When he was put forward as the Conservative candidate for the borough a good deal of fuss had been made with him by certain leading politicians. It had been the manifest intention of the party that his return, if he were returned, should be hailed as a great Conservative triumph, and be made much of through the length and the breadth of the land.

When he was put forward as the Conservative candidate, the party had intended that his election - if he were elected - should be hailed as a great Conservative triumph.


He was returned,--but the trumpets had not as yet been sounded loudly.

He was elected, but the trumpets had not yet sounded.


On a sudden, within the space of forty-eight hours, the party had become ashamed of their man.

The party had suddenly become ashamed of their man.


And, now, who was to introduce him to the House?


But with this feeling of shame on one side, there was already springing up an idea among another class that Melmotte might become as it were a Conservative tribune of the people,--that he might be the realization of that hitherto hazy mixture of Radicalism and old-fogyism, of which we have lately heard from a political master, whose eloquence has been employed in teaching us that progress can only be expected from those whose declared purpose is to stand still.

But there was already springing up an idea among another class that Melmotte might become a Conservative man of the people.


The new farthing newspaper, "The Mob," was already putting Melmotte forward as a political hero, preaching with reference to his commercial transactions the grand doctrine that magnitude in affairs is a valid defence for certain irregularities. A Napoleon, though he may exterminate tribes in carrying out his projects, cannot be judged by the same law as a young lieutenant who may be punished for cruelty to a few negroes.

The new farthing newspaper, The Mob, was putting Melmotte forward as a political hero, calling him a Napoleon of the business world who might be forgiven certain irregularities.


"The Mob" thought that a good deal should be overlooked in a Melmotte, and that the philanthropy of his great designs should be allowed to cover a multitude of sins.

The Mob thought that a good deal should be overlooked in a Melmotte, and that the philanthropy of his great designs should be allowed to cover his sins.


I do not know that the theory was ever so plainly put forward as it was done by the ingenious and courageous writer in "The Mob;" but in practice it has commanded the assent of many intelligent minds.


Mr. Melmotte, therefore, though he was not where he had been before that wretched Squercum had set afloat the rumours as to the purchase of Pickering, was able to hold his head much higher than on the unfortunate night of the great banquet.

Mr. Melmotte, therefore, was able to hold his head higher than on the unfortunate night of the banquet.


He had replied to the letter from Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, by a note written in the ordinary way in the office, and only signed by himself. In this he merely said that he would lose no time in settling matters as to the purchase of Pickering.

He had replied to the letter from Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile with a note, in which he merely said that he would lose no time in settling matters as to the purchase of Pickering.


Slow and Bideawhile were of course anxious that things should be settled.


They wanted no prosecution for forgery. To make themselves clear in the matter, and their client,--and if possible to take some wind out of the sails of the odious Squercum;--this would suit them best.

They wanted no prosecution for forgery; and they hoped to take some wind out of the sails of the odious Squercum.


They were prone to hope that for his own sake Melmotte would raise the money. If it were raised there would be no reason why that note purporting to have been signed by Dolly Longestaffe should ever leave their office.

If Melmotte raised the money, there was no reason why that note purporting to have been signed by Dolly Longestaffe should ever leave their office.


They still protested their belief that it did bear Dolly's signature.


They had various excuses for themselves.


It would have been useless for them to summon Dolly to their office, as they knew from long experience that Dolly would not come.


The very letter written by themselves,--as a suggestion,--and given to Dolly's father, had come back to them with Dolly's ordinary signature, sent to them,--as they believed,--with other papers by Dolly's father.


That was the fault of Longestaffe senior.


But if the money could be paid, that would set everything right.


Squercum evidently thought that the money would not be paid, and was ceaseless in his intercourse with Bideawhile's people.


He charged Slow and Bideawhile with having delivered up the title-deeds on the authority of a mere note, and that a note with a forged signature.

Squercum charged Slow and Bideawhile with having delivered up the title-deeds on the authority of a mere note with a forged signature.


He demanded that the note should be impounded.


On the receipt by Mr. Bideawhile of Melmotte's rather curt reply Mr. Squercum was informed that Mr. Melmotte had promised to pay the money at once, but that a day or two must be allowed.

He was informed that Mr. Melmotte had promised to pay the money at once, but that a day or two must be allowed.


Mr. Squercum replied that on his client's behalf he should open the matter before the Lord Mayor.


But in this way two or three days had passed without any renewal of the accusation before the public, and Melmotte had in a certain degree recovered his position.

In this way two or three days had passed without any renewal of the accusation, and Melmotte had partly recovered his position.


The Beauclerks and the Luptons disliked and feared him as much as ever, but they did not quite dare to be so loud and confident in condemnation as they had been.


It was pretty well known that Mr. Longestaffe had not received his money,--and that was a condition of things tending greatly to shake the credit of a man living after Melmotte's fashion. But there was no crime in that.

It was pretty well known that Mr. Longestaffe had not received his money; but there was no crime in that.


No forgery was implied by the publication of any statement to that effect.


The Longestaffes, father and son, might probably have been very foolish.

The Longestaffes, father and son, had probably been very foolish.


Whoever expected anything but folly from either?


And Slow and Bideawhile might have been very remiss in their duty.

And Slow and Bideawhile might have been remiss in their duty.


It was astonishing, some people said, what things attorneys would do in these days!


But they who had expected to see Melmotte behind the bars of a prison before this, and had regulated their conduct accordingly, now imagined that they had been deceived.

But those who had expected to see Melmotte behind bars by now felt that they had been deceived.


Had the Westminster triumph been altogether a triumph it would have become the pleasant duty of some popular Conservative to express to Melmotte the pleasure he would have in introducing his new political ally to the House.

It would normally have been the pleasant duty of some popular Conservative to introduce Melmotte to the House.


In such case Melmotte himself would have been walked up the chamber with a pleasurable ovation and the thing would have been done without trouble to him.


But now this was not the position of affairs.


Though the matter was debated at the Carlton, no such popular Conservative offered his services.

But no popular Conservative offered his services.


"I don't think we ought to throw him over," Mr. Beauclerk said.


Sir Orlando Drought, quite a leading Conservative, suggested that as Lord Nidderdale was very intimate with Mr. Melmotte he might do it. But Nidderdale was not the man for such a performance. He was a very good fellow and everybody liked him. He belonged to the House because his father had territorial influence in a Scotch county;--but he never did anything there, and his selection for such a duty would be a declaration to the world that nobody else would do it.

It was suggested that Lord Nidderdale might do it; but though he was a good fellow, he never did anything in Parliament.


"It wouldn't hurt you, Lupton," said Mr. Beauclerk.


"Not at all," said Lupton; "but I also, like Nidderdale, am a young man and of no use,--and a great deal too bashful."


Melmotte, who knew but little about it, went down to the House at four o'clock, somewhat cowed by want of companionship, but carrying out his resolution that he would be stopped by no phantom fears,--that he would lose nothing by want of personal pluck.

Melmotte, who knew little about it, went down to the House at four o'clock, carrying out his resolution that he would be stopped by no phantom fears.


He knew that he was a Member, and concluded that if he presented himself he would be able to make his way in and assume his right.

He knew that he was a Member, and he would assume his right.


The very leader of the party, the very founder of that new doctrine of which it was thought that Melmotte might become an apostle and an expounder,--who, as the reader may remember, had undertaken to be present at the banquet when his colleagues were dismayed and untrue to him, and who kept his promise and sat there almost in solitude,--he happened to be entering the House, as his late host was claiming from the door-keeper the fruition of his privilege.

The very leader of the party happened to be entering the House at the same time.


"You had better let me accompany you," said the Conservative leader, with something of chivalry in his heart.


And so Mr. Melmotte was introduced to the House by the head of his party!


When this was seen many men supposed that the rumours had been proved to be altogether false.


Was not this a guarantee sufficient to guarantee any man's respectability?

Was not this a guarantee of the man's respectability?


Lord Nidderdale saw his father in the lobby of the House of Lords that afternoon and told him what had occurred.


The old man had been in a state of great doubt since the day of the dinner party.

The old man had been in a state of great doubt about his son's marriage to Marie.


He was aware of the ruin that would be incurred by a marriage with Melmotte's daughter, if the things which had been said of Melmotte should be proved to be true.

He was aware of the ruin that would follow if the rumours about Melmotte proved to be true.


But he knew also that if his son should now recede, there must be an end of the match altogether;--and he did not believe the rumours. He was fully determined that the money should be paid down before the marriage was celebrated; but if his son were to secede now, of course no money would be forthcoming.

But he did not believe the rumours, though he was fully determined that the money should be paid down before the marriage took place.


He was prepared to recommend his son to go on with the affair still a little longer.


"Old Cure tells me he doesn't believe a word of it," said the father.


Cure was the family lawyer of the Marquises of Auld Reekie.


"There's some hitch about Dolly Longestaffe's money, sir," said the son.


"What's that to us if he has our money ready?


I suppose it isn't always easy even for a man like that to get a couple of hundred thousand together.

I suppose it isn't easy even for a man like that to get a couple of hundred thousand together.


I know I've never found it easy to get a thousand.


If he has borrowed a trifle from Longestaffe to make up the girl's money, I shan't complain.


There's no harm done till the parson has said the word."


"You couldn't let me have a couple of hundred;--could you, sir?"

"You couldn't let me have a couple of hundred, could you, sir?"


"No, I couldn't," replied the father with a very determined aspect.


Then the old man toddled into his own chamber, and after sitting there ten minutes went away home.


Lord Nidderdale also got quickly through his legislative duties and went to the Beargarden. There he found Grasslough and Miles Grendall dining together, and seated himself at the next table.

Lord Nidderdale went to the Beargarden, where he found Grasslough and Miles Grendall dining together, and seated himself at the next table.


"You've heard it, I suppose," said Miles in an awful whisper.


"By Jove, Nidderdale, you're in a mess like some others."


