Mr. Montague comes quite regular to see her;--not so regular as he ought, though.

Mr. Montague comes quite regular to see her; not so regular as he ought, though.


When gentlemen are fixed as they're to be married, they never are regular afterwards.

When gentlemen are fixed to be married, they never are regular afterwards.


I wonder whether it'll be the same with you?"


Oh, he'd been regular enough, if I'd let him; he'd been like clockwork,--only the slowest clock out.

Oh, he'd been regular as clockwork if I let him - only the slowest clock out.


But Mr. Montague has been and told the Squire as he saw me.

But Mr. Montague has told the Squire as he saw me, and


I ain't done nothing wrong, and he can't send for the police to have me took back to Sheep's Acre.


I ain't one of those, Felix, as don't mind about their characters,--so don't you think it.

I ain't one of those as don't mind about their characters.


"But aunt will be letting on about my being out late o'nights; I know she will.

"But aunt will be letting on about my being out late o'nights.


But it won't do to go on like that, you know,--will it?

But it won't do to go on like that always, will it?"


You don't want it to go on always like that;--do you?"


Of course, Felix, I like to be with you.


But I have to mind them brats all the day, and to be doing the bedrooms.


"Because I wouldn't have John Crumb, I didn't mean to be a bad girl.


But what'll I do, if everybody turns again me?


Felix was not at all anxious to hear what aunt Pipkin might have to say upon such an occasion.


She ain't such a fool as to think that I'm out at these hours to sing psalms with a lot of young women.


She says that whoever it is ought to speak out his mind.

She says that whoever it is ought to speak out.


A girl has to mind herself, though she's ever so fond of a young man."


Sir Felix sucked his cigar and then took a long drink of brandy and water.

Sir Felix took a long drink of brandy and water.


Having emptied the beaker before him, he rapped for the waiter and called for another.


He intended to avoid the necessity of making any direct reply to Ruby's importunities.

intending to avoid making any reply to Ruby.


He was going to New York very shortly, and looked on his journey thither as an horizon in his future beyond which it was unnecessary to speculate as to any farther distance.


He had not troubled himself to think how it might be with Ruby when he was gone.

he had not troubled himself to think how it might be with Ruby when he was gone.


He had not even considered whether he would or would not tell her that he was going, before he started.

He had not even considered whether he would tell her that he was going.


It was not his fault that she had come up to London.


She was an "awfully jolly girl," and he liked the feeling of the intrigue better perhaps than the girl herself.

He liked the intrigue better perhaps than the girl herself.


But he assured himself that he wasn't going to give himself any "d----d trouble."

But he told himself that he wasn't going to give himself any trouble


The idea of John Crumb coming up to London in his wrath had never occurred to him,--or he would probably have hurried on his journey to New York instead of delaying it, as he was doing now.

; and the idea of John Crumb coming to London in his wrath had never occurred to him.


"Let's go in and have a dance," he said.


Ruby was very fond of dancing,--perhaps liked it better than anything in the world.


It was heaven to her to be spinning round the big room with her lover's arm tight round her waist, with one hand in his and her other hanging over his back.

It was delightful to be spinning round the room with her lover's arm tight round her waist.


She loved the music, and loved the motion.


Her ear was good, and her strength was great, and she never lacked breath.


She could spin along and dance a whole room down, and feel at the time that the world could have nothing to give better worth having than that;--and such moments were too precious to be lost.

She could spin along and dance a whole room down, and feel that the world could hold nothing better.


She went and danced, resolving as she did so that she would have some answer to her question before she left her lover on that night.

So she went and danced, resolving to have some answer to her question before she left her lover that night.


"You'll see me as far as the Angel, won't you?"


Of course he was ready to see her as far as the Angel.


"Just say what you have said all along."


"I've said nothing all along,--just to oblige you, Felix.


He was silent for about a minute, meditating his answer.


"If you bother me I shall cut it, you know."


Can't you wait till I am ready to say something?"


"Waiting will be the ruin o' me, if I wait much longer.


Where am I to go, if Mrs. Pipkin won't have me no more?"


"John Crumb has more respect for me nor you.


He'd make me his wife to-morrow, and only be too happy."

He'd make me his wife tomorrow, and be only too happy."


"I didn't tell you to come away from him," said Sir Felix.


You told me as I was to come up to London when I saw you at Sheepstone Beeches;--didn't you?

You told me as I was to come up to London when I saw you at Sheepstone Beeches; didn't you?


And you told me you loved me;--didn't you?

And you told me you loved me; didn't you?


And that if I wanted anything you'd get it done for me;--didn't you?"

And that if I wanted anything you'd get it done for me; didn't you?"


I can give you a couple of sovereigns, if that's what it is."


"No it isn't;--and I won't have your money.


I want you to say whether you mean to marry me.


As to the additional lie which Sir Felix might now have told, that would have been nothing to him.

An additional lie would have been nothing to Felix.


He was going to New York, and would be out of the way of any trouble; and he thought that lies of that kind to young women never went for anything.

He was going to New York, out of the way of any trouble; and he thought that lies of that kind to young women never mattered.


Young women, he thought, didn't believe them, but liked to be able to believe afterwards that they had been deceived.

Young women didn't believe them, but liked to be able to believe afterwards that they had been deceived.


It wasn't the lie that stuck in his throat, but the fact that he was a baronet.


It was in his estimation "confounded impudence" on the part of Ruby Ruggles to ask to be his wife.

He felt it was "confounded impudence" by Ruby Ruggles to ask to be his wife.


He did not care for the lie, but he did not like to seem to lower himself by telling such a lie as that at her dictation.


She stopped in the street and looked at him.


This was a state of things of which she had never dreamed.


She could imagine that a man should wish to put it off, but that he should have the face to declare to his young woman that he never meant to marry at all, was a thing that she could not understand.


What business had such a man to go after any young woman?


"And what do you mean that I'm to do, Sir Felix?"


"Just go easy, and not make yourself a bother."


I'm to be carrying on with you, and nothing to come of it; but for you to tell me that you don't mean to marry, never at all!

I'm to be carrying on with you, and nothing to come of it; but for you to tell me that you don't mean to marry!


"Don't you see lots of old bachelors about, Ruby?"


But he don't come asking girls to keep him company."

If he came asking a girl to keep him company


"If he did he'd marry her out of hand,--because he's a gentleman.

, he'd marry her - because he's a gentleman."


He never said a word to a girl,--not to do her any harm, I'm sure," and Ruby began to cry.


"You mustn't come no further now, and I'll never see you again--never!

"You mustn't come no further now, and I'll never see you again - never!


I think you're the falsest young man, and the basest, and the lowest-minded that I ever heard tell of.

I think you're the falsest young man, and the basest, that I ever heard tell of.


I know there are them as don't keep their words.


Or they gets to like others better; or there ain't nothing to live on.


But for a young man to come after a young woman, and then say, right out, as he never means to marry at all, is the lowest-spirited fellow that ever was.


I never read of such a one in none of the books.


In her passion she was as good as her word, and escaped from him, running all the way to her aunt's door.


There was in her mind a feeling of anger against the man, which she did not herself understand, in that he would incur no risk on her behalf.

There was in her mind an anger against him, which she did not herself understand, that he would take no risk on her behalf.


He would not even make a lover's easy promise, in order that the present hour might be made pleasant.

He would not even make a lover's easy promise to make the evening pleasant.


Ruby let herself into her aunt's house, and cried herself to sleep with a child on each side of her.

Ruby let herself into her aunt's house, and cried herself to sleep.


She had begged Mrs. Pipkin to attend the door, and had asked her to declare, should any gentleman ask for Ruby Ruggles, that Ruby Ruggles was out.

Ruby had begged Mrs. Pipkin to tell any gentleman callers that she was out


Mrs. Pipkin had not refused to do so; but, having heard sufficient of Roger Carbury to imagine the cause which might possibly bring him to the house, and having made up her mind that Ruby's present condition of independence was equally unfavourable to the lodging-house and to Ruby herself, she determined that the Squire, if he did come, should see the young lady.

; but Mrs. Pipkin, having heard something of Roger Carbury, decided that the Squire should see the young lady.


When therefore Ruby was called into the little back parlour and found Roger Carbury there, she thought that she had been caught in a trap.

When therefore Ruby was called into the little back parlour and found Roger there, she thought that she had been caught in a trap.


She had been very cross all the morning.


Though in her rage she had been able on the previous evening to dismiss her titled lover, and to imply that she never meant to see him again, now, when the remembrance of the loss came upon her amidst her daily work,--when she could no longer console herself in her drudgery by thinking of the beautiful things that were in store for her, and by flattering herself that though at this moment she was little better than a maid of all work in a lodging-house, the time was soon coming in which she would bloom forth as a baronet's bride,--now in her solitude she almost regretted the precipitancy of her own conduct.

Though in her rage she had been able on the previous evening to dismiss Felix, now she almost regretted it.


Could it be that she would never see him again;--that she would dance no more in that gilded bright saloon?

Could it be that she would never see him again - that she would dance no more in that gilded bright saloon?


And might it not be possible that she had pressed him too hard?


A baronet of course would not like to be brought to book, as she could bring to book such a one as John Crumb.

A baronet would not like to be brought to book.


But yet,--that he should have said never;--that he would never marry!

But to have said that he would never marry!


Looking at it in any light, she was very unhappy, and this coming of the Squire did not serve to cure her misery.


Roger was very kind to her, taking her by the hand, and bidding her sit down, and telling her how glad he was to find that she was comfortably settled with her aunt.

Roger was very kind to her, taking her by the hand, and telling her how glad he was to find her comfortably settled with her aunt.


"We were all alarmed, of course, when you went away without telling anybody where you were going."


"Grandfather 'd been that cruel to me that I couldn't tell him."

"Grandfather'd been that cruel to me that I couldn't tell him."


"He wanted you to keep your word to an old friend of yours."


