Hitherto, indeed, he could not accuse himself of having missed his opportunities; his election had been so recent that he could hardly yet have made the attempt.

He had had no time to speak in Parliament yet;


But he had been there long enough to learn to fancy that there was no glory in attempting.

but he had been there long enough to learn to fancy that there was no glory in attempting.

Chapter 52: What Occurred in Suffolk Street, Pall Mall


This art of speaking in Parliament, which had appeared to him to be so grand, seemed already to be a humdrum, homely, dull affair.

This art of speaking in Parliament, which had appeared to him to be so grand, seemed already to be a humdrum, dull affair.


No one seemed to listen much to what was said.


To such as himself,--Members without an acquired name,--men did not seem to listen at all.


Mr. Palliser had once, in his hearing, spoken for two hours together, and all the House had treated his speech with respect,--had declared that it was useful, solid, conscientious, and what not; but more than half the House had been asleep more than half the time that he was on his legs.

Mr. Palliser had once spoken for two hours together, and all the House had treated his speech with respect - had declared that it was useful, solid, conscientious, and what not; but more than half the House had been asleep during it.


Vavasor had not as yet commenced his career as an orator; but night after night, as he sat there, the chance of commencing it with brilliance seemed to be further from him, and still further.

Vavasor's chance of brilliance seemed to be further from him, and still further.


Two thousand pounds of his own money, and two thousand more of Alice's money,--or of Mr. Grey's,--he had already spent to make his way into that assembly.

He had already spent two thousand pounds of his own money, and two thousand more of Alice's - or Mr. Grey's.


He must spend, at any rate, two thousand more if he intended that his career should be prolonged beyond a three months' sitting;--and how was he to get this further sum after what had taken place to-day?

He must spend two thousand more to prolong his career; and how was he to get that after what had taken place today?


That was his resolve as he walked in by the apple-woman's stall, under the shadow of the great policeman, and between the two august lamps.

That was his resolve as he walked into Westminster between the two august lamps.


He would get it;--as long as Alice had a pound over which he could obtain mastery by any act or violence within his compass.

He would get it; as long as Alice had a pound


He would get it; even though it should come through the hands of John Grey and Mr. Tombe.

, he would get it, even if it came through John Grey's hands - and


He would get it; though in doing so he might destroy his cousin Alice and ruin his sister Kate.

even if it might destroy his cousin Alice and ruin his sister Kate.


He had gone too far to stick at any scruples.


Had he not often declared how great had been that murderer who had been able to divest himself of all such scruples,--who had scoured his bosom free from all fears of the hereafter, and, as regarded the present, had dared to trust for everything to success?


He would go to Alice and demand the money from her with threats, and with that violence in his eyes which he knew so well how to assume.


He believed that when he so demanded it, the money would be forthcoming so as to satisfy, at any rate, his present emergencies.


If he would but die, there might yet be a hope remaining of permanent success!


Even though the estate might be entailed so as to give him no more than a life-interest, still money might be raised on it.


His life-interest in it would be worth ten or twelve years' purchase.


He had an idea that his grandfather had not as yet made any such will when he left the place in Westmoreland.


What a boon it would be if death could be made to overtake the old man before he did so!


On this very night he walked about the lobbies of the House, thinking of all this.

He walked about the lobbies of the House, thinking of all this


He went by himself from room to room, roaming along passages, sitting now for ten minutes in the gallery, and then again for a short space in the body of the House,--till he would get up and wander again out into the lobby, impatient of the neighbourhood of Mr. Bott.

as he went from room to room, sitting now for ten minutes in the gallery, and then wandering again out into the lobby.


Certainly just at this time he felt no desire to bring before the House the subject of the River Embankment.


Nor was Mr. Grey much happier when he was left alone, than was his assailant.


To give Vavasor his due, the memory of the affray itself did not long trouble him much.

The memory of the fight itself did not trouble Vavasor much


The success between the combatants had been nearly equal, and he had, at any rate, spoken his mind freely.


But the reflection that he had been concerned in a row was in itself enough to make John Grey wretched for the time.

; but John Grey was made wretched by reflecting on it.


Such a misfortune had never hitherto befallen him.


In all his dealings with men words had been sufficient, and generally words of courtesy had sufficed.

He had never been involved in physical violence before.


To have been personally engaged in a fighting scramble with such a man as George Vavasor was to him terrible.


When ordering that his money might be expended with the possible object of saving Alice from her cousin, he had never felt a moment's regret; he had never thought that he was doing more than circumstances fairly demanded of him.

When ordering that his money might be spent to save Alice from her cousin, he had never felt a moment's regret;


But now he was almost driven to utter reproach.

but now he was almost driven to reproach.


that this thing should have come upon me through thy fault!"

that this should have come upon me through your fault!"


When Vavasor was led away down stairs by the tailor, and Grey found that no more actual fighting would be required of him, he retired into his bedroom, that he might wash his mouth and free himself from the stains of the combat.

Once Vavasor had gone, Grey retired into his bedroom to wash his face.


He had heard the front door closed, and knew that the miscreant was gone,--the miscreant who had disturbed his quiet.


Then he began to think what was the accusation with which Vavasor had charged him.

Then he began to think about Vavasor's accusation


He had been told that he had advanced money on behalf of Alice, in order that he might obtain some power over Alice's fortune, and thus revenge himself upon Alice for her treatment of him.

, that he had advanced money on Alice's behalf in order to obtain some power over her, and revenge himself for her treatment of him.


Nothing could be more damnably false than this accusation.


But were not the circumstances of a nature to make it appear that the accusation was true?


Security for the money advanced by him, of course, he had none;--of course he had desired none;--of course the money had been given out of his own pocket with the sole object of saving Alice, if that might be possible; but of all those who might hear of this affair, how many would know or even guess the truth?

If people heard of this affair, how many would guess the truth?


While he was in this wretched state of mind, washing his mouth, and disturbing his spirit, Mr. Jones, his landlord, came up to him.

While he was in this wretched state of mind, Mr. Jones, his landlord, came up to him.


Mr. Jones had known him for some years, and entertained a most profound respect for his character.

Mr. Jones had known him for some years, and had a most profound respect for him.


A rather sporting man than otherwise was Mr. Jones.


His father had been a tradesman at Cambridge, and in this way Jones had become known to Mr. Grey.


But though given to sport, by which he meant modern prize-fighting and the Epsom course on the Derby day, Mr. Jones was a man who dearly loved respectable customers and respectable lodgers.


Mr. Grey, with his property at Nethercoats, and his august manners, and his reputation at Cambridge, was a most respectable lodger, and Mr. Jones could hardly understand how any one could presume to raise his hand against such a man.


"Dear, dear, sir--this is a terrible affair!"

"Dear, dear, sir, this is a terrible affair!"


he said, as he made his way into the room.


"It was very disagreeable, certainly," said Grey.


I should not have pushed him down stairs had he not quarrelled with me."

I should not have pushed him downstairs otherwise."


"We can have the police after him if you wish it, sir?"


"Or we might manage to polish him off in any other way, you know."


It was some time before Mr. Grey could get rid of the tailor, but he did so at last without having told any part of the story to that warlike, worthy, and very anxious individual.

It was some time before Mr. Grey could get rid of the tailor, but he did so without telling any part of the story to that worthy and very anxious man.


Early in April, the Easter recess being all over, Lady Monk gave a grand party in London.

Early in April, Lady Monk gave a grand party in London,

Chapter 48: Preparations for Lady Monk's Party


Lady Monk's town house was in Gloucester Square.

at her large town house in Gloucester Square.


It was a large mansion, and Lady Monk's parties in London were known to be very great affairs.


She usually gave two or three in the season, and spent a large portion of her time and energy in so arranging matters that her parties should be successful.

Lady Monk usually gave two or three such parties in the season, and spent much time and energy ensuring that they would be successful.


As this was her special line in life, a failure would have been very distressing to her;--and we may also say very disgraceful, taking into consideration, as we should do in forming our judgement on the subject, the very large sums of Sir Cosmo's money which she spent in this way.


She knew how to select her days, so as not to fall foul of other events.


It seldom happened that people could not come to her because of a division which occupied all the Members of Parliament, or that they were drawn away by the superior magnitude of some other attraction in the world of fashion.


This giving of parties was her business, and she had learned it thoroughly.


She worked at it harder than most men work at their trades, and let us hope that the profits were consolatory.


It was generally acknowledged to be the proper thing to go to Lady Monk's parties.


There were certain people who were asked, and who went as a matter of course,--people who were by no means on intimate terms with Lady Monk, or with Sir Cosmo; but they were people to have whom was the proper thing, and they were people who understood that to go to Lady Monk's was the proper thing for them.

There were certain people who went as a matter of course - people who were by no means close friends with Lady Monk, or with Sir Cosmo, but whom it was proper to invite.


The Duchess of St. Bungay was always there, though she hated Lady Monk, and Lady Monk always abused her; but a card was sent to the Duchess in the same way as the Lord Mayor invites a Cabinet Minister to dinner, even though the one man might believe the other to be a thief.

The Duchess of St. Bungay was always there, though she hated Lady Monk;


And Mrs. Conway Sparkes was generally there; she went everywhere.

and Mrs. Conway Sparkes was generally there


Lady Monk did not at all know why Mrs. Conway Sparkes was so favoured by the world; but there was the fact, and she bowed to it.

, although Lady Monk did not know why Mrs. Conway Sparkes was so favoured by the world; but so the fact was, and she bowed to it.


Then there were another set, the members of which were or were not invited, according to circumstances, at the time; and these were the people who were probably the most legitimate recipients of Lady Monk's hospitality.

Then there were another set, who were invited only when it suited.


Old family friends of her husband were among the number.

Among these were old family friends of her husband


Let the Tuftons come in April, and perhaps again in May; then they will not feel their exclusion from that seventh heaven of glory,--the great culminating crush in July.


