The "Boards" were always commenced by the reading of a certain record of the last meeting out of a book. This was always done by Miles Grendall; and the record was supposed to have been written by him. But Montague had discovered that this statement in the book was always prepared and written by a satellite of Melmotte's from Abchurch Lane who was never present at the meeting. The adverse director had spoken to the secretary,--it will be remembered that they were both members of the Beargarden,--and Miles had given a somewhat evasive reply. "A cussed deal of trouble and all that, you know! He's used to it, and it's what he's meant for. I'm not going to flurry myself about stuff of that kind." Montague after this had spoken on the subject both to Nidderdale and Felix Carbury. "He couldn't do it, if it was ever so," Nidderdale had said. "I don't think I'd bully him if I were you.

The "Boards" always began with the reading of a record of the last meeting. This was done by Miles Grendall; and the record was supposed to have been written by him. But Montague had discovered that the statement was written by a satellite of Melmotte's from Abchurch Lane, who was not at the meeting. When he asked Miles about this, Miles had given a somewhat evasive reply.
"A cussed deal of trouble and all that, you know! He's used to it."
So Montague had spoken on the subject both to Nidderdale and Felix Carbury.
"He couldn't do it," Nidderdale had said. "I don't think I'd bully him if I were you.


He gets 500 a-year, and if you knew all he owes, and all he hasn't got, you wouldn't try to rob him of it." With Felix Carbury Montague had as little success. Sir Felix hated the secretary, had detected him cheating at cards, had resolved to expose him,--and had then been afraid to do so. He had told Dolly Longestaffe, and the reader will perhaps remember with what effect. He had not mentioned the affair again, and had gradually fallen back into the habit of playing at the club. Loo, however, had given way to whist, and Sir Felix had satisfied himself with the change. He still meditated some dreadful punishment for Miles Grendall, but, in the meantime, felt himself unable to oppose him at the Board. Since the day at which the aces had been manipulated at the club he had not spoken to Miles Grendall except in reference to the affairs of the whist-table. The "Board" was now commenced as usual. Miles read the short record out of the book,--stumbling over every other word, and going through the performance so badly that had there been anything to understand no one could have understood it.

He only gets 500 a year." With Felix Carbury, Montague had as little success. Sir Felix hated Miles Grendall, had detected him cheating at cards, had resolved to expose him - and had then been afraid to do so. He had not mentioned the affair again, and had gradually fallen back into the habit of playing at the club, since they were now playing whist instead of loo.
The "Board" now commenced as usual: Miles read the short record out of the book, stumbling over every other word, so that if there had been anything to understand no one could have understood it.


"Gentlemen," said Mr. Melmotte, in his usual hurried way, "is it your pleasure that I shall sign the record?" Paul Montague rose to say that it was not his pleasure that the record should be signed. But Melmotte had made his scrawl, and was deep in conversation with Mr. Cohenlupe before Paul could get upon his legs.

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Melmotte, in his usual hurried way, "shall I sign the record?"
Paul Montague rose to object; but Melmotte had made his scrawl, and was already deep in conversation with Mr. Cohenlupe.


Melmotte, however, had watched the little struggle. Melmotte, whatever might be his faults, had eyes to see and ears to hear. He perceived that Montague had made a little struggle and had been cowed; and he knew how hard it is for one man to persevere against five or six, and for a young man to persevere against his elders. Nidderdale was filliping bits of paper across the table at Carbury. Miles Grendall was poring over the book which was in his charge. Lord Alfred sat back in his chair, the picture of a model director, with his right hand within his waistcoat. He looked aristocratic, respectable, and almost commercial. In that room he never by any chance opened his mouth, except when called on to say that Mr. Melmotte was right, and was considered by the chairman really to earn his money. Melmotte for a minute or two went on conversing with Cohenlupe, having perceived that Montague for the moment was cowed. Then Paul put both his hands upon the table, intending to rise and ask some perplexing question.

Melmotte, however, had watched him. He perceived that Montague had made a little struggle and had been cowed; and he knew how hard it is for one man to persevere against five or six. Nidderdale was filliping bits of paper across the table at Carbury. The other men were unconcerned, so Melmotte went on talking to Cohenlupe.
Then Paul put both his hands upon the table, intending to rise and ask some perplexing question.


Melmotte saw this also and was upon his legs before Montague had risen from his chair. "Gentlemen," said Mr. Melmotte, "it may perhaps be as well if I take this occasion of saying a few words to you about the affairs of the company." Then, instead of going on with his statement, he sat down again, and began to turn over sundry voluminous papers very slowly, whispering a word or two every now and then to Mr. Cohenlupe. Lord Alfred never changed his posture and never took his hand from his breast. Nidderdale and Carbury filliped their paper pellets backwards and forwards. Montague sat profoundly listening,--or ready to listen when anything should be said. As the chairman had risen from his chair to commence his statement, Paul felt that he was bound to be silent. When a speaker is in possession of the floor, he is in possession even though he be somewhat dilatory in looking to his references, and whispering to his neighbour. And, when that speaker is a chairman, of course some additional latitude must be allowed to him. Montague understood this, and sat silent.

Melmotte saw this also and was upon his legs first.
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Melmotte, "it may perhaps be as well if I take this occasion of saying a few words to you about the affairs of the company." Then, instead of going on with his statement, he sat down again, and began to turn over some voluminous papers very slowly, whispering a word or two every now and then to Mr. Cohenlupe. Nidderdale and Carbury filliped their paper pellets backwards and forwards. Montague sat ready to listen, feeling that he was bound to be silent.


It seemed that Melmotte had much to say to Cohenlupe, and Cohenlupe much to say to Melmotte. Since Cohenlupe had sat at the Board he had never before developed such powers of conversation.
Nidderdale didn't quite understand it. He had been there twenty minutes, was tired of his present amusement, having been unable to hit Carbury on the nose, and suddenly remembered that the Beargarden would now be open. He was no respecter of persons, and had got over any little feeling of awe with which the big table and the solemnity of the room may have first inspired him. "I suppose that's about all," he said, looking up at Melmotte.
"Well;--perhaps as your lordship is in a hurry, and as my lord here is engaged elsewhere,"--turning round to Lord Alfred, who had not uttered a syllable or made a sign since he had been in his seat,--"we had better adjourn this meeting for another week."
"I cannot allow that," said Paul Montague.
"I suppose then we must take the sense of the Board," said the Chairman.
"I have been discussing certain circumstances with our friend and Chairman," said Cohenlupe, "and I must say that it is not expedient just at present to go into matters too freely."

It seemed that Melmotte had much to say to Cohenlupe, and Cohenlupe much to say to Melmotte. Cohenlupe had never before shown such powers of conversation.
Nidderdale didn't quite understand it. He had been there twenty minutes, and suddenly remembered that the Beargarden would now be open.
"I suppose that's about all," he said, looking at Melmotte.
"Well, perhaps as your lordship is in a hurry, and as my lord here is engaged elsewhere," - turning round to Lord Alfred, who had not uttered a syllable - "we had better adjourn this meeting for another week."
"I cannot allow that," said Paul Montague.
"I have been discussing certain circumstances with our Chairman," said Cohenlupe, "and I must say that it is not expedient just at present to go into matters too freely."


"My lords and gentlemen," said Melmotte. "I hope that you trust me."
Lord Alfred bowed down to the table and muttered something which was intended to convey most absolute confidence. "Hear, hear," said Mr. Cohenlupe. "All right," said Lord Nidderdale; "go on;" and he fired another pellet with improved success.
"I trust," said the Chairman, "that my young friend, Sir Felix, doubts neither my discretion nor my ability."
"Oh dear, no;--not at all," said the baronet, much flattered at being addressed in this kindly tone. He had come there with objects of his own, and was quite prepared to support the Chairman on any matter whatever.

"My lords and gentlemen," said Melmotte. "I hope that you trust me."
Lord Alfred, bowing, muttered something about absolute confidence.
"Hear, hear," said Mr. Cohenlupe.
"All right," said Lord Nidderdale.
"I trust," said the Chairman, "that my young friend, Sir Felix, doubts neither my discretion nor my ability."
"Oh dear, no, not at all," said the baronet, much flattered, and quite prepared to support the Chairman on any matter whatever.


"My Lords and Gentlemen," continued Melmotte, "I am delighted to receive this expression of your confidence. If I know anything in the world I know something of commercial matters. I am able to tell you that we are prospering. I do not know that greater prosperity has ever been achieved in a shorter time by a commercial company. I think our friend here, Mr. Montague, should be as feelingly aware of that as any gentleman."
"What do you mean by that, Mr. Melmotte?" asked Paul.

"My Lords and Gentlemen," continued Melmotte, "I am delighted to receive this expression of your confidence. If I know anything in the world I know something of commercial matters. I am able to tell you that we are prospering. I do not know that greater prosperity has ever been achieved in a shorter time by a commercial company. I think our friend here, Mr. Montague, should be as aware of that as any gentleman."
"What do you mean by that, Mr. Melmotte?" asked Paul.


"What do I mean?--Certainly nothing adverse to your character, sir. Your firm in San Francisco, sir, know very well how the affairs of the Company are being transacted on this side of the water. No doubt you are in correspondence with Mr. Fisker. Ask him. The telegraph wires are open to you, sir. But, my Lords and Gentlemen, I am able to inform you that in affairs of this nature great discretion is necessary. On behalf of the shareholders at large whose interests are in our hands, I think it expedient that any general statement should be postponed for a short time, and I flatter myself that in that opinion I shall carry the majority of this Board with me." Mr. Melmotte did not make his speech very fluently; but, being accustomed to the place which he occupied, he did manage to get the words spoken in such a way as to make them intelligible to the company. "I now move that this meeting be adjourned to this day week," he added.
"I second that motion," said Lord Alfred, without moving his hand from his breast.

"Your firm in San Francisco, sir, know very well how the affairs of the Company are being transacted here. No doubt you are in correspondence with Mr. Fisker. Ask him. The telegraph wires are open to you, sir. But, my Lords and Gentlemen, in affairs of this nature great discretion is necessary. On behalf of our shareholders, I think it expedient that any general statement should be postponed for a short time, and I flatter myself that in that opinion I shall carry the majority of this Board with me. I now move that this meeting be adjourned to this day week."
"I second that motion," said Lord Alfred.


