What is it?--twenty-five thousand, isn't it?"


It's impossible to suppose that such a man as Melmotte shouldn't be able to raise eighty thousand pounds."

It's impossible that such a man as Melmotte shouldn't be able to raise eighty thousand pounds."


All this was very unpleasant and made the club less social than it used to be in old days.

All this unpleasantness made the club less social than it used to be.


There was an attempt that night to get up a game of cards; but Nidderdale would not play because he was offended with Dolly Longestaffe; and Miles Grendall was away in the country,--a fugitive from the face of Melmotte, and Carbury was in hiding at home with his countenance from top to bottom supported by plasters, and Montague in these days never went to the club.

There was an attempt to get up a game of cards; but Nidderdale would not play because he was offended with Dolly Longestaffe; and Miles Grendall was away in the country, and Carbury was in hiding at home with his face covered in plasters, and Montague in these days never went to the club.


At the present moment he was again in Liverpool, having been summoned thither by Mr. Ramsbottom.

At present he was again in Liverpool, having been summoned there by Mr. Ramsbottom.


"By George," said Dolly, as he filled another pipe and ordered more brandy and water, "I think everything is going to come to an end.

"By George," said Dolly, as he ordered more brandy and water, "I think everything is going to come to an end.


I never heard of such a thing before as a man being done in this way.


And then Vossner has gone off, and it seems everybody is to pay just what he says they owed him.


And now one can't even get up a game of cards.


I feel as though there were no good in hoping that things would ever come right again."

I feel as though things might never come right again."


The opinion of the club was a good deal divided as to the matter in dispute between Lord Nidderdale and Dolly Longestaffe.

The opinion of the club was divided as to the matter in dispute between Lord Nidderdale and Dolly Longestaffe.


It was admitted by some to be "very fishy."


If Melmotte were so great a man why didn't he pay the money, and why should he have mortgaged the property before it was really his own?

If Melmotte were so great a man why didn't he pay the money?


But the majority of the men thought that Dolly was wrong. As to the signature of the letter, Dolly was a man who would naturally be quite unable to say what he had and what he had not signed.

But most men thought that Dolly did not know what he had signed.


And then, even into the Beargarden there had filtered, through the outer world, a feeling that people were not now bound to be so punctilious in the paying of money as they were a few years since.

And there was a general feeling that people were not bound to be so punctilious in the paying of money as they were a few years ago.


No doubt it suited Melmotte to make use of the money, and therefore,--as he had succeeded in getting the property into his hands,--he did make use of it. But it would be forthcoming sooner or later!

No doubt Melmotte would produce the money sooner or later.


In this way of looking at the matter the Beargarden followed the world at large.


The world at large, in spite of the terrible falling-off at the Emperor of China's dinner, in spite of all the rumours, in spite of the ruinous depreciation of the Mexican Railway stock, and of the undoubted fact that Dolly Longestaffe had not received his money, was inclined to think that Melmotte would "pull through."

The world, in spite of all the rumours, in spite of the ruinous depreciation of the Mexican Railway stock, and the undoubted fact that Dolly Longestaffe had not received his money, was inclined to think that Melmotte would "pull through."


The next night but one after that of the gambling transaction at the Beargarden, a great ball was given in Grosvenor Square.

Two nights after that, a great ball was given in Grosvenor Square.


It was a ball on a scale so magnificent that it had been talked about ever since Parliament met, now about a fortnight since.

It was a ball on a scale so magnificent that it had been talked about for a fortnight.


Some people had expressed an opinion that such a ball as this was intended to be could not be given successfully in February. Others declared that the money which was to be spent,--an amount which would make this affair something quite new in the annals of ball-giving,--would give the thing such a character that it would certainly be successful.

Some people declared that February was the wrong time for such a ball; others said that the huge amount of money spent would certainly make it a success.


And much more than money had been expended.


Almost incredible efforts had been made to obtain the co-operation of great people, and these efforts had at last been grandly successful.

Almost incredible efforts had been made to obtain the co-operation of great people.


The Duchess of Stevenage had come up from Castle Albury herself to be present at it and to bring her daughters, though it has never been her Grace's wont to be in London at this inclement season.

The Duchess of Stevenage had come up from Castle Albury to attend it with her daughters, though it had never been her Grace's habit to be in London in winter.


No doubt the persuasion used with the Duchess had been very strong.


Her brother, Lord Alfred Grendall, was known to be in great difficulties, which,--so people said,--had been considerably modified by opportune pecuniary assistance.

But then her brother, Lord Alfred Grendall, was known to be in great difficulties, which - people said - had been considerably modified by financial help.


And then it was certain that one of the young Grendalls, Lord Alfred's second son, had been appointed to some mercantile position, for which he received a salary which his most intimate friends thought that he was hardly qualified to earn. It was certainly a fact that he went to Abchurch Lane, in the City, four or five days a week, and that he did not occupy his time in so unaccustomed a manner for nothing.

And one of the young Grendalls, Lord Alfred's second son, had been appointed to some mercantile position in the City, at Abchurch Lane, for which he received a salary which his friends thought he was hardly qualified to earn.


Where the Duchess of Stevenage went all the world would go.

Where the Duchess of Stevenage went, all the world would go.


And it became known at the last moment, that is to say only the day before the party, that a prince of the blood royal was to be there.

And it became known the day before the party that a royal prince was to be there.


How this had been achieved nobody quite understood; but there were rumours that a certain lady's jewels had been rescued from the pawnbroker's.


The Prime Minister had indeed declined to allow his name to appear on the list; but one Cabinet Minister and two or three under-secretaries had agreed to come because it was felt that the giver of the ball might before long be the master of considerable parliamentary interest. It was believed that he had an eye to politics, and it is always wise to have great wealth on one's own side.

The Prime Minister had declined to accept; but one Cabinet Minister and two or three under-secretaries had agreed to come, because it was felt that the giver of the ball might before long enter politics: and it is always wise to have great wealth on one's own side.


There had at one time been much solicitude about the ball. Many anxious thoughts had been given.

There had been much anxiety about the ball.


When great attempts fail, the failure is disastrous, and may be ruinous.


But this ball had now been put beyond the chance of failure.

But it was now beyond the chance of failure.


The giver of the ball was Augustus Melmotte, Esq., the father of the girl whom Sir Felix Carbury desired to marry, and the husband of the lady who was said to have been a Bohemian Jewess.

The giver of the ball was Augustus Melmotte, the father of the girl whom Sir Felix Carbury desired to marry, and the husband of the lady who was said to have been a Bohemian Jewess.


It was thus that the gentleman chose to have himself designated, though within the last two years he had arrived in London from Paris, and had at first been known as M. Melmotte.

Two years ago, when he arrived in London from Paris, he was known as Monsieur Melmotte.


But he had declared of himself that he had been born in England, and that he was an Englishman.

But he declared that he had been born in England.


He admitted that his wife was a foreigner,--an admission that was necessary as she spoke very little English.

He admitted that his wife was a foreigner; indeed, she spoke very little English.


Melmotte himself spoke his "native" language fluently, but with an accent which betrayed at least a long expatriation.

Melmotte spoke it fluently, but with an accent.


Miss Melmotte,--who a very short time since had been known as Mademoiselle Marie,--spoke English well, but as a foreigner. In regard to her it was acknowledged that she had been born out of England,--some said in New York; but Madame Melmotte, who must have known, had declared that the great event had taken place in Paris.

So did Miss Melmotte: some said she had been born in New York, but Madame Melmotte declared that the great event had taken place in Paris.


It was at any rate an established fact that Mr. Melmotte had made his wealth in France.


He no doubt had had enormous dealings in other countries, as to which stories were told which must surely have been exaggerated.

He no doubt had had enormous dealings in other countries, even if the stories were exaggerated.


It was said that he had made a railway across Russia, that he provisioned the Southern army in the American civil war, that he had supplied Austria with arms, and had at one time bought up all the iron in England.


He could make or mar any company by buying or selling stock, and could make money dear or cheap as he pleased.


All this was said of him in his praise,--but it was also said that he was regarded in Paris as the most gigantic swindler that had ever lived; that he had made that City too hot to hold him; that he had endeavoured to establish himself in Vienna, but had been warned away by the police; and that he had at length found that British freedom would alone allow him to enjoy, without persecution, the fruits of his industry.

However, it was also said that he was regarded in Paris as the most gigantic swindler that had ever lived; that he had made that city too hot to hold him; that he had tried to establish himself in Vienna, but had been warned away by the police; and that he had at length found that Britain alone would allow him to enjoy, without persecution, the fruits of his industry.


He was now established privately in Grosvenor Square and officially in Abchurch Lane; and it was known to all the world that a Royal Prince, a Cabinet Minister, and the very cream of duchesses were going to his wife's ball.

His private house was in Grosvenor Square and his house of business in Abchurch Lane.


All this had been done within twelve months.


There was but one child in the family, one heiress for all this wealth.

There was only one child in the family, one heiress for all this wealth.


Melmotte himself was a large man, with bushy whiskers and rough thick hair, with heavy eyebrows, and a wonderful look of power about his mouth and chin.

Melmotte himself was a large man, with bushy whiskers and thick hair, heavy eyebrows, and a powerful-looking mouth and chin.


This was so strong as to redeem his face from vulgarity; but the countenance and appearance of the man were on the whole unpleasant, and, I may say, untrustworthy.

His appearance was strong, but on the whole unpleasant and untrustworthy.


He looked as though he were purse-proud and a bully.


She was fat and fair,--unlike in colour to our traditional Jewesses; but she had the Jewish nose and the Jewish contraction of the eyes.

His wife was fat and fair, with a Jewish nose.


There was certainly very little in Madame Melmotte to recommend her, unless it was a readiness to spend money on any object that might be suggested to her by her new acquaintances. It sometimes seemed that she had a commission from her husband to give away presents to any who would accept them.

She was very ready to spend money and give away presents to any who would accept them.


The world had received the man as Augustus Melmotte, Esq.


The world so addressed him on the very numerous letters which reached him, and so inscribed him among the directors of three dozen companies to which he belonged.


She was still Madame Melmotte, not Mrs. Melmotte.


