Some half promise would be the only escape for the present.

Some half promise was the only escape for the present.


"It's d---- difficult to know what to do."

"It's d___ difficult to know what to do," he said.


If I didn't love you why should I be here walking round this stupid place?

If I didn't love you why should I be walking round this stupid place?


They talk of your being married to Nidderdale about the end of August."

They talk of your marrying Nidderdale in August."


They can't take me up and marry me, as they used to do the girls ever so long ago.


He don't care a bit for me, and never did.


A fellow can't go on saying so over and over again in a beastly place like this.


If we were anywhere jolly together, then I could say it often enough."


"Upon my word I hardly see my way as yet."


But the bother is a fellow doesn't know what to do."


"You've heard of young Mr. Goldsheiner, haven't you?"


"He's one of those city chaps."
"And Lady Julia Start?"
"She's old Lady Catchboy's daughter. Yes; I've heard of them. They got spliced last winter."
"Yes,--somewhere in Switzerland, I think. At any rate they went to Switzerland, and now they've got a house close to Albert Gate."

"He married Lady Julia Start last winter in Switzerland, and now they've got a house close to Albert Gate."


"I don't suppose he's half so rich as papa.


They did all they could to prevent her going, but she met him down at Folkestone just as the tidal boat was starting.

They did all they could to prevent her going, but she met him down at Folkestone.


She could come and live with us, and be my maid.


If you would give her 50 for herself, she'd arrange it all."


"I think that would be stupid, because Lady Julia did that.


If you liked I wouldn't mind going to--New York.


And then, perhaps, we might--get--married, you know, on board.

And then, perhaps, we might - get married, you know, on board ship.


She could go as my aunt, and I'd call myself by her name;--any French name you know.


And you could call yourself Smith, and be an American.


We wouldn't go together, but we'd get on board just at the last moment.


If they wouldn't--marry us on board, they would at New York, instantly."

If they wouldn't marry us on board, they would at New York.


"That's what she thinks best,--and she'll do it, if you'll give her 50 for herself, you know.


The 'Adriatic,'--that's a White Star boat, goes on Thursday week at noon.

The Adriatic - that's a White Star boat - goes from Liverpool on Thursday week at noon.


There's an early train that would take us down that morning.


You had better go and sleep at Liverpool, and take no notice of us at all till we meet on board.

You had better go and sleep at Liverpool, and take no notice of us till we meet on board.


We could be back in a month,--and then papa would be obliged to make the best of it."

We could be back in a month - and then papa would be obliged to make the best of it."


Sir Felix at once felt that it would be quite unnecessary for him to go to Herr Vossner or to any other male counsellor for advice as to the best means of carrying off his love. The young lady had it all at her fingers' ends,--even to the amount of the fee required by the female counsellor.

Sir Felix felt that the young lady had it all at her fingers' ends.


But Thursday week was very near, and the whole thing was taking uncomfortably defined proportions.


Where was he to get funds if he were to resolve that he would do this thing?


He had been fool enough to intrust his ready money to Melmotte, and now he was told that when Melmotte got hold of ready money he was not apt to release it.


And he had nothing to show;--no security that he could offer to Vossner.


And then,--this idea of starting to New York with Melmotte's daughter immediately after he had written to Melmotte renouncing the girl, frightened him.

And the idea of starting to New York with Melmotte's daughter, immediately after he had written to Melmotte renouncing the girl, frightened him.


"There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune."


Sir Felix did not know these lines, but the lesson taught by them came home to him at this moment.


Now was the tide in his affairs at which he might make himself, or utterly mar himself.

Now was the time come when he might make himself, or utterly mar himself.


"It's deuced important," he said at last with a groan.

"It's deuced important," he said with a groan.


"It's not more important for you than me," said Marie.


"If you're wrong about the money, and he shouldn't come round, where should we be then?"

"If you're wrong about the money, and he shouldn't come round, where would we be then?"


"Nothing venture, nothing have," said the heiress.


"That's all very well; but one might venture everything and get nothing after all."


"Yes;--and I'm awfully fond of you. Of course I should get you!

"Yes - and I'm awfully fond of you, of course.


"Very well then;--if that's your love," said Marie, turning back from him.

"Very well; if that's your love," she said, turning away.


Sir Felix gave a great sigh, and then announced his resolution.


I don't know whether it can be Thursday week."


He was putting in the coward's plea for a reprieve.


"I shall be afraid of Didon if it's delayed long."


"There's the money to get, and all that."


"A hundred pounds, perhaps;--perhaps two hundred."

"A hundred pounds; perhaps two hundred."


It was decided that they were to go to New York, on a Thursday,--on Thursday week if possible, but as to that he was to let her know in a day or two.

It was decided that they were to go to New York, on Thursday week if possible.


Didon was to pack up the clothes and get it sent out of the house.


Didon was to have 50 before she went on board; and as one of the men must know about it, and must assist in having the trunks smuggled out of the house, he was to have 10.

Didon would be paid 50; and as one of the men must know about it, and help smuggle the trunks out, he was to have 10.


All had been settled beforehand, so that Sir Felix really had no need to think about anything.


Nobody's looking and she can open that gate for you.


The gate can be left, you know. Then we'll get out on the other side."

You leave through that gate, and we'll get out on the other side."


Marie Melmotte was certainly a clever girl.


Sir Felix as he walked down to his club felt that he had been checkmated,--and was at the same time full of wrath at the insolence of the man who had so easily beaten him out of the field.

Sir Felix felt that he had been checkmated - and was at the same time full of wrath at Melmotte's insolence.


As far as he could see, the game was over.


The father had told him so much himself, and he perfectly believed the truth of that oath which Marie had sworn.


He did not doubt but that she'd stick to him close enough.


She was in love with him, which was natural; and was a fool,--which was perhaps also natural.

She was in love with him, which was natural; and was a fool, which was perhaps also natural.


But romance was not the game which he was playing.


People told him that when girls succeeded in marrying without their parents' consent, fathers were always constrained to forgive them at last. That might be the case with ordinary fathers. But Melmotte was decidedly not an ordinary father.

But Melmotte would not forgive his daughter for marrying without his consent.


He was,--so Sir Felix declared to himself,--perhaps the greatest brute ever created.

He was - so Sir Felix declared to himself - the greatest brute ever created.


Sir Felix could not but remember that elevation of the eyebrows, and the brazen forehead, and the hard mouth.


He had found himself quite unable to stand up against Melmotte, and now he cursed and swore at the man as he was carried down to the Beargarden in a cab.

Sir Felix had found himself quite unable to stand up against Melmotte, and now he cursed the man as he was carried down to the Beargarden in a cab.


Should he abandon Marie Melmotte altogether, never go to Grosvenor Square again, and drop the whole family, including the Great Mexican Railway?

Should he abandon Marie Melmotte altogether, and drop the whole family, including the Great Mexican Railway?


Nidderdale had explained to him the result of his application for shares.


"You see we haven't bought any and therefore can't sell any.


I shall explain it all to my governor, and get him to go a thou' or two.

I shall explain it all to my governor, and get him to let me have a thousand or two."


If he sees his way to get the money back, he'd do that and let me have the difference."


On that Sunday afternoon Sir Felix thought over all this. "Why shouldn't he 'go a thou,' and get the difference?" He made a mental calculation.

Sir Felix thought this over, and made a mental calculation.


As far as Sir Felix could understand, directly the one operation had been perfected the thousand pounds would be available for another.

As far as Sir Felix could understand, as soon as one operation had been completed the thousand pounds would be available for another.


As he looked into it with all his intelligence he thought that he began to perceive that that was the way in which the Melmottes of the world made their money.


He had not got the entire thousand pounds.


But luck had been on the whole very good to him. He had more than the half of it in real money, lying at a bank in the city at which he had opened an account.

But luck had been good to him, and he had more than half that amount lying at a bank in the city.


And he had very much more than the remainder in I. O.

And he had very much more than the remainder in I.O.U.


's from Dolly Longestaffe and Miles Grendall.


In fact if every man had his own,--and his bosom glowed with indignation as he reflected on the injustice with which he was kept out of his own,--he could go into the city and take up his shares to-morrow, and still have ready money at his command.

In fact, if every man paid up, he could take up his shares tomorrow.


If he could do this, would not such conduct on his part be the best refutation of that charge of not having any fortune which Melmotte had brought against him?

Would that not refute Melmotte's charge of not having any fortune?


He would endeavour to work the money out of Dolly Longestaffe;--and he entertained an idea that though it would be impossible to get cash from Miles Grendall, he might use his claim against Miles in the city. Miles was Secretary to the Board, and might perhaps contrive that the money required for the shares should not be all ready money.

He would try to get the money out of Dolly Longestaffe; and though it would be impossible to get cash from Miles Grendall, he might use his claim against Miles, who was Secretary to the Board, and could perhaps contrive that the money required for the shares should not be all ready money.


Sir Felix was not very clear about it, but thought that he might possibly in this way use the indebtedness of Miles Grendall.


"How I do hate a fellow who does not pay up," he said to himself as he sat alone in his club, waiting for some friend to come in. And he formed in his head Draconic laws which he would fain have executed upon men who lost money at play and did not pay. "How the deuce fellows can look one in the face, is what I can't understand," he said to himself.
He thought over this great stroke of exhibiting himself to Melmotte as a capitalist till he gave up his idea of abandoning his suit.

As he sat in his club, he thought over this great stroke till he gave up his idea of abandoning his suit.


So he wrote a note to Marie Melmotte in accordance with her instructions.


Your father cut up very rough,--about money.

Your father cut up very rough about money.


Perhaps you had better see him yourself; or would your mother?


This, as directed, he put under cover to Madame Didon,--Grosvenor Square, and posted at the club.

This, as directed, he addressed to Madame Didon, and posted at the club.


He had put nothing at any rate in the letter which could commit him.


There was generally on Sundays a house dinner, so called, at eight o'clock.

On Sundays there was generally a house dinner, so called, at eight o'clock.


Five or six men would sit down, and would always gamble afterwards.

Five or six men would sit down, and gamble afterwards.


