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 Algorithms Illuminated
Part 3: Greedy Algorithms and Dynamic
Programming

Tim Roughgarden
c 2019 by Tim Roughgarden

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form
without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U. S. copyright
law.

First Edition

Cover image: Untitled, by Johanna Dickson

ISBN: 978-0-9992829-4-6 (Paperback)

ISBN: 978-0-9992829-5-3 (ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017914282

Soundlikeyourself Publishing, LLC

New York, NY
[email protected]
www.algorithmsilluminated.org
In memory of
Stephen H. Schneider
 Contents

Preface vii

13 Introduction to Greedy Algorithms 1

13.1 The Greedy Algorithm Design Paradigm 1
13.2 A Scheduling Problem 4
13.3 Developing a Greedy Algorithm 6
13.4 Proof of Correctness 12
Problems 21

14 Huffman Codes 23
14.1 Codes 23
14.2 Codes as Trees 28
14.3 Huffman’s Greedy Algorithm 32
*14.4 Proof of Correctness 41
Problems 49

15 Minimum Spanning Trees 52

15.1 Problem Definition 52
15.2 Prim’s Algorithm 57
*15.3 Speeding Up Prim’s Algorithm via Heaps 62
*15.4 Prim’s Algorithm: Proof of Correctness 69
15.5 Kruskal’s Algorithm 76
*15.6 Speeding Up Kruskal’s Algorithm via Union-Find 81
*15.7 Kruskal’s Algorithm: Proof of Correctness 91
15.8 Application: Single-Link Clustering 94
Problems 99

16 Introduction to Dynamic Programming 103

16.1 The Weighted Independent Set Problem 104
16.2 A Linear-Time Algorithm for WIS in Paths 108

v
vi Contents

16.3 A Reconstruction Algorithm 116

16.4 The Principles of Dynamic Programming 118
16.5 The Knapsack Problem 123
Problems 133

17 Advanced Dynamic Programming 137

17.1 Sequence Alignment 137
*17.2 Optimal Binary Search Trees 148
Problems 163

18 Shortest Paths Revisited 167

18.1 Shortest Paths with Negative Edge Lengths 167
18.2 The Bellman-Ford Algorithm 172
18.3 The All-Pairs Shortest Path Problem 185
18.4 The Floyd-Warshall Algorithm 187
Problems 198

Epilogue: A Field Guide to Algorithm Design 201

Hints and Solutions to Selected Problems 203

Index 211
 Preface

This book is the third of a four-part series based on my online algo-

rithms courses that have been running regularly since 2012, which in
turn are based on an undergraduate course that I taught many times
at Stanford University. The first two parts of the series are not strict
prerequisites for this one, though portions of this book do assume
at least a vague recollection of big-O notation (covered in Chapter 2
of Part 1 or Appendix C of Part 2), divide-and-conquer algorithms
(Chapter 3 of Part 1), and graphs (Chapter 7 of Part 2).

What We’ll Cover

Algorithms Illuminated, Part 3 provides an introduction to and nu-

merous case studies of two fundamental algorithm design paradigms.

Greedy algorithms and applications. Greedy algorithms solve

problems by making a sequence of myopic and irrevocable decisions.
For many problems, they are easy to devise and often blazingly
fast. Most greedy algorithms are not guaranteed to be correct, but
we’ll cover several killer applications that are exceptions to this rule.
Examples include scheduling problems, optimal compression, and
minimum spanning trees of graphs.

Dynamic programming and applications. Few benefits of a se-

rious study of algorithms rival the empowerment that comes from
mastering dynamic programming. This design paradigm takes a lot of
practice to perfect, but it has countless applications to problems that
appear unsolvable using any simpler method. Our dynamic program-
ming boot camp will double as a tour of some of the paradigm’s killer
applications, including the knapsack problem, the Needleman-Wunsch
genome sequence alignment algorithm, Knuth’s algorithm for opti-

vii
viii Preface

mal binary search trees, and the Bellman-Ford and Floyd-Warshall

shortest-path algorithms.
For a more detailed look into the book’s contents, check out the
“Upshot” sections that conclude each chapter and highlight the most
important points. The “Field Guide to Algorithm Design” on page 201
provides a bird’s-eye view of how greedy algorithms and dynamic
programming fit into the bigger algorithmic picture.
The starred sections of the book are the most advanced ones. The
time-constrained reader can skip these sections on a first reading
without any loss of continuity.
Topics covered in the other three parts. Algorithms Illumi-
nated, Part 1 covers asymptotic notation (big-O notation and its
close cousins), divide-and-conquer algorithms and the master method,
randomized QuickSort and its analysis, and linear-time selection algo-
rithms. Part 2 covers data structures (heaps, balanced search trees,
hash tables, bloom filters), graph primitives (breadth- and depth-first
search, connectivity, shortest paths), and their applications (ranging
from deduplication to social network analysis). Part 4 is all about N P -
completeness, what it means for the algorithm designer, and strategies
for coping with computationally intractable problems, including the
analysis of heuristics and local search.

Skills You’ll Learn

Mastering algorithms takes time and effort. Why bother?
Become a better programmer. You’ll learn several blazingly
fast subroutines for processing data as well as several useful data
structures for organizing data that you can deploy directly in your own
programs. Implementing and using these algorithms will stretch and
improve your programming skills. You’ll also learn general algorithm
design paradigms that are relevant to many different problems across
different domains, as well as tools for predicting the performance of
such algorithms. These “algorithmic design patterns” can help you
come up with new algorithms for problems that arise in your own
work.
Sharpen your analytical skills. You’ll get lots of practice describ-
ing and reasoning about algorithms. Through mathematical analysis,
Preface ix

you’ll gain a deep understanding of the specific algorithms and data

structures that these books cover. You’ll acquire facility with sev-
eral mathematical techniques that are broadly useful for analyzing
algorithms.

Think algorithmically. After you learn about algorithms, you’ll

start seeing them everywhere, whether you’re riding an elevator,
watching a flock of birds, managing your investment portfolio, or even
watching an infant learn. Algorithmic thinking is increasingly useful
and prevalent in disciplines outside of computer science, including
biology, statistics, and economics.

Literacy with computer science’s greatest hits. Studying al-

gorithms can feel like watching a highlight reel of many of the greatest
hits from the last sixty years of computer science. No longer will you
feel excluded at that computer science cocktail party when someone
cracks a joke about Dijkstra’s algorithm. After reading these books,
you’ll know exactly what they mean.

Ace your technical interviews. Over the years, countless stu-

dents have regaled me with stories about how mastering the concepts
in these books enabled them to ace every technical interview question
they were ever asked.

How These Books Are Different

This series of books has only one goal: to teach the basics of algorithms
in the most accessible way possible. Think of them as a transcript
of what an expert algorithms tutor would say to you over a series of
one-on-one lessons.
There are a number of excellent more traditional and encyclopedic
textbooks about algorithms, any of which usefully complement this
book series with additional details, problems, and topics. I encourage
you to explore and find your own favorites. There are also several
books that, unlike these books, cater to programmers looking for
ready-made algorithm implementations in a specific programming
language. Many such implementations are freely available on the Web
as well.
x Preface

Who Are You?

The whole point of these books and the online courses upon which
they are based is to be as widely and easily accessible as possible.
People of all ages, backgrounds, and walks of life are well represented
in my online courses, and there are large numbers of students (high-
school, college, etc.), software engineers (both current and aspiring),
scientists, and professionals hailing from all corners of the world.
This book is not an introduction to programming, and ideally
you’ve acquired basic programming skills in a standard language (like
Java, Python, C, Scala, Haskell, etc.). If you need to beef up your
programming skills, there are several outstanding free online courses
that teach basic programming.
We also use mathematical analysis as needed to understand how
and why algorithms really work. The freely available book Mathe-
matics for Computer Science, by Eric Lehman, F. Thomson Leighton,
and Albert R. Meyer, is anP excellent and entertaining refresher on
mathematical notation (like and 8), the basics of proofs (induction,
contradiction, etc.), discrete probability, and much more.

Additional Resources
These books are based on online courses that are currently running
on the Coursera and Stanford Lagunita platforms. I’ve made several
resources available to help you replicate as much of the online course
experience as you like.
Videos. If you’re more in the mood to watch and listen than
to read, check out the YouTube video playlists available from
www.algorithmsilluminated.org. These videos cover all the topics
in this book series, as well as additional advanced topics. I hope they
exude a contagious enthusiasm for algorithms that, alas, is impossible
to replicate fully on the printed page.
Quizzes. How can you know if you’re truly absorbing the concepts
in this book? Quizzes with solutions and explanations are scattered
throughout the text; when you encounter one, I encourage you to
pause and think about the answer before reading on.
End-of-chapter problems. At the end of each chapter you’ll find
several relatively straightforward questions for testing your under-
Preface xi

standing, followed by harder and more open-ended challenge problems.

