But money was the very breath of Melmotte's nostrils, and therefore his breath was taken for money.

But Melmotte's mere breath was taken for money.


Pickering was his, and before a week was over a London builder had collected masons and carpenters by the dozen down at Chichester, and was at work upon the house to make it fit to be a residence for Madame Melmotte.

Pickering was his, and within a week a builder, with masons and carpenters, was at work upon the house.


There were rumours that it was to be made ready for the Goodwood week, and that the Melmotte entertainment during that festival would rival the duke's.


But there was still much to be done in London before the Goodwood week should come round in all of which Mr. Melmotte was concerned, and of much of which Mr. Melmotte was the very centre.

But there was still much for Mr. Melmotte to do in London.


A member for Westminster had succeeded to a peerage, and thus a seat was vacated. It was considered to be indispensable to the country that Mr. Melmotte should go into Parliament, and what constituency could such a man as Melmotte so fitly represent as one combining as Westminster does all the essences of the metropolis?

The parliamentary seat for Westminster had fallen vacant, and it was considered vital to the country that Mr. Melmotte should go into Parliament. What constituency could be so fit as Westminster?


There was the popular element, the fashionable element, the legislative element, the legal element, and the commercial element.


Melmotte undoubtedly was the man for Westminster.


His thorough popularity was evinced by testimony which perhaps was never before given in favour of any candidate for any county or borough.


In Westminster there must of course be a contest.


A seat for Westminster is a thing not to be abandoned by either political party without a struggle.


But, at the beginning of the affair, when each party had to seek the most suitable candidate which the country could supply, each party put its hand upon Melmotte.

When each party began to seek the most suitable candidate, each put its hand upon Melmotte.


And when the seat, and the battle for the seat, were suggested to Melmotte, then for the first time was that great man forced to descend from the altitudes on which his mind generally dwelt, and to decide whether he would enter Parliament as a Conservative or a Liberal.

And that great man was forced to descend from the heights on which his mind dwelt, and to decide whether he would enter Parliament as a Conservative or a Liberal.


He was not long in convincing himself that the Conservative element in British Society stood the most in need of that fiscal assistance which it would be in his province to give; and on the next day every hoarding in London declared to the world that Melmotte was the Conservative candidate for Westminster.

The next day every hoarding in London declared to the world that Melmotte was the Conservative candidate for Westminster.


It is needless to say that his committee was made up of peers, bankers, and publicans, with all that absence of class prejudice for which the party has become famous since the ballot was introduced among us.


Some unfortunate Liberal was to be made to run against him, for the sake of the party; but the odds were ten to one on Melmotte.

Some unfortunate Liberal was to run against him; but the odds were ten to one on Melmotte.


This no doubt was a great matter,--this affair of the seat; but the dinner to be given to the Emperor of China was much greater.

This no doubt was a great matter; but the dinner to be given to the Emperor of China was much greater.


It was the middle of June, and the dinner was to be given on Monday, 8th July, now three weeks hence;--but all London was already talking of it.

It was now the middle of June, and the dinner was to be given on the 8th of July.


The great purport proposed was to show to the Emperor by this banquet what an English merchant-citizen of London could do.

The idea was to show the Emperor by this banquet what an English merchant-citizen of London could do.


Of course there was a great amount of scolding and a loud clamour on the occasion.


Some men said that Melmotte was not a citizen of London, others that he was not a merchant, others again that he was not an Englishman.

Of course some men said that Melmotte was not a citizen of London, and not even an Englishman.


But no man could deny that he was both able and willing to spend the necessary money; and as this combination of ability and will was the chief thing necessary, they who opposed the arrangement could only storm and scold.

But no one could deny that he was both able and willing to spend the necessary money.


On the 20th of June the tradesmen were at work, throwing up a building behind, knocking down walls, and generally transmuting the house in Grosvenor Square in such a fashion that two hundred guests might be able to sit down to dinner in the dining-room of a British merchant.

On the 20th of June the tradesmen were at work, knocking down walls, and generally transmuting the house in Grosvenor Square so that two hundred guests might be able to sit down to dinner in the dining-room of a British merchant.


But who were to be the two hundred? It used to be the case that when a gentleman gave a dinner he asked his own guests;--but when affairs become great, society can hardly be carried on after that simple fashion.

But who were the two hundred guests to be?


The Emperor of China could not be made to sit at table without English royalty, and English royalty must know whom it has to meet,--must select at any rate some of its comrades.

The Emperor of China could not sit at the table without English royalty.


The minister of the day also had his candidates for the dinner,--in which arrangement there was however no private patronage, as the list was confined to the cabinet and their wives.

The list also included the Prime Minister, his cabinet and their wives.


The Prime Minister took some credit to himself in that he would not ask for a single ticket for a private friend.


But the Opposition as a body desired their share of seats.

The Opposition desired their share of seats.


Melmotte had elected to stand for Westminster on the Conservative interest, and was advised that he must insist on having as it were a Conservative cabinet present, with its Conservative wives. He was told that he owed it to his party, and that his party exacted payment of the debt.

As a Conservative candidate, Melmotte was advised that he must have Conservative members, with their wives; he owed it to his party.


But the great difficulty lay with the city merchants.


This was to be a city merchant's private feast, and it was essential that the Emperor should meet this great merchant's brother merchants at the merchant's board.

It was essential that the Emperor should meet this great merchant's brother-merchants at the dinner.


No doubt the Emperor would see all the merchants at the Guildhall; but that would be a semi-public affair, paid for out of the funds of a corporation.


Now the Lord Mayor had set his face against it, and what was to be done?

Yet the Lord Mayor had set his face against it, and what was to be done?


Meetings were held; a committee was appointed; merchant guests were selected, to the number of fifteen with their fifteen wives;--and subsequently the Lord Mayor was made a baronet on the occasion of receiving the Emperor in the city.

Meetings were held; a committee was appointed; fifteen merchant guests were selected, with their fifteen wives - and the Lord Mayor was made a baronet.


The Emperor with his suite was twenty people.


Royalty had twenty tickets, each ticket for guest and wife.


The existing Cabinet was fourteen; but the coming was numbered at about eleven only;--each one for self and wife.

The existing Cabinet was fourteen; but only eleven were coming.


Five ambassadors and five ambassadresses were to be asked.


There were to be fifteen real merchants out of the city.


Ten great peers,--with their peeresses,--were selected by the general committee of management.

Ten great peers, with their peeresses, were selected.


There were to be three wise men, two poets, three independent members of the House of Commons, two Royal Academicians, three editors of papers, an African traveller who had just come home, and a novelist;--but all these latter gentlemen were expected to come as bachelors.

There were to be three wise men, two poets, three independent members of the House of Commons, two Royal Academicians, three editors of papers - Mr. Alf, Mr. Broune and Mr. Booker; an African traveller who had just come home, and a novelist; but all these latter gentlemen were expected to come alone.


Three tickets were to be kept over for presentation to bores endowed with a power of making themselves absolutely unendurable if not admitted at the last moment,--and ten were left for the giver of the feast and his own family and friends.

Three tickets were kept for last-minute presentation - and ten were left for Melmotte and his own family and friends.


It is often difficult to make things go smooth,--but almost all roughnesses may be smoothed at last with patience and care, and money and patronage.


Eight hundred additional tickets were to be issued for Madame Melmotte's evening entertainment, and the fight for these was more internecine than for seats at the dinner.

Eight hundred additional tickets were to be issued for Madame Melmotte's evening entertainment, and the fight for these was fiercer than for seats at the dinner.


The dinner-seats, indeed, were handled in so statesmanlike a fashion that there was not much visible fighting about them.


The existing Cabinet was existing, and though there were two or three members of it who could not have got themselves elected at a single unpolitical club in London, they had a right to their seats at Melmotte's table.


What disappointed ambition there might be among Conservative candidates was never known to the public.


Those gentlemen do not wash their dirty linen in public.


The ambassadors of course were quiet, but we may be sure that the Minister from the United States was among the favoured five.


The city bankers and bigwigs, as has been already said, were at first unwilling to be present, and therefore they who were not chosen could not afterwards express their displeasure.


No grumbling was heard among the peers, and that which came from the peeresses floated down into the current of the great fight about the evening entertainment.


The poet laureate was of course asked, and the second poet was as much a matter of course.


Only two Academicians had in this year painted royalty, so that there was no ground for jealousy there.


There were three, and only three, specially insolent and specially disagreeable independent members of Parliament at that time in the House, and there was no difficulty in selecting them.


Among editors of newspapers there was some ill-blood.


That Mr. Alf and Mr. Broune should be selected was almost a matter of course.


They were hated accordingly, but still this was expected.


Was it because he had praised the Prime Minister's translation of Catullus?


The African traveller chose himself by living through all his perils and coming home.


A novelist was selected; but as royalty wanted another ticket at the last moment, the gentleman was only asked to come in after dinner.


His proud heart, however, resented the treatment, and he joined amicably with his literary brethren in decrying the festival altogether.


We should be advancing too rapidly into this portion of our story were we to concern ourselves deeply at the present moment with the feud as it raged before the evening came round, but it may be right to indicate that the desire for tickets at last became a burning passion, and a passion which in the great majority of cases could not be indulged.


The value of the privilege was so great that Madame Melmotte thought that she was doing almost more than friendship called for when she informed her guest, Miss Longestaffe, that unfortunately there would be no seat for her at the dinner-table; but that, as payment for her loss, she should receive an evening ticket for herself and a joint ticket for a gentleman and his wife.

The value of the privilege was so great that Madame Melmotte thought that she was doing more than friendship called for when she informed her guest, Miss Longestaffe, that unfortunately there would be no seat for her at the dinner; but that instead she should receive an evening ticket for herself and a joint ticket for a gentleman and his wife.


Georgiana was at first indignant, but she accepted the compromise.


What she did with her tickets shall be hereafter told.

What she did with her tickets shall be told later.


From all this I trust it will be understood that the Mr. Melmotte of the present hour was a very different man from that Mr. Melmotte who was introduced to the reader in the early chapters of this chronicle. Royalty was not to be smuggled in and out of his house now without his being allowed to see it. No manoeuvres now were necessary to catch a simple duchess.