On this occasion Dolly Longestaffe sauntered in at about seven in quest of sherry and bitters, and Felix found the opportunity a good one to speak of his money. "You couldn't cash your I. O. U.

On this occasion Dolly Longestaffe sauntered in at about seven, and Felix said, "You couldn't cash your I.O.U.


"I'll tell you why. You know I'd tell you anything because I think we are really friends.

"I'll tell you why, because you're a friend.


I've gone in you know for that Board in the city."

I've gone in for that Board in the city."


"I don't know anything about Boards, my boy."


You remember that American fellow, Montague's friend, that was here one night and won all our money."


"The chap that had the waistcoat, and went away in the morning to California.


Fancy starting to California after a hard night.


I always wondered whether he got there alive."


"Well;--I can't explain to you all about it, because you hate those kinds of things."
"And because I am such a fool."
"I don't think you're a fool at all, but it would take a week. But it's absolutely essential for me to take up a lot of shares in the city to-morrow;--or perhaps Wednesday might do.

"Well, it would take a week to explain it all, but it's absolutely essential for me to take up a lot of shares in the city tomorrow; or perhaps Wednesday.


I'm bound to pay for them, and old Melmotte will think that I'm utterly hard up if I don't.

Old Melmotte will think that I'm utterly hard up if I don't pay for them.


Indeed he said as much, and the only objection about me and this girl of his is as to money.


Can't you understand, now, how important it may be?"


"It's always important to have a lot of money.


"I shouldn't have gone in for this kind of thing if I hadn't thought I was sure.


"You know how much you owe me, don't you?"


"And Miles Grendall owes me two thousand.


Grasslough and Nidderdale when they lose always pay with Miles's I. O. U.'s."

Grasslough and Nidderdale always pay me with Miles's I.O.U.'s.


"It'll come to that soon that there won't be any other stuff going, and they really ain't worth anything.


I don't see what's the use of playing when this rubbish is shoved about the table.


As for Grendall himself, he has no feeling about it."


"You'll try and get me the money, won't you, Dolly?"

But you'll try and get me the money, won't you, Dolly?"


"Melmotte has been at me twice," said Dolly Longestaffe.


"He wants me to agree to sell something.


He's an old thief, and of course he means to rob me.

He's an old thief, and he means to rob me.


You may tell him that if he'll let me have the money in the way I've proposed, you are to have a thousand pounds out of it.


"You could write me that,--in a business sort of way."

"You could write that in a business letter."


You tell him that; and if the sale comes off, I'll make it straight."

You tell him that if the sale comes off, I'll make it straight."


Miles Grendall also dined there, and after dinner, in the smoking-room, Sir Felix tried to do a little business with the Secretary. He began his operations with unusual courtesy, believing that the man must have some influence with the great distributor of shares.

Miles Grendall also dined there, and in the smoking-room after dinner, Sir Felix tried to do a little business with him, believing that he must have some influence with Melmotte.


"I'm going to take up my shares in that company," said Sir Felix.


And Miles enveloped himself from head to foot in smoke.


"I didn't quite understand about it, but Nidderdale saw Melmotte and he has explained it.

"Nidderdale saw Melmotte and he has explained it.


I think I shall go in for a couple of thousand on Wednesday."


"It will be the proper thing to do;--won't it?"

"It will be the proper thing to do, won't it?"


Miles Grendall smoked harder and harder as the suggestions were made to him.


"Always ready money," said Miles shaking his head, as though in reprobation of so abominable an institution.

"Always ready money," said Miles, shaking his head.


"I suppose they allow some time to their own Directors, if a deposit, say 50 per cent., is made for the shares?"

"I suppose they allow some time to their own Directors, if a deposit, say 50 per cent, is made for the shares?"


"They'll give you half the number, which would come to the same thing."


Sir Felix turned this over in his mind, but let him look at it as he would, could not see the truth of his companion's remark.

Sir Felix turned this over in his mind, but could not see the truth of it.


"You know I should want to sell again,--for the rise."

"You know I should want to sell again - for the rise."


"And therefore I must have the full number."


"You could sell half the number, you know," said Miles.


"I'm determined to begin with ten shares;--that's 1,000.

"I want to begin with ten shares; that's 1,000.


Well;--I have got the money, but I don't want to draw out so much.


Couldn't you manage for me that I should get them on paying 50 per cent.

Couldn't you manage for me that I should get them on paying 50 per cent down?"


"You could explain, you know, that you are a little short in your own payments to me."


This Sir Felix said, thinking it to be a delicate mode of introducing his claim upon the Secretary.

Sir Felix thought this was a delicate way of introducing his claim upon the Secretary.


"Of course it's private; but if you would pay me the money I could buy the shares with it, though they are public."

"Of course it's private; but if you would pay me the money I could buy the shares."


"I don't think we could mix the two things together, Carbury."


"Then, when the deuce will you pay me what you owe me?"

"Then when the deuce will you pay what you owe me?"


Sir Felix was driven to this plain expression of his demand by the impassibility of his debtor.


Here was a man who did not pay his debts of honour, who did not even propose any arrangement for paying them, and who yet had the impudence to talk of not mixing up private matters with affairs of business!


There was a difficulty in answering the question, and he therefore made no answer.


continued the baronet, determined to persist now that he had commenced the attack.

continued the baronet, determined to persist.


There was a little crowd of other men in the room, and the conversation about the shares had been commenced in an under-tone. These two last questions Sir Felix had asked in a whisper, but his countenance showed plainly that he was speaking in anger.

There was a little crowd of other men in the room, and he asked these questions in a whisper, but he was plainly angry.


"I'm not going to talk about it here."
"Not going to talk about it here?"
"No. This is a public room."

"I'm not going to talk about it here, in a public room."


"I am going to talk about it," said Sir Felix, raising his voice.


"Will any fellow come up-stairs and play a game of billiards?"

"Will any fellow come upstairs and play a game of billiards?"


said Miles Grendall rising from his chair.

said Miles Grendall, rising from his chair.


Then he walked slowly out of the room, leaving Sir Felix to take what revenge he pleased.


For a moment Sir Felix thought that he would expose the transaction to the whole room; but he was afraid, thinking that Miles Grendall was a more popular man than himself.

For a moment Sir Felix considered exposing the transaction to the whole room; but he was afraid, thinking that Miles Grendall was a more popular man than himself.


It was Sunday night; but not the less were the gamblers assembled in the card-room at about eleven.

The gamblers were assembled in the card-room at eleven.


Dolly Longestaffe was there, and with him the two lords, and Sir Felix, and Miles Grendall of course, and, I regret to say, a much better man than any of them, Paul Montague.

Dolly Longestaffe was there, and with him the two lords, and Sir Felix, and Miles Grendall, and, I regret to say, Paul Montague.


Sir Felix had doubted much as to the propriety of joining the party.

Sir Felix had doubted whether he should join the party.


What was the use of playing with a man who seemed by general consent to be liberated from any obligation to pay?

What was the use of playing with a man who seemed to feel no obligation to pay?


But then if he did not play with him, where should he find another gambling table?

But then where should he find another gaming table?


They began with whist, but soon laid that aside and devoted themselves to loo. The least respected man in that confraternity was Grendall, and yet it was in compliance with the persistency of his suggestion that they gave up the nobler game.

They began with whist, but soon switched to loo at Grendall's repeated suggestions.


"Let's stick to whist; I like cutting out," said Grasslough.

"Let's stick to whist," said Grasslough.


"It's much more jolly having nothing to do now and then; one can always bet," said Dolly shortly afterwards.


"I hate loo," said Sir Felix in answer to a third application.


"I like whist best," said Nidderdale, "but I'll play anything anybody likes;--pitch and toss if you please."

"I like whist best," said Nidderdale, "but I'll play anything anybody likes."


But Miles Grendall had his way, and loo was the game.


At about two o'clock Grendall was the only winner.


The play had not been very high, but nevertheless he had won largely.


Whenever a large pool had collected itself he swept it into his garners.


The men opposed to him hardly grudged him this stroke of luck. He had hitherto been unlucky; and they were able to pay him with his own paper, which was so valueless that they parted with it without a pang.

His opponents did not grudge him his unusual luck; and they were able to pay him with his own paper, which was so valueless that they parted with it without a pang.


Even Dolly Longestaffe seemed to have a supply of it.


The only man there not so furnished was Montague, and while the sums won were quite small he was allowed to pay with cash.

The only man without any of his I.O.U.s was Montague, and since the sums won were quite small he paid with cash.


But to Sir Felix it was frightful to see ready money going over to Miles Grendall, as under no circumstances could it be got back from him.

But to Sir Felix it was frightful to see ready money going over to Miles Grendall.


"Montague," he said, "just change these for the time.

"Montague," he said, "just change these."


I'll take them back, if you still have them when we've done."


And he handed a lot of Miles's paper across the table. The result of course would be that Felix would receive so much real money, and that Miles would get back more of his own worthless paper.

And he handed a lot of Miles's paper across the table, so that he would receive so much real money, and Miles would get back more of his own worthless paper.


To Montague it would make no difference, and he did as he was asked;--or rather was preparing to do so, when Miles interfered.

Paul Montague was about to do as he was asked, when Miles interfered.


On what principle of justice could Sir Felix come between him and another man?


"I don't understand this kind of thing," he said.


"When I win from you, Carbury, I'll take my I. O. U.

"When I win from you, Carbury," he said, "I'll take my I.O.U.


"But I won't have them handed about the table to be changed."


"Pay them yourself, then," said Sir Felix, laying a handful down on the table.


"Don't let's have a row," said Lord Nidderdale.


"Carbury is always making a row," said Grasslough.


"I don't make more row than anybody else; but I do say that as we have such a lot of these things, and as we all know that we don't get cash for them as we want it, Grendall shouldn't take money and walk off with it."

"I don't make more row than anybody else; but I do say that as we have such a lot of these things, Grendall shouldn't take money and walk off with it."


"And why should you be entitled to Montague's money more than any of us?"

"And why should you be entitled to Montague's money?"


