If you do stay, I hope you'll be unanimous; that's all;--or perhaps you intend to go out.

If you do stay, I hope you'll be unanimous; that's all; or perhaps you intend to get out.


"That, Mr. Melmotte, is what I should prefer."


Miles, isn't Mr. Goldsheiner waiting to see me?"


"You're a little too quick, Mr. Melmotte," said Paul.


"A man with my business on his hands is bound to be quick, sir."


"I cannot tell you as a fact that I shall withdraw from the Board till I receive the advice of a friend with whom I am consulting.


"I'll tell you, sir, what can not be your duty.

"I'll tell you, sir, what cannot be your duty.


It cannot be your duty to make known out of that Board-room any of the affairs of the Company which you have learned in that Board-room.

You cannot make known any of the affairs of the Company which you have learned in that Board-room.


It cannot be your duty to divulge the circumstances of the Company or any differences which may exist between Directors of the Company, to any gentleman who is a stranger to the Company.

You cannot divulge the circumstances of the Company to any gentleman who is a stranger to the Company."


On matters such as that I think that I can see my own way.


I have been in fault in coming in to the Board without understanding what duties I should have to perform--."

I have been in fault in coming in to the Board without understanding my duties."


"Very much in fault, I should say," replied Melmotte, whose arrogance in the midst of his inflated glory was overcoming him.

"Very much in fault, I should say," replied Melmotte, whose arrogance was overcoming him.


"But in reference to what I may or may not say to any friend, or how far I should be restricted by the scruples of a gentleman, I do not want advice from you."

"But in reference to what I may or may not say to any friend, I do not want advice from you."


I can't ask you to stay, because a partner from the house of Todd, Brehgert, and Goldsheiner is waiting to see me, about matters which are rather more important than this of yours."

I can't ask you to stay, because Goldsheiner is waiting to see me, about more important matters."


Montague had said what he had to say, and departed.


On the following day, three-quarters of an hour before the meeting of the Board of Directors, old Mr. Longestaffe called in Abchurch Lane.

On the following day, before the meeting of the Board of Directors, old Mr. Longestaffe called in Abchurch Lane.


He was received very civilly by Miles Grendall, and asked to sit down.

He was received very civilly by Miles Grendall.


Mr. Melmotte quite expected him, and would walk with him over to the offices of the railway, and introduce him to the Board.


Mr. Longestaffe, with some shyness, intimated his desire to have a few moments conversation with the chairman before the Board met.

Mr. Longestaffe, with some shyness, said he desired to have a few moments' conversation with the chairman before the Board met.


Fearing his son, especially fearing Squercum, he had made up his mind to suggest that the little matter about Pickering Park should be settled.

Fearing his son and Squercum, he had made up his mind to suggest that the little matter about Pickering Park should be settled.


Miles assured him that the opportunity should be given him, but that at the present moment the chief secretary of the Russian Legation was with Mr. Melmotte.


Either the chief secretary was very tedious with his business, or else other big men must have come in, for Mr. Longestaffe was not relieved till he was summoned to walk off to the Board five minutes after the hour at which the Board should have met.

The chief secretary must have been very tedious with his business, for Mr. Longestaffe was not summoned to walk off to the Board until five minutes after the Board should have met.


He thought that he could explain his views in the street; but on the stairs they were joined by Mr. Cohenlupe, and in three minutes they were in the Board-room.


Mr. Longestaffe was then presented, and took the chair opposite to Miles Grendall.

Mr. Longestaffe was presented, and took the chair opposite Miles Grendall.


Montague was not there, but had sent a letter to the secretary explaining that for reasons with which the chairman was acquainted he should absent himself from the present meeting.

Montague was not there, but had sent a letter to the secretary explaining that for reasons known to the chairman he was absent.


I'm not sure but that Mr. Montague's retirement from among us may be an advantage.

Mr. Montague's retirement may be an advantage.


He could not be made to understand that unanimity in such an enterprise as this is essential.

He could not be made to understand that unanimity in such an enterprise is essential.


I am confident that the new director whom I have had the pleasure of introducing to you to-day will not sin in the same direction."

I am confident that our new director will not sin in the same direction."


Then Mr. Melmotte bowed and smiled very sweetly on Mr. Longestaffe.


Mr. Longestaffe was astonished to find how soon the business was done, and how very little he had been called on to do.


Miles Grendall had read something out of a book which he had been unable to follow.


Then the chairman had read some figures.


Mr. Cohenlupe had declared that their prosperity was unprecedented;--and the Board was over.

Mr. Cohenlupe had declared that their prosperity was unprecedented; and the Board was over.


When Mr. Longestaffe explained to Miles Grendall that he still wished to speak to Mr. Melmotte, Miles explained to him that the chairman had been obliged to run off to a meeting of gentlemen connected with the interior of Africa, which was now being held at the Cannon Street Hotel.

When Mr. Longestaffe told Miles that he still wished to speak to Mr. Melmotte, Miles explained to him that the chairman had been obliged to run off to a meeting about the interior of Africa, which was being held at the Cannon Street Hotel.


Our poor old honest friend John Crumb was taken away to durance vile after his performance in the street with Sir Felix, and was locked up for the remainder of the night.

Our poor old honest friend John Crumb was taken away to the cells after his performance in the street with Sir Felix, and was locked up for the rest of the night.


This indignity did not sit so heavily on his spirits as it might have done on those of a quicker nature.


He was aware that he had not killed the baronet, and that he had therefore enjoyed his revenge without the necessity of "swinging for it at Bury."


Then it was a great satisfaction to think that he had "served the young man out" in the actual presence of his Ruby.

it was a great satisfaction to think that he had "served the young man right" in the presence of his Ruby.


He was not prone to give himself undue credit for his capability and willingness to knock his enemies about; but he did think that Ruby must have observed on this occasion that he was the better man of the two.

Although he was not vain, he did think that Ruby must have observed that he was the better man of the two.


And, to John, a night in the station-house was no great personal inconvenience.


Though he was very proud of his four-post bed at home, he did not care very much for such luxuries as far as he himself was concerned.


Nor did he feel any disgrace from being locked up for the night.


He was very good-humoured with the policeman, who seemed perfectly to understand his nature, and was as meek as a child when the lock was turned upon him.

He was as meek as a child, and very good-humoured with the policeman, who seemed to understand his nature.


As he lay down on the hard bench, he comforted himself with thinking that Ruby would surely never care any more for the "baronite" since she had seen him go down like a cur without striking a blow.


He thought a good deal about Ruby, but never attributed any blame to her for her share in the evils that had befallen him.

He thought a good deal about Ruby, but never blamed her for what had happened.


The next morning he was taken before the magistrates, but was told at an early hour of the day that he was again free.

The next morning he was taken before the magistrates, but was told that he was again free.


Sir Felix was not much the worse for what had happened to him, and had refused to make any complaint against the man who had beaten him.

Sir Felix had refused to make any complaint against him.


John Crumb shook hands cordially with the policeman who had had him in charge, and suggested beer.

John Crumb shook hands cordially with the policeman, and suggested beer.


The constable, with regrets, was forced to decline, and bade adieu to his late prisoner with the expression of a hope that they might meet again before long.

The constable, with regrets, was forced to decline, and bade adieu with the hope that they might meet again before long.


"You come down to Bungay," said John, "and I'll show you how we live there."


From the police-office he went direct to Mrs. Pipkin's house, and at once asked for Ruby.

From the police-office John went to Mrs. Pipkin's house, and asked for Ruby.


He was told that Ruby was out with the children, and was advised both by Mrs. Pipkin and Mrs. Hurtle not to present himself before Ruby quite yet.

He was told that Ruby was out with the children, and was advised both by Mrs. Pipkin and Mrs. Hurtle not to meet her quite yet.


"You see," said Mrs. Pipkin, "she's a thinking how heavy you were upon that young gentleman."


Lord love you, he ain't a hair the wuss."

Lord love you, he ain't a hair the worse."


"You let her alone for a time," said Mrs. Hurtle.


"Maybe," said John,--"only I wouldn't like her to have it bad.

"Maybe," said John. "I wouldn't like her to have it bad."


You'll let her have her wittles regular, Mrs. Pipkin."


It was then explained to him that the neglect proposed should not extend to any deprivation of food, and he took his leave, receiving an assurance from Mrs. Hurtle that he should be summoned to town as soon as it was thought that his presence there would serve his purposes; and with loud promises repeated to each of the friendly women that as soon as ever a "line should be dropped" he would appear again upon the scene, he took Mrs. Pipkin aside, and suggested that if there were "any hextras," he was ready to pay for them.

Mrs. Hurtle assured him that he should be summoned to town as soon as it was thought that his presence there would serve his purposes; and he took Mrs. Pipkin aside, and suggested that if there were "any hextras," he was ready to pay for them.


Then he took his leave without seeing Ruby, and went back to Bungay.


When Ruby returned with the children she was told that John Crumb had called.


"I thought as he was in prison," said Ruby.


"What should they keep him in prison for?"


"He hasn't done nothing as he oughtn't to have done.


That young man was dragging you about as far as I can make out, and Mr. Crumb just did as anybody ought to have done to prevent it.

That young man was dragging you about, and Mr. Crumb just did as anybody ought to have done to prevent it.


Of course they weren't going to keep him in prison for that.


"Gone down to Bungay to mind his business, and won't be coming here any more of a fool's errand.


He must have seen now pretty well what's worth having, and what ain't."


"John Crumb 'd be after me again to-morrow, if I'd give him encouragement," said Ruby.

"John Crumb'd be after me again tomorrow, if I


"Then John Crumb's a fool for his pains, that's all; and now do you go about your work."

"Then John Crumb's a fool; and now you go about your work."


Ruby didn't like to be told to go about her work, and tossed her head, and slammed the kitchen door, and scolded the servant girl, and then sat down to cry.

Ruby tossed her head, and slammed the kitchen door, and scolded the servant girl, and then sat down to cry.


She had an idea that Felix would not come back to her after the treatment he had received;--and a further idea that if he did come he was not, as she phrased it to herself, "of much account."