"Only fancy that they shouldn't have known down at the House!


exclaimed Nidderdale, dropping the spoon with which he was just going to eat his soup.

exclaimed Nidderdale, dropping his spoon.


Lord Nidderdale looked round the room and became aware of the awful expression of dismay which hung upon the features of all the dining members.

Lord Nidderdale looked round the room and became aware of the awful expression of dismay worn by all the members.


He has sold all our acceptances to a fellow in Great Marlbro' that's called 'Flatfleece.'"

"He has sold all our acceptances to a fellow in Great Marlbro' called Flatfleece."


"I know him," said Nidderdale shaking his head.


"I should think so," said Miles ruefully.


said Nidderdale, appealing to the waiter in almost a humble voice, feeling that he wanted sustenance in this new trouble that had befallen him.

He appealed to the waiter in almost a humble voice.


The waiter, beaten almost to the ground by an awful sense of the condition of the club, whispered to him the terrible announcement that there was not a bottle of champagne in the house.

The waiter whispered the terrible announcement that there was not a bottle of champagne in the house.


"Good G----," exclaimed the unfortunate nobleman.

"Good G___," exclaimed the unfortunate nobleman.


Miles Grendall shook his head. Grasslough shook his head.


[Illustration: "Not a bottle of champagne in the house."]


"It's true," said another young lord from the table on the other side.


Then the waiter, still speaking with suppressed and melancholy voice, suggested that there was some port left.


There had been a few bottles of brandy, but they had been already consumed.

There had been a few bottles of brandy, but they had already been consumed.


"Send out and get some brandy," said Nidderdale with rapid impetuosity. But the club was so reduced in circumstances that he was obliged to take silver out of his pocket before he could get even such humble comfort as he now demanded.

"Send out and get some brandy," said Nidderdale; but he had to take silver from his pocket before it could be done.


Then Lord Grasslough told the whole story as far as it was known.


Herr Vossner had not been seen since nine o'clock on the preceding evening.


The head waiter had known for some weeks that heavy bills were due.


It was supposed that three or four thousand pounds were owing to tradesmen, who now professed that the credit had been given, not to Herr Vossner but to the club.


And the numerous acceptances for large sums which the accommodating purveyor held from many of the members had all been sold to Mr. Flatfleece.

And the numerous I.O.U.s written by the members had all been sold to Mr. Flatfleece.


Mr. Flatfleece had spent a considerable portion of the day at the club, and it was now suggested that he and Herr Vossner were in partnership.


At this moment Dolly Longestaffe came in. Dolly had been at the club before and had heard the story,--but had gone at once to another club for his dinner when he found that there was not even a bottle of wine to be had.

At this moment Dolly Longestaffe came in, having heard the story.


There'll be nothing left for anybody soon.


Is that brandy you're drinking, Nidderdale?


"Had to send round the corner for it, to the public."


"We shall be sending round the corner for a good many things now.


Does anybody know anything of that fellow Melmotte?"


"He's down in the House, as big as life," said Nidderdale.


That fellow Flatfleece was here, and he showed me notes of mine for about 1,500!

That fellow Flatfleece showed me notes of mine for about 1,500!


I write such a beastly hand that I never know whether I've written it or not.


But, by George, a fellow can't eat and drink 1,500 in less than six months!"


"There's no knowing what you can do, Dolly," said Lord Grasslough.


"He's paid some of your card money, perhaps," said Nidderdale.

"It's some of your card money, perhaps," said Nidderdale.


's while that was going on, but I got the money for that from old Melmotte.


If any fellow writes D. Longestaffe, am I obliged to pay it?


How is any fellow to stand that kind of thing?


"I wish he wouldn't go and write my name then.

I wish Melmotte wouldn't go and write my name.


That's a sort of thing that a man should be left to do for himself.


I suppose Vossner is a swindler; but, by Jove, I know a worse than Vossner."


With that he turned on his heels and went into the smoking-room.


And, after he was gone, there was silence at the table, for it was known that Lord Nidderdale was to marry Melmotte's daughter.

After he was gone, there was silence at the table, for it was known that Lord Nidderdale was to marry Melmotte's daughter.


In the meantime a scene of a different kind was going on in the House of Commons.


Melmotte had been seated on one of the back Conservative benches, and there he remained for a considerable time unnoticed and forgotten.

Melmotte had been seated on one of the back Conservative benches, and there he remained for a time unnoticed.


The little emotion that had attended his entrance had passed away, and Melmotte was now no more than any one else.


At first he had taken his hat off, but, as soon as he observed that the majority of members were covered, he put it on again.


Then he sat motionless for an hour, looking round him and wondering.

He sat motionless for an hour, looking round him and wondering.


He had never hitherto been even in the gallery of the House.

He had never until now been even in the gallery of the House.


The place was very much smaller than he had thought, and much less tremendous.


The Speaker did not strike him with the awe which he had expected, and it seemed to him that they who spoke were talking much like other people in other places.

The Speaker did not strike him with the awe which he had expected.


For the first hour he hardly caught the meaning of a sentence that was said, nor did he try to do so.

For the first hour he hardly caught the meaning of anything that was said.


One man got up very quickly after another, some of them barely rising on their legs to say the few words that they uttered.

One man got up very quickly after another, some of them barely rising to say the few words that they uttered.


It seemed to him to be a very common-place affair,--not half so awful as those festive occasions on which he had occasionally been called upon to propose a toast or to return thanks.

It seemed to him to be a very commonplace affair.


Then suddenly the manner of the thing was changed, and one gentleman made a long speech.


Melmotte by this time, weary of observing, had begun to listen, and words which were familiar to him reached his ears.


The gentleman was proposing some little addition to a commercial treaty and was expounding in very strong language the ruinous injustice to which England was exposed by being tempted to use gloves made in a country in which no income tax was levied.

Melmotte listened: the gentleman was proposing some addition to a commercial treaty and was expounding in very strong language the ruinous injustice to which England was exposed by importing gloves made in a country in which no income tax was levied.


Melmotte listened to his eloquence caring nothing about gloves, and very little about England's ruin.

Melmotte cared nothing about gloves, and very little about England's ruin.


But in the course of the debate which followed, a question arose about the value of money, of exchange, and of the conversion of shillings into francs and dollars.

But in the course of the debate which followed, a question arose about the value of money, and of the conversion of shillings into francs and dollars.


About this Melmotte really did know something and he pricked up his ears.

About this Melmotte really did know something, and he pricked up his ears.


It seemed to him that a gentleman whom he knew very well in the city,--and who had maliciously stayed away from his dinner,--one Mr. Brown, who sat just before him on the same side of the House, and who was plodding wearily and slowly along with some pet fiscal theory of his own, understood nothing at all of what he was saying.

It seemed to him that a gentleman, one Mr. Brown, whom he knew very well in the city - and who had maliciously stayed away from his dinner - understood nothing at all of what he was saying.


Here was an opportunity for himself! Here was at his hand the means of revenging himself for the injury done him, and of showing to the world at the same time that he was not afraid of his city enemies!

Here was an opportunity for revenge - and for showing the world at the same time that he was not afraid of his city enemies!


It required some courage certainly,--this attempt that suggested itself to him of getting upon his legs a couple of hours after his first introduction to parliamentary life. But he was full of the lesson which he was now ever teaching himself. Nothing should cow him. Whatever was to be done by brazen-faced audacity he would do.

It required some courage certainly; but he had determined that nothing should cow him.


It seemed to be very easy, and he saw no reason why he should not put that old fool right. He knew nothing of the forms of the House;--was more ignorant of them than an ordinary schoolboy;--but on that very account felt less trepidation than might another parliamentary novice.

He saw no reason why he should not put the old fool right, although he knew nothing of the forms of the House.


Mr. Brown was tedious and prolix; and Melmotte, though he thought much of his project and had almost told himself that he would do the thing, was still doubting, when, suddenly, Mr. Brown sat down.

Melmotte was still doubting whether to speak, when suddenly Mr. Brown sat down.


There did not seem to be any particular end to the speech, nor had Melmotte followed any general thread of argument.


But a statement had been made and repeated, containing, as Melmotte thought, a fundamental error in finance; and he longed to set the matter right.

But a statement had been made containing, as Melmotte thought, a fundamental error in finance.


At any rate he desired to show the House that Mr. Brown did not know what he was talking about,--because Mr. Brown had not come to his dinner.


When Mr. Brown was seated, nobody at once rose.


The subject was not popular, and they who understood the business of the House were well aware that the occasion had simply been one on which two or three commercial gentlemen, having crazes of their own, should be allowed to ventilate them.


The subject would have dropped;--but on a sudden the new member was on his legs.

The subject would have dropped; but on a sudden the new member was on his legs.


Now it was probably not in the remembrance of any gentleman there that a member had got up to make a speech within two or three hours of his first entry into the House.

Not in living memory had a member got up to make a speech within two or three hours of his first entry into the House.


And this gentleman was one whose recent election had been of a very peculiar kind.


It had been considered by many of his supporters that his name should be withdrawn just before the ballot; by others that he would be deterred by shame from showing himself even if he were elected; and again by another party that his appearance in Parliament would be prevented by his disappearance within the walls of Newgate.

Some had thought that his appearance in Parliament would be prevented by his disappearance within the walls of Newgate Jail.


But here he was, not only in his seat, but on his legs!


The favourable grace, the air of courteous attention, which is always shown to a new member when he first speaks, was extended also to Melmotte.

The courteous attention which is always shown to a new member when he first speaks, was extended to Melmotte.


There was an excitement in the thing which made gentlemen willing to listen, and a consequent hum, almost of approbation.


As soon as Melmotte was on his legs, and, looking round, found that everybody was silent with the intent of listening to him, a good deal of his courage oozed out of his fingers' ends.

As soon as he was on his legs, and found that everybody was silent and listening, a good deal of his courage oozed out of his fingers' ends.


The House, which, to his thinking, had by no means been august while Mr. Brown had been toddling through his speech, now became awful.


