CHAPTER LXV.

MISS LONGESTAFFE WRITES HOME.

Lady Monogram, when she left Madame Melmotte's house after that

entertainment of Imperial Majesty which had been to her of so very

little avail, was not in a good humour. Sir Damask, who had himself

affected to laugh at the whole thing, but who had been in truth as

anxious as his wife to see the Emperor in private society, put her

ladyship and Miss Longestaffe into the carriage without a word, and

rushed off to his club in disgust. The affair from beginning to end,

including the final failure, had been his wife's doing. He had been

made to work like a slave, and had been taken against his will to

Melmotte's house, and had seen no Emperor and shaken hands with no

Prince! "They may fight it out between them now like the Kilkenny

cats." That was his idea as he closed the carriage-door on the two

ladies,--thinking that if a larger remnant were left of one cat than

of the other that larger remnant would belong to his wife.

"What a horrid affair!" said Lady Monogram. "Did anybody ever see

anything so vulgar?" This was at any rate unreasonable, for whatever

vulgarity there may have been, Lady Monogram had seen none of it.

"I don't know why you were so late," said Georgiana.

"Late! Why it's not yet twelve. I don't suppose it was eleven when we

got into the Square. Anywhere else it would have been early."

"You knew they did not mean to stay long. It was particularly said

so. I really think it was your own fault."

"My own fault. Yes;--I don't doubt that. I know it was my own fault,

my dear, to have had anything to do with it. And now I have got to

pay for it."

"What do you mean by paying for it, Julia?"

"You know what I mean very well. Is your friend going to do us the

honour of coming to us to-morrow night?" She could not have declared

in plainer language how very high she thought the price to be which

she had consented to give for those ineffective tickets.

"If you mean Mr. Brehgert, he is coming. You desired me to ask him,

and I did so."

"Desired you! The truth is, Georgiana, when people get into different

sets, they'd better stay where they are. It's no good trying to mix

things." Lady Monogram was so angry that she could not control her

tongue.

Miss Longestaffe was ready to tear herself with indignation. That she

should have been brought to hear insolence such as this from Julia

Triplex,--she, the daughter of Adolphus Longestaffe of Caversham and

Lady Pomona; she, who was considered to have lived in quite the first

London circle! But she could hardly get hold of fit words for a

reply. She was almost in tears, and was yet anxious to fight rather

than weep. But she was in her friend's carriage, and was being taken

to her friend's house, was to be entertained by her friend all the

next day, and was to see her lover among her friend's guests. "I

wonder what has made you so ill-natured," she said at last. "You

didn't use to be like that."

"It's no good abusing me," said Lady Monogram. "Here we are, and

I suppose we had better get out,--unless you want the carriage to

take you anywhere else." Then Lady Monogram got out and marched into

the house, and taking a candle went direct to her own room. Miss

Longestaffe followed slowly to her own chamber, and having half

undressed herself, dismissed her maid and prepared to write to her

mother.

The letter to her mother must be written. Mr. Brehgert had twice

proposed that he should, in the usual way, go to Mr. Longestaffe,

who had been backwards and forwards in London, and was there at the

present moment. Of course it was proper that Mr. Brehgert should see

her father,--but, as she had told him, she preferred that he should

postpone his visit for a day or two. She was now agonized by many

doubts. Those few words about "various sets" and the "mixing of

things" had stabbed her to the very heart,--as had been intended. Mr.

Brehgert was rich. That was a certainty. But she already repented of

what she had done. If it were necessary that she should really go

down into another and a much lower world, a world composed altogether

of Brehgerts, Melmottes, and Cohenlupes, would it avail her much to

be the mistress of a gorgeous house? She had known, and understood,

and had revelled in the exclusiveness of county position. Caversham

had been dull, and there had always been there a dearth of young

men of the proper sort; but it had been a place to talk of, and to

feel satisfied with as a home to be acknowledged before the world.

Her mother was dull, and her father pompous and often cross; but

they were in the right set,--miles removed from the Brehgerts and

Melmottes,--until her father himself had suggested to her that she

should go to the house in Grosvenor Square. She would write one

letter to-night; but there was a question in her mind whether the

letter should be written to her mother telling her the horrid

truth,--or to Mr. Brehgert begging that the match should be broken

off. I think she would have decided on the latter had it not been

that so many people had already heard of the match. The Monograms

knew it, and had of course talked far and wide. The Melmottes knew

it, and she was aware that Lord Nidderdale had heard it. It was

already so far known that it was sure to be public before the end of

the season. Each morning lately she had feared that a letter from

home would call upon her to explain the meaning of some frightful

rumours reaching Caversham, or that her father would come to her and

with horror on his face demand to know whether it was indeed true

that she had given her sanction to so abominable a report.