Hints or solutions to all of these problems (as indicated by an “(H)” or
“(S),” respectively) are included at the end of the book. Readers can
interact with me and each other about the end-of-chapter problems
through the book’s discussion forum (see below).
Programming problems. Each of the chapters concludes with a
suggested programming project whose goal is to help you develop a
detailed understanding of an algorithm by creating your own working
implementation of it. Data sets, along with test cases and their
solutions, can be found at www.algorithmsilluminated.org.
Discussion forums. A big reason for the success of online courses
is the opportunities they provide for participants to help each other
understand the course material and debug programs through discus-
sion forums. Readers of these books have the same opportunity, via
the forums available at www.algorithmsilluminated.org.

Acknowledgments
These books would not exist without the passion and hunger supplied
by the hundreds of thousands of participants in my algorithms courses
over the years. I am particularly grateful to those who supplied
detailed feedback on an earlier draft of this book: Tonya Blust, Yuan
Cao, Carlos Guia, Jim Humelsine, Vladimir Kokshenev, Bayram
Kuliyev, and Daniel Zingaro.
I always appreciate suggestions and corrections from readers.
These are best communicated through the discussion forums men-
tioned above.

Tim Roughgarden
New York, NY
April 2019
 Chapter 13

Introduction to Greedy Algorithms

Much of the beauty in the design and analysis of algorithms stems

from the interplay between general algorithm design principles and
the instantiation of these principles to solve concrete computational
problems. There’s no silver bullet in algorithm design—no universal
technique that can solve every computational problem you’ll encounter.
But there are several general design paradigms that can help you
solve problems from many different application domains. Teaching
you these paradigms and their most famous instantiations is one of
the major goals of this book series.

13.1 The Greedy Algorithm Design Paradigm

13.1.1 Algorithm Paradigms

What’s an “algorithm design paradigm?” Readers of Part 1 have
already seen a canonical example, the divide-and-conquer paradigm.
That paradigm went like this:

The Divide-and-Conquer Paradigm

1. Divide the input into smaller subproblems.

2. Conquer the subproblems recursively.

3. Combine the solutions for the subproblems into a

solution for the original problem.

In Part 1 we saw numerous instantiations of this paradigm: the

MergeSort and QuickSort algorithms, Karatsuba’s O(n1.59 )-time al-
gorithm for multiplying two n-digit integers, Strassen’s O(n2.71 )-time
algorithm for multiplying two n ⇥ n matrices, and more.

1
2 Introduction to Greedy Algorithms

The first half of this book is about the greedy algorithm design
paradigm. What is a greedy algorithm, exactly? Much blood and ink
have been spilled over this question, so we’ll content ourselves with
an informal definition.1

The Greedy Paradigm

Construct a solution iteratively, via a sequence of myopic
decisions, and hope that everything works out in the end.

The best way to get a feel for greedy algorithms is through exam-
ples. We’ll see several over the next few chapters.2

13.1.2 Themes of the Greedy Paradigm

Here are a few themes to watch for in our examples. (You might want
to re-read this section after going through one or more examples, so
that it’s less abstract.) First, for many problems, it’s surprisingly
easy to come up with one or even multiple greedy algorithms that
might plausibly work. This is both a bug and a feature—greedy
algorithms can be a great cure for writer’s block when you’re stuck
on a problem, but it can be hard to assess which greedy approach
is the most promising. Second, the running time analysis is often a
one-liner. For example, many greedy algorithms boil down to sorting
plus a linear amount of extra processing, in which case the running
time of a good implementation would be O(n log n), where n is the
number of objects to be sorted.3 (Big-O notation suppresses constant
1
To investigate formal definitions of greedy algorithms, start with the paper
“(Incremental) Priority Algorithms,” by Allan Borodin, Morten N. Nielsen, and
Charles Rackoff (Algorithmica, 2003).
2
Readers of Part 2 have already seen a greedy algorithm, namely Dijkstra’s
shortest-path algorithm. That algorithm iteratively computes the shortest-path
distances from a starting vertex s to every other vertex of a graph. In each
iteration, the algorithm irrevocably and myopically commits to an estimate of the
shortest-path distance to one additional vertex, never revisiting the decision. In
graphs with only nonnegative edge lengths, everything works out in the end and
all the shortest-path distance estimates are correct.
3
For example, two O(n log n)-time sorting algorithms are MergeSort (see
Chapter 1 in Part 1) and HeapSort (see Chapter 10 in Part 2). Alternatively,
randomized QuickSort (see Chapter 5 of Part 1) has an average running time of
O(n log n).
13.1 The Greedy Algorithm Design Paradigm 3

factors and different logarithmic functions differ by a constant factor,

so there is no need to specify the base of the logarithm.) Finally,
it’s often difficult to figure out whether a proposed greedy algorithm
actually returns the correct output for every possible input. The fear
is that one of the algorithm’s irrevocable myopic decisions will come
back to haunt you and, with full hindsight, be revealed as a terrible
idea. And even when a greedy algorithm is correct, proving it can be
difficult.4

Features and Bugs of the Greedy Paradigm

1. Easy to come up with one or more greedy algorithms.

2. Easy to analyze the running time.

3. Hard to establish correctness.

One of the reasons why it can be hard to prove the correctness

of greedy algorithms is that most such algorithms are not correct,
meaning there exist inputs for which the algorithm fails to produce
the desired output. If you remember only one thing about greedy
algorithms, it should be this.

Warning
Most greedy algorithms are not always correct.

This point is especially difficult to accept for clever greedy algorithms

that you invented yourself. You might believe, in your heart of hearts,
that your natural greedy algorithm must always solve the problem
correctly. More often than not, this belief is unfounded.5
4
Veterans of Part 1 know that all three themes are a big contrast to the divide-
and-conquer paradigm. It’s often tricky to come up with a good divide-and-conquer
algorithm for a problem, and when you do, there’s usually a “Eureka!” moment
when you know that you’ve cracked the problem. Analyzing the running times of
divide-and-conquer algorithms can be difficult, due to the tug-of-war between the
forces of proliferating subproblems and shrinking work-per-subproblem. (All of
Chapter 4 of Part 1 is devoted to this topic.) Finally, proofs of correctness for
divide-and-conquer algorithms are usually straightforward inductions.
5
A not-always-correct greedy algorithm can still serve as a super-fast heuristic
for a problem, a point we’ll return to in Part 4.
4 Introduction to Greedy Algorithms

Now that my conscience is clear, let’s look at some cherry-picked

examples of problems that can be solved correctly with a judiciously
designed greedy algorithm.

13.2 A Scheduling Problem

Our first case study concerns scheduling, in which the goal is to sched-
ule tasks on one or more shared resources to optimize some objective.
For example, a resource could represent a computer processor (with
tasks corresponding to jobs), a classroom (with tasks corresponding
to lectures), or your calendar for the day (with tasks corresponding
to meetings).

13.2.1 The Setup

In scheduling, the tasks to be completed are usually called jobs, and
jobs can have different characteristics. Suppose that each job j has a
known length `j , which is the amount of time required to process the
job (for example, the length of a lecture or meeting). Also, each job
has a weight wj , with higher weights corresponding to higher-priority
jobs.

13.2.2 Completion Times

A schedule specifies an order in which to process the jobs. In a problem
instance with n jobs, there are n! = n · (n 1) · (n 2) · · · 2 · 1 different
schedules. That’s a lot of schedules! Which one should we prefer?
Next, we need to define an objective function that assigns a nu-
merical score to every schedule and quantifies what we want. First, a
preliminary definition:

Completion Times

The completion time Cj ( ) of a job j in a schedule is the

sum of the lengths of the jobs preceding j in , plus the
length of j itself.

In other words, a job’s completion time in a schedule is the total time

that elapses before the job has been fully processed.
13.2 A Scheduling Problem 5

Quiz 13.1
Consider a problem instance that has three jobs with `1 = 1,
`2 = 2, and `3 = 3, and suppose they are scheduled in this
order (with job 1 first). What are the completion times
of the three jobs in this schedule? (The job weights are
irrelevant for this question, so we have not specified them.)

a) 1, 2, and 3

b) 3, 5, and 6

c) 1, 3, and 6

d) 1, 4, and 6

(See Section 13.2.4 for the solution and discussion.)

13.2.3 Objective Function

What makes for a good schedule? We’d like jobs’ completion times to
be small, but trade-offs between jobs are inevitable—in any schedule,
jobs scheduled early will have short completion times while those
scheduled toward the end will have long completion times.
One way to make trade-offs between the jobs is to minimize the
sum of weighted completion times. In math, this objective function
translates to
Xn
min wj Cj ( ), (13.1)
j=1

where the minimization is over all n! possible schedules , and Cj ( )

denotes job j’s completion time in the schedule . This is equivalent
to minimizing the weighted average of the jobs’ completion times,
with the averaging weights proportional to the wj ’s.
For example, consider the three jobs in Quiz 13.1 and suppose
their weights are w1 = 3, w2 = 2, and w3 = 1. If we schedule the first
job first, the second job second, and the third job third, the sum of
the weighted completion times is

3 · 1 + |{z}
|{z} 2 · 3 + |{z}
1 · 6 = 15.
job #1 job #2 job #3
6 Introduction to Greedy Algorithms

By checking all 3! = 6 possible schedules, you can verify that this is

the schedule that minimizes the sum of weighted completion times.
How can we solve this problem in general, given as input an arbitrary
set of job lengths and weights?