He caught the eyes of great men fixed upon him,--of men who had not seemed to him to be at all great as he had watched them a few minutes before, yawning beneath their hats.

He caught the eyes of great men fixed upon him - of men who had not seemed at all great a few minutes before, yawning beneath their hats.


Mr. Brown, poor as his speech had been, had, no doubt, prepared it,--and had perhaps made three or four such speeches every year for the last fifteen years. Melmotte had not dreamed of putting two words together.

Mr. Brown, poor as his speech had been, had, no doubt, prepared it; while Melmotte had not dreamed of putting two words together.


He had thought, as far as he had thought at all, that he could rattle off what he had to say just as he might do it when seated in his chair at the Mexican Railway Board.

He had thought, as far as he had thought at all, that he could rattle off what he had to say just as he might at the Mexican Railway Board.


But there was the Speaker, and those three clerks in their wigs, and the mace,--and worse than all, the eyes of that long row of statesmen opposite to him!

But there was the Speaker, and those three clerks in their wigs, and the mace - and all those eyes!


His position was felt by him to be dreadful.


He had forgotten even the very point on which he had intended to crush Mr. Brown.

He forgot the very point on which he had intended to crush Mr. Brown.


But the courage of the man was too high to allow him to be altogether quelled at once.

But his courage was too high to allow him to be quelled.


The hum was prolonged; and though he was red in the face, perspiring, and utterly confused, he was determined to make a dash at the matter with the first words which would occur to him.

Though he was red in the face, perspiring, and utterly confused, he was determined to make a dash at the matter.


He had not even taken off his hat as he rose.


Mr. Brown turned slowly round and looked up at him.

Mr. Brown turned slowly and looked up at him.


Some one, whom he could not exactly hear, touching him behind, suggested that he should take off his hat.

Some one behind him suggested that he should take off his hat.


There was a cry of order, which of course he did not understand.


"Yes, you are," said Melmotte, nodding his head, and frowning angrily at poor Mr. Brown.

"Yes, you are," said Melmotte, frowning angrily at poor Mr. Brown.


"The honourable member," said the Speaker, with the most good-natured voice which he could assume, "is not perhaps as yet aware that he should not call another member by his name.

"The honourable member," said the Speaker, with the most good-natured voice which he could assume, "is perhaps not yet aware that he should not call another member by his name.


He should speak of the gentleman to whom he alluded as the honourable member for Whitechapel.

He should speak of the gentleman as the honourable member for Whitechapel.


And in speaking he should address, not another honourable member, but the chair."

And in speaking he should address the chair."


"You should take your hat off," said the good-natured gentleman behind.

"You should take your hat off," said the man behind.


In such a position how should any man understand so many and such complicated instructions at once, and at the same time remember the gist of the argument to be produced?


He did take off his hat, and was of course made hotter and more confused by doing so.

Melmotte did take off his hat, and was made more confused by doing so.


"What he said was all wrong," continued Melmotte; "and I should have thought a man out of the City, like Mr. Brown, ought to have known better."

"What he said was all wrong," he continued; "and I should have thought a man out of the City, like Mr. Brown, ought to have known better."


Then there were repeated calls of order, and a violent ebullition of laughter from both sides of the House.

Then there were repeated calls of order, and a violent outburst of laughter from both sides of the House.


The man stood for a while glaring around him, summoning his own pluck for a renewal of his attack on Mr. Brown, determined that he would be appalled and put down neither by the ridicule of those around him, nor by his want of familiarity with the place; but still utterly unable to find words with which to carry on the combat.

Melmotte stood for a while glaring around him, summoning his pluck for a renewal of his attack on Mr. Brown, determined not to be put down, but still utterly unable to find words.


"I ought to know something about it," said Melmotte sitting down and hiding his indignation and his shame under his hat.

"I ought to know something about it," he said, sitting down and hiding his indignation and his shame under his hat.


"We are sure that the honourable member for Westminster does understand the subject," said the leader of the House, "and we shall be very glad to hear his remarks."


The House I am sure will pardon ignorance of its rules in so young a member."


He had made a great effort, and had at any rate exhibited his courage. Though they might all say that he had not displayed much eloquence, they would be driven to admit that he had not been ashamed to show himself.

He had at any rate shown his courage, if not much eloquence.


He kept his seat till the regular stampede was made for dinner, and then walked out with as stately a demeanour as he could assume.

He kept his seat till the regular stampede was made for dinner, and then walked out in as stately a way as he could.


said Cohenlupe, taking his friend's arm in the lobby.

said Cohenlupe, the honourable member for Staines, taking his friend's arm in the lobby.


That old fool Brown didn't know what he was talking about, and I wanted to tell them so.


They wouldn't let me do it, and there's an end of it.


It seems to me to be a stupid sort of a place."


said Cohenlupe opening his black eyes while he looked up into his friend's face.

said Cohenlupe, looking up into his friend's face.


"Don't you trouble your head about Longestaffe, or his money either," said Melmotte, getting into his brougham; "do you leave Mr. Longestaffe and his money to me.

"Don't you trouble your head about Longestaffe," said Melmotte, getting into his carriage; "leave him and his money to me.


I hope you are not such a fool as to be scared by what the other fools say.

I hope you are not scared by what fools say."


When men play such a game as you and I are concerned in, they ought to know better than to be afraid of every word that is spoken."


"Oh, dear; yes;" said Cohenlupe apologetically.


"You don't suppose that I am afraid of anything."


But at that moment Mr. Cohenlupe was meditating his own escape from the dangerous shores of England, and was trying to remember what happy country still was left in which an order from the British police would have no power to interfere with the comfort of a retired gentleman such as himself.

But he was meditating his own escape from England, and was trying to remember what happy country would not interfere with the comfort of a retired gentleman such as himself.


That evening Madame Melmotte told her husband that Marie was now willing to marry Lord Nidderdale;--but she did not say anything as to the crossing-sweeper or the black footman, nor did she allude to Marie's threat of the sort of life she would lead her husband.

That evening Madame Melmotte told her husband that Marie was now willing to marry Lord Nidderdale; but she did not say anything about Marie's threat of the sort of life she would lead her husband.


A few days before that period in our story which we have now reached, Miss Longestaffe was seated in Lady Monogram's back drawing-room, discussing the terms on which the two tickets for Madame Melmotte's grand reception had been transferred to Lady Monogram,--the place on the cards for the names of the friends whom Madame Melmotte had the honour of inviting to meet the Emperor and the Princes, having been left blank; and the terms also on which Miss Longestaffe had been asked to spend two or three days with her dear friend Lady Monogram.

A few days before the dinner, Miss Longestaffe was seated in Lady Monogram's back drawing-room, discussing the terms on which the two tickets for the grand reception had been given to the Monograms; and the terms also on which Miss Longestaffe had been asked to spend two or three days with her dear friend Lady Monogram.


Each lady was disposed to get as much and to give as little as possible,--in which desire the ladies carried out the ordinary practice of all parties to a bargain.

Each lady wanted to get as much and to give as little as possible.


It had of course been settled that Lady Monogram was to have the two tickets,--for herself and her husband,--such tickets at that moment standing very high in the market. In payment for these valuable considerations, Lady Monogram was to undertake to chaperon Miss Longestaffe at the entertainment, to take Miss Longestaffe as a visitor for three days, and to have one party at her own house during the time, so that it might be seen that Miss Longestaffe had other friends in London besides the Melmotte's on whom to depend for her London gaieties.

In return for the two tickets, Lady Monogram was to chaperon Miss Longestaffe at the entertainment, to take Miss Longestaffe as a visitor for three days, and to have one party at her own house during that time, so that it might be seen that Miss Longestaffe had other friends in London besides the Melmottes.


At this moment Miss Longestaffe felt herself justified in treating the matter as though she were hardly receiving a fair equivalent.

Miss Longestaffe felt that she was hardly receiving a fair price.


The Melmotte tickets were certainly ruling very high. They had just culminated. They fell a little soon afterwards, and at ten P.M. on the night of the entertainment were hardly worth anything. At the moment which we have now in hand, there was a rush for them.

The Melmotte tickets had reached their height, and there was a rush for them.


Lady Monogram had already secured the tickets. They were in her desk.

Lady Monogram already had them in her desk.


But, as will sometimes be the case in a bargain, the seller was complaining that as she had parted with her goods too cheap, some make-weight should be added to the stipulated price.

But the seller was complaining that as she had parted with her goods too cheap, some make-weight should be added to the price.


"As for that, my dear," said Miss Longestaffe, who, since the rise in Melmotte stock generally, had endeavoured to resume something of her old manners, "I don't see what you mean at all.

"As for that, my dear," said Miss Longestaffe, who had endeavoured to resume something of her old manners, "I don't see what you mean at all.


You meet Lady Julia Goldsheiner everywhere, and her father-in-law is Mr. Brehgert's junior partner."


"Lady Julia is Lady Julia, my dear, and young Mr. Goldsheiner has, in some sort of way, got himself in. He hunts, and Damask says that he is one of the best shots at Hurlingham.

"Lady Julia is Lady Julia, my dear, and young Mr. Goldsheiner hunts, and Damask says that he is one of the best shots at Hurlingham.


I never met old Mr. Goldsheiner anywhere."


Mr. Melmotte, of course, entertains all the City people.


I don't think Sir Damask would like me to ask Mr. Brehgert to dine here."


Lady Monogram managed everything herself with reference to her own parties; invited all her own guests, and never troubled Sir Damask,--who, again, on his side, had his own set of friends; but she was very clever in the use which she made of her husband.

Sir Damask had nothing to do with the matter; but Lady Monogram was very clever in the use which she made of her husband.


There were some aspirants who really were taught to think that Sir Damask was very particular as to the guests whom he welcomed to his own house.


asked Miss Longestaffe, who was very urgent on the occasion.


"Well, my dear, I really don't think you ought to do that."


There are little things which a man and his wife must manage together without interference."