The matter was debated, and was thus decided. It was not to be allowed that Miles's paper should be negotiated at the table in the manner that Sir Felix had attempted to adopt.

The matter was debated; and it was decided that Miles's paper should not be negotiated at the table in this way.


But Mr. Grendall pledged his honour that when they broke up the party he would apply any money that he might have won to the redemption of his I. O. U.

But Mr. Grendall pledged his honour that when they broke up the party he would give any money that he might have won towards the paying of his I.O.U.


's, paying a regular percentage to the holders of them.


He knew that their condition at six or seven in the morning would not be favourable to such commercial accuracy,--which indeed would require an accountant to effect it; and he felt sure that Miles, if still a winner, would in truth walk off with the ready money.

He knew that by six or seven in the morning they would need an accountant to work that out; and he felt sure that Miles would simply walk off with the money.


For a considerable time he did not speak, and became very moderate in his play, tossing his cards about, almost always losing, but losing a minimum, and watching the board.

For a considerable time he did not speak, and became very moderate in his play, losing a minimum, and watching the board.


He was sitting next to Grendall, and he thought that he observed that his neighbour moved his chair farther and farther away from him, and nearer to Dolly Longestaffe, who was next to him on the other side.

He was sitting next to Grendall, and he thought that he observed that his neighbour moved his chair farther and farther away from him.


This went on for an hour, during which Grendall still won,--and won heavily from Paul Montague.

This went on for an hour, during which Grendall still won - and won heavily from Paul Montague.


"I never saw a fellow have such a run of luck in my life," said Grasslough.

"I never saw a fellow have such a run of luck," said Grasslough.


"You've had two trumps dealt to you every hand almost since we began!"


"Ever so many hands I haven't played at all," said Miles.


"You've always won when I've played," said Dolly.


"You oughtn't to begrudge me one run of luck, when I've lost so much," said Miles, who, since he began, had destroyed paper counters of his own making, supposed to represent considerably above 1,000, and had also,--which was of infinitely greater concern to him,--received an amount of ready money which was quite a godsend to him.

"You oughtn't to begrudge me one run of luck, when I've lost so much," said Miles, who by now had destroyed his own papers to the amount of 1,000, and had also received an amount of ready money which was a godsend to him.


"I hate all this row about winning and losing.


Sir Felix, however, hardly spoke at all, played very little, and watched Miles Grendall without seeming to watch him.

Sir Felix, however, hardly spoke, and watched Miles Grendall.


At last he felt certain that he saw a card go into the man's sleeve, and remembered at the moment that the winner had owed his success to a continued run of aces.

At last he felt certain that he saw a card go into the man's sleeve.


He was tempted to rush at once upon the player, and catch the card on his person.

He was tempted to rush at once upon him, and catch the card on his person.


Grendall was a big man; and where would he be if there should be no card there?

But Grendall was a big man; and what if there should be no card there?


And then, in the scramble, there would certainly be at any rate a doubt.


And he knew that the men around him would be most unwilling to believe such an accusation.

And the men around him would be most unwilling to believe such an accusation.


Grasslough was Grendall's friend, and Nidderdale and Dolly Longestaffe would infinitely rather be cheated than suspect any one of their own set of cheating them.

Grasslough was Grendall's friend, and Nidderdale and Dolly Longestaffe would rather be cheated than suspect one of their own set of cheating them.


He feared both the violence of the man he should accuse, and also the impassive good humour of the others.


He let that opportunity pass by, again watched, and again saw the card abstracted.

So Felix let that opportunity pass by, again watched, and again saw the card abstracted.


Thrice he saw it, till it was wonderful to him that others also should not see it.

Thrice he saw it, till it was amazing to him that others did not.


As often as the deal came round, the man did it.


Felix watched more closely, and was certain that in each round the man had an ace at least once.

He watched more closely, and was certain that in each round the man had an ace at least once.


It seemed to him that nothing could be easier.


At last he pleaded a headache, got up, and went away, leaving the others playing.


He had lost nearly a thousand pounds, but it had been all in paper.


"There's something the matter with that fellow," said Grasslough.


"There's always something the matter with him, I think," said Miles.

"There's always something the matter with him," said Miles.


"He is so awfully greedy about his money."


Miles had become somewhat triumphant in his success.


"The less said about that, Grendall, the better," said Nidderdale.


"We have put up with a good deal, you know, and he has put up with as much as anybody."

"We have all put up with a good deal, you know."


Miles was cowed at once, and went on dealing without manoeuvring a card on that hand.

Miles was cowed, and dealt without manoeuvring a card on that hand.


The story she had heard seemed to be almost too awful to be true,--even about any one else.


The man had come to her, and had asked her to be his wife,--and yet at that very moment was living in habits of daily intercourse with another woman whom he had promised to marry!


And then, too, his courtship with her had been so graceful, so soft, so modest, and yet so long continued!

Paul's courtship had been so graceful, so soft, so modest, and so long continued!


Though he had been slow in speech, she had known since their first meeting how he regarded her!


The whole state of his mind had, she had thought, been visible to her,--had been intelligible, gentle, and affectionate.

The whole state of his mind had, she had thought, been visible to her - gentle and affectionate.


He had been aware of her friends' feeling, and had therefore hesitated.

He had been aware of her friends' feeling, and had therefore hesitated to declare himself.


He had kept himself from her because he had owed so much to friendship.


And yet his love had not been the less true, and had not been less dear to poor Hetta.

And yet his love had not been the less true.


She had waited, sure that it would come,--having absolute confidence in his honour and love.

Poor Hetta had waited, having absolute confidence in his honour and love.


And now she was told that this man had been playing a game so base, and at the same time so foolish, that she could find not only no excuse but no possible cause for it.

And now she was told that this man had been playing a game so base, and so foolish, that she could find no possible cause for it.


It was not like any story she had heard before of man's faithlessness.


Though she was wretched and sore at heart she swore to herself that she would not believe it.


She knew that her mother would write to Roger Carbury,--but she knew also that nothing more would be said about the letter till the answer should come.

She knew that her mother would write to Roger Carbury.


Nor could she turn anywhere else for comfort.


She did not dare to appeal to Paul himself.


As regarded him, for the present she could only rely on the assurance, which she continued to give herself, that she would not believe a word of the story that had been told her.


But there was other wretchedness besides her own.


She had undertaken to give Marie Melmotte's message to her brother. She had done so, and she must now let Marie have her brother's reply.

She had given Marie Melmotte's message to her brother, and she must now let Marie have her brother's reply.


That might be told in a very few words--"Everything is over!"

That might be told in a very few words - "Everything is over!"


"I want to call upon Miss Melmotte, if you'll let me," she said to her mother at breakfast.

"I want to call upon Miss Melmotte," she said to her mother at breakfast.


"Why should you want to see Miss Melmotte?


I have a message to take to her,--from Felix."


She wanted to know if all that was over.


Whether he said so or not, it would be so.


They could never be married now;--could they, mamma?"

They could never be married now; could they, mamma?"


The marriage, in Lady Carbury's mind, was no longer even desirable. She, too, was beginning to disbelieve in the Melmotte wealth, and did quite disbelieve that that wealth would come to her son, even should he succeed in marrying the daughter. It was impossible that Melmotte should forgive such offence as had now been committed.

Lady Carbury was beginning to disbelieve in the Melmotte wealth, and thought it impossible in any case that Melmotte should forgive Felix's offence.


"That, like everything else with us, has been a wretched failure.


Felix is under no obligation to them, and has taken nothing from them.


I should much doubt whether the girl will get anybody to take her now.

I doubt whether the girl will get anybody to take her now."


You can't go alone, you know," Lady Carbury added.


But Hetta said that she did not at all object to going alone as far as that. It was only just over Oxford Street.
So she went out and made her way into Grosvenor Square.

So Hetta made her way to Grosvenor Square.


She had heard, but at the time remembered nothing, of the temporary migration of the Melmottes to Bruton Street.


Seeing, as she approached the house, that there was a confusion there of carts and workmen, she hesitated.

Seeing a confusion of carts and workmen outside the house, she hesitated.


But she went on, and rang the bell at the door, which was wide open.


Within the hall the pilasters and trophies, the wreaths and the banners, which three or four days since had been built up with so much trouble, were now being pulled down and hauled away.

Within the hall, the pilasters, wreaths and banners, which had been built up with so much trouble, were now being pulled down and hauled away.


And amidst the ruins Melmotte himself was standing.

Amidst the ruins Melmotte himself was standing.


He was now a member of Parliament, and was to take his place that night in the House.


Nothing, at any rate, should prevent that.


It might be but for a short time;--but it should be written in the history of his life that he had sat in the British House of Commons as member for Westminster.

It might be only for a short time; but it should be written in the story of his life that he had sat in the House of Commons as member for Westminster.


At the present moment he was careful to show himself everywhere.

At present he was careful to show himself everywhere.


It was now noon, and he had already been into the City. At this moment he was talking to the contractor for the work,--having just propitiated that man by a payment which would hardly have been made so soon but for the necessity which these wretched stories had entailed upon him of keeping up his credit for the possession of money.

That morning he had already been into the City, and he was now propitiating the contractor about payment.


Hetta timidly asked one of the workmen whether Miss Melmotte was there.


said Melmotte coming forward, and just touching his hat.


"May I be allowed to tell her who was asking after her?"


At the present moment Melmotte was not unreasonably suspicious about his daughter.


"I am Miss Carbury," said Hetta in a very low voice.


"Oh, indeed;--Miss Carbury!--the sister of Sir Felix Carbury?"


There was something in the tone of the man's voice which grated painfully on Hetta's ears,--but she answered the question.


May I be permitted to ask whether--you have any business with my daughter?"

May I ask whether you have any business with my daughter?"


The story was a hard one to tell, with all the workmen around her, in the midst of the lumber, with the coarse face of the suspicious man looking down upon her; but she did tell it very simply.

The story was a hard one to tell; but she did tell it very simply.


She had come with a message from her brother.


There had been something between her brother and Miss Melmotte, and her brother had felt that it would be best that he should acknowledge that it must be all over.

