A Chancery judge once had the kindness to inform me, as one of a company of some hundred and fifty men and women not labouring under any suspicions of lunacy, that the Court of Chancery, though the shining subject of much popular prejudice (at which point I thought the judge's eye had a cast in my direction), was almost immaculate.


There had been, he admitted, a trivial blemish or so in its rate of progress, but this was exaggerated and had been entirely owing to the "parsimony of the public," which guilty public, it appeared, had been until lately bent in the most determined manner on by no means enlarging the number of Chancery judges appointed--I believe by Richard the Second, but any other king will do as well.


This seemed to me too profound a joke to be inserted in the body of this book or I should have restored it to Conversation Kenge or to Mr. Vholes, with one or other of whom I think it must have originated.


In such mouths I might have coupled it with an apt quotation from one of Shakespeare's sonnets:


"My nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand: Pity me, then, and wish I were renewed!"


But as it is wholesome that the parsimonious public should know what has been doing, and still is doing, in this connexion, I mention here that everything set forth in these pages concerning the Court of Chancery is substantially true, and within the truth.

Everything set forth in these pages concerning the Court of Chancery is substantially true.


The case of Gridley is in no essential altered from one of actual occurrence, made public by a disinterested person who was professionally acquainted with the whole of the monstrous wrong from beginning to end.


At the present moment (August, 1853) there is a suit before the court which was commenced nearly twenty years ago, in which from thirty to forty counsel have been known to appear at one time, in which costs have been incurred to the amount of seventy thousand pounds, which is A FRIENDLY SUIT, and which is (I am assured) no nearer to its termination now than when it was begun.

At the present moment (August, 1853) there is a lawsuit before the court which began twenty years ago, in which costs have been incurred to the amount of seventy thousand pounds, and which is a friendly suit.


There is another well-known suit in Chancery, not yet decided, which was commenced before the close of the last century and in which more than double the amount of seventy thousand pounds has been swallowed up in costs.

There is another well-known suit in Chancery which was commenced over fifty years ago and in which more than a hundred and forty thousand pounds has been swallowed up in costs.


If I wanted other authorities for Jarndyce and Jarndyce, I could rain them on these pages, to the shame of--a parsimonious public.

If I wanted other authorities for Jarndyce and Jarndyce, I could rain them on these pages.


There is only one other point on which I offer a word of remark.

There is one other point on which I offer a word of remark.


The possibility of what is called spontaneous combustion has been denied since the death of Mr. Krook; and my good friend Mr. Lewes (quite mistaken, as he soon found, in supposing the thing to have been abandoned by all authorities) published some ingenious letters to me at the time when that event was chronicled, arguing that spontaneous combustion could not possibly be.

The possibility of spontaneous human combustion has been denied;


I have no need to observe that I do not wilfully or negligently mislead my readers and that before I wrote that description I took pains to investigate the subject.

but I do not wilfully mislead my readers and before I wrote that description I took pains to investigate the subject.


There are about thirty cases on record, of which the most famous, that of the Countess Cornelia de Baudi Cesenate, was minutely investigated and described by Giuseppe Bianchini, a prebendary of Verona, otherwise distinguished in letters, who published an account of it at Verona in 1731, which he afterwards republished at Rome.

There are about thirty cases on record, of which the most famous, that of the Countess Cornelia de Baudi Cesenate, was investigated and described by Giuseppe Bianchini in 1731.


The appearances, beyond all rational doubt, observed in that case are the appearances observed in Mr. Krook's case.


The next most famous instance happened at Rheims six years earlier, and the historian in that case is Le Cat, one of the most renowned surgeons produced by France.


The subject was a woman, whose husband was ignorantly convicted of having murdered her; but on solemn appeal to a higher court, he was acquitted because it was shown upon the evidence that she had died the death of which this name of spontaneous combustion is given.


I do not think it necessary to add to these notable facts, and that general reference to the authorities which will be found at page 30, vol. ii.,* the recorded opinions and experiences of distinguished medical professors, French, English, and Scotch, in more modern days, contenting myself with observing that I shall not abandon the facts until there shall have been a considerable spontaneous combustion of the testimony on which human occurrences are usually received.**


In Bleak House I have purposely dwelt upon the romantic side of familiar things.


This referred to a specific page in the printed book.


In this Project Gutenberg edition the pertinent information is in Chapter XXX, paragraph 90.


** Another case, very clearly described by a dentist, occurred at the town of Columbus, in the United States of America, quite recently.


The subject was a German who kept a liquor-shop and was an inveterate drunkard.


Whether or no, she, whom you are to forgive, if you can, did or did not belong to the Upper Ten Thousand of this our English world, I am not prepared to say with any strength of affirmation.

Did she (whom you are to forgive, if you can) belong to the Upper Ten Thousand People of England? I cannot say for sure.


By blood she was connected with big people,--distantly connected with some very big people indeed, people who belonged to the Upper Ten Hundred if there be any such division; but of these very big relations she had known and seen little, and they had cared as little for her.

By blood she was connected with some very big people indeed; but she had known and seen little of these distant relations.


Her grandfather, Squire Vavasor of Vavasor Hall, in Westmoreland, was a country gentleman, possessing some thousand a year at the outside, and he therefore never came up to London, and had no ambition to have himself numbered as one in any exclusive set.

Her grandfather, Squire Vavasor of Vavasor Hall, in Westmorland, was a country gentleman, with a thousand pounds a year at most.


A hot-headed, ignorant, honest old gentleman, he lived ever at Vavasor Hall, declaring to any who would listen to him, that the country was going to the mischief, and congratulating himself that at any rate, in his county, parliamentary reform had been powerless to alter the old political arrangements.

A hot-headed, ignorant, honest old gentleman, he never came to London, but lived at Vavasor Hall, declaring to any who would listen that the country was going to the dogs, and congratulating himself that in his county at least, there had been no parliamentary reform.


Alice Vavasor, whose offence against the world I am to tell you, and if possible to excuse, was the daughter of his younger son; and as her father, John Vavasor, had done nothing to raise the family name to eminence, Alice could not lay claim to any high position from her birth as a Vavasor.

Alice Vavasor, whose offence I am to tell you, and if possible to excuse, was the daughter of his younger son.


John Vavasor had come up to London early in life as a barrister, and had failed.

Her father, John Vavasor, had been a London barrister early in life, and had failed to


He had failed at least in attaining either much wealth or much repute, though he had succeeded in earning, or perhaps I might better say, in obtaining, a livelihood.

earn much wealth, although he obtained a livelihood through his marriage.


He had married a lady somewhat older than himself, who was in possession of four hundred a year, and who was related to those big people to whom I have alluded.

He had married a lady somewhat older than himself, who had four hundred pounds a year, and who was related to those big people to whom I have alluded.


Who these were and the special nature of the relationship, I shall be called upon to explain hereafter, but at present it will suffice to say that Alice Macleod gave great offence to all her friends by her marriage.

Who these were, I shall explain later, but at present it will suffice to say that Alice Macleod gave great offence to her relations by her marriage.


She did not, however, give them much time for the indulgence of their anger.

She did not, however, give them much time to indulge their anger


Having given birth to a daughter within twelve months of her marriage, she died, leaving in abeyance that question as to whether the fault of her marriage should or should not be pardoned by her family.

, for after giving birth to a daughter, she died.


When a man marries an heiress for her money, if that money be within her own control, as was the case with Miss Macleod's fortune, it is generally well for the speculating lover that the lady's friends should quarrel with him and with her.


She is thereby driven to throw herself entirely into the gentleman's arms, and he thus becomes possessed of the wife and the money without the abominable nuisance of stringent settlements.


But the Macleods, though they quarrelled with Alice, did not quarrel with her _ l'outrance_.


They snubbed herself and her chosen husband; but they did not so far separate themselves from her and her affairs as to give up the charge of her possessions.

They snubbed Alice and John Vavasor; but they did not give up the charge of her money.


Her four hundred a year was settled very closely on herself and on her children, without even a life interest having been given to Mr. Vavasor, and therefore when she died the mother's fortune became the property of the little baby.

Her four hundred a year was settled very closely on her and on her children, without any going to Mr. Vavasor, so when she died her fortune became the property of baby Alice.


But, under these circumstances, the big people did not refuse to interest themselves to some extent on behalf of the father.

However, the big people gave some aid to the father.


I do not suppose that any actual agreement or compact was made between Mr. Vavasor and the Macleods; but it came to be understood between them that if he made no demand upon them for his daughter's money, and allowed them to have charge of her education, they would do something for him.

It was understood between them that if he made no demand upon them for his daughter's money, and allowed them to have charge of her education, they would do something for him.


He was a practising barrister, though his practice had never amounted to much; and a practising barrister is always supposed to be capable of filling any situation which may come his way.


Two years after his wife's death Mr. Vavasor was appointed assistant commissioner in some office which had to do with insolvents, and which was abolished three years after his appointment.

Thus Mr. Vavasor was appointed to some office to do with insolvents, a post which paid eight hundred pounds a year, and which was abolished three years later.


It was at first thought that he would keep his eight hundred a year for life and be required to do nothing for it; but a wretched cheeseparing Whig government, as John Vavasor called it when describing the circumstances of the arrangement to his father, down in Westmoreland, would not permit this; it gave him the option of taking four hundred a year for doing nothing, or of keeping his whole income and attending three days a week for three hours a day during term time, at a miserable dingy little office near Chancery Lane, where his duty would consist in signing his name to accounts which he never read, and at which he was never supposed even to look.

At first John Vavasor thought that he would keep his eight hundred a year for life and have to do nothing for it; but a wretched cheeseparing Whig government, as he called it, would not permit this. It gave him the option of taking four hundred a year for doing nothing, or of keeping the whole eight hundred by going three days a week, for three hours a day, to a miserable dingy little office near Chancery Lane, where his duty would consist in signing his name to accounts which he never read.


