But having his own subject before him, with all its dangers, the wild-cat's claws, and the possible fate of the gentleman in Oregon, he could not talk freely on the subjects which she introduced, as had been his wont in former years.


"Do you think I shall ever forget your preferences and dislikings?

"Do you think I shall ever forget your preferences?


Do you recollect telling me about that blue scarf of mine, that I should never wear blue?"


She stretched herself out towards him, waiting for an answer, so that he was obliged to speak.

She waited for an answer, so that he was obliged to speak.


Black is your colour;--black and grey; or white,--and perhaps yellow when you choose to be gorgeous; crimson possibly.

Black is your colour; black and grey; or white, and perhaps yellow when you choose to be gorgeous; crimson possibly.


"I never thought much of it before, but I have taken your word for gospel.


It is very good to have an eye for such things,--as you have, Paul.

It is very good to have an eye for such things, as you have, Paul.


But I fancy that taste comes with, or at any rate forbodes, an effete civilisation."


"I am sorry that mine should be effete," he said smiling.


Civilisation was becoming effete, or at any rate men were, in the time of the great painters; but Savanarola and Galileo were individuals.


You should throw your lot in with a new people.


This railway to Mexico gives you the chance."


All American women I dare say have bad taste in gowns,--and so the vain ones and rich ones send to Paris for their finery; but I think our taste in men is generally good.


We like our philosophers; we like our poets; we like our genuine workmen;--but we love our heroes.


He got up from his chair and walked about the room in an agony of despair.


To be told that he was expected to be a hero at the very moment in his life in which he felt more devoid of heroism, more thoroughly given up to cowardice than he had ever been before, was not to be endured!

To be told that he was expected to be a hero at the very moment when he felt more of a coward than ever before, was not to be endured!


And yet, with what utmost stretch of courage,--even though he were willing to devote himself certainly and instantly to the worst fate that he had pictured to himself,--could he immediately rush away from these abstract speculations, encumbered as they were with personal flattery, into his own most unpleasant, most tragic matter!

And yet how could he immediately rush away from these flattering speculations to his own unpleasant, tragic matter!


It was the unfitness that deterred him and not the possible tragedy.


Nevertheless, through it all, he was sure,--nearly sure,--that she was playing her game, and playing it in direct antagonism to the game which she knew that he wanted to play.

Nevertheless, through it all, he was sure - nearly sure - that she was playing her game, in direct opposition to the game which she knew that he wanted to play.


Would it not be better that he should go away and write another letter?

Would it not be better to go away and write another letter?


In a letter he could at any rate say what he had to say;--and having said it he would then strengthen himself to adhere to it.

In a letter he could say what he had to say.


she asked; still speaking in her most winning way, caressing him with the tones of her voice.


"Do you not like me to say that I would have you be a hero?"


"Winifrid," he said, "I came here with a purpose, and I had better carry it out."


She still leaned forward, but now supported her face on her two hands with her elbows resting on her knees, looking at him intently.

She leaned forward, looking at him intently.


But one would have said that there was only love in her eyes;--love which might be disappointed, but still love.

But there seemed to be only love in her eyes;


The wild cat, if there, was all within, still hidden from sight.

the wild cat, if there, was hidden from sight.


Paul stood with his hands on the back of a chair, propping himself up and trying to find fitting words for the occasion.

Paul stood with his hands on the back of a chair, propping himself up and trying to find fitting words.


You do not know the delight to me of having a few words of pleasant talk to an old friend after the desolation of the last weeks.

You do not know the delight of having a few words of pleasant talk to an old friend after the desolation of the last weeks.


Even her baby cannot supply all the social wants of my life.


I had intended that everything should be sweet to-night.


Oh, Paul, if it was your purpose to tell me of your love, to assure me that you are still my dear, dear friend, to speak with hope of future days, or with pleasure of those that are past,--then carry out your purpose.

Oh, Paul, if it was your purpose to tell me of your love, to assure me that you are still my dear, dear friend, to speak with hope of future days, then do so.


But if it be cruel, or harsh, or painful; if you had come to speak daggers;--then drop your purpose for to-night.

But if you had come to speak cruel daggers, then drop your purpose for


Try and think what my solitude must have been to me, and let me have one hour of comfort."

tonight, and let me have one hour of comfort."


Of course he was conquered for that night, and could only have that solace which a most injurious reprieve could give him.

Of course he was conquered for that night.


"I will not harass you, if you are ill," he said.


It was because I was afraid that I should be really ill that I went to Southend.


The weather is hot, though of course the sun here is not as we have it.


But the air is heavy,--what Mrs. Pipkin calls muggy.

The air is heavy; what Mrs. Pipkin calls muggy.


I was thinking if I were to go somewhere for a week, it would do me good.

I was thinking if I were to go away somewhere for a week, it would do me good.


"That is full of people; is it not?--a fashionable place?"


I want some little place that would be pretty.


Not very far, you know;--not that any place can be very far from here."


Paul, in his John Bull displeasure, suggested Penzance, telling her, untruly, that it would take twenty-four hours.


"Not Penzance then, which I know is your very Ultima Thule;--not Penzance, nor yet Orkney.


Is there no other place,--except Southend?"

Is there no other place, except Southend?"


"There is Cromer in Norfolk,--perhaps ten hours."

"There is Cromer in Norfolk, perhaps ten hours away."


"If you start from Cromer right away, a hundred miles would perhaps take you across to Holland.


A ditch of that kind wouldn't do perhaps."


I was there once, but I don't remember much.


There would not be room for her and me too."


Lowestoft is not so far as Cromer, and there is a railway all the distance."

It is not so far as Cromer, and there is a railway all the distance


If you can't see across it, and if there are waves, and wind enough to knock you down, and shipwrecks every other day, I don't see why a hundred miles isn't as good as a thousand."


"A hundred miles is just as good as a thousand.


But, Paul, at Southend it isn't a hundred miles across to the other side of the river.


But you will be a better guide than Mrs. Pipkin.

"You will be a better guide than Mrs. Pipkin.


You would not have taken me to Southend when I expressed a wish for the ocean;--would you?

You would not have taken me to Southend when I expressed a wish for the ocean, would you?


"They make up, I believe, about a hundred beds; but in the States it would be very small."

"They have about a hundred beds; but in the States it would be very small."


"Paul," said she, delighted to have brought him back to this humour, "if I were to throw the tea things at you, it would serve you right.


This is all because I did not lose myself in awe at the sight of the Southend ocean.

This is because I did not lose myself in awe at the sight of the Southend ocean.


Then she rose up and came to him, and took his arm.


It is desolate for a woman to go into such a place all alone.

It is desolate for a woman to travel to such a place all alone.


She had put both hands on one arm, and turned herself round, and looked into his face.


"You will do that for old acquaintance sake?"


For a moment or two he made no answer, and his face was troubled, and his brow was black.

For a moment he made no answer, and his face was troubled.


He was endeavouring to think;--but he was only aware of his danger, and could see no way through it.

He was trying to think; he was aware of his danger, and could see no way through it.


"I don't think you will let me ask in vain for such a favour as that," she said.


He had cockered himself up with some vain idea that the railway carriage would be a good place for the declaration of his purpose, or perhaps the sands at Lowestoft.

He had some idea that the railway carriage would be a good place for the declaration of his purpose, or perhaps the sands at Lowestoft.


You have Boards to attend, and shares to look to, and Mexico to regenerate.

You have Boards to attend, and Mexico to regenerate.


I am a poor woman with nothing on hand but Mrs. Pipkin's baby.


Can you be ready in ten minutes?--because I could."

Can you be ready in ten minutes? - because I could."


"I've named a time and that doesn't suit.


Now, sir, you name another, and I'll promise it shall suit."


He must attend the next Board, and had promised to see Melmotte before the Board day.


Saturday of course would do for Mrs. Hurtle.


Should she meet him at the railway station?


Of course he undertook to come and fetch her.


Then, as he took his leave, she stood close against him, and put her cheek up for him to kiss.

Then, as he took his leave, she put her cheek up for him to kiss.


There are moments in which a man finds it utterly impossible that he should be prudent,--as to which, when he thought of them afterwards, he could never forgive himself for prudence, let the danger have been what it may.

There are moments when a man finds it utterly impossible to be prudent, let the danger be what it may.


Of course he took her in his arms, and kissed her lips as well as her cheeks.


When the little conversation took place between Lady Monogram and Miss Longestaffe, as recorded in the last chapter, Mr. Melmotte was in all his glory, and tickets for the entertainment were very precious.

When that little conversation took place between Lady Monogram and Miss Longestaffe, Mr. Melmotte was in all his glory, and tickets for the entertainment were very precious.


Lady Monogram had paid very dear for hers,--especially as the reception of Mr. Brehgert must be considered.


A lady offered to take Marie Melmotte into the country with her for a week; but this was before the elopement.


Mr. Cohenlupe was asked out to dinner to meet two peers and a countess.


A young lady gave a lock of her hair to Lord Nidderdale, although it was known that he was to marry Marie Melmotte.


And Miles Grendall got back an I. O. U. of considerable nominal value from Lord Grasslough, who was anxious to accommodate two country cousins who were in London.


Gradually the prices fell;--not at first from any doubt in Melmotte, but through that customary reaction which may be expected on such occasions.


But at eight or nine o'clock on the evening of the party the tickets were worth nothing.

and by eight or nine o'clock on the evening of the party the tickets were worth nothing.


The rumour had then spread itself through the whole town from Pimlico to Marylebone.

The rumour had spread through the whole town from Pimlico to Marylebone.


Men coming home from clubs had told their wives.


Ladies who had been in the park had heard it.


Even the hairdressers had it, and ladies' maids had been instructed by the footmen and grooms who had been holding horses and seated on the coach-boxes.

Even the hairdressers had heard it, and ladies' maids and footmen and grooms.


It had got into the air, and had floated round dining-rooms and over toilet-tables.


I doubt whether Sir Damask would have said a word about it to his wife as he was dressing for dinner, had he calculated what might be the result to himself.