Scores of young ladies who really loved parties belonged to this set.


The mothers and aunts knew Lady Monk's sisters and cousins.

whose mothers and aunts knew Lady Monk's sisters and cousins.


They accepted so much of Lady Monk's good things as she vouchsafed them, and were thankful.

They accepted as much of Lady Monk's good things as she offered them, and were thankful.


Then there was another lot, which generally became, especially on that great July occasion, the most numerous of the three.

Then there was another lot again, which was the most numerous of the three.


It comprised all those who made strong interest to obtain admittance within her ladyship's house,--who struggled and fought almost with tooth and nail to get invitations.

It comprised all those who fought almost tooth and nail to get invitations.


Against these people Lady Monk carried on an internecine war.


Had she not done so she would have been swamped by them, and her success would have been at an end; but yet she never dreamed of shutting her doors against them altogether, or of saying boldly that none such should hamper her staircases.

had admitted them all, she would have been swamped; but she did not shut her doors against them altogether.


She knew that she must yield, but her effort was made to yield to as few as might be possible.

Rather, she yielded to as few as possible.


When she was first told by her factotum in these operations that Mr. Bott wanted to come, she positively declined to have him.

When she was first told that Mr. Bott wanted to come, she positively refused to have him.


When it was afterwards intimated to her that the Duchess of St. Bungay had made a point of it, she sneered at the Duchess, and did not even then yield.

When it was hinted that the Duchess of St. Bungay had requested it, she sneered at the Duchess, and did not yield.


But when at last it was brought home to her understanding that Mr. Palliser wished it, and that Mr. Palliser probably would not come himself unless his wishes were gratified, she gave way.

But when she learnt that Mr. Palliser wished it, and that Mr. Palliser probably would not come himself otherwise, she gave way.


She was especially anxious that Lady Glencora should come to her gathering, and she knew that Lady Glencora could not be had without Mr. Palliser.

She was especially anxious that Lady Glencora should come to her gathering, and Lady Glencora could not be had without Mr. Palliser.


It was very much desired by her that Lady Glencora should be there.


"Burgo," said she to her nephew, one morning, "look here."

"Burgo," said she to her nephew one morning, "look here."


Burgo was at the time staying with his aunt, in Gloucester Square, much to the annoyance of Sir Cosmo, who had become heartily tired of his nephew.

Burgo was staying with her in Gloucester Square, much to the annoyance of Sir Cosmo, who was heartily tired of his nephew.


The aunt and the nephew had been closeted together more than once lately, and perhaps they understood each other better now than they had done down at Monkshade.

The aunt and the nephew had been closeted together often lately.


The aunt had handed a little note to Burgo, which he read and then threw back to her.

Now she handed a little note to Burgo, which he read and threw back to her.


"You see that she is not afraid of coming," said Lady Monk.


"I suppose she doesn't think much about it," said Burgo.

"I suppose she doesn't think about it much," said Burgo.


"If that's what you really believe, you'd better give it up.


Nothing on earth would justify such a step on your part except a thorough conviction that she is attached to you."

Nothing would justify such a step on your part except a conviction that she is attached to you."


Burgo looked at the fireplace, almost savagely, and his aunt looked at him very keenly.


"Well," she said, "if there's to be an end of it, let there be an end of it."


"I think I'd better hang myself," he said.


"Burgo, I will not have you here if you talk to me in that way.

"Burgo, I will not have you here if you talk that way.


I am trying to help you once again; but if you look like that, and talk like that, I will give it up."

I am trying to help you; but if you look like that, and talk like that, I will give it up."


With all your faults I never expected that of you."


I'd go out and fight him at two paces' distance with the greatest pleasure in the world."

I'd go out and fight him with the greatest pleasure in the world."


Men do not fight now; nor at any time would a man be called upon to fight, because you simply wanted to take his wife from him.


I'd do it to-morrow if it depended on me.


No one can say that I'm afraid of anybody or of anything."


"I suppose something in the matter depends on her?"


"I believe she loves me,--if you mean that?"


"Look here, Burgo," and the considerate aunt gave to the impoverished and ruined nephew such counsel as she, in accordance with her lights, was enabled to bestow.

"Look here, Burgo," the aunt advised her ruined nephew.


"I think you were much wronged in that matter.


After what had passed I thought that you had a right to claim Lady Glencora as your wife.


Mr. Palliser, in my mind, behaved very wrongly in stepping in between you and--you and such a fortune as hers, in that way.

Mr. Palliser, in my mind, behaved very wrongly in stepping in between you and such a fortune as hers.


He cannot expect that his wife should have any affection for him.


There is nobody alive who has a greater horror of anything improper in married women than I have.

Nobody has a greater horror of anything improper in married women than I have.


When Lady Madeline Madtop left her husband, I would never allow her to come inside my doors again,--though I have no doubt he ill-used her dreadfully, and there was nothing ever proved between her and Colonel Graham.


One can't be too particular in such matters.


But here, if you,--if you can succeed, you know, I shall always regard the Palliser episode in Lady Glencora's life as a tragical accident.

But if you succeed, I shall always regard the Palliser episode in Lady Glencora's life as a tragic accident.


It was done exactly as they make nuns of girls in Roman Catholic countries; and as I should think no harm of helping a nun out of her convent, so I should think no harm of helping her now.


If you are to say anything to her, I think you might have an opportunity at the party."

If you are to say anything to her, you might have an opportunity at the party."


Burgo was still looking at the fireplace; and he sat on, looking and still looking, but he said nothing.


"You can think of what I have said, Burgo," continued his aunt, meaning that he should get up and go.


"Have you anything more that you wish to say to me?"


"I've got no money," said Burgo, still looking at the fireplace.


Lady Glencora's property was worth not less than fifty thousand a year.


He was a young man ambitious of obtaining that almost incredible amount of wealth, and who once had nearly reached it, by means of her love.


His present obstacle consisted in his want of a twenty-pound note!


The words were growled out rather than spoken, and his eyes were never turned even for a moment towards his aunt's face.

The words were growled out rather than spoken, and Burgo did not even look at his aunt.


"You've never got any money," said she, speaking almost with passion.


If I had a couple of hundred pounds, so that I could take her, I believe that she would go with me.

If I had a couple of hundred pounds, so that I could take her away, I believe that she would go with me."


It should not be my fault if she did not.


It would have been all right if she had come to Monkshade."


I have not five pounds belonging to me."


said Lady Monk, interrupting him sharply.


said he, hesitating to go on with that suggestion which he had been about to make.


The Cosmo of whom he spoke was not his uncle, but his cousin.

The Cosmo he meant was not his uncle, but his cousin.


No eloquence could have induced his uncle, Sir Cosmo, to lend him another shilling.

Nothing could have induced his uncle, Sir Cosmo, to lend him another shilling.


But the son of the house was a man rich with his own wealth, and Burgo had not taxed him for some years.

But the son of the house was a rich man.


"Fancy that a man should be ruined for two hundred pounds, just at such a moment of his life as this!"

"Fancy that a man should be ruined for two hundred pounds, at such a moment of his life as this!


He was a man bold by nature, and he did make his proposition.


"You have jewels, aunt;--could you not raise it for me?

You have jewels, aunt; could you not raise it for me?


I would redeem them with the very first money that I got."


Lady Monk rose in a passion when the suggestion was first made, but before the interview was over she had promised that she would endeavour to do something in the way of raising money for him yet, once again.

Lady Monk stood up in anger when he suggested this, yet before the interview was over she had promised that she would try to get some money for him.


He was her favourite nephew, and the same almost to her as a child of her own.


With one of her own children indeed she had quarrelled, and of the other, a married daughter, she rarely saw much.

She had quarrelled with one of her own children, and rarely saw the other, a married daughter.


Such love as she had to give she gave to Burgo, and she promised him the money though she knew that she must raise it by some villanous falsehood to her husband.

Such love as she had to give, she gave to Burgo, and she promised him the money though she knew that she must raise it by some falsehood to her husband.


On the same morning Lady Glencora went to Queen Anne Street with the purpose of inducing Alice to go to Lady Monk's party; but Alice would not accede to the proposition, though Lady Glencora pressed it with all her eloquence.

On the same morning Lady Glencora went to visit Alice, to ask her to go to Lady Monk's party; but Alice would not agree.


"My dear," said Lady Glencora, "that's absurd.


"But they know her set, or know her friends,--or, at any rate, will meet their own friends at her house.


I should only bother you, and should not in the least gratify myself."


"The fact is, everybody will go who can, and I should have no sort of trouble in getting a card for you.

"I should have no trouble in getting a card for you.


Indeed I should simply write a note and say I meant to bring you."


"Pray don't do any such thing, for I certainly shall not go.


I can't conceive why you should wish it."


"Mr. Fitzgerald will be there," said Lady Glencora, altering her voice altogether, and speaking in that low tone with which she used to win Alice's heart down at Matching.

"Mr. Fitzgerald will be there," said Lady Glencora, speaking in a low tone.


She was sitting close over the fire, leaning low, holding up her little hands as a screen to her face, and looking at her companion earnestly.


"I'm sure that he will be there, though nobody has told me."


"That may be a reason for your staying away," said Alice, slowly, "but hardly a reason for my going with you."

"That may be a reason for your staying away," said Alice slowly, "but hardly a reason for my going with you."


Lady Glencora would not condescend to tell her friend in so many words that she wanted her protection.


She could not bring herself to say that, though she wished it to be understood.

could not bring herself to say that she wanted her friend's protection, though she wished it to be understood.


I thought you would have gone," said she.


"It would be contrary to all my habits," said Alice: "I never go to people's houses when I don't know them.


It's a kind of society which I don't like.


Lady Glencora had moved the position of one of her hands so as to get it to her pocket, and there had grasped a letter, which she still carried; but when Alice said those last cold words, "Pray do not ask me," she released the grasp, and left the letter where it was.

