CHAPTER XX.
LADY POMONA'S DINNER PARTY.
Roger Carbury's half formed plan of keeping Henrietta at home whileLady Carbury and Sir Felix went to dine at Caversham fell to theground. It was to be carried out only in the event of Hetta'syielding to his prayer. But he had in fact not made a prayer, andHetta had certainly yielded nothing. When the evening came, LadyCarbury started with her son and daughter, and Roger was left alone.In the ordinary course of his life he was used to solitude. Duringthe greater part of the year he would eat and drink and live withoutcompanionship; so that there was to him nothing peculiarly sad inthis desertion. But on the present occasion he could not preventhimself from dwelling on the loneliness of his lot in life. Thesecousins of his who were his guests cared nothing for him. LadyCarbury had come to his house simply that it might be useful to her;Sir Felix did not pretend to treat him with even ordinary courtesy;and Hetta herself, though she was soft to him and gracious, was softand gracious through pity rather than love. On this day he had, intruth, asked her for nothing; but he had almost brought himself tothink that she might give all that he wanted without asking. And yet,when he told her of the greatness of his love, and of its endurance,she was simply silent. When the carriage taking them to dinner wentaway down the road, he sat on the parapet of the bridge in front ofthe house listening to the sound of the horses' feet, and tellinghimself that there was nothing left for him in life.
If ever one man had been good to another, he had been good to PaulMontague, and now Paul Montague was robbing him of everything hevalued in the world. His thoughts were not logical, nor was hismind exact. The more he considered it, the stronger was his inwardcondemnation of his friend. He had never mentioned to anyone theservices he had rendered to Montague. In speaking of him to Hetta hehad alluded only to the affection which had existed between them. Buthe felt that because of those services his friend Montague had owedit to him not to fall in love with the girl he loved; and he thoughtthat if, unfortunately, this had happened unawares, Montague shouldhave retired as soon as he learned the truth. He could not bringhimself to forgive his friend, even though Hetta had assured him thathis friend had never spoken to her of love. He was sore all over, andit was Paul Montague who made him sore. Had there been no such man atCarbury when Hetta came there, Hetta might now have been mistress ofthe house. He sat there till the servant came to tell him that hisdinner was on the table. Then he crept in and ate,--so that the manmight not see his sorrow; and, after dinner, he sat with a book inhis hand seeming to read. But he read not a word, for his mind wasfixed altogether on his cousin Hetta. "What a poor creature a manis," he said to himself, "who is not sufficiently his own master toget over a feeling like this."
At Caversham there was a very grand party,--as grand almost as adinner party can be in the country. There were the Earl and Countessof Loddon and Lady Jane Pewet from Loddon Park, and the bishopand his wife, and the Hepworths. These, with the Carburys andthe parson's family, and the people staying in the house, madetwenty-four at the dinner table. As there were fourteen ladies andonly ten men, the banquet can hardly be said to have been very wellarranged. But those things cannot be done in the country with theexactness which the appliances of London make easy; and then theLongestaffes, though they were decidedly people of fashion, werenot famous for their excellence in arranging such matters. If aught,however, was lacking in exactness, it was made up in grandeur. Therewere three powdered footmen, and in that part of the country LadyPomona alone was served after this fashion; and there was a veryheavy butler, whose appearance of itself was sufficient to give eclatto a family. The grand saloon in which nobody ever lived was thrownopen, and sofas and chairs on which nobody ever sat were uncovered.It was not above once in the year that this kind of thing was doneat Caversham; but when it was done, nothing was spared which couldcontribute to the magnificence of the fete. Lady Pomona and her twotall daughters standing up to receive the little Countess of Loddonand Lady Jane Pewet, who was the image of her mother on a somewhatsmaller scale, while Madame Melmotte and Marie stood behind as thoughashamed of themselves, was a sight to see. Then the Carburys came,and then Mrs. Yeld with the bishop. The grand room was soon fairlyfull; but nobody had a word to say. The bishop was generally a manof much conversation, and Lady Loddon, if she were well pleasedwith her listeners, could talk by the hour without ceasing. But onthis occasion nobody could utter a word. Lord Loddon pottered about,making a feeble attempt, in which he was seconded by no one. LordAlfred stood, stock-still, stroking his grey moustache with his hand.That much greater man, Augustus Melmotte, put his thumbs into thearm-holes of his waistcoat, and was impassible. The bishop saw at aglance the hopelessness of the occasion, and made no attempt. Themaster of the house shook hands with each guest as he entered, andthen devoted his mind to expectation of the next comer. Lady Pomonaand her two daughters were grand and handsome, but weary and dumb.In accordance with the treaty, Madame Melmotte had been entertainedcivilly for four entire days. It could not be expected that theladies of Caversham should come forth unwearied after such astruggle.
When dinner was announced Felix was allowed to take in MarieMelmotte. There can be no doubt but that the Caversham ladies didexecute their part of the treaty. They were led to suppose that thisarrangement would be desirable to the Melmottes, and they made it.The great Augustus himself went in with Lady Carbury, much to hersatisfaction. She also had been dumb in the drawing-room; but now,if ever, it would be her duty to exert herself. "I hope you likeSuffolk," she said.