He had sulkily elected to keep the money, and this signing had been now for nearly twenty years the business of his life.

He had sulkily chosen to keep the money, and this signing had been his work for nearly twenty years.


Of course he considered himself to be a very hardly-used man.

He considered himself to be a very ill-used man.


One Lord Chancellor after another he petitioned, begging that he might be relieved from the cruelty of his position, and allowed to take his salary without doing anything in return for it.


The amount of work which he did perform was certainly a minimum of labour.


Term time, as terms were counted in Mr. Vavasor's office, hardly comprised half the year, and the hours of weekly attendance did not do more than make one day's work a week for a working man; but Mr. Vavasor had been appointed an assistant commissioner, and with every Lord Chancellor he argued that all Westminster Hall, and Lincoln's Inn to boot, had no right to call upon him to degrade himself by signing his name to accounts.


In answer to every memorial he was offered the alternative of freedom with half his income; and so the thing went on.


There can, however, be no doubt that Mr. Vavasor was better off and happier with his almost nominal employment than he would have been without it.

However, there can be no doubt that he was better off and happier with his employment than he would have been without it.


He always argued that it kept him in London; but he would undoubtedly have lived in London with or without his official occupation.


He had become so habituated to London life in a small way, before the choice of leaving London was open to him, that nothing would have kept him long away from it.


After his wife's death he dined at his club every day on which a dinner was not given to him by some friend elsewhere, and was rarely happy except when so dining.

After his wife's death he dined at his club every day, and he was happiest when so dining.


They who have seen him scanning the steward's list of dishes, and giving the necessary orders for his own and his friend's dinner, at about half past four in the afternoon, have seen John Vavasor at the only moment of the day at which he is ever much in earnest.

It was the only moment of the day when he was ever much in earnest.


All other things are light and easy to him,--to be taken easily and to be dismissed easily.


Even the eating of the dinner calls forth from him no special sign of energy.


Sometimes a frown will gather on his brow as he tastes the first half glass from his bottle of claret; but as a rule that which he has prepared for himself with so much elaborate care, is consumed with only pleasant enjoyment.


Now and again it will happen that the cook is treacherous even to him, and then he can hit hard; but in hitting he is quiet, and strikes with a smile on his face.


Such had been Mr. Vavasor's pursuits and pleasures in life up to the time at which my story commences.


But I must not allow the reader to suppose that he was a man without good qualities.

I must not allow the reader to suppose that John Vavasor had no good qualities.


Had he when young possessed the gift of industry I think that he might have shone in his profession, and have been well spoken of and esteemed in the world.

If he had been industrious as a young man he might have shone in his profession.


As it was he was a discontented man, but nevertheless he was popular, and to some extent esteemed.

And although he was discontented, he was popular.


He was liberal as far as his means would permit; he was a man of his word; and he understood well that code of by-laws which was presumed to constitute the character of a gentleman in his circle.

He was as generous as his means would permit; he was a man of his word; and he understood the code of gentleman in his circle.


He knew how to carry himself well among men, and understood thoroughly what might be said, and what might not; what might be done among those with whom he lived, and what should be left undone.


By nature, too, he was kindly disposed, loving many persons a little if he loved few or none passionately.

By nature, too, he was kindly, loving many people a little, if none passionately.


Moreover, at the age of fifty, he was a handsome man, with a fine forehead, round which the hair and beard was only beginning to show itself to be grey.

At fifty he was still a handsome, upright man, whose hair and beard were only beginning to show grey.


He stood well, with a large person, only now beginning to become corpulent.


His eyes were bright and grey, and his mouth and chin were sharply cut, and told of gentle birth.


Most men who knew John Vavasor well, declared it to be a pity that he should spend his time in signing accounts in Chancery Lane.


I have said that Alice Vavasor's big relatives cared but little for her in her early years; but I have also said that they were careful to undertake the charge of her education, and I must explain away this little discrepancy.

Although Alice Vavasor's big relatives cared little for her in her early years, they were careful to take charge of her education. I must explain this.


The biggest of these big people had hardly heard of her; but there was a certain Lady Macleod, not very big herself, but, as it were, hanging on to the skirts of those who were so, who cared very much for Alice.

There was a certain Lady Macleod, not very big herself, but, as it were, hanging on to the skirts of those who were, who cared very much for Alice.


She was the widow of a Sir Archibald Macleod, K.C.B., who had been a soldier, she herself having also been a Macleod by birth; and for very many years past--from a time previous to the birth of Alice Vavasor--she had lived at Cheltenham, making short sojourns in London during the spring, when the contents of her limited purse would admit of her doing so.

She was a widow, who for many years had lived at Cheltenham, making short stays in London when she could afford it.


Of old Lady Macleod I think I may say that she was a good woman;--that she was a good woman, though subject to two of the most serious drawbacks to goodness which can afflict a lady.

Old Lady Macleod was a good woman, though


She was a Calvinistic Sabbatarian in religion, and in worldly matters she was a devout believer in the high rank of her noble relatives.

a Calvinist, and a devout believer in the high rank of her noble relatives.


She could almost worship a youthful marquis, though he lived a life that would disgrace a heathen among heathens; and she could and did, in her own mind, condemn crowds of commonplace men and women to all eternal torments of which her imagination could conceive, because they listened to profane music in a park on Sunday.

She could almost worship an aristocrat of the most disgraceful habits, although she mentally condemned crowds of ordinary men and women to eternal torments, because they listened to music in a park on Sunday.


Out of her small means she gave much away.


She bore much pain with calm unspeaking endurance, and she lived in trust of a better world.

She bore much pain with calm, quiet endurance, and she lived in trust of a better world.


Alice Vavasor, who was after all only her cousin, she loved with an exceeding love, and yet Alice had done very much to extinguish such love.

She loved her cousin young Alice Vavasor exceedingly, and yet Alice had done much to extinguish such love.


Alice, in the years of her childhood, had been brought up by Lady Macleod; at the age of twelve she had been sent to a school at Aix-la-Chapelle,--a comitatus of her relatives having agreed that such was to be her fate, much in opposition to Lady Macleod's judgement; at nineteen she had returned to Cheltenham, and after remaining there for little more than a year, had expressed her unwillingness to remain longer with her cousin.

Alice, in her childhood, had been brought up by Lady Macleod. At the age of twelve she had been sent to a school at Aix-la-Chapelle, against Lady Macleod's wishes; at nineteen she had returned to Cheltenham, and after living there for a year, had expressed her unwillingness to remain any longer with her relative.


She could sympathize neither with her relative's faults or virtues.


She made an arrangement, therefore, with her father, that they two would keep house together in London, and so they had lived for the last five years;--for Alice Vavasor when she will be introduced to the reader had already passed her twenty-fourth birthday.

She made an arrangement, therefore, with her father, that they two would keep house together in London, and so they had lived for the last five years; for Alice at the time of this story was twenty-four.


Their mode of life had been singular and certainly not in all respects satisfactory.

Their way of life had been unusual and not altogether satisfactory.


Alice when she was twenty-one had the full command of her own fortune; and when she induced her father, who for the last fifteen years had lived in lodgings, to take a small house in Queen Anne Street, of course she offered to incur a portion of the expense.

At twenty-one Alice gained control of her fortune; and persuaded her father, who had lived in lodgings, to take a small house in Queen Anne Street, for which she offered to pay part of the expense.


He had warned her that his habits were not those of a domestic man, but he had been content simply so to warn her.


He had not felt it to be his duty to decline the arrangement because he knew himself to be unable to give to his child all that attention which a widowed father under such circumstances should pay to an only daughter.

He had agreed, although he knew he would not give his child the attention which a widowed father should pay to an only daughter.


The house had been taken, and Alice and he had lived together, but their lives had been quite apart.


For a short time, for a month or two, he had striven to dine at home and even to remain at home through the evening; but the work had been too hard for him and he had utterly broken down.

For a month or two, he had tried to dine at home and even to remain at home through the evening; but the effort had been too hard for him and he had broken down.


He had said to her and to himself that his health would fail him under the effects of so great a change made so late in life, and I am not sure that he had not spoken truly.

He had told her and himself that his health would fail if he made so great a change so late in life.


At any rate the effort had been abandoned, and Mr. Vavasor now never dined at home.

The effort had been abandoned, and Mr. Vavasor now never dined at home.


Nor did he and his daughter ever dine out together.


Their joint means did not admit of their giving dinners, and therefore they could not make their joint way in the same circle.

They could not afford to give dinners, and therefore could not mix in the same circle.


It thus came to pass that they lived apart,--quite apart.


They saw each other, probably daily; but they did little more than see each other.

They saw each other daily; but they did little more than see each other.


They did not even breakfast together, and after three o'clock in the day Mr. Vavasor was never to be found in his own house.

They did not even breakfast together, and after three o'clock Mr. Vavasor was never to be found in his own house.


Miss Vavasor had made for herself a certain footing in society, though I am disposed to doubt her right to be considered as holding a place among the Upper Ten Thousand.

Miss Vavasor had made for herself a certain footing in society, though not among the Upper Ten Thousand.


Two classes of people she had chosen to avoid, having been driven to such avoidings by her aunt's preferences; marquises and such-like, whether wicked or otherwise, she had eschewed, and had eschewed likewise all Low Church tendencies.

Her aunt's preferences had driven her to avoid aristocrats, along with all Calvinistic people.


The eschewing of marquises is not generally very difficult.


Young ladies living with their fathers on very moderate incomes in or about Queen Anne Street are not usually much troubled on that matter.


Nor can I say that Miss Vavasor was so troubled.


But with her there was a certain definite thing to be done towards such eschewal.


Lady Macleod by no means avoided her noble relatives, nor did she at all avoid Alice Vavasor.

However, Lady Macleod did not avoid Alice Vavasor.


