Lord Nidderdale was greatly disgusted with his own part of the performance when he left the House of Commons, and was, we may say, disgusted with his own position generally, when he considered all its circumstances. That had been at the commencement of the evening, and Melmotte had not then been tipsy; but he had behaved with unsurpassable arrogance² and vulgarity, and had made the young lord drink the cup of his own disgrace to the very dregs. Everybody now knew it as a positive fact that the charges made against the man were to become matter of investigation³ before the chief magistrate⁴ for the City, everybody knew that he had committed forgery⁵ upon forgery, everybody knew that he could not pay for the property which he had pretended to buy, and that actually he was a ruined man; — and yet he had seized Nidderdale by the hand, and called the young lord ‘his dear boy’ before the whole House.

And then he had made himself conspicuous⁶ as this man’s advocate. If he had not himself spoken openly of his coming marriage with the girl, he had allowed other men to speak to him about it. He had quarrelled with one man for saying that Melmotte was a rogue⁸, and had confidentially⁹ told his most intimate friends that in spite of a little vulgarity of manner, Melmotte at bottom was a very good fellow. How was he now to back out of his intimacy¹⁰ with the Melmottes generally? He was engaged to marry the girl, and there was nothing of which he could accuse her. He acknowledged to himself that she deserved well at his hands. Though at this moment he hated the father most bitterly, as those odious¹¹ words, and the tone in which they had been pronounced, rang in his ears, nevertheless he had some

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