Problem: Minimizing the Sum of Weighted

Completion Times
Input: A set of n jobs with positive lengths `1 , `2 , . . . , `n
and positive weights w1 , w2 , . . . , wn .

Output: A job sequence that minimizes the sum of

weighted completion times (13.1).

With n! different schedules, computing the best one by exhaustive

search is out of the question for all but the tiniest instances. We need
a smarter algorithm.6

13.2.4 Solution to Quiz 13.1

Correct answer: (c). We can visualize a schedule by stacking the
jobs on top of one another, with time increasing from bottom to top
(Figure 13.1). The completion time of a job is the time corresponding
to its topmost edge. For the first job, its completion time is just
its length, which is 1. The second job must wait for the first job to
complete, so its completion time is the sum of the lengths of the first
two jobs, which is 3. The third job doesn’t even start until time 3,
and then it takes 3 more time units to complete, so its completion
time is 6.

13.3 Developing a Greedy Algorithm

Greedy algorithms seem like a good fit for the problem of scheduling
jobs to minimize the weighted sum of completion times. The output
has an iterative structure, with jobs processed one by one. Why not
6
For example, n! is bigger than 3.6 million when n = 10, bigger than 2.4
quintillion when n = 20, and bigger than the estimated number of atoms in the
known universe when n 60. Thus no conceivable improvement in computer
technology would transmute exhaustive search into a useful algorithm.
13.3 Developing a Greedy Algorithm 7

job #3

time
3
job #2
1
job #1
0

Figure 13.1: The completion times of the three jobs are 1, 3, and 6.

use a greedy algorithm that iteratively decides which job should go

next?
The first step of our plan is to solve two special cases of the
general problem. Our solutions to these will suggest what a greedy
algorithm might look like in the general case. We’ll then narrow the
field to a single candidate algorithm and prove that this candidate
correctly solves the problem. The process by which we arrive at this
algorithm is more important to remember than the algorithm itself;
it’s a repeatable process that you can use in your own applications.

13.3.1 Two Special Cases

Let’s think positive and posit that there actually is a correct greedy
algorithm for the problem of minimizing the weighted sum of comple-
tion times. What would it look like? For starters, what if you knew
that all the jobs had the same length (but possibly different weights)?
What if they all had the same weight (but possibly different lengths)?

Quiz 13.2

(1) If all job lengths are identical, should we schedule

smaller- or larger-weight jobs earlier?

(2) If all job weights are identical, should we schedule

shorter or longer jobs earlier?
8 Introduction to Greedy Algorithms

a) larger/shorter

b) smaller/shorter

c) larger/longer

d) smaller/longer

(See Section 13.3.3 for the solution and discussion.)

13.3.2 Dueling Greedy Algorithms

In the general case, jobs can have different weights and different
lengths. Whenever our two rules-of-thumb—to prefer shorter jobs
and higher-weight jobs—luckily coincide for a pair of jobs, we know
which one to schedule first (the shorter, higher-weight one). But what
if the two rules give conflicting advice? What should we do with one
short low-weight job and one long high-weight job?
What’s the simplest greedy algorithm that might work? Each
job has two parameters, and the algorithm must look at both. The
best-case scenario would be to come up with a formula that compiles
each job’s length and weight into a single score, so that scheduling
jobs from highest to lowest score is guaranteed to minimize the sum of
weighted completion times. If such a formula exists, our two special
cases imply that it must have two properties: (i) holding the length
fixed, it should be increasing in the job’s weight; and (ii) holding the
weight fixed, it should be decreasing in the job’s length. (Remember,
higher scores are better.) Take a minute to brainstorm some formulas
that have both of these properties.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Perhaps the simplest function that is increasing in weight and

decreasing in length is the difference between the two:

proposal #1 for score of job j: wj `j .

This score might be negative, but that poses no obstacle to sequencing

the jobs from highest to lowest score.
13.3 Developing a Greedy Algorithm 9

There are plenty of other options. For example, the ratio of the
two parameters is another candidate:
wj
proposal #2 for score of job j: .
`j
These two scoring functions lead to two different greedy algo-
rithms.
GreedyDiff
Schedule the jobs in decreasing order of wj `j
(breaking ties arbitrarily).

GreedyRatio
wj
Schedule the jobs in decreasing order of `j
(breaking ties arbitrarily).

Thus, already, our first case study illustrates the first theme of the
greedy paradigm (Section 13.1.2): It is often easy to propose multiple
competing greedy algorithms for a problem.
Which of the two algorithms, if any, is correct? A quick way to
rule out one of them is to find an instance in which the two algorithms
output different schedules, with different objective function values.
For whichever algorithm fares worse in this example, we can conclude
that it is not always optimal.
Both algorithms do the right thing in our two special cases, with
equal-weight or equal-length jobs. The simplest possible example for
ruling out one of them would be a problem instance with two jobs,
having different weights and lengths, such that the two algorithms
schedule the jobs in opposite orders. That is, we seek two jobs whose
ordering by difference is the opposite of their ordering by ratio. One
simple example is:
Job #1 Job #2
Length `1 = 5 `2 = 2
Weight w1 = 3 w2 = 1.
The first job has the larger ratio ( 35 vs. 12 ) but the smaller (more
negative) difference ( 2 vs. 1). Thus the GreedyDiff algorithm
schedules the second job first, while GreedyRatio does the opposite.
10 Introduction to Greedy Algorithms

Quiz 13.3
What is the sum of weighted completion times in the sched-
ules output by the GreedyDiff and GreedyRatio algorithms,
respectively?

a) 22 and 23

b) 23 and 22

c) 17 and 17

d) 17 and 11

(See Section 13.3.3 for the solution and discussion.)

We’ve made progress by ruling out the GreedyDiff algorithm

from further consideration. However, the outcome of Quiz 13.3 does
not immediately imply that the GreedyRatio algorithm is always
optimal. For all we know, there are other cases in which the algorithm
outputs a suboptimal schedule. You should always be skeptical about
an algorithm that does not come with a proof of correctness, even
if the algorithm does the right thing in some toy examples, and
extra-skeptical of greedy algorithms.
In our case, the GreedyRatio algorithm is, in fact, guaranteed to
minimize the sum of weighted completion times.

Theorem 13.1 (Correctness of GreedyRatio) For every set of

positive job weights w1 , w2 , . . . , wn and positive job lengths
`1 , `2 , . . . , `n , the GreedyRatio algorithm outputs a schedule with the
minimum-possible sum of weighted completion times.
This assertion is not obvious and you should not trust it until I supply
you with a proof. Consistent with the third theme of the greedy
paradigm (Section 13.1.2), this proof occupies the entire next section.

On Lemmas, Theorems, and the Like

In mathematical writing, the most important tech-

nical statements are labeled theorems. A lemma is
a technical statement that assists with the proof of
13.3 Developing a Greedy Algorithm 11

a theorem (much as a subroutine assists with the

implementation of a larger program). A corollary is a
statement that follows immediately from an already-
proven result, such as a special case of a theorem.
We use the term proposition for stand-alone techni-
cal statements that are not particularly important in
their own right.

The remaining theme of the greedy paradigm is the ease of running

time analyses (Section 13.1.2). That’s certainly the case here. All the
GreedyRatio algorithm does is sort the jobs by ratio, which requires
O(n log n) time, where n is the number of jobs in the input (see
footnote 3).

13.3.3 Solutions to Quiz 13.2–13.3

Solution to Quiz 13.2

Correct answer: (a). First suppose that all n jobs have the same
length, say length 1. Then, every schedule has exactly the same
set of completion times—{1, 2, 3, . . . , n}—and the only question is
which job gets which completion time. Our semantics for job weights
certainly suggests that the higher-weight jobs should receive the
smaller completion times, and this is in fact the case. For example,
you wouldn’t want to schedule a job with weight 10 third (with
completion time 3) and one with weight 20 fifth (with completion
time 5); you’d be better off exchanging the positions of these two jobs,
which would decrease the sum of weighted completion times by 20 (as
you should check).
The second case, in which all jobs have equal weights, is a little
more subtle. Here, you want to favor shorter jobs. For example,
consider two unit-weight jobs with lengths 1 and 2. If you schedule
the shorter job first, the completion times are 1 and 3, for a total
of 4. In the opposite order, the completion times are 2 and 3, for
an inferior total of 5. In general, the job scheduled first contributes
to the completion times of all the jobs, as all jobs must wait for
the first one to finish. All else being equal, scheduling the shortest
job first minimizes this negative impact. The second job contributes
12 Introduction to Greedy Algorithms

to all the completion times other than that of the first job, so the
second-shortest job should be scheduled next, and so on.

Solution to Quiz 13.3

Correct answer: (b). The GreedyDiff algorithm schedules the

second job first. The completion time of this job is C2 = `2 = 2
while that of the other job is C1 = `2 + `1 = 7. The sum of weighted
completion times is then

w1 · C1 + w2 · C2 = 3 · 7 + 1 · 2 = 23.

The GreedyRatio algorithm schedules the first job first, resulting in

completion times C1 = `1 = 5 and C2 = `1 + `2 = 7 and a sum of
weighted completion times of

3 · 5 + 1 · 7 = 22.

We conclude that the GreedyDiff algorithm fails to compute an

optimal schedule for this example and therefore is not always correct.