When in London she was persevering in her visits to Queen Anne Street, though she considered herself, nobody knew why, not to be on speaking terms with Mr. Vavasor.

When in London she persevered in visiting Queen Anne Street, even though she was not on speaking terms with Mr. Vavasor.


And she strove hard to produce an intimacy between Alice and her noble relatives--such an intimacy as that which she herself enjoyed;--an intimacy which gave her a footing in their houses but no footing in their hearts, or even in their habits.

And she tried hard to nurture an intimacy between Alice and her noble relatives - an intimacy such as that which she herself enjoyed, which gave her a footing in their houses but no place in their hearts.


But all this Alice declined with as much consistency as she did those other struggles which her old cousin made on her behalf,--strong, never-flagging, but ever-failing efforts to induce the girl to go to such places of worship as Lady Macleod herself frequented.


A few words must be said as to Alice Vavasor's person; one fact also must be told, and then, I believe, I may start upon my story.

A few words must be said about Alice Vavasor's appearance; one fact also must be told, and then I may start my story.


As regards her character, I will leave it to be read in the story itself.

As for her character, I will leave it to be read in the story itself.


The reader already knows that she appears upon the scene at no very early age, and the mode of her life had perhaps given to her an appearance of more years than those which she really possessed.


It was not that her face was old, but that there was nothing that was girlish in her manners.

There was nothing girlish in her manners.


Her demeanour was as staid, and her voice as self-possessed as though she had already been ten years married.


In person she was tall and well made, rather large in her neck and shoulders, as were all the Vavasors, but by no means fat.

She was tall and well made, but by no means fat.


Her hair was brown, but very dark, and she wore it rather lower upon her forehead than is customary at the present day.


Her eyes, too, were dark, though they were not black, and her complexion, though not quite that of a brunette, was far away from being fair.

her eyes were dark brown; and her complexion was also dark.


Her nose was somewhat broad, and _retrouss_ too, but to my thinking it was a charming nose, full of character, and giving to her face at times a look of pleasant humour, which it would otherwise have lacked.

Her nose was somewhat broad and retrouss, but a charming nose, full of character, and giving her face a look of pleasant humour which it would otherwise have lacked.


Her mouth was large, and full of character, and her chin oval, dimpled, and finely chiselled, like her father's.

Her mouth was large, and her chin finely chiselled, like her father's.


I beg you, in taking her for all in all, to admit that she was a fine, handsome, high-spirited young woman.

All in all, she was a fine, handsome, high-spirited young woman.


At the time of which I am writing she was already engaged to be married.


Men can do nothing without the make-believe of a beginning.


Even science, the strict measurer, is obliged to start with a make-believe unit, and must fix on a point in the stars' unceasing journey when his sidereal clock shall pretend that time is at Nought.


His less accurate grandmother Poetry has always been understood to start in the middle; but on reflection it appears that her proceeding is not very different from his; since Science, too, reckons backward as well as forward, divides his unit into billions, and with his clock-finger at Nought really sets off _in medias res_.


No retrospect will take us to the true beginning; and whether our prologue be in heaven or on earth, it is but a fraction of that all-presupposing fact with which our story sets out.


and what was the secret of form or expression which gave the dynamic quality to her glance?

and what was it that gave the dynamic quality to her glance?


Was the good or the evil genius dominant in those beams?


Probably the evil; else why was the effect that of unrest rather than of undisturbed charm?

Probably evil; or why was the effect that of unrest rather than of charm?


Why was the wish to look again felt as coercion and not as a longing in which the whole being consents?

Why did he feel forced to look at her again, against his wishes?


She who raised these questions in Daniel Deronda's mind was occupied in gambling: not in the open air under a southern sky, tossing coppers on a ruined wall, with rags about her limbs; but in one of those splendid resorts which the enlightenment of ages has prepared for the same species of pleasure at a heavy cost of gilt mouldings, dark-toned color and chubby nudities, all correspondingly heavy--forming a suitable condenser for human breath belonging, in great part, to the highest fashion, and not easily procurable to be breathed in elsewhere in the like proportion, at least by persons of little fashion.

She who raised these questions in Daniel Deronda's mind was occupied in gambling. They were in one of those splendid resorts which are prepared for the pleasure of fashionable persons by means of heavy gilt mouldings, dark-coloured decor and chubby nudities.


It was near four o'clock on a September day, so that the atmosphere was well-brewed to a visible haze.

It was a September afternoon, so that the atmosphere was well-brewed to a visible haze.


There was deep stillness, broken only by a light rattle, a light chink, a small sweeping sound, and an occasional monotone in French, such as might be expected to issue from an ingeniously constructed automaton.

There was deep stillness, broken only by a light rattle, a chink, a small sweeping sound, and an occasional monotone in French, such as might be expected to come from an automaton.


Round two long tables were gathered two serried crowds of human beings, all save one having their faces and attention bent on the tables.

Around two long tables were gathered two crowds of humans, all save one with their attention bent on the tables.


The one exception was a melancholy little boy, with his knees and calves simply in their natural clothing of epidermis, but for the rest of his person in a fancy dress.

The one exception was a melancholy little boy in fancy dress; with a


He alone had his face turned toward the doorway, and fixing on it the blank gaze of a bedizened child stationed as a masquerading advertisement on the platform of an itinerant show, stood close behind a lady deeply engaged at the roulette-table.

blank face turned toward the doorway, he stood close behind a lady deeply engaged at the roulette-table.


About this table fifty or sixty persons were assembled, many in the outer rows, where there was occasionally a deposit of new-comers, being mere spectators, only that one of them, usually a woman, might now and then be observed putting down a five-franc with a simpering air, just to see what the passion of gambling really was.

About this table fifty or sixty persons were assembled, many being mere spectators; except that one of them, usually a woman, might now and then put down a five-franc coin with a simpering air, just to see what the passion of gambling really was.


Those who were taking their pleasure at a higher strength, and were absorbed in play, showed very distant varieties of European type: Livonian and Spanish, Graeco-Italian and miscellaneous German, English aristocratic and English plebeian.

Those who were absorbed in deeper play showed wide varieties of European type: Livonian and Spanish, Graeco-Italian and miscellaneous German, English aristocratic and English plebeian.


Here certainly was a striking admission of human equality.


The white bejewelled fingers of an English countess were very near touching a bony, yellow, crab-like hand stretching a bared wrist to clutch a heap of coin--a hand easy to sort with the square, gaunt face, deep-set eyes, grizzled eyebrows, and ill-combed scanty hair which seemed a slight metamorphosis of the vulture.

The white bejewelled fingers of an English countess were very near touching a bony, yellow, crab-like hand which belonged to someone not unlike a vulture.


And where else would her ladyship have graciously consented to sit by that dry-lipped feminine figure prematurely old, withered after short bloom like her artificial flowers, holding a shabby velvet reticule before her, and occasionally putting in her mouth the point with which she pricked her card?

And where else would her ladyship have graciously consented to sit by that dry-lipped woman, prematurely old, withered like her artificial flowers, holding a shabby reticule, and occasionally putting in her mouth the point with which she pricked her card?


There too, very near the fair countess, was a respectable London tradesman, blonde and soft-handed, his sleek hair scrupulously parted behind and before, conscious of circulars addressed to the nobility and gentry, whose distinguished patronage enabled him to take his holidays fashionably, and to a certain extent in their distinguished company.

There too, very near the fair countess, was a respectable London tradesman, blonde and soft-handed, his sleek hair scrupulously parted, who liked to take his holidays fashionably, and


Not his the gambler's passion that nullifies appetite, but a well-fed leisure, which, in the intervals of winning money in business and spending it showily, sees no better resource than winning money in play and spending it yet more showily--reflecting always that Providence had never manifested any disapprobation of his amusement, and dispassionate enough to leave off if the sweetness of winning much and seeing others lose had turned to the sourness of losing much and seeing others win.


For the vice of gambling lay in losing money at it.

the only vice of gambling lay in losing.


In his bearing there might be something of the tradesman, but in his pleasures he was fit to rank with the owners of the oldest titles.


Standing close to his chair was a handsome Italian, calm, statuesque, reaching across him to place the first pile of napoleons from a new bagful just brought him by an envoy with a scrolled mustache.

Standing close to his chair was a handsome Italian, calm and statuesque, reaching across him to place the first pile of napoleons from a new bagful.


The pile was in half a minute pushed over to an old bewigged woman with eye-glasses pinching her nose.


There was a slight gleam, a faint mumbling smile about the lips of the old woman; but the statuesque Italian remained impassive, and--probably secure in an infallible system which placed his foot on the neck of chance--immediately prepared a new pile.


So did a man with the air of an emaciated beau or worn-out libertine, who looked at life through one eye-glass, and held out his hand tremulously when he asked for change.


It could surely be no severity of system, but rather some dream of white crows, or the induction that the eighth of the month was lucky, which inspired the fierce yet tottering impulsiveness of his play.


But, while every single player differed markedly from every other, there was a certain uniform negativeness of expression which had the effect of a mask--as if they had all eaten of some root that for the time compelled the brains of each to the same narrow monotony of action.

But, while every single player differed markedly from every other, there was a certain uniform negativeness of expression which had the effect of a mask - as if they were all drugged into the same narrow monotony of action.


Deronda's first thought when his eyes fell on this scene of dull, gas-poisoned absorption, was that the gambling of Spanish shepherd-boys had seemed to him more enviable:--so far Rousseau might be justified in maintaining that art and science had done a poor service to mankind.

Deronda, observing this scene of dull, gas-poisoned absorption,


But suddenly he felt the moment become dramatic.

suddenly felt the moment become dramatic.


His attention was arrested by a young lady who, standing at an angle not far from him, was the last to whom his eyes traveled.

His attention was arrested by a young lady standing nearby, who was the last to whom his eyes travelled.


