CHAPTER LXVII.

SIR FELIX PROTECTS HIS SISTER.

Up to this period of his life Sir Felix Carbury had probably felt but

little of the punishment due to his very numerous shortcomings. He

had spent all his fortune; he had lost his commission in the army;

he had incurred the contempt of everybody that had known him; he had

forfeited the friendship of those who were his natural friends, and

had attached to him none others in their place; he had pretty nearly

ruined his mother and sister; but, to use his own language, he had

always contrived "to carry on the game." He had eaten and drunk, had

gambled, hunted, and diverted himself generally after the fashion

considered to be appropriate to young men about town. He had kept

up till now. But now there seemed to him to have come an end to all

things. When he was lying in bed in his mother's house he counted up

all his wealth. He had a few pounds in ready money, he still had a

little roll of Mr. Miles Grendall's notes of hand, amounting perhaps

to a couple of hundred pounds,--and Mr. Melmotte owed him £600. But

where was he to turn, and what was he to do with himself? Gradually

he learned the whole story of the journey to Liverpool,--how Marie

had gone there and had been sent back by the police, how Marie's

money had been repaid to Mr. Melmotte by Mr. Broune, and how his

failure to make the journey to Liverpool had become known. He was

ashamed to go to his club. He could not go to Melmotte's house.

He was ashamed even to show himself in the streets by day. He was

becoming almost afraid even of his mother. Now that the brilliant

marriage had broken down, and seemed to be altogether beyond hope,

now that he had to depend on her household for all his comforts, he

was no longer able to treat her with absolute scorn,--nor was she

willing to yield as she had yielded.

One thing only was clear to him. He must realise his possessions.

With this view he wrote both to Miles Grendall and to Melmotte. To

the former he said he was going out of town,--probably for some time,

and he must really ask for a cheque for the amount due. He went on

to remark that he could hardly suppose that a nephew of the Duke of

Albury was unable to pay debts of honour to the amount of £200;--but

that if such was the case he would have no alternative but to apply

to the Duke himself. The reader need hardly be told that to this

letter Mr. Grendall vouchsafed no answer whatever. In his letter to

Mr. Melmotte he confined himself to one matter of business in hand.

He made no allusion whatever to Marie, or to the great man's anger,

or to his seat at the board. He simply reminded Mr. Melmotte that

there was a sum of £600 still due to him, and requested that a cheque

might be sent to him for that amount. Melmotte's answer to this was

not altogether unsatisfactory, though it was not exactly what Sir

Felix had wished. A clerk from Mr. Melmotte's office called at the

house in Welbeck Street, and handed to Felix railway scrip in the

South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway to the amount of the sum

claimed,--insisting on a full receipt for the money before he parted

with the scrip. The clerk went on to explain, on behalf of his

employer, that the money had been left in Mr. Melmotte's hands for

the purpose of buying these shares. Sir Felix, who was glad to get

anything, signed the receipt and took the scrip. This took place on

the day after the balloting at Westminster, when the result was not

yet known,--and when the shares in the railway were very low indeed.

Sir Felix had asked as to the value of the shares at the time.

The clerk professed himself unable to quote the price,--but there

were the shares if Sir Felix liked to take them. Of course he took

them;--and hurrying off into the City found that they might perhaps

be worth about half the money due to him. The broker to whom he

showed them could not quite answer for anything. Yes;--the scrip

had been very high; but there was a panic. They might recover,--or,

more probably, they might go to nothing. Sir Felix cursed the Great

Financier aloud, and left the scrip for sale. That was the first

time that he had been out of the house before dark since his little

accident.

But he was chiefly tormented in these days by the want of amusement.

He had so spent his life hitherto that he did not know how to get

through a day in which no excitement was provided for him. He never

read. Thinking was altogether beyond him. And he had never done a

day's work in his life. He could lie in bed. He could eat and drink.

He could smoke and sit idle. He could play cards; and could amuse

himself with women,--the lower the culture of the women, the better

the amusement. Beyond these things the world had nothing for him.

Therefore he again took himself to the pursuit of Ruby Ruggles.

Poor Ruby had endured a very painful incarceration at her aunt's

house. She had been wrathful and had stormed, swearing that she would

be free to come and go as she pleased. Free to go, Mrs. Pipkin told

her that she was;--but not free to return if she went out otherwise

than as she, Mrs. Pipkin, chose. "Am I to be a slave?" Ruby asked,

and almost upset the perambulator which she had just dragged in at

the hall door. Then Mrs. Hurtle had taken upon herself to talk to

her, and poor Ruby had been quelled by the superior strength of the

American lady. But she was very unhappy, finding that it did not suit

her to be nursemaid to her aunt. After all John Crumb couldn't have

cared for her a bit, or he would have come to look after her. While

she was in this condition Sir Felix came to Mrs. Pipkin's house, and

asked for her at the door. It happened that Mrs. Pipkin herself had

opened the door,--and, in her fright and dismay at the presence of so

pernicious a young man in her own passage, had denied that Ruby was

in the house. But Ruby had heard her lover's voice, and had rushed up

and thrown herself into his arms. Then there had been a great scene.

