>"I suppose our bishops are sincere in their beliefs," she said with +her sweetest smile.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I hope so. I have no possible reason to doubt it as to the +two or three whom I have seen,—nor indeed as to all the rest whom I +have not seen."</p> + +<p>"They are so much respected everywhere as good and pious men!"</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt it. Nothing tends so much to respect as a good +income. But they may be excellent men without being excellent +bishops. I find no fault with them, but much with the system by which +they are controlled. Is it probable that a man should be fitted to +select guides for other men's souls because he has succeeded by +infinite labour in his vocation in becoming the leader of a majority +in the House of Commons?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, no," said Lady Carbury, who did not in the least understand +the nature of the question put to her.</p> + +<p>"And when you've got your bishop, is it likely that a man should be +able to do his duty in that capacity who has no power of his own to +decide whether a clergyman under him is or is not fit for his duty?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly, indeed."</p> + +<p>"The English people, or some of them,—that some being the richest, +and, at present, the most powerful,—like to play at having a Church, +though there is not sufficient faith in them to submit to the control +of a Church."</p> + +<p>"Do you think men should be controlled by clergymen, Mr. Barham?"</p> + +<p>"In matters of faith I do; and so, I suppose, do you; at least you +make that profession. You declare it to be your duty to submit +yourself to your spiritual pastors and masters."</p> + +<p>"That, I thought, was for children," said Lady Carbury. "The +clergyman, in the catechism, says, 'My good child.'"</p> + +<p>"It is what you were taught as a child before you had made profession +of your faith to a bishop, in order that you might know your duty +when you had ceased to be a child. I quite agree, however, that the +matter, as viewed by your Church, is childish altogether, and +intended only for children. As a rule, adults with you want no +religion."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that is true of a great many."</p> + +<p>"It is marvellous to me that, when a man thinks of it, he should not +be driven by very fear to the comforts of a safer faith,—unless, +indeed, he enjoy the security of absolute infidelity."</p> + +<p>"That is worse than anything," said Lady Carbury with a sigh and a +shudder.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that it is worse than a belief which is no belief," +said the priest with energy;—"than a creed which sits so easily on a +man that he does not even know what it contains, and never asks +himself as he repeats it, whether it be to him credible or +incredible."</p> + +<p>"That is very bad," said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"We're getting too deep, I think," said Roger, putting down the book +which he had in vain been trying to read.</p> + +<p>"I think it is so pleasant to have a little serious conversation on +Sunday evening," said Lady Carbury. The priest drew himself back into +his chair and smiled. He was quite clever enough to understand that +Lady Carbury had been talking nonsense, and clever enough also to be +aware of the cause of Roger's uneasiness. But Lady Carbury might be +all the easier converted because she understood nothing and was fond +of ambitious talking; and Roger Carbury might possibly be forced into +conviction by the very feeling which at present made him unwilling to +hear arguments.</p> + +<p>"I don't like hearing my Church ill-spoken of," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't like me if I thought ill of it and spoke well of it," +said the priest.</p> + +<p>"And, therefore, the less said the sooner mended," said Roger, rising +from his chair. Upon this Father Barham took his departure and walked +away to Beccles. It might be that he had sowed some seed. It might be +that he had, at any rate, ploughed some ground. Even the attempt to +plough the ground was a good work which would not be forgotten.</p> + +<p>The following morning was the time on which Roger had fixed for +repeating his suit to Henrietta. He had determined that it should be +so, and though the words had been almost on his tongue during that +Sunday afternoon, he had repressed them because he would do as he had +determined. He was conscious, almost painfully conscious, of a +certain increase of tenderness in his cousin's manner towards him. +All that pride of independence, which had amounted almost to +roughness, when she was in London, seemed to have left her. When he +greeted her morning and night, she looked softly into his face. She +cherished the flowers which he gave her. He could perceive that if he +expressed the slightest wish in any matter about the house she would +attend to it. There had been a word said about punctuality, and she +had become punctual as the hand of the clock. There was not a glance +of her eye, nor a turn of her hand, that he did not watch, and +calculate its effect as regarded himself. But because she was tender +to him and observant, he did not by any means allow himself to +believe that her heart was growing into love for him. He thought that +he understood the working of her mind. She could see how great was +his disgust at her brother's doings; how fretted he was by her +mother's conduct. Her grace, and sweetness, and sense, took part with +him against those who were nearer to herself, and therefore,—in +pity,—she was kind to him. It was thus he read it, and he read it +almost with exact accuracy.</p> + +<p>"Hetta," he said after breakfast, "come out into the garden awhile."</p> + +<p>"Are not you going to the men?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet, at any rate. I do not always go to the men as you call it." +She put on her hat and tripped out with him, knowing well that she +had been summoned to hear the old story. She had been sure, as soon +as she found the white rose in her room, that the old story would be +repeated again before she left Carbury;—and, up to this time, she +had hardly made up her mind what answer she would give to it. That +she could not take his offer, she thought she did know. She knew well +that she loved the other man. That other man had never asked her for +her love, but she thought that she knew that he desired it. But in +spite of all this there had in truth grown up in her bosom a feeling +of tenderness towards her cousin so strong that it almost tempted her +to declare to herself that he ought to have what he wanted, simply +because he wanted it. He was so good, so noble, so generous, so +devoted, that it almost seemed to her that she could not be justified +in refusing him. And she had gone entirely over to his side in regard +to the Melmottes. Her mother had talked to her of the charm of Mr. +Melmotte's money, till her very heart had been sickened. There was +nothing noble there; but, as contrasted with that, Roger's conduct +and bearing were those of a fine gentleman who knew neither fear nor +shame. Should such a one be doomed to pine for ever because a girl +could not love him,—a man born to be loved, if nobility and +tenderness and truth were lovely!</p> + +<p>"Hetta," he said, "put your arm here." She gave him her arm. "I was a +little annoyed last night by that priest. I want to be civil to him, +and now he is always turning against me."</p> + +<p>"He doesn't do any harm, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"He does do harm if he teaches you and me to think lightly of those +things which we have been brought up to revere." So, thought +Henrietta, it isn't about love this time; it's only about the Church. +"He ought not to say things before my guests as to our way of +believing, which I wouldn't under any circumstances say as to his. I +didn't quite like your hearing it."</p> + +<p>"I don't think he'll do me any harm. I'm not at all that way given. I +suppose they all do it. It's their business."</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow! I brought him here just because I thought it was a pity +that a man born and bred like a gentleman should never see the inside +of a comfortable house."</p> + +<p>"I liked him;—only I didn't like his saying stupid things about the +bishop."</p> + +<p>"And I like him." Then there was a pause. "I suppose your brother +does not talk to you much about his own affairs."</p> + +<p>"His own affairs, Roger? Do you mean money? He never says a word to +me about money."</p> + +<p>"I meant about the Melmottes."</p> + +<p>"No; not to me. Felix hardly ever speaks to me about anything."</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether she has accepted him."</p> + +<p>"I think she very nearly did accept him in London."</p> + +<p>"I can't quite sympathise with your mother in all her feelings about +this marriage, because I do not think that I recognise as she does +the necessity of money."</p> + +<p>"Felix is so disposed to be extravagant."</p> + +<p>"Well; yes. But I was going to say that though I cannot bring myself +to say anything to encourage her about this heiress, I quite +recognise her unselfish devotion to his interests."</p> + +<p>"Mamma thinks more of him than of anything," said Hetta, not in the +least intending to accuse her mother of indifference to herself.</p> + +<p>"I know it; and though I happen to think myself that her other child +would better repay her devotion,"—this he said, looking up to Hetta +and smiling,—"I quite feel how good a mother she is to Felix. You +know, when she first came the other day we almost had a quarrel."</p> + +<p>"I felt that there was something unpleasant."</p> + +<p>"And then Felix coming after his time put me out. I am getting old +and cross, or I should not mind such things."</p> + +<p>"I think you are so good,—and so kind." As she said this she leaned +upon his arm almost as though she meant to tell him that she loved +him.</p> + +<p>"I have been angry with myself," he said, "and so I am making you my +father confessor. Open confession is good for the soul sometimes, and +I think that you would understand me better than your mother."</p> + +<p>"I do understand you; but don't think there is any fault to confess."</p> + +<p>"You will not exact any penance?" She only looked at him and smiled. +"I am going to put a penance on myself all the same. I can't +congratulate your brother on his wooing over at Caversham, as I know +nothing about it, but I will express some civil wish to him about +things in general."</p> + +<p>"Will that be a penance?"</p> + +<p>"If you could look into my mind you'd find that it would. I'm full of +fretful anger against him for half-a-dozen little frivolous things. +Didn't he throw his cigar on the path? Didn't he lie in bed on Sunday +instead of going to church?"</p> + +<p>"But then he was travelling all the Saturday night."</p> + +<p>"Whose fault was that? But don't you see it is the triviality of the +offence which makes the penance necessary. Had he knocked me over the +head with a pickaxe, or burned the house down, I should have had a +right to be angry. But I was angry because he wanted a horse on +Sunday;—and therefore I must do penance."</p> + +<p>There was nothing of love in all this. Hetta, however, did not wish +him to talk of love. He was certainly now treating her as a +friend,—as a most intimate friend. If he would only do that without +making love to her, how happy could she be! But his determination +still held good. "And now," said he, altering his tone altogether, "I +must speak about myself." Immediately the weight of her hand upon his +arm was lessened. Thereupon he put his left hand round and pressed +her arm to his. "No," he said; "do not make any change towards me +while I speak to you. Whatever comes of it we shall at any rate be +cousins and friends."</p> + +<p>"Always friends!" she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes;—always friends. And now listen to me for I have much to say. I +will not tell you again that I love you. You know it, or else you +must think me the vainest and falsest of men. It is not only that I +love you, but I am so accustomed to concern myself with one thing +only, so constrained by the habits and nature of my life to confine +myself to single interests, that I cannot as it were escape from my +love. I am thinking of it always, often despising myself because I +think of it so much. For, after all, let a woman be ever so +good,—and you to me are all that is good,—a man should not allow +his love to dominate his intellect."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!"</p> + +<p>"I do. I calculate my chances within my own bosom almost as a man +might calculate his chances of heaven. I should like you to know me +just as I am, the weak and the strong together. I would not win you +by a lie if I could. I think of you more than I ought to do. I am +sure,—quite sure that you are the only possible mistress of this +house during my tenure of it. If I am ever to live as other men do, +and to care about the things which other men care for, it must be as +your husband."</p> + +<p>"Pray,—pray do not say that."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I think that I have a right to say it,—and a right to expect +that you should believe me. I will not ask you to be my wife if you +do not love me. Not that I should fear aught for myself, but that you +should not be pressed to make a sacrifice of yourself because I am +your friend and cousin. But I think it is quite possible you might +come to love me,—unless your heart be absolutely given away +elsewhere."</p> + +<p>"What am I to say?"</p> + +<p>"We each of us know of what the other is thinking. If Paul Montague +has robbed me of my +<span class="nowrap">love—?"</span></p> + +<p>"Mr. Montague has never said a word."</p> + +<p>"If he had, I think he would have wronged me. He met you in my house, +and I think must have known what my feelings were towards you."</p> + +<p>"But he never has."</p> + +<p>"We have been like brothers together,—one brother being very much +older than the other, indeed; or like father and son. I think he +should place his hopes elsewhere."</p> + +<p>"What am I to say? If he have such hope he has not told me. I think +it almost cruel that a girl should be asked in that way."</p> + +<p>"Hetta, I should not wish to be cruel to you. Of course I know the +way of the world in such matters. I have no right to ask you about +Paul Montague,—no right to expect an answer. But it is all the world +to me. You can understand that I should think you might learn to love +even me, if you loved no one else." The tone of his voice was manly, +and at the same time full of entreaty. His eyes as he looked at her +were bright with love and anxiety. She not only believed him as to +the tale which he now told her; but she believed in him altogether. +She knew that he was a staff on which a woman might safely lean, +trusting to it for comfort and protection in life. In that moment she +all but yielded to him. Had he seized her in his arms and kissed her +then, I think she would have yielded. She did all but love him. She +so regarded him that had it been some other woman that he craved, she +would have used every art she knew to have backed his suit, and would +have been ready to swear that any woman was a fool who refused him. +She almost hated herself because she was unkind to one who so +thoroughly deserved kindness. As it was she made him no answer, but +continued to walk beside him trembling. "I thought I would tell it +you all, because I wish you to know exactly the state of my mind. I +would show you if I could all my heart and all my thoughts about +yourself as in a glass case. Do not coy your love for me if you can +feel it. When you know, dear, that a man's heart is set upon a woman +as mine is set on you, so that it is for you to make his life bright +or dark, for you to open or to shut the gates of his earthly +Paradise, I think you will be above keeping him in darkness for the +sake of a girlish scruple."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roger!"</p> + +<p>"If ever there should come a time in which you can say it truly, +remember my truth to you and say it boldly. I at least shall never +change. Of course if you love another man and give yourself to him, +it will be all over. Tell me that boldly also. I have said it all +now. God bless you, my own heart's darling. I hope,—I hope I may be +strong enough through it all to think more of your happiness than of +my own." Then he parted from her abruptly, taking his way over one of +the bridges, and leaving her to find her way into the house alone.</p> + + +<p><a id="c20"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XX.</h3> +<h4>LADY POMONA'S DINNER PARTY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Roger Carbury's half formed plan of keeping Henrietta at home while +Lady Carbury and Sir Felix went to dine at Caversham fell to the +ground. It was to be carried out only in the event of Hetta's +yielding to his prayer. But he had in fact not made a prayer, and +Hetta had certainly yielded nothing. When the evening came, Lady +Carbury started with her son and daughter, and Roger was left alone. +In the ordinary course of his life he was used to solitude. During +the greater part of the year he would eat and drink and live without +companionship; so that there was to him nothing peculiarly sad in +this desertion. But on the present occasion he could not prevent +himself from dwelling on the loneliness of his lot in life. These +cousins of his who were his guests cared nothing for him. Lady +Carbury had come to his house simply that it might be useful to her; +Sir Felix did not pretend to treat him with even ordinary courtesy; +and Hetta herself, though she was soft to him and gracious, was soft +and gracious through pity rather than love. On this day he had, in +truth, asked her for nothing; but he had almost brought himself to +think that she might give all that he wanted without asking. And yet, +when he told her of the greatness of his love, and of its endurance, +she was simply silent. When the carriage taking them to dinner went +away down the road, he sat on the parapet of the bridge in front of +the house listening to the sound of the horses' feet, and telling +himself that there was nothing left for him in life.</p> + +<p>If ever one man had been good to another, he had been good to Paul +Montague, and now Paul Montague was robbing him of everything he +valued in the world. His thoughts were not logical, nor was his mind +exact. The more he considered it, the stronger was his inward +condemnation of his friend. He had never mentioned to anyone the +services he had rendered to Montague. In speaking of him to Hetta he +had alluded only to the affection which had existed between them. But +he felt that because of those services his friend Montague had owed +it to him not to fall in love with the girl he loved; and he thought +that if, unfortunately, this had happened unawares, Montague should +have retired as soon as he learned the truth. He could not bring +himself to forgive his friend, even though Hetta had assured him that +his friend had never spoken to her of love. He was sore all over, and +it was Paul Montague who made him sore. Had there been no such man at +Carbury when Hetta came there, Hetta might now have been mistress of +the house. He sat there till the servant came to tell him that his +dinner was on the table. Then he crept in and ate,—so that the man +might not see his sorrow; and, after dinner, he sat with a book in +his hand seeming to read. But he read not a word, for his mind was +fixed altogether on his cousin Hetta. "What a poor creature a man +is," he said to himself, "who is not sufficiently his own master to +get over a feeling like this."</p> + +<p>At Caversham there was a very grand party,—as grand almost as a +dinner party can be in the country. There were the Earl and Countess +of Loddon and Lady Jane Pewet from Loddon Park, and the bishop and +his wife, and the Hepworths. These, with the Carburys and the +parson's family, and the people staying in the house, made +twenty-four at the dinner table. As there were fourteen ladies and +only ten men, the banquet can hardly be said to have been very well +arranged. But those things cannot be done in the country with the +exactness which the appliances of London make easy; and then the +Longestaffes, though they were decidedly people of fashion, were not +famous for their excellence in arranging such matters. If aught, +however, was lacking in exactness, it was made up in grandeur. There +were three powdered footmen, and in that part of the country Lady +Pomona alone was served after this fashion; and there was a very +heavy butler, whose appearance of itself was sufficient to give éclat +to a family. The grand saloon in which nobody ever lived was thrown +open, and sofas and chairs on which nobody ever sat were uncovered. +It was not above once in the year that this kind of thing was done at +Caversham; but when it was done, nothing was spared which could +contribute to the magnificence of the fête. Lady Pomona and her two +tall daughters standing up to receive the little Countess of Loddon +and Lady Jane Pewet, who was the image of her mother on a somewhat +smaller scale, while Madame Melmotte and Marie stood behind as though +ashamed of themselves, was a sight to see. Then the Carburys came, +and then Mrs. Yeld with the bishop. The grand room was soon fairly +full; but nobody had a word to say. The bishop was generally a man of +much conversation, and Lady Loddon, if she were well pleased with her +listeners, could talk by the hour without ceasing. But on this +occasion nobody could utter a word. Lord Loddon pottered about, +making a feeble attempt, in which he was seconded by no one. Lord +Alfred stood, stock-still, stroking his grey moustache with his hand. +That much greater man, Augustus Melmotte, put his thumbs into the +arm-holes of his waistcoat, and was impassible. The bishop saw at a +glance the hopelessness of the occasion, and made no attempt. The +master of the house shook hands with each guest as he entered, and +then devoted his mind to expectation of the next comer. Lady Pomona +and her two daughters were grand and handsome, but weary and dumb. In +accordance with the treaty, Madame Melmotte had been entertained +civilly for four entire days. It could not be expected that the +ladies of Caversham should come forth unwearied after such a +struggle.</p> + +<p>When dinner was announced Felix was allowed to take in Marie +Melmotte. There can be no doubt but that the Caversham ladies did +execute their part of the treaty. They were led to suppose that this +arrangement would be desirable to the Melmottes, and they made it. +The great Augustus himself went in with Lady Carbury, much to her +satisfaction. She also had been dumb in the drawing-room; but now, if +ever, it would be her duty to exert herself. "I hope you like +Suffolk," she said.</p> + +<p>"Pretty well, I thank you. Oh, yes;—very nice place for a little +fresh air."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—that's just it, Mr. Melmotte. When the summer comes one does +long so to see the flowers."</p> + +<p>"We have better flowers in our balconies than any I see down here," +said Mr. Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"No doubt;—because you can command the floral tribute of the world +at large. What is there that money will not do? It can turn a London +street into a bower of roses, and give you grottoes in Grosvenor +Square."</p> + +<p>"It's a very nice place, is London."</p> + +<p>"If you have got plenty of money, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"And if you have not, it's the best place I know to get it. Do you +live in London, ma'am?" He had quite forgotten Lady Carbury even if +he had seen her at his house, and with the dulness of hearing common +to men, had not picked up her name when told to take her out to +dinner.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I live in London. I have had the honour of being +entertained by you there." This she said with her sweetest smile.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed. So many do come, that I don't always just remember."</p> + +<p>"How should you,—with all the world flocking round you? I am Lady +Carbury, the mother of Sir Felix Carbury, whom I think you will +remember."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I know Sir Felix. He's sitting there, next to my daughter."</p> + +<p>"Happy fellow!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know much about that. Young men don't get their happiness in +that way now. They've got other things to think of."</p> + +<p>"He thinks so much of his business."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I didn't know," said Mr. Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"He sits at the same Board with you, I think, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"Oh;—that's his business!" said Mr. Melmotte, with a grim smile.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury was very clever as to many things, and was not +ill-informed on matters in general that were going on around her; but +she did not know much about the city, and was profoundly ignorant as +to the duties of those Directors of whom, from time to time, she saw +the names in a catalogue. "I trust that he is diligent, there," she +said; "and that he is aware of the great privilege which he enjoys in +having the advantage of your counsel and guidance."</p> + +<p>"He don't trouble me much, ma'am, and I don't trouble him much." +After this Lady Carbury said no more as to her son's position in the +city. She endeavoured to open various other subjects of conversation; +but she found Mr. Melmotte to be heavy on her hands. After a while +she had to abandon him in despair, and give herself up to raptures in +favour of Protestantism at the bidding of the Caversham parson, who +sat on the other side of her, and who had been worked to enthusiasm +by some mention of Father Barham's name.</p> + +<p>Opposite to her, or nearly so, sat Sir Felix and his love. "I have +told mamma," Marie had whispered, as she walked in to dinner with +him. She was now full of the idea so common to girls who are +engaged,—and as natural as it is common,—that she might tell +everything to her lover.</p> + +<p>"Did she say anything?" he asked. Then Marie had to take her place +and arrange her dress before she could reply to him. "As to her, I +suppose it does not matter what she says, does it?"</p> + +<p>"She said a great deal. She thinks that papa will think you are not +rich enough. Hush! Talk about something else, or people will hear." +So much she had been able to say during the bustle.</p> + +<p>Felix was not at all anxious to talk about his love, and changed the +subject very willingly. "Have you been riding?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No; I don't think there are horses here,—not for visitors, that is. +How did you get home? Did you have any adventures?"</p> + +<p>"None at all," said Felix, remembering Ruby Ruggles. "I just rode +home quietly. I go to town to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"And we go on Wednesday. Mind you come and see us before long." This +she said bringing her voice down to a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall. I suppose I'd better go to your father in the +city. Does he go every day?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, every day. He's back always about seven. Sometimes he's +good-natured enough when he comes back, but sometimes he's very +cross. He's best just after dinner. But it's so hard to get to him +then. Lord Alfred is almost always there; and then other people come, +and they play cards. I think the city will be best."</p> + +<p>"You'll stick to it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes;—indeed I will. Now that I've once said it nothing will +ever turn me. I think papa knows that." Felix looked at her as she +said this, and thought that he saw more in her countenance than he +had ever read there before. Perhaps she would consent to run away +with him; and, if so, being the only child, she would +certainly,—almost certainly,—be forgiven. But if he were to run +away with her and marry her, and then find that she were not +forgiven, and that Melmotte allowed her to starve without a shilling +of fortune, where would he be then? Looking at the matter in all its +bearings, considering among other things the trouble and the expense +of such a measure, he thought that he could not afford to run away +with her.</p> + +<p>After dinner he hardly spoke to her; indeed, the room itself,—the +same big room in which they had been assembled before the +feast,—seemed to be ill-adapted for conversation. Again nobody +talked to anybody, and the minutes went very heavily till at last the +carriages were there to take them all home. "They arranged that you +should sit next to her," said Lady Carbury to her son, as they were +in the carriage.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose that came naturally;—one young man and one young +woman, you know."</p> + +<p>"Those things are always arranged, and they would not have done it +unless they had thought that it would please Mr. Melmotte. Oh, Felix! +if you can bring it about."</p> + +<p>"I shall if I can, mother; you needn't make a fuss about it."</p> + +<p>"No, I won't. You cannot wonder that I should be anxious. You behaved +beautifully to her at dinner; I was so happy to see you together. +Good night, Felix, and God bless you!" she said again, as they were +parting for the night. "I shall be the happiest and the proudest +mother in England if this comes about."</p> + + +<p><a id="c21"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXI.</h3> +<h4>EVERYBODY GOES TO THEM.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When the Melmottes went from Caversham the house was very desolate. +The task of entertaining these people was indeed over, and had the +return to London been fixed for a certain near day, there would have +been comfort at any rate among the ladies of the family. But this was +so far from being the case that the Thursday and Friday passed +without anything being settled, and dreadful fears began to fill the +minds of Lady Pomona and Sophia Longestaffe. Georgiana was also +impatient, but she asserted boldly that treachery, such as that which +her mother and sister contemplated, was impossible. Their father, she +thought, would not dare to propose it. On each of these days,—three +or four times daily,—hints were given and questions were asked, but +without avail. Mr. Longestaffe would not consent to have a day fixed +till he had received some particular letter, and would not even +listen to the suggestion of a day. "I suppose we can go at any rate +on Tuesday," Georgiana said on the Friday evening. "I don't know why +you should suppose anything of the kind," the father replied. Poor +Lady Pomona was urged by her daughters to compel him to name a day; +but Lady Pomona was less audacious in urging the request than her +younger child, and at the same time less anxious for its completion. +On the Sunday morning before they went to church there was a great +discussion up-stairs. The Bishop of Elmham was going to preach at +Caversham church, and the three ladies were dressed in their best +London bonnets. They were in their mother's room, having just +completed the arrangements of their church-going toilet. It was +supposed that the expected letter had arrived. Mr. Longestaffe had +certainly received a dispatch from his lawyer, but had not as yet +vouchsafed any reference to its contents. He had been more than +ordinarily silent at breakfast, and,—so Sophia asserted,—more +disagreeable than ever. The question had now arisen especially in +reference to their bonnets. "You might as well wear them," said Lady +Pomona, "for I am sure you will not be in London again this year."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean it, mamma," said Sophia.</p> + +<p>"I do, my dear. He looked like it when he put those papers back into +his pocket. I know what his face means so well."</p> + +<p>"It is not possible," said Sophia. "He promised, and he got us to +have those horrid people because he promised."</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, if your father says that we can't go back, I suppose +we must take his word for it. It is he must decide of course. What he +meant I suppose was, that he would take us back if he could."</p> + +<p>"Mamma!" shouted Georgiana. Was there to be treachery not only on the +part of their natural adversary, who, adversary though he was, had +bound himself to terms by a treaty, but treachery also in their own +camp!</p> + +<p>"My dear, what can we do?" said Lady Pomona.</p> + +<p>"Do!" Georgiana was now going to speak out plainly. "Make him +understand that we are not going to be sat upon like that. I'll do +something, if that's going to be the way of it. If he treats me like +that I'll run off with the first man that will take me, let him be +who it may."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk like that, Georgiana, unless you wish to kill me."</p> + +<p>"I'll break his heart for him. He does not care about us,—not the +least,—whether we are happy or miserable; but he cares very much +about the family name. I'll tell him that I'm not going to be a +slave. I'll marry a London tradesman before I'll stay down here." The +younger Miss Longestaffe was lost in passion at the prospect before +her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Georgey, don't say such horrid things as that," pleaded her +sister.</p> + +<p>"It's all very well for you, Sophy. You've got George Whitstable."</p> + +<p>"I haven't got George Whitstable."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you have, and your fish is fried. Dolly does just what he +pleases, and spends money as fast as he likes. Of course it makes no +difference to you, mamma, where you are."</p> + +<p>"You are very unjust," said Lady Pomona, wailing, "and you say horrid +things."</p> + +<p>"I ain't unjust at all. It doesn't matter to you. And Sophy is the +same as settled. But I'm to be sacrificed! How am I to see anybody +down here in this horrid hole? Papa promised and he must keep his +word."</p> + +<p>Then there came to them a loud voice calling to them from the hall. +"Are any of you coming to church, or are you going to keep the +carriage waiting all day?" Of course they were all going to church. +They always did go to church when they were at Caversham; and would +more especially do so to-day, because of the bishop and because of +the bonnets. They trooped down into the hall and into the carriage, +Lady Pomona leading the way. Georgiana stalked along, passing her +father at the front door without condescending to look at him. Not a +word was spoken on the way to church, or on the way home. During the +service Mr. Longestaffe stood up in the corner of his pew, and +repeated the responses in a loud voice. In performing this duty he +had been an example to the parish all his life. The three ladies +knelt on their hassocks in the most becoming fashion, and sat during +the sermon without the slightest sign either of weariness or of +attention. They did not collect the meaning of any one combination of +sentences. It was nothing to them whether the bishop had or had not a +meaning. Endurance of that kind was their strength. Had the bishop +preached for forty-five minutes instead of half an hour they would +not have complained. It was the same kind of endurance which enabled +Georgiana to go on from year to year waiting for a husband of the +proper sort. She could put up with any amount of tedium if only the +fair chance of obtaining ultimate relief were not denied to her. But +to be kept at Caversham all the summer would be as bad as hearing a +bishop preach for ever! After the service they came back to lunch, +and that meal also was eaten in silence. When it was over the head of +the family put himself into the dining-room arm-chair, evidently +meaning to be left alone there. In that case he would have meditated +upon his troubles till he went to sleep, and would have thus got +through the afternoon with comfort. But this was denied to him. The +two daughters remained steadfast while the things were being removed; +and Lady Pomona, though she made one attempt to leave the room, +returned when she found that her daughters would not follow her. +Georgiana had told her sister that she meant to "have it out" with +her father, and Sophia had of course remained in the room in +obedience to her sister's behest. When the last tray had been taken +out, Georgiana began. "Papa, don't you think you could settle now +when we are to go back to town? Of course we want to know about +engagements and all that. There is Lady Monogram's party on +Wednesday. We promised to be there ever so long ago."</p> + +<p>"You had better write to Lady Monogram and say you can't keep your +engagement."</p> + +<p>"But why not, papa? We could go up on Wednesday morning."</p> + +<p>"You can't do anything of the kind."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, we should all like to have a day fixed," said Lady +Pomona. Then there was a pause. Even Georgiana, in her present state +of mind, would have accepted some distant, even some undefined time, +as a compromise.</p> + +<p>"Then you can't have a day fixed," said Mr. Longestaffe.</p> + +<p>"How long do you suppose that we shall be kept here?" said Sophia, in +a low constrained voice.</p> + +<p>"I do not know what you mean by being kept here. This is your home, +and this is where you may make up your minds to live."</p> + +<p>"But we are to go back?" demanded Sophia. Georgiana stood by in +silence, listening, resolving, and biding her time.</p> + +<p>"You'll not return to London this season," said Mr. Longestaffe, +turning himself abruptly to a newspaper which he held in his hands.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that that is settled?" said Lady Pomona.</p> + +<p>"I mean to say that that is settled," said Mr. Longestaffe.</p> + +<p>Was there ever treachery like this! The indignation in Georgiana's +mind approached almost to virtue as she thought of her father's +falseness. She would not have left town at all but for that promise. +She would not have contaminated herself with the Melmottes but for +that promise. And now she was told that the promise was to be +absolutely broken, when it was no longer possible that she could get +back to London,—even to the house of the hated Primeros,—without +absolutely running away from her father's residence! "Then, papa," +she said, with affected calmness, "you have simply and with +premeditation broken your word to us."</p> + +<p>"How dare you speak to me in that way, you wicked child!"</p> + +<p>"I am not a child, papa, as you know very well. I am my own +mistress,—by law."</p> + +<p>"Then go and be your own mistress. You dare to tell me, your father, +that I have premeditated a falsehood! If you tell me that again, you +shall eat your meals in your own room or not eat them in this house."</p> + +<p>"Did you not promise that we should go back if we would come down and +entertain these people?"</p> + +<p>"I will not argue with a child, insolent and disobedient as you are. +If I have anything to say about it, I will say it to your mother. It +should be enough for you that I, your father, tell you that you have +to live here. Now go away, and if you choose to be sullen, go and be +sullen where I shan't see you." Georgiana looked round on her mother +and sister and then marched majestically out of the room. She still +meditated revenge, but she was partly cowed, and did not dare in her +father's presence to go on with her reproaches. She stalked off into +the room in which they generally lived, and there she stood panting +with anger, breathing indignation through her nostrils.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill021"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill021.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill021-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="She marched majestically out of the room." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">She + marched majestically out of the room.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill021.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"And you mean to put up with it, mamma?" she said.</p> + +<p>"What can we do, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"I will do something. I'm not going to be cheated and swindled and +have my life thrown away into the bargain. I have always behaved well +to him. I have never run up bills without saying anything about +them." This was a cut at her elder sister, who had once got into some +little trouble of that kind. "I have never got myself talked about +with any body. If there is anything to be done I always do it. I have +written his letters for him till I have been sick, and when you were +ill I never asked him to stay out with us after two or half-past two +at the latest. And now he tells me that I am to eat my meals up in my +bedroom because I remind him that he distinctly promised to take us +back to London! Did he not promise, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"I understood so, my dear."</p> + +<p>"You know he promised, mamma. If I do anything now he must bear the +blame of it. I am not going to keep myself straight for the sake of +the family, and then be treated in that way."</p> + +<p>"You do that for your own sake, I suppose," said her sister.</p> + +<p>"It is more than you've been able to do for anybody's sake," said +Georgiana, alluding to a very old affair,—to an ancient flirtation, +in the course of which the elder daughter had made a foolish and a +futile attempt to run away with an officer of dragoons whose private +fortune was very moderate. Ten years had passed since that, and the +affair was never alluded to except in moments of great bitterness.</p> + +<p>"I've kept myself as straight as you have," said Sophia. "It's easy +enough to be straight, when a person never cares for anybody, and +nobody cares for a person."</p> + +<p>"My dears, if you quarrel what am I to do?" said their mother.</p> + +<p>"It is I that have to suffer," continued Georgiana. "Does he expect +me to find anybody here that I could take? Poor George Whitstable is +not much; but there is nobody else at all."</p> + +<p>"You may have him if you like," said Sophia, with a chuck of her +head.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, my dear, but I shouldn't like it at all. I haven't come +to that quite yet."</p> + +<p>"You were talking of running away with somebody."</p> + +<p>"I shan't run away with George Whitstable; you may be sure of that. +I'll tell you what I shall do,—I will write papa a letter. I suppose +he'll condescend to read it. If he won't take me up to town himself, +he must send me up to the Primeros. What makes me most angry in the +whole thing is that we should have condescended to be civil to the +Melmottes down in the country. In London one does those things, but +to have them here was terrible!"</p> + +<p>During that entire afternoon nothing more was said. Not a word passed +between them on any subject beyond those required by the necessities +of life. Georgiana had been as hard to her sister as to her father, +and Sophia in her quiet way resented the affront. She was now almost +reconciled to the sojourn in the country, because it inflicted a +fitting punishment on Georgiana, and the presence of Mr. Whitstable +at a distance of not more than ten miles did of course make a +difference to herself. Lady Pomona complained of a headache, which +was always an excuse with her for not speaking;—and Mr. Longestaffe +went to sleep. Georgiana during the whole afternoon remained apart, +and on the next morning the head of the family found the following +letter on his +dressing-<span class="nowrap">table;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Papa</span>,—</p> + + +<p>I don't think you ought to be surprised because we feel +that our going up to town is so very important to us. If +we are not to be in London at this time of the year we can +never see anybody, and of course you know what that must +mean for me. If this goes on about Sophia, it does not +signify for her, and, though mamma likes London, it is not +of real importance. But it is very, very hard upon me. It +isn't for pleasure that I want to go up. There isn't so +very much pleasure in it. But if I'm to be buried down +here at Caversham, I might just as well be dead at once. +If you choose to give up both houses for a year, or for +two years, and take us all abroad, I should not grumble in +the least. There are very nice people to be met abroad, +and perhaps things go easier that way than in town. And +there would be nothing for horses, and we could dress very +cheap and wear our old things. I'm sure I don't want to +run up bills. But if you would only think what Caversham +must be to me, without any one worth thinking about within +twenty miles, you would hardly ask me to stay here.</p> + +<p>You certainly did say that if we would come down here with +those Melmottes we should be taken back to town, and you +cannot be surprised that we should be disappointed when we +are told that we are to be kept here after that. It makes +me feel that life is so hard that I can't bear it. I see +other girls having such chances when I have none, that +sometimes I think I don't know what will happen to me.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">This was the nearest +approach which she dared to make in writing to that threat which she +had uttered to her mother of running away with somebody.</p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent">I suppose +that now it is useless for me to ask you to take +us all back this summer,—though it was promised; but I +hope you'll give me money to go up to the Primeros. It +would only be me and my maid. Julia Primero asked me to +stay with them when you first talked of not going up, and +I should not in the least object to reminding her, only it +should be done at once. Their house in Queen's Gate is +very large, and I know they've a room. They all ride, and +I should want a horse; but there would be nothing else, as +they have plenty of carriages, and the groom who rides +with Julia would do for both of us. Pray answer this at +once, papa.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Your affectionate daughter,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Georgiana +Longestaffe</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Mr. Longestaffe did condescend to read the letter. He, though he had +rebuked his mutinous daughter with stern severity, was also to some +extent afraid of her. At a sudden burst he could stand upon his +authority, and assume his position with parental dignity; but not the +less did he dread the wearing toil of continued domestic strife. He +thought that upon the whole his daughter liked a row in the house. If +not, there surely would not be so many rows. He himself thoroughly +hated them. He had not any very lively interest in life. He did not +read much; he did not talk much; he was not specially fond of eating +and drinking; he did not gamble, and he did not care for the farm. To +stand about the door and hall and public rooms of the clubs to which +he belonged and hear other men talk politics or scandal, was what he +liked better than anything else in the world. But he was quite +willing to give this up for the good of his family. He would be +contented to drag through long listless days at Caversham, and +endeavour to nurse his property, if only his daughter would allow it. +By assuming a certain pomp in his living, which had been altogether +unserviceable to himself and family, by besmearing his footmen's +heads, and bewigging his coachmen, by aping, though never achieving, +the grand ways of grander men than himself, he had run himself into +debt. His own ambition had been a peerage, and he had thought that +this was the way to get it. A separate property had come to his son +from his wife's mother,—some £2,000 or £3,000 a year, magnified by +the world into double its amount,—and the knowledge of this had for +a time reconciled him to increasing the burdens on the family +estates. He had been sure that Adolphus, when of age, would have +consented to sell the Sussex property in order that the Suffolk +property might be relieved. But Dolly was now in debt himself, and +though in other respects the most careless of men, was always on his +guard in any dealings with his father. He would not consent to the +sale of the Sussex property unless half of the proceeds were to be at +once handed to himself. The father could not bring himself to consent +to this, but, while refusing it, found the troubles of the world very +hard upon him. Melmotte had done something for him,—but in doing +this Melmotte was very hard and tyrannical. Melmotte, when at +Caversham, had looked into his affairs, and had told him very plainly +that with such an establishment in the country he was not entitled to +keep a house in town. Mr. Longestaffe had then said something about +his daughters,—something especially about Georgiana,—and Mr. +Melmotte had made a suggestion.</p> + +<p>Mr. Longestaffe, when he read his daughter's appeal, did feel for +her, in spite of his anger. But if there was one man he hated more +than another, it was his neighbour Mr. Primero; and if one woman, it +was Mrs. Primero. Primero, whom Mr. Longestaffe regarded as quite an +upstart, and anything but a gentleman, owed no man anything. He paid +his tradesmen punctually, and never met the squire of Caversham +without seeming to make a parade of his virtue in that direction. He +had spent many thousands for his party in county elections and +borough elections, and was now himself member for a metropolitan +district. He was a radical, of course, or, according to Mr. +Longestaffe's view of his political conduct, acted and voted on the +radical side because there was nothing to be got by voting and acting +on the other. And now there had come into Suffolk a rumour that Mr. +Primero was to have a peerage. To others the rumour was incredible, +but Mr. Longestaffe believed it, and to Mr. Longestaffe that belief +was an agony. A Baron Bundlesham just at his door, and such a Baron +Bundlesham, would be more than Mr. Longestaffe could endure. It was +quite impossible that his daughter should be entertained in London by +the Primeros.</p> + +<p>But another suggestion had been made. Georgiana's letter had been +laid on her father's table on the Monday morning. On the following +morning, when there could have been no intercourse with London by +letter, Lady Pomona called her younger daughter to her, and handed +her a note to read. "Your papa has this moment given it me. Of course +you must judge for yourself." This was the +<span class="nowrap">note;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My Dear Mr. Longestaffe</span>,</p> + +<p>As you seem determined not to return to London this +season, perhaps one of your young ladies would like to +come to us. Mrs. Melmotte would be delighted to have Miss +Georgiana for June and July. If so, she need only give +Mrs. Melmotte a day's notice.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours truly,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Augustus Melmotte</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Georgiana, as soon as her eye had glanced down the one side of note +paper on which this invitation was written, looked up for the date. +It was without a date, and had, she felt sure, been left in her +father's hands to be used as he might think fit. She breathed very +hard. Both her father and mother had heard her speak of these +Melmottes, and knew what she thought of them. There was an insolence +in the very suggestion. But at the first moment she said nothing of +that. "Why shouldn't I go to the Primeros?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Your father will not hear of it. He dislikes them especially."</p> + +<p>"And I dislike the Melmottes. I dislike the Primeros of course, but +they are not so bad as the Melmottes. That would be dreadful."</p> + +<p>"You must judge for yourself, Georgiana."</p> + +<p>"It is that,—or staying here?"</p> + +<p>"I think so, my dear."</p> + +<p>"If papa chooses I don't know why I am to mind. It will be awfully +disagreeable,—absolutely disgusting!"</p> + +<p>"She seemed to be very quiet."</p> + +<p>"Pooh, mamma! Quiet! She was quiet here because she was afraid of us. +She isn't yet used to be with people like us. She'll get over that if +I'm in the house with her. And then she is, oh! so frightfully +vulgar! She must have been the very sweeping of the gutters. Did you +not see it, mamma? She could not even open her mouth, she was so +ashamed of herself. I shouldn't wonder if they turned out to be +something quite horrid. They make me shudder. Was there ever anything +so dreadful to look at as he is?"</p> + +<p>"Everybody goes to them," said Lady Pomona. "The Duchess of Stevenage +has been there over and over again, and so has Lady Auld Reekie. +Everybody goes to their house."</p> + +<p>"But everybody doesn't go and live with them. Oh, mamma,—to have to +sit down to breakfast every day for ten weeks with that man and that +woman!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they'll let you have your breakfast up-stairs."</p> + +<p>"But to have to go out with them;—walking into the room after her! +Only think of it!"</p> + +<p>"But you are so anxious to be in London, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Of course I am anxious. What other chance have I, mamma? And, oh +dear, I am so tired of it! Pleasure, indeed! Papa talks of pleasure. +If papa had to work half as hard as I do, I wonder what he'd think of +it. I suppose I must do it. I know it will make me so ill that I +shall almost die under it. Horrid, horrid people! And papa to propose +it, who has always been so proud of everything,—who used to think so +much of being with the right set."</p> + +<p>"Things are changed, Georgiana," said the anxious mother.</p> + +<p>"Indeed they are when papa wants me to go and stay with people like +that. Why, mamma, the apothecary in Bungay is a fine gentleman +compared with Mr. Melmotte, and his wife is a fine lady compared with +Madame Melmotte. But I'll go. If papa chooses me to be seen with such +people it is not my fault. There will be no disgracing one's self +after that. I don't believe in the least that any decent man would +propose to a girl in such a house, and you and papa must not be +surprised if I take some horrid creature from the Stock Exchange. +Papa has altered his ideas; and so, I suppose, I had better alter +mine."</p> + +<p>Georgiana did not speak to her father that night, but Lady Pomona +informed Mr. Longestaffe that Mr. Melmotte's invitation was to be +accepted. She herself would write a line to Madame Melmotte, and +Georgiana would go up on the Friday following. "I hope she'll like +it," said Mr. Longestaffe. The poor man had no intention of irony. It +was not in his nature to be severe after that fashion. But to poor +Lady Pomona the words sounded very cruel. How could any one like to +live in a house with Mr. and Madame Melmotte!</p> + +<p>On the Friday morning there was a little conversation between the two +sisters, just before Georgiana's departure to the railway station, +which was almost touching. She had endeavoured to hold up her head as +usual, but had failed. The thing that she was going to do cowed her +even in the presence of her sister. "Sophy, I do so envy you staying +here."</p> + +<p>"But it was you who were so determined to be in London."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I was determined, and am determined. I've got to get myself +settled somehow, and that can't be done down here. But you are not +going to disgrace yourself."</p> + +<p>"There's no disgrace in it, Georgey."</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is. I believe the man to be a swindler and a thief; and I +believe her to be anything low that you can think of. As to their +pretensions to be gentlefolk, it is monstrous. The footmen and +housemaids would be much better."</p> + +<p>"Then don't go, Georgey."</p> + +<p>"I must go. It's the only chance that is left. If I were to remain +down here everybody would say that I was on the shelf. You are going +to marry Whitstable, and you'll do very well. It isn't a big place, +but there's no debt on it, and Whitstable himself isn't a bad sort of +fellow."</p> + +<p>"Is he, now?"</p> + +<p>"Of course he hasn't much to say for himself, for he's always at +home. But he is a gentleman."</p> + +<p>"That he certainly is."</p> + +<p>"As for me I shall give over caring about gentlemen now. The first +man that comes to me with four or five thousand a year, I'll take +him, though he'd come out of Newgate or Bedlam. And I shall always +say it has been papa's doing."</p> + +<p>And so Georgiana Longestaffe went up to London and stayed with the +Melmottes.</p> + + +<p><a id="c22"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXII.</h3> +<h4>LORD NIDDERDALE'S MORALITY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>It was very generally said in the city about this time that the Great +South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway was the very best thing +out. It was known that Mr. Melmotte had gone into it with heart and +hand. There were many who declared,—with gross injustice to the +Great Fisker,—that the railway was Melmotte's own child, that he had +invented it, advertised it, agitated it, and floated it; but it was +not the less popular on that account. A railway from Salt Lake City +to Mexico no doubt had much of the flavour of a castle in Spain. Our +far-western American brethren are supposed to be imaginative. Mexico +has not a reputation among us for commercial security, or that +stability which produces its four, five, or six per cent. with the +regularity of clockwork. But there was the Panama railway, a small +affair which had paid twenty-five per cent.; and there was the great +line across the continent to San Francisco, in which enormous +fortunes had been made. It came to be believed that men with their +eyes open might do as well with the Great South Central as had ever +been done before with other speculations, and this belief was no +doubt founded on Mr. Melmotte's partiality for the enterprise. Mr. +Fisker had "struck 'ile" when he induced his partner, Montague, to +give him a note to the great man.</p> + +<p>Paul Montague himself, who cannot be said to have been a man having +his eyes open, in the city sense of the word, could not learn how the +thing was progressing. At the regular meetings of the Board, which +never sat for above half an hour, two or three papers were read by +Miles Grendall. Melmotte himself would speak a few slow words, +intended to be cheery, and always indicative of triumph, and then +everybody would agree to everything, somebody would sign something, +and the "Board" for that day would be over. To Paul Montague this was +very unsatisfactory. More than once or twice he endeavoured to stay +the proceedings, not as disapproving, but "simply as desirous of +being made to understand;" but the silent scorn of his chairman put +him out of countenance, and the opposition of his colleagues was a +barrier which he was not strong enough to overcome. Lord Alfred +Grendall would declare that he "did not think all that was at all +necessary." Lord Nidderdale, with whom Montague had now become +intimate at the Beargarden, would nudge him in the ribs and bid him +hold his tongue. Mr. Cohenlupe would make a little speech in fluent +but broken English, assuring the Committee that everything was being +done after the approved city fashion. Sir Felix, after the first two +meetings, was never there. And thus Paul Montague, with a sorely +burdened conscience, was carried along as one of the Directors of the +Great South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway Company.</p> + +<p>I do not know whether the burden was made lighter to him or heavier, +by the fact that the immediate pecuniary result was certainly very +comfortable. The Company had not yet been in existence quite six +weeks,—or at any rate Melmotte had not been connected with it above +that time,—and it had already been suggested to him twice that he +should sell fifty shares at £112 10<i>s</i>. He did not even yet know how +many shares he possessed, but on both occasions he consented to the +proposal, and on the following day received a cheque for £625,—that +sum representing the profit over and above the original nominal price +of £100 a share. The suggestion was made to him by Miles Grendall, +and when he asked some questions as to the manner in which the shares +had been allocated, he was told that all that would be arranged in +accordance with the capital invested and must depend on the final +disposition of the Californian property. "But from what we see, old +fellow," said Miles, "I don't think you have anything to fear. You +seem to be about the best in of them all. Melmotte wouldn't advise +you to sell out gradually, if he didn't look upon the thing as a +certain income as far as you are concerned."</p> + +<p>Paul Montague understood nothing of all this, and felt that he was +standing on ground which might be blown from under his feet at any +moment. The uncertainty, and what he feared might be the dishonesty, +of the whole thing, made him often very miserable. In those wretched +moments his conscience was asserting itself. But again there were +times in which he also was almost triumphant, and in which he felt +the delight of his wealth. Though he was snubbed at the Board when he +wanted explanations, he received very great attention outside the +board-room from those connected with the enterprise. Melmotte had +asked him to dine two or three times. Mr. Cohenlupe had begged him to +go down to his little place at Rickmansworth,—an entreaty with which +Montague had not as yet complied. Lord Alfred was always gracious to +him, and Nidderdale and Carbury were evidently anxious to make him +one of their set at the club. Many other houses became open to him +from the same source. Though Melmotte was supposed to be the inventor +of the railway, it was known that Fisker, Montague, and Montague were +largely concerned in it, and it was known also that Paul Montague was +one of the Montagues named in that firm. People, both in the City and +the West End, seemed to think that he knew all about it, and treated +him as though some of the manna falling from that heaven were at his +disposition. There were results from this which were not unpleasing +to the young man. He only partially resisted the temptation; and +though determined at times to probe the affair to the bottom, was so +determined only at times. The money was very pleasant to him. The +period would now soon arrive before which he understood himself to be +pledged not to make a distinct offer to Henrietta Carbury; and when +that period should have been passed, it would be delightful to him to +know that he was possessed of property sufficient to enable him to +give a wife a comfortable home. In all his aspirations, and in all +his fears, he was true to Hetta Carbury, and made her the centre of +his hopes. Nevertheless, had Hetta known everything, it may be feared +that she would have at any rate endeavoured to dismiss him from her +heart.</p> + +<p>There was considerable uneasiness in the bosoms of others of the +Directors, and a disposition to complain against the Grand Director, +arising from a grievance altogether different from that which +afflicted Montague. Neither had Sir Felix Carbury nor Lord Nidderdale +been invited to sell shares, and consequently neither of them had +received any remuneration for the use of their names. They knew well +that Montague had sold shares. He was quite open on the subject, and +had told Felix, whom he hoped some day to regard as his +brother-in-law, exactly what shares he had sold, and for how +much;—and the two men had endeavoured to make the matter +intelligible between themselves. The original price of the shares +being £100 each, and £12 10<i>s.</i> a share having been paid to Montague +as the premium, it was to be supposed that the original capital was +re-invested in other shares. But each owned to the other that the +matter was very complicated to him, and Montague could only write to +Hamilton K. Fisker at San Francisco asking for explanation. As yet he +had received no answer. But it was not the wealth flowing into +Montague's hands which embittered Nidderdale and Carbury. They +understood that he had really brought money into the concern, and was +therefore entitled to take money out of it. Nor did it occur to them +to grudge Melmotte his more noble pickings, for they knew how great a +man was Melmotte. Of Cohenlupe's doings they heard nothing; but he +was a regular city man, and had probably supplied funds. Cohenlupe +was too deep for their inquiry. But they knew that Lord Alfred had +sold shares, and had received the profit; and they knew also how +utterly impossible it was that Lord Alfred should have produced +capital. If Lord Alfred Grendall was entitled to plunder, why were +not they? And if their day for plunder had not yet come, why had Lord +Alfred's? And if there was so much cause to fear Lord Alfred that it +was necessary to throw him a bone, why should not they also make +themselves feared? Lord Alfred passed all his time with +Melmotte,—had, as these young men said, become Melmotte's head +valet,—and therefore had to be paid. But that reason did not satisfy +the young men.</p> + +<p>"You haven't sold any shares;—have you?" This question Sir Felix +asked Lord Nidderdale at the club. Nidderdale was constant in his +attendance at the Board, and Felix was not a little afraid that he +might be jockied also by him.</p> + +<p>"Not a share."</p> + +<p>"Nor got any profits?"</p> + +<p>"Not a shilling of any kind. As far as money is concerned my only +transaction has been my part of the expense of Fisker's dinner."</p> + +<p>"What do you get then, by going into the city?" asked Sir Felix.</p> + +<p>"I'm blessed if I know what I get. I suppose something will turn up +some day."</p> + +<p>"In the meantime, you know, there are our names. And Grendall is +making a fortune out of it."</p> + +<p>"Poor old duffer," said his lordship. "If he's doing so well, I think +Miles ought to be made to pay up something of what he owes. I think +we ought to tell him that we shall expect him to have the money ready +when that bill of Vossner's comes round."</p> + +<p>"Yes, by George; let's tell him that. Will you do it?"</p> + +<p>"Not that it will be the least good. It would be quite unnatural to +him to pay anything."</p> + +<p>"Fellows used to pay their gambling debts," said Sir Felix, who was +still in funds, and who still held a considerable assortment of I. O. +U.'s.</p> + +<p>"They don't now,—unless they like it. How did a fellow manage +before, if he hadn't got it?"</p> + +<p>"He went smash," said Sir Felix, "and disappeared and was never heard +of any more. It was just the same as if he'd been found cheating. I +believe a fellow might cheat now and nobody'd say anything!"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't," said Lord Nidderdale. "What's the use of being beastly +ill-natured? I'm not very good at saying my prayers, but I do think +there's something in that bit about forgiving people. Of course +cheating isn't very nice: and it isn't very nice for a fellow to play +when he knows he can't pay; but I don't know that it's worse than +getting drunk like Dolly Longestaffe, or quarrelling with everybody +as Grasslough does,—or trying to marry some poor devil of a girl +merely because she's got money. I believe in living in glass houses, +but I don't believe in throwing stones. Do you ever read the Bible, +Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"Read the Bible! Well;—yes;—no;—that is, I suppose, I used to do."</p> + +<p>"I often think I shouldn't have been the first to pick up a stone and +pitch it at that woman. Live and let live;—that's my motto."</p> + +<p>"But you agree that we ought to do something about these shares?" +said Sir Felix, thinking that this doctrine of forgiveness might be +carried too far.</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly. I'll let old Grendall live with all my heart; but +then he ought to let me live too. Only, who's to bell the cat?"</p> + +<p>"What cat?"</p> + +<p>"It's no good our going to old Grendall," said Lord Nidderdale, who +had some understanding in the matter, "nor yet to young Grendall. The +one would only grunt and say nothing, and the other would tell every +lie that came into his head. The cat in this matter I take to be our +great master, Augustus Melmotte."</p> + +<p>This little meeting occurred on the day after Felix Carbury's return +from Suffolk, and at a time at which, as we know, it was the great +duty of his life to get the consent of old Melmotte to his marriage +with Marie Melmotte. In doing that he would have to put one bell on +the cat, and he thought that for the present that was sufficient. In +his heart of hearts he was afraid of Melmotte. But then, as he knew +very well, Nidderdale was intent on the same object. Nidderdale, he +thought, was a very queer fellow. That talking about the Bible, and +the forgiving of trespasses, was very queer; and that allusion to the +marrying of heiresses very queer indeed. He knew that Nidderdale +wanted to marry the heiress, and Nidderdale must also know that he +wanted to marry her. And yet Nidderdale was indelicate enough to talk +about it! And now the man asked who should bell the cat! "You go +there oftener than I do, and perhaps you could do it best," said Sir +Felix.</p> + +<p>"Go where?"</p> + +<p>"To the Board."</p> + +<p>"But you're always at his house. He'd be civil to me, perhaps, +because I'm a lord: but then, for the same reason, he'd think I was +the bigger fool of the two."</p> + +<p>"I don't see that at all," said Sir Felix.</p> + +<p>"I ain't afraid of him, if you mean that," continued Lord Nidderdale. +"He's a wretched old reprobate, and I don't doubt but he'd skin you +and me if he could make money off our carcasses. But as he can't skin +me, I'll have a shy at him. On the whole I think he rather likes me, +because I've always been on the square with him. If it depended on +him, you know, I should have the girl to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Would you?" Sir Felix did not at all mean to doubt his friend's +assertion, but felt it hard to answer so very strange a statement.</p> + +<p>"But then she don't want me, and I ain't quite sure that I want her. +Where the devil would a fellow find himself if the money wasn't all +there?" Lord Nidderdale then sauntered away, leaving the baronet in a +deep study of thought as to such a condition of things as that which +his lordship had suggested. Where the—mischief would he, Sir Felix +Carbury, be, if he were to marry the girl, and then to find that the +money was not all there?</p> + +<p>On the following Friday, which was the Board day, Nidderdale went to +the great man's offices in Abchurch Lane, and so contrived that he +walked with the great man to the Board meeting. Melmotte was always +very gracious in his manner to Lord Nidderdale, but had never, up to +this moment, had any speech with his proposed son-in-law about +business. "I wanted just to ask you something," said the lord, +hanging on the chairman's arm.</p> + +<p>"Anything you please, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Don't you think that Carbury and I ought to have some shares to +sell?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't,—if you ask me."</p> + +<p>"Oh;—I didn't know. But why shouldn't we as well as the others?"</p> + +<p>"Have you and Sir Felix put any money into it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, if you come to that, I don't suppose we have. How much has +Lord Alfred put into it?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> have taken shares for Lord Alfred," said Melmotte, putting very +heavy emphasis on the personal pronoun. "If it suits me to advance +money to Lord Alfred Grendall, I suppose I may do so without asking +your lordship's consent, or that of Sir Felix Carbury."</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly. I don't want to make inquiry as to what you do with +your money."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you don't, and, therefore, we won't say anything more about +it. You wait awhile, Lord Nidderdale, and you'll find it will come +all right. If you've got a few thousand pounds loose, and will put +them into the concern, why, of course you can sell; and, if the +shares are up, can sell at a profit. It's presumed just at present +that, at some early day, you'll qualify for your directorship by +doing so, and till that is done, the shares are allocated to you, but +cannot be transferred to you."</p> + +<p>"That's it, is it," said Lord Nidderdale, pretending to understand +all about it.</p> + +<p>"If things go on as we hope they will between you and Marie, you can +have pretty nearly any number of shares that you please;—that is, if +your father consents to a proper settlement."</p> + +<p>"I hope it'll all go smooth, I'm sure," said Nidderdale. "Thank you; +I'm ever so much obliged to you, and I'll explain it all to Carbury."</p> + + +<p><a id="c23"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXIII.</h3> +<h4>"YES;—I'M A BARONET."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>How eager Lady Carbury was that her son should at once go in form to +Marie's father and make his proposition may be easily understood. "My +dear Felix," she said, standing over his bedside a little before +noon, "pray don't put it off; you don't know how many slips there may +be between the cup and the lip."</p> + +<p>"It's everything to get him in a good humour," pleaded Sir Felix.</p> + +<p>"But the young lady will feel that she is ill-used."</p> + +<p>"There's no fear of that; she's all right. What am I to say to him +about money? That's the question."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't think of dictating anything, Felix."</p> + +<p>"Nidderdale, when he was on before, stipulated for a certain sum +down; or his father did for him. So much cash was to be paid over +before the ceremony, and it only went off because Nidderdale wanted +the money to do what he liked with."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't mind having it settled?"</p> + +<p>"No;—I'd consent to that on condition that the money was paid down, +and the income insured to me,—say £7,000 or £8,000 a year. I +wouldn't do it for less, mother; it wouldn't be worth while."</p> + +<p>"But you have nothing left of your own."</p> + +<p>"I've got a throat that I can cut, and brains that I can blow out," +said the son, using an argument which he conceived might be +efficacious with his mother; though, had she known him, she might +have been sure that no man lived less likely to cut his own throat or +blow out his own brains.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Felix! how brutal it is to speak to me in that way."</p> + +<p>"It may be brutal; but you know, mother, business is business. You +want me to marry this girl because of her money."</p> + +<p>"You want to marry her yourself."</p> + +<p>"I'm quite a philosopher about it. I want her money; and when one +wants money, one should make up one's mind how much or how little one +means to take,—and whether one is sure to get it."</p> + +<p>"I don't think there can be any doubt."</p> + +<p>"If I were to marry her, and if the money wasn't there, it would be +very like cutting my throat then, mother. If a man plays and loses, +he can play again and perhaps win; but when a fellow goes in for an +heiress, and gets the wife without the money, he feels a little +hampered you know."</p> + +<p>"Of course he'd pay the money first."</p> + +<p>"It's very well to say that. Of course he ought; but it would be +rather awkward to refuse to go into church after everything had been +arranged because the money hadn't been paid over. He's so clever, +that he'd contrive that a man shouldn't know whether the money had +been paid or not. You can't carry £10,000 a year about in your +pocket, you know. If you'll go, mother, perhaps I might think of +getting up."</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury saw the danger, and turned over the affair on every side +in her own mind. But she could also see the house in Grosvenor +Square, the expenditure without limit, the congregating duchesses, +the general acceptation of the people, and the mercantile celebrity +of the man. And she could weigh against that the absolute +pennilessness of her baronet-son. As he was, his condition was +hopeless. Such a one must surely run some risk. The embarrassments of +such a man as Lord Nidderdale were only temporary. There were the +family estates, and the marquisate, and a golden future for him; but +there was nothing coming to Felix in the future. All the goods he +would ever have of his own, he had now;—position, a title, and a +handsome face. Surely he could afford to risk something! Even the +ruins and wreck of such wealth as that displayed in Grosvenor Square +would be better than the baronet's present condition. And then, +though it was possible that old Melmotte should be ruined some day, +there could be no doubt as to his present means; and would it not be +probable that he would make hay while the sun shone by securing his +daughter's position? She visited her son again on the next morning, +which was Sunday, and again tried to persuade him to the marriage. "I +think you should be content to run a little risk," she said.</p> + +<p>Sir Felix had been unlucky at cards on Saturday night, and had taken, +perhaps, a little too much wine. He was at any rate sulky, and in a +humour to resent interference. "I wish you'd leave me alone," he +said, "to manage my own business."</p> + +<p>"Is it not my business too?"</p> + +<p>"No; you haven't got to marry her, and to put up with these people. I +shall make up my mind what to do myself, and I don't want anybody to +meddle with me."</p> + +<p>"You ungrateful boy!"</p> + +<p>"I understand all about that. Of course I'm ungrateful when I don't +do everything just as you wish it. You don't do any good. You only +set me against it all."</p> + +<p>"How do you expect to live, then? Are you always to be a burden on me +and your sister? I wonder that you've no shame. Your cousin Roger is +right. I will quit London altogether, and leave you to your own +wretchedness."</p> + +<p>"That's what Roger says; is it? I always thought Roger was a fellow +of that sort."</p> + +<p>"He is the best friend I have." What would Roger have thought had he +heard this assertion from Lady Carbury?</p> + +<p>"He's an ill-tempered, close-fisted, interfering cad, and if he +meddles with my affairs again, I shall tell him what I think of him. +Upon my word, mother, these little disputes up in my bedroom ain't +very pleasant. Of course it's your house; but if you do allow me a +room, I think you might let me have it to myself." It was impossible +for Lady Carbury, in her present mood, and in his present mood, to +explain to him that in no other way and at no other time could she +ever find him. If she waited till he came down to breakfast, he +escaped from her in five minutes, and then he returned no more till +some unholy hour in the morning. She was as good a pelican as ever +allowed the blood to be torn from her own breast to satisfy the greed +of her young, but she felt that she should have something back for +her blood,—some return for her sacrifices. This chick would take all +as long as there was a drop left, and then resent the fondling of the +mother-bird as interference. Again and again there came upon her +moments in which she thought that Roger Carbury was right. And yet +she knew that when the time came she would not be able to be severe. +She almost hated herself for the weakness of her own love,—but she +acknowledged it. If he should fall utterly, she must fall with him. +In spite of his cruelty, his callous hardness, his insolence to +herself, his wickedness and ruinous indifference to the future, she +must cling to him to the last. All that she had done, and all that +she had borne,—all that she was doing and bearing,—was it not for +his sake?</p> + +<p>Sir Felix had been in Grosvenor Square since his return from Carbury, +and had seen Madame Melmotte and Marie; but he had seen them +together, and not a word had been said about the engagement. He could +not make much use of the elder woman. She was as gracious as was +usual with her; but then she was never very gracious. She had told +him that Miss Longestaffe was coming to her, which was a great bore, +as the young lady was "fatigante." Upon this Marie had declared that +she intended to like the young lady very much. "Pooh!" said Madame +Melmotte. "You never like no person at all." At this Marie had looked +over to her lover and smiled. "Ah, yes; that is all very well,—while +it lasts; but you care for no friend." From which Felix had judged +that Madame Melmotte at any rate knew of his offer, and did not +absolutely disapprove of it. On the Saturday he had received a note +at his club from Marie. "Come on Sunday at half-past two. You will +find papa after lunch." This was in his possession when his mother +visited him in his bedroom, and he had determined to obey the behest. +But he would not tell her of his intention, because he had drunk too +much wine, and was sulky.</p> + +<p>At about three on Sunday he knocked at the door in Grosvenor Square +and asked for the ladies. Up to the moment of his knocking,—even +after he had knocked, and when the big porter was opening the +door,—he intended to ask for Mr. Melmotte; but at the last his +courage failed him, and he was shown up into the drawing-room. There +he found Madame Melmotte, Marie, Georgiana Longestaffe, and—Lord +Nidderdale. Marie looked anxiously into his face, thinking that he +had already been with her father. He slid into a chair close to +Madame Melmotte, and endeavoured to seem at his ease. Lord Nidderdale +continued his flirtation with Miss Longestaffe,—a flirtation which +she carried on in a half whisper, wholly indifferent to her hostess +or the young lady of the house. "We know what brings you here," she +said.</p> + +<p>"I came on purpose to see you."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure, Lord Nidderdale, you didn't expect to find me here."</p> + +<p>"Lord bless you, I knew all about it, and came on purpose. It's a +great institution; isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"It's an institution you mean to belong to,—permanently."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed. I did have thoughts about it as fellows do when they +talk of going into the army or to the bar; but I couldn't pass. That +fellow there is the happy man. I shall go on coming here, because +you're here. I don't think you'll like it a bit, you know."</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose I shall, Lord Nidderdale."</p> + +<p>After a while Marie contrived to be alone with her lover near one of +the windows for a few seconds. "Papa is down-stairs in the +book-room," she said. "Lord Alfred was told when he came that he was +out." It was evident to Sir Felix that everything was prepared for +him. "You go down," she continued, "and ask the man to show you into +the book-room."</p> + +<p>"Shall I come up again?"</p> + +<p>"No; but leave a note for me here under cover to Madame Didon." Now +Sir Felix was sufficiently at home in the house to know that Madame +Didon was Madame Melmotte's own woman, commonly called Didon by the +ladies of the family. "Or send it by post,—under cover to her. That +will be better. Go at once, now." It certainly did seem to Sir Felix +that the very nature of the girl was altered. But he went, just +shaking hands with Madame Melmotte, and bowing to Miss Longestaffe.</p> + +<p>In a few moments he found himself with Mr. Melmotte in the chamber +which had been dignified with the name of the book-room. The great +financier was accustomed to spend his Sunday afternoons here, +generally with the company of Lord Alfred Grendall. It may be +supposed that he was meditating on millions, and arranging the prices +of money and funds for the New York, Paris, and London Exchanges. But +on this occasion he was waked from slumber, which he seemed to have +been enjoying with a cigar in his mouth. "How do you do, Sir Felix?" +he said. "I suppose you want the ladies."</p> + +<p>"I've just been in the drawing-room, but I thought I'd look in on you +as I came down." It immediately occurred to Melmotte that the baronet +had come about his share of the plunder out of the railway, and he at +once resolved to be stern in his manner, and perhaps rude also. He +believed that he should thrive best by resenting any interference +with him in his capacity as financier. He thought that he had risen +high enough to venture on such conduct, and experience had told him +that men who were themselves only half-plucked, might easily be cowed +by a savage assumption of superiority. And he, too, had generally the +advantage of understanding the game, while those with whom he was +concerned did not, at any rate, more than half understand it. He +could thus trade either on the timidity or on the ignorance of his +colleagues. When neither of these sufficed to give him undisputed +mastery, then he cultivated the cupidity of his friends. He liked +young associates because they were more timid and less greedy than +their elders. Lord Nidderdale's suggestions had soon been put at +rest, and Mr. Melmotte anticipated no greater difficulty with Sir +Felix. Lord Alfred he had been obliged to buy.</p> + +<p>"I'm very glad to see you, and all that," said Melmotte, assuming a +certain exaltation of the eyebrows, which they who had many dealings +with him often found to be very disagreeable; "but this is hardly a +day for business, Sir Felix, nor,—yet a place for business."</p> + +<p>Sir Felix wished himself at the Beargarden. He certainly had come +about business,—business of a particular sort; but Marie had told +him that of all days Sunday would be the best, and had also told him +that her father was more likely to be in a good humour on Sunday than +on any other day. Sir Felix felt that he had not been received with +good humour. "I didn't mean to intrude, Mr. Melmotte," he said.</p> + +<p>"I dare say not. I only thought I'd tell you. You might have been +going to speak about that railway."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear no."</p> + +<p>"Your mother was saying to me down in the country that she hoped you +attended to the business. I told her that there was nothing to attend +to."</p> + +<p>"My mother doesn't understand anything at all about it," said Sir +Felix.</p> + +<p>"Women never do. Well;—what can I do for you, now that you are +here?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Melmotte, I'm come,—I'm come to;—in short, Mr. Melmotte, I +want to propose myself as a suitor for your daughter's hand."</p> + +<p>"The d—— you do!"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes; and we hope you'll give us your consent."</p> + +<p>"She knows you're coming then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—she knows."</p> + +<p>"And my wife;—does she know?"</p> + +<p>"I've never spoken to her about it. Perhaps Miss Melmotte has."</p> + +<p>"And how long have you and she understood each other?"</p> + +<p>"I've been attached to her ever since I saw her," said Sir Felix. "I +have indeed. I've spoken to her sometimes. You know how that kind of +thing goes on."</p> + +<p>"I'm blessed if I do. I know how it ought to go on. I know that when +large sums of money are supposed to be concerned, the young man +should speak to the father before he speaks to the girl. He's a fool +if he don't, if he wants to get the father's money. So she has given +you a promise?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know about a promise."</p> + +<p>"Do you consider that she's engaged to you?"</p> + +<p>"Not if she's disposed to get out of it," said Sir Felix, hoping that +he might thus ingratiate himself with the father. "Of course, I +should be awfully disappointed."</p> + +<p>"She has consented to your coming to me?"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes;—in a sort of a way. Of course she knows that it all +depends on you."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. She's of age. If she chooses to marry you, she can marry +you. If that's all you want, her consent is enough. You're a baronet, +I believe?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I'm a baronet."</p> + +<p>"And therefore you've come to your own property. You haven't to wait +for your father to die, and I dare say you are indifferent about +money."</p> + +<p>This was a view of things which Sir Felix felt that he was bound to +dispel, even at the risk of offending the father. "Not exactly that," +he said. "I suppose you will give your daughter a fortune, of +course."</p> + +<p>"Then I wonder you didn't come to me before you went to her. If my +daughter marries to please me, I shall give her money, no doubt. How +much is neither here nor there. If she marries to please herself, +without considering me, I shan't give her a farthing."</p> + +<p>"I had hoped that you might consent, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"I've said nothing about that. It is possible. You're a man of +fashion and have a title of your own,—and no doubt a property. If +you'll show me that you've an income fit to maintain her, I'll think +about it at any rate. What is your property, Sir Felix?"</p> + +<p>What could three or four thousand a year, or even five or six, matter +to a man like Melmotte? It was thus that Sir Felix looked at it. When +a man can hardly count his millions he ought not to ask questions +about trifling sums of money. But the question had been asked, and +the asking of such a question was no doubt within the prerogative of +a proposed father-in-law. At any rate, it must be answered. For a +moment it occurred to Sir Felix that he might conveniently tell the +truth. It would be nasty for the moment, but there would be nothing +to come after. Were he to do so he could not be dragged down lower +and lower into the mire by cross-examinings. There might be an end of +all his hopes, but there would at the same time be an end of all his +misery. But he lacked the necessary courage. "It isn't a large +property, you know," he said.</p> + +<p>"Not like the Marquis of Westminster's, I suppose," said the horrid, +big, rich scoundrel.</p> + +<p>"No;—not quite like that," said Sir Felix, with a sickly laugh.</p> + +<p>"But you have got enough to support a baronet's title?"</p> + +<p>"That depends on how you want to support it," said Sir Felix, putting +off the evil day.</p> + +<p>"Where's your family seat?"</p> + +<p>"Carbury Manor, down in Suffolk, near the Longestaffes, is the old +family place."</p> + +<p>"That doesn't belong to you," said Melmotte, very sharply.</p> + +<p>"No; not yet. But I'm the heir."</p> + +<p>Perhaps if there is one thing in England more difficult than another +to be understood by men born and bred out of England, it is the +system under which titles and property descend together, or in +various lines. The jurisdiction of our Courts of Law is complex, and +so is the business of Parliament. But the rules regulating them, +though anomalous, are easy to the memory compared with the mixed +anomalies of the peerage and primogeniture. They who are brought up +among it, learn it as children do a language, but strangers who begin +the study in advanced life, seldom make themselves perfect in it. It +was everything to Melmotte that he should understand the ways of the +country which he had adopted; and when he did not understand, he was +clever at hiding his ignorance. Now he was puzzled. He knew that Sir +Felix was a baronet, and therefore presumed him to be the head of the +family. He knew that Carbury Manor belonged to Roger Carbury, and he +judged by the name it must be an old family property. And now the +baronet declared that he was heir to the man who was simply an +Esquire. "Oh, the heir are you? But how did he get it before you? +You're the head of the family?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am the head of the family, of course," said Sir Felix, lying +directly. "But the place won't be mine till he dies. It would take a +long time to explain it all."</p> + +<p>"He's a young man, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"No,—not what you'd call a young man. He isn't very old."</p> + +<p>"If he were to marry and have children, how would it be then?"</p> + +<p>Sir Felix was beginning to think that he might have told the truth +with discretion. "I don't quite know how it would be. I have always +understood that I am the heir. It's not very likely that he will +marry."</p> + +<p>"And in the meantime what is your own property?"</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill023"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill023.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill023-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"In the meantime what is your own property?"' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"In the + meantime what is your own property?"</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill023.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"My father left me money in the funds and in railway stock,—and then +I am my mother's heir."</p> + +<p>"You have done me the honour of telling me that you wish to marry my +daughter."</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"Would you then object to inform me the amount and nature of the +income on which you intend to support your establishment as a married +man? I fancy that the position you assume justifies the question on +my part." The bloated swindler, the vile city ruffian, was certainly +taking a most ungenerous advantage of the young aspirant for wealth. +It was then that Sir Felix felt his own position. Was he not a +baronet, and a gentleman, and a very handsome fellow, and a man of +the world who had been in a crack regiment? If this surfeited sponge +of speculation, this crammed commercial cormorant, wanted more than +that for his daughter, why could he not say so without asking +disgusting questions such as these,—questions which it was quite +impossible that a gentleman should answer? Was it not sufficiently +plain that any gentleman proposing to marry the daughter of such a +man as Melmotte, must do so under the stress of pecuniary +embarrassment? Would it not be an understood bargain that as he +provided the rank and position, she would provide the money? And yet +the vulgar wretch took advantage of his assumed authority to ask +these dreadful questions! Sir Felix stood silent, trying to look the +man in the face, but failing;—wishing that he was well out of the +house, and at the Beargarden. "You don't seem to be very clear about +your own circumstances, Sir Felix. Perhaps you will get your lawyer +to write to me."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps that will be best," said the lover.</p> + +<p>"Either that, or to give it up. My daughter, no doubt, will have +money; but money expects money." At this moment Lord Alfred entered +the room. "You're very late to-day, Alfred. Why didn't you come as +you said you would?"</p> + +<p>"I was here more than an hour ago, and they said you were out."</p> + +<p>"I haven't been out of this room all day,—except to lunch. Good +morning, Sir Felix. Ring the bell, Alfred, and we'll have a little +soda and brandy." Sir Felix had gone through some greeting with his +fellow Director, Lord Alfred, and at last succeeded in getting +Melmotte to shake hands with him before he went. "Do you know +anything about that young fellow?" Melmotte asked as soon as the door +was closed.</p> + +<p>"He's a baronet without a shilling;—was in the army and had to leave +it," said Lord Alfred as he buried his face in a big tumbler.</p> + +<p>"Without a shilling! I supposed so. But he's heir to a place down in +Suffolk;—eh?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it. It's the same name, and that's about all. Mr. +Carbury has a small property there, and he might give it to me +to-morrow. I wish he would, though there isn't much of it. That young +fellow has nothing to do with it whatever."</p> + +<p>"Hasn't he now?" Mr. Melmotte as he speculated upon it, almost +admired the young man's impudence.</p> + + +<p><a id="c24"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXIV.</h3> +<h4>MILES GRENDALL'S TRIUMPH.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Sir Felix as he walked down to his club felt that he had been +checkmated,—and was at the same time full of wrath at the insolence +of the man who had so easily beaten him out of the field. As far as +he could see, the game was over. No doubt he might marry Marie +Melmotte. The father had told him so much himself, and he perfectly +believed the truth of that oath which Marie had sworn. He did not +doubt but that she'd stick to him close enough. She was in love with +him, which was natural; and was a fool,—which was perhaps also +natural. But romance was not the game which he was playing. People +told him that when girls succeeded in marrying without their parents' +consent, fathers were always constrained to forgive them at last. +That might be the case with ordinary fathers. But Melmotte was +decidedly not an ordinary father. He was,—so Sir Felix declared to +himself,—perhaps the greatest brute ever created. Sir Felix could +not but remember that elevation of the eyebrows, and the brazen +forehead, and the hard mouth. He had found himself quite unable to +stand up against Melmotte, and now he cursed and swore at the man as +he was carried down to the Beargarden in a cab.</p> + +<p>But what should he do? Should he abandon Marie Melmotte altogether, +never go to Grosvenor Square again, and drop the whole family, +including the Great Mexican Railway? Then an idea occurred to him. +Nidderdale had explained to him the result of his application for +shares. "You see we haven't bought any and therefore can't sell any. +There seems to be something in that. I shall explain it all to my +governor, and get him to go a thou' or two. If he sees his way to get +the money back, he'd do that and let me have the difference." On that +Sunday afternoon Sir Felix thought over all this. "Why shouldn't he +'go a thou,' and get the difference?" He made a mental calculation. +£12 10<i>s.</i> per £100! £125 for a thousand! and all paid in ready +money. As far as Sir Felix could understand, directly the one +operation had been perfected the thousand pounds would be available +for another. As he looked into it with all his intelligence he +thought that he began to perceive that that was the way in which the +Melmottes of the world made their money. There was but one objection. +He had not got the entire thousand pounds. But luck had been on the +whole very good to him. He had more than the half of it in real +money, lying at a bank in the city at which he had opened an account. +And he had very much more than the remainder in I. O. U.'s from Dolly +Longestaffe and Miles Grendall. In fact if every man had his +own,—and his bosom glowed with indignation as he reflected on the +injustice with which he was kept out of his own,—he could go into +the city and take up his shares to-morrow, and still have ready money +at his command. If he could do this, would not such conduct on his +part be the best refutation of that charge of not having any fortune +which Melmotte had brought against him? He would endeavour to work +the money out of Dolly Longestaffe;—and he entertained an idea that +though it would be impossible to get cash from Miles Grendall, he +might use his claim against Miles in the city. Miles was Secretary to +the Board, and might perhaps contrive that the money required for the +shares should not be all ready money. Sir Felix was not very clear +about it, but thought that he might possibly in this way use the +indebtedness of Miles Grendall. "How I do hate a fellow who does not +pay up," he said to himself as he sat alone in his club, waiting for +some friend to come in. And he formed in his head Draconic laws which +he would fain have executed upon men who lost money at play and did +not pay. "How the deuce fellows can look one in the face, is what I +can't understand," he said to himself.</p> + +<p>He thought over this great stroke of exhibiting himself to Melmotte +as a capitalist till he gave up his idea of abandoning his suit. So +he wrote a note to Marie Melmotte in accordance with her +instructions.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear M</span>.,</p> + +<p>Your father cut up very rough,—about money. Perhaps you +had better see him yourself; or would your mother?</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours always,</p> + +<p class="ind14">F.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This, as directed, he put under cover to Madame Didon,—Grosvenor +Square, and posted at the club. He had put nothing at any rate in the +letter which could commit him.</p> + +<p>There was generally on Sundays a house dinner, so called, at eight +o'clock. Five or six men would sit down, and would always gamble +afterwards. On this occasion Dolly Longestaffe sauntered in at about +seven in quest of sherry and bitters, and Felix found the opportunity +a good one to speak of his money. "You couldn't cash your I. O. U.'s +for me to-morrow;—could you?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow! oh, lord!"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you why. You know I'd tell you anything because I think we +are really friends. I'm after that daughter of Melmotte's."</p> + +<p>"I'm told you're to have her."</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that. I mean to try at any rate. I've gone in you +know for that Board in the city."</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about Boards, my boy."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you do, Dolly. You remember that American fellow, Montague's +friend, that was here one night and won all our money."</p> + +<p>"The chap that had the waistcoat, and went away in the morning to +California. Fancy starting to California after a hard night. I always +wondered whether he got there alive."</p> + +<p>"Well;—I can't explain to you all about it, because you hate those +kinds of things."</p> + +<p>"And because I am such a fool."</p> + +<p>"I don't think you're a fool at all, but it would take a week. But +it's absolutely essential for me to take up a lot of shares in the +city to-morrow;—or perhaps Wednesday might do. I'm bound to pay for +them, and old Melmotte will think that I'm utterly hard up if I +don't. Indeed he said as much, and the only objection about me and +this girl of his is as to money. Can't you understand, now, how +important it may be?"</p> + +<p>"It's always important to have a lot of money. I know that."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't have gone in for this kind of thing if I hadn't thought +I was sure. You know how much you owe me, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least."</p> + +<p>"It's about eleven hundred pounds!"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't wonder."</p> + +<p>"And Miles Grendall owes me two thousand. Grasslough and Nidderdale +when they lose always pay with Miles's I. O. U.'s."</p> + +<p>"So should I, if I had them."</p> + +<p>"It'll come to that soon that there won't be any other stuff going, +and they really ain't worth anything. I don't see what's the use of +playing when this rubbish is shoved about the table. As for Grendall +himself, he has no feeling about it."</p> + +<p>"Not the least, I should say."</p> + +<p>"You'll try and get me the money, won't you, Dolly?"</p> + +<p>"Melmotte has been at me twice. He wants me to agree to sell +something. He's an old thief, and of course he means to rob me. You +may tell him that if he'll let me have the money in the way I've +proposed, you are to have a thousand pounds out of it. I don't know +any other way."</p> + +<p>"You could write me that,—in a business sort of way."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't do that, Carbury. What's the use? I never write any +letters. I can't do it. You tell him that; and if the sale comes off, +I'll make it straight."</p> + +<p>Miles Grendall also dined there, and after dinner, in the +smoking-room, Sir Felix tried to do a little business with the +Secretary. He began his operations with unusual courtesy, believing +that the man must have some influence with the great distributor of +shares. "I'm going to take up my shares in that company," said Sir +Felix.</p> + +<p>"Ah;—indeed." And Miles enveloped himself from head to foot in +smoke.</p> + +<p>"I didn't quite understand about it, but Nidderdale saw Melmotte and +he has explained it. I think I shall go in for a couple of thousand +on Wednesday."</p> + +<p>"Oh;—ah."</p> + +<p>"It will be the proper thing to do;—won't it?"</p> + +<p>"Very good—thing to do!" Miles Grendall smoked harder and harder as +the suggestions were made to him.</p> + +<p>"Is it always ready money?"</p> + +<p>"Always ready money," said Miles shaking his head, as though in +reprobation of so abominable an institution.</p> + +<p>"I suppose they allow some time to their own Directors, if a deposit, +say 50 per cent., is made for the shares?"</p> + +<p>"They'll give you half the number, which would come to the same +thing."</p> + +<p>Sir Felix turned this over in his mind, but let him look at it as he +would, could not see the truth of his companion's remark. "You know I +should want to sell again,—for the rise."</p> + +<p>"Oh; you'll want to sell again."</p> + +<p>"And therefore I must have the full number."</p> + +<p>"You could sell half the number, you know," said Miles.</p> + +<p>"I'm determined to begin with ten shares;—that's £1,000. Well;—I +have got the money, but I don't want to draw out so much. Couldn't +you manage for me that I should get them on paying 50 per cent. +down?"</p> + +<p>"Melmotte does all that himself."</p> + +<p>"You could explain, you know, that you are a little short in your own +payments to me." This Sir Felix said, thinking it to be a delicate +mode of introducing his claim upon the Secretary.</p> + +<p>"That's private," said Miles frowning.</p> + +<p>"Of course it's private; but if you would pay me the money I could +buy the shares with it, though they are public."</p> + +<p>"I don't think we could mix the two things together, Carbury."</p> + +<p>"You can't help me?"</p> + +<p>"Not in that way."</p> + +<p>"Then, when the deuce will you pay me what you owe me?" Sir Felix was +driven to this plain expression of his demand by the impassibility of +his debtor. Here was a man who did not pay his debts of honour, who +did not even propose any arrangement for paying them, and who yet had +the impudence to talk of not mixing up private matters with affairs +of business! It made the young baronet very sick. Miles Grendall +smoked on in silence. There was a difficulty in answering the +question, and he therefore made no answer. "Do you know how much you +owe me?" continued the baronet, determined to persist now that he had +commenced the attack. There was a little crowd of other men in the +room, and the conversation about the shares had been commenced in an +under-tone. These two last questions Sir Felix had asked in a +whisper, but his countenance showed plainly that he was speaking in +anger.</p> + +<p>"Of course I know," said Miles.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to talk about it here."</p> + +<p>"Not going to talk about it here?"</p> + +<p>"No. This is a public room."</p> + +<p>"I am going to talk about it," said Sir Felix, raising his voice.</p> + +<p>"Will any fellow come up-stairs and play a game of billiards?" said +Miles Grendall rising from his chair. Then he walked slowly out of +the room, leaving Sir Felix to take what revenge he pleased. For a +moment Sir Felix thought that he would expose the transaction to the +whole room; but he was afraid, thinking that Miles Grendall was a +more popular man than himself.</p> + +<p>It was Sunday night; but not the less were the gamblers assembled in +the card-room at about eleven. Dolly Longestaffe was there, and with +him the two lords, and Sir Felix, and Miles Grendall of course, and, +I regret to say, a much better man than any of them, Paul Montague. +Sir Felix had doubted much as to the propriety of joining the party. +What was the use of playing with a man who seemed by general consent +to be liberated from any obligation to pay? But then if he did not +play with him, where should he find another gambling table? They +began with whist, but soon laid that aside and devoted themselves to +loo. The least respected man in that confraternity was Grendall, and +yet it was in compliance with the persistency of his suggestion that +they gave up the nobler game. "Let's stick to whist; I like cutting +out," said Grasslough. "It's much more jolly having nothing to do now +and then; one can always bet," said Dolly shortly afterwards. "I hate +loo," said Sir Felix in answer to a third application. "I like whist +best," said Nidderdale, "but I'll play anything anybody likes;—pitch +and toss if you please." But Miles Grendall had his way, and loo was +the game.</p> + +<p>At about two o'clock Grendall was the only winner. The play had not +been very high, but nevertheless he had won largely. Whenever a large +pool had collected itself he swept it into his garners. The men +opposed to him hardly grudged him this stroke of luck. He had +hitherto been unlucky; and they were able to pay him with his own +paper, which was so valueless that they parted with it without a +pang. Even Dolly Longestaffe seemed to have a supply of it. The only +man there not so furnished was Montague, and while the sums won were +quite small he was allowed to pay with cash. But to Sir Felix it was +frightful to see ready money going over to Miles Grendall, as under +no circumstances could it be got back from him. "Montague," he said, +"just change these for the time. I'll take them back, if you still +have them when we've done." And he handed a lot of Miles's paper +across the table. The result of course would be that Felix would +receive so much real money, and that Miles would get back more of his +own worthless paper. To Montague it would make no difference, and he +did as he was asked;—or rather was preparing to do so, when Miles +interfered. On what principle of justice could Sir Felix come between +him and another man? "I don't understand this kind of thing," he +said. "When I win from you, Carbury, I'll take my I. O. U.'s, as long +as you have any."</p> + +<p>"By George, that's kind."</p> + +<p>"But I won't have them handed about the table to be changed."</p> + +<p>"Pay them yourself, then," said Sir Felix, laying a handful down on +the table.</p> + +<p>"Don't let's have a row," said Lord Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"Carbury is always making a row," said Grasslough.</p> + +<p>"Of course he is," said Miles Grendall.</p> + +<p>"I don't make more row than anybody else; but I do say that as we +have such a lot of these things, and as we all know that we don't get +cash for them as we want it, Grendall shouldn't take money and walk +off with it."</p> + +<p>"Who is walking off?" said Miles.</p> + +<p>"And why should you be entitled to Montague's money more than any of +us?" asked Grasslough.</p> + +<p>The matter was debated, and was thus decided. It was not to be +allowed that Miles's paper should be negotiated at the table in the +manner that Sir Felix had attempted to adopt. But Mr. Grendall +pledged his honour that when they broke up the party he would apply +any money that he might have won to the redemption of his I. O. U.'s, +paying a regular percentage to the holders of them. The decision made +Sir Felix very cross. He knew that their condition at six or seven in +the morning would not be favourable to such commercial +accuracy,—which indeed would require an accountant to effect it; and +he felt sure that Miles, if still a winner, would in truth walk off +with the ready money.</p> + +<p>For a considerable time he did not speak, and became very moderate in +his play, tossing his cards about, almost always losing, but losing a +minimum, and watching the board. He was sitting next to Grendall, and +he thought that he observed that his neighbour moved his chair +farther and farther away from him, and nearer to Dolly Longestaffe, +who was next to him on the other side. This went on for an hour, +during which Grendall still won,—and won heavily from Paul Montague. +"I never saw a fellow have such a run of luck in my life," said +Grasslough. "You've had two trumps dealt to you every hand almost +since we began!"</p> + +<p>"Ever so many hands I haven't played at all," said Miles.</p> + +<p>"You've always won when I've played," said Dolly. "I've been looed +every time."</p> + +<p>"You oughtn't to begrudge me one run of luck, when I've lost so +much," said Miles, who, since he began, had destroyed paper counters +of his own making, supposed to represent considerably above £1,000, +and had also,—which was of infinitely greater concern to +him,—received an amount of ready money which was quite a godsend to +him.</p> + +<p>"What's the good of talking about it?" said Nidderdale. "I hate all +this row about winning and losing. Let's go on, or go to bed." The +idea of going to bed was absurd. So they went on. Sir Felix, however, +hardly spoke at all, played very little, and watched Miles Grendall +without seeming to watch him. At last he felt certain that he saw a +card go into the man's sleeve, and remembered at the moment that the +winner had owed his success to a continued run of aces. He was +tempted to rush at once upon the player, and catch the card on his +person. But he feared. Grendall was a big man; and where would he be +if there should be no card there? And then, in the scramble, there +would certainly be at any rate a doubt. And he knew that the men +around him would be most unwilling to believe such an accusation. +Grasslough was Grendall's friend, and Nidderdale and Dolly +Longestaffe would infinitely rather be cheated than suspect any one +of their own set of cheating them. He feared both the violence of the +man he should accuse, and also the impassive good humour of the +others. He let that opportunity pass by, again watched, and again saw +the card abstracted. Thrice he saw it, till it was wonderful to him +that others also should not see it. As often as the deal came round, +the man did it. Felix watched more closely, and was certain that in +each round the man had an ace at least once. It seemed to him that +nothing could be easier. At last he pleaded a headache, got up, and +went away, leaving the others playing. He had lost nearly a thousand +pounds, but it had been all in paper. "There's something the matter +with that fellow," said Grasslough.</p> + +<p>"There's always something the matter with him, I think," said Miles. +"He is so awfully greedy about his money." Miles had become somewhat +triumphant in his success.</p> + +<p>"The less said about that, Grendall, the better," said Nidderdale. +"We have put up with a good deal, you know, and he has put up with as +much as anybody." Miles was cowed at once, and went on dealing +without manœuvring a card on that hand.</p> + + +<p><a id="c25"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXV.</h3> +<h4>IN GROSVENOR SQUARE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Marie Melmotte was hardly satisfied with the note which she received +from Didon early on the Monday morning. With a volubility of French +eloquence, Didon declared that she would be turned out of the house +if either Monsieur or Madame were to know what she was doing. Marie +told her that Madame would certainly never dismiss her. "Well, +perhaps not Madame," said Didon, who knew too much about Madame to be +dismissed; "but Monsieur!" Marie declared that by no possibility +could Monsieur know anything about it. In that house nobody ever told +anything to Monsieur. He was regarded as the general enemy, against +whom the whole household was always making ambushes, always firing +guns from behind rocks and trees. It is not a pleasant condition for +a master of a house; but in this house the master at any rate knew +how he was placed. It never occurred to him to trust any one. Of +course his daughter might run away. But who would run away with her +without money? And there could be no money except from him. He knew +himself and his own strength. He was not the man to forgive a girl, +and then bestow his wealth on the Lothario who had injured him. His +daughter was valuable to him because she might make him the +father-in-law of a Marquis or an Earl; but the higher that he rose +without such assistance, the less need had he of his daughter's aid. +Lord Alfred was certainly very useful to him. Lord Alfred had +whispered into his ear that by certain conduct and by certain uses of +his money, he himself might be made a baronet. "But if they should +say that I'm not an Englishman?" suggested Melmotte. Lord Alfred had +explained that it was not necessary that he should have been born in +England, or even that he should have an English name. No questions +would be asked. Let him first get into Parliament, and then spend a +little money on the proper side,—by which Lord Alfred meant the +Conservative side,—and be munificent in his entertainments, and the +baronetcy would be almost a matter of course. Indeed, there was no +knowing what honours might not be achieved in the present days by +money scattered with a liberal hand. In these conversations, Melmotte +would speak of his money and power of making money as though they +were unlimited,—and Lord Alfred believed him.</p> + +<p>Marie was dissatisfied with her letter,—not because it described her +father as "cutting up very rough." To her who had known her father +all her life that was a matter of course. But there was no word of +love in the note. An impassioned correspondence carried on through +Didon would be delightful to her. She was quite capable of loving, +and she did love the young man. She had, no doubt, consented to +accept the addresses of others whom she did not love,—but this she +had done at the moment almost of her first introduction to the +marvellous world in which she was now living. As days went on she +ceased to be a child, and her courage grew within her. She became +conscious of an identity of her own, which feeling was produced in +great part by the contempt which accompanied her increasing +familiarity with grand people and grand names and grand things. She +was no longer afraid of saying No to the Nidderdales on account of +any awe of them personally. It might be that she should acknowledge +herself to be obliged to obey her father, though she was drifting +away even from the sense of that obligation. Had her mind been as it +was now when Lord Nidderdale first came to her, she might indeed have +loved him, who, as a man, was infinitely better than Sir Felix, and +who, had he thought it to be necessary, would have put some grace +into his love-making. But at that time she had been childish. He, +finding her to be a child, had hardly spoken to her. And she, child +though she was, had resented such usage. But a few months in London +had changed all this, and now she was a child no longer. She was in +love with Sir Felix, and had told her love. Whatever difficulties +there might be, she intended to be true. If necessary, she would run +away. Sir Felix was her idol, and she abandoned herself to its +worship. But she desired that her idol should be of flesh and blood, +and not of wood. She was at first half-inclined to be angry; but as +she sat with his letter in her hand, she remembered that he did not +know Didon as well as she did, and that he might be afraid to trust +his raptures to such custody. She could write to him at his club, and +having no such fear, she could write warmly.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">—, Grosvenor Square.<br /> +Early Monday Morning.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest, Dearest Felix</span>,</p> + +<p>I have just got your note;—such a scrap! Of course papa +would talk about money because he never thinks of anything +else. I don't know anything about money, and I don't care +in the least how much you have got. Papa has got plenty, +and I think he would give us some if we were once married. +I have told mamma, but mamma is always afraid of +everything. Papa is very cross to her sometimes;—more so +than to me. I will try to tell him, though I can't always +get at him. I very often hardly see him all day long. But +I don't mean to be afraid of him, and will tell him that +on my word and honour I will never marry any one except +you. I don't think he will beat me, but if he does, I'll +bear it,—for your sake. He does beat mamma sometimes, I +know.</p> + +<p>You can write to me quite safely through Didon. I think if +you would call some day and give her something, it would +help, as she is very fond of money. Do write and tell me +that you love me. I love you better than anything in the +world, and I will never,—never give you up. I suppose you +can come and call,—unless papa tells the man in the hall +not to let you in. I'll find that out from Didon, but I +can't do it before sending this letter. Papa dined out +yesterday somewhere with that Lord Alfred, so I haven't +seen him since you were here. I never see him before he +goes into the city in the morning. Now I am going +down-stairs to breakfast with mamma and that Miss +Longestaffe. She is a stuck-up thing. Didn't you think so +at Caversham?</p> + +<p>Good-bye. You are my own, own, own darling Felix,</p> + +<p class="ind8">And I am your own, own affectionate ladylove,</p> + +<p class="ind16"><span class="smallcaps">Marie</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Sir Felix when he read this letter at his club in the afternoon of +the Monday, turned up his nose and shook his head. He thought if +there were much of that kind of thing to be done, he could not go on +with it, even though the marriage were certain, and the money secure. +"What an infernal little ass!" he said to himself as he crumpled the +letter up.</p> + +<p>Marie having intrusted her letter to Didon, together with a little +present of gloves and shoes, went down to breakfast. Her mother was +the first there, and Miss Longestaffe soon followed. That lady, when +she found that she was not expected to breakfast with the master of +the house, abandoned the idea of having her meal sent to her in her +own room. Madame Melmotte she must endure. With Madame Melmotte she +had to go out in the carriage every day. Indeed she could only go to +those parties to which Madame Melmotte accompanied her. If the London +season was to be of any use at all, she must accustom herself to the +companionship of Madame Melmotte. The man kept himself very much +apart from her. She met him only at dinner, and that not often. +Madame Melmotte was very bad; but she was silent, and seemed to +understand that her guest was only her guest as a matter of business.</p> + +<p>But Miss Longestaffe already perceived that her old acquaintances +were changed in their manner to her. She had written to her dear +friend Lady Monogram, whom she had known intimately as Miss Triplex, +and whose marriage with Sir Damask Monogram had been splendid +preferment, telling how she had been kept down in Suffolk at the time +of her friend's last party, and how she had been driven to consent to +return to London as the guest of Madame Melmotte. She hoped her +friend would not throw her off on that account. She had been very +affectionate, with a poor attempt at fun, and rather humble. +Georgiana Longestaffe had never been humble before; but the Monograms +were people so much thought of and in such an excellent set! She +would do anything rather than lose the Monograms. But it was of no +use. She had been humble in vain, for Lady Monogram had not even +answered her note. "She never really cared for anybody but herself," +Georgiana said in her wretched solitude. Then, too, she had found +that Lord Nidderdale's manner to her had been quite changed. She was +not a fool, and could read these signs with sufficient accuracy. +There had been little flirtations between her and +Nidderdale,—meaning nothing, as every one knew that Nidderdale must +marry money; but in none of them had he spoken to her as he spoke +when he met her in Madame Melmotte's drawing-room. She could see it +in the faces of people as they greeted her in the park,—especially +in the faces of the men. She had always carried herself with a +certain high demeanour, and had been able to maintain it. All that +was now gone from her, and she knew it. Though the thing was as yet +but a few days old she understood that others understood that she had +degraded herself. "What's all this about?" Lord Grasslough had said +to her, seeing her come into a room behind Madame Melmotte. She had +simpered, had tried to laugh, and had then turned away her face. +"Impudent scoundrel!" she said to herself, knowing that a fortnight +ago he would not have dared to address her in such a tone.</p> + +<p>A day or two afterwards an occurrence took place worthy of +commemoration. Dolly Longestaffe called on his sister! His mind must +have been much stirred when he allowed himself to be moved to such +uncommon action. He came too at a very early hour, not much after +noon, when it was his custom to be eating his breakfast in bed. He +declared at once to the servant that he did not wish to see Madame +Melmotte or any of the family. He had called to see his sister. He +was therefore shown into a separate room where Georgiana joined him. +"What's all this about?"</p> + +<p>She tried to laugh as she tossed her head. "What brings you here, I +wonder? This is quite an unexpected compliment."</p> + +<p>"My being here doesn't matter. I can go anywhere without doing much +harm. Why are you staying with these people?"</p> + +<p>"Ask papa."</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose he sent you here?"</p> + +<p>"That's just what he did do."</p> + +<p>"You needn't have come, I suppose, unless you liked it. Is it because +they are none of them coming up?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly that, Dolly. What a wonderful young man you are for +guessing!"</p> + +<p>"Don't you feel ashamed of yourself?"</p> + +<p>"No;—not a bit."</p> + +<p>"Then I feel ashamed for you."</p> + +<p>"Everybody comes here."</p> + +<p>"No;—everybody does not come and stay here as you are doing. +Everybody doesn't make themselves a part of the family. I have heard +of nobody doing it except you. I thought you used to think so much of +yourself."</p> + +<p>"I think as much of myself as ever I did," said Georgiana, hardly +able to restrain her tears.</p> + +<p>"I can tell you nobody else will think much of you if you remain +here. I could hardly believe it when Nidderdale told me."</p> + +<p>"What did he say, Dolly?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't say much to me, but I could see what he thought. And of +course everybody thinks the same. How you can like the people +yourself is what I can't understand!"</p> + +<p>"I don't like them,—I hate them."</p> + +<p>"Then why do you come and live with them?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dolly, it is impossible to make you understand. A man is so +different. You can go just where you please, and do what you like. +And if you're short of money, people will give you credit. And you +can live by yourself, and all that sort of thing. How should you like +to be shut up down at Caversham all the season?"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't mind it,—only for the governor."</p> + +<p>"You have got a property of your own. Your fortune is made for you. +What is to become of me?"</p> + +<p>"You mean about marrying?"</p> + +<p>"I mean altogether," said the poor girl, unable to be quite as +explicit with her brother, as she had been with her father, and +mother, and sister. "Of course I have to think of myself."</p> + +<p>"I don't see how the Melmottes are to help you. The long and the +short of it is, you oughtn't to be here. It's not often I interfere, +but when I heard it I thought I'd come and tell you. I shall write to +the governor, and tell him too. He should have known better."</p> + +<p>"Don't write to papa, Dolly!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I shall. I am not going to see everything going to the devil +without saying a word. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>As soon as he had left he hurried down to some club that was +open,—not the Beargarden, as it was long before the Beargarden +hours,—and actually did write a letter to his father.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My Dear Father</span>,</p> + +<p>I have seen Georgiana at Mr. Melmotte's house. She ought +not to be there. I suppose you don't know it, but +everybody says he's a swindler. For the sake of the family +I hope you will get her home again. It seems to me that +Bruton Street is the proper place for the girls at this +time of the year.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Your affectionate son,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Adolphus Longestaffe</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This letter fell upon old Mr. Longestaffe at Caversham like a +thunderbolt. It was marvellous to him that his son should have been +instigated to write a letter. The Melmottes must be very bad +indeed,—worse than he had thought,—or their iniquities would not +have brought about such energy as this. But the passage which angered +him most was that which told him that he ought to have taken his +family back to town. This had come from his son, who had refused to +do anything to help him in his difficulties.</p> + + +<p><a id="c26"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXVI.</h3> +<h4>MRS. HURTLE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Paul Montague at this time lived in comfortable lodgings in Sackville +Street, and ostensibly the world was going well with him. But he had +many troubles. His troubles in reference to Fisker, Montague, and +Montague,—and also their consolation,—are already known to the +reader. He was troubled too about his love, though when he allowed +his mind to expatiate on the success of the great railway he would +venture to hope that on that side his life might perhaps be blessed. +Henrietta had at any rate as yet showed no disposition to accept her +cousin's offer. He was troubled too about the gambling, which he +disliked, knowing that in that direction there might be speedy ruin, +and yet returning to it from day to day in spite of his own +conscience. But there was yet another trouble which culminated just +at this time. One morning, not long after that Sunday night which had +been so wretchedly spent at the Beargarden, he got into a cab in +Piccadilly and had himself taken to a certain address in Islington. +Here he knocked at a decent, modest door,—at such a house as men +live in with two or three hundred a year,—and asked for Mrs. Hurtle. +Yes;—Mrs. Hurtle lodged there, and he was shown into the +drawing-room. There he stood by the round table for a quarter of an +hour turning over the lodging-house books which lay there, and then +Mrs. Hurtle entered the room. Mrs. Hurtle was a widow whom he had +once promised to marry. "Paul," she said, with a quick, sharp voice, +but with a voice which could be very pleasant when she +pleased,—taking him by the hand as she spoke, "Paul, say that that +letter of yours must go for nothing. Say that it shall be so, and I +will forgive everything."</p> + +<p>"I cannot say that," he replied, laying his hand in hers.</p> + +<p>"You cannot say it! What do you mean? Will you dare to tell me that +your promises to me are to go for nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Things are changed," said Paul hoarsely. He had come thither at her +bidding because he had felt that to remain away would be cowardly, +but the meeting was inexpressibly painful to him. He did think that +he had sufficient excuse for breaking his troth to this woman, but +the justification of his conduct was founded on reasons which he +hardly knew how to plead to her. He had heard that of her past life +which, had he heard it before, would have saved him from his present +difficulty. But he had loved her,—did love her in a certain fashion; +and her offences, such as they were, did not debar her from his +sympathies.</p> + +<p>"How are they changed? I am two years older, if you mean that." As +she said this she looked round at the glass, as though to see whether +she was become so haggard with age as to be unfit to become this +man's wife. She was very lovely, with a kind of beauty which we +seldom see now. In these days men regard the form and outward lines +of a woman's face and figure more than either the colour or the +expression, and women fit themselves to men's eyes. With padding and +false hair without limit a figure may be constructed of almost any +dimensions. The sculptors who construct them, male and female, +hairdressers and milliners, are very skilful, and figures are +constructed of noble dimensions, sometimes with voluptuous expansion, +sometimes with classic reticence, sometimes with dishevelled +negligence which becomes very dishevelled indeed when long out of the +sculptors' hands. Colours indeed are added, but not the colours which +we used to love. The taste for flesh and blood has for the day given +place to an appetite for horsehair and pearl powder. But Mrs. Hurtle +was not a beauty after the present fashion. She was very dark,—a +dark brunette,—with large round blue eyes, that could indeed be +soft, but could also be very severe. Her silken hair, almost black, +hung in a thousand curls all round her head and neck. Her cheeks and +lips and neck were full, and the blood would come and go, giving a +varying expression to her face with almost every word she spoke. Her +nose also was full, and had something of the pug. But nevertheless it +was a nose which any man who loved her would swear to be perfect. Her +mouth was large, and she rarely showed her teeth. Her chin was full, +marked by a large dimple, and as it ran down to her neck was +beginning to form a second. Her bust was full and beautifully shaped; +but she invariably dressed as though she were oblivious, or at any +rate neglectful, of her own charms. Her dress, as Montague had seen +her, was always black,—not a sad weeping widow's garment, but silk +or woollen or cotton as the case might be, always new, always nice, +always well-fitting, and most especially always simple. She was +certainly a most beautiful woman, and she knew it. She looked as +though she knew it,—but only after that fashion in which a woman +ought to know it. Of her age she had never spoken to Montague. She +was in truth over thirty,—perhaps almost as near thirty-five as +thirty. But she was one of those whom years hardly seem to touch.</p> + +<p>"You are beautiful as ever you were," he said.</p> + +<p>"Psha! Do not tell me of that. I care nothing for my beauty unless it +can bind me to your love. Sit down there and tell me what it means." +Then she let go his hand, and seated herself opposite to the chair +which she gave him.</p> + +<p>"I told you in my letter."</p> + +<p>"You told me nothing in your letter,—except that it was to be—off. +Why is it to be—off? Do you not love me?" Then she threw herself +upon her knees, and leaned upon his, and looked up in his face. +"Paul," she said, "I have come again across the Atlantic on purpose +to see you,—after so many months,—and will you not give me one +kiss? Even though you should leave me for ever, give me one kiss." Of +course he kissed her, not once, but with a long, warm embrace. How +could it have been otherwise? With all his heart he wished that she +would have remained away, but while she knelt there at his feet what +could he do but embrace her? "Now tell me everything," she said, +seating herself on a footstool at his feet.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill026"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill026.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill026-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"I have come across the Atlantic to see you."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"I have come across the Atlantic to see you."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill026.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>She certainly did not look like a woman whom a man might ill treat or +scorn with impunity. Paul felt, even while she was lavishing her +caresses upon him, that she might too probably turn and rend him +before he left her. He had known something of her temper before, +though he had also known the truth and warmth of her love. He had +travelled with her from San Francisco to England, and she had been +very good to him in illness, in distress of mind and in poverty,—for +he had been almost penniless in New York. When they landed at +Liverpool they were engaged as man and wife. He had told her all his +affairs, had given her the whole history of his life. This was before +his second journey to America, when Hamilton K. Fisker was unknown to +him. But she had told him little or nothing of her own life,—but +that she was a widow, and that she was travelling to Paris on +business. When he left her at the London railway station, from which +she started for Dover, he was full of all a lover's ardour. He had +offered to go with her, but that she had declined. But when he +remembered that he must certainly tell his friend Roger of his +engagement, and remembered also how little he knew of the lady to +whom he was engaged, he became embarrassed. What were her means he +did not know. He did know that she was some years older than himself, +and that she had spoken hardly a word to him of her own family. She +had indeed said that her husband had been one of the greatest +miscreants ever created, and had spoken of her release from him as +the one blessing she had known before she had met Paul Montague. But +it was only when he thought of all this after she had left him,—only +when he reflected how bald was the story which he must tell Roger +Carbury,—that he became dismayed. Such had been the woman's +cleverness, such her charm, so great her power of adaptation, that he +had passed weeks in her daily company, with still progressing +intimacy and affection, without feeling that anything had been +missing.</p> + +<p>He had told his friend, and his friend had declared to him that it +was impossible that he should marry a woman whom he had met in a +railway train without knowing something about her. Roger did all he +could to persuade the lover to forget his love,—and partially +succeeded. It is so pleasant and so natural that a young man should +enjoy the company of a clever, beautiful woman on a long journey,—so +natural that during the journey he should allow himself to think that +she may during her whole life be all in all to him as she is at that +moment;—and so natural again that he should see his mistake when he +has parted from her! But Montague, though he was half false to his +widow, was half true to her. He had pledged his word, and that he +said ought to bind him. Then he returned to California, and learned +through the instrumentality of Hamilton K. Fisker, that in San +Francisco Mrs. Hurtle was regarded as a mystery. Some people did not +quite believe that there ever had been a Mr. Hurtle. Others said that +there certainly had been a Mr. Hurtle, and that to the best of their +belief he still existed. The fact, however, best known of her was, +that she had shot a man through the head somewhere in Oregon. She had +not been tried for it, as the world of Oregon had considered that the +circumstances justified the deed. Everybody knew that she was very +clever and very beautiful,—but everybody also thought that she was +very dangerous. "She always had money when she was here," Hamilton +Fisker said, "but no one knew where it came from." Then he wanted to +know why Paul inquired. "I don't think, you know, that I should like +to go in for a life partnership, if you mean that," said Hamilton K. +Fisker.</p> + +<p>Montague had seen her in New York as he passed through on his second +journey to San Francisco, and had then renewed his promises in spite +of his cousin's caution. He told her that he was going to see what he +could make of his broken fortunes,—for at this time, as the reader +will remember, there was no great railway in existence,—and she had +promised to follow him. Since that they had never met till this day. +She had not made the promised journey to San Francisco, at any rate +before he had left it. Letters from her had reached him in England, +and these he had answered by explaining to her, or endeavouring to +explain, that their engagement must be at an end. And now she had +followed him to London! "Tell me everything," she said, leaning upon +him and looking up into his face.</p> + +<p>"But you,—when did you arrive here?"</p> + +<p>"Here, at this house, I arrived the night before last. On Tuesday I +reached Liverpool. There I found that you were probably in London, +and so I came on. I have come only to see you. I can understand that +you should have been estranged from me. That journey home is now so +long ago! Our meeting in New York was so short and wretched. I would +not tell you because you then were poor yourself, but at that moment +I was penniless. I have got my own now out from the very teeth of +robbers." As she said this, she looked as though she could be very +persistent in claiming her own,—or what she might think to be her +own. "I could not get across to San Francisco as I said I would, and +when I was there you had quarrelled with your uncle and returned. And +now I am here. I at any rate have been faithful." As she said this +his arm was again thrown over her, so as to press her head to his +knee. "And now," she said, "tell me about yourself?"</p> + +<p>His position was embarrassing and very odious to himself. Had he done +his duty properly, he would gently have pushed her from him, have +sprung to his legs, and have declared that, however faulty might have +been his previous conduct, he now found himself bound to make her +understand that he did not intend to become her husband. But he was +either too much of a man or too little of a man for conduct such as +that. He did make the avowal to himself, even at that moment as she +sat there. Let the matter go as it would, she should never be his +wife. He would marry no one unless it was Hetta Carbury. But he did +not at all know how to get this said with proper emphasis, and yet +with properly apologetic courtesy. "I am engaged here about this +railway," he said. "You have heard, I suppose, of our projected +scheme?"</p> + +<p>"Heard of it! San Francisco is full of it. Hamilton Fisker is the +great man of the day there, and, when I left, your uncle was buying a +villa for seventy-four thousand dollars. And yet they say that the +best of it all has been transferred to you Londoners. Many there are +very hard upon Fisker for coming here and doing as he did."</p> + +<p>"It's doing very well, I believe," said Paul, with some feeling of +shame, as he thought how very little he knew about it.</p> + +<p>"You are the manager here in England?"</p> + +<p>"No,—I am a member of the firm that manages it at San Francisco; but +the real manager here is our chairman, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"Ah,—I have heard of him. He is a great man;—a Frenchman, is he +not? There was a talk of inviting him to California. You know him of +course?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I know him. I see him once a week."</p> + +<p>"I would sooner see that man than your Queen, or any of your dukes or +lords. They tell me that he holds the world of commerce in his right +hand. What power;—what grandeur!"</p> + +<p>"Grand enough," said Paul, "if it all came honestly."</p> + +<p>"Such a man rises above honesty," said Mrs. Hurtle, "as a great +general rises above humanity when he sacrifices an army to conquer a +nation. Such greatness is incompatible with small scruples. A pigmy +man is stopped by a little ditch, but a giant stalks over the +rivers."</p> + +<p>"I prefer to be stopped by the ditches," said Montague.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Paul, you were not born for commerce. And I will grant you this, +that commerce is not noble unless it rises to great heights. To live +in plenty by sticking to your counter from nine in the morning to +nine at night, is not a fine life. But this man with a scratch of his +pen can send out or call in millions of dollars. Do they say here +that he is not honest?"</p> + +<p>"As he is my partner in this affair perhaps I had better say nothing +against him."</p> + +<p>"Of course such a man will be abused. People have said that Napoleon +was a coward, and Washington a traitor. You must take me where I +shall see Melmotte. He is a man whose hand I would kiss; but I would +not condescend to speak even a word of reverence to any of your +Emperors."</p> + +<p>"I fear you will find that your idol has feet of clay."</p> + +<p>"Ah,—you mean that he is bold in breaking those precepts of yours +about coveting worldly wealth. All men and women break that +commandment, but they do so in a stealthy fashion, half drawing back +the grasping hand, praying to be delivered from temptation while they +filch only a little, pretending to despise the only thing that is +dear to them in the world. Here is a man who boldly says that he +recognises no such law; that wealth is power, and that power is good, +and that the more a man has of wealth the greater and the stronger +and the nobler he can be. I love a man who can turn the hobgoblins +inside out and burn the wooden bogies that he meets."</p> + +<p>Montague had formed his own opinions about Melmotte. Though connected +with the man, he believed their Grand Director to be as vile a +scoundrel as ever lived. Mrs. Hurtle's enthusiasm was very pretty, +and there was something of feminine eloquence in her words. But it +was shocking to see them lavished on such a subject. "Personally, I +do not like him," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"I had thought to find that you and he were hand and glove."</p> + +<p>"Oh no."</p> + +<p>"But you are prospering in this business?"</p> + +<p>"Yes,—I suppose we are prospering. It is one of those hazardous +things in which a man can never tell whether he be really prosperous +till he is out of it. I fell into it altogether against my will. I +had no alternative."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me to have been a golden chance."</p> + +<p>"As far as immediate results go it has been golden."</p> + +<p>"That at any rate is well, Paul. And now,—now that we have got back +into our old way of talking, tell me what all this means. I have +talked to no one after this fashion since we parted. Why should our +engagement be over? You used to love me, did you not?"</p> + +<p>He would willingly have left her question unanswered, but she waited +for an answer. "You know I did," he said.</p> + +<p>"I thought so. This I know, that you were sure and are sure of my +love to you. Is it not so? Come, speak openly like a man. Do you +doubt me?"</p> + +<p>He did not doubt her, and was forced to say so. "No, indeed."</p> + +<p>"Oh, with what bated, half-mouthed words you speak,—fit for a girl +from a nursery! Out with it if you have anything to say against me! +You owe me so much at any rate. I have never ill-treated you. I have +never lied to you. I have taken nothing from you,—if I have not +taken your heart. I have given you all that I have to give." Then she +leaped to her feet and stood a little apart from him. "If you hate +me, say so."</p> + +<p>"Winifrid," he said, calling her by her name.</p> + +<p>"Winifrid! Yes, now for the first time, though I have called you Paul +from the moment you entered the room. Well, speak out. Is there +another woman that you love?"</p> + +<p>At this moment Paul Montague proved that at any rate he was no +coward. Knowing the nature of the woman, how ardent, how impetuous +she could be, and how full of wrath, he had come at her call +intending to tell her the truth which he now spoke. "There is +another," he said.</p> + +<p>She stood silent, looking into his face, thinking how she would +commence her attack upon him. She fixed her eyes upon him, standing +quite upright, squeezing her own right hand with the fingers of the +left. "Oh," she said, in a whisper;—"that is the reason why I am +told that I am to be—off."</p> + +<p>"That was not the reason."</p> + +<p>"What;—can there be more reason than that,—better reason than that? +Unless, indeed, it be that as you have learned to love another so +also you have learned to—hate me."</p> + +<p>"Listen to me, Winifrid."</p> + +<p>"No, sir; no Winifrid now! How did you dare to kiss me, knowing that +it was on your tongue to tell me I was to be cast aside? And so you +love—some other woman! I am too old to please you, too rough,—too +little like the dolls of your own country! What were your—other +reasons? Let me hear your—other reasons, that I may tell you that +they are lies."</p> + +<p>The reasons were very difficult to tell, though when put forward by +Roger Carbury they had been easily pleaded. Paul knew but little +about Winifrid Hurtle, and nothing at all about the late Mr. Hurtle. +His reasons curtly put forward might have been so stated. "We know +too little of each other," he said.</p> + +<p>"What more do you want to know? You can know all for the asking. Did +I ever refuse to answer you? As to my knowledge of you and your +affairs, if I think it sufficient, need you complain? What is it that +you want to know? Ask anything and I will tell you. Is it about my +money? You knew when you gave me your word that I had next to none. +Now I have ample means of my own. You knew that I was a widow. What +more? If you wish to hear of the wretch that was my husband, I will +deluge you with stories. I should have thought that a man who loved +would not have cared to hear much of one—who perhaps was loved +once."</p> + +<p>He knew that his position was perfectly indefensible. It would have +been better for him not to have alluded to any reasons, but to have +remained firm to his assertion that he loved another woman. He must +have acknowledged himself to be false, perjured, inconstant, and very +base. A fault that may be venial to those who do not suffer, is +damnable, deserving of an eternity of tortures, in the eyes of the +sufferer. He must have submitted to be told that he was a fiend, and +might have had to endure whatever of punishment a lady in her wrath +could inflict upon him. But he would have been called upon for no +further mental effort. His position would have been plain. But now he +was all at sea. "I wish to hear nothing," he said.</p> + +<p>"Then why tell me that we know so little of each other? That, surely, +is a poor excuse to make to a woman,—after you have been false to +her. Why did you not say that when we were in New York together? +Think of it, Paul. Is not that mean?"</p> + +<p>"I do not think that I am mean."</p> + +<p>"No;—a man will lie to a woman, and justify it always. Who is—this +lady?"</p> + +<p>He knew that he could not at any rate be warranted in mentioning +Hetta Carbury's name. He had never even asked her for her love, and +certainly had received no assurance that he was loved. "I can not +name her."</p> + +<p>"And I, who have come hither from California to see you, am to return +satisfied because you tell me that you have—changed your affections? +That is to be all, and you think that fair? That suits your own mind, +and leaves no sore spot in your heart? You can do that, and shake +hands with me, and go away,—without a pang, without a scruple?"</p> + +<p>"I did not say so."</p> + +<p>"And you are the man who cannot bear to hear me praise Augustus +Melmotte because you think him dishonest! Are you a liar?"</p> + +<p>"I hope not."</p> + +<p>"Did you say you would be my husband? Answer me, sir."</p> + +<p>"I did say so."</p> + +<p>"Do you now refuse to keep your promise? You shall answer me."</p> + +<p>"I cannot marry you."</p> + +<p>"Then, sir, are you not a liar?" It would have taken him long to +explain to her, even had he been able, that a man may break a promise +and yet not tell a lie. He had made up his mind to break his +engagement before he had seen Hetta Carbury, and therefore he could +not accuse himself of falseness on her account. He had been brought +to his resolution by the rumours he had heard of her past life, and +as to his uncertainty about her husband. If Mr. Hurtle were alive, +certainly then he would not be a liar because he did not marry Mrs. +Hurtle. He did not think himself to be a liar, but he was not at once +ready with his defence. "Oh, Paul," she said, changing at once into +softness,—"I am pleading to you for my life. Oh, that I could make +you feel that I am pleading for my life. Have you given a promise to +this lady also?"</p> + +<p>"No," said he. "I have given no promise."</p> + +<p>"But she loves you?"</p> + +<p>"She has never said so."</p> + +<p>"You have told her of your love?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing, then, between you? And you would put her against +me,—some woman who has nothing to suffer, no cause of complaint, +who, for aught you know, cares nothing for you. Is that so?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"Then you may still be mine. Oh, Paul, come back to me. Will any +woman love you as I do;—live for you as I do? Think what I have done +in coming here, where I have no friend,—not a single friend,—unless +you are a friend. Listen to me. I have told the woman here that I am +engaged to marry you."</p> + +<p>"You have told the woman of the house?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I have. Was I not justified? Were you not engaged to me? +Am I to have you to visit me here, and to risk her insults, perhaps +to be told to take myself off and to find accommodation elsewhere, +because I am too mealy-mouthed to tell the truth as to the cause of +my being here? I am here because you have promised to make me your +wife, and, as far as I am concerned, I am not ashamed to have the +fact advertised in every newspaper in the town. I told her that I was +the promised wife of one Paul Montague, who was joined with Mr. +Melmotte in managing the new great American railway, and that Mr. +Paul Montague would be with me this morning. She was too far-seeing +to doubt me, but had she doubted, I could have shown her your +letters. Now go and tell her that what I have said is false,—if you +dare." The woman was not there, and it did not seem to be his +immediate duty to leave the room in order that he might denounce a +lady whom he certainly had ill-used. The position was one which +required thought. After a while he took up his hat to go. "Do you +mean to tell her that my statement is untrue?"</p> + +<p>"No,—" he said; "not to-day."</p> + +<p>"And you will come back to me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I will come back."</p> + +<p>"I have no friend here, but you, Paul. Remember that. Remember all +your promises. Remember all our love,—and be good to me." Then she +let him go without another word.</p> + + +<p><a id="c27"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXVII.</h3> +<h4>MRS. HURTLE GOES TO THE PLAY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>On the day after the visit just recorded, Paul Montague received the +following letter from Mrs. +<span class="nowrap">Hurtle:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Paul</span>,—</p> + + +<p>I think that perhaps we hardly made ourselves understood +to each other yesterday, and I am sure that you do not +understand how absolutely my whole life is now at stake. I +need only refer you to our journey from San Francisco to +London to make you conscious that I really love you. To a +woman such love is all important. She cannot throw it from +her as a man may do amidst the affairs of the world. Nor, +if it has to be thrown from her, can she bear the loss as +a man bears it. Her thoughts have dwelt on it with more +constancy than his;—and then too her devotion has +separated her from other things. My devotion to you has +separated me from everything.</p> + +<p>But I scorn to come to you as a suppliant. If you choose +to say after hearing me that you will put me away from you +because you have seen some one fairer than I am, whatever +course I may take in my indignation, I shall not throw +myself at your feet to tell you of my wrongs. I wish, +however, that you should hear me. You say that there is +some one you love better than you love me, but that you +have not committed yourself to her. Alas, I know too much +of the world to be surprised that a man's constancy should +not stand out two years in the absence of his mistress. A +man cannot wrap himself up and keep himself warm with an +absent love as a woman does. But I think that some +remembrance of the past must come back upon you now that +you have seen me again. I think that you must have owned +to yourself that you did love me, and that you could love +me again. You sin against me to my utter destruction if +you leave me. I have given up every friend I have to +follow you. As regards the other—nameless lady, there can +be no fault; for, as you tell me, she knows nothing of +your passion.</p> + +<p>You hinted that there were other reasons,—that we know +too little of each other. You meant no doubt that you knew +too little of me. Is it not the case that you were content +when you knew only what was to be learned in those days of +our sweet intimacy, but that you have been made +discontented by stories told you by your partners at San +Francisco? If this be so, trouble yourself at any rate to +find out the truth before you allow yourself to treat a +woman as you propose to treat me. I think you are too good +a man to cast aside a woman you have loved,—like a soiled +glove,—because ill-natured words have been spoken of her +by men, or perhaps by women, who know nothing of her life. +My late husband, Caradoc Hurtle, was Attorney-General in +the State of Kansas when I married him, I being then in +possession of a considerable fortune left to me by my +mother. There his life was infamously bad. He spent what +money he could get of mine, and then left me and the +State, and took himself to Texas;—where he drank himself +to death. I did not follow him, and in his absence I was +divorced from him in accordance with the laws of Kansas +State. I then went to San Francisco about property of my +mother's, which my husband had fraudulently sold to a +countryman of ours now resident in Paris,—having forged +my name. There I met you, and in that short story I tell +you all that there is to be told. It may be that you do +not believe me now; but if so, are you not bound to go +where you can verify your own doubts or my word?</p> + +<p>I try to write dispassionately, but I am in truth +overborne by passion. I also have heard in California +rumours about myself, and after much delay I received your +letter. I resolved to follow you to England as soon as +circumstances would permit me. I have been forced to fight +a battle about my property, and I have won it. I had two +reasons for carrying this through by my personal efforts +before I saw you. I had begun it and had determined that I +would not be beaten by fraud. And I was also determined +that I would not plead to you as a pauper. We have talked +too freely together in past days of our mutual money +matters for me to feel any delicacy in alluding to them. +When a man and woman have agreed to be husband and wife +there should be no delicacy of that kind. When we came +here together we were both embarrassed. We both had some +property, but neither of us could enjoy it. Since that I +have made my way through my difficulties. From what I have +heard at San Francisco I suppose that you have done the +same. I at any rate shall be perfectly contented if from +this time our affairs can be made one.</p> + +<p>And now about myself,—immediately. I have come here all +alone. Since I last saw you in New York I have not had +altogether a good time. I have had a great struggle and +have been thrown on my own resources and have been all +alone. Very cruel things have been said of me. You heard +cruel things said, but I presume them to have been said to +you with reference to my late husband. Since that they +have been said to others with reference to you. I have not +now come, as my countrymen do generally, backed with a +trunk full of introductions and with scores of friends +ready to receive me. It was necessary to me that I should +see you and hear my fate,—and here I am. I appeal to you +to release me in some degree from the misery of my +solitude. You know,—no one so well,—that my nature is +social and that I am not given to be melancholy. Let us be +cheerful together, as we once were, if it be only for a +day. Let me see you as I used to see you, and let me be +seen as I used to be seen.</p> + +<p>Come to me and take me out with you, and let us dine +together, and take me to one of your theatres. If you wish +it I will promise you not to allude to that revelation you +made to me just now, though of course it is nearer to my +heart than any other matter. Perhaps some woman's vanity +makes me think that if you would only see me again, and +talk to me as you used to talk, you would think of me as +you used to think.</p> + +<p>You need not fear but you will find me at home. I have no +whither to go,—and shall hardly stir from the house till +you come to me. Send me a line, however, that I may have +my hat on if you are minded to do as I ask you.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours with all my heart,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Winifred Hurtle</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This letter took her much time to write, though she was very careful +so to write as to make it seem that it had flown easily from her pen. +She copied it from the first draught, but she copied it rapidly, with +one or two premeditated erasures, so that it should look to have been +done hurriedly. There had been much art in it. She had at any rate +suppressed any show of anger. In calling him to her she had so +written as to make him feel that if he would come he need not fear +the claws of an offended lioness:—and yet she was angry as a lioness +who had lost her cub. She had almost ignored that other lady whose +name she had not yet heard. She had spoken of her lover's +entanglement with that other lady as a light thing which might easily +be put aside. She had said much of her own wrongs, but had not said +much of the wickedness of the wrong doer. Invited as she had invited +him, surely he could not but come to her! And then, in her reference +to money, not descending to the details of dollars and cents, she had +studied how to make him feel that he might marry her without +imprudence. As she read it over to herself she thought that there was +a tone through it of natural feminine uncautious eagerness. She put +her letter up in an envelope, stuck a stamp on it and addressed +it,—and then threw herself back in her chair to think of her +position.</p> + +<p>He should marry her,—or there should be something done which should +make the name of Winifrid Hurtle known to the world! She had no plan +of revenge yet formed. She would not talk of revenge,—she told +herself that she would not even think of revenge,—till she was quite +sure that revenge would be necessary. But she did think of it, and +could not keep her thoughts from it for a moment. Could it be +possible that she, with all her intellectual gifts as well as those +of her outward person, should be thrown over by a man whom well as +she loved him,—and she did love him with all her heart,—she +regarded as greatly inferior to herself! He had promised to marry +her; and he should marry her, or the world should hear the story of +his perjury!</p> + +<p>Paul Montague felt that he was surrounded by difficulties as soon as +he read the letter. That his heart was all the other way he was quite +sure; but yet it did seem to him that there was no escape from his +troubles open to him. There was not a single word in this woman's +letter that he could contradict. He had loved her and had promised to +make her his wife,—and had determined to break his word to her +because he found that she was enveloped in dangerous mystery. He had +so resolved before he had ever seen Hetta Carbury, having been made +to believe by Roger Carbury that a marriage with an unknown American +woman,—of whom he only did know that she was handsome and +clever,—would be a step to ruin. The woman, as Roger said, was an +adventuress,—might never have had a husband,—might at this moment +have two or three,—might be overwhelmed with debt,—might be +anything bad, dangerous, and abominable. All that he had heard at San +Francisco had substantiated Roger's views. "Any scrape is better than +that scrape," Roger had said to him. Paul had believed his Mentor, +and had believed with a double faith as soon as he had seen Hetta +Carbury.</p> + +<p>But what should he do now? It was impossible, after what had passed +between them, that he should leave Mrs. Hurtle at her lodgings at +Islington without any notice. It was clear enough to him that she +would not consent to be so left. Then her present proposal,—though +it seemed to be absurd and almost comical in the tragical condition +of their present circumstances,—had in it some immediate comfort. To +take her out and give her a dinner, and then go with her to some +theatre, would be easy and perhaps pleasant. It would be easier, and +certainly much pleasanter, because she had pledged herself to abstain +from talking of her grievances. Then he remembered some happy +evenings, delicious hours, which he had so passed with her, when they +were first together at New York. There could be no better companion +for such a festival. She could talk,—and she could listen as well as +talk. And she could sit silent, conveying to her neighbour the sense +of her feminine charms by her simple proximity. He had been very +happy when so placed. Had it been possible he would have escaped the +danger now, but the reminiscence of past delights in some sort +reconciled him to the performance of this perilous duty.</p> + +<p>But when the evening should be over, how would he part with her? When +the pleasant hour should have passed away and he had brought her back +to her door, what should he say to her then? He must make some +arrangement as to a future meeting. He knew that he was in a great +peril, and he did not know how he might best escape it. He could not +now go to Roger Carbury for advice; for was not Roger Carbury his +rival? It would be for his friend's interest that he should marry the +widow. Roger Carbury, as he knew well, was too honest a man to allow +himself to be guided in any advice he might give by such a feeling, +but, still, on this matter, he could no longer tell everything to +Roger Carbury. He could not say all that he would have to say without +speaking of Hetta;—and of his love for Hetta he could not speak to +his rival.</p> + +<p>He had no other friend in whom he could confide. There was no other +human being he could trust, unless it was Hetta herself. He thought +for a moment that he would write a stern and true letter to the +woman, telling her that as it was impossible that there should ever +be marriage between them, he felt himself bound to abstain from her +society. But then he remembered her solitude, her picture of herself +in London without even an acquaintance except himself, and he +convinced himself that it would be impossible that he should leave +her without seeing her. So he wrote to her +<span class="nowrap">thus;—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Winifred</span>,</p> + +<p>I will come for you to-morrow at half-past five. We will +dine together at the Thespian;—and then I will have a box +at the Haymarket. The Thespian is a good sort of place, +and lots of ladies dine there. You can dine in your +bonnet.</p> + +<p class="ind14">Yours affectionately,</p> + +<p class="ind18">P. M.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Some half-formed idea ran through his brain that P. M. was a safer +signature than Paul Montague. Then came a long train of thoughts as +to the perils of the whole proceeding. She had told him that she had +announced herself to the keeper of the lodging-house as engaged to +him, and he had in a manner authorised the statement by declining to +contradict it at once. And now, after that announcement, he was +assenting to her proposal that they should go out and amuse +themselves together. Hitherto she had always seemed to him to be +open, candid, and free from intrigue. He had known her to be +impulsive, capricious, at times violent, but never deceitful. Perhaps +he was unable to read correctly the inner character of a woman whose +experience of the world had been much wider than his own. His mind +misgave him that it might be so; but still he thought that he knew +that she was not treacherous. And yet did not her present acts +justify him in thinking that she was carrying on a plot against him? +The note, however, was sent, and he prepared for the evening of the +play, leaving the dangers of the occasion to adjust themselves. He +ordered the dinner and he took the box, and at the hour fixed he was +again at her lodgings.</p> + +<p>The woman of the house with a smile showed him into Mrs. Hurtle's +sitting-room, and he at once perceived that the smile was intended to +welcome him as an accepted lover. It was a smile half of +congratulation to the lover, half of congratulation to herself as a +woman that another man had been caught by the leg and made fast. Who +does not know the smile? What man, who has been caught and made sure, +has not felt a certain dissatisfaction at being so treated, +understanding that the smile is intended to convey to him a sense of +his own captivity? It has, however, generally mattered but little to +us. If we have felt that something of ridicule was intended, because +we have been regarded as cocks with their spurs cut away, then we +also have a pride when we have declared to ourselves that upon the +whole we have gained more than we have lost. But with Paul Montague +at the present moment there was no satisfaction, no pride,—only a +feeling of danger which every hour became deeper, and stronger, with +less chance of escape. He was almost tempted at this moment to detain +the woman, and tell her the truth,—and bear the immediate +consequences. But there would be treason in doing so, and he would +not, could not do it.</p> + +<p>He was left hardly a moment to think of this. Almost before the woman +had shut the door, Mrs. Hurtle came to him out of her bedroom, with +her hat on her head. Nothing could be more simple than her dress, and +nothing prettier. It was now June, and the weather was warm, and the +lady wore a light gauzy black dress,—there is a fabric which the +milliners I think call grenadine,—coming close up round her throat. +It was very pretty, and she was prettier even than her dress. And she +had on a hat, black also, small and simple, but very pretty. There +are times at which a man going to a theatre with a lady wishes her to +be bright in her apparel,—almost gorgeous; in which he will hardly +be contented unless her cloak be scarlet, and her dress white, and +her gloves of some bright hue,—unless she wear roses or jewels in +her hair. It is thus our girls go to the theatre now, when they go +intending that all the world shall know who they are. But there are +times again in which a man would prefer that his companion should be +very quiet in her dress,—but still pretty; in which he would choose +that she should dress herself for him only. All this Mrs. Hurtle had +understood accurately; and Paul Montague, who understood nothing of +it, was gratified. "You told me to have a hat, and here I am,—hat +and all." She gave him her hand, and laughed, and looked pleasantly +at him, as though there was no cause of unhappiness between them. The +lodging-house woman saw them enter the cab, and muttered some little +word as they went off. Paul did not hear the word, but was sure that +it bore some indistinct reference to his expected marriage.</p> + +<p>Neither during the drive, nor at the dinner, nor during the +performance at the theatre, did she say a word in allusion to her +engagement. It was with them, as in former days it had been at New +York. She whispered pleasant words to him, touching his arm now and +again with her finger as she spoke, seeming ever better inclined to +listen than to speak. Now and again she referred, after some +slightest fashion, to little circumstances that had occurred between +them, to some joke, some hour of tedium, some moment of delight; but +it was done as one man might do it to another,—if any man could have +done it so pleasantly. There was a scent which he had once approved, +and now she bore it on her handkerchief. There was a ring which he +had once given her, and she wore it on the finger with which she +touched his sleeve. With his own hands he had once adjusted her +curls, and each curl was as he had placed it. She had a way of +shaking her head, that was very pretty,—a way that might, one would +think, have been dangerous at her age, as likely to betray those +first grey hairs which will come to disturb the last days of youth. +He had once told her in sport to be more careful. She now shook her +head again, and, as he smiled, she told him that she could still dare +to be careless. There are a thousand little silly softnesses which +are pretty and endearing between acknowledged lovers, with which no +woman would like to dispense, to which even men who are in love +submit sometimes with delight; but which in other circumstances would +be vulgar,—and to the woman distasteful. There are closenesses and +sweet approaches, smiles and nods and pleasant winkings, whispers, +innuendoes and hints, little mutual admirations and assurances that +there are things known to those two happy ones of which the world +beyond is altogether ignorant. Much of this comes of nature, but +something of it sometimes comes by art. Of such art as there may be +in it Mrs. Hurtle was a perfect master. No allusion was made to their +engagement,—not an unpleasant word was spoken; but the art was +practised with all its pleasant adjuncts. Paul was flattered to the +top of his bent; and, though the sword was hanging over his head, +though he knew that the sword must fall,—must partly fall that very +night,—still he enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>There are men who, of their natures, do not like women, even though +they may have wives and legions of daughters, and be surrounded by +things feminine in all the affairs of their lives. Others again have +their strongest affinities and sympathies with women, and are rarely +altogether happy when removed from their influence. Paul Montague was +of the latter sort. At this time he was thoroughly in love with Hetta +Carbury, and was not in love with Mrs. Hurtle. He would have given +much of his golden prospects in the American railway to have had Mrs. +Hurtle reconveyed suddenly to San Francisco. And yet he had a delight +in her presence. "The acting isn't very good," he said when the piece +was nearly over.</p> + +<p>"What does it signify? What we enjoy or what we suffer depends upon +the humour. The acting is not first-rate, but I have listened and +laughed and cried, because I have been happy."</p> + +<p>He was bound to tell her that he also had enjoyed the evening, and +was bound to say it in no voice of hypocritical constraint. "It has +been very jolly," he said.</p> + +<p>"And one has so little that is really jolly, as you call it. I wonder +whether any girl ever did sit and cry like that because her lover +talked to another woman. What I find fault with is that the writers +and actors are so ignorant of men and women as we see them every day. +It's all right that she should cry, but she shouldn't cry there." The +position described was so nearly her own, that he could say nothing +to this. She had so spoken on purpose,—fighting her own battle after +her own fashion, knowing well that her words would confuse him. "A +woman hides such tears. She may be found crying because she is unable +to hide them;—but she does not willingly let the other woman see +them. Does she?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose not."</p> + +<p>"Medea did not weep when she was introduced to Creusa."</p> + +<p>"Women are not all Medeas," he replied.</p> + +<p>"There's a dash of the savage princess about most of them. I am quite +ready if you like. I never want to see the curtain fall. And I have +had no nosegay brought in a wheelbarrow to throw on to the stage. Are +you going to see me home?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"You need not. I'm not a bit afraid of a London cab by myself." But +of course he accompanied her to Islington. He owed her at any rate as +much as that. She continued to talk during the whole journey. What a +wonderful place London was,—so immense, but so dirty! New York of +course was not so big, but was, she thought, pleasanter. But Paris +was the gem of gems among towns. She did not like Frenchmen, and she +liked Englishmen even better than Americans; but she fancied that she +could never like English women. "I do so hate all kinds of buckram. I +like good conduct, and law, and religion too if it be not forced down +one's throat; but I hate what your women call propriety. I suppose +what we have been doing to-night is very improper; but I am quite +sure that it has not been in the least wicked."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it has," said Paul Montague very tamely.</p> + +<p>It is a long way from the Haymarket to Islington, but at last the cab +reached the lodging-house door. "Yes, this is it," she said. "Even +about the houses there is an air of stiff-necked propriety which +frightens me." She was getting out as she spoke, and he had already +knocked at the door. "Come in for one moment," she said as he paid +the cabman. The woman the while was standing with the door in her +hand. It was near midnight,—but, when people are engaged, hours do +not matter. The woman of the house, who was respectability +herself,—a nice kind widow, with five children, named +Pipkin,—understood that and smiled again as he followed the lady +into the sitting-room. She had already taken off her hat and was +flinging it on to the sofa as he entered. "Shut the door for one +moment," she said; and he shut it. Then she threw herself into his +arms, not kissing him but looking up into his face. "Oh Paul," she +exclaimed, "my darling! Oh Paul, my love! I will not bear to be +separated from you. No, no;—never. I swear it, and you may believe +me. There is nothing I cannot do for love of you,—but to lose you." +Then she pushed him from her and looked away from him, clasping her +hands together. "But Paul, I mean to keep my pledge to you to-night. +It was to be an island in our troubles, a little holiday in our hard +school-time, and I will not destroy it at its close. You will see me +again soon,—will you not?" He nodded assent, then took her in his +arms and kissed her, and left her without a word.</p> + + +<p><a id="c28"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h3> +<h4>DOLLY LONGESTAFFE GOES INTO THE CITY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>It has been told how the gambling at the Beargarden went on one +Sunday night. On the following Monday Sir Felix did not go to the +club. He had watched Miles Grendall at play, and was sure that on +more than one or two occasions the man had cheated. Sir Felix did not +quite know what in such circumstances it would be best for him to do. +Reprobate as he was himself, this work of villainy was new to him and +seemed to be very terrible. What steps ought he to take? He was quite +sure of his facts, and yet he feared that Nidderdale and Grasslough +and Longestaffe would not believe him. He would have told Montague, +but Montague had, he thought, hardly enough authority at the club to +be of any use to him. On the Tuesday again he did not go to the club. +He felt severely the loss of the excitement to which he had been +accustomed, but the thing was too important to him to be slurred +over. He did not dare to sit down and play with the man who had +cheated him without saying anything about it. On the Wednesday +afternoon life was becoming unbearable to him and he sauntered into +the building at about five in the afternoon. There, as a matter of +course, he found Dolly Longestaffe drinking sherry and bitters. +"Where the blessed angels have you been?" said Dolly. Dolly was at +that moment alert with the sense of a duty performed. He had just +called on his sister and written a sharp letter to his father, and +felt himself to be almost a man of business.</p> + +<p>"I've had fish of my own to fry," said Felix, who had passed the last +two days in unendurable idleness. Then he referred again to the money +which Dolly owed him, not making any complaint, not indeed asking for +immediate payment, but explaining with an air of importance that if a +commercial arrangement could be made, it might, at this moment, be +very serviceable to him. "I'm particularly anxious to take up those +shares," said Felix.</p> + +<p>"Of course you ought to have your money."</p> + +<p>"I don't say that at all, old fellow. I know very well that you're +all right. You're not like that fellow, Miles Grendall."</p> + +<p>"Well; no. Poor Miles has got nothing to bless himself with. I +suppose I could get it, and so I ought to pay."</p> + +<p>"That's no excuse for Grendall," said Sir Felix, shaking his head.</p> + +<p>"A chap can't pay if he hasn't got it, Carbury. A chap ought to pay +of course. I've had a letter from our lawyer within the last half +hour—here it is." And Dolly pulled a letter out of his pocket which +he had opened and read indeed within the last hour, but which had +been duly delivered at his lodgings early in the morning. "My +governor wants to sell Pickering, and Melmotte wants to buy the +place. My governor can't sell without me, and I've asked for half the +plunder. I know what's what. My interest in the property is greater +than his. It isn't much of a place, and they are talking of £50,000, +over and above the debt upon it. £25,000 would pay off what I owe on +my own property, and make me very square. From what this fellow says +I suppose they're going to give in to my terms."</p> + +<p>"By George, that'll be a grand thing for you, Dolly."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes. Of course I want it. But I don't like the place going. I'm +not much of a fellow, I know. I'm awfully lazy and can't get myself +to go in for things as I ought to do; but I've a sort of feeling that +I don't like the family property going to pieces. A fellow oughtn't +to let his family property go to pieces."</p> + +<p>"You never lived at Pickering."</p> + +<p>"No;—and I don't know that it is any good. It gives us 3 per cent. +on the money it's worth, while the governor is paying 6 per cent., +and I'm paying 25, for the money we've borrowed. I know more about it +than you'd think. It ought to be sold, and now I suppose it will be +sold. Old Melmotte knows all about it, and if you like I'll go with +you to the city to-morrow and make it straight about what I owe you. +He'll advance me £1,000, and then you can get the shares. Are you +going to dine here?"</p> + +<p>Sir Felix said that he would dine at the club, but declared, with +considerable mystery in his manner, that he could not stay and play +whist afterwards. He acceded willingly to Dolly's plan of visiting +Abchurch Lane on the following day, but had some difficulty in +inducing his friend to consent to fix on an hour early enough for +city purposes. Dolly suggested that they should meet at the club at 4 +<span class="smallcaps">p.m.</span> Sir Felix had named noon, and +promised to call at Dolly's +lodgings. They split the difference at last and agreed to start at +two. They then dined together, Miles Grendall dining alone at the +next table to them. Dolly and Grendall spoke to each other +frequently, but in that conversation the young baronet would not +join. Nor did Grendall ever address himself to Sir Felix. "Is there +anything up between you and Miles?" said Dolly, when they had +adjourned to the smoking-room.</p> + +<p>"I can't bear him."</p> + +<p>"There never was any love between you two, I know. But you used to +speak, and you've played with him all through."</p> + +<p>"Played with him! I should think I have. Though he did get such a +haul last Sunday he owes me more than you do now."</p> + +<p>"Is that the reason you haven't played the last two nights?"</p> + +<p>Sir Felix paused a moment. "No;—that is not the reason. I'll tell +you all about it in the cab to-morrow." Then he left the club, +declaring that he would go up to Grosvenor Square and see Marie +Melmotte. He did go up to the Square, and when he came to the house +he would not go in. What was the good? He could do nothing further +till he got old Melmotte's consent, and in no way could he so +probably do that as by showing that he had got money wherewith to buy +shares in the railway. What he did with himself during the remainder +of the evening the reader need not know, but on his return home at +some comparatively early hour, he found this note from +Marie.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Wednesday Afternoon.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest Felix</span>,</p> + +<p>Why don't we see you? Mamma would say nothing if you came. +Papa is never in the drawing-room. Miss Longestaffe is +here of course, and people always come in in the evening. +We are just going to dine out at the Duchess of +Stevenage's. Papa, and mamma and I. Mamma told me that +Lord Nidderdale is to be there, but you need not be a bit +afraid. I don't like Lord Nidderdale, and I will never +take any one but the man I love. You know who that is. +Miss Longestaffe is so angry because she can't go with us. +What do you think of her telling me that she did not +understand being left alone? We are to go afterwards to a +musical party at Lady Gamut's. Miss Longestaffe is going +with us, but she says that she hates music. She is such a +set-up thing! I wonder why papa has her here. We don't go +anywhere to-morrow evening, so pray come.</p> + +<p>And why haven't you written me something and sent it to +Didon? She won't betray us. And if she did, what matters? +I mean to be true. If papa were to beat me into a mummy I +would stick to you. He told me once to take Lord +Nidderdale, and then he told me to refuse him. And now he +wants me to take him again. But I won't. I'll take no one +but my own darling.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours for ever and ever,</p> + +<p class="ind16"><span class="smallcaps">Marie</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Now that the young lady had begun to have an interest of her own in +life, she was determined to make the most of it. All this was +delightful to her, but to Sir Felix it was simply "a bother." Sir +Felix was quite willing to marry the girl to-morrow,—on condition of +course that the money was properly arranged; but he was not willing +to go through much work in the way of love-making with Marie +Melmotte. In such business he preferred Ruby Ruggles as a companion.</p> + +<p>On the following day Felix was with his friend at the appointed time, +and was only kept an hour waiting while Dolly ate his breakfast and +struggled into his coat and boots. On their way to the city Felix +told his dreadful story about Miles Grendall. "By George!" said +Dolly. "And you think you saw him do it!"</p> + +<p>"It's not thinking at all. I'm sure I saw him do it three times. I +believe he always had an ace somewhere about him." Dolly sat quite +silent thinking of it. "What had I better do?" asked Sir Felix.</p> + +<p>"By George;—I don't know."</p> + +<p>"What should you do?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing at all. I shouldn't believe my own eyes. Or if I did, should +take care not to look at him."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't go on playing with him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes I should. It'd be such a bore breaking up."</p> + +<p>"But Dolly,—if you think of it!"</p> + +<p>"That's all very fine, my dear fellow, but I shouldn't think of it."</p> + +<p>"And you won't give me your advice."</p> + +<p>"Well;—no; I think I'd rather not. I wish you hadn't told me. Why +did you pick me out to tell me? Why didn't you tell Nidderdale?"</p> + +<p>"He might have said, why didn't you tell Longestaffe?"</p> + +<p>"No, he wouldn't. Nobody would suppose that anybody would pick me out +for this kind of thing. If I'd known that you were going to tell me +such a story as this I wouldn't have come with you."</p> + +<p>"That's nonsense, Dolly."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I can't bear these kind of things. I feel all in a +twitter already."</p> + +<p>"You mean to go on playing just the same?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. If he won anything very heavy I should begin to +think about it, I suppose. Oh; this is Abchurch Lane, is it? Now for +the man of money."</p> + +<p>The man of money received them much more graciously than Sir Felix +had expected. Of course nothing was said about Marie and no further +allusion was made to the painful subject of the baronet's "property." +Both Dolly and Sir Felix were astonished by the quick way in which +the great financier understood their views and the readiness with +which he undertook to comply with them. No disagreeable questions +were asked as to the nature of the debt between the young men. Dolly +was called upon to sign a couple of documents, and Sir Felix to sign +one,—and then they were assured that the thing was done. Mr. +Adolphus Longestaffe had paid Sir Felix Carbury a thousand pounds, +and Sir Felix Carbury's commission had been accepted by Mr. Melmotte +for the purchase of railway stock to that amount. Sir Felix attempted +to say a word. He endeavoured to explain that his object in this +commercial transaction was to make money immediately by reselling the +shares,—and to go on continually making money by buying at a low +price and selling at a high price. He no doubt did believe that, +being a Director, if he could once raise the means of beginning this +game, he could go on with it for an unlimited period;—buy and sell, +buy and sell;—so that he would have an almost regular income. This, +as far as he could understand, was what Paul Montague was allowed to +do,—simply because he had become a Director with a little money. Mr. +Melmotte was cordiality itself, but he could not be got to go into +particulars. It was all right. "You will wish to sell again, of +course;—of course. I'll watch the market for you." When the young +men left the room all they knew, or thought that they knew, was, that +Dolly Longestaffe had authorised Melmotte to pay a thousand pounds on +his behalf to Sir Felix, and that Sir Felix had instructed the same +great man to buy shares with the amount. "But why didn't he give you +the scrip?" said Dolly on his way westwards.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it's all right with him," said Sir Felix.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes;—it's all right. Thousands of pounds to him are only like +half-crowns to us fellows. I should say it's all right. All the same, +he's the biggest rogue out, you know." Sir Felix already began to be +unhappy about his thousand pounds.</p> + + +<p><a id="c29"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXIX.</h3> +<h4>MISS MELMOTTE'S COURAGE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lady Carbury continued to ask frequent questions as to the +prosecution of her son's suit, and Sir Felix began to think that he +was persecuted. "I have spoken to her father," he said crossly.</p> + +<p>"And what did Mr. Melmotte say?"</p> + +<p>"Say;—what should he say? He wanted to know what income I had got. +After all he's an old screw."</p> + +<p>"Did he forbid you to come there any more?"</p> + +<p>"Now, mother, it's no use your cross-examining me. If you'll let me +alone I'll do the best I can."</p> + +<p>"She has accepted you, herself?"</p> + +<p>"Of course she has. I told you that at Carbury."</p> + +<p>"Then, Felix, if I were you I'd run off with her. I would indeed. +It's done every day, and nobody thinks any harm of it when you marry +the girl. You could do it now because I know you've got money. From +all I can hear she's just the sort of girl that would go with you." +The son sat silent, listening to these maternal councils. He did +believe that Marie would go off with him, were he to propose the +scheme to her. Her own father had almost alluded to such a +proceeding,—had certainly hinted that it was feasible,—but at the +same time had very clearly stated that in such case the ardent lover +would have to content himself with the lady alone. In any such event +as that there would be no fortune. But then, might not that only be a +threat? Rich fathers generally do forgive their daughters, and a rich +father with only one child would surely forgive her when she returned +to him, as she would do in this instance, graced with a title. Sir +Felix thought of all this as he sat there silent. His mother read his +thoughts as she continued. "Of course, Felix, there must be some +risk."</p> + +<p>"Fancy what it would be to be thrown over at last!" he exclaimed. "I +couldn't bear it. I think I should kill her."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, Felix; you wouldn't do that. But when I say there would be +some risk I mean that there would be very little. There would be +nothing in it that ought to make him really angry. He has nobody else +to give his money to, and it would be much nicer to have his +daughter, Lady Carbury, with him, than to be left all alone in the +world."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't live with him, you know. I couldn't do it."</p> + +<p>"You needn't live with him, Felix. Of course she would visit her +parents. When the money was once settled you need see as little of +them as you pleased. Pray do not allow trifles to interfere with you. +If this should not succeed, what are you to do? We shall all starve +unless something be done. If I were you, Felix, I would take her away +at once. They say she is of age."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't know where to take her," said Sir Felix, almost stunned +into thoughtfulness by the magnitude of the proposition made to him. +"All that about Scotland is done with now."</p> + +<p>"Of course you would marry her at once."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so,—unless it were better to stay as we were, till the +money was settled."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; no! Everybody would be against you. If you take her off in a +spirited sort of way and then marry her, everybody will be with you. +That's what you want. The father and mother will be sure to come +round, <span class="nowrap">if—"</span></p> + +<p>"The mother is nothing."</p> + +<p>"He will come round if people speak up in your favour. I could get +Mr. Alf and Mr. Broune to help. I'd try it, Felix; indeed I would. +Ten thousand a year is not to be had every year."</p> + +<p>Sir Felix gave no assent to his mother's views. He felt no desire to +relieve her anxiety by an assurance of activity in the matter. But +the prospect was so grand that it had excited even him. He had money +sufficient for carrying out the scheme, and if he delayed the matter +now, it might well be that he would never again find himself so +circumstanced. He thought that he would ask somebody whither he ought +to take her, and what he ought to do with her;—and that he would +then make the proposition to herself. Miles Grendall would be the man +to tell him, because, with all his faults, Miles did understand +things. But he could not ask Miles. He and Nidderdale were good +friends; but Nidderdale wanted the girl for himself. Grasslough would +be sure to tell Nidderdale. Dolly would be altogether useless. He +thought that, perhaps, Herr Vossner would be the man to help him. +There would be no difficulty out of which Herr Vossner would not +extricate "a fellow,"—if "the fellow" paid him.</p> + +<p>On Thursday evening he went to Grosvenor Square, as desired by +Marie,—but unfortunately found Melmotte in the drawing-room. Lord +Nidderdale was there also, and his lordship's old father, the Marquis +of Auld Reekie, whom Felix, when he entered the room, did not know. +He was a fierce-looking, gouty old man, with watery eyes, and very +stiff grey hair,—almost white. He was standing up supporting himself +on two sticks when Sir Felix entered the room. There were also +present Madame Melmotte, Miss Longestaffe, and Marie. As Felix had +entered the hall one huge footman had said that the ladies were not +at home; then there had been for a moment a whispering behind a +door,—in which he afterwards conceived that Madame Didon had taken a +part;—and upon that a second tall footman had contradicted the first +and had ushered him up to the drawing-room. He felt considerably +embarrassed, but shook hands with the ladies, bowed to Melmotte, who +seemed to take no notice of him, and nodded to Lord Nidderdale. He +had not had time to place himself, when the Marquis arranged things. +"Suppose we go down-stairs," said the Marquis.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my lord," said Melmotte. "I'll show your lordship the +way." The Marquis did not speak to his son, but poked at him with his +stick, as though poking him out of the door. So instigated Nidderdale +followed the financier, and the gouty old Marquis toddled after them.</p> + +<p>Madame Melmotte was beside herself with trepidation. "You should not +have been made to come up at all," she said. "Il faut que vous vous +retirez."</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry," said Sir Felix, looking quite aghast.</p> + +<p>"I think that I had at any rate better retire," said Miss +Longestaffe, raising herself to her full height and stalking out of +the room.</p> + +<p>"Qu'elle est méchante," said Madame Melmotte. "Oh, she is so bad. Sir +Felix, you had better go too. Yes,—indeed."</p> + +<p>"No," said Marie, running to him, and taking hold of his arm. "Why +should he go? I want papa to know."</p> + +<p>"Il vous tuera," said Madame Melmotte. "My God, yes."</p> + +<p>"Then he shall," said Marie, clinging to her lover. "I will never +marry Lord Nidderdale. If he were to cut me into bits I wouldn't do +it. Felix, you love me;—do you not?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said Sir Felix, slipping his arm round her waist.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," said Marie, "I will never have any other man but +him;—never, never, never. Oh, Felix, tell her that you love me."</p> + +<p>"You know that, don't you, ma'am?" Sir Felix was a little troubled in +his mind as to what he should say, or what he should do.</p> + +<p>"Oh, love! It is a beastliness," said Madame Melmotte. "Sir Felix, +you had better go. Yes, indeed. Will you be so obliging?"</p> + +<p>"Don't go," said Marie. "No, mamma, he shan't go. What has he to be +afraid of? I will walk down among them into papa's room, and say that +I will never marry that man, and that this is my lover. Felix, will +you come?"</p> + +<p>Sir Felix did not quite like the proposition. There had been a savage +ferocity in that Marquis's eye, and there was habitually a heavy +sternness about Melmotte, which together made him resist the +invitation. "I don't think I have a right to do that," he said, +"because it is Mr. Melmotte's own house."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't mind," said Marie. "I told papa to-day that I wouldn't +marry Lord Nidderdale."</p> + +<p>"Was he angry with you?"</p> + +<p>"He laughed at me. He manages people till he thinks that everybody +must do exactly what he tells them. He may kill me, but I will not do +it. I have quite made up my mind. Felix, if you will be true to me, +nothing shall separate us. I will not be ashamed to tell everybody +that I love you."</p> + +<p>Madame Melmotte had now thrown herself into a chair and was sighing. +Sir Felix stood on the rug with his arm round Marie's waist, +listening to her protestations, but saying little in answer to +them,—when, suddenly, a heavy step was heard ascending the stairs. +"C'est lui," screamed Madame Melmotte, bustling up from her seat and +hurrying out of the room by a side door. The two lovers were alone +for one moment, during which Marie lifted up her face, and Sir Felix +kissed her lips. "Now be brave," she said, escaping from his arm, +"and I'll be brave." Mr. Melmotte looked round the room as he +entered. "Where are the others?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Mamma has gone away, and Miss Longestaffe went before mamma."</p> + +<p>"Sir Felix, it is well that I should tell you that my daughter is +engaged to marry Lord Nidderdale."</p> + +<p>"Sir Felix, I am not engaged—to—marry Lord Nidderdale," said Marie. +"It's no good, papa. I won't do it. If you chop me to pieces, I won't +do it."</p> + +<p>"She will marry Lord Nidderdale," continued Mr. Melmotte, addressing +himself to Sir Felix. "As that is arranged, you will perhaps think it +better to leave us. I shall be happy to renew my acquaintance with +you as soon as the fact is recognised;—or happy to see you in the +city at any time."</p> + +<p>"Papa, he is my lover," said Marie.</p> + +<p>"Pooh!"</p> + +<p>"It is not pooh. He is. I will never have any other. I hate Lord +Nidderdale; and as for that dreadful old man, I could not bear to +look at him. Sir Felix is as good a gentleman as he is. If you loved +me, papa, you would not want to make me unhappy all my life."</p> + +<p>Her father walked up to her rapidly with his hand raised, and she +clung only the closer to her lover's arm. At this moment Sir Felix +did not know what he might best do, but he thoroughly wished himself +out in the square. "Jade!" said Melmotte, "get to your room."</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill029"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill029.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill029-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"Get to your room."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"Get + to your room."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill029.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"Of course I will go to bed, if you tell me, papa."</p> + +<p>"I do tell you. How dare you take hold of him in that way before me! +Have you no idea of disgrace?"</p> + +<p>"I am not disgraced. It is not more disgraceful to love him than that +other man. Oh, papa, don't. You hurt me. I am going." He took her by +the arm and dragged her to the door, and then thrust her out.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, Mr. Melmotte," said Sir Felix, "to have had a hand +in causing this disturbance."</p> + +<p>"Go away, and don't come back any more;—that's all. You can't both +marry her. All you have got to understand is this. I'm not the man to +give my daughter a single shilling if she marries against my consent. +By the God that hears me, Sir Felix, she shall not have one shilling. +But look you,—if you'll give this up, I shall be proud to co-operate +with you in anything you may wish to have done in the city."