"I understood that we were to have a statement," said Montague.
"You've had a statement," said Mr. Cohenlupe.
"I will put my motion to the vote," said the Chairman.
"I shall move an amendment," said Paul, determined that he would not be altogether silenced.
"There is nobody to second it," said Mr. Cohenlupe.
"How do you know till I've made it?" asked the rebel. "I shall ask Lord Nidderdale to second it, and when he has heard it I think that he will not refuse."

"I understood that we were to have a statement," said Montague.
"You've had a statement," said Mr. Cohenlupe.
"I will put my motion to the vote," said the Chairman.
"I shall move an amendment," said Paul, determined not to be silenced.
"There is nobody to second it," said Mr. Cohenlupe.
"How do you know? I shall ask Lord Nidderdale to second it."


"Oh, gracious me! why me? No;--don't ask me. I've got to go away. I have indeed."
"At any rate I claim the right of saying a few words. I do not say whether every affair of this Company should or should not be published to the world."
"You'd break up everything if you did," said Cohenlupe.

"Oh, gracious me! Don't ask me. I've got to go away. I have indeed."
"At any rate I claim the right of saying a few words," continued Paul.


"Perhaps everything ought to be broken up. But I say nothing about that. What I do say is this. That as we sit here as directors and will be held to be responsible as such by the public, we ought to know what is being done. We ought to know where the shares really are. I for one do not even know what scrip has been issued."
"You've bought and sold enough to know something about it," said Melmotte.
Paul Montague became very red in the face. "I, at any rate, began," he said, "by putting what was to me a large sum of money into the affair."

"As we sit here as directors and will be held responsible as such by the public, we ought to know what is being done. We ought to know where the shares really are. I for one do not even know what scrip has been issued."
"You've bought and sold enough to know something about it," said Melmotte.
Paul Montague became very red in the face. "I began," he said, "by putting what was to me a large sum of money into the affair."


"That's more than I know," said Melmotte. "Whatever shares you have, were issued at San Francisco, and not here."
"I have taken nothing that I haven't paid for," said Montague. "Nor have I yet had allotted to me anything like the number of shares which my capital would represent. But I did not intend to speak of my own concerns."
"It looks very like it," said Cohenlupe.
"So far from it that I am prepared to risk the not improbable loss of everything I have in the world. I am determined to know what is being done with the shares, or to make it public to the world at large that I, one of the directors of the Company, do not in truth know anything about it. I cannot, I suppose, absolve myself from further responsibility; but I can at any rate do what is right from this time forward,--and that course I intend to take."

"That's more than I know," said Melmotte. "Whatever shares you have, were issued at San Francisco, and not here."
"I have taken nothing that I haven't paid for," said Montague. "Nor have I yet had allotted to me anything like the number of shares which my capital would represent. But I did not intend to speak of my own concerns."
"It looks very like it," said Cohenlupe.
"So far from it that I am prepared to risk the loss of everything I have in the world. I am determined to know what is being done with the shares, or to tell the world at large that I, one of the directors, do not in truth know anything about it. I intend to do what is right."


"The gentleman had better resign his seat at this Board," said Melmotte. "There will be no difficulty about that."
"Bound up as I am with Fisker and Montague in California I fear that there will be difficulty."
"Not in the least," continued the Chairman. "You need only gazette your resignation and the thing is done. I had intended, gentlemen, to propose an addition to our number. When I name to you a gentleman, personally known to many of you, and generally esteemed throughout England as a man of business, as a man of probity, and as a man of fortune, a man standing deservedly high in all British circles, I mean Mr. Longestaffe of Caversham--"
"Young Dolly, or old?" asked Lord Nidderdale.

"The gentleman had better resign his seat at this Board," said Melmotte. "There will be no difficulty about that."
"Bound up as I am with Fisker and Montague in California I fear that there will be difficulty."
"Not in the least," continued the Chairman. "You need only give your resignation and the thing is done. I had intended, gentlemen, to propose an addition to our number. When I name to you a gentleman, personally known to many of you, and esteemed as a man of business, probity, and fortune - I mean Mr. Longestaffe of Caversham-"
"Young Dolly, or old?" asked Lord Nidderdale.


"I mean Mr. Adolphus Longestaffe, senior, of Caversham. I am sure that you will all be glad to welcome him among you. I had thought to strengthen our number by this addition. But if Mr. Montague is determined to leave us,--and no one will regret the loss of his services so much as I shall,--it will be my pleasing duty to move that Adolphus Longestaffe, senior, Esquire, of Caversham, be requested to take his place. If on reconsideration Mr. Montague shall determine to remain with us,--and I for one most sincerely hope that such reconsideration may lead to such determination,--then I shall move that an additional director be added to our number, and that Mr. Longestaffe be requested to take the chair of that additional director." The latter speech Mr. Melmotte got through very glibly, and then immediately left the chair, so as to show that the business of the Board was closed for that day without any possibility of reopening it.

"I mean Mr. Adolphus Longestaffe, senior. I am sure that you will all be glad to welcome him among you. I had thought to strengthen our number by this addition. But if Mr. Montague is determined to leave us, it will be my pleasing duty to move that Adolphus Longestaffe Esquire should take his place. If on reconsideration Mr. Montague shall determine to remain with us - and I sincerely hope that he will - then I shall move that Mr. Longstaffe be added to our number as an additional director." Mr. Melmotte immediately left the chair, so as to show that the business of the Board was closed for that day.


Paul went up to him and took him by the sleeve, signifying that he wished to speak to him before they parted. "Certainly," said the great man bowing. "Carbury," he said, looking round on the young baronet with his blandest smile, "if you are not in a hurry, wait a moment for me. I have a word or two to say before you go. Now, Mr. Montague, what can I do for you?" Paul began his story, expressing again the opinion which he had already very plainly expressed at the table. But Melmotte stopped him very shortly, and with much less courtesy than he had shown in the speech which he had made from the chair. "The thing is about this way, I take it, Mr. Montague;--you think you know more of this matter than I do."
"Not at all, Mr. Melmotte."

Paul went up to him and took him by the sleeve, signifying that he wished to speak before they parted.
"Certainly," said the great man, bowing. "Carbury," he said, looking round on the young baronet with his blandest smile, "if you are not in a hurry, wait a moment for me. I have a word to say before you go. Now, Mr. Montague, what can I do for you?"
Paul began to express again the opinion which he had already expressed at the table. But Melmotte stopped him with less courtesy than before.
"The thing is, Mr. Montague - you think you know more of this matter than I do."
"Not at all, Mr. Melmotte."


"And I think that I know more of it than you do. Either of us may be right. But as I don't intend to give way to you, perhaps the less we speak together about it the better. You can't be in earnest in the threat you made, because you would be making public things communicated to you under the seal of privacy,--and no gentleman would do that. But as long as you are hostile to me, I can't help you;--and so good afternoon." Then, without giving Montague the possibility of a reply, he escaped into an inner room which had the word "Private" painted on the door, and which was supposed to belong to the chairman individually. He shut the door behind him, and then, after a few moments, put out his head and beckoned to Sir Felix Carbury. Nidderdale was gone. Lord Alfred with his son were already on the stairs. Cohenlupe was engaged with Melmotte's clerk on the record-book.

"And I think that I know more of it than you do. Either of us may be right. But as I don't intend to give way to you, perhaps the less we speak together about it the better. As long as you are hostile to me, I can't help you; and so good afternoon."
Then, without giving Montague the possibility of a reply, he escaped into an inner room and shut the door behind him. After a few moments, he put out his head and beckoned to Sir Felix Carbury.


Paul Montague finding himself without support and alone, slowly made his way out into the court.

Paul Montague slowly made his way out into the courtyard.


Sir Felix had come into the city intending to suggest to the Chairman that having paid his thousand pounds he should like to have a few shares to go on with. He was, indeed, at the present moment very nearly penniless, and had negotiated, or lost at cards, all the I.O.U.'s which were in any degree serviceable. He still had a pocket-book full of those issued by Miles Grendall; but it was now an understood thing at the Beargarden that no one was to be called upon to take them except Miles Grendall himself;--an arrangement which robbed the card-table of much of its delight. Beyond this, also, he had lately been forced to issue a little paper himself,--in doing which he had talked largely of his shares in the railway. His case certainly was hard. He had actually paid a thousand pounds down in hard cash, a commercial transaction which, as performed by himself, he regarded as stupendous. It was almost incredible to himself that he should have paid any one a thousand pounds, but he had done it with much difficulty,--having carried Dolly junior with him all the way into the city,--in the belief that he would thus put himself in the way of making a continual and unfailing income. He understood that as a director he would be always entitled to buy shares at par, and, as a matter of course, always able to sell them at the market price. This he understood to range from ten to fifteen and twenty per cent.

Sir Felix had come intending to suggest to the Chairman that having paid his thousand pounds he should like to have a few shares to go on with. He was very nearly penniless, and had negotiated, or lost at cards, all the I.O.U.'s which were of any value. He still had a pocket-book full of those issued by Miles Grendall; but it was now understood at the Beargarden that no one was to be called upon to take them except Miles himself.
Beyond this, Felix had lately been forced to issue an I.O.U. or two himself. His case certainly was hard. He had paid a thousand pounds down in hard cash, in the belief that he would thus put himself in the way of making a continual income. He understood that as a director he would be always entitled to buy shares at par, and be able to sell them at the market price - giving him from ten to twenty per cent


profit. He would have nothing to do but to buy and sell daily. He was told that Lord Alfred was allowed to do it to a small extent; and that Melmotte was doing it to an enormous extent. But before he could do it he must get something,--he hardly knew what,--out of Melmotte's hands. Melmotte certainly did not seem disposed to shun him, and therefore there could be no difficulty about the shares. As to danger;--who could think of danger in reference to money intrusted to the hands of Augustus Melmotte?
"I am delighted to see you here," said Melmotte, shaking him cordially by the hand. "You come regularly, and you'll find that it will be worth your while. There's nothing like attending to business. You should be here every Friday."

 profit. He would have nothing to do but to buy and sell. He was told that Lord Alfred was allowed to do it to a small extent; and that Melmotte was doing it to an enormous extent. But before he could do it he must get something - he hardly knew what - out of Melmotte's hands. Melmotte certainly did not seem to shun him, and therefore there could be no danger about the shares.
"I am delighted to see you here," said Melmotte, shaking him cordially by the hand. "There's nothing like attending to business. You should be here every Friday."


