Let the Editor have been ever so conscientious, ever so beneficent,--even ever so true,--let it be ever so clear that what he has written has been written on behalf of virtue, and that he has misstated no fact, exaggerated no fault, never for a moment been allured from public to private matters,--and he may still be in danger of ruin.

, be it ever so truthful, brings the danger of ruin from a libel suit.


A very long purse, or else a very high courage is needed for the exposure of such conduct as the "Evening Pulpit" attributed to Mr. Melmotte.

A very long purse, or very high courage, is needed for the exposure of such conduct as the Evening Pulpit attributed to Mr. Melmotte.


After the second article Mr. Alf sent back to Mr. Miles Grendall, who in the matter was acting as Mr. Melmotte's secretary, the ticket of invitation for the dinner, with a note from Mr. Alf stating that circumstances connected with the forthcoming election for Westminster could not permit him to have the great honour of dining at Mr. Melmotte's table in the presence of the Emperor of China.

After the second article Mr. Alf sent back to Mr. Miles Grendall, who was acting as Mr. Melmotte's secretary, the ticket of invitation for the dinner, with a note stating Mr. Alf could not dine at Mr. Melmotte's table in the presence of the Emperor of China.


Miles Grendall showed the note to the dinner committee, and, without consultation with Mr. Melmotte, it was decided that the ticket should be sent to the Editor of a thorough-going Conservative journal.


This conduct on the part of the "Evening Pulpit" astonished the world considerably; but the world was more astonished when it was declared that Mr. Ferdinand Alf himself was going to stand for Westminster on the Liberal interest.

This conduct astonished the world considerably; but the world was more astonished when it was declared that Mr. Ferdinand Alf himself was going to stand for Westminster as a Liberal.


Some said that as Mr. Alf had a large share in the newspaper, and as its success was now an established fact, he himself intended to retire from the laborious position which he filled, and was therefore free to go into Parliament.

Some said that Mr. Alf intended to retire from his position at the newspaper, and go into Parliament.


Others were of opinion that this was the beginning of a new era in literature, of a new order of things, and that from this time forward editors would frequently be found in Parliament, if editors were employed of sufficient influence in the world to find constituencies.


Mr. Broune whispered confidentially to Lady Carbury that the man was a fool for his pains, and that he was carried away by pride.

Mr. Broune whispered to Lady Carbury that the man was a fool, and was carried away by pride.


"Very clever,--and dashing," said Mr. Broune, "but he never had ballast."


She did not want to give up Mr. Alf if she could help it.


He had never said a civil word of her in his paper;--but still she had an idea that it was well to be on good terms with so great a power.

He had never said a civil word of her in his paper; but still she felt that it was well to be on good terms with so great a power.


She entertained a mysterious awe for Mr. Alf,--much in excess of any similar feeling excited by Mr. Broune, in regard to whom her awe had been much diminished since he had made her an offer of marriage.

She felt much more awe for Mr. Alf than for Mr. Broune. Her awe for him had been much diminished since he had made her an offer of marriage.


Her sympathies as to the election of course were with Mr. Melmotte.


She still thought that his nod might be the means of making Felix,--or if not his nod, then his money without the nod.

supported Mr. Melmotte, still thinking that he might be the making of Felix.


"I suppose he is very rich," she said, speaking to Mr. Broune respecting Mr. Alf.

"I suppose Mr. Alf is very rich," she said to Mr. Broune.


But this election will cost him 10,000;--and if he goes on as he is doing now, he had better allow another 10,000 for action for libel.

But this election will cost him 10,000; and if he goes on as he is doing now, he had better allow another 10,000 for libel actions."


They've already declared that they will indict the paper."


"Do you believe about the Austrian Insurance Company?"

"Do you believe that about the Austrian Insurance Company?"


This was a matter as to which Mr. Melmotte was supposed to have retired from Paris not with clean hands.

This was a matter in which Mr. Melmotte was supposed to have retired from Paris not with clean hands.


"I don't believe the 'Evening Pulpit' can prove it,--and I'm sure that they can't attempt to prove it without an expense of three or four thousand pounds.

"I don't believe the Evening Pulpit can prove it - and it will cost them three or four thousand pounds to try.


That's a game in which nobody wins but the lawyers.

That's a game which nobody wins but the lawyers.


I should have thought that he would have known how to get all said that he wanted to have said without running with his head into the lion's mouth.


God knows he has been bitter enough, but he has always sailed within the wind."


By this time an animus in regard to the election had been created strong enough to bring out the men on both sides, and to produce heat, when otherwise there might only have been a warmth or possibly frigidity.


The Whig Marquises and the Whig Barons came forward, and with them the liberal professional men, and the tradesmen who had found that party to answer best, and the democratical mechanics.

The Whig Marquises and the Whig Barons came forward, and with them the Liberal professional men and tradesmen.


If Melmotte's money did not, at last, utterly demoralise the lower class of voters, there would still be a good fight.


And there was a strong hope that, under the ballot, Melmotte's money might be taken without a corresponding effect upon the voting.


It was found upon trial that Mr. Alf was a good speaker.

And it was found that Mr. Alf was a good speaker.


And though he still conducted the "Evening Pulpit," he made time for addressing meetings of the constituency almost daily.

He addressed meetings of the constituency almost daily


And in his speeches he never spared Melmotte.

, and in his speeches he never spared Melmotte.


No one, he said, had a greater reverence for mercantile grandeur than himself.


But let them take care that the grandeur was grand.

But let them make sure that the grandeur was honest.


How great would be the disgrace to such a borough as that of Westminster if it should find that it had been taken in by a false spirit of speculation and that it had surrendered itself to gambling when it had thought to do honour to honest commerce.

How great would be the disgrace to Westminster if it should find that it had been taken in by a false spirit of speculation and gambling!


This, connected as of course it was, with the articles in the paper, was regarded as very open speaking.

This was regarded as very open speaking.


Some men began to say that Melmotte had not been known long enough to deserve confidence in his riches, and the Lord Mayor was already beginning to think that it might be wise to escape the dinner by some excuse.

Some men began to say that Melmotte had not been known long enough to deserve confidence, and the Lord Mayor was beginning to think that it might be wise to escape the dinner by some excuse.


Melmotte's committee was also very grand.


If Alf was supported by Marquises and Barons, he was supported by Dukes and Earls.


But his speaking in public did not of itself inspire much confidence.

But his public speaking did not inspire much confidence.


He had very little to say when he attempted to explain the political principles on which he intended to act.

He had very little to say when he attempted to explain his political principles.


After a little he confined himself to remarks on the personal attacks made on him by the other side, and even in doing that was reiterative rather than diffusive.

After a while he confined himself to remarks on the personal attacks made on him by the other side, and even in doing that he repeated himself.


Englishmen were too great, too generous, too honest, too noble,--the men of Westminster especially were a great deal too high-minded to pay any attention to such charges as these till they were proved.

The men of Westminster were too high-minded to pay any attention to such charges as these till they were proved.


Such accusations as these were mere lies till they were proved.


He did not say much himself in public as to actions for libel,--but assurances were made on his behalf to the electors, especially by Lord Alfred Grendall and his son, that as soon as the election was over all speakers and writers would be indicted for libel, who should be declared by proper legal advice to have made themselves liable to such action.

He did not say much himself about libel - but assurances were made on his behalf by Lord Alfred Grendall and his son, that as soon as the election was over various people would be indicted for libel: the


The "Evening Pulpit" and Mr. Alf would of course be the first victims.

Evening Pulpit and Mr. Alf would of course be the first victims.


The dinner was fixed for Monday, July the 8th.


The election for the borough was to be held on Tuesday the 9th.

The election was to be held on Tuesday the 9th.


It was generally thought that the proximity of the two days had been arranged with the view of enhancing Melmotte's expected triumph.


It had been an accident, and an accident that was distressing to some of the Melmottites.

This accident was distressing to some of the Melmottites,


There was much to be done about the dinner,--which could not be omitted; and much also as to the election,--which was imperative.

for there was much to be done both about the dinner and about the election.


The two Grendalls, father and son, found themselves to be so driven that the world seemed for them to be turned topsey-turvey.

The two Grendalls, father and son, found themselves to be so driven that the world seemed to be turned topsey-turvey.


The elder had in old days been accustomed to electioneering in the interest of his own family, and had declared himself willing to make himself useful on behalf of Mr. Melmotte.


But he found Westminster to be almost too much for him.


He was called here and sent there, till he was very near rebellion.


"If this goes on much longer I shall cut it," he said to his son.