</p> + +<p>After this Sir Felix left the room, went down the stairs, had the +door opened for him, and was ushered into the square. But as he went +through the hall a woman managed to shove a note into his +hand,—which he read as soon as he found himself under a gas lamp. It +was dated that morning, and had therefore no reference to the fray +which had just taken place. It ran as +<span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>I hope you will come to-night. There is something I cannot +tell you then, but you ought to know it. When we were in +France papa thought it wise to settle a lot of money on +me. I don't know how much, but I suppose it was enough to +live on if other things went wrong. He never talked to me +about it, but I know it was done. And it hasn't been +undone, and can't be without my leave. He is very angry +about you this morning, for I told him I would never give +you up. He says he won't give me anything if I marry +without his leave. But I am sure he cannot take it away. I +tell you, because I think I ought to tell you everything.</p> + +<p class="ind16">M.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Sir Felix as he read this could not but think that he had become +engaged to a very enterprising young lady. It was evident that she +did not care to what extent she braved her father on behalf of her +lover, and now she coolly proposed to rob him. But Sir Felix saw no +reason why he should not take advantage of the money made over to the +girl's name, if he could lay his hands on it. He did not know much of +such transactions, but he knew more than Marie Melmotte, and could +understand that a man in Melmotte's position should want to secure a +portion of his fortune against accidents, by settling it on his +daughter. Whether having so settled it, he could again resume it +without the daughter's assent, Sir Felix did not know. Marie, who had +no doubt been regarded as an absolutely passive instrument when the +thing was done, was now quite alive to the benefit which she might +possibly derive from it. Her proposition, put into plain English, +amounted to this: "Take me and marry me without my father's +consent,—and then you and I together can rob my father of the money +which, for his own purposes, he has settled upon me." He had looked +upon the lady of his choice as a poor weak thing, without any special +character of her own, who was made worthy of consideration only by +the fact that she was a rich man's daughter; but now she began to +loom before his eyes as something bigger than that. She had had a +will of her own when the mother had none. She had not been afraid of +her brutal father when he, Sir Felix, had trembled before him. She +had offered to be beaten, and killed, and chopped to pieces on behalf +of her lover. There could be no doubt about her running away if she +were asked.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that within the last month he had gained a great +deal of experience, and that things which heretofore had been +troublesome to him, or difficult, or perhaps impossible, were now +coming easily within his reach. He had won two or three thousand +pounds at cards, whereas invariable loss had been the result of the +small play in which he had before indulged. He had been set to marry +this heiress, having at first no great liking for the attempt, +because of its difficulties and the small amount of hope which it +offered him. The girl was already willing and anxious to jump into +his arms. Then he had detected a man cheating at cards,—an extent of +iniquity that was awful to him before he had seen it,—and was +already beginning to think that there was not very much in that. If +there was not much in it, if such a man as Miles Grendall could cheat +at cards and be brought to no punishment, why should not he try it? +It was a rapid way of winning, no doubt. He remembered that on one or +two occasions he had asked his adversary to cut the cards a second +time at whist, because he had observed that there was no honour at +the bottom. No feeling of honesty had interfered with him. The little +trick had hardly been premeditated, but when successful without +detection had not troubled his conscience. Now it seemed to him that +much more than that might be done without detection. But nothing had +opened his eyes to the ways of the world so widely as the sweet +little lover-like proposition made by Miss Melmotte for robbing her +father. It certainly recommended the girl to him. She had been able +at an early age, amidst the circumstances of a very secluded life, to +throw off from her altogether those scruples of honesty, those +bugbears of the world, which are apt to prevent great enterprises in +the minds of men.</p> + +<p>What should he do next? This sum of money of which Marie wrote so +easily was probably large. It would not have been worth the while of +such a man as Mr. Melmotte to make a trifling provision of this +nature. It could hardly be less than £50,000,—might probably be very +much more. But this was certain to him,—that if he and Marie were to +claim this money as man and wife, there could then be no hope of +further liberality. It was not probable that such a man as Mr. +Melmotte would forgive even an only child such an offence as that. +Even if it were obtained, £50,000 would not be very much. And +Melmotte might probably have means, even if the robbery were duly +perpetrated, of making the possession of the money very +uncomfortable. These were deep waters into which Sir Felix was +preparing to plunge; and he did not feel himself to be altogether +comfortable, although he liked the deep waters.</p> + + +<p><a id="c30"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXX.</h3> +<h4>MR. MELMOTTE'S PROMISE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>On the following Saturday there appeared in Mr. Alf's paper, the +"Evening Pulpit," a very remarkable article on the South Central +Pacific and Mexican Railway. It was an article that attracted a great +deal of attention and was therefore remarkable, but it was in nothing +more remarkable than in this,—that it left on the mind of its reader +no impression of any decided opinion about the railway. The Editor +would at any future time be able to refer to his article with equal +pride whether the railway should become a great cosmopolitan fact, or +whether it should collapse amidst the foul struggles of a horde of +swindlers. In utrumque paratus, the article was mysterious, +suggestive, amusing, well-informed,—that in the "Evening Pulpit" was +a matter of course,—and, above all things, ironical. Next to its +omniscience its irony was the strongest weapon belonging to the +"Evening Pulpit." There was a little praise given, no doubt in irony, +to the duchesses who served Mr. Melmotte. There was a little praise, +given of course in irony, to Mr. Melmotte's Board of English +Directors. There was a good deal of praise, but still alloyed by a +dash of irony, bestowed on the idea of civilising Mexico by joining +it to California. Praise was bestowed upon England for taking up the +matter, but accompanied by some ironical touches at her incapacity to +believe thoroughly in any enterprise not originated by herself. Then +there was something said of the universality of Mr. Melmotte's +commercial genius, but whether said in a spirit prophetic of ultimate +failure and disgrace, or of heavenborn success and unequalled +commercial splendour, no one could tell.</p> + +<p>It was generally said at the clubs that Mr. Alf had written this +article himself. Old Splinter, who was one of a body of men +possessing an excellent cellar of wine and calling themselves Paides +Pallados, and who had written for the heavy quarterlies any time this +last forty years, professed that he saw through the article. The +"Evening Pulpit" had been, he explained, desirous of going as far as +it could in denouncing Mr. Melmotte without incurring the danger of +an action for libel. Mr. Splinter thought that the thing was clever +but mean. These new publications generally were mean. Mr. Splinter +was constant in that opinion; but, putting the meanness aside, he +thought that the article was well done. According to his view it was +intended to expose Mr. Melmotte and the railway. But the Paides +Pallados generally did not agree with him. Under such an +interpretation, what had been the meaning of that paragraph in which +the writer had declared that the work of joining one ocean to another +was worthy of the nearest approach to divinity that had been granted +to men? Old Splinter chuckled and gabbled as he heard this, and +declared that there was not wit enough left now even among the Paides +Pallados to understand a shaft of irony. There could be no doubt, +however, at the time, that the world did not go with old Splinter, +and that the article served to enhance the value of shares in the +great railway enterprise.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury was sure that the article was intended to write up the +railway, and took great joy in it. She entertained in her brain a +somewhat confused notion that if she could only bestir herself in the +right direction and could induce her son to open his eyes to his own +advantage, very great things might be achieved, so that wealth might +become his handmaid and luxury the habit and the right of his life. +He was the beloved and the accepted suitor of Marie Melmotte. He was +a Director of this great company, sitting at the same board with the +great commercial hero. He was the handsomest young man in London. And +he was a baronet. Very wild ideas occurred to her. Should she take +Mr. Alf into her entire confidence? If Melmotte and Alf could be +brought together what might they not do? Alf could write up Melmotte, +and Melmotte could shower shares upon Alf. And if Melmotte would come +and be smiled upon by herself, be flattered as she thought that she +could flatter him, be told that he was a god, and have that passage +about the divinity of joining ocean to ocean construed to him as she +could construe it, would not the great man become plastic under her +hands? And if, while this was a-doing, Felix would run away with +Marie, could not forgiveness be made easy? And her creative mind +ranged still farther. Mr. Broune might help, and even Mr. Booker. To +such a one as Melmotte, a man doing great things through the force of +the confidence placed in him by the world at large, the freely-spoken +support of the Press would be everything. Who would not buy shares in +a railway as to which Mr. Broune and Mr. Alf would combine in saying +that it was managed by "divinity"? Her thoughts were rather hazy, but +from day to day she worked hard to make them clear to herself.</p> + +<p>On the Sunday afternoon Mr. Booker called on her and talked to her +about the article. She did not say much to Mr. Booker as to her own +connection with Mr. Melmotte, telling herself that prudence was +essential in the present emergency. But she listened with all her +ears. It was Mr. Booker's idea that the man was going "to make a +spoon or spoil a horn." "You think him honest;—don't you?" asked +Lady Carbury. Mr. Booker smiled and hesitated. "Of course, I mean +honest as men can be in such very large transactions."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps that is the best way of putting it," said Mr. Booker.</p> + +<p>"If a thing can be made great and beneficent, a boon to humanity, +simply by creating a belief in it, does not a man become a benefactor +to his race by creating that belief?"</p> + +<p>"At the expense of veracity?" suggested Mr. Booker.</p> + +<p>"At the expense of anything?" rejoined Lady Carbury with energy. "One +cannot measure such men by the ordinary rule."</p> + +<p>"You would do evil to produce good?" asked Mr. Booker.</p> + +<p>"I do not call it doing evil. You have to destroy a thousand living +creatures every time you drink a glass of water, but you do not think +of that when you are athirst. You cannot send a ship to sea without +endangering lives. You do send ships to sea though men perish yearly. +You tell me this man may perhaps ruin hundreds, but then again he may +create a new world in which millions will be rich and happy."</p> + +<p>"You are an excellent casuist, Lady Carbury."</p> + +<p>"I am an enthusiastic lover of beneficent audacity," said Lady +Carbury, picking her words slowly, and showing herself to be quite +satisfied with herself as she picked them. "Did I hold your place, +Mr. Booker, in the literature of my +<span class="nowrap">country,—"</span></p> + +<p>"I hold no place, Lady Carbury."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—and a very distinguished place. Were I circumstanced as you +are I should have no hesitation in lending the whole weight of my +periodical, let it be what it might, to the assistance of so great a +man and so great an object as this."</p> + +<p>"I should be dismissed to-morrow," said Mr. Booker, getting up and +laughing as he took his departure. Lady Carbury felt that, as +regarded Mr. Booker, she had only thrown out a chance word that could +not do any harm. She had not expected to effect much through Mr. +Booker's instrumentality. On the Tuesday evening,—her regular +Tuesday as she called it,—all her three editors came to her +drawing-room; but there came also a greater man than either of them. +She had taken the bull by the horns, and without saying anything to +anybody had written to Mr. Melmotte himself, asking him to honour her +poor house with his presence. She had written a very pretty note to +him, reminding him of their meeting at Caversham, telling him that on +a former occasion Madame Melmotte and his daughter had been so kind +as to come to her, and giving him to understand that of all the +potentates now on earth he was the one to whom she could bow the knee +with the purest satisfaction. He wrote back,—or Miles Grendall did +for him,—a very plain note, accepting the honour of Lady Carbury's +invitation.</p> + +<p>The great man came, and Lady Carbury took him under her immediate +wing with a grace that was all her own. She said a word about their +dear friends at Caversham, expressed her sorrow that her son's +engagements did not admit of his being there, and then with the +utmost audacity rushed off to the article in the "Pulpit." Her +friend, Mr. Alf, the editor, had thoroughly appreciated the greatness +of Mr. Melmotte's character, and the magnificence of Mr. Melmotte's +undertakings. Mr. Melmotte bowed and muttered something that was +inaudible. "Now I must introduce you to Mr. Alf," said the lady. The +introduction was effected, and Mr. Alf explained that it was hardly +necessary, as he had already been entertained as one of Mr. +Melmotte's guests.</p> + +<p>"There were a great many there I never saw, and probably never shall +see," said Mr. Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"I was one of the unfortunates," said Mr. Alf.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry you were unfortunate. If you had come into the whist-room +you would have found me."</p> + +<p>"Ah,—if I had but known!" said Mr. Alf. The editor, as was proper, +carried about with him samples of the irony which his paper used so +effectively, but it was altogether thrown away upon Melmotte.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury finding that no immediate good results could be expected +from this last introduction, tried another. "Mr. Melmotte," she said, +whispering to him, "I do so want to make you known to Mr. Broune. Mr. +Broune I know you have never met before. A morning paper is a much +heavier burden to an editor than one published in the afternoon. Mr. +Broune, as of course you know, manages the 'Breakfast Table.' There +is hardly a more influential man in London than Mr. Broune. And they +declare, you know," she said, lowering the tone of her whisper as she +communicated the fact, "that his commercial articles are +gospel,—absolutely gospel." Then the two men were named to each +other, and Lady Carbury retreated;—but not out of hearing.</p> + +<p>"Getting very hot," said Mr. Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"Very hot indeed," said Mr. Broune.</p> + +<p>"It was over 70 in the city to-day. I call that very hot for June."</p> + +<p>"Very hot indeed," said Mr. Broune again. Then the conversation was +over. Mr. Broune sidled away, and Mr. Melmotte was left standing in +the middle of the room. Lady Carbury told herself at the moment that +Rome was not built in a day. She would have been better satisfied +certainly if she could have laid a few more bricks on this day. +Perseverance, however, was the thing wanted.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Melmotte himself had a word to say, and before he left the +house he said it. "It was very good of you to ask me, Lady +Carbury;—very good." Lady Carbury intimated her opinion that the +goodness was all on the other side. "And I came," continued Mr. +Melmotte, "because I had something particular to say. Otherwise I +don't go out much to evening parties. Your son has proposed to my +daughter." Lady Carbury looked up into his face with all her +eyes;—clasped both her hands together; and then, having unclasped +them, put one upon his sleeve. "My daughter, ma'am, is engaged to +another man."</p> + +<p>"You would not enslave her affections, Mr. Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"I won't give her a shilling if she marries any one else; that's all. +You reminded me down at Caversham that your son is a Director at our +Board."</p> + +<p>"I did;—I did."</p> + +<p>"I have a great respect for your son, ma'am. I don't want to hurt him +in any way. If he'll signify to my daughter that he withdraws from +this offer of his, because I'm against it, I'll see that he does +uncommon well in the city. I'll be the making of him. Good night, +ma'am." Then Mr. Melmotte took his departure without another word.</p> + +<p>Here at any rate was an undertaking on the part of the great man that +he would be the "making of Felix," if Felix would only obey +him—accompanied, or rather preceded, by a most positive assurance +that if Felix were to succeed in marrying his daughter he would not +give his son-in-law a shilling! There was very much to be considered +in this. She did not doubt that Felix might be "made" by Mr. +Melmotte's city influences, but then any perpetuity of such making +must depend on qualifications in her son which she feared that he did +not possess. The wife without the money would be terrible! That would +be absolute ruin! There could be no escape then; no hope. There was +an appreciation of real tragedy in her heart while she contemplated +the position of Sir Felix married to such a girl as she supposed +Marie Melmotte to be, without any means of support for either of them +but what she could supply. It would kill her. And for those young +people there would be nothing before them, but beggary and the +workhouse. As she thought of this she trembled with true maternal +instincts. Her beautiful boy,—so glorious with his outward gifts, so +fit, as she thought him, for all the graces of the grand world! +Though the ambition was vilely ignoble, the mother's love was noble +and disinterested.</p> + +<p>But the girl was an only child. The future honours of the house of +Melmotte could be made to settle on no other head. No doubt the +father would prefer a lord for a son-in-law; and, having that +preference, would of course do as he was now doing. That he should +threaten to disinherit his daughter if she married contrary to his +wishes was to be expected. But would it not be equally a matter of +course that he should make the best of the marriage if it were once +effected? His daughter would return to him with a title, though with +one of a lower degree than his ambition desired. To herself +personally, Lady Carbury felt that the great financier had been very +rude. He had taken advantage of her invitation that he might come to +her house and threaten her. But she would forgive that. She could +pass that over altogether if only anything were to be gained by +passing it over.</p> + +<p>She looked round the room, longing for a friend, whom she might +consult with a true feeling of genuine womanly dependence. Her most +natural friend was Roger Carbury. But even had he been there she +could not have consulted him on any matter touching the Melmottes. +His advice would have been very clear. He would have told her to have +nothing at all to do with such adventurers. But then dear Roger was +old fashioned, and knew nothing of people as they are now. He lived +in a world which, though slow, had been good in its way; but which, +whether bad or good, had now passed away. Then her eye settled on Mr. +Broune. She was afraid of Mr. Alf. She had almost begun to think that +Mr. Alf was too difficult of management to be of use to her. But Mr. +Broune was softer. Mr. Booker was serviceable for an article, but +would not be sympathetic as a friend. Mr. Broune had been very +courteous to her lately;—so much so that on one occasion she had +almost feared that the "susceptible old goose" was going to be a +goose again. That would be a bore; but still she might make use of +the friendly condition of mind which such susceptibility would +produce. When her guests began to leave her, she spoke a word aside +to him. She wanted his advice. Would he stay for a few minutes after +the rest of the company? He did stay, and when all the others were +gone she asked her daughter to leave them. "Hetta," she said, "I have +something of business to communicate to Mr. Broune." And so they were +left alone.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you didn't make much of Mr. Melmotte," she said smiling. +He had seated himself on the end of a sofa, close to the arm-chair +which she occupied. In reply, he only shook his head and laughed. "I +saw how it was, and I was sorry for it; for he certainly is a +wonderful man."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he is, but he is one of those men whose powers do not lie, +I should say, chiefly in conversation. Though, indeed, there is no +reason why he should not say the same of me;—for if he said little, +I said less."</p> + +<p>"It didn't just come off," Lady Carbury suggested with her sweetest +smile. "But now I want to tell you something. I think I am justified +in regarding you as a real friend."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," he said, putting out his hand for hers.</p> + +<p>She gave it to him for a moment, and then took it back +again,—finding that he did not relinquish it of his own accord. +"Stupid old goose!" she said to herself. "And now to my story. You +know my boy, Felix?" The editor nodded his head. "He is engaged to +marry that man's daughter."</p> + +<p>"Engaged to marry Miss Melmotte?" Then Lady Carbury nodded her head. +"Why, she is said to be the greatest heiress that the world has ever +produced. I thought she was to marry Lord Nidderdale."</p> + +<p>"She has engaged herself to Felix. She is desperately in love with +him,—as is he with her." She tried to tell her story truly, knowing +that no advice can be worth anything that is not based on a true +story;—but lying had become her nature. "Melmotte naturally wants +her to marry the lord. He came here to tell me that if his daughter +married Felix she should not have a penny."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that he volunteered that,—as a threat?"</p> + +<p>"Just so;—and he told me that he had come here simply with the +object of saying so. It was more candid than civil, but we must take +it as we get it."</p> + +<p>"He would be sure to make some such threat."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. That is just what I feel. And in these days young people +are not often kept from marrying simply by a father's fantasy. But I +must tell you something else. He told me that if Felix would desist, +he would enable him to make a fortune in the city."</p> + +<p>"That's bosh," said Broune with decision.</p> + +<p>"Do you think it must be so;—certainly?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do. Such an undertaking, if intended by Melmotte, would give +me a worse opinion of him than I have ever held."</p> + +<p>"He did make it."</p> + +<p>"Then he did very wrong. He must have spoken with the purpose of +deceiving."</p> + +<p>"You know my son is one of the Directors of that great American +Railway. It was not just as though the promise were made to a young +man who was altogether unconnected with him."</p> + +<p>"Sir Felix's name was put there, in a hurry, merely because he has a +title, and because Melmotte thought he, as a young man, would not be +likely to interfere with him. It may be that he will be able to sell +a few shares at a profit; but, if I understand the matter rightly, he +has no capital to go into such a business."</p> + +<p>"No;—he has no capital."</p> + +<p>"Dear Lady Carbury, I would place no dependence at all on such a +promise as that."</p> + +<p>"You think he should marry the girl then in spite of the father?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Broune hesitated before he replied to this question. But it was +to this question that Lady Carbury especially wished for a reply. She +wanted some one to support her under the circumstances of an +elopement. She rose from her chair, and he rose at the same time. +"Perhaps I should have begun by saying that Felix is all but prepared +to take her off. She is quite ready to go. She is devoted to him. Do +you think he would be wrong?"</p> + +<p>"That is a question very hard to answer."</p> + +<p>"People do it every day. Lionel Goldsheiner ran away the other day +with Lady Julia Start, and everybody visits them."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, people do run away, and it all comes right. It was the +gentleman had the money then, and it is said you know that old Lady +Catchboy, Lady Julia's mother, had arranged the elopement herself as +offering the safest way of securing the rich prize. The young lord +didn't like it, so the mother had it done in that fashion."</p> + +<p>"There would be nothing disgraceful."</p> + +<p>"I didn't say there would;—but nevertheless it is one of those +things a man hardly ventures to advise. If you ask me whether I think +that Melmotte would forgive her, and make her an allowance +afterwards,—I think he would."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad to hear you say that."</p> + +<p>"And I feel quite certain that no dependence whatever should be +placed on that promise of assistance."</p> + +<p>"I quite agree with you. I am so much obliged to you," said Lady +Carbury, who was now determined that Felix should run off with the +girl. "You have been so very kind." Then again she gave him her hand, +as though to bid him farewell for the night.</p> + +<p>"And now," he said, "I also have something to say to you."</p> + + +<p><a id="c31"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXI.</h3> +<h4>MR. BROUNE HAS MADE UP HIS MIND.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>"And now I have something to say to you." Mr. Broune as he thus spoke +to Lady Carbury rose up to his feet and then sat down again. There +was an air of perturbation about him which was very manifest to the +lady, and the cause and coming result of which she thought that she +understood. "The susceptible old goose is going to do something +highly ridiculous and very disagreeable." It was thus that she spoke +to herself of the scene that she saw was prepared for her, but she +did not foresee accurately the shape in which the susceptibility of +the "old goose" would declare itself. "Lady Carbury," said Mr. +Broune, standing up a second time, "we are neither of us so young as +we used to be."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed;—and therefore it is that we can afford to ourselves the +luxury of being friends. Nothing but age enables men and women to +know each other intimately."</p> + +<p>This speech was a great impediment to Mr. Broune's progress. It was +evidently intended to imply that he at least had reached a time of +life at which any allusion to love would be absurd. And yet, as a +fact, he was nearer fifty than sixty, was young of his age, could +walk his four or five miles pleasantly, could ride his cob in the +park with as free an air as any man of forty, and could afterwards +work through four or five hours of the night with an easy steadiness +which nothing but sound health could produce. Mr. Broune, thinking of +himself and his own circumstances, could see no reason why he should +not be in love. "I hope we know each other intimately at any rate," +he said somewhat lamely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes;—and it is for that reason that I have come to you for +advice. Had I been a young woman I should not have dared to ask you."</p> + +<p>"I don't see that. I don't quite understand that. But it has nothing +to do with my present purpose. When I said that we were neither of us +so young as we once were, I uttered what was a stupid platitude,—a +foolish truism."</p> + +<p>"I did not think so," said Lady Carbury smiling.</p> + +<p>"Or would have been, only that I intended something further." Mr. +Broune had got himself into a difficulty and hardly knew how to get +out of it. "I was going on to say that I hoped we were not too old +to—love."</p> + +<p>Foolish old darling! What did he mean by making such an ass of +himself? This was worse even than the kiss, as being more troublesome +and less easily pushed on one side and forgotten. It may serve to +explain the condition of Lady Carbury's mind at the time if it be +stated that she did not even at this moment suppose that the editor +of the "Morning Breakfast Table" intended to make her an offer of +marriage. She knew, or thought she knew, that middle-aged men are +fond of prating about love, and getting up sensational scenes. The +falseness of the thing, and the injury which may come of it, did not +shock her at all. Had she known that the editor professed to be in +love with some lady in the next street, she would have been quite +ready to enlist the lady in the next street among her friends that +she might thus strengthen her own influence with Mr. Broune. For +herself such make-belief of an improper passion would be +inconvenient, and therefore to be avoided. But that any man, placed +as Mr. Broune was in the world,—blessed with power, with a large +income, with influence throughout all the world around him, courted, +fêted, feared and almost worshipped,—that he should desire to share +her fortunes, her misfortunes, her struggles, her poverty and her +obscurity, was not within the scope of her imagination. There was a +homage in it, of which she did not believe any man to be +capable,—and which to her would be the more wonderful as being paid +to herself. She thought so badly of men and women generally, and of +Mr. Broune and herself as a man and a woman individually, that she +was unable to conceive the possibility of such a sacrifice. "Mr. +Broune," she said, "I did not think that you would take advantage of +the confidence I have placed in you to annoy me in this way."</p> + +<p>"To annoy you, Lady Carbury! The phrase at any rate is singular. +After much thought I have determined to ask you to be my wife. That I +should be—annoyed, and more than annoyed by your refusal, is a +matter of course. That I ought to expect such annoyance is perhaps +too true. But you can extricate yourself from the dilemma only too +easily."</p> + +<p>The word "wife" came upon her like a thunder-clap. It at once changed +all her feelings towards him. She did not dream of loving him. She +felt sure that she never could love him. Had it been on the cards +with her to love any man as a lover, it would have been some handsome +spendthrift who would have hung from her neck like a nether +millstone. This man was a friend to be used,—to be used because he +knew the world. And now he gave her this clear testimony that he knew +as little of the world as any other man. Mr. Broune of the "Daily +Breakfast Table" asking her to be his wife! But mixed with her other +feelings there was a tenderness which brought back some memory of her +distant youth, and almost made her weep. That a man,—such a +man,—should offer to take half her burdens, and to confer upon her +half his blessings! What an idiot! But what a God! She had looked +upon the man as all intellect, alloyed perhaps by some passionless +remnants of the vices of his youth; and now she found that he not +only had a human heart in his bosom, but a heart that she could +touch. How wonderfully sweet! How infinitely small!</p> + +<p>It was necessary that she should answer him—and to her it was only +natural that she should at first think what answer would best assist +her own views without reference to his. It did not occur to her that +she could love him; but it did occur to her that he might lift her +out of her difficulties. What a benefit it would be to her to have a +father, and such a father, for Felix! How easy would be a literary +career to the wife of the editor of the "Morning Breakfast Table!" +And then it passed through her mind that somebody had told her that +the man was paid £3,000 a year for his work. Would not the world, or +any part of it that was desirable, come to her drawing-room if she +were the wife of Mr. Broune? It all passed through her brain at once +during that minute of silence which she allowed herself after the +declaration was made to her. But other ideas and other feelings were +present to her also. Perhaps the truest aspiration of her heart had +been the love of freedom which the tyranny of her late husband had +engendered. Once she had fled from that tyranny and had been almost +crushed by the censure to which she had been subjected. Then her +husband's protection and his tyranny had been restored to her. After +that the freedom had come. It had been accompanied by many hopes +never as yet fulfilled, and embittered by many sorrows which had been +always present to her; but still the hopes were alive and the +remembrance of the tyranny was very clear to her. At last the minute +was over and she was bound to speak. "Mr. Broune," she said, "you +have quite taken away my breath. I never expected anything of this +kind."</p> + +<p>And now Mr. Broune's mouth was opened, and his voice was free. "Lady +Carbury," he said, "I have lived a long time without marrying, and I +have sometimes thought that it would be better for me to go on in the +same way to the end. I have worked so hard all my life that when I +was young I had no time to think of love. And, as I have gone on, my +mind has been so fully employed, that I have hardly realised the want +which nevertheless I have felt. And so it has been with me till I +fancied, not that I was too old for love, but that others would think +me so. Then I met you. As I said at first, perhaps with scant +gallantry, you also are not as young as you once were. But you keep +the beauty of your youth, and the energy, and something of the +freshness of a young heart. And I have come to love you. I speak with +absolute frankness, risking your anger. I have doubted much before I +resolved upon this. It is so hard to know the nature of another +person. But I think I understand yours;—and if you can confide your +happiness with me, I am prepared to intrust mine to your keeping." +Poor Mr. Broune! Though endowed with gifts peculiarly adapted for the +editing of a daily newspaper, he could have had but little capacity +for reading a woman's character when he talked of the freshness of +Lady Carbury's young mind! And he must have surely been much blinded +by love, before convincing himself that he could trust his happiness +to such keeping.</p> + +<p>"You do me infinite honour. You pay me a great compliment," +ejaculated Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"How am I to answer you at a moment? I expected nothing of this. As +God is to be my judge it has come upon me like a dream. I look upon +your position as almost the highest in England,—on your prosperity +as the uttermost that can be achieved."</p> + +<p>"That prosperity, such as it is, I desire most anxiously to share +with you."</p> + +<p>"You tell me so;—but I can hardly yet believe it. And then how am I +to know my own feelings so suddenly? Marriage as I have found it, Mr. +Broune, has not been happy. I have suffered much. I have been wounded +in every joint, hurt in every nerve,—tortured till I could hardly +endure my punishment. At last I got my liberty, and to that I have +looked for happiness."</p> + +<p>"Has it made you happy?"</p> + +<p>"It has made me less wretched. And there is so much to be considered! +I have a son and a daughter, Mr. Broune."</p> + +<p>"Your daughter I can love as my own. I think I prove my devotion to +you when I say that I am willing for your sake to encounter the +troubles which may attend your son's future career."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Broune, I love him better,—always shall love him better,—than +anything in the world." This was calculated to damp the lover's +ardour, but he probably reflected that should he now be successful, +time might probably change the feeling which had just been expressed. +"Mr. Broune," she said, "I am now so agitated that you had better +leave me. And it is very late. The servant is sitting up, and will +wonder that you should remain. It is near two o'clock."</p> + +<p>"When may I hope for an answer?"</p> + +<p>"You shall not be kept waiting. I will write to you, almost at once. +I will write to you,—to-morrow; say the day after to-morrow, on +Thursday. I feel that I ought to have been prepared with an answer; +but I am so surprised that I have none ready." He took her hand in +his, and kissing it, left her without another word.</p> + +<p>As he was about to open the front door to let himself out, a key from +the other side raised the latch, and Sir Felix, returning from his +club, entered his mother's house. The young man looked up into Mr. +Broune's face with mingled impudence and surprise. "Halloo, old +fellow," he said, "you've been keeping it up late here; haven't you?" +He was nearly drunk, and Mr. Broune, perceiving his condition, passed +him without a word. Lady Carbury was still standing in the +drawing-room, struck with amazement at the scene which had just +passed, full of doubt as to her future conduct, when she heard her +son stumbling up the stairs. It was impossible for her not to go out +to him. "Felix," she said, "why do you make so much noise as you come +in?"</p> + +<p>"Noish! I'm not making any noish. I think I'm very early. Your +people's only just gone. I shaw shat editor fellow at the door that +won't call himself Brown. He'sh great ass'h, that fellow. All right, +mother. Oh, ye'sh I'm all right." And so he stumbled up to bed, and +his mother followed him to see that the candle was at any rate placed +squarely on the table, beyond the reach of the bed curtains.</p> + +<p>Mr. Broune as he walked to his newspaper office experienced all those +pangs of doubts which a man feels when he has just done that which +for days and weeks past he has almost resolved that he had better +leave undone. That last apparition which he had encountered at his +lady love's door certainly had not tended to reassure him. What curse +can be much greater than that inflicted by a drunken, reprobate son? +The evil, when in the course of things it comes upon a man, has to be +borne; but why should a man in middle life unnecessarily afflict +himself with so terrible a misfortune? The woman, too, was devoted to +the cub! Then thousands of other thoughts crowded upon him. How would +this new life suit him? He must have a new house, and new ways; must +live under a new dominion, and fit himself to new pleasures. And what +was he to gain by it? Lady Carbury was a handsome woman, and he liked +her beauty. He regarded her too as a clever woman; and, because she +had flattered him, he had liked her conversation. He had been long +enough about town to have known better,—and as he now walked along +the streets, he almost felt that he ought to have known better. Every +now and again he warmed himself a little with the remembrance of her +beauty, and told himself that his new home would be pleasanter, +though it might perhaps be less free, than the old one. He tried to +make the best of it; but as he did so was always repressed by the +memory of the appearance of that drunken young baronet.</p> + +<p>Whether for good or for evil, the step had been taken and the thing +was done. It did not occur to him that the lady would refuse him. All +his experience of the world was against such refusal. Towns which +consider, always render themselves. Ladies who doubt always solve +their doubts in the one direction. Of course she would accept +him;—and of course he would stand to his guns. As he went to his +work he endeavoured to bathe himself in self-complacency; but, at the +bottom of it, there was a substratum of melancholy which leavened his +prospects.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury went from the door of her son's room to her own chamber, +and there sat thinking through the greater part of the night. During +these hours she perhaps became a better woman, as being more +oblivious of herself, than she had been for many a year. It could not +be for the good of this man that he should marry her,—and she did in +the midst of her many troubles try to think of the man's condition. +Although in the moments of her triumph,—and such moments were +many,—she would buoy herself up with assurances that her Felix would +become a rich man, brilliant with wealth and rank, an honour to her, +a personage whose society would be desired by many, still in her +heart of hearts she knew how great was the peril, and in her +imagination she could foresee the nature of the catastrophe which +might come. He would go utterly to the dogs and would take her with +him. And whithersoever he might go, to what lowest canine regions he +might descend, she knew herself well enough to be sure that whether +married or single she would go with him. Though her reason might be +ever so strong in bidding her to desert him, her heart, she knew, +would be stronger than her reason. He was the one thing in the world +that overpowered her. In all other matters she could scheme, and +contrive, and pretend; could get the better of her feelings and fight +the world with a double face, laughing at illusions and telling +herself that passions and preferences were simply weapons to be used. +But her love for her son mastered her,—and she knew it. As it was +so, could it be fit that she should marry another man?</p> + +<p>And then her liberty! Even though Felix should bring her to utter +ruin, nevertheless she would be and might remain a free woman. Should +the worse come to the worst she thought that she could endure a +Bohemian life in which, should all her means have been taken from +her, she could live on what she earned. Though Felix was a tyrant +after a kind, he was not a tyrant who could bid her do this or that. +A repetition of marriage vows did not of itself recommend itself to +her. As to loving the man, liking his caresses, and being specially +happy because he was near her,—no romance of that kind ever +presented itself to her imagination. How would it affect Felix and +her together,—and Mr. Broune as connected with her and Felix? If +Felix should go to the dogs, then would Mr. Broune not want her. +Should Felix go to the stars instead of the dogs, and become one of +the gilded ornaments of the metropolis, then would not he and she +want Mr. Broune. It was thus that she regarded the matter.</p> + +<p>She thought very little of her daughter as she considered all this. +There was a home for Hetta, with every comfort, if Hetta would only +condescend to accept it. Why did not Hetta marry her cousin Roger +Carbury and let there be an end of that trouble? Of course Hetta must +live wherever her mother lived till she should marry; but Hetta's +life was so much at her own disposal that her mother did not feel +herself bound to be guided in the great matter by Hetta's +predispositions.</p> + +<p>But she must tell Hetta should she ultimately make up her mind to +marry the man, and in that case the sooner this was done the better. +On that night she did not make up her mind. Ever and again as she +declared to herself that she would not marry him, the picture of a +comfortable assured home over her head, and the conviction that the +editor of the "Morning Breakfast Table" would be powerful for all +things, brought new doubts to her mind. But she could not convince +herself, and when at last she went to her bed her mind was still +vacillating. The next morning she met Hetta at breakfast, and with +assumed nonchalance asked a question about the man who was perhaps +about to be her husband. "Do you like Mr. Broune, Hetta?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—pretty well. I don't care very much about him. What makes you +ask, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"Because among my acquaintances in London there is no one so truly +kind to me as he is."</p> + +<p>"He always seems to me to like to have his own way."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't he like it?"</p> + +<p>"He has to me that air of selfishness which is so very common with +people in London;—as though what he said were all said out of +surface politeness."</p> + +<p>"I wonder what you expect, Hetta, when you talk of—London people? +Why should not London people be as kind as other people? I think Mr. +Broune is as obliging a man as any one I know. But if I like anybody, +you always make little of him. The only person you seem to think well +of is Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, that is unfair and unkind. I never mention Mr. Montague's +name if I can help it,—and I should not have spoken of Mr. Broune, +had you not asked me."</p> + + +<p><a id="c32"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXII.</h3> +<h4>LADY MONOGRAM.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Georgiana Longestaffe had now been staying with the Melmottes for a +fortnight, and her prospects in regard to the London season had not +much improved. Her brother had troubled her no further, and her +family at Caversham had not, as far as she was aware, taken any +notice of Dolly's interference. Twice a week she received a cold, +dull letter from her mother,—such letters as she had been accustomed +to receive when away from home; and these she had answered, always +endeavouring to fill her sheet with some customary description of +fashionable doings, with some bit of scandal such as she would have +repeated for her mother's amusement,—and her own delectation in the +telling of it,—had there been nothing painful in the nature of her +sojourn in London. Of the Melmottes she hardly spoke. She did not say +that she was taken to the houses in which it was her ambition to be +seen. She would have lied directly in saying so. But she did not +announce her own disappointment. She had chosen to come up to the +Melmottes in preference to remaining at Caversham, and she would not +declare her own failure. "I hope they are kind to you," Lady Pomona +always said. But Georgiana did not tell her mother whether the +Melmottes were kind or unkind.</p> + +<p>In truth, her "season" was a very unpleasant season. Her mode of +living was altogether different to anything she had already known. +The house in Bruton Street had never been very bright, but the +appendages of life there had been of a sort which was not known in +the gorgeous mansion in Grosvenor Square. It had been full of books +and little toys and those thousand trifling household gods which are +accumulated in years, and which in their accumulation suit themselves +to the taste of their owners. In Grosvenor Square there were no +Lares;—no toys, no books, nothing but gold and grandeur, pomatum, +powder and pride. The Longestaffe life had not been an easy, natural, +or intellectual life; but the Melmotte life was hardly endurable even +by a Longestaffe. She had, however, come prepared to suffer much, and +was endowed with considerable power of endurance in pursuit of her +own objects. Having willed to come, even to the Melmottes, in +preference to remaining at Caversham, she fortified herself to suffer +much. Could she have ridden in the park at mid-day in desirable +company, and found herself in proper houses at midnight, she would +have borne the rest, bad as it might have been. But it was not so. +She had her horse, but could with difficulty get any proper +companion. She had been in the habit of riding with one of the +Primero girls,—and old Primero would accompany them, or perhaps a +brother Primero, or occasionally her own father. And then, when once +out, she would be surrounded by a cloud of young men,—and though +there was but little in it, a walking round and round the same bit of +ground with the same companions and with the smallest attempt at +conversation, still it had been the proper thing and had satisfied +her. Now it was with difficulty that she could get any cavalier such +as the laws of society demand. Even Penelope Primero snubbed +her,—whom she, Georgiana Longestaffe, had hitherto endured and +snubbed. She was just allowed to join them when old Primero rode, and +was obliged even to ask for that assistance.</p> + +<p>But the nights were still worse. She could only go where Madame +Melmotte went, and Madame Melmotte was more prone to receive people +at home than to go out. And the people she did receive were +antipathetic to Miss Longestaffe. She did not even know who they +were, whence they came, or what was their nature. They seemed to be +as little akin to her as would have been the shopkeepers in the small +town near Caversham. She would sit through long evenings almost +speechless, trying to fathom the depth of the vulgarity of her +associates. Occasionally she was taken out, and was then, probably, +taken to very grand houses. The two duchesses and the Marchioness of +Auld Reekie received Madame Melmotte, and the garden parties of +royalty were open to her. And some of the most elaborate fêtes of the +season,—which indeed were very elaborate on behalf of this and that +travelling potentate,—were attained. On these occasions Miss +Longestaffe was fully aware of the struggle that was always made for +invitations, often unsuccessfully, but sometimes with triumph. Even +the bargains, conducted by the hands of Lord Alfred and his mighty +sister, were not altogether hidden from her. The Emperor of China was +to be in London and it was thought proper that some private person, +some untitled individual, should give the Emperor a dinner, so that +the Emperor might see how an English merchant lives. Mr. Melmotte was +chosen on condition that he would spend £10,000 on the banquet;—and, +as a part of his payment for this expenditure, was to be admitted +with his family, to a grand entertainment given to the Emperor at +Windsor Park. Of these good things Georgiana Longestaffe would +receive her share. But she went to them as a Melmotte and not as a +Longestaffe,—and when amidst these gaieties, though she could see +her old friends, she was not with them. She was ever behind Madame +Melmotte, till she hated the make of that lady's garments and the +shape of that lady's back.</p> + +<p>She had told both her father and mother very plainly that it behoved +her to be in London at this time of the year that she might—look for +a husband. She had not hesitated in declaring her purpose; and that +purpose, together with the means of carrying it out, had not appeared +to them to be unreasonable. She wanted to be settled in life. She had +meant, when she first started on her career, to have a lord;—but +lords are scarce. She was herself not very highly born, not very +highly gifted, not very lovely, not very pleasant, and she had no +fortune. She had long made up her mind that she could do without a +lord, but that she must get a commoner of the proper sort. He must be +a man with a place in the country and sufficient means to bring him +annually to London. He must be a gentleman,—and, probably, in +parliament. And above all things he must be in the right set. She +would rather go on for ever struggling than take some country +Whitstable as her sister was about to do. But now the men of the +right sort never came near her. The one object for which she had +subjected herself to all this ignominy seemed to have vanished +altogether in the distance. When by chance she danced or exchanged a +few words with the Nidderdales and Grassloughs whom she used to know, +they spoke to her with a want of respect which she felt and tasted +but could hardly analyse. Even Miles Grendall, who had hitherto been +below her notice, attempted to patronise her in a manner that +bewildered her. All this nearly broke her heart.</p> + +<p>And then from time to time little rumours reached her ears which made +her aware that, in the teeth of all Mr. Melmotte's social successes, +a general opinion that he was a gigantic swindler was rather gaining +ground than otherwise. "Your host is a wonderful fellow, by George!" +said Lord Nidderdale. "No one seems to know which way he'll turn up +at last." "There's nothing like being a robber, if you can only rob +enough," said Lord Grasslough,—not exactly naming Melmotte, but very +clearly alluding to him. There was a vacancy for a member of +parliament at Westminster, and Melmotte was about to come forward as +a candidate. "If he can manage that I think he'll pull through," she +heard one man say. "If money'll do it, it will be done," said +another. She could understand it all. Mr. Melmotte was admitted into +society, because of some enormous power which was supposed to lie in +his hands; but even by those who thus admitted him he was regarded as +a thief and a scoundrel. This was the man whose house had been +selected by her father in order that she might make her search for a +husband from beneath his wing!</p> + +<p>In her agony she wrote to her old friend Julia Triplex, now the wife +of Sir Damask Monogram. She had been really intimate with Julia +Triplex, and had been sympathetic when a brilliant marriage had been +achieved. Julia had been without fortune, but very pretty. Sir Damask +was a man of great wealth, whose father had been a contractor. But +Sir Damask himself was a sportsman, keeping many horses on which +other men often rode, a yacht in which other men sunned themselves, a +deer forest, a moor, a large machinery for making pheasants. He shot +pigeons at Hurlingham, drove four-in-hand in the park, had a box at +every race-course, and was the most good-natured fellow known. He had +really conquered the world, had got over the difficulty of being the +grandson of a butcher, and was now as good as though the Monograms +had gone to the crusades. Julia Triplex was equal to her position, +and made the very most of it. She dispensed champagne and smiles, and +made everybody, including herself, believe that she was in love with +her husband. Lady Monogram had climbed to the top of the tree, and in +that position had been, of course, invaluable to her old friend. We +must give her her due and say that she had been fairly true to +friendship while Georgiana—behaved herself. She thought that +Georgiana in going to the Melmottes had—not behaved herself, and +therefore she had determined to drop Georgiana. "Heartless, false, +purse-proud creature," Georgiana said to herself as she wrote the +following letter in humiliating agony.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Lady Monogram</span>,</p> + +<p>I think you hardly understand my position. Of course you +have cut me. Haven't you? And of course I must feel it +very much. You did not use to be ill-natured, and I hardly +think you can have become so now when you have everything +pleasant around you. I do not think that I have done +anything that should make an old friend treat me in this +way, and therefore I write to ask you to let me see you. +Of course it is because I am staying here. You know me +well enough to be sure that it can't be my own choice. +Papa arranged it all. If there is anything against these +people, I suppose papa does not know it. Of course they +are not nice. Of course they are not like anything that I +have been used to. But when papa told me that the house in +Bruton Street was to be shut up and that I was to come +here, of course I did as I was bid. I don't think an old +friend like you, whom I have always liked more than +anybody else, ought to cut me for it. It's not about the +parties, but about yourself that I mind. I don't ask you +to come here, but if you will see me I can have the +carriage and will go to you.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours, as ever,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Georgiana Longestaffe</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>It was a troublesome letter to get written. Lady Monogram was her +junior in age and had once been lower than herself in social +position. In the early days of their friendship she had sometimes +domineered over Julia Triplex, and had been entreated by Julia, in +reference to balls here and routes there. The great Monogram marriage +had been accomplished very suddenly, and had taken place,—exalting +Julia very high,—just as Georgiana was beginning to allow her +aspirations to descend. It was in that very season that she moved her +castle in the air from the Upper to the Lower House. And now she was +absolutely begging for notice, and praying that she might not be cut! +She sent her letter by post and on the following day received a +reply, which was left by a footman.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Georgiana</span>,</p> + +<p>Of course I shall be delighted to see you. I don't know +what you mean by cutting. I never cut anybody. We happen +to have got into different sets, but that is not my fault. +Sir Damask won't let me call on the Melmottes. I can't +help that. You wouldn't have me go where he tells me not. +I don't know anything about them myself, except that I did +go to their ball. But everybody knows that's different. I +shall be at home all to-morrow till three,—that is to-day +I mean, for I'm writing after coming home from Lady +Killarney's ball; but if you wish to see me alone you had +better come before lunch.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours affectionately,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">J. Monogram</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Georgiana condescended to borrow the carriage and reached her +friend's house a little after noon. The two ladies kissed each other +when they met—of course, and then Miss Longestaffe at once began. +"Julia, I did think that you would at any rate have asked me to your +second ball."</p> + +<p>"Of course you would have been asked if you had been up in Bruton +Street. You know that as well as I do. It would have been a matter of +course."</p> + +<p>"What difference does a house make?"</p> + +<p>"But the people in a house make a great deal of difference, my dear. +I don't want to quarrel with you, my dear; but I can't know the +Melmottes."</p> + +<p>"Who asks you?"</p> + +<p>"You are with them."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say that you can't ask anybody to your house without +asking everybody that lives with that person? It's done every day."</p> + +<p>"Somebody must have brought you."</p> + +<p>"I would have come with the Primeros, Julia."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't do it. I asked Damask and he wouldn't have it. When that +great affair was going on in February, we didn't know much about the +people. I was told that everybody was going and therefore I got Sir +Damask to let me go. He says now that he won't let me know them; and +after having been at their house I can't ask you out of it, without +asking them too."</p> + +<p>"I don't see it at all, Julia."</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry, my dear, but I can't go against my husband."</p> + +<p>"Everybody goes to their house," said Georgiana, pleading her cause +to the best of her ability. "The Duchess of Stevenage has dined in +Grosvenor Square since I have been there."</p> + +<p>"We all know what that means," replied Lady Monogram.</p> + +<p>"And people are giving their eyes to be asked to the dinner party +which he is to give to the Emperor in July;—and even to the +reception afterwards."</p> + +<p>"To hear you talk, Georgiana, one would think that you didn't +understand anything," said Lady Monogram. "People are going to see +the Emperor, not to see the Melmottes. I dare say we might have +gone,—only I suppose we shan't now because of this row."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by a row, Julia."</p> + +<p>"Well;—it is a row, and I hate rows. Going there when the Emperor of +China is there, or anything of that kind, is no more than going to +the play. Somebody chooses to get all London into his house, and all +London chooses to go. But it isn't understood that that means +acquaintance. I should meet Madame Melmotte in the park afterwards +and not think of bowing to her."</p> + +<p>"I should call that rude."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Then we differ. But really it does seem to me that you +ought to understand these things as well as anybody. I don't find any +fault with you for going to the Melmottes,—though I was very sorry +to hear it; but when you have done it, I don't think you should +complain of people because they won't have the Melmottes crammed down +their throats."</p> + +<p>"Nobody has wanted it," said Georgiana sobbing. At this moment the +door was opened, and Sir Damask came in. "I'm talking to your wife +about the Melmottes," she continued, determined to take the bull by +the horns. "I'm staying there, and—I think it—unkind that +Julia—hasn't been—to see me. That's all."</p> + +<p>"How'd you do, Miss Longestaffe? She doesn't know them." And Sir +Damask, folding his hands together, raising his eyebrows, and +standing on the rug, looked as though he had solved the whole +difficulty.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill032"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill032.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill032-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="Sir Damask solving the difficulty." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">Sir + Damask solving the difficulty.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill032.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"She knows me, Sir Damask."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes;—she knows you. That's a matter of course. We're delighted +to see you, Miss Longestaffe—I am, always. Wish we could have had +you at Ascot. <span class="nowrap">But—."</span> Then +he looked as though he had again explained +everything.</p> + +<p>"I've told her that you don't want me to go to the Melmottes," said +Lady Monogram.</p> + +<p>"Well, no;—not just to go there. Stay and have lunch, Miss +Longestaffe."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you."</p> + +<p>"Now you're here, you'd better," said Lady Monogram.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. I'm sorry that I have not been able to make you +understand me. I could not allow our very long friendship to be +dropped without a word."</p> + +<p>"Don't say—dropped," exclaimed the baronet.</p> + +<p>"I do say dropped, Sir Damask. I thought we should have understood +each other;—your wife and I. But we haven't. Wherever she might have +gone, I should have made it my business to see her; but she feels +differently. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, my dear. If you will quarrel, it isn't my doing." Then Sir +Damask led Miss Longestaffe out, and put her into Madame Melmotte's +carriage. "It's the most absurd thing I ever knew in my life," said +the wife as soon as her husband had returned to her. "She hasn't been +able to bear to remain down in the country for one season, when all +the world knows that her father can't afford to have a house for them +in town. Then she condescends to come and stay with these +abominations and pretends to feel surprised that her old friends +don't run after her. She is old enough to have known better."</p> + +<p>"I suppose she likes parties," said Sir Damask.</p> + +<p>"Likes parties! She'd like to get somebody to take her. It's twelve +years now since Georgiana Longestaffe came out. I remember being told +of the time when I was first entered myself. Yes, my dear, you know +all about it, I dare say. And there she is still. I can feel for her, +and do feel for her. But if she will let herself down in that way she +can't expect not to be dropped. You remember the woman;—don't you?"</p> + +<p>"What woman?"</p> + +<p>"Madame Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"Never saw her in my life."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, you did. You took me there that night when +Prince <span class="nowrap">——</span> +danced with the girl. Don't you remember the blowsy fat woman at the +top of the stairs;—a regular horror?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't look at her. I was only thinking what a lot of money it all +cost."</p> + +<p>"I remember her, and if Georgiana Longestaffe thinks I'm going there +to make an acquaintance with Madame Melmotte she is very much +mistaken. And if she thinks that that is the way to get married, I +think she is mistaken again." Nothing perhaps is so efficacious in +preventing men from marrying as the tone in which married women speak +of the struggles made in that direction by their unmarried friends.</p> + + +<p><a id="c33"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h3> +<h4>JOHN CRUMB.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Sir Felix Carbury made an appointment for meeting Ruby Ruggles a +second time at the bottom of the kitchen-garden belonging to Sheep's +Acre farm, which appointment he neglected, and had, indeed, made +without any intention of keeping it. But Ruby was there, and remained +hanging about among the cabbages till her grandfather returned from +Harlestone market. An early hour had been named; but hours may be +mistaken, and Ruby had thought that a fine gentleman, such as was her +lover, used to live among fine people up in London, might well +mistake the afternoon for the morning. If he would come at all she +could easily forgive such a mistake. But he did not come, and late in +the afternoon she was obliged to obey her grandfather's summons as he +called her into the house.</p> + +<p>After that for three weeks she heard nothing of her London lover, but +she was always thinking of him;—and though she could not altogether +avoid her country lover, she was in his company as little as +possible. One afternoon her grandfather returned from Bungay and told +her that her country lover was coming to see her. "John Crumb be a +coming over by-and-by," said the old man. "See and have a bit o' +supper ready for him."</p> + +<p>"John Crumb coming here, grandfather? He's welcome to stay away then, +for me."</p> + +<p>"That be dommed." The old man thrust his old hat on to his head and +seated himself in a wooden arm-chair that stood by the kitchen-fire. +Whenever he was angry he put on his hat, and the custom was well +understood by Ruby. "Why not welcome, and he all one as your husband? +Look ye here, Ruby, I'm going to have an eend o' this. John Crumb is +to marry you next month, and the banns is to be said."</p> + +<p>"The parson may say what he pleases, grandfather. I can't stop his +saying of 'em. It isn't likely I shall try, neither. But no parson +among 'em all can marry me without I'm willing."</p> + +<p>"And why should you no be willing, you contrairy young jade, you?"</p> + +<p>"You've been a' drinking, grandfather."</p> + +<p>He turned round at her sharp, and threw his old hat at her +head;—nothing to Ruby's consternation, as it was a practice to which +she was well accustomed. She picked it up, and returned it to him +with a cool indifference which was intended to exasperate him. "Look +ye here, Ruby," he said, "out o' this place you go. If you go as John +Crumb's wife you'll go with five hun'erd pound, and we'll have a +dinner here, and a dance, and all Bungay."</p> + +<p>"Who cares for all Bungay,—a set of beery chaps as knows nothing but +swilling and smoking;—and John Crumb the main of 'em all? There +never was a chap for beer like John Crumb."</p> + +<p>"Never saw him the worse o' liquor in all my life." And the old +farmer, as he gave this grand assurance, rattled his fist down upon +the table.</p> + +<p>"It ony just makes him stoopider and stoopider the more he swills. +You can't tell me, grandfather, about John Crumb. I knows him."</p> + +<p>"Didn't ye say as how ye'd have him? Didn't ye give him a promise?"</p> + +<p>"If I did, I ain't the first girl as has gone back of her word,—and +I shan't be the last."</p> + +<p>"You means you won't have him?"</p> + +<p>"That's about it, grandfather."</p> + +<p>"Then you'll have to have somebody to fend for ye, and that pretty +sharp,—for you won't have me."</p> + +<p>"There ain't no difficulty about that, grandfather."</p> + +<p>"Very well. He's a coming here to-night, and you may settle it along +wi' him. Out o' this ye shall go. I know of your doings."</p> + +<p>"What doings! You don't know of no doings. There ain't no doings. You +don't know nothing ag'in me."</p> + +<p>"He's a coming here to-night, and if you can make it up wi' him, well +and good. There's five hun'erd pound, and ye shall have the dinner +and the dance and all Bungay. He ain't a going to be put off no +longer;—he ain't."</p> + +<p>"Whoever wanted him to be put on? Let him go his own gait."</p> + +<p>"If you can't make it up wi' him—"</p> + +<p>"Well, grandfather, I shan't anyways."</p> + +<p>"Let me have my say, will ye, yer jade, you? There's five hun'erd +pound! and there ain't ere a farmer in Suffolk or Norfolk paying rent +for a bit of land like this can do as well for his darter as +that,—let alone only a granddarter. You never thinks o' that;—you +don't. If you don't like to take it,—leave it. But you'll leave +Sheep's Acre too."</p> + +<p>"Bother Sheep's Acre. Who wants to stop at Sheep's Acre? It's the +stoopidest place in all England."</p> + +<p>"Then find another. Then find another. That's all aboot it. John +Crumb's a coming up for a bit o' supper. You tell him your own mind. +I'm dommed if I trouble aboot it. On'y you don't stay here. Sheep's +Acre ain't good enough for you, and you'd best find another home. +Stoopid, is it? You'll have to put up wi' places stoopider nor +Sheep's Acre, afore you've done."</p> + +<p>In regard to the hospitality promised to Mr. Crumb, Miss Ruggles went +about her work with sufficient alacrity. She was quite willing that +the young man should have a supper, and she did understand that, so +far as the preparation of the supper went, she owed her service to +her grandfather. She therefore went to work herself, and gave +directions to the servant girl who assisted her in keeping her +grandfather's house. But as she did this, she determined that she +would make John Crumb understand that she would never be his wife. +Upon that she was now fully resolved. As she went about the kitchen, +taking down the ham and cutting the slices that were to be broiled, +and as she trussed the fowl that was to be boiled for John Crumb, she +made mental comparisons between him and Sir Felix Carbury. She could +see, as though present to her at the moment, the mealy, floury head +of the one, with hair stiff with perennial dust from his sacks, and +the sweet glossy dark well-combed locks of the other, so bright, so +seductive, that she was ever longing to twine her fingers among them. +And she remembered the heavy, flat, broad honest face of the +meal-man, with his mouth slow in motion, and his broad nose looking +like a huge white promontory, and his great staring eyes, from the +corners of which he was always extracting meal and grit;—and then +also she remembered the white teeth, the beautiful soft lips, the +perfect eyebrows, and the rich complexion of her London lover. Surely +a lease of Paradise with the one, though but for one short year, +would be well purchased at the price of a life with the other! "It's +no good going against love," she said to herself, "and I won't try. +He shall have his supper, and be told all about it, and then go home. +He cares more for his supper than he do for me." And then, with this +final resolution firmly made, she popped the fowl into the pot. Her +grandfather wanted her to leave Sheep's Acre. Very well. She had a +little money of her own, and would take herself off to London. She +knew what people would say, but she cared nothing for old women's +tales. She would know how to take care of herself, and could always +say in her own defence that her grandfather had turned her out of +Sheep's Acre.</p> + +<p>Seven had been the hour named, and punctually at that hour John Crumb +knocked at the back door of Sheep's Acre farm-house. Nor did he come +alone. He was accompanied by his friend Joe Mixet, the baker of +Bungay, who, as all Bungay knew, was to be his best man at his +marriage. John Crumb's character was not without many fine +attributes. He could earn money,—and having earned it could spend +and keep it in fair proportion. He was afraid of no work, and,—to +give him his due,—was afraid of no man. He was honest, and ashamed +of nothing that he did. And after his fashion he had chivalrous ideas +about women. He was willing to thrash any man that ill-used a woman, +and would certainly be a most dangerous antagonist to any man who +would misuse a woman belonging to him. But Ruby had told the truth of +him in saying that he was slow of speech, and what the world calls +stupid in regard to all forms of expression. He knew good meal from +bad as well as any man, and the price at which he could buy it so as +to leave himself a fair profit at the selling. He knew the value of a +clear conscience, and without much argument had discovered for +himself that honesty is in truth the best policy. Joe Mixet, who was +dapper of person and glib of tongue, had often declared that any one +buying John Crumb for a fool would lose his money. Joe Mixet was +probably right; but there had been a want of prudence, a lack of +worldly sagacity, in the way in which Crumb had allowed his proposed +marriage with Ruby Ruggles to become a source of gossip to all +Bungay. His love was now an old affair; and, though he never talked +much, whenever he did talk, he talked about that. He was proud of +Ruby's beauty, and of her fortune, and of his own status as her +acknowledged lover,—and he did not hide his light under a bushel. +Perhaps the publicity so produced had some effect in prejudicing Ruby +against the man whose offer she had certainly once accepted. Now when +he came to settle the day,—having heard more than once or twice that +there was a difficulty with Ruby,—he brought his friend Mixet with +him as though to be present at his triumph. "If here isn't Joe +Mixet," said Ruby to herself. "Was there ever such a stoopid as John +Crumb? There's no end to his being stoopid."</p> + +<p>The old man had slept off his anger and his beer while Ruby had been +preparing the feast, and now roused himself to entertain his guests. +"What, Joe Mixet; is that thou? Thou'rt welcome. Come in, man. Well, +John, how is it wi' you? Ruby's a stewing o' something for us to eat +a bit. Don't 'e smell it?"—John Crumb lifted up his great nose, +sniffed and grinned.</p> + +<p>"John didn't like going home in the dark like," said the baker, with +his little joke. "So I just come along to drive away the bogies."</p> + +<p>"The more the merrier;—the more the merrier. Ruby 'll have enough +for the two o' you, I'll go bail. So John Crumb's afraid of +bogies;—is he? The more need he to have some 'un in his house to +scart 'em away."</p> + +<p>The lover had seated himself without speaking a word; but now he was +instigated to ask a question. "Where be she, Muster Ruggles?" They +were seated in the outside or front kitchen, in which the old man and +his granddaughter always lived; while Ruby was at work in the back +kitchen. As John Crumb asked this question she could be heard +distinctly among the pots and the plates. She now came out, and +wiping her hands on her apron, shook hands with the two young men. +She had enveloped herself in a big household apron when the cooking +was in hand, and had not cared to take it off for the greeting of +this lover. "Grandfather said as how you was a coming out for your +supper, so I've been a seeing to it. You'll excuse the apron, Mr. +Mixet."</p> + +<p>"You couldn't look nicer, miss, if you was to try it ever so. My +mother says as it's housifery as recommends a girl to the young men. +What do you say, John?"</p> + +<p>"I loiks to see her loik o' that," said John rubbing his hands down +the back of his trowsers, and stooping till he had brought his eyes +down to a level with those of his sweetheart.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill033"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill033.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill033-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"I loiks to see her loik o’ that."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"I loiks + to see her loik o' that."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill033.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"It looks homely; don't it, John?" said Mixet.</p> + +<p>"Bother!" said Ruby, turning round sharp, and going back to the other +kitchen. John Crumb turned round also, and grinned at his friend, and +then grinned at the old man.</p> + +<p>"You've got it all afore you," said the farmer,—leaving the lover to +draw what lesson he might from this oracular proposition.</p> + +<p>"And I don't care how soon I ha'e it in hond;—that I don't," said +John.</p> + +<p>"That's the chat," said Joe Mixet. "There ain't nothing wanting in +his house;—is there, John? It's all there,—cradle, caudle-cup, and +the rest of it. A young woman going to John knows what she'll have to +eat when she gets up, and what she'll lie down upon when she goes to +bed." This he declared in a loud voice for the benefit of Ruby in the +back kitchen.</p> + +<p>"That she do," said John, grinning again. "There's a hun'erd and +fifty poond o' things in my house forbye what mother left behind +her."</p> + +<p>After this there was no more conversation till Ruby reappeared with +the boiled fowl, and without her apron. She was followed by the girl +with a dish of broiled ham and an enormous pyramid of cabbage. Then +the old man got up slowly and opening some private little door of +which he kept the key in his breeches pocket, drew a jug of ale and +placed it on the table. And from a cupboard of which he also kept the +key, he brought out a bottle of gin. Everything being thus prepared, +the three men sat round the table, John Crumb looking at his chair +again and again before he ventured to occupy it. "If you'll sit +yourself down, I'll give you a bit of something to eat," said Ruby at +last. Then he sank at once into his chair. Ruby cut up the fowl +standing, and dispensed the other good things, not even placing a +chair for herself at the table,—and apparently not expected to do +so, for no one invited her. "Is it to be spirits or ale, Mr. Crumb?" +she said, when the other two men had helped themselves. He turned +round and gave her a look of love that might have softened the heart +of an Amazon; but instead of speaking he held up his tumbler, and +bobbed his head at the beer jug. Then she filled it to the brim, +frothing it in the manner in which he loved to have it frothed. He +raised it to his mouth slowly, and poured the liquor in as though to +a vat. Then she filled it again. He had been her lover, and she would +be as kind to him as she knew how,—short of love.</p> + +<p>There was a good deal of eating done, for more ham came in, and +another mountain of cabbage; but very little or nothing was said. +John Crumb ate whatever was given to him of the fowl, sedulously +picking the bones, and almost swallowing them; and then finished the +second dish of ham, and after that the second instalment of cabbage. +He did not ask for more beer, but took it as often as Ruby +replenished his glass. When the eating was done, Ruby retired into +the back kitchen, and there regaled herself with some bone or +merry-thought of the fowl, which she had with prudence reserved, +sharing her spoils however with the other maiden. This she did +standing, and then went to work, cleaning the dishes. The men lit +their pipes and smoked in silence, while Ruby went through her +domestic duties. So matters went on for half an hour; during which +Ruby escaped by the back door, went round into the house, got into +her own room, and formed the grand resolution of going to bed. She +began her operations in fear and trembling, not being sure but that +her grandfather would bring the man up-stairs to her. As she thought +of this she stayed her hand, and looked to the door. She knew well +that there was no bolt there. It would be terrible to her to be +invaded by John Crumb after his fifth or sixth glass of beer. And, +she declared to herself, that should he come he would be sure to +bring Joe Mixet with him to speak his mind for him. So she paused and +listened.</p> + +<p>When they had smoked for some half hour the old man called for his +granddaughter, but called of course in vain. "Where the mischief is +the jade gone?" he said, slowly making his way into the back kitchen. +The maid as soon as she heard her master moving, escaped into the +yard and made no response, while the old man stood bawling at the +back door. "The devil's in them. They're off some gates," he said +aloud. "She'll make the place hot for her, if she goes on this way." +Then he returned to the two young men. "She's playing off her games +somwheres," he said. "Take a glass of sperrits and water, Mr. Crumb, +and I'll see after her."</p> + +<p>"I'll just take a drop of y'ell," said John Crumb, apparently quite +unmoved by the absence of his sweetheart.</p> + +<p>It was sad work for the old man. He went down the yard and into the +garden, hobbling among the cabbages, not daring to call very loud, as +he did not wish to have it supposed that the girl was lost; but still +anxious, and sore at heart as to the ingratitude shown to him. He was +not bound to give the girl a home at all. She was not his own child. +And he had offered her £500! "Domm her," he said aloud as he made his +way back to the house. After much search and considerable loss of +time he returned to the kitchen in which the two men were sitting, +leading Ruby in his hand. She was not smart in her apparel, for she +had half undressed herself, and been then compelled by her +grandfather to make herself fit to appear in public. She had +acknowledged to herself that she had better go down and tell John +Crumb the truth. For she was still determined that she would never be +John Crumb's wife. "You can answer him as well as I, grandfather," +she had said. Then the farmer had cuffed her, and told her that she +was an idiot. "Oh, if it comes to that," said Ruby, "I'm not afraid +of John Crumb, nor yet of nobody else. Only I didn't think you'd go +to strike me, grandfather." "I'll knock the life out of thee, if thou +goest on this gate," he had said. But she had consented to come down, +and they entered the room together.</p> + +<p>"We're a disturbing you a'most too late, miss," said Mr. Mixet.</p> + +<p>"It ain't that at all, Mr. Mixet. If grandfather chooses to have a +few friends, I ain't nothing against it. I wish he'd have a few +friends a deal oftener than he do. I likes nothing better than to do +for 'em;—only when I've done for 'em and they're smoking their pipes +and that like, I don't see why I ain't to leave 'em to 'emselves."</p> + +<p>"But we've come here on a hauspicious occasion, Miss Ruby."</p> + +<p>"I don't know nothing about auspicious, Mr. Mixet. If you and Mr. +Crumb've come out to Sheep's Acre farm for a bit of +<span class="nowrap">supper—"</span></p> + +<p>"Which we ain't," said John Crumb very loudly;—"nor yet for +beer;—not by no means."</p> + +<p>"We've come for the smiles of beauty," said Joe Mixet.</p> + +<p>Ruby chucked up her head. "Mr. Mixet, if you'll be so good as to stow +that! There ain't no beauty here as I knows of, and if there was it +isn't nothing to you."</p> + +<p>"Except in the way of friendship," said Mixet.</p> + +<p>"I'm just as sick of all this as a man can be," said Mr. Ruggles, who +was sitting low in his chair, with his back bent, and his head +forward. "I won't put up with it no more."</p> + +<p>"Who wants you to put up with it?" said Ruby. "Who wants 'em to come +here with their trash? Who brought 'em to-night? I don't know what +business Mr. Mixet has interfering along o' me. I never interfere +along o' him."</p> + +<p>"John Crumb, have you anything to say?" asked the old man.</p> + +<p>Then John Crumb slowly arose from his chair, and stood up at his full +height. "I hove," said he, swinging his head to one side.</p> + +<p>"Then say it."</p> + +<p>"I will," said he. He was still standing bolt upright with his hands +down by his side. Then he stretched out his left to his glass which +was half full of beer, and strengthened himself as far as that would +strengthen him. Having done this he slowly deposited the pipe which +he still held in his right hand.</p> + +<p>"Now speak your mind, like a man," said Mixet.</p> + +<p>"I intends it," said John. But he still stood dumb, looking down upon +old Ruggles, who from his crouched position was looking up at him. +Ruby was standing with both her hands upon the table and her eyes +intent upon the wall over the fire-place.</p> + +<p>"You've asked Miss Ruby to be your wife a dozen times;—haven't you, +John?" suggested Mixet.</p> + +<p>"I hove."</p> + +<p>"And you mean to be as good as your word?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"And she has promised to have you?"</p> + +<p>"She hove."</p> + +<p>"More nor once or twice?" To this proposition Crumb found it only +necessary to bob his head. "You're ready,—and willing?"</p> + +<p>"I om."</p> + +<p>"You're wishing to have the banns said without any more delay?"</p> + +<p>"There ain't no delay 'bout me;—never was."</p> + +<p>"Everything is ready in your own house?"</p> + +<p>"They is."</p> + +<p>"And you will expect Miss Ruby to come to the scratch?"</p> + +<p>"I sholl."</p> + +<p>"That's about it, I think," said Joe Mixet, turning to the +grandfather. "I don't think there was ever anything much more +straightforward than that. You know, I know, Miss Ruby knows all +about John Crumb. John Crumb didn't come to Bungay yesterday,—nor +yet the day before. There's been a talk of five hundred pounds, Mr. +Ruggles." Mr. Ruggles made a slight gesture of assent with his head. +"Five hundred pounds is very comfortable; and added to what John has +will make things that snug that things never was snugger. But John +Crumb isn't after Miss Ruby along of her fortune."</p> + +<p>"Nohow's," said the lover, shaking his head and still standing +upright with his hands by his side.</p> + +<p>"Not he;—it isn't his ways, and them as knows him'll never say it of +him. John has a heart in his buzsom."</p> + +<p>"I has," said John, raising his hand a little above his stomach.</p> + +<p>"And feelings as a man. It's true love as has brought John Crumb to +Sheep's Acre farm this night;—love of that young lady, if she'll let +me make so free. He's a proposed to her, and she's a haccepted him, +and now it's about time as they was married. That's what John Crumb +has to say."</p> + +<p>"That's what I has to say," repeated John Crumb, "and I means it."</p> + +<p>"And now, miss," continued Mixet, addressing himself to Ruby, "you've +heard what John has to say."</p> + +<p>"I've heard you, Mr. Mixet, and I've heard quite enough."</p> + +<p>"You can't have anything to say against it, miss; can you? There's +your grandfather as is willing, and the money as one may say counted +out,—and John Crumb is willing, with his house so ready that there +isn't a ha'porth to do. All we want is for you to name the day."</p> + +<p>"Say to-morrow, Ruby, and I'll not be agon it," said John Crumb, +slapping his thigh.</p> + +<p>"I won't say to-morrow, Mr. Crumb, nor yet the day after to-morrow, +nor yet no day at all. I'm not going to have you. I've told you as +much before."</p> + +<p>"That was only in fun, loike."</p> + +<p>"Then now I tell you in earnest. There's some folk wants such a deal +of telling."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean,—never?"</p> + +<p>"I do mean never, Mr. Crumb."</p> + +<p>"Didn't you say as you would, Ruby? Didn't you say so as plain as the +nose on my face?" John as he asked these questions could hardly +refrain from tears.</p> + +<p>"Young women is allowed to change their minds," said Ruby.</p> + +<p>"Brute!" exclaimed old Ruggles. "Pig! Jade! I'll tell'ee what, John. +She'll go out o' this into the streets;—that's what she wull. I +won't keep her here, no longer;—nasty, ungrateful, lying slut."</p> + +<p>"She ain't that;—she ain't that," said John. "She ain't that at all. +She's no slut. I won't hear her called so;—not by her grandfather. +But, oh, she has a mind to put me so abouts, that I'll have to go +home and hang myself."</p> + +<p>"Dash it, Miss Ruby, you ain't a going to serve a young man that +way," said the baker.</p> + +<p>"If you'll jist keep yourself to yourself, I'll be obliged to you, +Mr. Mixet," said Ruby. "If you hadn't come here at all things might +have been different."</p> + +<p>"Hark at that now," said John, looking at his friend almost with +indignation.</p> + +<p>Mr. Mixet, who was fully aware of his rare eloquence and of the +absolute necessity there had been for its exercise if any arrangement +were to be made at all, could not trust himself to words after this. +He put on his hat and walked out through the back kitchen into the +yard declaring that his friend would find him there, round by the +pig-stye wall, whenever he was ready to return to Bungay. As soon as +Mixet was gone John looked at his sweetheart out of the corners of +his eyes and made a slow motion towards her, putting out his right +hand as a feeler. "He's aff now, Ruby," said John.</p> + +<p>"And you'd better be aff after him," said the cruel girl.</p> + +<p>"And when'll I come back again?"</p> + +<p>"Never. It ain't no use. What's the good of more words, Mr. Crumb?"</p> + +<p>"Domm her; domm her," said old Ruggles. "I'll even it to her. She'll +have to be out on the roads this night."</p> + +<p>"She shall have the best bed in my house if she'll come for it," said +John, "and the old woman to look arter her; and I won't come nigh her +till she sends for me."</p> + +<p>"I can find a place for myself, thank ye, Mr. Crumb." Old Ruggles sat +grinding his teeth, and swearing to himself, taking his hat off and +putting it on again, and meditating vengeance. "And now if you +please, Mr. Crumb, I'll go up-stairs to my own room."</p> + +<p>"You don't go up to any room here, you jade you." The old man as he +said this got up from his chair as though to fly at her. And he would +have struck her with his stick but that he was stopped by John Crumb.</p> + +<p>"Don't hit the girl, no gate, Mr. Ruggles."</p> + +<p>"Domm her, John; she breaks my heart." While her lover held her +grandfather Ruby escaped, and seated herself on the bedside, again +afraid to undress, lest she should be disturbed by her grandfather. +"Ain't it more nor a man ought to have to bear;—ain't it, Mr. +Crumb?" said the grandfather appealing to the young man.</p> + +<p>"It's the ways on 'em, Mr. Ruggles."</p> + +<p>"Ways on 'em! A whipping at the cart-tail ought to be the ways on +her. She's been and seen some young buck."</p> + +<p>Then John Crumb turned red all over, through the flour, and sparks of +anger flashed from his eyes. "You ain't a meaning of it, master?"</p> + +<p>"I'm told there's been the squoire's cousin aboot,—him as they call +the baronite."</p> + +<p>"Been along wi' Ruby?" The old man nodded at him. "By the mortials +I'll baronite him;—I wull," said John seizing his hat and stalking +off through the back kitchen after his friend.</p> + + +<p><a id="c34"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h3> +<h4>RUBY RUGGLES OBEYS HER GRANDFATHER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The next day there was great surprise at Sheep's Acre farm, which +communicated itself to the towns of Bungay and Beccles, and even +affected the ordinary quiet life of Carbury Manor. Ruby Ruggles had +gone away, and at about twelve o'clock in the day the old farmer +became aware of the fact. She had started early, at about seven in +the morning; but Ruggles himself had been out long before that, and +had not condescended to ask for her when he returned to the house for +his breakfast. There had been a bad scene up in the bedroom +overnight, after John Crumb had left the farm. The old man in his +anger had tried to expel the girl; but she had hung on to the +bed-post and would not go; and he had been frightened, when the maid +came up crying and screaming murder. "You'll be out o' this to-morrow +as sure as my name's Dannel Ruggles," said the farmer panting for +breath. But for the gin which he had taken he would hardly have +struck her;—but he had struck her, and pulled her by the hair, and +knocked her about;—and in the morning she took him at his word and +was away. About twelve he heard from the servant girl that she had +gone. She had packed a box and had started up the road carrying the +box herself. "Grandfather says I'm to go, and I'm gone," she had said +to the girl. At the first cottage she had got a boy to carry her box +into Beccles, and to Beccles she had walked. For an hour or two +Ruggles sat, quiet, within the house, telling himself that she might +do as she pleased with herself,—that he was well rid of her, and +that from henceforth he would trouble himself no more about her. But +by degrees there came upon him a feeling half of compassion and half +of fear, with perhaps some mixture of love, instigating him to make +search for her. She had been the same to him as a child, and what +would people say of him if he allowed her to depart from him after +this fashion? Then he remembered his violence the night before, and +the fact that the servant girl had heard if she had not seen it. He +could not drop his responsibility in regard to Ruby, even if he +would. So, as a first step, he sent in a message to John Crumb, at +Bungay, to tell him that Ruby Ruggles had gone off with a box to +Beccles. John Crumb went open-mouthed with the news to Joe Mixet, and +all Bungay soon knew that Ruby Ruggles had run away.</p> + +<p>After sending his message to Crumb the old man still sat thinking, +and at last made up his mind that he would go to his landlord. He +held a part of his farm under Roger Carbury, and Roger Carbury would +tell him what he ought to do. A great trouble had come upon him. He +would fain have been quiet, but his conscience and his heart and his +terrors all were at work together,—and he found that he could not +eat his dinner. So he had out his cart and horse and drove himself +off to Carbury Hall.</p> + +<p>It was past four when he started, and he found the squire seated on +the terrace after an early dinner, and with him was Father Barham, +the priest. The old man was shown at once round into the garden, and +was not long in telling his story. There had been words between him +and his granddaughter about her lover. Her lover had been accepted +and had come to the farm to claim his bride. Ruby had behaved very +badly. The old man made the most of Ruby's bad behaviour, and of +course as little as possible of his own violence. But he did explain +that there had been threats used when Ruby refused to take the man, +and that Ruby had, this day, taken herself off.</p> + +<p>"I always thought it was settled they were to be man and wife," said +Roger.</p> + +<p>"It was settled, squoire;—and he war to have five hun'erd pound +down;—money as I'd saved myself. Drat the jade."</p> + +<p>"Didn't she like him, Daniel?"</p> + +<p>"She liked him well enough till she'd seed somebody else." Then old +Daniel paused, and shook his head, and was evidently the owner of a +secret. The squire got up and walked round the garden with him,—and +then the secret was told. The farmer was of opinion that there was +something between the girl and Sir Felix. Sir Felix some weeks since +had been seen near the farm and on the same occasion Ruby had been +observed at some little distance from the house with her best clothes +on.</p> + +<p>"He's been so little here, Daniel," said the squire.</p> + +<p>"It goes as tinder and a spark o' fire, that does," said the farmer. +"Girls like Ruby don't want no time to be wooed by one such as that, +though they'll fall-lall with a man like John Crumb for years."</p> + +<p>"I suppose she's gone to London."</p> + +<p>"Don't know nothing of where she's gone, squoire;—only she have gone +some'eres. May be it's Lowestoffe. There's lots of quality at +Lowestoffe a' washing theyselves in the sea."</p> + +<p>Then they returned to the priest, who might be supposed to be +cognisant of the guiles of the world and competent to give advice on +such an occasion as this. "If she was one of our people," said Father +Barham, "we should have her back quick enough."</p> + +<p>"Would ye now?" said Ruggles, wishing at the moment that he and all +his family had been brought up as Roman Catholics.</p> + +<p>"I don't see how you would have more chance of catching her than we +have," said Carbury.</p> + +<p>"She'd catch herself. Wherever she might be she'd go to the priest, +and he wouldn't leave her till he'd seen her put on the way back to +her friends."</p> + +<p>"With a flea in her lug," suggested the farmer.</p> + +<p>"Your people never go to a clergyman in their distress. It's the last +thing they'd think of. Any one might more probably be regarded as a +friend than the parson. But with us the poor know where to look for +sympathy."</p> + +<p>"She ain't that poor, neither," said the grandfather.</p> + +<p>"She had money with her?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know just what she had; but she ain't been brought up poor. +And I don't think as our Ruby'd go of herself to any clergyman. It +never was her way."</p> + +<p>"It never is the way with a Protestant," said the priest.</p> + +<p>"We'll say no more about that for the present," said Roger, who was +waxing wroth with the priest. That a man should be fond of his own +religion is right; but Roger Carbury was beginning to think that +Father Barham was too fond of his religion. "What had we better do? I +suppose we shall hear something of her at the railway. There are not +so many people leaving Beccles but that she may be remembered." So +the waggonette was ordered, and they all prepared to go off to the +station together.</p> + +<p>But before they started John Crumb rode up to the door. He had gone +at once to the farm on hearing of Ruby's departure, and had followed +the farmer from thence to Carbury. Now he found the squire and the +priest and the old man standing around as the horses were being put +to the carriage. "Ye ain't a' found her, Mr. Ruggles, ha' ye?" he +asked as he wiped the sweat from his brow.</p> + +<p>"Noa;—we ain't a' found no one yet."</p> + +<p>"If it was as she was to come to harm, Mr. Carbury, I'd never forgive +myself,—never," said Crumb.</p> + +<p>"As far as I can understand it is no doing of yours, my friend," said +the squire.</p> + +<p>"In one way, it ain't; and in one way it is. I was over there last +night a bothering of her. She'd a' come round may be, if she'd a' +been left alone. She wouldn't a' been off now, only for our going +over to Sheep's Acre. But,—oh!"</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mr. Crumb?"</p> + +<p>"He's a coosin o' yours, squoire; and long as I've known Suffolk, +I've never known nothing but good o' you and yourn. But if your +baronite has been and done this! Oh, Mr. Carbury! If I was to wring +his neck round, you wouldn't say as how I was wrong; would ye, now?" +Roger could hardly answer the question. On general grounds the +wringing of Sir Felix's neck, let the immediate cause for such a +performance have been what it might, would have seemed to him to be a +good deed. The world would be better, according to his thinking, with +Sir Felix out of it than in it. But still the young man was his +cousin and a Carbury, and to such a one as John Crumb he was bound to +defend any member of his family as far as he might be defensible. +"They says as how he was groping about Sheep's Acre when he was last +here, a hiding himself and skulking behind hedges. Drat 'em all. +They've gals enough of their own,—them fellows. Why can't they let a +fellow alone? I'll do him a mischief, Master Roger; I wull;—if he's +had a hand in this." Poor John Crumb! When he had his mistress to win +he could find no words for himself; but was obliged to take an +eloquent baker with him to talk for him. Now in his anger he could +talk freely enough.</p> + +<p>"But you must first learn that Sir Felix has had anything to do with +this, Mr. Crumb."</p> + +<p>"In coorse; in coorse. That's right. That's right. Must l'arn as he +did it, afore I does it. But when I have +<span class="nowrap">l'arned!"—</span> And John Crumb +clenched his fist as though a very short lesson would suffice for him +upon this occasion.</p> + +<p>They all went to the Beccles Station, and from thence to the Beccles +post office,—so that Beccles soon knew as much about it as Bungay. +At the railway station Ruby was distinctly remembered. She had taken +a second-class ticket by the morning train for London, and had gone +off without any appearance of secrecy. She had been decently dressed, +with a hat and cloak, and her luggage had been such as she might have +been expected to carry, had all her friends known that she was going. +So much was made clear at the railway station, but nothing more could +be learned there. Then a message was sent by telegraph to the station +in London, and they all waited, loitering about the post office, for +a reply. One of the porters in London remembered seeing such a girl +as was described, but the man who was supposed to have carried her +box for her to a cab had gone away for the day. It was believed that +she had left the station in a four-wheel cab. "I'll be arter her. +I'll be arter her at once," said John Crumb. But there was no train +till night, and Roger Carbury was doubtful whether his going would do +any good. It was evidently fixed on Crumb's mind that the first step +towards finding Ruby would be the breaking of every bone in the body +of Sir Felix Carbury. Now it was not at all apparent to the squire +that his cousin had had anything to do with this affair. It had been +made quite clear to him that the old man had quarrelled with his +granddaughter and had threatened to turn her out of his house, not +because she had misbehaved with Sir Felix, but on account of her +refusing to marry John Crumb. John Crumb had gone over to the farm +expecting to arrange it all, and up to that time there had been no +fear about Felix Carbury. Nor was it possible that there should have +been communication between Ruby and Felix since the quarrel at the +farm. Even if the old man were right in supposing that Ruby and the +baronet had been acquainted,—and such acquaintance could not but be +prejudicial to the girl,—not on that account would the baronet be +responsible for her abduction. John Crumb was thirsting for blood and +was not very capable in his present mood of arguing the matter out +coolly, and Roger, little as he loved his cousin, was not desirous +that all Suffolk should know that Sir Felix Carbury had been thrashed +within an inch of his life by John Crumb of Bungay. "I'll tell you +what I'll do," said he, putting his hand kindly on the old man's +shoulder. "I'll go up myself by the first train to-morrow. I can +trace her better than Mr. Crumb can do, and you will both trust me."</p> + +<p>"There's not one in the two counties I'd trust so soon," said the old +man.</p> + +<p>"But you'll let us know the very truth," said John Crumb. Roger +Carbury made him an indiscreet promise that he would let him know the +truth. So the matter was settled, and the grandfather and lover +returned together to Bungay.</p> + + +<p><a id="c35"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXV.</h3> +<h4>MELMOTTE'S GLORY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Augustus Melmotte was becoming greater and greater in every +direction,—mightier and mightier every day. He was learning to +despise mere lords, and to feel that he might almost domineer over a +duke. In truth he did recognise it as a fact that he must either +domineer over dukes, or else go to the wall. It can hardly be said of +him that he had intended to play so high a game, but the game that he +had intended to play had become thus high of its own accord. A man +cannot always restrain his own doings and keep them within the limits +which he had himself planned for them. They will very often fall +short of the magnitude to which his ambition has aspired. They will +sometimes soar higher than his own imagination. So it had now been +with Mr. Melmotte. He had contemplated great things; but the things +which he was achieving were beyond his contemplation.</p> + +<p>The reader will not have thought much of Fisker on his arrival in +England. Fisker was, perhaps, not a man worthy of much thought. He +had never read a book. He had never written a line worth reading. He +had never said a prayer. He cared nothing for humanity. He had sprung +out of some Californian gully, was perhaps ignorant of his own father +and mother, and had tumbled up in the world on the strength of his +own audacity. But, such as he was, he had sufficed to give the +necessary impetus for rolling Augustus Melmotte onwards into almost +unprecedented commercial greatness. When Mr. Melmotte took his +offices in Abchurch Lane, he was undoubtedly a great man, but nothing +so great as when the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway had +become not only an established fact, but a fact established in +Abchurch Lane. The great company indeed had an office of its own, +where the Board was held; but everything was really managed in Mr. +Melmotte's own commercial sanctum. Obeying, no doubt, some +inscrutable law of commerce, the grand enterprise,—"perhaps the +grandest when you consider the amount of territory manipulated, which +has ever opened itself before the eyes of a great commercial people," +as Mr. Fisker with his peculiar eloquence observed through his nose, +about this time to a meeting of shareholders at San Francisco,—had +swung itself across from California to London, turning itself to the +centre of the commercial world as the needle turns to the pole, till +Mr. Fisker almost regretted the deed which himself had done. And +Melmotte was not only the head, but the body also, and the feet of it +all. The shares seemed to be all in Melmotte's pocket, so that he +could distribute them as he would; and it seemed also that when +distributed and sold, and when bought again and sold again, they came +back to Melmotte's pocket. Men were contented to buy their shares and +to pay their money, simply on Melmotte's word. Sir Felix had realised +a large portion of his winnings at cards,—with commendable prudence +for one so young and extravagant,—and had brought his savings to the +great man. The great man had swept the earnings of the Beargarden +into his till, and had told Sir Felix that the shares were his. Sir +Felix had been not only contented, but supremely happy. He could now +do as Paul Montague was doing,—and Lord Alfred Grendall. He could +realize a perennial income, buying and selling. It was only after the +reflection of a day or two that he found that he had as yet got +nothing to sell. It was not only Sir Felix that was admitted into +these good things after this fashion. Sir Felix was but one among +hundreds. In the meantime the bills in Grosvenor Square were no doubt +paid with punctuality,—and these bills must have been stupendous. +The very servants were as tall, as gorgeous, almost as numerous, as +the servants of royalty,—and remunerated by much higher wages. There +were four coachmen with egregious wigs, and eight footmen, not one +with a circumference of calf less than eighteen inches.</p> + +<p>And now there appeared a paragraph in the "Morning Breakfast Table," +and another appeared in the "Evening Pulpit," telling the world that +Mr. Melmotte had bought Pickering Park, the magnificent Sussex +property of Adolphus Longestaffe, Esq., of Caversham. And it was so. +The father and son who never had agreed before, and who now had come +to no agreement in the presence of each other, had each considered +that their affairs would be safe in the hands of so great a man as +Mr. Melmotte, and had been brought to terms. The purchase-money, +which was large, was to be divided between them. The thing was done +with the greatest ease,—there being no longer any delay as is the +case when small people are at work. The magnificence of Mr. Melmotte +affected even the Longestaffe lawyers. Were I to buy a little +property, some humble cottage with a garden,—or you, O reader, +unless you be magnificent,—the money to the last farthing would be +wanted, or security for the money more than sufficient, before we +should be able to enter in upon our new home. But money was the very +breath of Melmotte's nostrils, and therefore his breath was taken for +money. Pickering was his, and before a week was over a London builder +had collected masons and carpenters by the dozen down at Chichester, +and was at work upon the house to make it fit to be a residence for +Madame Melmotte. There were rumours that it was to be made ready for +the Goodwood week, and that the Melmotte entertainment during that +festival would rival the duke's.</p> + +<p>But there was still much to be done in London before the Goodwood +week should come round in all of which Mr. Melmotte was concerned, +and of much of which Mr. Melmotte was the very centre. A member for +Westminster had succeeded to a peerage, and thus a seat was vacated. +It was considered to be indispensable to the country that Mr. +Melmotte should go into Parliament, and what constituency could such +a man as Melmotte so fitly represent as one combining as Westminster +does all the essences of the metropolis? There was the popular +element, the fashionable element, the legislative element, the legal +element, and the commercial element. Melmotte undoubtedly was the man +for Westminster. His thorough popularity was evinced by testimony +which perhaps was never before given in favour of any candidate for +any county or borough. In Westminster there must of course be a +contest. A seat for Westminster is a thing not to be abandoned by +either political party without a struggle. But, at the beginning of +the affair, when each party had to seek the most suitable candidate +which the country could supply, each party put its hand upon +Melmotte. And when the seat, and the battle for the seat, were +suggested to Melmotte, then for the first time was that great man +forced to descend from the altitudes on which his mind generally +dwelt, and to decide whether he would enter Parliament as a +Conservative or a Liberal. He was not long in convincing himself that +the Conservative element in British Society stood the most in need of +that fiscal assistance which it would be in his province to give; and +on the next day every hoarding in London declared to the world that +Melmotte was the Conservative candidate for Westminster. It is +needless to say that his committee was made up of peers, bankers, and +publicans, with all that absence of class prejudice for which the +party has become famous since the ballot was introduced among us. +Some unfortunate Liberal was to be made to run against him, for the +sake of the party; but the odds were ten to one on Melmotte.</p> + +<p>This no doubt was a great matter,—this affair of the seat; but the +dinner to be given to the Emperor of China was much greater. It was +the middle of June, and the dinner was to be given on Monday, 8th +July, now three weeks hence;—but all London was already talking of +it. The great purport proposed was to show to the Emperor by this +banquet what an English merchant-citizen of London could do. Of +course there was a great amount of scolding and a loud clamour on the +occasion. Some men said that Melmotte was not a citizen of London, +others that he was not a merchant, others again that he was not an +Englishman. But no man could deny that he was both able and willing +to spend the necessary money; and as this combination of ability and +will was the chief thing necessary, they who opposed the arrangement +could only storm and scold. On the 20th of June the tradesmen were at +work, throwing up a building behind, knocking down walls, and +generally transmuting the house in Grosvenor Square in such a fashion +that two hundred guests might be able to sit down to dinner in the +dining-room of a British merchant.</p> + +<p>But who were to be the two hundred? It used to be the case that when +a gentleman gave a dinner he asked his own guests;—but when affairs +become great, society can hardly be carried on after that simple +fashion. The Emperor of China could not be made to sit at table +without English royalty, and English royalty must know whom it has to +meet,—must select at any rate some of its comrades. The minister of +the day also had his candidates for the dinner,—in which arrangement +there was however no private patronage, as the list was confined to +the cabinet and their wives. The Prime Minister took some credit to +himself in that he would not ask for a single ticket for a private +friend. But the Opposition as a body desired their share of seats. +Melmotte had elected to stand for Westminster on the Conservative +interest, and was advised that he must insist on having as it were a +Conservative cabinet present, with its Conservative wives. He was +told that he owed it to his party, and that his party exacted payment +of the debt. But the great difficulty lay with the city merchants. +This was to be a city merchant's private feast, and it was essential +that the Emperor should meet this great merchant's brother merchants +at the merchant's board. No doubt the Emperor would see all the +merchants at the Guildhall; but that would be a semi-public affair, +paid for out of the funds of a corporation. This was to be a private +dinner. Now the Lord Mayor had set his face against it, and what was +to be done? Meetings were held; a committee was appointed; merchant +guests were selected, to the number of fifteen with their fifteen +wives;—and subsequently the Lord Mayor was made a baronet on the +occasion of receiving the Emperor in the city. The Emperor with his +suite was twenty. Royalty had twenty tickets, each ticket for guest +and wife. The existing Cabinet was fourteen; but the coming was +numbered at about eleven only;—each one for self and wife. Five +ambassadors and five ambassadresses were to be asked. There were to +be fifteen real merchants out of the city. Ten great peers,—with +their peeresses,—were selected by the general committee of +management. There were to be three wise men, two poets, three +independent members of the House of Commons, two Royal Academicians, +three editors of papers, an African traveller who had just come home, +and a novelist;—but all these latter gentlemen were expected to come +as bachelors. Three tickets were to be kept over for presentation to +bores endowed with a power of making themselves absolutely +unendurable if not admitted at the last moment,—and ten were left +for the giver of the feast and his own family and friends. It is +often difficult to make things go smooth,—but almost all roughnesses +may be smoothed at last with patience and care, and money and +patronage.</p> + +<p>But the dinner was not to be all. Eight hundred additional tickets +were to be issued for Madame Melmotte's evening entertainment, and +the fight for these was more internecine than for seats at the +dinner. The dinner-seats, indeed, were handled in so statesmanlike a +fashion that there was not much visible fighting about them. Royalty +manages its affairs quietly. The existing Cabinet was existing, and +though there were two or three members of it who could not have got +themselves elected at a single unpolitical club in London, they had a +right to their seats at Melmotte's table. What disappointed ambition +there might be among Conservative candidates was never known to the +public. Those gentlemen do not wash their dirty linen in public. The +ambassadors of course were quiet, but we may be sure that the +Minister from the United States was among the favoured five. The city +bankers and bigwigs, as has been already said, were at first +unwilling to be present, and therefore they who were not chosen could +not afterwards express their displeasure. No grumbling was heard +among the peers, and that which came from the peeresses floated down +into the current of the great fight about the evening entertainment. +The poet laureate was of course asked, and the second poet was as +much a matter of course. Only two Academicians had in this year +painted royalty, so that there was no ground for jealousy there. +There were three, and only three, specially insolent and specially +disagreeable independent members of Parliament at that time in the +House, and there was no difficulty in selecting them. The wise men +were chosen by their age. Among editors of newspapers there was some +ill-blood. That Mr. Alf and Mr. Broune should be selected was almost +a matter of course. They were hated accordingly, but still this was +expected. But why was Mr. Booker there? Was it because he had praised +the Prime Minister's translation of Catullus? The African traveller +chose himself by living through all his perils and coming home. A +novelist was selected; but as royalty wanted another ticket at the +last moment, the gentleman was only asked to come in after dinner. +His proud heart, however, resented the treatment, and he joined +amicably with his literary brethren in decrying the festival +altogether.</p> + +<p>We should be advancing too rapidly into this portion of our story +were we to concern ourselves deeply at the present moment with the +feud as it raged before the evening came round, but it may be right +to indicate that the desire for tickets at last became a burning +passion, and a passion which in the great majority of cases could not +be indulged. The value of the privilege was so great that Madame +Melmotte thought that she was doing almost more than friendship +called for when she informed her guest, Miss Longestaffe, that +unfortunately there would be no seat for her at the dinner-table; but +that, as payment for her loss, she should receive an evening ticket +for herself and a joint ticket for a gentleman and his wife. +Georgiana was at first indignant, but she accepted the compromise. +What she did with her tickets shall be hereafter told.</p> + +<p>From all this I trust it will be understood that the Mr. Melmotte of +the present hour was a very different man from that Mr. Melmotte who +was introduced to the reader in the early chapters of this chronicle. +Royalty was not to be smuggled in and out of his house now without +his being allowed to see it. No manœuvres now were necessary to +catch a simple duchess. Duchesses were willing enough to come. Lord +Alfred when he was called by his Christian name felt no aristocratic +twinges. He was only too anxious to make himself more and more +necessary to the great man. It is true that all this came as it were +by jumps, so that very often a part of the world did not know on what +ledge in the world the great man was perched at that moment. Miss +Longestaffe who was staying in the house did not at all know how +great a man her host was. Lady Monogram when she refused to go to +Grosvenor Square, or even to allow any one to come out of the house +in Grosvenor Square to her parties, was groping in outer darkness. +Madame Melmotte did not know. Marie Melmotte did not know. The great +man did not quite know himself where, from time to time, he was +standing. But the world at large knew. The world knew that Mr. +Melmotte was to be Member for Westminster, that Mr. Melmotte was to +entertain the Emperor of China, that Mr. Melmotte carried the South +Central Pacific and Mexican Railway in his pocket;—and the world +worshipped Mr. Melmotte.</p> + +<p>In the meantime Mr. Melmotte was much troubled about his private +affairs. He had promised his daughter to Lord Nidderdale, and as he +rose in the world had lowered the price which he offered for this +marriage,—not so much in the absolute amount of fortune to be +ultimately given, as in the manner of giving it. Fifteen thousand a +year was to be settled on Marie and on her eldest son, and twenty +thousand pounds were to be paid into Nidderdale's hands six months +after the marriage. Melmotte gave his reasons for not paying this sum +at once. Nidderdale would be more likely to be quiet, if he were kept +waiting for that short time. Melmotte was to purchase and furnish for +them a house in town. It was, too, almost understood that the young +people were to have Pickering Park for themselves, except for a week +or so at the end of July. It was absolutely given out in the papers +that Pickering was to be theirs. It was said on all sides that +Nidderdale was doing very well for himself. The absolute money was +not perhaps so great as had been at first asked; but then, at that +time, Melmotte was not the strong rock, the impregnable tower of +commerce, the very navel of the commercial enterprise of the +world,—as all men now regarded him. Nidderdale's father, and +Nidderdale himself, were, in the present condition of things, content +with a very much less stringent bargain than that which they had +endeavoured at first to exact.</p> + +<p>But, in the midst of all this, Marie, who had at one time consented +at her father's instance to accept the young lord, and who in some +speechless fashion had accepted him, told both the young lord and her +father, very roundly, that she had changed her mind. Her father +scowled at her and told her that her mind in the matter was of no +concern. He intended that she should marry Lord Nidderdale, and +himself fixed some day in August for the wedding. "It is no use, +father, for I will never have him," said Marie.</p> + +<p>"Is it about that other scamp?" he asked angrily.</p> + +<p>"If you mean Sir Felix Carbury, it is about him. He has been to you +and told you, and therefore I don't know why I need hold my tongue."</p> + +<p>"You'll both starve, my lady; that's all." Marie however was not so +wedded to the grandeur which she encountered in Grosvenor Square as +to be afraid of the starvation which she thought she might have to +suffer if married to Sir Felix Carbury. Melmotte had not time for any +long discussion. As he left her he took hold of her and shook her. +"By <span class="nowrap">——,"</span> +he said, "if you run rusty after all I've done for you, +I'll make you suffer. You little fool; that man's a beggar. He hasn't +the price of a petticoat or a pair of stockings. He's looking only +for what you haven't got, and shan't have if you marry him. He wants +money, not you, you little fool!"</p> + +<p>But after that she was quite settled in her purpose when Nidderdale +spoke to her. They had been engaged and then it had been off;—and +now the young nobleman, having settled everything with the father, +expected no great difficulty in resettling everything with the girl. +He was not very skilful at making love,—but he was thoroughly +good-humoured, from his nature anxious to please, and averse to give +pain. There was hardly any injury which he could not forgive, and +hardly any kindness which he would not do,—so that the labour upon +himself was not too great. "Well, Miss Melmotte," he said; "governors +are stern beings: are they not?"</p> + +<p>"Is yours stern, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"What I mean is that sons and daughters have to obey them. I think +you understand what I mean. I was awfully spoony on you that time +before; I was indeed."</p> + +<p>"I hope it didn't hurt you much, Lord Nidderdale."</p> + +<p>"That's so like a woman; that is. You know well enough that you and I +can't marry without leave from the governors."</p> + +<p>"Nor with it," said Marie, nodding her head.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how that may be. There was some hitch somewhere,—I +don't quite know where."—The hitch had been with himself, as he +demanded ready money. "But it's all right now. The old fellows are +agreed. Can't we make a match of it, Miss Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"No, Lord Nidderdale; I don't think we can."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that?"</p> + +<p>"I do mean it. When that was going on before I knew nothing about it. +I have seen more of things since then."</p> + +<p>"And you've seen somebody you like better than me?"</p> + +<p>"I say nothing about that, Lord Nidderdale. I don't think you ought +to blame me, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear no."</p> + +<p>"There was something before, but it was you that was off first. +Wasn't it now?"</p> + +<p>"The governors were off, I think."</p> + +<p>"The governors have a right to be off, I suppose. But I don't think +any governor has a right to make anybody marry any one."</p> + +<p>"I agree with you there;—I do indeed," said Lord Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"And no governor shall make me marry. I've thought a great deal about +it since that other time, and that's what I've come to determine."</p> + +<p>"But I don't know why you shouldn't—just marry me—because you—like +me."</p> + +<p>"Only,—just because I don't. Well; I do like you, Lord Nidderdale."</p> + +<p>"Thanks;—so much!"</p> + +<p>"I like you ever so,—only marrying a person is different."</p> + +<p>"There's something in that to be sure."</p> + +<p>"And I don't mind telling you," said Marie with an almost solemn +expression on her countenance, "because you are good-natured and +won't get me into a scrape if you can help it, that I do like +somebody else;—oh, so much."</p> + +<p>"I supposed that was it."</p> + +<p>"That is it."</p> + +<p>"It's a deuced pity. The governors had settled everything, and we +should have been awfully jolly. I'd have gone in for all the things +you go in for; and though your governor was screwing us up a bit, +there would have been plenty of tin to go on with. You couldn't think +of it again?"</p> + +<p>"I tell you, my lord, I'm—in love."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ah;—yes. So you were saying. It's an awful bore. That's all. I +shall come to the party all the same if you send me a ticket." And so +Nidderdale took his dismissal, and went away,—not however without an +idea that the marriage would still come off. There was always,—so he +thought,—such a bother about things before they would get themselves +fixed. This happened some days after Mr. Broune's proposal to Lady +Carbury, more than a week since Marie had seen Sir Felix. As soon as +Lord Nidderdale was gone she wrote again to Sir Felix begging that +she might hear from him,—and entrusted her letter to Didon.</p> + + +<p><a id="c36"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h3> +<h4>MR. BROUNE'S PERILS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lady Carbury had allowed herself two days for answering Mr. Broune's +proposition. It was made on Tuesday night and she was bound by her +promise to send a reply some time on Thursday. But early on the +Wednesday morning she had made up her mind; and at noon on that day +her letter was written. She had spoken to Hetta about the man, and +she had seen that Hetta had disliked him. She was not disposed to be +much guided by Hetta's opinion. In regard to her daughter she was +always influenced by a vague idea that Hetta was an unnecessary +trouble. There was an excellent match ready for her if she would only +accept it. There was no reason why Hetta should continue to add +herself to the family burden. She never said this even to +herself,—but she felt it, and was not therefore inclined to consult +Hetta's comfort on this occasion. But nevertheless, what her daughter +said had its effect. She had encountered the troubles of one +marriage, and they had been very bad. She did not look upon that +marriage as a mistake,—having even up to this day a consciousness +that it had been the business of her life, as a portionless girl, to +obtain maintenance and position at the expense of suffering and +servility. But that had been done. The maintenance was, indeed, again +doubtful, because of her son's vices; but it might so probably be +again secured,—by means of her son's beauty! Hetta had said that Mr. +Broune liked his own way. Had not she herself found that all men +liked their own way? And she liked her own way. She liked the comfort +of a home to herself. Personally she did not want the companionship +of a husband. And what scenes would there be between Felix and the +man! And added to all this there was something within her, almost +amounting to conscience, which told her that it was not right that +she should burden any one with the responsibility and inevitable +troubles of such a son as her son Felix. What would she do were her +husband to command her to separate herself from her son? In such +circumstances she would certainly separate herself from her husband. +Having considered these things deeply, she wrote as follows to Mr. +<span class="nowrap">Broune:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest Friend</span>,</p> + +<p>I need not tell you that I have thought much of your +generous and affectionate offer. How could I refuse such a +prospect as you offer me without much thought? I regard +your career as the most noble which a man's ambition can +achieve. And in that career no one is your superior. I +cannot but be proud that such a one as you should have +asked me to be his wife. But, my friend, life is subject +to wounds which are incurable, and my life has been so +wounded. I have not strength left me to make my heart +whole enough to be worthy of your acceptance. I have been +so cut and scotched and lopped by the sufferings which I +have endured that I am best alone. It cannot all be +described;—and yet with you I would have no reticence. I +would put the whole history before you to read, with all +my troubles past and still present, all my hopes, and all +my fears,—with every circumstance as it has passed by and +every expectation that remains, were it not that the poor +tale would be too long for your patience. The result of it +would be to make you feel that I am no longer fit to enter +in upon a new home. I should bring showers instead of +sunshine, melancholy in lieu of mirth.</p> + +<p>I will, however, be bold enough to assure you that could I +bring myself to be the wife of any man I would now become +your wife. But I shall never marry again.</p> + +<p class="ind8">Nevertheless, I am your most +affectionate friend,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Matilda Carbury</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>About six o'clock in the afternoon she sent this letter to Mr. +Broune's rooms in Pall Mall East, and then sat for awhile +alone,—full of regrets. She had thrown away from her a firm footing +which would certainly have served her for her whole life. Even at +this moment she was in debt,—and did not know how to pay her debts +without mortgaging her life income. She longed for some staff on +which she could lean. She was afraid of the future. When she would +sit with her paper before her, preparing her future work for the +press, copying a bit here and a bit there, inventing historical +details, dovetailing her chronicle, her head would sometimes seem to +be going round as she remembered the unpaid baker, and her son's +horses, and his unmeaning dissipation, and all her doubts about the +marriage. As regarded herself, Mr. Broune would have made her +secure,—but that now was all over. Poor woman! This at any rate may +be said for her,—that had she accepted the man her regrets would +have been as deep.</p> + +<p>Mr. Broune's feelings were more decided in their tone than those of +the lady. He had not made his offer without consideration, and yet +from the very moment in which it had been made he repented it. That +gently sarcastic appellation by which Lady Carbury had described him +to herself when he had kissed her best explained that side of Mr. +Broune's character which showed itself in this matter. He was a +susceptible old goose. Had she allowed him to kiss her without +objection, the kissing might probably have gone on; and, whatever +might have come of it, there would have been no offer of marriage. He +had believed that her little manœuvres had indicated love on her +part, and he had felt himself constrained to reciprocate the passion. +She was beautiful in his eyes. She was bright. She wore her clothes +like a lady; and,—if it was written in the Book of the Fates that +some lady was to sit at the top of his table,—Lady Carbury would +look as well there as any other. She had repudiated the kiss, and +therefore he had felt himself bound to obtain for himself the right +to kiss her.</p> + +<p>The offer had no sooner been made than he met her son reeling in, +drunk, at the front door. As he made his escape the lad had insulted +him. This, perhaps, helped to open his eyes. When he woke the next +morning, or rather late in the next day, after his night's work, he +was no longer able to tell himself that the world was all right with +him. Who does not know that sudden thoughtfulness at waking, that +first matutinal retrospection, and pro-spection, into things as they +have been and are to be; and the lowness of heart, the blankness of +hope which follows the first remembrance of some folly lately done, +some word ill-spoken, some money misspent,—or perhaps a cigar too +much, or a glass of brandy and soda-water which he should have left +untasted? And when things have gone well, how the waker comforts +himself among the bedclothes as he claims for himself to be whole all +over, teres atque rotundus,—so to have managed his little affairs +that he has to fear no harm, and to blush inwardly at no error! Mr. +Broune, the way of whose life took him among many perils, who in the +course of his work had to steer his bark among many rocks, was in the +habit of thus auditing his daily account as he shook off sleep about +noon,—for such was his lot, that he seldom was in bed before four or +five in the morning. On this Wednesday he found that he could not +balance his sheet comfortably. He had taken a very great step and he +feared that he had not taken it with wisdom. As he drank the cup of +tea with which his servant supplied him while he was yet in bed, he +could not say of himself, teres atque rotundus, as he was wont to do +when things were well with him. Everything was to be changed. As he +lit a cigarette he bethought himself that Lady Carbury would not like +him to smoke in her bedroom. Then he remembered other things. "I'll +be <span class="nowrap">d——</span> if he +shall live in my house," he said to himself.</p> + +<p>And there was no way out of it. It did not occur to the man that his +offer could be refused. During the whole of that day he went about +among his friends in a melancholy fashion, saying little snappish +uncivil things at the club, and at last dining by himself with about +fifteen newspapers around him. After dinner he did not speak a word +to any man, but went early to the office of the newspaper in +Trafalgar Square at which he did his nightly work. Here he was lapped +in comforts,—if the best of chairs, of sofas, of writing tables, and +of reading lamps can make a man comfortable who has to read nightly +thirty columns of a newspaper, or at any rate to make himself +responsible for their contents.</p> + +<p>He seated himself to his work like a man, but immediately saw Lady +Carbury's letter on the table before him. It was his custom when he +did not dine at home to have such documents brought to him at his +office as had reached his home during his absence;—and here was Lady +Carbury's letter. He knew her writing well, and was aware that here +was the confirmation of his fate. It had not been expected, as she +had given herself another day for her answer,—but here it was, +beneath his hand. Surely this was almost unfeminine haste. He chucked +the letter, unopened, a little from him, and endeavoured to fix his +attention on some printed slip that was ready for him. For some ten +minutes his eyes went rapidly down the lines, but he found that his +mind did not follow what he was reading. He struggled again, but +still his thoughts were on the letter. He did not wish to open it, +having some vague idea that, till the letter should have been read, +there was a chance of escape. The letter would not become due to be +read till the next day. It should not have been there now to tempt +his thoughts on this night. But he could do nothing while it lay +there. "It shall be a part of the bargain that I shall never have to +see him," he said to himself, as he opened it. The second line told +him that the danger was over.</p> + +<p>When he had read so far he stood up with his back to the fire-place, +leaving the letter on the table. Then, after all, the woman wasn't in +love with him! But that was a reading of the affair which he could +hardly bring himself to look upon as correct. The woman had shown her +love by a thousand signs. There was no doubt, however, that she now +had her triumph. A woman always has a triumph when she rejects a +man,—and more especially when she does so at a certain time of life. +Would she publish her triumph? Mr. Broune would not like to have it +known about among brother editors, or by the world at large, that he +had offered to marry Lady Carbury and that Lady Carbury had refused +him. He had escaped; but the sweetness of his present safety was not +in proportion to the bitterness of his late fears.</p> + +<p>He could not understand why Lady Carbury should have refused him! As +he reflected upon it, all memory of her son for the moment passed +away from him. Full ten minutes had passed, during which he had still +stood upon the rug, before he read the entire letter. "'Cut and +scotched and lopped!' I suppose she has been," he said to himself. He +had heard much of Sir Patrick, and knew well that the old general had +been no lamb. "I shouldn't have cut her, or scotched her, or lopped +her." When he had read the whole letter patiently there crept upon +him gradually a feeling of admiration for her, greater than he had +ever yet felt,—and, for awhile, he almost thought that he would +renew his offer to her. "'Showers instead of sunshine; melancholy +instead of mirth,'" he repeated to himself. "I should have done the +best for her, taking the showers and the melancholy if they were +necessary."</p> + +<p>He went to his work in a mixed frame of mind, but certainly without +that dragging weight which had oppressed him when he entered the +room. Gradually, through the night, he realised the conviction that +he had escaped, and threw from him altogether the idea of repeating +his offer. Before he left he wrote her a +<span class="nowrap">line—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>Be it so. It need not break our friendship.</p> + +<p class="ind12">N. B.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This he sent by a special messenger, who returned with a note to his +lodgings long before he was up on the following morning.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>No;—no; certainly not. No word of this will ever pass my +mouth.</p> + +<p class="ind12">M. C.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Mr. Broune thought that he was very well out of the danger, and +resolved that Lady Carbury should never want anything that his +friendship could do for her.</p> + + +<p><a id="c37"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h3> +<h4>THE BOARD-ROOM.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>On Friday, the 21st June, the Board of the South Central Pacific and +Mexican Railway sat in its own room behind the Exchange, as was the +Board's custom every Friday. On this occasion all the members were +there, as it had been understood that the chairman was to make a +special statement. There was the great chairman as a matter of +course. In the midst of his numerous and immense concerns he never +threw over the railway, or delegated to other less experienced hands +those cares which the commercial world had intrusted to his own. Lord +Alfred was there, with Mr. Cohenlupe, the Hebrew gentleman, and Paul +Montague, and Lord Nidderdale,—and even Sir Felix Carbury. Sir Felix +had come, being very anxious to buy and sell, and not as yet having +had an opportunity of realising his golden hopes, although he had +actually paid a thousand pounds in hard money into Mr. Melmotte's +hands. The secretary, Mr. Miles Grendall, was also present as a +matter of course. The Board always met at three, and had generally +been dissolved at a quarter past three. Lord Alfred and Mr. Cohenlupe +sat at the chairman's right and left hand. Paul Montague generally +sat immediately below, with Miles Grendall opposite to him;—but on +this occasion the young lord and the young baronet took the next +places. It was a nice little family party, the great chairman with +his two aspiring sons-in-law, his two particular friends,—the social +friend, Lord Alfred, and the commercial friend Mr. Cohenlupe,—and +Miles, who was Lord Alfred's son. It would have been complete in its +friendliness, but for Paul Montague, who had lately made himself +disagreeable to Mr. Melmotte;—and most ungratefully so, for +certainly no one had been allowed so free a use of the shares as the +younger member of the house of Fisker, Montague, and Montague.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill037"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill037.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill037-t.jpg" width="540" + alt="The Board-room." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">The Board-room.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill037.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>It was understood that Mr. Melmotte was to make a statement. Lord +Nidderdale and Sir Felix had conceived that this was to be done as it +were out of the great man's own heart, of his own wish, so that +something of the condition of the company might be made known to the +directors of the company. But this was not perhaps exactly the truth. +Paul Montague had insisted on giving vent to certain doubts at the +last meeting but one, and, having made himself very disagreeable +indeed, had forced this trouble on the great chairman. On the +intermediate Friday the chairman had made himself very unpleasant to +Paul, and this had seemed to be an effort on his part to frighten the +inimical director out of his opposition, so that the promise of a +statement need not be fulfilled. What nuisance can be so great to a +man busied with immense affairs, as to have to explain,—or to +attempt to explain,—small details to men incapable of understanding +them? But Montague had stood to his guns. He had not intended, he +said, to dispute the commercial success of the company. But he felt +very strongly, and he thought that his brother directors should feel +as strongly, that it was necessary that they should know more than +they did know. Lord Alfred had declared that he did not in the least +agree with his brother director. "If anybody don't understand, it's +his own fault," said Mr. Cohenlupe. But Paul would not give way, and +it was understood that Mr. Melmotte would make a statement.</p> + +<p>The "Boards" were always commenced by the reading of a certain record +of the last meeting out of a book. This was always done by Miles +Grendall; and the record was supposed to have been written by him. +But Montague had discovered that this statement in the book was +always prepared and written by a satellite of Melmotte's from +Abchurch Lane who was never present at the meeting. The adverse +director had spoken to the secretary,—it will be remembered that +they were both members of the Beargarden,—and Miles had given a +somewhat evasive reply. "A cussed deal of trouble and all that, you +know! He's used to it, and it's what he's meant for. I'm not going to +flurry myself about stuff of that kind." Montague after this had +spoken on the subject both to Nidderdale and Felix Carbury. "He +couldn't do it, if it was ever so," Nidderdale had said. "I don't +think I'd bully him if I were you. He gets £500 a-year, and if you +knew all he owes, and all he hasn't got, you wouldn't try to rob him +of it." With Felix Carbury Montague had as little success. Sir Felix +hated the secretary, had detected him cheating at cards, had resolved +to expose him,—and had then been afraid to do so. He had told Dolly +Longestaffe, and the reader will perhaps remember with what effect. +He had not mentioned the affair again, and had gradually fallen back +into the habit of playing at the club. Loo, however, had given way to +whist, and Sir Felix had satisfied himself with the change. He still +meditated some dreadful punishment for Miles Grendall, but, in the +meantime, felt himself unable to oppose him at the Board. Since the +day at which the aces had been manipulated at the club he had not +spoken to Miles Grendall except in reference to the affairs of the +whist-table. The "Board" was now commenced as usual. Miles read the +short record out of the book,—stumbling over every other word, and +going through the performance so badly that had there been anything +to understand no one could have understood it. "Gentlemen," said Mr. +Melmotte, in his usual hurried way, "is it your pleasure that I shall +sign the record?" Paul Montague rose to say that it was not his +pleasure that the record should be signed. But Melmotte had made his +scrawl, and was deep in conversation with Mr. Cohenlupe before Paul +could get upon his legs.</p> + +<p>Melmotte, however, had watched the little struggle. Melmotte, +whatever might be his faults, had eyes to see and ears to hear. He +perceived that Montague had made a little struggle and had been +cowed; and he knew how hard it is for one man to persevere against +five or six, and for a young man to persevere against his elders. +Nidderdale was filliping bits of paper across the table at Carbury. +Miles Grendall was poring over the book which was in his charge. Lord +Alfred sat back in his chair, the picture of a model director, with +his right hand within his waistcoat. He looked aristocratic, +respectable, and almost commercial. In that room he never by any +chance opened his mouth, except when called on to say that Mr. +Melmotte was right, and was considered by the chairman really to earn +his money. Melmotte for a minute or two went on conversing with +Cohenlupe, having perceived that Montague for the moment was cowed. +Then Paul put both his hands upon the table, intending to rise and +ask some perplexing question. Melmotte saw this also and was upon his +legs before Montague had risen from his chair. "Gentlemen," said Mr. +Melmotte, "it may perhaps be as well if I take this occasion of +saying a few words to you about the affairs of the company." Then, +instead of going on with his statement, he sat down again, and began +to turn over sundry voluminous papers very slowly, whispering a word +or two every now and then to Mr. Cohenlupe. Lord Alfred never changed +his posture and never took his hand from his breast. Nidderdale and +Carbury filliped their paper pellets backwards and forwards. Montague +sat profoundly listening,—or ready to listen when anything should be +said. As the chairman had risen from his chair to commence his +statement, Paul felt that he was bound to be silent. When a speaker +is in possession of the floor, he is in possession even though he be +somewhat dilatory in looking to his references, and whispering to his +neighbour. And, when that speaker is a chairman, of course some +additional latitude must be allowed to him. Montague understood this, +and sat silent. It seemed that Melmotte had much to say to Cohenlupe, +and Cohenlupe much to say to Melmotte. Since Cohenlupe had sat at the +Board he had never before developed such powers of conversation.</p> + +<p>Nidderdale didn't quite understand it. He had been there twenty +minutes, was tired of his present amusement, having been unable to +hit Carbury on the nose, and suddenly remembered that the Beargarden +would now be open. He was no respecter of persons, and had got over +any little feeling of awe with which the big table and the solemnity +of the room may have first inspired him. "I suppose that's about +all," he said, looking up at Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"Well;—perhaps as your lordship is in a hurry, and as my lord here +is engaged elsewhere,"—turning round to Lord Alfred, who had not +uttered a syllable or made a sign since he had been in his seat,—"we +had better adjourn this meeting for another week."</p> + +<p>"I cannot allow that," said Paul Montague.</p> + +<p>"I suppose then we must take the sense of the Board," said the +Chairman.</p> + +<p>"I have been discussing certain circumstances with our friend and +Chairman," said Cohenlupe, "and I must say that it is not expedient +just at present to go into matters too freely."</p> + +<p>"My lords and gentlemen," said Melmotte. "I hope that you trust me."</p> + +<p>Lord Alfred bowed down to the table and muttered something which was +intended to convey most absolute confidence. "Hear, hear," said Mr. +Cohenlupe. "All right," said Lord Nidderdale; "go on;" and he fired +another pellet with improved success.</p> + +<p>"I trust," said the Chairman, "that my young friend, Sir Felix, +doubts neither my discretion nor my ability."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, no;—not at all," said the baronet, much flattered at being +addressed in this kindly tone. He had come there with objects of his +own, and was quite prepared to support the Chairman on any matter +whatever.</p> + +<p>"My Lords and Gentlemen," continued Melmotte, "I am delighted to +receive this expression of your confidence. If I know anything in the +world I know something of commercial matters. I am able to tell you +that we are prospering. I do not know that greater prosperity has +ever been achieved in a shorter time by a commercial company. I think +our friend here, Mr. Montague, should be as feelingly aware of that +as any gentleman."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that, Mr. Melmotte?" asked Paul.</p> + +<p>"What do I mean?—Certainly nothing adverse to your character, sir. +Your firm in San Francisco, sir, know very well how the affairs of +the Company are being transacted on this side of the water. No doubt +you are in correspondence with Mr. Fisker. Ask him. The telegraph +wires are open to you, sir. But, my Lords and Gentlemen, I am able to +inform you that in affairs of this nature great discretion is +necessary. On behalf of the shareholders at large whose interests are +in our hands, I think it expedient that any general statement should +be postponed for a short time, and I flatter myself that in that +opinion I shall carry the majority of this Board with me." Mr. +Melmotte did not make his speech very fluently; but, being accustomed +to the place which he occupied, he did manage to get the words spoken +in such a way as to make them intelligible to the company. "I now +move that this meeting be adjourned to this day week," he added.</p> + +<p>"I second that motion," said Lord Alfred, without moving his hand +from his breast.</p> + +<p>"I understood that we were to have a statement," said Montague.</p> + +<p>"You've had a statement," said Mr. Cohenlupe.</p> + +<p>"I will put my motion to the vote," said the Chairman.</p> + +<p>"I shall move an amendment," said Paul, determined that he would not +be altogether silenced.</p> + +<p>"There is nobody to second it," said Mr. Cohenlupe.</p> + +<p>"How do you know till I've made it?" asked the rebel. "I shall ask +Lord Nidderdale to second it, and when he has heard it I think that +he will not refuse."</p> + +<p>"Oh, gracious me! why me? No;—don't ask me. I've got to go away. I +have indeed."</p> + +<p>"At any rate I claim the right of saying a few words. I do not say +whether every affair of this Company should or should not be +published to the world."</p> + +<p>"You'd break up everything if you did," said Cohenlupe.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps everything ought to be broken up. But I say nothing about +that. What I do say is this. That as we sit here as directors and +will be held to be responsible as such by the public, we ought to +know what is being done. We ought to know where the shares really +are. I for one do not even know what scrip has been issued."</p> + +<p>"You've bought and sold enough to know something about it," said +Melmotte.</p> + +<p>Paul Montague became very red in the face. "I, at any rate, began," +he said, "by putting what was to me a large sum of money into the +affair."</p> + +<p>"That's more than I know," said Melmotte. "Whatever shares you have, +were issued at San Francisco, and not here."</p> + +<p>"I have taken nothing that I haven't paid for," said Montague. "Nor +have I yet had allotted to me anything like the number of shares +which my capital would represent. But I did not intend to speak of my +own concerns."</p> + +<p>"It looks very like it," said Cohenlupe.</p> + +<p>"So far from it that I am prepared to risk the not improbable loss of +everything I have in the world. I am determined to know what is being +done with the shares, or to make it public to the world at large that +I, one of the directors of the Company, do not in truth know anything +about it. I cannot, I suppose, absolve myself from further +responsibility; but I can at any rate do what is right from this time +forward,—and that course I intend to take."</p> + +<p>"The gentleman had better resign his seat at this Board," said +Melmotte. "There will be no difficulty about that."</p> + +<p>"Bound up as I am with Fisker and Montague in California I fear that +there will be difficulty."</p> + +<p>"Not in the least," continued the Chairman. "You need only gazette +your resignation and the thing is done. I had intended, gentlemen, to +propose an addition to our number. When I name to you a gentleman, +personally known to many of you, and generally esteemed throughout +England as a man of business, as a man of probity, and as a man of +fortune, a man standing deservedly high in all British circles, I +mean Mr. Longestaffe of +<span class="nowrap">Caversham—"</span></p> + +<p>"Young Dolly, or old?" asked Lord Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"I mean Mr. Adolphus Longestaffe, senior, of Caversham. I am sure +that you will all be glad to welcome him among you. I had thought to +strengthen our number by this addition. But if Mr. Montague is +determined to leave us,—and no one will regret the loss of his +services so much as I shall,—it will be my pleasing duty to move +that Adolphus Longestaffe, senior, Esquire, of Caversham, be +requested to take his place. If on reconsideration Mr. Montague shall +determine to remain with us,—and I for one most sincerely hope that +such reconsideration may lead to such determination,—then I shall +move that an additional director be added to our number, and that Mr. +Longestaffe be requested to take the chair of that additional +director." The latter speech Mr. Melmotte got through very glibly, +and then immediately left the chair, so as to show that the business +of the Board was closed for that day without any possibility of +reopening it.</p> + +<p>Paul went up to him and took him by the sleeve, signifying that he +wished to speak to him before they parted. "Certainly," said the +great man bowing. "Carbury," he said, looking round on the young +baronet with his blandest smile, "if you are not in a hurry, wait a +moment for me. I have a word or two to say before you go. Now, Mr. +Montague, what can I do for you?" Paul began his story, expressing +again the opinion which he had already very plainly expressed at the +table. But Melmotte stopped him very shortly, and with much less +courtesy than he had shown in the speech which he had made from the +chair. "The thing is about this way, I take it, Mr. Montague;—you +think you know more of this matter than I do."</p> + +<p>"Not at all, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"And I think that I know more of it than you do. Either of us may be +right. But as I don't intend to give way to you, perhaps the less we +speak together about it the better. You can't be in earnest in the +threat you made, because you would be making public things +communicated to you under the seal of privacy,—and no gentleman +would do that. But as long as you are hostile to me, I can't help +you;—and so good afternoon." Then, without giving Montague the +possibility of a reply, he escaped into an inner room which had the +word "Private" painted on the door, and which was supposed to belong +to the chairman individually. He shut the door behind him, and then, +after a few moments, put out his head and beckoned to Sir Felix +Carbury. Nidderdale was gone. Lord Alfred with his son were already +on the stairs. Cohenlupe was engaged with Melmotte's clerk on the +record-book. Paul Montague finding himself without support and alone, +slowly made his way out into the court.</p> + +<p>Sir Felix had come into the city intending to suggest to the Chairman +that having paid his thousand pounds he should like to have a few +shares to go on with. He was, indeed, at the present moment very +nearly penniless, and had negotiated, or lost at cards, all the +I.O.U.'s which were in any degree serviceable. He still had a +pocket-book full of those issued by Miles Grendall; but it was now an +understood thing at the Beargarden that no one was to be called upon +to take them except Miles Grendall himself;—an arrangement which +robbed the card-table of much of its delight. Beyond this, also, he +had lately been forced to issue a little paper himself,—in doing +which he had talked largely of his shares in the railway. His case +certainly was hard. He had actually paid a thousand pounds down in +hard cash, a commercial transaction which, as performed by himself, +he regarded as stupendous. It was almost incredible to himself that +he should have paid any one a thousand pounds, but he had done it +with much difficulty,—having carried Dolly junior with him all the +way into the city,—in the belief that he would thus put himself in +the way of making a continual and unfailing income. He understood +that as a director he would be always entitled to buy shares at par, +and, as a matter of course, always able to sell them at the market +price. This he understood to range from ten to fifteen and twenty per +cent. profit. He would have nothing to do but to buy and sell daily. +He was told that Lord Alfred was allowed to do it to a small extent; +and that Melmotte was doing it to an enormous extent. But before he +could do it he must get something,—he hardly knew what,—out of +Melmotte's hands. Melmotte certainly did not seem disposed to shun +him, and therefore there could be no difficulty about the shares. As +to danger;—who could think of danger in reference to money intrusted +to the hands of Augustus Melmotte?</p> + +<p>"I am delighted to see you here," said Melmotte, shaking him +cordially by the hand. "You come regularly, and you'll find that it +will be worth your while. There's nothing like attending to business. +You should be here every Friday."</p> + +<p>"I will," said the baronet.</p> + +<p>"And let me see you sometimes up at my place in Abchurch Lane. I can +put you more in the way of understanding things there than I can +here. This is all a mere formal sort of thing. You can see that."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I see that."</p> + +<p>"We are obliged to have this kind of thing for men like that fellow +Montague. By-the-bye, is he a friend of yours?"</p> + +<p>"Not particularly. He is a friend of a cousin of mine; and the women +know him at home. He isn't a pal of mine if you mean that."</p> + +<p>"If he makes himself disagreeable, he'll have to go to the +wall;—that's all. But never mind him at present. Was your mother +speaking to you of what I said to her?"</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Melmotte," said Sir Felix, staring with all his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I was talking to her about you, and I thought that perhaps she might +have told you. This is all nonsense, you know, about you and Marie." +Sir Felix looked into the man's face. It was not savage, as he had +seen it. But there had suddenly come upon his brow that heavy look of +a determined purpose which all who knew the man were wont to mark. +Sir Felix had observed it a few minutes since in the Board-room, when +the chairman was putting down the rebellious director. "You +understand that; don't you?" Sir Felix still looked at him, but made +no reply. "It's all +<span class="nowrap">d——</span> nonsense. +You haven't got a brass farthing, +you know. You've no income at all; you're just living on your mother, +and I'm afraid she's not very well off. How can you suppose that I +shall give my girl to you?" Felix still looked at him but did not +dare to contradict a single statement made. Yet when the man told him +that he had not a brass farthing he thought of his own thousand +pounds which were now in the man's pocket. "You're a baronet, and +that's about all, you know," continued Melmotte. "The Carbury +property, which is a very small thing, belongs to a distant cousin +who may leave it to me if he pleases;—and who isn't very much older +than you are yourself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, Mr. Melmotte; he's a great deal older than me."</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't matter if he were as old as Adam. The thing is out of +the question, and you must drop it." Then the look on his brow became +a little heavier. "You hear what I say. She is going to marry Lord +Nidderdale. She was engaged to him before you ever saw her. What do +you expect to get by it?"</p> + +<p>Sir Felix had not the courage to say that he expected to get the girl +he loved. But as the man waited for an answer he was obliged to say +something. "I suppose it's the old story," he said.</p> + +<p>"Just so;—the old story. You want my money, and she wants you, just +because she has been told to take somebody else. You want something +to live on;—that's what you want. Come;—out with it. Is not that +it? When we understand each other I'll put you in the way of making +money."</p> + +<p>"Of course I'm not very well off," said Felix.</p> + +<p>"About as badly as any young man that I can hear of. You give me your +written promise that you'll drop this affair with Marie, and you +shan't want for money."</p> + +<p>"A written promise!"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—a written promise. I give nothing for nothing. I'll put you in +the way of doing so well with these shares that you shall be able to +marry any other girl you please;—or to live without marrying, which +you'll find to be better."</p> + +<p>There was something worthy of consideration in Mr. Melmotte's +proposition. Marriage of itself, simply as a domestic institution, +had not specially recommended itself to Sir Felix Carbury. A few +horses at Leighton, Ruby Ruggles or any other beauty, and life at the +Beargarden were much more to his taste. And then he was quite alive +to the fact that it was possible that he might find himself possessed +of the wife without the money. Marie, indeed, had a grand plan of her +own, with reference to that settled income; but then Marie might be +mistaken,—or she might be lying. If he were sure of making money in +the way Melmotte now suggested, the loss of Marie would not break his +heart. But then also Melmotte might be—lying. "By-the-bye, Mr. +Melmotte," said he, "could you let me have those shares?"</p> + +<p>"What shares?" And the heavy brow became still heavier.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know?—I gave you a thousand pounds, and I was to have ten +shares."</p> + +<p>"You must come about that on the proper day, to the proper place."</p> + +<p>"When is the proper day?"</p> + +<p>"It is the twentieth of each month I think." Sir Felix looked very +blank at hearing this, knowing that this present was the twenty-first +of the month. "But what does that signify? Do you want a little +money?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I do," said Sir Felix. "A lot of fellows owe me money, but +it's so hard to get it."</p> + +<p>"That tells a story of gambling," said Mr. Melmotte. "You think I'd +give my girl to a gambler?"</p> + +<p>"Nidderdale's in it quite as thick as I am."</p> + +<p>"Nidderdale has a settled property which neither he nor his father +can destroy. But don't you be such a fool as to argue with me. You +won't get anything by it. If you'll write that letter here +<span class="nowrap">now—"</span></p> + +<p>"What;—to Marie?"</p> + +<p>"No;—not to Marie at all; but to me. It need never be shown to her. +If you'll do that I'll stick to you and make a man of you. And if you +want a couple of hundred pounds I'll give you a cheque for it before +you leave the room. Mind, I can tell you this. On my word of honour +as a gentleman, if my daughter were to marry you, she'd never have a +single shilling. I should immediately make a will and leave all my +property to St. George's Hospital. I have quite made up my mind about +that."</p> + +<p>"And couldn't you manage that I should have the shares before the +twentieth of next month?"</p> + +<p>"I'll see about it. Perhaps I could let you have a few of my own. At +any rate I won't see you short of money."</p> + +<p>The terms were enticing and the letter was of course written. +Melmotte himself dictated the words, which were not romantic in their +nature. The reader shall see the letter.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Sir</span>,</p> + +<p>In consideration of the offers made by you to me, and on a +clear understanding that such a marriage would be +disagreeable to you and to the lady's mother, and would +bring down a father's curse upon your daughter, I hereby +declare and promise that I will not renew my suit to the +young lady, which I hereby altogether renounce.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind10">I am, Dear Sir,</span><br /> +<span class="ind12">Your obedient Servant,</span></p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Felix Carbury</span>.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Augustus Melmotte</span>, Esq.,<br /> +—, Grosvenor Square.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>The letter was dated 21st July, and bore the printed address of the +offices of the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway.</p> + +<p>"You'll give me that cheque for £200, Mr. Melmotte?" The financier +hesitated for a moment, but did give the baronet the cheque as +promised. "And you'll see about letting me have those shares?"</p> + +<p>"You can come to me in Abchurch Lane, you know." Sir Felix said that +he would call in Abchurch Lane.</p> + +<p>As he went westward towards the Beargarden, the baronet was not happy +in his mind. Ignorant as he was as to the duties of a gentleman, +indifferent as he was to the feelings of others, still he felt +ashamed of himself. He was treating the girl very badly. Even he knew +that he was behaving badly. He was so conscious of it that he tried +to console himself by reflecting that his writing such a letter as +that would not prevent his running away with the girl, should he, on +consideration, find it to be worth his while to do so.</p> + +<p>That night he was again playing at the Beargarden, and he lost a +great part of Mr. Melmotte's money. He did in fact lose much more +than the £200; but when he found his ready money going from him he +issued paper.</p> + + +<p><a id="c38"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h3> +<h4>PAUL MONTAGUE'S TROUBLES.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Paul Montague had other troubles on his mind beyond this trouble of +the Mexican Railway. It was now more than a fortnight since he had +taken Mrs. Hurtle to the play, and she was still living in lodgings +at Islington. He had seen her twice, once on the following day, when +he was allowed to come and go without any special reference to their +engagement, and again, three or four days afterwards, when the +meeting was by no means so pleasant. She had wept, and after weeping +had stormed. She had stood upon what she called her rights, and had +dared him to be false to her. Did he mean to deny that he had +promised to marry her? Was not his conduct to her, ever since she had +now been in London, a repetition of that promise? And then again she +became soft, and pleaded with him. But for the storm he might have +given way. At that moment he had felt that any fate in life would be +better than a marriage on compulsion. Her tears and her pleadings, +nevertheless, touched him very nearly. He had promised her most +distinctly. He had loved her and had won her love. And she was +lovely. The very violence of the storm made the sunshine more sweet. +She would sit down on a stool at his feet, and it was impossible to +drive her away from him. She would look up in his face and he could +not but embrace her. Then there had come a passionate flood of tears +and she was in his arms. How he had escaped he hardly knew, but he +did know that he had promised to be with her again before two days +should have passed.</p> + +<p>On the day named he wrote to her a letter excusing himself, which was +at any rate true in words. He had been summoned, he said, to +Liverpool on business, and must postpone seeing her till his return. +And he explained that the business on which he was called was +connected with the great American railway, and, being important, +demanded his attention. In words this was true. He had been +corresponding with a gentleman at Liverpool with whom he had become +acquainted on his return home after having involuntarily become a +partner in the house of Fisker, Montague, and Montague. This man he +trusted and had consulted, and the gentleman, Mr. Ramsbottom by name, +had suggested that he should come to him at Liverpool. He had gone, +and his conduct at the Board had been the result of the advice which +he had received; but it may be doubted whether some dread of the +coming interview with Mrs. Hurtle had not added strength to Mr. +Ramsbottom's invitation.</p> + +<p>In Liverpool he had heard tidings of Mrs. Hurtle, though it can +hardly be said that he obtained any trustworthy information. The lady +after landing from an American steamer had been at Mr. Ramsbottom's +office, inquiring for him, Paul; and Mr. Ramsbottom had thought that +the inquiries were made in a manner indicating danger. He therefore +had spoken to a fellow-traveller with Mrs. Hurtle, and the +fellow-traveller had opined that Mrs. Hurtle was "a queer card." "On +board ship we all gave it up to her that she was about the handsomest +woman we had ever seen, but we all said that there was a bit of the +wild cat in her breeding." Then Mr. Ramsbottom had asked whether the +lady was a widow. "There was a man on board from Kansas," said the +fellow-traveller, "who knew a man named Hurtle at Leavenworth, who +was separated from his wife and is still alive. There was, according +to him, a queer story about the man and his wife having fought a duel +with pistols, and then having separated." This Mr. Ramsbottom, who in +an earlier stage of the affair had heard something of Paul and Mrs. +Hurtle together, managed to communicate to the young man. His advice +about the railway company was very clear and general, and such as an +honest man would certainly give; but it might have been conveyed by +letter. The information, such as it was, respecting Mrs. Hurtle, +could only be given vivâ voce, and perhaps the invitation to +Liverpool had originated in Mr. Ramsbottom's appreciation of this +fact. "As she was asking after you here, perhaps it is as well that +you should know," his friend said to him. Paul had only thanked him, +not daring on the spur of the moment to speak of his own +difficulties.</p> + +<p>In all this there had been increased dismay, but there had also been +some comfort. It had only been at moments in which he had been +subject to her softer influences that Paul had doubted as to his +adherence to the letter which he had written to her, breaking off his +engagement. When she told him of her wrongs and of her love; of his +promise and his former devotion to her; when she assured him that she +had given up everything in life for him, and threw her arms round +him, looking into his eyes;—then he would almost yield. But when, +what the traveller called the breeding of the wild cat, showed +itself;—and when, having escaped from her, he thought of Hetta +Carbury and of her breeding,—he was fully determined that, let his +fate be what it might, it should not be that of being the husband of +Mrs. Hurtle. That he was in a mass of troubles from which it would be +very difficult for him to extricate himself he was well aware;—but +if it were true that Mr. Hurtle was alive, that fact might help him. +She certainly had declared him to be,—not separated, or even +divorced,—but dead. And if it were true also that she had fought a +duel with one husband, that also ought to be a reason why a gentleman +should object to become her second husband. These facts would at any +rate justify himself to himself, and would enable himself to break +from his engagement without thinking himself to be a false traitor.</p> + +<p>But he must make up his mind as to some line of conduct. She must be +made to know the truth. If he meant to reject the lady finally on the +score of her being a wild cat, he must tell her so. He felt very +strongly that he must not flinch from the wild cat's claws. That he +would have to undergo some severe handling, an amount of clawing +which might perhaps go near his life, he could perceive. Having done +what he had done he would have no right to shrink from such usage. He +must tell her to her face that he was not satisfied with her past +life, and that therefore he would not marry her. Of course he might +write to her;—but when summoned to her presence he would be unable +to excuse himself, even to himself, for not going. It was his +misfortune,—and also his fault,—that he had submitted to be loved +by a wild cat.</p> + +<p>But it might be well that before he saw her he should get hold of +information that might have the appearance of real evidence. He +returned from Liverpool to London on the morning of the Friday on +which the Board was held, and thought even more of all this than he +did of the attack which he was prepared to make on Mr. Melmotte. If +he could come across that traveller he might learn something. The +husband's name had been Caradoc Carson Hurtle. If Caradoc Carson +Hurtle had been seen in the State of Kansas within the last two +years, that certainly would be sufficient evidence. As to the duel he +felt that it might be very hard to prove that, and that if proved, it +might be hard to found upon the fact any absolute right on his part +to withdraw from the engagement. But there was a rumour also, though +not corroborated during his last visit to Liverpool, that she had +shot a gentleman in Oregon. Could he get at the truth of that story? +If they were all true, surely he could justify himself to himself.</p> + +<p>But this detective's work was very distasteful to him. After having +had the woman in his arms how could he undertake such inquiries as +these? And it would be almost necessary that he should take her in +his arms again while he was making them,—unless indeed he made them +with her knowledge. Was it not his duty, as a man, to tell everything +to herself? To speak to her thus;—"I am told that your life with +your last husband was, to say the least of it, eccentric; that you +even fought a duel with him. I could not marry a woman who had fought +a duel,—certainly not a woman who had fought with her own husband. I +am told also that you shot another gentleman in Oregon. It may well +be that the gentleman deserved to be shot; but there is something in +the deed so repulsive to me,—no doubt irrationally,—that, on that +score also, I must decline to marry you. I am told also that Mr. +Hurtle has been seen alive quite lately. I had understood from you +that he is dead. No doubt you may have been deceived. But as I should +not have engaged myself to you had I known the truth, so now I +consider myself justified in absolving myself from an engagement +which was based on a misconception." It would no doubt be difficult +to get through all these details; but it might be accomplished +gradually,—unless in the process of doing so he should incur the +fate of the gentleman in Oregon. At any rate he would declare to her +as well as he could the ground on which he claimed a right to +consider himself free, and would bear the consequences. Such was the +resolve which he made on his journey up from Liverpool, and that +trouble was also on his mind when he rose up to attack Mr. Melmotte +single-handed at the Board.</p> + +<p>When the Board was over, he also went down to the Beargarden. +Perhaps, with reference to the Board, the feeling which hurt him most +was the conviction that he was spending money which he would never +have had to spend had there been no Board. He had been twitted with +this at the Board-meeting, and had justified himself by referring to +the money which had been invested in the Company of Fisker, Montague, +and Montague, which money was now supposed to have been made over to +the railway. But the money which he was spending had come to him +after a loose fashion, and he knew that if called upon for an +account, he could hardly make out one which would be square and +intelligible to all parties. Nevertheless he spent much of his time +at the Beargarden, dining there when no engagement carried him +elsewhere. On this evening he joined his table with Nidderdale's, at +the young lord's instigation. "What made you so savage at old +Melmotte to-day?" said the young lord.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to be savage, but I think that as we call ourselves +Directors we ought to know something about it."</p> + +<p>"I suppose we ought. I don't know, you know. I'll tell you what I've +been thinking. I can't make out why the mischief they made me a +Director."</p> + +<p>"Because you're a lord," said Paul bluntly.</p> + +<p>"I suppose there's something in that. But what good can I do them? +Nobody thinks that I know anything about business. Of course I'm in +Parliament, but I don't often go there unless they want me to vote. +Everybody knows that I'm hard up. I can't understand it. The Governor +said that I was to do it, and so I've done it."</p> + +<p>"They say, you know,—there's something between you and Melmotte's +daughter."</p> + +<p>"But if there is, what has that to do with a railway in the city? And +why should Carbury be there? And, heaven and earth, why should old +Grendall be a Director? I'm impecunious; but if you were to pick out +the two most hopeless men in London in regard to money, they would be +old Grendall and young Carbury. I've been thinking a good deal about +it, and I can't make it out."</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking about it too," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"I suppose old Melmotte is all right?" asked Nidderdale. This was a +question which Montague found it difficult to answer. How could he be +justified in whispering suspicions to the man who was known to be at +any rate one of the competitors for Marie Melmotte's hand? "You can +speak out to me, you know," said Nidderdale, nodding his head.</p> + +<p>"I've got nothing to speak. People say that he is about the richest +man alive."</p> + +<p>"He lives as though he were."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why it shouldn't be all true. Nobody, I take it, knows +very much about him." When his companion had left him, Nidderdale sat +down, thinking of it all. It occurred to him that he would "be coming +a cropper rather," were he to marry Melmotte's daughter for her +money, and then find that she had got none.</p> + +<p>A little later in the evening he invited Montague to go up to the +card-room. "Carbury, and Grasslough, and Dolly Longestaffe are there +waiting," he said. But Paul declined. He was too full of his troubles +for play. "Poor Miles isn't there, if you're afraid of that," said +Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"Miles Grendall wouldn't hinder me," said Montague.</p> + +<p>"Nor me either. Of course it's a confounded shame. I know that as +well as any body. But, God bless me, I owe a fellow down in +Leicestershire heaven knows how much for keeping horses, and that's a +shame."</p> + +<p>"You'll pay him some day."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I shall,—if I don't die first. But I should have gone on +with the horses just the same if there had never been anything to +come;—only they wouldn't have given me tick, you know. As far as I'm +concerned it's just the same. I like to live whether I've got money +or not. And I fear I don't have many scruples about paying. But then +I like to let live too. There's Carbury always saying nasty things +about poor Miles. He's playing himself without a rap to back him. If +he were to lose, Vossner wouldn't stand him a £10 note. But because +he has won, he goes on as though he were old Melmotte himself. You'd +better come up."</p> + +<p>But Montague wouldn't go up. Without any fixed purpose he left the +club, and slowly sauntered northwards through the streets till he +found himself in Welbeck Street. He hardly knew why he went there, +and certainly had not determined to call on Lady Carbury when he left +the Beargarden. His mind was full of Mrs. Hurtle. As long as she was +present in London,—as long at any rate as he was unable to tell +himself that he had finally broken away from her,—he knew himself to +be an unfit companion for Henrietta Carbury. And, indeed, he was +still under some promise made to Roger Carbury, not that he would +avoid Hetta's company, but that for a certain period, as yet +unexpired, he would not ask her to be his wife. It had been a foolish +promise, made and then repented without much attention to words;—but +still it was existing, and Paul knew well that Roger trusted that it +would be kept. Nevertheless Paul made his way up to Welbeck Street +and almost unconsciously knocked at the door. No;—Lady Carbury was +not at home. She was out somewhere with Mr. Roger Carbury. Up to that +moment Paul had not heard that Roger was in town; but the reader may +remember that he had come up in search of Ruby Ruggles. Miss Carbury +was at home, the page went on to say. Would Mr. Montague go up and +see Miss Carbury? Without much consideration Mr. Montague said that +he would go up and see Miss Carbury. "Mamma is out with Roger," said +Hetta endeavouring to save herself from confusion. "There is a soirée +of learned people somewhere, and she made poor Roger take her. The +ticket was only for her and her friend, and therefore I could not +go."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad to see you. What an age it is since we met."</p> + +<p>"Hardly since the Melmottes' ball," said Hetta.</p> + +<p>"Hardly indeed. I have been here once since that. What has brought +Roger up to town?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what it is. Some mystery, I think. Whenever there is a +mystery I am always afraid that there is something wrong about Felix. +I do get so unhappy about Felix, Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"I saw him to-day in the city, at the Railway Board."</p> + +<p>"But Roger says the Railway Board is all a sham,"—Paul could not +keep himself from blushing as he heard this,—"and that Felix should +not be there. And then there is something going on about that horrid +man's daughter."</p> + +<p>"She is to marry Lord Nidderdale, I think."</p> + +<p>"Is she? They are talking of her marrying Felix, and of course it is +for her money. And I believe that man is determined to quarrel with +them."</p> + +<p>"What man, Miss Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Melmotte himself. It's all horrid from beginning to end."</p> + +<p>"But I saw them in the city to-day and they seemed to be the greatest +friends. When I wanted to see Mr. Melmotte he bolted himself into an +inner room, but he took your brother with him. He would not have done +that if they had not been friends. When I saw it I almost thought +that he had consented to the marriage."</p> + +<p>"Roger has the greatest dislike to Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"I know he has," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"And Roger is always right. It is always safe to trust him. Don't you +think so, Mr. Montague?" Paul did think so, and was by no means +disposed to deny to his rival the praise which rightly belonged to +him; but still he found the subject difficult. "Of course I will +never go against mamma," continued Hetta, "but I always feel that my +Cousin Roger is a rock of strength, so that if one did whatever he +said one would never get wrong. I never found any one else that I +thought that of, but I do think it of him."</p> + +<p>"No one has more reason to praise him than I have."</p> + +<p>"I think everybody has reason to praise him that has to do with him. +And I'll tell you why I think it is. Whenever he thinks anything he +says it;—or, at least, he never says anything that he doesn't think. +If he spent a thousand pounds, everybody would know that he'd got it +to spend; but other people are not like that."</p> + +<p>"You're thinking of Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"I'm thinking of everybody, Mr. Montague;—of everybody except +Roger."</p> + +<p>"Is he the only man you can trust? But it is abominable to me to seem +even to contradict you. Roger Carbury has been to me the best friend +that any man ever had. I think as much of him as you do."</p> + +<p>"I didn't say he was the only person;—or I didn't mean to say so. +But of all my <span class="nowrap">friends—"</span></p> + +<p>"Am I among the number, Miss Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I suppose so. Of course you are. Why not? Of course you are a +friend,—because you are his friend."</p> + +<p>"Look here, Hetta," he said. "It is no good going on like this. I +love Roger Carbury,—as well as one man can love another. He is all +that you say,—and more. You hardly know how he denies himself, and +how he thinks of everybody near him. He is a gentleman all round and +every inch. He never lies. He never takes what is not his own. I +believe he does love his neighbour as himself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Montague! I am so glad to hear you speak of him like that."</p> + +<p>"I love him better than any man,—as well as a man can love a man. If +you will say that you love him as well as a woman can love a man,—I +will leave England at once, and never return to it."</p> + +<p>"There's mamma," said Henrietta;—for at that moment there was a +double knock at the door.</p> + + +<p><a id="c39"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h3> +<h4>"I DO LOVE HIM."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>So it was. Lady Carbury had returned home from the soirée of learned +people, and had brought Roger Carbury with her. They both came up to +the drawing-room and found Paul and Henrietta together. It need +hardly be said that they were both surprised. Roger supposed that +Montague was still at Liverpool, and, knowing that he was not a +frequent visitor in Welbeck Street, could hardly avoid a feeling that +a meeting between the two had now been planned in the mother's +absence. The reader knows that it was not so. Roger certainly was a +man not liable to suspicion, but the circumstances in this case were +suspicious. There would have been nothing to suspect,—no reason why +Paul should not have been there,—but from the promise which had been +given. There was, indeed, no breach of that promise proved by Paul's +presence in Welbeck Street; but Roger felt rather than thought that +the two could hardly have spent the evening together without such +breach. Whether Paul had broken the promise by what he had already +said the reader must be left to decide.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury was the first to speak. "This is quite an unexpected +pleasure, Mr. Montague." Whether Roger suspected anything or not, she +did. The moment she saw Paul the idea occurred to her that the +meeting between Hetta and him had been preconcerted.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said,—making a lame excuse, where no excuse should have +been made,—"I had nothing to do, and was lonely, and thought that I +would come up and see you." Lady Carbury disbelieved him altogether, +but Roger felt assured that his coming in Lady Carbury's absence had +been an accident. The man had said so, and that was enough.</p> + +<p>"I thought you were at Liverpool," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"I came back to-day,—to be present at that Board in the city. I have +had a good deal to trouble me. I will tell you all about it just now. +What has brought you to London?"</p> + +<p>"A little business," said Roger.</p> + +<p>Then there was an awkward silence. Lady Carbury was angry, and hardly +knew whether she ought or ought not to show her anger. For Henrietta +it was very awkward. She, too, could not but feel that she had been +caught, though no innocence could be whiter than hers. She knew well +her mother's mind, and the way in which her mother's thoughts would +run. Silence was frightful to her, and she found herself forced to +speak. "Have you had a pleasant evening, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"Have you had a pleasant evening, my dear?" said Lady Carbury, +forgetting herself in her desire to punish her daughter.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, no," said Hetta, attempting to laugh, "I have been trying to +work hard at Dante, but one never does any good when one has to try +to work. I was just going to bed when Mr. Montague came in. What did +you think of the wise men and the wise women, Roger?"</p> + +<p>"I was out of my element, of course; but I think your mother liked +it."</p> + +<p>"I was very glad indeed to meet Dr. Palmoil. It seems that if we can +only open the interior of Africa a little further, we can get +everything that is wanted to complete the chemical combination +necessary for feeding the human race. Isn't that a grand idea, +Roger?"</p> + +<p>"A little more elbow grease is the combination that I look to."</p> + +<p>"Surely, Roger, if the Bible is to go for anything, we are to believe +that labour is a curse and not a blessing. Adam was not born to +labour."</p> + +<p>"But he fell; and I doubt whether Dr. Palmoil will be able to put his +descendants back into Eden."</p> + +<p>"Roger, for a religious man, you do say the strangest things! I have +quite made up my mind to this;—if ever I can see things so settled +here as to enable me to move, I will visit the interior of Africa. It +is the garden of the world."</p> + +<p>This scrap of enthusiasm so carried them through their immediate +difficulties that the two men were able to take their leave and to +get out of the room with fair comfort. As soon as the door was closed +behind them Lady Carbury attacked her daughter. "What brought him +here?"</p> + +<p>"He brought himself, mamma."</p> + +<p>"Don't answer me in that way, Hetta. Of course he brought himself. +That is insolent."</p> + +<p>"Insolent, mamma! How can you say such hard words? I meant that he +came of his own accord."</p> + +<p>"How long was he here?"</p> + +<p>"Two minutes before you came in. Why do you cross-question me like +this? I could not help his coming. I did not desire that he might be +shown up."</p> + +<p>"You did not know that he was to come?"</p> + +<p>"Mamma, if I am to be suspected, all is over between us."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>"If you can think that I would deceive you, you will think so always. +If you will not trust me, how am I to live with you as though you +did? I knew nothing of his coming."</p> + +<p>"Tell me this, Hetta; are you engaged to marry him?"</p> + +<p>"No;—I am not."</p> + +<p>"Has he asked you to marry him?"</p> + +<p>Hetta paused a moment, considering, before she answered this +question. "I do not think he ever has."</p> + +<p>"You do not think?"</p> + +<p>"I was going on to explain. He never has asked me. But he has said +that which makes me know that he wishes me to be his wife."</p> + +<p>"What has he said? When did he say it?"</p> + +<p>Again she paused. But again she answered with straightforward +simplicity. "Just before you came in, he said—; I don't know what he +said; but it meant that."</p> + +<p>"You told me he had been here but a minute."</p> + +<p>"It was but very little more. If you take me at my word in that way, +of course you can make me out to be wrong, mamma. It was almost no +time, and yet he said it."</p> + +<p>"He had come prepared to say it."</p> + +<p>"How could he,—expecting to find you?"</p> + +<p>"Psha! He expected nothing of the kind."</p> + +<p>"I think you do him wrong, mamma. I am sure you are doing me wrong. I +think his coming was an accident, and that what he said was—an +accident."</p> + +<p>"An accident!"</p> + +<p>"It was not intended,—not then, mamma. I have known it ever so +long;—and so have you. It was natural that he should say so when we +were alone together."</p> + +<p>"And you;—what did you say?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. You came."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry that my coming should have been so inopportune. But I +must ask one other question, Hetta. What do you intend to say?" Hetta +was again silent, and now for a longer space. She put her hand up to +her brow and pushed back her hair as she thought whether her mother +had a right to continue this cross-examination. She had told her +mother everything as it had happened. She had kept back no deed done, +no word spoken, either now or at any time. But she was not sure that +her mother had a right to know her thoughts, feeling as she did that +she had so little sympathy from her mother. "How do you intend to +answer him?" demanded Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"I do not know that he will ask again."</p> + +<p>"That is prevaricating."</p> + +<p>"No, mamma;—I do not prevaricate. It is unfair to say that to me. I +do love him. There. I think it ought to have been enough for you to +know that I should never give him encouragement without telling you +about it. I do love him, and I shall never love any one else."</p> + +<p>"He is a ruined man. Your cousin says that all this Company in which +he is involved will go to pieces."</p> + +<p>Hetta was too clever to allow this argument to pass. She did not +doubt that Roger had so spoken of the Railway to her mother, but she +did doubt that her mother had believed the story. "If so," said she, +"Mr. Melmotte will be a ruined man too, and yet you want Felix to +marry Marie Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"It makes me ill to hear you talk,—as if you understood these +things. And you think you will marry this man because he is to make a +fortune out of the Railway!" Lady Carbury was able to speak with an +extremity of scorn in reference to the assumed pursuit by one of her +children of an advantageous position which she was doing all in her +power to recommend to the other child.</p> + +<p>"I have not thought of his fortune. I have not thought of marrying +him, mamma. I think you are very cruel to me. You say things so hard, +that I cannot bear them."</p> + +<p>"Why will you not marry your cousin?"</p> + +<p>"I am not good enough for him."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!"</p> + +<p>"Very well; you say so. But that is what I think. He is so much above +me, that, though I do love him, I cannot think of him in that way. +And I have told you that I do love some one else. I have no secret +from you now. Good night, mamma," she said, coming up to her mother +and kissing her. "Do be kind to me; and pray,—pray,—do believe me." +Lady Carbury then allowed herself to be kissed, and allowed her +daughter to leave the room.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill039"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill039.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill039-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="Lady Carbury allowed herself to be kissed." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">Lady + Carbury allowed herself to be kissed.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill039.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>There was a great deal said that night between Roger Carbury and Paul +Montague before they parted. As they walked together to Roger's hotel +he said not a word as to Paul's presence in Welbeck Street. Paul had +declared his visit in Lady Carbury's absence to have been +accidental,—and therefore there was nothing more to be said. +Montague then asked as to the cause of Carbury's journey to London. +"I do not wish it to be talked of," said Roger after a pause,—"and +of course I could not speak of it before Hetta. A girl has gone away +from our neighbourhood. You remember old Ruggles?"</p> + +<p>"You do not mean that Ruby has levanted? She was to have married John +Crumb."</p> + +<p>"Just so,—but she has gone off, leaving John Crumb in an unhappy +frame of mind. John Crumb is an honest man and almost too good for +her."</p> + +<p>"Ruby is very pretty. Has she gone with any one?"</p> + +<p>"No;—she went alone. But the horror of it is this. They think down +there that Felix has,—well, made love to her, and that she has been +taken to London by him."</p> + +<p>"That would be very bad."</p> + +<p>"He certainly has known her. Though he lied, as he always lies, when +I first spoke to him, I brought him to admit that he and she had been +friends down in Suffolk. Of course we know what such friendship +means. But I do not think that she came to London at his instance. Of +course he would lie about that. He would lie about anything. If his +horse cost him a hundred pounds, he would tell one man that he gave +fifty, and another two hundred. But he has not lived long enough yet +to be able to lie and tell the truth with the same eye. When he is as +old as I am he'll be perfect."</p> + +<p>"He knows nothing about her coming to town?"</p> + +<p>"He did not when I first asked him. I am not sure, but I fancy that I +was too quick after her. She started last Saturday morning. I +followed on the Sunday, and made him out at his club. I think that he +knew nothing then of her being in town. He is very clever if he did. +Since that he has avoided me. I caught him once but only for half a +minute, and then he swore that he had not seen her."</p> + +<p>"You still believed him?"</p> + +<p>"No;—he did it very well, but I knew that he was prepared for me. I +cannot say how it may have been. To make matters worse old Ruggles +has now quarrelled with Crumb, and is no longer anxious to get back +his granddaughter. He was frightened at first; but that has gone off, +and he is now reconciled to the loss of the girl and the saving of +his money."</p> + +<p>After that Paul told all his own story,—the double story, both in +regard to Melmotte and to Mrs. Hurtle. As regarded the Railway, Roger +could only tell him to follow explicitly the advice of his Liverpool +friend. "I never believed in the thing, you know."</p> + +<p>"Nor did I. But what could I do?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to blame you. Indeed, knowing you as I do, feeling +sure that you intend to be honest, I would not for a moment insist on +my own opinion, if it did not seem that Mr. Ramsbottom thinks as I +do. In such a matter, when a man does not see his own way clearly, it +behoves him to be able to show that he has followed the advice of +some man whom the world esteems and recognises. You have to bind your +character to another man's character; and that other man's character, +if it be good, will carry you through. From what I hear Mr. +Ramsbottom's character is sufficiently good;—but then you must do +exactly what he tells you."</p> + +<p>But the Railway business, though it comprised all that Montague had +in the world, was not the heaviest of his troubles. What was he to do +about Mrs. Hurtle? He had now, for the first time, to tell his friend +that Mrs. Hurtle had come to London, and that he had been with her +three or four times. There was this difficulty in the matter, +too,—that it was very hard to speak of his engagement with Mrs. +Hurtle without in some sort alluding to his love for Henrietta +Carbury. Roger knew of both loves;—had been very urgent with his +friend to abandon the widow, and at any rate equally urgent with him +to give up the other passion. Were he to marry the widow, all danger +on the other side would be at an end. And yet, in discussing the +question of Mrs. Hurtle, he was to do so as though there were no such +person existing as Henrietta Carbury. The discussion did take place +exactly as though there were no such person as Henrietta Carbury. +Paul told it all,—the rumoured duel, the rumoured murder, and the +rumour of the existing husband.</p> + +<p>"It may be necessary that you should go out to Kansas,—and to +Oregon," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"But even if the rumours be untrue I will not marry her," said Paul. +Roger shrugged his shoulders. He was doubtless thinking of Hetta +Carbury, but he said nothing. "And what would she do, remaining +here?" continued Paul. Roger admitted that it would be awkward. "I am +determined that under no circumstances will I marry her. I know I +have been a fool. I know I have been wrong. But of course, if there +be a fair cause for my broken word, I will use it if I can."</p> + +<p>"You will get out of it, honestly if you can; but you will get out of +it honestly or—any other way."</p> + +<p>"Did you not advise me to get out of it, Roger;—before we knew as +much as we do now?"</p> + +<p>"I did,—and I do. If you make a bargain with the Devil, it may be +dishonest to cheat him,—and yet I would have you cheat him if you +could. As to this woman, I do believe she has deceived you. If I were +you, nothing should induce me to marry her;—not though her claws +were strong enough to tear me utterly in pieces. I'll tell you what +I'll do. I'll go and see her if you like it."</p> + +<p>But Paul would not submit to this. He felt that he was bound himself +to incur the risk of those claws, and that no substitute could take +his place. They sat long into the night, and it was at last resolved +between them that on the next morning Paul should go to Islington, +should tell Mrs. Hurtle all the stories which he had heard, and +should end by declaring his resolution that under no circumstances +would he marry her. They both felt how improbable it was that he +should ever be allowed to get to the end of such a story,—how almost +certain it was that the breeding of the wild cat would show itself +before that time should come. But, still, that was the course to be +pursued as far as circumstances would admit; and Paul was at any rate +to declare, claws or no claws, husband or no husband,—whether the +duel or the murder was admitted or denied,—that he would never make +Mrs. Hurtle his wife. "I wish it were over, old fellow," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"So do I," said Paul, as he took his leave.</p> + +<p>He went to bed like a man condemned to die on the next morning, and +he awoke in the same condition. He had slept well, but as he shook +from him his happy dream, the wretched reality at once overwhelmed +him. But the man who is to be hung has no choice. He cannot, when he +wakes, declare that he has changed his mind, and postpone the hour. +It was quite open to Paul Montague to give himself such instant +relief. He put his hand up to his brow, and almost made himself +believe that his head was aching. This was Saturday. Would it not be +well that he should think of it further, and put off his execution +till Monday? Monday was so far distant that he felt that he could go +to Islington quite comfortably on Monday. Was there not some hitherto +forgotten point which it would be well that he should discuss with +his friend Roger before he saw the lady? Should he not rush down to +Liverpool, and ask a few more questions of Mr. Ramsbottom? Why should +he go forth to execution, seeing that the matter was in his own +hands?