This was quite fair, since his friend was provided for according to his own heart; and on the question of Judaism Hans felt thoroughly fortified:--who ever heard in tale or history that a woman's love went in the track of her race and religion? Moslem and Jewish damsels were always attracted toward Christians, and now if Mirah's heart had gone forth too precipitately toward Deronda, here was another case in point.

This was quite fair, since his friend loved another; and on the question of Judaism Hans felt thoroughly fortified: for in tales and history, Moslem and Jewish damsels were always attracted toward Christians.


Hans was wont to make merry with his own arguments, to call himself a Giaour, and antithesis the sole clue to events; but he believed a little in what he laughed at.


And thus his bird-like hope, constructed on the lightest principles, soared again in spite of heavy circumstances.

And thus his bird-like hope, constructed on the lightest principles, soared again.


They found Mordecai looking singularly happy, holding a closed letter in his hand, his eyes glowing with a quiet triumph which in his emaciated face gave the idea of a conquest over assailing death.

They found Mordecai looking singularly happy, holding a letter, his eyes glowing with a quiet triumph which in his emaciated face gave the idea of a conquest over death.


After the greeting between him and Hans, Mirah put her arm round her brother's neck and looked down at the letter in his hand, without the courage to ask about it, though she felt sure that it was the cause of his happiness.

Mirah put her arm round his neck, not daring to ask about the letter.


"A letter from Daniel Deronda," said Mordecai, answering her look.

"It is from Daniel Deronda," said Mordecai.


"Brief--only saying that he hopes soon to return.

"Brief - only saying that he hopes soon to return.


The promise of seeing him again is like the bow in the cloud to me," continued Mordecai, looking at Hans; "and to you it must be a gladness.

The promise of seeing him again is like the rainbow in the cloud to me," he continued, looking at Hans; "and to you it must be a gladness."


While Hans was answering Mirah slipped away to her own room; but not to indulge in any outburst of the passion within her.

While Hans was answering Mirah slipped away to her own room; but not to indulge in any outburst of passion.


If the angels, once supposed to watch the toilet of women, had entered the little chamber with her and let her shut the door behind them, they would only have seen her take off her hat, sit down and press her hands against her temples as if she had suddenly reflected that her head ached; then rise to dash cold water on her eyes and brow and hair till her backward curls were full of crystal beads, while she had dried her brow and looked out like a freshly-opened flower from among the dewy tresses of the woodland; then give deep sighs of relief, and putting on her little slippers, sit still after that action for a couple of minutes, which seemed to her so long, so full of things to come, that she rose with an air of recollection, and went down to make tea.

She merely took off her hat, sat down and pressed her hands against her temples as if her head ached; dashed cold water on her eyes and brow; and then, with deep sighs of relief, put on her slippers and sat still for a couple of minutes, which seemed to her so long that she rose again, and went down to make tea.


She had been used to remember that she must learn her part, must go to rehearsal, must act and sing in the evening, must hide her feelings from her father; and the more painful her life grew, the more she had been used to hide.

She had been used to remember that she must learn her part, must rehearse, must hide her feelings from her father; and the more painful her life grew, the more she had been used to hide.


The force of her nature had long found its chief action in resolute endurance, and to-day the violence of feeling which had caused the first jet of anger had quickly transformed itself into a steady facing of trouble, the well-known companion of her young years.

She had learnt resolute endurance, and today her first violence of feeling had quickly transformed itself into a steady facing of trouble, the well-known companion of her young years.


But while she moved about and spoke as usual, a close observer might have discerned a difference between this apparent calm, which was the effect of restraining energy, and the sweet genuine calm of the months when she first felt a return of her infantine happiness.

But while she spoke as usual, a close observer might have discerned a difference between this apparent calm, which was the effect of restraint, and the sweet genuine calm of the previous months.


Those who have been indulged by fortune and have always thought of calamity as what happens to others, feel a blind incredulous rage at the reversal of their lot, and half believe that their wild cries will alter the course of the storm.

Those who have been indulged by fortune feel a blind incredulous rage at the reversal of their lot, and half believe that their wild cries will alter the course of the storm.


Mirah felt no such surprise when familiar Sorrow came back from brief absence, and sat down with her according to the old use and wont.

Mirah felt no such surprise when familiar Sorrow came back from brief absence, and sat down with her according to the old use.


And this habit of expecting trouble rather than joy, hindered her from having any persistent belief in opposition to the probabilities which were not merely suggested by Hans, but were supported by her own private knowledge and long-growing presentiment. An attachment between Deronda and Mrs. Grandcourt, to end in their future marriage, had the aspect of a certainty for her feeling.

And this habit of expecting trouble rather than joy, inclined her to believe in the probability of an attachment between Deronda and Mrs. Grandcourt, and the certainly that they would marry.


There had been no fault in him: facts had ordered themselves so that there was a tie between him and this woman who belonged to another world than hers and Ezra's--nay, who seemed another sort of being than Deronda, something foreign that would be a disturbance in his life instead of blending with it.

There was a tie between him and this woman who belonged to another world than hers.


Well, well--but if it could have been deferred so as to make no difference while Ezra was there!

Well, well - if it could have been deferred so as to make no difference while Ezra was there!


She did not know all the momentousness of the relation between Deronda and her brother, but she had seen, and instinctively felt enough to forebode its being incongruous with any close tie to Mrs. Grandcourt; at least this was the clothing that Mirah first gave to her mortal repugnance.

She felt instinctively that the relation between Deronda and her brother was incongruous with any close tie to Mrs. Grandcourt.


But in the still, quick action of her consciousness, thoughts went on like changing states of sensation unbroken by her habitual acts; and this inward language soon said distinctly that the mortal repugnance would remain even if Ezra were secured from loss.

But in the still, quick action of her consciousness, her thoughts soon said distinctly that her repugnance would remain even if Ezra were secured from loss.


"What I have read about and sung about and seen acted, is happening to me--this that I am feeling is the love that makes jealousy;" so impartially Mirah summed up the charge against herself.

"What I have read and sung about, is happening to me - this is the love that makes jealousy;" so impartially Mirah summed up the charge against herself.


But what difference could this pain of hers make to any one else?

But what difference could this pain of hers make to anyone?


It must remain as exclusively her own, and hidden, as her early yearning and devotion to her lost mother.


But unlike that devotion, it was something that she felt to be a misfortune of her nature--a discovery that what should have been pure gratitude and reverence had sunk into selfish pain, that the feeling she had hitherto delighted to pour out in words was degraded into something she was ashamed to betray--an absurd longing that she who had received all and given nothing should be of importance where she was of no importance--an angry feeling toward another woman who possessed the good she wanted.

What should have been pure gratitude and reverence had sunk into selfish pain; the feeling she had hitherto delighted to pour out in words was degraded into something she was ashamed to betray - an absurd longing that she who had received all and given nothing should be of importance where she was of no importance.


But what notion, what vain reliance could it be that had lain darkly within her and was now burning itself into sight as disappointment and jealousy?


It was as if her soul had been steeped in poisonous passion by forgotten dreams of deep sleep, and now flamed out in this unaccountable misery.

It was as if her soul had been steeped in poisonous passion by forgotten dreams in sleep, and now flamed out in this unaccountable misery.


For with her waking reason she had never entertained what seemed the wildly unfitting thought that Deronda could love her.

For with her waking reason she had never entertained the thought that Deronda could love her.


The uneasiness she had felt before had been comparatively vague and easily explained as part of a general regret that he was only a visitant in her and her brother's world, from which the world where his home lay was as different as a portico with lights and lacqueys was different from the door of a tent, where the only splendor came from the mysterious inaccessible stars.

Her previous vague uneasiness had been easily explained as a general regret that he was only a visitant in her brother's world, which was so different to his.


But her feeling was no longer vague: the cause of her pain--the image of Mrs. Grandcourt by Deronda's side, drawing him farther and farther into the distance, was as definite as pincers on her flesh.

But her feeling was no longer vague: the cause of her pain - the image of Mrs. Grandcourt by Deronda's side - was as sharp as pincers on her flesh.


In the Psyche-mould of Mirah's frame there rested a fervid quality of emotion, sometimes rashly supposed to require the bulk of a Cleopatra; her impressions had the thoroughness and tenacity that give to the first selection of passionate feeling the character of a lifelong faithfulness.


And now a selection had declared itself, which gave love a cruel heart of jealousy: she had been used to a strong repugnance toward certain objects that surrounded her, and to walk inwardly aloof from them while they touched her sense.


And now her repugnance concentrated itself on Mrs. Grandcourt, of whom she involuntarily conceived more evil than she knew.


"I could bear everything that used to be--but this is worse--this is worse,--I used not to have horrible feelings!"

"I could bear everything that used to be - but this is worse - I used not to have horrible feelings!"


said the poor child in a loud whisper to her pillow.

said the poor child in a whisper to her pillow.


Strange that she should have to pray against any feeling which concerned Deronda!


But this conclusion had been reached through an evening spent in attending to Mordecai, whose exaltation of spirit in the prospect of seeing his friend again, disposed him to utter many thoughts aloud to Mirah, though such communication was often interrupted by intervals apparently filled with an inward utterance that animated his eyes and gave an occasional silent action to his lips.

But this conclusion had been reached through an evening spent with Mordecai, whose exaltation in the prospect of seeing his friend made him voice many thoughts aloud to Mirah.


"Seest thou, Mirah," he said once, after a long silence, "the _Shemah_, wherein we briefly confess the divine Unity, is the chief devotional exercise of the Hebrew; and this made our religion the fundamental religion for the whole world; for the divine Unity embraced as its consequence the ultimate unity of mankind.

"Seest thou, Mirah," he said, "the Shemah, wherein we confess the divine Unity, is the chief devotional exercise of the Hebrew; and this made our religion the fundamental religion for the whole world.


See, then--the nation which has been scoffed at for its separateness, has given a binding theory to the human race.

See, then - the nation which has been scoffed at for its separateness, has given a binding theory to the human race.