I doubt whether Sir Damask would have said a word about it to his wife, if he had calculated what the result might be.


But he came home open-mouthed, and made no calculation.


he said, rushing half-dressed into his wife's room.

he said when he came home, rushing half-dressed into his wife's room.


[Illustration: "Have you heard what's up, Ju?"]


"I was shopping, and that kind of thing.


I don't want to take that girl into the Park.


I've made a mistake in having her here, but I mean to be seen with her as little as I can."


"Be good-natured, Ju, whatever you are."


exclaimed Lady Monogram, stopping her maid in some arrangement which would not need to be continued in the event of her not going to the reception.


It's something about that place he bought of old Longestaffe."

It's something about that place he bought off old Longestaffe."


I won't have her here a day longer if there is anything against them."


There's nothing against him except that the poor old fellow hasn't got a shilling of his money."

There's nothing against them except that the poor old fellow hasn't got a shilling of his money."


"Then he's ruined,--and there's an end of them."

"Then he's ruined - and there's an end of them."


Some say that Melmotte has forged a receipt, others a letter.

Some say that Melmotte has forged a receipt, or maybe a letter


Some declare that he has manufactured a whole set of title-deeds.


"Of course I know Dolly Longestaffe," said Lady Monogram, who had thought at one time that an alliance with Dolly might be convenient.


There was always something about Dolly more than fellows gave him credit for.

There was always more about Dolly than fellows gave him credit for.


At any rate, everybody says that Melmotte will be in quod before long."

At any rate, everybody says that Melmotte will be arrested before long."


Lupton was saying that the policemen would wait about in the room like servants till the Emperor and the Princes had gone away."

Lupton was saying that the policemen would wait till the Emperor and the Princes had gone away."


"He was to have been at the dinner, but hadn't made up his mind whether he'd go or not when I saw him.

"He hadn't made up his mind when I saw him.


Nobody seems to be quite certain whether the Emperor will go.


Somebody said that a Cabinet Council was to be called to know what to do."

Somebody said that a Cabinet Council was to be called.


"Why, you see it's rather an awkward thing, letting the Prince go to dine with a man who perhaps may have been arrested and taken to gaol before dinner-time.

It's rather an awkward thing, letting the Prince go to dine with a man who may be arrested before dinner-time.


She piqued herself upon having a French maid who could not speak a word of English, and was therefore quite careless what she said in the woman's presence.

She piqued herself upon having a French maid who could not speak a word of English, and was therefore quite careless in the woman's presence.


But, of course, everything she did say was repeated down-stairs in some language that had become intelligible to the servants generally.

But, of course, everything she said was repeated downstairs.


Lady Monogram sat motionless for some time, while her husband, retreating to his own domain, finished his operations.

Lady Monogram sat motionless for some time, while her husband finished dressing for dinner.


"Damask," she said, when he reappeared, "one thing is certain;--we can't go."


"After you've made such a fuss about it!"


"It is a pity,--having that girl here in the house.

"It is a pity, having that girl here in the house.


You know, don't you, she's going to marry one of these people?"

You know she's going to marry one of these people?"


"But Brehgert isn't one of Melmotte's set.


They tell me that Brehgert isn't a bad fellow.


A vulgar cad, and all that, but nothing wrong about him."


"He's a Jew,--and he's seventy years old, and makes up horribly."


"What does it matter to you if he's eighty?


You are determined, then, you won't go?"


But Lady Monogram had by no means determined that she wouldn't go.

But Lady Monogram had by no means decided.


She had paid her price, and with that economy which sticks to a woman always in the midst of her extravagances, she could not bear to lose the thing that she had bought.

She had paid her price, and she could not bear to lose the thing that she had bought.


She cared nothing for Melmotte's villainy, as regarded herself.


That he was enriching himself by the daily plunder of the innocent she had taken for granted since she had first heard of him.

: she had taken it for granted since she had first heard of him


She had but a confused idea of any difference between commerce and fraud.

, and had only a confused idea of any difference between commerce and fraud.


But it would grieve her greatly to become known as one of an awkward squad of people who had driven to the door, and perhaps been admitted to some wretched gathering of wretched people,--and not, after all, to have met the Emperor and the Prince.

It would grieve her greatly to become known as one who had driven to the door, and had not, after all, met the Emperor and the Prince.


But then, should she hear on the next morning that the Emperor and the Princes, that the Princesses, and the Duchesses, with the Ambassadors, Cabinet Ministers, and proper sort of world generally, had all been there,--that the world, in short, had ignored Melmotte's villainy,--then would her grief be still greater.

But then, should she hear the next morning that the Emperor and the Princes and Princesses, and the world generally, had all been there when she had not - then her grief would be still greater.


She sat down to dinner with her husband and Miss Longestaffe, and could not talk freely on the matter.


Miss Longestaffe was still a guest of the Melmottes, although she had transferred herself to the Monograms for a day or two.

Miss Longestaffe was still a guest of the Melmottes, although she was visiting the Monograms for a day or two.


And a horrible idea crossed Lady Monogram's mind.


What should she do with her friend Georgiana if the whole Melmotte establishment were suddenly broken up?


Of course, Madame Melmotte would refuse to take the girl back if her husband were sent to gaol.


"I suppose you'll go," said Sir Damask as the ladies left the room.


"Of course we shall,--in about an hour," said Lady Monogram as she left the room, looking round at him and rebuking him for his imprudence.

"Of course we shall - in about an hour," said Lady Monogram, looking at him in rebuke him for his imprudence.


"Because, you know--" and then he called her back.


"If you want me I'll stay, of course; but if you don't, I'll go down to the club."

"Because if you want me I'll stay, of course; but if you don't, I'll go down to the club."


"All right;--only it's a bore being here alone."


Then Miss Longestaffe asked what "was up."


"Is there any doubt about our going to-night?"

, "Is there any doubt about our going tonight?"


I'm so harassed that I don't know what I'm about.


"There seems to be a report that the Emperor won't be there."


"It's all very well to say impossible, my dear," said Lady Monogram; "but still that's what people are saying.

"It's all very well to say impossible, my dear," said Lady Monogram; "but that's what people are saying.


You see Mr. Melmotte is a very great man, but perhaps--something else has turned up, so that he may be thrown over.

You see Mr. Melmotte is a very great man, but perhaps - something has turned up.


But I shan't make sure of going till I hear that the Emperor is there."


Then she descended to her husband, whom she found forlornly consoling himself with a cigar.


"Damask," she said, "you must find out."


"Whether the Prince and the Emperor are there."

whether the Prince and the Emperor are there."


"Send John to ask," suggested the husband.


"He would be sure to make a blunder about it.


"If you'd go yourself you'd learn the truth in a minute.


Have a cab,--just go into the hall and you'll soon know how it all is;--I'd do it in a minute if I were you."


Sir Damask was the most good-natured man in the world, but he did not like the job.


"Go to a man's house and find out whether a man's guests are come before you go yourself!

"Go to a man's house and find out whether a man's guests are come!


Such a thing, probably, never happened before, and never will happen again.


"If you don't go, Damask, I must; and I will."


Sir Damask, after groaning and smoking for half a minute, said that he would go.


He hated the whole box and dice of that sort of thing!


He "wished to goodness" that he had dined at his club and sent word up home that the affair was to be off.


But at last he submitted, and allowed his wife to leave the room with the intention of sending for a cab.


The cab was sent for and announced, but Sir Damask would not stir till he had finished his big cigar.


It was past ten when he left his own house.


On arriving in Grosvenor Square he could at once see that the party was going on.


There was a concourse of servants round the door, and half the square was already blocked up with carriages.


It was not without delay that he got to the door, and when there he saw the royal liveries.

When he got to the door, he saw the royal liveries.


The Emperor and the Princes and the Princesses were all there.


As far as Sir Damask could then perceive, the dinner had been quite a success.


But again there was a delay in getting away, and it was nearly eleven before he could reach home.

But it was nearly eleven before he could reach home.


"You are sure that the Emperor is there."

"You are sure that the Emperor is there?"


"As sure as a man can be without having seen him."


Miss Longestaffe was present at this moment, and could not but resent what appeared to be a most unseemly slur cast upon her friends.

Miss Longestaffe was present, and resented the slur cast upon her friends.


"I don't understand it at all," she said.


Everybody has known for the last month that he was coming.


"My dear, you must allow me to manage my own little affairs my own way.


Now, Damask, if the carriage is there we had better start."


The carriage was there, and they did start, and with a delay which seemed unprecedented, even to Lady Monogram, who was accustomed to these things, they reached the door.

The carriage was there, and they did start.


There was a great crush in the hall, and people were coming down-stairs.

When they reached the house, there was a great crush in the hall.


But at last they made their way into the room above, and found that the Emperor of China and all the Royalties had been there,--but had taken their departure.

But at last they made their way into the room above, and found that the Emperor of China and all the Royalties had been there - and had departed.


Sir Damask put the ladies into the carriage and went at once to his club.


All this time Mr. Longestaffe was necessarily detained in London while the three ladies of his family were living forlornly at Caversham.


He had taken his younger daughter home on the day after his visit to Lady Monogram, and in all his intercourse with her had spoken of her suggested marriage with Mr. Brehgert as a thing utterly out of the question.

Mr. Longestaffe had taken his younger daughter home on the day after his visit to Lady Monogram, and had spoken of her suggested marriage with Mr. Brehgert as utterly out of the question.


Georgiana had made one little fight for her independence at the Jermyn Street Hotel.


"Indeed, papa, I think it's very hard," she said.


"I think a great many things are hard; but I have to bear them."


Haven't you got a home to live in, and clothes to wear, and a carriage to go about in,--and books to read if you choose to read them?

Haven't you got a home to live in, and clothes to wear, and a carriage to go about in?


"How do you dare to tell me that what I say is nonsense?"


"Of course there's a house to live in and clothes to wear; but what's to be the end of it?


Sophia, I suppose, is going to be married."


