CHAPTER XVII.

MARIE MELMOTTE HEARS A LOVE TALE.

On the following morning there came a telegram from Felix. He was

to be expected at Beccles on that afternoon by a certain train; and

Roger, at Lady Carbury's request, undertook to send a carriage to the

station for him. This was done, but Felix did not arrive. There was

still another train by which he might come so as to be just in time

for dinner if dinner were postponed for half an hour. Lady Carbury

with a tender look, almost without speaking a word, appealed to her

cousin on behalf of her son. He knit his brows, as he always did,

involuntarily, when displeased; but he assented. Then the carriage

had to be sent again. Now carriages and carriage-horses were not

numerous at Carbury. The squire kept a waggonnette and a pair of

horses which, when not wanted for house use, were employed about the

farm. He himself would walk home from the train, leaving the luggage

to be brought by some cheap conveyance. He had already sent the

carriage once on this day,--and now sent it again, Lady Carbury

having said a word which showed that she hoped that this would be

done. But he did it with deep displeasure. To the mother her son was

Sir Felix, the baronet, entitled to special consideration because of

his position and rank,--because also of his intention to marry the

great heiress of the day. To Roger Carbury, Felix was a vicious young

man, peculiarly antipathetic to himself, to whom no respect whatever

was due. Nevertheless the dinner was put off, and the waggonnette was

sent. But the waggonnette again came back empty. That evening was

spent by Roger, Lady Carbury, and Henrietta, in very much gloom.

About four in the morning the house was roused by the coming of the

baronet. Failing to leave town by either of the afternoon trains,

he had contrived to catch the evening mail, and had found himself

deposited at some distant town from which he had posted to Carbury.

Roger came down in his dressing-gown to admit him, and Lady Carbury

also left her room. Sir Felix evidently thought that he had been a

very fine fellow in going through so much trouble. Roger held a very

different opinion, and spoke little or nothing. "Oh, Felix," said the

mother, "you have so terrified us!"

"I can tell you I was terrified myself when I found that I had to

come fifteen miles across the country with a pair of old jades who

could hardly get up a trot."

"But why didn't you come by the train you named?"

"I couldn't get out of the city," said the baronet with a ready lie.

"I suppose you were at the Board?" To this Felix made no direct

answer. Roger knew that there had been no Board. Mr. Melmotte was in

the country and there could be no Board, nor could Sir Felix have had

business in the city. It was sheer impudence,--sheer indifference,

and, into the bargain, a downright lie. The young man, who was

of himself so unwelcome, who had come there on a project which

he, Roger, utterly disapproved,--who had now knocked him and his

household up at four o'clock in the morning,--had uttered no word of

apology. "Miserable cub!" Roger muttered between his teeth. Then he

spoke aloud, "You had better not keep your mother standing here. I

will show you your room."

"All right, old fellow," said Sir Felix. "I'm awfully sorry to

disturb you all in this way. I think I'll just take a drop of brandy

and soda before I go to bed, though." This was another blow to Roger.

"I doubt whether we have soda-water in the house, and if we have,

I don't know where to get it. I can give you some brandy if you

will come with me." He pronounced the word "brandy" in a tone which

implied that it was a wicked, dissipated beverage. It was a wretched

work to Roger. He was forced to go up-stairs and fetch a key in order

that he might wait upon this cub,--this cur! He did it, however, and

the cub drank his brandy-and-water, not in the least disturbed by his

host's ill-humour. As he went to bed he suggested the probability

of his not showing himself till lunch on the following day, and

expressed a wish that he might have breakfast sent to him in bed.

"He is born to be hung," said Roger to himself as he went to his

room,--"and he'll deserve it."

On the following morning, being Sunday, they all went to

church,--except Felix. Lady Carbury always went to church when she

was in the country, never when she was at home in London. It was

one of those moral habits, like early dinners and long walks, which

suited country life. And she fancied that were she not to do so, the

bishop would be sure to know it and would be displeased. She liked

the bishop. She liked bishops generally; and was aware that it was a

woman's duty to sacrifice herself for society. As to the purpose for

which people go to church, it had probably never in her life occurred

to Lady Carbury to think of it. On their return they found Sir Felix

smoking a cigar on the gravel path, close in front of the open

drawing-room window.