Now, in complete unity a part possesses the whole as the whole possesses every part: and in this way human life is tending toward the image of the Supreme Unity: for as our life becomes more spiritual by capacity of thought, and joy therein, possession tends to become more universal, being independent of gross material contact; so that in a brief day the soul of man may know in fuller volume the good which has been and is, nay, is to come, than all he could possess in a whole life where he had to follow the creeping paths of the senses.

Now, in complete unity a part possesses the whole as the whole possesses every part: and in this way human life is tending toward the image of the Supreme Unity: for as our life becomes more spiritual, possession becomes more universal, and independent of material contact; so that in a brief day the soul of man may know more fully the good which has been and is to come, than all he could possess in a whole life where he had to follow the creeping paths of the senses.


In this moment, my sister, I hold the joy of another's future within me: a future which these eyes will not see, and which my spirit may not then recognize as mine.

I hold the joy of another's future within me: a future which these eyes will not see.


I recognize it now, and love it so, that I can lay down this poor life upon its altar and say: 'Burn, burn indiscernibly into that which shall be, which is my love and not me.'

I love it so, that I can lay down this poor life upon its altar and say: 'Burn, burn indiscernibly into that which shall be, which is my love and not me.'


"A little," said Mirah, faintly, "but my mind is too poor to have felt it."


"And yet," said Mordecai, rather insistently, "women are specially framed for the love which feels possession in renouncing, and is thus a fit image of what I mean.

"And yet," said Mordecai, rather insistently, "women are specially framed for the love which feels possession in renouncing.


Somewhere in the later _Midrash_, I think, is the story of a Jewish maiden who loved a Gentile king so well, that this was what she did:--she entered into prison and changed clothes with the woman who was beloved by the king, that she might deliver that woman from death by dying in her stead, and leave the king to be happy in his love which was not for her.

Somewhere in the later Midrash, I think, is the story of a Jewish maiden who loved a Gentile king so well, that she entered into prison and changed clothes with the woman who was beloved by the king, that she might deliver that woman from death by dying in her stead, and leave the king to be happy in his love which was not for her.


This is the surpassing love, that loses self in the object of love."

This is the surpassing love, that loses self."


"No, Ezra, no," said Mirah, with low-toned intensity, "that was not it.


She wanted the king when she was dead to know what she had done, and feel that she was better than the other.

She wanted the king when she was dead to know what she had done, and to feel that she was better than the other.


It was her strong self, wanting to conquer, that made her die."


Mordecai was silent a little, and then argued,


But if she acted so, believing the king would never know."


"You can make the story so in your mind, Ezra, because you are great, and like to fancy the greatest that could be.


But I think it was not really like that.


The Jewish girl must have had jealousy in her heart, and she wanted somehow to have the first place in the king's mind.


"My sister, thou hast read too many plays, where the writers delight in showing the human passions as indwelling demons, unmixed with the relenting and devout elements of the soul.

"My sister, thou hast read too many plays.


Thou judgest by the plays, and not by thy own heart, which is like our mother's."

Thou judgest by those, and not by thy own heart, which is like our mother's."


"And you must love him ere to you He will seem worthy of your love."


One might be tempted to envy Deronda providing new clothes for Mordecai, and pleasing himself as if he were sketching a picture in imagining the effect of the fine gray flannel shirts and a dressing-gown very much like a Franciscan's brown frock, with Mordecai's head and neck above them.

Deronda, having provided new clothes for Mordecai, was pleased with the effect of the fine grey flannel shirts and a dressing-gown like a Franciscan's brown robe, with Mordecai's head above them.


Half his pleasure was the sense of seeing Mirah's brother through her eyes, and securing her fervid joy from any perturbing impression. And yet, after he had made all things ready, he was visited with doubt whether he were not mistaking her, and putting the lower effect for the higher: was she not just as capable as he himself had been of feeling the impressive distinction in her brother all the more for that aspect of poverty which was among the memorials of his past? But there were the Meyricks to be propitiated toward this too Judaic brother; and Deronda detected himself piqued into getting out of sight everything that might feed the ready repugnance in minds unblessed with that precious "seeing," that bathing of all objects in a solemnity as of sun-set glow, which is begotten of a loving reverential emotion.

He knew that Mirah would see her brother's distinction through any appearance of poverty; but there were the Meyricks to be propitiated, and Deronda found himself putting out of sight everything that might feed their repugnance.


And his inclination would have been the more confirmed if he had heard the dialogue round Mrs. Meyrick's fire late in the evening, after Mirah had gone to her room.

This inclination would have been confirmed if he had heard the dialogue round Mrs. Meyrick's fire in the evening, after Mirah had gone to her room.


Hans, settled now in his Chelsea rooms, had stayed late, and Mrs. Meyrick, poking the fire into a blaze, said,

Hans had stayed late, and Mrs. Meyrick said-


"Now, Kate, put out your candle, and all come round the fire cosily.


Hans, dear, do leave off laughing at those poems for the ninety-ninth time, and come too.


I have seen it in the corner of your eye ever so long, and in your pretense of errands," said Kate, while the girls came up to put their feet on the fender, and Hans, pushing his chair near them, sat astride it, resting his fists and chin on the back.

I have seen it in your eye ever so long," said Kate, while the girls came up to put their feet on the fender, and Hans sat astride his chair.


"Well, then, if you are so wise, perhaps you know that Mirah's brother is found!"


said Mrs. Meyrick, in her clearest accents.


"I _cannot_ help being rather sorry," said Kate.

"I cannot help being rather sorry," said Kate.


"I hope the brother is not a bad man," said Amy.


"Nor a fellow all smiles and jewelry--a Crystal Palace Assyrian with a hat on," said Hans, in the worst humor.

"Nor a fellow all smiles and jewellery," said Hans, in the worst humour.


"Were there ever such unfeeling children?"


said Mrs. Meyrick, a little strengthened by the need for opposition.


"You don't think the least bit of Mirah's joy in the matter."

"You don't think about Mirah's joy in the matter."


"You know, ma, Mirah hardly remembers her brother," said Kate.

"Mirah hardly remembers her brother," said Kate.


"People who are lost for twelve years should never come back again," said Hans.


"If you had lost me for _twenty_ years, I should have thought--"


"Anywhere about twelve years is the time at which lost relations should keep out of the way."


"Well, but it's nice finding people--there is something to tell," said Mab, clasping her knees.

"But it's nice finding people - there is something to tell," said Mab, clasping her knees.


Then Mrs. Meyrick, in her neat, narrative way, told all she knew without interruption.

Then Mrs. Meyrick, in her neat way, told all she knew without interruption.


"Mr. Deronda has the highest admiration for him," she ended--"seems quite to look up to him. And he says Mirah is just the sister to understand this brother."

"Mr. Deronda has the highest admiration for him," she ended,- "and he says Mirah is just the sister to understand this brother."


"Deronda is getting perfectly preposterous about those Jews," said Hans with disgust, rising and setting his chair away with a bang.

"Deronda is getting perfectly preposterous about those Jews," said Hans, standing up in disgust.


"He wants to do everything he can to encourage Mirah in her prejudices."


"Oh, for shame, Hans!--to speak in that way of Mr. Deronda," said Mab.

"Oh, for shame, Hans!- to speak in that way of Mr. Deronda," said Mab.


And Mrs. Meyrick's face showed something like an under-current of expression not allowed to get to the surface.

And Mrs. Meyrick's face showed an under-current of expression not allowed to surface.


"And now we shall never be all together," Hans went on, walking about with his hands thrust into the pockets of his brown velveteen coat, "but we must have this prophet Elijah to tea with us, and Mirah will think of nothing but sitting on the ruins of Jerusalem.

"And now we shall never be all together," Hans went on, walking about with his hands thrust into his pockets, "but we must have this prophet Elijah to tea with us, and Mirah will think of nothing but sitting on the ruins of Jerusalem.


She will be spoiled as an artist--mind that--she will get as narrow as a nun.


Everything will be spoiled--our home and everything.


"Oh, really, Hans," said Kate, impatiently.


"I do think men are the most contemptible animals in all creation.


Every one of them must have everything to his mind, else he is unbearable."


"I feel as if ancient Nineveh were come again."


"I should like to know what is the good of having gone to the university and knowing everything, if you are so childish, Hans," said Amy.

"What is the good of going to university and knowing everything, if you are so childish, Hans?" said Amy.


"You ought to put up with a man that Providence sends you to be kind to.

"You ought to be kind to a man that Providence sends you."


"I hope you will all of you like the new Lamentations of Jeremiah--'to be continued in our next'--that's all," said Hans, seizing his wide-awake.

"I hope you will like the Lamentations of Jeremiah - that's all," said Hans, seizing his hat.


"It's no use being one thing more than another if one has to endure the company of those men with a fixed idea, staring blankly at you, and requiring all your remarks to be small foot-notes to their text.

"I can't endure the company of those men with a fixed idea, staring blankly at you, and requiring all your remarks to be foot-notes to their text."


If you're to be under a petrifying wall, you'd better be an old boot.


Then abruptly, "Good night, little mother," bending to kiss her brow in a hasty, desperate manner, and condescendingly, on his way to the door, "Good-night, girls."

Then abruptly, "Good night, little mother," bending to kiss her brow, and condescendingly, on his way to the door, "Good-night, girls."


"Suppose Mirah knew how you are behaving," said Kate.


"I _should_ like to see Mirah when Mr. Deronda tells her," she went on to her mother.

"I should like to see Mirah when Mr. Deronda tells her," she went on to her mother.


But Deronda, on second thoughts, had written a letter, which Mrs. Meyrick received the next morning, begging her to make the revelation instead of waiting for him, not giving the real reason--that he shrank from going again through a narrative in which he seemed to be making himself important and giving himself a character of general beneficence--but saying that he wished to remain with Mordecai while Mrs. Meyrick would bring Mirah on what was to be understood as a visit, so that there might be a little interval before that change of abode which he expected that Mirah herself would propose.

But Deronda, on second thoughts, had written a letter which Mrs. Meyrick received next morning, begging her to make the revelation instead of waiting for him. He shrank from telling a story in which he seemed to make himself important; but he told Mrs. Meyrick that he wished to remain with Mordecai while she brought Mirah on a visit to see him.