She had an idea that Felix would not come back to her after that beating - and


She certainly did not like him the better for having been beaten, though, at the time, she had been disposed to take his part.

she certainly did not like him the better for having been beaten.


She did not believe that she would ever dance with him again.


That had been the charm of her life in London, and that was now all over.

That had been the charm of her life in London, and that was now over.


And as for marrying her,--she began to feel certain that he did not intend it.

And as for marrying her - she began to feel certain that Sir Felix did not intend it.


John Crumb was a big, awkward, dull, uncouth lump of a man, with whom Ruby thought it impossible that a girl should be in love.


Ruby did not like wheeling the perambulator about Islington, and being told by her aunt Pipkin to go about her work.

Ruby did not like wheeling the pram about Islington, and being told by her aunt Pipkin to go about her work.


What Ruby did like was being in love and dancing; but if all that must come to an end, then there would be a question whether she could not do better for herself, than by staying with her aunt and wheeling the perambulator about Islington.


Mrs. Hurtle was still living in solitude in the lodgings, and having but little to do on her own behalf, had devoted herself to the interest of John Crumb.

Mrs. Hurtle was still living in solitude in the lodgings, and took an interest in John Crumb.


A man more unlike one of her own countrymen she had never seen.


"I wonder whether he has any ideas at all in his head," she had said to Mrs. Pipkin.


Mrs. Pipkin had replied that Mr. Crumb had certainly a very strong idea of marrying Ruby Ruggles.


Mrs. Hurtle had smiled, thinking that Mrs. Pipkin was also very unlike her own countrywomen.


But she was very kind to Mrs. Pipkin, ordering rice-puddings on purpose that the children might eat them, and she was quite determined to give John Crumb all the aid in her power.

She was determined to give John Crumb all the aid in her power.


In order that she might give effectual aid she took Mrs. Pipkin into confidence, and prepared a plan of action in reference to Ruby.

So she took Mrs. Pipkin into her confidence, and prepared a plan of action.


Mrs. Pipkin was to appear as chief actor on the scene, but the plan was altogether Mrs. Hurtle's plan.


On the day following John's return to Bungay Mrs. Pipkin summoned Ruby into the back parlour, and thus addressed her.

On the day after John's return to Bungay Mrs. Pipkin summoned Ruby into the back parlour, and spoke to her.


"Ruby, you know, this must come to an end now."


"I'm sure I work hard, Aunt Pipkin, and I don't get no wages."


"I can't do with more than one girl,--and there's the keep if there isn't wages.


Your grandfather won't have you back there; that's certain."

Your grandfather won't have you back; that's certain."


"I wouldn't go back to grandfather, if it was ever so."


You didn't come to stay here always,--nor I couldn't have you.


"I don't know anybody as 'd have me," said Ruby.


"You must put a 'vertisement into the paper.


You'd better say as nursemaid, as you seems to take kindly to children.

You'd better say nursemaid, as you seems to take kindly to children.


And I must give you a character;--only I shall say just the truth.

And I must give you a character; only I shall say just the truth.


You mustn't ask much wages just at first."


Ruby looked very sorrowful, and the tears were near her eyes.


The change from the glories of the music hall was so startling and so oppressive!


"It has got to be done sooner or later, so you may as well put the 'vertisement in this afternoon."

"It has got to be done, so you may as well put the 'vertisement in this afternoon."


"You're going to turn me out, Aunt Pipkin."


You see you never would be said by me as though I was mistress.

You never acted like I was your mistress.


You would go out with that rapscallion when I bid you not.


Now when you're in a regular place like, you must mind when you're spoke to, and it will be best for you.

Now when you're in a regular place like, you must mind when you're spoke to.


You've had your swing, and now you see you've got to pay for it.


You must earn your bread, Ruby, as you've quarrelled both with your lover and with your grandfather."


There was no possible answer to this, and therefore the necessary notice was put into the paper,--Mrs. Hurtle paying for its insertion.

There was no possible answer to this, and the notice was put into the paper - Mrs. Hurtle paying.


"Because, you know," said Mrs. Hurtle, "she must stay here really, till Mr. Crumb comes and takes her away."

"You know," said Mrs. Hurtle, "she must stay here really, till Mr. Crumb comes and takes her away."


Mrs. Pipkin expressed her opinion that Ruby was a "baggage" and John Crumb a "soft."

Mrs. Pipkin expressed her opinion that Ruby was a "baggage" and John Crumb "soft."


Mrs. Pipkin was perhaps a little jealous at the interest which her lodger took in her niece, thinking perhaps that all Mrs. Hurtle's sympathies were due to herself.


Ruby went hither and thither for a day or two, calling upon the mothers of children who wanted nursemaids.


The answers which she had received had not come from the highest members of the aristocracy, and the houses which she visited did not appal her by their splendour.

The houses which she visited were not great and splendid.


A character from an aunt was objectionable.


At last one happy mother of five children offered to take her on approval for a month, at 12 a year, Ruby to find her own tea and wash for herself.

At last one mother of five children offered to take her on approval for a month, at 12 a year, Ruby to find her own tea and wash for herself.


And she too, who had been the beloved of a baronet, and who might even now be the mistress of a better house than that into which she was to go as a servant,--if she would only hold up her finger!

And she who had been the beloved of a baronet, and who might even now be the mistress of a house - if she would only hold up her finger!


But the place was accepted, and with broken-hearted sobbings Ruby prepared herself for her departure from aunt Pipkin's roof.

But the place was accepted, and with broken-hearted sobbings Ruby prepared to depart from aunt Pipkin's roof.


"I hope you like your place, Ruby," Mrs. Hurtle said on the afternoon of her last day.

"I hope you like your new place, Ruby," Mrs. Hurtle said on her last day.


They're the ugliest children you ever see, Mrs. Hurtle."


"Ugly children must be minded as well as pretty ones."


"And the mother of 'em is as cross as cross."

"And their mother is as cross as cross."


"I don't know as I've done anything out of the way."


"Don't you think it's anything out of the way to be engaged to a young man and then to throw him over?


All this has come because you wouldn't keep your word to Mr. Crumb.


Only for that your grandfather wouldn't have turned you out of his house."

But for that, your grandfather wouldn't have turned you out of his house."


And it wasn't along of John Crumb, but because grandfather hauled me about by the hair of my head."

And it wasn't along of John Crumb, but because grandfather hauled me about by my hair."


"But he was angry with you about Mr. Crumb.


When a young woman becomes engaged to a young man, she ought not to go back from her word."


No doubt Mrs. Hurtle, when preaching this doctrine, thought that the same law might be laid down with propriety for the conduct of young men.


"Of course you have brought trouble on yourself.


I am sorry that you don't like the place.


"I am agoing,--I suppose," said Ruby, probably feeling that if she could but bring herself to condescend so far there might yet be open for her a way of escape.


"I shall write and tell Mr. Crumb where you are placed."

"I shall write and tell Mr. Crumb where you are."


"I told him I'd let him know if any steps were taken."


I don't want him to know as I'm in service."


I don't suppose you care much now what he hears about you."


I wasn't never in service before, and I don't want him to know."


"There is nothing to be ashamed of in that.


What you have to be ashamed of is jilting him.


It was a bad thing to do;--wasn't it, Ruby?"

It was a bad thing to do; wasn't it, Ruby?"


"I didn't mean nothing bad, Mrs. Hurtle; only why couldn't he say what he had to say himself, instead of bringing another to say it for him?


What would you feel, Mrs. Hurtle, if a man was to come and say it all out of another man's mouth?"


"I don't think I should much care if the thing was well said at last.


He's gone back to Bungay, and he isn't no good at writing letters no more than at speaking.


Oh,--he'll go and get somebody else now."


"Of course he will if he hears nothing about you.


"He'd be up in town again in half a jiffey to see what sort of a place you'd got.

"He'd be up in town again in half a jiffy to see what sort of a place you'd got.


Now, Ruby, I'll tell you what I'll do, if you'll say the word.


I'll have him up here at once and you shan't go to Mrs. Buggins'."

I'll have him up here at once and you shan't go to Mrs. Buggins."


Ruby dropped her hands and stood still, staring at Mrs. Hurtle.

Ruby stood still, staring at Mrs. Hurtle.


"But if he comes you mustn't behave this time as you did before."


"But I'm to go to Mrs. Buggins' to-morrow."

"But I'm to go to Mrs. Buggins tomorrow."


"We'll send to Mrs. Buggins and tell her to get somebody else.

"We'll send to her and tell her to get somebody else.


You're breaking your heart about going there;--are you not?"


"And this man will make you mistress of his house.


You say he isn't good at speaking; but I tell you I never came across an honester man in the whole course of my life, or one who I think would treat a woman better.

You say he isn't good at speaking; but I never came across an honester man in my whole life, or one who I think would treat a woman better.


What's the use of a glib tongue if there isn't a heart with it?


What's the use of a lot of tinsel and lacker, if the real metal isn't there?


Sir Felix Carbury could talk, I dare say, but you don't think now he was a very fine fellow."


"But he hadn't the spirit of a mouse in his bosom.


Well, Ruby, you have one more choice left you.


Shall it be John Crumb or Mrs. Buggins?"


Then Ruby in a very low whisper told Mrs. Hurtle, that if she thought proper she might bring John Crumb back again.

Then Ruby in a very low whisper told Mrs. Hurtle that she might bring John Crumb back again.


On that same night a letter was sent to Mrs. Buggins, which Mrs. Hurtle also composed, informing that lady that unforeseen circumstances prevented Ruby Ruggles from keeping the engagement she had made; to which a verbal answer was returned that Ruby Ruggles was an impudent hussey.

On that same night a letter was sent to Mrs. Buggins, which Mrs. Hurtle composed.


And then Mrs. Hurtle in her own name wrote a short note to Mr. John Crumb.


If you will come back to London I think you will find Miss Ruby Ruggles all that you desire.


"She's had a deal more done for her than I ever knew to be done for young women in my time," said Mrs. Pipkin, "and I'm not at all so sure that she has deserved it."

"She's had a deal more done for her than she deserves," said Mrs. Pipkin.