There had been something between her brother and Miss Melmotte, and her brother had felt that it would be best that he should acknowledge that it must all be over.


"I wonder whether that is true," said Melmotte, looking at her out of his great coarse eyes, with his eyebrows knit, with his hat on his head and his hands in his pockets.

"I wonder whether that is true," said Melmotte, with his eyebrows knit.


Hetta, not knowing how, at the moment, to repudiate the suspicion expressed, was silent.


"Because, you know, there has been a deal of falsehood and double dealing.


Sir Felix has behaved infamously; yes,--by G----, infamously.


A day or two before my daughter started, he gave me a written assurance that the whole thing was over, and now he sends you here.


How am I to know what you are really after?"


"I have come because I thought I could do some good," she said, trembling with anger and fear.


"I was speaking to your daughter at your party."


It may be as you say, but how is one to tell?


When one has been deceived like that, one is apt to be suspicious, Miss Carbury."


Here was one who had spent his life in lying to the world, and who was in his very heart shocked at the atrocity of a man who had lied to him!


"You are not plotting another journey to Liverpool;--are you?"

You are not plotting another journey to Liverpool; are you?


The insult was too much, but alone, unsupported, she did not know how to give him back scorn for scorn.


At last he proposed to take her across to Bruton Street himself, and at his bidding she walked by his side.

I will take you across to Bruton Street to see her."
At his bidding she walked by his side.


"If you suspect me, Mr. Melmotte, I had better not see her at all.


It is only that there may no longer be any doubt."


But I have told you, and you can say it for me.


If you please, I think I will go home now."


But Melmotte knew that his daughter would not believe him on such a subject.


And though Melmotte himself found it difficult to trust anybody, he thought that there was more possible good than evil to be expected from the proposed interview.


"I don't suppose she's such a fool as to try that kind of thing again."


Then the door in Bruton Street was opened, and Hetta, repenting her mission, found herself almost pushed into the hall.

The door in Bruton Street was opened, and Hetta found herself almost pushed into the hall.


She was bidden to follow Melmotte up-stairs, and was left alone in the drawing-room, as she thought, for a long time.

She was left alone in the drawing-room for a long time.


Then the door was slowly opened and Marie crept into the room.


"Miss Carbury," she said, "this is so good of you,--so good of you!

"Miss Carbury," she said, "this is so good of you!


and Marie, sitting down by the stranger, took her hand and encircled her waist.

and Marie, sitting down, took her hand and encircled her waist.


"Mr. Melmotte has told you why I have come."


To poor Hetta such an announcement as this was horrible.

To poor Hetta this announcement was horrible.


He thinks I ought to do just what he tells me, as though my very soul were not my own.

"He thinks I ought to do just what he tells me, as though my soul were not my own.


Hetta had not come there to preach disobedience, but could not fail to remember at the moment that she was not disposed to obey her mother in an affair of the same kind.


Hetta's message was to be conveyed in three words, and when those were told, there was nothing more to be said.


"Is that his message, Miss Carbury?" Hetta nodded her head. "Is that all?"


The other night you told me to bid him send you word.


I gave him your message, and I have brought back the answer.


My brother, you know, has no income of his own;--nothing at all."

My brother, you know, has no income - nothing at all."


"But I have," said Marie with eagerness.


If papa treats me badly, I can give it to my husband.


All the people that one hears of that are really true to their loves never find anything impossible.


She paused, but Hetta could not answer the question.


If you know I think you ought to tell me."


"Miss Melmotte--" began poor Hetta very slowly.

"Miss Melmotte-" began poor Hetta very slowly.


You said you would love me;--did you not?


And I'll tell you, though you must not tell anybody again;--I have no real mother.

And I'll tell you, though you must not tell anybody: I have no real mother.


Madame Melmotte is not my mamma, though papa chooses that it should be thought so."


All this she whispered, with rapid words, almost into Hetta's ear.


The new friend, round whom Marie still had her arm, shuddered as she heard this.


When he boxes and thumps me I always turn and gnash my teeth at him.

When he thumps me I turn and gnash my teeth at him.


Can you wonder that I want to have a friend?


Can you be surprised that I should be always thinking of my lover?


But,--if he doesn't love me, what am I to do then?"

But if he doesn't love me, what am I to do then?"


"I don't know what I am to say," ejaculated Hetta amidst her sobs.


Whether the girl was good or bad, to be sought or to be avoided, there was so much tragedy in her position that Hetta's heart was melted with sympathy.


"I wonder whether you love anybody, and whether he loves you," said Marie.


Hetta certainly had not come there to talk of her own affairs, and made no reply to this.


"I suppose you won't tell me about yourself."


"I wish I could tell you something for your own comfort."

"I wish I could tell you something for your comfort."


Why should not we walk out of the house, and be married any way?

Why should we not walk out of the house, and be married anyway?


Papa could only turn me out of his house.


It seemed to Hetta that even listening to such a proposition amounted to falsehood,--to that guilt of which Mr. Melmotte had dared to suppose that she could be capable.


Indeed I cannot listen to it. My brother is sure that he cannot--cannot--"

"Indeed my brother is sure that he cannot - cannot-"


There came over the face of the other girl a stern hard look, as though she had resolved at the moment to throw away from her all soft womanly things. And she relaxed her hold on Hetta's waist.

There came over the face of the other girl a stern hard look, and she relaxed her hold on Hetta's waist.


"Oh, my dear, I do not mean to be cruel, but you ask me for the truth."

"Oh, my dear, I do not mean to be cruel, but you asked me for the truth."


"What liars they are, what brutes;--what wretches!

"What liars they are, what brutes; what wretches!


That other man never said that he loved me.


Hetta could hardly say that her brother was incapable of such love as Marie expected, but she knew that it was so.


"It is better that you should think of him no more."


If you had loved a man and told him of it, and agreed to be his wife and done as I have, could you bear to be told to think of him no more,--just as though you had got rid of a servant or a horse?

If you had loved a man and agreed to be his wife, could you bear to be told to think of him no more?


I'll marry that other man to spite him, and then, when he finds that we are rich, he'll be broken-hearted."


Tell him,--tell him, that I hate him, and that if I ever meet him, I will look at him so that he shall never forget it.


I could,--oh!--you do not know what I could do.


Tell me;--did he tell you to say that he did not love me?"

Did he tell you to say that he did not love me?"


But did he say that I was to be told that he did not love me?"


Tell him that I say that he is a false-hearted liar, and that I trample him under my foot."


Marie as she said this thrust her foot upon the ground as though that false one were in truth beneath it,--and spoke aloud, as though regardless who might hear her.


They are all bad, but he is the worst of all.


He might have beaten me and reviled me, and I could have borne it.


But to think that he was a liar all the time;--that I can't bear."

But to think that he was a liar all the time; that I can't bear."


Hetta kissed her, tried to comfort her, and left her sobbing on the sofa.


Later in the day, two or three hours after Miss Carbury had gone, Marie Melmotte, who had not shown herself at luncheon, walked into Madame Melmotte's room, and thus declared her purpose. "You can tell papa that I will marry Lord Nidderdale whenever he pleases."

Two or three hours later, Marie Melmotte walked into Madame Melmotte's room, and declared: "You can tell papa that I will marry Lord Nidderdale whenever he pleases."


On hearing this Madame Melmotte expressed herself to be delighted. "Your papa," said she, "will be very glad to hear that you have thought better of this at last.

"Your papa will be very glad to hear it," said Madame Melmotte.


Lord Nidderdale is, I am sure, a very good young man."


"Yes," continued Marie, boiling over with passion as she spoke.


"I'll marry Lord Nidderdale, or that horrid Mr. Grendall who is worse than all the others, or his old fool of a father,--or the sweeper at the crossing,--or the black man that waits at table, or anybody else that he chooses to pick up.

"I'll marry Lord Nidderdale, or that horrid Mr. Grendall, or his old fool of a father - or the sweeper at the crossing, or anybody else that he chooses.


I don't care who it is the least in the world.


But I'll lead him such a life afterwards!


I'll make Lord Nidderdale repent the hour he saw me!


And then, having thus entrusted her message to Madame Melmotte, Marie left the room.

And having entrusted this message to Madame Melmotte, Marie left the room.


During the last six weeks Lady Carbury had lived a life of very mixed depression and elevation.

During the last six weeks Lady Carbury had lived a life of mixed depression and elevation.


Her great work had come out,--the "Criminal Queens,"--and had been very widely reviewed.

Her "Criminal Queens" had come out, and had been widely reviewed.


In this matter it had been by no means all pleasure, in as much as many very hard words had been said of her.

However, many hard words had been said of her.


In spite of the dear friendship between herself and Mr. Alf, one of Mr. Alf's most sharp-nailed subordinates had been set upon her book, and had pulled it to pieces with almost rabid malignity.

In spite of the dear friendship between herself and Mr. Alf, one of Mr. Alf's most sharp-nailed subordinates had been set upon her book, and had pulled it to pieces with rabid malignity.


One would have thought that so slight a thing could hardly have been worthy of such protracted attention.


Error after error was laid bare with merciless prolixity.

Error after error was laid bare without mercy.


No doubt the writer of the article must have had all history at his finger-ends, as in pointing out the various mistakes made he always spoke of the historical facts which had been misquoted, misdated, or misrepresented, as being familiar in all their bearings to every schoolboy of twelve years old.

The writer pointed out basic historical facts which had been misquoted, misdated, or misrepresented.


The writer of the criticism never suggested the idea that he himself, having been fully provided with books of reference, and having learned the art of finding in them what he wanted at a moment's notice, had, as he went on with his work, checked off the blunders without any more permanent knowledge of his own than a housekeeper has of coals when she counts so many sacks into the coal-cellar. He spoke of the parentage of one wicked ancient lady, and the dates of the frailties of another, with an assurance intended to show that an exact knowledge of all these details abided with him always.

He checked off the blunders with an assurance intended to show that he himself had an exact knowledge of all these details.


He must have been a man of vast and varied erudition, and his name was Jones.


The world knew him not, but his erudition was always there at the command of Mr. Alf,--and his cruelty.

