Of course we want to know about engagements and all that.


There is Lady Monogram's party on Wednesday.


We promised to be there ever so long ago."


"You had better write to Lady Monogram and say you can't keep your engagement."

"You had better write to Lady Monogram and say you can't go."


"But, my dear, we should all like to have a day fixed," said Lady Pomona.


Even Georgiana, in her present state of mind, would have accepted some distant, even some undefined time, as a compromise.

Even Georgiana would have accepted some distant, undefined time, as a compromise.


"Then you can't have a day fixed," said Mr. Longestaffe.

"You can't have a day fixed," said Mr. Longestaffe.


"How long do you suppose that we shall be kept here?"


said Sophia, in a low constrained voice.


"I do not know what you mean by being kept here.


This is your home, and this is where you may make up your minds to live."


Georgiana stood by in silence, listening, resolving, and biding her time.

Georgiana waited in silence, biding her time.


"You'll not return to London this season," said Mr. Longestaffe, turning himself abruptly to a newspaper which he held in his hands.

"You'll not return to London this season," said Mr. Longestaffe, turning abruptly to his newspaper.


"I mean to say that that is settled," said Mr. Longestaffe.


The indignation in Georgiana's mind approached almost to virtue as she thought of her father's falseness.

Georgiana's indignation approached almost to virtue as she thought of her father's falseness.


She would not have left town at all but for that promise.


She would not have contaminated herself with the Melmottes but for that promise.


And now she was told that the promise was to be absolutely broken, when it was no longer possible that she could get back to London,--even to the house of the hated Primeros,--without absolutely running away from her father's residence!

And now the promise was to be absolutely broken!


"Then, papa," she said, with affected calmness, "you have simply and with premeditation broken your word to us."

"Then, papa," she said, with affected calmness, "you have simply and premeditatedly broken your word to us."


"How dare you speak to me in that way, you wicked child!"


"I am not a child, papa, as you know very well.


You dare to tell me, your father, that I have premeditated a falsehood!


If you tell me that again, you shall eat your meals in your own room or not eat them in this house."

If you tell me that again, you shall eat your meals in your own room."


"Did you not promise that we should go back if we would come down and entertain these people?"

"Did you not promise that we should go back if we would come here and entertain these people?"


"I will not argue with a child, insolent and disobedient as you are.

"I will not argue with an insolent child.


If I have anything to say about it, I will say it to your mother.


It should be enough for you that I, your father, tell you that you have to live here.


Now go away, and if you choose to be sullen, go and be sullen where I shan't see you."


Georgiana looked round on her mother and sister and then marched majestically out of the room.


She still meditated revenge, but she was partly cowed, and did not dare in her father's presence to go on with her reproaches.

She still meditated revenge, but she was partly cowed, and did not dare to go on with her reproaches.


She stalked off into the room in which they generally lived, and there she stood panting with anger, breathing indignation through her nostrils.

She stalked off into another room, and stood panting with anger.


[Illustration: She marched majestically out of the room.]


"And you mean to put up with it, mamma?"


I'm not going to be cheated and swindled and have my life thrown away into the bargain.

I'm not going to be cheated and swindled and have my life thrown away.


I have never run up bills without saying anything about them."


This was a cut at her elder sister, who had once got into some little trouble of that kind.


"I have never got myself talked about with any body.


If there is anything to be done I always do it.


I have written his letters for him till I have been sick, and when you were ill I never asked him to stay out with us after two or half-past two at the latest.

I have written his letters for him till I have been sick.


And now he tells me that I am to eat my meals up in my bedroom because I remind him that he distinctly promised to take us back to London!


If I do anything now he must bear the blame of it.

If I do anything now he must bear the blame.


I am not going to keep myself straight for the sake of the family, and then be treated in that way."


"You do that for your own sake, I suppose," said her sister.

"You keep straight for your own sake, I suppose," said her sister.


"It is more than you've been able to do for anybody's sake," said Georgiana, alluding to a very old affair,--to an ancient flirtation, in the course of which the elder daughter had made a foolish and a futile attempt to run away with an officer of dragoons whose private fortune was very moderate.

"It is more than you've been able to do," said Georgiana, alluding to an ancient flirtation, when Sophia had made a foolish and futile attempt to run away with an impoverished officer of dragoons.


Ten years had passed since that, and the affair was never alluded to except in moments of great bitterness.

Ten years had passed since that, and the affair was never mentioned except in moments of great bitterness.


"I've kept myself as straight as you have," said Sophia.


"It's easy enough to be straight, when a person never cares for anybody, and nobody cares for a person."

"It's easy enough when nobody cares for a person."


"My dears, if you quarrel what am I to do?"


"It is I that have to suffer," continued Georgiana.


"Does he expect me to find anybody here that I could take?

"Does he expect me to find anybody here?


Poor George Whitstable is not much; but there is nobody else at all."


"You may have him if you like," said Sophia, with a chuck of her head.

"You may have him if you like," said Sophia, with a toss of her head.


"Thank you, my dear, but I shouldn't like it at all. I haven't come to that quite yet."

"Thank you, but I haven't come to that quite yet.


"You were talking of running away with somebody."


"I shan't run away with George Whitstable; you may be sure of that.


I'll tell you what I shall do,--I will write papa a letter.


If he won't take me up to town himself, he must send me up to the Primeros.


What makes me most angry in the whole thing is that we should have condescended to be civil to the Melmottes down in the country.

What makes me most angry is that we condescended to be civil to the Melmottes.


In London one does those things, but to have them here was terrible!"


During that entire afternoon nothing more was said.

During that afternoon nothing more was said.


Not a word passed between them on any subject beyond those required by the necessities of life.


Georgiana had been as hard to her sister as to her father, and Sophia in her quiet way resented the affront.


She was now almost reconciled to the sojourn in the country, because it inflicted a fitting punishment on Georgiana, and the presence of Mr. Whitstable at a distance of not more than ten miles did of course make a difference to herself.

She was almost reconciled to staying in the country, because it inflicted a fitting punishment on Georgiana, and the presence of Mr. Whitstable only ten miles away did of course make a difference to herself.


Lady Pomona complained of a headache, which was always an excuse with her for not speaking;--and Mr. Longestaffe went to sleep.

Lady Pomona complained of a headache, and Mr. Longestaffe went to sleep.


Georgiana during the whole afternoon remained apart, and on the next morning the head of the family found the following letter on his dressing-table;--

The next morning he found the following letter on his dressing-table:


I don't think you ought to be surprised because we feel that our going up to town is so very important to us.

I don't think you ought to be surprised that our going up to town is so important to us.


If we are not to be in London at this time of the year we can never see anybody, and of course you know what that must mean for me.


If this goes on about Sophia, it does not signify for her, and, though mamma likes London, it is not of real importance. But it is very, very hard upon me.

It does not signify for Sophia, but it is very, very hard upon me.


It isn't for pleasure that I want to go up.


There isn't so very much pleasure in it.


But if I'm to be buried down here at Caversham, I might just as well be dead at once.


If you choose to give up both houses for a year, or for two years, and take us all abroad, I should not grumble in the least.

If you choose to give up both houses for a year, or two years, and take us all abroad, I should not grumble in the least.


There are very nice people to be met abroad, and perhaps things go easier that way than in town. And there would be nothing for horses, and we could dress very cheap and wear our old things.

There are very nice people to be met abroad, and there would be no expense for horses, and we could dress very cheap.


But if you would only think what Caversham must be to me, without any one worth thinking about within twenty miles, you would hardly ask me to stay here.

But if you would only think what Caversham must be to me, without anyone worth thinking about within twenty miles, you would hardly ask me to stay here.


You certainly did say that if we would come down here with those Melmottes we should be taken back to town, and you cannot be surprised that we should be disappointed when we are told that we are to be kept here after that.

You certainly did say that if we came down here with those Melmottes we should be taken back to town, and you cannot be surprised that we should be disappointed.


It makes me feel that life is so hard that I can't bear it.


I see other girls having such chances when I have none, that sometimes I think I don't know what will happen to me.


This was the nearest approach which she dared to make in writing to that threat which she had uttered to her mother of running away with somebody.


I suppose that now it is useless for me to ask you to take us all back this summer,--though it was promised; but I hope you'll give me money to go up to the Primeros.

I suppose that it is useless for me to ask you to take us back this summer - though it was promised; but I hope you'll give me money to go up to the Primeros.


Julia Primero asked me to stay with them when you first talked of not going up, and I should not in the least object to reminding her, only it should be done at once. Their house in Queen's Gate is very large, and I know they've a room.

Julia Primero asked me to stay with them earlier on, and I know they've a room.


They all ride, and I should want a horse; but there would be nothing else, as they have plenty of carriages, and the groom who rides with Julia would do for both of us.

They all ride, and I should want a horse; but there would be nothing else, as they have plenty of carriages, and Julia's groom would do for both of us.


Mr. Longestaffe did condescend to read the letter.


He, though he had rebuked his mutinous daughter with stern severity, was also to some extent afraid of her. At a sudden burst he could stand upon his authority, and assume his position with parental dignity; but not the less did he dread the wearing toil of continued domestic strife.

Though he had rebuked his mutinous daughter severely, he was somewhat afraid of her; and he dreaded the weariness of continued domestic strife.


He thought that upon the whole his daughter liked a row in the house.

He thought that his daughter liked a row.


If not, there surely would not be so many rows.


He had not any very lively interest in life.


He did not read much; he did not talk much; he was not specially fond of eating and drinking; he did not gamble, and he did not care for the farm.


To stand about the door and hall and public rooms of the clubs to which he belonged and hear other men talk politics or scandal, was what he liked better than anything else in the world.

To stand about the public rooms of his clubs, and hear other men talk politics or scandal, was what he liked better than anything else in the world.


But he was quite willing to give this up for the good of his family.


He would be contented to drag through long listless days at Caversham, and endeavour to nurse his property, if only his daughter would allow it.


By assuming a certain pomp in his living, which had been altogether unserviceable to himself and family, by besmearing his footmen's heads, and bewigging his coachmen, by aping, though never achieving, the grand ways of grander men than himself, he had run himself into debt.

