Chapter 47

Mr Ralph Nickleby has some confidentialIntercourse with another old Friend. They concertbetween them a Project, which promises well forboth.

　　‘T here go the three-quarters past!’ muttered NewmanNoggs, listening to the chimes of some neighbouringchurch ‘and my dinner time’s two. He does it onpurpose. He makes a point of it. It’s just like him.’

　　It was in his own little den of an office and on the top of hisofficial stool that Newman thus soliloquised; and the soliloquyreferred, as Newman’s grumbling soliloquies usually did, to RalphNickleby.

　　‘I don’t believe he ever had an appetite,’ said Newman, ‘exceptfor pounds, shillings, and pence, and with them he’s as greedy as awolf. I should like to have him compelled to swallow one of everyEnglish coin. The penny would be an awkward morsel—but thecrown—ha! ha!’

　　His good-humour being in some degree restored by the visionof Ralph Nickleby swallowing, perforce, a five-shilling piece,Newman slowly brought forth from his desk one of those portablebottles, currently known as pocket-pistols, and shaking the sameclose to his ear so as to produce a rippling sound very cool andpleasant to listen to, suffered his features to relax, and took agurgling drink, which relaxed them still more. Replacing the cork,he smacked his lips twice or thrice with an air of great relish, and, the taste of the liquor having by this time evaporated, recurred tohis grievance again.

　　‘Five minutes to three,’ growled Newman; ‘it can’t want moreby this time; and I had my breakfast at eight o’clock, and such abreakfast! and my right dinner-time two! And I might have a nicelittle bit of hot roast meat spoiling at home all this time—how doeshe know I haven’t? “Don’t go till I come back,” “Don’t go till Icome back,” day after day. What do you always go out at mydinner-time for then—eh? Don’t you know it’s nothing butaggravation—eh?’

　　These words, though uttered in a very loud key, were addressedto nothing but empty air. The recital of his wrongs, however,seemed to have the effect of making Newman Noggs desperate; forhe flattened his old hat upon his head, and drawing on theeverlasting gloves, declared with great vehemence, that comewhat might, he would go to dinner that very minute.

　　Carrying this resolution into instant effect, he had advanced asfar as the passage, when the sound of the latch-key in the streetdoor caused him to make a precipitate retreat into his own officeagain.

　　‘Here he is,’ growled Newman, ‘and somebody with him. Nowit’ll be “Stop till this gentleman’s gone.” But I won’t. That’s flat.’

　　So saying, Newman slipped into a tall empty closet whichopened with two half doors, and shut himself up; intending to slipout directly Ralph was safe inside his own room.

　　‘Noggs!’ cried Ralph, ‘where is that fellow, Noggs?’

　　But not a word said Newman.

　　‘The dog has gone to his dinner, though I told him not,’

　　muttered Ralph, looking into the office, and pulling out his watch.

　　 ‘Humph!’ You had better come in here, Gride. My man’s out, andthe sun is hot upon my room. This is cool and in the shade, if youdon’t mind roughing it.’

　　‘Not at all, Mr Nickleby, oh not at all! All places are alike to me,sir. Ah! very nice indeed. Oh! very nice!’

　　The parson who made this reply was a little old man, of aboutseventy or seventy-five years of age, of a very lean figure, muchbent and slightly twisted. He wore a grey coat with a very narrowcollar, an old-fashioned waistcoat of ribbed black silk, and suchscanty trousers as displayed his shrunken spindle-shanks in theirfull ugliness. The only articles of display or ornament in his dresswere a steel watch-chain to which were attached some large goldseals; and a black ribbon into which, in compliance with an oldfashion scarcely ever observed in these days, his grey hair wasgathered behind. His nose and chin were sharp and prominent,his jaws had fallen inwards from loss of teeth, his face wasshrivelled and yellow, save where the cheeks were streaked withthe colour of a dry winter apple; and where his beard had been,there lingered yet a few grey tufts which seemed, like the raggedeyebrows, to denote the badness of the soil from which theysprung. The whole air and attitude of the form was one of stealthycat-like obsequiousness; the whole expression of the face wasconcentrated in a wrinkled leer, compounded of cunning,lecherousness, slyness, and avarice.

