Thus spake the chivalrous Sir Hugo, in his disgust at the young and beautiful widow of a Mallinger Grandcourt being left with only two thousand a year and a house in a coal-mining district. To the rector that income naturally appeared less shabby and less accompanied with mortifying privations; but in this conversation he had devoured a much keener sense than the baronet's of the humiliation cast over his niece, and also over her nearest friends, by the conspicuous publishing of her husband's relation to Mrs. Glasher. And like all men who are good husbands and fathers, he felt the humiliation through the minds of the women who would be chiefly affected by it; so that the annoyance of first hearing the facts was far slighter than what he felt in communicating them to Mrs. Davilow, and in anticipating Gwendolen's feeling whenever her mother saw fit to tell her of them. For the good rector had an innocent conviction that his niece was unaware of Mrs. Glasher's existence, arguing with masculine soundness from what maidens and wives were likely to know, do, and suffer, and having had a most imperfect observation of the particular maiden and wife in question. Not so Gwendolen's mother, who now thought that she saw an explanation of much that had been enigmatic in her child's conduct and words before and after her engagement, concluding that in some inconceivable way Gwendolen had been informed of this left-handed marriage and the existence of the children. She trusted to opportunities that would arise in moments of affectionate confidence before and during their journey to England, when she might gradually learn how far the actual state of things was clear to Gwendolen, and prepare her for anything that might be a disappointment. But she was spared from devices on the subject.

Thus spake the chivalrous Sir Hugo, in his disgust at the young and beautiful widow of a Mallinger Grandcourt being left with only two thousand a year and a house in a coal-mining district. To the rector that income naturally appeared less shabby; but he had a keener sense of the humiliation cast over his niece, and also over her nearest friends, by the publishing of her husband's relation to Mrs. Glasher. He felt the unpleasantness of communicating the facts to Mrs. Davilow, who had to tell Gwendolen.
For the good rector had an innocent conviction that his niece was unaware of Mrs. Glasher's existence. Not so Gwendolen's mother, who now thought that she saw an explanation of much that had been enigmatic in her child's conduct, concluding that in some way Gwendolen had been informed of this left-handed marriage and the existence of the children. She trusted that Gwendolen might confide in her during their journey to England, so that she could prepare her for any disappointment. But she was spared from devices on the subject.


"I hope you don't expect that I am going to be rich and grand, mamma," said Gwendolen, not long after the rector's communication; "perhaps I shall have nothing at all."

"I hope you don't expect that I am going to be rich and grand, mamma," said Gwendolen; "perhaps I shall have nothing."


She was dressed, and had been sitting long in quiet meditation. Mrs. Davilow was startled, but said, after a moment's reflection,

Mrs. Davilow was startled, but said, after a moment's reflection-


"Oh yes, dear, you will have something. Sir Hugo knows all about the will."


"That will not decide," said Gwendolen, abruptly.


"Surely, dear: Sir Hugo says you are to have two thousand a year and the house at Gadsmere."


"What I have will depend on what I accept," said Gwendolen. "You and my uncle must not attempt to cross me and persuade me about this. I will do everything I can do to make you happy, but in anything about my husband I must not be interfered with. Is eight hundred a year enough for you, mamma?"

"What I have will depend on what I accept," said Gwendolen. "You and my uncle must not attempt to cross me. I will do everything I can do to make you happy, but in anything about my husband I must not be interfered with. Is eight hundred a year enough for you, mamma?"


"More than enough, dear. You must not think of giving me so much." Mrs. Davilow paused a little, and then said, "Do you know who is to have the estates and the rest of the money?"

"More than enough, dear." Mrs. Davilow paused, and then said, "Do you know who is to have the rest of the money?"


"Yes," said Gwendolen, waving her hand in dismissal of the subject. "I know everything. It is all perfectly right, and I wish never to have it mentioned."


The mother was silent, looked away, and rose to fetch a fan-screen, with a slight flush on her delicate cheeks. Wondering, imagining, she did not like to meet her daughter's eyes, and sat down again under a sad constraint. What wretchedness her child had perhaps gone through, which yet must remain as it always had been, locked away from their mutual speech. But Gwendolen was watching her mother with that new divination which experience had given her; and in tender relenting at her own peremptoriness, said, "Come and sit nearer to me, mamma, and don't be unhappy."

The mother was silent. She did not like to meet her daughter's eyes, and sat down again under a sad constraint, wondering what wretchedness her child had perhaps gone through. But Gwendolen was watching her mother with that new divination which experience had given her; and said tenderly, "Come and sit nearer, mamma, and don't be unhappy."


Mrs. Davilow did as she was told, but bit her lips in the vain attempt to hinder smarting tears. Gwendolen leaned toward her caressingly and said, "I mean to be very wise; I do, really. And good--oh, so good to you, dear, old, sweet mamma, you won't know me. Only you must not cry."

When Mrs. Davilow did so, Gwendolen leaned toward her caressingly and said, "I mean to be very wise; I do, really. And so good to you, dear, old, sweet mamma, you won't know me. Only you must not cry."


The resolve that Gwendolen had in her mind was that she would ask Deronda whether she ought to accept any of her husband's money--whether she might accept what would enable her to provide for her mother. The poor thing felt strong enough to do anything that would give her a higher place in Deronda's mind.

Gwendolen had resolved to ask Deronda whether she ought to accept any of her husband's money - whether she might accept enough to provide for her mother. The poor thing felt strong enough to do anything that would give her a higher place in Deronda's mind.


An invitation that Sir Hugo pressed on her with kind urgency was that she and Mrs. Davilow should go straight with him to Park Lane, and make his house their abode as long as mourning and other details needed attending to in London. Town, he insisted, was just then the most retired of places; and he proposed to exert himself at once in getting all articles belonging to Gwendolen away from the house in Grosvenor Square. No proposal could have suited her better than this of staying a little while in Park Lane. It would be easy for her there to have an interview with Deronda, if she only knew how to get a letter into his hands, asking him to come to her. During the journey, Sir Hugo, having understood that she was acquainted with the purport of her husband's will, ventured to talk before her and to her about her future arrangements, referring here and there to mildly agreeable prospects as matters of course, and otherwise shedding a decorous cheerfulness over her widowed position. It seemed to him really the more graceful course for a widow to recover her spirits on finding that her husband had not dealt as handsomely by her as he might have done; it was the testator's fault if he compromised all her grief at his departure by giving a testamentary reason for it, so that she might be supposed to look sad, not because he had left her, but because he had left her poor. The baronet, having his kindliness doubly fanned by the favorable wind on his fortunes and by compassion for Gwendolen, had become quite fatherly in his behavior to her, called her "my dear," and in mentioning Gadsmere to Mr. Gascoigne, with its various advantages and disadvantages, spoke of what "we" might do to make the best of that property. Gwendolen sat by in pale silence while Sir Hugo, with his face turned toward Mrs. Davilow or Mr. Gascoigne, conjectured that Mrs. Grandcourt might perhaps prefer letting Gadsmere to residing there during any part of the year, in which case he thought that it might be leased on capital terms to one of the fellows engaged with the coal: Sir Hugo had seen enough of the place to know that it was as comfortable and picturesque a box as any man need desire, providing his desires were circumscribed within a coal area.

Sir Hugo kindly invited Gwendolen and Mrs. Davilow to Park Lane, to stay for as long as they needed. No proposal could have suited Gwendolen better. It would be easy for her there to have an interview with Deronda, if she could only get a letter to him.
During the journey, Sir Hugo ventured to talk to her about her future arrangements. He had become quite fatherly towards her, calling her "my dear," and in mentioning Gadsmere, spoke of what "we" might do to make the best of that property. Gwendolen sat in pale silence while Sir Hugo, addressing Mrs. Davilow or Mr. Gascoigne, conjectured that Mrs. Grandcourt might prefer letting Gadsmere to residing there, in which case he thought that it might be leased to one of the fellows engaged with the coal.


"_I_ shouldn't mind about the soot myself," said the baronet, with that dispassionateness which belongs to the potential mood. "Nothing is more healthy. And if one's business lay there, Gadsmere would be a paradise. It makes quite a feature in Scrogg's history of the county, with the little tower and the fine piece of water--the prettiest print in the book."

"If one's business lay there, Gadsmere would be a paradise," he said.


"A more important place than Offendene, I suppose?" said Mr. Gascoigne.


"Much," said the baronet, decisively. "I was there with my poor brother--it is more than a quarter of a century ago, but I remember it very well. The rooms may not be larger, but the grounds are on a different scale."

"Much," said the baronet, decisively. "The grounds are on a different scale."


"Our poor dear Offendene is empty after all," said Mrs. Davilow. "When it came to the point, Mr. Haynes declared off, and there has been no one to take it since. I might as well have accepted Lord Brackenshaw's kind offer that I should remain in it another year rent-free: for I should have kept the place aired and warmed."

"Our poor dear Offendene is empty after all," said Mrs. Davilow. "Mr. Haynes cried off, and no-one has taken it since."


"I hope you've something snug instead," said Sir Hugo.


"A little too snug," said Mr. Gascoigne, smiling at his sister-in-law. "You are rather thick upon the ground."


Gwendolen had turned with a changed glance when her mother spoke of Offendene being empty. This conversation passed during one of the long unaccountable pauses often experienced in foreign trains at some country station. There was a dreamy, sunny stillness over the hedgeless fields stretching to the boundary of poplars; and to Gwendolen the talk within the carriage seemed only to make the dreamland larger with an indistinct region of coal-pits, and a purgatorial Gadsmere which she would never visit; till at her mother's words, this mingled, dozing view seemed to dissolve and give way to a more wakeful vision of Offendene and Pennicote under their cooler lights. She saw the gray shoulders of the downs, the cattle-specked fields, the shadowy plantations with rutted lanes where the barked timber lay for a wayside seat, the neatly-clipped hedges on the road from the parsonage to Offendene, the avenue where she was gradually discerned from the window, the hall-door opening, and her mother or one of the troublesome sisters coming out to meet her. All that brief experience of a quiet home which had once seemed a dullness to be fled from, now came back to her as a restful escape, a station where she found the breath of morning and the unreproaching voice of birds after following a lure through a long Satanic masquerade, which she had entered on with an intoxicated belief in its disguises, and had seen the end of in shrieking fear lest she herself had become one of the evil spirits who were dropping their human mummery and hissing around her with serpent tongues.