From all this it will be understood that Mr. Melmotte needed no manuvres now to catch a duchess.


Lord Alfred when he was called by his Christian name felt no aristocratic twinges. He was only too anxious to make himself more and more necessary to the great man.

Lord Alfred, when he was called by his Christian name, felt no aristocratic twinges, but was only too anxious to make himself necessary to the great man.


It is true that all this came as it were by jumps, so that very often a part of the world did not know on what ledge in the world the great man was perched at that moment.


Miss Longestaffe who was staying in the house did not at all know how great a man her host was.


Lady Monogram when she refused to go to Grosvenor Square, or even to allow any one to come out of the house in Grosvenor Square to her parties, was groping in outer darkness.


The great man did not quite know himself where, from time to time, he was standing.


The world knew that Mr. Melmotte was to be Member for Westminster, that Mr. Melmotte was to entertain the Emperor of China, that Mr. Melmotte carried the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway in his pocket;--and the world worshipped Mr. Melmotte.


In the meantime Mr. Melmotte was much troubled about his private affairs.


He had promised his daughter to Lord Nidderdale, and as he rose in the world had lowered the price which he offered for this marriage,--not so much in the absolute amount of fortune to be ultimately given, as in the manner of giving it.

He had promised his daughter to Lord Nidderdale, and as he rose in the world had lowered the price which he offered for this marriage.


Fifteen thousand a year was to be settled on Marie and on her eldest son, and twenty thousand pounds were to be paid into Nidderdale's hands six months after the marriage.

Fifteen thousand a year was to be settled on Marie and her first son, and twenty thousand pounds were to be paid to Nidderdale six months after the marriage.


Melmotte gave his reasons for not paying this sum at once. Nidderdale would be more likely to be quiet, if he were kept waiting for that short time. Melmotte was to purchase and furnish for them a house in town.

This delay, Melmotte said, was so that he could purchase and furnish for them a house in town.


It was, too, almost understood that the young people were to have Pickering Park for themselves, except for a week or so at the end of July. It was absolutely given out in the papers that Pickering was to be theirs. It was said on all sides that Nidderdale was doing very well for himself.

It was also said in the papers that the young people were to have Pickering Park; and that Nidderdale was doing very well for himself.


The absolute money was not perhaps so great as had been at first asked; but then, at that time, Melmotte was not the strong rock, the impregnable tower of commerce, the very navel of the commercial enterprise of the world,--as all men now regarded him.

The money was not perhaps so great as had been at first asked; but at that time, Melmotte had not been the strong, impregnable tower of commerce, as all men now regarded him.


Nidderdale's father, and Nidderdale himself, were, in the present condition of things, content with a very much less stringent bargain than that which they had endeavoured at first to exact.

Nidderdale and his father were content with the bargain.


But, in the midst of all this, Marie, who had at one time consented at her father's instance to accept the young lord, and who in some speechless fashion had accepted him, told both the young lord and her father, very roundly, that she had changed her mind.

But, in the midst of all this, Marie, who had at one time consented to accept the young lord, told both the young lord and her father, very roundly, that she had changed her mind.


Her father scowled at her and told her that her mind in the matter was of no concern.

Her father scowled and told her that her mind was of no concern.


He intended that she should marry Lord Nidderdale, and himself fixed some day in August for the wedding.

She would marry Lord Nidderdale in August.


"It is no use, father, for I will never have him," said Marie.


"If you mean Sir Felix Carbury, it is about him."


He has been to you and told you, and therefore I don't know why I need hold my tongue."


"You'll both starve, my lady; that's all."


Marie however was not so wedded to the grandeur which she encountered in Grosvenor Square as to be afraid of the starvation which she thought she might have to suffer if married to Sir Felix Carbury.


Melmotte had not time for any long discussion. As he left her he took hold of her and shook her.

And Melmotte took hold of her and shook her.


"By ----," he said, "if you run rusty after all I've done for you, I'll make you suffer.

"By -," he said, "if you run rusty after all I've done for you, I'll make you suffer.


He hasn't the price of a petticoat or a pair of stockings.


He's looking only for what you haven't got, and shan't have if you marry him.


He wants money, not you, you little fool!"


But after that she was quite settled in her purpose when Nidderdale spoke to her.

But she was quite settled in her purpose when Nidderdale spoke to her.


They had been engaged and then it had been off;--and now the young nobleman, having settled everything with the father, expected no great difficulty in resettling everything with the girl.

The young nobleman, having settled everything with the father, expected no great difficulty in resettling everything with the girl.


He was not very skilful at making love,--but he was thoroughly good-humoured, from his nature anxious to please, and averse to give pain.

He was not very skilful at making love, but he was thoroughly good-humoured, anxious to please, and averse to give pain.


There was hardly any injury which he could not forgive, and hardly any kindness which he would not do,--so that the labour upon himself was not too great.


"Well, Miss Melmotte," he said; "governors are stern beings: are they not?"

"Well, Miss Melmotte," he said; "parents are stern beings: are they not?


"What I mean is that sons and daughters have to obey them.


I was awfully spoony on you that time before; I was indeed."


"I hope it didn't hurt you much, Lord Nidderdale."


You know well enough that you and I can't marry without leave from the governors."

You know well enough that you and I can't marry without leave from them."


"Nor with it," said Marie, nodding her head.


There was some hitch somewhere,--I don't quite know where."


--The hitch had been with himself, as he demanded ready money.


Can't we make a match of it, Miss Melmotte?"


"No, Lord Nidderdale; I don't think we can."


When that was going on before I knew nothing about it.


"And you've seen somebody you like better than me?"


"I say nothing about that, Lord Nidderdale.


I don't think you ought to blame me, my lord."


"There was something before, but it was you that was off first.


"The governors have a right to be off, I suppose.


But I don't think any governor has a right to make anybody marry any one."

"I don't think any father has a right to make anybody marry anyone."


"I agree with you there;--I do indeed," said Lord Nidderdale.

"I agree with you there," said Lord Nidderdale.


I've thought a great deal about it since that other time, and that's what I've come to determine."


"But I don't know why you shouldn't--just marry me--because you--like me."

"But I don't know why you shouldn't just marry me - because you - like me."


Well; I do like you, Lord Nidderdale."
"Thanks;--so much!"
"I like you ever so,--only marrying a person is different."

"I like you ever so, Lord Nidderdale; only marrying a person is different."


"And I don't mind telling you," said Marie with an almost solemn expression on her countenance, "because you are good-natured and won't get me into a scrape if you can help it, that I do like somebody else;--oh, so much."

"And I don't mind telling you," said Marie solemnly, "because you are good-natured and won't get me into a scrape, that I do like somebody else - oh, so much."


The governors had settled everything, and we should have been awfully jolly.


I'd have gone in for all the things you go in for; and though your governor was screwing us up a bit, there would have been plenty of tin to go on with.


I shall come to the party all the same if you send me a ticket."


And so Nidderdale took his dismissal, and went away,--not however without an idea that the marriage would still come off.


There was always,--so he thought,--such a bother about things before they would get themselves fixed.


This happened some days after Mr. Broune's proposal to Lady Carbury, more than a week since Marie had seen Sir Felix.

This happened more than a week since Marie had seen Sir Felix.


As soon as Lord Nidderdale was gone she wrote again to Sir Felix begging that she might hear from him,--and entrusted her letter to Didon.

As soon as Lord Nidderdale was gone she wrote again to Sir Felix begging that she might hear from him, and entrusted her letter to Didon.


Roger Carbury's half formed plan of keeping Henrietta at home while Lady Carbury and Sir Felix went to dine at Caversham fell to the ground. It was to be carried out only in the event of Hetta's yielding to his prayer. But he had in fact not made a prayer, and Hetta had certainly yielded nothing. When the evening came, Lady Carbury started with her son and daughter, and Roger was left alone.

That evening, Lady Carbury went to dine at Caversham with her son and daughter, and Roger was left alone.


In the ordinary course of his life he was used to solitude.


During the greater part of the year he would eat and drink and live without companionship; so that there was to him nothing peculiarly sad in this desertion.

For most of the year he would eat and drink and live without companionship; there was to him nothing particularly sad in it.


But on the present occasion he could not prevent himself from dwelling on the loneliness of his lot in life.

But on this occasion he could not prevent himself from dwelling on the loneliness of life.


These cousins of his who were his guests cared nothing for him.


Lady Carbury had come to his house simply that it might be useful to her; Sir Felix did not pretend to treat him with even ordinary courtesy; and Hetta herself, though she was soft to him and gracious, was soft and gracious through pity rather than love.

Lady Carbury had come to his house simply because it might be useful to her; Sir Felix did not pretend to treat him with even ordinary courtesy; and Hetta herself was soft and gracious to him through pity rather than love.


On this day he had, in truth, asked her for nothing; but he had almost brought himself to think that she might give all that he wanted without asking.

On this day he had almost brought himself to think that she might give all that he wanted without asking.


And yet, when he told her of the greatness of his love, and of its endurance, she was simply silent.

And yet, when he told her of the greatness of his enduring love, she was simply silent.


When the carriage taking them to dinner went away down the road, he sat on the parapet of the bridge in front of the house listening to the sound of the horses' feet, and telling himself that there was nothing left for him in life.

When the carriage took them away, he sat on the parapet of the bridge in front of the house listening to the sound of the horses' feet, and telling himself that there was nothing left for him in life.


If ever one man had been good to another, he had been good to Paul Montague, and now Paul Montague was robbing him of everything he valued in the world.


His thoughts were not logical, nor was his mind exact.

His thoughts were not logical, nor exact.


The more he considered it, the stronger was his inward condemnation of his friend.

The more he considered it, the more strongly he condemned his friend.


He had never mentioned to anyone the services he had rendered to Montague.

He had never mentioned to anyone the services he had given to Montague.


In speaking of him to Hetta he had alluded only to the affection which had existed between them.


But he felt that because of those services his friend Montague had owed it to him not to fall in love with the girl he loved; and he thought that if, unfortunately, this had happened unawares, Montague should have retired as soon as he learned the truth.

