CHAPTER XXV.
IN GROSVENOR SQUARE.
Marie Melmotte was hardly satisfied with the note which she receivedfrom Didon early on the Monday morning. With a volubility of Frencheloquence, Didon declared that she would be turned out of the houseif either Monsieur or Madame were to know what she was doing. Marietold her that Madame would certainly never dismiss her. "Well,perhaps not Madame," said Didon, who knew too much about Madame tobe dismissed; "but Monsieur!" Marie declared that by no possibilitycould Monsieur know anything about it. In that house nobody ever toldanything to Monsieur. He was regarded as the general enemy, againstwhom the whole household was always making ambushes, always firingguns from behind rocks and trees. It is not a pleasant condition fora master of a house; but in this house the master at any rate knewhow he was placed. It never occurred to him to trust any one. Ofcourse his daughter might run away. But who would run away with herwithout money? And there could be no money except from him. He knewhimself and his own strength. He was not the man to forgive a girl,and then bestow his wealth on the Lothario who had injured him.His daughter was valuable to him because she might make him thefather-in-law of a Marquis or an Earl; but the higher that he rosewithout such assistance, the less need had he of his daughter'said. Lord Alfred was certainly very useful to him. Lord Alfred hadwhispered into his ear that by certain conduct and by certain uses ofhis money, he himself might be made a baronet. "But if they shouldsay that I'm not an Englishman?" suggested Melmotte. Lord Alfred hadexplained that it was not necessary that he should have been born inEngland, or even that he should have an English name. No questionswould be asked. Let him first get into Parliament, and then spenda little money on the proper side,--by which Lord Alfred meant theConservative side,--and be munificent in his entertainments, and thebaronetcy would be almost a matter of course. Indeed, there was noknowing what honours might not be achieved in the present days bymoney scattered with a liberal hand. In these conversations, Melmottewould speak of his money and power of making money as though theywere unlimited,--and Lord Alfred believed him.
Marie was dissatisfied with her letter,--not because it described herfather as "cutting up very rough." To her who had known her fatherall her life that was a matter of course. But there was no word oflove in the note. An impassioned correspondence carried on throughDidon would be delightful to her. She was quite capable of loving,and she did love the young man. She had, no doubt, consented toaccept the addresses of others whom she did not love,--but thisshe had done at the moment almost of her first introduction to themarvellous world in which she was now living. As days went on sheceased to be a child, and her courage grew within her. She becameconscious of an identity of her own, which feeling was producedin great part by the contempt which accompanied her increasingfamiliarity with grand people and grand names and grand things. Shewas no longer afraid of saying No to the Nidderdales on account ofany awe of them personally. It might be that she should acknowledgeherself to be obliged to obey her father, though she was driftingaway even from the sense of that obligation. Had her mind been as itwas now when Lord Nidderdale first came to her, she might indeed haveloved him, who, as a man, was infinitely better than Sir Felix, andwho, had he thought it to be necessary, would have put some graceinto his love-making. But at that time she had been childish. He,finding her to be a child, had hardly spoken to her. And she, childthough she was, had resented such usage. But a few months in Londonhad changed all this, and now she was a child no longer. She was inlove with Sir Felix, and had told her love. Whatever difficultiesthere might be, she intended to be true. If necessary, she wouldrun away. Sir Felix was her idol, and she abandoned herself to itsworship. But she desired that her idol should be of flesh and blood,and not of wood. She was at first half-inclined to be angry; but asshe sat with his letter in her hand, she remembered that he did notknow Didon as well as she did, and that he might be afraid to trusthis raptures to such custody. She could write to him at his club, andhaving no such fear, she could write warmly.
--, Grosvenor Square. Early Monday Morning.
DEAREST, DEAREST FELIX,
I have just got your note;--such a scrap! Of course papa would talk about money because he never thinks of anything else. I don't know anything about money, and I don't care in the least how much you have got. Papa has got plenty, and I think he would give us some if we were once married. I have told mamma, but mamma is always afraid of everything. Papa is very cross to her sometimes;--more so than to me. I will try to tell him, though I can't always get at him. I very often hardly see him all day long. But I don't mean to be afraid of him, and will tell him that on my word and honour I will never marry any one except you. I don't think he will beat me, but if he does, I'll bear it,--for your sake. He does beat mamma sometimes, I know.
You can write to me quite safely through Didon. I think if you would call some day and give her something, it would help, as she is very fond of money. Do write and tell me that you love me. I love you better than anything in the world, and I will never,--never give you up. I suppose you can come and call,--unless papa tells the man in the hall not to let you in. I'll find that out from Didon, but I can't do it before sending this letter. Papa dined out yesterday somewhere with that Lord Alfred, so I haven't seen him since you were here. I never see him before he goes into the city in the morning. Now I am going down-stairs to breakfast with mamma and that Miss Longestaffe. She is a stuck-up thing. Didn't you think so at Caversham?
Good-bye. You are my own, own, own darling Felix,
And I am your own, own affectionate ladylove,
MARIE.
Sir Felix when he read this letter at his club in the afternoon ofthe Monday, turned up his nose and shook his head. He thought ifthere were much of that kind of thing to be done, he could not go onwith it, even though the marriage were certain, and the money secure."What an infernal little ass!" he said to himself as he crumpled theletter up.