</p> + +<p>At last he jumped out of bed and into his tub, and dressed himself as +quickly as he could. He worked himself up into a fit of fortitude, +and resolved that the thing should be done before the fit was over. +He ate his breakfast about nine, and then asked himself whether he +might not be too early were he to go at once to Islington. But he +remembered that she was always early. In every respect she was an +energetic woman, using her time for some purpose, either good or bad, +not sleeping it away in bed. If one has to be hung on a given day, +would it not be well to be hung as soon after waking as possible? I +can fancy that the hangman would hardly come early enough. And if one +had to be hung in a given week, would not one wish to be hung on the +first day of the week, even at the risk of breaking one's last +Sabbath day in this world? Whatever be the misery to be endured, get +it over. The horror of every agony is in its anticipation. Paul had +realised something of this when he threw himself into a Hansom cab, +and ordered the man to drive him to Islington.</p> + +<p>How quick that cab went! Nothing ever goes so quick as a Hansom cab +when a man starts for a dinner-party a little too early;—nothing so +slow when he starts too late. Of all cabs this, surely, was the +quickest. Paul was lodging in Suffolk Street, close to Pall +Mall,—whence the way to Islington, across Oxford Street, across +Tottenham Court Road, across numerous squares north-east of the +Museum, seems to be long. The end of Goswell Road is the outside of +the world in that direction, and Islington is beyond the end of +Goswell Road. And yet that Hansom cab was there before Paul Montague +had been able to arrange the words with which he would begin the +interview. He had given the street and the number of the street. It +was not till after he had started that it occurred to him that it +might be well that he should get out at the end of the street, and +walk to the house,—so that he might, as it were, fetch his breath +before the interview was commenced. But the cabman dashed up to the +door in a manner purposely devised to make every inmate of the house +aware that a cab had just arrived before it. There was a little +garden before the house. We all know the garden;—twenty-four feet +long, by twelve broad;—and an iron-grated door, with the landlady's +name on a brass plate. Paul, when he had paid the cabman,—giving the +man half-a-crown, and asking for no change in his agony,—pushed in +the iron gate and walked very quickly up to the door, rang rather +furiously, and before the door was well opened asked for Mrs. Hurtle.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Hurtle is out for the day," said the girl who opened the door. +"Leastways, she went out yesterday and won't be back till to-night." +Providence had sent him a reprieve! But he almost forgot the +reprieve, as he looked at the girl and saw that she was Ruby Ruggles. +"Oh laws, Mr. Montague, is that you?" Ruby Ruggles had often seen +Paul down in Suffolk, and recognised him as quickly as he did her. It +occurred to her at once that he had come in search of herself. She +knew that Roger Carbury was up in town looking for her. So much she +had of course learned from Sir Felix,—for at this time she had seen +the baronet more than once since her arrival. Montague, she knew, was +Roger Carbury's intimate friend, and now she felt that she was +caught. In her terror she did not at first remember that the visitor +had asked for Mrs. Hurtle.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is I. I was sorry to hear, Miss Ruggles, that you had left +your home."</p> + +<p>"I'm all right, Mr. Montague;—I am. Mrs. Pipkin is my aunt, or, +leastways, my mother's brother's widow, though grandfather never +would speak to her. She's quite respectable, and has five children, +and lets lodgings. There's a lady here now, and has gone away with +her just for one night down to Southend. They'll be back this +evening, and I've the children to mind, with the servant girl. I'm +quite respectable here, Mr. Montague, and nobody need be a bit afraid +about me."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Hurtle has gone down to Southend?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Montague; she wasn't quite well, and wanted a breath of +air, she said. And aunt didn't like she should go alone, as Mrs. +Hurtle is such a stranger. And Mrs. Hurtle said as she didn't mind +paying for two, and so they've gone, and the baby with them. Mrs. +Pipkin said as the baby shouldn't be no trouble. And Mrs. +Hurtle,—she's most as fond of the baby as aunt. Do you know Mrs. +Hurtle, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; she's a friend of mine."</p> + +<p>"Oh; I didn't know. I did know as there was some friend as was +expected and as didn't come. Be I to say, sir, as you was here?"</p> + +<p>Paul thought it might be as well to shift the subject and to ask Ruby +a few questions about herself while he made up his mind what message +he would leave for Mrs. Hurtle. "I'm afraid they are very unhappy +about you down at Bungay, Miss Ruggles."</p> + +<p>"Then they've got to be unhappy; that's all about it, Mr. Montague. +Grandfather is that provoking as a young woman can't live with him, +nor yet I won't try never again. He lugged me all about the room by +my hair, Mr. Montague. How is a young woman to put up with that? And +I did everything for him,—that careful that no one won't do it +again;—did his linen, and his victuals, and even cleaned his boots +of a Sunday, 'cause he was that mean he wouldn't have anybody about +the place only me and the girl who had to milk the cows. There wasn't +nobody to do anything, only me. And then he went to drag me about by +the hairs of my head. You won't see me again at Sheep's Acre, Mr. +Montague;—nor yet won't the Squire."</p> + +<p>"But I thought there was somebody else was to give you a home."</p> + +<p>"John Crumb! Oh, yes, there's John Crumb. There's plenty of people to +give me a home, Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"You were to have been married to John Crumb, I thought."</p> + +<p>"Ladies is to change their minds if they like it, Mr. Montague. I'm +sure you've heard that before. Grandfather made me say I'd have +him,—but I never cared that for him."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid, Miss Ruggles, you won't find a better man up here in +London."</p> + +<p>"I didn't come here to look for a man, Mr. Montague; I can tell you +that. They has to look for me, if they want me. But I am looked +after; and that by one as John Crumb ain't fit to touch." That told +the whole story. Paul when he heard the little boast was quite sure +that Roger's fear about Felix was well founded. And as for John +Crumb's fitness to touch Sir Felix, Paul felt that the Bungay mealman +might have an opinion of his own on that matter. "But there's Betsy a +crying up-stairs, and I promised not to leave them children for one +minute."</p> + +<p>"I will tell the Squire that I saw you, Miss Ruggles."</p> + +<p>"What does the Squire want o' me? I ain't nothing to the +Squire,—except that I respects him. You can tell if you please, Mr. +Montague, of course. I'm a coming, my darling."</p> + +<p>Paul made his way into Mrs. Hurtle's sitting-room and wrote a note +for her in pencil. He had come, he said, immediately on his return +from Liverpool, and was sorry to find that she was away for the day. +When should he call again? If she would make an appointment he would +attend to it. He felt as he wrote this that he might very safely have +himself made an appointment for the morrow; but he cheated himself +into half believing that the suggestion he now made was the more +gracious and civil. At any rate it would certainly give him another +day. Mrs. Hurtle would not return till late in the evening, and as +the following day was Sunday there would be no delivery by post. When +the note was finished he left it on the table, and called to Ruby to +tell her that he was going. "Mr. Montague," she said in a +confidential whisper, as she tripped down the stairs, "I don't see +why you need be saying anything about me, you know."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carbury is up in town looking after you."</p> + +<p>"What 'm I to Mr. Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"Your grandfather is very anxious about you."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it, Mr. Montague. Grandfather knows very well where I +am. There! Grandfather doesn't want me back, and I ain't a going. Why +should the Squire bother himself about me? I don't bother myself +about him."</p> + +<p>"He's afraid, Miss Ruggles, that you are trusting yourself to a young +man who is not trustworthy."</p> + +<p>"I can mind myself very well, Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"Tell me this. Have you seen Sir Felix Carbury since you've been in +town?" Ruby, whose blushes came very easily, now flushed up to her +forehead. "You may be sure that he means no good to you. What can +come of an intimacy between you and such a one as he?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see why I shouldn't have my friend, Mr. Montague, as well as +you. Howsomever, if you'll not tell, I'll be ever so much obliged."</p> + +<p>"But I must tell Mr. Carbury."</p> + +<p>"Then I ain't obliged to you one bit," said Ruby, shutting the door.</p> + +<p>Paul as he walked away could not help thinking of the justice of +Ruby's reproach to him. What business had he to take upon himself to +be a Mentor to any one in regard to an affair of love;—he, who had +engaged himself to marry Mrs. Hurtle, and who the evening before had +for the first time declared his love to Hetta Carbury?</p> + +<p>In regard to Mrs. Hurtle he had got a reprieve, as he thought, for +two days;—but it did not make him happy or even comfortable. As he +walked back to his lodgings he knew it would have been better for him +to have had the interview over. But, at any rate, he could now think +of Hetta Carbury, and the words he had spoken to her. Had he heard +that declaration which she had made to her mother, he would have been +able for the hour to have forgotten Mrs. Hurtle.</p> + + +<p><a id="c40"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XL.</h3> +<h4>"UNANIMITY IS THE VERY SOUL OF THESE THINGS."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>That evening Montague was surprised to receive at the Beargarden a +note from Mr. Melmotte, which had been brought thither by a messenger +from the city,—who had expected to have an immediate answer, as +though Montague lived at the club.</p> + +<p>"Dear Sir," said the letter,<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>If not inconvenient would you call on me in Grosvenor +Square to-morrow, Sunday, at half past eleven. If you are +going to church, perhaps you will make an appointment in +the afternoon; if not, the morning will suit best. I want +to have a few words with you in private about the Company. +My messenger will wait for answer if you are at the club.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours truly,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Augustus Melmotte</span>.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Paul Montague</span>, Esq.,<br /> +The Beargarden.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Paul immediately wrote to say that he would call at Grosvenor Square +at the hour appointed,—abandoning any intentions which he might have +had in reference to Sunday morning service. But this was not the only +letter he received that evening. On his return to his lodgings he +found a note, containing only one line, which Mrs. Hurtle had found +the means of sending to him after her return from Southend. "I am so +sorry to have been away. I will expect you all to-morrow. W. H." The +period of the reprieve was thus curtailed to less than a day.</p> + +<p>On the Sunday morning he breakfasted late and then walked up to +Grosvenor Square, much pondering what the great man could have to say +to him. The great man had declared himself very plainly in the +Board-room,—especially plainly after the Board had risen. Paul had +understood that war was declared, and had understood also that he was +to fight the battle single-handed, knowing nothing of such strategy +as would be required, while his antagonist was a great master of +financial tactics. He was prepared to go to the wall in reference to +his money, only hoping that in doing so he might save his character +and keep the reputation of an honest man. He was quite resolved to be +guided altogether by Mr. Ramsbottom, and intended to ask Mr. +Ramsbottom to draw up for him such a statement as would be fitting +for him to publish. But it was manifest now that Mr. Melmotte would +make some proposition, and it was impossible that he should have Mr. +Ramsbottom at his elbow to help him.</p> + +<p>He had been in Melmotte's house on the night of the ball, but had +contented himself after that with leaving a card. He had heard much +of the splendour of the place, but remembered simply the crush and +the crowd, and that he had danced there more than once or twice with +Hetta Carbury. When he was shown into the hall he was astonished to +find that it was not only stripped, but was full of planks, and +ladders, and trussels, and mortar. The preparations for the great +dinner had been already commenced. Through all this he made his way +to the stairs, and was taken up to a small room on the second floor, +where the servant told him that Mr. Melmotte would come to him. Here +he waited a quarter of an hour looking out into the yard at the back. +There was not a book in the room, or even a picture with which he +could amuse himself. He was beginning to think whether his own +personal dignity would not be best consulted by taking his departure, +when Melmotte himself, with slippers on his feet and enveloped in a +magnificent dressing-gown, bustled into the room. "My dear sir, I am +so sorry. You are a punctual man I see. So am I. A man of business +should be punctual. But they ain't always. Brehgert,—from the house +of Todd, Brehgert, and Goldsheiner, you know,—has just been with me. +We had to settle something about the Moldavian loan. He came a +quarter late, and of course he went a quarter late. And how is a man +to catch a quarter of an hour? I never could do it." Montague assured +the great man that the delay was of no consequence. "And I am so +sorry to ask you into such a place as this. I had Brehgert in my room +down-stairs, and then the house is so knocked about! We get into a +furnished house a little way off in Bruton Street to-morrow. +Longestaffe lets me his house for a month till this affair of the +dinner is over. By-the-bye, Montague, if you'd like to come to the +dinner, I've got a ticket I can let you have. You know how they're +run after." Montague had heard of the dinner, but had perhaps heard +as little of it as any man frequenting a club at the west end of +London. He did not in the least want to be at the dinner, and +certainly did not wish to receive any extraordinary civility from Mr. +Melmotte's hands. But he was very anxious to know why Mr. Melmotte +should offer it. He excused himself saying that he was not +particularly fond of big dinners, and that he did not like standing +in the way of other people. "Ah, indeed," said Melmotte. "There are +ever so many people of title would give anything for a ticket. You'd +be astonished at the persons who have asked. We've had to squeeze in +a chair on one side for the Master of the Buckhounds, and on another +for the Bishop of—; I forget what bishop it is, but we had the two +archbishops before. They say he must come because he has something to +do with getting up the missionaries for Thibet. But I've got the +ticket, if you'll have it." This was the ticket which was to have +taken in Georgiana Longestaffe as one of the Melmotte family, had not +Melmotte perceived that it might be useful to him as a bribe. But +Paul would not take the bribe. "You're the only man in London then," +said Melmotte, somewhat offended. "But at any rate you'll come in the +evening, and I'll have one of Madame Melmotte's tickets sent to you." +Paul, not knowing how to escape, said that he would come in the +evening. "I am particularly anxious," continued he, "to be civil to +those who are connected with our great Railway, and of course, in +this country, your name stands first,—next to my own."</p> + +<p>Then the great man paused, and Paul began to wonder whether it could +be possible that he had been sent for to Grosvenor Square on a Sunday +morning in order that he might be asked to dine in the same house a +fortnight later. But that was impossible. "Have you anything special +to say about the Railway?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, yes. It is so hard to get things said at the Board. Of course +there are some there who do not understand matters."</p> + +<p>"I doubt if there be any one there who does understand this matter," +said Paul.</p> + +<p>Melmotte affected to laugh. "Well, well; I am not prepared to go +quite so far as that. My friend Cohenlupe has had great experience in +these affairs, and of course you are aware that he is in Parliament. +And Lord Alfred sees farther into them than perhaps you give him +credit for."</p> + +<p>"He may easily do that."</p> + +<p>"Well, well. Perhaps you don't know him quite as well as I do." The +scowl began to appear on Mr. Melmotte's brow. Hitherto it had been +banished as well as he knew how to banish it. "What I wanted to say +to you was this. We didn't quite agree at the last meeting."</p> + +<p>"No; we did not."</p> + +<p>"I was very sorry for it. Unanimity is everything in the direction of +such an undertaking as this. With unanimity we can do—everything." +Mr. Melmotte in the ecstasy of his enthusiasm lifted up both his +hands over his head. "Without unanimity we can do—nothing." And the +two hands fell. "Unanimity should be printed everywhere about a +Board-room. It should, indeed, Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"But suppose the directors are not unanimous."</p> + +<p>"They should be unanimous. They should make themselves unanimous. God +bless my soul! You don't want to see the thing fall to pieces!"</p> + +<p>"Not if it can be carried on honestly."</p> + +<p>"Honestly! Who says that anything is dishonest?" Again the brow +became very heavy. "Look here, Mr. Montague. If you and I quarrel in +that Board-room, there is no knowing the amount of evil we may do to +every individual shareholder in the Company. I find the +responsibility on my own shoulders so great that I say the thing must +be stopped. Damme, Mr. Montague, it must be stopped. We mustn't ruin +widows and children, Mr. Montague. We mustn't let those shares run +down 20 below par for a mere chimera. I've known a fine property +blasted, Mr. Montague, sent straight to the dogs,—annihilated, +sir;—so that it all vanished into thin air, and widows and children +past counting were sent out to starve about the streets,—just +because one director sat in another director's chair. I did, by +<span class="nowrap">G——!</span> +What do you think of that, Mr. Montague? Gentlemen who don't +know the nature of credit, how strong it is,—as the air,—to buoy +you up; how slight it is,—as a mere vapour,—when roughly touched, +can do an amount of mischief of which they themselves don't in the +least understand the extent! What is it you want, Mr. Montague?"</p> + +<p>"What do I want?" Melmotte's description of the peculiar +susceptibility of great mercantile speculations had not been given +without some effect on Montague, but this direct appeal to himself +almost drove that effect out of his mind. "I only want justice."</p> + +<p>"But you should know what justice is before you demand it at the +expense of other people. Look here, Mr. Montague. I suppose you are +like the rest of us, in this matter. You want to make money out of +it."</p> + +<p>"For myself, I want interest for my capital; that is all. But I am +not thinking of myself."</p> + +<p>"You are getting very good interest. If I understand the +matter,"—and here Melmotte pulled out a little book, showing thereby +how careful he was in mastering details,—"you had about £6,000 +embarked in the business when Fisker joined your firm. You imagine +yourself to have that still."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what I've got."</p> + +<p>"I can tell you then. You have that, and you've drawn nearly a +thousand pounds since Fisker came over, in one shape or another. +That's not bad interest on your money."</p> + +<p>"There was back interest due to me."</p> + +<p>"If so, it's due still. I've nothing to do with that. Look here, Mr. +Montague. I am most anxious that you should remain with us. I was +about to propose, only for that little rumpus the other day, that, as +you're an unmarried man, and have time on your hands, you should go +out to California and probably across to Mexico, in order to get +necessary information for the Company. Were I of your age, unmarried, +and without impediment, it is just the thing I should like. Of course +you'd go at the Company's expense. I would see to your own personal +interests while you were away;—or you could appoint any one by power +of attorney. Your seat at the Board would be kept for you; but, +should anything occur amiss,—which it won't, for the thing is as +sound as anything I know,—of course you, as absent, would not share +the responsibility. That's what I was thinking. It would be a +delightful trip;—but if you don't like it, you can of course remain +at the Board, and be of the greatest use to me. Indeed, after a bit I +could devolve nearly the whole management on you;—and I must do +something of the kind, as I really haven't the time for it. But,—if +it is to be that way,—do be unanimous. Unanimity is the very soul of +these things;—the very soul, Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"But if I can't be unanimous?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—if you can't, and if you won't take my advice about going +out;—which, pray, think about, for you would be most useful. It +might be the very making of the railway;—then I can only suggest +that you should take your £6,000 and leave us. I, myself, should be +greatly distressed; but if you are determined that way I will see +that you have your money. I will make myself personally responsible +for the payment of it,—some time before the end of the year."</p> + +<p>Paul Montague told the great man that he would consider the whole +matter, and see him in Abchurch Lane before the next Board day. "And +now, good-bye," said Mr. Melmotte, as he bade his young friend adieu +in a hurry. "I'm afraid that I'm keeping Sir Gregory Gribe, the Bank +Director, waiting down-stairs."</p> + + +<p><a id="c41"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLI.</h3> +<h4>ALL PREPARED.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>During all these days Miss Melmotte was by no means contented with +her lover's prowess, though she would not allow herself to doubt his +sincerity. She had not only assured him of her undying affection in +the presence of her father and mother, had not only offered to be +chopped in pieces on his behalf, but had also written to him, telling +how she had a large sum of her father's money within her power, and +how willing she was to make it her own, to throw over her father and +mother, and give herself and her fortune to her lover. She felt that +she had been very gracious to her lover, and that her lover was a +little slow in acknowledging the favours conferred upon him. But, +nevertheless, she was true to her lover, and believed that he was +true to her. Didon had been hitherto faithful. Marie had written +various letters to Sir Felix, and had received two or three very +short notes in reply, containing hardly more than a word or two each. +But now she was told that a day was absolutely fixed for her marriage +with Lord Nidderdale, and that her things were to be got ready. She +was to be married in the middle of August, and here they were, +approaching the end of June. "You may buy what you like, mamma," she +said; "and if papa agrees about Felix, why then I suppose they'll do. +But they'll never be of any use about Lord Nidderdale. If you were to +sew me up in the things by main force, I wouldn't have him." Madame +Melmotte groaned, and scolded in English, French, and German, and +wished that she were dead; she told Marie that she was a pig, and +ass, and a toad, and a dog. And ended, as she always did end, by +swearing that Melmotte must manage the matter himself. "Nobody shall +manage this matter for me," said Marie. "I know what I'm about now, +and I won't marry anybody just because it will suit papa." "Que nous +étions encore à Francfort, ou New York," said the elder lady, +remembering the humbler but less troubled times of her earlier life. +Marie did not care for Francfort or New York; for Paris or for +London;—but she did care for Sir Felix Carbury.</p> + +<p>While her father on Sunday morning was transacting business in his +own house with Paul Montague and the great commercial magnates of the +city,—though it may be doubted whether that very respectable +gentleman Sir Gregory Gribe was really in Grosvenor Square when his +name was mentioned,—Marie was walking inside the gardens; Didon was +also there at some distance from her; and Sir Felix Carbury was there +also close along side of her. Marie had the key of the gardens for +her own use; and had already learned that her neighbours in the +square did not much frequent the place during church time on Sunday +morning. Her lover's letter to her father had of course been shown to +her, and she had taxed him with it immediately. Sir Felix, who had +thought much of the letter as he came from Welbeck Street to keep his +appointment,—having been assured by Didon that the gate should be +left unlocked, and that she would be there to close it after he had +come in,—was of course ready with a lie. "It was the only thing to +do, Marie;—it was indeed."</p> + +<p>"But you said you had accepted some offer."</p> + +<p>"You don't suppose I wrote the letter?"</p> + +<p>"It was your handwriting, Felix."</p> + +<p>"Of course it was. I copied just what he put down. He'd have sent you +clean away where I couldn't have got near you if I hadn't written +it."</p> + +<p>"And you have accepted nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. As it is, he owes me money. Is not that odd? I gave him +a thousand pounds to buy shares, and I haven't got anything from him +yet." Sir Felix, no doubt, forgot the cheque for £200.</p> + +<p>"Nobody ever does who gives papa money," said the observant daughter.</p> + +<p>"Don't they? Dear me! But I just wrote it because I thought anything +better than a downright quarrel."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have written it, if it had been ever so."</p> + +<p>"It's no good scolding, Marie. I did it for the best. What do you +think we'd best do now?" Marie looked at him, almost with scorn. +Surely it was for him to propose and for her to yield. "I wonder +whether you're sure you're right about that money which you say is +settled."</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill041"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill041.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill041-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"It’s no good scolding."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"It's + no good scolding."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill041.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"I'm quite sure. Mamma told me in Paris,—just when we were coming +away,—that it was done so that there might be something if things +went wrong. And papa told me that he should want me to sign something +from time to time; and of course I said I would. But of course I +won't,—if I should have a husband of my own." Felix walked along, +pondering the matter, with his hands in his trowsers pockets. He +entertained those very fears which had latterly fallen upon Lord +Nidderdale. There would be no "cropper" which a man could "come" so +bad as would be his cropper were he to marry Marie Melmotte, and then +find that he was not to have a shilling! And, were he now to run off +with Marie, after having written that letter, the father would +certainly not forgive him. This assurance of Marie's as to the +settled money was too doubtful! The game to be played was too full of +danger! And in that case he would certainly get neither his £800, nor +the shares. And if he were true to Melmotte, Melmotte would probably +supply him with ready money. But then here was the girl at his elbow, +and he no more dared to tell her to her face that he meant to give +her up, than he dared to tell Melmotte that he intended to stick to +his engagement. Some half promise would be the only escape for the +present. "What are you thinking of, Felix?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"It's d—— difficult to know what to do."</p> + +<p>"But you do love me?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. If I didn't love you why should I be here walking +round this stupid place? They talk of your being married to +Nidderdale about the end of August."</p> + +<p>"Some day in August. But that's all nonsense, you know. They can't +take me up and marry me, as they used to do the girls ever so long +ago. I won't marry him. He don't care a bit for me, and never did. I +don't think you care much, Felix."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do. A fellow can't go on saying so over and over again in a +beastly place like this. If we were anywhere jolly together, then I +could say it often enough."</p> + +<p>"I wish we were, Felix. I wonder whether we ever shall be."</p> + +<p>"Upon my word I hardly see my way as yet."</p> + +<p>"You're not going to give it up!"</p> + +<p>"Oh no;—not give it up; certainly not. But the bother is a fellow +doesn't know what to do."</p> + +<p>"You've heard of young Mr. Goldsheiner, haven't you?" suggested +Marie.</p> + +<p>"He's one of those city chaps."</p> + +<p>"And Lady Julia Start?"</p> + +<p>"She's old Lady Catchboy's daughter. Yes; I've heard of them. They +got spliced last winter."</p> + +<p>"Yes,—somewhere in Switzerland, I think. At any rate they went to +Switzerland, and now they've got a house close to Albert Gate."</p> + +<p>"How jolly for them! He is awfully rich, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose he's half so rich as papa. They did all they could +to prevent her going, but she met him down at Folkestone just as the +tidal boat was starting. Didon says that nothing was easier."</p> + +<p>"Oh;—ah. Didon knows all about it."</p> + +<p>"That she does."</p> + +<p>"But she'd lose her place."</p> + +<p>"There are plenty of places. She could come and live with us, and be +my maid. If you would give her £50 for herself, she'd arrange it +all."</p> + +<p>"And would you come to Folkestone?"</p> + +<p>"I think that would be stupid, because Lady Julia did that. We should +make it a little different. If you liked I wouldn't mind going +to—New York. And then, perhaps, we might—get—married, you know, on +board. That's what Didon thinks."</p> + +<p>"And would Didon go too?"</p> + +<p>"That's what she proposes. She could go as my aunt, and I'd call +myself by her name;—any French name you know. I should go as a +French girl. And you could call yourself Smith, and be an American. +We wouldn't go together, but we'd get on board just at the last +moment. If they wouldn't—marry us on board, they would at New York, +instantly."</p> + +<p>"That's Didon's plan?"</p> + +<p>"That's what she thinks best,—and she'll do it, if you'll give her +£50 for herself, you know. The 'Adriatic,'—that's a White Star boat, +goes on Thursday week at noon. There's an early train that would take +us down that morning. You had better go and sleep at Liverpool, and +take no notice of us at all till we meet on board. We could be back +in a month,—and then papa would be obliged to make the best of it."</p> + +<p>Sir Felix at once felt that it would be quite unnecessary for him to +go to Herr Vossner or to any other male counsellor for advice as to +the best means of carrying off his love. The young lady had it all at +her fingers' ends,—even to the amount of the fee required by the +female counsellor. But Thursday week was very near, and the whole +thing was taking uncomfortably defined proportions. Where was he to +get funds if he were to resolve that he would do this thing? He had +been fool enough to intrust his ready money to Melmotte, and now he +was told that when Melmotte got hold of ready money he was not apt to +release it. And he had nothing to show;—no security that he could +offer to Vossner. And then,—this idea of starting to New York with +Melmotte's daughter immediately after he had written to Melmotte +renouncing the girl, frightened him.</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0"><tr><td> +"There is a tide in the affairs of men,<br /> + Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune." +</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">Sir Felix +did not know these lines, but the lesson taught by them +came home to him at this moment. Now was the tide in his affairs at +which he might make himself, or utterly mar himself. "It's deuced +important," he said at last with a groan.</p> + +<p>"It's not more important for you than me," said Marie.</p> + +<p>"If you're wrong about the money, and he shouldn't come round, where +should we be then?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing venture, nothing have," said the heiress.</p> + +<p>"That's all very well; but one might venture everything and get +nothing after all."</p> + +<p>"You'd get me," said Marie with a pout.</p> + +<p>"Yes;—and I'm awfully fond of you. Of course I should get you! +<span class="nowrap">But—"</span></p> + +<p>"Very well then;—if that's your love," said Marie, turning back from +him.</p> + +<p>Sir Felix gave a great sigh, and then announced his resolution. "I'll +venture it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Felix, how grand it will be!"</p> + +<p>"There's a great deal to do, you know. I don't know whether it can be +Thursday week." He was putting in the coward's plea for a reprieve.</p> + +<p>"I shall be afraid of Didon if it's delayed long."</p> + +<p>"There's the money to get, and all that."</p> + +<p>"I can get some money. Mamma has money in the house."</p> + +<p>"How much?" asked the baronet eagerly.</p> + +<p>"A hundred pounds, perhaps;—perhaps two hundred."</p> + +<p>"That would help certainly. I must go to your father for money. Won't +that be a sell? To get it from him, to take you away!"</p> + +<p>It was decided that they were to go to New York, on a Thursday,—on +Thursday week if possible, but as to that he was to let her know in a +day or two. Didon was to pack up the clothes and get it sent out of +the house. Didon was to have £50 before she went on board; and as one +of the men must know about it, and must assist in having the trunks +smuggled out of the house, he was to have £10. All had been settled +beforehand, so that Sir Felix really had no need to think about +anything. "And now," said Marie, "there's Didon. Nobody's looking and +she can open that gate for you. When we're gone, do you creep out. +The gate can be left, you know. Then we'll get out on the other +side." Marie Melmotte was certainly a clever girl.</p> + + +<p><a id="c42"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLII.</h3> +<h4>"CAN YOU BE READY IN TEN MINUTES?"<br /> </h4> + + +<p>After leaving Melmotte's house on Sunday morning Paul Montague went +to Roger Carbury's hotel and found his friend just returning from +church. He was bound to go to Islington on that day, but had made up +his mind that he would defer his visit till the evening. He would +dine early and be with Mrs. Hurtle about seven o'clock. But it was +necessary that Roger should hear the news about Ruby Ruggles. "It's +not so bad as you thought," said he, "as she is living with her +aunt."</p> + +<p>"I never heard of such an aunt."</p> + +<p>"She says her grandfather knows where she is, and that he doesn't +want her back again."</p> + +<p>"Does she see Felix Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"I think she does," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"Then it doesn't matter whether the woman's her aunt or not. I'll go +and see her and try to get her back to Bungay."</p> + +<p>"Why not send for John Crumb?"</p> + +<p>Roger hesitated for a moment, and then answered, "He'd give Felix +such a thrashing as no man ever had before. My cousin deserves it as +well as any man ever deserved a thrashing; but there are reasons why +I should not like it. And he could not force her back with him. I +don't suppose the girl is all bad,—if she could see the truth."</p> + +<p>"I don't think she's bad at all."</p> + +<p>"At any rate I'll go and see her," said Roger. "Perhaps I shall see +your widow at the same time." Paul sighed, but said nothing more +about his widow at that moment. "I'll walk up to Welbeck Street now," +said Roger, taking his hat. "Perhaps I shall see you to-morrow." Paul +felt that he could not go to Welbeck Street with his friend.</p> + +<p>He dined in solitude at the Beargarden, and then again made that +journey to Islington in a cab. As he went he thought of the proposal +that had been made to him by Melmotte. If he could do it with a clear +conscience, if he could really make himself believe in the railway, +such an expedition would not be displeasing to him. He had said +already more than he had intended to say to Hetta Carbury; and though +he was by no means disposed to flatter himself, yet he almost thought +that what he had said had been well received. At the moment they had +been disturbed, but she, as she heard the sound of her mother coming, +had at any rate expressed no anger. He had almost been betrayed into +breaking a promise. Were he to start now on this journey, the period +of the promise would have passed by before his return. Of course he +would take care that she should know that he had gone in the +performance of a duty. And then he would escape from Mrs. Hurtle, and +would be able to make those inquiries which had been suggested to +him. It was possible that Mrs. Hurtle should offer to go with +him,—an arrangement which would not at all suit him. That at any +rate must be avoided. But then how could he do this without a belief +in the railway generally? And how was it possible that he should have +such belief? Mr. Ramsbottom did not believe in it, nor did Roger +Carbury. He himself did not in the least believe in Fisker, and +Fisker had originated the railway. Then, would it not be best that he +should take the Chairman's offer as to his own money? If he could get +his £6,000 back and have done with the railway, he would certainly +think himself a lucky man. But he did not know how far he could with +honesty lay aside his responsibility; and then he doubted whether he +could put implicit trust in Melmotte's personal guarantee for the +amount. This at any rate was clear to him,—that Melmotte was very +anxious to secure his absence from the meetings of the Board.</p> + +<p>Now he was again at Mrs. Pipkin's door, and again it was opened by +Ruby Ruggles. His heart was in his mouth as he thought of the things +he had to say. "The ladies have come back from Southend, Miss +Ruggles?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, sir, and Mrs. Hurtle is expecting you all the day." Then she +put in a whisper on her own account. "You didn't tell him as you'd +seen me, Mr. Montague?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I did, Miss Ruggles."</p> + +<p>"Then you might as well have left it alone, and not have been +ill-natured,—that's all," said Ruby as she opened the door of Mrs. +Hurtle's room.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hurtle got up to receive him with her sweetest smile,—and her +smile could be very sweet. She was a witch of a woman, and, as like +most witches she could be terrible, so like most witches she could +charm. "Only fancy," she said, "that you should have come the only +day I have been two hundred yards from the house, except that evening +when you took me to the play. I was so sorry."</p> + +<p>"Why should you be sorry? It is easy to come again."</p> + +<p>"Because I don't like to miss you, even for a day. But I wasn't well, +and I fancied that the house was stuffy, and Mrs. Pipkin took a +bright idea and proposed to carry me off to Southend. She was dying +to go herself. She declared that Southend was Paradise."</p> + +<p>"A cockney Paradise."</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a place it is! Do your people really go to Southend and +fancy that that is the sea?"</p> + +<p>"I believe they do. I never went to Southend myself,—so that you +know more about it than I do."</p> + +<p>"How very English it is,—a little yellow river,—and you call it the +sea! Ah;—you never were at Newport!"</p> + +<p>"But I've been at San Francisco."</p> + +<p>"Yes; you've been at San Francisco, and heard the seals howling. +Well; that's better than Southend."</p> + +<p>"I suppose we do have the sea here in England. It's generally +supposed we're an island."</p> + +<p>"Of course;—but things are so small. If you choose to go to the west +of Ireland, I suppose you'd find the Atlantic. But nobody ever does +go there for fear of being murdered." Paul thought of the gentleman +in Oregon, but said nothing;—thought, perhaps, of his own condition, +and remembered that a man might be murdered without going either to +Oregon or the west of Ireland. "But we went to Southend, I, and Mrs. +Pipkin and the baby, and upon my word I enjoyed it. She was so afraid +that the baby would annoy me, and I thought the baby was so much the +best of it. And then we ate shrimps, and she was so humble. You must +acknowledge that with us nobody would be so humble. Of course I paid. +She has got all her children, and nothing but what she can make out +of these lodgings. People are just as poor with us;—and other people +who happen to be a little better off, pay for them. But nobody is +humble to another, as you are here. Of course we like to have money +as well as you do, but it doesn't make so much difference."</p> + +<p>"He who wants to receive, all the world over, will make himself as +agreeable as he can to him who can give."</p> + +<p>"But Mrs. Pipkin was so humble. However we got back all right +yesterday evening, and then I found that you had been here,—at +last."</p> + +<p>"You knew that I had to go to Liverpool."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to scold. Did you get your business done at +Liverpool?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—one generally gets something done, but never anything very +satisfactorily. Of course it's about this railway."</p> + +<p>"I should have thought that that was satisfactory. Everybody talks of +it as being the greatest thing ever invented. I wish I was a man that +I might be concerned with a really great thing like that. I hate +little peddling things. I should like to manage the greatest bank in +the world, or to be Captain of the biggest fleet, or to make the +largest railway. It would be better even than being President of a +Republic, because one would have more of one's own way. What is it +that you do in it, Paul?"</p> + +<p>"They want me now to go out to Mexico about it," said he slowly.</p> + +<p>"Shall you go?" said she, throwing herself forward and asking the +question with manifest anxiety.</p> + +<p>"I think not."</p> + +<p>"Why not? Do go. Oh, Paul, I would go with you. Why should you not +go? It is just the thing for such a one as you to do. The railway +will make Mexico a new country, and then you would be the man who had +done it. Why should you throw away such a chance as that? It will +never come again. Emperors and kings have tried their hands at Mexico +and have been able to do nothing. Emperors and kings never can do +anything. Think what it would be to be the regenerator of Mexico!"</p> + +<p>"Think what it would be to find one's self there without the means of +doing anything, and to feel that one had been sent there merely that +one might be out of the way."</p> + +<p>"I would make the means of doing something."</p> + +<p>"Means are money. How can I make that?"</p> + +<p>"There is money going. There must be money where there is all this +buying and selling of shares. Where does your uncle get the money +with which he is living like a prince at San Francisco? Where does +Fisker get the money with which he is speculating in New York? Where +does Melmotte get the money which makes him the richest man in the +world? Why should not you get it as well as the others?"</p> + +<p>"If I were anxious to rob on my own account perhaps I might do it."</p> + +<p>"Why should it be robbery? I do not want you to live in a palace and +spend millions of dollars on yourself. But I want you to have +ambition. Go to Mexico, and chance it. Take San Francisco in your +way, and get across the country. I will go every yard with you. Make +people there believe that you are in earnest, and there will be no +difficulty about the money."</p> + +<p>He felt that he was taking no steps to approach the subject which he +should have to discuss before he left her,—or rather the statement +which he had resolved that he would make. Indeed every word which he +allowed her to say respecting this Mexican project carried him +farther away from it. He was giving reasons why the journey should +not be made; but was tacitly admitting that if it were to be made she +might be one of the travellers. The very offer on her part implied an +understanding that his former abnegation of his engagement had been +withdrawn, and yet he shrunk from the cruelty of telling her, in a +side-way fashion, that he would not submit to her companionship +either for the purpose of such a journey or for any other purpose. +The thing must be said in a solemn manner, and must be introduced on +its own basis. But such preliminary conversation as this made the +introduction of it infinitely more difficult.</p> + +<p>"You are not in a hurry?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Oh no."</p> + +<p>"You're going to spend the evening with me like a good man? Then I'll +ask them to let us have tea." She rang the bell and Ruby came in, and +the tea was ordered. "That young lady tells me that you are an old +friend of hers."</p> + +<p>"I've known about her down in the country, and was astonished to find +her here yesterday."</p> + +<p>"There's some lover, isn't there;—some would-be husband whom she +does not like?"</p> + +<p>"And some won't-be husband, I fear, whom she does like."</p> + +<p>"That's quite of course, if the other is true. Miss Ruby isn't the +girl to have come to her time of life without a preference. The +natural liking of a young woman for a man in a station above her, +because he is softer and cleaner and has better parts of +speech,—just as we keep a pretty dog if we keep a dog at all,—is +one of the evils of the inequality of mankind. The girl is content +with the love without having the love justified, because the object +is more desirable. She can only have her love justified with an +object less desirable. If all men wore coats of the same fabric, and +had to share the soil of the work of the world equally between them, +that evil would come to an end. A woman here and there might go wrong +from fantasy and diseased passions, but the ever-existing temptation +to go wrong would be at an end."</p> + +<p>"If men were equal to-morrow and all wore the same coats, they would +wear different coats the next day."</p> + +<p>"Slightly different. But there would be no more purple and fine +linen, and no more blue woad. It isn't to be done in a day of course, +nor yet in a century,—nor in a decade of centuries; but every human +being who looks into it honestly will see that his efforts should be +made in that direction. I remember; you never take sugar; give me +that."</p> + +<p>Neither had he come here to discuss the deeply interesting questions +of women's difficulties and immediate or progressive equality. But +having got on to these rocks,—having, as the reader may perceive, +been taken on to them wilfully by the skill of the woman,—he did not +know how to get his bark out again into clear waters. But having his +own subject before him, with all its dangers, the wild-cat's claws, +and the possible fate of the gentleman in Oregon, he could not talk +freely on the subjects which she introduced, as had been his wont in +former years. "Thanks," he said, changing his cup. "How well you +remember!"</p> + +<p>"Do you think I shall ever forget your preferences and dislikings? Do +you recollect telling me about that blue scarf of mine, that I should +never wear blue?"</p> + +<p>She stretched herself out towards him, waiting for an answer, so that +he was obliged to speak. "Of course I do. Black is your +colour;—black and grey; or white,—and perhaps yellow when you +choose to be gorgeous; crimson possibly. But not blue or green."</p> + +<p>"I never thought much of it before, but I have taken your word for +gospel. It is very good to have an eye for such things,—as you have, +Paul. But I fancy that taste comes with, or at any rate forbodes, an +effete civilisation."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry that mine should be effete," he said smiling.</p> + +<p>"You know what I mean, Paul. I speak of nations, not individuals. +Civilisation was becoming effete, or at any rate men were, in the +time of the great painters; but Savanarola and Galileo were +individuals. You should throw your lot in with a new people. This +railway to Mexico gives you the chance."</p> + +<p>"Are the Mexicans a new people?"</p> + +<p>"They who will rule the Mexicans are. All American women I dare say +have bad taste in gowns,—and so the vain ones and rich ones send to +Paris for their finery; but I think our taste in men is generally +good. We like our philosophers; we like our poets; we like our +genuine workmen;—but we love our heroes. I would have you a hero, +Paul." He got up from his chair and walked about the room in an agony +of despair. To be told that he was expected to be a hero at the very +moment in his life in which he felt more devoid of heroism, more +thoroughly given up to cowardice than he had ever been before, was +not to be endured! And yet, with what utmost stretch of +courage,—even though he were willing to devote himself certainly and +instantly to the worst fate that he had pictured to himself,—could +he immediately rush away from these abstract speculations, encumbered +as they were with personal flattery, into his own most unpleasant, +most tragic matter! It was the unfitness that deterred him and not +the possible tragedy. Nevertheless, through it all, he was +sure,—nearly sure,—that she was playing her game, and playing it in +direct antagonism to the game which she knew that he wanted to play. +Would it not be better that he should go away and write another +letter? In a letter he could at any rate say what he had to say;—and +having said it he would then strengthen himself to adhere to it. +"What makes you so uneasy?" she asked; still speaking in her most +winning way, caressing him with the tones of her voice. "Do you not +like me to say that I would have you be a hero?"</p> + +<p>"Winifrid," he said, "I came here with a purpose, and I had better +carry it out."</p> + +<p>"What purpose?" She still leaned forward, but now supported her face +on her two hands with her elbows resting on her knees, looking at him +intently. But one would have said that there was only love in her +eyes;—love which might be disappointed, but still love. The wild +cat, if there, was all within, still hidden from sight. Paul stood +with his hands on the back of a chair, propping himself up and trying +to find fitting words for the occasion. "Stop, my dear," she said. +"Must the purpose be told to-night?"</p> + +<p>"Why not to-night?"</p> + +<p>"Paul, I am not well;—I am weak now. I am a coward. You do not know +the delight to me of having a few words of pleasant talk to an old +friend after the desolation of the last weeks. Mrs. Pipkin is not +very charming. Even her baby cannot supply all the social wants of my +life. I had intended that everything should be sweet to-night. Oh, +Paul, if it was your purpose to tell me of your love, to assure me +that you are still my dear, dear friend, to speak with hope of future +days, or with pleasure of those that are past,—then carry out your +purpose. But if it be cruel, or harsh, or painful; if you had come to +speak daggers;—then drop your purpose for to-night. Try and think +what my solitude must have been to me, and let me have one hour of +comfort."</p> + +<p>Of course he was conquered for that night, and could only have that +solace which a most injurious reprieve could give him. "I will not +harass you, if you are ill," he said.</p> + +<p>"I am ill. It was because I was afraid that I should be really ill +that I went to Southend. The weather is hot, though of course the sun +here is not as we have it. But the air is heavy,—what Mrs. Pipkin +calls muggy. I was thinking if I were to go somewhere for a week, it +would do me good. Where had I better go?" Paul suggested Brighton. +"That is full of people; is it not?—a fashionable place?"</p> + +<p>"Not at this time of the year."</p> + +<p>"But it is a big place. I want some little place that would be +pretty. You could take me down; could you not? Not very far, you +know;—not that any place can be very far from here." Paul, in his +John Bull displeasure, suggested Penzance, telling her, untruly, that +it would take twenty-four hours. "Not Penzance then, which I know is +your very Ultima Thule;—not Penzance, nor yet Orkney. Is there no +other place,—except Southend?"</p> + +<p>"There is Cromer in Norfolk,—perhaps ten hours."</p> + +<p>"Is Cromer by the sea?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—what we call the sea."</p> + +<p>"I mean really the sea, Paul?"</p> + +<p>"If you start from Cromer right away, a hundred miles would perhaps +take you across to Holland. A ditch of that kind wouldn't do +perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Ah,—now I see you are laughing at me. Is Cromer pretty?"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes;—I think it is. I was there once, but I don't remember +much. There's Ramsgate."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Pipkin told me of Ramsgate. I don't think I should like +Ramsgate."</p> + +<p>"There's the Isle of Wight. The Isle of Wight is very pretty."</p> + +<p>"That's the Queen's place. There would not be room for her and me +too."</p> + +<p>"Or Lowestoft. Lowestoft is not so far as Cromer, and there is a +railway all the distance."</p> + +<p>"And sea?"</p> + +<p>"Sea enough for anything. If you can't see across it, and if there +are waves, and wind enough to knock you down, and shipwrecks every +other day, I don't see why a hundred miles isn't as good as a +thousand."</p> + +<p>"A hundred miles is just as good as a thousand. But, Paul, at +Southend it isn't a hundred miles across to the other side of the +river. You must admit that. But you will be a better guide than Mrs. +Pipkin. You would not have taken me to Southend when I expressed a +wish for the ocean;—would you? Let it be Lowestoft. Is there an +hotel?"</p> + +<p>"A small little place."</p> + +<p>"Very small? uncomfortably small? But almost any place would do for +me."</p> + +<p>"They make up, I believe, about a hundred beds; but in the States it +would be very small."</p> + +<p>"Paul," said she, delighted to have brought him back to this humour, +"if I were to throw the tea things at you, it would serve you right. +This is all because I did not lose myself in awe at the sight of the +Southend ocean. It shall be Lowestoft." Then she rose up and came to +him, and took his arm. "You will take me down, will you not? It is +desolate for a woman to go into such a place all alone. I will not +ask you to stay. And I can return by myself." She had put both hands +on one arm, and turned herself round, and looked into his face. "You +will do that for old acquaintance sake?" For a moment or two he made +no answer, and his face was troubled, and his brow was black. He was +endeavouring to think;—but he was only aware of his danger, and +could see no way through it. "I don't think you will let me ask in +vain for such a favour as that," she said.</p> + +<p>"No;" he replied. "I will take you down. When will you go?" He had +cockered himself up with some vain idea that the railway carriage +would be a good place for the declaration of his purpose, or perhaps +the sands at Lowestoft.</p> + +<p>"When will I go? when will you take me? You have Boards to attend, +and shares to look to, and Mexico to regenerate. I am a poor woman +with nothing on hand but Mrs. Pipkin's baby. Can you be ready in ten +minutes?—because I could." Paul shook his head and laughed. "I've +named a time and that doesn't suit. Now, sir, you name another, and +I'll promise it shall suit." Paul suggested Saturday, the 29th. He +must attend the next Board, and had promised to see Melmotte before +the Board day. Saturday of course would do for Mrs. Hurtle. Should +she meet him at the railway station? Of course he undertook to come +and fetch her.</p> + +<p>Then, as he took his leave, she stood close against him, and put her +cheek up for him to kiss. There are moments in which a man finds it +utterly impossible that he should be prudent,—as to which, when he +thought of them afterwards, he could never forgive himself for +prudence, let the danger have been what it may. Of course he took her +in his arms, and kissed her lips as well as her cheeks.</p> + + +<p><a id="c43"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLIII.</h3> +<h4>THE CITY ROAD.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The statement made by Ruby as to her connection with Mrs. Pipkin was +quite true. Ruby's father had married a Pipkin whose brother had died +leaving a widow behind him at Islington. The old man at Sheep's Acre +farm had greatly resented this marriage, had never spoken to his +daughter-in-law,—or to his son after the marriage, and had steeled +himself against the whole Pipkin race. When he undertook the charge +of Ruby he had made it matter of agreement that she should have no +intercourse with the Pipkins. This agreement Ruby had broken, +corresponding on the sly with her uncle's widow at Islington. When +therefore she ran away from Suffolk she did the best she could with +herself in going to her aunt's house. Mrs. Pipkin was a poor woman, +and could not offer a permanent home to Ruby; but she was +good-natured, and came to terms. Ruby was to be allowed to stay at +any rate for a month, and was to work in the house for her bread. But +she made it a part of her bargain that she should be allowed to go +out occasionally. Mrs. Pipkin immediately asked after a lover. "I'm +all right," said Ruby. If the lover was what he ought to be, had he +not better come and see her? This was Mrs. Pipkin's suggestion. Mrs. +Pipkin thought that scandal might in this way be avoided. "That's as +it may be, by-and-by," said Ruby. Then she told all the story of John +Crumb:—how she hated John Crumb; how resolved she was that nothing +should make her marry John Crumb. And she gave her own account of +that night on which John Crumb and Mr. Mixet ate their supper at the +farm, and of the manner in which her grandfather had treated her +because she would not have John Crumb. Mrs. Pipkin was a respectable +woman in her way, always preferring respectable lodgers if she could +get them;—but bound to live. She gave Ruby very good advice. Of +course if she was "dead-set" against John Crumb, that was one thing! +But then there was nothing a young woman should look to so much as a +decent house over her head,—and victuals. "What's all the love in +the world, Ruby, if a man can't do for you?" Ruby declared that she +knew somebody who could do for her, and could do very well for her. +She knew what she was about, and wasn't going to be put off it. Mrs. +Pipkin's morals were good wearing morals, but she was not +strait-laced. If Ruby chose to manage in her own way about her lover +she must. Mrs. Pipkin had an idea that young women in these days did +have, and would have, and must have more liberty than was allowed +when she was young. The world was being changed very fast. Mrs. +Pipkin knew that as well as others. And therefore when Ruby went to +the theatre once and again,—by herself as far as Mrs. Pipkin knew, +but probably in company with her lover,—and did not get home till +past midnight, Mrs. Pipkin said very little about it, attributing +such novel circumstances to the altered condition of her country. She +had not been allowed to go to the theatre with a young man when she +had been a girl,—but that had been in the earlier days of Queen +Victoria, fifteen years ago, before the new dispensation had come. +Ruby had never yet told the name of her lover to Mrs. Pipkin, having +answered all inquiries by saying that she was all right. Sir Felix's +name had never even been mentioned in Islington till Paul Montague +had mentioned it. She had been managing her own affairs after her own +fashion,—not altogether with satisfaction, but still without +interruption; but now she knew that interference would come. Mr. +Montague had found her out, and had told her grandfather's landlord. +The Squire would be after her, and then John Crumb would come, +accompanied of course by Mr. Mixet,—and after that, as she said to +herself on retiring to the couch which she shared with two little +Pipkins, "the fat would be in the fire."</p> + +<p>"Who do you think was at our place yesterday?" said Ruby one evening +to her lover. They were sitting together at a music-hall,—half +music-hall, half theatre, which pleasantly combined the allurements +of the gin-palace, the theatre, and the ball-room, trenching hard on +those of other places. Sir Felix was smoking, dressed, as he himself +called it, "incognito," with a Tom-and-Jerry hat, and a blue silk +cravat, and a green coat. Ruby thought it was charming. Felix +entertained an idea that were his West End friends to see him in this +attire they would not know him. He was smoking, and had before him a +glass of hot brandy and water, which was common to himself and Ruby. +He was enjoying life. Poor Ruby! She was half-ashamed of herself, +half-frightened, and yet supported by a feeling that it was a grand +thing to have got rid of restraints, and be able to be with her young +man. Why not? The Miss Longestaffes were allowed to sit and dance and +walk about with their young men,—when they had any. Why was she to +be given up to a great mass of stupid dust like John Crumb, without +seeing anything of the world? But yet as she sat sipping her lover's +brandy and water between eleven and twelve at the music-hall in the +City Road, she was not altogether comfortable. She saw things which +she did not like to see. And she heard things which she did not like +to hear. And her lover, though he was beautiful,—oh, so +beautiful!—was not all that a lover should be. She was still a +little afraid of him, and did not dare as yet to ask him for the +promise which she expected him to make to her. Her mind was set +upon—marriage, but the word had hardly passed between them. To have +his arm round her waist was heaven to her! Could it be possible that +he and John Crumb were of the same order of human beings? But how was +this to go on? Even Mrs. Pipkin made disagreeable allusions, and she +could not live always with Mrs. Pipkin, coming out at nights to drink +brandy and water and hear music with Sir Felix Carbury. She was glad +therefore to take the first opportunity of telling her lover that +something was going to happen. "Who do you suppose was at our place +yesterday?"</p> + +<p>Sir Felix changed colour, thinking of Marie Melmotte, thinking that +perhaps some emissary from Marie Melmotte had been there; perhaps +Didon herself. He was amusing himself during these last evenings of +his in London; but the business of his life was about to take him to +New York. That project was still being elaborated. He had had an +interview with Didon, and nothing was wanting but the money. Didon +had heard of the funds which had been intrusted by him to Melmotte, +and had been very urgent with him to recover them. Therefore, though +his body was not unfrequently present, late in the night, at the City +Road Music-Hall, his mind was ever in Grosvenor Square. "Who was it, +Ruby?"</p> + +<p>"A friend of the Squire's, a Mr. Montague. I used to see him about in +Bungay and Beccles."</p> + +<p>"Paul Montague!"</p> + +<p>"Do you know him, Felix?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—rather. He's a member of our club, and I see him constantly +in the city—and I know him at home."</p> + +<p>"Is he nice?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—that depends on what you call nice. He's a prig of a fellow."</p> + +<p>"He's got a lady friend where I live."</p> + +<p>"The devil he has!" Sir Felix of course had heard of Roger Carbury's +suit to his sister, and of the opposition to this suit on the part of +Hetta, which was supposed to have been occasioned by her preference +for Paul Montague. "Who is she, Ruby?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—she's a Mrs. Hurtle. Such a stunning woman! Aunt says she's +an American. She's got lots of money."</p> + +<p>"Is Montague going to marry her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear yes. It's all arranged. Mr. Montague comes quite regular to +see her;—not so regular as he ought, though. When gentlemen are +fixed as they're to be married, they never are regular afterwards. I +wonder whether it'll be the same with you?"</p> + +<p>"Wasn't John Crumb regular, Ruby?"</p> + +<p>"Bother John Crumb! That wasn't none of my doings. Oh, he'd been +regular enough, if I'd let him; he'd been like clockwork,—only the +slowest clock out. But Mr. Montague has been and told the Squire as +he saw me. He told me so himself. The Squire's coming about John +Crumb. I know that. What am I to tell him, Felix?"</p> + +<p>"Tell him to mind his own business. He can't do anything to you."</p> + +<p>"No;—he can't do nothing. I ain't done nothing wrong, and he can't +send for the police to have me took back to Sheep's Acre. But he can +talk,—and he can look. I ain't one of those, Felix, as don't mind +about their characters,—so don't you think it. Shall I tell him as +I'm with you?"</p> + +<p>"Gracious goodness, no! What would you say that for?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know. I must say something."</p> + +<p>"Tell him you're nothing to him."</p> + +<p>"But aunt will be letting on about my being out late o'nights; I know +she will. And who am I with? He'll be asking that."</p> + +<p>"Your aunt does not know?"</p> + +<p>"No;—I've told nobody yet. But it won't do to go on like that, you +know,—will it? You don't want it to go on always like that;—do +you?"</p> + +<p>"It's very jolly, I think."</p> + +<p>"It ain't jolly for me. Of course, Felix, I like to be with you. +That's jolly. But I have to mind them brats all the day, and to be +doing the bedrooms. And that's not the worst of it."</p> + +<p>"What is the worst of it?"</p> + +<p>"I'm pretty nigh ashamed of myself. Yes, I am." And now Ruby burst +out into tears. "Because I wouldn't have John Crumb, I didn't mean to +be a bad girl. Nor yet I won't. But what'll I do, if everybody turns +again me? Aunt won't go on for ever in this way. She said last night +<span class="nowrap">that—"</span></p> + +<p>"Bother what she says!" Felix was not at all anxious to hear what +aunt Pipkin might have to say upon such an occasion.</p> + +<p>"She's right too. Of course she knows there's somebody. She ain't +such a fool as to think that I'm out at these hours to sing psalms +with a lot of young women. She says that whoever it is ought to speak +out his mind. There;—that's what she says. And she's right. A girl +has to mind herself, though she's ever so fond of a young man."</p> + +<p>Sir Felix sucked his cigar and then took a long drink of brandy and +water. Having emptied the beaker before him, he rapped for the waiter +and called for another. He intended to avoid the necessity of making +any direct reply to Ruby's importunities. He was going to New York +very shortly, and looked on his journey thither as an horizon in his +future beyond which it was unnecessary to speculate as to any farther +distance. He had not troubled himself to think how it might be with +Ruby when he was gone. He had not even considered whether he would or +would not tell her that he was going, before he started. It was not +his fault that she had come up to London. She was an "awfully jolly +girl," and he liked the feeling of the intrigue better perhaps than +the girl herself. But he assured himself that he wasn't going to give +himself any <span class="nowrap">"d——d</span> +trouble." The idea of John Crumb coming up to +London in his wrath had never occurred to him,—or he would probably +have hurried on his journey to New York instead of delaying it, as he +was doing now. "Let's go in and have a dance," he said.</p> + +<p>Ruby was very fond of dancing,—perhaps liked it better than anything +in the world. It was heaven to her to be spinning round the big room +with her lover's arm tight round her waist, with one hand in his and +her other hanging over his back. She loved the music, and loved the +motion. Her ear was good, and her strength was great, and she never +lacked breath. She could spin along and dance a whole room down, and +feel at the time that the world could have nothing to give better +worth having than that;—and such moments were too precious to be +lost. She went and danced, resolving as she did so that she would +have some answer to her question before she left her lover on that +night.</p> + +<p>"And now I must go," she said at last. "You'll see me as far as the +Angel, won't you?" Of course he was ready to see her as far as the +Angel. "What am I to say to the Squire?"</p> + +<p>"Say nothing."</p> + +<p>"And what am I to say to aunt?"</p> + +<p>"Say to her? Just say what you have said all along."</p> + +<p>"I've said nothing all along,—just to oblige you, Felix. I must say +something. A girl has got herself to mind. What have you got to say +to me, Felix?"</p> + +<p>He was silent for about a minute, meditating his answer. "If you +bother me I shall cut it, you know."</p> + +<p>"Cut it!"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—cut it. Can't you wait till I am ready to say something?"</p> + +<p>"Waiting will be the ruin o' me, if I wait much longer. Where am I to +go, if Mrs. Pipkin won't have me no more?"</p> + +<p>"I'll find a place for you."</p> + +<p>"You find a place! No; that won't do. I've told you all that before. +I'd sooner go into service, +<span class="nowrap">or—"</span></p> + +<p>"Go back to John Crumb."</p> + +<p>"John Crumb has more respect for me nor you. He'd make me his wife +to-morrow, and only be too happy."</p> + +<p>"I didn't tell you to come away from him," said Sir Felix.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you did. You told me as I was to come up to London when I saw +you at Sheepstone Beeches;—didn't you? And you told me you loved +me;—didn't you? And that if I wanted anything you'd get it done for +me;—didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"So I will. What do you want? I can give you a couple of sovereigns, +if that's what it is."</p> + +<p>"No it isn't;—and I won't have your money. I'd sooner work my +fingers off. I want you to say whether you mean to marry me. There!"</p> + +<p>As to the additional lie which Sir Felix might now have told, that +would have been nothing to him. He was going to New York, and would +be out of the way of any trouble; and he thought that lies of that +kind to young women never went for anything. Young women, he thought, +didn't believe them, but liked to be able to believe afterwards that +they had been deceived. It wasn't the lie that stuck in his throat, +but the fact that he was a baronet. It was in his estimation +"confounded impudence" on the part of Ruby Ruggles to ask to be his +wife. He did not care for the lie, but he did not like to seem to +lower himself by telling such a lie as that at her dictation. "Marry, +Ruby! No, I don't ever mean to marry. It's the greatest bore out. I +know a trick worth two of that."</p> + +<p>She stopped in the street and looked at him. This was a state of +things of which she had never dreamed. She could imagine that a man +should wish to put it off, but that he should have the face to +declare to his young woman that he never meant to marry at all, was a +thing that she could not understand. What business had such a man to +go after any young woman? "And what do you mean that I'm to do, Sir +Felix?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Just go easy, and not make yourself a bother."</p> + +<p>"Not make myself a bother! Oh, but I will; I will. I'm to be carrying +on with you, and nothing to come of it; but for you to tell me that +you don't mean to marry, never at all! Never?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you see lots of old bachelors about, Ruby?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I does. There's the Squire. But he don't come asking girls +to keep him company."</p> + +<p>"That's more than you know, Ruby."</p> + +<p>"If he did he'd marry her out of hand,—because he's a gentleman. +That's what he is, every inch of him. He never said a word to a +girl,—not to do her any harm, I'm sure," and Ruby began to cry. "You +mustn't come no further now, and I'll never see you again—never! I +think you're the falsest young man, and the basest, and the +lowest-minded that I ever heard tell of. I know there are them as +don't keep their words. Things turn up, and they can't. Or they gets +to like others better; or there ain't nothing to live on. But for a +young man to come after a young woman, and then say, right out, as he +never means to marry at all, is the lowest-spirited fellow that ever +was. I never read of such a one in none of the books. No, I won't. +You go your way, and I'll go mine." In her passion she was as good as +her word, and escaped from him, running all the way to her aunt's +door. There was in her mind a feeling of anger against the man, which +she did not herself understand, in that he would incur no risk on her +behalf. He would not even make a lover's easy promise, in order that +the present hour might be made pleasant. Ruby let herself into her +aunt's house, and cried herself to sleep with a child on each side of +her.</p> + +<p>On the next day Roger called. She had begged Mrs. Pipkin to attend +the door, and had asked her to declare, should any gentleman ask for +Ruby Ruggles, that Ruby Ruggles was out. Mrs. Pipkin had not refused +to do so; but, having heard sufficient of Roger Carbury to imagine +the cause which might possibly bring him to the house, and having +made up her mind that Ruby's present condition of independence was +equally unfavourable to the lodging-house and to Ruby herself, she +determined that the Squire, if he did come, should see the young +lady. When therefore Ruby was called into the little back parlour and +found Roger Carbury there, she thought that she had been caught in a +trap. She had been very cross all the morning. Though in her rage she +had been able on the previous evening to dismiss her titled lover, +and to imply that she never meant to see him again, now, when the +remembrance of the loss came upon her amidst her daily work,—when +she could no longer console herself in her drudgery by thinking of +the beautiful things that were in store for her, and by flattering +herself that though at this moment she was little better than a maid +of all work in a lodging-house, the time was soon coming in which she +would bloom forth as a baronet's bride,—now in her solitude she +almost regretted the precipitancy of her own conduct. Could it be +that she would never see him again;—that she would dance no more in +that gilded bright saloon? And might it not be possible that she had +pressed him too hard? A baronet of course would not like to be +brought to book, as she could bring to book such a one as John Crumb. +But yet,—that he should have said never;—that he would never marry! +Looking at it in any light, she was very unhappy, and this coming of +the Squire did not serve to cure her misery.</p> + +<p>Roger was very kind to her, taking her by the hand, and bidding her +sit down, and telling her how glad he was to find that she was +comfortably settled with her aunt. "We were all alarmed, of course, +when you went away without telling anybody where you were going."</p> + +<p>"Grandfather 'd been that cruel to me that I couldn't tell him."</p> + +<p>"He wanted you to keep your word to an old friend of yours."</p> + +<p>"To pull me all about by the hairs of my head wasn't the way to make +a girl keep her word;—was it, Mr. Carbury? That's what he did, +then;—and Sally Hockett, who is there, heard it. I've been good to +grandfather, whatever I may have been to John Crumb; and he shouldn't +have treated me like that. No girl 'd like to be pulled about the +room by the hairs of her head, and she with her things all off, just +getting into bed."</p> + +<p>The Squire had no answer to make to this. That old Ruggles should be +a violent brute under the influence of gin and water did not surprise +him. And the girl, when driven away from her home by such usage, had +not done amiss in coming to her aunt. But Roger had already heard a +few words from Mrs. Pipkin as to Ruby's late hours, had heard also +that there was a lover, and knew very well who that lover was. He +also was quite familiar with John Crumb's state of mind. John Crumb +was a gallant, loving fellow who might be induced to forgive +everything, if Ruby would only go back to him; but would certainly +persevere, after some slow fashion of his own, and "see the matter +out," as he would say himself, if she did not go back. "As you found +yourself obliged to run away," said Roger, "I'm glad that you should +be here; but you don't mean to stay here always?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Ruby.</p> + +<p>"You must think of your future life. You don't want to be always your +aunt's maid."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, no."</p> + +<p>"It would be very odd if you did, when you may be the wife of such a +man as Mr. Crumb."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Crumb! Everybody is going on about Mr. Crumb. I don't like +Mr. Crumb, and I never will like him."</p> + +<p>"Now look here, Ruby; I have come to speak to you very seriously, and +I expect you to hear me. Nobody can make you marry Mr. Crumb, unless +you please."</p> + +<p>"Nobody can't, of course, sir."</p> + +<p>"But I fear you have given him up for somebody else, who certainly +won't marry you, and who can only mean to ruin you."</p> + +<p>"Nobody won't ruin me," said Ruby. "A girl has to look to herself, +and I mean to look to myself."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to hear you say so, but being out at night with such a one +as Sir Felix Carbury is not looking to yourself. That means going to +the devil head foremost."</p> + +<p>"I ain't a going to the devil," said Ruby, sobbing and blushing.</p> + +<p>"But you will, if you put yourself into the hands of that young man. +He's as bad as bad can be. He's my own cousin, and yet I'm obliged to +tell you so. He has no more idea of marrying you than I have; but +were he to marry you, he could not support you. He is ruined himself, +and would ruin any young woman who trusted him. I'm almost old enough +to be your father, and in all my experience I never came across so +vile a young man as he is. He would ruin you and cast you from him +without a pang of remorse. He has no heart in his bosom;—none." Ruby +had now given way altogether, and was sobbing with her apron to her +eyes in one corner of the room. "That's what Sir Felix Carbury is," +said the Squire, standing up so that he might speak with the more +energy, and talk her down more thoroughly. "And if I understand it +rightly," he continued, "it is for a vile thing such as he, that you +have left a man who is as much above him in character, as the sun is +above the earth. You think little of John Crumb because he does not +wear a fine coat."</p> + +<p>"I don't care about any man's coat," said Ruby; "but John hasn't ever +a word to say, was it ever so."</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill043"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill043.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill043-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"I don’t care about any man’s coat."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"I don't + care about any man's coat."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill043.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"Words to say! what do words matter? He loves you. He loves you after +that fashion that he wants to make you happy and respectable, not to +make you a bye-word and a disgrace." Ruby struggled hard to make some +opposition to the suggestion, but found herself to be incapable of +speech at the moment. "He thinks more of you than of himself, and +would give you all that he has. What would that other man give you? +If you were once married to John Crumb, would any one then pull you +by the hairs of your head? Would there be any want then, or any +disgrace?"</p> + +<p>"There ain't no disgrace, Mr. Carbury."</p> + +<p>"No disgrace in going about at midnight with such a one as Felix +Carbury? You are not a fool, and you know that it is disgraceful. If +you are not unfit to be an honest man's wife, go back and beg that +man's pardon."</p> + +<p>"John Crumb's pardon! No!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Ruby, if you knew how highly I respect that man, and how lowly I +think of the other; how I look on the one as a noble fellow, and +regard the other as dust beneath my feet, you would perhaps change +your mind a little."</p> + +<p>Her mind was being changed. His words did have their effect, though +the poor girl struggled against the conviction that was borne in upon +her. She had never expected to hear any one call John Crumb noble. +But she had never respected any one more highly than Squire Carbury, +and he said that John Crumb was noble. Amidst all her misery and +trouble she still told herself that it was but a dusty, mealy,—and +also a dumb nobility.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what will take place," continued Roger. "Mr. Crumb +won't put up with this you know."</p> + +<p>"He can't do nothing to me, sir."</p> + +<p>"That's true enough. Unless it be to take you in his arms and press +you to his heart, he wants to do nothing to you. Do you think he'd +injure you if he could? You don't know what a man's love really +means, Ruby. But he could do something to somebody else. How do you +think it would be with Felix Carbury, if they two were in a room +together and nobody else by?"</p> + +<p>"John's mortial strong, Mr. Carbury."</p> + +<p>"If two men have equal pluck, strength isn't much needed. One is a +brave man, and the other—a coward. Which do you think is which?"</p> + +<p>"He's your own cousin, and I don't know why you should say everything +again him."</p> + +<p>"You know I'm telling you the truth. You know it as well as I do +myself;—and you're throwing yourself away, and throwing the man who +loves you over,—for such a fellow as that! Go back to him, Ruby, and +beg his pardon."</p> + +<p>"I never will;—never."</p> + +<p>"I've spoken to Mrs. Pipkin, and while you're here she will see that +you don't keep such hours any longer. You tell me that you're not +disgraced, and yet you are out at midnight with a young blackguard +like that! I've said what I've got to say, and I'm going away. But +I'll let your grandfather know."</p> + +<p>"Grandfather don't want me no more."</p> + +<p>"And I'll come again. If you want money to go home, I will let you +have it. Take my advice at least in this;—do not see Sir Felix +Carbury any more." Then he took his leave. If he had failed to +impress her with admiration for John Crumb, he had certainly been +efficacious in lessening that which she had entertained for Sir +Felix.</p> + + +<p><a id="c44"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLIV.</h3> +<h4>THE COMING ELECTION.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The very greatness of Mr. Melmotte's popularity, the extent of the +admiration which was accorded by the public at large to his +commercial enterprise and financial sagacity, created a peculiar +bitterness in the opposition that was organised against him at +Westminster. As the high mountains are intersected by deep valleys, +as puritanism in one age begets infidelity in the next, as in many +countries the thickness of the winter's ice will be in proportion to +the number of the summer musquitoes, so was the keenness of the +hostility displayed on this occasion in proportion to the warmth of +the support which was manifested. As the great man was praised, so +also was he abused. As he was a demi-god to some, so was he a fiend +to others. And indeed there was hardly any other way in which it was +possible to carry on the contest against him. From the moment in +which Mr. Melmotte had declared his purpose of standing for +Westminster in the Conservative interest, an attempt was made to +drive him down the throats of the electors by clamorous assertions of +his unprecedented commercial greatness. It seemed that there was but +one virtue in the world, commercial enterprise,—and that Melmotte +was its prophet. It seemed, too, that the orators and writers of the +day intended all Westminster to believe that Melmotte treated his +great affairs in a spirit very different from that which animates the +bosoms of merchants in general. He had risen above any feeling of +personal profit. His wealth was so immense that there was no longer +place for anxiety on that score. He already possessed,—so it was +said,—enough to found a dozen families, and he had but one daughter! +But by carrying on the enormous affairs which he held in his hands, +he would be able to open up new worlds, to afford relief to the +oppressed nationalities of the over-populated old countries. He had +seen how small was the good done by the Peabodys and the Bairds, and, +resolving to lend no ear to charities and religions, was intent on +projects for enabling young nations to earn plentiful bread by the +moderate sweat of their brows. He was the head and front of the +railway which was to regenerate Mexico. It was presumed that the +contemplated line from ocean to ocean across British America would +become a fact in his hands. It was he who was to enter into terms +with the Emperor of China for farming the tea-fields of that vast +country. He was already in treaty with Russia for a railway from +Moscow to Khiva. He had a fleet,—or soon would have a fleet of +emigrant ships,—ready to carry every discontented Irishman out of +Ireland to whatever quarter of the globe the Milesian might choose +for the exercise of his political principles. It was known that he +had already floated a company for laying down a submarine wire from +Penzance to Point de Galle, round the Cape of Good Hope,—so that, in +the event of general wars, England need be dependent on no other +country for its communications with India. And then there was the +philanthropic scheme for buying the liberty of the Arabian fellahs +from the Khedive of Egypt for thirty millions sterling,—the +compensation to consist of the concession of a territory about four +times as big as Great Britain in the lately annexed country on the +great African lakes. It may have been the case that some of these +things were as yet only matters of conversation,—speculations as to +which Mr. Melmotte's mind and imagination had been at work, rather +than his pocket or even his credit; but they were all sufficiently +matured to find their way into the public press, and to be used as +strong arguments why Melmotte should become member of Parliament for +Westminster.</p> + +<p>All this praise was of course gall to those who found themselves +called upon by the demands of their political position to oppose Mr. +Melmotte. You can run down a demi-god only by making him out to be a +demi-devil. These very persons, the leading Liberals of the leading +borough in England as they called themselves, would perhaps have +cared little about Melmotte's antecedents had it not become their +duty to fight him as a Conservative. Had the great man found at the +last moment that his own British politics had been liberal in their +nature, these very enemies would have been on his committee. It was +their business to secure the seat. And as Melmotte's supporters began +the battle with an attempt at what the Liberals called "bounce,"—to +carry the borough with a rush by an overwhelming assertion of their +candidate's virtues,—the other party was driven to make some +enquiries as to that candidate's antecedents. They quickly warmed to +the work, and were not less loud in exposing the Satan of +speculation, than had been the Conservatives in declaring the +commercial Jove. Emissaries were sent to Paris and Francfort, and the +wires were used to Vienna and New York. It was not difficult to +collect stories,—true or false; and some quiet men, who merely +looked on at the game, expressed an opinion that Melmotte might have +wisely abstained from the glories of Parliament.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless there was at first some difficulty in finding a proper +Liberal candidate to run against him. The nobleman who had been +elevated out of his seat by the death of his father had been a great +Whig magnate, whose family was possessed of immense wealth and of +popularity equal to its possessions. One of that family might have +contested the borough at a much less expense than any other +person,—and to them the expense would have mattered but little. But +there was no such member of it forthcoming. Lord This and Lord +That,—and the Honourable This and the Honourable That, sons of other +cognate Lords,—already had seats which they were unwilling to vacate +in the present state of affairs. There was but one other session for +the existing Parliament; and the odds were held to be very greatly in +Melmotte's favour. Many an outsider was tried, but the outsiders were +either afraid of Melmotte's purse or his influence. Lord Buntingford +was asked, and he and his family were good old Whigs. But he was +nephew to Lord Alfred Grendall, first cousin to Miles Grendall, and +abstained on behalf of his relatives. An overture was made to Sir +Damask Monogram, who certainly could afford the contest. But Sir +Damask did not see his way. Melmotte was a working bee, while he was +a drone,—and he did not wish to have the difference pointed out by +Mr. Melmotte's supporters. Moreover, he preferred his yacht and his +four-in-hand.</p> + +<p>At last a candidate was selected, whose nomination and whose consent +to occupy the position created very great surprise in the London +world. The press had of course taken up the matter very strongly. The +"Morning Breakfast Table" supported Mr. Melmotte with all its weight. +There were people who said that this support was given by Mr. Broune +under the influence of Lady Carbury, and that Lady Carbury in this +way endeavoured to reconcile the great man to a marriage between his +daughter and Sir Felix. But it is more probable that Mr. Broune +saw,—or thought that he saw,—which way the wind sat, and that he +supported the commercial hero because he felt that the hero would be +supported by the country at large. In praising a book, or putting +foremost the merits of some official or military claimant, or writing +up a charity,—in some small matter of merely personal interest,—the +Editor of the "Morning Breakfast Table" might perhaps allow himself +to listen to a lady whom he loved. But he knew his work too well to +jeopardize his paper by such influences in any matter which might +probably become interesting to the world of his readers. There was a +strong belief in Melmotte. The clubs thought that he would be +returned for Westminster. The dukes and duchesses fêted him. The +city,—even the city was showing a wavering disposition to come +round. Bishops begged for his name on the list of promoters of their +pet schemes. Royalty without stint was to dine at his table. Melmotte +himself was to sit at the right hand of the brother of the Sun and of +the uncle of the Moon, and British Royalty was to be arranged +opposite, so that every one might seem to have the place of most +honour. How could a conscientious Editor of a "Morning Breakfast +Table," seeing how things were going, do other than support Mr. +Melmotte? In fair justice it may be well doubted whether Lady Carbury +had exercised any influence in the matter.</p> + +<p>But the "Evening Pulpit" took the other side. Now this was the more +remarkable, the more sure to attract attention, inasmuch as the +"Evening Pulpit" had never supported the Liberal interest. As was +said in the first chapter of this work, the motto of that newspaper +implied that it was to be conducted on principles of absolute +independence. Had the "Evening Pulpit," like some of its +contemporaries, lived by declaring from day to day that all Liberal +elements were godlike, and all their opposites satanic, as a matter +of course the same line of argument would have prevailed as to the +Westminster election. But as it had not been so, the vigour of the +"Evening Pulpit" on this occasion was the more alarming and the more +noticeable,—so that the short articles which appeared almost daily +in reference to Mr. Melmotte were read by everybody. Now they who are +concerned in the manufacture of newspapers are well aware that +censure is infinitely more attractive than eulogy,—but they are +quite as well aware that it is more dangerous. No proprietor or +editor was ever brought before the courts at the cost of ever so many +hundred pounds,—which if things go badly may rise to +thousands,—because he had attributed all but divinity to some very +poor specimen of mortality. No man was ever called upon for damages +because he had attributed grand motives. It might be well for +politics and literature and art,—and for truth in general, if it was +possible to do so. But a new law of libel must be enacted before such +salutary proceedings can take place. Censure on the other hand is +open to very grave perils. Let the Editor have been ever so +conscientious, ever so beneficent,—even ever so true,—let it be +ever so clear that what he has written has been written on behalf of +virtue, and that he has misstated no fact, exaggerated no fault, +never for a moment been allured from public to private matters,—and +he may still be in danger of ruin. A very long purse, or else a very +high courage is needed for the exposure of such conduct as the +"Evening Pulpit" attributed to Mr. Melmotte. The paper took up this +line suddenly. After the second article Mr. Alf sent back to Mr. +Miles Grendall, who in the matter was acting as Mr. Melmotte's +secretary, the ticket of invitation for the dinner, with a note from +Mr. Alf stating that circumstances connected with the forthcoming +election for Westminster could not permit him to have the great +honour of dining at Mr. Melmotte's table in the presence of the +Emperor of China. Miles Grendall showed the note to the dinner +committee, and, without consultation with Mr. Melmotte, it was +decided that the ticket should be sent to the Editor of a +thorough-going Conservative journal. This conduct on the part of the +"Evening Pulpit" astonished the world considerably; but the world was +more astonished when it was declared that Mr. Ferdinand Alf himself +was going to stand for Westminster on the Liberal interest.</p> + +<p>Various suggestions were made. Some said that as Mr. Alf had a large +share in the newspaper, and as its success was now an established +fact, he himself intended to retire from the laborious position which +he filled, and was therefore free to go into Parliament. Others were +of opinion that this was the beginning of a new era in literature, of +a new order of things, and that from this time forward editors would +frequently be found in Parliament, if editors were employed of +sufficient influence in the world to find constituencies. Mr. Broune +whispered confidentially to Lady Carbury that the man was a fool for +his pains, and that he was carried away by pride. "Very clever,—and +dashing," said Mr. Broune, "but he never had ballast." Lady Carbury +shook her head. She did not want to give up Mr. Alf if she could help +it. He had never said a civil word of her in his paper;—but still +she had an idea that it was well to be on good terms with so great a +power. She entertained a mysterious awe for Mr. Alf,—much in excess +of any similar feeling excited by Mr. Broune, in regard to whom her +awe had been much diminished since he had made her an offer of +marriage. Her sympathies as to the election of course were with Mr. +Melmotte. She believed in him thoroughly. She still thought that his +nod might be the means of making Felix,—or if not his nod, then his +money without the nod.</p> + +<p>"I suppose he is very rich," she said, speaking to Mr. Broune +respecting Mr. Alf.</p> + +<p>"I dare say he has put by something. But this election will cost him +£10,000;—and if he goes on as he is doing now, he had better allow +another £10,000 for action for libel. They've already declared that +they will indict the paper."</p> + +<p>"Do you believe about the Austrian Insurance Company?" This was a +matter as to which Mr. Melmotte was supposed to have retired from +Paris not with clean hands.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe the 'Evening Pulpit' can prove it,—and I'm sure +that they can't attempt to prove it without an expense of three or +four thousand pounds. That's a game in which nobody wins but the +lawyers. I wonder at Alf. I should have thought that he would have +known how to get all said that he wanted to have said without running +with his head into the lion's mouth. He has been so clever up to +this! God knows he has been bitter enough, but he has always sailed +within the wind."</p> + +<p>Mr. Alf had a powerful committee. By this time an animus in regard to +the election had been created strong enough to bring out the men on +both sides, and to produce heat, when otherwise there might only have +been a warmth or possibly frigidity. The Whig Marquises and the Whig +Barons came forward, and with them the liberal professional men, and +the tradesmen who had found that party to answer best, and the +democratical mechanics. If Melmotte's money did not, at last, utterly +demoralise the lower class of voters, there would still be a good +fight. And there was a strong hope that, under the ballot, Melmotte's +money might be taken without a corresponding effect upon the voting. +It was found upon trial that Mr. Alf was a good speaker. And though +he still conducted the "Evening Pulpit," he made time for addressing +meetings of the constituency almost daily. And in his speeches he +never spared Melmotte. No one, he said, had a greater reverence for +mercantile grandeur than himself. But let them take care that the +grandeur was grand. How great would be the disgrace to such a borough +as that of Westminster if it should find that it had been taken in by +a false spirit of speculation and that it had surrendered itself to +gambling when it had thought to do honour to honest commerce. This, +connected as of course it was, with the articles in the paper, was +regarded as very open speaking. And it had its effect. Some men began +to say that Melmotte had not been known long enough to deserve +confidence in his riches, and the Lord Mayor was already beginning to +think that it might be wise to escape the dinner by some excuse.</p> + +<p>Melmotte's committee was also very grand. If Alf was supported by +Marquises and Barons, he was supported by Dukes and Earls. But his +speaking in public did not of itself inspire much confidence. He had +very little to say when he attempted to explain the political +principles on which he intended to act. After a little he confined +himself to remarks on the personal attacks made on him by the other +side, and even in doing that was reiterative rather than diffusive. +Let them prove it. He defied them to prove it. Englishmen were too +great, too generous, too honest, too noble,—the men of Westminster +especially were a great deal too high-minded to pay any attention to +such charges as these till they were proved. Then he began again. Let +them prove it. Such accusations as these were mere lies till they +were proved. He did not say much himself in public as to actions for +libel,—but assurances were made on his behalf to the electors, +especially by Lord Alfred Grendall and his son, that as soon as the +election was over all speakers and writers would be indicted for +libel, who should be declared by proper legal advice to have made +themselves liable to such action. The "Evening Pulpit" and Mr. Alf +would of course be the first victims.</p> + +<p>The dinner was fixed for Monday, July the 8th. The election for the +borough was to be held on Tuesday the 9th. It was generally thought +that the proximity of the two days had been arranged with the view of +enhancing Melmotte's expected triumph. But such in truth was not the +case. It had been an accident, and an accident that was distressing +to some of the Melmottites. There was much to be done about the +dinner,—which could not be omitted; and much also as to the +election,—which was imperative. The two Grendalls, father and son, +found themselves to be so driven that the world seemed for them to be +turned topsey-turvey. The elder had in old days been accustomed to +electioneering in the interest of his own family, and had declared +himself willing to make himself useful on behalf of Mr. Melmotte. But +he found Westminster to be almost too much for him. He was called +here and sent there, till he was very near rebellion. "If this goes +on much longer I shall cut it," he said to his son.</p> + +<p>"Think of me, governor," said the son. "I have to be in the city four +or five times a week."</p> + +<p>"You've a regular salary."</p> + +<p>"Come, governor; you've done pretty well for that. What's my salary +to the shares you've had? The thing is;—will it last?"</p> + +<p>"How last?"</p> + +<p>"There are a good many who say that Melmotte will burst up."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it," said Lord Alfred. "They don't know what they're +talking about. There are too many in the same boat to let him burst +up. It would be the bursting up of half London. But I shall tell him +after this that he must make it easier. He wants to know who's to +have every ticket for the dinner, and there's nobody to tell him +except me. And I've got to arrange all the places, and nobody to help +me except that fellow from the Herald's office. I don't know about +people's rank. Which ought to come first: a director of the bank or a +fellow who writes books?" Miles suggested that the fellow from the +Herald's office would know all about that, and that his father need +not trouble himself with petty details.</p> + +<p>"And you shall come to us for three days,—after it's over," said +Lady Monogram to Miss Longestaffe; a proposition to which Miss +Longestaffe acceded, willingly indeed, but not by any means as though +a favour had been conferred upon her. Now the reason why Lady +Monogram had changed her mind as to inviting her old friend, and thus +threw open her hospitality for three whole days to the poor young +lady who had disgraced herself by staying with the Melmottes, was as +follows. Miss Longestaffe had the disposal of two evening tickets for +Madame Melmotte's grand reception; and so greatly had the Melmottes +risen in general appreciation, that Lady Monogram had found that she +was bound, on behalf of her own position in society, to be present on +that occasion. It would not do that her name should not be in the +printed list of the guests. Therefore she had made a serviceable +bargain with her old friend Miss Longestaffe. She was to have her two +tickets for the reception, and Miss Longestaffe was to be received +for three days as a guest by Lady Monogram. It had also been conceded +that at any rate on one of these nights Lady Monogram should take +Miss Longestaffe out with her, and that she should herself receive +company on another. There was perhaps something slightly painful at +the commencement of the negotiation; but such feelings soon fade +away, and Lady Monogram was quite a woman of the world.</p> + + +<p><a id="c45"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLV.</h3> +<h4>MR. MELMOTTE IS PRESSED FOR TIME.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>About this time, a fortnight or nearly so before the election, Mr. +Longestaffe came up to town and saw Mr. Melmotte very frequently. He +could not go into his own house, as he had let that for a month to +the great financier, nor had he any establishment in town; but he +slept at an hotel and lived at the Carlton. He was quite delighted to +find that his new friend was an honest Conservative, and he himself +proposed the honest Conservative at the club. There was some idea of +electing Mr. Melmotte out of hand, but it was decided that the club +could not go beyond its rule, and could only admit Mr. Melmotte out +of his regular turn as soon as he should occupy a seat in the House +of Commons. Mr. Melmotte, who was becoming somewhat arrogant, was +heard to declare that if the club did not take him when he was +willing to be taken, it might do without him. If not elected at once, +he should withdraw his name. So great was his prestige at this moment +with his own party that there were some, Mr. Longestaffe among the +number, who pressed the thing on the committee. Mr. Melmotte was not +like other men. It was a great thing to have Mr. Melmotte in the +party. Mr. Melmotte's financial capabilities would in themselves be a +tower of strength. Rules were not made to control the club in a +matter of such importance as this. A noble lord, one among seven who +had been named as a fit leader of the Upper House on the Conservative +side in the next session, was asked to take the matter up; and men +thought that the thing might have been done had he complied. But he +was old-fashioned, perhaps pig-headed; and the club for the time lost +the honour of entertaining Mr. Melmotte.</p> + +<p>It may be remembered that Mr. Longestaffe had been anxious to become +one of the directors of the Mexican Railway, and that he was rather +snubbed than encouraged when he expressed his wish to Mr. Melmotte. +Like other great men, Mr. Melmotte liked to choose his own time for +bestowing favours. Since that request was made the proper time had +come, and he had now intimated to Mr. Longestaffe that in a somewhat +altered condition of things there would be a place for him at the +Board, and that he and his brother directors would be delighted to +avail themselves of his assistance. The alliance between Mr. Melmotte +and Mr. Longestaffe had become very close. The Melmottes had visited +the Longestaffes at Caversham. Georgiana Longestaffe was staying with +Madame Melmotte in London. The Melmottes were living in Mr. +Longestaffe's town house, having taken it for a month at a very high +rent. Mr. Longestaffe now had a seat at Mr. Melmotte's board. And Mr. +Melmotte had bought Mr. Longestaffe's estate at Pickering on terms +very favourable to the Longestaffes. It had been suggested to Mr. +Longestaffe by Mr. Melmotte that he had better qualify for his seat +at the Board by taking shares in the Company to the amount +of—perhaps two or three thousand pounds, and Mr. Longestaffe had of +course consented. There would be no need of any transaction in +absolute cash. The shares could of course be paid for out of Mr. +Longestaffe's half of the purchase money for Pickering Park, and +could remain for the present in Mr. Melmotte's hands. To this also +Mr. Longestaffe had consented, not quite understanding why the scrip +should not be made over to him at once.</p> + +<p>It was a part of the charm of all dealings with this great man that +no ready money seemed ever to be necessary for anything. Great +purchases were made and great transactions apparently completed +without the signing even of a cheque. Mr. Longestaffe found himself +to be afraid even to give a hint to Mr. Melmotte about ready money. +In speaking of all such matters Melmotte seemed to imply that +everything necessary had been done, when he had said that it was +done. Pickering had been purchased and the title-deeds made over to +Mr. Melmotte; but the £80,000 had not been paid,—had not been +absolutely paid, though of course Mr. Melmotte's note assenting to +the terms was security sufficient for any reasonable man. The +property had been mortgaged, though not heavily, and Mr. Melmotte had +no doubt satisfied the mortgagee; but there was still a sum of +£50,000 to come, of which Dolly was to have one half and the other +was to be employed in paying off Mr. Longestaffe's debts to tradesmen +and debts to the bank. It would have been very pleasant to have had +this at once,—but Mr. Longestaffe felt the absurdity of pressing +such a man as Mr. Melmotte, and was partly conscious of the gradual +consummation of a new æra in money matters. "If your banker is +pressing you, refer him to me," Mr. Melmotte had said. As for many +years past we have exchanged paper instead of actual money for our +commodities, so now it seemed that, under the new Melmotte régime, an +exchange of words was to suffice.</p> + +<p>But Dolly wanted his money. Dolly, idle as he was, foolish as he was, +dissipated as he was and generally indifferent to his debts, liked to +have what belonged to him. It had all been arranged. £5,000 would pay +off all his tradesmen's debts and leave him comfortably possessed of +money in hand, while the other £20,000 would make his own property +free. There was a charm in this which awakened even Dolly, and for +the time almost reconciled him to his father's society. But now a +shade of impatience was coming over him. He had actually gone down to +Caversham to arrange the terms with his father,—and had in fact made +his own terms. His father had been unable to move him, and had +consequently suffered much in spirit. Dolly had been almost +triumphant,—thinking that the money would come on the next day, or +at any rate during the next week. Now he came to his father early in +the morning,—at about two o'clock,—to enquire what was being done. +He had not as yet been made blessed with a single ten-pound note in +his hand, as the result of the sale.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to see Melmotte, sir?" he asked somewhat abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I'm to be with him to-morrow, and he is to introduce me to the +Board."</p> + +<p>"You're going in for that, are you, sir? Do they pay anything?"</p> + +<p>"I believe not."</p> + +<p>"Nidderdale and young Carbury belong to it. It's a sort of Beargarden +affair."</p> + +<p>"A bear-garden affair, Adolphus. How so?"</p> + +<p>"I mean the club. We had them all there for dinner one day, and a +jolly dinner we gave them. Miles Grendall and old Alfred belong to +it. I don't think they'd go in for it, if there was no money going. +I'd make them fork out something if I took the trouble of going all +that way."</p> + +<p>"I think that perhaps, Adolphus, you hardly understand these things."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't. I don't understand much about business, I know. What I +want to understand is, when Melmotte is going to pay up this money."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he'll arrange it with the banks," said the father.</p> + +<p>"I beg that he won't arrange my money with the banks, sir. You'd +better tell him not. A cheque upon his bank which I can pay in to +mine is about the best thing going. You'll be in the city to-morrow, +and you'd better tell him. If you don't like, you know, I'll get +Squercum to do it." Mr. Squercum was a lawyer whom Dolly had employed +of late years much to the annoyance of his parent. Mr. Squercum's +name was odious to Mr. Longestaffe.</p> + +<p>"I beg you'll do nothing of the kind. It will be very foolish if you +do;—perhaps ruinous."</p> + +<p>"Then he'd better pay up, like anybody else," said Dolly as he left +the room. The father knew the son, and was quite sure that Squercum +would have his finger in the pie unless the money were paid quickly. +When Dolly had taken an idea into his head, no power on earth,—no +power at least of which the father could avail himself,—would turn +him.</p> + +<p>On that same day Melmotte received two visits in the city from two of +his fellow directors. At the time he was very busy. Though his +electioneering speeches were neither long nor pithy, still he had to +think of them beforehand. Members of his Committee were always trying +to see him. Orders as to the dinner and the preparation of the house +could not be given by Lord Alfred without some reference to him. And +then those gigantic commercial affairs which were enumerated in the +last chapter could not be adjusted without much labour on his part. +His hands were not empty, but still he saw each of these young +men,—for a few minutes. "My dear young friend, what can I do for +you?" he said to Sir Felix, not sitting down, so that Sir Felix also +should remain standing.</p> + +<p>"About that money, Mr. Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"What money, my dear fellow? You see that a good many money matters +pass through my hands."</p> + +<p>"The thousand pounds I gave you for shares. If you don't mind, and as +the shares seem to be a bother, I'll take the money back."</p> + +<p>"It was only the other day you had £200," said Melmotte, showing that +he could apply his memory to small transactions when he pleased.</p> + +<p>"Exactly;—and you might as well let me have the £800."</p> + +<p>"I've ordered the shares;—gave the order to my broker the other +day."</p> + +<p>"Then I'd better take the shares," said Sir Felix, feeling that it +might very probably be that day fortnight before he could start for +New York. "Could I get them, Mr. Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, I really think you hardly calculate the value of my +time when you come to me about such an affair as this."</p> + +<p>"I'd like to have the money or the shares," said Sir Felix, who was +not specially averse to quarrelling with Mr. Melmotte now that he had +resolved upon taking that gentleman's daughter to New York in direct +opposition to his written promise. Their quarrel would be so +thoroughly internecine when the departure should be discovered, that +any present anger could hardly increase its bitterness. What Felix +thought of now was simply his money, and the best means of getting it +out of Melmotte's hands.</p> + +<p>"You're a spendthrift," said Melmotte, apparently relenting, "and I'm +afraid a gambler. I suppose I must give you £200 more on account."</p> + +<p>Sir Felix could not resist the touch of ready money, and consented to +take the sum offered. As he pocketed the cheque he asked for the name +of the brokers who were employed to buy the shares. But here Melmotte +demurred. "No, my friend," said Melmotte; "you are only entitled to +shares for £600 pounds now. I will see that the thing is put right." +So Sir Felix departed with £200 only. Marie had said that she could +get £200. Perhaps if he bestirred himself and wrote to some of +Miles's big relations he could obtain payment of a part of that +gentleman's debt to him.</p> + +<p>Sir Felix going down the stairs in Abchurch Lane met Paul Montague +coming up. Carbury, on the spur of the moment, thought that he would +"take a rise" as he called it out of Montague. "What's this I hear +about a lady at Islington?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Who has told you anything about a lady at Islington?"</p> + +<p>"A little bird. There are always little birds about telling of +ladies. I'm told that I'm to congratulate you on your coming +marriage."</p> + +<p>"Then you've been told an infernal falsehood," said Montague passing +on. He paused a moment and added, "I don't know who can have told +you, but if you hear it again, I'll trouble you to contradict it." As +he was waiting in Melmotte's outer room while the Duke's nephew went +in to see whether it was the great man's pleasure to see him, he +remembered whence Carbury must have heard tidings of Mrs. Hurtle. Of +course the rumour had come through Ruby Ruggles.</p> + +<p>Miles Grendall brought out word that the great man would see Mr. +Montague; but he added a caution. "He's awfully full of work just +now,—you won't forget that;—will you?" Montague assured the duke's +nephew that he would be concise, and was shown in.</p> + +<p>"I should not have troubled you," said Paul, "only that I understood +that I was to see you before the Board met."</p> + +<p>"Exactly;—of course. It was quite necessary,—only you see I am a +little busy. If this +<span class="nowrap">d——d</span> +dinner were over I shouldn't mind. It's a +deal easier to make a treaty with an Emperor, than to give him a +dinner; I can tell you that. Well;—let me see. Oh;—I was proposing +that you should go out to Pekin?"</p> + +<p>"To Mexico."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes;—to Mexico. I've so many things running in my head! +Well;—if you'll say when you're ready to start, we'll draw up +something of instructions. You'd know better, however, than we can +tell you what to do. You'll see Fisker, of course. You and Fisker +will manage it. The chief thing will be a cheque for the expenses; +eh? We must get that passed at the next Board."</p> + +<p>Mr. Melmotte had been so quick that Montague had been unable to +interrupt him. "There need be no trouble about that, Mr. Melmotte, as +I have made up my mind that it would not be fit that I should go."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed!"</p> + +<p>There had been a shade of doubt on Montague's mind, till the tone in +which Melmotte had spoken of the embassy grated on his ears. The +reference to the expenses disgusted him altogether. "No;—even did I +see my way to do any good in America my duties here would not be +compatible with the undertaking."</p> + +<p>"I don't see that at all. What duties have you got here? What good +are you doing the Company? If you do stay, I hope you'll be +unanimous; that's all;—or perhaps you intend to go out. If that's +it, I'll look to your money. I think I told you that before."</p> + +<p>"That, Mr. Melmotte, is what I should prefer."</p> + +<p>"Very well,—very well. I'll arrange it. Sorry to lose you,—that's +all. Miles, isn't Mr. Goldsheiner waiting to see me?"</p> + +<p>"You're a little too quick, Mr. Melmotte," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"A man with my business on his hands is bound to be quick, sir."</p> + +<p>"But I must be precise. I cannot tell you as a fact that I shall +withdraw from the Board till I receive the advice of a friend with +whom I am consulting. I hardly yet know what my duty may be."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, sir, what can not be your duty. It cannot be your +duty to make known out of that Board-room any of the affairs of the +Company which you have learned in that Board-room. It cannot be your +duty to divulge the circumstances of the Company or any differences +which may exist between Directors of the Company, to any gentleman +who is a stranger to the Company. It cannot be your +<span class="nowrap">duty—."</span></p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Melmotte. On matters such as that I think that I can +see my own way. I have been in fault in coming in to the Board +without understanding what duties I should have to +<span class="nowrap">perform—."</span></p> + +<p>"Very much in fault, I should say," replied Melmotte, whose arrogance +in the midst of his inflated glory was overcoming him.</p> + +<p>"But in reference to what I may or may not say to any friend, or how +far I should be restricted by the scruples of a gentleman, I do not +want advice from you."</p> + +<p>"Very well;—very well. I can't ask you to stay, because a partner +from the house of Todd, Brehgert, and Goldsheiner is waiting to see +me, about matters which are rather more important than this of +yours." Montague had said what he had to say, and departed.</p> + +<p>On the following day, three-quarters of an hour before the meeting of +the Board of Directors, old Mr. Longestaffe called in Abchurch Lane. +He was received very civilly by Miles Grendall, and asked to sit +down. Mr. Melmotte quite expected him, and would walk with him over +to the offices of the railway, and introduce him to the Board. Mr. +Longestaffe, with some shyness, intimated his desire to have a few +moments conversation with the chairman before the Board met. Fearing +his son, especially fearing Squercum, he had made up his mind to +suggest that the little matter about Pickering Park should be +settled. Miles assured him that the opportunity should be given him, +but that at the present moment the chief secretary of the Russian +Legation was with Mr. Melmotte. Either the chief secretary was very +tedious with his business, or else other big men must have come in, +for Mr. Longestaffe was not relieved till he was summoned to walk off +to the Board five minutes after the hour at which the Board should +have met. He thought that he could explain his views in the street; +but on the stairs they were joined by Mr. Cohenlupe, and in three +minutes they were in the Board-room. Mr. Longestaffe was then +presented, and took the chair opposite to Miles Grendall. Montague +was not there, but had sent a letter to the secretary explaining that +for reasons with which the chairman was acquainted he should absent +himself from the present meeting. "All right," said Melmotte. "I know +all about it. Go on. I'm not sure but that Mr. Montague's retirement +from among us may be an advantage. He could not be made to understand +that unanimity in such an enterprise as this is essential. I am +confident that the new director whom I have had the pleasure of +introducing to you to-day will not sin in the same direction." Then +Mr. Melmotte bowed and smiled very sweetly on Mr. Longestaffe.</p> + +<p>Mr. Longestaffe was astonished to find how soon the business was +done, and how very little he had been called on to do. Miles Grendall +had read something out of a book which he had been unable to follow. +Then the chairman had read some figures. Mr. Cohenlupe had declared +that their prosperity was unprecedented;—and the Board was over. +When Mr. Longestaffe explained to Miles Grendall that he still wished +to speak to Mr. Melmotte, Miles explained to him that the chairman +had been obliged to run off to a meeting of gentlemen connected with +the interior of Africa, which was now being held at the Cannon Street +Hotel.</p> + + +<p><a id="c46"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLVI.</h3> +<h4>ROGER CARBURY AND HIS TWO FRIENDS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Roger Carbury having found Ruby Ruggles, and having ascertained that +she was at any rate living in a respectable house with her aunt, +returned to Carbury. He had given the girl his advice, and had done +so in a manner that was not altogether ineffectual. He had frightened +her, and had also frightened Mrs. Pipkin. He had taught Mrs. Pipkin +to believe that the new dispensation was not yet so completely +established as to clear her from all responsibility as to her niece's +conduct. Having done so much, and feeling that there was no more to +be done, he returned home. It was out of the question that he should +take Ruby with him. In the first place she would not have gone. And +then,—had she gone,—he would not have known where to bestow her. +For it was now understood throughout Bungay,—and the news had spread +to Beccles,—that old Farmer Ruggles had sworn that his granddaughter +should never again be received at Sheep's Acre Farm. The squire on +his return home heard all the news from his own housekeeper. John +Crumb had been at the farm and there had been a fierce quarrel +between him and the old man. The old man had called Ruby by every +name that is most distasteful to a woman, and John had stormed and +had sworn that he would have punched the old man's head but for his +age. He wouldn't believe any harm of Ruby,—or if he did he was ready +to forgive that harm. But as for the Baro-nite;—the Baro-nite had +better look to himself! Old Ruggles had declared that Ruby should +never have a shilling of his money;—whereupon Crumb had +anathematised old Ruggles and his money too, telling him that he was +an old hunx, and that he had driven the girl away by his cruelty. +Roger at once sent over to Bungay for the dealer in meal, who was +with him early on the following morning.</p> + +<p>"Did ye find her, squoire?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Mr. Crumb, I found her. She's living with her aunt, Mrs. +Pipkin, at Islington."</p> + +<p>"Eh, now;—look at that."</p> + +<p>"You knew she had an aunt of that name up in London."</p> + +<p>"Ye-es; I knew'd it, squoire. I a' heard tell of Mrs. Pipkin, but I +never see'd her."</p> + +<p>"I wonder it did not occur to you that Ruby would go there." John +Crumb scratched his head, as though acknowledging the shortcoming of +his own intellect. "Of course if she was to go to London it was the +proper thing for her to do."</p> + +<p>"I knew she'd do the thing as was right. I said that all along. +Darned if I didn't. You ask Mixet, squoire,—him as is baker down +Bardsey Lane. I allays guv' it her that she'd do the thing as was +right. But how about she and the Baro-nite?"</p> + +<p>Roger did not wish to speak of the Baronet just at present. "I +suppose the old man down here did ill use her?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dreadful;—there ain't no manner of doubt o' that. Dragged her +about awful;—as he ought to be took up, only for the rumpus like. +D'ye think she's see'd the Baro-nite since she's been in Lon'on, +Muster Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"I think she's a good girl, if you mean that."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure she be. I don't want none to tell me that, squoire. Tho', +squoire, it's better to me nor a ten pun' note to hear you say so. I +allays had a leaning to you, squoire; but I'll more nor lean to you, +now. I've said all through she was good, and if e'er a man in Bungay +said she warn't—; well, I was there, and ready."</p> + +<p>"I hope nobody has said so."</p> + +<p>"You can't stop them women, squoire. There ain't no dropping into +them. But, Lord love 'ee, she shall come and be missus of my house +to-morrow, and what 'll it matter her then what they say? But, +squoire,—did ye hear if the Baro-nite had been a' hanging about that +place?"</p> + +<p>"About Islington, you mean."</p> + +<p>"He goes a hanging about; he do. He don't come out straight forrard, +and tell a girl as he loves her afore all the parish. There ain't one +in Bungay, nor yet in Mettingham, nor yet in all the Ilketsals and +all the Elmhams, as don't know as I'm set on Ruby Ruggles. +Huggery-Muggery is pi'son to me, squoire."</p> + +<p>"We all know that when you've made up your mind, you have made up +your mind."</p> + +<p>"I hove. It's made up ever so as to Ruby. What sort of a one is her +aunt now, squoire?"</p> + +<p>"She keeps lodgings;—a very decent sort of a woman I should say."</p> + +<p>"She won't let the Baro-nite come there?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said Roger, who felt that he was hardly dealing +sincerely with this most sincere of mealmen. Hitherto he had shuffled +off every question that had been asked him about Felix, though he +knew that Ruby had spent many hours with her fashionable lover. "Mrs. +Pipkin won't let him come there."</p> + +<p>"If I was to give her a ge'own now,—or a blue cloak;—them +lodging-house women is mostly hard put to it;—or a chest of drawers +like, for her best bedroom, wouldn't that make her more o' my side, +squoire?"</p> + +<p>"I think she'll try to do her duty without that."</p> + +<p>"They do like things the like o' that; any ways I'll go up, squoire, +arter Sax'nam market, and see how things is lying."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't go just yet, Mr. Crumb, if I were you. She hasn't +forgotten the scene at the farm yet."</p> + +<p>"I said nothing as warn't as kind as kind."</p> + +<p>"But her own perversity runs in her own head. If you had been unkind +she could have forgiven that; but as you were good-natured and she +was cross, she can't forgive that." John Crumb again scratched his +head, and felt that the depths of a woman's character required more +gauging than he had yet given to it. "And to tell you the truth, my +friend, I think that a little hardship up at Mrs. Pipkin's will do +her good."</p> + +<p>"Don't she have a bellyful o' vittels?" asked John Crumb, with +intense anxiety.</p> + +<p>"I don't quite mean that. I dare say she has enough to eat. But of +course she has to work for it with her aunt. She has three or four +children to look after."</p> + +<p>"That moight come in handy by-and-by;—moightn't it, squoire?" said +John Crumb grinning.</p> + +<p>"As you say, she'll be learning something that may be useful to her +in another sphere. Of course there is a good deal to do, and I should +not be surprised if she were to think after a bit that your house in +Bungay was more comfortable than Mrs. Pipkin's kitchen in London."</p> + +<p>"My little back parlour;—eh, squoire! And I've got a four-poster, +most as big as any in Bungay."</p> + +<p>"I am sure you have everything comfortable for her, and she knows it +herself. Let her think about all that,—and do you go and tell her +again in a month's time. She'll be more willing to settle matters +then than she is now."</p> + +<p>"But,—the Baro-nite!"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Pipkin will allow nothing of that."</p> + +<p>"Girls is so 'cute. Ruby is awful 'cute. It makes me feel as though I +had two hun'erd weight o' meal on my stomach, lying awake o' nights +and thinking as how he is, may be,—pulling of her about! If I +thought that she'd let him—; oh! I'd swing for it, Muster Carbury. +They'd have to make an eend o' me at Bury, if it was that way. They +would then."</p> + +<p>Roger assured him again and again that he believed Ruby to be a good +girl, and promised that further steps should be taken to induce Mrs. +Pipkin to keep a close watch upon her niece. John Crumb made no +promise that he would abstain from his journey to London after +Saxmundham fair; but left the squire with a conviction that his +purpose of doing so was shaken. He was still however resolved to send +Mrs. Pipkin the price of a new blue cloak, and declared his purpose +of getting Mixet to write the letter and enclose the money order. +John Crumb had no delicacy as to declaring his own deficiency in +literary acquirements. He was able to make out a bill for meal or +pollards, but did little beyond that in the way of writing letters.</p> + +<p>This happened on a Saturday morning, and on that afternoon Roger +Carbury rode over to Lowestoft, to a meeting there on church matters +at which his friend the bishop presided. After the meeting was over +he dined at the inn with half a dozen clergymen and two or three +neighbouring gentlemen, and then walked down by himself on to the +long strand which has made Lowestoft what it is. It was now just the +end of June, and the weather was delightful;—but people were not as +yet flocking to the sea-shore. Every shopkeeper in every little town +through the country now follows the fashion set by Parliament and +abstains from his annual holiday till August or September. The place +therefore was by no means full. Here and there a few of the +townspeople, who at a bathing place are generally indifferent to the +sea, were strolling about; and another few, indifferent to fashion, +had come out from the lodging-houses and from the hotel, which had +been described as being small and insignificant,—and making up only +a hundred beds. Roger Carbury, whose house was not many miles distant +from Lowestoft, was fond of the sea-shore, and always came to loiter +there for a while when any cause brought him into the town. Now he +was walking close down upon the marge of the tide,—so that the last +little roll of the rising water should touch his feet,—with his +hands joined behind his back, and his face turned down towards the +shore, when he came upon a couple who were standing with their backs +to the land, looking forth together upon the waves. He was close to +them before he saw them, and before they had seen him. Then he +perceived that the man was his friend Paul Montague. Leaning on +Paul's arm a lady stood, dressed very simply in black, with a dark +straw hat on her head;—very simple in her attire, but yet a woman +whom it would be impossible to pass without notice. The lady of +course was Mrs. Hurtle.</p> + +<p>Paul Montague had been a fool to suggest Lowestoft, but his folly had +been natural. It was not the first place he had named; but when fault +had been found with others, he had fallen back upon the sea sands +which were best known to himself. Lowestoft was just the spot which +Mrs. Hurtle required. When she had been shown her room, and taken +down out of the hotel on to the strand, she had declared herself to +be charmed. She acknowledged with many smiles that of course she had +had no right to expect that Mrs. Pipkin should understand what sort +of place she needed. But Paul would understand,—and had understood. +"I think the hotel charming," she said. "I don't know what you mean +by your fun about the American hotels, but I think this quite +gorgeous, and the people so civil!" Hotel people always are civil +before the crowds come. Of course it was impossible that Paul should +return to London by the mail train which started about an hour after +his arrival. He would have reached London at four or five in the +morning, and have been very uncomfortable. The following day was +Sunday, and of course he promised to stay till Monday. Of course he +had said nothing in the train of those stern things which he had +resolved to say. Of course he was not saying them when Roger Carbury +came upon him; but was indulging in some poetical nonsense, some +probably very trite raptures as to the expanse of the ocean, and the +endless ripples which connected shore with shore. Mrs. Hurtle, too, +as she leaned with friendly weight upon his arm, indulged also in +moonshine and romance. Though at the back of the heart of each of +them there was a devouring care, still they enjoyed the hour. We know +that the man who is to be hung likes to have his breakfast well +cooked. And so did Paul like the companionship of Mrs. Hurtle because +her attire, though simple, was becoming; because the colour glowed in +her dark face; because of the brightness of her eyes, and the happy +sharpness of her words, and the dangerous smile which played upon her +lips. He liked the warmth of her close vicinity, and the softness of +her arm, and the perfume from her hair,—though he would have given +all that he possessed that she had been removed from him by some +impassable gulf. As he had to be hanged,—and this woman's continued +presence would be as bad as death to him,—he liked to have his meal +well dressed.</p> + +<p>He certainly had been foolish to bring her to Lowestoft, and the +close neighbourhood of Carbury Manor;—and now he felt his folly. As +soon as he saw Roger Carbury he blushed up to his forehead, and then +leaving Mrs. Hurtle's arm he came forward, and shook hands with his +friend. "It is Mrs. Hurtle," he said, "I must introduce you," and the +introduction was made. Roger took off his hat and bowed, but he did +so with the coldest ceremony. Mrs. Hurtle, who was quick enough at +gathering the minds of people from their looks, was just as cold in +her acknowledgment of the courtesy. In former days she had heard much +of Roger Carbury, and surmised that he was no friend to her. "I did +not know that you were thinking of coming to Lowestoft," said Roger +in a voice that was needlessly severe. But his mind at the present +moment was severe, and he could not hide his mind.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill046"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill046.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill046-t.jpg" width="540" + alt="The sands at Lowestoft." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">The sands + at Lowestoft.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill046.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"I was not thinking of it. Mrs. Hurtle wished to get to the sea, and +as she knew no one else here in England, I brought her."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Montague and I have travelled so many miles together before +now," she said, "that a few additional will not make much +difference."</p> + +<p>"Do you stay long?" asked Roger in the same voice.</p> + +<p>"I go back probably on Monday," said Montague.</p> + +<p>"As I shall be here a whole week, and shall not speak a word to any +one after he has left me, he has consented to bestow his company on +me for two days. Will you join us at dinner, Mr. Carbury, this +evening?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, madam;—I have dined."</p> + +<p>"Then, Mr. Montague, I will leave you with your friend. My toilet, +though it will be very slight, will take longer than yours. We dine +you know in twenty minutes. I wish you could get your friend to join +us." So saying, Mrs. Hurtle tripped back across the sand towards the +hotel.</p> + +<p>"Is this wise?" demanded Roger in a voice that was almost sepulchral, +as soon as the lady was out of hearing.</p> + +<p>"You may well ask that, Carbury. Nobody knows the folly of it so +thoroughly as I do."</p> + +<p>"Then why do you do it? Do you mean to marry her?"</p> + +<p>"No; certainly not."</p> + +<p>"Is it honest then, or like a gentleman, that you should be with her +in this way? Does she think that you intend to marry her?"</p> + +<p>"I have told her that I would not. I have told +<span class="nowrap">her—."</span> Then he +stopped. He was going on to declare that he had told her that he +loved another woman, but he felt that he could hardly touch that +matter in speaking to Roger Carbury.</p> + +<p>"What does she mean then? Has she no regard for her own character?"</p> + +<p>"I would explain it to you all, Carbury, if I could. But you would +never have the patience to hear me."</p> + +<p>"I am not naturally impatient."</p> + +<p>"But this would drive you mad. I wrote to her assuring her that it +must be all over. Then she came here and sent for me. Was I not bound +to go to her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—to go to her and repeat what you had said in your letter."</p> + +<p>"I did do so. I went with that very purpose, and did repeat it."</p> + +<p>"Then you should have left her."</p> + +<p>"Ah; but you do not understand. She begged that I would not desert +her in her loneliness. We have been so much together that I could not +desert her."</p> + +<p>"I certainly do not understand that, Paul. You have allowed yourself +to be entrapped into a promise of marriage; and then, for reasons +which we will not go into now but which we both thought to be +adequate, you resolved to break your promise, thinking that you would +be justified in doing so. But nothing can justify you in living with +the lady afterwards on such terms as to induce her to suppose that +your old promise holds good."</p> + +<p>"She does not think so. She cannot think so."</p> + +<p>"Then what must she be, to be here with you? And what must you be, to +be here, in public, with such a one as she is? I don't know why I +should trouble you or myself about it. People live now in a way that +I don't comprehend. If this be your way of living, I have no right to +complain."</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, Carbury, do not speak in that way. It sounds as +though you meant to throw me over."</p> + +<p>"I should have said that you had thrown me over. You come down here +to this hotel, where we are both known, with this lady whom you are +not going to marry;—and I meet you, just by chance. Had I known it, +of course I could have turned the other way. But coming on you by +accident, as I did, how am I not to speak to you? And if I speak, +what am I to say? Of course I think that the lady will succeed in +marrying you."</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"And that such a marriage will be your destruction. Doubtless she is +good-looking."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and clever. And you must remember that the manners of her +country are not as the manners of this country."</p> + +<p>"Then if I marry at all," said Roger, with all his prejudice +expressed strongly in his voice, "I trust I may not marry a lady of +her country. She does not think that she is to marry you, and yet she +comes down here and stays with you. Paul, I don't believe it. I +believe you, but I don't believe her. She is here with you in order +that she may marry you. She is cunning and strong. You are foolish +and weak. Believing as I do that marriage with her would be +destruction, I should tell her my mind,—and leave her." Paul at the +moment thought of the gentleman in Oregon, and of certain +difficulties in leaving. "That's what I should do. You must go in +now, I suppose, and eat your dinner."</p> + +<p>"I may come to the hall as I go back home?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly you may come if you please," said Roger. Then he bethought +himself that his welcome had not been cordial. "I mean that I shall +be delighted to see you," he added, marching away along the strand. +Paul did go into the hotel, and did eat his dinner. In the meantime +Roger Carbury marched far away along the strand. In all that he had +said to Montague he had spoken the truth, or that which appeared to +him to be the truth. He had not been influenced for a moment by any +reference to his own affairs. And yet he feared, he almost knew, that +this man,—who had promised to marry a strange American woman and who +was at this very moment living in close intercourse with the woman +after he had told her that he would not keep his promise,—was the +chief barrier between himself and the girl that he loved. As he had +listened to John Crumb while John spoke of Ruby Ruggles, he had told +himself that he and John Crumb were alike. With an honest, true, +heart-felt desire they both panted for the companionship of a +fellow-creature whom each had chosen. And each was to be thwarted by +the make-believe regard of unworthy youth and fatuous good looks! +Crumb, by dogged perseverance and indifference to many things, would +probably be successful at last. But what chance was there of success +for him? Ruby, as soon as want or hardship told upon her, would +return to the strong arm that could be trusted to provide her with +plenty and comparative ease. But Hetta Carbury, if once her heart had +passed from her own dominion into the possession of another, would +never change her love. It was possible, no doubt,—nay, how +probable,—that her heart was still vacillating. Roger thought that +he knew that at any rate she had not as yet declared her love. If she +were now to know,—if she could now learn,—of what nature was the +love of this other man; if she could be instructed that he was living +alone with a lady whom not long since he had promised to marry,—if +she could be made to understand this whole story of Mrs. Hurtle, +would not that open her eyes? Would she not then see where she could +trust her happiness, and where, by so trusting it, she would +certainly be shipwrecked!</p> + +<p>"Never," said Roger to himself, hitting at the stones on the beach +with his stick. "Never." Then he got his horse and rode back to +Carbury Manor.</p> + + +<p><a id="c47"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLVII.</h3> +<h4>MRS. HURTLE AT LOWESTOFT.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When Paul got down into the dining-room Mrs. Hurtle was already +there, and the waiter was standing by the side of the table ready to +take the cover off the soup. She was radiant with smiles and made +herself especially pleasant during dinner, but Paul felt sure that +everything was not well with her. Though she smiled, and talked and +laughed, there was something forced in her manner. He almost knew +that she was only waiting till the man should have left the room to +speak in a different strain. And so it was. As soon as the last +lingering dish had been removed, and when the door was finally shut +behind the retreating waiter, she asked the question which no doubt +had been on her mind since she had walked across the strand to the +hotel. "Your friend was hardly civil; was he, Paul?"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that he should have come in? I have no doubt it was true +that he had dined."</p> + +<p>"I am quite indifferent about his dinner,—but there are two ways of +declining as there are of accepting. I suppose he is on very intimate +terms with you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"Then his want of courtesy was the more evidently intended for me. In +point of fact he disapproves of me. Is not that it?" To this question +Montague did not feel himself called upon to make any immediate +answer. "I can well understand that it should be so. An intimate +friend may like or dislike the friend of his friend, without offence. +But unless there be strong reason he is bound to be civil to his +friend's friend, when accident brings them together. You have told me +that Mr. Carbury was your beau ideal of an English gentleman."</p> + +<p>"So he is."</p> + +<p>"Then why didn't he behave as such?" and Mrs. Hurtle again smiled. +"Did not you yourself feel that you were rebuked for coming here with +me, when he expressed surprise at your journey? Has he authority over +you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course he has not. What authority could he have?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, I do not know. He may be your guardian. In this safe-going +country young men perhaps are not their own masters till they are +past thirty. I should have said that he was your guardian, and that +he intended to rebuke you for being in bad company. I dare say he did +after I had gone."</p> + +<p>This was so true that Montague did not know how to deny it. Nor was +he sure that it would be well that he should deny it. The time must +come, and why not now as well as at any future moment? He had to make +her understand that he could not join his lot with her,—chiefly +indeed because his heart was elsewhere, a reason on which he could +hardly insist because she could allege that she had a prior right to +his heart;—but also because her antecedents had been such as to +cause all his friends to warn him against such a marriage. So he +plucked up courage for the battle. "It was nearly that," he said.</p> + +<p>There are many,—and probably the greater portion of my readers will +be among the number,—who will declare to themselves that Paul +Montague was a poor creature, in that he felt so great a repugnance +to face this woman with the truth. His folly in falling at first +under the battery of her charms will be forgiven him. His engagement, +unwise as it was, and his subsequent determination to break his +engagement, will be pardoned. Women, and perhaps some men also, will +feel that it was natural that he should have been charmed, natural +that he should have expressed his admiration in the form which +unmarried ladies expect from unmarried men when any such expression +is to be made at all;—natural also that he should endeavour to +escape from the dilemma when he found the manifold dangers of the +step which he had proposed to take. No woman, I think, will be hard +upon him because of his breach of faith to Mrs. Hurtle. But they will +be very hard on him on the score of his cowardice,—as, I think, +unjustly. In social life we hardly stop to consider how much of that +daring spirit which gives mastery comes from hardness of heart rather +than from high purpose, or true courage. The man who succumbs to his +wife, the mother who succumbs to her daughter, the master who +succumbs to his servant, is as often brought to servility by a +continual aversion to the giving of pain, by a softness which causes +the fretfulness of others to be an agony to himself,—as by any +actual fear which the firmness of the imperious one may have +produced. There is an inner softness, a thinness of the mind's skin, +an incapability of seeing or even thinking of the troubles of others +with equanimity, which produces a feeling akin to fear; but which is +compatible not only with courage, but with absolute firmness of +purpose, when the demand for firmness arises so strongly as to assert +itself. With this man it was not really that. He feared the +woman;—or at least such fears did not prevail upon him to be silent; +but he shrank from subjecting her to the blank misery of utter +desertion. After what had passed between them he could hardly bring +himself to tell her that he wanted her no further and to bid her go. +But that was what he had to do. And for that his answer to her last +question prepared the way. "It was nearly that," he said.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carbury did take it upon himself to rebuke you for showing +yourself on the sands at Lowestoft with such a one as I am?"</p> + +<p>"He knew of the letter which I wrote to you."</p> + +<p>"You have canvassed me between you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course we have. Is that unnatural? Would you have had me be +silent about you to the oldest and the best friend I have in the +world?"</p> + +<p>"No, I would not have had you be silent to your oldest and best +friend. I presume you would declare your purpose. But I should not +have supposed you would have asked his leave. When I was travelling +with you, I thought you were a man capable of managing your own +actions. I had heard that in your country girls sometimes hold +themselves at the disposal of their friends,—but I did not dream +that such could be the case with a man who had gone out into the +world to make his fortune."</p> + +<p>Paul Montague did not like it. The punishment to be endured was being +commenced. "Of course you can say bitter things," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Is it my nature to say bitter things? Have I usually said bitter +things to you? When I have hung round your neck and have sworn that +you should be my God upon earth, was that bitter? I am alone and I +have to fight my own battles. A woman's weapon is her tongue. Say but +one word to me, Paul, as you know how to say it, and there will be +soon an end to that bitterness. What shall I care for Mr. Carbury, +except to make him the cause of some innocent joke, if you will speak +but that one word? And think what it is I am asking. Do you remember +how urgent were once your own prayers to me;—how you swore that your +happiness could only be secured by one word of mine? Though I loved +you, I doubted. There were considerations of money, which have now +vanished. But I spoke it,—because I loved you, and because I +believed you. Give me that which you swore you had given before I +made my gift to you."</p> + +<p>"I cannot say that word."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that, after all, I am to be thrown off like an old +glove? I have had many dealings with men and have found them to be +false, cruel, unworthy, and selfish. But I have met nothing like +that. No man has ever dared to treat me like that. No man shall +dare."</p> + +<p>"I wrote to you."</p> + +<p>"Wrote to me;—yes! And I was to take that as sufficient! No. I think +but little of my life and have but little for which to live. But +while I do live I will travel over the world's surface to face +injustice and to expose it, before I will put up with it. You wrote +to me! Heaven and earth;—I can hardly control myself when I hear +such impudence!" She clenched her fist upon the knife that lay on the +table as she looked at him, and raising it, dropped it again at a +further distance. "Wrote to me! Could any mere letter of your writing +break the bond by which we were bound together? Had not the distance +between us seemed to have made you safe would you have dared to write +that letter? The letter must be unwritten. It has already been +contradicted by your conduct to me since I have been in this +country."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to hear you say that."</p> + +<p>"Am I not justified in saying it?"</p> + +<p>"I hope not. When I first saw you I told you everything. If I have +been wrong in attending to your wishes since, I regret it."</p> + +<p>"This comes from your seeing your master for two minutes on the +beach. You are acting now under his orders. No doubt he came with the +purpose. Had you told him you were to be here?"</p> + +<p>"His coming was an accident."</p> + +<p>"It was very opportune at any rate. Well;—what have you to say to +me? Or am I to understand that you suppose yourself to have said all +that is required of you? Perhaps you would prefer that I should argue +the matter out with your—friend, Mr. Carbury."</p> + +<p>"What has to be said, I believe I can say myself."</p> + +<p>"Say it then. Or are you so ashamed of it, that the words stick in +your throat?"</p> + +<p>"There is some truth in that. I am ashamed of it. I must say that +which will be painful, and which would not have been to be said, had +I been fairly careful."</p> + +<p>Then he paused. "Don't spare me," she said. "I know what it all is as +well as though it were already told. I know the lies with which they +have crammed you at San Francisco. You have heard that up in +Oregon—I shot a man. That is no lie. I did. I brought him down dead +at my feet." Then she paused, and rose from her chair, and looked at +him. "Do you wonder that that is a story that a woman should hesitate +to tell? But not from shame. Do you suppose that the sight of that +dying wretch does not haunt me? that I do not daily hear his drunken +screech, and see him bound from the earth, and then fall in a heap +just below my hand? But did they tell you also that it was thus alone +that I could save myself,—and that had I spared him, I must +afterwards have destroyed myself? If I were wrong, why did they not +try me for his murder? Why did the women flock around me and kiss the +very hems of my garments? In this soft civilization of yours you know +nothing of such necessity. A woman here is protected,—unless it be +from lies."</p> + +<p>"It was not that only," he whispered.</p> + +<p>"No; they told you other things," she continued, still standing over +him. "They told you of quarrels with my husband. I know the lies, and +who made them, and why. Did I conceal from you the character of my +former husband? Did I not tell you that he was a drunkard and a +scoundrel? How should I not quarrel with such a one? Ah, Paul; you +can hardly know what my life has been."</p> + +<p>"They told me that—you fought him."</p> + +<p>"Psha;—fought him! Yes;—I was always fighting him. What are you to +do but to fight cruelty, and fight falsehood, and fight fraud and +treachery,—when they come upon you and would overwhelm you but for +fighting? You have not been fool enough to believe that fable about a +duel? I did stand once, armed, and guarded my bedroom door from him, +and told him that he should only enter it over my body. He went away +to the tavern and I did not see him for a week afterwards. That was +the duel. And they have told you that he is not dead."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—they have told me that."</p> + +<p>"Who has seen him alive? I never said to you that I had seen him +dead. How should I?"</p> + +<p>"There would be a certificate."</p> + +<p>"Certificate;—in the back of Texas;—five hundred miles from +Galveston! And what would it matter to you? I was divorced from him +according to the law of the State of Kansas. Does not the law make a +woman free here to marry again,—and why not with us? I sued for a +divorce on the score of cruelty and drunkenness. He made no +appearance, and the Court granted it me. Am I disgraced by that?"</p> + +<p>"I heard nothing of the divorce."</p> + +<p>"I do not remember. When we were talking of these old days before, +you did not care how short I was in telling my story. You wanted to +hear little or nothing then of Caradoc Hurtle. Now you have become +more particular. I told you that he was dead,—as I believed myself, +and do believe. Whether the other story was told or not I do not +know."</p> + +<p>"It was not told."</p> + +<p>"Then it was your own fault,—because you would not listen. And they +have made you believe I suppose that I have failed in getting back my +property?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard nothing about your property but what you yourself have +said unasked. I have asked no question about your property."</p> + +<p>"You are welcome. At last I have made it again my own. And now, sir, +what else is there? I think I have been open with you. Is it because +I protected myself from drunken violence that I am to be rejected? Am +I to be cast aside because I saved my life while in the hands of a +reprobate husband, and escaped from him by means provided by law;—or +because by my own energy I have secured my own property? If I am not +to be condemned for these things, then say why am I condemned."</p> + +<p>She had at any rate saved him the trouble of telling the story, but +in doing so had left him without a word to say. She had owned to +shooting the man. Well; it certainly may be necessary that a woman +should shoot a man—especially in Oregon. As to the duel with her +husband,—she had half denied and half confessed it. He presumed that +she had been armed with a pistol when she refused Mr. Hurtle +admittance into the nuptial chamber. As to the question of Hurtle's +death,—she had confessed that perhaps he was not dead. But then,—as +she had asked,—why should not a divorce for the purpose in hand be +considered as good as a death? He could not say that she had not +washed herself clean;—and yet, from the story as told by herself, +what man would wish to marry her? She had seen so much of +drunkenness, had become so handy with pistols, and had done so much +of a man's work, that any ordinary man might well hesitate before he +assumed to be her master. "I do not condemn you," he replied.</p> + +<p>"At any rate, Paul, do not lie," she answered. "If you tell me that +you will not be my husband, you do condemn me. Is it not so?"</p> + +<p>"I will not lie if I can help it. I did ask you to be my +<span class="nowrap">wife—"</span></p> + +<p>"Well;—rather. How often before I consented?"</p> + +<p>"It matters little; at any rate, till you did consent. I have since +satisfied myself that such a marriage would be miserable for both of +us."</p> + +<p>"You have?"</p> + +<p>"I have. Of course, you can speak of me as you please and think of me +as you please. I can hardly defend myself."</p> + +<p>"Hardly, I think."</p> + +<p>"But, with whatever result, I know that I shall now be acting for the +best in declaring that I will not become—your husband."</p> + +<p>"You will not?" She was still standing, and stretched out her right +hand as though again to grasp something.</p> + +<p>He also now rose from his chair. "If I speak with abruptness it is +only to avoid a show of indecision. I will not."</p> + +<p>"Oh, God! what have I done that it should be my lot to meet man after +man false and cruel as this! You tell me to my face that I am to bear +it! Who is the jade that has done it? Has she money?—or rank? Or is +it that you are afraid to have by your side a woman who can speak for +herself,—and even act for herself if some action be necessary? +Perhaps you think that I am—old." He was looking at her intently as +she spoke, and it did seem to him that many years had been added to +her face. It was full of lines round the mouth, and the light play of +drollery was gone, and the colour was fixed,—and her eyes seemed to +be deep in her head. "Speak, man,—is it that you want a younger +wife?"</p> + +<p>"You know it is not."</p> + +<p>"Know! How should any one know anything from a liar? From what you +tell me I know nothing. I have to gather what I can from your +character. I see that you are a coward. It is that man that came to +you, and who is your master, that has forced you to this. Between me +and him you tremble, and are a thing to be pitied. As for knowing +what you would be at, from anything that you would say,—that is +impossible. Once again I have come across a mean wretch. Oh, +fool!—that men should be so vile, and think themselves masters of +the world! My last word to you is, that you are—a liar. Now for the +present you can go. Ten minutes since, had I had a weapon in my hand +I should have shot another man."</p> + +<p>Paul Montague, as he looked round the room for his hat, could not but +think that perhaps Mrs. Hurtle might have had some excuse. It seemed +at any rate to be her custom to have a pistol with her,—though +luckily, for his comfort, she had left it in her bedroom on the +present occasion. "I will say good-bye to you," he said, when he had +found his hat.</p> + +<p>"Say no such thing. Tell me that you have triumphed and got rid of +me. Pluck up your spirits, if you have any, and show me your joy. +Tell me that an Englishman has dared to ill-treat an American woman. +You would,—were you not afraid to indulge yourself." He was now +standing in the doorway, and before he escaped she gave him an +imperative command. "I shall not stay here now," she said—"I shall +return on Monday. I must think of what you have said, and must +resolve what I myself will do. I shall not bear this without seeking +a means of punishing you for your treachery. I shall expect you to +come to me on Monday."</p> + +<p>He closed the door as he answered her. "I do not see that it will +serve any purpose."</p> + +<p>"It is for me, sir, to judge of that. I suppose you are not so much a +coward that you are afraid to come to me. If so, I shall come to you; +and you may be assured that I shall not be too timid to show myself +and to tell my story." He ended by saying that if she desired it he +would wait upon her, but that he would not at present fix a day. On +his return to town he would write to her.</p> + +<p>When he was gone she went to the door and listened awhile. Then she +closed it, and turning the lock, stood with her back against the door +and with her hands clasped. After a few moments she ran forward, and +falling on her knees, buried her face in her hands upon the table. +Then she gave way to a flood of tears, and at last lay rolling upon +the floor.</p> + +<p>Was this to be the end of it? Should she never know rest;—never have +one draught of cool water between her lips? Was there to be no end to +the storms and turmoils and misery of her life? In almost all that +she had said she had spoken the truth, though doubtless not all the +truth,—as which among us would in giving the story of his life? She +had endured violence, and had been violent. She had been schemed +against, and had schemed. She had fitted herself to the life which +had befallen her. But in regard to money, she had been honest and she +had been loving of heart. With her heart of hearts she had loved this +young Englishman;—and now, after all her scheming, all her daring, +with all her charms, this was to be the end of it! Oh, what a journey +would this be which she must now make back to her own country, all +alone!</p> + +<p>But the strongest feeling which raged within her bosom was that of +disappointed love. Full as had been the vials of wrath which she had +poured forth over Montague's head, violent as had been the storm of +abuse with which she had assailed him, there had been after all +something counterfeited in her indignation. But her love was no +counterfeit. At any moment if he would have returned to her and taken +her in his arms, she would not only have forgiven him but have +blessed him also for his kindness. She was in truth sick at heart of +violence and rough living and unfeminine words. When driven by wrongs +the old habit came back upon her. But if she could only escape the +wrongs, if she could find some niche in the world which would be +bearable to her, in which, free from harsh treatment, she could pour +forth all the genuine kindness of her woman's nature,—then, she +thought she could put away violence and be gentle as a young girl. +When she first met this Englishman and found that he took delight in +being near her, she had ventured to hope that a haven would at last +be open to her. But the reek of the gunpowder from that first pistol +shot still clung to her, and she now told herself again, as she had +often told herself before, that it would have been better for her to +have turned the muzzle against her own bosom.</p> + +<p>After receiving his letter she had run over on what she had told +herself was a vain chance. Though angry enough when that letter first +reached her, she had, with that force of character which marked her, +declared to herself that such a resolution on his part was natural. +In marrying her he must give up all his old allies, all his old +haunts. The whole world must be changed to him. She knew enough of +herself, and enough of Englishwomen, to be sure that when her past +life should be known, as it would be known, she would be avoided in +England. With all the little ridicule she was wont to exercise in +speaking of the old country there was ever mixed, as is so often the +case in the minds of American men and women, an almost envious +admiration of English excellence. To have been allowed to forget the +past and to live the life of an English lady would have been heaven +to her. But she, who was sometimes scorned and sometimes feared in +the eastern cities of her own country, whose name had become almost a +proverb for violence out in the far West,—how could she dare to hope +that her lot should be so changed for her?</p> + +<p>She had reminded Paul that she had required to be asked often before +she had consented to be his wife; but she did not tell him that that +hesitation had arisen from her own conviction of her own unfitness. +But it had been so. Circumstances had made her what she was. +Circumstances had been cruel to her. But she could not now alter +them. Then gradually, as she came to believe in his love, as she lost +herself in love for him, she told herself that she would be changed. +She had, however, almost known that it could not be so. But this man +had relatives, had business, had property in her own country. Though +she could not be made happy in England, might not a prosperous life +be opened for him in the far West? Then had risen the offer of that +journey to Mexico with much probability that work of no ordinary kind +might detain him there for years. With what joy would she have +accompanied him as his wife! For that at any rate she would have been +fit.</p> + +<p>She was conscious,—perhaps too conscious, of her own beauty. That at +any rate, she felt, had not deserted her. She was hardly aware that +time was touching it. And she knew herself to be clever, capable of +causing happiness, and mirth and comfort. She had the qualities of a +good comrade—which are so much in a woman. She knew all this of +herself. If he and she could be together in some country in which +those stories of her past life would be matter of indifference, could +she not make him happy? But what was she that a man should give up +everything and go away and spend his days in some half-barbarous +country for her alone? She knew it all and was hardly angry with him +in that he had decided against her. But treated as she had been she +must play her game with such weapons as she possessed. It was +consonant with her old character, it was consonant with her present +plans that she should at any rate seem to be angry.</p> + +<p>Sitting there alone late into the night she made many plans, but the +plan that seemed best to suit the present frame of her mind was the +writing of a letter to Paul bidding him adieu, sending him her +fondest love, and telling him that he was right. She did write the +letter, but wrote it with a conviction that she would not have the +strength to send it to him. The reader may judge with what feeling +she wrote the following +<span class="nowrap">words:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Paul</span>,—</p> + +<p>You are right and I am wrong. Our marriage would not have +been fitting. I do not blame you. I attracted you when we +were together; but you have learned and have learned truly +that you should not give up your life for such +attractions. If I have been violent with you, forgive me. +You will acknowledge that I have suffered.</p> + +<p>Always know that there is one woman who will love you +better than any one else. I think too that you will love +me even when some other woman is by your side. God bless +you, and make you happy. Write me the shortest, shortest +word of adieu. Not to do so would make you think yourself +heartless. But do not come to me.</p> + +<p class="ind14">For ever,</p> + +<p class="ind16">W. H.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This she wrote on a small slip of paper, and then having read it +twice, she put it into her pocket-book. She told herself that she +ought to send it; but told herself as plainly that she could not +bring herself to do so. It was early in the morning before she went +to bed but she had admitted no one into the room after Montague had +left her.</p> + +<p>Paul, when he escaped from her presence, roamed out on to the +sea-shore, and then took himself to bed, having ordered a conveyance +to take him to Carbury Manor early in the morning. At breakfast he +presented himself to the squire. "I have come earlier than you +expected," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed;—much earlier. Are you going back to Lowestoft?"</p> + +<p>Then he told the whole story. Roger expressed his satisfaction, +recalling however the pledge which he had given as to his return. +"Let her follow you, and bear it," he said. "Of course you must +suffer the effects of your own imprudence." On that evening Paul +Montague returned to London by the mail train, being sure that he +would thus avoid a meeting with Mrs. Hurtle in the railway-carriage.</p> + + +<p><a id="c48"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h3> +<h4>RUBY A PRISONER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Ruby had run away from her lover in great dudgeon after the dance at +the Music Hall, and had declared that she never wanted to see him +again. But when reflection came with the morning her misery was +stronger than her wrath. What would life be to her now without her +lover? When she escaped from her grandfather's house she certainly +had not intended to become nurse and assistant maid-of-all-work at a +London lodging-house. The daily toil she could endure, and the hard +life, as long as she was supported by the prospect of some coming +delight. A dance with Felix at the Music Hall, though it were three +days distant from her, would so occupy her mind that she could wash +and dress all the children without complaint. Mrs. Pipkin was forced +to own to herself that Ruby did earn her bread. But when she had +parted with her lover almost on an understanding that they were never +to meet again, things were very different with her. And perhaps she +had been wrong. A gentleman like Sir Felix did not of course like to +be told about marriage. If she gave him another chance, perhaps he +would speak. At any rate she could not live without another dance. +And so she wrote him a letter.</p> + +<p>Ruby was glib enough with her pen, though what she wrote will hardly +bear repeating. She underscored all her loves to him. She underscored +the expression of her regret if she had vexed him. She did not want +to hurry a gentleman. But she did want to have another dance at the +Music Hall. Would he be there next Saturday? Sir Felix sent her a +very short reply to say that he would be at the Music Hall on the +Tuesday. As at this time he proposed to leave London on the Wednesday +on his way to New York, he was proposing to devote his very last +night to the companionship of Ruby Ruggles.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pipkin had never interfered with her niece's letters. It is +certainly a part of the new dispensation that young women shall send +and receive letters without inspection. But since Roger Carbury's +visit Mrs. Pipkin had watched the postman, and had also watched her +niece. For nearly a week Ruby said not a word of going out at night. +She took the children for an airing in a broken perambulator, nearly +as far as Holloway, with exemplary care, and washed up the cups and +saucers as though her mind was intent upon them. But Mrs. Pipkin's +mind was intent on obeying Mr. Carbury's behests. She had already +hinted something as to which Ruby had made no answer. It was her +purpose to tell her and to swear to her most solemnly,—should she +find her preparing herself to leave the house after six in the +evening,—that she should be kept out the whole night, having a +purpose equally clear in her own mind that she would break her oath +should she be unsuccessful in her effort to keep Ruby at home. But on +the Tuesday, when Ruby went up to her room to deck herself, a bright +idea as to a better precaution struck Mrs. Pipkin's mind. Ruby had +been careless,—had left her lover's scrap of a note in an old pocket +when she went out with the children, and Mrs. Pipkin knew all about +it. It was nine o'clock when Ruby went up-stairs,—and then Mrs. +Pipkin locked both the front door and the area gate. Mrs. Hurtle had +come home on the previous day. "You won't be wanting to go out +to-night;—will you, Mrs. Hurtle?" said Mrs. Pipkin, knocking at her +lodger's door. Mrs. Hurtle declared her purpose of remaining at home +all the evening. "If you should hear words between me and my niece, +don't you mind, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"I hope there's nothing wrong, Mrs. Pipkin?"</p> + +<p>"She'll be wanting to go out, and I won't have it. It isn't right; is +it, ma'am? She's a good girl; but they've got such a way nowadays of +doing just as they pleases, that one doesn't know what's going to +come next." Mrs. Pipkin must have feared downright rebellion when she +thus took her lodger into her confidence.</p> + +<p>Ruby came down in her silk frock, as she had done before, and made +her usual little speech. "I'm just going to step out, aunt, for a +little time to-night. I've got the key, and I'll let myself in quite +quiet."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, Ruby, you won't," said Mrs. Pipkin.</p> + +<p>"Won't what, aunt?"</p> + +<p>"Won't let yourself in, if you go out. If you go out to-night you'll +stay out. That's all about it. If you go out to-night you won't come +back here any more. I won't have it, and it isn't right that I +should. You're going after that young man that they tell me is the +greatest scamp in all England."</p> + +<p>"They tell you lies then, Aunt Pipkin."</p> + +<p>"Very well. No girl is going out any more at nights out of my house; +so that's all about it. If you had told me you was going before, you +needn't have gone up and bedizened yourself. For now it's all to take +off again."</p> + +<p>Ruby could hardly believe it. She had expected some opposition,—what +she would have called a few words; but she had never imagined that +her aunt would threaten to keep her in the streets all night. It +seemed to her that she had bought the privilege of amusing herself by +hard work. Nor did she believe now that her aunt would be as hard as +her threat. "I've a right to go if I like," she said.</p> + +<p>"That's as you think. You haven't a right to come back again, any +way."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have. I've worked for you a deal harder than the girl +down-stairs, and I don't want no wages. I've a right to go out, and a +right to come back;—and go I shall."</p> + +<p>"You'll be no better than you should be, if you do."</p> + +<p>"Am I to work my very nails off, and push that perambulator about all +day till my legs won't carry me,—and then I ain't to go out, not +once in a week?"</p> + +<p>"Not unless I know more about it, Ruby. I won't have you go and throw +yourself into the gutter;—not while you're with me."</p> + +<p>"Who's throwing themselves into the gutter? I've thrown myself into +no gutter. I know what I'm about."</p> + +<p>"There's two of us that way, Ruby;—for I know what I'm about."</p> + +<p>"I shall just go then." And Ruby walked off towards the door.</p> + +<p>"You won't get out that way, any way, for the door's locked;—and the +area gate. You'd better be said, Ruby, and just take your things +off."</p> + +<p>Poor Ruby for the moment was struck dumb with mortification. Mrs. +Pipkin had given her credit for more outrageous perseverance than she +possessed, and had feared that she would rattle at the front door, or +attempt to climb over the area gate. She was a little afraid of Ruby, +not feeling herself justified in holding absolute dominion over her +as over a servant. And though she was now determined in her +conduct,—being fully resolved to surrender neither of the keys which +she held in her pocket,—still she feared that she might so far +collapse as to fall away into tears, should Ruby be violent. But Ruby +was crushed. Her lover would be there to meet her, and the +appointment would be broken by her! "Aunt Pipkin," she said, "let me +go just this once."</p> + +<p>"No, Ruby;—it ain't proper."</p> + +<p>"You don't know what you're a' doing of, aunt; you don't. You'll ruin +me,—you will. Dear Aunt Pipkin, do, do! I'll never ask again, if you +don't like."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pipkin had not expected this, and was almost willing to yield. +But Mr. Carbury had spoken so very plainly! "It ain't the thing, +Ruby; and I won't do it."</p> + +<p>"And I'm to be—a prisoner! What have I done to be—a prisoner? I +don't believe as you've any right to lock me up."</p> + +<p>"I've a right to lock my own doors."</p> + +<p>"Then I shall go away to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"I can't help that, my dear. The door will be open to-morrow, if you +choose to go out."</p> + +<p>"Then why not open it to-night? Where's the difference?" But Mrs. +Pipkin was stern, and Ruby, in a flood of tears, took herself up to +her garret.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pipkin knocked at Mrs. Hurtle's door again. "She's gone to bed," +she said.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to hear it. There wasn't any noise about it;—was there?"</p> + +<p>"Not as I expected, Mrs. Hurtle, certainly. But she was put out a +bit. Poor girl! I've been a girl too, and used to like a bit of +outing as well as any one,—and a dance too; only it was always when +mother knew. She ain't got a mother, poor dear! and as good as no +father. And she's got it into her head that she's that pretty that a +great gentleman will marry her."</p> + +<p>"She is pretty!"</p> + +<p>"But what's beauty, Mrs. Hurtle? It's no more nor skin deep, as the +scriptures tell us. And what'd a grand gentleman see in Ruby to marry +her? She says she'll leave to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"And where will she go?"</p> + +<p>"Just nowhere. After this gentleman,—and you know what that means! +You're going to be married yourself, Mrs. Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"We won't mind about that now, Mrs. Pipkin."</p> + +<p>"And this 'll be your second, and you know how these things are +managed. No gentleman 'll marry her because she runs after him. Girls +as knows what they're about should let the gentlemen run after them. +That's my way of looking at it."</p> + +<p>"Don't you think they should be equal in that respect?"</p> + +<p>"Anyways the girls shouldn't let on as they are running after the +gentlemen. A gentleman goes here and he goes there, and he speaks up +free, of course. In my time, girls usen't to do that. But then, +maybe, I'm old-fashioned," added Mrs. Pipkin, thinking of the new +dispensation.</p> + +<p>"I suppose girls do speak for themselves more than they did +formerly."</p> + +<p>"A deal more, Mrs. Hurtle; quite different. You hear them talk of +spooning with this fellow, and spooning with that fellow,—and that +before their very fathers and mothers! When I was young we used to do +it, I suppose,—only not like that."</p> + +<p>"You did it on the sly."</p> + +<p>"I think we got married quicker than they do, any way. When the +gentlemen had to take more trouble they thought more about it. But if +you wouldn't mind speaking to Ruby to-morrow, Mrs. Hurtle, she'd +listen to you when she wouldn't mind a word I said to her. I don't +want her to go away from this, out into the street, till she knows +where she's to go to, decent. As for going to her young man,—that's +just walking the streets."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hurtle promised that she would speak to Ruby, though when making +the promise she could not but think of her unfitness for the task. +She knew nothing of the country. She had not a single friend in it, +but Paul Montague;—and she had run after him with as little +discretion as Ruby Ruggles was showing in running after her lover. +Who was she that she should take upon herself to give advice to any +female?</p> + +<p>She had not sent her letter to Paul, but she still kept it in her +pocket-book. At some moments she thought that she would send it; and +at others she told herself that she would never surrender this last +hope till every stone had been turned. It might still be possible to +shame him into a marriage. She had returned from Lowestoft on the +Monday, and had made some trivial excuse to Mrs. Pipkin in her +mildest voice. The place had been windy, and too cold for her;—and +she had not liked the hotel. Mrs. Pipkin was very glad to see her +back again.</p> + + +<p><a id="c49"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XLIX.</h3> +<h4>SIR FELIX MAKES HIMSELF READY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Sir Felix, when he promised to meet Ruby at the Music Hall on the +Tuesday, was under an engagement to start with Marie Melmotte for New +York on the Thursday following, and to go down to Liverpool on the +Wednesday. There was no reason, he thought, why he should not enjoy +himself to the last, and he would say a parting word to poor little +Ruby. The details of his journey were settled between him and Marie, +with no inconsiderable assistance from Didon, in the garden of +Grosvenor Square, on the previous Sunday,—where the lovers had again +met during the hours of morning service. Sir Felix had been +astonished at the completion of the preparations which had been made. +"Mind you go by the 5 <span class="smallcaps">p.m.</span> train," Marie +said. "That will take you +into Liverpool at 10.15. There's an hotel at the railway-station. +Didon has got our tickets under the names of Madame and Mademoiselle +Racine. We are to have one cabin between us. You must get yours +to-morrow. She has found out that there is plenty of room."</p> + +<p>"I'll be all right."</p> + +<p>"Pray don't miss the train that afternoon. Somebody would be sure to +suspect something if we were seen together in the same train. We +leave at 7 <span class="smallcaps">a.m.</span> I shan't go to bed +all night, so as to be sure to be +in time. Robert,—he's the man,—will start a little earlier in the +cab with my heavy box. What do you think is in it?"</p> + +<p>"Clothes," suggested Felix.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but what clothes?—my wedding dresses. Think of that! What a +job to get them and nobody to know anything about it except Didon and +Madame Craik at the shop in Mount Street! They haven't come yet, but +I shall be there whether they come or not. And I shall have all my +jewels. I'm not going to leave them behind. They'll go off in our +cab. We can get the things out behind the house into the mews. Then +Didon and I follow in another cab. Nobody ever is up before near +nine, and I don't think we shall be interrupted."</p> + +<p>"If the servants were to hear."</p> + +<p>"I don't think they'd tell. But if I was to be brought back again, I +should only tell papa that it was no good. He can't prevent me +marrying."</p> + +<p>"Won't your mother find out?"</p> + +<p>"She never looks after anything. I don't think she'd tell if she +knew. Papa leads her such a life! Felix! I hope you won't be like +that."—And she looked up into his face, and thought that it would be +impossible that he should be.</p> + +<p>"I'm all right," said Felix, feeling very uncomfortable at the time. +This great effort of his life was drawing very near. There had been a +pleasurable excitement in talking of running away with the great +heiress of the day, but now that the deed had to be executed,—and +executed after so novel and stupendous a fashion, he almost wished +that he had not undertaken it. It must have been much nicer when men +ran away with their heiresses only as far as Gretna Green. And even +Goldsheiner with Lady Julia had nothing of a job in comparison with +this which he was expected to perform. And then if they should be +wrong about the girl's fortune! He almost repented. He did repent, +but he had not the courage to recede. "How about money though?" he +said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"You have got some?"</p> + +<p>"I have just the two hundred pounds which your father paid me, and +not a shilling more. I don't see why he should keep my money, and not +let me have it back."</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Marie, and she put her hand into her pocket. "I +told you I thought I could get some. There is a cheque for two +hundred and fifty pounds. I had money of my own enough for the +tickets."</p> + +<p>"And whose is this?" said Felix, taking the bit of paper with much +trepidation.</p> + +<p>"It is papa's cheque. Mamma gets ever so many of them to carry on the +house and pay for things. But she gets so muddled about it that she +doesn't know what she pays and what she doesn't." Felix looked at the +cheque and saw that it was payable to House or Bearer, and that it +was signed by Augustus Melmotte. "If you take it to the bank you'll +get the money," said Marie. "Or shall I send Didon, and give you the +money on board the ship?"</p> + +<p>Felix thought over the matter very anxiously. If he did go on the +journey he would much prefer to have the money in his own pocket. He +liked the feeling of having money in his pocket. Perhaps if Didon +were entrusted with the cheque she also would like the feeling. But +then might it not be possible that if he presented the cheque himself +he might be arrested for stealing Melmotte's money? "I think Didon +had better get the money," he said, "and bring it to me to-morrow, at +four o'clock in the afternoon, to the club." If the money did not +come he would not go down to Liverpool, nor would he be at the +expense of his ticket for New York. "You see," he said, "I'm so much +in the City that they might know me at the bank." To this arrangement +Marie assented and took back the cheque. "And then I'll come on board +on Thursday morning," he said, "without looking for you."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, yes;—without looking for us. And don't know us even till +we are out at sea. Won't it be fun when we shall be walking about on +the deck and not speaking to one another! And, Felix;—what do you +think? Didon has found out that there is to be an American clergyman +on board. I wonder whether he'd marry us."</p> + +<p>"Of course he will."</p> + +<p>"Won't that be jolly? I wish it was all done. Then, directly it's +done, and when we get to New York, we'll telegraph and write to papa, +and we'll be ever so penitent and good; won't we? Of course he'll +make the best of it."</p> + +<p>"But he's so savage; isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"When there's anything to get;—or just at the moment. But I don't +think he minds afterwards. He's always for making the best of +everything;—misfortunes and all. Things go wrong so often that if he +was to go on thinking of them always they'd be too many for anybody. +It'll be all right in a month's time. I wonder how Lord Nidderdale +will look when he hears that we've gone off. I should so like to see +him. He never can say that I've behaved bad to him. We were engaged, +but it was he broke it. Do you know, Felix, that though we were +engaged to be married, and everybody knew it, he never once kissed +me!" Felix at this moment almost wished that he had never done so. As +to what the other man had done, he cared nothing at all.</p> + +<p>Then they parted with the understanding that they were not to see +each other again till they met on board the boat. All arrangements +were made. But Felix was determined that he would not stir in the +matter unless Didon brought him the full sum of £250; and he almost +thought, and indeed hoped, that she would not. Either she would be +suspected at the bank and apprehended, or she would run off with the +money on her own account when she got it;—or the cheque would have +been missed and the payment stopped. Some accident would occur, and +then he would be able to recede from his undertaking. He would do +nothing till after Monday afternoon.</p> + +<p>Should he tell his mother that he was going? His mother had clearly +recommended him to run away with the girl, and must therefore approve +of the measure. His mother would understand how great would be the +expense of such a trip, and might perhaps add something to his stock +of money. He determined that he would tell his mother;—that is, if +Didon should bring him full change for the cheque.</p> + +<p>He walked into the Beargarden exactly at four o'clock on the Monday, +and there he found Didon standing in the hall. His heart sank within +him as he saw her. Now must he certainly go to New York. She made him +a little curtsey, and without a word handed him an envelope, soft and +fat with rich enclosures. He bade her wait a moment, and going into a +little waiting-room counted the notes. The money was all there;—the +full sum of £250. He must certainly go to New York. "C'est tout en +règle?" said Didon in a whisper as he returned to the hall. Sir Felix +nodded his head, and Didon took her departure.</p> + +<p>Yes; he must go now. He had Melmotte's money in his pocket, and was +therefore bound to run away with Melmotte's daughter. It was a great +trouble to him as he reflected that Melmotte had more of his money +than he had of Melmotte's. And now how should he dispose of his time +before he went? Gambling was too dangerous. Even he felt that. Where +would he be were he to lose his ready money? He would dine that night +at the club, and in the evening go up to his mother. On the Tuesday +he would take his place for New York in the City, and would spend the +evening with Ruby at the Music Hall. On the Wednesday, he would start +for Liverpool,—according to his instructions. He felt annoyed that +he had been so fully instructed. But should the affair turn out well +nobody would know that. All the fellows would give him credit for the +audacity with which he had carried off the heiress to America.</p> + +<p>At ten o'clock he found his mother and Hetta in Welbeck +Street—"What; Felix?" exclaimed Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"You're surprised; are you not?" Then he threw himself into a chair. +"Mother," he said, "would you mind coming into the other room?" Lady +Carbury of course went with him. "I've got something to tell you," he +said.</p> + +<p>"Good news?" she asked, clasping her hands together. From his manner +she thought that it was good news. Money had in some way come into +his hands,—or at any rate a prospect of money.</p> + +<p>"That's as may be," he said, and then he paused.</p> + +<p>"Don't keep me in suspense, Felix."</p> + +<p>"The long and the short of it is that I'm going to take Marie off."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Felix."</p> + +<p>"You said you thought it was the right thing to do;—and therefore +I'm going to do it. The worst of it is that one wants such a lot of +money for this kind of thing."</p> + +<p>"But when?"</p> + +<p>"Immediately. I wouldn't tell you till I had arranged everything. +I've had it in my mind for the last fortnight."</p> + +<p>"And how is it to be? Oh, Felix, I hope it may succeed."</p> + +<p>"It was your own idea, you know. We're going to;—where do you +think?"</p> + +<p>"How can I think?—Boulogne."</p> + +<p>"You say that just because Goldsheiner went there. That wouldn't have +done at all for us. We're going to—New York."</p> + +<p>"To New York! But when will you be married?"</p> + +<p>"There will be a clergyman on board. It's all fixed. I wouldn't go +without telling you."</p> + +<p>"Oh; I wish you hadn't told me."</p> + +<p>"Come now;—that's kind. You don't mean to say it wasn't you that put +me up to it. I've got to get my things ready."</p> + +<p>"Of course, if you tell me that you are going on a journey, I will +have your clothes got ready for you. When do you start?"</p> + +<p>"Wednesday afternoon."</p> + +<p>"For New York! We must get some things ready-made. Oh, Felix, how +will it be if he does not forgive her?" He attempted to laugh. "When +I spoke of such a thing as possible he had not sworn then that he +would never give her a shilling."</p> + +<p>"They always say that."</p> + +<p>"You are going to risk it?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to take your advice." This was dreadful to the poor +mother. "There is money settled on her."</p> + +<p>"Settled on whom?"</p> + +<p>"On Marie;—money which he can't get back again."</p> + +<p>"How much?"</p> + +<p>"She doesn't know;—but a great deal; enough for them all to live +upon if things went amiss with them."</p> + +<p>"But that's only a form, Felix. That money can't be her own, to give +to her husband."</p> + +<p>"Melmotte will find that it is, unless he comes to terms. That's the +pull we've got over him. Marie knows what she's about. She's a great +deal sharper than any one would take her to be. What can you do for +me about money, mother?"</p> + +<p>"I have none, Felix."</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd be sure to help me, as you wanted me so much to do +it."</p> + +<p>"That's not true, Felix. I didn't want you to do it. Oh, I am so +sorry that that word ever passed my mouth! I have no money. There +isn't £20 at the bank altogether."</p> + +<p>"They would let you overdraw for £50 or £60."</p> + +<p>"I will not do it. I will not starve myself and Hetta. You had ever +so much money only lately. I will get some things for you, and pay +for them as I can if you cannot pay for them after your +marriage;—but I have not money to give you."</p> + +<p>"That's a blue look out," said he, turning himself in his +chair,—"just when £60 or £70 might make a fellow for life! You could +borrow it from your friend Broune."</p> + +<p>"I will do no such thing, Felix. £50 or £60 would make very little +difference in the expense of such a trip as this. I suppose you have +some money?"</p> + +<p>"Some;—yes, some. But I'm so short that any little thing would help +me." Before the evening was over she absolutely did give him a cheque +for £30, although she had spoken the truth in saying that she had not +so much at her banker's.</p> + +<p>After this he went back to his club, although he himself understood +the danger. He could not bear the idea of going to bed quietly at +home at half-past ten. He got into a cab, and was very soon up in the +card-room. He found nobody there, and went to the smoking-room, where +Dolly Longestaffe and Miles Grendall were sitting silently together, +with pipes in their mouths. "Here's Carbury," said Dolly, waking +suddenly into life. "Now we can have a game at three-handed loo."</p> + +<p>"Thank ye; not for me," said Sir Felix. "I hate three-handed loo."</p> + +<p>"Dummy," suggested Dolly.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I'll play to-night, old fellow. I hate three fellows +sticking down together." Miles sat silent, smoking his pipe, +conscious of the baronet's dislike to play with him. "By-the-bye, +Grendall,—look here." And Sir Felix in his most friendly tone +whispered into his enemy's ear a petition that some of the I. O. U.'s +might be converted into cash.</p> + +<p>"'Pon my word, I must ask you to wait till next week," said Miles.</p> + +<p>"It's always waiting till next week with you," said Sir Felix, +getting up and standing with his back to the fire-place. There were +other men in the room, and this was said so that every one should +hear it. "I wonder whether any fellow would buy these for five +shillings in the pound?" And he held up the scraps of paper in his +hand. He had been drinking freely before he went up to Welbeck +Street, and had taken a glass of brandy on re-entering the club.</p> + +<p>"Don't let's have any of that kind of thing down here," said Dolly. +"If there is to be a row about cards, let it be in the card-room."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Miles. "I won't say a word about the matter down +here. It isn't the proper thing."</p> + +<p>"Come up into the card-room, then," said Sir Felix, getting up from +his chair. "It seems to me that it makes no difference to you, what +room you're in. Come up, now; and Dolly Longestaffe shall come and +hear what you say." But Miles Grendall objected to this arrangement. +He was not going up into the card-room that night, as no one was +going to play. He would be there to-morrow, and then if Sir Felix +Carbury had anything to say, he could say it.</p> + +<p>"How I do hate a row!" said Dolly. "One has to have rows with one's +own people, but there ought not to be rows at a club."</p> + +<p>"He likes a row,—Carbury does," said Miles.</p> + +<p>"I should like my money, if I could get it," said Sir Felix, walking +out of the room.</p> + +<p>On the next day he went into the City, and changed his mother's +cheque. This was done after a little hesitation. The money was given +to him, but a gentleman from behind the desks begged him to remind +Lady Carbury that she was overdrawing her account. "Dear, dear;" said +Sir Felix, as he pocketed the notes, "I'm sure she was unaware of +it." Then he paid for his passage from Liverpool to New York under +the name of Walter Jones, and felt as he did so that the intrigue was +becoming very deep. This was on Tuesday. He dined again at the club, +alone, and in the evening went to the Music Hall. There he remained +from ten till nearly twelve, very angry at the non-appearance of Ruby +Ruggles. As he smoked and drank in solitude, he almost made up his +mind that he had intended to tell her of his departure for New York. +Of course he would have done no such thing. But now, should she ever +complain on that head he would have his answer ready. He had devoted +his last night in England to the purpose of telling her, and she had +broken her appointment. Everything would now be her fault. Whatever +might happen to her she could not blame him.</p> + +<p>Having waited till he was sick of the Music Hall,—for a music hall +without ladies' society must be somewhat dull,—he went back to his +club. He was very cross, as brave as brandy could make him, and well +inclined to expose Miles Grendall if he could find an opportunity. Up +in the card-room he found all the accustomed men,—with the exception +of Miles Grendall. Nidderdale, Grasslough, Dolly, Paul Montague, and +one or two others were there. There was, at any rate, comfort in the +idea of playing without having to encounter the dead weight of Miles +Grendall. Ready money was on the table,—and there was none of the +peculiar Beargarden paper flying about. Indeed the men at the +Beargarden had become sick of paper, and there had been formed a +half-expressed resolution that the play should be somewhat lower, but +the payments punctual. The I. O. U.'s had been nearly all converted +into money,—with the assistance of Herr Vossner,—excepting those of +Miles Grendall. The resolution mentioned did not refer back to +Grendall's former indebtedness, but was intended to include a clause +that he must in future pay ready money. Nidderdale had communicated +to him the determination of the committee. "Bygones are bygones, old +fellow; but you really must stump up, you know, after this." Miles +had declared that he would "stump up." But on this occasion Miles was +absent.</p> + +<p>At three o'clock in the morning, Sir Felix had lost over a hundred +pounds in ready money. On the following night about one he had lost a +further sum of two hundred pounds. The reader will remember that he +should at that time have been in the hotel at Liverpool.</p> + +<p>But Sir Felix, as he played on in the almost desperate hope of +recovering the money which he so greatly needed, remembered how +Fisker had played all night, and how he had gone off from the club to +catch the early train for Liverpool, and how he had gone on to New +York without delay.</p> + + +<p><a id="c50"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER L.</h3> +<h4>THE JOURNEY TO LIVERPOOL.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Marie Melmotte, as she had promised, sat up all night, as did also +the faithful Didon. I think that to Marie the night was full of +pleasure,—or at any rate of pleasurable excitement. With her door +locked, she packed and unpacked and repacked her treasures,—having +more than once laid out on the bed the dress in which she purposed to +be married. She asked Didon her opinion whether that American +clergyman of whom they had heard would marry them on board, and +whether in that event the dress would be fit for the occasion. Didon +thought that the man, if sufficiently paid, would marry them, and +that the dress would not much signify. She scolded her young mistress +very often during the night for what she called nonsense; but was +true to her, and worked hard for her. They determined to go without +food in the morning, so that no suspicion should be raised by the use +of cups and plates. They could get refreshment at the +railway-station.</p> + +<p>At six they started. Robert went first with the big boxes, having his +ten pounds already in his pocket,—and Marie and Didon with smaller +luggage followed in a second cab. No one interfered with them and +nothing went wrong. The very civil man at Euston Square gave them +their tickets, and even attempted to speak to them in French. They +had quite determined that not a word of English was to be spoken by +Marie till the ship was out at sea. At the station they got some very +bad tea and almost uneatable food,—but Marie's restrained excitement +was so great that food was almost unnecessary to her. They took their +seats without any impediment,—and then they were off.