"To pull me all about by the hairs of my head wasn't the way to make a girl keep her word;--was it, Mr. Carbury?

"To pull me about by my hair wasn't the way to make a girl keep her word; was it, Mr. Carbury?


That's what he did, then;--and Sally Hockett, who is there, heard it.


I've been good to grandfather, whatever I may have been to John Crumb; and he shouldn't have treated me like that.

I've been good to grandfather, and he shouldn't have treated me like that."


No girl 'd like to be pulled about the room by the hairs of her head, and she with her things all off, just getting into bed."


The Squire had no answer to make to this.


That old Ruggles should be a violent brute under the influence of gin and water did not surprise him.

That old Ruggles should be a violent brute under the influence of gin did not surprise him.


And the girl, when driven away from her home by such usage, had not done amiss in coming to her aunt.

And the girl had not done amiss in coming to her aunt.


But Roger had already heard a few words from Mrs. Pipkin as to Ruby's late hours, had heard also that there was a lover, and knew very well who that lover was.

But Roger had already heard from Mrs. Pipkin about Ruby's late hours, and a lover, and knew who that lover was.


He also was quite familiar with John Crumb's state of mind.


John Crumb was a gallant, loving fellow who might be induced to forgive everything, if Ruby would only go back to him; but would certainly persevere, after some slow fashion of his own, and "see the matter out," as he would say himself, if she did not go back.

knew that John Crumb was a gallant, loving fellow who might forgive everything if Ruby would only go back to him; but would certainly persevere, after his slow fashion, and "see the matter out" if she did not go back.


"As you found yourself obliged to run away," said Roger, "I'm glad that you should be here; but you don't mean to stay here always?"

"I'm glad that you should be here," said Roger; "but you don't mean to stay here always?"


You don't want to be always your aunt's maid."


"It would be very odd if you did, when you may be the wife of such a man as Mr. Crumb."


I don't like Mr. Crumb, and I never will like him."

I don't like him and I never will like him."


"Now look here, Ruby; I have come to speak to you very seriously, and I expect you to hear me.

"Now look here, Ruby; I have come to speak to you very seriously.


Nobody can make you marry Mr. Crumb, unless you please."


"But I fear you have given him up for somebody else, who certainly won't marry you, and who can only mean to ruin you."


"A girl has to look to herself, and I mean to look to myself."


"I'm glad to hear you say so, but being out at night with such a one as Sir Felix Carbury is not looking to yourself.

"I'm glad to hear you say so, but being out at night with Sir Felix Carbury is not looking to yourself.


That means going to the devil head foremost."


"I ain't a going to the devil," said Ruby, sobbing and blushing.


"But you will, if you put yourself into the hands of that young man.

"But you will, if you put yourself into the hands of that bad young man.


He's my own cousin, and yet I'm obliged to tell you so.


He has no more idea of marrying you than I have; but were he to marry you, he could not support you.

He has no idea of marrying you, and if he did, he could not support you.


He is ruined himself, and would ruin any young woman who trusted him.


I'm almost old enough to be your father, and in all my experience I never came across so vile a young man as he is.

Though he is my cousin, I never came across so vile a young man as he is.


He would ruin you and cast you from him without a pang of remorse.

He would ruin you and cast you away without a pang of remorse.


Ruby had now given way altogether, and was sobbing with her apron to her eyes in one corner of the room.

Ruby was sobbing with her apron to her eyes.


"That's what Sir Felix Carbury is," said the Squire, standing up so that he might speak with the more energy, and talk her down more thoroughly.


"And if I understand it rightly," he continued, "it is for a vile thing such as he, that you have left a man who is as much above him in character, as the sun is above the earth.

"And it is for that vile man that you have left a man who is as much above him in character, as the sun is above the earth.


You think little of John Crumb because he does not wear a fine coat."


"I don't care about any man's coat," said Ruby; "but John hasn't ever a word to say, was it ever so."

"I don't care about any man's coat," said Ruby; "but John hasn't ever a word to say."


[Illustration: "I don't care about any man's coat."]


He loves you after that fashion that he wants to make you happy and respectable, not to make you a bye-word and a disgrace."

He wants to make you happy and respectable, not to disgrace you.


Ruby struggled hard to make some opposition to the suggestion, but found herself to be incapable of speech at the moment.


"He thinks more of you than of himself, and would give you all that he has.


If you were once married to John Crumb, would any one then pull you by the hairs of your head?

If you were once married to John Crumb, would anyone then pull you by the hair?


Would there be any want then, or any disgrace?"


"No disgrace in going about at midnight with such a one as Felix Carbury?

"No disgrace in going about at midnight with Felix Carbury?


You are not a fool, and you know that it is disgraceful.


If you are not unfit to be an honest man's wife, go back and beg that man's pardon."

If you are fit to be an honest man's wife, go back and beg that man's pardon."


"Oh, Ruby, if you knew how highly I respect that man, and how lowly I think of the other; how I look on the one as a noble fellow, and regard the other as dust beneath my feet, you would perhaps change your mind a little."

"Ruby, if you knew how highly I respect him, and how lowly I think of the other; how I look on the one as a noble fellow, and regard the other as dust beneath my feet, you would perhaps change your mind."


His words did have their effect, though the poor girl struggled against the conviction that was borne in upon her.

His words had their effect, though the poor girl struggled against it.


She had never expected to hear any one call John Crumb noble.

She had never expected to hear anyone call John Crumb noble.


But she had never respected any one more highly than Squire Carbury, and he said that John Crumb was noble.

She respected no one more highly than Squire Carbury.


Amidst all her misery and trouble she still told herself that it was but a dusty, mealy,--and also a dumb nobility.

Amidst all her misery she still told herself that it was but a dusty, dumb nobility.


"I'll tell you what will take place," continued Roger.


"Mr. Crumb won't put up with this you know."

"Mr. Crumb won't put up with this, you know," continued Roger.


Unless it be to take you in his arms and press you to his heart, he wants to do nothing to you.

Unless it be to take you in his arms, he wants to do nothing to you.


Do you think he'd injure you if he could?


You don't know what a man's love really means, Ruby.


But he could do something to somebody else.


How do you think it would be with Felix Carbury, if they two were in a room together and nobody else by?"

How do you think it would be with Felix Carbury, if they two met?"


"If two men have equal pluck, strength isn't much needed.


One is a brave man, and the other--a coward.

"One is a brave man, and the other a coward.


"He's your own cousin, and I don't know why you should say everything again him."


You know it as well as I do myself;--and you're throwing yourself away, and throwing the man who loves you over,--for such a fellow as that!

You know it as well as I do; and you're throwing yourself away, and throwing over the man who loves you - for such a fellow as that!


Go back to him, Ruby, and beg his pardon."


"I've spoken to Mrs. Pipkin, and while you're here she will see that you don't keep such hours any longer.

"I've spoken to Mrs. Pipkin, and while you're here she will see that you don't keep such late hours any longer.


You tell me that you're not disgraced, and yet you are out at midnight with a young blackguard like that!


I've said what I've got to say, and I'm going away.


If you want money to go home, I will let you have it.


Take my advice at least in this;--do not see Sir Felix Carbury any more."

Take my advice: do not see Sir Felix Carbury any more."


If he had failed to impress her with admiration for John Crumb, he had certainly been efficacious in lessening that which she had entertained for Sir Felix.

If he had failed to impress her with admiration for John Crumb, he had certainly succeeded in lessening her admiration for Sir Felix.


Lord Nidderdale had half consented to renew his suit to Marie Melmotte.


He had at any rate half promised to call at Melmotte's house on the Sunday with the object of so doing.

, and had agreed to call at Melmotte's house on Sunday.


As far as that promise had been given it was broken, for on the Sunday he was not seen in Bruton Street.

However, he did not go to Bruton Street.


Though not much given to severe thinking, he did feel that on this occasion there was need for thought.


His father's property was not very large.


His father and his grandfather had both been extravagant men, and he himself had done something towards adding to the family embarrassments.

His father and his grandfather had both been extravagant, and he had added to their debts.


It had been an understood thing, since he had commenced life, that he was to marry an heiress.


In such families as his, when such results have been achieved, it is generally understood that matters shall be put right by an heiress.

In such families as his, it is generally understood that matters shall be put right by marrying an heiress.


It has become an institution, like primogeniture, and is almost as serviceable for maintaining the proper order of things.


Rank squanders money; trade makes it;--and then trade purchases rank by re-gilding its splendour.

Rank squanders money; trade makes it; and then trade purchases rank.


The arrangement, as it affects the aristocracy generally, is well understood, and was quite approved of by the old marquis--so that he had felt himself to be justified in eating up the property, which his son's future marriage would renew as a matter of course.

The arrangement is well understood, and was so approved of by the old marquis that he had felt himself justified in eating up the property, which his son's future marriage would renew as a matter of course.


Nidderdale himself had never dissented, had entertained no fanciful theory opposed to this view, had never alarmed his father by any liaison tending towards matrimony with any undowered beauty;--but had claimed his right to "have his fling" before he devoted himself to the redintegration of the family property.

Nidderdale himself had never dissented; but had claimed his right to "have his fling" before he married.


His father had felt that it would be wrong and might probably be foolish to oppose so natural a desire.

His indulgent father had felt that it would be foolish to oppose so natural a desire


He had regarded all the circumstances of "the fling" with indulgent eyes.


But there arose some little difference as to the duration of the fling, and the father had at last found himself compelled to inform his son that if the fling were carried on much longer it must be done with internecine war between himself and his heir.

; but there arose some difference as to the duration of the fling, and the father had at last informed his son that if the fling were carried on much longer it would mean war between himself and his heir.


Nidderdale, whose sense and temper were alike good, saw the thing quite in the proper light.

