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. 
But Nidderdale too had his doubts. That absurd elopement was perhaps his strongest objection. Sir Felix had not gone with her; but one doesn't wish to have one's intended wife even attempt to run off with anyone but oneself.
"She'll be sick of him by this time," his father said. "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 exclusively with Melmotte, instead of devoting himself to her. Nidderdale acknowledged that he had been remiss. She had more spirit than he had thought. By the Sunday evening he had resolved to try again. Previously, he had expected that the plum would fall into his mouth. 