"John Crumb's a fool;--and as to Ruby; well, I haven't got no patience with girls like them.

"I haven't got no patience with girls like them.


Yes; it is for the best; and as for you, Mrs. Hurtle, there's no words to say how good you've been.

Yes; it is for the best; and there's no words to say how good you've been.


I hope, Mrs. Hurtle, you ain't thinking of going away because this is all done."


On the following morning there came a telegram from Felix.


He was to be expected at Beccles on that afternoon by a certain train; and Roger, at Lady Carbury's request, undertook to send a carriage to the station for him.

: he would be at Beccles that afternoon by a certain train. Roger sent a carriage to the station for him


This was done, but Felix did not arrive.


There was still another train by which he might come so as to be just in time for dinner if dinner were postponed for half an hour.

There was another train by which he might come so as to be just in time for dinner


Lady Carbury with a tender look, almost without speaking a word, appealed to her cousin on behalf of her son.


He knit his brows, as he always did, involuntarily, when displeased; but he assented.


Now carriages and carriage-horses were not numerous at Carbury.


The squire kept a waggonnette and a pair of horses which, when not wanted for house use, were employed about the farm.

Roger kept a waggonnette and a pair of horses which were used about the farm.


He himself would walk home from the train, leaving the luggage to be brought by some cheap conveyance.


He had already sent the carriage once on this day,--and now sent it again, Lady Carbury having said a word which showed that she hoped that this would be done.


To the mother her son was Sir Felix, the baronet, entitled to special consideration because of his position and rank,--because also of his intention to marry the great heiress of the day.

He felt Felix was not entitled to any special consideration.


To Roger Carbury, Felix was a vicious young man, peculiarly antipathetic to himself, to whom no respect whatever was due.


Nevertheless the dinner was put off, and the waggonnette was sent.


But the waggonnette again came back empty.


That evening was spent by Roger, Lady Carbury, and Henrietta, in very much gloom.

That evening was spent by Roger, Lady Carbury, and Henrietta in gloom.


About four in the morning the house was roused by the coming of the baronet.

About four in the morning the house was roused by the baronet's arrival.


Failing to leave town by either of the afternoon trains, he had contrived to catch the evening mail, and had found himself deposited at some distant town from which he had posted to Carbury.

Failing to leave town by either of the afternoon trains, he had contrived to catch the evening mail coach, and had been deposited at some distant town from which he had posted to Carbury.


Roger came down in his dressing-gown to admit him, and Lady Carbury also left her room.

Roger came down in his dressing-gown to let him in, and Lady Carbury also came downstairs.


Sir Felix evidently thought that he had been a very fine fellow in going through so much trouble.


Roger held a very different opinion, and spoke little or nothing.


"Oh, Felix," said the mother, "you have so terrified us!"


"I can tell you I was terrified myself when I found that I had to come fifteen miles across the country with a pair of old jades who could hardly get up a trot."

"I can tell you I was terrified myself when I found that I had to come fifteen miles across country with a pair of old jades who could hardly trot."


"But why didn't you come by the train you named?"


"I couldn't get out of the city," said the baronet with a ready lie.

"I couldn't get out of the city," lied the baronet.


Roger knew that there had been no Board.


Mr. Melmotte was in the country and there could be no Board, nor could Sir Felix have had business in the city.

, because Mr. Melmotte was in the country.


It was sheer impudence,--sheer indifference, and, into the bargain, a downright lie.


The young man, who was of himself so unwelcome, who had come there on a project which he, Roger, utterly disapproved,--who had now knocked him and his household up at four o'clock in the morning,--had uttered no word of apology.

The young man had knocked him and his household up at four in the morning, and had uttered no word of apology.


Then he spoke aloud, "You had better not keep your mother standing here.


"All right, old fellow," said Sir Felix.


"I'm awfully sorry to disturb you all in this way.


I think I'll just take a drop of brandy and soda before I go to bed, though."

I think I'll just take a drop of brandy and soda before I go to bed."


"I doubt whether we have soda-water in the house, and if we have, I don't know where to get it.

"I doubt whether we have soda-water in the house.


I can give you some brandy if you will come with me."


He pronounced the word "brandy" in a tone which implied that it was a wicked, dissipated beverage.

He pronounced the word "brandy" in a tone which implied that it was a wicked beverage.


He was forced to go up-stairs and fetch a key in order that he might wait upon this cub,--this cur!

He was forced to go upstairs and fetch a key in order that he might wait upon this cub - this cur!


He did it, however, and the cub drank his brandy-and-water, not in the least disturbed by his host's ill-humour.

The cub drank his brandy-and-water, not in the least disturbed by his host's ill-humour.


As he went to bed he suggested the probability of his not showing himself till lunch on the following day, and expressed a wish that he might have breakfast sent to him in bed.

As he went to bed he said he would probably not show himself till lunch the following day, and requested that breakfast be sent to him in bed.


"He is born to be hung," said Roger to himself as he went to his room,--"and he'll deserve it."

"He is born to be hung," said Roger to himself as he went to his room.


On the following morning, being Sunday, they all went to church,--except Felix.

The following morning being Sunday, they all went to church, except Felix.


Lady Carbury always went to church when she was in the country, never when she was at home in London.

Lady Carbury always went to church in the country, never in London.


It was one of those moral habits, like early dinners and long walks, which suited country life.

It was one of those habits, like early dinners and long walks, which suited country life.


And she fancied that were she not to do so, the bishop would be sure to know it and would be displeased.

And she fancied that were she not to do so, the bishop would be sure to know it.


She liked bishops generally; and was aware that it was a woman's duty to sacrifice herself for society.


As to the purpose for which people go to church, it had probably never in her life occurred to Lady Carbury to think of it.

As to the religious purpose for which people go to church, it never occurred to Lady Carbury to think of it.


On their return they found Sir Felix smoking a cigar on the gravel path, close in front of the open drawing-room window.

On their return they found Sir Felix smoking a cigar on the gravel path, in front of the open drawing-room window.


"Felix," said his cousin, "take your cigar a little farther.

"Felix," said Roger, "take your cigar a little farther.


You are filling the house with tobacco."


"Let it be so, but still do as I ask you."


Sir Felix chucked the cigar out of his mouth on to the gravel walk, whereupon Roger walked up to the spot and kicked the offending weed away.

Sir Felix chucked the cigar out of his mouth on to the gravel walk, whereupon Roger walked up and kicked it away.


This was the first greeting of the day between the two men.


After lunch Lady Carbury strolled about with her son, instigating him to go over at once to Caversham.

After lunch Lady Carbury urged her son to go over at once to Caversham.


"He's as cross as a bear with a sore head.


He's a deal older than I am, and a cousin and all that, but I'm not going to put up with insolence.


If it were anywhere else I should just go into the yard and ask if I could have a horse and saddle as a matter of course."

If it were anywhere else I should just go into the yard and ask for a horse and saddle as a matter of course.


"I suppose he has a horse and saddle, and a man to get it ready.


"He is vexed because he sent twice to the station for you yesterday."


"I hate the kind of fellow who is always thinking of little grievances.


Such a man expects you to go like clockwork, and because you are not wound up just as he is, he insults you.

Such a man expects you to go like clockwork, and if you don't, he insults you.


I shall ask him for a horse as I would any one else, and if he does not like it, he may lump it."

I shall ask him for a horse, and if he does not like it, he may lump it."


About half an hour after this he found his cousin.


"Can I have a horse to ride over to Caversham this afternoon?"


"Our horses never go out on Sunday," said Roger.


Then he added, after a pause, "You can have it."


Sir Felix would be gone on Tuesday, and it should be his own fault if that odious cousin ever found his way into Carbury House again!

Sir Felix would be gone on Tuesday, and need never come to Carbury House again!


So he declared to himself as Felix rode out of the yard; but he soon remembered how probable it was that Felix himself would be the owner of Carbury.


And should it ever come to pass,--as still was possible,--that Henrietta should be the mistress of Carbury, he could hardly forbid her to receive her brother.

And if ever Henrietta should be the mistress of Carbury, he could hardly forbid her to receive her brother.


He stood for a while on the bridge watching his cousin as he cantered away upon the road, listening to the horse's feet.

He stood for a while on the bridge watching his cousin canter off down the road.


The young man was offensive in every possible way.


Who does not know that ladies only are allowed to canter their friends' horses upon roads?

Who does not know that only ladies are allowed to canter their friends' horses upon roads?


A gentleman trots his horse, and his friend's horse.


Roger Carbury had but one saddle horse,--a favourite old hunter that he loved as a friend.

Roger Carbury had only one saddle horse - a favourite old hunter, whose legs were not so good as they once were.


And now this dear old friend, whose legs probably were not quite so good as they once were, was being galloped along the hard road by that odious cub!

And now this dear old friend was being galloped along the hard road by that odious cub!


Roger exclaimed to himself almost aloud, thinking of the discomfiture of that early morning.


"He'll die some day of delirium tremens in a hospital!"

"He'll die some day of delirium tremens!"


Before the Longestaffes left London to receive their new friends the Melmottes at Caversham, a treaty had been made between Mr. Longestaffe, the father, and Georgiana, the strong-minded daughter.

Before the Longestaffes left London for Caversham, a treaty had been made between Mr. Longestaffe and Georgiana, his strong-minded daughter.


The daughter on her side undertook that the guests should be treated with feminine courtesy.

The daughter undertook that the guests should be treated with courtesy


This might be called the most-favoured-nation clause.


The Melmottes were to be treated exactly as though old Melmotte had been a gentleman and Madame Melmotte a lady.

, exactly as though old Melmotte had been a gentleman and Madame Melmotte a lady.


In return for this the Longestaffe family were to be allowed to return to town.


But here again the father had carried another clause.

But here again the father carried another clause.


The prolonged sojourn in town was to be only for six weeks.

The stay in London was to be only for six weeks.


On the 10th of July the Longestaffes were to be removed into the country for the remainder of the year.

On the 10th of July the Longestaffes were to remove to the country for the rest of the year.


When the question of a foreign tour was proposed, the father became absolutely violent in his refusal.

When a foreign tour was proposed, the father became absolutely violent in his refusal.