13.4 Proof of Correctness

Divide-and-conquer algorithms usually have formulaic correctness

proofs, consisting of a straightforward induction. Not so with greedy
algorithms, for which correctness proofs are more art than science—be
prepared to throw in the kitchen sink. To the extent that there are
recurring themes in correctness proofs of greedy algorithms, we will
emphasize them as we go along.
The proof of Theorem 13.1 includes a vivid example of one such
theme: exchange arguments. The key idea is to prove that every
feasible solution can be improved by modifying it to look more like
the output of the greedy algorithm. We’ll see two variants in this
section. In the first, we’ll proceed by contradiction and use an exchange
argument to exhibit a “too-good-to-be-true” solution. In the second,
we’ll use an exchange argument to show that every feasible solution
can be iteratively massaged into the output of the greedy algorithm,
13.4 Proof of Correctness 13

while only improving the solution along the way.7

13.4.1 The No-Ties Case: High-Level Plan

We proceed to the proof of Theorem 13.1. Fix a set of jobs, with

positive weights w1 , w2 , . . . , wn and lengths `1 , `2 . . . , `n . We must
show that the GreedyRatio algorithm produces a schedule that min-
imizes the sum of weighted completion times (13.1). We start with
two assumptions.

Two Assumptions

(1) The jobs are indexed in nonincreasing order of weight-

length ratio:
w1 w2 wn
··· . (13.2)
`1 `2 `n

wi wj
(2) There are no ties between ratios: `i 6= `j whenever
i 6= j.

The first assumption is without loss of generality, merely an agreement

among friends to minimize our notational burden. Reordering the
jobs in the input has no effect on the problem to be solved. We can
therefore always reorder and reindex the jobs so that (13.2) holds.
The second assumption imposes a non-trivial restriction on the input;
we will do some extra work to remove it in Section 13.4.4. Together,
the two assumptions imply that jobs are indexed in strictly decreasing
order of weight-length ratio.
The high-level plan is to proceed by contradiction. Recall that
in this type of proof, you assume the opposite of what you want to
prove, and then build on this assumption with a sequence of logically
correct steps that culminates in a patently false statement. Such a
7
Exchange arguments are only one way among many to prove that a greedy
algorithm is correct. For example, in Chapter 9 of Part 2, our correctness
proof for Dijkstra’s algorithm used induction rather than an exchange argument.
Both induction and exchange arguments play a role in our correctness proofs for
Huffman’s greedy coding algorithm (Chapter 14) and for Prim’s and Kruskal’s
minimum spanning tree algorithms (Chapter 15).
14 Introduction to Greedy Algorithms

contradiction implies that the assumption can’t be true, which proves

the desired statement.
To begin, we assume that the GreedyRatio algorithm produces
a schedule of the given jobs that is not optimal. Thus, there is
an optimal schedule ⇤ of these jobs with a strictly smaller sum of
weighted completion times. The inspired idea is to use the differences
between and ⇤ to explicitly construct a schedule that is even better
than ⇤ ; this will contradict our assumption that ⇤ is an optimal
schedule.

13.4.2 Exchanging Jobs in a Consecutive Inversion

Suppose, for contradiction, that the GreedyRatio algorithm produces
the schedule and that there is an optimal schedule ⇤ with a strictly
smaller sum of weighted completion times. By assumption (1), the
greedy schedule schedules the jobs in order of index (with job 1
first, then job 2, all the way up to job n); see Figure 13.2.

job #n
..........

job #3
time

job #2

job #1
σ

Figure 13.2: The greedy schedule , with jobs scheduled in order of

nonincreasing weight-length ratio.

Going from bottom to top in the greedy schedule, the indices

of the jobs always go up. This is not true for any other schedule.
To make this assertion precise, define a consecutive inversion in a
13.4 Proof of Correctness 15

schedule as a pair i, j of jobs such that i > j and job i is processed

immediately before job j. For example, in Figure 13.2, if jobs 2
and 3 were processed in the opposite order they would constitute a
consecutive inversion (with i = 3 and j = 2).

Lemma 13.2 (Non-Greedy Schedules Have Inversions)

Every schedule ˆ different from the greedy schedule has at least one
consecutive inversion.
Proof: We prove the contrapositive.8 If ˆ has no consecutive inversions,
the index of each job is at least 1 larger than the job that came before
it. There are n jobs and the maximum-possible index is n, so there
cannot be any jumps of 2 or more between the indices of consecutive
jobs. This means that ˆ is the same as the schedule computed by the
greedy algorithm. QE D 9

Returning to the proof of Theorem 13.1, we are assuming that

there is an optimal schedule ⇤ of the given jobs with a strictly
smaller sum of weighted completion times than the greedy schedule .
Because ⇤ 6= , Lemma 13.2 applies to ⇤ , and there are consecutive
jobs i, j in ⇤ with i > j (Figure 13.3(a)). How can we use this fact
to exhibit another schedule 0 that is even better than ⇤ , thereby
furnishing a contradiction?
The key idea is to perform an exchange. We define a new sched-
ule 0 that is identical to ⇤ except that the jobs i and j are processed
in the opposite order, with j now processed immediately before i.
The jobs before both i and j (“stuff” in Figure 13.3) are the same in
both ⇤ and 0 (and in the same order), and likewise for the jobs that
follow both i and j (“more stuff”).

13.4.3 Cost-Benefit Analysis

What are the ramifications of the exchange illustrated below in
Figure 13.3?
8
The contrapositive of a statement “if A is true, then B is true” is the logically
equivalent statement “if B is not true, then A is not true.” For example, the
contrapositive of Lemma 13.2 is: If ˆ has no consecutive inversions, then ˆ is the
same as the greedy schedule .
9
“Q.e.d.” is an abbreviation for quod erat demonstrandum and means “that
which was to be demonstrated.” In mathematical writing, it is used at the end of
a proof to mark its completion.
16 Introduction to Greedy Algorithms

more more
stuff stuff

j i
exchange!
i j
time

time
stuff stuff

σ* σ’
(a) Before exchange (b) After exchange

Figure 13.3: Obtaining the new schedule 0 from the allegedly optimal
schedule ⇤ by exchanging the jobs in a consecutive inversion (with i > j).

Quiz 13.4
What effect does the exchange have on the completion time
of: (i) a job other than i or j; (ii) the job i; and (iii) the
job j?

a) (i) Not enough information to answer; (ii) goes up;

(iii) goes down.

b) (i) Not enough information to answer; (ii) goes down;

(iii) goes up.

c) (i) Unaffected; (ii) goes up; (iii) goes down.

d) (i) Unaffected; (ii) goes down; (iii) goes up.

(See Section 13.4.5 for the solution and discussion.)

13.4 Proof of Correctness 17

Solving Quiz 13.4 puts us in a great position to finish the proof.

The cost of exchanging the jobs i and j in a consecutive inversion
is that i’s completion time Ci goes up by the length `j of job j,
which increases the objective function (13.1) by wi · `j . The benefit
is that j’s completion time Cj goes down by the length `i of job i,
which decreases the objective function (13.1) by wj · `i .
Summarizing,
n
X n
X
0 ⇤
wk Ck ( ) = w k Ck ( ) + wi `j wj `i . (13.3)
| {z }
k=1 k=1
| {z } | {z } effect of exchange
0 objective fn value of ⇤
objective fn value of

Now is the time to use the fact that ⇤ scheduled i and j in the “wrong
order,” with i > j. Our standing assumptions (1) and (2) imply that
jobs are indexed in strictly decreasing order of weight-length ratio, so
wi wj
< .
`i `j

After clearing denominators, this translates to

w i `j < wj `i .
|{z} |{z}
cost of exchange benefit of exchange

Because the benefit of the exchange exceeds the cost, equation (13.3)
tells us that
0 ⇤
objective function value of < objective function value of .

But this is nuts— ⇤ was supposed to be an optimal schedule, with the

smallest possible sum of weighted completion times! We’ve arrived at
the desired contradiction, which completes the proof of Theorem 13.1
for the case in which all the jobs have distinct weight-length ratios.

13.4.4 Handling Ties

With a little more work, we can prove the correctness of the
GreedyRatio algorithm (Theorem 13.1) even when there are ties
in jobs’ weight-length ratios. (We’ll keep the assumption (1) that
jobs are indexed in nonincreasing order of weight-length ratio, as it’s
without loss of generality.) The point of going through this more
Other documents randomly have
different content
 “You couldn’t do it, John; it wouldn’t be—as far as I can see—right; and
though Honor is a love-child, and her father—according to you—would be
in his proper place at Botany Bay, it isn’t for us to malign him to his own
daughter. No, John,” the old woman continued, for notwithstanding her
jealousy of Honor there existed in the old woman’s heart a certain fund of
good sense, as well as kindliness of nature, to fall back upon in time of
need,—“no, John, we must trust to Providence that all will come right in
time. There’s good, after all, in Honor; and some day, perhaps, she will
have done with whimsies, and take at last to sense.”
 CHAPTER XIII.

LADY MILL HAS BUSINESS ON HAND.