"Felix," said his cousin, "take your cigar a little farther. You are

filling the house with tobacco."

"Oh heavens,--what a prejudice!" said the baronet.

"Let it be so, but still do as I ask you." Sir Felix chucked the

cigar out of his mouth on to the gravel walk, whereupon Roger walked

up to the spot and kicked the offending weed away. This was the first

greeting of the day between the two men.

After lunch Lady Carbury strolled about with her son, instigating him

to go over at once to Caversham. "How the deuce am I to get there?"

"Your cousin will lend you a horse."

"He's as cross as a bear with a sore head. He's a deal older than

I am, and a cousin and all that, but I'm not going to put up with

insolence. If it were anywhere else I should just go into the yard

and ask if I could have a horse and saddle as a matter of course."

"Roger has not a great establishment."

"I suppose he has a horse and saddle, and a man to get it ready. I

don't want anything grand."

"He is vexed because he sent twice to the station for you yesterday."

"I hate the kind of fellow who is always thinking of little

grievances. Such a man expects you to go like clockwork, and because

you are not wound up just as he is, he insults you. I shall ask him

for a horse as I would any one else, and if he does not like it, he

may lump it." About half an hour after this he found his cousin. "Can

I have a horse to ride over to Caversham this afternoon?" he said.

"Our horses never go out on Sunday," said Roger. Then he added, after

a pause, "You can have it. I'll give the order." Sir Felix would

be gone on Tuesday, and it should be his own fault if that odious

cousin ever found his way into Carbury House again! So he declared

to himself as Felix rode out of the yard; but he soon remembered how

probable it was that Felix himself would be the owner of Carbury. And

should it ever come to pass,--as still was possible,--that Henrietta

should be the mistress of Carbury, he could hardly forbid her to

receive her brother. He stood for a while on the bridge watching his

cousin as he cantered away upon the road, listening to the horse's

feet. The young man was offensive in every possible way. Who does not

know that ladies only are allowed to canter their friends' horses

upon roads? A gentleman trots his horse, and his friend's horse.

Roger Carbury had but one saddle horse,--a favourite old hunter

that he loved as a friend. And now this dear old friend, whose legs

probably were not quite so good as they once were, was being galloped

along the hard road by that odious cub! "Soda and brandy!" Roger

exclaimed to himself almost aloud, thinking of the discomfiture of

that early morning. "He'll die some day of delirium tremens in a

hospital!"

Before the Longestaffes left London to receive their new friends

the Melmottes at Caversham, a treaty had been made between Mr.

Longestaffe, the father, and Georgiana, the strong-minded daughter.

The daughter on her side undertook that the guests should be treated

with feminine courtesy. This might be called the most-favoured-nation

clause. The Melmottes were to be treated exactly as though old

Melmotte had been a gentleman and Madame Melmotte a lady. In return

for this the Longestaffe family were to be allowed to return to town.

But here again the father had carried another clause. The prolonged

sojourn in town was to be only for six weeks. On the 10th of July the

Longestaffes were to be removed into the country for the remainder

of the year. When the question of a foreign tour was proposed, the

father became absolutely violent in his refusal. "In God's name where

do you expect the money is to come from?" When Georgiana urged that

other people had money to go abroad, her father told her that a time

was coming in which she might think it lucky if she had a house over

her head. This, however, she took as having been said with poetical

licence, the same threat having been made more than once before.

The treaty was very clear, and the parties to it were prepared to

carry it out with fair honesty. The Melmottes were being treated with

decent courtesy, and the house in town was not dismantled.

