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

instructed. But should the affair turn out well nobody would know that. All the fellows would give him credit for the audacity with which he had carried off the heiress to America.

At ten o’clock he found his mother and Hetta in Welbeck Street⁠—“What; Felix?” exclaimed Lady Carbury.

“You’re surprised; are you not?” Then he threw himself into a chair. “Mother,” he said, “would you mind coming into the other room?” Lady Carbury of course went with him. “I’ve got something to tell you,” he said.

“Good news?” she asked, clasping her hands together. From his manner she thought that it was good news. Money had in some way come into his hands⁠—or at any rate a prospect of money.

“That’s as may be,” he said, and then he paused.

“Don’t keep me in suspense, Felix.”

“The long and the short of it is that I’m going to take Marie off.”

“Oh, Felix.”

“You said you thought it was the right thing to do;⁠—and therefore I’m going to do it. The worst of it is that one wants such a lot of money for this kind of thing.”

“But when?”

“Immediately. I wouldn’t tell you till I had arranged everything. I’ve had it in my mind for the last fortnight.”

“And how is it to be? Oh, Felix, I hope it may succeed.”

“It was your own idea, you know. We’re going to;⁠—where do you think?”

“How can I think?⁠—Boulogne.”

“You say that just because Goldsheiner went there. That wouldn’t have done at all for us. We’re going to⁠—New York.”

“To New York! But when will you be married?”

“There will be a clergyman on board. It’s all fixed. I wouldn’t go without telling you.”

“Oh; I wish you hadn’t told me.”

“Come now;⁠—that’s kind. You don’t mean to say it wasn’t you that put me up to it. I’ve got to get my things ready.”

“Of course, if you tell me that you are going on a journey, I will have your clothes got ready for you. When do you start?”

“Wednesday afternoon.”

“For New York! We must get some things ready-made. Oh, Felix, how will it be if he does not forgive her?” He attempted to laugh. “When I spoke of such a thing as possible he had not sworn then that he would never give her a shilling.”

“They always say that.”

“You are going to risk it?”

“I am going to take your advice.” This was dreadful to the poor mother. “There is money settled on her.”

“Settled on whom?”

“On Marie;⁠—money which he can’t get back again.”

“How much?”

“She doesn’t know;⁠—but a great deal; enough for them all to live upon if things went amiss with them.”

“But that’s only a form, Felix. That money can’t be her own, to give to her husband.”

“Melmotte will find that it is, unless he comes to terms. That’s the pull we’ve got over him. Marie knows what she’s about. She’s a great deal sharper than anyone would take her to be. What can you do for me about money, mother?”

“I have none, Felix.”

“I thought you’d be sure to help me, as you wanted me so much to do it.”

“That’s not true, Felix. I didn’t want you to do it. Oh, I am so sorry that that word ever passed my mouth! I have no money. There isn’t £20 at the bank altogether.”

“They would let you overdraw for £50 or £60.”

“I will not do it. I will not starve myself and Hetta. You had ever so much money only lately. I will get some things for you, and pay for them as I can if you cannot pay for them after your marriage;⁠—but I have not money to give you.”

“That’s a blue look out,” said he, turning himself in his chair⁠—“just when £60 or £70 might make a fellow for life! You could borrow it from your friend Broune.”

“I will do no such thing, Felix. £50 or £60 would make very little difference in the expense of such a trip as this. I suppose you have some money?”

“Some;⁠—yes, some. But I’m so short that any little thing would help me.” Before the evening was over she absolutely did give him a cheque for £30, although she had spoken the truth in saying that she had not so much at her banker’s.

After this he went back to his club, although he himself understood the danger. He could not bear the idea of going to bed quietly at home at half-past ten. He got into a cab, and was very soon up in the card-room. He found nobody there, and went to the smoking-room, where Dolly Longestaffe and Miles Grendall were sitting silently together, with pipes in their mouths. “Here’s Carbury,” said Dolly, waking suddenly into life. “Now we can have a game at three-handed loo.”

“Thank ye; not for me,” said Sir Felix. “I hate three-handed loo.”

“Dummy,” suggested Dolly.

“I don’t think I’ll play tonight, old fellow. I hate three fellows sticking down together.” Miles sat silent, smoking his pipe, conscious of the baronet’s dislike to play with him. “By the by, Grendall⁠—look here.” And Sir Felix in his most friendly tone whispered into his enemy’s ear a petition that some of the I.O.U.s might be converted into cash.

“ ’Pon my word, I must ask you to wait till next week,” said Miles.

“It’s always waiting till next week with you,” said Sir Felix, getting up and standing with his back to the fireplace. There were other men in the room, and this was said so that everyone should hear it. “I wonder whether any fellow would buy these for five shillings in the pound?” And he held up the scraps of paper in his hand. He had been drinking freely before he went up to Welbeck Street, and had taken a glass of brandy on re-entering the club.

“Don’t let’s have any of that kind of thing down here,” said Dolly. “If there is to be a row about cards, let it be in the card-room.”

“Of course,” said Miles. “I won’t say a word about the matter down here. It isn’t the proper thing.”

“Come up into the card-room, then,” said Sir