"In God's name where do you expect the money is to come from?"

"Where in God's name do you expect the money to come from?"


When Georgiana urged that other people had money to go abroad, her father told her that a time was coming in which she might think it lucky if she had a house over her head.

He told Georgiana that a time was coming when she might think herself lucky to have a roof over her head.


This, however, she took as having been said with poetical licence, the same threat having been made more than once before.

This she took as poetic licence, since he had made the same threat before.


The treaty was very clear, and the parties to it were prepared to carry it out with fair honesty.

However, both parties to the treaty were prepared to carry it out honestly.


The Melmottes were being treated with decent courtesy, and the house in town was not dismantled.


The idea, hardly ever in truth entertained but which had been barely suggested from one to another among the ladies of the family, that Dolly should marry Marie Melmotte, had been abandoned.

The faint idea that Dolly should marry Marie Melmotte had been abandoned.


Dolly, with all his vapid folly, had a will of his own, which, among his own family, was invincible.


He was never persuaded to any course either by his father or mother.


Dolly certainly would not marry Marie Melmotte.


Therefore when the Longestaffes heard that Sir Felix was coming to the country, they had no special objection to entertaining him at Caversham.

Therefore the Longestaffes had no special objection to entertaining Sir Felix at Caversham.


He had been lately talked of in London as the favourite in regard to Marie Melmotte.

He had been talked of in London as the favourite in regard to Marie Melmotte.


Georgiana Longestaffe had a grudge of her own against Lord Nidderdale, and was on that account somewhat well inclined towards Sir Felix's prospects.


Soon after the Melmottes' arrival she contrived to say a word to Marie respecting Sir Felix.

Soon after the Melmottes' arrival she managed to say a word to Marie.


"There is a friend of yours going to dine here on Monday, Miss Melmotte."


Marie, who was at the moment still abashed by the grandeur and size and general fashionable haughtiness of her new acquaintances, made hardly any answer.


"I think you know Sir Felix Carbury," continued Georgiana.


Marie, still abashed by the grandeur and fashionable haughtiness of her new acquaintances, said, "Oh yes, we know Sir Felix Carbury."


I suppose it is for your bright eyes, as Carbury Manor would hardly be just what he would like."

I suppose it is for your bright eyes, as Carbury Manor would hardly be what he would like."


"I don't think he is coming because of me," said Marie blushing.

"I don't think he is coming because of me," said Marie, blushing.


She had once told him that he might go to her father, which according to her idea had been tantamount to accepting his offer as far as her power of acceptance went.

She had once told him that he might go to her father, which she felt had been tantamount to accepting his offer as far as she was able.


Since that she had seen him, indeed, but he had not said a word to press his suit, nor, as far as she knew, had he said a word to Mr. Melmotte.

Since then she had seen him, indeed, but he had not said a word to press his suit, nor, as far as she knew, had he said a word to Mr. Melmotte.


But she had been very rigorous in declining the attentions of other suitors.


She had made up her mind that she was in love with Felix Carbury, and she had resolved on constancy.


But she had begun to tremble, fearing his faithlessness.

Yet she had begun to tremble, fearing his faithlessness.


"We had heard," said Georgiana, "that he was a particular friend of yours."


And she laughed aloud, with a vulgarity which Madame Melmotte certainly could not have surpassed.


Sir Felix, on the Sunday afternoon, found all the ladies out on the lawn, and he also found Mr. Melmotte there.


At the last moment Lord Alfred Grendall had been asked,--not because he was at all in favour with any of the Longestaffes, but in order that he might be useful in disposing of the great Director.

At the last moment Lord Alfred Grendall had been asked, since he


Lord Alfred was used to him and could talk to him, and might probably know what he liked to eat and drink.


Therefore Lord Alfred had been asked to Caversham, and Lord Alfred had come, having all his expenses paid by the great Director.

he had come, with all his expenses paid by the great Director.


When Sir Felix arrived, Lord Alfred was earning his entertainment by talking to Mr. Melmotte in a summer-house.

When Sir Felix arrived, Lord Alfred was earning his keep by talking to Mr. Melmotte in a summer-house


He had cool drink before him and a box of cigars, but was probably thinking at the time how hard the world had been to him.

, with a cool drink and a box of cigars.


Lady Pomona was languid, but not uncivil in her reception.


She was doing her best to perform her part of the treaty in reference to Madame Melmotte.


Sophia was walking apart with a certain Mr. Whitstable, a young squire in the neighbourhood, who had been asked to Caversham because as Sophia was now reputed to be twenty-eight,--they who decided the question might have said thirty-one without falsehood,--it was considered that Mr. Whitstable was good enough, or at least as good as could be expected.

Sophia was walking apart with a certain Mr. Whitstable, a young squire in the neighbourhood, who had been asked to Caversham because as Sophia was now reputed to be twenty-eight - in fact she was thirty-one - Mr. Whitstable was considered good enough.


Sophia was handsome, but with a big, cold, unalluring handsomeness, and had not quite succeeded in London.

Sophia was handsome, but with a big, cold, unalluring handsomeness, and had not succeeded in London.


Georgiana had been more admired, and boasted among her friends of the offers which she had rejected.


Her friends on the other hand were apt to tell of her many failures.


Nevertheless she held her head up, and had not as yet come down among the rural Whitstables.

She held her head up, and had not as yet come down among the rural Whitstables.


At the present moment her hands were empty, and she was devoting herself to such a performance of the treaty as should make it impossible for her father to leave his part of it unfulfilled.


For a few minutes Sir Felix sat on a garden chair making conversation to Lady Pomona and Madame Melmotte.


"Beautiful garden," he said; "for myself I don't much care for gardens; but if one is to live in the country, this is the sort of thing that one would like."


"Delicious," said Madame Melmotte, repressing a yawn, and drawing her shawl higher round her throat.

"Delicious," said Madame Melmotte, repressing a yawn, and drawing her shawl round her throat.


It was the end of May, and the weather was very warm for the time of the year; but, in her heart of hearts, Madame Melmotte did not like sitting out in the garden.

It was the end of May, and very warm; but she did not like sitting out in the garden.


"It isn't a pretty place; but the house is comfortable, and we make the best of it," said Lady Pomona.


"Plenty of glass, I see," said Sir Felix.


"If one is to live in the country, I like that kind of thing.


There was offence in this;--as though the Carbury property and the Carbury position could be compared to the Longestaffe property and the Longestaffe position.

This was offensive - as though the Carbury property could be compared to the Longestaffe mansion.


Though dreadfully hampered for money, the Longestaffes were great people.


"For a small place," said Lady Pomona, "I think Carbury is one of the nicest in the county.


"No, by Jove," said Sir Felix, "you may say that, Lady Pomona.


It's like a prison to me with that moat round it."

"It's like a prison with that moat round it."


Then he jumped up and joined Marie Melmotte and Georgiana.


Georgiana, glad to be released for a time from performance of the treaty, was not long before she left them together.

Georgiana, glad to be released from her duty, soon left them together.


She had understood that the two horses now in the running were Lord Nidderdale and Sir Felix; and though she would not probably have done much to aid Sir Felix, she was quite willing to destroy Lord Nidderdale.


Sir Felix had his work to do, and was willing to do it,--as far as such willingness could go with him.

Sir Felix had his work to do, and was willing to do it.


The prize was so great, and the comfort of wealth was so sure, that even he was tempted to exert himself.


It was this feeling which had brought him into Suffolk, and induced him to travel all night, across dirty roads, in an old cab.

It was this feeling which had induced him to travel across dirty roads in an old cab.


For the girl herself he cared not the least.


It was not in his power really to care for anybody.


He was not given to disliking people strongly, except at the moments in which they offended him.


He regarded her simply as the means by which a portion of Mr. Melmotte's wealth might be conveyed to his uses.

He regarded her simply as the means by which Mr. Melmotte's wealth might be conveyed to his uses.


In regard to feminine beauty he had his own ideas, and his own inclinations.


He was by no means indifferent to such attraction.


But Marie Melmotte, from that point of view, was nothing to him.

Miss Melmotte was not his idea of a beauty.


Such prettiness as belonged to her came from the brightness of her youth, and from a modest shy demeanour joined to an incipient aspiration for the enjoyment of something in the world which should be her own.

Such prettiness as she had came from the brightness of her youth, and from a modest, shy demeanour joined to a hope for the enjoyment of something in the world which should be her own.


There was, too, arising within her bosom a struggle to be something in the world, an idea that she, too, could say something, and have thoughts of her own, if only she had some friend near her whom she need not fear.

There was arising within her bosom an idea that she, too, could say something, and have thoughts of her own, if only she had some friend near her whom she need not fear.


Though still shy, she was always resolving that she would abandon her shyness, and already had thoughts of her own as to the perfectly open confidence which should exist between two lovers.

Though still shy, she was always resolving to abandon her shyness, and thought a perfectly open confidence should exist between two lovers.


When alone,--and she was much alone,--she would build castles in the air, which were bright with art and love, rather than with gems and gold.

When alone - and she was much alone - she would build castles in the air, which were bright with art and love, rather than with gems and gold.


The books she read, poor though they generally were, left something bright on her imagination.


She fancied to herself brilliant conversations in which she bore a bright part, though in real life she had hitherto hardly talked to any one since she was a child.

She fancied to herself brilliant conversations in which she bore a bright part, though in real life she had hardly talked to anyone.


Sir Felix Carbury, she knew, had made her an offer.


She knew also, or thought that she knew, that she loved the man.


Now surely had come the time in which some one of her castles in the air might be found to be built of real materials.

Now surely had come the time in which one of her castles in the air might be found to be built of real materials.


[Illustration: "You know why I have come down here?"]


I'm not particularly fond of my cousin, who is a methodical stiff-necked old bachelor,--as cross as the mischief."

I'm not particularly fond of my cousin, who is a cross old bachelor."


I didn't come down to see him, I can tell you.

"Yes; I didn't come to see him, I can tell you.


But when I heard that you were going to be here with the Longestaffes, I determined to come at once.

But when I heard that you were going to be here, I determined to come at once.


