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

into his coat and boots. On their way to the city Felix told his dreadful story about Miles Grendall. “By George!” said Dolly. “And you think you saw him do it!”

“It’s not thinking at all. I’m sure I saw him do it three times. I believe he always had an ace somewhere about him.” Dolly sat quite silent thinking of it. “What had I better do?” asked Sir Felix.

“By George;⁠—I don’t know.”

“What should you do?”

“Nothing at all. I shouldn’t believe my own eyes. Or if I did, should take care not to look at him.”

“You wouldn’t go on playing with him?”

“Yes I should. It’d be such a bore breaking up.”

“But Dolly⁠—if you think of it!”

“That’s all very fine, my dear fellow, but I shouldn’t think of it.”

“And you won’t give me your advice.”

“Well;⁠—no; I think I’d rather not. I wish you hadn’t told me. Why did you pick me out to tell me? Why didn’t you tell Nidderdale?”

“He might have said, why didn’t you tell Longestaffe?”

“No, he wouldn’t. Nobody would suppose that anybody would pick me out for this kind of thing. If I’d known that you were going to tell me such a story as this I wouldn’t have come with you.”

“That’s nonsense, Dolly.”

“Very well. I can’t bear these kind of things. I feel all in a twitter already.”

“You mean to go on playing just the same?”

“Of course I do. If he won anything very heavy I should begin to think about it, I suppose. Oh; this is Abchurch Lane, is it? Now for the man of money.”

The man of money received them much more graciously than Sir Felix had expected. Of course nothing was said about Marie and no further allusion was made to the painful subject of the baronet’s “property.” Both Dolly and Sir Felix were astonished by the quick way in which the great financier understood their views and the readiness with which he undertook to comply with them. No disagreeable questions were asked as to the nature of the debt between the young men. Dolly was called upon to sign a couple of documents, and Sir Felix to sign one⁠—and then they were assured that the thing was done. Mr. Adolphus Longestaffe had paid Sir Felix Carbury a thousand pounds, and Sir Felix Carbury’s commission had been accepted by Mr. Melmotte for the purchase of railway stock to that amount. Sir Felix attempted to say a word. He endeavoured to explain that his object in this commercial transaction was to make money immediately by reselling the shares⁠—and to go on continually making money by buying at a low price and selling at a high price. He no doubt did believe that, being a Director, if he could once raise the means of beginning this game, he could go on with it for an unlimited period;⁠—buy and sell, buy and sell;⁠—so that he would have an almost regular income. This, as far as he could understand, was what Paul Montague was allowed to do⁠—simply because he had become a Director with a little money. Mr. Melmotte was cordiality itself, but he could not be got to go into particulars. It was all right. “You will wish to sell again, of course;⁠—of course. I’ll watch the market for you.” When the young men left the room all they knew, or thought that they knew, was, that Dolly Longestaffe had authorised Melmotte to pay a thousand pounds on his behalf to Sir Felix, and that Sir Felix had instructed the same great man to buy shares with the amount. “But why didn’t he give you the scrip?” said Dolly on his way westwards.

“I suppose it’s all right with him,” said Sir Felix.

“Oh yes;⁠—it’s all right. Thousands of pounds to him are only like half-crowns to us fellows. I should say it’s all right. All the same, he’s the biggest rogue out, you know.” Sir Felix already began to be unhappy about his thousand pounds.

XXIX Miss Melmotte’s Courage

Lady Carbury continued to ask frequent questions as to the prosecution of her son’s suit, and Sir Felix began to think that he was persecuted. “I have spoken to her father,” he said crossly.

“And what did Mr. Melmotte say?”

“Say;⁠—what should he say? He wanted to know what income I had got. After all he’s an old screw.”

“Did he forbid you to come there any more?”

“Now, mother, it’s no use your cross-examining me. If you’ll let me alone I’ll do the best I can.”

“She has accepted you, herself?”

“Of course she has. I told you that at Carbury.”

“Then, Felix, if I were you I’d run off with her. I would indeed. It’s done every day, and nobody thinks any harm of it when you marry the girl. You could do it now because I know you’ve got money. From all I can hear she’s just the sort of girl that would go with you.” The son sat silent, listening to these maternal councils. He did believe that Marie would go off with him, were he to propose the scheme to her. Her own father had almost alluded to such a proceeding⁠—had certainly hinted that it was feasible⁠—but at the same time had very clearly stated that in such case the ardent lover would have to content himself with the lady alone. In any such event as that there would be no fortune. But then, might not that only be a threat? Rich fathers generally do forgive their daughters, and a rich father with only one child would surely forgive her when she returned to him, as she would do in this instance, graced with a title. Sir Felix thought of all this as he sat there silent. His mother read his thoughts as she continued. “Of course, Felix, there must be some risk.”

“Fancy what it would be to be thrown over at last!” he exclaimed. “I couldn’t bear it. I think I should kill her.”

“Oh no, Felix; you wouldn’t do that. But when I say there would be some risk I mean