SIR FELIX IN HIS MOTHER'S HOUSE.
When all her friends were gone Lady Carbury looked about for her
son,--not expecting to find him, for she knew how punctual was his
nightly attendance at the Beargarden, but still with some faint hope
that he might have remained on this special occasion to tell her
of his fortune. She had watched the whispering, had noticed the
cool effrontery with which Felix had spoken,--for without hearing
the words she had almost known the very moment in which he was
asking,--and had seen the girl's timid face, and eyes turned to the
ground, and the nervous twitching of her hands as she replied. As a
woman, understanding such things, who had herself been wooed, who
had at least dreamed of love, she had greatly disapproved her son's
manner. But yet, if it might be successful, if the girl would put up
with love-making so slight as that, and if the great Melmotte would
accept in return for his money a title so modest as that of her son,
how glorious should her son be to her in spite of his indifference!
"I heard him leave the house before the Melmottes went," said
Henrietta, when the mother spoke of going up to her son's bedroom.
"He might have stayed to-night. Do you think he asked her?"
"How can I say, mamma?"
"I should have thought you would have been anxious about your
brother. I feel sure he did,--and that she accepted him."
"If so I hope he will be good to her. I hope he loves her."
"Why shouldn't he love her as well as any one else? A girl need not
be odious because she has money. There is nothing disagreeable about
her."
"No,--nothing disagreeable. I do not know that she is especially
attractive."
"Who is? I don't see anybody specially attractive. It seems to me you
are quite indifferent about Felix."
"Do not say that, mamma."
"Yes you are. You don't understand all that he might be with this
girl's fortune, and what he must be unless he gets money by marriage.
He is eating us both up."
"I would not let him do that, mamma."
"It's all very well to say that, but I have some heart. I love him.
I could not see him starve. Think what he might be with £20,000
a-year!"
"If he is to marry for that only, I cannot think that they will be
happy."
"You had better go to bed, Henrietta. You never say a word to comfort
me in all my troubles."
Then Henrietta went to bed, and Lady Carbury absolutely sat up the
whole night waiting for her son, in order that she might hear his
tidings. She went up to her room, disembarrassed herself of her
finery, and wrapped herself in a white dressing-gown. As she sat
opposite to her glass, relieving her head from its garniture of false
hair, she acknowledged to herself that age was coming on her. She
could hide the unwelcome approach by art,--hide it more completely
than can most women of her age; but, there it was, stealing on her
with short grey hairs over her ears and around her temples, with
little wrinkles round her eyes easily concealed by unobjectionable
cosmetics, and a look of weariness round the mouth which could only
be removed by that self-assertion of herself which practice had
made always possible to her in company, though it now so frequently
deserted her when she was alone.
But she was not a woman to be unhappy because she was growing
old. Her happiness, like that of most of us, was ever in the
future,--never reached but always coming. She, however, had not
looked for happiness to love and loveliness, and need not therefore
be disappointed on that score. She had never really determined what
it was that might make her happy,--having some hazy aspiration after
social distinction and literary fame, in which was ever commingled
solicitude respecting money. But at the present moment her great
fears and her great hopes were centred on her son. She would not
care how grey might be her hair, or how savage might be Mr. Alf, if
her Felix were to marry this heiress. On the other hand, nothing
that pearl-powder or the "Morning Breakfast Table" could do would
avail anything, unless he could be extricated from the ruin that
now surrounded him. So she went down into the dining-room, that she
might be sure to hear the key in the door, even should she sleep, and
waited for him with a volume of French memoirs in her hand.
Unfortunate woman! she might have gone to bed and have been duly
called about her usual time, for it was past eight and the full
staring daylight shone into her room when Felix's cab brought him to
the door. The night had been very wretched to her. She had slept, and
the fire had sunk nearly to nothing and had refused to become again
comfortable. She could not keep her mind to her book, and while she
was awake the time seemed to be everlasting. And then it was so
terrible to her that he should be gambling at such hours as these!
Why should he desire to gamble if this girl's fortune was ready to
fall into his hands? Fool, to risk his health, his character, his
beauty, the little money which at this moment of time might be
so indispensable to his great project, for the chance of winning
something which in comparison with Marie Melmotte's money must be
despicable! But at last he came! She waited patiently till he
had thrown aside his hat and coat, and then she appeared at the
dining-room door. She had studied her part for the occasion. She
would not say a harsh word, and now she endeavoured to meet him with
a smile. "Mother," he said, "you up at this hour!" His face was
flushed, and she thought that there was some unsteadiness in his
gait. She had never seen him tipsy, and it would be doubly terrible
to her if such should be his condition.
"I could not go to bed till I had seen you."
"Why not? why should you want to see me? I'll go to bed now. There'll
be plenty of time by-and-bye."
"Is anything the matter, Felix?"
"Matter;--what should be the matter? There's been a gentle row among
the fellows at the club;--that's all. I had to tell Grasslough a bit
of my mind, and he didn't like it. I didn't mean that he should."
"There is not going to be any fighting, Felix?"
"What, duelling; oh no,--nothing so exciting as that. Whether
somebody may not have to kick somebody is more than I can say at
present. You must let me go to bed now, for I am about used up."