The daughter had been allowed to take her rank with an English title. She was now Miss Melmotte on all occasions.

However, the daughter, once Mademoiselle, was now Miss Melmotte on all occasions.


Marie Melmotte had been accurately described by Felix Carbury to his mother.

Felix Carbury had accurately described Marie Melmotte to his mother.


She was not beautiful, she was not clever, and she was not a saint.

She was not beautiful, nor clever, nor a saint.


But then neither was she plain, nor stupid, nor, especially, a sinner.

But then neither was she plain, stupid, or a sinner.


She was a little thing, hardly over twenty years of age, very unlike her father or mother, having no trace of the Jewess in her countenance, who seemed to be overwhelmed by the sense of her own position.

She was a little thing, hardly over twenty years of age, and seemed to be overwhelmed by the sense of her own position.


With such people as the Melmottes things go fast, and it was very well known that Miss Melmotte had already had one lover who had been nearly accepted.

It was well known that Miss Melmotte had already had one lover who had been nearly accepted.


The affair, however, had gone off. In this "going off" no one imputed to the young lady blame or even misfortune.

The affair, however, had gone off, with no blame to the lady.


It was not supposed that she had either jilted or been jilted.


As in royal espousals interests of State regulate their expedience with an acknowledged absence, with even a proclaimed impossibility, of personal predilections, so in this case was money allowed to have the same weight.

As royal marriages are governed by the interests of State, so in this case money had the same weight.


Such a marriage would or would not be sanctioned in accordance with great pecuniary arrangements.


The young Lord Nidderdale, the eldest son of the Marquis of Auld Reekie, had offered to take the girl and make her Marchioness in the process of time for half a million down.

The young Lord Nidderdale, the eldest son of the Marquis of Auld Reekie, had offered to marry the girl and make her Marchioness in exchange for half a million pounds.


Melmotte had not objected to the sum,--so it was said,--but had proposed to tie it up.

Melmotte had not objected to the sum - so it was said - but had proposed to tie it up.


Nidderdale had desired to have it free in his own grasp, and would not move on any other terms.

Nidderdale had desired to have it free in his own grasp.


Melmotte had been anxious to secure the Marquis,--very anxious to secure the Marchioness; for at that time terms had not been made with the Duchess; but at last he had lost his temper, and had asked his lordship's lawyer whether it was likely that he would entrust such a sum of money to such a man.

Although Melmotte had been anxious to secure the title for his daughter, he had lost his temper, and had asked his lordship's lawyer whether it was likely that he would entrust so much money to such a man.


"You are willing to trust your only child to him," said the lawyer.


Melmotte scowled at the man for a few seconds from under his bushy eyebrows; then told him that his answer had nothing in it, and marched out of the room.

Melmotte scowled, and marched out of the room.


I doubt whether Lord Nidderdale had ever said a word of love to Marie Melmotte,--or whether the poor girl had expected it.

I doubt whether Lord Nidderdale had ever said a word of love to Marie Melmotte - or whether the poor girl had expected it.


Her destiny had no doubt been explained to her.


Others had tried and had broken down somewhat in the same fashion. Each had treated the girl as an encumbrance he was to undertake,--at a very great price.

Others had tried, each treating the girl as an encumbrance he was to undertake at a very great price.


But as affairs prospered with the Melmottes, as princes and duchesses were obtained by other means,--costly no doubt, but not so ruinously costly,--the immediate disposition of Marie became less necessary, and Melmotte reduced his offers.

But as affairs prospered with the Melmottes, as princes and duchesses were obtained with lesser cost, a title for Marie became less necessary, and Melmotte reduced his offers.


The girl herself, too, began to have an opinion.


It was said that she had absolutely rejected Lord Grasslough, whose father indeed was in a state of bankruptcy, who had no income of his own, who was ugly, vicious, ill-tempered, and without any power of recommending himself to a girl.

It was said that she had absolutely rejected Lord Grasslough, who indeed was penniless, ugly, vicious, ill-tempered, and without any power of recommending himself to a girl.


She had had experience since Lord Nidderdale, with a half laugh, had told her that he might just as well take her for his wife, and was now tempted from time to time to contemplate her own happiness and her own condition.

She had gained experience, and she was now tempted to contemplate her own happiness.


People around were beginning to say that if Sir Felix Carbury managed his affairs well he might be the happy man.

People were beginning to say that Sir Felix Carbury might be the happy man.


There was considerable doubt whether Marie was the daughter of that Jewish-looking woman.

There was considerable doubt whether Marie was the daughter of Madame Melmotte.


Enquiries had been made, but not successfully, as to the date of the Melmotte marriage.


There was an idea abroad that Melmotte had got his first money with his wife, and had gotten it not very long ago.


Then other people said that Marie was not his daughter at all.

Some even said that Marie was not Mr. Melmotte's daughter.


Altogether the mystery was rather pleasant as the money was certain.


Of the certainty of the money in daily use there could be no doubt.

However, of the Melmotte money there could be no doubt.


There were the carriages, the horses, the servants with the livery coats and powdered heads, and the servants with the black coats and unpowdered heads.

There were the carriages, the horses, the servants with the livery coats and powdered heads.


There were the gems, and the presents, and all the nice things that money can buy. There were two dinner parties every day, one at two o'clock called lunch, and the other at eight.

There were the gems and presents, and the daily dinner parties.


The tradesmen had learned enough to be quite free of doubt, and in the City Mr. Melmotte's name was worth any money,--though his character was perhaps worth but little.

The tradesmen were quite free of doubt, and in the City Mr. Melmotte's name was worth any money - though his character was perhaps worth little.


The large house on the south side of Grosvenor Square was all ablaze by ten o'clock.

The large house in Grosvenor Square was all ablaze by ten o'clock.


The broad verandah had been turned into a conservatory, had been covered in with boards contrived to look like trellis-work, was heated with hot air and filled with exotics at some fabulous price.

The broad veranda had been turned into a conservatory, covered with boards contrived to look like trellis-work, heated with hot air and filled with exotic plants at some fabulous price.


A covered way had been made from the door, down across the pathway, to the road, and the police had, I fear, been bribed to frighten foot passengers into a belief that they were bound to go round. The house had been so arranged that it was impossible to know where you were, when once in it. The hall was a paradise.

A covered way had been made from the road to the door; once inside the house, the hall was a paradise.


The lobbies were grottoes rich with ferns.


Walls had been knocked away and arches had been constructed. The leads behind had been supported and walled in, and covered and carpeted.

Walls had been knocked away and arches constructed; floors had been carpeted.


The ball had possession of the ground floor and first floor, and the house seemed to be endless.

The ball took up the ground floor and first floor, and the house seemed to be endless.


"It's to cost sixty thousand pounds," said the Marchioness of Auld Reekie to her old friend the Countess of Mid-Lothian.

"It's costing sixty thousand pounds," said the Marchioness of Auld Reekie to her old friend the Countess of Mid-Lothian.


The Marchioness had come in spite of her son's misfortune when she heard that the Duchess of Stevenage was to be there.


"And worse spent money never was wasted," said the Countess.

"And money was never worse spent," said the Countess.


"By all accounts it was as badly come by," said the Marchioness.


Then the two old noblewomen, one after the other, made graciously flattering speeches to the much-worn Bohemian Jewess, who was standing in fairyland to receive her guests, almost fainting under the greatness of the occasion.

Then the two old noblewomen made graciously flattering speeches to the Jewess, who was standing in fairyland to receive her guests, almost fainting under the greatness of the occasion.


The three saloons on the first or drawing-room floor had been prepared for dancing, and here Marie was stationed.

The three saloons had been prepared for dancing, and here Marie was stationed.


The Duchess had however undertaken to see that somebody should set the dancing going, and she had commissioned her nephew Miles Grendall, the young gentleman who now frequented the City, to give directions to the band and to make himself generally useful.

The Duchess of Stevenage had undertaken to see that somebody should set the dancing going, and she had commissioned her nephew Miles Grendall, the young gentleman who now worked in the City, to make himself useful.


Indeed there had sprung up a considerable intimacy between the Grendall family,--that is Lord Alfred's branch of the Grendalls,--and the Melmottes; which was as it should be, as each could give much and each receive much.

There had sprung up an intimacy between the Grendall family and the Melmottes, as each could give much and each receive much.


It was known that Lord Alfred had not a shilling; but his brother was a duke and his sister was a duchess, and for the last thirty years there had been one continual anxiety for poor dear Alfred, who had tumbled into an unfortunate marriage without a shilling, had spent his own moderate patrimony, had three sons and three daughters, and had lived now for a very long time entirely on the unwilling contributions of his noble relatives.

Lord Alfred Grendall had not a shilling; but his brother was a duke and his sister was a duchess, and poor Alfred, who had tumbled into an unfortunate marriage, and had three sons and three daughters, had lived now for a very long time entirely on the unwilling contributions of his noble relatives.


Melmotte could support the whole family in affluence without feeling the burden;--and why should he not?

But Melmotte could support the whole family in affluence without feeling the burden.


There had once been an idea that Miles should attempt to win the heiress, but it had soon been found expedient to abandon it. Miles had no title, no position of his own, and was hardly big enough for the place.

There had once been an idea that Miles should attempt to win the heiress, but it had soon been abandoned, since Miles had no title or position.


It was in all respects better that the waters of the fountain should be allowed to irrigate mildly the whole Grendall family;--and so Miles went into the city.


The ball was opened by a quadrille in which Lord Buntingford, the eldest son of the Duchess, stood up with Marie.


Various arrangements had been made, and this among them. We may say that it had been part of a bargain. Lord Buntingford had objected mildly, being a young man devoted to business, fond of his own order, rather shy, and not given to dancing.

This had been part of a bargain, although Lord Buntingford had objected mildly.


But he had allowed his mother to prevail. "Of course they are vulgar," the Duchess had said,--"so much so as to be no longer distasteful because of the absurdity of the thing.

But his mother had said, "Of course they are vulgar.


And I dare say he hasn't been very honest.


When men make so much money, I don't know how they can have been honest.


It's all very well saying that it isn't right, but what are we to do about Alfred's children?

