To Mr. Scruby was still due some trifle on the cost of the last election; but even if this were paid, Mr. Scruby would make no heavy advance towards the expense of the next election.

He still owed Mr. Scruby some trifle of the cost of the last election; but even if this were paid, Mr. Scruby would not advance much towards the expense of the next.


Whoever might come out at the end of such affairs without a satisfactory settlement of his little bill, as had for a while been the case with Mr. Grimes, from the "Handsome Man,"--and as, indeed, still was the case with him, as that note of hand at three months' date was not yet paid,--Mr. Scruby seldom allowed himself to suffer.


It was true that the election would not take place till the summer; but there were preliminary expenses which needed ready money.


Metropolitan voters, as Mr. Scruby often declared, required to be kept in good humour,--so that Mr. Scruby wanted the present payment of some five hundred pounds, and a well-grounded assurance that he would be put in full funds by the beginning of next June.

He wanted the payment of some five hundred pounds, and an assurance that he would be repaid by the beginning of next June.


Even Mr. Scruby might not be true as perfect steel, if he thought that his candidate at the last moment would not come forth properly prepared.


Other candidates, with money in their pockets, might find their way into Mr. Scruby's offices.


As George Vavasor crossed Regent Street, he gulped down his anger, and applied his mind to business.


Should he prepare himself to give orders that Kate's little property should be sold out, or would he resolve to use his cousin's money?

Should he prepare himself to give orders that Kate's little property should be sold, or would he use Alice's money?


That his cousin's money would still be at his disposal, in spite of the stormy mood in which he had retreated from her presence, he felt sure; but the asking for it on his part would be unpleasant.


But as he reached Mr. Scruby's door, he had decided that for such purposes as those now in hand, it was preferable that he should use his wife's fortune.

But as he reached Mr. Scruby's door, he had decided that for these purposes, it was preferable that he should use his wife's fortune.


It was thus that in his own mind he worded the phrase, and made for himself an excuse.

It was thus that in his own mind he worded it.


Yes;--he would use his wife's fortune, and explain to Mr. Scruby that he would be justified in doing so by the fact that his own heritage would be settled on her at her marriage.

He would use his wife's fortune, and explain to Mr. Scruby that his own heritage would be settled on her at her marriage.


I do not suppose that he altogether liked it.


He was not, at any rate as yet, an altogether heartless swindler.

He was not yet a completely heartless swindler.


He could not take his cousin's money without meaning,--without thinking that he meant, to repay her in full all that he took.

He could not take his cousin's money without thinking that he meant to repay her in full.


Her behaviour to him this very morning had no doubt made the affair more difficult to his mind, and more unpleasant than it would have been had she smiled on him; but even as it was, he managed to assure himself that he was doing her no wrong, and with this self-assurance he entered Mr. Scruby's office.

He managed to assure himself that he was doing her no wrong, and with this self-assurance he entered Mr. Scruby's office.


The clerks in the outer office were very civil to him, and undertook to promise him that he should not be kept waiting an instant.

The clerks in the outer office were very civil, and promised that he should not be kept waiting an instant.


There were four gentlemen in the little parlour, they said, waiting to see Mr. Scruby, but there they should remain till Mr. Vavasor's interview was over.

There were four gentlemen, they said, wanting to see Mr. Scruby, but they should wait till Mr. Vavasor's interview was over.


One gentleman, as it seemed, was even turned out to make way for him; for as George was ushered into the lawyer's room, a little man, looking very meek, was hurried away from it.

One gentleman, it seemed, was even turned out to make way for him; for as George was ushered into the lawyer's room, a meek little man was hurried away from it.


"You can wait, Smithers," said Mr. Scruby, speaking from within.

"You can wait, Smithers," said Mr. Scruby to him.


Vavasor apologized to his agent for the injury he was doing Smithers; but Mr. Scruby explained that he was only a poor devil of a printer, looking for payment of his little account.

Then he explained to Vavasor that Smithers was a poor devil of a printer, looking for payment of his little account.


He had printed and posted 30,000 placards for one of the late Marylebone candidates, and found some difficulty in getting his money.

He had printed 30,000 placards for one of the Marylebone candidates, and found some difficulty in getting his money.


"You see, when they're in a small way of business, it ruins them," said Scruby.

"You see, when they're in a small way of business, it ruins them.


"Now that poor devil,--he hasn't had a shilling of his money yet, and the greater part has been paid out of his pocket to the posters.

That poor devil hasn't had a shilling of his money yet."


It comforted Vavasor when he thus heard that there were others who were more backward in their payments, even than himself, and made him reflect that a longer credit than had yet been achieved by him, might perhaps be within his reach.

It comforted Vavasor to hear that there were others who were even more backward in their payments than himself, and it made him reflect that a longer credit might be within his reach.


"It is astonishing how much a man may get done for him," said he, "without paying anything for years."


"Yes; that's true. So he may, if he knows how to go about it.


But when he does pay, Mr. Vavasor, he does it through the nose;--cent.

But when he does pay, Mr. Vavasor, he pays through the nose."


per cent., and worse, for all his former shortcomings."


"How many there are who never pay at all," said George.


It isn't a pleasant thing to be afraid of coming into your agent's office; not what you would like, Mr. Vavasor;--not if I know you."


"I never was afraid of meeting anyone yet," said Vavasor; "but I don't know what I may come to."


But, Lord love you, I could tell you such tales!


I've had Members of Parliament, past, present, and future, almost down on their knees to me in this little room.

I've had Members of Parliament almost down on their knees to me in this little room.


It's about a month or six weeks before the elections come on when they're at their worst.

It's about a month before the elections when they're at their worst.


There is so much you see, Mr. Vavasor, for which a gentleman must pay ready money.

There is so much for which a gentleman must pay ready money."


It isn't like a business in which a lawyer is supposed to find the capital.


If I had money enough to pay out of my own pocket all the cost of all the metropolitan gentlemen for whom I act, why, I could live on the interest without any trouble, and go into Parliament myself like a man."


George Vavasor perfectly understood that Mr. Scruby was explaining to him, with what best attempt at delicacy he could make, that funds for the expense of the Chelsea election were not to be forthcoming from the Great Marlborough Street establishment.

George Vavasor perfectly understood that Mr. Scruby was explaining to him that funds for the Chelsea election were not to be forthcoming.


"Never, Mr. Vavasor," said Mr. Scruby, very solemnly.


I may advance the money, on interest, of course, when I receive a guarantee from the candidate's father, or from six or seven among the committee, who must all be very substantial,--very substantial indeed.


"I thought you did;--but at any rate I don't want you to do it for me."


"I'm quite sure you don't," said Mr. Scruby, with a brighter tone of voice than that he had just been using.


Lord bless you, Mr. Vavasor, I know the difference between gentlemen as soon as I see them."


Then they went to business, and Vavasor became aware that it would be thought convenient that he should lodge with Mr. Scruby, to his own account, a sum not less than six hundred pounds within the next week, and it would be also necessary that he should provide for taking up that bill, amounting to ninety-two pounds, which he had given to the landlord of the "Handsome Man."

Then they went to business, and Vavasor became aware that he needed to lodge with Mr. Scruby a sum of six hundred pounds within the next week, and that he also needed to provide for that bill for ninety-two pounds which he had given to the landlord of the "Handsome Man."


In short, it would be well that he should borrow a thousand pounds from Alice, and as he did not wish that the family attorney of the Vavasors should be employed to raise it, he communicated to Mr. Scruby as much of his plans as was necessary,--feeling more hesitation in doing it than might have been expected from him.

In short, it would be well that he should borrow a thousand pounds from Alice. As he did not wish that the family attorney of the Vavasors should be asked to raise it, he told Mr. Scruby as much of his plans as was necessary, feeling more hesitation than might have been expected from him.


When he had done so, he was very intent on explaining also that the money taken from his cousin, and future bride, would be repaid to her out of the property in Westmoreland, which was,--did he say settled on himself?


"Yes, yes;--a family arrangement," said Mr. Scruby, as he congratulated him on his proposed marriage.

"Yes, yes; a family arrangement," said Mr. Scruby, as he congratulated him on his proposed marriage.


Mr. Scruby did not care a straw from what source the necessary funds might be drawn.

Mr. Scruby did not care a straw where the money came from.


Kate Vavasor, in writing to her cousin Alice, felt some little difficulty in excusing herself for remaining in Norfolk with Mrs. Greenow.

Kate Vavasor, in writing to Alice, felt some difficulty in excusing herself for remaining in Norfolk with Mrs. Greenow.


She had laughed at Mrs. Greenow before she went to Yarmouth, and had laughed at herself for going there.


And in all her letters since, she had spoken of her aunt as a silly, vain, worldly woman, weeping crocodile tears, for an old husband whose death had released her from the tedium of his company, and spreading lures to catch new lovers.

In all her letters, she had spoken of her aunt as a silly, vain, worldly woman, weeping crocodile tears for an old husband, and spreading lures to catch new lovers.


But yet she agreed to stay with her aunt, and remain with her in lodgings at Norwich for a month.

Yet she agreed to stay with her aunt in Norwich for another month.


But Mrs. Greenow had about her something more than Kate had acknowledged when she first attempted to read her aunt's character.

For Mrs. Greenow had more about her than Kate had acknowledged.


She was clever, and in her own way persuasive. She was very generous, and possessed a certain power of making herself pleasant to those around her.

She was clever and persuasive, and very generous.


In asking Kate to stay with her she had so asked as to make it appear that Kate was to confer the favour.

In asking Kate to stay, she had made it appear that Kate was to confer the favour.


She had told her niece that she was all alone in the world.


"I have money," she had said, with more appearance of true feeling than Kate had observed before. "I have money, but I have nothing else in the world.

"I have money," she had said, with more appearance of true feeling than Kate had seen before, "but I have nothing else in the world.


Why should I not remain here in Norfolk, where I know a few people?


If you'll say that you'll go anywhere else with me, I'll go to any place you'll name."


Kate had believed this to be hardly true.


She had felt sure that her aunt wished to remain in the neighbourhood of her seaside admirers; but, nevertheless, she had yielded, and at the end of October the two ladies, with Jeannette, settled themselves in comfortable lodgings within the precincts of the Close at Norwich.

