nce for one so young and
extravagant,--and had brought his savings to the great man. The great
man had swept the earnings of the Beargarden into his till, and had
told Sir Felix that the shares were his. Sir Felix had been not only
contented, but supremely happy. He could now do as Paul Montague was
doing,--and Lord Alfred Grendall. He could realize a perennial income,
buying and selling. It was only after the reflection of a day or two
that he found that he had as yet got nothing to sell. It was not only
Sir Felix that was admitted into these good things after this fashion.
Sir Felix was but one among hundreds. In the meantime the bills in
Grosvenor Square were no doubt paid with punctuality,--and these
bills must have been stupendous. The very servants were as tall, as
gorgeous, almost as numerous, as the servants of royalty,--and
remunerated by much higher wages. There were four coachmen with
egregious wigs, and eight footmen, not one with a circumference of
calf less than eighteen inches.

And now there appeared a paragraph in the 'Morning Breakfast Table,'
and another appeared in the 'Evening Pulpit,' telling the world that
Mr Melmotte had bought Pickering Park, the magnificent Sussex property
of Adolphus Longestaffe, Esq., of Caversham. And it was so. The father
and son, who never had agreed before, and who now had come to no
agreement in the presence of each other, had each considered that
their affairs would be safe in the hands of so great a man as Mr
Melmotte, and had been brought to terms. The purchase-money, which was
large, was to be divided between them. The thing was done with the
greatest ease,--there being no longer any delay as is the case when
small people are at work. The magnificence of Mr Melmotte affected
even the Longestaffe lawyers. Were I to buy a little property, some
humble cottage with a garden,--or you, O reader, unless you be
magnificent,--the money to the last farthing would be wanted, or
security for the money more than sufficient, before we should be able
to enter in upon our new home. But money was the very breath of
Melmotte's nostrils, and therefore his breath was taken for money.
Pickering was his, and before a week was over a London builder had
collected masons and carpenters by the dozen down at Chichester, and
was at work upon the house to make it fit to be a residence for Madame
Melmotte. There were rumours that it was to be made ready for the
Goodwood week, and that the Melmot