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."

I should have thought that Mr. Longestaffe might have kept such a man as Mr. Melmotte out of his wife's drawing-room."


Even Lady Carbury flushed up, as she remembered that Roger Carbury knew that she had taken her daughter to Madame Melmotte's ball.

Even Lady Carbury flushed, as she remembered that Roger knew 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.

He thought of this himself as soon as the words were spoken, and 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."


The ladies were shown into their rooms, and Roger again went out into the garden.

Then 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.

Lady Carbury had come to his house not for love of him, but to be near the Melmottes!


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 manoeuvre 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!

He and his house had been simply used in order to further a vile project of marrying two vile people to each other!


As he was thinking of all this, Lady Carbury came out to him in the garden.

As he was thinking 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.

She had changed her travelling dress, and made herself pretty.


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.

She wished to explain to her stern cousin the good that might come by an alliance with the heiress.


"I can understand, Roger," she said, taking his arm, "that you should not like those people."

"I can understand, Roger," she said, taking his arm, "that you should not like those Melmottes."


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."


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."


"Do you suppose, my friend, that I run after them for my own gratification?

"Do you suppose, my friend, that I run after them for my own pleasure?


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?"


"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.


The only chance for a young man in his position is that he should marry a girl with money.

His only chance is to marry a girl with money.


He is good-looking; you can't deny that."


He was put into the army very young, and was very young when he came into possession of his own small fortune.

"He 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?


"And therefore is it not imperative that he should marry a girl with money?"

Is it not imperative that he should marry a girl with money?"


"I call that stealing a girl's money, Lady Carbury."


"A man must be hard or soft,--which is best?"


"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."

The girl will not marry Felix unless she loves him."


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?

Of course she hopes 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?"

Cannot you sympathize with my anxiety that he shall not be a disgrace to the family?"


"We had better not talk about the family, Lady Carbury."


"You will never get me to say that I think the family will be benefited by a marriage with the daughter of Mr. Melmotte.

The family will not be benefited by a marriage with the daughter of Mr. Melmotte.


To me, in my old-fashioned way, all his money, if he has it, can make no difference.

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 can be sure that she is his daughter?"


"He would give her her fortune when she married."

"He would give her a fortune when she married."


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.

His money is amassed not by honest trade, but by unknown tricks.


He is one whom we would not admit into our kitchens, much less to our tables, on the score of his own merits.

He is one whom we would not admit into our kitchens, much less to our dining-tables, on 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."

But because he has learned the art of making money, we not only put up with him, but settle upon his carcase like birds of prey."


"Do you mean that Felix should not marry the girl, even if they love each other?"


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 shook his head in disgust, feeling sure that any idea of love on the young man's part was a sham - and that his mother knew it.


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.


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.

When I am told that the girl is at Caversham, and that Felix is coming here in order to be near his prey, 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."

Your son is welcome to my house, 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."


"If you wish it, Roger, we will return to London.

"If you wish, Roger, we will return to London.


I shall find it hard to explain to Hetta;--but we will go."

I shall find it hard to explain to Hetta; but we will go."


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 looked at him hoping to get some retraction, but he had nothing to say.


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.

Had he found fault with herself, or with Henrietta, she would have put up with it, for the sake of benefits to come.


But for her son she was prepared to fight.


"I am grieved, Roger, that we should have troubled you with our visit, but I think that we had better go.


"You say that Felix is seeking for his--prey, and that he is to be brought here to be near--his prey.

"You say that Felix is brought here to be near - his prey.


At any rate, you should remember that I am his mother."

You should remember that I am his mother."


[Illustration: "You should remember that I am his mother."]


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.


I came here thinking to find peace and sunshine, and there has come a storm at once."


"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.

They walked in silence to the door, where he stopped.


"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.

She smiled and bowed; but her smile was not one of forgiveness.


"Pray do not speak of going, Lady Carbury."


My head aches so that I can hardly stand."


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.

It was about six in the afternoon, and according to his daily custom Roger should have gone to see his men as they finished their work; but he stood still for a few moments and then went slowly across the lawn to the bridge, sitting 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?

Would she really leave his house in anger and take her daughter - 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 was a man who thought much of the duties of hospitality, especially when his guests were Carburys.