By living with a certain useless pomp, by powdering his footmen's heads and bewigging his coachmen, by aping the ways of grander men, he had run into debt.


His own ambition had been a peerage, and he had thought that this was the way to get it.


A separate property had come to his son from his wife's mother,--some 2,000 or 3,000 a year, magnified by the world into double its amount,--and the knowledge of this had for a time reconciled him to increasing the burdens on the family estates.

A separate property had come to his son Adolphus from his wife's mother - some 2,000 or 3,000 a year - and the knowledge of this had reconciled him to increasing the burdens on the family estates.


He had been sure that Adolphus, when of age, would have consented to sell the Sussex property in order that the Suffolk property might be relieved.

He had been sure that Adolphus, when of age, would consent to sell the Sussex property to pay the debts.


But Dolly was now in debt himself, and though in other respects the most careless of men, was always on his guard in any dealings with his father.

But Dolly was now in debt himself, and though careless in most respects he was always on his guard in dealings with his father.


He would not consent to the sale of the Sussex property unless half of the proceeds were to be at once handed to himself.

He would not consent to the sale of the Sussex property unless he got half the proceeds.


The father could not bring himself to consent to this, but, while refusing it, found the troubles of the world very hard upon him.

The father found his troubles very hard upon him.


Melmotte had done something for him,--but in doing this Melmotte was very hard and tyrannical.

Melmotte had done something for him - but he had been hard and tyrannical.


Melmotte, when at Caversham, had looked into his affairs, and had told him very plainly that with such an establishment in the country he was not entitled to keep a house in town.

Melmotte, while at Caversham, had looked into his affairs, and had told him very plainly that he was not entitled to keep a house in town.


Mr. Longestaffe had then said something about his daughters,--something especially about Georgiana,--and Mr. Melmotte had made a suggestion.

Mr. Longestaffe had said something about his daughters - especially about Georgiana - and Mr. Melmotte had made a suggestion.


Mr. Longestaffe, when he read his daughter's appeal, did feel for her, in spite of his anger.


But if there was one man he hated more than another, it was his neighbour Mr. Primero; and if one woman, it was Mrs. Primero. Primero, whom Mr. Longestaffe regarded as quite an upstart, and anything but a gentleman, owed no man anything.

But he regarded the Primeros as upstarts. Mr. Primero was not a gentleman. He owed no man anything.


He paid his tradesmen punctually, and never met the squire of Caversham without seeming to make a parade of his virtue in that direction.


He had spent many thousands for his party in county elections and borough elections, and was now himself member for a metropolitan district. He was a radical, of course, or, according to Mr. Longestaffe's view of his political conduct, acted and voted on the radical side because there was nothing to be got by voting and acting on the other.

He had spent many thousands in county elections, and was now a Member of Parliament - a radical, according to Mr. Longestaffe's views.


And now there had come into Suffolk a rumour that Mr. Primero was to have a peerage.

And now there was a rumour that Mr. Primero was to have a peerage.


To others the rumour was incredible, but Mr. Longestaffe believed it, and to Mr. Longestaffe that belief was an agony.


A Baron Bundlesham just at his door, and such a Baron Bundlesham, would be more than Mr. Longestaffe could endure.

That would be more than Mr. Longstaffe could endure.


It was quite impossible that his daughter should be entertained in London by the Primeros.

It was quite impossible that his daughter should stay in London with the Primeros.


Georgiana's letter had been laid on her father's table on the Monday morning. On the following morning, when there could have been no intercourse with London by letter, Lady Pomona called her younger daughter to her, and handed her a note to read.

On the morning after Georgiana's letter, Lady Pomona handed her a note, saying,


As you seem determined not to return to London this season, perhaps one of your young ladies would like to come to us.


Mrs. Melmotte would be delighted to have Miss Georgiana for June and July.


If so, she need only give Mrs. Melmotte a day's notice.


Georgiana, as soon as her eye had glanced down the one side of note paper on which this invitation was written, looked up for the date.

Georgiana, as soon as her eye had glanced over this paper, looked in vain for the date.


It was without a date, and had, she felt sure, been left in her father's hands to be used as he might think fit.

It had, she felt sure, been left in her father's hands to be used as he might think fit.


Both her father and mother had heard her speak of these Melmottes, and knew what she thought of them.

Both her father and mother knew what she thought of the Melmottes.


There was an insolence in the very suggestion.


But at the first moment she said nothing of that.


I dislike the Primeros of course, but they are not so bad as the Melmottes."


"You must judge for yourself, Georgiana."


"If papa chooses I don't know why I am to mind.


It will be awfully disagreeable,--absolutely disgusting!"

"It will be awfully disagreeable,- absolutely disgusting!"


She was quiet here because she was afraid of us.


She isn't yet used to be with people like us.


She'll get over that if I'm in the house with her. And then she is, oh! so frightfully vulgar!


She must have been the very sweeping of the gutters.


She could not even open her mouth, she was so ashamed of herself.


I shouldn't wonder if they turned out to be something quite horrid.


Was there ever anything so dreadful to look at as he is?"


"Everybody goes to them," said Lady Pomona.


"The Duchess of Stevenage has been there over and over again, and so has Lady Auld Reekie.

"The Duchess of Stevenage has been there over and over again."


"But everybody doesn't go and live with them.


Oh, mamma,--to have to sit down to breakfast every day for ten weeks with that man and that woman!"


"Perhaps they'll let you have your breakfast up-stairs."


"But to have to go out with them;--walking into the room after her!


"But you are so anxious to be in London, my dear."


If papa had to work half as hard as I do, I wonder what he'd think of it.

Papa does not have to work half as hard as I do.


I know it will make me so ill that I shall almost die under it. Horrid, horrid people!

I know it will make me ill. Horrid, horrid people!


And papa to propose it, who has always been so proud of everything,--who used to think so much of being with the right set."

And papa has always been so proud of being with the right set."


"Things are changed, Georgiana," said the anxious mother.


"Indeed they are when papa wants me to go and stay with people like that.


Why, mamma, the apothecary in Bungay is a fine gentleman compared with Mr. Melmotte, and his wife is a fine lady compared with Madame Melmotte.


If papa chooses me to be seen with such people it is not my fault.


There will be no disgracing one's self after that.


I don't believe in the least that any decent man would propose to a girl in such a house, and you and papa must not be surprised if I take some horrid creature from the Stock Exchange.

I don't believe that any decent man would propose to a girl in such a house, and you and papa must not be surprised if I take some horrid creature from the Stock Exchange.


Papa has altered his ideas; and so, I suppose, I had better alter mine."

Papa has altered his ideas; and so I had better alter mine."


Georgiana did not speak to her father that night, but Lady Pomona informed Mr. Longestaffe that Mr. Melmotte's invitation was to be accepted.

Georgiana did not speak to her father that night, but Lady Pomona informed him that Mr. Melmotte's invitation was to be accepted.


She herself would write a line to Madame Melmotte, and Georgiana would go up on the Friday following.

Georgiana would go to London on the Friday following.


"I hope she'll like it," said Mr. Longestaffe.


It was not in his nature to be severe after that fashion.


But to poor Lady Pomona the words sounded very cruel.


How could any one like to live in a house with Mr. and Madame Melmotte!


On the Friday morning there was a little conversation between the two sisters, just before Georgiana's departure to the railway station, which was almost touching.

On the Friday morning there was a little conversation between the two sisters, just before Georgiana's departure.


She had endeavoured to hold up her head as usual, but had failed.

She had tried to hold up her head, but had failed.


The thing that she was going to do cowed her even in the presence of her sister.

She was cowed even in front of her sister.


"But it was you who were so determined to be in London."


"Yes; I was determined, and am determined.


"Yes; I've got to get myself settled somehow, and that can't be done down here.


But you are not going to disgrace yourself."


But I believe the man to be a swindler and a thief; and I believe her to be anything low that you can think of.


As to their pretensions to be gentlefolk, it is monstrous."


The footmen and housemaids would be much better."


If I were to remain down here everybody would say that I was on the shelf.


You are going to marry Whitstable, and you'll do very well.


It isn't a big place, but there's no debt on it, and Whitstable himself isn't a bad sort of fellow."

Whitstable has no debt, and he isn't a bad sort of fellow.


"Of course he hasn't much to say for himself, for he's always at home. But he is a gentleman."

He hasn't much to say for himself, but he is a gentleman."


"As for me I shall give over caring about gentlemen now.

"As for me, I shall give over caring about gentlemen now.


The first man that comes to me with four or five thousand a year, I'll take him, though he'd come out of Newgate or Bedlam.


And I shall always say it has been papa's doing."


And so Georgiana Longestaffe went up to London and stayed with the Melmottes.


How eager Lady Carbury was that her son should at once go in form to Marie's father and make his proposition may be easily understood.

Lady Carbury was eager that her son should go at once to Marie's father.


"My dear Felix," she said, standing over his bedside a little before noon, "pray don't put it off; you don't know how many slips there may be between the cup and the lip."

"My dear Felix," she said, standing over his bedside just before noon, "pray don't put it off."


"It's everything to get him in a good humour," pleaded Sir Felix.

"I need to get him in a good humour," pleaded Sir Felix.


"But the young lady will feel that she is ill-used."


"There's no fear of that; she's all right.


"I shouldn't think of dictating anything, Felix."


"Nidderdale, when he was on before, stipulated for a certain sum down; or his father did for him. So much cash was to be paid over before the ceremony, and it only went off because Nidderdale wanted the money to do what he liked with."

Nidderdale asked for a certain sum down, to be paid before the ceremony, and it only went off because Nidderdale wanted the money to do what he liked with."


"No;--I'd consent to that on condition that the money was paid down, and the income insured to me,--say 7,000 or 8,000 a year.

"No; I'd consent to that if the money was paid down, and the income insured to me - say 7,000 or 8,000 a year.


I wouldn't do it for less, mother; it wouldn't be worth while."


"But you have nothing left of your own."


