d
affectionate. He had been aware of her friends' feeling, and had
therefore hesitated. He had kept himself from her because he had owed
so much to friendship. And yet his love had not been the less true,
and had not been less dear to poor Hetta. She had waited, sure that it
would come,--having absolute confidence in his honour and love. And
now she was told that this man had been playing a game so base, and at
the same time so foolish, that she could find not only no excuse but
no possible cause for it. It was not like any story she had heard
before of man's faithlessness. Though she was wretched and sore at
heart she swore to herself that she would not believe it. She knew
that her mother would write to Roger Carbury,--but she knew also that
nothing more would be said about the letter till the answer should
come. Nor could she turn anywhere else for comfort. She did not dare
to appeal to Paul himself. As regarded him, for the present she could
only rely on the assurance, which she continued to give herself, that
she would not believe a word of the story that had been told her.

But there was other wretchedness besides her own. She had undertaken
to give Marie Melmotte's message to her brother. She had done so, and
she must now let Marie have her brother's reply. That might be told in
a very few words--'Everything is over!' But it had to be told.

'I want to call upon Miss Melmotte, if you'll let me,' she said to her
mother at breakfast.

'Why should you want to see Miss Melmotte? I thought you hated the
Melmottes?'

'I don't hate them, mamma. I certainly don't hate her. I have a
message to take to her,--from Felix.'

'A message--from Felix.'

'It is an answer from him. She wanted to know if all that was over. Of
course it is over. Whether he said so or not, it would be so. They
could never be married now, could they, mamma?'

The marriage, in Lady Carbury's mind, was no longer even desirable.
She, too, was beginning to disbelieve in the Melmotte wealth, and did
quite disbelieve that that wealth would come to her son, even should
he succeed in marrying the daughter. It was impossible that Melmotte
should forgive such offence as had now been committed. 'It is out of
the question,' she said. 'That, like everything else with us, has been
a wretched failure. You can go, if you please. Felix is under no
obligation to them, and has taken nothing from them. I should much
doubt whether the girl will get anybody to tak