Why, with such a preceptor to help him, should not Felix learn to do his gambling on the Exchange, or among the brokers, or in the purlieus of the Bank?

Why should not Felix learn to do his gambling on the Exchange, or among the brokers?


Lady Carbury would at any rate instigate him to be diligent in his position as director of the Great Mexican Railway,--which position ought to be the beginning to him of a fortune to be made on his own account.

Lady Carbury would at any rate urge him to be diligent in his position as director of the Great Mexican Railway.

Chapter 12: Sir Felix in his Mother's House


But what hope could there be for him if he should take to drink?


Would not all hopes be over with Mr. Melmotte should he ever learn that his daughter's lover reached home and tumbled up-stairs to bed between eight and nine o'clock in the morning?

Would not all hopes be over if Mr. Melmotte should ever learn that his daughter's lover tumbled upstairs to bed between eight and nine o'clock in the morning?


She watched for his appearance on the following day, and began at once on the subject.

She watched for Felix's appearance at breakfast on the following day, and began at once on the subject.


"Do you know, Felix, I think I shall go down to your cousin Roger for Whitsuntide."


said he, as he eat some devilled kidneys which the cook had been specially ordered to get for his breakfast.


"I thought you found it so dull that you didn't mean to go there any more."


I thought that perhaps she mightn't like it."


Besides, everything can't give way to her."


"No; but I'm sure he'd be pleased to have us if I proposed that we should all go."


"What on earth should I do at Carbury Manor?" demanded Felix.


"Madame Melmotte told me last night that they were all going down to Caversham to stay three or four days with the Longestaffes.


She spoke of Lady Pomona as quite her particular friend."


said Lady Carbury, who had heard of Dolly Longestaffe, and was not without some fear that this projected visit to Caversham might have some matrimonial purpose in reference to that delightful young heir.

said Lady Carbury, who had heard of Dolly Longestaffe, and feared that he might also have some matrimonial purpose in reference to Miss Melmotte's visit.


"They say at the club that Melmotte has taken up old Longestaffe's affairs, and means to put them straight.


There's an old property in Sussex as well as Caversham, and they say that Melmotte is to have that himself.

There's an old property in Sussex as well as Caversham, and they say that Melmotte is to buy that for himself.


There's some bother because Dolly, who would do anything for anybody else, won't join his father in selling.

There's some bother because Dolly won't join his father in selling it.


So the Melmottes are going to Caversham!"


"And the Longestaffes are the proudest people in England."


"Of course we ought to be at Carbury Manor while they are there.


Everybody goes out of town at Whitsuntide; and why shouldn't we run down to the family place?"

Everybody goes out of town at Whitsuntide."


"All very natural if you can manage it, mother."


"If Marie Melmotte goes, I'll be there at any rate for one day and night," said Felix.


His mother thought that, for him, the promise had been graciously made.


It is hoped that the reader need hardly be informed that Hetta Carbury was a very miserable young woman as soon as she decided that duty compelled her to divide herself altogether from Paul Montague.

Hetta Carbury was very miserable after she decided that she had to divide herself altogether from Paul Montague.


I think that she was irrational; but to her it seemed that the offence against herself,--the offence against her own dignity as a woman,--was too great to be forgiven.

I think that she was irrational; but to her it seemed that the offence against her dignity as a woman was too great to be forgiven.


There can be no doubt that it would all have been forgiven with the greatest ease had Paul told the story before it had reached her ears from any other source.

There can be no doubt that it would have been forgiven with the greatest ease had Paul told the story before it had reached her ears from another source.


Had he said to her,--when her heart was softest towards him,--I once loved another woman, and that woman is here now in London, a trouble to me, persecuting me, and her history is so and so, and the history of my love for her was after this fashion, and the history of my declining love is after that fashion, and of this at any rate you may be sure, that this woman has never been near my heart from the first moment in which I saw you;--had he told it to her thus, there would not have been an opening for anger.

If he had said to her, I once loved another woman, and that woman is here now in London, a trouble to me, persecuting me, and her history is so and so - you may be sure that she would not have been angry.


And he doubtless would have so told it, had not Hetta's brother interfered too quickly.


He was then forced to exculpate himself, to confess rather than to tell his own story,--and to admit facts which wore the air of having been concealed, and which had already been conceived to be altogether damning if true.

But he had been forced to confess rather than tell his own story, and to admit facts which had been concealed.


It was that journey to Lowestoft, not yet a month old, which did the mischief,--a journey as to which Hetta was not slow in understanding all that Roger Carbury had thought about it, though Roger would say nothing of it to herself.

It was that journey to Lowestoft, not yet a month old, which did the mischief.


Paul had been staying at the seaside with this woman in amicable intimacy,--this horrid woman,--in intimacy worse than amicable, and had been visiting her daily at Islington!

Paul had been staying at the seaside with this woman in amicable intimacy, and had been visiting her daily at Islington!


Hetta felt quite sure that he had never passed a day without going there since the arrival of the woman; and everybody would know what that meant.

Hetta felt quite sure that he had never passed a day without going there; and


And during this very hour he had been,--well, perhaps not exactly making love to herself, but looking at her and talking to her, and behaving to her in a manner such as could not but make her understand that he intended to make love to her.

meanwhile had been behaving to herself in a manner which implied love for her.


Of course they had really understood it, since they had met at Madame Melmotte's first ball, when she had made a plea that she could not allow herself to dance with him more than,--say half-a-dozen times.


Of course she had not intended him then to know that she would receive his love with favour; but equally of course she had known that he must so feel it.


She had not only told herself, but had told her mother, that her heart was given away to this man; and yet the man during this very time was spending his hours with a--woman, with a strange American woman, to whom he acknowledged that he had been once engaged.

She had told herself that her heart was given away to this man; and yet he was spending his hours with a strange American woman, to whom he acknowledged that he had been once engaged.


How could she refrain from telling him that everything must be over between them?


Everybody was against him,--her mother, her brother, and her cousin: and she felt that she had not a word to say in his defence.


A wretched, bad, bold American intriguing woman!


It was terrible to her that a friend of hers should ever have attached himself to such a creature;--but that he should have come to her with a second tale of love long, long before he had cleared himself from the first;--perhaps with no intention of clearing himself from the first!


That was a matter of course; but she would never forgive him.


She knew well what it was that her mother wanted.


Her mother thought that by forcing her into a quarrel with Montague she would force her also into a marriage with Roger Carbury.

Her mother thought that a quarrel with Montague would force her into a marriage with Roger Carbury.


But her mother would find out that in that she was mistaken.

But her mother would find out that she was mistaken.


She would never marry her cousin, though she would be always ready to acknowledge his worth.

Hetta would never marry her cousin, though she would always acknowledge his worth.


She was sure now that she would never marry any man.


As she made this resolve she had a wicked satisfaction in feeling that it would be a trouble to her mother;--for though she was altogether in accord with Lady Carbury as to the iniquities of Paul Montague she was not the less angry with her mother for being so ready to expose those iniquities.


Oh, with what slow, cautious fingers, with what heartbroken tenderness did she take out from its guardian case the brooch which Paul had given her!

With what slow fingers, with what heartbroken tenderness did she take out from its case the brooch which Paul had given her!


It had as yet been an only present, and in thanking him for it, which she had done with full, free-spoken words of love, she had begged him to send her no other, so that that might ever be to her,--to her dying day,--the one precious thing that had been given to her by her lover while she was yet a girl.


Now it must be sent back;--and, no doubt, it would go to that abominable woman!

Now it must be sent back; and, no doubt, it would go to that abominable woman!


But her fingers lingered over it as she touched it, and she would fain have kissed it, had she not told herself that she would have been disgraced, even in her solitude, by such a demonstration of affection.

But her fingers lingered as she touched it, and she would fain have kissed it, had she not told herself that she would have been disgraced by such a demonstration of affection.


She had given her answer to Paul Montague; and, as she would have no further personal correspondence with him, she took the brooch to her mother with a request that it might be returned.

As she would have no further personal correspondence with Paul Montague, she took the brooch to her mother with a request that it might be returned.


"Of course, my dear, I will send it back to him.


I have no letters, and no other present.


You always knew everything that took place.


If you will just send that back to him,--without a word.

If you will just send that back to him - without a word."


You won't say anything,--will you, mamma?"


"There is nothing for me to say if you have really made him understand you."


"He has behaved very, very badly,--from the beginning," said Lady Carbury.

"He has behaved very, very badly, from the beginning," said Lady Carbury.


But Hetta did not really think that the young man had behaved very badly from the beginning, and certainly did not wish to be told of his misbehaviour.

But Hetta certainly did not wish to be told of his misbehaviour.


No doubt she thought that the young man had behaved very well in falling in love with her directly he saw her;--only that he had behaved so badly in taking Mrs. Hurtle to Lowestoft afterwards!

No doubt she thought that the young man had behaved very well in falling in love with her - only that he had behaved so badly in taking Mrs. Hurtle to Lowestoft afterwards!


"It's no good talking about that, mamma.


I hope you will never talk of him any more."


"He is quite unworthy," said Lady Carbury.


"I can't bear to--have him--abused," said Hetta sobbing.

"I can't bear to - have him - abused," said Hetta, sobbing.


"My dear Hetta, I have no doubt this has made you for the time unhappy.


Such little accidents do make people unhappy--for the time.


But it will be much for the best that you should endeavour not to be so sensitive about it.

But you should endeavour not to be so sensitive about it.


The world is too rough and too hard for people to allow their feelings full play.


You have to look out for the future, and you can best do so by resolving that Paul Montague shall be forgotten at once."


"But, my dear, there is more that I must say.


Your future life is before you, and I must think of it, and you must think of it.

Your future life is before you, and I must think of it.


"Of course you must be married," continued Lady Carbury, "and of course it is your duty to think of the way in which this may be best done.


My income is becoming less and less every day.


I already owe money to your cousin, and I owe money to Mr. Broune."