I wonder whether you are glad to see me?"


"I don't know," said Marie, who could not at once find that brilliancy of words with which her imagination supplied her readily enough in her solitude.

"I don't know," said Marie, who could not immediately find those brilliant words which her imagination supplied in solitude.


"Do you remember what you said to me that evening at my mother's?"


Then I fear you can't think very much of me."


He paused as though he supposed that she would drop into his mouth like a cherry.


"I thought you told me that you would love me."


Perhaps if I said that, I didn't mean it."


There never was a fellow more in earnest than I was.


I've come down here on purpose to say it again."


"I don't know whether you love me well enough."


She longed to be told by him that he loved her.

She longed to be told that he loved her.


He had no objection to tell her so, but, without thinking much about it, felt it to be a bore.

He had no objection to telling her so, but felt it to be a bore.


All that kind of thing was trash and twaddle.


He desired her to accept him; and he would have wished, were it possible, that she should have gone to her father for his consent.

He wanted her to accept him; and he wished that she could have gone to her father for his consent.


There was something in the big eyes and heavy jaws of Mr. Melmotte which he almost feared.


I'm bad at making pretty speeches, and all that, but you know I love you."


I always liked you from the first moment I saw you.


It was a poor declaration of love, but it sufficed.


You know a great many men have asked me to love them."


"But I have never, never cared for one of them in the least;--not in the least."

"But I have never cared for any of them in the least."


She looked up into his beautiful face as she spoke, and he saw that her eyes were swimming with tears.

She looked up into his beautiful face, and he saw that her eyes were swimming with tears.


He thought at the moment that she was very common to look at.

He thought that she was very common to look at.


As regarded appearance only he would have preferred even Sophia Longestaffe.


There was indeed a certain brightness of truth which another man might have read in Marie's mingled smiles and tears, but it was thrown away altogether upon him.

The brightness which another man might have read in Marie's mingled smiles and tears was thrown away altogether upon him.


They were walking in some shrubbery quite apart from the house, where they were unseen; so, as in duty bound, he put his arm round her waist and kissed her.

They were walking in some shrubbery apart from the house; so, as in duty bound, he put his arm around her waist and kissed her.


"Oh, Felix," she said, giving her face up to him; "no one ever did it before."


He did not in the least believe her, nor was the matter one of the slightest importance to him.

He did not believe her, nor did it matter to him.


"Say that you will be good to me, Felix.


"Men are not always good to their wives.


I don't know what he'll say when we tell him about this."


"But I suppose he intends that you shall be married?"


"He wanted me to marry Lord Nidderdale and Lord Grasslough, but I hated them both.


I think he wants me to marry Lord Nidderdale again now.

I think he wants me to marry Lord Nidderdale again.


"I would not do it if they were to kill me.


Then she leaned with all her weight upon his arm and looked up again into his beautiful face.

Then she leaned upon his arm and looked up again into his beautiful face.


"I don't know whether Madame Melmotte ought not--"


She is more afraid of him than anybody;--more afraid of him than I am.


I thought the gentleman always did that."


He and I are very good friends, you know."


"He made me a Director of one of his companies the other day."

He made me a Director of one of his companies."


Perhaps he'll like you for a son-in-law."


Then she put her face up towards his again.


"Of course I love you," he said, not thinking it worth his while to kiss her.


I suppose I had better go and see him in the city."


"He is in a good humour now," said Marie.


It wouldn't be the thing to do down here."


"Not in the country,--in another person's house.


"Yes, I shall tell mamma; but she won't say anything to him.


But I'll tell you all that another time.


Of course I shall tell you everything now.


I never yet had anybody to tell anything to, but I shall never be tired of telling you."


Then he left her as soon as he could, and escaped to the other ladies.


Mr. Melmotte was still sitting in the summer-house, and Lord Alfred was still with him, smoking and drinking brandy and seltzer.

Mr. Melmotte was still sitting in the summer-house with Lord Alfred.


As Sir Felix passed in front of the great man he told himself that it was much better that the interview should be postponed till they were all in London.

As Sir Felix passed the great man he told himself that it was much better to postpone the interview till they were in London.


Mr. Melmotte did not look as though he were in a good humour.


Sir Felix said a few words to Lady Pomona and Madame Melmotte.


Yes; he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing them with his mother and sister on the following day.

Yes; he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing them on the following day.


He was aware that his cousin was not coming.


He believed that his cousin Roger never did go any where like any one else.

He believed that his cousin Roger never did go anywhere.


He hoped to have the pleasure of seeing him to-morrow.


Then he escaped, and got on his horse, and rode away.

Then he got on his horse, and rode away.


"That's going to be the lucky man," said Georgiana to her mother, that evening.


"He is going to get the heiress and all the money.


"I don't think it would have suited Dolly," said Lady Pomona.


"After all, why should not Dolly marry a lady?"


Very early the next morning, very early that is for London life, Melmotte was told by a servant that Mr. Croll had called and wanted to see him.

Very early the next morning, Melmotte was told by a servant that Mr. Croll had called and wanted to see him.


Then it immediately became a question with him whether he wanted to see Croll.

He was not sure whether he wanted to see Croll.


The man thought that it was something special, as Croll had declared his purpose of waiting when told that Mr. Melmotte was not as yet dressed.


This happened at about nine o'clock in the morning.


Melmotte longed to know every detail of Croll's manner,--to know even the servant's opinion of the clerk's manner,--but he did not dare to ask a question.

He longed to know the servant's opinion of the clerk's manner, but he did not dare ask.


Melmotte thought that it might be well to be gracious.


"Ask him if he has breakfasted, and if not give him something in the study."

"See if he has breakfasted, and if not give him something in the study," he said.


But Mr. Croll had breakfasted and declined any further refreshment.


Nevertheless Melmotte had not as yet made up his mind that he would meet his clerk.

Melmotte could not make up his mind whether to meet his clerk.


It might perhaps be well that he should first go into the City and send word to Croll, bidding him wait for his return.

It might be well that he should first go into the City, telling Croll to wait for his return.


Over and over again, against his will, the question of flying would present itself to him; but, though he discussed it within his own bosom in every form, he knew that he could not fly.

Over and over again, against his will, the question of flying would present itself to him; but he knew that he could not fly.


And if he stood his ground,--as most assuredly he would do,--then must he not be afraid to meet any man, let the man come with what thunderbolts in his hand he might.

And if he stood his ground, he must not be afraid to meet any man, let the man come with what thunderbolts he may.


Of course sooner or later some man must come with a thunderbolt,--and why not Croll as well as another?

Of course sooner or later some man must come with a thunderbolt - and why not Croll as well as another?


He stood against a press in his chamber, with a razor in his hand, and steadied himself.

He stood in his chamber, with a razor in his hand, and steadied himself.


How easily might he put an end to it all!


Then he rang his bell and desired that Croll might be shown up into his room.


The three or four minutes which intervened seemed to him to be very long.

The three or four minutes which intervened seemed very long.


He had absolutely forgotten in his anxiety that the lather was still upon his face.


He was fighting with it at every turn, but he could not conquer it.

But he could not conquer his anxiety, though he was fighting it at every turn.


When the knock came at his door, he grasped at his own breast as though to support himself.


With a hoarse voice he told the man to come in, and Croll himself appeared, opening the door gently and very slowly.

Hoarsely he told the man to come in, and Croll opened the door very gently and slowly.


Melmotte had left the bag which contained the papers in possession of Mr. Brehgert, and he now saw, at a glance, that Croll had got the bag in his hand,--and could see also by the shape of the bag that the bag contained the papers.

Melmotte had left the bag which contained the papers in possession of Mr. Brehgert, and he now saw that Croll had the bag in his hand. He could see also by the shape of the bag that it contained the papers


The man therefore had in his own hands, in his own keeping, the very documents to which his own name had been forged!


There was no longer a hope, no longer a chance that Croll should be ignorant of what had been done.

There was no longer a hope that Croll was ignorant of what had been done.


"Well, Croll," he said with an attempt at a smile, "what brings you here so early?"


He was pale as death, and let him struggle as he would, could not restrain himself from trembling.

He was pale as death, and could not stop himself from trembling.


"Herr Brehgert vas vid me last night," said Croll.


"And he thought I had better bring these back to you.

"He thought I had better bring these back to you.


Croll spoke in a very low voice, with his eyes fixed on his master's face, but with nothing of a threat in his attitude or manner.

Croll spoke in a very low voice, but with no threat in his manner.


[Illustration: "He thought I had better bring these back to you."]


Even though he might have saved himself from all coming evils by a bold demeanour at that moment, he could not assume it.


But it all flashed upon him at a moment.

It all flashed upon Melmotte in a moment.


Brehgert had seen Croll after he, Melmotte, had left the City, had then discovered the forgery, and had taken this way of sending back all the forged documents.

Brehgert had seen Croll, had discovered the forgery, and had taken this way of sending back all the forged documents.


He had known Brehgert to be of all men who ever lived the most good-natured, but he could hardly believe in pure good-nature such as this.

He had known Brehgert to be the most good-natured of men, but he could hardly believe in pure good-nature such as this.


It seemed that the thunderbolt was not yet to fall.


"Mr. Brehgert came to me," continued Croll, "because one signature was wanting.


It was very late, so I took them home with me.


I said I'd bring them to you in the morning."

, and said I'd bring them to you in the morning."


They both knew that he had forged the documents, Brehgert and Croll; but how would that concern him, Melmotte, if these two friends had resolved together that they would not expose him?

They both knew that he had forged the documents, Brehgert and Croll; but had resolved together that they would not expose him.


He had desired to get the documents back into his own hands, and here they were!

Melmotte had wished to get the documents back, and here they were.


Melmotte's immediate trouble arose from the difficulty of speaking in a proper manner to his own servant who had just detected him in forgery.


There were no words appropriate to such an occasion.


"It vas a strong order, Mr. Melmotte," said Croll.


Melmotte tried to smile but only grinned.


"I vill not be back in the Lane, Mr. Melmotte."


De leetle money coming to me, you will send it.


And so Mr. Croll took his final leave of his old master after an intercourse which had lasted twenty years.