Nidderdale, whose sense and temper were good,


He assured his father that he had no intention of "cutting up rough," declared that he was ready for the heiress as soon as the heiress should be put in his way, and set himself honestly about the task imposed on him.

assured his father that he did not want that, and was ready for the heiress as soon as she should be put in his way.


This had all been arranged at Auld Reekie Castle during the last winter, and the reader knows the result.

The alliance with Marie Melmotte had been arranged at Auld Reekie Castle during the last winter, and the reader knows the result.


But the affair had assumed abnormal difficulties.


Perhaps the Marquis had been wrong in flying at wealth which was reputed to be almost unlimited, but which was not absolutely fixed.


A couple of hundred thousand pounds down might have been secured with greater ease.


But here there had been a prospect of endless money,--of an inheritance which might not improbably make the Auld Reekie family conspicuous for its wealth even among the most wealthy of the nobility.


The old man had fallen into the temptation, and abnormal difficulties had been the result.


Latterly two difficulties had culminated above the others.


The young lady preferred another gentleman, and disagreeable stories were afloat, not only as to the way in which the money had been made, but even as to its very existence.

arisen: the young lady preferred another gentleman, and disagreeable stories were afloat, not only about the way in which the money had been made, but even as to its very existence.


The Marquis, however, was a man who hated to be beaten.

The Marquis, however, hated to be beaten.


As far as he could learn from inquiry, the money would be there,--or, at least, so much money as had been promised.

As far as he could learn, the money would be there.


A considerable sum, sufficient to secure the bridegroom from absolute shipwreck,--though by no means enough to make a brilliant marriage,--had in truth been already settled on Marie, and was, indeed, in her possession.

A considerable sum had in truth been already settled on Marie.


As to that, her father had armed himself with a power of attorney for drawing the income,--but had made over the property to his daughter, so that in the event of unforeseen accidents on 'Change, he might retire to obscure comfort, and have the means perhaps of beginning again with whitewashed cleanliness.

Her father had armed himself with a power of attorney for drawing the income, but had signed over the property to his daughter, so that in the event of unforeseen accidents he might retire to obscure comfort.


When doing this, he had doubtless not anticipated the grandeur to which he would soon rise, or the fact that he was about to embark on seas so dangerous that this little harbour of refuge would hardly offer security to his vessel.


Marie had been quite correct in her story to her favoured lover.

Marie had been quite correct in her story to Felix Carbury.


And the Marquis's lawyer had ascertained that if Marie ever married before she herself had restored this money to her father, her husband would be so far safe,--with this as a certainty and the immense remainder in prospect.

And the Marquis's lawyer had found that if Marie married before she had restored this money to her father, her husband would have this amount as a certainty, with the immense remainder in prospect.


The Marquis had determined to persevere.

Therefore the Marquis was determined to persevere.


Mr. Melmotte had been asked to depone the title-deeds, and had promised to do so as soon as the day of the wedding should have been fixed with the consent of all the parties.

Mr. Melmotte had been asked to depone the title-deeds, and had promised to do so as soon as the day of the wedding was fixed.


The Marquis's lawyer had ventured to express a doubt; but the Marquis had determined to persevere.


The reader will, I trust, remember that those dreadful misgivings, which are I trust agitating his own mind, have been borne in upon him by information which had not as yet reached the Marquis in all its details.


That absurd elopement, which Melmotte declared really to mean nothing,--the romance of a girl who wanted to have one little fling of her own before she settled down for life,--was perhaps his strongest objection.

That absurd elopement was perhaps his strongest objection.


Sir Felix, no doubt, had not gone with her; but then one doesn't wish to have one's intended wife even attempt to run off with any one but oneself.

Sir Felix had not gone with her; but one doesn't wish to have one's intended wife even attempt to run off with anyone but oneself.


"She'll be sick of him by this time, I should say," his father said to him.

"She'll be sick of him by this time," his father said.


"What does it matter, if the money's there?"


The Marquis seemed to think that the escapade had simply been the girl's revenge against his son for having made his arrangements so exclusively with Melmotte, instead of devoting himself to her.

The Marquis seemed to think that the escapade had simply been the girl's revenge against his son for having made his arrangements exclusively with Melmotte, instead of devoting himself to her.


Nidderdale acknowledged to himself that he had been remiss.

Nidderdale acknowledged that he had been remiss.


He told himself that she was possessed of more spirit than he had thought.

She had more spirit than he had thought.


By the Sunday evening he had determined that he would try again.

By the Sunday evening he had resolved to try again.


He had expected that the plum would fall into his mouth.

Previously, he had expected that the plum would fall into his mouth.


He would now stretch out his hand to pick it.


On the Monday he went to the house in Bruton Street, at lunch time.

On the Monday he went to Bruton Street at lunch time.


Melmotte and the two Grendalls had just come over from their work in the square, and the financier was full of the priest's visit to him.

Melmotte and the two Grendalls had just come over from their work in Grosvenor Square, and the financier was full of the priest's visit.


Madame Melmotte was there, and Miss Longestaffe, who was to be sent for by her friend Lady Monogram that afternoon,--and, after they had sat down, Marie came in.

Madame Melmotte was there, and Miss Longestaffe. After they had sat down, Marie came in.


Nidderdale got up and shook hands with her,--of course as though nothing had happened.

Nidderdale got up and shook hands with her, as though nothing had happened.


Marie, putting a brave face upon it, struggling hard in the midst of very real difficulties, succeeded in saying an ordinary word or two.

Marie, putting a brave face upon it, with a struggle succeeded in saying an ordinary word or two.


A girl who has run away with her lover and has been brought back again by her friends, must for a time find it difficult to appear in society with ease.


But when a girl has run away without her lover,--has run away expecting her lover to go with her, and has then been brought back, her lover not having stirred, her state of mind must be peculiarly harassing.

When a girl has run away expecting her lover to go with her, and has then been brought back, her lover not having stirred, her state of mind must be peculiarly harassing.


But Marie's courage was good, and she ate her lunch even though she sat next to Lord Nidderdale.

But Marie's courage was good, and she ate her lunch sitting next to Lord Nidderdale.


Melmotte was very gracious to the young lord.


"Did you ever hear anything like that, Nidderdale?"


he said, speaking of the priest's visit.


I shouldn't wonder if he had been sent by the Archbishop of Westminster."


Why don't we have an Archbishop of Westminster when they've got one?


I shall have to see to that when I'm in the House.


I suppose there is a bishop, isn't there, Alfred?"


"There's a Dean, I know, for I called on him.


He told me flat he wouldn't vote for me.


I thought all those parsons were Conservatives.


It didn't occur to me that the fellow had come from the Archbishop, or I would have been more civil to him."


"Mad as a hatter;--nothing else," said Lord Alfred.

"Mad as a hatter, nothing else," said Lord Alfred.


It would have been as good as a play to you."


"I suppose you didn't ask him to the dinner, sir."


"D---- the dinner, I'm sick of it," said Melmotte, frowning.

"D___ the dinner, I'm sick of it," said Melmotte, frowning.


Those fellows will never get along if they are not looked after.


Ladies, I shall expect you to be ready at exactly a quarter before eight.

Ladies, I shall expect you to be ready at exactly a quarter to eight.


His Imperial Majesty is to arrive at eight precisely, and I must be there to receive him.

His Imperial Majesty is to arrive at eight, and I must be there to receive him.


You, Madame, will have to receive your guests in the drawing-room."


The ladies went up-stairs, and Lord Nidderdale followed them.

The ladies went upstairs, and Lord Nidderdale followed them.


Miss Longestaffe soon took her departure, alleging that she couldn't keep her dear friend Lady Monogram waiting for her.

Miss Longestaffe departed to her dear friend Lady Monogram.


Then there fell upon Madame Melmotte the duty of leaving the young people together, a duty which she found a great difficulty in performing.

There fell upon Madame Melmotte the duty of leaving the young people together


After all that had happened, she did not know how to get up and go out of the room.

; but she did not know how to get up and go out of the room.


As regarded herself, the troubles of these troublous times were becoming almost too much for her.

The troubles of these times were almost too much for her.


She had no pleasure from her grandeur,--and probably no belief in her husband's achievements.

She had no pleasure from her grandeur, and probably no belief in her husband's achievements.


It was her present duty to assist in getting Marie married to this young man, and that duty she could only do by going away.


But she did not know how to get out of her chair.


She expressed in fluent French her abhorrence of the Emperor, and her wish that she might be allowed to remain in bed during the whole evening.


She liked Nidderdale better than any one else who came there, and wondered at Marie's preference for Sir Felix.

She liked Nidderdale, and wondered at Marie's preference for Sir Felix


Lord Nidderdale assured her that nothing was so easy as kings and emperors, because no one was expected to say anything.


She sighed and shook her head, and wished again that she might be allowed to go to bed.


Marie, who was by degrees plucking up her courage, declared that though kings and emperors were horrors as a rule, she thought an Emperor of China would be good fun.


Then Madame Melmotte also plucked up her courage, rose from her chair, and made straight for the door.

plucked up her courage, rose from her chair, and made for the door.


Madame Melmotte, putting her handkerchief up to her face, declared that she was being absolutely destroyed by a toothache.

Madame Melmotte, putting her handkerchief up to her face, declared that she had a toothache.


"I must see if I can't do something for her," said Marie, hurrying to the door.


But Lord Nidderdale was too quick for her, and stood with his back to it.


"Your mother has gone on purpose that I may speak to you," said his lordship.

"Your mother has gone on purpose so that I may speak to you," he said.


"Why should you grudge me the opportunity?"


Marie returned to her chair and again seated herself.


She also had thought much of her own position since her return from Liverpool.


Why had he not come since her return, and, at any rate, endeavoured to see her?

Why had he not tried to see her since her return?


Why had he made no attempt to write to her?


Had it been her part to do so, she would have found a hundred ways of getting at him.


She absolutely had walked inside the garden of the square on Sunday morning, and had contrived to leave a gate open on each side.