"I will," said the baronet.
"And let me see you sometimes up at my place in Abchurch Lane. I can put you more in the way of understanding things there than I can here. This is all a mere formal sort of thing. You can see that."
"Oh yes, I see that."
"We are obliged to have this kind of thing for men like that fellow Montague. By-the-bye, is he a friend of yours?"

"I will," said the baronet.
"And let me see you sometimes at my place in Abchurch Lane. I can put you more in the way of understanding things there than I can here. This is all a mere formal sort of thing. You can see that."
"Oh yes, I see that."
"We are obliged to have this kind of thing for men like that fellow Montague. By-the-bye, is he a friend of yours?"


"Not particularly. He is a friend of a cousin of mine; and the women know him at home. He isn't a pal of mine if you mean that."
"If he makes himself disagreeable, he'll have to go to the wall;--that's all. But never mind him at present. Was your mother speaking to you of what I said to her?"
"No, Mr. Melmotte," said Sir Felix, staring with all his eyes.

"Not particularly."
"If he makes himself disagreeable, he'll have to go. But never mind him at present. Did your mother tell you what I said to her?"
"No, Mr. Melmotte," said Sir Felix, staring.


"I was talking to her about you, and I thought that perhaps she might have told you. This is all nonsense, you know, about you and Marie." Sir Felix looked into the man's face. It was not savage, as he had seen it. But there had suddenly come upon his brow that heavy look of a determined purpose which all who knew the man were wont to mark. Sir Felix had observed it a few minutes since in the Board-room, when the chairman was putting down the rebellious director. "You understand that; don't you?" Sir Felix still looked at him, but made no reply. "It's all d---- nonsense. You haven't got a brass farthing, you know.

"I was talking to her about you, and I thought that perhaps she might have told you. This is all nonsense, you know, about you and Marie."
Sir Felix looked into the man's face. It was not savage. But there had suddenly come into it a heavy look of determined purpose.
"You understand that; don't you?" continued Melmotte. "It's all d___ nonsense. You haven't got a brass farthing.


You've no income at all; you're just living on your mother, and I'm afraid she's not very well off. How can you suppose that I shall give my girl to you?" Felix still looked at him but did not dare to contradict a single statement made. Yet when the man told him that he had not a brass farthing he thought of his own thousand pounds which were now in the man's pocket. "You're a baronet, and that's about all, you know," continued Melmotte. "The Carbury property, which is a very small thing, belongs to a distant cousin who may leave it to me if he pleases;--and who isn't very much older than you are yourself."
"Oh, come, Mr. Melmotte; he's a great deal older than me."

You're just living on your mother, and she's not well off. How can you suppose that I shall give my girl to you?"
Felix did not dare to contradict him. Yet when the man told him that he had not a brass farthing he thought of his thousand pounds which were now in the man's pocket.
"You're a baronet, and that's about all," said Melmotte. "The Carbury property, which is a very small thing, belongs to a distant cousin who may leave it however he pleases; and who isn't much older than you are yourself."
"Oh, come, Mr. Melmotte; he's a great deal older than me."


"It wouldn't matter if he were as old as Adam. The thing is out of the question, and you must drop it." Then the look on his brow became a little heavier. "You hear what I say. She is going to marry Lord Nidderdale. She was engaged to him before you ever saw her. What do you expect to get by it?"
Sir Felix had not the courage to say that he expected to get the girl he loved. But as the man waited for an answer he was obliged to say something. "I suppose it's the old story," he said.

"It wouldn't matter if he were as old as Adam. The thing is out of the question, and you must drop it. She is going to marry Lord Nidderdale. She was engaged to him before you ever saw her. What do you expect to get by it?"
Sir Felix had not the courage to say that he expected to get the girl he loved. But he was obliged to say something. "I suppose it's the old story," he said.


"Just so;--the old story. You want my money, and she wants you, just because she has been told to take somebody else. You want something to live on;--that's what you want. Come;--out with it. Is not that it? When we understand each other I'll put you in the way of making money."
"Of course I'm not very well off," said Felix.
"About as badly as any young man that I can hear of. You give me your written promise that you'll drop this affair with Marie, and you shan't want for money."
"A written promise!"

"Just so; the old story. You want my money. Come; out with it. Is not that it? When we understand each other I'll put you in the way of making money. You give me your written promise that you'll drop this affair with Marie, and you shan't want for money."
"A written promise!"


"Yes;--a written promise. I give nothing for nothing. I'll put you in the way of doing so well with these shares that you shall be able to marry any other girl you please;--or to live without marrying, which you'll find to be better."

"Yes. And then I'll put you in the way of doing so well with these shares that you shall be able to marry any other girl you please - or to live without marrying, which you'll find to be better."


There was something worthy of consideration in Mr. Melmotte's proposition. Marriage of itself, simply as a domestic institution, had not specially recommended itself to Sir Felix Carbury. A few horses at Leighton, Ruby Ruggles or any other beauty, and life at the Beargarden were much more to his taste. And then he was quite alive to the fact that it was possible that he might find himself possessed of the wife without the money. Marie, indeed, had a grand plan of her own, with reference to that settled income; but then Marie might be mistaken,--or she might be lying. If he were sure of making money in the way Melmotte now suggested, the loss of Marie would not break his heart. But then also Melmotte might be--lying. "By-the-bye, Mr. Melmotte," said he, "could you let me have those shares?"
"What shares?" And the heavy brow became still heavier.

Felix considered this. Marriage had not specially recommended itself to him. A few horses, Ruby Ruggles or any other beauty, and life at the Beargarden were much more to his taste. And he was quite aware that he might find himself possessed of the wife without the money. Marie might be mistaken about the amount settled on her - or she might be lying. If he were sure of making money, the loss of Marie would not break his heart.
But then also Melmotte might be lying. "By-the-bye, Mr. Melmotte," said he, "could you let me have those shares?"
"What shares?" And the heavy brow became still heavier.


"Don't you know?--I gave you a thousand pounds, and I was to have ten shares."
"You must come about that on the proper day, to the proper place."
"When is the proper day?"
"It is the twentieth of each month I think." Sir Felix looked very blank at hearing this, knowing that this present was the twenty-first of the month. "But what does that signify? Do you want a little money?"
"Well, I do," said Sir Felix. "A lot of fellows owe me money, but it's so hard to get it."

"I gave you a thousand pounds, and I was to have ten shares."
"You must come about that on the proper day, to the proper place."
"When is the proper day?"
"It is the twentieth of each month." Sir Felix looked very blank at hearing this, since it was now the twenty-first. "Do you need a little money?"
"Well, I do," said Sir Felix. "A lot of fellows owe me money, but it's so hard to get it."


"That tells a story of gambling," said Mr. Melmotte. "You think I'd give my girl to a gambler?"
"Nidderdale's in it quite as thick as I am."
"Nidderdale has a settled property which neither he nor his father can destroy. But don't you be such a fool as to argue with me. You won't get anything by it. If you'll write that letter here now--"
"What;--to Marie?"

"That tells of gambling," said Mr. Melmotte. "You think I'd give my girl to a gambler?"
"Nidderdale's in it quite as thick as I am."
"Nidderdale has a settled property which he cannot destroy. But don't be such a fool as to argue with me. You won't get anything by it. If you'll write that letter here now-"
"What; to Marie?"


"No;--not to Marie at all; but to me. It need never be shown to her. If you'll do that I'll stick to you and make a man of you. And if you want a couple of hundred pounds I'll give you a cheque for it before you leave the room. Mind, I can tell you this. On my word of honour as a gentleman, if my daughter were to marry you, she'd never have a single shilling. I should immediately make a will and leave all my property to St. George's Hospital. I have quite made up my mind about that."
"And couldn't you manage that I should have the shares before the twentieth of next month?"

"No, not to Marie at all; but to me. It need never be shown to her. If you'll do that I'll stick to you and make a man of you. And if you want a couple of hundred pounds I'll give you a cheque for it before you leave the room. But if my daughter were to marry you, she'd never have a single shilling."
"And couldn't you manage that I should have the shares before the twentieth of next month?"


"I'll see about it. Perhaps I could let you have a few of my own. At any rate I won't see you short of money."
The terms were enticing and the letter was of course written. Melmotte himself dictated the words, which were not romantic in their nature. The reader shall see the letter.
DEAR SIR,
In consideration of the offers made by you to me, and on a clear understanding that such a marriage would be disagreeable to you and to the lady's mother, and would bring down a father's curse upon your daughter, I hereby declare and promise that I will not renew my suit to the young lady, which I hereby altogether renounce.
I am, Dear Sir, Your obedient Servant,
FELIX CARBURY.

"I'll see about it. Perhaps I could let you have a few of my own. At any rate I won't see you short of money."
The terms were enticing and the letter was of course written. Melmotte himself dictated the words, which were not romantic:
Dear Sir,
In consideration of the offers made by you, and on a clear understanding that such a marriage would be disagreeable to you and to the lady's mother, I hereby declare and promise that I will not renew my suit to the young lady, which I hereby altogether renounce.
I am, Dear Sir,
Your obedient Servant,
Felix Carbury.


AUGUSTUS MELMOTTE, Esq., --, Grosvenor Square.
The letter was dated 21st July, and bore the printed address of the offices of the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway.
"You'll give me that cheque for 200, Mr. Melmotte?" The financier hesitated for a moment, but did give the baronet the cheque as promised. "And you'll see about letting me have those shares?"
"You can come to me in Abchurch Lane, you know." Sir Felix said that he would call in Abchurch Lane.