Deronda secretly felt some wondering anxiety how far Mordecai, after years of solitary preoccupation with ideas likely to have become the more exclusive from continual diminution of bodily strength, would allow him to feel a tender interest in his sister over and above the rendering of pious duties.

Deronda secretly felt anxious as to how much tender interest in his sister Mordecai might be able to feel, after years of solitary preoccupation with ideas.


His feeling for the Cohens, and especially for little Jacob, showed a persistent activity of affection; but these objects had entered into his daily life for years; and Deronda felt it noticeable that Mordecai asked no new questions about Mirah, maintaining, indeed, an unusual silence on all subjects, and appearing simply to submit to the changes that were coming over his personal life.

He had shown affection for the Cohens, and especially little Jacob; but he had known them for years; and Deronda noticed that Mordecai asked no new questions about Mirah, but was unusually silent and submissive.


He donned the new clothes obediently, but said afterward to Deronda, with a faint smile, "I must keep my old garments by me for a remembrance."

He donned the new clothes obediently, but said to Deronda, with a faint smile, "I must keep my old garments for a remembrance."


And when they were seated, awaiting Mirah, he uttered no word, keeping his eyelids closed, but yet showing restless feeling in his face and hands.

And when they were seated, awaiting Mirah, he uttered no word, keeping his eyelids closed, but yet with restless hands and face.


In fact, Mordecai was undergoing that peculiar nervous perturbation only known to those whose minds, long and habitually moving with strong impetus in one current, are suddenly compelled into a new or reopened channel.

In fact, Mordecai was undergoing that nervous upheaval only known to those whose minds have long moved in one direction, when they are suddenly compelled into a new channel.


Susceptible people, whose strength has been long absorbed by dormant bias, dread an interview that imperiously revives the past, as they would dread a threatening illness.

They may dread an interview that imperiously revives the past, as they would dread a threatening illness.


Joy may be there, but joy, too, is terrible.


Deronda felt the infection of excitement, and when he heard the ring at the door, he went out, not knowing exactly why, that he might see and greet Mirah beforehand.

When Deronda heard the doorbell, he went out to greet Mirah beforehand.


He was startled to find that she had on the hat and cloak in which he had first seen her--the memorable cloak that had once been wetted for a winding-sheet.

He was startled to find that she had on the hat and cloak in which he had first seen her - the cloak that had been wetted for a winding-sheet.


She had come down-stairs equipped in this way; and when Mrs. Meyrick said, in a tone of question, "You like to go in that dress, dear?" she answered, "My brother is poor, and I want to look as much like him as I can, else he may feel distant from me"--imagining that she should meet him in the workman's dress.

She had told Mrs. Meyrick, "My brother is poor, and I want to look as much like him as I can, else he may feel distant from me" - imagining that she should meet him in workman's dress.


Deronda could not make any remark, but felt secretly rather ashamed of his own fastidious arrangements.

Deronda felt secretly rather ashamed of his own fastidious arrangements.


They shook hands silently, for Mirah looked pale and awed.


When Deronda opened the door for her, Mordecai had risen, and had his eyes turned toward it with an eager gaze.

When Deronda opened the door, Mordecai had risen, and turned his eyes toward it with an eager gaze.


Mirah took only two or three steps, and then stood still.

Mirah took two or three steps, and then stood still.


It was less their own presence that they felt than another's; they were meeting first in memories, compared with which touch was no union.

They were meeting first in memories, compared with which touch was no union.


Mirah was the first to break the silence, standing where she was.

Mirah was the first to break the silence.


"Ezra," she said, in exactly the same tone as when she was telling of her mother's call to him.


Mordecai with a sudden movement advanced and laid his hand on her shoulders.

Mordecai suddenly advanced and laid his hands on her shoulders.


He was the head taller, and looked down at her tenderly while he said, "That was our mother's voice.

He was a head taller, and looked down at her tenderly, saying, "That was our mother's voice.


"Yes, and how you answered her--'Mother!'

"Yes, and how you answered her - 'Mother!


Mirah threw her arms round her brother's neck, clasped her little hands behind it, and drew down his face, kissing it with childlike lavishness.

Mirah threw her arms round her brother's neck, and kissed his face with childlike lavishness.


Her hat fell backward on the ground and disclosed all her curls.

Her hat fell backward on the ground, disclosing her curls.


said Mordecai, in a low loving tone, laying his thin hand gently on the curls.


"You are very ill, Ezra," said Mirah, sadly looking at him with more observation.

"You are very ill, Ezra," said Mirah, with sad observation.


"Yes, dear child, I shall not be long with you in the body," was the quiet answer.


"Oh, I will love you and we will talk to each other," said Mirah, with a sweet outpouring of her words, as spontaneous as bird-notes.

"Oh, I will love you and we will talk to each other," said Mirah, her words as sweet and spontaneous as bird-notes.


"I will tell you everything, and you will teach me:--you will teach me to be a good Jewess--what she would have liked me to be.

"I will tell you everything, and you will teach me to be a good Jewess - what she would have liked me to be.


I shall always be with you when I am not working.


Mirah until now had quite forgotten that any one was by, but here she turned with the prettiest attitude, keeping one hand on her brother's arm while she looked at Mrs. Meyrick and Deronda.

Here Mirah turned with the prettiest attitude to look at Mrs. Meyrick and Deronda.


The little mother's happy emotion in witnessing this meeting of brother and sister had already won her to Mordecai, who seemed to her really to have more dignity and refinement than she had felt obliged to believe in from Deronda's account.

The little mother's happiness in witnessing this meeting had already won her to Mordecai, who had more dignity and refinement than she had expected.


"I was a stranger, a poor wanderer, and she believed in me, and has treated me as a daughter.

"I was a poor wanderer, and she believed in me, and has treated me as a daughter."


Please give my brother your hand," she added, beseechingly, taking Mrs. Meyrick's hand and putting it in Mordecai's, then pressing them both with her own and lifting them to her lips.

Taking Mrs. Meyrick's hand and putting it in Mordecai's, she pressed them both with her own before lifting them to her lips.


"The Eternal Goodness has been with you," said Mordecai.


"You have helped to fulfill our mother's prayer."


"I think we will go now, shall we?--and return later," said Deronda, laying a gentle pressure on Mrs. Meyrick's arm, and she immediately complied.

"I think we will go now, and return later," said Deronda, laying a gentle pressure on Mrs. Meyrick's arm.


He was afraid of any reference to the facts about himself which he had kept back from Mordecai, and he felt no uneasiness now in the thought of the brother and sister being alone together.

He felt no uneasiness now at the brother and sister being alone together.


"Questa montagna e tale, Che sempre al cominciar di sotto a grave.


It was not many days after her mother's arrival that Gwendolen would consent to remain at Genoa.

Gwendolen would not consent to remain at Genoa after her mother's arrival.


Her desire to get away from that gem of the sea, helped to rally her strength and courage.

Her desire to get away helped to rally her strength.


For what place, though it were the flowery vale of Enna, may not the inward sense turn into a circle of punishment where the flowers are no better than a crop of flame-tongues burning the soles of our feet?

For that gem of the sea had turned into a place of punishment.


"I shall never like to see the Mediterranean again," said Gwendolen, to her mother, who thought that she quite understood her child's feeling--even in her tacit prohibition of any express reference to her late husband.

"I shall never like to see the Mediterranean again," she said to her mother, who thought that she quite understood her child's feeling.


Mrs. Davilow, indeed, though compelled formally to regard this time as one of severe calamity, was virtually enjoying her life more than she had ever done since her daughter's marriage.

Mrs. Davilow, indeed, though compelled formally to regard this time as one of severe calamity, was enjoying her life more than she had ever done since her daughter's marriage.


It seemed that her darling was brought back to her not merely with all the old affection, but with a conscious cherishing of her mother's nearness, such as we give to a possession that we have been on the brink of losing.


cried Gwendolen, in the middle of the night (a bed had been made for her mother in the same room with hers), very much as she would have done in her early girlhood, if she had felt frightened in lying awake.

cried Gwendolen, in the middle of the night, as she had in her young girlhood. (A bed had been made for her mother in the same room with hers.)


"No, thank you; only I like so to know you are there.


(This question would hardly have been Gwendolen's in her early girlhood.)

(Gwendolen would hardly have asked this in her early girlhood.)


"It seemed not real that you were with me.


But you must not lie awake, anxious about me.


You must let me make you happy now at last--else what shall I do?"

You must let me make you happy now at last."


"God bless you, dear; I have the best happiness I can have, when you make much of me."

"God bless you, dear; I have the best happiness possible, when you make much of me."


But the next night, hearing that she was sighing and restless Mrs. Davilow said, "Let me give you your sleeping-draught, Gwendolen."

But the next night, hearing that she was sighing and restless, Mrs. Davilow said, "Let me give you your sleeping-draught, Gwendolen."


"No, mamma, thank you; I don't want to sleep."


"It would be so good for you to sleep more, my darling."

"It would be good for you to sleep more, my darling."


"Don't say what would be good for me, mamma," Gwendolen answered, impetuously.

"Don't say what would be good for me, mamma," Gwendolen answered impetuously.


"You don't know what would be good for me.


You and my uncle must not contradict me and tell me anything is good for me when I feel it is not good."

You and my uncle must not contradict me and tell me what would be good for me."


Mrs. Davilow was silent, not wondering that the poor child was irritable.


"Yes, I was," said Gwendolen insistently.


"It is because I was always wicked that I am miserable now."


The determination to be silent about all the facts of her married life and its close, reacted in these escapes of enigmatic excitement.

The determination to be silent about the facts of her married life reacted in these escapes.


But dim lights of interpretation were breaking on the mother's mind through the information that came from Sir Hugo to Mr. Gascoigne, and, with some omissions, from Mr. Gascoigne to herself.

But light was breaking on the mother's mind through the information that came to her from Sir Hugo, through Mr. Gascoigne.


The good-natured baronet, while he was attending to all decent measures in relation to his nephew's death, and the possible washing ashore of the body, thought it the kindest thing he could do to use his present friendly intercourse with the rector as an opportunity for communicating with him, in the mildest way, the purport of Grandcourt's will, so as to save him the additional shock that would be in store for him if he carried his illusions all the way home.

