Chapter 94 of The Way We Live Now, this is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 94, John Crumb's Victory. In the meantime, great preparations were going on down in Suffolk for the marriage of that happiest of lovers, John Crumb. John Crumb had been up to London, had been formally reconciled to Ruby, who had submitted to his flowery embraces, not with the best grace in the world, but still with a submission that had satisfied her future husband. Had been intensely grateful to Mrs. Hurdle, an almost munificent in liberality to Mrs. Pipkin, to whom he presented a purple silk dress in addition to the cloak which he had given on a former occasion. During this visit he had expressed no anger against Ruby and no indignation in reference to the baronite. When informed by Mrs. Pipkin, who hoped thereby to please him, that Sir Felix was supposed to be still all one mash of gore, he blandly smiled, remarking that no man could be much worse for a few stitch taps as them. He only stayed a few hours in London, but during these few hours he settled everything. When Mrs. Pipkin suggested that Ruby should be married from her house, he winked his eye as he declined the suggestion with thanks. Daniel Ruggles was old and under the influence of continued gin and water was becoming feeble. John Crumb was of opinion that the old man should not be neglected and hinted that with a little care the five hundred pounds which had originally been promised as Ruby's fortune might at any rate be secured. He was of opinion that the marriage should be celebrated in Suffolk, the feast being spread at Sheepsacre Farm if Dan Ruggles could be talked into giving it, and if not at his own house. When both the ladies explained to him that this last proposition was not in strict accordance with the habits of the fashionable world, John expressed an opinion that under the peculiar circumstances of his marriage the ordinary laws of the world might be suspended. It ain't just like other folks, after all as we've been through, he said, meaning probably to imply that having had to fight for his wife he was entitled to give a breakfast on the occasion if he pleased. But whether the banquet was to be given by the bride's grandfather or by himself he was determined that there should be a banquet and that he would bid the guests. He invited both Mrs. Pipkin and Mrs. Hurdle and at last succeeded in inducing Mrs. Hurdle to promise that she would bring Mrs. Pipkin down to Bungay for the occasion. Then it was necessary to fix the day and for this purpose it was of course essential that Ruby should be consulted. During the discussion as to the feast and the bridegrooms and treaties that the two ladies would be present she had taken no part in the matter in hand. She was brought up to be kissed and having been duly kissed she retired again among the children having only expressed one wish of her own namely that Joe Mixit might not have anything to do with the affair. But the day could not be fixed without her and she was summoned. Crumb had been absurdly impatient proposing next Tuesday making his proposition on a Friday they could cook enough meat for all Bungay to eat by Tuesday and he was aware of no other cause for delay. That's out of the question Ruby had said decisively and as the two older ladies had supported her Mr. Crumb yielded with a good grace. He did not himself appreciate the reasons given because as he remarked gowns can be bought ready made at any shop but Mrs. Pipkin told him with a laugh that he didn't know anything about it. And when the 14th of August was named he only scratched his head and muttering something about Thetford Fair agreed that he would yet once again allow love to take precedence of business. If Tuesday would have suited the ladies as well he thought that he might have managed to combine the marriage and the fair but when Mrs. Pipkin told him that he must not interfere any further he yielded with a good grace. He merely remained in London long enough to pay a friendly visit to the policeman who had locked him up and then returned to Suffolk revolving in his mind how glorious should be the matrimonial triumph which he had at last achieved. Before the day arrived old ruggles had been constrained to forgive his granddaughter and to give a general assent to the marriage. When John Crumb with a sound of many trumpets informed all bongae that he had returned victorious from London and that after all the ups and downs of his courtship Ruby was to become his wife on a fixed day all bongae took his part and joined in a general attack upon Mr. Daniel Ruggles. The cross grained old man held out for a long time alleging that the girl was no better than she should be and that she had run away with the baronite. But this assertion was met by so strong a torrent of contradiction that the farmer was absolutely driven out of his own convictions. It is to be feared that many lies were told on Ruby's behalf by lips which had been quite ready a fortnight since to take away her character. But it had become an acknowledged fact in bongae that John Crumb was ready at any hour to punch the head of any man who should hint that Ruby Ruggles had at any period of her life done any act or spoken any word on becoming a young lady. And so strong was the general belief in John Crumb that Ruby became the subject of general eulogy from all male lips in the town. And though perhaps some slight suspicion of irregular behavior up in London might be whispered by the bongae ladies among themselves, still the feeling in favor of Mr. Crumb was so general and his constancy was so popular that the grandfather could not stand against it. I don't see why I ain't to do as I like with my own," he said to Joe Mix at the Baker, who went out to Sheepsaker Farm as one of many deputations sent by the municipality of bongae. She's your own flesh and blood, Mr. Ruggles, said the Baker. No she ain't, no more than she's a Pipkin.  Let Mrs. Pipkin give him a breakfast.  I won't give him no breakfast. That's flat, said the farmer. But he had yielded in the main when he allowed himself to base his opposition on one immaterial detail. The breakfast was to be given at the king's head, and though it was acknowledged on all sides that no authority could be found for such a practice, it was known that the bill was to be paid by the bridegroom. Nor would Mr. Ruggles pay the five hundred pounds down as in early days he had promised to do. He was very clear in his mind that his undertaking on that head was altogether canceled by Ruby's departure from Sheepsaker. When he was reminded that he had nearly pulled his granddaughter's hair out of her head and had thus justified her act of rebellion, he did not contradict the assertion, but implied that if Ruby did not choose to earn her fortune on such terms as those, that was her fault. It was not to be supposed that he was to give a girl who was, after all, as much a Pipkin as a Ruggles, five hundred pounds for nothing. But in return for that night's somewhat harsh treatment of Ruby, he did at last consent to have the money settled upon John Chrom at his death, an arrangement which both the lawyer and Joe Mixett thought to be almost as good as a free gift, being both of them aware that the consumption of gin and water was on the increase. And he, moreover, was persuaded to receive Mrs. Pipkin and Ruby at the farm for the night previous to the marriage. This very necessary arrangement was made by Mr. Mixett's mother, a most respectable old lady, who went out in a fly from the inn, attired in her best black silk gown and an overpowering bonnet, an old lady from whom her son had inherited his eloquence, who absolutely shamed the old man into compliance. Not, however, till she had promised to send out the tea and white sugar and box of biscuits which were thought to be necessary for Mrs. Pipkin on the evening preceding the marriage. A private sitting-room at the inn was secured for the special accommodation of Mrs. Hurdle, who was supposed to be a lady of too high standing to be properly entertained at Sheepsacre Farm. On the day preceding the wedding, one troubled for a moment clouded the bridegroom's brow. Ruby had demanded that Joe Mixett should not be among the performers, and John Crumb, with the urbanity of a lover, had assented to her demand. As far at least as silence can give consent. And yet he felt himself unable to answer such interrogatories as the person might put to him without the assistance of his friend, although he devoted much study to the matter. You could come in behind, like Joe, just as if I knew nothing about it, suggested Crumb. Don't you say a word of me and she won't say nothing. You may be sure.  John shook his head and rubbed a meal about on his forehead. It was only just something for her to say. What have I done that she should object to me?   That wouldn't have said her again me. It is just because I stood up and spoke for you like a man that night at Sheepsacre when her mind was turned the other way. Don't you notice nothing about it? When we're all in the church she won't go back because Joe Mixit's there. I'll bet you a gal and old fellow, she and I are the best friends in Bungay before six months are gone. Nay, nay, she must have a better friend than thee, Joe, or I must know the reason why. But John Crumb's heart was too big for jealousy, and he agreed at last that Joe Mixit should be his best man, undertaking to square it all with Ruby after the ceremony. He met the ladies at the station, and, for him, was quite eloquent in his welcome to Mrs. Hurdle and Mrs. Pipkin. To Ruby he said but little, but he looked at her in her new hat and generally bright in subsidiary wedding garments with great delight. Ain't she beautiful now, he said, allowed to Mrs. Hurdle on the platform to the great delight of half Bungay who had accompanied him on the occasion.  Then he conducted Mrs. Hurdle in an omnibus up to the inn, and afterwards himself drove Mrs. Pipkin and Ruby out to Sheepsacre. In the performance of all which duties he was dressed in the green cutaway coat with brass buttons which had been expressly made for his marriage. The art come back then, Ruby, said the old man. I ain't going to trouble you long, grandfather, said the girl. So best, so best. And this is Mrs. Pipkin? Yes, Mr. Ruggles, that's my name. I've heard your name, I've heard your name and I don't know as I ever want to hear it again, but they say as you've been kind to that girl as to been on the town only for that. Grandfather, that ain't true, said Ruby with energy. The old man made no rejoinder and Ruby was allowed to take her aunt up into the bedroom which they were both to occupy. Now, Mrs. Pipkin, just you say, pleaded Ruby, how was it possible for any girl to live with an old man like that? But Ruby, you might always have gone to live with a young man instead when you pleased. You mean John Crumb? Of course I mean John Crumb, Ruby. There ain't much to choose between them. What one says is all spite and the other man says nothing at all. Oh, Ruby, Ruby, said Mrs. Pipkin with solemnly persuasive voice. I hope you'll come to learn some day that a loving heart is better nor a fickle tongue, especially with vitals certain. On the following morning, the Bungay church bells rang merrily and half its population was present to see John Crumb made a happy man. He himself went out to the farm and drove the bride and Mrs. Pipkin into the town expressing an opinion that no hired charioteer would bring them so safely as he would do himself. Nor did he think at any disgrace to be seen performing this task before his marriage. He smiled and nodded at everyone, now and then pointing back with his whip to Ruby when he met any of his specially intimate friends, as though he would have said, see, I've got her at last in spite of all difficulties. Poor Ruby and her misery under this treatment would have escaped out of the cart had it been possible. But now she was altogether in the man's hands and no escape was within her reach. What's the odds? said Mrs. Pipkin as they settled their bonnets in a room at the inn just before they entered the church.  