oking, dressed, as he himself
called it, 'incognito,' with a Tom-and-Jerry hat, and a blue silk
cravat, and a green coat. Ruby thought it was charming. Felix
entertained an idea that were his West End friends to see him in this
attire they would not know him. He was smoking, and had before him a
glass of hot brandy and water, which was common to himself and Ruby.
He was enjoying life. Poor Ruby! She was half-ashamed of herself,
half-frightened, and yet supported by a feeling that it was a grand
thing to have got rid of restraints, and be able to be with her young
man. Why not? The Miss Longestaffes were allowed to sit and dance and
walk about with their young men,--when they had any. Why was she to be
given up to a great mass of stupid dust like John Crumb, without
seeing anything of the world? But yet, as she sat sipping her lover's
brandy and water between eleven and twelve at the music-hall in the
City Road, she was not altogether comfortable. She saw things which
she did not like to see. And she heard things which she did not like
to hear. And her lover, though he was beautiful,--oh, so beautiful!--
was not all that a lover should be. She was still a little afraid of
him, and did not dare as yet to ask him for the promise which she
expected him to make to her. Her mind was set upon--marriage, but the
word had hardly passed between them. To have his arm round her waist
was heaven to her. Could it be possible that he and John Crumb were of
the same order of human beings? But how was this to go on? Even Mrs
Pipkin made disagreeable allusions, and she could not live always with
Mrs Pipkin, coming out at nights to drink brandy and water and hear
music with Sir Felix Carbury. She was glad therefore to take the first
opportunity of telling her lover that something was going to happen.
'Who do you suppose was at our place yesterday?'

Sir Felix changed colour, thinking of Marie Melmotte, thinking that
perhaps some emissary from Marie Melmotte had been there; perhaps
Didon herself. He was amusing himself during these last evenings of
his in London; but the business of his life was about to take him to
New York. That project was still being elaborated. He had had an
interview with Didon, and nothing was wanting but the money. Didon had
heard of the funds which had been intrusted by him to Melmotte, and
had been very urgent with him to recover them. Therefore, though his
body was not unfrequently present, late in the night, at