She had waited in the square, and left the gates open


Her father had told her that he had not gone to Liverpool--and had assured her that he had never intended to go.

Her father had told her that he had not gone to Liverpool - that he had never intended to go.


Melmotte had been very savage with her about the money, and had loudly accused Sir Felix of stealing it.

Melmotte had been very savage about the money.


The repayment he never mentioned,--a piece of honesty, indeed, which had showed no virtue on the part of Sir Felix.


But even if he had spent the money, why was he not man enough to come and say so?

But even if Felix had spent the money, why was he not man enough to come and say so?


Marie could have forgiven that fault,--could have forgiven even the gambling and the drunkenness which had caused the failure of the enterprise on his side, if he had had the courage to come and confess to her.

Marie could have forgiven that fault - could have forgiven even the gambling and drunkenness which had caused the failure, if he had had the courage to come and confess to her.


What she could not forgive was continued indifference,--or the cowardice which forbade him to show himself.

What she could not forgive was indifference - or cowardice.


She had more than once almost doubted his love, though as a lover he had been better than Nidderdale.

She had more than once almost doubted his love.


But now, as far as she could see, he was ready to consent that the thing should be considered as over between them.

Now, as far as she could see, he was ready to consent that the thing was over between them.


She had more than once almost determined to do so.


But then she had reflected that if he really loved her he would come to her.

; but if he really loved her he would come to her.


She was quite ready to run away with a lover, if her lover loved her; but she would not fling herself at a man's head.

She would not fling herself at a man's head.


Therefore she had done nothing,--beyond leaving the garden gates open on the Sunday morning.

Therefore she had done nothing, beyond leaving the garden gates open on the Sunday morning.


She also felt, she knew not why, that the present turmoil of her father's life might be brought to an end by some dreadful convulsion.


No girl could be more anxious to be married and taken away from her home.


If Sir Felix did not appear again, what should she do?


She had seen enough of life to be aware that suitors would come,--would come as long as that convulsion was staved off.


She did not suppose that her journey to Liverpool would frighten all the men away.


But she had thought that it would put an end to Lord Nidderdale's courtship; and when her father had commanded her, shaking her by the shoulders, to accept Lord Nidderdale when he should come on Sunday, she had replied by expressing her assurance that Lord Nidderdale would never be seen at that house any more.


On the Sunday he had not come; but here he was now, standing with his back to the drawing-room door, and cutting off her retreat with the evident intention of renewing his suit.

yet here he was now, standing with his back to the door, and cutting off her retreat.


She was determined at any rate that she would speak up.


"I don't know what you should have to say to me, Lord Nidderdale."


"Why shouldn't I have something to say to you?"


Besides, I've told you ever so often, my lord.


I thought a gentleman would never go on with a lady when the lady has told him that she liked somebody else better."


"Perhaps I don't believe you when you tell me."


I think I've given you reason to believe it, at any rate."


"You can't be very fond of him now, I should think."


"I don't want to make any allusion to anything that's unpleasant, Miss Melmotte."

"I don't want to make any allusion to anything unpleasant, Miss Melmotte."


Of course I went to Liverpool, and of course papa had me brought back again."

Of course I went to Liverpool, and papa had me brought back again."


"I don't think, my lord, that that can be any business of yours."

"I don't think, my lord, that that is any business of yours."


"But I think that it is, and I'll tell you why.


You might as well let me say what I've got to say,--out at once."

You might as well let me say what I've got to say."


"You may say what you like, but it can't make any difference."


"You knew me before you knew him, you know."

"You were engaged to me before you knew him, you know."


If it comes to that, I knew ever so many people before I knew you."


Or, rather, your father and my father broke it off for us."


"If we had cared for each other they couldn't have broken it off.


Nobody in the world could break me off as long as I felt that he really loved me;--not if they were to cut me in pieces.

Nobody in the world could break me off as long as I felt that he really loved me.


You did it just because your father told you.


You never cared for me a bit more than for the old woman at the crossing.


You thought I didn't understand;--but I did.


And now you've come again;--because your father has told you again.

And now you've come again; because your father has told you again.


"There's a great deal of truth in what you say."


"I suppose you are a lord, and therefore I shall call you so.


I never called you anything else when they pretended that we were to be married, and you never asked me.


I never even knew what your name was till I looked it out in the book after I had consented."


"There is truth in what you say;--but it isn't true now.


How was I to love you when I had seen so little of you?


"Then you needn't;--for it isn't any good."

"Then you needn't," she said, "for it isn't any good."


"I do love you now, and I think you'd find that I should be truer to you than that fellow who wouldn't take the trouble to go down to Liverpool with you."

"I should be truer to you than that fellow who wouldn't take the trouble to go down to Liverpool."


But I did not come here to say anything about that."


She asked the question with an altered tone and an altered face.

She asked the question with an altered tone.


"If you really know, you might as well tell me."


"No, Marie;--that's just what I ought not to do.

"No, Marie; that's just what I ought not to do.


Do you really in your heart believe that he means to come back to you?"

Do you really believe that he means to come back to you?"


I know that you are more good-natured than he is.


I don't care what he is; I'll be true to him.


You oughtn't to go on like that because papa and mamma let you come here.


I love Sir Felix Carbury better--than any person--in all the world.

I love Sir Felix Carbury better - than any person - in all the world.


I don't know whether you call that kind, but it's true."


Good-bye, my lord; and don't come any more."


You'll find the difference between me and him yet."


So he took his leave, and as he sauntered away he thought that upon the whole he had prospered, considering the extreme difficulties under which he had laboured in carrying on his suit.

So he left, and as he sauntered away he thought that upon the whole he had prospered, considering the extreme difficulties in carrying on his suit.


"She's quite a different sort of girl from what I took her to be," he said to himself.

"She's quite a different sort of girl from what I thought," he said to himself.


Marie, when the interview was over, walked about the room almost in dismay.

Marie, after this interview, walked about the room almost in dismay.


It was borne in upon her by degrees that Sir Felix Carbury was not at all points quite as nice as she had thought him.

It was borne in upon her that Sir Felix Carbury was not as nice as she had thought him.


Of his beauty there was no doubt; but then she could trust him for no other good quality.

Of his beauty there was no doubt; but she could have trust in no other good quality.


She had quite believed Lord Nidderdale when he said that he knew the cause that had kept Sir Felix from going to Liverpool.


And she had believed him, too, when he said that it was not his business to tell her.


But the reason, let it be what it might, must, if known, be prejudicial to her love.


Lord Nidderdale was, she thought, not at all beautiful.


He had a common-place, rough face, with a turn-up nose, high cheek bones, no especial complexion, sandy-coloured whiskers, and bright laughing eyes,--not at all an Adonis such as her imagination had painted.

He had a commonplace, rough face, with a turned-up nose, high cheek bones, sandy-coloured whiskers, and bright laughing eyes - not at all an Adonis.


But if he had only made love at first as he had attempted to do it now, she thought that she would have submitted herself to be cut in pieces for him.

But if he had only made love at first as he had attempted to do it now, she thought that she would have allowed herself to be cut in pieces for him.


"And now I have something to say to you."


Mr. Broune as he thus spoke to Lady Carbury rose up to his feet and then sat down again.

Mr. Broune as he spoke stood up, then sat down again


There was an air of perturbation about him which was very manifest to the lady, and the cause and coming result of which she thought that she understood.


"The susceptible old goose is going to do something highly ridiculous and very disagreeable."

"The susceptible old goose is going to do something highly ridiculous and disagreeable


It was thus that she spoke to herself of the scene that she saw was prepared for her, but she did not foresee accurately the shape in which the susceptibility of the "old goose" would declare itself.


"Lady Carbury," said Mr. Broune, standing up a second time, "we are neither of us so young as we used to be."


"No, indeed;--and therefore it is that we can afford to ourselves the luxury of being friends.

"No, indeed; and that is why we can afford the luxury of being friends.


Nothing but age enables men and women to know each other intimately."


This speech was a great impediment to Mr. Broune's progress.


It was evidently intended to imply that he at least had reached a time of life at which any allusion to love would be absurd.

It was evidently intended to imply that he had reached a time of life at which love would be absurd.


And yet, as a fact, he was nearer fifty than sixty, was young of his age, could walk his four or five miles pleasantly, could ride his cob in the park with as free an air as any man of forty, and could afterwards work through four or five hours of the night with an easy steadiness which nothing but sound health could produce.

And yet he was nearer fifty than sixty, was young for his age, could walk his four or five miles pleasantly, and work through four or five hours of the night with the easy steadiness of sound health.


Mr. Broune, thinking of himself and his own circumstances, could see no reason why he should not be in love.

Mr. Broune could see no reason why he should not be in love.


"I hope we know each other intimately at any rate," he said somewhat lamely.


"Oh, yes;--and it is for that reason that I have come to you for advice.

"Oh, yes; that is why I have come to you for advice."


Had I been a young woman I should not have dared to ask you."


But it has nothing to do with my present purpose.


When I said that we were neither of us so young as we once were, I uttered what was a stupid platitude,--a foolish truism."

"When I said that we were neither of us so young as we once were, I uttered a stupid platitude."


"I did not think so," said Lady Carbury smiling.

"I did not think so," said Lady Carbury, smiling.


"Or would have been, only that I intended something further."


Mr. Broune had got himself into a difficulty and hardly knew how to get out of it.


"I was going on to say that I hoped we were not too old to--love."

"I was going on to say that I hoped we were not too old to - love."


What did he mean by making such an ass of himself?


This was worse even than the kiss, as being more troublesome and less easily pushed on one side and forgotten.

This was more troublesome even than the kiss.


It may serve to explain the condition of Lady Carbury's mind at the time if it be stated that she did not even at this moment suppose that the editor of the "Morning Breakfast Table" intended to make her an offer of marriage.

Lady Carbury even now had no inkling that the editor of the Breakfast Table intended to make her an offer of marriage.


