CHAPTER XLIII.

THE CITY ROAD.

The statement made by Ruby as to her connection with Mrs. Pipkin was

quite true. Ruby's father had married a Pipkin whose brother had died

leaving a widow behind him at Islington. The old man at Sheep's Acre

farm had greatly resented this marriage, had never spoken to his

daughter-in-law,--or to his son after the marriage, and had steeled

himself against the whole Pipkin race. When he undertook the charge

of Ruby he had made it matter of agreement that she should have

no intercourse with the Pipkins. This agreement Ruby had broken,

corresponding on the sly with her uncle's widow at Islington. When

therefore she ran away from Suffolk she did the best she could

with herself in going to her aunt's house. Mrs. Pipkin was a poor

woman, and could not offer a permanent home to Ruby; but she was

good-natured, and came to terms. Ruby was to be allowed to stay at

any rate for a month, and was to work in the house for her bread. But

she made it a part of her bargain that she should be allowed to go

out occasionally. Mrs. Pipkin immediately asked after a lover. "I'm

all right," said Ruby. If the lover was what he ought to be, had he

not better come and see her? This was Mrs. Pipkin's suggestion. Mrs.

Pipkin thought that scandal might in this way be avoided. "That's as

it may be, by-and-by," said Ruby. Then she told all the story of John

Crumb:--how she hated John Crumb; how resolved she was that nothing

should make her marry John Crumb. And she gave her own account of

that night on which John Crumb and Mr. Mixet ate their supper at the

farm, and of the manner in which her grandfather had treated her

because she would not have John Crumb. Mrs. Pipkin was a respectable

woman in her way, always preferring respectable lodgers if she could

get them;--but bound to live. She gave Ruby very good advice. Of

course if she was "dead-set" against John Crumb, that was one thing!

But then there was nothing a young woman should look to so much as

a decent house over her head,--and victuals. "What's all the love

in the world, Ruby, if a man can't do for you?" Ruby declared that

she knew somebody who could do for her, and could do very well for

her. She knew what she was about, and wasn't going to be put off

it. Mrs. Pipkin's morals were good wearing morals, but she was not

strait-laced. If Ruby chose to manage in her own way about her lover

she must. Mrs. Pipkin had an idea that young women in these days did

have, and would have, and must have more liberty than was allowed

when she was young. The world was being changed very fast. Mrs.

Pipkin knew that as well as others. And therefore when Ruby went to

the theatre once and again,--by herself as far as Mrs. Pipkin knew,

but probably in company with her lover,--and did not get home till

past midnight, Mrs. Pipkin said very little about it, attributing

such novel circumstances to the altered condition of her country.

She had not been allowed to go to the theatre with a young man when

she had been a girl,--but that had been in the earlier days of Queen

Victoria, fifteen years ago, before the new dispensation had come.

Ruby had never yet told the name of her lover to Mrs. Pipkin, having

answered all inquiries by saying that she was all right. Sir Felix's

name had never even been mentioned in Islington till Paul Montague

had mentioned it. She had been managing her own affairs after her

own fashion,--not altogether with satisfaction, but still without

interruption; but now she knew that interference would come. Mr.

Montague had found her out, and had told her grandfather's landlord.

The Squire would be after her, and then John Crumb would come,

accompanied of course by Mr. Mixet,--and after that, as she said to

herself on retiring to the couch which she shared with two little

Pipkins, "the fat would be in the fire."

"Who do you think was at our place yesterday?" said Ruby one evening

to her lover. They were sitting together at a music-hall,--half

music-hall, half theatre, which pleasantly combined the allurements

of the gin-palace, the theatre, and the ball-room, trenching hard on

those of other places. Sir Felix was smoking, dressed, as he himself

called it, "incognito," with a Tom-and-Jerry hat, and a blue silk

cravat, and a green coat. Ruby thought it was charming. Felix

entertained an idea that were his West End friends to see him in this

attire they would not know him. He was smoking, and had before him a

glass of hot brandy and water, which was common to himself and Ruby.