"I am happy to say she is,--to a most respectable young man and a thorough gentleman."


"And Dolly has his own way of going on."


"Nor will he have anything to do with me.


If I don't marry what's to become of me?


It isn't that Mr. Brehgert is the sort of man I should choose."


You give up the house in town, and how am I to see people?


It was you that sent me to Mr. Melmotte."


"It was at your suggestion I went there, papa.


And of course I could only see the people he had there."


"There's no use talking any more about it."


"I must talk about it, and think about it too.


If I can put up with Mr. Brehgert I don't see why you and mamma should complain."


"People don't think about that as they used to, papa.


He has a very fine income, and I should always have a house in--"

He has a very fine income, and I should always have a house in-"


Then Mr. Longestaffe became so furious and loud, that he stopped her for that time.

Then Mr. Longestaffe became furious and loud.


"Look here," he said, "if you mean to tell me that you will marry that man without my consent, I can't prevent it.

"If you mean to tell me that you will marry that man without my consent, I can't prevent it.


But you shall not marry him as my daughter.


You shall be turned out of my house, and I will never have your name pronounced in my presence again.


It is disgusting - degrading - disgraceful!"


On the next morning before he started for Caversham he did see Mr. Brehgert; but he told Georgiana nothing of the interview, nor had she the courage to ask him.

On the next morning before he started for Caversham he saw Mr. Brehgert; but he did not tell Georgiana what was said, and she did not have the courage to ask him.


The objectionable name was not mentioned again in her father's hearing, but there was a sad scene between herself, Lady Pomona, and her sister.

Then there was a sad scene with her mother, Lady Pomona.


When Mr. Longestaffe and his younger daughter arrived, the poor mother did not go down into the hall to meet her child,--from whom she had that morning received the dreadful tidings about the Jew.

When they arrived, the poor mother did not go into the hall to meet her child, from whom she had that morning received the dreadful tidings about the Jew.


As to these tidings she had as yet heard no direct condemnation from her husband.


The effect upon Lady Pomona had been more grievous even than that made upon the father.


Mr. Longestaffe had been able to declare immediately that the proposed marriage was out of the question, that nothing of the kind should be allowed, and could take upon himself to see the Jew with the object of breaking off the engagement.


But poor Lady Pomona was helpless in her sorrow.


If Georgiana chose to marry a Jew tradesman she could not help it.

If Georgiana chose to marry a Jew tradesman she could not stop it


But such an occurrence in the family would, she felt, be to her as though the end of all things had come.

; but she felt as though the end of all things had come.


She could never again hold up her head, never go into society, never take pleasure in her powdered footmen.

She could never again hold up her head, never go into society.


When her daughter should have married a Jew, she didn't think that she could pluck up the courage to look even her neighbours Mrs. Yeld and Mrs. Hepworth in the face.

When her daughter should have married a Jew, she didn't think that she could pluck up the courage to look her neighbours in the face.


Georgiana found no one in the hall to meet her, and dreaded to go to her mother.


She first went with her maid to her own room, and waited there till Sophia came to her.

, went with her maid to her own room, and waited there till Sophia came to her.


As she sat pretending to watch the process of unpacking, she strove to regain her courage.


Why, at any rate, should she be afraid of other females?


Had she not always been dominant over her mother and sister?


"Oh, Georgey," said Sophia, "this is wonderful news!"


"I suppose it seems wonderful that anybody should be going to be married except yourself."


If you don't like it, you need not talk about it.

, if you don't like it, you need not talk about it.


We shall always have a house in town, and you will not.


If you don't like to come to us, you needn't.


"George wouldn't let me go there at all," said Sophia.

"George wouldn't let me go there," said Sophia.


"Then--George--had better keep you at home at Toodlam.

"Then he had better keep you at home at Toodlam.


I should have thought somebody might have come and met me to say a word to me, instead of allowing me to creep into the house like this."


"Mamma isn't at all well; but she's up and in her own room.

"Mamma isn't at all well; she's in her own room.


You mustn't be surprised, Georgey, if you find mamma very--very much cut up about this."


Then Georgiana understood that she must be content to stand all alone in the world, unless she made up her mind to give up Mr. Brehgert.

As she sought her mother, Georgiana understood that she must stand alone in the world, unless she gave up Mr. Brehgert.


"So I've come back," said Georgiana, stooping down and kissing her mother.

"I've come back," she said, stooping and kissing her mother.


said Lady Pomona, slowly raising herself and covering her face with one of her hands.

Lady Pomona slowly raised herself, covering her face with her hand.


"It seems to me that it can't be possible.


I'm sure there's something in the Bible against it."


You never would read your Bible, or you wouldn't be going to do this."


"Lady Julia Start has done just the same thing,--and she goes everywhere."

"Lady Julia Start has done just the same thing - and she goes everywhere."


If he's fixed about anything, it's about the Jews.

If he's fixed about anything, it's Jews.


An accursed race;--think of that, Georgiana;--expelled from Paradise."

An accursed race - expelled from Paradise."


"Scattered about all over the world, so that nobody knows who anybody is."


And it's only since those nasty Radicals came up that they have been able to sit in Parliament."


"One of the greatest judges in the land is a Jew," said Georgiana, who had already learned to fortify her own case.


"Nothing that the Radicals can do can make them anything else but what they are.


"I'm sure that Mr. Whitstable, who is to be your brother-in-law, will never condescend to speak to him."


Now, if there was anybody whom Georgiana Longestaffe had despised from her youth upwards it was George Whitstable.

Now, if there was anybody whom Georgiana Longestaffe had despised from her youth it was George Whitstable.


He had been a laughing-stock to her when they were children, had been regarded as a lout when he left school, and had been her common example of rural dullness since he had become a man.

He had been regarded as a lout when he left school, and had been her common example of rural dullness.


He certainly was neither beautiful nor bright;--but he was a Conservative squire born of Tory parents.

He certainly was neither beautiful nor bright; he was a Conservative squire


Nor was he rich,--having but a moderate income, sufficient to maintain a moderate country house and no more.

, able to maintain a moderate country house and no more.


When first there came indications that Sophia intended to put up with George Whitstable, the more ambitious sister did not spare the shafts of her scorn.


And now she was told that George Whitstable would not speak to her future husband!


She was not to marry Mr. Brehgert lest she should bring disgrace, among others, upon George Whitstable!

she was not to marry Mr. Brehgert lest she should bring disgrace upon George Whitstable!


"Then Mr. Whitstable may keep himself at home at Toodlam and not trouble his head at all about me or my husband.

"Then Mr. Whitstable may keep himself at home at Toodlam and not trouble his head about us.


I'm sure I shan't trouble myself as to what a poor creature like that may think about me.


George Whitstable knows as much about London as I do about the moon."


"He has always been in county society," said Sophia, "and was staying only the other day at Lord Cantab's."


"Then there were two fools together," said Georgiana, who at this moment was very unhappy.


"Mr. Whitstable is an excellent young man, and I am sure he will make your sister happy; but as for Mr. Brehgert,--I can't bear to have his name mentioned in my hearing."

"Mr. Whitstable is an excellent young man, and I am sure he will make your sister happy; but as for Mr. Brehgert - I can't bear to hear his name mentioned."


"Then, mamma, it had better not be mentioned.


At any rate it shan't be mentioned again by me."

"Then it shan't be mentioned again by me."


Having so spoken, Georgiana bounced out of the room and did not meet her mother and sister again till she came down into the drawing-room before dinner.

Georgiana bounced out of the room and did not meet her mother and sister again till she came down before dinner.


Her position was one very trying both to her nerves and to her feelings.


She presumed that her father had seen Mr. Brehgert, but did not in the least know what had passed between them.

She presumed that her father had seen Mr. Brehgert, but did not know what had passed between them.


It might be that her father had been so decided in his objection as to induce Mr. Brehgert to abandon his intention,--and if this were so, there could be no reason why she should endure the misery of having the Jew thrown in her face.

It might be that her father had induced Mr. Brehgert to abandon his intention.


Among them all they had made her think that she would never become Mrs. Brehgert.

They had all made her think that she would never become Mrs. Brehgert.


She certainly was not prepared to nail her colours upon the mast and to live and die for Brehgert.


She was almost sick of the thing herself.


But she could not back out of it so as to obliterate all traces of the disgrace.


Even if she should not ultimately marry the Jew, it would be known that she had been engaged to a Jew,--and then it would certainly be said afterwards that the Jew had jilted her.

But even if she were to back out, it would be known that she had been engaged to a Jew - and then it would be said that the Jew had jilted her.


She was thus vacillating in her mind, not knowing whether to go on with Brehgert or to abandon him.

She was thus vacillating, not knowing whether to go on with Brehgert or to abandon him.


That evening Lady Pomona retired immediately after dinner, being "far from well."


It was of course known to them all that Mr. Brehgert was her ailment.


She was accompanied by her elder daughter, and Georgiana was left with her father.


He sat behind his newspaper till he went to sleep, and she found herself alone and deserted in that big room.


It seemed to her that even the servants treated her with disdain.


Her own maid had already given her notice.


It was manifestly the intention of her family to ostracise her altogether.

It seemed the family intended to ostracise her altogether.


Of what service would it be to her that Lady Julia Goldsheiner should be received everywhere, if she herself were to be left without a single Christian friend?

What would it be like to be left without a single Christian friend?


Would a life passed exclusively among the Jews content even her lessened ambition?


At ten o'clock she kissed her father's head and went to bed.


Her father grunted less audibly than usual under the operation.


She had always given herself credit for high spirits, but she began to fear that her courage would not suffice to carry her through sufferings such as these.

, and she began to fear that her courage would not carry her through sufferings such as these.


On the next day her father returned to town, and the three ladies were left alone.


Great preparations were going on for the Whitstable wedding.


Dresses were being made and linen marked, and consultations held,--from all which things Georgiana was kept quite apart.


The accepted lover came over to lunch, and was made as much of as though the Whitstables had always kept a town house.

George Whitstable came over to lunch, and was made much of.