She knew, or thought she knew, that middle-aged men are fond of prating about love, and getting up sensational scenes.


The falseness of the thing, and the injury which may come of it, did not shock her at all.


Had she known that the editor professed to be in love with some lady in the next street, she would have been quite ready to enlist the lady in the next street among her friends that she might thus strengthen her own influence with Mr. Broune.


For herself such make-belief of an improper passion would be inconvenient, and therefore to be avoided.


But that any man, placed as Mr. Broune was in the world,--blessed with power, with a large income, with influence throughout all the world around him, courted, fted, feared and almost worshipped,--that he should desire to share her fortunes, her misfortunes, her struggles, her poverty and her obscurity, was not within the scope of her imagination.

That Mr. Broune, blessed with power, a large income, and influence - that he should desire to share her fortunes and misfortunes, her struggles and her poverty, was not within the scope of her imagination.


There was a homage in it, of which she did not believe any man to be capable,--and which to her would be the more wonderful as being paid to herself.


She thought so badly of men and women generally, and of Mr. Broune and herself as a man and a woman individually, that she was unable to conceive the possibility of such a sacrifice.

She thought so badly of men and women generally, that she was unable to conceive the possibility of such a sacrifice.


"Mr. Broune," she said, "I did not think that you would take advantage of the confidence I have placed in you to annoy me in this way."


After much thought I have determined to ask you to be my wife.


That I should be--annoyed, and more than annoyed by your refusal, is a matter of course.

That I should be - annoyed by your refusal, is a matter of course.


That I ought to expect such annoyance is perhaps too true.


But you can extricate yourself from the dilemma only too easily."

But you can extricate yourself from the dilemma easily."


The word "wife" came upon her like a thunder-clap.


It at once changed all her feelings towards him.


She felt sure that she never could love him.


Had it been on the cards with her to love any man as a lover, it would have been some handsome spendthrift who would have hung from her neck like a nether millstone.

Had it been on the cards for her to love any man, it would have been some handsome spendthrift.


This man was a friend to be used,--to be used because he knew the world.

This man was a friend, to be used because he knew the world.


And now he gave her this clear testimony that he knew as little of the world as any other man.

And now he showed that he knew as little of the world as any other man.


Mr. Broune of the "Daily Breakfast Table" asking her to be his wife!


But mixed with her other feelings there was a tenderness which brought back some memory of her distant youth, and almost made her weep.

But mixed with these feelings was a tenderness which brought back some memory of her distant youth, and almost made her weep.


That a man,--such a man,--should offer to take half her burdens, and to confer upon her half his blessings!

That such a man should offer to take half her burdens!


She had looked upon the man as all intellect, alloyed perhaps by some passionless remnants of the vices of his youth; and now she found that he not only had a human heart in his bosom, but a heart that she could touch.

She had looked upon him as all intellect, and now she found that he not only had a human heart in his bosom, but a heart that she could touch.


It was necessary that she should answer him--and to her it was only natural that she should at first think what answer would best assist her own views without reference to his.

It was necessary that she should answer him.


It did not occur to her that she could love him; but it did occur to her that he might lift her out of her difficulties.


What a benefit it would be to her to have a father, and such a father, for Felix!

What a benefit it would be to her to have such a father for Felix!


How easy would be a literary career to the wife of the editor of the "Morning Breakfast Table!"

How easy would be a literary career to the wife of the editor of the Morning Breakfast Table!


And then it passed through her mind that somebody had told her that the man was paid 3,000 a year for his work.


Would not the world, or any part of it that was desirable, come to her drawing-room if she were the wife of Mr. Broune?

Would not the world come to her drawing-room if she were the wife of Mr. Broune?


It all passed through her brain at once during that minute of silence which she allowed herself after the declaration was made to her.

It all passed through her brain at once during that minute of silence which she allowed herself.


But other ideas and other feelings were present to her also.


Perhaps the truest aspiration of her heart had been the love of freedom which the tyranny of her late husband had engendered.


Once she had fled from that tyranny and had been almost crushed by the censure to which she had been subjected.

Once, she had fled from that tyranny and had been almost crushed by the censure that followed.


Then her husband's protection and his tyranny had been restored to her.


It had been accompanied by many hopes never as yet fulfilled, and embittered by many sorrows which had been always present to her; but still the hopes were alive and the remembrance of the tyranny was very clear to her.

; accompanied by many hopes still unfulfilled, and embittered by many sorrows; but the memory of the tyranny was very clear.


At last the minute was over and she was bound to speak.

The minute was over, and she must speak.


"Mr. Broune," she said, "you have quite taken away my breath.


I never expected anything of this kind."


And now Mr. Broune's mouth was opened, and his voice was free.


"Lady Carbury," he said, "I have lived a long time without marrying, and I have sometimes thought that it would be better for me to go on in the same way to the end.

"Lady Carbury," he said, "I have lived a long time without marrying.


I have worked so hard all my life that when I was young I had no time to think of love.


And, as I have gone on, my mind has been so fully employed, that I have hardly realised the want which nevertheless I have felt.

And my mind has been so fully employed that I have hardly realised the want which nevertheless I have felt.


And so it has been with me till I fancied, not that I was too old for love, but that others would think me so.


As I said at first, perhaps with scant gallantry, you also are not as young as you once were.

As I said, perhaps with little gallantry, you also are not as young as you once were.


But you keep the beauty of your youth, and the energy, and something of the freshness of a young heart.

But you keep the beauty and energy of your youth, and the freshness of a young heart.


I speak with absolute frankness, risking your anger.


I have doubted much before I resolved upon this.


It is so hard to know the nature of another person.


But I think I understand yours;--and if you can confide your happiness with me, I am prepared to intrust mine to your keeping."

But if you can confide your happiness with me, I am prepared to entrust mine to your keeping."


Though endowed with gifts peculiarly adapted for the editing of a daily newspaper, he could have had but little capacity for reading a woman's character when he talked of the freshness of Lady Carbury's young mind!

Though a gifted editor, he showed little capacity for reading a woman's character when he talked of the freshness of Lady Carbury's young mind!


And he must have surely been much blinded by love, before convincing himself that he could trust his happiness to such keeping.

And he must have surely been much blinded by love, in convincing himself that he could trust his happiness to such keeping.


You pay me a great compliment," ejaculated Lady Carbury.


As God is to be my judge it has come upon me like a dream.


I look upon your position as almost the highest in England,--on your prosperity as the uttermost that can be achieved."


"That prosperity, such as it is, I desire most anxiously to share with you."


"You tell me so;--but I can hardly yet believe it.


And then how am I to know my own feelings so suddenly?

How am I to know my own feelings so suddenly?


Marriage as I have found it, Mr. Broune, has not been happy.


I have been wounded in every joint, hurt in every nerve,--tortured till I could hardly endure my punishment.

I have been hurt in every nerve - tortured till I could hardly endure it.


At last I got my liberty, and to that I have looked for happiness."


I have a son and a daughter, Mr. Broune."


I think I prove my devotion to you when I say that I am willing for your sake to encounter the troubles which may attend your son's future career."

I think I prove my devotion to you when I say that I am willing for your sake to encounter the troubles which your son may face."


"Mr. Broune, I love him better,--always shall love him better,--than anything in the world."

"Mr. Broune, I shall always love him better than anything in the world."


This was calculated to damp the lover's ardour, but he probably reflected that should he now be successful, time might probably change the feeling which had just been expressed.

This was calculated to damp the lover's ardour, but he probably reflected that if he were successful, time might change her feelings.


"Mr. Broune," she said, "I am now so agitated that you had better leave me.

"Mr. Broune," she said, "you had better leave me.


The servant is sitting up, and will wonder that you should remain.


I will write to you,--to-morrow; say the day after to-morrow, on Thursday.

"I will write to you - tomorrow; say the day after tomorrow."


I feel that I ought to have been prepared with an answer; but I am so surprised that I have none ready."


He took her hand in his, and kissing it, left her without another word.

He kissed her hand and left without another word.


As he was about to open the front door to let himself out, a key from the other side raised the latch, and Sir Felix, returning from his club, entered his mother's house.

As he was about to let himself out, the front door was opened from the other side, and Sir Felix entered.


The young man looked up into Mr. Broune's face with mingled impudence and surprise.

The young man looked at Mr. Broune with impudence and surprise.


"Halloo, old fellow," he said, "you've been keeping it up late here; haven't you?"

"Halloo, old fellow," he said, "you've been keeping up late, haven't you?"


He was nearly drunk, and Mr. Broune, perceiving his condition, passed him without a word.

He was nearly drunk, and Mr. Broune passed him without a word.


Lady Carbury was still standing in the drawing-room, struck with amazement at the scene which had just passed, full of doubt as to her future conduct, when she heard her son stumbling up the stairs.

Lady Carbury was still standing in the drawing-room, struck with amazement at the proposal and wondering what she should do, when she heard her son stumbling up the stairs.


It was impossible for her not to go out to him.


"Felix," she said, "why do you make so much noise as you come in?"


I shaw shat editor fellow at the door that won't call himself Brown.


And so he stumbled up to bed, and his mother followed him to see that the candle was at any rate placed squarely on the table, beyond the reach of the bed curtains.

And so he stumbled up to bed, and his mother followed him to see that the candle was placed squarely on the table, beyond the reach of the bed curtains.


Mr. Broune as he walked to his newspaper office experienced all those pangs of doubts which a man feels when he has just done that which for days and weeks past he has almost resolved that he had better leave undone.

Mr. Broune as he walked to his newspaper office experienced many pangs of doubt. Would it have been better if he had not spoken?


That last apparition which he had encountered at his lady love's door certainly had not tended to reassure him.

That last apparition at his lady love's door certainly did not reassure him.


What curse can be much greater than that inflicted by a drunken, reprobate son?

What curse can be greater than that inflicted by a drunken son?