I had to pay a sum for Felix which Mr. Broune told me ought to be paid.


I fear that I shall not be able to keep on this house.

I fear that I shall not be able to keep this house.


And they tell me,--your cousin and Mr. Broune,--that it is my duty to take Felix out of London,--probably abroad."

And they tell me - your cousin and Mr. Broune - that it is my duty to take Felix out of London, probably abroad."


"It may be so at first; but, perhaps, even that may not be necessary.


Think what my life must be with Felix in some French or German town!"


"Mamma, why don't you let me be a comfort to you?


Why do you speak of me always as though I were a burden?"


But you,--if you will only yield in ever so little,--you may go where you will be no burden, where you will be accepted simply as a blessing.

But you - if you will only yield in ever so little - you may go where you will be no burden, where you will be accepted as a blessing.


You have the opportunity of securing comfort for your whole life, and of making a friend, not only for yourself, but for me and your brother, of one whose friendship we cannot fail to want."

You have the opportunity of securing comfort for your whole life, not only for yourself, but for me and your brother."


"Mamma, you cannot really mean to talk about that now?"


What is the use of indulging in high-flown nonsense?


Make up your mind to be the wife of your cousin Roger."


"This is horrid," said Hetta, bursting out in her agony.


"Cannot you understand that I am broken-hearted about Paul, that I love him from my very soul, that parting from him is like tearing my heart in pieces?


I know that I must, because he has behaved so very badly,--and because of that wicked woman!

I know that I must, because he has behaved so very badly - and because of that wicked woman!


But I did not think that in the very next hour you would bid me give myself to somebody else!


You may be quite--quite sure that I shall never marry any one.


If you won't take me with you when you go away with Felix, I must stay behind and try and earn my bread.

If you won't take me with you, I must stay behind and earn my bread.


Then, without waiting for a reply she left the room and betook herself to her own apartment.

Without waiting for a reply she left the room.


Lady Carbury did not even understand her daughter.


She could not conceive that she had in any way acted unkindly in taking the opportunity of Montague's rejection for pressing the suit of the other lover.

She could not conceive that she had in any way acted unkindly.


She was simply anxious to get a husband for her daughter,--as she had been anxious to get a wife for her son,--in order that her child might live comfortably.

She was simply anxious to get a husband for her child, so that she might live comfortably.


But she felt that whenever she spoke common sense to Hetta, her daughter took it as an offence, and flew into tantrums, being altogether unable to accommodate herself to the hard truths of the world.

But she felt that whenever she spoke common sense to Hetta, her daughter took it as an offence, and flew into tantrums.


Deep as was the sorrow which her son brought upon her, and great as was the disgrace, she could feel more sympathy for him than for the girl.


If there was anything that she could not forgive in life it was romance.


And yet she, at any rate, believed that she delighted in romantic poetry!

And yet she believed that she delighted in romantic poetry!


At the present moment she was very wretched; and was certainly unselfish in her wish to see her daughter comfortably settled before she commenced those miserable roamings with her son which seemed to be her coming destiny.

At present she was very wretched; and was certainly unselfish in her wish to see her daughter comfortably settled before she commenced those miserable roamings with her son which seemed to be her destiny.


In these days she thought a good deal of Mr. Broune's offer, and of her own refusal.


It was odd that since that refusal she had seen more of him, and had certainly known much more of him than she had ever seen or known before.

It was odd that since that refusal she had seen more of him than she ever had before.


Previous to that little episode their intimacy had been very fictitious, as are many intimacies.

Previously their intimacy had been fictitious


They had played at being friends, knowing but very little of each other.

; they had played at being friends, knowing little of each other.


But now, during the last five or six weeks,--since she had refused his offer,--they had really learned to know each other.

But now, during the last five or six weeks since she had refused his offer, they had really learned to know each other.


In the exquisite misery of her troubles, she had told him the truth about herself and her son, and he had responded, not by compliments, but by real aid and true counsel.

In her troubles, she had told him the truth about herself and her son, and he had responded, not by compliments, but by real aid and true counsel.


His whole tone was altered to her, as was hers to him.


There was no longer any egregious flattery between them,--and he, in speaking to her, would be almost rough to her.

There was no longer any flattery between them.


Once he had told her that she would be a fool if she did not do so and so.


The consequence was that she almost regretted that she had allowed him to escape.

In consequence she almost regretted that she had allowed him to escape.


But she certainly made no effort to recover the lost prize, for she told him all her troubles.

But she certainly made no effort to recover the lost prize.


It was on that afternoon, after her disagreement with her daughter, that Marie Melmotte came to her.


And, on that same evening, closeted with Mr. Broune in her back room, she told him of both occurrences.

And, on that same evening, closeted with Mr. Broune, she told him of both occurrences.


"If the girl has got the money--," she began, regretting her son's obstinacy.

"If the girl has got the money-" she began.


"I don't believe a bit of it," said Broune.


"From all that I can hear, I don't think that there is any money.


And if there is, you may be sure that Melmotte would not let it slip through his fingers in that way.

And if there is, you may be sure that Melmotte would not let it slip through his fingers.


I would not have anything to do with it."


"You think it is all over with the Melmottes?"


"A rumour reached me just now that he had been already arrested."


It was now between nine and ten in the evening.


"But as I came away from my room, I heard that he was down at the House.


That he will have to stand a trial for forgery, I think there cannot be a doubt, and I imagine that it will be found that not a shilling will be saved out of the property."

"He will have to stand trial for forgery, without a doubt, and I imagine that it will be found that not a shilling will be saved out of the property."


"What an extraordinary career it has been!"


"Yes,--the strangest thing that has come up in our days.

"Yes, the strangest thing that has come up in our days.


I am inclined to think that the utter ruin at this moment has been brought about by his reckless personal expenditure."


"Because he thought that he could conquer the world by it, and obtain universal credit.

He thought that he could conquer the world, and obtain universal credit.


Only he had forgotten to calculate the force of the envy of his competitors."


"Then I suppose it is better that Felix should not have married her."


No redemption was to have been had on that side, and I don't think you should regret the loss of such money as his."


Lady Carbury shook her head, meaning probably to imply that even Melmotte's money would have had no bad odour to one so dreadfully in want of assistance as her son.


"At any rate do not think of it any more."


Then she told him her grief about Hetta.


"Ah, there," said he, "I feel myself less able to express an authoritative opinion."

"Ah, there," said he, "I feel less able to express an opinion."


"He doesn't owe a shilling," said Lady Carbury, "and he is really a fine gentleman."


She thinks him to be the finest person in the world.


She would obey him a great deal sooner than she would me.


But she has her mind stuffed with nonsense about love."


"A great many people, Lady Carbury, have their minds stuffed with that nonsense."


"Yes;--and ruin themselves with it, as she will do.

"Yes; and ruin themselves with it, as she will do.


You have no right to it unless you can afford it."


And those who will have it when they can't afford it, will come to the ground like this Mr. Melmotte.


It isn't a fortnight since we all thought him the greatest man in London."


Mr. Broune only smiled, not thinking it worth his while to declare that he had never held that opinion about the late idol of Abchurch Lane.


On the following morning, very early, while Melmotte was still lying, as yet undiscovered, on the floor of Mr. Longestaffe's room, a letter was brought up to Hetta by the maid-servant, who told her that Mr. Montague had delivered it with his own hands.

On the following morning, very early, while Melmotte was still lying undiscovered on the floor of Mr. Longestaffe's room, a letter was brought up to Hetta by the maid-servant, who told her that Mr. Montague had delivered it.


She took it greedily, and then repressing herself, put it with an assumed gesture of indifference beneath her pillow.

She put it aside with assumed indifference.


But as soon as the girl had left the room she at once seized her treasure.

But as soon as the girl had left the room she seized her treasure.


It never occurred to her as yet to think whether she would or would not receive a letter from her dismissed lover.


She had told him that he must go, and go for ever, and had taken it for granted that he would do so,--probably willingly.


No doubt he would be delighted to return to the American woman.


But now that she had the letter, she allowed no doubt to come between her and the reading of it.


As soon as she was alone she opened it, and she ran through its contents without allowing herself a moment for thinking, as she went on, whether the excuses made by her lover were or were not such as she ought to accept.

She opened it, and ran through its contents without allowing herself a moment for thinking whether the excuses made by her lover were such as she ought to accept.


I think you have been most unjust to me, and if you have ever loved me I cannot understand your injustice.

I think you have been most unjust to me.


I have never deceived you in anything, not by a word, or for a moment.


Unless you mean to throw me over because I did once love another woman, I do not know what cause of anger you have.


I could not tell you about Mrs. Hurtle till you had accepted me, and, as you yourself must know, I had had no opportunity to tell you anything afterwards till the story had reached your ears.

I could not tell you about Mrs. Hurtle till you had accepted me, and then I had no opportunity to tell you till the story had reached your ears.


I hardly know what I said the other day, I was so miserable at your accusation.


But I suppose I said then, and I again declare now, that I had made up my mind that circumstances would not admit of her becoming my wife before I had ever seen you, and that I have certainly never wavered in my determination since I saw you.

But I suppose I said then, and I again declare now, that I had made up my mind that I could not marry her before I had ever seen you, and that I have never wavered in my determination.


I can with safety refer to Roger as to this, because I was with him when I so determined, and made up my mind very much at his instance.

I can refer to Roger as to this, because I was with him when I so decided, and made up my mind very much at his instance.


This was before I had ever even met you.


If I understand it all right you are angry because I have associated with Mrs. Hurtle since I so determined.

If I understand it right you are angry because I have associated with Mrs. Hurtle since then.


I am not going back to my first acquaintance with her now.


You may blame me for that if you please,--though it cannot have been a fault against you.


But, after what had occurred, was I to refuse to see her when she came to England to see me?


And when she was all alone here, without a single other friend, and telling me that she was unwell, and asking me to take her down to the seaside, was I to refuse?


I think that that would have been unkind.