Sophy loomed so large in her triumph and happiness, that it was not to be borne.


All Caversham treated her with a new respect.


And yet if Toodlam was a couple of thousand a year, it was all it was;--and there were two unmarried sisters!

And yet Toodlam was barely a couple of thousand a year - and there were two unmarried sisters!


Lady Pomona went half into hysterics every time she saw her younger daughter, and became in her way a most oppressive parent.

Lady Pomona went half into hysterics every time she saw her younger daughter.


Oh, heavens;--was Mr. Brehgert with his two houses worth all this?

Was Mr. Brehgert with his two houses worth all this?


A feeling of intense regret for the things she was losing came over her.


Even Caversham, the Caversham of old days which she had hated, but in which she had made herself respected and partly feared by everybody about the place,--had charms for her which seemed to her delightful now that they were lost for ever.

Even Caversham, which in old days she had hated, had charms for her now that they were lost for ever.


Then she had always considered herself to be the first personage in the house,--superior even to her father;--but now she was decidedly the last.

Then she had always considered herself to be the first personage in the house; but now she was decidedly the last.


Her second evening was worse even than the first.


When Mr. Longestaffe was not at home the family sat in a small dingy room between the library and the dining-room, and on this occasion the family consisted only of Georgiana.

When Mr. Longestaffe was not at home the family sat in a small dingy room next to the dining-room, and on this occasion the family consisted only of Georgiana.


In the course of the evening she went up-stairs and calling her sister out into the passage demanded to be told why she was thus deserted.

She went upstairs, and calling her sister, demanded to be told why she was thus deserted.


"I won't stand it if I'm to be treated like this," said Georgiana.


Of course you must have known that you were going to separate yourself from us."


On the next morning there came a dispatch from Mr. Longestaffe,--of what nature Georgey did not know as it was addressed to Lady Pomona.

On the next morning there came a letter from Mr. Longestaffe, addressed to Lady Pomona.


But one enclosure she was allowed to see.

It contained an enclosure she was allowed to see.


"Mamma," said Sophy, "thinks you ought to know how Dolly feels about it."


And then a letter from Dolly to his father was put into Georgey's hands.


Can it be true that Georgey is thinking of marrying that horrid vulgar Jew, old Brehgert?


The fellows say so; but I can't believe it.


Dolly's letters made his father very angry, as, short as they were, they always contained advice or instruction, such as should come from a father to a son, rather than from a son to a father.

Dolly's letters made his father very angry, as, short as they were, they always contained advice such as should come from a father to a son, rather than from a son to a father.


This letter had not been received with a welcome.


Nevertheless the head of the family had thought it worth his while to make use of it, and had sent it to Caversham in order that it might be shown to his rebellious daughter.

Nevertheless the head of the family had thought it worth his while to send it to Caversham to be shown to his rebellious daughter.


And so Dolly had said that she ought to be locked up!

So Dolly said that she ought to be locked up!


As soon as she had read her brother's epistle she tore it into fragments and threw it away in her sister's presence.

As soon as she had read her brother's letter she tore it into fragments and threw it away.


"How can mamma be such a hypocrite as to pretend to care what Dolly says?

"How can mamma pretend to care what Dolly says?


And papa has thought it worth his while to send that down here for me to see!


Well, after that I must say that I don't much care what papa does."


"I don't see why Dolly shouldn't have an opinion as well as anybody else," said Sophy.


As far as stupidness goes they are about the same.


But Dolly has a little more knowledge of the world."


"Of course we all know, Georgiana," rejoined the elder sister, "that for cuteness and that kind of thing one must look among the commercial classes, and especially among a certain sort."


"I've done with you all," said Georgey rushing out of the room.


"I'll have nothing more to do with any one of you."

I'll have nothing more to do with any of you."


But it is very difficult for a young lady to have done with her family!


A young man may go anywhere, and may be lost at sea; or come and claim his property after twenty years.


A young man may demand an allowance, and has almost a right to live alone.


The young male bird is supposed to fly away from the paternal nest.


But the daughter of a house is compelled to adhere to her father till she shall get a husband.

go anywhere; but the daughter of a house is compelled to adhere to her father till she shall get a husband.


The only way in which Georgey could "have done" with them all at Caversham would be by trusting herself to Mr. Brehgert, and at the present moment she did not know whether Mr. Brehgert did or did not consider himself as engaged to her.

The only way in which Georgey could "have done" with them all at Caversham would be by trusting herself to Mr. Brehgert, and she did not know whether Mr. Brehgert still considered himself as engaged to her.


That day also passed away with ineffable tedium.


At one time she was so beaten down by ennui that she almost offered her assistance to her sister in reference to the wedding garments.

was so tedious she almost offered to help her sister with the wedding garments.


In spite of the very bitter words which had been spoken in the morning she would have done so had Sophy afforded her the slightest opportunity.

She would have done so had Sophy afforded her the slightest opportunity.


But Sophy was heartlessly cruel in her indifference.


In her younger days she had had her bad things, and now,--with George Whitstable by her side,--she meant to have good things, the goodness of which was infinitely enhanced by the badness of her sister's things.


She had been so greatly despised that the charm of despising again was irresistible.

She had been so greatly despised that the charm of despising in her turn was irresistible.


And she was able to reconcile her cruelty to her conscience by telling herself that duty required her to show implacable resistance to such a marriage as this which her sister contemplated.


Therefore Georgiana dragged out another day, not in the least knowing what was to be her fate.

Therefore Georgiana dragged out another day, not knowing what was to be her fate.


Two, three, four, and even five o'clock still found Sir Felix Carbury in bed on that fatal Thursday.

Five o'clock still found Sir Felix Carbury in bed on that fatal Thursday.


More than once or twice his mother crept up to his room, but on each occasion he feigned to be fast asleep and made no reply to her gentle words.

When his mother crept up to his room, he feigned to be fast asleep.


But his condition was one which only admits of short snatches of uneasy slumber.

But he had only short snatches of uneasy slumber.


From head to foot, he was sick and ill and sore, and could find no comfort anywhere.

He was sick and sore, and could find no comfort anywhere.


To lie where he was, trying by absolute quiescence to soothe the agony of his brows and to remember that as long as he lay there he would be safe from attack by the outer world, was all the solace within his reach.

To lie quiet, trying to soothe the agony of his head, and to remember that as long as he lay there he would be safe from attack by the outer world, was all he could do.


Lady Carbury sent the page up to him, and to the page he was awake.


He asked for soda and brandy; but there was none to be had, and in his present condition he did not dare to hector about it till it was procured for him.

He asked for soda and brandy; but there was none to be had.


The world surely was now all over to him.


He had made arrangements for running away with the great heiress of the day, and had absolutely allowed the young lady to run away without him.

He had allowed the heiress to run away without him.


The details of their arrangement had been such that she absolutely would start upon her long journey across the ocean before she could find out that he had failed to keep his appointment.

She would have started her long journey across the ocean before she could discover that he had failed to be there.


Melmotte's hostility would be incurred by the attempt, and hers by the failure.


Then he had lost all his money,--and hers.


He had induced his poor mother to assist in raising a fund for him,--and even that was gone.


He was so cowed that he was afraid even of his mother.


And he could remember something, but no details, of some row at the club,--but still with a conviction on his mind that he had made the row.

And he could vaguely remember starting some row at the club.


Ah,--when would he summon courage to enter the club again?

When would he summon courage to enter the club again?


When could he show himself again anywhere?


All the world would know that Marie Melmotte had attempted to run off with him, and that at the last moment he had failed her.

All the world would know that Marie Melmotte had attempted to run off with him, and that he had failed her.


What lie could he invent to cover his disgrace?


All his things were at the club;--or he thought that they were, not being quite certain whether he had not made some attempt to carry them off to the Railway Station.


If ever it could be well that a man should cut his own throat, surely the time had come for him now.

If ever a man ought to cut his own throat, surely the time had come for him now.


But as this idea presented itself to him he simply gathered the clothes around him and tried to sleep.

But he simply gathered the bedclothes around him and tried to sleep.


The death of Cato would hardly have for him persuasive charms.


Between five and six his mother again came up to him, and when he appeared to sleep, stood with her hand upon his shoulder.

Between five and six his mother again came to him, and when he appeared to sleep, stood with her hand upon his shoulder, thinking.


She, wretched woman, had been sitting all day,--thinking of it.


As regarded her son himself, his condition told his story with sufficient accuracy.


What might be the fate of the girl she could not stop to enquire.


She had not heard all the details of the proposed scheme; but she had known that Felix had proposed to be at Liverpool on the Wednesday night, and to start on Thursday for New York with the young lady; and with the view of aiding him in his object she had helped him with money.


She had bought clothes for him, and had been busy with Hetta for two days preparing for his long journey,--having told some lie to her own daughter as to the cause of her brother's intended journey.

She had bought clothes for him, and had been busy with Hetta for two days preparing for his long journey - having told some lie to her own daughter as to its cause.


He had not gone, but had come, drunk and degraded, back to the house.

When he came, drunk and degraded, back to the house,


She had searched his pockets with less scruple than she had ever before felt, and had found his ticket for the vessel and the few sovereigns which were left to him.

she had searched his pockets with less scruple than she had ever before felt. She had found his ticket for the vessel and the little money he had left.


About him she could read the riddle plainly.


He had stayed at his club till he was drunk, and had gambled away all his money.


When she had first seen him she had asked herself what further lie she should now tell to her daughter.

What lie should she now tell her daughter?


At breakfast there was instant need for some story.


"Mary says that Felix came back this morning, and that he has not gone at all," Hetta exclaimed.


The poor woman could not bring herself to expose the vices of the son to her daughter.


She could not say that he had stumbled into the house drunk at six o'clock.


"Yes; he has come back," said Lady Carbury, broken-hearted by her troubles.


"It was some plan about the Mexican railway I believe, and has broken through.

Some plan about the Mexican railway has fallen through, I believe.


After that Hetta had said nothing during the whole day.