The good-natured baronet thought it best to tell the rector the purport of Grandcourt's will, so as to save him the shock that would be in store for him otherwise.


Perhaps Sir Hugo would have been communicable enough without that kind motive, but he really felt the motive.


He broke the unpleasant news to the rector by degrees: at first he only implied his fear that the widow was not so splendidly provided for as Mr. Gascoigne, nay, as the baronet himself had expected; and only at last, after some previous vague reference to large claims on Grandcourt, he disclosed the prior relations which, in the unfortunate absence of a legitimate heir, had determined all the splendor in another direction.


The rector was deeply hurt, and remembered, more vividly than he had ever done before, how offensively proud and repelling the manners of the deceased had been toward him--remembered also that he himself, in that interesting period just before the arrival of the new occupant at Diplow, had received hints of former entangling dissipations, and an undue addiction to pleasure, though he had not foreseen that the pleasure which had probably, so to speak, been swept into private rubbish-heaps, would ever present itself as an array of live caterpillars, disastrous to the green meat of respectable people.

The rector was deeply hurt, and remembered, more vividly than before, how offensively proud and repelling the manners of the deceased had been - remembered also that he himself had received hints of former entangling dissipations.


But he did not make these retrospective thoughts audible to Sir Hugo, or lower himself by expressing any indignation on merely personal grounds, but behaved like a man of the world who had become a conscientious clergyman. His first remark was,

However, he did not express these thoughts, but remarked-


"When a young man makes his will in health, he usually counts on living a long while.


Probably Mr. Grandcourt did not believe that this will would ever have its present effect."


After a moment, he added, "The effect is painful in more ways than one.


Female morality is likely to suffer from this marked advantage and prominence being given to illegitimate offspring."


"Well, in point of fact," said Sir Hugo, in his comfortable way, "since the boy is there, this was really the best alternative for the disposal of the estates.


Grandcourt had nobody nearer than his cousin.


And it's a chilling thought that you go out of this life only for the benefit of a cousin.


A man gets a little pleasure in making his will, if it's for the good of his own curly heads; but it's a nuisance when you're giving the bequeathing to a used-up fellow like yourself, and one you don't care two straws for.


It's the next worse thing to having only a life interest in your estates.


No; I forgive Grandcourt for that part of his will.


But, between ourselves, what I don't forgive him for, is the shabby way he has provided for your niece--_our_ niece, I will say--no better a position than if she had been a doctor's widow.

But what I don't forgive him for, is the shabby way he has provided for your niece.


Nothing grates on me more than that posthumous grudgingness toward a wife.


A man ought to have some pride and fondness for his widow.


I take it as a test of a man, that he feels the easier about his death when he can think of his wife and daughters being comfortable after it.


I like that story of the fellows in the Crimean war, who were ready to go to the bottom of the sea if their widows were provided for."


"It has certainly taken me by surprise," said Mr. Gascoigne, "all the more because, as the one who stood in the place of father to my niece, I had shown my reliance on Mr. Grandcourt's apparent liberality in money matters by making no claims for her beforehand.


That seemed to me due to him under the circumstances.


If you marry another niece, though it may be to the Archbishop of Canterbury, bind him down.


Your niece can't be married for the first time twice over.


And if he's a good fellow, he'll wish to be bound.


But as to Mrs. Grandcourt, I can only say that I feel my relation to her all the nearer because I think that she has not been well treated.


And I hope you will urge her to rely on me as a friend."


Thus spake the chivalrous Sir Hugo, in his disgust at the young and beautiful widow of a Mallinger Grandcourt being left with only two thousand a year and a house in a coal-mining district.


To the rector that income naturally appeared less shabby and less accompanied with mortifying privations; but in this conversation he had devoured a much keener sense than the baronet's of the humiliation cast over his niece, and also over her nearest friends, by the conspicuous publishing of her husband's relation to Mrs. Glasher.

To the rector that income naturally appeared less shabby; but he had a keener sense of the humiliation cast over his niece, and also over her nearest friends, by the publishing of her husband's relation to Mrs. Glasher.


And like all men who are good husbands and fathers, he felt the humiliation through the minds of the women who would be chiefly affected by it; so that the annoyance of first hearing the facts was far slighter than what he felt in communicating them to Mrs. Davilow, and in anticipating Gwendolen's feeling whenever her mother saw fit to tell her of them.

He felt the unpleasantness of communicating the facts to Mrs. Davilow, who had to tell Gwendolen.


For the good rector had an innocent conviction that his niece was unaware of Mrs. Glasher's existence, arguing with masculine soundness from what maidens and wives were likely to know, do, and suffer, and having had a most imperfect observation of the particular maiden and wife in question.

For the good rector had an innocent conviction that his niece was unaware of Mrs. Glasher's existence.


Not so Gwendolen's mother, who now thought that she saw an explanation of much that had been enigmatic in her child's conduct and words before and after her engagement, concluding that in some inconceivable way Gwendolen had been informed of this left-handed marriage and the existence of the children.

Not so Gwendolen's mother, who now thought that she saw an explanation of much that had been enigmatic in her child's conduct, concluding that in some way Gwendolen had been informed of this left-handed marriage and the existence of the children.


She trusted to opportunities that would arise in moments of affectionate confidence before and during their journey to England, when she might gradually learn how far the actual state of things was clear to Gwendolen, and prepare her for anything that might be a disappointment.

She trusted that Gwendolen might confide in her during their journey to England, so that she could prepare her for any disappointment.


But she was spared from devices on the subject.


"I hope you don't expect that I am going to be rich and grand, mamma," said Gwendolen, not long after the rector's communication; "perhaps I shall have nothing at all."

"I hope you don't expect that I am going to be rich and grand, mamma," said Gwendolen; "perhaps I shall have nothing."


She was dressed, and had been sitting long in quiet meditation.


Mrs. Davilow was startled, but said, after a moment's reflection,

Mrs. Davilow was startled, but said, after a moment's reflection-


"That will not decide," said Gwendolen, abruptly.


"Surely, dear: Sir Hugo says you are to have two thousand a year and the house at Gadsmere."


"What I have will depend on what I accept," said Gwendolen.


"You and my uncle must not attempt to cross me and persuade me about this.

"You and my uncle must not attempt to cross me.


I will do everything I can do to make you happy, but in anything about my husband I must not be interfered with.


Is eight hundred a year enough for you, mamma?"


You must not think of giving me so much."


Mrs. Davilow paused a little, and then said, "Do you know who is to have the estates and the rest of the money?"

Mrs. Davilow paused, and then said, "Do you know who is to have the rest of the money?"


"Yes," said Gwendolen, waving her hand in dismissal of the subject.


It is all perfectly right, and I wish never to have it mentioned."


The mother was silent, looked away, and rose to fetch a fan-screen, with a slight flush on her delicate cheeks.


Wondering, imagining, she did not like to meet her daughter's eyes, and sat down again under a sad constraint. What wretchedness her child had perhaps gone through, which yet must remain as it always had been, locked away from their mutual speech.

She did not like to meet her daughter's eyes, and sat down again under a sad constraint, wondering what wretchedness her child had perhaps gone through.


But Gwendolen was watching her mother with that new divination which experience had given her; and in tender relenting at her own peremptoriness, said, "Come and sit nearer to me, mamma, and don't be unhappy."

But Gwendolen was watching her mother with that new divination which experience had given her; and said tenderly, "Come and sit nearer, mamma, and don't be unhappy."


Mrs. Davilow did as she was told, but bit her lips in the vain attempt to hinder smarting tears. Gwendolen leaned toward her caressingly and said, "I mean to be very wise; I do, really.

When Mrs. Davilow did so, Gwendolen leaned toward her caressingly and said, "I mean to be very wise; I do, really.


And good--oh, so good to you, dear, old, sweet mamma, you won't know me.

And so good to you, dear, old, sweet mamma, you won't know me.


The resolve that Gwendolen had in her mind was that she would ask Deronda whether she ought to accept any of her husband's money--whether she might accept what would enable her to provide for her mother.

Gwendolen had resolved to ask Deronda whether she ought to accept any of her husband's money - whether she might accept enough to provide for her mother.


The poor thing felt strong enough to do anything that would give her a higher place in Deronda's mind.


An invitation that Sir Hugo pressed on her with kind urgency was that she and Mrs. Davilow should go straight with him to Park Lane, and make his house their abode as long as mourning and other details needed attending to in London.

Sir Hugo kindly invited Gwendolen and Mrs. Davilow to Park Lane, to stay for as long as they needed.


Town, he insisted, was just then the most retired of places; and he proposed to exert himself at once in getting all articles belonging to Gwendolen away from the house in Grosvenor Square.


No proposal could have suited her better than this of staying a little while in Park Lane.

No proposal could have suited Gwendolen better.


It would be easy for her there to have an interview with Deronda, if she only knew how to get a letter into his hands, asking him to come to her.

It would be easy for her there to have an interview with Deronda, if she could only get a letter to him.


During the journey, Sir Hugo, having understood that she was acquainted with the purport of her husband's will, ventured to talk before her and to her about her future arrangements, referring here and there to mildly agreeable prospects as matters of course, and otherwise shedding a decorous cheerfulness over her widowed position.

During the journey, Sir Hugo ventured to talk to her about her future arrangements.


It seemed to him really the more graceful course for a widow to recover her spirits on finding that her husband had not dealt as handsomely by her as he might have done; it was the testator's fault if he compromised all her grief at his departure by giving a testamentary reason for it, so that she might be supposed to look sad, not because he had left her, but because he had left her poor.


The baronet, having his kindliness doubly fanned by the favorable wind on his fortunes and by compassion for Gwendolen, had become quite fatherly in his behavior to her, called her "my dear," and in mentioning Gadsmere to Mr. Gascoigne, with its various advantages and disadvantages, spoke of what "we" might do to make the best of that property.

He had become quite fatherly towards her, calling her "my dear," and in mentioning Gadsmere, spoke of what "we" might do to make the best of that property.