"Nobody can ever say that I interfered in any family.


But really, Julia, when you tell me that Sir Damask cannot receive Mr. Brehgert, it does sound odd.

"But Julia, when you tell me that Sir Damask cannot receive Mr. Brehgert, it does sound odd.


As for City people, you know as well as I do, that that kind of thing is all over now.


City people are just as good as West-end people."


I don't make the lines; but there they are; and one gets to know in a sort of way what they are.


I don't pretend to be a bit better than my neighbours.


I like to see people come here whom other people who come here will like to meet.


I'm big enough to hold my own, and so is Sir Damask.


But we ain't big enough to introduce new-comers.


I don't suppose there's anybody in London understands it better than you do, Georgiana, and therefore it's absurd my pretending to teach you.


I go pretty well everywhere, as you are aware; and I shouldn't know Mr. Brehgert if I were to see him."


"You'll meet him at the Melmottes', and, in spite of all you said once, you're glad enough to go there."

"You'll meet him at the Melmottes', and you're glad enough to go there."


I don't think that you are just the person to throw that in my teeth; but never mind that.


There's the butcher round the corner in Bond Street, or the man who comes to do my hair.

And there's the butcher round the corner in Bond Street, or the man who comes to do my hair.


I don't at all think of asking them to my house.


But if they were suddenly to turn out wonderful men, and go everywhere, no doubt I should be glad to have them here.

If they were suddenly to turn out wonderful men, and go everywhere, no doubt I should be glad to have them here.


That's the way we live, and you are as well used to it as I am.


Mr. Brehgert at present to me is like the butcher round the corner."


Lady Monogram had the tickets safe under lock and key, or I think she would hardly have said this.


"He is not a bit like a butcher," said Miss Longestaffe, blazing up in real wrath.


"Yes, you did; and it was the unkindest thing you could possibly say.


How would you like it if I said that Sir Damask was like a hair-dresser?"


Sir Damask drives four in hand, rides as though he meant to break his neck every winter, is one of the best shots going, and is supposed to understand a yacht as well as any other gentleman out.

Sir Damask drives four in hand, rides as though he meant to break his neck, is one of the best shots going, and is supposed to understand a yacht as well as any other gentleman out.


And I'm rather afraid that before he was married he used to box with all the prize-fighters, and to be a little too free behind the scenes.

And I'm rather afraid that before he was married he used to box with all the prize-fighters.


If that makes a man like a hair-dresser, well, there he is."

If that makes a man like a hair-dresser, well, there it is."


"He's very good-natured, my dear, and as he does not interfere with me, I don't interfere with him.


I dare say Mr. Brehgert is good-natured."


"He's an excellent man of business, and is making a very large fortune."


"And has five or six grown-up children, who, no doubt, will be a comfort."


You have none at all, and you find it lonely enough."


How hard you are trying to be ill-natured, Georgiana."


"Why did you say that he was a--butcher?"

"Why did you say that he was a butcher?"


I didn't even say that he was like a butcher.


What I did say was this,--that I don't feel inclined to risk my own reputation on the appearance of new people at my table.

What I did say was that I don't care to risk my reputation on the appearance of new people at my table.


Of course, I go in for what you call fashion.


Some people can dare to ask anybody they meet in the streets.


I've my own line, and I mean to follow it.


It's hard work, I can tell you; and it would be harder still if I wasn't particular.


If you like Mr. Brehgert to come here on Tuesday evening, when the rooms will be full, you can ask him; but as for having him to dinner, I--won't--do--it."

If you like Mr. Brehgert to come here on Tuesday evening, when the rooms will be full, you can ask him; but as for having him to dinner, I won't do it."


Miss Longestaffe did ask Mr. Brehgert for the Tuesday evening, and the two ladies were again friends.


Perhaps Lady Monogram, when she illustrated her position by an allusion to a butcher and a hair-dresser, had been unaware that Mr. Brehgert had some resemblance to the form which men in that trade are supposed to bear.

Perhaps Lady Monogram was aware of Mr. Brehgert's resemblance to a butcher.


He was a fat, greasy man, good-looking in a certain degree, about fifty, with hair dyed black, and beard and moustache dyed a dark purple colour.


The charm of his face consisted in a pair of very bright black eyes, which were, however, set too near together in his face for the general delight of Christians.

The charm of his face consisted in a pair of very bright black eyes, which were, however, set rather near together.


He was stout;--fat all over rather than corpulent,--and had that look of command in his face which has become common to master-butchers, probably by long intercourse with sheep and oxen.

He was stout, and had that look of command in his face which is common to master-butchers.


But Mr. Brehgert was considered to be a very good man of business, and was now regarded as being, in a commercial point of view, the leading member of the great financial firm of which he was the second partner.

But Mr. Brehgert was considered to be a very good man of business, and was now regarded as being the leading member of the great financial firm of which he was the second partner.


Mr. Todd's day was nearly done. He walked about constantly between Lombard Street, the Exchange, and the Bank, and talked much to merchants; he had an opinion too of his own on particular cases; but the business had almost got beyond him, and Mr. Brehgert was now supposed to be the moving spirit of the firm.

Old Mr. Todd's day was nearly done, and Mr. Brehgert was now supposed to be the moving spirit of the firm.


He was a widower, living in a luxurious villa at Fulham with a family, not indeed grown up, as Lady Monogram had ill-naturedly said, but which would be grown up before long, varying from an eldest son of eighteen, who had just been placed at a desk in the office, to the youngest girl of twelve, who was at school at Brighton.

He was a widower, living in a luxurious villa at Fulham with a family varying from an eldest son of eighteen, who had just been placed at a desk in the office, to the youngest girl of twelve, who was at school at Brighton.


He was a man who always asked for what he wanted; and having made up his mind that he wanted a second wife, had asked Miss Georgiana Longestaffe to fill that situation.


He had met her at the Melmottes', had entertained her, with Madame Melmotte and Marie, at Beaudesert, as he called his villa, had then proposed in the square, and two days after had received an assenting answer in Bruton Street.

He had met her at the Melmottes', had entertained her, with Madame Melmotte and Marie, at his villa, had then proposed, and two days later had received an acceptance.


Although she had acknowledged the fact to Lady Monogram in her desire to pave the way for the reception of herself into society as a married woman, she had not as yet found courage to tell her family.

Although she had told Lady Monogram of her engagement, she had not yet found courage to tell her family.


The man was absolutely a Jew;--not a Jew that had been, as to whom there might possibly be a doubt whether he or his father or his grandfather had been the last Jew of the family; but a Jew that was.

The man was absolutely a Jew; there was no doubt of it.


So was Goldsheiner a Jew, whom Lady Julia Start had married,--or at any rate had been one a very short time before he ran away with that lady. She counted up ever so many instances on her fingers of "decent people" who had married Jews or Jewesses.

Goldsheiner was also a Jew, whom Lady Julia Start had married; and Georgiana had counted up ever so many instances of "decent people" who had married Jews or Jewesses.


Lord Frederic Framlinghame had married a girl of the Berrenhoffers; and Mr. Hart had married a Miss Chute. She did not know much of Miss Chute, but was certain that she was a Christian. Lord Frederic's wife and Lady Julia Goldsheiner were seen everywhere.

Lord Frederic Framlingham had married a Berrenhoffer; and Lord Frederic's wife and Lady Julia Goldsheiner were seen everywhere.


Though she hardly knew how to explain the matter even to herself, she was sure that there was at present a general heaving-up of society on this matter, and a change in progress which would soon make it a matter of indifference whether anybody was Jew or Christian.

She was sure that progress in society would soon make it a matter of indifference whether anybody was Jew or Christian.


For herself she regarded the matter not at all, except as far as it might be regarded by the world in which she wished to live. She was herself above all personal prejudices of that kind.

For herself, she was above all personal prejudices of that kind.


Jew, Turk, or infidel was nothing to her.


She had seen enough of the world to be aware that her happiness did not lie in that direction, and could not depend in the least on the religion of her husband.


Of course she would go to church herself.


As to her husband, though she did not suppose that she could ever get him to church,--nor perhaps would it be desirable,--she thought that she might induce him to go nowhere, so that she might be able to pass him off as a Christian.

As to her husband, though she did not suppose that she could ever get him to church, she thought that she might induce him to go nowhere, so that she could pass him off as a Christian.


She knew that such was the Christianity of young Goldsheiner, of which the Starts were now boasting.


Had she been alone in the world she thought that she could have looked forward to her destiny with complacency; but she was afraid of her father and mother.

But she was afraid of her father and mother.


Lady Pomona was distressingly old-fashioned, and had so often spoken with horror even of the approach of a Jew,--and had been so loud in denouncing the iniquity of Christians who allowed such people into their houses!

Lady Pomona was distressingly old-fashioned, and had often spoken with horror even of the approach of a Jew.


Unfortunately, too, Georgiana in her earlier days had re-echoed all her mother's sentiments.

Unfortunately, Georgiana in her earlier days had echoed her mother's sentiments.


And then her father,--if he had ever earned for himself the right to be called a Conservative politician by holding a real opinion of his own,--it had been on that matter of admitting the Jews into parliament. When that had been done he was certain that the glory of England was sunk for ever.

And then her father - on the admission of Jews into parliament, he was certain that England's glory was sunk for ever.


And since that time, whenever creditors were more than ordinarily importunate, when Slow and Bideawhile could do nothing for him, he would refer to that fatal measure as though it was the cause of every embarrassment which had harassed him.


How could she tell parents such as these that she was engaged to marry a man who at the present moment went to synagogue on a Saturday and carried out every other filthy abomination common to the despised people?

How could she tell her parents that she was engaged to marry a man who went to synagogue on a Saturday and carried out every other filthy abomination of the despised people?


That Mr. Brehgert was a fat, greasy man of fifty, conspicuous for hair-dye, was in itself distressing:--but this minor distress was swallowed up in the greater.