I am bound to tell you that, but I know in telling you that it will go no farther.


I declined, telling her that it was my purpose to ask another woman to be my wife.

I declined, telling her that I intended to ask another woman to be my wife.


Of course there has been anger and sorrow,--anger on her part and sorrow on mine.

Of course there has been anger and sorrow - anger on her part and sorrow on mine.


As far as she was concerned my trouble was over,--except in so far that her unhappiness has been a great trouble to me,--when, on a sudden, I found that the story had reached you in such a form as to make you determined to quarrel with me!


Of course you do not know it all, for I cannot tell you all without telling her history.

Of course you do not know all the story, for I cannot tell you all without telling her history.


But you know everything that in the least concerns yourself, and I do say that you have no cause whatever for anger.

But you know everything that concerns yourself, and I do say that you have no cause whatever for anger.


This evening your brooch was brought to me with three or four cutting words from your mother.


But I cannot understand that if you really love me, you should wish to separate yourself from me,--or that, if you ever loved me, you should cease to love me now because of Mrs. Hurtle.

But I cannot understand that if you really love me, you should wish to separate yourself from me - or that, if you ever loved me, you should cease to love me now because of Mrs. Hurtle.


I am so absolutely confused by the blow that I hardly know what I am writing, and take first one outrageous idea into my head and then another.

I am so absolutely confused by the blow that I hardly know what I am writing.


My love for you is so thorough and so intense that I cannot bring myself to look forward to living without you, now that you have once owned that you have loved me.

My love for you is so thorough and so intense that I cannot bring myself to look forward to living without you.


I cannot think it possible that love, such as I suppose yours must have been, could be made to cease all at a moment.

I cannot think it possible that your love could be made to cease all at a moment.


I don't think it is natural that we should be parted.


If you want corroboration of my story go yourself to Mrs. Hurtle.


Anything is better than that we both should be broken-hearted.

Anything is better than that we should both be broken-hearted.


Sir Felix, when he promised to meet Ruby at the Music Hall on the Tuesday, was under an engagement to start with Marie Melmotte for New York on the Thursday following, and to go down to Liverpool on the Wednesday.

Sir Felix was to start with Marie Melmotte for New York on the Thursday, and to go down to Liverpool on the Wednesday.

Chapter 49: Sir Felix Makes Himself Ready


There was no reason, he thought, why he should not enjoy himself to the last, and he would say a parting word to poor little Ruby.

There was no reason, he thought, why he should not enjoy himself to the last by seeing Ruby.


The details of his journey were settled between him and Marie, with no inconsiderable assistance from Didon, in the garden of Grosvenor Square, on the previous Sunday,--where the lovers had again met during the hours of morning service.

The details of his journey had been settled between him and Marie, with help from Didon, in the garden of Grosvenor Square.


Sir Felix had been astonished at the completion of the preparations which had been made.

Sir Felix had been astonished at the completeness of the preparations.


"Mind you go by the 5 P.M. train," Marie said.

"Mind you go by the 5 p.m. train," Marie said.


"That will take you into Liverpool at 10.15.


There's an hotel at the railway-station.


Didon has got our tickets under the names of Madame and Mademoiselle Racine.


She has found out that there is plenty of room."


"Pray don't miss the train that afternoon.


Somebody would be sure to suspect something if we were seen together in the same train.


I shan't go to bed all night, so as to be sure to be in time.


Robert,--he's the man,--will start a little earlier in the cab with my heavy box.

Robert will start a little earlier in the cab with my heavy box.


"Yes, but what clothes?--my wedding dresses.


What a job to get them and nobody to know anything about it except Didon and Madame Craik at the shop in Mount Street!

What a job to get them and nobody to know anything about it except Didon and the shop in Mount Street!


They haven't come yet, but I shall be there whether they come or not.


We can get the things out behind the house into the mews.


, then Didon and I follow in another cab.


Nobody ever is up before near nine, and I don't think we shall be interrupted."

Nobody is ever up before nine, and I don't think we shall be interrupted."


But if I was to be brought back again, I should only tell papa that it was no good.


--And she looked up into his face, and thought that it would be impossible that he should be.

She looked into his face, and thought that it would be impossible that he should be.


"I'm all right," said Felix, feeling very uncomfortable at the time.

"I'm all right," said Felix, feeling very uncomfortable.


This great effort of his life was drawing very near.


There had been a pleasurable excitement in talking of running away with the great heiress of the day, but now that the deed had to be executed,--and executed after so novel and stupendous a fashion, he almost wished that he had not undertaken it.

There had been a pleasurable excitement in talking about running away with the heiress, but now that the deed had to be done, he almost wished that he had not undertaken it.


It must have been much nicer when men ran away with their heiresses only as far as Gretna Green.


And even Goldsheiner with Lady Julia had nothing of a job in comparison with this which he was expected to perform.


And then if they should be wrong about the girl's fortune!


He did repent, but he had not the courage to recede.

, but he had not the courage to withdraw.


"I have just the two hundred pounds which your father paid me, and not a shilling more.

"I have only the two hundred pounds which your father paid me.


I don't see why he should keep my money, and not let me have it back."

I don't see why he should keep my money."


"Look here," said Marie, and she put her hand into her pocket.


"There is a cheque for two hundred and fifty pounds.


I had money of my own enough for the tickets."


said Felix, taking the bit of paper with much trepidation.


Mamma gets ever so many of them to carry on the house and pay for things.

Mamma gets ever so many of them to pay for things


But she gets so muddled about it that she doesn't know what she pays and what she doesn't."

, but she gets so muddled that she doesn't know what she pays and what she doesn't."


Felix looked at the cheque and saw that it was payable to House or Bearer, and that it was signed by Augustus Melmotte.

Felix saw that the cheque was payable to House or Bearer, and was signed by Augustus Melmotte.


"If you take it to the bank you'll get the money," said Marie.


"Or shall I send Didon, and give you the money on board the ship?"


Felix thought over the matter very anxiously.


If he did go on the journey he would much prefer to have the money in his own pocket.

He would much prefer to have the money in his own pocket.


He liked the feeling of having money in his pocket.


Perhaps if Didon were entrusted with the cheque she also would like the feeling.


But then might it not be possible that if he presented the cheque himself he might be arrested for stealing Melmotte's money?

But if he presented the cheque himself, might he be arrested for stealing Melmotte's money?


"I think Didon had better get the money," he said, "and bring it to me to-morrow, at four o'clock in the afternoon, to the club."

"I think Didon had better get the money," he said, "and bring it to me tomorrow afternoon, to the club."


If the money did not come he would not go down to Liverpool, nor would he be at the expense of his ticket for New York.

If the money did not come he would not go down to Liverpool.


"You see," he said, "I'm so much in the City that they might know me at the bank."


To this arrangement Marie assented and took back the cheque.


"And then I'll come on board on Thursday morning," he said, "without looking for you."

And then I'll come on board on Thursday morning without looking for you."


And don't know us even till we are out at sea.

And don't know us till we are out at sea.


Won't it be fun when we shall be walking about on the deck and not speaking to one another!

Won't it be fun when we are walking about on the deck and not speaking to one another!


Didon has found out that there is to be an American clergyman on board.

Didon has found that there is to be an American clergyman on board.


Then, directly it's done, and when we get to New York, we'll telegraph and write to papa, and we'll be ever so penitent and good; won't we?

Then, when we get to New York, we'll telegraph and write to papa, and be penitent and good.


"When there's anything to get;--or just at the moment.


He's always for making the best of everything;--misfortunes and all.

He's always for making the best of everything.


Things go wrong so often that if he was to go on thinking of them always they'd be too many for anybody.

Things go wrong so often that he can't go on thinking of them for ever.


I wonder how Lord Nidderdale will look when he hears that we've gone off.


He never can say that I've behaved bad to him.


We were engaged, but it was he broke it.


Do you know, Felix, that though we were engaged to be married, and everybody knew it, he never once kissed me!"

Do you know, Felix, that though we were engaged, he never once kissed me!"


Felix at this moment almost wished that he had never done so.


As to what the other man had done, he cared nothing at all.


Then they parted with the understanding that they were not to see each other again till they met on board the boat.

Then they parted with the understanding that they were not to see each other again till they met on the boat.


But Felix was determined that he would not stir in the matter unless Didon brought him the full sum of 250; and he almost thought, and indeed hoped, that she would not.

But Felix was determined that he would not stir unless Didon brought him the 250; and he almost hoped that she would not.


Either she would be suspected at the bank and apprehended, or she would run off with the money on her own account when she got it;--or the cheque would have been missed and the payment stopped.

Either she would be stopped at the bank, or she would run off with the money.


Some accident would occur, and then he would be able to recede from his undertaking.


He would do nothing till after Monday afternoon.


Should he tell his mother that he was going?


His mother had clearly recommended him to run away with the girl, and must therefore approve of the measure.

She had recommended him to run away with the girl, and must approve.


His mother would understand how great would be the expense of such a trip, and might perhaps add something to his stock of money.

She would understand the great expense of such a trip, and might perhaps give him some money.


He determined that he would tell his mother;--that is, if Didon should bring him full change for the cheque.

He determined that he would tell his mother, if Didon brought him the full amount for the cheque.


He walked into the Beargarden exactly at four o'clock on the Monday, and there he found Didon standing in the hall.

He walked into the Beargarden at four o'clock on the Monday, and found Didon standing in the hall.


His heart sank within him as he saw her.


She made him a little curtsey, and without a word handed him an envelope, soft and fat with rich enclosures.

She made him a little curtsey, and handed him a fat envelope.


He bade her wait a moment, and going into a little waiting-room counted the notes.

He bade her wait a moment, and going into a side room counted the notes.


The money was all there;--the full sum of 250.


said Didon in a whisper as he returned to the hall.


Sir Felix nodded his head, and Didon took her departure.


He had Melmotte's money in his pocket, and was therefore bound to run away with Melmotte's daughter.