Gwendolen sat by in pale silence while Sir Hugo, with his face turned toward Mrs. Davilow or Mr. Gascoigne, conjectured that Mrs. Grandcourt might perhaps prefer letting Gadsmere to residing there during any part of the year, in which case he thought that it might be leased on capital terms to one of the fellows engaged with the coal: Sir Hugo had seen enough of the place to know that it was as comfortable and picturesque a box as any man need desire, providing his desires were circumscribed within a coal area.

Gwendolen sat in pale silence while Sir Hugo, addressing Mrs. Davilow or Mr. Gascoigne, conjectured that Mrs. Grandcourt might prefer letting Gadsmere to residing there, in which case he thought that it might be leased to one of the fellows engaged with the coal.


"_I_ shouldn't mind about the soot myself," said the baronet, with that dispassionateness which belongs to the potential mood.


And if one's business lay there, Gadsmere would be a paradise.

"If one's business lay there, Gadsmere would be a paradise," he said.


It makes quite a feature in Scrogg's history of the county, with the little tower and the fine piece of water--the prettiest print in the book."


"A more important place than Offendene, I suppose?"


"I was there with my poor brother--it is more than a quarter of a century ago, but I remember it very well.


The rooms may not be larger, but the grounds are on a different scale."


"Our poor dear Offendene is empty after all," said Mrs. Davilow.


"When it came to the point, Mr. Haynes declared off, and there has been no one to take it since.

"Mr. Haynes cried off, and no-one has taken it since."


I might as well have accepted Lord Brackenshaw's kind offer that I should remain in it another year rent-free: for I should have kept the place aired and warmed."


"I hope you've something snug instead," said Sir Hugo.


"A little too snug," said Mr. Gascoigne, smiling at his sister-in-law.


Gwendolen had turned with a changed glance when her mother spoke of Offendene being empty. This conversation passed during one of the long unaccountable pauses often experienced in foreign trains at some country station.

Gwendolen had turned with a changed glance when her mother said this; it was during one of the long unaccountable pauses often experienced in foreign trains at some country station.


There was a dreamy, sunny stillness over the hedgeless fields stretching to the boundary of poplars; and to Gwendolen the talk within the carriage seemed only to make the dreamland larger with an indistinct region of coal-pits, and a purgatorial Gadsmere which she would never visit; till at her mother's words, this mingled, dozing view seemed to dissolve and give way to a more wakeful vision of Offendene and Pennicote under their cooler lights.

There was a dreamy, sunny stillness over the fields; and to Gwendolen the talk within the carriage seemed only to make the dreamland larger with an indistinct region of coal-pits, and a purgatorial Gadsmere which she would never visit; then this dozing view dissolved into a vision of Offendene.


She saw the gray shoulders of the downs, the cattle-specked fields, the shadowy plantations with rutted lanes where the barked timber lay for a wayside seat, the neatly-clipped hedges on the road from the parsonage to Offendene, the avenue where she was gradually discerned from the window, the hall-door opening, and her mother or one of the troublesome sisters coming out to meet her.

She saw the grey shoulders of the downs, the cattle-specked fields, the neatly-clipped hedges on the road to Offendene, the avenue, the hall-door opening, and her mother coming out to meet her.


All that brief experience of a quiet home which had once seemed a dullness to be fled from, now came back to her as a restful escape, a station where she found the breath of morning and the unreproaching voice of birds after following a lure through a long Satanic masquerade, which she had entered on with an intoxicated belief in its disguises, and had seen the end of in shrieking fear lest she herself had become one of the evil spirits who were dropping their human mummery and hissing around her with serpent tongues.

All that brief experience of a quiet home which had once seemed dull, now came back to her as a restful escape.


In this way Gwendolen's mind paused over Offendene and made it the scene of many thoughts; but she gave no further outward sign of interest in this conversation, any more than in Sir Hugo's opinion on the telegraphic cable or her uncle's views of the Church Rate Abolition Bill.

However, Gwendolen gave no outward sign of interest in the conversation.


What subjects will not our talk embrace in leisurely day-journeying from Genoa to London?


Even strangers, after glancing from China to Peru and opening their mental stores with a liberality threatening a mutual impression of poverty on any future meeting, are liable to become excessively confidential.


But the baronet and the rector were under a still stronger pressure toward cheerful communication: they were like acquaintances compelled to a long drive in a mourning-coach who having first remarked that the occasion is a melancholy one, naturally proceed to enliven it by the most miscellaneous discourse. "I don't mind telling _you_," said Sir Hugo to the rector, in mentioning some private details; while the rector, without saying so, did not mind telling the baronet about his sons, and the difficulty of placing them in the world.

The baronet and the rector were talking about their families.


By the dint of discussing all persons and things within driving-reach of Diplow, Sir Hugo got himself wrought to a pitch of interest in that former home, and of conviction that it was his pleasant duty to regain and strengthen his personal influence in the neighborhood, that made him declare his intention of taking his family to the place for a month or two before the autumn was over; and Mr. Gascoigne cordially rejoiced in that prospect.

Sir Hugo declared his intention of taking his family to Diplow for a month or two in autumn; and Mr. Gascoigne cordially rejoiced in that prospect.


Altogether, the journey was continued and ended with mutual liking between the male fellow-travellers.

Altogether, the journey was continued with mutual liking between the male fellow-travellers.


Meanwhile Gwendolen sat by like one who had visited the spirit-world and was full to the lips of an unutterable experience that threw a strange unreality over all the talk she was hearing of her own and the world's business; and Mrs. Davilow was chiefly occupied in imagining what her daughter was feeling, and in wondering what was signified by her hinted doubt whether she would accept her husband's bequest.

Meanwhile Gwendolen sat by like one who had visited the spirit-world and whose experience threw a strange unreality over all worldly talk; and Mrs. Davilow was chiefly occupied in imagining what her daughter was feeling, and in wondering whether she would accept her husband's bequest.


Gwendolen in fact had before her the unsealed wall of an immediate purpose shutting off every other resolution.

Gwendolen in fact had a purpose shutting off every other resolution.


She wanted again to see and consult Deronda, that she might secure herself against any act he would disapprove.

She wanted again to consult Deronda, so that she might secure herself against any act he would disapprove.


Would her remorse have maintained its power within her, or would she have felt absolved by secrecy, if it had not been for that outer conscience which was made for her by Deronda?

Would her remorse have maintained its power within her, if it had not been for that conscience which was made for her by Deronda?


It is hard to say how much we could forgive ourselves if we were secure from judgment by another whose opinion is the breathing-medium of all our joy--who brings to us with close pressure and immediate sequence that judgment of the Invisible and Universal which self-flattery and the world's tolerance would easily melt and disperse.


In this way our brother may be in the stead of God to us, and his opinion which has pierced even to the joints and marrow, may be our virtue in the making. That mission of Deronda to Gwendolen had begun with what she had felt to be his judgment of her at the gaming-table.

His influence had begun with what she had felt to be his judgment of her at the gaming-table.


He might easily have spoiled it:--much of our lives is spent in marring our own influence and turning others' belief in us into a widely concluding unbelief which they call knowledge of the world, while it is really disappointment in you or me.


But Gwendolen had forgotten to ask him for his address in case she wanted to write, and her only way of reaching him was through Sir Hugo.

But Gwendolen did not know his address, and her only way of reaching him was through Sir Hugo.


She was not in the least blind to the construction that all witnesses might put on her giving signs of dependence on Deronda, and her seeking him more than he sought her: Grandcourt's rebukes had sufficiently enlightened her pride. But the force, the tenacity of her nature had thrown itself into that dependence, and she would no more let go her hold on Deronda's help, or deny herself the interview her soul needed, because of witnesses, than if she had been in prison in danger of being condemned to death.

She knew the construction that might be put on her seeking out Deronda; but she would not let go of her dependence.


When she was in Park Lane and knew that the baronet would be going down to the Abbey immediately (just to see his family for a couple of days and then return to transact needful business for Gwendolen), she said to him without any air of hesitation, while her mother was present,

When she was in Park Lane and knew that the baronet was about to go down to the Abbey, she said to him without hesitation, while her mother was present-


"Sir Hugo, I wish to see Mr. Deronda again as soon as possible.


Will you tell it me, or let him know that I want to see him?"

Will you let him know that I want to see him?"


A quick thought passed across Sir Hugo's face, but made no difference to the ease with which he said, "Upon my word, I don't know whether he's at his chambers or the Abbey at this moment.

A quick thought passed across Sir Hugo's face, but he said easily, "Upon my word, I don't know whether he's at his chambers or the Abbey at this moment.


I'll send a note now to his chambers telling him to come, and if he's at the Abbey I can give him your message and send him up at once.

But I'll send a note to his chambers, and if he's at the Abbey I can give him your message and send him up.


I am sure he will want to obey your wish," the baronet ended, with grave kindness, as if nothing could seem to him more in the appropriate course of things than that she should send such a message.

I am sure he will want to obey your wish."
The baronet spoke with grave kindness, as if nothing could seem more appropriate.


But he was convinced that Gwendolen had a passionate attachment to Deronda, the seeds of which had been laid long ago, and his former suspicion now recurred to him with more strength than ever, that her feeling was likely to lead her into imprudences--in which kind-hearted Sir Hugo was determined to screen and defend her as far as lay in his power.

But he was convinced that Gwendolen had a passionate attachment to Deronda, and thinking that this might lead her into imprudences, he was determined to screen her as far as lay in his power.


To him it was as pretty a story as need be that this fine creature and his favorite Dan should have turned out to be formed for each other, and that the unsuitable husband should have made his exit in such excellent time.

To him it was a pretty story that this fine creature and his favourite Dan should have turned out to be formed for each other, and that the unsuitable husband should have made his exit in such excellent time.


Sir Hugo liked that a charming woman should be made as happy as possible.


In truth, what most vexed his mind in this matter at present was a doubt whether the too lofty and inscrutable Dan had not got some scheme or other in his head, which would prove to be dearer to him than the lovely Mrs. Grandcourt, and put that neatly-prepared marriage with her out of the question.

In truth, what most vexed his mind was a doubt whether Dan had not got some scheme or other in his head, which would prove to be dearer to him than the lovely Mrs. Grandcourt, and put that neatly-prepared marriage with her out of the question.