That Mr. Brehgert was a fat, greasy man of fifty, conspicuous for hair-dye, was in itself distressing: but this minor distress was swallowed up in the greater.


Miss Longestaffe was a girl possessing considerable discrimination, and was able to weigh her own possessions in just scales. She had begun life with very high aspirations, believing in her own beauty, in her mother's fashion, and her father's fortune.

Miss Longestaffe had begun life with very high aspirations.


She had now been ten years at the work, and was aware that she had always flown a little too high for her mark at the time.


At nineteen and twenty and twenty-one she had thought that all the world was before her.

At nineteen she had thought that all the world was before her.


With her commanding figure, regular long features, and bright complexion, she had regarded herself as one of the beauties of the day, and had considered herself entitled to demand wealth and a coronet.

With her commanding figure, regular features, and bright complexion, she had regarded herself as one of the beauties of the day, and had considered herself entitled to demand wealth and a coronet.


At twenty-two, twenty-three, and twenty-four any young peer, or peer's eldest son, with a house in town and in the country, might have sufficed.

At twenty-three, any young peer, or peer's eldest son, with a house in town and in the country, might have sufficed.


Twenty-five and six had been the years for baronets and squires; and even a leading fashionable lawyer or two had been marked by her as sufficient since that time.

Twenty-five and six had been the years for baronets and squires; and even a leading fashionable lawyer or two had been marked by her as sufficient.


But now she was aware that hitherto she had always fixed her price a little too high.

But now she was aware that she had always fixed her price a little too high.


On three things she was still determined,--that she would not be poor, that she would not be banished from London, and that she would not be an old maid.

On three things she was still determined: that she would not be poor, she would not be banished from London, and she would not be an old maid.


"Mamma," she had often said, "there's one thing certain.


Lady Pomona had expressed full concurrence with her child.


"And, mamma, to do as Sophia is doing would kill me.


Fancy having to live at Toodlam all one's life with George Whitstable!"


Lady Pomona had agreed to this also, though she thought that Toodlam Hall was a very nice home for her elder daughter.


"And, mamma, I should drive you and papa mad if I were to stay at home always.


And what would become of me when Dolly was master of everything?"


Lady Pomona, looking forward as well as she was able to the time at which she should herself have departed, when her dower and dower-house would have reverted to Dolly, acknowledged that Georgiana should provide herself with a home of her own before that time.


Lovers with all the glories and all the graces are supposed to be plentiful as blackberries by girls of nineteen, but have been proved to be rare hothouse fruits by girls of twenty-nine.

Lovers are as plentiful as blackberries for girls of nineteen, but as rare as hothouse fruits for girls of twenty-nine.


Brehgert was rich, would live in London, and would be a husband.


People did such odd things now and "lived them down," that she could see no reason why she should not do this and live this down.

People did such odd things now and "lived them down"; she could see no reason why she should not do this and live it down.


Courage was the one thing necessary,--that and perseverance.

Courage was the one thing necessary; that and perseverance.


She must teach herself to talk about Brehgert as Lady Monogram did of Sir Damask.


She had plucked up so much courage as had enabled her to declare her fate to her old friend,--remembering as she did so how in days long past she and her friend Julia Triplex had scattered their scorn upon some poor girl who had married a man with a Jewish name,--whose grandfather had possibly been a Jew.

She had plucked up enough courage to declare her fate to her old friend Julia Monogram, remembering as she did so how in days long past the two had scattered their scorn upon some poor girl who had married a man with a Jewish name.


"Yes," said Georgiana boldly, "and Mr. Brehgert is a Jew.


His name is Ezekiel Brehgert, and he is a Jew.


"I don't say anything about it, my dear."


Things are changed since you and I were younger."


"Very much changed, it appears," said Lady Monogram.


Sir Damask's religion had never been doubted, though except on the occasion of his marriage no acquaintance of his had probably ever seen him in church.


But to tell her father and mother required a higher spirit than she had shown even in her communication to Lady Monogram, and that spirit had not as yet come to her.

But to tell her father and mother required a higher spirit, and that spirit had not yet come to Georgiana.


On the morning before she left the Melmottes in Bruton Street, her lover had been with her.


The Melmottes of course knew of the engagement and quite approved of it.


Madame Melmotte rather aspired to credit for having had so happy an affair arranged under her auspices.


It was some set-off against Marie's unfortunate escapade.


Mr. Brehgert, therefore, had been allowed to come and go as he pleased, and on that morning he had pleased to come.

Mr. Brehgert, therefore, had been allowed to come and go as he pleased.


They were sitting alone in some back room, and Brehgert was pressing for an early day.

On that morning they were sitting alone in some back room, and Brehgert was pressing for an early wedding day.


"I don't think we need talk of that yet, Mr. Brehgert," she said.


"You might as well get over the difficulty and call me Ezekiel at once," he remarked.

"You might as well call me Ezekiel," he remarked.


Georgiana frowned, and made no soft little attempt at the name as ladies in such circumstances are wont to do.


"Mrs. Brehgert"--he alluded of course to the mother of his children--"used to call me Ezzy."

"Mrs. Brehgert" - he alluded of course to the mother of his children - "used to call me Ezzy."


"Perhaps I shall do so some day," said Miss Longestaffe, looking at her lover, and asking herself why she should not have been able to have the house and the money and the name of the wife without the troubles appertaining. She did not think it possible that she should ever call him Ezzy.

"Perhaps I shall do so some day," said Miss Longestaffe, thinking it impossible that she should ever call him Ezzy.


I should say as early in August as possible."


Ve would have our little holiday in Germany,--at Vienna.

Ve would have our little holiday at Vienna.


I have business there, and know many friends."


Then he pressed her hard to fix some day in the next month.

Then he pressed her to fix some day in the next month.


It would be expedient that they should be married from the Melmottes' house, and the Melmottes would leave town some time in August.

It would be expedient to be married from the Melmottes' house, and the Melmottes would leave town in August.


Unless married from the Melmottes' house, she must go down to Caversham for the occasion,--which would be intolerable.

Unless married from the Melmottes' house, she must go down to Caversham for the occasion - which would be intolerable.


No;--she must separate herself altogether from father and mother, and become one with the Melmottes and the Brehgerts,--till she could live it down and make a position for herself.

No; she must separate herself altogether from father and mother, and become one with the Melmottes and the Brehgerts - till she could live it down.


If the spending of money could do it, it should be done.


"I must at any rate ask mamma about it," said Georgiana.

"I must ask mamma about it," said Georgiana.


Mr. Brehgert, with the customary good-humour of his people, was satisfied with the answer, and went away promising that he would meet his love at the great Melmotte reception.

Mr. Brehgert, with the customary good-humour of his people, was satisfied, and went away promising to meet his love at the great Melmotte reception.


Then she sat silent, thinking how she should declare the matter to her family.


Would it not be better for her to say to them at once that there must be a division among them,--an absolute breaking off of all old ties, so that it should be tacitly acknowledged that she, Georgiana, had gone out from among the Longestaffes altogether, and had become one with the Melmottes, Brehgerts, and Goldsheiners?

Would it not be better for her to say at once that there must be a division among them, and acknowledge that she had gone out from among the Longestaffes altogether, and had become one with the Melmottes, Brehgerts, and Goldsheiners?


During these days the intercourse between Lady Carbury and her daughter was constrained and far from pleasant.

During these days, the relationship between Lady Carbury and her daughter was constrained.


Hetta, thinking that she was ill-used, kept herself aloof, and would not speak to her mother of herself or of her troubles. Lady Carbury watching her, but not daring to say much, was at last almost frightened at her girl's silence.

Hetta kept herself aloof, until Lady Carbury was almost frightened at her daughter's silence.


She had assured herself, when she found that Hetta was disposed to quarrel with her lover and to send him back his brooch, that "things would come round," that Paul would be forgotten quickly,--or laid aside as though he were forgotten,--and that Hetta would soon perceive it to be her interest to marry her cousin.

She had assured herself that Paul would be forgotten quickly, and that Hetta would soon perceive it to be in her interest to marry her cousin.


With such a prospect before her, Lady Carbury thought it to be her duty as a mother to show no tendency to sympathise with her girl's sorrow.

With this prospect, Lady Carbury thought it to be her duty as a mother to show no sympathy with her girl's sorrow.


Such heart-breakings were occurring daily in the world around them.


Who were the happy people that were driven neither by ambition, nor poverty, nor greed, nor the cross purposes of unhappy love, to stifle and trample upon their feelings?


She had never been happy after that fashion.

She herself had never been happy in love.


She herself had within the last few weeks refused to join her lot with that of a man she really liked, because her wicked son was so grievous a burden on her shoulders.

She had refused to marry a man she really liked, because her wicked son was so grievous a burden.


A woman, she thought, if she were unfortunate enough to be a lady without wealth of her own, must give up everything, her body, her heart,--her very soul if she were that way troubled,--to the procuring of a fitting maintenance for herself.

A woman who had no wealth of her own, she thought, must give up everything, her body, heart and soul, to getting a fitting maintenance for herself.


Why should Hetta hope to be more fortunate than others?


And then the position which chance now offered to her was fortunate.


This cousin of hers, who was so devoted to her, was in all respects good.


He would not torture her by harsh restraint and cruel temper.

He would not torture Hetta with a cruel temper.


He would allow her all the belongings of a fair, free life.


Lady Carbury reiterated to herself the assertion that she was manifestly doing a mother's duty by her endeavours to constrain her girl to marry such a man.

Lady Carbury repeated to herself that it was a mother's duty to impel her girl to marry such a man.


With a settled purpose she was severe and hard.


But when she found how harsh her daughter could be in response to this,--how gloomy, how silent, and how severe in retaliation,--she was almost frightened at what she herself was doing.

But when she found how harsh her daughter could be in response - how gloomy, silent and severe - she was almost frightened.


She had not known how stern and how enduring her daughter could be.


"Hetta," she said, "why don't you speak to me?"


On this very day it was Hetta's purpose to visit Mrs. Hurtle at Islington.