Lady Glencora had put one hand into her pocket, and had grasped a letter; but when Alice said those last cold words, "Pray do not ask me," she released the grasp, and left the letter where it was.


"I suppose he won't bite me, at any rate," she said, and she assumed that look of childish drollery which she would sometimes put on, almost with a grimace, but still with so much prettiness that no one who saw her would regret it.

"I suppose he won't bite me, at any rate," she said, with a pretty look of childish drollery.


"He certainly can't bite you, if you will not let him."


"Do you know, Alice, though they all say that Plantagenet is one of the wisest men in London, I sometimes think that he is one of the greatest fools.


Soon after we came to town I told him that we had better not go to that woman's house.


He simply said that he wished that I should do so.


'I hate anything out of the way,' he said.


'There can be no reason why my wife should not go to Lady Monk's house as well as to any other.'

'There can be no reason why my wife should not go to Lady Monk's house.'


There was an end of it, you know, as far as anything I could do was concerned.


He insists that I shall go, but he sends my duenna with me.


In the first place, one doesn't like to be followed everywhere by a policeman, even though one isn't going to pick a pocket.


And then, the devil is so strong within me, that I should like to dodge the policeman.

And the devil is so strong within me, that I should like to dodge her."


I can fancy a woman being driven to do wrong simply by a desire to show her policeman that she can be too many for him."


"Glencora, you make me so wretched when you talk like that."

"Glencora, you make me wretched when you talk like that."


"Will you go with me, then, so that I may have a policeman of my own choosing?


He asked me if I would mind taking Mrs. Marsham with me in my carriage.

He asked me if I would take Mrs. Marsham with me in my carriage.


So I up and spoke, very boldly, like the proud young porter, and told him I would not; and when he asked why not, I said that I preferred taking a friend of my own,--a young friend, I said, and I then named you or my cousin, Lady Jane.

So I told him I would not; and when he asked why not, I said that I preferred to take a young friend of my own - and I named you or my cousin, Lady Jane."


I told him I should bring one or the other."


"No; he took it very quietly,--saying something, in his calm way, about hoping that I should get over a prejudice against one of his earliest and dearest friends.

"No; he took it very quietly and calmly, saying something about hoping that I should get over a prejudice against one of his earliest and dearest friends.


He twits at me because I don't understand Parliament and the British Constitution, but I know more of them than he does about a woman.

He twits at me because I don't understand Parliament and the British Constitution, but I know more about them than he does about a woman.


"Do," said Lady Glencora; and there was an amount of persuasion in her accent which should, I think, have overcome her cousin's scruples.


"It is against the whole tenor of my life's way," she said, "And, Glencora, I am not happy myself.


I sometimes think that I shall never go into society again."


"Oh, very well," said Lady Glencora, interrupting her.


If he asks me to dance, I shall stand up with him, just as though I had never seen him before."


Then she remembered the letter in her pocket,--remembered that at this moment she bore about with her a written proposition from this man to go off with him and leave her husband's house.

Then she remembered the letter in her pocket, which was a proposition from this man to leave her husband and go off with him.


She had intended to show it to Alice on this occasion; but as Alice had refused her request, she was glad that she had not done so.

As Alice had refused her request, she was glad that she had not shown it to her.


"You'll come to me the morning after," said Lady Glencora, as she went.

"Come to me the morning after," said Lady Glencora, as she went.


This Alice promised to do; and then she was left alone.


Alice regretted,--regretted deeply that she had not consented to go with her cousin.

It was only after Lady Glencora had left that Alice began to understand the subject fully, and to feel that she might have been of use in a great danger.


After all, of what importance had been her objection when compared with the cause for which her presence had been desired?

She regretted deeply that she had not consented to go with her cousin.


Doubtless she would have been uncomfortable at Lady Monk's house; but could she not have borne some hour or two of discomfort on her friend's behalf?

Doubtless she would have been uncomfortable at Lady Monk's house; but could she not have borne an hour or two of discomfort on her friend's behalf?


But, in truth, it was only after Lady Glencora had left her that she began to understand the subject fully, and to feel that she might possibly have been of service in a great danger.


Then she strove to comfort herself with the reflection that a casual meeting at an evening party in London could not be perilous in the same degree as a prolonged sojourn together in a country house.

She strove to comfort herself with the reflection that a casual meeting at an evening party in London could not be nearly as perilous as a prolonged stay together in a country house.


On the night before Christmas Eve two men were sitting together in George Vavasor's rooms in Cecil Street.


It was past twelve o'clock, and they were both smoking; there were square bottles on the table containing spirits, with hot water and cold water in jugs, and one of the two men was using, and had been using, these materials for enjoyment.

It was past twelve o'clock, and they were both smoking; there were bottles of spirits and jugs of water on the table.


Vavasor had not been drinking, nor did it appear as though he intended to begin.


There was a little weak brandy and water in a glass by his side, but there it had remained untouched for the last twenty minutes.

There was a little weak brandy and water in a glass by his side, but it had remained untouched for the last twenty minutes.


His companion, however, had twice in that time replenished his beaker, and was now puffing out the smoke of his pipe with the fury of a steamer's funnel when she has not yet burned the black off her last instalment of fresh coals.

In that time his companion had twice refilled his glass, and was now puffing out smoke from his pipe with the fury of a steamer's funnel.


He was as handsome as ever;--a man whom neither man nor woman could help regarding as a thing beautiful to behold;--but not the less was there in his eyes and cheeks a look of haggard dissipation,--of riotous living, which had become wearisome, by its continuance, even to himself,--that told to all who saw him much of the history of his life.

He was as handsome as ever; but in his eyes and cheeks there was a look of haggard dissipation - a sign of riotous living which had become wearisome even to himself.


Most men who drink at nights, and are out till cockcrow doing deeds of darkness, become red in their faces, have pimpled cheeks and watery eyes, and are bloated and not comfortable to be seen.

Habitual drink did not make him red-faced and bloated,


It is a kind dispensation of Providence who thus affords to such sinners a visible sign, to be seen day by day, of the injury which is being done.


The first approach of a carbuncle on the nose, about the age of thirty, has stopped many a man from drinking.


No one likes to have carbuncles on his nose, or to appear before his female friends with eyes which look as though they were swimming in grog.


But to Burgo Fitzgerald Providence in her anger had not afforded this protection.


He became at times pale, sallow, worn, and haggard.


At times he had been ill to death's door.

at times he had been ill to death's door.


Among his intimate friends there were those who heard him declare frequently that his liver had become useless to him; and that, as for gastric juices, he had none left to him.

He declared to his friends that that his liver had become useless.


The perfect form of his almost god-like face was the same as ever, and the brightness of his bright blue eye was never quenched.


On the present occasion he had come to Vavasor's room with the object of asking from him certain assistance, and perhaps also some amount of advice.

He had come to Vavasor's room to ask him for assistance, and perhaps also for advice.


But as regarded the latter article he was, I think, in the state of most men when they seek for counsellors who shall counsel them to do evil.


Advice administered in accordance with his own views would give him comfortable encouragement, but advice on the other side he was prepared to disregard altogether.


These two men had known each other long, and a close intimacy had existed between them in the days past, previous to Lady Glencora's engagement with Mr. Palliser.

These two men had known each other long, and had been close friends.


When Lady Glencora endeavoured, vainly as we know, to obtain aid from Alice Vavasor, Burgo had been instigated to believe that Alice's cousin might assist him.

When Lady Glencora tried, vainly as we know, to obtain aid from Alice Vavasor, Burgo had been led to believe that Alice's cousin might help him.


Any such assistance George Vavasor would have been quite ready to give.


Some pecuniary assistance he had given, he at that time having been in good funds.


Perhaps he had for a moment induced Burgo to think that he could obtain for the pair the use of the house in Queen Anne Street as a point at which they might meet, and from whence they might start on their journey of love.


Those hopes had been frustrated, and Lady Glencora M'Cluskie had become Lady Glencora Palliser and not Lady Glencora Fitzgerald.

's hopes had been frustrated, and Lady Glencora M'Cluskie had become Lady Glencora Palliser.


But now other hopes had sprung up, and Burgo was again looking to his friend for assistance.


"I believe she would," Burgo said, as he lifted the glass to his mouth.


"It's a thing of that sort that a man can only believe,--perhaps only hope,--till he has tried.


I know that she is not happy with him, and I have made up my mind that I will at least ask her."

"I know that she is not happy with him, and I will at least ask her."


"But he would have her fortune all the same?"

"But he would keep her fortune all the same?"


I haven't inquired, and I don't mean to inquire.


Of course I don't expect you or any one else to believe me, but her money has no bearing on the question now.

Of course I don't expect anyone to believe me, but her money has no bearing on the question now.


Heaven knows I want money bad enough, but I wouldn't take away another man's wife for money."

Heaven knows I want money bad enough, but I wouldn't take away another man's wife for it."


"You don't mean to say you think it would be wicked.


I supposed you to be above those prejudices."


I tell you fairly I wouldn't run away with any man's wife.

"I must tell you that I wouldn't run away with any man's wife.


I have an old-fashioned idea that when a man has got a wife he ought to be allowed to keep her."


"I think he ran away with my wife," said Burgo, with emphasis; "that's the way I look at it.

"I think he ran away with my wife," said Burgo, with emphasis.


"She was engaged to me first; and she really loved me, while she never cared for him."


"Nevertheless, marriage is marriage, and the law is against you.


But if I did go in for such a troublesome job at all, I certainly should keep an eye upon the money."

But if I did go in for such a troublesome job, I certainly should keep an eye upon the money."


"It did make a difference, I suppose, when you first thought of marrying her?"


My people brought us together because she had a large fortune and I had none.

My people brought us together because she had a fortune and I had none.