"I've got a throat that I can cut, and brains that I can blow out," said the son, using an argument which he conceived might be efficacious with his mother; though, had she known him, she might have been sure that no man lived less likely to cut his own throat or blow out his own brains.

"I've got a throat that I can cut, and brains that I can blow out," said the son, using an argument which he thought might be effective with his mother; though no man lived less likely to cut his own throat.


how brutal it is to speak to me in that way."


"It may be brutal; but you know, mother, business is business.


You want me to marry this girl because of her money."


I want her money; and when one wants money, one should make up one's mind how much or how little one means to take,--and whether one is sure to get it."
"I don't think there can be any doubt."
"If I were to marry her, and if the money wasn't there, it would be very like cutting my throat then, mother.

"I want her money; and if I were to marry her, and if the money wasn't there, it would be like cutting my throat.


If a man plays and loses, he can play again and perhaps win; but when a fellow goes in for an heiress, and gets the wife without the money, he feels a little hampered you know."


Of course he ought; but it would be rather awkward to refuse to go into church after everything had been arranged because the money hadn't been paid over.

"Of course he ought; but it would be rather awkward to refuse to go into church because the money hadn't been paid over.


He's so clever, that he'd contrive that a man shouldn't know whether the money had been paid or not.


You can't carry 10,000 a year about in your pocket, you know.


If you'll go, mother, perhaps I might think of getting up."

If you'll go, mother, I might think of getting up."


Lady Carbury saw the danger, and turned over the affair on every side in her own mind.

Lady Carbury saw the danger, and turned over the affair in her own mind.


But she could also see the house in Grosvenor Square, the expenditure without limit, the congregating duchesses, the general acceptation of the people, and the mercantile celebrity of the man. And she could weigh against that the absolute pennilessness of her baronet-son.

But she could also see the house in Grosvenor Square, the wealth and celebrity of the man, and weigh that against the absolute pennilessness of her son.


The embarrassments of such a man as Lord Nidderdale were only temporary.

Lord Nidderdale's embarrassments were only temporary.


There were the family estates, and the marquisate, and a golden future for him; but there was nothing coming to Felix in the future.

There were the family estates, and a golden future for him; but there was nothing coming to Felix.


All the goods he would ever have of his own, he had now;--position, a title, and a handsome face.

All he would ever have, he had now; position, a title, and a handsome face.


Surely he could afford to risk something!


Even the ruins and wreck of such wealth as that displayed in Grosvenor Square would be better than the baronet's present condition.

Even the ruins of such wealth as that displayed in Grosvenor Square would be better than his present condition.


And then, though it was possible that old Melmotte should be ruined some day, there could be no doubt as to his present means; and would it not be probable that he would make hay while the sun shone by securing his daughter's position?

And though it was possible that old Melmotte should be ruined some day, there could be no doubt about his riches now.


She visited her son again on the next morning, which was Sunday, and again tried to persuade him to the marriage.

She visited her son again the next morning, which was Sunday, and again tried to persuade him to the marriage.


"I think you should be content to run a little risk," she said.


Sir Felix had been unlucky at cards on Saturday night, and had taken, perhaps, a little too much wine. He was at any rate sulky, and in a humour to resent interference.

Sir Felix had been unlucky at cards on Saturday night, and was sulky.


"I wish you'd leave me alone," he said, "to manage my own business."


"No; you haven't got to marry her, and to put up with these people.


I shall make up my mind what to do myself, and I don't want anybody to meddle with me."

I shall make up my mind what to do, and I don't want anybody to meddle."


Of course I'm ungrateful when I don't do everything just as you wish it.


Are you always to be a burden on me and your sister?


I will quit London altogether, and leave you to your own wretchedness."


I always thought Roger was a fellow of that sort."


What would Roger have thought had he heard this assertion from Lady Carbury?


"He's an ill-tempered, close-fisted, interfering cad, and if he meddles with my affairs again, I shall tell him what I think of him.


Upon my word, mother, these little disputes up in my bedroom ain't very pleasant. Of course it's your house; but if you do allow me a room, I think you might let me have it to myself."

Upon my word, mother, I think you might let me have my room to myself."


It was impossible for Lady Carbury, in her present mood, and in his present mood, to explain to him that in no other way and at no other time could she ever find him.

It was impossible for Lady Carbury, in his present mood, to explain that it was the only way she could ever find him.


If she waited till he came down to breakfast, he escaped from her in five minutes, and then he returned no more till some unholy hour in the morning.

If she waited till he came down to breakfast, he escaped in five minutes, and did not return till some ungodly hour in the morning.


She was as good a pelican as ever allowed the blood to be torn from her own breast to satisfy the greed of her young, but she felt that she should have something back for her blood,--some return for her sacrifices.


This chick would take all as long as there was a drop left, and then resent the fondling of the mother-bird as interference.


Again and again there came upon her moments in which she thought that Roger Carbury was right.

Again and again there came upon her moments in which she thought that Roger Carbury was right about Felix.


And yet she knew that when the time came she would not be able to be severe.


She almost hated herself for the weakness of her own love,--but she acknowledged it.

She almost hated herself for the weakness of her love - but she acknowledged it.


If he should fall utterly, she must fall with him.

If he should fall, she must fall with him.


In spite of his cruelty, his callous hardness, his insolence to herself, his wickedness and ruinous indifference to the future, she must cling to him to the last.

In spite of his cruelty, his callous hardness, his insolence and ruinous indifference to the future, she must cling to him to the last.


All that she had done, and all that she had borne,--all that she was doing and bearing,--was it not for his sake?

All that she had done and borne - was it not for his sake?


Sir Felix had been in Grosvenor Square since his return from Carbury, and had seen Madame Melmotte and Marie; but he had seen them together, and not a word had been said about the engagement.

Sir Felix had been in Grosvenor Square, and had seen Madame Melmotte and Marie; but not a word had been said about the engagement.


He could not make much use of the elder woman.


She was as gracious as was usual with her; but then she was never very gracious.


She had told him that Miss Longestaffe was coming to her, which was a great bore, as the young lady was "fatigante."

Madame Melmotte had told him that Miss Longestaffe was coming, which was a great bore.


Upon this Marie had declared that she intended to like the young lady very much.


At this Marie had looked over to her lover and smiled.


"Ah, yes; that is all very well,--while it lasts; but you care for no friend."

"Ah, yes; that is all very well, while it lasts; but you care for no friend."


From which Felix had judged that Madame Melmotte at any rate knew of his offer, and did not absolutely disapprove of it.

From which Felix had judged that Madame Melmotte knew of his offer, and did not absolutely disapprove.


On the Saturday he had received a note at his club from Marie.

On Saturday he had received a note at his club from Marie.


This was in his possession when his mother visited him in his bedroom, and he had determined to obey the behest.


But he would not tell her of his intention, because he had drunk too much wine, and was sulky.

But he did not tell his mother of his intention.


At about three on Sunday he knocked at the door in Grosvenor Square and asked for the ladies.


Up to the moment of his knocking,--even after he had knocked, and when the big porter was opening the door,--he intended to ask for Mr. Melmotte; but at the last his courage failed him, and he was shown up into the drawing-room. There he found Madame Melmotte, Marie, Georgiana Longestaffe, and--Lord Nidderdale.

He intended to ask for Mr. Melmotte; but his courage failed him, and he was shown up into the drawing-room, where he found Madame Melmotte, Marie, Georgiana Longestaffe, and Lord Nidderdale.


Marie looked anxiously into his face, thinking that he had already been with her father.


He slid into a chair close to Madame Melmotte, and endeavoured to seem at his ease.

He slid into a chair close to Madame Melmotte, and tried to seem at his ease.


Lord Nidderdale continued his flirtation with Miss Longestaffe,--a flirtation which she carried on in a half whisper, wholly indifferent to her hostess or the young lady of the house.

Lord Nidderdale continued his flirtation with Miss Longestaffe - a flirtation which she carried on in a half whisper, wholly indifferent to her hostess.


"We know what brings you here," she said.

"We know what brings you here," said Georgiana.


"I'm sure, Lord Nidderdale, you didn't expect to find me here."


"Lord bless you, I knew all about it, and came on purpose.


"It's an institution you mean to belong to,--permanently."


I did have thoughts about it as fellows do when they talk of going into the army or to the bar; but I couldn't pass.


I shall go on coming here, because you're here.


I don't think you'll like it a bit, you know."

I don't think you'll like it here a bit, you know."


"I don't suppose I shall, Lord Nidderdale."


After a while Marie contrived to be alone with her lover near one of the windows for a few seconds.

After a while Marie contrived to be alone with her lover near one of the windows.


"Papa is down-stairs in the book-room," she said.

"Papa is downstairs in the book-room," she said.


"Lord Alfred was told when he came that he was out."


It was evident to Sir Felix that everything was prepared for him.


"You go down," she continued, "and ask the man to show you into the book-room."

"Go down, and ask the man to show you into the book-room."


"No; but leave a note for me here under cover to Madame Didon."

"No; but leave a note for me under cover to Madame Didon."


Now Sir Felix was sufficiently at home in the house to know that Madame Didon was Madame Melmotte's own woman, commonly called Didon by the ladies of the family.

Sir Felix knew that Madame Didon was Madame Melmotte's maid.


"Or send it by post,--under cover to her.


It certainly did seem to Sir Felix that the very nature of the girl was altered.

It seemed to Sir Felix that the very nature of the girl was altered.


But he went, just shaking hands with Madame Melmotte, and bowing to Miss Longestaffe.

But he went, shaking hands with Madame Melmotte, and bowing to Miss Longestaffe.


In a few moments he found himself with Mr. Melmotte in the chamber which had been dignified with the name of the book-room.

In a few moments he found himself with Mr. Melmotte.


The great financier was accustomed to spend his Sunday afternoons here, generally with the company of Lord Alfred Grendall. It may be supposed that he was meditating on millions, and arranging the prices of money and funds for the New York, Paris, and London Exchanges. But on this occasion he was waked from slumber, which he seemed to have been enjoying with a cigar in his mouth.