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.

But if there were one person among all others to whom the house should be a refuge from care, 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!

And now he had been told that he had been so rough to his guest that she and her daughter must return to London!


It was true that he could not have expressed his meaning without hard words, nor have repressed his meaning without self-reproach.

He could not have expressed his meaning without hard words.


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.

And Lady Carbury 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.

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.


At the door, standing in the doorway as though waiting for him, he met his cousin Hetta.

At the door, standing as though waiting for him, was 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.

She had on her bosom the rose he had placed in her room, and as he approached her he thought that there was in her eyes more graciousness towards him than he had ever seen there before.


"Mr. Carbury," she said, "mamma is so unhappy!"


"It is not that, but that you should be so,--so angry about Felix."

"It is not that, but that you should be so - so angry about Felix."


"I am vexed with myself that I have vexed her,--more vexed than I can tell you."

"I am more vexed with myself than I can tell you.


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."


"I do not think she will do that," said Hetta.


I should never dare to be angry with you.


They say that young men have to be bad, and that they do get to be better as they grow older.

They say that young men do get 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.

Roger could express no hope or approval.


"I don't see why he should not try at any rate."


"Dear Hetta, I only wish he were like you."


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.

It was not till late in the evening, after dinner, that he made his apology to Lady Carbury; but he did make it, and it was accepted.


"I think I was rough to you, talking about Felix," he said,--"and I beg your pardon."

"I think I was rough to you, talking about Felix," he said, "and I beg your pardon."


"A gentleman should never be rough to a lady, and a man should never be rough to his own guests.

"A gentleman should never be rough to a lady, nor to his guests.


She answered him by putting out her hand and smiling on him; and so the quarrel was over.

She answered by putting out her hand and smiling; and so the quarrel was over.


Lady Carbury understood the full extent of her triumph, and was enabled by her disposition to use it thoroughly.

Lady Carbury understood the full extent of her triumph, and used 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.

Felix might now come down to Carbury, and go to Caversham to do his wooing, and the master of Carbury could make no 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.

Roger would understand that he was constrained to courtesy.


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.

He did understand it, and though he was soft and gracious towards his two guests, he felt that he had been cheated out of his 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.

During the evening there came 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.

That addressed to Roger was a letter from Lady Pomona; who was sorry to say that the Longestaffes 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.

Lady Pomona hoped that Mr. Carbury and his relatives would do the Longestaffes the pleasure of dining at Caversham either on the Monday or Tuesday following, as might best suit.


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.

There were cards of invitation for Lady Carbury and her daughter, and for Sir Felix.


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.

Roger, as he read his own note, handed the others over to Lady Carbury, and asked her what she wished 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.


"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."


"Monday will be best," she said; "--that is, if nobody is coming here."
"There will be nobody here."
"I suppose I had better say that I, and Hetta,--and Felix will accept their invitation."

"Monday will be best," she said; "I suppose I had better say that I, and Hetta, and Felix will accept their invitation."


"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.

"I can make no suggestion," said Roger, thinking how delightful it would be if Henrietta could remain with him instead.


She certainly did not wish to meet the Melmottes, nor did she wish to dine, alone, with her cousin Roger.

She certainly did not wish to meet the Melmottes, but nor did she wish to dine alone with her cousin Roger.


"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."


"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.

"Of course you will do here just as you please," he replied; but still with that tone of 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.

Soon the Caversham servant was on his way with the reply.


"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."


"What on earth can be more natural than that you should go to your own cousin's house?"

"What on earth can be more natural than going to your cousin's house?"


"It's done now, my dear, and I don't think there is anything at all in what you say."


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.

This little conversation arose when Lady Carbury announced her intention of visiting 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.

It was very grievous to Henrietta that she should be taken to the house of a man who was in love with her.


She could not remain in town by herself, nor could she even allude to her grievance to anyone but to her mother.

She could not remain in town by herself.


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 daughter:--

Lady Carbury had already posted the following letter to Roger:


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.

We know how kind you are, and if what I am going to propose doesn't suit you, 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.

I have been working very hard, and feel it would do me good to get 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.


I'm sure you must have been glad to hear of his being put upon that Great American Railway Board as a Director.