After that Hetta had said nothing all day.


And now, about an hour before dinner, Lady Carbury was standing by her son's bedside, determined that he should speak to her.

And now, an hour before dinner, Lady Carbury stood by her son's bedside.


"Felix," she said,--"speak to me, Felix.--I know that you are awake."

"Felix," she said, "speak to me. I know you are awake."


He groaned, and turned himself away from her, burying himself, further under the bedclothes.

He groaned, and turned away, burying himself further under the bedclothes.


"At the club.--You had better leave me now, and let Sam come up to me."


"I will leave you presently; but, Felix, you must tell me about this.


"You said this morning when you came in, that Mr. Melmotte had discovered it."


"You must have something to eat, Felix."


Do let him get me some brandy and water.


I'm so faint and sick with all this that I can hardly bear myself.


If he'll get me a bottle of soda water and some brandy, I'll tell you all about it then."

If he'll get me some soda water and brandy, I'll tell you all about it then."


"I paid it for the ticket," said he, with both his hands up to his head.


Then his mother again left him with the understanding that he was to be allowed to remain in bed till the next morning; but that he was to give her some further explanation when he had been refreshed and invigorated after his own prescription.


The boy went out and got him soda water and brandy, and meat was carried up to him, and then he did succeed for a while in finding oblivion from his misery in sleep.

The boy went out and got him soda water and brandy, and meat was carried up to him, and then he did sleep for a while.


"Mamma, I think you would be happier if you would tell me everything."

"Mamma, I think you would be happier if you told me everything."


"I can't," said Lady Carbury, bursting out into tears.

"I can't," said Lady Carbury, bursting into tears.


There is nothing to tell,--except that I am ruined."

There is nothing to tell - except that I am ruined.


Oh, God,--how much better it would be to be childless!"

Oh, God, how much better it would be to be childless!"


said Hetta, rushing across the room, and throwing herself close to her mother's side on the sofa.

said Hetta, rushing to her mother's side.


"Then marry your cousin, Roger Carbury, who is a good man, and who can protect you.

"Then marry your cousin, Roger Carbury, who is a good man, and can protect you.


You can, at any rate, find a home for yourself, and a friend for us.


You do not get drunk and gamble,--because you are a woman.


But you are stiff-necked, and will not help me in my trouble."


"Shall I marry him, mamma, without loving him?"


Do you see much of what you call love around you?


He is a gentleman, and a good man,--soft-hearted, of a sweet nature, whose life would be one effort to make yours happy.

He is a gentleman, and a good, sweet-natured man, who would try to make you happy.


"But ask yourself whether you do not give as much pain, seeing what you could do for us if you would.

Ask yourself whether you do not give as much pain as Felix.


But it never occurs to you to sacrifice even a fantasy for the advantage of others."

It never occurs to you to sacrifice a fantasy for the advantage of others."


Hetta retired from her seat on the sofa, and when her mother again went up-stairs she turned it all over in her mind.

Hetta moved away, and when her mother went upstairs she turned it over in her mind.


Could it be right that she should marry one man when she loved another?

Could it be right to marry one man when she loved another?


Could it be right that she should marry at all, for the sake of doing good to her family?

Could it be right to marry at all, for the sake of doing good to her family?


This man, whom she might marry if she would,--who did in truth worship the ground on which she trod,--was, she well knew, all that her mother had said.


Her mother had spoken of his soft heart, and his sweet nature.


But Hetta knew also that he was a man of high honour and a noble courage.

She knew that Roger had a sweet nature, and also high honour and a noble courage.


In such a condition as was hers now he was the very friend whose advice she could have asked,--had he not been the very lover who was desirous of making her his wife.

He was the very friend whose advice she could have asked - had he not wished to make her his wife.


Hetta felt that she could sacrifice much for her mother.


Money, if she had it, she could have given, though she left herself penniless.


Her time, her inclinations, her very heart's treasure, and, as she thought, her life, she could give.

Her time, her inclinations, her very heart's treasure, she could give.


She could doom herself to poverty, and loneliness, and heart-rending regrets for her mother's sake.


But she did not know how she could give herself into the arms of a man she did not love.


[Illustration: "Can I marry the man I do not love?"]


"I don't know what there is to explain," said Felix to his mother.


She had asked him why he had not gone to Liverpool, whether he had been interrupted by Melmotte himself, whether news had reached him from Marie that she had been stopped, or whether,--as might have been possible,--Marie had changed her own mind.

She had asked him why he had not gone to Liverpool, whether he had been interrupted by Melmotte, or whether Marie had changed her mind.


But he could not bring himself to tell the truth, or any story bordering on the truth.

But he could not bring himself to tell the truth.


"It didn't come off," he said, "and of course that knocked me off my legs.


I did take some champagne when I found how it was.


A fellow does get cut up by that kind of thing.

A fellow gets cut up by that kind of thing.


Oh, I heard it at the club,--that the whole thing was off.

Oh, I heard it at the club - that the whole thing was off.


And then I was so mad, I can't tell what I was after.


Don't take it, for I haven't another shilling in the world."


Of course he said nothing of Marie's money, or of that which he had himself received from Melmotte.

Of course he said nothing of Marie's money, or of that which he had received from Melmotte.


And as his mother had heard nothing of these sums she could not contradict what he said.

And as his mother knew nothing of these sums she could not contradict


She got from him no further statement, but she was sure that there was a story to be told which would reach her ears sooner or later.

him; but she was sure there was a story to be told which would reach her ears sooner or later.


That evening, about nine o'clock, Mr. Broune called in Welbeck Street.

That evening Mr. Broune called in Welbeck Street.


He very often did call now, coming up in a cab, staying for a cup of tea, and going back in the same cab to the office of his newspaper.

He often called now, coming in a cab, staying for a cup of tea, and going back in the same cab to the newspaper office.


Since Lady Carbury had, so devotedly, abstained from accepting his offer, Mr. Broune had become almost sincerely attached to her.

Since Lady Carbury had refused his offer, Mr. Broune had become almost sincerely attached to her.


There was certainly between them now more of the intimacy of real friendship than had ever existed in earlier days.

There was certainly more real friendship between them than had ever existed earlier.


He spoke to her more freely about his own affairs, and even she would speak to him with some attempt at truth.

He spoke to her more freely about his affairs, and she would speak to him with some attempt at honesty.


There was never between them now even a shade of love-making.


She did not look into his eyes, nor did he hold her hand.


As for kissing her,--he thought no more of it than of kissing the maid-servant.


But he spoke to her of the things that worried him,--the unreasonable exactions of proprietors, and the perilous inaccuracy of contributors.

But he talked of the things that worried him, and


He told her of the exceeding weight upon his shoulders, under which an Atlas would have succumbed.


And he told her something too of his triumphs;--how he had had this fellow bowled over in punishment for some contradiction, and that man snuffed out for daring to be an enemy.


And he expatiated on his own virtues, his justice and clemency.


Ah,--if men and women only knew his good nature and his patriotism;--how he had spared the rod here, how he had made the fortune of a man there, how he had saved the country millions by the steadiness of his adherence to some grand truth!

how he had saved the country millions by telling some grand truth!


Lady Carbury delighted in all this and repaid him by flattery, and little confidences of her own.

Lady Carbury delighted in all this and repaid him by little confidences of her own.


Under his teaching she had almost made up her mind to give up Mr. Alf.

She had almost made up her mind to give up Mr. Alf.


Of nothing was Mr. Broune more certain than that Mr. Alf was making a fool of himself in regard to the Westminster election and those attacks on Melmotte.

Mr. Broune thought that Mr. Alf was making a fool of himself with the Westminster election and those attacks on Melmotte.


"The world of London generally knows what it is about," said Mr. Broune, "and the London world believes Mr. Melmotte to be sound.

"London believes Mr. Melmotte to be sound," he said.


I don't pretend to say that he has never done anything that he ought not to do.

"I don't pretend that he has never done anything that he ought not to.


But he is a man of wealth, power, and genius, and Alf will get the worst of it."


Under such teaching as this, Lady Carbury was almost obliged to give up Mr. Alf.


Sometimes they would sit in the front room with Hetta, to whom also Mr. Broune had become attached; but sometimes Lady Carbury would be in her own sanctum.


On this evening she received him there, and at once poured forth all her troubles about Felix.

On this evening Lady Carbury at once poured forth all her troubles about Felix.


On this occasion she told him everything, and almost told him everything truly.


"The young lady went down to Liverpool, and Sir Felix was not there."


He has been in bed in this house all day.


"So I am told;--and was met at the station by the senior officer of the police at Liverpool, who brought her back to London without letting her go down to the ship at all.

"So I am told; and was met at the station by a police officer, who brought her back to London.


She must have thought that her lover was on board;--probably thinks so now.

She probably still thinks her lover was on board the ship.


"How much worse it would have been, had she been allowed to start," said Lady Carbury.

"How much worse it would have been, had she gone on board," said Lady Carbury.


She would have had a sad journey to New York, and a sadder journey back.

"Yes; she would have had a sad journey to New York, and a sadder journey back.


Has your son told you anything about money?"


"They say that the girl entrusted him with a large sum which she had taken from her father.

"They say the girl entrusted him with a large sum which she had taken from her father.


If that be so he certainly ought to lose no time in restoring it.

If that is so he certainly ought to lose no time in returning it.


If it be so,--to avoid unpleasantness,--it should be sent back at once.

But to avoid unpleasantness, it should be sent back at once."


This Mr. Broune said with a clear intimation of the importance of his advice.


She had no money to give back, nor, as she was well aware, had her son.

She had no money to give back, nor, as she knew, had her son.


What did Mr. Broune mean by a large sum?


She knew that she could not hope to get a word of truth from her son.


she said, in tears.
"Two or three hundred pounds, perhaps."


"I have not a shilling in the world, Mr. Broune."


Then it all came out,--the whole story of her poverty, as it had been brought about by her son's misconduct.

Then it all came out - the whole story of her poverty, caused by her son's misconduct.