But what are we to do about Alfred's children?


And between you and me they have got up those bills of Alfred's, and have said they can lie in their safe till it suits your uncle to pay them."


"They will lie there a long time," said Lord Buntingford.


"Of course they expect something in return; do dance with the girl once."


Lord Buntingford disapproved--mildly, and did as his mother asked him.

Lord Buntingford did as his mother asked him.


There were three or four card-tables in one of the lower rooms, and at one of them sat Lord Alfred Grendall and Mr. Melmotte, with two or three other players, cutting in and out at the end of each rubber.

There were three or four card-tables in one of the rooms, and at one of them sat Lord Alfred Grendall and Mr. Melmotte, with two or three other players.


Playing whist was Lord Alfred's only accomplishment, and almost the only occupation of his life.


He began it daily at his club at three o'clock, and continued playing till two in the morning with an interval of a couple of hours for his dinner. This he did during ten months of the year, and during the other two he frequented some watering-place at which whist prevailed.

He played it daily at his club for ten months of the year, and during the other two he frequented some watering-place at which whist prevailed.


He did not gamble, never playing for more than the club stakes and bets. He gave to the matter his whole mind, and must have excelled those who were generally opposed to him. But so obdurate was fortune to Lord Alfred that he could not make money even of whist.

He did not gamble, never playing for more than the club stakes, but he never made any money.


Melmotte was very anxious to get into Lord Alfred's club,--The Peripatetics.

Melmotte was very anxious to get into Lord Alfred's club, The Peripatetics.


It was pleasant to see the grace with which he lost his money, and the sweet intimacy with which he called his lordship Alfred.


Lord Alfred had a remnant of feeling left, and would have liked to kick him.


Though Melmotte was by far the bigger man, and was also the younger, Lord Alfred would not have lacked the pluck to kick him.

Though Melmotte was by far the bigger man, Lord Alfred would have liked to kick him.


Lord Alfred, in spite of his habitual idleness and vapid uselessness, had still left about him a dash of vigour, and sometimes thought that he would kick Melmotte and have done with it.

Lord Alfred, in spite of his habitual idleness and uselessness, had still a dash of vigour, and sometimes thought that he would kick Melmotte and have done with it.


But there were his poor boys, and those bills in Melmotte's safe.


And then Melmotte lost his points so regularly, and paid his bets with such absolute good humour!

And Melmotte paid his bets with such absolute good humour!


"Come and have a glass of champagne, Alfred," Melmotte said, as the two cut out together.

"Come and have a glass of champagne, Alfred," Melmotte said.


Lord Alfred liked champagne, and followed his host; but as he went he almost made up his mind that on some future day he would kick the man.

Lord Alfred liked champagne, and followed his host; but he almost made up his mind that on some future day he would kick the man.


Late in the evening Marie Melmotte was waltzing with Felix Carbury, and Henrietta Carbury was then standing by talking to one Mr. Paul Montague.

Late in the evening Marie Melmotte was waltzing with Felix Carbury, and Henrietta Carbury was standing by, talking to a Mr. Paul Montague.


She was not well inclined either to balls or to such people as the Melmottes; nor was Henrietta. But Felix had suggested that, bearing in mind his prospects as to the heiress, they had better accept the invitation which he would cause to have sent to them.

She did not care for balls, nor for the Melmottes; but Felix had suggested that they had better accept the invitation.


They did so; and then Paul Montague also got a card, not altogether to Lady Carbury's satisfaction.


Lady Carbury was very gracious to Madame Melmotte for two minutes, and then slid into a chair expecting nothing but misery for the evening.


She, however, was a woman who could do her duty and endure without complaint.

However, she was a woman who could do her duty and endure without complaint.


"It is the first great ball I ever was at in London," said Hetta Carbury to Paul Montague.


I don't understand how it is that at these parties people do know each other, or whether they all go dancing about without knowing."


"Just that; I suppose when they are used to it they get introduced backwards and forwards, and then they can know each other as fast as they like.


If you would wish to dance why won't you dance with me?"

"If you wish to dance why won't you dance with me?"


"I have danced with you,--twice already."


"Is there any law against dancing three times?"


"But I don't especially want to dance," said Henrietta.


"I think I'll go and console poor mamma, who has got nobody to speak to her."


Just at this moment, however, Lady Carbury was not in that wretched condition, as an unexpected friend had come to her relief.

Just at this moment, however, an unexpected friend had come to Lady Carbury's relief.


Sir Felix and Marie Melmotte had been spinning round and round throughout a long waltz, thoroughly enjoying the excitement of the music and the movement.


To give Felix Carbury what little praise might be his due, it is necessary to say that he did not lack physical activity.

To give Felix Carbury what little praise might be his due, he did not lack physical activity.


He would dance, and ride, and shoot eagerly, with an animation that made him happy for the moment.


It was an affair not of thought or calculation, but of physical organisation.


And Marie Melmotte had been thoroughly happy.


She loved dancing with all her heart if she could only dance in a manner pleasant to herself. She had been warned especially as to some men,--that she should not dance with them.

She loved dancing, although she had been warned that there were some men she should not dance with.


She had been almost thrown into Lord Nidderdale's arms, and had been prepared to take him at her father's bidding. But she had never had the slightest pleasure in his society, and had only not been wretched because she had not as yet recognised that she had an identity of her own in the disposition of which she herself should have a voice.

She had been prepared to take Lord Nidderdale at her father's bidding, but she had never had any pleasure in his society.


She certainly had never cared to dance with Lord Nidderdale.

She certainly had never cared to dance with him.


Lord Grasslough she had absolutely hated, though at first she had hardly dared to say so.


One or two others had been obnoxious to her in different ways, but they had passed on, or were passing on, out of her way.


There was no one at the present moment whom she had been commanded by her father to accept should an offer be made.


But she did like dancing with Sir Felix Carbury.


It was not only that the man was handsome but that he had a power of changing the expression of his countenance, a play of face, which belied altogether his real disposition.

Not only was the man handsome, but he had an expressive play of face which belied his real disposition.


He could seem to be hearty and true till the moment came in which he had really to expose his heart,--or to try to expose it.

He could seem to be hearty and true till the moment came to expose his heart - or to try to expose it.


Then he failed, knowing nothing about it.


But in the approaches to intimacy with a girl he could be very successful. He had already nearly got beyond this with Marie Melmotte; but Marie was by no means quick in discovering his deficiencies.

But in the approaches to intimacy with a girl he could be very successful; and Marie was slow to discover his deficiencies.


If she might be allowed to be wooed by Sir Felix Carbury, and to give herself to him, she thought that she would be contented.


"How well you dance," said Sir Felix, as soon as he had breath for speaking.


She spoke with a slightly foreign accent, which gave a little prettiness to her speech.


But nobody ever told me anything about myself."


"I should like to tell you everything about yourself, from the beginning to the end."


"I think I could make some good guesses.


I'll tell you what you would like best in all the world."


"Somebody that liked you best in all the world."


"How can you know, Miss Melmotte, but by believing?"


If a girl told me that she liked me better than any other girl, I should not know it, just because she said so.


"I shouldn't believe him a bit, and I should not care to find out.

"I shouldn't believe him, and I should not care to find out.


But I should like to have some girl for a friend whom I could love, oh, ten times better than myself."


"I mean a girl whom I could love,--oh, ten times better than myself."

"I mean a girl whom I could love - oh, ten times better than myself."


"Now you are laughing at me, Sir Felix," said Miss Melmotte.


"I wonder whether that will come to anything?"


They had come back into the drawing-room, and had been watching the approaches to love-making which the baronet was opening.

They had come back into the drawing-room, and had been watching this.


I hate to think of such things, Mr. Montague."


"It would be a magnificent chance for him."


"To marry a girl, the daughter of vulgar people, just because she will have a great deal of money?

"To marry the daughter of vulgar people, just because she will have money?" said Hetta.


He can't care for her really,--because she is rich."


It seems to me that there is no other condition of things under which Felix can face the world, but by being the husband of an heiress."

It seems to me that there is no other solution for Felix than to marry an heiress."


"And he will beggar you and your mother."


As he said this he did not look at her, but spoke through his teeth, as if he were angry both with himself and her.

Paul spoke through his teeth, as if he were angry.


"I did not think you would have spoken so harshly of Felix."


"I don't speak harshly of him, Miss Carbury.


I haven't said that it was his own fault.


He seems to be one of those who have been born to spend money; and as this girl will have plenty of money to spend, I think it would be a good thing if he were to marry her."


If Felix had 20,000 a year, everybody would think him the finest fellow in the world."


In saying this, however, Mr. Paul Montague showed himself unfit to gauge the opinion of the world.


Whether Sir Felix be rich or poor, the world, evil-hearted as it is, will never think him a fine fellow.


Lady Carbury had been seated for nearly half an hour in uncomplaining solitude under a bust, when she was delighted by the appearance of Mr. Ferdinand Alf.

Lady Carbury had been seated for nearly half an hour in uncomplaining solitude, when she was delighted by the appearance of Mr. Ferdinand Alf.


Melmotte and I are brother adventurers."


"I should have thought you would find so little here to amuse you."

"I should have thought you would find little here to amuse you."


"I have found you; and, in addition to that, duchesses and their daughters without number.

"I have found you; and, in addition, duchesses and their daughters without number.


"And Legge Wilson from the India Office is here already.


I spoke to him in some jewelled bower as I made my way here, not five minutes since.


Don't you think it very nice, Lady Carbury?"


"I don't know whether you are joking or in earnest."

"I don't know whether you are joking or not."


These people are spending thousands upon thousands to gratify you and me and others, and all they want in return is a little countenance."

These people are spending thousands upon thousands to gratify you and me and others, and all they want in return is a little attention."


"Ah;--but the countenance of the 'Evening Pulpit.'

"Ah; the attention of the Evening Pulpit.


"Well; it is not in our line exactly to give a catalogue of names and to record ladies' dresses.

"Well; it is not in our line exactly to give a catalogue of names and ladies' dresses.


Perhaps it may be better for our host himself that he should be kept out of the newspapers."

Perhaps it may be better for our host that he should be kept out of the newspapers."