She had said no word of her intention to any one.

She had said no word of her intention to anyone.


She had chosen the Friday because on that day she knew her mother would go in the afternoon to her publisher.


Immediately on her return she would tell her mother what she had done.

On her return she would tell her mother what she had done.


But she considered herself to be emancipated from control.

But she was not under her mother's control.


Among them they had robbed her of her lover.


She had submitted to the robbery, but she would submit to nothing else.


"Because, mamma, there is nothing we can talk about without making each other unhappy."

"Mamma, there is nothing we can talk about without making each other unhappy."


Is there no subject in the world to interest you except that wretched young man?"


"None other at all," said Hetta obstinately.


"What folly it is,--I will not say only to speak like that, but to allow yourself to entertain such thoughts!"

"What folly, to allow yourself to entertain such thoughts!"


Do you think, mamma, that after I had owned to you that I loved a man,--after I had owned it to him and, worst of all, to myself,--I could have myself separated from him, and then not think about it?

Do you think, mamma, that after I had owned that I loved a man, I could be separated from him, and then not think about it?


It is as though I had lost my eyesight and my speech.


It is as it would be to you if Felix were to die.


There was an accusation in this allusion to her brother which the mother felt,--as she was intended to feel it,--but to which she could make no reply.

There was an accusation in this allusion to her brother which the mother felt, but to which she could make no reply.


It accused her of being too much concerned for her son to feel any real affection for her daughter.

It accused her of being more concerned for her son than her daughter.


"You are ignorant of the world, Hetta," she said.


"I am having a lesson in it now, at any rate."


"Do you think it is worse than others have suffered before you?

"Do you think it is worse than others have suffered?


In what little you see around you do you think that girls are generally able to marry the men upon whom they set their hearts?"

Do you think that girls are generally able to marry the men upon whom they set their hearts?


She paused, but Hetta made no answer to this.


"Marie Melmotte was as warmly attached to your brother as you can be to Mr. Montague."


"She thinks as much of her feelings as you do of yours.


"The truth is you are indulging a dream.


You must wake from it, and shake yourself, and find out that you, like others, have got to do the best you can for yourself in order that you may live.

You must wake from it, and shake yourself, and do the best you can for yourself.


The world at large has to eat dry bread, and cannot get cakes and sweetmeats.


A girl, when she thinks of giving herself to a husband, has to remember this. If she has a fortune of her own she can pick and choose, but if she have none she must allow herself to be chosen."

A girl who has no fortune cannot pick and choose, but must allow herself to be chosen."


"Then a girl is to marry without stopping even to think whether she likes the man or not?"


"She should teach herself to like the man, if the marriage be suitable.


I would not have you take a vicious man because he was rich, or one known to be cruel and imperious.

I would not have you take a vicious man.


"Mamma," said Hetta, getting up from her seat, "you may as well believe me. No earthly inducement shall ever make me marry my cousin Roger.

"Mamma," said Hetta, getting up, "nothing shall ever make me marry my cousin Roger.


It is to me horrible that you should propose it to me when you know that I love that other man with my whole heart."

It is horrible that you should propose it when you know that I love that other man with my whole heart."


"How can you speak so of one who has treated you with the utmost contumely?"

"One who has treated you so offensively?"


"What reason have I to be offended because he has liked a woman whom he knew before he ever saw me?


It has been unfortunate, wretched, miserable; but I do not know that I have any right whatever to be angry with Mr. Paul Montague."

It has been unfortunate, wretched; but I do not know that I have any right to be angry with Mr. Montague."


Having so spoken she walked out of the room without waiting for a further reply.

She walked out of the room without waiting for a reply.


She perceived now that she had driven her daughter to pronounce an absolution of Paul Montague's sins, and that in this way she had lessened and loosened the barrier which she had striven to construct between them.


But that which pained her most was the unrealistic, romantic view of life which pervaded all Hetta's thoughts. How was any girl to live in this world who could not be taught the folly of such idle dreams?

What pained her most was the unrealistic, romantic view of life which pervaded Hetta's thoughts - the folly of her idle dreams.


That afternoon Hetta trusted herself all alone to the mysteries of the Marylebone underground railway, and emerged with accuracy at King's Cross.


She had studied her geography, and she walked from thence to Islington.


She knew well the name of the street and the number at which Mrs. Hurtle lived.

She knew the address of Mrs. Hurtle's lodgings.


But when she reached the door she did not at first dare to stand and raise the knocker.

But when she reached the door she did not at first dare to knock.


She passed on to the end of the silent, vacant street, endeavouring to collect her thoughts, striving to find and to arrange the words with which she would commence her strange petition. And she endeavoured to dictate to herself some defined conduct should the woman be insolent to her. Personally she was not a coward, but she doubted her power of replying to a rough speech.

She walked on to the end of the silent street, striving to collect her thoughts, and trying to plan how she would answer if the woman should be rough and insolent.


Should the worst come to the worst, the woman would hardly venture to impede her departure.

Should the worst come to the worst, the woman would hardly try to stop her leaving.


Having gone to the end of the street, she returned with a very quick step and knocked at the door.

Having gone to the end of the street, she returned quickly and knocked at the door.


It was opened almost immediately by Ruby Ruggles, to whom she gave her name.

It was opened by Ruby Ruggles, to whom she gave her name.


said Ruby, looking up into the stranger's face.


"Yes;--sure enough she must be Felix's sister."


But Ruby did not dare to ask any question.


She had admitted to all around her that Sir Felix should not be her lover any more, and that John Crumb should be allowed to return.


But, nevertheless, her heart twittered as she showed Miss Carbury up to the lodger's sitting-room.

Her heart twittered as she showed Miss Carbury to the lodger's sitting-room.


Though it was midsummer Hetta entered the room with her veil down. She adjusted it as she followed Ruby up the stairs, moved by a sudden fear of her rival's scrutiny.

Hetta put her veil down as she entered the room, moved by a sudden fear of her rival's scrutiny.


Mrs. Hurtle rose from her chair and came forward to greet her visitor, putting out both her hands to do so.

Mrs. Hurtle came forward to greet her, putting out both her hands.


She was dressed with the most scrupulous care,--simply, and in black, without an ornament of any kind, without a ribbon or a chain or a flower.

She was dressed with the most scrupulous care - simply, and in black, without any ornament.


But with some woman's purpose at her heart she had so attired herself as to look her very best.

She had attired herself so as to look her very best.


Was it that she thought that she would vindicate to her rival their joint lover's first choice, or that she was minded to teach the English girl that an American woman might have graces of her own?


As she came forward she was gentle and soft in her movements, and a pleasant smile played round her mouth.

As she came forward she was gentle in her movements, and wore a pleasant smile.


Hetta at the first moment was almost dumbfounded by her beauty,--by that and by her ease and exquisite self-possession.

Hetta at first was almost dumbfounded by her beauty and her self-possession.


"Miss Carbury," she said with that low, rich voice which in old days had charmed Paul almost as much as her loveliness, "I need not tell you how interested I am in seeing you. May I not ask you to lay aside your veil, so that we may look at each other fairly?"

"Miss Carbury," she said in her low, rich voice, "May I not ask you to lay aside your veil, so that we may look at each other fairly?"


Hetta, dumbfounded, not knowing how to speak a word, stood gazing at the woman when she had removed her veil.

Hetta, removing her veil without a word, stood gazing at her.


She had had no personal description of Mrs. Hurtle, but had expected something very different from this!

She had expected something very different from this!


She had thought that the woman would be coarse and big, with fine eyes and a bright colour.


As it was they were both of the same complexion, both dark, with hair nearly black, with eyes of the same colour. Hetta thought of all that at the moment,--but acknowledged to herself that she had no pretension to beauty such as that which this woman owned.

As it was they were both of the same dark complexion, with hair nearly black; but Hetta acknowledged to herself that she had no beauty such as this woman's.


"And so you have come to see me," said Mrs. Hurtle.


"I am glad that you have come to see me, Miss Carbury."


[Illustration: "Sit down so that I may look at you."]


"I am glad at any rate that you are not angry."

"I am glad at any rate that you are not angry," said Hetta.


Had the idea been distasteful to me I should have declined.


I know not why, but it is a sort of pleasure to me to see you.


It is a poor time we women have,--is it not,--in becoming playthings to men?

It is a poor time we women have, is it not, in becoming playthings to men?


So this Lothario that was once mine, is behaving badly to you also.


He is no longer mine, and you may ask me freely for aid, if there be any that I can give you.

He is no longer mine, and you may ask me freely for aid, if there is any I can give you.


If he were an American I should say that he had behaved badly to me;--but as he is an Englishman perhaps it is different.


Now tell me;--what can I do, or what can I say?"


"He told me that you could tell me the truth."


I will certainly tell you nothing that is not true.


"I am not curious;--but perhaps you had better tell me of that.

"Perhaps you had better tell me of that.


I know him so well that I can guess that he should give offence.


He can be full of youthful ardour one day, and cautious as old age itself the next.


But I do not suppose that there has been need for such caution with you.


Hetta found the telling of her story to be very difficult.


"Mrs. Hurtle," she said, "I had never heard your name when he first asked me to be his wife."


Why should he have told you anything of me?"


Surely he ought, if it is true that he had once promised to marry you."

"Surely he ought, if he had once promised to marry you.


"And you were here, and I knew nothing of it.


Of course I should have been very different to him had I known that,--that,--that--"

I should have been very different to him had I known that - that-"


"That there was such a woman as Winifrid Hurtle interfering with him.

"That there was such a woman as Winifrid Hurtle.


Then you heard it by chance, and you were offended.


"And now he tells me that I have been unjust to him and he bids me ask you.

"And now he tells me that I have been unjust to him.


I think that he has been unjust to me, and that therefore your injustice to him is no more than his due.


To me he has been the last and worst of a long series of, I think, undeserved misfortune.


But whether you will avenge my wrongs must be for you to decide."


