He had been in Melmotte's house on the night of the ball, but had contented himself after that with leaving a card. He had heard much of the splendour of the place, but remembered simply the crush and the crowd, and that he had danced there more than once or twice with Hetta Carbury. When he was shown into the hall he was astonished to find that it was not only stripped, but was full of planks, and ladders, and trussels, and mortar. The preparations for the great dinner had been already commenced. Through all this he made his way to the stairs, and was taken up to a small room on the second floor, where the servant told him that Mr. Melmotte would come to him. Here he waited a quarter of an hour looking out into the yard at the back. There was not a book in the room, or even a picture with which he could amuse himself. He was beginning to think whether his own personal dignity would not be best consulted by taking his departure, when Melmotte himself, with slippers on his feet and enveloped in a magnificent dressing-gown, bustled into the room. "My dear sir, I am so sorry. You are a punctual man I see. So am I. A man of business should be punctual. But they ain't always. Brehgert,--from the house of Todd, Brehgert, and Goldsheiner, you know,--has just been with me. We had to settle something about the Moldavian loan. He came a quarter late, and of course he went a quarter late. And how is a man to catch a quarter of an hour? I never could do it." Montague assured the great man that the delay was of no consequence. "And I am so sorry to ask you into such a place as this. I had Brehgert in my room down-stairs, and then the house is so knocked about! We get into a furnished house a little way off in Bruton Street to-morrow. Longestaffe lets me his house for a month till this affair of the dinner is over. By-the-bye, Montague, if you'd like to come to the dinner, I've got a ticket I can let you have. You know how they're run after." Montague had heard of the dinner, but had perhaps heard as little of it as any man frequenting a club at the west end of London. He did not in the least want to be at the dinner, and certainly did not wish to receive any extraordinary civility from Mr. Melmotte's hands. But he was very anxious to know why Mr. Melmotte should offer it. He excused himself saying that he was not particularly fond of big dinners, and that he did not like standing in the way of other people. "Ah, indeed," said Melmotte. "There are ever so many people of title would give anything for a ticket. You'd be astonished at the persons who have asked. We've had to squeeze in a chair on one side for the Master of the Buckhounds, and on another for the Bishop of--; I forget what bishop it is, but we had the two archbishops before. They say he must come because he has something to do with getting up the missionaries for Thibet. But I've got the ticket, if you'll have it." This was the ticket which was to have taken in Georgiana Longestaffe as one of the Melmotte family, had not Melmotte perceived that it might be useful to him as a bribe. But Paul would not take the bribe. "You're the only man in London then," said Melmotte, somewhat offended. "But at any rate you'll come in the evening, and I'll have one of Madame Melmotte's tickets sent to you." Paul, not knowing how to escape, said that he would come in the evening. "I am particularly anxious," continued he, "to be civil to those who are connected with our great Railway, and of course, in this country, your name stands first,--next to my own."

He had been in Melmotte's house on the night of the ball, but remembered only the crush and the crowd, and that he had danced with Hetta Carbury. When he was shown into the hall he was astonished to find that it was stripped, and full of planks, ladders and mortar. The preparations for the great dinner had already commenced.
He was taken up to a small room on the second floor, where the servant told him that Mr. Melmotte would come to him. He waited a quarter of an hour looking out into the yard. There was not a book in the room with which he could amuse himself. He was beginning to wonder whether he should leave, when Melmotte, in a magnificent dressing-gown and slippers, bustled in.
"My dear sir, I am so sorry. You are a punctual man I see. A man of business should be punctual. But they ain't always. Brehgert has just been with me, about the Moldavian loan, and he came a quarter of an hour late."
Montague assured him that the delay was of no consequence.
"And I am so sorry to ask you into such a place as this. The house is so knocked about! We move into a furnished house in Bruton Street tomorrow - Longstaffe is letting me his house for a month till this dinner is over. By-the-bye, Montague, if you'd like to come to the dinner, I've got a ticket for you. You know how they're run after."
Montague did not in the least want to attend the dinner. But he was very anxious to know why Mr. Melmotte should offer it. He excused himself, saying that he was not fond of big dinners.
"Ah, indeed," said Melmotte. "Ever so many people would give anything for a ticket. You'd be astonished at the persons who have asked, archbishops and people of title."
But Paul would not take the bribe.
"You're the only man in London then," said Melmotte, somewhat offended. "At any rate you'll come in the evening, and I'll have one of Madame Melmotte's tickets sent to you." Paul, not knowing how to escape, said that he would come in the evening.
"I am particularly anxious," continued Melmotte, "to be civil to those who are connected with our great Railway, and of course, in this country, your name stands next to my own." 