But he felt that Montague had owed it to him not to fall in love with the girl he loved; he should have retired as soon as he learned the truth.


He could not bring himself to forgive his friend, even though Hetta had assured him that his friend had never spoken to her of love.

Roger could not bring himself to forgive his friend, even though Hetta had assured him that Montague had never spoken to her of love.


He was sore all over, and it was Paul Montague who made him sore.


Had there been no such man at Carbury when Hetta came there, Hetta might now have been mistress of the house.

Without Paul, Hetta might now have been mistress of Carbury.


He sat there till the servant came to tell him that his dinner was on the table.


Then he crept in and ate,--so that the man might not see his sorrow; and, after dinner, he sat with a book in his hand seeming to read.

Then he crept in and ate, so that the man might not see his sorrow; and, after dinner, he sat with a book in his hand seeming to read.


But he read not a word, for his mind was fixed altogether on his cousin Hetta.

But he read not a word, for his mind was fixed on Hetta.


"What a poor creature a man is," he said to himself, "who is not sufficiently his own master to get over a feeling like this."


At Caversham there was a very grand party,--as grand almost as a dinner party can be in the country.

At Caversham there was a very grand dinner party.


There were the Earl and Countess of Loddon and Lady Jane Pewet from Loddon Park, and the bishop and his wife, and the Hepworths.

There were the Earl and Countess of Loddon and Lady Jane Pewet, and the bishop and his wife, and the Hepworths.


These, with the Carburys and the parson's family, and the people staying in the house, made twenty-four at the dinner table.


As there were fourteen ladies and only ten men, the banquet can hardly be said to have been very well arranged.


But those things cannot be done in the country with the exactness which the appliances of London make easy; and then the Longestaffes, though they were decidedly people of fashion, were not famous for their excellence in arranging such matters.


If aught, however, was lacking in exactness, it was made up in grandeur.


There were three powdered footmen, and in that part of the country Lady Pomona alone was served after this fashion; and there was a very heavy butler, whose appearance of itself was sufficient to give clat to a family.

There were three powdered footmen, unique to that part of the country; and a very heavy and imposing butler.


The grand saloon in which nobody ever lived was thrown open, and sofas and chairs on which nobody ever sat were uncovered.

The grand saloon was thrown open, and sofas and chairs on which nobody ever sat were uncovered.


It was not above once in the year that this kind of thing was done at Caversham; but when it was done, nothing was spared which could contribute to the magnificence of the fte.

This kind of thing was done at Caversham only once a year; but when it was done, nothing was spared which could add to its magnificence.


Lady Pomona and her two tall daughters standing up to receive the little Countess of Loddon and Lady Jane Pewet, who was the image of her mother on a somewhat smaller scale, while Madame Melmotte and Marie stood behind as though ashamed of themselves, was a sight to see.

Lady Pomona and her two tall daughters stood up to receive the Countess of Loddon and Lady Jane Pewet. Madame Melmotte and Marie stood behind as though ashamed of themselves.


Then the Carburys came, and then Mrs. Yeld with the bishop.


The grand room was soon fairly full; but nobody had a word to say.


The bishop was generally a man of much conversation, and Lady Loddon, if she were well pleased with her listeners, could talk by the hour without ceasing.


But on this occasion nobody could utter a word.


Lord Loddon pottered about, making a feeble attempt, in which he was seconded by no one. Lord Alfred stood, stock-still, stroking his grey moustache with his hand.

Lord Loddon pottered about, making a feeble attempt, while Lord Alfred stood stock-still stroking his grey moustache.


That much greater man, Augustus Melmotte, put his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, and was impassible.

Augustus Melmotte put his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, and was impassive.


The bishop saw at a glance the hopelessness of the occasion, and made no attempt.

The bishop saw at a glance the hopelessness of the occasion, and did not try to make conversation.


The master of the house shook hands with each guest as he entered, and then devoted his mind to expectation of the next comer.


Lady Pomona and her two daughters were grand and handsome, but weary and dumb. In accordance with the treaty, Madame Melmotte had been entertained civilly for four entire days.

Lady Pomona and her two daughters were grand and handsome, but dumb and weary after four days of civilly entertaining Madame Melmotte.


It could not be expected that the ladies of Caversham should come forth unwearied after such a struggle.


When dinner was announced Felix was allowed to take in Marie Melmotte.


There can be no doubt but that the Caversham ladies did execute their part of the treaty.


They were led to suppose that this arrangement would be desirable to the Melmottes, and they made it.


The great Augustus himself went in with Lady Carbury, much to her satisfaction.

The great Augustus went in with Lady Carbury, much to her satisfaction.


She also had been dumb in the drawing-room; but now, if ever, it would be her duty to exert herself.

She also had been dumb in the drawing-room; but now it would be her duty to talk.


Oh, yes;--very nice place for a little fresh air."

Very nice place for a little fresh air."


When the summer comes one does long so to see the flowers."

When the summer comes one does long to see the flowers."


"We have better flowers in our balconies than any I see down here," said Mr. Melmotte.


"No doubt;--because you can command the floral tribute of the world at large.

"No doubt; because you can command the floral tribute of the world.


It can turn a London street into a bower of roses, and give you grottoes in Grosvenor Square."

Money can turn a London street into a bower of roses, and give you grottoes in Grosvenor Square."


"If you have got plenty of money, Mr. Melmotte."


"And if you have not, it's the best place I know to get it.


He had quite forgotten Lady Carbury even if he had seen her at his house, and with the dulness of hearing common to men, had not picked up her name when told to take her out to dinner.


I have had the honour of being entertained by you there."


So many do come, that I don't always just remember."

So many do come, that I don't always remember."


"How should you,--with all the world flocking round you?

"How should you - with all the world flocking round you?


I am Lady Carbury, the mother of Sir Felix Carbury, whom I think you will remember."


He's sitting there, next to my daughter."


Young men don't get their happiness in that way now.


"He sits at the same Board with you, I think, Mr. Melmotte."


Lady Carbury was very clever as to many things, and was not ill-informed on matters in general that were going on around her; but she did not know much about the city, and was profoundly ignorant as to the duties of those Directors of whom, from time to time, she saw the names in a catalogue.

Lady Carbury was clever and well-informed about many things, but she did not know much about the city, and was profoundly ignorant as to the duties of Directors.


"I trust that he is diligent, there," she said; "and that he is aware of the great privilege which he enjoys in having the advantage of your counsel and guidance."

"I trust that he is diligent there," she said; "and that he is aware of the great privilege which he enjoys in having your counsel and guidance."


"He don't trouble me much, ma'am, and I don't trouble him much."


After this Lady Carbury said no more as to her son's position in the city.

Lady Carbury said no more about her son's position in the city.


She endeavoured to open various other subjects of conversation; but she found Mr. Melmotte to be heavy on her hands.

She tried to talk of other things; but she found Mr. Melmotte to be heavy on her hands.


After a while she had to abandon him in despair, and give herself up to raptures in favour of Protestantism at the bidding of the Caversham parson, who sat on the other side of her, and who had been worked to enthusiasm by some mention of Father Barham's name.

After a while she had to abandon him in despair, and give herself up to the Caversham parson, who sat on her other side.


Opposite to her, or nearly so, sat Sir Felix and his love.

Opposite her sat Sir Felix and his love.


"I have told mamma," Marie had whispered, as she walked in to dinner with him.


She was now full of the idea so common to girls who are engaged,--and as natural as it is common,--that she might tell everything to her lover.

She was now full of the idea that she might tell everything to her lover.


Then Marie had to take her place and arrange her dress before she could reply to him.

Marie had to take her place and arrange her dress before she could reply.


"As to her, I suppose it does not matter what she says, does it?"


She thinks that papa will think you are not rich enough.


Talk about something else, or people will hear."


So much she had been able to say during the bustle.


Felix was not at all anxious to talk about his love, and changed the subject very willingly.

Felix changed the subject very willingly.


"No; I don't think there are horses here,--not for visitors, that is.

"No; I don't think there are horses here for visitors.


"None at all," said Felix, remembering Ruby Ruggles.


Mind you come and see us before long." This she said bringing her voice down to a whisper.

Mind you come and see us before long," she whispered.


I suppose I'd better go to your father in the city.


Sometimes he's good-natured enough when he comes back, but sometimes he's very cross.


Lord Alfred is almost always there; and then other people come, and they play cards.


Now that I've once said it nothing will ever turn me.


Felix looked at her as she said this, and thought that he saw more in her countenance than he had ever read there before.

Felix looked at her as she said this, and thought that he saw more in her face than he had ever read there before.


Perhaps she would consent to run away with him; and, if so, being the only child, she would certainly,--almost certainly,--be forgiven.

Perhaps she would consent to run away with him; and, if so, being the only child, she would certainly - almost certainly - be forgiven.


But if he were to run away with her and marry her, and then find that she were not forgiven, and that Melmotte allowed her to starve without a shilling of fortune, where would he be then?

But if he were to elope with her, and then find that she were not forgiven, where would he be then?


Looking at the matter in all its bearings, considering among other things the trouble and the expense of such a measure, he thought that he could not afford to run away with her.

Considering the trouble and the expense of it, he thought that he could not afford to run away with her.


After dinner he hardly spoke to her; indeed, the room itself,--the same big room in which they had been assembled before the feast,--seemed to be ill-adapted for conversation.


Again nobody talked to anybody, and the minutes went very heavily till at last the carriages were there to take them all home.

Indeed, nobody talked to anybody, and the minutes went very heavily till at last the carriages were there to take them all home.


"They arranged that you should sit next to her," said Lady Carbury to her son, as they were in the carriage.

"They arranged that you should sit next to her," said Lady Carbury to her son, in the carriage.


"Oh, I suppose that came naturally;--one young man and one young woman, you know."


"Those things are always arranged, and they would not have done it unless they had thought that it would please Mr. Melmotte.

"They would not have done that unless they had thought that it would please Mr. Melmotte.


"I shall if I can, mother; you needn't make a fuss about it."


You cannot wonder that I should be anxious.