There's no doubt in the world about that.


And I'll tell you what; I believe that old harridan of an aunt of mine is willing to do the same thing now again.

And I'll tell you what; I believe that old harridan of an aunt of mine is willing to do the same thing again.


She wouldn't dare do that, but I do believe she means it.

dare say so, but I do believe she means it.


It isn't love for me now so much as downright malice against Palliser, because he baulked her project before.


Some of us fellows are wicked enough--you and I for instance--"

Some of us fellows are wicked enough - you and I for instance-"


I don't know, however, that I am qualified to run in a curricle with you."

I don't know, however, that I am qualified to run alongside you."


"But we are angels to such an old she-devil as that.

"But we are angels to that old she-devil.


You may believe me or not, as you like.--I dare say you won't believe me."


"The truth is, I want to get her, partly because I love her; but chiefly because I do believe in my heart that she loves me."

The truth is, I want Lady Glencora, partly because I love her; but chiefly because I believe that she loves me."


You are ready to sacrifice yourself to do her a good turn."


"As for sacrificing myself, that's done.


I'm a man utterly ruined and would cut my throat to-morrow for the sake of my relations, if I cared enough about them.


I have made a shipwreck of everything, and have now only got to go down among the breakers."

I have made a shipwreck of everything, and have now only got to go down among the waves."


"Only you would like to take Lady Glencora with you."


But sometimes, when I do think about it at all,--which I do as seldom as I can,--it seems to me that I might still become a different fellow if it were possible for me to marry her."

But sometimes I think that I might still become a different fellow if I could marry her."


"Had you married her when she was free to marry any one and when her money was her own, it might have been so."

"If you had you married her when she was free, it might have been so."


"I think it would be quite as much so now.


If I could get her once, say to Italy, or perhaps to Greece, I think I could treat her well, and live with her quietly.

If I could get her to Italy, or Greece, I think I could treat her well, and live with her quietly.


"Without the assistance of brandy and cigars."


I know you'll laugh at me; but I make pictures to myself of a sort of life which I think would suit us, and be very different from this hideous way of living, with which I have become so sick that I loathe it."

I know you'll laugh at me; but I imagine a sort of life which I think would suit us, and be very different from this hideous way of living.


"Something like Juan and Haide, with Planty Pall coming after you, like old Lambro."


By the nickname of Planty Pall George Vavasor intended to designate Lady Glencora's present husband.


"He'd get a divorce, of course, and then we should be married.


I really don't think he'd dislike it, when it was all done.


"Once only,--so as to be able to do more than ask her if she were well.


Once, for about two minutes, I did speak to her."


"She said it would be better that we should not meet.


When she said that, I knew that she was still fond of me."


I could have fallen at her feet that moment, only the room was full of people.


"I dare say she is fond of you," he then said; "but whether she has pluck for such a thing as this, is more than I can say.

"I dare say she is fond of you," he said; "but I doubt if she has courage for such a thing.


And if she has, probably you would fail in carrying out your plan."

And even if she has, you might fail in carrying out your plan."


"I must get a little money first," said Burgo.


"And that's an operation which no doubt you find more difficult every day, as you grow older."


"It seems to be much the same sort of thing.


"He's the fellow that lives out near Gray's Inn Lane?"


I went to him, and he was quite civil about it.


He says I owe him over three thousand pounds, but that doesn't seem to make any difference."

He says I owe him over three thousand pounds."


"I don't recollect that I ever absolutely had any money.


He got a bill of mine from a tailor who went to smash, and he kept on renewing that till it grew to be ever so many bills."


I think he did once let me have twenty-four pounds,--but certainly never more than that."


I suppose you told him why you wanted it."


"I didn't name her,--but I told him what would make him understand that I hoped to get off with a lady who had a lot of tin.

"I let him understand that I hoped to get off with a lady who had a lot of tin.


He says he'll let me have one hundred and fifty on a bill at two months for five hundred,--with your name to it."

He says he'll let me have one hundred and fifty on a bill at two months for five hundred - with your name to it."


That's kind on his part,--and on yours too."


"Of course I can't take it up at the end of two months."

"Of course I can't pay up at the end of two months."


"But he won't come upon you then,--nor for a year or more afterwards.

"But he won't come upon you for a year or more afterwards.


I always thought that to be a special compliment on your part."


"And you'll find I'll pull you through now in some way.


If I don't succeed in this I shall go off the hooks altogether soon; and if I were dead my people would pay my debts then."


Before the evening was over Vavasor promised the assistance asked of him.

Before the evening was over Vavasor promised the assistance asked.


He knew that he was lending his name to a man who was utterly ruined, and putting it into the hands of another man who was absolutely without conscience in the use he would make of it.


He knew that he was creating for himself trouble, and in all probability loss, which he was ill able to bear.

He knew that he was creating trouble for himself.


But the thing was one which came within the pale of his laws.


Such assistance as that he might ask of others, and had asked and received before now.

But he had asked for such assistance from others himself before now, and had received it.


It was a reckless deed on his part, but then all his doings were reckless.


"I thought you would, old fellow," said Burgo, as he got up to go away.


"Perhaps, you know, I shall pull through in this; and perhaps, after all, some part of her fortune will come with her.

"Perhaps, you know, I shall pull through; and perhaps some of her fortune will come with her.


But look here, Burgo,--don't you give that fellow up the bill till you've got the money into your fist."

But, Burgo, don't you give that fellow the bill till you've got the money in your fist."


He and I will go to the bank together, and we shall squabble there at the door about four or five odd sovereigns,--and at last I shall have to give him up two or three.


I declare I think he's worse than I am myself."


Then Burgo Fitzgerald took a little more brandy and water and went away.


He was living at this time in the house of one of his relatives in Cavendish Square, north of Oxford Street.

He was living at this time in the house of one of his relatives in Cavendish Square.


His uncles and his aunts, and all those who were his natural friends, had clung to him with a tenacity that was surprising; for he had never been true to any of them, and did not even pretend to like them.

His uncles and his aunts had clung to him with surprising tenacity; for he did not even pretend to like them.


His father, with whom for many years he had not been on speaking terms, was now dead; but he had sisters whose husbands would still open their houses to him, either in London or in the country;--would open their houses to him, and lend him their horses, and provide him with every luxury which the rich enjoy,--except ready money.

His father, with whom he had not been on speaking terms, was now dead; but he had sisters whose husbands would still open their houses to him, and lend him horses, and provide him with every luxury - except ready money.


When the uttermost stress of pecuniary embarrassment would come upon him, they would pay something to stave off the immediate evil.


Nobody now thought of saying much to reproach him.


It was known to be waste of words, and trouble in vain.


They were still fond of him because he was beautiful and never vain of his beauty;--because in the midst of his recklessness there was always about him a certain kindliness which made him pleasant to those around him.

They were still fond of him because he was beautiful, yet never vain; and because he had a certain kindliness which made him pleasant.


He was soft and gracious with children, and would be very courteous to his lady cousins.

He was soft and gracious with children, and very courteous to his lady cousins.


They knew that as a man he was worthless, but nevertheless they loved him.

They knew he was worthless, but nevertheless they loved him


I think the secret of it was chiefly in this,--that he seemed to think so little of himself.

- chiefly, I think, because he seemed to think so little of himself.


But now as he walked home in the middle of the night from Cecil Street to Cavendish Square he did think much of himself.

But now as he walked home in the middle of the night he did think much of himself.


Indeed such self-thoughts come naturally to all men, be their outward conduct ever so reckless.


Every man to himself is the centre of the whole world;--the axle on which it all turns.

Every man to himself is the centre of the whole world; the axle on which it all turns.


All knowledge is but his own perception of the things around him.


All love, and care for others, and solicitude for the world's welfare, are but his own feelings as to the world's wants and the world's merits.


He had played his part as a centre of all things very badly.


He had sense enough to know that it should be a man's lot to earn his bread after some fashion, and he often told himself that never as yet had he earned so much as a penny roll.

He had sense enough to know that he should earn his bread in some way, and had never yet earned so much as a penny roll.


He had learned to comprehend that the world's progress depends on the way in which men do their duty by each other,--that the progress of one generation depends on the discharge of such duties by that which preceded it;--and he knew that he, in his generation, had done nothing to promote such progress.

He had learned that the world's progress depends on men doing their duty by each other; and he knew that he had done nothing to promote such progress.


He thoroughly despised himself,--if there might be any good in that!


But on such occasions as these, when the wine he had drunk was sufficient only to drive away from him the numbness of despair, when he was all alone with the cold night air upon his face, when the stars were bright above him and the world around him was almost quiet, he would still ask himself whether there might not yet be, even for him, some hope of a redemption, --some chance of a better life in store for him.

But when he was alone with the cold night air upon his face, when the stars were bright above him and the world was almost quiet, he would ask himself whether there might still be some hope of redemption - some chance of a better life.


He was still young,--wanting some years of thirty.


Could there be, even for him, some mode of extrication from his misery?


We know what was the mode which now, at this moment, was suggesting itself to him.


He was proposing to himself, as the best thing that he could do, to take away another man's wife and make himself happy with her!

And the way to this better life was to take away another man's wife and make himself happy with her!


What he had said to Vavasor as to disregarding Lady Glencora's money had been perfectly true.

What he had said to Vavasor about disregarding Lady Glencora's money had been perfectly true.


That in the event of her going off with him, some portion of her enormous wealth would still cling to her, he did believe.

He believed that if she went off with him, some portion of her enormous wealth would still cling to her.


Seeing that she had no children he could not understand where else it should all go.


But he thought of this as it regarded her, not as it regarded him.


When he had before made his suit to her,--a suit which was then honourable, however disadvantageous it might have seemed to be to her--he had made in his mind certain calculations as to the good things which would result to him if he were successful He would keep hounds, and have three or four horses every day for his own riding, and he would have no more interviews with Magruin, waiting in that rogue's dingy back parlour for many a weary wretched half-hour, till the rogue should be pleased to show himself.