　　Such was old Arthur Gride, in whose face there was not awrinkle, in whose dress there was not one spare fold or plait, butexpressed the most covetous and griping penury, and sufficientlyindicated his belonging to that class of which Ralph Nickleby wasa member. Such was old Arthur Gride, as he sat in a low chair looking up into the face of Ralph Nickleby, who, lounging upon thetall office stool, with his arms upon his knees, looked down intohis; a match for him on whatever errand he had come.

　　‘And how have you been?’ said Gride, feigning great interest inRalph’s state of health. ‘I haven’t seen you for—oh! not for—’

　　‘Not for a long time,’ said Ralph, with a peculiar smile,importing that he very well knew it was not on a mere visit ofcompliment that his friend had come. ‘It was a narrow chance thatyou saw me now, for I had only just come up to the door as youturned the corner.’

　　‘I am very lucky,’ observed Gride.

　　‘So men say,’ replied Ralph, drily.

　　The older money-lender wagged his chin and smiled, but heoriginated no new remark, and they sat for some little timewithout speaking. Each was looking out to take the other at adisadvantage.

　　‘Come, Gride,’ said Ralph, at length; ‘what’s in the wind today?’

　　‘Aha! you’re a bold man, Mr Nickleby,’ cried the other,apparently very much relieved by Ralph’s leading the way tobusiness. ‘Oh dear, dear, what a bold man you are!’

　　‘Why, you have a sleek and slinking way with you that makesme seem so by contrast,’ returned Ralph. ‘I don’t know but thatyours may answer better, but I want the patience for it.’

　　‘You were born a genius, Mr Nickleby,’ said old Arthur. ‘Deep,deep, deep. Ah!’

　　‘Deep enough,’ retorted Ralph, ‘to know that I shall need all thedepth I have, when men like you begin to compliment. You know Ihave stood by when you fawned and flattered other people, and Iremember pretty well what that always led to.’

　　 ‘Ha, ha, ha!’ rejoined Arthur, rubbing his hands. ‘So you do, soyou do, no doubt. Not a man knows it better. Well, it’s a pleasantthing now to think that you remember old times. Oh dear!’

　　‘Now then,’ said Ralph, composedly; ‘what’s in the wind, I askagain? What is it?’

　　‘See that now!’ cried the other. ‘He can’t even keep frombusiness while we’re chatting over bygones. Oh dear, dear, what aman it is!’

　　‘Which of the bygones do you want to revive?’ said Ralph. ‘Oneof them, I know, or you wouldn’t talk about them.’

　　‘He suspects even me!’ cried old Arthur, holding up his hands.

　　‘Even me! Oh dear, even me. What a man it is! Ha, ha, ha! What aman it is! Mr Nickleby against all the world. There’s nobody likehim. A giant among pigmies, a giant, a giant!’

　　Ralph looked at the old dog with a quiet smile as he chuckledon in this strain, and Newman Noggs in the closet felt his heartsink within him as the prospect of dinner grew fainter and fainter.

　　‘I must humour him though,’ cried old Arthur; ‘he must havehis way—a wilful man, as the Scotch say—well, well, they’re a wisepeople, the Scotch. He will talk about business, and won’t giveaway his time for nothing. He’s very right. Time is money, time ismoney.’

　　‘He was one of us who made that saying, I should think,’ saidRalph. ‘Time is money, and very good money too, to those whoreckon interest by it. Time is money! Yes, and time costs money;it’s rather an expensive article to some people we could name, or Iforget my trade.’

　　In rejoinder to this sally, old Arthur again raised his hands,again chuckled, and again ejaculated ‘What a man it is!’ which done, he dragged the low chair a little nearer to Ralph’s high stool,and looking upwards into his immovable face, said,‘What would you say to me, if I was to tell you that I was—that Iwas—going to be married?’

　　‘I should tell you,’ replied Ralph, looking coldly down upon him,‘that for some purpose of your own you told a lie, and that it wasn’tthe first time and wouldn’t be the last; that I wasn’t surprised andwasn’t to be taken in.’

　　‘Then I tell you seriously that I am,’ said old Arthur.