The world knew him not, but his learning was at the command of Mr. Alf.


The greatness of Mr. Alf consisted in this, that he always had a Mr. Jones or two ready to do his work for him.

Mr. Alf always had a Mr. Jones or two ready to do his work for him.


It was a great business, this of Mr. Alf's, for he had his Jones also for philology, for science, for poetry, for politics, as well as for history, and one special Jones, extraordinarily accurate and very well posted up in his references, entirely devoted to the Elizabethan drama.

He had his Jones for science, for poetry, for politics, as well as for history, and one special Jones entirely devoted to the Elizabethan drama.


There is the review intended to sell a book,--which comes out immediately after the appearance of the book, or sometimes before it; the review which gives reputation, but does not affect the sale, and which comes a little later; the review which snuffs a book out quietly; the review which is to raise or lower the author a single peg, or two pegs, as the case may be; the review which is suddenly to make an author, and the review which is to crush him.

There is the review intended to sell a book, which comes out immediately after the book's appearance; there is the review which gives reputation, which comes a little later; the review which snuffs a book out quietly; the review which is suddenly to make an author, and the review which is to crush him.


An exuberant Jones has been known before now to declare aloud that he would crush a man, and a self-confident Jones has been known to declare that he has accomplished the deed.


Of all reviews, the crushing review is the most popular, as being the most readable.

Of all reviews, the crushing review is the most readable and the most popular.


When the rumour goes abroad that some notable man has been actually crushed,--been positively driven over by an entire Juggernaut's car of criticism till his literary body be a mere amorphous mass,--then a real success has been achieved, and the Alf of the day has done a great thing; but even the crushing of a poor Lady Carbury, if it be absolute, is effective. Such a review will not make all the world call for the "Evening Pulpit," but it will cause those who do take the paper to be satisfied with their bargain.

When the rumour goes abroad that some notable man has been crushed - been positively driven over by an entire Juggernaut of criticism - then a real success has been achieved; but even the crushing of a Lady Carbury is effective, and will cause those who buy the paper to be satisfied with their bargain.


Whenever the circulation of such a paper begins to slacken, the proprietors should, as a matter of course, admonish their Alf to add a little power to the crushing department.

Whenever the circulation of a newspaper begins to slacken, the proprietors should, as a matter of course, add a little power to the crushing department.


Lady Carbury had been crushed by the "Evening Pulpit." We may fancy that it was easy work, and that Mr. Alf's historical Mr. Jones was not forced to fatigue himself by the handling of many books of reference. The errors did lie a little near the surface; and the whole scheme of the work, with its pandering to bad tastes by pretended revelations of frequently fabulous crime, was reprobated in Mr. Jones's very best manner.

Lady Carbury had been crushed by the Evening Pulpit in Mr. Jones's very best manner.


But the poor authoress, though utterly crushed, and reduced to little more than literary pulp for an hour or two, was not destroyed.

But the poor authoress, though reduced to little more than literary pulp for an hour or two, was not destroyed.


On the following morning she went to her publishers, and was closeted for half an hour with the senior partner, Mr. Leadham.

On the following morning she went to her publishers, and met the senior partner, Mr. Leadham.


"I've got it all in black and white," she said, full of the wrong which had been done her, "and can prove him to be wrong.

"I've got it all in black and white," she said, "and can prove him to be wrong.


It was in 1522 that the man first came to Paris, and he couldn't have been her lover before that.


I got it all out of the 'Biographie Universelle.'


I'll write to Mr. Alf myself,--a letter to be published, you know."

I'll write to Mr. Alf myself - a letter to be published, you know."


"Pray don't do anything of the kind, Lady Carbury."


"I've got all the facts,--and the figures."


Mr. Leadham did not care a straw for facts or figures,--had no opinion of his own whether the lady or the reviewer were right; but he knew very well that the "Evening Pulpit" would surely get the better of any mere author in such a contention.

Mr. Leadham did not care a straw for facts or figures; but he knew very well that the Evening Pulpit would get the better of any mere author in such an argument.


"Never fight the newspapers, Lady Carbury."


Who ever yet got any satisfaction by that kind of thing?


It's their business, and you are not used to it."


It does seem so hard," said Lady Carbury, wiping hot tears from her cheeks.

It does seem so hard," said Lady Carbury, wiping tears from her cheeks.


"It won't do us the least harm, Lady Carbury."


A book of that sort couldn't hope to go on very long, you know.


The 'Breakfast Table' gave it an excellent lift, and came just at the right time.

The Breakfast Table gave it an excellent lift, just at the right time.


I rather like the notice in the 'Pulpit,' myself."

I rather like the notice in the Pulpit, myself."


said Lady Carbury, still suffering in every fibre of her self-love from the soreness produced by those Juggernaut's car-wheels.


"Anything is better than indifference, Lady Carbury.


A great many people remember simply that the book has been noticed, but carry away nothing as to the purport of the review.

A great many people remember simply that the book has been noticed.


"But to be told that I have got to learn the ABC of history,--after working as I have worked!"

"But to be told that I have got to learn the ABC of history!"


"That's a mere form of speech, Lady Carbury."


"You think the book has done pretty well?"


"Pretty well;--just about what we hoped, you know."

"Pretty well; just about what we hoped, you know."


"There'll be something coming to me, Mr. Leadham?"


Mr. Leadham sent for a ledger, and turned over a few pages and ran up a few figures, and then scratched his head.

Mr. Leadham sent for a ledger, and ran up a few figures, and then scratched his head.


There would be something, but Lady Carbury was not to imagine that it could be very much.


It did not often happen that a great deal could be made by a first book.

A first book did not often make a great deal.


Nevertheless, Lady Carbury, when she left the publisher's shop, did carry a cheque with her.

Nevertheless, Lady Carbury, when she left the publisher's shop, did carry a cheque.


She was smartly dressed and looked very well, and had smiled on Mr. Leadham.

She was smartly dressed, and had smiled on Mr. Leadham.


Mr. Leadham, too, was no more than man, and had written--a small cheque.

Mr. Leadham was no more than man, and had written a small cheque.


Mr. Alf certainly had behaved badly to her; but both Mr. Broune of the "Breakfast Table," and Mr. Booker of the "Literary Chronicle," had been true to her interests.

Mr. Alf certainly had behaved badly to her; but both Mr. Broune of the Breakfast Table, and Mr. Booker of the Literary Chronicle, had been true.


Lady Carbury had, as she promised, "done" Mr. Booker's "New Tale of a Tub" in the "Breakfast Table."

Lady Carbury had, as she promised, "done" Mr. Booker's "New Tale of a Tub" in the Breakfast Table.


That is, she had been allowed, as a reward for looking into Mr. Broune's eyes, and laying her soft hand on Mr. Broune's sleeve, and suggesting to Mr. Broune that no one understood her so well as he did, to bedaub Mr. Booker's very thoughtful book in a very thoughtless fashion,--and to be paid for her work.

That is, she had been allowed, as a reward for looking into Mr. Broune's eyes, and laying her soft hand on Mr. Broune's sleeve, to bedaub Mr. Booker's very thoughtful book in a very thoughtless fashion, and to be paid for it.


What had been said about his work in the "Breakfast Table" had been very distasteful to poor Mr. Booker.

Her review had been very distasteful to poor Mr. Booker.


It grieved his inner contemplative intelligence that such rubbish should be thrown upon him; but in his outside experience of life he knew that even the rubbish was valuable, and that he must pay for it in the manner to which he had unfortunately become accustomed.

It grieved his intelligence that such rubbish should be thrown upon him; but he knew that even the rubbish was valuable, and that he must pay for it in the usual manner.


So Mr. Booker himself wrote the article on the "Criminal Queens" in the "Literary Chronicle," knowing that what he wrote would also be rubbish.

So Mr. Booker himself reviewed "Criminal Queens" in the Literary Chronicle, knowing that what he wrote would also be rubbish.


"Considerable intimacy with the historical details of various periods."


"The literary world would be sure to hear of Lady Carbury again."


The composition of the review, together with the reading of the book, consumed altogether perhaps an hour of Mr. Booker's time.

The writing of the review, together with the reading of the book, took him perhaps an hour.


He made no attempt to cut the pages, but here and there read those that were open.


He had done this kind of thing so often, that he knew well what he was about.

He had done this kind of thing so often that he knew what he was about.


He could have reviewed such a book when he was three parts asleep.


When the work was done he threw down his pen and uttered a deep sigh. He felt it to be hard upon him that he should be compelled, by the exigencies of his position, to descend so low in literature; but it did not occur to him to reflect that in fact he was not compelled, and that he was quite at liberty to break stones, or to starve honestly, if no other honest mode of carrying on his career was open to him.

When the work was done he threw down his pen and uttered a deep sigh, feeling it hard that he had to descend so low in literature.


"If I didn't, somebody else would," he said to himself.


But the review in the "Morning Breakfast Table" was the making of Lady Carbury's book, as far as it ever was made.

But the review in the Morning Breakfast Table was the making of Lady Carbury's book, as far as it ever was made.


Mr. Broune saw the lady after the receipt of the letter given in the first chapter of this Tale, and was induced to make valuable promises which had been fully performed.


Two whole columns had been devoted to the work, and the world had been assured that no more delightful mixture of amusement and instruction had ever been concocted than Lady Carbury's "Criminal Queens."

Two whole columns had been devoted to the work, assuring the world that no more delightful mixture of amusement and instruction had ever been concocted than Criminal Queens.


It was the very book that had been wanted for years.


It was a work of infinite research and brilliant imagination combined.


There had been no hesitation in the laying on of the paint.


At that last meeting Lady Carbury had been very soft, very handsome, and very winning; Mr. Broune had given the order with good will, and it had been obeyed in the same feeling.

At that last meeting Lady Carbury had been very soft and very handsome; Mr. Broune had given the order, and it had been obeyed.


Therefore, though the crushing had been very real, there had also been some elation; and as a net result, Lady Carbury was disposed to think that her literary career might yet be a success.