So far he had been mercenary; but he had learned to love the girl, and to care more for her than for her money, and when the day of disappointment came upon him,--the day on which she had told him that all between them was to be over for ever,--he had, for a few hours, felt the loss of his love more than the loss of his money.

But whereas his previous advances had been mercenary, he had learned to love the girl, and to care more for her than for her money.


No such idea as that which now filled his mind had then come upon him.


The girl had gone from him and married another man, and there was an end of it.

The girl had married another man, and there was an end of it.


But by degrees tidings had reached him that she was not happy,--reaching him through the mouths of people who were glad to exaggerate all that they had heard.

But gradually reports had reached him that she was not happy - reports from people who were glad to exaggerate what they had heard.


A whole tribe of his female relatives had been anxious to promote his marriage with Lady Glencora M'Cluskie, declaring that, after all that was come and gone, Burgo would come forth from his troubles as a man of great wealth.

A whole tribe of his female relatives had been anxious to promote his marriage with Lady Glencora M'Cluskie on account of her great wealth.


So great was the wealth of the heiress that it might withstand even his propensities for spending.


That whole tribe had been bitterly disappointed; and when they heard that Mr. Palliser's marriage had given him no child, and that Lady Glencora was unhappy,--they made their remarks in triumph rather than in sorrow.

That tribe had been bitterly disappointed; and when they heard that Mr. Palliser's marriage had given him no child, and that Lady Glencora was unhappy, they triumphed.


I will not say that they looked forward approvingly to such a step as that which Burgo now wished to take,--though as regarded his aunt, Lady Monk, he himself had accused her; but they whispered that such things had been done and must be expected, when marriages were made up as had been that marriage between Mr. Palliser and his bride.

I will not say that they approved of the step which Burgo now wished to take - though he accused his aunt, Lady Monk, of wanting it; but they whispered that such things must be expected, when such marriages were made.


As he walked on, thinking of his project, he strove hard to cheat himself into a belief that he would do a good thing in carrying Lady Glencora away from her husband.

As Burgo walked on, he tried hard to cheat himself into a belief that he would do a good thing in carrying Lady Glencora away from her husband.


Bad as had been his life he had never before done aught so bad as that.

But he had never done anything so bad in his bad life


The more fixed his intention became, the more thoroughly he came to perceive how great and grievous was the crime which he contemplated.

; and the more he thought about it, the more thoroughly he saw how great was the crime which he contemplated.


To elope with another man's wife no longer appeared to him to be a joke at which such men as he might smile.


But he tried to think that in this case there would be special circumstances which would almost justify him, and also her.

He tried to think that there were special circumstances which would justify him.


They had loved each other and had sworn to love each other with constancy.

They had loved each other and had sworn constancy.


There had been no change in the feelings or even in the wishes of either of them.

There had been no change in their feelings


But cold people had come between them with cold calculations, and had separated them.


She had been, he told himself, made to marry a man she did not love.

she had been made to marry a man she did not love.


If they two loved each other truly, would it not still be better that they should come together?

Would it not be better that they should come together?


Would not the sin be forgiven on account of the injustice which had been done to them?


Had Mr. Palliser a right to expect more from a wife who had been made to marry him without loving him?


Then he reverted to those dreams of a life of love, in some sunny country, of which he had spoken to Vavasor, and he strove to nourish them.

Then he reverted to those dreams of a life of love, in some sunny country.


Vavasor had laughed at him, talking of Juan and Haide.


But Vavasor, he said to himself, was a hard cold man, who had no touch of romance in his character.

But Vavasor, he said to himself, was a hard cold man, with no romance in his character.


He would not be laughed out of his plan by such as he,--nor would he be frightened by the threat of any Lambro who might come after him, whether he might come in the guise of indignant uncle or injured husband.


He had crossed from Regent Street through Hanover Square, and as he came out by the iron gates into Oxford Street, a poor wretched girl, lightly clad in thin raiment, into whose bones the sharp freezing air was penetrating, asked him for money.

He had crossed from Regent Street through Hanover Square, and as he came out into Oxford Street, a poor wretched girl in thin clothing asked him for money.


Would he give her something to get drink, so that for a moment she might feel the warmth of her life renewed?

Would he give her something to get drink, so that for a moment she might feel warm?


Such midnight petitions were common enough in his ears, and he was passing on without thinking of her.

Such midnight petitions were common, and he was passing on


But she was urgent, and took hold of him.


"For love of God," she said, "if it's only a penny to get a glass of gin!

"For love of God," she said, "it's only a penny to get a glass of gin!


And she strove to put it up against his face.


He looked round at her and saw that she was very young,--sixteen, perhaps, at the most, and that she had once,--nay very lately,--been exquisitely pretty.

He looked round at her and saw that she was very young - sixteen, perhaps, at the most, and that she had once been exquisitely pretty.


There still lingered about her eyes some remains of that look of perfect innocency and pure faith which had been hers not more than twelve months since.

There still lingered about her eyes some remains of that look of innocence which had been hers twelve months since.


And now, at midnight, in the middle of the streets, she was praying for a pennyworth of gin, as the only comfort she knew, or could expect!

And now, at midnight, in the streets, she was praying for a pennyworth of gin, as the only comfort she could expect!


said he, trying to speak to her cheerily.


said she, repeating the word, and striving to wrap herself closer in her rags, as she shivered--"Oh God!

said she, striving to wrap herself closer in her rags, as she shivered. "Oh God!


if you knew what it was to be as cold as I am!


I have nothing in the world,--not one penny,--not a hole to lie in!"

I have nothing in the world - not a hole to lie in!"


"We are alike then," said Burgo, with a slight low laugh.

"We are alike then," said Burgo, with a low laugh.


He always laughed when any one told him of his beauty.

He always laughed when anyone told him of his beauty.


"I am a deal poorer than you, my girl," he said.


I have thirty thousand pounds worse than nothing.


But come along, and I will get you something to eat."


Then looking up at him again, she exclaimed--"Oh, you are so handsome!"


He took her to a public-house and gave her bread and meat and beer, and stood by her while she ate it.


She was shy with him then, and would fain have taken it to a corner by herself, had he allowed her.


He perceived this, and turned his back to her, but still spoke to her a word or two as she ate.


The woman at the bar who served him looked at him wonderingly, staring into his face; and the pot-boy woke himself thoroughly that he might look at Burgo; and the waterman from the cab-stand stared at him; and women who came in for gin looked almost lovingly up into his eyes.

The woman at the bar who served him looked at him wonderingly; and the pot-boy stared at him, and so did the waterman from the cab-stand, and the women who came in for gin.


He regarded them all not at all, showing no feeling of disgrace at his position, and no desire to carry himself as a ruffler.


He quietly paid what was due when the girl had finished her meal, and then walked with her out of the shop.

; he paid for the girl's meal and then walked with her out of the shop.


"And now," said he, "what must I do with you?


If I give you a shilling can you get a bed?"


She told him that she could get a bed for sixpence.


"Then keep the other sixpence for your breakfast," said he.


"But you must promise me that you will buy no gin to-night."

"But you must promise me that you will buy no gin tonight."


She promised him, and then he gave her his hand as he wished her good night;--his hand, which it had been the dearest wish of Lady Glencora to call her own.


she took his hand and pressed it to her lips.


"I wish I might once see you again," she said, "because you are so good and so beautiful."


He laughed again cheerily, and walked on, crossing the street towards Cavendish Square.

He laughed again cheerily, and walked on.


She stood looking at him till he was out of sight, and then as she moved away,--let us hope to the bed which his bounty had provided, and not to a gin-shop,--she exclaimed to herself again and again--"Gracious, how beautiful he was!"

She stood looking at him till he was out of sight, and as she moved away she exclaimed to herself again: "Gracious, how beautiful he was!"


"He's a good un," the woman at the public-house had said as soon as he left it; "but, my!


did you ever see a man's face handsome as that fellow's?"


All who had seen him since life had begun with him had loved him and striven to cherish him.

All his life, people had loved him and tried to cherish him.


And with it all, to what a state had he come!


had his eyes been less brightly blue, and his face less godlike in form, it may be that things would have gone better with him.

If his face had been less godlike, maybe things would have gone better with him.


A sweeter-tempered man than he never lived,--nor one who was of a kinder nature.


At this moment he had barely money about him to take him down to his aunt's house at Monkshade, and as he had promised to be there before Christmas Day, he was bound to start on the next morning, before help from Mr. Magruin was possible.

He had barely enough money to take him to his aunt's house at Monkshade the next morning.


Nevertheless, out of his very narrow funds he had given half a crown to comfort the poor creature who had spoken to him in the street.

Nevertheless, he had given half a crown to comfort the poor creature who had spoken to him in the street.


"This is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things."


On a fine evening near the end of July, Deronda was rowing himself on the Thames.

On a fine evening near the end of July, Deronda was rowing on the Thames.


It was already a year or more since he had come back to England, with the understanding that his education was finished, and that he was somehow to take his place in English society; but though, in deference to Sir Hugo's wish, and to fence off idleness, he had begun to read law, this apparent decision had been without other result than to deepen the roots of indecision.

It was over a year since he had come back to England, with the understanding that his education was finished, and that he was to take his place in English society; and he had begun to read law, though only in deference to Sir Hugo's wish, and to fence off idleness.


His old love of boating had revived with the more force now that he was in town with the Mallingers, because he could nowhere else get the same still seclusion which the river gave him.


He had a boat of his own at Putney, and whenever Sir Hugo did not want him, it was his chief holiday to row till past sunset and come in again with the stars.

; he had a boat at Putney, and it was his chief holiday to row till past sunset and come in with the stars.