Ain't he fawn to you? Ain't he got a house of his own? Ain't he well to do all round? Manners. What's manners? I don't see nothing of missing his manners. He means what he says and I call that the best of good manners. Ruby, when she reached the church, had been too completely quelled by outward circumstances to take any notice of Joe Mixit, who was standing there quite unabashed with a splendid nose-gay in his buttonhole. She certainly had no right on this occasion to complain of her husband's silence, whereas she could hardly bring herself to utter the responses in a voice loud enough for the clergyman to catch the familiar words, he made his assertions so vehemently that they were heard throughout the whole building. I, John, take thee, Ruby, to my wedded wife, to avn to old, from this day forward, for better nor worser, for richer nor poorer, and so on to the end. And when he came to the worldly goods with which he endowed his, Ruby, he was very emphatic indeed. Since the day had been fixed, he had employed all his leisure hours in learning the words by heart, and would now hardly allow the clergyman to say them before him. He thoroughly enjoyed the ceremony, and would have liked to be married over and over again every day for a week, had it been possible. And then there came the breakfast, to which he marshaled the way up the broad stairs of the Inn at Bungay, with Mrs. Hurdle on one arm and Mrs. Pipkin on the other. He had been told that he ought to take his wife's arm on this occasion, but he remarked that he meant to see a good deal of her in future, and that his opportunities of being civil to Mrs. Hurdle and Mrs. Pipkin would be rare. Thus it came to pass that in spite of all that poor Ruby had said, she was conducted to the marriage feast by Joe Mixett himself. Ruby, I think, had forgotten the order which she had given in reference to the baker. When desiring that she might see nothing more of Joe Mixett, she had been in her pride, but now she was so tamed and quelled by the outward circumstances of her position that she was glad to have someone near her who knew how to behave himself. Mrs. Crumb, you have my best wishes for your continued health and happiness, said Joe Mixett and a whisper. It's very good of you to say so, Mr. Mixett. He's a good-in, is he? Oh, I daresay. You just be fond of him and stroke him down and make much of him, and I'm blessed if you may do almost anything with him. All's one is a babby. A man shouldn't be all's one as a babby, Mr. Mixett. And he don't drink hard, but he works hard, and go where he will, he can hold his own. Ruby said no more, and soon found herself seated by her husband's side. It certainly was wonderful to her that so many people should pay John Crumb so much respect and should seem to think so little of the meal and flour which pervaded his countenance. After the breakfast, or bit of dinner, as John Crumb would call it, Mr. Mixett, of course, made a speech. He had had the pleasure of knowing John Crumb for a great many years and the honor of being acquainted with Miss Ruby Ruggles. He begged all their pardons and should have said Mrs. John Crumb ever since she was a child. That's a downright story, said Ruby and a whisper to Mrs. Hurdle. And he'd never known two young people more fitted by the gifts of nature to contribute to one another's happinesses. He had understood that Mars and Venus always lived on the best of terms and perhaps the present company would excuse him if he likened this happy young couple to them two even gods and goddesses. For Miss Ruby, Mrs. Crumb, you should say, was certainly lovely as era Venus as ever was. And as for John Crumb, he didn't believe that ever a Mars among them could stand again him. He didn't remember just at present whether Mars and Venus had any young family, but he hoped that before long there would be any number of young crumbs for the Bungae Birds to pick up. Happy as the man as as his quiver full of them and the woman too if you'll allow me to say so, Mrs. Crumb. The speech of which only a small sample can be given here was very much admired by the ladies and gentlemen present with the single exception of poor Ruby who would have run away and locked herself in an inner chamber had she not been certain that she would be brought back again. In the afternoon John took his bride to Lohstoft and brought her back to all the glories of his own house on the following day. His honeymoon was short but its influence on Ruby was beneficent. When she was alone with the man knowing that he was her husband and thinking something of all that he had done to win her to be his wife she did learn to respect him. Now Ruby, give a fellow a bus as though you meant it, he said, when the first fitting occasion presented itself. Oh John, what nonsense. It ain't nonsense to me I can tell you. I'd sooner have a kiss from you than all the wine as ever was swallowed. Then she did kiss him as though she meant it and when she returned with him to Bungae the next day she had made up her mind that she would endeavor to do her duty by him as his wife. End of Chapter 94 Chapter 95 of The Way We Live Now This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollop Chapter 95 The Longstaff Marriages In another part of Suffolk, not very far from Bungae, there was a lady whose friends had not managed her affairs as well as Ruby's friends had done for Ruby. Miss Georgiana Longstaff in the early days of August was in a very miserable plight. Her sister's marriage with Mr. George Whitstable was fixed for the first of September, a day which in Suffolk is of all days the most sacred. And the combined energies of the houses of Cavisherman Toodlam were being devoted to that happy event. Poor Georgie's position was in every respect wretched, but its misery was infinitely increased by the triumph of those hymenials. It was but the other day that she had looked down from a very great height on her elder sister and had utterly despised the squire of Toodlam. And at that time, still so recent, this contempt from her had been accepted as being almost reasonable. Sophia had hardly ventured to rebel against it, and Mr. Whitstable himself had been always afraid to encounter the shafts of irony with which his fashionable future sister-in-law attacked him. But all that was now changed. Sophia, in her pride of place, had become a tyrant, and George Whitstable, petted in the house with those sweet-needs which are always showered on embryo-brind grooms, absolutely gave himself heirs. At this time, Mr. Longstaff was never at home. Having assured himself that there was no longer any danger of the Breger Deliance, he had remained in London thinking his presence to be necessary for the winding-up of Melmont's affairs and leaving poor Lady Pomona to bear her daughter's ill-humor. The family at Caverisham consisted therefore of the three ladies and was enlivened by daily visits from Toodlam. It will be owned that in this state of things there was very little consolation for Georgiana. It was not long before she quarreled altogether with her sister, to the point of absolutely refusing to act as bridesmaid. The reader may remember that there had been a watch and chain and that two of the ladies of the family had expressed an opinion that these trinkets should be returned to Mr. Breger who had bestowed them. But Georgiana had not sent them back when a week had elapsed since the receipt of Mr. Breger's last letter. The matter had perhaps escaped Lady Pomona's memory, but Sophia was happily alive to the honor of her family. Georgi, she said one morning in their mother's presence, don't you think Mr. Breger's watch ought to go back to him without any more delay? What have you got to do with anybody's watch? The watch wasn't given to you. I think it ought to go back. When Papa finds that it has been kept I'm sure he'll be very angry. It's no business of yours whether he's angry or not. If it isn't sent, George will tell Dolly you know what would happen then. This was unbearable. That George Whitstable should interfere in her affairs that he should talk about her watch and chain. I never will speak to George Whitstable again the longest day that ever I live, she said, getting up from her chair.  I do say it. What is George Whitstable to do with me?  Because you've landed him. You think he's to ride over the whole family? I think Mr. Bregert ought to have his watch and chain back, said Sophia. Certainly he ought, said Lady Pomona. Georgiana must be sent back, it really must, or I shall tell your Papa. Subsequently, on the same day, Georgiana brought the watch and chain to her mother, protesting that she had never thought of keeping them and explaining that she had intended to hand them over to her Papa as soon as he should have returned to Cavisham. Lady Pomona was now empowered to return them and they were absolutely confided to the hands of the odious George Whitstable, who about this time made a journey to London in reference to certain garments which he required. But Georgiana, though she was so far beaten, kept up her quarrel with her sister. She would not be bridesmaid, she would never speak to George Whitstable and she would shut herself up on the day of the marriage. She did think herself to be very hardly used. What was there left in the world that she could do in furtherance of her future cause? And what did her father and mother expect would become of her? Marriage had ever been so clearly placed before her eyes as a condition of things to be achieved by her own efforts that she could not endure the idea of remaining tranquil in her father's house and waiting till some fitting suitor might find her out. She had struggled and struggled, struggling still in vain, till every effort of her mind, every thought of her daily life, was pervaded by a conviction that as she grew older, from year to year, the struggle should be more intense. The swimmer, when first he finds himself in the water, conscious of his skill and confident in his strength, can make his way through the water with the full command of all his powers. But when he begins to feel that the shore is receding from him, that his strength is going, that the footing for which he pants is still far beneath his feet, that there is peril where before he had contemplated no danger, then he begins to beat the water with strokes, rapid but impotent, and to waste in anxious gaspings the breath on which his very life must depend. So it was with poor Georgie Longstaff. Something must be done at once or it would be of no avail. Twelve years had been passed by her since first she plunged into the stream, the twelve years of her youth, and she was as far as ever from the bank, nay farther, if she believed her eyes. She too must strike out with rapid efforts, unless indeed she would abandon herself and let the waters close over her head. But immersed as she was here at Cavisham, how could she strike at all? Even now the waters were closing upon her. The sound of them was in her ears. The ripple of the wave was already round her lips, robbing her of breath. Ah! might not there be some last great convulsive effort which might dash her on shore, even if it were upon a rock? That ultimate failure in her matrimonial projects would be the same as drowning she never for a moment doubted. It had never occurred to her to consider with equanimity the prospect of living as an old maid. It was beyond the scope of her mind to contemplate the chances of a life in which marriage might be well if it came, but in which unmarried tranquility might also be well should that be her lot. Nor could she understand that others should contemplate it for her. No doubt the battle had been carried on for many years so much under the auspices of her father and mother as to justify her in thinking that their theory of life was the same as her own. Lady Pomona had been very open in her teaching, and Mr. Longstaff had always given a silent adherence to the idea that the house in London was to be kept open in order that husbands might be caught. And now when they deserted her in her real difficulty, when they first told her to live at Cavisham all the summer and then sent her up to the Melmots, and after that forbade her marriage with Mr. Bregert, it seemed to her that they were unnatural parents who gave her a stone when she wanted bread, a serpent when she asked for a fish. She had no friend left. There was no one living who seemed to care whether she had a husband or not. She took to walking in solitude about the park and thought of many things with a grim earnestness which had not hitherto belonged to her character. Mama, she said one morning, when all the care of the household was being devoted to the future comforts, briefly in regard to linen of Mrs. George Wittstable, I wonder whether Papa has any intention at all about me. In what sort of way, my dear? In any way does he mean me to live here forever and ever? I don't think he intends to have a house in town again. And what am I to do? I suppose we shall stay here at Cavisham. And I am to be buried just like a nun in a convent, only that the nun does it by her own consent and I don't. Mama, I won't stand it. I won't indeed. I think, my dear, that that is nonsense. You see company here just as other people do in the country, and as for not standing it, I don't know what you mean. As long as you are one of your Papa's family, of course you must live where he lives.  