　　‘And I tell you seriously,’ rejoined Ralph, ‘what I told you thisminute. Stay. Let me look at you. There’s a liquorish devilry inyour face. What is this?’

　　‘I wouldn’t deceive you, you know,’ whined Arthur Gride; ‘Icouldn’t do it, I should be mad to try. I, I, to deceive Mr Nickleby!

　　The pigmy to impose upon the giant. I ask again—he, he, he!—what should you say to me if I was to tell you that I was going to bemarried?’

　　‘To some old hag?’ said Ralph.

　　‘No, No,’ cried Arthur, interrupting him, and rubbing his handsin an ecstasy. ‘Wrong, wrong again. Mr Nickleby for once at fault;out, quite out! To a young and beautiful girl; fresh, lovely,bewitching, and not nineteen. Dark eyes, long eyelashes, ripe andruddy lips that to look at is to long to kiss, beautiful clustering hairthat one’s fingers itch to play with, such a waist as might make aman clasp the air involuntarily, thinking of twining his arm aboutit, little feet that tread so lightly they hardly seem to walk upon theground—to marry all this, sir, this—hey, hey!’

　　‘This is something more than common drivelling,’ said Ralph,after listening with a curled lip to the old sinner’s raptures. ‘The girl’s name?’

　　‘Oh deep, deep! See now how deep that is!’ exclaimed oldArthur. ‘He knows I want his help, he knows he can give it me, heknows it must all turn to his advantage, he sees the thing already.

　　Her name—is there nobody within hearing?’

　　‘Why, who the devil should there be?’ retorted Ralph, testily.

　　‘I didn’t know but that perhaps somebody might be passing upor down the stairs,’ said Arthur Gride, after looking out at the doorand carefully reclosing it; ‘or but that your man might have comeback and might have been listening outside. Clerks and servantshave a trick of listening, and I should have been veryuncomfortable if Mr Noggs—’

　　‘Curse Mr Noggs,’ said Ralph, sharply, ‘and go on with whatyou have to say.’

　　‘Curse Mr Noggs, by all means,’ rejoined old Arthur; ‘I am sureI have not the least objection to that. Her name is—’

　　‘Well,’ said Ralph, rendered very irritable by old Arthur’spausing again ‘what is it?’

　　‘Madeline Bray.’

　　Whatever reasons there might have been—and Arthur Grideappeared to have anticipated some—for the mention of this nameproducing an effect upon Ralph, or whatever effect it really didproduce upon him, he permitted none to manifest itself, butcalmly repeated the name several times, as if reflecting when andwhere he had heard it before.

　　‘Bray,’ said Ralph. ‘Bray—there was young Bray of—,no, henever had a daughter.’

　　‘You remember Bray?’ rejoined Arthur Gride.

　　‘No,’ said Ralph, looking vacantly at him.

　　 ‘Not Walter Bray! The dashing man, who used his handsomewife so ill?’

　　‘If you seek to recall any particular dashing man to myrecollection by such a trait as that,’ said Ralph, shrugging hisshoulders, ‘I shall confound him with nine-tenths of the dashingmen I have ever known.’

　　‘Tut, tut. That Bray who is now in the Rules of the Bench,’ saidold Arthur. ‘You can’t have forgotten Bray. Both of us did businesswith him. Why, he owes you money!’

　　‘Oh him!’ rejoined Ralph. ‘Ay, ay. Now you speak. Oh! It’s hisdaughter, is it?’

　　Naturally as this was said, it was not said so naturally but that akindred spirit like old Arthur Gride might have discerned a designupon the part of Ralph to lead him on to much more explicitstatements and explanations than he would have volunteered, orthat Ralph could in all likelihood have obtained by any othermeans. Old Arthur, however, was so intent upon his own designs,that he suffered himself to be overreached, and had no suspicionbut that his good friend was in earnest.

　　‘I knew you couldn’t forget him, when you came to think for amoment,’ he said.

