The Way We Live Now Anthony Trollope (classic books for 11 year olds .txt) 📖

than anything else in the world. But he was quite willing to give this up for the good of his family. He would be contented to drag through long listless days at Caversham, and endeavour to nurse his property, if only his daughter would allow it. By assuming a certain pomp in his living, which had been altogether unserviceable to himself and family, by besmearing his footmen’s heads, and bewigging his coachmen, by aping, though never achieving, the grand ways of grander men than himself, he had run himself into debt. His own ambition had been a peerage, and he had thought that this was the way to get it. A separate property had come to his son from his wife’s mother⁠—some £2,000 or £3,000 a year, magnified by the world into double its amount⁠—and the knowledge of this had for a time reconciled him to increasing the burdens on the family estates. He had been sure that Adolphus, when of age, would have consented to sell the Sussex property in order that the Suffolk property might be relieved. But Dolly was now in debt himself, and though in other respects the most careless of men, was always on his guard in any dealings with his father. He would not consent to the sale of the Sussex property unless half of the proceeds were to be at once handed to himself. The father could not bring himself to consent to this, but, while refusing it, found the troubles of the world very hard upon him. Melmotte had done something for him⁠—but in doing this Melmotte was very hard and tyrannical. Melmotte, when at Caversham, had looked into his affairs, and had told him very plainly that with such an establishment in the country he was not entitled to keep a house in town. Mr. Longestaffe had then said something about his daughters⁠—something especially about Georgiana⁠—and Mr. Melmotte had made a suggestion.

Mr. Longestaffe, when he read his daughter’s appeal, did feel for her, in spite of his anger. But if there was one man he hated more than another, it was his neighbour Mr. Primero; and if one woman, it was Mrs. Primero. Primero, whom Mr. Longestaffe regarded as quite an upstart, and anything but a gentleman, owed no man anything. He paid his tradesmen punctually, and never met the squire of Caversham without seeming to make a parade of his virtue in that direction. He had spent many thousands for his party in county elections and borough elections, and was now himself member for a metropolitan district. He was a radical, of course, or, according to Mr. Longestaffe’s view of his political conduct, acted and voted on the radical side because there was nothing to be got by voting and acting on the other. And now there had come into Suffolk a rumour that Mr. Primero was to have a peerage. To others the rumour was incredible, but Mr. Longestaffe believed it, and to Mr. Longestaffe that belief was an agony. A Baron Bundlesham just at his door, and such a Baron Bundlesham, would be more than Mr. Longestaffe could endure. It was quite impossible that his daughter should be entertained in London by the Primeros.

But another suggestion had been made. Georgiana’s letter had been laid on her father’s table on the Monday morning. On the following morning, when there could have been no intercourse with London by letter, Lady Pomona called her younger daughter to her, and handed her a note to read. “Your papa has this moment given it me. Of course you must judge for yourself.” This was the note;⁠—

My Dear Mr. Longestaffe,

As you seem determined not to return to London this season, perhaps one of your young ladies would like to come to us. Mrs. Melmotte would be delighted to have Miss Georgiana for June and July. If so, she need only give Mrs. Melmotte a day’s notice.

Yours truly,

Augustus Melmotte.

Georgiana, as soon as her eye had glanced down the one side of note paper on which this invitation was written, looked up for the date. It was without a date, and had, she felt sure, been left in her father’s hands to be used as he might think fit. She breathed very hard. Both her father and mother had heard her speak of these Melmottes, and knew what she thought of them. There was an insolence in the very suggestion. But at the first moment she said nothing of that. “Why shouldn’t I go to the Primeros?” she asked.

“Your father will not hear of it. He dislikes them especially.”

“And I dislike the Melmottes. I dislike the Primeros of course, but they are not so bad as the Melmottes. That would be dreadful.”

“You must judge for yourself, Georgiana.”

“It is that⁠—or staying here?”

“I think so, my dear.”

“If papa chooses I don’t know why I am to mind. It will be awfully disagreeable⁠—absolutely disgusting!”

“She seemed to be very quiet.”

“Pooh, mamma! Quiet! She was quiet here because she was afraid of us. She isn’t yet used to be with people like us. She’ll get over that if I’m in the house with her. And then she is, oh! so frightfully vulgar! She must have been the very sweeping of the gutters. Did you not see it, mamma? She could not even open her mouth, she was so ashamed of herself. I shouldn’t wonder if they turned out to be something quite horrid. They make me shudder. Was there ever anything so dreadful to look at as he is?”

“Everybody goes to them,” said Lady Pomona. “The Duchess of Stevenage has been there over and over again, and so has Lady Auld Reekie. Everybody goes to their house.”

“But everybody doesn’t go and live with them. Oh, mamma⁠—to have to sit down to breakfast every day for ten weeks with that man and that woman!”

“Perhaps they’ll let you have your breakfast upstairs.”

“But to have to go out with them;⁠—walking into the room after her! Only think of it!”

“But you are so anxious to be in London, my dear.”

“Of course I am anxious.