It was a great trouble to him as he reflected that Melmotte had more of his money than he had of Melmotte's.


And now how should he dispose of his time before he went?

How should he dispose of his time before he went?


Where would he be were he to lose his ready money?


He would dine that night at the club, and in the evening go up to his mother.

He would dine that night at the club, and in the evening go to his mother.


On the Tuesday he would take his place for New York in the City, and would spend the evening with Ruby at the Music Hall.

On the Tuesday he would book his place for New York, and would spend the evening with Ruby at the Music Hall.


On the Wednesday, he would start for Liverpool,--according to his instructions.

On the Wednesday, he would start for Liverpool, according to his instructions.


He felt annoyed that he had been so fully instructed.


But should the affair turn out well nobody would know that.


All the fellows would give him credit for the audacity with which he had carried off the heiress to America.

, all the fellows would give him credit for the audacity with which he had carried off the heiress to America.


At ten o'clock he found his mother and Hetta in Welbeck Street--"What; Felix?"

At ten o'clock he found his mother and Hetta in Welbeck Street.
"What; Felix?"


"Mother," he said, "would you mind coming into the other room?"


"I've got something to tell you," he said.


From his manner she thought that it was good news.


Money had in some way come into his hands,--or at any rate a prospect of money.


"That's as may be," he said, and then he paused.


"The long and the short of it is that I'm going to take Marie off."


"You said you thought it was the right thing to do;--and therefore I'm going to do it.

"You said it was the right thing to do - so I'm going to do it.


The worst of it is that one wants such a lot of money for this kind of thing."

But one wants such a lot of money for this kind of thing."


I wouldn't tell you till I had arranged everything.


I've had it in my mind for the last fortnight."


"You say that just because Goldsheiner went there.


You don't mean to say it wasn't you that put me up to it.


"Of course, if you tell me that you are going on a journey, I will have your clothes got ready for you.

"I will have your clothes got ready for you.


Oh, Felix, how will it be if he does not forgive her?"


"When I spoke of such a thing as possible he had not sworn then that he would never give her a shilling."


"On Marie;--money which he can't get back again."

Marie; money which he can't get back again."


"She doesn't know;--but a great deal; enough for them all to live upon if things went amiss with them."


That money can't be her own, to give to her husband."


"Melmotte will find that it is, unless he comes to terms.


She's a great deal sharper than any one would take her to be.

She's a great deal sharper than anyone would think.


What can you do for me about money, mother?"


"I thought you'd be sure to help me, as you wanted me so much to do it."


Oh, I am so sorry that that word ever passed my mouth!


"They would let you overdraw for 50 or 60."


I will get some things for you, and pay for them as I can if you cannot pay for them after your marriage;--but I have not money to give you."

I will get some clothes for you, and pay for them if you cannot - but I have no money to give you."


"That's a blue look out," said he, turning himself in his chair,--"just when 60 or 70 might make a fellow for life!

"That's a blue look out," said he, "just when 60 or 70 might make a fellow for life!


You could borrow it from your friend Broune."


50 or 60 would make very little difference in the expense of such a trip as this.

50 or 60 would make very little difference in such a trip as this.


But I'm so short that any little thing would help me."


Before the evening was over she absolutely did give him a cheque for 30, although she had spoken the truth in saying that she had not so much at her banker's.

Before the evening was over she gave him a cheque for 30.


After this he went back to his club, although he himself understood the danger.

Then he went back to his club, even though he understood the danger.


He could not bear the idea of going to bed quietly at home at half-past ten.


He got into a cab, and was very soon up in the card-room.


He found nobody there, and went to the smoking-room, where Dolly Longestaffe and Miles Grendall were sitting silently together, with pipes in their mouths.

He found nobody there, and went to the smoking-room, where Dolly Longestaffe and Miles Grendall were sitting silently together.


"Here's Carbury," said Dolly, waking suddenly into life.


"Now we can have a game at three-handed loo."


"I don't think I'll play to-night, old fellow.

"I don't think I'll play tonight, old fellow.


I hate three fellows sticking down together."


Miles sat silent, smoking his pipe, conscious of the baronet's dislike to play with him.

Miles sat silently smoking his pipe, conscious of the baronet's dislike of playing with him.


And Sir Felix in his most friendly tone whispered into his enemy's ear a petition that some of the I. O.

And Sir Felix in his most friendly tone whispered into his enemy's ear a request that some of the I.O.U.


"'Pon my word, I must ask you to wait till next week," said Miles.

"I must ask you to wait till next week," said Miles.


"It's always waiting till next week with you," said Sir Felix, getting up and standing with his back to the fire-place.


There were other men in the room, and this was said so that every one should hear it.

speaking so that everyone in the room should hear.


"I wonder whether any fellow would buy these for five shillings in the pound?"


And he held up the scraps of paper in his hand.


He had been drinking freely before he went up to Welbeck Street, and had taken a glass of brandy on re-entering the club.

He had been drinking freely before he went up to Welbeck Street, and had just taken a glass of brandy.


"Don't let's have any of that kind of thing down here," said Dolly.

"Don't let's have that kind of thing down here," said Dolly.


"If there is to be a row about cards, let it be in the card-room."


"I won't say a word about the matter down here.


"Come up into the card-room, then," said Sir Felix, getting up from his chair.

"Come into the card-room, then," said Sir Felix.


"It seems to me that it makes no difference to you, what room you're in.


Come up, now; and Dolly Longestaffe shall come and hear what you say."

"Come up, now; and Dolly shall come and hear what you say."


But Miles Grendall objected to this arrangement.


He was not going up into the card-room that night, as no one was going to play.


He would be there to-morrow, and then if Sir Felix Carbury had anything to say, he could say it.


"One has to have rows with one's own people, but there ought not to be rows at a club."


"He likes a row,--Carbury does," said Miles.


"I should like my money, if I could get it," said Sir Felix, walking out of the room.

"I should like my money," said Sir Felix, walking out of the room.


On the next day he went into the City, and changed his mother's cheque.


This was done after a little hesitation.


The money was given to him, but a gentleman from behind the desks begged him to remind Lady Carbury that she was overdrawing her account.

A gentleman behind the desk begged him to remind Lady Carbury that she was overdrawing her account.


"Dear, dear;" said Sir Felix, as he pocketed the notes, "I'm sure she was unaware of it."

"Dear, dear," said Sir Felix, as he pocketed the notes. "I'm sure she was unaware of it."


Then he paid for his passage from Liverpool to New York under the name of Walter Jones, and felt as he did so that the intrigue was becoming very deep.

Then he paid for his passage from Liverpool to New York under the name of Walter Jones.


He dined again at the club, alone, and in the evening went to the Music Hall.


There he remained from ten till nearly twelve, very angry at the non-appearance of Ruby Ruggles.


As he smoked and drank in solitude, he almost made up his mind that he had intended to tell her of his departure for New York.

As he smoked and drank in solitude, he decided that


Of course he would have done no such thing.


But now, should she ever complain on that head he would have his answer ready.


He had devoted his last night in England to the purpose of telling her, and she had broken her appointment.


Whatever might happen to her she could not blame him.

Whatever might happen to her, she could not blame him.


Having waited till he was sick of the Music Hall,--for a music hall without ladies' society must be somewhat dull,--he went back to his club.


He was very cross, as brave as brandy could make him, and well inclined to expose Miles Grendall if he could find an opportunity.

very cross, as brave as brandy could make him, and inclined to expose Miles Grendall if he had an opportunity.


Up in the card-room he found all the accustomed men,--with the exception of Miles Grendall.

Up in the card-room he found all the usual men - except Miles.


Nidderdale, Grasslough, Dolly, Paul Montague, and one or two others were there.


There was, at any rate, comfort in the idea of playing without having to encounter the dead weight of Miles Grendall.


Ready money was on the table,--and there was none of the peculiar Beargarden paper flying about.


Indeed the men at the Beargarden had become sick of paper, and there had been formed a half-expressed resolution that the play should be somewhat lower, but the payments punctual.

; indeed the men at the Beargarden had become sick of I.O.U.


's had been nearly all converted into money,--with the assistance of Herr Vossner,--excepting those of Miles Grendall.

's, and they had been nearly all converted into money, excepting those of Miles Grendall.


The resolution mentioned did not refer back to Grendall's former indebtedness, but was intended to include a clause that he must in future pay ready money.


Nidderdale had communicated to him the determination of the committee.

The committee had decided to take no more I.O.U.s.


"Bygones are bygones, old fellow; but you really must stump up, you know, after this."


Miles had declared that he would "stump up."


At three o'clock in the morning, Sir Felix had lost over a hundred pounds in ready money.


On the following night about one he had lost a further sum of two hundred pounds.


The reader will remember that he should at that time have been in the hotel at Liverpool.


But Sir Felix, as he played on in the almost desperate hope of recovering the money which he so greatly needed, remembered how Fisker had played all night, and how he had gone off from the club to catch the early train for Liverpool, and how he had gone on to New York without delay.

But Sir Felix, as he played on in the almost desperate hope of recovering the money which he needed, remembered how Fisker had played all night, and how he had left the club to catch the early train for Liverpool, and had gone on to New York without delay.


Lady Carbury was at this time so miserable in regard to her son that she found herself unable to be active as she would otherwise have been in her endeavours to separate Paul Montague and her daughter.

Lady Carbury was at this time so miserable about her son that she was unable to be as active as she would otherwise have been in her endeavours to separate Paul Montague and her daughter.


Roger had come up to town and given his opinion, very freely at any rate with regard to Sir Felix.


But Roger had immediately returned to Suffolk, and the poor mother in want of assistance and consolation turned naturally to Mr. Broune, who came to see her for a few minutes almost every evening.

Roger had returned to Suffolk; so in need of assistance and consolation she turned naturally to Mr. Broune.


It had now become almost a part of Mr. Broune's life to see Lady Carbury once in the day.

It had now become almost a part of Mr. Broune's life to see Lady Carbury every day.


