he funds, not a real fortune, not so many thousands a-year that could
be settled;--the man's own enormous wealth rendered this unnecessary but
such a one as Mr Melmotte would not like outward palpable signs of
immediate poverty. There should be means enough for present sleekness
and present luxury. He must have a horse to ride, and rings and coats
to wear, and bright little canes to carry, and above all the means of
making presents. He must not be seen to be poor. Fortunately, most
fortunately, Chance had befriended him lately and had given him some
ready money. But if he went on gambling Chance would certainly take it
all away again. For aught that the poor mother knew, Chance might have
done so already. And then again, it was indispensable that he should
abandon the habit of play--at any rate for the present, while his
prospects depended on the good opinions of Mr Melmotte. Of course such
a one as Mr Melmotte could not like gambling at a club, however much
he might approve of it in the City. Why, with such a preceptor to help
him, should not Felix learn to do his gambling on the Exchange, or
among the brokers, or in the purlieus of the Bank? Lady Carbury would
at any rate instigate him to be diligent in his position as director
of the Great Mexican Railway,--which position ought to be the beginning
to him of a fortune to be made on his own account. But what hope could
there be for him if he should take to drink? Would not all hopes be
over with Mr Melmotte should he ever learn that his daughter's lover
reached home and tumbled upstairs to bed between eight and nine
o'clock in the morning?

She watched for his appearance on the following day, and began at once
on the subject.

'Do you know, Felix, I think I shall go down to your cousin Roger for
Whitsuntide.'

'To Carbury Manor!' said he, as he eat some devilled kidneys which the
cook had been specially ordered to get for his breakfast. 'I thought
you found it so dull that you didn't mean to go there any more.'

'I never said so, Felix. And now I have a great object.'

'What will Hetta do?'

'Go too--why shouldn't she?'

'Oh; I didn't know. I thought that perhaps she mightn't like it.'

'I don't see why she shouldn't like it. Besides, everything can't give
way to her.'

'Has Roger asked you?'

'No; but I'm sure he'd be pleased to have us if I proposed that we
should all go.'

'Not me, mother!'

'Yes; you especially.'

'Not if I know it, mother. What o