　　‘You were right,’ answered Ralph. ‘But old Arthur Gride andmatrimony is a most anomalous conjunction of words; old ArthurGride and dark eyes and eyelashes, and lips that to look at is tolong to kiss, and clustering hair that he wants to play with, andwaists that he wants to span, and little feet that don’t tread uponanything—old Arthur Gride and such things as these is moremonstrous still; but old Arthur Gride marrying the daughter of aruined “dashing man” in the Rules of the Bench, is the most monstrous and incredible of all. Plainly, friend Arthur Gride, ifyou want any help from me in this business (which of course youdo, or you would not be here), speak out, and to the purpose. And,above all, don’t talk to me of its turning to my advantage, for Iknow it must turn to yours also, and to a good round tune too, oryou would have no finger in such a pie as this.’

　　There was enough acerbity and sarcasm not only in the matterof Ralph’s speech, but in the tone of voice in which he uttered it,and the looks with which he eked it out, to have fired even theancient usurer’s cold blood and flushed even his withered cheek.

　　But he gave vent to no demonstration of anger, contenting himselfwith exclaiming as before, ‘What a man it is!’ and rolling his headfrom side to side, as if in unrestrained enjoyment of his freedomand drollery. Clearly observing, however, from the expression inRalph’s features, that he had best come to the point as speedily asmight be, he composed himself for more serious business, andentered upon the pith and marrow of his negotiation.

　　First, he dwelt upon the fact that Madeline Bray was devoted tothe support and maintenance, and was a slave to every wish, ofher only parent, who had no other friend on earth; to which Ralphrejoined that he had heard something of the kind before, and thatif she had known a little more of the world, she wouldn’t havebeen such a fool.

　　Secondly, he enlarged upon the character of her father,arguing, that even taking it for granted that he loved her in returnwith the utmost affection of which he was capable, yet he lovedhimself a great deal better; which Ralph said it was quiteunnecessary to say anything more about, as that was very natural,and probable enough.

　　 And, thirdly, old Arthur premised that the girl was a delicateand beautiful creature, and that he had really a hankering to haveher for his wife. To this Ralph deigned no other rejoinder than aharsh smile, and a glance at the shrivelled old creature before him,which were, however, sufficiently expressive.

　　‘Now,’ said Gride, ‘for the little plan I have in my mind to bringthis about; because, I haven’t offered myself even to the father yet,I should have told you. But that you have gathered already? Ah!

　　oh dear, oh dear, what an edged tool you are!’

　　‘Don’t play with me then,’ said Ralph impatiently. ‘You knowthe proverb.’

　　‘A reply always on the tip of his tongue!’ cried old Arthur,raising his hands and eyes in admiration. ‘He is always prepared!

　　Oh dear, what a blessing to have such a ready wit, and so muchready money to back it!’ Then, suddenly changing his tone, hewent on: ‘I have been backwards and forwards to Bray’s lodgingsseveral times within the last six months. It is just half a year since Ifirst saw this delicate morsel, and, oh dear, what a delicate morselit is! But that is neither here nor there. I am his detaining creditorfor seventeen hundred pounds!’

　　‘You talk as if you were the only detaining creditor,’ said Ralph,pulling out his pocket-book. ‘I am another for nine hundred andseventy-five pounds four and threepence.’

　　‘The only other, Mr Nickleby,’ said old Arthur, eagerly. ‘Theonly other. Nobody else went to the expense of lodging a detainer,trusting to our holding him fast enough, I warrant you. We bothfell into the same snare; oh dear, what a pitfall it was; it almostruined me! And lent him our money upon bills, with only onename besides his own, which to be sure everybody supposed to be a good one, and was as negotiable as money, but which turned outyou know how. Just as we should have come upon him, he diedinsolvent. Ah! it went very nigh to ruin me, that loss did!’

　　‘Go on with your scheme,’ said Ralph. ‘It’s of no use raising thecry of our trade just now; there’s nobody to hear us!’

　　‘It’s always as well to talk that way,’ returned old Arthur, with achuckle, ‘whether there’s anybody to hear us or not. Practicemakes perfect, you know. Now, if I offer myself to Bray as his son-in-law, upon one simple condition that the moment I am fastmarried he shall be quietly released, and have an allowance to livejust t’other side the water like a gentleman (he can’t live long, for Ihave asked his doctor, and he declares that his complaint is one ofthe Heart and it is impossible), and if all the advantages of thiscondition are properly stated and dwelt upon to him, do you thinkhe could resist me? And if he could not resist me, do you think hisdaughter could resist him? Shouldn’t I have her Mrs ArthurGride—pretty Mrs Arthur Gride—a tit-bit—a dainty chick—shouldn’t I have her Mrs Arthur Gride in a week, a month, a day—any time I chose to name?’