The evil, when in the course of things it comes upon a man, has to be borne; but why should a man in middle life unnecessarily afflict himself with so terrible a misfortune?

Why should a man unnecessarily afflict himself with so terrible a misfortune?


Then thousands of other thoughts crowded upon him.


He must have a new house, and new ways; must live under a new dominion, and fit himself to new pleasures.

He must have a new house, and new ways; must fit himself to new pleasures.


Lady Carbury was a handsome woman, and he liked her beauty.

Lady Carbury was a handsome woman, and, he thought, a clever woman.


He regarded her too as a clever woman; and, because she had flattered him, he had liked her conversation.

Because she had flattered him, he had liked her conversation.


He had been long enough about town to have known better,--and as he now walked along the streets, he almost felt that he ought to have known better.

He had been around long enough to know better - and he almost felt that he ought to have known better.


Every now and again he warmed himself a little with the remembrance of her beauty, and told himself that his new home would be pleasanter, though it might perhaps be less free, than the old one.

He warmed himself a little with the remembrance of her beauty, and told himself that his new home would be pleasanter than the old one.


He tried to make the best of it; but as he did so was always repressed by the memory of the appearance of that drunken young baronet.

He tried to make the best of it; but he was repressed by the memory of that drunken young baronet.


Whether for good or for evil, the step had been taken and the thing was done.

Whether for good or for evil, the step had been taken.


It did not occur to him that the lady would refuse him.


All his experience of the world was against such refusal.


Towns which consider, always render themselves.


Ladies who doubt always solve their doubts in the one direction.


Of course she would accept him;--and of course he would stand to his guns.

Of course she would accept him; and of course he would stick to his guns.


As he went to his work he endeavoured to bathe himself in self-complacency; but, at the bottom of it, there was a substratum of melancholy which leavened his prospects.

He tried to feel complacent; but underneath there was a substratum of melancholy.


Lady Carbury went from the door of her son's room to her own chamber, and there sat thinking through the greater part of the night.

Lady Carbury went to her own chamber, and there sat thinking through most of the night.


During these hours she perhaps became a better woman, as being more oblivious of herself, than she had been for many a year.

During these hours she perhaps became a better woman, more oblivious of herself, than she had been for many a year.


It could not be for the good of this man that he should marry her,--and she did in the midst of her many troubles try to think of the man's condition.

It could not be good for this man that he should marry her.


Although in the moments of her triumph,--and such moments were many,--she would buoy herself up with assurances that her Felix would become a rich man, brilliant with wealth and rank, an honour to her, a personage whose society would be desired by many, still in her heart of hearts she knew how great was the peril, and in her imagination she could foresee the nature of the catastrophe which might come.

Although in the moments of her triumph she would buoy herself up with assurances that her Felix would become wealthy and brilliant, still in her heart of hearts she knew how great was the peril of catastrophe.


He would go utterly to the dogs and would take her with him.

He might go utterly to the dogs and take her with him


And whithersoever he might go, to what lowest canine regions he might descend, she knew herself well enough to be sure that whether married or single she would go with him.


Though her reason might be ever so strong in bidding her to desert him, her heart, she knew, would be stronger than her reason.


He was the one thing in the world that overpowered her.


In all other matters she could scheme, and contrive, and pretend; could get the better of her feelings and fight the world with a double face, laughing at illusions and telling herself that passions and preferences were simply weapons to be used.

In all other matters she could scheme, and pretend, and overcome her feelings, telling herself that passions were simply weapons to be used.


But her love for her son mastered her,--and she knew it.

But her love for her son mastered her - and she knew it.


As it was so, could it be fit that she should marry another man?


Even though Felix should bring her to utter ruin, nevertheless she would be and might remain a free woman.


Should the worse come to the worst she thought that she could endure a Bohemian life in which, should all her means have been taken from her, she could live on what she earned.


Though Felix was a tyrant after a kind, he was not a tyrant who could bid her do this or that.


A repetition of marriage vows did not of itself recommend itself to her.

A repetition of marriage vows did not recommend itself to her.


As to loving the man, liking his caresses, and being specially happy because he was near her,--no romance of that kind ever presented itself to her imagination.

As to loving the man, and liking his caresses, she imagined no romance of that kind.


How would it affect Felix and her together,--and Mr. Broune as connected with her and Felix?


If Felix should go to the dogs, then would Mr. Broune not want her.

If Felix should go to the dogs, then Mr. Broune would not want her.


Should Felix go to the stars instead of the dogs, and become one of the gilded ornaments of the metropolis, then would not he and she want Mr. Broune.

Should Felix go to the stars instead of the dogs, then he - and she - would not need Mr. Broune.


It was thus that she regarded the matter.


She thought very little of her daughter as she considered all this.

She thought very little of her daughter in all this.


There was a home for Hetta, with every comfort, if Hetta would only condescend to accept it.

There was a comfortable home for Hetta, if Hetta would only condescend to


Why did not Hetta marry her cousin Roger Carbury and let there be an end of that trouble?


Of course Hetta must live wherever her mother lived till she should marry; but Hetta's life was so much at her own disposal that her mother did not feel herself bound to be guided in the great matter by Hetta's predispositions.

Hetta's life was so much at her own disposal that her mother did not feel herself bound to be guided in this great matter by her wishes.


But she must tell Hetta should she ultimately make up her mind to marry the man, and in that case the sooner this was done the better.

But she must tell Hetta if she decided to marry the man, and the sooner the better.


On that night she did not make up her mind.


Ever and again as she declared to herself that she would not marry him, the picture of a comfortable assured home over her head, and the conviction that the editor of the "Morning Breakfast Table" would be powerful for all things, brought new doubts to her mind.

Even as she declared to herself that she would not marry him, the picture of a comfortable home, and the power of the editor of the Morning Breakfast Table brought doubts to her mind.


But she could not convince herself, and when at last she went to her bed her mind was still vacillating.


The next morning she met Hetta at breakfast, and with assumed nonchalance asked a question about the man who was perhaps about to be her husband.


"Because among my acquaintances in London there is no one so truly kind to me as he is."


"He always seems to me to like to have his own way."


"He has to me that air of selfishness which is so very common with people in London;--as though what he said were all said out of surface politeness."

"I think he has that air of selfishness which is so common with people in London - as though what he said were out of surface politeness."


"I wonder what you expect, Hetta, when you talk of--London people?


Why should not London people be as kind as other people?

"Why should not London people be as kind as other people, Hetta?


I think Mr. Broune is as obliging a man as any one I know.

I think Mr. Broune is as obliging a man as anyone I know.


But if I like anybody, you always make little of him.


The only person you seem to think well of is Mr. Montague."

But the only person you seem to think well of is Mr. Montague."


I never mention Mr. Montague's name if I can help it,--and I should not have spoken of Mr. Broune, had you not asked me."

I never mention Mr. Montague's name if I can help it, and I should not have spoken of Mr. Broune, unless you had asked me."


Roger Carbury when he received the letter from Hetta's mother desiring him to tell her all that he knew of Paul Montague's connection with Mrs. Hurtle found himself quite unable to write a reply.

Roger Carbury, when he received the letter from Hetta's mother asking about Paul Montague and Mrs. Hurtle, was quite unable to write a reply.


He endeavoured to ask himself what he would do in such a case if he himself were not personally concerned.

He asked himself what advice he would give if he were not personally concerned.


What advice in this emergency would he give to the mother and what to the daughter, were he himself uninterested?


He was sure that, as Hetta's cousin and acting as though he were Hetta's brother, he would tell her that Paul Montague's entanglement with that American woman should have forbidden him at any rate for the present to offer his hand to any other lady.

He was sure that, as Hetta's cousin, he would tell her that Montague's entanglement with that American woman should have forbidden him to offer his hand to any other lady.


He thought that he knew enough of all the circumstances to be sure that such would be his decision.


He had seen Mrs. Hurtle with Montague at Lowestoft, and had known that they were staying together as friends at the same hotel.

He had seen them at Lowestoft, and had known that they were staying together as friends at the same hotel.


He knew that she had come to England with the express purpose of enforcing the fulfilment of an engagement which Montague had often acknowledged.

He knew that she had come to England because of the engagement, which Montague had acknowledged.


He knew that Montague made frequent visits to her in London.


He had, indeed, been told by Montague himself that, let the cost be what it might, the engagement should be and in fact had been broken off.

He had, indeed, been told by Montague himself that the engagement had been broken off.


He thoroughly believed the man's word, but put no trust whatever in his firmness.

He believed the man, but put no trust in his firmness


And, hitherto, he had no reason whatever for supposing that Mrs. Hurtle had consented to be abandoned.

; and he had no reason for supposing that Mrs. Hurtle had consented to be abandoned.


What father, what elder brother would allow a daughter or a sister to become engaged to a man embarrassed by such difficulties?


He certainly had counselled Montague to rid himself of the trammels by which he had surrounded himself;--but not on that account could he think that the man in his present condition was fit to engage himself to another woman.

He could not think that the man was at present fit to engage himself to another woman.


But then it had been equally clear to him that he could not, as a man of honour, assist his own cause by telling a tale,--which tale had become known to him as the friend of the man against whom it would have to be told.

But it was equally clear to him that he could not, as a man of honour, assist his own cause by telling a tale against his friend.


He had resolved upon that as he left Montague and Mrs. Hurtle together upon the sands at Lowestoft.


The girl whom he loved had confessed her love for the other man,--that man, who in seeking the girl's love, had been as he thought so foul a traitor to himself!

The girl whom he loved had confessed her love for the other man - who had been, he thought, a foul traitor to himself!


That he would hold himself as divided from the man by a perpetual and undying hostility he had determined.

He regarded himself as divided from Montague by an undying hostility.


That his love for the woman would be equally perpetual he was quite sure.

That his love for the woman would be equally undying he was quite sure.


Already there were floating across his brain ideas of perpetuating his name in the person of some child of Hetta's,--but with the distinct understanding that he and the child's father should never see each other.