Ruby had sworn that she didn't care for her aunt, didn't care for

her grandfather, or for Mrs. Hurtle, or for John Crumb,--or for any

person or anything. She cared only for her lover. Then Mrs. Hurtle

had asked the young man his intentions. Did he mean to marry Ruby?

Sir Felix had said that he "supposed he might as well some day."

"There," said Ruby, "there!"--shouting in triumph as though an offer

had been made to her with the completest ceremony of which such an

event admits. Mrs. Pipkin had been very weak. Instead of calling

in the assistance of her strong-minded lodger, she had allowed the

lovers to remain together for half-an-hour in the dining-room. I do

not know that Sir Felix in any way repeated his promise during that

time, but Ruby was probably too blessed with the word that had been

spoken to ask for such renewal. "There must be an end of this," said

Mrs. Pipkin, coming in when the half-hour was over. Then Sir Felix

had gone, promising to come again on the following evening. "You

must not come here, Sir Felix," said Mrs. Pipkin, "unless you puts

it in writing." To this, of course, Sir Felix made no answer. As he

went home he congratulated himself on the success of his adventure.

Perhaps the best thing he could do when he had realised the money for

the shares would be to take Ruby for a tour abroad. The money would

last for three or four months,--and three or four months ahead was

almost an eternity.

That afternoon before dinner he found his sister alone in the

drawing-room. Lady Carbury had gone to her own room after hearing

the distressing story of Paul Montague's love, and had not seen

Hetta since. Hetta was melancholy, thinking of her mother's hard

words,--thinking perhaps of Paul's poverty as declared by her mother,

and of the ages which might have to wear themselves out before she

could become his wife; but still tinting all her thoughts with a rosy

hue because of the love which had been declared to her. She could not

but be happy if he really loved her. And she,--as she had told him

that she loved him,--would be true to him through everything! In her

present mood she could not speak of herself to her brother, but she

took the opportunity of making good the promise which Marie Melmotte

had extracted from her. She gave him some short account of the party,

and told him that she had talked with Marie. "I promised to give you

a message," she said.

"It's all of no use now," said Felix.

"But I must tell you what she said. I think, you know, that she

really loves you."

"But what's the good of it? A man can't marry a girl when all the

policemen in the country are dodging her."

"She wants you to let her know what,--what you intend to do. If you

mean to give her up, I think you should tell her."

"How can I tell her? I don't suppose they would let her receive a

letter."

"Shall I write to her;--or shall I see her?"

"Just as you like. I don't care."

"Felix, you are very heartless."

"I don't suppose I'm much worse than other men;--or for the matter of

that, worse than a great many women either. You all of you here put

me up to marry her."

"I never put you up to it."

"Mother did. And now because it did not go off all serene, I am to

hear nothing but reproaches. Of course I never cared so very much

about her."

"Oh, Felix, that is so shocking!"

"Awfully shocking I dare say. You think I am as black as the very

mischief, and that sugar wouldn't melt in other men's mouths. Other

men are just as bad as I am,--and a good deal worse too. You believe

that there is nobody on earth like Paul Montague." Hetta blushed, but

said nothing. She was not yet in a condition to boast of her lover

before her brother, but she did, in very truth, believe that but few

young men were as true-hearted as Paul Montague. "I suppose you'd be

surprised to hear that Master Paul is engaged to marry an American

widow living at Islington."

"Mr. Montague--engaged--to marry--an American widow! I don't believe

it."

"You'd better believe it if it's any concern of yours, for it's true.

And it's true too that he travelled about with her for ever so long

in the United States, and that he had her down with him at the hotel

at Lowestoft about a fortnight ago. There's no mistake about it."

"I don't believe it," repeated Hetta, feeling that to say even as

much as that was some relief to her. It could not be true. It was

impossible that the man should have come to her with such a lie in

his mouth as that. Though the words astounded her, though she felt

faint, almost as though she would fall in a swoon, yet in her heart

of hearts she did not believe it. Surely it was some horrid joke,--or

perhaps some trick to divide her from the man she loved. "Felix, how

dare you say things so wicked as that to me?"