The idea, hardly ever in truth entertained but which had been barely

suggested from one to another among the ladies of the family, that

Dolly should marry Marie Melmotte, had been abandoned. Dolly, with

all his vapid folly, had a will of his own, which, among his own

family, was invincible. He was never persuaded to any course either

by his father or mother. Dolly certainly would not marry Marie

Melmotte. Therefore when the Longestaffes heard that Sir Felix was

coming to the country, they had no special objection to entertaining

him at Caversham. He had been lately talked of in London as the

favourite in regard to Marie Melmotte. Georgiana Longestaffe had a

grudge of her own against Lord Nidderdale, and was on that account

somewhat well inclined towards Sir Felix's prospects. Soon after the

Melmottes' arrival she contrived to say a word to Marie respecting

Sir Felix. "There is a friend of yours going to dine here on Monday,

Miss Melmotte." Marie, who was at the moment still abashed by the

grandeur and size and general fashionable haughtiness of her new

acquaintances, made hardly any answer. "I think you know Sir Felix

Carbury," continued Georgiana.

"Oh yes, we know Sir Felix Carbury."

"He is coming down to his cousin's. I suppose it is for your bright

eyes, as Carbury Manor would hardly be just what he would like."

"I don't think he is coming because of me," said Marie blushing. She

had once told him that he might go to her father, which according to

her idea had been tantamount to accepting his offer as far as her

power of acceptance went. Since that she had seen him, indeed, but he

had not said a word to press his suit, nor, as far as she knew, had

he said a word to Mr. Melmotte. But she had been very rigorous in

declining the attentions of other suitors. She had made up her mind

that she was in love with Felix Carbury, and she had resolved on

constancy. But she had begun to tremble, fearing his faithlessness.

"We had heard," said Georgiana, "that he was a particular friend of

yours." And she laughed aloud, with a vulgarity which Madame Melmotte

certainly could not have surpassed.

Sir Felix, on the Sunday afternoon, found all the ladies out on the

lawn, and he also found Mr. Melmotte there. At the last moment Lord

Alfred Grendall had been asked,--not because he was at all in favour

with any of the Longestaffes, but in order that he might be useful

in disposing of the great Director. Lord Alfred was used to him and

could talk to him, and might probably know what he liked to eat and

drink. Therefore Lord Alfred had been asked to Caversham, and Lord

Alfred had come, having all his expenses paid by the great Director.

When Sir Felix arrived, Lord Alfred was earning his entertainment by

talking to Mr. Melmotte in a summer-house. He had cool drink before

him and a box of cigars, but was probably thinking at the time how

hard the world had been to him. Lady Pomona was languid, but not

uncivil in her reception. She was doing her best to perform her

part of the treaty in reference to Madame Melmotte. Sophia was

walking apart with a certain Mr. Whitstable, a young squire in the

neighbourhood, who had been asked to Caversham because as Sophia was

now reputed to be twenty-eight,--they who decided the question might

have said thirty-one without falsehood,--it was considered that Mr.

Whitstable was good enough, or at least as good as could be expected.

Sophia was handsome, but with a big, cold, unalluring handsomeness,

and had not quite succeeded in London. Georgiana had been more

admired, and boasted among her friends of the offers which she had

rejected. Her friends on the other hand were apt to tell of her many

failures. Nevertheless she held her head up, and had not as yet come

down among the rural Whitstables. At the present moment her hands

were empty, and she was devoting herself to such a performance of the

treaty as should make it impossible for her father to leave his part

of it unfulfilled.

For a few minutes Sir Felix sat on a garden chair making conversation

to Lady Pomona and Madame Melmotte. "Beautiful garden," he said; "for

myself I don't much care for gardens; but if one is to live in the

country, this is the sort of thing that one would like."

"Delicious," said Madame Melmotte, repressing a yawn, and drawing her

shawl higher round her throat. It was the end of May, and the weather

was very warm for the time of the year; but, in her heart of hearts,

Madame Melmotte did not like sitting out in the garden.

"It isn't a pretty place; but the house is comfortable, and we make

the best of it," said Lady Pomona.

"Plenty of glass, I see," said Sir Felix. "If one is to live in the

country, I like that kind of thing. Carbury is a very poor place."

There was offence in this;--as though the Carbury property and the

Carbury position could be compared to the Longestaffe property and

the Longestaffe position. Though dreadfully hampered for money,

the Longestaffes were great people. "For a small place," said Lady

Pomona, "I think Carbury is one of the nicest in the county. Of

course it is not extensive."