Gwendolen had turned with a changed glance when her mother said this; it was during one of the long unaccountable pauses often experienced in foreign trains at some country station. There was a dreamy, sunny stillness over the fields; and to Gwendolen the talk within the carriage seemed only to make the dreamland larger with an indistinct region of coal-pits, and a purgatorial Gadsmere which she would never visit; then this dozing view dissolved into a vision of Offendene. She saw the grey shoulders of the downs, the cattle-specked fields, the neatly-clipped hedges on the road to Offendene, the avenue, the hall-door opening, and her mother coming out to meet her. All that brief experience of a quiet home which had once seemed dull, now came back to her as a restful escape.


In this way Gwendolen's mind paused over Offendene and made it the scene of many thoughts; but she gave no further outward sign of interest in this conversation, any more than in Sir Hugo's opinion on the telegraphic cable or her uncle's views of the Church Rate Abolition Bill. What subjects will not our talk embrace in leisurely day-journeying from Genoa to London? Even strangers, after glancing from China to Peru and opening their mental stores with a liberality threatening a mutual impression of poverty on any future meeting, are liable to become excessively confidential. But the baronet and the rector were under a still stronger pressure toward cheerful communication: they were like acquaintances compelled to a long drive in a mourning-coach who having first remarked that the occasion is a melancholy one, naturally proceed to enliven it by the most miscellaneous discourse. "I don't mind telling _you_," said Sir Hugo to the rector, in mentioning some private details; while the rector, without saying so, did not mind telling the baronet about his sons, and the difficulty of placing them in the world. By the dint of discussing all persons and things within driving-reach of Diplow, Sir Hugo got himself wrought to a pitch of interest in that former home, and of conviction that it was his pleasant duty to regain and strengthen his personal influence in the neighborhood, that made him declare his intention of taking his family to the place for a month or two before the autumn was over; and Mr. Gascoigne cordially rejoiced in that prospect. Altogether, the journey was continued and ended with mutual liking between the male fellow-travellers.

However, Gwendolen gave no outward sign of interest in the conversation. The baronet and the rector were talking about their families. Sir Hugo declared his intention of taking his family to Diplow for a month or two in autumn; and Mr. Gascoigne cordially rejoiced in that prospect. Altogether, the journey was continued with mutual liking between the male fellow-travellers.


Meanwhile Gwendolen sat by like one who had visited the spirit-world and was full to the lips of an unutterable experience that threw a strange unreality over all the talk she was hearing of her own and the world's business; and Mrs. Davilow was chiefly occupied in imagining what her daughter was feeling, and in wondering what was signified by her hinted doubt whether she would accept her husband's bequest. Gwendolen in fact had before her the unsealed wall of an immediate purpose shutting off every other resolution. How to scale the wall? She wanted again to see and consult Deronda, that she might secure herself against any act he would disapprove. Would her remorse have maintained its power within her, or would she have felt absolved by secrecy, if it had not been for that outer conscience which was made for her by Deronda? It is hard to say how much we could forgive ourselves if we were secure from judgment by another whose opinion is the breathing-medium of all our joy--who brings to us with close pressure and immediate sequence that judgment of the Invisible and Universal which self-flattery and the world's tolerance would easily melt and disperse. In this way our brother may be in the stead of God to us, and his opinion which has pierced even to the joints and marrow, may be our virtue in the making. That mission of Deronda to Gwendolen had begun with what she had felt to be his judgment of her at the gaming-table. He might easily have spoiled it:--much of our lives is spent in marring our own influence and turning others' belief in us into a widely concluding unbelief which they call knowledge of the world, while it is really disappointment in you or me. Deronda had not spoiled his mission.

Meanwhile Gwendolen sat by like one who had visited the spirit-world and whose experience threw a strange unreality over all worldly talk; and Mrs. Davilow was chiefly occupied in imagining what her daughter was feeling, and in wondering whether she would accept her husband's bequest.
Gwendolen in fact had a purpose shutting off every other resolution. She wanted again to consult Deronda, so that she might secure herself against any act he would disapprove. Would her remorse have maintained its power within her, if it had not been for that conscience which was made for her by Deronda? His influence had begun with what she had felt to be his judgment of her at the gaming-table.


But Gwendolen had forgotten to ask him for his address in case she wanted to write, and her only way of reaching him was through Sir Hugo. She was not in the least blind to the construction that all witnesses might put on her giving signs of dependence on Deronda, and her seeking him more than he sought her: Grandcourt's rebukes had sufficiently enlightened her pride. But the force, the tenacity of her nature had thrown itself into that dependence, and she would no more let go her hold on Deronda's help, or deny herself the interview her soul needed, because of witnesses, than if she had been in prison in danger of being condemned to death. When she was in Park Lane and knew that the baronet would be going down to the Abbey immediately (just to see his family for a couple of days and then return to transact needful business for Gwendolen), she said to him without any air of hesitation, while her mother was present,

But Gwendolen did not know his address, and her only way of reaching him was through Sir Hugo. She knew the construction that might be put on her seeking out Deronda; but she would not let go of her dependence. When she was in Park Lane and knew that the baronet was about to go down to the Abbey, she said to him without hesitation, while her mother was present-


"Sir Hugo, I wish to see Mr. Deronda again as soon as possible. I don't know his address. Will you tell it me, or let him know that I want to see him?"

"Sir Hugo, I wish to see Mr. Deronda again as soon as possible. Will you let him know that I want to see him?"


A quick thought passed across Sir Hugo's face, but made no difference to the ease with which he said, "Upon my word, I don't know whether he's at his chambers or the Abbey at this moment. But I'll make sure of him. I'll send a note now to his chambers telling him to come, and if he's at the Abbey I can give him your message and send him up at once. I am sure he will want to obey your wish," the baronet ended, with grave kindness, as if nothing could seem to him more in the appropriate course of things than that she should send such a message.

A quick thought passed across Sir Hugo's face, but he said easily, "Upon my word, I don't know whether he's at his chambers or the Abbey at this moment. But I'll send a note to his chambers, and if he's at the Abbey I can give him your message and send him up. I am sure he will want to obey your wish."
The baronet spoke with grave kindness, as if nothing could seem more appropriate.


But he was convinced that Gwendolen had a passionate attachment to Deronda, the seeds of which had been laid long ago, and his former suspicion now recurred to him with more strength than ever, that her feeling was likely to lead her into imprudences--in which kind-hearted Sir Hugo was determined to screen and defend her as far as lay in his power. To him it was as pretty a story as need be that this fine creature and his favorite Dan should have turned out to be formed for each other, and that the unsuitable husband should have made his exit in such excellent time. Sir Hugo liked that a charming woman should be made as happy as possible. In truth, what most vexed his mind in this matter at present was a doubt whether the too lofty and inscrutable Dan had not got some scheme or other in his head, which would prove to be dearer to him than the lovely Mrs. Grandcourt, and put that neatly-prepared marriage with her out of the question. It was among the usual paradoxes of feeling that Sir Hugo, who had given his fatherly cautions to Deronda against too much tenderness in his relations with the bride, should now feel rather irritated against him by the suspicion that he had not fallen in love as he ought to have done. Of course all this thinking on Sir Hugo's part was eminently premature, only a fortnight or so after Grandcourt's death. But it is the trick of thinking to be either premature or behind-hand.

But he was convinced that Gwendolen had a passionate attachment to Deronda, and thinking that this might lead her into imprudences, he was determined to screen her as far as lay in his power. To him it was a pretty story that this fine creature and his favourite Dan should have turned out to be formed for each other, and that the unsuitable husband should have made his exit in such excellent time. In truth, what most vexed his mind was a doubt whether Dan had not got some scheme or other in his head, which would prove to be dearer to him than the lovely Mrs. Grandcourt, and put that neatly-prepared marriage with her out of the question.
Of course all this thinking on Sir Hugo's part was premature, only a fortnight after Grandcourt's death. But it is the trick of thinking to be either premature or behind-hand.


However, he sent the note to Deronda's chambers, and it found him there.


"O gentlemen, the time of life is short; To spend that shortness basely were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour." --SHAKESPEARE: _Henry IV_.


On the second day after the archery meeting, Mr. Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt was at his breakfast-table with Mr. Lush. Everything around them was agreeable: the summer air through the open windows, at which the dogs could walk in from the old green turf on the lawn; the soft, purplish coloring of the park beyond, stretching toward a mass of bordering wood; the still life in the room, which seemed the stiller for its sober antiquated elegance, as if it kept a conscious, well-bred silence, unlike the restlessness of vulgar furniture.

On the second day after the Archery Meeting, Mr. Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt was at his breakfast-table with Mr. Lush. Everything around them was agreeable: the summer air through the open windows, at which the dogs could walk in from the lawn; the park beyond; the still room, with its sober antiquated elegance, as if it kept a conscious, well-bred silence, unlike the restlessness of vulgar furniture.