The great financier was waked from slumber, which he seemed to have been enjoying with a cigar in his mouth.


"I've just been in the drawing-room, but I thought I'd look in on you as I came down."


It immediately occurred to Melmotte that the baronet had come about his share of the plunder out of the railway, and he at once resolved to be stern in his manner, and perhaps rude also. He believed that he should thrive best by resenting any interference with him in his capacity as financier.

It immediately occurred to Melmotte that the baronet had come about his share of the plunder out of the railway, and he resolved to be stern, and perhaps rude, in resenting any such interference.


He thought that he had risen high enough to venture on such conduct, and experience had told him that men who were themselves only half-plucked, might easily be cowed by a savage assumption of superiority.

Experience had told him that young men might easily be cowed by a savage assumption of superiority.


And he, too, had generally the advantage of understanding the game, while those with whom he was concerned did not, at any rate, more than half understand it.

And he understood the game, which Sir Felix did not.


He could thus trade either on the timidity or on the ignorance of his colleagues.


When neither of these sufficed to give him undisputed mastery, then he cultivated the cupidity of his friends.


He liked young associates because they were more timid and less greedy than their elders.


Lord Nidderdale's suggestions had soon been put at rest, and Mr. Melmotte anticipated no greater difficulty with Sir Felix.


"I'm very glad to see you, and all that," said Melmotte, assuming a certain exaltation of the eyebrows, which they who had many dealings with him often found to be very disagreeable; "but this is hardly a day for business, Sir Felix, nor,--yet a place for business."

"I'm very glad to see you, and all that," said Melmotte, raising his eyebrows in a disagreeable way; "but this is hardly a day for business."


Sir Felix wished himself at the Beargarden.


He certainly had come about business,--business of a particular sort; but Marie had told him that of all days Sunday would be the best, and had also told him that her father was more likely to be in a good humour on Sunday than on any other day.


Sir Felix felt that he had not been received with good humour.


"I didn't mean to intrude, Mr. Melmotte," he said.


You might have been going to speak about that railway."


"Your mother was saying to me down in the country that she hoped you attended to the business.


I told her that there was nothing to attend to."


"My mother doesn't understand anything at all about it," said Sir Felix.

"My mother doesn't understand anything about it," said Sir Felix.


Well;--what can I do for you, now that you are here?"


"Mr. Melmotte, I'm come,--I'm come to;--in short, Mr. Melmotte, I want to propose myself as a suitor for your daughter's hand."

"Mr. Melmotte, I'm come - I'm come to - in short, Mr. Melmotte, I want to propose myself as a suitor for your daughter's hand."


"Well, yes; and we hope you'll give us your consent."


"And how long have you and she understood each other?"

"And how long have you and she had an understanding?"


"I've been attached to her ever since I saw her," said Sir Felix.


You know how that kind of thing goes on."


I know that when large sums of money are supposed to be concerned, the young man should speak to the father before he speaks to the girl.

I know that the young man should speak to the father before he speaks to the girl.


He's a fool if he don't, if he wants to get the father's money.


"Do you consider that she's engaged to you?"


"Not if she's disposed to get out of it," said Sir Felix, hoping that he might thus ingratiate himself with the father.


"Of course, I should be awfully disappointed."


"She has consented to your coming to me?"


Of course she knows that it all depends on you."


If she chooses to marry you, she can marry you.


If that's all you want, her consent is enough.


"And therefore you've come to your own property.


You haven't to wait for your father to die, and I dare say you are indifferent about money."

"And therefore you haven't to wait for your father to die, and I dare say you are indifferent about money."


This was a view of things which Sir Felix felt that he was bound to dispel, even at the risk of offending the father.

This was a view of things which Sir Felix felt that he was bound to dispel.


"I suppose you will give your daughter a fortune, of course."


"Then I wonder you didn't come to me before you went to her.


If my daughter marries to please me, I shall give her money, no doubt.

If my daughter marries to please me, I shall give her money.


If she marries to please herself, without considering me, I shan't give her a farthing."


"I had hoped that you might consent, Mr. Melmotte."


You're a man of fashion and have a title of your own,--and no doubt a property.

You're a man of fashion and have a title - and no doubt a property.


If you'll show me that you've an income fit to maintain her, I'll think about it at any rate.


What could three or four thousand a year, or even five or six, matter to a man like Melmotte?


It was thus that Sir Felix looked at it. When a man can hardly count his millions he ought not to ask questions about trifling sums of money.

Sit Felix thought that when a man can hardly count his millions he ought not to ask questions about trifling sums of money.


But the question had been asked, and the asking of such a question was no doubt within the prerogative of a proposed father-in-law. At any rate, it must be answered.

But the question had been asked, and must be answered.


For a moment it occurred to Sir Felix that he might conveniently tell the truth.


It would be nasty for the moment, but there would be nothing to come after.


Were he to do so he could not be dragged down lower and lower into the mire by cross-examinings.

He could not be dragged down lower into the mire by cross-examinings.


There might be an end of all his hopes, but there would at the same time be an end of all his misery.

There might be an end of his hopes, but at the same time an end of his misery.


"It isn't a large property, you know," he said.


"Not like the Marquis of Westminster's, I suppose," said the horrid, big, rich scoundrel.


"No;--not quite like that," said Sir Felix, with a sickly laugh.

"No; not quite," said Sir Felix, with a sickly laugh.


"But you have got enough to support a baronet's title?"


"That depends on how you want to support it," said Sir Felix, putting off the evil day.


"Carbury Manor, down in Suffolk, near the Longestaffes, is the old family place."

"Carbury Manor, down in Suffolk, near the Longestaffes."


"That doesn't belong to you," said Melmotte, very sharply.

"That doesn't belong to you," said Melmotte sharply.


Perhaps if there is one thing in England more difficult than another to be understood by men born and bred out of England, it is the system under which titles and property descend together, or in various lines. The jurisdiction of our Courts of Law is complex, and so is the business of Parliament. But the rules regulating them, though anomalous, are easy to the memory compared with the mixed anomalies of the peerage and primogeniture. They who are brought up among it, learn it as children do a language, but strangers who begin the study in advanced life, seldom make themselves perfect in it. It was everything to Melmotte that he should understand the ways of the country which he had adopted; and when he did not understand, he was clever at hiding his ignorance. Now he was puzzled.

Now Melmotte was puzzled. He did not understand the complex English system under which titles and property descend. He wanted to comprehend the ways of the country which he had adopted; and was clever at hiding his ignorance.


He knew that Sir Felix was a baronet, and therefore presumed him to be the head of the family.


He knew that Carbury Manor belonged to Roger Carbury, and he judged by the name it must be an old family property.

He knew that Carbury Manor belonged to Roger Carbury.


And now the baronet declared that he was heir to the man who was simply an Esquire.


"Yes, I am the head of the family, of course," said Sir Felix, lying directly.

"Yes, I am the head of the family, of course," said Sir Felix, lying.


"But the place won't be mine till he dies.


It would take a long time to explain it all."


"If he were to marry and have children, how would it be then?"


Sir Felix was beginning to think that he might have told the truth with discretion.


I have always understood that I am the heir.


It's not very likely that he will marry."


"And in the meantime what is your own property?"


[Illustration: "In the meantime what is your own property?"]


"My father left me money in the funds and in railway stock,--and then I am my mother's heir."

"My father left me money in the funds and in railway stock - and then I am my mother's heir."


"You have done me the honour of telling me that you wish to marry my daughter."


"Would you then object to inform me the amount and nature of the income on which you intend to support your establishment as a married man?

Would you inform me the amount and nature of the income on which you intend to support her?"


I fancy that the position you assume justifies the question on my part."


The bloated swindler, the vile city ruffian, was certainly taking a most ungenerous advantage of the young aspirant for wealth. It was then that Sir Felix felt his own position.

Sir Felix felt that the bloated swindler was taking a most ungenerous advantage of him.


Was he not a baronet, and a gentleman, and a very handsome fellow, and a man of the world who had been in a crack regiment?

Was he not a baronet and a gentleman, and a very handsome fellow, who had been in a crack regiment?


If this surfeited sponge of speculation, this crammed commercial cormorant, wanted more than that for his daughter, why could he not say so without asking disgusting questions such as these,--questions which it was quite impossible that a gentleman should answer?

If this surfeited sponge of speculation, this crammed commercial cormorant, wanted more than that for his daughter, why could he not say so without asking disgusting questions which it was quite impossible for a gentleman to answer?


Was it not sufficiently plain that any gentleman proposing to marry the daughter of such a man as Melmotte, must do so under the stress of pecuniary embarrassment? Would it not be an understood bargain that as he provided the rank and position, she would provide the money?

Was it not plain that any gentleman proposing to marry the daughter of such a man as Melmotte, must do so because he needed money in return for his rank?


And yet the vulgar wretch took advantage of his assumed authority to ask these dreadful questions!


Sir Felix stood silent, trying to look the man in the face, but failing;--wishing that he was well out of the house, and at the Beargarden.

Sir Felix stood silent, wishing that he was well out of the house.


"You don't seem to be very clear about your own circumstances, Sir Felix.


Perhaps you will get your lawyer to write to me."


"Perhaps that will be best," said the lover.


My daughter, no doubt, will have money; but money expects money."


At this moment Lord Alfred entered the room.


Why didn't you come as you said you would?"


"I was here more than an hour ago, and they said you were out."


"I haven't been out of this room all day,--except to lunch.


Ring the bell, Alfred, and we'll have a little soda and brandy."


Sir Felix had gone through some greeting with his fellow Director, Lord Alfred, and at last succeeded in getting Melmotte to shake hands with him before he went.

Sir Felix succeeded in getting Melmotte to shake hands with him before he went.


"Do you know anything about that young fellow?"


Melmotte asked as soon as the door was closed.


"He's a baronet without a shilling;--was in the army and had to leave it," said Lord Alfred as he buried his face in a big tumbler.

"He's a baronet without a shilling; was in the army and had to leave it," said Lord Alfred.


But he's heir to a place down in Suffolk;--eh?"