"Are you going to be very severe upon poor me, Mr. Alf?"


"We are never severe upon anybody, Lady Carbury.


What will they do with him now they've caught him!

What will they do with him now they've caught him?


Oh, they're going to make him dance with the heiress.


She's a nice little girl enough, and he'll have nothing to trouble him.


But how is she, poor thing, to talk to royal blood?"


The Prince was brought into the big room where Marie was still being talked to by Felix Carbury, and was at once made to understand that she was to stand up and dance with royalty.

The Prince was brought into the room where Marie was with Felix Carbury, and she was informed by Miles Grendall that she was to stand up and dance with royalty.


The introduction was managed in a very business-like manner.


Miles Grendall first came in and found the female victim; the Duchess followed with the male victim.


Madame Melmotte, who had been on her legs till she was ready to sink, waddled behind, but was not allowed to take any part in the affair.


The band were playing a galop, but that was stopped at once, to the great confusion of the dancers.

The band were playing a gallop, but that was stopped at once, to the great confusion of the dancers.


In two minutes Miles Grendall had made up a set.


He stood up with his aunt, the Duchess, as vis-a-vis to Marie and the Prince, till, about the middle of the quadrille, Legge Wilson was found and made to take his place.

He stood up with his aunt, the Duchess, opposite Marie and the Prince.


Lord Buntingford had gone away; but then there were still present two daughters of the Duchess who were rapidly caught. Sir Felix Carbury, being good-looking and having a name, was made to dance with one of them, and Lord Grasslough with the other.

Two daughters of the Duchess were present: Sir Felix Carbury, being good-looking and having a name, was made to dance with one of them, and Lord Grasslough with the other.


There were four other couples, all made up of titled people, as it was intended that this special dance should be chronicled, if not in the "Evening Pulpit," in some less serious daily journal.

There were four other couples, all made up of titled people, as it was intended that this special dance should be chronicled, if not in the Evening Pulpit, in some less serious journal.


A paid reporter was present in the house ready to rush off with the list as soon as the dance should be a realized fact.

A paid reporter was ready to rush off with the list as soon as the dance began.


The Prince himself did not quite understand why he was there, but they who marshalled his life for him had so marshalled it for the present moment. He himself probably knew nothing about the lady's diamonds which had been rescued, or the considerable subscription to St. George's Hospital which had been extracted from Mr. Melmotte as a make-weight.

The Prince himself did not quite understand why he was there; he probably knew nothing about the lady's diamonds which had been rescued.


Poor Marie felt as though the burden of the hour would be greater than she could bear, and looked as though she would have fled had flight been possible.

Poor Marie looked as though she would have fled had flight been possible.


But the trouble passed quickly, and was not really severe.


The Prince said a word or two between each figure, and did not seem to expect a reply.

The Prince said a word or two, and did not seem to expect a reply.


He made a few words go a long way, and was well trained in the work of easing the burden of his own greatness for those who were for the moment inflicted with it.


When the dance was over he was allowed to escape after the ceremony of a single glass of champagne drank in the presence of the hostess.

When the dance was over he was allowed to escape after the ceremony of a single glass of champagne drunk with the hostess.


Considerable skill was shown in keeping the presence of his royal guest a secret from the host himself till the Prince was gone.

The presence of his royal guest was kept secret from the host himself till the Prince was gone.


Melmotte would have desired to pour out that glass of wine with his own hands, to solace his tongue by Royal Highnesses, and would probably have been troublesome and disagreeable.

Melmotte would have desired to pour out that glass of wine with his own hands, and would probably have been troublesome and disagreeable.


Miles Grendall had understood all this and had managed the affair very well.


"Bless my soul;--his Royal Highness come and gone!"

"Bless my soul - his Royal Highness come and gone!"


"You and my father were so fast at your whist that it was impossible to get you away," said Miles.

"You and my father were so absorbed at your whist that it was impossible to get you away," said Miles.


Melmotte was not a fool, and understood it all;--understood not only that it had been thought better that he should not speak to the Prince, but also that it might be better that it should be so.

Melmotte was not a fool, and understood that it had been thought better that he should not speak to the Prince, but also that it might be better that it should be so.


Miles Grendall was very useful to him, and he would not quarrel with Miles, at any rate as yet.

Miles Grendall was very useful to him, and he would not quarrel with him just yet.


[Illustration: The Duchess followed with the male victim.]


he said to Miles's father as the carriages were taking away the guests.


Lord Alfred had taken sundry glasses of champagne, and for a moment forgot the bills in the safe, and the good things which his boys were receiving.


Then he left the house without a further word to the master of it.


That night before they went to sleep Melmotte required from his weary wife an account of the ball, and especially of Marie's conduct.

That night before they went to sleep Melmotte required from his weary wife an account of the ball, and of Marie's conduct.


"Marie," Madame Melmotte said, "had behaved well, but had certainly preferred 'Sir Carbury' to any other of the young men."

"Marie," Madame Melmotte said, "behaved well, but certainly preferred 'Sir Carbury' to any other of the young men."


Hitherto Mr. Melmotte had heard very little of "Sir Carbury," except that he was a baronet.


Though his eyes and ears were always open, though he attended to everything, and was a man of sharp intelligence, he did not yet quite understand the bearing and sequence of English titles.

Though he was a man of sharp intelligence, he did not yet understand the bearing and sequence of English titles.


He knew that he must get for his daughter either an eldest son, or one absolutely in possession himself.

He knew that he must get for his daughter either an eldest son, or one in possession of a title.


Sir Felix, he had learned, was only a baronet; but then he was in possession. He had discovered also that Sir Felix's son would in course of time also become Sir Felix.

Sir Felix was only a baronet; but his son would in course of time also become Sir Felix.


He was not therefore at the present moment disposed to give any positive orders as to his daughter's conduct to the young baronet.

Melmotte was not disposed to give any positive orders as to his daughter's conduct to the young baronet.


He did not, however, conceive that the young baronet had as yet addressed his girl in such words as Felix had in truth used when they parted.

He did not, however, imagine that the young baronet had addressed his girl in the way Felix had when they parted.


"You know who it is," he whispered, "likes you better than any one else in the world."

"You know who it is," he whispered, "likes you better than anyone else in the world."


"I do," he said as he held her hand for a minute.


He looked into her face and she thought it very sweet.


He had studied the words as a lesson, and, repeating them as a lesson, he did it fairly well.

He had studied the words, and, repeating them as a lesson, he did it fairly well.


He did it well enough at any rate to send the poor girl to bed with a sweet conviction that at last a man had spoken to her whom she could love.


Ruby had run away from her lover in great dudgeon after the dance at the Music Hall, and had declared that she never wanted to see him again.


But when reflection came with the morning her misery was stronger than her wrath.


What would life be to her now without her lover?


When she escaped from her grandfather's house she certainly had not intended to become nurse and assistant maid-of-all-work at a London lodging-house.

When she escaped from her grandfather's house she had not intended to become maid-of-all-work at a London lodging-house.


The daily toil she could endure, and the hard life, as long as she was supported by the prospect of some coming delight. A dance with Felix at the Music Hall, though it were three days distant from her, would so occupy her mind that she could wash and dress all the children without complaint.

The daily toil she could endure, as long as she was supported by the prospect of some coming delight - like a dance with Felix at the Music Hall.


Mrs. Pipkin was forced to own to herself that Ruby did earn her bread.


But when she had parted with her lover almost on an understanding that they were never to meet again, things were very different with her.

But when she had parted with her lover almost on an understanding that they were never to meet again, things were very different.


A gentleman like Sir Felix did not of course like to be told about marriage.

A gentleman like Sir Felix did not like to be told about marriage.


If she gave him another chance, perhaps he would speak.


At any rate she could not live without another dance.


Ruby was glib enough with her pen, though what she wrote will hardly bear repeating.


She underscored all her loves to him. She underscored the expression of her regret if she had vexed him.

She underscored all her loves to him, and her regret at vexing him.


But she did want to have another dance at the Music Hall.


Sir Felix sent her a very short reply to say that he would be at the Music Hall on the Tuesday.

Sir Felix sent her a very short reply to say that he would be at the Music Hall on Tuesday.


As at this time he proposed to leave London on the Wednesday on his way to New York, he was proposing to devote his very last night to the companionship of Ruby Ruggles.

As he planned to leave London on the Wednesday on his way to New York, he was proposing to devote his very last night to the companionship of Ruby Ruggles.


Mrs. Pipkin had never interfered with her niece's letters.


It is certainly a part of the new dispensation that young women shall send and receive letters without inspection.


But since Roger Carbury's visit Mrs. Pipkin had watched the postman, and had also watched her niece.

But since Roger Carbury's visit she had watched the postman, and had also watched her niece.


For nearly a week Ruby said not a word of going out at night.


She took the children for an airing in a broken perambulator, nearly as far as Holloway, with exemplary care, and washed up the cups and saucers as though her mind was intent upon them.

She took the children for an airing with exemplary care, and washed the cups and saucers diligently.


But Mrs. Pipkin's mind was intent on obeying Mr. Carbury's behests.

But Mrs. Pipkin was intent on obeying Mr. Carbury's requests.


She had already hinted something as to which Ruby had made no answer. It was her purpose to tell her and to swear to her most solemnly,--should she find her preparing herself to leave the house after six in the evening,--that she should be kept out the whole night, having a purpose equally clear in her own mind that she would break her oath should she be unsuccessful in her effort to keep Ruby at home.

She decided to tell Ruby most solemnly, if she found her preparing to leave the house in the evening, that she should be kept out the whole night.


But on the Tuesday, when Ruby went up to her room to deck herself, a bright idea as to a better precaution struck Mrs. Pipkin's mind. Ruby had been careless,--had left her lover's scrap of a note in an old pocket when she went out with the children, and Mrs. Pipkin knew all about it.

On the Tuesday, when Ruby went up to her room to deck herself, she had been careless - she had left her lover's scrap of a note behind when she went out with the children, and Mrs. Pipkin knew all about it.


It was nine o'clock when Ruby went up-stairs,--and then Mrs. Pipkin locked both the front door and the area gate.

