Mr. Hepworth was over with Roger one morning, and they were talking about him,—or talking rather of the attempted elopement. "I know nothing about it," said Roger, "and I do not intend to ask. Of course I did know when they were down here that he hoped to marry her, and I did believe that she was willing to marry him. But whether the father had consented or not I never enquired."
"It seems he did not consent."
"Nothing could have been more unfortunate for either of them than such a marriage. Melmotte will probably be in the 'Gazette' before long, and my cousin not only has not a shilling, but could not keep one if he had it."
"You think Melmotte will turn out a failure."
"A failure! Of course he's a failure, whether rich or poor;—a miserable imposition, a hollow vulgar fraud from beginning to end,—too insignificant for you and me to talk of, were it not that his position is a sign of the degeneracy of the age. What are we coming to when such as he is an honoured guest at our tables?"
"At just a table here and there," suggested his friend.
"No;—it is not that. You can keep your house free from him, and so can I mine. But we set no example to the nation at large. They who do set the example go to his feasts, and of course he is seen at theirs in return. And yet these leaders of the fashion know,—at any rate they believe,—that he is what he is because he has been a swindler greater than other swindlers. What follows as a natural consequence? Men reconcile themselves to swindling. Though they themselves mean to be honest, dishonesty of itself is no longer odious to them. Then there comes the jealousy that others should be growing rich with the approval of all the world,—and the natural aptitude to do what all the world approves. It seems to me that the existence of a Melmotte is not compatible with a wholesome state of things in general."
Roger dined with the Bishop of Elmham that evening, and the same hero was discussed under a different heading. "He has given £200," said the Bishop, "to the Curates' Aid Society. I don't know that a man could spend his money much better than that."
"Clap-trap!" said Roger, who in his present mood was very bitter.
"The money is not clap-trap, my friend. I presume that the money is really paid."