Kate had yielded, and at the end of October the two ladies, with Jeannette, settled in comfortable lodgings within the precincts of the Cathedral Close at Norwich.


Mr. Greenow at this time had been dead very nearly six months, but his widow made some mistakes in her dates and appeared to think that the interval had been longer.

Mr. Greenow had now been dead nearly six months, but his widow appeared to think that the interval had been longer.


On the day of their arrival at Norwich it was evident that this error had confirmed itself in her mind. "Only think," she said, as she unpacked a little miniature of the departed one, and sat with it for a moment in her hands, as she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, "only think, that it is barely nine months since he was with me?"

On the day of their arrival at Norwich, she unpacked a little miniature of the departed one, and sat with it for a moment in her hands, saying, as she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, "Only think, it is barely nine months since he was with me!"


"Six, you mean, aunt," said Kate, unadvisedly.

"Six, you mean, aunt," said Kate, ill-advisedly.


"Only nine months" repeated Mrs. Greenow, as though she had not heard her niece.

"Only nine months," repeated Mrs. Greenow, as though she had not heard her niece.


After that Kate attempted to correct no more such errors.


"It happened in May, Miss," Jeannette said afterwards to Miss Vavasor, "and that, as we reckons, it will be just a twelvemonth come Christmas."


And Jeannette was very ungrateful, and certainly should have indulged herself in no such sarcasms.

But Jeannette was very ungrateful to indulge in such sarcasms.


When Mrs. Greenow made a slight change in her mourning, which she did on her arrival at Norwich, using a little lace among her crapes, Jeannette reaped a rich harvest in gifts of clothes.

When Mrs. Greenow made a slight change in her mourning garments, adding a little lace to her crapes, Jeannette reaped a rich harvest in gifts of clothes.


Mrs. Greenow knew well enough that she expected more from a servant than mere service;--that she wanted loyalty, discretion, and perhaps sometimes a little secrecy;--and as she paid for these things, she should have had them.


Kate undertook to stay a month with her aunt at Norwich, and Mrs. Greenow undertook that Mr. Cheesacre should declare himself as Kate's lover, before the expiration of the month.

Kate promised to stay a month with her aunt at Norwich; and Mrs. Greenow promised that Mr. Cheesacre should declare himself as Kate's lover before the end of that month.


It was in vain that Kate protested that she wanted no such lover, and that she would certainly reject him if he came.

It was in vain that Kate protested that she wanted no such lover.


"That's all very well, my dear," Aunt Greenow would say.


"A girl must settle herself some day, you know;--and you'd have it all your own way at Oileymead."

"A girl must settle herself some day, you know; and you'd have it all your own way at Oileymead."


But the offer certainly showed much generosity on the part of Aunt Greenow, inasmuch as Mr. Cheesacre's attentions were apparently paid to herself rather than to her niece.

But the offer certainly showed much generosity on Aunt Greenow's part, considering that Mr. Cheesacre's attentions were paid to herself rather than to her niece.


He had taken the lodgings in the Close, and had sent over fowls and cream from Oileymead, and had called on the morning after their arrival; but in all his attentions he distinguished the aunt more particularly than the niece.

He had found their lodgings in the Close for them, and had sent over fowls and cream from Oileymead, and called on then the morning after their arrival; but in all his attentions he distinguished the aunt more than the niece.


"I am all for Mr. Cheesacre, Miss," said Jeannette once.

"I am all for Mr. Cheesacre, Miss," said Jeannette.


"The Captain is perhaps the nicerer-looking gentleman, and he ain't so podgy like; but what's good looks if a gentleman hasn't got nothing?

"The Captain is nicer-looking, and he ain't so podgy like; but what's good looks if a gentleman hasn't got nothing?"


I can't abide anything that's poor; neither can't Missus."


From which it was evident that Jeannette gave Miss Vavasor no credit in having Mr. Cheesacre in her train.


Captain Bellfield was also at Norwich, having obtained some quasi-military employment there in the matter of drilling volunteers.

Captain Bellfield was also at Norwich, having obtained some quasi-military employment in drilling volunteers.


Certain capacities in that line it may be supposed that he possessed, and, as his friend Cheesacre said of him, he was going to earn an honest penny once in his life.

As his friend Cheesacre said, he was going to earn an honest penny for once in his life.


The Captain and Mr. Cheesacre had made up any little differences that had existed between them at Yarmouth, and were close allies again when they left that place.

The Captain and Mr. Cheesacre had made up any differences that had existed between them at Yarmouth, and were close allies again.


Some little compact on matters of business must have been arranged between them,--for the Captain was in funds again. He was in funds again through the liberality of his friend,--and no payment of former loans had been made, nor had there been any speech of such.

Some little business arrangement must have been made, for the Captain was in funds, thanks to his friend.


Mr. Cheesacre had drawn his purse-strings liberally, and had declared that if all went well the hospitality of Oileymead should not be wanting during the winter.

Mr. Cheesacre had been generous, and had declared that if all went well the hospitality of Oileymead should not be lacking during the winter.


Captain Bellfield had nodded his head and declared that all should go well.

Captain Bellfield had nodded and declared that all should go well.


"You won't see much of the Captain, I suppose," said Mr. Cheesacre to Mrs. Greenow on the morning of the day after her arrival at Norwich.

"You won't see much of the Captain, I suppose," said Mr. Cheesacre to Mrs. Greenow on the morning after her arrival at Norwich.


He had come across the whole way from Oileymead to ask her if she found herself comfortable,--and perhaps with an eye to the Norwich markets at the same time.

He had come the whole way from Oileymead to see her.


He now wore a pair of black riding boots over his trousers, and a round topped hat, and looked much more at home than he had done by the seaside.

He wore a pair of black riding boots, and a round topped hat, and looked much more at home than he had done by the seaside.


"He tells me that he must be on duty ten or twelve hours a day.


"It's a deuced good thing for him, and he ought to be very much obliged to me for putting him in the way of getting it.


But he told me to tell you that if he didn't call, you were not to be angry with him."


"You see, if he don't work now he must come to grief.


He hasn't got a shilling that he can call his own."
"Hasn't he really?"
"Not a shilling, Mrs. Greenow;--and then he's awfully in debt.

He hasn't got a shilling to call his own, Mrs. Greenow; and he's awfully in debt.


He isn't a bad fellow, you know, only there's no trusting him for anything."


Then after a few further inquiries that were almost tender, and a promise of further supplies from the dairy, Mr. Cheesacre took his leave, almost forgetting to ask after Miss Vavasor.

Then after a few further tender inquiries, Mr. Cheesacre took his leave, almost forgetting to ask after Miss Vavasor.


But as he left the house he had a word to say to Jeannette.


"We haven't seen a sight of him yet, sir,--and I have thought it a little odd."

"We haven't seen him yet, sir, and I have thought it a little odd."


Then Mr. Cheesacre gave the girl half-a-crown, and went his way.


Jeannette, I think, must have forgotten that the Captain had looked in after leaving his military duties on the preceding evening.

Jeannette, I think, must have forgotten that the Captain had looked in on the previous evening.


The Captain's ten or twelve hours of daily work was performed, no doubt, at irregular intervals,--some days late and some days early,--for he might be seen about Norwich almost at all times, during the early part of that November;--and he might be very often seen going into the Close.

The Captain's ten or twelve hours of daily work must have been performed at irregular times, for he might be seen about Norwich at all times of day, very often going to the Close.


In Norwich there are two weekly market-days, but on those days the Captain was no doubt kept more entirely to his military employment, for at such times he never was seen near the Close.

On Norwich's two weekly market-days, however, the Captain kept to his military employment.


Now Mr. Cheesacre's visits to the town were generally made on market-days, and so it happened that they did not meet.

Mr. Cheesacre's visits to the town were generally made on market-days, and so they did not meet.


On such occasions Mr. Cheesacre always was driven to Mrs. Greenow's door in a cab,--for he would come into town by railway,--and he would deposit a basket bearing the rich produce of his dairy.

On such occasions Mr. Cheesacre came by train and was driven to Mrs. Greenow's door in a cab, with a basket bearing the rich produce of his dairy.


It was in vain that Mrs. Greenow protested against these gifts,--for she did protest and declared that if they were continued, they would be sent back. They were, however, continued, and Mrs. Greenow was at her wits' end about them.

In vain Mrs. Greenow protested against these gifts, saying she would send them back; but they continued, and she was at her wits' end about them.


Cheesacre would not come up with them; but leaving them, would go about his business, and would return to see the ladies. On such occasions he would be very particular in getting his basket from Jeannette. As he did so he would generally ask some question about the Captain, and Jeannette would give him answers confidentially,--so that there was a strong friendship between these two.

Cheesacre would come to get his basket from Jeannette, and would ask about the Captain, and Jeannette would give him confidential answers.


said Mrs. Greenow, as Kate came into the sitting-room one morning, and saw on the table a small hamper lined with a clean cloth.

said Mrs. Greenow, as Kate came into the sitting-room one morning, and saw a small hamper on the table.


"It's as much as Jeannette has been able to carry."


"So it is, ma'am,--quite; and I'm strong in the arm, too, ma'am."


"And he do admire you both so much," said Jeannette.


"Of course I don't want to offend him for many reasons," said the aunt, looking knowingly at her niece.


"I don't know anything about your reasons, aunt, but if I were you, I should leave the basket just as it is till he comes in the afternoon."

"If I were you, aunt, I should leave the basket just as it is till he comes in the afternoon."


"Would you mind seeing him yourself, Kate, and explaining to him that it won't do to get on in this way.

"Would you mind seeing him yourself, Kate, and explaining to him that he can't carry on in this way?


Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling him that if he'll promise not to bring any more, you won't object to take this one."

Perhaps you could tell him that if he'll promise not to bring any more, you won't object to taking this one."


"Nonsense, aunt;--I won't have you say so;--before Jeannette, too."

"I won't have you say so, aunt; in front of Jeannette, too."


"I think it's for both, ma'am; I do indeed.

"I think it's for both of you, ma'am," said Jeanette.


And there certainly ain't any cream to be bought like it in Norwich:--nor yet eggs."


And the widow lifted up the corner of the cloth.


"I declare if there isn't a turkey poult already."


Why, that's worth ten and sixpence in the market if it's worth a penny."