And there were other troubles. She had just spoken to Madame Melmotte

this evening, having met her late hostess as she entered the

drawing-room, and had felt from the manner of her reception that

she was not wanted back again. She had told her father that she was

going to transfer herself to the Monograms for a time, not mentioning

the proposed duration of her visit, and Mr. Longestaffe, in his

ambiguous way, had expressed himself glad that she was leaving the

Melmottes. She did not think that she could go back to Grosvenor

Square, although Mr. Brehgert desired it. Since the expression of

Mr. Brehgert's wishes she had perceived that ill-will had grown up

between her father and Mr. Melmotte. She must return to Caversham.

They could not refuse to take her in, though she had betrothed

herself to a Jew!

If she decided that the story should be told to her mother it would

be easier to tell it by letter than by spoken words, face to face.

But then if she wrote the letter there would be no retreat,--and how

should she face her family after such a declaration? She had always

given herself credit for courage, and now she wondered at her own

cowardice. Even Lady Monogram, her old friend Julia Triplex, had

trampled upon her. Was it not the business of her life, in these

days, to do the best she could for herself, and would she allow

paltry considerations as to the feelings of others to stand in her

way and become bugbears to affright her? Who sent her to Melmotte's

house? Was it not her own father? Then she sat herself square at the

table, and wrote to her mother,--as follows,--dating her letter for

the following morning:--

Hill Street,

9th July, 187--.

MY DEAR MAMMA,

I am afraid you will be very much astonished by this

letter, and perhaps disappointed. I have engaged myself to

Mr. Brehgert, a member of a very wealthy firm in the City,

called Todd, Brehgert, and Goldsheiner. I may as well tell

you the worst at once. Mr. Brehgert is a Jew.

This last word she wrote very rapidly, but largely, determined that

there should be no lack of courage apparent in the letter.

He is a very wealthy man, and his business is about

banking and what he calls finance. I understand they are

among the most leading people in the City. He lives at

present at a very handsome house at Fulham. I don't know

that I ever saw a place more beautifully fitted up. I have

said nothing to papa, nor has he; but he says he will be

willing to satisfy papa perfectly as to settlements. He

has offered to have a house in London if I like,--and

also to keep the villa at Fulham or else to have a place

somewhere in the country. Or I may have the villa at

Fulham and a house in the country. No man can be more

generous than he is. He has been married before, and has a

family, and now I think I have told you all.

I suppose you and papa will be very much dissatisfied. I

hope papa won't refuse his consent. It can do no good. I

am not going to remain as I am now all my life, and there

is no use waiting any longer. It was papa who made me go

to the Melmottes, who are not nearly so well placed as

Mr. Brehgert. Everybody knows that Madame Melmotte is a

Jewess, and nobody knows what Mr. Melmotte is. It is no

good going on with the old thing when everything seems to

be upset and at sixes and sevens. If papa has got to be so

poor that he is obliged to let the house in town, one must

of course expect to be different from what we were.

I hope you won't mind having me back the day after

to-morrow,--that is to-morrow, Wednesday. There is a party

here to-night, and Mr. Brehgert is coming. But I can't

stay longer with Julia, who doesn't make herself nice,

and I do not at all want to go back to the Melmottes. I

fancy that there is something wrong between papa and Mr.

Melmotte.

Send the carriage to meet me by the 2.30 train from

London,--and pray, mamma, don't scold when you see me, or

have hysterics, or anything of that sort. Of course it

isn't all nice, but things have got so that they never

will be nice again. I shall tell Mr. Brehgert to go to

papa on Wednesday.

Your affectionate daughter,

G.

When the morning came she desired the servant to take the letter away

and have it posted, so that the temptation to stop it might no longer

be in her way.

About one o'clock on that day Mr. Longestaffe called at Lady

Monogram's. The two ladies had breakfasted up-stairs, and had only

just met in the drawing-room when he came in. Georgiana trembled at

first, but soon perceived that her father had as yet heard nothing of

Mr. Brehgert. She immediately told him that she proposed returning

home on the following day. "I am sick of the Melmottes," she said.

"And so am I," said Mr. Longestaffe, with a serious countenance.

"We should have been delighted to have had Georgiana to stay with

us a little longer," said Lady Monogram; "but we have but the one

spare bedroom, and another friend is coming." Georgiana, who knew

both these statements to be false, declared that she wouldn't

think of such a thing. "We have a few friends coming to-night, Mr.

Longestaffe, and I hope you'll come in and see Georgiana." Mr.

Longestaffe hummed and hawed and muttered something, as old gentlemen

always do when they are asked to go out to parties after dinner.

"Mr. Brehgert will be here," continued Lady Monogram with a peculiar

smile.

"Mr. who?" The name was not at first familiar to Mr. Longestaffe.

"Mr. Brehgert." Lady Monogram looked at her friend. "I hope I'm not

revealing any secret."

"I don't understand anything about it," said Mr. Longestaffe.