He was enjoying life. Poor Ruby! She was half-ashamed of herself,

half-frightened, and yet supported by a feeling that it was a grand

thing to have got rid of restraints, and be able to be with her young

man. Why not? The Miss Longestaffes were allowed to sit and dance and

walk about with their young men,--when they had any. Why was she to

be given up to a great mass of stupid dust like John Crumb, without

seeing anything of the world? But yet as she sat sipping her lover's

brandy and water between eleven and twelve at the music-hall in

the City Road, she was not altogether comfortable. She saw things

which she did not like to see. And she heard things which she did

not like to hear. And her lover, though he was beautiful,--oh, so

beautiful!--was not all that a lover should be. She was still a

little afraid of him, and did not dare as yet to ask him for the

promise which she expected him to make to her. Her mind was set

upon--marriage, but the word had hardly passed between them. To have

his arm round her waist was heaven to her! Could it be possible that

he and John Crumb were of the same order of human beings? But how was

this to go on? Even Mrs. Pipkin made disagreeable allusions, and she

could not live always with Mrs. Pipkin, coming out at nights to drink

brandy and water and hear music with Sir Felix Carbury. She was glad

therefore to take the first opportunity of telling her lover that

something was going to happen. "Who do you suppose was at our place

yesterday?"

Sir Felix changed colour, thinking of Marie Melmotte, thinking that

perhaps some emissary from Marie Melmotte had been there; perhaps

Didon herself. He was amusing himself during these last evenings of

his in London; but the business of his life was about to take him

to New York. That project was still being elaborated. He had had an

interview with Didon, and nothing was wanting but the money. Didon

had heard of the funds which had been intrusted by him to Melmotte,

and had been very urgent with him to recover them. Therefore, though

his body was not unfrequently present, late in the night, at the City

Road Music-Hall, his mind was ever in Grosvenor Square. "Who was it,

Ruby?"

"A friend of the Squire's, a Mr. Montague. I used to see him about in

Bungay and Beccles."

"Paul Montague!"

"Do you know him, Felix?"

"Well;--rather. He's a member of our club, and I see him constantly

in the city--and I know him at home."

"Is he nice?"

"Well;--that depends on what you call nice. He's a prig of a fellow."

"He's got a lady friend where I live."

"The devil he has!" Sir Felix of course had heard of Roger Carbury's

suit to his sister, and of the opposition to this suit on the part of

Hetta, which was supposed to have been occasioned by her preference

for Paul Montague. "Who is she, Ruby?"

"Well;--she's a Mrs. Hurtle. Such a stunning woman! Aunt says she's

an American. She's got lots of money."

"Is Montague going to marry her?"

"Oh dear yes. It's all arranged. Mr. Montague comes quite regular

to see her;--not so regular as he ought, though. When gentlemen are

fixed as they're to be married, they never are regular afterwards.

I wonder whether it'll be the same with you?"

"Wasn't John Crumb regular, Ruby?"

"Bother John Crumb! That wasn't none of my doings. Oh, he'd been

regular enough, if I'd let him; he'd been like clockwork,--only the

slowest clock out. But Mr. Montague has been and told the Squire as

he saw me. He told me so himself. The Squire's coming about John

Crumb. I know that. What am I to tell him, Felix?"

"Tell him to mind his own business. He can't do anything to you."

"No;--he can't do nothing. I ain't done nothing wrong, and he can't

send for the police to have me took back to Sheep's Acre. But he can

talk,--and he can look. I ain't one of those, Felix, as don't mind

about their characters,--so don't you think it. Shall I tell him as

I'm with you?"

"Gracious goodness, no! What would you say that for?"

"I didn't know. I must say something."

"Tell him you're nothing to him."

"But aunt will be letting on about my being out late o'nights; I know

she will. And who am I with? He'll be asking that."

"Your aunt does not know?"

"No;--I've told nobody yet. But it won't do to go on like that, you

know,--will it? You don't want it to go on always like that;--do

you?"

"It's very jolly, I think."

"It ain't jolly for me. Of course, Felix, I like to be with you.

That's jolly. But I have to mind them brats all the day, and to be

doing the bedrooms. And that's not the worst of it."

"What is the worst of it?"

"I'm pretty nigh ashamed of myself. Yes, I am." And now Ruby burst

out into tears. "Because I wouldn't have John Crumb, I didn't mean to

be a bad girl. Nor yet I won't. But what'll I do, if everybody turns

again me? Aunt won't go on for ever in this way. She said last night

that--"

"Bother what she says!" Felix was not at all anxious to hear what

aunt Pipkin might have to say upon such an occasion.