Sometimes I almost doubt whether Papa does know, and then I think that if he did, he would not be so cruel. But you understand it all as well as I do myself. What is to become of me? Is it not enough to drive me mad to be going about here by myself without any prospect of anything? Should you have liked at my age to have felt that you had no chance of having a house of your own to live in? Why didn't you, among you, let me marry Mr. Breggart? As she said this, she was almost eloquent with passion. You know, my dear, said Lady Pomona, that your Papa wouldn't hear of it. I know that if you would have helped me, I would have done it in spite of Papa. What right has he to domineer over me in that way? Why shouldn't I have married the man if I chose? I am old enough to know, surely. You talk now of shutting up girls in convents as being a thing quite impossible. This is much worse. Papa won't do anything to help me. Why shouldn't he let me do something for myself? You can't regret Mr. Breggart. Why can't I regret him? I do regret him. I'd have him tomorrow if he came. Bad as it might be, it couldn't be so bad as cavers him. You couldn't have loved him, Georgiana. Loved him? Who thinks about love nowadays? I don't know anyone who loves anyone else.  Did Julia Triplex love that man with a large fortune? When you wanted Dolly to marry Marie Melmont, you never thought of his loving her. I had got the better of all that kind of thing before I was twenty. I think a young woman should love her husband. It makes me sick, Mama, to hear you talk in that way. It does indeed. When one has been going on for a dozen years trying to do something, and I have never had any secrets from you, then that you should turn round upon me and talk about love. Mama, if you would help me, I think I could still manage with Mr. Breggart. Lady Pomona shuddered. You have not got to marry him. It is too horrid. Who would have to put up with it? Not you or Papa or Dolly. I should have a house of my own, at least, and I should know what I had to expect for the rest of my life.  It is impossible. If you will stand to me, Mama, I am sure it may be done. I would write to him and say that you would see him. Georgiana, I will never see him. Why not? He is a Jew. What abominable prejudice! What wicked prejudice! As if you didn't know that all that has changed now. What possible difference can it make about a man's religion? Of course I know that he is vulgar and old and has a lot of children, but if I can put up with that, I don't think the two and Papa have a right to interfere. As to his religion, it cannot signify. Georgiana, you make me very unhappy. I am wretched to see you so discontented. If I could do anything for you, I would, but I will not meddle about Mr. Bregert. I shouldn't dare to do so. I don't think you know how angry your Papa can be. I'm not going to let Papa be a bugbear to frighten me. What can he do?  As for you, Mama, I don't think you care for me a bit, because Sophie is going to be married to that oaf. You have become so proud of her that you haven't half a thought for anybody else. It's very unjust, Georgiana. I know what's unjust, and I know who's ill-treated. I tell you fairly, Mama, that I shall write to Mr. Bregert and tell him that I am quite ready to marry him. I don't know why he should be afraid of Papa. I don't mean to be afraid of him anymore, and you may tell him just what I say. All this made Lady Pomona very miserable. She did not communicate her daughter's threat to Mr. Longstaff, but she did discuss it with Sophia. Sophia was of opinion that Georgiana did not mean it, and gave two or three reasons for thinking so. In the first place, had she intended it, she would have written her letter without saying a word about it to Lady Pomona, and she certainly would not have declared her purpose of writing such a letter after Lady Pomona had refused her assistance. And moreover, Lady Pomona had received no former hint of the information which was now conveyed to her. Georgiana was in the habit of meeting the curate of the next parish almost every day in the park. Mr. Batherbolt? exclaimed Lady Pomona.  It is true, Mama.  I heard the bishop laughing at him because he called himself a celibate. It doesn't signify Mama. I know she is with him constantly. I've never seen them, and I know it. Perhaps Papa could get him a living. Dolly has a living of his own that came to him with his property. Dolly would be sure to sell the presentation, said Lady Pomona. Perhaps the bishop would do something, said the anxious sister, when he found that the man wasn't a celibate. Anything, Mama, would be better than the Jew. To this latter proposition Lady Pomona gave a cordial assent. Of course it is a come-down to marry a curate, but a clergyman is always considered to be decent. The preparations for the witstable marriage went on without any apparent attention to the intimacy which was growing up between Mr. Batherbolt and Georgiana. There was no room to apprehend anything wrong on that side. Mr. Batherbolt was so excellent a young man, and so exclusively given to religion, that even should Sophie's suspicion be correct, he might be trusted to walk about the park with Georgiana. Should he at any time come forward to be allowed to make the lady his wife, there would be no disgrace in the matter. He was a clergyman and a gentleman, and the poverty would be Georgiana's own affair. Mr. Longstaff returned home only on the eve of his eldest daughter's marriage, and with him came Dolly. Great trouble had been taken to teach him that duty absolutely required his presence at his sister's marriage, and he had at last consented to be there. It is not generally considered a hardship by a young man that he should have returned to a good-partridge country on the 1st of September, and Dolly was an acknowledged sportsman. Nevertheless, he considered that he had made a great sacrifice to his family, and he was received by Lady Pomona as though he were a bright example to other sons. He found the house not in a very comfortable position, for Georgiana still persisted in her refusal either to be a bridesmaid or to speak to Mr. Whitstable. But still his presence, which was very rare at Caversham, and as at this moment his money affairs had been comfortably arranged, he was not called upon to squabble with his father. It was a great thing that one of the girls should be married, and Dolly had brought down an enormous China dog about five feet high as a wedding present, which added materially to the happiness of the meeting. Lady Pomona had determined that she would tell her husband of those walks in the park and of other signs of growing intimacy which had reached her ears, until after the Whitstable marriage. But at nine o'clock on the morning set apart for that marriage they were all astounded by the news that Georgiana had run away with Mr. Batherbolt. She had been up before six. He had met her at the park gate and had driven her over to catch the early train at Stowe Market. Then it appeared to that by degrees various articles of her property had been conveyed to Mr. Batherbolt's lodgings in the adjacent village, so that Lady Pomona's fear of the honor would not have a thing to wear was needless. When the fact was first known it was almost felt in the consternation of the moment that the Whitstable marriage must be postponed, but Sophia had a word to say to her mother on that head and she said it. The marriage was not postponed. At first Dolly talked of going after his younger sister and the father did dispatch various telegrams, but the fugitives could not be brought back and with some little delay which made the marriage perhaps un-canonical but not illegal, Mr. George Whitstable was made a happy man. It need only be added that in about a month's time Georgiana returned to Cavisham as Mrs. Batherbolt and that she resided there with her husband in much cannubial bliss for the next six months. At the end of that time they removed to a small living for the purchase of which Mr. Longstaff had managed to raise the necessary money. End of Chapter 95 Chapter 96 of The Way We Live Now This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollop Chapter 96 where the wild asses quenched their thirst. We must now go back a little in our story about three weeks in order that the reader may be told that the affairs were progressing at the bear garden. That establishment had received a terrible blow in the defection of Herr Vossner. It was not only that he had robbed the club and robbed every member of the club who had ventured to have personal dealings with him although a bad feeling in regard to him was no doubt engendered in the minds of those who had suffered deeply. It was not that alone which cast an almost funerial gloom over the club. The sorrow was in this that with Herr Vossner all their comforts had gone. Of course Herr Vossner had been a thief. That no doubt had been known to them from the beginning. A man does not consent to be called out of bed at all hours in the morning to arrange the gambling accounts of young gentlemen without being a thief. No one concerned with Herr Vossner had supposed him to be an honest man. But then as a thief he had been so comfortable that his absence was regretted with the tenderness almost amounting to love even by those who had suffered most severely from his rapacity. Dolly Longstaff had been robbed more outrageously than any other member of the club and yet Dolly Longstaff had said since the departure of the purveyor that London was not worth living in now that Herr Vossner was gone. In a week the bear garden collapsed as Germany would collapse for a period if Herr Vossner's great compatriot was suddenly to remove himself from the scene. But as Germany would strive to live even without Bismarck so did the club make its new efforts but here the parallel must cease. Germany no doubt would at last succeed but the bear garden had received a blow from which it seemed that there was no recovery. At first it was proposed that three men should be appointed as trustees trustees for paying Vossner's debts trustees for borrowing more money trustees for the satisfaction of the landlord who was beginning to be anxious as to his future rent. At a certain very triumphant general meeting of the club it was determined that such a plan should be arranged and the members assembled were unanimous. It was at first thought that there might be a little jealousy as to the trusteeship. The club was so popular and the authority conveyed by the position would be so great that A, B and C might feel aggrieved at seeing so much power conferred on D, E and F. When at the meeting above mentioned one or two names were suggested the final choice was postponed as a matter of detail to be arranged privately rather from this consideration than with any idea that there might be a difficulty in finding adequate persons. But even the leading members of the bear garden hesitated when the proposition was submitted to them with all its honors and all its responsibilities. Lord Nitterdale declared from the beginning that he would have nothing to do with it. Pleading his poverty openly. Bochamp Bochlerc was of opinion that he himself did not frequent the club often enough. Mr. Lupton professed his inability as a man of business. Lord Grassel pleaded his father. The club from the first had been sure of Dolly Longstaff's services for were not Dolly's pecuniary affairs now in process of satisfactory arrangement and was it not known by all men that his courage never failed him in regard to money? But even he declined. I have spoken to Squircombe, he said to the committee, and Squircombe won't hear of it. Squircombe has made inquiries and he thinks the club very shaky. When one of the committee made a remark as to Mr. Squircombe, which was not complimentary, insinuated indeed that Squircombe without injustice might be consigned to the infernal deities, Dolly took the matter up warmly. That's all very well for you, Grasselow, but if you knew the comfort of having a fellow who could keep you straight without preaching sermons at you, you wouldn't despise Squircombe. I've tried to go alone and I find that does not answer. Squircombe's my coach and I mean to stick pretty close to him. Then it came to pass that the triumphant project as to the trustees fell to the ground, although Squircombe himself advised that the difficulty might be lessened if three gentlemen could be selected who lived well before the world and yet had nothing to lose. Whereupon Dolly suggested Miles Grendahl, but the committee shook its heads, not thinking it possible that the club could be re-established on a basis of three Miles Grendahls. Then dreadful rumors were heard. The bear garden must surely be abandoned. It is such a pity, said Nitterdale, because there never has been anything like it. Smoke all over the house, said Dolly. No horrid nonsense about closing, said Grasslow, and no infernal old fogies wearing out the carpets and paying for nothing. Not a vestige of propriety or any beastly rules to be kept. That's what I liked, said Nitterdale. It's an old story, said Mr. Lupton, that if you put a man into paradise he'll make it too hot to hold him. That's what you've done here. What we ought to do, said Dolly, who was pervaded by a sense of his own good fortune in regard to Squircombe, is to get some fellow like Vostner and make him tell us how much he wants to steal above his regular pay. Then we could subscribe that among us. I really think