"If this goes on much longer I shall cut it," said the elder to his son.


"I have to be in the city four or five times a week."


"Come, governor; you've done pretty well for that.


What's my salary to the shares you've had?


"There are a good many who say that Melmotte will burst up."


"They don't know what they're talking about.


There are too many in the same boat to let him burst up.


It would be the bursting up of half London.


But I shall tell him after this that he must make it easier."


He wants to know who's to have every ticket for the dinner, and there's nobody to tell him except me.


And I've got to arrange all the places, and nobody to help me except that fellow from the Herald's office.


Which ought to come first: a director of the bank or a fellow who writes books?"


Miles suggested that the fellow from the Herald's office would know all about that, and that his father need not trouble himself with petty details.


"And you shall come to us for three days,--after it's over," said Lady Monogram to Miss Longestaffe; a proposition to which Miss Longestaffe acceded, willingly indeed, but not by any means as though a favour had been conferred upon her.

"You shall come to us for three days - after it's over," said Lady Monogram to Miss Georgiana Longestaffe; to which Miss Longestaffe agreed, though not as if a favour had been conferred upon her.


Now the reason why Lady Monogram had changed her mind as to inviting her old friend, and thus threw open her hospitality for three whole days to the poor young lady who had disgraced herself by staying with the Melmottes, was as follows.

The reason why Lady Monogram had changed her mind about inviting her old friend was as follows.


Miss Longestaffe had the disposal of two evening tickets for Madame Melmotte's grand reception; and so greatly had the Melmottes risen in general appreciation, that Lady Monogram had found that she was bound, on behalf of her own position in society, to be present on that occasion.

Miss Longestaffe had the disposal of two evening tickets for Madame Melmotte's grand reception; and so greatly had the Melmottes risen in society's appreciation, that Lady Monogram had found that she was bound to go.


It would not do that her name should not be in the printed list of the guests.


Therefore she had made a serviceable bargain with her old friend Miss Longestaffe.

So she had made a bargain with Miss Longestaffe.


She was to have her two tickets for the reception, and Miss Longestaffe was to be received for three days as a guest by Lady Monogram.

She was to have her two tickets, and would receive Miss Longestaffe for three days as a guest.


It had also been conceded that at any rate on one of these nights Lady Monogram should take Miss Longestaffe out with her, and that she should herself receive company on another.

It had also been conceded that on one of these nights Lady Monogram should take Miss Longestaffe out with her.


There was perhaps something slightly painful at the commencement of the negotiation; but such feelings soon fade away, and Lady Monogram was quite a woman of the world.

There was perhaps something slightly painful at the start of the negotiation; but such feelings soon fade away, and Lady Monogram was a woman of the world.


When Hetta Carbury received that letter from her lover which was given to the reader some chapters back, it certainly did not tend in any way to alleviate her misery.

When Hetta received the letter from Paul Montague, it did not alleviate her misery.


Even when she had read it over half-a-dozen times, she could not bring herself to think it possible that she could be reconciled to the man.

Even when she had read it half-a-dozen times, she could not see how she could be reconciled to him.


It was not only that he had sinned against her by giving his society to another woman to whom he had at any rate been engaged not long since, at the very time at which he was becoming engaged to her,--but also that he had done this in such a manner as to make his offence known to all her friends.

It was not only that he had sinned against her by associating with another woman, at the very time at which he was becoming engaged to her - but also that he had done this in such a way as to make his offence known to her friends.


Perhaps she had been too quick;--but there was the fact that with her own consent she had acceded to her mother's demand that the man should be rejected.


The man had been rejected, and even Roger Carbury knew that it was so.


After this it was, she thought, impossible that she should recall him.

she thought it was impossible that she should recall him.


But they should all know that her heart was unchanged.


Roger Carbury should certainly know that, if he ever asked her further question on the matter.

Roger Carbury should certainly know it, if he ever asked her.


She would never deny it; and though she knew that the man had behaved badly,--having entangled himself with a nasty American woman,--yet she would be true to him as far as her own heart was concerned.

Though she knew that Paul had behaved badly, yet she would be true to him as far as her own heart was concerned.


And now he told her that she had been most unjust to him.

And now he told her that she had been unjust to him.


He said that he could not understand her injustice.


He did not fill his letter with entreaties, but with reproaches.


And certainly his reproaches moved her more than any prayer would have done.


It was too late now to remedy the evil; but she was not quite sure within her own bosom that she had not been unjust to him.

It was too late now to remedy the evil; but she wondered if she had been unjust.


The more she thought of it the more puzzled her mind became.

The more she thought of it the more puzzled she became.


Had she quarrelled with him because he had once been in love with Mrs. Hurtle, or because she had grounds for regarding Mrs. Hurtle as her present rival?

Had she quarrelled with him because he had once been in love with Mrs. Hurtle, or because she had grounds for regarding Mrs. Hurtle as a present rival?


She hated Mrs. Hurtle, and she was very angry with him in that he had ever been on affectionate terms with a woman she hated;--but that had not been the reason put forward by her for quarrelling with him.


Perhaps it was true that he, too, had of late loved Mrs. Hurtle hardly better than she did herself.


It might be that he had been indeed constrained by hard circumstances to go with the woman to Lowestoft.

Maybe he had indeed been forced by circumstances to go with her to Lowestoft.


Having so gone with her, it was no doubt right that he should be rejected;--for how can it be that a man who is engaged shall be allowed to travel about the country with another woman to whom also he was engaged a few months back?

Having done so, it was no doubt right that he should be rejected;


But still there might be hardship in it.

but still there might be hardship in it.


To her, to Hetta herself, the circumstances were very hard.


She could look forward to no happiness in life without him.


At the end of his letter he had told her to go to Mrs. Hurtle herself if she wanted corroboration of the story as told by him.

At the end of his letter he had told her to go to Mrs. Hurtle herself if she wanted corroboration of his story.


Of course he had known when he wrote it that she could not and would not go to Mrs. Hurtle.

Of course he knew that she could not go to Mrs. Hurtle.


But when the letter had been in her possession three or four days,--unanswered, for, as a matter of course, no answer to it from herself was possible,--and had been read and re-read till she knew every word of it by heart, she began to think that if she could hear the story as it might be told by Mrs. Hurtle, a good deal that was now dark might become light to her.

But when the letter had been in her possession three or four days - unanswered, but constantly re-read - she began to think that if she could hear Mrs. Hurtle's story, a good deal that was now dark might become light to her.


As she continued to read the letter, and to brood over it all, by degrees her anger was turned from her lover to her mother, her brother, and to her cousin Roger.

As she continued to brood over the letter, by degrees her anger turned from her lover to her mother, her brother, and to her cousin Roger.


Paul had of course behaved badly, very badly,--but had it not been for them she might have had an opportunity of forgiving him.

Paul had of course behaved very badly - but had it not been for them, she might have had an opportunity of forgiving him.


They had driven her on to the declaration of a purpose from which she could now see no escape.

They had driven her on to a rejection from which she could now see no escape.


There had been a plot against her, and she was a victim.


In the first dismay and agony occasioned by that awful story of the American woman,--which had, at the moment, struck her with a horror which was now becoming less and less every hour,--she had fallen head foremost into the trap laid for her.

In the first agony caused by that awful story of the American woman, she had fallen head foremost into the trap laid for her.


She acknowledged to herself that it was too late to recover her ground.

She was almost sure that it was too late to recover her ground.


She was, at any rate, almost sure that it must be too late.


But yet she was disposed to do battle with her mother and her cousin in the matter--if only with the object of showing that she would not submit her own feelings to their control.

But she could still do battle with her mother and her cousin - if only to show that she would not submit her feelings to their control.


She was savage to the point of rebellion against all authority.


Roger Carbury would of course think that any communication between herself and Mrs. Hurtle must be most improper,--altogether indelicate.

Roger Carbury would of course think that any communication between herself and Mrs. Hurtle must be most improper and indelicate.


Two or three days ago she thought so herself.


But the world was going so hard with her, that she was beginning to feel herself capable of throwing propriety and delicacy to the winds.

But she was beginning to feel herself capable of throwing propriety and delicacy to the winds.


This man whom she had once accepted, whom she altogether loved, and who, in spite of all his faults, certainly still loved her,--of that she was beginning to have no further doubt,--accused her of dishonesty, and referred her to her rival for a corroboration of his story.


The woman was odious, abominable, a nasty intriguing American female.

The woman was odious, a nasty scheming American female.


But her lover desired that she should hear the woman's story; and she would hear the story,--if the woman would tell it.