Therefore, despite the crushing, there had also been some elation; and overall Lady Carbury was disposed to think that her literary career might yet be a success.


Mr. Leadham's cheque had been for a small amount, but it might probably lead the way to something better.

The small cheque might lead to something better.


People at any rate were talking about her, and her Tuesday evenings at home were generally full.


But her literary life, and her literary successes, her flirtations with Mr. Broune, her business with Mr. Booker, and her crushing by Mr. Alf's Mr. Jones, were after all but adjuncts to that real inner life of hers of which the absorbing interest was her son.

But her literary life and successes were only adjuncts to her real inner life, of which the absorbing interest was her son.


And with regard to him too she was partly depressed, and partly elated, allowing her hopes however to dominate her fears.

About him too she was partly depressed, and partly elated.


Even the moderate reform in the young man's expenses which had been effected under dire necessity had been of late abandoned.

Any moderate reform in the young man's expenses had been abandoned.


Though he never told her anything, she became aware that during the last month of the hunting season he had hunted nearly every day.

Though he never told her anything, she became aware that during the last month of the hunting season he hunted nearly every day.


She knew, too, that he had a horse up in town.


She never saw him but once in the day, when she visited him in his bed about noon, and was aware that he was always at his club throughout the night. She knew that he was gambling, and she hated gambling as being of all pastimes the most dangerous.

She only saw him at noon, and was aware that he was always at his club throughout the night, gambling, which she hated.


But she knew that he had ready money for his immediate purposes, and that two or three tradesmen who were gifted with a peculiar power of annoying their debtors, had ceased to trouble her in Welbeck Street.

But she knew that he had ready money, and that two or three tradesmen had ceased to trouble her in Welbeck Street.


For the present, therefore, she consoled herself by reflecting that his gambling was successful.


But her elation sprung from a higher source than this.

But her elation sprung from a higher source.


From all that she could hear, she thought it likely that Felix would carry off the great prize; and then,--should he do that,--what a blessed son would he have been to her!

From all that she could hear, she thought it likely that Felix would carry off the great prize of Marie Melmotte; and then what a blessed son would he have been!


How constantly in her triumph would she be able to forget all his vices, his debts, his gambling, his late hours, and his cruel treatment of herself!

She would be able to forget all his vices, his debts, his gambling, and his cruel treatment of herself!


As she thought of it the bliss seemed to be too great for the possibility of realisation.

The bliss seemed too great to be possible.


She was taught to understand that 10,000 a year, to begin with, would be the least of it; and that the ultimate wealth might probably be such as to make Sir Felix Carbury the richest commoner in England.

She understood that 10,000 a year to start with would be the least of it; and that the ultimate wealth might make Sir Felix Carbury the richest commoner in England.


In her very heart of hearts she worshipped wealth, but desired it for him rather than for herself.

She desired it for him rather than for herself.


Then her mind ran away to baronies and earldoms, and she was lost in the coming glories of the boy whose faults had already nearly engulfed her in his own ruin.

Then her mind ran away to baronies and earldoms, and she was lost in the coming glories of the boy whose faults had nearly ruined her.


And she had another ground for elation, which comforted her much, though elation from such a cause was altogether absurd. She had discovered that her son had become a Director of the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway Company.

She had another ground for elation: her son had become a Director of the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway Company.


She must have known,--she certainly did know,--that Felix, such as he was, could not lend assistance by his work to any company or commercial enterprise in the world.


She was aware that there was some reason for such a choice hidden from the world, and which comprised and conveyed a falsehood.

She was aware that there was some reason for such a choice that was hidden from the world.


A ruined baronet of five-and-twenty, every hour of whose life since he had been left to go alone had been loaded with vice and folly,--whose egregious misconduct warranted his friends in regarding him as one incapable of knowing what principle is,--of what service could he be, that he should be made a Director?

A ruined baronet of five-and-twenty, whose life had been loaded with vice and folly - of what use could he be?


But Lady Carbury, though she knew that he could be of no service, was not at all shocked.


She was now able to speak up a little for her boy, and did not forget to send the news by post to Roger Carbury.

She was now able to speak up for her boy, and sent the news by post to Roger Carbury.


And her son sat at the same Board with Mr. Melmotte!

Her son on the same Board with Mr. Melmotte!


What an indication was this of coming triumphs!


Fisker had started, as the reader will perhaps remember, on the morning of Saturday, 19th April, leaving Sir Felix at the Club at about seven in the morning.

Fisker had departed on the 19th of April, leaving Sir Felix at the Club.


All that day his mother was unable to see him.


She found him asleep in his room at noon and again at two; and when she sought him again he had flown.


"I hope," she said, "you'll stay at home on Tuesday evening."


Hitherto she had never succeeded in inducing him to grace her evening parties by his presence.

Hitherto she had never succeeded in inducing him to attend her evening parties.


You know, mother, it is such an awful bore."


"Madame Melmotte and her daughter will be here."


"One looks such a fool carrying on that kind of thing in one's own house.


Everybody sees that it has been contrived."


And it is such a pokey, stuffy little place!"


I have given over ever expecting that you would do anything to please me.

I have given up expecting that you would do anything to please me.


I sacrifice everything for you and I do not even hope for a return.


But when I am doing everything to advance your own interests, when I am working night and day to rescue you from ruin, I think you might at any rate help a little,--not for me of course, but for yourself."

But when I am working night and day to rescue you from ruin, I think you might at any rate help a little - not for me, but for yourself."


"I don't know what you mean by working day and night.


I don't want you to work day and night."


"There is hardly a young man in London that is not thinking of this girl, and you have chances that none of them have.


I am told they are going out of town at Whitsuntide, and that she's to meet Lord Nidderdale down in the country."


"She will do as she is told,--unless she can be made to be downright in love with some one like yourself.

"She will do as she is told - unless she can be made to be in love with someone like yourself.


"If I'm to do it at all I must do it after my own fashion.

"If I'm to do it I must do it in my own way.


"Of course if you will not take the trouble to be here to see her when she comes to your own house, you cannot expect her to think that you really love her."

"Of course if you will not take the trouble to see her when she comes to your own house, you cannot expect her to think that you love her."


Felix, you are so heartless and so cruel that I sometimes think I will make up my mind to let you go your own way and never to speak to you again.

Felix, you are so heartless that I sometimes think I will let you go your own way and never speak to you again.


My friends will be here about ten;--I should say from ten till twelve.


I think you should be here to receive her, not later than ten."


"If I can get my dinner out of my throat by that time, I will come."

"If I can get my dinner by that time, I will come."


When the Tuesday came, the over-driven young man did contrive to get his dinner eaten, and his glass of brandy sipped, and his cigar smoked, and perhaps his game of billiards played, so as to present himself in his mother's drawing-room not long after half-past ten.

When the Tuesday came, the young man did contrive to get his dinner eaten, and his glass of brandy sipped, so as to present himself in his mother's drawing-room not long after half-past ten.


Madame Melmotte and her daughter were already there,--and many others, of whom the majority were devoted to literature.

Madame Melmotte and her daughter were already there, and many others.


Among them Mr. Alf was in the room, and was at this very moment discussing Lady Carbury's book with Mr. Booker.

Mr. Alf was discussing Lady Carbury's book with Mr. Booker.


He had been quite graciously received, as though he had not authorised the crushing.

He had been graciously received, as though he had not authorised the crushing.


Lady Carbury had given him her hand with that energy of affection with which she was wont to welcome her literary friends, and had simply thrown one glance of appeal into his eyes as she looked into his face,--as though asking him how he had found it in his heart to be so cruel to one so tender, so unprotected, so innocent as herself.

Lady Carbury had given him her hand, and had simply thrown one appealing glance into his eyes - as though asking how he had found it in his heart to be so cruel to one so unprotected as herself.


"I cannot stand this kind of thing," said Mr. Alf, to Mr. Booker.

"I cannot stand this kind of thing," said Mr. Alf to Mr. Booker.


"There's a regular system of touting got abroad, and I mean to trample it down."


"If you're strong enough," said Mr. Booker.


I'm strong enough, at any rate, to show that I'm not afraid to lead the way.


I've the greatest possible regard for our friend here;--but her book is a bad book, a thoroughly rotten book, an unblushing compilation from half-a-dozen works of established reputation, in pilfering from which she has almost always managed to misapprehend her facts, and to muddle her dates.

I've the greatest possible regard for our friend here; but her book is a thoroughly rotten book, an unblushing compilation from half-a-dozen other works, with misunderstood facts and muddled dates.


Then she writes to me and asks me to do the best I can for her.


Mr. Alf knew very well what Mr. Booker had done, and Mr. Booker was aware of the extent of Mr. Alf's knowledge.

Mr. Alf knew very well what Mr. Booker had done, and Mr. Booker was aware of this.


"What you say is all very right," said Mr. Booker; "only you want a different kind of world to live in."

"What you say is right," said Mr. Booker; "only you want a different kind of world to live in."


"Just so;--and therefore we must make it different.

"Just so; and therefore we must make it different.


I wonder how our friend Broune felt when he saw that his critic had declared that the 'Criminal Queens' was the greatest historical work of modern days."

I wonder how our friend Broune felt when he saw that his critic had declared that the Criminal Queens was the greatest historical work of modern days."


There isn't much in the book, certainly, as far as I have looked at it.

There isn't much in the book, certainly.


I should have said that violent censure or violent praise would be equally thrown away upon it.


One doesn't want to break a butterfly on the wheel;--especially a friendly butterfly."

One doesn't want to break a butterfly on the wheel; especially a friendly butterfly."


"As to the friendship, it should be kept separate. That's my idea," said Mr. Alf, moving away.

"The friendship should be kept separate," said Mr. Alf.


"I'll never forget what you've done for me,--never!"

"I'll never forget what you've done for me - never!"


said Lady Carbury, holding Mr. Broune's hand for a moment, as she whispered to him.

said Lady Carbury, holding Mr. Broune's hand.


"Nothing more than my duty," said he, smiling.


"I hope you'll learn to know that a woman can really be grateful," she replied.

"I hope you'll learn to know that a woman can really be grateful."