It was nine o'clock when Ruby went upstairs; and Mrs. Pipkin locked both the front door and the area gate.


Mrs. Hurtle had come home on the previous day.


"You won't be wanting to go out to-night;--will you, Mrs. Hurtle?"

"You won't be wanting to go out tonight, will you, Mrs. Hurtle?"


said Mrs. Pipkin, knocking at her lodger's door.


Mrs. Hurtle declared her purpose of remaining at home all the evening.

Mrs. Hurtle declared her intention of remaining at home all evening.


"If you should hear words between me and my niece, don't you mind, ma'am."


"I hope there's nothing wrong, Mrs. Pipkin?"


"She'll be wanting to go out, and I won't have it. It isn't right; is it, ma'am?

"She'll be wanting to go out, and it isn't right; is it, ma'am?


She's a good girl; but they've got such a way nowadays of doing just as they pleases, that one doesn't know what's going to come next."

She's a good girl; but they've got such a way nowadays of doing just as they pleases, that one doesn't know what's coming next."


Mrs. Pipkin must have feared downright rebellion when she thus took her lodger into her confidence.


Ruby came down in her silk frock, as she had done before, and made her usual little speech.

Ruby came down in her silk frock, and made her usual speech.


"I'm just going to step out, aunt, for a little time to-night.

"I'm just going to step out, aunt, for a little time tonight.


I've got the key, and I'll let myself in quite quiet."

I've got the key, and I'll let myself in quiet."


"Indeed, Ruby, you won't," said Mrs. Pipkin.


If you go out to-night you won't come back here any more.


I won't have it, and it isn't right that I should.


You're going after that young man that they tell me is the greatest scamp in all England."


No girl is going out any more at nights out of my house; so that's all about it.

No girl is going out any more at nights out of my house; so that's it.


If you had told me you was going before, you needn't have gone up and bedizened yourself. For now it's all to take off again."

You'd better take your finery off again."


She had expected some opposition,--what she would have called a few words; but she had never imagined that her aunt would threaten to keep her in the streets all night.

She had expected some opposition; but she had never imagined that her aunt would threaten to keep her in the streets all night.


It seemed to her that she had bought the privilege of amusing herself by hard work.


Nor did she believe now that her aunt would be as hard as her threat.

Nor did she believe her aunt would be as hard as her threat.


"I've a right to go if I like," she said.


You haven't a right to come back again, any way."

"You haven't a right to come back again."


I've worked for you a deal harder than the girl down-stairs, and I don't want no wages.


I've a right to go out, and a right to come back;--and go I shall."

I've a right to go out - and go I shall."


"You'll be no better than you should be, if you do."


"Am I to work my very nails off, and push that perambulator about all day till my legs won't carry me,--and then I ain't to go out, not once in a week?"

"Am I to work my very nails off, and then I ain't to go out, not once a week?"


I won't have you go and throw yourself into the gutter;--not while you're with me."

"I won't have you go and throw yourself into the gutter, Ruby - not while you're with me."


"Who's throwing themselves into the gutter?


"There's two of us that way, Ruby;--for I know what I'm about."


"You won't get out that way, any way, for the door's locked;--and the area gate.

"You won't get out that way, for the door's locked; and the area gate.


You'd better be said, Ruby, and just take your things off."

You'd better just take your things off, Ruby."


Poor Ruby for the moment was struck dumb with mortification.

Poor Ruby for the moment was struck dumb.


Mrs. Pipkin had given her credit for more outrageous perseverance than she possessed, and had feared that she would rattle at the front door, or attempt to climb over the area gate. She was a little afraid of Ruby, not feeling herself justified in holding absolute dominion over her as over a servant.

Mrs. Pipkin had feared that she would try to climb over the area gate, for she was a little afraid of Ruby.


And though she was now determined in her conduct,--being fully resolved to surrender neither of the keys which she held in her pocket,--still she feared that she might so far collapse as to fall away into tears, should Ruby be violent.


Her lover would be there to meet her, and the appointment would be broken by her!

Her lover would be there to meet her, and she would not turn up!


"Aunt Pipkin," she said, "let me go just this once."


"You don't know what you're a' doing of, aunt; you don't.

"You don't know what you're doing, aunt.


I'll never ask again, if you don't like."


Mrs. Pipkin had not expected this, and was almost willing to yield.


But Mr. Carbury had spoken so very plainly!


"It ain't the thing, Ruby; and I won't do it."


I don't believe as you've any right to lock me up."


The door will be open to-morrow, if you choose to go out."

The door will be open, if you choose to go."


But Mrs. Pipkin was stern, and Ruby, in a flood of tears, took herself up to her garret.


Mrs. Pipkin knocked at Mrs. Hurtle's door again.


There wasn't any noise about it;--was there?"


"Not as I expected, Mrs. Hurtle, certainly.


I've been a girl too, and used to like a bit of outing as well as any one,--and a dance too; only it was always when mother knew.


And she's got it into her head that she's that pretty that a great gentleman will marry her."

And she's got it into her head that a great gentleman will marry her.


It's no more nor skin deep, as the scriptures tell us.


And what'd a grand gentleman see in Ruby to marry her?

But what'd a grand gentleman see in Ruby to marry her?


After this gentleman,--and you know what that means!

After this gentleman - and you know what that means!


You're going to be married yourself, Mrs. Hurtle."


"We won't mind about that now, Mrs. Pipkin."


"And this 'll be your second, and you know how these things are managed.

"But you know how these things are managed.


No gentleman 'll marry her because she runs after him.

No gentleman'll marry her because she runs after him.


Girls as knows what they're about should let the gentlemen run after them.

Girls should let the gentlemen run after them.


"Don't you think they should be equal in that respect?"


"Anyways the girls shouldn't let on as they are running after the gentlemen.

Or anyways the girls shouldn't let on as they are running after the gentlemen.


A gentleman goes here and he goes there, and he speaks up free, of course.


But then, maybe, I'm old-fashioned," added Mrs. Pipkin, thinking of the new dispensation.

But then, maybe, I'm old-fashioned," added Mrs. Pipkin.


"I suppose girls do speak for themselves more than they did formerly."


"A deal more, Mrs. Hurtle; quite different.


You hear them talk of spooning with this fellow, and spooning with that fellow,--and that before their very fathers and mothers!


When I was young we used to do it, I suppose,--only not like that."


"I think we got married quicker than they do, any way.


When the gentlemen had to take more trouble they thought more about it.


But if you wouldn't mind speaking to Ruby to-morrow, Mrs. Hurtle, she'd listen to you when she wouldn't mind a word I said to her.

"But if you wouldn't mind speaking to Ruby tomorrow, Mrs. Hurtle, she'd listen to you.


I don't want her to go away from this, out into the street, till she knows where she's to go to, decent.

I don't want her to go out into the street, till she knows where she's to go to."


As for going to her young man,--that's just walking the streets."


Mrs. Hurtle promised that she would speak to Ruby, though when making the promise she could not but think of her unfitness for the task.

Mrs. Hurtle promised that she would speak to Ruby, though she could not help thinking of her unfitness for the task.


She had not a single friend in it, but Paul Montague;--and she had run after him with as little discretion as Ruby Ruggles was showing in running after her lover.

She had not a single friend in it but Paul Montague; and she had run after him with as little discretion as Ruby Ruggles.


Who was she that she should take upon herself to give advice to any female?


She had not sent her letter to Paul, but she still kept it in her pocket-book.

She had not sent her letter to Paul, but still kept it in her pocket-book.


At some moments she thought that she would send it; and at others she told herself that she would never surrender this last hope till every stone had been turned. It might still be possible to shame him into a marriage.

At some moments she thought that she would send it; and at others she told herself that it might still be possible to shame him into a marriage.


She had returned from Lowestoft on the Monday, and had made some trivial excuse to Mrs. Pipkin in her mildest voice.


The place had been windy, and too cold for her;--and she had not liked the hotel.

The place had been windy, and too cold; and she had not liked the hotel.


Mrs. Pipkin was very glad to see her back again.


Paul Montague had other troubles on his mind beyond this trouble of the Mexican Railway.

Paul Montague had other troubles on his mind.


It was now more than a fortnight since he had taken Mrs. Hurtle to the play, and she was still living in lodgings at Islington.

It was now more than a fortnight since he had taken Mrs. Hurtle to the play.


He had seen her twice, once on the following day, when he was allowed to come and go without any special reference to their engagement, and again, three or four days afterwards, when the meeting was by no means so pleasant.

He had seen her twice since, once on the following day, when she had not mentioned their engagement, and again, three or four days afterwards, when the meeting was by no means so pleasant.


She had wept, and after weeping had stormed.


She had stood upon what she called her rights, and had dared him to be false to her.


Did he mean to deny that he had promised to marry her?

Did he deny that he had promised to marry her?


Was not his conduct to her, ever since she had now been in London, a repetition of that promise?

Were his visits not a repetition of that promise?


And then again she became soft, and pleaded with him.


But for the storm he might have given way.

But for the storm, he might have given way.


At that moment he had felt that any fate in life would be better than a marriage on compulsion.


Her tears and her pleadings, nevertheless, touched him very nearly.


The very violence of the storm made the sunshine more sweet.


She would sit down on a stool at his feet, and it was impossible to drive her away from him.

It was impossible to drive her away from him.


She would look up in his face and he could not but embrace her.

She would look up in his face and he could not help embracing her.


Then there had come a passionate flood of tears and she was in his arms.


How he had escaped he hardly knew, but he did know that he had promised to be with her again before two days should have passed.

How he had escaped he hardly knew, but he did know that he had promised to be with her again in two days.


On the day named he wrote to her a letter excusing himself, which was at any rate true in words.

On the day he wrote her a letter excusing himself.


He had been summoned, he said, to Liverpool on business, and must postpone seeing her till his return. And he explained that the business on which he was called was connected with the great American railway, and, being important, demanded his attention.

He had been summoned, he said, to Liverpool on business connected with the great American railway, and must postpone seeing her till his return.


He had been corresponding with a gentleman at Liverpool with whom he had become acquainted on his return home after having involuntarily become a partner in the house of Fisker, Montague, and Montague.