Not that he was in a sentimental stage; but he was in another sort of contemplative mood perhaps more common in the young men of our day--that of questioning whether it were worth while to take part in the battle of the world: I mean, of course, the young men in whom the unproductive labor of questioning is sustained by three or five per cent, on capital which somebody else has battled for.


It puzzled Sir Hugo that one who made a splendid contrast with all that was sickly and puling should be hampered with ideas which, since they left an accomplished Whig like himself unobstructed, could be no better than spectral illusions; especially as Deronda set himself against authorship--a vocation which is understood to turn foolish thinking into funds.


Rowing in his dark-blue shirt and skull-cap, his curls closely clipped, his mouth beset with abundant soft waves of beard, he bore only disguised traces of the seraphic boy "trailing clouds of glory."

Rowing in his dark-blue shirt and skull-cap, his curls closely clipped, the bearded man with the lithe, powerful frame bore only traces of the seraphic boy.


Still, even one who had never seen him since his boyhood might have looked at him with slow recognition, due perhaps to the peculiarity of the gaze which Gwendolen chose to call "dreadful," though it had really a very mild sort of scrutiny.

Still, even one who had never seen him since his boyhood might have recognised him, due perhaps to the gaze which Gwendolen called "dreadful," though it had really a very mild sort of scrutiny.


The voice, sometimes audible in subdued snatches of song, had turned out merely a high baritone; indeed, only to look at his lithe, powerful frame and the firm gravity of his face would have been enough for an experienced guess that he had no rare and ravishing tenor such as nature reluctantly makes at some sacrifice.


Look at his hands: they are not small and dimpled, with tapering fingers that seem to have only a deprecating touch: they are long, flexible, firmly-grasping hands, such as Titian has painted in a picture where he wanted to show the combination of refinement with force.


And there is something of a likeness, too, between the faces belonging to the hands--in both the uniform pale-brown skin, the perpendicular brow, the calmly penetrating eyes.

With his pale-brown skin and calmly penetrating eyes,


Not seraphic any longer: thoroughly terrestrial and manly; but still of a kind to raise belief in a human dignity which can afford to recognize poor relations.

he was seraphic no longer: the firm gravity of his face was thoroughly terrestrial and manly; but still of a kind to raise belief in human dignity.


Such types meet us here and there among average conditions; in a workman, for example, whistling over a bit of measurement and lifting his eyes to answer our question about the road.


And often the grand meanings of faces as well as of written words may lie chiefly in the impressions that happen just now to be of importance in relation to Deronda, rowing on the Thames in a very ordinary equipment for a young Englishman at leisure, and passing under Kew Bridge with no thought of an adventure in which his appearance was likely to play any part.


In fact, he objected very strongly to the notion, which others had not allowed him to escape, that his appearance was of a kind to draw attention; and hints of this, intended to be complimentary, found an angry resonance in him, coming from mingled experiences, to which a clue has already been given.

Deronda objected very strongly to the notion that his appearance might draw attention.


His own face in the glass had during many years associated for him with thoughts of some one whom he must be like--one about whose character and lot he continually wondered, and never dared to ask.

His own face in the glass was associated with thoughts of some one whom he must be like - one about whom he continually wondered, and never dared to ask.


In the neighborhood of Kew Bridge, between six and seven o'clock, the river was no solitude.

Near Kew Bridge, between six and seven o'clock, the river was no solitude.


Several persons were sauntering on the towing-path, and here and there a boat was plying.

People were sauntering on the towing-path, and here and there a boat was plying.


Deronda had been rowing fast to get over this spot, when, becoming aware of a great barge advancing toward him, he guided his boat aside, and rested on his oar within a couple of yards of the river-brink.

Deronda had been rowing fast, when, becoming aware of an approaching barge, he guided his boat aside, and paused near the river-bank.


He was all the while unconsciously continuing the low-toned chant which had haunted his throat all the way up the river--the gondolier's song in the _Otello_, where Rossini has worthily set to music the immortal words of Dante,

He was unconsciously continuing the low-toned chant which he had been singing all the way up the river - the gondolier's song in Rossini's "Otello":-


"Nessun maggior dolore Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria":

"Nessun maggior dolore
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria."
"There is no greater sorrow


[Footnote: Dante's words are best rendered by our own poet in the lines at the head of the chapter.]


and, as he rested on his oar, the pianissimo fall of the melodic wail "nella miseria" was distinctly audible on the brink of the water.

Than to be reminded of the happy time
In misery."
As he rested on his oar, the melodic fall of the "nella miseria" was distinctly audible on the bank.


Three or four persons had paused at various spots to watch the barge passing the bridge, and doubtless included in their notice the young gentleman in the boat; but probably it was only to one ear that the low vocal sounds came with more significance than if they had been an insect-murmur amidst the sum of current noises.

Three or four persons had paused to watch the barge passing the bridge, but probably it was only to one ear that the low singing came with any significance.


Deronda, awaiting the barge, now turning his head to the river-side, and saw at a few yards' distant from him a figure which might have been an impersonation of the misery he was unconsciously giving voice to: a girl hardly more than eighteen, of low slim figure, with most delicate little face, her dark curls pushed behind her ears under a large black hat, a long woolen cloak over her shoulders.

Deronda saw a few yards away a figure which might have been an impersonation of the misery in his song: a girl hardly more than eighteen, of small, slim figure, with a most delicate little face, her dark curls pushed behind her ears under a large black hat, a long woollen cloak over her shoulders.


Her hands were hanging down clasped before her, and her eyes were fixed on the river with a look of immovable, statue-like despair.

Her eyes were fixed on the river with a look of immovable, statue-like despair.


This strong arrest of his attention made him cease singing: apparently his voice had entered her inner world without her taking any note of whence it came, for when it suddenly ceased she changed her attitude slightly, and, looking round with a frightened glance, met Deronda's face.

This strong arrest of his attention made him cease singing: at which she changed her attitude, and, looking round with a frightened glance, met Deronda's face.


It was but a couple of moments, but that seemed a long while for two people to look straight at each other.


Her look was something like that of a fawn or other gentle animal before it turns to run away: no blush, no special alarm, but only some timidity which yet could not hinder her from a long look before she turned.

Her look was something like a fawn's before it turns to run away: no blush, no alarm, but only some timidity.


In fact, it seemed to Deronda that she was only half conscious of her surroundings: was she hungry, or was there some other cause of bewilderment?

In fact, Deronda thought that she was only half conscious of her surroundings: was she hungry, or was there some other cause?


He felt an outleap of interest and compassion toward her; but the next instant she had turned and walked away to a neighboring bench under a tree.

He felt an outleap of interest and compassion toward her; but the next instant she had walked away to a bench under a tree.


He had no right to linger and watch her: poorly-dressed, melancholy women are common sights; it was only the delicate beauty, picturesque lines and color of the image that was exceptional, and these conditions made it more markedly impossible that he should obtrude his interest upon her.

He had no right to linger and watch her: poorly-dressed, melancholy women are common sights; it was only the delicate beauty of the image that was exceptional.


He began to row away and was soon far up the river; but no other thoughts were busy enough quite to expel that pale image of unhappy girlhood.

He began to row away and was soon far up the river; but he could not expel that pale image of unhappy girlhood.


He fell again and again to speculating on the probable romance that lay behind that loneliness and look of desolation; then to smile at his own share in the prejudice that interesting faces must have interesting adventures; then to justify himself for feeling that sorrow was the more tragic when it befell delicate, childlike beauty.

He began speculating on the tale behind her look of desolation; then smiled at his idea that interesting faces must have interesting adventures.


"I should not have forgotten the look of misery if she had been ugly and vulgar," he said to himself.

"I should not have forgotten the look of misery even if she had been ugly and vulgar," he told himself.


But there was no denying that the attractiveness of the image made it likelier to last.


It was clear to him as an onyx cameo; the brown-black drapery, the white face with small, small features and dark, long-lashed eyes.

It was as clear to him as an onyx cameo; the brown-black drapery, the white face with small features and dark, long-lashed eyes.


His mind glanced over the girl-tragedies that are going on in the world, hidden, unheeded, as if they were but tragedies of the copse or hedgerow, where the helpless drag wounded wings forsakenly, and streak the shadowed moss with the red moment-hand of their own death.

His mind glanced over the girl-tragedies that are going on in the world, hidden, unheeded.


Deronda of late, in his solitary excursions, had been occupied chiefly with uncertainties about his own course; but those uncertainties, being much at their leisure, were wont to have such wide-sweeping connections with all life and history that the new image of helpless sorrow easily blent itself with what seemed to him the strong array of reasons why he should shrink from getting into that routine of the world which makes men apologize for all its wrong-doing, and take opinions as mere professional equipment--why he should not draw strongly at any thread in the hopelessly-entangled scheme of things.


He used his oars little, satisfied to go with the tide and be taken back by it.


It was his habit to indulge himself in that solemn passivity which easily comes with the lengthening shadows and mellow light, when thinking and desiring melt together imperceptibly, and what in other hours may have seemed argument takes the quality of passionate vision.

It was his habit to indulge himself in that solemn passivity which easily comes with the lengthening shadows and mellow light.


By the time he had come back again with the tide past Richmond Bridge the sun was near setting: and the approach of his favorite hour--with its deepening stillness and darkening masses of tree and building between the double glow of the sky and the river--disposed him to linger as if they had been an unfinished strain of music.

By the time he had come back again with the tide past Richmond Bridge the sun was near setting: and the approach of his favourite hour - with its deepening stillness and darkening masses of tree between the double glow of the sky and the river - disposed him to linger.


He looked out for a perfectly solitary spot where he could lodge his boat against the bank, and, throwing himself on his back with his head propped on the cushions, could watch out the light of sunset and the opening of that bead-roll which some oriental poet describes as God's call to the little stars, who each answer, "Here am I."

He looked for a solitary spot where he could lodge his boat against the bank to watch the sunset.