　　‘Go on,’ said Ralph, nodding his head deliberately, andspeaking in a tone whose studied coldness presented a strangecontrast to the rapturous squeak to which his friend had graduallymounted. ‘Go on. You didn’t come here to ask me that.’

　　‘Oh dear, how you talk!’ cried old Arthur, edging himself closerstill to Ralph. ‘Of course I didn’t, I don’t pretend I did! I came toask what you would take from me, if I prospered with the father,for this debt of yours. Five shillings in the pound, six andeightpence, ten shillings? I would go as far as ten for such a friendas you, we have always been on such good terms, but you won’t be so hard upon me as that, I know. Now, will you?’

　　‘There’s something more to be told,’ said Ralph, as stony andimmovable as ever.

　　‘Yes, yes, there is, but you won’t give me time,’ returned ArthurGride. ‘I want a backer in this matter; one who can talk, and urge,and press a point, which you can do as no man can. I can’t do that,for I am a poor, timid, nervous creature. Now, if you get a goodcomposition for this debt, which you long ago gave up for lost,you’ll stand my friend, and help me. Won’t you?’

　　‘There’s something more,’ said Ralph.

　　‘No, no, indeed,’ cried Arthur Gride.

　　‘Yes, yes, indeed. I tell you yes,’ said Ralph.

　　‘Oh!’ returned old Arthur feigning to be suddenly enlightened.

　　‘You mean something more, as concerns myself and my intention.

　　Ay, surely, surely. Shall I mention that?’

　　‘I think you had better,’ rejoined Ralph, drily.

　　‘I didn’t like to trouble you with that, because I supposed yourinterest would cease with your own concern in the affair,’ saidArthur Gride. ‘That’s kind of you to ask. Oh dear, how very kind ofyou! Why, supposing I had a knowledge of some property—somelittle property—very little—to which this pretty chick was entitled;which nobody does or can know of at this time, but which herhusband could sweep into his pouch, if he knew as much as I do,would that account for—’

　　‘For the whole proceeding,’ rejoined Ralph, abruptly. ‘Now, letme turn this matter over, and consider what I ought to have if Ishould help you to success.’

　　‘But don’t be hard,’ cried old Arthur, raising his hands with animploring gesture, and speaking, in a tremulous voice. ‘Don’t be too hard upon me. It’s a very small property, it is indeed. Say theten shillings, and we’ll close the bargain. It’s more than I ought togive, but you’re so kind—shall we say the ten? Do now, do.’

　　Ralph took no notice of these supplications, but sat for three orfour minutes in a brown study, looking thoughtfully at the personfrom whom they proceeded. After sufficient cogitation he brokesilence, and it certainly could not be objected that he used anyneedless circumlocution, or failed to speak directly to the purpose.

　　‘If you married this girl without me,’ said Ralph, ‘you must paymy debt in full, because you couldn’t set her father free otherwise.

　　It’s plain, then, that I must have the whole amount, clear of alldeduction or incumbrance, or I should lose from being honouredwith your confidence, instead of gaining by it. That’s the firstarticle of the treaty. For the second, I shall stipulate that for mytrouble in negotiation and persuasion, and helping you to thisfortune, I have five hundred pounds. That’s very little, becauseyou have the ripe lips, and the clustering hair, and what not, all toyourself. For the third and last article, I require that you execute abond to me, this day, binding yourself in the payment of these twosums, before noon of the day of your marriage with MadelineBray. You have told me I can urge and press a point. I press thisone, and will take nothing less than these terms. Accept them ifyou like. If not, marry her without me if you can. I shall still get mydebt.’

　　To all entreaties, protestations, and offers of compromisebetween his own proposals and those which Arthur Gride had firstsuggested, Ralph was deaf as an adder. He would enter into nofurther discussion of the subject, and while old Arthur dilatedupon the enormity of his demands and proposed modifications of them, approaching by degrees nearer and nearer to the terms heresisted, sat perfectly mute, looking with an air of quietabstraction over the entries and papers in his pocket-book.