But Paul desired that she should hear the woman's story.


So resolving, she wrote as follows to Mrs. Hurtle, finding great difficulty in the composition of a letter which should tell neither too little nor too much, and determined that she would be restrained by no mock modesty, by no girlish fear of declaring the truth about herself.

So she wrote as follows to Mrs. Hurtle, finding great difficulty in composing a suitable letter.


The letter at last was stiff and hard, but it sufficed for its purpose.

It was stiff, but it sufficed for its purpose.


Mr. Paul Montague has referred me to you as to certain circumstances which have taken place between him and you.


It is right that I should tell you that I was a short time since engaged to marry him, but that I have found myself obliged to break off that engagement in consequence of what I have been told as to his acquaintance with you.

It is right that I should tell you that I was a short time ago engaged to marry him, but that I have been obliged to break off that engagement in consequence of what I have been told about his acquaintance with you.


I make this proposition to you, not thinking that anything you will say to me can change my mind, but because he has asked me to do so, and has, at the same time, accused me of injustice towards him.

I write to you, not thinking that anything you will say can change my mind, but because he has asked me to do so, and has, at the same time, accused me of injustice towards him.


I do not wish to rest under an accusation of injustice from one to whom I was once warmly attached.


If you will receive me, I will make it my business to call any afternoon you may name.

If you will receive me, I will call any afternoon you may name.


When the letter was written she was not only ashamed of it, but very much afraid of it also.

When the letter was written and posted she was not only ashamed of it, but afraid of it also.


What if the American woman should put it in a newspaper!


She had heard that everything was put into newspapers in America.


What if this Mrs. Hurtle should send back to her some horribly insolent answer;--or should send such answer to her mother, instead of herself!

What if this Mrs. Hurtle should send back some horribly insolent answer - or send such answer to her mother, instead of herself!


And then, again, if the American woman consented to receive her, would not the American woman, as a matter of course, trample upon her with rough words?


Once or twice she put the letter aside, and almost determined that it should not be sent;--but at last, with desperate fortitude, she took it out with her and posted it herself.


She told no word of the letter to anyone.


Her mother, she thought, had been cruel to her, had disregarded her feelings, and made her wretched for ever.


She could not ask her mother for sympathy in her present distress.

She could not ask her mother for sympathy.


There was no friend who would sympathise with her.


Mrs. Hurtle, it will be remembered, had at last determined that she would retire from the contest and own herself to have been worsted.

Mrs. Hurtle, it will be remembered, had at last decided to retire from the contest


It is, I fear, impossible to describe adequately the various half resolutions which she formed, and the changing phases of her mind before she brought herself to this conclusion.

, though not without many changing phases of her mind.


And soon after she had assured herself that this should be the conclusion,--after she had told Paul Montague that it should be so,--there came back upon her at times other half resolutions to a contrary effect.


She had written a letter to the man threatening desperate revenge, and had then abstained from sending it, and had then shown it to the man,--not intending to give it to him as a letter upon which he would have to act, but only that she might ask him whether, had he received it, he would have said that he had not deserved it.


Then she had parted with him, refusing either to hear or to say a word of farewell, and had told Mrs. Pipkin that she was no longer engaged to be married.

But she had parted with Paul, and had told Mrs. Pipkin that she was no longer engaged to be married.


At that moment everything was done that could be done.


The game had been played and the stakes lost,--and she had schooled herself into such restraint as to have abandoned all idea of vengeance.


But from time to time there arose in her heart a feeling that such softness was unworthy of her.

.
But from time to time there arose in her heart a wish for vengeance.


Had she not long since found out that she must fight with her very nails and teeth for every inch of ground, if she did not mean to be trodden into the dust?


Had she not held her own among rough people after a very rough fashion, and should she now simply retire that she might weep in a corner like a love-sick schoolgirl?

Should she now simply retire to weep in a corner like a love-sick schoolgirl?


And she had been so stoutly determined that she would at any rate avenge her own wrongs, if she could not turn those wrongs into triumph!


There were moments in which she thought that she could still seize the man by the throat, where all the world might see her, and dare him to deny that he was false, perjured, and mean.

There were moments when she thought that she could still seize the man by the throat, and dare him to deny that he was false, perjured, and mean.


Then she received a long passionate letter from Paul Montague, written at the same time as those other letters to Roger Carbury and Hetta, in which he told her all the circumstances of his engagement to Hetta Carbury, and implored her to substantiate the truth of his own story.


It was certainly marvellous to her that the man who had so long been her own lover and who had parted with her after such a fashion should write such a letter to her.

She was amazed that he should write such a letter


But it had no tendency to increase either her anger or her sorrow.

; but it did not increase either her anger or her sorrow.


Of course she had known that it was so, and at certain times she had told herself that it was only natural,--had almost told herself that it was right.


She and this young Englishman were not fit to be mated.

she and this young Englishman were not fit to be mated.


He was to her thinking a tame, sleek household animal, whereas she knew herself to be wild,--fitter for the woods than for polished cities.

He was a tame, sleek household animal, whereas she knew herself to be wild - fitter for the woods than for cities.


It had been one of the faults of her life that she had allowed herself to be bound by tenderness of feeling to this soft over-civilised man.

It had been one of the faults of her life that she had allowed herself to be bound to him by tenderness


The result had been disastrous, as might have been expected.

; and the result had been disastrous, as might have been expected.


She was angry with him,--almost to the extent of tearing him to pieces,--but she did not become more angry because he wrote to her of her rival.


Her only present friend was Mrs. Pipkin, who treated her with the greatest deference, but who was never tired of asking questions about the lost lover.

Mrs. Pipkin, who had been told her engagement was ended, asked her


said Mrs. Pipkin on the morning after it had been received.


One does get to know handwritings when letters come frequent."

One gets to know handwritings when letters come frequent."


I wish he'd write every day of his life, so that things would come round again.

I wish he'd write every day, so that things would come round again.


Nothing ever troubles me so much as broken love."


Why don't he come again himself, Mrs. Hurtle?"


"It is not at all likely that he should come again.


"It is all over, and there is no good in talking of it.


I shall return to New York on Saturday week."


"I can't remain here, you know, all my life doing nothing.


I came over here for a certain purpose, and that has--gone by.


"I am not disposed to talk about it, Mrs. Pipkin."


"I should have thought it would have done you good to speak your mind out free.


I know it would me if I'd been served in that way."


"If I had anything to say at all after that fashion it would be to the gentleman, and not to any other else.

If I had anything to say it would be to the gentleman, and no one else.


As it is I shall never speak of it again to any one.


You have been very kind to me, Mrs. Pipkin, and I shall be sorry to leave you."


"Oh, Mrs. Hurtle, you can't understand what it is to me.


The likes of me can't stand by their feelings only, as their betters do.


I've never been above telling you what a godsend you've been to me this summer;--have I?


- I've paid everything, butcher, baker, rates and all, just like clockwork.


"I suppose I shall see Mr. Crumb before I go," said Mrs. Hurtle.


And even now she never says a word about him that I call respectful.


She looks on him as just being better than Mrs. Buggins's children.


"She'll be all right when he has once got her home."


"And I shall be all alone by myself," said Mrs. Pipkin, with her apron up to her eyes.


It was after this that Mrs. Hurtle received Hetta's letter.


She had as yet returned no answer to Paul Montague,--nor had she intended to send any written answer.

She had as yet returned no answer to Paul Montague, although she had


Were she to comply with his request she could do so best by writing to the girl who was concerned rather than to him.


And though she wrote no such letter she thought of it,--of the words she would use were she to write it, and of the tale which she would have to tell.

, and had pondered the words that she would use


She sat for hours thinking of it, trying to resolve whether she would tell the tale,--if she told it at all,--in a manner to suit Paul's purpose, or so as to bring that purpose utterly to shipwreck.

- whether she would tell the tale in a manner to suit Paul's purpose, or so as to bring him utterly to shipwreck.


She did not doubt that she could cause the shipwreck were she so minded.

She did not doubt that she could cause the shipwreck if she wished.


She could certainly have her revenge after that fashion.


But it was a woman's fashion, and, as such, did not recommend itself to Mrs. Hurtle's feelings.

But such a revenge did not recommend itself to Mrs. Hurtle.


A pistol or a horsewhip, a violent seizing by the neck, with sharp taunts and bitter-ringing words, would have made the fitting revenge.

She would have preferred a pistol or a horsewhip.


If she abandoned that she could do herself no good by telling a story of her wrongs to another woman.