that might be done. Squircombe would find a fellow, no doubt. But Mr. Lupton was of opinion that the new Vostner might perhaps not know, when thus consulted, the extent of his own cupidity. One day before the witscable marriage when it was understood that the club would actually be closed on the 12th August when some new heaven-inspired idea might be forthcoming for its salvation, Nitterdale, Grasslow, and Dolly were hanging about the hall and the steps and drinking sherry and bitters preparatory to dinner when Sir Felix Carberry came round the neighboring corner and in a creeping, hesitating fashion entered the hall door. He had nearly recovered from his wounds, though he still wore a bit of court plaster on his upper lip and had not yet learned to look as though he had not had two of his front teeth knocked out. He had heard little or nothing of what had been done at the Bear Garden since Vostner's defection. It was now a month since he had been seen at the club. His thrashing had been the wonder of perhaps half-nine days, but laterally his existence had been almost forgotten. Now with difficulty he had summoned courage to go down to his old haunt, so completely had he been cowed by the latter circumstances of his life. He had determined that he would pluck up his courage and talk to his old associates as though no evil thing had befallen him. He had still money enough to pay for his dinner and to begin a small rubber of wist. If fortune should go against him, he might glide into IOUs, as others had done before, so much to his cost. By George, here's Carberry, said Dolly. Lord Grasslow whistled, turned his back and walked upstairs, but Nitterdale and Dolly consented to have their hands shaken by the stranger. Thought you were out of town, said Nitterdale. Haven't seen you for the last ever so long. I have been out of town, said Felix, lying. Down in Suffolk, but I'm back now. How are things going on here? They're not going at all. They're gone, said Dolly. Everything is smashed, said Nitterdale. We shall all have to pay. I don't know how much. Wasn't Vossner ever caught? Asked the Baronette. Caught, ejaculated Dolly. No, but he has caught us. I don't know that there has ever been much idea of catching Vossner. We close all together next Monday and the furniture is to be gone to law for. Flat Police says it belongs to him under what he calls the deed of sale. Indeed, everything that everybody has seems to belong to Flat Police. He's always in and out of the club and has got the key of the seller. That don't matter, said Nitterdale, as Vossner took care that there shouldn't be any wine. He's got most of the forks and spoons and only lets us use what we have as a favor. I suppose one can get a dinner here. Yes, today you can and perhaps tomorrow. Isn't there any playing? Asked Felix with dismay. I haven't seen a card this fortnight, said Dolly. There hasn't been anybody to play. Everything has gone to the dogs. There has been the affair of Melmont, you know, though I suppose you do know all about that. Of course I know he poisoned himself. Of course that had effect, said Dolly, continuing his history, though why fellows shouldn't play cards because another fellow like that takes poison I can't understand. Last year, the only day I managed to get down in February, the hounds didn't come because some old cove had died. What harm could our haunting have done him? I call it rot. Melmont's death was rather awful, said Nitterdale. Not half so awful as having nothing to amuse one. And now they say the girl is going to be married to Fisker. I don't know how you and Nitterdale like that. I never went in for her myself. Squircombe never seemed to see it. Poor dear, said Nitterdale. She's welcome for me and I dare say she couldn't do better with herself. I was very fond of her. I'll be shot if I wasn't. And Carberry too, I suppose, said Dolly. No, I wasn't. If I'd really been fond of her, I suppose it would have come off. I should have had her safe enough to America if I'd cared about it. This was Sir Felix's view of the matter. Come into the smoking room, Dolly, said Nitterdale. I can stand most things and I try to stand everything but by George that fellow is such a cad that I cannot stand him. I think I are bad enough but I don't think we're so heartless as Carberry. I don't think I'm heartless at all, said Dolly. I'm good-natured to everybody that is good-natured to me and to a great many people who ain't. I'm going all the way down to Caversham next week to see my sister married, though I hate the place and hate marriages and if I was to be hung for it I couldn't say a word to the fellow who is going to be my brother-in-law. But I do agree about Carberry. It's very hard to be good-natured to him. The teeth of these adverse opinions Sir Felix managed to get his dinner table close to theirs and to tell them at dinner something of his future prospects. He was going to travel and see the world. He had, according to his own account, completely run through London life and found that it was all barren. In life I've wrung all changes through, run every pleasure down, midst each excess of folly too and lived with half the town. Sir Felix did not exactly quote the old song, probably having never heard the words, but that was the burden of his present story. It was his determination to seek new scenes and in search of them to travel over the greater part of the known world. How jolly for you, said Dolly. There will be a change, you know. No end of a change. Is anyone going with you? Well, yes, I've got a traveling companion, a very pleasant fellow who knows a lot and will be able to coach me up in things. There's a deal to be learned by going abroad, you know. A sort of a tutor, said Nitterdale. A parson, I suppose, said Dolly.  It's only my inventive genius. Well, yes, I should say that would be nice, traveling about Europe with a clergyman. I shouldn't get enough advantage out of it to make it pay, but I fancy it will just suit you. It's an expensive sort of thing, isn't it?  That too, if you will, but I want a change and a change I mean to have. I've seen this side of things and now I'll have a look at the other. Didn't you have a row in the street with someone the other day? This question was asked very abruptly by Lord Graslau, who, though he was sitting near them, had not yet joined in the conversation and who had not before addressed a word to Sir Felix. We heard something about it, but we never got the right story. Nitterdale glanced across the table at Dolly and Dolly whistled. Graslau looked at the man he addressed, as one does look when one expects an answer. Mr. Lupton, with whom Graslau was dining, also sat expectant. Dolly and Nitterdale were both silent. It was the fear of this that had kept Sir Felix away from the club. Graslau, as he had told himself, was just the fellow to ask such a question. Ill-natured, insolent, and obtrusive. But the question demanded an answer of some kind. Yes, said he. A fellow attacked me in the street, coming behind me when I had a girl with me. He didn't get much the best of it, though. Oh, didn't he, said Graslau. I think upon the hole you know right about going abroad. What business is it of yours? asked the Baronette. Well, as the club is being broken up, I don't know that it is very much the business of any of us. I was speaking to my friend's Lord Nitterdale and Mr. Longstaff, and not to you. I quite appreciate the advantage of the distinctions, said Lord Graslau, and am sorry for Lord Nitterdale and Mr. Longstaff. What do you mean by that? Said Sir Felix, rising from his chair. His present opponent was not horrible to him, as had been John Crumb, as men in clubs do not now often knock each other's heads or draw swords one upon another. Don't let's have a quarrel here, said Mr. Lupton. I shall leave the room if you do. If we must break up, let us break up in peace and quietness, said Nitterdale. Of course, if there is to be a fight, I'm good to go out with anybody, said Dolly. When there's any beastly thing to be done, you've got to do it. But don't you think that kind of thing is a little slow? Who began it, said Sir Felix, sitting down again, whereupon Lord Graslau, who had finished his dinner, walked out of the room. That fellow was always wanting to quarrel. There's one comfort, you know, said Dolly. It wants two men to make a quarrel. Yes it does, said Sir Felix, taking this as a friendly observation, and I'm not going to be fool enough to be one of them. Oh yes, I meant it fast enough, said Graslau afterwards, up in the card room. The other men who had been together had quickly followed him, leaving Sir Felix alone, and they had collected themselves there, not with the hope of play, but thinking that they would be less interrupted than in the smoking-room. I don't suppose we shall ever, any of us, be here again, and as he did come in I thought I would tell him my mind. What's the use of taking such a lot of trouble, said Dolly? Of course he's a bad fellow. Some fellows are bad fellows in one way or another. But he's bad all around, said the bitter enemy. And so this is to be the end of the bear garden, said Lord Nitterdale, with a peculiar melancholy. Dear old place, I always felt it was too good to last. I fancy it doesn't do to make things too easy. One has to pay so uncommon dear for them. And then, you know, when you've got things easy, then they get rowdy. And by George, before you know where you are, find yourself among a lot of blaggards. If one wants to keep oneself straight, one has to work hard at it, one way or the other. I suppose it all comes from the fall of Adam. If Solomon, Solomon, and the Archbishop of Canterbury were rolled into one, they couldn't have spoken with more wisdom, said Mr. Lupton. Live and learn, continued the young Lord. I don't think anybody has liked the bear garden so much as I have, but I shall never try this kind of thing again. I shall begin reading blue books tomorrow, and shall dine at the Carlton. Next session, I shan't miss a day in the house, and I'll bet anybody a flyer that I make a speech before Easter. I shall take to Claret at twenty shillings a dozen, and shall go about London on the top of an omnibus. How about getting married? asked Dolly. Oh, that must be as it comes. That's the Governor's affair. None of you fellows will believe me, but upon my word I liked that girl, and I'd have stuck to her at last. Only there are some things a fellow can't do. He was such a thundering scoundrel. After a while Sir Felix followed them upstairs and entered the room as though nothing unpleasant had happened below. We can make up a rubber, can't we? said he. I should say not, said Nitterdale. I shall not play, said Mr. Lupton. There isn't a pack of cards in the house, said Dolly. Lord Grasslow didn't condescend to say a word. Sir Felix sat down with his cigar in his mouth and the others continued to smoke in silence. I wonder what has become of Miles Grendahl, asked Sir Felix, but no one made any answer and they smoked on in silence. He hasn't paid me a shilling yet of the money he owes me. Still there was not a word. And I don't suppose he ever will. There was another pause. He is the biggest scoundrel I ever met, said Sir Felix. I know one as big, said Lord Grasslow, or at any rate as little. There was another pause of a minute and then Sir Felix left the room muttering something as to the stupidity of having no cards and so brought to an end his connection with his associates of the Bear Garden. From that time forth he was never more seen by them or if seen was never known. The other men remained there till well on into the night, although there was not the excitement of any special amusement to attract them. It was felt by them all that this was the end of the Bear Garden and with a melancholy seriousness befitting the occasion they whispered sad things in low voices, consoling themselves simply with tobacco. I never felt so much like crying in my life, said Dolly, as he asked for a glass of brandy and water at about midnight. Good night, old fellows, goodbye. I'm going down to Caversham and I didn't wonder if I didn't drown myself. How Mr. Flatfleece went to law and tried to sell the furniture and threatened everybody and at last singled out poor Dolly Longstaff as his special victim and how Dolly Longstaff, by the aid of Mr. Squircombe, utterly confounded Mr. Flatfleece and brought that ingenious but unfortunate man with his wife and small family to absolute ruin, the reader will hardly expect to have told him in detail in this chronicle. End of Chapter 96. Chapter 97 of The Way We Live Now This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 97, Mrs. Hurdle's Fate Mrs. Hurdle had consented at the joint request of Mrs. Pipkin and John Crumb to postpone her journey to New York and to go down to Bungay and grace the marriage of Ruby Ruggles, not so much from any love for the person's concerned, not so much even from any desire to witness a phase of English life as from an irresistible tenderness