I'm sure you must have been glad to hear of his being made a Director of that Great American Railway Board.


It opens a new sphere of life to him, and will enable him to prove that he can make himself useful.

It will enable him to prove that he can make himself useful.


I think it was a great confidence to place in one so young.


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.

Of course you will say so at once if my little proposal interferes with your plans, but you have been so very very kind to us that I have no scruple in making it.


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.

Much as he loved her, he hardly wished to have her at Carbury unless she came 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 thought that Henrietta was being brought to his house with the object of furthering his suit.


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.

Roger Carbury did not believe in the Railway, or in Fisker, or Melmotte.


Paul Montague had acted in opposition to his advice in yielding to the seductions of Fisker.

Paul Montague had acted against his advice in yielding to Fisker's seductions.


The whole thing was to his mind false, fraudulent, and ruinous.

The whole thing was to his mind 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?

What sort of company was 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.


And did not everybody know that Mr. Melmotte was a gigantic swindler?


"The only proper sphere for them all would be Newgate!"


He had asked Paul Montague to come to Carbury for this special week, and Paul had accepted the invitation.

He had asked Paul Montague to come to Carbury the same week, and Paul had accepted.


With the constancy, which was perhaps his strongest characteristic, he clung to his old affection for the man.

Roger 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 could not bear the idea of a permanent quarrel, though he knew that there must be a quarrel if Paul 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 had asked him down to Carbury intending that Henrietta's name should not be mentioned between them; and now it was proposed that Henrietta should be at the Manor House at the very same time!


He made up his mind at once that he must tell Paul not to come.

He decided that he must tell Paul not to come.


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 would be delighted to see her and Henrietta, and also Felix.


He did not say a word about the Board, or the young man's probable usefulness in his new sphere of life.


"It is always best to be open and true," he said.

"It is always best to be open and true," he wrote.


"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.

"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 with 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."

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 lack 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.

Paul wrote back to say that he was sure that there was no lack of hospitality, and that he would remain in town.


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.

Suffolk is not an especially picturesque county, nor can it be said that the scenery round Carbury was grand or beautiful; but the house and its grounds had a charm of their 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.

Carbury Manor House was surrounded by a moat, which was rather a trouble to Roger, as it was felt necessary either to keep it clean with moving water, 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.

That plan of abolishing it had been discussed about ten years previously; but it was decided that it would alter the character of the house, and create a waste of mud around it which it would take years to beautify.


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.


The squire, therefore, had given up that idea, and instead of abolishing his moat had made it prettier than ever.

The squire, therefore, had given up that idea, and instead had made his moat 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.

The high road from Bungay to Beccles ran very close to the house; a short, private road led from it to the old bridge over the moat.


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.

Between the bridge and the front door there was a sweep of ground just sufficient for the turning of a carriage.


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.

At the back of the house there were large gardens screened from the road by a wall ten feet high, and ancient yews and cypresses.


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.

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.


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.

The house itself had been built in the time of Charles II, when Tudor architecture was giving way to a less picturesque, though perhaps more useful form.


But Carbury Manor House, through the whole county, had the reputation of being a Tudor building.

But Carbury Manor House 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.

The windows were long, with strong mullions, and small, old-fashioned panes.


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.

There was one high bow window in the library, which looked out on to the gravel sweep by the front door.


All the other chief rooms faced upon the garden.

All the other chief rooms faced the garden.


The house itself was built of a stone that had become buff, or almost yellow with years, and was very pretty.

The house was built of a buff stone that 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.

It was only two storeys high, except at the end where the kitchens were.


The rooms throughout were low, and for the most part long and narrow, with large wide fire-places and deep wainscotings.

The rooms were low, and mostly long and narrow, with large fire-places.


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.

The houses of the gentry around him were superior in comfort, but none of them had that thoroughly established look of Carbury Manor.


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.

Bundlesham, where the Primeros lived, looked as if it had been built within the last twenty years, and savoured of trade; so at least thought Roger Carbury, though he never said it aloud.


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.

Caversham was a very large mansion, built in the early part of George III's reign, and had nothing to recommend it 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.

The Bishop's palace was an excellent gentleman's residence, but modern, with no distinctive features.