And so Mr. Croll took his final leave of his old master after twenty years.


We may imagine that Herr Croll found his spirits to be oppressed and his capacity for business to be obliterated by his patron's misfortunes rather than by his patron's guilt.


He had merely remarked that the forgery of his own name half-a-dozen times over was a "strong order."


Melmotte opened the bag, and examined the documents one by one.

Melmotte opened the bag, and examined all the documents.


It had been necessary that Marie should sign her name some half-dozen times, and Marie's father had made all the necessary forgeries.


It had been of course necessary that each name should be witnessed;--but here the forger had scamped his work.

It had of course been necessary that each name should be witnessed; but here the forger had


Croll's name he had written five times; but one forged signature he had left unattested!


Again he had aided his own ruin by his own carelessness.

He had aided his own ruin by his carelessness.


One seems inclined to think sometimes that any fool might do an honest business.


But fraud requires a man to be alive and wide awake at every turn!


Melmotte had desired to have the documents back in his own hands, and now he had them.


Did it matter much that Brehgert and Croll both knew the crime which he had committed?


Had they meant to take legal steps against him they would not have returned the forgeries to his own hands.


Brehgert, he thought, would never tell the tale,--unless there should arise some most improbable emergency in which he might make money by telling it; but he was by no means so sure of Croll.

Brehgert, he thought, would never tell the tale; but he was by no means so sure of Croll.


Croll had signified his intention of leaving Melmotte's service, and would therefore probably enter some rival service, and thus become an enemy to his late master.

Croll would probably enter some rival service, and


There could be no reason why Croll should keep the secret.

there could be no reason why he should keep the secret.


Even if he got no direct profit by telling it, he would curry favour by making it known.


But what harm could the telling of such a secret do him?


There had been no fraud; no robbery; no purpose of peculation.


Melmotte, as he thought of this, became almost proud of what he had done, thinking that if the evidence were suppressed the knowledge of the facts could do him no harm.

Melmotte, as he thought of this, became almost proud of what he had done.


But the evidence must be suppressed, and with the view of suppressing it he took the little bag and all the papers down with him to the study.

But the evidence must be suppressed, so he took the bag and all the papers down with him to the study.


Then he ate his breakfast,--and suppressed the evidence by the aid of his gas lamp.

Then he ate his breakfast - and suppressed the evidence by the aid of his gas lamp.


When this was accomplished he hesitated as to the manner in which he would pass his day.

When this was done he hesitated as to how to pass his day.


He had now given up all idea of raising the money for Longestaffe.


He had even considered the language in which he would explain to the assembled gentlemen on the morrow the fact that a little difficulty still presented itself, and that as he could not exactly name a day, he must leave the matter in their hands.

He had even considered the language in which he would explain to the gentlemen on the next day the fact that he must leave the matter in their hands.


For he had resolved that he would not evade the meeting.

For he had resolved not to evade the meeting.


Cohenlupe had gone since he had made his promise, and he would throw all the blame on Cohenlupe.

He would throw all the blame on Cohenlupe.


Everybody knows that when panics arise the breaking of one merchant causes the downfall of another.


But as that must be so, he could do no good by going into the City.

But he could do no good now by going into the City.


His pecuniary downfall had now become too much a matter of certainty to be staved off by his presence; and his personal security could hardly be assisted by it.


He could hardly go to Cuthbert's Court and face Mr. Brehgert!


He would stay at home till it was time for him to go down to the House, and then he would face the world there.


He would dine down at the House, and stand about in the smoking-room with his hat on, and be visible in the lobbies, and take his seat among his brother legislators,--and, if it were possible, rise on his legs and make a speech to them.

he would dine there, and stand about in the smoking-room, and be visible in the lobbies, and take his seat among his brother legislators - and, if it were possible, rise on his legs and make a speech to them.


He was about to have a crushing fall,--but the world should say that he had fallen like a man.

He was about to have a crushing fall - but the world should say that he had fallen like a man.


About eleven his daughter came to him as he sat in the study.


It can hardly be said that he had ever been kind to Marie, but perhaps she was the only person who in the whole course of his career had received indulgence at his hands.

It can hardly be said that he had ever been kind to Marie, but perhaps she was the only person who had ever received indulgence at his hands.


He had often beaten her; but he had also often made her presents and smiled on her, and in the periods of his opulence, had allowed her pocket-money almost without limit.

He had often beaten her; but he had also often made her presents and smiled on her.


Now she had not only disobeyed him, but by most perverse obstinacy on her part had driven him to acts of forgery which had already been detected.

Now she had not only disobeyed him, but by her obstinacy had driven him to acts of forgery.


He had cause to be angry now with Marie if he had ever had cause for anger.


But he had almost forgotten the transaction.


He had at any rate forgotten the violence of his own feelings at the time of its occurrence.

He had at any rate forgotten the violence of his own feelings.


He was no longer anxious that the release should be made, and therefore no longer angry with her for her refusal.


"Papa," she said, coming very gently into the room, "I think that perhaps I was wrong yesterday."

"Papa," she said, "I think that perhaps I was wrong yesterday."


"Of course you were wrong;--but it doesn't matter now."

"Of course you were wrong; but it doesn't matter now."


I don't suppose Lord Nidderdale means to come any more;--and I'm sure I don't care whether he does or not."

I don't suppose Lord Nidderdale means to come any more.


"I was out last night at Lady Julia Goldsheiner's, and he was there.


I'm sure he doesn't mean to come here any more."


I never told him that I cared for him and I never did care for him.


Papa, is there something going to happen?"


Oh, papa, why didn't you let me marry that other man?"


"But he would have had this money that I call my money, and then there would have been enough for us all.


Papa, he would marry me still if you would let him."


"Have you seen him since you went to Liverpool?"


"Then what makes you think he would marry you?"


"He would if I got hold of him and told him.


And there would be plenty of money for us all.


"We could do that just as well without your marrying."


"But I suppose, papa, I am to be considered as somebody.


I don't want after all to run away from London, just as if everybody had turned up their noses at me.


I like him, and I don't like anybody else."

"I like him, Papa, and I don't like anybody else."


"He wouldn't take the trouble to go to Liverpool with you."


I don't mean to say that he's anything particularly grand.


I don't know that anybody is very grand.


There are other things to be thought of now than marriage."


But I want you to remember that the money is mine and not yours.


It may be that much may depend on you, and that I shall have to trust to you for nearly everything.

It may be that I shall have to trust to you for nearly everything.


Do not let me find myself deceived by my daughter."


"I won't,--if you'll let me see Sir Felix Carbury once more."

"I won't - if you'll let me see Sir Felix Carbury once more."


Then the father's pride again reasserted itself and he became angry.


"I tell you, you little fool, that it is out of the question.


Has your mother spoken to you about your jewels?


Get them packed up, so that you can carry them away in your hand if we have to leave this suddenly.

Get them packed up, so that you can carry them away if we have to leave suddenly.


You are an idiot to think of that young man.


As you say, I don't know that any of them are very good, but among them all he is about the worst.

Maybe none of them are very good, but he is about the worst.


That afternoon the page in Welbeck Street came up to Lady Carbury and told her that there was a young lady down-stairs who wanted to see Sir Felix.

That afternoon the servant in Welbeck Street came up to Lady Carbury and told her that there was a young lady downstairs who wanted to see Sir Felix.


At this time the dominion of Sir Felix in his mother's house had been much curtailed.


His latch-key had been surreptitiously taken away from him, and all messages brought for him reached his hands through those of his mother.


The plasters were not removed from his face, so that he was still subject to that loss of self-assertion with which we are told that hitherto dominant cocks become afflicted when they have been daubed with mud.

still had plasters on his face, and was much subdued.


Lady Carbury asked sundry questions about the lady, suspecting that Ruby Ruggles, of whom she had heard, had come to seek her lover.

Lady Carbury asked about the lady, suspecting that it was Ruby Ruggles.


The page could give no special description, merely saying that the young lady wore a black veil.

The servant could say only that the young lady wore a black veil.


Lady Carbury directed that the young lady should be shown into her own presence,--and Marie Melmotte was ushered into the room.

Lady Carbury directed that she be shown up - and Marie Melmotte was ushered into the room.


"I dare say you don't remember me, Lady Carbury," Marie said.

"I dare say you don't remember me, Lady Carbury," she said.


At first Lady Carbury had not recognised her visitor;--but she did so before she replied.


They told me he had been horribly used by a dreadful man in the street."


Now Lady Carbury had heard within the last two days from Mr. Broune that "it was all over" with Melmotte.

Now Lady Carbury had heard from Mr. Broune that "it was all over" with Melmotte.


Broune had declared his very strong belief, his thorough conviction, that Melmotte had committed various forgeries, that his speculations had gone so much against him as to leave him a ruined man, and, in short, that the great Melmotte bubble was on the very point of bursting.

Broune believed that Melmotte had committed various forgeries, and was a ruined man.


"Everybody says that he'll be in gaol before a week is over."


That was the information which had reached Lady Carbury about the Melmottes only on the previous evening.


Lady Carbury, hardly knowing what answer to make, was silent for a while.


"I suppose he told you everything;--didn't he?


You know that we were to have been married?


I loved him very much, and so I do still.


I am not ashamed of coming and telling you."


"I thought it was all off," said Lady Carbury.


Your daughter came to me and was very good to me.


She said that it was all over; but perhaps she was wrong."


It shan't be all over if he will be true."


Lady Carbury was taken greatly by surprise.


It seemed to her at the moment that this young lady, knowing that her own father was ruined, was looking out for another home, and was doing so with a considerable amount of audacity.

It seemed to her that this young lady, knowing that her father was ruined, was boldly looking for another home.


She gave Marie little credit either for affection or for generosity; but yet she was unwilling to answer her roughly.

She gave Marie little credit either for affection or for generosity; yet she was unwilling to answer her roughly.


"I am afraid," she said, "that it would not be suitable."


There is enough for all of us even if papa wanted to live with us;--but it is mine.

There is enough for all of us even if papa wanted to live with us; but it is mine.


It is ever so much;--I don't know how much, but a great deal.