“Did you in all your life ever see anyone so changed as that pretty Mrs.
Beacham? Not less pretty, I don’t mean that; but she looks pale and serious,
and to my thinking still more like a lady than she did when she was
married!”
The words were Kate Vavasour’s—bright, cheerful, merry Kate—who
was walking home on Christmas-day from church with her brother Horace
—a “public man” now, and a very occasional and not over-willing visitor to
his old home.
Several events of importance, events influencing more or less the well-
being of certain individuals connected with this story, had occurred during
the swiftly-passing months which had changed the year from midsummer to
winter.
To begin with: Arthur Vavasour (who after his farewell meeting in
Danescourt grounds had not again seen Honor Beacham) had, according to
expectation, been made one with Sophy Duberly before the altar. In less
than a month from his coming of age, the marriage ceremony was
celebrated with becoming pomp in London, the “happy pair” departing
immediately afterwards for the Continent, bent—according to the
newspapers—on a “lengthened tour abroad.”
Nor did any long period elapse before Horace Vavasour also broke the
weary chain that bound him to home. He had yearned for the long-hoped-
for emancipation; but he experienced—a good deal to his surprise—when
the time came for bidding adieu to Gillingham, very little of the exultation
which he might naturally have expected to have been his portion. All
unknown to himself, the home-raised lad had grown attached to the old
place. The grumblings and complainings, the discontent, and the longing for
change, were more a habit with him than the result of conviction; and when
the hour of parting came, and he looked back on the tearful faces of his two
sisters, standing gazing after him on the steps of the marble portico, Horace
would gladly have given up all his cherished hopes to remain with those
dear fellow-victims in the old home that he was leaving.
 As was only natural, however, those regrets were not of long duration.
Lady Millicent had not made home so sweet to the children committed to
her care, that they should continue for a lengthened period to pine for the
few blessings which that home afforded. By swift degrees, regret for the
past ceased to have a place in the memory of the absent one; whilst the
recollection of the many privations, the dulness, and the tyrannous rules of
far-away Gillingham, remained fixed, as with a sculptor’s chisel, on his
heart for ever.
Kate was during that, to her, dull Christmas time, the only daughter of
the house at home, for Rhoda (an extremely unusual proceeding) had been
allowed to accept of a pressing invitation from the Guernseys to spend a
month with them in Paris.
“Two women were grinding at the mill,” Kate said merrily to her
brother, “and a jolly grind it was too! And it’s just as well that one was
taken, and a great bore that the other—meaning me—was left behind.”
Horace, who had very good-naturedly given up several far pleasanter
engagements for his sister’s sake, and who purposed spending a dull week
at the Chace with the kind purpose of enlivening poor Kate’s worse than
solitude, pinched her cheek playfully.
“All the same a hundred years hence,” he said; and forthwith there
commenced on both sides a series of questions and answers necessitated by
the separation of several months which had taken place between them.
There was much to say. They were on their way to church when the
conversation about Arthur and his wife began—about Arthur, who was said
to be by no means cured of his reckless habits of extravagance, and whom
Horace had parted with only a week before under the portico of the Grand
Hotel in Paris.
“I didn’t think Sophy improved in looks; but then there is a reason, I
believe, for that; and besides, she had been making lion-seeing a toil instead
of a pleasure. She is a jolly girl, though; and I consider Arthur to be one of
the luckiest fellows I know.”
“I wonder if he thinks so himself,” mused Kate.
“I daresay not. Do we ever value any of our blessings till we lose them?
Do you think I cared much about this dear old place till I found myself tied
to that precious office as a paid clerk? Sounds pretty considerable mean, as
the Yankees say, doesn’t it, when one’s mamma has something about sixty
thousand per annum?”
“But you like it, Racy. It’s better than this, I’m sure. Ah, how I should
like to be you! and how I envy—no, I don’t envy Rhoda, because I’m glad
she’s happy, poor dear; but I often think what fun she’s having, and I
wonder whether it will ever be my turn to go away.”
“Your turn? God knows, my poor Kitty! It takes a longer head than mine
or yours to fathom my lady’s projects. I heard from old Randolph the last
thing before I left town yesterday that she was after some underhand work
about the entail. She’ll never rest, I feel certain, till she upsets that clause,
or whatever they call it, in my grandfather’s will which gives the reins of
power to Arthur after he attains the age of twenty-five. Poor old Atty! I
foresee no end of worry and bother for him if the news of this gets about;
but we must hope the best, as Randolph says, while we prepare ourselves
for the worst.”
Old Josh Randolph, as he was familiarly called, had been for very many
years the trusted solicitor and man of business of the Vavasour family. A
better-hearted and a more truly honest man—as all who knew him allowed
—never existed than Joshua Randolph, as one proof of which it may be
recorded in his favour that he had made no large fortune out of the quarrels
and cantankerousness of his clients. Neither—to his credit be it recorded—
had he ever taken undue advantage of their necessities. Young Vavasour,
who had known “Josh” from the time when the heir-apparent was a lad at
Eton, had had recourse to the old man’s advice in many a boyish scrape,
and later, when the handsome youth had grown to be a man, and his
“entanglements” were of a more complicated and less venial character, old
Josh was still the attorney to whose counsels he turned, and who had never
(all praise to him) been detected in that unfeeling act of pilfering, namely,
that of making occasions for the swelling of his lawyer’s bill.
This rarely excellent individual had heard with regret and shame that
work for the long-robed gentlemen was likely, through Lady Millicent’s
bitter discontent, to be ere long cut out. He made no secret of his opinion on
the subject, and Lady Millicent, finding that the family lawyer was not the
“man for her money,” soon removed the light of her countenance from the
steady, old-fashioned firm of which Mr. Randolph was the senior partner.
Her ladyship’s first visit in the Lincoln’s-inn chambers (where old Josh
received her with a slow and respectful courtesy, but without a grain of
subservience either in his speech or manner) was also the last. Far too slow,
perhaps indeed too rigidly honest, for the requirements of the maîtresse
femme was the steady-going anti-progress solicitor. There was something in
the very air of that business-room of his, an air redolent of musty
respectability, that was utterly out of harmony and keeping with Lady
Millicent’s grand manner, her rapid energetic movements, and the
authoritative mode of speech which she habitually adopted. The experiment
had been duly tried of taking the old man by surprise and startling him into
acquiescence; but never—it did not greatly grieve the faithful Josh that so it
was—did the great lady of Gillingham give a second thought to the
inhabitant of that dingy room piled high with japanned deed-boxes and with
ancient faded folios. The lawyer’s absence of sympathy in her ladyship’s
cause was evidenced in every response he made to her questions and
suggestions. A cautious man he was and a composed—one not to be lightly
moved from his opinions, and who deemed the will of the late Earl of
Gillingham a document almost sacred in its character. When Lady Millicent
astonished the clerks at Messrs. Randolph and Bretts’ by the apparition of
her stately person, she was far indeed from imagining that anything short of
the most obsequious compliance with her wishes, and the most thorough
and flattering approbation of her views and projects, would be the result of
her condescension; and to a certain degree there was justification for her
expectations. On the face of it, and at the first cursory view of the
unmotherly mother’s purpose, there was certainly something that was, at the
least, plausible, to justify her undertaking. The late earl’s will had been
made very late in life, and long after Lady Millicent had been taught (no
difficult task) to consider herself the future possessor, during her natural
life, of that rich inheritance. In causing the important clause which deposed
after a certain period the mother regnante in favour of the grown-up son,
Lord Gillingham had, in his daughter’s opinion, departed in a most
unjustifiable manner from the ways of his forefathers. Manifestly (as it was
her purpose to prove) it was flagrantly unjust that such a will should stand.
Long ago she had taken (privately) high legal opinions on the subject. She
had consulted law-books, and entered largely into the question of
precedents; the result of all which exertion and study was the visit to
Lincoln’s-inn, which had been productive of nothing save anger and
mortification. But because Lady Millicent could “make nothing” of the old
lawyer, who was staunch in his adherence to Arthur Vavasour’s interests, it
by no means followed that she felt any doubt either as to the rectitude of her
project, or the advisableness of pursuing it to the end. She was a woman—
as we know—of determined character, and, moreover, one in whom
difficulty and opposition only increased in a tenfold degree the desire to
succeed; so, without any unnecessary delay, she opened negotiations with
another legal adviser, who took a different and more satisfactory view of the
matter than that adopted by the uncompromising Josh; and one consequence
of this proceeding was the remark made by Horace Vavasour to his sister
Kate, on the ill consequences likely to accrue to Arthur from the bare
rumour even of the proceeding in question.
“But how can it hurt Atty so very much?” Kate asked. She was puzzled,
and not without reason, by the anomaly, that Arthur, who had married that
“immense” heiress, and of whom the millionaire Mr. Duberly was said to be
so fond, could be injured in any way by the report of Lady Millicent’s law-
proceedings.
“How!” Horace repeated hesitatingly, and then broke out: “How! Why
because from the time he was sixteen—from my poor father’s death almost
—poor Atty has played the fool. And such a fool! Not having the most
remote idea either of the value of money or of the wickedness of men and
women; with our good father in his grave, and with—but we won’t talk of
her. Poor old Atty! How often in those times that seem so long ago now,
and so miserable—and yet what almost children we both were—he and I
have crept at night into each other’s rooms to consult in our blind ignorance
on what could by any possibility be done! Such a heap of silly ideas as we
propounded then; such methods as we turn by turn proposed to keep the
knowledge of poor Atty’s bills and foolishness from my mother!”
“I daresay that it would have been much better had she known it all
then,” suggested Kate.
“Of course it would have been a thousand times better,” rejoined Horace,
who was beginning to show some deference to his sister’s opinions; “but
how were we to find courage enough to be open? I ask you, Kate—and no
one could answer the question better—whether milady is the kind of mother
to whom the most morally courageous lad in existence could, without a
good deal of winding-up, confess that he had run-up bills, had betted on the
great boat-race, had been to the Jews, and, in short, was no more worthy to
be called her son?”
“Poor dear Atty! I don’t wonder he couldn’t do it; and I suppose (I can
guess now, when I remember all the trouble he so often seemed to be in)
that those bills never were paid, and that—”
“Not only not paid, but more, to the tune of thousands upon thousands,
added to their amount. And then the Jews! But what’s the use of telling you,
child, about such things? Here we are at the church-door, and we shall find
milady—God forgive her!—saying her prayers with as much devotion as if
—”
“Hush,” remonstrated Kate, feeling the indecorum, especially standing
as they two did, on God’s-acre, of speaking harsh truths concerning their
only remaining parent; “hush, Racy dear, she is our mother; let us try to
remember it, however much she may do to put the fact out of our heads.”