She told him of the two propositions which Roger had made: first, that she should fix her residence in some second-rate French or German town, and that Sir Felix should be made to go with her; and, secondly, that she should take possession of Carbury manor for six months.

She told him of Roger's proposals: first, that she should take Sir Felix abroad to live in some second-rate French or German town, and, secondly, that she should live at Carbury manor for six months.


"He's so good that he doesn't care what he does with himself.


"There's a cottage on the place, he says, that he would move to."


Mr. Broune did not think that an offer so quixotically generous as this should be accepted.

He did not think that an offer so quixotically generous should be accepted.


As to the German or French town, Mr. Broune said that the plan was no doubt feasible, but he doubted whether the thing to be achieved was worth the terrible sacrifice demanded.

As to the German or French town, Mr. Broune said that the plan was no doubt feasible, but he doubted whether it was worth the sacrifice.


He was inclined to think that Sir Felix should go to the colonies.


"That he might drink himself to death," said Lady Carbury, who now had no secrets from Mr. Broune.

"So that he might drink himself to death," said Lady Carbury, who now had no secrets from Mr. Broune.


Sir Felix in the mean time was still in the doctor's hands up-stairs.

Sir Felix was still in the doctor's hands upstairs.


He had no doubt been very severely thrashed, but there was not in truth very much ailing him beyond the cuts on his face.

There was not in truth much ailing him beyond the cuts on his face.


He was, however, at the present moment better satisfied to be an invalid than to have to come out of his room and to meet the world.

At present, however, he preferred to be an invalid rather than to meet the world.


"As to Melmotte," said Mr. Broune, "they say now that he is in some terrible mess which will ruin him and all who have trusted him."


Melmotte was to have been summoned before the Lord Mayor to-day on some charge of fraud;--but it was postponed.

Melmotte was to have been summoned before the Lord Mayor today on some charge of fraud; but it was postponed.


And I was told this morning that Nidderdale still means to marry the girl.

And I was told Nidderdale still means to marry the girl."


I don't think anybody knows the truth about it.


We shall hold our tongue about him till we really do know something."


The "we" of whom Mr. Broune spoke was, of course, the "Morning Breakfast Table."


But in all this there was nothing about Hetta.

In all this there was nothing about Hetta.


Hetta, however, thought very much of her own condition, and found herself driven to take some special step by the receipt of two letters from her lover, written to her from Liverpool.

Hetta, however, thought very much of her own condition. She received two letters from her lover, written to her from Liverpool.


They had never met since she had confessed her love to him.

They had not met since she had confessed her love to him.


The first letter she did not at once answer, as she was at that moment waiting to hear what Roger Carbury would say about Mrs. Hurtle.

The first letter she did not at once answer, as she was waiting to hear what Roger Carbury would say about Mrs. Hurtle.


Roger Carbury had spoken, leaving a conviction on her mind that Mrs. Hurtle was by no means a fiction,--but indeed a fact very injurious to her happiness.

Roger Carbury had spoken, leaving her convinced that Mrs. Hurtle was by no means a fiction.


Then Paul's second love-letter had come, full of joy, and love, and contentment,--with not a word in it which seemed to have been in the slightest degree influenced by the existence of a Mrs. Hurtle.

Then Paul's second love-letter had come, full of joy, and love, and contentment - with not a word that suggested the existence of a Mrs. Hurtle.


Had there been no Mrs. Hurtle, the letter would have been all that Hetta could have desired; and she could have answered it, unless forbidden by her mother, with all a girl's usual enthusiastic affection for her chosen lord.


But it was impossible that she should now answer it in that strain;--and it was equally impossible that she should leave such letters unanswered.

but now she did not know how to answer it.


Roger had told her to "ask himself;" and she now found herself constrained to bid him either come to her and answer the question, or, if he thought it better, to give her some written account of Mrs. Hurtle,--so that she might know who the lady was, and whether the lady's condition did in any way interfere with her own happiness.

Roger had told her to "ask Paul himself."


She found that after that which had passed between them she could not call him "My dear Sir," or "My dear Mr. Montague," and that it must either be "Sir" or "My dear Paul."


He was dear to her,--very dear; and she thought that he had not been as yet convicted of any conduct bad enough to force her to treat him as an outcast.


Had there been no Mrs. Hurtle he would have been her "Dearest Paul,"--but she made her choice, and so commenced.

(Had there been no Mrs. Hurtle he would have been her "Dearest Paul.")


A strange report has come round to me about a lady called Mrs. Hurtle.

A strange report has come to me about a lady called Mrs. Hurtle.


I have been told that she is an American lady living in London, and that she is engaged to be your wife.


But I fear,--I fear there is something true that will be very very sad for me to hear.

But I fear there is something true that will be very sad for me to hear.


It was from my brother I first heard it,--who was of course bound to tell me anything he knew.


and I have talked to mamma about it, and to my cousin Roger.


I am sure Roger knows it all;--but he will not tell me.

I am sure Roger knows it all, but he will not tell me.


Of course I can write about nothing else till I have heard about this.


I am sure I need not tell you that it has made me very unhappy.


If you cannot come and see me at once, you had better write.


Then came the difficulty of the signature, with the declaration which must naturally be attached to it.


After some hesitation she subscribed herself,


"Most affectionately your own Hetta" would have been the form in which she would have wished to finish the first letter she had ever written to him.


Paul received it at Liverpool on the Wednesday morning, and on the Wednesday evening he was in Welbeck Street.

Paul received this letter at Liverpool on the Wednesday morning, and on the Wednesday evening he was in Welbeck Street.


He had been quite aware that it had been incumbent on him to tell her the whole history of Mrs. Hurtle.

He had been quite aware that he needed to tell her the whole history of Mrs. Hurtle.


He had meant to keep back--almost nothing.

He had meant to keep back - almost nothing.


But it had been impossible for him to do so on that one occasion on which he had pleaded his love to her successfully.


Let any reader who is intelligent in such matters say whether it would have been possible for him then to have commenced the story of Mrs. Hurtle and to have told it to the bitter end.


Such a story must be postponed for a second or a third interview.


Or it may, indeed, be communicated by letter.


When Paul was called away to Liverpool he did consider whether he should write the story.

When he was called away to Liverpool he did consider whether he should write the story.


But there are many reasons strong against such written communications.


A man may desire that the woman he loves should hear the record of his folly,--so that, in after days, there may be nothing to be detected; so that, should the Mrs. Hurtle of his life at any time intrude upon his happiness, he may with a clear brow and undaunted heart say to his beloved one,--"Ah, this is the trouble of which I spoke to you."


And then he and his beloved one will be in one cause together.


But he hardly wishes to supply his beloved one with a written record of his folly.

But a man hardly wishes to supply his beloved one with a written record of his folly.


And then who does not know how much tenderness a man may show to his own faults by the tone of his voice, by half-spoken sentences, and by an admixture of words of love for the lady who has filled up the vacant space once occupied by the Mrs. Hurtle of his romance?

And a writer cannot show tenderness by tone of voice.


But the written record must go through from beginning to end, self-accusing, thoroughly perspicuous, with no sweet, soft falsehoods hidden under the half-expressed truth.


The soft falsehoods which would be sweet as the scent of violets in a personal interview, would stand in danger of being denounced as deceit added to deceit, if sent in a letter.


I think therefore that Paul Montague did quite right in hurrying up to London.

I think therefore that Paul Montague did quite right in hurrying to London.


He asked for Miss Carbury, and when told that Miss Henrietta was with her mother, he sent his name up and said that he would wait in the dining-room.


He had thoroughly made up his mind to this course.


They should know that he had come at once; but he would not, if it could be helped, make his statement in the presence of Lady Carbury.

He would not, if it could be helped, make his statement in the presence of Lady Carbury.


Then, up-stairs, there was a little discussion.

Upstairs, there was a little discussion.


Hetta pleaded her right to see him alone.


She had done what Roger had advised, and had done it with her mother's consent.

She had done what Roger had advised, with her mother's consent.


Her mother might be sure that she would not again accept her lover till this story of Mrs. Hurtle had been sifted to the very bottom.


But she must herself hear what her lover had to say for himself.

But she must herself hear what her lover had to say.


Felix was at the time in the drawing-room and suggested that he should go down and see Paul Montague on his sister's behalf;--but his mother looked at him with scorn, and his sister quietly said that she would rather see Mr. Montague herself.

Felix, who was there, suggested that he should go down and see Paul Montague on his sister's behalf; but his mother looked at him with scorn, and his sister quietly said that she would rather go herself.


Felix had been so cowed by circumstances that he did not say another word, and Hetta left the room alone.

Felix did not say another word, and Hetta left the room alone.


When she entered the parlour Paul stept forward to take her in his arms.

When she entered the parlour Paul stepped forward to take her in his arms.


She knew it would be so, and she had prepared herself for it.


"Paul," she said, "let me hear about all this--first."

"Paul," she said, "let me hear about all this first."


She sat down at some distance from him,--and he found himself compelled to seat himself at some little distance from her.


"And so you have heard of Mrs. Hurtle," he said, with a faint attempt at a smile.


"Yes;--Felix told me, and Roger evidently had heard about her."

"Yes. Felix told me, and Roger evidently had heard about her."


"Oh yes; Roger Carbury has heard about her from the beginning;--knows the whole history almost as well as I know it myself.


I don't think your brother is as well informed."


But--isn't it a story that--concerns me?"

But - isn't it a story that - concerns me?"


"Certainly it so far concerns you, Hetta, that you ought to know it.


And I trust you will believe that it was my intention to tell it you."


"I will believe anything that you will tell me."


"If so, I don't think that you will quarrel with me when you know all.


"Well, then, I was engaged to marry Mrs. Hurtle."


"I suppose she must be a widow if you were going to marry her."


Montague was desirous of telling his own story, and did not wish to be interrogated.

Montague did not wish to be interrogated.