Then came Hetta's note, so stiff, so cold, so true,--so like the letter of an Englishwoman, as Mrs. Hurtle said to herself.

Then came Hetta's note, so stiff, so cold, so true - so like the letter of an Englishwoman, thought Mrs. Hurtle,


Mrs. Hurtle smiled as she read the letter.


"I make this proposition not thinking that anything you can say to me can change my mind."


Of course the girl's mind would be changed.


The girl's mind, indeed, required no change.


Mrs. Hurtle could see well enough that the girl's heart was set upon the man.

She could see well enough that the girl's heart was still set upon the man.


Nevertheless she did not doubt but that she could tell the story after such a fashion as to make it impossible that the girl should marry him,--if she chose to do so.

Nevertheless she did not doubt that she could tell the story so as to make it impossible for the girl to marry him - if she chose to do so.


At first she thought that she would not answer the letter at all.


Let them fight their own lovers' battles out after their own childish fashion.


If the man meant at last to be honest, there could be no doubt, Mrs. Hurtle thought, that the girl would go to him.


It would require no interference of hers.


But after a while she thought that she might as well see this English chit who had superseded herself in the affections of the Englishman she had condescended to love.

But after a while she thought that she might as well see this English chit who had superseded her in Montague's affections.


And if it were the case that all revenge was to be abandoned, that no punishment was to be exacted in return for all the injury that had been done, why should she not say a kind word so as to smooth away the existing difficulties?

And if all revenge was to be abandoned, why should she not say a kind word so as to smooth away difficulties?


Wild cat as she was, kindness was more congenial to her nature than cruelty.


So she wrote to Hetta making an appointment.


If you could make it convenient to yourself to call here either Thursday or Friday at any hour between two and four, I shall be very happy to see you.

If you could call here either Thursday or Friday at any hour between two and four, I shall be very happy to see you.


Melmotte's success, and Melmotte's wealth, and Melmotte's antecedents were much discussed down in Suffolk at this time.

Melmotte's success, wealth, and history were much discussed in Suffolk at this time.


He had been seen there in the flesh, and there is no believing like that which comes from sight.


He had been staying at Caversham, and many in those parts knew that Miss Longestaffe was now living in his house in London.

He had stayed at Caversham, and many in those parts knew that Miss Longestaffe was now living in his house in London.


The purchase of the Pickering estate had also been noticed in all the Suffolk and Norfolk newspapers.

The purchase of the Pickering estate had been noticed in the Suffolk newspapers


Rumours, therefore, of his past frauds, rumour also as to the instability of his presumed fortune, were as current as those which declared him to be by far the richest man in England.


Miss Melmotte's little attempt had also been communicated in the papers; and Sir Felix, though he was not recognised as being "real Suffolk" himself, was so far connected with Suffolk by name as to add something to this feeling of reality respecting the Melmottes generally.

Miss Melmotte's attempt at running away had also been reported in the papers.


Suffolk, taken as a whole, did not like the Melmotte fashion.

; and did not like the Melmotte fashion.


Suffolk, which is, I fear, persistently and irrecoverably Conservative, did not believe in Melmotte as a Conservative Member of Parliament.

Although Conservative, Suffolk did not believe in Melmotte as a Conservative Member of Parliament.


Suffolk on this occasion was rather ashamed of the Longestaffes, and took occasion to remember that it was barely the other day, as Suffolk counts days, since the original Longestaffe was in trade.

Suffolk on this occasion was rather ashamed of the Longestaffes, and remembered that it was barely the other day since the original Longestaffe was in trade.


This selling of Pickering, and especially the selling of it to Melmotte, was a mean thing.

This selling of Pickering to Melmotte was a mean thing.


Suffolk, as a whole, thoroughly believed that Melmotte had picked the very bones of every shareholder in that Franco-Austrian Assurance Company.


Mr. Hepworth was over with Roger one morning, and they were talking about him,--or talking rather of the attempted elopement.

Mr. Hepworth was with Roger one morning, and they were talking about the attempted elopement.


"I know nothing about it," said Roger, "and I do not intend to ask.


Of course I did know when they were down here that he hoped to marry her, and I did believe that she was willing to marry him.

Of course I knew when they were down here that Sir Felix hoped to marry her.


But whether the father had consented or not I never enquired."


"Nothing could have been more unfortunate for either of them than such a marriage.

But nothing could have been more unfortunate for either of them than such a marriage.


Melmotte will probably be in the 'Gazette' before long, and my cousin not only has not a shilling, but could not keep one if he had it."

Melmotte will probably be bankrupt before long, and my cousin not only has not a shilling, but could not keep one if he had it."


"You think Melmotte will turn out a failure."


Of course he's a failure, whether rich or poor;--a miserable imposition, a hollow vulgar fraud from beginning to end,--too insignificant for you and me to talk of, were it not that his position is a sign of the degeneracy of the age.

Of course he's a failure - a hollow vulgar fraud from beginning to end.


What are we coming to when such as he is an honoured guest at our tables?"


"At just a table here and there," suggested his friend.


You can keep your house free from him, and so can I mine.


But we set no example to the nation at large.


They who do set the example go to his feasts, and of course he is seen at theirs in return.


And yet these leaders of the fashion know,--at any rate they believe,--that he is what he is because he has been a swindler greater than other swindlers.

These leaders of fashion who invite him know he is a swindler.


But men reconcile themselves to swindling.


Though they themselves mean to be honest, dishonesty of itself is no longer odious to them.

Dishonesty is no longer odious to them."


Then there comes the jealousy that others should be growing rich with the approval of all the world,--and the natural aptitude to do what all the world approves.


It seems to me that the existence of a Melmotte is not compatible with a wholesome state of things in general."


Roger dined with the Bishop of Elmham that evening, and the same hero was discussed under a different heading.

Roger dined with the Bishop of Elmham that evening, and Melmotte was again discussed.


"He has given 200," said the Bishop, "to the Curates' Aid Society.

"He has given 200 to the Curates' Aid Society," said the Bishop.


I don't know that a man could spend his money much better than that."

"I don't think a man could spend his money better."


said Roger, who in his present mood was very bitter.


I presume that the money is really paid."


"Our collectors for clerical charities are usually stern men,--very ready to make known defalcations on the part of promising subscribers.


I think they would take care to get the money during the election."


"And you think that money got in that way redounds to his credit?"


"Such a gift shows him to be a useful member of society,--and I am always for encouraging useful men."

"Such a gift shows him to be a useful member of society, and I am always for encouraging useful men."


"Even though their own objects may be vile and pernicious?"

"Even though their aims may be vile and pernicious?"


"There you beg ever so many questions, Mr. Carbury.


Mr. Melmotte wishes to get into Parliament, and if there would vote on the side which you at any rate approve.

Mr. Melmotte wishes to get into Parliament.


I do not know that his object in that respect is pernicious.


And as a seat in Parliament has been a matter of ambition to the best of our countrymen for centuries, I do not know why we should say that it is vile in this man."

I do not know why we should say that ambition is pernicious or vile."


"Of course Mr. Melmotte is not the sort of gentleman whom you have been accustomed to regard as a fitting member for a Conservative constituency.

"Of course Mr. Melmotte is not the sort of gentleman whom you regard as fitting for a Conservative constituency.


"It's going to the dogs, I think;--about as fast as it can go."


"We build churches much faster than we used to do."


"Do we say our prayers in them when we have built them?"


"It is very hard to see into the minds of men," said the Bishop; "but we can see the results of their minds' work.


I think that men on the whole do live better lives than they did a hundred years ago.

I think that men on the whole live better lives than they did a hundred years ago," said the Bishop.


There is a wider spirit of justice abroad, more of mercy from one to another, a more lively charity, and if less of religious enthusiasm, less also of superstition.

"There is a wider spirit of justice and mercy, a more lively charity, and if less religious enthusiasm, less also of superstition.


Men will hardly go to heaven, Mr. Carbury, by following forms only because their fathers followed the same forms before them."

Men will hardly go to heaven, Mr. Carbury, simply by doing as their fathers did."


"I suppose men will go to heaven, my Lord, by doing as they would be done by."


But we must hope that some may be saved even if they have not practised at all times that grand self-denial.


Do you not wish for, nay, almost demand, instant pardon for any trespass that you may commit,--of temper, or manner, for instance?

Do you not wish for, nay, almost demand, instant pardon for any trespass that you may commit, of temper, or manner, for instance?


and are you always ready to forgive in that way yourself?"


Do you not writhe with indignation at being wrongly judged by others who condemn you without knowing your actions or the causes of them; and do you never judge others after that fashion?"


