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 that there would be very little. There would be nothing in it that ought to make him really angry. He has nobody else to give his money to, and it would be much nicer to have his daughter, Lady Carbury, with him, than to be left all alone in the world.’

‘I couldn’t live with him, you know. I couldn’t do it.’

‘You needn’t live with him, Felix. Of course she would visit her parents. When the money was once settled you need see as little of them as you pleased. Pray do not allow trifles to interfere with you. If this should not succeed, what are you to do? We shall all starve unless something be done. If I were you, Felix, I would take her away at once. They say she is of age.’

‘I shouldn’t know where to take her,’ said Sir Felix, almost stunned into thoughtfulness by the magnitude of the proposition made to him. ‘All that about Scotland is done with now.’

‘Of course you would marry her at once.’

‘I suppose so — unless it were better to stay as we were, till the money was settled.’

‘Oh no; no! Everybody would be against you. If you take her off in a spirited sort of way and then marry her, everybody will be with you. That’s what you want. The father and mother will be sure to come round, if —’

‘The mother is nothing.’

‘He will come round if people speak up in your favour. I could get Mr Alf and Mr Broune to help. I’d try it, Felix; indeed I would. Ten thousand a year is not to be had every year.’

Sir Felix gave no assent to his mother’s views. He felt no desire to relieve her anxiety by an assurance of activity in the matter. But the prospect was so grand that it had excited even him. He had money sufficient for carrying out the scheme, and if he delayed the matter now, it might well be that he would never again find himself so circumstanced. He thought that he would ask somebody whither he ought to take her, and what he ought to do with her; — and that he would then make the proposition to herself. Miles Grendall would be the man to tell him, because, with all his faults, Miles did understand things. But he could not ask Miles. He and Nidderdale were good friends; but Nidderdale wanted the girl for himself. Grasslough would be sure to tell Nidderdale. Dolly would be altogether useless. He thought that, perhaps, Herr Vossner would be the man to help him. There would be no difficulty out of which Herr Vossner would not extricate ‘a fellow,’— if ‘the fellow’ paid him.

On Thursday evening he went to Grosvenor Square, as desired by Marie — but unfortunately found Melmotte in the drawing-room. Lord Nidderdale was there also, and his lordship’s old father, the Marquis of Auld Reekie, whom Felix, when he entered the room, did not know. He was a fierce-looking, gouty old man, with watery eyes, and very stiff grey hair — almost white. He was standing up supporting himself on two sticks when Sir Felix entered the room. There were also present Madame Melmotte, Miss Longestaffe, and Marie. As Felix had entered the hail one huge footman had said that the ladies were not at home; then there had been for a moment a whispering behind a door — in which he afterwards conceived that Madame Didon had taken a part; — and upon that a second tall footman had contradicted the first and had ushered him up to the drawing-room. He felt considerably embarrassed, but shook hands with the ladies, bowed to Melmotte, who seemed to take no notice of him, and nodded to Lord Nidderdale. He had not had time to place himself, when the Marquis arranged things. ‘Suppose we go downstairs,’ said the Marquis.

‘Certainly, my lord,’ said Melmotte. ‘I’ll show your lordship the way.’ The Marquis did not speak to his son, but poked at him with his stick, as though poking him out of the door. So instigated, Nidderdale followed the financier, and the gouty old Marquis toddled after them.

Madame Melmotte was beside herself with trepidation. ‘You should not have been made to come up at all,’ she said. ‘Il faut que vous vous retiriez.’

‘I am very sorry,’ said Sir Felix, looking quite aghast. ‘I think that I had at any rate better retire,’ said Miss Longestaffe, raising herself to her full height and stalking out of the room.

‘Qu’elle est méchante,’ said Madame Melmotte. ‘Oh, she is so bad. Sir Felix, you had better go too. Yes indeed.’

‘No,’ said Marie, running to him, and taking hold of his arm. ‘Why should he go? I want papa to know.’

‘Il vous tuera,’ said Madame Melmotte. ‘My God, yes.’

‘Then he shall,’ said Marie, clinging to her lover. ‘I will never marry Lord Nidderdale. If he were to cut me into bits I wouldn’t do it. Felix, you love me; do you not?’

‘Certainly,’ said Sir Felix, slipping his arm round her waist.

‘Mamma,’ said Marie, ‘I will never have any other man but him; — never, never, never. Oh, Felix, tell her that you love me.’

‘You know that, don’t you, ma’am?’ Sir Felix was a little troubled in his mind as to what he should say, or what he should do.

‘Oh, love! It is a beastliness,’ said Madame Melmotte. ‘Sir Felix, you had better go. Yes, indeed. Will you be so obliging?’

‘Don’t go,’ said Marie. ‘No, mamma, he shan’t go. What has he to be afraid of? I will walk down among them into papa’s room, and say that I will never marry that man, and that this is my lover. Felix, will you come?’

Sir Felix did not quite like the proposition. There had been a savage ferocity in that Marquis’s eye, and there was habitually a heavy sternness about Melmotte, which together made him resist the invitation. ‘I don’t think I have a right to do that,’ he said, ‘because it is Mr Melmotte’s own house.’

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ said Marie. ‘I told papa to-day that I wouldn’t marry Lord Nidderdale.’

‘Was he angry with you?’

‘He laughed at me. He manages people till he thinks that everybody must do exactly what he tells them. He may kill me, but I will n............