She was bending and speaking English to a middle-aged lady seated at play beside her: but the next instant she returned to her play, and showed the full height of a graceful figure, with a face which might possibly be looked at without admiration, but could hardly be passed with indifference.

She was bending and speaking English to a middle-aged lady seated beside her: but the next instant she returned to her play, showing the full height of a graceful figure, and a face which might possibly be looked at without admiration, but could not be passed with indifference.


The inward debate which she raised in Deronda gave to his eyes a growing expression of scrutiny, tending farther and farther away from the glow of mingled undefined sensibilities forming admiration.

Inwardly debating her nature, Deronda looked at her with increased scrutiny rather than admiration.


At one moment they followed the movements of the figure, of the arms and hands, as this problematic sylph bent forward to deposit her stake with an air of firm choice; and the next they returned to the face which, at present unaffected by beholders, was directed steadily toward the game.

At one moment his eyes followed the movements of her figure, her arms and hands, as she bent forward to place her stake with an air of firm choice; and the next they returned to the face.


The sylph was a winner; and as her taper fingers, delicately gloved in pale-gray, were adjusting the coins which had been pushed toward her in order to pass them back again to the winning point, she looked round her with a survey too markedly cold and neutral not to have in it a little of that nature which we call art concealing an inward exultation.

She was a winner; and as her slender fingers, delicately gloved in pale-grey, were receiving the coins which had been pushed toward her, she looked around with a cold and neutral survey that seemed to conceal inward exultation.


But in the course of that survey her eyes met Deronda's, and instead of averting them as she would have desired to do, she was unpleasantly conscious that they were arrested--how long?

But in the course of that survey her eyes met Deronda's and were held - how long?


The darting sense that he was measuring her and looking down on her as an inferior, that he was of different quality from the human dross around her, that he felt himself in a region outside and above her, and was examining her as a specimen of a lower order, roused a tingling resentment which stretched the moment with conflict.

The darting sense that he was measuring her and looking down on her as an inferior, a specimen of a lower order, roused a tingling resentment.


It did not bring the blood to her cheeks, but it sent it away from her lips.


She controlled herself by the help of an inward defiance, and without other sign of emotion than this lip-paleness turned to her play.

She controlled herself, and without other sign of emotion than these pale lips turned to her play.


But Deronda's gaze seemed to have acted as an evil eye.


No matter; she had been winning ever since she took to roulette with a few napoleons at command, and had a considerable reserve.

No matter; she had been winning from the start, and had a large reserve of coins.


She had begun to believe in her luck, others had begun to believe in it: she had visions of being followed by a _cortge_ who would worship her as a goddess of luck and watch her play as a directing augury.

She had begun to believe in her luck, and so had others.


Such things had been known of male gamblers; why should not a woman have a like supremacy?


Her friend and chaperon who had not wished her to play at first was beginning to approve, only administering the prudent advice to stop at the right moment and carry money back to England--advice to which Gwendolen had replied that she cared for the excitement of play, not the winnings.

Her friend and chaperon, who had not wished her to play at first, was starting to approve, only advising her to stop at the right moment and carry money back to England - to which Gwendolen replied that she cared for the excitement of play, not the winnings.


On that supposition the present moment ought to have made the flood-tide in her eager experience of gambling.


Yet, when her next stake was swept away, she felt the orbits of her eyes getting hot, and the certainty she had (without looking) of that man still watching her was something like a pressure which begins to be torturing.

Yet, when her next stake was swept away, she felt her eyes getting hot, and the certainty she had (without looking) of that man still watching her was like a torturing pressure.


The more reason to her why she should not flinch, but go on playing as if she were indifferent to loss or gain.

The more reason why she should not flinch, but go on playing as if she were indifferent to loss or gain.


Her friend touched her elbow and proposed that they should quit the table.


For reply Gwendolen put ten louis on the same spot: she was in that mood of defiance in which the mind loses sight of any end beyond the satisfaction of enraged resistance; and with the puerile stupidity of a dominant impulse includes luck among its objects of defiance.

For reply Gwendolen defiantly put ten louis on the same spot.


Since she was not winning strikingly, the next best thing was to lose strikingly.


She controlled her muscles, and showed no tremor of mouth or hands.

Controlling her muscles, she showed no tremor of mouth or hands.


Each time her stake was swept off she doubled it.


Many were now watching her, but the sole observation she was conscious of was Deronda's, who, though she never looked toward him, she was sure had not moved away.


Such a drama takes no long while to play out: development and catastrophe can often be measured by nothing clumsier than the moment-hand.

Such a drama takes no long while to play out.


"Faites votre jeu, mesdames et messieurs," said the automatic voice of destiny from between the mustache and imperial of the croupier: and Gwendolen's arm was stretched to deposit her last poor heap of napoleons.

Within a few minutes, Gwendolen's arm was stretched to deposit her last poor heap of coins.


And in five seconds Gwendolen turned from the table, but turned resolutely with her face toward Deronda and looked at him.

And five seconds later she turned from the table, but turned resolutely with her face toward Deronda and looked at him.


There was a smile of irony in his eyes as their glances met; but it was at least better that he should have kept his attention fixed on her than that he disregarded her as one of an insect swarm who had no individual physiognomy.

There was a smile of irony in his eyes as their glances met; but at least his attention had been fixed on her; that was better than to be disregarded.


Besides, in spite of his superciliousness and irony, it was difficult to believe that he did not admire her spirit as well as her person: he was young, handsome, distinguished in appearance--not one of these ridiculous and dowdy Philistines who thought it incumbent on them to blight the gaming-table with a sour look of protest as they passed by it.

Besides, in spite of his irony, it was difficult for her to believe that he did not admire her spirit as well as her person.


The general conviction that we are admirable does not easily give way before a single negative; rather when any of Vanity's large family, male or female, find their performance received coldly, they are apt to believe that a little more of it will win over the unaccountable dissident.

The general conviction that we are admirable does not easily give way.


In Gwendolen's habits of mind it had been taken for granted that she knew what was admirable and that she herself was admired.

Gwendolen took it for granted that she knew what was admirable and that she herself was admired.


This basis of her thinking had received a disagreeable concussion, and reeled a little, but was not easily to be overthrown.

This basis of her thinking had received a disagreeable blow, and reeled a little, but was not easily to be overthrown.


In the evening the same room was more stiflingly heated, was brilliant with gas and with the costumes of ladies who floated their trains along it or were seated on the ottomans.

That evening the same room was more stiflingly heated, and brilliant with gas-lights and ladies' costumes.


The Nereid in sea-green robes and silver ornaments, with a pale sea-green feather fastened in silver falling backward over her green hat and light brown hair, was Gwendolen Harleth.

The sea-nymph in sea-green robes and silver ornaments, with a pale green feather falling over her green hat and light brown hair, was Gwendolen Harleth.


She was under the wing, or rather soared by the shoulder, of the lady who had sat by her at the roulette-table; and with them was a gentleman with a white mustache and clipped hair: solid-browed, stiff and German.

She was under the wing or rather soared by the shoulder of the lady who had sat by her at the roulette-table; and with them was a stiff, German gentleman with a white moustache.


They were walking about or standing to chat with acquaintances, and Gwendolen was much observed by the seated groups.


"A striking girl--that Miss Harleth--unlike others."


"Yes, she has got herself up as a sort of serpent now--all green and silver, and winds her neck about a little more than usual."

"Yes, she has got herself up as a sort of serpent now, and winds her neck about a little more than usual."


"Oh, she must always be doing something extraordinary.


Do you think her pretty, Mr. Vandernoodt?"


A man might risk hanging for her--I mean a fool might."


"You like a _nez retrouss_, then, and long narrow eyes?"

"You like an upturned nose, then, and long narrow eyes?"


Woman was tempted by a serpent; why not man?"


"She is certainly very graceful; but she wants a tinge of color in her cheeks.

"She is certainly very graceful; but she needs colour in her cheeks."


"On the contrary, I think her complexion one of her chief charms.


It is a warm paleness; it looks thoroughly healthy.


And that delicate nose with its gradual little upward curve is distracting.

And that delicate nose with its little upward curve is distracting.


And then her mouth--there never was a prettier mouth, the lips curled backward so finely, eh, Mackworth?"

And then her mouth - there never was a prettier mouth, eh, Mackworth?"


It looks so self-complacent, as if it knew its own beauty--the curves are too immovable.

It looks so self-complacent, as if it knew its own beauty."


"For my part, I think her odious," said a dowager.


"It is wonderful what unpleasant girls get into vogue.

"It is amazing what unpleasant girls get into vogue.


I have dined with them several times at the _Russie_.


The girl herself is thoroughly well-bred, and as clever as possible."


"Your baroness is always at the roulette-table," said Mackworth.


"I fancy she has taught the girl to gamble."


"Oh, the old woman plays a very sober game; drops a ten-franc piece here and there.

"Oh, the old woman plays a very sober game.


"I hear she has lost all her winnings to-day.


said Mr. Vandernoodt, moving off to join the Langens.


The remark that Gwendolen wound her neck about more than usual this evening was true.

It was true that Gwendolen wound her neck about more than usual this evening.


But it was not that she might carry out the serpent idea more completely: it was that she watched for any chance of seeing Deronda, so that she might inquire about this stranger, under whose measuring gaze she was still wincing.

This was because she watched for Deronda. She was still wincing under his measuring gaze.


"Mr. Vandernoodt, you know everybody," said Gwendolen, not too eagerly, rather with a certain languor of utterance which she sometimes gave to her clear soprano.

"Mr. Vandernoodt, you know everybody," said Gwendolen, not too eagerly, but rather with a certain languor.


Do you mean that old Adonis in the George the Fourth wig?"


"No, no; the dark-haired young man on the right with the dreadful expression."

I mean the dark-haired young man with the dreadful expression."


