he
answer, and went away promising that he would meet his love at the
great Melmotte reception. Then she sat silent, thinking how she should
declare the matter to her family. Would it not be better for her to
say to them at once that there must be a division among them,--an
absolute breaking off of all old ties, so that it should be tacitly
acknowledged that she, Georgiana, had gone out from among the
Longestaffes altogether, and had become one with the Melmottes,
Brehgerts, and Goldsheiners?

CHAPTER LXI - LADY MONOGRAM PREPARES FOR THE PARTY

When the little conversation took place between Lady Monogram and Miss
Longestaffe, as recorded in the last chapter, Mr Melmotte was in all
his glory, and tickets for the entertainment were very precious.
Gradually their value subsided. Lady Monogram had paid very dear for
hers,--especially as the reception of Mr Brehgert must be considered.
But high prices were then being paid. A lady offered to take Marie
Melmotte into the country with her for a week; but this was before the
elopement. Mr Cohenlupe was asked out to dinner to meet two peers and
a countess. Lord Alfred received various presents. A young lady gave a
lock of her hair to Lord Nidderdale, although it was known that he was
to marry Marie Melmotte. And Miles Grendall got back an I.O.U. of
considerable nominal value from Lord Grasslough, who was anxious to
accommodate two country cousins who were in London. Gradually the
prices fell;--not at first from any doubt in Melmotte, but through
that customary reaction which may be expected on such occasions. But
at eight or nine o'clock on the evening of the party the tickets were
worth nothing. The rumour had then spread itself through the whole
town from Pimlico to Marylebone. Men coming home from clubs had told
their wives. Ladies who had been in the park had heard it. Even the
hairdressers had it, and ladies' maids had been instructed by the
footmen and grooms who had been holding horses and seated on the
coach-boxes. It had got into the air, and had floated round
dining-rooms and over toilet-tables.

I doubt whether Sir Damask would have said a word about it to his wife
as he was dressing for dinner, had he calculated what might be the
result to himself. But he came home open-mouthed, and made no
calculation. 'Have you heard what's up, Ju?' he said, rushing
half-dressed into his wife's room.

'What is up?'

'Haven't you been out?'

'I was shopping, and tha