You behaved beautifully to her at dinner; I was so happy to see you together.


she said again, as they were parting for the night.


"I shall be the happiest and the proudest mother in England if this comes about."

I shall be the happiest and proudest mother in England if this comes about."


On the following Saturday there appeared in Mr. Alf's paper, the "Evening Pulpit," a very remarkable article on the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway.

On the following Saturday there appeared in Mr. Alf's paper, the Evening Pulpit, a very remarkable article on the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway.


It was an article that attracted a great deal of attention and was therefore remarkable, but it was in nothing more remarkable than in this,--that it left on the mind of its reader no impression of any decided opinion about the railway.

This article attracted a great deal of attention, but the most remarkable thing about it was that it expressed no opinion about the railway at all.


The Editor would at any future time be able to refer to his article with equal pride whether the railway should become a great cosmopolitan fact, or whether it should collapse amidst the foul struggles of a horde of swindlers.

The Editor would at any future time be able to refer to his article with equal pride whether the railway should become reality, or whether it should collapse amidst a horde of swindlers.


In utrumque paratus, the article was mysterious, suggestive, amusing, well-informed,--that in the "Evening Pulpit" was a matter of course,--and, above all things, ironical.

The article was mysterious, amusing, well-informed, and above all ironical.


Next to its omniscience its irony was the strongest weapon belonging to the "Evening Pulpit."


There was a little praise given, no doubt in irony, to the duchesses who served Mr. Melmotte.


There was a little praise, given of course in irony, to Mr. Melmotte's Board of English Directors.


There was a good deal of praise, but still alloyed by a dash of irony, bestowed on the idea of civilising Mexico by joining it to California.


Praise was bestowed upon England for taking up the matter, but accompanied by some ironical touches at her incapacity to believe thoroughly in any enterprise not originated by herself.


Then there was something said of the universality of Mr. Melmotte's commercial genius, but whether said in a spirit prophetic of ultimate failure and disgrace, or of heavenborn success and unequalled commercial splendour, no one could tell.

Whether the writer thought the railway would be a failure or an unequalled success, no one could tell.


It was generally said at the clubs that Mr. Alf had written this article himself.

It was generally said that Mr. Alf had written this article himself.


Old Splinter, who was one of a body of men possessing an excellent cellar of wine and calling themselves Paides Pallados, and who had written for the heavy quarterlies any time this last forty years, professed that he saw through the article. The "Evening Pulpit" had been, he explained, desirous of going as far as it could in denouncing Mr. Melmotte without incurring the danger of an action for libel.

Some thought that the Evening Pulpit had wanted to go as far as it could in denouncing Mr. Melmotte without incurring the danger of being sued for libel.


Mr. Splinter thought that the thing was clever but mean.


These new publications generally were mean.


Mr. Splinter was constant in that opinion; but, putting the meanness aside, he thought that the article was well done.


According to his view it was intended to expose Mr. Melmotte and the railway.


But the Paides Pallados generally did not agree with him. Under such an interpretation, what had been the meaning of that paragraph in which the writer had declared that the work of joining one ocean to another was worthy of the nearest approach to divinity that had been granted to men? Old Splinter chuckled and gabbled as he heard this, and declared that there was not wit enough left now even among the Paides Pallados to understand a shaft of irony. There could be no doubt, however, at the time, that the world did not go with old Splinter, and that the article served to enhance the value of shares in the great railway enterprise.

But other readers did not agree; and the article served to enhance the value of shares in the great railway enterprise.


Lady Carbury was sure that the article was intended to write up the railway, and took great joy in it.


She entertained in her brain a somewhat confused notion that if she could only bestir herself in the right direction and could induce her son to open his eyes to his own advantage, very great things might be achieved, so that wealth might become his handmaid and luxury the habit and the right of his life.

She had a somewhat confused notion that if she could only induce her son to open his eyes, very great things might be achieved, so that wealth might become his handmaid and luxury his habit.


He was the beloved and the accepted suitor of Marie Melmotte.


He was a Director of this great company, sitting at the same board with the great commercial hero.

He was a Director of this great company.


He was the handsomest young man in London.


Should she take Mr. Alf into her entire confidence?

Should she take Mr. Alf into her confidence?


If Melmotte and Alf could be brought together what might they not do?

If he and Melmotte could be brought together, what might they not do?


Alf could write up Melmotte, and Melmotte could shower shares upon Alf.


And if Melmotte would come and be smiled upon by herself, be flattered as she thought that she could flatter him, be told that he was a god, and have that passage about the divinity of joining ocean to ocean construed to him as she could construe it, would not the great man become plastic under her hands?

And if Melmotte would visit her and be smiled upon and flattered, would not the great man become putty under her hands?


And if, while this was a-doing, Felix would run away with Marie, could not forgiveness be made easy?

And if meanwhile, Felix ran away with Marie, could not forgiveness be made easy?


And her creative mind ranged still farther.


Mr. Broune might help, and even Mr. Booker.


To such a one as Melmotte, a man doing great things through the force of the confidence placed in him by the world at large, the freely-spoken support of the Press would be everything.

To such a one as Melmotte, the support of the Press would be everything.


Who would not buy shares in a railway as to which Mr. Broune and Mr. Alf would combine in saying that it was managed by "divinity"?

Who would not buy shares in a railway which Mr. Broune and Mr. Alf both praised to the heavens?


Her thoughts were rather hazy, but from day to day she worked hard to make them clear to herself.

Her thoughts were rather hazy, but she worked hard to make them clear to herself.


On the Sunday afternoon Mr. Booker called on her and talked to her about the article.

On the Sunday afternoon Mr. Booker called and talked to her about the article.


She did not say much to Mr. Booker as to her own connection with Mr. Melmotte, telling herself that prudence was essential in the present emergency. But she listened with all her ears.

She prudently did not say much to Mr. Booker about her own connection with Melmotte, but she listened with all her ears.


It was Mr. Booker's idea that the man was going "to make a spoon or spoil a horn."


"Of course, I mean honest as men can be in such very large transactions."

"Of course, I mean as honest as men can be in such very large transactions."


"Perhaps that is the best way of putting it," said Mr. Booker.


"If a thing can be made great and beneficent, a boon to humanity, simply by creating a belief in it, does not a man become a benefactor to his race by creating that belief?"

"If a thing can be made a great boon to humanity, simply by creating a belief in it, does not a man become a benefactor to his race by creating that belief?"


"One cannot measure such men by the ordinary rule."


You have to destroy a thousand living creatures every time you drink a glass of water, but you do not think of that when you are athirst.

You have to destroy a thousand living creatures every time you drink a glass of water, but you do not think of that when you are thirsty.


You cannot send a ship to sea without endangering lives.


You do send ships to sea though men perish yearly.


You tell me this man may perhaps ruin hundreds, but then again he may create a new world in which millions will be rich and happy."


"You are an excellent casuist, Lady Carbury."


"I am an enthusiastic lover of beneficent audacity," said Lady Carbury, picking her words slowly, and showing herself to be quite satisfied with herself as she picked them.

"I am an enthusiastic lover of beneficent audacity," said Lady Carbury, picking her words carefully.


"Did I hold your place, Mr. Booker, in the literature of my country,--"
"I hold no place, Lady Carbury."
"Yes;--and a very distinguished place. Were I circumstanced as you are I should have no hesitation in lending the whole weight of my periodical, let it be what it might, to the assistance of so great a man and so great an object as this."

"If I held your distinguished place, Mr. Booker, I should have no hesitation in lending the whole weight of my periodical to the assistance of so great a man and so great an object as this."


"I should be dismissed to-morrow," said Mr. Booker, getting up and laughing as he took his departure.

"I should be dismissed tomorrow," said Mr. Booker, laughing as he took his departure.


Lady Carbury felt that, as regarded Mr. Booker, she had only thrown out a chance word that could not do any harm.

Lady Carbury felt that she had only thrown out a word that could not do any harm.


She had not expected to effect much through Mr. Booker's instrumentality.


On the Tuesday evening,--her regular Tuesday as she called it,--all her three editors came to her drawing-room; but there came also a greater man than either of them.

On the Tuesday evening - her regular Tuesday - all her three editors came to her drawing-room; but there came also a greater man.


She had taken the bull by the horns, and without saying anything to anybody had written to Mr. Melmotte himself, asking him to honour her poor house with his presence. She had written a very pretty note to him, reminding him of their meeting at Caversham, telling him that on a former occasion Madame Melmotte and his daughter had been so kind as to come to her, and giving him to understand that of all the potentates now on earth he was the one to whom she could bow the knee with the purest satisfaction.

She had taken the bull by the horns, and had written a very pretty note to Mr. Melmotte himself, asking him to honour her poor house with his presence.


He wrote back,--or Miles Grendall did for him,--a very plain note, accepting the honour of Lady Carbury's invitation.


The great man came, and Lady Carbury took him under her immediate wing with a grace that was all her own.

The great man came, and Lady Carbury took him gracefully under her wing.


She said a word about their dear friends at Caversham, expressed her sorrow that her son's engagements did not admit of his being there, and then with the utmost audacity rushed off to the article in the "Pulpit."

She said a word about their dear friends at Caversham, expressed her sorrow that her son's engagements did not allow him to be there, and then boldly brought up the article in the Pulpit.


Her friend, Mr. Alf, the editor, had thoroughly appreciated the greatness of Mr. Melmotte's character, and the magnificence of Mr. Melmotte's undertakings.

Her friend, Mr. Alf, the editor, had thoroughly appreciated the greatness of Mr. Melmotte's character, and the magnificence of his undertakings.


Mr. Melmotte bowed and muttered something that was inaudible.

Mr. Melmotte bowed and muttered something inaudible.


"Now I must introduce you to Mr. Alf," said the lady.


The introduction was effected, and Mr. Alf explained that it was hardly necessary, as he had already been entertained as one of Mr. Melmotte's guests.

When she did, Mr. Alf explained that he had already been entertained as one of Mr. Melmotte's guests.


"There were a great many there I never saw, and probably never shall see," said Mr. Melmotte.

"There were a great many there I never saw," said Mr. Melmotte.