"Because I asked him,--and because, like many men, he cannot be ill-natured although he can be cruel.

"Because I asked him - and because, like many men, he cannot be ill-natured although he can be cruel.


He would have given a hand not to have gone, but he could not say me nay.

He would have given his hand not to have gone, but he could not refuse.


As you have come here, Miss Carbury, you may as well know the truth.


He did love me, but he had been talked out of his love by my enemies and his own friends long before he had ever seen you.


I am almost ashamed to tell you my own part of the story, and yet I know not why I should be ashamed.


I followed him here to England--because I loved him.

I followed him here to England because I loved him.


I came after him, as perhaps a woman should not do, because I was true of heart.


He had told me that he did not want me;--but I wanted to be wanted, and I hoped that I might lure him back to his troth.

He had told me that he did not want me; but I hoped that I might lure him back to his troth.


I have utterly failed, and I must return to my own country,--I will not say a broken-hearted woman, for I will not admit of such a condition,--but a creature with a broken spirit.

I have utterly failed, and I must return to my own country with a broken spirit.


He has misused me foully, and I have simply forgiven him; not because I am a Christian, but because I am not strong enough to punish one that I still love.


I could not put a dagger into him,--or I would; or a bullet,--or I would.


He has reduced me to a nothing by his falseness, and yet I cannot injure him!


I, who have sworn to myself that no man should ever lay a finger on me in scorn without feeling my wrath in return, I cannot punish him. But if you choose to do so it is not for me to set you against such an act of justice."

But if you choose to punish him it is not for me to stop you."


Then she paused and looked up to Hetta as though expecting a reply.

Then she looked at Hetta as though expecting a reply.


All had been said that she had come to hear.


Every word that the woman had spoken had in truth been a comfort to her.


She had told herself that her visit was to be made in order that she might be justified in her condemnation of her lover.


She had believed that it was her intention to arm herself with proof that she had done right in rejecting him.


Now she was told that however false her lover might have been to this other woman he had been absolutely true to her.

She was told that however false her lover might have been to this other woman, he had been absolutely true to her.


The woman had not spoken kindly of Paul,--had seemed to intend to speak of him with the utmost severity; but she had so spoken as to acquit him of all sin against Hetta.

The woman had not spoken kindly of Paul, but she had acquitted him of all sin against Hetta.


What was it to Hetta that her lover had been false to this American stranger? It did not seem to her to be at all necessary that she should be angry with her lover on that head.

If he had been false to this American stranger, it did not seem to her to be necessary that she should be angry with him for that reason.


Mrs. Hurtle had told her that she herself must decide whether she would take upon herself to avenge her rival's wrongs.


In saying that Mrs. Hurtle had taught her to feel that there were no other wrongs which she need avenge.


If she could only thank the woman for the pleasantness of her demeanour, and then go, she could, when alone, make up her mind as to what she would do next.

If she could only thank the woman and then go, she could, when alone, make up her mind as to what she would do next.


She had not yet told herself she would submit herself again to Paul Montague.

She had not yet told herself she would submit again to Paul Montague.


She had only told herself that, within her own breast, she was bound to forgive him.

She had only told herself that, within her heart, she was bound to forgive him.


"You have been very kind," she said at last,--speaking only because it was necessary that she should say something.

"You have been very kind," she said at last.


"It is well that there should be some kindness where there has been so much that is unkind.


Forgive me, Miss Carbury, if I speak plainly to you.


You have told me that you love him dearly, as plainly as I have told you the same story of myself.


Your coming here would of itself have declared it, even if I did not see your satisfaction at my account of his treachery to me."


"Oh, Mrs. Hurtle, do not say that of me!"


"But it is true, and I do not in the least quarrel with you on that account.


He has preferred you to me, and as far as I am concerned there is an end of it.


You are a girl, whereas I am a woman,--and he likes your youth.

You are a girl, whereas I am a woman; and he likes your youth.


I have undergone the cruel roughness of the world, which has not as yet touched you; and therefore you are softer to the touch.

I have undergone the cruel roughness of the world, which has not as yet touched you.


I do not know that you are very superior in other attractions; but that has sufficed, and you are the victor.


I am strong enough to acknowledge that I have nothing to forgive in you;--and am weak enough to forgive all his treachery."

I am strong enough to acknowledge that I have nothing to forgive in you; and am weak enough to forgive his treachery."


Hetta was now holding the woman by the hand, and was weeping, she knew not why.

Hetta was now holding the woman by the hand, and weeping, she knew not why.


"I am so glad to have seen you," continued Mrs. Hurtle, "so that I may know what his wife was like.

"I am glad to have seen you," continued Mrs. Hurtle, "so that I may know what his wife was like.


In a few days I shall return to the States, and then neither of you will ever be troubled further by Winifrid Hurtle.

In a few days I shall return to the States, and then neither of you will ever be troubled further by me.


Tell him that if he will come and see me once before I go, I will not be more unkind to him than I can help."


When Hetta did not decline to be the bearer of this message she must have at any rate resolved that she would see Paul Montague again,--and to see him would be to tell him that she was again his own.

When Hetta did not decline to bear this message she must have resolved that she would see Paul Montague again.


She now got herself quickly out of the room, absolutely kissing the woman whom she had both dreaded and despised.

She now got herself quickly out of the room, kissing the woman whom she had dreaded and despised.


As soon as she was alone in the street she tried to think of it all.


How full of beauty was the face of that American female,--how rich and glorious her voice in spite of a slight taint of the well-known nasal twang;--and above all how powerful and at the same time how easy and how gracious was her manner!

How full of beauty was the American woman's face - how rich and glorious her voice - above all, how powerful and yet how easy and how gracious was her manner!


That she would be an unfit wife for Paul Montague was certain to Hetta, but that he or any man should have loved her and have been loved by her, and then have been willing to part from her, was wonderful.

That any man should have loved her and have been loved by her, and then have been willing to part from her, was extraordinary.


And yet Paul Montague had preferred herself, Hetta Carbury, to this woman!

And yet Paul Montague had preferred her, Hetta Carbury, to this woman!


Paul had certainly done well for his own cause when he had referred the younger lady to the elder.


Of her own quarrel of course there must be an end.


She had been unjust to the man, and injustice must of course be remedied by repentance and confession.

She had been unjust to Paul, and that must be remedied.


As she walked quickly back to the railway station she brought herself to love her lover more fondly than she had ever done.


He had been true to her from the first hour of their acquaintance.


What truth higher than that has any woman a right to desire?


No doubt she gave to him a virgin heart.


No other man had ever touched her lips, or been allowed to press her hand, or to look into her eyes with unrebuked admiration.


It was her pride to give herself to the man she loved after this fashion, pure and white as snow on which no foot has trodden.


But in taking him, all that she wanted was that he should be true to her now and henceforward.

All she wanted was that he should be true to her now.


As to the "now," she felt that Mrs. Hurtle had given her sufficient assurance.


She must at once let her mother know this change in her mind.


When she re-entered the house she was no longer sullen, no longer anxious to be silent, very willing to be gracious if she might be received with favour,--but quite determined that nothing should shake her purpose.

When she re-entered the house she was no longer sullen, but quite determined that nothing should shake her purpose.


She went at once into her mother's room, having heard from the boy at the door that Lady Carbury had returned.


"Mamma," she said, "I mean to write to Mr. Montague and tell him that I have been unjust to him."


"Hetta, you must do nothing of the kind," said Lady Carbury, rising from her seat.


"It will be asking him to come back to you."


I shall tell him that if he will come, I will receive him.


Oh, mamma, let us be friends, and I will tell you everything.


"You have sent him back his brooch," said Lady Carbury hoarsely.


"But she told me that which has assured me that Mr. Montague has never behaved badly to me.

"But what she told me assured me that Mr. Montague has never behaved badly to me.


If you like I will show you the letter."


"Any letter to him, I will tear," said Lady Carbury, full of anger.

"I will tear it up," said Lady Carbury, full of anger.


"Mamma, I have told you everything, but in this I must judge for myself."


Then Hetta, seeing that her mother would not relent, left the room without further speech, and immediately opened her desk that the letter might be written.

Then Hetta, seeing that her mother would not relent, left the room, and went immediately to write her letter.


"Have you been thinking any more about it?"


Lord Nidderdale said to the girl as soon as Madame Melmotte had succeeded in leaving them alone together.

Lord Nidderdale said to Marie as soon as Madame Melmotte had left them alone together.


"I have thought ever so much more about it," said Marie.


"That's right," said Nidderdale, throwing himself on the sofa close to her, so that he might put his arm round her waist.

"That's right," said Nidderdale, throwing himself on the sofa so that he might put his arm round her waist.


"Wait a moment, Lord Nidderdale," she said.


You think you might as well marry me, though you don't love me a bit."


And I think just the same,--that I might as well marry you, though I don't love you a bit."

And I think just the same - that I might as well marry you, though I don't love you a bit."


You had better know the exact truth, you know.


I have told my father that I did not think you'd ever come again, but that if you did I would accept you.

I have told my father that I would accept you.


But I'm not going to tell any stories about it.


But you know who I've been in love with."


"But you can't be in love with him now."


And if he were to come to me, I don't think that I would.


You never did care, and you never said you cared."


You say it now because you think that I shall like it.


I don't mind about your arm being there if we are to be married, only it's just as well for both of us to look on it as business."


I wasn't hard to Sir Felix Carbury, and so I tell you.


"He has just been thrashed, you know, in the streets,--most horribly."

"He has just been thrashed, you know, in the streets, most horribly."


Marie had not been told of this, and started back from her lover's arms.


"I don't want to tell the story against him, but they say he has been cut about in a terrible manner."


"There was a young lady in the question, Marie."


I don't care about anything, Lord Nidderdale;--not a bit.


I suppose you've made up all that out of your own head."


I believe he was beaten, and I believe it was about a young woman.

I believe he was beaten about a young woman.


But it signifies nothing to me, and I don't suppose it signifies much to you.