It was among the usual paradoxes of feeling that Sir Hugo, who had given his fatherly cautions to Deronda against too much tenderness in his relations with the bride, should now feel rather irritated against him by the suspicion that he had not fallen in love as he ought to have done.


Of course all this thinking on Sir Hugo's part was eminently premature, only a fortnight or so after Grandcourt's death.

Of course all this thinking on Sir Hugo's part was premature, only a fortnight after Grandcourt's death.


But it is the trick of thinking to be either premature or behind-hand.


However, he sent the note to Deronda's chambers, and it found him there.


"O gentlemen, the time of life is short; To spend that shortness basely were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour."


On the second day after the archery meeting, Mr. Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt was at his breakfast-table with Mr. Lush.

On the second day after the Archery Meeting, Mr. Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt was at his breakfast-table with Mr. Lush.


Everything around them was agreeable: the summer air through the open windows, at which the dogs could walk in from the old green turf on the lawn; the soft, purplish coloring of the park beyond, stretching toward a mass of bordering wood; the still life in the room, which seemed the stiller for its sober antiquated elegance, as if it kept a conscious, well-bred silence, unlike the restlessness of vulgar furniture.

Everything around them was agreeable: the summer air through the open windows, at which the dogs could walk in from the lawn; the park beyond; the still room, with its sober antiquated elegance, as if it kept a conscious, well-bred silence, unlike the restlessness of vulgar furniture.


Whether the gentlemen were agreeable to each other was less evident.


Mr. Grandcourt had drawn his chair aside so as to face the lawn, and with his left leg over another chair, and his right elbow on the table, was smoking a large cigar, while his companion was still eating.

Mr. Grandcourt had drawn his chair aside to face the lawn, and with his left leg over another chair, was smoking a large cigar, while his companion was eating.


The dogs--half-a-dozen of various kinds were moving lazily in and out, taking attitudes of brief attention--gave a vacillating preference first to one gentleman, then to the other; being dogs in such good circumstances that they could play at hunger, and liked to be served with delicacies which they declined to put in their mouths; all except Fetch, the beautiful liver-colored water-spaniel, which sat with its forepaws firmly planted and its expressive brown face turned upward, watching Grandcourt with unshaken constancy.

Half a dozen dogs were moving lazily in and out; except for Fetch, the water-spaniel, which sat with its forepaws firmly planted and its face turned upward, watching Grandcourt with unshaken constancy.


He held in his lap a tiny Maltese dog with a tiny silver collar and bell, and when he had a hand unused by cigar or coffee-cup, it rested on this small parcel of animal warmth.

He held in his lap a tiny Maltese dog, and his hand rested on this small parcel of animal warmth.


I fear that Fetch was jealous, and wounded that her master gave her no word or look; at last it seemed that she could bear this neglect no longer, and she gently put her large silky paw on her master's leg.

I fear that Fetch was jealous; at last she could bear this neglect no longer, and she gently put her large silky paw on her master's leg.


Grandcourt looked at her with unchanged face for half a minute, and then took the trouble to lay down his cigar while he lifted the unimpassioned Fluff close to his chin and gave it caressing pats, all the while gravely watching Fetch, who, poor thing, whimpered interruptedly, as if trying to repress that sign of discontent, and at last rested her head beside the appealing paw, looking up with piteous beseeching.

Grandcourt looked at her with unchanged face, and then laid down his cigar while he lifted the unimpassioned Fluff close to his chin and gave it caressing pats, all the while gravely watching Fetch, who, poor thing, whimpered and looked up with piteous beseeching.


So, at least, a lover of dogs must have interpreted Fetch, and Grandcourt kept so many dogs that he was reputed to love them; at any rate, his impulse to act just in that way started from such an interpretation.

So, at least, a lover of dogs must have interpreted Fetch, and Grandcourt kept so many dogs that he was reputed to love them.


But when the amusing anguish burst forth in a howling bark, Grandcourt pushed Fetch down without speaking, and, depositing Fluff carelessly on the table (where his black nose predominated over a salt-cellar), began to look to his cigar, and found, with some annoyance against Fetch as the cause, that the brute of a cigar required relighting.

But when the amusing anguish burst forth in a howling bark, Grandcourt pushed Fetch down without speaking, and, depositing Fluff carelessly on the table, looked to his cigar.


Fetch, having begun to wail, found, like others of her sex, that it was not easy to leave off; indeed, the second howl was a louder one, and the third was like unto it.

Fetch, having begun to wail, found, like others of her sex, that it was not easy to stop.


said Grandcourt to Lush, without raising his voice or looking at him--as if he counted on attention to the smallest sign.


And Lush immediately rose, lifted Fetch, though she was rather heavy, and he was not fond of stooping, and carried her out, disposing of her in some way that took him a couple of minutes before he returned.

Lush immediately rose, lifted Fetch, and carried her out.


He then lit a cigar, placed himself at an angle where he could see Grandcourt's face without turning, and presently said,

On returning he lit a cigar, and looking at Grandcourt said-


"Shall you ride or drive to Quetcham to-day?"

"Shall you ride or drive to Quetcham today?"


Grandcourt smoked in silence for half a minute, and then said,

Grandcourt smoked in silence for half a minute, and then said-


"I suppose you sent my card and inquiries."


"I went myself at four, and said you were sure to be there shortly.

"I went at four, and said you were sure to be there shortly.


They would suppose some accident prevented you from fulfilling the intention.

They would suppose some accident prevented you from going.


Then Grandcourt said, "What men are invited here with their wives?"

Then Grandcourt said, "Who is invited here?"


"The Captain and Mrs. Torrington come next week.


Then there are Mr. Hollis and Lady Flora, and the Cushats and the Gogoffs."


"Rather a ragged lot," remarked Grandcourt, after a while.


When you write invitations in my name, be good enough to give me a list, instead of bringing down a giantess on me without my knowledge.


"You invited the Gogoffs yourself when you met them in Paris."


"What has my meeting them in Paris to do with it?


Grandcourt, like many others, had two remarkably different voices. Hitherto we have heard him speaking in a superficial interrupted drawl suggestive chiefly of languor and _ennui_.

Hitherto we have heard Grandcourt speaking in an interrupted drawl suggestive of languor and boredom.


But this last brief speech was uttered in subdued inward, yet distinct, tones, which Lush had long been used to recognize as the expression of a peremptory will.

But this last brief speech was uttered in subdued, yet distinct, tones, which Lush had long recognized as the expression of a peremptory will.


"Are there any other couples you would like to invite?"


"Yes; think of some decent people, with a daughter or two.


"I wonder if Klesmer would consent to come to us when he leaves Quetcham.

"I wonder if Klesmer would come to us when he leaves Quetcham.


Nothing but first-class music will go down with Miss Arrowpoint."


Lush spoke carelessly, but he was really seizing an opportunity and fixing an observant look on Grandcourt, who now for the first time, turned his eyes toward his companion, but slowly and without speaking until he had given two long luxuriant puffs, when he said, perhaps in a lower tone than ever, but with a perceptible edge of contempt,

Lush spoke carelessly, but he was really seizing an opportunity and observing Grandcourt, who now for the first time turned his eyes toward his companion, while he gave two long luxuriant puffs on his cigar. Then he said, with a perceptible edge of contempt-


"What in the name of nonsense have I to do with Miss Arrowpoint and her music?"


"You need not give yourself much trouble, perhaps.


But some forms must be gone through before a man can marry a million."


"That's a pity--to fling away an opportunity of this sort, and knock down your own plans."

"That's a pity - to fling away an opportunity of this sort, and knock down your plans."


"You have some debts, you know, and things may turn out inconveniently, after all. The heirship is not _absolutely_ certain."

"You have some debts, you know, and the heirship is not absolutely certain.


Grandcourt did not answer, and Lush went on.


The father and mother ask for nothing better, I can see, and the daughter's looks and manners require no allowances, any more than if she hadn't a sixpence. She is not beautiful; but equal to carrying any rank.

The father and mother ask for nothing better, I can see, and the daughter is equal to carrying any rank.


And she is not likely to refuse such prospects as you can offer her."


"The father and mother would let you do anything you like with them."


"But I should not like to do anything with them."


Here it was Lush who made a little pause before speaking again, and then he said in a deep voice of remonstrance, "Good God, Grandcourt!

Here it was Lush who paused before remonstrating. "Good God, Grandcourt!


after your experience, will you let a whim interfere with your comfortable settlement in life?"


Lush put down his cigar and thrust his hands into his side pockets, as if he had to face something exasperating, but meant to keep his temper.

Lush thrust his hands into his side pockets, as if he had to face something exasperating, but meant to keep his temper.


"You have made her an offer already, then?"


"She is a young lady with a will of her own, I fancy.


"She doesn't like you," said Grandcourt, with the ghost of a smile.


"Perfectly true," said Lush, adding again in a markedly sneering tone.

"Perfectly true," said Lush, with another sneer.


"However, if you and she are devoted to each other, that will be enough."


Grandcourt took no notice of this speech, but sipped his coffee, rose, and strolled out on the lawn, all the dogs following him.

Grandcourt took no notice, but sipped his coffee, rose, and strolled out on the lawn, all the dogs following him.


Lush glanced after him a moment, then resumed his cigar and lit it, but smoked slowly, consulting his beard with inspecting eyes and fingers, till he finally stroked it with an air of having arrived at some conclusion, and said in a subdued voice,

Lush glanced after him, then took up his cigar and smoked slowly, till he finally said-


Lush, being a man of some ability, had not known Grandcourt for fifteen years without learning what sort of measures were useless with him, though what sort might be useful remained often dubious.

Lush had not known Grandcourt for fifteen years without learning what sort of measures were useless with him, though what sort might be useful remained often doubtful.


In the beginning of his career he held a fellowship, and was near taking orders for the sake of a college living, but, not being fond of that prospect, accepted instead the office of traveling companion to a marquess, and afterward to young Grandcourt, who had lost his father early, and who found Lush so convenient that he had allowed him to become prime minister in all his more personal affairs.