"I was one of the unfortunates," said Mr. Alf.


"If you had come into the whist-room you would have found me."


The editor, as was proper, carried about with him samples of the irony which his paper used so effectively, but it was altogether thrown away upon Melmotte.

His irony was altogether thrown away upon Melmotte.


Lady Carbury finding that no immediate good results could be expected from this last introduction, tried another.

Lady Carbury, finding that no immediate good results could be expected from this introduction, tried another.


"Mr. Melmotte," she said, whispering to him, "I do so want to make you known to Mr. Broune. Mr. Broune I know you have never met before. A morning paper is a much heavier burden to an editor than one published in the afternoon. Mr. Broune, as of course you know, manages the 'Breakfast Table.'

"Mr. Melmotte," she whispered to him, "I do so want to make you known to Mr. Broune, who manages the Breakfast Table.


There is hardly a more influential man in London than Mr. Broune.

There is hardly a more influential man in London."


And they declare, you know," she said, lowering the tone of her whisper as she communicated the fact, "that his commercial articles are gospel,--absolutely gospel."


Then the two men were named to each other, and Lady Carbury retreated;--but not out of hearing.

The two men were introduced to each other, and Lady Carbury retreated; but not out of hearing.


"Very hot indeed," said Mr. Broune again.


Then the conversation was over. Mr. Broune sidled away, and Mr. Melmotte was left standing in the middle of the room.

Then the conversation was over, and Mr. Broune sidled away.


Lady Carbury told herself at the moment that Rome was not built in a day.

Lady Carbury told herself that Rome was not built in a day.


She would have been better satisfied certainly if she could have laid a few more bricks on this day.

She would have been better satisfied certainly if she could have laid a few more bricks.


Perseverance, however, was the thing wanted.


But Mr. Melmotte himself had a word to say, and before he left the house he said it.

But Mr. Melmotte himself had a word to say before he left the house.


"It was very good of you to ask me, Lady Carbury;--very good."

"It was very good of you to ask me, Lady Carbury; very good.


Lady Carbury intimated her opinion that the goodness was all on the other side.


"And I came," continued Mr. Melmotte, "because I had something particular to say.

And I came because I had something particular to say.


Otherwise I don't go out much to evening parties.


Lady Carbury looked up into his face with all her eyes;--clasped both her hands together; and then, having unclasped them, put one upon his sleeve.

Lady Carbury looked up into his face with all her eyes, and clasped her hands together.


"My daughter, ma'am, is engaged to another man."


"You would not enslave her affections, Mr. Melmotte?"


"I won't give her a shilling if she marries any one else; that's all.

I won't give her a shilling if she marries anyone else; that's all.


You reminded me down at Caversham that your son is a Director at our Board."


"I have a great respect for your son, ma'am.


If he'll signify to my daughter that he withdraws from this offer of his, because I'm against it, I'll see that he does uncommon well in the city.

If he'll tell my daughter that he withdraws from his offer, I'll see that he does uncommon well in the city.


Then Mr. Melmotte took his departure without another word.

Then Mr. Melmotte departed without another word.


Here at any rate was an undertaking on the part of the great man that he would be the "making of Felix," if Felix would only obey him--accompanied, or rather preceded, by a most positive assurance that if Felix were to succeed in marrying his daughter he would not give his son-in-law a shilling!

Here was a promise by the great man that he would be the "making of Felix," if Felix would only obey him!


There was very much to be considered in this.

There was much to be considered in this.


She did not doubt that Felix might be "made" by Mr. Melmotte's city influences, but then any perpetuity of such making must depend on qualifications in her son which she feared that he did not possess.

She did not doubt that Felix might be "made" by Mr. Melmotte's city influences.


The wife without the money would be terrible!

But the wife without the money would be terrible!


There was an appreciation of real tragedy in her heart while she contemplated the position of Sir Felix married to such a girl as she supposed Marie Melmotte to be, without any means of support for either of them but what she could supply.


And for those young people there would be nothing before them, but beggary and the workhouse.

The young people would have nothing before them but beggary and the workhouse.


As she thought of this she trembled with true maternal instincts.


Her beautiful boy,--so glorious with his outward gifts, so fit, as she thought him, for all the graces of the grand world!

Her beautiful boy - so glorious, so fit for all the graces of the grand world!


Though the ambition was vilely ignoble, the mother's love was noble and disinterested.


The future honours of the house of Melmotte could be made to settle on no other head.

The future honours of the house of Melmotte could settle on no other head.


No doubt the father would prefer a lord for a son-in-law; and, having that preference, would of course do as he was now doing. That he should threaten to disinherit his daughter if she married contrary to his wishes was to be expected. But would it not be equally a matter of course that he should make the best of the marriage if it were once effected?

No doubt the father would prefer a lord for a son-in-law; but would he not make the best of the marriage if it took place?


His daughter would return to him with a title, though with one of a lower degree than his ambition desired.

His daughter would return to him with a title, though a lower one than his ambition desired.


To herself personally, Lady Carbury felt that the great financier had been very rude.


He had taken advantage of her invitation that he might come to her house and threaten her.


She could pass that over altogether if only anything were to be gained by passing it over.


She looked round the room, longing for a friend, whom she might consult with a true feeling of genuine womanly dependence.

She looked round the room, longing for a friend whom she might consult.


Her most natural friend was Roger Carbury.


But even had he been there she could not have consulted him on any matter touching the Melmottes.

But even if he had been there she could not have consulted him about the Melmottes.


He would have told her to have nothing at all to do with such adventurers.


But then dear Roger was old fashioned, and knew nothing of people as they are now.

Dear Roger was old fashioned, and knew nothing of people as they are now.


He lived in a world which, though slow, had been good in its way; but which, whether bad or good, had now passed away.

He lived in a world which had been good in its way; but which had now passed on.


She was afraid of Mr. Alf. She had almost begun to think that Mr. Alf was too difficult of management to be of use to her.

She was afraid of Mr. Alf, who was proving difficult to manage.


Mr. Booker was serviceable for an article, but would not be sympathetic as a friend.


Mr. Broune had been very courteous to her lately;--so much so that on one occasion she had almost feared that the "susceptible old goose" was going to be a goose again.

He had been very courteous to her lately - so much so that she had almost feared that he was going to be a goose again.


That would be a bore; but still she might make use of the friendly condition of mind which such susceptibility would produce.

That would be a bore; but still she might make use of his susceptibility.


When her guests began to leave her, she spoke a word aside to him. She wanted his advice.

When her guests began to leave, she spoke to him, saying she wanted his advice.


Would he stay for a few minutes after the rest of the company?


He did stay, and when all the others were gone she asked her daughter to leave them.

He did, and she asked her daughter to leave them.


"Hetta," she said, "I have something of business to communicate to Mr. Broune."


"I'm afraid you didn't make much of Mr. Melmotte," she said smiling.

"I'm afraid you didn't make much of Mr. Melmotte," she said, smiling.


He had seated himself on the end of a sofa, close to the arm-chair which she occupied.

He had seated himself close to her arm-chair.


In reply, he only shook his head and laughed.

In reply, he shook his head and laughed.


"I saw how it was, and I was sorry for it; for he certainly is a wonderful man."

"I was sorry for it," said Lady Carbury, "for he certainly is a wonderful man."


"I suppose he is, but he is one of those men whose powers do not lie, I should say, chiefly in conversation.

"I suppose he is, but he is one of those men whose powers do not lie in conversation.


Though, indeed, there is no reason why he should not say the same of me;--for if he said little, I said less."

Though, indeed, if he said little, I said less."


"It didn't just come off," Lady Carbury suggested with her sweetest smile.

"It didn't come off," Lady Carbury suggested with her sweetest smile.


I think I am justified in regarding you as a real friend."


"Certainly," he said, putting out his hand for hers.


She gave it to him for a moment, and then took it back again,--finding that he did not relinquish it of his own accord.

She gave it to him for a moment, and then took it back again.


she said to herself. "And now to my story. You know my boy, Felix?"

she thought; and then said, "You know my boy, Felix?


"He is engaged to marry that man's daughter."


"Why, she is said to be the greatest heiress that the world has ever produced.


I thought she was to marry Lord Nidderdale."


She is desperately in love with him,--as is he with her."

"She is desperately in love with Felix, as is he with her.


She tried to tell her story truly, knowing that no advice can be worth anything that is not based on a true story;--but lying had become her nature.


"Melmotte naturally wants her to marry the lord.


He came here to tell me that if his daughter married Felix she should not have a penny."


"Do you mean that he volunteered that,--as a threat?"

"Do you mean that he volunteered that, as a threat?"


"Just so;--and he told me that he had come here simply with the object of saying so.


It was more candid than civil, but we must take it as we get it."


"He would be sure to make some such threat."


And in these days young people are not often kept from marrying simply by a father's fantasy.

In these days young people are not often stopped from marrying simply by a father's fantasy.


He told me that if Felix would desist, he would enable him to make a fortune in the city."

But he also told me that if Felix would desist, he would enable him to make a fortune in the city."


"That's bosh," said Broune with decision.


"Do you think it must be so;--certainly?"


Such an undertaking, if intended by Melmotte, would give me a worse opinion of him than I have ever held."


He must have spoken with the purpose of deceiving."


"You know my son is one of the Directors of that great American Railway. It was not just as though the promise were made to a young man who was altogether unconnected with him."

"You know my son is one of the Directors of that great American Railway, so is connected to him."


"Sir Felix's name was put there, in a hurry, merely because he has a title, and because Melmotte thought he, as a young man, would not be likely to interfere with him.

"Sir Felix's name was put there merely because he has a title, and because Melmotte thought Felix would not interfere.


It may be that he will be able to sell a few shares at a profit; but, if I understand the matter rightly, he has no capital to go into such a business."


"Dear Lady Carbury, I would place no dependence at all on such a promise as that."


"You think he should marry the girl then in spite of the father?"

"You think he should marry the girl then, in spite of the father?"


Mr. Broune hesitated before he replied to this question.


But it was to this question that Lady Carbury especially wished for a reply. She wanted some one to support her under the circumstances of an elopement.