Now Carbury Manor House was peculiar, and in the eyes of its owner was pre-eminently beautiful.

Carbury Manor House, in its owner's eyes, was pre-eminently beautiful.


It often troubled him to think what would come of the place when he was gone.

It often troubled him to think what would become 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.

He was at present in excellent health, and the farmers of the neighbourhood still spoke of him 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.

When in his happiest moods he could be almost a boy; but a great care had grown within him.


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.

If he should not succeed with Henrietta, he felt that no marriage would 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.


Now Sir Felix was the next heir. Roger was hampered by no entail, and could leave every acre of the property as he pleased.

Now Sir Felix was the next heir, though Roger could leave his 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.

In one respect the natural succession to it by Sir Felix would be fortunate: the baronetcy and the family property would then 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.

No doubt to Sir Felix himself such an arrangement would seem to be the most proper thing in the world.


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.

It was not only that he thought ill of the baronet, but he thought ill 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.

Sir Patrick, to his thinking, should not have accepted the title, knowing that he would leave 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 baronet, thought Roger Carbury, should be rich enough to grace his rank.


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.

With these old-fashioned notions Roger certainly would not leave his property to support the baronetcy.


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.

But Sir Felix was the natural heir, and Roger felt it was his duty to see that his land went from Carbury to Carbury, 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.

There was no reason why he should himself die for twenty or thirty years - but if he were 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.

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.

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 childless.


In the afternoon of the day on which Lady Carbury was expected, he wandered about the place thinking of all this.

In the afternoon 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 infinitely better it would be to have an heir of his own - how wonderfully beautiful would the world be to him if 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!

He did not like Lady Carbury, accurately judging her as affectionate but worldly. She believed that good could come out of evil, and that falsehood might sometimes be better than truth.


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.

It was lamentable to him that the girl he loved should be subjected to this teaching.


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?

Only a sham would pretend to sit on a Board of Directors with Lord Alfred Grendall and Sir Felix Carbury, under the control of 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?

What a life it would be for Henrietta were she to marry a man striving to become rich without labour - a city adventurer, of all men 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.

He strove to think well of Paul Montague, but he feared for his future.


Then he went into the house and wandered up through the rooms which the two ladies were to occupy.

Then he went into the house and wandered 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 had put it there.


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.

Then he stood at the open window, gazing vacantly down upon the lawn for half an hour, till he heard the wheels of the arriving carriage.


During that half hour he resolved that he would try again as though there had as yet been no repulse.

During that half hour he resolved that he would try again.


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.

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 consent, she spoke 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.

Melmotte had kept all the details from her.


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.

But it had been necessary for him to explain, or to pretend to explain, much; and Marie's memory and also her intelligence were 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.

He had invested a large sum of money in foreign funds in her name, and he had got her to give him a power of attorney enabling him to draw the income from them 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.

This he had done so that he should still have enough money to live in comfort, should he be doomed to obscurity.


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.


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.

His daughter might be untrue to him, or in the event of her marriage might fail to release his property; or there might come troubles so great that even the future income would not be enough.


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.

Were he to take back this property it would enable him to pay all that was due to the Longestaffes, and more.


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.

He did not care about the Longstaffes themselves.


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.

But he was painfully aware that not just a simple debt was involved.


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 with his own hand written 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.

He had discovered it in an envelope addressed in Mr. Longstaffe's writing to Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, and he had posted it himself.


In the execution of this manoeuvre, 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.

At the time, he was the joint tenant of Mr. Longestaffe's study; and he had long since learned to pick a lock, though he could not then relock it.


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.

He had picked a lock, and had found the letter prepared by Mr. Bideawhile.


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.

Even if the young man were to swear that the signature was not his, and the old man were to swear that he had left that drawer locked, still there could be no evidence.


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.

But there would still be that ample fortune on which to retire and make merry for the rest of his days.


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.

Rumours of the forgery were spread abroad.


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?

If a jury were persuaded that he had done it, 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.

He wondered whether it might not be better to use the money to save him from such ruin, by paying 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.

Neither Dolly Longestaffe nor Squercum would concern themselves any further if the money 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.