</p> + +<p>During a great part of the journey they were alone, and then Marie +gabbled to Didon about her hopes and her future career, and all the +things she would do;—how she had hated Lord Nidderdale;—especially +when, after she had been awed into accepting him, he had given her no +token of love;—"pas un baiser!" Didon suggested that such was the +way with English lords. She herself had preferred Lord Nidderdale, +but had been willing to join in the present plan,—as she said, from +devoted affection to Marie. Marie went on to say that Nidderdale was +ugly, and that Sir Felix was as beautiful as the morning. "Bah!" +exclaimed Didon, who was really disgusted that such considerations +should prevail. Didon had learned in some indistinct way that Lord +Nidderdale would be a marquis and would have a castle, whereas Sir +Felix would never be more than Sir Felix, and, of his own, would +never have anything at all. She had striven with her mistress, but +her mistress liked to have a will of her own. Didon no doubt had +thought that New York, with £50 and other perquisites in hand, might +offer her a new career. She had therefore yielded, but even now could +hardly forbear from expressing disgust at the folly of her mistress. +Marie bore it with imperturbable good humour. She was running +away,—and was running to a distant continent,—and her lover would +be with her! She gave Didon to understand that she cared nothing for +marquises.</p> + +<p>As they drew near to Liverpool Didon explained that they must still +be very careful. It would not do for them to declare at once their +destination on the platform,—so that every one about the station +should know that they were going on board the packet for New York. +They had time enough. They must leisurely look for the big boxes and +other things, and need say nothing about the steam packet till they +were in a cab. Marie's big box was directed simply "Madame Racine, +Passenger to Liverpool;"—so also was directed a second box, nearly +as big, which was Didon's property. Didon declared that her anxiety +would not be over till she found the ship moving under her. Marie was +sure that all their dangers were over,—if only Sir Felix was safe on +board. Poor Marie! Sir Felix was at this moment in Welbeck Street, +striving to find temporary oblivion for his distressing situation and +loss of money, and some alleviation for his racking temples, beneath +the bedclothes.</p> + +<p>When the train ran into the station at Liverpool the two women sat +for a few moments quite quiet. They would not seek remark by any +hurry or noise. The door was opened, and a well-mannered porter +offered to take their luggage. Didon handed out the various packages, +keeping however the jewel-case in her own hands. She left the +carriage first, and then Marie. But Marie had hardly put her foot on +the platform, before a gentleman addressed her, touching his hat, +"You, I think, are Miss Melmotte." Marie was struck dumb, but said +nothing. Didon immediately became voluble in French. No; the young +lady was not Miss Melmotte; the young lady was Mademoiselle Racine, +her niece. She was Madame Racine. Melmotte! What was Melmotte? They +knew nothing about Melmottes. Would the gentleman kindly allow them +to pass on to their cab?</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill050"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill050.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill050-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"You, I think, are Miss Melmotte."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"You, + I think, are Miss Melmotte."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill050.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>But the gentleman would by no means kindly allow them to pass on to +their cab. With the gentleman was another gentleman,—who did not +seem to be quite so much of a gentleman;—and again, not far in the +distance Didon quickly espied a policeman, who did not at present +connect himself with the affair, but who seemed to have his time very +much at command, and to be quite ready if he were wanted. Didon at +once gave up the game,—as regarded her mistress.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I must persist in asserting that you are Miss Melmotte," +said the gentleman, "and that this other—person is your servant, +Elise Didon. You speak English, Miss Melmotte." Marie declared that +she spoke French. "And English too," said the gentleman. "I think you +had better make up your minds to go back to London. I will accompany +you."</p> + +<p>"Ah, Didon, nous sommes perdues!" exclaimed Marie. Didon, plucking up +her courage for the moment, asserted the legality of her own position +and of that of her mistress. They had both a right to come to +Liverpool. They had both a right to get into the cab with their +luggage. Nobody had a right to stop them. They had done nothing +against the laws. Why were they to be stopped in this way? What was +it to anybody whether they called themselves Melmotte or Racine?</p> + +<p>The gentleman understood the French oratory, but did not commit +himself to reply in the same language. "You had better trust yourself +to me; you had indeed," said the gentleman.</p> + +<p>"But why?" demanded Marie.</p> + +<p>Then the gentleman spoke in a very low voice. "A cheque has been +changed which you took from your father's house. No doubt your father +will pardon that when you are once with him. But in order that we may +bring you back safely we can arrest you on the score of the +cheque,—if you force us to do so. We certainly shall not let you go +on board. If you will travel back to London with me, you shall be +subjected to no inconvenience which can be avoided."</p> + +<p>There was certainly no help to be found anywhere. It may be well +doubted whether upon the whole the telegraph has not added more to +the annoyances than to the comforts of life, and whether the +gentlemen who spent all the public money without authority ought not +to have been punished with special severity in that they had injured +humanity, rather than pardoned because of the good they had produced. +Who is benefited by telegrams? The newspapers are robbed of all their +old interest, and the very soul of intrigue is destroyed. Poor Marie, +when she heard her fate, would certainly have gladly hanged Mr. +Scudamore.</p> + +<p>When the gentleman had made his speech, she offered no further +opposition. Looking into Didon's face and bursting into tears, she +sat down on one of the boxes. But Didon became very clamorous on her +own behalf,—and her clamour was successful. "Who was going to stop +her? What had she done? Why should not she go where she pleased? Did +anybody mean to take her up for stealing anybody's money? If anybody +did, that person had better look to himself. She knew the law. She +would go where she pleased." So saying she began to tug the rope of +her box as though she intended to drag it by her own force out of the +station. The gentleman looked at his telegram,—looked at another +document which he now held in his hand, ready prepared, should it be +wanted. Elise Didon had been accused of nothing that brought her +within the law. The gentleman in imperfect French suggested that +Didon had better return with her mistress. But Didon clamoured only +the more. No; she would go to New York. She would go wherever she +pleased,—all the world over. Nobody should stop her. Then she +addressed herself in what little English she could command to +half-a-dozen cabmen who were standing round and enjoying the scene. +They were to take her trunk at once. She had money and she could pay. +She started off to the nearest cab, and no one stopped her. "But the +box in her hand is mine," said Marie, not forgetting her trinkets in +her misery. Didon surrendered the jewel-case, and ensconced herself +in the cab without a word of farewell; and her trunk was hoisted on +to the roof. Then she was driven away out of the station,—and out of +our story. She had a first-class cabin all to herself as far as New +York, but what may have been her fate after that it matters not to us +to enquire.</p> + +<p>Poor Marie! We who know how recreant a knight Sir Felix had proved +himself, who are aware that had Miss Melmotte succeeded in getting on +board the ship she would have passed an hour of miserable suspense, +looking everywhere for her lover, and would then at last have been +carried to New York without him, may congratulate her on her escape. +And, indeed, we who know his character better than she did, may still +hope in her behalf that she may be ultimately saved from so wretched +a marriage. But to her her present position was truly miserable. She +would have to encounter an enraged father; and when,—when should she +see her lover again? Poor, poor Felix! What would be his feelings +when he should find himself on his way to New York without his love! +But in one matter she made up her mind steadfastly. She would be true +to him! They might chop her in pieces! Yes;—she had said it before, +and she would say it again. There was, however, doubt on her mind +from time to time, whether one course might not be better even than +constancy. If she could contrive to throw herself out of the carriage +and to be killed,—would not that be the best termination to her +present disappointment? Would not that be the best punishment for her +father? But how then would it be with poor Felix? "After all I don't +know that he cares for me," she said to herself, thinking over it +all.</p> + +<p>The gentleman was very kind to her, not treating her at all as though +she were disgraced. As they got near town he ventured to give her a +little advice. "Put a good face on it," he said, "and don't be cast +down."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I won't," she answered. "I don't mean."</p> + +<p>"Your mother will be delighted to have you back again."</p> + +<p>"I don't think that mamma cares. It's papa. I'd do it again to-morrow +if I had the chance." The gentleman looked at her, not having +expected so much determination. "I would. Why is a girl to be made to +marry to please any one but herself? I won't. And it's very mean +saying that I stole the money. I always take what I want, and papa +never says anything about it."</p> + +<p>"Two hundred and fifty pounds is a large sum, Miss Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"It is nothing in our house. It isn't about the money. It's because +papa wants me to marry another man;—and I won't. It was downright +mean to send and have me taken up before all the people."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't have come back if he hadn't done that."</p> + +<p>"Of course I wouldn't," said Marie.</p> + +<p>The gentleman had telegraphed up to Grosvenor Square while on the +journey, and at Euston Square they were met by one of the Melmotte +carriages. Marie was to be taken home in the carriage, and the box +was to follow in a cab;—to follow at some interval so that Grosvenor +Square might not be aware of what had taken place. Grosvenor Square, +of course, very soon knew all about it. "And are you to come?" Marie +asked, speaking to the gentleman. The gentleman replied that he had +been requested to see Miss Melmotte home. "All the people will wonder +who you are," said Marie laughing. Then the gentleman thought that +Miss Melmotte would be able to get through her troubles without much +suffering.</p> + +<p>When she got home she was hurried up at once to her mother's +room,—and there she found her father, alone. "This is your game, is +it?" said he, looking down at her.</p> + +<p>"Well, papa;—yes. You made me do it."</p> + +<p>"You fool you! You were going to New York,—were you?" To this she +vouchsafed no reply. "As if I hadn't found out all about it. Who was +going with you?"</p> + +<p>"If you have found out all about it, you know, papa."</p> + +<p>"Of course I know;—but you don't know all about it, you little +idiot."</p> + +<p>"No doubt I'm a fool and an idiot. You always say so."</p> + +<p>"Where do you suppose Sir Felix Carbury is now?" Then she opened her +eyes and looked at him. "An hour ago he was in bed at his mother's +house in Welbeck Street."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it, papa."</p> + +<p>"You don't, don't you? You'll find it true. If you had gone to New +York, you'd have gone alone. If I'd known at first that he had stayed +behind, I think I'd have let you go."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure he didn't stay behind."</p> + +<p>"If you contradict me, I'll box your ears, you jade. He is in London +at this moment. What has become of the woman that went with you?"</p> + +<p>"She's gone on board the ship."</p> + +<p>"And where is the money you took from your mother?" Marie was silent. +"Who got the cheque changed?"</p> + +<p>"Didon did."</p> + +<p>"And has she got the money?"</p> + +<p>"No, papa."</p> + +<p>"Have you got it?"</p> + +<p>"No, papa."</p> + +<p>"Did you give it to Sir Felix Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll be hanged if I don't prosecute him for stealing it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, papa, don't do that;—pray don't do that. He didn't steal it. I +only gave it him to take care of for us. He'll give it you back +again."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't wonder if he lost it at cards, and therefore didn't go +to Liverpool. Will you give me your word that you'll never attempt to +marry him again if I don't prosecute him?" Marie considered. "Unless +you do that I shall go to a magistrate at once."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe you can do anything to him. He didn't steal it. I +gave it to him."</p> + +<p>"Will you promise me?"</p> + +<p>"No, papa, I won't. What's the good of promising when I should only +break it. Why can't you let me have the man I love? What's the good +of all the money if people don't have what they like?"</p> + +<p>"All the money!—What do you know about the money? Look here," and he +took her by the arm. "I've been very good to you. You've had your +share of everything that has been going;—carriages and horses, +bracelets and brooches, silks and gloves, and every thing else." He +held her very hard and shook her as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Let me go, papa; you hurt me. I never asked for such things. I don't +care a straw about bracelets and brooches."</p> + +<p>"What do you care for?"</p> + +<p>"Only for somebody to love me," said Marie, looking down.</p> + +<p>"You'll soon have nobody to love you, if you go on this fashion. +You've had everything done for you, and if you don't do something for +me in return, by +<span class="nowrap">G——</span> you +shall have a hard time of it. If you +weren't such a fool you'd believe me when I say that I know more than +you do."</p> + +<p>"You can't know better than me what'll make me happy."</p> + +<p>"Do you think only of yourself? If you'll marry Lord Nidderdale +you'll have a position in the world which nothing can take from you."</p> + +<p>"Then I won't," said Marie firmly. Upon this he shook her till she +cried, and calling for Madame Melmotte desired his wife not to let +the girl for one minute out of her presence.</p> + +<p>The condition of Sir Felix was I think worse than that of the lady +with whom he was to have run away. He had played at the Beargarden +till four in the morning and had then left the club, on the +breaking-up of the card-table, intoxicated and almost penniless. +During the last half hour he had made himself very unpleasant at the +club, saying all manner of harsh things of Miles Grendall;—of whom, +indeed, it was almost impossible to say things too hard, had they +been said in a proper form and at a proper time. He declared that +Grendall would not pay his debts, that he had cheated when playing +loo,—as to which Sir Felix appealed to Dolly Longestaffe; and he +ended by asserting that Grendall ought to be turned out of the club. +They had a desperate row. Dolly of course had said that he knew +nothing about it, and Lord Grasslough had expressed an opinion that +perhaps more than one person ought to be turned out. At four o'clock +the party was broken up and Sir Felix wandered forth into the +streets, with nothing more than the change of a ten pound note in his +pocket. All his luggage was lying in the hall of the club, and there +he left it.</p> + +<p>There could hardly have been a more miserable wretch than Sir Felix +wandering about the streets of London that night. Though he was +nearly drunk, he was not drunk enough to forget the condition of his +affairs. There is an intoxication that makes merry in the midst of +affliction;—and there is an intoxication that banishes affliction by +producing oblivion. But again there is an intoxication which is +conscious of itself though it makes the feet unsteady, and the voice +thick, and the brain foolish; and which brings neither mirth nor +oblivion. Sir Felix trying to make his way to Welbeck Street and +losing it at every turn, feeling himself to be an object of ridicule +to every wanderer, and of dangerous suspicion to every policeman, got +no good at all out of his intoxication. What had he better do with +himself? He fumbled in his pocket, and managed to get hold of his +ticket for New York. Should he still make the journey? Then he +thought of his luggage, and could not remember where it was. At last, +as he steadied himself against a letter-post, he was able to call to +mind that his portmanteaus were at the club. By this time he had +wandered into Marylebone Lane, but did not in the least know where he +was. But he made an attempt to get back to his club, and stumbled +half down Bond Street. Then a policeman enquired into his purposes, +and when he said that he lived in Welbeck Street, walked back with +him as far as Oxford Street. Having once mentioned the place where he +lived, he had not strength of will left to go back to his purpose of +getting his luggage and starting for Liverpool.</p> + +<p>Between six and seven he was knocking at the door in Welbeck Street. +He had tried his latch-key, but had found it inefficient. As he was +supposed to be at Liverpool, the door had in fact been locked. At +last it was opened by Lady Carbury herself. He had fallen more than +once, and was soiled with the gutter. Most of my readers will not +probably know how a man looks when he comes home drunk at six in the +morning; but they who have seen the thing will acknowledge that a +sorrier sight can not meet a mother's eye than that of a son in such +a condition. "Oh, Felix!" she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"It'sh all up," he said, stumbling in.</p> + +<p>"What has happened, Felix?"</p> + +<p>"Discovered, and be d—— to it! The old shap'sh stopped ush." Drunk +as he was, he was able to lie. At that moment the "old shap" was fast +asleep in Grosvenor Square, altogether ignorant of the plot; and +Marie, joyful with excitement, was getting into the cab in the mews. +"Bettersh go to bed." And so he stumbled up-stairs by daylight, the +wretched mother helping him. She took off his clothes for him and his +boots, and having left him already asleep, she went down to her own +room, a miserable woman.</p> + + +<p><a id="c51"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LI.</h3> +<h4>WHICH SHALL IT BE?<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Paul Montague reached London on his return from Suffolk early on the +Monday morning, and on the following day he wrote to Mrs. Hurtle. As +he sat in his lodgings, thinking of his condition, he almost wished +that he had taken Melmotte's offer and gone to Mexico. He might at +any rate have endeavoured to promote the railway earnestly, and then +have abandoned it if he found the whole thing false. In such case of +course he would never have seen Hetta Carbury again; but, as things +were, of what use to him was his love,—of what use to him or to her? +The kind of life of which he dreamed, such a life in England as was +that of Roger Carbury, or, as such life would be, if Roger had a wife +whom he loved, seemed to be far beyond his reach. Nobody was like +Roger Carbury! Would it not be well that he should go away, and, as +he went, write to Hetta and bid her marry the best man that ever +lived in the world?</p> + +<p>But the journey to Mexico was no longer open to him. He had +repudiated the proposition and had quarrelled with Melmotte. It was +necessary that he should immediately take some further step in regard +to Mrs. Hurtle. Twice lately he had gone to Islington determined that +he would see that lady for the last time. Then he had taken her to +Lowestoft, and had been equally firm in his resolution that he would +there put an end to his present bonds. Now he had promised to go +again to Islington;—and was aware that if he failed to keep his +promise, she would come to him. In this way there would never be an +end to it.</p> + +<p>He would certainly go again, as he had promised,—if she should still +require it; but he would first try what a letter would do,—a plain +unvarnished tale. Might it still be possible that a plain tale sent +by post should have sufficient efficacy? This was his plain tale as +he now told it.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Tuesday, 2nd July, 1873.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My Dear Mrs. Hurtle</span>,—</p> + +<p>I promised that I would go to you again in Islington, and +so I will, if you still require it. But I think that such +a meeting can be of no service to either of us. What is to +be gained? I do not for a moment mean to justify my own +conduct. It is not to be justified. When I met you on our +journey hither from San Francisco, I was charmed with your +genius, your beauty, and your character. They are now what +I found them to be then. But circumstances have made our +lives and temperaments so far different, that I am certain +that, were we married, we should not make each other +happy. Of course the fault was mine; but it is better to +own that fault, and to take all the blame,—and the evil +consequences, let them be what they +<span class="nowrap">may,—</span></p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">to be shot, for instance, like the gentleman in +<span class="nowrap">Oregon,—</span></p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent">than to be married with the consciousness that even at the +very moment of the ceremony, such marriage will be a +matter of sorrow and repentance. As soon as my mind was +made up on this I wrote to you. I can not,—I dare +not,—blame you for the step you have since taken. But I +can only adhere to the resolution I then expressed.</p> + +<p>The first day I saw you here in London you asked me +whether I was attached to another woman. I could answer +you only by the truth. But I should not of my own accord +have spoken to you of altered affections. It was after I +had resolved to break my engagement with you that I first +knew this girl. It was not because I had come to love her +that I broke it. I have no grounds whatever for hoping +that my love will lead to any results.</p> + +<p>I have now told you as exactly as I can the condition of +my mind. If it were possible for me in any way to +compensate the injury I have done you,—or even to undergo +retribution for it,—I would do so. But what compensation +can be given, or what retribution can you exact? I think +that our further meeting can avail nothing. But if, after +this, you wish me to come again, I will come for the last +time,—because I have promised.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Your most sincere friend,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Paul Montague</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Mrs. Hurtle, as she read this, was torn in two ways. All that Paul +had written was in accordance with the words written by herself on a +scrap of paper which she still kept in her own pocket. Those words, +fairly transcribed on a sheet of note-paper, would be the most +generous and the fittest answer she could give. And she longed to be +generous. She had all a woman's natural desire to sacrifice herself. +But the sacrifice which would have been most to her taste would have +been of another kind. Had she found him ruined and penniless she +would have delighted to share with him all that she possessed. Had +she found him a cripple, or blind, or miserably struck with some +disease, she would have stayed by him and have nursed him and given +him comfort. Even had he been disgraced she would have fled with him +to some far country and have pardoned all his faults. No sacrifice +would have been too much for her that would have been accompanied by +a feeling that he appreciated all that she was doing for him, and +that she was loved in return. But to sacrifice herself by going away +and never more being heard of, was too much for her! What woman can +endure such sacrifice as that? To give up not only her love, but her +wrath also;—that was too much for her! The idea of being tame was +terrible to her. Her life had not been very prosperous, but she was +what she was because she had dared to protect herself by her own +spirit. Now, at last, should she succumb and be trodden on like a +worm? Should she be weaker even than an English girl? Should she +allow him to have amused himself with her love, to have had "a good +time," and then to roam away like a bee, while she was so dreadfully +scorched, so mutilated and punished! Had not her whole life been +opposed to the theory of such passive endurance? She took out the +scrap of paper and read it; and, in spite of all, she felt that there +was a feminine softness in it that gratified her.</p> + +<p>But no;—she could not send it. She could not even copy the words. +And so she gave play to all her strongest feelings on the other +side,—being in truth torn in two directions. Then she sat herself +down to her desk, and with rapid words, and flashing thoughts, wrote +as <span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Paul Montague</span>,—</p> + +<p>I have suffered many injuries, but of all injuries this is +the worst and most unpardonable,—and the most unmanly. +Surely there never was such a coward, never so false a +liar. The poor wretch that I destroyed was mad with liquor +and was only acting after his kind. Even Caradoc Hurtle +never premeditated such wrong as this. What;—you are to +bind yourself to me by the most solemn obligation that can +join a man and a woman together, and then tell me,—when +they have affected my whole life,—that they are to go for +nothing, because they do not suit your view of things? On +thinking over it, you find that an American wife would not +make you so comfortable as some English girl;—and +therefore it is all to go for nothing! I have no brother, +no man near me;—or you would not dare to do this. You can +not but be a coward.</p> + +<p>You talk of compensation! Do you mean money? You do not +dare to say so, but you must mean it. It is an insult the +more. But as to retribution; yes. You shall suffer +retribution. I desire you to come to me,—according to +your promise,—and you will find me with a horsewhip in my +hand. I will whip you till I have not a breath in my body. +And then I will see what you will dare to do;—whether you +will drag me into a court of law for the assault.</p> + +<p>Yes; come. You shall come. And now you know the welcome +you shall find. I will buy the whip while this is reaching +you, and you shall find that I know how to choose such a +weapon. I call upon you to come. But should you be afraid +and break your promise, I will come to you. I will make +London too hot to hold you;—and if I do not find you I +will go with my story to every friend you have.</p> + +<p>I have now told you as exactly as I can the condition of +my mind.</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Winifred Hurtle</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Having written this she again read the short note, and again gave way +to violent tears. But on that day she sent no letter. On the +following morning she wrote a third, and sent that. This was the +third <span class="nowrap">letter:—</span><br /> </p> + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0"> +<tr> + <td> + <span class="nowrap">Yes. Come.</span><br /> + </td> + <td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td> + </td> + <td> + <span class="nowrap">W. H.</span><br /> +</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>This letter duly reached Paul Montague at his lodgings. He started +immediately for Islington. He had now no desire to delay the meeting. +He had at any rate taught her that his gentleness towards her, his +going to the play with her, and drinking tea with her at Mrs. +Pipkin's, and his journey with her to the sea, were not to be taken +as evidence that he was gradually being conquered. He had declared +his purpose plainly enough at Lowestoft,—and plainly enough in his +last letter. She had told him down at the hotel, that had she by +chance have been armed at the moment, she would have shot him. She +could arm herself now if she pleased;—but his real fear had not lain +in that direction. The pang consisted in having to assure her that he +was resolved to do her wrong. The worst of that was now over.</p> + +<p>The door was opened for him by Ruby, who by no means greeted him with +a happy countenance. It was the second morning after the night of her +imprisonment; and nothing had occurred to alleviate her woe. At this +very moment her lover should have been in Liverpool, but he was, in +fact, abed in Welbeck Street. "Yes, sir; she's at home," said Ruby, +with a baby in her arms and a little child hanging on to her dress. +"Don't pull so, Sally. Please, sir, is Sir Felix still in London?" +Ruby had written to Sir Felix the very night of her imprisonment, but +had not as yet received any reply. Paul, whose mind was altogether +intent on his own troubles, declared that at present he knew nothing +about Sir Felix, and was then shown into Mrs. Hurtle's room.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill051"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill051.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill051-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="The door was opened for him by Ruby." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">The door + was opened for him by Ruby.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill051.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"So you have come," she said, without rising from her chair.</p> + +<p>"Of course I came, when you desired it."</p> + +<p>"I don't know why you should. My wishes do not seem to affect you +much. Will you sit down there," she said, pointing to a seat at some +distance from herself. "So you think it would be best that you and I +should never see each other again?" She was very calm; but it seemed +to him that the quietness was assumed, and that at any moment it +might be converted into violence. He thought that there was that in +her eye which seemed to foretell the spring of the wild-cat.</p> + +<p>"I did think so certainly. What more can I say?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing; clearly nothing." Her voice was very low. "Why should a +gentleman trouble himself to say any more,—than that he has changed +his mind? Why make a fuss about such little things as a woman's life, +or a woman's heart?" Then she paused. "And having come, in +consequence of my unreasonable request, of course you are wise to +hold your peace."</p> + +<p>"I came because I promised."</p> + +<p>"But you did not promise to speak;—did you?"</p> + +<p>"What would you have me say?"</p> + +<p>"Ah what! Am I to be so weak as to tell you now what I would have you +say? Suppose you were to say, 'I am a gentleman, and a man of my +word, and I repent me of my intended perfidy,' do you not think you +might get your release that way? Might it not be possible that I +should reply that as your heart was gone from me, your hand might go +after it;—that I scorned to be the wife of a man who did not want +me?" As she asked this she gradually raised her voice, and half +lifted herself in her seat, stretching herself towards him.</p> + +<p>"You might indeed," he replied, not well knowing what to say.</p> + +<p>"But I should not. I at least will be true. I should take you, +Paul,—still take you; with a confidence that I should yet win you to +me by my devotion. I have still some kindness of feeling towards +you,—none to that woman who is I suppose younger than I, and +gentler, and a maid." She still looked as though she expected a +reply, but there was nothing to be said in answer to this. "Now that +you are going to leave me, Paul, is there any advice you can give me, +as to what I shall do next? I have given up every friend in the world +for you. I have no home. Mrs. Pipkin's room here is more my home than +any other spot on the earth. I have all the world to choose from, but +no reason whatever for a choice. I have my property. What shall I do +with it, Paul? If I could die and be no more heard of, you should be +welcome to it." There was no answer possible to all this. The +questions were asked because there was no answer possible. "You might +at any rate advise me. Paul, you are in some degree responsible,—are +you not,—for my loneliness?"</p> + +<p>"I am. But you know that I cannot answer your questions."</p> + +<p>"You cannot wonder that I should be somewhat in doubt as to my future +life. As far as I can see, I had better remain here. I do good at any +rate to Mrs. Pipkin. She went into hysterics yesterday when I spoke +of leaving her. That woman, Paul, would starve in our country, and I +shall be desolate in this." Then she paused, and there was absolute +silence for a minute. "You thought my letter very short; did you +not?"</p> + +<p>"It said, I suppose, all you had to say."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed. I did have much more to say. That was the third letter I +wrote. Now you shall see the other two. I wrote three, and had to +choose which I would send you. I fancy that yours to me was easier +written than either one of mine. You had no doubts, you know. I had +many doubts. I could not send them all by post, together. But you may +see them all now. There is one. You may read that first. While I was +writing it, I was determined that that should go." Then she handed +him the sheet of paper which contained the threat of the horsewhip.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you did not send that," he said.</p> + +<p>"I meant it."</p> + +<p>"But you have changed your mind?"</p> + +<p>"Is there anything in it that seems to you to be unreasonable? Speak +out and tell me."</p> + +<p>"I am thinking of you, not of myself."</p> + +<p>"Think of me, then. Is there anything said there which the usage to +which I have been subjected does not justify?"</p> + +<p>"You ask me questions which I cannot answer. I do not think that +under any provocation a woman should use a horsewhip."</p> + +<p>"It is certainly more comfortable for gentlemen,—who amuse +themselves,—that women should have that opinion. But, upon my word, +I don't know what to say about that. As long as there are men to +fight for women, it may be well to leave the fighting to the men. But +when a woman has no one to help her, is she to bear everything +without turning upon those who ill-use her? Shall a woman be flayed +alive because it is unfeminine in her to fight for her own skin? What +is the good of being—feminine, as you call it? Have you asked +yourself that? That men may be attracted, I should say. But if a +woman finds that men only take advantage of her assumed weakness, +shall she not throw it off? If she be treated as prey, shall she not +fight as a beast of prey? Oh, no;—it is so unfeminine! I also, Paul, +had thought of that. The charm of womanly weakness presented itself +to my mind in a soft moment,—and then I wrote this other letter. You +may as well see them all." And so she handed him the scrap which had +been written at Lowestoft, and he read that also.</p> + +<p>He could hardly finish it, because of the tears which filled his +eyes. But, having mastered its contents, he came across the room and +threw himself on his knees at her feet, sobbing. "I have not sent it, +you know," she said. "I only show it you that you may see how my mind +has been at work."</p> + +<p>"It hurts me more than the other," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Nay, I would not hurt you,—not at this moment. Sometimes I feel +that I could tear you limb from limb, so great is my disappointment, +so ungovernable my rage! Why,—why should I be such a victim? Why +should life be an utter blank to me, while you have everything before +you? There, you have seen them all. Which will you have?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot now take that other as the expression of your mind."</p> + +<p>"But it will be when you have left me;—and was when you were with me +at the sea-side. And it was so I felt when I got your first letter in +San Francisco. Why should you kneel there? You do not love me. A man +should kneel to a woman for love, not for pardon." But though she +spoke thus, she put her hand upon his forehead, and pushed back his +hair, and looked into his face. "I wonder whether that other woman +loves you. I do not want an answer, Paul. I suppose you had better +go." She took his hand and pressed it to her breast. "Tell me one +thing. When you spoke of—compensation, did you mean—money?"</p> + +<p>"No; indeed no."</p> + +<p>"I hope not;—I hope not that. Well, there;—go. You shall be +troubled no more with Winifrid Hurtle." She took the sheet of paper +which contained the threat of the horsewhip and tore it into scraps.</p> + +<p>"And am I to keep the other?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No. For what purpose would you have it? To prove my weakness? That +also shall be destroyed." But she took it and restored it to her +pocket-book.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, my friend," he said.</p> + +<p>"Nay! This parting will not bear a farewell. Go, and let there be no +other word spoken." And so he went.</p> + +<p>As soon as the front door was closed behind him she rang the bell and +begged Ruby to ask Mrs. Pipkin to come to her. "Mrs. Pipkin," she +said, as soon as the woman had entered the room; "everything is over +between me and Mr. Montague." She was standing upright in the middle +of the room, and as she spoke there was a smile on her face.</p> + +<p>"Lord a' mercy," said Mrs. Pipkin, holding up both her hands.</p> + +<p>"As I have told you that I was to be married to him, I think it right +now to tell you that I'm not going to be married to him."</p> + +<p>"And why not?—and he such a nice young man,—and quiet too."</p> + +<p>"As to the why not, I don't know that I am prepared to speak about +that. But it is so. I was engaged to him."</p> + +<p>"I'm well sure of that, Mrs. Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"And now I'm no longer engaged to him. That's all."</p> + +<p>"Dearie me! and you going down to Lowestoft with him, and all." Mrs. +Pipkin could not bear to think that she should hear no more of such +an interesting story.</p> + +<p>"We did go down to Lowestoft together, and we both came back,—not +together. And there's an end of it."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it's not your fault, Mrs. Hurtle. When a marriage is to be, +and doesn't come off, it never is the lady's fault."</p> + +<p>"There's an end of it, Mrs. Pipkin. If you please, we won't say +anything more about it."</p> + +<p>"And are you going to leave, ma'am?" said Mrs. Pipkin, prepared to +have her apron up to her eyes at a moment's notice. Where should she +get such another lodger as Mrs. Hurtle,—a lady who not only did not +inquire about victuals, but who was always suggesting that the +children should eat this pudding or finish that pie, and who had +never questioned an item in a bill since she had been in the house!</p> + +<p>"We'll say nothing about that yet, Mrs. Pipkin." Then Mrs. Pipkin +gave utterance to so many assurances of sympathy and help that it +almost seemed that she was prepared to guarantee to her lodger +another lover in lieu of the one who was now dismissed.</p> + + +<p><a id="c52"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LII.</h3> +<h4>THE RESULTS OF LOVE AND WINE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Two, three, four, and even five o'clock still found Sir Felix Carbury +in bed on that fatal Thursday. More than once or twice his mother +crept up to his room, but on each occasion he feigned to be fast +asleep and made no reply to her gentle words. But his condition was +one which only admits of short snatches of uneasy slumber. From head +to foot, he was sick and ill and sore, and could find no comfort +anywhere. To lie where he was, trying by absolute quiescence to +soothe the agony of his brows and to remember that as long as he lay +there he would be safe from attack by the outer world, was all the +solace within his reach. Lady Carbury sent the page up to him, and to +the page he was awake. The boy brought him tea. He asked for soda and +brandy; but there was none to be had, and in his present condition he +did not dare to hector about it till it was procured for him.</p> + +<p>The world surely was now all over to him. He had made arrangements +for running away with the great heiress of the day, and had +absolutely allowed the young lady to run away without him. The +details of their arrangement had been such that she absolutely would +start upon her long journey across the ocean before she could find +out that he had failed to keep his appointment. Melmotte's hostility +would be incurred by the attempt, and hers by the failure. Then he +had lost all his money,—and hers. He had induced his poor mother to +assist in raising a fund for him,—and even that was gone. He was so +cowed that he was afraid even of his mother. And he could remember +something, but no details, of some row at the club,—but still with a +conviction on his mind that he had made the row. Ah,—when would he +summon courage to enter the club again? When could he show himself +again anywhere? All the world would know that Marie Melmotte had +attempted to run off with him, and that at the last moment he had +failed her. What lie could he invent to cover his disgrace? And his +clothes! All his things were at the club;—or he thought that they +were, not being quite certain whether he had not made some attempt to +carry them off to the Railway Station. He had heard of suicide. If +ever it could be well that a man should cut his own throat, surely +the time had come for him now. But as this idea presented itself to +him he simply gathered the clothes around him and tried to sleep. The +death of Cato would hardly have for him persuasive charms.</p> + +<p>Between five and six his mother again came up to him, and when he +appeared to sleep, stood with her hand upon his shoulder. There must +be some end to this. He must at any rate be fed. She, wretched woman, +had been sitting all day,—thinking of it. As regarded her son +himself, his condition told his story with sufficient accuracy. What +might be the fate of the girl she could not stop to enquire. She had +not heard all the details of the proposed scheme; but she had known +that Felix had proposed to be at Liverpool on the Wednesday night, +and to start on Thursday for New York with the young lady; and with +the view of aiding him in his object she had helped him with money. +She had bought clothes for him, and had been busy with Hetta for two +days preparing for his long journey,—having told some lie to her own +daughter as to the cause of her brother's intended journey. He had +not gone, but had come, drunk and degraded, back to the house. She +had searched his pockets with less scruple than she had ever before +felt, and had found his ticket for the vessel and the few sovereigns +which were left to him. About him she could read the riddle plainly. +He had stayed at his club till he was drunk, and had gambled away all +his money. When she had first seen him she had asked herself what +further lie she should now tell to her daughter. At breakfast there +was instant need for some story. "Mary says that Felix came back this +morning, and that he has not gone at all," Hetta exclaimed. The poor +woman could not bring herself to expose the vices of the son to her +daughter. She could not say that he had stumbled into the house drunk +at six o'clock. Hetta no doubt had her own suspicions. "Yes; he has +come back," said Lady Carbury, broken-hearted by her troubles. "It +was some plan about the Mexican railway I believe, and has broken +through. He is very unhappy and not well. I will see to him." After +that Hetta had said nothing during the whole day. And now, about an +hour before dinner, Lady Carbury was standing by her son's bedside, +determined that he should speak to her.</p> + +<p>"Felix," she said,—"speak to me, Felix.—I know that you are awake." +He groaned, and turned himself away from her, burying himself, +further under the bedclothes. "You must get up for your dinner. It is +near six o'clock."</p> + +<p>"All right," he said at last.</p> + +<p>"What is the meaning of this, Felix? You must tell me. It must be +told sooner or later. I know you are unhappy. You had better trust +your mother."</p> + +<p>"I am so sick, mother."</p> + +<p>"You will be better up. What were you doing last night? What has come +of it all? Where are your things?"</p> + +<p>"At the club.—You had better leave me now, and let Sam come up to +me." Sam was the page.</p> + +<p>"I will leave you presently; but, Felix, you must tell me about this. +What has been done?"</p> + +<p>"It hasn't come off."</p> + +<p>"But how has it not come off?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't get away. What's the good of asking?"</p> + +<p>"You said this morning when you came in, that Mr. Melmotte had +discovered it."</p> + +<p>"Did I? Then I suppose he has. Oh, mother, I wish I could die. I +don't see what's the use of anything. I won't get up to dinner. I'd +rather stay here."</p> + +<p>"You must have something to eat, Felix."</p> + +<p>"Sam can bring it me. Do let him get me some brandy and water. I'm so +faint and sick with all this that I can hardly bear myself. I can't +talk now. If he'll get me a bottle of soda water and some brandy, +I'll tell you all about it then."</p> + +<p>"Where is the money, Felix?"</p> + +<p>"I paid it for the ticket," said he, with both his hands up to his +head.</p> + +<p>Then his mother again left him with the understanding that he was to +be allowed to remain in bed till the next morning; but that he was to +give her some further explanation when he had been refreshed and +invigorated after his own prescription. The boy went out and got him +soda water and brandy, and meat was carried up to him, and then he +did succeed for a while in finding oblivion from his misery in sleep.</p> + +<p>"Is he ill, mamma?" Hetta asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Had you not better send for a doctor?"</p> + +<p>"No, my dear. He will be better to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, I think you would be happier if you would tell me +everything."</p> + +<p>"I can't," said Lady Carbury, bursting out into tears. "Don't ask. +What's the good of asking? It is all misery and wretchedness. There +is nothing to tell,—except that I am ruined."</p> + +<p>"Has he done anything, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"No. What should he have done? How am I to know what he does? He +tells me nothing. Don't talk about it any more. Oh, God,—how much +better it would be to be childless!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, do you mean me?" said Hetta, rushing across the room, and +throwing herself close to her mother's side on the sofa. "Mamma, say +that you do not mean me."</p> + +<p>"It concerns you as well as me and him. I wish I were childless."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, do not be cruel to me! Am I not good to you? Do I not try +to be a comfort to you?"</p> + +<p>"Then marry your cousin, Roger Carbury, who is a good man, and who +can protect you. You can, at any rate, find a home for yourself, and +a friend for us. You are not like Felix. You do not get drunk and +gamble,—because you are a woman. But you are stiff-necked, and will +not help me in my trouble."</p> + +<p>"Shall I marry him, mamma, without loving him?"</p> + +<p>"Love! Have I been able to love? Do you see much of what you call +love around you? Why should you not love him? He is a gentleman, and +a good man,—soft-hearted, of a sweet nature, whose life would be one +effort to make yours happy. You think that Felix is very bad."</p> + +<p>"I have never said so."</p> + +<p>"But ask yourself whether you do not give as much pain, seeing what +you could do for us if you would. But it never occurs to you to +sacrifice even a fantasy for the advantage of others."</p> + +<p>Hetta retired from her seat on the sofa, and when her mother again +went up-stairs she turned it all over in her mind. Could it be right +that she should marry one man when she loved another? Could it be +right that she should marry at all, for the sake of doing good to her +family? This man, whom she might marry if she would,—who did in +truth worship the ground on which she trod,—was, she well knew, all +that her mother had said. And he was more than that. Her mother had +spoken of his soft heart, and his sweet nature. But Hetta knew also +that he was a man of high honour and a noble courage. In such a +condition as was hers now he was the very friend whose advice she +could have asked,—had he not been the very lover who was desirous of +making her his wife. Hetta felt that she could sacrifice much for her +mother. Money, if she had it, she could have given, though she left +herself penniless. Her time, her inclinations, her very heart's +treasure, and, as she thought, her life, she could give. She could +doom herself to poverty, and loneliness, and heart-rending regrets +for her mother's sake. But she did not know how she could give +herself into the arms of a man she did not love.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill052"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill052.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill052-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"Can I marry the man I do not love?"' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"Can I + marry the man I do not love?"</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill052.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"I don't know what there is to explain," said Felix to his mother. +She had asked him why he had not gone to Liverpool, whether he had +been interrupted by Melmotte himself, whether news had reached him +from Marie that she had been stopped, or whether,—as might have been +possible,—Marie had changed her own mind. But he could not bring +himself to tell the truth, or any story bordering on the truth. "It +didn't come off," he said, "and of course that knocked me off my +legs. Well; yes. I did take some champagne when I found how it was. A +fellow does get cut up by that kind of thing. Oh, I heard it at the +club,—that the whole thing was off. I can't explain anything more. +And then I was so mad, I can't tell what I was after. I did get the +ticket. There it is. That shows I was in earnest. I spent the £30 in +getting it. I suppose the change is there. Don't take it, for I +haven't another shilling in the world." Of course he said nothing of +Marie's money, or of that which he had himself received from +Melmotte. And as his mother had heard nothing of these sums she could +not contradict what he said. She got from him no further statement, +but she was sure that there was a story to be told which would reach +her ears sooner or later.</p> + +<p>That evening, about nine o'clock, Mr. Broune called in Welbeck +Street. He very often did call now, coming up in a cab, staying for a +cup of tea, and going back in the same cab to the office of his +newspaper. Since Lady Carbury had, so devotedly, abstained from +accepting his offer, Mr. Broune had become almost sincerely attached +to her. There was certainly between them now more of the intimacy of +real friendship than had ever existed in earlier days. He spoke to +her more freely about his own affairs, and even she would speak to +him with some attempt at truth. There was never between them now even +a shade of love-making. She did not look into his eyes, nor did he +hold her hand. As for kissing her,—he thought no more of it than of +kissing the maid-servant. But he spoke to her of the things that +worried him,—the unreasonable exactions of proprietors, and the +perilous inaccuracy of contributors. He told her of the exceeding +weight upon his shoulders, under which an Atlas would have succumbed. +And he told her something too of his triumphs;—how he had had this +fellow bowled over in punishment for some contradiction, and that man +snuffed out for daring to be an enemy. And he expatiated on his own +virtues, his justice and clemency. Ah,—if men and women only knew +his good nature and his patriotism;—how he had spared the rod here, +how he had made the fortune of a man there, how he had saved the +country millions by the steadiness of his adherence to some grand +truth! Lady Carbury delighted in all this and repaid him by flattery, +and little confidences of her own. Under his teaching she had almost +made up her mind to give up Mr. Alf. Of nothing was Mr. Broune more +certain than that Mr. Alf was making a fool of himself in regard to +the Westminster election and those attacks on Melmotte. "The world of +London generally knows what it is about," said Mr. Broune, "and the +London world believes Mr. Melmotte to be sound. I don't pretend to +say that he has never done anything that he ought not to do. I am not +going into his antecedents. But he is a man of wealth, power, and +genius, and Alf will get the worst of it." Under such teaching as +this, Lady Carbury was almost obliged to give up Mr. Alf.</p> + +<p>Sometimes they would sit in the front room with Hetta, to whom also +Mr. Broune had become attached; but sometimes Lady Carbury would be +in her own sanctum. On this evening she received him there, and at +once poured forth all her troubles about Felix. On this occasion she +told him everything, and almost told him everything truly. He had +already heard the story. "The young lady went down to Liverpool, and +Sir Felix was not there."</p> + +<p>"He could not have been there. He has been in bed in this house all +day. Did she go?"</p> + +<p>"So I am told;—and was met at the station by the senior officer of +the police at Liverpool, who brought her back to London without +letting her go down to the ship at all. She must have thought that +her lover was on board;—probably thinks so now. I pity her."</p> + +<p>"How much worse it would have been, had she been allowed to start," +said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"Yes; that would have been bad. She would have had a sad journey to +New York, and a sadder journey back. Has your son told you anything +about money?"</p> + +<p>"What money?"</p> + +<p>"They say that the girl entrusted him with a large sum which she had +taken from her father. If that be so he certainly ought to lose no +time in restoring it. It might be done through some friend. I would +do it for that matter. If it be so,—to avoid unpleasantness,—it +should be sent back at once. It will be for his credit." This Mr. +Broune said with a clear intimation of the importance of his advice.</p> + +<p>It was dreadful to Lady Carbury. She had no money to give back, nor, +as she was well aware, had her son. She had heard nothing of any +money. What did Mr. Broune mean by a large sum? "That would be +dreadful," she said.</p> + +<p>"Had you not better ask him about it?"</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury was again in tears. She knew that she could not hope to +get a word of truth from her son. "What do you mean by a large sum?"</p> + +<p>"Two or three hundred pounds, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"I have not a shilling in the world, Mr. Broune." Then it all came +out,—the whole story of her poverty, as it had been brought about by +her son's misconduct. She told him every detail of her money affairs +from the death of her husband, and his will, up to the present +moment.</p> + +<p>"He is eating you up, Lady Carbury." Lady Carbury thought that she +was nearly eaten up already, but she said nothing. "You must put a +stop to this."</p> + +<p>"But how?"</p> + +<p>"You must rid yourself of him. It is dreadful to say so, but it must +be done. You must not see your daughter ruined. Find out what money +he got from Miss Melmotte and I will see that it is repaid. That must +be done;—and we will then try to get him to go abroad. No;—do not +contradict me. We can talk of the money another time. I must be off +now, as I have stayed too long. Do as I bid you. Make him tell you, +and send me word down to the office. If you could do it early +to-morrow, that would be best. God bless you." And so he hurried off.</p> + +<p>Early on the following morning a letter from Lady Carbury was put +into Mr. Broune's hands, giving the story of the money as far as she +had been able to extract it from Sir Felix. Sir Felix declared that +Mr. Melmotte had owed him £600, and that he had received £250 out of +this from Miss Melmotte,—so that there was still a large balance due +to him. Lady Carbury went on to say that her son had at last +confessed that he had lost this money at play. The story was fairly +true; but Lady Carbury in her letter acknowledged that she was not +justified in believing it because it was told to her by her son.</p> + + +<p><a id="c53"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LIII.</h3> +<h4>A DAY IN THE CITY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Melmotte had got back his daughter, and was half inclined to let the +matter rest there. He would probably have done so had he not known +that all his own household were aware that she had gone off to meet +Sir Felix Carbury, and had he not also received the condolence of +certain friends in the city. It seemed that about two o'clock in the +day the matter was known to everybody. Of course Lord Nidderdale +would hear of it, and if so all the trouble that he had taken in that +direction would have been taken in vain. Stupid fool of a girl to +throw away her chance,—nay, to throw away the certainty of a +brilliant career, in that way! But his anger against Sir Felix was +infinitely more bitter than his anger against his daughter. The man +had pledged himself to abstain from any step of this kind,—had given +a written pledge,—had renounced under his own signature his +intention of marrying Marie! Melmotte had of course learned all the +details of the cheque for £250,—how the money had been paid at the +bank to Didon, and how Didon had given it to Sir Felix. Marie herself +acknowledged that Sir Felix had received the money. If possible he +would prosecute the baronet for stealing his money.</p> + +<p>Had Melmotte been altogether a prudent man he would probably have +been satisfied with getting back his daughter and would have allowed +the money to go without further trouble. At this especial point in +his career ready money was very valuable to him, but his concerns +were of such magnitude that £250 could make but little difference. +But there had grown upon the man during the last few months an +arrogance, a self-confidence inspired in him by the worship of other +men, which clouded his intellect, and robbed him of much of that +power of calculation which undoubtedly he naturally possessed. He +remembered perfectly his various little transactions with Sir Felix. +Indeed it was one of his gifts to remember with accuracy all money +transactions, whether great or small, and to keep an account book in +his head, which was always totted up and balanced with accuracy. He +knew exactly how he stood, even with the crossing-sweeper to whom he +had given a penny last Tuesday, as with the Longestaffes, father and +son, to whom he had not as yet made any payment on behalf of the +purchase of Pickering. But Sir Felix's money had been consigned into +his hands for the purchase of shares,—and that consignment did not +justify Sir Felix in taking another sum of money from his daughter. +In such a matter he thought that an English magistrate, and an +English jury, would all be on his side,—especially as he was +Augustus Melmotte, the man about to be chosen for Westminster, the +man about to entertain the Emperor of China!</p> + +<p>The next day was Friday,—the day of the Railway Board. Early in the +morning he sent a note to Lord Nidderdale.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear +Nidderdale</span>,—</p> + +<p>Pray come to the Board to-day;—or at any rate come to me +in the city. I specially want to speak to you.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours,</p> + +<p class="ind14">A. M.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">This he wrote, +having made up his mind that it would be wise to make +a clear breast of it with his hoped-for son-in-law. If there was +still a chance of keeping the young lord to his guns that chance +would be best supported by perfect openness on his part. The young +lord would of course know what Marie had done. But the young lord had +for some weeks past been aware that there had been a difficulty in +regard to Sir Felix Carbury, and had not on that account relaxed his +suit. It might be possible to persuade the young lord that as the +young lady had now tried to elope and tried in vain, his own chance +might on the whole be rather improved than injured.</p> + +<p>Mr. Melmotte on that morning had many visitors, among whom one of the +earliest and most unfortunate was Mr. Longestaffe. At that time there +had been arranged at the offices in Abchurch Lane a mode of double +ingress and egress,—a front stairs and a back stairs approach and +exit, as is always necessary with very great men,—in reference to +which arrangement the honour and dignity attached to each is exactly +contrary to that which generally prevails in the world; the front +stairs being intended for everybody, and being both slow and +uncertain, whereas the back stairs are quick and sure, and are used +only for those who are favoured. Miles Grendall had the command of +the stairs, and found that he had plenty to do in keeping people in +their right courses. Mr. Longestaffe reached Abchurch Lane before +one,—having altogether failed in getting a moment's private +conversation with the big man on that other Friday, when he had come +later. He fell at once into Miles's hands, and was ushered through +the front stairs passage and into the front stairs waiting-room, with +much external courtesy. Miles Grendall was very voluble. Did Mr. +Longestaffe want to see Mr. Melmotte? Oh;—Mr. Longestaffe wanted to +see Mr. Melmotte as soon as possible! Of course Mr. Longestaffe +should see Mr. Melmotte. He, Miles, knew that Mr. Melmotte was +particularly desirous of seeing Mr. Longestaffe. Mr. Melmotte had +mentioned Mr. Longestaffe's name twice during the last three days. +Would Mr. Longestaffe sit down for a few minutes? Had Mr. Longestaffe +seen the "Morning Breakfast Table"? Mr. Melmotte undoubtedly was very +much engaged. At this moment a deputation from the Canadian +Government was with him;—and Sir Gregory Gribe was in the office +waiting for a few words. But Miles thought that the Canadian +Government would not be long,—and as for Sir Gregory, perhaps his +business might be postponed. Miles would do his very best to get an +interview for Mr. Longestaffe,—more especially as Mr. Melmotte was +so very desirous himself of seeing his friend. It was astonishing +that such a one as Miles Grendall should have learned his business so +well and should have made himself so handy! We will leave Mr. +Longestaffe with the "Morning Breakfast Table" in his hands, in the +front waiting-room, merely notifying the fact that there he remained +for something over two hours.</p> + +<p>In the mean time both Mr. Broune and Lord Nidderdale came to the +office, and both were received without delay. Mr. Broune was the +first. Miles knew who he was, and made no attempt to seat him in the +same room with Mr. Longestaffe. "I'll just send him a note," said Mr. +Broune, and he scrawled a few words at the office counter. "I'm +commissioned to pay you some money on behalf of Miss Melmotte." Those +were the words, and they at once procured him admission to the +sanctum. The Canadian Deputation must have taken its leave, and Sir +Gregory could hardly have as yet arrived. Lord Nidderdale, who had +presented himself almost at the same moment with the Editor, was +shown into a little private room,—which was, indeed, Miles +Grendall's own retreat. "What's up with the Governor?" asked the +young lord.</p> + +<p>"Anything particular do you mean?" said Miles. "There are always so +many things up here."</p> + +<p>"He has sent for me."</p> + +<p>"Yes,—you'll go in directly. There's that fellow who does the +'Breakfast Table' in with him. I don't know what he's come about. You +know what he has sent for you for?"</p> + +<p>Lord Nidderdale answered this question by another. "I suppose all +this about Miss Melmotte is true?"</p> + +<p>"She did go off yesterday morning," said Miles, in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"But Carbury wasn't with her."</p> + +<p>"Well, no;—I suppose not. He seems to have mulled it. He's such a +<span class="nowrap">d——</span> brute, he'd +be sure to go wrong whatever he had in hand."</p> + +<p>"You don't like him, of course, Miles. For that matter I've no reason +to love him. He couldn't have gone. He staggered out of the club +yesterday morning at four o'clock as drunk as Cloe. He'd lost a pot +of money, and had been kicking up a row about you for the last hour."</p> + +<p>"Brute!" exclaimed Miles, with honest indignation.</p> + +<p>"I dare say. But though he was able to make a row, I'm sure he +couldn't get himself down to Liverpool. And I saw all his things +lying about the club hall late last night;—no end of portmanteaux +and bags; just what a fellow would take to New York. By George! Fancy +taking a girl to New York! It was plucky."</p> + +<p>"It was all her doing," said Miles, who was of course intimate with +Mr. Melmotte's whole establishment, and had had means therefore of +hearing the true story.</p> + +<p>"What a fiasco!" said the young lord, "I wonder what the old boy +means to say to me about it." Then there was heard the clear tingle +of a little silver bell, and Miles told Lord Nidderdale that his time +had come.</p> + +<p>Mr. Broune had of late been very serviceable to Mr. Melmotte, and +Melmotte was correspondingly gracious. On seeing the Editor he +immediately began to make a speech of thanks in respect of the +support given by the "Breakfast Table" to his candidature. But Mr. +Broune cut him short. "I never talk about the 'Breakfast Table,'" +said he. "We endeavour to get along as right as we can, and the less +said the soonest mended." Melmotte bowed. "I have come now about +quite another matter, and perhaps, the less said the sooner mended +about that also. Sir Felix Carbury on a late occasion received a sum +of money in trust from your daughter. Circumstances have prevented +its use in the intended manner, and, therefore, as Sir Felix's +friend, I have called to return the money to you." Mr. Broune did not +like calling himself the friend of Sir Felix, but he did even that +for the lady who had been good enough to him not to marry him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Melmotte, with a scowl on his face, which he +would have repressed if he could.</p> + +<p>"No doubt you understand all about it."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I understand. +<span class="nowrap">D——</span> scoundrel!"</p> + +<p>"We won't discuss that, Mr. Melmotte. I've drawn a cheque myself, +payable to your order,—to make the matter all straight. The sum was +£250, I think." And Mr. Broune put a cheque for that amount down upon +the table.</p> + +<p>"I dare say it's all right," said Mr. Melmotte. "But, remember, I +don't think that this absolves him. He has been a scoundrel."</p> + +<p>"At any rate he has paid back the money, which chance put into his +hands, to the only person entitled to receive it on the young lady's +behalf. Good morning." Mr. Melmotte did put out his hand in token of +amity. Then Mr. Broune departed and Melmotte tinkled his bell. As +Nidderdale was shown in he crumpled up the cheque, and put it into +his pocket. He was at once clever enough to perceive that any idea +which he might have had of prosecuting Sir Felix must be abandoned. +"Well, my Lord, and how are you?" said he with his pleasantest smile. +Nidderdale declared himself to be as fresh as paint. "You don't look +down in the mouth, my Lord."</p> + +<p>Then Lord Nidderdale,—who no doubt felt that it behoved him to show +a good face before his late intended father-in-law,—sang the refrain +of an old song, which it is trusted my readers may remember.</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0"><tr><td> +<span class="ind8">"Cheer up, Sam;</span><br /> +<span class="ind2">Don't let your spirits go down.</span><br /> +There's many a girl that I know well,<br /> +<span class="ind2">Is waiting for you in the town."</span> +</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"Ha, ha, ha," laughed Melmotte, "very good. I've no doubt there +is,—many a one. But you won't let this stupid nonsense stand in your +way with Marie."</p> + +<p>"Upon my word, sir, I don't know about that. Miss Melmotte has given +the most convincing proof of her partiality for another gentleman, +and of her indifference to me."</p> + +<p>"A foolish baggage! A silly little romantic baggage! She's been +reading novels till she has learned to think she couldn't settle down +quietly till she had run off with somebody."</p> + +<p>"She doesn't seem to have succeeded on this occasion, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"No;—of course we had her back again from Liverpool."</p> + +<p>"But they say that she got further than the gentleman."</p> + +<p>"He is a dishonest, drunken scoundrel. My girl knows very well what +he is now. She'll never try that game again. Of course, my Lord, I'm +very sorry. You know that I've been on the square with you always. +She's my only child, and sooner or later she must have all that I +possess. What she will have at once will make any man wealthy,—that +is, if she marries with my sanction; and in a year or two I expect +that I shall be able to double what I give her now, without touching +my capital. Of course you understand that I desire to see her +occupying high rank. I think that, in this country, that is a noble +object of ambition. Had she married that sweep I should have broken +my heart. Now, my Lord, I want you to say that this shall make no +difference to you. I am very honest with you. I do not try to hide +anything. The thing of course has been a misfortune. Girls will be +romantic. But you may be sure that this little accident will assist +rather than impede your views. After this she will not be very fond +of Sir Felix Carbury."</p> + +<p>"I dare say not. Though, by Jove, girls will forgive anything."</p> + +<p>"She won't forgive him. By George, she shan't. She shall hear the +whole story. You'll come and see her just the same as ever!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"Why not? You're not so weak as to surrender all your settled +projects for such a piece of folly as that! He didn't even see her +all the time."</p> + +<p>"That wasn't her fault."</p> + +<p>"The money will all be there, Lord Nidderdale."</p> + +<p>"The money's all right, I've no doubt. And there isn't a man in all +London would be better pleased to settle down with a good income than +I would. But, by Jove, it's a rather strong order when a girl has +just run away with another man. Everybody knows it."</p> + +<p>"In three months' time everybody will have forgotten it."</p> + +<p>"To tell you the truth, sir, I think Miss Melmotte has got a will of +her own stronger than you give her credit for. She has never given me +the slightest encouragement. Ever so long ago, about Christmas, she +did once say that she would do as you bade her. But she is very much +changed since then. The thing was off."</p> + +<p>"She had nothing to do with that."</p> + +<p>"No;—but she has taken advantage of it, and I have no right to +complain."</p> + +<p>"You just come to the house, and ask her again to-morrow. Or come on +Sunday morning. Don't let us be done out of all our settled +arrangements by the folly of an idle girl. Will you come on Sunday +morning about noon?" Lord Nidderdale thought of his position for a +few moments and then said that perhaps he would come on Sunday +morning. After that Melmotte proposed that they two should go and +"get a bit of lunch" at a certain Conservative club in the City. +There would be time before the meeting of the Railway Board. +Nidderdale had no objection to the lunch, but expressed a strong +opinion that the Board was "rot." "That's all very well for you, +young man," said the chairman, "but I must go there in order that you +may be able to enjoy a splendid fortune." Then he touched the young +man on the shoulder and drew him back as he was passing out by the +front stairs. "Come this way, Nidderdale;—come this way. I must get +out without being seen. There are people waiting for me there who +think that a man can attend to business from morning to night without +ever having a bit in his mouth." And so they escaped by the back +stairs.</p> + +<p>At the club, the City Conservative world,—which always lunches +well,—welcomed Mr. Melmotte very warmly. The election was coming on, +and there was much to be said. He played the part of the big City man +to perfection, standing about the room with his hat on, and talking +loudly to a dozen men at once. And he was glad to show the club that +Lord Nidderdale had come there with him. The club of course knew that +Lord Nidderdale was the accepted suitor of the rich man's +daughter,—accepted, that is, by the rich man himself,—and the club +knew also that the rich man's daughter had tried,—but had +failed,—to run away with Sir Felix Carbury. There is nothing like +wiping out a misfortune and having done with it. The presence of Lord +Nidderdale was almost an assurance to the club that the misfortune +had been wiped out, and, as it were, abolished. A little before three +Mr. Melmotte returned to Abchurch Lane, intending to regain his room +by the back way; while Lord Nidderdale went westward, considering +within his own mind whether it was expedient that he should continue +to show himself as a suitor for Miss Melmotte's hand. He had an idea +that a few years ago a man could not have done such a thing—that he +would be held to show a poor spirit should he attempt it; but that +now it did not much matter what a man did,—if only he were +successful. "After all it's only an affair of money," he said to +himself.</p> + +<p>Mr. Longestaffe in the meantime had progressed from weariness to +impatience, from impatience to ill-humour, and from ill-humour to +indignation. More than once he saw Miles Grendall, but Miles Grendall +was always ready with an answer. That Canadian Deputation was +determined to settle the whole business this morning, and would not +take itself away. And Sir Gregory Gribe had been obstinate, beyond +the ordinary obstinacy of a bank director. The rate of discount at +the bank could not be settled for to-morrow without communication +with Mr. Melmotte, and that was a matter on which the details were +always most oppressive. At first Mr. Longestaffe was somewhat stunned +by the Deputation and Sir Gregory Gribe; but as he waxed wroth the +potency of those institutions dwindled away, and as, at last, he +waxed hungry, they became as nothing to him. Was he not Mr. +Longestaffe of Caversham, a Deputy-Lieutenant of his County, and +accustomed to lunch punctually at two o'clock? When he had been in +that waiting-room for two hours, it occurred to him that he only +wanted his own, and that he would not remain there to be starved for +any Mr. Melmotte in Europe. It occurred to him also that that thorn +in his side, Squercum, would certainly get a finger into the pie to +his infinite annoyance. Then he walked forth, and attempted to see +Grendall for the fourth time. But Miles Grendall also liked his +lunch, and was therefore declared by one of the junior clerks to be +engaged at that moment on most important business with Mr. Melmotte. +"Then say that I can't wait any longer," said Mr. Longestaffe, +stamping out of the room with angry feet.</p> + +<p>At the very door he met Mr. Melmotte. "Ah, Mr. Longestaffe," said the +great financier, seizing him by the hand, "you are the very man I am +desirous of seeing."</p> + +<p>"I have been waiting two hours up in your place," said the Squire of +Caversham.</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut, tut;—and they never told me!"</p> + +<p>"I spoke to Mr. Grendall half a dozen times."</p> + +<p>"Yes,—yes. And he did put a slip with your name on it on my desk. I +do remember. My dear sir, I have so many things on my brain, that I +hardly know how to get along with them. You are coming to the Board? +It's just the time now."</p> + +<p>"No;"—said Mr. Longestaffe. "I can stay no longer in the City." It +was cruel that a man so hungry should be asked to go to a Board by a +chairman who had just lunched at his club.</p> + +<p>"I was carried away to the Bank of England and could not help +myself," said Melmotte. "And when they get me there I can never get +away again."</p> + +<p>"My son is very anxious to have the payments made about Pickering," +said Mr. Longestaffe, absolutely holding Melmotte by the collar of +his coat.</p> + +<p>"Payments for Pickering!" said Melmotte, assuming an air of +unimportant doubt,—of doubt as though the thing were of no real +moment. "Haven't they been made?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said Mr. Longestaffe, "unless made this morning."</p> + +<p>"There was something about it, but I cannot just remember what. My +second cashier, Mr. Smith, manages all my private affairs, and they +go clean out of my head. I'm afraid he's in Grosvenor Square at this +moment. Let me see;—Pickering! Wasn't there some question of a +mortgage? I'm sure there was something about a mortgage."</p> + +<p>"There was a mortgage, of course;—but that only made three payments +necessary instead of two."</p> + +<p>"But there was some unavoidable delay about the papers;—something +occasioned by the mortgagee. I know there was. But you shan't be +inconvenienced, Mr. Longestaffe."</p> + +<p>"It's my son, Mr. Melmotte. He's got a lawyer of his own."</p> + +<p>"I never knew a young man that wasn't in a hurry for his money," said +Melmotte laughing. "Oh, yes;—there were three payments to be made; +one to you, one to your son, and one to the mortgagee. I will speak +to Mr. Smith myself to-morrow—and you may tell your son that he +really need not trouble his lawyer. He will only be losing his money, +for lawyers are expensive. What; you won't come to the Board? I am +sorry for that." Mr. Longestaffe, having after a fashion said what he +had to say, declined to go to the Board. A painful rumour had reached +him the day before, which had been communicated to him in a very +quiet way by a very old friend,—by a member of a private firm of +bankers whom he was accustomed to regard as the wisest and most +eminent man of his acquaintance,—that Pickering had been already +mortgaged to its full value by its new owner. "Mind, I know nothing," +said the banker. "The report has reached me, and if it be true, it +shows that Mr. Melmotte must be much pressed for money. It does not +concern you at all if you have got your price. But it seems to be +rather a quick transaction. I suppose you have, or he wouldn't have +the title-deeds." Mr. Longestaffe thanked his friend, and +acknowledged that there had been something remiss on his part. +Therefore, as he went westward, he was low in spirits. But +nevertheless he had been reassured by Melmotte's manner.</p> + +<p>Sir Felix Carbury of course did not attend the Board; nor did Paul +Montague, for reasons with which the reader has been made acquainted. +Lord Nidderdale had declined, having had enough of the City for that +day, and Mr. Longestaffe had been banished by hunger. The chairman +was therefore supported only by Lord Alfred and Mr. Cohenlupe. But +they were such excellent colleagues that the work was got through as +well as though those absentees had all attended. When the Board was +over Mr. Melmotte and Mr. Cohenlupe retired together.</p> + +<p>"I must get that money for Longestaffe," said Melmotte to his friend.</p> + +<p>"What, eighty thousand pounds! You can't do it this week,—nor yet +before this day week."</p> + +<p>"It isn't eighty thousand pounds. I've renewed the mortgage, and that +makes it only fifty. If I can manage the half of that which goes to +the son, I can put the father off."</p> + +<p>"You must raise what you can on the whole property."</p> + +<p>"I've done that already," said Melmotte hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"And where's the money gone?"</p> + +<p>"Brehgert has had £40,000. I was obliged to keep it up with them. You +can manage £25,000 for me by Monday?" Mr. Cohenlupe said that he +would try, but intimated his opinion that there would be considerable +difficulty in the operation.</p> + + +<p><a id="c54"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LIV.</h3> +<h4>THE INDIA OFFICE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>The Conservative party at this particular period was putting its +shoulder to the wheel,—not to push the coach up any hill, but to +prevent its being hurried along at a pace which was not only +dangerous, but manifestly destructive. The Conservative party now and +then does put its shoulder to the wheel, ostensibly with the great +national object above named; but also actuated by a natural desire to +keep its own head well above water and be generally doing something, +so that other parties may not suppose that it is moribund. There are, +no doubt, members of it who really think that when some object has +been achieved,—when, for instance, a good old Tory has been squeezed +into Parliament for the borough of Porcorum, which for the last three +parliaments has been represented by a Liberal,—the coach has been +really stopped. To them, in their delightful faith, there comes at +these triumphant moments a conviction that after all the people as a +people have not been really in earnest in their efforts to take +something from the greatness of the great, and to add something to +the lowliness of the lowly. The handle of the windlass has been +broken, the wheel is turning fast the reverse way, and the rope of +Radical progress is running back. Who knows what may not be regained +if the Conservative party will only put its shoulder to the wheel and +take care that the handle of the windlass be not mended! +Sticinthemud, which has ever been a doubtful little borough, has just +been carried by a majority of fifteen! A long pull, a strong pull, +and a pull altogether,—and the old day will come back again. +Venerable patriarchs think of Lord Liverpool and other heroes, and +dream dreams of Conservative bishops, Conservative lord-lieutenants, +and of a Conservative ministry that shall remain in for a generation.</p> + +<p>Such a time was now present. Porcorum and Sticinthemud had done their +duty valiantly,—with much management. But Westminster! If this +special seat for Westminster could be carried, the country then could +hardly any longer have a doubt on the matter. If only Mr. Melmotte +could be got in for Westminster, it would be manifest that the people +were sound at heart, and that all the great changes which had been +effected during the last forty years,—from the first reform in +Parliament down to the Ballot,—had been managed by the cunning and +treachery of a few ambitious men. Not, however, that the Ballot was +just now regarded by the party as an unmitigated evil, though it was +the last triumph of Radical wickedness. The Ballot was on the whole +popular with the party. A short time since, no doubt it was regarded +by the party as being one and the same as national ruin and national +disgrace. But it had answered well at Porcorum, and with due +manipulation had been found to be favourable at Sticinthemud. The +Ballot might perhaps help the long pull and the strong pull,—and, in +spite of the ruin and disgrace, was thought by some just now to be a +highly Conservative measure. It was considered that the Ballot might +assist Melmotte at Westminster very materially.</p> + +<p>Any one reading the Conservative papers of the time, and hearing the +Conservative speeches in the borough,—any one at least who lived so +remote as not to have learned what these things really mean,—would +have thought that England's welfare depended on Melmotte's return. In +the enthusiasm of the moment, the attacks made on his character were +answered by eulogy as loud as the censure was bitter. The chief crime +laid to his charge was connected with the ruin of some great +continental assurance company, as to which it was said that he had so +managed it as to leave it utterly stranded, with an enormous fortune +of his own. It was declared that every shilling which he had brought +to England with him had consisted of plunder stolen from the +shareholders in the company. Now the "Evening Pulpit," in its +endeavour to make the facts of this transaction known, had placed +what it called the domicile of this company in Paris, whereas it was +ascertained that its official head-quarters had in truth been placed +at Vienna. Was not such a blunder as this sufficient to show that no +merchant of higher honour than Mr. Melmotte had ever adorned the +Exchanges of modern capitals? And then two different newspapers of +the time, both of them antagonistic to Melmotte, failed to be in +accord on a material point. One declared that Mr. Melmotte was not in +truth possessed of any wealth. The other said that he had derived his +wealth from those unfortunate shareholders. Could anything betray so +bad a cause as contradictions such as these? Could anything be so +false, so weak, so malignant, so useless, so wicked, so +self-condemned,—in fact, so "Liberal" as a course of action such as +this? The belief naturally to be deduced from such statements, nay, +the unavoidable conviction on the minds—of, at any rate, the +Conservative newspapers—was that Mr. Melmotte had accumulated an +immense fortune, and that he had never robbed any shareholder of a +shilling.</p> + +<p>The friends of Melmotte had moreover a basis of hope, and were +enabled to sound premonitory notes of triumph, arising from causes +quite external to their party. The "Breakfast Table" supported +Melmotte, but the "Breakfast Table" was not a Conservative organ. +This support was given, not to the great man's political opinions, as +to which a well-known writer in that paper suggested that the great +man had probably not as yet given very much attention to the party +questions which divided the country,—but to his commercial position. +It was generally acknowledged that few men living,—perhaps no man +alive,—had so acute an insight into the great commercial questions +of the age as Mr. Augustus Melmotte. In whatever part of the world he +might have acquired his commercial experience,—for it had been said +repeatedly that Melmotte was not an Englishman,—he now made London +his home and Great Britain his country, and it would be for the +welfare of the country that such a man should sit in the British +Parliament. Such were the arguments used by the "Breakfast Table" in +supporting Mr. Melmotte. This was, of course, an assistance;—and not +the less so because it was asserted in other papers that the country +would be absolutely disgraced by his presence in Parliament. The +hotter the opposition the keener will be the support. Honest good +men, men who really loved their country, fine gentlemen, who had +received unsullied names from great ancestors, shed their money right +and left, and grew hot in personally energetic struggles to have this +man returned to Parliament as the head of the great Conservative +mercantile interests of Great Britain!</p> + +<p>There was one man who thoroughly believed that the thing at the +present moment most essentially necessary to England's glory was the +return of Mr. Melmotte for Westminster. This man was undoubtedly a +very ignorant man. He knew nothing of any one political question +which had vexed England for the last half century,—nothing whatever +of the political history which had made England what it was at the +beginning of that half century. Of such names as Hampden, Somers, and +Pitt he had hardly ever heard. He had probably never read a book in +his life. He knew nothing of the working of parliament, nothing of +nationality,—had no preference whatever for one form of government +over another, never having given his mind a moment's trouble on the +subject. He had not even reflected how a despotic monarch or a +federal republic might affect himself, and possibly did not +comprehend the meaning of those terms. But yet he was fully confident +that England did demand and ought to demand that Mr. Melmotte should +be returned for Westminster. This man was Mr. Melmotte himself.</p> + +<p>In this conjunction of his affairs Mr. Melmotte certainly lost his +head. He had audacity almost sufficient for the very dangerous game +which he was playing; but, as crisis heaped itself upon crisis, he +became deficient in prudence. He did not hesitate to speak of himself +as the man who ought to represent Westminster, and of those who +opposed him as little malignant beings who had mean interests of +their own to serve. He went about in his open carriage, with Lord +Alfred at his left hand, with a look on his face which seemed to +imply that Westminster was not good enough for him. He even hinted to +certain political friends that at the next general election he should +try the City. Six months since he had been a humble man to a +Lord,—but now he scolded Earls and snubbed Dukes, and yet did it in +a manner which showed how proud he was of connecting himself with +their social pre-eminence, and how ignorant of the manner in which +such pre-eminence affects English gentlemen generally. The more +arrogant he became the more vulgar he was, till even Lord Alfred +would almost be tempted to rush away to impecuniosity and freedom. +Perhaps there were some with whom this conduct had a salutary effect. +No doubt arrogance will produce submission; and there are men who +take other men at the price those other men put upon themselves. Such +persons could not refrain from thinking Melmotte to be mighty because +he swaggered; and gave their hinder parts to be kicked merely because +he put up his toe. We all know men of this calibre,—and how they +seem to grow in number. But the net result of his personal demeanour +was injurious; and it was debated among some of the warmest of his +supporters whether a hint should not be given him. "Couldn't Lord +Alfred say a word to him?" said the Honourable Beauchamp Beauclerk, +who, himself in Parliament, a leading man in his party, thoroughly +well acquainted with the borough, wealthy and connected by blood with +half the great Conservative families in the kingdom, had been moving +heaven and earth on behalf of the great financial king, and working +like a slave for his success.</p> + +<p>"Alfred's more than half afraid of him," said Lionel Lupton, a young +aristocrat, also in Parliament, who had been inoculated with the idea +that the interests of the party demanded Melmotte in Parliament, but +who would have given up his Scotch shooting rather than have +undergone Melmotte's company for a day.</p> + +<p>"Something really must be done, Mr. Beauclerk," said Mr. Jones, who +was the leading member of a very wealthy firm of builders in the +borough, who had become a Conservative politician, who had thoughts +of the House for himself, but who never forgot his own position. "He +is making a great many personal enemies."</p> + +<p>"He's the finest old turkey cock out," said Lionel Lupton.</p> + +<p>Then it was decided that Mr. Beauclerk should speak a word to Lord +Alfred. The rich man and the poor man were cousins, and had always +been intimate. "Alfred," said the chosen mentor at the club one +afternoon, "I wonder whether you couldn't say something to Melmotte +about his manner." Lord Alfred turned sharp round and looked into his +companion's face. "They tell me he is giving offence. Of course he +doesn't mean it. Couldn't he draw it a little milder?"</p> + +<p>Lord Alfred made his reply almost in a whisper. "If you ask me, I +don't think he could. If you got him down and trampled on him, you +might make him mild. I don't think there's any other way."</p> + +<p>"You couldn't speak to him, then?"</p> + +<p>"Not unless I did it with a horsewhip."</p> + +<p>This, coming from Lord Alfred, who was absolutely dependent on the +man, was very strong. Lord Alfred had been much afflicted that +morning. He had spent some hours with his friend, either going about +the borough in the open carriage, or standing just behind him at +meetings, or sitting close to him in committee-rooms,—and had been +nauseated with Melmotte. When spoken to about his friend he could not +restrain himself. Lord Alfred had been born and bred a gentleman, and +found the position in which he was now earning his bread to be almost +insupportable. It had gone against the grain with him at first, when +he was called Alfred; but now that he was told "just to open the +door," and "just to give that message," he almost meditated revenge. +Lord Nidderdale, who was quick at observation, had seen something of +this in Grosvenor Square, and declared that Lord Alfred had invested +part of his recent savings in a cutting whip. Mr. Beauclerk, when he +had got his answer, whistled and withdrew. But he was true to his +party. Melmotte was not the first vulgar man whom the Conservatives +had taken by the hand, and patted on the back, and told that he was a +god.</p> + +<p>The Emperor of China was now in England, and was to be entertained +one night at the India Office. The Secretary of State for the second +great Asiatic Empire was to entertain the ruler of the first. This +was on Saturday the 6th of July, and Melmotte's dinner was to take +place on the following Monday. Very great interest was made by the +London world generally to obtain admission to the India Office,—the +making of such interest consisting in the most abject begging for +tickets of admission, addressed to the Secretary of State, to all the +under secretaries, to assistant secretaries, secretaries of +departments, chief clerks, and to head-messengers and their wives. If +a petitioner could not be admitted as a guest into the splendour of +the reception rooms, might not he,—or she,—be allowed to stand in +some passage whence the Emperor's back might perhaps be seen,—so +that, if possible, the petitioner's name might be printed in the list +of guests which would be published on the next morning? Now Mr. +Melmotte with his family was, of course, supplied with tickets. He, +who was to spend a fortune in giving the Emperor a dinner, was of +course entitled to be present at other places to which the Emperor +would be brought to be shown. Melmotte had already seen the Emperor +at a breakfast in Windsor Park, and at a ball in royal halls. But +hitherto he had not been presented to the Emperor. Presentations have +to be restricted,—if only on the score of time; and it had been +thought that as Mr. Melmotte would of course have some communication +with the hardworked Emperor at his own house, that would suffice. But +he had felt himself to be ill-used and was offended. He spoke with +bitterness to some of his supporters of the Royal Family generally, +because he had not been brought to the front rank either at the +breakfast or at the ball,—and now, at the India Office, was +determined to have his due. But he was not on the list of those whom +the Secretary of State intended on this occasion to present to the +Brother of the Sun.</p> + +<p>He had dined freely. At this period of his career he had taken to +dining freely,—which was in itself imprudent, as he had need at all +hours of his best intelligence. Let it not be understood that he was +tipsy. He was a man whom wine did not often affect after that +fashion. But it made him, who was arrogant before, tower in his +arrogance till he was almost sure to totter. It was probably at some +moment after dinner that Lord Alfred decided upon buying the cutting +whip of which he had spoken. Melmotte went with his wife and daughter +to the India Office, and soon left them far in the background with a +request,—we may say an order,—to Lord Alfred to take care of them. +It may be observed here that Marie Melmotte was almost as great a +curiosity as the Emperor himself, and was much noticed as the girl +who had attempted to run away to New York, but had gone without her +lover. Melmotte entertained some foolish idea that as the India +Office was in Westminster, he had a peculiar right to demand an +introduction on this occasion because of his candidature. He did +succeed in getting hold of an unfortunate under secretary of state, a +studious and invaluable young peer, known as Earl De Griffin. He was +a shy man, of enormous wealth, of mediocre intellect, and no great +physical ability, who never amused himself; but worked hard night and +day, and read everything that anybody could write, and more than any +other person could read, about India. Had Mr. Melmotte wanted to know +the exact dietary of the peasants in Orissa, or the revenue of the +Punjaub, or the amount of crime in Bombay, Lord De Griffin would have +informed him without a pause. But in this matter of managing the +Emperor, the under secretary had nothing to do, and would have been +the last man to be engaged in such a service. He was, however, second +in command at the India Office, and of his official rank Melmotte was +unfortunately made aware. "My Lord," said he, by no means hiding his +demand in a whisper, "I am desirous of being presented to his +Imperial Majesty." Lord De Griffin looked at him in despair, not +knowing the great man,—being one of the few men in that room who did +not know him.</p> + +<p>"This is Mr. Melmotte," said Lord Alfred, who had deserted the ladies +and still stuck to his master. "Lord De Griffin, let me introduce you +to Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"Oh—oh—oh," said Lord De Griffin, just putting out his hand. "I am +delighted;—ah, yes," and pretending to see somebody, he made a weak +and quite ineffectual attempt to escape.</p> + +<p>Melmotte stood directly in his way, and with unabashed audacity +repeated his demand. "I am desirous of being presented to his +Imperial Majesty. Will you do me the honour of making my request +known to Mr. Wilson?" Mr. Wilson was the Secretary of State, who was +as busy as a Secretary of State is sure to be on such an occasion.</p> + +<p>"I hardly know," said Lord De Griffin. "I'm afraid it's all arranged. +I don't know anything about it myself."</p> + +<p>"You can introduce me to Mr. Wilson."</p> + +<p>"He's up there, Mr. Melmotte; and I couldn't get at him. Really you +must excuse me. I'm very sorry. If I see him I'll tell him." And the +poor under secretary again endeavoured to escape.</p> + +<p>Mr. Melmotte put up his hand and stopped him. "I'm not going to stand +this kind of thing," he said. The old Marquis of Auld Reekie was +close at hand, the father of Lord Nidderdale, and therefore the +proposed father-in-law of Melmotte's daughter, and he poked his thumb +heavily into Lord Alfred's ribs. "It is generally understood, I +believe," continued Melmotte, "that the Emperor is to do me the +honour of dining at my poor house on Monday. He don't dine there +unless I'm made acquainted with him before he comes. I mean what I +say. I ain't going to entertain even an Emperor unless I'm good +enough to be presented to him. Perhaps you'd better let Mr. Wilson +know, as a good many people intend to come."</p> + +<p>"Here's a row," said the old Marquis. "I wish he'd be as good as his +word."</p> + +<p>"He has taken a little wine," whispered Lord Alfred. "Melmotte," he +said, still whispering; "upon my word it isn't the thing. They're +only Indian chaps and Eastern swells who are presented here,—not a +fellow among 'em all who hasn't been in India or China, or isn't a +Secretary of State, or something of that kind."</p> + +<p>"Then they should have done it at Windsor, or at the ball," said +Melmotte, pulling down his waistcoat. "By George, Alfred! I'm in +earnest, and somebody had better look to it. If I'm not presented to +his Imperial Majesty to-night, by +<span class="nowrap">G——,</span> +there shall be no dinner in +Grosvenor Square on Monday. I'm master enough of my own house, I +suppose, to be able to manage that."</p> + +<p>Here was a row, as the Marquis had said! Lord De Griffin was +frightened, and Lord Alfred felt that something ought to be done. +"There's no knowing how far the pig-headed brute may go in his +obstinacy," Lord Alfred said to Mr. Lupton, who was there. It no +doubt might have been wise to have allowed the merchant prince to +return home with the resolution that his dinner should be abandoned. +He would have repented probably before the next morning; and had he +continued obdurate it would not have been difficult to explain to +Celestial Majesty that something preferable had been found for that +particular evening even to a banquet at the house of British +commerce. The Government would probably have gained the seat for +Westminster, as Melmotte would at once have become very unpopular +with the great body of his supporters. But Lord De Griffin was not +the man to see this. He did make his way up to Mr. Wilson, and +explained to the Amphytrion of the night the demand which was made on +his hospitality. A thoroughly well-established and experienced +political Minister of State always feels that if he can make a friend +or appease an enemy without paying a heavy price he will be doing a +good stroke of business. "Bring him up," said Mr. Wilson. "He's going +to do something out in the East, isn't he?" "Nothing in India," said +Lord De Griffin. "The submarine telegraph is quite impossible." Mr. +Wilson, instructing some satellite to find out in what way he might +properly connect Mr. Melmotte with China, sent Lord De Griffin away +with his commission.</p> + +<p>"My dear Alfred, just allow me to manage these things myself," Mr. +Melmotte was saying when the under secretary returned. "I know my own +position and how to keep it. There shall be no dinner. I'll be +<span class="nowrap">d——</span> +if any of the lot shall dine in Grosvenor Square on Monday." Lord +Alfred was so astounded that he was thinking of making his way to the +Prime Minister, a man whom he abhorred and didn't know, and of +acquainting him with the terrible calamity which was threatened. But +the arrival of the under secretary saved him the trouble.</p> + +<p>"If you will come with me," whispered Lord De Griffin, "it shall be +managed. It isn't just the thing, but as you wish it, it shall be +done."</p> + +<p>"I do wish it," said Melmotte aloud. He was one of those men whom +success never mollified, whose enjoyment of a point gained always +demanded some hoarse note of triumph from his own trumpet.</p> + +<p>"If you will be so kind as to follow me," said Lord De Griffin. And +so the thing was done. Melmotte, as he was taken up to the imperial +footstool, was resolved upon making a little speech, forgetful at the +moment of interpreters,—of the double interpreters whom the Majesty +of China required; but the awful, quiescent solemnity of the +celestial one quelled even him, and he shuffled by without saying a +word even of his own banquet.</p> + +<p>But he had gained his point, and, as he was taken home to poor Mr. +Longestaffe's house in Bruton Street, was intolerable. Lord Alfred +tried to escape after putting Madame Melmotte and her daughter into +the carriage, but Melmotte insisted on his presence. "You might as +well come, Alfred;—there are two or three things I must settle +before I go to bed."</p> + +<p>"I'm about knocked up," said the unfortunate man.</p> + +<p>"Knocked up, nonsense! Think what I've been through. I've been all +day at the hardest work a man can do." Had he as usual got in first, +leaving his man-of-all-work to follow, the man-of-all-work would have +escaped. Melmotte, fearing such defection, put his hand on Lord +Alfred's shoulder, and the poor fellow was beaten. As they were taken +home a continual sound of cock-crowing was audible, but as the words +were not distinguished they required no painful attention; but when +the soda water and brandy and cigars made their appearance in Mr. +Longestaffe's own back room, then the trumpet was sounded with a full +blast. "I mean to let the fellows know what's what," said Melmotte, +walking about the room. Lord Alfred had thrown himself into an +arm-chair, and was consoling himself as best he might with tobacco. +"Give and take is a very good motto. If I scratch their back, I mean +them to scratch mine. They won't find many people to spend ten +thousand pounds in entertaining a guest of the country's as a private +enterprise. I don't know of any other man of business who could do +it, or would do it. It's not much any of them can do for me. Thank +God, I don't want 'em. But if consideration is to be shown to +anybody, I intend to be considered. The Prince treated me very +scurvily, Alfred, and I shall take an opportunity of telling him so +on Monday. I suppose a man may be allowed to speak to his own +guests."</p> + +<p>"You might turn the election against you if you said anything the +Prince didn't like."</p> + +<p>"D—— the election, sir. I stand before the electors of Westminster +as a man of business, not as a courtier,—as a man who understands +commercial enterprise, not as one of the Prince's toadies. Some of +you fellows in England don't realise the matter yet; but I can tell +you that I think myself quite as great a man as any Prince." Lord +Alfred looked at him, with strong reminiscences of the old ducal +home, and shuddered. "I'll teach them a lesson before long. Didn't I +teach 'em a lesson to-night,—eh? They tell me that Lord De Griffin +has sixty thousand a-year to spend. What's sixty thousand a year? +Didn't I make him go on my business? And didn't I make 'em do as I +chose? You want to tell me this and that, but I can tell you that I +know more of men and women than some of you fellows do, who think you +know a great deal."</p> + +<p>This went on through the whole of a long cigar; and afterwards, as +Lord Alfred slowly paced his way back to his lodgings in Mount +Street, he thought deeply whether there might not be means of +escaping from his present servitude. "Beast! Brute! Pig!" he said to +himself over and over again as he slowly went to Mount Street.</p> + + +<p><a id="c55"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LV.</h3> +<h4>CLERICAL CHARITIES.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Melmotte's success, and Melmotte's wealth, and Melmotte's antecedents +were much discussed down in Suffolk at this time. He had been seen +there in the flesh, and there is no believing like that which comes +from sight. He had been staying at Caversham, and many in those parts +knew that Miss Longestaffe was now living in his house in London. The +purchase of the Pickering estate had also been noticed in all the +Suffolk and Norfolk newspapers. Rumours, therefore, of his past +frauds, rumour also as to the instability of his presumed fortune, +were as current as those which declared him to be by far the richest +man in England. Miss Melmotte's little attempt had also been +communicated in the papers; and Sir Felix, though he was not +recognised as being "real Suffolk" himself, was so far connected with +Suffolk by name as to add something to this feeling of reality +respecting the Melmottes generally. Suffolk is very old-fashioned. +Suffolk, taken as a whole, did not like the Melmotte fashion. +Suffolk, which is, I fear, persistently and irrecoverably +Conservative, did not believe in Melmotte as a Conservative Member of +Parliament. Suffolk on this occasion was rather ashamed of the +Longestaffes, and took occasion to remember that it was barely the +other day, as Suffolk counts days, since the original Longestaffe was +in trade. This selling of Pickering, and especially the selling of it +to Melmotte, was a mean thing. Suffolk, as a whole, thoroughly +believed that Melmotte had picked the very bones of every shareholder +in that Franco-Austrian Assurance Company.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hepworth was over with Roger one morning, and they were talking +about him,—or talking rather of the attempted elopement. "I know +nothing about it," said Roger, "and I do not intend to ask. Of course +I did know when they were down here that he hoped to marry her, and I +did believe that she was willing to marry him. But whether the father +had consented or not I never enquired."</p> + +<p>"It seems he did not consent."</p> + +<p>"Nothing could have been more unfortunate for either of them than +such a marriage. Melmotte will probably be in the 'Gazette' before +long, and my cousin not only has not a shilling, but could not keep +one if he had it."</p> + +<p>"You think Melmotte will turn out a failure."</p> + +<p>"A failure! Of course he's a failure, whether rich or poor;—a +miserable imposition, a hollow vulgar fraud from beginning to +end,—too insignificant for you and me to talk of, were it not that +his position is a sign of the degeneracy of the age. What are we +coming to when such as he is an honoured guest at our tables?"</p> + +<p>"At just a table here and there," suggested his friend.</p> + +<p>"No;—it is not that. You can keep your house free from him, and so +can I mine. But we set no example to the nation at large. They who do +set the example go to his feasts, and of course he is seen at theirs +in return. And yet these leaders of the fashion know,—at any rate +they believe,—that he is what he is because he has been a swindler +greater than other swindlers. What follows as a natural consequence? +Men reconcile themselves to swindling. Though they themselves mean to +be honest, dishonesty of itself is no longer odious to them. Then +there comes the jealousy that others should be growing rich with the +approval of all the world,—and the natural aptitude to do what all +the world approves. It seems to me that the existence of a Melmotte +is not compatible with a wholesome state of things in general."</p> + +<p>Roger dined with the Bishop of Elmham that evening, and the same hero +was discussed under a different heading. "He has given £200," said +the Bishop, "to the Curates' Aid Society. I don't know that a man +could spend his money much better than that."</p> + +<p>"Clap-trap!" said Roger, who in his present mood was very bitter.</p> + +<p>"The money is not clap-trap, my friend. I presume that the money is +really paid."</p> + +<p>"I don't feel at all sure of that."</p> + +<p>"Our collectors for clerical charities are usually stern men,—very +ready to make known defalcations on the part of promising +subscribers. I think they would take care to get the money during the +election."</p> + +<p>"And you think that money got in that way redounds to his credit?"</p> + +<p>"Such a gift shows him to be a useful member of society,—and I am +always for encouraging useful men."</p> + +<p>"Even though their own objects may be vile and pernicious?"</p> + +<p>"There you beg ever so many questions, Mr. Carbury. Mr. Melmotte +wishes to get into Parliament, and if there would vote on the side +which you at any rate approve. I do not know that his object in that +respect is pernicious. And as a seat in Parliament has been a matter +of ambition to the best of our countrymen for centuries, I do not +know why we should say that it is vile in this man." Roger frowned +and shook his head. "Of course Mr. Melmotte is not the sort of +gentleman whom you have been accustomed to regard as a fitting member +for a Conservative constituency. But the country is changing."</p> + +<p>"It's going to the dogs, I think;—about as fast as it can go."</p> + +<p>"We build churches much faster than we used to do."</p> + +<p>"Do we say our prayers in them when we have built them?" asked the +Squire.</p> + +<p>"It is very hard to see into the minds of men," said the Bishop; "but +we can see the results of their minds' work. I think that men on the +whole do live better lives than they did a hundred years ago. There +is a wider spirit of justice abroad, more of mercy from one to +another, a more lively charity, and if less of religious enthusiasm, +less also of superstition. Men will hardly go to heaven, Mr. Carbury, +by following forms only because their fathers followed the same forms +before them."</p> + +<p>"I suppose men will go to heaven, my Lord, by doing as they would be +done by."</p> + +<p>"There can be no safer lesson. But we must hope that some may be +saved even if they have not practised at all times that grand +self-denial. Who comes up to that teaching? Do you not wish for, nay, +almost demand, instant pardon for any trespass that you may +commit,—of temper, or manner, for instance? and are you always ready +to forgive in that way yourself? Do you not writhe with indignation +at being wrongly judged by others who condemn you without knowing +your actions or the causes of them; and do you never judge others +after that fashion?"</p> + +<p>"I do not put myself forward as an example."</p> + +<p>"I apologise for the personal form of my appeal. A clergyman is apt +to forget that he is not in the pulpit. Of course I speak of men in +general. Taking society as a whole, the big and the little, the rich +and the poor, I think that it grows better from year to year, and not +worse. I think, too, that they who grumble at the times, as Horace +did, and declare that each age is worse than its forerunner, look +only at the small things beneath their eyes, and ignore the course of +the world at large."</p> + +<p>"But Roman freedom and Roman manners were going to the dogs when +Horace wrote."</p> + +<p>"But Christ was about to be born, and men were already being made fit +by wider intelligence for Christ's teaching. And as for freedom, has +not freedom grown, almost every year, from that to this?"</p> + +<p>"In Rome they were worshipping just such men as this Melmotte. Do you +remember the man who sat upon the seats of the knights and scoured +the Via Sacra with his toga, though he had been scourged from pillar +to post for his villainies? I always think of that man when I hear +Melmotte's name mentioned. Hoc, hoc tribuno militum! Is this the man +to be Conservative member for Westminster?"</p> + +<p>"Do you know of the scourges, as a fact?"</p> + +<p>"I think I know that they are deserved."</p> + +<p>"That is hardly doing to others as you would be done by. If the man +is what you say, he will surely be found out at last, and the day of +his punishment will come. Your friend in the ode probably had a bad +time of it, in spite of his farms and his horses. The world perhaps +is managed more justly than you think, Mr. Carbury."</p> + +<p>"My Lord, I believe you're a Radical at heart," said Roger, as he +took his leave.</p> + +<p>"Very likely,—very likely. Only don't say so to the Prime Minister, +or I shall never get any of the better things which may be going."</p> + +<p>The Bishop was not hopelessly in love with a young lady, and was +therefore less inclined to take a melancholy view of things in +general than Roger Carbury. To Roger everything seemed to be out of +joint. He had that morning received a letter from Lady Carbury, +reminding him of the promise of a loan, should a time come to her of +great need. It had come very quickly. Roger Carbury did not in the +least begrudge the hundred pounds which he had already sent to his +cousin; but he did begrudge any furtherance afforded to the +iniquitous schemes of Sir Felix. He felt all but sure that the +foolish mother had given her son money for his abortive attempt, and +that therefore this appeal had been made to him. He alluded to no +such fear in his letter. He simply enclosed the cheque, and expressed +a hope that the amount might suffice for the present emergency. But +he was disheartened and disgusted by all the circumstances of the +Carbury family. There was Paul Montague, bringing a woman such as +Mrs. Hurtle down to Lowestoft, declaring his purpose of continuing +his visits to her, and, as Roger thought, utterly unable to free +himself from his toils,—and yet, on this man's account, Hetta was +cold and hard to him. He was conscious of the honesty of his own +love, sure that he could make her happy,—confident, not in himself, +but in the fashion and ways of his own life. What would be Hetta's +lot if her heart was really given to Paul Montague?</p> + +<p>When he got home, he found Father Barham sitting in his library. An +accident had lately happened at Father Barham's own establishment. +The wind had blown the roof off his cottage; and Roger Carbury, +though his affection for the priest was waning, had offered him +shelter while the damage was being repaired. Shelter at Carbury Manor +was very much more comfortable than the priest's own establishment, +even with the roof on, and Father Barham was in clover. Father Barham +was reading his own favourite newspaper, "The Surplice," when Roger +entered the room. "Have you seen this, Mr. Carbury?" he said.</p> + +<p>"What's this? I am not likely to have seen anything that belongs +peculiarly to 'The Surplice.'"</p> + +<p>"That's the prejudice of what you are pleased to call the Anglican +Church. Mr. Melmotte is a convert to our faith. He is a great man, +and will perhaps be one of the greatest known on the face of the +globe."</p> + +<p>"Melmotte a convert to Romanism! I'll make you a present of him, and +thank you to take him; but I don't believe that we've any such good +riddance."</p> + +<p>Then Father Barham read a paragraph out of "The Surplice." "Mr. +Augustus Melmotte, the great financier and capitalist, has presented +a hundred guineas towards the erection of an altar for the new church +of St. Fabricius, in Tothill Fields. The donation was accompanied by +a letter from Mr. Melmotte's secretary, which leaves but little doubt +that the new member for Westminster will be a member, and no +inconsiderable member, of the Catholic party in the House, during the +next session."</p> + +<p>"That's another dodge, is it?" said Carbury.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by a dodge, Mr. Carbury? Because money is given for +a pious object of which you do not happen to approve, must it be a +dodge?"</p> + +<p>"But, my dear Father Barham, the day before the same great man gave +£200 to the Protestant Curates' Aid Society. I have just left the +Bishop exulting in this great act of charity."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe a word of it;—or it may be a parting gift to the +Church to which he belonged in his darkness."</p> + +<p>"And you would be really proud of Mr. Melmotte as a convert?"</p> + +<p>"I would be proud of the lowest human being that has a soul," said +the priest; "but of course we are glad to welcome the wealthy and the +great."</p> + +<p>"The great! oh dear!"</p> + +<p>"A man is great who has made for himself such a position as that of +Mr. Melmotte. And when such a one leaves your Church and joins our +own, it is a great sign to us that the Truth is prevailing." Roger +Carbury, without another word, took his candle and went to bed.</p> + + +<p><a id="c56"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LVI.</h3> +<h4>FATHER BARHAM VISITS LONDON.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>It was considered to be a great thing to catch the Roman Catholic +vote in Westminster. For many years it has been considered a great +thing both in the House and out of the House to "catch" Roman +Catholic votes. There are two modes of catching these votes. This or +that individual Roman Catholic may be promoted to place, so that he +personally may be made secure; or the right hand of fellowship may be +extended to the people of the Pope generally, so that the people of +the Pope may be taught to think that a general step is being made +towards the reconversion of the nation. The first measure is the +easier, but the effect is but slight and soon passes away. The +promoted one, though as far as his prayers go he may remain as good a +Catholic as ever, soon ceases to be one of the party to be +conciliated, and is apt after a while to be regarded by them as an +enemy. But the other mode, if a step be well taken, may be very +efficacious. It has now and then occurred that every Roman Catholic +in Ireland and England has been brought to believe that the nation is +coming round to them;—and in this or that borough the same +conviction has been made to grow. To catch the Protestant,—that is +the peculiarly Protestant,—vote and the Roman Catholic vote at the +same instant is a feat difficult of accomplishment; but it has been +attempted before, and was attempted now by Mr. Melmotte and his +friends. It was perhaps thought by his friends that the Protestants +would not notice the £100 given for the altar to St. Fabricius; but +Mr. Alf was wide awake, and took care that Mr. Melmotte's religious +opinions should be a matter of interest to the world at large. During +all that period of newspaper excitement there was perhaps no article +that created so much general interest as that which appeared in the +"Evening Pulpit," with a special question asked at the head of it, +"For Priest or Parson?" In this article, which was more than usually +delightful as being pungent from the beginning to the end and as +being unalloyed with any dry didactic wisdom, Mr. Alf's man, who did +that business, declared that it was really important that the nation +at large and especially the electors of Westminster should know what +was the nature of Mr. Melmotte's faith. That he was a man of a highly +religious temperament was most certain by his munificent charities on +behalf of religion. Two noble donations, which by chance had been +made just at this crisis, were doubtless no more than the regular +continuation of his ordinary flow of Christian benevolence. The +"Evening Pulpit" by no means insinuated that the gifts were intended +to have any reference to the approaching election. Far be it from the +"Evening Pulpit" to imagine that so great a man as Mr. Melmotte +looked for any return in this world from his charitable generosity. +But still, as Protestants naturally desired to be represented in +Parliament by a Protestant member, and as Roman Catholics as +naturally desired to be represented by a Roman Catholic, perhaps Mr. +Melmotte would not object to declare his creed.</p> + +<p>This was biting, and of course did mischief; but Mr. Melmotte and his +manager were not foolish enough to allow it to actuate them in any +way. He had thrown his bread upon the waters, assisting St. Fabricius +with one hand and the Protestant curates with the other, and must +leave the results to take care of themselves. If the Protestants +chose to believe that he was hyper-protestant, and the Catholics that +he was tending towards papacy, so much the better for him. Any +enthusiastic religionists wishing to enjoy such conviction's would +not allow themselves to be enlightened by the manifestly interested +malignity of Mr. Alf's newspaper.</p> + +<p>It may be doubted whether the donation to the Curates' Aid Society +did have much effect. It may perhaps have induced a resolution in +some few to go to the poll whose minds were active in regard to +religion and torpid as to politics. But the donation to St. Fabricius +certainly had results. It was taken up and made much of by the Roman +Catholic party generally, till a report got itself spread abroad and +almost believed that Mr. Melmotte was going to join the Church of +Rome. These manœuvres require most delicate handling, or evil may +follow instead of good. On the second afternoon after the question +had been asked in the "Evening Pulpit," an answer to it appeared, +"For Priest and not for Parson." Therein various assertions made by +Roman Catholic organs and repeated in Roman Catholic speeches were +brought together, so as to show that Mr. Melmotte really had at last +made up his mind on this important question. All the world knew now, +said Mr. Alf's writer, that with that keen sense of honesty which was +the Great Financier's peculiar characteristic,—the Great Financier +was the name which Mr. Alf had specially invented for Mr. +Melmotte,—he had doubted, till the truth was absolutely borne in +upon him, whether he could serve the nation best as a Liberal or as a +Conservative. He had solved that doubt with wisdom. And now this +other doubt had passed through the crucible, and by the aid of fire a +golden certainty had been produced. The world of Westminster at last +knew that Mr. Melmotte was a Roman Catholic. Now nothing was clearer +than this,—that though catching the Catholic vote would greatly help +a candidate, no real Roman Catholic could hope to be returned. This +last article vexed Mr. Melmotte, and he proposed to his friends to +send a letter to the "Breakfast Table" asserting that he adhered to +the Protestant faith of his ancestors. But, as it was suspected by +many, and was now being whispered to the world at large, that +Melmotte had been born a Jew, this assurance would perhaps have been +too strong. "Do nothing of the kind," said Mr. Beauchamp Beauclerk. +"If any one asks you a question at any meeting, say that you are a +Protestant. But it isn't likely, as we have none but our own people. +Don't go writing letters."</p> + +<p>But unfortunately the gift of an altar to St. Fabricius was such a +godsend that sundry priests about the country were determined to +cling to the good man who had bestowed his money so well. I think +that many of them did believe that this was a great sign of a +beauteous stirring of people's minds in favour of Rome. The fervent +Romanists have always this point in their favour, that they are ready +to believe. And they have a desire for the conversion of men which is +honest in an exactly inverse ratio to the dishonesty of the means +which they employ to produce it. Father Barham was ready to sacrifice +anything personal to himself in the good cause,—his time, his +health, his money when he had any, and his life. Much as he liked the +comfort of Carbury Hall, he would never for a moment condescend to +ensure its continued enjoyment by reticence as to his religion. Roger +Carbury was hard of heart. He could see that. But the dropping of +water might hollow the stone. If the dropping should be put an end to +by outward circumstances before the stone had been impressed that +would not be his fault. He at any rate would do his duty. In that +fixed resolution Father Barham was admirable. But he had no scruple +whatsoever as to the nature of the arguments he would use,—or as to +the facts which he would proclaim. With the mingled ignorance of his +life and the positiveness of his faith he had at once made up his +mind that Melmotte was a great man, and that he might be made a great +instrument on behalf of the Pope. He believed in the enormous +proportions of the man's wealth,—believed that he was powerful in +all quarters of the globe,—and believed, because he was so told by +"The Surplice," that the man was at heart a Catholic. That a man +should be at heart a Catholic, and live in the world professing the +Protestant religion, was not to Father Barham either improbable or +distressing. Kings who had done so were to him objects of veneration. +By such subterfuges and falsehood of life had they been best able to +keep alive the spark of heavenly fire. There was a mystery and +religious intrigue in this which recommended itself to the young +priest's mind. But it was clear to him that this was a peculiar +time,—in which it behoved an earnest man to be doing something. He +had for some weeks been preparing himself for a trip to London in +order that he might spend a week in retreat with kindred souls who +from time to time betook themselves to the cells of St. Fabricius. +And so, just at this season of the Westminster election, Father +Barham made a journey to London.</p> + +<p>He had conceived the great idea of having a word or two with Mr. +Melmotte himself. He thought that he might be convinced by a word or +two as to the man's faith. And he thought, also, that it might be a +happiness to him hereafter to have had intercourse with a man who was +perhaps destined to be the means of restoring the true faith to his +country. On Saturday night,—that Saturday night on which Mr. +Melmotte had so successfully exercised his greatness at the India +Office,—he took up his quarters in the cloisters of St. Fabricius; +he spent a goodly festive Sunday among the various Romanist church +services of the metropolis; and on the Monday morning he sallied +forth in quest of Mr. Melmotte. Having obtained that address from +some circular, he went first to Abchurch Lane. But on this day, and +on the next, which would be the day of the election, Mr. Melmotte was +not expected in the City, and the priest was referred to his present +private residence in Bruton Street. There he was told that the great +man might probably be found in Grosvenor Square, and at the house in +the square Father Barham was at last successful. Mr. Melmotte was +there superintending the arrangements for the entertainment of the +Emperor.</p> + +<p>The servants, or more probably the workmen, must have been at fault +in giving the priest admittance. But in truth the house was in great +confusion. The wreaths of flowers and green boughs were being +suspended, last daubs of heavy gilding were being given to the wooden +capitals of mock pilasters, incense was being burned to kill the +smell of the paint, tables were being fixed and chairs were being +moved; and an enormous set of open presses were being nailed together +for the accommodation of hats and cloaks. The hall was chaos, and +poor Father Barham, who had heard a good deal of the Westminster +election, but not a word of the intended entertainment of the +Emperor, was at a loss to conceive for what purpose these operations +were carried on. But through the chaos he made his way, and did soon +find himself in the presence of Mr. Melmotte in the banqueting hall.</p> + +<p>Mr. Melmotte was attended both by Lord Alfred and his son. He was +standing in front of the chair which had been arranged for the +Emperor, with his hat on one side of his head, and he was very angry +indeed. He had been given to understand when the dinner was first +planned, that he was to sit opposite to his august guest;—by which +he had conceived that he was to have a seat immediately in face of +the Emperor of Emperors, of the Brother of the Sun, of the Celestial +One himself. It was now explained to him that this could not be done. +In face of the Emperor there must be a wide space, so that his +Majesty might be able to look down the hall; and the royal princesses +who sat next to the Emperor, and the royal princes who sat next to +the princesses, must also be so indulged. And in this way Mr. +Melmotte's own seat became really quite obscure. Lord Alfred was +having a very bad time of it. "It's that fellow from 'The Herald' +office did it, not me," he said, almost in a passion. "I don't know +how people ought to sit. But that's the reason."</p> + +<p>"I'm d—— if I'm going to be treated in this way in my own house," +were the first words which the priest heard. And as Father Barham +walked up the room and came close to the scene of action, unperceived +by either of the Grendalls, Mr. Melmotte was trying, but trying in +vain, to move his own seat nearer to Imperial Majesty. A bar had been +put up of such a nature that Melmotte, sitting in the seat prepared +for him, would absolutely be barred out from the centre of his own +hall. "Who the +<span class="nowrap">d——</span> are you?" +he asked, when the priest appeared +close before his eyes on the inner or more imperial side of the bar. +It was not the habit of Father Barham's life to appear in sleek +apparel. He was ever clothed in the very rustiest brown black that +age can produce. In Beccles where he was known it signified little, +but in the halls of the great one in Grosvenor Square, perhaps the +stranger's welcome was cut to the measure of his outer man. A comely +priest in glossy black might have been received with better grace.</p> + +<p>Father Barham stood humbly with his hat off. He was a man of infinite +pluck; but outward humility—at any rate at the commencement of an +enterprise,—was the rule of his life. "I am the Rev. Mr. Barham," +said the visitor. "I am the priest of Beccles in Suffolk. I believe I +am speaking to Mr. Melmotte."</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill056"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill056.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill056-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="Father Barham." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">Father + Barham.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill056.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"That's my name, sir. And what may you want? I don't know whether you +are aware that you have found your way into my private dining-room +without any introduction. Where the mischief are the fellows, Alfred, +who ought to have seen about this? I wish you'd look to it, Miles. +Can anybody who pleases walk into my hall?"</p> + +<p>"I came on a mission which I hope may be pleaded as my excuse," said +the priest. Although he was bold, he found it difficult to explain +his mission. Had not Lord Alfred been there he could have done it +better, in spite of the very repulsive manner of the great man +himself.</p> + +<p>"Is it business?" asked Lord Alfred.</p> + +<p>"Certainly it is business," said Father Barham with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Then you had better call at the office in Abchurch Lane,—in the +City," said his lordship.</p> + +<p>"My business is not of that nature. I am a poor servant of the Cross, +who is anxious to know from the lips of Mr. Melmotte himself that his +heart is inclined to the true Faith."</p> + +<p>"Some lunatic," said Melmotte. "See that there ain't any knives +about, Alfred."</p> + +<p>"No otherwise mad, sir, than they have ever been accounted mad who +are enthusiastic in their desire for the souls of others."</p> + +<p>"Just get a policeman, Alfred. Or send somebody; you'd better not go +away."</p> + +<p>"You will hardly need a policeman, Mr. Melmotte," continued the +priest. "If I might speak to you alone for a few +<span class="nowrap">minutes—"</span></p> + +<p>"Certainly not;—certainly not. I am very busy, and if you will not +go away you'll have to be taken away. I wonder whether anybody knows +him."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carbury, of Carbury Hall, is my friend."</p> + +<p>"Carbury! D—— the Carburys! Did any of the Carburys send you here? +A set of beggars! Why don't you do something, Alfred, to get rid of +him?"</p> + +<p>"You'd better go," said Lord Alfred. "Don't make a rumpus, there's a +good fellow;—but just go."</p> + +<p>"There shall be no rumpus," said the priest, waxing wrathful. "I +asked for you at the door, and was told to come in by your own +servants. Have I been uncivil that you should treat me in this +fashion?"</p> + +<p>"You're in the way," said Lord Alfred.</p> + +<p>"It's a piece of gross impertinence," said Melmotte. "Go away."</p> + +<p>"Will you not tell me before I go whether I shall pray for you as one +whose steps in the right path should be made sure and firm; or as one +still in error and in darkness?"</p> + +<p>"What the mischief does he mean?" asked Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"He wants to know whether you're a papist," said Lord Alfred.</p> + +<p>"What the deuce is it to him?" almost screamed Melmotte;—whereupon +Father Barham bowed and took his leave.</p> + +<p>"That's a remarkable thing," said Melmotte,—"very remarkable." Even +this poor priest's mad visit added to his inflation. "I suppose he +was in earnest."</p> + +<p>"Mad as a hatter," said Lord Alfred.</p> + +<p>"But why did he come to me in his madness—to me especially? That's +what I want to know. I'll tell you what it is. There isn't a man in +all England at this moment thought of so much as—your humble +servant. I wonder whether the 'Morning Pulpit' people sent him here +now to find out really what is my religion."</p> + +<p>"Mad as a hatter," said Lord Alfred again;—"just that and no more."</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, I don't think you've the gift of seeing very far. +The truth is they don't know what to make of me;—and I don't intend +that they shall. I'm playing my game, and there isn't one of 'em +understands it except myself. It's no good my sitting here, you know. +I shan't be able to move. How am I to get at you if I want anything?"</p> + +<p>"What can you want? There'll be lots of servants about."</p> + +<p>"I'll have this bar down, at any rate." And he did succeed in having +removed the bar which had been specially put up to prevent his +intrusion on his own guests in his own house. "I look upon that +fellow's coming here as a very singular sign of the times," he went +on to say. "They'll want before long to know where I have my clothes +made, and who measures me for my boots!" Perhaps the most remarkable +circumstance in the career of this remarkable man was the fact that +he came almost to believe in himself.</p> + +<p>Father Barham went away certainly disgusted; and yet not altogether +disheartened. The man had not declared that he was not a Roman +Catholic. He had shown himself to be a brute. He had blasphemed and +cursed. He had been outrageously uncivil to a man whom he must have +known to be a minister of God. He had manifested himself to this +priest, who had been born an English gentleman, as being no +gentleman. But, not the less might he be a good Catholic,—or good +enough at any rate to be influential on the right side. To his eyes +Melmotte, with all his insolent vulgarity, was infinitely a more +hopeful man than Roger Carbury. "He insulted me," said Father Barham +to a brother religionist that evening within the cloisters of St. +Fabricius.</p> + +<p>"Did he intend to insult you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly he did. But what of that? It is not by the hands of +polished men, nor even of the courteous, that this work has to be +done. He was preparing for some great festival, and his mind was +intent upon that."</p> + +<p>"He entertains the Emperor of China this very day," said the brother +priest, who, as a resident in London, heard from time to time what +was being done.</p> + +<p>"The Emperor of China! Ah, that accounts for it. I do think that he +is on our side, even though he gave me but little encouragement for +saying so. Will they vote for him, here at Westminster?"</p> + +<p>"Our people will. They think that he is rich and can help them."</p> + +<p>"There is no doubt of his wealth, I suppose," said Father Barham.</p> + +<p>"Some people do doubt;—but others say he is the richest man in the +world."</p> + +<p>"He looked like it,—and spoke like it," said Father Barham. "Think +what such a man might do, if he be really the wealthiest man in the +world! And if he had been against us would he not have said so? +Though he was uncivil, I am glad that I saw him." Father Barham, with +a simplicity that was singularly mingled with his religious cunning, +made himself believe before he returned to Beccles that Mr. Melmotte +was certainly a Roman Catholic.</p> + + +<p><a id="c57"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LVII.</h3> +<h4>LORD NIDDERDALE TRIES HIS HAND AGAIN.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lord Nidderdale had half consented to renew his suit to Marie +Melmotte. He had at any rate half promised to call at Melmotte's +house on the Sunday with the object of so doing. As far as that +promise had been given it was broken, for on the Sunday he was not +seen in Bruton Street. Though not much given to severe thinking, he +did feel that on this occasion there was need for thought. His +father's property was not very large. His father and his grandfather +had both been extravagant men, and he himself had done something +towards adding to the family embarrassments. It had been an +understood thing, since he had commenced life, that he was to marry +an heiress. In such families as his, when such results have been +achieved, it is generally understood that matters shall be put right +by an heiress. It has become an institution, like primogeniture, and +is almost as serviceable for maintaining the proper order of things. +Rank squanders money; trade makes it;—and then trade purchases rank +by re-gilding its splendour. The arrangement, as it affects the +aristocracy generally, is well understood, and was quite approved of +by the old marquis—so that he had felt himself to be justified in +eating up the property, which his son's future marriage would renew +as a matter of course. Nidderdale himself had never dissented, had +entertained no fanciful theory opposed to this view, had never +alarmed his father by any liaison tending towards matrimony with any +undowered beauty;—but had claimed his right to "have his fling" +before he devoted himself to the redintegration of the family +property. His father had felt that it would be wrong and might +probably be foolish to oppose so natural a desire. He had regarded +all the circumstances of "the fling" with indulgent eyes. But there +arose some little difference as to the duration of the fling, and the +father had at last found himself compelled to inform his son that if +the fling were carried on much longer it must be done with +internecine war between himself and his heir. Nidderdale, whose sense +and temper were alike good, saw the thing quite in the proper light. +He assured his father that he had no intention of "cutting up rough," +declared that he was ready for the heiress as soon as the heiress +should be put in his way, and set himself honestly about the task +imposed on him. This had all been arranged at Auld Reekie Castle +during the last winter, and the reader knows the result.</p> + +<p>But the affair had assumed abnormal difficulties. Perhaps the Marquis +had been wrong in flying at wealth which was reputed to be almost +unlimited, but which was not absolutely fixed. A couple of hundred +thousand pounds down might have been secured with greater ease. But +here there had been a prospect of endless money,—of an inheritance +which might not improbably make the Auld Reekie family conspicuous +for its wealth even among the most wealthy of the nobility. The old +man had fallen into the temptation, and abnormal difficulties had +been the result. Some of these the reader knows. Latterly two +difficulties had culminated above the others. The young lady +preferred another gentleman, and disagreeable stories were afloat, +not only as to the way in which the money had been made, but even as +to its very existence.</p> + +<p>The Marquis, however, was a man who hated to be beaten. As far as he +could learn from inquiry, the money would be there,—or, at least, so +much money as had been promised. A considerable sum, sufficient to +secure the bridegroom from absolute shipwreck,—though by no means +enough to make a brilliant marriage,—had in truth been already +settled on Marie, and was, indeed, in her possession. As to that, her +father had armed himself with a power of attorney for drawing the +income,—but had made over the property to his daughter, so that in +the event of unforeseen accidents on 'Change, he might retire to +obscure comfort, and have the means perhaps of beginning again with +whitewashed cleanliness. When doing this, he had doubtless not +anticipated the grandeur to which he would soon rise, or the fact +that he was about to embark on seas so dangerous that this little +harbour of refuge would hardly offer security to his vessel. Marie +had been quite correct in her story to her favoured lover. And the +Marquis's lawyer had ascertained that if Marie ever married before +she herself had restored this money to her father, her husband would +be so far safe,—with this as a certainty and the immense remainder +in prospect. The Marquis had determined to persevere. Pickering was +to be added. Mr. Melmotte had been asked to depone the title-deeds, +and had promised to do so as soon as the day of the wedding should +have been fixed with the consent of all the parties. The Marquis's +lawyer had ventured to express a doubt; but the Marquis had +determined to persevere. The reader will, I trust, remember that +those dreadful misgivings, which are I trust agitating his own mind, +have been borne in upon him by information which had not as yet +reached the Marquis in all its details.</p> + +<p>But Nidderdale had his doubts. That absurd elopement, which Melmotte +declared really to mean nothing,—the romance of a girl who wanted to +have one little fling of her own before she settled down for +life,—was perhaps his strongest objection. Sir Felix, no doubt, had +not gone with her; but then one doesn't wish to have one's intended +wife even attempt to run off with any one but oneself. "She'll be +sick of him by this time, I should say," his father said to him. +"What does it matter, if the money's there?" The Marquis seemed to +think that the escapade had simply been the girl's revenge against +his son for having made his arrangements so exclusively with +Melmotte, instead of devoting himself to her. Nidderdale acknowledged +to himself that he had been remiss. He told himself that she was +possessed of more spirit than he had thought. By the Sunday evening +he had determined that he would try again. He had expected that the +plum would fall into his mouth. He would now stretch out his hand to +pick it.</p> + +<p>On the Monday he went to the house in Bruton Street, at lunch time. +Melmotte and the two Grendalls had just come over from their work in +the square, and the financier was full of the priest's visit to him. +Madame Melmotte was there, and Miss Longestaffe, who was to be sent +for by her friend Lady Monogram that afternoon,—and, after they had +sat down, Marie came in. Nidderdale got up and shook hands with +her,—of course as though nothing had happened. Marie, putting a +brave face upon it, struggling hard in the midst of very real +difficulties, succeeded in saying an ordinary word or two. Her +position was uncomfortable. A girl who has run away with her lover +and has been brought back again by her friends, must for a time find +it difficult to appear in society with ease. But when a girl has run +away without her lover,—has run away expecting her lover to go with +her, and has then been brought back, her lover not having stirred, +her state of mind must be peculiarly harassing. But Marie's courage +was good, and she ate her lunch even though she sat next to Lord +Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>Melmotte was very gracious to the young lord. "Did you ever hear +anything like that, Nidderdale?" he said, speaking of the priest's +visit.</p> + +<p>"Mad as a hatter," said Lord Alfred.</p> + +<p>"I don't know much about his madness. I shouldn't wonder if he had +been sent by the Archbishop of Westminster. Why don't we have an +Archbishop of Westminster when they've got one? I shall have to see +to that when I'm in the House. I suppose there is a bishop, isn't +there, Alfred?" Alfred shook his head. "There's a Dean, I know, for I +called on him. He told me flat he wouldn't vote for me. I thought all +those parsons were Conservatives. It didn't occur to me that the +fellow had come from the Archbishop, or I would have been more civil +to him."</p> + +<p>"Mad as a hatter;—nothing else," said Lord Alfred.</p> + +<p>"You should have seen him, Nidderdale. It would have been as good as +a play to you."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you didn't ask him to the dinner, sir."</p> + +<p>"D—— the dinner, I'm sick of it," said Melmotte, frowning. "We must +go back again, Alfred. Those fellows will never get along if they are +not looked after. Come, Miles. Ladies, I shall expect you to be ready +at exactly a quarter before eight. His Imperial Majesty is to arrive +at eight precisely, and I must be there to receive him. You, Madame, +will have to receive your guests in the drawing-room." The ladies +went up-stairs, and Lord Nidderdale followed them. Miss Longestaffe +soon took her departure, alleging that she couldn't keep her dear +friend Lady Monogram waiting for her. Then there fell upon Madame +Melmotte the duty of leaving the young people together, a duty which +she found a great difficulty in performing. After all that had +happened, she did not know how to get up and go out of the room. As +regarded herself, the troubles of these troublous times were becoming +almost too much for her. She had no pleasure from her grandeur,—and +probably no belief in her husband's achievements. It was her present +duty to assist in getting Marie married to this young man, and that +duty she could only do by going away. But she did not know how to get +out of her chair. She expressed in fluent French her abhorrence of +the Emperor, and her wish that she might be allowed to remain in bed +during the whole evening. She liked Nidderdale better than any one +else who came there, and wondered at Marie's preference for Sir +Felix. Lord Nidderdale assured her that nothing was so easy as kings +and emperors, because no one was expected to say anything. She sighed +and shook her head, and wished again that she might be allowed to go +to bed. Marie, who was by degrees plucking up her courage, declared +that though kings and emperors were horrors as a rule, she thought an +Emperor of China would be good fun. Then Madame Melmotte also plucked +up her courage, rose from her chair, and made straight for the door. +"Mamma, where are you going?" said Marie, also rising. Madame +Melmotte, putting her handkerchief up to her face, declared that she +was being absolutely destroyed by a toothache. "I must see if I can't +do something for her," said Marie, hurrying to the door. But Lord +Nidderdale was too quick for her, and stood with his back to it. +"That's a shame," said Marie.</p> + +<p>"Your mother has gone on purpose that I may speak to you," said his +lordship. "Why should you grudge me the opportunity?"</p> + +<p>Marie returned to her chair and again seated herself. She also had +thought much of her own position since her return from Liverpool. Why +had Sir Felix not been there? Why had he not come since her return, +and, at any rate, endeavoured to see her? Why had he made no attempt +to write to her? Had it been her part to do so, she would have found +a hundred ways of getting at him. She absolutely had walked inside +the garden of the square on Sunday morning, and had contrived to +leave a gate open on each side. But he had made no sign. Her father +had told her that he had not gone to Liverpool—and had assured her +that he had never intended to go. Melmotte had been very savage with +her about the money, and had loudly accused Sir Felix of stealing it. +The repayment he never mentioned,—a piece of honesty, indeed, which +had showed no virtue on the part of Sir Felix. But even if he had +spent the money, why was he not man enough to come and say so? Marie +could have forgiven that fault,—could have forgiven even the +gambling and the drunkenness which had caused the failure of the +enterprise on his side, if he had had the courage to come and confess +to her. What she could not forgive was continued indifference,—or +the cowardice which forbade him to show himself. She had more than +once almost doubted his love, though as a lover he had been better +than Nidderdale. But now, as far as she could see, he was ready to +consent that the thing should be considered as over between them. No +doubt she could write to him. She had more than once almost +determined to do so. But then she had reflected that if he really +loved her he would come to her. She was quite ready to run away with +a lover, if her lover loved her; but she would not fling herself at a +man's head. Therefore she had done nothing,—beyond leaving the +garden gates open on the Sunday morning.</p> + +<p>But what was she to do with herself? She also felt, she knew not why, +that the present turmoil of her father's life might be brought to an +end by some dreadful convulsion. No girl could be more anxious to be +married and taken away from her home. If Sir Felix did not appear +again, what should she do? She had seen enough of life to be aware +that suitors would come,—would come as long as that convulsion was +staved off. She did not suppose that her journey to Liverpool would +frighten all the men away. But she had thought that it would put an +end to Lord Nidderdale's courtship; and when her father had commanded +her, shaking her by the shoulders, to accept Lord Nidderdale when he +should come on Sunday, she had replied by expressing her assurance +that Lord Nidderdale would never be seen at that house any more. On +the Sunday he had not come; but here he was now, standing with his +back to the drawing-room door, and cutting off her retreat with the +evident intention of renewing his suit. She was determined at any +rate that she would speak up. "I don't know what you should have to +say to me, Lord Nidderdale."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't I have something to say to you?"</p> + +<p>"Because—. Oh, you know why. Besides, I've told you ever so often, +my lord. I thought a gentleman would never go on with a lady when the +lady has told him that she liked somebody else better."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I don't believe you when you tell me."</p> + +<p>"Well; that is impudent! You may believe it then. I think I've given +you reason to believe it, at any rate."</p> + +<p>"You can't be very fond of him now, I should think."</p> + +<p>"That's all you know about it, my lord. Why shouldn't I be fond of +him? Accidents will happen, you know."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to make any allusion to anything that's unpleasant, +Miss Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"You may say just what you please. All the world knows about it. Of +course I went to Liverpool, and of course papa had me brought back +again."</p> + +<p>"Why did not Sir Felix go?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think, my lord, that that can be any business of yours."</p> + +<p>"But I think that it is, and I'll tell you why. You might as well let +me say what I've got to say,—out at once."</p> + +<p>"You may say what you like, but it can't make any difference."</p> + +<p>"You knew me before you knew him, you know."</p> + +<p>"What does that matter? If it comes to that, I knew ever so many +people before I knew you."</p> + +<p>"And you were engaged to me."</p> + +<p>"You broke it off."</p> + +<p>"Listen to me for a moment or two. I know I did. Or, rather, your +father and my father broke it off for us."</p> + +<p>"If we had cared for each other they couldn't have broken it off. +Nobody in the world could break me off as long as I felt that he +really loved me;—not if they were to cut me in pieces. But you +didn't care, not a bit. You did it just because your father told you. +And so did I. But I know better than that now. You never cared for me +a bit more than for the old woman at the crossing. You thought I +didn't understand;—but I did. And now you've come again;—because +your father has told you again. And you'd better go away."</p> + +<p>"There's a great deal of truth in what you say."</p> + +<p>"It's all true, my lord. Every word of it."</p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't call me my lord."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you are a lord, and therefore I shall call you so. I never +called you anything else when they pretended that we were to be +married, and you never asked me. I never even knew what your name was +till I looked it out in the book after I had consented."</p> + +<p>"There is truth in what you say;—but it isn't true now. How was I to +love you when I had seen so little of you? I do love you now."</p> + +<p>"Then you needn't;—for it isn't any good."</p> + +<p>"I do love you now, and I think you'd find that I should be truer to +you than that fellow who wouldn't take the trouble to go down to +Liverpool with you."</p> + +<p>"You don't know why he didn't go."</p> + +<p>"Well;—perhaps I do. But I did not come here to say anything about +that."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't he go, Lord Nidderdale?" She asked the question with an +altered tone and an altered face. "If you really know, you might as +well tell me."</p> + +<p>"No, Marie;—that's just what I ought not to do. But he ought to tell +you. Do you really in your heart believe that he means to come back +to you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said, sobbing. "I do love him;—I do indeed. I +know that you are good-natured. You are more good-natured than he is. +But he did like me. You never did;—no; not a bit. It isn't true. I +ain't a fool. I know. No;—go away. I won't let you now. I don't care +what he is; I'll be true to him. Go away, Lord Nidderdale. You +oughtn't to go on like that because papa and mamma let you come here. +I didn't let you come. I don't want you to come. No;—I won't say any +kind word to you. I love Sir Felix Carbury better—than any +person—in all the world. There! I don't know whether you call that +kind, but it's true."</p> + +<p>"Say good-bye to me, Marie."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mind saying good-bye. Good-bye, my lord; and don't come +any more."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I shall. Good-bye, Marie. You'll find the difference between me +and him yet." So he took his leave, and as he sauntered away he +thought that upon the whole he had prospered, considering the extreme +difficulties under which he had laboured in carrying on his suit. +"She's quite a different sort of girl from what I took her to be," he +said to himself. "Upon my word, she's awfully jolly."</p> + +<p>Marie, when the interview was over, walked about the room almost in +dismay. It was borne in upon her by degrees that Sir Felix Carbury +was not at all points quite as nice as she had thought him. Of his +beauty there was no doubt; but then she could trust him for no other +good quality. Why did he not come to her? Why did he not show some +pluck? Why did he not tell her the truth? She had quite believed Lord +Nidderdale when he said that he knew the cause that had kept Sir +Felix from going to Liverpool. And she had believed him, too, when he +said that it was not his business to tell her. But the reason, let it +be what it might, must, if known, be prejudicial to her love. Lord +Nidderdale was, she thought, not at all beautiful. He had a +common-place, rough face, with a turn-up nose, high cheek bones, no +especial complexion, sandy-coloured whiskers, and bright laughing +eyes,—not at all an Adonis such as her imagination had painted. But +if he had only made love at first as he had attempted to do it now, +she thought that she would have submitted herself to be cut in pieces +for him.</p> + + +<p><a id="c58"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LVIII.</h3> +<h4>MR. SQUERCUM IS EMPLOYED.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>While these things were being done in Bruton Street and Grosvenor +Square horrid rumours were prevailing in the City and spreading from +the City westwards to the House of Commons, which was sitting this +Monday afternoon with a prospect of an adjournment at seven o'clock +in consequence of the banquet to be given to the Emperor. It is +difficult to explain the exact nature of this rumour, as it was not +thoroughly understood by those who propagated it. But it is certainly +the case that the word forgery was whispered by more than one pair of +lips.</p> + +<p>Many of Melmotte's staunchest supporters thought that he was very +wrong not to show himself that day in the City. What good could he do +pottering about among the chairs and benches in the banqueting room? +There were people to manage that kind of thing. In such an affair it +was his business to do simply as he was told, and to pay the bill. It +was not as though he were giving a little dinner to a friend, and had +to see himself that the wine was brought up in good order. His work +was in the City; and at such a time as this and in such a crisis as +this, he should have been in the City. Men will whisper forgery +behind a man's back who would not dare even to think it before his +face.</p> + +<p>Of this particular rumour our young friend Dolly Longestaffe was the +parent. With unhesitating resolution, nothing awed by his father, +Dolly had gone to his attorney, Mr. Squercum, immediately after that +Friday on which Mr. Longestaffe first took his seat at the Railway +Board. Dolly was possessed of fine qualities, but it must be owned +that veneration was not one of them. "I don't know why Mr. Melmotte +is to be different from anybody else," he had said to his father. +"When I buy a thing and don't pay for it, it is because I haven't got +the tin, and I suppose it's about the same with him. It's all right, +no doubt, but I don't see why he should have got hold of the place +till the money was paid down."</p> + +<p>"Of course it's all right," said the father. "You think you +understand everything, when you really understand nothing at all."</p> + +<p>"Of course I'm slow," said Dolly. "I don't comprehend these things. +But then Squercum does. When a fellow is stupid himself, he ought to +have a sharp fellow to look after his business."</p> + +<p>"You'll ruin me and yourself too, if you go to such a man as that. +Why can't you trust Mr. Bideawhile? Slow and Bideawhile have been the +family lawyers for a century." Dolly made some remark as to the old +family advisers which was by no means pleasing to the father's ears, +and went his way. The father knew his boy, and knew that his boy +would go to Squercum. All he could himself do was to press Mr. +Melmotte for the money with what importunity he could assume. He +wrote a timid letter to Mr. Melmotte, which had no result; and then, +on the next Friday, again went into the City and there encountered +perturbation of spirit and sheer loss of time,—as the reader has +already learned.</p> + +<p>Squercum was a thorn in the side of all the Bideawhiles. Mr. Slow had +been gathered to his fathers, but of the Bideawhiles there were three +in the business, a father and two sons, to whom Squercum was a pest +and a musquito, a running sore and a skeleton in the cupboard. It was +not only in reference to Mr. Longestaffe's affairs that they knew +Squercum. The Bideawhiles piqued themselves on the decorous and +orderly transaction of their business. It had grown to be a rule in +the house that anything done quickly must be done badly. They never +were in a hurry for money, and they expected their clients never to +be in a hurry for work. Squercum was the very opposite to this. He +had established himself, without predecessors and without a partner, +and we may add without capital, at a little office in Fetter Lane, +and had there made a character for getting things done after a +marvellous and new fashion. And it was said of him that he was fairly +honest, though it must be owned that among the Bideawhiles of the +profession this was not the character which he bore. He did sharp +things no doubt, and had no hesitation in supporting the interests of +sons against those of their fathers. In more than one case he had +computed for a young heir the exact value of his share in a property +as compared to that of his father, and had come into hostile contact +with many family Bideawhiles. He had been closely watched. There were +some who, no doubt, would have liked to crush a man who was at once +so clever, and so pestilential. But he had not as yet been crushed, +and had become quite in vogue with elder sons. Some three years since +his name had been mentioned to Dolly by a friend who had for years +been at war with his father, and Squercum had been quite a comfort to +Dolly.</p> + +<p>He was a mean-looking little man, not yet above forty, who always +wore a stiff light-coloured cotton cravat, an old dress coat, a +coloured dingy waistcoat, and light trousers of some hue different +from his waistcoat. He generally had on dirty shoes and gaiters. He +was light haired, with light whiskers, with putty-formed features, a +squat nose, a large mouth, and very bright blue eyes. He looked as +unlike the normal Bideawhile of the profession as a man could be; and +it must be owned, though an attorney, would hardly have been taken +for a gentleman from his personal appearance. He was very quick, and +active in his motions, absolutely doing his law work himself, and +trusting to his three or four juvenile clerks for little more than +scrivener's labour. He seldom or never came to his office on a +Saturday, and many among his enemies said that he was a Jew. What +evil will not a rival say to stop the flow of grist to the mill of +the hated one? But this report Squercum rather liked, and assisted. +They who knew the inner life of the little man declared that he kept +a horse and hunted down in Essex on Saturday, doing a bit of +gardening in the summer months;—and they said also that he made up +for this by working hard all Sunday. Such was Mr. Squercum,—a sign, +in his way, that the old things are being changed.</p> + +<p>Squercum sat at a desk, covered with papers in chaotic confusion, on +a chair which moved on a pivot. His desk was against the wall, and +when clients came to him, he turned himself sharp round, sticking out +his dirty shoes, throwing himself back till his body was an inclined +plane, with his hands thrust into his pockets. In this attitude he +would listen to his client's story, and would himself speak as little +as possible. It was by his instructions that Dolly had insisted on +getting his share of the purchase money for Pickering into his own +hands, so that the incumbrance on his own property might be paid off. +He now listened as Dolly told him of the delay in the payment. +"Melmotte's at Pickering?" asked the attorney. Then Dolly informed +him how the tradesmen of the great financier had already half knocked +down the house. Squercum still listened, and promised to look to it. +He did ask what authority Dolly had given for the surrender of the +title-deeds. Dolly declared that he had given authority for the sale, +but none for the surrender. His father, some time since, had put +before him, for his signature, a letter, prepared in Mr. Bideawhile's +office, which Dolly said that he had refused even to read, and +certainly had not signed. Squercum again said that he'd look to it, +and bowed Dolly out of his room. "They've got him to sign something +when he was tight," said Squercum to himself, knowing something of +the habits of his client. "I wonder whether his father did it, or old +Bideawhile, or Melmotte himself?" Mr. Squercum was inclined to think +that Bideawhile would not have done it, that Melmotte could have had +no opportunity, and that the father must have been the practitioner. +"It's not the trick of a pompous old fool either," said Mr. Squercum, +in his soliloquy. He went to work, however, making himself detestably +odious among the very respectable clerks in Mr. Bideawhile's +office,—men who considered themselves to be altogether superior to +Squercum himself in professional standing.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill058"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill058.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill058-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="Mr. Squercum in his office." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">Mr. Squercum + in his office.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill058.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>And now there came this rumour which was so far particular in its +details that it inferred the forgery, of which it accused Mr. +Melmotte, to his mode of acquiring the Pickering property. The nature +of the forgery was of course described in various ways,—as was also +the signature said to have been forged. But there were many who +believed, or almost believed, that something wrong had been +done,—that some great fraud had been committed; and in connection +with this it was ascertained,—by some as a matter of +certainty,—that the Pickering estate had been already mortgaged by +Melmotte to its full value at an assurance office. In such a +transaction there would be nothing dishonest; but as this place had +been bought for the great man's own family use, and not as a +speculation, even this report of the mortgage tended to injure his +credit. And then, as the day went on, other tidings were told as to +other properties. Houses in the East-end of London were said to have +been bought and sold, without payment of the purchase money as to the +buying, and with receipt of the purchase money as to the selling.</p> + +<p>It was certainly true that Squercum himself had seen the letter in +Mr. Bideawhile's office which conveyed to the father's lawyer the +son's sanction for the surrender of the title-deeds, and that that +letter, prepared in Mr. Bideawhile's office, purported to have +Dolly's signature. Squercum said but little, remembering that his +client was not always clear in the morning as to anything he had done +on the preceding evening. But the signature, though it was scrawled +as Dolly always scrawled it, was not like the scrawl of a drunken +man.</p> + +<p>The letter was said to have been sent to Mr. Bideawhile's office with +other letters and papers, direct from old Mr. Longestaffe. Such was +the statement made at first to Mr. Squercum by the Bideawhile party, +who at that moment had no doubt of the genuineness of the letter or +of the accuracy of their statement. Then Squercum saw his client +again, and returned to the charge at Bideawhile's office, with the +positive assurance that the signature was a forgery. Dolly, when +questioned by Squercum, quite admitted his propensity to be "tight." +He had no reticence, no feeling of disgrace on such matters. But he +had signed no letter when he was tight. "Never did such a thing in my +life, and nothing could make me," said Dolly. "I'm never tight except +at the club, and the letter couldn't have been there. I'll be drawn +and quartered if I ever signed it. That's flat." Dolly was intent on +going to his father at once, on going to Melmotte at once, on going +to Bideawhile's at once, and making there "no end of a row,"—but +Squercum stopped him. "We'll just ferret this thing out quietly," +said Squercum, who perhaps thought that there would be high honour in +discovering the peccadillos of so great a man as Mr. Melmotte. Mr. +Longestaffe, the father, had heard nothing of the matter till the +Saturday after his last interview with Melmotte in the City. He had +then called at Bideawhile's office in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and had +been shown the letter. He declared at once that he had never sent the +letter to Mr. Bideawhile. He had begged his son to sign the letter +and his son had refused. He did not at that moment distinctly +remember what he had done with the letter unsigned. He believed he +had left it with the other papers; but it was possible that his son +might have taken it away. He acknowledged that at the time he had +been both angry and unhappy. He didn't think that he could have sent +the letter back unsigned,—but he was not sure. He had more than once +been in his own study in Bruton Street since Mr. Melmotte had +occupied the house,—by that gentleman's leave,—having left various +papers there under his own lock and key. Indeed it had been matter of +agreement that he should have access to his own study when he let the +house. He thought it probable that he would have kept back the +unsigned letter, and have kept it under lock and key, when he sent +away the other papers. Then reference was made to Mr. Longestaffe's +own letter to the lawyer, and it was found that he had not even +alluded to that which his son had been asked to sign; but that he had +said, in his own usually pompous style, that Mr. Longestaffe, junior, +was still prone to create unsubstantial difficulties. Mr. Bideawhile +was obliged to confess that there had been a want of caution among +his own people. This allusion to the creation of difficulties by +Dolly, accompanied, as it was supposed to have been, by Dolly's +letter doing away with all difficulties, should have attracted +notice. Dolly's letter must have come in a separate envelope; but +such envelope could not be found, and the circumstance was not +remembered by the clerk. The clerk who had prepared the letter for +Dolly's signature represented himself as having been quite satisfied +when the letter came again beneath his notice with Dolly's well-known +signature.</p> + +<p>Such were the facts as far as they were known at Messrs. Slow and +Bideawhile's office,—from whom no slightest rumour emanated; and as +they had been in part collected by Squercum, who was probably less +prudent. The Bideawhiles were still perfectly sure that Dolly had +signed the letter, believing the young man to be quite incapable of +knowing on any day what he had done on the day before.</p> + +<p>Squercum was quite sure that his client had not signed it. And it +must be owned on Dolly's behalf that his manner on this occasion was +qualified to convince. "Yes," he said to Squercum; "it's easy saying +that I'm lack-a-daisical. But I know when I'm lack-a-daisical and +when I'm not. Awake or asleep, drunk or sober, I never signed that +letter." And Mr. Squercum believed him.</p> + +<p>It would be hard to say how the rumour first got into the City on +this Monday morning. Though the elder Longestaffe had first heard of +the matter only on the previous Saturday, Mr. Squercum had been at +work for above a week. Mr. Squercum's little matter alone might +hardly have attracted the attention which certainly was given on this +day to Mr. Melmotte's private affairs;—but other facts coming to +light assisted Squercum's views. A great many shares of the South +Central Pacific and Mexican Railway had been thrown upon the market, +all of which had passed through the hands of Mr. Cohenlupe;—and Mr. +Cohenlupe in the City had been all to Mr. Melmotte as Lord Alfred had +been at the West End. Then there was the mortgage of this Pickering +property, for which the money certainly had not been paid; and there +was the traffic with half a street of houses near the Commercial +Road, by which a large sum of money had come into Mr. Melmotte's +hands. It might, no doubt, all be right. There were many who thought +that it would all be right. There were not a few who expressed the +most thorough contempt for these rumours. But it was felt to be a +pity that Mr. Melmotte was not in the City.</p> + +<p>This was the day of the dinner. The Lord Mayor had even made up his +mind that he would not go to the dinner. What one of his brother +aldermen said to him about leaving others in the lurch might be quite +true; but, as his lordship remarked, Melmotte was a commercial man, +and as these were commercial transactions it behoved the Lord Mayor +of London to be more careful than other men. He had always had his +doubts, and he would not go. Others of the chosen few of the City who +had been honoured with commands to meet the Emperor resolved upon +absenting themselves unless the Lord Mayor went. The affair was very +much discussed, and there were no less than six declared City +defaulters. At the last moment a seventh was taken ill and sent a +note to Miles Grendall excusing himself, which was thrust into the +secretary's hands just as the Emperor arrived.</p> + +<p>But a reverse worse than this took place;—a defalcation more +injurious to the Melmotte interests generally even than that which +was caused either by the prudence or by the cowardice of the City +Magnates. The House of Commons, at its meeting, had heard the tidings +in an exaggerated form. It was whispered about that Melmotte had been +detected in forging the deed of conveyance of a large property, and +that he had already been visited by policemen. By some it was +believed that the Great Financier would lie in the hands of the +Philistines while the Emperor of China was being fed at his house. In +the third edition of the "Evening Pulpit" came out a mysterious +paragraph which nobody could understand but they who had known all +about it before. "A rumour is prevalent that frauds to an enormous +extent have been committed by a gentleman whose name we are +particularly unwilling to mention. If it be so it is indeed +remarkable that they should have come to light at the present moment. +We cannot trust ourselves to say more than this." No one wishes to +dine with a swindler. No one likes even to have dined with a +swindler,—especially to have dined with him at a time when his +swindling was known or suspected. The Emperor of China no doubt was +going to dine with this man. The motions of Emperors are managed with +such ponderous care that it was held to be impossible now to save the +country from what would doubtless be felt to be a disgrace if it +should hereafter turn out that a forger had been solicited to +entertain the imperial guest of the country. Nor was the thing as yet +so far certain as to justify such a charge, were it possible. But +many men were unhappy in their minds. How would the story be told +hereafter if Melmotte should be allowed to play out his game of host +to the Emperor, and be arrested for forgery as soon as the Eastern +Monarch should have left his house? How would the brother of the Sun +like the remembrance of the banquet which he had been instructed to +honour with his presence? How would it tell in all the foreign +newspapers, in New York, in Paris, and Vienna, that this man who had +been cast forth from the United States, from France, and from Austria +had been selected as the great and honourable type of British +Commerce? There were those in the House who thought that the absolute +consummation of the disgrace might yet be avoided, and who were of +opinion that the dinner should be "postponed." The leader of the +Opposition had a few words on the subject with the Prime Minister. +"It is the merest rumour," said the Prime Minister. "I have inquired, +and there is nothing to justify me in thinking that the charges can +be substantiated."</p> + +<p>"They say that the story is believed in the City."</p> + +<p>"I should not feel myself justified in acting upon such a report. The +Prince might probably find it impossible not to go. Where should we +be if Mr. Melmotte to-morrow were able to prove the whole to be a +calumny, and to show that the thing had been got up with a view of +influencing the election at Westminster? The dinner must certainly go +on."</p> + +<p>"And you will go yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Most assuredly," said the Prime Minister. "And I hope that you will +keep me in countenance." His political antagonist declared with a +smile that at such a crisis he would not desert his honourable +friend;—but he could not answer for his followers. There was, he +admitted, a strong feeling among the leaders of the Conservative +party of distrust in Melmotte. He considered it probable that among +his friends who had been invited there would be some who would be +unwilling to meet even the Emperor of China on the existing terms. +"They should remember," said the Prime Minister, "that they are also +to meet their own Prince, and that empty seats on such an occasion +will be a dishonour to him."</p> + +<p>"Just at present I can only answer for myself," said the leader of +the Opposition.—At that moment even the Prime Minister was much +disturbed in his mind; but in such emergencies a Prime Minister can +only choose the least of two evils. To have taken the Emperor to dine +with a swindler would be very bad; but to desert him, and to stop the +coming of the Emperor and all the Princes on a false rumour, would be +worse.</p> + + +<p><a id="c59"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LIX.</h3> +<h4>THE DINNER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>It does sometimes occur in life that an unambitious man, who is in no +degree given to enterprises, who would fain be safe, is driven by the +cruelty of circumstances into a position in which he must choose a +side, and in which, though he has no certain guide as to which side +he should choose, he is aware that he will be disgraced if he should +take the wrong side. This was felt as a hardship by many who were +quite suddenly forced to make up their mind whether they would go to +Melmotte's dinner, or join themselves to the faction of those who had +determined to stay away although they had accepted invitations. Some +there were not without a suspicion that the story against Melmotte +had been got up simply as an electioneering trick,—so that Mr. Alf +might carry the borough on the next day. As a dodge for an election +this might be very well, but any who might be deterred by such a +manœuvre from meeting the Emperor and supporting the Prince would +surely be marked men. And none of the wives, when they were +consulted, seemed to care a straw whether Melmotte was a swindler or +not. Would the Emperor and the Princes and Princesses be there? This +was the only question which concerned them. They did not care whether +Melmotte was arrested at the dinner or after the dinner, so long as +they, with others, could show their diamonds in the presence of +eastern and western royalty. But yet,—what a fiasco would it be, if +at this very instant of time the host should be apprehended for +common forgery! The great thing was to ascertain whether others were +going. If a hundred or more out of the two hundred were to be absent +how dreadful would be the position of those who were present! And how +would the thing go if at the last moment the Emperor should be kept +away? The Prime Minister had decided that the Emperor and the Prince +should remain altogether in ignorance of the charges which were +preferred against the man; but of that these doubters were unaware. +There was but little time for a man to go about town and pick up the +truth from those who were really informed; and questions were asked +in an uncomfortable and restless manner. "Is your Grace going?" said +Lionel Lupton to the Duchess of Stevenage,—having left the House and +gone into the park between six and seven to pick up some hints among +those who were known to have been invited. The Duchess was Lord +Alfred's sister, and of course she was going. "I usually keep +engagements when I make them, Mr. Lupton," said the Duchess. She had +been assured by Lord Alfred not a quarter of an hour before that +everything was as straight as a die. Lord Alfred had not then even +heard of the rumour. But ultimately both Lionel Lupton and Beauchamp +Beauclerk attended the dinner. They had received special tickets as +supporters of Mr. Melmotte at the election,—out of the scanty number +allotted to that gentleman himself,—and they thought themselves +bound in honour to be there. But they, with their leader, and one +other influential member of the party, were all who at last came as +the political friends of the candidate for Westminster. The existing +ministers were bound to attend to the Emperor and the Prince. But +members of the Opposition, by their presence, would support the man +and the politician, and both as a man and as a politician they were +ashamed of him.</p> + +<p>When Melmotte arrived at his own door with his wife and daughter he +had heard nothing of the matter. That a man so vexed with affairs of +money, so laden with cares, encompassed by such dangers, should be +free from suspicion and fear it is impossible to imagine. That such +burdens should be borne at all is a wonder to those whose shoulders +have never been broadened for such work;—as is the strength of the +blacksmith's arm to men who have never wielded a hammer. Surely his +whole life must have been a life of terrors! But of any special peril +to which he was at that moment subject, or of any embarrassment which +might affect the work of the evening, he knew nothing. He placed his +wife in the drawing-room and himself in the hall, and arranged his +immediate satellites around him,—among whom were included the two +Grendalls, young Nidderdale, and Mr. Cohenlupe,—with a feeling of +gratified glory. Nidderdale down at the House had heard the rumour, +but had determined that he would not as yet fly from his colours. +Cohenlupe had also come up from the House, where no one had spoken to +him. Though grievously frightened during the last fortnight, he had +not dared to be on the wing as yet. And, indeed, to what clime could +such a bird as he fly in safety? He had not only heard,—but also +knew very much, and was not prepared to enjoy the feast. Since they +had been in the hall Miles had spoken dreadful words to his father. +"You've heard about it; haven't you?" whispered Miles. Lord Alfred, +remembering his sister's question, became almost pale, but declared +that he had heard nothing. "They're saying all manner of things in +the City;—forgery and heaven knows what. The Lord Mayor is not +coming." Lord Alfred made no reply. It was the philosophy of his life +that misfortunes when they came should be allowed to settle +themselves. But he was unhappy.</p> + +<p>The grand arrivals were fairly punctual, and the very grand people +all came. The unfortunate Emperor,—we must consider a man to be +unfortunate who is compelled to go through such work as this,—with +impassible and awful dignity, was marshalled into the room on the +ground floor, whence he and other royalties were to be marshalled +back into the banqueting hall. Melmotte, bowing to the ground, walked +backwards before him, and was probably taken by the Emperor for some +Court Master of the Ceremonies especially selected to walk backwards +on this occasion. The Princes had all shaken hands with their host, +and the Princesses had bowed graciously. Nothing of the rumour had as +yet been whispered in royal palaces. Besides royalty the company +allowed to enter the room downstairs was very select. The Prime +Minister, one archbishop, two duchesses, and an ex-governor of India +with whose features the Emperor was supposed to be peculiarly +familiar, were alone there. The remainder of the company, under the +superintendence of Lord Alfred, were received in the drawing-room +above. Everything was going on well, and they who had come and had +thought of not coming were proud of their wisdom.</p> + +<p>But when the company was seated at dinner the deficiencies were +visible enough, and were unfortunate. Who does not know the effect +made by the absence of one or two from a table intended for ten or +twelve,—how grievous are the empty places, how destructive of the +outward harmony and grace which the hostess has endeavoured to +preserve are these interstices, how the lady in her wrath declares to +herself that those guilty ones shall never have another opportunity +of filling a seat at her table? Some twenty, most of whom had been +asked to bring their wives, had slunk from their engagements, and the +empty spaces were sufficient to declare a united purpose. A week +since it had been understood that admission for the evening could not +be had for love or money, and that a seat at the dinner-table was as +a seat at some banquet of the gods! Now it looked as though the room +were but half-filled. There were six absences from the City. Another +six of Mr. Melmotte's own political party were away. The archbishops +and the bishop were there, because bishops never hear worldly tidings +till after other people;—but that very Master of the Buckhounds for +whom so much pressure had been made did not come. Two or three peers +were absent, and so also was that editor who had been chosen to fill +Mr. Alf's place. One poet, two painters, and a philosopher had +received timely notice at their clubs, and had gone home. The three +independent members of the House of Commons for once agreed in their +policy, and would not lend the encouragement of their presence to a +man suspected of forgery. Nearly forty places were vacant when the +business of the dinner commenced.</p> + +<p>Melmotte had insisted that Lord Alfred should sit next to himself at +the big table, and having had the objectionable bar removed, and his +own chair shoved one step nearer to the centre, had carried his. +point. With the anxiety natural to such an occasion, he glanced +repeatedly round the hall, and of course became aware that many were +absent. "How is it that there are so many places empty?" he said to +his faithful Achates.</p> + +<p>"Don't know," said Achates, shaking his head, steadfastly refusing to +look round upon the hall.</p> + +<p>Melmotte waited awhile, then looked round again, and asked the +question in another shape: "Hasn't there been some mistake about the +numbers? There's room for ever so many more."</p> + +<p>"Don't know," said Lord Alfred, who was unhappy in his mind, and +repenting himself that he had ever seen Mr. Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"What the deuce do you mean?" whispered Melmotte. "You've been at it +from the beginning and ought to know. When I wanted to ask Brehgert, +you swore that you couldn't squeeze a place."</p> + +<p>"Can't say anything about it," said Lord Alfred, with his eyes fixed +upon his plate.</p> + +<p>"I'll be d—— if I don't find out," said Melmotte. "There's either +some horrible blunder, or else there's been imposition. I don't see +quite clearly. Where's Sir Gregory Gribe?"</p> + +<p>"Hasn't come, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"And where's the Lord Mayor?" Melmotte, in spite of royalty, was now +sitting with his face turned round upon the hall. "I know all their +places, and I know where they were put. Have you seen the Lord +Mayor?"</p> + +<p>"No; I haven't seen him at all."</p> + +<p>"But he was to come. What's the meaning of it, Alfred?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know anything about it." He shook his head but would not, for +even a moment, look round upon the room.</p> + +<p>"And where's Mr. Killegrew,—and Sir David Boss?" Mr. Killegrew and +Sir David were gentlemen of high standing, and destined for important +offices in the Conservative party. "There are ever so many people not +here. Why, there's not above half of them down the room. What's up, +Alfred? I must know."</p> + +<p>"I tell you I know nothing. I could not make them come." Lord +Alfred's answers were made not only with a surly voice, but also with +a surly heart. He was keenly alive to the failure, and alive also to +the feeling that the failure would partly be attached to himself. At +the present moment he was anxious to avoid observation, and it seemed +to him that Melmotte, by the frequency and impetuosity of his +questions, was drawing special attention to him. "If you go on making +a row," he said, "I shall go away." Melmotte looked at him with all +his eyes. "Just sit quiet and let the thing go on. You'll know all +about it soon enough." This was hardly the way to give Mr. Melmotte +peace of mind. For a few minutes he did sit quiet. Then he got up and +moved down the hall behind the guests.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, Imperial Majesty and Royalties of various +denominations ate their dinner, without probably observing those +Banquo's seats. As the Emperor talked Manchoo only, and as there was +no one present who could even interpret Manchoo into English,—the +imperial interpreter condescending only to interpret Manchoo into +ordinary Chinese which had to be reinterpreted,—it was not within +his Imperial Majesty's power to have much conversation with his +neighbours. And as his neighbours on each side of him were all +cousins and husbands, and brothers and wives, who saw each constantly +under, let us presume, more comfortable circumstances, they had not +very much to say to each other. Like most of us, they had their +duties to do, and, like most of us, probably found their duties +irksome. The brothers and sisters and cousins were used to it; but +that awful Emperor, solid, solemn, and silent, must, if the spirit of +an Eastern Emperor be at all like that of a Western man, have had a +weary time of it. He sat there for more than two hours, awful, solid, +solemn, and silent, not eating very much,—for this was not his +manner of eating; nor drinking very much,—for this was not his +manner of drinking; but wondering, no doubt, within his own awful +bosom, at the changes which were coming when an Emperor of China was +forced, by outward circumstances, to sit and hear this buzz of voices +and this clatter of knives and forks. "And this," he must have said +to himself, "is what they call royalty in the West!" If a prince of +our own was forced, for the good of the country, to go among some far +distant outlandish people, and there to be poked in the ribs, and +slapped on the back all round, the change to him could hardly be so +great.</p> + +<p>"Where's Sir Gregory?" said Melmotte, in a hoarse whisper, bending +over the chair of a City friend. It was old Todd, the senior partner +of Todd, Brehgert, and Goldsheiner. Mr. Todd was a very wealthy man, +and had a considerable following in the City.</p> + +<p>"Ain't he here?" said Todd,—knowing very well who had come from the +City and who had declined.</p> + +<p>"No;—and the Lord Mayor's not come;—nor Postlethwaite, nor Bunter. +What's the meaning of it?"</p> + +<p>Todd looked first at one neighbour and then at another before he +answered. "I'm here, that's all I can say, Mr. Melmotte; and I've had +a very good dinner. They who haven't come, have lost a very good +dinner."</p> + +<p>There was a weight upon Melmotte's mind of which he could not rid +himself. He knew from the old man's manner, and he knew also from +Lord Alfred's manner, that there was something which each of them +could tell him if he would. But he was unable to make the men open +their mouths. And yet it might be so important to him that he should +know! "It's very odd," he said, "that gentlemen should promise to +come and then stay away. There were hundreds anxious to be present +whom I should have been glad to welcome, if I had known that there +would be room. I think it is very odd."</p> + +<p>"It is odd," said Mr. Todd, turning his attention to the plate before +him.</p> + +<p>Melmotte had lately seen much of Beauchamp Beauclerk, in reference to +the coming election. Passing back up the table, he found the +gentleman with a vacant seat on one side of him. There were many +vacant seats in this part of the room, as the places for the +Conservative gentlemen had been set apart together. There Mr. +Melmotte seated himself for a minute, thinking that he might get the +truth from his new ally. Prudence should have kept him silent. Let +the cause of these desertions have been what it might, it ought to +have been clear to him that he could apply no remedy to it now. But +he was bewildered and dismayed, and his mind within him was changing +at every moment. He was now striving to trust to his arrogance and +declaring that nothing should cow him. And then again he was so cowed +that he was ready to creep to any one for assistance. Personally, Mr. +Beauclerk had disliked the man greatly. Among the vulgar, loud +upstarts whom he had known, Melmotte was the vulgarest, the loudest, +and the most arrogant. But he had taken the business of Melmotte's +election in hand, and considered himself bound to stand by Melmotte +till that was over; and he was now the guest of the man in his own +house, and was therefore constrained to courtesy. His wife was +sitting by him, and he at once introduced her to Mr. Melmotte. "You +have a wonderful assemblage here, Mr. Melmotte," said the lady, +looking up at the royal table.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am, yes. His Majesty the Emperor has been pleased to +intimate that he has been much gratified."—Had the Emperor in truth +said so, no one who looked at him could have believed his imperial +word.—"Can you tell me, Mr. Beauclerk, why those other gentlemen are +not here? It looks very odd; does it not?"</p> + +<p>"Ah; you mean Killegrew."</p> + +<p>"Yes; Mr. Killegrew and Sir David Boss, and the whole lot. I made a +particular point of their coming. I said I wouldn't have the dinner +at all unless they were to be asked. They were going to make it a +Government thing; but I said no. I insisted on the leaders of our own +party; and now they're not here. I know the cards were sent;—and, by +George, I have their answers, saying they'd come."</p> + +<p>"I suppose some of them are engaged," said Mr. Beauclerk.</p> + +<p>"Engaged! What business has a man to accept one engagement and then +take another? And, if so, why shouldn't he write and make his +excuses? No, Mr. Beauclerk, that won't go down."</p> + +<p>"I'm here, at any rate," said Beauclerk, making the very answer that +had occurred to Mr. Todd.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you're here. You're all right. But what is it, Mr. +Beauclerk? There's something up, and you must have heard." And so it +was clear to Mr. Beauclerk that the man knew nothing about it +himself. If there was anything wrong, Melmotte was not aware that the +wrong had been discovered. "Is it anything about the election +to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"One never can tell what is actuating people," said Mr. Beauclerk.</p> + +<p>"If you know anything about the matter I think you ought to tell me."</p> + +<p>"I know nothing except that the ballot will be taken to-morrow. You +and I have got nothing more to do in the matter except to wait the +result."</p> + +<p>"Well; I suppose it's all right," said Melmotte, rising and going +back to his seat. But he knew that things were not all right. Had his +political friends only been absent, he might have attributed their +absence to some political cause which would not have touched him +deeply. But the treachery of the Lord Mayor and of Sir Gregory Gribe +was a blow. For another hour after he had returned to his place, the +Emperor sat solemn in his chair; and then, at some signal given by +some one, he was withdrawn. The ladies had already left the room +about half an hour. According to the programme arranged for the +evening, the royal guests were to return to the smaller room for a +cup of coffee, and were then to be paraded upstairs before the +multitude who would by that time have arrived, and to remain there +long enough to justify the invited ones in saying that they had spent +the evening with the Emperor and the Princes and the Princesses. The +plan was carried out perfectly. At half-past ten the Emperor was made +to walk upstairs, and for half an hour sat awful and composed in an +arm-chair that had been prepared for him. How one would wish to see +the inside of the mind of the Emperor as it worked on that occasion!</p> + +<p>Melmotte, when his guests ascended his stairs, went back into the +banqueting-room and through to the hall, and wandered about till he +found Miles Grendall. "Miles," he said, "tell me what the row is."</p> + +<p>"How row?" asked Miles.</p> + +<p>"There's something wrong, and you know all about it. Why didn't the +people come?" Miles, looking guilty, did not even attempt to deny his +knowledge. "Come; what is it? We might as well know all about it at +once." Miles looked down on the ground, and grunted something. "Is it +about the election?"</p> + +<p>"No, it's not that," said Miles.</p> + +<p>"Then what is it?"</p> + +<p>"They got hold of something to-day in the City—about Pickering."</p> + +<p>"They did, did they? And what were they saying about Pickering? Come; +you might as well out with it. You don't suppose that I care what +lies they tell."</p> + +<p>"They say there's been something—forged. Title-deeds, I think they +say."</p> + +<p>"Title-deeds! that I have forged title-deeds. Well; that's beginning +well. And his lordship has stayed away from my house after accepting +my invitation because he has heard that story! All right, Miles; that +will do." And the Great Financier went upstairs into his own +drawing-room.</p> + + +<p><a id="c60"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LX.</h3> +<h4>MISS LONGESTAFFE'S LOVER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>A few days before that period in our story which we have now reached, +Miss Longestaffe was seated in Lady Monogram's back drawing-room, +discussing the terms on which the two tickets for Madame Melmotte's +grand reception had been transferred to Lady Monogram,—the place on +the cards for the names of the friends whom Madame Melmotte had the +honour of inviting to meet the Emperor and the Princes, having been +left blank; and the terms also on which Miss Longestaffe had been +asked to spend two or three days with her dear friend Lady Monogram. +Each lady was disposed to get as much and to give as little as +possible,—in which desire the ladies carried out the ordinary +practice of all parties to a bargain. It had of course been settled +that Lady Monogram was to have the two tickets,—for herself and her +husband,—such tickets at that moment standing very high in the +market. In payment for these valuable considerations, Lady Monogram +was to undertake to chaperon Miss Longestaffe at the entertainment, +to take Miss Longestaffe as a visitor for three days, and to have one +party at her own house during the time, so that it might be seen that +Miss Longestaffe had other friends in London besides the Melmotte's +on whom to depend for her London gaieties. At this moment Miss +Longestaffe felt herself justified in treating the matter as though +she were hardly receiving a fair equivalent. The Melmotte tickets +were certainly ruling very high. They had just culminated. They fell +a little soon afterwards, and at ten +<span class="smallcaps">p.m.</span> on the night of the +entertainment were hardly worth anything. At the moment which we have +now in hand, there was a rush for them. Lady Monogram had already +secured the tickets. They were in her desk. But, as will sometimes be +the case in a bargain, the seller was complaining that as she had +parted with her goods too cheap, some make-weight should be added to +the stipulated price.</p> + +<p>"As for that, my dear," said Miss Longestaffe, who, since the rise in +Melmotte stock generally, had endeavoured to resume something of her +old manners, "I don't see what you mean at all. You meet Lady Julia +Goldsheiner everywhere, and her father-in-law is Mr. Brehgert's +junior partner."</p> + +<p>"Lady Julia is Lady Julia, my dear, and young Mr. Goldsheiner has, in +some sort of way, got himself in. He hunts, and Damask says that he +is one of the best shots at Hurlingham. I never met old Mr. +Goldsheiner anywhere."</p> + +<p>"I have."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I dare say. Mr. Melmotte, of course, entertains all the +City people. I don't think Sir Damask would like me to ask Mr. +Brehgert to dine here." Lady Monogram managed everything herself with +reference to her own parties; invited all her own guests, and never +troubled Sir Damask,—who, again, on his side, had his own set of +friends; but she was very clever in the use which she made of her +husband. There were some aspirants who really were taught to think +that Sir Damask was very particular as to the guests whom he welcomed +to his own house.</p> + +<p>"May I speak to Sir Damask about it?" asked Miss Longestaffe, who was +very urgent on the occasion.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, I really don't think you ought to do that. There are +little things which a man and his wife must manage together without +interference."</p> + +<p>"Nobody can ever say that I interfered in any family. But really, +Julia, when you tell me that Sir Damask cannot receive Mr. Brehgert, +it does sound odd. As for City people, you know as well as I do, that +that kind of thing is all over now. City people are just as good as +West-end people."</p> + +<p>"A great deal better, I dare say. I'm not arguing about that. I don't +make the lines; but there they are; and one gets to know in a sort of +way what they are. I don't pretend to be a bit better than my +neighbours. I like to see people come here whom other people who come +here will like to meet. I'm big enough to hold my own, and so is Sir +Damask. But we ain't big enough to introduce new-comers. I don't +suppose there's anybody in London understands it better than you do, +Georgiana, and therefore it's absurd my pretending to teach you. I go +pretty well everywhere, as you are aware; and I shouldn't know Mr. +Brehgert if I were to see him."