"Pretty well, I thank you. Oh, yes;--very nice place for a littlefresh air."
"Yes;--that's just it, Mr. Melmotte. When the summer comes one doeslong so to see the flowers."
"We have better flowers in our balconies than any I see down here,"said Mr. Melmotte.
"No doubt;--because you can command the floral tribute of the worldat large. What is there that money will not do? It can turn a Londonstreet into a bower of roses, and give you grottoes in GrosvenorSquare."
"It's a very nice place, is London."
"If you have got plenty of money, Mr. Melmotte."
"And if you have not, it's the best place I know to get it. Do youlive in London, ma'am?" He had quite forgotten Lady Carbury even ifhe had seen her at his house, and with the dulness of hearing commonto men, had not picked up her name when told to take her out todinner.
"Oh, yes, I live in London. I have had the honour of beingentertained by you there." This she said with her sweetest smile.
"Oh, indeed. So many do come, that I don't always just remember."
"How should you,--with all the world flocking round you? I am LadyCarbury, the mother of Sir Felix Carbury, whom I think you willremember."
"Yes; I know Sir Felix. He's sitting there, next to my daughter."
"Happy fellow!"
"I don't know much about that. Young men don't get their happiness inthat way now. They've got other things to think of."
"He thinks so much of his business."
"Oh! I didn't know," said Mr. Melmotte.
"He sits at the same Board with you, I think, Mr. Melmotte."
"Oh;--that's his business!" said Mr. Melmotte, with a grim smile.
Lady Carbury was very clever as to many things, and was notill-informed on matters in general that were going on around her; butshe did not know much about the city, and was profoundly ignorant asto the duties of those Directors of whom, from time to time, she sawthe names in a catalogue. "I trust that he is diligent, there," shesaid; "and that he is aware of the great privilege which he enjoys inhaving the advantage of your counsel and guidance."
"He don't trouble me much, ma'am, and I don't trouble him much."After this Lady Carbury said no more as to her son's position in thecity. She endeavoured to open various other subjects of conversation;but she found Mr. Melmotte to be heavy on her hands. After a whileshe had to abandon him in despair, and give herself up to raptures infavour of Protestantism at the bidding of the Caversham parson, whosat on the other side o
f her, and who had been worked to enthusiasmby some mention of Father Barham's name.
Opposite to her, or nearly so, sat Sir Felix and his love. "Ihave told mamma," Marie had whispered, as she walked in to dinnerwith him. She was now full of the idea so common to girls who areengaged,--and as natural as it is common,--that she might telleverything to her lover.
"Did she say anything?" he asked. Then Marie had to take her placeand arrange her dress before she could reply to him. "As to her, Isuppose it does not matter what she says, does it?"
"She said a great deal. She thinks that papa will think you are notrich enough. Hush! Talk about something else, or people will hear."So much she had been able to say during the bustle.
Felix was not at all anxious to talk about his love, and changed thesubject very willingly. "Have you been riding?" he asked.
"No; I don't think there are horses here,--not for visitors, that is.How did you get home? Did you have any adventures?"
"None at all," said Felix, remembering Ruby Ruggles. "I just rodehome quietly. I go to town to-morrow."
"And we go on Wednesday. Mind you come and see us before long." Thisshe said bringing her voice down to a whisper.
"Of course I shall. I suppose I'd better go to your father in thecity. Does he go every day?"
"Oh yes, every day. He's back always about seven. Sometimes he'sgood-natured enough when he comes back, but sometimes he's verycross. He's best just after dinner. But it's so hard to get to himthen. Lord Alfred is almost always there; and then other people come,and they play cards. I think the city will be best."
"You'll stick to it?" he asked.
"Oh, yes;--indeed I will. Now that I've once said it nothing willever turn me. I think papa knows that." Felix looked at her asshe said this, and thought that he saw more in her countenancethan he had ever read there before. Perhaps she would consent torun away with him; and, if so, being the only child, she wouldcertainly,--almost certainly,--be forgiven. But if he were torun away with her and marry her, and then find that she were notforgiven, and that Melmotte allowed her to starve without a shillingof fortune, where would he be then? Looking at the matter in all itsbearings, considering among other things the trouble and the expenseof such a measure, he thought that he could not afford to run awaywith her.
After dinner he hardly spoke to her; indeed, the room itself,--thesame big room in which they had been assembled before thefeast,--seemed to be ill-adapted for conversation. Again nobodytalked to anybody, and the minutes went very heavily till at last thecarriages were there to take them all home. "They arranged that youshould sit next to her," said Lady Carbury to her son, as they werein the carriage.
"Oh, I suppose that came naturally;--one young man and one youngwoman, you know."
"Those things are always arranged, and they would not have done itunless they had thought that it would please Mr. Melmotte. Oh, Felix!if you can bring it about."
"I shall if I can, mother; you needn't make a fuss about it."
"No, I won't. You cannot wonder that I should be anxious. You behavedbeautifully to her at dinner; I was so happy to see you together.Good night, Felix, and God bless you!" she said again, as they wereparting for the night. "I shall be the happiest and the proudestmother in England if this comes about."