at mamma cares. It's papa. I'd do it again to-morrow
if I had the chance.' The gentleman looked at her, not having expected
so much determination. 'I would. Why is a girl to be made to marry to
please any one but herself? I won't. And it's very mean saying that I
stole the money. I always take what I want, and papa never says
anything about it.'

'Two hundred and fifty pounds is a large sum, Miss Melmotte.'

'It is nothing in our house. It isn't about the money. It's because
papa wants me to marry another man;--and I won't. It was downright mean
to send and have me taken up before all the people.'

'You wouldn't have come back if he hadn't done that.'

'Of course I wouldn't,' said Marie.

The gentleman had telegraphed up to Grosvenor Square while on the
journey, and at Euston Square they were met by one of the Melmotte
carriages. Marie was to be taken home in the carriage, and the box was
to follow in a cab;--to follow at some interval so that Grosvenor Square
might not be aware of what had taken place. Grosvenor Square, of
course, very soon knew all about it. 'And are you to come?' Marie
asked, speaking to the gentleman. The gentleman replied that he had
been requested to see Miss Melmotte home. 'All the people will wonder
who you are,' said Marie laughing. Then the gentleman thought that
Miss Melmotte would be able to get through her troubles without much
suffering.

When she got home she was hurried up at once to her mother's room,--and
there she found her father, alone. 'This is your game, is it?' said
he, looking down at her.

'Well, papa;--yes. You made me do it.'

'You fool you! You were going to New York,--were you?' To this she
vouchsafed no reply. 'As if I hadn't found out all about it. Who was
going with you?'

'If you have found out all about it, you know, papa.'

'Of course I know;--but you don't know all about it, you little idiot.'

'No doubt I'm a fool and an idiot. You always say so.'

'Where do you suppose Sir Felix Carbury is now?' Then she opened her
eyes and looked at him. 'An hour ago he was in bed at his mother's
house in Welbeck Street.'

'I don't believe it, papa.'

'You don't, don't you? You'll find it true. If you had gone to New
York, you'd have gone alone. If I'd known at first that he had stayed
behind, I think I'd have let you go.'

'I'm sure he didn't stay behind.'

'If you contradict me, I'll box your ears, you jade. He is in London
at this moment. What has become of