f a minute, and then Sir Felix left the room
muttering something as to the stupidity of having no cards;--and so
brought to an end his connection with his associates of the
Beargarden. From that time forth he was never more seen by them,--or,
if seen, was never known.

The other men remained there till well on into the night, although
there was not the excitement of any special amusement to attract them.
It was felt by them all that this was the end of the Beargarden, and,
with a melancholy seriousness befitting the occasion, they whispered
sad things in low voices, consoling themselves simply with tobacco. 'I
never felt so much like crying in my life,' said Dolly, as he asked
for a glass of brandy-and-water at about midnight. 'Good-night, old
fellows; good-bye. I'm going down to Caversham, and I shouldn't wonder
if I didn't drown myself.'

How Mr Flatfleece went to law, and tried to sell the furniture, and
threatened everybody, and at last singled out poor Dolly Longestaffe
as his special victim; and how Dolly Longestaffe, by the aid of Mr
Squercum, utterly confounded Mr Flatfleece, and brought that ingenious
but unfortunate man, with his wife and small family, to absolute ruin,
the reader will hardly expect to have told to him in detail in this
chronicle.

CHAPTER XCVII - MRS HURTLE'S FATE

Mrs Hurtle had consented at the joint request of Mrs Pipkin and John
Crumb to postpone her journey to New York and to go down to Bungay and
grace the marriage of Ruby Ruggles, not so much from any love for the
persons concerned, not so much even from any desire to witness a phase
of English life, as from an irresistible tenderness towards Paul
Montague. She not only longed to see him once again, but she could
with difficulty bring herself to leave the land in which he was
living. There was no hope for her. She was sure of that. She had
consented to relinquish him. She had condoned his treachery to her,--
and for his sake had even been kind to the rival who had taken her
place. But still she lingered near him. And then, though, in all her
very restricted intercourse with such English people as she met, she
never ceased to ridicule things English, yet she dreaded a return to
her own country. In her heart of hearts she liked the somewhat stupid
tranquillity of the life she saw, comparing it with the rough tempests
of her past days. Mrs Pipkin, she thought, was less intellectual than
any American woman she had ever known;