But he's heir to a place down in Suffolk; eh?"


It's the same name, and that's about all.


Mr. Carbury has a small property there, and he might give it to me to-morrow.


I wish he would, though there isn't much of it.


That young fellow has nothing to do with it whatever."


Mr. Melmotte as he speculated upon it, almost admired the young man's impudence.

Mr. Melmotte, thinking it over, almost admired the young man's impudence.


Marie Melmotte, as she had promised, sat up all night, as did also the faithful Didon.

Marie Melmotte, as she had promised, sat up all night with Didon.


I think that to Marie the night was full of pleasure,--or at any rate of pleasurable excitement.

To Marie the night was full of pleasurable excitement.


With her door locked, she packed and unpacked and repacked her treasures,--having more than once laid out on the bed the dress in which she purposed to be married. She asked Didon her opinion whether that American clergyman of whom they had heard would marry them on board, and whether in that event the dress would be fit for the occasion.

She unpacked and repacked her treasures, including her wedding dress, and asked Didon if she thought the dress would be fit for getting married on board ship.


Didon thought that the man, if sufficiently paid, would marry them, and that the dress would not much signify.

Didon thought that the dress would not much signify.


She scolded her young mistress very often during the night for what she called nonsense; but was true to her, and worked hard for her.


They determined to go without food in the morning, so that no suspicion should be raised by the use of cups and plates.

They had no breakfast, so that no suspicion should be raised by the use of cups and plates.


They could get refreshment at the railway-station.


Robert went first with the big boxes, having his ten pounds already in his pocket,--and Marie and Didon with smaller luggage followed in a second cab.

Robert went first with the big boxes, and Marie and Didon with the smaller luggage followed in a second cab.


No one interfered with them and nothing went wrong.


The very civil man at Euston Square gave them their tickets, and even attempted to speak to them in French.


They had quite determined that not a word of English was to be spoken by Marie till the ship was out at sea.

They had agreed that not a word of English was to be spoken till the ship was out at sea.


At the station they got some very bad tea and almost uneatable food,--but Marie's restrained excitement was so great that food was almost unnecessary to her. They took their seats without any impediment,--and then they were off.

At the station they got some very bad tea, then took their seats - and they were off.


During a great part of the journey they were alone, and then Marie gabbled to Didon about her hopes and her future career, and all the things she would do;--how she had hated Lord Nidderdale;--especially when, after she had been awed into accepting him, he had given her no token of love;--"pas un baiser!"

Marie gabbled to Didon about her hopes and her future life, and all the things she would do, and how she had hated Lord Nidderdale.


Didon suggested that such was the way with English lords.


She herself had preferred Lord Nidderdale, but had been willing to join in the present plan,--as she said, from devoted affection to Marie.


Marie went on to say that Nidderdale was ugly, and that Sir Felix was as beautiful as the morning.

Nidderdale was ugly, and Sir Felix was as beautiful as the morning.


exclaimed Didon, who was really disgusted that such considerations should prevail.


Didon had learned in some indistinct way that Lord Nidderdale would be a marquis and would have a castle, whereas Sir Felix would never be more than Sir Felix, and, of his own, would never have anything at all.

She had learned that Lord Nidderdale would be a marquis and would have a castle, whereas Sir Felix would never be more than Sir Felix, and would never have anything at all.


She had striven with her mistress, but her mistress liked to have a will of her own.

She had preferred Lord Nidderdale, but her mistress liked to have a will of her own.


Didon no doubt had thought that New York, with 50 and other perquisites in hand, might offer her a new career. She had therefore yielded, but even now could hardly forbear from expressing disgust at the folly of her mistress.

Didon thought, however, that New York might offer her a new career, so she had yielded.


Marie bore it with imperturbable good humour.

Marie bore her disgust with good humour.


She was running away,--and was running to a distant continent,--and her lover would be with her!

She was running away to a distant continent - and her lover would be with her!


She gave Didon to understand that she cared nothing for marquises.


As they drew near to Liverpool Didon explained that they must still be very careful. It would not do for them to declare at once their destination on the platform,--so that every one about the station should know that they were going on board the packet for New York. They had time enough. They must leisurely look for the big boxes and other things, and need say nothing about the steam packet till they were in a cab.

As they drew near to Liverpool Didon explained that they must still be very careful, and say nothing about New York till they were in a cab.


Marie's big box was directed simply "Madame Racine, Passenger to Liverpool;"--so also was directed a second box, nearly as big, which was Didon's property.

Marie's big box was directed simply "Madame Racine, Passenger to Liverpool;" so was a second box, nearly as big, which was Didon's property.


Didon declared that her anxiety would not be over till she found the ship moving under her.

Didon declared that she would be anxious until the ship was moving.


Marie was sure that all their dangers were over,--if only Sir Felix was safe on board.

Marie was sure that all their dangers were over, if only Sir Felix was safe on board.


Sir Felix was at this moment in Welbeck Street, striving to find temporary oblivion for his distressing situation and loss of money, and some alleviation for his racking temples, beneath the bedclothes.

Sir Felix was at this moment in Welbeck Street, striving to find temporary oblivion from his distressing situation and loss of money, and his headache, beneath the bedclothes.


When the train ran into the station at Liverpool the two women sat for a few moments quite quiet. They would not seek remark by any hurry or noise. The door was opened, and a well-mannered porter offered to take their luggage.

When the train arrived at Liverpool a well-mannered porter offered to take their luggage.


Didon handed out the various packages, keeping however the jewel-case in her own hands.

Didon handed out the packages, keeping the jewel-case in her own hands.


She left the carriage first, and then Marie.


But Marie had hardly put her foot on the platform, before a gentleman addressed her, touching his hat, "You, I think, are Miss Melmotte."

But Marie had hardly put her foot on the platform, before a gentleman addressed her, touching his hat.
"You, I think, are Miss Melmotte."


Marie was struck dumb, but said nothing.


Didon immediately became voluble in French.


No; the young lady was not Miss Melmotte; the young lady was Mademoiselle Racine, her niece.


Would the gentleman kindly allow them to pass on to their cab?


[Illustration: "You, I think, are Miss Melmotte."]


But the gentleman would by no means kindly allow them to pass on to their cab.

But the gentleman would not allow them to pass on to their cab.


With the gentleman was another gentleman,--who did not seem to be quite so much of a gentleman;--and again, not far in the distance Didon quickly espied a policeman, who did not at present connect himself with the affair, but who seemed to have his time very much at command, and to be quite ready if he were wanted.

With him was another gentleman, and not far in the distance Didon espied a policeman, who seemed to be quite ready if he were wanted.


Didon at once gave up the game,--as regarded her mistress.


"I am afraid I must persist in asserting that you are Miss Melmotte," said the gentleman, "and that this other--person is your servant, Elise Didon.

"You are Miss Melmotte," said the gentleman, "and this is your servant, Elise Didon.


"I think you had better make up your minds to go back to London.

You had better make up your minds to go back to London.


Didon, plucking up her courage for the moment, asserted the legality of her own position and of that of her mistress. They had both a right to come to Liverpool.

Didon, plucking up her courage, asserted that they had a right to come to Liverpool.


They had both a right to get into the cab with their luggage.


Why were they to be stopped in this way?


What was it to anybody whether they called themselves Melmotte or Racine?


The gentleman understood the French oratory, but did not commit himself to reply in the same language.


"You had better trust yourself to me; you had indeed," said the gentleman.


Then the gentleman spoke in a very low voice.


"A cheque has been changed which you took from your father's house.


No doubt your father will pardon that when you are once with him.

No doubt your father will pardon that when you are back with him.


But in order that we may bring you back safely we can arrest you on the score of the cheque,--if you force us to do so.

But in order to bring you back safely we can arrest you on the score of the cheque, if necessary.


We certainly shall not let you go on board.


If you will travel back to London with me, you shall be subjected to no inconvenience which can be avoided."

If you travel back to London with me, you shall be subjected to no inconvenience."


There was certainly no help to be found anywhere.


It may be well doubted whether upon the whole the telegraph has not added more to the annoyances than to the comforts of life, and whether the gentlemen who spent all the public money without authority ought not to have been punished with special severity in that they had injured humanity, rather than pardoned because of the good they had produced. Who is benefited by telegrams? The newspapers are robbed of all their old interest, and the very soul of intrigue is destroyed. Poor Marie, when she heard her fate, would certainly have gladly hanged Mr. Scudamore.
When the gentleman had made his speech, she offered no further opposition.

Marie blamed the telegraph system; and she offered no further opposition.


Looking into Didon's face and bursting into tears, she sat down on one of the boxes.

Bursting into tears, she sat down on one of the boxes.


But Didon became very clamorous on her own behalf,--and her clamour was successful.

But Didon became very clamorous on her own behalf.


Why should not she go where she pleased?


Did anybody mean to take her up for stealing anybody's money?


If anybody did, that person had better look to himself.


So saying she began to tug the rope of her box as though she intended to drag it by her own force out of the station.

So saying she began to tug her box away.


The gentleman looked at his telegram,--looked at another document which he now held in his hand, ready prepared, should it be wanted.


Elise Didon had been accused of nothing that brought her within the law.

Elise Didon had been accused of nothing unlawful.


The gentleman in imperfect French suggested that Didon had better return with her mistress. But Didon clamoured only the more.

He suggested that Didon had better return with her mistress; but Didon only clamoured the more.


She would go wherever she pleased,--all the world over.


Then she addressed herself in what little English she could command to half-a-dozen cabmen who were standing round and enjoying the scene.


She started off to the nearest cab, and no one stopped her.

She started off to the nearest cab, and no one did stop her.


"But the box in her hand is mine," said Marie, not forgetting her trinkets in her misery.


Didon surrendered the jewel-case, and ensconced herself in the cab without a word of farewell; and her trunk was hoisted on to the roof.

Didon surrendered the jewel-case, and got into the cab without a word of farewell.


Then she was driven away out of the station,--and out of our story.

Then she was driven away - and out of our story.