"It's out of the question that I should take upon myself to say anything to him about it," said Kate.

"It's out of the question that I should say anything to him about it," said Kate.


"Upon my word I don't see why you shouldn't, as well as I," said Mrs. Greenow.

"I don't see why you shouldn't," said Mrs. Greenow.


"I'll tell you what, ma'am," said Jeannette: "let me just ask him who they're for;--he'll tell me anything."

"I'll tell you what, ma'am," said Jeannette: "let me just ask him who they're for."


"Don't do anything of the kind, Jeannette," said Kate.


"Of course, aunt, they're brought for you.

"Of course they're brought for you, aunt."


A gentleman doesn't bring cream and turkeys to-- I've never heard of such a thing!"


"I don't see why a gentleman shouldn't bring cream and turkeys to you just as well as to me."


Indeed, he told me once as much himself."


"Then, if they're for me, I'll leave them down outside the front door, and he may find his provisions there."

"Then, if they're for me, I'll leave them outside the front door, for him to find."


And Kate proceeded to lift the basket off the table.


"Leave it alone, Kate," said Mrs. Greenow, with a voice that was rather solemn; and which had, too, something of sadness in its tone.

"Leave it alone, Kate," said Mrs. Greenow, with a voice that was rather solemn and sad.


"And I do hope you won't mention my name.


It's the most absurd thing in the world.


The man never spoke two dozen words to me in his life."


"He speaks to me, though," said Mrs. Greenow.


"He doesn't come here with those big flowers in his button-hole for nothing," said Jeannette,--"not if I knows what a gentleman means."


"Of course he doesn't," said Mrs. Greenow.


"If you don't object, aunt," said Kate, "I will write to grandpapa and tell him that I will return home at once."


"I don't think you'll be so silly as that, my dear."


On the present occasion Mrs. Greenow undertook that she would see the generous gentleman, and endeavour to stop the supplies from his farmyard.

However, Mrs. Greenow promised to see the gentleman, and try to stop the supplies from his farmyard.


It was well understood that he would call about four o'clock, when his business in the town would be over; and that he would bring with him a little boy, who would carry away the basket.

He would generally call about four o'clock, after his business in the town, bringing a little boy to carry away the basket.


At that hour Kate of course was absent, and the widow received Mr. Cheesacre alone.

At that hour Kate was absent, and the widow received Mr. Cheesacre alone.


The basket and cloth were there, in the sitting-room, and on the table were laid out the rich things which it had contained;--the turkey poult first, on a dish provided in the lodging-house, then a dozen fresh eggs in a soup plate, then the cream in a little tin can, which, for the last fortnight, had passed regularly between Oileymead and the house in the Close, and as to which Mr. Cheesacre was very pointed in his inquiries with Jeannette. Then behind the cream there were two or three heads of broccoli, and a stick of celery as thick as a man's wrist.

The basket was in the sitting-room, and on the table were laid out the rich things which it had contained; the turkey, a dozen fresh eggs, cream in a little tin can, two or three heads of broccoli, and a stick of celery as thick as a man's wrist.


Altogether the tribute was a very comfortable assistance to the housekeeping of a lady living in a small way in lodgings.

Altogether the tribute was a very comfortable assistance to a lady living in a small way in lodgings.


Mr. Cheesacre, when he saw the array on the long sofa-table, knew that he was to prepare himself for some resistance; but that resistance would give him, he thought, an opportunity of saying a few words that he was desirous of speaking, and he did not altogether regret it.

Mr. Cheesacre, when he saw the array on the table, prepared himself for some resistance; but he thought it would give him an opportunity of saying a few words.


"I just called in," he said, "to see how you were."


"We are not likely to starve," said Mrs. Greenow, pointing to the delicacies from Oileymead.

"We are not likely to starve," said Mrs. Greenow, pointing to the delicacies.


"Just a few trifles that my old woman asked me to bring in," said Cheesacre.

"Just a few trifles my old housekeeper asked me to bring."


"But your old woman is by far too magnificent," said Mrs. Greenow.

"But she is far too magnificent," said Mrs. Greenow.


"She really frightens Kate and me out of our wits."


Mr. Cheesacre had no wish that Miss Vavasor's name should be brought into play upon the occasion.

Mr. Cheesacre had no wish to bring Miss Vavasor's name into the conversation.


"Dear Mrs. Greenow," said he, "there is no cause for you to be alarmed, I can assure you.

"Dear Mrs. Greenow," said he, "there is no cause for you to be alarmed.


I don't think anything of such things as these."


"But I and Kate think a great deal of them,--a very great deal, I can assure you.

"But Kate and I think a great deal of them.


Do you know, we had a long debate this morning whether or no we would return them to Oileymead?"

Do you know, we had a long debate this morning whether we would return them to Oileymead?"


"Yes, indeed: what are women, situated as we are, to do under such circumstances?

"Yes, indeed: consider our circumstances.


When gentlemen will be too liberal, their liberality must be repressed."

When gentlemen are too liberal, their liberality must be repressed."


"And have I been too liberal, Mrs. Greenow?


What is a young turkey and a stick of celery when a man is willing to give everything that he has in the world?"


"You've got a great deal more in the world, Mr. Cheesacre, than you'd like to part with. But we won't talk of that, now."

"We won't talk of that now, Mr. Cheesacre."


"If you really have anything to say, you had by far better speak to Kate herself."

"If you really have anything to say, you had better speak to Kate herself."


Just at this moment, as he was drawing close to the widow, she heard, or fancied that she heard, Jeannette's step, and, going to the sitting-room door, called to her maid. Jeannette did not hear her, but the bell was rung, and then Jeannette came.

The widow called her maid, who did not hear her; but the bell was rung, and then Jeannette came.


"You may take these things down, Jeannette," she said.


"Mr. Cheesacre has promised that no more shall come."


"But I haven't promised," said Mr. Cheesacre.


"You will oblige me and Kate, I know;--and, Jeannette, tell Miss Vavasor that I am ready to walk with her."

"You will oblige me and Kate, I know. And, Jeannette, tell Miss Vavasor that I am ready to walk with her."


Then Mr. Cheesacre knew that he could not say those few words on that occasion; and as the hour of his train was near, he took his departure, and went out of the Close, followed by the little boy, carrying the basket, the cloth, and the tin can.

Then Mr. Cheesacre knew that he could not say those few words this time; so he departed, followed by the little boy carrying the basket.


But Lady Glencora was not brought to repentance by her husband's last words.

But Lady Glencora was not brought to repentance by her husband's words.


It seemed to her to be so intolerably cruel, this demand of his, that she should be made to pass the whole of her first evening in town with an old woman for whom it was impossible that she should entertain the slightest regard, that she resolved upon rebellion.

It seemed to her to be intolerably cruel, this demand that she should pass her first evening in town with an old woman whom she disliked.
She resolved upon rebellion.


Had he positively ordered Mrs. Marsham, she would have sent for that lady, and have contented herself with enduring her presence in disdainful silence; but Mr. Palliser had not given any order. He had made a request, and a request, from its very nature, admits of no obedience.

He had not ordered that she invite Mrs. Marsham, merely requested, and a request does not demand obedience.


The compliance with a request must be voluntary, and she would not send for Mrs. Marsham, except upon compulsion.

She would not send for Mrs. Marsham unless he forced her to.


Had not she also made a request to him, and had not he refused it?

Had she not also made a request to him, and had he not refused it?


It was his prerogative, undoubtedly, to command; but in that matter of requests she had a right to expect that her voice should be as potent as his own.


She wrote a line, therefore, to Alice before she went to bed, begging her cousin to come to her early on the following day, so that they might go out together, and then afterwards dine in company with Mr. Bott.


"I know that will be an inducement to you," Lady Glencora said, "because your generous heart will feel of what service you may be to me.

"I know that will be an inducement to you," Lady Glencora said, "because your generous heart will feel how that will help me.


Nobody else will be here,--unless, indeed, Mrs. Marsham should be asked, unknown to myself."

Nobody else will be here - unless, indeed, Mrs. Marsham should be asked, unknown to me."


Then she sat herself down to think,--to think especially about the cruelty of husbands.

Then she sat down to think about the cruelty of husbands.


She had been told over and over again, in the days before her marriage, that Burgo would ill-use her if he became her husband.

She had been told in the days before her marriage that Burgo would ill-use her if he became her husband.


The Marquis of Auld Reekie had gone so far as to suggest that Burgo might probably beat her.

The Marquis of Auld Reekie had gone so far as to suggest that Burgo might beat her.


But what hard treatment, even what beating, could be so unendurable as this total want of sympathy, as this deadness in life, which her present lot entailed upon her?

But what hard treatment could be so unendurable as this total lack of sympathy on her husband's part?


As for that matter of beating, she ridiculed the idea in her very soul.

As for that matter of beating, she ridiculed the idea.


She sat smiling at the absurdity of the thing as she thought of the beauty of Burgo's eyes, of the softness of his touch, of the loving, almost worshipping, tones of his voice.

She sat smiling at the absurdity of the thing as she thought of the beauty of Burgo's eyes, of the softness of his touch, of his loving voice.


Would it not even be better to be beaten by him than to have politics explained to her at one o'clock at night by such a husband as Plantagenet Palliser?

Would it not even be better to be beaten by him than to have politics explained to her at one o'clock at night by Plantagenet Palliser?


Had she married Burgo they would have been in sunny Italy, and he would have told her some other tale than that as they sat together under the pale moonlight.

If she had married Burgo they would have been in sunny Italy, sitting together under the pale moonlight.


She had a little water-coloured drawing called Raphael and Fornarina, and she was infantine enough to tell herself that the so-called Raphael was like her Burgo--no, not her Burgo, but the Burgo that was not hers.


At any rate, all the romance of the picture she might have enjoyed had they allowed her to dispose as she had wished of her own hand.


She might have sat in marble balconies, while the vines clustered over her head, and he would have been at her knee, hardly speaking to her, but making his presence felt by the halo of its divinity.

She might have sat on marble balconies, while the vines clustered over her head, and he would have been at her knee, hardly speaking to her, but making her happy, lapped in the delight of loving.


He would have called upon her for no hard replies.


With him near her she would have enjoyed the soft air, and would have sat happy, without trouble, lapped in the delight of loving.