But Lady Carbury wanted someone to support her in her view of an elopement.


She rose from her chair, and he rose at the same time.


"Perhaps I should have begun by saying that Felix is all but prepared to take her off.

"Felix is all but prepared to take her off.


"That is a question very hard to answer."

"That is very hard to answer," said Mr. Broune.


Lionel Goldsheiner ran away the other day with Lady Julia Start, and everybody visits them."


"Oh yes, people do run away, and it all comes right.


It was the gentleman had the money then, and it is said you know that old Lady Catchboy, Lady Julia's mother, had arranged the elopement herself as offering the safest way of securing the rich prize.

You know it is said that Lady Julia's mother arranged the elopement herself, as the safest way of securing the young man and his fortune.


The young lord didn't like it, so the mother had it done in that fashion."


"I didn't say there would;--but nevertheless it is one of those things a man hardly ventures to advise.

Nevertheless it is one of those things a man hardly ventures to advise.


If you ask me whether I think that Melmotte would forgive her, and make her an allowance afterwards,--I think he would."

If you ask me whether I think that Melmotte would forgive her, and make her an allowance afterwards - I think he would."


"And I feel quite certain that no dependence whatever should be placed on that promise of assistance."

"And I feel certain that you should not depend on that promise of assistance in the City."


I am so much obliged to you," said Lady Carbury, who was now determined that Felix should run off with the girl.


Then again she gave him her hand, as though to bid him farewell for the night.

She gave him her hand, as though to bid him farewell.


"And now," he said, "I also have something to say to you."


Sir Felix Carbury made an appointment for meeting Ruby Ruggles a second time at the bottom of the kitchen-garden belonging to Sheep's Acre farm, which appointment he neglected, and had, indeed, made without any intention of keeping it.

Sir Felix Carbury agreed to meet Ruby Ruggles a second time at the bottom of the kitchen-garden of Sheep's Acre farm. He made this appointment without any intention of keeping it.


But Ruby was there, and remained hanging about among the cabbages till her grandfather returned from Harlestone market.

But Ruby was there, and hung about among the cabbages till her grandfather returned from Harlestone market.


An early hour had been named; but hours may be mistaken, and Ruby had thought that a fine gentleman, such as was her lover, used to live among fine people up in London, might well mistake the afternoon for the morning.

She thought that a fine London gentleman like her lover might well be late.


If he would come at all she could easily forgive such a mistake.


But he did not come, and late in the afternoon she was obliged to obey her grandfather's summons as he called her into the house.

But he did not come, and she was obliged at last to go into the house.


After that for three weeks she heard nothing of her London lover, but she was always thinking of him;--and though she could not altogether avoid her country lover, she was in his company as little as possible.

After that for three weeks she heard nothing of him, but she was always thinking of him; and though she could not altogether avoid her country lover, she was in his company as little as possible.


One afternoon her grandfather returned from Bungay and told her that her country lover was coming to see her.

One afternoon her grandfather told her that her country lover was coming to see her.


"John Crumb be a coming over by-and-by," said the old man.


"See and have a bit o' supper ready for him."


He's welcome to stay away then, for me."


The old man thrust his old hat on to his head and seated himself in a wooden arm-chair that stood by the kitchen-fire.

The old man thrust his hat on to his head and seated himself in a wooden arm-chair by the kitchen-fire.


Whenever he was angry he put on his hat, and the custom was well understood by Ruby.

Whenever he was angry he put on his hat, as Ruby knew.


"Why not welcome, and he all one as your husband?


Look ye here, Ruby, I'm going to have an eend o' this.

Look ye here, Ruby, I'm going to have an end o' this.


John Crumb is to marry you next month, and the banns is to be said."


"The parson may say what he pleases, grandfather.


But no parson among 'em all can marry me without I'm willing."

But no parson can marry me without I'm willing."


"And why should you no be willing, you contrairy young jade, you?"


He turned round at her sharp, and threw his old hat at her head;--nothing to Ruby's consternation, as it was a practice to which she was well accustomed.

He turned round sharp, and threw his old hat at her.


She picked it up, and returned it to him with a cool indifference which was intended to exasperate him.

She picked it up, and returned it to him with cool indifference.


"Look ye here, Ruby," he said, "out o' this place you go. If you go as John Crumb's wife you'll go with five hun'erd pound, and we'll have a dinner here, and a dance, and all Bungay."

"Look ye here, Ruby," he said, "if you go from here as John Crumb's wife you'll go with five hun'erd pound, and we'll have a dinner, and a dance, and all Bungay."


"Who cares for all Bungay,--a set of beery chaps as knows nothing but swilling and smoking;--and John Crumb the main of 'em all?

"Who cares for all Bungay - beery chaps as knows nothing but swilling and smoking?


There never was a chap for beer like John Crumb."


"Never saw him the worse o' liquor in all my life."


And the old farmer, as he gave this grand assurance, rattled his fist down upon the table.

And the old farmer rattled his fist upon the table.


"It ony just makes him stoopider and stoopider the more he swills.


You can't tell me, grandfather, about John Crumb.


"If I did, I ain't the first girl as has gone back of her word,--and I shan't be the last."

"If I did, I ain't the first girl as has gone back of her word."


"Then you'll have to have somebody to fend for ye, and that pretty sharp,--for you won't have me."

"Then you'll have to have somebody to fend for ye, for you won't have me."


"There ain't no difficulty about that, grandfather."


He's a coming here to-night, and you may settle it along wi' him.

John Crumb's a coming here tonight, and you may settle it along wi' him.


"He's a coming here to-night, and if you can make it up wi' him, well and good.

"If you can make it up wi' him, well and good.


There's five hun'erd pound, and ye shall have the dinner and the dance and all Bungay.


He ain't a going to be put off no longer;--he ain't."


"Let me have my say, will ye, yer jade, you?


There's five hun'erd pound! and there ain't ere a farmer in Suffolk or Norfolk paying rent for a bit of land like this can do as well for his darter as that,--let alone only a granddarter. You never thinks o' that;--you don't. If you don't like to take it,--leave it.

There's five hun'erd pound, and if you don't like to take it - leave it.


It's the stoopidest place in all England."


"Then find another. Then find another. That's all aboot it. John Crumb's a coming up for a bit o' supper. You tell him your own mind. I'm dommed if I trouble aboot it. On'y you don't stay here. Sheep's Acre ain't good enough for you, and you'd best find another home. Stoopid, is it?

"Stoopid, is it? Then find another. If Sheep's Acre ain't good enough for you, you'd best find another home."


You'll have to put up wi' places stoopider nor Sheep's Acre, afore you've done."


In regard to the hospitality promised to Mr. Crumb, Miss Ruggles went about her work with sufficient alacrity. She was quite willing that the young man should have a supper, and she did understand that, so far as the preparation of the supper went, she owed her service to her grandfather.

Miss Ruggles prepared supper for John Crumb; she knew that she owed that service to her grandfather.


She therefore went to work herself, and gave directions to the servant girl who assisted her in keeping her grandfather's house.


But as she did this, she determined that she would make John Crumb understand that she would never be his wife.

But she determined that she would make John Crumb understand that she would never be his wife.


As she went about the kitchen, taking down the ham and cutting the slices that were to be broiled, and as she trussed the fowl that was to be boiled for John Crumb, she made mental comparisons between him and Sir Felix Carbury.

As she went about the kitchen, cutting slices of ham, and trussing the fowl that was to be boiled for John Crumb, she made mental comparisons between him and Sir Felix Carbury.


She could see, as though present to her at the moment, the mealy, floury head of the one, with hair stiff with perennial dust from his sacks, and the sweet glossy dark well-combed locks of the other, so bright, so seductive, that she was ever longing to twine her fingers among them.

She could see the mealy, floury head of the one, his hair stiff with dust, and the sweet glossy well-combed locks of the other, so bright, so seductive, that she was always longing to twine her fingers among them.


And she remembered the heavy, flat, broad honest face of the meal-man, with his mouth slow in motion, and his broad nose looking like a huge white promontory, and his great staring eyes, from the corners of which he was always extracting meal and grit;--and then also she remembered the white teeth, the beautiful soft lips, the perfect eyebrows, and the rich complexion of her London lover.

And she remembered the heavy, flat, honest face of the meal-man, with his slowly-moving mouth, and his broad white nose, and his great staring eyes; and then she remembered the white teeth, the perfect eyebrows, and the rich complexion of her London lover.


Surely a lease of Paradise with the one, though but for one short year, would be well purchased at the price of a life with the other!

Surely even one year of Paradise with him would be well purchased at the price of a life with the other!


"It's no good going against love," she said to herself, "and I won't try.

"It's no good going against love," she said to herself.


"He shall have his supper, and be told all about it, and then go home.


He cares more for his supper than he do for me."


And then, with this final resolution firmly made, she popped the fowl into the pot.

And with this resolution she popped the fowl into the pot.


Her grandfather wanted her to leave Sheep's Acre.


She had a little money of her own, and would take herself off to London.


She knew what people would say, but she cared nothing for old women's tales.


She would know how to take care of herself, and could always say in her own defence that her grandfather had turned her out of Sheep's Acre.


Seven had been the hour named, and punctually at that hour John Crumb knocked at the back door of Sheep's Acre farm-house.

At seven o'clock John Crumb knocked at the door of Sheep's Acre farm-house.


He was accompanied by his friend Joe Mixet, the baker of Bungay, who, as all Bungay knew, was to be his best man at his marriage.

He was accompanied by his friend Joe Mixet, the baker of Bungay, who was to be his best man at his wedding.


John Crumb's character was not without many fine attributes.


He could earn money,--and having earned it could spend and keep it in fair proportion.


He was afraid of no work, and,--to give him his due,--was afraid of no man. He was honest, and ashamed of nothing that he did.

He was not afraid of work, nor of any man, and he was honest.


And after his fashion he had chivalrous ideas about women. He was willing to thrash any man that ill-used a woman, and would certainly be a most dangerous antagonist to any man who would misuse a woman belonging to him.

After his fashion he had chivalrous ideas: he was willing to thrash any man that ill-used a woman.