Then she let go his hand and moved away to some other guest.

She let go his hand and moved away to some other guest.


There was a dash of true sincerity in what she had said.


Of enduring gratitude it may be doubtful whether she was capable: but at this moment she did feel that Mr. Broune had done much for her, and that she would willingly make him some return of friendship.

At that moment she did feel that she would willingly make Mr. Broune some return of friendship.


Of any feeling of another sort, of any turn at the moment towards flirtation, of any idea of encouragement to a gentleman who had once acted as though he were her lover, she was absolutely innocent.

Of any flirtation, she was absolutely innocent.


She had forgotten that little absurd episode in their joint lives.

She had forgotten that little absurd episode in their lives.


She was at any rate too much in earnest at the present moment to think about it.


He could not quite make up his mind whether the lady was or was not in love with him,--or whether, if she were, it was incumbent on him to indulge her;--and if so, in what manner.

He could not make up his mind whether the lady was in love with him - and if she were, whether he ought to indulge her; and if so, in what manner.


Then as he looked after her, he told himself that she was certainly very beautiful, that her figure was distinguished, that her income was certain, and her rank considerable.

She was certainly very beautiful, her figure was distinguished, her income certain, and her rank considerable.


Nevertheless, Mr. Broune knew of himself that he was not a marrying man.

Nevertheless, Mr. Broune knew that he was not a marrying man.


He had made up his mind that marriage would not suit his business, and he smiled to himself as he reflected how impossible it was that such a one as Lady Carbury should turn him from his resolution.

He had made up his mind that marriage would not suit his business, and Lady Carbury would not turn him from his resolution.


"I am so glad that you have come to-night, Mr. Alf," Lady Carbury said to the high-minded editor of the "Evening Pulpit."

"I am so glad that you have come tonight, Mr. Alf," Lady Carbury said to the high-minded editor of the Evening Pulpit.


"Am I not always glad to come, Lady Carbury?"


But I feared,--"
"Feared what, Lady Carbury?"
"That you might perhaps have felt that I should be unwilling to welcome you after,--well, after the compliments of last Thursday."

But I feared that you might perhaps have felt that I should be unwilling to welcome you after - well, after the compliments of last Thursday."


"I never allow the two things to join themselves together.


You see, Lady Carbury, I don't write all these things myself."

"Lady Carbury, I don't write all these things myself."


What a bitter creature you would be if you did."


"To tell the truth, I never write any of them.


Of course we endeavour to get people whose judgments we can trust, and if, as in this case, it should unfortunately happen that the judgment of our critic should be hostile to the literary pretensions of a personal friend of my own, I can only lament the accident, and trust that my friend may have spirit enough to divide me as an individual from that Mr. Alf who has the misfortune to edit a newspaper."

Of course we endeavour to get critics whose judgments we can trust, and if, as in this case, our critic's judgment is unfortunately hostile to a friend's book, I can only lament the accident, and trust that my friend may have spirit enough to divide me as an individual from Mr. Alf the editor."


"It is because you have so trusted me that I am obliged to you," said Lady Carbury with her sweetest smile.


She did not believe a word that Mr. Alf had said to her.

She did not believe a word that Mr. Alf said.


She thought, and thought rightly, that Mr. Alf's Mr. Jones had taken direct orders from his editor, as to his treatment of the "Criminal Queens."

She thought, and thought rightly, that Mr. Alf's critic had taken direct orders from his editor as to his treatment of the "Criminal Queens."


But she remembered that she intended to write another book, and that she might perhaps conquer even Mr. Alf by spirit and courage under her present infliction.

But she intended to write another book, and thought she might perhaps conquer even Mr. Alf by her courage.


It was Lady Carbury's duty on the occasion to say pretty things to everybody.

It was Lady Carbury's duty to say pretty things to everybody.


But in the midst of it all she was ever thinking of her son and Marie Melmotte, and she did at last venture to separate the girl from her mother.

But in the midst of it all she was thinking of her son and Marie Melmotte, and she did at last venture to separate the girl from her mother.


Marie herself was not unwilling to be talked to by Sir Felix.

Marie was not unwilling to be talked to by Sir Felix.


He had never bullied her, had never seemed to scorn her; and then he was so beautiful!


She, poor girl, bewildered among various suitors, utterly confused by the life to which she was introduced, troubled by fitful attacks of admonition from her father, who would again, fitfully, leave her unnoticed for a week at a time; with no trust in her pseudo-mother--for poor Marie had in truth been born before her father had been a married man, and had never known what was her own mother's fate,--with no enjoyment in her present life, had come solely to this conclusion, that it would be well for her to be taken away somewhere by somebody.

She, poor girl, bewildered by suitors, utterly confused by the life to which she was introduced, troubled by fitful admonitions from her father, who would leave her unnoticed for a week at a time; with no trust in her pseudo-mother - for poor Marie had in truth been born before her father had married, and had never known her own mother's fate - she had concluded that it would be well for her to be taken away somewhere by somebody.


Many a varied phase of life had already come in her way.


She could just remember the dirty street in the German portion of New York in which she had been born and had lived for the first four years of her life, and could remember too the poor, hardly-treated woman who had been her mother.

She could just remember the dirty street in the German portion of New York where she had lived for her first four years, and could remember too the poor woman who had been her mother.


She could remember being at sea, and her sickness,--but could not quite remember whether that woman had been with her.

She could remember being at sea, and her sickness, but could not quite remember whether that woman had been with her.


Then she had run about the streets of Hamburgh, and had sometimes been very hungry, sometimes in rags,--and she had a dim memory of some trouble into which her father had fallen, and that he was away from her for a time.

Then she had run about the streets of Hamburg, sometimes very hungry, sometimes in rags - and she had a dim memory that her father had fallen into some trouble, and was away for a time.


She had up to the present splendid moment her own convictions about that absence, but she had never mentioned them to a human being.


Then her father had married her present mother in Francfort.

Then her father had married her present mother in Frankfurt.


That she could remember distinctly, as also the rooms in which she was then taken to live, and the fact that she was told that from henceforth she was to be a Jewess.

She could remember that distinctly, and also the fact that she was told that from henceforth she was to be a Jewess.


But there had soon come another change. They went from Francfort to Paris, and there they were all Christians.

But soon they went to Paris, where they were all Christians.


From that time they had lived in various apartments in the French capital, but had always lived well. Sometimes there had been a carriage, sometimes there had been none.

They had lived in various apartments in the French capital, sometimes with a carriage, sometimes not.


And then there came a time in which she was grown woman enough to understand that her father was being much talked about.

She had realised that her father was being much talked about.


Her father to her had always been alternately capricious and indifferent rather than cross or cruel, but just at this period he was cruel both to her and to his wife.

He had always been capricious and indifferent rather than cruel, but at this period he was cruel both to her and to his wife.


And Madame Melmotte would weep at times and declare that they were all ruined.


Then, at a moment, they burst out into sudden splendour at Paris.


There was an hotel, with carriages and horses almost unnumbered;--and then there came to their rooms a crowd of dark, swarthy, greasy men, who were entertained sumptuously; but there were few women.

There was a hotel, with carriages and horses, and a crowd of dark, greasy men, who were entertained sumptuously in their rooms; but few women.


At this time Marie was hardly nineteen, and young enough in manner and appearance to be taken for seventeen.


Suddenly again she was told that she was to be taken to London, and the migration had been effected with magnificence. She was first taken to Brighton, where the half of an hotel had been hired, and had then been brought to Grosvenor Square, and at once thrown into the matrimonial market.

Suddenly again she was told that she was to be taken to London; and she had been brought to Grosvenor Square, and at once thrown into the matrimonial market.


No part of her life had been more disagreeable to her, more frightful, than the first months in which she had been trafficked for by the Nidderdales and Grassloughs.

No part of her life had been more disagreeable, more frightful, than the first months in which she had been trafficked for by the Nidderdales and Grassloughs.


She had been too frightened, too much of a coward to object to anything proposed to her, but still had been conscious of a desire to have some hand in her own future destiny.

She had been too frightened to object, but still had wished to have some hand in her own future destiny.


Luckily for her, the first attempts at trafficking with the Nidderdales and Grassloughs had come to nothing; and at length she was picking up a little courage, and was beginning to feel that it might be possible to prevent a disposition of herself which did not suit her own tastes.

Luckily for her, the first attempts at trafficking with the Nidderdales and Grassloughs had come to nothing; and she was picking up a little courage, and was beginning to feel that it might be possible to prevent an alliance which she did not like.


She was also beginning to think that there might be a disposition of herself which would suit her own tastes.

She was also beginning to think that there might be one which would suit her own tastes.


Felix Carbury was standing leaning against a wall, and she was seated on a chair close to him.

Felix Carbury was leaning against a wall, and she was seated on a chair close to him.


"I love you better than anyone in the world," he said, speaking plainly enough for her to hear, perhaps indifferent as to the hearing of others.

"I love you better than anyone in the world," he said.


"Oh, Sir Felix, pray do not talk like that."


Now I want you to say whether you will be my wife."


"You may if you like," she replied in a very low whisper.


It was thus that the greatest heiress of the day, the greatest heiress of any day if people spoke truly, gave herself away to a man without a penny.

It was thus that the greatest heiress of the day gave herself away to a man without a penny.


That evening Montague was surprised to receive at the Beargarden a note from Mr. Melmotte, which had been brought thither by a messenger from the city,--who had expected to have an immediate answer, as though Montague lived at the club.

That evening Montague was surprised to receive at the Beargarden this note from Mr. Melmotte.


If not inconvenient would you call on me in Grosvenor Square to-morrow, Sunday, at half past eleven.

If convenient would you call on me in Grosvenor Square tomorrow, Sunday, at half past eleven.


If you are going to church, perhaps you will make an appointment in the afternoon; if not, the morning will suit best.


I want to have a few words with you in private about the Company.


My messenger will wait for answer if you are at the club.

My messenger will wait for an answer if you are at the club.


Paul immediately wrote to say that he would call at Grosvenor Square at the hour appointed,--abandoning any intentions which he might have had in reference to Sunday morning service.