“Did you ever see any one so changed as that pretty Mrs. Beacham? Still
more like a lady even than she used to be—I mean, she hasn’t the same
fresh country look that everyone admired so before. Mr. Delmaine thinks
her both out of health and out of spirits; he said so yesterday afternoon to
me when mamma and I went to the church to see the decorations. She
attends to her class, though, at the school just the same as ever, and gets the
children on wonderfully with their singing. How well they sang the anthem
to-day! and all, Mr. Delmaine says, thanks to Mrs. John Beacham.”
Rather to Kate’s disappointment, her brother did not enter with much
apparent interest into the question of Honor’s illness or her merits. And yet
he was interested in John’s pretty, pensive-looking wife, more interested
than could well be explained to the young girl walking by his side. There
were many circumstances in Honor’s short life which were perforce
unknown to the high-born and carefully-reared Katherine, whose secluded
life kept her very little au fait of the doings and sayings of the outer world.
Of the former intimacy of her brother at Updown Paddocks she had heard
little or nothing; nor, though it was more than probable that the “ower true
tale” of Honor’s birth had reached Miss Vavasour’s ears, was the subject
one which could well be touched upon with a discreetly-brought-up young
lady. Under these circumstances, it is only natural that Horace Vavasour
should have manifested some unwillingness to pursue the subject touched
upon by his sister. Concerning one cause, amongst others, of Mrs. John
Beacham’s lowness of spirits he might have entertained his own ideas, but
those ideas he, for the moment, wisely kept to himself.
 CHAPTER XIV.

HONOR FEELS LIKE A “LADY.”