"What is there wicked in it? If you have been fool enough to become

fond of the man, it is only right you should be told. He is engaged

to marry Mrs. Hurtle, and she is lodging with one Mrs. Pipkin in

Islington. I know the house, and could take you there to-morrow, and

show you the woman. There," said he, "that's where she is;"--and he

wrote Mrs. Hurtle's name down on a scrap of paper.

"It is not true," said Hetta, rising from her seat, and standing

upright. "I am engaged to Mr. Montague, and I am sure he would not

treat me in that way."

"Then, by heaven, he shall answer it to me," said Felix, jumping up.

"If he has done that, it is time that I should interfere. As true as

I stand here, he is engaged to marry a woman called Mrs. Hurtle whom

he constantly visits at that place in Islington."

"I do not believe it," said Hetta, repeating the only defence for her

lover which was applicable at the moment.

"By George, this is beyond a joke. Will you believe it if Roger

Carbury says it's true? I know you'd believe anything fast enough

against me, if he told you."

"Roger Carbury will not say so?"

"Have you the courage to ask him? I say he will say so. He knows all

about it,--and has seen the woman."

"How can you know? Has Roger told you?"

"I do know, and that's enough. I will make this square with Master

Paul. By heaven, yes! He shall answer to me. But my mother must

manage you. She will not scruple to ask Roger, and she will believe

what Roger tells her."

"I do not believe a word of it," said Hetta, leaving the room.

But when she was alone she was very wretched. There must be some

foundation for such a tale. Why should Felix have referred to Roger

Carbury? And she did feel that there was something in her brother's

manner which forbade her to reject the whole story as being

altogether baseless. So she sat upon her bed and cried, and thought

of all the tales she had heard of faithless lovers. And yet why

should the man have come to her, not only with soft words of love,

but asking her hand in marriage, if it really were true that he was

in daily communication with another woman whom he had promised to

make his wife?

Nothing on the subject was said at dinner. Hetta with difficulty to

herself sat at the table, and did not speak. Lady Carbury and her son

were nearly as silent. Soon after dinner Felix slunk away to some

music hall or theatre in quest probably of some other Ruby Ruggles.

Then Lady Carbury, who had now been told as much as her son knew,

again attacked her daughter. Very much of the story Felix had learned

from Ruby. Ruby had of course learned that Paul was engaged to Mrs.

Hurtle. Mrs. Hurtle had at once declared the fact to Mrs. Pipkin, and

Mrs. Pipkin had been proud of the position of her lodger. Ruby had

herself seen Paul Montague at the house, and had known that he had

taken Mrs. Hurtle to Lowestoft. And it had also become known to the

two women, the aunt and her niece, that Mrs. Hurtle had seen Roger

Carbury on the sands at Lowestoft. Thus the whole story with most of

its details,--not quite with all,--had come round to Lady Carbury's

ears. "What he has told you, my dear, is true. Much as I disapprove

of Mr. Montague, you do not suppose that I would deceive you."

"How can he know, mamma?"

"He does know. I cannot explain to you how. He has been at the same

house."

"Has he seen her?"

"I do not know that he has, but Roger Carbury has seen her. If I

write to him you will believe what he says?"

"Don't do that, mamma. Don't write to him."

"But I shall. Why should I not write if he can tell me? If this other

man is a villain am I not bound to protect you? Of course Felix is

not steady. If it came only from him you might not credit it. And

he has not seen her. If your cousin Roger tells you that it is

true,--tells me that he knows the man is engaged to marry this woman,

then I suppose you will be contented."

"Contented, mamma!"

"Satisfied that what we tell you is true."

"I shall never be contented again. If that is true, I will never

believe anything. It can't be true. I suppose there is something, but

it can't be that."

The story was not altogether displeasing to Lady Carbury, though it

pained her to see the agony which her daughter suffered. But she had

no wish that Paul Montague should be her son-in-law, and she still

thought that if Roger would persevere he might succeed. On that very

night before she went to bed she wrote to Roger, and told him the

whole story. "If," she said, "you know that there is such a person as

Mrs. Hurtle, and if you know also that Mr. Montague has promised to

make her his wife, of course you will tell me." Then she declared her

own wishes, thinking that by doing so she could induce Roger Carbury

to give such real assistance in this matter that Paul Montague

would certainly be driven away. Who could feel so much interest

in doing this as Roger, or who be so closely acquainted with all

the circumstances of Montague's life? "You know," she said, "what

my wishes are about Hetta, and how utterly opposed I am to Mr.

Montague's interference. If it is true, as Felix says, that he is

at the present moment entangled with another woman, he is guilty of

gross insolence; and if you know all the circumstances you can surely

protect us,--and also yourself."