I think he is an uncommonly fine fellow."


"He is lately come to our hotel with Sir Hugo Mallinger."


"He has a place near us, but he never comes to it.


What did you say was the name of that gentleman near the door?"

What did you say was the name of that gentleman?"


He is reported to be rather closely related to the baronet.


I think he is not like young men in general."


"And you don't admire young men in general?"


I can't at all guess what this Mr. Deronda would say.


I sat with his party for a good hour last night on the terrace, and he never spoke--and was not smoking either.

I sat with his party for an hour last night, and he never spoke.


"Another reason why I should like to know him.


"I should think he would be charmed to have an introduction.


"Why not?--since he is related to Sir Hugo Mallinger.

"Why not? - since he is related to Sir Hugo Mallinger.


It is a new _rle_ of yours, Gwendolen, to be always bored," continued Madame von Langen, when Mr. Vandernoodt had moved away.

It is a new role of yours, Gwendolen, to be always bored," continued Madame von Langen, when Mr. Vandernoodt had moved away.


"Until now you have always seemed eager about something from morning till night."

"Until now you have always seemed eager about something all the time."


"That is just because I am bored to death.


If I am to leave off play I must break my arm or my collar-bone.


gambling I must make something happen; unless you will go into Switzerland and take me up the Matterhorn."


"Perhaps this Mr. Deronda's acquaintance will do instead of the Matterhorn."


But Gwendolen did not make Deronda's acquaintance on this occasion.


Mr. Vandernoodt did not succeed in bringing him up to her that evening, and when she re-entered her own room she found a letter recalling her home.

Mr. Vandernoodt did not succeed in bringing him to her that evening, and when she re-entered her own room she found a letter recalling her home.


About thirty years ago Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park, in the county of Northampton, and to be thereby raised to the rank of a baronet's lady, with all the comforts and consequences of an handsome house and large income.

About thirty years ago Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park in the county of Northampton, and to be thereby raised to the rank of a baronet's lady, with a handsome house and large income.


All Huntingdon exclaimed on the greatness of the match, and her uncle, the lawyer, himself, allowed her to be at least three thousand pounds short of any equitable claim to it.


She had two sisters to be benefited by her elevation; and such of their acquaintance as thought Miss Ward and Miss Frances quite as handsome as Miss Maria, did not scruple to predict their marrying with almost equal advantage.

She had two sisters to benefit from her elevation; but while Miss Ward and Miss Frances were thought to be quite as handsome as Miss Maria,


But there certainly are not so many men of large fortune in the world as there are pretty women to deserve them.

there are not so many rich men in the world as there are pretty women to deserve them.


Miss Ward, at the end of half a dozen years, found herself obliged to be attached to the Rev. Mr. Norris, a friend of her brother-in-law, with scarcely any private fortune, and Miss Frances fared yet worse.

Miss Ward, after half a dozen years, found herself obliged to be married to the Rev. Mr. Norris, a friend of her brother-in-law, with scarcely any private fortune, and Miss Frances fared yet worse.


Miss Ward's match, indeed, when it came to the point, was not contemptible: Sir Thomas being happily able to give his friend an income in the living of Mansfield; and Mr. and Mrs. Norris began their career of conjugal felicity with very little less than a thousand a year.

Miss Ward's match was not contemptible: Sir Thomas was happily able to give his friend an income in the living of Mansfield.


But Miss Frances married, in the common phrase, to disoblige her family, and by fixing on a lieutenant of marines, without education, fortune, or connexions, did it very thoroughly.

But Miss Frances married, as they say, to disoblige her family, and by fixing on a lieutenant of marines, without education, fortune, or connexions, did it very thoroughly.


She could hardly have made a more untoward choice.


Sir Thomas Bertram had interest, which, from principle as well as pride-from a general wish of doing right, and a desire of seeing all that were connected with him in situations of respectability, he would have been glad to exert for the advantage of Lady Bertram's sister; but her husband's profession was such as no interest could reach; and before he had time to devise any other method of assisting them, an absolute breach between the sisters had taken place.

Sir Thomas Bertram, having a general wish of doing right, and a desire of seeing those connected with him respectably situated, would have gladly used his influence for Lady Bertram's sister; but her husband's profession was such as no influence could reach. Before he could devise any method of assisting them, an absolute breach between the sisters had taken place.


It was the natural result of the conduct of each party, and such as a very imprudent marriage almost always produces.

It was such as a very imprudent marriage almost always produces.


To save herself from useless remonstrance, Mrs. Price never wrote to her family on the subject till actually married.

To save herself from remonstrance, Mrs. Price never wrote to her family about her marriage till actually married.


Lady Bertram, who was a woman of very tranquil feelings, and a temper remarkably easy and indolent, would have contented herself with merely giving up her sister, and thinking no more of the matter; but Mrs. Norris had a spirit of activity, which could not be satisfied till she had written a long and angry letter to Fanny, to point out the folly of her conduct, and threaten her with all its possible ill consequences.

Lady Bertram, a woman of tranquil feelings and an easy temper, would have contented herself with merely giving up her sister, and thinking no more of it; but Mrs. Norris could not be satisfied till she had written a long and angry letter to Fanny, to point out the folly of her conduct.


Mrs. Price, in her turn, was injured and angry; and an answer, which comprehended each sister in its bitterness, and bestowed such very disrespectful reflections on the pride of Sir Thomas as Mrs. Norris could not possibly keep to herself, put an end to all intercourse between them for a considerable period.

Mrs. Price, in her turn, was injured and angry; and her bitter, disrespectful answer, which Mrs. Norris could not possibly keep to herself, put an end to all intercourse between them for a long period.


Their homes were so distant, and the circles in which they moved so distinct, as almost to preclude the means of ever hearing of each other's existence during the eleven following years, or, at least, to make it very wonderful to Sir Thomas that Mrs. Norris should ever have it in her power to tell them, as she now and then did, in an angry voice, that Fanny had got another child.

They hardly heard of each other during the next eleven years; and Sir Thomas was surprised that Mrs. Norris should ever have it in her power to tell them, as she now and then did, in an angry voice, that Fanny had got another child.


By the end of eleven years, however, Mrs. Price could no longer afford to cherish pride or resentment, or to lose one connexion that might possibly assist her.

By the end of eleven years, however, Mrs. Price could no longer afford to cherish resentment, or to lose a connexion that might assist her.


A large and still increasing family, an husband disabled for active service, but not the less equal to company and good liquor, and a very small income to supply their wants, made her eager to regain the friends she had so carelessly sacrificed; and she addressed Lady Bertram in a letter which spoke so much contrition and despondence, such a superfluity of children, and such a want of almost everything else, as could not but dispose them all to a reconciliation.

A large family, an husband disabled for active service but still equal to good liquor, and a very small income, made her eager to regain her friends; and she sent Lady Bertram a letter which spoke of so much contrition, such a superfluity of children, and such a want of almost everything else, as could only lead to a reconciliation.


She was preparing for her ninth lying-in; and after bewailing the circumstance, and imploring their countenance as sponsors to the expected child, she could not conceal how important she felt they might be to the future maintenance of the eight already in being.

She was preparing for the arrival of her ninth child; and could not conceal how important she felt her relatives might be to the maintenance of the other eight.


Her eldest was a boy of ten years old, a fine spirited fellow, who longed to be out in the world; but what could she do?

Her eldest was a boy of ten years, a fine spirited fellow, who longed to be out in the world.


Was there any chance of his being hereafter useful to Sir Thomas in the concerns of his West Indian property?

Was there any chance of his being useful to Sir Thomas in the concerns of his West Indian property?


No situation would be beneath him; or what did Sir Thomas think of Woolwich?


or how could a boy be sent out to the East?


Sir Thomas sent friendly advice and professions, Lady Bertram dispatched money and baby-linen, and Mrs. Norris wrote the letters.

Sir Thomas sent friendly advice, Lady Bertram dispatched money and baby-linen, and Mrs. Norris wrote the letters.


Such were its immediate effects, and within a twelvemonth a more important advantage to Mrs. Price resulted from it.

Within a year a more important advantage to Mrs. Price resulted from it.


Mrs. Norris was often observing to the others that she could not get her poor sister and her family out of her head, and that, much as they had all done for her, she seemed to be wanting to do more; and at length she could not but own it to be her wish that poor Mrs. Price should be relieved from the charge and expense of one child entirely out of her great number.

Mrs. Norris was often observing to the others that she could not get her poor sister out of her head; and at length she owned it to be her wish that poor Mrs. Price should be relieved from the expense of one child entirely.


"What if they were among them to undertake the care of her eldest daughter, a girl now nine years old, of an age to require more attention than her poor mother could possibly give?

"What if they were to undertake the care of her eldest daughter, a girl now nine years old?


The trouble and expense of it to them would be nothing, compared with the benevolence of the action."

The trouble would be nothing, compared with the benevolence of the action."


"I think we cannot do better," said she; "let us send for the child."


Sir Thomas could not give so instantaneous and unqualified a consent.

Sir Thomas could not consent so swiftly.


He debated and hesitated;-it was a serious charge;-a girl so brought up must be adequately provided for, or there would be cruelty instead of kindness in taking her from her family.

He hesitated;-it was a serious charge;-the girl must be adequately provided for, or it would be cruel to take her from her family.


He thought of his own four children, of his two sons, of cousins in love, etc.;-but no sooner had he deliberately begun to state his objections, than Mrs. Norris interrupted him with a reply to them all, whether stated or not.

He thought of his own four children, of his two sons, of cousins in love, etc.;-but no sooner had he begun to state his objections, than Mrs. Norris interrupted him.


"My dear Sir Thomas, I perfectly comprehend you, and do justice to the generosity and delicacy of your notions, which indeed are quite of a piece with your general conduct; and I entirely agree with you in the main as to the propriety of doing everything one could by way of providing for a child one had in a manner taken into one's own hands; and I am sure I should be the last person in the world to withhold my mite upon such an occasion.