Whether the gentlemen were agreeable to each other was less evident. Mr. Grandcourt had drawn his chair aside so as to face the lawn, and with his left leg over another chair, and his right elbow on the table, was smoking a large cigar, while his companion was still eating. The dogs--half-a-dozen of various kinds were moving lazily in and out, taking attitudes of brief attention--gave a vacillating preference first to one gentleman, then to the other; being dogs in such good circumstances that they could play at hunger, and liked to be served with delicacies which they declined to put in their mouths; all except Fetch, the beautiful liver-colored water-spaniel, which sat with its forepaws firmly planted and its expressive brown face turned upward, watching Grandcourt with unshaken constancy. He held in his lap a tiny Maltese dog with a tiny silver collar and bell, and when he had a hand unused by cigar or coffee-cup, it rested on this small parcel of animal warmth. I fear that Fetch was jealous, and wounded that her master gave her no word or look; at last it seemed that she could bear this neglect no longer, and she gently put her large silky paw on her master's leg. Grandcourt looked at her with unchanged face for half a minute, and then took the trouble to lay down his cigar while he lifted the unimpassioned Fluff close to his chin and gave it caressing pats, all the while gravely watching Fetch, who, poor thing, whimpered interruptedly, as if trying to repress that sign of discontent, and at last rested her head beside the appealing paw, looking up with piteous beseeching. So, at least, a lover of dogs must have interpreted Fetch, and Grandcourt kept so many dogs that he was reputed to love them; at any rate, his impulse to act just in that way started from such an interpretation. But when the amusing anguish burst forth in a howling bark, Grandcourt pushed Fetch down without speaking, and, depositing Fluff carelessly on the table (where his black nose predominated over a salt-cellar), began to look to his cigar, and found, with some annoyance against Fetch as the cause, that the brute of a cigar required relighting. Fetch, having begun to wail, found, like others of her sex, that it was not easy to leave off; indeed, the second howl was a louder one, and the third was like unto it.

Whether the gentlemen were agreeable to each other was less evident. Mr. Grandcourt had drawn his chair aside to face the lawn, and with his left leg over another chair, was smoking a large cigar, while his companion was eating. Half a dozen dogs were moving lazily in and out; except for Fetch, the water-spaniel, which sat with its forepaws firmly planted and its face turned upward, watching Grandcourt with unshaken constancy. He held in his lap a tiny Maltese dog, and his hand rested on this small parcel of animal warmth. I fear that Fetch was jealous; at last she could bear this neglect no longer, and she gently put her large silky paw on her master's leg.
Grandcourt looked at her with unchanged face, and then laid down his cigar while he lifted the unimpassioned Fluff close to his chin and gave it caressing pats, all the while gravely watching Fetch, who, poor thing, whimpered and looked up with piteous beseeching. So, at least, a lover of dogs must have interpreted Fetch, and Grandcourt kept so many dogs that he was reputed to love them.
But when the amusing anguish burst forth in a howling bark, Grandcourt pushed Fetch down without speaking, and, depositing Fluff carelessly on the table, looked to his cigar. Fetch, having begun to wail, found, like others of her sex, that it was not easy to stop.


"Turn out that brute, will you?" said Grandcourt to Lush, without raising his voice or looking at him--as if he counted on attention to the smallest sign.

"Turn out that brute, will you?" said Grandcourt quietly to Lush.


And Lush immediately rose, lifted Fetch, though she was rather heavy, and he was not fond of stooping, and carried her out, disposing of her in some way that took him a couple of minutes before he returned. He then lit a cigar, placed himself at an angle where he could see Grandcourt's face without turning, and presently said,

Lush immediately rose, lifted Fetch, and carried her out. On returning he lit a cigar, and looking at Grandcourt said-


"Shall you ride or drive to Quetcham to-day?"

"Shall you ride or drive to Quetcham today?"


Grandcourt smoked in silence for half a minute, and then said,

Grandcourt smoked in silence for half a minute, and then said-


"I suppose you sent my card and inquiries."


"I went myself at four, and said you were sure to be there shortly. They would suppose some accident prevented you from fulfilling the intention. Especially if you go to-day."

"I went at four, and said you were sure to be there shortly. They would suppose some accident prevented you from going. Especially if you go to-day."


Silence for a couple of minutes. Then Grandcourt said, "What men are invited here with their wives?"

Silence for a couple of minutes. Then Grandcourt said, "Who is invited here?"


Lush drew out a note-book. "The Captain and Mrs. Torrington come next week. Then there are Mr. Hollis and Lady Flora, and the Cushats and the Gogoffs."

Lush drew out a note-book. "The Captain and Mrs. Torrington come next week. Mr. Hollis and Lady Flora, and the Cushats and the Gogoffs."


"Rather a ragged lot," remarked Grandcourt, after a while. "Why did you ask the Gogoffs? When you write invitations in my name, be good enough to give me a list, instead of bringing down a giantess on me without my knowledge. She spoils the look of the room."


"You invited the Gogoffs yourself when you met them in Paris."


"What has my meeting them in Paris to do with it? I told you to give me a list."

"What has that to do with it? I told you to give me a list."


Grandcourt, like many others, had two remarkably different voices. Hitherto we have heard him speaking in a superficial interrupted drawl suggestive chiefly of languor and _ennui_. But this last brief speech was uttered in subdued inward, yet distinct, tones, which Lush had long been used to recognize as the expression of a peremptory will.

Hitherto we have heard Grandcourt speaking in an interrupted drawl suggestive of languor and boredom. But this last brief speech was uttered in subdued, yet distinct, tones, which Lush had long recognized as the expression of a peremptory will.


"Are there any other couples you would like to invite?"


"Yes; think of some decent people, with a daughter or two. And one of your damned musicians. But not a comic fellow."

"Yes; think of some decent people, with a daughter or two. And one of your damned musicians."


"I wonder if Klesmer would consent to come to us when he leaves Quetcham. Nothing but first-class music will go down with Miss Arrowpoint."

"I wonder if Klesmer would come to us when he leaves Quetcham. Nothing but first-class music will go down with Miss Arrowpoint."


Lush spoke carelessly, but he was really seizing an opportunity and fixing an observant look on Grandcourt, who now for the first time, turned his eyes toward his companion, but slowly and without speaking until he had given two long luxuriant puffs, when he said, perhaps in a lower tone than ever, but with a perceptible edge of contempt,

Lush spoke carelessly, but he was really seizing an opportunity and observing Grandcourt, who now for the first time turned his eyes toward his companion, while he gave two long luxuriant puffs on his cigar. Then he said, with a perceptible edge of contempt-


"What in the name of nonsense have I to do with Miss Arrowpoint and her music?"


"Well, something," said Lush, jocosely. "You need not give yourself much trouble, perhaps. But some forms must be gone through before a man can marry a million."


"Very likely. But I am not going to marry a million."


"That's a pity--to fling away an opportunity of this sort, and knock down your own plans."

"That's a pity - to fling away an opportunity of this sort, and knock down your plans."


"You have some debts, you know, and things may turn out inconveniently, after all. The heirship is not _absolutely_ certain."

"You have some debts, you know, and the heirship is not absolutely certain.


Grandcourt did not answer, and Lush went on.


"It really is a fine opportunity. The father and mother ask for nothing better, I can see, and the daughter's looks and manners require no allowances, any more than if she hadn't a sixpence. She is not beautiful; but equal to carrying any rank. And she is not likely to refuse such prospects as you can offer her."

It really is a fine opportunity. The father and mother ask for nothing better, I can see, and the daughter is equal to carrying any rank. She is not likely to refuse."


"The father and mother would let you do anything you like with them."


"But I should not like to do anything with them."


Here it was Lush who made a little pause before speaking again, and then he said in a deep voice of remonstrance, "Good God, Grandcourt! after your experience, will you let a whim interfere with your comfortable settlement in life?"

Here it was Lush who paused before remonstrating. "Good God, Grandcourt! after your experience, will you let a whim interfere with your comfortable settlement in life?"


"Spare your oratory. I know what I am going to do."


"What?" Lush put down his cigar and thrust his hands into his side pockets, as if he had to face something exasperating, but meant to keep his temper.

"What?" Lush thrust his hands into his side pockets, as if he had to face something exasperating, but meant to keep his temper.


"Have you fallen in love?" This question carried a strong sneer.


"You have made her an offer already, then?"


"She is a young lady with a will of her own, I fancy. Extremely well fitted to make a rumpus. She would know what she liked."

"She has a will of her own, I fancy. Extremely well fitted to make a rumpus. She would know what she liked."


"She doesn't like you," said Grandcourt, with the ghost of a smile.


"Perfectly true," said Lush, adding again in a markedly sneering tone. "However, if you and she are devoted to each other, that will be enough."

"Perfectly true," said Lush, with another sneer. "However, if you and she are devoted to each other, that will be enough."


Grandcourt took no notice of this speech, but sipped his coffee, rose, and strolled out on the lawn, all the dogs following him.

Grandcourt took no notice, but sipped his coffee, rose, and strolled out on the lawn, all the dogs following him.


Lush glanced after him a moment, then resumed his cigar and lit it, but smoked slowly, consulting his beard with inspecting eyes and fingers, till he finally stroked it with an air of having arrived at some conclusion, and said in a subdued voice,

Lush glanced after him, then took up his cigar and smoked slowly, till he finally said-


Lush, being a man of some ability, had not known Grandcourt for fifteen years without learning what sort of measures were useless with him, though what sort might be useful remained often dubious. In the beginning of his career he held a fellowship, and was near taking orders for the sake of a college living, but, not being fond of that prospect, accepted instead the office of traveling companion to a marquess, and afterward to young Grandcourt, who had lost his father early, and who found Lush so convenient that he had allowed him to become prime minister in all his more personal affairs. The habit of fifteen years had made Grandcourt more and more in need of Lush's handiness, and Lush more and more in need of the lazy luxury to which his transactions on behalf of Grandcourt made no interruption worth reckoning. I cannot say that the same lengthened habit had intensified Grandcourt's want of respect for his companion since that want had been absolute from the beginning, but it had confirmed his sense that he might kick Lush if he chose--only he never did choose to kick any animal, because the act of kicking is a compromising attitude, and a gentleman's dogs should be kicked for him. He only said things which might have exposed himself to be kicked if his confidant had been a man of independent spirit. But what son of a vicar who has stinted his wife and daughters of calico in order to send his male offspring to Oxford, can keep an independent spirit when he is bent on dining with high discrimination, riding good horses, living generally in the most luxuriant honey-blossomed clover--and all without working? Mr. Lush had passed for a scholar once, and had still a sense of scholarship when he was not trying to remember much of it; but the bachelor's and other arts which soften manners are a time-honored preparation for sinecures; and Lush's present comfortable provision was as good a sinecure in not requiring more than the odor of departed learning. He was not unconscious of being held kickable, but he preferred counting that estimate among the peculiarities of Grandcourt's character, which made one of his incalculable moods or judgments as good as another. Since in his own opinion he had never done a bad action, it did not seem necessary to consider whether he should be likely to commit one if his love of ease required it. Lush's love of ease was well-satisfied at present, and if his puddings were rolled toward him in the dust, he took the inside bits and found them relishing.