　　Finding that it was impossible to make any impression upon hisstaunch friend, Arthur Gride, who had prepared himself for somesuch result before he came, consented with a heavy heart to theproposed treaty, and upon the spot filled up the bond required(Ralph kept such instruments handy), after exacting the conditionthat Mr Nickleby should accompany him to Bray’s lodgings thatvery hour, and open the negotiation at once, should circumstancesappear auspicious and favourable to their designs.

　　In pursuance of this last understanding the worthy gentlemenwent out together shortly afterwards, and Newman Noggsemerged, bottle in hand, from the cupboard, out of the upper doorof which, at the imminent risk of detection, he had more than oncethrust his red nose when such parts of the subject were underdiscussion as interested him most.

　　‘I have no appetite now,’ said Newman, putting the flask in hispocket. ‘I’ve had my dinner.’

　　Having delivered this observation in a very grievous and dolefultone, Newman reached the door in one long limp, and came backagain in another.

　　‘I don’t know who she may be, or what she may be,’ he said:

　　‘but I pity her with all my heart and soul; and I can’t help her, norcan I any of the people against whom a hundred tricks, but noneso vile as this, are plotted every day! Well, that adds to my pain,but not to theirs. The thing is no worse because I know it, and ittortures me as well as them. Gride and Nickleby! Good pair for acurricle. Oh roguery! roguery! roguery!’

　　 With these reflections, and a very hard knock on the crown ofhis unfortunate hat at each repetition of the last word, NewmanNoggs, whose brain was a little muddled by so much of thecontents of the pocket-pistol as had found their way there duringhis recent concealment, went forth to seek such consolation asmight be derivable from the beef and greens of some cheap eating-house.

　　Meanwhile the two plotters had betaken themselves to thesame house whither Nicholas had repaired for the first time but afew mornings before, and having obtained access to Mr Bray, andfound his daughter from home, had by a train of the most masterlyapproaches that Ralph’s utmost skill could frame, at length laidopen the real object of their visit.

　　‘There he sits, Mr Bray,’ said Ralph, as the invalid, not yetrecovered from his surprise, reclined in his chair, lookingalternately at him and Arthur Gride. ‘What if he has had the ill-fortune to be one cause of your detention in this place? I havebeen another; men must live; you are too much a man of the worldnot to see that in its true light. We offer the best reparation in ourpower. Reparation! Here is an offer of marriage, that many a titledfather would leap at, for his child. Mr Arthur Gride, with thefortune of a prince. Think what a haul it is!’

　　‘My daughter, sir,’ returned Bray, haughtily, ‘as I have broughther up, would be a rich recompense for the largest fortune that aman could bestow in exchange for her hand.’

　　‘Precisely what I told you,’ said the artful Ralph, turning to hisfriend, old Arthur. ‘Precisely what made me consider the thing sofair and easy. There is no obligation on either side. You havemoney, and Miss Madeline has beauty and worth. She has youth, you have money. She has not money, you have not youth. Tit fortat, quits, a match of Heaven’s own making!’

　　‘Matches are made in Heaven, they say,’ added Arthur Gride,leering hideously at the father-in-law he wanted. ‘If we aremarried, it will be destiny, according to that.’

　　‘Then think, Mr Bray,’ said Ralph, hastily substituting for thisargument considerations more nearly allied to earth, ‘think what astake is involved in the acceptance or rejection of these proposalsof my friend.’

　　‘How can I accept or reject,’ interrupted Mr Bray, with anirritable consciousness that it really rested with him to decide. ‘Itis for my daughter to accept or reject; it is for my daughter. Youknow that.’

　　‘True,’ said Ralph, emphatically; ‘but you have still the power toadvise; to state the reasons for and against; to hint a wish.’

　　‘To hint a wish, sir!’ returned the debtor, proud and mean byturns, and selfish at all times. ‘I am her father, am I not? Whyshould I hint, and beat about the bush? Do you suppose, like hermother’s friends and my enemies—a curse upon them all!—thatthere is anything in what she has done for me but duty, sir, butduty? Or do you think that my having been unfortunate is asufficient reason why our relative positions should be changed,and that she should command and I should obey? Hint a wish, too!