"If you will allow me I will tell it you all from beginning to end."


If you meant to marry her you must have loved her."

But if you meant to marry her you must have loved her."


There was a frown upon Hetta's brow and a tone of anger in her voice which made Paul uneasy.


"Yes;--I loved her once; but I will tell you all."

"Yes; I loved her once; but I will tell you all."


Then he did tell his story, with a repetition of which the reader need not be detained.


Hetta listened with fair attention,--not interrupting very often, though when she did interrupt, the little words which she spoke were bitter enough.

Hetta listened, not interrupting very often, though when she did interrupt, her words were bitter enough.


But she heard the story of the long journey across the American continent, of the ocean journey before the end of which Paul had promised to make this woman his wife.

But she heard the story of the long journey across the American continent, of the ocean crossing when Paul had promised to make this woman his wife.


asked Hetta,--"because I believe they get themselves divorced just when they like."


Simple as the question was he could not answer it.


"I could only know what she told me," he said, as he went on with his story.

"I only knew what she told me," he said, as he went on with his story.


Then Mrs. Hurtle had gone on to Paris, and he, as soon as he reached Carbury, had revealed everything to Roger.


He had gone back to San Francisco, and,--he had not intended to say that the engagement had been renewed, but he was forced to acknowledge that it had not been broken off.

He had gone back to San Francisco, and - he was forced to acknowledge that the engagement had not been broken off.


Then he had written to her on his second return to England,--and then she had appeared in London at Mrs. Pipkin's lodgings in Islington.

He had written to her on his second return to England, and then she had appeared in London at Mrs. Pipkin's lodgings in Islington.


"I can hardly tell you how terrible that was to me," he said, "for I had by that time become quite aware that my happiness must depend upon you."

"I can hardly tell you how terrible that was," he said, "for I had by that time become quite aware that my happiness must depend upon you."


He tried the gentle, soft falsehoods that should have been as sweet as violets.


It is odd how stern a girl can be, while her heart is almost breaking with love.


"But Felix says you took her to Lowestoft,--quite the other day."

"Felix says you took her to Lowestoft - quite the other day."


Montague had intended to tell all,--almost all.

Montague had intended to tell almost all.


There was a something about the journey to Lowestoft which it would be impossible to make Hetta understand, and he thought that that might be omitted.

There was something about the journey to Lowestoft which it would be impossible to make Hetta understand.


"Oh, Hetta, do not speak to me like that!


Cannot you understand that when she came here, following me, I could not desert her?"


"I cannot understand why you deserted her at all," said Hetta.


"You say you loved her, and you promised to marry her.


It seems horrid to me to marry a divorced woman,--a woman who just says that she was divorced.


But that is because I don't understand American ways.


And I am sure you must have loved her when you took her to the theatre, and down to Lowestoft,--for her health.

I am sure you must have loved her when you took her to the theatre, and down to Lowestoft, for her health.


"It was nearly three weeks," said Paul in despair.


That is not such a very long time for a gentleman to change his mind on such a matter.


You were engaged to her, not three weeks ago."


"No, Hetta, I was not engaged to her then."


"I suppose she thought you were when she went to Lowestoft with you."


"She wanted then to force me to--to--to--.


Oh, Hetta, it is so hard to explain, but I am sure that you understand.

- Oh, Hetta, it is so hard to explain, but I am sure you understand.


I do know that you do not, cannot think that I have, even for one moment, been false to you."

You cannot think that I have, even for one moment, been false to you."


Why should I step in and crush all her hopes?


I can understand that Roger should think badly of her because she was--divorced.

I can understand that Roger should think badly of her because she was divorced.


You had better go back to Mrs. Hurtle and tell her that you are quite ready to keep your promise."


[Illustration: "You had better go back to Mrs. Hurtle."]


"I dare say you will be able to persuade her to reconsider it.

"I dare say you will be able to persuade her to reconsider.


When she came all the way here from San Francisco after you, and when she asked you to take her to the theatre, and to Lowestoft--because of her health, she must be very much attached to you.

To have come all the way here from San Francisco after you, she must be very much attached to you.


And she is waiting here,--no doubt on purpose for you.


She is a very old friend,--very old,--and you ought not to treat her unkindly.

She is a very old friend, and you ought not to treat her unkindly.


I think you had better lose no time in going--back to Mrs. Hurtle."

I think you had better lose no time in going back to Mrs. Hurtle."


All this she said with sundry little impedimentary gurgles in her throat, but without a tear and without any sign of tenderness.

All this she said with little chokes in her throat, but without a tear or any sign of tenderness.


"You don't mean to tell me, Hetta, that you are going to quarrel with me!"


But of course we can't be friends when you have married--Mrs.

But of course we can't be friends when you have married - Mrs. Hurtle."


"Nothing on earth would induce me to marry her."


"Of course I cannot say anything about that.


When they told me this story I did not believe them.


No; I hardly believed Roger when,--he would not tell it for he was too kind,--but when he would not contradict it.


It seemed to be almost impossible that you should have come to me just at the very same moment.

It seemed to be impossible that you should have come to me


For, after all, Mr. Montague, nearly three weeks is a very short time.


That trip to Lowestoft couldn't have been much above a week before you came to me."

not much more than a week after that trip to Lowestoft."


I think I will go away now, Mr. Montague.


It was very good of you to come and tell me all.


"Do you mean to say that--you are going to--throw me over?"

"Do you mean to say that you are going to - throw me over?"


"I don't want you to throw Mrs. Hurtle over.


"No; I will not have you lay your hand upon me.


Paul Montague was beside himself with dismay as he left the house.

Paul Montague was beside himself with dismay.


He had never allowed himself for a moment to believe that this affair of Mrs. Hurtle would really separate him from Hetta Carbury.


If she could only really know it all, there could be no such result.


He had been true to her from the first moment in which he had seen her, never swerving from his love.

He had been true to her from the first moment in which he had seen her.


It was to be supposed that he had loved some woman before; but, as the world goes, that would not, could not, affect her.

Even if he had loved some woman before, that would not affect her.


But her anger was founded on the presence of Mrs. Hurtle in London,--which he would have given half his possessions to have prevented.

Her anger was founded on the presence of Mrs. Hurtle in London.


But when she did come, was he to have refused to see her?

Yet when she had come, could he have refused to see her?


Would Hetta have wished him to be cold and cruel like that?

Would Hetta have wished him to be so cold and cruel?


No doubt he had behaved badly to Mrs. Hurtle;--but that trouble he had overcome.

No doubt he had behaved badly to Mrs. Hurtle; but he had overcome that trouble.


And now Hetta was quarrelling with him, though he certainly had never behaved badly to her.


He was almost angry with Hetta as he walked home.


Everything that he could do he had done for her.


For her sake he had quarrelled with Roger Carbury.


For her sake,--in order that he might be effectually free from Mrs. Hurtle,--he had determined to endure the spring of the wild cat.

For her sake he had determined to endure the spring of the wild cat.


For her sake,--so he told himself,--he had been content to abide by that odious railway company, in order that he might if possible preserve an income on which to support her.

For her sake - so he told himself - he had stayed involved with that odious railway company, in order that he might have an income on which to support her.


And now she told him that they must part,--and that only because he had not been cruelly indifferent to the unfortunate woman who had followed him from America.

And now she told him that they must part, because he had not been cruelly indifferent to Mrs. Hurtle.


There was no logic in it, no reason,--and, as he thought, very little heart.

There was no logic in it, and, as he thought, very little heart.


"I don't want you to throw Mrs. Hurtle over," she had said.


Why should Mrs. Hurtle be anything to her?


Surely she might have left Mrs. Hurtle to fight her own battles.


Roger Carbury, Lady Carbury, and Sir Felix; and the end of it would be that she would be forced into marriage with a man almost old enough to be her father!

Roger Carbury, Lady Carbury, and Sir Felix.


She could not ever really have loved him.


She must be incapable of such love as was his own for her.


And here there was really so very little to forgive!

And there was so very little to forgive!


Such were his thoughts as he went to bed that night.


But he probably omitted to ask himself whether he would have forgiven her very readily had he found that she had been living "nearly three weeks ago" in close intercourse with another lover of whom he had hitherto never even heard the name.

But he probably omitted to ask himself whether he would have forgiven her very readily had he found that she had been living "nearly three weeks ago" with another lover of whom he had never even heard.


But then,--as all the world knows,--there is a wide difference between young men and young women!

But then, there is a wide difference between young men and young women!


Hetta, as soon as she had dismissed her lover, went up at once to her own room.

Hetta, as soon as she had dismissed him, went up at once to her own room.


Thither she was soon followed by her mother, whose anxious ear had heard the closing of the front door.

She was followed by her mother, whose anxious ear had heard the closing of the front door.


Hetta was in tears,--or very nigh to tears,--struggling to repress them, and struggling almost successfully.

Hetta was struggling to repress her tears.


"You have found that what we told you about that woman was all true."


"Enough of it was true," said Hetta, who, angry as she was with her lover, was not on that account less angry with her mother for disturbing her bliss.


I need not go into all the miserable story of the woman.


He has entangled himself with some abominable creature and then when he is tired of her thinks that he has nothing to do but to say so,--and to begin with somebody else."

He has entangled himself with some abominable creature and then when he is tired of her thinks that he has nothing to do but to say so, and to begin with somebody else."


"Oh, mamma, you will make me ill if you go on like that.


It seems to me that you do not understand in the least."


Of course I know that he is not in the least like that."


"And that if you would give yourself to him, there would be no cause for any alarm."

"If you would give yourself to him, there would be no cause for any alarm."


"Mamma," said Hetta jumping up, "how can you talk to me in that way?

"Mamma," said Hetta, jumping up, "how can you talk to me in that way?


As soon as one man doesn't suit, I am to give myself to another!


Nothing on earth will ever induce me to be more to Roger Carbury than I am now."

Nothing on earth will ever induce me to marry Roger."