towards Paul Montague. She not only longed to see him once again, but she could with difficulty bring herself to leave the land in which he was living. There was no hope for her, she was sure of that. She had consented to relinquish him. She had condoned his treachery to her and for his sake had even been kind to the rival who had taken her place. But still she lingered near him. And then, though in all her very restricted intercourse with such English people as she met, she never ceased to ridicule things English, yet she dreaded a return to her own country. In her heart of heart she liked the somewhat stupid tranquility of the life she saw, comparing it with the rough tempests of her past days. Mrs. Pipkin, she thought, was less intellectual than an American woman she had ever known, and she was quite sure that no human being so heavy, so slow, and so incapable of two concurrent ideas as John Crumb had ever been produced in the United States. But nevertheless she liked Mrs. Pipkin and almost loved John Crumb. How different would her life have been could she have met a man who would have been as true to her as John Crumb was to his ruby. She loved Paul Montague with all her heart, and she despised herself for loving him. How weak he was, how inefficient, how unable to seize glorious opportunities, how swabbed and swaddled by scruples and prejudices, how unlike her own countrymen in quickness of apprehension and readiness of action. But yet she loved him for his very faults, telling herself that there was something sweeter in his English manners than in all the smart intelligence of her own land. The man had been false to her, false as hell, had sworn to her and had broken his oath, had ruined her whole life, had made everything blank before her by his treachery. But then she also had not been quite true with him. She had not at first meant to deceive, nor had he. They had played a game against each other, and he with all the inferiority of his intellect to weigh him down had won, because he was a man. She had much time for thinking, and she thought much about these things. He could change his love as often as he pleased and be as good a lover at the end as ever, whereas she was ruined by his defection. He could look about for a fresh flower and boldly seek his honey, whereas she could only sit and mourn for the sweets of which she had been rifled. She was not quite sure that such mourning would not be more bitter to her in California than in Mrs. Pipkin's solitary lodgings at Islington. So he was Mr. Montague's partner, was he now, asked Mrs. Pipkin a day or two after their return from the crumb marriage? For Mr. Fisker had called on Mrs. Hurdle, and Mrs. Hurdle had told Mrs. Pipkin so much. To my thinking now he's a nicer man than Mr. Montague. Mrs. Pipkin perhaps thought that as her lodger had lost one partner she might be anxious to secure the other. Perhaps felt too that it might be well to praise an American at the expense of an Englishman. There's no accounting for tastes, Mrs. Pipkin, and that's true too, Mrs. Hurdle. Mr. Montague is a gentleman. I always did say that of him, Mrs. Hurdle, and Mr. Fisker is an American citizen. Mrs. Hurdle, when she said this, was very far gone in tenderness. Indeed now, said Mrs. Pipkin, who did not in the least understand the meaning of her friend's last remark. Mr. Fisker came to me with tidings from San Francisco, which I had not heard before, and has offered to take me back with him. Mrs. Pipkin's apron was immediately at her eyes.  I suppose you must. I couldn't hope as you'd stay here always. I wish I could. I never shall forget the comfort it's been. There hasn't been a week without everything settled, and most ladylike, most ladylike. You seem to me, Mrs. Hurdle, just as though you had the bank in your pocket. All this, the poor woman said, moved by her sorrow to speak the absolute truth. Mr. Fisker isn't in any way a special friend of mine, but I hear that he will be taking other ladies with him, and I fancy I might as well join the party. It will be less dull for me, and I shall prefer the company just at present for many reasons. We shall start on the first of September. As this was said about the middle of August, there was still some remnant of comfort for poor Mrs. Pipkin. A fortnight gained was something, and as Mr. Fisker had come to England on business, as business is always uncertain, there might possibly be further delay. Then Mrs. Hurdle made a further communication to Mrs. Pipkin, which, though not spoken till the latter lady had her hand on the door, was perhaps the one thing which Mrs. Hurdle had desired to say. By the by, Mrs. Pipkin, I expect Mr. Montague to call tomorrow at eleven. Just show him up when he comes. She had feared that unless some such instructions were given there might be a little scene on the door when the gentleman came. Mr. Montague, oh! Of course, Mrs. Hurdle, of course I'll see to it myself. Then Mrs. Pipkin went away abashed, feeling that she had made a great mistake in preferring any other man to Mr. Montague, if, after all, recent difficulties were to be adjusted. On the following morning Mrs. Hurdle dressed herself with almost more than her usual simplicity, but certainly with not less than her usual care, and immediately after breakfast, ordered herself at her desk, nursing an idea that she would work as steadily for the next hour as though she expected no special visitor. Of course she did not write a word of the task which she had prescribed to herself. Of course she was disturbed in her mind though she had dictated to herself absolute quiescence. She almost knew that she had been wrong even to desire to see him. She had forgiven him and what more was there to be said. She had seen the girl and had in some fashion approved of her. Her curiosity had been satisfied and her love of revenge had been sacrificed. She had no plan arranged as to what she would now say to him, nor did she at this moment attempt to make a plan. She could tell him that she was about to return to San Francisco with Fisker, but she did not know that she had anything else to say. Then came the knock at the door. Her heart leaped within her and she made a last great effort She heard the steps on the stairs and then the door was opened and Mr. Montague was announced by Mrs. Pipkin herself. Mrs. Pipkin, however, quite conquered by a feeling of gratitude to her lodger did not once look in through the door nor did she pause a moment to listen at the keyhole. I thought she would come and see me once again before I went, said Mrs. Hurdle, not rising from her sofa but putting out her hand to greet him. Sit there opposite so that we can look at each other. I hope it has not been a trouble to you. Of course I came when you left word for me to do so. I certainly should not have expected it from any wish of your own. I should not have dared to come had you not made me. You know that. I know nothing of the kind, but as you are here we will not quarrel as to your motives. Has Ms. Carberry pardoned you as yet? Has she forgiven your sins? Of course you are friends. She only wanted to have somebody to tell her that somebody had maligned you. It mattered not much who it was. She was ready to believe anyone who would say a good word for you. Perhaps I wasn't just the person to do it but I believe even I was sufficient to serve the turn. Did you say a good word for me? Well, no, replied Mrs. Hurdle. I will not boast that I did. I did not want to tell you fibs at our last meeting. I am good of you. What could I say of good? But I told her what was quite as serviceable to you as though I had sung your virtues by the hour without ceasing. I explained to her how very badly you had behaved to me. I let her know that from the moment you had seen her you had thrown me to the winds. It was not so, my friend. What did that matter? One does not scruple a lie for a friend, I could not make her understand during one short and rather agonizing interview how you had allowed yourself to be talked out of your love for me by English propriety even before you had seen her beautiful eyes. There was no reason why I should tell her all my disgrace, anxious as I was to be of service. Besides, as I put it, she was sure to be better pleased. But I did tell her how unwillingly you had spared me an hour of your company, what a trouble I had been to you, my friend. Winifred, that is untrue. That wretched journey to Lowstoft was the great crime. Mr. Roger Carberry, who I own is poisoned to me. You do not know him. Knowing him or not, I choose to have my own opinion, sir. I say that he is poisoned to me and I say that he had so stuffed her mind with the flagrant sin of that journey with the peculiar wickedness of our having lived the fact that we had traveled together in the same carriage till that had become the one stumbling block on your path to happiness. He never said a word to her of our being there. Who did, then?  I did explain how the return of friendship which you had begun to show me was Mr. Carberry on the sands. Perhaps I went a little farther and hinted that the meeting had been arranged as affording you the easiest means of escape for me. You do not believe that. You see, I had your welfare to look after, and the base of your conduct had been to me the truer you were in her eyes. Do I not deserve some thanks for what I did? Surely you would not have had me tell her that your conduct to me had been confessed to her my utter despair. I abased myself in the dust as a woman is abased who has been treacherously ill-used and has failed to avenge herself. I knew that when she was sure that I was prostrate and hopeless she would be triumphant and contented. I told her on your behalf how I had been ground to pieces under your chariot wheels, and now you have not a word of thanks to give me. Every word you say is a dagger. I have, for such skin-deep scratches as I make. Where am I to find a surgeon who can put together my crushed bones? Daggers, indeed. Do you not suppose that in thinking of you I have often thought of daggers? Why have I not thrust one into your heart so that I might rescue you from the arms of this puny, spiritless English girl? All this time she was still seated looking at him, leaning forward towards him with her hands upon her brow.   But you will go from me to her, and then will you not be happy? When you are sitting with your arm round her waist and when she is playing with your smiles will the memory of my words interfere and the quick will last longer than the moment. But where am I to go for happiness and joy? Can you understand what it is to have to live only on retrospect? I wish I could say a word to comfort you. You cannot say a word to comfort me unless you will unsay all that you have said since I have been in England. I never expect comfort again. But, Paul, I will not be cruel to the end. I will tell you all that I know of my concerns, even though my doing so should be by your treatment of me. He is not dead. You mean Mr. Hurdle? Whom else should I mean? And he himself says that the divorce which was declared between us was no divorce. Mr. Fisker came here to me with tidings. Though he is not a man whom I specially love, though I know that he has been my enemy with you, I shall return with him to San Francisco. I am told that he is taking Madame Melmont with him to the water. So I understand. They are adventurers, as I am, and I do not see why we should not suit each other. They say also that Fisker will marry Miss Melmont. Why should I object to that? I shall not be jealous of Mr. Fisker's attentions to the young lady, but it will suit me to have someone to whom I can speak on friendly terms when I am back in California. I may have a job of work to do there, which will require some friends. I shall be handed in glove with these people before I have traveled half across the ocean with them. I hope they will be kind to you, said Paul. No, but I will be kind to them. I have conquered others by being kind, but I have never had much kindness myself. Did I not conquer you, sir, by being gentle and gracious to you? Ah, how kind I was to that poor wretch till he lost himself in drink! And then, Paul, I used to think of better people, perhaps of softer people, of things that should be clean and sweet and gentle, of things that should smell of lavender instead of wild garlic. I would dream of fair feminine women, of women who would be scared by seeing what I saw, who would die rather than do what I did. And then I met you, Paul, and I said that my dreams should come true. I ought to have known that it could not be so. I did not dare quite to tell you all the truth. I know I was wrong, but my punishment has come upon me. Well, I suppose you had better say goodbye to me. What is the good of putting it off? Then she rose from her chair and stood before him with her arms hanging listlessly by her side.  