Already there were floating across his brain ideas of perpetuating his name in the person of some child of Hetta's - but with the distinct understanding that he and the child's father should never see each other.


No more than twenty-four hours had intervened between the receipt of Paul's letter and that from Lady Carbury,--but during those four-and-twenty hours he had almost forgotten Mrs. Hurtle.


The girl was gone from him, and he thought only of his own loss and of Paul's perfidy.


Then came the direct question as to which he was called upon for a direct answer.


Did he know anything of facts relating to the presence of a certain Mrs. Hurtle in London which were of a nature to make it inexpedient that Hetta should accept Paul Montague as her betrothed lover?


In what words was he to answer such a letter?


If he told the truth as he knew it how was he to secure himself against the suspicion of telling a story against his rival in order that he might assist himself, or at any rate, punish the rival?


As he could not trust himself to write an answer to Lady Carbury's letter he determined that he would go to London.

As he could not trust himself to write an answer to Lady Carbury's letter, he determined to go to London


If he must tell the story he could tell it better face to face than by any written words.


So he made the journey, arrived in town late in the evening, and knocked at the door in Welbeck Street between ten and eleven on the morning after the unfortunate meeting which took place between Sir Felix and John Crumb.

So he made the journey, and knocked at the door in Welbeck Street the morning after the unfortunate meeting between Sir Felix and John Crumb.


The page when he opened the door looked as a page should look when the family to which he is attached is suffering from some terrible calamity.

The servant-boy who opened the door looked as if there had been some terrible calamity.


"My lady" had been summoned to the hospital to see Sir Felix who was,--as the page reported,--in a very bad way indeed.

"My lady" had been summoned to the hospital to see Sir Felix, who was in a very bad way indeed.


The page did not exactly know what had happened, but supposed that Sir Felix had lost most of his limbs by this time.

The boy did not exactly know what had happened, but supposed that Sir Felix had lost most of his limbs by this time.


Yes; Miss Carbury was up-stairs; and would no doubt see her cousin, though she, too, was in a very bad condition; and dreadfully put about.

Miss Carbury was upstairs; and would no doubt see her cousin, though she too was dreadfully upset.


That poor Hetta should be "put about" with her brother in the hospital and her lover in the toils of an abominable American woman was natural enough.


The new trouble always has precedence over those which are of earlier date.


Felix did not come home last night, and this morning there came a man from the hospital in the city to say that he is there."

Felix did not come home last night, and this morning there came a man from the hospital to say that he is there."


"Somebody,--somebody has,--beaten him," said Hetta whimpering.

"Somebody has - beaten him," said Hetta, whimpering.


Then she told the story as far as she knew it.


The messenger from the hospital had declared that the young man was in no danger and that none of his bones were broken, but that he was terribly bruised about the face, that his eyes were in a frightful condition, sundry of his teeth knocked out, and his lips cut open.

The messenger from the hospital had declared that the young man was in no danger and that none of his bones were broken, but that he was terribly bruised about the face, with some of his teeth knocked out, and his lips cut open.


But, the messenger had gone on to say, the house surgeon had seen no reason why the young gentleman should not be taken home.

But the surgeon had seen no reason why the young gentleman should not be taken home.


"And mamma has gone to fetch him," said Hetta.


Hetta had never heard of John Crumb, and simply stared into her cousin's face.

Hetta had never heard of John Crumb, and simply stared at him.


"You have not been told about John Crumb?

"You have not been told about John Crumb."


"Why should John Crumb beat Felix like that?"


"They say, Hetta, that women are the cause of most troubles that occur in the world."

"They say, Hetta, that women are the cause of most troubles in the world."


The girl blushed up to her eyes, as though the whole story of Felix's sin and folly had been told to her.


"If it be as I suppose," continued Roger, "John Crumb has considered himself to be aggrieved and has thus avenged himself."


He is a neighbour of mine and was in love with a girl, with all his heart; and he would have made her his wife and have been good to her.

"John Crumb is a neighbour of mine and was in love with a girl; and he would have made her his wife and have been good to her.


He had a home to offer her, and is an honest man with whom she would have been safe and respected and happy.

He had a home to offer her, and is an honest man with whom she would have been safe and happy.


Your brother saw her and, though he knew the story, though he had been told by myself that this honest fellow had placed his happiness on the girl's love, he thought,--well, I suppose he thought that such a pretty thing as this girl was too good for John Crumb."

Your brother saw her and, though he knew that honest fellow had placed his happiness on the girl's love, he thought - well, I suppose he thought that such a pretty thing as this girl was too good for John Crumb."


"But Felix has been going to marry Miss Melmotte!"


It used to be the way,--to be off with the old love before you are on with the new; but that seems to be all changed now.

It used to be the way - to be off with the old love before you are on with the new; but that seems to be all changed now.


Such fine young fellows as there are now can be in love with two at once.

Today's fine young fellows can be in love with two at once.


That I fear is what Felix has thought;--and now he has been punished."

That I fear is what Felix has thought; and now he has been punished."


I do know that John Crumb had threatened to do this thing, and I felt sure that sooner or later he would be as good as his word.

I do know that John Crumb had threatened this.


If it has been so, who is to blame him?"


Hetta as she heard the story hardly knew whether her cousin, in his manner of telling the story, was speaking of that other man, of that stranger of whom she had never heard, or of himself.

Hetta hardly knew whether her cousin, in his manner of telling this story, was speaking of John Crumb or of himself.


He would have made her his wife and have been good to her.


He was an honest man with whom she would have been safe and respected and happy!

He was an honest man with whom she would have been safe and happy!


He had looked at her while speaking as though it were her own case of which he spoke.


And then, when he talked of the old-fashioned way, of being off with the old love before you are on with the new, had he not alluded to Paul Montague and this story of the American woman?

And then, when he talked of being off with the old love before you are on with the new, had he not alluded to Paul Montague?


But, if so, it was not for Hetta to notice it by words.


He must speak more plainly than that before she could be supposed to know that he alluded to her own condition.


"It seems to me that nothing ever will be happy for us," said Hetta.


She was longing to be told something of Mrs. Hurtle, but she did not as yet dare to ask the question.

She was longing to be told about Mrs. Hurtle, but she did not dare to ask the question.


"I do not know whether to wait for your mother or not," said he after a short pause.


"Pray wait for her if you are not very busy."

"Pray wait for her if you are not busy."


"I came up only to see her, but perhaps she would not wish me to be here when she brings Felix back to the house."

"Perhaps she would not wish me to be here when she brings Felix back to the house."


She would like you always to be here when there are troubles.

She would always like you to be here when there are troubles.


"She has written to you, has she not, about me?"


And, Hetta, Mr. Montague has written to me also."


"He told me that he would," whispered Hetta.


"You do not think that it can have been very kind, do you?

"You do not think that my answer can have been very kind, do you?


I also have something of the feeling of John Crumb, though I shall not attempt to show it after the same fashion."

I have something of the feeling of John Crumb, though I shall not attempt to show it in the same way."


"Did you not say the girl had promised to love that man?"


"I did not say so;--but she had promised.


The girl then was fickle and went back from her word.

The girl was fickle and went back from her word.


I am not justified in thinking even a hard thought of you.


I have never harboured a hard thought of you.


But he,--he has been if possible more false than Felix."

But he - he has been if possible more false than Felix."


Still he was not wishful to tell her the story of Mrs. Hurtle.

Still he did not wish to tell her the story of Mrs. Hurtle.


The treachery of which he was speaking was that which he had thought had been committed by his friend towards himself.

His friend's falseness had been towards himself.


"He should have left the place and never have come near you," said Roger, "when he found how it was likely to be with him.


He owed it to me not to take the cup of water from my lips."


How was she to tell him that the cup of water never could have touched his lips?


And yet if this were the only falsehood of which he had to tell, she was bound to let him know that it was so.


That horrid story of Mrs. Hurtle;--she would listen to that if she could hear it.


But she could not admit that her lover had sinned in loving her.

Hetta could not admit that her lover had sinned in loving her.


"But, Roger," she said--"it would have been the same."

"But, Roger," she said, "the result would have been the same."


I at any rate will not contradict you when you say that it must have been so.

I will not contradict you when you say so.


He was to me as a younger brother,--and he has robbed me of everything.

He was to me as a younger brother - and he has robbed me of everything.


My happiness would have been impossible if Paul had never come home from America.

My happiness would have been impossible even if Paul had never come home from America.


I have told myself so a hundred times, but I cannot therefore forgive him.


Whether you are his wife, or another man's, or whether you are Hetta Carbury on to the end, my feeling to you will be the same.


While we both live, you must be to me the dearest creature living.

you must always be to me the dearest creature living.


"My hostility to him can make no difference in my feeling to you.


I tell you that should you become his wife you will still be my love.

If you become his wife you will still be my love.


As to not coveting,--how is a man to cease to covet that which he has always coveted?


Should I be dying, then I should send for you.


I have no dream of happiness otherwise than as connected with you.


He might have my whole property and I would work for my bread, if I could only have a chance of winning you to share my toils with me."

He might have my whole property and I would work for my bread, if I could only have a chance of winning you."


But still there was no word of Mrs. Hurtle.


"Roger," she said, "I have given it all away now.


"If he were unworthy would your heart never change?"


"How can you trust me to answer such a question?


He has been ungrateful to me as one man hardly ever is to another.


He has turned all my sweetness to gall, all my flowers to bitter weeds; he has choked up all my paths.


And now you ask me whether he is unworthy!


"If you thought him worthy you would tell me," she said, getting up and taking him by the arm.

"If you thought him worthy you would tell me," she said, taking him by the arm.


Go to some one else, not to me;" and he tried with gentleness but tried ineffectually to disengage himself from her hold.

He tried gently but ineffectually to remove her hand.


"Roger, if you knew him to be good you would tell me,--because you yourself are so good.