"I do not put myself forward as an example."


"I apologise for the personal form of my appeal.


A clergyman is apt to forget that he is not in the pulpit.

; a clergyman is apt to forget that he is not in the pulpit.


Taking society as a whole, the big and the little, the rich and the poor, I think that it grows better from year to year, and not worse.

Taking society as a whole, I think that it grows better from year to year, and not worse.


I think, too, that they who grumble at the times, as Horace did, and declare that each age is worse than its forerunner, look only at the small things beneath their eyes, and ignore the course of the world at large."

I think, too, that they who grumble at the times, and declare that each age is worse than its forerunner, look only at the small things, and ignore the course of the world at large.


"But Roman freedom and Roman manners were going to the dogs when Horace wrote."


"But Christ was about to be born, and men were already being made fit by wider intelligence for Christ's teaching.


And as for freedom, has not freedom grown, almost every year, from that to this?"

And as for freedom, has it not grown almost every year?


"In Rome they were worshipping just such men as this Melmotte.


Do you remember the man who sat upon the seats of the knights and scoured the Via Sacra with his toga, though he had been scourged from pillar to post for his villainies?


I always think of that man when I hear Melmotte's name mentioned.


Is this the man to be Conservative member for Westminster?"


"Do you know of the scourges, as a fact?"


"I think I know that they are deserved."


"That is hardly doing to others as you would be done by.


If the man is what you say, he will surely be found out at last, and the day of his punishment will come.


Your friend in the ode probably had a bad time of it, in spite of his farms and his horses.


The world perhaps is managed more justly than you think, Mr. Carbury."


"My Lord, I believe you're a Radical at heart," said Roger, as he took his leave.

"My Lord, I believe you're a Radical at heart," said Roger.


Only don't say so to the Prime Minister, or I shall never get any of the better things which may be going."


The Bishop was not hopelessly in love with a young lady, and was therefore less inclined to take a melancholy view of things in general than Roger Carbury.


To Roger everything seemed to be out of joint.

But to Roger everything seemed to be out of joint.


He had that morning received a letter from Lady Carbury, reminding him of the promise of a loan, should a time come to her of great need.


Roger Carbury did not in the least begrudge the hundred pounds which he had already sent to his cousin; but he did begrudge any furtherance afforded to the iniquitous schemes of Sir Felix.

Roger Carbury did not in the least begrudge her the hundred pounds which he sent; but he did begrudge any money going to the iniquitous schemes of Sir Felix.


He felt all but sure that the foolish mother had given her son money for his abortive attempt, and that therefore this appeal had been made to him.


He alluded to no such fear in his letter.


He simply enclosed the cheque, and expressed a hope that the amount might suffice for the present emergency.


But he was disheartened and disgusted by all the circumstances of the Carbury family.

He was disheartened and disgusted by all the circumstances of the Carbury family.


There was Paul Montague, bringing a woman such as Mrs. Hurtle down to Lowestoft, declaring his purpose of continuing his visits to her, and, as Roger thought, utterly unable to free himself from his toils,--and yet, on this man's account, Hetta was cold and hard to him.

There was Paul Montague, bringing a woman such as Mrs. Hurtle down to Lowestoft, utterly unable, Roger thought, to free himself; and yet on Montague's account, Hetta was cold and hard to him.


He was conscious of the honesty of his own love, sure that he could make her happy,--confident, not in himself, but in the fashion and ways of his own life.

He was sure that he could make her happy; or rather, his way of life could.


What would be Hetta's lot if her heart was really given to Paul Montague?

What would be Hetta's lot if her heart was given to Paul Montague?


When he got home, he found Father Barham sitting in his library.


An accident had lately happened at Father Barham's own establishment.


The wind had blown the roof off his cottage; and Roger Carbury, though his affection for the priest was waning, had offered him shelter while the damage was being repaired.

The wind had recently blown the roof off the priest's cottage; and Roger Carbury, though his affection for him was waning, had offered him shelter while the damage was being repaired.


Shelter at Carbury Manor was very much more comfortable than the priest's own establishment, even with the roof on, and Father Barham was in clover.

Carbury Manor was very much more comfortable than the priest's home, and Father Barham was in clover.


Father Barham was reading his own favourite newspaper, "The Surplice," when Roger entered the room.

Father Barham was reading his favourite newspaper, The Surplice, when Roger entered the room.


I am not likely to have seen anything that belongs peculiarly to 'The Surplice.'"


"That's the prejudice of what you are pleased to call the Anglican Church.


"Mr. Melmotte is a convert to our faith.


He is a great man, and will perhaps be one of the greatest known on the face of the globe."


I'll make you a present of him, and thank you to take him; but I don't believe that we've any such good riddance."


Then Father Barham read a paragraph out of "The Surplice."


"Mr. Augustus Melmotte, the great financier and capitalist, has presented a hundred guineas towards the erection of an altar for the new church of St. Fabricius, in Tothill Fields.

: "Mr. Augustus Melmotte, the great financier, has presented a hundred guineas towards the erection of an altar for the new church of St. Fabricius, in Tothill Fields.


The donation was accompanied by a letter from Mr. Melmotte's secretary, which leaves but little doubt that the new member for Westminster will be a member, and no inconsiderable member, of the Catholic party in the House, during the next session."

An accompanying letter leaves little doubt that the new member for Westminster will be a member of the Catholic party in the House, during the next session."


"What do you mean by a dodge, Mr. Carbury?


Because money is given for a pious object of which you do not happen to approve, must it be a dodge?"


"But, my dear Father Barham, the day before the same great man gave 200 to the Protestant Curates' Aid Society.

"The other day, the great man gave 200 to the Protestant Curates' Aid Society.


I have just left the Bishop exulting in this great act of charity."

I have just left the Bishop exulting over it."


"I don't believe a word of it;--or it may be a parting gift to the Church to which he belonged in his darkness."

"I don't believe that - or it may be a parting gift to his former Church."


"And you would be really proud of Mr. Melmotte as a convert?"

"Would you really be proud of Mr. Melmotte as a convert?"


"I would be proud of the lowest human being that has a soul," said the priest; "but of course we are glad to welcome the wealthy and the great."


"A man is great who has made for himself such a position as that of Mr. Melmotte.

"A man is great who has made for himself such a position as Mr. Melmotte's.


And when such a one leaves your Church and joins our own, it is a great sign to us that the Truth is prevailing."

And when such a one leaves your Church and joins our own, it is a sign to us that the Truth is prevailing."


Roger Carbury, without another word, took his candle and went to bed.


"This is so kind of you," said Lady Carbury, grasping her cousin's hand as she got out of the carriage.


"The kindness is on your part," said Roger.


"I felt so much before I dared to ask you to take us.


But I did so long to get into the country, and I do so love Carbury.

"I did so long to get into the country, and I do so love Carbury."


"Where should a Carbury go to escape from London smoke, but to the old house?


I am afraid Henrietta will find it dull."


"You ought to remember that I am never dull in the country."


"The bishop and Mrs. Yeld are coming here to dine to-morrow,--and the Hepworths."

"The bishop and Mrs. Yeld are coming to dine tomorrow, and the Hepworths."


"I shall be so glad to meet the bishop once more," said Lady Carbury.


"I think everybody must be glad to meet him, he is such a dear, good fellow, and his wife is just as good.

"He is a dear, good fellow, and his wife is just as good.


And there is another gentleman coming whom you have never seen."


"Yes,--a new neighbour;--Father John Barham, who has come to Beccles as priest.


He has got a little cottage about a mile from here, in this parish, and does duty both at Beccles and Bungay.

He has got a little cottage about a mile from here.


I used to know something of his family."


He took his degree at Oxford, and then became what we call a pervert, and what I suppose they call a convert.

He took his degree at Oxford, and then became a convert.


He has not got a shilling in the world beyond what they pay him as a priest, which I take it amounts to about as much as the wages of a day labourer.

He has not got a shilling in the world beyond his priest's pay, which is not much more than a labourer's.


He told me the other day that he was absolutely forced to buy second-hand clothes."

He told me the other day that he was forced to buy second-hand clothes."


said Lady Carbury, holding up her hands.


"He didn't seem to be at all shocked at telling it.


"Why should not the bishop like to meet him?


I've told the bishop all about him, and the bishop particularly wishes to know him.

I've told the bishop all about him, and he wishes to know him.


But you and Hetta will find it very dull."


"I shan't find it dull, Mr. Carbury," said Henrietta.


