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of Roger’s previous claim, — partly no doubt in gratitude, but of this last reason Roger never said a word. If Paul did not see this himself, Paul was not such a man as his friend had taken him to be.
Paul did see it himself, and had many scruples. But why should his friend be a dog in the manger? He would yield at once to Roger Carbury’s older claims if Roger could make anything of them. Indeed he could have no chance if the girl were disposed to take Roger for her husband. Roger had all the advantage of Carbury Manor at his back, whereas he had nothing but his share in the doubtful business of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, in a wretched little town 250 miles further off than San Francisco! But if with all this, Roger could not prevail, why should he not try? What Roger said about want of money was mere nonsense. Paul was sure that his friend would have created no such difficulty had not he himself been interested. Paul declared to himself that he had money, though doubtful money, and that he certainly would not give up Henrietta on that score.
He came up to London at various times in search of certain employment which had been half promised him, and, after the expiration of the three months, constantly saw Lady Carbury and her daughter. But from time to time he had given renewed promises to Roger Carbury that he would not declare his passion, — now for two months, then for six weeks, then for a month. In the meantime the two men were fast friends, — so fast that Montague spent by far the greater part of his time as his friend’s guest, — and all this was done with the understanding that Roger Carbury was to blaze up into hostile wrath should Paul ever receive the privilege to call himself Henrietta Carbury’s favoured lover, but that everything was to be smooth between them should Henrietta be persuaded to become the mistress of Carbury Hall. So things went on up to the night at which Montague met Henrietta at Madame Melmotte’s ball. The reader should also be informed that there had been already a former love affair in the young life of Paul Montague. There had been, and indeed there still was, a widow, one Mrs Hurtle, whom he had been desperately anxious to marry before his second journey to California; — but the marriage had been prevented by the interference of Roger Carbury.
Chapter VII
Mentor
Lady Carbury’s desire for a union between Roger and her daughter was greatly increased by her solicitude in respect to her son. Since Roger’s offer had first been made, Felix had gone on from bad to worse, till his condition had become one of hopeless embarrassment. If her daughter could but be settled in the world, Lady Carbury said to herself, she could then devote herself to the interests of her son. She had no very clear idea of what that devotion would be. But she did know that she had paid so much money for him, and would have so much more extracted from her, that it might well come to pass that she would be unable to keep a home for her daughter. In all these troubles she constantly appealed to Roger Carbury for advice, — which, however, she never followed. He recommended her to give up her house in town, to find a home for her daughter elsewhere, and also for Felix if he would consent to follow her. Should he not so consent, then let the young man bear the brunt of his own misdoings. Doubtless, when he could no longer get bread in London he would find her out. Roger was always severe when he spoke of the baronet, — or seemed to Lady Carbury to be severe.
But, in truth, she did not ask for advice in order that she might follow it. She had plans in her head with which she knew that Roger would not sympathise. She still thought that Sir Felix might bloom and burst out into grandeur, wealth, and fashion, as the husband of a great heiress, and in spite of her son’s vices, was proud of him in that anticipation. When he succeeded in obtaining from her money, as in the case of that £20, — when, with brazen-faced indifference to her remonstrances, he started off to his club at two in the morning, when with impudent drollery he almost boasted of the hopelessness of his debts, a sickness of heart would come upon her, and she would weep hysterically, and lie the whole night without sleeping. But could he marry Miss Melmotte, and thus conquer all his troubles by means of his own personal beauty, — then she would be proud of all that had passed. With such a condition of mind Roger Carbury could have no sympathy. To him it seemed that a gentleman was disgraced who owed money to a tradesman which he could not pay. And Lady Carbury’s heart was high with other hopes, — in spite of her hysterics and her fears. The “Criminal Queens” might be a great literary success. She almost thought that it would be a success. Messrs. Leadham and Loiter, the publishers, were civil to her. Mr Broune had promised. Mr Booker had said that he would see what could be done. She had gathered from Mr Alf’s caustic and cautious words that the book would be noticed in the “Evening Pulpit.” No; — she would not take dear Roger’s advice as to leaving London. But she would continue to ask Roger’s advice. Men like to have their advice asked. And, if possible, she would arrange the marriage. What country retirement could be so suitable for a Lady Carbury when she wished to retire for awhile, — as Carbury Manor, the seat of her own daughter? And then her mind would fly away into regions of bliss. If only by the end of this season Henrietta could be engaged to her cousin, Felix be the husband of the richest bride in Europe, and she be the acknowledged author of the cleverest book of the year, what a Paradise of triumph might still be open to her after all her troubles. Then the sanguine nature of the woman would bear her up almost to exultation, and for an hour she would be happy in spite of everything.
A few days after the ball Roger Carbury was up in town and was closeted with her in her back drawing-room. The declared cause of his coming was the condition of the baronet’s affairs and the indispensable necessity, — so Roger thought, — of taking some steps by which at any rate the young man’s present expenses might be brought to an end. It was horrible to him that a man who had not a shilling in the world or any prospect of a shilling, who had nothing and never thought of earning anything should have hunters! He was very much in earnest about it, and quite prepared to speak his mind to the young man himself, — if he could get hold of him. “Where is he now, Lady Carbury, — at this moment?”
“I think he’s out with the Baron.” Being “out with the Baron.” meant that the young man was hunting with the staghounds some forty miles away from London.
“How does he manage it? Whose horses does he ride? Who pays for them?”
“Don’t be angry with me, Roger. What can I do to prevent it?”
“I think you should refuse to have anything to do with him while he continues in such courses.”
“My own son!”
“Yes; — exactly. But what is to be the end of it? Is he to be allowed to ruin you and Hetta? It can’t go on long.”
“You wouldn’t have me throw him over.”
“I think he is throwing you over. And then it is so thoroughly dishonest, — so ungentlemanlike! I don’t understand how it goes on from day to day. I suppose you don’t supply him with ready money?”
“He has had a little.”
Roger frowned angrily. “I can understand that you should provide him with bed and food, but not that you should pander to his vices by giving him money.” This was very plain speaking, and Lady Carbury winced under it. “The kind of life that he is leading requires a large income of itself. I understand the thing, and know that with all I have in the world I could not do it myself.”
“You are so different.”
“I am older of course, — very much older. But he is not so young that he should not begin to comprehend. Has he any money beyond what you give him?”
Then Lady Carbury revealed certain suspicions which she had begun to entertain during the last day or two. “I think he has been playing.”
“That is the way to lose money, — not to get it.” said Roger.
“I suppose somebody wins, — sometimes.”
“They who win are the sharpers. They who lose are the dupes. I would sooner that he were a fool than a knave.”
“O Roger, you are so severe!”