"Roger, if you knew him to be good you would tell me, because you yourself are so good.


Even though you hated him you would say so.


It would not be you to leave a false impression even against your enemies.


I ask you because, however it may be with you, I know I can trust you.

I ask you because I know I can trust you.


I can be nothing else to you, Roger; but I love you as a sister loves, and I come to you as a sister comes to a brother.

I can be nothing else to you, Roger; but I love you as a sister loves a brother.


Tell me;--is there any reason why he should not also have my hand?"

Tell me; is there any reason why he should not also have my hand?"


You will not try to save me though you know that I am in danger?


"I had not heard her name when he parted from me.


I did not even know that such a woman lived.


Is it true that he has promised to marry her?


Felix told me of her, and told me also that you knew.

before Felix told me about her, and told me also that you knew.


But I cannot trust Felix as I would trust you.


And mamma says that it is so;--but mamma also bids me ask you.


"And she has been,--a friend of Paul's?"

"And she has been - a friend of Paul's?"


"Whatever be the story, Hetta, you shall not hear it from me.


I will say neither evil nor good of the man except in regard to his conduct to myself.


Send for him and ask him to tell you the story of Mrs. Hurtle as it concerns himself.

Send for him and ask him to tell you about Mrs. Hurtle.


I do not think he will lie, but if he lies you will know that he is lying."

I do not think he will lie, but if he lies you will know."


You ask me to be your brother; but I cannot put myself in the place of your brother.

you ask me to be your brother; but I cannot put myself in a brother's place.


I tell you plainly that I am your lover, and shall remain so.


Your brother would welcome the man whom you would choose as your husband.


I can never welcome any husband of yours.


I think if twenty years were to pass over us, and you were still Hetta Carbury, I should still be your lover,--though an old one.

If twenty years were to pass, and you were still Hetta Carbury, I should still be your lover - though an old one.


What is now to be done about Felix, Hetta?"


I think sometimes that it will break mamma's heart."


"Your mother makes me angry by her continual indulgence."


You would not have her turn him into the street?"

"But you would not have her turn him into the street?"


Yes; you had better go down and let your mother know that I am here.

You had better go down and let your mother know that I am here."


They will perhaps take him up to bed, so that I need not see him."


Hetta did as she was bid, and met her mother and her brother in the hall.

Hetta went down and met her mother and her brother in the hall.


Felix having the full use of his arms and legs was able to descend from the cab, and hurry across the pavement into the house, and then, without speaking a word to his sister, hid himself in the dining-room.

Felix was able to descend from the cab, and hurry across the pavement into the house, where he hid himself in the dining-room.


His face was strapped up with plaister so that not a feature was visible; and both his eyes were swollen and blue; part of his beard had been cut away, and his physiognomy had altogether been so treated that even the page would hardly have known him.

His face was bandaged; both his eyes were swollen and blue, and part of his beard had been cut away.


"Roger is up-stairs, mamma," said Hetta in the hall.


"Has he heard about Felix;--has he come about that?"


"He has heard only what I have told him.


Where shall I go with this wretched boy?"


"Hurt;--of course he is hurt; horribly hurt.


They say that he will be dreadfully scarred for ever.

They say that he will be dreadfully scarred.


But oh, Hetta;--what am I to do with him?

But oh, Hetta; what am I to do with him?"


On this occasion Roger was saved from the annoyance of any personal intercourse with his cousin Felix.


The unfortunate one was made as comfortable as circumstances would permit in the parlour, and Lady Carbury then went up to her cousin in the drawing-room.

was made as comfortable as possible in the parlour, and Lady Carbury then went up to her cousin Roger in the drawing-room.


She had learned the truth with some fair approach to accuracy, though Sir Felix himself had of course lied as to every detail.

She had learned the truth, though Sir Felix himself had of course lied about every detail.


There are some circumstances so distressing in themselves as to make lying almost a necessity.


When a young man has behaved badly about a woman, when a young man has been beaten without returning a blow, when a young man's pleasant vices are brought directly under a mother's eyes, what can he do but lie?

When a young man's pleasant vices are brought directly under a mother's eyes, what can he do but lie?


How could Sir Felix tell the truth about that rash encounter?


But the policeman who had brought him to the hospital had told all that he knew.

But the policeman who had taken him to the hospital had told her all that he knew


The man who had thrashed the baronet had been called Crumb, and the thrashing had been given on the score of a young woman called Ruggles.


So much was known at the hospital, and so much could not be hidden by any lies which Sir Felix might tell.


And when Sir Felix swore that a policeman was holding him while Crumb was beating him, no one believed him.


In such cases the liar does not expect to be believed.


He knows that his disgrace will be made public, and only hopes to be saved from the ignominy of declaring it with his own words.


I know that I have done much to make him what he is."


As she said this the tears were running down her poor worn cheeks.


This was a question which Roger found it almost impossible to answer.


If he had spoken his thoughts he would have declared that Sir Felix had reached an age at which, if a man will go headlong to destruction, he must go headlong to destruction.


Thinking as he did of his cousin he could see no possible salvation for him.


"Perhaps I should take him abroad," he said.


"He would have less opportunity for vice, and fewer means of running you into debt."

"He would have less opportunity for vice, and for running you into debt."


Lady Carbury, as she turned this counsel in her mind, thought of all the hopes which she had indulged,--her literary aspirations, her Tuesday evenings, her desire for society, her Brounes, her Alfs, and her Bookers, her pleasant drawing-room, and the determination which she had made that now in the afternoon of her days she would become somebody in the world.

Lady Carbury thought of all the hopes she had indulged - her literary aspirations, her Tuesday evenings, her Brounes, her Alfs, and her Bookers, her pleasant drawing-room, and her determination to become somebody in the world.


Must she give it all up and retire to the dreariness of some French town because it was no longer possible that she should live in London with such a son as hers?

Must she give it all up and retire to some dreary French town because of her son?


There seemed to be a cruelty in this beyond all cruelties that she had hitherto endured.

This seemed to be crueller than all cruelties that she had hitherto endured.


This was harder even than those lies which had been told of her when almost in fear of her life she had run from her husband's house.


But yet she must do even this if in no other way she and her son could be together.

Yet she must do this if in no other way could she and her son be together.


"Yes," she said, "I suppose it would be so.


I only wish that I might die, so that were an end of it."


"He might go out to one of the Colonies," said Roger.


"Yes;--be sent away that he might kill himself with drink in the bush, and so be got rid of.

"Yes - be sent away to kill himself with drink in the bush.


As the reader knows, Roger Carbury had not latterly held this cousin of his in much esteem.

As the reader knows, Roger had not lately held Lady Carbury in much esteem.


He knew her to be worldly and he thought her to be unprincipled.

He thought her to be worldly and unprincipled.


But now, at this moment, her exceeding love for the son whom she could no longer pretend to defend, wiped out all her sins.

But now her exceeding love for her son wiped out all her sins.


He forgot the visit made to Carbury under false pretences, and the Melmottes, and all the little tricks which he had detected, in his appreciation of an affection which was pure and beautiful.

He forgot all her little tricks in his appreciation of an affection which was pure and beautiful.


"If you like to let your house for a period," he said, "mine is open to you."

"If you would like to let out your house for a period," he said, "mine is open to you.


I can make a home for myself at the cottage.


If you think that would save you you can try it for six months."

If you think that would save you, you can try it for six months."


And, Roger;--what is to be done about Hetta?"

And Roger; what is to be done about Hetta?"


Hetta herself had retreated, leaving Roger and her mother alone together, feeling sure that there would be questions asked and answered in her absence respecting Mrs. Hurtle, which her presence would prevent.

Hetta herself had retreated, so that her mother and Roger could speak freely together.


She wished it could have been otherwise--that she might have been allowed to hear it all herself--as she was sure that the story coming through her mother would not savour so completely of unalloyed truth as if told to her by her cousin Roger.


"Hetta can be trusted to judge for herself," he said.


"How can you say that when she has just accepted this young man?


Is it not true that he is even now living with an American woman whom he has promised to marry?"


"When last he spoke to me about it he declared that the engagement was at an end.


Let her tell him that she has heard of this woman from you, and that it behoves her to know the truth.

Let her tell him that she has heard of this woman from you, and that she needs to know the truth.


He has no longer any place in my friendship.


But I think that if Hetta asks him simply what is the nature of his connexion with Mrs. Hurtle, he will tell her the truth."

But I think that if Hetta asks him, he will tell her the truth."


Roger did not again see Hetta before he left the house, nor did he see his cousin Felix at all.

Roger did not see Hetta again before he returned to Carbury, nor did he see Felix at all.


He had now done all that he could do by his journey up to London, and he returned on that day back to Carbury.


Would it not be better for him, in spite of the protestations which he had made, to dismiss the whole family from his mind?

Would it not be better for him to dismiss the whole family from his mind?


But he might then save himself from a world of cares, and might gradually teach himself to live as though there were no such woman as Hetta Carbury in the world.

He might then save himself from a world of cares, and might gradually teach himself to live as though there were no such woman as Hetta Carbury in the world.


He would not allow himself to believe that this could be right.


The very fact of his love made it a duty to him,--made it almost the first of his duties,--to watch over the interests of her he loved and of those who belonged to her.

The very fact of his love made it his foremost duty to watch over the interests of her he loved, and of those who belonged to her.


But among those so belonging he did not recognise Paul Montague.

But among those who belonged to her, he did not recognise Paul Montague.


It does sometimes occur in life that an unambitious man, who is in no degree given to enterprises, who would fain be safe, is driven by the cruelty of circumstances into a position in which he must choose a side, and in which, though he has no certain guide as to which side he should choose, he is aware that he will be disgraced if he should take the wrong side.

It sometimes happens that an unambitious man is driven into a position in which he must choose a side; and though he does not know which side to choose, he is aware that he will be disgraced if he should make the wrong choice.