When he received the private Secretary's letter with the money he was sitting opposite his father-in-law at breakfast, while his wife was ****** the tea.Not many of his letters came to Manchester Square.Sexty Parker's office or his club were more convenient addresses, but in this case he had thought that Manchester Square would have a better sound and appearance.When he opened the letter the cheque of course appeared bearing the Duke's own signature.He had seen that and the amount before he had read the letter, and as he saw it his eye travelled quickly across the table to his father-in-law's face.Mr Wharton might certainly have seen the cheque and even the amount, probably also the signature, without the slightest suspicion as to the nature of the payment made.As it was, he was eating his toast, and had thought nothing about the letter.Lopez, having concealed the cheque, read the few words which the private Secretary had written, and then put the document with its contents into his pocket.'So you think, sir, of going down to Hertfordshire on the 15th,' he said in a very cheery voice.The cheery voice was still pleasant to the old man, but the young wife had already come to distrust it.She had learned, though she was hardly conscious how the lesson had come to her, that a certain tone of cheeriness indicated, if not deceit, at any rate concealment of something.It grated against her spirit, and when this tone reached her ears a frown or look of sorrow would come cross her brow.And her husband also had perceived that it was so, and knew at such times that he was rebuked.He was hardly aware what doings, and especially what feelings, were imputed to him as faults,--not understanding the lines which separate right from wrong, but he knew that he was often condemned by his wife, and he lived in fear that he should also be condemned by his wife's father.Had it been his wife only he thought that he could soon have quenched her condemnation.He would soon have made her tired of showing her disapproval.But he had put himself into the old man's house, where the old man could see not only him but his treatment of his wife, and the old man's good-will and good opinion were essential to him.Yet he could not restrain one glance of anger at her when she saw that look upon her face.
'I suppose I shall,' said the barrister, 'I must go somewhere.
My going need not disturb you.'
'I think we have made up our mind,' said Lopez, 'to take a cottage at Dovercourt.It is not a very lively place, nor yet fashionable.But it is very healthy, and I can run up to town easily.Unfortunately my business won't let me be altogether away this autumn.'
'I wish my business would keep me,' said the barrister.
'I did not understand that you had made up your mind to go to Dovercourt,' said Emily.He had spoken to Mr Wharton of their joint action in the matter, and as the place had only once been named by him to her, she resented what seemed to be a falsehood.
She knew that she was to be taken or left as it suited him.If he had said boldly,--'We'll go to Dovercourt.That's what I've settled on.That's what will suit me,' she would have been contented.She quite understood that he meant to have his own way in such things.But it seemed to her that he wanted to be a tyrant without having the courage for tyranny.
'I thought you seemed to like it,' he said.
'I don't dislike it at all.'
'Then, as it suits my business, we might as well consider it settled.' So saying, he left the room and went off to the city.
The old man was still sipping his tea and lingering over his breakfast in a way that was not usual with him.He was generally anxious to get away to Lincoln's Inn, and on most mornings had left the house before his son-in-law.Emily of course remained with him, sitting silent in her place opposite to the teapot, meditating perhaps on her prospects of happiness at Dovercourt,-a place of which she had never heard even the name two days ago, and in which it was hardly possible that she should find even an acquaintance.In former years these autumn months, passed in Hertfordshire, had been the delight of her life.
Mr Wharton also had seen the cloud on his daughter's face, and had understood the nature of the little dialogue about Dovercourt.And he was aware,--that the young wife's manner and tone to her husband was not that of perfect conjugal sympathy.
He had already said to himself more than once that she had made her bed for herself, and must lie upon it.She was the man's wife, and must take her husband as he was.If she suffered under this man's mode and manner of life, he, as her father, could not assist her,--could do nothing for her, unless the man should become absolutely cruel.He had settled that within his own mind already;--but yet his heart yearned towards her, and when he thought that she was unhappy, he longed to comfort her and tell her that she still had a father.But the time had not come as yet in which he could comfort her by sympathizing with her against her husband.There had never fallen from her lips a syllable of complaint.When she had spoken to him a chance word respecting her husband, it had always carried with it some tone of affection.But still he longed to say to her something which might tell her that his heart was soft towards her.'Do you like the idea of going to this place?' he said.
'I don't at all know what it will be like.Ferdinand says it will be cheap.'
'Is that of such a vital consequence?'
'Ah;--yes, I fear it.'
This was very sad to him.Lopez had already had from him a considerable sum of money, having not yet been married twelve months, and was now living in London almost free of expense.