"She's right too. Of course she knows there's somebody. She ain't

such a fool as to think that I'm out at these hours to sing psalms

with a lot of young women. She says that whoever it is ought to speak

out his mind. There;--that's what she says. And she's right. A girl

has to mind herself, though she's ever so fond of a young man."

Sir Felix sucked his cigar and then took a long drink of brandy and

water. Having emptied the beaker before him, he rapped for the waiter

and called for another. He intended to avoid the necessity of making

any direct reply to Ruby's importunities. He was going to New York

very shortly, and looked on his journey thither as an horizon in his

future beyond which it was unnecessary to speculate as to any farther

distance. He had not troubled himself to think how it might be with

Ruby when he was gone. He had not even considered whether he would or

would not tell her that he was going, before he started. It was not

his fault that she had come up to London. She was an "awfully jolly

girl," and he liked the feeling of the intrigue better perhaps than

the girl herself. But he assured himself that he wasn't going to give

himself any "d----d trouble." The idea of John Crumb coming up to

London in his wrath had never occurred to him,--or he would probably

have hurried on his journey to New York instead of delaying it, as he

was doing now. "Let's go in and have a dance," he said.

Ruby was very fond of dancing,--perhaps liked it better than anything

in the world. It was heaven to her to be spinning round the big room

with her lover's arm tight round her waist, with one hand in his and

her other hanging over his back. She loved the music, and loved the

motion. Her ear was good, and her strength was great, and she never

lacked breath. She could spin along and dance a whole room down, and

feel at the time that the world could have nothing to give better

worth having than that;--and such moments were too precious to be

lost. She went and danced, resolving as she did so that she would

have some answer to her question before she left her lover on that

night.

"And now I must go," she said at last. "You'll see me as far as the

Angel, won't you?" Of course he was ready to see her as far as the

Angel. "What am I to say to the Squire?"

"Say nothing."

"And what am I to say to aunt?"

"Say to her? Just say what you have said all along."

"I've said nothing all along,--just to oblige you, Felix. I must say

something. A girl has got herself to mind. What have you got to say

to me, Felix?"

He was silent for about a minute, meditating his answer. "If you

bother me I shall cut it, you know."

"Cut it!"

"Yes;--cut it. Can't you wait till I am ready to say something?"

"Waiting will be the ruin o' me, if I wait much longer. Where am I to

go, if Mrs. Pipkin won't have me no more?"

"I'll find a place for you."

"You find a place! No; that won't do. I've told you all that before.

I'd sooner go into service, or--"

"Go back to John Crumb."

"John Crumb has more respect for me nor you. He'd make me his wife

to-morrow, and only be too happy."

"I didn't tell you to come away from him," said Sir Felix.

"Yes, you did. You told me as I was to come up to London when I saw

you at Sheepstone Beeches;--didn't you? And you told me you loved

me;--didn't you? And that if I wanted anything you'd get it done for

me;--didn't you?"

"So I will. What do you want? I can give you a couple of sovereigns,

if that's what it is."

"No it isn't;--and I won't have your money. I'd sooner work my

fingers off. I want you to say whether you mean to marry me. There!"

As to the additional lie which Sir Felix might now have told, that

would have been nothing to him. He was going to New York, and would

be out of the way of any trouble; and he thought that lies of that

kind to young women never went for anything. Young women, he thought,

didn't believe them, but liked to be able to believe afterwards

that they had been deceived. It wasn't the lie that stuck in his

throat, but the fact that he was a baronet. It was in his estimation

"confounded impudence" on the part of Ruby Ruggles to ask to be his

wife. He did not care for the lie, but he did not like to seem to

lower himself by telling such a lie as that at her dictation. "Marry,

Ruby! No, I don't ever mean to marry. It's the greatest bore out. I

know a trick worth two of that."

She stopped in the street and looked at him. This was a state of

things of which she had never dreamed. She could imagine that a

man should wish to put it off, but that he should have the face to

declare to his young woman that he never meant to marry at all, was a

thing that she could not understand. What business had such a man to

go after any young woman? "And what do you mean that I'm to do, Sir

Felix?" she said.

"Just go easy, and not make yourself a bother."

"Not make myself a bother! Oh, but I will; I will. I'm to be carrying

on with you, and nothing to come of it; but for you to tell me that

you don't mean to marry, never at all! Never?"

"Don't you see lots of old bachelors about, Ruby?"

"Of course I does. There's the Squire. But he don't come asking girls

to keep him company."