He had been corresponding with a Mr. Ramsbottom at Liverpool since having become a partner in the house of Fisker, Montague, and Montague.


This man he trusted and had consulted, and the gentleman, Mr. Ramsbottom by name, had suggested that he should come to him at Liverpool.

Mr. Ramsbottom, whom he consulted and trusted, had suggested that he should come to him at Liverpool.


He had gone, and his conduct at the Board had been the result of the advice which he had received; but it may be doubted whether some dread of the coming interview with Mrs. Hurtle had not added strength to Mr. Ramsbottom's invitation.

He went, and his conduct at the Board was the result of the advice which he had received.


In Liverpool he had heard tidings of Mrs. Hurtle, though it can hardly be said that he obtained any trustworthy information.

In Liverpool he heard tidings of Mrs. Hurtle, though hardly trustworthy information.


The lady after landing from an American steamer had been at Mr. Ramsbottom's office, inquiring for him, Paul; and Mr. Ramsbottom had thought that the inquiries were made in a manner indicating danger.

The lady, after landing from an American steamer, had inquired for Paul, in a manner that Mr. Ramsbottom thought indicated danger.


He therefore had spoken to a fellow-traveller with Mrs. Hurtle, and the fellow-traveller had opined that Mrs. Hurtle was "a queer card."

He had spoken about her with a fellow-traveller, who had said that Mrs. Hurtle was "a queer card."


"On board ship we all gave it up to her that she was about the handsomest woman we had ever seen, but we all said that there was a bit of the wild cat in her breeding."

"On board ship we reckoned she was about the handsomest woman we had ever seen, but we all said that there was a bit of the wild cat in her breeding."


Then Mr. Ramsbottom had asked whether the lady was a widow.


"There was a man on board from Kansas," said the fellow-traveller, "who knew a man named Hurtle at Leavenworth, who was separated from his wife and is still alive.

"There was a man on board from Kansas," said the fellow-traveller, "who knew a man named Hurtle, who was separated from his wife and is still alive.


There was, according to him, a queer story about the man and his wife having fought a duel with pistols, and then having separated."

There was a queer story about the man and his wife having fought a duel with pistols."


This Mr. Ramsbottom, who in an earlier stage of the affair had heard something of Paul and Mrs. Hurtle together, managed to communicate to the young man.


His advice about the railway company was very clear and general, and such as an honest man would certainly give; but it might have been conveyed by letter.


The information, such as it was, respecting Mrs. Hurtle, could only be given viv voce, and perhaps the invitation to Liverpool had originated in Mr. Ramsbottom's appreciation of this fact.

This information about Mrs. Hurtle could only be given to Paul face to face, which is why Mr. Ramsbottom had invited him to Liverpool.


"As she was asking after you here, perhaps it is as well that you should know," his friend said to him.

"It is as well that you should know," his friend said to him.


Paul had only thanked him, not daring on the spur of the moment to speak of his own difficulties.

Paul had thanked him, not daring to speak of his own difficulties with the lady.


In all this there had been increased dismay, but there had also been some comfort.

In all this there had been increased dismay, but also some comfort.


It had only been at moments in which he had been subject to her softer influences that Paul had doubted as to his adherence to the letter which he had written to her, breaking off his engagement.

Sometimes Paul had doubted whether he should break off his engagement.


When she told him of her wrongs and of her love; of his promise and his former devotion to her; when she assured him that she had given up everything in life for him, and threw her arms round him, looking into his eyes;--then he would almost yield.

When she assured him that she had given up everything in life for him, and threw her arms round him - then he would almost yield.


But when, what the traveller called the breeding of the wild cat, showed itself;--and when, having escaped from her, he thought of Hetta Carbury and of her breeding,--he was fully determined that, let his fate be what it might, it should not be that of being the husband of Mrs. Hurtle.

But when what the traveller had called the wild cat showed itself - and when, having escaped from her, he thought of Hetta Carbury - he was fully determined that he would not marry Mrs. Hurtle.


That he was in a mass of troubles from which it would be very difficult for him to extricate himself he was well aware;--but if it were true that Mr. Hurtle was alive, that fact might help him.

That he was tangled in a mass of troubles he was well aware; but if it were true that Mr. Hurtle was alive, that fact might help him.


She certainly had declared him to be,--not separated, or even divorced,--but dead.

She certainly had declared him to be dead.


And if it were true also that she had fought a duel with one husband, that also ought to be a reason why a gentleman should object to become her second husband. These facts would at any rate justify himself to himself, and would enable himself to break from his engagement without thinking himself to be a false traitor.

And if it were true also that she had fought a duel with one husband, that also ought to justify him in breaking from his engagement.


But he must make up his mind as to some line of conduct.


If he meant to reject the lady finally on the score of her being a wild cat, he must tell her so.


He felt very strongly that he must not flinch from the wild cat's claws.


That he would have to undergo some severe handling, an amount of clawing which might perhaps go near his life, he could perceive.

That he would have to undergo some mauling and clawing, he understood.


Having done what he had done he would have no right to shrink from such usage.


He must tell her to her face that he was not satisfied with her past life, and that therefore he would not marry her.


Of course he might write to her;--but when summoned to her presence he would be unable to excuse himself, even to himself, for not going.


It was his misfortune,--and also his fault,--that he had submitted to be loved by a wild cat.


But it might be well that before he saw her he should get hold of information that might have the appearance of real evidence.

But before he saw her it would be as well to get some real evidence.


He returned from Liverpool to London on the morning of the Friday on which the Board was held, and thought even more of all this than he did of the attack which he was prepared to make on Mr. Melmotte.

He returned from Liverpool to London on the morning on which the Board was held, and thought even more of all this than he did of his attack on Mr. Melmotte.


If he could come across that traveller he might learn something.


The husband's name had been Caradoc Carson Hurtle.


If Caradoc Carson Hurtle had been seen in the State of Kansas within the last two years, that certainly would be sufficient evidence.

If he had been seen in the State of Kansas within the last two years, that certainly would be evidence.


As to the duel he felt that it might be very hard to prove that, and that if proved, it might be hard to found upon the fact any absolute right on his part to withdraw from the engagement.

As to the duel, he felt that it might be very hard to prove that.


But there was a rumour also, though not corroborated during his last visit to Liverpool, that she had shot a gentleman in Oregon.

But there was a rumour also that she had shot a gentleman in Oregon.


Could he get at the truth of that story?


If they were all true, surely he could justify himself to himself.


But this detective's work was very distasteful to him.

However, this detective's work was very distasteful to him.


After having had the woman in his arms how could he undertake such inquiries as these?

After having had the woman in his arms how could he make such inquiries?


And it would be almost necessary that he should take her in his arms again while he was making them,--unless indeed he made them with her knowledge.

And it would be almost necessary that he should take her in his arms again while he was making them, unless he told her outright that he would not marry her because of what he had heard.


Was it not his duty, as a man, to tell everything to herself?


To speak to her thus;--"I am told that your life with your last husband was, to say the least of it, eccentric; that you even fought a duel with him.


I could not marry a woman who had fought a duel,--certainly not a woman who had fought with her own husband.


I am told also that you shot another gentleman in Oregon.


It may well be that the gentleman deserved to be shot; but there is something in the deed so repulsive to me,--no doubt irrationally,--that, on that score also, I must decline to marry you.


I am told also that Mr. Hurtle has been seen alive quite lately.


I had understood from you that he is dead.


But as I should not have engaged myself to you had I known the truth, so now I consider myself justified in absolving myself from an engagement which was based on a misconception."


It would no doubt be difficult to get through all these details; but it might be accomplished gradually,--unless in the process of doing so he should incur the fate of the gentleman in Oregon.

In so doing he might incur the fate of the gentleman in Oregon.


At any rate he would declare to her as well as he could the ground on which he claimed a right to consider himself free, and would bear the consequences.

At any rate he would declare the ground on which he considered himself free, and would bear the consequences.


Such was the resolve which he made on his journey up from Liverpool, and that trouble was also on his mind when he rose up to attack Mr. Melmotte single-handed at the Board.

This was the resolve in his mind when he rose up to attack Mr. Melmotte at the Board.


When the Board was over, he also went down to the Beargarden. Perhaps, with reference to the Board, the feeling which hurt him most was the conviction that he was spending money which he would never have had to spend had there been no Board. He had been twitted with this at the Board-meeting, and had justified himself by referring to the money which had been invested in the Company of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, which money was now supposed to have been made over to the railway. But the money which he was spending had come to him after a loose fashion, and he knew that if called upon for an account, he could hardly make out one which would be square and intelligible to all parties. Nevertheless he spent much of his time at the Beargarden, dining there when no engagement carried him elsewhere.

When the Board was over, he went down to the Beargarden, where he often dined.


On this evening he joined his table with Nidderdale's, at the young lord's instigation.

This evening he sat with Nidderdale, at the young lord's instigation.


"What made you so savage at old Melmotte to-day?"

"What made you so savage at old Melmotte today?"


"I didn't mean to be savage, but I think that as we call ourselves Directors we ought to know something about it."

"I didn't mean to be savage, but I think that as Directors we ought to know something about it."


I can't make out why the mischief they made me a Director."


"Because you're a lord," said Paul bluntly.


Nobody thinks that I know anything about business.


Of course I'm in Parliament, but I don't often go there unless they want me to vote.


The Governor said that I was to do it, and so I've done it."


"They say, you know,--there's something between you and Melmotte's daughter."

"They say, you know - there's something between you and Melmotte's daughter."


"But if there is, what has that to do with a railway in the city?

"But what has that to do with a railway?


And, heaven and earth, why should old Grendall be a Director?

And why on earth should old Grendall be a Director?


I'm impecunious; but if you were to pick out the two most hopeless men in London in regard to money, they would be old Grendall and young Carbury.

If you were to pick out the two most hopeless men in London in regard to money, they would be old Grendall and young Carbury.


I've been thinking a good deal about it, and I can't make it out."


"I have been thinking about it too," said Paul.


This was a question which Montague found it difficult to answer.

This was a question which Paul found it difficult to answer.