"My dear Sir Thomas, I perfectly comprehend you, and I entirely agree with you in the main.


Having no children of my own, who should I look to in any little matter I may ever have to bestow, but the children of my sisters?-and I am sure Mr. Norris is too just-but you know I am a woman of few words and professions.


Do not let us be frightened from a good deed by a trifle.


Give a girl an education, and introduce her properly into the world, and ten to one but she has the means of settling well, without farther expense to anybody.

Give a girl an education, and introduce her properly into the world, and ten to one she has the means of settling well, without farther expense to anybody.


A niece of ours, Sir Thomas, I may say, or at least of _yours_, would not grow up in this neighbourhood without many advantages.

A niece of yours, Sir Thomas, would grow up here with many advantages.


I don't say she would be so handsome as her cousins.

I dare say she would not be so handsome as her cousins


I dare say she would not; but she would be introduced into the society of this country under such very favourable circumstances as, in all human probability, would get her a creditable establishment.

; but she would probably make a creditable marriage.


You are thinking of your sons-but do not you know that, of all things upon earth, _that_ is the least likely to happen, brought up as they would be, always together like brothers and sisters?

You are thinking of your sons-but that is unlikely to happen, brought up as they would be like brothers and sisters.


It is, in fact, the only sure way of providing against the connexion.

It is, in fact, a sure way of providing against the connexion.


Suppose her a pretty girl, and seen by Tom or Edmund for the first time seven years hence, and I dare say there would be mischief.


The very idea of her having been suffered to grow up at a distance from us all in poverty and neglect, would be enough to make either of the dear, sweet-tempered boys in love with her.


But breed her up with them from this time, and suppose her even to have the beauty of an angel, and she will never be more to either than a sister."

But bring her up with them now, and she will never be more to either than a sister."


"There is a great deal of truth in what you say," replied Sir Thomas, "and far be it from me to throw any fanciful impediment in the way of a plan which would be so consistent with the relative situations of each.

"There is much truth in what you say," replied Sir Thomas.


I only meant to observe that it ought not to be lightly engaged in, and that to make it really serviceable to Mrs. Price, and creditable to ourselves, we must secure to the child, or consider ourselves engaged to secure to her hereafter, as circumstances may arise, the provision of a gentlewoman, if no such establishment should offer as you are so sanguine in expecting."

"I only meant to observe that we must provide for the child as a gentlewoman, if no such marriage should occur."


"I thoroughly understand you," cried Mrs. Norris, "you are everything that is generous and considerate, and I am sure we shall never disagree on this point.

"I thoroughly understand you," cried Mrs. Norris, "you are everything that is generous and considerate.


Whatever I can do, as you well know, I am always ready enough to do for the good of those I love; and, though I could never feel for this little girl the hundredth part of the regard I bear your own dear children, nor consider her, in any respect, so much my own, I should hate myself if I were capable of neglecting her.

I am always ready to do whatever I can for those I love; and, though I could never feel for this little girl the hundredth part of the regard I bear your own dear children, I should hate myself if I neglected her.


and could I bear to see her want while I had a bit of bread to give her?


My dear Sir Thomas, with all my faults I have a warm heart; and, poor as I am, would rather deny myself the necessaries of life than do an ungenerous thing.

I have a warm heart; and, poor as I am, would rather deny myself the necessaries of life than be ungenerous.


So, if you are not against it, I will write to my poor sister tomorrow, and make the proposal; and, as soon as matters are settled, _I_ will engage to get the child to Mansfield; _you_ shall have no trouble about it.

So, if you are not against it, I will write to my poor sister tomorrow, and make the proposal; and I will engage to get the child to Mansfield; you shall have no trouble.


My own trouble, you know, I never regard.


I will send Nanny to London on purpose, and she may have a bed at her cousin the saddler's, and the child be appointed to meet her there.

I will send Nanny to London, and she may have a bed at her cousin the saddler's, and the child may meet her there.


They may easily get her from Portsmouth to town by the coach, under the care of any creditable person that may chance to be going.

They may easily get the child from Portsmouth to London by the coach, under the care of any creditable person that may chance to be going.


I dare say there is always some reputable tradesman's wife or other going up."

I dare say there is always some tradesman's wife or other going up."


Except to the attack on Nanny's cousin, Sir Thomas no longer made any objection, and a more respectable, though less economical rendezvous being accordingly substituted, everything was considered as settled, and the pleasures of so benevolent a scheme were already enjoyed.

A more respectable, though less economical rendezvous being substituted, everything was settled.


The division of gratifying sensations ought not, in strict justice, to have been equal; for Sir Thomas was fully resolved to be the real and consistent patron of the selected child, and Mrs. Norris had not the least intention of being at any expense whatever in her maintenance.

Sir Thomas was resolved to be the real patron of the child, and Mrs. Norris had not the least intention of being at any expense whatever in her maintenance.


As far as walking, talking, and contriving reached, she was thoroughly benevolent, and nobody knew better how to dictate liberality to others; but her love of money was equal to her love of directing, and she knew quite as well how to save her own as to spend that of her friends.

Nobody knew better how to dictate liberality to others; but she knew quite as well how to save her own money as to spend that of her friends.


Having married on a narrower income than she had been used to look forward to, she had, from the first, fancied a very strict line of economy necessary; and what was begun as a matter of prudence, soon grew into a matter of choice, as an object of that needful solicitude which there were no children to supply.

Having married on a narrow income, she had, from the first, fancied very strict economy necessary; and what began as prudence, soon grew into a matter of choice.


Had there been a family to provide for, Mrs. Norris might never have saved her money; but having no care of that kind, there was nothing to impede her frugality, or lessen the comfort of making a yearly addition to an income which they had never lived up to.

With no family to provide for, there was nothing to impede her frugality;


Under this infatuating principle, counteracted by no real affection for her sister, it was impossible for her to aim at more than the credit of projecting and arranging so expensive a charity; though perhaps she might so little know herself as to walk home to the Parsonage, after this conversation, in the happy belief of being the most liberal-minded sister and aunt in the world.

yet she walked home to the Parsonage, after this conversation, in the happy belief of being the most generous sister and aunt in the world.


When the subject was brought forward again, her views were more fully explained; and, in reply to Lady Bertram's calm inquiry of "Where shall the child come to first, sister, to you or to us?"

When the subject was raised again, her views were more fully explained. In reply to Lady Bertram's calm inquiry of "Where shall the child come to first, sister, to you or to us?"


Sir Thomas heard with some surprise that it would be totally out of Mrs. Norris's power to take any share in the personal charge of her.


He had been considering her as a particularly welcome addition at the Parsonage, as a desirable companion to an aunt who had no children of her own; but he found himself wholly mistaken.

He had been considering her as a welcome companion to Mrs Norris at the Parsonage; but he found himself mistaken.


Mrs. Norris was sorry to say that the little girl's staying with them, at least as things then were, was quite out of the question.

Mrs. Norris was sorry to say that the little girl's staying with them was quite out of the question.


Poor Mr. Norris's indifferent state of health made it an impossibility: he could no more bear the noise of a child than he could fly; if, indeed, he should ever get well of his gouty complaints, it would be a different matter: she should then be glad to take her turn, and think nothing of the inconvenience; but just now, poor Mr. Norris took up every moment of her time, and the very mention of such a thing she was sure would distract him.

Poor Mr. Norris's indifferent state of health made it an impossibility. Poor Mr. Norris took up every moment of her time.


"Then she had better come to us," said Lady Bertram, with the utmost composure.

"Then she had better come to us," said Lady Bertram, with composure.


After a short pause Sir Thomas added with dignity, "Yes, let her home be in this house.

Sir Thomas added, "Yes, let her home be in this house.


We will endeavour to do our duty by her, and she will, at least, have the advantage of companions of her own age, and of a regular instructress."

She will, at least, have companions of her own age, and a regular instructress."


"Very true," cried Mrs. Norris, "which are both very important considerations; and it will be just the same to Miss Lee whether she has three girls to teach, or only two-there can be no difference.


"I only wish I could be more useful; but you see I do all in my power.


I am not one of those that spare their own trouble; and Nanny shall fetch her, however it may put me to inconvenience to have my chief counsellor away for three days.

Nanny shall fetch her, however it may inconvenience me to have my chief counsellor away for three days.


I suppose, sister, you will put the child in the little white attic, near the old nurseries.

I suppose, sister, you will put the child in the little white attic.


It will be much the best place for her, so near Miss Lee, and not far from the girls, and close by the housemaids, who could either of them help to dress her, you know, and take care of her clothes, for I suppose you would not think it fair to expect Ellis to wait on her as well as the others.

It will be the best place for her, close by the housemaids, who could help to dress her, you know, and take care of her clothes."


Indeed, I do not see that you could possibly place her anywhere else."


"I hope she will prove a well-disposed girl," continued Mrs. Norris, "and be sensible of her uncommon good fortune in having such friends."

"I hope she will prove a well-disposed girl," continued Mrs. Norris.


"Should her disposition be really bad," said Sir Thomas, "we must not, for our own children's sake, continue her in the family; but there is no reason to expect so great an evil.


We shall probably see much to wish altered in her, and must prepare ourselves for gross ignorance, some meanness of opinions, and very distressing vulgarity of manner; but these are not incurable faults; nor, I trust, can they be dangerous for her associates.

We must prepare ourselves for gross ignorance, some meanness of opinions, and distressing vulgarity of manner; but these are not incurable faults; nor can they be dangerous for her associates.


Had my daughters been _younger_ than herself, I should have considered the introduction of such a companion as a matter of very serious moment; but, as it is, I hope there can be nothing to fear for _them_, and everything to hope for _her_, from the association."