The letter was dated 21st July, and bore the printed address of the offices of the Railway.
"You'll give me that cheque for 200, Mr. Melmotte?" The financier hesitated for a moment, but did give the baronet the cheque as promised. "And you'll see about letting me have those shares?"
"You can come to me in Abchurch Lane, you know." Sir Felix said that he would.


As he went westward towards the Beargarden, the baronet was not happy in his mind. Ignorant as he was as to the duties of a gentleman, indifferent as he was to the feelings of others, still he felt ashamed of himself. He was treating the girl very badly. Even he knew that he was behaving badly. He was so conscious of it that he tried to console himself by reflecting that his writing such a letter as that would not prevent his running away with the girl, should he, on consideration, find it to be worth his while to do so.
That night he was again playing at the Beargarden, and he lost a great part of Mr. Melmotte's money. He did in fact lose much more than the 200; but when he found his ready money going from him he issued paper.

As he went westward towards the Beargarden, the baronet was not happy. Ignorant as he was about the duties of a gentleman, indifferent as he was to the feelings of others, still he felt ashamed. He knew that he was treating the girl very badly. He tried to console himself by reflecting that his writing such a letter would not prevent his running away with the girl, should he, on consideration, find it worth his while to do so.
That night he was again playing at the Beargarden, and he lost a great part of Mr. Melmotte's money. In fact he lost much more than the 200; but he paid in I.O.U.s.


Augustus Melmotte was becoming greater and greater in every direction,--mightier and mightier every day. He was learning to despise mere lords, and to feel that he might almost domineer over a duke. In truth he did recognise it as a fact that he must either domineer over dukes, or else go to the wall. It can hardly be said of him that he had intended to play so high a game, but the game that he had intended to play had become thus high of its own accord. A man cannot always restrain his own doings and keep them within the limits which he had himself planned for them. They will very often fall short of the magnitude to which his ambition has aspired. They will sometimes soar higher than his own imagination. So it had now been with Mr. Melmotte. He had contemplated great things; but the things which he was achieving were beyond his contemplation.

Augustus Melmotte was becoming greater and mightier every day. He was learning to despise mere lords, and to feel that he might almost domineer over a duke. He had not intended to play so high a game, but the game had become high of its own accord. A man cannot always keep his doings within the limits which he has planned. They will often fall short of his aspirations; they will sometimes soar higher than he had imagined. So it had been with Mr. Melmotte. He had contemplated great things; but the things which he was achieving were beyond his contemplation.


The reader will not have thought much of Fisker on his arrival in England. Fisker was, perhaps, not a man worthy of much thought. He had never read a book. He had never written a line worth reading. He had never said a prayer. He cared nothing for humanity. He had sprung out of some Californian gully, was perhaps ignorant of his own father and mother, and had tumbled up in the world on the strength of his own audacity. But, such as he was, he had sufficed to give the necessary impetus for rolling Augustus Melmotte onwards into almost unprecedented commercial greatness. When Mr. Melmotte took his offices in Abchurch Lane, he was undoubtedly a great man, but nothing so great as when the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway had become not only an established fact, but a fact established in Abchurch Lane. The great company indeed had an office of its own, where the Board was held; but everything was really managed in Mr. Melmotte's own commercial sanctum.

The reader will not have thought much of Fisker on his arrival in England. Fisker was, perhaps, not worthy of much thought. He had never read a book. He had never said a prayer. He cared nothing for humanity. He had sprung out of some Californian gully, and had tumbled up in the world on the strength of his own audacity. But, such as he was, he had given the necessary impetus for rolling Augustus Melmotte onward into almost unprecedented commercial greatness, thanks to the Mexican Railway. The great company had its own office, where the Board was held; but everything was really managed in Mr. Melmotte's offices at Abchurch Lane.


Obeying, no doubt, some inscrutable law of commerce, the grand enterprise,--"perhaps the grandest when you consider the amount of territory manipulated, which has ever opened itself before the eyes of a great commercial people," as Mr. Fisker with his peculiar eloquence observed through his nose, about this time to a meeting of shareholders at San Francisco,--had swung itself across from California to London, turning itself to the centre of the commercial world as the needle turns to the pole, till Mr. Fisker almost regretted the deed which himself had done. And Melmotte was not only the head, but the body also, and the feet of it all. The shares seemed to be all in Melmotte's pocket, so that he could distribute them as he would; and it seemed also that when distributed and sold, and when bought again and sold again, they came back to Melmotte's pocket. Men were contented to buy their shares and to pay their money, simply on Melmotte's word. Sir Felix had realised a large portion of his winnings at cards,--with commendable prudence for one so young and extravagant,--and had brought his savings to the great man. The great man had swept the earnings of the Beargarden into his till, and had told Sir Felix that the shares were his. Sir Felix had been not only contented, but supremely happy. He could now do as Paul Montague was doing,--and Lord Alfred Grendall. He could realize a perennial income, buying and selling. It was only after the reflection of a day or two that he found that he had as yet got nothing to sell.

The enterprise had swung itself across from California to London, as a compass needle turns to the pole, till Mr. Fisker almost regretted the deed which he had done. And Melmotte was not only the head, but the body of it all. The shares seemed to be all in Melmotte's pocket, so that he could distribute them as he would; and it seemed when sold, they came back to Melmotte's pocket. Men were content to buy shares simply on Melmotte's word.
Sir Felix had brought his winnings at cards to the great man, who had swept the money into his till, and had told Sir Felix that the shares were his. Sir Felix was supremely happy. He could now do as Paul Montague was doing: get a perennial income, buying and selling. It was only after a day or two's reflection that he found that he had nothing yet to sell.


It was not only Sir Felix that was admitted into these good things after this fashion. Sir Felix was but one among hundreds. In the meantime the bills in Grosvenor Square were no doubt paid with punctuality,--and these bills must have been stupendous. The very servants were as tall, as gorgeous, almost as numerous, as the servants of royalty,--and remunerated by much higher wages. There were four coachmen with egregious wigs, and eight footmen, not one with a circumference of calf less than eighteen inches.

Sir Felix was just one among hundreds. In the meantime the bills in Grosvenor Square were no doubt paid - and these bills must have been stupendous. The very servants were as tall, gorgeous, and numerous as the servants of royalty.


And now there appeared a paragraph in the "Morning Breakfast Table," and another appeared in the "Evening Pulpit," telling the world that Mr. Melmotte had bought Pickering Park, the magnificent Sussex property of Adolphus Longestaffe, Esq., of Caversham. And it was so. The father and son who never had agreed before, and who now had come to no agreement in the presence of each other, had each considered that their affairs would be safe in the hands of so great a man as Mr. Melmotte, and had been brought to terms. The purchase-money, which was large, was to be divided between them. The thing was done with the greatest ease,--there being no longer any delay as is the case when small people are at work. The magnificence of Mr. Melmotte affected even the Longestaffe lawyers. Were I to buy a little property, some humble cottage with a garden,--or you, O reader, unless you be magnificent,--the money to the last farthing would be wanted, or security for the money more than sufficient, before we should be able to enter in upon our new home. But money was the very breath of Melmotte's nostrils, and therefore his breath was taken for money. Pickering was his, and before a week was over a London builder had collected masons and carpenters by the dozen down at Chichester, and was at work upon the house to make it fit to be a residence for Madame Melmotte. There were rumours that it was to be made ready for the Goodwood week, and that the Melmotte entertainment during that festival would rival the duke's.

And now there appeared a paragraph in the Morning Breakfast Table, and another in the Evening Pulpit, telling the world that Mr. Melmotte had bought Pickering Park, the magnificent Sussex property of Adolphus Longestaffe. The purchase-money was to be divided between father and son. The thing was done with the greatest ease, for the magnificence of Mr. Melmotte affected even the Longestaffe lawyers. Were I to buy some humble cottage, the money would be wanted to the last farthing before we should be able to enter our new home. But Melmotte's mere breath was taken for money. Pickering was his, and within a week a builder, with masons and carpenters, was at work upon the house.


But there was still much to be done in London before the Goodwood week should come round in all of which Mr. Melmotte was concerned, and of much of which Mr. Melmotte was the very centre. A member for Westminster had succeeded to a peerage, and thus a seat was vacated. It was considered to be indispensable to the country that Mr. Melmotte should go into Parliament, and what constituency could such a man as Melmotte so fitly represent as one combining as Westminster does all the essences of the metropolis? There was the popular element, the fashionable element, the legislative element, the legal element, and the commercial element. Melmotte undoubtedly was the man for Westminster. His thorough popularity was evinced by testimony which perhaps was never before given in favour of any candidate for any county or borough. In Westminster there must of course be a contest. A seat for Westminster is a thing not to be abandoned by either political party without a struggle. But, at the beginning of the affair, when each party had to seek the most suitable candidate which the country could supply, each party put its hand upon Melmotte. And when the seat, and the battle for the seat, were suggested to Melmotte, then for the first time was that great man forced to descend from the altitudes on which his mind generally dwelt, and to decide whether he would enter Parliament as a Conservative or a Liberal.

But there was still much for Mr. Melmotte to do in London. The parliamentary seat for Westminster had fallen vacant, and it was considered vital to the country that Mr. Melmotte should go into Parliament. What constituency could be so fit as Westminster? When each party began to seek the most suitable candidate, each put its hand upon Melmotte. And that great man was forced to descend from the heights on which his mind dwelt, and to decide whether he would enter Parliament as a Conservative or a Liberal.


