y and the workhouse. As
she thought of this she trembled with true maternal instincts. Her
beautiful boy,--so glorious with his outward gifts, so fit, as she
thought him, for all the graces of the grand world! Though the
ambition was vilely ignoble, the mother's love was noble and
disinterested.

But the girl was an only child. The future honours of the house of
Melmotte could be made to settle on no other head. No doubt the father
would prefer a lord for a son-in-law; and, having that preference,
would of course do as he was now doing. That he should threaten to
disinherit his daughter if she married contrary to his wishes was to
be expected. But would it not be equally a matter of course that he
should make the best of the marriage if it were once effected? His
daughter would return to him with a title, though with one of a lower
degree than his ambition desired. To herself personally, Lady Carbury
felt that the great financier had been very rude. He had taken
advantage of her invitation that he might come to her house and
threaten her. But she would forgive that. She could pass that over
altogether if only anything were to be gained by passing it over.

She looked round the room, longing for a friend, whom she might
consult with a true feeling of genuine womanly dependence. Her most
natural friend was Roger Carbury. But even had he been there she could
not have consulted him on any matter touching the Melmottes. His
advice would have been very clear. He would have told her to have
nothing at all to do with such adventurers. But then dear Roger was
old-fashioned, and knew nothing of people as they are now. He lived in
a world which, though slow, had been good in its way; but which,
whether bad or good, had now passed away. Then her eye settled on Mr
Broune. She was afraid of Mr Alf. She had almost begun to think that
Mr Alf was too difficult of management to be of use to her. But Mr
Broune was softer. Mr Booker was serviceable for an article, but would
not be sympathetic as a friend.

Mr Broune had been very courteous to her lately;--so much so that on one
occasion she had almost feared that the 'susceptible old goose' was
going to be a goose again. That would be a bore; but still she might
make use of the friendly condition of mind which such susceptibility
would produce. When her guests began to leave her, she spoke a word
aside to him. She wanted his advice. Would he stay for a few minutes
after the rest of the