Don't you think we might fix a day, Marie?"


"The longer it's put off the better I shall like it;--that's all."

"The longer it's put off the better; that's all."


I think you are a very good fellow; only you don't care for me.


But it is detestable not being able to do what one wants.


It's detestable having to quarrel with everybody and never to be good friends with anybody.

It's detestable having to quarrel with everybody.


And it's horribly detestable having nothing on earth to give one any interest."


Wouldn't you like to know anything about the place where we live?"


"Yes;--Castle Reekie; ever so many hundred years old."

"Yes; Castle Reekie; ever so many hundred years old."


I should like a new house, and a new dress, and a new horse every week,--and a new lover.

I should like a new house, and a new dress, and a new horse every week - and a new lover.


I don't suppose we are to go and live there too."

I don't suppose we are to live there too."


"You may manage it all just as you like with papa.


If I'm to belong to you what does it matter?


But if ever I do say it, you may be sure it will be true.


That's more than you can say of yourself,--John."

That's more than you can say yourself - John."


So the interview was over and Nidderdale walked back to the house thinking of his lady love, as far as he was able to bring his mind to any operation of thinking.

So the interview was over and Nidderdale walked back to the house thinking of his lady love, as far as he was capable of thinking.


He was fully determined to go on with it.

He was fully determined to go on with the marriage.


As far as the girl herself was concerned, she had, in these latter days, become much more attractive to him than when he had first known her.

The girl had lately become much more attractive to him than when he had first known her.


And, though he could not tell himself that she was altogether like a lady, still she had a manner of her own which made him think that she would be able to live with ladies.

And, though she was not altogether like a lady, still she had a manner of her own.


And he did think that, in spite of all she said to the contrary, she was becoming fond of him,--as he certainly had become fond of her.

And he did think that, in spite of all she said, she was becoming fond of him - as he certainly had become fond of her.


"We'll have it very soon then;--some time next month.

"We'll have it very soon then; some time next month.


And to tell the truth so shall I. I never was worked so hard in my life as I've been this summer. The election and that horrid dinner had something to do with it.

To tell the truth so shall I. I never was worked so hard in my life as I've been this summer, with the election and that horrid dinner.


And I don't mind telling you that I've had a fearful weight on my mind in reference to money.

And I don't mind telling you that I've had a fearful weight on my mind about money.


I never had to find so many large sums in so short a time!


"I wonder why you gave the dinner then."


"My dear boy,"--it was very pleasant to him to call the son of a marquis his dear boy,--"as regards expenditure that was a flea-bite.

"My dear boy, as regards expenditure that was a flea-bite.


Nothing that I could spend myself would have the slightest effect upon my condition,--one way or the other."


"I wish it could be the same way with me," said Nidderdale.


"If you chose to go into business with me instead of taking Marie's money out, it very soon would be so with you. But the burden is very great.


I never know whence these panics arise, or why they come, or whither they go.


But when they do come, they are like a storm at sea.


It is only the strong ships that can stand the fury of the winds and waves.


And then the buffeting which a man gets leaves him only half the man he was.


I don't mind telling you everything as it is settled now that you are to be Marie's husband.


I know that you are honest, and that if you could hurt me by repeating what I say you wouldn't do it."

I know that you are honest, and that you wouldn't hurt me by repeating anything I say."


"You see I've no partner,--nobody that is bound to know my affairs.


My wife is the best woman in the world, but is utterly unable to understand anything about it.

"You see my wife is the best woman in the world, but is utterly unable to understand anything about it.


Cohenlupe whom you see so much with me is all very well,--in his way, but I never talk over my affairs with him.

Cohenlupe is all very well, but I never talk over my affairs with him.


He is concerned with me in one or two things,--our American railway for instance, but he has no interest generally in my house.


It is all on my own shoulders, and I can tell you the weight is a little heavy.


It will be the greatest comfort to me in the world if I can get you to have an interest in the matter."


"I don't suppose I could ever really be any good at business," said the modest young lord.


But I should be glad to think that I could tell you how things are going on.

"Still I should be glad to tell you how things are going on.


Of course you heard all that was said just before the election.


For forty-eight hours I had a very bad time of it then.

For forty-eight hours I had a very bad time of it.


The fact was that Alf and they who were supporting him thought that they could carry the election by running me down.

The fact was that Alf and his supporters thought that they could carry the election by running me down.


They were at it for a fortnight,--perfectly unscrupulous as to what they said or what harm they might do me and others.


They couldn't get their man in, but they could and did have the effect of depreciating my property suddenly by nearly half a million of money.

They couldn't get their man in, but they did have the effect of depreciating my property suddenly by nearly half a million.


"I don't understand how it could be done."


"Because you don't understand how delicate a thing is credit.


They persuaded a lot of men to stay away from that infernal dinner, and consequently it was spread about the town that I was ruined.


The effect upon shares which I held was instantaneous and tremendous.

The effect upon my shares was instantaneous.


The Mexican railway were at 117, and they fell from that in two days to something quite nominal,--so that selling was out of the question.

The Mexican railway fell from 117 to something quite nominal, so that selling was out of the question.


Cohenlupe and I between us had about 8,000 of these shares.


Nidderdale tried to calculate what it did come to, but failed altogether.

Nidderdale tried to calculate it, but failed altogether.


"That's what I call a blow;--a terrible blow.


When a man is concerned as I am with money interests, and concerned largely with them all, he is of course exchanging one property for another every day of his life,--according as the markets go.

When a man is concerned as I am with money interests, he is of course exchanging one property for another every day, according as the markets go.


I don't keep such a sum as that in one concern as an investment.

I don't keep such a sum as that in one concern.


Then when a panic comes, don't you see how it hits?"

Then when a panic comes, you see how it hits?"


And in the meantime I am driven to fall back upon property intended for other purposes.


That's the meaning of what you hear about that place down in Sussex which I bought for Marie.


I was so driven that I was obliged to raise forty or fifty thousand wherever I could.


But that will be all right in a week or two.


And as for Marie's money,--that, you know, is settled."

And as for Marie's money - that, you know, is settled."


He quite succeeded in making Nidderdale believe every word that he spoke, and he produced also a friendly feeling in the young man's bosom, with something approaching to a desire that he might be of service to his future father-in-law.

He succeeded in making Nidderdale believe every word that he spoke, and he also produced a friendly feeling in the young man - almost a desire to be of service to his future father-in-law.


Hazily, as through a thick fog, Lord Nidderdale thought that he did see something of the troubles, as he had long seen something of the glories, of commerce on an extended scale, and an idea occurred to him that it might be almost more exciting than whist or unlimited loo.

Hazily, as through a thick fog, Lord Nidderdale thought that he did see something of the troubles of commerce, which seemed almost more exciting than whist or loo.


He resolved too that whatever the man might tell him should never be divulged.

He resolved too that whatever the man might tell him would never be divulged.


He was on this occasion somewhat captivated by Melmotte, and went away from the interview with a conviction that the financier was a big man;--one with whom he could sympathise, and to whom in a certain way he could become attached.

He was somewhat captivated by Melmotte, and went away convinced that the financier was a big man; one with whom he could sympathise, and to whom in a certain way he could become attached.


And Melmotte himself had derived positive pleasure even from a simulated confidence in his son-in-law.

And Melmotte himself had derived pleasure even from a simulated confidence in his son-in-law.


It had been pleasant to him to talk as though he were talking to a young friend whom he trusted.

It had been pleasant to talk as though he were a young friend whom he trusted.


It was impossible that he could really admit any one to a participation in his secrets.


It was out of the question that he should ever allow himself to be betrayed into speaking the truth of his own affairs. Of course every word he had said to Nidderdale had been a lie, or intended to corroborate lies.

It was out of the question that he should ever speak the truth about his own affairs, and of course every word he had said to Nidderdale had been intended to corroborate lies.


But it had not been only on behalf of the lies that he had talked after this fashion.


Even though his friendship with the young man were but a mock friendship,--though it would too probably be turned into bitter enmity before three months had passed by,--still there was a pleasure in it.


The Grendalls had left him since the day of the dinner,--Miles having sent him a letter up from the country complaining of severe illness.


It was a comfort to him to have someone to whom he could speak, and he much preferred Nidderdale to Miles Grendall.

Yet it was a comfort to have someone to whom he could speak, and he much preferred Nidderdale to Miles Grendall.


This conversation took place in the smoking-room. When it was over Melmotte went into the House, and Nidderdale strolled away to the Beargarden.

After this conversation Melmotte went into the House, and Nidderdale strolled away to the Beargarden.


The Beargarden had been opened again though with difficulty, and with diminished luxury. Nor could even this be done without rigid laws as to the payment of ready money.

The Beargarden had been opened again though with diminished luxury, and with rigid laws as to the payment of ready money.


Herr Vossner had never more been heard of, but the bills which Vossner had left unpaid were held to be good against the club, whereas every note of hand which he had taken from the members was left in the possession of Mr. Flatfleece.

Herr Vossner had never more been heard of, but every note of hand which he had taken from the members was left in the possession of Mr. Flatfleece.


Of course there was sorrow and trouble at the Beargarden; but still the institution had become so absolutely necessary to its members that it had been reopened under a new management. No one had felt this need more strongly during every hour of the day,--of the day as he counted his days, rising as he did about an hour after noon and going to bed three or four hours after midnight,--than did Dolly Longestaffe.

Of course there was sorrow and trouble at the Beargarden; but the institution had become absolutely necessary to its members - and to no one more than Dolly Longestaffe.


The Beargarden had become so much to him that he had begun to doubt whether life would be even possible without such a resort for his hours.


But now the club was again open, and Dolly could have his dinner and his bottle of wine with the luxury to which he was accustomed.

Now that the club was again open, Dolly could have his dinner and his bottle of wine with the luxury to which he was accustomed.


But at this time he was almost mad with the sense of injury.

But at this time Dolly was almost mad with the sense of injury.