How could he be justified in whispering suspicions to the man who was known to be at any rate one of the competitors for Marie Melmotte's hand?

How could he whisper suspicions to the man who was a competitor for Marie Melmotte's hand?


"You can speak out to me, you know," said Nidderdale, nodding his head.

"You can speak out to me, you know," said Nidderdale.


People say that he is about the richest man alive."

People say that he is the richest man alive.


"I don't see why it shouldn't be all true.


Nobody, I take it, knows very much about him."


When his companion had left him, Nidderdale sat down, thinking of it all.


It occurred to him that he would "be coming a cropper rather," were he to marry Melmotte's daughter for her money, and then find that she had got none.

It occurred to Nidderdale that he would "come a cropper" were he to marry Melmotte's daughter for her money, and then find that she had got none.


A little later in the evening he invited Montague to go up to the card-room.

After dinner he invited Montague to go up to the card-room.


"Carbury, and Grasslough, and Dolly Longestaffe are there waiting," he said.

"Carbury, and Grasslough, and Dolly Longestaffe are there," he said.


He was too full of his troubles for play.


"Poor Miles isn't there, if you're afraid of that," said Nidderdale.


"Miles Grendall wouldn't hinder me," said Montague.


But, God bless me, I owe a fellow down in Leicestershire heaven knows how much for keeping horses, and that's a shame."


"I suppose I shall,--if I don't die first.


But I should have gone on with the horses just the same if there had never been anything to come;--only they wouldn't have given me tick, you know.


As far as I'm concerned it's just the same.


I like to live whether I've got money or not.


And I fear I don't have many scruples about paying.


There's Carbury always saying nasty things about poor Miles.


He's playing himself without a rap to back him.


If he were to lose, Vossner wouldn't stand him a 10 note.


But because he has won, he goes on as though he were old Melmotte himself.


Without any fixed purpose he left the club, and slowly sauntered northwards through the streets till he found himself in Welbeck Street. He hardly knew why he went there, and certainly had not determined to call on Lady Carbury when he left the Beargarden.

He left the club, and slowly sauntered northwards through the streets till he found himself in Welbeck Street; he hardly knew why. He had certainly intended to call on Lady Carbury.


As long as she was present in London,--as long at any rate as he was unable to tell himself that he had finally broken away from her,--he knew himself to be an unfit companion for Henrietta Carbury.


And, indeed, he was still under some promise made to Roger Carbury, not that he would avoid Hetta's company, but that for a certain period, as yet unexpired, he would not ask her to be his wife.

And, indeed, he was still under some promise made to Roger Carbury, that for a certain period, still unexpired, he would not ask Hetta to be his wife.


It had been a foolish promise, made and then repented without much attention to words;--but still it was existing, and Paul knew well that Roger trusted that it would be kept.

It had been a foolish promise, made and then repented; but still it existed, and Paul knew that Roger trusted that it would be kept.


Nevertheless Paul made his way up to Welbeck Street and almost unconsciously knocked at the door.


She was out somewhere with Mr. Roger Carbury.


Up to that moment Paul had not heard that Roger was in town; but the reader may remember that he had come up in search of Ruby Ruggles.

Up to that moment Paul had not heard that Roger was in town; but the reader may remember that he had come in search of Ruby Ruggles.


Miss Carbury was at home, the page went on to say.

Miss Carbury was at home, the servant said.


Would Mr. Montague go up and see Miss Carbury?


Without much consideration Mr. Montague said that he would go up and see Miss Carbury.

Without considering, Mr. Montague said that he would.


"Mamma is out with Roger," said Hetta endeavouring to save herself from confusion.

"Mamma is out with Roger," said Hetta, trying to save herself from confusion.


"There is a soire of learned people somewhere, and she made poor Roger take her.

"She made him take her to some soire of learned people."


The ticket was only for her and her friend, and therefore I could not go."


"Hardly since the Melmottes' ball," said Hetta.


Whenever there is a mystery I am always afraid that there is something wrong about Felix."


I do get so unhappy about Felix, Mr. Montague."
"I saw him to-day in the city, at the Railway Board."

"I saw Felix today, at the Railway Board."


"But Roger says the Railway Board is all a sham,"--Paul could not keep himself from blushing as he heard this,--"and that Felix should not be there.

"Roger says the Railway Board is all a sham." Paul could not help blushing as he heard this.


And then there is something going on about that horrid man's daughter."

"And there is something going on about that horrid man's daughter."


"She is to marry Lord Nidderdale, I think."


They are talking of her marrying Felix, and of course it is for her money.

They are talking of her marrying Felix, for her money of course.


And I believe that man is determined to quarrel with them."
"What man, Miss Carbury?"
"Mr. Melmotte himself.

And I believe Mr. Melmotte is determined to quarrel with them.


"But I saw them in the city to-day and they seemed to be the greatest friends.

"But today they seemed to be the greatest friends.


When I wanted to see Mr. Melmotte he bolted himself into an inner room, but he took your brother with him. He would not have done that if they had not been friends.

Mr. Melmotte asked your brother into an inner room with him, as if they were friends."


When I saw it I almost thought that he had consented to the marriage."


"Roger has the greatest dislike to Mr. Melmotte."


"And Roger is always right. It is always safe to trust him.


Paul did think so, and was by no means disposed to deny to his rival the praise which rightly belonged to him; but still he found the subject difficult.

Paul did think so; but he found the subject difficult.


"Of course I will never go against mamma," continued Hetta, "but I always feel that my Cousin Roger is a rock of strength, so that if one did whatever he said one would never get wrong.

"Of course I will never go against mamma," continued Hetta, "but I always feel that my Cousin Roger is a rock of strength, so that if one did whatever he said one would never go wrong."


I never found any one else that I thought that of, but I do think it of him."


"No one has more reason to praise him than I have."


"I think everybody has reason to praise him that has to do with him.

"I think everybody who knows him has reason to praise him."


Whenever he thinks anything he says it;--or, at least, he never says anything that he doesn't think.


If he spent a thousand pounds, everybody would know that he'd got it to spend; but other people are not like that."


"I'm thinking of everybody, Mr. Montague;--of everybody except Roger."


But it is abominable to me to seem even to contradict you.


Roger Carbury has been to me the best friend that any man ever had.

Roger Carbury has been the best friend that any man ever had."


"I didn't say he was the only person;--or I didn't mean to say so.


"Yes;--I suppose so. Of course you are. Why not?


Of course you are a friend,--because you are his friend."

Of course you are a friend - because you are his friend."


I love Roger Carbury,--as well as one man can love another.


You hardly know how he denies himself, and how he thinks of everybody near him.


He is a gentleman all round and every inch.


I believe he does love his neighbour as himself."


I am so glad to hear you speak of him like that."


"I love him better than any man,--as well as a man can love a man.

"I love him as well as a man can love a man.


If you will say that you love him as well as a woman can love a man,--I will leave England at once, and never return to it."

If you say that you love him as well as a woman can love a man, I will leave England at once, and never return."


"There's mamma," said Henrietta;--for at that moment there was a double knock at the door.

"There's mamma," said Henrietta; for at that moment there was a knock at the door.


In the meantime great preparations were going on down in Suffolk for the marriage of that happiest of lovers, John Crumb.


John Crumb had been up to London, had been formally reconciled to Ruby,--who had submitted to his floury embraces, not with the best grace in the world, but still with a submission that had satisfied her future husband,--had been intensely grateful to Mrs. Hurtle, and almost munificent in liberality to Mrs. Pipkin, to whom he presented a purple silk dress, in addition to the cloak which he had given on a former occasion.

He had been formally reconciled to Ruby - who had submitted to his floury embraces, not with the best grace in the world, but still with a submission that satisfied her future husband. He had been intensely grateful to Mrs. Hurtle, and munificent to Mrs. Pipkin, to whom he presented a purple silk dress, in addition to the cloak which he had already given her.


During this visit he had expressed no anger against Ruby, and no indignation in reference to the baronite.

He had expressed no anger against Ruby, and no indignation about the baronite.


When informed by Mrs. Pipkin, who hoped thereby to please him, that Sir Felix was supposed to be still "all one mash of gore," he blandly smiled, remarking that no man could be much the worse for a "few sich taps as them."


He only stayed a few hours in London, but during these few hours he settled everything.


When Mrs. Pipkin suggested that Ruby should be married from her house, he winked his eye as he declined the suggestion with thanks.

When Mrs. Pipkin suggested that Ruby should be married from her house, he declined the suggestion with thanks.


Daniel Ruggles was old, and, under the influence of continued gin and water, was becoming feeble.


John Crumb was of opinion that the old man should not be neglected, and hinted that with a little care the five hundred pounds which had originally been promised as Ruby's fortune, might at any rate be secured.


He was of opinion that the marriage should be celebrated in Suffolk,--the feast being spread at Sheep's Acre farm, if Dan Ruggles could be talked into giving it,--and if not, at his own house.

He thought that the marriage should be celebrated in Suffolk - the feast being spread at Sheep's Acre farm, if old Ruggles could be talked into giving it; if not, at his own house.


When both the ladies explained to him that this last proposition was not in strict accordance with the habits of the fashionable world, John expressed an opinion that, under the peculiar circumstances of his marriage, the ordinary laws of the world might be suspended.


"It ain't jist like other folks, after all as we've been through," said he,--meaning probably to imply that having had to fight for his wife, he was entitled to give a breakfast on the occasion if he pleased.


But whether the banquet was to be given by the bride's grandfather or by himself,--he was determined that there should be a banquet, and that he would bid the guests. He invited both Mrs. Pipkin and Mrs. Hurtle, and at last succeeded in inducing Mrs. Hurtle to promise that she would bring Mrs. Pipkin down to Bungay, for the occasion.

Either way, he was determined that there should be a banquet, and succeeded in making Mrs. Hurtle promise to bring Mrs. Pipkin down to Bungay for the occasion.


Then it was necessary to fix the day, and for this purpose it was of course essential that Ruby should be consulted.


During the discussion as to the feast and the bridegroom's entreaties that the two ladies would be present, she had taken no part in the matter in hand.