Lush had not known Grandcourt for fifteen years without learning what sort of measures were useless with him, though what sort might be useful remained often doubtful. In the beginning of his career Lush held a fellowship, and nearly took orders for the sake of a college living, but not being fond of that prospect accepted instead the office of travelling companion to young Grandcourt, who had lost his father early, and who found Lush so convenient that he had allowed him to become prime minister in all his more personal affairs.
The habit of fifteen years had made Grandcourt more and more in need of Lush's handiness, and Lush more and more in need of the lazy luxury which his life with Grandcourt allowed. I cannot say that time increased Grandcourt's lack of respect for his companion, since that lack had been absolute from the start, but it had confirmed his sense that he might kick Lush if he chose - only he never did choose to kick any animal, because a gentleman's dogs should be kicked for him. He only said things which might have exposed himself to be kicked if his companion had been a man of independent spirit.
But Mr. Lush's liking of comfort had overtaken any sense of independence. He was conscious of being held kickable, but he preferred calling that one of the peculiarities of Grandcourt's incalculable character. Lush's love of ease was well-satisfied in his position, and if his puddings were rolled toward him in the dust, he took the inside bits and found them relishing.


This morning, for example, though he had encountered more annoyance than usual, he went to his private sitting-room and played a good hour on the violoncello.

This morning, for example, though he had encountered more annoyance than usual, he went to his private sitting-room and played a good hour on the cello.


Were uneasiness of conscience measured by extent of crime, human history had been different, and one should look to see the contrivers of greedy wars and the mighty marauders of the money-market in one troop of self-lacerating penitents with the meaner robber and cut-purse and the murderer that doth his butchery in small with his own hand. No doubt wickedness hath its rewards to distribute; but who so wins in this devil's game must needs be baser, more cruel, more brutal than the order of this planet will allow for the multitude born of woman, the most of these carrying a form of conscience--a fear which is the shadow of justice, a pity which is the shadow of love--that hindereth from the prize of serene wickedness, itself difficult of maintenance in our composite flesh.


On the twenty-ninth of December Deronda knew that the Grandcourts had arrived at the Abbey, but he had had no glimpse of them before he went to dress for dinner. There had been a splendid fall of snow, allowing the party of children the rare pleasures of snow-balling and snow-building, and in the Christmas holidays the Mallinger girls were content with no amusement unless it were joined in and managed by "cousin," as they had always called Deronda. After that outdoor exertion he had been playing billiards, and thus the hours had passed without his dwelling at all on the prospect of meeting Gwendolen at dinner. Nevertheless that prospect was interesting to him; and when, a little tired and heated with working at amusement, he went to his room before the half-hour bell had rung, he began to think of it with some speculation on the sort of influence her marriage with Grandcourt would have on her, and on the probability that there would be some discernible shades of change in her manner since he saw her at Diplow, just as there had been since his first vision of her at Leubronn.

On the 29th of December Deronda knew that the Grandcourts had arrived at the Abbey, but he had had no glimpse of them before he went to dress for dinner. There had been a splendid fall of snow, allowing the Mallinger girls the rare pleasures of snow-balling and snow-building, in which amusement they insisted on the company of "cousin," as they had always called Deronda. After that exertion, he played billiards, and thus the hours had passed without his dwelling on the prospect of meeting Gwendolen at dinner.
Nevertheless that prospect was interesting to him; and when he went to his room to dress, he began to speculate on how her marriage with Grandcourt would have influenced her. He thought there would be some changes in her manner since he saw her at Diplow, just as there had been since his first vision of her at Leubronn.


"I fancy there are some natures one could see growing or degenerating every day, if one watched them," was his thought. "I suppose some of us go on faster than others: and I am sure she is a creature who keeps strong traces of anything that has once impressed her. That little affair of the necklace, and the idea that somebody thought her gambling wrong, had evidently bitten into her. But such impressibility leads both ways: it may drive one to desperation as soon as to anything better. And whatever fascinations Grandcourt may have for capricious tastes--good heavens! who can believe that he would call out the tender affections in daily companionship? One might be tempted to horsewhip him for the sake of getting some show of passion into his face and speech. I'm afraid she married him out of ambition--to escape poverty. But why did she run out of his way at first? The poverty came after, though. Poor thing! she may have been urged into it. How can one feel anything else than pity for a young creature like that--full of unused life--ignorantly rash--hanging all her blind expectations on that remnant of a human being."

"I fancy there are some natures one could see growing or degenerating every day, if one watched them," was his thought. "I am sure she is a creature who keeps strong traces of anything that has impressed her. That little matter of the necklace, and the idea that somebody thought her gambling wrong, had evidently bitten into her. But such impressibility may drive one to desperation. As for having Grandcourt as a daily companion - good heavens! One might be tempted to horsewhip him for the sake of getting him to show some passion. I'm afraid she married him to escape poverty. But why did she run away at first? The poverty came after, though. Poor thing! she may have been urged into it. One can only pity a young creature like that - full of unused life - ignorantly rash - hanging all her blind expectations on that remnant of a human being!"


Doubtless the phrases which Deronda's meditation applied to the bridegroom were the less complimentary for the excuses and pity in which it clad the bride. His notion of Grandcourt as a "remnant" was founded on no particular knowledge, but simply on the impression which ordinary polite intercourse had given him that Grandcourt had worn out all his natural healthy interest in things.

Deronda's notion of Grandcourt as a "remnant" was founded on no particular knowledge, but simply on his impression that Grandcourt had worn out all his natural healthy interest in things.


In general, one may be sure that whenever a marriage of any mark takes place, male acquaintances are likely to pity the bride, female acquaintances the bridegroom: each, it is thought, might have done better; and especially where the bride is charming, young gentlemen on the scene are apt to conclude that she can have no real attachment to a fellow so uninteresting to themselves as her husband, but has married him on other grounds. Who, under such circumstances, pities the husband? Even his female friends are apt to think his position retributive: he should have chosen some one else. But perhaps Deronda may be excused that he did not prepare any pity for Grandcourt, who had never struck acquaintances as likely to come out of his experiences with more suffering than he inflicted; whereas, for Gwendolen, young, headlong, eager for pleasure, fed with the flattery which makes a lovely girl believe in her divine right to rule--how quickly might life turn from expectancy to a bitter sense of the irremediable! After what he had seen of her he must have had rather dull feelings not to have looked forward with some interest to her entrance into the room. Still, since the honeymoon was already three weeks in the distance, and Gwendolen had been enthroned, not only at Ryelands, but at Diplow, she was likely to have composed her countenance with suitable manifestation or concealment, not being one who would indulge the curious by a helpless exposure of her feelings.

In general, whenever a marriage of any mark takes place, male acquaintances are likely to pity the bride, female acquaintances the bridegroom: each, it is thought, might have done better; and especially where the bride is charming, young gentlemen are apt to conclude that she can have no real attachment to a fellow so uninteresting as her husband, but has married him on other grounds. But perhaps Deronda may be excused for not pitying Grandcourt, who had never struck acquaintances as likely to undergo more suffering than he inflicted; whereas, for Gwendolen, young, headlong, eager for pleasure - how quickly might life turn from expectancy to a bitter sense of the irremediable!
Still, since the honeymoon was already three weeks past, and Gwendolen had been enthroned at both Ryelands and Diplow, she was likely to have composed herself with suitable concealment, not being one who would indulge the curious by a helpless exposure of her feelings.


A various party had been invited to meet the new couple; the old aristocracy was represented by Lord and Lady Pentreath; the old gentry by young Mr. and Mrs. Fitzadam of the Worcestershire branch of the Fitzadams; politics and the public good, as specialized in the cider interest, by Mr. Fenn, member for West Orchards, accompanied by his two daughters; Lady Mallinger's family, by her brother, Mr. Raymond, and his wife; the useful bachelor element by Mr. Sinker, the eminent counsel, and by Mr. Vandernoodt, whose acquaintance Sir Hugo had found pleasant enough at Leubronn to be adopted in England.

A varied party had been invited to meet the new couple; the aristocracy was represented by Lord and Lady Pentreath; the gentry by Mr. and Mrs. Fitzadam of the Worcestershire Fitzadams; politics by Mr. Fenn, Member of Parliament, with his daughters; Lady Mallinger's family, by her brother and his wife with various little Raymonds; the useful bachelor element by Mr. Sinker, the eminent lawyer, and Mr. Vandernoodt, whose acquaintance Sir Hugo had found pleasant enough at Leubronn to be adopted in England.


All had assembled in the drawing-room before the new couple appeared. Meanwhile, the time was being passed chiefly in noticing the children--various little Raymonds, nephews and nieces of Lady Mallinger's with her own three girls, who were always allowed to appear at this hour. The scene was really delightful--enlarged by full-length portraits with deep backgrounds, inserted in the cedar paneling--surmounted by a ceiling that glowed with the rich colors of the coats of arms ranged between the sockets--illuminated almost as much by the red fire of oak-boughs as by the pale wax-lights--stilled by the deep-piled carpet and by the high English breeding that subdues all voices; while the mixture of ages, from the white-haired Lord and Lady Pentreath to the four-year-old Edgar Raymond, gave a varied charm to the living groups. Lady Mallinger, with fair matronly roundness and mildly prominent blue eyes, moved about in her black velvet, carrying a tiny white dog on her arm as a sort of finish to her costume; the children were scattered among the ladies, while most of the gentlemen were standing rather aloof, conversing with that very moderate vivacity observable during the long minutes before dinner. Deronda was a little out of the circle in a dialogue fixed upon him by Mr. Vandernoodt, a man of the best Dutch blood imported at the revolution: for the rest, one of those commodious persons in society who are nothing particular themselves, but are understood to be acquainted with the best in every department; close-clipped, pale-eyed, _nonchalant_, as good a foil as could well be found to the intense coloring and vivid gravity of Deronda.