　　Perhaps you think, because you see me in this place and scarcelyable to leave this chair without assistance, that I am some broken-spirited dependent creature, without the courage or power to dowhat I may think best for my own child. Still the power to hint awish! I hope so!’

　　‘Pardon me,’ returned Ralph, who thoroughly knew his man, and had taken his ground accordingly; ‘you do not hear me out. Iwas about to say that your hinting a wish, even hinting a wish,would surely be equivalent to commanding.’

　　‘Why, of course it would,’ retorted Mr Bray, in an exasperatedtone. ‘If you don’t happen to have heard of the time, sir, I tell youthat there was a time, when I carried every point in triumphagainst her mother’s whole family, although they had power andwealth on their side, by my will alone.’

　　‘Still,’ rejoined Ralph, as mildly as his nature would allow him,‘you have not heard me out. You are a man yet qualified to shinein society, with many years of life before you; that is, if you lived infreer air, and under brighter skies, and chose your owncompanions. Gaiety is your element, you have shone in it before.

　　Fashion and freedom for you. France, and an annuity that wouldsupport you there in luxury, would give you a new lease of life,would transfer you to a new existence. The town rang with yourexpensive pleasures once, and you could blaze up on a new sceneagain, profiting by experience, and living a little at others’ cost,instead of letting others live at yours. What is there on the reverseside of the picture? What is there? I don’t know which is thenearest churchyard, but a gravestone there, wherever it is, and adate, perhaps two years hence, perhaps twenty. That’s all.’

　　Mr Bray rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, and shadedhis face with his hand.

　　‘I speak plainly,’ said Ralph, sitting down beside him, ‘because Ifeel strongly. It’s my interest that you should marry your daughterto my friend Gride, because then he sees me paid—in part, that is.

　　I don’t disguise it. I acknowledge it openly. But what interest haveyou in recommending her to such a step? Keep that in view. She might object, remonstrate, shed tears, talk of his being too old, andplead that her life would be rendered miserable. But what is itnow?’

　　Several slight gestures on the part of the invalid showed thatthese arguments were no more lost upon him, than the smallestiota of his demeanour was upon Ralph.

　　‘What is it now, I say,’ pursued the wily usurer, ‘or what has it achance of being? If you died, indeed, the people you hate wouldmake her happy. But can you bear the thought of that?’

　　‘No!’ returned Bray, urged by a vindictive impulse he could notrepress.

　　‘I should imagine not, indeed!’ said Ralph, quietly. ‘If she profitsby anybody’s death,’ this was said in a lower tone, ‘let it be by herhusband’s. Don’t let her have to look back to yours, as the eventfrom which to date a happier life. Where is the objection? Let mehear it stated. What is it? That her suitor is an old man? Why, howoften do men of family and fortune, who haven’t your excuse, buthave all the means and superfluities of life within their reach, howoften do they marry their daughters to old men, or (worse still) toyoung men without heads or hearts, to tickle some idle vanity,strengthen some family interest, or secure some seat inParliament! Judge for her, sir, judge for her. You must know best,and she will live to thank you.’

　　‘Hush! hush!’ cried Mr Bray, suddenly starting up, and coveringRalph’s mouth with his trembling hand. ‘I hear her at the door!’

　　There was a gleam of conscience in the shame and terror of thishasty action, which, in one short moment, tore the thin covering ofsophistry from the cruel design, and laid it bare in all its meannessand heartless deformity. The father fell into his chair pale and trembling; Arthur Gride plucked and fumbled at his hat, and durstnot raise his eyes from the floor; even Ralph crouched for themoment like a beaten hound, cowed by the presence of one younginnocent girl!

　　The effect was almost as brief as sudden. Ralph was the first torecover himself, and observing Madeline’s looks of alarm,entreated the poor girl to be composed, assuring her that therewas no cause for fear.

　　‘A sudden spasm,’ said Ralph, glancing at Mr Bray. ‘He is quitewell now.’