</p> + +<p>"You'll meet him at the Melmottes', and, in spite of all you said +once, you're glad enough to go there."</p> + +<p>"Quite true, my dear. I don't think that you are just the person to +throw that in my teeth; but never mind that. There's the butcher +round the corner in Bond Street, or the man who comes to do my hair. +I don't at all think of asking them to my house. But if they were +suddenly to turn out wonderful men, and go everywhere, no doubt I +should be glad to have them here. That's the way we live, and you are +as well used to it as I am. Mr. Brehgert at present to me is like the +butcher round the corner." Lady Monogram had the tickets safe under +lock and key, or I think she would hardly have said this.</p> + +<p>"He is not a bit like a butcher," said Miss Longestaffe, blazing up +in real wrath.</p> + +<p>"I did not say that he was."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you did; and it was the unkindest thing you could possibly say. +It was meant to be unkind. It was monstrous. How would you like it if +I said that Sir Damask was like a hair-dresser?"</p> + +<p>"You can say so if you please. Sir Damask drives four in hand, rides +as though he meant to break his neck every winter, is one of the best +shots going, and is supposed to understand a yacht as well as any +other gentleman out. And I'm rather afraid that before he was married +he used to box with all the prize-fighters, and to be a little too +free behind the scenes. If that makes a man like a hair-dresser, +well, there he is."</p> + +<p>"How proud you are of his vices."</p> + +<p>"He's very good-natured, my dear, and as he does not interfere with +me, I don't interfere with him. I hope you'll do as well. I dare say +Mr. Brehgert is good-natured."</p> + +<p>"He's an excellent man of business, and is making a very large +fortune."</p> + +<p>"And has five or six grown-up children, who, no doubt, will be a +comfort."</p> + +<p>"If I don't mind them, why need you? You have none at all, and you +find it lonely enough."</p> + +<p>"Not at all lonely. I have everything that I desire. How hard you are +trying to be ill-natured, Georgiana."</p> + +<p>"Why did you say that he was a—butcher?"</p> + +<p>"I said nothing of the kind. I didn't even say that he was like a +butcher. What I did say was this,—that I don't feel inclined to risk +my own reputation on the appearance of new people at my table. Of +course, I go in for what you call fashion. Some people can dare to +ask anybody they meet in the streets. I can't. I've my own line, and +I mean to follow it. It's hard work, I can tell you; and it would be +harder still if I wasn't particular. If you like Mr. Brehgert to come +here on Tuesday evening, when the rooms will be full, you can ask +him; but as for having him to dinner, I—won't—do—it." So the +matter was at last settled. Miss Longestaffe did ask Mr. Brehgert for +the Tuesday evening, and the two ladies were again friends.</p> + +<p>Perhaps Lady Monogram, when she illustrated her position by an +allusion to a butcher and a hair-dresser, had been unaware that Mr. +Brehgert had some resemblance to the form which men in that trade are +supposed to bear. Let us at least hope that she was so. He was a fat, +greasy man, good-looking in a certain degree, about fifty, with hair +dyed black, and beard and moustache dyed a dark purple colour. The +charm of his face consisted in a pair of very bright black eyes, +which were, however, set too near together in his face for the +general delight of Christians. He was stout;—fat all over rather +than corpulent,—and had that look of command in his face which has +become common to master-butchers, probably by long intercourse with +sheep and oxen. But Mr. Brehgert was considered to be a very good man +of business, and was now regarded as being, in a commercial point of +view, the leading member of the great financial firm of which he was +the second partner. Mr. Todd's day was nearly done. He walked about +constantly between Lombard Street, the Exchange, and the Bank, and +talked much to merchants; he had an opinion too of his own on +particular cases; but the business had almost got beyond him, and Mr. +Brehgert was now supposed to be the moving spirit of the firm. He was +a widower, living in a luxurious villa at Fulham with a family, not +indeed grown up, as Lady Monogram had ill-naturedly said, but which +would be grown up before long, varying from an eldest son of +eighteen, who had just been placed at a desk in the office, to the +youngest girl of twelve, who was at school at Brighton. He was a man +who always asked for what he wanted; and having made up his mind that +he wanted a second wife, had asked Miss Georgiana Longestaffe to fill +that situation. He had met her at the Melmottes', had entertained +her, with Madame Melmotte and Marie, at Beaudesert, as he called his +villa, had then proposed in the square, and two days after had +received an assenting answer in Bruton Street.</p> + +<p>Poor Miss Longestaffe! Although she had acknowledged the fact to Lady +Monogram in her desire to pave the way for the reception of herself +into society as a married woman, she had not as yet found courage to +tell her family. The man was absolutely a Jew;—not a Jew that had +been, as to whom there might possibly be a doubt whether he or his +father or his grandfather had been the last Jew of the family; but a +Jew that was. So was Goldsheiner a Jew, whom Lady Julia Start had +married,—or at any rate had been one a very short time before he ran +away with that lady. She counted up ever so many instances on her +fingers of "decent people" who had married Jews or Jewesses. Lord +Frederic Framlinghame had married a girl of the Berrenhoffers; and +Mr. Hart had married a Miss Chute. She did not know much of Miss +Chute, but was certain that she was a Christian. Lord Frederic's wife +and Lady Julia Goldsheiner were seen everywhere. Though she hardly +knew how to explain the matter even to herself, she was sure that +there was at present a general heaving-up of society on this matter, +and a change in progress which would soon make it a matter of +indifference whether anybody was Jew or Christian. For herself she +regarded the matter not at all, except as far as it might be regarded +by the world in which she wished to live. She was herself above all +personal prejudices of that kind. Jew, Turk, or infidel was nothing +to her. She had seen enough of the world to be aware that her +happiness did not lie in that direction, and could not depend in the +least on the religion of her husband. Of course she would go to +church herself. She always went to church. It was the proper thing to +do. As to her husband, though she did not suppose that she could ever +get him to church,—nor perhaps would it be desirable,—she thought +that she might induce him to go nowhere, so that she might be able to +pass him off as a Christian. She knew that such was the Christianity +of young Goldsheiner, of which the Starts were now boasting.</p> + +<p>Had she been alone in the world she thought that she could have +looked forward to her destiny with complacency; but she was afraid of +her father and mother. Lady Pomona was distressingly old-fashioned, +and had so often spoken with horror even of the approach of a +Jew,—and had been so loud in denouncing the iniquity of Christians +who allowed such people into their houses! Unfortunately, too, +Georgiana in her earlier days had re-echoed all her mother's +sentiments. And then her father,—if he had ever earned for himself +the right to be called a Conservative politician by holding a real +opinion of his own,—it had been on that matter of admitting the Jews +into parliament. When that had been done he was certain that the +glory of England was sunk for ever. And since that time, whenever +creditors were more than ordinarily importunate, when Slow and +Bideawhile could do nothing for him, he would refer to that fatal +measure as though it was the cause of every embarrassment which had +harassed him. How could she tell parents such as these that she was +engaged to marry a man who at the present moment went to synagogue on +a Saturday and carried out every other filthy abomination common to +the despised people?</p> + +<p>That Mr. Brehgert was a fat, greasy man of fifty, conspicuous for +hair-dye, was in itself distressing:—but this minor distress was +swallowed up in the greater. Miss Longestaffe was a girl possessing +considerable discrimination, and was able to weigh her own +possessions in just scales. She had begun life with very high +aspirations, believing in her own beauty, in her mother's fashion, +and her father's fortune. She had now been ten years at the work, and +was aware that she had always flown a little too high for her mark at +the time. At nineteen and twenty and twenty-one she had thought that +all the world was before her. With her commanding figure, regular +long features, and bright complexion, she had regarded herself as one +of the beauties of the day, and had considered herself entitled to +demand wealth and a coronet. At twenty-two, twenty-three, and +twenty-four any young peer, or peer's eldest son, with a house in +town and in the country, might have sufficed. Twenty-five and six had +been the years for baronets and squires; and even a leading +fashionable lawyer or two had been marked by her as sufficient since +that time. But now she was aware that hitherto she had always fixed +her price a little too high. On three things she was still +determined,—that she would not be poor, that she would not be +banished from London, and that she would not be an old maid. "Mamma," +she had often said, "there's one thing certain. I shall never do to +be poor." Lady Pomona had expressed full concurrence with her child. +"And, mamma, to do as Sophia is doing would kill me. Fancy having to +live at Toodlam all one's life with George Whitstable!" Lady Pomona +had agreed to this also, though she thought that Toodlam Hall was a +very nice home for her elder daughter. "And, mamma, I should drive +you and papa mad if I were to stay at home always. And what would +become of me when Dolly was master of everything?" Lady Pomona, +looking forward as well as she was able to the time at which she +should herself have departed, when her dower and dower-house would +have reverted to Dolly, acknowledged that Georgiana should provide +herself with a home of her own before that time.</p> + +<p>And how was this to be done? Lovers with all the glories and all the +graces are supposed to be plentiful as blackberries by girls of +nineteen, but have been proved to be rare hothouse fruits by girls of +twenty-nine. Brehgert was rich, would live in London, and would be a +husband. People did such odd things now and "lived them down," that +she could see no reason why she should not do this and live this +down. Courage was the one thing necessary,—that and perseverance. +She must teach herself to talk about Brehgert as Lady Monogram did of +Sir Damask. She had plucked up so much courage as had enabled her to +declare her fate to her old friend,—remembering as she did so how in +days long past she and her friend Julia Triplex had scattered their +scorn upon some poor girl who had married a man with a Jewish +name,—whose grandfather had possibly been a Jew. "Dear me," said +Lady Monogram. "Todd, Brehgert, and Goldsheiner! Mr. Todd is—one of +us, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Georgiana boldly, "and Mr. Brehgert is a Jew. His name is +Ezekiel Brehgert, and he is a Jew. You can say what you like about +it."</p> + +<p>"I don't say anything about it, my dear."</p> + +<p>"And you can think anything you like. Things are changed since you +and I were younger."</p> + +<p>"Very much changed, it appears," said Lady Monogram. Sir Damask's +religion had never been doubted, though except on the occasion of his +marriage no acquaintance of his had probably ever seen him in church.</p> + +<p>But to tell her father and mother required a higher spirit than she +had shown even in her communication to Lady Monogram, and that spirit +had not as yet come to her. On the morning before she left the +Melmottes in Bruton Street, her lover had been with her. The +Melmottes of course knew of the engagement and quite approved of it. +Madame Melmotte rather aspired to credit for having had so happy an +affair arranged under her auspices. It was some set-off against +Marie's unfortunate escapade. Mr. Brehgert, therefore, had been +allowed to come and go as he pleased, and on that morning he had +pleased to come. They were sitting alone in some back room, and +Brehgert was pressing for an early day. "I don't think we need talk +of that yet, Mr. Brehgert," she said.</p> + +<p>"You might as well get over the difficulty and call me Ezekiel at +once," he remarked. Georgiana frowned, and made no soft little +attempt at the name as ladies in such circumstances are wont to do. +"Mrs. Brehgert"—he alluded of course to the mother of his +children—"used to call me Ezzy."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I shall do so some day," said Miss Longestaffe, looking at +her lover, and asking herself why she should not have been able to +have the house and the money and the name of the wife without the +troubles appertaining. She did not think it possible that she should +ever call him Ezzy.</p> + +<p>"And ven shall it be? I should say as early in August as possible."</p> + +<p>"In August!" she almost screamed. It was already July.</p> + +<p>"Vy not, my dear? Ve would have our little holiday in Germany,—at +Vienna. I have business there, and know many friends." Then he +pressed her hard to fix some day in the next month. It would be +expedient that they should be married from the Melmottes' house, and +the Melmottes would leave town some time in August. There was truth +in this. Unless married from the Melmottes' house, she must go down +to Caversham for the occasion,—which would be intolerable. No;—she +must separate herself altogether from father and mother, and become +one with the Melmottes and the Brehgerts,—till she could live it +down and make a position for herself. If the spending of money could +do it, it should be done.</p> + +<p>"I must at any rate ask mamma about it," said Georgiana. Mr. +Brehgert, with the customary good-humour of his people, was satisfied +with the answer, and went away promising that he would meet his love +at the great Melmotte reception. Then she sat silent, thinking how +she should declare the matter to her family. Would it not be better +for her to say to them at once that there must be a division among +them,—an absolute breaking off of all old ties, so that it should be +tacitly acknowledged that she, Georgiana, had gone out from among the +Longestaffes altogether, and had become one with the Melmottes, +Brehgerts, and Goldsheiners?</p> + + +<p><a id="c61"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXI.</h3> +<h4>LADY MONOGRAM PREPARES FOR THE PARTY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When the little conversation took place between Lady Monogram and +Miss Longestaffe, as recorded in the last chapter, Mr. Melmotte was +in all his glory, and tickets for the entertainment were very +precious. Gradually their value subsided. Lady Monogram had paid very +dear for hers,—especially as the reception of Mr. Brehgert must be +considered. But high prices were then being paid. A lady offered to +take Marie Melmotte into the country with her for a week; but this +was before the elopement. Mr. Cohenlupe was asked out to dinner to +meet two peers and a countess. Lord Alfred received various presents. +A young lady gave a lock of her hair to Lord Nidderdale, although it +was known that he was to marry Marie Melmotte. And Miles Grendall got +back an I. O. U. of considerable nominal value from Lord Grasslough, +who was anxious to accommodate two country cousins who were in +London. Gradually the prices fell;—not at first from any doubt in +Melmotte, but through that customary reaction which may be expected +on such occasions. But at eight or nine o'clock on the evening of the +party the tickets were worth nothing. The rumour had then spread +itself through the whole town from Pimlico to Marylebone. Men coming +home from clubs had told their wives. Ladies who had been in the park +had heard it. Even the hairdressers had it, and ladies' maids had +been instructed by the footmen and grooms who had been holding horses +and seated on the coach-boxes. It had got into the air, and had +floated round dining-rooms and over toilet-tables.</p> + +<p>I doubt whether Sir Damask would have said a word about it to his +wife as he was dressing for dinner, had he calculated what might be +the result to himself. But he came home open-mouthed, and made no +calculation. "Have you heard what's up, Ju?" he said, rushing +half-dressed into his wife's room.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill061"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill061.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill061-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"Have you heard what’s up, Ju?"' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"Have you + heard what's up, Ju?"</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill061.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"What is up?"</p> + +<p>"Haven't you been out?"</p> + +<p>"I was shopping, and that kind of thing. I don't want to take that +girl into the Park. I've made a mistake in having her here, but I +mean to be seen with her as little as I can."</p> + +<p>"Be good-natured, Ju, whatever you are."</p> + +<p>"Oh, bother! I know what I'm about. What is it you mean?"</p> + +<p>"They say Melmotte's been found out."</p> + +<p>"Found out!" exclaimed Lady Monogram, stopping her maid in some +arrangement which would not need to be continued in the event of her +not going to the reception. "What do you mean by found out?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know exactly. There are a dozen stories told. It's something +about that place he bought of old Longestaffe."</p> + +<p>"Are the Longestaffes mixed up in it? I won't have her here a day +longer if there is anything against them."</p> + +<p>"Don't be an ass, Ju. There's nothing against him except that the +poor old fellow hasn't got a shilling of his money."</p> + +<p>"Then he's ruined,—and there's an end of them."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he will get it now. Some say that Melmotte has forged a +receipt, others a letter. Some declare that he has manufactured a +whole set of title-deeds. You remember Dolly?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I know Dolly Longestaffe," said Lady Monogram, who had +thought at one time that an alliance with Dolly might be convenient.</p> + +<p>"They say he has found it all out. There was always something about +Dolly more than fellows gave him credit for. At any rate, everybody +says that Melmotte will be in quod before long."</p> + +<p>"Not to-night, Damask!"</p> + +<p>"Nobody seems to know. Lupton was saying that the policemen would +wait about in the room like servants till the Emperor and the Princes +had gone away."</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Lupton going?"</p> + +<p>"He was to have been at the dinner, but hadn't made up his mind +whether he'd go or not when I saw him. Nobody seems to be quite +certain whether the Emperor will go. Somebody said that a Cabinet +Council was to be called to know what to do."</p> + +<p>"A Cabinet Council!"</p> + +<p>"Why, you see it's rather an awkward thing, letting the Prince go to +dine with a man who perhaps may have been arrested and taken to gaol +before dinner-time. That's the worst part of it. Nobody knows."</p> + +<p>Lady Monogram waved her attendant away. She piqued herself upon +having a French maid who could not speak a word of English, and was +therefore quite careless what she said in the woman's presence. But, +of course, everything she did say was repeated down-stairs in some +language that had become intelligible to the servants generally. Lady +Monogram sat motionless for some time, while her husband, retreating +to his own domain, finished his operations. "Damask," she said, when +he reappeared, "one thing is certain;—we can't go."</p> + +<p>"After you've made such a fuss about it!"</p> + +<p>"It is a pity,—having that girl here in the house. You know, don't +you, she's going to marry one of these people?"</p> + +<p>"I heard about her marriage yesterday. But Brehgert isn't one of +Melmotte's set. They tell me that Brehgert isn't a bad fellow. A +vulgar cad, and all that, but nothing wrong about him."</p> + +<p>"He's a Jew,—and he's seventy years old, and makes up horribly."</p> + +<p>"What does it matter to you if he's eighty? You are determined, then, +you won't go?"</p> + +<p>But Lady Monogram had by no means determined that she wouldn't go. +She had paid her price, and with that economy which sticks to a woman +always in the midst of her extravagances, she could not bear to lose +the thing that she had bought. She cared nothing for Melmotte's +villainy, as regarded herself. That he was enriching himself by the +daily plunder of the innocent she had taken for granted since she had +first heard of him. She had but a confused idea of any difference +between commerce and fraud. But it would grieve her greatly to become +known as one of an awkward squad of people who had driven to the +door, and perhaps been admitted to some wretched gathering of +wretched people,—and not, after all, to have met the Emperor and the +Prince. But then, should she hear on the next morning that the +Emperor and the Princes, that the Princesses, and the Duchesses, with +the Ambassadors, Cabinet Ministers, and proper sort of world +generally, had all been there,—that the world, in short, had ignored +Melmotte's villainy,—then would her grief be still greater. She sat +down to dinner with her husband and Miss Longestaffe, and could not +talk freely on the matter. Miss Longestaffe was still a guest of the +Melmottes, although she had transferred herself to the Monograms for +a day or two. And a horrible idea crossed Lady Monogram's mind. What +should she do with her friend Georgiana if the whole Melmotte +establishment were suddenly broken up? Of course, Madame Melmotte +would refuse to take the girl back if her husband were sent to gaol. +"I suppose you'll go," said Sir Damask as the ladies left the room.</p> + +<p>"Of course we shall,—in about an hour," said Lady Monogram as she +left the room, looking round at him and rebuking him for his +imprudence.</p> + +<p>"Because, you know—" and then he called her back. "If you want me +I'll stay, of course; but if you don't, I'll go down to the club."</p> + +<p>"How can I say, yet? You needn't mind the club to-night."</p> + +<p>"All right;—only it's a bore being here alone."</p> + +<p>Then Miss Longestaffe asked what "was up." "Is there any doubt about +our going to-night?"</p> + +<p>"I can't say. I'm so harassed that I don't know what I'm about. There +seems to be a report that the Emperor won't be there."</p> + +<p>"Impossible!"</p> + +<p>"It's all very well to say impossible, my dear," said Lady Monogram; +"but still that's what people are saying. You see Mr. Melmotte is a +very great man, but perhaps—something else has turned up, so that he +may be thrown over. Things of that kind do happen. You had better +finish dressing. I shall. But I shan't make sure of going till I hear +that the Emperor is there." Then she descended to her husband, whom +she found forlornly consoling himself with a cigar. "Damask," she +said, "you must find out."</p> + +<p>"Find out what?"</p> + +<p>"Whether the Prince and the Emperor are there."</p> + +<p>"Send John to ask," suggested the husband.</p> + +<p>"He would be sure to make a blunder about it. If you'd go yourself +you'd learn the truth in a minute. Have a cab,—just go into the hall +and you'll soon know how it all is;—I'd do it in a minute if I were +you." Sir Damask was the most good-natured man in the world, but he +did not like the job. "What can be the objection?" asked his wife.</p> + +<p>"Go to a man's house and find out whether a man's guests are come +before you go yourself! I don't just see it, Ju."</p> + +<p>"Guests! What nonsense! The Emperor and all the Royal Family! As if +it were like any other party. Such a thing, probably, never happened +before, and never will happen again. If you don't go, Damask, I must; +and I will." Sir Damask, after groaning and smoking for half a +minute, said that he would go. He made many remonstrances. It was a +confounded bore. He hated emperors and he hated princes. He hated the +whole box and dice of that sort of thing! He "wished to goodness" +that he had dined at his club and sent word up home that the affair +was to be off. But at last he submitted, and allowed his wife to +leave the room with the intention of sending for a cab. The cab was +sent for and announced, but Sir Damask would not stir till he had +finished his big cigar.</p> + +<p>It was past ten when he left his own house. On arriving in Grosvenor +Square he could at once see that the party was going on. The house +was illuminated. There was a concourse of servants round the door, +and half the square was already blocked up with carriages. It was not +without delay that he got to the door, and when there he saw the +royal liveries. There was no doubt about the party. The Emperor and +the Princes and the Princesses were all there. As far as Sir Damask +could then perceive, the dinner had been quite a success. But again +there was a delay in getting away, and it was nearly eleven before he +could reach home. "It's all right," said he to his wife. "They're +there, safe enough."</p> + +<p>"You are sure that the Emperor is there."</p> + +<p>"As sure as a man can be without having seen him."</p> + +<p>Miss Longestaffe was present at this moment, and could not but resent +what appeared to be a most unseemly slur cast upon her friends. "I +don't understand it at all," she said. "Of course the Emperor is +there. Everybody has known for the last month that he was coming. +What is the meaning of it, Julia?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, you must allow me to manage my own little affairs my own +way. I dare say I am absurd. But I have my reason. Now, Damask, if +the carriage is there we had better start." The carriage was there, +and they did start, and with a delay which seemed unprecedented, even +to Lady Monogram, who was accustomed to these things, they reached +the door. There was a great crush in the hall, and people were coming +down-stairs. But at last they made their way into the room above, and +found that the Emperor of China and all the Royalties had been +there,—but had taken their departure.</p> + +<p>Sir Damask put the ladies into the carriage and went at once to his +club.</p> + + +<p><a id="c62"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXII.</h3> +<h4>THE PARTY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lady Monogram retired from Mr. Melmotte's house in disgust as soon as +she was able to escape; but we must return to it for a short time. +When the guests were once in the drawing-room the immediate sense of +failure passed away. The crowd never became so thick as had been +anticipated. They who were knowing in such matters had declared that +the people would not be able to get themselves out of the room till +three or four o'clock in the morning, and that the carriages would +not get themselves out of the Square till breakfast time. With a view +to this kind of thing Mr. Melmotte had been told that he must provide +a private means of escape for his illustrious guests, and with a +considerable sacrifice of walls and general house arrangements this +had been done. No such gathering as was expected took place; but +still the rooms became fairly full, and Mr. Melmotte was able to +console himself with the feeling that nothing certainly fatal had as +yet occurred.</p> + +<p>There can be no doubt that the greater part of the people assembled +did believe that their host had committed some great fraud which +might probably bring him under the arm of the law. When such rumours +are spread abroad, they are always believed. There is an excitement +and a pleasure in believing them. Reasonable hesitation at such a +moment is dull and phlegmatic. If the accused one be near enough to +ourselves to make the accusation a matter of personal pain, of course +we disbelieve. But, if the distance be beyond this, we are almost +ready to think that anything may be true of anybody. In this case +nobody really loved Melmotte and everybody did believe. It was so +probable that such a man should have done something horrible! It was +only hoped that the fraud might be great and horrible enough.</p> + +<p>Melmotte himself during that part of the evening which was passed +up-stairs kept himself in the close vicinity of royalty. He behaved +certainly very much better than he would have done had he had no +weight at his heart. He made few attempts at beginning any +conversation, and answered, at any rate with brevity, when he was +addressed. With scrupulous care he ticked off on his memory the names +of those who had come and whom he knew, thinking that their presence +indicated a verdict of acquittal from them on the evidence already +before them. Seeing the members of the Government all there, he +wished that he had come forward in Westminster as a Liberal. And he +freely forgave those omissions of Royalty as to which he had been so +angry at the India Office, seeing that not a Prince or Princess was +lacking of those who were expected. He could turn his mind to all +this, although he knew how great was his danger. Many things occurred +to him as he stood, striving to smile as a host should smile. It +might be the case that half-a-dozen detectives were already stationed +in his own hall,—perhaps one or two, well dressed, in the very +presence of royalty,—ready to arrest him as soon as the guests were +gone, watching him now lest he should escape. But he bore the +burden,—and smiled. He had always lived with the consciousness that +such a burden was on him and might crush him at any time. He had +known that he had to run these risks. He had told himself a thousand +times that when the dangers came, dangers alone should never cow him. +He had always endeavoured to go as near the wind as he could, to +avoid the heavy hand of the criminal law of whatever country he +inhabited. He had studied the criminal laws, so that he might be sure +in his reckonings; but he had always felt that he might be carried by +circumstances into deeper waters than he intended to enter. As the +soldier who leads a forlorn hope, or as the diver who goes down for +pearls, or as the searcher for wealth on fever-breeding coasts, knows +that as his gains may be great, so are his perils, Melmotte had been +aware that in his life, as it opened itself out to him, he might come +to terrible destruction. He had not always thought, or even hoped, +that he would be as he was now, so exalted as to be allowed to +entertain the very biggest ones of the earth; but the greatness had +grown upon him,—and so had the danger. He could not now be as exact +as he had been. He was prepared himself to bear all mere ignominy +with a tranquil mind,—to disregard any shouts of reprobation which +might be uttered, and to console himself when the bad quarter of an +hour should come with the remembrance that he had garnered up a store +sufficient for future wants and placed it beyond the reach of his +enemies. But as his intellect opened up to him new schemes, and as +his ambition got the better of his prudence, he gradually fell from +the security which he had preconceived, and became aware that he +might have to bear worse than ignominy.</p> + +<p>Perhaps never in his life had he studied his own character and his +own conduct more accurately, or made sterner resolves, than he did as +he stood there smiling, bowing, and acting without impropriety the +part of host to an Emperor. No;—he could not run away. He soon made +himself sure of that. He had risen too high to be a successful +fugitive, even should he succeed in getting off before hands were +laid upon him. He must bide his ground, if only that he might not at +once confess his own guilt by flight; and he would do so with +courage. Looking back at the hour or two that had just passed he was +aware that he had allowed himself not only to be frightened in the +dinner-room,—but also to seem to be frightened. The thing had come +upon him unawares and he had been untrue to himself. He acknowledged +that. He should not have asked those questions of Mr. Todd and Mr. +Beauclerk, and should have been more good-humoured than usual with +Lord Alfred in discussing those empty seats. But for spilt milk there +is no remedy. The blow had come upon him too suddenly, and he had +faltered. But he would not falter again. Nothing should cow him,—no +touch from a policeman, no warrant from a magistrate, no defalcation +of friends, no scorn in the City, no solitude in the West End. He +would go down among the electors to-morrow and would stand his +ground, as though all with him were right. Men should know at any +rate that he had a heart within his bosom. And he confessed also to +himself that he had sinned in that matter of arrogance. He could see +it now,—as so many of us do see the faults which we have committed, +which we strive, but in vain, to discontinue, and which we never +confess except to our own bosoms. The task which he had imposed on +himself, and to which circumstances had added weight, had been very +hard to bear. He should have been good-humoured to these great ones +whose society he had gained. He should have bound these people to him +by a feeling of kindness as well as by his money. He could see it all +now. And he could see too that there was no help for spilt milk. I +think he took some pride in his own confidence as to his own courage, +as he stood there turning it all over in his mind. Very much might be +suspected. Something might be found out. But the task of unravelling +it all would not be easy. It is the small vermin and the little birds +that are trapped at once. But wolves and vultures can fight hard +before they are caught. With the means which would still be at his +command, let the worst come to the worst, he could make a strong +fight. When a man's frauds have been enormous there is a certain +safety in their very diversity and proportions. Might it not be that +the fact that these great ones of the earth had been his guests +should speak in his favour? A man who had in very truth had the real +brother of the Sun dining at his table could hardly be sent into the +dock and then sent out of it like a common felon.</p> + +<p>Madame Melmotte during the evening stood at the top of her own stairs +with a chair behind her on which she could rest herself for a moment +when any pause took place in the arrivals. She had of course dined at +the table,—or rather sat there;—but had been so placed that no duty +had devolved upon her. She had heard no word of the rumours, and +would probably be the last person in that house to hear them. It +never occurred to her to see whether the places down the table were +full or empty. She sat with her large eyes fixed on the Majesty of +China and must have wondered at her own destiny at finding herself +with an Emperor and Princes to look at. From the dining-room she had +gone when she was told to go, up to the drawing-room, and had there +performed her task, longing only for the comfort of her bedroom. She, +I think, had but small sympathy with her husband in all his work, and +but little understanding of the position in which she had been +placed. Money she liked, and comfort, and perhaps diamonds and fine +dresses, but she can hardly have taken pleasure in duchesses or have +enjoyed the company of the Emperor. From the beginning of the +Melmotte era it had been an understood thing that no one spoke to +Madame Melmotte.</p> + +<p>Marie Melmotte had declined a seat at the dinner-table. This at first +had been cause of quarrel between her and her father, as he desired +to have seen her next to young Lord Nidderdale as being acknowledged +to be betrothed to him. But since the journey to Liverpool he had +said nothing on the subject. He still pressed the engagement, but +thought now that less publicity might be expedient. She was, however, +in the drawing-room standing at first by Madame Melmotte, and +afterwards retreating among the crowd. To some ladies she was a +person of interest as the young woman who had lately run away under +such strange circumstances; but no one spoke to her till she saw a +girl whom she herself knew, and whom she addressed, plucking up all +her courage for the occasion. This was Hetta Carbury who had been +brought hither by her mother.</p> + +<p>The tickets for Lady Carbury and Hetta had of course been sent before +the elopement;—and also, as a matter of course, no reference had +been made to them by the Melmotte family after the elopement. Lady +Carbury herself was anxious that that affair should not be considered +as having given cause for any personal quarrel between herself and +Mr. Melmotte, and in her difficulty had consulted Mr. Broune. Mr. +Broune was the staff on which she leant at present in all her +difficulties. Mr. Broune was going to the dinner. All this of course +took place while Melmotte's name was as yet unsullied as snow. Mr. +Broune saw no reason why Lady Carbury should not take advantage of +her tickets. These invitations were simply tickets to see the Emperor +surrounded by the Princes. The young lady's elopement is "no affair +of yours," Mr. Broune had said. "I should go, if it were only for the +sake of showing that you did not consider yourself to be implicated +in the matter." Lady Carbury did as she was advised, and took her +daughter with her. "Nonsense," said the mother, when Hetta objected; +"Mr. Broune sees it quite in the right light. This is a grand +demonstration in honour of the Emperor, rather than a private +party;—and we have done nothing to offend the Melmottes. You know +you wish to see the Emperor." A few minutes before they started from +Welbeck Street a note came from Mr. Broune, written in pencil and +sent from Melmotte's house by a Commissioner. "Don't mind what you +hear; but come. I am here and as far as I can see it is all right. +The E. is beautiful, and P.'s are as thick as blackberries." Lady +Carbury, who had not been in the way of hearing the reports, +understood nothing of this; but of course she went. And Hetta went +with her.</p> + +<p>Hetta was standing alone in a corner, near to her mother, who was +talking to Mr. Booker, with her eyes fixed on the awful tranquillity +of the Emperor's countenance, when Marie Melmotte timidly crept up to +her and asked her how she was. Hetta, probably, was not very cordial +to the poor girl, being afraid of her, partly as the daughter of the +great Melmotte and partly as the girl with whom her brother had +failed to run away; but Marie was not rebuked by this. "I hope you +won't be angry with me for speaking to you." Hetta smiled more +graciously. She could not be angry with the girl for speaking to her, +feeling that she was there as the guest of the girl's mother. "I +suppose you know about your brother," said Marie, whispering with her +eyes turned to the ground.</p> + +<p>"I have heard about it," said Hetta. "He never told me himself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I do so wish that I knew the truth. I know nothing. Of course, +Miss Carbury, I love him. I do love him so dearly! I hope you don't +think I would have done it if I hadn't loved him better than anybody +in the world. Don't you think that if a girl loves a man,—really +loves him,—that ought to go before everything?"</p> + +<p>This was a question that Hetta was hardly prepared to answer. She +felt quite certain that under no circumstances would she run away +with a man. "I don't quite know. It is so hard to say," she replied.</p> + +<p>"I do. What's the good of anything if you're to be broken-hearted? I +don't care what they say of me, or what they do to me, if he would +only be true to me. Why doesn't he—let me know—something about it?" +This also was a question difficult to be answered. Since that horrid +morning on which Sir Felix had stumbled home drunk,—which was now +four days since,—he had not left the house in Welbeck Street till +this evening. He had gone out a few minutes before Lady Carbury had +started, but up to that time he had almost kept his bed. He would not +get up till dinner-time, would come down after some half-dressed +fashion, and then get back to his bedroom, where he would smoke and +drink brandy-and-water and complain of headache. The theory was that +he was ill;—but he was in fact utterly cowed and did not dare to +show himself at his usual haunts. He was aware that he had quarrelled +at the club, aware that all the world knew of his intended journey to +Liverpool, aware that he had tumbled about the streets intoxicated. +He had not dared to show himself, and the feeling had grown upon him +from day to day. Now, fairly worn out by his confinement, he had +crept out intending, if possible, to find consolation with Ruby +Ruggles. "Do tell me. Where is he?" pleaded Marie.</p> + +<p>"He has not been very well lately."</p> + +<p>"Is he ill? Oh, Miss Carbury, do tell me. You can understand what it +is to love him as I do;—can't you?"</p> + +<p>"He has been ill. I think he is better now."</p> + +<p>"Why does he not come to me, or send to me; or let me know something? +It is cruel, is it not? Tell me,—you must know,—does he really care +for me?"</p> + +<p>Hetta was exceedingly perplexed. The real feeling betrayed by the +girl recommended her. Hetta could not but sympathize with the +affection manifested for her own brother, though she could hardly +understand the want of reticence displayed by Marie in thus speaking +of her love to one who was almost a stranger. "Felix hardly ever +talks about himself to me," she said.</p> + +<p>"If he doesn't care for me, there shall be an end of it," Marie said +very gravely. "If I only knew! If I thought that he loved me, I'd go +through,—oh,—all the world for him. Nothing that papa could say +should stop me. That's my feeling about it. I have never talked to +any one but you about it. Isn't that strange? I haven't a person to +talk to. That's my feeling, and I'm not a bit ashamed of it. There's +no disgrace in being in love. But it's very bad to get married +without being in love. That's what I think."</p> + +<p>"It is bad," said Hetta, thinking of Roger Carbury.</p> + +<p>"But if Felix doesn't care for me!" continued Marie, sinking her +voice to a low whisper, but still making her words quite audible to +her companion. Now Hetta was strongly of opinion that her brother did +not in the least "care for" Marie Melmotte, and that it would be very +much for the best that Marie Melmotte should know the truth. But she +had not that sort of strength which would have enabled her to tell +it. "Tell me just what you think," said Marie. Hetta was still +silent. "Ah,—I see. Then I must give him up? Eh?"</p> + +<p>"What can I say, Miss Melmotte? Felix never tells me. He is my +brother,—and of course I love you for loving him." This was almost +more than Hetta meant; but she felt herself constrained to say some +gracious word.</p> + +<p>"Do you? Oh! I wish you did. I should so like to be loved by you. +Nobody loves me, I think. That man there wants to marry me. Do you +know him? He is Lord Nidderdale. He is very nice; but he does not +love me any more than he loves you. That's the way with men. It isn't +the way with me. I would go with Felix and slave for him if he were +poor. Is it all to be over then? You will give him a message from +me?" Hetta, doubting as to the propriety of the promise, promised +that she would. "Just tell him I want to know; that's all. I want to +know. You'll understand. I want to know the real truth. I suppose I +do know it now. Then I shall not care what happens to me. It will be +all the same. I suppose I shall marry that young man, though it will +be very bad. I shall just be as if I hadn't any self of my own at +all. But he ought to send me word after all that has passed. Do not +you think he ought to send me word?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed."</p> + +<p>"You tell him, then," said Marie, nodding her head as she crept away.</p> + +<p>Nidderdale had been observing her while she had been talking to Miss +Carbury. He had heard the rumour, and of course felt that it behoved +him to be on his guard more specially than any one else. But he had +not believed what he had heard. That men should be thoroughly +immoral, that they should gamble, get drunk, run into debt, and make +love to other men's wives, was to him a matter of every-day life. +Nothing of that kind shocked him at all. But he was not as yet quite +old enough to believe in swindling. It had been impossible to +convince him that Miles Grendall had cheated at cards, and the idea +that Mr. Melmotte had forged was as improbable and shocking to him as +that an officer should run away in battle. Common soldiers, he +thought, might do that sort of thing. He had almost fallen in love +with Marie when he saw her last, and was inclined to feel the more +kindly to her now because of the hard things that were being said +about her father. And yet he knew that he must be careful. If "he +came a cropper" in this matter, it would be such an awful cropper! +"How do you like the party?" he said to Marie.</p> + +<p>"I don't like it at all, my lord. How do you like it?"</p> + +<p>"Very much, indeed. I think the Emperor is the greatest fun I ever +saw. Prince Frederic,"—one of the German princes who was staying at +the time among his English cousins,—"Prince Frederic says that he's +stuffed with hay, and that he's made up fresh every morning at a shop +in the Haymarket."</p> + +<p>"I've seen him talk."</p> + +<p>"He opens his mouth, of course. There is machinery as well as hay. I +think he's the grandest old buffer out, and I'm awfully glad that +I've dined with him. I couldn't make out whether he really put +anything to eat into his jolly old mouth."</p> + +<p>"Of course he did."</p> + +<p>"Have you been thinking about what we were talking about the other +day?"</p> + +<p>"No, my lord,—I haven't thought about it since. Why should I?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—it's a sort of thing that people do think about, you know."</p> + +<p>"You don't think about it."</p> + +<p>"Don't I? I've been thinking about nothing else the last three +months."</p> + +<p>"You've been thinking whether you'd get married or not."</p> + +<p>"That's what I mean," said Lord Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"It isn't what I mean, then."</p> + +<p>"I'll be shot if I can understand you."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not. And you never will understand me. Oh, +goodness;—they're all going, and we must get out of the way. Is that +Prince Frederic, who told you about the hay? He is handsome; isn't +he? And who is that in the violet dress;—with all the pearls?"</p> + +<p>"That's the Princess Dwarza."</p> + +<p>"Dear me;—isn't it odd, having a lot of people in one's own house, +and not being able to speak a word to them? I don't think it's at all +nice. Good night, my lord. I'm glad you like the Emperor."</p> + +<p>And then the people went, and when they had all gone Melmotte put his +wife and daughter into his own carriage, telling them that he would +follow them on foot to Bruton Street when he had given some last +directions to the people who were putting out the lights, and +extinguishing generally the embers of the entertainment. He had +looked round for Lord Alfred, taking care to avoid the appearance of +searching; but Lord Alfred had gone. Lord Alfred was one of those who +knew when to leave a falling house. Melmotte at the moment thought of +all that he had done for Lord Alfred, and it was something of the +real venom of ingratitude that stung him at the moment rather than +this additional sign of coming evil. He was more than ordinarily +gracious as he put his wife into the carriage, and remarked that, +considering all things, the party had gone off very well. "I only +wish it could have been done a little cheaper," he said laughing. +Then he went back into the house, and up into the drawing-rooms which +were now utterly deserted. Some of the lights had been put out, but +the men were busy in the rooms below, and he threw himself into the +chair in which the Emperor had sat. It was wonderful that he should +come to such a fate as this;—that he, the boy out of the gutter, +should entertain at his own house, in London, a Chinese Emperor and +English and German Royalty,—and that he should do so almost with a +rope round his neck. Even if this were to be the end of it all, men +would at any rate remember him. The grand dinner which he had given +before he was put into prison would live in history. And it would be +remembered, too, that he had been the Conservative candidate for the +great borough of Westminster,—perhaps, even, the elected member. He, +too, in his manner, assured himself that a great part of him would +escape Oblivion. "Non omnis moriar," in some language of his own, was +chanted by him within his own breast, as he sat there looking out on +his own magnificent suite of rooms from the arm-chair which had been +consecrated by the use of an Emperor.</p> + +<p>No policemen had come to trouble him yet. No hint that he would be +"wanted" had been made to him. There was no tangible sign that things +were not to go on as they went before. Things would be exactly as +they were before, but for the absence of those guests from the +dinner-table, and for the words which Miles Grendall had spoken. Had +he not allowed himself to be terrified by shadows? Of course he had +known that there must be such shadows. His life had been made dark by +similar clouds before now, and he had lived through the storms which +had followed them. He was thoroughly ashamed of the weakness which +had overcome him at the dinner-table, and of that palsy of fear which +he had allowed himself to exhibit. There should be no more shrinking +such as that. When people talked of him they should say that he was +at least a man.</p> + +<p>As this was passing through his mind a head was pushed in through one +of the doors, and immediately withdrawn. It was his Secretary. "Is +that you, Miles?" he said. "Come in. I'm just going home, and came up +here to see how the empty rooms would look after they were all gone. +What became of your father?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose he went away."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he did," said Melmotte, unable to hinder himself from +throwing a certain tone of scorn into his voice,—as though +proclaiming the fate of his own house and the consequent running away +of the rat. "It went off very well, I think."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Miles, still standing at the door. There had been a +few words of consultation between him and his father,—only a very +few words. "You'd better see it out to-night, as you've had a regular +salary, and all that. I shall hook it. I sha'n't go near him +to-morrow till I find out how things are going. By +<span class="nowrap">G——,</span> I've had +about enough of him." But hardly enough of his money,—or it may be +presumed that Lord Alfred would have "hooked it" sooner.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you come in, and not stand there?" said Melmotte. "There's +no Emperor here now for you to be afraid of."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid of nobody," said Miles, walking into the middle of the +room.</p> + +<p>"Nor am I. What's one man that another man should be afraid of him? +We've got to die, and there'll be an end of it, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"That's about it," said Miles, hardly following the working of his +master's mind.</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't care how soon. When a man has worked as I have done, he +gets about tired at my age. I suppose I'd better be down at the +committee-room about ten to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"That's the best, I should say."</p> + +<p>"You'll be there by that time?" Miles Grendall assented slowly, and +with imperfect assent. "And tell your father he might as well be +there as early as convenient."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Miles as he took his departure.</p> + +<p>"Curs!" said Melmotte almost aloud. "They neither of them will be +there. If any evil can be done to me by treachery and desertion, they +will do it." Then it occurred to him to think whether the Grendall +article had been worth all the money that he had paid for it. "Curs!" +he said again. He walked down into the hall, and through the +banqueting-room, and stood at the place where he himself had sat. +What a scene it had been, and how frightfully low his heart had sunk +within him! It had been the defection of the Lord Mayor that had hit +him hardest. "What cowards they are!" The men went on with their +work, not noticing him, and probably not knowing him. The dinner had +been done by contract, and the contractor's foreman was there. The +care of the house and the alterations had been confided to another +contractor, and his foreman was waiting to see the place locked up. A +confidential clerk, who had been with Melmotte for years, and who +knew his ways, was there also to guard the property. "Good night, +Croll," he said to the man in German. Croll touched his hat and bade +him good night. Melmotte listened anxiously to the tone of the man's +voice, trying to catch from it some indication of the mind within. +Did Croll know of these rumours, and if so, what did he think of +them? Croll had known him in some perilous circumstances before, and +had helped him through them. He paused a moment as though he would +ask a question, but resolved at last that silence would be safest. +"You'll see everything safe, eh, Croll?" Croll said that he would see +everything safe, and Melmotte passed out into the Square.</p> + +<p>He had not far to go, round through Berkeley Square into Bruton +Street, but he stood for a few moments looking up at the bright +stars. If he could be there, in one of those unknown distant worlds, +with all his present intellect and none of his present burdens, he +would, he thought, do better than he had done here on earth. If he +could even now put himself down nameless, fameless, and without +possessions in some distant corner of the world, he could, he +thought, do better. But he was Augustus Melmotte, and he must bear +his burdens, whatever they were, to the end. He could reach no place +so distant but that he would be known and traced.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill062"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill062.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill062-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="Mr. Melmotte speculates." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">Mr. Melmotte + speculates.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill062.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + + +<p><a id="c63"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXIII.</h3> +<h4>MR. MELMOTTE ON THE DAY OF THE ELECTION.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>No election of a Member of Parliament by ballot in a borough so large +as that of Westminster had as yet been achieved in England since the +ballot had been established by law. Men who heretofore had known, or +thought that they knew, how elections would go, who counted up +promises, told off professed enemies, and weighed the doubtful ones, +now confessed themselves to be in the dark. Three days since the odds +had been considerably in Melmotte's favour; but this had come from +the reputation attached to his name, rather than from any calculation +as to the politics of the voters. Then Sunday had intervened. On the +Monday Melmotte's name had continued to go down in the betting from +morning to evening. Early in the day his supporters had thought +little of this, attributing the fall to that vacillation which is +customary in such matters; but towards the latter part of the +afternoon the tidings from the City had been in everybody's mouth, +and Melmotte's committee-room had been almost deserted. At six +o'clock there were some who suggested that his name should be +withdrawn. No such suggestion, however, was made to him,—perhaps +because no one dared to make it. On the Monday evening all work and +strategy for the election, as regarded Melmotte and his party, died +away; and the interest of the hour was turned to the dinner.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Alf's supporters were very busy. There had been a close +consultation among a few of them as to what should be done by their +Committee as to these charges against the opposite candidate. In the +"Pulpit" of that evening an allusion had been made to the affair, +which was of course sufficiently intelligible to those who were +immediately concerned in the matter, but which had given no name and +mentioned no details. Mr. Alf explained that this had been put in by +the sub-editor, and that it only afforded such news as the paper was +bound to give to the public. He himself pointed out the fact that no +note of triumph had been sounded, and that the rumour had not been +connected with the election.</p> + +<p>One old gentleman was of opinion that they were bound to make the +most of it. "It's no more than we've all believed all along," said +the old gentleman, "and why are we to let a fellow like that get the +seat if we can keep him out?" He was of opinion that everything +should be done to make the rumour with all its exaggerations as +public as possible,—so that there should be no opening for an +indictment for libel; and the clever old gentleman was full of +devices by which this might be effected. But the Committee generally +was averse to fight in this manner. Public opinion has its Bar as +well as the Law Courts. If, after all, Melmotte had committed no +fraud,—or, as was much more probable, should not be convicted of +fraud,—then it would be said that the accusation had been forged for +purely electioneering purposes, and there might be a rebound which +would pretty well crush all those who had been concerned. Individual +gentlemen could, of course, say what they pleased to individual +voters; but it was agreed at last that no overt use should be made of +the rumours by Mr. Alf's Committee. In regard to other matters, they +who worked under the Committee were busy enough. The dinner to the +Emperor was turned into ridicule, and the electors were asked whether +they felt themselves bound to return a gentleman out of the City to +Parliament because he had offered to spend a fortune on entertaining +all the royalties then assembled in London. There was very much said +on placards and published in newspapers to the discredit of Melmotte, +but nothing was so printed which would not have appeared with equal +venom had the recent rumours never been sent out from the City. At +twelve o'clock at night, when Mr. Alf's committee-room was being +closed, and when Melmotte was walking home to bed, the general +opinion at the clubs was very much in favour of Mr. Alf.</p> + +<p>On the next morning Melmotte was up before eight. As yet no policeman +had called for him, nor had any official intimation reached him that +an accusation was to be brought against him. On coming down from his +bedroom he at once went into the back-parlour on the ground floor, +which Mr. Longestaffe called his study, and which Mr. Melmotte had +used since he had been in Mr. Longestaffe's house for the work which +he did at home. He would be there often early in the morning, and +often late at night after Lord Alfred had left him. There were two +heavy desk-tables in the room, furnished with drawers down to the +ground. One of these the owner of the house had kept locked for his +own purposes. When the bargain for the temporary letting of the house +had been made, Mr. Melmotte and Mr. Longestaffe were close friends. +Terms for the purchase of Pickering had just been made, and no cause +for suspicion had as yet arisen. Everything between the two gentlemen +had been managed with the greatest ease. Oh dear, yes! Mr. +Longestaffe could come whenever he pleased. He, Melmotte, always left +the house at ten and never returned till six. The ladies would never +enter that room. The servants were to regard Mr. Longestaffe quite as +master of the house as far as that room was concerned. If Mr. +Longestaffe could spare it, Mr. Melmotte would take the key of one of +the tables. The matter was arranged very pleasantly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Melmotte, on entering the room bolted the door, and then, sitting +at his own table, took certain papers out of the drawers,—a bundle +of letters and another of small documents. From these, with very +little examination, he took three or four,—two or three perhaps from +each. These he tore into very small fragments and burned the +bits,—holding them over a gas-burner and letting the ashes fall into +a large china plate. Then he blew the ashes into the yard through the +open window. This he did to all these documents but one. This one he +put bit by bit into his mouth, chewing the paper into a pulp till he +swallowed it. When he had done this, and had re-locked his own +drawers, he walked across to the other table, Mr. Longestaffe's +table, and pulled the handle of one of the drawers. It opened;—and +then, without touching the contents, he again closed it. He then +knelt down and examined the lock, and the hole above into which the +bolt of the lock ran. Having done this he again closed the drawer, +drew back the bolt of the door, and, seating himself at his own desk, +rang the bell which was close to hand. The servant found him writing +letters after his usual hurried fashion, and was told that he was +ready for breakfast. He always breakfasted alone with a heap of +newspapers around him, and so he did on this day. He soon found the +paragraph alluding to himself in the "Pulpit," and read it without a +quiver in his face or the slightest change in his colour. There was +no one to see him now,—but he was acting under a resolve that at no +moment, either when alone, or in a crowd, or when suddenly called +upon for words,—not even when the policemen with their first hints +of arrest should come upon him,—would he betray himself by the +working of a single muscle, or the loss of a drop of blood from his +heart. He would go through it, always armed, without a sign of +shrinking. It had to be done, and he would do it.</p> + +<p>At ten he walked down to the central committee-room at Whitehall +Place. He thought that he would face the world better by walking than +if he were taken in his own brougham. He gave orders that the +carriage should be at the committee-room at eleven, and wait an hour +for him if he was not there. He went along Bond Street and +Piccadilly, Regent Street and through Pall Mall to Charing Cross, +with the blandly triumphant smile of a man who had successfully +entertained the great guest of the day. As he got near the club he +met two or three men whom he knew, and bowed to them. They returned +his bow graciously enough, but not one of them stopped to speak to +him. Of one he knew that he would have stopped, had it not been for +the rumour. Even after the man had passed on he was careful to show +no displeasure on his face. He would take it all as it would come and +still be the blandly triumphant Merchant Prince,—as long as the +police would allow him. He probably was not aware how very different +was the part he was now playing from that which he had assumed at the +India Office.</p> + +<p>At the committee-room he only found a few understrappers, and was +informed that everything was going on regularly. The electors were +balloting; but with the ballot,—so said the leader of the +understrappers,—there never was any excitement. The men looked +half-frightened,—as though they did not quite know whether they +ought to seize their candidate, and hold him till the constable came. +They certainly had not expected to see him there. "Has Lord Alfred +been here?" Melmotte asked, standing in the inner room with his back +to the empty grate. No,—Lord Alfred had not been there. "Nor Mr. +Grendall?" The senior understrapper knew that Melmotte would have +asked for "his Secretary," and not for Mr. Grendall, but for the +rumours. It is so hard not to tumble into Scylla when you are +avoiding Charybdis. Mr. Grendall had not been there. Indeed, nobody +had been there. "In fact, there is nothing more to be done, I +suppose?" said Mr. Melmotte. The senior understrapper thought that +there was nothing more to be done. He left word that his brougham +should be sent away, and strolled out again on foot.</p> + +<p>He went up into Covent Garden, where there was a polling booth. The +place seemed to him, as one of the chief centres for a contested +election, to be wonderfully quiet. He was determined to face +everybody and everything, and he went close up to the booth. Here he +was recognised by various men, mechanics chiefly, who came forward +and shook hands with him. He remained there for an hour conversing +with people, and at last made a speech to a little knot around him. +He did not allude to the rumour of yesterday, nor to the paragraph in +the "Pulpit" to which his name had not been attached; but he spoke +freely enough of the general accusations that had been brought +against him previously. He wished the electors to understand that +nothing which had been said against him made him ashamed to meet them +here or elsewhere. He was proud of his position, and proud that the +electors of Westminster should recognise it. He did not, he was glad +to say, know much of the law, but he was told that the law would +protect him from such aspersions as had been unfairly thrown upon +him. He flattered himself that he was too good an Englishman to +regard the ordinary political attacks to which candidates were, as a +matter of course, subject at elections;—and he could stretch his +back to bear perhaps a little more than these, particularly as he +looked forward to a triumphant return. But things had been said, and +published, which the excitement of an election could not justify, and +as to these things he must have recourse to the law. Then he made +some allusion to the Princes and the Emperor, and concluded by +observing that it was the proudest boast of his life to be an +Englishman and a Londoner.</p> + +<p>It was asserted afterwards that this was the only good speech he had +ever been known to make; and it was certainly successful, as he was +applauded throughout Covent Garden. A reporter for the "Breakfast +Table" who was on duty at the place, looking for paragraphs as to the +conduct of electors, gave an account of the speech in that paper, and +made more of it, perhaps, than it deserved. It was asserted +afterwards, and given as a great proof of Melmotte's cleverness, that +he had planned the thing and gone to Covent Garden all alone having +considered that in that way could he best regain a step in +reputation; but in truth the affair had not been preconcerted. It was +while in Whitehall Place that he had first thought of going to Covent +Garden, and he had had no idea of making a speech till the people had +gathered round him.</p> + +<p>It was then noon, and he had to determine what he should do next. He +was half inclined to go round to all the booths and make speeches. +His success at Covent Garden had been very pleasant to him. But he +feared that he might not be so successful elsewhere. He had shown +that he was not afraid of the electors. Then an idea struck him that +he would go boldly into the City,—to his own offices in Abchurch +Lane. He had determined to be absent on this day, and would not be +expected. But his appearance there could not on that account be taken +amiss. Whatever enmities there might be, or whatever perils, he would +face them. He got a cab therefore and had himself driven to Abchurch +Lane.</p> + +<p>The clerks were hanging about doing nothing, as though it were a +holiday. The dinner, the election, and the rumour together had +altogether demoralized them. But some of them at least were there, +and they showed no signs of absolute insubordination. "Mr. Grendall +has not been here?" he asked. No; Mr. Grendall had not been there; +but Mr. Cohenlupe was in Mr. Grendall's room. At this moment he +hardly desired to see Mr. Cohenlupe. That gentleman was privy to many +of his transactions, but was by no means privy to them all. Mr. +Cohenlupe knew that the estate at Pickering had been purchased, and +knew that it had been mortgaged. He knew also what had become of the +money which had so been raised. But he knew nothing of the +circumstances of the purchase, although he probably surmised that +Melmotte had succeeded in getting the title-deeds on credit, without +paying the money. He was afraid that he could hardly see Cohenlupe +and hold his tongue, and that he could not speak to him without +danger. He and Cohenlupe might have to stand in a dock together; and +Cohenlupe had none of his spirit. But the clerks would think, and +would talk, were he to leave the office without seeing his old +friend. He went therefore into his own room, and called to Cohenlupe +as he did so.</p> + +<p>"Ve didn't expect you here to-day," said the member for Staines.</p> + +<p>"Nor did I expect to come. But there isn't much to do at Westminster +while the ballot is going on; so I came up, just to look at the +letters. The dinner went off pretty well yesterday, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Uncommon;—nothing better. Vy did the Lord Mayor stay away, +Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"Because he's an ass and a cur," said Mr. Melmotte with an assumed +air of indignation. "Alf and his people had got hold of him. There +was ever so much fuss about it at first,—whether he would accept the +invitation. I say it was an insult to the City to take it and not to +come. I shall be even with him some of these days."</p> + +<p>"Things will go on just the same as usual, Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"Go on. Of course they'll go. What's to hinder them?"</p> + +<p>"There's ever so much been said," whispered Cohenlupe.</p> + +<p>"Said;—yes," ejaculated Melmotte very loudly. "You're not such a +fool, I hope, as to believe every word you hear. You'll have enough +to believe, if you do."</p> + +<p>"There's no knowing vat anybody does know, and vat anybody does not +know," said Cohenlupe.</p> + +<p>"Look you here, Cohenlupe,"—and now Melmotte also sank his voice to +a whisper,—"keep your tongue in your mouth; go about just as usual, +and say nothing. It's all right. There has been some heavy pulls upon +us."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, there has indeed!"</p> + +<p>"But any paper with my name to it will come right."</p> + +<p>"That's nothing;—nothing at all," said Cohenlupe.</p> + +<p>"And there is nothing;—nothing at all! I've bought some property and +have paid for it; and I have bought some, and have not yet paid for +it. There's no fraud in that."</p> + +<p>"No, no,—nothing in that."</p> + +<p>"You hold your tongue, and go about your business. I'm going to the +bank now." Cohenlupe had been very low in spirits, and was still low +in spirits; but he was somewhat better after the visit of the great +man to the City.</p> + +<p>Mr. Melmotte was as good as his word and walked straight to the bank. +He kept two accounts at different banks, one for his business, and +one for his private affairs. The one he now entered was that which +kept what we may call his domestic account. He walked straight +through, after his old fashion, to the room behind the bank in which +sat the manager and the manager's one clerk, and stood upon the rug +before the fire-place just as though nothing had happened,—or as +nearly as though nothing had happened as was within the compass of +his powers. He could not quite do it. In keeping up an appearance +intended to be natural he was obliged to be somewhat milder than his +wont. The manager did not behave nearly as well as he did, and the +clerks manifestly betrayed their emotion. Melmotte saw that it was +so;—but he had expected it, and had come there on purpose to "put it +down."</p> + +<p>"We hardly expected to see you in the City to-day, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"And I didn't expect to see myself here. But it always happens that +when one expects that there's most to be done, there's nothing to be +done at all. They're all at work down at Westminster, balloting; but +as I can't go on voting for myself, I'm of no use. I've been at +Covent Garden this morning, making a stump speech, and if all that +they say there is true, I haven't much to be afraid of."</p> + +<p>"And the dinner went off pretty well?" asked the manager.</p> + +<p>"Very well, indeed. They say the Emperor liked it better than +anything that has been done for him yet." This was a brilliant flash +of imagination. "For a friend to dine with me every day, you know, I +should prefer somebody who had a little more to say for himself. But +then, perhaps, you know, if you or I were in China we shouldn't have +much to say for ourselves;—eh?" The manager acceded to this +proposition. "We had one awful disappointment. His lordship from over +the way didn't come."</p> + +<p>"The Lord Mayor, you mean."</p> + +<p>"The Lord Mayor didn't come! He was frightened at the last +moment;—took it into his head that his authority in the City was +somehow compromised. But the wonder was that the dinner went on +without him." Then Melmotte referred to the purport of his call there +that day. He would have to draw large cheques for his private wants. +"You don't give a dinner to an Emperor of China for nothing, you +know." He had been in the habit of over-drawing on his private +account,—making arrangements with the manager. But now, in the +manager's presence, he drew a regular cheque on his business account +for a large sum, and then, as a sort of afterthought, paid in the +£250 which he had received from Mr. Broune on account of the money +which Sir Felix had taken from Marie.</p> + +<p>"There don't seem much the matter with him," said the manager, when +Melmotte had left the room.</p> + +<p>"He brazens it out, don't he?" said the senior clerk. But the feeling +of the room after full discussion inclined to the opinion that the +rumours had been a political manœuvre. Nevertheless, Mr. Melmotte +would not now have been allowed to overdraw at the present moment.</p> + + +<p><a id="c64"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXIV.</h3> +<h4>THE ELECTION.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Mr. Alf's central committee-room was in Great George Street, and +there the battle was kept alive all the day. It had been decided, as +the reader has been told, that no direct advantage should be taken of +that loud blast of accusation which had been heard throughout the +town on the previous afternoon. There had not been sufficient time +for inquiry as to the truth of that blast. If there were just ground +for the things that had been said, Mr. Melmotte would no doubt soon +be in gaol, or would be—wanted. Many had thought that he would +escape as soon as the dinner was over, and had been disappointed when +they heard that he had been seen walking down towards his own +committee-room on the following morning. Others had been told that at +the last moment his name would be withdrawn,—and a question arose as +to whether he had the legal power to withdraw his name after a +certain hour on the day before the ballot. An effort was made to +convince a portion of the electors that he had withdrawn, or would +have withdrawn, or should have withdrawn. When Melmotte was at Covent +Garden, a large throng of men went to Whitehall Place with the view +of ascertaining the truth. He certainly had made no attempt at +withdrawal. They who propagated this report certainly damaged Mr. +Alf's cause. A second reaction set in, and there grew a feeling that +Mr. Melmotte was being ill-used. Those evil things had been said of +him,—many at least so declared,—not from any true motive, but +simply to secure Mr. Alf's return. Tidings of the speech in Covent +Garden were spread about at the various polling places, and did good +service to the so-called Conservative cause. Mr. Alf's friends, +hearing all this, instigated him also to make a speech. Something +should be said, if only that it might be reported in the newspapers, +to show that they had behaved with generosity, instead of having +injured their enemy by false attacks. Whatever Mr. Alf might say, he +might at any rate be sure of a favourable reporter.</p> + +<p>About two o'clock in the day, Mr. Alf did make a speech,—and a very +good speech it was, if correctly reported in the "Evening Pulpit." +Mr. Alf was a clever man, ready at all points, with all his powers +immediately at command, and, no doubt, he did make a good speech. But +in this speech, in which we may presume that it would be his +intention to convince the electors that they ought to return him to +Parliament, because, of the two candidates, he was the fittest to +represent their views, he did not say a word as to his own political +ideas, not, indeed, a word that could be accepted as manifesting his +own fitness for the place which it was his ambition to fill. He +contented himself with endeavouring to show that the other man was +not fit;—and that he and his friends, though solicitous of proving +to the electors that Mr. Melmotte was about the most unfit man in the +world, had been guilty of nothing shabby in their manner of doing so. +"Mr. Melmotte," he said, "comes before you as a Conservative, and has +told us, by the mouths of his friends,—for he has not favoured us +with many words of his own,—that he is supported by the whole +Conservative party. That party is not my party, but I respect it. +Where, however, are these Conservative supporters? We have heard, +till we are sick of it, of the banquet which Mr. Melmotte gave +yesterday. I am told that very few of those whom he calls his +Conservative friends could be induced to attend that banquet. It is +equally notorious that the leading merchants of the City refused to +grace the table of this great commercial prince. I say that the +leaders of the Conservative party have at last found their candidate +out, have repudiated him;—and are seeking now to free themselves +from the individual shame of having supported the candidature of such +a man by remaining in their own houses instead of clustering round +the polling booths. Go to Mr. Melmotte's committee-room and inquire +if those leading Conservatives be there. Look about, and see whether +they are walking with him in the streets, or standing with him in +public places, or taking the air with him in the parks. I respect the +leaders of the Conservative party; but they have made a mistake in +this matter, and they know it." Then he ended by alluding to the +rumours of yesterday. "I scorn," said he, "to say anything against +the personal character of a political opponent, which I am not in a +position to prove. I make no allusion, and have made no allusion, to +reports which were circulated yesterday about him, and which I +believe were originated in the City. They may be false or they may be +true. As I know nothing of the matter, I prefer to regard them as +false, and I recommend you to do the same. But I declared to you long +before these reports were in men's mouths, that Mr. Melmotte was not +entitled by his character to represent you in parliament, and I +repeat that assertion. A great British merchant, indeed! How long, do +you think, should a man be known in this city before that title be +accorded to him? Who knew aught of this man two years since,—unless, +indeed, it be some one who had burnt his wings in trafficking with +him in some continental city? Ask the character of this great British +merchant in Hamburg and Vienna; ask it in Paris;—ask those whose +business here has connected them with the assurance companies of +foreign countries, and you will be told whether this is a fit man to +represent Westminster in the British parliament!" There was much more +yet; but such was the tone of the speech which Mr. Alf made with the +object of inducing the electors to vote for himself.</p> + +<p>At two or three o'clock in the day, nobody knew how the matter was +going. It was supposed that the working-classes were in favour of +Melmotte, partly from their love of a man who spends a great deal of +money, partly from the belief that he was being ill-used,—partly, no +doubt, from that occult sympathy which is felt for crime, when the +crime committed is injurious to the upper classes. Masses of men will +almost feel that a certain amount of injustice ought to be inflicted +on their betters, so as to make things even, and will persuade +themselves that a criminal should be declared to be innocent, because +the crime committed has had a tendency to oppress the rich and pull +down the mighty from their seats. Some few years since, the basest +calumnies that were ever published in this country, uttered by one of +the basest men that ever disgraced the country, levelled, for the +most part, at men of whose characters and services the country was +proud, were received with a certain amount of sympathy by men not +themselves dishonest, because they who were thus slandered had +received so many good things from Fortune, that a few evil things +were thought to be due to them. There had not as yet been time for +the formation of such a feeling generally, in respect of Mr. +Melmotte. But there was a commencement of it. It had been asserted +that Melmotte was a public robber. Whom had he robbed? Not the poor. +There was not a man in London who caused the payment of a larger sum +in weekly wages than Mr. Melmotte.</p> + +<p>About three o'clock, the editor of the "Morning Breakfast Table" +called on Lady Carbury. "What is it all about?" she asked, as soon as +her friend was seated. There had been no time for him to explain +anything at Madame Melmotte's reception, and Lady Carbury had as yet +failed in learning any certain news of what was going on.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what to make of it," said Mr. Broune. "There is a story +abroad that Mr. Melmotte has forged some document with reference to a +purchase he made,—and hanging on to that story are other stories as +to moneys that he has raised. I should say that it was simply an +electioneering trick, and a very unfair trick, were it not that all +his own side seem to believe it."</p> + +<p>"Do you believe it?"</p> + +<p>"Ah,—I could answer almost any question sooner than that."</p> + +<p>"Then he can't be rich at all."</p> + +<p>"Even that would not follow. He has such large concerns in hand that +he might be very much pressed for funds, and yet be possessed of +immense wealth. Everybody says that he pays all his bills."</p> + +<p>"Will he be returned?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"From what we hear, we think not. I shall know more about it in an +hour or two. At present I should not like to have to publish an +opinion; but were I forced to bet, I would bet against him. Nobody is +doing anything for him. There can be no doubt that his own party are +ashamed of him. As things used to be, this would have been fatal to +him at the day of election; but now, with the ballot, it won't matter +so much. If I were a candidate, at present, I think I would go to bed +on the last day, and beg all my committee to do the same as soon as +they had put in their voting papers."</p> + +<p>"I am glad Felix did not go to Liverpool," said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"It would not have made much difference. She would have been brought +back all the same. They say Lord Nidderdale still means to marry +her."</p> + +<p>"I saw him talking to her last night."</p> + +<p>"There must be an immense amount of property somewhere. No one doubts +that he was rich when he came to England two years ago, and they say +everything has prospered that he has put his hand to since. The +Mexican Railway shares had fallen this morning, but they were at £15 +premium yesterday morning. He must have made an enormous deal out of +that." But Mr. Broune's eloquence on this occasion was chiefly +displayed in regard to the presumption of Mr. Alf. "I shouldn't think +him such a fool if he had announced his resignation of the editorship +when he came before the world as a candidate for parliament. But a +man must be mad who imagines that he can sit for Westminster and edit +a London daily paper at the same time."</p> + +<p>"Has it never been done?"</p> + +<p>"Never, I think;—that is, by the editor of such a paper as the +'Pulpit.' How is a man who sits in parliament himself ever to pretend +to discuss the doings of parliament with impartiality? But Alf +believes that he can do more than anybody else ever did, and he'll +come to the ground. Where's Felix now?"</p> + +<p>"Do not ask me," said the poor mother.</p> + +<p>"Is he doing anything?"</p> + +<p>"He lies in bed all day, and is out all night."</p> + +<p>"But that wants money." She only shook her head. "You do not give him +any?"</p> + +<p>"I have none to give."</p> + +<p>"I should simply take the key of the house from him,—or bolt the +door if he will not give it up."</p> + +<p>"And be in bed, and listen while he knocks,—knowing that he must +wander in the streets if I refuse to let him in? A mother cannot do +that, Mr. Broune. A child has such a hold upon his mother. When her +reason has bade her to condemn him, her heart will not let her carry +out the sentence." Mr. Broune never now thought of kissing Lady +Carbury; but when she spoke thus, he got up and took her hand, and +she, as she pressed his hand, had no fear that she would be kissed. +The feeling between them was changed.</p> + +<p>Melmotte dined at home that evening with no company but that of his +wife and daughter. Latterly one of the Grendalls had almost always +joined their party when they did not dine out. Indeed, it was an +understood thing, that Miles Grendall should dine there always, +unless he explained his absence by some engagement,—so that his +presence there had come to be considered as a part of his duty. Not +unfrequently "Alfred" and Miles would both come, as Melmotte's +dinners and wines were good, and occasionally the father would take +the son's place,—but on this day they were both absent. Madame +Melmotte had not as yet said a word to any one indicating her own +apprehension of any evil. But not a person had called to-day,—the +day after the great party,—and even she, though she was naturally +callous in such matters, had begun to think that she was deserted. +She had, too, become so used to the presence of the Grendalls, that +she now missed their company. She thought that on this day, of all +days, when the world was balloting for her husband at Westminster, +they would both have been with him to discuss the work of the day. +"Is not Mr. Grendall coming?" she asked, as she took her seat at the +table.</p> + +<p>"No, he is not," said Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"Nor Lord Alfred?"</p> + +<p>"Nor Lord Alfred." Melmotte had returned home much comforted by the +day's proceedings. No one had dared to say a harsh word to his face. +Nothing further had reached his ears. After leaving the bank he had +gone back to his office, and had written letters,—just as if nothing +had happened; and, as far as he could judge, his clerks had plucked +up courage. One of them, about five o'clock, came into him with news +from the west, and with second editions of the evening papers. The +clerk expressed his opinion that the election was going well. Mr. +Melmotte, judging from the papers, one of which was supposed to be on +his side and the other of course against him, thought that his +affairs altogether were looking well. The Westminster election had +not the foremost place in his thoughts; but he took what was said on +that subject as indicating the minds of men upon the other matter. He +read Alf's speech, and consoled himself with thinking that Mr. Alf +had not dared to make new accusations against him. All that about +Hamburgh and Vienna and Paris was as old as the hills, and availed +nothing. His whole candidature had been carried in the face of that. +"I think we shall do pretty well," he said to the clerk. His very +presence in Abchurch Lane of course gave confidence. And thus, when +he came home, something of the old arrogance had come back upon him, +and he could swagger at any rate before his wife and servants. "Nor +Lord Alfred," he said with scorn. Then he added more. "The father and +son are two +<span class="nowrap">d——</span> curs." This of course frightened Madame Melmotte, +and she joined this desertion of the Grendalls to her own solitude +all the day.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything wrong, Melmotte?" she said afterwards, creeping up +to him in the back parlour, and speaking in French.</p> + +<p>"What do you call wrong?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know;—but I seem to be afraid of something."</p> + +<p>"I should have thought you were used to that kind of feeling by this +time."</p> + +<p>"Then there is something."</p> + +<p>"Don't be a fool. There is always something. There is always much. +You don't suppose that this kind of thing can be carried on as +smoothly as the life of an old maid with £400 a year paid quarterly +in advance."</p> + +<p>"Shall we have to—move again?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"How am I to tell? You haven't much to do when we move, and may get +plenty to eat and drink wherever you go. Does that girl mean to marry +Lord Nidderdale?" Madame Melmotte shook her head. "What a poor +creature you must be when you can't talk her out of a fancy for such +a reprobate as young Carbury. If she throws me over, I'll throw her +over. I'll flog her within an inch of her life if she disobeys me. +You tell her that I say so."</p> + +<p>"Then he may flog me," said Marie, when so much of the conversation +was repeated to her that evening. "Papa does not know me if he thinks +that I'm to be made to marry a man by flogging." No such attempt was +at any rate made that night, for the father and husband did not again +see his wife or daughter.</p> + +<p>Early the next day a report was current that Mr. Alf had been +returned. The numbers had not as yet been counted, or the books made +up;—but that was the opinion expressed. All the morning newspapers, +including the "Breakfast Table," repeated this report,—but each gave +it as the general opinion on the matter. The truth would not be known +till seven or eight o'clock in the evening. The Conservative papers +did not scruple to say that the presumed election of Mr. Alf was +owing to a sudden declension in the confidence originally felt in Mr. +Melmotte. The "Breakfast Table," which had supported Mr. Melmotte's +candidature, gave no reason, and expressed more doubt on the result +than the other papers. "We know not how such an opinion forms +itself," the writer said;—"but it seems to have been formed. As +nothing as yet is really known, or can be known, we express no +opinion of our own upon the matter."</p> + +<p>Mr. Melmotte again went into the City, and found that things seemed +to have returned very much into their usual grooves. The Mexican +Railway shares were low, and Mr. Cohenlupe was depressed in spirits +and unhappy;—but nothing dreadful had occurred or seemed to be +threatened. If nothing dreadful did occur, the railway shares would +probably recover, or nearly recover, their position. In the course of +the day, Melmotte received a letter from Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, +which, of itself, certainly contained no comfort;—but there was +comfort to be drawn even from that letter, by reason of what it did +not contain. The letter was unfriendly in its tone and peremptory. It +had come evidently from a hostile party. It had none of the feeling +which had hitherto prevailed in the intercourse between these two +well-known Conservative gentlemen, Mr. Adolphus Longestaffe and Mr. +Augustus Melmotte. But there was no allusion in it to forgery; no +question of criminal proceedings; no hint at aught beyond the not +unnatural desire of Mr. Longestaffe and Mr. Longestaffe's son to be +paid for the property at Pickering which Mr. Melmotte had purchased.</p> + +<p>"We have to remind you," said the letter, in continuation of +paragraphs which had contained simply demands for the money, "that +the title-deeds were delivered to you on receipt by us of authority +to that effect from the Messrs. Longestaffe, father and son, on the +understanding that the purchase-money was to be at once paid to us by +you. We are informed that the property has been since mortgaged by +you. We do not state this as a fact. But the information, whether +true or untrue, forces upon us the necessity of demanding that you +should at once pay to us the purchase-money,—£80,000,—or else +return to us the title-deeds of the estate."</p> + +<p>This letter, which was signed Slow and Bideawhile, declared +positively that the title-deeds had been given up on authority +received by them from both the Longestaffes,—father and son. Now the +accusation brought against Melmotte, as far as he could as yet +understand it, was that he had forged the signature to the young Mr. +Longestaffe's letter. Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile were therefore on +his side. As to the simple debt, he cared little comparatively about +that. Many fine men were walking about London who owed large sums of +money which they could not pay.</p> + +<p>As he was sitting at his solitary dinner this evening,—for both his +wife and daughter had declined to join him, saying that they had +dined early,—news was brought to him that he had been elected for +Westminster. He had beaten Mr. Alf by something not much less than a +thousand votes.</p> + +<p>It was very much to be member for Westminster. So much had at any +rate been achieved by him who had begun the world without a shilling +and without a friend,—almost without education! Much as he loved +money, and much as he loved the spending of money, and much as he had +made and much as he had spent, no triumph of his life had been so +great to him as this. Brought into the world in a gutter, without +father or mother, with no good thing ever done for him, he was now a +member of the British Parliament, and member for one of the first +cities in the empire. Ignorant as he was he understood the magnitude +of the achievement, and dismayed as he was as to his present +position, still at this moment he enjoyed keenly a certain amount of +elation. Of course he had committed forgery;—of course he had +committed robbery. That, indeed, was nothing, for he had been +cheating and forging and stealing all his life. Of course he was in +danger of almost immediate detection and punishment. He hardly hoped +that the evil day would be very much longer protracted, and yet he +enjoyed his triumph. Whatever they might do, quick as they might be, +they could hardly prevent his taking his seat in the House of +Commons. Then if they sent him to penal servitude for life, they +would have to say that they had so treated the member for +Westminster!</p> + +<p>He drank a bottle of claret, and then got some brandy-and-water. In +such troubles as were coming upon him now, he would hardly get +sufficient support from wine. He knew that he had better not +drink;—that is, he had better not drink, supposing the world to be +free to him for his own work and his own enjoyment. But if the world +were no longer free to him, if he were really coming to penal +servitude and annihilation,—then why should he not drink while the +time lasted? An hour of triumphant joy might be an eternity to a man, +if the man's imagination were strong enough to make him so regard his +hour. He therefore took his brandy-and-water freely, and as he took +it he was able to throw his fears behind him, and to assure himself +that, after all, he might even yet escape from his bondages. No;—he +would drink no more. This he said to himself as he filled another +beaker. He would work instead. He would put his shoulder to the +wheel, and would yet conquer his enemies. It would not be so easy to +convict a member for Westminster,—especially if money were spent +freely. Was he not the man who, at his own cost, had entertained the +Emperor of China? Would not that be remembered in his favour? Would +not men be unwilling to punish the man who had received at his own +table all the Princes of the land, and the Prime Minister, and all +the Ministers? To convict him would be a national disgrace. He fully +realised all this as he lifted the glass to his mouth, and puffed out +the smoke in large volumes through his lips. But money must be spent! +Yes;—money must be had! Cohenlupe certainly had money. Though he +squeezed it out of the coward's veins he would have it. At any rate, +he would not despair. There was a fight to be fought yet, and he +would fight it to the end. Then he took a deep drink, and slowly, +with careful and almost solemn steps, he made his way up to his bed.</p> + + +<p><a id="c65"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXV.</h3> +<h4>MISS LONGESTAFFE WRITES HOME.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lady Monogram, when she left Madame Melmotte's house after that +entertainment of Imperial Majesty which had been to her of so very +little avail, was not in a good humour. Sir Damask, who had himself +affected to laugh at the whole thing, but who had been in truth as +anxious as his wife to see the Emperor in private society, put her +ladyship and Miss Longestaffe into the carriage without a word, and +rushed off to his club in disgust. The affair from beginning to end, +including the final failure, had been his wife's doing. He had been +made to work like a slave, and had been taken against his will to +Melmotte's house, and had seen no Emperor and shaken hands with no +Prince! "They may fight it out between them now like the Kilkenny +cats." That was his idea as he closed the carriage-door on the two +ladies,—thinking that if a larger remnant were left of one cat than +of the other that larger remnant would belong to his wife.</p> + +<p>"What a horrid affair!" said Lady Monogram. "Did anybody ever see +anything so vulgar?" This was at any rate unreasonable, for whatever +vulgarity there may have been, Lady Monogram had seen none of it.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why you were so late," said Georgiana.</p> + +<p>"Late! Why it's not yet twelve. I don't suppose it was eleven when we +got into the Square. Anywhere else it would have been early."</p> + +<p>"You knew they did not mean to stay long. It was particularly said +so. I really think it was your own fault."</p> + +<p>"My own fault. Yes;—I don't doubt that. I know it was my own fault, +my dear, to have had anything to do with it. And now I have got to +pay for it."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by paying for it, Julia?"</p> + +<p>"You know what I mean very well. Is your friend going to do us the +honour of coming to us to-morrow night?" She could not have declared +in plainer language how very high she thought the price to be which +she had consented to give for those ineffective tickets.</p> + +<p>"If you mean Mr. Brehgert, he is coming. You desired me to ask him, +and I did so."</p> + +<p>"Desired you! The truth is, Georgiana, when people get into different +sets, they'd better stay where they are. It's no good trying to mix +things." Lady Monogram was so angry that she could not control her +tongue.</p> + +<p>Miss Longestaffe was ready to tear herself with indignation. That she +should have been brought to hear insolence such as this from Julia +Triplex,—she, the daughter of Adolphus Longestaffe of Caversham and +Lady Pomona; she, who was considered to have lived in quite the first +London circle! But she could hardly get hold of fit words for a +reply. She was almost in tears, and was yet anxious to fight rather +than weep. But she was in her friend's carriage, and was being taken +to her friend's house, was to be entertained by her friend all the +next day, and was to see her lover among her friend's guests. "I +wonder what has made you so ill-natured," she said at last. "You +didn't use to be like that."</p> + +<p>"It's no good abusing me," said Lady Monogram. "Here we are, and I +suppose we had better get out,—unless you want the carriage to take +you anywhere else." Then Lady Monogram got out and marched into the +house, and taking a candle went direct to her own room. Miss +Longestaffe followed slowly to her own chamber, and having half +undressed herself, dismissed her maid and prepared to write to her +mother.</p> + +<p>The letter to her mother must be written. Mr. Brehgert had twice +proposed that he should, in the usual way, go to Mr. Longestaffe, who +had been backwards and forwards in London, and was there at the +present moment. Of course it was proper that Mr. Brehgert should see +her father,—but, as she had told him, she preferred that he should +postpone his visit for a day or two. She was now agonized by many +doubts. Those few words about "various sets" and the "mixing of +things" had stabbed her to the very heart,—as had been intended. Mr. +Brehgert was rich. That was a certainty. But she already repented of +what she had done. If it were necessary that she should really go +down into another and a much lower world, a world composed altogether +of Brehgerts, Melmottes, and Cohenlupes, would it avail her much to +be the mistress of a gorgeous house? She had known, and understood, +and had revelled in the exclusiveness of county position. Caversham +had been dull, and there had always been there a dearth of young men +of the proper sort; but it had been a place to talk of, and to feel +satisfied with as a home to be acknowledged before the world. Her +mother was dull, and her father pompous and often cross; but they +were in the right set,—miles removed from the Brehgerts and +Melmottes,—until her father himself had suggested to her that she +should go to the house in Grosvenor Square. She would write one +letter to-night; but there was a question in her mind whether the +letter should be written to her mother telling her the horrid +truth,—or to Mr. Brehgert begging that the match should be broken +off. I think she would have decided on the latter had it not been +that so many people had already heard of the match. The Monograms +knew it, and had of course talked far and wide. The Melmottes knew +it, and she was aware that Lord Nidderdale had heard it. It was +already so far known that it was sure to be public before the end of +the season. Each morning lately she had feared that a letter from +home would call upon her to explain the meaning of some frightful +rumours reaching Caversham, or that her father would come to her and +with horror on his face demand to know whether it was indeed true +that she had given her sanction to so abominable a report.</p> + +<p>And there were other troubles. She had just spoken to Madame Melmotte +this evening, having met her late hostess as she entered the +drawing-room, and had felt from the manner of her reception that she +was not wanted back again. She had told her father that she was going +to transfer herself to the Monograms for a time, not mentioning the +proposed duration of her visit, and Mr. Longestaffe, in his ambiguous +way, had expressed himself glad that she was leaving the Melmottes. +She did not think that she could go back to Grosvenor Square, +although Mr. Brehgert desired it. Since the expression of Mr. +Brehgert's wishes she had perceived that ill-will had grown up +between her father and Mr. Melmotte. She must return to Caversham. +They could not refuse to take her in, though she had betrothed +herself to a Jew!</p> + +<p>If she decided that the story should be told to her mother it would +be easier to tell it by letter than by spoken words, face to face. +But then if she wrote the letter there would be no retreat,—and how +should she face her family after such a declaration? She had always +given herself credit for courage, and now she wondered at her own +cowardice. Even Lady Monogram, her old friend Julia Triplex, had +trampled upon her. Was it not the business of her life, in these +days, to do the best she could for herself, and would she allow +paltry considerations as to the feelings of others to stand in her +way and become bugbears to affright her? Who sent her to Melmotte's +house? Was it not her own father? Then she sat herself square at the +table, and wrote to her mother,—as follows,—dating her letter for +the following <span class="nowrap">morning:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Hill Street,<br /> +9th July, 187—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My Dear Mamma</span>,</p> + +<p>I am afraid you will be very much astonished by this +letter, and perhaps disappointed. I have engaged myself to +Mr. Brehgert, a member of a very wealthy firm in the City, +called Todd, Brehgert, and Goldsheiner. I may as well tell +you the worst at once. Mr. Brehgert is a Jew.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">This last word she wrote +very rapidly, but largely, determined that +there should be no lack of courage apparent in the letter.</p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent">He is a very +wealthy man, and his business is about +banking and what he calls finance. I understand they are +among the most leading people in the City. He lives at +present at a very handsome house at Fulham. I don't know +that I ever saw a place more beautifully fitted up. I have +said nothing to papa, nor has he; but he says he will be +willing to satisfy papa perfectly as to settlements. He +has offered to have a house in London if I like,—and also +to keep the villa at Fulham or else to have a place +somewhere in the country. Or I may have the villa at +Fulham and a house in the country. No man can be more +generous than he is. He has been married before, and has a +family, and now I think I have told you all.</p> + +<p>I suppose you and papa will be very much dissatisfied. I +hope papa won't refuse his consent. It can do no good. I +am not going to remain as I am now all my life, and there +is no use waiting any longer. It was papa who made me go +to the Melmottes, who are not nearly so well placed as Mr. +Brehgert. Everybody knows that Madame Melmotte is a +Jewess, and nobody knows what Mr. Melmotte is. It is no +good going on with the old thing when everything seems to +be upset and at sixes and sevens. If papa has got to be so +poor that he is obliged to let the house in town, one must +of course expect to be different from what we were.</p> + +<p>I hope you won't mind having me back the day after +to-morrow,—that is to-morrow, Wednesday. There is a party +here to-night, and Mr. Brehgert is coming. But I can't +stay longer with Julia, who doesn't make herself nice, and +I do not at all want to go back to the Melmottes. I fancy +that there is something wrong between papa and Mr. +Melmotte.</p> + +<p>Send the carriage to meet me by the 2.30 train from +London,—and pray, mamma, don't scold when you see me, or +have hysterics, or anything of that sort. Of course it +isn't all nice, but things have got so that they never +will be nice again. I shall tell Mr. Brehgert to go to +papa on Wednesday.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Your affectionate daughter,</p> + +<p class="ind16">G.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>When the morning came she desired the servant to take the letter away +and have it posted, so that the temptation to stop it might no longer +be in her way.</p> + +<p>About one o'clock on that day Mr. Longestaffe called at Lady +Monogram's. The two ladies had breakfasted up-stairs, and had only +just met in the drawing-room when he came in. Georgiana trembled at +first, but soon perceived that her father had as yet heard nothing of +Mr. Brehgert. She immediately told him that she proposed returning +home on the following day. "I am sick of the Melmottes," she said.</p> + +<p>"And so am I," said Mr. Longestaffe, with a serious countenance.</p> + +<p>"We should have been delighted to have had Georgiana to stay with us +a little longer," said Lady Monogram; "but we have but the one spare +bedroom, and another friend is coming." Georgiana, who knew both +these statements to be false, declared that she wouldn't think of +such a thing. "We have a few friends coming to-night, Mr. +Longestaffe, and I hope you'll come in and see Georgiana." Mr. +Longestaffe hummed and hawed and muttered something, as old gentlemen +always do when they are asked to go out to parties after dinner. "Mr. +Brehgert will be here," continued Lady Monogram with a peculiar +smile.</p> + +<p>"Mr. who?" The name was not at first familiar to Mr. Longestaffe.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Brehgert." Lady Monogram looked at her friend. "I hope I'm not +revealing any secret."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand anything about it," said Mr. Longestaffe. +"Georgiana, who is Mr. Brehgert?" He had understood very much. He had +been quite certain from Lady Monogram's manner and words, and also +from his daughter's face, that Mr. Brehgert was mentioned as an +accepted lover. Lady Monogram had meant that it should be so, and any +father would have understood her tone. As she said afterwards to Sir +Damask, she was not going to have that Jew there at her house as +Georgiana Longestaffe's accepted lover without Mr. Longestaffe's +knowledge.</p> + +<p>"My dear Georgiana," she said, "I supposed your father knew all about +it."</p> + +<p>"I know nothing. Georgiana, I hate a mystery. I insist upon knowing. +Who is Mr. Brehgert, Lady Monogram?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Brehgert is a—very wealthy gentleman. That is all I know of +him. Perhaps, Georgiana, you will be glad to be alone with your +father." And Lady Monogram left the room.</p> + +<p>Was there ever cruelty equal to this! But now the poor girl was +forced to speak,—though she could not speak as boldly as she had +written. "Papa, I wrote to mamma this morning, and Mr. Brehgert was +to come to you to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you are engaged to marry him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa."</p> + +<p>"What Mr. Brehgert is he?"</p> + +<p>"He is a merchant."</p> + +<p>"You can't mean the fat Jew whom I've met with Mr. Melmotte;—a man +old enough to be your father!" The poor girl's condition now was +certainly lamentable. The fat Jew, old enough to be her father, was +the very man she did mean. She thought that she would try to brazen +it out with her father. But at the present moment she had been so +cowed by the manner in which the subject had been introduced that she +did not know how to begin to be bold. She only looked at him as +though imploring him to spare her. "Is the man a Jew?" demanded Mr. +Longestaffe, with as much thunder as he knew how to throw into his +voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa," she said.</p> + +<p>"He is that fat man?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa."</p> + +<p>"And nearly as old as I am?"</p> + +<p>"No, papa,—not nearly as old as you are. He is fifty."</p> + +<p>"And a Jew?" He again asked the horrid question, and again threw in +the thunder. On this occasion she condescended to make no further +reply. "If you do, you shall do it as an alien from my house. I +certainly will never see him. Tell him not to come to me, for I +certainly will not speak to him. You are degraded and disgraced; but +you shall not degrade and disgrace me and your mother and sister."</p> + +<p>"It was you, papa, who told me to go to the Melmottes."</p> + +<p>"That is not true. I wanted you to stay at Caversham. A Jew! an old +fat Jew! Heavens and earth! that it should be possible that you +should think of it! You;—my daughter,—that used to take such pride +in yourself! Have you written to your mother?"</p> + +<p>"I have."</p> + +<p>"It will kill her. It will simply kill her. And you are going home +to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"I wrote to say so."</p> + +<p>"And there you must remain. I suppose I had better see the man and +explain to him that it is utterly impossible. Heavens on earth;—a +Jew! An old fat Jew! My daughter! I will take you down home myself +to-morrow. What have I done that I should be punished by my children +in this way?" The poor man had had rather a stormy interview with +Dolly that morning. "You had better leave this house to-day, and come +to my hotel in Jermyn Street."</p> + +<p>"Oh, papa, I can't do that."</p> + +<p>"Why can't you do it? You can do it, and you shall do it. I will not +have you see him again. I will see him. If you do not promise me to +come, I will send for Lady Monogram and tell her that I will not +permit you to meet Mr. Brehgert at her house. I do wonder at her. A +Jew! An old fat Jew!" Mr. Longestaffe, putting up both his hands, +walked about the room in despair.</p> + +<p>She did consent, knowing that her father and Lady Monogram between +them would be too strong for her. She had her things packed up, and +in the course of the afternoon allowed herself to be carried away. +She said one word to Lady Monogram before she went. "Tell him that I +was called away suddenly."</p> + +<p>"I will, my dear. I thought your papa would not like it." The poor +girl had not spirit sufficient to upbraid her friend; nor did it suit +her now to acerbate an enemy. For the moment, at least, she must +yield to everybody and everything. She spent a lonely evening with +her father in a dull sitting-room in the hotel, hardly speaking or +spoken to, and the following day she was taken down to Caversham. She +believed that her father had seen Mr. Brehgert on the morning of that +day;—but he said no word to her, nor did she ask him any question.</p> + +<p>That was on the day after Lady Monogram's party. Early in the +evening, just as the gentlemen were coming up from the dining-room, +Mr. Brehgert, apparelled with much elegance, made his appearance. +Lady Monogram received him with a sweet smile. "Miss Longestaffe," +she said, "has left me and gone to her father."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lady Monogram, bowing her head, and then attending to +other persons as they arrived. Nor did she condescend to speak +another word to Mr. Brehgert, or to introduce him even to her +husband. He stood for about ten minutes inside the drawing-room, +leaning against the wall, and then he departed. No one had spoken a +word to him. But he was an even-tempered, good-humoured man. When +Miss Longestaffe was his wife things would no doubt be different;—or +else she would probably change her acquaintance.</p> + + +<p><a id="c66"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXVI.</h3> +<h4>"SO SHALL BE MY ENMITY."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>"You shall be troubled no more with Winifrid Hurtle." So Mrs. Hurtle +had said, speaking in perfect good faith to the man whom she had come +to England with the view of marrying. And then when he had said +good-bye to her, putting out his hand to take hers for the last time, +she declined that. "Nay," she had said; "this parting will bear no +farewell."</p> + +<p>Having left her after that fashion Paul Montague could not return +home with very high spirits. Had she insisted on his taking that +letter with the threat of the horsewhip as the letter which she +intended to write to him,—that letter which she had shown him, +owning it to be the ebullition of her uncontrolled passion, and had +then destroyed,—he might at any rate have consoled himself with +thinking that, however badly he might have behaved, her conduct had +been worse than his. He could have made himself warm and comfortable +with anger, and could have assured himself that under any +circumstances he must be right to escape from the clutches of a wild +cat such as that. But at the last moment she had shown that she was +no wild cat to him. She had melted, and become soft and womanly. In +her softness she had been exquisitely beautiful; and as he returned +home he was sad and dissatisfied with himself. He had destroyed her +life for her,—or, at least, had created a miserable episode in it +which could hardly be obliterated. She had said that she was all +alone, and had given up everything to follow him,—and he had +believed her. Was he to do nothing for her now? She had allowed him +to go, and after her fashion had pardoned him the wrong he had done +her. But was that to be sufficient for him,—so that he might now +feel inwardly satisfied at leaving her, and make no further inquiry +as to her fate? Could he pass on and let her be as the wine that has +been drunk,—as the hour that has been enjoyed,—as the day that is +past?</p> + +<p>But what could he do? He had made good his own escape. He had +resolved that, let her be woman or wild cat, he would not marry her, +and in that he knew he had been right. Her antecedents, as now +declared by herself, unfitted her for such a marriage. Were he to +return to her he would be again thrusting his hand into the fire. But +his own selfish coldness was hateful to him when he thought that +there was nothing to be done but to leave her desolate and lonely in +Mrs. Pipkin's lodgings.</p> + +<p>During the next three or four days, while the preparations for the +dinner and the election were going on, he was busy in respect to the +American railway. He again went down to Liverpool, and at Mr. +Ramsbottom's advice prepared a letter to the board of directors, in +which he resigned his seat, and gave his reasons for resigning it; +adding that he should reserve to himself the liberty of publishing +his letter, should at any time the circumstances of the railway +company seem to him to make such a course desirable. He also wrote a +letter to Mr. Fisker, begging that gentleman to come to England, and +expressing his own wish to retire altogether from the firm of Fisker, +Montague, and Montague upon receiving the balance of money due to +him,—a payment which must, he said, be a matter of small moment to +his two partners, if, as he had been informed, they had enriched +themselves by the success of the railway company in San Francisco. +When he wrote these letters at Liverpool the great rumour about +Melmotte had not yet sprung up. He returned to London on the day of +the festival, and first heard of the report at the Beargarden. There +he found that the old set had for the moment broken itself up. Sir +Felix Carbury had not been heard of for the last four or five +days,—and then the whole story of Miss Melmotte's journey, of which +he had read something in the newspapers, was told to him. "We think +that Carbury has drowned himself," said Lord Grasslough, "and I +haven't heard of anybody being heartbroken about it." Lord Nidderdale +had hardly been seen at the club. "He's taken up the running with the +girl," said Lord Grasslough. "What he'll do now, nobody knows. If I +was at it, I'd have the money down in hard cash before I went into +the church. He was there at the party yesterday, talking to the girl +all the night;—a sort of thing he never did before. Nidderdale is +the best fellow going, but he was always an ass." Nor had Miles +Grendall been seen in the club for three days. "We've got into a way +of play the poor fellow doesn't like," said Lord Grasslough; "and +then Melmotte won't let him out of his sight. He has taken to dine +there every day." This was said during the election,—on the very day +on which Miles deserted his patron; and on that evening he did dine +at the club. Paul Montague also dined there, and would fain have +heard something from Grendall as to Melmotte's condition; but the +secretary, if not faithful in all things, was faithful at any rate in +his silence. Though Grasslough talked openly enough about Melmotte in +the smoking-room Miles Grendall said never a word.</p> + +<p>On the next day, early in the afternoon, almost without a fixed +purpose, Montague strolled up to Welbeck Street, and found Hetta +alone. "Mamma has gone to her publisher's," she said. "She is writing +so much now that she is always going there. Who has been elected, Mr. +Montague?" Paul knew nothing about the election, and cared very +little. At that time, however, the election had not been decided. "I +suppose it will make no difference to you whether your chairman be in +Parliament or not?" Paul said that Melmotte was no longer a chairman +of his. "Are you out of it altogether, Mr. Montague?" Yes;—as far as +it lay within his power to be out of it, he was out of it. He did not +like Mr. Melmotte, nor believe in him. Then with considerable warmth +he repudiated all connection with the Melmotte party, expressing deep +regret that circumstances had driven him for a time into that +alliance. "Then you think that Mr. Melmotte +<span class="nowrap">is—?"</span></p> + +<p>"Just a scoundrel;—that's all."</p> + +<p>"You heard about Felix?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I heard that he was to marry the girl, and that he tried +to run off with her. I don't know much about it. They say that Lord +Nidderdale is to marry her now."</p> + +<p>"I think not, Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"I hope not, for his sake. At any rate, your brother is well out of +it."</p> + +<p>"Do you know that she loves Felix? There is no pretence about that. I +do think she is good. The other night at the party she spoke to me."</p> + +<p>"You went to the party, then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I could not refuse to go when mamma chose to take me. And when +I was there she spoke to me about Felix. I don't think she will marry +Lord Nidderdale. Poor girl;—I do pity her. Think what a downfall it +will be if anything happens."</p> + +<p>But Paul Montague had certainly not come there with the intention of +discussing Melmotte's affairs, nor could he afford to lose the +opportunity which chance had given him. He was off with one love, and +now he thought that he might be on with the other. "Hetta," he said, +"I am thinking more of myself than of her,—or even of Felix."</p> + +<p>"I suppose we all do think more of ourselves than of other people," +said Hetta, who knew from his voice at once what it was in his mind +to do.</p> + +<p>"Yes;—but I am not thinking of myself only. I am thinking of myself, +and you. In all my thoughts of myself I am thinking of you too."</p> + +<p>"I do not know why you should do that."</p> + +<p>"Hetta, you must know that I love you."</p> + +<p>"Do you?" she said. Of course she knew it. And of course she thought +that he was equally sure of her love. Had he chosen to read signs +that ought to have been plain enough to him, could he have doubted +her love after the few words that had been spoken on that night when +Lady Carbury had come in with Roger and interrupted them? She could +not remember exactly what had been said; but she did remember that he +had spoken of leaving England for ever in a certain event, and that +she had not rebuked him;—and she remembered also how she had +confessed her own love to her mother. He, of course, had known +nothing of that confession; but he must have known that he had her +heart! So at least she thought. She had been working some morsel of +lace, as ladies do when ladies wish to be not quite doing nothing. +She had endeavoured to ply her needle, very idly, while he was +speaking to her, but now she allowed her hands to fall into her lap. +She would have continued to work at the lace had she been able, but +there are times when the eyes will not see clearly, and when the +hands will hardly act mechanically.</p> + +<p>"Yes,—I do. Hetta, say a word to me. Can it be so? Look at me for +one moment so as to let me know." Her eyes had turned downwards after +her work. "If Roger is dearer to you than I am, I will go at once."</p> + +<p>"Roger is very dear to me."</p> + +<p>"Do you love him as I would have you love me?"</p> + +<p>She paused for a time, knowing that his eyes were fixed upon her, and +then she answered the question in a low voice, but very clearly. +"No," she said;—"not like that."</p> + +<p>"Can you love me like that?" He put out both his arms as though to +take her to his breast should the answer be such as he longed to +hear. She raised her hand towards him, as if to keep him back, and +left it with him when he seized it. "Is it mine?" he said.</p> + +<p>"If you want it."</p> + +<p>Then he was at her feet in a moment, kissing her hands and her dress, +looking up into her face with his eyes full of tears, ecstatic with +joy as though he had really never ventured to hope for such success. +"Want it!" he said. "Hetta, I have never wanted anything but that +with real desire. Oh, Hetta, my own. Since I first saw you this has +been my only dream of happiness. And now it is my own."</p> + +<p>She was very quiet, but full of joy. Now that she had told him the +truth she did not coy her love. Having once spoken the word she did +not care how often she repeated it. She did not think that she could +ever have loved anybody but him,—even if he had not been fond of +her. As to Roger,—dear Roger, dearest Roger,—no; it was not the +same thing. "He is as good as gold," she said,—"ever so much better +than you are, Paul," stroking his hair with her hand and looking into +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Better than anybody I have ever known," said Montague with all his +energy.</p> + +<p>"I think he is;—but, ah, that is not everything. I suppose we ought +to love the best people best; but I don't, Paul."</p> + +<p>"I do," said he.</p> + +<p>"No,—you don't. You must love me best, but I won't be called good. I +do not know why it has been so. Do you know, Paul, I have sometimes +thought I would do as he would have me, out of sheer gratitude. I did +not know how to refuse such a trifling thing to one who ought to have +everything that he wants."</p> + +<p>"Where should I have been?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you! Somebody else would have made you happy. But do you know, +Paul, I think he will never love any one else. I ought not to say so, +because it seems to be making so much of myself. But I feel it. He is +not so young a man, and yet I think that he never was in love before. +He almost told me so once, and what he says is true. There is an +unchanging way with him that is awful to think of. He said that he +never could be happy unless I would do as he would have me,—and he +made me almost believe even that. He speaks as though every word he +says must come true in the end. Oh, Paul, I love you so dearly,—but +I almost think that I ought to have obeyed him." Paul Montague of +course had very much to say in answer to this. Among the holy things +which did exist to gild this every-day unholy world, love was the +holiest. It should be soiled by no falsehood, should know nothing of +compromises, should admit no excuses, should make itself subject to +no external circumstances. If Fortune had been so kind to him as to +give him her heart, poor as his claim might be, she could have no +right to refuse him the assurance of her love. And though his rival +were an angel, he could have no shadow of a claim upon her,—seeing +that he had failed to win her heart. It was very well said,—at least +so Hetta thought,—and she made no attempt at argument against him. +But what was to be done in reference to poor Roger? She had spoken +the word now, and, whether for good or bad, she had given herself to +Paul Montague. Even though Roger should have to walk disconsolate to +the grave, it could not now be helped. But would it not be right that +it should be told? "Do you know I almost feel that he is like a +father to me," said Hetta, leaning on her lover's shoulder.</p> + +<p>Paul thought it over for a few minutes, and then said that he would +himself write to Roger. "Hetta, do you know, I doubt whether he will +ever speak to me again."</p> + +<p>"I cannot believe that."</p> + +<p>"There is a sternness about him which it is very hard to understand. +He has taught himself to think that as I met you in his house, and as +he then wished you to be his wife, I should not have ventured to love +you. How could I have known?"</p> + +<p>"That would be unreasonable."</p> + +<p>"He is unreasonable—about that. It is not reason with him. He always +goes by his feelings. Had you been engaged to +<span class="nowrap">him—"</span></p> + +<p>"Oh, then, you never could have spoken to me like this."</p> + +<p>"But he will never look at it in that way;—and he will tell me that +I have been untrue to him and ungrateful."</p> + +<p>"If you think, Paul—"</p> + +<p>"Nay; listen to me. If it be so I must bear it. It will be a great +sorrow, but it will be as nothing to that other sorrow, had that come +upon me. I will write to him, and his answer will be all scorn and +wrath. Then you must write to him afterwards. I think he will forgive +you, but he will never forgive me." Then they parted, she having +promised that she would tell her mother directly Lady Carbury came +home, and Paul undertaking to write to Roger that evening.</p> + +<p>And he did, with infinite difficulty, and much trembling of the +spirit. Here is his +<span class="nowrap">letter:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Roger</span>,—</p> + +<p>I think it right to tell you at once what has occurred +to-day. I have proposed to Miss Carbury and she has +accepted me. You have long known what my feelings were, +and I have also known yours. I have known, too, that Miss +Carbury has more than once declined to take your offer. +Under these circumstances I cannot think that I have been +untrue to friendship in what I have done, or that I have +proved myself ungrateful for the affectionate kindness +which you have always shown me. I am authorised by Hetta +to say that, had I never spoken to her, it must have been +the same to you.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">This was hardly a fair +representation of what had been said, but the +writer, looking back upon his interview with the lady, thought that +it had been implied.</p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>I should not say so much by way of excusing myself, but +that you once said, that should such a thing occur there +must be a division between us ever after. If I thought +that you would adhere to that threat, I should be very +unhappy and Hetta would be miserable. Surely, if a man +loves he is bound to tell his love, and to take the +chance. You would hardly have thought it manly in me if I +had abstained. Dear friend, take a day or two before you +answer this, and do not banish us from your heart if you +can help it.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Your affectionate friend,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Paul Montague</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Roger Carbury did not take a single day,—or a single hour to answer +the letter. He received it at breakfast, and after rushing out on the +terrace and walking there for a few minutes, he hurried to his desk +and wrote his reply. As he did so, his whole face was red with wrath, +and his eyes were glowing with indignation.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>There is an old French saying that he who makes excuses is +his own accuser. You would not have written as you have +done, had you not felt yourself to be false and +ungrateful. You knew where my heart was, and there you +went and undermined my treasure, and stole it away. You +have destroyed my life, and I will never forgive you.</p> + +<p>You tell me not to banish you both from my heart. How dare +you join yourself with her in speaking of my feelings! She +will never be banished from my heart. She will be there +morning, noon, and night, and as is and will be my love to +her, so shall be my enmity to you.</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Roger Carbury</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>It was hardly a letter for a Christian to write; and, yet, in those +parts Roger Carbury had the reputation of being a good Christian.</p> + +<p>Henrietta told her mother that morning, immediately on her return. +"Mamma, Mr. Paul Montague has been here."</p> + +<p>"He always comes here when I am away," said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"That has been an accident. He could not have known that you were +going to Messrs. Leadham and Loiter's."</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure of that, Hetta."</p> + +<p>"Then, mamma, you must have told him yourself, and I don't think you +knew till just before you were going. But, mamma, what does it +matter? He has been here, and I have told +<span class="nowrap">him—"</span></p> + +<p>"You have not accepted him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mamma."</p> + +<p>"Without even asking me?"</p> + +<p>"Mamma, you knew. I will not marry him without asking you. How was I +not to tell him when he asked me whether I—loved him?"</p> + +<p>"Marry him! How is it possible you should marry him? Whatever he had +got was in that affair of Melmotte's, and that has gone to the dogs. +He is a ruined man, and for aught I know may be compromised in all +Melmotte's wickedness."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, do not say that!"</p> + +<p>"But I do say it. It is hard upon me. I did think that you would try +to comfort me after all this trouble with Felix. But you are as bad +as he is;—or worse, for you have not been thrown into temptation +like that poor boy! And you will break your cousin's heart. Poor +Roger! I feel for him;—he that has been so true to us! But you think +nothing of that."</p> + +<p>"I think very much of my cousin Roger."</p> + +<p>"And how do you show it;—or your love for me? There would have been +a home for us all. Now we must starve, I suppose. Hetta, you have +been worse to me even than Felix." Then Lady Carbury, in her passion, +burst out of the room, and took herself to her own chamber.</p> + + +<p><a id="c67"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXVII.</h3> +<h4>SIR FELIX PROTECTS HIS SISTER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Up to this period of his life Sir Felix Carbury had probably felt but +little of the punishment due to his very numerous shortcomings. He +had spent all his fortune; he had lost his commission in the army; he +had incurred the contempt of everybody that had known him; he had +forfeited the friendship of those who were his natural friends, and +had attached to him none others in their place; he had pretty nearly +ruined his mother and sister; but, to use his own language, he had +always contrived "to carry on the game." He had eaten and drunk, had +gambled, hunted, and diverted himself generally after the fashion +considered to be appropriate to young men about town. He had kept up +till now. But now there seemed to him to have come an end to all +things. When he was lying in bed in his mother's house he counted up +all his wealth. He had a few pounds in ready money, he still had a +little roll of Mr. Miles Grendall's notes of hand, amounting perhaps +to a couple of hundred pounds,—and Mr. Melmotte owed him £600. But +where was he to turn, and what was he to do with himself? Gradually +he learned the whole story of the journey to Liverpool,—how Marie +had gone there and had been sent back by the police, how Marie's +money had been repaid to Mr. Melmotte by Mr. Broune, and how his +failure to make the journey to Liverpool had become known. He was +ashamed to go to his club. He could not go to Melmotte's house. He +was ashamed even to show himself in the streets by day. He was +becoming almost afraid even of his mother. Now that the brilliant +marriage had broken down, and seemed to be altogether beyond hope, +now that he had to depend on her household for all his comforts, he +was no longer able to treat her with absolute scorn,—nor was she +willing to yield as she had yielded.</p> + +<p>One thing only was clear to him. He must realise his possessions. +With this view he wrote both to Miles Grendall and to Melmotte. To +the former he said he was going out of town,—probably for some time, +and he must really ask for a cheque for the amount due. He went on to +remark that he could hardly suppose that a nephew of the Duke of +Albury was unable to pay debts of honour to the amount of £200;—but +that if such was the case he would have no alternative but to apply +to the Duke himself. The reader need hardly be told that to this +letter Mr. Grendall vouchsafed no answer whatever. In his letter to +Mr. Melmotte he confined himself to one matter of business in hand. +He made no allusion whatever to Marie, or to the great man's anger, +or to his seat at the board. He simply reminded Mr. Melmotte that +there was a sum of £600 still due to him, and requested that a cheque +might be sent to him for that amount. Melmotte's answer to this was +not altogether unsatisfactory, though it was not exactly what Sir +Felix had wished. A clerk from Mr. Melmotte's office called at the +house in Welbeck Street, and handed to Felix railway scrip in the +South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway to the amount of the sum +claimed,—insisting on a full receipt for the money before he parted +with the scrip. The clerk went on to explain, on behalf of his +employer, that the money had been left in Mr. Melmotte's hands for +the purpose of buying these shares. Sir Felix, who was glad to get +anything, signed the receipt and took the scrip. This took place on +the day after the balloting at Westminster, when the result was not +yet known,—and when the shares in the railway were very low indeed. +Sir Felix had asked as to the value of the shares at the time. The +clerk professed himself unable to quote the price,—but there were +the shares if Sir Felix liked to take them. Of course he took +them;—and hurrying off into the City found that they might perhaps +be worth about half the money due to him. The broker to whom he +showed them could not quite answer for anything. Yes;—the scrip had +been very high; but there was a panic. They might recover,—or, more +probably, they might go to nothing. Sir Felix cursed the Great +Financier aloud, and left the scrip for sale. That was the first time +that he had been out of the house before dark since his little +accident.</p> + +<p>But he was chiefly tormented in these days by the want of amusement. +He had so spent his life hitherto that he did not know how to get +through a day in which no excitement was provided for him. He never +read. Thinking was altogether beyond him. And he had never done a +day's work in his life. He could lie in bed. He could eat and drink. +He could smoke and sit idle. He could play cards; and could amuse +himself with women,—the lower the culture of the women, the better +the amusement. Beyond these things the world had nothing for him. +Therefore he again took himself to the pursuit of Ruby Ruggles.</p> + +<p>Poor Ruby had endured a very painful incarceration at her aunt's +house. She had been wrathful and had stormed, swearing that she would +be free to come and go as she pleased. Free to go, Mrs. Pipkin told +her that she was;—but not free to return if she went out otherwise +than as she, Mrs. Pipkin, chose. "Am I to be a slave?" Ruby asked, +and almost upset the perambulator which she had just dragged in at +the hall door. Then Mrs. Hurtle had taken upon herself to talk to +her, and poor Ruby had been quelled by the superior strength of the +American lady. But she was very unhappy, finding that it did not suit +her to be nursemaid to her aunt. After all John Crumb couldn't have +cared for her a bit, or he would have come to look after her. While +she was in this condition Sir Felix came to Mrs. Pipkin's house, and +asked for her at the door. It happened that Mrs. Pipkin herself had +opened the door,—and, in her fright and dismay at the presence of so +pernicious a young man in her own passage, had denied that Ruby was +in the house. But Ruby had heard her lover's voice, and had rushed up +and thrown herself into his arms. Then there had been a great scene. +Ruby had sworn that she didn't care for her aunt, didn't care for her +grandfather, or for Mrs. Hurtle, or for John Crumb,—or for any +person or anything. She cared only for her lover. Then Mrs. Hurtle +had asked the young man his intentions. Did he mean to marry Ruby? +Sir Felix had said that he "supposed he might as well some day." +"There," said Ruby, "there!"—shouting in triumph as though an offer +had been made to her with the completest ceremony of which such an +event admits. Mrs. Pipkin had been very weak. Instead of calling in +the assistance of her strong-minded lodger, she had allowed the +lovers to remain together for half-an-hour in the dining-room. I do +not know that Sir Felix in any way repeated his promise during that +time, but Ruby was probably too blessed with the word that had been +spoken to ask for such renewal. "There must be an end of this," said +Mrs. Pipkin, coming in when the half-hour was over. Then Sir Felix +had gone, promising to come again on the following evening. "You must +not come here, Sir Felix," said Mrs. Pipkin, "unless you puts it in +writing." To this, of course, Sir Felix made no answer. As he went +home he congratulated himself on the success of his adventure. +Perhaps the best thing he could do when he had realised the money for +the shares would be to take Ruby for a tour abroad. The money would +last for three or four months,—and three or four months ahead was +almost an eternity.</p> + +<p>That afternoon before dinner he found his sister alone in the +drawing-room. Lady Carbury had gone to her own room after hearing the +distressing story of Paul Montague's love, and had not seen Hetta +since. Hetta was melancholy, thinking of her mother's hard +words,—thinking perhaps of Paul's poverty as declared by her mother, +and of the ages which might have to wear themselves out before she +could become his wife; but still tinting all her thoughts with a rosy +hue because of the love which had been declared to her. She could not +but be happy if he really loved her. And she,—as she had told him +that she loved him,—would be true to him through everything! In her +present mood she could not speak of herself to her brother, but she +took the opportunity of making good the promise which Marie Melmotte +had extracted from her. She gave him some short account of the party, +and told him that she had talked with Marie. "I promised to give you +a message," she said.</p> + +<p>"It's all of no use now," said Felix.</p> + +<p>"But I must tell you what she said. I think, you know, that she +really loves you."</p> + +<p>"But what's the good of it? A man can't marry a girl when all the +policemen in the country are dodging her."</p> + +<p>"She wants you to let her know what,—what you intend to do. If you +mean to give her up, I think you should tell her."</p> + +<p>"How can I tell her? I don't suppose they would let her receive a +letter."</p> + +<p>"Shall I write to her;—or shall I see her?"</p> + +<p>"Just as you like. I don't care."</p> + +<p>"Felix, you are very heartless."</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose I'm much worse than other men;—or for the matter of +that, worse than a great many women either. You all of you here put +me up to marry her."</p> + +<p>"I never put you up to it."</p> + +<p>"Mother did. And now because it did not go off all serene, I am to +hear nothing but reproaches. Of course I never cared so very much +about her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Felix, that is so shocking!"</p> + +<p>"Awfully shocking I dare say. You think I am as black as the very +mischief, and that sugar wouldn't melt in other men's mouths. Other +men are just as bad as I am,—and a good deal worse too. You believe +that there is nobody on earth like Paul Montague." Hetta blushed, but +said nothing. She was not yet in a condition to boast of her lover +before her brother, but she did, in very truth, believe that but few +young men were as true-hearted as Paul Montague. "I suppose you'd be +surprised to hear that Master Paul is engaged to marry an American +widow living at Islington."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Montague—engaged—to marry—an American widow! I don't believe +it."</p> + +<p>"You'd better believe it if it's any concern of yours, for it's true. +And it's true too that he travelled about with her for ever so long +in the United States, and that he had her down with him at the hotel +at Lowestoft about a fortnight ago. There's no mistake about it."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it," repeated Hetta, feeling that to say even as +much as that was some relief to her. It could not be true. It was +impossible that the man should have come to her with such a lie in +his mouth as that. Though the words astounded her, though she felt +faint, almost as though she would fall in a swoon, yet in her heart +of hearts she did not believe it. Surely it was some horrid joke,—or +perhaps some trick to divide her from the man she loved. "Felix, how +dare you say things so wicked as that to me?"</p> + +<p>"What is there wicked in it? If you have been fool enough to become +fond of the man, it is only right you should be told. He is engaged +to marry Mrs. Hurtle, and she is lodging with one Mrs. Pipkin in +Islington. I know the house, and could take you there to-morrow, and +show you the woman. There," said he, "that's where she is;"—and he +wrote Mrs. Hurtle's name down on a scrap of paper.</p> + +<p>"It is not true," said Hetta, rising from her seat, and standing +upright. "I am engaged to Mr. Montague, and I am sure he would not +treat me in that way."</p> + +<p>"Then, by heaven, he shall answer it to me," said Felix, jumping up. +"If he has done that, it is time that I should interfere. As true as +I stand here, he is engaged to marry a woman called Mrs. Hurtle whom +he constantly visits at that place in Islington."</p> + +<p>"I do not believe it," said Hetta, repeating the only defence for her +lover which was applicable at the moment.</p> + +<p>"By George, this is beyond a joke. Will you believe it if Roger +Carbury says it's true? I know you'd believe anything fast enough +against me, if he told you."</p> + +<p>"Roger Carbury will not say so?"</p> + +<p>"Have you the courage to ask him? I say he will say so. He knows all +about it,—and has seen the woman."</p> + +<p>"How can you know? Has Roger told you?"</p> + +<p>"I do know, and that's enough. I will make this square with Master +Paul. By heaven, yes! He shall answer to me. But my mother must +manage you. She will not scruple to ask Roger, and she will believe +what Roger tells her."</p> + +<p>"I do not believe a word of it," said Hetta, leaving the room. But +when she was alone she was very wretched. There must be some +foundation for such a tale. Why should Felix have referred to Roger +Carbury? And she did feel that there was something in her brother's +manner which forbade her to reject the whole story as being +altogether baseless. So she sat upon her bed and cried, and thought +of all the tales she had heard of faithless lovers. And yet why +should the man have come to her, not only with soft words of love, +but asking her hand in marriage, if it really were true that he was +in daily communication with another woman whom he had promised to +make his wife?</p> + +<p>Nothing on the subject was said at dinner. Hetta with difficulty to +herself sat at the table, and did not speak. Lady Carbury and her son +were nearly as silent. Soon after dinner Felix slunk away to some +music hall or theatre in quest probably of some other Ruby Ruggles. +Then Lady Carbury, who had now been told as much as her son knew, +again attacked her daughter. Very much of the story Felix had learned +from Ruby. Ruby had of course learned that Paul was engaged to Mrs. +Hurtle. Mrs. Hurtle had at once declared the fact to Mrs. Pipkin, and +Mrs. Pipkin had been proud of the position of her lodger. Ruby had +herself seen Paul Montague at the house, and had known that he had +taken Mrs. Hurtle to Lowestoft. And it had also become known to the +two women, the aunt and her niece, that Mrs. Hurtle had seen Roger +Carbury on the sands at Lowestoft. Thus the whole story with most of +its details,—not quite with all,—had come round to Lady Carbury's +ears. "What he has told you, my dear, is true. Much as I disapprove +of Mr. Montague, you do not suppose that I would deceive you."</p> + +<p>"How can he know, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"He does know. I cannot explain to you how. He has been at the same +house."</p> + +<p>"Has he seen her?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know that he has, but Roger Carbury has seen her. If I +write to him you will believe what he says?"</p> + +<p>"Don't do that, mamma. Don't write to him."</p> + +<p>"But I shall. Why should I not write if he can tell me? If this other +man is a villain am I not bound to protect you? Of course Felix is +not steady. If it came only from him you might not credit it. And he +has not seen her. If your cousin Roger tells you that it is +true,—tells me that he knows the man is engaged to marry this woman, +then I suppose you will be contented."</p> + +<p>"Contented, mamma!"</p> + +<p>"Satisfied that what we tell you is true."</p> + +<p>"I shall never be contented again. If that is true, I will never +believe anything. It can't be true. I suppose there is something, but +it can't be that."</p> + +<p>The story was not altogether displeasing to Lady Carbury, though it +pained her to see the agony which her daughter suffered. But she had +no wish that Paul Montague should be her son-in-law, and she still +thought that if Roger would persevere he might succeed. On that very +night before she went to bed she wrote to Roger, and told him the +whole story. "If," she said, "you know that there is such a person as +Mrs. Hurtle, and if you know also that Mr. Montague has promised to +make her his wife, of course you will tell me." Then she declared her +own wishes, thinking that by doing so she could induce Roger Carbury +to give such real assistance in this matter that Paul Montague would +certainly be driven away. Who could feel so much interest in doing +this as Roger, or who be so closely acquainted with all the +circumstances of Montague's life? "You know," she said, "what my +wishes are about Hetta, and how utterly opposed I am to Mr. +Montague's interference. If it is true, as Felix says, that he is at +the present moment entangled with another woman, he is guilty of +gross insolence; and if you know all the circumstances you can surely +protect us,—and also yourself."</p> + + +<p><a id="c68"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXVIII.</h3> +<h4>MISS MELMOTTE DECLARES HER PURPOSE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Poor Hetta passed a very bad night. The story she had heard seemed to +be almost too awful to be true,—even about any one else. The man had +come to her, and had asked her to be his wife,—and yet at that very +moment was living in habits of daily intercourse with another woman +whom he had promised to marry! And then, too, his courtship with her +had been so graceful, so soft, so modest, and yet so long continued! +Though he had been slow in speech, she had known since their first +meeting how he regarded her! The whole state of his mind had, she had +thought, been visible to her,—had been intelligible, gentle, and +affectionate. He had been aware of her friends' feeling, and had +therefore hesitated. He had kept himself from her because he had owed +so much to friendship. And yet his love had not been the less true, +and had not been less dear to poor Hetta. She had waited, sure that +it would come,—having absolute confidence in his honour and love. +And now she was told that this man had been playing a game so base, +and at the same time so foolish, that she could find not only no +excuse but no possible cause for it. It was not like any story she +had heard before of man's faithlessness. Though she was wretched and +sore at heart she swore to herself that she would not believe it. She +knew that her mother would write to Roger Carbury,—but she knew also +that nothing more would be said about the letter till the answer +should come. Nor could she turn anywhere else for comfort. She did +not dare to appeal to Paul himself. As regarded him, for the present +she could only rely on the assurance, which she continued to give +herself, that she would not believe a word of the story that had been +told her.</p> + +<p>But there was other wretchedness besides her own. She had undertaken +to give Marie Melmotte's message to her brother. She had done so, and +she must now let Marie have her brother's reply. That might be told +in a very few words—"Everything is over!" But it had to be told.</p> + +<p>"I want to call upon Miss Melmotte, if you'll let me," she said to +her mother at breakfast.</p> + +<p>"Why should you want to see Miss Melmotte? I thought you hated the +Melmottes?"</p> + +<p>"I don't hate them, mamma. I certainly don't hate her. I have a +message to take to her,—from Felix."</p> + +<p>"A message—from Felix."</p> + +<p>"It is an answer from him. She wanted to know if all that was over. +Of course it is over. Whether he said so or not, it would be so. They +could never be married now;—could they, mamma?"</p> + +<p>The marriage, in Lady Carbury's mind, was no longer even desirable. +She, too, was beginning to disbelieve in the Melmotte wealth, and did +quite disbelieve that that wealth would come to her son, even should +he succeed in marrying the daughter. It was impossible that Melmotte +should forgive such offence as had now been committed. "It is out of +the question," she said. "That, like everything else with us, has +been a wretched failure. You can go, if you please. Felix is under no +obligation to them, and has taken nothing from them. I should much +doubt whether the girl will get anybody to take her now. You can't go +alone, you know," Lady Carbury added. But Hetta said that she did not +at all object to going alone as far as that. It was only just over +Oxford Street.</p> + +<p>So she went out and made her way into Grosvenor Square. She had +heard, but at the time remembered nothing, of the temporary migration +of the Melmottes to Bruton Street. Seeing, as she approached the +house, that there was a confusion there of carts and workmen, she +hesitated. But she went on, and rang the bell at the door, which was +wide open. Within the hall the pilasters and trophies, the wreaths +and the banners, which three or four days since had been built up +with so much trouble, were now being pulled down and hauled away. And +amidst the ruins Melmotte himself was standing. He was now a member +of Parliament, and was to take his place that night in the House. +Nothing, at any rate, should prevent that. It might be but for a +short time;—but it should be written in the history of his life that +he had sat in the British House of Commons as member for Westminster. +At the present moment he was careful to show himself everywhere. It +was now noon, and he had already been into the City. At this moment +he was talking to the contractor for the work,—having just +propitiated that man by a payment which would hardly have been made +so soon but for the necessity which these wretched stories had +entailed upon him of keeping up his credit for the possession of +money. Hetta timidly asked one of the workmen whether Miss Melmotte +was there. "Do you want my daughter?" said Melmotte coming forward, +and just touching his hat. "She is not living here at present."</p> + +<p>"Oh,—I remember now," said Hetta.</p> + +<p>"May I be allowed to tell her who was asking after her?" At the +present moment Melmotte was not unreasonably suspicious about his +daughter.</p> + +<p>"I am Miss Carbury," said Hetta in a very low voice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed;—Miss Carbury!—the sister of Sir Felix Carbury?" There +was something in the tone of the man's voice which grated painfully +on Hetta's ears,—but she answered the question. "Oh;—Sir Felix's +sister! May I be permitted to ask whether—you have any business with +my daughter?" The story was a hard one to tell, with all the workmen +around her, in the midst of the lumber, with the coarse face of the +suspicious man looking down upon her; but she did tell it very +simply. She had come with a message from her brother. There had been +something between her brother and Miss Melmotte, and her brother had +felt that it would be best that he should acknowledge that it must be +all over. "I wonder whether that is true," said Melmotte, looking at +her out of his great coarse eyes, with his eyebrows knit, with his +hat on his head and his hands in his pockets. Hetta, not knowing how, +at the moment, to repudiate the suspicion expressed, was silent. +"Because, you know, there has been a deal of falsehood and double +dealing. Sir Felix has behaved infamously; yes,—by +<span class="nowrap">G——,</span> +infamously. A day or two before my daughter started, he gave me a +written assurance that the whole thing was over, and now he sends you +here. How am I to know what you are really after?"</p> + +<p>"I have come because I thought I could do some good," she said, +trembling with anger and fear. "I was speaking to your daughter at +your party."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you were there;—were you? It may be as you say, but how is one +to tell? When one has been deceived like that, one is apt to be +suspicious, Miss Carbury." Here was one who had spent his life in +lying to the world, and who was in his very heart shocked at the +atrocity of a man who had lied to him! "You are not plotting another +journey to Liverpool;—are you?" To this Hetta could make no answer. +The insult was too much, but alone, unsupported, she did not know how +to give him back scorn for scorn. At last he proposed to take her +across to Bruton Street himself, and at his bidding she walked by his +side. "May I hear what you say to her?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"If you suspect me, Mr. Melmotte, I had better not see her at all. It +is only that there may no longer be any doubt."</p> + +<p>"You can say it all before me."</p> + +<p>"No;—I could not do that. But I have told you, and you can say it +for me. If you please, I think I will go home now."</p> + +<p>But Melmotte knew that his daughter would not believe him on such a +subject. This girl she probably would believe. And though Melmotte +himself found it difficult to trust anybody, he thought that there +was more possible good than evil to be expected from the proposed +interview. "Oh, you shall see her," he said. "I don't suppose she's +such a fool as to try that kind of thing again." Then the door in +Bruton Street was opened, and Hetta, repenting her mission, found +herself almost pushed into the hall. She was bidden to follow +Melmotte up-stairs, and was left alone in the drawing-room, as she +thought, for a long time. Then the door was slowly opened and Marie +crept into the room. "Miss Carbury," she said, "this is so good of +you,—so good of you! I do so love you for coming to me! You said you +would love me. You will; will you not?" and Marie, sitting down by +the stranger, took her hand and encircled her waist.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Melmotte has told you why I have come."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—that is, I don't know. I never believe what papa says to me." +To poor Hetta such an announcement as this was horrible. "We are at +daggers drawn. He thinks I ought to do just what he tells me, as +though my very soul were not my own. I won't agree to that;—would +you?" Hetta had not come there to preach disobedience, but could not +fail to remember at the moment that she was not disposed to obey her +mother in an affair of the same kind. "What does he say, dear?"</p> + +<p>Hetta's message was to be conveyed in three words, and when those +were told, there was nothing more to be said. "It must all be over, +Miss Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"Is that his message, Miss Carbury?" Hetta nodded her head. "Is that +all?"</p> + +<p>"What more can I say? The other night you told me to bid him send you +word. And I thought he ought to do so. I gave him your message, and I +have brought back the answer. My brother, you know, has no income of +his own;—nothing at all."</p> + +<p>"But I have," said Marie with eagerness.</p> + +<p>"But your father—"</p> + +<p>"It does not depend upon papa. If papa treats me badly, I can give it +to my husband. I know I can. If I can venture, cannot he?" "I think +it is impossible."</p> + +<p>"Impossible! Nothing should be impossible. All the people that one +hears of that are really true to their loves never find anything +impossible. Does he love me, Miss Carbury? It all depends on that. +That's what I want to know." She paused, but Hetta could not answer +the question. "You must know about your brother. Don't you know +whether he does love me? If you know I think you ought to tell me." +Hetta was still silent. "Have you nothing to say?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Melmotte—" began poor Hetta very slowly.</p> + +<p>"Call me Marie. You said you would love me;—did you not? I don't +even know what your name is."</p> + +<p>"My name is—Hetta."</p> + +<p>"Hetta;—that's short for something. But it's very pretty. I have no +brother, no sister. And I'll tell you, though you must not tell +anybody again;—I have no real mother. Madame Melmotte is not my +mamma, though papa chooses that it should be thought so." All this +she whispered, with rapid words, almost into Hetta's ear. "And papa +is so cruel to me! He beats me sometimes." The new friend, round whom +Marie still had her arm, shuddered as she heard this. "But I never +will yield a bit for that. When he boxes and thumps me I always turn +and gnash my teeth at him. Can you wonder that I want to have a +friend? Can you be surprised that I should be always thinking of my +lover? But,—if he doesn't love me, what am I to do then?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what I am to say," ejaculated Hetta amidst her sobs. +Whether the girl was good or bad, to be sought or to be avoided, +there was so much tragedy in her position that Hetta's heart was +melted with sympathy.</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether you love anybody, and whether he loves you," said +Marie. Hetta certainly had not come there to talk of her own affairs, +and made no reply to this. "I suppose you won't tell me about +yourself."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could tell you something for your own comfort."</p> + +<p>"He will not try again, you think?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure he will not."</p> + +<p>"I wonder what he fears. I should fear nothing,—nothing. Why should +not we walk out of the house, and be married any way? Nobody has a +right to stop me. Papa could only turn me out of his house. I will +venture if he will."</p> + +<p>It seemed to Hetta that even listening to such a proposition amounted +to falsehood,—to that guilt of which Mr. Melmotte had dared to +suppose that she could be capable. "I cannot listen to it. Indeed I +cannot listen to it. My brother is sure that he +cannot—<span class="nowrap">cannot—"</span></p> + +<p>"Cannot love me, Hetta! Say it out, if it is true."</p> + +<p>"It is true," said Hetta. There came over the face of the other girl +a stern hard look, as though she had resolved at the moment to throw +away from her all soft womanly things. And she relaxed her hold on +Hetta's waist. "Oh, my dear, I do not mean to be cruel, but you ask +me for the truth."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I did."</p> + +<p>"Men are not, I think, like girls."</p> + +<p>"I suppose not," said Marie slowly. "What liars they are, what +brutes;—what wretches! Why should he tell me lies like that? Why +should he break my heart? That other man never said that he loved me. +Did he never love me,—once?"</p> + +<p>Hetta could hardly say that her brother was incapable of such love as +Marie expected, but she knew that it was so. "It is better that you +should think of him no more."</p> + +<p>"Are you like that? If you had loved a man and told him of it, and +agreed to be his wife and done as I have, could you bear to be told +to think of him no more,—just as though you had got rid of a servant +or a horse? I won't love him. No;—I'll hate him. But I must think of +him. I'll marry that other man to spite him, and then, when he finds +that we are rich, he'll be broken-hearted."</p> + +<p>"You should try to forgive him, Marie."</p> + +<p>"Never. Do not tell him that I forgive him. I command you not to tell +him that. Tell him,—tell him, that I hate him, and that if I ever +meet him, I will look at him so that he shall never forget it. I +could,—oh!—you do not know what I could do. Tell me;—did he tell +you to say that he did not love me?"</p> + +<p>"I wish I had not come," said Hetta.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you have come. It was very kind. I don't hate you. Of +course I ought to know. But did he say that I was to be told that he +did not love me?"</p> + +<p>"No;—he did not say that."</p> + +<p>"Then how do you know? What did he say?"</p> + +<p>"That it was all over."</p> + +<p>"Because he is afraid of papa. Are you sure he does not love me?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure."</p> + +<p>"Then he is a brute. Tell him that I say that he is a false-hearted +liar, and that I trample him under my foot." Marie as she said this +thrust her foot upon the ground as though that false one were in +truth beneath it,—and spoke aloud, as though regardless who might +hear her. "I despise him;—despise him. They are all bad, but he is +the worst of all. Papa beats me, but I can bear that. Mamma reviles +me and I can bear that. He might have beaten me and reviled me, and I +could have borne it. But to think that he was a liar all the +time;—that I can't bear." Then she burst into tears. Hetta kissed +her, tried to comfort her, and left her sobbing on the sofa.</p> + +<p>Later in the day, two or three hours after Miss Carbury had gone, +Marie Melmotte, who had not shown herself at luncheon, walked into +Madame Melmotte's room, and thus declared her purpose. "You can tell +papa that I will marry Lord Nidderdale whenever he pleases." She +spoke in French and very rapidly.</p> + +<p>On hearing this Madame Melmotte expressed herself to be delighted. +"Your papa," said she, "will be very glad to hear that you have +thought better of this at last. Lord Nidderdale is, I am sure, a very +good young man."</p> + +<p>"Yes," continued Marie, boiling over with passion as she spoke. "I'll +marry Lord Nidderdale, or that horrid Mr. Grendall who is worse than +all the others, or his old fool of a father,—or the sweeper at the +crossing,—or the black man that waits at table, or anybody else that +he chooses to pick up. I don't care who it is the least in the world. +But I'll lead him such a life afterwards! I'll make Lord Nidderdale +repent the hour he saw me! You may tell papa." And then, having thus +entrusted her message to Madame Melmotte, Marie left the room.</p> + + +<p><a id="c69"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXIX.</h3> +<h4>MELMOTTE IN PARLIAMENT.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Melmotte did not return home in time to hear the good news that +day,—good news as he would regard it, even though, when told to him +it should be accompanied by all the extraneous additions with which +Marie had communicated her purpose to Madame Melmotte. It was nothing +to him what the girl thought of the marriage,—if the marriage could +now be brought about. He, too, had cause for vexation, if not for +anger. If Marie had consented a fortnight since he might have so +hurried affairs that Lord Nidderdale might by this time have been +secured. Now there might be,—must be, doubt, through the folly of +his girl and the villany of Sir Felix Carbury. Were he once the +father-in-law of the eldest son of a marquis, he thought he might +almost be safe. Even though something might be all but proved against +him,—which might come to certain proof in less august +circumstances,—matters would hardly be pressed against a Member for +Westminster whose daughter was married to the heir of the Marquis of +Auld Reekie! So many persons would then be concerned! Of course his +vexation with Marie had been great. Of course his wrath against Sir +Felix was unbounded. The seat for Westminster was his. He was to be +seen to occupy it before all the world on this very day. But he had +not as yet heard that his daughter had yielded in reference to Lord +Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>There was considerable uneasiness felt in some circles as to the +manner in which Melmotte should take his seat. When he was put +forward as the Conservative candidate for the borough a good deal of +fuss had been made with him by certain leading politicians. It had +been the manifest intention of the party that his return, if he were +returned, should be hailed as a great Conservative triumph, and be +made much of through the length and the breadth of the land. He was +returned,—but the trumpets had not as yet been sounded loudly. On a +sudden, within the space of forty-eight hours, the party had become +ashamed of their man. And, now, who was to introduce him to the +House? But with this feeling of shame on one side, there was already +springing up an idea among another class that Melmotte might become +as it were a Conservative tribune of the people,—that he might be +the realization of that hitherto hazy mixture of Radicalism and +old-fogyism, of which we have lately heard from a political master, +whose eloquence has been employed in teaching us that progress can +only be expected from those whose declared purpose is to stand still. +The new farthing newspaper, "The Mob," was already putting Melmotte +forward as a political hero, preaching with reference to his +commercial transactions the grand doctrine that magnitude in affairs +is a valid defence for certain irregularities. A Napoleon, though he +may exterminate tribes in carrying out his projects, cannot be judged +by the same law as a young lieutenant who may be punished for cruelty +to a few negroes. "The Mob" thought that a good deal should be +overlooked in a Melmotte, and that the philanthropy of his great +designs should be allowed to cover a multitude of sins. I do not know +that the theory was ever so plainly put forward as it was done by the +ingenious and courageous writer in "The Mob;" but in practice it has +commanded the assent of many intelligent minds.</p> + +<p>Mr. Melmotte, therefore, though he was not where he had been before +that wretched Squercum had set afloat the rumours as to the purchase +of Pickering, was able to hold his head much higher than on the +unfortunate night of the great banquet. He had replied to the letter +from Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, by a note written in the ordinary +way in the office, and only signed by himself. In this he merely said +that he would lose no time in settling matters as to the purchase of +Pickering. Slow and Bideawhile were of course anxious that things +should be settled. They wanted no prosecution for forgery. To make +themselves clear in the matter, and their client,—and if possible to +take some wind out of the sails of the odious Squercum;—this would +suit them best. They were prone to hope that for his own sake +Melmotte would raise the money. If it were raised there would be no +reason why that note purporting to have been signed by Dolly +Longestaffe should ever leave their office. They still protested +their belief that it did bear Dolly's signature. They had various +excuses for themselves. It would have been useless for them to summon +Dolly to their office, as they knew from long experience that Dolly +would not come. The very letter written by themselves,—as a +suggestion,—and given to Dolly's father, had come back to them with +Dolly's ordinary signature, sent to them,—as they believed,—with +other papers by Dolly's father. What justification could be clearer? +But still the money had not been paid. That was the fault of +Longestaffe senior. But if the money could be paid, that would set +everything right. Squercum evidently thought that the money would not +be paid, and was ceaseless in his intercourse with Bideawhile's +people. He charged Slow and Bideawhile with having delivered up the +title-deeds on the authority of a mere note, and that a note with a +forged signature. He demanded that the note should be impounded. On +the receipt by Mr. Bideawhile of Melmotte's rather curt reply Mr. +Squercum was informed that Mr. Melmotte had promised to pay the money +at once, but that a day or two must be allowed. Mr. Squercum replied +that on his client's behalf he should open the matter before the Lord +Mayor.</p> + +<p>But in this way two or three days had passed without any renewal of +the accusation before the public, and Melmotte had in a certain +degree recovered his position. The Beauclerks and the Luptons +disliked and feared him as much as ever, but they did not quite dare +to be so loud and confident in condemnation as they had been. It was +pretty well known that Mr. Longestaffe had not received his +money,—and that was a condition of things tending greatly to shake +the credit of a man living after Melmotte's fashion. But there was no +crime in that. No forgery was implied by the publication of any +statement to that effect. The Longestaffes, father and son, might +probably have been very foolish. Whoever expected anything but folly +from either? And Slow and Bideawhile might have been very remiss in +their duty. It was astonishing, some people said, what things +attorneys would do in these days! But they who had expected to see +Melmotte behind the bars of a prison before this, and had regulated +their conduct accordingly, now imagined that they had been deceived.</p> + +<p>Had the Westminster triumph been altogether a triumph it would have +become the pleasant duty of some popular Conservative to express to +Melmotte the pleasure he would have in introducing his new political +ally to the House. In such case Melmotte himself would have been +walked up the chamber with a pleasurable ovation and the thing would +have been done without trouble to him. But now this was not the +position of affairs. Though the matter was debated at the Carlton, no +such popular Conservative offered his services. "I don't think we +ought to throw him over," Mr. Beauclerk said. Sir Orlando Drought, +quite a leading Conservative, suggested that as Lord Nidderdale was +very intimate with Mr. Melmotte he might do it. But Nidderdale was +not the man for such a performance. He was a very good fellow and +everybody liked him. He belonged to the House because his father had +territorial influence in a Scotch county;—but he never did anything +there, and his selection for such a duty would be a declaration to +the world that nobody else would do it. "It wouldn't hurt you, +Lupton," said Mr. Beauclerk. "Not at all," said Lupton; "but I also, +like Nidderdale, am a young man and of no use,—and a great deal too +bashful." Melmotte, who knew but little about it, went down to the +House at four o'clock, somewhat cowed by want of companionship, but +carrying out his resolution that he would be stopped by no phantom +fears,—that he would lose nothing by want of personal pluck. He knew +that he was a Member, and concluded that if he presented himself he +would be able to make his way in and assume his right. But here again +fortune befriended him. The very leader of the party, the very +founder of that new doctrine of which it was thought that Melmotte +might become an apostle and an expounder,—who, as the reader may +remember, had undertaken to be present at the banquet when his +colleagues were dismayed and untrue to him, and who kept his promise +and sat there almost in solitude,—he happened to be entering the +House, as his late host was claiming from the door-keeper the +fruition of his privilege. "You had better let me accompany you," +said the Conservative leader, with something of chivalry in his +heart. And so Mr. Melmotte was introduced to the House by the head of +his party! When this was seen many men supposed that the rumours had +been proved to be altogether false. Was not this a guarantee +sufficient to guarantee any man's respectability?</p> + +<p>Lord Nidderdale saw his father in the lobby of the House of Lords +that afternoon and told him what had occurred. The old man had been +in a state of great doubt since the day of the dinner party. He was +aware of the ruin that would be incurred by a marriage with +Melmotte's daughter, if the things which had been said of Melmotte +should be proved to be true. But he knew also that if his son should +now recede, there must be an end of the match altogether;—and he did +not believe the rumours. He was fully determined that the money +should be paid down before the marriage was celebrated; but if his +son were to secede now, of course no money would be forthcoming. He +was prepared to recommend his son to go on with the affair still a +little longer. "Old Cure tells me he doesn't believe a word of it," +said the father. Cure was the family lawyer of the Marquises of Auld +Reekie.</p> + +<p>"There's some hitch about Dolly Longestaffe's money, sir," said the +son.</p> + +<p>"What's that to us if he has our money ready? I suppose it isn't +always easy even for a man like that to get a couple of hundred +thousand together. I know I've never found it easy to get a thousand. +If he has borrowed a trifle from Longestaffe to make up the girl's +money, I shan't complain. You stand to your guns. There's no harm +done till the parson has said the word."</p> + +<p>"You couldn't let me have a couple of hundred;—could you, sir?" +suggested the son.</p> + +<p>"No, I couldn't," replied the father with a very determined aspect.</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully hard up."</p> + +<p>"So am I." Then the old man toddled into his own chamber, and after +sitting there ten minutes went away home.</p> + +<p>Lord Nidderdale also got quickly through his legislative duties and +went to the Beargarden. There he found Grasslough and Miles Grendall +dining together, and seated himself at the next table. They were full +of news. "You've heard it, I suppose," said Miles in an awful +whisper.</p> + +<p>"Heard what?"</p> + +<p>"I believe he doesn't know!" said Lord Grasslough. "By Jove, +Nidderdale, you're in a mess like some others."</p> + +<p>"What's up now?"</p> + +<p>"Only fancy that they shouldn't have known down at the House! Vossner +has bolted!"</p> + +<p>"Bolted!" exclaimed Nidderdale, dropping the spoon with which he was +just going to eat his soup.</p> + +<p>"Bolted," repeated Grasslough. Lord Nidderdale looked round the room +and became aware of the awful expression of dismay which hung upon +the features of all the dining members. "Bolted by George! He has +sold all our acceptances to a fellow in Great Marlbro' that's called +'Flatfleece.'"</p> + +<p>"I know him," said Nidderdale shaking his head.</p> + +<p>"I should think so," said Miles ruefully.</p> + +<p>"A bottle of champagne!" said Nidderdale, appealing to the waiter in +almost a humble voice, feeling that he wanted sustenance in this new +trouble that had befallen him. The waiter, beaten almost to the +ground by an awful sense of the condition of the club, whispered to +him the terrible announcement that there was not a bottle of +champagne in the house. "Good +<span class="nowrap">G——,"</span> exclaimed the unfortunate +nobleman. Miles Grendall shook his head. Grasslough shook his head.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill069a"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill069a.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill069a-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"Not a bottle of champagne in the house."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"Not a + bottle of champagne in the house."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill069a.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"It's true," said another young lord from the table on the other +side. Then the waiter, still speaking with suppressed and melancholy +voice, suggested that there was some port left. It was now the middle +of July.</p> + +<p>"Brandy?" suggested Nidderdale. There had been a few bottles of +brandy, but they had been already consumed. "Send out and get some +brandy," said Nidderdale with rapid impetuosity. But the club was so +reduced in circumstances that he was obliged to take silver out of +his pocket before he could get even such humble comfort as he now +demanded.</p> + +<p>Then Lord Grasslough told the whole story as far as it was known. +Herr Vossner had not been seen since nine o'clock on the preceding +evening. The head waiter had known for some weeks that heavy bills +were due. It was supposed that three or four thousand pounds were +owing to tradesmen, who now professed that the credit had been given, +not to Herr Vossner but to the club. And the numerous acceptances for +large sums which the accommodating purveyor held from many of the +members had all been sold to Mr. Flatfleece. Mr. Flatfleece had spent +a considerable portion of the day at the club, and it was now +suggested that he and Herr Vossner were in partnership. At this +moment Dolly Longestaffe came in. Dolly had been at the club before +and had heard the story,—but had gone at once to another club for +his dinner when he found that there was not even a bottle of wine to +be had. "Here's a go," said Dolly. "One thing atop of another! +There'll be nothing left for anybody soon. Is that brandy you're +drinking, Nidderdale? There was none here when I left."</p> + +<p>"Had to send round the corner for it, to the public."</p> + +<p>"We shall be sending round the corner for a good many things now. +Does anybody know anything of that fellow Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"He's down in the House, as big as life," said Nidderdale. "He's all +right I think."</p> + +<p>"I wish he'd pay me my money then. That fellow Flatfleece was here, +and he showed me notes of mine for about £1,500! I write such a +beastly hand that I never know whether I've written it or not. But, +by George, a fellow can't eat and drink £1,500 in less than six +months!"</p> + +<p>"There's no knowing what you can do, Dolly," said Lord Grasslough.</p> + +<p>"He's paid some of your card money, perhaps," said Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"I don't think he ever did. Carbury had a lot of my I. O. U.'s while +that was going on, but I got the money for that from old Melmotte. +How is a fellow to know? If any fellow writes D. Longestaffe, am I +obliged to pay it? Everybody is writing my name! How is any fellow to +stand that kind of thing? Do you think Melmotte's all right?" +Nidderdale said that he did think so. "I wish he wouldn't go and +write my name then. That's a sort of thing that a man should be left +to do for himself. I suppose Vossner is a swindler; but, by Jove, I +know a worse than Vossner." With that he turned on his heels and went +into the smoking-room. And, after he was gone, there was silence at +the table, for it was known that Lord Nidderdale was to marry +Melmotte's daughter.</p> + +<p>In the meantime a scene of a different kind was going on in the House +of Commons. Melmotte had been seated on one of the back Conservative +benches, and there he remained for a considerable time unnoticed and +forgotten. The little emotion that had attended his entrance had +passed away, and Melmotte was now no more than any one else. At first +he had taken his hat off, but, as soon as he observed that the +majority of members were covered, he put it on again. Then he sat +motionless for an hour, looking round him and wondering. He had never +hitherto been even in the gallery of the House. The place was very +much smaller than he had thought, and much less tremendous. The +Speaker did not strike him with the awe which he had expected, and it +seemed to him that they who spoke were talking much like other people +in other places. For the first hour he hardly caught the meaning of a +sentence that was said, nor did he try to do so. One man got up very +quickly after another, some of them barely rising on their legs to +say the few words that they uttered. It seemed to him to be a very +common-place affair,—not half so awful as those festive occasions on +which he had occasionally been called upon to propose a toast or to +return thanks. Then suddenly the manner of the thing was changed, and +one gentleman made a long speech. Melmotte by this time, weary of +observing, had begun to listen, and words which were familiar to him +reached his ears. The gentleman was proposing some little addition to +a commercial treaty and was expounding in very strong language the +ruinous injustice to which England was exposed by being tempted to +use gloves made in a country in which no income tax was levied. +Melmotte listened to his eloquence caring nothing about gloves, and +very little about England's ruin. But in the course of the debate +which followed, a question arose about the value of money, of +exchange, and of the conversion of shillings into francs and dollars. +About this Melmotte really did know something and he pricked up his +ears. It seemed to him that a gentleman whom he knew very well in the +city,—and who had maliciously stayed away from his dinner,—one Mr. +Brown, who sat just before him on the same side of the House, and who +was plodding wearily and slowly along with some pet fiscal theory of +his own, understood nothing at all of what he was saying. Here was an +opportunity for himself! Here was at his hand the means of revenging +himself for the injury done him, and of showing to the world at the +same time that he was not afraid of his city enemies! It required +some courage certainly,—this attempt that suggested itself to him of +getting upon his legs a couple of hours after his first introduction +to parliamentary life. But he was full of the lesson which he was now +ever teaching himself. Nothing should cow him. Whatever was to be +done by brazen-faced audacity he would do. It seemed to be very easy, +and he saw no reason why he should not put that old fool right. He +knew nothing of the forms of the House;—was more ignorant of them +than an ordinary schoolboy;—but on that very account felt less +trepidation than might another parliamentary novice. Mr. Brown was +tedious and prolix; and Melmotte, though he thought much of his +project and had almost told himself that he would do the thing, was +still doubting, when, suddenly, Mr. Brown sat down. There did not +seem to be any particular end to the speech, nor had Melmotte +followed any general thread of argument. But a statement had been +made and repeated, containing, as Melmotte thought, a fundamental +error in finance; and he longed to set the matter right. At any rate +he desired to show the House that Mr. Brown did not know what he was +talking about,—because Mr. Brown had not come to his dinner. When +Mr. Brown was seated, nobody at once rose. The subject was not +popular, and they who understood the business of the House were well +aware that the occasion had simply been one on which two or three +commercial gentlemen, having crazes of their own, should be allowed +to ventilate them. The subject would have dropped;—but on a sudden +the new member was on his legs.</p> + +<p>Now it was probably not in the remembrance of any gentleman there +that a member had got up to make a speech within two or three hours +of his first entry into the House. And this gentleman was one whose +recent election had been of a very peculiar kind. It had been +considered by many of his supporters that his name should be +withdrawn just before the ballot; by others that he would be deterred +by shame from showing himself even if he were elected; and again by +another party that his appearance in Parliament would be prevented by +his disappearance within the walls of Newgate. But here he was, not +only in his seat, but on his legs! The favourable grace, the air of +courteous attention, which is always shown to a new member when he +first speaks, was extended also to Melmotte. There was an excitement +in the thing which made gentlemen willing to listen, and a consequent +hum, almost of approbation.</p> + +<p>As soon as Melmotte was on his legs, and, looking round, found that +everybody was silent with the intent of listening to him, a good deal +of his courage oozed out of his fingers' ends. The House, which, to +his thinking, had by no means been august while Mr. Brown had been +toddling through his speech, now became awful. He caught the eyes of +great men fixed upon him,—of men who had not seemed to him to be at +all great as he had watched them a few minutes before, yawning +beneath their hats. Mr. Brown, poor as his speech had been, had, no +doubt, prepared it,—and had perhaps made three or four such speeches +every year for the last fifteen years. Melmotte had not dreamed of +putting two words together. He had thought, as far as he had thought +at all, that he could rattle off what he had to say just as he might +do it when seated in his chair at the Mexican Railway Board. But +there was the Speaker, and those three clerks in their wigs, and the +mace,—and worse than all, the eyes of that long row of statesmen +opposite to him! His position was felt by him to be dreadful. He had +forgotten even the very point on which he had intended to crush Mr. +Brown.</p> + +<p>But the courage of the man was too high to allow him to be altogether +quelled at once. The hum was prolonged; and though he was red in the +face, perspiring, and utterly confused, he was determined to make a +dash at the matter with the first words which would occur to him. +"Mr. Brown is all wrong," he said. He had not even taken off his hat +as he rose. Mr. Brown turned slowly round and looked up at him. Some +one, whom he could not exactly hear, touching him behind, suggested +that he should take off his hat. There was a cry of order, which of +course he did not understand. "Yes, you are," said Melmotte, nodding +his head, and frowning angrily at poor Mr. Brown.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill069b"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill069b.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill069b-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="Melmotte in Parliament." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">Melmotte + in Parliament.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill069b.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"The honourable member," said the Speaker, with the most good-natured +voice which he could assume, "is not perhaps as yet aware that he +should not call another member by his name. He should speak of the +gentleman to whom he alluded as the honourable member for +Whitechapel. And in speaking he should address, not another +honourable member, but the chair."</p> + +<p>"You should take your hat off," said the good-natured gentleman +behind.</p> + +<p>In such a position how should any man understand so many and such +complicated instructions at once, and at the same time remember the +gist of the argument to be produced? He did take off his hat, and was +of course made hotter and more confused by doing so. "What he said +was all wrong," continued Melmotte; "and I should have thought a man +out of the City, like Mr. Brown, ought to have known better." Then +there were repeated calls of order, and a violent ebullition of +laughter from both sides of the House. The man stood for a while +glaring around him, summoning his own pluck for a renewal of his +attack on Mr. Brown, determined that he would be appalled and put +down neither by the ridicule of those around him, nor by his want of +familiarity with the place; but still utterly unable to find words +with which to carry on the combat. "I ought to know something about +it," said Melmotte sitting down and hiding his indignation and his +shame under his hat.</p> + +<p>"We are sure that the honourable member for Westminster does +understand the subject," said the leader of the House, "and we shall +be very glad to hear his remarks. The House I am sure will pardon +ignorance of its rules in so young a member."</p> + +<p>But Mr. Melmotte would not rise again. He had made a great effort, +and had at any rate exhibited his courage. Though they might all say +that he had not displayed much eloquence, they would be driven to +admit that he had not been ashamed to show himself. He kept his seat +till the regular stampede was made for dinner, and then walked out +with as stately a demeanour as he could assume.</p> + +<p>"Well, that was plucky!" said Cohenlupe, taking his friend's arm in +the lobby.</p> + +<p>"I don't see any pluck in it. That old fool Brown didn't know what he +was talking about, and I wanted to tell them so. They wouldn't let me +do it, and there's an end of it. It seems to me to be a stupid sort +of a place."</p> + +<p>"Has Longestaffe's money been paid?" said Cohenlupe opening his black +eyes while he looked up into his friend's face.</p> + +<p>"Don't you trouble your head about Longestaffe, or his money either," +said Melmotte, getting into his brougham; "do you leave Mr. +Longestaffe and his money to me. I hope you are not such a fool as to +be scared by what the other fools say. When men play such a game as +you and I are concerned in, they ought to know better than to be +afraid of every word that is spoken."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear; yes;" said Cohenlupe apologetically. "You don't suppose +that I am afraid of anything." But at that moment Mr. Cohenlupe was +meditating his own escape from the dangerous shores of England, and +was trying to remember what happy country still was left in which an +order from the British police would have no power to interfere with +the comfort of a retired gentleman such as himself.</p> + +<p>That evening Madame Melmotte told her husband that Marie was now +willing to marry Lord Nidderdale;—but she did not say anything as to +the crossing-sweeper or the black footman, nor did she allude to +Marie's threat of the sort of life she would lead her husband.</p> + + +<p><a id="c70"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXX.</h3> +<h4>SIR FELIX MEDDLES WITH MANY MATTERS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>There is no duty more certain or fixed in the world than that which +calls upon a brother to defend his sister from ill-usage; but, at the +same time, in the way we live now, no duty is more difficult, and we +may say generally more indistinct. The ill-usage to which men's +sisters are most generally exposed is one which hardly admits of +either protection or vengeance,—although the duty of protecting and +avenging is felt and acknowledged. We are not allowed to fight duels, +and that banging about of another man with a stick is always +disagreeable and seldom successful. A John Crumb can do it, perhaps, +and come out of the affair exulting; but not a Sir Felix Carbury, +even if the Sir Felix of the occasion have the requisite courage. +There is a feeling, too, when a girl has been jilted,—thrown over, +perhaps, is the proper term,—after the gentleman has had the fun of +making love to her for an entire season, and has perhaps even been +allowed privileges as her promised husband, that the less said the +better. The girl does not mean to break her heart for love of the +false one, and become the tragic heroine of a tale for three months. +It is her purpose again to</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0"><tr><td> +<span class="ind2"><span class="nowrap">—trick her beams, +and with new-spangled ore</span></span><br /> +Flame in the forehead of the morning sky. +</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">Though this +one has been false, as were perhaps two or three before, +still the road to success is open. Uno avulso non deficit alter. But +if all the notoriety of cudgels and cutting whips be given to the +late unfortunate affair, the difficulty of finding a substitute will +be greatly increased. The brother recognises his duty, and prepares +for vengeance. The injured one probably desires that she may be left +to fight her own little battles alone.</p> + +<p>"Then, by heaven, he shall answer it to me," Sir Felix had said very +grandly, when his sister had told him that she was engaged to a man +who was, as he thought he knew, engaged also to marry another woman. +Here, no doubt, was gross ill-usage, and opportunity at any rate for +threats. No money was required and no immediate action,—and Sir +Felix could act the fine gentleman and the dictatorial brother at +very little present expense. But Hetta, who ought perhaps to have +known her brother more thoroughly, was fool enough to believe him. On +the day but one following, no answer had as yet come from Roger +Carbury,—nor could as yet have come. But Hetta's mind was full of +her trouble, and she remembered her brother's threat. Felix had +forgotten that he had made a threat,—and, indeed, had thought no +more of the matter since his interview with his sister.</p> + +<p>"Felix," she said, "you won't mention that to Mr. Montague!"</p> + +<p>"Mention what? Oh! about that woman, Mrs. Hurtle? Indeed I shall. A +man who does that kind of thing ought to be crushed;—and, by +heavens, if he does it to you, he shall be crushed."</p> + +<p>"I want to tell you, Felix. If it is so, I will see him no more."</p> + +<p>"If it is so! I tell you I know it."</p> + +<p>"Mamma has written to Roger. At least I feel sure she has."</p> + +<p>"What has she written to him for? What has Roger Carbury to do with +our affairs?"</p> + +<p>"Only you said he knew! If he says so, that is, if you and he both +say that he is to marry that woman,—I will not see Mr. Montague +again. Pray do not go to him. If such a misfortune does come, it is +better to bear it and to be silent. What good can be done?"</p> + +<p>"Leave that to me," said Sir Felix, walking out of the room with much +fraternal bluster. Then he went forth, and at once had himself driven +to Paul Montague's lodgings. Had Hetta not been foolish enough to +remind him of his duty, he would not now have undertaken the task. He +too, no doubt, remembered as he went that duels were things of the +past, and that even fists and sticks are considered to be out of +fashion. "Montague," he said, assuming all the dignity of demeanour +that his late sorrows had left to him, "I believe I am right in +saying that you are engaged to marry that American lady, Mrs. +Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"Then let me tell you that you were never more wrong in your life. +What business have you with Mrs. Hurtle?"</p> + +<p>"When a man proposes to my sister, I think I've a great deal of +business," said Sir Felix.</p> + +<p>"Well;—yes; I admit that fully. If I answered you roughly, I beg +your pardon. Now as to the facts. I am not going to marry Mrs. +Hurtle. I suppose I know how you have heard her name;—but as you +have heard it, I have no hesitation in telling you so much. As you +know where she is to be found you can go and ask her if you please. +On the other hand, it is the dearest wish of my heart to marry your +sister. I trust that will be enough for you."</p> + +<p>"You were engaged to Mrs. Hurtle?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Carbury, I don't think I'm bound to tell you all the details +of my past life. At any rate, I don't feel inclined to do so in +answer to hostile questions. I dare say you have heard enough of Mrs. +Hurtle to justify you, as your sister's brother, in asking me whether +I am in any way entangled by a connection with her. I tell you that I +am not. If you still doubt, I refer you to the lady herself. Beyond +that, I do not think I am called on to go; and beyond that I won't +go,—at any rate, at present." Sir Felix still blustered, and made +what capital he could out of his position as a brother; but he took +no steps towards positive revenge. "Of course, Carbury," said the +other, "I wish to regard you as a brother; and if I am rough to you, +it is only because you are rough to me."</p> + +<p>Sir Felix was now in that part of town which he had been accustomed +to haunt,—for the first time since his misadventure,—and, plucking +up his courage, resolved that he would turn into the Beargarden. He +would have a glass of sherry, and face the one or two men who would +as yet be there, and in this way gradually creep back to his old +habits. But when he arrived there, the club was shut up. "What the +deuce is Vossner about?" said he, pulling out his watch. It was +nearly five o'clock. He rang the bell, and knocked at the door, +feeling that this was an occasion for courage. One of the servants, +in what we may call private clothes, after some delay, drew back the +bolts, and told him the astounding news;—The club was shut up! "Do +you mean to say I can't come in?" said Sir Felix. The man certainly +did mean to tell him so, for he opened the door no more than a foot, +and stood in that narrow aperture. Mr. Vossner had gone away. There +had been a meeting of the Committee, and the club was shut up. +Whatever further information rested in the waiter's bosom he declined +to communicate to Sir Felix Carbury.</p> + +<p>"By George!" The wrong that was done him filled the young baronet's +bosom with indignation. He had intended, he assured himself, to dine +at his club, to spend the evening there sportively, to be pleasant +among his chosen companions. And now the club was shut up, and +Vossner had gone away! What business had the club to be shut up? What +right had Vossner to go away? Had he not paid his subscription in +advance? Throughout the world, the more wrong a man does, the more +indignant is he at wrong done to him. Sir Felix almost thought that +he could recover damages from the whole Committee.</p> + +<p>He went direct to Mrs. Pipkin's house. When he made that half promise +of marriage in Mrs. Pipkin's hearing, he had said that he would come +again on the morrow. This he had not done; but of that he thought +nothing. Such breaches of faith, when committed by a young man in his +position, require not even an apology. He was admitted by Ruby +herself, who was of course delighted to see him. "Who do you think is +in town?" she said. "John Crumb; but though he came here ever so +smart, I wouldn't so much as speak to him, except to tell him to go +away." Sir Felix, when he heard the name, felt an uncomfortable +sensation creep over him. "I don't know I'm sure what he should come +after me for, and me telling him as plain as the nose on his face +that I never want to see him again."</p> + +<p>"He's not of much account," said the baronet.</p> + +<p>"He would marry me out and out immediately, if I'd have him," +continued Ruby, who perhaps thought that her honest old lover should +not be spoken of as being altogether of no account. "And he has +everything comfortable in the way of furniture, and all that. And +they do say he's ever so much money in the bank. But I detest him," +said Ruby, shaking her pretty head, and inclining herself towards her +aristocratic lover's shoulder.</p> + +<p>This took place in the back parlour, before Mrs. Pipkin had ascended +from the kitchen prepared to disturb so much romantic bliss with +wretched references to the cold outer world. "Well, now, Sir Felix," +she began, "if things is square, of course you're welcome to see my +niece."</p> + +<p>"And what if they're round, Mrs. Pipkin?" said the gallant, careless, +sparkling Lothario.</p> + +<p>"Well, or round either, so long as they're honest."</p> + +<p>"Ruby and I are both honest;—ain't we, Ruby? I want to take her out +to dinner, Mrs. Pipkin. She shall be back before late;—before ten; +she shall indeed." Ruby inclined herself still more closely towards +his shoulder. "Come, Ruby, get your hat and change your dress, and +we'll be off. I've ever so many things to tell you."