He was not long in convincing himself that the Conservative element in British Society stood the most in need of that fiscal assistance which it would be in his province to give; and on the next day every hoarding in London declared to the world that Melmotte was the Conservative candidate for Westminster. It is needless to say that his committee was made up of peers, bankers, and publicans, with all that absence of class prejudice for which the party has become famous since the ballot was introduced among us. Some unfortunate Liberal was to be made to run against him, for the sake of the party; but the odds were ten to one on Melmotte.
This no doubt was a great matter,--this affair of the seat; but the dinner to be given to the Emperor of China was much greater. It was the middle of June, and the dinner was to be given on Monday, 8th July, now three weeks hence;--but all London was already talking of it. The great purport proposed was to show to the Emperor by this banquet what an English merchant-citizen of London could do. Of course there was a great amount of scolding and a loud clamour on the occasion. Some men said that Melmotte was not a citizen of London, others that he was not a merchant, others again that he was not an Englishman. But no man could deny that he was both able and willing to spend the necessary money; and as this combination of ability and will was the chief thing necessary, they who opposed the arrangement could only storm and scold. On the 20th of June the tradesmen were at work, throwing up a building behind, knocking down walls, and generally transmuting the house in Grosvenor Square in such a fashion that two hundred guests might be able to sit down to dinner in the dining-room of a British merchant.

The next day every hoarding in London declared to the world that Melmotte was the Conservative candidate for Westminster. Some unfortunate Liberal was to run against him; but the odds were ten to one on Melmotte.
This no doubt was a great matter; but the dinner to be given to the Emperor of China was much greater. It was now the middle of June, and the dinner was to be given on the 8th of July. The idea was to show the Emperor by this banquet what an English merchant-citizen of London could do. Of course some men said that Melmotte was not a citizen of London, and not even an Englishman. But no one could deny that he was both able and willing to spend the necessary money. On the 20th of June the tradesmen were at work, knocking down walls, and generally transmuting the house in Grosvenor Square so that two hundred guests might be able to sit down to dinner in the dining-room of a British merchant.


But who were to be the two hundred? It used to be the case that when a gentleman gave a dinner he asked his own guests;--but when affairs become great, society can hardly be carried on after that simple fashion. The Emperor of China could not be made to sit at table without English royalty, and English royalty must know whom it has to meet,--must select at any rate some of its comrades. The minister of the day also had his candidates for the dinner,--in which arrangement there was however no private patronage, as the list was confined to the cabinet and their wives. The Prime Minister took some credit to himself in that he would not ask for a single ticket for a private friend. But the Opposition as a body desired their share of seats. Melmotte had elected to stand for Westminster on the Conservative interest, and was advised that he must insist on having as it were a Conservative cabinet present, with its Conservative wives. He was told that he owed it to his party, and that his party exacted payment of the debt. But the great difficulty lay with the city merchants. This was to be a city merchant's private feast, and it was essential that the Emperor should meet this great merchant's brother merchants at the merchant's board.

But who were the two hundred guests to be? The Emperor of China could not sit at the table without English royalty. The list also included the Prime Minister, his cabinet and their wives. The Opposition desired their share of seats. As a Conservative candidate, Melmotte was advised that he must have Conservative members, with their wives; he owed it to his party.
But the great difficulty lay with the city merchants. It was essential that the Emperor should meet this great merchant's brother-merchants at the dinner.


No doubt the Emperor would see all the merchants at the Guildhall; but that would be a semi-public affair, paid for out of the funds of a corporation. This was to be a private dinner. Now the Lord Mayor had set his face against it, and what was to be done? Meetings were held; a committee was appointed; merchant guests were selected, to the number of fifteen with their fifteen wives;--and subsequently the Lord Mayor was made a baronet on the occasion of receiving the Emperor in the city. The Emperor with his suite was twenty. Royalty had twenty tickets, each ticket for guest and wife. The existing Cabinet was fourteen; but the coming was numbered at about eleven only;--each one for self and wife. Five ambassadors and five ambassadresses were to be asked. There were to be fifteen real merchants out of the city. Ten great peers,--with their peeresses,--were selected by the general committee of management.

Yet the Lord Mayor had set his face against it, and what was to be done? Meetings were held; a committee was appointed; fifteen merchant guests were selected, with their fifteen wives - and the Lord Mayor was made a baronet.
The Emperor with his suite was twenty people. Royalty had twenty tickets, each ticket for guest and wife. The existing Cabinet was fourteen; but only eleven were coming. Five ambassadors were to be asked. There were the fifteen city merchants. Ten great peers, with their peeresses, were selected.


There were to be three wise men, two poets, three independent members of the House of Commons, two Royal Academicians, three editors of papers, an African traveller who had just come home, and a novelist;--but all these latter gentlemen were expected to come as bachelors. Three tickets were to be kept over for presentation to bores endowed with a power of making themselves absolutely unendurable if not admitted at the last moment,--and ten were left for the giver of the feast and his own family and friends. It is often difficult to make things go smooth,--but almost all roughnesses may be smoothed at last with patience and care, and money and patronage.

There were to be three wise men, two poets, three independent members of the House of Commons, two Royal Academicians, three editors of papers - Mr. Alf, Mr. Broune and Mr. Booker; an African traveller who had just come home, and a novelist; but all these latter gentlemen were expected to come alone. Three tickets were kept for last-minute presentation - and ten were left for Melmotte and his own family and friends.


But the dinner was not to be all. Eight hundred additional tickets were to be issued for Madame Melmotte's evening entertainment, and the fight for these was more internecine than for seats at the dinner. The dinner-seats, indeed, were handled in so statesmanlike a fashion that there was not much visible fighting about them. Royalty manages its affairs quietly. The existing Cabinet was existing, and though there were two or three members of it who could not have got themselves elected at a single unpolitical club in London, they had a right to their seats at Melmotte's table. What disappointed ambition there might be among Conservative candidates was never known to the public. Those gentlemen do not wash their dirty linen in public. The ambassadors of course were quiet, but we may be sure that the Minister from the United States was among the favoured five. The city bankers and bigwigs, as has been already said, were at first unwilling to be present, and therefore they who were not chosen could not afterwards express their displeasure. No grumbling was heard among the peers, and that which came from the peeresses floated down into the current of the great fight about the evening entertainment.

But the dinner was not all. Eight hundred additional tickets were to be issued for Madame Melmotte's evening entertainment, and the fight for these was fiercer than for seats at the dinner.


The poet laureate was of course asked, and the second poet was as much a matter of course. Only two Academicians had in this year painted royalty, so that there was no ground for jealousy there. There were three, and only three, specially insolent and specially disagreeable independent members of Parliament at that time in the House, and there was no difficulty in selecting them. The wise men were chosen by their age. Among editors of newspapers there was some ill-blood. That Mr. Alf and Mr. Broune should be selected was almost a matter of course. They were hated accordingly, but still this was expected. But why was Mr. Booker there? Was it because he had praised the Prime Minister's translation of Catullus? The African traveller chose himself by living through all his perils and coming home.


A novelist was selected; but as royalty wanted another ticket at the last moment, the gentleman was only asked to come in after dinner. His proud heart, however, resented the treatment, and he joined amicably with his literary brethren in decrying the festival altogether.
We should be advancing too rapidly into this portion of our story were we to concern ourselves deeply at the present moment with the feud as it raged before the evening came round, but it may be right to indicate that the desire for tickets at last became a burning passion, and a passion which in the great majority of cases could not be indulged. The value of the privilege was so great that Madame Melmotte thought that she was doing almost more than friendship called for when she informed her guest, Miss Longestaffe, that unfortunately there would be no seat for her at the dinner-table; but that, as payment for her loss, she should receive an evening ticket for herself and a joint ticket for a gentleman and his wife. Georgiana was at first indignant, but she accepted the compromise. What she did with her tickets shall be hereafter told.

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


From all this I trust it will be understood that the Mr. Melmotte of the present hour was a very different man from that Mr. Melmotte who was introduced to the reader in the early chapters of this chronicle. Royalty was not to be smuggled in and out of his house now without his being allowed to see it. No manoeuvres now were necessary to catch a simple duchess. Duchesses were willing enough to come. Lord Alfred when he was called by his Christian name felt no aristocratic twinges. He was only too anxious to make himself more and more necessary to the great man. It is true that all this came as it were by jumps, so that very often a part of the world did not know on what ledge in the world the great man was perched at that moment. Miss Longestaffe who was staying in the house did not at all know how great a man her host was. Lady Monogram when she refused to go to Grosvenor Square, or even to allow any one to come out of the house in Grosvenor Square to her parties, was groping in outer darkness. Madame Melmotte did not know.

From all this it will be understood that Mr. Melmotte needed no manuvres now to catch a duchess. Duchesses were willing enough to come. Lord Alfred, when he was called by his Christian name, felt no aristocratic twinges, but was only too anxious to make himself necessary to the great man.


Marie Melmotte did not know. The great man did not quite know himself where, from time to time, he was standing. But the world at large knew. The world knew that Mr. Melmotte was to be Member for Westminster, that Mr. Melmotte was to entertain the Emperor of China, that Mr. Melmotte carried the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway in his pocket;--and the world worshipped Mr. Melmotte.


In the meantime Mr. Melmotte was much troubled about his private affairs. He had promised his daughter to Lord Nidderdale, and as he rose in the world had lowered the price which he offered for this marriage,--not so much in the absolute amount of fortune to be ultimately given, as in the manner of giving it. Fifteen thousand a year was to be settled on Marie and on her eldest son, and twenty thousand pounds were to be paid into Nidderdale's hands six months after the marriage. Melmotte gave his reasons for not paying this sum at once. Nidderdale would be more likely to be quiet, if he were kept waiting for that short time. Melmotte was to purchase and furnish for them a house in town. It was, too, almost understood that the young people were to have Pickering Park for themselves, except for a week or so at the end of July. It was absolutely given out in the papers that Pickering was to be theirs. It was said on all sides that Nidderdale was doing very well for himself. The absolute money was not perhaps so great as had been at first asked; but then, at that time, Melmotte was not the strong rock, the impregnable tower of commerce, the very navel of the commercial enterprise of the world,--as all men now regarded him.

In the meantime Mr. Melmotte was much troubled about his private affairs. He had promised his daughter to Lord Nidderdale, and as he rose in the world had lowered the price which he offered for this marriage. Fifteen thousand a year was to be settled on Marie and her first son, and twenty thousand pounds were to be paid to Nidderdale six months after the marriage. This delay, Melmotte said, was so that he could purchase and furnish for them a house in town. It was also said in the papers that the young people were to have Pickering Park; and that Nidderdale was doing very well for himself. The money was not perhaps so great as had been at first asked; but at that time, Melmotte had not been the strong, impregnable tower of commerce, as all men now regarded him.