In the beginning of his career Lush held a fellowship, and nearly took orders for the sake of a college living, but not being fond of that prospect accepted instead the office of travelling companion to young Grandcourt, who had lost his father early, and who found Lush so convenient that he had allowed him to become prime minister in all his more personal affairs.


The habit of fifteen years had made Grandcourt more and more in need of Lush's handiness, and Lush more and more in need of the lazy luxury to which his transactions on behalf of Grandcourt made no interruption worth reckoning.

The habit of fifteen years had made Grandcourt more and more in need of Lush's handiness, and Lush more and more in need of the lazy luxury which his life with Grandcourt allowed.


I cannot say that the same lengthened habit had intensified Grandcourt's want of respect for his companion since that want had been absolute from the beginning, but it had confirmed his sense that he might kick Lush if he chose--only he never did choose to kick any animal, because the act of kicking is a compromising attitude, and a gentleman's dogs should be kicked for him.

I cannot say that time increased Grandcourt's lack of respect for his companion, since that lack had been absolute from the start, but it had confirmed his sense that he might kick Lush if he chose - only he never did choose to kick any animal, because a gentleman's dogs should be kicked for him.


He only said things which might have exposed himself to be kicked if his confidant had been a man of independent spirit.

He only said things which might have exposed himself to be kicked if his companion had been a man of independent spirit.


But what son of a vicar who has stinted his wife and daughters of calico in order to send his male offspring to Oxford, can keep an independent spirit when he is bent on dining with high discrimination, riding good horses, living generally in the most luxuriant honey-blossomed clover--and all without working?


Mr. Lush had passed for a scholar once, and had still a sense of scholarship when he was not trying to remember much of it; but the bachelor's and other arts which soften manners are a time-honored preparation for sinecures; and Lush's present comfortable provision was as good a sinecure in not requiring more than the odor of departed learning.

But Mr. Lush's liking of comfort had overtaken any sense of independence.


He was not unconscious of being held kickable, but he preferred counting that estimate among the peculiarities of Grandcourt's character, which made one of his incalculable moods or judgments as good as another.

He was conscious of being held kickable, but he preferred calling that one of the peculiarities of Grandcourt's incalculable character.


Since in his own opinion he had never done a bad action, it did not seem necessary to consider whether he should be likely to commit one if his love of ease required it.


Lush's love of ease was well-satisfied at present, and if his puddings were rolled toward him in the dust, he took the inside bits and found them relishing.

Lush's love of ease was well-satisfied in his position, and if his puddings were rolled toward him in the dust, he took the inside bits and found them relishing.


This morning, for example, though he had encountered more annoyance than usual, he went to his private sitting-room and played a good hour on the violoncello.

This morning, for example, though he had encountered more annoyance than usual, he went to his private sitting-room and played a good hour on the cello.


Were uneasiness of conscience measured by extent of crime, human history had been different, and one should look to see the contrivers of greedy wars and the mighty marauders of the money-market in one troop of self-lacerating penitents with the meaner robber and cut-purse and the murderer that doth his butchery in small with his own hand.


No doubt wickedness hath its rewards to distribute; but who so wins in this devil's game must needs be baser, more cruel, more brutal than the order of this planet will allow for the multitude born of woman, the most of these carrying a form of conscience--a fear which is the shadow of justice, a pity which is the shadow of love--that hindereth from the prize of serene wickedness, itself difficult of maintenance in our composite flesh.


On the twenty-ninth of December Deronda knew that the Grandcourts had arrived at the Abbey, but he had had no glimpse of them before he went to dress for dinner.

On the 29th of December Deronda knew that the Grandcourts had arrived at the Abbey, but he had had no glimpse of them before he went to dress for dinner.


There had been a splendid fall of snow, allowing the party of children the rare pleasures of snow-balling and snow-building, and in the Christmas holidays the Mallinger girls were content with no amusement unless it were joined in and managed by "cousin," as they had always called Deronda.

There had been a splendid fall of snow, allowing the Mallinger girls the rare pleasures of snow-balling and snow-building, in which amusement they insisted on the company of "cousin," as they had always called Deronda.


After that outdoor exertion he had been playing billiards, and thus the hours had passed without his dwelling at all on the prospect of meeting Gwendolen at dinner.

After that exertion, he played billiards, and thus the hours had passed without his dwelling on the prospect of meeting Gwendolen at dinner.


Nevertheless that prospect was interesting to him; and when, a little tired and heated with working at amusement, he went to his room before the half-hour bell had rung, he began to think of it with some speculation on the sort of influence her marriage with Grandcourt would have on her, and on the probability that there would be some discernible shades of change in her manner since he saw her at Diplow, just as there had been since his first vision of her at Leubronn.

Nevertheless that prospect was interesting to him; and when he went to his room to dress, he began to speculate on how her marriage with Grandcourt would have influenced her. He thought there would be some changes in her manner since he saw her at Diplow, just as there had been since his first vision of her at Leubronn.


"I fancy there are some natures one could see growing or degenerating every day, if one watched them," was his thought.


"I suppose some of us go on faster than others: and I am sure she is a creature who keeps strong traces of anything that has once impressed her.

"I am sure she is a creature who keeps strong traces of anything that has impressed her.


That little affair of the necklace, and the idea that somebody thought her gambling wrong, had evidently bitten into her.

That little matter of the necklace, and the idea that somebody thought her gambling wrong, had evidently bitten into her.


But such impressibility leads both ways: it may drive one to desperation as soon as to anything better.

But such impressibility may drive one to desperation.


And whatever fascinations Grandcourt may have for capricious tastes--good heavens! who can believe that he would call out the tender affections in daily companionship?

As for having Grandcourt as a daily companion - good heavens!


One might be tempted to horsewhip him for the sake of getting some show of passion into his face and speech.

One might be tempted to horsewhip him for the sake of getting him to show some passion.


I'm afraid she married him out of ambition--to escape poverty.

I'm afraid she married him to escape poverty.


But why did she run out of his way at first?


How can one feel anything else than pity for a young creature like that--full of unused life--ignorantly rash--hanging all her blind expectations on that remnant of a human being."

One can only pity a young creature like that - full of unused life - ignorantly rash - hanging all her blind expectations on that remnant of a human being!"


Doubtless the phrases which Deronda's meditation applied to the bridegroom were the less complimentary for the excuses and pity in which it clad the bride.


His notion of Grandcourt as a "remnant" was founded on no particular knowledge, but simply on the impression which ordinary polite intercourse had given him that Grandcourt had worn out all his natural healthy interest in things.

Deronda's notion of Grandcourt as a "remnant" was founded on no particular knowledge, but simply on his impression that Grandcourt had worn out all his natural healthy interest in things.


In general, one may be sure that whenever a marriage of any mark takes place, male acquaintances are likely to pity the bride, female acquaintances the bridegroom: each, it is thought, might have done better; and especially where the bride is charming, young gentlemen on the scene are apt to conclude that she can have no real attachment to a fellow so uninteresting to themselves as her husband, but has married him on other grounds.

In general, whenever a marriage of any mark takes place, male acquaintances are likely to pity the bride, female acquaintances the bridegroom: each, it is thought, might have done better; and especially where the bride is charming, young gentlemen are apt to conclude that she can have no real attachment to a fellow so uninteresting as her husband, but has married him on other grounds.


Who, under such circumstances, pities the husband?


Even his female friends are apt to think his position retributive: he should have chosen some one else.


But perhaps Deronda may be excused that he did not prepare any pity for Grandcourt, who had never struck acquaintances as likely to come out of his experiences with more suffering than he inflicted; whereas, for Gwendolen, young, headlong, eager for pleasure, fed with the flattery which makes a lovely girl believe in her divine right to rule--how quickly might life turn from expectancy to a bitter sense of the irremediable!

But perhaps Deronda may be excused for not pitying Grandcourt, who had never struck acquaintances as likely to undergo more suffering than he inflicted; whereas, for Gwendolen, young, headlong, eager for pleasure - how quickly might life turn from expectancy to a bitter sense of the irremediable!


After what he had seen of her he must have had rather dull feelings not to have looked forward with some interest to her entrance into the room.


Still, since the honeymoon was already three weeks in the distance, and Gwendolen had been enthroned, not only at Ryelands, but at Diplow, she was likely to have composed her countenance with suitable manifestation or concealment, not being one who would indulge the curious by a helpless exposure of her feelings.

Still, since the honeymoon was already three weeks past, and Gwendolen had been enthroned at both Ryelands and Diplow, she was likely to have composed herself with suitable concealment, not being one who would indulge the curious by a helpless exposure of her feelings.


A various party had been invited to meet the new couple; the old aristocracy was represented by Lord and Lady Pentreath; the old gentry by young Mr. and Mrs. Fitzadam of the Worcestershire branch of the Fitzadams; politics and the public good, as specialized in the cider interest, by Mr. Fenn, member for West Orchards, accompanied by his two daughters; Lady Mallinger's family, by her brother, Mr. Raymond, and his wife; the useful bachelor element by Mr. Sinker, the eminent counsel, and by Mr. Vandernoodt, whose acquaintance Sir Hugo had found pleasant enough at Leubronn to be adopted in England.

A varied party had been invited to meet the new couple; the aristocracy was represented by Lord and Lady Pentreath; the gentry by Mr. and Mrs. Fitzadam of the Worcestershire Fitzadams; politics by Mr. Fenn, Member of Parliament, with his daughters; Lady Mallinger's family, by her brother and his wife with various little Raymonds; the useful bachelor element by Mr. Sinker, the eminent lawyer, and Mr. Vandernoodt, whose acquaintance Sir Hugo had found pleasant enough at Leubronn to be adopted in England.


All had assembled in the drawing-room before the new couple appeared.


Meanwhile, the time was being passed chiefly in noticing the children--various little Raymonds, nephews and nieces of Lady Mallinger's with her own three girls, who were always allowed to appear at this hour.


The scene was really delightful--enlarged by full-length portraits with deep backgrounds, inserted in the cedar paneling--surmounted by a ceiling that glowed with the rich colors of the coats of arms ranged between the sockets--illuminated almost as much by the red fire of oak-boughs as by the pale wax-lights--stilled by the deep-piled carpet and by the high English breeding that subdues all voices; while the mixture of ages, from the white-haired Lord and Lady Pentreath to the four-year-old Edgar Raymond, gave a varied charm to the living groups.