All had assembled in the drawing-room before the new couple appeared. The scene was really delightful: full-length portraits with deep backgrounds, inserted in the cedar panelling, were surmounted by a ceiling that glowed with the richly coloured coats of arms. Sounds were muted by the deep-piled carpet and by the high English breeding that subdues all voices; while the mixture of ages, from the white-haired Lord and Lady Pentreath to the four-year-old Edgar Raymond, gave a varied charm to the groups. Lady Mallinger moved about in her black velvet, carrying a tiny white dog as a sort of finish to her costume; while the gentlemen were conversing with very moderate vivacity.
Deronda was a little out of the circle with Mr. Vandernoodt, a nonchalant Dutchman, who


He was talking of the bride and bridegroom, whose appearance was being waited for. Mr. Vandernoodt was an industrious gleaner of personal details, and could probably tell everything about a great philosopher or physicist except his theories or discoveries; he was now implying that he had learned many facts about Grandcourt since meeting him at Leubronn.

was talking of the bride and bridegroom. Mr. Vandernoodt was an industrious gleaner of personal details, and implied that he had learned many facts about Grandcourt since meeting him at Leubronn.


"Men who have seen a good deal of life don't always end by choosing their wives so well. He has had rather an anecdotic history--gone rather deep into pleasures, I fancy, lazy as he is. But, of course, you know all about him."

"Men who have seen a good deal of life don't always end by choosing their wives so well. He has gone rather deep into pleasures, I fancy, lazy as he is. But, of course, you know all about him."


"No, really," said Deronda, in an indifferent tone. "I know little more of him than that he is Sir Hugo's nephew."

"No, really," said Deronda in an indifferent tone. "I know little more of him than that he is Sir Hugo's nephew."


But now the door opened and deferred any satisfaction of Mr. Vandernoodt's communicativeness.

But now the door opened and their conversation halted.


The scene was one to set off any figure of distinction that entered on it, and certainly when Mr. and Mrs. Grandcourt entered, no beholder could deny that their figures had distinction. The bridegroom had neither more nor less easy perfection of costume, neither more nor less well-cut impassibility of face, than before his marriage. It was to be supposed of him that he would put up with nothing less than the best in outward equipment, wife included; and the bride was what he might have been expected to choose. "By George, I think she's handsomer, if anything!" said Mr. Vandernoodt. And Deronda was of the same opinion, but he said nothing. The white silk and diamonds--it may seem strange, but she did wear diamonds on her neck, in her ears, in her hair--might have something to do with the new imposingness of her beauty, which flashed on him as more unquestionable if not more thoroughly satisfactory than when he had first seen her at the gaming-table. Some faces which are peculiar in their beauty are like original works of art: for the first time they are almost always met with question. But in seeing Gwendolen at Diplow, Deronda had discerned in her more than he had expected of that tender appealing charm which we call womanly. Was there any new change since then? He distrusted his impressions; but as he saw her receiving greetings with what seemed a proud cold quietude and a superficial smile, there seemed to be at work within her the same demonic force that had possessed her when she took him in her resolute glance and turned away a loser from the gaming-table. There was no time for more of a conclusion--no time even for him to give his greeting before the summons to dinner.

When Mr. and Mrs. Grandcourt entered, no beholder could deny that their figures had distinction. The bridegroom had the same easy perfection of costume and impassivity of face as before his marriage: and his bride looked as faultless as one might expect.
"By George, I think she's handsomer, if anything!" said Mr. Vandernoodt. Deronda was of the same opinion, but he said nothing. The white silk and diamonds - it may seem strange, but she did wear diamonds on her neck, in her ears, in her hair - might have something to do with the new imposing nature of her beauty; but at Diplow, Deronda had discerned in her that tender appealing charm which we call womanly. Was there any new change since then? As he saw her receiving greetings with what seemed a proud cold quietude and a superficial smile, he thought that there was within her the same demonic force that had possessed her when she turned away a loser from the gaming-table. There was no time for more of a conclusion - no time even for him to greet her before the summons to dinner.


He sat not far from opposite to her at table, and could sometimes hear what she said in answer to Sir Hugo, who was at his liveliest in conversation with her; but though he looked toward her with the intention of bowing, she gave him no opportunity of doing so for some time. At last Sir Hugo, who might have imagined that they had already spoken to each other, said, "Deronda, you will like to hear what Mrs. Grandcourt tells me about your favorite Klesmer."

He sat almost opposite her at table, and could sometimes hear what she said in answer to Sir Hugo, who was at his liveliest with her; but she did not look his way at all. At last Sir Hugo, who might have imagined that they had already spoken to each other, said, "Deronda, you will like to hear what Mrs. Grandcourt tells me about your favourite Klesmer."


Gwendolen's eyelids had been lowered, and Deronda, already looking at her, thought he discovered a quivering reluctance as she was obliged to raise them and return his unembarrassed bow and smile, her own smile being one of the lip merely. It was but an instant, and Sir Hugo continued without pause,

Deronda thought he saw a quivering reluctance in Gwendolen's eyelids as she was obliged to raise them and return his bow and smile. It was but an instant, and Sir Hugo continued-


"The Arrowpoints have condoned the marriage, and he is spending the Christmas with his bride at Quetcham."

"The Arrowpoints have condoned the marriage, and he is spending Christmas at Quetcham."


"I suppose he will be glad of it for the sake of his wife, else I dare say he would not have minded keeping at a distance," said Deronda.

"I suppose he will be glad of it for his wife's sake, if not his own," said Deronda.


"It's a sort of troubadour story," said Lady Pentreath, an easy, deep-voiced old lady; "I'm glad to find a little romance left among us. I think our young people now are getting too worldly wise."

"It's a sort of troubadour story," said Lady Pentreath, an easy, deep-voiced old lady; "I'm glad to find a little romance left among us. I think our young people now are too worldly wise."


"It shows the Arrowpoints' good sense, however, to have adopted the affair, after the fuss in the paper," said Sir Hugo. "And disowning your own child because of a _msalliance_ is something like disowning your one eye: everybody knows it's yours, and you have no other to make an appearance with."

"It shows the Arrowpoints' good sense, after the fuss in the paper," said Sir Hugo. "Disowning your own child because of a msalliance is something like disowning your one eye: everybody knows it's yours, and you have no other to make an appearance with."


"As to _msalliance_, there's no blood on any side," said Lady Pentreath. "Old Admiral Arrowpoint was one of Nelson's men, you know--a doctor's son. And we all know how the mother's money came."

"As to msalliance," said Lady Pentreath, "old Admiral Arrowpoint was one of Nelson's men - a doctor's son. And we all know how the mother's money came."


"If they were any _msalliance_ in the case, I should say it was on Klesmer's side," said Deronda.

"If there were any msalliance in the case, I should say it was on Klesmer's side," said Deronda.


"Ah, you think it is a case of the immortal marrying the mortal. What is your opinion?" said Sir Hugo, looking at Gwendolen.


"I have no doubt that Herr Klesmer thinks himself immortal. But I dare say his wife will burn as much incense before him as he requires," said Gwendolen. She had recovered any composure that she might have lost.


"Don't you approve of a wife burning incense before her husband?" said Sir Hugo, with an air of jocoseness.

"Don't you approve of a wife burning incense before her husband?" said Sir Hugo, smiling.


"Oh, yes," said Gwendolen, "if it were only to make others believe in him." She paused a moment and then said with more gayety, "When Herr Klesmer admires his own genius, it will take off some of the absurdity if his wife says Amen."

"Oh, yes," said Gwendolen, "if it were only to make others believe in him. When Herr Klesmer admires his own genius, it will take off some of the absurdity if his wife says Amen."


"Klesmer is no favorite of yours, I see," said Sir Hugo.

"Klesmer is no favourite of yours, I see," said Sir Hugo.


"I think very highly of him, I assure you," said Gwendolen. "His genius is quite above my judgment, and I know him to be exceedingly generous."


She spoke with the sudden seriousness which is often meant to correct an unfair or indiscreet sally, having a bitterness against Klesmer in her secret soul which she knew herself unable to justify. Deronda was wondering what he should have thought of her if he had never heard of her before: probably that she put on a little hardness and defiance by way of concealing some painful consciousness--if, indeed, he could imagine her manners otherwise than in the light of his suspicion. But why did she not recognize him with more friendliness?

She spoke with the sudden seriousness which is often meant to correct an unfair or indiscreet sally. Deronda wondered what he would have thought of her if he had never met her before: probably that she put on a little hard defiance to conceal some painful knowledge. But why did she not greet him with more friendliness?


Sir Hugo, by way of changing the subject, said to her, "Is not this a beautiful room? It was part of the refectory of the Abbey. There was a division made by those pillars and the three arches, and afterward they were built up. Else it was half as large again originally. There used to be rows of Benedictines sitting where we are sitting. Suppose we were suddenly to see the lights burning low and the ghosts of the old monks rising behind all our chairs!"

Sir Hugo, changing the subject, said to her, "Is not this a beautiful room? It was part of the Abbey's refectory. There used to be rows of Benedictines sitting here. Suppose we were suddenly to see the lights burning low and the ghosts of the old monks rising behind our chairs!"


"Please don't!" said Gwendolen, with a playful shudder. "It is very nice to come after ancestors and monks, but they should know their places and keep underground. I should be rather frightened to go about this house all alone. I suppose the old generations must be angry with us because we have altered things so much."

"Please don't!" said Gwendolen, with a playful shudder. "It is very nice to come after ancestors and monks, but they should know their places and keep underground. I should be rather frightened to go about this house all alone."


"Oh, the ghosts must be of all political parties," said Sir Hugo. "And those fellows who wanted to change things while they lived and couldn't do it must be on our side. But if you would not like to go over the house alone, you will like to go in company, I hope. You and Grandcourt ought to see it all. And we will ask Deronda to go round with us. He is more learned about it than I am." The baronet was in the most complaisant of humors.