</p> + +<p>Ever so many things to tell her! They must be to fix a day for the +marriage, and to let her know where they were to live, and to settle +what dress she should wear,—and perhaps to give her the money to go +and buy it! Ever so many things to tell her! She looked up into Mrs. +Pipkin's face with imploring eyes. Surely on such an occasion as this +an aunt would not expect that her niece should be a prisoner and a +slave. "Have it been put in writing, Sir Felix Carbury?" demanded +Mrs. Pipkin with cruel gravity. Mrs. Hurtle had given it as her +decided opinion that Sir Felix would not really mean to marry Ruby +Ruggles unless he showed himself willing to do so with all the +formality of a written contract.</p> + +<p>"Writing be bothered," said Sir Felix.</p> + +<p>"That's all very well, Sir Felix. Writing do bother, very often. But +when a gentleman has intentions, a bit of writing shows it plainer +nor words. Ruby don't go no where to dine unless you puts it into +writing."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Pipkin!" exclaimed the wretched Ruby. "What do you think I'm +going to do with her?" asked Sir Felix.</p> + +<p>"If you want to make her your wife, put it in writing. And if it be +as you don't, just say so, and walk away,—free."</p> + +<p>"I shall go," said Ruby. "I'm not going to be kept here a prisoner +for any one. I can go when I please. You wait, Felix, and I'll be +down in a minute." The girl, with a nimble spring, ran upstairs, and +began to change her dress without giving herself a moment for +thought.</p> + +<p>"She don't come back no more here, Sir Felix," said Mrs. Pipkin, in +her most solemn tones. "She ain't nothing to me, no more than she was +my poor dear husband's sister's child. There ain't no blood between +us, and won't be no disgrace. But I'd be loth to see her on the +streets."</p> + +<p>"Then why won't you let me bring her back again?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause that'd be the way to send her there. You don't mean to marry +her." To this Sir Felix said nothing. "You're not thinking of that. +It's just a bit of sport,—and then there she is, an old shoe to be +chucked away, just a rag to be swept into the dust-bin. I've seen +scores of 'em, and I'd sooner a child of mine should die in a +workus', or be starved to death. But it's all nothing to the likes o' +you."</p> + +<p>"I haven't done her any harm," said Sir Felix, almost frightened.</p> + +<p>"Then go away, and don't do her any. That's Mrs. Hurtle's door open. +You go and speak to her. She can talk a deal better nor me."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Hurtle hasn't been able to manage her own affairs very well."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Hurtle's a lady, Sir Felix, and a widow, and one as has seen +the world." As she spoke, Mrs. Hurtle came downstairs, and an +introduction, after some rude fashion, was effected between her and +Sir Felix. Mrs. Hurtle had heard often of Sir Felix Carbury, and was +quite as certain as Mrs. Pipkin that he did not mean to marry Ruby +Ruggles. In a few minutes Felix found himself alone with Mrs. Hurtle +in her own room. He had been anxious to see the woman since he had +heard of her engagement with Paul Montague, and doubly anxious since +he had also heard of Paul's engagement with his sister. It was not an +hour since Paul himself had referred him to her for corroboration of +his own statement.</p> + +<p>"Sir Felix Carbury," she said, "I am afraid you are doing that poor +girl no good, and are intending to do her none." It did occur to him +very strongly that this could be no affair of Mrs. Hurtle's, and that +he, as a man of position in society, was being interfered with in an +unjustifiable manner. Aunt Pipkin wasn't even an aunt; but who was +Mrs. Hurtle? "Would it not be better that you should leave her to +become the wife of a man who is really fond of her?"</p> + +<p>He could already see something in Mrs. Hurtle's eye which prevented +his at once bursting into wrath;—but who was Mrs. Hurtle, that she +should interfere with him? "Upon my word, ma'am," he said, "I'm very +much obliged to you, but I don't quite know to what I owe the honour +of your—<span class="nowrap">your—"</span></p> + +<p>"Interference you mean."</p> + +<p>"I didn't say so, but perhaps that's about it."</p> + +<p>"I'd interfere to save any woman that God ever made," said Mrs. +Hurtle with energy. "We're all apt to wait a little too long, because +we're ashamed to do any little good that chance puts in our way. You +must go and leave her, Sir Felix."</p> + +<p>"I suppose she may do as she pleases about that."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to make her your wife?" asked Mrs. Hurtle sternly.</p> + +<p>"Does Mr. Paul Montague mean to make you his wife?" rejoined Sir +Felix with an impudent swagger. He had struck the blow certainly hard +enough, and it had gone all the way home. She had not surmised that +he would have heard aught of her own concerns. She only barely +connected him with that Roger Carbury who, she knew, was Paul's great +friend, and she had as yet never heard that Hetta Carbury was the +girl whom Paul loved. Had Paul so talked about her that this young +scamp should know all her story?</p> + +<p>She thought awhile,—she had to think for a moment,—before she could +answer him. "I do not see," she said, with a faint attempt at a +smile, "that there is any parallel between the two cases. I, at any +rate, am old enough to take care of myself. Should he not marry me, I +am as I was before. Will it be so with that poor girl if she allows +herself to be taken about the town by you at night?" She had desired +in what she said to protect Ruby rather than herself. What could it +matter whether this young man was left in a belief that she was, or +that she was not, about to be married?</p> + +<p>"If you'll answer me, I'll answer you," said Sir Felix. "Does Mr. +Montague mean to make you his wife?"</p> + +<p>"It does not concern you to know," said she, flashing upon him. "The +question is insolent."</p> + +<p>"It does concern me,—a great deal more than anything about Ruby can +concern you. And as you won't answer me, I won't answer you."</p> + +<p>"Then, sir, that girl's fate will be upon your head."</p> + +<p>"I know all about that," said the baronet.</p> + +<p>"And the young man who has followed her up to town will probably know +where to find you," added Mrs. Hurtle.</p> + +<p>To such a threat as this, no answer could be made, and Sir Felix left +the room. At any rate, John Crumb was not there at present. And were +there not policemen in London? And what additional harm would be done +to John Crumb, or what increase of anger engendered in that true +lover's breast, by one additional evening's amusement? Ruby had +danced with him so often at the Music Hall that John Crumb could +hardly be made more bellicose by the fact of her dining with him on +this evening. When he descended, he found Ruby in the hall, all +arrayed. "You don't come in here again to-night," said Mrs. Pipkin, +thumping the little table which stood in the passage, "if you goes +out of that there door with that there young man."</p> + +<p>"Then I shall," said Ruby linking herself on to her lover's arm.</p> + +<p>"Baggage! Slut!" said Mrs. Pipkin; "after all I've done for you, just +as one as though you were my own flesh and blood."</p> + +<p>"I've worked for it, I suppose;—haven't I?" rejoined Ruby.</p> + +<p>"You send for your things to-morrow, for you don't come in here no +more. You ain't nothing to me no more nor no other girl. But I'd 've +saved you, if you'd but a' let me. As for you,"—and she looked at +Sir Felix,—"only because I've lodgings to let, and because of the +lady upstairs, I'd shake you that well, you'd never come here no more +after poor girls." I do not think that she need have feared any +remonstrance from Mrs. Hurtle, even had she put her threat into +execution.</p> + +<p>Sir Felix, thinking that he had had enough of Mrs. Pipkin and her +lodger, left the house with Ruby on his arm. For the moment, Ruby had +been triumphant, and was happy. She did not stop to consider whether +her aunt would or would not open her door when she should return +tired, and perhaps repentant. She was on her lover's arm, in her best +clothes, and going to have a dinner given to her. And her lover had +told her that he had ever so many things,—ever so many things to say +to her! But she would ask no impertinent questions in the first hour +of her bliss. It was so pleasant to walk with him up to +Pentonville;—so joyous to turn into a gay enclosure, half +public-house and half tea-garden; so pleasant to hear him order the +good things, which in his company would be so nice! Who cannot +understand that even an urban Rosherville must be an Elysium to those +who have lately been eating their meals in all the gloom of a small +London underground kitchen? There we will leave Ruby in her bliss.</p> + +<p>At about nine that evening John Crumb called at Mrs. Pipkin's, and +was told that Ruby had gone out with Sir Felix Carbury. He hit his +leg a blow with his fist, and glared out of his eyes. "He'll have it +hot some day," said John Crumb. He was allowed to remain waiting for +Ruby till midnight, and then, with a sorrowful heart, he took his +departure.</p> + + +<p><a id="c71"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXI.</h3> +<h4>JOHN CRUMB FALLS INTO TROUBLE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>It was on a Friday evening, an inauspicious Friday, that poor Ruby +Ruggles had insisted on leaving the security of her Aunt Pipkin's +house with her aristocratic and vicious lover, in spite of the +positive assurance made to her by Mrs. Pipkin that if she went forth +in such company she should not be allowed to return. "Of course you +must let her in," Mrs. Hurtle had said soon after the girl's +departure. Whereupon Mrs. Pipkin had cried. She knew her own softness +too well to suppose it to be possible that she could keep the girl +out in the streets all night; but yet it was hard upon her, very +hard, that she should be so troubled. "We usen't to have our ways +like that when I was young," she said, sobbing. What was to be the +end of it? Was she to be forced by circumstances to keep the girl +always there, let the girl's conduct be what it might? Nevertheless +she acknowledged that Ruby must be let in when she came back. Then, +about nine o'clock, John Crumb came; and the latter part of the +evening was more melancholy even than the first. It was impossible to +conceal the truth from John Crumb. Mrs. Hurtle saw the poor man and +told the story in Mrs. Pipkin's presence.</p> + +<p>"She's headstrong, Mr. Crumb," said Mrs. Hurtle.</p> + +<p>"She is that, ma'am. And it was along wi' the baro-nite she went?"</p> + +<p>"It was so, Mr. Crumb."</p> + +<p>"Baro-nite! Well;—perhaps I shall catch him some of these +days;—went to dinner wi' him, did she? Didn't she have no dinner +here?"</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Pipkin spoke up with a keen sense of offence. Ruby Ruggles +had had as wholesome a dinner as any young woman in London,—a +bullock's heart and potatoes,—just as much as ever she had pleased +to eat of it. Mrs. Pipkin could tell Mr. Crumb that there was "no +starvation nor yet no stint in her house." John Crumb immediately +produced a very thick and admirably useful blue cloth cloak, which he +had brought up with him to London from Bungay, as a present to the +woman who had been good to his Ruby. He assured her that he did not +doubt that her victuals were good and plentiful, and went on to say +that he had made bold to bring her a trifle out of respect. It was +some little time before Mrs. Pipkin would allow herself to be +appeased;—but at last she permitted the garment to be placed on her +shoulders. But it was done after a melancholy fashion. There was no +smiling consciousness of the bestowal of joy on the countenance of +the donor as he gave it, no exuberance of thanks from the recipient +as she received it. Mrs. Hurtle, standing by, declared it to be +perfect;—but the occasion was one which admitted of no delight. +"It's very good of you, Mr. Crumb, to think of an old woman like +me,—particularly when you've such a deal of trouble with a young +'un."</p> + +<p>"It's like the smut in the wheat, Mrs. Pipkin, or the d'sease in the +'tatoes;—it has to be put up with, I suppose. Is she very partial, +ma'am, to that young baro-nite?" This question was asked of Mrs. +Hurtle.</p> + +<p>"Just a fancy for the time, Mr. Crumb," said the lady.</p> + +<p>"They never thinks as how their fancies may well-nigh half kill a +man!" Then he was silent for awhile, sitting back in his chair, not +moving a limb, with his eyes fastened on Mrs. Pipkin's ceiling. Mrs. +Hurtle had some work in her hand, and sat watching him. The man was +to her an extraordinary being,—so constant, so slow, so +unexpressive, so unlike her own countrymen,—willing to endure so +much, and at the same time so warm in his affections! "Sir Felix +Carbury!" he said. "I'll Sir Felix him some of these days. If it was +only dinner, wouldn't she be back afore this, ma'am?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose they've gone to some place of amusement," said Mrs. +Hurtle.</p> + +<p>"Like enough," said John Crumb in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"She's that mad after dancing as never was," said Mrs. Pipkin.</p> + +<p>"And where is it as 'em dances?" asked Crumb, getting up from his +chair, and stretching himself. It was evident to both the ladies that +he was beginning to think that he would follow Ruby to the music +hall. Neither of them answered him, however, and then he sat down +again. "Does 'em dance all night at them places, Mrs. Pipkin?"</p> + +<p>"They do pretty nearly all that they oughtn't to do," said Mrs. +Pipkin. John Crumb raised one of his fists, brought it down heavily +on the palm of his other hand, and then again sat silent for awhile.</p> + +<p>"I never knowed as she was fond o' dancing," he said. "I'd a had +dancing for her down at Bungay,—just as ready as anything. D'ye +think, ma'am, it's the dancing she's after, or the baro-nite?" This +was another appeal to Mrs. Hurtle.</p> + +<p>"I suppose they go together," said the lady.</p> + +<p>Then there was another long pause, at the end of which poor John +Crumb burst out with some violence. "Domn him! Domn him! What 'ad I +ever dun to him? Nothing! Did I ever interfere wi' him? Never! But I +wull. I wull. I wouldn't wonder but I'll swing for this at Bury!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Crumb, don't talk like that," said Mrs. Pipkin.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Crumb is a little disturbed, but he'll get over it presently," +said Mrs. Hurtle.</p> + +<p>"She's a nasty slut to go and treat a young man as she's treating +you," said Mrs. Pipkin.</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am;—she ain't nasty," said the lover. "But she's +crou'll—horrid crou'll. It's no more use my going down about meal +and pollard, nor business, and she up here with that baro-nite,—no, +no more nor nothin'! When I handles it I don't know whether its +middlings nor nothin' else. If I was to twist his neck, ma'am, would +you take it on yourself to say as I was wrong?"</p> + +<p>"I'd sooner hear that you had taken the girl away from him," said +Mrs. Hurtle.</p> + +<p>"I could pretty well eat him,—that's what I could. Half past eleven; +is it? She must come some time, mustn't she?" Mrs. Pipkin, who did +not want to burn candles all night long, declared that she could give +no assurance on that head. If Ruby did come, she should, on that +night, be admitted. But Mrs. Pipkin thought that it would be better +to get up and let her in than to sit up for her. Poor Mr. Crumb did +not at once take the hint, and remained there for another half-hour, +saying little, but waiting with the hope that Ruby might come. But +when the clock struck twelve he was told that he must go. Then he +slowly collected his limbs and dragged them out of the house.</p> + +<p>"That young man is a good fellow," said Mrs. Hurtle as soon as the +door was closed.</p> + +<p>"A deal too good for Ruby Ruggles," said Mrs. Pipkin. "And he can +maintain a wife. Mr. Carbury says as he's as well to do as any +tradesman down in them parts."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hurtle disliked the name of Mr. Carbury, and took this last +statement as no evidence in John Crumb's favour. "I don't know that I +think better of the man for having Mr. Carbury's friendship," she +said.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carbury ain't any way like his cousin, Mrs. Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"I don't think much of any of the Carburys, Mrs. Pipkin. It seems to +me that everybody here is either too humble or too overbearing. +Nobody seems content to stand firm on his own footing and interfere +with nobody else." This was all Greek to poor Mrs. Pipkin. "I suppose +we may as well go to bed now. When that girl comes and knocks, of +course we must let her in. If I hear her, I'll go down and open the +door for her."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pipkin made very many apologies to her lodger for the condition +of her household. She would remain up herself to answer the door at +the first sound, so that Mrs. Hurtle should not be disturbed. She +would do her best to prevent any further annoyance. She trusted Mrs. +Hurtle would see that she was endeavouring to do her duty by the +naughty wicked girl. And then she came round to the point of her +discourse. She hoped that Mrs. Hurtle would not be induced to quit +the rooms by these disagreeable occurrences. "I don't mind saying it +now, Mrs. Hurtle, but your being here is ever so much to me. I ain't +nothing to depend on,—only lodgers, and them as is any good is so +hard to get!" The poor woman hardly understood Mrs. Hurtle, who, as a +lodger, was certainly peculiar. She cared nothing for disturbances, +and rather liked than otherwise the task of endeavouring to assist in +the salvation of Ruby. Mrs. Hurtle begged that Mrs. Pipkin would go +to bed. She would not be in the least annoyed by the knocking. +Another half-hour had thus been passed by the two ladies in the +parlour after Crumb's departure. Then Mrs. Hurtle took her candle and +had ascended the stairs half way to her own sitting-room, when a loud +double knock was heard. She immediately joined Mrs. Pipkin in the +passage. The door was opened, and there stood Ruby Ruggles, John +Crumb, and two policemen! Ruby rushed in, and casting herself on to +one of the stairs began to throw her hands about, and to howl +piteously. "Laws a mercy; what is it?" asked Mrs. Pipkin.</p> + +<p>"He's been and murdered him!" screamed Ruby. "He has! He's been and +murdered him!"</p> + +<p>"This young woman is living here;—is she?" asked one of the +policemen.</p> + +<p>"She is living here," said Mrs. Hurtle. But now we must go back to +the adventures of John Crumb after he had left the house.</p> + +<p>He had taken a bedroom at a small inn close to the Eastern Counties +Railway Station which he was accustomed to frequent when business +brought him up to London, and thither he proposed to himself to +return. At one time there had come upon him an idea that he would +endeavour to seek Ruby and his enemy among the dancing saloons of the +metropolis; and he had asked a question with that view. But no answer +had been given which seemed to aid him in his project, and his +purpose had been abandoned as being too complex and requiring more +intelligence than he gave himself credit for possessing. So he had +turned down a street with which he was so far acquainted as to know +that it would take him to the Islington Angel,—where various roads +meet, and whence he would know his way eastwards. He had just passed +the Angel, and the end of Goswell Road, and was standing with his +mouth open, looking about, trying to make certain of himself that he +would not go wrong, thinking that he would ask a policeman whom he +saw, and hesitating because he feared that the man would want to know +his business. Then, of a sudden, he heard a woman scream, and knew +that it was Ruby's voice. The sound was very near him, but in the +glimmer of the gaslight he could not quite see whence it came. He +stood still, putting his hand up to scratch his head under his +hat,—trying to think what, in such an emergency, it would be well +that he should do. Then he heard the voice distinctly, "I won't;—I +won't," and after that a scream. Then there were further words. "It's +no good—I won't." At last he was able to make up his mind. He rushed +after the sound, and turning down a passage to the right which led +back into Goswell Road, saw Ruby struggling in a man's arms. She had +left the dancing establishment with her lover; and when they had come +to the turn of the passage, there had arisen a question as to her +further destiny for the night. Ruby, though she well remembered Mrs. +Pipkin's threats, was minded to try her chance at her aunt's door. +Sir Felix was of opinion that he could make a preferable arrangement +for her; and as Ruby was not at once amenable to his arguments he had +thought that a little gentle force might avail him. He had therefore +dragged Ruby into the passage. The unfortunate one! That so ill a +chance should have come upon him in the midst of his diversion! He +had swallowed several tumblers of brandy and water, and was therefore +brave with reference to that interference of the police, the fear of +which might otherwise have induced him to relinquish his hold of +Ruby's arm when she first raised her voice. But what amount of brandy +and water would have enabled him to persevere, could he have dreamed +that John Crumb was near him? On a sudden he found a hand on his +coat, and he was swung violently away, and brought with his back +against the railings so forcibly as to have the breath almost knocked +out of his body. But he could hear Ruby's exclamation, "If it isn't +John Crumb!" Then there came upon him a sense of coming destruction, +as though the world for him were all over; and, collapsing throughout +his limbs, he slunk down upon the ground.</p> + +<p>"Get up, you wiper," said John Crumb. But the baronet thought it +better to cling to the ground. "You sholl get up," said John, taking +him by the collar of his coat and lifting him. "Now, Ruby, he's +a-going to have it," said John. Whereupon Ruby screamed at the top of +her voice, with a shriek very much louder than that which had at +first attracted John Crumb's notice.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill071"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill071.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill071-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"Get up, you wiper."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"Get up, + you wiper."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill071.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"Don't hit a man when he's down," said the baronet, pleading as +though for his life.</p> + +<p>"I wunt," said John;—"but I'll hit a fellow when 'un's up." Sir +Felix was little more than a child in the man's arms. John Crumb +raised him, and catching him round the neck with his left +arm,—getting his head into chancery as we used to say when we fought +at school,—struck the poor wretch some half-dozen times violently in +the face, not knowing or caring exactly where he hit him, but at +every blow obliterating a feature. And he would have continued had +not Ruby flown at him and rescued Sir Felix from his arms. "He's +about got enough of it," said John Crumb as he gave over his work. +Then Sir Felix fell again to the ground, moaning fearfully. "I know'd +he'd have to have it," said John Crumb.</p> + +<p>Ruby's screams of course brought the police, one arriving from each +end of the passage on the scene of action at the same time. And now +the cruellest thing of all was that Ruby in the complaints which she +made to the policemen said not a word against Sir Felix, but was as +bitter as she knew how to be in her denunciations of John Crumb. It +was in vain that John endeavoured to make the man understand that the +young woman had been crying out for protection when he had +interfered. Ruby was very quick of speech and John Crumb was very +slow. Ruby swore that nothing so horrible, so cruel, so bloodthirsty +had ever been done before. Sir Felix himself when appealed to could +say nothing. He could only moan and make futile efforts to wipe away +the stream of blood from his face when the men stood him up leaning +against the railings. And John, though he endeavoured to make the +policemen comprehend the extent of the wickedness of the young +baronet, would not say a word against Ruby. He was not even in the +least angered by her denunciations of himself. As he himself said +sometimes afterwards, he had "dropped into the baro-nite" just in +time, and, having been successful in this, felt no wrath against Ruby +for having made such an operation necessary.</p> + +<p>There was soon a third policeman on the spot, and a dozen other +persons,—cab-drivers, haunters of the street by night, and houseless +wanderers, casuals who at this season of the year preferred the +pavements to the poor-house wards. They all took part against John +Crumb. Why had the big man interfered between the young woman and her +young man? Two or three of them wiped Sir Felix's face, and dabbed +his eyes, and proposed this and the other remedy. Some thought that +he had better be taken straight to an hospital. One lady remarked +that he was "so mashed and mauled" that she was sure he would never +"come to" again. A precocious youth remarked that he was "all one as +a dead 'un." A cabman observed that he had "'ad it awful 'eavy." To +all these criticisms on his condition Sir Felix himself made no +direct reply, but he intimated his desire to be carried away +somewhere, though he did not much care whither.</p> + +<p>At last the policemen among them decided upon a course of action. +They had learned by the united testimony of Ruby and Crumb that Sir +Felix was Sir Felix. He was to be carried in a cab by one constable +to Bartholomew Hospital, who would then take his address so that he +might be produced and bound over to prosecute. Ruby should be even +conducted to the address she gave,—not half a mile from the spot on +which they now stood,—and be left there or not according to the +account which might be given of her. John Crumb must be undoubtedly +locked up in the station-house. He was the offender;—for aught that +any of them yet knew, the murderer. No one said a good word for him. +He hardly said a good word for himself, and certainly made no +objection to the treatment that had been proposed for him. But, no +doubt, he was buoyed up inwardly by the conviction that he had +thoroughly thrashed his enemy.</p> + +<p>Thus it came to pass that the two policemen with John Crumb and Ruby +came together to Mrs. Pipkin's door. Ruby was still loud with +complaints against the ruffian who had beaten her lover,—who, +perhaps, had killed her loved one. She threatened the gallows, and +handcuffs, and perpetual imprisonment, and an action for damages +amidst her lamentations. But from Mrs. Hurtle the policemen did +manage to learn something of the truth. Oh yes;—the girl lived there +and was—respectable. This man whom they had arrested was respectable +also, and was the girl's proper lover. The other man who had been +beaten was undoubtedly the owner of a title; but he was not +respectable, and was only the girl's improper lover. And John Crumb's +name was given. "I'm John Crumb of Bungay," said he, "and I ain't +afeared of nothin' nor nobody. And I ain't a been a drinking; no, I +ain't. Mauled 'un! In course I've mauled 'un. And I meaned it. That +ere young woman is engaged to be my wife."</p> + +<p>"No, I ain't," shouted Ruby.</p> + +<p>"But she is," persisted John Crumb.</p> + +<p>"Well then, I never will," rejoined Ruby.</p> + +<p>John Crumb turned upon her a look of love, and put his hand on his +heart. Whereupon the senior policeman said that he saw at a glance +how it all was, but that Mr. Crumb had better come along with +him,—just for the present. To this arrangement the unfortunate hero +from Bungay made not the slightest objection.</p> + +<p>"Miss Ruggles," said Mrs. Hurtle, "if that young man doesn't conquer +you at last you can't have a heart in your bosom."</p> + +<p>"Indeed and I have then, and I don't mean to give it him if it's ever +so. He's been and killed Sir Felix." Mrs. Hurtle in a whisper to Mrs. +Pipkin expressed a wicked wish that it might be so. After that the +three women all went to bed.</p> + + +<p><a id="c72"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXII.</h3> +<h4>"ASK HIMSELF."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Roger Carbury when he received the letter from Hetta's mother +desiring him to tell her all that he knew of Paul Montague's +connection with Mrs. Hurtle found himself quite unable to write a +reply. He endeavoured to ask himself what he would do in such a case +if he himself were not personally concerned. What advice in this +emergency would he give to the mother and what to the daughter, were +he himself uninterested? He was sure that, as Hetta's cousin and +acting as though he were Hetta's brother, he would tell her that Paul +Montague's entanglement with that American woman should have +forbidden him at any rate for the present to offer his hand to any +other lady. He thought that he knew enough of all the circumstances +to be sure that such would be his decision. He had seen Mrs. Hurtle +with Montague at Lowestoft, and had known that they were staying +together as friends at the same hotel. He knew that she had come to +England with the express purpose of enforcing the fulfilment of an +engagement which Montague had often acknowledged. He knew that +Montague made frequent visits to her in London. He had, indeed, been +told by Montague himself that, let the cost be what it might, the +engagement should be and in fact had been broken off. He thoroughly +believed the man's word, but put no trust whatever in his firmness. +And, hitherto, he had no reason whatever for supposing that Mrs. +Hurtle had consented to be abandoned. What father, what elder brother +would allow a daughter or a sister to become engaged to a man +embarrassed by such difficulties? He certainly had counselled +Montague to rid himself of the trammels by which he had surrounded +himself;—but not on that account could he think that the man in his +present condition was fit to engage himself to another woman.</p> + +<p>All this was clear to Roger Carbury. But then it had been equally +clear to him that he could not, as a man of honour, assist his own +cause by telling a tale,—which tale had become known to him as the +friend of the man against whom it would have to be told. He had +resolved upon that as he left Montague and Mrs. Hurtle together upon +the sands at Lowestoft. But what was he to do now? The girl whom he +loved had confessed her love for the other man,—that man, who in +seeking the girl's love, had been as he thought so foul a traitor to +himself! That he would hold himself as divided from the man by a +perpetual and undying hostility he had determined. That his love for +the woman would be equally perpetual he was quite sure. Already there +were floating across his brain ideas of perpetuating his name in the +person of some child of Hetta's,—but with the distinct understanding +that he and the child's father should never see each other. No more +than twenty-four hours had intervened between the receipt of Paul's +letter and that from Lady Carbury,—but during those four-and-twenty +hours he had almost forgotten Mrs. Hurtle. The girl was gone from +him, and he thought only of his own loss and of Paul's perfidy. Then +came the direct question as to which he was called upon for a direct +answer. Did he know anything of facts relating to the presence of a +certain Mrs. Hurtle in London which were of a nature to make it +inexpedient that Hetta should accept Paul Montague as her betrothed +lover? Of course he did. The facts were all familiar to him. But how +was he to tell the facts? In what words was he to answer such a +letter? If he told the truth as he knew it how was he to secure +himself against the suspicion of telling a story against his rival in +order that he might assist himself, or at any rate, punish the rival?</p> + +<p>As he could not trust himself to write an answer to Lady Carbury's +letter he determined that he would go to London. If he must tell the +story he could tell it better face to face than by any written words. +So he made the journey, arrived in town late in the evening, and +knocked at the door in Welbeck Street between ten and eleven on the +morning after the unfortunate meeting which took place between Sir +Felix and John Crumb. The page when he opened the door looked as a +page should look when the family to which he is attached is suffering +from some terrible calamity. "My lady" had been summoned to the +hospital to see Sir Felix who was,—as the page reported,—in a very +bad way indeed. The page did not exactly know what had happened, but +supposed that Sir Felix had lost most of his limbs by this time. Yes; +Miss Carbury was up-stairs; and would no doubt see her cousin, though +she, too, was in a very bad condition; and dreadfully put about. That +poor Hetta should be "put about" with her brother in the hospital and +her lover in the toils of an abominable American woman was natural +enough.</p> + +<p>"What's this about Felix?" asked Roger. The new trouble always has +precedence over those which are of earlier date.</p> + +<p>"Oh Roger, I am so glad to see you. Felix did not come home last +night, and this morning there came a man from the hospital in the +city to say that he is there."</p> + +<p>"What has happened to him?"</p> + +<p>"Somebody,—somebody has,—beaten him," said Hetta whimpering. Then +she told the story as far as she knew it. The messenger from the +hospital had declared that the young man was in no danger and that +none of his bones were broken, but that he was terribly bruised about +the face, that his eyes were in a frightful condition, sundry of his +teeth knocked out, and his lips cut open. But, the messenger had gone +on to say, the house surgeon had seen no reason why the young +gentleman should not be taken home. "And mamma has gone to fetch +him," said Hetta.</p> + +<p>"That's John Crumb," said Roger. Hetta had never heard of John Crumb, +and simply stared into her cousin's face. "You have not been told +about John Crumb? No;—you would not hear of him."</p> + +<p>"Why should John Crumb beat Felix like that?"</p> + +<p>"They say, Hetta, that women are the cause of most troubles that +occur in the world." The girl blushed up to her eyes, as though the +whole story of Felix's sin and folly had been told to her. "If it be +as I suppose," continued Roger, "John Crumb has considered himself to +be aggrieved and has thus avenged himself."</p> + +<p>"Did you—know of him before?"</p> + +<p>"Yes indeed;—very well. He is a neighbour of mine and was in love +with a girl, with all his heart; and he would have made her his wife +and have been good to her. He had a home to offer her, and is an +honest man with whom she would have been safe and respected and +happy. Your brother saw her and, though he knew the story, though he +had been told by myself that this honest fellow had placed his +happiness on the girl's love, he thought,—well, I suppose he thought +that such a pretty thing as this girl was too good for John Crumb."</p> + +<p>"But Felix has been going to marry Miss Melmotte!"</p> + +<p>"You're old-fashioned, Hetta. It used to be the way,—to be off with +the old love before you are on with the new; but that seems to be all +changed now. Such fine young fellows as there are now can be in love +with two at once. That I fear is what Felix has thought;—and now he +has been punished."</p> + +<p>"You know all about it then?"</p> + +<p>"No;—I don't know. But I think it has been so. I do know that John +Crumb had threatened to do this thing, and I felt sure that sooner or +later he would be as good as his word. If it has been so, who is to +blame him?"</p> + +<p>Hetta as she heard the story hardly knew whether her cousin, in his +manner of telling the story, was speaking of that other man, of that +stranger of whom she had never heard, or of himself. He would have +made her his wife and have been good to her. He had a home to offer +her. He was an honest man with whom she would have been safe and +respected and happy! He had looked at her while speaking as though it +were her own case of which he spoke. And then, when he talked of the +old-fashioned way, of being off with the old love before you are on +with the new, had he not alluded to Paul Montague and this story of +the American woman? But, if so, it was not for Hetta to notice it by +words. He must speak more plainly than that before she could be +supposed to know that he alluded to her own condition. "It is very +shocking," she said.</p> + +<p>"Shocking;—yes. One is shocked at it all. I pity your mother, and I +pity you."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me that nothing ever will be happy for us," said Hetta. +She was longing to be told something of Mrs. Hurtle, but she did not +as yet dare to ask the question.</p> + +<p>"I do not know whether to wait for your mother or not," said he after +a short pause.</p> + +<p>"Pray wait for her if you are not very busy."</p> + +<p>"I came up only to see her, but perhaps she would not wish me to be +here when she brings Felix back to the house."</p> + +<p>"Indeed she will. She would like you always to be here when there are +troubles. Oh, Roger, I wish you could tell me."</p> + +<p>"Tell you what?"</p> + +<p>"She has written to you;—has she not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; she has written to me."</p> + +<p>"And about me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—about you, Hetta. And, Hetta, Mr. Montague has written to me +also."</p> + +<p>"He told me that he would," whispered Hetta.</p> + +<p>"Did he tell you of my answer?"</p> + +<p>"No;—he has told me of no answer. I have not seen him since."</p> + +<p>"You do not think that it can have been very kind, do you? I also +have something of the feeling of John Crumb, though I shall not +attempt to show it after the same fashion."</p> + +<p>"Did you not say the girl had promised to love that man?"</p> + +<p>"I did not say so;—but she had promised. Yes, Hetta; there is a +difference. The girl then was fickle and went back from her word. You +never have done that. I am not justified in thinking even a hard +thought of you. I have never harboured a hard thought of you. It is +not you that I reproach. But he,—he has been if possible more false +than Felix."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roger, how has he been false?"</p> + +<p>Still he was not wishful to tell her the story of Mrs. Hurtle. The +treachery of which he was speaking was that which he had thought had +been committed by his friend towards himself. "He should have left +the place and never have come near you," said Roger, "when he found +how it was likely to be with him. He owed it to me not to take the +cup of water from my lips."</p> + +<p>How was she to tell him that the cup of water never could have +touched his lips? And yet if this were the only falsehood of which he +had to tell, she was bound to let him know that it was so. That +horrid story of Mrs. Hurtle;—she would listen to that if she could +hear it. She would be all ears for that. But she could not admit that +her lover had sinned in loving her. "But, Roger," she said—"it would +have been the same."</p> + +<p>"You may think so. You may feel it. You may know it. I at any rate +will not contradict you when you say that it must have been so. But +he didn't feel it. He didn't know it. He was to me as a younger +brother,—and he has robbed me of everything. I understand, Hetta, +what you mean. I should never have succeeded! My happiness would have +been impossible if Paul had never come home from America. I have told +myself so a hundred times, but I cannot therefore forgive him. And I +won't forgive him, Hetta. Whether you are his wife, or another man's, +or whether you are Hetta Carbury on to the end, my feeling to you +will be the same. While we both live, you must be to me the dearest +creature living. My hatred to +<span class="nowrap">him—"</span></p> + +<p>"Oh, Roger, do not say hatred."</p> + +<p>"My hostility to him can make no difference in my feeling to you. I +tell you that should you become his wife you will still be my love. +As to not coveting,—how is a man to cease to covet that which he has +always coveted? But I shall be separated from you. Should I be dying, +then I should send for you. You are the very essence of my life. I +have no dream of happiness otherwise than as connected with you. He +might have my whole property and I would work for my bread, if I +could only have a chance of winning you to share my toils with me."</p> + +<p>But still there was no word of Mrs. Hurtle. "Roger," she said, "I +have given it all away now. It cannot be given twice."</p> + +<p>"If he were unworthy would your heart never change?"</p> + +<p>"I think—never. Roger, is he unworthy?"</p> + +<p>"How can you trust me to answer such a question? He is my enemy. He +has been ungrateful to me as one man hardly ever is to another. He +has turned all my sweetness to gall, all my flowers to bitter weeds; +he has choked up all my paths. And now you ask me whether he is +unworthy! I cannot tell you."</p> + +<p>"If you thought him worthy you would tell me," she said, getting up +and taking him by the arm.</p> + +<p>"No;—I will tell you nothing. Go to some one else, not to me;" and +he tried with gentleness but tried ineffectually to disengage himself +from her hold.</p> + +<p>"Roger, if you knew him to be good you would tell me,—because you +yourself are so good. Even though you hated him you would say so. It +would not be you to leave a false impression even against your +enemies. I ask you because, however it may be with you, I know I can +trust you. I can be nothing else to you, Roger; but I love you as a +sister loves, and I come to you as a sister comes to a brother. He +has my heart. Tell me;—is there any reason why he should not also +have my hand?"</p> + +<p>"Ask himself, Hetta."</p> + +<p>"And you will tell me nothing? You will not try to save me though you +know that I am in danger? Who is—Mrs. Hurtle?"</p> + +<p>"Have you asked him?"</p> + +<p>"I had not heard her name when he parted from me. I did not even know +that such a woman lived. Is it true that he has promised to marry +her? Felix told me of her, and told me also that you knew. But I +cannot trust Felix as I would trust you. And mamma says that it is +so;—but mamma also bids me ask you. There is such a woman?"</p> + +<p>"There is such a woman certainly."</p> + +<p>"And she has been,—a friend of Paul's?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever be the story, Hetta, you shall not hear it from me. I will +say neither evil nor good of the man except in regard to his conduct +to myself. Send for him and ask him to tell you the story of Mrs. +Hurtle as it concerns himself. I do not think he will lie, but if he +lies you will know that he is lying."</p> + +<p>"And that is all?"</p> + +<p>"All that I can say, Hetta. You ask me to be your brother; but I +cannot put myself in the place of your brother. I tell you plainly +that I am your lover, and shall remain so. Your brother would welcome +the man whom you would choose as your husband. I can never welcome +any husband of yours. I think if twenty years were to pass over us, +and you were still Hetta Carbury, I should still be your +lover,—though an old one. What is now to be done about Felix, +Hetta?"</p> + +<p>"Ah,—what can be done? I think sometimes that it will break mamma's +heart."</p> + +<p>"Your mother makes me angry by her continual indulgence."</p> + +<p>"But what can she do? You would not have her turn him into the +street?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know that I would not. For a time it might serve him +perhaps. Here is the cab. Here they are. Yes; you had better go down +and let your mother know that I am here. They will perhaps take him +up to bed, so that I need not see him."</p> + +<p>Hetta did as she was bid, and met her mother and her brother in the +hall. Felix having the full use of his arms and legs was able to +descend from the cab, and hurry across the pavement into the house, +and then, without speaking a word to his sister, hid himself in the +dining-room. His face was strapped up with plaister so that not a +feature was visible; and both his eyes were swollen and blue; part of +his beard had been cut away, and his physiognomy had altogether been +so treated that even the page would hardly have known him. "Roger is +up-stairs, mamma," said Hetta in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Has he heard about Felix;—has he come about that?"</p> + +<p>"He has heard only what I have told him. He has come because of your +letter. He says that a man named Crumb did it."</p> + +<p>"Then he does know. Who can have told him? He always knows +everything. Oh, Hetta, what am I to do? Where shall I go with this +wretched boy?"</p> + +<p>"Is he hurt, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"Hurt;—of course he is hurt; horribly hurt. The brute tried to kill +him. They say that he will be dreadfully scarred for ever. But oh, +Hetta;—what am I to do with him? What am I to do with myself and +you?"</p> + +<p>On this occasion Roger was saved from the annoyance of any personal +intercourse with his cousin Felix. The unfortunate one was made as +comfortable as circumstances would permit in the parlour, and Lady +Carbury then went up to her cousin in the drawing-room. She had +learned the truth with some fair approach to accuracy, though Sir +Felix himself had of course lied as to every detail. There are some +circumstances so distressing in themselves as to make lying almost a +necessity. When a young man has behaved badly about a woman, when a +young man has been beaten without returning a blow, when a young +man's pleasant vices are brought directly under a mother's eyes, what +can he do but lie? How could Sir Felix tell the truth about that rash +encounter? But the policeman who had brought him to the hospital had +told all that he knew. The man who had thrashed the baronet had been +called Crumb, and the thrashing had been given on the score of a +young woman called Ruggles. So much was known at the hospital, and so +much could not be hidden by any lies which Sir Felix might tell. And +when Sir Felix swore that a policeman was holding him while Crumb was +beating him, no one believed him. In such cases the liar does not +expect to be believed. He knows that his disgrace will be made +public, and only hopes to be saved from the ignominy of declaring it +with his own words.</p> + +<p>"What am I to do with him?" Lady Carbury said to her cousin. "It is +no use telling me to leave him. I can't do that. I know he is bad. I +know that I have done much to make him what he is." As she said this +the tears were running down her poor worn cheeks. "But he is my +child. What am I to do with him now?"</p> + +<p>This was a question which Roger found it almost impossible to answer. +If he had spoken his thoughts he would have declared that Sir Felix +had reached an age at which, if a man will go headlong to +destruction, he must go headlong to destruction. Thinking as he did +of his cousin he could see no possible salvation for him. "Perhaps I +should take him abroad," he said.</p> + +<p>"Would he be better abroad than here?"</p> + +<p>"He would have less opportunity for vice, and fewer means of running +you into debt."</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury, as she turned this counsel in her mind, thought of all +the hopes which she had indulged,—her literary aspirations, her +Tuesday evenings, her desire for society, her Brounes, her Alfs, and +her Bookers, her pleasant drawing-room, and the determination which +she had made that now in the afternoon of her days she would become +somebody in the world. Must she give it all up and retire to the +dreariness of some French town because it was no longer possible that +she should live in London with such a son as hers? There seemed to be +a cruelty in this beyond all cruelties that she had hitherto endured. +This was harder even than those lies which had been told of her when +almost in fear of her life she had run from her husband's house. But +yet she must do even this if in no other way she and her son could be +together. "Yes," she said, "I suppose it would be so. I only wish +that I might die, so that were an end of it."</p> + +<p>"He might go out to one of the Colonies," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"Yes;—be sent away that he might kill himself with drink in the +bush, and so be got rid of. I have heard of that before. Wherever he +goes I shall go."</p> + +<p>As the reader knows, Roger Carbury had not latterly held this cousin +of his in much esteem. He knew her to be worldly and he thought her +to be unprincipled. But now, at this moment, her exceeding love for +the son whom she could no longer pretend to defend, wiped out all her +sins. He forgot the visit made to Carbury under false pretences, and +the Melmottes, and all the little tricks which he had detected, in +his appreciation of an affection which was pure and beautiful. "If +you like to let your house for a period," he said, "mine is open to +you."</p> + +<p>"But, Felix?"</p> + +<p>"You shall take him there. I am all alone in the world. I can make a +home for myself at the cottage. It is empty now. If you think that +would save you you can try it for six months."</p> + +<p>"And turn you out of your own house? No, Roger. I cannot do that. +And, Roger;—what is to be done about Hetta?" Hetta herself had +retreated, leaving Roger and her mother alone together, feeling sure +that there would be questions asked and answered in her absence +respecting Mrs. Hurtle, which her presence would prevent. She wished +it could have been otherwise—that she might have been allowed to +hear it all herself—as she was sure that the story coming through +her mother would not savour so completely of unalloyed truth as if +told to her by her cousin Roger.</p> + +<p>"Hetta can be trusted to judge for herself," he said.</p> + +<p>"How can you say that when she has just accepted this young man? Is +it not true that he is even now living with an American woman whom he +has promised to marry?"</p> + +<p>"No;—that is not true."</p> + +<p>"What is true, then? Is he not engaged to the woman?"</p> + +<p>Roger hesitated a moment. "I do not know that even that is true. When +last he spoke to me about it he declared that the engagement was at +an end. I have told Hetta to ask himself. Let her tell him that she +has heard of this woman from you, and that it behoves her to know the +truth. I do not love him, Lady Carbury. He has no longer any place in +my friendship. But I think that if Hetta asks him simply what is the +nature of his connexion with Mrs. Hurtle, he will tell her the +truth."</p> + +<p>Roger did not again see Hetta before he left the house, nor did he +see his cousin Felix at all. He had now done all that he could do by +his journey up to London, and he returned on that day back to +Carbury. Would it not be better for him, in spite of the +protestations which he had made, to dismiss the whole family from his +mind? There could be no other love for him. He must be desolate and +alone. But he might then save himself from a world of cares, and +might gradually teach himself to live as though there were no such +woman as Hetta Carbury in the world. But no! He would not allow +himself to believe that this could be right. The very fact of his +love made it a duty to him,—made it almost the first of his +duties,—to watch over the interests of her he loved and of those who +belonged to her.</p> + +<p>But among those so belonging he did not recognise Paul Montague.</p> + + +<p><a id="c73"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXIII.</h3> +<h4>MARIE'S FORTUNE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When Marie Melmotte assured Sir Felix Carbury that her father had +already endowed her with a large fortune which could not be taken +from her without her own consent, she spoke no more than the truth. +She knew of the matter almost as little as it was possible that she +should know. As far as reticence on the subject was compatible with +the object he had in view Melmotte had kept from her all knowledge of +the details of the arrangement. But it had been necessary when the +thing was done to explain, or to pretend to explain, much; and +Marie's memory and also her intelligence had been strong beyond her +father's anticipation. He was deriving a very considerable income +from a large sum of money which he had invested in foreign funds in +her name, and had got her to execute a power of attorney enabling him +to draw this income on her behalf. This he had done fearing shipwreck +in the course which he meant to run, and resolved that, let +circumstances go as they might, there should still be left enough to +him of the money which he had realised to enable him to live in +comfort and luxury, should he be doomed to live in obscurity, or even +in infamy. He had sworn to himself solemnly that under no +circumstances would he allow this money to go back into the vortex of +his speculations, and hitherto he had been true to his oath. Though +bankruptcy and apparent ruin might be imminent he would not bolster +up his credit by the use of this money even though it might appear at +the moment that the money would be sufficient for the purpose. If +such a day should come, then, with that certain income, he would make +himself happy, if possible, or at any rate luxurious, in whatever +city of the world might know least of his antecedents, and give him +the warmest welcome on behalf of his wealth. Such had been his scheme +of life. But he had failed to consider various circumstances. His +daughter might be untrue to him, or in the event of her marriage +might fail to release his property,—or it might be that the very +money should be required to dower his daughter. Or there might come +troubles on him so great that even the certainty of a future income +would not enable him to bear them. Now, at this present moment, his +mind was tortured by great anxiety. Were he to resume this property +it would more than enable him to pay all that was due to the +Longestaffes. It would do that and tide him for a time over some +other difficulties. Now in regard to the Longestaffes themselves, he +certainly had no desire to depart from the rule which he had made for +himself, on their behalf. Were it necessary that a crash should come +they would be as good creditors as any other. But then he was +painfully alive to the fact that something beyond simple indebtedness +was involved in that transaction. He had with his own hand traced +Dolly Longestaffe's signature on the letter which he had found in old +Mr. Longestaffe's drawer. He had found it in an envelope, addressed +by the elder Mr. Longestaffe to Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, and he +had himself posted this letter in a pillar-box near to his own house. +In the execution of this manœuvre, circumstances had greatly +befriended him. He had become the tenant of Mr. Longestaffe's house, +and at the same time had only been the joint tenant of Mr. +Longestaffe's study,—so that Mr. Longestaffe's papers were almost in +his very hands. To pick a lock was with him an accomplishment long +since learned. But his science in that line did not go so far as to +enable him to replace the bolt in its receptacle. He had picked a +lock, had found the letter prepared by Mr. Bideawhile with its +accompanying envelope, and had then already learned enough of the +domestic circumstances of the Longestaffe family to feel assured that +unless he could assist the expedition of this hitherto uncompleted +letter by his own skill, the letter would never reach its intended +destination. In all this fortune had in some degree befriended him. +The circumstances being as they were it was hardly possible that the +forgery should be discovered. Even though the young man were to swear +that the signature was not his, even though the old man were to swear +that he had left that drawer properly locked with the unsigned letter +in it, still there could be no evidence. People might think. People +might speak. People might feel sure. And then a crash would come. But +there would still be that ample fortune on which to retire and eat +and drink and make merry for the rest of his days.</p> + +<p>Then there came annoying complications in his affairs. What had been +so easy in reference to that letter which Dolly Longestaffe never +would have signed, was less easy but still feasible in another +matter. Under the joint pressure of immediate need, growing ambition, +and increasing audacity it had been done. Then the rumours that were +spread abroad,—which to Melmotte were serious indeed,—they named, +at any rate in reference to Dolly Longestaffe, the very thing that +had been done. Now if that, or the like of that, were brought +actually home to him, if twelve jurymen could be got to say that he +had done that thing, of what use then would be all that money? When +that fear arose, then there arose also the question whether it might +not be well to use the money to save him from such ruin, if it might +be so used. No doubt all danger in that Longestaffe affair might be +bought off by payment of the price stipulated for the Pickering +property. Neither would Dolly Longestaffe nor Squercum, of whom Mr. +Melmotte had already heard, concern himself in this matter if the +money claimed were paid. But then the money would be as good as +wasted by such a payment, if, as he firmly believed, no sufficient +evidence could be produced to prove the thing which he had done.</p> + +<p>But the complications were so many! Perhaps in his admiration for the +country of his adoption Mr. Melmotte had allowed himself to attach +higher privileges to the British aristocracy than do in truth belong +to them. He did in his heart believe that could he be known to all +the world as the father-in-law of the eldest son of the Marquis of +Auld Reekie he would become, not really free of the law, but almost +safe from its fangs in regard to such an affair as this. He thought +he could so use the family with which he would be connected as to +force from it that protection which he would need. And then again, if +he could tide over this bad time, how glorious would it be to have a +British Marquis for his son-in-law! Like many others he had failed +altogether to enquire when the pleasure to himself would come, or +what would be its nature. But he did believe that such a marriage +would add a charm to his life. Now he knew that Lord Nidderdale could +not be got to marry his daughter without the positive assurance of +absolute property, but he did think that the income which might thus +be transferred with Marie, though it fell short of that which had +been promised, might suffice for the time; and he had already given +proof to the Marquis's lawyer that his daughter was possessed of the +property in question.</p> + +<p>And indeed, there was another complication which had arisen within +the last few days and which had startled Mr. Melmotte very much +indeed. On a certain morning he had sent for Marie to the study and +had told her that he should require her signature in reference to a +deed. She had asked him what deed. He had replied that it would be a +document regarding money and reminded her that she had signed such a +deed once before, telling her that it was all in the way of business. +It was not necessary that she should ask any more questions as she +would be wanted only to sign the paper. Then Marie astounded him, not +merely by showing him that she understood a great deal more of the +transaction than he had thought,—but also by a positive refusal to +sign anything at all. The reader may understand that there had been +many words between them. "I know, papa. It is that you may have the +money to do what you like with. You have been so unkind to me about +Sir Felix Carbury that I won't do it. If I ever marry the money will +belong to my husband!" His breath almost failed him as he listened to +these words. He did not know whether to approach her with threats, +with entreaties, or with blows. Before the interview was over he had +tried all three. He had told her that he could and would put her in +prison for conduct so fraudulent. He besought her not to ruin her +parent by such monstrous perversity. And at last he took her by both +arms and shook her violently. But Marie was quite firm. He might cut +her to pieces; but she would sign nothing. "I suppose you thought Sir +Felix would have had the entire sum," said the father with deriding +scorn.</p> + +<p>"And he would;—if he had the spirit to take it," answered Marie.</p> + +<p>This was another reason for sticking to the Nidderdale plan. He would +no doubt lose the immediate income, but in doing so he would secure +the Marquis. He was therefore induced, on weighing in his +nicest-balanced scales the advantages and disadvantages, to leave the +Longestaffes unpaid and to let Nidderdale have the money. Not that he +could make up his mind to such a course with any conviction that he +was doing the best for himself. The dangers on all sides were very +great! But at the present moment audacity recommended itself to him, +and this was the boldest stroke. Marie had now said that she would +accept Nidderdale,—or the sweep at the crossing.</p> + +<p>On Monday morning,—it was on the preceding Thursday that he had made +his famous speech in Parliament,—one of the Bideawhiles had come to +him in the City. He had told Mr. Bideawhile that all the world knew +that just at the present moment money was very "tight" in the City. +"We are not asking for payment of a commercial debt," said Mr. +Bideawhile, "but for the price of a considerable property which you +have purchased." Mr. Melmotte had suggested that the characteristics +of the money were the same, let the sum in question have become due +how it might. Then he offered to make the payment in two bills at +three and six months' date, with proper interest allowed. But this +offer Mr. Bideawhile scouted with indignation, demanding that the +title-deeds might be restored to them.</p> + +<p>"You have no right whatever to demand the title-deeds," said +Melmotte. "You can only claim the sum due, and I have already told +you how I propose to pay it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bideawhile was nearly beside himself with dismay. In the whole +course of his business, in all the records of the very respectable +firm to which he belonged, there had never been such a thing as this. +Of course Mr. Longestaffe had been the person to blame,—so at least +all the Bideawhiles declared among themselves. He had been so anxious +to have dealings with the man of money that he had insisted that the +title-deeds should be given up. But then the title-deeds had not been +his to surrender. The Pickering estate had been the joint property of +him and his son. The house had been already pulled down, and now the +purchaser offered bills in lieu of the purchase money! "Do you mean +to tell me, Mr. Melmotte, that you have not got the money to pay for +what you have bought, and that nevertheless the title-deeds have +already gone out of your hands?"</p> + +<p>"I have property to ten times the value, twenty times the value, +thirty times the value," said Melmotte proudly; "but you must know I +should think by this time that a man engaged in large affairs cannot +always realise such a sum as eighty thousand pounds at a day's +notice." Mr. Bideawhile without using language that was absolutely +vituperative gave Mr. Melmotte to understand that he thought that he +and his client had been robbed, and that he should at once take +whatever severest steps the law put in his power. As Mr. Melmotte +shrugged his shoulders and made no further reply, Mr. Bideawhile +could only take his departure.</p> + +<p>The attorney, although he was bound to be staunch to his own client, +and to his own house in opposition to Mr. Squercum, nevertheless was +becoming doubtful in his own mind as to the genuineness of the letter +which Dolly was so persistent in declaring that he had not signed. +Mr. Longestaffe himself, who was at any rate an honest man, had given +it as his opinion that Dolly had not signed the letter. His son had +certainly refused to sign it once, and as far as he knew could have +had no opportunity of signing it since. He was all but sure that he +had left the letter under lock and key in his own drawer in the room +which had latterly become Melmotte's study as well as his own. Then, +on entering the room in Melmotte's presence,—their friendship at the +time having already ceased,—he found that his drawer was open. This +same Mr. Bideawhile was with him at the time. "Do you mean to say +that I have opened your drawer?" said Mr. Melmotte. Mr. Longestaffe +had become very red in the face and had replied by saying that he +certainly made no such accusation, but as certainly he had not left +the drawer unlocked. He knew his own habits and was sure that he had +never left that drawer open in his life. "Then you must have changed +the habits of your life on this occasion," said Mr. Melmotte with +spirit. Mr. Longestaffe would trust himself to no other word within +the house, but, when they were out in the street together, he assured +the lawyer that certainly that drawer had been left locked, and that +to the best of his belief the letter unsigned had been left within +the drawer. Mr. Bideawhile could only remark that it was the most +unfortunate circumstance with which he had ever been concerned.</p> + +<p>The marriage with Nidderdale would upon the whole be the best thing, +if it could only be accomplished. The reader must understand that +though Mr. Melmotte had allowed himself considerable poetical licence +in that statement as to property thirty times as great as the price +which he ought to have paid for Pickering, still there was property. +The man's speculations had been so great and so wide that he did not +really know what he owned, or what he owed. But he did know that at +the present moment he was driven very hard for large sums. His chief +trust for immediate money was in Cohenlupe, in whose hands had really +been the manipulation of the shares of the Mexican railway. He had +trusted much to Cohenlupe,—more than it had been customary with him +to trust to any man. Cohenlupe assured him that nothing could be done +with the railway shares at the present moment. They had fallen under +the panic almost to nothing. Now in the time of his trouble Melmotte +wanted money from the great railway, but just because he wanted money +the great railway was worth nothing. Cohenlupe told him that he must +tide over the evil hour,—or rather over an evil month. It was at +Cohenlupe's instigation that he had offered the two bills to Mr. +Bideawhile. "Offer 'em again," said Cohenlupe. "He must take the +bills sooner or later."</p> + +<p>On the Monday afternoon Melmotte met Lord Nidderdale in the lobby of +the House. "Have you seen Marie lately?" he said. Nidderdale had been +assured that morning, by his father's lawyer, in his father's +presence, that if he married Miss Melmotte at present he would +undoubtedly become possessed of an income amounting to something over +£5,000 a year. He had intended to get more than that,—and was hardly +prepared to accept Marie at such a price; but then there probably +would be more. No doubt there was a difficulty about Pickering. +Melmotte certainly had been raising money. But this might probably be +an affair of a few weeks. Melmotte had declared that Pickering should +be made over to the young people at the marriage. His father had +recommended him to get the girl to name a day. The marriage could be +broken off at the last day if the property were not forthcoming.</p> + +<p>"I'm going up to your house almost immediately," said Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"You'll find the women at tea to a certainty between five and six," +said Melmotte.</p> + + +<p><a id="c74"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXIV.</h3> +<h4>MELMOTTE MAKES A FRIEND.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>"Have you been thinking any more about it?" Lord Nidderdale said to +the girl as soon as Madame Melmotte had succeeded in leaving them +alone together.</p> + +<p>"I have thought ever so much more about it," said Marie.</p> + +<p>"And what's the result?"</p> + +<p>"Oh,—I'll have you."</p> + +<p>"That's right," said Nidderdale, throwing himself on the sofa close +to her, so that he might put his arm round her waist.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment, Lord Nidderdale," she said.</p> + +<p>"You might as well call me John."</p> + +<p>"Then wait a moment,—John. You think you might as well marry me, +though you don't love me a bit."</p> + +<p>"That's not true, Marie."</p> + +<p>"Yes it is;—it's quite true. And I think just the same,—that I +might as well marry you, though I don't love you a bit."</p> + +<p>"But you will."</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I don't feel like it just at present. You had better +know the exact truth, you know. I have told my father that I did not +think you'd ever come again, but that if you did I would accept you. +But I'm not going to tell any stories about it. You know who I've +been in love with."</p> + +<p>"But you can't be in love with him now."</p> + +<p>"Why not? I can't marry him. I know that. And if he were to come to +me, I don't think that I would. He has behaved bad."</p> + +<p>"Have I behaved bad?"</p> + +<p>"Not like him. You never did care, and you never said you cared."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes,—I have."</p> + +<p>"Not at first. You say it now because you think that I shall like it. +But it makes no difference now. I don't mind about your arm being +there if we are to be married, only it's just as well for both of us +to look on it as business."</p> + +<p>"How very hard you are, Marie."</p> + +<p>"No, I ain't. I wasn't hard to Sir Felix Carbury, and so I tell you. +I did love him."</p> + +<p>"Surely you have found him out now."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have," said Marie. "He's a poor creature."</p> + +<p>"He has just been thrashed, you know, in the streets,—most +horribly." Marie had not been told of this, and started back from her +lover's arms. "You hadn't heard it?"</p> + +<p>"Who has thrashed him?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to tell the story against him, but they say he has been +cut about in a terrible manner."</p> + +<p>"Why should anybody beat him? Did he do anything?"</p> + +<p>"There was a young lady in the question, Marie."</p> + +<p>"A young lady! What young lady? I don't believe it. But it's nothing +to me. I don't care about anything, Lord Nidderdale;—not a bit. I +suppose you've made up all that out of your own head."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, no. I believe he was beaten, and I believe it was about a +young woman. But it signifies nothing to me, and I don't suppose it +signifies much to you. Don't you think we might fix a day, Marie?"</p> + +<p>"I don't care the least," said Marie. "The longer it's put off the +better I shall like it;—that's all."</p> + +<p>"Because I'm so detestable?"</p> + +<p>"No,—you ain't detestable. I think you are a very good fellow; only +you don't care for me. But it is detestable not being able to do what +one wants. It's detestable having to quarrel with everybody and never +to be good friends with anybody. And it's horribly detestable having +nothing on earth to give one any interest."</p> + +<p>"You couldn't take any interest in me?"</p> + +<p>"Not the least."</p> + +<p>"Suppose you try. Wouldn't you like to know anything about the place +where we live?"</p> + +<p>"It's a castle, I know."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—Castle Reekie; ever so many hundred years old."</p> + +<p>"I hate old places. I should like a new house, and a new dress, and a +new horse every week,—and a new lover. Your father lives at the +castle. I don't suppose we are to go and live there too."</p> + +<p>"We shall be there sometimes. When shall it be?"</p> + +<p>"The year after next."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Marie."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't be ready."</p> + +<p>"You may manage it all just as you like with papa. Oh, yes,—kiss me; +of course you may. If I'm to belong to you what does it matter? +No;—I won't say that I love you. But if ever I do say it, you may be +sure it will be true. That's more than you can say of +yourself,—John."</p> + +<p>So the interview was over and Nidderdale walked back to the house +thinking of his lady love, as far as he was able to bring his mind to +any operation of thinking. He was fully determined to go on with it. +As far as the girl herself was concerned, she had, in these latter +days, become much more attractive to him than when he had first known +her. She certainly was not a fool. And, though he could not tell +himself that she was altogether like a lady, still she had a manner +of her own which made him think that she would be able to live with +ladies. And he did think that, in spite of all she said to the +contrary, she was becoming fond of him,—as he certainly had become +fond of her. "Have you been up with the ladies?" Melmotte asked him.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes."</p> + +<p>"And what does Marie say?"</p> + +<p>"That you must fix the day."</p> + +<p>"We'll have it very soon then;—some time next month. You'll want to +get away in August. And to tell the truth so shall I. I never was +worked so hard in my life as I've been this summer. The election and +that horrid dinner had something to do with it. And I don't mind +telling you that I've had a fearful weight on my mind in reference to +money. I never had to find so many large sums in so short a time! And +I'm not quite through it yet."</p> + +<p>"I wonder why you gave the dinner then."</p> + +<p>"My dear boy,"—it was very pleasant to him to call the son of a +marquis his dear boy,—"as regards expenditure that was a flea-bite. +Nothing that I could spend myself would have the slightest effect +upon my condition,—one way or the other."</p> + +<p>"I wish it could be the same way with me," said Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"If you chose to go into business with me instead of taking Marie's +money out, it very soon would be so with you. But the burden is very +great. I never know whence these panics arise, or why they come, or +whither they go. But when they do come, they are like a storm at sea. +It is only the strong ships that can stand the fury of the winds and +waves. And then the buffeting which a man gets leaves him only half +the man he was. I've had it very hard this time."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you are getting right now."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I am getting right. I am not in any fear if you mean that. I +don't mind telling you everything as it is settled now that you are +to be Marie's husband. I know that you are honest, and that if you +could hurt me by repeating what I say you wouldn't do it."</p> + +<p>"Certainly I would not."</p> + +<p>"You see I've no partner,—nobody that is bound to know my affairs. +My wife is the best woman in the world, but is utterly unable to +understand anything about it. Of course I can't talk freely to Marie. +Cohenlupe whom you see so much with me is all very well,—in his way, +but I never talk over my affairs with him. He is concerned with me in +one or two things,—our American railway for instance, but he has no +interest generally in my house. It is all on my own shoulders, and I +can tell you the weight is a little heavy. It will be the greatest +comfort to me in the world if I can get you to have an interest in +the matter."</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose I could ever really be any good at business," said +the modest young lord.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't come and work, I suppose. I shouldn't expect that. But +I should be glad to think that I could tell you how things are going +on. Of course you heard all that was said just before the election. +For forty-eight hours I had a very bad time of it then. The fact was +that Alf and they who were supporting him thought that they could +carry the election by running me down. They were at it for a +fortnight,—perfectly unscrupulous as to what they said or what harm +they might do me and others. I thought that very cruel. They couldn't +get their man in, but they could and did have the effect of +depreciating my property suddenly by nearly half a million of money. +Think what that is!"</p> + +<p>"I don't understand how it could be done."</p> + +<p>"Because you don't understand how delicate a thing is credit. They +persuaded a lot of men to stay away from that infernal dinner, and +consequently it was spread about the town that I was ruined. The +effect upon shares which I held was instantaneous and tremendous. The +Mexican railway were at 117, and they fell from that in two days to +something quite nominal,—so that selling was out of the question. +Cohenlupe and I between us had about 8,000 of these shares. Think +what that comes to!" Nidderdale tried to calculate what it did come +to, but failed altogether. "That's what I call a blow;—a terrible +blow. When a man is concerned as I am with money interests, and +concerned largely with them all, he is of course exchanging one +property for another every day of his life,—according as the markets +go. I don't keep such a sum as that in one concern as an investment. +Nobody does. Then when a panic comes, don't you see how it hits?"</p> + +<p>"Will they never go up again?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes;—perhaps higher than ever. But it will take time. And in the +meantime I am driven to fall back upon property intended for other +purposes. That's the meaning of what you hear about that place down +in Sussex which I bought for Marie. I was so driven that I was +obliged to raise forty or fifty thousand wherever I could. But that +will be all right in a week or two. And as for Marie's money,—that, +you know, is settled."</p> + +<p>He quite succeeded in making Nidderdale believe every word that he +spoke, and he produced also a friendly feeling in the young man's +bosom, with something approaching to a desire that he might be of +service to his future father-in-law. Hazily, as through a thick fog, +Lord Nidderdale thought that he did see something of the troubles, as +he had long seen something of the glories, of commerce on an extended +scale, and an idea occurred to him that it might be almost more +exciting than whist or unlimited loo. He resolved too that whatever +the man might tell him should never be divulged. He was on this +occasion somewhat captivated by Melmotte, and went away from the +interview with a conviction that the financier was a big man;—one +with whom he could sympathise, and to whom in a certain way he could +become attached.</p> + +<p>And Melmotte himself had derived positive pleasure even from a +simulated confidence in his son-in-law. It had been pleasant to him +to talk as though he were talking to a young friend whom he trusted. +It was impossible that he could really admit any one to a +participation in his secrets. It was out of the question that he +should ever allow himself to be betrayed into speaking the truth of +his own affairs. Of course every word he had said to Nidderdale had +been a lie, or intended to corroborate lies. But it had not been only +on behalf of the lies that he had talked after this fashion. Even +though his friendship with the young man were but a mock +friendship,—though it would too probably be turned into bitter +enmity before three months had passed by,—still there was a pleasure +in it. The Grendalls had left him since the day of the dinner,—Miles +having sent him a letter up from the country complaining of severe +illness. It was a comfort to him to have someone to whom he could +speak, and he much preferred Nidderdale to Miles Grendall.</p> + +<p>This conversation took place in the smoking-room. When it was over +Melmotte went into the House, and Nidderdale strolled away to the +Beargarden. The Beargarden had been opened again though with +difficulty, and with diminished luxury. Nor could even this be done +without rigid laws as to the payment of ready money. Herr Vossner had +never more been heard of, but the bills which Vossner had left unpaid +were held to be good against the club, whereas every note of hand +which he had taken from the members was left in the possession of Mr. +Flatfleece. Of course there was sorrow and trouble at the Beargarden; +but still the institution had become so absolutely necessary to its +members that it had been reopened under a new management. No one had +felt this need more strongly during every hour of the day,—of the +day as he counted his days, rising as he did about an hour after noon +and going to bed three or four hours after midnight,—than did Dolly +Longestaffe. The Beargarden had become so much to him that he had +begun to doubt whether life would be even possible without such a +resort for his hours. But now the club was again open, and Dolly +could have his dinner and his bottle of wine with the luxury to which +he was accustomed.</p> + +<p>But at this time he was almost mad with the sense of injury. +Circumstances had held out to him a prospect of almost unlimited ease +and indulgence. The arrangement made as to the Pickering estate would +pay all his debts, would disembarrass his own property, and would +still leave him a comfortable sum in hand. Squercum had told him that +if he would stick to his terms he would surely get them. He had stuck +to his terms and he had got them. And now the property was sold, and +the title-deeds gone,—and he had not received a penny! He did not +know whom to be loudest in abusing,—his father, the Bideawhiles, or +Mr. Melmotte. And then it was said that he had signed that letter! He +was very open in his manner of talking about his misfortune at the +club. His father was the most obstinate old fool that ever lived. As +for the Bideawhiles,—he would bring an action against them. Squercum +had explained all that to him. But Melmotte was the biggest rogue the +world had ever produced. "By George! the world," he said, "must be +coming to an end. There's that infernal scoundrel sitting in +Parliament just as if he had not robbed me of my property, and forged +my name, and—and—by George! he ought to be hung. If any man ever +deserved to be hung, that man deserves to be hung." This he spoke +openly in the coffee-room of the club, and was still speaking as +Nidderdale was taking his seat at one of the tables. Dolly had been +dining, and had turned round upon his chair so as to face some +half-dozen men whom he was addressing.</p> + +<p>Nidderdale leaving his chair walked up to him very gently. "Dolly," +said he, "do not go on in that way about Melmotte when I am in the +room. I have no doubt you are mistaken, and so you'll find out in a +day or two. You don't know Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"Mistaken!" Dolly still continued to exclaim with a loud voice. "Am I +mistaken in supposing that I haven't been paid my money?"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it has been owing very long."</p> + +<p>"Am I mistaken in supposing that my name has been forged to a +letter?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure you are mistaken if you think that Melmotte had anything +to do with it."</p> + +<p>"Squercum says—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind Squercum. We all know what are the suspicions of a fellow +of that kind."</p> + +<p>"I'd believe Squercum a deuced sight sooner than Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"Look here, Dolly. I know more probably of Melmotte's affairs than +you do or perhaps than anybody else. If it will induce you to remain +quiet for a few days and to hold your tongue here,—I'll make myself +responsible for the entire sum he owes you."</p> + +<p>"The devil you will."</p> + +<p>"I will indeed."</p> + +<p>Nidderdale was endeavouring to speak so that only Dolly should hear +him, and probably nobody else did hear him; but Dolly would not lower +his voice. "That's out of the question, you know," he said. "How +could I take your money? The truth is, Nidderdale, the man is a +thief, and so you'll find out, sooner or later. He has broken open a +drawer in my father's room and forged my name to a letter. Everybody +knows it. Even my governor knows it now,—and Bideawhile. Before many +days are over you'll find that he will be in gaol for forgery."</p> + +<p>This was very unpleasant, as every one knew that Nidderdale was +either engaged or becoming engaged to Melmotte's daughter. "Since you +will speak about it in this public +<span class="nowrap">way—"</span> began Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"I think it ought to be spoken about in a public way," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"I deny it as publicly. I can't say anything about the letter except +that I am sure Mr. Melmotte did not put your name to it. From what I +understand there seems to have been some blunder between your father +and his lawyer."</p> + +<p>"That's true enough," said Dolly; "but it doesn't excuse Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"As to the money, there can be no more doubt that it will be paid +than that I stand here. What is it?—twenty-five thousand, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Eighty thousand, the whole."</p> + +<p>"Well,—eighty thousand. It's impossible to suppose that such a man +as Melmotte shouldn't be able to raise eighty thousand pounds."</p> + +<p>"Why don't he do it then?" asked Dolly.</p> + +<p>All this was very unpleasant and made the club less social than it +used to be in old days. There was an attempt that night to get up a +game of cards; but Nidderdale would not play because he was offended +with Dolly Longestaffe; and Miles Grendall was away in the +country,—a fugitive from the face of Melmotte, and Carbury was in +hiding at home with his countenance from top to bottom supported by +plasters, and Montague in these days never went to the club. At the +present moment he was again in Liverpool, having been summoned +thither by Mr. Ramsbottom. "By George," said Dolly, as he filled +another pipe and ordered more brandy and water, "I think everything +is going to come to an end. I do indeed. I never heard of such a +thing before as a man being done in this way. And then Vossner has +gone off, and it seems everybody is to pay just what he says they +owed him. And now one can't even get up a game of cards. I feel as +though there were no good in hoping that things would ever come right +again."</p> + +<p>The opinion of the club was a good deal divided as to the matter in +dispute between Lord Nidderdale and Dolly Longestaffe. It was +admitted by some to be "very fishy." If Melmotte were so great a man +why didn't he pay the money, and why should he have mortgaged the +property before it was really his own? But the majority of the men +thought that Dolly was wrong. As to the signature of the letter, +Dolly was a man who would naturally be quite unable to say what he +had and what he had not signed. And then, even into the Beargarden +there had filtered, through the outer world, a feeling that people +were not now bound to be so punctilious in the paying of money as +they were a few years since. No doubt it suited Melmotte to make use +of the money, and therefore,—as he had succeeded in getting the +property into his hands,—he did make use of it. But it would be +forthcoming sooner or later! In this way of looking at the matter the +Beargarden followed the world at large. The world at large, in spite +of the terrible falling-off at the Emperor of China's dinner, in +spite of all the rumours, in spite of the ruinous depreciation of the +Mexican Railway stock, and of the undoubted fact that Dolly +Longestaffe had not received his money, was inclined to think that +Melmotte would "pull through."</p> + + +<p><a id="c75"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXV.</h3> +<h4>IN BRUTON STREET.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Mr. Squercum all this time was in a perfect fever of hard work and +anxiety. It may be said of him that he had been quite sharp enough to +perceive the whole truth. He did really know it all,—if he could +prove that which he knew. He had extended his enquiries in the city +till he had convinced himself that, whatever wealth Melmotte might +have had twelve months ago, there was not enough of it left at +present to cover the liabilities. Squercum was quite sure that +Melmotte was not a falling, but a fallen star,—perhaps not giving +sufficient credence to the recuperative powers of modern commerce. +Squercum told a certain stockbroker in the City, who was his +specially confidential friend, that Melmotte was a "gone coon." The +stockbroker made also some few enquiries, and on that evening agreed +with Squercum that Melmotte was a "gone coon." If such were the case +it would positively be the making of Squercum if it could be so +managed that he should appear as the destroying angel of this +offensive dragon. So Squercum raged among the Bideawhiles, who were +unable altogether to shut their doors against him. They could not +dare to bid defiance to Squercum,—feeling that they had themselves +blundered, and feeling also that they must be careful not to seem to +screen a fault by a falsehood. "I suppose you give it up about the +letter having been signed by my client," said Squercum to the elder +of the two younger Bideawhiles.</p> + +<p>"I give up nothing and I assert nothing," said the superior attorney. +"Whether the letter be genuine or not we had no reason to believe it +to be otherwise. The young gentleman's signature is never very plain, +and this one is about as like any other as that other would be like +the last."</p> + +<p>"Would you let me look at it again, Mr. Bideawhile?" Then the letter +which had been very often inspected during the last ten days was +handed to Mr. Squercum. "It's a stiff resemblance;—such as he never +could have written had he tried it ever so."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not, Mr. Squercum. We are not generally on the lookout for +forgeries in letters from our clients or our clients' sons."</p> + +<p>"Just so, Mr. Bideawhile. But then Mr. Longestaffe had already told +you that his son would not sign the letter."</p> + +<p>"How is one to know when and how and why a young man like that will +change his purpose?"</p> + +<p>"Just so, Mr. Bideawhile. But you see after such a declaration as +that on the part of my client's father, the letter,—which is in +itself a little irregular +<span class="nowrap">perhaps—"</span></p> + +<p>"I don't know that it's irregular at all."</p> + +<p>"Well;—it didn't reach you in a very confirmatory manner. We'll just +say that. What Mr. Longestaffe can have been at to wish to give up +his title-deeds without getting anything for +<span class="nowrap">them—"</span></p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Mr. Squercum, but that's between Mr. Longestaffe and us."</p> + +<p>"Just so;—but as Mr. Longestaffe and you have jeopardised my +client's property it is natural that I should make a few remarks. I +think you'd have made a few remarks yourself, Mr. Bideawhile, if the +case had been reversed. I shall bring the matter before the Lord +Mayor, you know." To this Mr. Bideawhile said not a word. "And I +think I understand you now that you do not intend to insist on the +signature as being genuine."</p> + +<p>"I say nothing about it, Mr. Squercum. I think you'll find it very +hard to prove that it's not genuine."</p> + +<p>"My client's oath, Mr. Bideawhile."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid your client is not always very clear as to what he does."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by that, Mr. Bideawhile. I fancy that if +I were to speak in that way of your client you would be very angry +with me. Besides, what does it all amount to? Will the old gentleman +say that he gave the letter into his son's hands, so that, even if +such a freak should have come into my client's head, he could have +signed it and sent it off? If I understand, Mr. Longestaffe says that +he locked the letter up in a drawer in the very room which Melmotte +occupied, and that he afterwards found the drawer open. It won't, I +suppose, be alleged that my client knew so little what he was about +that he broke open the drawer in order that he might get at the +letter. Look at it whichever way you will, he did not sign it, Mr. +Bideawhile."</p> + +<p>"I have never said he did. All I say is that we had fair ground for +supposing that it was his letter. I really don't know that I can say +anything more."</p> + +<p>"Only that we are to a certain degree in the same boat together in +this matter."</p> + +<p>"I won't admit even that, Mr. Squercum."</p> + +<p>"The difference being that your client by his fault has jeopardised +his own interests and those of my client, while my client has not +been in fault at all. I shall bring the matter forward before the +Lord Mayor to-morrow, and as at present advised shall ask for an +investigation with reference to a charge of fraud. I presume you will +be served with a subpœna to bring the letter into court."</p> + +<p>"If so you may be sure that we shall produce it." Then Mr. Squercum +took his leave and went straight away to Mr. Bumby, a barrister well +known in the City. The game was too powerful to be hunted down by Mr. +Squercum's unassisted hands. He had already seen Mr. Bumby on the +matter more than once. Mr. Bumby was inclined to doubt whether it +might not be better to get the money, or some guarantee for the +money. Mr. Bumby thought that if a bill at three months could be had +for Dolly's share of the property it might be expedient to take it. +Mr. Squercum suggested that the property itself might be recovered, +no genuine sale having been made. Mr. Bumby shook his head. +"Title-deeds give possession, Mr. Squercum. You don't suppose that +the company which has lent money to Melmotte on the title-deeds would +have to lose it. Take the bill; and if it is dishonoured run your +chance of what you'll get out of the property. There must be assets."</p> + +<p>"Every rap will have been made over," said Mr. Squercum.</p> + +<p>This took place on the Monday, the day on which Melmotte had offered +his full confidence to his proposed son-in-law. On the following +Wednesday three gentlemen met together in the study in the house in +Bruton Street from which it was supposed that the letter had been +abstracted. There were Mr. Longestaffe, the father, Dolly +Longestaffe, and Mr. Bideawhile. The house was still in Melmotte's +possession, and Melmotte and Mr. Longestaffe were no longer on +friendly terms. Direct application for permission to have this +meeting in this place had been formally made to Mr. Melmotte, and he +had complied. The meeting took place at eleven o'clock—a terribly +early hour. Dolly had at first hesitated as to placing himself as he +thought between the fire of two enemies, and Mr. Squercum had told +him that as the matter would probably soon be made public, he could +not judiciously refuse to meet his father and the old family lawyer. +Therefore Dolly had attended, at great personal inconvenience to +himself. "By George, it's hardly worth having if one is to take all +this trouble about it," Dolly had said to Lord Grasslough, with whom +he had fraternised since the quarrel with Nidderdale. Dolly entered +the room last, and at that time neither Mr. Longestaffe nor Mr. +Bideawhile had touched the drawer, or even the table, in which the +letter had been deposited.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mr. Longestaffe," said Mr. Bideawhile, "perhaps you will show +us where you think you put the letter."</p> + +<p>"I don't think at all," said he. "Since the matter has been discussed +the whole thing has come back upon my memory."</p> + +<p>"I never signed it," said Dolly, standing with his hands in his +pockets and interrupting his father.</p> + +<p>"Nobody says you did, sir," rejoined the father with an angry voice. +"If you will condescend to listen we may perhaps arrive at the +truth."</p> + +<p>"But somebody has said that I did. I've been told that Mr. Bideawhile +says so."</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Longestaffe; no. We have never said so. We have only said +that we had no reason for supposing the letter to be other than +genuine. We have never gone beyond that."</p> + +<p>"Nothing on earth would have made me sign it," said Dolly. "Why +should I have given my property up before I got my money? I never +heard such a thing in my life."</p> + +<p>The father looked up at the lawyer and shook his head, testifying as +to the hopelessness of his son's obstinacy. "Now, Mr. Longestaffe," +continued the lawyer, "let us see where you put the letter."</p> + +<p>Then the father very slowly, and with much dignity of deportment, +opened the drawer,—the second drawer from the top, and took from it +a bundle of papers very carefully folded and docketed. "There," said +he, "the letter was not placed in the envelope but on the top of it, +and the two were the two first documents in the bundle." He went on +to say that as far as he knew no other paper had been taken away. He +was quite certain that he had left the drawer locked. He was very +particular in regard to that particular drawer, and he remembered +that about this time Mr. Melmotte had been in the room with him when +he had opened it, and,—as he was certain,—had locked it again. At +that special time there had been, he said, considerable intimacy +between him and Melmotte. It was then that Mr. Melmotte had offered +him a seat at the Board of the Mexican railway.</p> + +<p>"Of course he picked the lock, and stole the letter," said Dolly. +"It's as plain as a pike-staff. It's clear enough to hang any man."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that it falls short of evidence, however strong and just +may be the suspicion induced," said the lawyer. "Your father for a +time was not quite certain about the letter."</p> + +<p>"He thought that I had signed it," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"I am quite certain now," rejoined the father angrily. "A man has to +collect his memory before he can be sure of anything."</p> + +<p>"I am thinking you know how it would go to a jury."</p> + +<p>"What I want to know is how we are to get the money," said Dolly. "I +should like to see him hung,—of course; but I'd sooner have the +money. Squercum <span class="nowrap">says—"</span></p> + +<p>"Adolphus, we don't want to know here what Mr. Squercum says."</p> + +<p>"I don't know why what Mr. Squercum says shouldn't be as good as what +Mr. Bideawhile says. Of course Squercum doesn't sound very +aristocratic."</p> + +<p>"Quite as much so as Bideawhile, no doubt," said the lawyer laughing.</p> + +<p>"No; Squercum isn't aristocratic, and Fetter Lane is a good deal +lower than Lincoln's Inn. Nevertheless Squercum may know what he's +about. It was Squercum who was first down upon Melmotte in this +matter, and if it wasn't for Squercum we shouldn't know as much about +it as we do at present." Squercum's name was odious to the elder +Longestaffe. He believed, probably without much reason, that all his +family troubles came to him from Squercum, thinking that if his son +would have left his affairs in the hands of the old Slows and the old +Bideawhiles, money would never have been scarce with him, and that he +would not have made this terrible blunder about the Pickering +property. And the sound of Squercum, as his son knew, was horrid to +his ears. He hummed and hawed, and fumed and fretted about the room, +shaking his head and frowning. His son looked at him as though quite +astonished at his displeasure. "There's nothing more to be done here, +sir, I suppose," said Dolly putting on his hat.</p> + +<p>"Nothing more," said Mr. Bideawhile. "It may be that I shall have to +instruct counsel, and I thought it well that I should see in the +presence of both of you exactly how the thing stood. You speak so +positively, Mr. Longestaffe, that there can be no doubt?"</p> + +<p>"There is no doubt."</p> + +<p>"And now perhaps you had better lock the drawer in our presence. Stop +a moment—I might as well see whether there is any sign of violence +having been used." So saying Mr. Bideawhile knelt down in front of +the table and began to examine the lock. This he did very carefully +and satisfied himself that there was "no sign of violence." "Whoever +has done it, did it very well," said Bideawhile.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill075"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill075.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill075-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"I might as well see whether there is + any sign of violence having been used."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"I might as + well see whether there is<br />any sign of violence having + been used."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill075.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"Of course Melmotte did it," said Dolly Longestaffe standing +immediately over Bideawhile's shoulder.</p> + +<p>At that moment there was a knock at the door,—a very distinct, and, +we may say, a formal knock. There are those who knock and immediately +enter without waiting for the sanction asked. Had he who knocked done +so on this occasion Mr. Bideawhile would have been found still on his +knees, with his nose down to the level of the keyhole. But the +intruder did not intrude rapidly, and the lawyer jumped on to his +feet, almost upsetting Dolly with the effort. There was a pause, +during which Mr. Bideawhile moved away from the table,—as he might +have done had he been picking a lock;—and then Mr. Longestaffe bade +the stranger come in with a sepulchral voice. The door was opened, +and Mr. Melmotte appeared.</p> + +<p>Now Mr. Melmotte's presence certainly had not been expected. It was +known that it was his habit to be in the City at this hour. It was +known also that he was well aware that this meeting was to be held in +this room at this special hour,—and he might well have surmised with +what view. There was now declared hostility between both the +Longestaffes and Mr. Melmotte, and it certainly was supposed by all +the gentlemen concerned that he would not have put himself out of the +way to meet them on this occasion. "Gentlemen," he said, "perhaps you +think that I am intruding at the present moment." No one said that he +did not think so. The elder Longestaffe simply bowed very coldly. Mr. +Bideawhile stood upright and thrust his thumbs into his waistcoat +pockets. Dolly, who at first forgot to take his hat off, whistled a +bar, and then turned a pirouette on his heel. That was his mode of +expressing his thorough surprise at the appearance of his debtor. "I +fear that you do think I am intruding," said Melmotte, "but I trust +that what I have to say will be held to excuse me. I see, sir," he +said, turning to Mr. Longestaffe, and glancing at the still open +drawer, "that you have been examining your desk. I hope that you will +be more careful in locking it than you were when you left it before."</p> + +<p>"The drawer was locked when I left it," said Mr. Longestaffe. "I make +no deductions and draw no conclusions, but the drawer was locked."</p> + +<p>"Then I should say it must have been locked when you returned to it."</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I found it open. I make no deductions and draw no +conclusions,—but I left it locked and I found it open."</p> + +<p>"I should make a deduction and draw a conclusion," said Dolly; "and +that would be that somebody else had opened it."</p> + +<p>"This can answer no purpose at all," said Bideawhile.</p> + +<p>"It was but a chance remark," said Melmotte. "I did not come here out +of the City at very great personal inconvenience to myself to +squabble about the lock of the drawer. As I was informed that you +three gentlemen would be here together, I thought the opportunity a +suitable one for meeting you and making you an offer about this +unfortunate business." He paused a moment; but neither of the three +spoke. It did occur to Dolly to ask them to wait while he should +fetch Squercum; but on second thoughts he reflected that a great deal +of trouble would have to be taken, and probably for no good. "Mr. +Bideawhile, I believe," suggested Melmotte; and the lawyer bowed his +head. "If I remember rightly I wrote to you offering to pay the money +due to your <span class="nowrap">clients—"</span></p> + +<p>"Squercum is my lawyer," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"That will make no difference."</p> + +<p>"It makes a deal of difference," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"I wrote," continued Melmotte, "offering my bills at three and six +months' date."</p> + +<p>"They couldn't be accepted, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"I would have allowed interest. I never have had my bills refused +before."</p> + +<p>"You must be aware, Mr. Melmotte," said the lawyer, "that the sale of +a property is not like an ordinary mercantile transaction in which +bills are customarily given and taken. The understanding was that +money should be paid in the usual way. And when we learned, as we did +learn, that the property had been at once mortgaged by you, of course +we became,—well, I think I may be justified in saying more than +suspicious. It was a most,—most—unusual proceeding. You say you +have another offer to make, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"Of course I have been short of money. I have had enemies whose +business it has been for some time past to run down my credit, and, +with my credit, has fallen the value of stocks in which it has been +known that I have been largely interested. I tell you the truth +openly. When I purchased Pickering I had no idea that the payment of +such a sum of money could inconvenience me in the least. When the +time came at which I should pay it, stocks were so depreciated that +it was impossible to sell. Very hostile proceedings are threatened +against me now. Accusations are made, false as hell,"—Mr. Melmotte +as he spoke raised his voice and looked round the room,—"but which +at the present crisis may do me most cruel damage. I have come to say +that, if you will undertake to stop proceedings which have been +commenced in the City, I will have fifty thousand pounds,—which is +the amount due to these two gentlemen,—ready for payment on Friday +at noon."</p> + +<p>"I have taken no proceedings as yet," said Bideawhile.</p> + +<p>"It's Squercum," says Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," continued Melmotte addressing Dolly, "let me assure you +that if these proceedings are stayed the money will be +forthcoming;—but if not, I cannot produce the money. I little +thought two months ago that I should ever have to make such a +statement in reference to such a sum as fifty thousand pounds. But so +it is. To raise that money by Friday, I shall have to cripple my +resources frightfully. It will be done at a terrible cost. But what +Mr. Bideawhile says is true. I have no right to suppose that the +purchase of this property should be looked upon as an ordinary +commercial transaction. The money should have been paid,—and, if you +will now take my word, the money shall be paid. But this cannot be +done if I am made to appear before the Lord Mayor to-morrow. The +accusations brought against me are damnably false. I do not know with +whom they have originated. Whoever did originate them, they are +damnably false. But unfortunately, false as they are, in the present +crisis, they may be ruinous to me. Now gentlemen, perhaps you will +give me an answer."</p> + +<p>Both the father and the lawyer looked at Dolly. Dolly was in truth +the accuser through the mouthpiece of his attorney Squercum. It was +at Dolly's instance that these proceedings were being taken. "I, on +behalf of my client," said Mr. Bideawhile, "will consent to wait till +Friday at noon."</p> + +<p>"I presume, Adolphus, that you will say as much," said the elder +Longestaffe.</p> + +<p>Dolly Longestaffe was certainly not an impressionable person, but +Melmotte's eloquence had moved even him. It was not that he was sorry +for the man, but that at the present moment he believed him. Though +he had been absolutely sure that Melmotte had forged his name or +caused it to be forged,—and did not now go so far into the matter as +to abandon that conviction,—he had been talked into crediting the +reasons given for Melmotte's temporary distress, and also into a +belief that the money would be paid on Friday. Something of the +effect which Melmotte's false confessions had had upon Lord +Nidderdale, they now also had on Dolly Longestaffe. "I'll ask +Squercum, you know," he said.</p> + +<p>"Of course Mr. Squercum will act as you instruct him," said +Bideawhile.</p> + +<p>"I'll ask Squercum. I'll go to him at once. I can't do any more than +that. And upon my word, Mr. Melmotte, you've given me a great deal of +trouble."</p> + +<p>Melmotte with a smile apologized. Then it was settled that they three +should meet in that very room on Friday at noon, and that the payment +should then be made,—Dolly stipulating that as his father would be +attended by Bideawhile, so would he be attended by Squercum. To this +Mr. Longestaffe senior yielded with a very bad grace.</p> + + +<p><a id="c76"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXVI.</h3> +<h4>HETTA AND HER LOVER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lady Carbury was at this time so miserable in regard to her son that +she found herself unable to be active as she would otherwise have +been in her endeavours to separate Paul Montague and her daughter. +Roger had come up to town and given his opinion, very freely at any +rate with regard to Sir Felix. But Roger had immediately returned to +Suffolk, and the poor mother in want of assistance and consolation +turned naturally to Mr. Broune, who came to see her for a few minutes +almost every evening. It had now become almost a part of Mr. Broune's +life to see Lady Carbury once in the day. She told him of the two +propositions which Roger had made: first, that she should fix her +residence in some second-rate French or German town, and that Sir +Felix should be made to go with her; and, secondly, that she should +take possession of Carbury manor for six months. "And where would Mr. +Carbury go?" asked Mr. Broune.</p> + +<p>"He's so good that he doesn't care what he does with himself. There's +a cottage on the place, he says, that he would move to." Mr. Broune +shook his head. Mr. Broune did not think that an offer so +quixotically generous as this should be accepted. As to the German or +French town, Mr. Broune said that the plan was no doubt feasible, but +he doubted whether the thing to be achieved was worth the terrible +sacrifice demanded. He was inclined to think that Sir Felix should go +to the colonies. "That he might drink himself to death," said Lady +Carbury, who now had no secrets from Mr. Broune. Sir Felix in the +mean time was still in the doctor's hands up-stairs. He had no doubt +been very severely thrashed, but there was not in truth very much +ailing him beyond the cuts on his face. He was, however, at the +present moment better satisfied to be an invalid than to have to come +out of his room and to meet the world. "As to Melmotte," said Mr. +Broune, "they say now that he is in some terrible mess which will +ruin him and all who have trusted him."</p> + +<p>"And the girl?"</p> + +<p>"It is impossible to understand it all. Melmotte was to have been +summoned before the Lord Mayor to-day on some charge of fraud;—but +it was postponed. And I was told this morning that Nidderdale still +means to marry the girl. I don't think anybody knows the truth about +it. We shall hold our tongue about him till we really do know +something." The "we" of whom Mr. Broune spoke was, of course, the +"Morning Breakfast Table."</p> + +<p>But in all this there was nothing about Hetta. Hetta, however, +thought very much of her own condition, and found herself driven to +take some special step by the receipt of two letters from her lover, +written to her from Liverpool. They had never met since she had +confessed her love to him. The first letter she did not at once +answer, as she was at that moment waiting to hear what Roger Carbury +would say about Mrs. Hurtle. Roger Carbury had spoken, leaving a +conviction on her mind that Mrs. Hurtle was by no means a +fiction,—but indeed a fact very injurious to her happiness. Then +Paul's second love-letter had come, full of joy, and love, and +contentment,—with not a word in it which seemed to have been in the +slightest degree influenced by the existence of a Mrs. Hurtle. Had +there been no Mrs. Hurtle, the letter would have been all that Hetta +could have desired; and she could have answered it, unless forbidden +by her mother, with all a girl's usual enthusiastic affection for her +chosen lord. But it was impossible that she should now answer it in +that strain;—and it was equally impossible that she should leave +such letters unanswered. Roger had told her to "ask himself;" and she +now found herself constrained to bid him either come to her and +answer the question, or, if he thought it better, to give her some +written account of Mrs. Hurtle,—so that she might know who the lady +was, and whether the lady's condition did in any way interfere with +her own happiness. So she wrote to Paul, as +<span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Welbeck Street,<br /> +16 July, 18—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Paul</span>.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">She found that +after that which had passed between them she could not +call him "My dear Sir," or "My dear Mr. Montague," and that it must +either be "Sir" or "My dear Paul." He was dear to her,—very dear; +and she thought that he had not been as yet convicted of any conduct +bad enough to force her to treat him as an outcast. Had there been no +Mrs. Hurtle he would have been her "Dearest Paul,"—but she made her +choice, and so commenced.</p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Paul</span>,</p> + +<p>A strange report has come round to me about a lady called +Mrs. Hurtle. I have been told that she is an American lady +living in London, and that she is engaged to be your wife. +I cannot believe this. It is too horrid to be true. But I +fear,—I fear there is something true that will be very +very sad for me to hear. It was from my brother I first +heard it,—who was of course bound to tell me anything he +knew. I have talked to mamma about it, and to my cousin +Roger. I am sure Roger knows it all;—but he will not tell +me. He said,—"Ask himself." And so I ask you. Of course I +can write about nothing else till I have heard about this. +I am sure I need not tell you that it has made me very +unhappy. If you cannot come and see me at once, you had +better write. I have told mamma about this letter.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">Then came the +difficulty of the signature, with the declaration which +must naturally be attached to it. After some hesitation she +subscribed herself,</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="ind10">Your affectionate friend,</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Henrietta Carbury</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>"Most affectionately your own Hetta" would have been the form in +which she would have wished to finish the first letter she had ever +written to him.</p> + +<p>Paul received it at Liverpool on the Wednesday morning, and on the +Wednesday evening he was in Welbeck Street. He had been quite aware +that it had been incumbent on him to tell her the whole history of +Mrs. Hurtle. He had meant to keep back—almost nothing. But it had +been impossible for him to do so on that one occasion on which he had +pleaded his love to her successfully. Let any reader who is +intelligent in such matters say whether it would have been possible +for him then to have commenced the story of Mrs. Hurtle and to have +told it to the bitter end. Such a story must be postponed for a +second or a third interview. Or it may, indeed, be communicated by +letter. When Paul was called away to Liverpool he did consider +whether he should write the story. But there are many reasons strong +against such written communications. A man may desire that the woman +he loves should hear the record of his folly,—so that, in after +days, there may be nothing to be detected; so that, should the Mrs. +Hurtle of his life at any time intrude upon his happiness, he may +with a clear brow and undaunted heart say to his beloved one,—"Ah, +this is the trouble of which I spoke to you." And then he and his +beloved one will be in one cause together. But he hardly wishes to +supply his beloved one with a written record of his folly. And then +who does not know how much tenderness a man may show to his own +faults by the tone of his voice, by half-spoken sentences, and by an +admixture of words of love for the lady who has filled up the vacant +space once occupied by the Mrs. Hurtle of his romance? But the +written record must go through from beginning to end, self-accusing, +thoroughly perspicuous, with no sweet, soft falsehoods hidden under +the half-expressed truth. The soft falsehoods which would be sweet as +the scent of violets in a personal interview, would stand in danger +of being denounced as deceit added to deceit, if sent in a letter. I +think therefore that Paul Montague did quite right in hurrying up to +London.</p> + +<p>He asked for Miss Carbury, and when told that Miss Henrietta was with +her mother, he sent his name up and said that he would wait in the +dining-room. He had thoroughly made up his mind to this course. They +should know that he had come at once; but he would not, if it could +be helped, make his statement in the presence of Lady Carbury. Then, +up-stairs, there was a little discussion. Hetta pleaded her right to +see him alone. She had done what Roger had advised, and had done it +with her mother's consent. Her mother might be sure that she would +not again accept her lover till this story of Mrs. Hurtle had been +sifted to the very bottom. But she must herself hear what her lover +had to say for himself. Felix was at the time in the drawing-room and +suggested that he should go down and see Paul Montague on his +sister's behalf;—but his mother looked at him with scorn, and his +sister quietly said that she would rather see Mr. Montague herself. +Felix had been so cowed by circumstances that he did not say another +word, and Hetta left the room alone.</p> + +<p>When she entered the parlour Paul stept forward to take her in his +arms. That was a matter of course. She knew it would be so, and she +had prepared herself for it. "Paul," she said, "let me hear about all +this—first." She sat down at some distance from him,—and he found +himself compelled to seat himself at some little distance from her.</p> + +<p>"And so you have heard of Mrs. Hurtle," he said, with a faint attempt +at a smile.</p> + +<p>"Yes;—Felix told me, and Roger evidently had heard about her."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes; Roger Carbury has heard about her from the beginning;—knows +the whole history almost as well as I know it myself. I don't think +your brother is as well informed."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not. But—isn't it a story that—concerns me?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly it so far concerns you, Hetta, that you ought to know it. +And I trust you will believe that it was my intention to tell it +you."</p> + +<p>"I will believe anything that you will tell me."</p> + +<p>"If so, I don't think that you will quarrel with me when you know +all. I was engaged to marry Mrs. Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"Is she a widow?"—He did not answer this at once. "I suppose she +must be a widow if you were going to marry her."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—she is a widow. She was divorced."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Paul! And she is an American?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you loved her?"</p> + +<p>Montague was desirous of telling his own story, and did not wish to +be interrogated. "If you will allow me I will tell it you all from +beginning to end."</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly. But I suppose you loved her. If you meant to marry +her you must have loved her." There was a frown upon Hetta's brow and +a tone of anger in her voice which made Paul uneasy.</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I loved her once; but I will tell you all." Then he did tell +his story, with a repetition of which the reader need not be +detained. Hetta listened with fair attention,—not interrupting very +often, though when she did interrupt, the little words which she +spoke were bitter enough. But she heard the story of the long journey +across the American continent, of the ocean journey before the end of +which Paul had promised to make this woman his wife. "Had she been +divorced then?" asked Hetta,—"because I believe they get themselves +divorced just when they like." Simple as the question was he could +not answer it. "I could only know what she told me," he said, as he +went on with his story. Then Mrs. Hurtle had gone on to Paris, and +he, as soon as he reached Carbury, had revealed everything to Roger. +"Did you give her up then?" demanded Hetta with stern severity. +No,—not then. He had gone back to San Francisco, and,—he had not +intended to say that the engagement had been renewed, but he was +forced to acknowledge that it had not been broken off. Then he had +written to her on his second return to England,—and then she had +appeared in London at Mrs. Pipkin's lodgings in Islington. "I can +hardly tell you how terrible that was to me," he said, "for I had by +that time become quite aware that my happiness must depend upon you." +He tried the gentle, soft falsehoods that should have been as sweet +as violets. Perhaps they were sweet. It is odd how stern a girl can +be, while her heart is almost breaking with love. Hetta was very +stern.</p> + +<p>"But Felix says you took her to Lowestoft,—quite the other day."</p> + +<p>Montague had intended to tell all,—almost all. There was a something +about the journey to Lowestoft which it would be impossible to make +Hetta understand, and he thought that that might be omitted. "It was +on account of her health."</p> + +<p>"Oh;—on account of her health. And did you go to the play with her?"</p> + +<p>"I did."</p> + +<p>"Was that for her—health?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Hetta, do not speak to me like that! Cannot you understand that +when she came here, following me, I could not desert her?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot understand why you deserted her at all," said Hetta. "You +say you loved her, and you promised to marry her. It seems horrid to +me to marry a divorced woman,—a woman who just says that she was +divorced. But that is because I don't understand American ways. And I +am sure you must have loved her when you took her to the theatre, and +down to Lowestoft,—for her health. That was only a week ago."</p> + +<p>"It was nearly three weeks," said Paul in despair.</p> + +<p>"Oh;—nearly three weeks! That is not such a very long time for a +gentleman to change his mind on such a matter. You were engaged to +her, not three weeks ago."</p> + +<p>"No, Hetta, I was not engaged to her then."</p> + +<p>"I suppose she thought you were when she went to Lowestoft with you."</p> + +<p>"She wanted then to force me +to—to—<span class="nowrap">to—.</span> Oh, +Hetta, it is so hard +to explain, but I am sure that you understand. I do know that you do +not, cannot think that I have, even for one moment, been false to +you."</p> + +<p>"But why should you be false to her? Why should I step in and crush +all her hopes? I can understand that Roger should think badly of her +because she was—divorced. Of course he would. But an engagement is +an engagement. You had better go back to Mrs. Hurtle and tell her +that you are quite ready to keep your promise."</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill076"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill076.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill076-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"You had better go back to Mrs. Hurtle."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"You had + better go back to Mrs. Hurtle."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill076.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"She knows now that it is all over."</p> + +<p>"I dare say you will be able to persuade her to reconsider it. When +she came all the way here from San Francisco after you, and when she +asked you to take her to the theatre, and to Lowestoft—because of +her health, she must be very much attached to you. And she is waiting +here,—no doubt on purpose for you. She is a very old friend,—very +old,—and you ought not to treat her unkindly. Good bye, Mr. +Montague. I think you had better lose no time in going—back to Mrs. +Hurtle." All this she said with sundry little impedimentary gurgles +in her throat, but without a tear and without any sign of tenderness.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to tell me, Hetta, that you are going to quarrel with +me!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know about quarrelling. I don't wish to quarrel with any +one. But of course we can't be friends when you have married—Mrs. +Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"Nothing on earth would induce me to marry her."</p> + +<p>"Of course I cannot say anything about that. When they told me this +story I did not believe them. No; I hardly believed Roger when,—he +would not tell it for he was too kind,—but when he would not +contradict it. It seemed to be almost impossible that you should have +come to me just at the very same moment. For, after all, Mr. +Montague, nearly three weeks is a very short time. That trip to +Lowestoft couldn't have been much above a week before you came to +me."</p> + +<p>"What does it matter?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no; of course not;—nothing to you. I think I will go away now, +Mr. Montague. It was very good of you to come and tell me all. It +makes it so much easier."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say that—you are going to—throw me over?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to throw Mrs. Hurtle over. Good bye."</p> + +<p>"Hetta!"</p> + +<p>"No; I will not have you lay your hand upon me. Good night, Mr. +Montague." And so she left him.</p> + +<p>Paul Montague was beside himself with dismay as he left the house. He +had never allowed himself for a moment to believe that this affair of +Mrs. Hurtle would really separate him from Hetta Carbury. If she +could only really know it all, there could be no such result. He had +been true to her from the first moment in which he had seen her, +never swerving from his love. It was to be supposed that he had loved +some woman before; but, as the world goes, that would not, could not, +affect her. But her anger was founded on the presence of Mrs. Hurtle +in London,—which he would have given half his possessions to have +prevented. But when she did come, was he to have refused to see her? +Would Hetta have wished him to be cold and cruel like that? No doubt +he had behaved badly to Mrs. Hurtle;—but that trouble he had +overcome. And now Hetta was quarrelling with him, though he certainly +had never behaved badly to her.</p> + +<p>He was almost angry with Hetta as he walked home. Everything that he +could do he had done for her. For her sake he had quarrelled with +Roger Carbury. For her sake,—in order that he might be effectually +free from Mrs. Hurtle,—he had determined to endure the spring of the +wild cat. For her sake,—so he told himself,—he had been content to +abide by that odious railway company, in order that he might if +possible preserve an income on which to support her. And now she told +him that they must part,—and that only because he had not been +cruelly indifferent to the unfortunate woman who had followed him +from America. There was no logic in it, no reason,—and, as he +thought, very little heart. "I don't want you to throw Mrs. Hurtle +over," she had said. Why should Mrs. Hurtle be anything to her? +Surely she might have left Mrs. Hurtle to fight her own battles. But +they were all against him. Roger Carbury, Lady Carbury, and Sir +Felix; and the end of it would be that she would be forced into +marriage with a man almost old enough to be her father! She could not +ever really have loved him. That was the truth. She must be incapable +of such love as was his own for her. True love always forgives. And +here there was really so very little to forgive! Such were his +thoughts as he went to bed that night. But he probably omitted to ask +himself whether he would have forgiven her very readily had he found +that she had been living "nearly three weeks ago" in close +intercourse with another lover of whom he had hitherto never even +heard the name. But then,—as all the world knows,—there is a wide +difference between young men and young women!</p> + +<p>Hetta, as soon as she had dismissed her lover, went up at once to her +own room. Thither she was soon followed by her mother, whose anxious +ear had heard the closing of the front door. "Well; what has he +said?" asked Lady Carbury. Hetta was in tears,—or very nigh to +tears,—struggling to repress them, and struggling almost +successfully. "You have found that what we told you about that woman +was all true."</p> + +<p>"Enough of it was true," said Hetta, who, angry as she was with her +lover, was not on that account less angry with her mother for +disturbing her bliss.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that, Hetta? Had you not better speak to me +openly?"</p> + +<p>"I say, mamma, that enough was true. I do not know how to speak more +openly. I need not go into all the miserable story of the woman. He +is like other men, I suppose. He has entangled himself with some +abominable creature and then when he is tired of her thinks that he +has nothing to do but to say so,—and to begin with somebody else."</p> + +<p>"Roger Carbury is very different."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, you will make me ill if you go on like that. It seems to +me that you do not understand in the least."</p> + +<p>"I say he is not like that."</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. Of course I know that he is not in the least like +that."</p> + +<p>"I say that he can be trusted."</p> + +<p>"Of course he can be trusted. Who doubts it?"</p> + +<p>"And that if you would give yourself to him, there would be no cause +for any alarm."</p> + +<p>"Mamma," said Hetta jumping up, "how can you talk to me in that way? +As soon as one man doesn't suit, I am to give myself to another! Oh, +mamma, how can you propose it? Nothing on earth will ever induce me +to be more to Roger Carbury than I am now."</p> + +<p>"You have told Mr. Montague that he is not to come here again?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what I told him, but he knows very well what I mean."</p> + +<p>"That it is all over?" Hetta made no reply. "Hetta, I have a right to +ask that, and I have a right to expect a reply. I do not say that you +have hitherto behaved badly about Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"I have not behaved badly. I have told you everything. I have done +nothing that I am ashamed of."</p> + +<p>"But we have now found out that he has behaved very badly. He has +come here to you,—with unexampled treachery to your cousin +<span class="nowrap">Roger—"</span></p> + +<p>"I deny that," exclaimed Hetta.</p> + +<p>"And at the very time was almost living with this woman who says that +she is divorced from her husband in America! Have you told him that +you will see him no more?"</p> + +<p>"He understood that."</p> + +<p>"If you have not told him so plainly, I must tell him."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, you need not trouble yourself. I have told him very plainly." +Then Lady Carbury expressed herself satisfied for the moment, and +left her daughter to her solitude.</p> + + +<p><a id="c77"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXVII.</h3> +<h4>ANOTHER SCENE IN BRUTON STREET.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When Mr. Melmotte made his promise to Mr. Longestaffe and to Dolly, +in the presence of Mr. Bideawhile, that he would, on the next day but +one, pay to them a sum of fifty thousand pounds, thereby completing, +satisfactorily as far as they were concerned, the purchase of the +Pickering property, he intended to be as good as his word. The reader +knows that he had resolved to face the Longestaffe difficulty,—that +he had resolved that at any rate he would not get out of it by +sacrificing the property to which he had looked forward as a safe +haven when storms should come. But, day by day, every resolution that +he made was forced to undergo some change. Latterly he had been +intent on purchasing a noble son-in-law with this money,—still +trusting to the chapter of chances for his future escape from the +Longestaffe and other difficulties. But Squercum had been very hard +upon him; and in connexion with this accusation as to the Pickering +property, there was another, which he would be forced to face also, +respecting certain property in the East of London, with which the +reader need not much trouble himself specially, but in reference to +which it was stated that he had induced a foolish old gentleman to +consent to accept railway shares in lieu of money. The old gentleman +had died during the transaction, and it was asserted that the old +gentleman's letter was hardly genuine. Melmotte had certainly raised +between twenty and thirty thousand pounds on the property, and had +made payments for it in stock which was now worth—almost nothing at +all. Melmotte thought that he might face this matter successfully if +the matter came upon him single-handed;—but in regard to the +Longestaffes he considered that now, at this last moment, he had +better pay for Pickering.</p> + +<p>The property from which he intended to raise the necessary funds was +really his own. There could be no doubt about that. It had never been +his intention to make it over to his daughter. When he had placed it +in her name, he had done so simply for security,—feeling that his +control over his only daughter would be perfect and free from danger. +No girl apparently less likely to take it into her head to defraud +her father could have crept quietly about a father's house. Nor did +he now think that she would disobey him when the matter was explained +to her. Heavens and earth! That he should be robbed by his own +child,—robbed openly, shamefully, with brazen audacity! It was +impossible. But still he had felt the necessity of going about this +business with some little care. It might be that she would disobey +him if he simply sent for her and bade her to affix her signature +here and there. He thought much about it and considered that it would +be wise that his wife should be present on the occasion, and that a +full explanation should be given to Marie, by which she might be made +to understand that the money had in no sense become her own. So he +gave instructions to his wife when he started into the city that +morning; and when he returned, for the sake of making his offer to +the Longestaffes, he brought with him the deeds which it would be +necessary that Marie should sign, and he brought also Mr. Croll, his +clerk, that Mr. Croll might witness the signature.</p> + +<p>When he left the Longestaffes and Mr. Bideawhile he went at once to +his wife's room. "Is she here?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I will send for her. I have told her."</p> + +<p>"You haven't frightened her?"</p> + +<p>"Why should I frighten her? It is not very easy to frighten her, +Melmotte. She is changed since these young men have been so much +about her."</p> + +<p>"I shall frighten her if she does not do as I bid her. Bid her come +now." This was said in French. Then Madame Melmotte left the room, +and Melmotte arranged a lot of papers in order upon a table. Having +done so, he called to Croll, who was standing on the landing-place, +and told him to seat himself in the back drawing-room till he should +be called. Melmotte then stood with his back to the fire-place in his +wife's sitting-room, with his hands in his pockets, contemplating +what might be the incidents of the coming interview. He would be very +gracious,—affectionate if it were possible,—and, above all things, +explanatory. But, by heavens, if there were continued opposition to +his demand,—to his just demand,—if this girl should dare to insist +upon exercising her power to rob him, he would not then be +affectionate,—nor gracious! There was some little delay in the +coming of the two women, and he was already beginning to lose his +temper when Marie followed Madame Melmotte into the room. He at once +swallowed his rising anger—with an effort. He would put a constraint +upon himself. The affection and the graciousness should be all +there,—as long as they might secure the purpose in hand.</p> + +<p>"Marie," he began, "I spoke to you the other day about some property +which for certain purposes was placed in your name just as we were +leaving Paris."</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa."</p> + +<p>"You were such a child then,—I mean when we left Paris,—that I +could hardly explain to you the purpose of what I did." "I understood +it, papa."</p> + +<p>"You had better listen to me, my dear. I don't think you did quite +understand it. It would have been very odd if you had, as I never +explained it to you."</p> + +<p>"You wanted to keep it from going away if you got into trouble."</p> + +<p>This was so true that Melmotte did not know how at the moment to +contradict the assertion. And yet he had not intended to talk of the +possibility of trouble. "I wanted to lay aside a large sum of money +which should not be liable to the ordinary fluctuations of commercial +enterprise."</p> + +<p>"So that nobody could get at it."</p> + +<p>"You are a little too quick, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Marie, why can't you let your papa speak?" said Madame Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"But of course, my dear," continued Melmotte, "I had no idea of +putting the money beyond my own reach. Such a transaction is very +common; and in such cases a man naturally uses the name of some one +who is very near and dear to him, and in whom he is sure that he can +put full confidence. And it is customary to choose a young person, as +there will then be less danger of the accident of death. It was for +these reasons, which I am sure that you will understand, that I chose +you. Of course the property remained exclusively my own."</p> + +<p>"But it is really mine," said Marie.</p> + +<p>"No, miss; it was never yours," said Melmotte, almost bursting out +into anger, but restraining himself. "How could it become yours, +Marie? Did I ever make you a gift of it?"</p> + +<p>"But I know that it did become mine,—legally."</p> + +<p>"By a quibble of law,—yes; but not so as to give you any right to +it. I always draw the income."</p> + +<p>"But I could stop that, papa,—and if I were married, of course it +would be stopped."</p> + +<p>Then, quick as a flash of lightning, another idea occurred to +Melmotte, who feared that he already began to see that this child of +his might be stiff-necked. "As we are thinking of your marriage," he +said, "it is necessary that a change should be made. Settlements must +be drawn for the satisfaction of Lord Nidderdale and his father. The +old Marquis is rather hard upon me, but the marriage is so splendid +that I have consented. You must now sign these papers in four or five +places. Mr. Croll is here, in the next room, to witness your +signature, and I will call him."</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment, papa."</p> + +<p>"Why should we wait?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I will sign them."</p> + +<p>"Why not sign them? You can't really suppose that the property is +your own. You could not even get it if you did think so."</p> + +<p>"I don't know how that may be; but I had rather not sign them. If I +am to be married, I ought not to sign anything except what he tells +me."</p> + +<p>"He has no authority over you yet. I have authority over you. Marie, +do not give more trouble. I am very much pressed for time. Let me +call in Mr. Croll."</p> + +<p>"No, papa," she said.</p> + +<p>Then came across his brow that look which had probably first induced +Marie to declare that she would endure to be "cut to pieces," rather +than to yield in this or that direction. The lower jaw squared +itself, and the teeth became set, and the nostrils of his nose became +extended,—and Marie began to prepare herself to be "cut to pieces." +But he reminded himself that there was another game which he had +proposed to play before he resorted to anger and violence. He would +tell her how much depended on her compliance. Therefore he relaxed +the frown,—as well as he knew how, and softened his face towards +her, and turned again to his work. "I am sure, Marie, that you will +not refuse to do this when I explain to you its importance to me. I +must have that property for use in the city to-morrow, or—I shall be +ruined." The statement was very short, but the manner in which he +made it was not without effect.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" shrieked his wife.</p> + +<p>"It is true. These harpies have so beset me about the election that +they have lowered the price of every stock in which I am concerned, +and have brought the Mexican Railway so low that they cannot be sold +at all. I don't like bringing my troubles home from the city; but on +this occasion I cannot help it. The sum locked up here is very large, +and I am compelled to use it. In point of fact it is necessary to +save us from destruction." This he said, very slowly, and with the +utmost solemnity.</p> + +<p>"But you told me just now you wanted it because I was going to be +married," rejoined Marie.</p> + +<p>A liar has many points in his favour,—but he has this against him, +that unless he devote more time to the management of his lies than +life will generally allow, he cannot make them tally. Melmotte was +thrown back for a moment, and almost felt that the time for violence +had come. He longed to be at her that he might shake the wickedness +and the folly, and the ingratitude out of her. But he once more +condescended to argue and to explain. "I think you misunderstood me, +Marie. I meant you to understand that settlements must be made, and +that of course I must get my own property back into my own hands +before anything of that kind can be done. I tell you once more, my +dear, that if you do not do as I bid you, so that I may use that +property the first thing to-morrow, we are all ruined. Everything +will be gone."</p> + +<p>"This can't be gone," said Marie, nodding her head at the papers.</p> + +<p>"Marie,—do you wish to see me disgraced and ruined? I have done a +great deal for you."</p> + +<p>"You turned away the only person I ever cared for," said Marie.</p> + +<p>"Marie, how can you be so wicked? Do as your papa bids you," said +Madame Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"No!" said Melmotte. "She does not care who is ruined, because we +saved her from that reprobate."</p> + +<p>"She will sign them now," said Madame Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"No;—I will not sign them," said Marie. "If I am to be married to +Lord Nidderdale as you all say, I am sure I ought to sign nothing +without telling him. And if the property was once made to be mine, I +don't think I ought to give it up again because papa says that he is +going to be ruined. I think that's a reason for not giving it up +again."</p> + +<p>"It isn't yours to give. It's mine," said Melmotte gnashing his +teeth.</p> + +<p>"Then you can do what you like with it without my signing," said +Marie.</p> + +<p>He paused a moment, and then laying his hand gently upon her +shoulder, he asked her yet once again. His voice was changed, and was +very hoarse. But he still tried to be gentle with her. "Marie," he +said, "will you do this to save your father from destruction?"</p> + +<p>But she did not believe a word that he said to her. How could she +believe him? He had taught her to regard him as her natural enemy, +making her aware that it was his purpose to use her as a chattel for +his own advantage, and never allowing her for a moment to suppose +that aught that he did was to be done for her happiness. And now, +almost in a breath, he had told her that this money was wanted that +it might be settled on her and the man to whom she was to be married, +and then that it might be used to save him from instant ruin. She +believed neither one story nor the other. That she should have done +as she was desired in this matter can hardly be disputed. The father +had used her name because he thought that he could trust her. She was +his daughter and should not have betrayed his trust. But she had +steeled herself to obstinacy against him in all things. Even yet, +after all that had passed, although she had consented to marry Lord +Nidderdale, though she had been forced by what she had learned to +despise Sir Felix Carbury, there was present to her an idea that she +might escape with the man she really loved. But any such hope could +depend only on the possession of the money which she now claimed as +her own. Melmotte had endeavoured to throw a certain supplicatory +pathos into the question he had asked her; but, though he was in some +degree successful with his voice, his eyes and his mouth and his +forehead still threatened her. He was always threatening her. All her +thoughts respecting him reverted to that inward assertion that he +might "cut her to pieces" if he liked. He repeated his question in +the pathetic strain. "Will you do this now,—to save us all from +ruin?" But his eyes still threatened her.</p> + +<p>"No;" she said, looking up into his face as though watching for the +personal attack which would be made upon her; "no, I won't."</p> + +<p>"Marie!" exclaimed Madame Melmotte.</p> + +<p>She glanced round for a moment at her pseudo-mother with contempt. +"No;" she said. "I don't think I ought,—and I won't."</p> + +<p>"You won't!" shouted Melmotte. She merely shook her head. "Do you +mean that you, my own child, will attempt to rob your father just at +the moment you can destroy him by your wickedness?" She shook her +head but said no other word.</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0"><tr><td> +"Nec pueros coram populo Medea trucidet."<br /> +<br /> +"Let not Medea with unnatural rage<br /> + Slaughter her mangled infants on the stage." +</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">Nor will I +attempt to harrow my readers by a close description of the +scene which followed. Poor Marie! That cutting her up into pieces was +commenced after a most savage fashion. Marie crouching down hardly +uttered a sound. But Madame Melmotte frightened beyond endurance +screamed at the top of her voice,—"Ah, Melmotte, tu la tueras!" And +then she tried to drag him from his prey. "Will you sign them now?" +said Melmotte, panting. At that moment Croll, frightened by the +screams, burst into the room. It was perhaps not the first time that +he had interfered to save Melmotte from the effects of his own wrath.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Melmotte, vat is de matter?" asked the clerk.</p> + +<p>Melmotte was out of breath and could hardly tell his story. Marie +gradually recovered herself, and crouched, cowering, in a corner of a +sofa, by no means vanquished in spirit, but with a feeling that the +very life had been crushed out of her body. Madame Melmotte was +standing weeping copiously, with her handkerchief up to her eyes. +"Will you sign the papers?" Melmotte demanded. Marie, lying as she +was, all in a heap, merely shook her head. "Pig!" said +Melmotte,—"wicked, ungrateful pig."</p> + +<p>"Ah, Ma'am-moiselle," said Croll, "you should oblige your fader."</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill077"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill077.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill077-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="Ah, Ma’am-moiselle," said Croll, + "you should oblige your fader." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"Ah, + Ma'am-moiselle," said Croll,<br />"you should oblige + your fader."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill077.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"Wretched, wicked girl!" said Melmotte, collecting the papers +together. Then he left the room, and followed by Croll descended to +the study, whence the Longestaffes and Mr. Bideawhile had long since +taken their departure.</p> + +<p>Madame Melmotte came and stood over the girl, but for some minutes +spoke never a word. Marie lay on the sofa, all in a heap, with her +hair dishevelled and her dress disordered, breathing hard, but +uttering no sobs and shedding no tears. The stepmother,—if she might +so be called,—did not think of attempting to persuade where her +husband had failed. She feared Melmotte so thoroughly, and was so +timid in regard to her own person, that she could not understand the +girl's courage. Melmotte was to her an awful being, powerful as +Satan,—whom she never openly disobeyed, though she daily deceived +him, and was constantly detected in her deceptions. Marie seemed to +her to have all her father's stubborn, wicked courage, and very much +of his power. At the present moment she did not dare to tell the girl +that she had been wrong. But she had believed her husband when he had +said that destruction was coming, and had partly believed him when he +declared that the destruction might be averted by Marie's obedience. +Her life had been passed in almost daily fear of destruction. To +Marie the last two years of splendour had been so long that they had +produced a feeling of security. But to the elder woman the two years +had not sufficed to eradicate the remembrance of former reverses, and +never for a moment had she felt herself to be secure. At last she +asked the girl what she would like to have done for her. "I wish he +had killed me," Marie said, slowly dragging herself up from the sofa, +and retreating without another word to her own room.</p> + +<p>In the meantime another scene was being acted in the room below. +Melmotte after he reached the room hardly made a reference to his +daughter,—merely saying that nothing would overcome her wicked +obstinacy. He made no allusion to his own violence, nor had Croll the +courage to expostulate with him now that the immediate danger was +over. The Great Financier again arranged the papers, just as they had +been laid out before,—as though he thought that the girl might be +brought down to sign them there. And then he went on to explain to +Croll what he had wanted to have done,—how necessary it was that the +thing should be done, and how terribly cruel it was to him that in +such a crisis of his life he should be hampered, impeded,—he did not +venture to his clerk to say ruined,—by the ill-conditioned obstinacy +of a girl! He explained very fully how absolutely the property was +his own, how totally the girl was without any right to withhold it +from him! How monstrous in its injustice was the present position of +things! In all this Croll fully agreed. Then Melmotte went on to +declare that he would not feel the slightest scruple in writing +Marie's signature to the papers himself. He was the girl's father and +was justified in acting for her. The property was his own property, +and he was justified in doing with it as he pleased. Of course he +would have no scruple in writing his daughter's name. Then he looked +up at the clerk. The clerk again assented,—after a fashion, not by +any means with the comfortable certainty with which he had signified +his accordance with his employer's first propositions. But he did +not, at any rate, hint any disapprobation of the step which Melmotte +proposed to take. Then Melmotte went a step farther, and explained +that the only difficulty in reference to such a transaction would be +that the signature of his daughter would be required to be +corroborated by that of a witness before he could use it. Then he +again looked up at Croll;—but on this occasion Croll did not move a +muscle of his face. There certainly was no assent. Melmotte continued +to look at him; but then came upon the old clerk's countenance a +stern look which amounted to very strong dissent. And yet Croll had +been conversant with some irregular doings in his time, and Melmotte +knew well the extent of Croll's experience. Then Melmotte made a +little remark to himself. "He knows that the game is pretty well +over." "You had better return to the city now," he said aloud. "I +shall follow you in half an hour. It is quite possible that I may +bring my daughter with me. If I can make her understand this thing I +shall do so. In that case I shall want you to be ready." Croll again +smiled, and again assented, and went his way.</p> + +<p>But Melmotte made no further attempt upon his daughter. As soon as +Croll was gone he searched among various papers in his desk and +drawers, and having found two signatures, those of his daughter and +of this German clerk, set to work tracing them with some thin tissue +paper. He commenced his present operation by bolting his door and +pulling down the blinds. He practised the two signatures for the best +part of an hour. Then he forged them on the various documents;—and, +having completed the operation, refolded them, placed them in a +little locked bag of which he had always kept the key in his purse, +and then, with the bag in his hand, was taken in his brougham into +the city.</p> + + +<p><a id="c78"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXVIII.</h3> +<h4>MISS LONGESTAFFE AGAIN AT CAVERSHAM.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>All this time Mr. Longestaffe was necessarily detained in London +while the three ladies of his family were living forlornly at +Caversham. He had taken his younger daughter home on the day after +his visit to Lady Monogram, and in all his intercourse with her had +spoken of her suggested marriage with Mr. Brehgert as a thing utterly +out of the question. Georgiana had made one little fight for her +independence at the Jermyn Street Hotel. "Indeed, papa, I think it's +very hard," she said.</p> + +<p>"What's hard? I think a great many things are hard; but I have to +bear them."</p> + +<p>"You can do nothing for me."</p> + +<p>"Do nothing for you! Haven't you got a home to live in, and clothes +to wear, and a carriage to go about in,—and books to read if you +choose to read them? What do you expect?"</p> + +<p>"You know, papa, that's nonsense."</p> + +<p>"How do you dare to tell me that what I say is nonsense?"</p> + +<p>"Of course there's a house to live in and clothes to wear; but what's +to be the end of it? Sophia, I suppose, is going to be married."</p> + +<p>"I am happy to say she is,—to a most respectable young man and a +thorough gentleman."</p> + +<p>"And Dolly has his own way of going on."</p> + +<p>"You have nothing to do with Adolphus."</p> + +<p>"Nor will he have anything to do with me. If I don't marry what's to +become of me? It isn't that Mr. Brehgert is the sort of man I should +choose."</p> + +<p>"Do not mention his name to me."</p> + +<p>"But what am I to do? You give up the house in town, and how am I to +see people? It was you sent me to Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"I didn't send you to Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"It was at your suggestion I went there, papa. And of course I could +only see the people he had there. I like nice people as well as +anybody."</p> + +<p>"There's no use talking any more about it."</p> + +<p>"I don't see that. I must talk about it, and think about it too. If I +can put up with Mr. Brehgert I don't see why you and mamma should +complain."</p> + +<p>"A Jew!"</p> + +<p>"People don't think about that as they used to, papa. He has a very +fine income, and I should always have a house +<span class="nowrap">in—"</span></p> + +<p>Then Mr. Longestaffe became so furious and loud, that he stopped her +for that time. "Look here," he said, "if you mean to tell me that you +will marry that man without my consent, I can't prevent it. But you +shall not marry him as my daughter. You shall be turned out of my +house, and I will never have your name pronounced in my presence +again. It is disgusting,—degrading,—disgraceful!" And then he left +her.</p> + +<p>On the next morning before he started for Caversham he did see Mr. +Brehgert; but he told Georgiana nothing of the interview, nor had she +the courage to ask him. The objectionable name was not mentioned +again in her father's hearing, but there was a sad scene between +herself, Lady Pomona, and her sister. When Mr. Longestaffe and his +younger daughter arrived, the poor mother did not go down into the +hall to meet her child,—from whom she had that morning received the +dreadful tidings about the Jew. As to these tidings she had as yet +heard no direct condemnation from her husband. The effect upon Lady +Pomona had been more grievous even than that made upon the father. +Mr. Longestaffe had been able to declare immediately that the +proposed marriage was out of the question, that nothing of the kind +should be allowed, and could take upon himself to see the Jew with +the object of breaking off the engagement. But poor Lady Pomona was +helpless in her sorrow. If Georgiana chose to marry a Jew tradesman +she could not help it. But such an occurrence in the family would, +she felt, be to her as though the end of all things had come. She +could never again hold up her head, never go into society, never take +pleasure in her powdered footmen. When her daughter should have +married a Jew, she didn't think that she could pluck up the courage +to look even her neighbours Mrs. Yeld and Mrs. Hepworth in the face. +Georgiana found no one in the hall to meet her, and dreaded to go to +her mother. She first went with her maid to her own room, and waited +there till Sophia came to her. As she sat pretending to watch the +process of unpacking, she strove to regain her courage. Why need she +be afraid of anybody? Why, at any rate, should she be afraid of other +females? Had she not always been dominant over her mother and sister? +"Oh, Georgey," said Sophia, "this is wonderful news!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose it seems wonderful that anybody should be going to be +married except yourself."</p> + +<p>"No;—but such a very odd match!"</p> + +<p>"Look here, Sophia. If you don't like it, you need not talk about it. +We shall always have a house in town, and you will not. If you don't +like to come to us, you needn't. That's about all."</p> + +<p>"George wouldn't let me go there at all," said Sophia.</p> + +<p>"Then—George—had better keep you at home at Toodlam. Where's mamma? +I should have thought somebody might have come and met me to say a +word to me, instead of allowing me to creep into the house like +this."</p> + +<p>"Mamma isn't at all well; but she's up and in her own room. You +mustn't be surprised, Georgey, if you find mamma very—very much cut +up about this." Then Georgiana understood that she must be content to +stand all alone in the world, unless she made up her mind to give up +Mr. Brehgert.</p> + +<p>"So I've come back," said Georgiana, stooping down and kissing her +mother.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Georgiana; oh, Georgiana!" said Lady Pomona, slowly raising +herself and covering her face with one of her hands. "This is +dreadful. It will kill me. It will indeed. I didn't expect it from +you."</p> + +<p>"What is the good of all that, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"It seems to me that it can't be possible. It's unnatural. It's worse +than your wife's sister. I'm sure there's something in the Bible +against it. You never would read your Bible, or you wouldn't be going +to do this."</p> + +<p>"Lady Julia Start has done just the same thing,—and she goes +everywhere."</p> + +<p>"What does your papa say? I'm sure your papa won't allow it. If he's +fixed about anything, it's about the Jews. An accursed race;—think +of that, Georgiana;—expelled from Paradise."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, that's nonsense."</p> + +<p>"Scattered about all over the world, so that nobody knows who anybody +is. And it's only since those nasty Radicals came up that they have +been able to sit in Parliament."</p> + +<p>"One of the greatest judges in the land is a Jew," said Georgiana, +who had already learned to fortify her own case.</p> + +<p>"Nothing that the Radicals can do can make them anything else but +what they are. I'm sure that Mr. Whitstable, who is to be your +brother-in-law, will never condescend to speak to him."</p> + +<p>Now, if there was anybody whom Georgiana Longestaffe had despised +from her youth upwards it was George Whitstable. He had been a +laughing-stock to her when they were children, had been regarded as a +lout when he left school, and had been her common example of rural +dullness since he had become a man. He certainly was neither +beautiful nor bright;—but he was a Conservative squire born of Tory +parents. Nor was he rich,—having but a moderate income, sufficient +to maintain a moderate country house and no more. When first there +came indications that Sophia intended to put up with George +Whitstable, the more ambitious sister did not spare the shafts of her +scorn. And now she was told that George Whitstable would not speak to +her future husband! She was not to marry Mr. Brehgert lest she should +bring disgrace, among others, upon George Whitstable! This was not to +be endured.</p> + +<p>"Then Mr. Whitstable may keep himself at home at Toodlam and not +trouble his head at all about me or my husband. I'm sure I shan't +trouble myself as to what a poor creature like that may think about +me. George Whitstable knows as much about London as I do about the +moon."</p> + +<p>"He has always been in county society," said Sophia, "and was staying +only the other day at Lord Cantab's."</p> + +<p>"Then there were two fools together," said Georgiana, who at this +moment was very unhappy.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Whitstable is an excellent young man, and I am sure he will make +your sister happy; but as for Mr. Brehgert,—I can't bear to have his +name mentioned in my hearing."</p> + +<p>"Then, mamma, it had better not be mentioned. At any rate it shan't +be mentioned again by me." Having so spoken, Georgiana bounced out of +the room and did not meet her mother and sister again till she came +down into the drawing-room before dinner.</p> + +<p>Her position was one very trying both to her nerves and to her +feelings. She presumed that her father had seen Mr. Brehgert, but did +not in the least know what had passed between them. It might be that +her father had been so decided in his objection as to induce Mr. +Brehgert to abandon his intention,—and if this were so, there could +be no reason why she should endure the misery of having the Jew +thrown in her face. Among them all they had made her think that she +would never become Mrs. Brehgert. She certainly was not prepared to +nail her colours upon the mast and to live and die for Brehgert. She +was almost sick of the thing herself. But she could not back out of +it so as to obliterate all traces of the disgrace. Even if she should +not ultimately marry the Jew, it would be known that she had been +engaged to a Jew,—and then it would certainly be said afterwards +that the Jew had jilted her. She was thus vacillating in her mind, +not knowing whether to go on with Brehgert or to abandon him. That +evening Lady Pomona retired immediately after dinner, being "far from +well." It was of course known to them all that Mr. Brehgert was her +ailment. She was accompanied by her elder daughter, and Georgiana was +left with her father. Not a word was spoken between them. He sat +behind his newspaper till he went to sleep, and she found herself +alone and deserted in that big room. It seemed to her that even the +servants treated her with disdain. Her own maid had already given her +notice. It was manifestly the intention of her family to ostracise +her altogether. Of what service would it be to her that Lady Julia +Goldsheiner should be received everywhere, if she herself were to be +left without a single Christian friend? Would a life passed +exclusively among the Jews content even her lessened ambition? At ten +o'clock she kissed her father's head and went to bed. Her father +grunted less audibly than usual under the operation. She had always +given herself credit for high spirits, but she began to fear that her +courage would not suffice to carry her through sufferings such as +these.</p> + +<p>On the next day her father returned to town, and the three ladies +were left alone. Great preparations were going on for the Whitstable +wedding. Dresses were being made and linen marked, and consultations +held,—from all which things Georgiana was kept quite apart. The +accepted lover came over to lunch, and was made as much of as though +the Whitstables had always kept a town house. Sophy loomed so large +in her triumph and happiness, that it was not to be borne. All +Caversham treated her with a new respect. And yet if Toodlam was a +couple of thousand a year, it was all it was;—and there were two +unmarried sisters! Lady Pomona went half into hysterics every time +she saw her younger daughter, and became in her way a most oppressive +parent. Oh, heavens;—was Mr. Brehgert with his two houses worth all +this? A feeling of intense regret for the things she was losing came +over her. Even Caversham, the Caversham of old days which she had +hated, but in which she had made herself respected and partly feared +by everybody about the place,—had charms for her which seemed to her +delightful now that they were lost for ever. Then she had always +considered herself to be the first personage in the house,—superior +even to her father;—but now she was decidedly the last.</p> + +<p>Her second evening was worse even than the first. When Mr. +Longestaffe was not at home the family sat in a small dingy room +between the library and the dining-room, and on this occasion the +family consisted only of Georgiana. In the course of the evening she +went up-stairs and calling her sister out into the passage demanded +to be told why she was thus deserted. "Poor mamma is very ill," said +Sophy.</p> + +<p>"I won't stand it if I'm to be treated like this," said Georgiana. +"I'll go away somewhere."</p> + +<p>"How can I help it, Georgey? It's your own doing. Of course you must +have known that you were going to separate yourself from us."</p> + +<p>On the next morning there came a dispatch from Mr. Longestaffe,—of +what nature Georgey did not know as it was addressed to Lady Pomona. +But one enclosure she was allowed to see. "Mamma," said Sophy, +"thinks you ought to know how Dolly feels about it." And then a +letter from Dolly to his father was put into Georgey's hands. The +letter was as <span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Father</span>,—</p> + +<p>Can it be true that Georgey is thinking of marrying that +horrid vulgar Jew, old Brehgert? The fellows say so; but I +can't believe it. I'm sure you wouldn't let her. You ought +to lock her up.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours affectionately,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">A. Longestaffe</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Dolly's letters made his father very angry, as, short as they were, +they always contained advice or instruction, such as should come from +a father to a son, rather than from a son to a father. This letter +had not been received with a welcome. Nevertheless the head of the +family had thought it worth his while to make use of it, and had sent +it to Caversham in order that it might be shown to his rebellious +daughter.</p> + +<p>And so Dolly had said that she ought to be locked up! She'd like to +see somebody do it! As soon as she had read her brother's epistle she +tore it into fragments and threw it away in her sister's presence. +"How can mamma be such a hypocrite as to pretend to care what Dolly +says? Who doesn't know that he's an idiot? And papa has thought it +worth his while to send that down here for me to see! Well, after +that I must say that I don't much care what papa does."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why Dolly shouldn't have an opinion as well as anybody +else," said Sophy.</p> + +<p>"As well as George Whitstable? As far as stupidness goes they are +about the same. But Dolly has a little more knowledge of the world."</p> + +<p>"Of course we all know, Georgiana," rejoined the elder sister, "that +for cuteness and that kind of thing one must look among the +commercial classes, and especially among a certain sort."</p> + +<p>"I've done with you all," said Georgey rushing out of the room. "I'll +have nothing more to do with any one of you."</p> + +<p>But it is very difficult for a young lady to have done with her +family! A young man may go anywhere, and may be lost at sea; or come +and claim his property after twenty years. A young man may demand an +allowance, and has almost a right to live alone. The young male bird +is supposed to fly away from the paternal nest. But the daughter of a +house is compelled to adhere to her father till she shall get a +husband. The only way in which Georgey could "have done" with them +all at Caversham would be by trusting herself to Mr. Brehgert, and at +the present moment she did not know whether Mr. Brehgert did or did +not consider himself as engaged to her.</p> + +<p>That day also passed away with ineffable tedium. At one time she was +so beaten down by ennui that she almost offered her assistance to her +sister in reference to the wedding garments. In spite of the very +bitter words which had been spoken in the morning she would have done +so had Sophy afforded her the slightest opportunity. But Sophy was +heartlessly cruel in her indifference. In her younger days she had +had her bad things, and now,—with George Whitstable by her +side,—she meant to have good things, the goodness of which was +infinitely enhanced by the badness of her sister's things. She had +been so greatly despised that the charm of despising again was +irresistible. And she was able to reconcile her cruelty to her +conscience by telling herself that duty required her to show +implacable resistance to such a marriage as this which her sister +contemplated. Therefore Georgiana dragged out another day, not in the +least knowing what was to be her fate.</p> + + +<p><a id="c79"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXIX.</h3> +<h4>THE BREHGERT CORRESPONDENCE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Mr. Longestaffe had brought his daughter down to Caversham on a +Wednesday. During the Thursday and Friday she had passed a very sad +time, not knowing whether she was or was not engaged to marry Mr. +Brehgert. Her father had declared to her that he would break off the +match, and she believed that he had seen Mr. Brehgert with that +purpose. She had certainly given no consent, and had never hinted to +any one of the family an idea that she was disposed to yield. But she +felt that, at any rate with her father, she had not adhered to her +purpose with tenacity, and that she had allowed him to return to +London with a feeling that she might still be controlled. She was +beginning to be angry with Mr. Brehgert, thinking that he had taken +his dismissal from her father without consulting her. It was +necessary that something should be settled, something known. Life +such as that she was leading now would drive her mad. She had all the +disadvantages of the Brehgert connection and none of the advantages. +She could not comfort herself with thinking of the Brehgert wealth +and the Brehgert houses, and yet she was living under the general ban +of Caversham on account of her Brehgert associations. She was +beginning to think that she herself must write to Mr. Brehgert,—only +she did not know what to say to him.</p> + +<p>But on the Saturday morning she got a letter from Mr. Brehgert. It +was handed to her as she was sitting at breakfast with her +sister,—who at that moment was triumphant with a present of +gooseberries which had been sent over from Toodlam. The Toodlam +gooseberries were noted throughout Suffolk, and when the letters were +being brought in Sophia was taking her lover's offering from the +basket with her own fair hands. "Well!" Georgey had exclaimed, "to +send a pottle of gooseberries to his lady love across the country! +Who but George Whitstable would do that?"</p> + +<p>"I dare say you get nothing but gems and gold," Sophy retorted. "I +don't suppose that Mr. Brehgert knows what a gooseberry is." At that +moment the letter was brought in, and Georgiana knew the writing. "I +suppose that's from Mr. Brehgert," said Sophy.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it matters much to you who it's from." She tried to be +composed and stately, but the letter was too important to allow of +composure, and she retired to read it in privacy.</p> + +<p>The letter was as follows:—<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Georgiana</span>,</p> + +<p>Your father came to me the day after I was to have met you +at Lady Monogram's party. I told him then that I would not +write to you till I had taken a day or two to consider +what he said to me;—and also that I thought it better +that you should have a day or two to consider what he +might say to you. He has now repeated what he said at our +first interview, almost with more violence; for I must say +that I think he has allowed himself to be violent when it +was surely unnecessary.</p> + +<p>The long and short of it is this. He altogether +disapproves of your promise to marry me. He has given +three reasons;—first that I am in trade; secondly that I +am much older than you, and have a family; and thirdly +that I am a Jew. In regard to the first I can hardly think +that he is earnest. I have explained to him that my +business is that of a banker; and I can hardly conceive it +to be possible that any gentleman in England should object +to his daughter marrying a banker, simply because the man +is a banker. There would be a blindness of arrogance in +such a proposition of which I think your father to be +incapable. This has merely been added in to strengthen his +other objections.</p> + +<p>As to my age, it is just fifty-one. I do not at all think +myself too old to be married again. Whether I am too old +for you is for you to judge,—as is also that question of +my children who, of course, should you become my wife will +be to some extent a care upon your shoulders. As this is +all very serious you will not, I hope, think me wanting in +gallantry if I say that I should hardly have ventured to +address you if you had been quite a young girl. No doubt +there are many years between us;—and so I think there +should be. A man of my age hardly looks to marry a woman +of the same standing as himself. But the question is one +for the lady to decide,—and you must decide it now.</p> + +<p>As to my religion, I acknowledge the force of what your +father says,—though I think that a gentleman brought up +with fewer prejudices would have expressed himself in +language less likely to give offence. However I am a man +not easily offended; and on this occasion I am ready to +take what he has said in good part. I can easily conceive +that there should be those who think that the husband and +wife should agree in religion. I am indifferent to it +myself. I shall not interfere with you if you make me +happy by becoming my wife, nor, I suppose, will you with +me. Should you have a daughter or daughters I am quite +willing that they should be brought up subject to your +influence.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<p class="noindent">There was a +plain-speaking in this which made Georgiana look round +the room as though to see whether any one was watching her as she +read it.</p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent">But no doubt your +father objects to me specially because I +am a Jew. If I were an atheist he might, perhaps, say +nothing on the subject of religion. On this matter as well +as on others it seems to me that your father has hardly +kept pace with the movements of the age. Fifty years ago +whatever claim a Jew might have to be as well considered +as a Christian, he certainly was not so considered. +Society was closed against him, except under special +circumstances, and so were all the privileges of high +position. But that has been altered. Your father does not +admit the change; but I think he is blind to it, because +he does not wish to see.</p> + +<p>I say all this more as defending myself than as combating +his views with you. It must be for you and for you alone +to decide how far his views shall govern you. He has told +me, after a rather peremptory fashion, that I have behaved +badly to him and to his family because I did not go to him +in the first instance when I thought of obtaining the +honour of an alliance with his daughter. I have been +obliged to tell him that in this matter I disagree with +him entirely, though in so telling him I endeavoured to +restrain myself from any appearance of warmth. I had not +the pleasure of meeting you in his house, nor had I any +acquaintance with him. And again, at the risk of being +thought uncourteous, I must say that you are to a certain +degree emancipated by age from that positive subordination +to which a few years ago you probably submitted without a +question. If a gentleman meets a lady in society, as I met +you in the home of our friend Mr. Melmotte, I do not think +that the gentleman is to be debarred from expressing his +feelings because the lady may possibly have a parent. Your +father, no doubt with propriety, had left you to be the +guardian of yourself, and I cannot submit to be accused of +improper conduct because, finding you in that condition, I +availed myself of it.</p> + +<p>And now, having said so much, I must leave the question to +be decided entirely by yourself. I beg you to understand +that I do not at all wish to hold you to a promise merely +because the promise has been given. I readily acknowledge +that the opinion of your family should be considered by +you, though I will not admit that I was bound to consult +that opinion before I spoke to you. It may well be that +your regard for me or your appreciation of the comforts +with which I may be able to surround you, will not suffice +to reconcile you to such a breach from your own family as +your father, with much repetition, has assured me will be +inevitable. Take a day or two to think of this and turn it +well over in your mind. When I last had the happiness of +speaking to you, you seemed to think that your parents +might raise objections, but that those objections would +give way before an expression of your own wishes. I was +flattered by your so thinking; but, if I may form any +judgment from your father's manner, I must suppose that +you were mistaken. You will understand that I do not say +this as any reproach to you. Quite the contrary. I think +your father is irrational; and you may well have failed to +anticipate that he should be so.</p> + +<p>As to my own feelings they remain exactly as they were +when I endeavoured to explain them to you. Though I do not +find myself to be too old to marry, I do think myself too +old to write love letters. I have no doubt you believe me +when I say that I entertain a most sincere affection for +you; and I beseech you to believe me in saying further +that should you become my wife it shall be the study of my +life to make you happy.</p> + +<p>It is essentially necessary that I should allude to one +other matter, as to which I have already told your father +what I will now tell you. I think it probable that within +this week I shall find myself a loser of a very large sum +of money through the failure of a gentleman whose bad +treatment of me I will the more readily forgive because he +was the means of making me known to you. This you must +understand is private between you and me, though I have +thought it proper to inform your father. Such loss, if it +fall upon me, will not interfere in the least with the +income which I have proposed to settle upon you for your +use after my death; and, as your father declares that in +the event of your marrying me he will neither give to you +nor bequeath to you a shilling, he might have abstained +from telling me to my face that I was a bankrupt merchant +when I myself told him of my loss. I am not a bankrupt +merchant nor at all likely to become so. Nor will this +loss at all interfere with my present mode of living. But +I have thought it right to inform you of it, because, if +it occur,—as I think it will,—I shall not deem it right +to keep a second establishment probably for the next two +or three years. But my house at Fulham and my stables +there will be kept up just as they are at present.</p> + +<p>I have now told you everything which I think it is +necessary you should know, in order that you may determine +either to adhere to or to recede from your engagement. +When you have resolved you will let me know,—but a day or +two may probably be necessary for your decision. I hope I +need not say that a decision in my favour will make me a +happy man.</p> + +<p class="ind6">I am, in the meantime, your affectionate friend,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Ezekiel Brehgert</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>This very long letter puzzled Georgey a good deal, and left her, at +the time of reading it, very much in doubt as to what she would do. +She could understand that it was a plain-spoken and truth-telling +letter. Not that she, to herself, gave it praise for those virtues; +but that it imbued her unconsciously with a thorough belief. She was +apt to suspect deceit in other people;—but it did not occur to her +that Mr. Brehgert had written a single word with an attempt to +deceive her. But the single-minded genuine honesty of the letter was +altogether thrown away upon her. She never said to herself, as she +read it, that she might safely trust herself to this man, though he +were a Jew, though greasy and like a butcher, though over fifty and +with a family, because he was an honest man. She did not see that the +letter was particularly sensible;—but she did allow herself to be +pained by the total absence of romance. She was annoyed at the first +allusion to her age, and angry at the second; and yet she had never +supposed that Brehgert had taken her to be younger than she was. She +was well aware that the world in general attributes more years to +unmarried women than they have lived, as a sort of equalising +counter-weight against the pretences which young women make on the +other side, or the lies which are told on their behalf. Nor had she +wished to appear peculiarly young in his eyes. But, nevertheless, she +regarded the reference to be uncivil,—perhaps almost +butcher-like,—and it had its effect upon her. And then the allusion +to the "daughter or daughters" troubled her. She told herself that it +was vulgar,—just what a butcher might have said. And although she +was quite prepared to call her father the most irrational, the most +prejudiced, and most ill-natured of men, yet she was displeased that +Mr. Brehgert should take such a liberty with him. But the passage in +Mr. Brehgert's letter which was most distasteful to her was that +which told her of the loss which he might probably incur through his +connection with Melmotte. What right had he to incur a loss which +would incapacitate him from keeping his engagements with her? The +town-house had been the great persuasion, and now he absolutely had +the face to tell her that there was to be no town-house for three +years. When she read this she felt that she ought to be indignant, +and for a few moments was minded to sit down without further +consideration and tell the man with considerable scorn that she would +have nothing more to say to him.</p> + +<p>But on that side too there would be terrible bitterness. How would +she have fallen from her greatness when, barely forgiven by her +father and mother for the vile sin which she had contemplated, she +should consent to fill a common bridesmaid place at the nuptials of +George Whitstable! And what would then be left to her in life? This +episode of the Jew would make it quite impossible for her again to +contest the question of the London house with her father. Lady Pomona +and Mrs. George Whitstable would be united with him against her. +There would be no "season" for her, and she would be nobody at +Caversham. As for London, she would hardly wish to go there! +Everybody would know the story of the Jew. She thought that she could +have plucked up courage to face the world as the Jew's wife, but not +as the young woman who had wanted to marry the Jew and had failed. +How would her future life go with her, should she now make up her +mind to retire from the proposed alliance? If she could get her +father to take her abroad at once, she would do it; but she was not +now in a condition to make any terms with her father. As all this +gradually passed through her mind, she determined that she would so +far take Mr. Brehgert's advice as to postpone her answer till she had +well considered the matter.</p> + +<p>She slept upon it, and the next day she asked her mother a few +questions. "Mamma, have you any idea what papa means to do?"</p> + +<p>"In what way, my dear?" Lady Pomona's voice was not gracious, as she +was free from that fear of her daughter's ascendancy which had +formerly affected her.</p> + +<p>"Well;—I suppose he must have some plan."</p> + +<p>"You must explain yourself. I don't know why he should have any +particular plan."</p> + +<p>"Will he go to London next year?"</p> + +<p>"That will depend upon money, I suppose. What makes you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I have been very cruelly circumstanced. Everybody must see +that. I'm sure you do, mamma. The long and the short of it is +this;—if I give up my engagement, will he take us abroad for a +year?"</p> + +<p>"Why should he?"</p> + +<p>"You can't suppose that I should be very comfortable in England. If +we are to remain here at Caversham, how am I to hope ever to get +settled?"</p> + +<p>"Sophy is doing very well."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, there are not two George Whitstables;—thank God." She +had meant to be humble and supplicating, but she could not restrain +herself from the use of that one shaft. "I don't mean but what Sophy +may be very happy, and I am sure that I hope she will. But that won't +do me any good. I should be very unhappy here."</p> + +<p>"I don't see how you are to find any one to marry you by going +abroad," said Lady Pomona, "and I don't see why your papa is to be +taken away from his own home. He likes Caversham."</p> + +<p>"Then I am to be sacrificed on every side," said Georgey, stalking +out of the room. But still she could not make up her mind what letter +she would write to Mr. Brehgert, and she slept upon it another night.</p> + +<p>On the next day after breakfast she did write her letter, though when +she sat down to her task she had not clearly made up her mind what +she would say. But she did get it written, and here it is.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">Caversham,<br /> +Monday.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Mr. Brehgert</span>,</p> + +<p>As you told me not to hurry, I have taken a little time to +think about your letter. Of course it would be very +disagreeable to quarrel with papa and mamma and everybody. +And if I do do so, I'm sure somebody ought to be very +grateful. But papa has been very unfair in what he has +said. As to not asking him, it could have been of no good, +for of course he would be against it. He thinks a great +deal of the Longestaffe family, and so, I suppose, ought +I. But the world does change so quick that one doesn't +think of anything now as one used to do. Anyway, I don't +feel that I'm bound to do what papa tells me just because +he says it. Though I'm not quite so old as you seem to +think, I'm old enough to judge for myself,—and I mean to +do so. You say very little about affection, but I suppose +I am to take all that for granted.</p> + +<p>I don't wonder at papa being annoyed about the loss of the +money. It must be a very great sum when it will prevent +your having a house in London,—as you agreed. It does +make a great difference, because, of course, as you have +no regular place in the country, one could only see one's +friends in London. Fulham is all very well now and then, +but I don't think I should like to live at Fulham all the +year through. You talk of three years, which would be +dreadful. If as you say it will not have any lasting +effect, could you not manage to have a house in town? If +you can do it in three years, I should think you could do +it now. I should like to have an answer to this question. +I do think so much about being the season in town!</p> + +<p>As for the other parts of your letter, I knew very well +beforehand that papa would be unhappy about it. But I +don't know why I'm to let that stand in my way when so +very little is done to make me happy. Of course you will +write to me again, and I hope you will say something +satisfactory about the house in London.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours always sincerely,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Georgiana +Longestaffe</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>It probably never occurred to Georgey that Mr. Brehgert would under +any circumstances be anxious to go back from his engagement. She so +fully recognised her own value as a Christian lady of high birth and +position giving herself to a commercial Jew, that she thought that +under any circumstances Mr. Brehgert would be only too anxious to +stick to his bargain. Nor had she any idea that there was anything in +her letter which could probably offend him. She thought that she +might at any rate make good her claim to the house in London; and +that as there were other difficulties on his side, he would yield to +her on this point. But as yet she hardly knew Mr. Brehgert. He did +not lose a day in sending to her a second letter. He took her letter +with him to his office in the city, and there answered it without a +moment's delay.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="jright">No. 7, St. Cuthbert's Court, London,<br /> +Tuesday, July 16, 18—.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Miss +Longestaffe</span>,</p> + +<p>You say it would be very disagreeable to you to quarrel +with your papa and mamma; and as I agree with you, I will +take your letter as concluding our intimacy. I should not, +however, be dealing quite fairly with you or with myself +if I gave you to understand that I felt myself to be +coerced to this conclusion simply by your qualified assent +to your parents' views. It is evident to me from your +letter that you would not wish to be my wife unless I can +supply you with a house in town as well as with one in the +country. But this for the present is out of my power. I +would not have allowed my losses to interfere with your +settlement because I had stated a certain income; and must +therefore to a certain extent have compromised my +children. But I should not have been altogether happy till +I had replaced them in their former position, and must +therefore have abstained from increased expenditure till I +had done so. But of course I have no right to ask you to +share with me the discomfort of a single home. I may +perhaps add that I had hoped that you would have looked to +your happiness to another source, and that I will bear my +disappointment as best I may.</p> + +<p>As you may perhaps under these circumstances be unwilling +that I should wear the ring you gave me, I return it by +post. I trust you will be good enough to keep the trifle +you were pleased to accept from me, in remembrance of one +who will always wish you well.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours sincerely,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Ezekiel Brehgert</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>And so it was all over! Georgey, when she read this letter, was very +indignant at her lover's conduct. She did not believe that her own +letter had at all been of a nature to warrant it. She had regarded +herself as being quite sure of him, and only so far doubting herself, +as to be able to make her own terms because of such doubts. And now +the Jew had rejected her! She read this last letter over and over +again, and the more she read it the more she felt that in her heart +of hearts she had intended to marry him. There would have been +inconveniences no doubt, but they would have been less than the +sorrow on the other side. Now she saw nothing before her but a long +vista of Caversham dullness, in which she would be trampled upon by +her father and mother, and scorned by Mr. and Mrs. George Whitstable.</p> + +<p>She got up and walked about the room thinking of vengeance. But what +vengeance was possible to her? Everybody belonging to her would take +the part of the Jew in that which he had now done. She could not ask +Dolly to beat him; nor could she ask her father to visit him with the +stern frown of paternal indignation. There could be no revenge. For a +time,—only for a few seconds,—she thought that she would write to +Mr. Brehgert and tell him that she had not intended to bring about +this termination of their engagement. This, no doubt, would have been +an appeal to the Jew for mercy;—and she could not quite descend to +that. But she would keep the watch and chain he had given her, and +which somebody had told her had not cost less than a hundred and +fifty guineas. She could not wear them, as people would know whence +they had come; but she might exchange them for jewels which she could +wear.</p> + +<p>At lunch she said nothing to her sister, but in the course of the +afternoon she thought it best to inform her mother. "Mamma," she +said, "as you and papa take it so much to heart, I have broken off +everything with Mr. Brehgert."</p> + +<p>"Of course it must be broken off," said Lady Pomona. This was very +ungracious,—so much so that Georgey almost flounced out of the room. +"Have you heard from the man?" asked her ladyship.</p> + +<p>"I have written to him, and he has answered me; and it is all +settled. I thought that you would have said something kind to me." +And the unfortunate young woman burst out into tears.</p> + +<p>"It was so dreadful," said Lady Pomona;—"so very dreadful. I never +heard of anything so bad. When young what's-his-name married the +tallow-chandler's daughter I thought it would have killed me if it +had been Dolly; but this was worse than that. Her father was a +methodist."</p> + +<p>"They had neither of them a shilling of money," said Georgey through +her tears.</p> + +<p>"And your papa says this man was next door to a bankrupt. But it's +all over?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mamma."</p> + +<p>"And now we must all remain here at Caversham till people forget it. +It has been very hard upon George Whitstable, because of course +everybody has known it through the county. I once thought he would +have been off, and I really don't know that we could have said +anything." At that moment Sophy entered the room. "It's all over +between Georgiana and the—man," said Lady Pomona, who hardly saved +herself from stigmatising him by a further reference to his religion.</p> + +<p>"I knew it would be," said Sophia.</p> + +<p>"Of course it could never have really taken place," said their +mother.</p> + +<p>"And now I beg that nothing more may be said about it," said +Georgiana. "I suppose, mamma, you will write to papa?"</p> + +<p>"You must send him back his watch and chain, Georgey," said Sophia.</p> + +<p>"What business is that of yours?"</p> + +<p>"Of course she must. Her papa would not let her keep it."</p> + +<p>To such a miserable depth of humility had the younger Miss +Longestaffe been brought by her ill-considered intimacy with the +Melmottes! Georgiana, when she looked back on this miserable episode +in her life, always attributed her grief to the scandalous breach of +compact of which her father had been guilty.</p> + + +<p><a id="c80"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXX.</h3> +<h4>RUBY PREPARES FOR SERVICE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Our poor old honest friend John Crumb was taken away to durance vile +after his performance in the street with Sir Felix, and was locked up +for the remainder of the night. This indignity did not sit so heavily +on his spirits as it might have done on those of a quicker nature. He +was aware that he had not killed the baronet, and that he had +therefore enjoyed his revenge without the necessity of "swinging for +it at Bury." That in itself was a comfort to him. Then it was a great +satisfaction to think that he had "served the young man out" in the +actual presence of his Ruby. He was not prone to give himself undue +credit for his capability and willingness to knock his enemies about; +but he did think that Ruby must have observed on this occasion that +he was the better man of the two. And, to John, a night in the +station-house was no great personal inconvenience. Though he was very +proud of his four-post bed at home, he did not care very much for +such luxuries as far as he himself was concerned. Nor did he feel any +disgrace from being locked up for the night. He was very +good-humoured with the policeman, who seemed perfectly to understand +his nature, and was as meek as a child when the lock was turned upon +him. As he lay down on the hard bench, he comforted himself with +thinking that Ruby would surely never care any more for the +"baronite" since she had seen him go down like a cur without striking +a blow. He thought a good deal about Ruby, but never attributed any +blame to her for her share in the evils that had befallen him.</p> + +<p>The next morning he was taken before the magistrates, but was told at +an early hour of the day that he was again free. Sir Felix was not +much the worse for what had happened to him, and had refused to make +any complaint against the man who had beaten him. John Crumb shook +hands cordially with the policeman who had had him in charge, and +suggested beer. The constable, with regrets, was forced to decline, +and bade adieu to his late prisoner with the expression of a hope +that they might meet again before long. "You come down to Bungay," +said John, "and I'll show you how we live there."</p> + +<p>From the police-office he went direct to Mrs. Pipkin's house, and at +once asked for Ruby. He was told that Ruby was out with the children, +and was advised both by Mrs. Pipkin and Mrs. Hurtle not to present +himself before Ruby quite yet. "You see," said Mrs. Pipkin, "she's a +thinking how heavy you were upon that young gentleman."</p> + +<p>"But I wasn't;—not particular. Lord love you, he ain't a hair the +wuss."</p> + +<p>"You let her alone for a time," said Mrs. Hurtle. "A little neglect +will do her good."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," said John,—"only I wouldn't like her to have it bad. You'll +let her have her wittles regular, Mrs. Pipkin."</p> + +<p>It was then explained to him that the neglect proposed should not +extend to any deprivation of food, and he took his leave, receiving +an assurance from Mrs. Hurtle that he should be summoned to town as +soon as it was thought that his presence there would serve his +purposes; and with loud promises repeated to each of the friendly +women that as soon as ever a "line should be dropped" he would appear +again upon the scene, he took Mrs. Pipkin aside, and suggested that +if there were "any hextras," he was ready to pay for them. Then he +took his leave without seeing Ruby, and went back to Bungay.</p> + +<p>When Ruby returned with the children she was told that John Crumb had +called. "I thought as he was in prison," said Ruby.</p> + +<p>"What should they keep him in prison for?" said Mrs. Pipkin. "He +hasn't done nothing as he oughtn't to have done. That young man was +dragging you about as far as I can make out, and Mr. Crumb just did +as anybody ought to have done to prevent it. Of course they weren't +going to keep him in prison for that. Prison indeed! It isn't him as +ought to be in prison."</p> + +<p>"And where is he now, aunt?"</p> + +<p>"Gone down to Bungay to mind his business, and won't be coming here +any more of a fool's errand. He must have seen now pretty well what's +worth having, and what ain't. Beauty is but skin deep, Ruby."</p> + +<p>"John Crumb 'd be after me again to-morrow, if I'd give him +encouragement," said Ruby. "If I'd hold up my finger he'd come."</p> + +<p>"Then John Crumb's a fool for his pains, that's all; and now do you +go about your work." Ruby didn't like to be told to go about her +work, and tossed her head, and slammed the kitchen door, and scolded +the servant girl, and then sat down to cry. What was she to do with +herself now? She had an idea that Felix would not come back to her +after the treatment he had received;—and a further idea that if he +did come he was not, as she phrased it to herself, "of much account." +She certainly did not like him the better for having been beaten, +though, at the time, she had been disposed to take his part. She did +not believe that she would ever dance with him again. That had been +the charm of her life in London, and that was now all over. And as +for marrying her,—she began to feel certain that he did not intend +it. John Crumb was a big, awkward, dull, uncouth lump of a man, with +whom Ruby thought it impossible that a girl should be in love. Love +and John Crumb were poles asunder. +<span class="nowrap">But—!</span> +Ruby did not like wheeling +the perambulator about Islington, and being told by her aunt Pipkin +to go about her work. What Ruby did like was being in love and +dancing; but if all that must come to an end, then there would be a +question whether she could not do better for herself, than by staying +with her aunt and wheeling the perambulator about Islington.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hurtle was still living in solitude in the lodgings, and having +but little to do on her own behalf, had devoted herself to the +interest of John Crumb. A man more unlike one of her own countrymen +she had never seen. "I wonder whether he has any ideas at all in his +head," she had said to Mrs. Pipkin. Mrs. Pipkin had replied that Mr. +Crumb had certainly a very strong idea of marrying Ruby Ruggles. Mrs. +Hurtle had smiled, thinking that Mrs. Pipkin was also very unlike her +own countrywomen. But she was very kind to Mrs. Pipkin, ordering +rice-puddings on purpose that the children might eat them, and she +was quite determined to give John Crumb all the aid in her power.