"Georgiana, who is Mr. Brehgert?" He had understood very much. He

had been quite certain from Lady Monogram's manner and words, and

also from his daughter's face, that Mr. Brehgert was mentioned as an

accepted lover. Lady Monogram had meant that it should be so, and

any father would have understood her tone. As she said afterwards to

Sir Damask, she was not going to have that Jew there at her house

as Georgiana Longestaffe's accepted lover without Mr. Longestaffe's

knowledge.

"My dear Georgiana," she said, "I supposed your father knew all about

it."

"I know nothing. Georgiana, I hate a mystery. I insist upon knowing.

Who is Mr. Brehgert, Lady Monogram?"

"Mr. Brehgert is a--very wealthy gentleman. That is all I know of

him. Perhaps, Georgiana, you will be glad to be alone with your

father." And Lady Monogram left the room.

Was there ever cruelty equal to this! But now the poor girl was

forced to speak,--though she could not speak as boldly as she had

written. "Papa, I wrote to mamma this morning, and Mr. Brehgert was

to come to you to-morrow."

"Do you mean that you are engaged to marry him?"

"Yes, papa."

"What Mr. Brehgert is he?"

"He is a merchant."

"You can't mean the fat Jew whom I've met with Mr. Melmotte;--a man

old enough to be your father!" The poor girl's condition now was

certainly lamentable. The fat Jew, old enough to be her father, was

the very man she did mean. She thought that she would try to brazen

it out with her father. But at the present moment she had been so

cowed by the manner in which the subject had been introduced that

she did not know how to begin to be bold. She only looked at him as

though imploring him to spare her. "Is the man a Jew?" demanded Mr.

Longestaffe, with as much thunder as he knew how to throw into his

voice.

"Yes, papa," she said.

"He is that fat man?"

"Yes, papa."

"And nearly as old as I am?"

"No, papa,--not nearly as old as you are. He is fifty."

"And a Jew?" He again asked the horrid question, and again threw in

the thunder. On this occasion she condescended to make no further

reply. "If you do, you shall do it as an alien from my house. I

certainly will never see him. Tell him not to come to me, for I

certainly will not speak to him. You are degraded and disgraced; but

you shall not degrade and disgrace me and your mother and sister."

"It was you, papa, who told me to go to the Melmottes."

"That is not true. I wanted you to stay at Caversham. A Jew! an old

fat Jew! Heavens and earth! that it should be possible that you

should think of it! You;--my daughter,--that used to take such pride

in yourself! Have you written to your mother?"

"I have."

"It will kill her. It will simply kill her. And you are going home

to-morrow?"

"I wrote to say so."

"And there you must remain. I suppose I had better see the man and

explain to him that it is utterly impossible. Heavens on earth;--a

Jew! An old fat Jew! My daughter! I will take you down home myself

to-morrow. What have I done that I should be punished by my children

in this way?" The poor man had had rather a stormy interview with

Dolly that morning. "You had better leave this house to-day, and come

to my hotel in Jermyn Street."

"Oh, papa, I can't do that."

"Why can't you do it? You can do it, and you shall do it. I will not

have you see him again. I will see him. If you do not promise me to

come, I will send for Lady Monogram and tell her that I will not

permit you to meet Mr. Brehgert at her house. I do wonder at her. A

Jew! An old fat Jew!" Mr. Longestaffe, putting up both his hands,

walked about the room in despair.

She did consent, knowing that her father and Lady Monogram between

them would be too strong for her. She had her things packed up, and

in the course of the afternoon allowed herself to be carried away.

She said one word to Lady Monogram before she went. "Tell him that I

was called away suddenly."

"I will, my dear. I thought your papa would not like it." The poor

girl had not spirit sufficient to upbraid her friend; nor did it suit

her now to acerbate an enemy. For the moment, at least, she must

yield to everybody and everything. She spent a lonely evening with

her father in a dull sitting-room in the hotel, hardly speaking or

spoken to, and the following day she was taken down to Caversham. She

believed that her father had seen Mr. Brehgert on the morning of that

day;--but he said no word to her, nor did she ask him any question.

That was on the day after Lady Monogram's party. Early in the

evening, just as the gentlemen were coming up from the dining-room,

Mr. Brehgert, apparelled with much elegance, made his appearance.

Lady Monogram received him with a sweet smile. "Miss Longestaffe,"

she said, "has left me and gone to her father."

"Oh, indeed."

"Yes," said Lady Monogram, bowing her head, and then attending to

other persons as they arrived. Nor did she condescend to speak

another word to Mr. Brehgert, or to introduce him even to her

husband. He stood for about ten minutes inside the drawing-room,

leaning against the wall, and then he departed. No one had spoken a

word to him. But he was an even-tempered, good-humoured man. When

Miss Longestaffe was his wife things would no doubt be different;--or

else she would probably change her acquaintance.