But then the money would be as good as wasted by such a payment, if - as he believed - no firm evidence of the forgery could be produced.


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.

Perhaps Mr. Melmotte attached higher privileges to the British aristocracy than 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 really believed that if he became the father-in-law of the eldest son of the Marquis of Auld Reekie, he would be safe from the fangs of the law.


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!

And if he could tide over this bad time, how glorious would it be to have a 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.

He knew that Lord Nidderdale would not marry his daughter without property, but he thought that the funds which had been transferred to Marie might suffice; and he had already given proof to the Marquis's lawyer that his daughter possessed them.


And indeed, there was another complication which had arisen within the last few days and which had startled Mr. Melmotte very much indeed.

Now another complication had arisen 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.

One morning he had sent for Marie to the study and had told her that he required her signature for a 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.

He had replied that it was a document regarding money, and that she need not 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.

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 refusal to sign anything at all.


The reader may understand that there had been many words between them.


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.

"You have been so unkind to me about Sir Felix Carbury that I won't do it," she said.


If I ever marry the money will belong to my husband!"

"If I ever marry, the money will belong to my husband!"


His breath almost failed him as he listened to these words.

His breath almost failed him at these words.


He did not know whether to approach her with threats, with entreaties, or with blows.

He did not know whether to use threats, entreaties, or 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.

He tried all three: he told her that he would put her in prison, he besought her not to ruin her parent, and then he shook her violently.


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.


"And he would;--if he had the spirit to take it," answered Marie.


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.

On weighing things up, therefore, he decided 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.

The dangers on all sides were very great; but he intended to be bold.


Marie had now said that she would accept Nidderdale,--or the sweep at the crossing.

Marie had now said that she would accept Nidderdale - or the sweep at the crossing.


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."

On the Monday after his famous speech in Parliament, one of the Bideawhiles had come to him in the City, asking for payment for Pickering.


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.

Mr. Melmotte 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.

But this offer Mr. Bideawhile rejected indignantly, demanding that the title-deeds should be restored to them.


"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."


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.

In the whole course of his business, 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.

Of course Mr. Longestaffe was to blame - so 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.

But the title-deeds had not been his to surrender; for Pickering was 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!

The house had already been pulled down, and now the purchaser offered bills in lieu of 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?"

"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Melmotte, that you have not got the money to pay for what you have bought, and that the title-deeds have already gone out of your hands?"


"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."

"I have property of ten times, twenty times the value," said Melmotte proudly; "but you must know 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.

Mr. Bideawhile replied that he thought that his client had been robbed, and that he would at once take the 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.

As Mr. Melmotte shrugged his shoulders and made no further reply, Mr. Bideawhile could only depart.


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. Bideawhile was now doubtful about the genuineness of the letter which Dolly declared 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.

Mr. Longestaffe himself had asserted that he had left the letter locked in his own drawer in the room which had become Melmotte's study.


Then, on entering the room in Melmotte's presence,--their friendship at the time having already ceased,--he found that his drawer was open.

On entering the room with Mr. Bideawhile, in Melmotte's presence, he had 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?"


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.

Mr. Longestaffe had become very red in the face and had replied that he made no such accusation, but he had certainly locked the drawer.


He knew his own habits and was sure that he had never left that drawer open in his life.

He knew his own habits and 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.

"Then you must have changed your habits 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. Longestaffe would trust himself to no other word within the house.


Mr. Bideawhile could only remark that it was the most unfortunate circumstance with which he had ever been concerned.

Mr. Bideawhile could only remark that it was most unfortunate.


The marriage with Nidderdale would upon the whole be the best thing, if it could only be accomplished.

The marriage with Nidderdale would upon the whole be the best thing, thought Melmotte, if it could 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.

His chief trust was in Cohenlupe, who dealt with the shares of the Mexican railway: to him he had trusted more than he normally trusted 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.

Cohenlupe assured him that nothing could be done with the railway shares at present; they had fallen 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.


"He must take the bills sooner or later."


On the Monday afternoon Melmotte met Lord Nidderdale in the lobby of the House.


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.

Nidderdale had been assured that morning, by his father's lawyer, that if he married Miss Melmotte now he would undoubtedly become possessed of an income amounting to 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.