She told him every detail of her money affairs from the death of her husband, and his will, up to the present moment.

She told him every detail of her money affairs from her husband's death up to the present.


Lady Carbury thought that she was nearly eaten up already, but she said nothing.


It is dreadful to say so, but it must be done.


Find out what money he got from Miss Melmotte and I will see that it is repaid.


That must be done;--and we will then try to get him to go abroad.

Then we will try to get him to go abroad.


I must be off now, as I have stayed too long.


Make him tell you, and send me word down to the office.

Send me word of the sum down to the office.


If you could do it early to-morrow, that would be best.


Early on the following morning a letter from Lady Carbury was put into Mr. Broune's hands, giving the story of the money as far as she had been able to extract it from Sir Felix.

Early the following morning Mr. Broune received a letter from Lady Carbury, giving the story of the money as far as she had been able to extract it from Sir Felix.


Sir Felix declared that Mr. Melmotte had owed him 600, and that he had received 250 out of this from Miss Melmotte,--so that there was still a large balance due to him.

Sir Felix declared that Mr. Melmotte had owed him 600, and that he had received 250 out of this from Miss Melmotte.


Lady Carbury went on to say that her son had at last confessed that he had lost this money at play.

Lady Carbury added that her son had at last confessed that he had lost this money at play.


The story was fairly true; but Lady Carbury in her letter acknowledged that she was not justified in believing it because it was told to her by her son.

Although this was true, she admitted that she could not safely believe anything told to her by her son.


"You shall be troubled no more with Winifrid Hurtle."


So Mrs. Hurtle had said, speaking in perfect good faith to the man whom she had come to England with the view of marrying.

So Mrs. Hurtle had said in perfect good faith to Paul Montague.


And then when he had said good-bye to her, putting out his hand to take hers for the last time, she declined that.

And when he had said good-bye to her, putting out his hand for the last time, she declined it.


"Nay," she had said; "this parting will bear no farewell."


Having left her after that fashion Paul Montague could not return home with very high spirits.


Had she insisted on his taking that letter with the threat of the horsewhip as the letter which she intended to write to him,--that letter which she had shown him, owning it to be the ebullition of her uncontrolled passion, and had then destroyed,--he might at any rate have consoled himself with thinking that, however badly he might have behaved, her conduct had been worse than his.

If she had insisted on his taking that letter with the threat of the horsewhip, he might at least have consoled himself with thinking that, however badly he had behaved, her conduct had been worse.


He could have made himself warm and comfortable with anger, and could have assured himself that under any circumstances he must be right to escape from the clutches of a wild cat such as that.

He could have made himself warm and comfortable with anger, and could have assured himself that he was right to escape from the clutches of such a wild cat.


But at the last moment she had shown that she was no wild cat to him.

But at the last moment she had been no wild cat to him.


She had melted, and become soft and womanly.


In her softness she had been exquisitely beautiful; and as he returned home he was sad and dissatisfied with himself.

, and exquisitely beautiful; and he returned home sad and dissatisfied with himself.


He had destroyed her life for her,--or, at least, had created a miserable episode in it which could hardly be obliterated.


She had said that she was all alone, and had given up everything to follow him,--and he had believed her.

She had said that she was all alone, and had given up everything to follow him.


She had allowed him to go, and after her fashion had pardoned him the wrong he had done her.


But was that to be sufficient for him,--so that he might now feel inwardly satisfied at leaving her, and make no further inquiry as to her fate?


Could he pass on and let her be as the wine that has been drunk,--as the hour that has been enjoyed,--as the day that is past?


He had resolved that, let her be woman or wild cat, he would not marry her, and in that he knew he had been right.

He had resolved that he would not marry her, and he knew he had been right.


Her antecedents, as now declared by herself, unfitted her for such a marriage.


Were he to return to her he would be again thrusting his hand into the fire.

Were he to return to her he would again be thrusting his hand into the fire.


But his own selfish coldness was hateful to him when he thought that there was nothing to be done but to leave her desolate and lonely in Mrs. Pipkin's lodgings.

But his own selfish coldness was hateful to him when he thought of her left desolate and lonely in Mrs. Pipkin's lodgings.


During the next three or four days, while the preparations for the dinner and the election were going on, he was busy in respect to the American railway.

During the next three or four days, while the preparations for the dinner and the election were going on, he was busy in regard to the American railway.


He again went down to Liverpool, and at Mr. Ramsbottom's advice prepared a letter to the board of directors, in which he resigned his seat, and gave his reasons for resigning it; adding that he should reserve to himself the liberty of publishing his letter, should at any time the circumstances of the railway company seem to him to make such a course desirable.

He again went to Liverpool, and at Mr. Ramsbottom's advice prepared a letter to the board of directors, in which he resigned his seat.


He also wrote a letter to Mr. Fisker, begging that gentleman to come to England, and expressing his own wish to retire altogether from the firm of Fisker, Montague, and Montague upon receiving the balance of money due to him,--a payment which must, he said, be a matter of small moment to his two partners, if, as he had been informed, they had enriched themselves by the success of the railway company in San Francisco.

He also wrote a letter to Mr. Fisker, begging that gentleman to come to England, and expressing his own wish to retire altogether from the firm of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, upon receiving the balance of money due to him.


When he wrote these letters at Liverpool the great rumour about Melmotte had not yet sprung up.


He returned to London on the day of the festival, and first heard of the report at the Beargarden.


There he found that the old set had for the moment broken itself up.


Sir Felix Carbury had not been heard of for the last four or five days,--and then the whole story of Miss Melmotte's journey, of which he had read something in the newspapers, was told to him.

Sir Felix Carbury had not been heard of for the last four or five days; and then the whole story of Miss Melmotte's journey was told to him.


"We think that Carbury has drowned himself," said Lord Grasslough, "and I haven't heard of anybody being heartbroken about it."


Lord Nidderdale had hardly been seen at the club.


"He's taken up the running with the girl," said Lord Grasslough.


If I was at it, I'd have the money down in hard cash before I went into the church.


He was there at the party yesterday, talking to the girl all the night;--a sort of thing he never did before.

"He was there at the party yesterday, talking to her all night - a sort of thing he never did before.


Nidderdale is the best fellow going, but he was always an ass."


Nor had Miles Grendall been seen in the club for three days.


"We've got into a way of play the poor fellow doesn't like," said Lord Grasslough; "and then Melmotte won't let him out of his sight.


This was said during the election,--on the very day on which Miles deserted his patron; and on that evening he did dine at the club.


Paul Montague also dined there, and would fain have heard something from Grendall as to Melmotte's condition; but the secretary, if not faithful in all things, was faithful at any rate in his silence.


Though Grasslough talked openly enough about Melmotte in the smoking-room Miles Grendall said never a word.


On the next day, early in the afternoon, almost without a fixed purpose, Montague strolled up to Welbeck Street, and found Hetta alone.

On the next afternoon, almost without a fixed purpose, Paul strolled up to Welbeck Street, and found Hetta alone.


"Mamma has gone to her publisher's," she said.


"She is writing so much now that she is always going there.


Paul knew nothing about the election, and cared very little.


At that time, however, the election had not been decided.


"I suppose it will make no difference to you whether your chairman be in Parliament or not?"


Paul said that Melmotte was no longer a chairman of his.

He said that Melmotte was no longer his chairman.


"Are you out of it altogether, Mr. Montague?"


Yes;--as far as it lay within his power to be out of it, he was out of it.

Yes; as far as it lay within his power, he was out of it.


He did not like Mr. Melmotte, nor believe in him.


Then with considerable warmth he repudiated all connection with the Melmotte party, expressing deep regret that circumstances had driven him for a time into that alliance.

With considerable warmth he repudiated all connection with Melmotte, expressing deep regret that circumstances had driven him for a time into that alliance.


"Then you think that Mr. Melmotte is--?"


"Of course I heard that he was to marry the girl, and that he tried to run off with her.

"I heard that he tried to run off with the girl.


They say that Lord Nidderdale is to marry her now."


At any rate, your brother is well out of it."


"Do you know that she truly loves Felix?


The other night at the party she spoke to me."


"Yes;--I could not refuse to go when mamma chose to take me.


And when I was there she spoke to me about Felix.


I don't think she will marry Lord Nidderdale.


Think what a downfall it will be if anything happens."


But Paul Montague had certainly not come there with the intention of discussing Melmotte's affairs, nor could he afford to lose the opportunity which chance had given him.

But Paul Montague had not come to discuss Melmotte's affairs.


He was off with one love, and now he thought that he might be on with the other.


"Hetta," he said, "I am thinking more of myself than of her,--or even of Felix."

"Hetta," he said, "I am thinking more of myself than of her."


"I suppose we all do think more of ourselves than of other people," said Hetta, who knew from his voice at once what it was in his mind to do.

"I suppose we all do think more of ourselves than of other people," said Hetta, who knew from his voice at once what he intended.


"Yes;--but I am not thinking of myself only.


In all my thoughts of myself I am thinking of you too."


And of course she thought that he was equally sure of her love.

And she thought that he was equally sure of her love.


Had he chosen to read signs that ought to have been plain enough to him, could he have doubted her love after the few words that had been spoken on that night when Lady Carbury had come in with Roger and interrupted them?

Could he have doubted her love after the few words that had been spoken on that night when Lady Carbury had interrupted them?


She could not remember exactly what had been said; but she did remember that he had spoken of leaving England for ever in a certain event, and that she had not rebuked him;--and she remembered also how she had confessed her own love to her mother.


He, of course, had known nothing of that confession; but he must have known that he had her heart!

He must have known that he had her heart!


She had been working some morsel of lace, as ladies do when ladies wish to be not quite doing nothing.

She had been sewing some morsel of lace, as ladies do when they wish to be not quite doing nothing.


She had endeavoured to ply her needle, very idly, while he was speaking to her, but now she allowed her hands to fall into her lap.

Now she allowed her hands to fall into her lap.


She would have continued to work at the lace had she been able, but there are times when the eyes will not see clearly, and when the hands will hardly act mechanically.