And why should not such a lot have been hers?


Her Raphael would have loved her, let them say what they would about his cruelty.


Poor, wretched, overburthened child, to whom the commonest lessons of life had not yet been taught, and who had now fallen into the hands of one who was so ill-fitted to teach them!

Poor, wretched, overburdened child, to whom the commonest lessons of life had not yet been taught, and who was now in the hands of one so ill-fitted to teach them!


The world had laden her with wealth till she had had no limb free for its ordinary uses, and then had turned her loose to run her race!

The world had laden her with wealth till she could barely move, then turned her loose to run her race!


her husband asked her the next morning. His voice, as he spoke, clearly showed that his anger was either over or suppressed.

her husband asked her the next morning, with no anger in his voice.


"Yes; I have asked her to come and drive, and then to stay for dinner."


I shall send the carriage for her if she can come.


And then, after a short pause, he added, "As that is settled, perhaps you would have no objection to ask Mrs. Marsham also?"

After a short pause, he added, "As that is settled, perhaps you would have no objection to ask Mrs. Marsham also?"


And then he added, being ashamed of the tinge of falsehood of which he would otherwise have been guilty, "I know she is not engaged."

And then he added, so as to avoid a falsehood, "I know she is not engaged."


"I have not asked her, if you mean that, Glencora.


I told her that I did not know what your engagements were."


"I will write to her, if you please," said the wife, who felt that she could hardly refuse any longer.

"I will write to her, if you wish," said the wife, who felt that she could hardly refuse any longer.


So Lady Glencora did write to Mrs. Marsham, who promised to come,--as did also Alice Vavasor.

So Lady Glencora did write to Mrs. Marsham, who promised to come - as did Alice.


Lady Glencora would, at any rate, have Alice to herself for some hours before dinner.


At first she took comfort in that reflection; but after a while she bethought herself that she would not know what to tell Alice, or what not to tell.

She took comfort in that reflection; but after a while she realised that she would not know how much to tell Alice.


Did she mean to show that letter to her cousin?


If she did show it, then,--so she argued with herself,--she must bring herself to endure the wretchedness of her present lot, and must give up for ever all her dreams about Raphael and Fornarina.

If she did show it, then - she told herself - she must give up for ever all her dreams about life with Burgo.


If she did not show it,--or, at any rate, tell of it,--then it would come to pass that she would leave her husband under the protection of another man, and she would become--what she did not dare to name even to herself.

If she did not show it, then she would leave her husband, and would become - something she did not dare to name even to herself.


She knew that she would go with Burgo, should he ever come to her with the means of going at his and her instant command.

She knew that she would go with Burgo if he found a way.


But should she bring herself to let Alice know that such a letter had been conveyed to her, Burgo would never have such power.

But if she let Alice know about his letter, Burgo would never have such power.


I remember the story of a case of abduction in which a man was tried for his life, and was acquitted, because the lady had acquiesced in the carrying away while it was in progress.


She had, as she herself declared, armed herself with a sure and certain charm or talisman against such dangers, which she kept suspended round her neck; but whilst she was in the post-chaise she opened the window and threw the charm from her, no longer desiring, as the learned counsel for the defence efficiently alleged, to be kept under the bonds of such protection.


Lady Glencora's state of mind was, in its nature, nearly the same as that of the lady in the post-chaise.


Whether or no she would use her charm, she had not yet decided, but the power of doing so was still hers.


Alice came, and the greeting between the cousins was very affectionate.


Lady Glencora received her as though they had been playmates from early childhood; and Alice, though such impulsive love was not natural to her as to the other, could not bring herself to be cold to one who was so warm to her.

Lady Glencora received her as though they had been playmates from early childhood; and Alice, though such impulsive love was not as natural to her, responded to Glencora's warmth.


Indeed, had she not promised her love in that meeting at Matching Priory in which her cousin had told her of all her wretchedness?

Indeed, had she not promised to love her, at Matching Priory?


Alice had said; and though there was much in Lady Glencora that she could not approve,--much even that she could not bring herself to like,--still she would not allow her heart to contradict her words.

Although there was much in Lady Glencora that she could not approve - much even that she could not like - still she would keep to her promise.


They sat so long over the fire in the drawing-room that at last they agreed that the driving should be abandoned.

They sat so long over the fire in the drawing-room that at last they agreed that their drive should be abandoned.


"There's nothing to see, and the wind is as cold as charity.


We are much more comfortable here; are we not?"


Alice quite acquiesced in this, having no great desire to be driven through the parks in the gloom of a February afternoon.

Alice agreed, having no great desire to be driven through the park on a gloomy February afternoon.


"If I had Dandy and Flirt up here, there would be some fun in it; but Mr. Palliser doesn't wish me to drive in London."


I don't think it's that he minds; but he has an idea that it looks fast."


If I were a man, I'm sure I shouldn't like my wife to drive horses about London."

If I were a man, I wouldn't like my wife to drive horses about London."


Just because you'd be a tyrant,--like other husbands?

Just because you'd be a tyrant, like other husbands?


What's the harm of looking fast, if one doesn't do anything improper?


"Perhaps Mr. Palliser doesn't care for that?"

But Mr. Palliser doesn't care about what I want."


"I can tell you something else he doesn't care for.


He doesn't care whether Dandy's mistress likes it."


I believe he would consent to anything that he didn't think wrong."


"Such as lectures about the British Constitution!


Of course the British Constitution is everything to him, and I wish I knew more about it;--that's all.


But I haven't told you whom you are to meet at dinner."


"But there's another guest, a Mrs. Marsham.


I thought I'd got rid of her for to-day, when I wrote to you; but I hadn't. She's coming."

I thought I'd got rid of her when I wrote to you; but she's coming."


She'll destroy the pleasure of our whole evening.

"She'll destroy the pleasure of our evening.


I do believe that she hates you, and that she thinks you instigate me to all manner of iniquity.

I do believe that she hates you, and that she thinks you instigate me to all kinds of wickedness.


It makes me sick when I think that they should be so blind.


Alice, I hardly know how much I owe to you; I don't, indeed. Everything, I believe."

Alice, I hardly know how much I owe to you; everything, I believe."


Lady Glencora, as she spoke, put her hand into her pocket, and grasped the letter which lay there.


Who do you think came to Matching when I was there?"


said Alice, feeling almost certain that Mr. Fitzgerald was the person to whom Lady Glencora was alluding.


"If it is the person of whom I am thinking," said Alice, solemnly, "let me implore you not to speak of him."

"If it is the person of whom I am thinking," said Alice solemnly, "let me implore you not to speak of him."


Did I not speak of him before to you, and was it not for good?


How are you to be my friend, if I may not speak to you of everything?"


Her hand was on the letter, and it would have been out in a moment, and thrown upon Alice's lap, had not the servant opened the door and announced Mrs. Marsham.


"Oh, how I do wish we had gone to drive!"


said Lady Glencora, in a voice which the servant certainly heard, and which Mrs. Marsham would have heard had she not been a little hard of hearing,--in her bonnet.


"I thought I'd just come across from Norfolk Street and see you, though I am coming to dinner in the evening.


and she made a salutation to Alice which was nearly as cold as it could be.

and she made a cold salutation to Alice.


Mrs. Marsham was a woman who had many good points.


She was poor, and bore her poverty without complaint She was connected by blood and friendship with people rich and titled; but she paid to none of them egregious respect on account of their wealth or titles.

She was poor, and bore her poverty without complaint. She was connected with rich and titled people; but she was no flatterer.


She was staunch in her friendships, and staunch in her enmities.


She was no fool, and knew well what was going on in the world.

She knew well what was going on in the world.


She could talk about the last novel, or--if need be--about the Constitution.

She could talk about the last novel, or - if need be - about the Constitution.


She had been a true wife, though sometimes too strong-minded, and a painstaking mother, whose children, however, had never loved her as most mothers like to be loved.


The catalogue of her faults must be quite as long as that of her virtues.

The catalogue of her faults was as long as that of her virtues.


She was one of those women who are ambitious of power, and not very scrupulous as to the manner in which they obtain it. She was hardhearted, and capable of pursuing an object without much regard to the injury she might do.

She was ambitious of power, hardhearted, and unscrupulous.


She would not flatter wealth or fawn before a title, but she was not above any artifice by which she might ingratiate herself with those whom it suited her purpose to conciliate.

She would not fawn before a title, but she was not above ingratiating herself with those whom she wished to conciliate.


She was herself untrue in action, if not absolutely in word.


I do not say that she would coin lies, but she would willingly leave false impressions.

Although she would not invent lies, she would willingly leave false impressions.


She had been the bosom friend, and in many things the guide in life, of Mr. Palliser's mother; and she took a special interest in Mr. Palliser's welfare.

She had been a close friend of Mr. Palliser's mother; and she took a special interest in Mr. Palliser's welfare.


When he married, she heard the story of the loves of Burgo and Lady Glencora; and though she thought well of the money, she was not disposed to think very well of the bride.

When he married, she heard the story of Burgo and Lady Glencora, and she was not disposed to think well of the bride.


She made up her mind that the young lady would want watching, and she was of opinion that no one would be so well able to watch Lady Glencora as herself.

She made up her mind that the young lady would want watching, and felt that no one could so this so well as herself.


She had not plainly opened her mind on this matter to Mr. Palliser; she had not made any distinct suggestion to him that she would act as Argus to his wife. Mr. Palliser would have rejected any such suggestion, and Mrs. Marsham knew that he would do so; but she had let a word or two drop, hinting that Lady Glencora was very young,--hinting that Lady Glencora's manners were charming in their childlike simplicity; but hinting also that precaution was, for that reason, the more necessary.

She had not openly suggested this to Mr. Palliser; but she had let a word or two drop, hinting that Lady Glencora was very young, and that precaution was, for that reason, more necessary.


Mr. Palliser, who suspected nothing as to Burgo or as to any other special peril, whose whole disposition was void of suspicion, whose dry nature realized neither the delights nor the dangers of love, acknowledged that Glencora was young.

Mr. Palliser, whose nature was devoid of suspicion, and who knew nothing of the delights and dangers of love, acknowledged that Glencora was young.


