CHAPTER XXXII.

LADY MONOGRAM.

Georgiana Longestaffe had now been staying with the Melmottes for

a fortnight, and her prospects in regard to the London season had

not much improved. Her brother had troubled her no further, and her

family at Caversham had not, as far as she was aware, taken any

notice of Dolly's interference. Twice a week she received a cold,

dull letter from her mother,--such letters as she had been accustomed

to receive when away from home; and these she had answered, always

endeavouring to fill her sheet with some customary description of

fashionable doings, with some bit of scandal such as she would have

repeated for her mother's amusement,--and her own delectation in the

telling of it,--had there been nothing painful in the nature of her

sojourn in London. Of the Melmottes she hardly spoke. She did not

say that she was taken to the houses in which it was her ambition to

be seen. She would have lied directly in saying so. But she did not

announce her own disappointment. She had chosen to come up to the

Melmottes in preference to remaining at Caversham, and she would not

declare her own failure. "I hope they are kind to you," Lady Pomona

always said. But Georgiana did not tell her mother whether the

Melmottes were kind or unkind.

In truth, her "season" was a very unpleasant season. Her mode of

living was altogether different to anything she had already known.

The house in Bruton Street had never been very bright, but the

appendages of life there had been of a sort which was not known in

the gorgeous mansion in Grosvenor Square. It had been full of books

and little toys and those thousand trifling household gods which are

accumulated in years, and which in their accumulation suit themselves

to the taste of their owners. In Grosvenor Square there were no

Lares;--no toys, no books, nothing but gold and grandeur, pomatum,

powder and pride. The Longestaffe life had not been an easy, natural,

or intellectual life; but the Melmotte life was hardly endurable even

by a Longestaffe. She had, however, come prepared to suffer much,

and was endowed with considerable power of endurance in pursuit of

her own objects. Having willed to come, even to the Melmottes, in

preference to remaining at Caversham, she fortified herself to suffer

much. Could she have ridden in the park at mid-day in desirable

company, and found herself in proper houses at midnight, she would

have borne the rest, bad as it might have been. But it was not

so. She had her horse, but could with difficulty get any proper

companion. She had been in the habit of riding with one of the

Primero girls,--and old Primero would accompany them, or perhaps a

brother Primero, or occasionally her own father. And then, when once

out, she would be surrounded by a cloud of young men,--and though

there was but little in it, a walking round and round the same bit

of ground with the same companions and with the smallest attempt at

conversation, still it had been the proper thing and had satisfied

her. Now it was with difficulty that she could get any cavalier

such as the laws of society demand. Even Penelope Primero snubbed

her,--whom she, Georgiana Longestaffe, had hitherto endured and

snubbed. She was just allowed to join them when old Primero rode, and

was obliged even to ask for that assistance.

But the nights were still worse. She could only go where Madame

Melmotte went, and Madame Melmotte was more prone to receive

people at home than to go out. And the people she did receive were

antipathetic to Miss Longestaffe. She did not even know who they

were, whence they came, or what was their nature. They seemed to

be as little akin to her as would have been the shopkeepers in the

small town near Caversham. She would sit through long evenings almost

speechless, trying to fathom the depth of the vulgarity of her

associates. Occasionally she was taken out, and was then, probably,

taken to very grand houses. The two duchesses and the Marchioness

of Auld Reekie received Madame Melmotte, and the garden parties of

royalty were open to her. And some of the most elaborate fêtes of

the season,--which indeed were very elaborate on behalf of this and

that travelling potentate,--were attained. On these occasions Miss

Longestaffe was fully aware of the struggle that was always made for

invitations, often unsuccessfully, but sometimes with triumph. Even

the bargains, conducted by the hands of Lord Alfred and his mighty

sister, were not altogether hidden from her. The Emperor of China was

to be in London and it was thought proper that some private person,

some untitled individual, should give the Emperor a dinner, so that

the Emperor might see how an English merchant lives. Mr. Melmotte was

chosen on condition that he would spend £10,000 on the banquet;--and,

as a part of his payment for this expenditure, was to be admitted

with his family, to a grand entertainment given to the Emperor at

Windsor Park. Of these good things Georgiana Longestaffe would

receive her share. But she went to them as a Melmotte and not as a

Longestaffe,--and when amidst these gaieties, though she could see

her old friends, she was not with them. She was ever behind Madame

Melmotte, till she hated the make of that lady's garments and the

shape of that lady's back.

She had told both her father and mother very plainly that it behoved

her to be in London at this time of the year that she might--look for

a husband. She had not hesitated in declaring her purpose; and that

purpose, together with the means of carrying it out, had not appeared

to them to be unreasonable. She wanted to be settled in life. She had

meant, when she first started on her career, to have a lord;--but

lords are scarce. She was herself not very highly born, not very

highly gifted, not very lovely, not very pleasant, and she had no

fortune. She had long made up her mind that she could do without a

lord, but that she must get a commoner of the proper sort. He must

be a man with a place in the country and sufficient means to bring

him annually to London. He must be a gentleman,--and, probably,

in parliament. And above all things he must be in the right set.