Of all the many changes that had taken place amongst the characters in my
story, none was more thorough, even though its features might be less
boldly marked, than that which had gradually crept over the household of
excellent John Beacham. From the moment when he dealt the blow that
levelled his wife’s worthless parent to the ground, John had never been
exactly the same man. A sense of failure, of a disastrous fall in his own
esteem, was in some measure the cause of this woeful alteration: but there
was more, and for worse than this, at the bottom of his apparent
moroseness, of his often sullen temper, and of what his mother called his
“silent ways.” There was far worse indeed than this—far worse than any
morbid impression that he himself had sunk in the opinion of the world at
large; for there was the sight of Honor’s altered face, and a near prospect,
nearer day by day, of some cruel domestic change for this honest, single-
hearted man, whose youth and manhood had hitherto passed so
uneventfully.
The summer had passed away, the autumn-time had come and gone;
from the hedge-rows of the Paddocks the last lingering leaves had fallen,
and another new year was about, with the accustomed rejoicings, to be
ushered in, but still things had not improved in John’s altered home. No
sunshine of the heart brightened up the old walls, and yet, for all that inside
there was gloom, it was necessary, for old custom’s sake, that the show of
merriment should be kept up; for Christmas-time was nigh at hand, and
hospitality, as well as jollity, had, time out of mind, been, at that festive
season, the order of the day at Peartree-house. To give and distribute largely
and ungrudgingly at the dying-out of the old year had ever been an
institution in Mrs. Beacham’s family. “The Turtons,” she was wont to say
(John’s mother was—as of course all the world knew—a Turton of
Cradock, in the West Riding of York) “The Turtons always kep a good table
at Christmas-time both for rich and poor, in their own county; and I’m not
going to do different, though this is Sandyshire. Christmas comes but once a
year, and it’s only right that when it does come, them as can afford it should
give them as can’t their bellies full.”
In furtherance of this charitable object, preparations for feeding the
hungry began betimes in the spacious kitchen of Peartree-house. No
stronger proof could be adduced of the fact, that albeit often cross,
disagreeable, and snappish in the privacy of home, Mrs. Beacham was, au
fond, generous and kind-hearted, as the manner in which, on the grand
occasion of Christmas-time, she fulfilled her welcome duties could fully
testify.
“L’année est morte, vive l’année!” The old cry has been cried, and the
old song sung, till some of us are weary of the semi-joyous and all solemn
sound; but the good Samaritan at the Paddocks addressed herself, even as
she had done for fifty years, to the congenial task before her; and, as I said
before, the old kitchen of the farm-house reeked with preparations for the
coming festival. Such a kitchen as it was! The ceiling half-covered from
beam to beam with flitches of well-smoked bacon—with a store of precious
delf, and a glittering batterie de cuisine in the shape of pots and pans, that
excited envy in the hearts of half the housewives in the neighbourhood; and
with a chimney so wide-mouthed and gaping that the largest spit in
Sandyshire would have been scarcely long enough to span it!
The amount of fuel consumed in that “kitchen range” was, as Mrs.
Beacham was given proudly to say, what nobody would believe; and yet if
any of these incredulous ones had chanced to catch a glimpse at Christmas-
time of that same furnace, methinks that their doubts regarding its
consuming powers would, like other and more material things under its
influence, have melted into thin air.
Many were the mouths which the hospitable widow felt called upon that
day to fill. There was the great “house dinner” as it was called—to which
were invited (a yearly custom so ancient at the Paddocks that the invitation
had come to be regarded as a right) every man and boy employed by Mr.
Beacham upon the farm and breeding-establishment. To these were added
not only the wives and daughters of the middle-aged labourers, but the
“followers”—if they were respectable, and their courtship was pour le bon
motif—from adjacent farms, of the damsels connected with John’s especial
retainers. It was a great object with the givers of the feast that everyone, on
that day at least, should both be and look happy. On all other days (Sundays
excepted) John was, though a just and liberal, very far from what is called
an easy-going master. He required his good penny’s-worth for the penny
given; and men taking service at Updown Paddocks did so with their eyes
open—knowing that under the eye of their new master there would be little
chance of shirking the duties they had undertaken.
By retainers so kept to their work, and in their places, it will readily be
believed that the Christmas dinner at the Paddocks (which took place at
three o’clock on Christmas-day) was an event of importance; and after the
roast-beef and turkeys, the plum-pudding and mince-pies—plum-pudding
with plenty of raisins and citron, let me tell you, and mince-pies fit for a
lord-mayor’s dinner—had been duly discussed, there followed a dance in
the big barn, with punch and pipes to wind up the entertainment.
Many months had not elapsed since the time when few would have
enjoyed the simple pleasures of that holiday season more thoroughly in her
quiet, lady-like way than Honor Beacham. Those months, swiftly passing,
dull and uneventful as they had seemed, had transformed, as effectually as
years of age and experience, a light-hearted and thoughtless girl into a
dreaming, restless, and far from contented woman. Change, with noiseless
foot and imperceptible approach—change, never resting, and for ever at its
silent work, had done its appointed task on pretty Honor Beacham’s tastes
and character.
Nor for honest John himself had the sure work of time and change been
done less effectually than it had been accomplished for his wife. Not that
any alteration was observable in his outward habits, for in truth he was
busier and more active than ever, more engrossed with business cares, and,
in Honor’s opinion, redder in the face, and in the evening time still more
given than of yore, to silence and to slumber. His deep love for his young
wife had not diminished; but busy men cannot afford, as Mrs. Beacham had
been heard say, to “make a noodle of a woman.” In her day, men had
something else to do than to be talking nonsense to a wife, and Honor must
learn to do without such silliness. And Honor—as many a young wife has
done before her, and as wives will do to the end of time—did learn the
salutary lesson, that women are not married to be toys, and that for them, as
well as for the bread-winners of the family, “life is real, life is earnest;” and
that to “wait” does not comprise the whole duty of woman. Gradually—not
so gradually, however, but that Honor perceived, with mixed anger and
sadness, that so it was—John grew to be less mindful of her presence, and
more forgetful of those petits noms of affection, those delicate attentions
with which the busiest men in the early days of matrimony are in the habit
of indulging their newly-bought toys. At that period of her life, it would
have been well for Honor if to work had been one of the necessities of her
being. With the instinct born of natural good sense and a desire to do right,
she understood this truth, and made more than one effort to be permitted a
share in the light daily toil which the old lady so jealously reserved for
herself alone. She was naturally, as John used to say in the days of his
courtship, when Honor was far too intent upon her paid-for duties to walk
with or talk to him—she was naturally a “busy little thing,” and her time,
now that she was a lady at large, often hung with perilous heaviness upon
her hands. That old Mrs. Beacham was the last woman in the world to
understand such a character as that of the young girl whom her son had
sworn at the altar to love, honour, and cherish, has been made more than
sufficiently evident; nor, even had she been able to comprehend Honor’s
peculiar idiosyncrasies of disposition, would the old lady have been
qualified, either through evenness of temper or steadiness of purpose, to
guide her daughter-in-law in a safe and rightful path. Although, as time
wore on, she was, in some respects (and in consequence chiefly of John’s
diminution of outward conjugal affection towards his wife) more disposed
to make the best of that erring young person, yet Honor was often reminded
to her cost, that you never could be sure of Mrs. Beacham. Even at the
exceptional season, when so many hearts and purses (I speak of those who
boast such luxuries) are open, and when cantankerous feelings are supposed
to be lulled to rest, the old lady at Updown Paddocks did, as will speedily
be seen, allow her temper to crop up, to the great hindrance of individual
and general enjoyment in the house over which she ruled.
“I suppose you mean to come and see the dance, Mrs. John?” (Honor
was always “Mrs. John” with her mother-in-law, when the latter chose to
fancy that her son’s wife was remembering the fact that in her veins ran the
gentle blood of the Norcotts). “The people are used to see John, and as I
always come in to have our healths drank, maybe they might be expecting
you as well.”
It was seven o’clock, and they, the scarcely congenial trio, were sitting
silently, that Christmas afternoon, in the little parlour, resting after the
labours of the day; John reading the Farmer’s Gazette, and Honor musing
silently in a big armchair, her habitual seat. In answer to the old lady’s
question, she replied that she was quite willing to go, that there was no
hardship in walking across the farmyard to the barn. The evening was fine
—looking a little like frost, she thought.
“The sunset was beautiful,” Honor went on to say, falling back upon the
commonplace, when she found her mother-in-law looking cross and
dissatisfied at her lukewarm acquiescence. “I watched it from the hill above
the garden. Such masses of red and purple, and such curious-shaped clouds!
Did you notice it, John, before you came in?”
John was unfortunately at that moment so intent upon an article in the
Gazette which touched upon a pet system of his own, that Honor’s question
failed to strike upon his ear. The reason of his silence was perceived by her
at once, and, like a good wife, she forbore to repeat her very trivial
observation. All, therefore, would have been well, and no evil consequences
would have followed on John’s wholly involuntary sin of omission, had not
Mrs. Beacham, who chanced to be in rather an irritating mood, taxed her
daughter indirectly with the terrible crime, in the old lady’s sight, of fine-
ladyism.
“Ha, ha, ha! I beg your pardon, though, Mrs. John, for laughing, but it is
a good joke to hear you asking us busy folk if we’ve been amusing
ourselves with looking at the sun! The sun indeed! My patience! To hear a
woman grown like you talking such nonsense!”
“I don’t think,” said Honor, flushing up, “that it can quite be called
nonsense looking at the beautiful things that God has given us to enjoy. I
have nothing to do, either. I often wish I had. I read, and I draw, and work a
little; but I often wish I was obliged to be busy. I shouldn’t think then, and I
hate thinking.”
She had gone rambling on as if talking to herself. The fact that neither of
her two companions were in the slightest degree capable of entering into the
more sickly than sensible fancies of her young brain, had totally escaped
her recollection, and she was startled, and that not agreeably, when John,
laying down the paper he was studying, looked half sternly and half
anxiously at his wife. He had not listened—who ever does listen to anything
of the kind with entire impunity,—he had not listened without its producing
some effect upon his mind, to his mother’s constant remarks and
insinuations regarding his wife’s conduct and character. Since Arthur
Vavasour’s marriage, and the consequent entire cessation of his visits at the
Paddock, that raw had necessarily healed, but unfortunately those whose
nature it is to buzz about the sore places which will sometimes even in the
healthiest skin be found, are never at a loss to detect the peccant spots,
while to keep the venom rankling in the wound is to them a pleasant,
chiefly because it is an exciting, task.
It may seem strange to those who have not made human nature their
study, that Mrs. Beacham—dearly loving her son—should have seemed to
take positive delight in certain hints and allusions which, as she well knew,
could not fail both to give him pain and to intensify the coldness which too
evidently was beginning to exist between himself and his wife. If anyone
had accused the old woman of the sins of mischief-making and evil-
speaking, her surprise and indignation would have been great and
vehement. In her own mind she probably believed that, by constantly
endeavouring to make it appear that Honor, since the discovery of her birth,
and her temporary association with those above her, had grown proud and
fanciful and discontented, she, John’s mother, was simply doing her duty—
a duty which had for its aim and object the wholesome correcting of “Mrs.
John,” and the expedient enlightenment of a mind—her son’s, to wit—that
was blinded by the mists of uxorious folly. That Mrs. Beacham was herself
rendered happy by the state of things existing at the Paddocks must not be
supposed; but that she was not so, proved only another exciting cause for
the attacks upon Honor, which, whilst John often felt real uneasiness for
Honor’s evident delicacy of health, worried the poor man terribly.
Sometimes—not often, or probably his mother would have shown herself
far more lenient to the pale-faced girl, who never disputed her will, but
whose very submission was an aggravation—sometimes, as on the present
occasion, John would turn angrily upon Honor, speaking sharply to her,
after the fashion of even the best-tempered men who, without being able
either to understand the why, or to suggest a remedy for the evil, find the
comfort of their home broken up, through, as it seems to them, the
wilfulness or the valetudinarianism of a woman!
“It strikes me, Honor,” he said, laying down the paper which he had
ostensibly been studying, and speaking in a cold hard tone, at which his
wife inwardly rebelled, “it strikes me that you have been talking a precious
deal of what I call nonsense. You ‘do this,’ and you ‘don’t do it;’ You think,
and you ‘hate thinking.’ Upon my soul, I’m ashamed, and that’s the truth, to
hear you talk such rubbish. Now, I’ll just tell you what it is. I met Dr.
Kempshall yesterday, and we got talking a little about you. Says he,
laughing, ‘I tell you what it is, Beacham; you are spoiling that wife of yours
by kindness. Women are delightful creatures,’ says he; ‘but it doesn’t do to
let them have all their own way. She wants shaking up a bit, she does; and,
above all, she mustn’t—take my word for it—be given way to. Those
nerves that young women talk about are the deuce and all when they get too
much ahead;’ and, upon my soul, I begin to think he’s right.”
The ready tears rose to Honor’s eyes at this unexpected rebuke; while,
alas, swift as the lightning’s flash, the thought that one she had known in
days gone by would not have used her so, darted through her brain.
“I did not mean to be troublesome; I beg your pardon,” she said, with a
half proud, half sad submission which almost frightened John; and then,
slowly rising from her chair, she left the two alone to talk over her
behaviour as it pleased them best.
Honor Beacham had now known for many a month the true and rightful
cause of a discontent and a misery which, however little justified by that
cause, grew daily less endurable. That cause, she understood full well at
last, had always, ever since the day when she accepted the hand of plain
John Beacham, been in existence. It had required, however, certain
concurrent events to bring it fully and unquestionably to light; and those
concurrent events had not, unfortunately, been wanting in the home of
Honor Beacham. The real and very melancholy truth, to leave off speaking
darkly, lay in this—namely, that Honor Beacham was perfectly unsuited,
not only to the life she was fated to lead, but also to that most excellent
John himself. Something of this had been dimly shadowed out to her in the
early days of courtship; but more, far more, was revealed when the dry and
uninteresting details of home life took the place of honeyed words and
pleasing compliments. But it was reserved (is it not mostly so?) for the
force of contrast to put the finishing touch to such deadly domestic
discoveries as these. Very trying to Honor, after she had grown familiar
with the refined voice, the subdued laugh, and all the conventional graces
(as they appeared to her) of Arthur Vavasour, was the jubilant hilarity, the
rather noisy speech, and, alas, the occasional philological lapses of her
socially-untutored husband. Slowly, yet very surely, the evil worked,
undermining imperceptibly the moral system, and rendering insecure the
foundations of poor little Honor’s more rational hopes of happiness. But it
was not till the memorable day when she made the discovery that in her
veins ran purer blood than that which coursed with such a full and healthy
flow through the arteries of her yeoman husband, that the mischief that had
long been brewing began seriously to develop itself. Then the semi-Celtic
girl, retiring into the fastnesses more of a perilous fastidiousness than of a
vulgar commonplace pride, threw far away from her with reckless hand the
happiness that was within her reach; and dark was the looming of coming
events, which, although she saw it not, cast its shadow before her onward
path. From the moment when Colonel Norcott, whose misdeeds were not
unfortunately (as a warning to others) stamped upon his forehead, addressed
and acknowledged her as his child, the bonds that bound this foolish Honor
to the farmer of Updown Paddocks hung very heavily on her mind.
Yet, reader, I pray you not to blame her too severely for her involuntary
fault. There was no ugly root of pride, no taint of what Mrs. Beacham called
“fine-ladyism,” at the bottom of poor Honor’s loathing of a lot that on the
surface seemed so prosperous and happy. No one—no, not even her
severest judges, not even John’s prejudiced parent—could condemn more
sternly than did the girl herself her worse than coldness towards her
husband—her black ingratitude towards Heaven. But it was in vain she
strove against the feelings which her conscience whispered were so base
and wicked. In vain she told herself how good her husband was, how
honest, how respected, and how generous. Honesty, generosity, and
respectablity are excellent things in their way. With them to back him up, a
man may defy change, and winter and rough weather. He may go through
life with honour, and to his grave lamented; but, alas for him, such gifts
may fail to win a woman’s love, or bind her truant fancy. Still, as I said, or
rather, perhaps, implied before, if Honor had never chanced to mix with
what the world calls gentlemen, poor John’s lack of refinement (vulgar he
never could be called), his occasional conversational solecisms, his hands (a
trifle red and rough), his boisterous laugh, and his general ignorance of the
ways and speech of delicately-reared people, would not, in Honor’s
opinion, have told so heavily against him—would not, in short, have so
shamed, so repelled, and so—for it came at last to that sad climax—have so
entirely disgusted her.
The absence of refinement in her husband’s manners and mode of speech
had never struck Honor so vividly as on the occasion of her return to Pear-
tree House after the ten days which she had passed at the Bell. The room in
which her father had lain there was but a poor one; smaller and far less
comfortably furnished than the nuptial chamber at the farm. The little room,
too, near to it, which had been appointed for her especial use, and where,
lying awake in the silent watches of the night, she had wept and wondered,
so passing strange was the mutation that a turn in the wheel of Fortune had
brought about, was scarcely larger than a closet; but it was near her father!
“Father!” what a sweet sound it had for her, that word, and new as it was
sweet. Twenty times a day did she repeat it in a soft caressing whisper, that
only her own heart could hear; and very tender grew the large blue eyes,
gazing on the nobly-shaped head, lying so still and motionless upon the
hard inn-pillow.
It was not till two days and nights had elapsed since the accident, and
Colonel Fred Norcott was pronounced on the road to convalescence, that
Honor found either time or inclination to notice the, to her, wondrous
elegance and refinement of the sick man and his surroundings. Once
perceived, she was never weary of admiring what was to her so new, and so
in harmony with her own natural tastes. The very sound of her parent’s
voice, low and measured, the almost womanly beauty of his soignées hands,
the marvellous details of his dressing-case, his ivory hair-brushes; why had
not John a dressing-case, and beautiful handles like those, instead of—but
what need is there to dwell either on honest John’s shortcomings, or on the
thousand and one details which, absurd and improbable as it may seem,
went far towards working a revolution in Honor’s feelings, and sent her
back to her husband’s side an altered and a worse than discontented woman.
Worse than discontented, inasmuch as the change which had been wrought
in her was beyond her own control either to modify or to conceal; worse
than discontented, in that it was scarcely likely that this newly-born
fastidiousness would be less than fatal to the conjugal happiness of which
there had been once so fair a promise in the quiet prosperous home of
Updown Paddocks.
 CHAPTER XV.