She was brought up to be kissed, and having been duly kissed she retired again among the children, having only expressed one wish of her own,--namely, that Joe Mixet might not have anything to do with the affair.

Ruby only expressed one wish of her own: namely, that Joe Mixet might not have anything to do with the affair.


But the day could not be fixed without her, and she was summoned.


Crumb had been absurdly impatient, proposing next Tuesday,--making his proposition on a Friday.

Crumb had been absurdly impatient, proposing next Tuesday.


They could cook enough meat for all Bungay to eat by Tuesday, and he was aware of no other cause for delay.


"That's out of the question," Ruby had said decisively, and as the two elder ladies had supported her Mr. Crumb yielded with a good grace.

"That's out of the question," Ruby had said decisively, and the other ladies agreed.


He did not himself appreciate the reasons given because, as he remarked, gowns can be bought ready made at any shop.


But Mrs. Pipkin told him with a laugh that he didn't know anything about it, and when the 14th of August was named he only scratched his head and, muttering something about Thetford fair, agreed that he would, yet once again, allow love to take precedence of business. If Tuesday would have suited the ladies as well he thought that he might have managed to combine the marriage and the fair, but when Mrs. Pipkin told him that he must not interfere any further, he yielded with a good grace.

When the 14th of August was named John Crumb scratched his head and muttered something about Thetford fair; but on Mrs. Pipkin telling him that he must not interfere any further, he yielded with a good grace.


He merely remained in London long enough to pay a friendly visit to the policeman who had locked him up, and then returned to Suffolk, revolving in his mind how glorious should be the matrimonial triumph which he had at last achieved.

He merely remained in London long enough to pay a friendly visit to the policeman who had locked him up, and then returned to Suffolk.


Before the day arrived, old Ruggles had been constrained to forgive his granddaughter, and to give a general assent to the marriage.

Before the day arrived, old Ruggles had been persuaded to forgive his granddaughter, and agree to the marriage.


When John Crumb, with a sound of many trumpets, informed all Bungay that he had returned victorious from London, and that after all the ups and downs of his courtship Ruby was to become his wife on a fixed day, all Bungay took his part, and joined in a general attack upon Mr. Daniel Ruggles.


The cross-grained old man held out for a long time, alleging that the girl was no better than she should be, and that she had run away with the baronite. But this assertion was met by so strong a torrent of contradiction, that the farmer was absolutely driven out of his own convictions.

The old man held out for a long time, alleging that the girl was no better than she should be; but all the town met this with such a torrent of contradiction that the farmer was driven out of his own convictions.


It is to be feared that many lies were told on Ruby's behalf by lips which had been quite ready a fortnight since to take away her character.

It is to be feared that many lies were told on Ruby's behalf by lips which had been quite ready a fortnight earlier to take away her character.


But it had become an acknowledged fact in Bungay that John Crumb was ready at any hour to punch the head of any man who should hint that Ruby Ruggles had, at any period of her life, done any act or spoken any word unbecoming a young lady; and so strong was the general belief in John Crumb, that Ruby became the subject of general eulogy from all male lips in the town.

But it was known that John Crumb was ready to punch the head of any man who should hint that Ruby Ruggles had ever done anything unbecoming.


And though perhaps some slight suspicion of irregular behaviour up in London might be whispered by the Bungay ladies among themselves, still the feeling in favour of Mr. Crumb was so general, and his constancy was so popular, that the grandfather could not stand against it.

And the feeling in favour of Mr. Crumb was so general that the grandfather could not stand against it.


"I don't see why I ain't to do as I likes with my own," he said to Joe Mixet, the baker, who went out to Sheep's Acre Farm as one of many deputations sent by the municipality of Bungay.


"She's your own flesh and blood, Mr. Ruggles," said the baker.


"No; she ain't;--no more than she's a Pipkin.


She's taken up with Mrs. Pipkin jist because I hate the Pipkinses.


"She is your own flesh and blood,--and your name, too, Mr. Ruggles.


And she's going to be the respectable wife of a respectable man, Mr. Ruggles."


"I won't give 'em no breakfast;--that's flat," said the farmer.


But he had yielded in the main when he allowed himself to base his opposition on one immaterial detail.


The breakfast was to be given at the King's Head, and, though it was acknowledged on all sides that no authority could be found for such a practice, it was known that the bill was to be paid by the bridegroom.

The breakfast was to be given at the King's Head, and the bill was to be paid by the bridegroom.


Nor would Mr. Ruggles pay the five hundred pounds down as in early days he had promised to do.


He was very clear in his mind that his undertaking on that head was altogether cancelled by Ruby's departure from Sheep's Acre.


When he was reminded that he had nearly pulled his granddaughter's hair out of her head, and had thus justified her act of rebellion, he did not contradict the assertion, but implied that if Ruby did not choose to earn her fortune on such terms as those, that was her fault.


It was not to be supposed that he was to give a girl, who was after all as much a Pipkin as a Ruggles, five hundred pounds for nothing.


But, in return for that night's somewhat harsh treatment of Ruby, he did at last consent to have the money settled upon John Crumb at his death,--an arrangement which both the lawyer and Joe Mixet thought to be almost as good as a free gift, being both of them aware that the consumption of gin and water was on the increase. And he, moreover, was persuaded to receive Mrs. Pipkin and Ruby at the farm for the night previous to the marriage.

But he did at last consent to have the money settled upon John Crumb at his death; and moreover was persuaded to receive Mrs. Pipkin and Ruby at the farm for the night before the marriage.


This very necessary arrangement was made by Mr. Mixet's mother, a most respectable old lady, who went out in a fly from the inn attired in her best black silk gown and an overpowering bonnet, an old lady from whom her son had inherited his eloquence, who absolutely shamed the old man into compliance,--not, however, till she had promised to send out the tea and white sugar and box of biscuits which were thought to be necessary for Mrs. Pipkin on the evening preceding the marriage.


A private sitting-room at the inn was secured for the special accommodation of Mrs. Hurtle,--who was supposed to be a lady of too high standing to be properly entertained at Sheep's Acre Farm.

A private sitting-room at the inn was secured for Mrs. Hurtle - who was supposed to be a lady of too high standing to stay at Sheep's Acre Farm.


On the day preceding the wedding one trouble for a moment clouded the bridegroom's brow.

On the day before the wedding one trouble for a moment clouded the bridegroom's brow.


Ruby had demanded that Joe Mixet should not be among the performers, and John Crumb, with the urbanity of a lover, had assented to her demand,--as far, at least, as silence can give consent.

Ruby had demanded that Joe Mixet should not be among the performers, and John Crumb had agreed.


And yet he felt himself unable to answer such interrogatories as the parson might put to him without the assistance of his friend, although he devoted much study to the matter.

Yet he felt himself unable to answer such questions as the parson might put to him without the assistance of his friend.


"You could come in behind like, Joe, just as if I knew nothin' about it," suggested Crumb.


"Don't you say a word of me, and she won't say nothing, you may be sure.


You ain't going to give in to all her cantraps that way, John?"


John shook his head and rubbed the meal about on his forehead.


"It was only just something for her to say.


"What have I done that she should object to me?"


"You didn't ever go for to--kiss her,--did you, Joe?"

"You didn't ever go for to - kiss her, did you, Joe?"


It is just because I stood up and spoke for you like a man that night at Sheep's Acre, when her mind was turned the other way.

It is just because I stood up and spoke for you like a man that night at Sheep's Acre.


When we're all in the church she won't go back because Joe Mixet's there.


I'll bet you a gallon, old fellow, she and I are the best friends in Bungay before six months are gone."


"Nay, nay; she must have a better friend than thee, Joe, or I must know the reason why."


But John Crumb's heart was too big for jealousy, and he agreed at last that Joe Mixet should be his best man, undertaking to "square it all" with Ruby, after the ceremony.

So John Crumb agreed that Joe Mixet should be his best man, undertaking to "square it all" with Ruby after the ceremony.


He met the ladies at the station and,--for him,--was quite eloquent in his welcome to Mrs. Hurtle and Mrs. Pipkin.

He met the ladies at the station and - for him - was quite eloquent in his welcome to Mrs. Hurtle and Mrs. Pipkin.


But he looked at her in her new hat, and generally bright in subsidiary wedding garments, with great delight.

But he looked at her in her new hat and outfit with great delight.


he said aloud to Mrs. Hurtle on the platform, to the great delight of half Bungay, who had accompanied him on the occasion.

he said aloud to Mrs. Hurtle on the platform, to the delight of half Bungay, who had accompanied him.


Ruby, hearing her praises thus sung, made a fearful grimace as she turned round to Mrs. Pipkin, and whispered to her aunt, so that those only who were within a yard or two could hear her; "He is such a fool!"

Ruby made a fearful grimace as she turned round to Mrs. Pipkin, and whispered, "He is such a fool!"


Then he conducted Mrs. Hurtle in an omnibus up to the Inn, and afterwards himself drove Mrs. Pipkin and Ruby out to Sheep's Acre; in the performance of all which duties he was dressed in the green cutaway coat with brass buttons which had been expressly made for his marriage.

Then he conducted Mrs. Hurtle up to the Inn, and himself drove Mrs. Pipkin and Ruby out to Sheep's Acre.


"Thou'rt come back then, Ruby," said the old man.


"I ain't going to trouble you long, grandfather," said the girl.


I've heard your name, and I don't know as I ever want to hear it again.


But they say as you've been kind to that girl as 'd 'a been on the town only for that."

They say as you've been kind to that girl as would 'a been on the town only for that."


"Grandfather, that ain't true," said Ruby with energy.


The old man made no rejoinder, and Ruby was allowed to take her aunt up into the bedroom which they were both to occupy.

The old man made no rejoinder, and Ruby took her aunt up into the bedroom.


"Now, Mrs. Pipkin, just you say," pleaded Ruby, "how was it possible for any girl to live with an old man like that?"

"Now, Mrs. Pipkin," pleaded Ruby, "how was it possible for any girl to live with an old man like that?"


"But, Ruby, you might always have gone to live with the young man instead when you pleased."
"You mean John Crumb."

"But, Ruby, you might have gone to live with John Crumb instead when you pleased."


"There ain't much to choose between 'em.