She would rather go on for ever struggling than take some country

Whitstable as her sister was about to do. But now the men of the

right sort never came near her. The one object for which she had

subjected herself to all this ignominy seemed to have vanished

altogether in the distance. When by chance she danced or exchanged a

few words with the Nidderdales and Grassloughs whom she used to know,

they spoke to her with a want of respect which she felt and tasted

but could hardly analyse. Even Miles Grendall, who had hitherto

been below her notice, attempted to patronise her in a manner that

bewildered her. All this nearly broke her heart.

And then from time to time little rumours reached her ears which made

her aware that, in the teeth of all Mr. Melmotte's social successes,

a general opinion that he was a gigantic swindler was rather gaining

ground than otherwise. "Your host is a wonderful fellow, by George!"

said Lord Nidderdale. "No one seems to know which way he'll turn up

at last." "There's nothing like being a robber, if you can only rob

enough," said Lord Grasslough,--not exactly naming Melmotte, but

very clearly alluding to him. There was a vacancy for a member of

parliament at Westminster, and Melmotte was about to come forward

as a candidate. "If he can manage that I think he'll pull through,"

she heard one man say. "If money'll do it, it will be done," said

another. She could understand it all. Mr. Melmotte was admitted into

society, because of some enormous power which was supposed to lie in

his hands; but even by those who thus admitted him he was regarded

as a thief and a scoundrel. This was the man whose house had been

selected by her father in order that she might make her search for a

husband from beneath his wing!

In her agony she wrote to her old friend Julia Triplex, now the wife

of Sir Damask Monogram. She had been really intimate with Julia

Triplex, and had been sympathetic when a brilliant marriage had been

achieved. Julia had been without fortune, but very pretty. Sir Damask

was a man of great wealth, whose father had been a contractor. But

Sir Damask himself was a sportsman, keeping many horses on which

other men often rode, a yacht in which other men sunned themselves, a

deer forest, a moor, a large machinery for making pheasants. He shot

pigeons at Hurlingham, drove four-in-hand in the park, had a box at

every race-course, and was the most good-natured fellow known. He had

really conquered the world, had got over the difficulty of being the

grandson of a butcher, and was now as good as though the Monograms

had gone to the crusades. Julia Triplex was equal to her position,

and made the very most of it. She dispensed champagne and smiles, and

made everybody, including herself, believe that she was in love with

her husband. Lady Monogram had climbed to the top of the tree, and

in that position had been, of course, invaluable to her old friend.

We must give her her due and say that she had been fairly true

to friendship while Georgiana--behaved herself. She thought that

Georgiana in going to the Melmottes had--not behaved herself, and

therefore she had determined to drop Georgiana. "Heartless, false,

purse-proud creature," Georgiana said to herself as she wrote the

following letter in humiliating agony.

DEAR LADY MONOGRAM,

I think you hardly understand my position. Of course you

have cut me. Haven't you? And of course I must feel it

very much. You did not use to be ill-natured, and I hardly

think you can have become so now when you have everything

pleasant around you. I do not think that I have done

anything that should make an old friend treat me in this

way, and therefore I write to ask you to let me see you.

Of course it is because I am staying here. You know me

well enough to be sure that it can't be my own choice.

Papa arranged it all. If there is anything against these

people, I suppose papa does not know it. Of course they

are not nice. Of course they are not like anything that

I have been used to. But when papa told me that the house

in Bruton Street was to be shut up and that I was to come

here, of course I did as I was bid. I don't think an

old friend like you, whom I have always liked more than

anybody else, ought to cut me for it. It's not about the

parties, but about yourself that I mind. I don't ask

you to come here, but if you will see me I can have the

carriage and will go to you.

Yours, as ever,

GEORGIANA LONGESTAFFE.

It was a troublesome letter to get written. Lady Monogram was

her junior in age and had once been lower than herself in social

position. In the early days of their friendship she had sometimes

domineered over Julia Triplex, and had been entreated by Julia, in

reference to balls here and routes there. The great Monogram marriage

had been accomplished very suddenly, and had taken place,--exalting

Julia very high,--just as Georgiana was beginning to allow her

aspirations to descend. It was in that very season that she moved

her castle in the air from the Upper to the Lower House. And now she

was absolutely begging for notice, and praying that she might not be

cut! She sent her letter by post and on the following day received a

reply, which was left by a footman.

DEAR GEORGIANA,

Of course I shall be delighted to see you. I don't know

what you mean by cutting. I never cut anybody. We happen

to have got into different sets, but that is not my fault.

Sir Damask won't let me call on the Melmottes. I can't

help that. You wouldn't have me go where he tells me not.

I don't know anything about them myself, except that I did

go to their ball. But everybody knows that's different.

I shall be at home all to-morrow till three,--that is

to-day I mean, for I'm writing after coming home from Lady

Killarney's ball; but if you wish to see me alone you had

better come before lunch.

Yours affectionately,

J. MONOGRAM.

Georgiana condescended to borrow the carriage and reached her

friend's house a little after noon. The two ladies kissed each other

when they met--of course, and then Miss Longestaffe at once began.