She had a first-class cabin all to herself as far as New York, but what may have been her fate after that it matters not to us to enquire.


We who know how recreant a knight Sir Felix had proved himself, who are aware that had Miss Melmotte succeeded in getting on board the ship she would have passed an hour of miserable suspense, looking everywhere for her lover, and would then at last have been carried to New York without him, may congratulate her on her escape.

If she had succeeded in getting on board the ship she would have passed an hour of miserable suspense, looking everywhere for her lover, and would then have been carried to New York without him. She had a lucky escape.


And, indeed, we who know his character better than she did, may still hope in her behalf that she may be ultimately saved from so wretched a marriage.


But to her her present position was truly miserable.


She would have to encounter an enraged father; and when,--when should she see her lover again?

She would have to encounter an enraged father; and when should she see her lover again?


What would be his feelings when he should find himself on his way to New York without his love!


But in one matter she made up her mind steadfastly.


Yes;--she had said it before, and she would say it again.


There was, however, doubt on her mind from time to time, whether one course might not be better even than constancy.


If she could contrive to throw herself out of the carriage and to be killed,--would not that be the best termination to her present disappointment?

But might it not be even better to throw herself out of the carriage and to be killed?


Would not that be the best punishment for her father?


But how then would it be with poor Felix?


"After all I don't know that he cares for me," she said to herself, thinking over it all.

"After all I don't know that he cares for me," she said to herself.


The gentleman was very kind to her, not treating her at all as though she were disgraced.


As they got near town he ventured to give her a little advice.

As they got near town he ventured to advise her.


"Put a good face on it," he said, "and don't be cast down."


"Your mother will be delighted to have you back again."


I'd do it again to-morrow if I had the chance."

I'd do it again tomorrow if I had the chance.


The gentleman looked at her, not having expected so much determination.


Why is a girl to be made to marry to please any one but herself?


And it's very mean saying that I stole the money.


I always take what I want, and papa never says anything about it."


"Two hundred and fifty pounds is a large sum, Miss Melmotte."


It's because papa wants me to marry another man;--and I won't.

It's because papa wants me to marry another man; and I won't."


It was downright mean to send and have me taken up before all the people."


"You wouldn't have come back if he hadn't done that."


The gentleman had telegraphed up to Grosvenor Square while on the journey, and at Euston Square they were met by one of the Melmotte carriages.

The gentleman had telegraphed up to Grosvenor Square, and at Euston they were met by one of the Melmotte carriages.


Marie was to be taken home in the carriage, and the box was to follow in a cab;--to follow at some interval so that Grosvenor Square might not be aware of what had taken place.

Marie was taken home in the carriage, and the box was to follow later in a cab, so that Grosvenor Square might not be aware of what had happened.


Grosvenor Square, of course, very soon knew all about it.


The gentleman replied that he had been requested to see Miss Melmotte home.


"All the people will wonder who you are," said Marie laughing.


Then the gentleman thought that Miss Melmotte would be able to get through her troubles without much suffering.


When she got home she was hurried up at once to her mother's room,--and there she found her father, alone.

When she got home she was hurried at once to her mother's room - and there she found her father, alone.


"If you have found out all about it, you know, papa."


"Of course I know;--but you don't know all about it, you little idiot."

"Of course I know; but you don't know all about it, you little idiot."


"Where do you suppose Sir Felix Carbury is now?"


Then she opened her eyes and looked at him.


"An hour ago he was in bed at his mother's house in Welbeck Street."


If you had gone to New York, you'd have gone alone."


If I'd known at first that he had stayed behind, I think I'd have let you go."


"If you contradict me, I'll box your ears, you jade.


What has become of the woman that went with you?"


"And where is the money you took from your mother?"


"Then I'll be hanged if I don't prosecute him for stealing it."


"Oh, papa, don't do that;--pray don't do that.


I only gave it him to take care of for us.


"I shouldn't wonder if he lost it at cards, and therefore didn't go to Liverpool.


Will you give me your word that you'll never attempt to marry him again if I don't prosecute him?"

Will you give me your word that you'll never try to marry him again if I don't prosecute him?"


"Unless you do that I shall go to a magistrate at once."


"I don't believe you can do anything to him.


What's the good of promising when I should only break it.

What's the good of making a promise when I should only break it?


Why can't you let me have the man I love?


What's the good of all the money if people don't have what they like?"


"All the money!--What do you know about the money?

"All the money! What do you know about the money?


Look here," and he took her by the arm and shook her.


You've had your share of everything that has been going;--carriages and horses, bracelets and brooches, silks and gloves, and every thing else."

You've had your share of everything; carriages and horses, bracelets and brooches, silks and gloves."


He held her very hard and shook her as he spoke.


I don't care a straw about bracelets and brooches."


"Only for somebody to love me," said Marie, looking down.


"You'll soon have nobody to love you, if you go on this fashion.

"You'll soon have nobody to love you, if you go on this way.


You've had everything done for you, and if you don't do something for me in return, by G---- you shall have a hard time of it.

You've had everything done for you, and if you don't do something for me in return, by G__, you shall have a hard time of it.


If you weren't such a fool you'd believe me when I say that I know more than you do."


"You can't know better than me what'll make me happy."


If you'll marry Lord Nidderdale you'll have a position in the world which nothing can take from you."


Upon this he shook her till she cried, and calling for Madame Melmotte desired his wife not to let the girl for one minute out of her presence.

Upon this he shook her till she cried, and calling for Madame Melmotte told her not to let the girl out of her presence.


The condition of Sir Felix was I think worse than that of the lady with whom he was to have run away.

Sir Felix's condition was worse than Marie's.


He had played at the Beargarden till four in the morning and had then left the club, on the breaking-up of the card-table, intoxicated and almost penniless.

He had played at the Beargarden till four in the morning and had then left the club, intoxicated and almost penniless.


During the last half hour he had made himself very unpleasant at the club, saying all manner of harsh things of Miles Grendall;--of whom, indeed, it was almost impossible to say things too hard, had they been said in a proper form and at a proper time. He declared that Grendall would not pay his debts, that he had cheated when playing loo,--as to which Sir Felix appealed to Dolly Longestaffe; and he ended by asserting that Grendall ought to be turned out of the club.

During the last half hour at the club he had made himself very unpleasant, saying all manner of harsh things about Miles Grendall; declaring that he would not pay his debts, and that he cheated.


Dolly of course had said that he knew nothing about it, and Lord Grasslough had expressed an opinion that perhaps more than one person ought to be turned out.


At four o'clock the party was broken up and Sir Felix wandered forth into the streets, with nothing more than the change of a ten pound note in his pocket.

At four o'clock Sir Felix wandered forth into the streets, with nothing more than the change of a ten pound note in his pocket.


All his luggage was lying in the hall of the club, and there he left it.


There could hardly have been a more miserable wretch than Sir Felix wandering about the streets of London that night.

There could hardly have been a more miserable wretch than Sir Felix wandering about the streets that night.


Though he was nearly drunk, he was not drunk enough to forget the condition of his affairs.

He was not drunk enough to forget the condition of his affairs.


There is an intoxication that makes merry in the midst of affliction;--and there is an intoxication that banishes affliction by producing oblivion.


But again there is an intoxication which is conscious of itself though it makes the feet unsteady, and the voice thick, and the brain foolish; and which brings neither mirth nor oblivion.


Sir Felix trying to make his way to Welbeck Street and losing it at every turn, feeling himself to be an object of ridicule to every wanderer, and of dangerous suspicion to every policeman, got no good at all out of his intoxication.

He felt himself to be an object of ridicule to every wanderer, and of dangerous suspicion to every policeman.


He fumbled in his pocket, and managed to get hold of his ticket for New York.

He fumbled in his pocket for his ticket to New York.


Then he thought of his luggage, and could not remember where it was.


At last, as he steadied himself against a letter-post, he was able to call to mind that his portmanteaus were at the club. By this time he had wandered into Marylebone Lane, but did not in the least know where he was. But he made an attempt to get back to his club, and stumbled half down Bond Street.

At last he remembered that it was at the club, and tried to get back there, staggering down Bond Street.


Then a policeman enquired into his purposes, and when he said that he lived in Welbeck Street, walked back with him as far as Oxford Street.

Then a policeman enquired into his purposes, and when he said that he lived in Welbeck Street, walked back with him to Oxford Street.


Having once mentioned the place where he lived, he had not strength of will left to go back to his purpose of getting his luggage and starting for Liverpool.

He had not strength of will left to go back for his luggage and start for Liverpool.


Between six and seven he was knocking at the door in Welbeck Street.


He had tried his latch-key, but had found it inefficient.


As he was supposed to be at Liverpool, the door had in fact been locked.

As he was supposed to be at Liverpool, the door had been locked.


At last it was opened by Lady Carbury herself.


He had fallen more than once, and was soiled with the gutter.


Most of my readers will not probably know how a man looks when he comes home drunk at six in the morning; but they who have seen the thing will acknowledge that a sorrier sight can not meet a mother's eye than that of a son in such a condition.

A sorrier sight cannot meet a mother's eye than that of a son coming home drunk at six in the morning.


At that moment the "old shap" was fast asleep in Grosvenor Square, altogether ignorant of the plot; and Marie, joyful with excitement, was getting into the cab in the mews.

At that moment the "old chap" was fast asleep in Grosvenor Square, altogether ignorant of the plot; and Marie, joyful with excitement, was getting into the cab.


And so he stumbled up-stairs by daylight, the wretched mother helping him.


She took off his clothes for him and his boots, and having left him already asleep, she went down to her own room, a miserable woman.

His wretched mother took off his clothes and his boots, and having left him already asleep, she went to her own room, a miserable woman.


Mr. Adolphus Longestaffe, the squire of Caversham in Suffolk, and of Pickering Park in Sussex, was closeted on a certain morning for the best part of an hour with Mr. Melmotte in Abchurch Lane, had there discussed all his private affairs, and was about to leave the room with a very dissatisfied air.

