Poor Hetta passed a very bad night. The story she had heard seemed to be almost too awful to be true — even about any one else. The man had come to her, and had asked her to be his wife — and yet at that very moment was living in habits of daily intercourse¹ with another woman whom he had promised to marry! And then, too, his courtship with her had been so graceful², so soft, so modest, and yet so long continued! Though he had been slow in speech, she had known since their first meeting how he regarded her! The whole state of his mind had, she had thought, been visible to her — had been intelligible³, gentle, and affectionate. He had been aware of her friends’ feeling, and had therefore hesitated. He had kept himself from her because he had owed so much to friendship. And yet his love had not been the less true, and had not been less dear to poor Hetta. She had waited, sure that it would come — having absolute confidence in his honour and love. And now she was told that this man had been playing a game so base, and at the same time so foolish, that she could find not only no excuse but no possible cause for it. It was not like any story she had heard before of man’s faithlessness. Though she was wretched and sore at heart she swore to herself that she would not believe it. She knew that her mother would write to Roger Carbury — but she knew also that nothing more would be said about the letter till the answer should come. Nor could she turn anywhere else for comfort. She did not dare to appeal to Paul himself. As regarded him, for the present she could only rely on the assurance, which she continued to give herself, that she would not believe a word of the story that had been told her.

But there was other wretchedness besides her own. She had undertaken to give Marie Melmotte’s message to her brother. She had done so, and she must now let Marie have her brother’s reply. That might be told in a very few words —‘Everything is over!’ But it had to be told.

‘I want to call upon Miss Melmotte, if you’ll let me,’ she said to her mother at breakfast.

‘Why should you want to see Miss Melmotte? I thought you hated the Melmottes?’

‘I don’t hate them, mamma. I certainly don’t hate her. I have a message to take to her — from Felix.’

‘A message — from Felix.’

‘It is an answer from him. She wanted to know if all that was over. Of course it is over. Whether he said so or not, it would be so. They could never be married now, could they, mamma?’

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