　　It might have moved a very hard and worldly heart to see theyoung and beautiful creature, whose certain misery they had beencontriving but a minute before, throw her arms about her father’sneck, and pour forth words of tender sympathy and love, thesweetest a father’s ear can know, or child’s lips form. But Ralphlooked coldly on; and Arthur Gride, whose bleared eyes gloatedonly over the outward beauties, and were blind to the spirit whichreigned within, evinced—a fantastic kind of warmth certainly, butnot exactly that kind of warmth of feeling which the contemplationof virtue usually inspires.

　　‘Madeline,’ said her father, gently disengaging himself, ‘it wasnothing.’

　　‘But you had that spasm yesterday, and it is terrible to see youin such pain. Can I do nothing for you?’

　　‘Nothing just now. Here are two gentlemen, Madeline, one ofwhom you have seen before. She used to say,’ added Mr Bray,addressing Arthur Gride, ‘that the sight of you always made meworse. That was natural, knowing what she did, and only what shedid, of our connection and its results. Well, well. Perhaps she may change her mind on that point; girls have leave to change theirminds, you know. You are very tired, my dear.’

　　‘I am not, indeed.’

　　‘Indeed you are. You do too much.’

　　‘I wish I could do more.’

　　‘I know you do, but you overtask your strength. This wretchedlife, my love, of daily labour and fatigue, is more than you canbear, I am sure it is. Poor Madeline!’

　　With these and many more kind words, Mr Bray drew hisdaughter to him and kissed her cheek affectionately. Ralph,watching him sharply and closely in the meantime, made his waytowards the door, and signed to Gride to follow him.

　　‘You will communicate with us again?’ said Ralph.

　　‘Yes, yes,’ returned Mr Bray, hastily thrusting his daughteraside. ‘In a week. Give me a week.’

　　‘One week,’ said Ralph, turning to his companion, ‘from today.

　　Good-morning. Miss Madeline, I kiss your hand.’

　　‘We will shake hands, Gride,’ said Mr Bray, extending his, asold Arthur bowed. ‘You mean well, no doubt. I an bound to say sonow. If I owed you money, that was not your fault. Madeline, mylove, your hand here.’

　　‘Oh dear! If the young lady would condescent! Only the tips ofher fingers,’ said Arthur, hesitating and half retreating.

　　Madeline shrunk involuntarily from the goblin figure, but sheplaced the tips of her fingers in his hand and instantly withdrewthem. After an ineffectual clutch, intended to detain and carrythem to his lips, old Arthur gave his own fingers a mumbling kiss,and with many amorous distortions of visage went in pursuit of hisfriend, who was by this time in the street.

　　 ‘What does he say, what does he say? What does the giant say tothe pigmy?’ inquired Arthur Gride, hobbling up to Ralph.

　　‘What does the pigmy say to the giant?’ rejoined Ralph,elevating his eyebrows and looking down upon his questioner.

　　‘He doesn’t know what to say,’ replied Arthur Gride. ‘He hopesand fears. But is she not a dainty morsel?’

　　‘I have no great taste for beauty,’ growled Ralph.

　　‘But I have,’ rejoined Arthur, rubbing his hands. ‘Oh dear! Howhandsome her eyes looked when she was stooping over him! Suchlong lashes, such delicate fringe! She—she—looked at me so soft.’

　　‘Not over-lovingly, I think,’ said Ralph. ‘Did she?’

　　‘No, you think not?’ replied old Arthur. ‘But don’t you think itcan be brought about? Don’t you think it can?’

　　Ralph looked at him with a contemptuous frown, and repliedwith a sneer, and between his teeth:

　　‘Did you mark his telling her she was tired and did too much,and overtasked her strength?’

　　‘Ay, ay. What of it?’

　　‘When do you think he ever told her that before? The life ismore than she can bear. Yes, yes. He’ll change it for her.’

　　‘D’ye think it’s done?’ inquired old Arthur, peering into hiscompanion’s face with half-closed eyes.

　　‘I am sure it’s done,’ said Ralph. ‘He is trying to deceive himself,even before our eyes, already. He is making believe that he thinksof her good and not his own. He is acting a virtuous part, and soconsiderate and affectionate, sir, that the daughter scarcely knewhim. I saw a tear of surprise in her eye. There’ll be a few moretears of surprise there before long, though of a different kind. Oh!

　　we may wait with confidence for this day week.’