Had my daughters been younger, I should have considered the introduction of such a companion as a very serious matter; but, as it is, there can be nothing to fear for them, and everything to hope for her, from the association."


"That is exactly what I think," cried Mrs. Norris, "and what I was saying to my husband this morning.


It will be an education for the child, said I, only being with her cousins; if Miss Lee taught her nothing, she would learn to be good and clever from _them_."

It will be an education for the child, only being with her cousins; if Miss Lee taught her nothing, she would learn to be good and clever from them."


"I hope she will not tease my poor pug," said Lady Bertram; "I have but just got Julia to leave it alone."

"I hope she will not tease my poor pug," said Lady Bertram; "I have only just got Julia to leave it alone."


"There will be some difficulty in our way, Mrs. Norris," observed Sir Thomas, "as to the distinction proper to be made between the girls as they grow up: how to preserve in the minds of my _daughters_ the consciousness of what they are, without making them think too lowly of their cousin; and how, without depressing her spirits too far, to make her remember that she is not a _Miss Bertram_.

"There will be some difficulty, Mrs. Norris," observed Sir Thomas, "as to the distinction to be made between the girls as they grow up: how to preserve in the minds of my daughters the consciousness of what they are, without making them think too lowly of their cousin; and how, without depressing her spirits too far, to make her remember that she is not a Miss Bertram.


I should wish to see them very good friends, and would, on no account, authorise in my girls the smallest degree of arrogance towards their relation; but still they cannot be equals.

I should wish to see them very good friends, and would not authorise in my girls any arrogance towards their relation; but they cannot be equals.


Their rank, fortune, rights, and expectations will always be different.


It is a point of great delicacy, and you must assist us in our endeavours to choose exactly the right line of conduct."


Mrs. Norris was quite at his service; and though she perfectly agreed with him as to its being a most difficult thing, encouraged him to hope that between them it would be easily managed.

Mrs. Norris was quite at his service, and encouraged him to hope that between them it would be easily managed.


It will be readily believed that Mrs. Norris did not write to her sister in vain.


Mrs. Price seemed rather surprised that a girl should be fixed on, when she had so many fine boys, but accepted the offer most thankfully, assuring them of her daughter's being a very well-disposed, good-humoured girl, and trusting they would never have cause to throw her off.

Mrs. Price seemed surprised that a girl should be fixed on, when she had so many fine boys, but accepted the offer thankfully, assuring them of her daughter's being a very well-disposed, good-humoured girl.


She spoke of her farther as somewhat delicate and puny, but was sanguine in the hope of her being materially better for change of air.

She spoke of her as somewhat delicate, but hoped of her being better for change of air.


she probably thought change of air might agree with many of her children.


But as Margaret half suspected, Edith had fallen asleep.

But, as Margaret half suspected, Edith had fallen asleep.


She lay curled up on the sofa in the back drawing-room in Harley Street looking very lovely in her white muslin and blue ribbons.

She lay curled up on the sofa in the drawing-room in Harley Street, looking very lovely in her white muslin and blue ribbons.


If Titania had ever been dressed in white muslin and blue ribbons, and had fallen asleep on a crimson damask sofa in a back drawing-room, Edith might have been taken for her.

If Titania had ever been dressed in white muslin and blue ribbons, and had fallen asleep on a crimson sofa in a drawing-room, Edith might have been taken for her.


Margaret was struck afresh by her cousin's beauty.


They had grown up together from childhood, and all along Edith had been remarked upon by every one, except Margaret, for her prettiness; but Margaret had never thought about it until the last few days, when the prospect of soon losing her companion seemed to give force to every sweet quality and charm which Edith possessed.

They had grown up together from childhood. Edith had always been noted for prettiness; but Margaret had never thought about it until recently, when the prospect of soon losing her companion gave force to Edith's charms.


They had been talking about wedding dresses and wedding ceremonies; and Captain Lennox, and what he had told Edith about her future life at Corfu, where his regiment was stationed; and the difficulty of keeping a piano in good tune (a difficulty which Edith seemed to consider as one of the most formidable that could befall her in her married life), and what gowns she should want in the visits to Scotland, which would immediately succeed her marriage; but the whispered tone had latterly become more drowsy; and Margaret, after a pause of a few minutes, found, as she fancied, that in spite of the buzz in the next room, Edith had rolled herself up into a soft ball of muslin and ribbon, and silken curls, and gone off into a peaceful little after-dinner nap.

They had been talking about her wedding dress, and Captain Lennox, and Edith's future life at Corfu, where his regiment was stationed; and the difficulty of keeping a piano in good tune (a difficulty which Edith seemed to consider as one of the most formidable that could befall her in her married life.) But the whispers had become drowsy; and Margaret, after a few minutes, found that in spite of the buzz in the next room, Edith had rolled herself up into a soft ball of muslin and ribbon, and gone off into a peaceful little after-dinner nap.


Margaret had been on the point of telling her cousin of some of the plans and visions which she entertained as to her future life in the country parsonage, where her father and mother lived; and where her bright holidays had always been passed, though for the last ten years her aunt Shaw's house had been considered as her home.

Margaret had been on the point of telling her cousin of her plans for her own future life, in the country parsonage where her father and mother lived; and where her bright holidays had always been passed, though for the last ten years her aunt Shaw's house had been her home.


But in default of a listener, she had to brood over the change in her life silently as heretofore.

She brooded silently over the coming change in her life.


It was a happy brooding, although tinged with regret at being separated for an indefinite time from her gentle aunt and dear cousin.

It was a happy brooding, although tinged with regret at being separated from her gentle aunt and cousin.


As she thought of the delight of filling the important post of only daughter in Helstone parsonage, pieces of the conversation out of the next room came upon her ears.

As she thought of the delight of filling the important post of only daughter in Helstone parsonage, pieces of the conversation from the next room came to her ears.


Her aunt Shaw was talking to the five or six ladies who had been dining there, and whose husbands were still in the dining-room.

Her aunt Shaw was talking to the five or six ladies who had dined there, and whose husbands were still in the dining-room.


They were the familiar acquaintances of the house; neighbours whom Mrs. Shaw called friends, because she happened to dine with them more frequently than with any other people, and because if she or Edith wanted anything from them, or they from her, they did not scruple to make a call at each other's houses before luncheon.

They were neighbours whom Mrs. Shaw called friends, because she happened to dine with them more frequently than with any other people.


These ladies and their husbands were invited in their capacity of friends, to eat a farewell dinner in honour of Edith's approaching marriage.

They had been invited to a farewell dinner in honour of Edith's approaching marriage.


Edith had rather objected to this arrangement, for Captain Lennox was expected to arrive by a late train this very evening; but, although she was a spoiled child, she was too careless and idle to have a very strong will of her own, and gave way when she found that her mother had absolutely ordered those extra delicacies of the season which are always supposed to be efficacious against immoderate grief at farewell dinners.

Edith had objected, for Captain Lennox was expected to arrive by a late train that very evening; but, although she was a spoiled child, she was too careless and idle to have a very strong will, and gave way when she heard of the delicacies which her mother had ordered.


She contented herself by leaning back in her chair, merely playing with the food on her plate, and looking grave and absent; while all around her were enjoying the mots of Mr. Grey, the gentleman who always took the bottom of the table at Mrs. Shaw's dinner parties, and asked Edith to give them some music in the drawing-room.

She had contented herself by playing with the food on her plate, and looking grave and absent.


Mr. Grey was particularly agreeable over this farewell dinner, and the gentlemen staid downstairs longer than usual.


It was very well they did--to judge from the fragments of conversation which Margaret overheard.

Now, while Edith slept, Margaret overheard her aunt's conversation.


"I suffered too much myself; not that I was not extremely happy with the poor dear General, but still disparity of age is a drawback; one that I was resolved Edith should not have to encounter.

'I suffered myself; of course I was happy with the poor dear General, but still disparity of age is a drawback; one that I was resolved Edith should not have.


Of course, without any maternal partiality, I foresaw that the dear child was likely to marry early; indeed, I had often said that I was sure she would be married before she was nineteen.


I had quite prophetic feeling when Captain Lennox"--and here the voice dropped into a whisper, but Margaret could easily supply the blank.

I had quite a prophetic feeling when Captain Lennox' - and here the voice dropped into a whisper, but Margaret could easily supply the blank.


The course of true love in Edith's case had run remarkably smooth.


Mrs. Shaw had given way to the presentiment, as she expressed it; and had rather urged on the marriage, although it was below the expectations which many of Edith's acquaintances had formed for her, a young and pretty heiress.

Mrs. Shaw had urged on the marriage, although it was below some people's expectations for the young and pretty heiress.


But Mrs. Shaw said that her only child should marry for love,--and sighed emphatically, as if love had not been her motive for marrying the General.

But Mrs. Shaw said that her only child should marry for love - and sighed emphatically, as if love had not been her motive for marrying the General.


Mrs. Shaw enjoyed the romance of the present engagement rather more than her daughter.

She enjoyed the romance of the engagement rather more than her daughter.


Not but that Edith was very thoroughly and properly in love; still she would certainly have preferred a good house in Belgravia, to all the picturesqueness of the life which Captain Lennox described at Corfu.

Although Edith was very thoroughly and properly in love, still she would have preferred a good house in Belgravia to the picturesque life which Captain Lennox described at Corfu.


The very parts which made Margaret glow as she listened, Edith pretended to shiver and shudder at; partly for the pleasure she had in being coaxed out of her dislike by her fond lover, and partly because anything of a gipsy or make-shift life was really distasteful to her.

Anything of a gipsy or make-shift life was really distasteful to her.


Yet had any one come with a fine house, and a fine estate, and a fine title to boot, Edith would still have clung to Captain Lennox while the temptation lasted; when it was over, it is possible she might have had little qualms of ill-concealed regret that Captain Lennox could not have united in his person everything that was desirable.