"Julia, I did think that you would at any rate have asked me to your

second ball."

"Of course you would have been asked if you had been up in Bruton

Street. You know that as well as I do. It would have been a matter of

course."

"What difference does a house make?"

"But the people in a house make a great deal of difference, my dear.

I don't want to quarrel with you, my dear; but I can't know the

Melmottes."

"Who asks you?"

"You are with them."

"Do you mean to say that you can't ask anybody to your house without

asking everybody that lives with that person? It's done every day."

"Somebody must have brought you."

"I would have come with the Primeros, Julia."

"I couldn't do it. I asked Damask and he wouldn't have it. When that

great affair was going on in February, we didn't know much about the

people. I was told that everybody was going and therefore I got Sir

Damask to let me go. He says now that he won't let me know them; and

after having been at their house I can't ask you out of it, without

asking them too."

"I don't see it at all, Julia."

"I'm very sorry, my dear, but I can't go against my husband."

"Everybody goes to their house," said Georgiana, pleading her cause

to the best of her ability. "The Duchess of Stevenage has dined in

Grosvenor Square since I have been there."

"We all know what that means," replied Lady Monogram.

"And people are giving their eyes to be asked to the dinner party

which he is to give to the Emperor in July;--and even to the

reception afterwards."

"To hear you talk, Georgiana, one would think that you didn't

understand anything," said Lady Monogram. "People are going to see

the Emperor, not to see the Melmottes. I dare say we might have

gone,--only I suppose we shan't now because of this row."

"I don't know what you mean by a row, Julia."

"Well;--it is a row, and I hate rows. Going there when the Emperor

of China is there, or anything of that kind, is no more than going

to the play. Somebody chooses to get all London into his house, and

all London chooses to go. But it isn't understood that that means

acquaintance. I should meet Madame Melmotte in the park afterwards

and not think of bowing to her."

"I should call that rude."

"Very well. Then we differ. But really it does seem to me that you

ought to understand these things as well as anybody. I don't find any

fault with you for going to the Melmottes,--though I was very sorry

to hear it; but when you have done it, I don't think you should

complain of people because they won't have the Melmottes crammed down

their throats."

"Nobody has wanted it," said Georgiana sobbing. At this moment

the door was opened, and Sir Damask came in. "I'm talking to your

wife about the Melmottes," she continued, determined to take the

bull by the horns. "I'm staying there, and--I think it--unkind that

Julia--hasn't been--to see me. That's all."

"How'd you do, Miss Longestaffe? She doesn't know them." And Sir

Damask, folding his hands together, raising his eyebrows, and

standing on the rug, looked as though he had solved the whole

difficulty.

[Illustration: Sir Damask solving the difficulty.]

"She knows me, Sir Damask."

"Oh yes;--she knows you. That's a matter of course. We're delighted

to see you, Miss Longestaffe--I am, always. Wish we could have had

you at Ascot. But--." Then he looked as though he had again explained

everything.

"I've told her that you don't want me to go to the Melmottes," said

Lady Monogram.

"Well, no;--not just to go there. Stay and have lunch, Miss

Longestaffe."

"No, thank you."

"Now you're here, you'd better," said Lady Monogram.

"No, thank you. I'm sorry that I have not been able to make you

understand me. I could not allow our very long friendship to be

dropped without a word."

"Don't say--dropped," exclaimed the baronet.

"I do say dropped, Sir Damask. I thought we should have understood

each other;--your wife and I. But we haven't. Wherever she might have

gone, I should have made it my business to see her; but she feels

differently. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, my dear. If you will quarrel, it isn't my doing." Then Sir

Damask led Miss Longestaffe out, and put her into Madame Melmotte's

carriage. "It's the most absurd thing I ever knew in my life," said

the wife as soon as her husband had returned to her. "She hasn't

been able to bear to remain down in the country for one season, when

all the world knows that her father can't afford to have a house

for them in town. Then she condescends to come and stay with these

abominations and pretends to feel surprised that her old friends

don't run after her. She is old enough to have known better."

"I suppose she likes parties," said Sir Damask.

"Likes parties! She'd like to get somebody to take her. It's twelve

years now since Georgiana Longestaffe came out. I remember being told

of the time when I was first entered myself. Yes, my dear, you know

all about it, I dare say. And there she is still. I can feel for her,

and do feel for her. But if she will let herself down in that way she

can't expect not to be dropped. You remember the woman;--don't you?"

"What woman?"

"Madame Melmotte?"

"Never saw her in my life."

"Oh yes, you did. You took me there that night when Prince ----

danced with the girl. Don't you remember the blowsy fat woman at the

top of the stairs;--a regular horror?"

"Didn't look at her. I was only thinking what a lot of money it all

cost."

"I remember her, and if Georgiana Longestaffe thinks I'm going

there to make an acquaintance with Madame Melmotte she is very much

mistaken. And if she thinks that that is the way to get married, I

think she is mistaken again." Nothing perhaps is so efficacious in

preventing men from marrying as the tone in which married women speak

of the struggles made in that direction by their unmarried friends.