Look at me for one moment so as to let me know."


Her eyes had turned downwards after her work.

Her eyes had turned downwards to her work.


"If Roger is dearer to you than I am, I will go at once."


"Do you love him as I would have you love me?"


She paused for a time, knowing that his eyes were fixed upon her, and then she answered the question in a low voice, but very clearly.


He put out both his arms as though to take her to his breast should the answer be such as he longed to hear.


She raised her hand towards him, as if to keep him back, and left it with him when he seized it.

She raised her hand as if to keep him back, and left it with him when he seized it.


Then he was at her feet in a moment, kissing her hands and her dress, looking up into her face with his eyes full of tears, ecstatic with joy as though he had really never ventured to hope for such success.

Then he was at her feet in a moment, kissing her hands and her dress, looking up into her face with his eyes full of tears, ecstatic with joy.


"Hetta, I have never wanted anything but that with real desire.

"Hetta, I have never wanted anything but that.


Since I first saw you this has been my only dream of happiness.


Now that she had told him the truth she did not coy her love.


Having once spoken the word she did not care how often she repeated it.


She did not think that she could ever have loved anybody but him,--even if he had not been fond of her.

She did not think that she could ever have loved anybody but him.


As to Roger,--dear Roger, dearest Roger,--no; it was not the same thing.

As to Roger - dear Roger - no; it was not the same thing.


"He is as good as gold," she said,--"ever so much better than you are, Paul," stroking his hair with her hand and looking into his eyes.

"He is as good as gold," she said, "ever so much better than you are, Paul," stroking his hair with her hand and looking into his eyes.


"Better than anybody I have ever known," said Montague with all his energy.

"Better than anybody I have ever known," said Montague.


"I think he is;--but, ah, that is not everything.

"I think he is; but that is not everything.


I suppose we ought to love the best people best; but I don't, Paul."


You must love me best, but I won't be called good.


Do you know, Paul, I have sometimes thought I would do as he would have me, out of sheer gratitude.

Do you know, Paul, I have sometimes thought I would accept him, out of sheer gratitude."


I did not know how to refuse such a trifling thing to one who ought to have everything that he wants."


Somebody else would have made you happy.


But do you know, Paul, I think he will never love any one else.

But, Paul, I think he will never love anyone else.


I ought not to say so, because it seems to be making so much of myself.


He is not so young a man, and yet I think that he never was in love before.

He is not young, and yet I think that he never was in love before.


He almost told me so once, and what he says is true.


There is an unchanging way with him that is awful to think of.


He said that he never could be happy unless I would do as he would have me,--and he made me almost believe even that.

He said that he could never be happy unless I would marry him.


He speaks as though every word he says must come true in the end.


Oh, Paul, I love you so dearly,--but I almost think that I ought to have obeyed him."

Oh, Paul, I love you so dearly - but I almost think that I ought to have obeyed him."


Paul Montague of course had very much to say in answer to this.


Among the holy things which did exist to gild this every-day unholy world, love was the holiest.


It should be soiled by no falsehood, should know nothing of compromises, should admit no excuses, should make itself subject to no external circumstances.


If Fortune had been so kind to him as to give him her heart, poor as his claim might be, she could have no right to refuse him the assurance of her love.


And though his rival were an angel, he could have no shadow of a claim upon her,--seeing that he had failed to win her heart.

Even if Roger were an angel, he could have no claim upon her, since he had failed to win her heart.


It was very well said,--at least so Hetta thought,--and she made no attempt at argument against him.


But what was to be done in reference to poor Roger?

But what was to be done about poor Roger?


She had spoken the word now, and, whether for good or bad, she had given herself to Paul Montague.

Whether for good or bad, Hetta had now given herself to Paul Montague.


Even though Roger should have to walk disconsolate to the grave, it could not now be helped.


But would it not be right that it should be told?


"Do you know I almost feel that he is like a father to me," said Hetta, leaning on her lover's shoulder.

"Do you know, I almost feel that he is like a father to me," said Hetta, leaning on her lover's shoulder.


Paul thought it over for a few minutes, and then said that he would himself write to Roger.

Paul thought it over, and then said that he would himself write to Roger.


"Hetta, do you know, I doubt whether he will ever speak to me again."

"Hetta, I doubt whether he will ever speak to me again."


"There is a sternness about him which it is very hard to understand.


He has taught himself to think that as I met you in his house, and as he then wished you to be his wife, I should not have ventured to love you.

He has taught himself to think that as I met you in his house, and as he wished you to be his wife, I should not have ventured to love you.


"Oh, then, you never could have spoken to me like this."


"But he will never look at it in that way;--and he will tell me that I have been untrue to him and ungrateful."

He will tell me that I have been untrue to him and ungrateful - and


It will be a great sorrow, but it will be as nothing to that other sorrow, had that come upon me.


I will write to him, and his answer will be all scorn and wrath.


I think he will forgive you, but he will never forgive me."


Then they parted, she having promised that she would tell her mother directly Lady Carbury came home, and Paul undertaking to write to Roger that evening.


And he did, with infinite difficulty, and much trembling of the spirit.


I think it right to tell you at once what has occurred to-day.

I think it right to tell you at once what has occurred today.


I have proposed to Miss Carbury and she has accepted me.


You have long known what my feelings were, and I have also known yours.


I have known, too, that Miss Carbury has more than once declined to take your offer.


Under these circumstances I cannot think that I have been untrue to friendship in what I have done, or that I have proved myself ungrateful for the affectionate kindness which you have always shown me.

Under these circumstances I cannot think that I have been untrue to our friendship, or that I have proved myself ungrateful for the affectionate kindness which you have always shown me.


I am authorised by Hetta to say that, had I never spoken to her, it must have been the same to you.

I am authorised by Hetta to say that, even if I had never spoken to her, it must have been the same to you.


This was hardly a fair representation of what had been said, but the writer, looking back upon his interview with the lady, thought that it had been implied.

(This was hardly what had been said, but the writer, looking back upon his interview with the lady, thought that it had been implied.)


I should not say so much by way of excusing myself, but that you once said, that should such a thing occur there must be a division between us ever after.

You once said, that should such a thing occur there must be a division between us ever after.


If I thought that you would adhere to that threat, I should be very unhappy and Hetta would be miserable.

If I thought that you would keep to that threat, I should be very unhappy and Hetta would be miserable.


Surely, if a man loves he is bound to tell his love, and to take the chance.


You would hardly have thought it manly in me if I had abstained.


Dear friend, take a day or two before you answer this, and do not banish us from your heart if you can help it.


Roger Carbury did not take a single day,--or a single hour to answer the letter.

Roger Carbury did not take a single day, or a single hour to answer the letter.


He received it at breakfast, and after rushing out on the terrace and walking there for a few minutes, he hurried to his desk and wrote his reply.


As he did so, his whole face was red with wrath, and his eyes were glowing with indignation.

, his face red with wrath, and his eyes glowing with indignation.


There is an old French saying that he who makes excuses is his own accuser.


You would not have written as you have done, had you not felt yourself to be false and ungrateful.


You knew where my heart was, and there you went and undermined my treasure, and stole it away.


You have destroyed my life, and I will never forgive you.


You tell me not to banish you both from my heart.


How dare you join yourself with her in speaking of my feelings!


She will never be banished from my heart.


She will be there morning, noon, and night, and as is and will be my love to her, so shall be my enmity to you.

She will be there morning, noon, and night, and as is my love to her, so shall be my enmity to you.


It was hardly a letter for a Christian to write; and, yet, in those parts Roger Carbury had the reputation of being a good Christian.


Henrietta told her mother that morning, immediately on her return.


"Mamma, Mr. Paul Montague has been here."


"He always comes here when I am away," said Lady Carbury.


He could not have known that you were going to Messrs. Leadham and Loiter's."


"Then, mamma, you must have told him yourself, and I don't think you knew till just before you were going.


He has been here, and I have told him--"


I will not marry him without asking you."


How was I not to tell him when he asked me whether I--loved him?"


How is it possible you should marry him?


Whatever he had got was in that affair of Melmotte's, and that has gone to the dogs.


He is a ruined man, and for aught I know may be compromised in all Melmotte's wickedness."

He is a ruined man, and for all I know he may be compromised in Melmotte's wickedness."


I did think that you would try to comfort me after all this trouble with Felix.


But you are as bad as he is;--or worse, for you have not been thrown into temptation like that poor boy!


I feel for him;--he that has been so true to us!


"And how do you show it;--or your love for me?


There would have been a home for us all.


Hetta, you have been worse to me even than Felix."

Hetta, you have been even worse to me than Felix."


Then Lady Carbury, in her passion, burst out of the room, and took herself to her own chamber.

Then Lady Carbury burst out of the room, and took herself to her own chamber.


While these things were being done in Bruton Street and Grosvenor Square horrid rumours were prevailing in the City and spreading from the City westwards to the House of Commons, which was sitting this Monday afternoon with a prospect of an adjournment at seven o'clock in consequence of the banquet to be given to the Emperor.

While these things were happening, horrid rumours were spreading from the City westwards to the House of Commons, which was sitting this Monday afternoon with a prospect of adjourning at seven o'clock because of the banquet for the Emperor.


It is difficult to explain the exact nature of this rumour, as it was not thoroughly understood by those who propagated it.

It is difficult to explain the exact nature of this rumour, as it was not thoroughly understood by those who spread it.


But it is certainly the case that the word forgery was whispered by more than one pair of lips.

But certainly the word 'forgery' was whispered by more than one pair of lips.


Many of Melmotte's staunchest supporters thought that he was very wrong not to show himself that day in the City.

Many of Melmotte's staunchest supporters thought that he was wrong not to show himself that day in the City.


What good could he do pottering about among the chairs and benches in the banqueting room?

What good could he do pottering about in the banqueting room?


There were people to manage that kind of thing.


In such an affair it was his business to do simply as he was told, and to pay the bill.