But he won't. Why should he? If we are right in supposing that they who do good will be blessed for their good and those who do evil cursed for their evil. I cannot do good. I cannot bring myself now not to wish that you would return to me. If you would come, I should care nothing for the misery of that girl. Nothing. At least nothing now for the misery I should certainly bring upon you. Look here. Will you have this back? As she asked this, she took from out her bosom a small miniature portrait of himself which he had given her in New York and held it towards him. If you wish it, I will, of course, he said. I would not part with it for all the gold in California. Nothing on earth shall ever part me from it. Should I ever marry another man, as I may do, he must take me and this together. While I live, it shall be next my heart. As you know, I have little respect for the proprieties of life. I do not see why I am to abandon the picture of the man I love because he becomes the husband of another woman. Having once said that I love you, I shall not contradict myself or contradict me. Paul, I have loved you and do love you. Oh, with my very heart of hearts. So speaking, she threw herself into his arms and covered his face with kisses. For one moment you shall not banish me. For one short minute I will be here. Oh, Paul, my love, my love. All this to him was simply agony. Though, as she had truly said, it was an agony he would soon forget. But to be told by a woman of her love without being able even to promise love and return, to be so told while you are in the very act of acknowledging your love for another woman carries with it but little of the joy of triumph. He did not want to see her raging like a Tigris as he had once thought might be his fate, but he would have preferred the continuance of moderate resentment to this flood of tenderness. Of course he stood with his arm round her waist and, of course, he returned her caresses. But he did it with such stiff constraint that once felt how chill they were. There, she said, smiling through her bitter tears, there you are released now and not even my fingers shall ever be laid upon you again. If I have annoyed you at this our last meeting you must forgive me. No, but you cut me to the heart. That we can hardly help, can we? When two persons have made fools of themselves as we have, there must, I suppose, be some punishment. Yours will never be heavy after I am gone. I do not start till the first of next month because that is the day fixed by our friend Mr. Fisker. And I shall remain here till then because my presence is convenient to Mrs. Pipkin. But I need not trouble you to come to me again. Indeed it will be better that you should not. Good-bye. He took her by the hand and stood for a moment looking at her while she smiled and gently nodded her head at him. Then he is saved to pull her towards him as though he would again kiss her. But she repulsed him, still smiling a while. No, sir, no, not again, never again, never, never, never again. By that time she had recovered her hand and stood apart from him. Good-bye, Paul, and now go. Then he turned round and left the room without uttering a word. She stood still without moving a limb as she listened to his step down the stairs into the opening and the closing of the door. Then hiding herself at the window with the scanty drapery of the curtain she watched him as he went along the street. When he had turned the corner she came back to the center of the room, stood for a moment with her arms stretched out towards the walls, and then fell prone upon the floor. She had spoken the very truth when she said that she had loved him with all her heart. But that evening she bade Mrs. Pipkin drink tea with her and was more gracious to the poor woman than ever. Seekious but still curious landlady asked some question about Mr. Montague, Mrs. Hurdle seemed to speak very freely on the subject of her late lover and to speak without any great pain. They had put their heads together, she said, and had found that the marriage would not be suitable. Each of them preferred their own country and so they had agreed to part. On that evening Mrs. Hurdle made herself more than usually pleasant, having the children up into her room and giving them jam and bread and butter. During a whole of the next fortnight she seemed to take a delight in doing all in her power for Mrs. Pipkin and her family. She gave toys to the children and absolutely bestowed upon Mrs. Pipkin a new carpet for the drawing room. Then Mr. Fisker came and took her away with him to America and Mrs. Pipkin was left a desolate but grateful woman. They do tell bad things about them Americans, she said to a friend in the street, and I don't pretend to know, for a lodger I only wish providence would send me another just like the one I have lost. She had that good nature about her, she liked to see the barons eating pudding just as if there was her own. I think Mrs. Pipkin was right, and that Mrs. Hurdle, with all her faults, was a good-natured woman. End of Chapter 97 Chapter 98 of The Way We Live Now This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 98 Marie Melmont's Fate In the meantime, Marie Melmont was living with Madame Melmont in their lodgings up at Hampstead and was taking quite a new look out into the world. Fisker had become her devoted servant not with that old-fashioned service which meant making love, but with perhaps a truer devotion to her material interests. He had ascertained on her behalf that she was the undoubted owner of the money which her father had made over to her on his first arrival in England, and she also had made herself mistress of that fact with equal precision. It would have astonished those who had known her six months since could they now have seen how excellent a woman of business she had become and how capable she was of the use of Mr. Fisker's services. In doing him justice it must be owned that he kept nothing back from her of that which he learned, probably feeling that he might best achieve success in his present project by such honesty, feeling also no doubt the girl's own strength in discovering truth and falsehood. She's her father's own daughter, he said one day, to crawl in Abbed Church Lane. For crawl, though he had left Melmont's employment when he found he had now returned to the service of the daughter in some undefined position and had been engaged to go with her and Madame Melmont to New York. I yeast said, Crawl, but bigger, he was passionate and did lose his head and was blowed up with bigness. Whereupon Crawl made an action as though he were a frog, swelling himself to the dimensions of an ox. He bursted himself, Mr. Fisker. He was a great man, but the greater he knew, he was always less and less vice.  It was thus that her Crawl analyzed the character of his late master. But Mamazelle, ah, she is different. She will never eat too much, but will see to eat always. Thus, too, he analyzed the character of his young mistress. At first, things did not arrange themselves pleasantly between Madame Melmont and Marie. The reader will perhaps remember that they were in no way connected by blood. Madame Melmont was not Marie's mother, nor in the eye of the law could Marie claim Melmont as her father. She was alone in the world, absolutely without a relation, not knowing even what had been her mother's name, not even knowing what was her father's true name, as in the various biographies of the great man which were, as a matter of course, published within a fortnight of his death, various accounts were given as to his birth, parentage, and early history. The general opinion seemed to be that his father had been a noted coiner in New York, an Irishman of the name of Melmody, and in one memoir the probability of the descent was argued from Melmont's skill in forgery. But Marie, though she was thus isolated, and now altogether separated from the lords and duchesses who a few weeks since had been interested in her career, was a noted owner of the money, a fact which was beyond the comprehension of Madame Melmont. She could understand, and was delighted to understand, that a very large sum of money had been saved from the wreck, and that she might therefore look forward to prosperous tranquility for the rest of her life. Though she never acknowledged so much to herself, she soon learned to regard the removal of her husband as the end of her money as her own. She declared herself to be quite willing to divide the spoil, and suggested such an arrangement, both to Marie and to Crawl. A fiskir she was afraid, thinking that the iniquity of giving all the money to Marie originated with him in order that he might obtain it by marrying the girl.  She made a timid suggestion on her own behalf, and was only deterred from doing so by Marie's ready assent to such an arrangement. Marie's equally ready surrender of any right she might have to a portion of the jewels which had been saved had perhaps some effect in softening the elder lady's heart. She thus was in possession of a treasure of her own, though a treasure small in comparison with that of the younger woman. And the younger woman had promised that in the event of her marriage it was distinctly understood that they were both to go to New York under Mr. Fiskir's guidance as soon as things should be sufficiently settled to allow of their departure. And Madame Melmont was told about the middle of August that their places had been taken for the third of September. But nothing more was told her. She did not as yet know whether Marie was to go out free or as the affianced bride of Hamilton Fiskir. She left so much in the dark. She herself was inimical to Fiskir regarding him as a dark, designing man who would ultimately swallow up all that her husband had left behind him and trusted herself entirely to crawl who was personally attentive to her. Fiskir was, of course, going on to San Francisco. Marie also had talked of crossing the American continent. But Madame Melmont was disposed to think that for her with her jewels and such share money as Marie might be induced to give her, New York would be the most fitting residence. Why should she drag herself across the continent to California? Her crawl had declared his purpose of remaining in New York. Then it occurred to the lady that as Melmont was a name which might be too well known in New York and which it therefore might be wise to change, crawl would do as well as any other. She and her crawl had known each other for a great many years than she thought of about the same age. Crawl had some money saved. She had at any rate her jewels and crawl would probably be able to get some portion of all that money which ought to be hers if his affairs were made to be identical with her own. So she smiled upon crawl and whispered to him and when she had given crawl two glasses of curacao which comfort as she kept in her own hands as safeguarded almost as the jewels then crawl understood her. But it was essential that she should know what Marie intended to do. Marie was anything but communicative and certainly was not in any way submissive. My dear, she said one day asking the question in French without any preface or apology are you going to be married to Mr. Fisker? What makes you ask that? It is so important I should know where am I to live what am I to do what money shall I have who will be a friend to me a woman ought to know you will marry Fisker if you like him why can't you tell me? Because I do not know when I know I will tell you if you go on asking me till tomorrow morning I can say no more and this was true she did not know it certainly was not Fisker's fault that she should still be in the dark as to her own destiny for he had asked her often enough and had pressed his suit with all his eloquence but Marie had now been wooed so often that she felt the importance of the step which was suggested to her the romance of the thing was with her a good deal worn and the material view of matrimony had also been damaged in her sight she had fallen in love with Sir Felix Carberry and had assured herself over and over again that she worshipped the very ground on which he stood but she had taught herself this business of falling in love as a lesson rather than felt it after her father's first attempts to marry her to this and that suitor because of her wealth attempts which she had hardly opposed amidst the consternation and glitter of the world to which she was suddenly introduced she had learned from novels that it would be right that she should be in love and she had chosen Sir Felix as her idol the reader knows what had been in the end of that episode in her life she certainly was not now in love with Sir Felix Carberry then she had as it were relapsed Lord Nitterdale one of her early suitors and had felt that his love was not to prevail and as it would be well that she should marry someone he might probably be as good as any other and certainly better than many others she had almost learned to like Lord Nitterdale and to believe that he liked her when the tragedy came Lord Nitterdale had been very good natured but he had deserted her at last she had