I ain't a bit ashamed to come and tell you, because we were engaged.

I ain't ashamed to come and tell you, because we were engaged.


I know he isn't rich, and I should have thought it would be suitable."


It then occurred to Lady Carbury that if this were true the marriage after all might be suitable.


But how was she to find out whether it was true?


"I understand that your papa is opposed to it," she said.


"Yes, he is;--but papa can't prevent me, and papa can't make me give up the money.

"Yes, he is; but papa can't prevent me, and he can't make me give up the money."


It's ever so many thousands a year, I know.


Lady Carbury was so beside herself with doubts, that she found it impossible to form any decision.

Lady Carbury was beside herself with doubt.


It would be necessary that she should see Mr. Broune.


What to do with her son, how to bestow him, in what way to get rid of him so that in ridding herself of him she might not aid in destroying him,--this was the great trouble of her life, the burden that was breaking her back.

What to do with her son was the great trouble of her life, the burden that was breaking her back.


Now this girl was not only willing but persistently anxious to take her black sheep and to endow him,--as she declared,--with ever so many thousands a year.

Now this girl was not only willing but anxious to take her black sheep and to endow him with thousands a year.


If the thousands were there,--or even an income of a single thousand a year,--then what a blessing would such a marriage be!

If the thousands were there - or even a single thousand a year - what a blessing would such a marriage be!


Sir Felix had already fallen so low that his mother on his behalf would not be justified in declining a connection with the Melmottes because the Melmottes had fallen.


To get any niche in the world for him in which he might live with comparative safety would now be to her a heaven-sent comfort.


"Tell him I am here and that I have said that I will forgive him everything, and that I love him still, and that if he will be true to me, I will be true to him."

"Tell him I am here and that I will forgive him everything, and that I love him still, and that if he will be true to me, I will be true to him."


"I couldn't go down to her," said Sir Felix, "with my face all in this way."


Besides, I don't believe about her money.


That was the real reason why I didn't go to Liverpool."


"I think I would see her if I were you, Felix.


We could find out to a certainty about her fortune.


It is evident at any rate that she is very fond of you."


"What's the use of that, if he is ruined?"

"What's the use of that, if her father is ruined?"


He would not go down to see the girl,--because he could not endure to expose his face, and was ashamed of the wounds which he had received in the street.

He would not go down to see the girl - because he could not bear to expose his face, and was ashamed of his wounds.


As regarded the money he half-believed and half-disbelieved Marie's story.


But the fruition of the money, if it were within his reach, would be far off and to be attained with much trouble; whereas the nuisance of a scene with Marie would be immediate.

But getting the money would be a lot of trouble.


How could he kiss his future bride, with his nose bound up with a bandage?

And how could he kiss his future bride, with his nose bound up with a bandage?


You might send the maid to her to tell her that you couldn't see her again."


But Lady Carbury could not treat the girl after that fashion.


She returned to the drawing-room, descending the stairs very slowly, and thinking what answer she would make.

went very slowly back down to the drawing-room.


"Miss Melmotte," she said, "my son feels that everything has been so changed since he and you last met, that nothing can be gained by a renewal of your acquaintance."

"Miss Melmotte," she said, "my son feels that nothing can be gained by a renewal of your acquaintance."


"Then he is indeed all that they have told me; and I am ashamed that I should have loved him.


I am ashamed;--not of coming here, although you will think that I have run after him.

I am not ashamed of coming here, although you will think that I have run after him.


I don't see why a girl should not run after a man if they have been engaged together.


But I'm ashamed of thinking so much of so mean a person.


I don't think you should be angry with me."


You can forget me now as soon as you please, and I will try to forget him."


Then with a rapid step she walked back to Bruton Street, going round by Grosvenor Square and in front of her old house on the way.

Then with a rapid step she walked back to Bruton Street.


What sort of life should she endeavour to prepare for herself?

What sort of life should she prepare for?


The life that she had led for the last year had been thoroughly wretched.


The poverty and hardship which she remembered in her early days had been more endurable.

The poverty and hardship of her early days had been more endurable.


The servitude to which she had been subjected before she had learned by intercourse with the world to assert herself, had been preferable.


In these days of her grandeur, in which she had danced with princes, and seen an emperor in her father's house, and been affianced to lords, she had encountered degradation which had been abominable to her.

In these days of her grandeur, in which she had danced with princes, and seen an emperor in her father's house, and been affianced to lords, she had encountered degradation.


She had really loved;--but had found out that her golden idol was made of the basest clay.

She had really loved; but had found out that her golden idol was made of the basest clay.


She had then declared to herself that bad as the clay was she would still love it;--but even the clay had turned away from her and had refused her love!

She had declared that bad as the clay was she would still love it; but even the clay had turned away from her and had refused her love!


She was well aware that some catastrophe was about to happen to her father.


Catastrophes had happened before, and she had been conscious of their coming.


But now the blow would be a very heavy blow.

But this blow would be a very heavy blow.


They would again be driven to pack up and move and seek some other city,--probably in some very distant part.

They would need to pack up and move to some other, distant city.


But go where she might, she would now be her own mistress.


That was the one resolution she succeeded in forming before she re-entered the house in Bruton Street.

That was the one resolution she formed before she re-entered the house in Bruton Street.


When Sir Felix Carbury declared to his friends at the Beargarden that he intended to devote the next few months of his life to foreign travel, and that it was his purpose to take with him a Protestant divine,--as was much the habit with young men of rank and fortune some years since,--he was not altogether lying.

When Sir Felix Carbury declared to his friends at the Beargarden that he intended to travel abroad with a clergyman, he was, for once, not lying.


There was indeed a sounder basis of truth than was usually to be found attached to his statements.


That he should have intended to produce a false impression was a matter of course,--and nearly equally so that he should have made his attempt by asserting things which he must have known that no one would believe.


He was going to Germany, and he was going in company with a clergyman, and it had been decided that he should remain there for the next twelve months.

He was indeed going to Germany for the next twelve months.


A representation had lately been made to the Bishop of London that the English Protestants settled in a certain commercial town in the north-eastern district of Prussia were without pastoral aid, and the bishop had stirred himself in the matter.

The Bishop of London had recently decided that a small commercial town in north-eastern Prussia was in need of a minister.


A clergyman was found willing to expatriate himself, but the income suggested was very small.

The income suggested was very small; but


The Protestant English population of the commercial town in question, though pious, was not liberal.


It had come to pass that the "Morning Breakfast Table" had interested itself in the matter, having appealed for subscriptions after a manner not unusual with that paper.

Morning Breakfast Table interested itself in the matter, and appealed for subscriptions


The bishop and all those concerned in the matter had fully understood that if the "Morning Breakfast Table" could be got to take the matter up heartily, the thing would be done.


The heartiness had been so complete that it had at last devolved upon Mr. Broune to appoint the clergyman; and, as with all the aid that could be found, the income was still small, the Rev. Septimus Blake,--a brand snatched from the burning of Rome,--had been induced to undertake the maintenance and total charge of Sir Felix Carbury for a consideration.

 so successfully that it at last devolved upon Mr. Broune to appoint the clergyman.
And so the Rev. Septimus Blake, who took the post, was also induced to undertake the charge of Sir Felix Carbury for a further payment.


Mr. Broune imparted to Mr. Blake all that there was to know about the baronet, giving much counsel as to the management of the young man, and specially enjoining on the clergyman that he should on no account give Sir Felix the means of returning home.

Mr. Broune gave Mr. Blake much counsel about the management of the baronet, who should see as much as possible of German life at modest expense; and Mr. Broune emphasised that the clergyman should on no account give Sir Felix the means of returning home


It was evidently Mr. Broune's anxious wish that Sir Felix should see as much as possible of German life, at a comparatively moderate expenditure, and under circumstances that should be externally respectable if not absolutely those which a young gentleman might choose for his own comfort or profit;--but especially that those circumstances should not admit of the speedy return to England of the young gentleman himself.


Lady Carbury had at first opposed the scheme.


Terribly difficult as was to her the burden of maintaining her son, she could not endure the idea of driving him into exile.

She could not endure the idea of driving her son into exile.


But Mr. Broune was very obstinate, very reasonable, and, as she thought, somewhat hard of heart.

But Mr. Broune was very obstinate, and, she thought, hard-hearted.


For in those days the great editor, when in presence of Lady Carbury, differed very much from that Mr. Broune who used to squeeze her hand and look into her eyes.

For in those days Mr. Broune no longer squeezed her hand and looked into her eyes.


His manner with her had become so different that she regarded him as quite another person.

His manner had become so different that she regarded him as quite another person.


She hardly dared to contradict him, and found herself almost compelled to tell him what she really felt and thought.


"Do you mean to let him eat up everything you have to your last shilling, and then go to the workhouse with him?"

"Do you mean to let him eat up everything you have to your last shilling?"


"Oh, my friend, you know how I am struggling!


"It is because I know how you are struggling that I find myself compelled to say anything on the subject.


What hardship will there be in his living for twelve months with a clergyman in Prussia?


What better chance can he have of being weaned from the life he is leading?"


Why should any girl with money throw herself away upon him?"


Lady Carbury, you must let me tell you that all that is not only foolish but wrong.


If you keep him here you will help to ruin him, and will certainly ruin yourself.

if you keep him here you will help to ruin him, and will certainly ruin yourself.


Indeed, as Sir Felix had himself assented, it was almost impossible that she should not do so.


Perhaps Mr. Broune's greatest triumph was due to the talent and firmness with which he persuaded Sir Felix to start upon his travels.

And Mr. Broune was equally firm in persuading Sir Felix to start upon his travels.


"Your mother," said Mr. Broune, "has made up her mind that she will not absolutely beggar your sister and herself in order that your indulgence may be prolonged for a few months.

"Your mother," said Mr. Broune, "will not beggar herself to indulge you.


She cannot make you go to Germany of course.

She cannot make you go to Germany, of course.


But she can turn you out of her house, and, unless you go, she will do so."


"I don't think she ever said that, Mr. Broune."


But I have said it for her in her presence; and she has acknowledged that it must necessarily be so.