But Ruby had told the truth of him in saying that he was slow of speech, and what the world calls stupid in regard to all forms of expression.

But Ruby had told the truth in saying that he was slow of speech, and what the world calls stupid in regard to expressing himself.


He knew good meal from bad as well as any man, and the price at which he could buy it so as to leave himself a fair profit at the selling.


He knew the value of a clear conscience, and without much argument had discovered for himself that honesty is in truth the best policy.


Joe Mixet, who was dapper of person and glib of tongue, had often declared that any one buying John Crumb for a fool would lose his money.

Joe Mixet, who was dapper of person and glib of tongue, had often declared that anyone taking John Crumb for a fool would lose his money.


Joe Mixet was probably right; but there had been a want of prudence, a lack of worldly sagacity, in the way in which Crumb had allowed his proposed marriage with Ruby Ruggles to become a source of gossip to all Bungay.

Joe Mixet was probably right; but there had been a lack of worldly wisdom in the way in which Crumb had allowed his proposed marriage with Ruby Ruggles to become a source of gossip.


His love was now an old affair; and, though he never talked much, whenever he did talk, he talked about that.


He was proud of Ruby's beauty, and of her fortune, and of his own status as her acknowledged lover,--and he did not hide his light under a bushel.

He was proud of Ruby's beauty, and of his status as her lover; and he did not hide it.


Perhaps the publicity so produced had some effect in prejudicing Ruby against the man whose offer she had certainly once accepted.


Now when he came to settle the day,--having heard more than once or twice that there was a difficulty with Ruby,--he brought his friend Mixet with him as though to be present at his triumph.

Now, when he came to settle the wedding day - having heard that there was a difficulty with Ruby - he brought his friend Mixet with him as though to be present at his triumph.


"If here isn't Joe Mixet," said Ruby to herself.


"Was there ever such a stoopid as John Crumb?


The old man had slept off his anger and his beer while Ruby had been preparing the feast, and now roused himself to entertain his guests.

The old man roused himself to entertain his guests.


Ruby's a stewing o' something for us to eat a bit.

Ruby's a stewing o' something for us to eat."


--John Crumb lifted up his great nose, sniffed and grinned.


"John didn't like going home in the dark like," said the baker, with his little joke.


"So I just come along to drive away the bogies."


"The more the merrier;--the more the merrier.


Ruby 'll have enough for the two o' you, I'll go bail.


So John Crumb's afraid of bogies;--is he?


The more need he to have some 'un in his house to scart 'em away."


The lover had seated himself without speaking a word; but now he was instigated to ask a question.


They were seated in the outside or front kitchen, in which the old man and his granddaughter always lived; while Ruby was at work in the back kitchen. As John Crumb asked this question she could be heard distinctly among the pots and the plates.

asked John Crumb. Ruby was at work in the back kitchen, where she could be heard among the pots and plates.


She now came out, and wiping her hands on her apron, shook hands with the two young men.

She now came out, wiping her hands on her apron.


She had enveloped herself in a big household apron when the cooking was in hand, and had not cared to take it off for the greeting of this lover.


"Grandfather said as how you was a coming out for your supper, so I've been a seeing to it.


"You couldn't look nicer, miss, if you was to try it ever so.


My mother says as it's housifery as recommends a girl to the young men.


"I loiks to see her loik o' that," said John rubbing his hands down the back of his trowsers, and stooping till he had brought his eyes down to a level with those of his sweetheart.

"I loiks to see her loik o' that," said John rubbing his hands down the back of his trousers.


[Illlustration: "I loiks to see her loik o' that."]


said Ruby, turning round sharp, and going back to the other kitchen.


John Crumb turned round also, and grinned at his friend, and then grinned at the old man.

John Crumb turned round also, and grinned at his friend and the old man.


"You've got it all afore you," said the farmer,--leaving the lover to draw what lesson he might from this oracular proposition.

"You've got it all afore you," said the farmer.


"And I don't care how soon I ha'e it in hond;--that I don't," said John.


"That's the chat," said Joe Mixet. "There ain't nothing wanting in his house;--is there, John?

"There ain't nothing wanting in John's house," said Joe Mixet.


It's all there,--cradle, caudle-cup, and the rest of it.


"A young woman going to John knows what she'll have to eat when she gets up, and what she'll lie down upon when she goes to bed."


This he declared in a loud voice for the benefit of Ruby in the back kitchen.

This he declared in a loud voice for Ruby's benefit.


"That she do," said John, grinning again.


"There's a hun'erd and fifty poond o' things in my house forbye what mother left behind her."


After this there was no more conversation till Ruby reappeared with the boiled fowl, and without her apron.

After this there was no more conversation till Ruby reappeared with the boiled fowl.


She was followed by the girl with a dish of broiled ham and an enormous pyramid of cabbage.

She was followed by the servant-girl with a dish of broiled ham and an enormous pyramid of cabbage.


Then the old man got up slowly and opening some private little door of which he kept the key in his breeches pocket, drew a jug of ale and placed it on the table. And from a cupboard of which he also kept the key, he brought out a bottle of gin.

Then the old man got up slowly and from a little private door drew a jug of ale and a bottle of gin.


Everything being thus prepared, the three men sat round the table, John Crumb looking at his chair again and again before he ventured to occupy it.

Everything being thus prepared, the three men sat round the table.


"If you'll sit yourself down, I'll give you a bit of something to eat," said Ruby at last.


Ruby cut up the fowl standing, and dispensed the other good things, not even placing a chair for herself at the table,--and apparently not expected to do so, for no one invited her.

Ruby cut up the fowl standing, and dispensed the other good things, not even placing a chair for herself at the table - and no one invited her to do so.


"Is it to be spirits or ale, Mr. Crumb?"


she said, when the other two men had helped themselves.


He turned round and gave her a look of love that might have softened the heart of an Amazon; but instead of speaking he held up his tumbler, and bobbed his head at the beer jug. Then she filled it to the brim, frothing it in the manner in which he loved to have it frothed.

He gave her a look of love that might have softened the heart of an Amazon; but instead of speaking he bobbed his head at the beer jug. She filled his tumbler to the brim.


He raised it to his mouth slowly, and poured the liquor in as though to a vat.


He had been her lover, and she would be as kind to him as she knew how,--short of love.

She would be as kind to him as she knew how - short of love.


There was a good deal of eating done, for more ham came in, and another mountain of cabbage; but very little or nothing was said.

There was a good deal of eating done; but very little was said.


John Crumb ate whatever was given to him of the fowl, sedulously picking the bones, and almost swallowing them; and then finished the second dish of ham, and after that the second instalment of cabbage. He did not ask for more beer, but took it as often as Ruby replenished his glass.

John Crumb finished a second dish of ham, and a second instalment of cabbage, and Ruby replenished his glass.


When the eating was done, Ruby retired into the back kitchen, and there regaled herself with some bone or merry-thought of the fowl, which she had with prudence reserved, sharing her spoils however with the other maiden. This she did standing, and then went to work, cleaning the dishes.

When the eating was done, she retired into the back kitchen, and there had a bit of the fowl, standing up, and then went to work cleaning the dishes.


The men lit their pipes and smoked in silence, while Ruby went through her domestic duties.

The men lit their pipes and smoked in silence.


So matters went on for half an hour; during which Ruby escaped by the back door, went round into the house, got into her own room, and formed the grand resolution of going to bed.

So matters went on for half an hour; during which Ruby escaped by the back door, went round into the house, got into her own room, and resolved to go to bed.


She began her operations in fear and trembling, not being sure but that her grandfather would bring the man up-stairs to her. As she thought of this she stayed her hand, and looked to the door. She knew well that there was no bolt there.

But she was afraid her grandfather would bring John Crumb upstairs to speak to her; and her door had no bolt.


It would be terrible to her to be invaded by John Crumb after his fifth or sixth glass of beer.

It would be terrible to be invaded by John Crumb after his fifth or sixth glass of beer.


And, she declared to herself, that should he come he would be sure to bring Joe Mixet with him to speak his mind for him.

And he would be sure to bring Joe Mixet with him.


When they had smoked for some half hour the old man called for his granddaughter, but called of course in vain.

When they had smoked for half an hour the old man called for his granddaughter, in vain.


he said, slowly making his way into the back kitchen.

he said, slowly making his way into the empty back kitchen.


The maid as soon as she heard her master moving, escaped into the yard and made no response, while the old man stood bawling at the back door.


"She'll make the place hot for her, if she goes on this way."


"She's playing off her games somwheres," he said.

"She's playing off her games somewheres," he said.


"Take a glass of sperrits and water, Mr. Crumb, and I'll see after her."

"Take a glass of sperrits and water, Mr. Crumb, and I'll look for her."


"I'll just take a drop of y'ell," said John Crumb, apparently quite unmoved by the absence of his sweetheart.

"I'll just take a drop of ale," said John Crumb, apparently quite unmoved by his sweetheart's absence.


He went down the yard and into the garden, hobbling among the cabbages, not daring to call very loud, as he did not wish to have it supposed that the girl was lost; but still anxious, and sore at heart as to the ingratitude shown to him.

He went down into the garden, hobbling among the cabbages, not daring to call very loud; but still anxious, and sore at heart about Ruby's ingratitude.


He was not bound to give the girl a home at all.


She was not his own child. And he had offered her 500!

She was not even his own child - yet he had offered her 500!


"Domm her," he said aloud as he made his way back to the house.


After much search and considerable loss of time he returned to the kitchen in which the two men were sitting, leading Ruby in his hand.

After much searching he found Ruby, cuffed her and led her to the kitchen.


She was not smart in her apparel, for she had half undressed herself, and been then compelled by her grandfather to make herself fit to appear in public.


She had acknowledged to herself that she had better go down and tell John Crumb the truth.


For she was still determined that she would never be John Crumb's wife.


"You can answer him as well as I, grandfather," she had said.


Then the farmer had cuffed her, and told her that she was an idiot.


"Oh, if it comes to that," said Ruby, "I'm not afraid of John Crumb, nor yet of nobody else.