He chose a spot in the bend of the river just opposite Kew Gardens, where he had a great breadth of water before him reflecting the glory of the sky, while he himself was in shadow.

He chose a place in the bend of the river just opposite Kew Gardens, where he had a great breadth of water before him reflecting the glory of the sky, while he himself was in shadow.


He lay with his hands behind his head, propped on a level with the boat's edge, so that he could see all round him, but could not be seen by any one at a few yards' distance; and for a long while he never turned his eyes from the view right in front of him.

Lying with his hands behind his head, he could see all round him, but could not be seen by anyone at a few yards' distance.


He was forgetting everything else in a half-speculative, half-involuntary identification of himself with the objects he was looking at, thinking how far it might be possible habitually to shift his centre till his own personality would be no less outside him than the landscape--when the sense of something moving on the bank opposite him where it was bordered by a line of willow bushes, made him turn his glance thitherward.

He was forgetting everything but the view in front of him, when the sense of something moving on the opposite bank, in the willow bushes, made him glance that way.


In the first moment he had a darting presentiment about the moving figure; and now he could see the small face with the strange dying sunlight upon it.

At once he had a darting presentiment about the moving figure; and now he could see the small face with the dying sunlight upon it.


He feared to frighten her by a sudden movement, and watched her with motionless attention.

Fearing to frighten her by a sudden movement, he watched her motionlessly.


She looked round, but seemed only to gather security from the apparent solitude, hid her hat among the willows, and immediately took off her woolen cloak.

She looked round, and seeming to gather security from the solitude, hid her hat among the willows, and took off her woollen cloak.


Presently she seated herself and deliberately dipped the cloak in the water, holding it there a little while, then taking it out with effort, rising from her seat as she did so.

She seated herself and deliberately dipped the cloak in the water, holding it there, then taking it out with effort, and rising from her seat.


By this time Deronda felt sure that she meant to wrap the wet cloak round her as a drowning shroud; there was no longer time to hesitate about frightening her.


He rose and seized his oar to ply across; happily her position lay a little below him.


The poor thing, overcome with terror at this sign of discovery from the opposite bank, sank down on the brink again, holding her cloak half out of the water.

The poor thing, overcome with terror at this sign of discovery, sank down again,


She crouched and covered her face as if she kept a faint hope that she had not been seen, and that the boatman was accidentally coming toward her.

crouching and covering her face as if she kept a faint hope that she had not been seen.


But soon he was within brief space of her, steadying his boat against the bank, and speaking, but very gently,

But soon he was close to her, steadying his boat against the bank, and speaking very gently-


She raised her head and looked up at him.


His face now was toward the light, and she knew it again.


But she did not speak for a few moments which were a renewal of their former gaze at each other.

But she did not speak for a few moments, while they renewed their former gaze at each other.


At last she said in a low sweet voice, with an accent so distinct that it suggested foreignness and yet was not foreign, "I saw you before," and then added dreamily, after a like pause, "nella miseria."

At last she said in a low sweet voice, with an accent that suggested foreignness and yet was not foreign, "I saw you before," and then added dreamily, "nella miseria.


Deronda, not understanding the connection of her thoughts, supposed that her mind was weakened by distress and hunger.


she went on, hesitatingly--"Nessun maggior dolore."


The mere words themselves uttered in her sweet undertones seemed to give the melody to Deronda's ear.

The mere words uttered in her sweet undertones seemed to give the melody to Deronda's ear.


"Ah, yes," he said, understanding now, "I am often singing them.


But I fear you will injure yourself staying here.


Pray let me take you in my boat to some place of safety.

Pray let me carry you in my boat to some place of safety.


He would not attempt to take it without her leave, dreading lest he should scare her.


Even at his words, he fancied that she shrank and clutched the cloak more tenaciously.

He fancied that she shrank and clutched the cloak tenaciously.


But her eyes were fixed on him with a question in them as she said, "You look good.

But her eyes were fixed on him questioningly: she said, "You look good.


I will die before I will let any harm come to you."


She rose from her sitting posture, first dragging the saturated cloak and then letting it fall on the ground--it was too heavy for her tired arms.

She rose from her sitting posture, first dragging the saturated cloak and then letting it fall on the ground - it was too heavy for her tired arms.


Her little woman's figure as she laid her delicate chilled hands together one over the other against her waist, and went a step backward while she leaned her head forward as if not to lose sight of his face, was unspeakably touching.

Her little woman's figure as she laid her delicate chilled hands together one over the other against her waist, was unspeakably touching.


the words escaped Deronda in a tone so low and solemn that they seemed like a prayer become unconsciously vocal.

the words escaped Deronda like an unconscious prayer.


The agitating impression this forsaken girl was making on him stirred a fibre that lay close to his deepest interest in the fates of women--"perhaps my mother was like this one."

The agitating impression this forsaken girl was making on him stirred his deepest interest in the fates of women- "perhaps my mother was like this one," he thought.


The old thought had come now with a new impetus of mingled feeling, and urged that exclamation in which both East and West have for ages concentrated their awe in the presence of inexorable calamity.


The low-toned words seemed to have some reassurance in them for the hearer: she stepped forward close to the boat's side, and Deronda put out his hand, hoping now that she would let him help her in.

His low-toned words seemed to reassure the hearer: she stepped close to the boat's side, and Deronda held out his hand, hoping she would let him help her in.


She had already put her tiny hand into his which closed around it, when some new thought struck her, and drawing back she said,

She had already put her tiny hand into his when some new thought struck her, and drawing back she said-


"I have nowhere to go--nobody belonging to me in all this land."

"I have nowhere to go - nobody belonging to me in all this land."


"I will take you to a lady who has daughters," said Deronda, immediately.

"I will take you to a lady who has daughters," said Deronda immediately.


He felt a sort of relief in gathering that the wretched home and cruel friends he imagined her to be fleeing from were not in the near background.

He felt a sort of relief in gathering that the wretched home and cruel friends he imagined her to be fleeing from were not near.


Still she hesitated, and said more timidly than ever,

Still she hesitated, and said more timidly-


"No; I have nothing to do with the theatre," said Deronda, in a decided tone.

"No; I have nothing to do with the theatre," said Deronda decidedly.


Then beseechingly, "I will put you in perfect safety at once; with a lady, a good woman; I am sure she will be kind.

"I will take you to perfect safety with a good woman; I am sure she will be kind.


Let us lose no time: you will make yourself ill. Life may still become sweet to you.


There are good people--there are good women who will take care of you."

There are good people who will take care of you."


She drew backward no more, but stepped in easily, as if she were used to such action, and sat down on the cushions.

She stepped in and sat down on the cushions.


"You had a covering for your head," said Deronda.


"I will find it," said Deronda, putting out his hand deprecatingly as she attempted to rise.


He jumped out, found the hat, and lifted up the saturated cloak, wringing it and throwing it into the bottom of the boat.


"We must carry the cloak away, to prevent any one who may have noticed you from thinking you have been drowned," he said, cheerfully, as he got in again and presented the old hat to her.

"We must carry the cloak away, to prevent anyone who may have noticed you from thinking you have drowned," he said, cheerfully, as he got in again.


"I wish I had any other garment than my coat to offer you.


But shall you mind throwing it over your shoulders while we are on the water?


It is quite an ordinary thing to do, when people return late and are not enough provided with wraps."

It is quite an ordinary thing to do, when people return late and are chilly."


He held out the coat toward her with a smile, and there came a faint melancholy smile in answer, as she took it and put it on very cleverly.

He held out the coat with a smile, and there came a faint melancholy smile in answer, as she put it on.


"I have some biscuits--should you like them?"

"I have some biscuits - should you like them?"


I had still some money left to buy bread."


He began to ply his oar without further remark, and they went along swiftly for many minutes without speaking.


She did not look at him, but was watching the oar, leaning forward in an attitude of repose, as if she were beginning to feel the comfort of returning warmth and the prospect of life instead of death.

She was watching the oar, leaning forward in an attitude of repose, as if she were beginning to feel the comfort of returning warmth and the prospect of life instead of death.


The twilight was deepening; the red flush was all gone and the little stars were giving their answer one after another.

The twilight was deepening; the red flush was gone and the little stars were giving their answer one after another.


The moon was rising, but was still entangled among the trees and buildings.


The light was not such that he could distinctly discern the expression of her features or her glance, but they were distinctly before him nevertheless--features and a glance which seemed to have given a fuller meaning for him to the human face.

The light was not such that he could distinctly discern her features, but they were distinctly before him nevertheless.


Among his anxieties one was dominant: his first impression about her, that her mind might be disordered, had not been quite dissipated: the project of suicide was unmistakable, and given a deeper color to every other suspicious sign.

Among his anxieties one was dominant: his first impression that her mind might be disordered, had not been quite dissipated: the project of suicide was unmistakable.


He longed to begin a conversation, but abstained, wishing to encourage the confidence that might induce her to speak first.

He longed to begin a conversation, but hoped she would speak first.


"If you had not come, I should have been dead now."


I hope you will never be sorry that I came."


"I cannot see how I shall be glad to live.


The _maggior dolore_ and the _miseria_ have lasted longer than the _tempo felice_."

The maggior dolore and the miseria have lasted longer than the tempo felice."


She paused and then went on dreamily,--"_Dolore--miseria_--I think those words are alive."


Deronda was mute: to question her seemed an unwarrantable freedom; he shrank from appearing to claim the authority of a benefactor, or to treat her with the less reverence because she was in distress.

Deronda was mute: to question her seemed an unwarrantable freedom; he shrank from appearing to treat her with less respect because she was in distress.


Death and life are one before the Eternal.


I know our fathers slew their children and then slew themselves, to keep their souls pure.


She shook her head and said mournfully, "Not my mother and brother.


You must be--speaking English so perfectly."