He especially wished that she should be discreet and matronly; he feared no lovers, but he feared that she might do silly things,--that she would catch cold,--and not know how to live a life becoming the wife of a Chancellor of the Exchequer.

He especially wished that she should be discreet and matronly; he feared no lovers, but he feared that she might do silly things, not befitting the wife of a Chancellor of the Exchequer.


Therefore he submitted Glencora,--and, to a certain extent, himself,--into the hands of Mrs. Marsham.

Therefore he submitted Glencora - and, to a certain extent, himself - into the hands of Mrs. Marsham.


Lady Glencora had not been twenty-four hours in the house with this lady before she recognized in her a duenna.

Lady Glencora had not been twenty-four hours with this lady before she recognized her as a duenna.


In all such matters no one could be quicker than Lady Glencora.


She might be very ignorant about the British Constitution, and, alas! very ignorant also as to the real elements of right and wrong in a woman's conduct, but she was no fool.

She might be very ignorant about some things, but she was no fool.


She had an eye that could see, and an ear that could understand, and an abundance of that feminine instinct which teaches a woman to know her friend or her enemy at a glance, at a touch, at a word.


In many things Lady Glencora was much quicker, much more clever, than her husband, though he was to be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and though she did know nothing of the Constitution.

In many things Lady Glencora was much quicker and cleverer than her husband.


She knew, too, that he was easily to be deceived,--that though his intelligence was keen, his instincts were dull,--that he was gifted with no fineness of touch, with no subtle appreciation of the characters of men and women; and, to a certain extent, she looked down upon him for his obtusity.

Though his intelligence was keen, his instincts were dull; he had no understanding of character.


He should have been aware that Burgo was a danger to be avoided; and he should have been aware also that Mrs. Marsham was a duenna not to be employed.

He should have been aware that Burgo was a danger; and he should have been aware also that Mrs. Marsham was a duenna not to be employed.


When a woman knows that she is guarded by a watch-dog, she is bound to deceive her Cerberus, if it be possible, and is usually not ill-disposed to deceive also the owner of Cerberus.

When a woman knows that she is guarded by a watch-dog, she is bound to deceive it, if possible.


Lady Glencora felt that Mrs. Marsham was her Cerberus, and she was heartily resolved that if she was to be kept in the proper line at all, she would not be so kept by Mrs. Marsham.


Alice rose and accepted Mrs. Marsham's salutation quite as coldly as it had been given, and from that time forward those two ladies were enemies.

Alice accepted Mrs. Marsham's greeting as coldly as it had been given, and from that time those two ladies were enemies.


Mrs. Marsham, groping quite in the dark, partly guessed that Alice had in some way interfered to prevent Lady Glencora's visit to Monkshade, and, though such prevention was, no doubt, good in that lady's eyes, she resented the interference.

Mrs. Marsham partly guessed that Alice had in some way interfered to prevent Lady Glencora's visit to Monkshade, and she resented the interference.


She had made up her mind that Alice was not the sort of friend that Lady Glencora should have about her.

She had made up her mind that Alice was not the sort of friend that Lady Glencora should have.


"I thought I might find you at home," said Mrs. Marsham, "as I know you are lazy about going out in the cold,--unless it be for a foolish midnight ramble," and Mrs. Marsham shook her head.

"I thought I might find you at home," said Mrs. Marsham, "as I know you are lazy about going out in the cold - unless it be for a foolish midnight ramble," and Mrs. Marsham shook her head.


She was a little woman, with sharp small eyes, with a permanent colour in her face, and two short, crisp, grey curls at each side of her face; always well dressed, always in good health, and, as Lady Glencora believed, altogether incapable of fatigue.


"The ramble you speak of was very wise, I think," said Lady Glencora; "but I never could see the use of driving about in London in the middle of winter."


"One ought to go out of the house every day," said Mrs. Marsham.


Alice did not hate them, therefore she said nothing.


"My dear Glencora, one must live by rules in this life.


You might as well say that you hated sitting down to dinner."


"So I do, very often; almost always when there's company."


"You'll get over that feeling after another season in town," said Mrs. Marsham, pretending to suppose that Lady Glencora alluded to some remaining timidity in receiving her own guests.

"You'll get over that feeling after another season in town," said Mrs. Marsham.


It's a thing that seems always to be getting more grievous, instead of less so.

It seems to get worse instead of better.


Mr. Bott is coming to dine here to-night."

Mr. Bott is coming to dine here tonight."


There was no mistaking the meaning of this.


There was no pretending even to mistake it.


Now, Mrs. Marsham had accepted the right hand of fellowship from Mr. Bott,--not because she especially liked him, but in compliance with the apparent necessities of Mr. Palliser's position.

Mrs. Marsham had accepted the hand of fellowship from Mr. Bott, not because she especially liked him, but because they both supported Mr. Palliser's position.


Mr. Bott had made good his ground about Mr. Palliser; and Mrs. Marsham, as she was not strong enough to turn him off from it, had given him the right hand of fellowship.


"Mr. Bott is a Member of Parliament, and a very serviceable friend of Mr. Palliser's," said Mrs. Marsham.

"Mr. Bott is a Member of Parliament, and a very useful friend of Mr. Palliser's," said Mrs. Marsham.


"All the same; we do not like Mr. Bott--do we, Alice?

"All the same; we do not like Mr. Bott - do we, Alice? "


He is Doctor Fell to us; only I think we could tell why."


"I certainly do not like him," said Alice.


"It can be but of small matter to you, Miss Vavasor," said Mrs. Marsham, "as you will not probably have to see much of him."


"Of the very smallest moment," said Alice.


"He did annoy me once, but will never, I dare say, have an opportunity of doing so again."

"He did annoy me once, but I dare say, will never have an opportunity of doing so again."


"I don't know what the annoyance may have been."


"But I shouldn't have thought it likely that a person so fully employed as Mr. Bott, and employed, too, on matters of such vast importance, would have gone out of his way to annoy a young lady whom he chanced to meet for a day or two in a country-house."

"I shouldn't have thought it likely that a person so busy as Mr. Bott, and employed on matters of such vast importance, would have gone out of his way to annoy a young lady whom he chanced to meet for a day or two in a country-house."


"I don't think that Alice means that he attempted to flirt with her," said Lady Glencora, laughing.


"Perhaps he did not attempt," said Mrs. Marsham; and the words, the tone, and the innuendo together were more than Alice was able to bear with equanimity.

"Perhaps he did not attempt," said Mrs. Marsham; and her tone was more than Alice was able to bear with equanimity.


"Glencora," said she, rising from her chair, "I think I'll leave you alone with Mrs. Marsham.

"Glencora," said she, rising, "I think I'll leave you alone with Mrs. Marsham.


I'm not disposed to discuss Mr. Bott's character, and certainly not to hear his name mentioned in disagreeable connection with my own."

I'm not disposed to discuss Mr. Bott's character, nor to hear his name mentioned in disagreeable connection with my own."


"If you and I can't fight our little battles against Mr. Bott and Mrs. Marsham without running away, it is odd."


There is a warfare in which they who run away never live to fight another day."


"I hope, Glencora, you do not count me as your enemy?"


"But I shall,--certainly, if you attack Alice. Love me, love my dog. I beg your pardon, Alice; but what I meant was this, Mrs. Marsham; Love me, love the best friend I have in the world."

"But I shall, certainly, if you attack Alice, who is the best friend I have in the world."


"I did not mean to offend Miss Vavasor," said Mrs. Marsham, looking at her very grimly.


She had been offended, and she would not deny it.


After that, Mrs. Marsham took herself off, saying that she would be back to dinner.


She thought that she could put down Miss Vavasor, and she was prepared to bear a good deal from Lady Glencora--for Mr. Palliser's sake, as she said to herself, with some attempt at a sentimental remembrance of her old friend.

She thought that she could put down Miss Vavasor, and she was prepared to bear a good deal from Lady Glencora - for Mr. Palliser's sake, as she said to herself.


"She's a nasty old cat," said Lady Glencora, as soon as the door was closed; and she said these words with so droll a voice, with such a childlike shaking of her head, with so much comedy in her grimace, that Alice could not but laugh.

"She's a nasty old cat," said Lady Glencora, as soon as the door was closed; and she said this with so droll a voice and with so much comedy in her grimace, that Alice could only laugh.


"I know her, and you'll have to know her, too, before you've done with her.


It won't at all do for you to run away when she spits at you.

"It won't do for you to run away when she spits at you.


You must hold your ground, and show your claws,--and make her know that if she spits, you can scratch."

You must hold your ground, and show your claws."


"She'll find I'm of the genus, but of the tiger kind, if she persecutes me.

"She'll find I'm of the tiger kind, if she persecutes me.


Alice, there's one thing I have made up my mind about. I will not be persecuted.

Alice, I have made up my mind not to be persecuted.


If my husband tells me to do anything, as long as he is my husband I'll do it; but I won't be persecuted."

If my husband tells me to do anything, I'll do it; but I won't be persecuted."


"You should remember that she was a very old friend of Mr. Palliser's mother."

"You should remember that she was an old friend of Mr. Palliser's mother."


"I do remember; and that may be a very good reason why she should come here occasionally, or go to Matching, or to any place in which we may be living.


It's a bore, of course; but it's a natural bore, and one that ought to be borne."


"And that will be the beginning and the end of it."


It may perhaps be the end of it, but I fear it won't be the beginning.


If she gives me advice, I shall tell her to her face that it's not wanted; and if she insults any friend of mine, as she did you, I shall tell her that she had better stay away.

If she gives me advice, I shall tell her that it's not wanted; and if she insults any friend of mine, I shall tell her to stay away."


She'll go and tell him, of course; but I can't help that.


I've made up my mind that I won't be persecuted."


After that, Lady Glencora felt no further inclination to show Burgo's letter to Alice on that occasion.

After that, Lady Glencora felt no further inclination to show Burgo's letter to Alice.


They sat over the drawing-room fire, talking chiefly of Alice's affairs, till it was time for them to dress.


But Alice, though she spoke much of Mr. Grey, said no word as to her engagement with George Vavasor.

But Alice said no word about her engagement with George Vavasor.


How could she speak of it, inasmuch as she had already resolved,--already almost resolved,--that that engagement also should be broken?

How could she speak of it, seeing that she had already almost resolved that the engagement should be broken?


