'I AM DISGRACED AND SHAMED.'
Soon after the commencement of the Session Arthur Fletcher became a constant visitor in Manchester Square, dining with the old barrister almost constantly on Sundays, and not unfrequently on other days when the House and his general engagements would permit it.Between him and Emily's father there was no secret and no misunderstanding.Mr Wharton quite understood that the young member of Parliament was earnestly purposed to marry his daughter, and Fletcher was sure of all the assistance and support which Mr Wharton could give him.The name of Lopez was very rarely used between them.It had been tacitly agreed that there was no need that it should be mentioned.The man had come like a destroying angel between them and their fondest hopes.Neither could ever be what he would have been had the man never appeared to destroy their happiness.But the man had gone away, not without a tragedy that was appalling;--and each thought that, as regarded him, he and the person in whom they were interested could be taught to seem to forget him.'It is not love,' said the father, 'but a feeling of shame.' Arthur Fletcher shook his head, not quite agreeing with this.It was not that he feared that she loved the memory of her late husband.Such love was, he thought, impossible.But there was, he believed, something more than the feeling which her father described as shame.There was pride also;--a determination in her own bosom not to confess the fault she had made in giving herself to him whom she must now think to have been so much the least worthy of her two suitors.
'Her fortune will not be what I once promised you,' said the old man plaintively.
'I do not remember that I ever asked you as to her fortune,'
Arthur replied.
'Certainly not.If you had I would not have told you.But as Inamed a sum, it is right that I should explain to you that that man succeeded in lessening it by six or seven thousand pounds.'
'If that were all!'
'And I have promised Sir Alured that Everett, as his heir, should have the use of a considerable portion of his share without waiting for my death.It is odd that the one of my children from whom I certainly expected the greater trouble should have fallen so entirely on his feet; and that the other--; well, let us hope for the best.Everett seems to have taken up with Wharton as though it belonged to him already.And Emily--! Well, my dear boy, let us hope that it may come right yet.You are not drinking your wine.Yes,--pass the bottle.I'll have another before I go upstairs.'
In this way the time went by till Emily returned to town.The Ministry had just then resigned, but I think that 'this great reactionary success,' as it was called by the writer in the "People's Banner", affected one member of the Lower House much less than the return to London of Mrs Lopez.Arthur Fletcher had determined that he would renew his suit as soon as a year should have expired since the tragedy which had made his love a widow;--and that year had now passed away.He had known the day well,--as had she, when she passed the morning weeping in her own room at Wharton.Now he questioned himself whether a year would suffice,--whether both in mercy to her and with a view of realizing his own hopes he should give her some longer time for recovery.But he had told himself that it should be done at the end of a year, and as he had allowed no one to talk him out of his word, so neither could he be untrue to it himself.But it became to him a deep matter of business, a question of great difficulty, how he should arrange the necessary interview,--whether he should plead his case with her at their first meeting, or whether he had better allow her to become accustomed to his presence in the house.His mother had attempted to ridicule him, because he was, as she said, afraid of a woman.He well remembered that he had never been afraid of Emily Wharton when they had been quite young,--little more than a boy and girl together.Then he had told her of his love over and over again, and had found almost a comfortable luxury in urging her to say a word, which she had never indeed said, but which probably in those days he still hoped she would say.And occasionally he had feigned to be angry with her, and had tempted her on to little quarrels with a boyish idea that a quick reconciliation would perhaps throw her into his arms.But now it seemed to him that an age had passed since those days.His love had certainly not faded.There had never been a moment when that had been on the wing.But now the azure plumage of his love had become grey as the wings of a dove, and the gorgeousness of his dreams had sobered into hopes and fears which were a constant burden to his heart.There was time enough, still time enough for happiness if she would yield;--and time enough for the dull pressure of unsatisfied aspirations should she persist in her refusal.
