"Mr. Brehgert is a—very wealthy gentleman. That is all I know of him. Perhaps, Georgiana, you will be glad to be alone with your father." And Lady Monogram left the room.
Was there ever cruelty equal to this! But now the poor girl was forced to speak,—though she could not speak as boldly as she had written. "Papa, I wrote to mamma this morning, and Mr. Brehgert was to come to you to-morrow."
"Do you mean that you are engaged to marry him?"
"Yes, papa."
"What Mr. Brehgert is he?"
"He is a merchant."
"You can't mean the fat Jew whom I've met with Mr. Melmotte;—a man old enough to be your father!" The poor girl's condition now was certainly lamentable. The fat Jew, old enough to be her father, was the very man she did mean. She thought that she would try to brazen it out with her father. But at the present moment she had been so cowed by the manner in which the subject had been introduced that she did not know how to begin to be bold. She only looked at him as though imploring him to spare her. "Is the man a Jew?" demanded Mr. Longestaffe, with as much thunder as he knew how to throw into his voice.
"Yes, papa," she said.
"He is that fat man?"
"Yes, papa."