The Way We Live Now, Anthony Trollope [good story books to read .txt] 📗

that there would be very little. There would be nothing in it that ought to make him really angry. He has nobody else to give his money to, and it would be much nicer to have his daughter, Lady Carbury, with him, than to be left all alone in the world.”

“I couldn’t live with him, you know. I couldn’t do it.”

“You needn’t live with him, Felix. Of course she would visit her parents. When the money was once settled you need see as little of them as you pleased. Pray do not allow trifles to interfere with you. If this should not succeed, what are you to do? We shall all starve unless something be done. If I were you, Felix, I would take her away at once. They say she is of age.”

“I shouldn’t know where to take her,” said Sir Felix, almost stunned into thoughtfulness by the magnitude of the proposition made to him. “All that about Scotland is done with now.”

“Of course you would marry her at once.”

“I suppose so⁠—unless it were better to stay as we were, till the money was settled.”

“Oh, no; no! Everybody would be against you. If you take her off in a spirited sort of way and then marry her, everybody will be with you. That’s what you want. The father and mother will be sure to come round, if⁠—”

“The mother is nothing.”

“He will come round if people speak up in your favour. I could get Mr. Alf and Mr. Broune to help. I’d try it, Felix; indeed I would. Ten thousand a year is not to be had every year.”

Sir Felix gave no assent to his mother’s views. He felt no desire to relieve her anxiety by an assurance of activity in the matter. But the prospect was so grand that it had excited even him. He had money sufficient for carrying out the scheme, and if he delayed the matter now, it might well be that he would never again find himself so circumstanced. He thought that he would ask somebody whither he ought to take her, and what he ought to do with her;⁠—and that he would then make the proposition to herself. Miles Grendall would be the man to tell him, because, with all his faults, Miles did understand things. But he could not ask Miles. He and Nidderdale were good friends; but Nidderdale wanted the girl for himself. Grasslough would be sure to tell Nidderdale. Dolly would be altogether useless. He thought that, perhaps, Herr Vossner would be the man to help him. There would be no difficulty out of which Herr Vossner would not extricate “a fellow,”⁠—if “the fellow” paid him.

On Thursday evening he went to Grosvenor Square, as desired by Marie⁠—but unfortunately found Melmotte in the drawing-room. Lord Nidderdale was there also, and his lordship’s old father, the Marquis of Auld Reekie, whom Felix, when he entered the room, did not know. He was a fierce-looking, gouty old man, with watery eyes, and very stiff grey hair⁠—almost white. He was standing up supporting himself on two sticks when Sir Felix entered the room. There were also present Madame Melmotte, Miss Longestaffe, and Marie. As Felix had entered the hall one huge footman had said that the ladies were not at home; then there had been for a moment a whispering behind a door⁠—in which he afterwards conceived that Madame Didon had taken a part;⁠—and upon that a second tall footman had contradicted the first and had ushered him up to the drawing-room. He felt considerably embarrassed, but shook hands with the ladies, bowed to Melmotte, who seemed to take no notice of him, and nodded to Lord Nidderdale. He had not had time to place himself, when the Marquis arranged things. “Suppose we go downstairs,” said the Marquis.

“Certainly, my lord,” said Melmotte. “I’ll show your lordship the way.” The Marquis did not speak to his son, but poked at him with his stick, as though poking him out of the door. So instigated Nidderdale followed the financier, and the gouty old Marquis toddled after them.

Madame Melmotte was beside herself with trepidation. “You should not have been made to come up at all,” she said. “Il faut que vous vous retirez.”

“I am very sorry,” said Sir Felix, looking quite aghast.

“I think that I had at any rate better retire,” said Miss Longestaffe, raising herself to her full height and stalking out of the room.

“Qu’elle est méchante,” said Madame Melmotte. “Oh, she is so bad. Sir Felix, you had better go too. Yes⁠—indeed.”

“No,” said Marie, running to him, and taking hold of his arm. “Why should he go? I want papa to know.”

“Il vous tuera,” said Madame Melmotte. “My God, yes.”

“Then he shall,” said Marie, clinging to her lover. “I will never marry Lord Nidderdale. If he were to cut me into bits I wouldn’t do it. Felix, you love me;⁠—do you not?”

“Certainly,” said Sir Felix, slipping his arm round her waist.

“Mamma,” said Marie, “I will never have any other man but him;⁠—never, never, never. Oh, Felix, tell her that you love me.”

“You know that, don’t you, ma’am?” Sir Felix was a little troubled in his mind as to what he should say, or what he should do.

“Oh, love! It is a beastliness,” said Madame Melmotte. “Sir Felix, you had better go. Yes, indeed. Will you be so obliging?”

“Don’t go,” said Marie. “No, mamma, he shan’t go. What has he to be afraid of? I will walk down among them into papa’s room, and say that I will never marry that man, and that this is my lover. Felix, will you come?”

Sir Felix did not quite like the proposition. There had been a savage ferocity in that Marquis’s eye, and there was habitually a heavy sternness about Melmotte, which together made him resist the invitation. “I don’t think I have a right to do that,” he said, “because it is Mr. Melmotte’s own house.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Marie. “I told papa today that I