Yet had anyone come along with a fine house and a title, Edith would still have clung to Captain Lennox; though afterwards she might have had little qualms of ill-concealed regret.


In this she was but her mother's child; who, after deliberately marrying General Shaw with no warmer feeling than respect for his character and establishment, was constantly, though quietly, bemoaning her hard lot in being united to one whom she could not love.

In this she was her mother's child. After deliberately marrying General Shaw with no warmer feeling than respect for his character and establishment, Mrs. Shaw was constantly, though quietly, bemoaning her hard lot in being united to one whom she could not love.


"I have spared no expense in her trousseau," were the next words Margaret heard.

'I have spared no expense in her trousseau,' were the next words Margaret heard.


"She has all the beautiful Indian shawls and scarfs the General gave to me, but which I shall never wear again."

'She has all the beautiful Indian shawls and scarfs the General gave me.'


"She is a lucky girl," replied another voice, which Margaret knew to be that of Mrs. Gibson, a lady who was taking a double interest in the conversation, from the fact of one of her daughters having been married within the last few weeks.

'She is a lucky girl,' replied another voice.


"Helen had set her heart upon an Indian shawl, but really when I found what an extravagant price was asked, I was obliged to refuse her.


She will be quite envious when she hears of Edith having Indian shawls.


Margaret heard her aunt's voice again, but this time it was as if she had raised herself up from her half-recumbent position, and were looking into the more dimly lighted back drawing-room.


cried she; and then she sank as if wearied by the exertion.


on receiving this distressing intelligence about Edith; and the minute lap-dog in Mrs. Shaw's arms began to bark, as if excited by the burst of pity.

on receiving this distressing news about Edith; and the lap-dog in Mrs. Shaw's arms began to bark.


It was only to ask Edith if she would tell Newton to bring down her shawls; perhaps you would go, Margaret dear?"

It was only to ask Edith if she would tell Newton to bring down her shawls: perhaps you would go, Margaret dear?'


Margaret went up into the old nursery at the very top of the house, where Newton was busy getting up some laces which were required for the wedding.

Margaret went up into the old nursery at the top of the house, where Newton was busy sorting out some lace which was required for the wedding.


While Newton went (not without a muttered grumbling) to undo the shawls, which had already been exhibited four or five times that day, Margaret looked round upon the nursery; the first room in that house with which she had become familiar nine years ago, when she was brought, all untamed from the forest, to share the home, the play, and the lessons of her cousin Edith.

While Newton went to find the shawls, Margaret looked round the nursery.
It was the first room in that house with which she had become familiar nine years ago, when she was brought, all untamed from the forest, to share the home, the play, and the lessons of her cousin Edith.


She remembered the dark, dim look of the London nursery, presided over by an austere and ceremonious nurse, who was terribly particular about clean hands and torn frocks.

She remembered the dark, dim look of the London nursery, presided over by an austere nurse, who was terribly particular about clean hands and torn frocks.


She recollected the first tea up there--separate from her father and aunt, who were dining somewhere down below, an infinite depth of stairs; for unless she were up in the sky (the child thought), they must be deep down in the bowels of the earth.

She recollected the first tea up there - separate from her father and aunt, who were dining somewhere down an infinite depth of stairs.


At home--before she came to live in Harley Street--her mother's dressing-room had been her nursery; and as they kept early hours in the country parsonage, Margaret had always had her meals with her father and mother.

At home, Margaret had always had her meals with her father and mother.


well did the tall stately girl of eighteen remember the tears shed with such wild passion of grief by the little girl of nine, as she hid her face under the bed-clothes in that first night; and how she was bidden not to cry by the nurse, because it would disturb Miss Edith; and how she had cried as bitterly, but more quietly, till her newly-seen, grand, pretty aunt had come softly upstairs with Mr. Hale to show him his little sleeping daughter.

well did the tall stately girl of eighteen remember the tears shed with such wild passion of grief by the little girl of nine, as she hid her face under the bed-clothes, that first night; and how she was told not to cry by the nurse, because it would disturb Miss Edith; and how she had cried more quietly, till her grand, pretty aunt had come softly upstairs with Mr. Hale to show him his little sleeping daughter.


Then the little Margaret had hushed her sobs, and tried to lie quiet as if asleep, for fear of making her father unhappy by her grief, which she dared not express before her aunt, and which she rather thought it was wrong to feel at all after the long hoping, and planning, and contriving they had gone through at home, before her wardrobe could be arranged to suit her grander circumstances, and before papa could leave his parish to come up to London, even for a few days.

Then Margaret had hushed her sobs, and tried to lie as if asleep, for fear of making her father unhappy by her grief - which she rather thought it was wrong to feel after the planning and contriving they had gone through at home, before coming up to London.


Now she had got to love the old nursery, though it was but a dismantled place; and she looked all round with a kind of cat-like regret, at the idea of leaving it for ever in three days.

Now she had got to love the old nursery; and she looked round with regret at the idea of leaving it for ever.


said she, "I think we shall all be sorry to leave this dear old room."

said she, 'We shall all be sorry to leave this dear old room.'


My eyes are not so good as they were, and the light here is so bad that I can't see to mend laces except just at the window, where there's always a shocking draught--enough to give one one's death of cold."

My eyes are not so good as they were, and the light here is so bad that I can't see to darn except at the window, where there's always a shocking draught.'


"Well, I dare say you will have both good light and plenty of warmth at Naples.

'Well, I dare say you will have both good light and warmth at Naples.


You must keep as much of your darning as you can till then.


Thank you, Newton, I can take them down--you're busy."

Thank you, Newton, I can take them down.'


So Margaret went down laden with shawls, and snuffing up their spicy Eastern smell.

So Margaret went down laden with shawls.


Her aunt asked her to stand as a sort of lay figure on which to display them, as Edith was still asleep.

Her aunt asked her to stand as a model on which to display them, since Edith was still asleep.


No one thought about it; but Margaret's tall, finely made figure, in the black silk dress which she was wearing as mourning for some distant relative of her father's, set off the long beautiful folds of the gorgeous shawls that would have half-smothered Edith.

Margaret's tall figure set off the long folds of the gorgeous shawls that would have half-smothered Edith.


Margaret stood right under the chandelier, quite silent and passive, while her aunt adjusted the draperies.

She stood under the chandelier, quite silent and passive, while her aunt adjusted the draperies.


Occasionally, as she was turned round, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the chimney-piece, and smiled at her own appearance there--the familiar features in the usual garb of a princess.

Occasionally, as she was turned round, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and smiled at her own appearance there in the garb of a princess.


She touched the shawls gently as they hung around her, and took a pleasure in their soft feel and their brilliant colours, and rather liked to be dressed in such splendour--enjoying it much as a child would do, with a quiet pleased smile on her lips.

She touched the shawls gently, and was enjoying their brilliant splendour as a child would do,


Just then the door opened, and Mr. Henry Lennox was suddenly announced.

when the door opened, and Mr. Henry Lennox was announced.


Some of the ladies started back, as if half-ashamed of their feminine interest in dress.

Some of the ladies started back, as if ashamed of their feminine interest in dress.


Mrs. Shaw held out her hand to the new-comer; Margaret stood perfectly still, thinking she might be yet wanted as a sort of block for the shawls; but looking at Mr. Lennox with a bright, amused face, as if sure of his sympathy in her sense of the ludicrousness at being thus surprised.

Mrs. Shaw held out her hand to the newcomer; Margaret stood perfectly still, thinking she might be yet wanted to model the shawls; but looking at Mr. Lennox with a bright, amused face, as if sure of his sympathy in her ludicrous situation.


Her aunt was so much absorbed in asking Mr. Henry Lennox--who had not been able to come to dinner--all sorts of questions about his brother the bridegroom, his sister the bridesmaid (coming with the Captain from Scotland for the occasion), and various other members of the Lennox family, that Margaret saw she was no more wanted as shawl-bearer, and devoted herself to the amusement of the other visitors, whom her aunt had for the moment forgotten.

Her aunt became absorbed in asking Mr. Henry Lennox about his brother the bridegroom and various other members of the Lennox family; and Margaret saw she was no more wanted as shawl-bearer. She devoted herself to amusing the other visitors, whom her aunt had for the moment forgotten.


Almost immediately, Edith came in from the back drawing-room, winking and blinking her eyes at the stronger light, shaking back her slightly-ruffled curls, and altogether looking like the Sleeping Beauty just startled from her dreams.

Edith came in, blinking at the stronger light, shaking back her slightly-ruffled curls, and altogether looking like the Sleeping Beauty just startled from her dreams.


Even in her slumber she had instinctively felt that a Lennox was worth rousing herself for; and she had a multitude of questions to ask about dear Janet, the future, unseen sister-in-law, for whom she professed so much affection, that if Margaret had not been very proud she might have almost felt jealous of the mushroom rival.

A Lennox was worth rousing herself for; and she had questions to ask about her unseen future sister-in-law, for whom she professed so much affection that Margaret might have almost felt jealous.


As Margaret sank rather more into the background on her aunt's joining the conversation, she saw Henry Lennox directing his look towards a vacant seat near her; and she knew perfectly well that as soon as Edith released him from her questioning, he would take possession of that chair.

As soon as Henry Lennox was released by Edith, he went to sit by Margaret.


She had not been quite sure, from her aunt's rather confused account of his engagements, whether he would come that night; it was almost a surprise to see him; and now she was sure of a pleasant evening.

She had not been certain whether he would come that night; now she was sure of a pleasant evening.


He liked and disliked pretty nearly the same things that she did.


Margaret's face was lightened up into an honest, open brightness.

Her face lit up into an honest, open brightness


She received him with a smile which had not a tinge of shyness or self-consciousness in it.

she received him with a smile which had not a tinge of shyness or self-consciousness.