She did not answer immediately, but looked at Deronda again, straining to see him in the double light.


Until now she had been watching the oar.


It seemed as if she were half roused, and wondered which part of her impression was dreaming and which waking.

with wondering timidity, as if she were unsure whether she was dreaming or awake.


Sorrowful isolation had benumbed her sense of reality, and the power of distinguishing outward and inward was continually slipping away from her.


Her look was full of wondering timidity such as the forsaken one in the desert might have lifted to the angelic vision before she knew whether his message was in anger or in pity.


she said at last, while Deronda was reddening nervously under a gaze which he felt more fully than he saw.


"I want to know nothing except what you like to tell me," he said, still uneasy in the fear that her mind was wandering.


"Perhaps it is not good for you to talk."


Deronda was silent, inwardly wondering that he had not said this to himself before, though any one who had seen delicate-faced Spanish girls might simply have guessed her to be Spanish.

Deronda was silent, thinking that he might have guessed this, although he could equally have guessed her to be Spanish.


she said presently in low tones, which had a sadness that pierced like a cry from a small dumb creature in fear.


But I should not think it fair for you to despise me because of that."


I ran away; but I cannot tell you--I cannot speak of it.


I thought I might find my mother again--God would guide me.

I thought I might find my mother again - God would guide me.


This morning when the light came, I felt as if one word kept sounding within me--Never!

This morning I felt as if one word kept sounding within me - Never!


But now--I begin--to think--" her words were broken by rising sobs--"I am commanded to live--perhaps we are going to her."

But now - I begin - to think-" her words were broken by rising sobs - "I am commanded to live - perhaps we are going to her."


With an outburst of weeping she buried her head on her knees.


He hoped that this passionate weeping might relieve her excitement.

He hoped that this passionate weeping might relieve her agitation.


Meanwhile he was inwardly picturing in much embarrassment how he should present himself with her in Park Lane--the course which he had at first unreflectingly determined on.

Meanwhile he was inwardly picturing in much embarrassment how he should present himself with her in Park Lane.


No one kinder and more gentle than Lady Mallinger; but it was hardly probable that she would be at home; and he had a shuddering sense of a lackey staring at this delicate, sorrowful image of womanhood--of glaring lights and fine staircases, and perhaps chilling suspicious manners from lady's maid and housekeeper, that might scare the mind already in a state of dangerous susceptibility.

No one kinder and more gentle than Lady Mallinger; but she might not be at home; and he had a shuddering sense of a lackey staring at this delicate, sorrowful girl, and perhaps chilling suspicion from lady's maid and housekeeper.


But to take her to any other shelter than a home already known to him was not to be contemplated: he was full of fears about the issue of the adventure which had brought on him a responsibility all the heavier for the strong and agitating impression this childlike creature had made on him.

But to take her to any other shelter than a home already known to him was not to be contemplated.


But another resource came to mind: he could venture to take her to Mrs. Meyrick's--to the small house at Chelsea--where he had been often enough since his return from abroad to feel sure that he could appeal there to generous hearts, which had a romantic readiness to believe in innocent need and to help it.

Another resource came to mind: he could take her to Mrs. Meyrick's - to the small house at Chelsea, where he felt sure that he could appeal to generous hearts.


Hans Meyrick was safe away in Italy, and Deronda felt the comfort of presenting himself with his charge at a house where he would be met by a motherly figure of quakerish neatness, and three girls who hardly knew of any evil closer to them than what lay in history-books, and dramas, and would at once associate a lovely Jewess with Rebecca in _Ivanhoe_, besides thinking that everything they did at Deronda's request would be done for their idol, Hans.

Hans Meyrick was safe away in Italy, and Deronda felt the comfort of presenting himself with his charge at a house where he would be met by a motherly figure of quakerish neatness, and three girls who hardly knew of any evil beyond what lay in history-books, and would at once associate a lovely Jewess with Rebecca in "Ivanhoe."


The vision of the Chelsea home once raised, Deronda no longer hesitated.


The rumbling thither in the cab after the stillness of the water seemed long.


Happily his charge had been quiet since her fit of weeping, and submitted like a tired child.

His charge had been quiet since her fit of weeping, and submitted like a tired child.


When they were in the cab, she laid down her hat and tried to rest her head, but the jolting movement would not let it rest.


Still she dozed, and her sweet head hung helpless, first on one side, then on the other.

dozed, her sweet head hanging helpless, first on one side, then the other.


"They are too good to have any fear about taking her in," thought Deronda.


Her person, her voice, her exquisite utterance, were one strong appeal to belief and tenderness.


Yet what had been the history which had brought her to this desolation?

Yet what had brought her to this desolation?


He was going on a strange errand--to ask shelter for this waif.

He was going on a strange errand, to ask shelter for this waif.


Then there occurred to him the beautiful story Plutarch somewhere tells of the Delphic women: how when the Maenads, outworn with their torch-lit wanderings, lay down to sleep in the market-place, the matrons came and stood silently round them to keep guard over their slumbers; then, when they waked, ministered to them tenderly and saw them safely to their own borders.


He could trust the women he was going to for having hearts as good.


Deronda felt himself growing older this evening and entering on a new phase in finding a life to which his own had come--perhaps as a rescue; but how to make sure that snatching from death was rescue?

Deronda felt himself growing older this evening, and entering on a new phase in finding a life to which his own had come: perhaps as rescue; but how to make sure of that?


The moment of finding a fellow-creature is often as full of mingled doubt and exultation as the moment of finding an idea.


In all ages it hath been a favorite text that a potent love hath the nature of an isolated fatality, whereto the mind's opinions and wonted resolves are altogether alien; as, for example, Daphnis his frenzy, wherein it had little availed him to have been convinced of Heraclitus his doctrine; or the philtre-bred passion of Tristan, who, though he had been as deep as Duns Scotus, would have had his reasoning marred by that cup too much; or Romeo in his sudden taking for Juliet, wherein any objections he might have held against Ptolemy had made little difference to his discourse under the balcony.

Book 4 - GWENDOLEN GETS HER CHOICE | Chapter 32


Yet all love is not such, even though potent; nay, this passion hath as large scope as any for allying itself with every operation of the soul: so that it shall acknowledge an effect from the imagined light of unproven firmaments, and have its scale set to the grander orbits of what hath been and shall be.


Deronda, on his return to town, could assure Sir Hugo of his having lodged in Grandcourt's mind a distinct understanding that he could get fifty thousand pounds by giving up a prospect which was probably distant, and not absolutely certain; but he had no further sign of Grandcourt's disposition in the matter than that he was evidently inclined to keep up friendly communications.

Deronda, on his return to town, assured Sir Hugo of his having lodged in Grandcourt's mind an understanding that he could get fifty thousand pounds by giving up Diplow; and that Grandcourt appeared inclined to keep up friendly communications.


"And what did you think of the future bride on a nearer survey?"

"And what did you think of the future bride?"


"I thought better of her than I did in Leubronn.


Roulette was not a good setting for her; it brought out something of the demon.


At Diplow she seemed much more womanly and attractive--less hard and self-possessed.

At Diplow she seemed much more womanly and attractive - less hard and self-possessed."


I thought her mouth and eyes had quite a different expression."


"Don't flirt with her too much, Dan," said Sir Hugo, meaning to be agreeably playful.


"If you make Grandcourt savage when they come to the Abbey at Christmas, it will interfere with my affairs."


Lady Mallinger and the children can't do without you at Christmas.


Only don't make mischief--unless you can get up a duel, and manage to shoot Grandcourt, which might be worth a little inconvenience."

Only don't make mischief - unless you can get up a duel, and manage to shoot Grandcourt, which might be worth a little inconvenience."


"I don't think you ever saw me flirt," said Deronda, not amused.


"You are always looking tenderly at the women, and talking to them in a Jesuitical way.


You are a dangerous young fellow--a kind of Lovelace who will make the Clarissas run after you instead of you running after them."


What was the use of being exasperated at a tasteless joke?--only the exasperation comes before the reflection on utility.


Few friendly remarks are more annoying than the information that we are always seeming to do what we never mean to do.


Sir Hugo's notion of flirting, it was to be hoped, was rather peculiar; for his own part, Deronda was sure that he had never flirted.


But he was glad that the baronet had no knowledge about the repurchase of Gwendolen's necklace to feed his taste for this kind of rallying.

But he was glad that the baronet had no knowledge about the repurchase of Gwendolen's necklace to feed his taste for this kind of joking.


He would be on his guard in future; for example, in his behavior at Mrs. Meyrick's, where he was about to pay his first visit since his arrival from Leubronn.

He would be on his guard in future; for example, in his behaviour at Mrs. Meyrick's, where he was about to pay his first visit since his arrival from Leubronn.


For Mirah was certainly a creature in whom it was difficult not to show a tender kind of interest both by looks and speech.

For Mirah was certainly a creature in whom it was difficult not to show a tender interest.


Mrs. Meyrick had not failed to send Deronda a report of Mirah's well-being in her family.

Mrs. Meyrick had sent Deronda a report of Mirah's well-being.


"We are getting fonder of her every day," she had written.


"At breakfast-time we all look toward the door with expectation to see her come in; and we watch her and listen to her as if she were a native from a new country.

"At breakfast-time we all look forward to seeing her come in; and we listen to her as if she were a native from a new country.


I have not heard a word from her lips that gives me a doubt about her.


She is quite contented and full of gratitude.


My daughters are learning from her, and they hope to get her other pupils; for she is anxious not to eat the bread of idleness, but to work, like my girls.

My daughters are learning singing from her, and they hope to get her other pupils; for she is anxious to work, like my girls.


Mab says our life has become like a fairy tale, and all she is afraid of is that Mirah will turn into a nightingale again and fly away from us.

Mab says our life has become like a fairy tale, and she is afraid that Mirah will turn into a nightingale again and fly away.