Mr. Adolphus Longestaffe senior, the squire of Caversham, and of Pickering Park in Sussex, was closeted one morning for an hour with Mr. Melmotte in Abchurch Lane. He had discussed all his private affairs, and was about to leave the room with a very dissatisfied air.


There are men,--and old men too, who ought to know the world,--who think that if they can only find the proper Medea to boil the cauldron for them, they can have their ruined fortunes so cooked that they shall come out of the pot fresh and new and unembarrassed.


These great conjurors are generally sought for in the City; and in truth the cauldrons are kept boiling though the result of the process is seldom absolute rejuvenescence.


No greater Medea than Mr. Melmotte had ever been potent in money matters, and Mr. Longestaffe had been taught to believe that if he could get the necromancer even to look at his affairs everything would be made right for him.

Mr. Longestaffe had believed that if he could get Mr. Melmotte just to look at his affairs everything would be made right for him.


But the necromancer had explained to the squire that property could not be created by the waving of any wand or the boiling of any cauldron.

But Mr. Melmotte had explained that property could not be created by the waving of any wand.


He, Mr. Melmotte, could put Mr. Longestaffe in the way of realising property without delay, of changing it from one shape into another, or could find out the real market value of the property in question; but he could create nothing.

He could help Mr. Longestaffe to realise property, or could find out the real market value of the property in question; but he could create nothing.


"You have only a life interest, Mr. Longestaffe."


"That is customary with family estates in this country, Mr. Melmotte."


And therefore you can dispose of nothing else.


Your son, of course, could join you, and then you could sell either one estate or the other."


"There is no question of selling Caversham, sir.


"Your son will not join you in selling the other place?"


"I have not directly asked him; but he never does do anything that I wish.


I suppose you would not take Pickering Park on a lease for my life."

I suppose you would not take Pickering Park on a lease?"


My wife would not like the uncertainty."


Then Mr. Longestaffe took his leave with a feeling of outraged aristocratic pride.

Mr. Longestaffe left with a feeling of outraged aristocratic pride.


His own lawyer would almost have done as much for him, and he need not have invited his own lawyer as a guest to Caversham,--and certainly not his own lawyer's wife and daughter.

His own lawyer would almost have done as much for him, and he need not have invited his own lawyer as a guest to Caversham - and certainly not his lawyer's wife and daughter.


He had indeed succeeded in borrowing a few thousand pounds from the great man at a rate of interest which the great man's head clerk was to arrange, and this had been effected simply on the security of the lease of a house in town.

He had indeed succeeded in borrowing a few thousand pounds from the great man at a rate of interest which the great man's head clerk was to arrange, on the security of the lease of a house in town.


There had been an ease in this, an absence of that delay which generally took place between the expression of his desire for money and the acquisition of it,--and this had gratified him.

There had been an ease in this which had gratified him.


But he was already beginning to think that he might pay too dearly for that gratification.


At the present moment, too, Mr. Melmotte was odious to him for another reason.

At present, Mr. Melmotte was odious to him for another reason.


He had condescended to ask Mr. Melmotte to make him a director of the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway, and he,--Adolphus Longestaffe of Caversham,--had had his request refused!

He had condescended to ask Mr. Melmotte to make him a director of the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway, and he, Adolphus Longestaffe of Caversham, had had his request refused!


Mr. Longestaffe had condescended very low.


"You have made Lord Alfred Grendall one!"


Then Mr. Melmotte explained that Lord Alfred possessed peculiar aptitudes for the position.


"I'm sure I could do anything that he does," said Mr. Longestaffe.

"I'm sure I could do anything that he does."


Upon this Mr. Melmotte, knitting his brows and speaking with some roughness, replied that the number of directors required was completed.

Mr. Melmotte, knitting his brows, had replied that the number of directors required was complete.


Since he had had two duchesses at his house Mr. Melmotte was beginning to feel that he was entitled to bully any mere commoner, especially a commoner who could ask him for a seat at his board.


Mr. Longestaffe was a tall, heavy man, about fifty, with hair and whiskers carefully dyed, whose clothes were made with great care, though they always seemed to fit him too tightly, and who thought very much of his personal appearance.

Mr. Longestaffe was a tall, heavy man, about fifty, with hair and whiskers carefully dyed, whose clothes were made with great care, though they always seemed too tight, and who thought very much of his personal appearance.


It was not that he considered himself handsome, but that he was specially proud of his aristocratic bearing.

He was especially proud of his aristocratic bearing.


He entertained an idea that all who understood the matter would perceive at a single glance that he was a gentleman of the first water, and a man of fashion.

He had an idea that people could perceive at a single glance that he was a gentleman and a man of fashion.


He was intensely proud of his position in life, thinking himself to be immensely superior to all those who earned their bread.

He thought himself to be immensely superior to all those who earned their bread.


There were no doubt gentlemen of different degrees, but the English gentleman of gentlemen was he who had land, and family title-deeds, and an old family place, and family portraits, and family embarrassments, and a family absence of any useful employment.

There were no doubt gentlemen of different degrees, but the greatest English gentleman was he who had land, an old family place, family portraits, and family debts, and a family absence of any useful employment.


He was beginning even to look down upon peers, since so many men of much less consequence than himself had been made lords; and, having stood and been beaten three or four times for his county, he was of opinion that a seat in the House was rather a mark of bad breeding.

He was beginning even to look down upon peers, since so many men of much less consequence than himself had been made lords; and, having stood for Parliament unsuccessfully three or four times, he was of the opinion that a seat in the House was rather a mark of bad breeding.


He was a silly man, who had no fixed idea that it behoved him to be of use to any one; but, yet, he had compassed a certain nobility of feeling.

He was a silly man; yet he had a certain nobility of feeling.


There was very little that his position called upon him to do, but there was much that it forbad him to do.


It was not allowed to him to be close in money matters.


He could leave his tradesmen's bills unpaid till the men were clamorous, but he could not question the items in their accounts.

He could leave his tradesmen's bills unpaid, but he could not question the items in their accounts.


He could be tyrannical to his servants, but he could not make inquiry as to the consumption of his wines in the servants' hall.

He could be tyrannical to his servants, but he could not inquire about the consumption of his wines in the servants' hall.


He had no pity for his tenants in regard to game, but he hesitated much as to raising their rent.

He had no pity for his tenants if they poached game, but he hesitated much as to raising their rent.


He had his theory of life and endeavoured to live up to it; but the attempt had hardly brought satisfaction to himself or to his family.


At the present moment, it was the great desire of his heart to sell the smaller of his two properties and disembarrass the other.

It was now the great desire of his heart to sell the smaller of his two properties and free the other from debt.


The debt had not been altogether of his own making, and the arrangement would, he believed, serve his whole family as well as himself. It would also serve his son, who was blessed with a third property of his own which he had already managed to burden with debt.

The arrangement would, he believed, serve his whole family, and also his son, who was blessed with a third property of his own which he had already managed to burden with debt.


The father could not bear to be refused; and he feared that his son would decline.

But the father feared that his son would decline.


"But Adolphus wants money as much as any one," Lady Pomona had said.


He had shaken his head and pished and pshawed.


Women never could understand anything about money.


Now he walked down sadly from Mr. Melmotte's office and was taken in his brougham to his lawyer's chambers in Lincoln's Inn.

Now he walked sadly from Mr. Melmotte's office and went to his lawyer's chambers.


Even for the accommodation of those few thousand pounds he was forced to condescend to tell his lawyers that the title-deeds of his house in town must be given up.

Even for those few thousand pounds he was forced to tell his lawyers that the title-deeds of his house in town must be given up.


Mr. Longestaffe felt that the world in general was very hard on him.

Mr. Longestaffe felt that the world was very hard on him.


"What on earth are we to do with the Melmottes?"


said Sophia, the eldest Miss Longestaffe, to her mother.


"I do think it's a shame of papa," said Georgiana, the second daughter.


"I certainly shan't trouble myself to entertain them."


"Of course you will leave them all on my hands," said Lady Pomona wearily.


"I can understand going to a crush at their house in town when everybody else goes.


One doesn't speak to them, and need not know them afterwards.


As to the girl, I'm sure I shouldn't remember her if I were to see her."

I'm sure I shouldn't remember the girl if I were to see her."


"It would be a fine thing if Adolphus would marry her," said Lady Pomona.


"Dolly will never marry anybody," said Georgiana.


"The idea of his taking the trouble of asking a girl to have him!


Besides, he won't come down to Caversham; cart-ropes wouldn't bring him.

Besides, he won't come down to Caversham.


If that is to be the game, mamma, it is quite hopeless."


"Why should Dolly marry such a creature as that?"


"Because everybody wants money," said Lady Pomona.


"I'm sure I don't know what your papa is to do, or how it is that there never is any money for anything.

"I'm sure I don't know why there is never any money for anything.


"I don't think that we do anything out of the way," said Sophia.


"I haven't the slightest idea what papa's income is; but if we're to live at all, I don't know how we are to make a change."


"It's always been like this ever since I can remember," said Georgiana, "and I don't mean to worry about it any more.

"It's been like this ever since I can remember," said Georgiana, "and I don't mean to worry about it any more.


I suppose it's just the same with other people, only one doesn't know it."


"But, my dears--when we are obliged to have such people as these Melmottes!"
"As for that, if we didn't have them somebody else would. I shan't trouble myself about them. I suppose it will only be for two days."

I suppose we shall only have these Melmottes for two days."


"Then papa must take them about the country, that's all.


What good can they do papa by being down there?"


"He is wonderfully rich," said Lady Pomona.


"But I don't suppose he'll give papa his money," continued Georgiana.


"Of course I don't pretend to understand, but I think there is more fuss about these things than they deserve.


"If papa hasn't got money to live at home, why doesn't he go abroad for a year?


The Sydney Beauchamps did that, and the girls had quite a nice time of it in Florence.

The Sydney Beauchamps did that, and the girls had quite a nice time in Florence.


It was there that Clara Beauchamp met young Lord Liffey.

Clara Beauchamp met young Lord Liffey there.


I shouldn't at all mind that kind of thing, but I think it quite horrible to have these sort of people brought down upon us at Caversham.


