And to Roger Carbury also there was no second way of looking at it. That condonation of antecedents which, in the hurry of the world, is often vouchsafed to success, that growing feeling which induces people to assert to themselves that they are not bound to go outside the general verdict, and that they may shake hands with whomsoever the world shakes hands with, had never reached him. The old-fashioned idea that the touching of pitch will defile still prevailed with him. He was a gentleman;--and would have felt himself disgraced to enter the house of such a one as Augustus Melmotte. Not all the duchesses in the peerage, or all the money in the city, could alter his notions or induce him to modify his conduct. But he knew that it would be useless for him to explain this to Lady Carbury. He trusted, however, that one of the family might be taught to appreciate the difference between honour and dishonour. Henrietta Carbury had, he thought, a higher turn of mind than her mother, and had as yet been kept free from soil. As for Felix,--he had so grovelled in the gutters as to be dirt all over. Nothing short of the prolonged sufferings of half a life could cleanse him. He found Henrietta alone in the drawing-room. "Have you seen Felix?" she said, as soon as they had greeted each other. "Yes. I caught him in the street." "We are so unhappy about him." "I cannot say but that you have reason. I think, you know, that your mother indulges him foolishly." "Poor mamma! She worships the very ground he treads on." "Even a mother should not throw her worship away like that. The fact is that your brother will ruin you both if this goes on." "What can mamma do?" "Leave London, and then refuse to pay a shilling on his behalf." "What would Felix do in the country?" "If he did nothing, how much better would that be than what he does in town? You would not like him to become a professional gambler." "Oh, Mr. Carbury; you do not mean that he does that!" "It seems cruel to say such things to you,--but in a matter of such importance one is bound to speak the truth. I have no influence over your mother; but you may have some. She asks my advice, but has not the slightest idea of listening to it. I don't blame her for that; but I am anxious for the sake of--, for the sake of the family." "I am sure you are." "Especially for your sake. You will never throw him over." "You would not ask me to throw him over." "But he may drag you into the mud. For his sake you have already been taken into the house of that man Melmotte." "I do not think that I shall be injured by anything of that kind," said Henrietta, drawing herself up. "Pardon me if I seem to interfere." "Oh, no;--it is no interference from you."