The Way We Live Now (World's Classics Series). Anthony TrollopeЧитать онлайн книгу.
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. What other chance have I, mamma? And, oh dear, I am so tired of it! Pleasure, indeed! Papa talks of pleasure. If papa had to work half as hard as I do, I wonder what he’d think of it. I suppose I must do it. I know it will make me so ill that I shall almost die under it. Horrid, horrid people! And papa to propose it, who has always been so proud of everything, — who used to think so much of being with the right set”
“Things are changed, Georgiana,” said the anxious mother.
“Indeed they are when papa wants me to go and stay with people like that. Why, mamma, the apothecary in Bungay is a fine gentleman compared with Mr Melmotte, and his wife is a fine lady compared with Madame Melmotte. But I’ll go. If papa chooses me to be seen with such people it is not my fault. There will be no disgracing one’s self after that. I don’t believe in the least that any decent man would propose to a girl in such a house, and you and papa must not be surprised if I take some horrid creature from the Stock Exchange. Papa has altered his ideas; and so, I suppose, I had better alter mine.”
Georgiana did not speak to her father that night, but Lady Pomona informed Mr Longestaffe that Mr Melmotte’s invitation was to be accepted. She herself would write a line to Madame Melmotte, and Georgiana would go up on the Friday following. “I hope she’ll like it,” said Mr Longestaffe. The poor man had no intention of irony. It was not in his nature to be severe after that fashion. But to poor Lady Pomona the words sounded very cruel. How could any one like to live in a house with Mr and Madame Melmotte!
On the Friday morning there was a little conversation between the two sisters, just before Georgiana’s departure to the railway station, which was almost touching. She had endeavoured to hold up her head as usual, but had failed. The thing that she was going to do cowed her even in the presence of her sister. “Sophy, I do so envy you staying here.”
“But it was you who were so determined to be in London.”
“Yes; I was determined, and am determined. I’ve got to get myself settled somehow, and that can’t be done down here. But you are not going to disgrace yourself.”
“There’s no disgrace in it, Georgey.”
“Yes, there is. I believe the man to be a swindler and a thief; and I believe her to be anything low that you can think of. As to their pretensions to be gentlefolk, it is monstrous. The footmen and housemaids would be much better.”
“Then don’t go, Georgey.”
“I must go. It’s the only chance that is left. If I were to remain down here everybody would say that I was on the shelf. You are going to marry Whitstable, and you’ll do very well. It isn’t a big place, but there’s no debt on it, and Whitstable himself isn’t a bad sort of fellow.”
“Is he, now?”
“Of course he hasn’t much to say for himself; for he’s always at home. But he is a gentleman.”
“That he certainly is.”
“As for me I shall give over caring about gentlemen now. The first man that comes to me with four or five thousand a year, I’ll take him, though he’d come out of Newgate or Bedlam. And I shall always say it has been papa’s doing.”