"It was to escape from the eternal parties that we came down here," said Lady Carbury.


She had nevertheless been anxious to hear what guests were expected at the Manor House.


Sir Felix had promised to come down on Saturday, with the intention of returning on Monday, and Lady Carbury had hoped that some visiting might be arranged between Caversham and the Manor House, so that her son might have the full advantage of his closeness to Marie Melmotte.

Sir Felix had promised to come down from Saturday until Monday, and Lady Carbury had hoped that some visiting might be arranged between the Manor House and Caversham.


"I have asked the Longestaffes for Monday," said Roger.


There is always a flustering breeze in the air and a perturbation generally through the county when they come or go, and I think I perceived the effects about four in the afternoon.


They have probably a house full of guests, and they know that my accommodation is limited.

They probably have a house full of guests, and they know that my accommodation is limited.


I've no doubt they'll ask us on Tuesday or Wednesday, and if you like we will go."


"I know they are to have guests," said Lady Carbury.


Lady Carbury, as she made the announcement, felt that her voice and countenance and self-possession were failing her, and that she could not mention the thing as she would any matter that was indifferent to her.

Lady Carbury felt that her voice and self-possession were failing her.


said Roger, looking at Henrietta, who blushed with shame as she remembered that she had been brought into her lover's house solely in order that her brother might have an opportunity of seeing Marie Melmotte in the country.

said Roger, looking at Henrietta, who blushed with shame as she remembered that she had been brought here solely in order that her brother might have an opportunity of seeing Marie Melmotte.


"Mr. Longestaffe ask the Melmottes to visit him at Caversham!"


"I should almost as soon have believed that I myself might have been induced to ask them here."


"I fancy, Roger, that Mr. Longestaffe does want a little pecuniary assistance."

"I fancy, Roger, that Mr. Longestaffe needs a little pecuniary help."


"And he condescends to get it in this way!


I suppose it will make no difference soon whom one knows, and whom one doesn't.


Things aren't as they were, of course, and never will be again.


Perhaps it's all for the better;--I won't say it isn't.


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

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


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

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


He thought of this himself as soon as the words were spoken, and then tried to make some half apology.

He thought of this himself as soon as the words were spoken, and tried to make some half apology.


"I don't approve of them in London, you know; but I think they are very much worse in the country."


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

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


He began to feel that he understood it all.


Lady Carbury had come down to his house in order that she might be near the Melmottes!

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


There was something in this which he felt it difficult not to resent.


It was for no love of him that she was there.


He had felt that Henrietta ought not to have been brought to his house; but he could have forgiven that, because her presence there was a charm to him.


He could have forgiven that, even while he was thinking that her mother had brought her there with the object of disposing of her.


If it were so, the mother's object would be the same as his own, and such a manoeuvre he could pardon, though he could not approve.


His self-love had to some extent been gratified.


But now he saw that he and his house had been simply used in order that a vile project of marrying two vile people to each other might be furthered!

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


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

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


She had changed her travelling dress, and made herself pretty, as she well knew how to do.

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


And now she dressed her face in her sweetest smiles.


Her mind, also, was full of the Melmottes, and she wished to explain to her stern, unbending cousin all the good that might come to her and hers by an alliance with the heiress.

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


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

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


How should I dislike people that I never saw?


I dislike those who seek their society simply because they have the reputation of being rich."


I don't dislike you, as you know very well, though I do dislike the fact that you should run after these people."


I was thinking of the Longestaffes then."


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

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


Do you think that I go to their house because I find pleasure in their magnificence; or that I follow them down here for any good that they will do me?"


"I will go back if you bid me, but I must first explain what I mean.


You know my son's condition,--better, I fear, than he does himself."


Roger nodded assent to this, but said nothing.


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

His only chance is to marry a girl with money.


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


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

"He was very young when he came into possession of his own small fortune.


He might have done better; but how many young men placed in such temptations do well?


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

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


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


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


"With women I think that a little softness has the most effect.


I want to make you understand this about the Melmottes.


It stands to reason that the girl will not marry Felix unless she loves him."

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


Is a girl to be debarred from being loved because she has money?


Of course she looks to be married, and why should she not have Felix if she likes him best?

Of course she hopes to be married, and why should she not have Felix if she likes him best?


Cannot you sympathize with my anxiety so to place him that he shall not be a disgrace to the name and to the family?"

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


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


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

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


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

All his money, if he has it, can make no difference.


When there is a question of marriage people at any rate should know something of each other.


Who can be sure that she is his daughter?"


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

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


Men say openly that he is an adventurer and a swindler.


No one pretends to think that he is a gentleman.


There is a consciousness among all who speak of him that he amasses his money not by honest trade, but by unknown tricks,--as does a card sharper.

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


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

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


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

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


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


He shook his head in disgust, feeling sure that any idea of love on the part of the young man was a sham and a pretence, not only as regarded him, but also his mother.

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


He could not quite declare this, and yet he desired that she should understand that he thought so.


"I have nothing more to say about it," he continued.


"Had it gone on in London I should have said nothing.


When I am told that the girl is in the neighbourhood, at such a house as Caversham, and that Felix is coming here in order that he may be near to his prey, and when I am asked to be a party to the thing, I can only say what I think.

When I am told that the girl is at Caversham, and that Felix is coming here in order to be near his prey, I can only say what I think.


Your son would be welcome to my house, because he is your son and my cousin, little as I approve his mode of life; but I could have wished that he had chosen some other place for the work that he has on hand."

Your son is welcome to my house, little as I approve his mode of life; but I could have wished that he had chosen some other place for the work that he has on hand."


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

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


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

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


You speak of Felix as though he were all bad."


She looked at him hoping to get from him some contradiction of this, some retractation, some kindly word; but it was what he did think, and he had nothing to say.

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


She was not delicate as to censure implied, or even expressed.


She had endured rough usage before, and was prepared to endure more.


Had he found fault with herself, or with Henrietta, she would have put up with it, for the sake of benefits to come,--would have forgiven it the more easily because perhaps it might not have been deserved.

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


But for her son she was prepared to fight.


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


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

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


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

You should remember that I am his mother."


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


She expressed her sense of injury very well.


Roger began to be ashamed of himself, and to think that he had spoken unkind words.


And yet he did not know how to recall them.


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


"You asked me about the Melmottes, and I was obliged to speak."


You cannot think that I meant to offend you."


They walked on in silence till they had reached the door leading from the garden into the house, and here he stopped her.

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


"If I have been over hot with you, let me beg your pardon."


She smiled and bowed; but her smile was not one of forgiveness; and then she essayed to pass on into the house.

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


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


My head aches so that I can hardly stand."


It was late in the afternoon,--about six,--and according to his daily custom he should have gone round to the offices to see his men as they came from their work, but he stood still for a few moments on the spot where Lady Carbury had left him and went slowly across the lawn to the bridge and there seated himself on the parapet.

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


Could it really be that she meant to leave his house in anger and to take her daughter with her?

Would she really leave his house in anger and take her daughter


Was it thus that he was to part with the one human being in the world that he loved?

- the one human being in the world that he loved?


He was a man who thought much of the duties of hospitality, feeling that a man in his own house was bound to exercise a courtesy towards his guests sweeter, softer, more gracious than the world required elsewhere.

He was a man who thought much of the duties of hospitality, especially when his guests


And of all guests those of his own name were the best entitled to such courtesy at Carbury.


He held the place in trust for the use of others.


But if there were one among all others to whom the house should be a house of refuge from care, not an abode of trouble, on whose behalf were it possible he would make the very air softer, and the flowers sweeter than their wont, to whom he would declare, were such words possible to his tongue, that of him and of his house, and of all things there she was the mistress, whether she would condescend to love him or no,--that one was his cousin Hetta.

But if there were one person among all others to whom the house should be a refuge from care, that one was his cousin Hetta.


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

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


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

He could not have expressed his meaning without hard words.


But in his present mood he could not comfort himself by justifying himself.


She had told him that he ought to have remembered that Felix was her son; and as she spoke she had acted well the part of an outraged mother.

And Lady Carbury had acted well the part of an outraged mother.


His heart was so soft that though he knew the woman to be false and the son to be worthless, he utterly condemned himself.


Look where he would there was no comfort.


When he had sat half-an-hour upon the bridge he turned towards the house to dress for dinner,--and to prepare himself for an apology, if any apology might be accepted.

When he had sat half-an-hour upon the bridge he turned towards the house to dress for dinner - and to prepare himself for an apology.


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

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


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

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


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


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

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


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

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


She was so offended with me that she talked of going back to London."