"That's more than you know, Ruby."

"If he did he'd marry her out of hand,--because he's a gentleman.

That's what he is, every inch of him. He never said a word to a

girl,--not to do her any harm, I'm sure," and Ruby began to cry. "You

mustn't come no further now, and I'll never see you again--never!

I think you're the falsest young man, and the basest, and the

lowest-minded that I ever heard tell of. I know there are them as

don't keep their words. Things turn up, and they can't. Or they gets

to like others better; or there ain't nothing to live on. But for a

young man to come after a young woman, and then say, right out, as he

never means to marry at all, is the lowest-spirited fellow that ever

was. I never read of such a one in none of the books. No, I won't.

You go your way, and I'll go mine." In her passion she was as good

as her word, and escaped from him, running all the way to her aunt's

door. There was in her mind a feeling of anger against the man, which

she did not herself understand, in that he would incur no risk on her

behalf. He would not even make a lover's easy promise, in order that

the present hour might be made pleasant. Ruby let herself into her

aunt's house, and cried herself to sleep with a child on each side of

her.

On the next day Roger called. She had begged Mrs. Pipkin to attend

the door, and had asked her to declare, should any gentleman ask for

Ruby Ruggles, that Ruby Ruggles was out. Mrs. Pipkin had not refused

to do so; but, having heard sufficient of Roger Carbury to imagine

the cause which might possibly bring him to the house, and having

made up her mind that Ruby's present condition of independence was

equally unfavourable to the lodging-house and to Ruby herself, she

determined that the Squire, if he did come, should see the young

lady. When therefore Ruby was called into the little back parlour and

found Roger Carbury there, she thought that she had been caught in a

trap. She had been very cross all the morning. Though in her rage she

had been able on the previous evening to dismiss her titled lover,

and to imply that she never meant to see him again, now, when the

remembrance of the loss came upon her amidst her daily work,--when

she could no longer console herself in her drudgery by thinking of

the beautiful things that were in store for her, and by flattering

herself that though at this moment she was little better than a maid

of all work in a lodging-house, the time was soon coming in which

she would bloom forth as a baronet's bride,--now in her solitude she

almost regretted the precipitancy of her own conduct. Could it be

that she would never see him again;--that she would dance no more

in that gilded bright saloon? And might it not be possible that she

had pressed him too hard? A baronet of course would not like to be

brought to book, as she could bring to book such a one as John Crumb.

But yet,--that he should have said never;--that he would never marry!

Looking at it in any light, she was very unhappy, and this coming of

the Squire did not serve to cure her misery.

Roger was very kind to her, taking her by the hand, and bidding

her sit down, and telling her how glad he was to find that she was

comfortably settled with her aunt. "We were all alarmed, of course,

when you went away without telling anybody where you were going."

"Grandfather 'd been that cruel to me that I couldn't tell him."

"He wanted you to keep your word to an old friend of yours."

"To pull me all about by the hairs of my head wasn't the way to

make a girl keep her word;--was it, Mr. Carbury? That's what he did,

then;--and Sally Hockett, who is there, heard it. I've been good to

grandfather, whatever I may have been to John Crumb; and he shouldn't

have treated me like that. No girl 'd like to be pulled about the

room by the hairs of her head, and she with her things all off, just

getting into bed."

The Squire had no answer to make to this. That old Ruggles should be

a violent brute under the influence of gin and water did not surprise

him. And the girl, when driven away from her home by such usage, had

not done amiss in coming to her aunt. But Roger had already heard

a few words from Mrs. Pipkin as to Ruby's late hours, had heard

also that there was a lover, and knew very well who that lover was.

He also was quite familiar with John Crumb's state of mind. John

Crumb was a gallant, loving fellow who might be induced to forgive

everything, if Ruby would only go back to him; but would certainly

persevere, after some slow fashion of his own, and "see the matter

out," as he would say himself, if she did not go back. "As you found

yourself obliged to run away," said Roger, "I'm glad that you should

be here; but you don't mean to stay here always?"

"I don't know," said Ruby.

"You must think of your future life. You don't want to be always your

aunt's maid."

"Oh dear, no."

"It would be very odd if you did, when you may be the wife of such a

man as Mr. Crumb."

"Oh, Mr. Crumb! Everybody is going on about Mr. Crumb. I don't like

Mr. Crumb, and I never will like him."