Alice, when she came down to the drawing-room, before dinner, found Mr. Bott there alone.

When Alice came down to the drawing-room before dinner, she found Mr. Bott there alone.


She had dressed more quickly than her friend, and Mr. Palliser had not yet made his appearance.


"I did not expect the pleasure of meeting Miss Vavasor to-day," he said, as he came up, offering his hand.

"I did not expect the pleasure of meeting Miss Vavasor today," he said, offering his hand.


She gave him her hand, and then sat down, merely muttering some word of reply.

She gave him hers, and then sat down, muttering some word of reply.


"We spent a very pleasant month down at Matching together;--didn't you think so?"

"We spent a very pleasant month at Matching together; didn't you think so?"


"I spent a pleasant month there certainly."


"You left, if I remember, the morning after that late walk out among the ruins?


it made her very ill; so much so, that she could not go to Monkshade, as she particularly wished.

it made her very ill; so that she could not go to Monkshade, as she particularly wished.


Lady Glencora is very delicate,--very delicate, indeed.


We, who have the privilege of being near her, ought always to remember that."


I'm afraid that's your mistake, Miss Vavasor."


"I believe she has very good health, which is the greatest blessing in the world.


By delicate I suppose you mean weak and infirm."

But by delicate I suppose you mean weak and infirm."


"Oh, dear, no,--not in the least,--not infirm certainly!

"Oh, dear, no, not in the least - not infirm certainly!


I should be very sorry to be supposed to have said that Lady Glencora is infirm.


What I mean is, not robust, Miss Vavasor."


Her general organization, if you understand me, is exquisitely delicate.


One can see that, I think, in every glance of her eye."


Alice was going to protest that she had never seen it at all, when Mr. Palliser entered the room along with Mrs. Marsham.

Alice was going to protest, when Mr. Palliser entered the room along with Mrs. Marsham.


The two gentlemen shook hands, and then Mr. Palliser turned to Alice.


She perceived at once by his face that she was unwelcome, and wished herself away from his house.


It might be all very well for Lady Glencora to fight with Mrs. Marsham,--and with her husband, too, in regard to the Marsham persecution,--but there could be no reason why she should do so.


He just touched her hand, barely closing his thumb upon her fingers, and asked her how she was.

He just touched her hand, and asked her how she was.


Then he turned away from her side of the fire, and began talking to Mrs. Marsham on the other.

Then he turned away, and began talking to Mrs. Marsham on the other side.


There was that in his face and in his manner which was positively offensive to her.


He made no allusion to his former acquaintance with her,--spoke no word about Matching, no word about his wife, as he would naturally have done to his wife's friend.

He spoke no word about Matching, no word about his wife, as he would naturally have done to his wife's friend.


Alice felt the blood mount into her face, and regretted greatly that she had ever come among these people.

Alice felt the blood mount into her face, and regretted greatly that she had ever come here.


Had she not long since made up her mind that she would avoid her great relations, and did not all this prove that it would have been well for her to have clung to that resolution?

She should have avoided her great relations.


What was Lady Glencora to her that she should submit herself to be treated as though she were a poor companion,--a dependent, who received a salary for her attendance,--an indigent cousin, hanging on to the bounty of her rich connection?

What was Lady Glencora to her that she should be treated like a poor companion, dependent on the bounty of her rich connection?


She had nursed her pride till it was very faulty.


All her troubles and sorrows in life had come from an overfed craving for independence.


Why, then, should she submit to be treated with open want of courtesy by any man; but, of all men, why should she submit to it from such a one as Mr. Palliser,--the heir of a ducal house, rolling in wealth, and magnificent with all the magnificence of British pomp and pride?

Why, then, should she submit to such an open lack of courtesy by such a one as Mr. Palliser, who was rolling in wealth and magnificence?


No; she would make Lady Glencora understand that the close intimacies of daily life were not possible to them!

She would make Lady Glencora understand that a close friendship was not possible.


"I declare I'm very much ashamed," said Lady Glencora, as she entered the room.

"I declare I'm very much ashamed," said Lady Glencora, as she entered the room late.


"I shan't apologize to you, Alice, for it was you who kept me talking; but I do beg Mrs. Marsham's pardon."


Mrs. Marsham was all smiles and forgiveness, and hoped that Lady Glencora would not make a stranger of her.

Mrs. Marsham was all smiles and forgiveness.


Then dinner was announced, and Alice had to walk down stairs by herself. She did not care a doit for that, but there had been a disagreeable little contest when the moment came. Lady Glencora had wished to give up Mr. Bott to her cousin, but Mr. Bott had stuck manfully to Lady Glencora's side.

Then dinner was announced, and Alice had to walk downstairs by herself, because Mr. Bott stuck manfully to Lady Glencora's side.


He hoped to take Lady Glencora down to dinner very often, and was not at all disposed to abate his privilege.


During dinner-time Alice said very little, nor was there given to her opportunity of saying much.

During dinner-time Alice said very little, nor did she have the opportunity of saying much.


She could not but think of the day of her first arrival at Matching Priory, when she had sat between the Duke of St. Bungay and Jeffrey Palliser, and when everybody had been so civil to her!

She thought of her first day at Matching Priory, when she had sat between the Duke of St. Bungay and Jeffrey Palliser, and when everybody had been so civil to her!


She now occupied one side of the table by herself, away from the fire, where she felt cold and desolate in the gloom of the large half-lighted room.

Now she had one side of the table to herself, away from the fire, where she felt cold and desolate in the gloom of the large half-lit room.


Mr. Palliser occupied himself with Mrs. Marsham, who talked politics to him; and Mr. Bott never lost a moment in his endeavours to say some civil word to Lady Glencora. Lady Glencora gave him no encouragement; but she hardly dared to snub him openly in her husband's immediate presence.

Mr. Palliser occupied himself with Mrs. Marsham, who talked politics to him; and Mr. Bott was constantly trying to make conversation with Lady Glencora, who gave him no encouragement, but did not dare to snub him openly.


Twenty times during dinner she said some little word to Alice, attempting at first to make the time pleasant, and then, when the matter was too far gone for that, attempting to give some relief. But it was of no avail.

She frequently said some little word to Alice; but it was of no avail.


There are moments in which conversation seems to be impossible,--in which the very gods interfere to put a seal upon the lips of the unfortunate one. It was such a moment now with Alice.


She had never as yet been used to snubbing.


Whatever position she had hitherto held, in that she had always stood foremost,--much more so than had been good for her.


When she had gone to Matching, she had trembled for her position; but there all had gone well with her; there Lady Glencora's kindness had at first been able to secure for her a reception that had been flattering, and almost better than flattering.


Jeffrey Palliser had been her friend, and would, had she so willed it, have been more than her friend.


But now she felt that the halls of the Pallisers were too cold for her, and that the sooner she escaped from their gloom and hard discourtesy the better for her.

But now she felt that the halls of the Pallisers were too cold for her, and that the sooner she escaped from their gloom and discourtesy the better.


Mrs. Marsham, when the three ladies had returned to the drawing-room together, was a little triumphant.

Mrs. Marsham, when the three ladies returned to the drawing-room together, was a little triumphant.


She felt that she had put Alice down; and with the energetic prudence of a good general who knows that he should follow up a victory, let the cost of doing so be what it may, she determined to keep her down.

She felt that she had put Alice down; and with the energetic prudence of a good general, she determined to keep her down.


Alice had resolved that she would come as seldom as might be to Mr. Palliser's house in Park Lane.


That resolution on her part was in close accordance with Mrs. Marsham's own views.


"I am quite used to go about London in a cab by myself."


"I don't think they are nice for young ladies after dark," said Mrs. Marsham.


"I was going to offer my servant to walk with her."


She is an elderly woman, and would not mind it."


"I'm sure Alice is very much obliged," said Lady. Glencora; "but she will have the carriage."

"I'm sure Alice is very much obliged," said Lady Glencora; "but she will have the carriage."


"You are very good-natured," said Mrs. Marsham; "but gentlemen do so dislike having their horses out at night."

"But gentlemen do so dislike having their horses out at night."


"No gentleman's horses will be out," said Lady Glencora, savagely; "and as for mine, it's what they are there for."


It was not often that Lady Glencora made any allusion to her own property, or allowed any one near her to suppose that she remembered the fact that her husband's great wealth was, in truth, her wealth. As to many matters her mind was wrong. In some things her taste was not delicate as should be that of a woman. But, as regarded her money, no woman could have behaved with greater reticence, or a purer delicacy.

It was not often that Lady Glencora made any allusion to her own property; there she behaved with great reticence and delicacy.


But now, when she was twitted by her husband's special friend with ill-usage to her husband's horses, because she chose to send her own friend home in her own carriage, she did find it hard to bear.

But now, when she was twitted by her husband's friend about her husband's horses, because she chose to send her own friend home in her own carriage, she did find it hard to bear.


"I dare say it's all right," said Mrs. Marsham.


"Mr. Palliser has given me my horses for my own use, to do as I like with them; and if he thinks I take them out when they ought to be left at home, he can tell me so.

"Mr. Palliser has given me my horses for my own use, to do as I like with them; and if he thinks I take them out when I ought not, he can tell me so.


Lady Glencora, by this time, was almost in a passion, and showed that she was so.

Lady Glencora, by this time, was almost in a passion, and showed it.


"My dear Lady Glencora, you have mistaken me," said Mrs. Marsham; "I did not mean anything of that kind."

"My dear Lady Glencora, you have mistaken me," said Mrs. Marsham. "I did not mean anything of that kind."


"And it is such a pity, as I am quite used to going about in cabs."


"Of course you are," said Lady Glencora.


I'd go home in a wheelbarrow if I couldn't walk, and had no other conveyance.


"Upon my word, I don't understand anything," said that lady.


"I understand this," said Lady Glencora; "that in all such matters as that, I intend to follow my own pleasure.


Come, Alice, let us have some coffee,"--and she rang the bell.

Come, Alice, let us have some coffee," and she rang the bell.


"What a fuss we have made about a stupid old carriage!"


The gentlemen did not return to the drawing-room that evening, having, no doubt, joint work to do in arranging the great financial calculations of the nation; and, at an early hour, Alice was taken home in Lady Glencora's brougham, leaving her cousin still in the hands of Mrs. Marsham.