He paused for her to speak, but Hetta had no words ready for the moment.


"I should be wretched indeed if you and she were to leave my house in anger."


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


I should never dare to be angry with you.


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

They say that young men do get better as they grow older.


He is something in the city now, a director they call him, and mamma thinks that the work will be of service to him."


Roger could express no hope in this direction or even look as though he approved of the directorship.

Roger could express no hope or approval.


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


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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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

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


Felix might now come down to Carbury, and go over from thence to Caversham, and prosecute his wooing, and the master of Carbury could make no further objection.

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


And Felix, if he would come, would not now be snubbed.


Roger would understand that he was constrained to courtesy by the former severity of his language.

Roger would understand that he was constrained to courtesy.


Such points as these Lady Carbury never missed.


He understood it too, and though he was soft and gracious in his bearing, endeavouring to make his house as pleasant as he could to his two guests, he felt that he had been cheated out of his undoubted right to disapprove of all connection with the Melmottes.

He did understand it, and though he was soft and gracious towards his two guests, he felt that he had been cheated out of his right to disapprove of all connection with the Melmottes.


In the course of the evening there came a note,--or rather a bundle of notes,--from Caversham.

During the evening there came a bundle of notes from Caversham.


That addressed to Roger was in the form of a letter.


Lady Pomona was sorry to say that the Longestaffe party were prevented from having the pleasure of dining at Carbury Hall by the fact that they had a house full of guests.

from Lady Pomona; who was sorry to say that the Longestaffes were prevented from having the pleasure of dining at Carbury Hall by the fact that they had a house full of guests.


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

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


That was the purport of Lady Pomona's letter to Roger Carbury.


Then there were cards of invitation for Lady Carbury and her daughter, and also for Sir Felix.

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


Roger, as he read his own note, handed the others over to Lady Carbury, and then asked her what she would wish to have done.

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


The tone of his voice, as he spoke, grated on her ear, as there was something in it of his former harshness.


"I certainly shall not go," he replied; "but there will be no difficulty whatever in sending you over.


You must answer at once, because their servant is waiting."


"Monday will be best," she said; "--that is, if nobody is coming here."


"I suppose I had better say that I, and Hetta,--and Felix will accept their invitation."

"I suppose I had better say that I, and Hetta, and Felix will accept their invitation."


"I can make no suggestion," said Roger, thinking how delightful it would be if Henrietta could remain with him; how objectionable it was that Henrietta should be taken to Caversham to meet the Melmottes.

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


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

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


"That will be best," said Lady Carbury after a moment's thought.


"It is very good of you to let us go, and to send us."


"Of course you will do here just as you please," he replied.


But there was still that tone in his voice which Lady Carbury feared.

; but still with that tone of voice which Lady Carbury feared.


A quarter of an hour later the Caversham servant was on his way home with two letters,--the one from Roger expressing his regret that he could not accept Lady Pomona's invitation, and the other from Lady Carbury declaring that she and her son and daughter would have great pleasure in dining at Caversham on the Monday.

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


"I don't think it quite nice, mamma; that's all.


Of course if you have made up your mind to go, I must go with you."


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

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


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


This little conversation arose from Lady Carbury's announcement to her daughter of her intention of soliciting the hospitality of Carbury Manor for the Whitsun week.

This little conversation arose when Lady Carbury announced her intention of visiting Carbury Manor for the Whitsun week.


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

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


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

She could not remain in town by herself.


Lady Carbury, in order that she might be quite safe from opposition, had posted the following letter to her cousin before she spoke to her daughter:--

Lady Carbury had already posted the following letter to Roger:


We know how kind you are and how sincere, and that if what I am going to propose doesn't suit you'll say so at once.

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


I have been working very hard,--too hard indeed, and I feel that nothing will do me so much real good as getting into the country for a day or two.

I have been working very hard, and feel it would do me good to get into the country for a day or two.


Would you take us for a part of Whitsun week?


We would come down on the 20th May and stay over the Sunday if you would keep us.


Felix says he would run down though he would not trouble you for so long a time as we talk of staying.


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

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


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

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


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


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

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


There was much in this letter that disturbed and even annoyed Roger Carbury.


In the first place he felt that Henrietta should not be brought to his house.


Much as he loved her, dear as her presence to him always was, he hardly wished to have her at Carbury unless she would come with a resolution to be its future mistress.

Much as he loved her, he hardly wished to have her at Carbury unless she came with a resolution to be its future mistress.


In one respect he did Lady Carbury an injustice.


He knew that she was anxious to forward his suit, and he thought that Henrietta was being brought to his house with that object.

He thought that Henrietta was being brought to his house with the object of furthering his suit.


He had not heard that the great heiress was coming into his neighbourhood, and therefore knew nothing of Lady Carbury's scheme in that direction.


He was, too, disgusted by the ill-founded pride which the mother expressed at her son's position as a director.


Roger Carbury did not believe in the Railway.


He did not believe in Fisker, nor in Melmotte, and certainly not in the Board generally.


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

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


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

The whole thing was to his mind fraudulent and ruinous.


Of what nature could be a Company which should have itself directed by such men as Lord Alfred Grendall and Sir Felix Carbury?

What sort of company was directed by such men as Lord Alfred Grendall and Sir Felix Carbury?


And then as to their great Chairman, did not everybody know, in spite of all the duchesses, that Mr. Melmotte was a gigantic swindler?


Although there was more than one immediate cause for bitterness between them, Roger loved Paul Montague well and could not bear with patience the appearance of his friend's name on such a list.


And now he was asked for warm congratulations because Sir Felix Carbury was one of the Board!


He did not know which to despise most, Sir Felix for belonging to such a Board, or the Board for having such a director. And did not everybody know that Mr. Melmotte was a gigantic swindler?


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


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

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


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

Roger clung to his old affection for the man.


He could not bear the idea of a permanent quarrel, though he knew that there must be a quarrel if the man interfered with his dearest hopes.

He could not bear the idea of a permanent quarrel, though he knew that there must be a quarrel if Paul interfered with his dearest hopes.


He had asked him down to Carbury intending that the name of Henrietta Carbury should not be mentioned between them;--and now it was proposed to him that Henrietta Carbury should be at the Manor House at the very time of Paul's visit!

He had asked him down to Carbury intending that Henrietta's name should not be mentioned between them; and now it was proposed that Henrietta should be at the Manor House at the very same time!


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

He decided that he must tell Paul not to come.


He would be delighted to see her and Henrietta at the time named,--and would be very glad should it suit Felix to come also.

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


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


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

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


"Since you were kind enough to say that you would come to me, Lady Carbury has proposed to visit me just at the same time and to bring her daughter.

"Since you were kind enough to say that you would come to me, Lady Carbury has proposed to visit me just at the same time with her daughter.


After what has passed between us I need hardly say that I could not make you both welcome here together.


It is not pleasant to me to have to ask you to postpone your visit, but I think you will not accuse me of a want of hospitality towards you."

It is not pleasant to me to have to ask you to postpone your visit, but I think you will not accuse me of a lack of hospitality towards you."


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

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


Suffolk is not especially a picturesque county, nor can it be said that the scenery round Carbury was either grand or beautiful; but there were little prettinesses attached to the house itself and the grounds around it which gave it a charm of its own.

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


The Carbury River,--so called, though at no place is it so wide but that an active schoolboy might jump across it,--runs, or rather creeps into the Waveney, and in its course is robbed by a moat which surrounds Carbury Manor House.

Carbury Manor House was surrounded by a moat, which


The moat has been rather a trouble to the proprietors, and especially so to Roger, as in these days of sanitary considerations it has been felt necessary either to keep it clean with at any rate moving water in it, or else to fill it up and abolish it altogether.

was rather a trouble to Roger, as it was felt necessary either to keep it clean with moving water, or else to fill it up and abolish it altogether.


That plan of abolishing it had to be thought of and was seriously discussed about ten years since; but then it was decided that such a proceeding would altogether alter the character of the house, would destroy the gardens, and would create a waste of mud all round the place which it would take years to beautify, or even to make endurable.

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


And then an important question had been asked by an intelligent farmer who had long been a tenant on the property; "Fill un oop;--eh, eh; sooner said than doone, squoire.


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

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


The high road from Bungay to Beccles ran close to the house,--so close that the gable ends of the building were separated from it only by the breadth of the moat.

The high road from Bungay to Beccles ran very close to the house


A short, private road, not above a hundred yards in length, led to the bridge which faced the front door.

