The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

“Roger has the greatest dislike to Mr. Melmotte.”

“I know he has,” said Paul.

“And Roger is always right. It is always safe to trust him. Don’t you think so, Mr. Montague?” Paul did think so, and was by no means disposed to deny to his rival the praise which rightly belonged to him; but still he found the subject difficult. “Of course I will never go against mamma,” continued Hetta, “but I always feel that my Cousin Roger is a rock of strength, so that if one did whatever he said one would never get wrong. I never found anyone else that I thought that of, but I do think it of him.”

“No one has more reason to praise him than I have.”

“I think everybody has reason to praise him that has to do with him. And I’ll tell you why I think it is. Whenever he thinks anything he says it;⁠—or, at least, he never says anything that he doesn’t think. If he spent a thousand pounds, everybody would know that he’d got it to spend; but other people are not like that.”

“You’re thinking of Melmotte.”

“I’m thinking of everybody, Mr. Montague;⁠—of everybody except Roger.”

“Is he the only man you can trust? But it is abominable to me to seem even to contradict you. Roger Carbury has been to me the best friend that any man ever had. I think as much of him as you do.”

“I didn’t say he was the only person;⁠—or I didn’t mean to say so. But of all my friends⁠—”

“Am I among the number, Miss Carbury?”

“Yes;⁠—I suppose so. Of course you are. Why not? Of course you are a friend⁠—because you are his friend.”

“Look here, Hetta,” he said. “It is no good going on like this. I love Roger Carbury⁠—as well as one man can love another. He is all that you say⁠—and more. You hardly know how he denies himself, and how he thinks of everybody near him. He is a gentleman all round and every inch. He never lies. He never takes what is not his own. I believe he does love his neighbour as himself.”

“Oh, Mr. Montague! I am so glad to hear you speak of him like that.”

“I love him better than any man⁠—as well as a man can love a man. If you will say that you love him as well as a woman can love a man⁠—I will leave England at once, and never return to it.”

“There’s mamma,” said Henrietta;⁠—for at that moment there was a double knock at the door.

So it was. Lady Carbury had returned home from the soirée of learned people, and had brought Roger Carbury with her. They both came up to the drawing-room and found Paul and Henrietta together. It need hardly be said that they were both surprised. Roger supposed that Montague was still at Liverpool, and, knowing that he was not a frequent visitor in Welbeck Street, could hardly avoid a feeling that a meeting between the two had now been planned in the mother’s absence. The reader knows that it was not so. Roger certainly was a man not liable to suspicion, but the circumstances in this case were suspicious. There would have been nothing to suspect⁠—no reason why Paul should not have been there⁠—but from the promise which had been given. There was, indeed, no breach of that promise proved by Paul’s presence in Welbeck Street; but Roger felt rather than thought that the two could hardly have spent the evening together without such breach. Whether Paul had broken the promise by what he had already said the reader must be left to decide.

Lady Carbury was the first to speak. “This is quite an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Montague.” Whether Roger suspected anything or not, she did. The moment she saw Paul the idea occurred to her that the meeting between Hetta and him had been preconcerted.

“Yes,” he said⁠—making a lame excuse, where no excuse should have been made⁠—“I had nothing to do, and was lonely, and thought that I would come up and see you.” Lady Carbury disbelieved him altogether, but Roger felt assured that his coming in Lady Carbury’s absence had been an accident. The man had said so, and that was enough.

“I thought you were at Liverpool,” said Roger.

“I came back today⁠—to be present at that Board in the city. I have had a good deal to trouble me. I will tell you all about it just now. What has brought you to London?”

“A little business,” said Roger.

Then there was an awkward silence. Lady Carbury was angry, and hardly knew whether she ought or ought not to show her anger. For Henrietta it was very awkward. She, too, could not but feel that she had been caught, though no innocence could be whiter than hers. She knew well her mother’s mind, and the way in which her mother’s thoughts would run. Silence was frightful to her, and she found herself forced to speak. “Have you had a pleasant evening, mamma?”

“Have you had a pleasant evening, my dear?” said Lady Carbury, forgetting herself in her desire to punish her daughter.

“Indeed, no,” said Hetta, attempting to laugh, “I have been trying to work hard at Dante, but one never does any good when one has to try to work. I was just going to bed when Mr. Montague came in. What did you think of the wise men and the wise women, Roger?”

“I was out of my element, of course; but I think your mother liked it.”

“I was very glad indeed to meet Dr. Palmoil. It seems that if we can only open the interior of Africa a little further, we can get everything that is wanted to complete the chemical combination necessary for feeding the human race. Isn’t that a grand idea, Roger?”

“A little more elbow grease is the combination that I look to.”

“Surely, Roger, if the Bible is to go for anything, we are to believe that labour is a curse