"Now look here, Ruby; I have come to speak to you very seriously, and

I expect you to hear me. Nobody can make you marry Mr. Crumb, unless

you please."

"Nobody can't, of course, sir."

"But I fear you have given him up for somebody else, who certainly

won't marry you, and who can only mean to ruin you."

"Nobody won't ruin me," said Ruby. "A girl has to look to herself,

and I mean to look to myself."

"I'm glad to hear you say so, but being out at night with such a one

as Sir Felix Carbury is not looking to yourself. That means going to

the devil head foremost."

"I ain't a going to the devil," said Ruby, sobbing and blushing.

"But you will, if you put yourself into the hands of that young man.

He's as bad as bad can be. He's my own cousin, and yet I'm obliged

to tell you so. He has no more idea of marrying you than I have; but

were he to marry you, he could not support you. He is ruined himself,

and would ruin any young woman who trusted him. I'm almost old enough

to be your father, and in all my experience I never came across so

vile a young man as he is. He would ruin you and cast you from him

without a pang of remorse. He has no heart in his bosom;--none." Ruby

had now given way altogether, and was sobbing with her apron to her

eyes in one corner of the room. "That's what Sir Felix Carbury is,"

said the Squire, standing up so that he might speak with the more

energy, and talk her down more thoroughly. "And if I understand it

rightly," he continued, "it is for a vile thing such as he, that you

have left a man who is as much above him in character, as the sun is

above the earth. You think little of John Crumb because he does not

wear a fine coat."

"I don't care about any man's coat," said Ruby; "but John hasn't ever

a word to say, was it ever so."

[Illustration: "I don't care about any man's coat."]

"Words to say! what do words matter? He loves you. He loves you after

that fashion that he wants to make you happy and respectable, not to

make you a bye-word and a disgrace." Ruby struggled hard to make some

opposition to the suggestion, but found herself to be incapable of

speech at the moment. "He thinks more of you than of himself, and

would give you all that he has. What would that other man give you?

If you were once married to John Crumb, would any one then pull you

by the hairs of your head? Would there be any want then, or any

disgrace?"

"There ain't no disgrace, Mr. Carbury."

"No disgrace in going about at midnight with such a one as Felix

Carbury? You are not a fool, and you know that it is disgraceful. If

you are not unfit to be an honest man's wife, go back and beg that

man's pardon."

"John Crumb's pardon! No!"

"Oh, Ruby, if you knew how highly I respect that man, and how lowly

I think of the other; how I look on the one as a noble fellow, and

regard the other as dust beneath my feet, you would perhaps change

your mind a little."

Her mind was being changed. His words did have their effect, though

the poor girl struggled against the conviction that was borne in upon

her. She had never expected to hear any one call John Crumb noble.

But she had never respected any one more highly than Squire Carbury,

and he said that John Crumb was noble. Amidst all her misery and

trouble she still told herself that it was but a dusty, mealy,--and

also a dumb nobility.

"I'll tell you what will take place," continued Roger. "Mr. Crumb

won't put up with this you know."

"He can't do nothing to me, sir."

"That's true enough. Unless it be to take you in his arms and press

you to his heart, he wants to do nothing to you. Do you think he'd

injure you if he could? You don't know what a man's love really

means, Ruby. But he could do something to somebody else. How do you

think it would be with Felix Carbury, if they two were in a room

together and nobody else by?"

"John's mortial strong, Mr. Carbury."

"If two men have equal pluck, strength isn't much needed. One is a

brave man, and the other--a coward. Which do you think is which?"

"He's your own cousin, and I don't know why you should say everything

again him."

"You know I'm telling you the truth. You know it as well as I do

myself;--and you're throwing yourself away, and throwing the man who

loves you over,--for such a fellow as that! Go back to him, Ruby, and

beg his pardon."

"I never will;--never."

"I've spoken to Mrs. Pipkin, and while you're here she will see that

you don't keep such hours any longer. You tell me that you're not

disgraced, and yet you are out at midnight with a young blackguard

like that! I've said what I've got to say, and I'm going away. But

I'll let your grandfather know."

"Grandfather don't want me no more."

"And I'll come again. If you want money to go home, I will let you

have it. Take my advice at least in this;--do not see Sir Felix

Carbury any more." Then he took his leave. If he had failed to

impress her with admiration for John Crumb, he had certainly been

efficacious in lessening that which she had entertained for Sir

Felix.