He had intended to get more than that; 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.

But Melmotte had been raising money, and 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.

The marriage could be broken off at the last minute if the property were not forthcoming.


"I'm going up to your house almost immediately," said Nidderdale.

"I'm going up to your house now," said Nidderdale.


"You'll find the women at tea to a certainty between five and six," said Melmotte.

"You'll find the women at tea between five and six," said Melmotte.


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.

In the meantime Marie Melmotte was living with Madame Melmotte in the Hampstead lodgings, and was taking quite a new look at 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.

Fisker had become her devoted servant in terms of 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.

He had proved that she was the undoubted owner of the money which her father had made over to her.


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.

She had now become an excellent woman of business, and was making full 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.

To do him justice, he kept nothing back from her which he learned, probably feeling that he might best achieve success in his project by honesty.


"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.

"She's her father's own daughter," he said one day to Croll in Abchurch Lane; for Croll had returned to the daughter's service, and was to go with her and Madame Melmotte to New York.


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 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.


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.

The reader will perhaps remember that they were not related 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.

Marie was alone in the world, absolutely without a relation, not knowing her mother's name - or even her father's true name. In the various biographies of the great man which were published within a fortnight of his death, various accounts were given as to his 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.

The general opinion seemed to be that his father had been a noted coiner in New York, an Irishman of the name of Melmody.


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.

But Marie 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.

Croll explained it to her 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.

However, her heart was softened by Marie's surrender of the jewels which had been saved.


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.

Madame Melmotte thus was in possession of a small treasure of her own.


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.

Madame Melmotte was told that they were to sail for New York on the 3rd of September.


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 did not know whether Marie was affianced to Hamilton Fisker; and she felt herself injured by being left 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.

She thought Fisker was a designing man, and trusted herself entirely to Croll.


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.

But Madame Melmotte was disposed to prefer New York as a 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.

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.

She and Herr Croll had known each other for a great many years.


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.

Croll had some money saved, and she had her jewels.


So she smiled upon Croll, and whispered to him; and when she had given Croll two glasses of Curaoa,--which comforter she kept in her own hands, as safe-guarded almost as the jewels,--then Croll understood her.

So she smiled upon Croll, and whispered to him; and Croll understood her.


But it was essential that she should know what Marie intended to do.

But she needed to 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?"

"My dear," she said one day, "are you going to be married to Mr. Fisker?"


If you go on asking me till to-morrow morning I can say no more."


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.

It certainly was not Fisker's fault, for he had asked her often enough.


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.

But Marie had now been wooed so many times that the romance of the thing was worn and damaged.


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.

She had chosen Sir Felix as her idol, modelled on the books she had read, but she 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.

Then she had as it were relapsed into the hands of Lord Nidderdale, and felt that he would probably be as good as any other.


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 almost learned to like him when the tragedy came, and he had deserted her.


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.

She had not been at all angry or 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.

Should she ever meet him again she would shake hands with him and smile.


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.

She had over a hundred thousand pounds of her own, and knew that she could do as she pleased with her wealth.


What could she do with her money, and in what way would she shape her life, should she determine to remain her own mistress?

In what way would she shape her life, if she decided to remain her own mistress?


Were she to refuse Fisker how should she begin?

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.

If he were banished, her only remaining friends 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.

She already guessed Madame Melmotte's purpose in reference to Croll, and did not wish to live with them.


Nor could she settle in her own mind any pleasant position for herself as a single woman, living alone in perfect independence.

Nor could she think it would be pleasant to live 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.

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.

But 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.

He represented himself as a thriving man, and she calculated that he certainly had 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.

She had learned 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.

On consideration, 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.


"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.

"I have got excellent berths," Fisker said to her one morning at Hampstead, when Madame Melmotte was not present.


"There is a cabin for Madame Melmotte and the maid, and a cabin for you.


And there is another lady going,--Mrs. Hurtle,--whom I think you will like."

And there is another lady going, Mrs. Hurtle, whom I think you will like."


"Not going with us," said Mr. Fisker evasively.


"Well, yes;--but you had better not mention him.

"Well, yes; but you had better not mention him.


He is not exactly all that a husband should be."


"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.


"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."