"No, by Jove," said Sir Felix, "you may say that, Lady Pomona. It's

like a prison to me with that moat round it." Then he jumped up and

joined Marie Melmotte and Georgiana. Georgiana, glad to be released

for a time from performance of the treaty, was not long before she

left them together. She had understood that the two horses now in the

running were Lord Nidderdale and Sir Felix; and though she would not

probably have done much to aid Sir Felix, she was quite willing to

destroy Lord Nidderdale.

Sir Felix had his work to do, and was willing to do it,--as far as

such willingness could go with him. The prize was so great, and the

comfort of wealth was so sure, that even he was tempted to exert

himself. It was this feeling which had brought him into Suffolk, and

induced him to travel all night, across dirty roads, in an old cab.

For the girl herself he cared not the least. It was not in his power

really to care for anybody. He did not dislike her much. He was

not given to disliking people strongly, except at the moments in

which they offended him. He regarded her simply as the means by

which a portion of Mr. Melmotte's wealth might be conveyed to his

uses. In regard to feminine beauty he had his own ideas, and his own

inclinations. He was by no means indifferent to such attraction. But

Marie Melmotte, from that point of view, was nothing to him. Such

prettiness as belonged to her came from the brightness of her youth,

and from a modest shy demeanour joined to an incipient aspiration

for the enjoyment of something in the world which should be her own.

There was, too, arising within her bosom a struggle to be something

in the world, an idea that she, too, could say something, and have

thoughts of her own, if only she had some friend near her whom she

need not fear. Though still shy, she was always resolving that she

would abandon her shyness, and already had thoughts of her own as to

the perfectly open confidence which should exist between two lovers.

When alone,--and she was much alone,--she would build castles in

the air, which were bright with art and love, rather than with gems

and gold. The books she read, poor though they generally were, left

something bright on her imagination. She fancied to herself brilliant

conversations in which she bore a bright part, though in real life

she had hitherto hardly talked to any one since she was a child. Sir

Felix Carbury, she knew, had made her an offer. She knew also, or

thought that she knew, that she loved the man. And now she was with

him alone! Now surely had come the time in which some one of her

castles in the air might be found to be built of real materials.

"You know why I have come down here?" he said.

[Illustration: "You know why I have come down here?"]

"To see your cousin."

"No, indeed. I'm not particularly fond of my cousin, who is a

methodical stiff-necked old bachelor,--as cross as the mischief."

"How disagreeable!"

"Yes; he is disagreeable. I didn't come down to see him, I can

tell you. But when I heard that you were going to be here with the

Longestaffes, I determined to come at once. I wonder whether you are

glad to see me?"

"I don't know," said Marie, who could not at once find that

brilliancy of words with which her imagination supplied her readily

enough in her solitude.

"Do you remember what you said to me that evening at my mother's?"

"Did I say anything? I don't remember anything particular."

"Do you not? Then I fear you can't think very much of me." He paused

as though he supposed that she would drop into his mouth like a

cherry. "I thought you told me that you would love me."

"Did I?"

"Did you not?"

"I don't know what I said. Perhaps if I said that, I didn't mean it."

"Am I to believe that?"

"Perhaps you didn't mean it yourself."

"By George, I did. I was quite in earnest. There never was a fellow

more in earnest than I was. I've come down here on purpose to say it

again."

"To say what?"

"Whether you'll accept me?"

"I don't know whether you love me well enough." She longed to be told

by him that he loved her. He had no objection to tell her so, but,

without thinking much about it, felt it to be a bore. All that kind

of thing was trash and twaddle. He desired her to accept him; and he

would have wished, were it possible, that she should have gone to her

father for his consent. There was something in the big eyes and heavy

jaws of Mr. Melmotte which he almost feared. "Do you really love me

well enough?" she whispered.

"Of course I do. I'm bad at making pretty speeches, and all that, but

you know I love you."

"Do you?"

"By George, yes. I always liked you from the first moment I saw you.

I did indeed."

It was a poor declaration of love, but it sufficed. "Then I will love

you," she said. "I will with all my heart."

