of evil, that falsehood might in certain conditions be better than truth, that shams and pretences might do the work of true service, that a strong house might be built upon the sand! It was lamentable to him that the girl he loved should be subjected to this teaching, and live in an atmosphere so burdened with falsehood. Would not the touch of pitch at last defile her? In his heart of hearts he believed that she loved Paul Montague; and of Paul himself he was beginning to fear evil. What but a sham could be a man who consented to pretend to sit as one of a Board of Directors to manage an enormous enterprise with such colleagues as Lord Alfred Grendall and Sir Felix Carbury, under the absolute control of such a one as Mr Augustus Melmotte? Was not this building a house upon the sand with a vengeance? What a life it would be for Henrietta Carbury were she to marry a man striving to become rich without labour and without capital, and who might one day be wealthy and the next a beggar, — a city adventurer, who of all men was to him the vilest and most dishonest? He strove to think well of Paul Montague, but such was the life which he feared the young man was preparing for himself.
Then he went into the house and wandered up through the rooms which the two ladies were to occupy. As their host, a host without a wife or mother or sister, it was his duty to see that things were comfortable, but it may be doubted whether he would have been so careful had the mother been coming alone. In the smaller room of the two the hangings were all white, and the room was sweet with May flowers; and he brought a white rose from the hothouse, and placed it in a glass on the dressing table. Surely she would know who put it there. Then he stood at the open window, looking down upon the lawn, gazing vacantly for half an hour, till he heard the wheels of the carriage before the front door. During that half-hour he resolved that he would try again as though there had as yet been no repulse.
Chapter XV
“You Should Remember That I Am His Mother”
“This is so kind of you,” said Lady Carbury, grasping her cousin’s hand as she got out of the carriage.
“The kindness is on your part,” said Roger.
“I felt so much before I dared to ask you to take us. But I did so long to get into the country, and I do so love Carbury. And — and — ”
“Where should a Carbury go to escape from London smoke, but to the old house? I am afraid Henrietta will find it dull.”
“Oh no,” said Hetta smiling. “You ought to remember that I am never dull in the country.”
“The bishop and Mrs Yeld are coming here to dine tomorrow, — and the Hepworths.”
“I shall be so glad to meet the bishop once more,” said Lady Carbury.
“I think everybody must be glad to meet him, he is such a dear, good fellow, and his wife is just as good. And there is another gentleman coming whom you have never seen.”
“A new neighbour?”
“Yes, — a new neighbour; — Father John Barham, who has come to Beccles as priest. He has got a little cottage about a mile from here, in this parish, and does duty both at Beccles and Bungay. I used to know something of his family.”
“He is a gentleman then?”
“Certainly he is a gentleman. He took his degree at Oxford, and then became what we call a pervert, and what I suppose they call a convert. He has not got a shilling in the world beyond what they pay him as a priest, which I take it amounts to about as much as the wages of a day labourer. He told me the other day that he was absolutely forced to buy secondhand clothes.”
“How shocking!” said Lady Carbury, holding up her hands.
“He didn’t seem to be at all shocked at telling it. We have got to be quite friends.”
“Will the bishop like to meet him?”
“Why should not the bishop like to meet him? I’ve told the bishop all about him, and the bishop particularly wishes to know him. He won’t hurt the bishop. But you and Hetta will find it very dull.”
“I shan’t find it dull, Mr Carbury,” said Henrietta.
“It was to escape from the eternal parties that we came down here,” said Lady Carbury.
She had nevertheless been anxious to hear what guests were expected at the Manor House. Sir Felix had promised to come down on Saturday, with the intention of returning on Monday, and Lady Carbury had hoped that some visiting might be arranged between Caversham and the Manor House, so that her son might have the full advantage of his closeness to Marie Melmotte.
“I have asked the Longestaffes for Monday,” said Roger. “They are down here then?”
“I think they arrived yesterday. There is always a flustering breeze in the air and a perturbation generally through the county when they come or go, and I think I perceived the effects about four in the afternoon. They won’t come, I dare say.”
“Why not?”
“They never do. They have probably a house full of guests, and they know that my accommodation is limited. I’ve no doubt they’ll ask us on Tuesday or Wednesday, and if you like we will go.”
“I know they are to have guests,” said Lady Carbury.
“What guests?”
“The Melmottes are coming to them.” Lady Carbury, as she made the announcement, felt that her voice and countenance and self-possession were failing her, and that she could not mention the thing as she would any matter that was indifferent to her.
“The Melmottes coming to Caversham!” said Roger, looking at Henrietta, who blushed with shame as she remembered that she had been brought into her lover’s house solely in order that her brother might have an opportunity of seeing Marie Melmotte in the country.
“Oh yes, — Madame Melmotte told me. I take it they are very intimate.”
“Mr Longestaffe ask the Melmottes to visit him at Caversham!”
“Why not?”
“I should almost as soon have believed that I myself might have been induced to ask them here.”
“I fancy, Roger, that Mr Longestaffe does want a little pecuniary assistance.”
“And he condescends to get it in this way! I suppose it will make no difference soon whom one knows, and whom one doesn’t. Things aren’t as they were, of course, and never will be again. Perhaps it’s all for the better; — I won’t say it isn’t. But I should have thought that such a man as Mr Longestaffe might have kept such another man as Mr Melmotte out of his wife’s drawing-room.” Henrietta became redder than ever. Even Lady Carbury flushed up, as she remembered that Roger Carbury knew that she had taken her daughter to Madame Melmotte’s ball. He thought of this himself as soon as the words were spoken, and then tried to make some half apology. “I don’t approve of them in London, you know; but I think they are very much worse in the country.”
Then there was a movement. The ladies were shown into their rooms, and Roger again went out into the garden. He began to feel