"But I hope you will like to go in company. You and Grandcourt ought to see it all. We will ask Deronda to go round with us. He is more learned about it than I am," said the baronet good-humouredly.


Gwendolen stole a glance at Deronda, who must have heard what Sir Hugo said, for he had his face turned toward them helping himself to an _entre_; but he looked as impassive as a picture. At the notion of Deronda's showing her and Grandcourt the place which was to be theirs, and which she with painful emphasis remembered might have been his (perhaps, if others had acted differently), certain thoughts had rushed in--thoughts repeated within her, but now returning on an occasion embarrassingly new; and was conscious of something furtive and awkward in her glance which Sir Hugo must have noticed. With her usual readiness of resource against betrayal, she said, playfully, "You don't know how much I am afraid of Mr. Deronda."

Gwendolen stole a glance at Deronda; but he looked as impassive as a picture. At the notion of Deronda's showing her and Grandcourt the place which was to be theirs, and which she painfully remembered might perhaps have been his, certain recurring thoughts about inheritance rushed in anew; and she was conscious of something furtive and awkward in her glance. To explain it, she said, playfully, "You don't know how much I am afraid of Mr. Deronda."


"How's that? Because you think him too learned?" said Sir Hugo, whom the peculiarity of her glance had not escaped.

"How's that? Because you think him too learned?" said Sir Hugo, who had noticed the peculiarity of her glance.


"No. It is ever since I first saw him at Leubronn. Because when he came to look on at the roulette-table, I began to lose. He cast an evil eye on my play. He didn't approve it. He has told me so. And now whatever I do before him, I am afraid he will cast an evil eye upon it."

"No. It is ever since I first saw him at Leubronn. When he looked on at the roulette-table, I began to lose. He cast an evil eye on my play. He didn't approve it. He has told me so. And now whatever I do, I am afraid he will cast an evil eye upon it."


"Gad! I'm rather afraid of him myself when he doesn't approve," said Sir Hugo, glancing at Deronda; and then turning his face toward Gwendolen, he said less audibly, "I don't think ladies generally object to have his eyes upon them." The baronet's small chronic complaint of facetiousness was at this moment almost as annoying to Gwendolen as it often was to Deronda.

"Gad! I'm rather afraid of him myself when he doesn't approve," said Sir Hugo, glancing at Deronda; and added less audibly to Gwendolen, "I don't think ladies generally object to have his eyes upon them." The baronet's facetiousness was at this moment almost as annoying to her as it often was to Deronda.


"I object to any eyes that are critical," she said, in a cool, high voice, with a turn of her neck. "Are there many of these old rooms left in the Abbey?"

"I object to any eyes that are critical," she said, in a cool, high voice. "Are there many of these old rooms left in the Abbey?"


"Not many. There is a fine cloistered court with a long gallery above it. But the finest bit of all is turned into stables. It is part of the old church. When I improved the place I made the most of every other bit; but it was out of my reach to change the stables, so the horses have the benefit of the fine old choir. You must go and see it."

"Not many. There is a fine cloistered court with a long gallery above it. But the best bit of all is turned into stables. It is part of the old church, so the horses have the benefit of the fine old choir. You must go and see it."


"I shall like to see the horses as well as the building," said Gwendolen.


"Oh, I have no stud to speak of. Grandcourt will look with contempt at my horses," said Sir Hugo. "I've given up hunting, and go on in a jog-trot way, as becomes an old gentlemen with daughters. The fact is, I went in for doing too much at this place. We all lived at Diplow for two years while the alterations were going on: Do you like Diplow?"

"Oh, I have no stud to speak of. Grandcourt will look with contempt at my horses," said Sir Hugo. "I've given up hunting. The fact is, I did too much at this place. We all lived at Diplow for two years while the alterations were going on. Do you like Diplow?"


"Not particularly," said Gwendolen, with indifference. One would have thought that the young lady had all her life had more family seats than she cared to go to.


"Ah! it will not do after Ryelands," said Sir Hugo, well pleased. "Grandcourt, I know, took it for the sake of the hunting. But he found something so much better there," added the baronet, lowering his voice, "that he might well prefer it to any other place in the world."

"Ah! it will not do after Ryelands," said Sir Hugo, well pleased. "Grandcourt, I know, took it for the hunting. But he found something so much better there that he might well prefer it to any other place in the world."


"It has one attraction for me," said Gwendolen, passing over this compliment with a chill smile, "that it is within reach of Offendene."


"I understand that," said Sir Hugo, and then let the subject drop.


What amiable baronet can escape the effect of a strong desire for a particular possession? Sir Hugo would have been glad that Grandcourt, with or without reason, should prefer any other place to Diplow; but inasmuch as in the pure process of wishing we can always make the conditions of our gratification benevolent, he did wish that Grandcourt's convenient disgust for Diplow should not be associated with his marriage with this very charming bride. Gwendolen was much to the baronet's taste, but, as he observed afterward to Lady Mallinger, he should never have taken her for a young girl who had married beyond her expectations.


Deronda had not heard much of this conversation, having given his attention elsewhere, but the glimpses he had of Gwendolen's manner deepened the impression that it had something newly artificial.

Deronda did not hear much of this conversation, but the glimpses he had of Gwendolen's manner deepened the impression that it had something newly artificial.


Later, in the drawing-room, Deronda, at somebody's request, sat down to the piano and sang. Afterward, Mrs. Raymond took his place; and on rising he observed that Gwendolen had left her seat, and had come to this end of the room, as if to listen more fully, but was now standing with her back to every one, apparently contemplating a fine cowled head carved in ivory which hung over a small table. He longed to go to her and speak. Why should he not obey such an impulse, as he would have done toward any other lady in the room? Yet he hesitated some moments, observing the graceful lines of her back, but not moving.

Later, in the drawing-room, Deronda, at somebody's request, sat down to the piano and sang. On rising to make way for another, he observed that Gwendolen had left her seat, and had come to this end of the room as if to listen, but was now standing with her back to everyone, apparently contemplating a fine cowled ivory head on a small table. He longed to go to her and speak. Why should he not obey such an impulse, as he would have done toward any other lady in the room? Yet he hesitated, observing the graceful lines of her back, but not moving.


If you have any reason for not indulging a wish to speak to a fair woman, it is a bad plan to look long at her back: the wish to see what it screens becomes the stronger. There may be a very sweet smile on the other side. Deronda ended by going to the end of the small table, at right angles to Gwendolen's position, but before he could speak she had turned on him no smile, but such an appealing look of sadness, so utterly different from the chill effort of her recognition at table, that his speech was checked. For what was an appreciative space of time to both, though the observation of others could not have measured it, they looked at each other--she seeming to take the deep rest of confession, he with an answering depth of sympathy that neutralized all other feelings.

If you have any reason for not indulging a wish to speak to a fair woman, it is a bad plan to look at her back: the wish to see what it screens becomes the stronger. Deronda ended by going to the small table, but before he could speak Gwendolen had turned on him such an appealing look of sadness, so utterly different from her chilly recognition at table, that his speech was checked. For a moment they looked at each other - she seeming to take the deep rest of confession, he with an answering depth of sympathy that neutralised all other feelings.


"Will you not join in the music?" he said, by way of meeting the necessity for speech.

"Will you not join in the music?" he said, since speech seemed necessary.


That her look of confession had been involuntary was shown by that just perceptible shake and change of countenance with which she roused herself to reply calmly, "I join in it by listening. I am fond of music."

That her look of confession had been involuntary was shown by her change of expression as she roused herself to reply calmly, "I join in it by listening. I am fond of music."


"I have given a great deal of time to music. But I have not talent enough to make it worth while. I shall never sing again."


"But if you are fond of music, it will always be worth while in private, for your own delight. I make it a virtue to be content with my middlingness," said Deronda, smiling; "it is always pardonable, so that one does not ask others to take it for superiority."

"But if you are fond of music, it will always be worth while in private, for your own delight. I make it a virtue to be content with my middlingness," said Deronda, smiling. "It is always pardonable, if one does not ask other to take it for superiority."


"I cannot imitate you," said Gwendolen, recovering her tone of artificial vivacity. "To be middling with me is another phrase for being dull. And the worst fault I have to find with the world is that it is dull. Do you know, I am going to justify gambling in spite of you. It is a refuge from dullness."

"I cannot imitate you," said Gwendolen, recovering her tone of artificial vivacity. "To be middling with me is another word for being dull. And the worst fault I have to find with the world is, that it is dull. Do you know, I am going to justify gambling in spite of you. It is a refuge from dullness."


"I don't admit the justification," said Deronda. "I think what we call the dullness of things is a disease in ourselves. Else how can any one find an intense interest in life? And many do."

"I don't agree," said Deronda. "I think what we call the dullness of things is a disease in ourselves. Else how can anyone find an intense interest in life? And many do."


"Ah, I see! The fault I find in the world is my own fault," said Gwendolen, smiling at him. Then after a moment, looking up at the ivory again, she said, "Do _you_ never find fault with the world or with others?"

"Ah, I see! The fault I find in the world is my own fault," said Gwendolen, smiling at him. Then after a moment, she said, "Do you never find fault with the world or with others?"


"Oh, yes. When I am in a grumbling mood."


"And hate people? Confess you hate them when they stand in your way--when their gain is your loss? That is your own phrase, you know."

"And hate people? Confess you hate them when they stand in your way."


"We are often standing in each other's way when we can't help it. I think it is stupid to hate people on that ground."


"But if they injure you and could have helped it?" said Gwendolen with a hard intensity unaccountable in incidental talk like this.

"But if they injure you and could have helped it?" said Gwendolen with an unaccountable intensity.


Deronda wondered at her choice of subjects. A painful impression arrested his answer a moment, but at last he said, with a graver, deeper intonation, "Why, then, after all, I prefer my place to theirs."

Deronda wondered at her choice of subjects. At last he said, more gravely, "Why, then, after all, I prefer my place to theirs."


"There I believe you are right," said Gwendolen, with a sudden little laugh, and turned to join the group at the piano.