Nidderdale's father, and Nidderdale himself, were, in the present condition of things, content with a very much less stringent bargain than that which they had endeavoured at first to exact.
But, in the midst of all this, Marie, who had at one time consented at her father's instance to accept the young lord, and who in some speechless fashion had accepted him, told both the young lord and her father, very roundly, that she had changed her mind. Her father scowled at her and told her that her mind in the matter was of no concern. He intended that she should marry Lord Nidderdale, and himself fixed some day in August for the wedding. "It is no use, father, for I will never have him," said Marie.
"Is it about that other scamp?" he asked angrily.
"If you mean Sir Felix Carbury, it is about him. He has been to you and told you, and therefore I don't know why I need hold my tongue."

Nidderdale and his father were content with the bargain.
But, in the midst of all this, Marie, who had at one time consented to accept the young lord, told both the young lord and her father, very roundly, that she had changed her mind. Her father scowled and told her that her mind was of no concern. She would marry Lord Nidderdale in August.
"It is no use, father, for I will never have him," said Marie.
"Is it about that other scamp?" he asked angrily.
"If you mean Sir Felix Carbury, it is about him."


"You'll both starve, my lady; that's all." Marie however was not so wedded to the grandeur which she encountered in Grosvenor Square as to be afraid of the starvation which she thought she might have to suffer if married to Sir Felix Carbury. Melmotte had not time for any long discussion. As he left her he took hold of her and shook her. "By ----," he said, "if you run rusty after all I've done for you, I'll make you suffer. You little fool; that man's a beggar. He hasn't the price of a petticoat or a pair of stockings. He's looking only for what you haven't got, and shan't have if you marry him. He wants money, not you, you little fool!"

"You'll both starve, my lady; that's all." And Melmotte took hold of her and shook her. "By -," he said, "if you run rusty after all I've done for you, I'll make you suffer. You little fool; that man's a beggar. He hasn't the price of a petticoat. He wants money, not you, you little fool!"


But after that she was quite settled in her purpose when Nidderdale spoke to her. They had been engaged and then it had been off;--and now the young nobleman, having settled everything with the father, expected no great difficulty in resettling everything with the girl. He was not very skilful at making love,--but he was thoroughly good-humoured, from his nature anxious to please, and averse to give pain. There was hardly any injury which he could not forgive, and hardly any kindness which he would not do,--so that the labour upon himself was not too great. "Well, Miss Melmotte," he said; "governors are stern beings: are they not?"
"Is yours stern, my lord?"
"What I mean is that sons and daughters have to obey them. I think you understand what I mean. I was awfully spoony on you that time before; I was indeed."
"I hope it didn't hurt you much, Lord Nidderdale."

But she was quite settled in her purpose when Nidderdale spoke to her. The young nobleman, having settled everything with the father, expected no great difficulty in resettling everything with the girl. He was not very skilful at making love, but he was thoroughly good-humoured, anxious to please, and averse to give pain.
"Well, Miss Melmotte," he said; "parents are stern beings: are they not?


"That's so like a woman; that is. You know well enough that you and I can't marry without leave from the governors."
"Nor with it," said Marie, nodding her head.
"I don't know how that may be. There was some hitch somewhere,--I don't quite know where."--The hitch had been with himself, as he demanded ready money. "But it's all right now. The old fellows are agreed. Can't we make a match of it, Miss Melmotte?"
"No, Lord Nidderdale; I don't think we can."

You know well enough that you and I can't marry without leave from them."
"Nor with it," said Marie, nodding.
"I don't know about that. There was some hitch somewhere. But it's all right now. The old fellows are agreed. Can't we make a match of it, Miss Melmotte?"
"No, Lord Nidderdale; I don't think we can."


"Do you mean that?"
"I do mean it. When that was going on before I knew nothing about it. I have seen more of things since then."
"And you've seen somebody you like better than me?"
"I say nothing about that, Lord Nidderdale. I don't think you ought to blame me, my lord."
"Oh dear no."
"There was something before, but it was you that was off first. Wasn't it now?"

"Do you mean that?"
"I do mean it. I knew nothing before. I have seen more of things since then."
"And you've seen somebody you like better than me?"
"I say nothing about that, Lord Nidderdale. I don't think you ought to blame me, my lord."
"Oh dear, no."
"It was you that withdrew first. Wasn't it now?"


"The governors were off, I think."
"The governors have a right to be off, I suppose. But I don't think any governor has a right to make anybody marry any one."
"I agree with you there;--I do indeed," said Lord Nidderdale.
"And no governor shall make me marry. I've thought a great deal about it since that other time, and that's what I've come to determine."
"But I don't know why you shouldn't--just marry me--because you--like me."
"Only,--just because I don't. Well; I do like you, Lord Nidderdale."
"Thanks;--so much!"

"It was my father, I think."
"I don't think any father has a right to make anybody marry anyone."
"I agree with you there," said Lord Nidderdale. "But I don't know why you shouldn't just marry me - because you - like me."


"I like you ever so,--only marrying a person is different."
"There's something in that to be sure."
"And I don't mind telling you," said Marie with an almost solemn expression on her countenance, "because you are good-natured and won't get me into a scrape if you can help it, that I do like somebody else;--oh, so much."
"I supposed that was it."
"That is it."
"It's a deuced pity. The governors had settled everything, and we should have been awfully jolly. I'd have gone in for all the things you go in for; and though your governor was screwing us up a bit, there would have been plenty of tin to go on with. You couldn't think of it again?"
"I tell you, my lord, I'm--in love."

"I like you ever so, Lord Nidderdale; only marrying a person is different."
"There's something in that to be sure."
"And I don't mind telling you," said Marie solemnly, "because you are good-natured and won't get me into a scrape, that I do like somebody else - oh, so much."
"I supposed that was it. It's a deuced pity. We should have been awfully jolly. You couldn't think of it again?"
"I tell you, my lord, I'm - in love."


"Oh, ah;--yes. So you were saying. It's an awful bore. That's all. I shall come to the party all the same if you send me a ticket." And so Nidderdale took his dismissal, and went away,--not however without an idea that the marriage would still come off. There was always,--so he thought,--such a bother about things before they would get themselves fixed. This happened some days after Mr. Broune's proposal to Lady Carbury, more than a week since Marie had seen Sir Felix. As soon as Lord Nidderdale was gone she wrote again to Sir Felix begging that she might hear from him,--and entrusted her letter to Didon.

"Oh, ah; yes. It's an awful bore. I shall come to the party all the same if you send me a ticket." And so Nidderdale went away. This happened more than a week since Marie had seen Sir Felix. As soon as Lord Nidderdale was gone she wrote again to Sir Felix begging that she might hear from him, and entrusted her letter to Didon.


Roger Carbury's half formed plan of keeping Henrietta at home while Lady Carbury and Sir Felix went to dine at Caversham fell to the ground. It was to be carried out only in the event of Hetta's yielding to his prayer. But he had in fact not made a prayer, and Hetta had certainly yielded nothing. When the evening came, Lady Carbury started with her son and daughter, and Roger was left alone. In the ordinary course of his life he was used to solitude. During the greater part of the year he would eat and drink and live without companionship; so that there was to him nothing peculiarly sad in this desertion. But on the present occasion he could not prevent himself from dwelling on the loneliness of his lot in life. These cousins of his who were his guests cared nothing for him. Lady Carbury had come to his house simply that it might be useful to her; Sir Felix did not pretend to treat him with even ordinary courtesy; and Hetta herself, though she was soft to him and gracious, was soft and gracious through pity rather than love. On this day he had, in truth, asked her for nothing; but he had almost brought himself to think that she might give all that he wanted without asking.

That evening, Lady Carbury went to dine at Caversham with her son and daughter, and Roger was left alone. He was used to solitude. For most of the year he would eat and drink and live without companionship; there was to him nothing particularly sad in it. But on this occasion he could not prevent himself from dwelling on the loneliness of life.
His cousins cared nothing for him. Lady Carbury had come to his house simply because it might be useful to her; Sir Felix did not pretend to treat him with even ordinary courtesy; and Hetta herself was soft and gracious to him through pity rather than love. On this day he had almost brought himself to think that she might give all that he wanted without asking.


And yet, when he told her of the greatness of his love, and of its endurance, she was simply silent. When the carriage taking them to dinner went away down the road, he sat on the parapet of the bridge in front of the house listening to the sound of the horses' feet, and telling himself that there was nothing left for him in life.

And yet, when he told her of the greatness of his enduring love, she was simply silent. When the carriage took them away, he sat on the parapet of the bridge in front of the house listening to the sound of the horses' feet, and telling himself that there was nothing left for him in life.


If ever one man had been good to another, he had been good to Paul Montague, and now Paul Montague was robbing him of everything he valued in the world. His thoughts were not logical, nor was his mind exact. The more he considered it, the stronger was his inward condemnation of his friend. He had never mentioned to anyone the services he had rendered to Montague. In speaking of him to Hetta he had alluded only to the affection which had existed between them. But he felt that because of those services his friend Montague had owed it to him not to fall in love with the girl he loved; and he thought that if, unfortunately, this had happened unawares, Montague should have retired as soon as he learned the truth. He could not bring himself to forgive his friend, even though Hetta had assured him that his friend had never spoken to her of love. He was sore all over, and it was Paul Montague who made him sore. Had there been no such man at Carbury when Hetta came there, Hetta might now have been mistress of the house. He sat there till the servant came to tell him that his dinner was on the table.

If ever one man had been good to another, he had been good to Paul Montague, and now Paul Montague was robbing him of everything he valued in the world. His thoughts were not logical, nor exact. The more he considered it, the more strongly he condemned his friend. He had never mentioned to anyone the services he had given to Montague. But he felt that Montague had owed it to him not to fall in love with the girl he loved; he should have retired as soon as he learned the truth. Roger could not bring himself to forgive his friend, even though Hetta had assured him that Montague had never spoken to her of love. He was sore all over. Without Paul, Hetta might now have been mistress of Carbury.
He sat there till the servant came to tell him that his dinner was on the table.


