'You must come and see papa.It seems to me that Everett is to be a great deal at Wharton.I had better go up to dress now, or I shall be keeping them waiting.' He put his hand to her, and wished her good-bye, excusing himself by saying that they should not be alone together before he started.
She saw him go on the next morning,--and then she almost felt herself to be abandoned, almost deserted.It was a fine crisp winter day, dry and fresh, and clear, but with the frost still on the ground.After breakfast she went out to walk by herself in the long shrubbery paths which went round the house, and here she remained for above an hour.She told herself that she was very thankful to him for not having spoken to her on a subject so unfit for her ears as love.She strengthened herself in her determination never again to listen to a man willingly on that subject.She had made herself quite unfit to have any dealings of that nature.It was not that she could not love.Oh no! She knew well enough that she did love, -- love will all her heart.If it were not that she were so torn to rags that she was not fit to be worn again, she could now have thrown herself into his arms with a whole heaven of joy before her.A woman, she told herself, had no right to a second chance in life, after having made a shipwreck of herself in the first.But the danger of being seduced from her judgement by Arthur Fletcher was all over.He had been near her for the last week and had not spoken a word.
He had been in the same house with her for the last ten days and had been with her as a brother might be with his sister.It was not only she who had seen the propriety of this.He also had acknowledged it, and she was--grateful to him.As she endeavoured in her solitude to express her gratitude in spoken words the tears rolled down her cheeks.She was glad, she told herself, very glad that it was so.How much trouble and pain to both of them would thus be spared! And yet her tears were bitter tears.It was better as it was;--and yet one word of love would have been very sweet.She almost thought that she would have liked to tell him that for his sake, for his dear sake, she would refuse--that which now would never be offered to her.She was quite clear as to the rectitude of her own judgement, clear as ever.And yet her heart was heavy with disappointment.
It was the end of March before she left Hertfordshire for London, having spent the greater part of the time at Longbarns.The ladies at that place were moved by many doubts as to what would be the end of all this.Mrs Fletcher the elder at last almost taught herself to believe that there would be no marriage, and having got back to that belief, was again opposed to the idea of marriage.Anything and everything that Arthur wanted he ought to have.The old lady felt no doubt as to that.When convinced that he did not want to have the widow,--this woman whose life had hitherto been so unfortunate,--she had for his sake taken the woman again by the hand, and had assisted in making her one of themselves.But how much better it would it be that Arthur should think better of it! It was the maddest constancy,--this clinging to the widow of such a man as Ferdinand Lopez! If there were any doubt, then she would be prepared to do all she could to prevent the marriage.Emily had been forgiven, and the pardon bestowed must of course be continued.But she might be pardoned without being made Mrs Arthur Fletcher.While Emily was still at Longbarns the old lady almost talked over her daughter-in-law to this way of thinking,--till John Fletcher put his foot upon it altogether.'I don't pretend to say what she may do,' he said.
Oh, John,' said his mother, 'to hear a man like you talk like that is absurd.She'd jump at him if he looked at her with half an eye.'
'What she may do,' he continued saying, without appearing to listen to his mother, 'I cannot say.But that he will ask her to be his wife is as certain as I stand here.'
