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

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 Melmotte⁠—did not recommend itself to her. As to Fisker himself⁠—she certainly liked him. He was not beautiful like Felix Carbury, nor had he the easy good-humour of Lord Nidderdale. 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, were 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 favour. On consideration of the whole subject she was inclined to think that she would do better in the world as Mrs. Fisker than as Marie Melmotte⁠—if she could see her way clearly in the matter of her own money.

“I have got excellent berths,” Fisker said to her one morning at Hampstead. At these interviews, which were devoted first to business and then to love, Madame Melmotte was never allowed to be present.

“I am to be alone?”

“Oh, yes. There is a cabin for Madame Melmotte and the maid, and a cabin for you. Everything will be comfortable. And there is another lady going⁠—Mrs. Hurtle⁠—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 Carbury had heard something of Mrs. Hurtle’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, Miss Melmotte⁠—no doubt. 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 oughtn’t to know. I hope I make myself understood, Miss Melmotte.”

“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, Miss Melmotte. 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 ’em. I don’t think many of ’em have ’em at all.”

“Miss Melmotte, you do not know the glorious west. Your past experiences have been drawn from this effete 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 of being 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 Melmotte, under such 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 Melmotte, 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 dollars 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 Melmotte. I shouldn’t be able to touch a dollar of your money. It would be such a triumph to go into Francisco 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 Melmotte, I do admire you so much!”

I doubt whether this last assurance 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 round 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, forgetting in his ecstasy that he was not in the United States.

“But if I find when I get