"You have told Mr. Montague that he is not to come here again?"


"I don't know what I told him, but he knows very well what I mean."


"Hetta, I have a right to ask that, and I have a right to expect a reply.

"Hetta, I have a right to expect a reply.


I do not say that you have hitherto behaved badly about Mr. Montague."


I have done nothing that I am ashamed of."


"But we have now found out that he has behaved very badly.

We have now found out that he has behaved very badly.


He has come here to you,--with unexampled treachery to your cousin Roger--"

He has come here to you, with unexampled treachery to your cousin Roger-"


"And at the very time was almost living with this woman who says that she is divorced from her husband in America!

"And at the very time was almost living with this woman who says that she is divorced!


Have you told him that you will see him no more?"


"If you have not told him so plainly, I must tell him."


Then Lady Carbury expressed herself satisfied for the moment, and left her daughter to her solitude.


"It's weary work," said Sir Felix as he got into the brougham with his mother and sister.

"It's weary work," said Sir Felix in the carriage with his mother and sister.


"What must it have been to me then, who had nothing to do?"


"It's the having something to do that makes me call it weary work.


By-the-bye, now I think of it, I'll run down to the club before I go home."

"I think I'll run down to the club before I go home."


So saying he put his head out of the brougham, and stopped the driver.

He put his head out, and stopped the driver.


"It is two o'clock, Felix," said his mother.

"It is two o'clock in the morning, Felix," said his mother.


"I'm afraid it is, but you see I'm hungry.


"Are you going down to the club for supper at this time in the morning?"


Then he jumped out of the brougham, called a cab, and had himself driven to the Beargarden.

He jumped out of the carriage, called a cab, and had himself driven to the Beargarden.


He declared to himself that the men there would think it mean of him if he did not give them their revenge.

He told himself that the men there would think it mean of him if he did not give them their revenge.


He had renewed his play on the preceding night, and had again won.


Dolly Longestaffe owed him now a considerable sum of money, and Lord Grasslough was also in his debt.

Dolly Longestaffe and Lord Grasslough owed him money


He was sure that Grasslough would go to the club after the ball, and he was determined that they should not think that he had submitted to be carried home by his mother and sister.

, and he was determined that they should not think that he had been carried home by his mother and sister.


So he argued with himself; but in truth the devil of gambling was hot within his bosom; and though he feared that in losing he might lose real money, and that if he won it would be long before he was paid, yet he could not keep himself from the card-table.

So he argued with himself; but in truth he could not keep away from the card-table.


Neither mother or daughter said a word till they reached home and had got up-stairs.

Neither mother nor daughter said a word till they reached home.


Then the elder spoke of the trouble that was nearest to her heart at the moment.

Then the mother spoke of the trouble that was nearest to her heart.


And he has money with him, though, for him and such friends as he has, it is not much.


"I suppose they all do play,--more or less."

"I suppose they all play, more or less."


I am wearied too, out of all heart, by his want of consideration to me.

"I am wearied out of all heart by his lack of consideration to me.


A mother perhaps should not expect obedience from a grown-up son.


He would as soon do what is wrong before me as before the merest stranger."


"He has been so long his own master, mamma."


And yet I must provide for him as though he were but a child.

And yet I must provide for him as though he were a child.


Hetta, you spent the whole evening talking to Paul Montague."


I could not tell him not to speak to me.


Her mother was seated, with both her hands up to her forehead, and shook her head.


"If you did not want me to speak to Paul you should not have taken me there."

"If you did not want me to speak to Paul," said Hetta, "you should not have taken me there."


"I don't wish to prevent your speaking to him.


Henrietta came up and kissed her, and bade her good night.

As Henrietta kissed her good night, Lady Carbury began to sob.


"I think I am the unhappiest woman in all London," she said, sobbing hysterically.

"I think I am the unhappiest woman in all London."


"You could save me from much if you would.

"You could save me from much if you wished.


I work like a horse, and I never spend a shilling that I can help.


I want nothing for myself,--nothing for myself.


But Felix never thinks of me for a moment."


"If you did you would accept your cousin's offer.


I believe it is all because of that young man."

I believe it is because of that young man."


"No, mamma; it is not because of that young man.


I like my cousin very much;--but that is all.

I like my cousin Roger very much; - but that is all.


Lady Carbury just allowed herself to be kissed, and then was left alone.


At eight o'clock the next morning daybreak found four young men who had just risen from a card-table at the Beargarden.

At eight o'clock the next morning four young men had just risen from a card-table at the Beargarden.


The Beargarden was so pleasant a club that there was no rule whatsoever as to its being closed,--the only law being that it should not be opened before three in the afternoon.


A sort of sanction had, however, been given to the servants to demur to producing supper or drinks after six in the morning, so that, about eight, unrelieved tobacco began to be too heavy even for juvenile constitutions.


The party consisted of Dolly Longestaffe, Lord Grasslough, Miles Grendall, and Felix Carbury, and the four had amused themselves during the last six hours with various innocent games.

The party consisted of Dolly Longestaffe, Lord Grasslough, Miles Grendall, and Felix Carbury; they had amused themselves during the last six hours with various innocent games.


They had commenced with whist, and had culminated during the last half-hour with blind hookey.

They had commenced with whist, and had finished with blind hookey.


But during the whole night Felix had won.


Miles Grendall hated him, and there had been an expressed opinion between Miles and the young lord that it would be both profitable and proper to relieve Sir Felix of the winnings of the last two nights.

Miles Grendall hated him, and agreed with Lord Grasslough that it would be proper to relieve Sir Felix of his previous winnings.


The two men had played with the same object, and being young had shown their intention,--so that a certain feeling of hostility had been engendered.

The two men had shown their intention, causing a certain hostility.


The reader is not to understand that either of them had cheated, or that the baronet had entertained any suspicion of foul play.


But Felix had felt that Grendall and Grasslough were his enemies, and had thrown himself on Dolly for sympathy and friendship.

Felix had felt that Grendall and Grasslough were his enemies, and had thrown himself on Dolly for sympathy.


At eight o'clock in the morning there came a sort of settling, though no money then passed.

At eight o'clock in the morning there came a sort of settling-up, though no money passed hands.


The ready-money transactions had not lasted long through the night.


Grasslough was the chief loser, and the figures and scraps of paper which had been passed over to Carbury, when counted up, amounted to nearly 2,000.

Grasslough was the chief loser, and the paper I.O.U.s which had been passed over to Carbury, when counted up, amounted to nearly 2,000.


His lordship contested the fact bitterly, but contested it in vain.

His lordship contested the amount bitterly, but in vain.


There were his own initials and his own figures, and even Miles Grendall, who was supposed to be quite wide awake, could not reduce the amount.


Then Grendall had lost over 400 to Carbury,--an amount, indeed, that mattered little, as Miles could, at present, as easily have raised 40,000.

Grendall had lost over 400 to Carbury, an amount that he could never hope to raise.


Grasslough, also, was impecunious; but he had a father,--also impecunious, indeed; but with them the matter would not be hopeless.


Dolly Longestaffe was so tipsy that he could not even assist in making up his own account.

Dolly Longestaffe was too tipsy to make up his own account.


That was to be left between him and Carbury for some future occasion.

That was to be left for some future occasion.


"I suppose you'll be here to-morrow,--that is to-night," said Miles.

"I suppose you'll be here tomorrow, - that is, tonight," said Miles.


"Certainly,--only one thing," answered Felix.


"I think these things should be squared before we play any more!"

"Only I think these things should be squared before we play any more."


"I never hint anything, my Grassy," said Felix.


"I believe when people play cards, it's intended to be ready-money, that's all.

"I believe when people play cards, it's intended to be ready money, that's all.


But I'm not going to stand on P's and Q's with you.


But I'll give you your revenge tonight."


"I was speaking to Lord Grasslough," said Felix.


"He is an old friend, and we know each other.


You have been rather rough to-night, Mr. Grendall."

You have been rather rough tonight, Mr. Grendall."


"Rough;--what the devil do you mean by that?"

"Rough - what the devil do you mean by that?"


"And I think it will be as well that our account should be settled before we begin again."


"A settlement once a week is the kind of thing I'm used to," said Grendall.

"I'm used to settling once a week," said Grendall.


There was nothing more said; but the young men did not part on good terms.


Felix, as he got himself taken home, calculated that if he could realize his spoil, he might begin the campaign again with horses, servants, and all luxuries as before.

Felix, as he went home, calculated that if he were fully paid, he might begin the campaign again with all luxuries as before.


If all were paid, he would have over 3,000!


Paul Montague at this time lived in comfortable lodgings in Sackville Street, and ostensibly the world was going well with him.

Paul Montague at this time lived in comfortable lodgings in Sackville Street, and the world appeared to go well with him.


His troubles in reference to Fisker, Montague, and Montague,--and also their consolation,--are already known to the reader.

His troubles about Fisker, Montague, and Montague are already known to the reader.


He was troubled too about his love, though when he allowed his mind to expatiate on the success of the great railway he would venture to hope that on that side his life might perhaps be blessed.

He was also troubled about his love, though when he thought about the success of the great railway he hoped that he might be blessed


Henrietta had at any rate as yet showed no disposition to accept her cousin's offer.


He was troubled too about the gambling, which he disliked, knowing that in that direction there might be speedy ruin, and yet returning to it from day to day in spite of his own conscience.

He was troubled too about the gambling, which he disliked, and yet returned to.


But there was yet another trouble which culminated just at this time.

But there was another trouble which culminated just at this time.


One morning, not long after that Sunday night which had been so wretchedly spent at the Beargarden, he got into a cab in Piccadilly and had himself taken to a certain address in Islington.

One morning he got a cab in Piccadilly and travelled to a certain address in Islington.


Here he knocked at a decent, modest door,--at such a house as men live in with two or three hundred a year,--and asked for Mrs. Hurtle.

Here he knocked at a decent, modest door, and asked for Mrs. Hurtle.