Deronda looked around for Grandcourt, wondering whether he followed his bride's movements with any attention; but it was rather undiscerning to him to suppose that he could find out the fact. Grandcourt had a delusive mood of observing whatever had an interest for him, which could be surpassed by no sleepy-eyed animal on the watch for prey. At that moment he was plunged in the depth of an easy chair, being talked to by Mr. Vandernoodt, who apparently thought the acquaintance of such a bridegroom worth cultivating; and an incautious person might have supposed it safe to telegraph secrets in front of him, the common prejudice being that your quick observer is one whose eyes have quick movements. Not at all. If you want a respectable witness who will see nothing inconvenient, choose a vivacious gentleman, very much on the alert, with two eyes wide open, a glass in one of them, and an entire impartiality as to the purpose of looking. If Grandcourt cared to keep any one under his power he saw them out of the corners of his long narrow eyes, and if they went behind him he had a constructive process by which he knew what they were doing there. He knew perfectly well where his wife was, and how she was behaving. Was he going to be a jealous husband? Deronda imagined that to be likely; but his imagination was as much astray about Grandcourt as it would have been about an unexplored continent where all the species were peculiar. He did not conceive that he himself was a likely subject of jealousy, or that he should give any pretext for it; but the suspicion that a wife is not happy naturally leads one to speculate on the husband's private deportment; and Deronda found himself after one o'clock in the morning in the rather ludicrous position of sitting up severely holding a Hebrew grammar in his hands (for somehow, in deference to Mordecai, he had begun to study Hebrew), with the consciousness that he had been in that attitude nearly an hour, and had thought of nothing but Gwendolen and her husband. To be an unusual young man means for the most part to get a difficult mastery over the usual, which is often like the sprite of ill-luck you pack up your goods to escape from, and see grinning at you from the top of your luggage van. The peculiarities of Deronda's nature had been acutely touched by the brief incident and words which made the history of his intercourse with Gwendolen; and this evening's slight addition had given them an importunate recurrence. It was not vanity--it was ready sympathy that had made him alive to a certain appealingness in her behavior toward him; and the difficulty with which she had seemed to raise her eyes to bow to him, in the first instance, was to be interpreted now by that unmistakable look of involuntary confidence which she had afterward turned on him under the consciousness of his approach.

Deronda looked around for Grandcourt, wondering whether he followed his bride's movements with any attention; but he should not have supposed he would be able to find that out. Grandcourt had a delusive mood of observing whatever had an interest for him, which could be surpassed by no sleepy-eyed animal on the watch for prey. At that moment he was plunged in the depth of an easy chair, being talked to by Mr. Vandernoodt, and one might have thought it safe to telegraph secrets in front of that unmoving gaze. But Grandcourt saw anyone he cared to out of the corners of his long narrow eyes, and if they went behind him he had a constructive process by which he knew what they were doing there. He knew perfectly well where his wife was, and how she was behaving.
Would he be a jealous husband? Deronda imagined so; but his imagination was as much astray about Grandcourt as it would have been about an unexplored continent where all the species were peculiar. He did not think that he himself was a likely subject of jealousy, or that he gave any pretext for it; but the suspicion that a wife is not happy naturally leads one to speculate on the husband's private conduct.
Hence Deronda found himself at one o'clock in the morning in the ludicrous position of sitting up, severely holding a Hebrew grammar in his hands (for in deference to Mordecai, he had begun to study Hebrew), with the consciousness that he had been in that attitude nearly an hour, and had thought of nothing but Gwendolen and her husband. Deronda's nature had been acutely touched by his brief acquaintance and speech with Gwendolen. His ready sympathy made him alive to a certain appealingness in her behaviour toward him; and he remembered that unmistakable look of involuntary confidence which she had turned on him as he approached her.


"What is the use of it all?" thought Deronda, as he threw down his grammar, and began to undress. "I can't do anything to help her--nobody can, if she has found out her mistake already. And it seems to me that she has a dreary lack of the ideas that might help her. Strange and piteous to think what a center of wretchedness a delicate piece of human flesh like that might be, wrapped round with fine raiment, her ears pierced for gems, her head held loftily, her mouth all smiling pretense, the poor soul within her sitting in sick distaste of all things! But what do I know of her? There may be a demon in her to match the worst husband, for what I can tell. She was clearly an ill-educated, worldly girl: perhaps she is a coquette."

"What is the use of it all?" thought Deronda, throwing down his book. "I can't do anything to help her, if she has found out her mistake already. And it seems to me that she has a dreary lack of the ideas that might help her. Poor soul, wrapped around with fine raiment and gems, smiling loftily, and with a sick distaste of all things! But what do I know? There may be a demon in her to match the worst husband, for all I can tell. She is clearly ill-educated and worldly: perhaps she is a coquette."


This last reflection, not much believed in, was a self-administered dose of caution, prompted partly by Sir Hugo's much-contemned joking on the subject of flirtation. Deronda resolved not to volunteer any _tete--tete_ with Gwendolen during the days of her stay at the Abbey; and he was capable of keeping a resolve in spite of much inclination to the contrary.

This last reflection, not much believed in, was a self-administered dose of caution, prompted partly by Sir Hugo's joke about flirtation. Deronda resolved not to have any tte--tte with Gwendolen during her stay at the Abbey.


But a man cannot resolve about a woman's actions, least of all about those of a woman like Gwendolen, in whose nature there was a combination of proud reserve with rashness, of perilously poised terror with defiance, which might alternately flatter and disappoint control. Few words could less represent her than "coquette." She had native love of homage, and belief in her own power; but no cold artifice for the sake of enslaving. And the poor thing's belief in her power, with her other dreams before marriage, had often to be thrust aside now like the toys of a sick child, which it looks at with dull eyes, and has no heart to play with, however it may try.

But few words could less represent Gwendolen than "coquette." She had a love of homage, and belief in her own power; but no cold artifice for the sake of enslaving. And the poor thing's belief in her power, with her other dreams before marriage, had to be thrust aside now like the toys of a sick child, which it looks at with dull eyes, and has no heart to play with, however it may try.


The next day at lunch Sir Hugo said to her, "The thaw has gone on like magic, and it's so pleasant out of doors just now--shall we go and see the stables and the other odd bits about the place?"

The next day at lunch Sir Hugo said to her, "It's so pleasant out of doors just now - shall we go and see the stables and the other odd bits about the place?"


"Yes, pray," said Gwendolen. "You will like to see the stables, Henleigh?" she added, looking at her husband.


"Uncommonly," said Grandcourt, with an indifference which seemed to give irony to the word, as he returned her look. It was the first time Deronda had seen them speak to each other since their arrival, and he thought their exchange of looks as cold or official as if it had been a ceremony to keep up a charter. Still, the English fondness for reserve will account for much negation; and Grandcourt's manners with an extra veil of reserve over them might be expected to present the extreme type of the national taste.

"Uncommonly," said Grandcourt, with an indifference which seemed ironic. It was the first time Deronda had seen them speak to each other since their arrival, and he thought their exchange as cold as an official ceremony. Still, English reserve might account for much of that.


"Who else is inclined to make the tour of the house and premises?" said Sir Hugo. "The ladies must muffle themselves; there is only just about time to do it well before sunset. You will go, Dan, won't you?"

"Who else is inclined to make the tour of the house and premises?" said Sir Hugo. "There is just about time to do it before sunset. You will go, Dan, won't you?"


"Oh, yes," said Deronda, carelessly, knowing that Sir Hugo would think any excuse disobliging.


"All meet in the library, then, when they are ready--say in half an hour," said the baronet. Gwendolen made herself ready with wonderful quickness, and in ten minutes came down into the library in her sables, plume, and little thick boots. As soon as she entered the room she was aware that some one else was there: it was precisely what she had hoped for. Deronda was standing with his back toward her at the far end of the room, and was looking over a newspaper. How could little thick boots make any noise on an Axminster carpet? And to cough would have seemed an intended signaling which her pride could not condescend to; also, she felt bashful about walking up to him and letting him know that she was there, though it was her hunger to speak to him which had set her imagination on constructing this chance of finding him, and had made her hurry down, as birds hover near the water which they dare not drink. Always uneasily dubious about his opinion of her, she felt a peculiar anxiety to-day, lest he might think of her with contempt, as one triumphantly conscious of being Grandcourt's wife, the future lady of this domain. It was her habitual effort now to magnify the satisfactions of her pride, on which she nourished her strength; but somehow Deronda's being there disturbed them all. There was not the faintest touch of coquetry in the attitude of her mind toward him: he was unique to her among men, because he had impressed her as being not her admirer but her superior: in some mysterious way he was becoming a part of her conscience, as one woman whose nature is an object of reverential belief may become a new conscience to a man.

"All meet in the library, then - say in half an hour," said the baronet.
Gwendolen made herself ready with wonderful quickness, and in ten minutes came down into the library in her sables, plume, and little thick boots. As soon as she entered the room she saw that Deronda was there, as she had hoped. He was standing with his back toward her at the far end of the room, looking over a newspaper. How could little thick boots make any noise on an Axminster carpet? And a cough would have seemed a signal which her pride could not allow. Also, she felt bashful about walking up to him, though it was her hunger to speak to him which had made her hurry down.
Always uneasy about his opinion of her, she felt a peculiar anxiety today, lest he might think of her with contempt, as one triumphantly conscious of being Grandcourt's wife, the future lady of this domain. There was not the faintest touch of coquetry in her attitude toward him: he was unique to her among men, because he had impressed her as being not her admirer but her superior: in some mysterious way he was becoming a part of her conscience.


And now he would not look round and find out that she was there! The paper crackled in his hand, his head rose and sank, exploring those stupid columns, and he was evidently stroking his beard; as if this world were a very easy affair to her. Of course all the rest of the company would soon be down, and the opportunity of her saying something to efface her flippancy of the evening before, would be quite gone. She felt sick with irritation--so fast do young creatures like her absorb misery through invisible suckers of their own fancies--and her face had gathered that peculiar expression which comes with a mortification to which tears are forbidden.