So Alice was taken home, leaving her cousin still in the hands of Mrs. Marsham.


Alice was resolved that she would keep her promise to Kate, and pay her visit to Westmoreland before she started with the Pallisers.

Alice was resolved to visit Westmorland before she set out with the Pallisers.


Kate had written to her three lines with her left hand, begging her to come, and those three lines had been more eloquent than anything she could have written had her right arm been uninjured.

Kate had written to her three lines with her left hand, begging her to come.


Alice had learned something of the truth as to the accident from her father; or, rather, had heard her father's surmises on the subject.

Alice had learned something of the truth about the accident from her father; or, rather, had heard her father's surmises.


She had heard, too, how her cousin George had borne himself when the will was read, and how he had afterwards disappeared, never showing himself again at the hall.

She had heard, too, how her cousin George had behaved when the will was read, and how he had afterwards disappeared.


After all that had passed she felt that she owed Kate some sympathy.


Sympathy may, no doubt, be conveyed by letter; but there are things on which it is almost impossible for any writer to express himself with adequate feeling; and there are things, too, which can be spoken, but which cannot be written.


Therefore, though the journey must be a hurried one, Alice sent word down to Westmoreland that she was to be expected there in a day or two.


On her return she was to go at once to Park Lane, and sleep there for the two nights which would intervene before the departure of the Pallisers.

On her return from Westmorland she was to go at once to Park Lane for two nights before the departure of the Pallisers.


On the day before she started for Westmoreland her father came to her in the middle of the day, and told her that John Grey was going to dine with him in Queen Anne Street on that evening.

On the day before she started for Westmorland, her father told her that John Grey was going to dine with him in Queen Anne Street that evening.


No man is less particular as to what he eats than Grey."


"I was not thinking of that, papa," she said.


To this Mr. Vavasor made no reply, but stood for some minutes looking out of the window.


Then he prepared to leave the room, getting himself first as far as the table, where he lifted a book, and then on half-way to the door before Alice arrested him.


"Perhaps, papa, you and Mr. Grey had better dine alone."
"What do you mean by alone?"
"I meant without me,--as two men generally like to do."

"Perhaps, papa, you and Mr. Grey had better dine alone, without me, as two men generally like to do."


"If I wanted that I should have asked him to dine at the club," said Mr. Vavasor, and then he again attempted to go.

"If I wanted that I should have asked him to dine at the club," said Mr. Vavasor.


If you mean to say that because of what has passed you object to meet Mr. Grey, I can only tell you it's nonsense,--confounded nonsense.

"If you mean to say that you object to meet Mr. Grey, I can only tell you it's nonsense.


If he chooses to come there can be no reason why you shouldn't receive him."

There can be no reason why you shouldn't receive him."


"It will look as though--"
"Look what?"
"As though he were asked as my guest."

"It will look as though he were asked as my guest."


"I saw him yesterday, and I asked him to come.


I saw him again to-day, and he said he would come.


He's not such a fool as to suppose after that, that you asked him."

He's not such a fool as to suppose that you asked him.


"And if you run away you'll only make more of the thing than it's worth.


Of course I can't make you dine with me if you don't like."


Alice did not like it, but, after some consideration, she thought that she might be open to the imputation of having made more of the thing than it was worth if she ran away, as her father called it.

Alice did not like it, but she saw her father's point.


She was going to leave the country for some six or eight months,--perhaps for a longer time than that, and it might be as well that she should have an opportunity of telling her plans to Mr. Grey.

She was going to leave the country for some six or eight months, and it might be as well that she should have an opportunity of telling her plans to Mr. Grey.


She could do it, she thought, in such a way as to make him understand that her last quarrel with George Vavasor was not supposed to alter the footing on which she stood with him.


She did not doubt that her father had told everything to Mr. Grey.

She did not doubt that her father had told him everything.


She knew well enough what her father's wishes still were. It was not odd that he should be asking John Grey to his house, though such exercises of domestic hospitality were very unusual with him. But,--so she declared to herself,--such little attempts on his part would be altogether thrown away.

She knew what her father's wishes still were; but she declared to herself that any attempts on his part would be thrown away.


It was a pity that he had not yet learned to know her better.


She would receive Mr. Grey as the mistress of her father's house now, for the last time; and then, on her return in the following year, he would be at Nethercoats, and the whole thing would be over.


She dressed herself very plainly, simply changing one black frock for another, and then sat herself in her drawing-room awaiting the two gentlemen.

She dressed very plainly, simply changing one black frock for another, and then sat in her drawing-room awaiting the two gentlemen.


It was already past the hour of dinner before her father came up-stairs.


She knew that he was in the house, and in her heart she accused him of keeping out of the way, in order that John Grey might be alone with her.


Whether or no she were right in her suspicions John Grey did not take advantage of the opportunity offered to him.


Her father came up first, and had seated himself silently in his arm-chair before the visitor was announced.

Her father came up first, and then the visitor was announced.


As Mr. Grey entered the room Alice knew that she was flurried, but still she managed to carry herself with some dignity.

As Mr. Grey entered the room Alice knew that she was flurried, but she managed to carry herself with dignity.


But then, as she declared to herself afterwards, no possible position in life would put him beside himself.


He came up to her with his usual quiet smile,--a smile that was genial even in its quietness, and took her hand. He took it fairly and fully into his; but there was no squeezing, no special pressure, no love-making.

He came up to her with his usual quiet smile, and took her hand; but there was no squeezing, no special pressure.


And when he spoke to her he called her Alice, as though his doing so was of all things the most simply a matter of course.

And when he called her Alice, it was simply as a matter of course.


There was no tell-tale hesitation in his voice.


"I hear you are going abroad," he said, "with your cousin, Lady Glencora Palliser."


[Illustration: She managed to carry herself with some dignity.]


"Yes," said Alice; "I am going with them for a long tour.


"We shall not return, I fancy, till the end of next winter."


"Plans of that sort are as easily broken as they are made," said her father.

"Plans of that sort are easily broken," said her father.


"You won't be your own mistress; and I advise you not to count too surely upon getting further than Baden."

"I advise you not to count too surely upon getting further than Baden."


"If Mr. Palliser changes his mind of course I shall come home," said Alice, with a little attempt at a smile.

"If Mr. Palliser changes his mind of course I shall come home," said Alice, with an attempt at a smile.


"I should think him a man not prone to changes," said Grey.


"But all London is talking about his change of mind at this moment.


They say at the clubs that he might have been in the Cabinet if he would, but that he has taken up this idea of going abroad at the moment when he was wanted."

They say he might have been in the Cabinet, but that he has taken up this idea of going abroad."


"It's his wife's doing, I take it," said Mr. Vavasor.

"It's his wife's doing, I presume," said Mr. Vavasor.


"That's the worst of being in Parliament," said Grey.


"A man can't do anything without giving a reason for it.


There must be men for public life, of course; but, upon my word, I think we ought to be very much obliged to them."

There must be men in public life, of course; but, upon my word, I think we ought to be very much obliged to them."


Alice, as she took her old lover's arm, and walked down with him to dinner, thought of all her former quarrels with him on this very subject.


He had never argued the matter with her.


He had never asked her to argue with him.


Had he done so, she thought that she would have brought herself to think as he thought.

Had he done so, she thought that she would have tried to think as he thought.


She would have striven, at any rate, to do so.


But she could not become unambitious, tranquil, fond of retirement, and philosophic, without an argument on the matter,--without being allowed even the poor grace of owning herself to be convinced.

But she could not become unambitious, tranquil, and fond of retirement, without an argument on the matter.


If a man takes a dog with him from the country up to town, the dog must live a town life without knowing the reason why;--must live a town life or die a town death.


But a woman should not be treated like a dog.


"If only he had deigned to discuss it with me!"


"But, no; he will read his books, and I am to go there to fetch him his slippers, and make his tea for him."

"But, no; he will read his books, and I am to fetch him his slippers, and make his tea."


All this came upon her again as she walked down-stairs by his side; and with it there came a consciousness that she had been driven by this usage into the terrible engagement which she had made with her cousin.

All this came upon her again now; and with it there came a consciousness that it had driven her into the terrible engagement with her cousin.


There was no longer to her any question of her marrying George Vavasor. But the fact that she had been mad enough to think and talk of such a marriage, had of itself been enough to ruin her.

There was no longer any question of her marrying George Vavasor; but merely thinking about such a marriage had been enough to ruin her.


"Things of that sort are so often over with you!"


After such a speech as that to her from her father, Alice told herself that there could be no more "things of that sort" for her.


But all her misery had been brought about by this scornful superiority to the ordinary pursuits of the world,--this looking down upon humanity.

But all her misery had been brought about by Grey's scornful superiority to the ordinary pursuits of the world - this looking down upon humanity.


"It seems to me," she said, very quietly, while her hand was yet upon his arm, "that your pity is hardly needed.

"It seems to me," she said, very quietly, while her hand was on his arm, "that your pity is hardly needed.


I should think that no persons can be happier than those whom you call our public men."

I should think that nobody can be happier than those public men."


He said it as though the quarrel had simply been an argument between them, or a dozen arguments,--as arguments do come up between friends; not as though it had served to separate for life two persons who had loved each other dearly.

He said it as though the quarrel had simply been an argument between friends; not as though it had separated for life two people who had loved each other dearly.


"It's the old story of the town mouse and the country mouse,--as old as the hills.

"It's the old story of the town mouse and the country mouse.


Mice may be civil for a while, and compliment each other; but when they come to speak their minds freely, each likes his own life best."

Mice may be civil for a while, but when they come to speak their minds freely, each likes his own life best."


She said nothing more at the moment, and the three sat down to their small dinner-table.

She said nothing more, and the three sat down to their small dinner-table.


It was astonishing to Alice that he should be able to talk in this way, to hint at such things, to allude to their former hopes and present condition, without a quiver in his voice, or, as far as she could perceive, without any feeling in his heart.

It was astonishing to Alice that he should be able to talk in this way, to allude to their former hopes, without a quiver in his voice, and, as far as she could tell, without any feeling in his heart.


"Alice," said her father, "I can't compliment your cook upon her soup."


"You don't encourage her, papa, by eating it often enough. And then you only told me at two o'clock to-day."