The scene was really delightful: full-length portraits with deep backgrounds, inserted in the cedar panelling, were surmounted by a ceiling that glowed with the richly coloured coats of arms. Sounds were muted by the deep-piled carpet and by the high English breeding that subdues all voices; while the mixture of ages, from the white-haired Lord and Lady Pentreath to the four-year-old Edgar Raymond, gave a varied charm to the groups.


Lady Mallinger, with fair matronly roundness and mildly prominent blue eyes, moved about in her black velvet, carrying a tiny white dog on her arm as a sort of finish to her costume; the children were scattered among the ladies, while most of the gentlemen were standing rather aloof, conversing with that very moderate vivacity observable during the long minutes before dinner.

Lady Mallinger moved about in her black velvet, carrying a tiny white dog as a sort of finish to her costume; while the gentlemen were conversing with very moderate vivacity.


Deronda was a little out of the circle in a dialogue fixed upon him by Mr. Vandernoodt, a man of the best Dutch blood imported at the revolution: for the rest, one of those commodious persons in society who are nothing particular themselves, but are understood to be acquainted with the best in every department; close-clipped, pale-eyed, _nonchalant_, as good a foil as could well be found to the intense coloring and vivid gravity of Deronda.
He was talking of the bride and bridegroom, whose appearance was being waited for.

Deronda was a little out of the circle with Mr. Vandernoodt, a nonchalant Dutchman, who was talking of the bride and bridegroom.


Mr. Vandernoodt was an industrious gleaner of personal details, and could probably tell everything about a great philosopher or physicist except his theories or discoveries; he was now implying that he had learned many facts about Grandcourt since meeting him at Leubronn.

Mr. Vandernoodt was an industrious gleaner of personal details, and implied that he had learned many facts about Grandcourt since meeting him at Leubronn.


"Men who have seen a good deal of life don't always end by choosing their wives so well.


He has had rather an anecdotic history--gone rather deep into pleasures, I fancy, lazy as he is.

He has gone rather deep into pleasures, I fancy, lazy as he is.


But, of course, you know all about him."


"No, really," said Deronda, in an indifferent tone.

"No, really," said Deronda in an indifferent tone.


"I know little more of him than that he is Sir Hugo's nephew."


But now the door opened and deferred any satisfaction of Mr. Vandernoodt's communicativeness.

But now the door opened and their conversation halted.


The scene was one to set off any figure of distinction that entered on it, and certainly when Mr. and Mrs. Grandcourt entered, no beholder could deny that their figures had distinction.

When Mr. and Mrs. Grandcourt entered, no beholder could deny that their figures had distinction.


The bridegroom had neither more nor less easy perfection of costume, neither more nor less well-cut impassibility of face, than before his marriage. It was to be supposed of him that he would put up with nothing less than the best in outward equipment, wife included; and the bride was what he might have been expected to choose.

The bridegroom had the same easy perfection of costume and impassivity of face as before his marriage: and his bride looked as faultless as one might expect.


"By George, I think she's handsomer, if anything!"


And Deronda was of the same opinion, but he said nothing.


The white silk and diamonds--it may seem strange, but she did wear diamonds on her neck, in her ears, in her hair--might have something to do with the new imposingness of her beauty, which flashed on him as more unquestionable if not more thoroughly satisfactory than when he had first seen her at the gaming-table. Some faces which are peculiar in their beauty are like original works of art: for the first time they are almost always met with question. But in seeing Gwendolen at Diplow, Deronda had discerned in her more than he had expected of that tender appealing charm which we call womanly.

The white silk and diamonds - it may seem strange, but she did wear diamonds on her neck, in her ears, in her hair - might have something to do with the new imposing nature of her beauty; but at Diplow, Deronda had discerned in her that tender appealing charm which we call womanly.


He distrusted his impressions; but as he saw her receiving greetings with what seemed a proud cold quietude and a superficial smile, there seemed to be at work within her the same demonic force that had possessed her when she took him in her resolute glance and turned away a loser from the gaming-table.

As he saw her receiving greetings with what seemed a proud cold quietude and a superficial smile, he thought that there was within her the same demonic force that had possessed her when she turned away a loser from the gaming-table.


There was no time for more of a conclusion--no time even for him to give his greeting before the summons to dinner.

There was no time for more of a conclusion - no time even for him to greet her before the summons to dinner.


He sat not far from opposite to her at table, and could sometimes hear what she said in answer to Sir Hugo, who was at his liveliest in conversation with her; but though he looked toward her with the intention of bowing, she gave him no opportunity of doing so for some time.

He sat almost opposite her at table, and could sometimes hear what she said in answer to Sir Hugo, who was at his liveliest with her; but she did not look his way at all.


At last Sir Hugo, who might have imagined that they had already spoken to each other, said, "Deronda, you will like to hear what Mrs. Grandcourt tells me about your favorite Klesmer."

At last Sir Hugo, who might have imagined that they had already spoken to each other, said, "Deronda, you will like to hear what Mrs. Grandcourt tells me about your favourite Klesmer."


Gwendolen's eyelids had been lowered, and Deronda, already looking at her, thought he discovered a quivering reluctance as she was obliged to raise them and return his unembarrassed bow and smile, her own smile being one of the lip merely.

Deronda thought he saw a quivering reluctance in Gwendolen's eyelids as she was obliged to raise them and return his bow and smile.


It was but an instant, and Sir Hugo continued without pause,

It was but an instant, and Sir Hugo continued-


"The Arrowpoints have condoned the marriage, and he is spending the Christmas with his bride at Quetcham."

"The Arrowpoints have condoned the marriage, and he is spending Christmas at Quetcham."


"I suppose he will be glad of it for the sake of his wife, else I dare say he would not have minded keeping at a distance," said Deronda.

"I suppose he will be glad of it for his wife's sake, if not his own," said Deronda.


"It's a sort of troubadour story," said Lady Pentreath, an easy, deep-voiced old lady; "I'm glad to find a little romance left among us.


I think our young people now are getting too worldly wise."

I think our young people now are too worldly wise."


"It shows the Arrowpoints' good sense, however, to have adopted the affair, after the fuss in the paper," said Sir Hugo.

"It shows the Arrowpoints' good sense, after the fuss in the paper," said Sir Hugo.


"And disowning your own child because of a _msalliance_ is something like disowning your one eye: everybody knows it's yours, and you have no other to make an appearance with."

"Disowning your own child because of a msalliance is something like disowning your one eye: everybody knows it's yours, and you have no other to make an appearance with."


"As to _msalliance_, there's no blood on any side," said Lady Pentreath. "Old Admiral Arrowpoint was one of Nelson's men, you know--a doctor's son.

"As to msalliance," said Lady Pentreath, "old Admiral Arrowpoint was one of Nelson's men - a doctor's son.


And we all know how the mother's money came."


"If they were any _msalliance_ in the case, I should say it was on Klesmer's side," said Deronda.

"If there were any msalliance in the case, I should say it was on Klesmer's side," said Deronda.


"Ah, you think it is a case of the immortal marrying the mortal.


"I have no doubt that Herr Klesmer thinks himself immortal.


But I dare say his wife will burn as much incense before him as he requires," said Gwendolen.


She had recovered any composure that she might have lost.


"Don't you approve of a wife burning incense before her husband?"


said Sir Hugo, with an air of jocoseness.


"Oh, yes," said Gwendolen, "if it were only to make others believe in him."


She paused a moment and then said with more gayety, "When Herr Klesmer admires his own genius, it will take off some of the absurdity if his wife says Amen."


"Klesmer is no favorite of yours, I see," said Sir Hugo.

"Klesmer is no favourite of yours, I see," said Sir Hugo.


"I think very highly of him, I assure you," said Gwendolen.


"His genius is quite above my judgment, and I know him to be exceedingly generous."


She spoke with the sudden seriousness which is often meant to correct an unfair or indiscreet sally, having a bitterness against Klesmer in her secret soul which she knew herself unable to justify.

She spoke with the sudden seriousness which is often meant to correct an unfair or indiscreet sally.


Deronda was wondering what he should have thought of her if he had never heard of her before: probably that she put on a little hardness and defiance by way of concealing some painful consciousness--if, indeed, he could imagine her manners otherwise than in the light of his suspicion.

Deronda wondered what he would have thought of her if he had never met her before: probably that she put on a little hard defiance to conceal some painful knowledge.


But why did she not recognize him with more friendliness?

But why did she not greet him with more friendliness?


Sir Hugo, by way of changing the subject, said to her, "Is not this a beautiful room?

Sir Hugo, changing the subject, said to her, "Is not this a beautiful room?


It was part of the refectory of the Abbey.


There was a division made by those pillars and the three arches, and afterward they were built up.


Else it was half as large again originally.


There used to be rows of Benedictines sitting where we are sitting.

There used to be rows of Benedictines sitting here.


Suppose we were suddenly to see the lights burning low and the ghosts of the old monks rising behind all our chairs!"

Suppose we were suddenly to see the lights burning low and the ghosts of the old monks rising behind our chairs!"


"It is very nice to come after ancestors and monks, but they should know their places and keep underground.


I should be rather frightened to go about this house all alone."


I suppose the old generations must be angry with us because we have altered things so much."


"Oh, the ghosts must be of all political parties," said Sir Hugo.


"And those fellows who wanted to change things while they lived and couldn't do it must be on our side.


But if you would not like to go over the house alone, you will like to go in company, I hope.

"But I hope you will like to go in company.


And we will ask Deronda to go round with us.

We will ask Deronda to go round with us.


He is more learned about it than I am." The baronet was in the most complaisant of humors.

He is more learned about it than I am," said the baronet good-humouredly.


Gwendolen stole a glance at Deronda, who must have heard what Sir Hugo said, for he had his face turned toward them helping himself to an _entre_; but he looked as impassive as a picture.

Gwendolen stole a glance at Deronda; but he looked as impassive as a picture.