</p> + +<p>In order that she might give effectual aid she took Mrs. Pipkin into +confidence, and prepared a plan of action in reference to Ruby. Mrs. +Pipkin was to appear as chief actor on the scene, but the plan was +altogether Mrs. Hurtle's plan. On the day following John's return to +Bungay Mrs. Pipkin summoned Ruby into the back parlour, and thus +addressed her. "Ruby, you know, this must come to an end now."</p> + +<p>"What must come to an end?"</p> + +<p>"You can't stay here always, you know."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I work hard, Aunt Pipkin, and I don't get no wages."</p> + +<p>"I can't do with more than one girl,—and there's the keep if there +isn't wages. Besides, there's other reasons. Your grandfather won't +have you back there; that's certain."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't go back to grandfather, if it was ever so."</p> + +<p>"But you must go somewheres. You didn't come to stay here +always,—nor I couldn't have you. You must go into service."</p> + +<p>"I don't know anybody as 'd have me," said Ruby.</p> + +<p>"You must put a 'vertisement into the paper. You'd better say as +nursemaid, as you seems to take kindly to children. And I must give +you a character;—only I shall say just the truth. You mustn't ask +much wages just at first." Ruby looked very sorrowful, and the tears +were near her eyes. The change from the glories of the music hall was +so startling and so oppressive! "It has got to be done sooner or +later, so you may as well put the 'vertisement in this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"You're going to turn me out, Aunt Pipkin."</p> + +<p>"Well;—if that's turning out, I am. You see you never would be said +by me as though I was mistress. You would go out with that +rapscallion when I bid you not. Now when you're in a regular place +like, you must mind when you're spoke to, and it will be best for +you. You've had your swing, and now you see you've got to pay for it. +You must earn your bread, Ruby, as you've quarrelled both with your +lover and with your grandfather."</p> + +<p>There was no possible answer to this, and therefore the necessary +notice was put into the paper,—Mrs. Hurtle paying for its insertion. +"Because, you know," said Mrs. Hurtle, "she must stay here really, +till Mr. Crumb comes and takes her away." Mrs. Pipkin expressed her +opinion that Ruby was a "baggage" and John Crumb a "soft." Mrs. +Pipkin was perhaps a little jealous at the interest which her lodger +took in her niece, thinking perhaps that all Mrs. Hurtle's sympathies +were due to herself.</p> + +<p>Ruby went hither and thither for a day or two, calling upon the +mothers of children who wanted nursemaids. The answers which she had +received had not come from the highest members of the aristocracy, +and the houses which she visited did not appal her by their +splendour. Many objections were made to her. A character from an aunt +was objectionable. Her ringlets were objectionable. She was a deal +too flighty-looking. She spoke up much too free. At last one happy +mother of five children offered to take her on approval for a month, +at £12 a year, Ruby to find her own tea and wash for herself. This +was slavery;—abject slavery. And she too, who had been the beloved +of a baronet, and who might even now be the mistress of a better +house than that into which she was to go as a servant,—if she would +only hold up her finger! But the place was accepted, and with +broken-hearted sobbings Ruby prepared herself for her departure from +aunt Pipkin's roof.</p> + +<p>"I hope you like your place, Ruby," Mrs. Hurtle said on the afternoon +of her last day.</p> + +<p>"Indeed then I don't like it at all. They're the ugliest children you +ever see, Mrs. Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"Ugly children must be minded as well as pretty ones."</p> + +<p>"And the mother of 'em is as cross as cross."</p> + +<p>"It's your own fault, Ruby; isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know as I've done anything out of the way."</p> + +<p>"Don't you think it's anything out of the way to be engaged to a +young man and then to throw him over? All this has come because you +wouldn't keep your word to Mr. Crumb. Only for that your grandfather +wouldn't have turned you out of his house."</p> + +<p>"He didn't turn me out. I ran away. And it wasn't along of John +Crumb, but because grandfather hauled me about by the hair of my +head."</p> + +<p>"But he was angry with you about Mr. Crumb. When a young woman +becomes engaged to a young man, she ought not to go back from her +word." No doubt Mrs. Hurtle, when preaching this doctrine, thought +that the same law might be laid down with propriety for the conduct +of young men. "Of course you have brought trouble on yourself. I am +sorry that you don't like the place. I'm afraid you must go to it +now."</p> + +<p>"I am agoing,—I suppose," said Ruby, probably feeling that if she +could but bring herself to condescend so far there might yet be open +for her a way of escape.</p> + +<p>"I shall write and tell Mr. Crumb where you are placed."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Hurtle, don't. What should you write to him for? It ain't +nothing to him."</p> + +<p>"I told him I'd let him know if any steps were taken."</p> + +<p>"You can forget that, Mrs. Hurtle. Pray don't write. I don't want him +to know as I'm in service."</p> + +<p>"I must keep my promise. Why shouldn't he know? I don't suppose you +care much now what he hears about you."</p> + +<p>"Yes I do. I wasn't never in service before, and I don't want him to +know."</p> + +<p>"What harm can it do you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't want him to know. It is such a come down, Mrs. +Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to be ashamed of in that. What you have to be +ashamed of is jilting him. It was a bad thing to do;—wasn't it, +Ruby?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean nothing bad, Mrs. Hurtle; only why couldn't he say +what he had to say himself, instead of bringing another to say it for +him? What would you feel, Mrs. Hurtle, if a man was to come and say +it all out of another man's mouth?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I should much care if the thing was well said at last. +You know he meant it."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I did know that."</p> + +<p>"And you know he means it now?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure about that. He's gone back to Bungay, and he isn't +no good at writing letters no more than at speaking. Oh,—he'll go +and get somebody else now."</p> + +<p>"Of course he will if he hears nothing about you. I think I'd better +tell him. I know what would happen."</p> + +<p>"What would happen, Mrs. Hurtle?"</p> + +<p>"He'd be up in town again in half a jiffey to see what sort of a +place you'd got. Now, Ruby, I'll tell you what I'll do, if you'll say +the word. I'll have him up here at once and you shan't go to Mrs. +Buggins'." Ruby dropped her hands and stood still, staring at Mrs. +Hurtle. "I will. But if he comes you mustn't behave this time as you +did before."</p> + +<p>"But I'm to go to Mrs. Buggins' to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"We'll send to Mrs. Buggins and tell her to get somebody else. You're +breaking your heart about going there;—are you not?"</p> + +<p>"I don't like it, Mrs. Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"And this man will make you mistress of his house. You say he isn't +good at speaking; but I tell you I never came across an honester man +in the whole course of my life, or one who I think would treat a +woman better. What's the use of a glib tongue if there isn't a heart +with it? What's the use of a lot of tinsel and lacker, if the real +metal isn't there? Sir Felix Carbury could talk, I dare say, but you +don't think now he was a very fine fellow."</p> + +<p>"He was so beautiful, Mrs. Hurtle!"</p> + +<p>"But he hadn't the spirit of a mouse in his bosom. Well, Ruby, you +have one more choice left you. Shall it be John Crumb or Mrs. +Buggins?"</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't come, Mrs. Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"Leave that to me, Ruby. May I bring him if I can?" Then Ruby in a +very low whisper told Mrs. Hurtle, that if she thought proper she +might bring John Crumb back again. "And there shall be no more +nonsense?"</p> + +<p>"No," whispered Ruby.</p> + +<p>On that same night a letter was sent to Mrs. Buggins, which Mrs. +Hurtle also composed, informing that lady that unforeseen +circumstances prevented Ruby Ruggles from keeping the engagement she +had made; to which a verbal answer was returned that Ruby Ruggles was +an impudent hussey. And then Mrs. Hurtle in her own name wrote a +short note to Mr. John Crumb.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Mr. Crumb</span>,</p> + +<p>If you will come back to London I think you will find Miss Ruby +Ruggles all that you desire.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Yours faithfully,</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Winifred Hurtle</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>"She's had a deal more done for her than I ever knew to be done for +young women in my time," said Mrs. Pipkin, "and I'm not at all so +sure that she has deserved it."</p> + +<p>"John Crumb will think she has."</p> + +<p>"John Crumb's a fool;—and as to Ruby; well, I haven't got no +patience with girls like them. Yes; it is for the best; and as for +you, Mrs. Hurtle, there's no words to say how good you've been. I +hope, Mrs. Hurtle, you ain't thinking of going away because this is +all done."</p> + + +<p><a id="c81"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXXI.</h3> +<h4>MR. COHENLUPE LEAVES LONDON.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Dolly Longestaffe had found himself compelled to go to Fetter Lane +immediately after that meeting in Bruton Street at which he had +consented to wait two days longer for the payment of his money. This +was on a Wednesday, the day appointed for the payment being Friday. +He had undertaken that, on his part, Squercum should be made to +desist from further immediate proceedings, and he could only carry +out his word by visiting Squercum. The trouble to him was very great, +but he began to feel that he almost liked it. The excitement was +nearly as good as that of loo. Of course it was a "horrid +bore,"—this having to go about in cabs under the sweltering sun of a +London July day. Of course it was a "horrid bore,"—this doubt about +his money. And it went altogether against the grain with him that he +should be engaged in any matter respecting the family property in +agreement with his father and Mr. Bideawhile. But there was an +importance in it that sustained him amidst his troubles. It is said +that if you were to take a man of moderate parts and make him Prime +Minister out of hand, he might probably do as well as other Prime +Ministers, the greatness of the work elevating the man to its own +level. In that way Dolly was elevated to the level of a man of +business, and felt and enjoyed his own capacity. "By George!" It +depended chiefly upon him whether such a man as Melmotte should or +should not be charged before the Lord Mayor. "Perhaps I oughtn't to +have promised," he said to Squercum, sitting in the lawyer's office +on a high-legged stool with a cigar in his mouth. He preferred +Squercum to any other lawyer he had met because Squercum's room was +untidy and homely, because there was nothing awful about it, and +because he could sit in what position he pleased, and smoke all the +time.</p> + +<p>"Well; I don't think you ought, if you ask me," said Squercum.</p> + +<p>"You weren't there to be asked, old fellow."</p> + +<p>"Bideawhile shouldn't have asked you to agree to anything in my +absence," said Squercum indignantly. "It was a very unprofessional +thing on his part, and so I shall take an opportunity of telling +him."</p> + +<p>"It was you told me to go."</p> + +<p>"Well;—yes. I wanted you to see what they were at in that room; but +I told you to look on and say nothing."</p> + +<p>"I didn't speak half-a-dozen words."</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't have spoken those words. Your father then is quite +clear that you did not sign the letter?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes;—the governor is pig-headed, you know, but he's honest."</p> + +<p>"That's a matter of course," said the lawyer. "All men are honest; +but they are generally specially honest to their own side. +Bideawhile's honest; but you've got to fight him deuced close to +prevent his getting the better of you. Melmotte has promised to pay +the money on Friday, has he?"</p> + +<p>"He's to bring it with him to Bruton Street."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe a word of it;—and I'm sure Bideawhile doesn't. In +what shape will he bring it? He'll give you a cheque dated on Monday, +and that'll give him two days more, and then on Monday there'll be a +note to say the money can't be lodged till Wednesday. There should be +no compromising with such a man. You only get from one mess into +another. I told you neither to do anything or to say anything."</p> + +<p>"I suppose we can't help ourselves now. You're to be there on Friday. +I particularly bargained for that. If you're there, there won't be +any more compromising."</p> + +<p>Squercum made one or two further remarks to his client, not at all +flattering to Dolly's vanity,—which might have caused offence had +not there been such perfectly good feeling between the attorney and +the young man. As it was Dolly replied to everything that was said +with increased flattery. "If I was a sharp fellow like you, you +know," said Dolly, "of course I should get along better; but I ain't, +you know." It was then settled that they should meet each other, and +also meet Mr. Longestaffe senior, Bideawhile, and Melmotte, at twelve +o'clock on Friday morning in Bruton Street.</p> + +<p>Squercum was by no means satisfied. He had busied himself in this +matter, and had ferreted things out, till he had pretty nearly got to +the bottom of that affair about the houses in the East, and had +managed to induce the heirs of the old man who had died to employ +him. As to the Pickering property he had not a doubt on the subject. +Old Longestaffe had been induced by promises of wonderful aid and by +the bribe of a seat at the Board of the South Central Pacific and +Mexican Railway to give up the title-deeds of the property,—as far +as it was in his power to give them up; and had endeavoured to induce +Dolly to do so also. As he had failed, Melmotte had supplemented his +work by ingenuity, with which the reader is acquainted. All this was +perfectly clear to Squercum, who thought that he saw before him a +most attractive course of proceeding against the Great Financier. It +was pure ambition rather than any hope of lucre that urged him on. He +regarded Melmotte as a grand swindler,—perhaps the grandest that the +world had ever known,—and he could conceive no greater honour than +the detection, successful prosecution, and ultimate destroying of so +great a man. To have hunted down Melmotte would make Squercum as +great almost as Melmotte himself. But he felt himself to have been +unfairly hampered by his own client. He did not believe that the +money would be paid; but delay might rob him of his Melmotte. He had +heard a good many things in the City, and believed it to be quite out +of the question that Melmotte should raise the money,—but there were +various ways in which a man might escape.</p> + +<p>It may be remembered that Croll, the German clerk, preceded Melmotte +into the City on Wednesday after Marie's refusal to sign the deeds. +He, too, had his eyes open, and had perceived that things were not +looking as well as they used to look. Croll had for many years been +true to his patron, having been, upon the whole, very well paid for +such truth. There had been times when things had gone badly with him, +but he had believed in Melmotte, and, when Melmotte rose, had been +rewarded for his faith. Mr. Croll at the present time had little +investments of his own, not made under his employer's auspices, which +would leave him not absolutely without bread for his family should +the Melmotte affairs at any time take an awkward turn. Melmotte had +never required from him service that was actually fraudulent,—had at +any rate never required it by spoken words. Mr. Croll had not been +over-scrupulous, and had occasionally been very useful to Mr. +Melmotte. But there must be a limit to all things; and why should any +man sacrifice himself beneath the ruins of a falling house,—when +convinced that nothing he can do can prevent the fall? Mr. Croll +would have been of course happy to witness Miss Melmotte's signature; +but as for that other kind of witnessing,—this clearly to his +thinking was not the time for such good-nature on his part.</p> + +<p>"You know what's up now;—don't you?" said one of the junior clerks +to Mr. Croll when he entered the office in Abchurch Lane.</p> + +<p>"A good deal will be up soon," said the German.</p> + +<p>"Cohenlupe has gone!"</p> + +<p>"And to vere has Mr. Cohenlupe gone?"</p> + +<p>"He hasn't been civil enough to leave his address. I fancy he don't +want his friends to have to trouble themselves by writing to him. +Nobody seems to know what's become of him."</p> + +<p>"New York," suggested Mr. Croll.</p> + +<p>"They seem to think not. They're too hospitable in New York for Mr. +Cohenlupe just at present. He's travelling private. He's on the +continent somewhere,—half across France by this time; but nobody +knows what route he has taken. That'll be a poke in the ribs for the +old boy;—eh, Croll?" Croll merely shook his head. "I wonder what has +become of Miles Grendall," continued the clerk.</p> + +<p>"Ven de rats is going avay it is bad for de house. I like de rats to +stay."</p> + +<p>"There seems to have been a regular manufactory of Mexican Railway +scrip."</p> + +<p>"Our governor knew noding about dat," said Croll.</p> + +<p>"He has a hat full of them at any rate. If they could have been kept +up another fortnight they say Cohenlupe would have been worth nearly +a million of money, and the governor would have been as good as the +bank. Is it true they are going to have him before the Lord Mayor +about the Pickering title-deeds?" Croll declared that he knew nothing +about the matter, and settled himself down to his work.</p> + +<p>In little more than two hours he was followed by Melmotte, who thus +reached the City late in the afternoon. It was he knew too late to +raise the money on that day, but he hoped that he might pave the way +for getting it on the next day, which would be Thursday. Of course +the first news which he heard was of the defection of Mr. Cohenlupe. +It was Croll who told him. He turned back, and his jaw fell, but at +first he said nothing. "It's a bad thing," said Mr. Croll.</p> + +<p>"Yes;—it is bad. He had a vast amount of my property in his hands. +Where has he gone?" Croll shook his head. "It never rains but it +pours," said Melmotte. "Well; I'll weather it all yet. I've been +worse than I am now, Croll, as you know, and have had a hundred +thousand pounds at my banker's,—loose cash,—before the month was +out."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," said Croll.</p> + +<p>"But the worst of it is that every one around me is so damnably +jealous. It isn't what I've lost that will crush me, but what men +will say that I've lost. Ever since I began to stand for Westminster +there has been a dead set against me in the City. The whole of that +affair of the dinner was planned,—planned by +<span class="nowrap">G——,</span> that it might +ruin me. It was all laid out just as you would lay the foundation of +a building. It is hard for one man to stand against all that when he +has dealings so large as mine."</p> + +<p>"Very hard, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"But they'll find they're mistaken yet. There's too much of the real +stuff, Croll, for them to crush me. Property's a kind of thing that +comes out right at last. It's cut and come again, you know, if the +stuff is really there. But I mustn't stop talking here. I suppose I +shall find Brehgert in Cuthbert's Court."</p> + +<p>"I should say so, Mr. Melmotte. Mr. Brehgert never leaves much before +six."</p> + +<p>Then Mr. Melmotte took his hat and gloves, and the stick that he +usually carried, and went out with his face carefully dressed in its +usually jaunty air. But Croll as he went heard him mutter the name of +Cohenlupe between his teeth. The part which he had to act is one very +difficult to any actor. The carrying an external look of indifference +when the heart is sinking within,—or has sunk almost to the very +ground,—is more than difficult; it is an agonizing task. In all +mental suffering the sufferer longs for solitude,—for permission to +cast himself loose along the ground, so that every limb and every +feature of his person may faint in sympathy with his heart. A grandly +urbane deportment over a crushed spirit and ruined hopes is beyond +the physical strength of most men;—but there have been men so +strong. Melmotte very nearly accomplished it. It was only to the eyes +of such a one as Herr Croll that the failure was perceptible.</p> + +<p>Melmotte did find Mr. Brehgert. At this time Mr. Brehgert had +completed his correspondence with Miss Longestaffe, in which he had +mentioned the probability of great losses from the anticipated +commercial failure in Mr. Melmotte's affairs. He had now heard that +Mr. Cohenlupe had gone upon his travels, and was therefore nearly +sure that his anticipation would be correct. Nevertheless, he +received his old friend with a smile. When large sums of money are +concerned there is seldom much of personal indignation between man +and man. The loss of fifty pounds or of a few hundreds may create +personal wrath;—but fifty thousand require equanimity. "So Cohenlupe +hasn't been seen in the City to-day," said Brehgert.</p> + +<p>"He has gone," said Melmotte hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"I think I once told you that Cohenlupe was not the man for large +dealings."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you did," said Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"Well;—it can't be helped; can it? And what is it now?" Then +Melmotte explained to Mr. Brehgert what it was that he wanted then, +taking the various documents out of the bag which throughout the +afternoon he had carried in his hand. Mr. Brehgert understood enough +of his friend's affairs, and enough of affairs in general, to +understand readily all that was required. He examined the documents, +declaring as he did so that he did not know how the thing could be +arranged by Friday. Melmotte replied that £50,000 was not a very +large sum of money, that the security offered was worth twice as much +as that. "You will leave them with me this evening," said Brehgert. +Melmotte paused for a moment, and said that he would of course do so. +He would have given much, very much, to have been sufficiently master +of himself to have assented without hesitation;—but then the weight +within was so very heavy!</p> + +<p>Having left the papers and the bag with Mr. Brehgert, he walked +westwards to the House of Commons. He was accustomed to remain in the +City later than this, often not leaving it till seven,—though during +the last week or ten days he had occasionally gone down to the House +in the afternoon. It was now Wednesday, and there was no evening +sitting;—but his mind was too full of other things to allow him to +remember this. As he walked along the Embankment, his thoughts were +very heavy. How would things go with him?—What would be the end of +it? Ruin;—yes, but there were worse things than ruin. And a short +time since he had been so fortunate;—had made himself so safe! As he +looked back at it, he could hardly say how it had come to pass that +he had been driven out of the track that he had laid down for +himself. He had known that ruin would come, and had made himself so +comfortably safe, so brilliantly safe, in spite of ruin. But insane +ambition had driven him away from his anchorage. He told himself over +and over again that the fault had been not in circumstances,—not in +that which men call Fortune,—but in his own incapacity to bear his +position. He saw it now. He felt it now. If he could only begin +again, how different would his conduct be!</p> + +<p>But of what avail were such regrets as these? He must take things as +they were now, and see that, in dealing with them, he allowed himself +to be carried away neither by pride nor cowardice. And if the worst +should come to the worst, then let him face it like a man! There was +a certain manliness about him which showed itself perhaps as strongly +in his own self-condemnation as in any other part of his conduct at +this time. Judging of himself, as though he were standing outside +himself and looking on to another man's work, he pointed out to +himself his own shortcomings. If it were all to be done again he +thought that he could avoid this bump against the rocks on one side, +and that terribly shattering blow on the other. There was much that +he was ashamed of,—many a little act which recurred to him vividly +in this solitary hour as a thing to be repented of with inner +sackcloth and ashes. But never once, not for a moment, did it occur +to him that he should repent of the fraud in which his whole life had +been passed. No idea ever crossed his mind of what might have been +the result had he lived the life of an honest man. Though he was +inquiring into himself as closely as he could, he never even told +himself that he had been dishonest. Fraud and dishonesty had been the +very principle of his life, and had so become a part of his blood and +bones that even in this extremity of his misery he made no question +within himself as to his right judgment in regard to them. Not to +cheat, not to be a scoundrel, not to live more luxuriously than +others by cheating more brilliantly, was a condition of things to +which his mind had never turned itself. In that respect he accused +himself of no want of judgment. But why had he, so unrighteous +himself, not made friends to himself of the Mammon of +unrighteousness? Why had he not conciliated Lord Mayors? Why had he +trod upon all the corns of all his neighbours? Why had he been +insolent at the India Office? Why had he trusted any man as he had +trusted Cohenlupe? Why had he not stuck to Abchurch Lane instead of +going into Parliament? Why had he called down unnecessary notice on +his head by entertaining the Emperor of China? It was too late now, +and he must bear it; but these were the things that had ruined him.</p> + +<p>He walked into Palace Yard and across it, to the door of Westminster +Abbey, before he found out that Parliament was not sitting. "Oh, +Wednesday! Of course it is," he said, turning round and directing his +steps towards Grosvenor Square. Then he remembered that in the +morning he had declared his purpose of dining at home, and now he did +not know what better use to make of the present evening. His house +could hardly be very comfortable to him. Marie no doubt would keep +out of his way, and he did not habitually receive much pleasure from +his wife's company. But in his own house he could at least be alone. +Then, as he walked slowly across the park, thinking so intently on +matters as hardly to observe whether he himself were observed or no, +he asked himself whether it still might not be best for him to keep +the money which was settled on his daughter, to tell the Longestaffes +that he could make no payment, and to face the worst that Mr. +Squercum could do to him,—for he knew already how busy Mr. Squercum +was in the matter. Though they should put him on his trial for +forgery, what of that? He had heard of trials in which the accused +criminals had been heroes to the multitude while their cases were in +progress,—who had been fêted from the beginning to the end though no +one had doubted their guilt,—and who had come out unscathed at the +last. What evidence had they against him? It might be that the +Longestaffes and Bideawhiles and Squercums should know that he was a +forger, but their knowledge would not produce a verdict. He, as +member for Westminster, as the man who had entertained the Emperor, +as the owner of one of the most gorgeous houses in London, as the +great Melmotte, could certainly command the best half of the bar. He +already felt what popular support might do for him. Surely there need +be no despondency while so good a hope remained to him! He did +tremble as he remembered Dolly Longestaffe's letter, and the letter +of the old man who was dead. And he knew that it was possible that +other things might be adduced; but would it not be better to face it +all than surrender his money and become a pauper, seeing, as he did +very clearly, that even by such surrender he could not cleanse his +character?</p> + +<p>But he had given those forged documents into the hands of Mr. +Brehgert! Again he had acted in a hurry,—without giving sufficient +thought to the matter in hand. He was angry with himself for that +also. But how is a man to give sufficient thought to his affairs when +no step that he takes can be other than ruinous? Yes;—he had +certainly put into Brehgert's hands means of proving him to have been +absolutely guilty of forgery. He did not think that Marie would +disclaim the signatures, even though she had refused to sign the +deeds, when she should understand that her father had written her +name; nor did he think that his clerk would be urgent against him, as +the forgery of Croll's name could not injure Croll. But Brehgert, +should he discover what had been done, would certainly not permit him +to escape. And now he had put these forgeries without any guard into +Brehgert's hands.</p> + +<p>He would tell Brehgert in the morning that he had changed his mind. +He would see Brehgert before any action could have been taken on the +documents, and Brehgert would no doubt restore them to him. Then he +would instruct his daughter to hold the money fast, to sign no paper +that should be put before her, and to draw the income herself. Having +done that, he would let his foes do their worst. They might drag him +to gaol. They probably would do so. He had an idea that he could not +be admitted to bail if accused of forgery. But he would bear all +that. If convicted he would bear the punishment, still hoping that an +end might come. But how great was the chance that they might fail to +convict him! As to the dead man's letter, and as to Dolly +Longestaffe's letter, he did not think that any sufficient evidence +could be found. The evidence as to the deeds by which Marie was to +have released the property was indeed conclusive; but he believed +that he might still recover those documents. For the present it must +be his duty to do nothing,—when he should have recovered and +destroyed those documents,—and to live before the eyes of men as +though he feared nothing.</p> + +<p>He dined at home alone, in the study, and after dinner carefully went +through various bundles of papers, preparing them for the eyes of +those ministers of the law who would probably before long have the +privilege of searching them. At dinner, and while he was thus +employed, he drank a bottle of champagne,—feeling himself greatly +comforted by the process. If he could only hold up his head and look +men in the face, he thought that he might still live through it all. +How much had he done by his own unassisted powers! He had once been +imprisoned for fraud at Hamburgh, and had come out of gaol a pauper; +friendless, with all his wretched antecedents against him. Now he was +a member of the British House of Parliament, the undoubted owner of +perhaps the most gorgeously furnished house in London, a man with an +established character for high finance,—a commercial giant whose +name was a familiar word on all the exchanges of the two hemispheres. +Even though he should be condemned to penal servitude for life, he +would not all die. He rang the bell and desired that Madame Melmotte +might be sent to him, and bade the servant bring him brandy.</p> + +<p>In ten minutes his poor wife came crawling into the room. Every one +connected with Melmotte regarded the man with a certain amount of +awe,—every one except Marie, to whom alone he had at times been +himself almost gentle. The servants all feared him, and his wife +obeyed him implicitly when she could not keep away from him. She came +in now and stood opposite to him, while he spoke to her. She never +sat in his presence in that room. He asked her where she and Marie +kept their jewelry;—for during the last twelvemonths rich trinkets +had been supplied to both of them. Of course she answered by another +question. "Is anything going to happen, Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"A good deal is going to happen. Are they here in this house, or in +Grosvenor Square?"</p> + +<p>"They are here."</p> + +<p>"Then have them all packed up,—as small as you can; never mind about +wool and cases and all that. Have them close to your hand so that if +you have to move you can take them with you. Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I understand."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you speak, then?"</p> + +<p>"What is going to happen, Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"How can I tell? You ought to know by this time that when a man's +work is such as mine, things will happen. You'll be safe enough. +Nothing can hurt you."</p> + +<p>"Can they hurt you, Melmotte?"</p> + +<p>"Hurt me! I don't know what you call hurting. Whatever there is to be +borne, I suppose it is I must bear it. I have not had it very soft +all my life hitherto, and I don't think it's going to be very soft +now."</p> + +<p>"Shall we have to move?"</p> + +<p>"Very likely. Move! What's the harm of moving? You talk of moving as +though that were the worst thing that could happen. How would you +like to be in some place where they wouldn't let you move?"</p> + +<p>"Are they going to send you to prison?"</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Melmotte;—are they going to?" Then the poor woman did sit +down, overcome by her feelings.</p> + +<p>"I didn't ask you to come here for a scene," said Melmotte. "Do as I +bid you about your own jewels, and Marie's. The thing is to have them +in small compass, and that you should not have it to do at the last +moment, when you will be flurried and incapable. Now you needn't stay +any longer, and it's no good asking any questions because I shan't +answer them." So dismissed, the poor woman crept out again, and +immediately, after her own slow fashion, went to work with her +ornaments.</p> + +<p>Melmotte sat up during the greater part of the night, sometimes +sipping brandy and water, and sometimes smoking. But he did no work, +and hardly touched a paper after his wife left him.</p> + + +<p><a id="c82"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXXII.</h3> +<h4>MARIE'S PERSEVERANCE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Very early the next morning, very early that is for London life, +Melmotte was told by a servant that Mr. Croll had called and wanted +to see him. Then it immediately became a question with him whether he +wanted to see Croll. "Is it anything special?" he asked. The man +thought that it was something special, as Croll had declared his +purpose of waiting when told that Mr. Melmotte was not as yet +dressed. This happened at about nine o'clock in the morning. Melmotte +longed to know every detail of Croll's manner,—to know even the +servant's opinion of the clerk's manner,—but he did not dare to ask +a question. Melmotte thought that it might be well to be gracious. +"Ask him if he has breakfasted, and if not give him something in the +study." But Mr. Croll had breakfasted and declined any further +refreshment.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless Melmotte had not as yet made up his mind that he would +meet his clerk. His clerk was his clerk. It might perhaps be well +that he should first go into the City and send word to Croll, bidding +him wait for his return. Over and over again, against his will, the +question of flying would present itself to him; but, though he +discussed it within his own bosom in every form, he knew that he +could not fly. And if he stood his ground,—as most assuredly he +would do,—then must he not be afraid to meet any man, let the man +come with what thunderbolts in his hand he might. Of course sooner or +later some man must come with a thunderbolt,—and why not Croll as +well as another? He stood against a press in his chamber, with a +razor in his hand, and steadied himself. How easily might he put an +end to it all! Then he rang his bell and desired that Croll might be +shown up into his room.</p> + +<p>The three or four minutes which intervened seemed to him to be very +long. He had absolutely forgotten in his anxiety that the lather was +still upon his face. But he could not smother his anxiety. He was +fighting with it at every turn, but he could not conquer it. When the +knock came at his door, he grasped at his own breast as though to +support himself. With a hoarse voice he told the man to come in, and +Croll himself appeared, opening the door gently and very slowly. +Melmotte had left the bag which contained the papers in possession of +Mr. Brehgert, and he now saw, at a glance, that Croll had got the bag +in his hand,—and could see also by the shape of the bag that the bag +contained the papers. The man therefore had in his own hands, in his +own keeping, the very documents to which his own name had been +forged! There was no longer a hope, no longer a chance that Croll +should be ignorant of what had been done. "Well, Croll," he said with +an attempt at a smile, "what brings you here so early?" He was pale +as death, and let him struggle as he would, could not restrain +himself from trembling.</p> + +<p>"Herr Brehgert vas vid me last night," said Croll.</p> + +<p>"Eh!"</p> + +<p>"And he thought I had better bring these back to you. That's all." +Croll spoke in a very low voice, with his eyes fixed on his master's +face, but with nothing of a threat in his attitude or manner.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill082"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill082.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill082-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"He thought I had better + bring these back to you."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"He thought I had better bring these back to you."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill082.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"Eh!" repeated Melmotte. Even though he might have saved himself from +all coming evils by a bold demeanour at that moment, he could not +assume it. But it all flashed upon him at a moment. Brehgert had seen +Croll after he, Melmotte, had left the City, had then discovered the +forgery, and had taken this way of sending back all the forged +documents. He had known Brehgert to be of all men who ever lived the +most good-natured, but he could hardly believe in pure good-nature +such as this. It seemed that the thunderbolt was not yet to fall.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Brehgert came to me," continued Croll, "because one signature +was wanting. It was very late, so I took them home with me. I said +I'd bring them to you in the morning."</p> + +<p>They both knew that he had forged the documents, Brehgert and Croll; +but how would that concern him, Melmotte, if these two friends had +resolved together that they would not expose him? He had desired to +get the documents back into his own hands, and here they were! +Melmotte's immediate trouble arose from the difficulty of speaking in +a proper manner to his own servant who had just detected him in +forgery. He couldn't speak. There were no words appropriate to such +an occasion. "It vas a strong order, Mr. Melmotte," said Croll. +Melmotte tried to smile but only grinned. "I vill not be back in the +Lane, Mr. Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"Not back at the office, Croll?"</p> + +<p>"I tink not;—no. De leetle money coming to me, you will send it. +Adieu." And so Mr. Croll took his final leave of his old master after +an intercourse which had lasted twenty years. We may imagine that +Herr Croll found his spirits to be oppressed and his capacity for +business to be obliterated by his patron's misfortunes rather than by +his patron's guilt. But he had not behaved unkindly. He had merely +remarked that the forgery of his own name half-a-dozen times over was +a "strong order."</p> + +<p>Melmotte opened the bag, and examined the documents one by one. It +had been necessary that Marie should sign her name some half-dozen +times, and Marie's father had made all the necessary forgeries. It +had been of course necessary that each name should be witnessed;—but +here the forger had scamped his work. Croll's name he had written +five times; but one forged signature he had left unattested! Again he +had himself been at fault. Again he had aided his own ruin by his own +carelessness. One seems inclined to think sometimes that any fool +might do an honest business. But fraud requires a man to be alive and +wide awake at every turn!</p> + +<p>Melmotte had desired to have the documents back in his own hands, and +now he had them. Did it matter much that Brehgert and Croll both knew +the crime which he had committed? Had they meant to take legal steps +against him they would not have returned the forgeries to his own +hands. Brehgert, he thought, would never tell the tale,—unless there +should arise some most improbable emergency in which he might make +money by telling it; but he was by no means so sure of Croll. Croll +had signified his intention of leaving Melmotte's service, and would +therefore probably enter some rival service, and thus become an enemy +to his late master. There could be no reason why Croll should keep +the secret. Even if he got no direct profit by telling it, he would +curry favour by making it known. Of course Croll would tell it.</p> + +<p>But what harm could the telling of such a secret do him? The girl was +his own daughter! The money had been his own money! The man had been +his own servant! There had been no fraud; no robbery; no purpose of +peculation. Melmotte, as he thought of this, became almost proud of +what he had done, thinking that if the evidence were suppressed the +knowledge of the facts could do him no harm. But the evidence must be +suppressed, and with the view of suppressing it he took the little +bag and all the papers down with him to the study. Then he ate his +breakfast,—and suppressed the evidence by the aid of his gas lamp.</p> + +<p>When this was accomplished he hesitated as to the manner in which he +would pass his day. He had now given up all idea of raising the money +for Longestaffe. He had even considered the language in which he +would explain to the assembled gentlemen on the morrow the fact that +a little difficulty still presented itself, and that as he could not +exactly name a day, he must leave the matter in their hands. For he +had resolved that he would not evade the meeting. Cohenlupe had gone +since he had made his promise, and he would throw all the blame on +Cohenlupe. Everybody knows that when panics arise the breaking of one +merchant causes the downfall of another. Cohenlupe should bear the +burden. But as that must be so, he could do no good by going into the +City. His pecuniary downfall had now become too much a matter of +certainty to be staved off by his presence; and his personal security +could hardly be assisted by it. There would be nothing for him to do. +Cohenlupe had gone. Miles Grendall had gone. Croll had gone. He could +hardly go to Cuthbert's Court and face Mr. Brehgert! He would stay at +home till it was time for him to go down to the House, and then he +would face the world there. He would dine down at the House, and +stand about in the smoking-room with his hat on, and be visible in +the lobbies, and take his seat among his brother legislators,—and, +if it were possible, rise on his legs and make a speech to them. He +was about to have a crushing fall,—but the world should say that he +had fallen like a man.</p> + +<p>About eleven his daughter came to him as he sat in the study. It can +hardly be said that he had ever been kind to Marie, but perhaps she +was the only person who in the whole course of his career had +received indulgence at his hands. He had often beaten her; but he had +also often made her presents and smiled on her, and in the periods of +his opulence, had allowed her pocket-money almost without limit. Now +she had not only disobeyed him, but by most perverse obstinacy on her +part had driven him to acts of forgery which had already been +detected. He had cause to be angry now with Marie if he had ever had +cause for anger. But he had almost forgotten the transaction. He had +at any rate forgotten the violence of his own feelings at the time of +its occurrence. He was no longer anxious that the release should be +made, and therefore no longer angry with her for her refusal.</p> + +<p>"Papa," she said, coming very gently into the room, "I think that +perhaps I was wrong yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Of course you were wrong;—but it doesn't matter now."</p> + +<p>"If you wish it I'll sign those papers. I don't suppose Lord +Nidderdale means to come any more;—and I'm sure I don't care whether +he does or not."</p> + +<p>"What makes you think that, Marie?"</p> + +<p>"I was out last night at Lady Julia Goldsheiner's, and he was there. +I'm sure he doesn't mean to come here any more."</p> + +<p>"Was he uncivil to you?"</p> + +<p>"O dear no. He's never uncivil. But I'm sure of it. Never mind how. I +never told him that I cared for him and I never did care for him. +Papa, is there something going to happen?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Some misfortune! Oh, papa, why didn't you let me marry that other +man?"</p> + +<p>"He is a penniless adventurer."</p> + +<p>"But he would have had this money that I call my money, and then +there would have been enough for us all. Papa, he would marry me +still if you would let him."</p> + +<p>"Have you seen him since you went to Liverpool?"</p> + +<p>"Never, papa."</p> + +<p>"Or heard from him?"</p> + +<p>"Not a line."</p> + +<p>"Then what makes you think he would marry you?"</p> + +<p>"He would if I got hold of him and told him. And he is a baronet. And +there would be plenty of money for us all. And we could go and live +in Germany."</p> + +<p>"We could do that just as well without your marrying."</p> + +<p>"But I suppose, papa, I am to be considered as somebody. I don't want +after all to run away from London, just as if everybody had turned up +their noses at me. I like him, and I don't like anybody else."</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't take the trouble to go to Liverpool with you."</p> + +<p>"He got tipsy. I know all about that. I don't mean to say that he's +anything particularly grand. I don't know that anybody is very grand. +He's as good as anybody else."</p> + +<p>"It can't be done, Marie."</p> + +<p>"Why can't it be done?"</p> + +<p>"There are a dozen reasons. Why should my money be given up to him? +And it is too late. There are other things to be thought of now than +marriage."</p> + +<p>"You don't want me to sign the papers?"</p> + +<p>"No;—I haven't got the papers. But I want you to remember that the +money is mine and not yours. It may be that much may depend on you, +and that I shall have to trust to you for nearly everything. Do not +let me find myself deceived by my daughter."</p> + +<p>"I won't,—if you'll let me see Sir Felix Carbury once more."</p> + +<p>Then the father's pride again reasserted itself and he became angry. +"I tell you, you little fool, that it is out of the question. Why +cannot you believe me? Has your mother spoken to you about your +jewels? Get them packed up, so that you can carry them away in your +hand if we have to leave this suddenly. You are an idiot to think of +that young man. As you say, I don't know that any of them are very +good, but among them all he is about the worst. Go away and do as I +bid you."</p> + +<p>That afternoon the page in Welbeck Street came up to Lady Carbury and +told her that there was a young lady down-stairs who wanted to see +Sir Felix. At this time the dominion of Sir Felix in his mother's +house had been much curtailed. His latch-key had been surreptitiously +taken away from him, and all messages brought for him reached his +hands through those of his mother. The plasters were not removed from +his face, so that he was still subject to that loss of self-assertion +with which we are told that hitherto dominant cocks become afflicted +when they have been daubed with mud. Lady Carbury asked sundry +questions about the lady, suspecting that Ruby Ruggles, of whom she +had heard, had come to seek her lover. The page could give no special +description, merely saying that the young lady wore a black veil. +Lady Carbury directed that the young lady should be shown into her +own presence,—and Marie Melmotte was ushered into the room. "I dare +say you don't remember me, Lady Carbury," Marie said. "I am Marie +Melmotte."</p> + +<p>At first Lady Carbury had not recognised her visitor;—but she did so +before she replied. "Yes, Miss Melmotte, I remember you."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I am Mr. Melmotte's daughter. How is your son? I hope he is +better. They told me he had been horribly used by a dreadful man in +the street."</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Miss Melmotte. He is getting better." Now Lady Carbury had +heard within the last two days from Mr. Broune that "it was all over" +with Melmotte. Broune had declared his very strong belief, his +thorough conviction, that Melmotte had committed various forgeries, +that his speculations had gone so much against him as to leave him a +ruined man, and, in short, that the great Melmotte bubble was on the +very point of bursting. "Everybody says that he'll be in gaol before +a week is over." That was the information which had reached Lady +Carbury about the Melmottes only on the previous evening.</p> + +<p>"I want to see him," said Marie. Lady Carbury, hardly knowing what +answer to make, was silent for a while. "I suppose he told you +everything;—didn't he? You know that we were to have been married? I +loved him very much, and so I do still. I am not ashamed of coming +and telling you."</p> + +<p>"I thought it was all off," said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"I never said so. Does he say so? Your daughter came to me and was +very good to me. I do so love her. She said that it was all over; but +perhaps she was wrong. It shan't be all over if he will be true."</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury was taken greatly by surprise. It seemed to her at the +moment that this young lady, knowing that her own father was ruined, +was looking out for another home, and was doing so with a +considerable amount of audacity. She gave Marie little credit either +for affection or for generosity; but yet she was unwilling to answer +her roughly. "I am afraid," she said, "that it would not be +suitable."</p> + +<p>"Why should it not be suitable? They can't take my money away. There +is enough for all of us even if papa wanted to live with us;—but it +is mine. It is ever so much;—I don't know how much, but a great +deal. We should be quite rich enough. I ain't a bit ashamed to come +and tell you, because we were engaged. I know he isn't rich, and I +should have thought it would be suitable."</p> + +<p>It then occurred to Lady Carbury that if this were true the marriage +after all might be suitable. But how was she to find out whether it +was true? "I understand that your papa is opposed to it," she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is;—but papa can't prevent me, and papa can't make me give +up the money. It's ever so many thousands a year, I know. If I can +dare to do it, why can't he?"</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury was so beside herself with doubts, that she found it +impossible to form any decision. It would be necessary that she +should see Mr. Broune. What to do with her son, how to bestow him, in +what way to get rid of him so that in ridding herself of him she +might not aid in destroying him,—this was the great trouble of her +life, the burden that was breaking her back. Now this girl was not +only willing but persistently anxious to take her black sheep and to +endow him,—as she declared,—with ever so many thousands a year. If +the thousands were there,—or even an income of a single thousand a +year,—then what a blessing would such a marriage be! Sir Felix had +already fallen so low that his mother on his behalf would not be +justified in declining a connection with the Melmottes because the +Melmottes had fallen. To get any niche in the world for him in which +he might live with comparative safety would now be to her a +heaven-sent comfort. "My son is up-stairs," she said. "I will go up +and speak to him."</p> + +<p>"Tell him I am here and that I have said that I will forgive him +everything, and that I love him still, and that if he will be true to +me, I will be true to him."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't go down to her," said Sir Felix, "with my face all in +this way."</p> + +<p>"I don't think she would mind that."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't do it. Besides, I don't believe about her money. I never +did believe it. That was the real reason why I didn't go to +Liverpool."</p> + +<p>"I think I would see her if I were you, Felix. We could find out to a +certainty about her fortune. It is evident at any rate that she is +very fond of you."</p> + +<p>"What's the use of that, if he is ruined?" He would not go down to +see the girl,—because he could not endure to expose his face, and +was ashamed of the wounds which he had received in the street. As +regarded the money he half-believed and half-disbelieved Marie's +story. But the fruition of the money, if it were within his reach, +would be far off and to be attained with much trouble; whereas the +nuisance of a scene with Marie would be immediate. How could he kiss +his future bride, with his nose bound up with a bandage?</p> + +<p>"What shall I say to her?" asked his mother.</p> + +<p>"She oughtn't to have come. I should tell her just that. You might +send the maid to her to tell her that you couldn't see her again."</p> + +<p>But Lady Carbury could not treat the girl after that fashion. She +returned to the drawing-room, descending the stairs very slowly, and +thinking what answer she would make. "Miss Melmotte," she said, "my +son feels that everything has been so changed since he and you last +met, that nothing can be gained by a renewal of your acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"That is his message;—is it?" Lady Carbury remained silent. "Then he +is indeed all that they have told me; and I am ashamed that I should +have loved him. I am ashamed;—not of coming here, although you will +think that I have run after him. I don't see why a girl should not +run after a man if they have been engaged together. But I'm ashamed +of thinking so much of so mean a person. Good-bye, Lady Carbury."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Miss Melmotte. I don't think you should be angry with me."</p> + +<p>"No;—no. I am not angry with you. You can forget me now as soon as +you please, and I will try to forget him."</p> + +<p>Then with a rapid step she walked back to Bruton Street, going round +by Grosvenor Square and in front of her old house on the way. What +should she now do with herself? What sort of life should she +endeavour to prepare for herself? The life that she had led for the +last year had been thoroughly wretched. The poverty and hardship +which she remembered in her early days had been more endurable. The +servitude to which she had been subjected before she had learned by +intercourse with the world to assert herself, had been preferable. In +these days of her grandeur, in which she had danced with princes, and +seen an emperor in her father's house, and been affianced to lords, +she had encountered degradation which had been abominable to her. She +had really loved;—but had found out that her golden idol was made of +the basest clay. She had then declared to herself that bad as the +clay was she would still love it;—but even the clay had turned away +from her and had refused her love!</p> + +<p>She was well aware that some catastrophe was about to happen to her +father. Catastrophes had happened before, and she had been conscious +of their coming. But now the blow would be a very heavy blow. They +would again be driven to pack up and move and seek some other +city,—probably in some very distant part. But go where she might, +she would now be her own mistress. That was the one resolution she +succeeded in forming before she re-entered the house in Bruton +Street.</p> + + +<p><a id="c83"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXXIII.</h3> +<h4>MELMOTTE AGAIN AT THE HOUSE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>On that Thursday afternoon it was known everywhere that there was to +be a general ruin of all the Melmotte affairs. As soon as Cohenlupe +had gone, no man doubted. The City men who had not gone to the dinner +prided themselves on their foresight, as did also the politicians who +had declined to meet the Emperor of China at the table of the +suspected Financier. They who had got up the dinner and had been +instrumental in taking the Emperor to the house in Grosvenor Square, +and they also who had brought him forward at Westminster and had +fought his battle for him, were aware that they would have to defend +themselves against heavy attacks. No one now had a word to say in his +favour, or a doubt as to his guilt. The Grendalls had retired +altogether out of town, and were no longer even heard of. Lord Alfred +had not been seen since the day of the dinner. The Duchess of Albury, +too, went into the country some weeks earlier than usual, quelled, as +the world said, by the general Melmotte failure. But this departure +had not as yet taken place at the time at which we have now arrived.</p> + +<p>When the Speaker took his seat in the House, soon after four o'clock, +there were a great many members present, and a general feeling +prevailed that the world was more than ordinarily alive because of +Melmotte and his failures. It had been confidently asserted +throughout the morning that he would be put upon his trial for +forgery in reference to the purchase of the Pickering property from +Mr. Longestaffe, and it was known that he had not as yet shown +himself anywhere on this day. People had gone to look at the house in +Grosvenor Square,—not knowing that he was still living in Mr. +Longestaffe's house in Bruton Street, and had come away with the +impression that the desolation of ruin and crime was already plainly +to be seen upon it. "I wonder where he is," said Mr. Lupton to Mr. +Beauchamp Beauclerk in one of the lobbies of the House.</p> + +<p>"They say he hasn't been in the City all day. I suppose he's in +Longestaffe's house. That poor fellow has got it heavy all round. The +man has got his place in the country and his house in town. There's +Nidderdale. I wonder what he thinks about it all."</p> + +<p>"This is awful;—ain't it?" said Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"It might have been worse, I should say, as far as you are +concerned," replied Mr. Lupton.</p> + +<p>"Well, yes. But I'll tell you what, Lupton. I don't quite understand +it all yet. Our lawyer said three days ago that the money was +certainly there."</p> + +<p>"And Cohenlupe was certainly here three days ago," said Lupton;—"but +he isn't here now. It seems to me that it has just happened in time +for you." Lord Nidderdale shook his head and tried to look very +grave.</p> + +<p>"There's Brown," said Sir Orlando Drought, hurrying up to the +commercial gentleman whose mistakes about finance Mr. Melmotte on a +previous occasion had been anxious to correct. "He'll be able to tell +us where he is. It was rumoured, you know, an hour ago, that he was +off to the continent after Cohenlupe." But Mr. Brown shook his head. +Mr. Brown didn't know anything. But Mr. Brown was very strongly of +opinion that the police would know all that there was to be known +about Mr. Melmotte before this time on the following day. Mr. Brown +had been very bitter against Melmotte since that memorable attack +made upon him in the House.</p> + +<p>Even ministers as they sat to be badgered by the ordinary +question-mongers of the day were more intent upon Melmotte than upon +their own defence. "Do you know anything about it?" asked the +Chancellor of the Exchequer of the Secretary of State for the Home +Department.</p> + +<p>"I understand that no order has been given for his arrest. There is a +general opinion that he has committed forgery; but I doubt whether +they've got their evidence together."</p> + +<p>"He's a ruined man, I suppose," said the Chancellor.</p> + +<p>"I doubt whether he ever was a rich man. But I'll tell you what;—he +has been about the grandest rogue we've seen yet. He must have spent +over a hundred thousand pounds during the last twelve months on his +personal expenses. I wonder how the Emperor will like it when he +learns the truth." Another minister sitting close to the Secretary of +State was of opinion that the Emperor of China would not care half so +much about it as our own First Lord of the Treasury.</p> + +<p>At this moment there came a silence over the House which was almost +audible. They who know the sensation which arises from the continued +hum of many suppressed voices will know also how plain to the ear is +the feeling caused by the discontinuance of the sound. Everybody +looked up, but everybody looked up in perfect silence. An +Under-Secretary of State had just got upon his legs to answer a most +indignant question as to an alteration of the colour of the facings +of a certain regiment, his prepared answer to which, however, was so +happy as to allow him to anticipate quite a little triumph. It is not +often that such a Godsend comes in the way of an under-secretary; and +he was intent upon his performance. But even he was startled into +momentary oblivion of his well-arranged point. Augustus Melmotte, the +member for Westminster, was walking up the centre of the House.</p> + +<p>He had succeeded by this time in learning so much of the forms of the +House as to know what to do with his hat,—when to wear it, and when +to take it off,—and how to sit down. As he entered by the door +facing the Speaker, he wore his hat on one side of his head, as was +his custom. Much of the arrogance of his appearance had come from +this habit, which had been adopted probably from a conviction that it +added something to his powers of self-assertion. At this moment he +was more determined than ever that no one should trace in his outer +gait or in any feature of his face any sign of that ruin which, as he +well knew, all men were anticipating. Therefore, perhaps, his hat was +a little more cocked than usual, and the lapels of his coat were +thrown back a little wider, displaying the large jewelled studs which +he wore in his shirt; and the arrogance conveyed by his mouth and +chin was specially conspicuous. He had come down in his brougham, and +as he had walked up Westminster Hall and entered the House by the +private door of the members, and then made his way in across the +great lobby and between the doorkeepers,—no one had spoken a word to +him. He had of course seen many whom he had known. He had indeed +known nearly all whom he had seen;—but he had been aware, from the +beginning of this enterprise of the day, that men would shun him, and +that he must bear their cold looks and colder silence without seeming +to notice them. He had schooled himself to the task, and he was now +performing it. It was not only that he would have to move among men +without being noticed, but that he must endure to pass the whole +evening in the same plight. But he was resolved, and he was now doing +it. He bowed to the Speaker with more than usual courtesy, raising +his hat with more than usual care, and seated himself, as usual, on +the third opposition-bench, but with more than his usual fling. He +was a big man, who always endeavoured to make an effect by +deportment, and was therefore customarily conspicuous in his +movements. He was desirous now of being as he was always, neither +more nor less demonstrative;—but, as a matter of course, he +exceeded; and it seemed to those who looked at him that there was a +special impudence in the manner in which he walked up the House and +took his seat. The Under-Secretary of State, who was on his legs, was +struck almost dumb, and his morsel of wit about the facings was lost +to Parliament for ever.</p> + +<p>That unfortunate young man, Lord Nidderdale, occupied the seat next +to that on which Melmotte had placed himself. It had so happened +three or four times since Melmotte had been in the House, as the +young lord, fully intending to marry the Financier's daughter, had +resolved that he would not be ashamed of his father-in-law. He had +understood that countenance of the sort which he as a young +aristocrat could give to the man of millions who had risen no one +knew whence, was part of the bargain in reference to the marriage, +and he was gifted with a mingled honesty and courage which together +made him willing and able to carry out his idea. He had given +Melmotte little lessons as to ordinary forms of the House, and had +done what in him lay to earn the money which was to be forthcoming. +But it had become manifest both to him and to his father during the +last two days,—very painfully manifest to his father,—that the +thing must be abandoned. And if so,—then why should he be any longer +gracious to Melmotte? And, moreover, though he had been ready to be +courteous to a very vulgar and a very disagreeable man, he was not +anxious to extend his civilities to one who, as he was now assured, +had been certainly guilty of forgery. But to get up at once and leave +his seat because Melmotte had placed himself by his side, did not +suit the turn of his mind. He looked round to his neighbour on the +right, with a half-comic look of misery, and then prepared himself to +bear his punishment, whatever it might be.</p> + +<p>"Have you been up with Marie to-day?" said Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"No;—I've not," replied the lord.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go? She's always asking about you now. I hope we shall +be in our own house again next week, and then we shall be able to +make you comfortable."</p> + +<p>Could it be possible that the man did not know that all the world was +united in accusing him of forgery? "I'll tell you what it is," said +Nidderdale. "I think you had better see my governor again, Mr. +Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing wrong, I hope."</p> + +<p>"Well;—I don't know. You'd better see him. I'm going now. I only +just came down to enter an appearance." He had to cross Melmotte on +his way out, and as he did so Melmotte grasped him by the hand. "Good +night, my boy," said Melmotte quite aloud,—in a voice much louder +than that which members generally allow themselves for conversation. +Nidderdale was confused and unhappy; but there was probably not a man +in the House who did not understand the whole thing. He rushed down +through the gangway and out through the doors with a hurried step, +and as he escaped into the lobby he met Lionel Lupton, who, since his +little conversation with Mr. Beauclerk, had heard further news.</p> + +<p>"You know what has happened, Nidderdale?"</p> + +<p>"About Melmotte, you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, about Melmotte," continued Lupton. "He has been arrested in his +own house within the last half-hour on a charge of forgery."</p> + +<p>"I wish he had," said Nidderdale, "with all my heart. If you go in +you'll find him sitting there as large as life. He has been talking +to me as though everything were all right."</p> + +<p>"Compton was here not a moment ago, and said that he had been taken +under a warrant from the Lord Mayor."</p> + +<p>"The Lord Mayor is a member and had better come and fetch his +prisoner himself. At any rate he's there. I shouldn't wonder if he +wasn't on his legs before long."</p> + +<p>Melmotte kept his seat steadily till seven, at which hour the House +adjourned till nine. He was one of the last to leave, and then with a +slow step,—with almost majestic steps,—he descended to the +dining-room and ordered his dinner. There were many men there, and +some little difficulty about a seat. No one was very willing to make +room for him. But at last he secured a place, almost jostling some +unfortunate who was there before him. It was impossible to expel +him,—almost as impossible to sit next him. Even the waiters were +unwilling to serve him;—but with patience and endurance he did at +last get his dinner. He was there in his right, as a member of the +House of Commons, and there was no ground on which such service as he +required could be refused to him. It was not long before he had the +table all to himself. But of this he took no apparent notice. He +spoke loudly to the waiters and drank his bottle of champagne with +much apparent enjoyment. Since his friendly intercourse with +Nidderdale no one had spoken to him, nor had he spoken to any man. +They who watched him declared among themselves that he was happy in +his own audacity;—but in truth he was probably at that moment the +most utterly wretched man in London. He would have better studied his +personal comfort had he gone to his bed, and spent his evening in +groans and wailings. But even he, with all the world now gone from +him, with nothing before him but the extremest misery which the +indignation of offended laws could inflict, was able to spend the +last moments of his freedom in making a reputation at any rate for +audacity. It was thus that Augustus Melmotte wrapped his toga around +him before his death!</p> + +<p>He went from the dining-room to the smoking-room, and there, taking +from his pocket a huge case which he always carried, proceeded to +light a cigar about eight inches long. Mr. Brown, from the City, was +in the room, and Melmotte, with a smile and a bow, offered Mr. Brown +one of the same. Mr. Brown was a short, fat, round little man, over +sixty, who was always endeavouring to give to a somewhat commonplace +set of features an air of importance by the contraction of his lips +and the knitting of his brows. It was as good as a play to see Mr. +Brown jumping back from any contact with the wicked one, and putting +on a double frown as he looked at the impudent sinner. "You needn't +think so much, you know, of what I said the other night. I didn't +mean any offence." So spoke Melmotte, and then laughed with a loud, +hoarse laugh, looking round upon the assembled crowd as though he +were enjoying his triumph.</p> + +<p>He sat after that and smoked in silence. Once again he burst out into +a laugh, as though peculiarly amused with his own thoughts;—as +though he were declaring to himself with much inward humour that all +these men around him were fools for believing the stories which they +had heard; but he made no further attempt to speak to any one. Soon +after nine he went back again into the House, and again took his old +place. At this time he had swallowed three glasses of brandy and +water, as well as the champagne, and was brave enough almost for +anything. There was some debate going on in reference to the game +laws,—a subject on which Melmotte was as ignorant as one of his own +housemaids,—but, as some speaker sat down, he jumped up to his legs. +Another gentleman had also risen, and when the House called to that +other gentleman Melmotte gave way. The other gentleman had not much +to say, and in a few minutes Melmotte was again on his legs. Who +shall dare to describe the thoughts which would cross the august mind +of a Speaker of the House of Commons at such a moment? Of Melmotte's +villainy he had no official knowledge. And even could he have had +such knowledge it was not for him to act upon it. The man was a +member of the House, and as much entitled to speak as another. But it +seemed on that occasion that the Speaker was anxious to save the +House from disgrace;—for twice and thrice he refused to have his +"eye caught" by the member for Westminster. As long as any other +member would rise he would not have his eye caught. But Melmotte was +persistent, and determined not to be put down. At last no one else +would speak, and the House was about to negative the motion without a +division,—when Melmotte was again on his legs, still persisting. The +Speaker scowled at him and leaned back in his chair. Melmotte +standing erect, turning his head round from one side of the House to +another, as though determined that all should see his audacity, +propping himself with his knees against the seat before him, remained +for half a minute perfectly silent. He was drunk,—but better able +than most drunken men to steady himself, and showing in his face none +of those outward signs of intoxication by which drunkenness is +generally made apparent. But he had forgotten in his audacity that +words are needed for the making of a speech, and now he had not a +word at his command. He stumbled forward, recovered himself, then +looked once more round the House with a glance of anger, and after +that toppled headlong forward over the shoulders of Mr. Beauchamp +Beauclerk, who was now sitting in front of him.</p> + +<p>He might have wrapped his toga around him better perhaps had he +remained at home, but if to have himself talked about was his only +object, he could hardly have taken a surer course. The scene, as it +occurred, was one very likely to be remembered when the performer +should have been carried away into enforced obscurity. There was much +commotion in the House. Mr. Beauclerk, a man of natural good nature, +though at the moment put to considerable personal inconvenience, +hastened, when he recovered his own equilibrium, to assist the +drunken man. But Melmotte had by no means lost the power of helping +himself. He quickly recovered his legs, and then reseating himself, +put his hat on, and endeavoured to look as though nothing special had +occurred. The House resumed its business, taking no further notice of +Melmotte, and having no special rule of its own as to the treatment +to be adopted with drunken members. But the member for Westminster +caused no further inconvenience. He remained in his seat for perhaps +ten minutes, and then, not with a very steady step, but still with +capacity sufficient for his own guidance, he made his way down to the +doors. His exit was watched in silence, and the moment was an anxious +one for the Speaker, the clerks, and all who were near him. Had he +fallen some one,—or rather some two or three,—must have picked him +up and carried him out. But he did not fall either there or in the +lobbies, or on his way down to Palace Yard. Many were looking at him, +but none touched him. When he had got through the gates, leaning +against the wall he hallooed for his brougham, and the servant who +was waiting for him soon took him home to Bruton Street. That was the +last which the British Parliament saw of its new member for +Westminster.</p> + +<p>Melmotte as soon as he reached home got into his own sitting-room +without difficulty, and called for more brandy and water. Between +eleven and twelve he was left there by his servant with a bottle of +brandy, three or four bottles of soda-water, and his cigar-case. +Neither of the ladies of the family came to him, nor did he speak of +them. Nor was he so drunk then as to give rise to any suspicion in +the mind of the servant. He was habitually left there at night, and +the servant as usual went to his bed. But at nine o'clock on the +following morning the maid-servant found him dead upon the floor. +Drunk as he had been,—more drunk as he probably became during the +night,—still he was able to deliver himself from the indignities and +penalties to which the law might have subjected him by a dose of +prussic acid.</p> + + +<p><a id="c84"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXXIV.</h3> +<h4>PAUL MONTAGUE'S VINDICATION.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>It is hoped that the reader need hardly be informed that Hetta +Carbury was a very miserable young woman as soon as she decided that +duty compelled her to divide herself altogether from Paul Montague. I +think that she was irrational; but to her it seemed that the offence +against herself,—the offence against her own dignity as a +woman,—was too great to be forgiven. There can be no doubt that it +would all have been forgiven with the greatest ease had Paul told the +story before it had reached her ears from any other source. Had he +said to her,—when her heart was softest towards him,—I once loved +another woman, and that woman is here now in London, a trouble to me, +persecuting me, and her history is so and so, and the history of my +love for her was after this fashion, and the history of my declining +love is after that fashion, and of this at any rate you may be sure, +that this woman has never been near my heart from the first moment in +which I saw you;—had he told it to her thus, there would not have +been an opening for anger. And he doubtless would have so told it, +had not Hetta's brother interfered too quickly. He was then forced to +exculpate himself, to confess rather than to tell his own story,—and +to admit facts which wore the air of having been concealed, and which +had already been conceived to be altogether damning if true. It was +that journey to Lowestoft, not yet a month old, which did the +mischief,—a journey as to which Hetta was not slow in understanding +all that Roger Carbury had thought about it, though Roger would say +nothing of it to herself. Paul had been staying at the seaside with +this woman in amicable intimacy,—this horrid woman,—in intimacy +worse than amicable, and had been visiting her daily at Islington! +Hetta felt quite sure that he had never passed a day without going +there since the arrival of the woman; and everybody would know what +that meant. And during this very hour he had been,—well, perhaps not +exactly making love to herself, but looking at her and talking to +her, and behaving to her in a manner such as could not but make her +understand that he intended to make love to her. Of course they had +really understood it, since they had met at Madame Melmotte's first +ball, when she had made a plea that she could not allow herself to +dance with him more than,—say half-a-dozen times. Of course she had +not intended him then to know that she would receive his love with +favour; but equally of course she had known that he must so feel it. +She had not only told herself, but had told her mother, that her +heart was given away to this man; and yet the man during this very +time was spending his hours with a—woman, with a strange American +woman, to whom he acknowledged that he had been once engaged. How +could she not quarrel with him? How could she refrain from telling +him that everything must be over between them? Everybody was against +him,—her mother, her brother, and her cousin: and she felt that she +had not a word to say in his defence. A horrid woman! A wretched, +bad, bold American intriguing woman! It was terrible to her that a +friend of hers should ever have attached himself to such a +creature;—but that he should have come to her with a second tale of +love long, long before he had cleared himself from the +first;—perhaps with no intention of clearing himself from the first! +Of course she could not forgive him! No;—she would never forgive +him. She would break her heart for him. That was a matter of course; +but she would never forgive him. She knew well what it was that her +mother wanted. Her mother thought that by forcing her into a quarrel +with Montague she would force her also into a marriage with Roger +Carbury. But her mother would find out that in that she was mistaken. +She would never marry her cousin, though she would be always ready to +acknowledge his worth. She was sure now that she would never marry +any man. As she made this resolve she had a wicked satisfaction in +feeling that it would be a trouble to her mother;—for though she was +altogether in accord with Lady Carbury as to the iniquities of Paul +Montague she was not the less angry with her mother for being so +ready to expose those iniquities.</p> + +<p>Oh, with what slow, cautious fingers, with what heartbroken +tenderness did she take out from its guardian case the brooch which +Paul had given her! It had as yet been an only present, and in +thanking him for it, which she had done with full, free-spoken words +of love, she had begged him to send her no other, so that that might +ever be to her,—to her dying day,—the one precious thing that had +been given to her by her lover while she was yet a girl. Now it must +be sent back;—and, no doubt, it would go to that abominable woman! +But her fingers lingered over it as she touched it, and she would +fain have kissed it, had she not told herself that she would have +been disgraced, even in her solitude, by such a demonstration of +affection. She had given her answer to Paul Montague; and, as she +would have no further personal correspondence with him, she took the +brooch to her mother with a request that it might be returned.</p> + +<p>"Of course, my dear, I will send it back to him. Is there nothing +else?"</p> + +<p>"No, mamma;—nothing else. I have no letters, and no other present. +You always knew everything that took place. If you will just send +that back to him,—without a word. You won't say anything,—will you, +mamma?"</p> + +<p>"There is nothing for me to say if you have really made him +understand you."</p> + +<p>"I think he understood me, mamma. You need not doubt about that."</p> + +<p>"He has behaved very, very badly,—from the beginning," said Lady +Carbury.</p> + +<p>But Hetta did not really think that the young man had behaved very +badly from the beginning, and certainly did not wish to be told of +his misbehaviour. No doubt she thought that the young man had behaved +very well in falling in love with her directly he saw her;—only that +he had behaved so badly in taking Mrs. Hurtle to Lowestoft +afterwards! "It's no good talking about that, mamma. I hope you will +never talk of him any more."</p> + +<p>"He is quite unworthy," said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"I can't bear to—have him—abused," said Hetta sobbing.</p> + +<p>"My dear Hetta, I have no doubt this has made you for the time +unhappy. Such little accidents do make people unhappy—for the time. +But it will be much for the best that you should endeavour not to be +so sensitive about it. The world is too rough and too hard for people +to allow their feelings full play. You have to look out for the +future, and you can best do so by resolving that Paul Montague shall +be forgotten at once."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, don't. How is a person to resolve? Oh, mamma, don't say +any more."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, there is more that I must say. Your future life is +before you, and I must think of it, and you must think of it. Of +course you must be married."</p> + +<p>"There is no of course at all."</p> + +<p>"Of course you must be married," continued Lady Carbury, "and of +course it is your duty to think of the way in which this may be best +done. My income is becoming less and less every day. I already owe +money to your cousin, and I owe money to Mr. Broune."</p> + +<p>"Money to Mr. Broune!"</p> + +<p>"Yes,—to Mr. Broune. I had to pay a sum for Felix which Mr. Broune +told me ought to be paid. And I owe money to tradesmen. I fear that I +shall not be able to keep on this house. And they tell me,—your +cousin and Mr. Broune,—that it is my duty to take Felix out of +London,—probably abroad."</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall go with you."</p> + +<p>"It may be so at first; but, perhaps, even that may not be necessary. +Why should you? What pleasure could you have in it? Think what my +life must be with Felix in some French or German town!"</p> + +<p>"Mamma, why don't you let me be a comfort to you? Why do you speak of +me always as though I were a burden?"</p> + +<p>"Everybody is a burden to other people. It is the way of life. But +you,—if you will only yield in ever so little,—you may go where you +will be no burden, where you will be accepted simply as a blessing. +You have the opportunity of securing comfort for your whole life, and +of making a friend, not only for yourself, but for me and your +brother, of one whose friendship we cannot fail to want."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, you cannot really mean to talk about that now?"</p> + +<p>"Why should I not mean it? What is the use of indulging in high-flown +nonsense? Make up your mind to be the wife of your cousin Roger."</p> + +<p>"This is horrid," said Hetta, bursting out in her agony. "Cannot you +understand that I am broken-hearted about Paul, that I love him from +my very soul, that parting from him is like tearing my heart in +pieces? I know that I must, because he has behaved so very +badly,—and because of that wicked woman! And so I have. But I did +not think that in the very next hour you would bid me give myself to +somebody else! I will never marry Roger Carbury. You may be +quite—quite sure that I shall never marry any one. If you won't take +me with you when you go away with Felix, I must stay behind and try +and earn my bread. I suppose I could go out as a nurse." Then, +without waiting for a reply she left the room and betook herself to +her own apartment.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury did not even understand her daughter. She could not +conceive that she had in any way acted unkindly in taking the +opportunity of Montague's rejection for pressing the suit of the +other lover. She was simply anxious to get a husband for her +daughter,—as she had been anxious to get a wife for her son,—in +order that her child might live comfortably. But she felt that +whenever she spoke common sense to Hetta, her daughter took it as an +offence, and flew into tantrums, being altogether unable to +accommodate herself to the hard truths of the world. Deep as was the +sorrow which her son brought upon her, and great as was the disgrace, +she could feel more sympathy for him than for the girl. If there was +anything that she could not forgive in life it was romance. And yet +she, at any rate, believed that she delighted in romantic poetry! At +the present moment she was very wretched; and was certainly unselfish +in her wish to see her daughter comfortably settled before she +commenced those miserable roamings with her son which seemed to be +her coming destiny.</p> + +<p>In these days she thought a good deal of Mr. Broune's offer, and of +her own refusal. It was odd that since that refusal she had seen more +of him, and had certainly known much more of him than she had ever +seen or known before. Previous to that little episode their intimacy +had been very fictitious, as are many intimacies. They had played at +being friends, knowing but very little of each other. But now, during +the last five or six weeks,—since she had refused his offer,—they +had really learned to know each other. In the exquisite misery of her +troubles, she had told him the truth about herself and her son, and +he had responded, not by compliments, but by real aid and true +counsel. His whole tone was altered to her, as was hers to him. There +was no longer any egregious flattery between them,—and he, in +speaking to her, would be almost rough to her. Once he had told her +that she would be a fool if she did not do so and so. The consequence +was that she almost regretted that she had allowed him to escape. But +she certainly made no effort to recover the lost prize, for she told +him all her troubles. It was on that afternoon, after her +disagreement with her daughter, that Marie Melmotte came to her. And, +on that same evening, closeted with Mr. Broune in her back room, she +told him of both occurrences. "If the girl has got the money—," she +began, regretting her son's obstinacy.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe a bit of it," said Broune. "From all that I can +hear, I don't think that there is any money. And if there is, you may +be sure that Melmotte would not let it slip through his fingers in +that way. I would not have anything to do with it."</p> + +<p>"You think it is all over with the Melmottes?"</p> + +<p>"A rumour reached me just now that he had been already arrested." It +was now between nine and ten in the evening. "But as I came away from +my room, I heard that he was down at the House. That he will have to +stand a trial for forgery, I think there cannot be a doubt, and I +imagine that it will be found that not a shilling will be saved out +of the property."</p> + +<p>"What a wonderful career it has been!"</p> + +<p>"Yes,—the strangest thing that has come up in our days. I am +inclined to think that the utter ruin at this moment has been brought +about by his reckless personal expenditure."</p> + +<p>"Why did he spend such a lot of money?"</p> + +<p>"Because he thought that he could conquer the world by it, and obtain +universal credit. He very nearly succeeded too. Only he had forgotten +to calculate the force of the envy of his competitors."</p> + +<p>"You think he has committed forgery?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, I think so. Of course we know nothing as yet."</p> + +<p>"Then I suppose it is better that Felix should not have married her."</p> + +<p>"Certainly better. No redemption was to have been had on that side, +and I don't think you should regret the loss of such money as his." +Lady Carbury shook her head, meaning probably to imply that even +Melmotte's money would have had no bad odour to one so dreadfully in +want of assistance as her son. "At any rate do not think of it any +more." Then she told him her grief about Hetta. "Ah, there," said he, +"I feel myself less able to express an authoritative opinion."</p> + +<p>"He doesn't owe a shilling," said Lady Carbury, "and he is really a +fine gentleman."</p> + +<p>"But if she doesn't like him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but she does. She thinks him to be the finest person in the +world. She would obey him a great deal sooner than she would me. But +she has her mind stuffed with nonsense about love."</p> + +<p>"A great many people, Lady Carbury, have their minds stuffed with +that nonsense."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—and ruin themselves with it, as she will do. Love is like any +other luxury. You have no right to it unless you can afford it. And +those who will have it when they can't afford it, will come to the +ground like this Mr. Melmotte. How odd it seems! It isn't a fortnight +since we all thought him the greatest man in London." Mr. Broune only +smiled, not thinking it worth his while to declare that he had never +held that opinion about the late idol of Abchurch Lane.</p> + +<p>On the following morning, very early, while Melmotte was still lying, +as yet undiscovered, on the floor of Mr. Longestaffe's room, a letter +was brought up to Hetta by the maid-servant, who told her that Mr. +Montague had delivered it with his own hands. She took it greedily, +and then repressing herself, put it with an assumed gesture of +indifference beneath her pillow. But as soon as the girl had left the +room she at once seized her treasure. It never occurred to her as yet +to think whether she would or would not receive a letter from her +dismissed lover. She had told him that he must go, and go for ever, +and had taken it for granted that he would do so,—probably +willingly. No doubt he would be delighted to return to the American +woman. But now that she had the letter, she allowed no doubt to come +between her and the reading of it. As soon as she was alone she +opened it, and she ran through its contents without allowing herself +a moment for thinking, as she went on, whether the excuses made by +her lover were or were not such as she ought to accept.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dearest Hetta</span>,</p> + +<p>I think you have been most unjust to me, and if you have +ever loved me I cannot understand your injustice. I have +never deceived you in anything, not by a word, or for a +moment. Unless you mean to throw me over because I did +once love another woman, I do not know what cause of anger +you have. I could not tell you about Mrs. Hurtle till you +had accepted me, and, as you yourself must know, I had had +no opportunity to tell you anything afterwards till the +story had reached your ears. I hardly know what I said the +other day, I was so miserable at your accusation. But I +suppose I said then, and I again declare now, that I had +made up my mind that circumstances would not admit of her +becoming my wife before I had ever seen you, and that I +have certainly never wavered in my determination since I +saw you. I can with safety refer to Roger as to this, +because I was with him when I so determined, and made up +my mind very much at his instance. This was before I had +ever even met you.</p> + +<p>If I understand it all right you are angry because I have +associated with Mrs. Hurtle since I so determined. I am +not going back to my first acquaintance with her now. You +may blame me for that if you please,—though it cannot +have been a fault against you. But, after what had +occurred, was I to refuse to see her when she came to +England to see me? I think that would have been cowardly. +Of course I went to her. And when she was all alone here, +without a single other friend, and telling me that she was +unwell, and asking me to take her down to the seaside, was +I to refuse? I think that that would have been unkind. It +was a dreadful trouble to me. But of course I did it.</p> + +<p>She asked me to renew my engagement. I am bound to tell +you that, but I know in telling you that it will go no +farther. I declined, telling her that it was my purpose to +ask another woman to be my wife. Of course there has been +anger and sorrow,—anger on her part and sorrow on mine. +But there has been no doubt. And at last she yielded. As +far as she was concerned my trouble was over,—except in +so far that her unhappiness has been a great trouble to +me,—when, on a sudden, I found that the story had reached +you in such a form as to make you determined to quarrel +with me!</p> + +<p>Of course you do not know it all, for I cannot tell you +all without telling her history. But you know everything +that in the least concerns yourself, and I do say that you +have no cause whatever for anger. I am writing at night. +This evening your brooch was brought to me with three or +four cutting words from your mother. But I cannot +understand that if you really love me, you should wish to +separate yourself from me,—or that, if you ever loved me, +you should cease to love me now because of Mrs. Hurtle.</p> + +<p>I am so absolutely confused by the blow that I hardly know +what I am writing, and take first one outrageous idea into +my head and then another. My love for you is so thorough +and so intense that I cannot bring myself to look forward +to living without you, now that you have once owned that +you have loved me. I cannot think it possible that love, +such as I suppose yours must have been, could be made to +cease all at a moment. Mine can't. I don't think it is +natural that we should be parted.</p> + +<p>If you want corroboration of my story go yourself to Mrs. +Hurtle. Anything is better than that we both should be +broken-hearted.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours most affectionately,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Paul Montague</span>.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<p><a id="c85"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXXV.</h3> +<h4>BREAKFAST IN BERKELEY SQUARE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Lord Nidderdale was greatly disgusted with his own part of the +performance when he left the House of Commons, and was, we may say, +disgusted with his own position generally, when he considered all its +circumstances. That had been at the commencement of the evening, and +Melmotte had not then been tipsy; but he had behaved with +unsurpassable arrogance and vulgarity, and had made the young lord +drink the cup of his own disgrace to the very dregs. Everybody now +knew it as a positive fact that the charges made against the man were +to become matter of investigation before the chief magistrate for the +City, everybody knew that he had committed forgery upon forgery, +everybody knew that he could not pay for the property which he had +pretended to buy, and that he was actually a ruined man;—and yet he +had seized Nidderdale by the hand, and called the young lord "his +dear boy" before the whole House.</p> + +<p>And then he had made himself conspicuous as this man's advocate. If +he had not himself spoken openly of his coming marriage with the +girl, he had allowed other men to speak to him about it. He had +quarrelled with one man for saying that Melmotte was a rogue, and had +confidentially told his most intimate friends that in spite of a +little vulgarity of manner, Melmotte at bottom was a very good +fellow. How was he now to back out of his intimacy with the Melmottes +generally? He was engaged to marry the girl, and there was nothing of +which he could accuse her. He acknowledged to himself that she +deserved well at his hands. Though at this moment he hated the father +most bitterly, as those odious words, and the tone in which they had +been pronounced, rang in his ears, nevertheless he had some kindly +feeling for the girl. Of course he could not marry her now. That was +manifestly out of the question. She herself, as well as all others, +had known that she was to be married for her money, and now that +bubble had been burst. But he felt that he owed it to her, as to a +comrade who had on the whole been loyal to him, to have some personal +explanation with herself. He arranged in his own mind the sort of +speech that he would make to her. "Of course you know it can't be. It +was all arranged because you were to have a lot of money, and now it +turns out that you haven't got any. And I haven't got any, and we +should have nothing to live upon. It's out of the question. But, upon +my word, I'm very sorry, for I like you very much, and I really think +we should have got on uncommon well together." That was the kind of +speech that he suggested to himself, but he did not know how to find +for himself the opportunity of making it. He thought that he must put +it all into a letter. But then that would be tantamount to a written +confession that he had made her an offer of marriage, and he feared +that Melmotte,—or Madame Melmotte on his behalf, if the great man +himself were absent, in prison,—might make an ungenerous use of such +an admission.</p> + +<p>Between seven and eight he went into the Beargarden, and there he saw +Dolly Longestaffe and others. Everybody was talking about Melmotte, +the prevailing belief being that he was at this moment in custody. +Dolly was full of his own griefs; but consoled amidst them by a sense +of his own importance. "I wonder whether it's true," he was saying to +Lord Grasslough. "He has an appointment to meet me and my governor at +twelve o'clock to-morrow, and to pay us what he owes us. He swore +yesterday that he would have the money to-morrow. But he can't keep +his appointment, you know, if he's in prison."</p> + +<p>"You won't see the money, Dolly, you may swear to that," said +Grasslough.</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose I shall. By George, what an ass my governor has +been. He had no more right than you have to give up the property. +Here's Nidderdale. He could tell us where he is; but I'm afraid to +speak to him since he cut up so rough the other night."</p> + +<p>In a moment the conversation was stopped; but when Lord Grasslough +asked Nidderdale in a whisper whether he knew anything about +Melmotte, the latter answered out loud, "Yes;—I left him in the +House half an hour ago."</p> + +<p>"People are saying that he has been arrested."</p> + +<p>"I heard that also; but he certainly had not been arrested when I +left the House." Then he went up and put his hand on Dolly +Longestaffe's shoulder, and spoke to him. "I suppose you were about +right the other night and I was about wrong; but you could understand +what it was that I meant. I'm afraid this is a bad look out for both +of us."</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I understand. It's deuced bad for me," said Dolly. "I think +you're very well out of it. But I'm glad there's not to be a quarrel. +Suppose we have a rubber of whist."</p> + +<p>Later on in the night news was brought to the club that Melmotte had +tried to make a speech in the House, that he had been very drunk, and +that he had tumbled over, upsetting Beauchamp Beauclerk in his fall. +"By George, I should like to have seen that!" said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"I am very glad I was not there," said Nidderdale. It was three +o'clock before they left the card table, at which time Melmotte was +lying dead upon the floor in Mr. Longestaffe's house.</p> + +<p>On the following morning, at ten o'clock, Lord Nidderdale sat at +breakfast with his father in the old lord's house in Berkeley Square. +From thence the house which Melmotte had hired was not above a few +hundred yards distant. At this time the young lord was living with +his father, and the two had now met by appointment in order that +something might be settled between them as to the proposed marriage. +The Marquis was not a very pleasant companion when the affairs in +which he was interested did not go exactly as he would have them. He +could be very cross and say most disagreeable words,—so that the +ladies of the family, and others connected with him, for the most +part, found it impossible to live with him. But his eldest son had +endured him;—partly perhaps because, being the eldest, he had been +treated with a nearer approach to courtesy, but chiefly by means of +his own extreme good humour. What did a few hard words matter? If his +father was ungracious to him, of course he knew what all that meant. +As long as his father would make fair allowance for his own +peccadilloes,—he also would make allowances for his father's +roughness. All this was based on his grand theory of live and let +live. He expected his father to be a little cross on this occasion, +and he acknowledged to himself that there was cause for it.</p> + +<p>He was a little late himself, and he found his father already +buttering his toast. "I don't believe you'd get out of bed a moment +sooner than you liked if you could save the whole property by it."</p> + +<p>"You show me how I can make a guinea by it, sir, and see if I don't +earn the money." Then he sat down and poured himself out a cup of +tea, and looked at the kidneys and looked at the fish.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you were drinking last night," said the old lord.</p> + +<p>"Not particular." The old man turned round and gnashed his teeth at +him. "The fact is, sir, I don't drink. Everybody knows that."</p> + +<p>"I know when you're in the country you can't live without champagne. +Well;—what have you got to say about all this?"</p> + +<p>"What have you got to say?"</p> + +<p>"You've made a pretty kettle of fish of it."</p> + +<p>"I've been guided by you in everything. Come, now; you ought to own +that. I suppose the whole thing is over?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see why it should be over. I'm told she has got her own +money." Then Nidderdale described to his father Melmotte's behaviour +in the House on the preceding evening. "What the devil does that +matter?" said the old man. "You're not going to marry the man +himself."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't wonder if he's in gaol now."</p> + +<p>"And what does that matter? She's not in gaol. And if the money is +hers, she can't lose it because he goes to prison. Beggars mustn't be +choosers. How do you mean to live if you don't marry this girl?"</p> + +<p>"I shall scrape on, I suppose. I must look for somebody else." The +Marquis showed very plainly by his demeanour that he did not give his +son much credit either for diligence or for ingenuity in making such +a search. "At any rate, sir, I can't marry the daughter of a man who +is to be put upon his trial for forgery."</p> + +<p>"I can't see what that has to do with you."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't do it, sir. I'd do anything else to oblige you, but I +couldn't do that. And, moreover, I don't believe in the money."</p> + +<p>"Then you may just go to the devil," said the old Marquis turning +himself round in his chair, and lighting a cigar as he took up the +newspaper. Nidderdale went on with his breakfast with perfect +equanimity, and when he had finished lighted his cigar. "They tell +me," said the old man, "that one of those Goldsheiner girls will have +a lot of money."</p> + +<p>"A Jewess," suggested Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"What difference does that make?"</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill085"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill085.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill085-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"What difference does that make?"' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"What + difference does that make?"</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill085.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"Oh no;—not in the least;—if the money's really there. Have you +heard any sum named, sir?" The old man only grunted. "There are two +sisters and two brothers. I don't suppose the girls would have a +hundred thousand each."</p> + +<p>"They say the widow of that brewer who died the other day has about +twenty thousand a year."</p> + +<p>"It's only for her life, sir."</p> + +<p>"She could insure her life. +<span class="nowrap">D——me,</span> +sir, we must do something. If +you turn up your nose at one woman after another how do you mean to +live?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think that a woman of forty with only a life interest would +be a good speculation. Of course I'll think of it if you press it." +The old man growled again. "You see, sir, I've been so much in +earnest about this girl that I haven't thought of inquiring about any +one else. There always is some one up with a lot of money. It's a +pity there shouldn't be a regular statement published with the amount +of money, and what is expected in return. It 'd save a deal of +trouble."</p> + +<p>"If you can't talk more seriously than that you'd better go away," +said the old Marquis.</p> + +<p>At that moment a footman came into the room and told Lord Nidderdale +that a man particularly wished to see him in the hall. He was not +always anxious to see those who called on him, and he asked the +servant whether he knew who the man was. "I believe, my lord, he's +one of the domestics from Mr. Melmotte's in Bruton Street," said the +footman, who was no doubt fully acquainted with all the circumstances +of Lord Nidderdale's engagement. The son, who was still smoking, +looked at his father as though in doubt. "You'd better go and see," +said the Marquis. But Nidderdale before he went asked a question as +to what he had better do if Melmotte had sent for him. "Go and see +Melmotte. Why should you be afraid to see him? Tell him that you are +ready to marry the girl if you can see the money down, but that you +won't stir a step till it has been actually paid over."</p> + +<p>"He knows that already," said Nidderdale as he left the room.</p> + +<p>In the hall he found a man whom he recognised as Melmotte's butler, a +ponderous, elderly, heavy man who now had a letter in his hand. But +the lord could tell by the man's face and manner that he himself had +some story to tell. "Is there anything the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord,—yes. Oh, dear,—oh, dear! I think you'll be sorry to +hear it. There was none who came there he seemed to take to so much +as your lordship."</p> + +<p>"They've taken him to prison!" exclaimed Nidderdale. But the man +shook his head. "What is it then? He can't be dead." Then the man +nodded his head, and, putting his hand up to his face, burst into +tears. "Mr. Melmotte dead! He was in the House of Commons last night. +I saw him myself. How did he die?" But the fat, ponderous man was so +affected by the tragedy he had witnessed, that he could not as yet +give any account of the scene of his master's death, but simply +handed the note which he had in his hand to Lord Nidderdale. It was +from Marie, and had been written within half an hour of the time at +which news had been brought to her of what had occurred. The note was +as <span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Lord +Nidderdale</span>,</p> + +<p>The man will tell you what has happened. I feel as though +I was mad. I do not know who to send to. Will you come to +me, only for a few minutes?</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Marie</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>He read it standing up in the hall, and then again asked the man as +to the manner of his master's death. And now the Marquis, gathering +from a word or two that he heard and from his son's delay that +something special had occurred, hobbled out into the hall. "Mr. +Melmotte is—dead," said his son. The old man dropped his stick, and +fell back against the wall. "This man says that he is dead, and here +is a letter from Marie asking me to go there. How was it that +he—died?"</p> + +<p>"It was—poison," said the butler solemnly. "There has been a doctor +already, and there isn't no doubt of that. He took it all by himself +last night. He came home, perhaps a little fresh, and he had in +brandy and soda and cigars;—and sat himself down all to himself. +Then in the morning, when the young woman went in,—there he +was,—poisoned! I see him lay on the ground, and I helped to lift him +up, and there was that smell of prussic acid that I knew what he had +been and done just the same as when the doctor came and told us."</p> + +<p>Before the man could be allowed to go back, there was a consultation +between the father and son as to a compliance with the request which +Marie had made in her first misery. The Marquis thought that his son +had better not go to Bruton Street. "What's the use? What good can +you do? She'll only be falling into your arms, and that's what you've +got to avoid,—at any rate, till you know how things are."</p> + +<p>But Nidderdale's better feelings would not allow him to submit to +this advice. He had been engaged to marry the girl, and she in her +abject misery had turned to him as the friend she knew best. At any +rate for the time the heartlessness of his usual life deserted him, +and he felt willing to devote himself to the girl not for what he +could get,—but because she had so nearly been so near to him. "I +couldn't refuse her," he said over and over again. "I couldn't bring +myself to do it. Oh, no;—I shall certainly go."</p> + +<p>"You'll get into a mess if you do."</p> + +<p>"Then I must get into a mess. I shall certainly go. I will go at +once. It is very disagreeable, but I cannot possibly refuse. It would +be abominable." Then going back to the hall, he sent a message by the +butler to Marie, saying that he would be with her in less than half +an hour.</p> + +<p>"Don't you go and make a fool of yourself," his father said to him +when he was alone. "This is just one of those times when a man may +ruin himself by being soft-hearted." Nidderdale simply shook his head +as he took his hat and gloves to go across to Bruton Street.</p> + + +<p><a id="c86"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXXVI.</h3> +<h4>THE MEETING IN BRUTON STREET.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When the news of her husband's death was in some very rough way +conveyed to Madame Melmotte, it crushed her for the time altogether. +Marie first heard that she no longer had a living parent as she stood +by the poor woman's bedside, and she was enabled, as much perhaps by +the necessity incumbent upon her of attending to the wretched woman +as by her own superior strength of character, to save herself from +that prostration and collapse of power which a great and sudden blow +is apt to produce. She stared at the woman who first conveyed to her +tidings of the tragedy, and then for a moment seated herself at the +bedside. But the violent sobbings and hysterical screams of Madame +Melmotte soon brought her again to her feet, and from that moment she +was not only active but efficacious. No;—she would not go down to +the room; she could do no good by going thither. But they must send +for a doctor. They should send for a doctor immediately. She was then +told that a doctor and an inspector of police were already in the +rooms below. The necessity of throwing whatever responsibility there +might be on to other shoulders had been at once apparent to the +servants, and they had sent out right and left, so that the house +might be filled with persons fit to give directions in such an +emergency. The officers from the police station were already there +when the woman who now filled Didon's place in the house communicated +to Madame Melmotte the fact that she was a widow.</p> + +<p>It was afterwards said by some of those who had seen her at the time, +that Marie Melmotte had shown a hard heart on the occasion. But the +condemnation was wrong. Her feeling for her father was certainly not +that which we are accustomed to see among our daughters and sisters. +He had never been to her the petted divinity of the household, whose +slightest wish had been law, whose little comforts had become matters +of serious care, whose frowns were horrid clouds, whose smiles were +glorious sunshine, whose kisses were daily looked for, and if missed +would be missed with mourning. How should it have been so with her? +In all the intercourses of her family, since the first rough usage +which she remembered, there had never been anything sweet or +gracious. Though she had recognised a certain duty, as due from +herself to her father, she had found herself bound to measure it, so +that more should not be exacted from her than duty required. She had +long known that her father would fain make her a slave for his own +purposes, and that if she put no limits to her own obedience he +certainly would put none. She had drawn no comparison between him and +other fathers, or between herself and other daughters, because she +had never become conversant with the ways of other families. After a +fashion she had loved him, because nature creates love in a +daughter's heart; but she had never respected him, and had spent the +best energies of her character on a resolve that she would never fear +him. "He may cut me into pieces, but he shall not make me do for his +advantage that which I do not think he has a right to exact from me." +That had been the state of her mind towards her father; and now that +he had taken himself away with terrible suddenness, leaving her to +face the difficulties of the world with no protector and no +assistance, the feeling which dominated her was no doubt one of awe +rather than of broken-hearted sorrow. Those who depart must have +earned such sorrow before it can be really felt. They who are left +may be overwhelmed by the death—even of their most cruel tormentors. +Madame Melmotte was altogether overwhelmed; but it could not probably +be said of her with truth that she was crushed by pure grief. There +was fear of all things, fear of solitude, fear of sudden change, fear +of terrible revelations, fear of some necessary movement she knew not +whither, fear that she might be discovered to be a poor wretched +impostor who never could have been justified in standing in the same +presence with emperors and princes, with duchesses and cabinet +ministers. This and the fact that the dead body of the man who had so +lately been her tyrant was lying near her, so that she might hardly +dare to leave her room lest she should encounter him dead, and thus +more dreadful even than when alive, utterly conquered her. Feelings +of the same kind, the same fears, and the same awe were powerful also +with Marie;—but they did not conquer her. She was strong and +conquered them; and she did not care to affect a weakness to which +she was in truth superior. In such a household the death of such a +father after such a fashion will hardly produce that tender sorrow +which comes from real love.</p> + +<p>She soon knew it all. Her father had destroyed himself, and had +doubtless done so because his troubles in regard to money had been +greater than he could bear. When he had told her that she was to sign +those deeds because ruin was impending, he must indeed have told her +the truth. He had so often lied to her that she had had no means of +knowing whether he was lying then or telling her a true story. But +she had offered to sign the deeds since that, and he had told her +that it would be of no avail,—and at that time had not been angry +with her as he would have been had her refusal been the cause of his +ruin. She took some comfort in thinking of that.</p> + +<p>But what was she to do? What was to be done generally by that +over-cumbered household? She and her pseudo-mother had been +instructed to pack up their jewellery, and they had both obeyed the +order. But she herself at this moment cared but little for any +property. How ought she to behave herself? Where should she go? On +whose arm could she lean for some support at this terrible time? As +for love, and engagements, and marriage,—that was all over. In her +difficulty she never for a moment thought of Sir Felix Carbury. +Though she had been silly enough to love the man because he was +pleasant to look at, she had never been so far gone in silliness as +to suppose that he was a staff upon which any one might lean. Had +that marriage taken place, she would have been the staff. But it +might be possible that Lord Nidderdale would help her. He was +good-natured and manly, and would be efficacious,—if only he would +come to her. He was near, and she thought that at any rate she would +try. So she had written her note and sent it by the butler,—thinking +as she did so of the words she would use to make the young man +understand that all the nonsense they had talked as to marrying each +other was, of course, to mean nothing now.</p> + +<p>It was past eleven when he reached the house, and he was shown +up-stairs into one of the sitting-rooms on the first-floor. As he +passed the door of the study, which was at the moment partly open, he +saw the dress of a policeman within, and knew that the body of the +dead man was still lying there. But he went by rapidly without a +glance within, remembering the look of the man as he had last seen +his burly figure, and that grasp of his hand, and those odious words. +And now the man was dead,—having destroyed his own life. Surely the +man must have known when he uttered those words what it was that he +intended to do! When he had made that last appeal about Marie, +conscious as he was that everyone was deserting him, he must even +then have looked his fate in the face and have told himself that it +was better that he should die! His misfortunes, whatever might be +their nature, must have been heavy on him then with all their weight; +and he himself and all the world had known that he was ruined. And +yet he had pretended to be anxious about the girl's marriage, and had +spoken of it as though he still believed that it would be +accomplished!</p> + +<p>Nidderdale had hardly put his hat down on the table before Marie was +with him. He walked up to her, took her by both hands, and looked +into her face. There was no trace of a tear, but her whole +countenance seemed to him to be altered. She was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>"I thought you would come when I sent for you."</p> + +<p>"Of course I came."</p> + +<p>"I knew you would be a friend, and I knew no one else who would. You +won't be afraid, Lord Nidderdale, that I shall ever think any more of +all those things which he was planning?" She paused a moment, but he +was not ready enough to have a word to say in answer to this. "You +know what has happened?"</p> + +<p>"Your servant told us."</p> + +<p>"What are we to do? Oh, Lord Nidderdale, it is so dreadful! Poor +papa! Poor papa! When I think of all that he must have suffered I +wish that I could be dead too."</p> + +<p>"Has your mother been told?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes. She knows. No one tried to conceal anything for a moment. It +was better that it should be so;—better at last. But we have no +friends who would be considerate enough to try to save us from +sorrow. But I think it was better. Mamma is very bad. She is always +nervous and timid. Of course this has nearly killed her. What ought +we to do? It is Mr. Longestaffe's house, and we were to have left it +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"He will not mind that now."</p> + +<p>"Where must we go? We can't go back to that big place in Grosvenor +Square. Who will manage for us? Who will see the doctor and the +policemen?"</p> + +<p>"I will do that."</p> + +<p>"But there will be things that I cannot ask you to do. Why should I +ask you to do anything?"</p> + +<p>"Because we are friends."</p> + +<p>"No," she said, "no. You cannot really regard me as a friend. I have +been an impostor. I know that. I had no business to know a person +like you at all. Oh, if the next six months could be over! Poor +papa;—poor papa!" And then for the first time she burst into tears.</p> + +<p>"I wish I knew what might comfort you," he said.</p> + +<p>"How can there be any comfort? There never can be comfort again! As +for comfort, when were we ever comfortable? It has been one trouble +after another,—one fear after another! And now we are friendless and +homeless. I suppose they will take everything that we have."</p> + +<p>"Your papa had a lawyer, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"I think he had ever so many,—but I do not know who they were. His +own clerk, who had lived with him for over twenty years, left him +yesterday. I suppose they will know something in Abchurch Lane; but +now that Herr Croll has gone I am not acquainted even with the name +of one of them. Mr. Miles Grendall used to be with him."</p> + +<p>"I do not think that he could be of much service."</p> + +<p>"Nor Lord Alfred? Lord Alfred was always with him till very lately." +Nidderdale shook his head. "I suppose not. They only came because +papa had a big house." The young lord could not but feel that he was +included in the same rebuke. "Oh, what a life it has been! And +now,—now it's over." As she said this it seemed that for the moment +her strength failed her, for she fell backwards on the corner of the +sofa. He tried to raise her, but she shook him away, burying her face +in her hands. He was standing close to her, still holding her arm, +when he heard a knock at the front door, which was immediately +opened, as the servants were hanging about in the hall. "Who are +they?" said Marie, whose sharp ears caught the sound of various +steps. Lord Nidderdale went out on to the head of the stairs, and +immediately heard the voice of Dolly Longestaffe.</p> + +<p>Dolly Longestaffe had on that morning put himself early into the care +of Mr. Squercum, and it had happened that he with his lawyer had met +his father with Mr. Bideawhile at the corner of the square. They were +all coming according to appointment to receive the money which Mr. +Melmotte had promised to pay them at this very hour. Of course they +had none of them as yet heard of the way in which the Financier had +made his last grand payment, and as they walked together to the door +had been intent only in reference to their own money. Squercum, who +had heard a good deal on the previous day, was very certain that the +money would not be forthcoming, whereas Bideawhile was sanguine of +success. "Don't we wish we may get it?" Dolly had said, and by saying +so had very much offended his father, who had resented the want of +reverence implied in the use of that word "we." They had all been +admitted together, and Dolly had at once loudly claimed an old +acquaintance with some of the articles around him. "I knew I'd got a +coat just like that," said Dolly, "and I never could make out what my +fellow had done with it." This was the speech which Nidderdale had +heard, standing on the top of the stairs.</p> + +<p>The two lawyers had at once seen, from the face of the man who had +opened the door and from the presence of three or four servants in +the hall, that things were not going on in their usual course. Before +Dolly had completed his buffoonery the butler had whispered to Mr. +Bideawhile that Mr. Melmotte—"was no more."</p> + +<p>"Dead!" exclaimed Mr. Bideawhile. Squercum put his hands into his +trowsers pockets and opened his mouth wide. "Dead!" muttered Mr. +Longestaffe senior. "Dead!" said Dolly. "Who's dead?" The butler +shook his head. Then Squercum whispered a word into the butler's ear, +and the butler thereupon nodded his head. "It's about what I +expected," said Squercum. Then the butler whispered the word to Mr. +Longestaffe, and whispered it also to Mr. Bideawhile, and they all +knew that the millionaire had swallowed poison during the night.</p> + +<p>It was known to the servants that Mr. Longestaffe was the owner of +the house, and he was therefore, as having authority there, shown +into the room where the body of Melmotte was lying on a sofa. The two +lawyers and Dolly of course followed, as did also Lord Nidderdale, +who had now joined them from the lobby above. There was a policeman +in the room who seemed to be simply watching the body, and who rose +from his seat when the gentlemen entered. Two or three of the +servants followed them, so that there was almost a crowd round the +dead man's bier. There was no further tale to be told. That Melmotte +had been in the House on the previous night, and had there disgraced +himself by intoxication, they had known already. That he had been +found dead that morning had been already announced. They could only +stand round and gaze on the square, sullen, livid features of the +big-framed man, and each lament that he had ever heard the name of +Melmotte.</p> + +<p>"Are you in the house here?" said Dolly to Lord Nidderdale in a +whisper.</p> + +<p>"She sent for me. We live quite close, you know. She wanted somebody +to tell her something. I must go up to her again now."</p> + +<p>"Had you seen him before?"</p> + +<p>"No indeed. I only came down when I heard your voices. I fear it will +be rather bad for you;—won't it?"</p> + +<p>"He was regularly smashed, I suppose?" asked Dolly.</p> + +<p>"I know nothing myself. He talked to me about his affairs once, but +he was such a liar that not a word that he said was worth anything. I +believed him then. How it will go, I can't say."</p> + +<p>"That other thing is all over of course," suggested Dolly.</p> + +<p>Nidderdale intimated by a gesture of his head that the other thing +was all over, and then returned to Marie. There was nothing further +that the four gentlemen could do, and they soon departed from the +house;—not, however, till Mr. Bideawhile had given certain short +injunctions to the butler concerning the property contained in Mr. +Longestaffe's town residence.</p> + +<p>"They had come to see him," said Lord Nidderdale in a whisper. "There +was some appointment. He had told them to be all here at this hour."</p> + +<p>"They didn't know, then?" asked Marie.</p> + +<p>"Nothing,—till the man told them."</p> + +<p>"And did you go in?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; we all went into the room." Marie shuddered, and again hid her +face. "I think the best thing I can do," said Nidderdale, "is to go +to Abchurch Lane, and find out from Smith who is the lawyer whom he +chiefly trusted. I know Smith had to do with his own affairs, because +he has told me so at the Board; and if necessary I will find out +Croll. No doubt I can trace him. Then we had better employ the lawyer +to arrange everything for you."</p> + +<p>"And where had we better go to?"</p> + +<p>"Where would Madame Melmotte wish to go?"</p> + +<p>"Anywhere, so that we could hide ourselves. Perhaps Frankfort would +be the best. But shouldn't we stay till something has been done here? +And couldn't we have lodgings, so as to get away from Mr. +Longestaffe's house?" Nidderdale promised that he himself would look +for lodgings, as soon as he had seen the lawyer. "And now, my lord, I +suppose that I never shall see you again," said Marie.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why you should say that."</p> + +<p>"Because it will be best. Why should you? All this will be trouble +enough to you when people begin to say what we are. But I don't think +it has been my fault."</p> + +<p>"Nothing has ever been your fault."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, my lord. I shall always think of you as one of the kindest +people I ever knew. I thought it best to send to you for different +reasons, but I do not want you to come back."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Marie. I shall always remember you." And so they parted.</p> + +<p>After that he did go into the City, and succeeded in finding both Mr. +Smith and Herr Croll. When he reached Abchurch Lane, the news of +Melmotte's death had already been spread abroad; and more was known, +or said to be known, of his circumstances than Nidderdale had as yet +heard. The crushing blow to him, so said Herr Croll, had been the +desertion of Cohenlupe,—that and the sudden fall in the value of the +South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway shares, consequent on the +rumours spread about the City respecting the Pickering property. It +was asserted in Abchurch Lane that had he not at that moment touched +the Pickering property, or entertained the Emperor, or stood for +Westminster, he must, by the end of the autumn, have been able to do +any or all of those things without danger, simply as the result of +the money which would then have been realised by the railway. But he +had allowed himself to become hampered by the want of comparatively +small sums of ready money, and in seeking relief had rushed from one +danger to another, till at last the waters around him had become too +deep even for him, and had overwhelmed him. As to his immediate +death, Herr Croll expressed not the slightest astonishment. It was +just the thing, Herr Croll said, that he had been sure that Melmotte +would do, should his difficulties ever become too great for him. "And +dere vas a leetle ting he lay himself open by de oder day," said +Croll, "dat vas nasty,—very nasty." Nidderdale shook his head, but +asked no questions. Croll had alluded to the use of his own name, but +did not on this occasion make any further revelation. Then Croll made +a further statement to Lord Nidderdale, which I think he must have +done in pure good-nature. "My lor," he said, whispering very gravely, +"de money of de yong lady is all her own." Then he nodded his head +three times. "Nobody can toch it, not if he vas in debt millions." +Again he nodded his head.</p> + +<p>"I am very glad to hear it for her sake," said Lord Nidderdale as he +took his leave.</p> + + +<p><a id="c87"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXXVII.</h3> +<h4>DOWN AT CARBURY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When Roger Carbury returned to Suffolk, after seeing his cousins in +Welbeck Street, he was by no means contented with himself. That he +should be discontented generally with the circumstances of his life +was a matter of course. He knew that he was farther removed than ever +from the object on which his whole mind was set. Had Hetta Carbury +learned all the circumstances of Paul's engagement with Mrs. Hurtle +before she had confessed her love to Paul,—so that her heart might +have been turned against the man before she had made her +confession,—then, he thought, she might at last have listened to +him. Even though she had loved the other man, she might have at last +done so, as her love would have been buried in her own bosom. But the +tale had been told after the fashion which was most antagonistic to +his own interests. Hetta had never heard Mrs. Hurtle's name till she +had given herself away, and had declared to all her friends that she +had given herself away to this man, who was so unworthy of her. The +more Roger thought of this, the more angry he was with Paul Montague, +and the more convinced that that man had done him an injury which he +could never forgive.</p> + +<p>But his grief extended even beyond that. Though he was never tired of +swearing to himself that he would not forgive Paul Montague, yet +there was present to him a feeling that an injury was being done to +the man, and that he was in some sort responsible for that injury. He +had declined to tell Hetta any part of the story about Mrs. +Hurtle,—actuated by a feeling that he ought not to betray the trust +put in him by a man who was at the time his friend; and he had told +nothing. But no one knew so well as he did the fact that all the +attention latterly given by Paul to the American woman had by no +means been the effect of love, but had come from a feeling on Paul's +part that he could not desert the woman he had once loved, when she +asked him for his kindness. If Hetta could know everything +exactly,—if she could look back and read the state of Paul's mind as +he, Roger, could read it,—then she would probably forgive the man, +or perhaps tell herself that there was nothing for her to forgive. +Roger was anxious that Hetta's anger should burn hot,—because of the +injury done to himself. He thought that there were ample reasons why +Paul Montague should be punished,—why Paul should be utterly +expelled from among them, and allowed to go his own course. But it +was not right that the man should be punished on false grounds. It +seemed to Roger now that he was doing an injustice to his enemy by +refraining from telling all that he knew.</p> + +<p>As to the girl's misery in losing her lover, much as he loved her, +true as it was that he was willing to devote himself and all that he +had to her happiness, I do not think that at the present moment he +was disturbed in that direction. It is hardly natural, perhaps, that +a man should love a woman with such devotion as to wish to make her +happy by giving her to another man. Roger told himself that Paul +would be an unsafe husband, a fickle husband,—one who might be +carried hither and thither both in his circumstances and his +feelings,—and that it would be better for Hetta that she should not +marry him; but at the same time he was unhappy as he reflected that +he himself was a party to a certain amount of deceit.</p> + +<p>And yet he had said not a word. He had referred Hetta to the man +himself. He thought that he knew, and he did indeed accurately know, +the state of Hetta's mind. She was wretched because she thought that +while her lover was winning her love, while she herself was willingly +allowing him to win her love, he was dallying with another woman, and +making to that other woman promises the same as those he made to her. +This was not true. Roger knew that it was not true. But when he tried +to quiet his conscience by saying that they must fight it out among +themselves, he felt himself to be uneasy under that assurance.</p> + +<p>His life at Carbury, at this time, was very desolate. He had become +tired of the priest, who, in spite of various repulses, had never for +a moment relaxed his efforts to convert his friend. Roger had told +him once that he must beg that religion might not be made the subject +of further conversation between them. In answer to this, Father +Barham had declared that he would never consent to remain as an +intimate associate with any man on those terms. Roger had persisted +in his stipulation, and the priest had then suggested that it was his +host's intention to banish him from Carbury Hall. Roger had made no +reply, and the priest had of course been banished. But even this +added to his misery. Father Barham was a gentleman, was a good man, +and in great penury. To ill-treat such a one, to expel such a one +from his house, seemed to Roger to be an abominable cruelty. He was +unhappy with himself about the priest, and yet he could not bid the +man come back to him. It was already being said of him among his +neighbours, at Eardly, at Caversham, and at the Bishop's palace, that +he either had become or was becoming a Roman Catholic, under the +priest's influence. Mrs. Yeld had even taken upon herself to write to +him a most affectionate letter, in which she said very little as to +any evidence that had reached her as to Roger's defection, but +dilated at very great length on the abominations of a certain lady +who is supposed to indulge in gorgeous colours.</p> + +<p>He was troubled, too, about old Daniel Ruggles, the farmer at Sheep's +Acre, who had been so angry because his niece would not marry John +Crumb. Old Ruggles, when abandoned by Ruby and accused by his +neighbours of personal cruelty to the girl, had taken freely to that +source of consolation which he found to be most easily within his +reach. Since Ruby had gone he had been drunk every day, and was +making himself generally a scandal and a nuisance. His landlord had +interfered with his usual kindness, and the old man had always +declared that his niece and John Crumb were the cause of it all; for +now, in his maudlin misery, he attributed as much blame to the lover +as he did to the girl. John Crumb wasn't in earnest. If he had been +in earnest he would have gone after her to London at once. No;—he +wouldn't invite Ruby to come back. If Ruby would come back, +repentant, full of sorrow,—and hadn't been and made a fool of +herself in the meantime,—then he'd think of taking her back. In the +meantime, with circumstances in their present condition, he evidently +thought that he could best face the difficulties of the world by an +unfaltering adhesion to gin, early in the day and all day long. This, +too, was a grievance to Roger Carbury.</p> + +<p>But he did not neglect his work, the chief of which at the present +moment was the care of the farm which he kept in his own hands. He +was making hay at this time in certain meadows down by the river +side; and was standing by while the men were loading a cart, when he +saw John Crumb approaching across the field. He had not seen John +since the eventful journey to London; nor had he seen him in London; +but he knew well all that had occurred,—how the dealer in pollard +had thrashed his cousin, Sir Felix, how he had been locked up by the +police and then liberated,—and how he was now regarded in Bungay as +a hero, as far as arms were concerned, but as being very "soft" in +the matter of love. The reader need hardly be told that Roger was not +at all disposed to quarrel with Mr. Crumb, because the victim of +Crumb's heroism had been his own cousin. Crumb had acted well, and +had never said a word about Sir Felix since his return to the +country. No doubt he had now come to talk about his love,—and in +order that his confessions might not be made before all the assembled +haymakers, Roger Carbury hurried to meet him. There was soon evident +on Crumb's broad face a whole sunshine of delight. As Roger +approached him he began to laugh aloud, and to wave a bit of paper +that he had in his hands. "She's a coomin; she's a coomin," were the +first words he uttered. Roger knew very well that in his friend's +mind there was but one "she" in the world, and that the name of that +she was Ruby Ruggles.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill087"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill087.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill087-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"She’s a coomin; + she’s a coomin."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"She's a + coomin; she's a coomin."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill087.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"I am delighted to hear it," said Roger. "She has made it up with her +grandfather?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know now't about grandfeyther. She have made it up wi' me. +Know'd she would when I'd polish'd t'other un off a bit;—know'd she +would."</p> + +<p>"Has she written to you, then?"</p> + +<p>"Well, squoire,—she ain't; not just herself. I do suppose that isn't +the way they does it. But it's all as one." And then Mr. Crumb thrust +Mrs. Hurtle's note into Roger Carbury's hand.</p> + +<p>Roger certainly was not predisposed to think well or kindly of Mrs. +Hurtle. Since he had first known Mrs. Hurtle's name, when Paul +Montague had told the story of his engagement on his return from +America, Roger had regarded her as a wicked, intriguing, bad woman. +It may, perhaps, be confessed that he was prejudiced against all +Americans, looking upon Washington much as he did upon Jack Cade or +Wat Tyler; and he pictured to himself all American women as being +loud, masculine, and atheistical. But it certainly did seem that in +this instance Mrs. Hurtle was endeavouring to do a good turn from +pure charity. "She is a lady," Crumb began to explain, "who do be +living with Mrs. Pipkin; and she is a lady as is a lady."</p> + +<p>Roger could not fully admit the truth of this assertion; but he +explained that he, too, knew something of Mrs. Hurtle, and that he +thought it probable that what she said of Ruby might be true. "True, +squoire!" said Crumb, laughing with his whole face. "I ha' nae a +doubt it's true. What's again its being true? When I had dropped into +t'other fellow, of course she made her choice. It was me as was to +blame, because I didn't do it before. I ought to ha' dropped into him +when I first heard as he was arter her. It's that as girls like. So, +squoire, I'm just going again to Lon'on right away."</p> + +<p>Roger suggested that old Ruggles would, of course, receive his niece; +but as to this John expressed his supreme indifference. The old man +was nothing to him. Of course he would like to have the old man's +money; but the old man couldn't live for ever, and he supposed that +things would come right in time. But this he knew,—that he wasn't +going to cringe to the old man about his money. When Roger observed +that it would be better that Ruby should have some home to which she +might at once return, John adverted with a renewed grin to all the +substantial comforts of his own house. It seemed to be his idea, that +on arriving in London he would at once take Ruby away to church and +be married to her out of hand. He had thrashed his rival, and what +cause could there now be for delay?</p> + +<p>But before he left the field he made one other speech to the squire. +"You ain't a'taken it amiss, squoire, 'cause he was coosin to +yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least, Mr. Crumb."</p> + +<p>"That's koind now. I ain't a done the yong man a ha'porth o' harm, +and I don't feel no grudge again him, and when me and Ruby's once +spliced, I'm darned if I don't give 'un a bottle of wine the first +day as he'll come to Bungay."</p> + +<p>Roger did not feel himself justified in accepting this invitation on +the part of Sir Felix; but he renewed his assurance that he, on his +own part, thought that Crumb had behaved well in that matter of the +street encounter, and he expressed a strong wish for the immediate +and continued happiness of Mr. and Mrs. John Crumb.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ay, we'll be 'appy, squoire," said Crumb as he went exulting out +of the field.</p> + +<p>On the day after this Roger Carbury received a letter which disturbed +him very much, and to which he hardly knew whether to return any +answer, or what answer. It was from Paul Montague, and was written by +him but a few hours after he had left his letter for Hetta with his +own hands, at the door of her mother's house. Paul's letter to Roger +was as <span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My dear Roger</span>,—</p> + +<p>Though I know that you have cast me off from you I cannot +write to you in any other way, as any other way would be +untrue. You can answer me, of course, as you please, but I +do think that you will owe me an answer, as I appeal to +you in the name of justice.</p> + +<p>You know what has taken place between Hetta and myself. +She had accepted me, and therefore I am justified in +feeling sure that she must have loved me. But she has now +quarrelled with me altogether, and has told me that I am +never to see her again. Of course I don't mean to put up +with this. Who would? You will say that it is no business +of yours. But I think that you would not wish that she +should be left under a false impression, if you could put +her right.</p> + +<p>Somebody has told her the story of Mrs. Hurtle. I suppose +it was Felix, and that he had learned it from those people +at Islington. But she has been told that which is untrue. +Nobody knows and nobody can know the truth as you do. She +supposes that I have willingly been passing my time with +Mrs. Hurtle during the last two months, although during +that very time I have asked for and have received the +assurance of her love. Now, whether or no I have been to +blame about Mrs. Hurtle,—as to which nothing at present +need be said,—it is certainly the truth that her coming +to England was not only not desired by me, but was felt by +me to be the greatest possible misfortune. But after all +that had passed I certainly owed it to her not to neglect +her;—and this duty was the more incumbent on me as she +was a foreigner and unknown to any one. I went down to +Lowestoft with her at her request, having named the place +to her as one known to myself, and because I could not +refuse her so small a favour. You know that it was so, and +you know also, as no one else does, that whatever courtesy +I have shown to Mrs. Hurtle in England, I have been +constrained to show her.</p> + +<p>I appeal to you to let Hetta know that this is true. She +had made me understand that not only her mother and +brother, but you also, are well acquainted with the story +of my acquaintance with Mrs. Hurtle. Neither Lady Carbury +nor Sir Felix has ever known anything about it. You, and +you only, have known the truth. And now, though at the +present you are angry with me, I call upon you to tell +Hetta the truth as you know it. You will understand me +when I say that I feel that I am being destroyed by a +false representation. I think that you, who abhor a +falsehood, will see the justice of setting me right, at +any rate as far as the truth can do so. I do not want you +to say a word for me beyond that.</p> + +<p class="ind12">Yours always,</p> + +<p class="ind14"><span class="smallcaps">Paul Montague</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>What business is all that of mine? This, of course, was the first +feeling produced in Roger's mind by Montague's letter. If Hetta had +received any false impression, it had not come from him. He had told +no stories against his rival, whether true or false. He had been so +scrupulous that he had refused to say a word at all. And if any false +impression had been made on Hetta's mind, either by circumstances or +by untrue words, had not Montague deserved any evil that might fall +upon him? Though every word in Montague's letter might be true, +nevertheless, in the end, no more than justice would be done him, +even should he be robbed at last of his mistress under erroneous +impressions. The fact that he had once disgraced himself by offering +to make Mrs. Hurtle his wife, rendered him unworthy of Hetta Carbury. +Such, at least, was Roger Carbury's verdict as he thought over all +the circumstances. At any rate, it was no business of his to correct +these wrong impressions.</p> + +<p>And yet he was ill at ease as he thought of it all. He did believe +that every word in Montague's letter was true. Though he had been +very indignant when he met Paul and Mrs. Hurtle together on the sands +at Lowestoft, he was perfectly convinced that the cause of their +coming there had been precisely that which Montague had stated. It +took him two days to think over all this, two days of great +discomfort and unhappiness. After all, why should he be a dog in the +manger? The girl did not care for him,—looked upon him as an old man +to be regarded in a fashion altogether different from that in which +she regarded Paul Montague. He had let his time for love-making go +by, and now it behoved him, as a man, to take the world as he found +it, and not to lose himself in regrets for a kind of happiness which +he could never attain. In such an emergency as this he should do what +was fair and honest, without reference to his own feelings. And yet +the passion which dominated John Crumb altogether, which made the +mealman so intent on the attainment of his object as to render all +other things indifferent to him for the time, was equally strong with +Roger Carbury. Unfortunately for Roger, strong as his passion was, it +was embarrassed by other feelings. It never occurred to Crumb to +think whether he was a fit husband for Ruby, or whether Ruby, having +a decided preference for another man, could be a fit wife for him. +But with Roger there were a thousand surrounding difficulties to +hamper him. John Crumb never doubted for a moment what he should do. +He had to get the girl, if possible, and he meant to get her whatever +she might cost him. He was always confident though sometimes +perplexed. But Roger had no confidence. He knew that he should never +win the game. In his sadder moments he felt that he ought not to win +it. The people around him, from old fashion, still called him the +young squire! Why;—he felt himself at times to be eighty years +old,—so old that he was unfitted for intercourse with such juvenile +spirits as those of his neighbour the bishop, and of his friend +Hepworth. Could he, by any training, bring himself to take her +happiness in hand, altogether sacrificing his own?</p> + +<p>In such a mood as this he did at last answer his enemy's letter,—and +he answered it as +<span class="nowrap">follows:—</span><br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p>I do not know that I am concerned to meddle in your +affairs at all. I have told no tale against you, and I do +not know that I have any that I wish to tell in your +favour, or that I could so tell if I did wish. I think +that you have behaved badly to me, cruelly to Mrs. Hurtle, +and disrespectfully to my cousin. Nevertheless, as you +appeal to me on a certain point for evidence which I can +give, and which you say no one else can give, I do +acknowledge that, in my opinion, Mrs. Hurtle's presence in +England has not been in accordance with your wishes, and +that you accompanied her to Lowestoft, not as her lover +but as an old friend whom you could not neglect.</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Roger Carbury</span>.</p> + +<p class="noindent">Paul Montague, Esq.</p> + +<p class="noindent">You are at liberty to +show this letter to Miss Carbury, if +you please; but if she reads part she should read the +whole!<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>There was more perhaps of hostility in this letter than of that +spirit of self-sacrifice to which Roger intended to train himself; +and so he himself felt after the letter had been dispatched.</p> + + +<p><a id="c88"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXXVIII.</h3> +<h4>THE INQUEST.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Melmotte had been found dead on Friday morning, and late on the +evening of the same day Madame Melmotte and Marie were removed to +lodgings far away from the scene of the tragedy, up at Hampstead. +Herr Croll had known of the place, and at Lord Nidderdale's instance +had busied himself in the matter, and had seen that the rooms were +made instantly ready for the widow of his late employer. Nidderdale +himself had assisted them in their departure; and the German, with +the poor woman's maid, with the jewels also, which had been packed +according to Melmotte's last orders to his wife, followed the +carriage which took the mother and the daughter. They did not start +till nine o'clock in the evening, and Madame Melmotte at the moment +would fain have been allowed to rest one other night in Bruton +Street. But Lord Nidderdale, with one hardly uttered word, made Marie +understand that the inquest would be held early on the following +morning, and Marie was imperious with her mother and carried her +point. So the poor woman was taken away from Mr. Longestaffe's +residence, and never again saw the grandeur of her own house in +Grosvenor Square, which she had not visited since the night on which +she had helped to entertain the Emperor of China.</p> + +<p>On Saturday morning the inquest was held. There was not the slightest +doubt as to any one of the incidents of the catastrophe. The +servants, the doctor, and the inspector of police between them, +learned that he had come home alone, that nobody had been near him +during the night, that he had been found dead, and that he had +undoubtedly been poisoned by prussic acid. It was also proved that he +had been drunk in the House of Commons, a fact to which one of the +clerks of the House, very much against his will, was called upon to +testify. That he had destroyed himself there was no doubt,—nor was +there any doubt as to the cause.</p> + +<p>In such cases as this it is for the jury to say whether the +unfortunate one who has found his life too hard for endurance, and +has rushed away to see whether he could not find an improved +condition of things elsewhere, has or has not been mad at the moment. +Surviving friends are of course anxious for a verdict of insanity, as +in that case no further punishment is exacted. The body can be buried +like any other body, and it can always be said afterwards that the +poor man was mad. Perhaps it would be well that all suicides should +be said to have been mad, for certainly the jurymen are not generally +guided in their verdicts by any accurately ascertained facts. If the +poor wretch has, up to his last days, been apparently living a decent +life; if he be not hated, or has not in his last moments made himself +specially obnoxious to the world at large, then he is declared to +have been mad. Who would be heavy on a poor clergyman who has been at +last driven by horrid doubts to rid himself of a difficulty from +which he saw no escape in any other way? Who would not give the +benefit of the doubt to the poor woman whose lover and lord had +deserted her? Who would remit to unhallowed earth the body of the +once beneficent philosopher who has simply thought that he might as +well go now, finding himself powerless to do further good upon earth? +Such, and such like, have of course been temporarily insane, though +no touch even of strangeness may have marked their conduct up to +their last known dealings with their fellow-mortals. But let a +Melmotte be found dead, with a bottle of prussic acid by his side—a +man who has become horrid to the world because of his late +iniquities, a man who has so well pretended to be rich that he has +been able to buy and to sell properties without paying for them, a +wretch who has made himself odious by his ruin to friends who had +taken him up as a pillar of strength in regard to wealth, a brute who +had got into the House of Commons by false pretences, and had +disgraced the House by being drunk there,—and, of course, he will +not be saved by a verdict of insanity from the cross roads, or +whatever scornful grave may be allowed to those who have killed +themselves, with their wits about them. Just at this moment there was +a very strong feeling against Melmotte, owing perhaps as much to his +having tumbled over poor Mr. Beauclerk in the House of Commons as to +the stories of the forgeries he had committed, and the virtue of the +day vindicated itself by declaring him to have been responsible for +his actions when he took the poison. He was <i>felo de se</i>, and +therefore carried away to the cross roads—or elsewhere. But it may +be imagined, I think, that during that night he may have become as +mad as any other wretch, have been driven as far beyond his powers of +endurance as any other poor creature who ever at any time felt +himself constrained to go. He had not been so drunk but that he knew +all that happened, and could foresee pretty well what would happen. +The summons to attend upon the Lord Mayor had been served upon him. +There were some, among them Croll and Mr. Brehgert, who absolutely +knew that he had committed forgery. He had no money for the +Longestaffes, and he was well aware what Squercum would do at once. +He had assured himself long ago,—he had assured himself indeed not +very long ago,—that he would brave it all like a man. But we none of +us know what load we can bear, and what would break our backs. +Melmotte's back had been so utterly crushed that I almost think that +he was mad enough to have justified a verdict of temporary insanity.</p> + +<p>But he was carried away, no one knew whither, and for a week his name +was hateful. But after that, a certain amount of whitewashing took +place, and, in some degree, a restitution of fame was made to the +manes of the departed. In Westminster he was always odious. +Westminster, which had adopted him, never forgave him. But in other +districts it came to be said of him that he had been more sinned +against than sinning; and that, but for the jealousy of the old +stagers in the mercantile world, he would have done very wonderful +things. Marylebone, which is always merciful, took him up quite with +affection, and would have returned his ghost to Parliament could his +ghost have paid for committee rooms. Finsbury delighted for a while +to talk of the great Financier, and even Chelsea thought that he had +been done to death by ungenerous tongues. It was, however, Marylebone +alone that spoke of a monument.</p> + +<p>Mr. Longestaffe came back to his house, taking formal possession of +it a few days after the verdict. Of course he was alone. There had +been no further question of bringing the ladies of the family up to +town; and Dolly altogether declined to share with his father the +honour of encountering the dead man's spirit. But there was very much +for Mr. Longestaffe to do, and very much also for his son. It was +becoming a question with both of them how far they had been ruined by +their connection with the horrible man. It was clear that they could +not get back the title-deeds of the Pickering property without paying +the amount which had been advanced upon them, and it was equally +clear that they could not pay that sum unless they were enabled to do +so by funds coming out of the Melmotte estate. Dolly, as he sat +smoking upon the stool in Mr. Squercum's office, where he now passed +a considerable portion of his time, looked upon himself as a miracle +of ill-usage.</p> + +<p>"By George, you know, I shall have to go to law with the governor. +There's nothing else for it; is there, Squercum?"</p> + +<p>Squercum suggested that they had better wait till they found what +pickings there might be out of the Melmotte estate. He had made +inquiries too about that, and had been assured that there must be +property, but property so involved and tied up as to make it +impossible to lay hands upon it suddenly. "They say that the things +in the square, and the plate, and the carriages and horses, and all +that, ought to fetch between twenty and thirty thousand. There were a +lot of jewels, but the women have taken them," said Squercum.</p> + +<p>"By George, they ought to be made to give up everything. Did you ever +hear of such a thing;—the very house pulled down;—my house; and all +done without a word from me in the matter? I don't suppose such a +thing was ever known before, since properties were properties." Then +he uttered sundry threats against the Bideawhiles, in reference to +whom he declared his intention of "making it very hot for them."</p> + +<p>It was an annoyance added to the elder Mr. Longestaffe that the +management of Melmotte's affairs fell at last almost exclusively into +the hands of Mr. Brehgert. Now Brehgert, in spite of his many +dealings with Melmotte, was an honest man, and, which was perhaps of +as much immediate consequence, both an energetic and a patient man. +But then he was the man who had wanted to marry Georgiana +Longestaffe, and he was the man to whom Mr. Longestaffe had been +particularly uncivil. Then there arose necessities for the presence +of Mr. Brehgert in the house in which Melmotte had lately lived and +had died. The dead man's papers were still there,—deeds, documents, +and such letters as he had not chosen to destroy;—and these could +not be removed quite at once. "Mr. Brehgert must of course have +access to my private room, as long as it is necessary,—absolutely +necessary," said Mr. Longestaffe in answer to a message which was +brought to him; "but he will of course see the expediency of +relieving me from such intrusion as soon as possible." But he soon +found it preferable to come to terms with the rejected suitor, +especially as the man was singularly good-natured and forbearing +after the injuries he had received.</p> + +<p>All minor debts were to be paid at once; an arrangement to which Mr. +Longestaffe cordially agreed, as it included a sum of £300 due to him +for the rent of his house in Bruton Street. Then by degrees it became +known that there would certainly be a dividend of not less than fifty +per cent. payable on debts which could be proved to have been owing +by Melmotte, and perhaps of more;—an arrangement which was very +comfortable to Dolly, as it had been already agreed between all the +parties interested that the debt due to him should be satisfied +before the father took anything. Mr. Longestaffe resolved during +these weeks that he remained in town that, as regarded himself and +his own family, the house in London should not only not be kept up, +but that it should be absolutely sold, with all its belongings, and +that the servants at Caversham should be reduced in number, and +should cease to wear powder. All this was communicated to Lady Pomona +in a very long letter, which she was instructed to read to her +daughters. "I have suffered great wrongs," said Mr. Longestaffe, "but +I must submit to them, and as I submit so must my wife and children. +If our son were different from what he is the sacrifice might +probably be made lighter. His nature I cannot alter, but from my +daughters I expect cheerful obedience." From what incidents of his +past life he was led to expect cheerfulness at Caversham it might be +difficult to say; but the obedience was there. Georgey was for the +time broken down; Sophia was satisfied with her nuptial prospects, +and Lady Pomona had certainly no spirits left for a combat. I think +the loss of the hair-powder afflicted her most; but she said not a +word even about that.</p> + +<p>But in all this the details necessary for the telling of our story +are anticipated. Mr. Longestaffe had remained in London actually over +the 1st of September, which in Suffolk is the one great festival of +the year, before the letter was written to which allusion has been +made. In the meantime he saw much of Mr. Brehgert, and absolutely +formed a kind of friendship for that gentleman, in spite of the +abomination of his religion,—so that on one occasion he even +condescended to ask Mr. Brehgert to dine alone with him in Bruton +Street. This, too, was in the early days of the arrangement of the +Melmotte affairs, when Mr. Longestaffe's heart had been softened by +that arrangement with reference to the rent. Mr. Brehgert came, and +there arose a somewhat singular conversation between the two +gentlemen as they sat together over a bottle of Mr. Longestaffe's old +port wine. Hitherto not a word had passed between them respecting the +connection which had once been proposed, since the day on which the +young lady's father had said so many bitter things to the expectant +bridegroom. But in this evening Mr. Brehgert, who was by no means a +coward in such matters and whose feelings were not perhaps painfully +fine, spoke his mind in a way that at first startled Mr. Longestaffe. +The subject was introduced by a reference which Brehgert had made to +his own affairs. His loss would be, at any rate, double that which +Mr. Longestaffe would have to bear;—but he spoke of it in an easy +way, as though it did not sit very near his heart. "Of course there's +a difference between me and you," he said. Mr. Longestaffe bowed his +head graciously, as much as to say that there was of course a very +wide difference. "In our affairs," continued Brehgert, "we expect +gains, and of course look for occasional losses. When a gentleman in +your position sells a property he expects to get the purchase-money."</p> + +<p>"Of course he does, Mr. Brehgert. That's what made it so hard."</p> + +<p>"I can't even yet quite understand how it was with him, or why he +took upon himself to spend such an enormous deal of money here in +London. His business was quite irregular, but there was very much of +it, and some of it immensely profitable. He took us in completely."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"It was old Mr. Todd that first took to him;—but I was deceived as +much as Todd, and then I ventured on a speculation with him outside +of our house. The long and the short of it is that I shall lose +something about sixty thousand pounds."</p> + +<p>"That's a large sum of money."</p> + +<p>"Very large;—so large as to affect my daily mode of life. In my +correspondence with your daughter, I considered it to be my duty to +point out to her that it would be so. I do not know whether she told +you."</p> + +<p>This reference to his daughter for the moment altogether upset Mr. +Longestaffe. The reference was certainly most indelicate, most +deserving of censure; but Mr. Longestaffe did not know how to +pronounce his censure on the spur of the moment, and was moreover at +the present time so very anxious for Brehgert's assistance in the +arrangement of his affairs that, so to say, he could not afford to +quarrel with the man. But he assumed something more than his normal +dignity as he asserted that his daughter had never mentioned the +fact.</p> + +<p>"It was so," said Brehgert.</p> + +<p>"No doubt;"—and Mr. Longestaffe assumed a great deal of dignity.</p> + +<p>"Yes; it was so. I had promised your daughter when she was good +enough to listen to the proposition which I made to her, that I would +maintain a second house when we should be married."</p> + +<p>"It was impossible," said Mr. Longestaffe,—meaning to assert that +such hymeneals were altogether unnatural and out of the question.</p> + +<p>"It would have been quite possible as things were when that +proposition was made. But looking forward to the loss which I +afterwards anticipated from the affairs of our deceased friend, I +found it to be prudent to relinquish my intention for the present, +and I thought myself bound to inform Miss Longestaffe."</p> + +<p>"There were other reasons," muttered Mr. Longestaffe, in a suppressed +voice, almost in a whisper,—in a whisper which was intended to +convey a sense of present horror and a desire for future reticence.</p> + +<p>"There may have been; but in the last letter which Miss Longestaffe +did me the honour to write to me,—a letter with which I have not the +slightest right to find any fault,—she seemed to me to confine +herself almost exclusively to that reason."</p> + +<p>"Why mention this now, Mr. Brehgert; why mention this now? The +subject is painful."</p> + +<p>"Just because it is not painful to me, Mr. Longestaffe; and because I +wish that all they who have heard of the matter should know that it +is not painful. I think that throughout I behaved like a gentleman." +Mr. Longestaffe, in an agony, first shook his head twice, and then +bowed it three times, leaving the Jew to take what answer he could +from so dubious an oracle. "I am sure," continued Brehgert, "that I +behaved like an honest man; and I didn't quite like that the matter +should be passed over as if I was in any way ashamed of myself."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps on so delicate a subject the less said the soonest mended."</p> + +<p>"I've nothing more to say, and I've nothing at all to mend." +Finishing the conversation with this little speech Brehgert arose to +take his leave, making some promise at the time that he would use all +the expedition in his power to complete the arrangement of the +Melmotte affairs.</p> + +<p>As soon as he was gone Mr. Longestaffe opened the door and walked +about the room and blew out long puffs of breath, as though to +cleanse himself from the impurities of his late contact. He told +himself that he could not touch pitch and not be defiled! How vulgar +had the man been, how indelicate, how regardless of all feeling, how +little grateful for the honour which Mr. Longestaffe had conferred +upon him by asking him to dinner! Yes;—yes! A horrid Jew! Were not +all Jews necessarily an abomination? Yet Mr. Longestaffe was aware +that in the present crisis of his fortunes he could not afford to +quarrel with Mr. Brehgert.</p> + + +<p><a id="c89"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER LXXXIX.</h3> +<h4>"THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>It was a long time now since Lady Carbury's great historical work on +the Criminal Queens of the World had been completed and given to the +world. Any reader careful as to dates will remember that it was as +far back as in February that she had solicited the assistance of +certain of her literary friends who were connected with the daily and +weekly press. These gentlemen had responded to her call with more or +less zealous aid, so that the "Criminal Queens" had been regarded in +the trade as one of the successful books of the season. Messrs. +Leadham and Loiter had published a second, and then, very quickly, a +fourth and fifth edition; and had been able in their advertisements +to give testimony from various criticisms showing that Lady Carbury's +book was about the greatest historical work which had emanated from +the press in the present century. With this object a passage was +extracted even from the columns of the "Evening Pulpit,"—which +showed very great ingenuity on the part of some young man connected +with the establishment of Messrs. Leadham and Loiter. Lady Carbury +had suffered something in the struggle. What efforts can mortals make +as to which there will not be some disappointment? Paper and print +cannot be had for nothing, and advertisements are very costly. An +edition may be sold with startling rapidity, but it may have been but +a scanty edition. When Lady Carbury received from Messrs. Leadham and +Loiter their second very moderate cheque, with the expression of a +fear on their part that there would not probably be a third,—unless +some unforeseen demand should arise,—she repeated to herself those +well-known lines from the +<span class="nowrap">satirist,—</span></p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0"><tr><td> +"Oh, Amos Cottle, for a moment think<br /> +<span class="nowrap"> What meagre profits spread from pen and ink."</span> +</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>But not on that account did she for a moment hesitate as to further +attempts. Indeed she had hardly completed the last chapter of her +"Criminal Queens" before she was busy on another work; and although +the last six months had been to her a period of incessant trouble, +and sometimes of torture, though the conduct of her son had more than +once forced her to declare to herself that her mind would fail her, +still she had persevered. From day to day, with all her cares heavy +upon her, she had sat at her work, with a firm resolve that so many +lines should be always forthcoming, let the difficulty of making them +be what it might. Messrs. Leadham and Loiter had thought that they +might be justified in offering her certain terms for a novel,—terms +not very high indeed, and those contingent on the approval of the +manuscript by their reader. The smallness of the sum offered, and the +want of certainty, and the pain of the work in her present +circumstances, had all been felt by her to be very hard. But she had +persevered, and the novel was now complete.</p> + +<p>It cannot with truth be said of her that she had had any special tale +to tell. She had taken to the writing of a novel because Mr. Loiter +had told her that upon the whole novels did better than anything +else. She would have written a volume of sermons on the same +encouragement, and have gone about the work exactly after the same +fashion. The length of her novel had been her first question. It must +be in three volumes, and each volume must have three hundred pages. +But what fewest number of words might be supposed sufficient to fill +a page? The money offered was too trifling to allow of very liberal +measure on her part. She had to live, and if possible to write +another novel,—and, as she hoped, upon better terms,—when this +should be finished. Then what should be the name of her novel; what +the name of her hero; and above all what the name of her heroine? It +must be a love story of course; but she thought that she would leave +the complications of the plot to come by chance,—and they did come. +"Don't let it end unhappily, Lady Carbury," Mr. Loiter had said, +"because though people like it in a play, they hate it in a book. And +whatever you do, Lady Carbury, don't be historical. Your historical +novel, Lady Carbury, isn't worth +<span class="nowrap">a—"</span> Mr. Loiter stopping himself +suddenly, and remembering that he was addressing himself to a lady, +satisfied his energy at last by the use of the word "straw." Lady +Carbury had followed these instructions with accuracy.</p> + +<p>The name for the story had been the great thing. It did not occur to +the authoress that, as the plot was to be allowed to develop itself +and was, at this moment when she was perplexed as to the title, +altogether uncreated, she might as well wait to see what appellation +might best suit her work when its purpose should have declared +itself. A novel, she knew well, was most unlike a rose, which by any +other name will smell as sweet. "The Faultless Father," "The +Mysterious Mother," "The Lame Lover,"—such names as that she was +aware would be useless now. "Mary Jane Walker," if she could be very +simple, would do, or "Blanche De Veau," if she were able to maintain +throughout a somewhat high-stilted style of feminine rapture. But as +she considered that she could best deal with rapid action and strange +coincidences, she thought that something more startling and +descriptive would better suit her purpose. After an hour's thought a +name did occur to her, and she wrote it down, and with considerable +energy of purpose framed her work in accordance with her chosen +title, "The Wheel of Fortune!" She had no particular fortune in her +mind when she chose it, and no particular wheel;—but the very idea +conveyed by the words gave her the plot which she wanted. A young +lady was blessed with great wealth, and lost it all by an uncle, and +got it all back by an honest lawyer, and gave it all up to a +distressed lover, and found it all again in the third volume. And the +lady's name was Cordinga, selected by Lady Carbury as never having +been heard before either in the world of fact or in that of fiction.</p> + +<p>And now with all her troubles thick about her,—while her son was +still hanging about the house in a condition that would break any +mother's heart, while her daughter was so wretched and sore that she +regarded all those around her as her enemies, Lady Carbury finished +her work, and having just written the last words in which the final +glow of enduring happiness was given to the young married heroine +whose wheel had now come full round, sat with the sheets piled at her +right hand. She had allowed herself a certain number of weeks for the +task, and had completed it exactly in the time fixed. As she sat with +her hand near the pile, she did give herself credit for her +diligence. Whether the work might have been better done she never +asked herself. I do not think that she prided herself much on the +literary merit of the tale. But if she could bring the papers to +praise it, if she could induce Mudie to circulate it, if she could +manage that the air for a month should be so loaded with "The Wheel +of Fortune," as to make it necessary for the reading world to have +read or to have said that it had read the book,—then she would pride +herself very much upon her work.</p> + +<p>As she was so sitting on a Sunday afternoon, in her own room, Mr. Alf +was announced. According to her habit, she expressed warm delight at +seeing him. Nothing could be kinder than such a visit just at such a +time,—when there was so very much to occupy such a one as Mr. Alf! +Mr. Alf, in his usual mildly satirical way, declared that he was not +peculiarly occupied just at present. "The Emperor has left Europe at +last," he said. "Poor Melmotte poisoned himself on Friday, and the +inquest sat yesterday. I don't know that there is anything of +interest to-day." Of course Lady Carbury was intent upon her book, +rather even than on the exciting death of a man whom she had herself +known. Oh, if she could only get Mr. Alf! She had tried it before, +and had failed lamentably. She was well aware of that; and she had a +deep-seated conviction that it would be almost impossible to get Mr. +Alf. But then she had another deep-seated conviction, that that which +is almost impossible may possibly be done. How great would be the +glory, how infinite the service! And did it not seem as though +Providence had blessed her with this special opportunity, sending Mr. +Alf to her just at the one moment at which she might introduce the +subject of her novel without seeming premeditation?</p> + +<p>"I am so tired," she said, affecting to throw herself back as though +stretching her arms out for ease.</p> + +<p>"I hope I am not adding to your fatigue," said Mr. Alf.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear no. It is not the fatigue of the moment, but of the last six +months. Just as you knocked at the door, I had finished the novel at +which I have been working, oh, with such diligence!"</p> + +<p>"Oh,—a novel! When is it to appear, Lady Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"You must ask Leadham and Loiter that question. I have done my part +of the work. I suppose you never wrote a novel, Mr. Alf?"</p> + +<p>"I? Oh dear no; I never write anything."</p> + +<p>"I have sometimes wondered whether I have hated or loved it the most. +One becomes so absorbed in one's plot and one's characters! One loves +the loveable so intensely, and hates with such fixed aversion those +who are intended to be hated. When the mind is attuned to it, one is +tempted to think that it is all so good. One cries at one's own +pathos, laughs at one's own humour, and is lost in admiration at +one's own sagacity and knowledge."</p> + +<p>"How very nice!"</p> + +<p>"But then there comes the reversed picture, the other side of the +coin. On a sudden everything becomes flat, tedious, and unnatural. +The heroine who was yesterday alive with the celestial spark is found +to-day to be a lump of motionless clay. The dialogue that was so +cheery on the first perusal is utterly uninteresting at a second +reading. Yesterday I was sure that there was my monument," and she +put her hand upon the manuscript; "to-day I feel it to be only too +heavy for a gravestone!"</p> + +<p>"One's judgment about one's-self always does vacillate," said Mr. Alf +in a tone as phlegmatic as were the words.</p> + +<p>"And yet it is so important that one should be able to judge +correctly of one's own work! I can at any rate trust myself to be +honest, which is more perhaps than can be said of all the critics."</p> + +<p>"Dishonesty is not the general fault of the critics, Lady +Carbury,—at least not as far as I have observed the business. It is +incapacity. In what little I have done in the matter, that is the sin +which I have striven to conquer. When we want shoes we go to a +professed shoemaker; but for criticism we have certainly not gone to +professed critics. I think that when I gave up the 'Evening Pulpit,' +I left upon it a staff of writers who are entitled to be regarded as +knowing their business."</p> + +<p>"You given up the 'Pulpit'? asked Lady Carbury with astonishment, +readjusting her mind at once, so that she might perceive whether any +and if so what advantage might be taken of Mr. Alf's new position. He +was no longer editor, and therefore his heavy sense of responsibility +would no longer exist;—but he must still have influence. Might he +not be persuaded to do one act of real friendship? Might she not +succeed if she would come down from her high seat, sink on the ground +before him, tell him the plain truth, and beg for a favour as a poor +struggling woman?</p> + +<p>"Yes, Lady Carbury, I have given it up. It was a matter of course +that I should do so when I stood for Parliament. Now that the new +member has so suddenly vacated his seat, I shall probably stand +again."</p> + +<p>"And you are no longer an editor?"</p> + +<p>"I have given it up, and I suppose I have now satisfied the scruples +of those gentlemen who seemed to think that I was committing a crime +against the Constitution in attempting to get into Parliament while I +was managing a newspaper. I never heard such nonsense. Of course I +know where it came from."</p> + +<p>"Where did it come from?"</p> + +<p>"Where should it come from but the 'Breakfast Table'? Broune and I +have been very good friends, but I do think that of all the men I +know he is the most jealous."</p> + +<p>"That is so little," said Lady Carbury. She was really very fond of +Mr. Broune, but at the present moment she was obliged to humour Mr. +Alf.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me that no man can be better qualified to sit in +Parliament than an editor of a newspaper,—that is if he is capable +as an editor."</p> + +<p>"No one, I think, has ever doubted that of you."</p> + +<p>"The only question is whether he be strong enough for the double +work. I have doubted about myself, and have therefore given up the +paper. I almost regret it."</p> + +<p>"I dare say you do," said Lady Carbury, feeling intensely anxious to +talk about her own affairs instead of his. "I suppose you still +retain an interest in the paper?"</p> + +<p>"Some pecuniary interest;—nothing more."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Alf,—you could do me such a favour!"</p> + +<p>"Can I? If I can, you may be sure I will." False-hearted, +false-tongued man! Of course he knew at the moment what was the +favour Lady Carbury intended to ask, and of course he had made up his +mind that he would not do as he was asked.</p> + +<p>"Will you?" And Lady Carbury clasped her hands together as she poured +forth the words of her prayer. "I never asked you to do anything for +me as long as you were editing the paper. Did I? I did not think it +right, and I would not do it. I took my chance like others, and I am +sure you must own that I bore what was said of me with a good grace. +I never complained. Did I?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>"But now that you have left it yourself,—if you would have the +'Wheel of Fortune' done for me,—really well done!"</p> + +<p>"The 'Wheel of Fortune'!"</p> + +<p>"That is the name of my novel," said Lady Carbury, putting her hand +softly upon the manuscript. "Just at this moment it would be the +making of a fortune for me! And, oh, Mr. Alf, if you could but know +how I want such assistance!"</p> + +<p>"I have nothing further to do with the editorial management, Lady +Carbury."</p> + +<p>"Of course you could get it done. A word from you would make it +certain. A novel is different from an historical work, you know. I +have taken so much pains with it."</p> + +<p>"Then no doubt it will be praised on its own merits."</p> + +<p>"Don't say that, Mr. Alf. The 'Evening Pulpit' is like,—oh, it is +like,—like,—like the throne of heaven! Who can be justified before +it? Don't talk about its own merits, but say that you will have it +done. It couldn't do any man any harm, and it would sell five hundred +copies at once,—that is if it were done really con amore." Mr. Alf +looked at her almost piteously, and shook his head. "The paper stands +so high, it can't hurt it to do that kind of thing once. A woman is +asking you, Mr. Alf. It is for my children that I am struggling. The +thing is done every day of the week, with much less noble motives."</p> + +<p>"I do not think that it has ever been done by the 'Evening Pulpit.'"</p> + +<p>"I have seen books praised."</p> + +<p>"Of course you have."</p> + +<p>"I think I saw a novel spoken highly of."</p> + +<p>Mr. Alf laughed. "Why not? You do not suppose that it is the object +of the 'Pulpit' to cry down novels?"</p> + +<p>"I thought it was; but I thought you might make an exception here. I +would be so thankful;—so grateful."</p> + +<p>"My dear Lady Carbury, pray believe me when I say that I have nothing +to do with it. I need not preach to you sermons about literary +virtue."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she said, not quite understanding what he meant.</p> + +<p>"The sceptre has passed from my hands, and I need not vindicate the +justice of my successor."</p> + +<p>"I shall never know your successor."</p> + +<p>"But I must assure you that on no account should I think of meddling +with the literary arrangement of the paper. I would not do it for my +sister." Lady Carbury looked greatly pained. "Send the book out, and +let it take its chance. How much prouder you will be to have it +praised because it deserves praise, than to know that it has been +eulogised as a mark of friendship."</p> + +<p>"No, I shan't," said Lady Carbury. "I don't believe that anything +like real selling praise is ever given to anybody, except to friends. +I don't know how they manage it, but they do." Mr. Alf shook his +head. "Oh yes; that is all very well from you. Of course you have +been a dragon of virtue; but they tell me that the authoress of the +'New Cleopatra' is a very handsome woman." Lady Carbury must have +been worried much beyond her wont, when she allowed herself so far to +lose her temper as to bring against Mr. Alf the double charge of +being too fond of the authoress in question, and of having sacrificed +the justice of his columns to that improper affection.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill089"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill089.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill089-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"Of course you have been + a dragon of virtue."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"Of course + you have been a dragon of virtue."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill089.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"At this moment I do not remember the name of the lady to whom you +allude," said Mr. Alf, getting up to take his leave; "and I am quite +sure that the gentleman who reviewed the book,—if there be any such +lady and any such book,—had never seen her!" And so Mr. Alf +departed.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury was very angry with herself, and very angry also with +Mr. Alf. She had not only meant to be piteous, but had made the +attempt and then had allowed herself to be carried away into anger. +She had degraded herself to humility, and had then wasted any +possible good result by a foolish fit of chagrin. The world in which +she had to live was almost too hard for her. When left alone she sat +weeping over her sorrows; but when from time to time she thought of +Mr. Alf and his conduct, she could hardly repress her scorn. What +lies he had told her! Of course he could have done it had he chosen. +But the assumed honesty of the man was infinitely worse to her than +his lies. No doubt the "Pulpit" had two objects in its criticisms. +Other papers probably had but one. The object common to all papers, +that of helping friends and destroying enemies, of course prevailed +with the "Pulpit." There was the second purpose of enticing readers +by crushing authors,—as crowds used to be enticed to see men hanged +when executions were done in public. But neither the one object nor +the other was compatible with that Aristidean justice which Mr. Alf +arrogated to himself and to his paper. She hoped with all her heart +that Mr. Alf would spend a great deal of money at Westminster, and +then lose his seat.</p> + +<p>On the following morning she herself took the manuscript to Messrs. +Leadham and Loiter, and was hurt again by the small amount of respect +which seemed to be paid to the collected sheets. There was the work +of six months; her very blood and brains,—the concentrated essence +of her mind,—as she would say herself when talking with energy of +her own performances; and Mr. Leadham pitched it across to a clerk, +apparently perhaps sixteen years of age, and the lad chucked the +parcel unceremoniously under a counter. An author feels that his work +should be taken from him with fast-clutching but reverential hands, +and held thoughtfully, out of harm's way, till it be deposited within +the very sanctum of an absolutely fireproof safe. Oh, heavens, if it +should be lost!—or burned!—or stolen! Those scraps of paper, so +easily destroyed, apparently so little respected, may hereafter be +acknowledged to have had a value greater, so far greater, than their +weight in gold! If "Robinson Crusoe" had been lost! If "Tom Jones" +had been consumed by flames! And who knows but that this may be +another "Robinson Crusoe,"—a better than "Tom Jones"? "Will it be +safe there?" asked Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"Quite safe,—quite safe," said Mr. Leadham, who was rather busy, and +who perhaps saw Lady Carbury more frequently than the nature and +amount of her authorship seemed to him to require.</p> + +<p>"It seemed to be,—put down there,—under the counter!"</p> + +<p>"That's quite right, Lady Carbury. They're left there till they're +packed."</p> + +<p>"Packed!"</p> + +<p>"There are two or three dozen going to our reader this week. He's +down in Skye, and we keep them till there's enough to fill the sack."</p> + +<p>"Do they go by post, Mr. Leadham?"</p> + +<p>"Not by post, Lady Carbury. There are not many of them would pay the +expense. We send them by long sea to Glasgow, because just at this +time of the year there is not much hurry. We can't publish before the +winter." Oh, heavens! If that ship should be lost on its journey by +long sea to Glasgow!</p> + +<p>That evening, as was now almost his daily habit, Mr. Broune came to +her. There was something in the absolute friendship which now existed +between Lady Carbury and the editor of the "Morning Breakfast Table," +which almost made her scrupulous as to asking from him any further +literary favour. She fully recognised,—no woman perhaps more +fully,—the necessity of making use of all aid and furtherance which +might come within reach. With such a son, with such need for +struggling before her, would she not be wicked not to catch even at +every straw? But this man had now become so true to her, that she +hardly knew how to beg him to do that which she, with all her +mistaken feelings, did in truth know that he ought not to do. He had +asked her to marry him, for which,—though she had refused him,—she +felt infinitely grateful. And though she had refused him, he had lent +her money, and had supported her in her misery by his continued +counsel. If he would offer to do this thing for her she would accept +his kindness on her knees,—but even she could not bring herself to +ask to have this added to his other favours. Her first word to him +was about Mr. Alf. "So he has given up the paper?"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes;—nominally."</p> + +<p>"Is that all?"</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose he'll really let it go out of his own hands. Nobody +likes to lose power. He'll share the work, and keep the authority. As +for Westminster, I don't believe he has a chance. If that poor wretch +Melmotte could beat him when everybody was already talking about the +forgeries, how is it likely that he should stand against such a +candidate as they'll get now?"</p> + +<p>"He was here yesterday."</p> + +<p>"And full of triumph, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"He never talks to me much of himself. We were speaking of my new +book,—my novel. He assured me most positively that he had nothing +further to do with the paper."</p> + +<p>"He did not care to make you a promise, I dare say."</p> + +<p>"That was just it. Of course I did not believe him."</p> + +<p>"Neither will I make a promise, but we'll see what we can do. If we +can't be good-natured, at any rate we will say nothing ill-natured. +Let me see,—what is the name?"</p> + +<p>"'The Wheel of Fortune.'" Lady Carbury as she told the title of her +new book to her old friend seemed to be almost ashamed of it.</p> + +<p>"Let them send it early,—a day or two before it's out, if they can. +I can't answer, of course, for the opinion of the gentleman it will +go to, but nothing shall go in that you would dislike. Good-bye. God +bless you." And as he took her hand, he looked at her almost as +though the old susceptibility were returning to him.</p> + +<p>As she sat alone after he had gone, thinking over it all,—thinking +of her own circumstances and of his kindness,—it did not occur to +her to call him an old goose again. She felt now that she had +mistaken her man when she had so regarded him. That first and only +kiss which he had given her, which she had treated with so much +derision, for which she had rebuked him so mildly and yet so +haughtily, had now a somewhat sacred spot in her memory. Through it +all the man must have really loved her! Was it not marvellous that +such a thing should be? And how had it come to pass that she in all +her tenderness had rejected him when he had given her the chance of +becoming his wife?</p> + + +<p><a id="c90"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XC.</h3> +<h4>HETTA'S SORROW.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When Hetta Carbury received that letter from her lover which was +given to the reader some chapters back, it certainly did not tend in +any way to alleviate her misery. Even when she had read it over +half-a-dozen times, she could not bring herself to think it possible +that she could be reconciled to the man. It was not only that he had +sinned against her by giving his society to another woman to whom he +had at any rate been engaged not long since, at the very time at +which he was becoming engaged to her,—but also that he had done this +in such a manner as to make his offence known to all her friends. +Perhaps she had been too quick;—but there was the fact that with her +own consent she had acceded to her mother's demand that the man +should be rejected. The man had been rejected, and even Roger Carbury +knew that it was so. After this it was, she thought, impossible that +she should recall him. But they should all know that her heart was +unchanged. Roger Carbury should certainly know that, if he ever asked +her further question on the matter. She would never deny it; and +though she knew that the man had behaved badly,—having entangled +himself with a nasty American woman,—yet she would be true to him as +far as her own heart was concerned.</p> + +<p>And now he told her that she had been most unjust to him. He said +that he could not understand her injustice. He did not fill his +letter with entreaties, but with reproaches. And certainly his +reproaches moved her more than any prayer would have done. It was too +late now to remedy the evil; but she was not quite sure within her +own bosom that she had not been unjust to him. The more she thought +of it the more puzzled her mind became. Had she quarrelled with him +because he had once been in love with Mrs. Hurtle, or because she had +grounds for regarding Mrs. Hurtle as her present rival? She hated +Mrs. Hurtle, and she was very angry with him in that he had ever been +on affectionate terms with a woman she hated;—but that had not been +the reason put forward by her for quarrelling with him. Perhaps it +was true that he, too, had of late loved Mrs. Hurtle hardly better +than she did herself. It might be that he had been indeed constrained +by hard circumstances to go with the woman to Lowestoft. Having so +gone with her, it was no doubt right that he should be rejected;—for +how can it be that a man who is engaged shall be allowed to travel +about the country with another woman to whom also he was engaged a +few months back? But still there might be hardship in it. To her, to +Hetta herself, the circumstances were very hard. She loved the man +with all her heart. She could look forward to no happiness in life +without him. But yet it must be so.</p> + +<p>At the end of his letter he had told her to go to Mrs. Hurtle herself +if she wanted corroboration of the story as told by him. Of course he +had known when he wrote it that she could not and would not go to +Mrs. Hurtle. But when the letter had been in her possession three or +four days,—unanswered, for, as a matter of course, no answer to it +from herself was possible,—and had been read and re-read till she +knew every word of it by heart, she began to think that if she could +hear the story as it might be told by Mrs. Hurtle, a good deal that +was now dark might become light to her. As she continued to read the +letter, and to brood over it all, by degrees her anger was turned +from her lover to her mother, her brother, and to her cousin Roger. +Paul had of course behaved badly, very badly,—but had it not been +for them she might have had an opportunity of forgiving him. They had +driven her on to the declaration of a purpose from which she could +now see no escape. There had been a plot against her, and she was a +victim. In the first dismay and agony occasioned by that awful story +of the American woman,—which had, at the moment, struck her with a +horror which was now becoming less and less every hour,—she had +fallen head foremost into the trap laid for her. She acknowledged to +herself that it was too late to recover her ground. She was, at any +rate, almost sure that it must be too late. But yet she was disposed +to do battle with her mother and her cousin in the matter—if only +with the object of showing that she would not submit her own feelings +to their control. She was savage to the point of rebellion against +all authority. Roger Carbury would of course think that any +communication between herself and Mrs. Hurtle must be most +improper,—altogether indelicate. Two or three days ago she thought +so herself. But the world was going so hard with her, that she was +beginning to feel herself capable of throwing propriety and delicacy +to the winds. This man whom she had once accepted, whom she +altogether loved, and who, in spite of all his faults, certainly +still loved her,—of that she was beginning to have no further +doubt,—accused her of dishonesty, and referred her to her rival for +a corroboration of his story. She would appeal to Mrs. Hurtle. The +woman was odious, abominable, a nasty intriguing American female. But +her lover desired that she should hear the woman's story; and she +would hear the story,—if the woman would tell it.</p> + +<p>So resolving, she wrote as follows to Mrs. Hurtle, finding great +difficulty in the composition of a letter which should tell neither +too little nor too much, and determined that she would be restrained +by no mock modesty, by no girlish fear of declaring the truth about +herself. The letter at last was stiff and hard, but it sufficed for +its purpose.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent">Madam,—</p> + +<p>Mr. Paul Montague has referred me to you as to certain +circumstances which have taken place between him and you. +It is right that I should tell you that I was a short time +since engaged to marry him, but that I have found myself +obliged to break off that engagement in consequence of +what I have been told as to his acquaintance with you. I +make this proposition to you, not thinking that anything +you will say to me can change my mind, but because he has +asked me to do so, and has, at the same time, accused me +of injustice towards him. I do not wish to rest under an +accusation of injustice from one to whom I was once warmly +attached. If you will receive me, I will make it my +business to call any afternoon you may name.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Yours truly,</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Henrietta Carbury</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>When the letter was written she was not only ashamed of it, but very +much afraid of it also. What if the American woman should put it in a +newspaper! She had heard that everything was put into newspapers in +America. What if this Mrs. Hurtle should send back to her some +horribly insolent answer;—or should send such answer to her mother, +instead of herself! And then, again, if the American woman consented +to receive her, would not the American woman, as a matter of course, +trample upon her with rough words? Once or twice she put the letter +aside, and almost determined that it should not be sent;—but at +last, with desperate fortitude, she took it out with her and posted +it herself. She told no word of it to any one. Her mother, she +thought, had been cruel to her, had disregarded her feelings, and +made her wretched for ever. She could not ask her mother for sympathy +in her present distress. There was no friend who would sympathise +with her. She must do everything alone.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hurtle, it will be remembered, had at last determined that she +would retire from the contest and own herself to have been worsted. +It is, I fear, impossible to describe adequately the various half +resolutions which she formed, and the changing phases of her mind +before she brought herself to this conclusion. And soon after she had +assured herself that this should be the conclusion,—after she had +told Paul Montague that it should be so,—there came back upon her at +times other half resolutions to a contrary effect. She had written a +letter to the man threatening desperate revenge, and had then +abstained from sending it, and had then shown it to the man,—not +intending to give it to him as a letter upon which he would have to +act, but only that she might ask him whether, had he received it, he +would have said that he had not deserved it. Then she had parted with +him, refusing either to hear or to say a word of farewell, and had +told Mrs. Pipkin that she was no longer engaged to be married. At +that moment everything was done that could be done. The game had been +played and the stakes lost,—and she had schooled herself into such +restraint as to have abandoned all idea of vengeance. But from time +to time there arose in her heart a feeling that such softness was +unworthy of her. Who had ever been soft to her? Who had spared her? +Had she not long since found out that she must fight with her very +nails and teeth for every inch of ground, if she did not mean to be +trodden into the dust? Had she not held her own among rough people +after a very rough fashion, and should she now simply retire that she +might weep in a corner like a love-sick schoolgirl? And she had been +so stoutly determined that she would at any rate avenge her own +wrongs, if she could not turn those wrongs into triumph! There were +moments in which she thought that she could still seize the man by +the throat, where all the world might see her, and dare him to deny +that he was false, perjured, and mean.