"Who do you suppose was at our place yesterday?" Sir Felix changed colour, thinking of Marie Melmotte, thinking that perhaps some emissary from Marie Melmotte had been there; perhaps Didon herself. He was amusing himself during these last evenings of his in London; but the business of his life was about to take him to New York. That project was still being elaborated. He had had an interview with Didon, and nothing was wanting but the money. Didon had heard of the funds which had been intrusted by him to Melmotte, and had been very urgent with him to recover them. Therefore, though his body was not unfrequently present, late in the night, at the City Road Music-Hall, his mind was ever in Grosvenor Square. "Who was it, Ruby?" "A friend of the Squire's, a Mr. Montague. I used to see him about in Bungay and Beccles." "Paul Montague!" "Do you know him, Felix?" "Well;--rather. He's a member of our club, and I see him constantly in the city--and I know him at home." "Is he nice?" "Well;--that depends on what you call nice. He's a prig of a fellow." "He's got a lady friend where I live." "The devil he has!" Sir Felix of course had heard of Roger Carbury's suit to his sister, and of the opposition to this suit on the part of Hetta, which was supposed to have been occasioned by her preference for Paul Montague. "Who is she, Ruby?" "Well;--she's a Mrs. Hurtle. Such a stunning woman! Aunt says she's an American. She's got lots of money." "Is Montague going to marry her?" "Oh dear yes. It's all arranged. Mr. Montague comes quite regular to see her;--not so regular as he ought, though. When gentlemen are fixed as they're to be married, they never are regular afterwards. I wonder whether it'll be the same with you?" "Wasn't John Crumb regular, Ruby?" "Bother John Crumb! That wasn't none of my doings. Oh, he'd been regular enough, if I'd let him; he'd been like clockwork,--only the slowest clock out. But Mr. Montague has been and told the Squire as he saw me. He told me so himself. The Squire's coming about John Crumb. I know that. What am I to tell him, Felix?" "Tell him to mind his own business. He can't do anything to you." "No;--he can't do nothing. I ain't done nothing wrong, and he can't send for the police to have me took back to Sheep's Acre. But he can talk,--and he can look. I ain't one of those, Felix, as don't mind about their characters,--so don't you think it. Shall I tell him as I'm with you?" "Gracious goodness, no! What would you say that for?" "I didn't know. I must say something." "Tell him you're nothing to him." "But aunt will be letting on about my being out late o'nights; I know she will. And who am I with? He'll be asking that." "Your aunt does not know?" "No;--I've told nobody yet. But it won't do to go on like that, you know,--will it? You don't want it to go on always like that;--do you?" "It's very jolly, I think."