COLONEL NORCOTT FEELS PATERNAL.

In a small drawing-room on the first floor of a house in Stanwick-street,
two persons were, one cold morning towards the end of April, seated at a
late and very metropolitan-looking breakfast. Of those two persons Colonel
Frederick Norcott was one. His outward man, as regarded dress at least, had
not improved since last we saw him, some eight months ago, flânéing in the
grounds of Danescourt. A short and somewhat nondescript garment, one
which might once have done duty as a shooting-jacket, but which had
degenerated into a coat of many uses (namely, one that its owner was in the
habit of dressing, smoking, and, as in the present instance, breakfasting in)
was greasy and out at elbows. The Colonel’s throat, a scraggy one, as is
customary with middle-aged gentlemen who “keep their figures,” was
exposed, by reason of an open shirt-collar, to view, and as he discontentedly
munched, with his still strong teeth, the untempting lodging-house fare
provided for him, the expression of the Colonel’s countenance was not
precisely what could be called a bright and a “shining morning face” on that
warm April day.
The “colonial lady,” seated opposite to her lord, and watching the
changes of his countenance in hopes to discover therein some sign or token
by which to regulate her remarks, was, as I before hinted, a lady of faded
and “washed out” appearance (entre les deux âges), willing still, as was
only natural, to be admired, but swamping all such womanly aspirations in
her deep devotion for, and her overweening appreciation of, the man who
had honoured her with his empty pockets and his once-respected name.
“You sent that letter to the post, of course,” said the Colonel, pushing
away his chair from the table, and preparing for some of the unwelcome
business of the day. The remark was scarcely an interrogative one, for the
master of the Stanwick-street lodging had on the previous day made known
to his submissive wife the wish that she should write in his name a certain
letter on a certain subject, and it had never occurred to him as possible that
Mrs. Norcott could have delayed the duty of attending to his wishes.
 “Honor will of course answer the letter at once,” continued Fred, “and I
should not wonder (let me see, to-day is Wednesday) if she were to be here
the end of the week.”
Mrs. Norcott, a lady of an habitually pallid complexion, flushed slightly
on hearing these remarks. It was not often, to do her justice, that she
ventured on independent action, but in the instance alluded to she had been
rash enough to arrogate to herself, though in a very mild degree, one of the
most valued privileges of her sex.
“I am very sorry,” she began, endeavouring to cover her confusion by
renewed attentions to the tea-pot; “I thought that you hardly meant it. You
spoke in a hurry, and as Mr. Vavasour was here, I could not well ask you
whether I was to write or not.”
Colonel Norcott rose from his chair impatiently.
“What a confounded nuisance!” he exclaimed, planting himself
autocratically upon the rug, with his back towards the empty fire-grate.
“Another day lost, and Vavasour, who—” He stopped short, not in
confusion; Fred was not the man to be easily what is called flabbergasted,
but there were limits, and very strongly marked ones too, to his confidential
intercourse with Mrs. N., and these he probably felt that he had been on the
point of overstepping.
“You ought to have known,” he went on peevishly, “that it is of
consequence to me—that I am anxious, in short, to have Honor here, and
what the d—l made you think for yourself in the matter is more than I can
guess. Come now, out with it,” he continued, growing momentarily more
irritated, and in proportion as the poor colonial heiress seemed disposed to
silence, working himself up to a determination that she should give a reason
for the fear that was in her; “out with it! I suppose you have some excuse
for not doing as I wished, and that excuse I am standing on this rug to hear.”
Thus apostrophised, the unlucky woman had no choice but to obey,
which she prepared to do in evident trepidation and discomposure.
“Now, Frederick,” she began, putting a large bony hand to her brow,
“you really might have a little mercy on my poor ’ead” (as if, par
parenthèse, any man ever had much pity on a plain wife with big fingers,
who dropped her h’s and bored him with her ailments); “I’ve got the most
dreadful ’eadache, and your voice this morning does go through it so!
About Mrs. Beacham I really thought—”
 “Go on, will you?” growled the Colonel.
“Well, I really thought, now I did indeed, that it would never do. In the
first place, though I didn’t see much of her ’usband, it was plain enough to
me that he’s not the kind of man to let his wife go gadding off to London;
and even if he did, why, Frederick, how in the name of goodness are we to
make her comfortable here? Unless you gave up your bedroom—”
“O, hang that!” from Colonel Fred.
“Well, but unless you did, there’s no place for her to sleep in but the attic
next to mine. I would let her have mine,” continued the good-natured
woman, “but that’s small and wretched enough; however, there’s no use,
I’m certain, in talking of it, for Mr. Beacham would as soon see her go up in
a balloon as set off by herself to London.”
Apparently, the Colonel was a little taken aback by the force of his
wife’s arguments, for he paused a while before he replied, and then said,
almost hesitatingly:
“The only thing would be to say that I am ill. Honor would come directly
then. That blockhead of a horse-breaker has scruples of conscience about
that disgusting crack over the skull he gave me, and would never refuse his
wife leave to come, if he had the most remote idea that I was still suffering
from the effects of the blow.”
There could scarcely be a stronger proof of the melancholy fact that poor
Bessie was not now for the first time cognisant of her husband’s tricks and
dodges than the little surprise she evinced at Colonel Fred’s spirited
suggestion. She listened at first in silence, thinking over in her mind the
pros and cons regarding the chances of successfully carrying out his plans:
while not for a moment did it occur to her to raise an objection on high
moral grounds to the trap which was about to be set for the unwary. The
class of wives of which Mrs. Norcott is the type are, as a rule, a cowardly
class; and, moreover, they are women who, taking perhaps too lowly an
estimate of themselves, and certainly too high a one of their partners, are
ready to buy the rare smiles, and equally rare meed of approbation which
falls to their lot, by a mean and truculent subserviency, which in reality
gains for them neither affection nor esteem. As is usual, however, with
persons who are destitute of moral courage, Mrs. Norcott would have gladly
compromised with her conscience, and changed the whole lie for a half one.
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