</p> + +<p>Then she received a long passionate letter from Paul Montague, +written at the same time as those other letters to Roger Carbury and +Hetta, in which he told her all the circumstances of his engagement +to Hetta Carbury, and implored her to substantiate the truth of his +own story. It was certainly marvellous to her that the man who had so +long been her own lover and who had parted with her after such a +fashion should write such a letter to her. But it had no tendency to +increase either her anger or her sorrow. Of course she had known that +it was so, and at certain times she had told herself that it was only +natural,—had almost told herself that it was right. She and this +young Englishman were not fit to be mated. He was to her thinking a +tame, sleek household animal, whereas she knew herself to be +wild,—fitter for the woods than for polished cities. It had been one +of the faults of her life that she had allowed herself to be bound by +tenderness of feeling to this soft over-civilised man. The result had +been disastrous, as might have been expected. She was angry with +him,—almost to the extent of tearing him to pieces,—but she did not +become more angry because he wrote to her of her rival.</p> + +<p>Her only present friend was Mrs. Pipkin, who treated her with the +greatest deference, but who was never tired of asking questions about +the lost lover. "That letter was from Mr. Montague?" said Mrs. Pipkin +on the morning after it had been received.</p> + +<p>"How can you know that?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it was. One does get to know handwritings when letters come +frequent."</p> + +<p>"It was from him. And why not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear no;—why not certainly? I wish he'd write every day of his +life, so that things would come round again. Nothing ever troubles me +so much as broken love. Why don't he come again himself, Mrs. +Hurtle?"</p> + +<p>"It is not at all likely that he should come again. It is all over, +and there is no good in talking of it. I shall return to New York on +Saturday week."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Hurtle!"</p> + +<p>"I can't remain here, you know, all my life doing nothing. I came +over here for a certain purpose, and that has—gone by. Now I may +just go back again."</p> + +<p>"I know he has ill-treated you. I know he has."</p> + +<p>"I am not disposed to talk about it, Mrs. Pipkin."</p> + +<p>"I should have thought it would have done you good to speak your mind +out free. I know it would me if I'd been served in that way."</p> + +<p>"If I had anything to say at all after that fashion it would be to +the gentleman, and not to any other else. As it is I shall never +speak of it again to any one. You have been very kind to me, Mrs. +Pipkin, and I shall be sorry to leave you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Hurtle, you can't understand what it is to me. It isn't +only my feelings. The likes of me can't stand by their feelings only, +as their betters do. I've never been above telling you what a godsend +you've been to me this summer;—have I? I've paid everything, +butcher, baker, rates and all, just like clockwork. And now you're +going away!" Then Mrs. Pipkin began to sob.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I shall see Mr. Crumb before I go," said Mrs. Hurtle.</p> + +<p>"She don't deserve it; do she? And even now she never says a word +about him that I call respectful. She looks on him as just being +better than Mrs. Buggins's children. That's all."</p> + +<p>"She'll be all right when he has once got her home."</p> + +<p>"And I shall be all alone by myself," said Mrs. Pipkin, with her +apron up to her eyes.</p> + +<p>It was after this that Mrs. Hurtle received Hetta's letter. She had +as yet returned no answer to Paul Montague,—nor had she intended to +send any written answer. Were she to comply with his request she +could do so best by writing to the girl who was concerned rather than +to him. And though she wrote no such letter she thought of it,—of +the words she would use were she to write it, and of the tale which +she would have to tell. She sat for hours thinking of it, trying to +resolve whether she would tell the tale,—if she told it at all,—in +a manner to suit Paul's purpose, or so as to bring that purpose +utterly to shipwreck. She did not doubt that she could cause the +shipwreck were she so minded. She could certainly have her revenge +after that fashion. But it was a woman's fashion, and, as such, did +not recommend itself to Mrs. Hurtle's feelings. A pistol or a +horsewhip, a violent seizing by the neck, with sharp taunts and +bitter-ringing words, would have made the fitting revenge. If she +abandoned that she could do herself no good by telling a story of her +wrongs to another woman.</p> + +<p>Then came Hetta's note, so stiff, so cold, so true,—so like the +letter of an Englishwoman, as Mrs. Hurtle said to herself. Mrs. +Hurtle smiled as she read the letter. "I make this proposition not +thinking that anything you can say to me can change my mind." Of +course the girl's mind would be changed. The girl's mind, indeed, +required no change. Mrs. Hurtle could see well enough that the girl's +heart was set upon the man. Nevertheless she did not doubt but that +she could tell the story after such a fashion as to make it +impossible that the girl should marry him,—if she chose to do so.</p> + +<p>At first she thought that she would not answer the letter at all. +What was it to her? Let them fight their own lovers' battles out +after their own childish fashion. If the man meant at last to be +honest, there could be no doubt, Mrs. Hurtle thought, that the girl +would go to him. It would require no interference of hers. But after +a while she thought that she might as well see this English chit who +had superseded herself in the affections of the Englishman she had +condescended to love. And if it were the case that all revenge was to +be abandoned, that no punishment was to be exacted in return for all +the injury that had been done, why should she not say a kind word so +as to smooth away the existing difficulties? Wild cat as she was, +kindness was more congenial to her nature than cruelty. So she wrote +to Hetta making an appointment.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear +Miss Carbury</span>,—</p> + +<p>If you could make it convenient to yourself to call here +either Thursday or Friday at any hour between two and +four, I shall be very happy to see you.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Yours sincerely,</p> + +<p class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Winifred Hurtle</span>.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<p><a id="c91"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XCI.</h3> +<h4>THE RIVALS.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>During these days the intercourse between Lady Carbury and her +daughter was constrained and far from pleasant. Hetta, thinking that +she was ill-used, kept herself aloof, and would not speak to her +mother of herself or of her troubles. Lady Carbury watching her, but +not daring to say much, was at last almost frightened at her girl's +silence. She had assured herself, when she found that Hetta was +disposed to quarrel with her lover and to send him back his brooch, +that "things would come round," that Paul would be forgotten +quickly,—or laid aside as though he were forgotten,—and that Hetta +would soon perceive it to be her interest to marry her cousin. With +such a prospect before her, Lady Carbury thought it to be her duty as +a mother to show no tendency to sympathise with her girl's sorrow. +Such heart-breakings were occurring daily in the world around them. +Who were the happy people that were driven neither by ambition, nor +poverty, nor greed, nor the cross purposes of unhappy love, to stifle +and trample upon their feelings? She had known no one so blessed. She +had never been happy after that fashion. She herself had within the +last few weeks refused to join her lot with that of a man she really +liked, because her wicked son was so grievous a burden on her +shoulders. A woman, she thought, if she were unfortunate enough to be +a lady without wealth of her own, must give up everything, her body, +her heart,—her very soul if she were that way troubled,—to the +procuring of a fitting maintenance for herself. Why should Hetta hope +to be more fortunate than others? And then the position which chance +now offered to her was fortunate. This cousin of hers, who was so +devoted to her, was in all respects good. He would not torture her by +harsh restraint and cruel temper. He would not drink. He would not +spend his money foolishly. He would allow her all the belongings of a +fair, free life. Lady Carbury reiterated to herself the assertion +that she was manifestly doing a mother's duty by her endeavours to +constrain her girl to marry such a man. With a settled purpose she +was severe and hard. But when she found how harsh her daughter could +be in response to this,—how gloomy, how silent, and how severe in +retaliation,—she was almost frightened at what she herself was +doing. She had not known how stern and how enduring her daughter +could be. "Hetta," she said, "why don't you speak to me?" On this +very day it was Hetta's purpose to visit Mrs. Hurtle at Islington. +She had said no word of her intention to any one. She had chosen the +Friday because on that day she knew her mother would go in the +afternoon to her publisher. There should be no deceit. Immediately on +her return she would tell her mother what she had done. But she +considered herself to be emancipated from control. Among them they +had robbed her of her lover. She had submitted to the robbery, but +she would submit to nothing else. "Hetta, why don't you speak to me?" +said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"Because, mamma, there is nothing we can talk about without making +each other unhappy."</p> + +<p>"What a dreadful thing to say! Is there no subject in the world to +interest you except that wretched young man?"</p> + +<p>"None other at all," said Hetta obstinately.</p> + +<p>"What folly it is,—I will not say only to speak like that, but to +allow yourself to entertain such thoughts!"</p> + +<p>"How am I to control my thoughts? Do you think, mamma, that after I +had owned to you that I loved a man,—after I had owned it to him +and, worst of all, to myself,—I could have myself separated from +him, and then not think about it? It is a cloud upon everything. It +is as though I had lost my eyesight and my speech. It is as it would +be to you if Felix were to die. It crushes me."</p> + +<p>There was an accusation in this allusion to her brother which the +mother felt,—as she was intended to feel it,—but to which she could +make no reply. It accused her of being too much concerned for her son +to feel any real affection for her daughter. "You are ignorant of the +world, Hetta," she said.</p> + +<p>"I am having a lesson in it now, at any rate."</p> + +<p>"Do you think it is worse than others have suffered before you? In +what little you see around you do you think that girls are generally +able to marry the men upon whom they set their hearts?" She paused, +but Hetta made no answer to this. "Marie Melmotte was as warmly +attached to your brother as you can be to Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"Marie Melmotte!"</p> + +<p>"She thinks as much of her feelings as you do of yours. The truth is +you are indulging a dream. You must wake from it, and shake yourself, +and find out that you, like others, have got to do the best you can +for yourself in order that you may live. The world at large has to +eat dry bread, and cannot get cakes and sweetmeats. A girl, when she +thinks of giving herself to a husband, has to remember this. If she +has a fortune of her own she can pick and choose, but if she have +none she must allow herself to be chosen."</p> + +<p>"Then a girl is to marry without stopping even to think whether she +likes the man or not?"</p> + +<p>"She should teach herself to like the man, if the marriage be +suitable. I would not have you take a vicious man because he was +rich, or one known to be cruel and imperious. Your cousin Roger, you +<span class="nowrap">know—"</span></p> + +<p>"Mamma," said Hetta, getting up from her seat, "you may as well +believe me. No earthly inducement shall ever make me marry my cousin +Roger. It is to me horrible that you should propose it to me when you +know that I love that other man with my whole heart."</p> + +<p>"How can you speak so of one who has treated you with the utmost +contumely?"</p> + +<p>"I know nothing of any contumely. What reason have I to be offended +because he has liked a woman whom he knew before he ever saw me? It +has been unfortunate, wretched, miserable; but I do not know that I +have any right whatever to be angry with Mr. Paul Montague." Having +so spoken she walked out of the room without waiting for a further +reply.</p> + +<p>It was all very sad to Lady Carbury. She perceived now that she had +driven her daughter to pronounce an absolution of Paul Montague's +sins, and that in this way she had lessened and loosened the barrier +which she had striven to construct between them. But that which +pained her most was the unrealistic, romantic view of life which +pervaded all Hetta's thoughts. How was any girl to live in this world +who could not be taught the folly of such idle dreams?</p> + +<p>That afternoon Hetta trusted herself all alone to the mysteries of +the Marylebone underground railway, and emerged with accuracy at +King's Cross. She had studied her geography, and she walked from +thence to Islington. She knew well the name of the street and the +number at which Mrs. Hurtle lived. But when she reached the door she +did not at first dare to stand and raise the knocker. She passed on +to the end of the silent, vacant street, endeavouring to collect her +thoughts, striving to find and to arrange the words with which she +would commence her strange petition. And she endeavoured to dictate +to herself some defined conduct should the woman be insolent to her. +Personally she was not a coward, but she doubted her power of +replying to a rough speech. She could at any rate escape. Should the +worst come to the worst, the woman would hardly venture to impede her +departure. Having gone to the end of the street, she returned with a +very quick step and knocked at the door. It was opened almost +immediately by Ruby Ruggles, to whom she gave her name.</p> + +<p>"Oh laws,—Miss Carbury!" said Ruby, looking up into the stranger's +face. "Yes;—sure enough she must be Felix's sister." But Ruby did +not dare to ask any question. She had admitted to all around her that +Sir Felix should not be her lover any more, and that John Crumb +should be allowed to return. But, nevertheless, her heart twittered +as she showed Miss Carbury up to the lodger's sitting-room.</p> + +<p>Though it was midsummer Hetta entered the room with her veil down. +She adjusted it as she followed Ruby up the stairs, moved by a sudden +fear of her rival's scrutiny. Mrs. Hurtle rose from her chair and +came forward to greet her visitor, putting out both her hands to do +so. She was dressed with the most scrupulous care,—simply, and in +black, without an ornament of any kind, without a ribbon or a chain +or a flower. But with some woman's purpose at her heart she had so +attired herself as to look her very best. Was it that she thought +that she would vindicate to her rival their joint lover's first +choice, or that she was minded to teach the English girl that an +American woman might have graces of her own? As she came forward she +was gentle and soft in her movements, and a pleasant smile played +round her mouth. Hetta at the first moment was almost dumbfounded by +her beauty,—by that and by her ease and exquisite self-possession. +"Miss Carbury," she said with that low, rich voice which in old days +had charmed Paul almost as much as her loveliness, "I need not tell +you how interested I am in seeing you. May I not ask you to lay aside +your veil, so that we may look at each other fairly?" Hetta, +dumbfounded, not knowing how to speak a word, stood gazing at the +woman when she had removed her veil. She had had no personal +description of Mrs. Hurtle, but had expected something very different +from this! She had thought that the woman would be coarse and big, +with fine eyes and a bright colour. As it was they were both of the +same complexion, both dark, with hair nearly black, with eyes of the +same colour. Hetta thought of all that at the moment,—but +acknowledged to herself that she had no pretension to beauty such as +that which this woman owned. "And so you have come to see me," said +Mrs. Hurtle. "Sit down so that I may look at you. I am glad that you +have come to see me, Miss Carbury."</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill091"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill091.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill091-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"Sit down so that I may look at you."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"Sit down + so that I may look at you."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill091.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"I am glad at any rate that you are not angry."</p> + +<p>"Why should I be angry? Had the idea been distasteful to me I should +have declined. I know not why, but it is a sort of pleasure to me to +see you. It is a poor time we women have,—is it not,—in becoming +playthings to men? So this Lothario that was once mine, is behaving +badly to you also. Is it so? He is no longer mine, and you may ask me +freely for aid, if there be any that I can give you. If he were an +American I should say that he had behaved badly to me;—but as he is +an Englishman perhaps it is different. Now tell me;—what can I do, +or what can I say?"</p> + +<p>"He told me that you could tell me the truth."</p> + +<p>"What truth? I will certainly tell you nothing that is not true. You +have quarrelled with him too. Is it not so?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I have quarrelled with him."</p> + +<p>"I am not curious;—but perhaps you had better tell me of that. I +know him so well that I can guess that he should give offence. He can +be full of youthful ardour one day, and cautious as old age itself +the next. But I do not suppose that there has been need for such +caution with you. What is it, Miss Carbury?"</p> + +<p>Hetta found the telling of her story to be very difficult. "Mrs. +Hurtle," she said, "I had never heard your name when he first asked +me to be his wife."</p> + +<p>"I dare say not. Why should he have told you anything of me?"</p> + +<p>"Because,—oh, because—. Surely he ought, if it is true that he had +once promised to marry you."</p> + +<p>"That certainly is true."</p> + +<p>"And you were here, and I knew nothing of it. Of course I should have +been very different to him had I known +that,—that,—<span class="nowrap">that—"</span></p> + +<p>"That there was such a woman as Winifrid Hurtle interfering with him. +Then you heard it by chance, and you were offended. Was it not so?"</p> + +<p>"And now he tells me that I have been unjust to him and he bids me +ask you. I have not been unjust."</p> + +<p>"I am not so sure of that. Shall I tell you what I think? I think +that he has been unjust to me, and that therefore your injustice to +him is no more than his due. I cannot plead for him, Miss Carbury. To +me he has been the last and worst of a long series of, I think, +undeserved misfortune. But whether you will avenge my wrongs must be +for you to decide."</p> + +<p>"Why did he go with you to Lowestoft?"</p> + +<p>"Because I asked him,—and because, like many men, he cannot be +ill-natured although he can be cruel. He would have given a hand not +to have gone, but he could not say me nay. As you have come here, +Miss Carbury, you may as well know the truth. He did love me, but he +had been talked out of his love by my enemies and his own friends +long before he had ever seen you. I am almost ashamed to tell you my +own part of the story, and yet I know not why I should be ashamed. I +followed him here to England—because I loved him. I came after him, +as perhaps a woman should not do, because I was true of heart. He had +told me that he did not want me;—but I wanted to be wanted, and I +hoped that I might lure him back to his troth. I have utterly failed, +and I must return to my own country,—I will not say a broken-hearted +woman, for I will not admit of such a condition,—but a creature with +a broken spirit. He has misused me foully, and I have simply forgiven +him; not because I am a Christian, but because I am not strong enough +to punish one that I still love. I could not put a dagger into +him,—or I would; or a bullet,—or I would. He has reduced me to a +nothing by his falseness, and yet I cannot injure him! I, who have +sworn to myself that no man should ever lay a finger on me in scorn +without feeling my wrath in return, I cannot punish him. But if you +choose to do so it is not for me to set you against such an act of +justice." Then she paused and looked up to Hetta as though expecting +a reply.</p> + +<p>But Hetta had no reply to make. All had been said that she had come +to hear. Every word that the woman had spoken had in truth been a +comfort to her. She had told herself that her visit was to be made in +order that she might be justified in her condemnation of her lover. +She had believed that it was her intention to arm herself with proof +that she had done right in rejecting him. Now she was told that +however false her lover might have been to this other woman he had +been absolutely true to her. The woman had not spoken kindly of +Paul,—had seemed to intend to speak of him with the utmost severity; +but she had so spoken as to acquit him of all sin against Hetta. What +was it to Hetta that her lover had been false to this American +stranger? It did not seem to her to be at all necessary that she +should be angry with her lover on that head. Mrs. Hurtle had told her +that she herself must decide whether she would take upon herself to +avenge her rival's wrongs. In saying that Mrs. Hurtle had taught her +to feel that there were no other wrongs which she need avenge. It was +all done now. If she could only thank the woman for the pleasantness +of her demeanour, and then go, she could, when alone, make up her +mind as to what she would do next. She had not yet told herself she +would submit herself again to Paul Montague. She had only told +herself that, within her own breast, she was bound to forgive him. +"You have been very kind," she said at last,—speaking only because +it was necessary that she should say something.</p> + +<p>"It is well that there should be some kindness where there has been +so much that is unkind. Forgive me, Miss Carbury, if I speak plainly +to you. Of course you will go back to him. Of course you will be his +wife. You have told me that you love him dearly, as plainly as I have +told you the same story of myself. Your coming here would of itself +have declared it, even if I did not see your satisfaction at my +account of his treachery to me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Hurtle, do not say that of me!"</p> + +<p>"But it is true, and I do not in the least quarrel with you on that +account. He has preferred you to me, and as far as I am concerned +there is an end of it. You are a girl, whereas I am a woman,—and he +likes your youth. I have undergone the cruel roughness of the world, +which has not as yet touched you; and therefore you are softer to the +touch. I do not know that you are very superior in other attractions; +but that has sufficed, and you are the victor. I am strong enough to +acknowledge that I have nothing to forgive in you;—and am weak +enough to forgive all his treachery." Hetta was now holding the woman +by the hand, and was weeping, she knew not why. "I am so glad to have +seen you," continued Mrs. Hurtle, "so that I may know what his wife +was like. In a few days I shall return to the States, and then +neither of you will ever be troubled further by Winifrid Hurtle. Tell +him that if he will come and see me once before I go, I will not be +more unkind to him than I can help."</p> + +<p>When Hetta did not decline to be the bearer of this message she must +have at any rate resolved that she would see Paul Montague +again,—and to see him would be to tell him that she was again his +own. She now got herself quickly out of the room, absolutely kissing +the woman whom she had both dreaded and despised. As soon as she was +alone in the street she tried to think of it all. How full of beauty +was the face of that American female,—how rich and glorious her +voice in spite of a slight taint of the well-known nasal twang;—and +above all how powerful and at the same time how easy and how gracious +was her manner! That she would be an unfit wife for Paul Montague was +certain to Hetta, but that he or any man should have loved her and +have been loved by her, and then have been willing to part from her, +was wonderful. And yet Paul Montague had preferred herself, Hetta +Carbury, to this woman! Paul had certainly done well for his own +cause when he had referred the younger lady to the elder.</p> + +<p>Of her own quarrel of course there must be an end. She had been +unjust to the man, and injustice must of course be remedied by +repentance and confession. As she walked quickly back to the railway +station she brought herself to love her lover more fondly than she +had ever done. He had been true to her from the first hour of their +acquaintance. What truth higher than that has any woman a right to +desire? No doubt she gave to him a virgin heart. No other man had +ever touched her lips, or been allowed to press her hand, or to look +into her eyes with unrebuked admiration. It was her pride to give +herself to the man she loved after this fashion, pure and white as +snow on which no foot has trodden. But in taking him, all that she +wanted was that he should be true to her now and henceforward. The +future must be her own work. As to the "now," she felt that Mrs. +Hurtle had given her sufficient assurance.</p> + +<p>She must at once let her mother know this change in her mind. When +she re-entered the house she was no longer sullen, no longer anxious +to be silent, very willing to be gracious if she might be received +with favour,—but quite determined that nothing should shake her +purpose. She went at once into her mother's room, having heard from +the boy at the door that Lady Carbury had returned.</p> + +<p>"Hetta, wherever have you been?" asked Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," she said, "I mean to write to Mr. Montague and tell him that +I have been unjust to him."</p> + +<p>"Hetta, you must do nothing of the kind," said Lady Carbury, rising +from her seat.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mamma. I have been unjust, and I must do so."</p> + +<p>"It will be asking him to come back to you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, mamma:—that is what I mean. I shall tell him that if he will +come, I will receive him. I know he will come. Oh, mamma, let us be +friends, and I will tell you everything. Why should you grudge me my +love?"</p> + +<p>"You have sent him back his brooch," said Lady Carbury hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"He shall give it me again. Hear what I have done. I have seen that +American lady."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Hurtle!"</p> + +<p>"Yes;—I have been to her. She is a wonderful woman."</p> + +<p>"And she has told you wonderful lies."</p> + +<p>"Why should she lie to me? She has told me no lies. She said nothing +in his favour."</p> + +<p>"I can well believe that. What can any one say in his favour?"</p> + +<p>"But she told me that which has assured me that Mr. Montague has +never behaved badly to me. I shall write to him at once. If you like +I will show you the letter."</p> + +<p>"Any letter to him, I will tear," said Lady Carbury, full of anger.</p> + +<p>"Mamma, I have told you everything, but in this I must judge for +myself." Then Hetta, seeing that her mother would not relent, left +the room without further speech, and immediately opened her desk that +the letter might be written.</p> + + +<p><a id="c92"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XCII.</h3> +<h4>HAMILTON K. FISKER AGAIN.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Ten days had passed since the meeting narrated in the last +chapter,—ten days, during which Hetta's letter had been sent to her +lover, but in which she had received no reply,—when two gentlemen +met each other in a certain room in Liverpool, who were seen together +in the same room in the early part of this chronicle. These were our +young friend Paul Montague, and our not much older friend Hamilton K. +Fisker. Melmotte had died on the 18th of July, and tidings of the +event had been at once sent by telegraph to San Francisco. Some weeks +before this Montague had written to his partner, giving his account +of the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway Company,—describing +its condition in England as he then believed it to be,—and urging +Fisker to come over to London. On receipt of a message from his +American correspondent he had gone down to Liverpool, and had there +awaited Fisker's arrival, taking counsel with his friend Mr. +Ramsbottom. In the mean time Hetta's letter was lying at the +Beargarden, Paul having written from his club and having omitted to +desire that the answer should be sent to his lodgings. Just at this +moment things at the Beargarden were not well managed. They were +indeed so ill managed that Paul never received that letter,—which +would have had for him charms greater than those of any letter ever +before written.</p> + +<p>"This is a terrible business," said Fisker, immediately on entering +the room in which Montague was waiting him. "He was the last man I'd +have thought would be cut up in that way."</p> + +<p>"He was utterly ruined."</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't have been ruined,—and couldn't have thought so if he'd +known all he ought to have known. The South Central would have pulled +him through a'most anything if he'd have understood how to play it."</p> + +<p>"We don't think much of the South Central here now," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"Ah;—that's because you've never above half spirit enough for a big +thing. You nibble at it instead of swallowing it whole,—and then, of +course, folks see that you're only nibbling. I thought that Melmotte +would have had spirit."</p> + +<p>"There is, I fear, no doubt that he had committed forgery. It was the +dread of detection as to that which drove him to destroy himself."</p> + +<p>"I call it dam clumsy from beginning to end;—dam clumsy. I took him +to be a different man, and I feel more than half ashamed of myself +because I trusted such a fellow. That chap Cohenlupe has got off with +a lot of swag. Only think of Melmotte allowing Cohenlupe to get the +better of him!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose the thing will be broken up now at San Francisco," +suggested Paul.</p> + +<p>"Bu'st up at Frisco! Not if I know it. Why should it be bu'st up? +D'you think we're all going to smash there because a fool like +Melmotte blows his brains out in London?"</p> + +<p>"He took poison."</p> + +<p>"Or p'ison either. That's not just our way. I'll tell you what I'm +going to do; and why I'm over here so uncommon sharp. These shares +are at a'most nothing now in London. I'll buy every share in the +market. I wired for as many as I dar'd, so as not to spoil our own +game, and I'll make a clean sweep of every one of them. Bu'st up! I'm +sorry for him because I thought him a biggish man;—but what he's +done 'll just be the making of us over there. Will you get out of it, +or will you come back to Frisco with me?"</p> + +<p>In answer to this Paul asserted most strenuously that he would not +return to San Francisco, and, perhaps too ingenuously, gave his +partner to understand that he was altogether sick of the great +railway, and would under no circumstances have anything more to do +with it. Fisker shrugged his shoulders, and was not displeased at the +proposed rupture. He was prepared to deal fairly,—nay, +generously,—by his partner, having recognised the wisdom of that +great commercial rule which teaches us that honour should prevail +among associates of a certain class; but he had fully convinced +himself that Paul Montague was not a fit partner for Hamilton K. +Fisker. Fisker was not only unscrupulous himself, but he had a +thorough contempt for scruples in others. According to his theory of +life, nine hundred and ninety-nine men were obscure because of their +scruples, whilst the thousandth man predominated and cropped up into +the splendour of commercial wealth because he was free from such +bondage. He had his own theories, too, as to commercial honesty. That +which he had promised to do he would do, if it was within his power. +He was anxious that his bond should be good, and his word equally so. +But the work of robbing mankind in gross by magnificently false +representations, was not only the duty, but also the delight and the +ambition of his life. How could a man so great endure a partnership +with one so small as Paul Montague? "And now what about Winifrid +Hurtle?" asked Fisker.</p> + +<p>"What makes you ask? She's in London."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I know she's in London, and Hurtle's at Frisco, swearing +that he'll come after her. He would, only he hasn't got the dollars."</p> + +<p>"He's not dead then?" muttered Paul.</p> + +<p>"Dead!—no, nor likely to die. She'll have a bad time of it with him +yet."</p> + +<p>"But she divorced him."</p> + +<p>"She got a Kansas lawyer to say so, and he's got a Frisco lawyer to +say that there's nothing of the kind. She hasn't played her game +badly neither, for she's had the handling of her own money, and has +put it so that he can't get hold of a dollar. Even if it suited other +ways, you know, I wouldn't marry her myself till I saw my way clearer +out of the wood."</p> + +<p>"I'm not thinking of marrying her,—if you mean that."</p> + +<p>"There was a talk about it in Frisco;—that's all. And I have heard +Hurtle say when he was a little farther gone than usual that she was +here with you, and that he meant to drop in on you some of these +days." To this Paul made no answer, thinking that he had now both +heard enough and said enough about Mrs. Hurtle.</p> + +<p>On the following day the two men, who were still partners, went +together to London, and Fisker immediately became immersed in the +arrangement of Melmotte's affairs. He put himself into communication +with Mr. Brehgert, went in and out of the offices in Abchurch Lane +and the rooms which had belonged to the Railway Company, +cross-examined Croll, mastered the books of the Company as far as +they were to be mastered, and actually summoned both the Grendalls, +father and son, up to London. Lord Alfred, and Miles with him, had +left London a day or two before Melmotte's death,—having probably +perceived that there was no further occasion for their services. To +Fisker's appeal Lord Alfred was proudly indifferent. Who was this +American that he should call upon a director of the London Company to +appear? Does not every one know that a director of a company need not +direct unless he pleases? Lord Alfred, therefore, did not even +condescend to answer Fisker's letter;—but he advised his son to run +up to town. "I should just go, because I'd taken a salary from the +<span class="nowrap">d——</span> Company," +said the careful father, "but when there I wouldn't +say a word." So Miles Grendall, obeying his parent, reappeared upon +the scene.</p> + +<p>But Fisker's attention was perhaps most usefully and most sedulously +paid to Madame Melmotte and her daughter. Till Fisker arrived no one +had visited them in their solitude at Hampstead, except Croll, the +clerk. Mr. Brehgert had abstained, thinking that a widow, who had +become a widow under such terrible circumstances, would prefer to be +alone. Lord Nidderdale had made his adieux, and felt that he could do +no more. It need hardly be said that Lord Alfred had too much good +taste to interfere at such a time, although for some months he had +been domestically intimate with the poor woman, or that Sir Felix +would not be prompted by the father's death to renew his suit to the +daughter. But Fisker had not been two days in London before he went +out to Hampstead, and was admitted to Madame Melmotte's +presence;—and he had not been there four days before he was aware +that in spite of all misfortunes, Marie Melmotte was still the +undoubted possessor of a large fortune.</p> + +<p>In regard to Melmotte's effects generally the Crown had been induced +to abstain from interfering,—giving up the right to all the man's +plate and chairs and tables which it had acquired by the finding of +the coroner's verdict,—not from tenderness to Madame Melmotte, for +whom no great commiseration was felt, but on behalf of such creditors +as poor Mr. Longestaffe and his son. But Marie's money was quite +distinct from this. She had been right in her own belief as to this +property, and had been right, too, in refusing to sign those +papers,—unless it may be that that refusal led to her father's act. +She herself was sure that it was not so, because she had withdrawn +her refusal, and had offered to sign the papers before her father's +death. What might have been the ultimate result had she done so when +he first made the request, no one could now say. That the money would +have gone there could be no doubt. The money was now hers,—a fact +which Fisker soon learned with that peculiar cleverness which +belonged to him.</p> + +<p>Poor Madame Melmotte felt the visits of the American to be a relief +to her in her misery. The world makes great mistakes as to that which +is and is not beneficial to those whom Death has bereaved of a +companion. It may be, no doubt sometimes it is the case, that grief +shall be so heavy, so absolutely crushing, as to make any +interference with it an additional trouble, and this is felt also in +acute bodily pain, and in periods of terrible mental suffering. It +may also be, and, no doubt, often is the case, that the bereaved one +chooses to affect such overbearing sorrow, and that friends abstain, +because even such affectation has its own rights and privileges. But +Madame Melmotte was neither crushed by grief nor did she affect to be +so crushed. She had been numbed by the suddenness and by the awe of +the catastrophe. The man who had been her merciless tyrant for years, +who had seemed to her to be a very incarnation of cruel power, had +succumbed, and shown himself to be powerless against his own +misfortunes. She was a woman of very few words, and had spoken almost +none on this occasion even to her own daughter; but when Fisker came +to her, and told her more than she had ever known before of her +husband's affairs, and spoke to her of her future life, and mixed for +her a small glass of brandy-and-water warm, and told her that Frisco +would be the fittest place for her future residence, she certainly +did not find him to be intrusive.</p> + +<p>And even Marie liked Fisker, though she had been wooed and almost won +both by a lord and a baronet, and had understood, if not much, at +least more than her mother, of the life to which she had been +introduced. There was something of real sorrow in her heart for her +father. She was prone to love,—though, perhaps, not prone to deep +affection. Melmotte had certainly been often cruel to her, but he had +also been very indulgent. And as she had never been specially +grateful for the one, so neither had she ever specially resented the +other. Tenderness, care, real solicitude for her well-being, she had +never known, and had come to regard the unevenness of her life, +vacillating between knocks and knick-knacks, with a blow one day and +a jewel the next, as the condition of things which was natural to +her. When her father was dead she remembered for a while the jewels +and the knick-knacks, and forgot the knocks and blows. But she was +not beyond consolation, and she also found consolation in Mr. +Fisker's visits.</p> + +<p>"I used to sign a paper every quarter," she said to Fisker, as they +were walking together one evening in the lanes round Hampstead.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to do the same now, only instead of giving the paper to +any one you'll have to leave it in a banker's hands to draw the money +for yourself."</p> + +<p>"And can that be done over in California?"</p> + +<p>"Just the same as here. Your bankers will manage it all for you +without the slightest trouble. For the matter of that I'll do it, if +you'll trust me. There's only one thing against it all, Miss +Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"And what's that?"</p> + +<p>"After the sort of society you've been used to here, I don't know how +you'll get on among us Americans. We're a pretty rough lot, I guess. +Though, perhaps, what you lose in the look of the fruit, you'll make +up in the flavour." This Fisker said in a somewhat plaintive tone, as +though fearing that the manifest substantial advantages of Frisco +would not suffice to atone for the loss of that fashion to which Miss +Melmotte had been used.</p> + +<p>"I hate swells," said Marie, flashing round upon him.</p> + +<p>"Do you now?"</p> + +<p>"Like poison. What's the use of 'em? They never mean a word that they +say,—and they don't say so many words either. They're never more +than half awake, and don't care the least about anybody. I hate +London."</p> + +<p>"Do you now?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't I?"</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether you'd hate Frisco?"</p> + +<p>"I rather think it would be a jolly sort of place."</p> + +<p>"Very jolly I find it. And I wonder whether you'd hate—me?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fisker, that's nonsense. Why should I hate anybody?"</p> + +<p>"But you do. I've found out one or two that you don't love. If you do +come to Frisco, I hope you won't just hate me, you know." Then he +took her gently by the arm;—but she, whisking herself away rapidly, +bade him behave himself. Then they returned to their lodgings, and +Mr. Fisker, before he went back to London, mixed a little warm +brandy-and-water for Madame Melmotte. I think that upon the whole +Madame Melmotte was more comfortable at Hampstead than she had been +either in Grosvenor Square or Bruton Street, although she was +certainly not a thing beautiful to look at in her widow's weeds.</p> + +<p>"I don't think much of you as a book-keeper, you know," Fisker said +to Miles Grendall in the now almost deserted Board-room of the South +Central Pacific and Mexican Railway. Miles, remembering his father's +advice, answered not a word, but merely looked with assumed amazement +at the impertinent stranger who dared thus to censure his +performances. Fisker had made three or four remarks previous to this, +and had appealed both to Paul Montague and to Croll, who were +present. He had invited also the attendance of Sir Felix Carbury, +Lord Nidderdale, and Mr. Longestaffe, who were all Directors;—but +none of them had come. Sir Felix had paid no attention to Fisker's +letter. Lord Nidderdale had written a short but characteristic reply. +"Dear Mr. Fisker,—I really don't know anything about it. Yours, +Nidderdale." Mr. Longestaffe, with laborious zeal, had closely +covered four pages with his reasons for non-attendance, with which +the reader shall not be troubled, and which it may be doubted whether +even Fisker perused to the end. "Upon my word," continued Fisker, +"it's astonishing to me that Melmotte should have put up with this +kind of thing. I suppose you understand something of business, Mr. +Croll?"</p> + +<p>"It vas not my department, Mr. Fisker," said the German.</p> + +<p>"Nor anybody else's either," said the domineering American. "Of +course it's on the cards, Mr. Grendall, that we shall have to put you +into a witness-box, because there are certain things we must get at." +Miles was silent as the grave, but at once made up his mind that he +would pass his autumn at some pleasant but economical German retreat, +and that his autumnal retirement should be commenced within a very +few days;—or perhaps hours might suffice.</p> + +<p>But Fisker was not in earnest in his threat. In truth the greater the +confusion in the London office, the better, he thought, were the +prospects of the Company at San Francisco. Miles underwent purgatory +on this occasion for three or four hours, and when dismissed had +certainly revealed none of Melmotte's secrets. He did, however, go to +Germany, finding that a temporary absence from England would be +comfortable to him in more respects than one,—and need not be heard +of again in these pages.</p> + +<p>When Melmotte's affairs were ultimately wound up there was found to +be nearly enough of property to satisfy all his proved liabilities. +Very many men started up with huge claims, asserting that they had +been robbed, and in the confusion it was hard to ascertain who had +been robbed, or who had simply been unsuccessful in their attempts to +rob others. Some, no doubt, as was the case with poor Mr. Brehgert, +had speculated in dependence on Melmotte's sagacity, and had lost +heavily without dishonesty. But of those who, like the Longestaffes, +were able to prove direct debts, the condition at last was not very +sad. Our excellent friend Dolly got his money early in the day, and +was able, under Mr. Squercum's guidance, to start himself on a new +career. Having paid his debts, and with still a large balance at his +bankers', he assured his friend Nidderdale that he meant to turn over +an entirely new leaf. "I shall just make Squercum allow me so much a +month, and I shall have all the bills and that kind of thing sent to +him, and he will do everything, and pull me up if I'm getting wrong. +I like Squercum."</p> + +<p>"Won't he rob you, old fellow?" suggested Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"Of course he will;—but he won't let any one else do it. One has to +be plucked, but it's everything to have it done on a system. If he'll +only let me have ten shillings out of every sovereign I think I can +get along." Let us hope that Mr. Squercum was merciful, and that +Dolly was enabled to live in accordance with his virtuous +resolutions.</p> + +<p>But these things did not arrange themselves till late in the +winter,—long after Mr. Fisker's departure for California. That, +however, was protracted till a day much later than he had anticipated +before he had become intimate with Madame Melmotte and Marie. Madame +Melmotte's affairs occupied him for a while almost exclusively. The +furniture and plate were of course sold for the creditors, but Madame +Melmotte was allowed to take whatever she declared to be specially +her own property;—and, though much was said about the jewels, no +attempt was made to recover them. Marie advised Madame Melmotte to +give them up, assuring the old woman that she should have whatever +she wanted for her maintenance. But it was not likely that Melmotte's +widow would willingly abandon any property, and she did not abandon +her jewels. It was agreed between her and Fisker that they were to be +taken to New York. "You'll get as much there as in London, if you +like to part with them; and nobody 'll say anything about it there. +You couldn't sell a locket or a chain here without all the world +talking about it."</p> + +<p>In all these things Madame Melmotte put herself into Fisker's hands +with the most absolute confidence,—and, indeed, with a confidence +that was justified by its results. It was not by robbing an old woman +that Fisker intended to make himself great. To Madame Melmotte's +thinking, Fisker was the finest gentleman she had ever met,—so +infinitely pleasanter in his manner than Lord Alfred even when Lord +Alfred had been most gracious, with so much more to say for himself +than Miles Grendall, understanding her so much better than any man +had ever done,—especially when he supplied her with those small warm +beakers of sweet brandy-and-water. "I shall do whatever he tells me," +she said to Marie. "I'm sure I've nothing to keep me here in this +country."</p> + +<p>"I'm willing to go," said Marie. "I don't want to stay in London."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you'll take him if he asks you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything about that," said Marie. "A man may be very +well without one's wanting to marry him. I don't think I'll marry +anybody. What's the use? It's only money. Nobody cares for anything +else. Fisker's all very well; but he only wants the money. Do you +think Fisker'd ask me to marry him if I hadn't got anything? Not he! +He ain't slow enough for that."</p> + +<p>"I think he's a very nice young man," said Madame Melmotte.</p> + + +<p><a id="c93"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XCIII.</h3> +<h4>A TRUE LOVER.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Hetta Carbury, out of the fulness of her heart, having made up her +mind that she had been unjust to her lover, wrote to him a letter +full of penitence, full of love, telling him at great length all the +details of her meeting with Mrs. Hurtle, and bidding him come back to +her, and bring the brooch with him. But this letter she had +unfortunately addressed to the Beargarden, as he had written to her +from that club; and partly through his own fault, and partly through +the demoralisation of that once perfect establishment, the letter +never reached his hands. When, therefore, he returned to London he +was justified in supposing that she had refused even to notice his +appeal. He was, however, determined that he would still make further +struggles. He had, he felt, to contend with many difficulties. Mrs. +Hurtle, Roger Carbury, and Hetta's mother were, he thought, all +inimical to him. Mrs. Hurtle, though she had declared that she would +not rage as a lioness, could hardly be his friend in the matter. +Roger had repeatedly declared his determination to regard him as a +traitor. And Lady Carbury, as he well knew, had always been and +always would be opposed to the match. But Hetta had owned that she +loved him, had submitted to his caresses, and had been proud of his +admiration. And Paul, though he did not probably analyze very +carefully the character of his beloved, still felt instinctively +that, having so far prevailed with such a girl, his prospects could +not be altogether hopeless. And yet how should he continue the +struggle? With what weapons should he carry on the fight? The writing +of letters is but a one-sided, troublesome proceeding, when the +person to whom they are written will not answer them; and the calling +at a door at which the servant has been instructed to refuse a +visitor admission, becomes, disagreeable,—if not degrading,—after a +time.</p> + +<p>But Hetta had written a second epistle,—not to her lover, but to one +who received his letters with more regularity. When she rashly and +with precipitate wrath quarrelled with Paul Montague, she at once +communicated the fact to her mother, and through her mother to her +cousin Roger. Though she would not recognise Roger as a lover, she +did acknowledge him to be the head of her family, and her own special +friend, and entitled in some special way to know all that she herself +did, and all that was done in regard to her. She therefore wrote to +her cousin, telling him that she had made a mistake about Paul, that +she was convinced that Paul had always behaved to her with absolute +sincerity, and, in short, that Paul was the best, and dearest, and +most ill-used of human beings. In her enthusiasm she went on to +declare that there could be no other chance of happiness for her in +this world than that of becoming Paul's wife, and to beseech her +dearest friend and cousin Roger not to turn against her, but to lend +her an aiding hand. There are those whom strong words in letters +never affect at all,—who, perhaps, hardly read them, and take what +they do read as meaning no more than half what is said. But Roger +Carbury was certainly not one of these. As he sat on the garden wall +at Carbury, with his cousin's letter in his hand, her words had their +full weight with him. He did not try to convince himself that all +this was the verbiage of an enthusiastic girl, who might soon be +turned and trained to another mode of thinking by fitting +admonitions. To him now, as he read and re-read Hetta's letter +sitting on the wall, there was not at any rate further hope for +himself. Though he was altogether unchanged himself, though he was +altogether incapable of change,—though he could not rally himself +sufficiently to look forward to even a passive enjoyment of life +without the girl whom he had loved,—yet he told himself what he +believed to be the truth. At last he owned directly and plainly that, +whether happy or unhappy, he must do without her. He had let time +slip by with him too fast and too far before he had ventured to love. +He must now stomach his disappointment, and make the best he could of +such a broken, ill-conditioned life as was left to him. But, if he +acknowledged this,—and he did acknowledge it,—in what fashion +should he in future treat the man and woman who had reduced him so +low?</p> + +<p>At this moment his mind was tuned to high thoughts. If it were +possible he would be unselfish. He could not, indeed, bring himself +to think with kindness of Paul Montague. He could not say to himself +that the man had not been treacherous to him, nor could he forgive +the man's supposed treason. But he did tell himself very plainly that +in comparison with Hetta the man was nothing to him. It could hardly +be worth his while to maintain a quarrel with the man if he were once +able to assure Hetta that she, as the wife of another man, should +still be dear to him as a friend might be dear. He was well aware +that such assurance, such forgiveness, must contain very much. If it +were to be so, Hetta's child must take the name of Carbury, and must +be to him as his heir,—as near as possible his own child. In her +favour he must throw aside that law of primogeniture which to him was +so sacred that he had been hitherto minded to make Sir Felix his heir +in spite of the absolute unfitness of the wretched young man. All +this must be changed, should he be able to persuade himself to give +his consent to the marriage. In such case Carbury must be the home of +the married couple, as far as he could induce them to make it so. +There must be born the future infant to whose existence he was +already looking forward with some idea that in his old age he might +there find comfort. In such case, though he should never again be +able to love Paul Montague in his heart of hearts, he must live with +him for her sake on affectionate terms. He must forgive Hetta +altogether,—as though there had been no fault; and he must strive to +forgive the man's fault as best he might. Struggling as he was to be +generous, passionately fond as he was of justice, yet he did not know +how to be just himself. He could not see that he in truth had been to +no extent ill-used. And ever and again, as he thought of the great +prayer as to the forgiveness of trespasses, he could not refrain from +asking himself whether it could really be intended that he should +forgive such trespass as that committed against him by Paul Montague! +Nevertheless, when he rose from the wall he had resolved that Hetta +should be pardoned entirely, and that Paul Montague should be treated +as though he were pardoned. As for himself,—the chances of the world +had been unkind to him, and he would submit to them!</p> + +<p>Nevertheless he wrote no answer to Hetta's letter. Perhaps he felt, +with some undefined but still existing hope, that the writing of such +a letter would deprive him of his last chance. Hetta's letter to +himself hardly required an immediate answer,—did not, indeed, demand +any answer. She had simply told him that, whereas she had for certain +reasons quarrelled with the man she had loved, she had now come to +the conclusion that she would quarrel with him no longer. She had +asked for her cousin's assent to her own views, but that, as Roger +felt, was to be given rather by the discontinuance of opposition than +by any positive action. Roger's influence with her mother was the +assistance which Hetta really wanted from him, and that influence +could hardly be given by the writing of any letter. Thinking of all +this, Roger determined that he would again go up to London. He would +have the vacant hours of the journey in which to think of it all +again, and tell himself whether it was possible for him to bring his +heart to agree to the marriage;—and then he would see the people, +and perhaps learn something further from their manner and their +words, before he finally committed himself to the abandonment of his +own hopes and the completion of theirs.</p> + +<p>He went up to town, and I do not know that those vacant hours served +him much. To a man not accustomed to thinking there is nothing in the +world so difficult as to think. After some loose fashion we turn over +things in our mind and ultimately reach some decision, guided +probably by our feelings at the last moment rather than by any +process of ratiocination;—and then we think that we have thought. +But to follow out one argument to an end, and then to found on the +base so reached the commencement of another, is not common to us. +Such a process was hardly within the compass of Roger's mind,—who +when he was made wretched by the dust, and by a female who had a +basket of objectionable provisions opposite to him, almost forswore +his charitable resolutions of the day before; but who again, as he +walked lonely at night round the square which was near to his hotel, +looking up at the bright moon with a full appreciation of the beauty +of the heavens, asked himself what was he that he should wish to +interfere with the happiness of two human beings much younger than +himself, and much fitter to enjoy the world. But he had had a bath, +and had got rid of the dust, and had eaten his dinner.</p> + +<p>The next morning he was in Welbeck Street at an early hour. When he +knocked he had not made up his mind whether he would ask for Lady +Carbury or her daughter, and did at last inquire whether "the ladies" +were at home. The ladies were reported as being at home, and he was +at once shown into the drawing-room, where Hetta was sitting. She +hurried up to him, and he at once took her in his arms and kissed +her. He had never done such a thing before. He had never even kissed +her hand. Though they were cousins and dear friends, he had never +treated her after that fashion. Her instinct told her immediately +that such a greeting from him was a sign of affectionate compliance +with her wishes. That this man should kiss her as her best and +dearest relation, as her most trusted friend, as almost her brother, +was certainly to her no offence. She could cling to him in fondest +love,—if he would only consent not to be her lover. "Oh, Roger, I am +so glad to see you," she said, escaping gently from his arms.</p> + +<p>"I could not write an answer, and so I came."</p> + +<p>"You always do the kindest thing that can be done."</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I don't know that I can do anything now,—kind or +unkind. It is all done without any aid from me. Hetta, you have been +all the world to me."</p> + +<p>"Do not reproach me," she said.</p> + +<p>"No;—no. Why should I reproach you? You have committed no fault. I +should not have come had I intended to reproach any one."</p> + +<p>"I love you so much for saying that."</p> + +<p>"Let it be as you wish it,—if it must. I have made up my mind to +bear it, and there shall be an end of it." As he said this he took +her by the hand, and she put her head upon his shoulder and began to +weep. "And still you will be all the world to me," he continued, with +his arm round her waist. "As you will not be my wife, you shall be my +daughter."</p> + +<p>"I will be your sister, Roger."</p> + +<p>"My daughter rather. You shall be all that I have in the world. I +will hurry to grow old that I may feel for you as the old feel for +the young. And if you have a child, Hetta, he must be my child." As +he thus spoke her tears were renewed. "I have planned it all out in +my mind, dear. There! If there be anything that I can do to add to +your happiness, I will do it. You must believe this of me,—that to +make you happy shall be the only enjoyment of my life."</p> + +<p>It had been hardly possible for her to tell him as yet that the man +to whom he was thus consenting to surrender her had not even +condescended to answer the letter in which she had told him to come +back to her. And now, sobbing as she was, overcome by the tenderness +of her cousin's affection, anxious to express her intense gratitude, +she did not know how first to mention the name of Paul Montague. +"Have you seen him?" she said in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Seen whom?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"No;—why should I have seen him? It is not for his sake that I am +here."</p> + +<p>"But you will be his friend?"</p> + +<p>"Your husband shall certainly be my friend;—or, if not, the fault +shall not be mine. It shall all be forgotten, Hetta,—as nearly as +such things may be forgotten. But I had nothing to say to him till I +had seen you." At that moment the door was opened and Lady Carbury +entered the room, and, after her greeting with her cousin, looked +first at her daughter and then at Roger. "I have come up," said he, +"to signify my adhesion to this marriage." Lady Carbury's face fell +very low. "I need not speak again of what were my own wishes. I have +learned at last that it could not have been so."</p> + +<p>"Why should you say so?" exclaimed Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"Pray, pray, mamma—," Hetta began, but was unable to find words with +which to go on with her prayer.</p> + +<p>"I do not know that it need be so at all," continued Lady Carbury. "I +think it is very much in your own hands. Of course it is not for me +to press such an arrangement, if it be not in accord with your own +wishes."</p> + +<p>"I look upon her as engaged to marry Paul Montague," said Roger.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"Yes; mamma,—yes," cried Hetta boldly. "It is so. I am engaged to +him."</p> + +<p>"I beg to let your cousin know that it is not so with my +consent,—nor, as far as I can understand at present, with the +consent of Mr. Montague himself."</p> + +<p>"Mamma!"</p> + +<p>"Paul Montague!" ejaculated Roger Carbury. "The consent of Paul +Montague! I think I may take upon myself to say that there can be no +doubt as to that."</p> + +<p>"There has been a quarrel," said Lady Carbury.</p> + +<p>"Surely he has not quarrelled with you, Hetta?"</p> + +<p>"I wrote to him,—and he has not answered me," said Hetta piteously.</p> + +<p>Then Lady Carbury gave a full and somewhat coloured account of what +had taken place, while Roger listened with admirable patience. "The +marriage is on every account objectionable," she said at last. "His +means are precarious. His conduct with regard to that woman has been +very bad. He has been sadly mixed up with that wretched man who +destroyed himself. And now, when Henrietta has written to him without +my sanction,—in opposition to my express commands,—he takes no +notice of her. She, very properly, sent him back a present that he +made her, and no doubt he has resented her doing so. I trust that his +resentment may be continued."</p> + +<p>Hetta was now seated on a sofa hiding her face and weeping. Roger +stood perfectly still, listening with respectful silence till Lady +Carbury had spoken her last word. And even then he was slow to +answer, considering what he might best say. "I think I had better see +him," he replied. "If, as I imagine, he has not received my cousin's +letter, that matter will be set at rest. We must not take advantage +of such an accident as that. As to his income,—that I think may be +managed. His connection with Mr. Melmotte was unfortunate, but was +due to no fault of his." At this moment he could not but remember +Lady Carbury's great anxiety to be closely connected with Melmotte, +but he was too generous to say a word on that head. "I will see him, +Lady Carbury, and then I will come to you again."</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury did not dare to tell him that she did not wish him to +see Paul Montague. She knew that if he really threw himself into the +scale against her, her opposition would weigh nothing. He was too +powerful in his honesty and greatness of character,—and had been too +often admitted by herself to be the guardian angel of the +family,—for her to stand against him. But she still thought that had +he persevered, Hetta would have become his wife.</p> + +<p>It was late that evening before Roger found Paul Montague, who had +only then returned from Liverpool with Fisker,—whose subsequent +doings have been recorded somewhat out of their turn.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what letter you mean," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"You wrote to her?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I wrote to her. I wrote to her twice. My last letter was +one which I think she ought to have answered. She had accepted me, +and had given me a right to tell my own story when she unfortunately +heard from other sources the story of my journey to Lowestoft with +Mrs. Hurtle." Paul pleaded his own case with indignant heat, not +understanding at first that Roger had come to him on a friendly +mission.</p> + +<p>"She did answer your letter."</p> + +<p>"I have not had a line from her;—not a word!"</p> + +<p>"She did answer your letter."</p> + +<p>"What did she say to me?"</p> + +<p>"Nay,—you must ask her that."</p> + +<p>"But if she will not see me?"</p> + +<p>"She will see you. I can tell you that. And I will tell you this +also;—that she wrote to you as a girl writes to the lover whom she +does wish to see."</p> + +<p>"Is that true?" exclaimed Paul, jumping up.</p> + +<p>"I am here especially to tell you that it is true. I should hardly +come on such a mission if there were a doubt. You may go to her, and +need have nothing to fear,—unless, indeed, it be the opposition of +her mother."</p> + +<p>"She is stronger than her mother," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"I think she is. And now I wish you to hear what I have to say."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Paul, sitting down suddenly. Up to this moment +Roger Carbury, though he had certainly brought glad tidings, had not +communicated them as a joyous, sympathetic messenger. His face had +been severe, and the tone of his voice almost harsh; and Paul, +remembering well the words of the last letter which his old friend +had written him, did not expect personal kindness. Roger would +probably say very disagreeable things to him, which he must bear with +all the patience which he could summon to his assistance.</p> + +<p>"You know what my feelings have been," Roger began, "and how deeply I +have resented what I thought to be an interference with my +affections. But no quarrel between you and me, whatever the rights of +it may <span class="nowrap">be—"</span></p> + +<p>"I have never quarrelled with you," Paul began.</p> + +<p>"If you will listen to me for a moment it will be better. No anger +between you and me, let it arise as it might, should be allowed to +interfere with the happiness of her whom I suppose we both love +better than all the rest of the world put together."</p> + +<p>"I do," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"And so do I;—and so I always shall. But she is to be your wife. She +shall be my daughter. She shall have my property,—or her child shall +be my heir. My house shall be her house,—if you and she will consent +to make it so. You will not be afraid of me. You know me, I think, +too well for that. You may now count on any assistance you could have +from me were I a father giving you a daughter in marriage. I do this +because I will make the happiness of her life the chief object of +mine. Now good night. Don't say anything about it at present. +By-and-by we shall be able to talk about these things with more +equable temper." Having so spoken he hurried out of the room, leaving +Paul Montague bewildered by the tidings which had been announced to +him.</p> + + +<p><a id="c94"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XCIV.</h3> +<h4>JOHN CRUMB'S VICTORY.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>In the meantime great preparations were going on down in Suffolk for +the marriage of that happiest of lovers, John Crumb. John Crumb had +been up to London, had been formally reconciled to Ruby,—who had +submitted to his floury embraces, not with the best grace in the +world, but still with a submission that had satisfied her future +husband,—had been intensely grateful to Mrs. Hurtle, and almost +munificent in liberality to Mrs. Pipkin, to whom he presented a +purple silk dress, in addition to the cloak which he had given on a +former occasion. During this visit he had expressed no anger against +Ruby, and no indignation in reference to the baronite. When informed +by Mrs. Pipkin, who hoped thereby to please him, that Sir Felix was +supposed to be still "all one mash of gore," he blandly smiled, +remarking that no man could be much the worse for a "few sich taps as +them." He only stayed a few hours in London, but during these few +hours he settled everything. When Mrs. Pipkin suggested that Ruby +should be married from her house, he winked his eye as he declined +the suggestion with thanks. Daniel Ruggles was old, and, under the +influence of continued gin and water, was becoming feeble. John Crumb +was of opinion that the old man should not be neglected, and hinted +that with a little care the five hundred pounds which had originally +been promised as Ruby's fortune, might at any rate be secured. He was +of opinion that the marriage should be celebrated in Suffolk,—the +feast being spread at Sheep's Acre farm, if Dan Ruggles could be +talked into giving it,—and if not, at his own house. When both the +ladies explained to him that this last proposition was not in strict +accordance with the habits of the fashionable world, John expressed +an opinion that, under the peculiar circumstances of his marriage, +the ordinary laws of the world might be suspended. "It ain't jist +like other folks, after all as we've been through," said he,—meaning +probably to imply that having had to fight for his wife, he was +entitled to give a breakfast on the occasion if he pleased. But +whether the banquet was to be given by the bride's grandfather or by +himself,—he was determined that there should be a banquet, and that +he would bid the guests. He invited both Mrs. Pipkin and Mrs. Hurtle, +and at last succeeded in inducing Mrs. Hurtle to promise that she +would bring Mrs. Pipkin down to Bungay, for the occasion.</p> + +<p>Then it was necessary to fix the day, and for this purpose it was of +course essential that Ruby should be consulted. During the discussion +as to the feast and the bridegroom's entreaties that the two ladies +would be present, she had taken no part in the matter in hand. She +was brought up to be kissed, and having been duly kissed she retired +again among the children, having only expressed one wish of her +own,—namely, that Joe Mixet might not have anything to do with the +affair. But the day could not be fixed without her, and she was +summoned. Crumb had been absurdly impatient, proposing next +Tuesday,—making his proposition on a Friday. They could cook enough +meat for all Bungay to eat by Tuesday, and he was aware of no other +cause for delay. "That's out of the question," Ruby had said +decisively, and as the two elder ladies had supported her Mr. Crumb +yielded with a good grace. He did not himself appreciate the reasons +given because, as he remarked, gowns can be bought ready made at any +shop. But Mrs. Pipkin told him with a laugh that he didn't know +anything about it, and when the 14th of August was named he only +scratched his head and, muttering something about Thetford fair, +agreed that he would, yet once again, allow love to take precedence +of business. If Tuesday would have suited the ladies as well he +thought that he might have managed to combine the marriage and the +fair, but when Mrs. Pipkin told him that he must not interfere any +further, he yielded with a good grace. He merely remained in London +long enough to pay a friendly visit to the policeman who had locked +him up, and then returned to Suffolk, revolving in his mind how +glorious should be the matrimonial triumph which he had at last +achieved.</p> + +<p>Before the day arrived, old Ruggles had been constrained to forgive +his granddaughter, and to give a general assent to the marriage. When +John Crumb, with a sound of many trumpets, informed all Bungay that +he had returned victorious from London, and that after all the ups +and downs of his courtship Ruby was to become his wife on a fixed +day, all Bungay took his part, and joined in a general attack upon +Mr. Daniel Ruggles. The cross-grained old man held out for a long +time, alleging that the girl was no better than she should be, and +that she had run away with the baronite. But this assertion was met +by so strong a torrent of contradiction, that the farmer was +absolutely driven out of his own convictions. It is to be feared that +many lies were told on Ruby's behalf by lips which had been quite +ready a fortnight since to take away her character. But it had become +an acknowledged fact in Bungay that John Crumb was ready at any hour +to punch the head of any man who should hint that Ruby Ruggles had, +at any period of her life, done any act or spoken any word unbecoming +a young lady; and so strong was the general belief in John Crumb, +that Ruby became the subject of general eulogy from all male lips in +the town. And though perhaps some slight suspicion of irregular +behaviour up in London might be whispered by the Bungay ladies among +themselves, still the feeling in favour of Mr. Crumb was so general, +and his constancy was so popular, that the grandfather could not +stand against it. "I don't see why I ain't to do as I likes with my +own," he said to Joe Mixet, the baker, who went out to Sheep's Acre +Farm as one of many deputations sent by the municipality of Bungay.</p> + +<p>"She's your own flesh and blood, Mr. Ruggles," said the baker.</p> + +<p>"No; she ain't;—no more than she's a Pipkin. She's taken up with +Mrs. Pipkin jist because I hate the Pipkinses. Let Mrs. Pipkin give +'em a breakfast."</p> + +<p>"She is your own flesh and blood,—and your name, too, Mr. Ruggles. +And she's going to be the respectable wife of a respectable man, Mr. +Ruggles."</p> + +<p>"I won't give 'em no breakfast;—that's flat," said the farmer.</p> + +<p>But he had yielded in the main when he allowed himself to base his +opposition on one immaterial detail. The breakfast was to be given at +the King's Head, and, though it was acknowledged on all sides that no +authority could be found for such a practice, it was known that the +bill was to be paid by the bridegroom. Nor would Mr. Ruggles pay the +five hundred pounds down as in early days he had promised to do. He +was very clear in his mind that his undertaking on that head was +altogether cancelled by Ruby's departure from Sheep's Acre. When he +was reminded that he had nearly pulled his granddaughter's hair out +of her head, and had thus justified her act of rebellion, he did not +contradict the assertion, but implied that if Ruby did not choose to +earn her fortune on such terms as those, that was her fault. It was +not to be supposed that he was to give a girl, who was after all as +much a Pipkin as a Ruggles, five hundred pounds for nothing. But, in +return for that night's somewhat harsh treatment of Ruby, he did at +last consent to have the money settled upon John Crumb at his +death,—an arrangement which both the lawyer and Joe Mixet thought to +be almost as good as a free gift, being both of them aware that the +consumption of gin and water was on the increase. And he, moreover, +was persuaded to receive Mrs. Pipkin and Ruby at the farm for the +night previous to the marriage. This very necessary arrangement was +made by Mr. Mixet's mother, a most respectable old lady, who went out +in a fly from the inn attired in her best black silk gown and an +overpowering bonnet, an old lady from whom her son had inherited his +eloquence, who absolutely shamed the old man into compliance,—not, +however, till she had promised to send out the tea and white sugar +and box of biscuits which were thought to be necessary for Mrs. +Pipkin on the evening preceding the marriage. A private sitting-room +at the inn was secured for the special accommodation of Mrs. +Hurtle,—who was supposed to be a lady of too high standing to be +properly entertained at Sheep's Acre Farm.</p> + +<p>On the day preceding the wedding one trouble for a moment clouded the +bridegroom's brow. Ruby had demanded that Joe Mixet should not be +among the performers, and John Crumb, with the urbanity of a lover, +had assented to her demand,—as far, at least, as silence can give +consent. And yet he felt himself unable to answer such +interrogatories as the parson might put to him without the assistance +of his friend, although he devoted much study to the matter. "You +could come in behind like, Joe, just as if I knew nothin' about it," +suggested Crumb.</p> + +<p>"Don't you say a word of me, and she won't say nothing, you may be +sure. You ain't going to give in to all her cantraps that way, John?" +John shook his head and rubbed the meal about on his forehead. "It +was only just something for her to say. What have I done that she +should object to me?"</p> + +<p>"You didn't ever go for to—kiss her,—did you, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"What a one'er you are! That wouldn't 'a set her again me. It is just +because I stood up and spoke for you like a man that night at Sheep's +Acre, when her mind was turned the other way. Don't you notice +nothing about it. When we're all in the church she won't go back +because Joe Mixet's there. I'll bet you a gallon, old fellow, she and +I are the best friends in Bungay before six months are gone."</p> + +<p>"Nay, nay; she must have a better friend than thee, Joe, or I must +know the reason why." But John Crumb's heart was too big for +jealousy, and he agreed at last that Joe Mixet should be his best +man, undertaking to "square it all" with Ruby, after the ceremony.</p> + +<p>He met the ladies at the station and,—for him,—was quite eloquent +in his welcome to Mrs. Hurtle and Mrs. Pipkin. To Ruby he said but +little. But he looked at her in her new hat, and generally bright in +subsidiary wedding garments, with great delight. "Ain't she bootiful +now?" he said aloud to Mrs. Hurtle on the platform, to the great +delight of half Bungay, who had accompanied him on the occasion. +Ruby, hearing her praises thus sung, made a fearful grimace as she +turned round to Mrs. Pipkin, and whispered to her aunt, so that those +only who were within a yard or two could hear her; "He is such a +fool!" Then he conducted Mrs. Hurtle in an omnibus up to the Inn, and +afterwards himself drove Mrs. Pipkin and Ruby out to Sheep's Acre; in +the performance of all which duties he was dressed in the green +cutaway coat with brass buttons which had been expressly made for his +marriage. "Thou'rt come back then, Ruby," said the old man.</p> + +<p>"I ain't going to trouble you long, grandfather," said the girl.</p> + +<p>"So best;—so best. And this is Mrs. Pipkin?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Ruggles; that's my name."</p> + +<p>"I've heard your name. I've heard your name, and I don't know as I +ever want to hear it again. But they say as you've been kind to that +girl as 'd 'a been on the town only for that."</p> + +<p>"Grandfather, that ain't true," said Ruby with energy. The old man +made no rejoinder, and Ruby was allowed to take her aunt up into the +bedroom which they were both to occupy. "Now, Mrs. Pipkin, just you +say," pleaded Ruby, "how was it possible for any girl to live with an +old man like that?"</p> + +<p>"But, Ruby, you might always have gone to live with the young man +instead when you pleased."</p> + +<p>"You mean John Crumb."</p> + +<p>"Of course I mean John Crumb, Ruby."</p> + +<p>"There ain't much to choose between 'em. What one says is all spite; +and the other man says nothing at all."</p> + +<p>"Oh Ruby, Ruby," said Mrs. Pipkin, with solemnly persuasive voice, "I +hope you'll come to learn some day, that a loving heart is better nor +a fickle tongue,—specially with vittels certain."</p> + +<p>On the following morning the Bungay church bells rang merrily, and +half its population was present to see John Crumb made a happy man. +He himself went out to the farm and drove the bride and Mrs. Pipkin +into the town, expressing an opinion that no hired charioteer would +bring them so safely as he would do himself; nor did he think it any +disgrace to be seen performing this task before his marriage. He +smiled and nodded at every one, now and then pointing back with his +whip to Ruby when he met any of his specially intimate friends, as +though he would have said, "See, I've got her at last in spite of all +difficulties." Poor Ruby, in her misery under this treatment, would +have escaped out of the cart had it been possible. But now she was +altogether in the man's hands and no escape was within her reach. +"What's the odds?" said Mrs. Pipkin as they settled their bonnets in +a room at the Inn just before they entered the church. "Drat it,—you +make me that angry I'm half minded to cuff you. Ain't he fond o' you? +Ain't he got a house of his own? Ain't he well to do all round? +Manners! What's manners? I don't see nothing amiss in his manners. He +means what he says, and I call that the best of good manners."</p> + +<p>Ruby, when she reached the church, had been too completely quelled by +outward circumstances to take any notice of Joe Mixet, who was +standing there, quite unabashed, with a splendid nosegay in his +button-hole. She certainly had no right on this occasion to complain +of her husband's silence. Whereas she could hardly bring herself to +utter the responses in a voice loud enough for the clergyman to catch +the familiar words, he made his assertions so vehemently that they +were heard throughout the whole building. "I, John,—take thee +Ruby,—to my wedded wife,—to 'ave and to 'old,—from this day +forrard,—for better nor worser,—for richer nor poorer—;" and so on +to the end. And when he came to the "worldly goods" with which he +endowed his Ruby, he was very emphatic indeed. Since the day had been +fixed he had employed all his leisure-hours in learning the words by +heart, and would now hardly allow the clergyman to say them before +him. He thoroughly enjoyed the ceremony, and would have liked to be +married over and over again, every day for a week, had it been +possible.</p> + +<p>And then there came the breakfast, to which he marshalled the way up +the broad stairs of the inn at Bungay, with Mrs. Hurtle on one arm +and Mrs. Pipkin on the other. He had been told that he ought to take +his wife's arm on this occasion, but he remarked that he meant to see +a good deal of her in future, and that his opportunities of being +civil to Mrs. Hurtle and Mrs. Pipkin would be rare. Thus it came to +pass that, in spite of all that poor Ruby had said, she was conducted +to the marriage-feast by Joe Mixet himself. Ruby, I think, had +forgotten the order which she had given in reference to the baker. +When desiring that she might see nothing more of Joe Mixet, she had +been in her pride;—but now she was so tamed and quelled by the +outward circumstances of her position, that she was glad to have some +one near her who knew how to behave himself. "Mrs. Crumb, you have my +best wishes for your continued 'ealth and 'appiness," said Joe Mixet +in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"It's very good of you to say so, Mr. Mixet."</p> + +<p>"He's a good 'un; is he."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dare say."</p> + +<p>"You just be fond of him and stroke him down, and make much of him, +and I'm blessed if you mayn't do a'most anything with him,—all's one +as a babby."</p> + +<p>"A man shouldn't be all's one as a babby, Mr. Mixet."</p> + +<p>"And he don't drink hard, but he works hard, and go where he will he +can hold his own." Ruby said no more, and soon found herself seated +by her husband's side. It certainly was wonderful to her that so many +people should pay John Crumb so much respect, and should seem to +think so little of the meal and flour which pervaded his countenance.</p> + +<p>After the breakfast, or "bit of dinner," as John Crumb would call it, +Mr. Mixet of course made a speech. "He had had the pleasure of +knowing John Crumb for a great many years, and the honour of being +acquainted with Miss Ruby Ruggles,—he begged all their pardons, and +should have said Mrs. John Crumb,—ever since she was a child." +"That's a downright story," said Ruby in a whisper to Mrs. Hurtle. +"And he'd never known two young people more fitted by the gifts of +nature to contribute to one another's 'appinesses. He had understood +that Mars and Wenus always lived on the best of terms, and perhaps +the present company would excuse him if he likened this 'appy young +couple to them two 'eathen gods and goddesses. For Miss Ruby,—Mrs. +Crumb he should say,—was certainly lovely as ere a Wenus as ever +was; and as for John Crumb, he didn't believe that ever a Mars among +'em could stand again him. He didn't remember just at present whether +Mars and Wenus had any young family, but he hoped that before long +there would be any number of young Crumbs for the Bungay birds to +pick up. 'Appy is the man as 'as his quiver full of 'em,—and the +woman too, if you'll allow me to say so, Mrs. Crumb." The speech, of +which only a small sample can be given here, was very much admired by +the ladies and gentlemen present,—with the single exception of poor +Ruby, who would have run away and locked herself in an inner chamber +had she not been certain that she would be brought back again.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill094"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill094.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill094-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="The happy bridegroom." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">The + happy bridegroom.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill094.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>In the afternoon John took his bride to Lowestoft, and brought her +back to all the glories of his own house on the following day. His +honeymoon was short, but its influence on Ruby was beneficent. When +she was alone with the man, knowing that he was her husband, and +thinking something of all that he had done to win her to be his wife, +she did learn to respect him. "Now, Ruby, give a fellow a buss,—as +though you meant it," he said, when the first fitting occasion +presented itself.</p> + +<p>"Oh, John,—what nonsense!"</p> + +<p>"It ain't nonsense to me, I can tell you. I'd sooner have a kiss from +you than all the wine as ever was swallowed." Then she did kiss him, +"as though she meant it;" and when she returned with him to Bungay +the next day, she had made up her mind that she would endeavour to do +her duty by him as his wife.</p> + + +<p><a id="c95"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XCV.</h3> +<h4>THE LONGESTAFFE MARRIAGES.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>In another part of Suffolk, not very far from Bungay, there was a +lady whose friends had not managed her affairs as well as Ruby's +friends had done for Ruby. Miss Georgiana Longestaffe in the early +days of August was in a very miserable plight. Her sister's marriage +with Mr. George Whitstable was fixed for the first of September, a +day which in Suffolk is of all days the most sacred; and the combined +energies of the houses of Caversham and Toodlam were being devoted to +that happy event. Poor Georgey's position was in every respect +wretched, but its misery was infinitely increased by the triumph of +those hymeneals. It was but the other day that she had looked down +from a very great height on her elder sister, and had utterly +despised the squire of Toodlam. And at that time, still so recent, +this contempt from her had been accepted as being almost reasonable. +Sophia had hardly ventured to rebel against it, and Mr. Whitstable +himself had been always afraid to encounter the shafts of irony with +which his fashionable future sister-in-law attacked him. But all that +was now changed. Sophia in her pride of place had become a tyrant, +and George Whitstable, petted in the house with those sweetmeats +which are always showered on embryo bridegrooms, absolutely gave +himself airs. At this time Mr. Longestaffe was never at home. Having +assured himself that there was no longer any danger of the Brehgert +alliance he had remained in London, thinking his presence to be +necessary for the winding up of Melmotte's affairs, and leaving poor +Lady Pomona to bear her daughter's ill-humour. The family at +Caversham consisted therefore of the three ladies, and was enlivened +by daily visits from Toodlam. It will be owned that in this state of +things there was very little consolation for Georgiana.</p> + +<p>It was not long before she quarrelled altogether with her sister,—to +the point of absolutely refusing to act as bridesmaid. The reader may +remember that there had been a watch and chain, and that two of the +ladies of the family had expressed an opinion that these trinkets +should be returned to Mr. Brehgert who had bestowed them. But +Georgiana had not sent them back when a week had elapsed since the +receipt of Mr. Brehgert's last letter. The matter had perhaps escaped +Lady Pomona's memory, but Sophia was happily alive to the honour of +her family. "Georgey," she said one morning in their mother's +presence, "don't you think Mr. Brehgert's watch ought to go back to +him without any more delay?"</p> + +<p>"What have you got to do with anybody's watch? The watch wasn't given +to you."</p> + +<p>"I think it ought to go back. When papa finds that it has been kept +I'm sure he'll be very angry."</p> + +<p>"It's no business of yours whether he's angry or not."</p> + +<p>"If it isn't sent George will tell Dolly. You know what would happen +then."</p> + +<p>This was unbearable! That George Whitstable should interfere in her +affairs,—that he should talk about her watch and chain. "I never +will speak to George Whitstable again the longest day that ever I +live," she said, getting up from her chair.</p> + +<p>"My dear, don't say anything so horrible as that," exclaimed the +unhappy mother.</p> + +<p>"I do say it. What has George Whitstable to do with me? A miserably +stupid fellow! Because you've landed him, you think he's to ride over +the whole family."</p> + +<p>"I think Mr. Brehgert ought to have his watch and chain back," said +Sophia.</p> + +<p>"Certainly he ought," said Lady Pomona. "Georgiana, it must be sent +back. It really must,—or I shall tell your papa."</p> + +<p>Subsequently, on the same day, Georgiana brought the watch and chain +to her mother, protesting that she had never thought of keeping them, +and explaining that she had intended to hand them over to her papa as +soon as he should have returned to Caversham. Lady Pomona was now +empowered to return them, and they were absolutely confided to the +hands of the odious George Whitstable, who about this time made a +journey to London in reference to certain garments which he required. +But Georgiana, though she was so far beaten, kept up her quarrel with +her sister. She would not be bridesmaid. She would never speak to +George Whitstable. And she would shut herself up on the day of the +marriage.</p> + +<p>She did think herself to be very hardly used. What was there left in +the world that she could do in furtherance of her future cause? And +what did her father and mother expect would become of her? Marriage +had ever been so clearly placed before her eyes as a condition of +things to be achieved by her own efforts, that she could not endure +the idea of remaining tranquil in her father's house and waiting till +some fitting suitor might find her out. She had struggled and +struggled,—struggling still in vain,—till every effort of her mind, +every thought of her daily life, was pervaded by a conviction that as +she grew older from year to year, the struggle should be more +intense. The swimmer when first he finds himself in the water, +conscious of his skill and confident in his strength, can make his +way through the water with the full command of all his powers. But +when he begins to feel that the shore is receding from him, that his +strength is going, that the footing for which he pants is still far +beneath his feet,—that there is peril where before he had +contemplated no danger,—then he begins to beat the water with +strokes rapid but impotent, and to waste in anxious gaspings the +breath on which his very life must depend. So it was with poor +Georgey Longestaffe. Something must be done at once, or it would be +of no avail. Twelve years had been passed by her since first she +plunged into the stream,—the twelve years of her youth,—and she was +as far as ever from the bank; nay, farther, if she believed her eyes. +She too must strike out with rapid efforts, unless, indeed, she would +abandon herself and let the waters close over her head. But immersed +as she was here at Caversham, how could she strike at all? Even now +the waters were closing upon her. The sound of them was in her ears. +The ripple of the wave was already round her lips; robbing her of +breath. Ah!—might not there be some last great convulsive effort +which might dash her on shore, even if it were upon a rock!</p> + +<p>That ultimate failure in her matrimonial projects would be the same +as drowning she never for a moment doubted. It had never occurred to +her to consider with equanimity the prospect of living as an old +maid. It was beyond the scope of her mind to contemplate the chances +of a life in which marriage might be well if it came, but in which +unmarried tranquillity might also be well should that be her lot. Nor +could she understand that others should contemplate it for her. No +doubt the battle had been carried on for many years so much under the +auspices of her father and mother as to justify her in thinking that +their theory of life was the same as her own. Lady Pomona had been +very open in her teaching, and Mr. Longestaffe had always given a +silent adherence to the idea that the house in London was to be kept +open in order that husbands might be caught. And now when they +deserted her in her real difficulty,—when they first told her to +live at Caversham all the summer, and then sent her up to the +Melmottes, and after that forbade her marriage with Mr. Brehgert,—it +seemed to her that they were unnatural parents who gave her a stone +when she wanted bread, a serpent when she asked for a fish. She had +no friend left. There was no one living who seemed to care whether +she had a husband or not. She took to walking in solitude about the +park, and thought of many things with a grim earnestness which had +not hitherto belonged to her character.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," she said one morning when all the care of the household was +being devoted to the future comforts,—chiefly in regard to +linen,—of Mrs. George Whitstable, "I wonder whether papa has any +intention at all about me."</p> + +<p>"In what sort of way, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"In any way. Does he mean me to live here for ever and ever?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think he intends to have a house in town again."</p> + +<p>"And what am I to do?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose we shall stay here at Caversham."</p> + +<p>"And I'm to be buried just like a nun in a convent,—only that the +nun does it by her own consent and I don't! Mamma, I won't stand it. +I won't indeed."</p> + +<p>"I think, my dear, that that is nonsense. You see company here, just +as other people do in the country;—and as for not standing it, I +don't know what you mean. As long as you are one of your papa's +family of course you must live where he lives."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, to hear you talk like that!—It is horrible—horrible! As +if you didn't know! As if you couldn't understand! Sometimes I almost +doubt whether papa does know, and then I think that if he did he +would not be so cruel. But you understand it all as well as I do +myself. What is to become of me? Is it not enough to drive me mad to +be going about here by myself, without any prospect of anything? +Should you have liked at my age to have felt that you had no chance +of having a house of your own to live in? Why didn't you, among you, +let me marry Mr. Brehgert?" As she said this she was almost eloquent +with passion.</p> + +<p>"You know, my dear," said Lady Pomona, "that your papa wouldn't hear +of it."</p> + +<p>"I know that if you would have helped me I would have done it in +spite of papa. What right has he to domineer over me in that way? Why +shouldn't I have married the man if I chose? I am old enough to know +surely. You talk now of shutting up girls in convents as being a +thing quite impossible. This is much worse. Papa won't do anything to +help me. Why shouldn't he let me do something for myself?"</p> + +<p>"You can't regret Mr. Brehgert!"</p> + +<p>"Why can't I regret him? I do regret him. I'd have him to-morrow if +he came. Bad as it might be, it couldn't be so bad as Caversham."</p> + +<p>"You couldn't have loved him, Georgiana."</p> + +<p>"Loved him! Who thinks about love nowadays? I don't know any one who +loves any one else. You won't tell me that Sophy is going to marry +that idiot because she loves him! Did Julia Triplex love that man +with the large fortune? When you wanted Dolly to marry Marie Melmotte +you never thought of his loving her. I had got the better of all that +kind of thing before I was twenty."</p> + +<p>"I think a young woman should love her husband."</p> + +<p>"It makes me sick, mamma, to hear you talk in that way. It does +indeed. When one has been going on for a dozen years trying to do +something,—and I have never had any secrets from you,—then that you +should turn round upon me and talk about love! Mamma, if you would +help me I think I could still manage with Mr. Brehgert." Lady Pomona +shuddered. "You have not got to marry him."</p> + +<p>"It is too horrid."</p> + +<p>"Who would have to put up with it? Not you, or papa, or Dolly. I +should have a house of my own at least, and I should know what I had +to expect for the rest of my life. If I stay here I shall go mad,—or +die."</p> + +<p>"It is impossible."</p> + +<p>"If you will stand to me, mamma, I am sure it may be done. I would +write to him, and say that you would see him."</p> + +<p>"Georgiana, I will never see him."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"He is a Jew!"</p> + +<p>"What abominable prejudice;—what wicked prejudice! As if you didn't +know that all that is changed now! What possible difference can it +make about a man's religion? Of course I know that he is vulgar, and +old, and has a lot of children. But if I can put up with that, I +don't think that you and papa have a right to interfere. As to his +religion it cannot signify."</p> + +<p>"Georgiana, you make me very unhappy. I am wretched to see you so +discontented. If I could do anything for you, I would. But I will not +meddle about Mr. Brehgert. I shouldn't dare to do so. I don't think +you know how angry your papa can be."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to let papa be a bugbear to frighten me. What can he +do? I don't suppose he'll beat me. And I'd rather he would than shut +me up here. As for you, mamma, I don't think you care for me a bit. +Because Sophy is going to be married to that oaf, you are become so +proud of her that you haven't half a thought for anybody else."</p> + +<p>"That's very unjust, Georgiana."</p> + +<p>"I know what's unjust,—and I know who's ill-treated. I tell you +fairly, mamma, that I shall write to Mr. Brehgert and tell him that I +am quite ready to marry him. I don't know why he should be afraid of +papa. I don't mean to be afraid of him any more, and you may tell him +just what I say."</p> + +<p>All this made Lady Pomona very miserable. She did not communicate her +daughter's threat to Mr. Longestaffe, but she did discuss it with +Sophia. Sophia was of opinion that Georgiana did not mean it, and +gave two or three reasons for thinking so. In the first place had she +intended it she would have written her letter without saying a word +about it to Lady Pomona. And she certainly would not have declared +her purpose of writing such letter after Lady Pomona had refused her +assistance. And moreover,—Lady Pomona had received no former hint of +the information which was now conveyed to her,—Georgiana was in the +habit of meeting the curate of the next parish almost every day in +the park.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Batherbolt!" exclaimed Lady Pomona.</p> + +<p>"She is walking with Mr. Batherbolt almost every day."</p> + +<p>"But he is so very strict."</p> + +<p>"It is true, mamma."</p> + +<p>"And he's five years younger than she! And he's got nothing but his +curacy! And he's a celibate! I heard the bishop laughing at him +because he called himself a celibate."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't signify, mamma. I know she is with him constantly. Wilson +has seen them,—and I know it. Perhaps papa could get him a living. +Dolly has a living of his own that came to him with his property."</p> + +<p>"Dolly would be sure to sell the presentation," said Lady Pomona.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps the bishop would do something," said the anxious sister, +"when he found that the man wasn't a celibate. Anything, mamma, would +be better than the Jew." To this latter proposition Lady Pomona gave +a cordial assent. "Of course it is a come-down to marry a +curate,—but a clergyman is always considered to be decent."</p> + +<p>The preparations for the Whitstable marriage went on without any +apparent attention to the intimacy which was growing up between Mr. +Batherbolt and Georgiana. There was no room to apprehend anything +wrong on that side. Mr. Batherbolt was so excellent a young man, and +so exclusively given to religion, that, even should Sophy's suspicion +be correct, he might be trusted to walk about the park with +Georgiana. Should he at any time come forward and ask to be allowed +to make the lady his wife, there would be no disgrace in the matter. +He was a clergyman and a gentleman,—and the poverty would be +Georgiana's own affair.</p> + +<p>Mr. Longestaffe returned home only on the eve of his eldest +daughter's marriage, and with him came Dolly. Great trouble had been +taken to teach him that duty absolutely required his presence at his +sister's marriage, and he had at last consented to be there. It is +not generally considered a hardship by a young man that he should +have to go into a good partridge country on the 1st of September, and +Dolly was an acknowledged sportsman. Nevertheless, he considered that +he had made a great sacrifice to his family, and he was received by +Lady Pomona as though he were a bright example to other sons. He +found the house not in a very comfortable position, for Georgiana +still persisted in her refusal either to be a bridesmaid or to speak +to Mr. Whitstable; but still his presence, which was very rare at +Caversham, gave some assistance: and, as at this moment his money +affairs had been comfortably arranged, he was not called upon to +squabble with his father. It was a great thing that one of the girls +should be married, and Dolly had brought down an enormous china dog, +about five feet high, as a wedding present, which added materially to +the happiness of the meeting. Lady Pomona had determined that she +would tell her husband of those walks in the park, and of other signs +of growing intimacy which had reached her ears;—but this she would +postpone until after the Whitstable marriage.</p> + +<p>But at nine o'clock on the morning set apart for that marriage, they +were all astounded by the news that Georgiana had run away with Mr. +Batherbolt. She had been up before six. He had met her at the park +gate, and had driven her over to catch the early train at Stowmarket. +Then it appeared, too, that by degrees various articles of her +property had been conveyed to Mr. Batherbolt's lodgings in the +adjacent village, so that Lady Pomona's fear that Georgiana would not +have a thing to wear, was needless. When the fact was first known it +was almost felt, in the consternation of the moment, that the +Whitstable marriage must be postponed. But Sophia had a word to say +to her mother on that head, and she said it. The marriage was not +postponed. At first Dolly talked of going after his younger sister, +and the father did dispatch various telegrams. But the fugitives +could not be brought back, and with some little delay,—which made +the marriage perhaps uncanonical but not illegal,—Mr. George +Whitstable was made a happy man.</p> + +<p>It need only be added that in about a month's time Georgiana returned +to Caversham as Mrs. Batherbolt, and that she resided there with her +husband in much connubial bliss for the next six months. At the end +of that time they removed to a small living, for the purchase of +which Mr. Longestaffe had managed to raise the necessary money.</p> + + +<p><a id="c96"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XCVI.</h3> +<h4>WHERE "THE WILD ASSES QUENCH THEIR THIRST."<br /> </h4> + + +<p>We must now go back a little in our story,—about three weeks,—in +order that the reader may be told how affairs were progressing at the +Beargarden. That establishment had received a terrible blow in the +defection of Herr Vossner. It was not only that he had robbed the +club, and robbed every member of the club who had ventured to have +personal dealings with him. Although a bad feeling in regard to him +was no doubt engendered in the minds of those who had suffered +deeply, it was not that alone which cast an almost funereal gloom +over the club. The sorrow was in this,—that with Herr Vossner all +their comforts had gone. Of course Herr Vossner had been a thief. +That no doubt had been known to them from the beginning. A man does +not consent to be called out of bed at all hours in the morning to +arrange the gambling accounts of young gentlemen without being a +thief. No one concerned with Herr Vossner had supposed him to be an +honest man. But then as a thief he had been so comfortable that his +absence was regretted with a tenderness almost amounting to love even +by those who had suffered most severely from his rapacity. Dolly +Longestaffe had been robbed more outrageously than any other member +of the club, and yet Dolly Longestaffe had said since the departure +of the purveyor that London was not worth living in now that Herr +Vossner was gone. In a week the Beargarden collapsed,—as Germany +would collapse for a period if Herr Vossner's great compatriot were +suddenly to remove himself from the scene; but as Germany would +strive to live even without Bismarck, so did the club make its new +efforts. But here the parallel must cease. Germany no doubt would at +last succeed, but the Beargarden had received a blow from which it +seemed that there was no recovery. At first it was proposed that +three men should be appointed as trustees,—trustees for paying +Vossner's debts, trustees for borrowing more money, trustees for the +satisfaction of the landlord who was beginning to be anxious as to +his future rent. At a certain very triumphant general meeting of the +club it was determined that such a plan should be arranged, and the +members assembled were unanimous. It was at first thought that there +might be a little jealousy as to the trusteeship. The club was so +popular and the authority conveyed by the position would be so great, +that A, B, and C might feel aggrieved at seeing so much power +conferred on D, E, and F. When at the meeting above mentioned one or +two names were suggested, the final choice was postponed, as a matter +of detail to be arranged privately, rather from this consideration +than with any idea that there might be a difficulty in finding +adequate persons. But even the leading members of the Beargarden +hesitated when the proposition was submitted to them with all its +honours and all its responsibilities. Lord Nidderdale declared from +the beginning that he would have nothing to do with it,—pleading his +poverty openly. Beauchamp Beauclerk was of opinion that he himself +did not frequent the club often enough. Mr. Lupton professed his +inability as a man of business. Lord Grasslough pleaded his father. +The club from the first had been sure of Dolly Longestaffe's +services;—for were not Dolly's pecuniary affairs now in process of +satisfactory arrangement, and was it not known by all men that his +courage never failed him in regard to money? But even he declined. "I +have spoken to Squercum," he said to the Committee, "and Squercum +won't hear of it. Squercum has made inquiries and he thinks the club +very shaky." When one of the Committee made a remark as to Mr. +Squercum which was not complimentary,—insinuated indeed that +Squercum without injustice might be consigned to the infernal +deities,—Dolly took the matter up warmly. "That's all very well for +you, Grasslough; but if you knew the comfort of having a fellow who +could keep you straight without preaching sermons at you you wouldn't +despise Squercum. I've tried to go alone and I find that does not +answer. Squercum's my coach, and I mean to stick pretty close to +him." Then it came to pass that the triumphant project as to the +trustees fell to the ground, although Squercum himself advised that +the difficulty might be lessened if three gentlemen could be selected +who lived well before the world and yet had nothing to lose. +Whereupon Dolly suggested Miles Grendall. But the Committee shook its +heads, not thinking it possible that the club could be re-established +on a basis of three Miles Grendalls.</p> + +<p>Then dreadful rumours were heard. The Beargarden must surely be +abandoned. "It is such a pity," said Nidderdale, "because there never +has been anything like it."</p> + +<p>"Smoke all over the house!" said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"No horrid nonsense about closing," said Grasslough, "and no infernal +old fogies wearing out the carpets and paying for nothing."</p> + +<p>"Not a vestige of propriety, or any beastly rules to be kept! That's +what I liked," said Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"It's an old story," said Mr. Lupton, "that if you put a man into +Paradise he'll make it too hot to hold him. That's what you've done +here."</p> + +<p>"What we ought to do," said Dolly, who was pervaded by a sense of his +own good fortune in regard to Squercum, "is to get some fellow like +Vossner, and make him tell us how much he wants to steal above his +regular pay. Then we could subscribe that among us. I really think +that might be done. Squercum would find a fellow, no doubt." But Mr. +Lupton was of opinion that the new Vossner might perhaps not know, +when thus consulted, the extent of his own cupidity.</p> + +<p>One day, before the Whitstable marriage, when it was understood that +the club would actually be closed on the 12th August unless some new +heaven-inspired idea might be forthcoming for its salvation, +Nidderdale, Grasslough, and Dolly were hanging about the hall and the +steps, and drinking sherry and bitters preparatory to dinner, when +Sir Felix Carbury came round the neighbouring corner and, in a +creeping, hesitating fashion, entered the hall door. He had nearly +recovered from his wounds, though he still wore a bit of court +plaster on his upper lip, and had not yet learned to look or to speak +as though he had not had two of his front teeth knocked out. He had +heard little or nothing of what had been done at the Beargarden since +Vossner's defection. It was now a month since he had been seen at the +club. His thrashing had been the wonder of perhaps half nine days, +but latterly his existence had been almost forgotten. Now, with +difficulty, he had summoned courage to go down to his old haunt, so +completely had he been cowed by the latter circumstances of his life; +but he had determined that he would pluck up his courage, and talk to +his old associates as though no evil thing had befallen him. He had +still money enough to pay for his dinner and to begin a small rubber +of whist. If fortune should go against him he might glide into I. O. +U.'s;—as others had done before, so much to his cost. "By George, +here's Carbury!" said Dolly. Lord Grasslough whistled, turned his +back, and walked up-stairs; but Nidderdale and Dolly consented to +have their hands shaken by the stranger.</p> + +<p>"Thought you were out of town," said Nidderdale. "Haven't seen you +for the last ever so long."</p> + +<p>"I have been out of town," said Felix,—lying; "down in Suffolk. But +I'm back now. How are things going on here?"</p> + +<p>"They're not going at all;—they're gone," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Everything is smashed," said Nidderdale. "We shall all have to pay, +I don't know how much."</p> + +<p>"Wasn't Vossner ever caught?" asked the baronet.</p> + +<p>"Caught!" ejaculated Dolly. "No;—but he has caught us. I don't know +that there has ever been much idea of catching Vossner. We close +altogether next Monday, and the furniture is to be gone to law for. +Flatfleece says it belongs to him under what he calls a deed of sale. +Indeed, everything that everybody has seems to belong to Flatfleece. +He's always in and out of the club, and has got the key of the +cellar."</p> + +<p>"That don't matter," said Nidderdale, "as Vossner took care that +there shouldn't be any wine."</p> + +<p>"He's got most of the forks and spoons, and only lets us use what we +have as a favour."</p> + +<p>"I suppose one can get a dinner here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; to-day you can, and perhaps to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Isn't there any playing?" asked Felix with dismay.</p> + +<p>"I haven't seen a card this fortnight," said Dolly. "There hasn't +been anybody to play. Everything has gone to the dogs. There has been +the affair of Melmotte, you know;—though, I suppose, you do know all +about that."</p> + +<p>"Of course I know he poisoned himself."</p> + +<p>"Of course that had effect," said Dolly, continuing his history. +"Though why fellows shouldn't play cards because another fellow like +that takes poison, I can't understand. Last year the only day I +managed to get down in February, the hounds didn't come because some +old cove had died. What harm could our hunting have done him? I call +that rot."</p> + +<p>"Melmotte's death was rather awful," said Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"Not half so awful as having nothing to amuse one. And now they say +the girl is going to be married to Fisker. I don't know how you and +Nidderdale like that. I never went in for her myself. Squercum never +seemed to see it."</p> + +<p>"Poor dear!" said Nidderdale. "She's welcome for me, and I dare say +she couldn't do better with herself. I was very fond of her;—I'll be +shot if I wasn't."</p> + +<p>"And Carbury too, I suppose," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"No; I wasn't. If I'd really been fond of her I suppose it would have +come off. I should have had her safe enough to America, if I'd cared +about it." This was Sir Felix's view of the matter.</p> + +<p>"Come into the smoking-room, Dolly," said Nidderdale. "I can stand +most things, and I try to stand everything; but, by George, that +fellow is such a cad that I cannot stand him. You and I are bad +enough,—but I don't think we're so heartless as Carbury."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I'm heartless at all," said Dolly. "I'm good-natured +to everybody that is good-natured to me,—and to a great many people +who ain't. I'm going all the way down to Caversham next week to see +my sister married, though I hate the place and hate marriages, and if +I was to be hung for it I couldn't say a word to the fellow who is +going to be my brother-in-law. But I do agree about Carbury. It's +very hard to be good-natured to him."</p> + +<p>But, in the teeth of these adverse opinions Sir Felix managed to get +his dinner-table close to theirs and to tell them at dinner something +of his future prospects. He was going to travel and see the world. He +had, according to his own account, completely run through London life +and found that it was all barren.</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="0"><tr><td> +<span class="nowrap">"In life I've rung all changes through,</span><br /> +<span class="ind4">Run every pleasure down,</span><br /> + 'Midst each excess of folly too,<br /> +<span class="ind4">And lived with half the town."</span> +</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p class="noindent">Sir Felix did not exactly +quote the old song, probably having never +heard the words. But that was the burden of his present story. It was +his determination to seek new scenes, and in search of them to travel +over the greater part of the known world.</p> + +<p>"How jolly for you!" said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"It will be a change, you know."</p> + +<p>"No end of a change. Is any one going with you?"</p> + +<p>"Well;—yes. I've got a travelling companion;—a very pleasant +fellow, who knows a lot, and will be able to coach me up in things. +There's a deal to be learned by going abroad, you know."</p> + +<p>"A sort of a tutor," said Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"A parson, I suppose," said Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Well;—he is a clergyman. Who told you?"</p> + +<p>"It's only my inventive genius. Well;—yes; I should say that would +be nice,—travelling about Europe with a clergyman. I shouldn't get +enough advantage out of it to make it pay, but I fancy it will just +suit you."</p> + +<p>"It's an expensive sort of thing;—isn't it?" asked Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"Well;—it does cost something. But I've got so sick of this kind of +life;—and then that railway Board coming to an end, and the club +smashing up, <span class="nowrap">and—"</span></p> + +<p>"Marie Melmotte marrying Fisker," suggested Dolly.</p> + +<p>"That too, if you will. But I want a change, and a change I mean to +have. I've seen this side of things, and now I'll have a look at the +other."</p> + +<p>"Didn't you have a row in the street with some one the other day?" +This question was asked very abruptly by Lord Grasslough, who, though +he was sitting near them, had not yet joined in the conversation, and +who had not before addressed a word to Sir Felix. "We heard something +about it, but we never got the right story." Nidderdale glanced +across the table at Dolly, and Dolly whistled. Grasslough looked at +the man he addressed as one does look when one expects an answer. Mr. +Lupton, with whom Grasslough was dining, also sat expectant. Dolly +and Nidderdale were both silent.</p> + +<p>It was the fear of this that had kept Sir Felix away from the club. +Grasslough, as he had told himself, was just the fellow to ask such a +question,—ill-natured, insolent, and obtrusive. But the question +demanded an answer of some kind. "Yes," said he; "a fellow attacked +me in the street, coming behind me when I had a girl with me. He +didn't get much the best of it though."</p> + +<p>"Oh;—didn't he?" said Grasslough. "I think, upon the whole, you +know, you're right about going abroad."</p> + +<p>"What business is it of yours?" asked the baronet.</p> + +<p>"Well;—as the club is being broken up, I don't know that it is very +much the business of any of us."</p> + +<p>"I was speaking to my friends, Lord Nidderdale and Mr. Longestaffe, +and not to you."</p> + +<p>"I quite appreciate the advantage of the distinction," said Lord +Grasslough, "and am sorry for Lord Nidderdale and Mr. Longestaffe."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?" said Sir Felix, rising from his chair. +His present opponent was not horrible to him as had been John Crumb, +as men in clubs do not now often knock each others' heads or draw +swords one upon another.</p> + +<p>"Don't let's have a quarrel here," said Mr. Lupton. "I shall leave +the room if you do."</p> + +<p>"If we must break up, let us break up in peace and quietness," said +Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"Of course, if there is to be a fight, I'm good to go out with +anybody," said Dolly. "When there's any beastly thing to be done, +I've always got to do it. But don't you think that kind of thing is a +little slow?"</p> + +<p>"Who began it?" said Sir Felix, sitting down again. Whereupon Lord +Grasslough, who had finished his dinner, walked out of the room. +"That fellow is always wanting to quarrel."</p> + +<p>"There's one comfort, you know," said Dolly. "It wants two men to +make a quarrel."</p> + +<p>"Yes; it does," said Sir Felix, taking this as a friendly +observation; "and I'm not going to be fool enough to be one of them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I meant it fast enough," said Grasslough afterwards up in +the card-room. The other men who had been together had quickly +followed him, leaving Sir Felix alone, and they had collected +themselves there not with the hope of play, but thinking that they +would be less interrupted than in the smoking-room. "I don't suppose +we shall ever any of us be here again, and as he did come in I +thought I would tell him my mind."</p> + +<p>"What's the use of taking such a lot of trouble?" said Dolly. "Of +course he's a bad fellow. Most fellows are bad fellows in one way or +another."</p> + +<p>"But he's bad all round," said the bitter enemy.</p> + +<p>"And so this is to be the end of the Beargarden," said Lord +Nidderdale with a peculiar melancholy. "Dear old place! I always felt +it was too good to last. I fancy it doesn't do to make things too +easy;—one has to pay so uncommon dear for them! And then, you know, +when you've got things easy, then they get rowdy;—and, by George, +before you know where you are, you find yourself among a lot of +blackguards. If one wants to keep one's self straight, one has to +work hard at it, one way or the other. I suppose it all comes from +the fall of Adam."</p> + +<p>"If Solomon, Solon, and the Archbishop of Canterbury were rolled into +one, they couldn't have spoken with more wisdom," said Mr. Lupton.</p> + +<p>"Live and learn," continued the young lord. "I don't think anybody +has liked the Beargarden so much as I have, but I shall never try +this kind of thing again. I shall begin reading blue books to-morrow, +and shall dine at the Carlton. Next session I shan't miss a day in +the House, and I'll bet anybody a fiver that I make a speech before +Easter. I shall take to claret at 20<i>s.</i> a dozen, and shall go about +London on the top of an omnibus."</p> + +<p>"How about getting married?" asked Dolly.</p> + +<p>"Oh;—that must be as it comes. That's the governor's affair. None of +you fellows will believe me, but, upon my word, I liked that girl; +and I'd 've stuck to her at last,—only that there are some things a +fellow can't do. He was such a thundering scoundrel!"</p> + +<p>After a while Sir Felix followed them up-stairs, and entered the room +as though nothing unpleasant had happened below. "We can make up a +rubber;—can't we?" said he.</p> + +<p>"I should say not," said Nidderdale.</p> + +<p>"I shall not play," said Mr. Lupton.</p> + +<p>"There isn't a pack of cards in the house," said Dolly. Lord +Grasslough didn't condescend to say a word. Sir Felix sat down with +his cigar in his mouth, and the others continued to smoke in silence.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what has become of Miles Grendall," asked Sir Felix. But no +one made any answer, and they smoked on in silence. "He hasn't paid +me a shilling yet of the money he owes me." Still there was not a +word. "And I don't suppose he ever will." There was another pause. +"He is the biggest scoundrel I ever met," said Sir Felix.</p> + +<p>"I know one as big," said Lord Grasslough,—"or, at any rate, as +little."</p> + +<p>There was another pause of a minute, and then Sir Felix left the room +muttering something as to the stupidity of having no cards;—and so +brought to an end his connection with his associates of the +Beargarden. From that time forth he was never more seen by them,—or, +if seen, was never known.</p> + +<p>The other men remained there till well on into the night, although +there was not the excitement of any special amusement to attract +them. It was felt by them all that this was the end of the +Beargarden, and, with a melancholy seriousness befitting the +occasion, they whispered sad things in low voices, consoling +themselves simply with tobacco. "I never felt so much like crying in +my life," said Dolly, as he asked for a glass of brandy-and-water at +about midnight. "Good-night, old fellows; good-bye. I'm going down to +Caversham, and I shouldn't wonder if I didn't drown myself."</p> + +<p>How Mr. Flatfleece went to law, and tried to sell the furniture, and +threatened everybody, and at last singled out poor Dolly Longestaffe +as his special victim; and how Dolly Longestaffe, by the aid of Mr. +Squercum, utterly confounded Mr. Flatfleece, and brought that +ingenious but unfortunate man, with his wife and small family, to +absolute ruin, the reader will hardly expect to have told to him in +detail in this chronicle.</p> + + +<p><a id="c97"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XCVII.</h3> +<h4>MRS. HURTLE'S FATE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>Mrs. Hurtle had consented at the joint request of Mrs. Pipkin and +John Crumb to postpone her journey to New York and to go down to +Bungay and grace the marriage of Ruby Ruggles, not so much from any +love for the persons concerned, not so much even from any desire to +witness a phase of English life, as from an irresistible tenderness +towards Paul Montague. She not only longed to see him once again, but +she could with difficulty bring herself to leave the land in which he +was living. There was no hope for her. She was sure of that. She had +consented to relinquish him. She had condoned his treachery to +her,—and for his sake had even been kind to the rival who had taken +her place. But still she lingered near him. And then, though, in all +her very restricted intercourse with such English people as she met, +she never ceased to ridicule things English, yet she dreaded a return +to her own country. In her heart of hearts she liked the somewhat +stupid tranquillity of the life she saw, comparing it with the rough +tempests of her past days. Mrs. Pipkin, she thought, was less +intellectual than any American woman she had ever known; and she was +quite sure that no human being so heavy, so slow, and so incapable of +two concurrent ideas as John Crumb had ever been produced in the +United States;—but, nevertheless, she liked Mrs. Pipkin, and almost +loved John Crumb. How different would her life have been could she +have met a man who would have been as true to her as John Crumb was +to his Ruby!</p> + +<p>She loved Paul Montague with all her heart, and she despised herself +for loving him. How weak he was;—how inefficient; how unable to +seize glorious opportunities; how swathed and swaddled by scruples +and prejudices;—how unlike her own countrymen in quickness of +apprehension and readiness of action! But yet she loved him for his +very faults, telling herself that there was something sweeter in his +English manners than in all the smart intelligence of her own land. +The man had been false to her,—false as hell; had sworn to her and +had broken his oath; had ruined her whole life; had made everything +blank before her by his treachery! But then she also had not been +quite true with him. She had not at first meant to deceive;—nor had +he. They had played a game against each other; and he, with all the +inferiority of his intellect to weigh him down, had won,—because he +was a man. She had much time for thinking, and she thought much about +these things. He could change his love as often as he pleased, and be +as good a lover at the end as ever;—whereas she was ruined by his +defection. He could look about for a fresh flower and boldly seek his +honey; whereas she could only sit and mourn for the sweets of which +she had been rifled. She was not quite sure that such mourning would +not be more bitter to her in California than in Mrs. Pipkin's +solitary lodgings at Islington.</p> + +<p>"So he was Mr. Montague's partner,—was he now?" asked Mrs. Pipkin a +day or two after their return from the Crumb marriage. For Mr. Fisker +had called on Mrs. Hurtle, and Mrs. Hurtle had told Mrs. Pipkin so +much. "To my thinking now he's a nicer man than Mr. Montague." Mrs. +Pipkin perhaps thought that as her lodger had lost one partner she +might be anxious to secure the other;—perhaps felt, too, that it +might be well to praise an American at the expense of an Englishman.</p> + +<p>"There's no accounting for tastes, Mrs. Pipkin."</p> + +<p>"And that's true, too, Mrs. Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Montague is a gentleman."</p> + +<p>"I always did say that of him, Mrs. Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Fisker is—an American citizen." Mrs. Hurtle when she said +this was very far gone in tenderness.</p> + +<p>"Indeed now!" said Mrs. Pipkin, who did not in the least understand +the meaning of her friend's last remark.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fisker came to me with tidings from San Francisco which I had +not heard before, and has offered to take me back with him." Mrs. +Pipkin's apron was immediately at her eyes. "I must go some day, you +know."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you must. I couldn't hope as you'd stay here always. I +wish I could. I never shall forget the comfort it's been. There +hasn't been a week without everything settled; and most +ladylike,—most ladylike! You seem to me, Mrs. Hurtle, just as though +you had the bank in your pocket." All this the poor woman said, moved +by her sorrow to speak the absolute truth.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Fisker isn't in any way a special friend of mine. But I hear +that he will be taking other ladies with him, and I fancy I might as +well join the party. It will be less dull for me, and I shall prefer +company just at present for many reasons. We shall start on the first +of September." As this was said about the middle of August there was +still some remnant of comfort for poor Mrs. Pipkin. A fortnight +gained was something; and as Mr. Fisker had come to England on +business, and as business is always uncertain, there might possibly +be further delay. Then Mrs. Hurtle made a further communication to +Mrs. Pipkin, which, though not spoken till the latter lady had her +hand on the door, was, perhaps, the one thing which Mrs. Hurtle had +desired to say. "By-the-bye, Mrs. Pipkin, I expect Mr. Montague to +call to-morrow at eleven. Just show him up when he comes." She had +feared that unless some such instructions were given, there might be +a little scene at the door when the gentleman came.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Montague;—oh! Of course, Mrs. Hurtle,—of course. I'll see to +it myself." Then Mrs. Pipkin went away abashed,—feeling that she had +made a great mistake in preferring any other man to Mr. Montague, if, +after all, recent difficulties were to be adjusted.</p> + +<p>On the following morning Mrs. Hurtle dressed herself with almost more +than her usual simplicity, but certainly with not less than her usual +care, and immediately after breakfast seated herself at her desk, +nursing an idea that she would work as steadily for the next hour as +though she expected no special visitor. Of course she did not write a +word of the task which she had prescribed to herself. Of course she +was disturbed in her mind, though she had dictated to herself +absolute quiescence.</p> + +<p>She almost knew that she had been wrong even to desire to see him. +She had forgiven him, and what more was there to be said? She had +seen the girl, and had in some fashion approved of her. Her curiosity +had been satisfied, and her love of revenge had been sacrificed. She +had no plan arranged as to what she would now say to him, nor did she +at this moment attempt to make a plan. She could tell him that she +was about to return to San Francisco with Fisker, but she did not +know that she had anything else to say. Then came the knock at the +door. Her heart leaped within her, and she made a last great effort +to be tranquil. She heard the steps on the stairs, and then the door +was opened and Mr. Montague was announced by Mrs. Pipkin herself. +Mrs. Pipkin, however, quite conquered by a feeling of gratitude to +her lodger, did not once look in through the door, nor did she pause +a moment to listen at the keyhole. "I thought you would come and see +me once again before I went," said Mrs. Hurtle, not rising from her +sofa, but putting out her hand to greet him. "Sit there opposite, so +that we can look at one another. I hope it has not been a trouble to +you."</p> + +<p>"Of course I came when you left word for me to do so."</p> + +<p>"I certainly should not have expected it from any wish of your own."</p> + +<p>"I should not have dared to come, had you not bade me. You know +that."</p> + +<p>"I know nothing of the kind;—but as you are here we will not quarrel +as to your motives. Has Miss Carbury pardoned you as yet? Has she +forgiven your sins?"</p> + +<p>"We are friends,—if you mean that."</p> + +<p>"Of course you are friends. She only wanted to have somebody to tell +her that somebody had maligned you. It mattered not much who it was. +She was ready to believe any one who would say a good word for you. +Perhaps I wasn't just the person to do it, but I believe even I was +sufficient to serve the turn."</p> + +<p>"Did you say a good word for me?"</p> + +<p>"Well; no;" replied Mrs. Hurtle. "I will not boast that I did. I do +not want to tell you fibs at our last meeting. I said nothing good of +you. What could I say of good? But I told her what was quite as +serviceable to you as though I had sung your virtues by the hour +without ceasing. I explained to her how very badly you had behaved to +me. I let her know that from the moment you had seen her, you had +thrown me to the winds."</p> + +<p>"It was not so, my friend."</p> + +<p>"What did that matter? One does not scruple a lie for a friend, you +know! I could not go into all the little details of your perfidies. I +could not make her understand during one short and rather agonizing +interview how you had allowed yourself to be talked out of your love +for me by English propriety even before you had seen her beautiful +eyes. There was no reason why I should tell her all my +disgrace,—anxious as I was to be of service. Besides, as I put it, +she was sure to be better pleased. But I did tell her how unwillingly +you had spared me an hour of your company;—what a trouble I had been +to you;—how you would have shirked me if you could!"</p> + +<p>"Winifrid, that is untrue."</p> + +<p>"That wretched journey to Lowestoft was the great crime. Mr. Roger +Carbury, who I own is poison to +<span class="nowrap">me—"</span></p> + +<p>"You do not know him."</p> + +<p>"Knowing him or not I choose to have my own opinion, sir. I say that +he is poison to me, and I say that he had so stuffed her mind with +the flagrant sin of that journey, with the peculiar wickedness of our +having lived for two nights under the same roof, with the awful fact +that we had travelled together in the same carriage, till that had +become the one stumbling block on your path to happiness."</p> + +<p>"He never said a word to her of our being there."</p> + +<p>"Who did then? But what matters? She knew it;—and, as the only means +of whitewashing you in her eyes, I did tell her how cruel and how +heartless you had been to me. I did explain how the return of +friendship which you had begun to show me, had been frozen, harder +than Wenham ice, by the appearance of Mr. Carbury on the sands. +Perhaps I went a little farther and hinted that the meeting had been +arranged as affording you the easiest means of escape from me."</p> + +<p>"You do not believe that."</p> + +<p>"You see I had your welfare to look after; and the baser your conduct +had been to me, the truer you were in her eyes. Do I not deserve some +thanks for what I did? Surely you would not have had me tell her that +your conduct to me had been that of a loyal, loving gentleman. I +confessed to her my utter despair;—I abased myself in the dust, as a +woman is abased who has been treacherously ill-used, and has failed +to avenge herself. I knew that when she was sure that I was prostrate +and hopeless she would be triumphant and contented. I told her on +your behalf how I had been ground to pieces under your chariot +wheels. And now you have not a word of thanks to give me!"</p> + +<p>"Every word you say is a dagger."</p> + +<p>"You know where to go for salve for such skin-deep scratches as I +make. Where am I to find a surgeon who can put together my crushed +bones? Daggers, indeed! Do you not suppose that in thinking of you I +have often thought of daggers? Why have I not thrust one into your +heart, so that I might rescue you from the arms of this puny, +spiritless English girl?" All this time she was still seated, looking +at him, leaning forward towards him with her hands upon her brow. +"But, Paul, I spit out my words to you, like any common woman, not +because they will hurt you, but because I know I may take that +comfort, such as it is, without hurting you. You are uneasy for a +moment while you are here, and I have a cruel pleasure in thinking +that you cannot answer me. But you will go from me to her, and then +will you not be happy? When you are sitting with your arm round her +waist, and when she is playing with your smiles, will the memory of +my words interfere with your joy then? Ask yourself whether the prick +will last longer than the moment. But where am I to go for happiness +and joy? Can you understand what it is to have to live only on +retrospects?"</p> + +<p>"I wish I could say a word to comfort you."</p> + +<p>"You cannot say a word to comfort me, unless you will unsay all that +you have said since I have been in England. I never expect comfort +again. But, Paul, I will not be cruel to the end. I will tell you all +that I know of my concerns, even though my doing so should justify +your treatment of me. He is not dead."</p> + +<p>"You mean Mr. Hurtle."</p> + +<p>"Whom else should I mean? And he himself says that the divorce which +was declared between us was no divorce. Mr. Fisker came here to me +with tidings. Though he is not a man whom I specially love,—though I +know that he has been my enemy with you,—I shall return with him to +San Francisco."</p> + +<p>"I am told that he is taking Madame Melmotte with him, and Melmotte's +daughter."</p> + +<p>"So I understand. They are adventurers,—as I am, and I do not see +why we should not suit each other."</p> + +<p>"They say also that Fisker will marry Miss Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"Why should I object to that? I shall not be jealous of Mr. Fisker's +attentions to the young lady. But it will suit me to have some one to +whom I can speak on friendly terms when I am back in California. I +may have a job of work to do there which will require the backing of +some friends. I shall be hand-and-glove with these people before I +have travelled half across the ocean with them."</p> + +<p>"I hope they will be kind to you," said Paul.</p> + +<p>"No;—but I will be kind to them. I have conquered others by being +kind, but I have never had much kindness myself. Did I not conquer +you, sir, by being gentle and gracious to you? Ah, how kind I was to +that poor wretch, till he lost himself in drink! And then, Paul, I +used to think of better people, perhaps of softer people, of things +that should be clean and sweet and gentle,—of things that should +smell of lavender instead of wild garlic. I would dream of fair, +feminine women,—of women who would be scared by seeing what I saw, +who would die rather than do what I did. And then I met you, Paul, +and I said that my dreams should come true. I ought to have known +that it could not be so. I did not dare quite to tell you all the +truth. I know I was wrong, and now the punishment has come upon me. +Well;—I suppose you had better say good-bye to me. What is the good +of putting it off?" Then she rose from her chair and stood before him +with her arms hanging listlessly by her side.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, Winifrid!" he said, putting out his hand to her.</p> + +<p>"But he won't. Why should he,—if we are right in supposing that they +who do good will be blessed for their good, and those who do evil +cursed for their evil? I cannot do good. I cannot bring myself now +not to wish that you would return to me. If you would come I should +care nothing for the misery of that girl,—nothing, at least nothing +now, for the misery I should certainly bring upon you. Look +here;—will you have this back?" As she asked this she took from out +her bosom a small miniature portrait of himself which he had given +her in New York, and held it towards him.</p> + +<p>"If you wish it I will,—of course," he said.</p> + +<p>"I would not part with it for all the gold in California. Nothing on +earth shall ever part me from it. Should I ever marry another +man,—as I may do,—he must take me and this together. While I live +it shall be next my heart. As you know, I have but little respect for +the proprieties of life. I do not see why I am to abandon the picture +of the man I love because he becomes the husband of another woman. +Having once said that I love you I shall not contradict myself +because you have deserted me. Paul, I have loved you, and do love +you,—oh, with my very heart of hearts." So speaking she threw +herself into his arms and covered his face with kisses. "For one +moment you shall not banish me. For one short minute I will be here. +Oh, Paul, my love;—my love!"</p> + +<p>All this to him was simply agony,—though as she had truly said it +was an agony he would soon forget. But to be told by a woman of her +love,—without being able even to promise love in return,—to be so +told while you are in the very act of acknowledging your love for +another woman,—carries with it but little of the joy of triumph. He +did not want to see her raging like a tigress, as he had once thought +might be his fate; but he would have preferred the continuance of +moderate resentment to this flood of tenderness. Of course he stood +with his arm round her waist, and of course he returned her caresses; +but he did it with such stiff constraint that she at once felt how +chill they were. "There," she said, smiling through her bitter +tears,—"there; you are released now, and not even my fingers shall +ever be laid upon you again. If I have annoyed you, at this our last +meeting, you must forgive me."</p> + +<p>"No;—but you cut me to the heart."</p> + +<p>"That we can hardly help;—can we? When two persons have made fools +of themselves as we have, there must I suppose be some punishment. +Yours will never be heavy after I am gone. I do not start till the +first of next month because that is the day fixed by our friend, Mr. +Fisker, and I shall remain here till then because my presence is +convenient to Mrs. Pipkin; but I need not trouble you to come to me +again. Indeed it will be better that you should not. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>He took her by the hand, and stood for a moment looking at her, while +she smiled and gently nodded her head at him. Then he essayed to pull +her towards him as though he would again kiss her. But she repulsed +him, still smiling the while. "No, sir; no; not again; never again, +never,—never,—never again." By that time she had recovered her hand +and stood apart from him. "Good-bye, Paul;—and now go." Then he +turned round and left the room without uttering a word.</p> + +<p>She stood still, without moving a limb, as she listened to his step +down the stairs and to the opening and the closing of the door. Then +hiding herself at the window with the scanty drapery of the curtain +she watched him as he went along the street. When he had turned the +corner she came back to the centre of the room, stood for a moment +with her arms stretched out towards the walls, and then fell prone +upon the floor. She had spoken the very truth when she said that she +had loved him with all her heart.</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill097"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill097.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill097-t.jpg" height="500" + alt="Mrs. Hurtle at the window." /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">Mrs. Hurtle + at the window.</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill097.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>But that evening she bade Mrs. Pipkin drink tea with her and was more +gracious to the poor woman than ever. When the obsequious but still +curious landlady asked some question about Mr. Montague, Mrs. Hurtle +seemed to speak very freely on the subject of her late lover,—and to +speak without any great pain. They had put their heads together, she +said, and had found that the marriage would not be suitable. Each of +them preferred their own country, and so they had agreed to part. On +that evening Mrs. Hurtle made herself more than usually pleasant, +having the children up into her room, and giving them jam and +bread-and-butter. During the whole of the next fortnight she seemed +to take a delight in doing all in her power for Mrs. Pipkin and her +family. She gave toys to the children, and absolutely bestowed upon +Mrs. Pipkin a new carpet for the drawing-room. Then Mr. Fisker came +and took her away with him to America; and Mrs. Pipkin was left,—a +desolate but grateful woman.</p> + +<p>"They do tell bad things about them Americans," she said to a friend +in the street, "and I don't pretend to know. But for a lodger, I only +wish Providence would send me another just like the one I have lost. +She had that good nature about her she liked to see the bairns eating +pudding just as if they was her own."</p> + +<p>I think Mrs. Pipkin was right, and that Mrs. Hurtle, with all her +faults, was a good-natured woman.</p> + + +<p><a id="c98"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XCVIII.</h3> +<h4>MARIE MELMOTTE'S FATE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>In the meantime Marie Melmotte was living with Madame Melmotte in +their lodgings up at Hampstead, and was taking quite a new look out +into the world. Fisker had become her devoted servant,—not with that +old-fashioned service which meant making love, but with perhaps a +truer devotion to her material interests. He had ascertained on her +behalf that she was the undoubted owner of the money which her father +had made over to her on his first arrival in England,—and she also +had made herself mistress of that fact with equal precision. It would +have astonished those who had known her six months since could they +now have seen how excellent a woman of business she had become, and +how capable she was of making the fullest use of Mr. Fisker's +services. In doing him justice it must be owned that he kept nothing +back from her of that which he learned, probably feeling that he +might best achieve success in his present project by such +honesty,—feeling also, no doubt, the girl's own strength in +discovering truth and falsehood. "She's her father's own daughter," +he said one day to Croll in Abchurch Lane;—for Croll, though he had +left Melmotte's employment when he found that his name had been +forged, had now returned to the service of the daughter in some +undefined position, and had been engaged to go with her and Madame +Melmotte to New York.</p> + +<p>"Ah; yees," said Croll, "but bigger. He vas passionate, and did lose +his 'ead; and vas blow'd up vid bigness." Whereupon Croll made an +action as though he were a frog swelling himself to the dimensions of +an ox. "'E bursted himself, Mr. Fisker. 'E vas a great man; but the +greater he grew he vas always less and less vise. 'E ate so much that +he became too fat to see to eat his vittels." It was thus that Herr +Croll analyzed the character of his late master. "But +Ma'me'selle,—ah, she is different. She vill never eat too moch, but +vill see to eat alvays." Thus too he analyzed the character of his +young mistress.</p> + +<p>At first things did not arrange themselves pleasantly between Madame +Melmotte and Marie. The reader will perhaps remember that they were +in no way connected by blood. Madame Melmotte was not Marie's mother, +nor, in the eye of the law, could Marie claim Melmotte as her father. +She was alone in the world, absolutely without a relation, not +knowing even what had been her mother's name,—not even knowing what +was her father's true name, as in the various biographies of the +great man which were, as a matter of course, published within a +fortnight of his death, various accounts were given as to his birth, +parentage, and early history. The general opinion seemed to be that +his father had been a noted coiner in New York,—an Irishman of the +name of Melmody,—and, in one memoir, the probability of the descent +was argued from Melmotte's skill in forgery. But Marie, though she +was thus isolated, and now altogether separated from the lords and +duchesses who a few weeks since had been interested in her career, +was the undoubted owner of the money,—a fact which was beyond the +comprehension of Madame Melmotte. She could understand,—and was +delighted to understand,—that a very large sum of money had been +saved from the wreck, and that she might therefore look forward to +prosperous tranquillity for the rest of her life. Though she never +acknowledged so much to herself, she soon learned to regard the +removal of her husband as the end of her troubles. But she could not +comprehend why Marie should claim all the money as her own. She +declared herself to be quite willing to divide the spoil,—and +suggested such an arrangement both to Marie and to Croll. Of Fisker +she was afraid, thinking that the iniquity of giving all the money to +Marie originated with him, in order that he might obtain it by +marrying the girl. Croll, who understood it all perfectly, told her +the story a dozen times,—but quite in vain. She made a timid +suggestion of employing a lawyer on her own behalf, and was only +deterred from doing so by Marie's ready assent to such an +arrangement. Marie's equally ready surrender of any right she might +have to a portion of the jewels which had been saved had perhaps some +effect in softening the elder lady's heart. She thus was in +possession of a treasure of her own,—though a treasure small in +comparison with that of the younger woman; and the younger woman had +promised that in the event of her marriage she would be liberal.</p> + +<p>It was distinctly understood that they were both to go to New York +under Mr. Fisker's guidance as soon as things should be sufficiently +settled to allow of their departure; and Madame Melmotte was told, +about the middle of August, that their places had been taken for the +3rd of September. But nothing more was told her. She did not as yet +know whether Marie was to go out free or as the affianced bride of +Hamilton Fisker. And she felt herself injured by being left so much +in the dark. She herself was inimical to Fisker, regarding him as a +dark, designing man, who would ultimately swallow up all that her +husband had left behind him,—and trusted herself entirely to Croll, +who was personally attentive to her. Fisker was, of course, going on +to San Francisco. Marie also had talked of crossing the American +continent. But Madame Melmotte was disposed to think that for her, +with her jewels, and such share of the money as Marie might be +induced to give her, New York would be the most fitting residence. +Why should she drag herself across the continent to California? Herr +Croll had declared his purpose of remaining in New York. Then it +occurred to the lady that as Melmotte was a name which might be too +well known in New York, and which it therefore might be wise to +change, Croll would do as well as any other. She and Herr Croll had +known each other for a great many years, and were, she thought, of +about the same age. Croll had some money saved. She had, at any rate, +her jewels,—and Croll would probably be able to get some portion of +all that money, which ought to be hers, if his affairs were made to +be identical with her own. So she smiled upon Croll, and whispered to +him; and when she had given Croll two glasses of Curaçoa,—which +comforter she kept in her own hands, as safe-guarded almost as the +jewels,—then Croll understood her.</p> + +<p>But it was essential that she should know what Marie intended to do. +Marie was anything but communicative, and certainly was not in any +way submissive. "My dear," she said one day, asking the question in +French, without any preface or apology, "are you going to be married +to Mr. Fisker?"</p> + +<p>"What makes you ask that?"</p> + +<p>"It is so important I should know. Where am I to live? What am I to +do? What money shall I have? Who will be a friend to me? A woman +ought to know. You will marry Fisker if you like him. Why cannot you +tell me?"</p> + +<p>"Because I do not know. When I know I will tell you. If you go on +asking me till to-morrow morning I can say no more."</p> + +<p>And this was true. She did not know. It certainly was not Fisker's +fault that she should still be in the dark as to her own destiny, for +he had asked her often enough, and had pressed his suit with all his +eloquence. But Marie had now been wooed so often that she felt the +importance of the step which was suggested to her. The romance of the +thing was with her a good deal worn, and the material view of +matrimony had also been damaged in her sight. She had fallen in love +with Sir Felix Carbury, and had assured herself over and over again +that she worshipped the very ground on which he stood. But she had +taught herself this business of falling in love as a lesson, rather +than felt it. After her father's first attempts to marry her to this +and that suitor because of her wealth,—attempts which she had hardly +opposed amidst the consternation and glitter of the world to which +she was suddenly introduced,—she had learned from novels that it +would be right that she should be in love, and she had chosen Sir +Felix as her idol. The reader knows what had been the end of that +episode in her life. She certainly was not now in love with Sir Felix +Carbury. Then she had as it were relapsed into the hands of Lord +Nidderdale,—one of her early suitors,—and had felt that as love was +not to prevail, and as it would be well that she should marry some +one, he might probably be as good as any other, and certainly better +than many others. She had almost learned to like Lord Nidderdale and +to believe that he liked her, when the tragedy came. Lord Nidderdale +had been very good-natured,—but he had deserted her at last. She had +never allowed herself to be angry with him for a moment. It had been +a matter of course that he should do so. Her fortune was still large, +but not so large as the sum named in the bargain made. And it was +moreover weighted with her father's blood. From the moment of her +father's death she had never dreamed that he would marry her. Why +should he? Her thoughts in reference to Sir Felix were bitter +enough;—but as against Nidderdale they were not at all bitter. +Should she ever meet him again she would shake hands with him and +smile,—if not pleasantly as she thought of the things which were +past,—at any rate with good humour. But all this had not made her +much in love with matrimony generally. She had over a hundred +thousand pounds of her own, and, feeling conscious of her own power +in regard to her own money, knowing that she could do as she pleased +with her wealth, she began to look out into life seriously.</p> + +<p>What could she do with her money, and in what way would she shape her +life, should she determine to remain her own mistress? Were she to +refuse Fisker how should she begin? He would then be banished, and +her only remaining friends, the only persons whose names she would +even know in her own country, would be her father's widow and Herr +Croll. She already began to see Madame Melmotte's purport in +reference to Croll, and could not reconcile herself to the idea of +opening an establishment with them on a scale commensurate with her +fortune. Nor could she settle in her own mind any pleasant position +for herself as a single woman, living alone in perfect independence. +She had opinions of women's rights,—especially in regard to money; +and she entertained also a vague notion that in America a young woman +would not need support so essentially as in England. Nevertheless, +the idea of a fine house for herself in Boston, or Philadelphia,—for +in that case she would have to avoid New York as the chosen residence +of Madame Melmotte,—did not recommend itself to her. As to Fisker +himself,—she certainly liked him. He was not beautiful like Felix +Carbury, nor had he the easy good-humour of Lord Nidderdale. She had +seen enough of English gentlemen to know that Fisker was very unlike +them. But she had not seen enough of English gentlemen to make Fisker +distasteful to her. He told her that he had a big house at San +Francisco, and she certainly desired to live in a big house. He +represented himself to be a thriving man, and she calculated that he +certainly would not be here, in London, arranging her father's +affairs, were he not possessed of commercial importance. She had +contrived to learn that, in the United States, a married woman has +greater power over her own money than in England, and this +information acted strongly in Fisker's favour. On consideration of +the whole subject she was inclined to think that she would do better +in the world as Mrs. Fisker than as Marie Melmotte,—if she could see +her way clearly in the matter of her own money.</p> + +<p>"I have got excellent berths," Fisker said to her one morning at +Hampstead. At these interviews, which were devoted first to business +and then to love, Madame Melmotte was never allowed to be present.</p> + +<p>"I am to be alone?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. There is a cabin for Madame Melmotte and the maid, and a +cabin for you. Everything will be comfortable. And there is another +lady going,—Mrs. Hurtle,—whom I think you will like."</p> + +<p>"Has she a husband?"</p> + +<p>"Not going with us," said Mr. Fisker evasively.</p> + +<p>"But she has one?"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes;—but you had better not mention him. He is not exactly +all that a husband should be."</p> + +<p>"Did she not come over here to marry some one else?"—For Marie in +the days of her sweet intimacy with Sir Felix Carbury had heard +something of Mrs. Hurtle's story.</p> + +<p>"There is a story, and I dare say I shall tell you all about it some +day. But you may be sure I should not ask you to associate with any +one you ought not to know."</p> + +<p>"Oh,—I can take care of myself."</p> + +<p>"No doubt, Miss Melmotte,—no doubt. I feel that quite strongly. But +what I meant to observe was this,—that I certainly should not +introduce a lady whom I aspire to make my own lady to any lady whom a +lady oughtn't to know. I hope I make myself understood, Miss +Melmotte."</p> + +<p>"Oh, quite."</p> + +<p>"And perhaps I may go on to say that if I could go on board that ship +as your accepted lover, I could do a deal more to make you +comfortable, particularly when you land, than just as a mere friend, +Miss Melmotte. You can't doubt my heart."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why I shouldn't. Gentlemen's hearts are things very much +to be doubted as far as I've seen 'em. I don't think many of 'em have +'em at all."</p> + +<p>"Miss Melmotte, you do not know the glorious west. Your past +experiences have been drawn from this effete and stone-cold country +in which passion is no longer allowed to sway. On those golden shores +which the Pacific washes man is still true,—and woman is still +tender."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I'd better wait and see, Mr. Fisker."</p> + +<p>But this was not Mr. Fisker's view of the case. There might be other +men desirous of being true on those golden shores. "And then," said +he, pleading his cause not without skill, "the laws regulating +woman's property there are just the reverse of those which the +greediness of man has established here. The wife there can claim her +share of her husband's property, but hers is exclusively her own. +America is certainly the country for women,—and especially +California."</p> + +<p>"Ah;—I shall find out all about it, I suppose, when I've been there +a few months."</p> + +<p>"But you would enter San Francisco, Miss Melmotte, under such much +better auspices,—if I may be allowed to say so,—as a married lady +or as a lady just going to be married."</p> + +<p>"Ain't single ladies much thought of in California?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't that. Come, Miss Melmotte, you know what I mean."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do."</p> + +<p>"Let us go in for life together. We've both done uncommon well. I'm +spending 30,000 dollars a year,—at that rate,—in my own house. +You'll see it all. If we put them both together,—what's yours and +what's mine,—we can put our foot out as far as about any one there, +I guess."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I care about putting my foot out. I've seen +something of that already, Mr. Fisker. You shouldn't put your foot +out farther than you can draw it in again."</p> + +<p>"You needn't fear me as to that, Miss Melmotte. I shouldn't be able +to touch a dollar of your money. It would be such a triumph to go +into Francisco as man and wife."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't think of being married till I had been there a while and +looked about me."</p> + +<p>"And seen the house! Well;—there's something in that. The house is +all there, I can tell you. I'm not a bit afraid but what you'll like +the house. But if we were engaged, I could do every thing for you. +Where would you be, going into San Francisco all alone? Oh, Miss +Melmotte, I do admire you so much!"</p> + +<p>I doubt whether this last assurance had much efficacy. But the +arguments with which it was introduced did prevail to a certain +extent. "I'll tell you how it must be then," she said.</p> + +<p>"How shall it be?" and as he asked the question he jumped up and put +his arm round her waist.</p> + +<p>"Not like that, Mr. Fisker," she said, withdrawing herself. "It shall +be in this way. You may consider yourself engaged to me."</p> + +<p>"I'm the happiest man on this continent," he said, forgetting in his +ecstasy that he was not in the United States.</p> + +<p>"But if I find when I get to Francisco anything to induce me to +change my mind, I shall change it. I like you very well, but I'm not +going to take a leap in the dark, and I'm not going to marry a pig in +a poke."</p> + +<p>"There you're quite right," he said,—"quite right."</p> + +<p>"You may give it out on board the ship that we're engaged, and I'll +tell Madame Melmotte the same. She and Croll don't mean going any +farther than New York."</p> + +<p>"We needn't break our hearts about that;—need we?"</p> + +<p>"It don't much signify. Well;—I'll go on with Mrs. Hurtle, if she'll +have me."</p> + +<p>"Too much delighted she'll be."</p> + +<p>"And she shall be told we're engaged."</p> + +<p>"My darling!"</p> + +<p>"But if I don't like it when I get to Frisco, as you call it, all the +ropes in California shan't make me do it. Well;—yes; you may give me +a kiss I suppose now if you care about it." And so,—or rather so +far,—Mr. Fisker and Marie Melmotte became engaged to each other as +man and wife.</p> + +<p>After that Mr. Fisker's remaining business in England went very +smoothly with him. It was understood up at Hampstead that he was +engaged to Marie Melmotte,—and it soon came to be understood also +that Madame Melmotte was to be married to Herr Croll. No doubt the +father of the one lady and the husband of the other had died so +recently as to make these arrangements subject to certain censorious +objections. But there was a feeling that Melmotte had been so unlike +other men, both in his life and in his death, that they who had been +concerned with him were not to be weighed by ordinary scales. Nor did +it much matter, for the persons concerned took their departure soon +after the arrangement was made, and Hampstead knew them no more.</p> + +<p>On the 3rd of September Madame Melmotte, Marie, Mrs. Hurtle, Hamilton +K. Fisker, and Herr Croll left Liverpool for New York; and the three +ladies were determined that they never would revisit a country of +which their reminiscences certainly were not happy. The writer of the +present chronicle may so far look forward,—carrying his reader with +him,—as to declare that Marie Melmotte did become Mrs. Fisker very +soon after her arrival at San Francisco.</p> + + +<p><a id="c99"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER XCIX.</h3> +<h4>LADY CARBURY AND MR. BROUNE.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>When Sir Felix Carbury declared to his friends at the Beargarden that +he intended to devote the next few months of his life to foreign +travel, and that it was his purpose to take with him a Protestant +divine,—as was much the habit with young men of rank and fortune +some years since,—he was not altogether lying. There was indeed a +sounder basis of truth than was usually to be found attached to his +statements. That he should have intended to produce a false +impression was a matter of course,—and nearly equally so that he +should have made his attempt by asserting things which he must have +known that no one would believe. He was going to Germany, and he was +going in company with a clergyman, and it had been decided that he +should remain there for the next twelve months. A representation had +lately been made to the Bishop of London that the English Protestants +settled in a certain commercial town in the north-eastern district of +Prussia were without pastoral aid, and the bishop had stirred himself +in the matter. A clergyman was found willing to expatriate himself, +but the income suggested was very small. The Protestant English +population of the commercial town in question, though pious, was not +liberal. It had come to pass that the "Morning Breakfast Table" had +interested itself in the matter, having appealed for subscriptions +after a manner not unusual with that paper. The bishop and all those +concerned in the matter had fully understood that if the "Morning +Breakfast Table" could be got to take the matter up heartily, the +thing would be done. The heartiness had been so complete that it had +at last devolved upon Mr. Broune to appoint the clergyman; and, as +with all the aid that could be found, the income was still small, the +Rev. Septimus Blake,—a brand snatched from the burning of Rome,—had +been induced to undertake the maintenance and total charge of Sir +Felix Carbury for a consideration. Mr. Broune imparted to Mr. Blake +all that there was to know about the baronet, giving much counsel as +to the management of the young man, and specially enjoining on the +clergyman that he should on no account give Sir Felix the means of +returning home. It was evidently Mr. Broune's anxious wish that Sir +Felix should see as much as possible of German life, at a +comparatively moderate expenditure, and under circumstances that +should be externally respectable if not absolutely those which a +young gentleman might choose for his own comfort or profit;—but +especially that those circumstances should not admit of the speedy +return to England of the young gentleman himself.</p> + +<p>Lady Carbury had at first opposed the scheme. Terribly difficult as +was to her the burden of maintaining her son, she could not endure +the idea of driving him into exile. But Mr. Broune was very +obstinate, very reasonable, and, as she thought, somewhat hard of +heart. "What is to be the end of it then?" he said to her, almost in +anger. For in those days the great editor, when in presence of Lady +Carbury, differed very much from that Mr. Broune who used to squeeze +her hand and look into her eyes. His manner with her had become so +different that she regarded him as quite another person. She hardly +dared to contradict him, and found herself almost compelled to tell +him what she really felt and thought. "Do you mean to let him eat up +everything you have to your last shilling, and then go to the +workhouse with him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my friend, you know how I am struggling! Do not say such horrid +things."</p> + +<p>"It is because I know how you are struggling that I find myself +compelled to say anything on the subject. What hardship will there be +in his living for twelve months with a clergyman in Prussia? What can +he do better? What better chance can he have of being weaned from the +life he is leading?"</p> + +<p>"If he could only be married!"</p> + +<p>"Married! Who is to marry him? Why should any girl with money throw +herself away upon him?"</p> + +<p>"He is so handsome."</p> + +<p>"What has his beauty brought him to? Lady Carbury, you must let me +tell you that all that is not only foolish but wrong. If you keep him +here you will help to ruin him, and will certainly ruin yourself. He +has agreed to go;—let him go."</p> + +<p>She was forced to yield. Indeed, as Sir Felix had himself assented, +it was almost impossible that she should not do so. Perhaps Mr. +Broune's greatest triumph was due to the talent and firmness with +which he persuaded Sir Felix to start upon his travels. "Your +mother," said Mr. Broune, "has made up her mind that she will not +absolutely beggar your sister and herself in order that your +indulgence may be prolonged for a few months. She cannot make you go +to Germany of course. But she can turn you out of her house, and, +unless you go, she will do so."</p> + +<p>"I don't think she ever said that, Mr. Broune."</p> + +<p>"No;—she has not said so. But I have said it for her in her +presence; and she has acknowledged that it must necessarily be so. +You may take my word as a gentleman that it will be so. If you take +her advice £175 a year will be paid for your maintenance;—but if you +remain in England not a shilling further will be paid." He had no +money. His last sovereign was all but gone. Not a tradesman would +give him credit for a coat or a pair of boots. The key of the door +had been taken away from him. The very page treated him with +contumely. His clothes were becoming rusty. There was no prospect of +amusement for him during the coming autumn or winter. He did not +anticipate much excitement in Eastern Prussia, but he thought that +any change must be a change for the better. He assented, therefore, +to the proposition made by Mr. Broune, was duly introduced to the +Rev. Septimus Blake, and, as he spent his last sovereign on a last +dinner at the Beargarden, explained his intentions for the immediate +future to those friends at his club who would no doubt mourn his +departure.</p> + +<p>Mr. Blake and Mr. Broune between them did not allow the grass to grow +under their feet. Before the end of August Sir Felix, with Mr. and +Mrs. Blake and the young Blakes, had embarked from Hull for +Hamburgh,—having extracted at the very hour of parting a last +five-pound note from his foolish mother. "It will be just enough to +bring him home," said Mr. Broune with angry energy when he was told +of this. But Lady Carbury, who knew her son well, assured him that +Felix would be restrained in his expenditure by no such prudence as +such a purpose would indicate. "It will be gone," she said, "long +before they reach their destination."</p> + +<p>"Then why the deuce should you give it him?" said Mr. Broune.</p> + +<p>Mr. Broune's anxiety had been so intense that he had paid half a +year's allowance in advance to Mr. Blake out of his own pocket. +Indeed, he had paid various sums for Lady Carbury,—so that that +unfortunate woman would often tell herself that she was becoming +subject to the great editor, almost like a slave. He came to her, +three or four times a week, at about nine o'clock in the evening, and +gave her instructions as to all that she should do. "I wouldn't write +another novel if I were you," he said. This was hard, as the writing +of novels was her great ambition, and she had flattered herself that +the one novel which she had written was good. Mr. Broune's own critic +had declared it to be very good in glowing language. The "Evening +Pulpit" had of course abused it,—because it is the nature of the +"Evening Pulpit" to abuse. So she had argued with herself, telling +herself that the praise was all true, whereas the censure had come +from malice. After that article in the "Breakfast Table," it did seem +hard that Mr. Broune should tell her to write no more novels. She +looked up at him piteously but said nothing. "I don't think you'd +find it answer. Of course you can do it as well as a great many +others. But then that is saying so little!"</p> + +<p>"I thought I could make some money."</p> + +<p>"I don't think Mr. Leadham would hold out to you very high hopes;—I +don't, indeed. I think I would turn to something else."</p> + +<p>"It is so very hard to get paid for what one does."</p> + +<p>To this Mr. Broune made no immediate answer; but, after sitting for a +while, almost in silence, he took his leave. On that very morning +Lady Carbury had parted from her son. She was soon about to part from +her daughter, and she was very sad. She felt that she could hardly +keep up that house in Welbeck Street for herself, even if her means +permitted it. What should she do with herself? Whither should she +take herself? Perhaps the bitterest drop in her cup had come from +those words of Mr. Broune forbidding her to write more novels. After +all, then, she was not a clever woman,—not more clever than other +women around her! That very morning she had prided herself on her +coming success as a novelist, basing all her hopes on that review in +the "Breakfast Table." Now, with that reaction of spirits which is so +common to all of us, she was more than equally despondent. He would +not thus have crushed her without a reason. Though he was hard to her +now,—he who used to be so soft,—he was very good. It did not occur +to her to rebel against him. After what he had said, of course there +would be no more praise in the "Breakfast Table,"—and, equally of +course, no novel of hers could succeed without that. The more she +thought of him, the more omnipotent he seemed to be. The more she +thought of herself, the more absolutely prostrate she seemed to have +fallen from those high hopes with which she had begun her literary +career not much more than twelve months ago.</p> + +<p>On the next day he did not come to her at all, and she sat idle, +wretched, and alone. She could not interest herself in Hetta's coming +marriage, as that marriage was in direct opposition to one of her +broken schemes. She had not ventured to confess so much to Mr. +Broune, but she had in truth written the first pages of the first +chapter of a second novel. It was impossible now that she should even +look at what she had written. All this made her very sad. She spent +the evening quite alone; for Hetta was staying down in Suffolk, with +her cousin's friend, Mrs. Yeld, the bishop's wife; and as she thought +of her life past and her life to come, she did, perhaps, with a +broken light, see something of the error of her ways, and did, after +a fashion, repent. It was all "leather or prunello," as she said to +herself;—it was all vanity,—and vanity,—and vanity! What real +enjoyment had she found in anything? She had only taught herself to +believe that some day something would come which she would like;—but +she had never as yet in truth found anything to like. It had all been +in anticipation,—but now even her anticipations were at an end. Mr. +Broune had sent her son away, had forbidden her to write any more +novels,—and had been refused when he had asked her to marry him!</p> + +<p>The next day he came to her as usual, and found her still very +wretched. "I shall give up this house," she said. "I can't afford to +keep it; and in truth I shall not want it. I don't in the least know +where to go, but I don't think that it much signifies. Any place will +be the same to me now."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you should say that."</p> + +<p>"What does it matter?"</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't think of going out of London."</p> + +<p>"Why not? I suppose I had better go wherever I can live cheapest."</p> + +<p>"I should be sorry that you should be settled where I could not see +you," said Mr. Broune plaintively.</p> + +<p>"So shall I,—very. You have been more kind to me than anybody. But +what am I to do? If I stay in London I can live only in some +miserable lodgings. I know you will laugh at me, and tell me that I +am wrong; but my idea is that I shall follow Felix wherever he goes, +so that I may be near him and help him when he needs help. Hetta +doesn't want me. There is nobody else that I can do any good to."</p> + +<p>"I want you," said Mr. Broune, very quietly.</p> + +<p>"Ah,—that is so kind of you. There is nothing makes one so good as +goodness;—nothing binds your friend to you so firmly as the +acceptance from him of friendly actions. You say you want me, because +I have so sadly wanted you. When I go you will simply miss an almost +daily trouble, but where shall I find a friend?"</p> + +<p>"When I said I wanted you, I meant more than that, Lady Carbury. Two +or three months ago I asked you to be my wife. You declined, chiefly, +if I understood you rightly, because of your son's position. That has +been altered, and therefore I ask you again. I have quite convinced +myself,—not without some doubts, for you shall know all; but, still, +I have quite convinced myself,—that such a marriage will best +contribute to my own happiness. I do not think, dearest, that it +would mar yours."</p> + +<p>This was said with so quiet a voice and so placid a demeanour, that +the words, though they were too plain to be misunderstood, hardly at +first brought themselves home to her. Of course he had renewed his +offer of marriage, but he had done so in a tone which almost made her +feel that the proposition could not be an earnest one. It was not +that she believed that he was joking with her or paying her a poor +insipid compliment. When she thought about it at all, she knew that +it could not be so. But the thing was so improbable! Her opinion of +herself was so poor, she had become so sick of her own vanities and +littlenesses and pretences, that she could not understand that such a +man as this should in truth want to make her his wife. At this moment +she thought less of herself and more of Mr. Broune than either +perhaps deserved. She sat silent, quite unable to look him in the +face, while he kept his place in his arm-chair, lounging back, with +his eyes intent on her countenance. "Well," he said; "what do you +think of it? I never loved you better than I did for refusing me +before, because I thought that you did so because it was not right +that I should be embarrassed by your son."</p> + +<p>"That was the reason," she said, almost in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"But I shall love you better still for accepting me now,—if you will +accept me."</p> + +<p>The long vista of her past life appeared before her eyes. The +ambition of her youth which had been taught to look only to a +handsome maintenance, the cruelty of her husband which had driven her +to run from him, the further cruelty of his forgiveness when she +returned to him; the calumny which had made her miserable, though she +had never confessed her misery; then her attempts at life in London, +her literary successes and failures, and the wretchedness of her +son's career;—there had never been happiness, or even comfort, in +any of it. Even when her smiles had been sweetest her heart had been +heaviest. Could it be that now at last real peace should be within +her reach, and that tranquillity which comes from an anchor holding +to a firm bottom? Then she remembered that first kiss,—or attempted +kiss,—when, with a sort of pride in her own superiority, she had +told herself that the man was a susceptible old goose. She certainly +had not thought then that his susceptibility was of this nature. Nor +could she quite understand now whether she had been right then, and +that the man's feelings, and almost his nature, had since +changed,—or whether he had really loved her from first to last. As +he remained silent it was necessary that she should answer him. "You +can hardly have thought of it enough," she said.</p> + +<p>"I have thought of it a good deal too. I have been thinking of it for +six months at least."</p> + +<p>"There is so much against me."</p> + +<p>"What is there against you?"</p> + +<p>"They say bad things of me in India."</p> + +<p>"I know all about that," replied Mr. Broune.</p> + +<p>"And Felix!"</p> + +<p>"I think I may say that I know all about that also."</p> + +<p>"And then I have become so poor!"</p> + +<p>"I am not proposing to myself to marry you for your money. Luckily +for me,—I hope luckily for both of us,—it is not necessary that I +should do so."</p> + +<p>"And then I seem so to have fallen through in everything. I don't +know what I've got to give to a man in return for all that you offer +to give to me."</p> + +<p>"Yourself," he said, stretching out his right hand to her. And there +he sat with it stretched out,—so that she found herself compelled to +put her own into it, or to refuse to do so with very absolute words. +Very slowly she put out her own, and gave it to him without looking +at him. Then he drew her towards him, and in a moment she was +kneeling at his feet, with her face buried on his knees. Considering +their ages perhaps we must say that their attitude was awkward. They +would certainly have thought so themselves had they imagined that any +one could have seen them. But how many absurdities of the kind are +not only held to be pleasant, but almost holy,—as long as they +remain mysteries inspected by no profane eyes! It is not that Age is +ashamed of feeling passion and acknowledging it,—but that the +display of it is, without the graces of which Youth is proud, and +which Age regrets.</p> + +<p>On that occasion there was very little more said between them. He had +certainly been in earnest, and she had now accepted him. As he went +down to his office he told himself now that he had done the best, not +only for her but for himself also. And yet I think that she had won +him more thoroughly by her former refusal than by any other virtue.</p> + +<p>She, as she sat alone, late into the night, became subject to a +thorough reaction of spirit. That morning the world had been a +perfect blank to her. There was no single object of interest before +her. Now everything was rose-coloured. This man who had thus bound +her to him, who had given her such assured proofs of his affection +and truth, was one of the considerable ones of the world; a man than +whom few,—so she now told herself,—were greater or more powerful. +Was it not a career enough for any woman to be the wife of such a +man, to receive his friends, and to shine with his reflected glory?</p> + +<p>Whether her hopes were realised, or,—as human hopes never are +realised,—how far her content was assured, these pages cannot tell; +but they must tell that, before the coming winter was over, Lady +Carbury became the wife of Mr. Broune, and, in furtherance of her own +resolve, took her husband's name. The house in Welbeck Street was +kept, and Mrs. Broune's Tuesday evenings were much more regarded by +the literary world than had been those of Lady Carbury.</p> + + +<p><a id="c100"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER C.</h3> +<h4>DOWN IN SUFFOLK.<br /> </h4> + + +<p>It need hardly be said that Paul Montague was not long in adjusting +his affairs with Hetta after the visit which he received from Roger +Carbury. Early on the following morning he was once more in Welbeck +Street, taking the brooch with him; and though at first Lady Carbury +kept up her opposition, she did it after so weak a fashion as to +throw in fact very little difficulty in his way. Hetta understood +perfectly that she was in this matter stronger than her mother and +that she need fear nothing, now that Roger Carbury was on her side. +"I don't know what you mean to live on," Lady Carbury said, +threatening future evils in a plaintive tone. Hetta repeated, though +in other language, the assurance which the young lady made who +declared that if her future husband would consent to live on +potatoes, she would be quite satisfied with the potato-peelings; +while Paul made some vague allusion to the satisfactory nature of his +final arrangements with the house of Fisker, Montague, and Montague. +"I don't see anything like an income," said Lady Carbury; "but I +suppose Roger will make it right. He takes everything upon himself +now it seems." But this was before the halcyon day of Mr. Broune's +second offer.</p> + +<p>It was at any rate decided that they were to be married, and the time +fixed for the marriage was to be the following spring. When this was +finally arranged Roger Carbury, who had returned to his own home, +conceived the idea that it would be well that Hetta should pass the +autumn and if possible the winter also down in Suffolk, so that she +might get used to him in the capacity which he now aspired to fill; +and with that object he induced Mrs. Yeld, the Bishop's wife, to +invite her down to the palace. Hetta accepted the invitation and left +London before she could hear the tidings of her mother's engagement +with Mr. Broune.</p> + +<p>Roger Carbury had not yielded in this matter,—had not brought +himself to determine that he would recognise Paul and Hetta as +acknowledged lovers,—without a fierce inward contest. Two +convictions had been strong in his mind, both of which were opposed +to this recognition,—the first telling him that he would be a fitter +husband for the girl than Paul Montague, and the second assuring him +that Paul had ill-treated him in such a fashion that forgiveness +would be both foolish and unmanly. For Roger, though he was a +religious man, and one anxious to conform to the spirit of +Christianity, would not allow himself to think that an injury should +be forgiven unless the man who did the injury repented of his own +injustice. As to giving his coat to the thief who had taken his +cloak,—he told himself that were he and others to be guided by that +precept honest industry would go naked in order that vice and +idleness might be comfortably clothed. If any one stole his cloak he +would certainly put that man in prison as soon as possible and not +commence his lenience till the thief should at any rate affect to be +sorry for his fault. Now, to his thinking, Paul Montague had stolen +his cloak, and were he, Roger, to give way in this matter of his +love, he would be giving Paul his coat also. No! He was bound after +some fashion to have Paul put into prison; to bring him before a +jury, and to get a verdict against him, so that some sentence of +punishment might be at least pronounced. How then could he yield?</p> + +<p>And Paul Montague had shown himself to be very weak in regard to +women. It might be,—no doubt it was true,—that Mrs. Hurtle's +appearance in England had been distressing to him. But still he had +gone down with her to Lowestoft as her lover, and, to Roger's +thinking, a man who could do that was quite unfit to be the husband +of Hetta Carbury. He would himself tell no tales against Montague on +that head. Even when pressed to do so he had told no tale. But not +the less was his conviction strong that Hetta ought to know the +truth, and to be induced by that knowledge to reject her younger +lover.</p> + +<p>But then over these convictions there came a third,—equally +strong,—which told him that the girl loved the younger man and did +not love him, and that if he loved the girl it was his duty as a man +to prove his love by doing what he could to make her happy. As he +walked up and down the walk by the moat, with his hands clasped +behind his back, stopping every now and again to sit on the terrace +wall,—walking there, mile after mile, with his mind intent on the +one idea,—he schooled himself to feel that that, and that only, +could be his duty. What did love mean if not that? What could be the +devotion which men so often affect to feel if it did not tend to +self-sacrifice on behalf of the beloved one? A man would incur any +danger for a woman, would subject himself to any toil,—would even +die for her! But if this were done simply with the object of winning +her, where was that real love of which sacrifice of self on behalf of +another is the truest proof? So, by degrees, he resolved that the +thing must be done. The man, though he had been bad to his friend, +was not all bad. He was one who might become good in good hands. He, +Roger, was too firm of purpose and too honest of heart to buoy +himself up into new hopes by assurances of the man's unfitness. What +right had he to think that he could judge of that better than the +girl herself? And so, when many many miles had been walked, he +succeeded in conquering his own heart,—though in conquering it he +crushed it,—and in bringing himself to the resolve that the energies +of his life should be devoted to the task of making Mrs. Paul +Montague a happy woman. We have seen how he acted up to this resolve +when last in London, withdrawing at any rate all signs of anger from +Paul Montague and behaving with the utmost tenderness to Hetta.</p> + +<p>When he had accomplished that task of conquering his own heart and of +assuring himself thoroughly that Hetta was to become his rival's +wife, he was, I think, more at ease and less troubled in his spirit +than he had been during those months in which there had still been +doubt. The sort of happiness which he had once pictured to himself +could certainly never be his. That he would never marry he was quite +sure. Indeed he was prepared to settle Carbury on Hetta's eldest boy +on condition that such boy should take the old name. He would never +have a child whom he could in truth call his own. But if he could +induce these people to live at Carbury, or to live there for at least +a part of the year, so that there should be some life in the place, +he thought that he could awaken himself again, and again take an +interest in the property. But as a first step to this he must learn +to regard himself as an old man,—as one who had let life pass by too +far for the purposes of his own home, and who must therefore devote +himself to make happy the homes of others.</p> + +<p>So thinking of himself and so resolving, he had told much of his +story to his friend the Bishop, and as a consequence of those +revelations Mrs. Yeld had invited Hetta down to the palace. Roger +felt that he had still much to say to his cousin before her marriage +which could be said in the country much better than in town, and he +wished to teach her to regard Suffolk as the county to which she +should be attached and in which she was to find her home. The day +before she came he was over at the palace with the pretence of asking +permission to come and see his cousin soon after her arrival, but in +truth with the idea of talking about Hetta to the only friend to whom +he had looked for sympathy in his trouble. "As to settling your +property on her or her children," said the Bishop, "it is quite out +of the question. Your lawyer would not allow you to do it. Where +would you be if after all you were to marry?"</p> + +<p>"I shall never marry."</p> + +<p>"Very likely not,—but yet you may. How is a man of your age to speak +with certainty of what he will do or what he will not do in that +respect? You can make your will, doing as you please with your +property;—and the will, when made, can be revoked."</p> + +<p>"I think you hardly understand just what I feel," said Roger, "and I +know very well that I am unable to explain it. But I wish to act +exactly as I would do if she were my daughter, and as if her son, if +she had a son, would be my natural heir."</p> + +<p>"But, if she were your daughter, her son wouldn't be your natural +heir as long as there was a probability or even a chance that you +might have a son of your own. A man should never put the power, which +properly belongs to him, out of his own hands. If it does properly +belong to you it must be better with you than elsewhere. I think very +highly of your cousin, and I have no reason to think otherwise than +well of the gentleman whom she intends to marry. But it is only human +nature to suppose that the fact that your property is still at your +own disposal should have some effect in producing a more complete +observance of your wishes."</p> + +<p>"I do not believe it in the least, my lord," said Roger somewhat +angrily.</p> + +<p>"That is because you are so carried away by enthusiasm at the present +moment as to ignore the ordinary rules of life. There are not, +perhaps, many fathers who have Regans and Gonerils for their +daughters;—but there are very many who may take a lesson from the +folly of the old king. 'Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown,' the +fool said to him, 'when thou gav'st thy golden one away.' The world, +I take it, thinks that the fool was right."</p> + +<p>The Bishop did so far succeed that Roger abandoned the idea of +settling his property on Paul Montague's children. But he was not on +that account the less resolute in his determination to make himself +and his own interests subordinate to those of his cousin. When he +came over, two days afterwards, to see her he found her in the +garden, and walked there with her for a couple of hours. "I hope all +our troubles are over now," he said smiling.</p> + +<p>"You mean about Felix," said Hetta,—"and mamma?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed. As to Felix I think that Lady Carbury has done the best +thing in her power. No doubt she has been advised by Mr. Broune, and +Mr. Broune seems to be a prudent man. And about your mother herself, +I hope that she may now be comfortable. But I was not alluding to +Felix and your mother. I was thinking of you—and of myself."</p> + +<p>"I hope that you will never have any troubles."</p> + +<p>"I have had troubles. I mean to speak very freely to you now, dear. I +was nearly upset,—what I suppose people call broken-hearted,—when I +was assured that you certainly would never become my wife. I ought +not to have allowed myself to get into such a frame of mind. I should +have known that I was too old to have a chance."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roger,—it was not that."</p> + +<p>"Well,—that and other things. I should have known it sooner, and +have got over my misery quicker. I should have been more manly and +stronger. After all, though love is a wonderful incident in a man's +life, it is not that only that he is here for. I have duties plainly +marked out for me; and as I should never allow myself to be withdrawn +from them by pleasure, so neither should I by sorrow. But it is done +now. I have conquered my regrets, and I can say with safety that I +look forward to your presence and Paul's presence at Carbury as the +source of all my future happiness. I will make him welcome as though +he were my brother, and you as though you were my daughter. All I ask +of you is that you will not be chary of your presence there." She +only answered him by a close pressure on his arm. "That is what I +wanted to say to you. You will teach yourself to regard me as your +best and closest friend,—as he on whom you have the strongest right +to depend, of all,—except your husband."</p> + +<p>"There is no teaching necessary for that," she said.</p> + +<p>"As a daughter leans on a father I would have you lean on me, Hetta. +You will soon come to find that I am very old. I grow old quickly, +and already feel myself to be removed from everything that is young +and foolish."</p> + +<p>"You never were foolish."</p> + +<p>"Nor young either, I sometimes think. But now you must promise me +this. You will do all that you can to induce him to make Carbury his +residence."</p> + +<p>"We have no plans as yet at all, Roger."</p> + +<p>"Then it will be certainly so much the easier for you to fall into my +plan. Of course you will be married at Carbury?"</p> + +<p>"What will mamma say?"</p> + +<p>"She will come here, and I am sure will enjoy it. That I regard as +settled. Then, after that, let this be your home,—so that you should +learn really to care about and to love the place. It will be your +home really, you know, some of these days. You will have to be Squire +of Carbury yourself when I am gone, till you have a son old enough to +fill that exalted position." With all his love to her and his +good-will to them both, he could not bring himself to say that Paul +Montague should be Squire of Carbury.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roger, please do not talk like that."</p> + +<p>"But it is necessary, my dear. I want you to know what my wishes are, +and, if it be possible, I would learn what are yours. My mind is +quite made up as to my future life. Of course, I do not wish to +dictate to you,—and if I did, I could not dictate to Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"Pray,—pray do not call him Mr. Montague."</p> + +<p>"Well, I will not;—to Paul then. There goes the last of my anger." +He threw his hands up as though he were scattering his indignation to +the air. "I would not dictate either to you or to him, but it is +right that you should know that I hold my property as steward for +those who are to come after me, and that the satisfaction of my +stewardship will be infinitely increased if I find that those for +whom I act share the interest which I shall take in the matter. It is +the only payment which you and he can make me for my trouble."</p> + + +<div class="center"><a id="ill100"></a> +<table style="margin: 0 auto" cellpadding="4px"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <a href="images/ill100.jpg"> + <img src="images/ill100-t.jpg" height="500" + alt='"There goes the last of my anger."' /></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span class="caption"><span class="smallcaps">"There + goes the last of my anger."</span><br /> + Click to <a href="images/ill100.jpg">ENLARGE</a></span> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<p>"But Felix, Roger!"</p> + +<p>His brow became a little black as he answered her. "To a sister," he +said very solemnly, "I will not say a word against her brother; but +on that subject I claim a right to come to a decision on my own +judgment. It is a matter in which I have thought much, and, I may +say, suffered much. I have ideas, old-fashioned ideas, on the matter, +which I need not pause to explain to you now. If we are as much +together as I hope we shall be, you will, no doubt, come to +understand them. The disposition of a family property, even though it +be one so small as mine, is, to my thinking, a matter which a man +should not make in accordance with his own caprices,—or even with +his own affections. He owes a duty to those who live on his land, and +he owes a duty to his country. And, though it may seem fantastic to +say so, I think he owes a duty to those who have been before him, and +who have manifestly wished that the property should be continued in +the hands of their descendants. These things are to me very holy. In +what I am doing I am in some respects departing from the theory of my +life,—but I do so under a perfect conviction that by the course I am +taking I shall best perform the duties to which I have alluded. I do +not think, Hetta, that we need say any more about that." He had +spoken so seriously, that, though she did not quite understand all +that he had said, she did not venture to dispute his will any +further. He did not endeavour to exact from her any promise, but +having explained his purposes, kissed her as he would have kissed a +daughter, and then left her and rode home without going into the +house.</p> + +<p>Soon after that, Paul Montague came down to Carbury, and the same +thing was said to him, though in a much less solemn manner. Paul was +received quite in the old way. Having declared that he would throw +all anger behind him, and that Paul should be again Paul, he rigidly +kept his promise, whatever might be the cost to his own feelings. As +to his love for Hetta, and his old hopes, and the disappointment +which had so nearly unmanned him, he said not another word to his +fortunate rival. Montague knew it all, but there was now no necessity +that any allusion should be made to past misfortunes. Roger indeed +made a solemn resolution that to Paul he would never again speak of +Hetta as the girl whom he himself had loved, though he looked forward +to a time, probably many years hence, when he might perhaps remind +her of his fidelity. But he spoke much of the land and of the tenants +and the labourers, of his own farm, of the amount of the income, and +of the necessity of so living that the income might always be more +than sufficient for the wants of the household.</p> + +<p>When the spring came round, Hetta and Paul were married by the Bishop +at the parish church of Carbury, and Roger Carbury gave away the +bride. All those who saw the ceremony declared that the squire had +not seemed to be so happy for many a long year. John Crumb, who was +there with his wife,—himself now one of Roger's tenants, having +occupied the land which had become vacant by the death of old Daniel +Ruggles,—declared that the wedding was almost as good fun as his +own. "John, what a fool you are!" Ruby said to her spouse, when this +opinion was expressed with rather a loud voice. "Yes, I be," said +John,—"but not such a fool as to a' missed a having o' you." "No, +John; it was I was the fool then," said Ruby. "We'll see about that +when the bairn's born," said John,—equally aloud. Then Ruby held her +tongue. Mrs. Broune, and Mr. Broune, were also at Carbury,—thus +doing great honour to Mr. and Mrs. Paul Montague, and showing by +their presence that all family feuds were at an end. Sir Felix was +not there. Happily up to this time Mr. Septimus Blake had continued +to keep that gentleman as one of his Protestant population in the +German town,—no doubt not without considerable trouble to himself.</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAY WE LIVE NOW***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 5231-h.txt or 5231-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/2/3/5231">http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/3/5231</a></p> +<p> +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p> +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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