Only I didn't think you'd go to strike me, grandfather."


"I'll knock the life out of thee, if thou goest on this gate," he had said.


But she had consented to come down, and they entered the room together.


"We're a disturbing you a'most too late, miss," said Mr. Mixet.

"We're a disturbing you too late, miss," said Mr. Mixet.


If grandfather chooses to have a few friends, I ain't nothing against it.


I wish he'd have a few friends a deal oftener than he do.


I likes nothing better than to do for 'em;--only when I've done for 'em and they're smoking their pipes and that like, I don't see why I ain't to leave 'em to 'emselves."


"But we've come here on a hauspicious occasion, Miss Ruby."


"I don't know nothing about auspicious, Mr. Mixet.


If you and Mr. Crumb've come out to Sheep's Acre farm for a bit of supper--"

If you and Mr. Crumb've come out to Sheep's Acre farm for a bit of supper-"


"Which we ain't," said John Crumb very loudly;--"nor yet for beer;--not by no means."

"Which we ain't," said John Crumb very loudly; "nor yet for beer."


"We've come for the smiles of beauty," said Joe Mixet.


"Mr. Mixet, if you'll be so good as to stow that!


There ain't no beauty here as I knows of, and if there was it isn't nothing to you."


"Except in the way of friendship," said Mixet.


"I'm just as sick of all this as a man can be," said Mr. Ruggles, who was sitting low in his chair, with his back bent, and his head forward.

"I'm just sick of all this," said Mr. Ruggles, who was sitting bent in his chair.


"Who wants 'em to come here with their trash?


I don't know what business Mr. Mixet has interfering along o' me."


Then John Crumb slowly arose from his chair, and stood up at his full height.


"I hove," said he, swinging his head to one side.


He was still standing bolt upright with his hands down by his side.


Then he stretched out his left to his glass which was half full of beer, and strengthened himself as far as that would strengthen him.

He stretched out his left hand to his glass, and drained it of beer.


Having done this he slowly deposited the pipe which he still held in his right hand.


"Now speak your mind, like a man," said Mixet.


But he still stood dumb, looking down upon old Ruggles, who from his crouched position was looking up at him.


Ruby was standing with both her hands upon the table and her eyes intent upon the wall over the fire-place.

Ruby was standing with both her hands upon the table and her eyes on the wall over the fire-place.


"You've asked Miss Ruby to be your wife a dozen times;--haven't you, John?"

"You've asked Miss Ruby to be your wife a dozen times, haven't you, John?"


"And you mean to be as good as your word?"


To this proposition Crumb found it only necessary to bob his head.


"You're wishing to have the banns said without any more delay?"


"There ain't no delay 'bout me;--never was."


"Everything is ready in your own house?"


"And you will expect Miss Ruby to come to the scratch?"


"That's about it, I think," said Joe Mixet, turning to the grandfather.


"I don't think there was ever anything much more straightforward than that.


You know, I know, Miss Ruby knows all about John Crumb.


John Crumb didn't come to Bungay yesterday,--nor yet the day before.


"There's been a talk of five hundred pounds, Mr. Ruggles."


Mr. Ruggles made a slight gesture of assent with his head.


"Five hundred pounds is very comfortable; and added to what John has will make things that snug that things never was snugger.

"Five hundred pounds is very comfortable; and added to what John has, will make things snug.


But John Crumb isn't after Miss Ruby along of her fortune."


"Nohow's," said the lover, shaking his head and still standing upright with his hands by his side.

"Nohow's," said the lover, shaking his head.


"Not he;--it isn't his ways, and them as knows him'll never say it of him.


"I has," said John, raising his hand a little above his stomach.


It's true love as has brought John Crumb to Sheep's Acre farm this night;--love of that young lady, if she'll let me make so free.

It's true love as has brought John Crumb to Sheep's Acre farm this night.


He's a proposed to her, and she's a haccepted him, and now it's about time as they was married.

He's a proposed to this young lady, and she's haccepted him, and now it's about time as they was married.


"That's what I has to say," repeated John Crumb, "and I means it."


"And now, miss," continued Mixet, addressing himself to Ruby, "you've heard what John has to say."
"I've heard you, Mr. Mixet, and I've heard quite enough."
"You can't have anything to say against it, miss; can you?

"And now, miss," continued Mixet, "you can't have anything to say against it, can you?


There's your grandfather as is willing, and the money as one may say counted out,--and John Crumb is willing, with his house so ready that there isn't a ha'porth to do.

Your grandfather is willing, and John Crumb is willing, and his house is ready.


All we want is for you to name the day."


"Say to-morrow, Ruby, and I'll not be agon it," said John Crumb, slapping his thigh.

"Say tomorrow, Ruby, and I'll not be agon it," said John Crumb, slapping his thigh.


"I won't say to-morrow, Mr. Crumb, nor yet the day after to-morrow, nor yet no day at all.

"I won't say tomorrow, Mr. Crumb, nor the day after tomorrow, nor yet no day at all.


There's some folk wants such a deal of telling."


Didn't you say so as plain as the nose on my face?"


John as he asked these questions could hardly refrain from tears.


"Young women is allowed to change their minds," said Ruby.


She'll go out o' this into the streets;--that's what she wull.


I won't keep her here, no longer;--nasty, ungrateful, lying slut."

I won't keep her here no longer - nasty, ungrateful, lying slut."


"She ain't that;--she ain't that," said John.


I won't hear her called so;--not by her grandfather.


But, oh, she has a mind to put me so abouts, that I'll have to go home and hang myself."

But, oh, she has put me so abouts, that I'll have to go home and hang myself."


"Dash it, Miss Ruby, you ain't a going to serve a young man that way," said the baker.

"Dash it, Miss Ruby, you can't do that," said the baker.


"If you'll jist keep yourself to yourself, I'll be obliged to you, Mr. Mixet," said Ruby.

"If you'll keep yourself to yourself, I'll be obliged, Mr. Mixet," said Ruby.


"If you hadn't come here at all things might have been different."


"Hark at that now," said John, looking at his friend almost with indignation.


Mr. Mixet, who was fully aware of his rare eloquence and of the absolute necessity there had been for its exercise if any arrangement were to be made at all, could not trust himself to words after this. He put on his hat and walked out through the back kitchen into the yard declaring that his friend would find him there, round by the pig-stye wall, whenever he was ready to return to Bungay.

Mr. Mixet, not trusting himself to words, put on his hat and walked out into the yard, declaring that his friend would find him there whenever he was ready to return to Bungay.


As soon as Mixet was gone John looked at his sweetheart out of the corners of his eyes and made a slow motion towards her, putting out his right hand as a feeler.

As soon as Mixet was gone John made a slow motion towards his sweetheart, putting out his right hand as a feeler.


"And you'd better be aff after him," said the cruel girl.

"You'd better be aff after him," she said.


What's the good of more words, Mr. Crumb?"


"She'll have to be out on the roads this night."


"She shall have the best bed in my house if she'll come for it," said John, "and the old woman to look arter her; and I won't come nigh her till she sends for me."


"I can find a place for myself, thank ye, Mr. Crumb."


Old Ruggles sat grinding his teeth, and swearing to himself, taking his hat off and putting it on again, and meditating vengeance.


"And now if you please, Mr. Crumb, I'll go up-stairs to my own room."

And now if you please, I'll go upstairs to my own room."


"You don't go up to any room here, you jade you."


The old man as he said this got up from his chair as though to fly at her. And he would have struck her with his stick but that he was stopped by John Crumb.

The old man as he said this got up from his chair, and would have struck her with his stick had he not been stopped by John Crumb.


"Don't hit the girl, no gate, Mr. Ruggles."


While her lover held her grandfather Ruby escaped, and seated herself on the bedside, again afraid to undress, lest she should be disturbed by her grandfather.

While John held her grandfather, Ruby escaped to her bedroom.


"Ain't it more nor a man ought to have to bear;--ain't it, Mr. Crumb?"

"Ain't it more nor a man ought to have to bear?"


said the grandfather appealing to the young man.


A whipping at the cart-tail ought to be the ways on her.

"She ought to have a whipping at the cart-tail.


Then John Crumb turned red all over, through the flour, and sparks of anger flashed from his eyes.


"I'm told there's been the squoire's cousin aboot,--him as they call the baronite."

"I'm told the squoire's cousin been about - him as they call the baronite."


"By the mortials I'll baronite him;--I wull," said John seizing his hat and stalking off through the back kitchen after his friend.

"I'll baronite him - I wull," said John, seizing his hat and stalking off after his friend.


It need hardly be said that Paul Montague was not long in adjusting his affairs with Hetta after the visit which he received from Roger Carbury.

It need hardly be said that Paul Montague was not long in visiting Hetta after seeing Roger Carbury.


Early on the following morning he was once more in Welbeck Street, taking the brooch with him; and though at first Lady Carbury kept up her opposition, she did it after so weak a fashion as to throw in fact very little difficulty in his way.

Early on the following morning he was once more in Welbeck Street; and though at first Lady Carbury kept up her opposition, she did it so weakly as to throw very little difficulty in his way.


Hetta understood perfectly that she was in this matter stronger than her mother and that she need fear nothing, now that Roger Carbury was on her side.

Hetta understood that she need fear nothing, now that Roger was on her side.


"I don't know what you mean to live on," Lady Carbury said, threatening future evils in a plaintive tone.

"I don't know what you mean to live on," Lady Carbury said plaintively.


Hetta repeated, though in other language, the assurance which the young lady made who declared that if her future husband would consent to live on potatoes, she would be quite satisfied with the potato-peelings; while Paul made some vague allusion to the satisfactory nature of his final arrangements with the house of Fisker, Montague, and Montague.

Paul made some vague allusion to his final arrangements with the house of Fisker, Montague, and Montague.


"I don't see anything like an income," said Lady Carbury; "but I suppose Roger will make it right.


He takes everything upon himself now it seems."

He takes everything upon himself now, it seems."


But this was before the halcyon day of Mr. Broune's second offer.


It was at any rate decided that they were to be married, and the time fixed for the marriage was to be the following spring.

It was decided that the marriage was to be the following spring.