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

seconds. “Papa is downstairs in the book-room,” she said. “Lord Alfred was told when he came that he was out.” It was evident to Sir Felix that everything was prepared for him. “You go down,” she continued, “and ask the man to show you into the book-room.”

“Shall I come up again?”

“No; but leave a note for me here under cover to Madame Didon.” Now Sir Felix was sufficiently at home in the house to know that Madame Didon was Madame Melmotte’s own woman, commonly called Didon by the ladies of the family. “Or send it by post⁠—under cover to her. That will be better. Go at once, now.” It certainly did seem to Sir Felix that the very nature of the girl was altered. But he went, just shaking hands with Madame Melmotte, and bowing to Miss Longestaffe.

In a few moments he found himself with Mr. Melmotte in the chamber which had been dignified with the name of the book-room. The great financier was accustomed to spend his Sunday afternoons here, generally with the company of Lord Alfred Grendall. It may be supposed that he was meditating on millions, and arranging the prices of money and funds for the New York, Paris, and London Exchanges. But on this occasion he was waked from slumber, which he seemed to have been enjoying with a cigar in his mouth. “How do you do, Sir Felix?” he said. “I suppose you want the ladies.”

“I’ve just been in the drawing-room, but I thought I’d look in on you as I came down.” It immediately occurred to Melmotte that the baronet had come about his share of the plunder out of the railway, and he at once resolved to be stern in his manner, and perhaps rude also. He believed that he should thrive best by resenting any interference with him in his capacity as financier. He thought that he had risen high enough to venture on such conduct, and experience had told him that men who were themselves only half-plucked, might easily be cowed by a savage assumption of superiority. And he, too, had generally the advantage of understanding the game, while those with whom he was concerned did not, at any rate, more than half understand it. He could thus trade either on the timidity or on the ignorance of his colleagues. When neither of these sufficed to give him undisputed mastery, then he cultivated the cupidity of his friends. He liked young associates because they were more timid and less greedy than their elders. Lord Nidderdale’s suggestions had soon been put at rest, and Mr. Melmotte anticipated no greater difficulty with Sir Felix. Lord Alfred he had been obliged to buy.

“I’m very glad to see you, and all that,” said Melmotte, assuming a certain exaltation of the eyebrows, which they who had many dealings with him often found to be very disagreeable; “but this is hardly a day for business, Sir Felix, nor⁠—yet a place for business.”

Sir Felix wished himself at the Beargarden. He certainly had come about business⁠—business of a particular sort; but Marie had told him that of all days Sunday would be the best, and had also told him that her father was more likely to be in a good humour on Sunday than on any other day. Sir Felix felt that he had not been received with good humour. “I didn’t mean to intrude, Mr. Melmotte,” he said.

“I dare say not. I only thought I’d tell you. You might have been going to speak about that railway.”

“Oh dear no.”

“Your mother was saying to me down in the country that she hoped you attended to the business. I told her that there was nothing to attend to.”

“My mother doesn’t understand anything at all about it,” said Sir Felix.

“Women never do. Well;⁠—what can I do for you, now that you are here?”

“Mr. Melmotte, I’m come⁠—I’m come to;⁠—in short, Mr. Melmotte, I want to propose myself as a suitor for your daughter’s hand.”

“The d⁠⸺ you do!”

“Well, yes; and we hope you’ll give us your consent.”

“She knows you’re coming then?”

“Yes;⁠—she knows.”

“And my wife;⁠—does she know?”

“I’ve never spoken to her about it. Perhaps Miss Melmotte has.”

“And how long have you and she understood each other?”

“I’ve been attached to her ever since I saw her,” said Sir Felix. “I have indeed. I’ve spoken to her sometimes. You know how that kind of thing goes on.”

“I’m blessed if I do. I know how it ought to go on. I know that when large sums of money are supposed to be concerned, the young man should speak to the father before he speaks to the girl. He’s a fool if he don’t, if he wants to get the father’s money. So she has given you a promise?”

“I don’t know about a promise.”

“Do you consider that she’s engaged to you?”

“Not if she’s disposed to get out of it,” said Sir Felix, hoping that he might thus ingratiate himself with the father. “Of course, I should be awfully disappointed.”

“She has consented to your coming to me?”

“Well, yes;⁠—in a sort of a way. Of course she knows that it all depends on you.”

“Not at all. She’s of age. If she chooses to marry you, she can marry you. If that’s all you want, her consent is enough. You’re a baronet, I believe?”

“Oh, yes, I’m a baronet.”

“And therefore you’ve come to your own property. You haven’t to wait for your father to die, and I dare say you are indifferent about money.”

This was a view of things which Sir Felix felt that he was bound to dispel, even at the risk of offending the father. “Not exactly that,” he said. “I suppose you will give your daughter a fortune, of course.”

“Then I wonder you didn’t come to me before you went to her. If my daughter marries to please me, I shall give her money, no doubt. How much is neither here nor there. If she marries to please herself, without considering me, I shan’t give her a farthing.”

“I had hoped that you might consent,