But you may be sure I should not ask you to associate with anyone you ought not to know."


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.

But I meant that I should not introduce a lady whom I hope to make my own lady to any lady whom a lady oughtn't to know.


I hope I make myself understood, Miss Melmotte."


"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.

"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 than just as a mere friend, Miss Melmotte.


Gentlemen's hearts are things very much to be doubted as far as I've seen 'em.

I think gentlemen's hearts are things very much to be doubted."


I don't think many of 'em have 'em at all."


"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.

"Miss Melmotte, your experiences have been drawn from this effete and stone-cold country in which passion is allowed no sway.


On those golden shores which the Pacific washes man is still true,--and woman is still tender."

On those golden shores which the Pacific washes, man is still true, and woman is still tender."


"Perhaps I'd better wait and see, Mr. Fisker."


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."


"Ah;--I shall find out all about it, I suppose, when I've been there a few months."


"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."

"But you would enter San Francisco, Miss Melmotte, under much better auspices as a married lady or as a lady just going to be married."


"Ain't single ladies much thought of in California?"


Come, Miss Melmotte, you know what I mean."


I'm spending 30,000 dollars a year,--at that rate,--in my own house.

I'm spending 30,000 dollars in my own house.


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."


"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."


"You needn't fear me as to that, Miss Melmotte.


And 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."

It would be such a triumph to go into Frisco as man and wife."


"I shouldn't think of being married till I had been there a while and looked about me."


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.

But if we were engaged, I could do everything for you.


Where would you be, going into San Francisco all alone?


Oh, Miss Melmotte, I do admire you so much!"


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.


and as he asked the question he jumped up and put his arm round her waist.


"Not like that, Mr. Fisker," she said, withdrawing herself.


You may consider yourself engaged to me."


"I'm the happiest man on this continent," he said, forgetting in his ecstasy that he was not in the United States.

"I'm the happiest man on this continent," he said.


"But if I find when I get to Francisco anything to induce me to change my mind, I shall change it.

"But if I find when I get to San 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."


"There you're quite right," he said,--"quite right."


"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."
"We needn't break our hearts about that;--need we?"
"It don't much signify. Well;--I'll go on with Mrs. Hurtle, if she'll have me."
"Too much delighted she'll be."
"And she shall be told we're engaged."
"My darling!"
"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.

"We'll tell people we're engaged, 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."

Well; you may give me a kiss now if you care to."


And so,--or rather so far,--Mr. Fisker and Marie Melmotte became engaged to each other as man and wife.


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.


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.

On the 3rd of September Madame Melmotte, Marie, Mrs. Hurtle, Hamilton Fisker, and Herr Croll left Liverpool for New York; and the three ladies were determined that they would never return to England.


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.

The writer may so far look forward as to declare that Marie Melmotte did become Mrs. Fisker very soon after her arrival at San Francisco.


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.

Lady Monogram retired from Mr. Melmotte's house in disgust as soon as she could 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.

Once the guests were in the drawing-room the 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.

The crowd never became so thick as had been anticipated; but still the rooms were fairly full, and Mr. Melmotte consoled himself with the feeling that nothing fatal had as yet occurred.


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.

There can be no doubt that most of the people there did believe that their host had committed some great fraud which might 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.

As long as the accused one is not near to ourselves, we are almost ready to think anything 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.


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.

Melmotte himself behaved 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.

He made few attempts at beginning any conversation, and answered 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.

With scrupulous care he ticked off on his memory the names of those who had come, thinking that their presence indicated a verdict of acquittal from 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.

Half-a-dozen detectives might be already stationed in his own hall, ready to arrest him as soon as the guests were gone.


He had always lived with the consciousness that such a burden was on him and might crush him at any time.

He had always lived with the consciousness that such a burden lay 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 known that he had to run these risks, and had told himself that they 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.

He had always tried to go as near the wind as he could, while avoiding the heavy hand of the criminal law; but he had also felt that he might be carried 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.

Melmotte had not always thought, or even hoped, that he would be so exalted as he was now; 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.

He had prepared himself to bear all mere ignominy with a tranquil mind, and to remember that he had garnered up a store sufficient for future needs 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.

But now he became aware that he might have to bear worse than ignominy.