never allowed herself to be angry with him for a moment no matter of course that he should do so her fortune was still large but not so large as the sum named in the bargain made and it was more over-weighted with her father's blood from the moment of her father's death she had never dreamed that he would marry her why should he her thoughts in reference to Sir Felix were bitter enough but as against Nitterdale they were not at all bitter should she ever meet him again she would shake hands with him and smile if not pleasantly as she thought of the things which were past at any rate with good humor but all this had not made her much in love with matrimony generally she had over a hundred thousand pounds of her own and feeling conscious of her own power in regard to her own money knowing that she could do as she pleased with her wealth she began to look out into life seriously what could she do with her money and in what way would she shape her life should she determine to remain her own mistress were she to refuse Fisker how should she begin he would then be banished and her only remaining friends the only persons whose name she would even know in her own country would be her father's widow and her crowl she already began to see Madame Melmont's purport in reference to crowl and could not reconcile herself to the idea of opening an establishment with them on a scale commensurate with her fortune nor could she settle in her own mind in a pleasant position for herself as a single woman living alone in perfect independence she had opinions of women's rights especially in regard to money and she entertained also a vague notion that in America a young woman would not need support so essentially as in England nevertheless the idea of a fine house for herself in Boston or Philadelphia for in that case she would have to avoid New York as the chosen residence of Madame Melmont did not recommend itself to her as to Fisker himself she certainly liked him he was not beautiful like Felix Carberry nor had he the easy good humor of Lord Nitterdale she had seen enough of English gentlemen to know that Fisker was very unlike them but she had not seen enough of English gentlemen to make Fisker distasteful to her he told her that he had a big house at San Francisco and she certainly desired to live in a big house he represented himself to be a thriving man and she calculated that he certainly would not be here in London arranging her father's affairs where he not possessed of commercial importance she had contrived to learn that in the United States a married woman has greater power over her own money than in England and this information acted strongly in Fisker's favor on consideration of the whole subject she was inclined to think of the world as Mrs. Fisker than as Marie Melmont if she could see her way clearly in the matter of her own money I have got excellent births Fisker said to her one morning at Hampstead at these interviews which were devoted first to business and then to love Madame Melmont was never allowed to be present I am to be alone oh yes there is a cabin for Madame Melmont and the maid and a cabin for you and there is another lady going Mrs. Hurdle whom I think you will like has she a husband not going with us said Mr. Fisker evasively but she has one well yes but you had better not mention him he is not exactly all that a husband should be did she not come over here to marry someone else for Marie in the days of her sweet intimacy with Sir Felix Carberry had heard something of Mrs. Hurdle's story there is a story and I dare say I shall tell you all about it some day but you may be sure I should not ask you to associate with anyone you ought not to know oh I can take care of myself no doubt Mrs. Melmont I feel that quite strongly but what I meant to observe was this that I certainly should not introduce a lady whom I aspire to make my own lady to any lady whom a lady ought not to know I hope I make myself understood Mrs. Melmont oh quite and perhaps I may go on to say that if I could go on board that ship as your accepted lover I could do a deal more to make you comfortable particularly when you land than just as a mere friend Mrs. Melmont you can't doubt my heart I don't see why I shouldn't gentlemen's hearts are things very much to be doubted as far as I've seen them Mrs. Melmont you do not know the glorious west your past experiences have been drawn from this a feet and stone cold country in which passion is no longer allowed to sway on those golden shores which the pacific washes man is still true and woman is still tender perhaps I'd better wait and see Mr. Fisker but this was not Mr. Fisker's view of the case there might be other men desirous true on those golden shores and then said he pleading his cause not without skill the laws regulating woman's property there are just the reverse of those which the greediness of man has established here the wife there can claim her share of her husband's property but hers is exclusively her own America is certainly the country for women and especially California ah I shall find out all about it I suppose when I've been there a few months but you would enter San Francisco Miss Melmont under much better auspices if I may be allowed to say so as a married lady or as a lady just going to be married ain't single ladies much thought of in California it isn't that come Miss Melmont you know what I mean yes I do let us go in for life together we've both done uncommon well I'm spending $30,000 a year at that rate in my own house you'll see it all if we put them both together what's yours and what's mine we can put our foot out as far as about anyone there I guess I don't know that I care about putting my foot out I've seen something of that already Mr. Fisker you shouldn't put your foot out farther than you can draw it in again you needn't fear me as to that Miss Melmont I shouldn't be able to touch a dollar of your money I should go as man and wife I shouldn't think of being married till I had been there a while and looked about me and seen the house well there's something in that the house is all there I can tell you I'm not a bit afraid but what you'll like the house but if we were engaged I could do everything for you where would you be going into San Francisco all alone oh Miss Melmont I do admire you so much I had much efficacy but the arguments with which it was introduced did prevail to a certain extent I'll tell you how it must be then she said how shall it be and as he asked the question he jumped up and put his arm around her waist not like that Mr. Fisker she said withdrawing herself it shall be in this way you may consider yourself engaged to me I'm the happiest man on this continent he said he was not in the United States but if I find when I get to Francisco anything to induce me to change my mind I shall change it I like you very well but I'm not going to take a leap in the dark and I'm not going to marry a pig in a poke there you're quite right he said quite right you may give it out on board the ship that we're engaged and I'll tell Madame Melmont the same she and Kroll don't mean going any farther than New York we didn't break our hearts about that need we it don't much signify well I'll go on with Mrs. Hurdle if she'll have me too much delighted she'll be and she shall be told we're engaged my darling but if I don't like it when I get to Frisco as you call it all the ropes in California shan't make me do it well yes you may give me a kiss I suppose now if you care about it so far Mr. Fisker and Marie Melmont became engaged to each other as man and wife after that Mr. Fisker's remaining business in England went very smoothly with him it was understood up at Hampstead that he was engaged to Marie Melmont and it soon came to be understood also that Madame Melmont was to be married to Herr Kroll no doubt the father of the one lady and the husband of the other had died so recently as to make these arrangements subject to certain censorious objections but there was a feeling that Melmont had been so unlike other men both in his life and in his death that they who had been concerned with him were not to be weighed by ordinary scales nor did it much matter for the person's concern took their departure soon after the arrangement was made and Hampstead knew them no more on the 3rd of September Madame Melmont Marie Mrs. Hurdle, Hamilton K. Fisker and Herr Kroll left Liverpool for New York and the three ladies were determined that they never would revisit a country of which their reminiscences certainly were not happy the writer of the present Chronicle may so far look forward carrying his reader with him as to declare that Marie Melmont did become Mrs. Fisker very soon after her arrival at San Francisco End of Chapter 98 Chapter 99 of the way we live now is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollop Chapter 99 Lady Carberry and Mr. Brown When Sir Felix Carberry declared to his friends at the Bear Garden that he intended to devote the next few months of his life to foreign travel and that it was his purpose to take with him a divine as was much the habit with young men of rank and fortune some years since he was not altogether lying there was indeed a sounder basis of truth than was usually to be found attached to his statements that he should have intended to produce a false impression was a matter of course and nearly equally so that he should have made his attempt by asserting things which he must have known that no one would believe he was going to Germany and it had been decided that he should remain there for the next 12 months a representation had lately been made to the Bishop of London that the English Protestants settled in a certain commercial town in the northeastern district of Prussia were without pastoral aid and the Bishop had stirred himself in the matter a clergyman was found willing to expatriate himself but the income suggested was very small the Protestant English population in the commercial town in question though pious was not liberal it had come to pass that the morning breakfast table had interested itself in the matter having appealed for subscriptions after a man are not unusual with that paper the Bishop and all those concerned in the matter had fully understood that if the morning breakfast table could be got to take the matter up heartily the thing would be done the hardiness had been so complete that it had at last devolved upon Mr. Brown to appoint the clergyman and as with all the aid that could be found the income was still small the Reverend Septimus Blake a brand snatched from the burning of Rome had been induced to undertake the maintenance and total charge of Sir Felix Carberry for a consideration Mr. Brown imparted to Mr. Blake all that there was to know about the baronet giving much counsel as to the management of the young man and especially in joining on the clergyman a no account gives Sir Felix the means of returning home it was evidently Mr. Brown's anxious wish that Sir Felix should see as much as possible of German life at a comparatively moderate expenditure and under circumstances that should be externally respectable if not absolutely those which a young gentleman might choose for his own comfort or profit but especially that those circumstances should not admit of the speedy return to England of the young gentleman himself Lady Carberry had at first opposed the scheme terribly difficult as was to her the burden of maintaining her son she could not endure the idea of driving him into exile but Mr. Brown was very obstinate very reasonable and as she thought somewhat hard of heart what is to be the end of it then he said to her almost in anger for in those days the great editor when in presence of Lady Carberry very much from that Mr. Brown who used to squeeze her hand and look into her eyes his manner with her had become so different that she regarded him as quite another person she hardly dared to contradict him and found herself almost compelled to tell him what she really felt and thought do you mean to let him eat up everything you have to your last chilling and then go to the workhouse with him oh my friend you know how I am struggling to not say such horrid things it is because I know how you are struggling that I find myself compelled to say anything on the subject what hardship will there be in his living for 12 months with a clergyman in Prussia what can he do better what better chance can he have of being weaned from the life he is leading if he could only be married married who is to marry him why should any girl with money throw herself away upon him he is so handsome what has his beauty brought him to lady carbury you must let me tell you that all that is not only foolish but wrong if you keep him here you will help to ruin him and will certainly ruin yourself he has agreed to go let him go she was forced to yield indeed as Sir Felix had himself assented it was almost impossible that she should not do so perhaps Mr. Brown's greatest triumph was due to the