"Papa, you only told me at two o'clock today."


"If a cook can't make soup between two and seven, she can't make it in a week."


"I hope Mr. Grey will excuse it," said Alice.


"I won't say that it is, because I should be pretending to have an opinion; but I should not have found out anything against it of myself."

"I should not have found out anything against it myself."


"Where do you dine usually, now you are in London?"

"Where do you usually dine, now you are in London?"


"At the old club, at the corner of Suffolk Street."


It's the oldest club in London, I believe.


I never belonged to any other, and therefore can't compare them; but I can't imagine anything much nicer."


"You've an excellent cook," said Mr. Vavasor, with great gravity; "one of the best second-class cooks in London.

"You've an excellent cook," said Mr. Vavasor, with great gravity.


We were very nearly getting him, but you nicked him just in time.


"It's a great deal more than I do, or hope to do.


There's another branch of public life for which I'm quite unfitted.


I'd as soon be called on to choose a Prime Minister for the country, as I would a cook for a club."


"Of course you would," said Mr. Vavasor.


"There may be as many as a dozen cooks about London to be looked up, but there are never more than two possible Prime Ministers about.


And as one of them must be going out when the other is coming in, I don't see that there can be any difficulty.


Moreover, now-a-days, people do their politics for themselves, but they expect to have their dinners cooked for them."


The little dinner went on quietly and very easily.

The little dinner went on quietly and easily.


Mr. Vavasor found fault with nearly everything.


But as, on this occasion, the meat and the drink, with the manner of the eating and drinking, did not constitute the difficulty, Alice was indifferent to her father's censures.

But Alice was indifferent to her father's censures.


The thing needed was that she and Mr. Grey should be able to sit together at the same table without apparent consciousness of their former ties.


Alice felt that she was succeeding indifferently well while she was putting in little mock defences for the cook.

Alice felt that she was succeeding fairly well while she was putting in little mock defences for the cook.


And as for John Grey, he succeeded so well that his success almost made Alice angry with him.


It required no effort with him at all to be successful in this matter.


"If he can forget all that has passed, so much the better," said Alice to herself when she got up into the drawing-room.

"If he can forget all that has passed, so much the better," she said to herself when she went alone into the drawing-room.


Then she sat herself down on the sofa, and cried.

Then she sat down on the sofa, and cried.


Had any woman ever been so mad, so reckless, so heartless as she had been!


And she had done it, knowing that she loved him!


She cried bitterly, and then went away to wash her eyes, that she might be ready to give him his coffee when he should come up-stairs.

She cried bitterly, and then went away to wash her eyes, so that she might be ready to give him his coffee when he should come upstairs.


"She does not look well," said Grey as soon as she had left the room.


"Well;--no: how can she look well after what she has gone through?

"How can she look well after what she has gone through?


I sometimes think, that of all the people I ever knew, she has been the most foolish.

I think, that of all the people I ever knew, she has been the most foolish.


But, of course, it is not for me to say anything against my own child; and, of all people, not to you."

But, of course, it is not for me to say anything against my own child; especially to you."


"Nothing that you could say against her would make any difference to me.

"Nothing that you could say would make any difference to me.


I sometimes fancy that I know her better than you do."


"And you think that she'll still come round again?"


No one can venture to say whether or not such wounds as hers may be cured.

No one can say whether such wounds as hers may be cured.


There are hearts and bodies so organized, that in them severe wounds are incurable, whereas in others no injury seems to be fatal.


But I can say that if she be not cured it shall not be from want of perseverance on my part."

But if she is not cured, it shall not be from lack of perseverance on my part."


"Upon my word, Grey, I don't know how to thank you enough.


"It doesn't seem to me to be a case for thanking."


And in the ordinary way of the world no father would think of thanking a man for wanting to marry his daughter.


But things have come to such a pass with us, that, by George!


I don't mind saying anything to you, you know.


That claret isn't very good, but you might as well take another glass."


I should have said that that was rather good wine, now."


What's the use of my having good wine here, when nobody comes to drink it?


But, as I was saying about Alice, of course I've felt all this thing very much.


I feel as though I were responsible, and yet what could I do?

I feel responsible, and yet what could I do?


When she told me she was going to marry that horrible miscreant, my nephew, what could I do?"


"That's over now, and we need not talk about it."


"It's very kind of you to say so,--very.


I believe she's a good girl. I do, indeed, in spite of it all."

I believe she's a good girl, in spite of it all."


"I've no doubt of her being what you call a good girl,--none in the least.


What she has done to me does not impair her goodness.


I don't think you have ever understood how much all this has been a matter of conscience with her."


I like the conscience that makes a girl keep her word, and not bring disgrace upon those she belongs to."


"I shall not think that I am disgraced," said Grey, quietly, "if she will come and be my wife.

"I shall not think that I am disgraced," said Grey quietly, "if she will be my wife.


She has meant to do right, and has endeavoured to take care of the happiness of other people rather than her own."

She has meant to do right, and has tried to take care of other people's happiness rather than her own."


"She has taken very little care of mine," said Mr. Vavasor.


"I shall not be at all afraid to trust mine to her,--if she will let me do so.

"I shall not be afraid to trust mine to her - if she will let me.


But she has been wounded sorely, and it must take time."


"And, in the meantime, what are we to do when she tells us that Mr. George Vavasor wants another remittance?

"And, in the meantime, what are we to do when Mr. George Vavasor wants another payment?"


Two thousand pounds a quarter comes heavy, you know!"


"Let us hope, then, that she thinks he has had enough.


She'll think that I mean something if I leave you together."


From all this it will be seen that Alice's father and her lover still stood together on confidential terms.

From all this it will be seen that Alice's father and her lover were on confidential terms.


Not easily had Mr. Vavasor brought himself to speak of his daughter to John Grey, in such language as he had now used; but he had been forced by adverse circumstances to pass the Rubicon of parental delicacy; he had been driven to tell his wished-for son-in-law that he did wish to have him as a son-in-law; he had been compelled to lay aside those little airs of reserve with which a father generally speaks of his daughter,--and now all was open between them.


said Grey, as he stood close over Alice's work-table.

said Grey, as he stood close to Alice's work-table.


Mr. Vavasor had followed him into the drawing-room, but had seated himself in an easy-chair on the other side of the fire. There was no tone of whispering in Grey's voice, but yet he spoke in a manner which showed that he did not intend to be audible on the other side of the room.

Mr. Vavasor had seated himself in an easy-chair on the other side of the fire, and although Grey did not whisper, he spoke in a low voice, inaudible to her father.


We do not leave London for the continent till the latter end of next week."

We leave London for the continent at the end of next week.


"No; I shall not come back to Queen Anne Street."


"Mr. Palliser talked of next Easter as the term of his return.

"Mr. Palliser talked of returning next Easter."


I have not seen him myself since I agreed to go with him."


"What should you say if you met me somewhere in your travels?"


He had now gently seated himself on the sofa beside her;--not so close to her as to give her just cause to move away, but yet so near as to make his conversation with her quite private.

He had now gently seated himself on the sofa beside her, but not too close.


"I don't think that will be very likely," she replied, not knowing what to say.


I could not bring myself to fall in upon your track unawares.

I could not bring myself to fall in your way unawares.


I shall go abroad, but it will not be till the late autumn, when the summer heats are gone,--and I shall endeavour to find you."

I shall go abroad in the late autumn, when the summer heats are gone - and I shall try to find you."


There was a quivering in her voice, as she spoke, which she could not prevent, though she would have given worlds to prevent it.

There was a quivering in her voice, which she could not prevent.


"I do not think that will be quite fair."


"It will not be unfair, I think, if I give you notice of my approach.


I will not fall upon you and your friends unawares."

I will not fall upon you and your friends unexpectedly."


They would be glad to know you, of course."

They would be glad to meet you, of course."


or, rather, much more of course, you will not be glad to see me?


"I mean that we had better not meet more than we can help."


"I think differently, Alice,--quite differently.


The more we meet the better,--that is what I think.

The more we meet the better, that is what I think.


Then he got up and went away, and her father went with him. Mr. Vavasor, as he rose from his chair, declared that he would just walk through a couple of streets; but Alice knew that he was gone to his club.

Then he got up and went away, and her father went to his club.


It must be acknowledged that Mrs. Greenow was a woman of great resources, and that she would be very prudent for others, though I fear the verdict of those who know her must go against her in regard to prudence in herself.

It must be acknowledged that Mrs. Greenow was a resourceful woman, and very prudent for others, though perhaps not for herself.


Her marriage with Captain Bellfield was a rash act,--certainly a rash act, although she did take so much care in securing the payment of her own income into her own hands; but the manner in which she made him live discreetly for some months previous to his marriage, the tact with which she renewed the friendship which had existed between him and Mr. Cheesacre, and the skill she used in at last providing Mr. Cheesacre with a wife, oblige us all to admit that, as a general, she had great powers.

Her marriage with Captain Bellfield was certainly a rash act, although she did take so much care to keep her income in her own hands; but the manner in which she made him live discreetly for some months before their marriage, the tact with which she renewed the friendship between him and Mr. Cheesacre, and the skill she used in at last providing Mr. Cheesacre with a wife, oblige us to admit that, as a general, she had great powers.


When Alice reached Vavasor Hall she found Charlie Fairstairs established there on a long visit.

When Alice reached Vavasor Hall she found Charlie Fairstairs staying there on a long visit.


Charlie and Kate were to be the two bridesmaids, and, as Kate told her cousin in their first confidential intercourse on the evening of Alice's arrival, there were already great hopes in the household that the master of Oileymead might be brought to surrender.

Charlie and Kate were to be the two bridesmaids, and, as Kate told her cousin in their first confidential talk that evening, there were already great hopes that the master of Oileymead might be brought to surrender.


It was true that Charlie had not a shilling, and that Mr. Cheesacre had set his heart on marrying an heiress.


It was true that Miss Fairstairs had always stood low in the gentleman's estimation, as being connected with people who were as much without rank and fashion as they were without money, and that the gentleman loved rank and fashion dearly.

It was true that Miss Fairstairs' connections were without rank or fashion, and that the gentleman loved rank and fashion dearly.


It was true that Charlie was no beauty, and that Cheesacre had an eye for feminine charms.