You may take my word as a gentleman that it will be so.


If you take her advice 175 a year will be paid for your maintenance;--but if you remain in England not a shilling further will be paid."

If you go, 175 a year will be paid for your maintenance; but if you remain in England you will not get a shilling."


Not a tradesman would give him credit for a coat or a pair of boots.


The key of the door had been taken away from him.


The very page treated him with contumely.


There was no prospect of amusement for him during the coming autumn or winter.

There was no prospect of amusement during the coming


He did not anticipate much excitement in Eastern Prussia, but he thought that any change must be a change for the better.

months; and he thought that any change must be for the better.


He assented, therefore, to the proposition made by Mr. Broune, was duly introduced to the Rev. Septimus Blake, and, as he spent his last sovereign on a last dinner at the Beargarden, explained his intentions for the immediate future to those friends at his club who would no doubt mourn his departure.

He assented, therefore, and was duly introduced to the Rev. Septimus Blake.


Mr. Blake and Mr. Broune between them did not allow the grass to grow under their feet.


Before the end of August Sir Felix, with Mr. and Mrs. Blake and the young Blakes, had embarked from Hull for Hamburgh,--having extracted at the very hour of parting a last five-pound note from his foolish mother.

Before the end of August Sir Felix, with Mr. and Mrs. Blake and the young Blakes, had embarked from Hull for Hamburg - having extracted at the very hour of parting a last five-pound note from his foolish mother.


"It will be just enough to bring him home," said Mr. Broune with angry energy when he was told of this.


But Lady Carbury, who knew her son well, assured him that Felix would be restrained in his expenditure by no such prudence as such a purpose would indicate.

But Lady Carbury assured him that Felix would


"It will be gone," she said, "long before they reach their destination."

have spent the sum long before they reached their destination.


"Then why the deuce should you give it him?"


Mr. Broune's anxiety had been so intense that he had paid half a year's allowance in advance to Mr. Blake out of his own pocket.

said Mr. Broune, whose anxiety had been so intense that he had paid half a year's allowance in advance to Mr. Blake out of his own pocket.


Indeed, he had paid various sums for Lady Carbury,--so that that unfortunate woman would often tell herself that she was becoming subject to the great editor, almost like a slave.


He came to her, three or four times a week, at about nine o'clock in the evening, and gave her instructions as to all that she should do.

; and he came three or four evenings a week, and gave her instructions as to all that she should do.


"I wouldn't write another novel if I were you," he said.


This was hard, as the writing of novels was her great ambition, and she had flattered herself that the one novel which she had written was good.

This was hard, as she had flattered herself that the one novel which she had written was good.


Mr. Broune's own critic had declared it to be very good in glowing language.

Mr. Broune's own critic had reviewed it in glowing language


The "Evening Pulpit" had of course abused it,--because it is the nature of the "Evening Pulpit" to abuse.

, although the Evening Pulpit had of course abused it.


So she had argued with herself, telling herself that the praise was all true, whereas the censure had come from malice.


After that article in the "Breakfast Table," it did seem hard that Mr. Broune should tell her to write no more novels.


She looked up at him piteously but said nothing.


"I don't think you'd find it would answer," said Mr. Broune.


Of course you can do it as well as a great many others.


"I don't think Mr. Leadham would hold out to you very high hopes;--I don't, indeed.


"I think I would turn to something else."


"It is so very hard to get paid for what one does."


To this Mr. Broune made no immediate answer; but, after sitting for a while, almost in silence, he took his leave.

To this Mr. Broune made no reply; but, after sitting for a while in silence, he took his leave.


On that very morning Lady Carbury had parted from her son.


She was soon about to part from her daughter, and she was very sad.


She felt that she could hardly keep up that house in Welbeck Street for herself, even if her means permitted it.

She felt that she could hardly keep up that house in Welbeck Street for herself.


Perhaps the bitterest drop in her cup had come from those words of Mr. Broune forbidding her to write more novels.


After all, then, she was not a clever woman,--not more clever than other women around her!


That very morning she had prided herself on her coming success as a novelist, basing all her hopes on that review in the "Breakfast Table."

That very morning she had prided herself on her coming success as a novelist, basing her hopes on the review in the Breakfast Table.


Now, with that reaction of spirits which is so common to all of us, she was more than equally despondent.


He would not thus have crushed her without a reason.


Though he was hard to her now,--he who used to be so soft,--he was very good.


It did not occur to her to rebel against him.


After what he had said, of course there would be no more praise in the "Breakfast Table,"--and, equally of course, no novel of hers could succeed without that.

After what he had said, there would be no more praise in the Breakfast Table, - and no novel of hers could succeed without that.


The more she thought of him, the more omnipotent he seemed to be.


The more she thought of herself, the more absolutely prostrate she seemed to have fallen from those high hopes with which she had begun her literary career not much more than twelve months ago.


On the next day he did not come to her at all, and she sat idle, wretched, and alone.

On the next day he did not come, and she sat idle and wretched.


She could not interest herself in Hetta's coming marriage, as that marriage was in direct opposition to one of her broken schemes.

She could not interest herself in Hetta's coming marriage.


She had not ventured to confess so much to Mr. Broune, but she had in truth written the first pages of the first chapter of a second novel.

She had not ventured to confess so much to Mr. Broune, but she had in truth written the first pages of a second novel.


It was impossible now that she should even look at what she had written.

It was impossible now to even look at what she had written.


She spent the evening quite alone; for Hetta was staying down in Suffolk, with her cousin's friend, Mrs. Yeld, the bishop's wife; and as she thought of her life past and her life to come, she did, perhaps, with a broken light, see something of the error of her ways, and did, after a fashion, repent.

She spent the evening quite alone; for Hetta was staying down in Suffolk, with the bishop's wife; and as she thought of her life past and her life to come, she did, perhaps, see something of the error of her ways, and did, after a fashion, repent.


It was all "leather or prunello," as she said to herself;--it was all vanity,--and vanity,--and vanity!


What real enjoyment had she found in anything?


She had only taught herself to believe that some day something would come which she would like;--but she had never as yet in truth found anything to like.

She had taught herself to believe that some day something would come which she would like; but she had never yet in truth found anything to like.


It had all been in anticipation,--but now even her anticipations were at an end.

It had all been in anticipation, but now even her anticipations were at an end.


Mr. Broune had sent her son away, had forbidden her to write any more novels,--and had been refused when he had asked her to marry him!


The next day he came to her as usual, and found her still very wretched.

The next day Mr. Broune came, and found her still very wretched.


"I can't afford to keep it; and in truth I shall not want it.


I don't in the least know where to go, but I don't think that it much signifies.

I don't know where to go, but I don't think that it much signifies.


"You wouldn't think of going out of London."


I suppose I had better go wherever I can live cheapest."


"I should be sorry that you should be settled where I could not see you," said Mr. Broune plaintively.


You have been more kind to me than anybody.


If I stay in London I can live only in some miserable lodgings.


I know you will laugh at me, and tell me that I am wrong; but my idea is that I shall follow Felix wherever he goes, so that I may be near him and help him when he needs help.

I know you tell me I am wrong; but my idea is that I shall follow Felix wherever he goes, so that I may help him when he needs help.


There is nobody else that I can do any good to."


"I want you," said Mr. Broune, very quietly.


There is nothing makes one so good as goodness;--nothing binds your friend to you so firmly as the acceptance from him of friendly actions.


You say you want me, because I have so sadly wanted you.

You say you want me, because I have so sadly needed you.


When I go you will simply miss an almost daily trouble, but where shall I find a friend?"


"When I said I wanted you, I meant more than that, Lady Carbury.


Two or three months ago I asked you to be my wife.


You declined, chiefly, if I understood you rightly, because of your son's position.

You declined, chiefly, I understood, because of your son's position.


That has been altered, and therefore I ask you again.


I have quite convinced myself,--not without some doubts, for you shall know all; but, still, I have quite convinced myself,--that such a marriage will best contribute to my own happiness.

I have convinced myself - not without some doubts, for you shall know all; but, still, I have convinced myself that such a marriage will make me happy,


I do not think, dearest, that it would mar yours."


This was said with so quiet a voice and so placid a demeanour, that the words, though they were too plain to be misunderstood, hardly at first brought themselves home to her.

This was said so quietly and placidly that the words hardly at first brought themselves home to her.


Of course he had renewed his offer of marriage, but he had done so in a tone which almost made her feel that the proposition could not be an earnest one.

She could not feel his offer was in earnest.


It was not that she believed that he was joking with her or paying her a poor insipid compliment.


When she thought about it at all, she knew that it could not be so.


Her opinion of herself was so poor, she had become so sick of her own vanities and littlenesses and pretences, that she could not understand that such a man as this should in truth want to make her his wife.

Her opinion of herself was so poor, she had become so sick of her own vanities and pretences, that she could not understand that he should in truth want to make her his wife.


At this moment she thought less of herself and more of Mr. Broune than either perhaps deserved.


She sat silent, quite unable to look him in the face, while he kept his place in his arm-chair, lounging back, with his eyes intent on her countenance.

She sat silent, quite unable to look him in the face.


"Well," he said; "what do you think of it?


I never loved you better than I did for refusing me before, because I thought that you did so because it was not right that I should be embarrassed by your son."


"That was the reason," she said, almost in a whisper.


"But I shall love you better still for accepting me now,--if you will accept me."


The long vista of her past life appeared before her eyes.


The ambition of her youth which had been taught to look only to a handsome maintenance, the cruelty of her husband which had driven her to run from him, the further cruelty of his forgiveness when she returned to him; the calumny which had made her miserable, though she had never confessed her misery; then her attempts at life in London, her literary successes and failures, and the wretchedness of her son's career;--there had never been happiness, or even comfort, in any of it.

The ambition of her youth which had been taught to look only for money, the cruelty of her husband which had driven her to run from him, the further cruelty of his forgiveness when she returned; the calumny which had made her miserable; then her attempts at life in London, her literary successes and failures, and the wretchedness of her son's career - there had never been happiness, or even comfort, in any of it.


Even when her smiles had been sweetest her heart had been heaviest.