Yes;--Mrs. Hurtle lodged there, and he was shown into the drawing-room.


There he stood by the round table for a quarter of an hour turning over the lodging-house books which lay there, and then Mrs. Hurtle entered the room.

stood by the table until Mrs. Hurtle entered the room.


Mrs. Hurtle was a widow whom he had once promised to marry.


"Paul," she said, with a quick, sharp voice, but with a voice which could be very pleasant when she pleased,--taking him by the hand as she spoke, "Paul, say that that letter of yours must go for nothing.

"Paul," she said, with a quick, sharp voice, but a voice which could be very pleasant when she pleased, "Paul, say that that letter of yours means nothing.


Say that it shall be so, and I will forgive everything."

Say that, and I will forgive everything."


"I cannot say that," he replied, laying his hand in hers.


Will you dare to tell me that your promises to me are to go for nothing?"

Will you dare to tell me that your promises mean nothing?"


"Things are changed," said Paul hoarsely.


He had come thither at her bidding because he had felt that to remain away would be cowardly, but the meeting was inexpressibly painful to him.

He had come here at her bidding because he had felt that to stay away would be cowardly, but the meeting was inexpressibly painful to him.


He did think that he had sufficient excuse for breaking his troth to this woman, but the justification of his conduct was founded on reasons which he hardly knew how to plead to her.

He did think that he had sufficient excuse for breaking his troth to this woman, but he hardly knew how to justify it to her.


He had heard that of her past life which, had he heard it before, would have saved him from his present difficulty.

He had heard things about her past life which, had he heard them before, would have saved him from this difficulty.


But he had loved her,--did love her in a certain fashion; and her offences, such as they were, did not debar her from his sympathies.

But he had loved her - did love her in a way, in spite of her offences.


I am two years older, if you mean that."


As she said this she looked round at the glass, as though to see whether she was become so haggard with age as to be unfit to become this man's wife.

As she said this she looked round at the mirror, as though to see whether she was become haggard with age.


She was very lovely, with a kind of beauty which we seldom see now.


In these days men regard the form and outward lines of a woman's face and figure more than either the colour or the expression, and women fit themselves to men's eyes.


With padding and false hair without limit a figure may be constructed of almost any dimensions.


The sculptors who construct them, male and female, hairdressers and milliners, are very skilful, and figures are constructed of noble dimensions, sometimes with voluptuous expansion, sometimes with classic reticence, sometimes with dishevelled negligence which becomes very dishevelled indeed when long out of the sculptors' hands.


Colours indeed are added, but not the colours which we used to love.


The taste for flesh and blood has for the day given place to an appetite for horsehair and pearl powder.


But Mrs. Hurtle was not a beauty after the present fashion.


She was very dark,--a dark brunette,--with large round blue eyes, that could indeed be soft, but could also be very severe.

She was a dark brunette with large round blue eyes, that could be soft, but could also be very severe.


Her silken hair, almost black, hung in a thousand curls all round her head and neck.

Her silken hair, almost black, hung in a thousand curls around her head and neck.


Her cheeks and lips and neck were full, and the blood would come and go, giving a varying expression to her face with almost every word she spoke.

Her cheeks and lips were full, and she blushed easily.


Her nose also was full, and had something of the pug.


But nevertheless it was a nose which any man who loved her would swear to be perfect.


Her mouth was large, and she rarely showed her teeth.


Her chin was full, marked by a large dimple, and as it ran down to her neck was beginning to form a second.


Her bust was full and beautifully shaped; but she invariably dressed as though she were oblivious, or at any rate neglectful, of her own charms.

Her bust was beautifully shaped; but she dressed as though she were oblivious of her own charms.


Her dress, as Montague had seen her, was always black,--not a sad weeping widow's garment, but silk or woollen or cotton as the case might be, always new, always nice, always well-fitting, and most especially always simple.

Her dress, when Montague had seen her, was always black, always new, always nice, well-fitting, and above all simple.


She was certainly a most beautiful woman, and she knew it.

She was certainly a beautiful woman, and she knew it.


She looked as though she knew it,--but only after that fashion in which a woman ought to know it.


Of her age she had never spoken to Montague.


She was in truth over thirty,--perhaps almost as near thirty-five as thirty.


But she was one of those whom years hardly seem to touch.


"You are beautiful as ever you were," he said.

"You are as beautiful as ever you were," he said.


I care nothing for my beauty unless it can bind me to your love.


Sit down there and tell me what it means."


Then she let go his hand, and seated herself opposite to the chair which she gave him.


"You told me nothing in your letter,--except that it was to be--off.

"You told me nothing in your letter, except that it was - off.


Then she threw herself upon her knees, and leaned upon his, and looked up in his face.

Then she threw herself upon her knees, and leaned upon his, looking up in his face.


"Paul," she said, "I have come again across the Atlantic on purpose to see you,--after so many months,--and will you not give me one kiss?

"Paul," she said, "I have come again across the Atlantic to see you, after so many months - and will you not give me one kiss?


Even though you should leave me for ever, give me one kiss."


Of course he kissed her, not once, but with a long, warm embrace.

Of course he kissed her, with a long, warm embrace.


With all his heart he wished that she would have remained away, but while she knelt there at his feet what could he do but embrace her?

While she knelt there at his feet what could he do but embrace her?


"Now tell me everything," she said, seating herself on a footstool at his feet.


[Illustration: "I have come across the Atlantic to see you."]


She certainly did not look like a woman whom a man might ill treat or scorn with impunity.

She did not look like a woman whom a man might scorn unpunished.


Paul felt, even while she was lavishing her caresses upon him, that she might too probably turn and rend him before he left her.

Paul felt, even while she was caressing him, that she might well turn and rend him before he left her.


He had known something of her temper before, though he had also known the truth and warmth of her love.


He had travelled with her from San Francisco to England, and she had been very good to him in illness, in distress of mind and in poverty,--for he had been almost penniless in New York.

He had travelled with her from San Francisco to England, and she had been very good to him in illness, distress and poverty - for he had been almost penniless in New York.


When they landed at Liverpool they were engaged as man and wife.

When they landed at Liverpool they were engaged to marry.


He had told her all his affairs, had given her the whole history of his life.

He had given her the whole history of his life.


This was before his second journey to America, when Hamilton K. Fisker was unknown to him.

This was when Hamilton K. Fisker was unknown to him.


But she had told him little or nothing of her own life,--but that she was a widow, and that she was travelling to Paris on business.

But she had told him little or nothing of her own life, except that she was a widow, travelling to Paris on business.


When he left her at the London railway station, from which she started for Dover, he was full of all a lover's ardour.

When he left her at the London railway station, he was full of a lover's ardour.


He had offered to go with her, but that she had declined.


But when he remembered that he must certainly tell his friend Roger of his engagement, and remembered also how little he knew of the lady to whom he was engaged, he became embarrassed.

But when he remembered that he must tell his friend Roger of his engagement, and remembered also how little he knew of Mrs. Hurtle, he became embarrassed.


He did know that she was some years older than himself, and that she had spoken hardly a word to him of her own family.

She had spoken hardly a word of her own family


She had indeed said that her husband had been one of the greatest miscreants ever created, and had spoken of her release from him as the one blessing she had known before she had met Paul Montague.

, although she had said that her husband had been a great miscreant, and her release from him had been the one blessing she had known before she had met Paul Montague.


But it was only when he thought of all this after she had left him,--only when he reflected how bald was the story which he must tell Roger Carbury,--that he became dismayed.

After she had left him, he reflected how bald was the story which he must tell Roger Carbury, and became dismayed.


Such had been the woman's cleverness, such her charm, so great her power of adaptation, that he had passed weeks in her daily company, with still progressing intimacy and affection, without feeling that anything had been missing.

Such had been the woman's cleverness and charm, that he had passed weeks in her daily company without feeling that anything had been missing.


He had told his friend, and his friend had declared to him that it was impossible that he should marry a woman whom he had met in a railway train without knowing something about her.

He had told Roger, and his friend had declared to him that it was impossible that he should marry a woman whom he had met on a train without knowing anything about her.


Roger did all he could to persuade the lover to forget his love,--and partially succeeded.

Roger did all he could to persuade him to forget his love - and partially succeeded.


It is so pleasant and so natural that a young man should enjoy the company of a clever, beautiful woman on a long journey,--so natural that during the journey he should allow himself to think that she may during her whole life be all in all to him as she is at that moment;--and so natural again that he should see his mistake when he has parted from her!


But Montague, though he was half false to his widow, was half true to her.

Yet, though he was half false to his widow, he was half true to her.


He had pledged his word, and that he said ought to bind him.

He had pledged his word, and said that ought to bind him.


Then he returned to California, and learned through the instrumentality of Hamilton K. Fisker, that in San Francisco Mrs. Hurtle was regarded as a mystery.

Then he returned to California, and learned through Hamilton K. Fisker that in San Francisco Mrs. Hurtle was regarded as a mystery.


Some people did not quite believe that there ever had been a Mr. Hurtle.

Some people did not believe that there ever had been a Mr. Hurtle.


Others said that there certainly had been a Mr. Hurtle, and that to the best of their belief he still existed.

Others said that there certainly had been, and that he still existed.


The fact, however, best known of her was, that she had shot a man through the head somewhere in Oregon.

The fact, however, best known was, that she had shot a man through the head in Oregon.


She had not been tried for it, as the world of Oregon had considered that the circumstances justified the deed.


Everybody knew that she was very clever and very beautiful,--but everybody also thought that she was very dangerous.

Everybody thought that she was very clever and very beautiful, but also very dangerous.


"She always had money when she was here," Hamilton Fisker said, "but no one knew where it came from."

"She always had money," Hamilton Fisker said, "but no one knew where it came from.


Then he wanted to know why Paul inquired.


"I don't think, you know, that I should like to go in for a life partnership, if you mean that," said Hamilton K. Fisker.

I don't think, you know, that I should like to go in for a life partnership."