Then he crept in and ate,--so that the man might not see his sorrow; and, after dinner, he sat with a book in his hand seeming to read. But he read not a word, for his mind was fixed altogether on his cousin Hetta. "What a poor creature a man is," he said to himself, "who is not sufficiently his own master to get over a feeling like this."

Then he crept in and ate, so that the man might not see his sorrow; and, after dinner, he sat with a book in his hand seeming to read. But he read not a word, for his mind was fixed on Hetta.
"What a poor creature a man is," he said to himself, "who is not sufficiently his own master to get over a feeling like this."


At Caversham there was a very grand party,--as grand almost as a dinner party can be in the country. There were the Earl and Countess of Loddon and Lady Jane Pewet from Loddon Park, and the bishop and his wife, and the Hepworths. These, with the Carburys and the parson's family, and the people staying in the house, made twenty-four at the dinner table. As there were fourteen ladies and only ten men, the banquet can hardly be said to have been very well arranged. But those things cannot be done in the country with the exactness which the appliances of London make easy; and then the Longestaffes, though they were decidedly people of fashion, were not famous for their excellence in arranging such matters. If aught, however, was lacking in exactness, it was made up in grandeur. There were three powdered footmen, and in that part of the country Lady Pomona alone was served after this fashion; and there was a very heavy butler, whose appearance of itself was sufficient to give clat to a family. The grand saloon in which nobody ever lived was thrown open, and sofas and chairs on which nobody ever sat were uncovered. It was not above once in the year that this kind of thing was done at Caversham; but when it was done, nothing was spared which could contribute to the magnificence of the fte. Lady Pomona and her two tall daughters standing up to receive the little Countess of Loddon and Lady Jane Pewet, who was the image of her mother on a somewhat smaller scale, while Madame Melmotte and Marie stood behind as though ashamed of themselves, was a sight to see.

At Caversham there was a very grand dinner party. There were the Earl and Countess of Loddon and Lady Jane Pewet, and the bishop and his wife, and the Hepworths. These, with the Carburys and the parson's family, and the people staying in the house, made twenty-four at the dinner table. There were three powdered footmen, unique to that part of the country; and a very heavy and imposing butler. The grand saloon was thrown open, and sofas and chairs on which nobody ever sat were uncovered. This kind of thing was done at Caversham only once a year; but when it was done, nothing was spared which could add to its magnificence.
Lady Pomona and her two tall daughters stood up to receive the Countess of Loddon and Lady Jane Pewet. Madame Melmotte and Marie stood behind as though ashamed of themselves.


Then the Carburys came, and then Mrs. Yeld with the bishop. The grand room was soon fairly full; but nobody had a word to say. The bishop was generally a man of much conversation, and Lady Loddon, if she were well pleased with her listeners, could talk by the hour without ceasing. But on this occasion nobody could utter a word. Lord Loddon pottered about, making a feeble attempt, in which he was seconded by no one. Lord Alfred stood, stock-still, stroking his grey moustache with his hand. That much greater man, Augustus Melmotte, put his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, and was impassible. The bishop saw at a glance the hopelessness of the occasion, and made no attempt. The master of the house shook hands with each guest as he entered, and then devoted his mind to expectation of the next comer. Lady Pomona and her two daughters were grand and handsome, but weary and dumb.

The grand room was soon fairly full; but nobody had a word to say. Lord Loddon pottered about, making a feeble attempt, while Lord Alfred stood stock-still stroking his grey moustache. Augustus Melmotte put his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, and was impassive. The bishop saw at a glance the hopelessness of the occasion, and did not try to make conversation. Lady Pomona and her two daughters were grand and handsome, but dumb and weary


In accordance with the treaty, Madame Melmotte had been entertained civilly for four entire days. It could not be expected that the ladies of Caversham should come forth unwearied after such a struggle.
When dinner was announced Felix was allowed to take in Marie Melmotte. There can be no doubt but that the Caversham ladies did execute their part of the treaty. They were led to suppose that this arrangement would be desirable to the Melmottes, and they made it. The great Augustus himself went in with Lady Carbury, much to her satisfaction. She also had been dumb in the drawing-room; but now, if ever, it would be her duty to exert herself. "I hope you like Suffolk," she said.
"Pretty well, I thank you. Oh, yes;--very nice place for a little fresh air."

 after four days of civilly entertaining Madame Melmotte.
When dinner was announced Felix was allowed to take in Marie Melmotte. The great Augustus went in with Lady Carbury, much to her satisfaction. She also had been dumb in the drawing-room; but now it would be her duty to talk.
"I hope you like Suffolk," she said.
"Pretty well, I thank you. Very nice place for a little fresh air."


"Yes;--that's just it, Mr. Melmotte. When the summer comes one does long so to see the flowers."
"We have better flowers in our balconies than any I see down here," said Mr. Melmotte.
"No doubt;--because you can command the floral tribute of the world at large. What is there that money will not do? It can turn a London street into a bower of roses, and give you grottoes in Grosvenor Square."
"It's a very nice place, is London."
"If you have got plenty of money, Mr. Melmotte."

"Yes; that's just it, Mr. Melmotte. When the summer comes one does long to see the flowers."
"We have better flowers in our balconies than any I see down here," said Mr. Melmotte.
"No doubt; because you can command the floral tribute of the world. Money can turn a London street into a bower of roses, and give you grottoes in Grosvenor Square."
"It's a very nice place, is London."
"If you have got plenty of money, Mr. Melmotte."


"And if you have not, it's the best place I know to get it. Do you live in London, ma'am?" He had quite forgotten Lady Carbury even if he had seen her at his house, and with the dulness of hearing common to men, had not picked up her name when told to take her out to dinner.
"Oh, yes, I live in London. I have had the honour of being entertained by you there." This she said with her sweetest smile.
"Oh, indeed. So many do come, that I don't always just remember."
"How should you,--with all the world flocking round you? I am Lady Carbury, the mother of Sir Felix Carbury, whom I think you will remember."

"And if you have not, it's the best place I know to get it. Do you live in London, ma'am?"
"Oh, yes, I live in London. I have had the honour of being entertained by you there." This she said with her sweetest smile.
"Oh, indeed. So many do come, that I don't always remember."
"How should you - with all the world flocking round you? I am Lady Carbury, the mother of Sir Felix Carbury, whom I think you will remember."


"Yes; I know Sir Felix. He's sitting there, next to my daughter."
"Happy fellow!"
"I don't know much about that. Young men don't get their happiness in that way now. They've got other things to think of."
"He thinks so much of his business."
"Oh! I didn't know," said Mr. Melmotte.
"He sits at the same Board with you, I think, Mr. Melmotte."

"Yes; I know Sir Felix. He's sitting there, next to my daughter."
"Happy fellow!"
"I don't know about that. Young men don't get their happiness in that way now. They've got other things to think of."
"He thinks so much of his business."
"Oh! I didn't know," said Mr. Melmotte.
"He sits at the same Board with you, I think, Mr. Melmotte."


"Oh;--that's his business!" said Mr. Melmotte, with a grim smile.
Lady Carbury was very clever as to many things, and was not ill-informed on matters in general that were going on around her; but she did not know much about the city, and was profoundly ignorant as to the duties of those Directors of whom, from time to time, she saw the names in a catalogue. "I trust that he is diligent, there," she said; "and that he is aware of the great privilege which he enjoys in having the advantage of your counsel and guidance."
"He don't trouble me much, ma'am, and I don't trouble him much." After this Lady Carbury said no more as to her son's position in the city. She endeavoured to open various other subjects of conversation; but she found Mr. Melmotte to be heavy on her hands. After a while she had to abandon him in despair, and give herself up to raptures in favour of Protestantism at the bidding of the Caversham parson, who sat on the other side of her, and who had been worked to enthusiasm by some mention of Father Barham's name.

"Oh; that's his business!" said Mr. Melmotte, with a grim smile.
Lady Carbury was clever and well-informed about many things, but she did not know much about the city, and was profoundly ignorant as to the duties of Directors. "I trust that he is diligent there," she said; "and that he is aware of the great privilege which he enjoys in having your counsel and guidance."
"He don't trouble me much, ma'am, and I don't trouble him much."
Lady Carbury said no more about her son's position in the city. She tried to talk of other things; but she found Mr. Melmotte to be heavy on her hands. After a while she had to abandon him in despair, and give herself up to the Caversham parson, who sat on her other side.


Opposite to her, or nearly so, sat Sir Felix and his love. "I have told mamma," Marie had whispered, as she walked in to dinner with him. She was now full of the idea so common to girls who are engaged,--and as natural as it is common,--that she might tell everything to her lover.
"Did she say anything?" he asked. Then Marie had to take her place and arrange her dress before she could reply to him. "As to her, I suppose it does not matter what she says, does it?"

Opposite her sat Sir Felix and his love. "I have told mamma," Marie had whispered, as she walked in to dinner with him. She was now full of the idea that she might tell everything to her lover.
"Did she say anything?" he asked. Marie had to take her place and arrange her dress before she could reply.


"She said a great deal. She thinks that papa will think you are not rich enough. Hush! Talk about something else, or people will hear." So much she had been able to say during the bustle.
Felix was not at all anxious to talk about his love, and changed the subject very willingly. "Have you been riding?" he asked.

"She said a great deal. She thinks that papa will think you are not rich enough. Hush! Talk about something else, or people will hear."
Felix changed the subject very willingly. "Have you been riding?" he asked.


"No; I don't think there are horses here,--not for visitors, that is. How did you get home? Did you have any adventures?"
"None at all," said Felix, remembering Ruby Ruggles. "I just rode home quietly. I go to town to-morrow."
"And we go on Wednesday. Mind you come and see us before long." This she said bringing her voice down to a whisper.

"No; I don't think there are horses here for visitors. How did you get home? Did you have any adventures?"
"None at all," said Felix, remembering Ruby Ruggles. "I just rode home quietly. I go to London tomorrow."
"And we go on Wednesday. Mind you come and see us before long," she whispered.