Marie having intrusted her letter to Didon, together with a littlepresent of gloves and shoes, went down to breakfast. Her mother wasthe first there, and Miss Longestaffe soon followed. That lady, whenshe found that she was not expected to breakfast with the master ofthe house, abandoned the idea of having her meal sent to her in herown room. Madame Melmotte she must endure. With Madame Melmotte shehad to go out in the carriage every day. Indeed she could only go tothose parties to which Madame Melmotte accompanied her. If the Londonseason was to be of any use at all, she must accustom herself tothe companionship of Madame Melmotte. The man kept himself verymuch apart from her. She met him only at dinner, and that not often.Madame Melmotte was very bad; but she was silent, and seemed tounderstand that her guest was only her guest as a matter of business.
But Miss Longestaffe already perceived that her old acquaintanceswere changed in their manner to her. She had written to her dearfriend Lady Monogram, whom she had known intimately as Miss Triplex,and whose marriage with Sir Damask Monogram had been splendidpreferment, telling how she had been kept down in Suffolk at the timeof her friend's last party, and how she had been driven to consentto return to London as the guest of Madame Melmotte. She hopedher friend would not throw her off on that account. She had beenvery affectionate, with a poor attempt at fun, and rather humble.Georgiana Longestaffe had never been humble before; but the Monogramswere people so much thought of and in such an excellent set! Shewould do anything rather than lose the Monograms. But it was of nouse. She had been humble in vain, for Lady Monogram had not evenanswered her note. "She never really cared for anybody but herself,"Georgiana said in her wretched solitude. Then, too, she had foundthat Lord Nidderdale's manner to her had been quite changed.She was not a fool, and could read these signs with sufficientaccuracy. There had been little flirtations between her andNidderdale,--meaning nothing, as every one knew that Nidderdale mustmarry money; but in none of them had he spoken to her as he spokewhen he met her in Madame Melmotte's drawing-room. She could see i
tin the faces of people as they greeted her in the park,--especiallyin the faces of the men. She had always carried herself with acertain high demeanour, and had been able to maintain it. All thatwas now gone from her, and she knew it. Though the thing was as yetbut a few days old she understood that others understood that she haddegraded herself. "What's all this about?" Lord Grasslough had saidto her, seeing her come into a room behind Madame Melmotte. She hadsimpered, had tried to laugh, and had then turned away her face."Impudent scoundrel!" she said to herself, knowing that a fortnightago he would not have dared to address her in such a tone.
A day or two afterwards an occurrence took place worthy ofcommemoration. Dolly Longestaffe called on his sister! His mind musthave been much stirred when he allowed himself to be moved to suchuncommon action. He came too at a very early hour, not much afternoon, when it was his custom to be eating his breakfast in bed. Hedeclared at once to the servant that he did not wish to see MadameMelmotte or any of the family. He had called to see his sister. Hewas therefore shown into a separate room where Georgiana joined him."What's all this about?"
She tried to laugh as she tossed her head. "What brings you here, Iwonder? This is quite an unexpected compliment."
"My being here doesn't matter. I can go anywhere without doing muchharm. Why are you staying with these people?"
"Ask papa."
"I don't suppose he sent you here?"
"That's just what he did do."
"You needn't have come, I suppose, unless you liked it. Is it becausethey are none of them coming up?"
"Exactly that, Dolly. What a wonderful young man you are forguessing!"
"Don't you feel ashamed of yourself?"
"No;--not a bit."
"Then I feel ashamed for you."
"Everybody comes here."
"No;--everybody does not come and stay here as you are doing.Everybody doesn't make themselves a part of the family. I have heardof nobody doing it except you. I thought you used to think so much ofyourself."
"I think as much of myself as ever I did," said Georgiana, hardlyable to restrain her tears.
"I can tell you nobody else will think much of you if you remainhere. I could hardly believe it when Nidderdale told me."
"What did he say, Dolly?"
"He didn't say much to me, but I could see what he thought. Andof course everybody thinks the same. How you can like the peopleyourself is what I can't understand!"
"I don't like them,--I hate them."
"Then why do you come and live with them?"
"Oh, Dolly, it is impossible to make you understand. A man is sodifferent. You can go just where you please, and do what you like.And if you're short of money, people will give you credit. And youcan live by yourself, and all that sort of thing. How should you liketo be shut up down at Caversham all the season?"
"I shouldn't mind it,--only for the governor."
"You have got a property of your own. Your fortune is made for you.What is to become of me?"
"You mean about marrying?"
"I mean altogether," said the poor girl, unable to be quite asexplicit with her brother, as she had been with her father, andmother, and sister. "Of course I have to think of myself."
"I don't see how the Melmottes are to help you. The long and theshort of it is, you oughtn't to be here. It's not often I interfere,but when I heard it I thought I'd come and tell you. I shall write tothe governor, and tell him too. He should have known better."
"Don't write to papa, Dolly!"
"Yes, I shall. I am not going to see everything going to the devilwithout saying a word. Good-bye."
As soon as he had left he hurried down to some club that wasopen,--not the Beargarden, as it was long before the Beargardenhours,--and actually did write a letter to his father.
MY DEAR FATHER,
I have seen Georgiana at Mr. Melmotte's house. She ought not to be there. I suppose you don't know it, but everybody says he's a swindler. For the sake of the family I hope you will get her home again. It seems to me that Bruton Street is the proper place for the girls at this time of the year.
Your affectionate son,
ADOLPHUS LONGESTAFFE.
This letter fell upon old Mr. Longestaffe at Caversham like athunderbolt. It was marvellous to him that his son should havebeen instigated to write a letter. The Melmottes must be very badindeed,--worse than he had thought,--or their iniquities would nothave brought about such energy as this. But the passage which angeredhim most was that which told him that he ought to have taken hisfamily back to town. This had come from his son, who had refused todo anything to help him in his difficulties.