talent and firmness with which he persuaded Sir Felix to start upon his travels your mother, said Mr. Brown has made up her mind that she will not absolutely beggar your sister and herself in order that your indulgence may be prolonged for a few months she cannot make you go to Germany of course but she can turn you out of her house and unless you go she will do so I don't think she ever said that Mr. Brown no she has not said so but I have said it for her in her presence and she has acknowledged that it must necessarily be so you may take my word as a gentleman that it will be so if you take her advice 175 pounds a year will be paid for your maintenance but if you remain in England not a shilling further will be paid he had no money his last sovereign was all but gone not a tradesman would give him credit for a coat or a pair of boots the key of the door had been taken away from him the very page treated him with contumely his clothes were becoming rusty there was no prospect of amusement for him during the coming autumn or winter he did not anticipate much excitement in eastern Prussia but he thought that any change must be a change for the better he assented therefore to the proposition made by Mr. Brown was duly introduced to the Reverend Septimus Blake and as he spent his last sovereign on a last dinner at the Bear Garden explained his intentions for the immediate future to those friends at his club who would no doubt mourn his departure Mr. Blake and Mr. Brown between them did not allow the grass to grow under their feet before the end of August Sir Felix with Mr. and Mrs. Blake and the young Blake's had embarked from Hall for Hamburg having extracted at the very hour of parting a last five pound note from his foolish mother just enough to bring him home said Mr. Brown with angry energy when he was told of this but Lady Carberry who knew her son well assured him that Felix would be restrained in his expenditure by no such prudence as such a purpose would indicate it will be gone she said long before they reach their destination then why the deuce should you give it him said Mr. Brown Mr. Brown's anxiety had been so intense for half a year's allowance in advance to Mr. Blake out of his own pocket indeed he had paid various sums for Lady Carberry so that that unfortunate woman would often tell herself that she was becoming subject to the great editor almost like a slave he came to her three or four times a week at about nine o'clock in the evening and gave her instructions as to all that she should do I wouldn't write another novel if I were you he said the writing of novels was her great ambition and she had flattered herself that the one novel which she had written was good Mr. Brown's own critic had declared it to be very good in glowing language the evening pulpit had of course abused it because it is the nature of the evening pulpit to abuse so she had argued with herself telling herself that the praise was all true whereas the censure had come from malice after that article in the breakfast table it did seem hard that Mr. Brown should tell her to write no more novels she looked up at him piteously but said nothing I don't think you'd find an answer of course you can do it as well as a great many others but then that is saying so little I thought I could make some money I don't think Mr. Lettum would hold out to you very high hopes I don't indeed I think I would turn to something else it is so very hard to get paid for what one does to this Mr. Brown made no immediate answer but after sitting for a while almost in silence he took his leave on that very morning Lady Carberry had parted from her son she was soon about to part from her daughter and she was very sad she felt that she could hardly keep up that house in Welbeck street for herself even if her means permitted it what should she do with herself with her should she take herself perhaps the bitterest drop in her cup would come from those words of Mr. Brown forbidding her to write more novels after all then she was not a clever woman not more clever than other women around her that very morning she had prided herself on her coming success as a novelist basing all her hopes on that review in the breakfast table now with that reaction of spirits which is so common to all of us she was more than equally despondent he would not thus have crushed her without a reason though he was hard to her now he who used to be so soft he was very good it did not occur to her to rebel against him after what he had said of course there would be no more praise in the breakfast table and equally of course no novel of hers could succeed without that the more she thought of him the more omnipotent he seemed to be the more she thought of herself the more absolutely prostrate she seemed to have run her literary career not much more than twelve months ago on the next day he did not come to her at all and she sat idle wretched and alone she could not interest herself and had his coming marriage as that marriage was in direct opposition to one of her broken schemes she had not ventured to confess so much to Mr. Brown but she had in truth written the first pages of the first chapter of a second novel it was impossible now to look at what she had written all this made her very sad she spent the evening quite alone for Hedda was staying down in Suffolk with her cousin's friend Mrs. Yeld the bishop's wife and as she thought of her life passed and her life to come she did perhaps with a broken light see something of the error of her ways and did after a fashion repent it was all leather or pranello as she said to herself it was all vanity what real enjoyment had she found in anything she had only taught herself to believe that some day something would come which she would like but she had never as yet in truth found anything to like it had all been an anticipation but now even her anticipations were at an end Mr. Brown had sent her son away had forbidden her to write any more novels and had been refused when he had asked her to marry him as usual and found her still very wretched I shall give up this house I can't afford to keep it and in truth I shall not want it I don't in the least know where to go but I don't think that it much signifies any place will be the same to me now I don't see why you should say that what does it matter you wouldn't think of going out of London why not I suppose I had better go wherever I can live cheapest I should be sorry that you should be settled where I could not see you said Mr. Brown plaintively so shall I vary you have been more kind to me than anybody but what am I to do if I stay in London I can live only in some miserable lodgings I know you will laugh at me and tell me that I am wrong but my idea is that I shall follow Felix wherever he goes so that I may be near him and help him when he needs help if he doesn't want me there is nobody else that I can do any good to I want you said Mr. Brown very quietly that is so kind of you there is nothing makes one so good as goodness nothing binds your friend to you so firmly as the acceptance from him of friendly actions you say you want me because I have so sadly wanted you when I go you will simply miss an almost daily trouble but where shall I find a friend when I said I wanted you I meant more than that Lady Carberry two or three months ago I asked you to be my wife you declined chiefly if I understood you rightly because of your son's position that has been altered and therefore I ask you again I have quite convinced myself not without some doubts for you shall know all but still I have quite convinced myself that such a marriage will best contribute to my own happiness I do not think, dearest, that it would mar yours this was said with so quiet a voice and so placid a demeanor that the words though there were too plain to be misunderstood hardly at first brought themselves home to her of course he had renewed his offer of marriage but he had done so in a tone which almost made her feel that the proposition could not be an earnest one it was not that she believed that he was joking with her or in sippid compliment when she thought about it at all she knew that it could not be so but the thing was so improbable her opinion of herself was so poor she had become so sick of her own vanities and littlenesses and pretenses that she could not understand that such a man as this should in truth want to make her his wife at this moment she thought less of herself and more of Mr. Brown than either perhaps deserved she sat silent quite unable to look him in the face while he kept his place in his armchair lounging back with his eyes intent on her countenance well he said what do you think of it I never loved you better than I did for refusing me before because I thought that you did so because it was not right that I should be embarrassed by your son that was the reason she said almost in a whisper but I shall love you better still for accepting me now if you will accept me the long vista of her past life appeared before her eyes the ambition of her youth which had been taught to look only to a handsome maintenance the cruelty of her husband which had driven her to run from him the further cruelty of his forgiveness when she returned to him the calamity which had made her miserable though she had never confessed her misery then her attempts at life in London her literary successes and failures and the wretchedness of her son's career there had never been happiness or even comfort in any of it even when her smiles had been sweetest her heart had been heaviest could it be that now at last real peace should be within her reach and that tranquility which comes from an anchor holding to a firm bottom then she remembered that first kiss or attempted kiss when with the sort of pride in her own superiority she had told herself that the man she certainly had not thought then that his susceptibility was of this nature nor could she quite understand now whether she had been right then and that the man's feelings and almost his nature had since changed or whether he had really loved her from first to last as he remained silent it was necessary that she should answer him you can hardly have thought of it enough she said I have thought of it a good deal too I have been thinking of it for six months at least there is so much against me what is there against you they say bad things of me in India I know all about that replied Mr. Brown and Felix I think I may say that I know all about that also and then I have become so poor I am not proposing to myself to marry you for your money luckily for me I hope luckily for both of us it is not necessary that I should do so and then I seem so to have fallen through in everything I don't know what I have got to give to a man in return for all that you offer to give to me yourself, he said, stretching out his right hand to her and there he sat with it stretched out so that she found herself compelled to put her own into it or to refuse to do so with very absolute words very slowly she put out her own and gave it to him without looking at him then he drew her towards him and in a moment she was kneeling at his feet with her face buried on his knees considering their ages perhaps we must say that their attitude was awkward they would certainly have thought so themselves had they imagined that anyone could have seen them but how many absurdities of the kind are not only held to be pleasant but almost holy in mysteries inspected by no profane eyes it is not that age is ashamed of feeling passion and acknowledging it but that the display of it is without the graces of which youth is proud and which age regrets on that occasion there was very little more said between them he had certainly been in earnest and she had now accepted him as he went down to his office he told himself now that he had done the best not only for her but for himself also and yet I think that she had won him more thoroughly by her former refusal than by any other virtue she, as she sat alone laid into the night became subject to a thorough reaction of spirit that morning the world had been a perfect blank to her there was no single object of interest before her now everything was rose-colored this man who had thus bound her to him who had given her such assured proofs of his affection and truth was one of the considerable ones of the world a man in whom few so she told herself were greater or more powerful was it not a career enough for any woman to be the wife of such a man to receive his friends and to shine with his reflected glory whether her hopes were realized or as human hopes never are realized how far her content was assured these pages cannot tell but they must tell that before the coming winter was over Lady Carberry became the wife of Mr. Brown and in furtherance of her own resolve took her husband's name the house in Wellbeck street was kept and Mrs. Brown's Tuesday evenings were much more regarded by the literary world than had been those of Lady Carberry End of Chapter 99