; a short, private road led from it to the


The bridge was old, and high, with sundry architectural pretensions, and guarded by iron gates in the centre, which, however, were very rarely closed.


Between the bridge and the front door there was a sweep of ground just sufficient for the turning of a carriage, and on either side of this the house was brought close to the water, so that the entrance was in a recess, or irregular quadrangle, of which the bridge and moat formed one side.

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


At the back of the house there were large gardens screened from the road by a wall ten feet high, in which there were yew trees and cypresses said to be of wonderful antiquity.

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


The gardens were partly inside the moat, but chiefly beyond them, and were joined by two bridges--a foot bridge and one with a carriage way,--and there was another bridge at the end of the house furthest from the road, leading from the back door to the stables and farmyard.

The gardens were partly inside the moat, but chiefly beyond them, and were joined by two bridges - a foot bridge and one with a carriage way.


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

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


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

But Carbury Manor House had the reputation of being a Tudor building.


The windows were long, and for the most part low, made with strong mullions, and still contained small, old-fashioned panes; for the squire had not as yet gone to the expense of plate glass.

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


There was one high bow window, which belonged to the library, and which looked out on to the gravel sweep, at the left of the front door as you entered it.

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


All the other chief rooms faced upon the garden.

All the other chief rooms faced the garden.


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

The house was built of a buff stone that was very pretty.


It was still covered with tiles, as were all the attached buildings.


It was only two stories high, except at the end, where the kitchens were placed and the offices, which thus rose above the other part of the edifice.

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


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

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


Taking it altogether, one would be inclined to say, that it was picturesque rather than comfortable.


Such as it was its owner was very proud of it,--with a pride of which he never spoke to anyone, which he endeavoured studiously to conceal, but which had made itself known to all who knew him well.


The houses of the gentry around him were superior to his in material comfort and general accommodation, but to none of them belonged that thoroughly established look of old county position which belonged to Carbury.

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


Bundlesham, where the Primeros lived, was the finest house in that part of the county, but it looked as if it had been built within the last twenty years.

Bundlesham, where the Primeros lived, looked as if it had been built within the last twenty years


It was surrounded by new shrubs and new lawns, by new walls and new outhouses, and savoured of trade;--so at least thought Roger Carbury, though he never said the words.

, and savoured of trade; so at least thought Roger Carbury, though he never said it aloud.


Caversham was a very large mansion, built in the early part of George III.


's reign, when men did care that things about them should be comfortable, but did not care that they should be picturesque.


There was nothing at all to recommend Caversham but its size.

and had nothing to recommend it but its size.


Eardly Park, the seat of the Hepworths, had, as a park, some pretensions.


Carbury possessed nothing that could be called a park, the enclosures beyond the gardens being merely so many home paddocks.


But the house of Eardly was ugly and bad.


The Bishop's palace was an excellent gentleman's residence, but then that too was comparatively modern, and had no peculiar features of its own.

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


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

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


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

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


He was at present forty years old, and was perhaps as healthy a man as you could find in the whole county.

He was at present in excellent health, and


Those around who had known him as he grew into manhood among them, especially the farmers of the neighbourhood, still regarded him as a young man.


They spoke of him at the country fairs as the young squire.


When in his happiest moods he could be almost a boy, and he still had something of old-fashioned boyish reverence for his elders.


But of late there had grown up a great care within his breast,--a care which does not often, perhaps, in these days bear so heavily on men's hearts as it used to do.

; but a great care had grown within him.


He had asked his cousin to marry him,--having assured himself with certainty that he did love her better than any other woman,--and she had declined.


She had refused him more than once, and he believed her implicitly when she told him that she could not love him.


He had a way of believing people, especially when such belief was opposed to his own interests, and had none of that self-confidence which makes a man think that if opportunity be allowed him he can win a woman even in spite of herself.


But if it were fated that he should not succeed with Henrietta, then,--so he felt assured,--no marriage would now be possible to him.

If he should not succeed with Henrietta, he felt that no marriage would be possible to him.


In that case he must look out for an heir, and could regard himself simply as a stop-gap among the Carburys.


In that case he could never enjoy the luxury of doing the best he could with the property in order that a son of his own might enjoy it.


Roger was hampered by no entail, and could leave every acre of the property as he pleased.

, though Roger could leave his property as he pleased.


In one respect the natural succession to it by Sir Felix would generally be considered fortunate.

In one respect the natural succession to it by Sir Felix would be fortunate


It had happened that a title had been won in a lower branch of the family, and were this succession to take place the family title and the family property would go together.

: the baronetcy and the family property would then go together.


No doubt to Sir Felix himself such an arrangement would seem to be the most proper thing in the world,--as it would also to Lady Carbury were it not that she looked to Carbury Manor as the future home of another child.

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


But to all this the present owner of the property had very strong objections.


It was not only that he thought ill of the baronet himself,--so ill as to feel thoroughly convinced that no good could come from that quarter,--but he thought ill also of the baronetcy itself.

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


Sir Patrick, to his thinking, had been altogether unjustifiable in accepting an enduring title, knowing that he would leave behind him no property adequate for its support.

Sir Patrick, to his thinking, should not have accepted the title, knowing that he would leave no property adequate for its support.


A baronet, so thought Roger Carbury, should be a rich man, rich enough to grace the rank which he assumed to wear.

A baronet, thought Roger Carbury, should be rich enough to grace his rank.


A title, according to Roger's doctrine on such subjects, could make no man a gentleman, but, if improperly worn, might degrade a man who would otherwise be a gentleman.


He thought that a gentleman, born and bred, acknowledged as such without doubt, could not be made more than a gentleman by all the titles which the Queen could give.


With these old-fashioned notions Roger hated the title which had fallen upon a branch of his family.


He certainly would not leave his property to support the title which Sir Felix unfortunately possessed.

certainly would not leave his property to support the baronetcy.


But Sir Felix was the natural heir, and this man felt himself constrained, almost as by some divine law, to see that his land went by natural descent.

But Sir Felix was the natural heir, and Roger felt


Though he was in no degree fettered as to its disposition, he did not presume himself to have more than a life interest in the estate.


It was his duty to see that it went from Carbury to Carbury as long as there was a Carbury to hold it, and especially his duty to see that it should go from his hands, at his death, unimpaired in extent or value.

it was his duty to see that his land went from Carbury to Carbury, unimpaired in extent or value.


There was no reason why he should himself die for the next twenty or thirty years,--but were he to die Sir Felix would undoubtedly dissipate the acres, and then there would be an end of Carbury.

There was no reason why he should himself die for twenty or thirty years - but if he were to die, Sir Felix would undoubtedly dissipate the acres, and then there would be an end of Carbury.


But in such case he, Roger Carbury, would at any rate have done his duty.


He knew that no human arrangements can be fixed, let the care in making them be ever so great.


To his thinking it would be better that the estate should be dissipated by a Carbury than held together by a stranger.

Better that the estate should be dissipated by a Carbury than held together by a stranger.


He would stick to the old name while there was one to bear it, and to the old family while a member of it was left.


So thinking he had already made his will, leaving the entire property to the man whom of all others he most despised, should he himself die without child.

So thinking, he had already made his will, leaving the entire property to the man whom of all others he most despised, should he himself die childless.


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

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


How infinitely better it would be that he should have an heir of his own.

How infinitely better it would be to have an heir of his own


How wonderfully beautiful would the world be to him if at last his cousin would consent to be his wife!

- how wonderfully beautiful would the world be to him if his cousin would consent to be his wife!


How wearily insipid must it be if no such consent could be obtained from her.


And then he thought much of her welfare too.


In very truth he did not like Lady Carbury.


He saw through her character, judging her with almost absolute accuracy.


The woman was affectionate, seeking good things for others rather than for herself; but she was essentially worldly, believing that good could come out of evil, that falsehood might in certain conditions be better than truth, that shams and pretences might do the work of true service, that a strong house might be built upon the sand!

as affectionate but worldly. She believed that good could come out of evil, and that falsehood might sometimes be better than truth.


It was lamentable to him that the girl he loved should be subjected to this teaching, and live in an atmosphere so burdened with falsehood.

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


Would not the touch of pitch at last defile her?


In his heart of hearts he believed that she loved Paul Montague; and of Paul himself he was beginning to fear evil.


What but a sham could be a man who consented to pretend to sit as one of a Board of Directors to manage an enormous enterprise with such colleagues as Lord Alfred Grendall and Sir Felix Carbury, under the absolute control of such a one as Mr. Augustus Melmotte?

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


Was not this building a house upon the sand with a vengeance?