"Of course I shall. I suppose I'd better go to your father in the city. Does he go every day?"
"Oh yes, every day. He's back always about seven. Sometimes he's good-natured enough when he comes back, but sometimes he's very cross. He's best just after dinner. But it's so hard to get to him then. Lord Alfred is almost always there; and then other people come, and they play cards. I think the city will be best."

"Of course I shall. I suppose I'd better go to your father in the city. Does he go every day?"
"Oh yes. He's always back about seven. Sometimes he's good-natured enough when he comes back, but sometimes he's very cross. He's best just after dinner. But it's so hard to get to him then. Lord Alfred is almost always there; and then other people come, and they play cards. I think the city will be best."


"You'll stick to it?" he asked.
"Oh, yes;--indeed I will. Now that I've once said it nothing will ever turn me. I think papa knows that." Felix looked at her as she said this, and thought that he saw more in her countenance than he had ever read there before. Perhaps she would consent to run away with him; and, if so, being the only child, she would certainly,--almost certainly,--be forgiven. But if he were to run away with her and marry her, and then find that she were not forgiven, and that Melmotte allowed her to starve without a shilling of fortune, where would he be then? Looking at the matter in all its bearings, considering among other things the trouble and the expense of such a measure, he thought that he could not afford to run away with her.

"You'll stick to it?" he asked.
"Oh, yes; indeed I will. Nothing will ever turn me. I think papa knows that."
Felix looked at her as she said this, and thought that he saw more in her face than he had ever read there before. Perhaps she would consent to run away with him; and, if so, being the only child, she would certainly - almost certainly - be forgiven. But if he were to elope with her, and then find that she were not forgiven, where would he be then? Considering the trouble and the expense of it, he thought that he could not afford to run away with her.


After dinner he hardly spoke to her; indeed, the room itself,--the same big room in which they had been assembled before the feast,--seemed to be ill-adapted for conversation. Again nobody talked to anybody, and the minutes went very heavily till at last the carriages were there to take them all home. "They arranged that you should sit next to her," said Lady Carbury to her son, as they were in the carriage.
"Oh, I suppose that came naturally;--one young man and one young woman, you know."
"Those things are always arranged, and they would not have done it unless they had thought that it would please Mr. Melmotte. Oh, Felix! if you can bring it about."
"I shall if I can, mother; you needn't make a fuss about it."

After dinner he hardly spoke to her. Indeed, nobody talked to anybody, and the minutes went very heavily till at last the carriages were there to take them all home.
"They arranged that you should sit next to her," said Lady Carbury to her son, in the carriage. "They would not have done that unless they had thought that it would please Mr. Melmotte. Oh, Felix! if you can bring it about."
"I shall if I can, mother; you needn't make a fuss about it."


"No, I won't. You cannot wonder that I should be anxious. You behaved beautifully to her at dinner; I was so happy to see you together. Good night, Felix, and God bless you!" she said again, as they were parting for the night. "I shall be the happiest and the proudest mother in England if this comes about."

"No, I won't. You cannot wonder that I should be anxious. You behaved beautifully to her at dinner; I was so happy to see you together. God bless you, Felix! I shall be the happiest and proudest mother in England if this comes about."


On the following Saturday there appeared in Mr. Alf's paper, the "Evening Pulpit," a very remarkable article on the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway. It was an article that attracted a great deal of attention and was therefore remarkable, but it was in nothing more remarkable than in this,--that it left on the mind of its reader no impression of any decided opinion about the railway. The Editor would at any future time be able to refer to his article with equal pride whether the railway should become a great cosmopolitan fact, or whether it should collapse amidst the foul struggles of a horde of swindlers. In utrumque paratus, the article was mysterious, suggestive, amusing, well-informed,--that in the "Evening Pulpit" was a matter of course,--and, above all things, ironical. Next to its omniscience its irony was the strongest weapon belonging to the "Evening Pulpit." There was a little praise given, no doubt in irony, to the duchesses who served Mr. Melmotte. There was a little praise, given of course in irony, to Mr. Melmotte's Board of English Directors. There was a good deal of praise, but still alloyed by a dash of irony, bestowed on the idea of civilising Mexico by joining it to California. Praise was bestowed upon England for taking up the matter, but accompanied by some ironical touches at her incapacity to believe thoroughly in any enterprise not originated by herself. Then there was something said of the universality of Mr. Melmotte's commercial genius, but whether said in a spirit prophetic of ultimate failure and disgrace, or of heavenborn success and unequalled commercial splendour, no one could tell.

On the following Saturday there appeared in Mr. Alf's paper, the Evening Pulpit, a very remarkable article on the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway. This article attracted a great deal of attention, but the most remarkable thing about it was that it expressed no opinion about the railway at all. The Editor would at any future time be able to refer to his article with equal pride whether the railway should become reality, or whether it should collapse amidst a horde of swindlers. The article was mysterious, amusing, well-informed, and above all ironical. Whether the writer thought the railway would be a failure or an unequalled success, no one could tell.


It was generally said at the clubs that Mr. Alf had written this article himself. Old Splinter, who was one of a body of men possessing an excellent cellar of wine and calling themselves Paides Pallados, and who had written for the heavy quarterlies any time this last forty years, professed that he saw through the article. The "Evening Pulpit" had been, he explained, desirous of going as far as it could in denouncing Mr. Melmotte without incurring the danger of an action for libel. Mr. Splinter thought that the thing was clever but mean. These new publications generally were mean. Mr. Splinter was constant in that opinion; but, putting the meanness aside, he thought that the article was well done. According to his view it was intended to expose Mr. Melmotte and the railway. But the Paides Pallados generally did not agree with him. Under such an interpretation, what had been the meaning of that paragraph in which the writer had declared that the work of joining one ocean to another was worthy of the nearest approach to divinity that had been granted to men? Old Splinter chuckled and gabbled as he heard this, and declared that there was not wit enough left now even among the Paides Pallados to understand a shaft of irony.

It was generally said that Mr. Alf had written this article himself. Some thought that the Evening Pulpit had wanted to go as far as it could in denouncing Mr. Melmotte without incurring the danger of being sued for libel. But other readers did not agree; and


There could be no doubt, however, at the time, that the world did not go with old Splinter, and that the article served to enhance the value of shares in the great railway enterprise.


Lady Carbury was sure that the article was intended to write up the railway, and took great joy in it. She entertained in her brain a somewhat confused notion that if she could only bestir herself in the right direction and could induce her son to open his eyes to his own advantage, very great things might be achieved, so that wealth might become his handmaid and luxury the habit and the right of his life. He was the beloved and the accepted suitor of Marie Melmotte. He was a Director of this great company, sitting at the same board with the great commercial hero. He was the handsomest young man in London. And he was a baronet. Very wild ideas occurred to her. Should she take Mr. Alf into her entire confidence? If Melmotte and Alf could be brought together what might they not do? Alf could write up Melmotte, and Melmotte could shower shares upon Alf.

Lady Carbury was sure that the article was intended to write up the railway, and took great joy in it. She had a somewhat confused notion that if she could only induce her son to open his eyes, very great things might be achieved, so that wealth might become his handmaid and luxury his habit. He was the beloved of Marie Melmotte. He was a Director of this great company. He was the handsomest young man in London. And he was a baronet. Should she take Mr. Alf into her confidence? If he and Melmotte could be brought together, what might they not do? Alf could write up Melmotte, and Melmotte could shower shares upon Alf.


And if Melmotte would come and be smiled upon by herself, be flattered as she thought that she could flatter him, be told that he was a god, and have that passage about the divinity of joining ocean to ocean construed to him as she could construe it, would not the great man become plastic under her hands? And if, while this was a-doing, Felix would run away with Marie, could not forgiveness be made easy? And her creative mind ranged still farther. Mr. Broune might help, and even Mr. Booker. To such a one as Melmotte, a man doing great things through the force of the confidence placed in him by the world at large, the freely-spoken support of the Press would be everything. Who would not buy shares in a railway as to which Mr. Broune and Mr. Alf would combine in saying that it was managed by "divinity"? Her thoughts were rather hazy, but from day to day she worked hard to make them clear to herself.

And if Melmotte would visit her and be smiled upon and flattered, would not the great man become putty under her hands? And if meanwhile, Felix ran away with Marie, could not forgiveness be made easy?
Her creative mind ranged still farther. Mr. Broune might help, and even Mr. Booker. To such a one as Melmotte, the support of the Press would be everything. Who would not buy shares in a railway which Mr. Broune and Mr. Alf both praised to the heavens? Her thoughts were rather hazy, but she worked hard to make them clear to herself.


On the Sunday afternoon Mr. Booker called on her and talked to her about the article. She did not say much to Mr. Booker as to her own connection with Mr. Melmotte, telling herself that prudence was essential in the present emergency. But she listened with all her ears. It was Mr. Booker's idea that the man was going "to make a spoon or spoil a horn." "You think him honest;--don't you?" asked Lady Carbury. Mr. Booker smiled and hesitated. "Of course, I mean honest as men can be in such very large transactions."
"Perhaps that is the best way of putting it," said Mr. Booker.
"If a thing can be made great and beneficent, a boon to humanity, simply by creating a belief in it, does not a man become a benefactor to his race by creating that belief?"

On the Sunday afternoon Mr. Booker called and talked to her about the article. She prudently did not say much to Mr. Booker about her own connection with Melmotte, but she listened with all her ears.
"You think him honest, don't you?" she asked. Mr. Booker smiled and hesitated. "Of course, I mean as honest as men can be in such very large transactions."
"Perhaps that is the best way of putting it," said Mr. Booker.
"If a thing can be made a great boon to humanity, simply by creating a belief in it, does not a man become a benefactor to his race by creating that belief?"


"At the expense of veracity?" suggested Mr. Booker.
"At the expense of anything?" rejoined Lady Carbury with energy. "One cannot measure such men by the ordinary rule."
"You would do evil to produce good?" asked Mr. Booker.

"At the expense of truth?" suggested Mr. Booker.
"One cannot measure such men by the ordinary rule."
"You would do evil to produce good?" asked Mr. Booker.