"There's a darling!"

"Shall I be your darling? Indeed I will. I may call you Felix

now;--mayn't I?"

"Rather."

"Oh, Felix, I hope you will love me. I will so dote upon you. You

know a great many men have asked me to love them."

"I suppose so."

"But I have never, never cared for one of them in the least;--not in

the least."

"You do care for me?"

"Oh yes." She looked up into his beautiful face as she spoke, and he

saw that her eyes were swimming with tears. He thought at the moment

that she was very common to look at. As regarded appearance only he

would have preferred even Sophia Longestaffe. There was indeed a

certain brightness of truth which another man might have read in

Marie's mingled smiles and tears, but it was thrown away altogether

upon him. They were walking in some shrubbery quite apart from the

house, where they were unseen; so, as in duty bound, he put his arm

round her waist and kissed her. "Oh, Felix," she said, giving her

face up to him; "no one ever did it before." He did not in the least

believe her, nor was the matter one of the slightest importance to

him. "Say that you will be good to me, Felix. I will be so good to

you."

"Of course I will be good to you."

"Men are not always good to their wives. Papa is often very cross to

mamma."

"I suppose he can be cross?"

"Yes, he can. He does not often scold me. I don't know what he'll say

when we tell him about this."

"But I suppose he intends that you shall be married?"

"He wanted me to marry Lord Nidderdale and Lord Grasslough, but

I hated them both. I think he wants me to marry Lord Nidderdale

again now. He hasn't said so, but mamma tells me. But I never

will;--never!"

"I hope not, Marie."

"You needn't be a bit afraid. I would not do it if they were to kill

me. I hate him,--and I do so love you." Then she leaned with all her

weight upon his arm and looked up again into his beautiful face. "You

will speak to papa; won't you?"

"Will that be the best way?"

"I suppose so. How else?"

"I don't know whether Madame Melmotte ought not--"

"Oh dear no. Nothing would induce her. She is more afraid of him

than anybody;--more afraid of him than I am. I thought the gentleman

always did that."

"Of course I'll do it," said Sir Felix. "I'm not afraid of him. Why

should I? He and I are very good friends, you know."

"I'm glad of that."

"He made me a Director of one of his companies the other day."

"Did he? Perhaps he'll like you for a son-in-law."

"There's no knowing;--is there?"

"I hope he will. I shall like you for papa's son-in-law. I hope it

isn't wrong to say that. Oh, Felix, say that you love me." Then she

put her face up towards his again.

"Of course I love you," he said, not thinking it worth his while to

kiss her. "It's no good speaking to him here. I suppose I had better

go and see him in the city."

"He is in a good humour now," said Marie.

"But I couldn't get him alone. It wouldn't be the thing to do down

here."

"Wouldn't it?"

"Not in the country,--in another person's house. Shall you tell

Madame Melmotte?"

"Yes, I shall tell mamma; but she won't say anything to him. Mamma

does not care much about me. But I'll tell you all that another time.

Of course I shall tell you everything now. I never yet had anybody to

tell anything to, but I shall never be tired of telling you." Then

he left her as soon as he could, and escaped to the other ladies. Mr.

Melmotte was still sitting in the summer-house, and Lord Alfred was

still with him, smoking and drinking brandy and seltzer. As Sir Felix

passed in front of the great man he told himself that it was much

better that the interview should be postponed till they were all in

London. Mr. Melmotte did not look as though he were in a good humour.

Sir Felix said a few words to Lady Pomona and Madame Melmotte. Yes;

he hoped to have the pleasure of seeing them with his mother and

sister on the following day. He was aware that his cousin was not

coming. He believed that his cousin Roger never did go any where like

any one else. No; he had not seen Mr. Longestaffe. He hoped to have

the pleasure of seeing him to-morrow. Then he escaped, and got on his

horse, and rode away.

"That's going to be the lucky man," said Georgiana to her mother,

that evening.

"In what way lucky?"

"He is going to get the heiress and all the money. What a fool Dolly

has been!"

"I don't think it would have suited Dolly," said Lady Pomona. "After

all, why should not Dolly marry a lady?"