It was not as though he were giving a little dinner to a friend, and had to see himself that the wine was brought up in good order.


His work was in the City; and at such a time as this and in such a crisis as this, he should have been in the City.

In such a crisis as this, he should have been in the City.


Men will whisper forgery behind a man's back who would not dare even to think it before his face.


Of this particular rumour our young friend Dolly Longestaffe was the parent.


With unhesitating resolution, nothing awed by his father, Dolly had gone to his attorney, Mr. Squercum, immediately after that Friday on which Mr. Longestaffe first took his seat at the Railway Board.

Unawed by his father, Dolly had gone to his attorney, Mr. Squercum, immediately after Mr. Longestaffe first took his seat at the Railway Board.


Dolly was possessed of fine qualities, but it must be owned that veneration was not one of them.


"I don't know why Mr. Melmotte is to be different from anybody else," he had said to his father.


"When I buy a thing and don't pay for it, it is because I haven't got the tin, and I suppose it's about the same with him.

"When I buy a thing and don't pay for it, it is because I haven't got the tin, and I suppose it's the same with him.


It's all right, no doubt, but I don't see why he should have got hold of the place till the money was paid down."


"Of course it's all right," said the father.


"You think you understand everything, when you really understand nothing at all."


When a fellow is stupid himself, he ought to have a sharp fellow to look after his business."


"You'll ruin me and yourself too, if you go to such a man as that.


Slow and Bideawhile have been the family lawyers for a century."


Dolly made some remark as to the old family advisers which was by no means pleasing to the father's ears, and went his way.

But Dolly made some disparaging remark, and went his way.


The father knew his boy, and knew that his boy would go to Squercum.

The father knew that his boy would go to Squercum.


All he could himself do was to press Mr. Melmotte for the money with what importunity he could assume.

All he could do was to press Mr. Melmotte for the money


He wrote a timid letter to Mr. Melmotte, which had no result; and then, on the next Friday, again went into the City and there encountered perturbation of spirit and sheer loss of time,--as the reader has already learned.

; but in vain, as the reader has already learned.


Squercum was a thorn in the side of all the Bideawhiles.


Mr. Slow had been gathered to his fathers, but of the Bideawhiles there were three in the business, a father and two sons, to whom Squercum was a pest and a musquito, a running sore and a skeleton in the cupboard.


It was not only in reference to Mr. Longestaffe's affairs that they knew Squercum.


The Bideawhiles piqued themselves on the decorous and orderly transaction of their business.

who piqued themselves on the decorous and orderly transaction of their business.


It had grown to be a rule in the house that anything done quickly must be done badly.

It was their rule that anything done quickly must be done badly.


They never were in a hurry for money, and they expected their clients never to be in a hurry for work.


He had established himself, without predecessors and without a partner, and we may add without capital, at a little office in Fetter Lane, and had there made a character for getting things done after a marvellous and new fashion.

He had established himself, without a partner, at a little office in Fetter Lane, and had there made a name for getting things done in a new and marvellous fashion.


And it was said of him that he was fairly honest, though it must be owned that among the Bideawhiles of the profession this was not the character which he bore.

It was said that he was fairly honest, though


He did sharp things no doubt, and had no hesitation in supporting the interests of sons against those of their fathers.

he did sharp things, no doubt, and had no hesitation in supporting the interests of sons against those of their fathers.


In more than one case he had computed for a young heir the exact value of his share in a property as compared to that of his father, and had come into hostile contact with many family Bideawhiles.


There were some who, no doubt, would have liked to crush a man who was at once so clever, and so pestilential.


But he had not as yet been crushed, and had become quite in vogue with elder sons.


Some three years since his name had been mentioned to Dolly by a friend who had for years been at war with his father, and Squercum had been quite a comfort to Dolly.


He was a mean-looking little man, not yet above forty, who always wore a stiff light-coloured cotton cravat, an old dress coat, a coloured dingy waistcoat, and light trousers of some hue different from his waistcoat.

He was a mean-looking little man, about forty, who always wore an old dress coat, a dingy waistcoat, and light trousers of some different hue.


He generally had on dirty shoes and gaiters.


He was light haired, with light whiskers, with putty-formed features, a squat nose, a large mouth, and very bright blue eyes.

He had putty-formed features, a squat nose, a large mouth, and bright blue eyes.


He looked as unlike the normal Bideawhile of the profession as a man could be; and it must be owned, though an attorney, would hardly have been taken for a gentleman from his personal appearance.


He was very quick, and active in his motions, absolutely doing his law work himself, and trusting to his three or four juvenile clerks for little more than scrivener's labour.

He was very quick and active, doing his law work himself, and trusting to his three or four juvenile clerks for little more than copying.


He seldom or never came to his office on a Saturday, and many among his enemies said that he was a Jew.


What evil will not a rival say to stop the flow of grist to the mill of the hated one?


But this report Squercum rather liked, and assisted.


They who knew the inner life of the little man declared that he kept a horse and hunted down in Essex on Saturday, doing a bit of gardening in the summer months;--and they said also that he made up for this by working hard all Sunday.


Such was Mr. Squercum,--a sign, in his way, that the old things are being changed.


Squercum sat at a desk, covered with papers in chaotic confusion, on a chair which moved on a pivot.

Squercum sat at a desk covered with papers in chaotic confusion, on a swivel chair.


His desk was against the wall, and when clients came to him, he turned himself sharp round, sticking out his dirty shoes, throwing himself back till his body was an inclined plane, with his hands thrust into his pockets.

When clients came to him, he turned himself sharp round, sticking out his dirty shoes, and throwing himself back with his hands thrust into his pockets.


In this attitude he would listen to his client's story, and would himself speak as little as possible.


It was by his instructions that Dolly had insisted on getting his share of the purchase money for Pickering into his own hands, so that the incumbrance on his own property might be paid off.


He now listened as Dolly told him of the delay in the payment.

He now listened as Dolly told him of the delay in the payment for Pickering.


Then Dolly informed him how the tradesmen of the great financier had already half knocked down the house.

Dolly informed him how tradesmen had already half knocked down the house.


Squercum still listened, and promised to look to it.


He did ask what authority Dolly had given for the surrender of the title-deeds.

asked what authority Dolly had given for the surrender of the title-deeds.


Dolly declared that he had given authority for the sale, but none for the surrender.


His father, some time since, had put before him, for his signature, a letter, prepared in Mr. Bideawhile's office, which Dolly said that he had refused even to read, and certainly had not signed.

Some time ago his father had put before him, for his signature, a letter prepared in Mr. Bideawhile's office, which Dolly said that he had refused even to read, and certainly had not signed.


Squercum again said that he'd look to it, and bowed Dolly out of his room.

Squercum said that he'd look into it, and bowed Dolly out of his room.


"They've got him to sign something when he was tight," said Squercum to himself, knowing something of the habits of his client.

"They've got him to sign something when he was drunk," said Squercum to himself, knowing something of his client's habits.


"I wonder whether his father did it, or old Bideawhile, or Melmotte himself?"


Mr. Squercum was inclined to think that Bideawhile would not have done it, that Melmotte could have had no opportunity, and that the father must have been the practitioner.


"It's not the trick of a pompous old fool either," said Mr. Squercum, in his soliloquy.


He went to work, however, making himself detestably odious among the very respectable clerks in Mr. Bideawhile's office,--men who considered themselves to be altogether superior to Squercum himself in professional standing.

He went to work, however, making himself detestably odious among the very respectable clerks in Mr. Bideawhile's office.


[Illustration: Mr. Squercum in his office.]


And now there came this rumour which was so far particular in its details that it inferred the forgery, of which it accused Mr. Melmotte, to his mode of acquiring the Pickering property.

And now there came this rumour which accused Mr. Melmotte of forgery in his mode of acquiring the Pickering property.


The nature of the forgery was of course described in various ways,--as was also the signature said to have been forged.

The nature of the forgery was described in various ways.


But there were many who believed, or almost believed, that something wrong had been done,--that some great fraud had been committed; and in connection with this it was ascertained,--by some as a matter of certainty,--that the Pickering estate had been already mortgaged by Melmotte to its full value at an assurance office.

But there were many who believed that some great fraud had been committed; and it was ascertained that the Pickering estate had already been mortgaged by Melmotte to its full value - a


In such a transaction there would be nothing dishonest; but as this place had been bought for the great man's own family use, and not as a speculation, even this report of the mortgage tended to injure his credit.


And then, as the day went on, other tidings were told as to other properties.

As the day went on, other news was told about other properties.


Houses in the East-end of London were said to have been bought and sold, without payment of the purchase money as to the buying, and with receipt of the purchase money as to the selling.

Houses in the East-end of London were said to have been bought and sold, without payment of the purchase money when buying, and with receipt of the purchase money when selling.


It was certainly true that Squercum himself had seen the letter in Mr. Bideawhile's office which conveyed to the father's lawyer the son's sanction for the surrender of the title-deeds, and that that letter, prepared in Mr. Bideawhile's office, purported to have Dolly's signature.

Squercum himself saw the letter in Mr. Bideawhile's office which gave the son's permission for the surrender of the title-deeds. That letter purported to have Dolly's signature.


Squercum said but little, remembering that his client was not always clear in the morning as to anything he had done on the preceding evening.

Squercum knew that his client was not always clear in the morning as to anything he had done on the preceding evening.


But the signature, though it was scrawled as Dolly always scrawled it, was not like the scrawl of a drunken man.


The letter was said to have been sent to Mr. Bideawhile's office with other letters and papers, direct from old Mr. Longestaffe.


Such was the statement made at first to Mr. Squercum by the Bideawhile party, who at that moment had no doubt of the genuineness of the letter or of the accuracy of their statement.

Such was the statement made at first by the Bideawhiles, who had no doubt of the genuineness of the letter or of the accuracy of their statement.


Then Squercum saw his client again, and returned to the charge at Bideawhile's office, with the positive assurance that the signature was a forgery.


Dolly, when questioned by Squercum, quite admitted his propensity to be "tight."