And now he would not look round and see that she was there! The paper crackled in his hand, his head rose and sank, exploring those stupid columns. The rest of the company would soon be down, and the opportunity of her saying something to erase the flippancy of the evening before, would be quite gone. She felt sick with irritation and mortification.


At last he threw down the paper and turned round.


"Oh, you are there already," he said, coming forward a step or two: "I must go and put on my coat."

"Oh, you are there already," he said: "I must go and put on my coat."


He turned aside and walked out of the room. This was behaving quite badly. Mere politeness would have made him stay to exchange some words before leaving her alone. It was true that Grandcourt came in with Sir Hugo immediately after, so that the words must have been too few to be worth anything. As it was, they saw him walking from the library door.

He turned aside and walked out of the room. This was behaving quite badly. Mere politeness would have made him stay to exchange some words before leaving. It was true that Grandcourt came in with Sir Hugo immediately after, so that the words must have been few. As it was, they saw him walking from the library door.


"A--you look rather ill," said Grandcourt, going straight up to her, standing in front of her, and looking into her eyes. "Do you feel equal to the walk?"

"A - you look rather ill," said Grandcourt, going straight up to her, and looking into her eyes. "Do you feel equal to the walk?"


"Yes, I shall like it," said Gwendolen, without the slightest movement except this of the lips.

"Yes, I shall like it," said Gwendolen, without the slightest movement except of the lips.


"We could put off going over the house, you know, and only go out of doors," said Sir Hugo, kindly, while Grandcourt turned aside.

"We could put off going over the house, you know," said Sir Hugo, kindly.


"Oh, dear no!" said Gwendolen, speaking with determination; "let us put off nothing. I want a long walk."

"Oh dear no!" said Gwendolen, speaking with determination, "let us put off nothing. I want a long walk."


The rest of the walking party--two ladies and two gentlemen besides Deronda--had now assembled; and Gwendolen rallying, went with due cheerfulness by the side of Sir Hugo, paying apparently an equal attention to the commentaries Deronda was called upon to give on the various architectural fragments, to Sir Hugo's reasons for not attempting to remedy the mixture of the undisguised modern with the antique--which in his opinion only made the place the more truly historical. On their way to the buttery and kitchen they took the outside of the house and paused before a beautiful pointed doorway, which was the only old remnant in the east front.

The rest of the walking party had now assembled; and Gwendolen, rallying, went with due cheerfulness by the side of Sir Hugo, paying apparently equal attention to Deronda's commentaries on the architectural fragments and to Sir Hugo's reasons for not attempting to change them. Outside the house they paused before a beautiful pointed doorway, the only old remnant of the east front.


"Well, now, to my mind," said Sir Hugo, "that is more interesting standing as it is in the middle of what is frankly four centuries later, than if the whole front had been dressed up in a pretense of the thirteenth century. Additions ought to smack of the time when they are made and carry the stamp of their period. I wouldn't destroy any old bits, but that notion of reproducing the old is a mistake, I think. At least, if a man likes to do it he must pay for his whistle. Besides, where are you to stop along that road--making loopholes where you don't want to peep, and so on? You may as well ask me to wear out the stones with kneeling; eh, Grandcourt?"

"To my mind," said Sir Hugo, "that is more interesting than if the whole front had been dressed up in a pretence of the thirteenth century. That notion of reproducing the old is a mistake, I think.


"A confounded nuisance," drawled Grandcourt. "I hate fellows wanting to howl litanies--acting the greatest bores that have ever existed."


"Well, yes, that's what their romanticism must come to," said Sir Hugo, in a tone of confidential assent--"that is if they carry it out logically."


"I think that way of arguing against a course because it may be ridden down to an absurdity would soon bring life to a standstill," said Deronda. "It is not the logic of human action, but of a roasting-jack, that must go on to the last turn when it has been once wound up. We can do nothing safely without some judgment as to where we are to stop."


"I find the rule of the pocket the best guide," said Sir Hugo, laughingly. "And as for most of your new-old building, you had need to hire men to scratch and chip it all over artistically to give it an elderly-looking surface; which at the present rate of labor would not answer."

As for your new-old building, you need to hire men to scratch and chip it all over artistically to give it an elderly-looking surface."


"Do you want to keep up the old fashions, then, Mr. Deronda?" said Gwendolen, taking advantage of the freedom of grouping to fall back a little, while Sir Hugo and Grandcourt went on.

"Do you want to keep up the old fashions, Mr. Deronda?" said Gwendolen, taking advantage of the grouping to fall back a little, while Sir Hugo and Grandcourt went on.


"Some of them. I don't see why we should not use our choice there as we do elsewhere--or why either age or novelty by itself is an argument for or against. To delight in doing things because our fathers did them is good if it shuts out nothing better; it enlarges the range of affection--and affection is the broadest basis of good in life."

"Some of them. I don't see why we should not choose, and why age or novelty in itself is an argument for or against. To delight in doing things because our fathers did them is good if it shuts out nothing better; it enlarges the range of affection - and affection is the broadest basis of good in life."


"Do you think so?" said Gwendolen with a little surprise. "I should have thought you cared most about ideas, knowledge, wisdom, and all that."

"Do you think so?" said Gwendolen, surprised. "I should have thought you cared most about ideas, knowledge, wisdom, and all that."


"But to care about _them_ is a sort of affection," said Deronda, smiling at her sudden _navet_. "Call it attachment; interest, willing to bear a great deal for the sake of being with them and saving them from injury. Of course, it makes a difference if the objects of interest are human beings; but generally in all deep affections the objects are a mixture--half persons and half ideas--sentiments and affections flow in together."

"But to care about them is a sort of affection," said Deronda, smiling. "Call it attachment, interest, willingness to bear a great deal for the sake of being with them and saving them from injury. Of course, it makes a difference if the objects of interest are human beings; but generally the objects of deep affections are a mixture of people and ideas."


"I wonder whether I understand that," said Gwendolen, putting up her chin in her old saucy manner. "I believe I am not very affectionate; perhaps you mean to tell me, that is the reason why I don't see much good in life."


"No, I did _not_ mean to tell you that; but I admit that I should think it true if I believed what you say of yourself," said Deronda, gravely.

"No, I did not mean to tell you that; but I admit that I should think it true if I believed what you say of yourself," said Deronda gravely.


Here Sir Hugo and Grandcourt turned round and paused.

Here Sir Hugo and Grandcourt turned and paused.


"I never can get Mr. Deronda to pay me a compliment," said Gwendolen. "I have quite a curiosity to see whether a little flattery can be extracted from him."

"I never can get Mr. Deronda to pay me a compliment," said Gwendolen. "I am quite curious to see whether a little flattery can be extracted from him."


"Ah!" said Sir Hugo, glancing at Deronda, "the fact is, it is useless to flatter a bride. We give it up in despair. She has been so fed on sweet speeches that every thing we say seems tasteless."

"Ah!" said Sir Hugo, glancing at Deronda, "the fact is, it is useless to flatter a bride. She has been so fed on sweet speeches that everything we say seems tasteless."


"Quite true," said Gwendolen, bending her head and smiling. "Mr. Grandcourt won me by neatly-turned compliments. If there had been one word out of place it would have been fatal."

"Quite true," said Gwendolen, bending her head. "Mr. Grandcourt won me by neatly-turned compliments. If there had been one word out of place it would have been fatal."


"Do you hear that?" said Sir Hugo, looking at the husband.


"Yes," said Grandcourt, without change of countenance. "It's a deucedly hard thing to keep up, though."

"Yes," said Grandcourt, without change of expression. "It's a deucedly hard thing to keep up, though."


All this seemed to Sir Hugo a natural playfulness between such a husband and wife; but Deronda wondered at the misleading alternations in Gwendolen's manner, which at one moment seemed to excite sympathy by childlike indiscretion, at another to repel it by proud concealment. He tried to keep out of her way by devoting himself to Miss Juliet Fenn, a young lady whose profile had been so unfavorably decided by circumstances over which she had no control, that Gwendolen some months ago had felt it impossible to be jealous of her. Nevertheless, when they were seeing the kitchen--a part of the original building in perfect preservation--the depth of shadow in the niches of the stone-walls and groined vault, the play of light from the huge glowing fire on polished tin, brass, and copper, the fine resonance that came with every sound of voice or metal, were all spoiled for Gwendolen, and Sir Hugo's speech about them was made rather importunate, because Deronda was discoursing to the other ladies and kept at a distance from her. It did not signify that the other gentlemen took the opportunity of being near her: of what use in the world was their admiration while she had an uneasy sense that there was some standard in Deronda's mind which measured her into littleness? Mr. Vandernoodt, who had the mania of always describing one thing while you were looking at another, was quite intolerable with his insistence on Lord Blough's kitchen, which he had seen in the north.

All this seemed to Sir Hugo a natural playfulness between husband and wife; but Deronda wondered at the alternations in Gwendolen's manner, which at one moment seemed to excite sympathy by childlike indiscretion, at another to repel it by proud concealment. He tried to keep out of her way by devoting himself to Miss Juliet Fenn, a young lady whose unfortunate profile had months ago made Gwendolen feel it impossible to be jealous of her.
Nevertheless, when they were viewing the kitchen, the play of light from the huge glowing fire, the polished brass and copper, the fine resonance of every sound, were all spoiled for Gwendolen, because Deronda was talking to the other ladies. It did not signify that the other gentlemen were near her: of what use was their admiration compared to Deronda's judgment?


"Pray don't ask us to see two kitchens at once. It makes the heat double. I must really go out of it," she cried at last, marching resolutely into the open air, and leaving the others in the rear. Grandcourt was already out, and as she joined him, he said,

"The heat is too much. I must really go out," she cried at last, marching resolutely into the open air. Grandcourt was already outside, and as she joined him, he said-


"I wondered how long you meant to stay in that damned place"--one of the freedoms he had assumed as a husband being the use of his strongest epithets. Gwendolen, turning to see the rest of the party approach, said,

"I wondered how long you meant to stay in that damned place"- one of the freedoms he had assumed as a husband being the use of his strongest epithets. Gwendolen, turning to see the rest of the party approach, said-


"It was certainly rather too warm in one's wraps."