Paul immediately wrote to say that he would call at Grosvenor Square at the hour appointed.


But this was not the only letter he received that evening.


On his return to his lodgings he found a note, containing only one line, which Mrs. Hurtle had found the means of sending to him after her return from Southend.

On his return to his lodgings he found a brief note, which Mrs. Hurtle had sent him after her return from Southend.


W. H." The period of the reprieve was thus curtailed to less than a day.

W. H." His reprieve was thus curtailed to less than a day.


On the Sunday morning he breakfasted late and then walked up to Grosvenor Square, much pondering what the great man could have to say to him.

On the Sunday morning he walked up to Grosvenor Square, pondering what the great man could have to say to him.


The great man had declared himself very plainly in the Board-room,--especially plainly after the Board had risen. Paul had understood that war was declared, and had understood also that he was to fight the battle single-handed, knowing nothing of such strategy as would be required, while his antagonist was a great master of financial tactics.

In the Board-room, Paul had understood that war was declared, and that his antagonist was a master of financial tactics.


He was prepared to go to the wall in reference to his money, only hoping that in doing so he might save his character and keep the reputation of an honest man.

He was prepared to lose his money, if in doing so he might save his character and reputation.


He was quite resolved to be guided altogether by Mr. Ramsbottom, and intended to ask Mr. Ramsbottom to draw up for him such a statement as would be fitting for him to publish.

He intended to ask Mr. Ramsbottom to draw up for him a fitting statement.


But it was manifest now that Mr. Melmotte would make some proposition, and it was impossible that he should have Mr. Ramsbottom at his elbow to help him.

But it now appeared that Mr. Melmotte would make some proposition, when there was no Mr. Ramsbottom at his elbow to help him.


He had been in Melmotte's house on the night of the ball, but had contented himself after that with leaving a card. He had heard much of the splendour of the place, but remembered simply the crush and the crowd, and that he had danced there more than once or twice with Hetta Carbury.

He had been in Melmotte's house on the night of the ball, but remembered only the crush and the crowd, and that he had danced with Hetta Carbury.


When he was shown into the hall he was astonished to find that it was not only stripped, but was full of planks, and ladders, and trussels, and mortar.

When he was shown into the hall he was astonished to find that it was stripped, and full of planks, ladders and mortar.


The preparations for the great dinner had been already commenced.

The preparations for the great dinner had already commenced.


Through all this he made his way to the stairs, and was taken up to a small room on the second floor, where the servant told him that Mr. Melmotte would come to him.

He was taken up to a small room on the second floor, where the servant told him that Mr. Melmotte would come to him.


Here he waited a quarter of an hour looking out into the yard at the back.

He waited a quarter of an hour looking out into the yard.


There was not a book in the room, or even a picture with which he could amuse himself.

There was not a book in the room with which he could amuse himself.


He was beginning to think whether his own personal dignity would not be best consulted by taking his departure, when Melmotte himself, with slippers on his feet and enveloped in a magnificent dressing-gown, bustled into the room.

He was beginning to wonder whether he should leave, when Melmotte, in a magnificent dressing-gown and slippers, bustled in.


Brehgert,--from the house of Todd, Brehgert, and Goldsheiner, you know,--has just been with me. We had to settle something about the Moldavian loan. He came a quarter late, and of course he went a quarter late.

Brehgert has just been with me, about the Moldavian loan, and he came a quarter of an hour late."


And how is a man to catch a quarter of an hour?


Montague assured the great man that the delay was of no consequence.

Montague assured him that the delay was of no consequence.


"And I am so sorry to ask you into such a place as this.


I had Brehgert in my room down-stairs, and then the house is so knocked about!


We get into a furnished house a little way off in Bruton Street to-morrow. Longestaffe lets me his house for a month till this affair of the dinner is over.

We move into a furnished house in Bruton Street tomorrow - Longstaffe is letting me his house for a month till this dinner is over.


By-the-bye, Montague, if you'd like to come to the dinner, I've got a ticket I can let you have.

By-the-bye, Montague, if you'd like to come to the dinner, I've got a ticket for you.


Montague had heard of the dinner, but had perhaps heard as little of it as any man frequenting a club at the west end of London. He did not in the least want to be at the dinner, and certainly did not wish to receive any extraordinary civility from Mr. Melmotte's hands.

Montague did not in the least want to attend the dinner.


But he was very anxious to know why Mr. Melmotte should offer it.


He excused himself saying that he was not particularly fond of big dinners, and that he did not like standing in the way of other people.

He excused himself, saying that he was not fond of big dinners.


"There are ever so many people of title would give anything for a ticket.

"Ever so many people would give anything for a ticket.


You'd be astonished at the persons who have asked. We've had to squeeze in a chair on one side for the Master of the Buckhounds, and on another for the Bishop of--; I forget what bishop it is, but we had the two archbishops before.

You'd be astonished at the persons who have asked, archbishops and people of title."


They say he must come because he has something to do with getting up the missionaries for Thibet.


But I've got the ticket, if you'll have it."


This was the ticket which was to have taken in Georgiana Longestaffe as one of the Melmotte family, had not Melmotte perceived that it might be useful to him as a bribe.


"You're the only man in London then," said Melmotte, somewhat offended.


"But at any rate you'll come in the evening, and I'll have one of Madame Melmotte's tickets sent to you."

"At any rate you'll come in the evening, and I'll have one of Madame Melmotte's tickets sent to you."


Paul, not knowing how to escape, said that he would come in the evening.


"I am particularly anxious," continued he, "to be civil to those who are connected with our great Railway, and of course, in this country, your name stands first,--next to my own."

"I am particularly anxious," continued Melmotte, "to be civil to those who are connected with our great Railway, and of course, in this country, your name stands next to my own."


Then the great man paused, and Paul began to wonder whether it could be possible that he had been sent for to Grosvenor Square on a Sunday morning in order that he might be asked to dine in the same house a fortnight later.


"Have you anything special to say about the Railway?"


It is so hard to get things said at the Board.


Of course there are some there who do not understand matters."


"I doubt if there be any one there who does understand this matter," said Paul.

"I doubt if there is anyone there who does understand this matter," said Paul.


"Well, well; I am not prepared to go quite so far as that.

"Well, well; I would not go quite so far as that.


My friend Cohenlupe has had great experience in these affairs, and of course you are aware that he is in Parliament. And Lord Alfred sees farther into them than perhaps you give him credit for."

My friend Cohenlupe has had great experience in these affairs, and Lord Alfred sees farther into them than perhaps you give him credit for."


"Perhaps you don't know him quite as well as I do."


The scowl began to appear on Mr. Melmotte's brow.


Hitherto it had been banished as well as he knew how to banish it.


We didn't quite agree at the last meeting."


Unanimity is everything in the direction of such an undertaking as this.

Unanimity is everything in such an undertaking as this.


Mr. Melmotte in the ecstasy of his enthusiasm lifted up both his hands over his head.

Mr. Melmotte in his enthusiasm lifted both his hands over his head.


"Without unanimity we can do - nothing."


"Unanimity should be printed everywhere about a Board-room.


"But suppose the directors are not unanimous."


You don't want to see the thing fall to pieces!"


If you and I quarrel in that Board-room, there is no knowing the amount of evil we may do to every individual shareholder in the Company.

If you and I quarrel in that Board-room, there is no knowing the evil we may do to every shareholder in the Company.


I find the responsibility on my own shoulders so great that I say the thing must be stopped.

I find the responsibility so great that I say the thing must be stopped.


Damme, Mr. Montague, it must be stopped.


We mustn't ruin widows and children, Mr. Montague. We mustn't let those shares run down 20 below par for a mere chimera.

We mustn't ruin widows and children by letting those shares run down for a mere fancy.


I've known a fine property blasted, Mr. Montague, sent straight to the dogs,--annihilated, sir;--so that it all vanished into thin air, and widows and children past counting were sent out to starve about the streets,--just because one director sat in another director's chair.

I've known a fine property blasted, Mr. Montague, annihilated, sir; so that widows and children past counting were sent out to starve in the streets, just because one director sat in another director's chair, by G__!


What do you think of that, Mr. Montague?


Gentlemen who don't know the nature of credit, how strong it is,--as the air,--to buoy you up; how slight it is,--as a mere vapour,--when roughly touched, can do an amount of mischief of which they themselves don't in the least understand the extent!


Melmotte's description of the peculiar susceptibility of great mercantile speculations had not been given without some effect on Montague, but this direct appeal to himself almost drove that effect out of his mind.


"But you should know what justice is before you demand it at the expense of other people.


I suppose you are like the rest of us, in this matter.


"For myself, I want interest for my capital; that is all.

"I want interest for my capital; that is all.


If I understand the matter,"--and here Melmotte pulled out a little book, showing thereby how careful he was in mastering details,--"you had about 6,000 embarked in the business when Fisker joined your firm.

Here Melmotte pulled out a little book. "You had about 6,000 embarked in the business when Fisker joined your firm.


You imagine yourself to have that still."


You have that, and you've drawn nearly a thousand pounds since Fisker came over, in one shape or another.

You still have that, and you've drawn nearly a thousand pounds since Fisker came over.


I am most anxious that you should remain with us.


I was about to propose, only for that little rumpus the other day, that, as you're an unmarried man, and have time on your hands, you should go out to California and probably across to Mexico, in order to get necessary information for the Company.

I was about to propose, but for that little rumpus the other day, that you should go out to California and across to Mexico, to get necessary information for the Company.


Were I of your age, unmarried, and without impediment, it is just the thing I should like.


Of course you'd go at the Company's expense.


I would see to your own personal interests while you were away;--or you could appoint any one by power of attorney.


Your seat at the Board would be kept for you; but, should anything occur amiss,--which it won't, for the thing is as sound as anything I know,--of course you, as absent, would not share the responsibility.

Your seat at the Board would be kept for you.


It would be a delightful trip;--but if you don't like it, you can of course remain at the Board, and be of the greatest use to me.

It would be a delightful trip; but if you don't like it, you can of course remain at the Board, and be of the greatest use to me.