"What did Marie Melmotte say to you?"
"Nothing particular." And he stood with his hand on the door as he
answered her.
"And what did you say to her?"
"Nothing particular. Good heavens, mother, do you think that a man is
in a condition to talk about such stuff as that at eight o'clock in
the morning, when he has been up all night?"
"If you knew all that I suffer on your behalf you would speak a word
to me," she said, imploring him, holding him by the arm, and looking
into his purple face and bloodshot eyes. She was sure that he had
been drinking. She could smell it in his breath.
"I must go to the old fellow, of course."
"She told you to go to her father?"
"As far as I remember, that was about it. Of course, he means to
settle it as he likes. I should say that it's ten to one against me."
Pulling himself away with some little roughness from his mother's
hold, he made his way up to his own bedroom, occasionally stumbling
against the stairs.
Then the heiress herself had accepted her son! If so, surely the
thing might be done. Lady Carbury recalled to mind her old conviction
that a daughter may always succeed in beating a hard-hearted parent
in a contention about marriage, if she be well in earnest. But then
the girl must be really in earnest, and her earnestness will depend
on that of her lover. In this case, however, there was as yet no
reason for supposing that the great man would object. As far as
outward signs went, the great man had shown some partiality for her
son. No doubt it was Mr. Melmotte who had made Sir Felix a director
of the great American Company. Felix had also been kindly received
in Grosvenor Square. And then Sir Felix was Sir Felix,--a real
baronet. Mr. Melmotte had no doubt endeavoured to catch this and that
lord; but, failing a lord, why should he not content himself with a
baronet? Lady Carbury thought that her son wanted nothing but money
to make him an acceptable suitor to such a father-in-law as Mr.
Melmotte;--not money in the funds, not a real fortune, not so many
thousands a-year that could be settled;--the man's own enormous
wealth rendered this unnecessary;--but such a one as Mr. Melmotte
would not like outward palpable signs of immediate poverty. There
should be means enough for present sleekness and present luxury. He
must have a horse to ride, and rings and coats to wear, and bright
little canes to carry, and above all the means of making presents. He
must not be seen to be poor. Fortunately, most fortunately, Chance
had befriended him lately and had given him some ready money. But if
he went on gambling Chance would certainly take it all away again.
For aught that the poor mother knew, Chance might have done so
already. And then again, it was indispensable that he should abandon
the habit of play--at any rate for the present, while his prospects
depended on the good opinions of Mr. Melmotte. Of course such a one
as Mr. Melmotte could not like gambling at a club, however much he
might approve of it in the City. Why, with such a preceptor to help
him, should not Felix learn to do his gambling on the Exchange, or
among the brokers, or in the purlieus of the Bank? Lady Carbury would
at any rate instigate him to be diligent in his position as director
of the Great Mexican Railway,--which position ought to be the
beginning to him of a fortune to be made on his own account. But what
hope could there be for him if he should take to drink? Would not
all hopes be over with Mr. Melmotte should he ever learn that his
daughter's lover reached home and tumbled up-stairs to bed between
eight and nine o'clock in the morning?
She watched for his appearance on the following day, and began at
once on the subject.
"Do you know, Felix, I think I shall go down to your cousin Roger for
Whitsuntide."
"To Carbury Manor!" said he, as he eat some devilled kidneys which
the cook had been specially ordered to get for his breakfast. "I
thought you found it so dull that you didn't mean to go there any
more."
"I never said so, Felix. And now I have a great object."
"What will Hetta do?"
"Go too--why shouldn't she?"
"Oh; I didn't know. I thought that perhaps she mightn't like it."
"I don't see why she shouldn't like it. Besides, everything can't
give way to her."
"Has Roger asked you?"
"No; but I'm sure he'd be pleased to have us if I proposed that we
should all go."
"Not me, mother!"
"Yes; you especially."
"Not if I know it, mother. What on earth should I do at Carbury
Manor?"
"Madame Melmotte told me last night that they were all going down to
Caversham to stay three or four days with the Longestaffes. She spoke
of Lady Pomona as quite her particular friend."
"Oh--h! that explains it all."
"Explains what, Felix?" said Lady Carbury, who had heard of Dolly
Longestaffe, and was not without some fear that this projected visit
to Caversham might have some matrimonial purpose in reference to that
delightful young heir.
"They say at the club that Melmotte has taken up old Longestaffe's
affairs, and means to put them straight. There's an old property
in Sussex as well as Caversham, and they say that Melmotte is to
have that himself. There's some bother because Dolly, who would do
anything for anybody else, won't join his father in selling. So the
Melmottes are going to Caversham!"
"Madame Melmotte told me so."
"And the Longestaffes are the proudest people in England."
"Of course we ought to be at Carbury Manor while they are there. What
can be more natural? Everybody goes out of town at Whitsuntide; and
why shouldn't we run down to the family place?"
"All very natural if you can manage it, mother."
"And you'll come?"
"If Marie Melmotte goes, I'll be there at any rate for one day and
night," said Felix.
His mother thought that, for him, the promise had been graciously
made.