No one knows who they are, or where they came from, or what they'll turn to."


So spoke Georgiana, who among the Longestaffes was supposed to have the strongest head, and certainly the sharpest tongue.


This conversation took place in the drawing-room of the Longestaffes' family town-house in Bruton Street.

This conversation took place in the drawing-room of the Longestaffes' London town-house in Bruton Street.


It was not by any means a charming house, having but few of those luxuries and elegancies which have been added of late years to newly-built London residences. It was gloomy and inconvenient, with large drawing-rooms, bad bedrooms, and very little accommodation for servants.

It was by no means a charming house, being gloomy and inconvenient, with large drawing-rooms, bad bedrooms, and very little accommodation for servants.


But it was the old family town-house, having been inhabited by three or four generations of Longestaffes, and did not savour of that radical newness which prevails, and which was peculiarly distasteful to Mr. Longestaffe.

But three or four generations of Longestaffes had lived there.


Queen's Gate and the quarters around were, according to Mr. Longestaffe, devoted to opulent tradesmen.


Even Belgrave Square, though its aristocratic properties must be admitted, still smelt of the mortar.


Many of those living there and thereabouts had never possessed in their families real family town-houses.


The old streets lying between Piccadilly and Oxford Street, with one or two well-known localities to the south and north of these boundaries, were the proper sites for these habitations.


When Lady Pomona, instigated by some friend of high rank but questionable taste, had once suggested a change to Eaton Square, Mr. Longestaffe had at once snubbed his wife.

When Lady Pomona had once suggested a change to Eaton Square, Mr. Longestaffe had snubbed her.


If Bruton Street wasn't good enough for her and the girls then they might remain at Caversham.

If Bruton Street wasn't good enough for her and the girls, then they might remain at Caversham.


The threat of remaining at Caversham had been often made, for Mr. Longestaffe, proud as he was of his town-house, was, from year to year, very anxious to save the expense of the annual migration.

The threat of remaining at Caversham was often made, for Mr. Longestaffe, proud as he was of his town-house, was very anxious to save the expense of the annual migration to London.


The girls' dresses and the girls' horses, his wife's carriage and his own brougham, his dull London dinner-parties, and the one ball which it was always necessary that Lady Pomona should give, made him look forward to the end of July, with more dread than to any other period. It was then that he began to know what that year's season would cost him.

The girls' dresses and horses, the carriages and dull London dinner-parties, and the one ball which it was always necessary to give, made him dread the season and its cost.


But he had never yet been able to keep his family in the country during the entire year.


The girls, who as yet knew nothing of the Continent beyond Paris, had signified their willingness to be taken about Germany and Italy for twelve months, but had shown by every means in their power that they would mutiny against any intention on their father's part to keep them at Caversham during the London season.

The girls were willing to be taken about Germany and Italy for twelve months, but had shown that they would mutiny against any attempt by their father to keep them at Caversham during the London season.


Georgiana had just finished her strong-minded protest against the Melmottes, when her brother strolled into the room.

Georgiana had just finished her protest against the Melmottes, when her brother strolled into the room.


Dolly did not often show himself in Bruton Street.


He had rooms of his own, and could seldom even be induced to dine with his family.


His mother wrote to him notes without end,--notes every day, pressing invitations of all sorts upon him; would he come and dine; would he take them to the theatre; would he go to this ball; would he go to that evening-party?

His mother wrote him notes asking, would he come and dine; would he take them to the theatre; would he go to this ball or that party?


These Dolly barely read, and never answered.


He would open them, thrust them into some pocket, and then forget them.


Consequently his mother worshipped him; and even his sisters, who were at any rate superior to him in intellect, treated him with a certain deference.

Consequently his mother worshipped him; and even his sisters, who were superior to him in intellect, treated him with deference.


He could do as he liked, and they felt themselves to be slaves, bound down by the dulness of the Longestaffe regime.

He was free to do as he liked, while they felt themselves to be slaves, bound down by the dull Longestaffe regime.


His freedom was grand to their eyes, and very enviable, although they were aware that he had already so used it as to impoverish himself in the midst of his wealth.


"My dear Adolphus," said the mother, "this is so nice of you."


"I think it is rather nice," said Dolly, submitting himself to be kissed.


"Oh Dolly, whoever would have thought of seeing you?"


Lady Pomona was always having tea from four o'clock till she was taken away to dress for dinner.


"I'd sooner have soda and brandy," said Dolly.


"I didn't ask for it, and I don't expect to get it; indeed I don't want it.


I only said I'd sooner have it than tea.


They all looked at him with wondering eyes.


There must be something going on more than they had dreamed of, when Dolly asked to see his father.

There must be something going on when Dolly asked to see his father.


"Papa went out in the brougham immediately after lunch," said Sophia gravely.

"Papa went out after lunch," said Sophia gravely.


"I'll wait a little for him," said Dolly, taking out his watch.

"I'll wait for him," said Dolly, taking out his watch.


"Do stay and dine with us," said Lady Pomona.


"I could not do that, because I've got to go and dine with some fellow."

"No, I've got to go and dine with some fellow."


I believe you don't know where you're going," said Georgiana.


"Adolphus," began Lady Pomona very seriously, "I've got a plan and I want you to help me."


"I hope there isn't very much to do in it, mother."


"We're all going to Caversham, just for Whitsuntide, and we particularly want you to come."

We're all going to Caversham for Whitsuntide, and we particularly want you to come."


Madame Melmotte and her daughter are coming."


said Sophia, "do remember where you are."


"Yes I will;--and I'll remember too where I won't be.


"I won't go to Caversham to meet old mother Melmotte."


"My dear boy," continued the mother, "do you know that Miss Melmotte will have twenty--thousand--a year the day she marries; and that in all probability her husband will some day be the richest man in Europe?"

"My dear boy," continued the mother, "do you know that Miss Melmotte will have twenty thousand a year the day she marries; and that her husband will probably some day be the richest man in Europe?"


"Half the fellows in London are after her," said Dolly.


"She isn't going to stay in the same house with half the fellows in London," suggested Georgiana.


"If you've a mind to try it you'll have a chance which nobody else can have just at present."

"If you've a mind to try it you'll have a chance which nobody else can have."


Good gracious me;--oh dear! it isn't at all in my way, mother."

Good gracious me - it isn't at all in my way, mother."


"It would put everything so straight," said Lady Pomona.


"They'll have to remain crooked if nothing else will put them straight.


"My dear," said Lady Pomona, "here's Adolphus come to see us."


The father nodded his head at his son but said nothing.


"We want him to stay and dine, but he's engaged."


"Though he doesn't know where," said Sophia.


I've got a letter, sir, ever so long, from those fellows in Lincoln's Inn.

"I've got a letter, sir," said Dolly, "ever so long, from those lawyer fellows.


They want me to come and see you about selling something; so I've come.


It's an awful bore, because I don't understand anything about it."


Perhaps there isn't anything to be sold.


"You'd better come with me into the study," said the father.


"We needn't disturb your mother and sisters about business."


Then the squire led the way out of the room, and Dolly followed, making a woful grimace at his sisters.

The squire led the way out of the room, and Dolly followed, making a woeful grimace at his sisters.


The three ladies sat over their tea for about half-an-hour, waiting,--not the result of the conference, for with that they did not suppose that they would be made acquainted,--but whatever signs of good or evil might be collected from the manner and appearance of the squire when he should return to them.

The three ladies sat over their tea for about half-an-hour, waiting for whatever signs of good or evil might be collected from the squire's manner when he should return to them.


Dolly they did not expect to see again,--probably for a month.

Dolly they did not expect to see again - probably for a month.


He and the squire never did come together without quarrelling, and careless as was the young man in every other respect, he had hitherto been obdurate as to his own rights in any dealings which he had with his father.

He and the squire never met without quarrelling.


At the end of the half hour Mr. Longestaffe returned to the drawing-room, and at once pronounced the doom of the family.


"My dear," he said, "we shall not return from Caversham to London this year."

"My dear," he said, "we shall not come back to London this year."


He struggled hard to maintain a grand dignified tranquillity as he spoke, but his voice quivered with emotion.

He struggled hard to maintain a grand dignified tranquillity, but his voice quivered with emotion.


[Illustration: Then the squire led the way out of the room, and Dolly followed.]


"My dear, you don't mean it," said Lady Pomona.


"Of course papa doesn't mean it," said Georgiana rising to her feet.

"Of course papa doesn't mean it," said Georgiana, rising to her feet.


"I mean it accurately and certainly," said Mr. Longestaffe.

"Certainly I mean it," said Mr. Longestaffe.


"We go to Caversham in about ten days, and we shall not return from Caversham to London this year."

"We go to Caversham in about ten days, and we shall not return to London this year."


So saying, the master of the house left the drawing-room and descended to his study.

So saying, the master of the house left the drawing-room.


The three ladies, when left to deplore their fate, expressed their opinions as to the sentence which had been pronounced very strongly. But the daughters were louder in their anger than was their mother.

The three ladies expressed their opinions very strongly, the daughters more loudly than their mother.


"He does," said Lady Pomona, with tears in her eyes.


"He must unmean it again;--that's all," said Georgiana. "Dolly has said something to him very rough, and he resents it upon us. Why did he bring us up at all if he means to take us down before the season has begun?"

"Why did he bring us up to London at all," said Georgiana, "if he means to take us away before the season has begun?"


"I wonder what Adolphus has said to him.


Your papa is always hard upon Adolphus."


"Dolly can take care of himself," said Georgiana, "and always does do so.

"Dolly can take care of himself," said Georgiana.


You must give up going to Caversham altogether, unless he promises to bring us back.

You must give up going to Caversham, unless he promises to bring us back.


I won't stir,--unless he has me carried out of the house."

I won't stir, unless he has me carried out of the house."


To go and be buried down in that place for a whole year with no one near us but the rusty old bishop and Mr. Carbury, who is rustier still. I won't stand it.

To be buried down in that place for a whole year with no one near but the rusty old bishop and Mr. Carbury - I won't stand it.