.

a hardhearted parent in a contention about marriage, if she be well in earnest. But then the girl must be really in earnest, and her earnestness will depend on that of her lover. In this case, however, there was as yet no reason for supposing that the great man would object. As far as outward signs went, the great man had shown some partiality for her son. No doubt it was Mr Melmotte who had made Sir Felix a director of the great American Company. Felix had also been kindly received in Grosvenor Square. And then Sir Felix was Sir Felix, — a real baronet. Mr Melmotte had no doubt endeavoured to catch this and that lord; but, failing a lord, why should he not content himself with a baronet? Lady Carbury thought that her son wanted nothing but money to make him an acceptable suitor to such a father-in-law as Mr Melmotte; — not money in the funds, not a real fortune, not so many thousands a-year that could be settled; — the man’s own enormous wealth rendered this unnecessary but such a one as Mr Melmotte would not like outward palpable signs of immediate poverty. There should be means enough for present sleekness and present luxury. He must have a horse to ride, and rings and coats to wear, and bright little canes to carry, and above all the means of making presents. He must not be seen to be poor. Fortunately, most fortunately, Chance had befriended him lately and had given him some ready money. But if he went on gambling Chance would certainly take it all away again. For aught that the poor mother knew, Chance might have done so already. And then again, it was indispensable that he should abandon the habit of play — at any rate for the present, while his prospects depended on the good opinions of Mr Melmotte. Of course such a one as Mr Melmotte could not like gambling at a club, however much he might approve of it in the City. 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? 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. 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 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.

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

      “To Carbury Manor!” 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 never said so, Felix. And now I have a great object.”

      “What will Hetta do?”

      “Go too — why shouldn’t she?”

      “Oh; I didn’t know. I thought that perhaps she mightn’t like it.”

      “I don’t see why she shouldn’t like it. Besides, everything can’t give way to her.”

      “Has Roger asked you?”

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

      “Not me, mother!”

      “Yes; you especially.”

      “Not if I know it, mother. What on earth should I do at Carbury Manor?”

      “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.”

      “Oh — h! that explains it all.”

      “Explains what, Felix?” 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.

      “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 some bother because Dolly, who would do anything for anybody else, won’t join his father in selling. So the Melmottes are going to Caversham!”

      “Madame Melmotte told me so.”

      “And the Longestaffes are the proudest people in England.”

      “Of course we ought to be at Carbury Manor while they are there. What can be more natural? Everybody goes out of town at Whitsuntide; and why shouldn’t we run down to the family place?”

      “All very natural if you can manage it, mother.”

      “And you’ll come?”

      “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.

      Chapter XIII

       The Longestaffes

       Table of Contents

      Mr Adolphus Longestaffe, the squire of Caversham in Suffolk, and of Pickering Park in Sussex, was closeted on a certain morning for the best part of an hour with Mr Melmotte in Abchurch Lane, had there discussed all his private affairs, and was about to leave the room with a very dissatisfied air. There are men, — and old men too, who ought to know the world, — who think that if they can only find the proper Medea to boil the cauldron for them, they can have their ruined fortunes so cooked that they shall come out of the pot fresh and new and unembarrassed. These great conjurors are generally sought for in the City; and in truth the cauldrons are kept boiling though the result of the process is seldom absolute rejuvenescence. No greater Medea than Mr Melmotte had ever been potent in money matters, and Mr Longestaffe had been taught to believe that if he could get the necromancer even to look at his affairs everything would be made right for him. But the necromancer had explained to the squire that property could not be created by the waving of any wand or the boiling of any cauldron. He, Mr Melmotte, could put Mr Longestaffe in the way of realising property without delay, of changing it from one shape into another, or could find out the real market value of the property in question; but he could create nothing. “You have only a life interest, Mr Longestaffe.”

      “No; only a life interest. That is customary with family estates in this country, Mr Melmotte.”

      “Just so. And therefore you can dispose of nothing else. Your son, of course, could join you, and then you could sell either one estate or the other.”

      “There is no question of selling Caversham, sir. Lady Pomona and I reside there.”

      “Your son will not join you in selling the other place?”

      “I have not directly asked him; but he never does do anything that I wish. I suppose you would not take Pickering Park on a lease for my life.”

      “I think not, Mr Longestaffe. My wife would not like the uncertainty.”

      Then Mr Longestaffe took his leave with a feeling of outraged aristocratic pride. His own lawyer would almost have done as much for him, and he need not have invited his own lawyer as a guest to Caversham, — and certainly not his own lawyer’s wife and daughter. He had indeed succeeded in borrowing a few thousand pounds from the great man at a rate of interest which the great man’s head clerk was to arrange, and this had been effected simply on the security of the lease of a house in town. There had been an ease in this, an absence of that delay which generally took place between the expression of his desire for money and the acquisition of it, — and this had gratified him. But he was already beginning to think that he might pay too dearly for that gratification. At the present moment, too, Mr Melmotte was odious to him for another reason. He had condescended to ask Mr Melmotte to make him a director of the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway, and he, — Adolphus Longestaffe of Caversham, — had had his request refused! Mr Longestaffe had condescended very low. “You have made Lord Alfred Grendall