THE FIRST AND THE LAST.
When Mr Wharton was in Coleman Street, having his final interview with Mr Hartlepod, there came a visitor to Mrs Lopez in Manchester Square.Up to this date there had been great doubt with Mr Wharton whether at last the banishment to Guatemala would become a fact.From day to day his mind had changed.It had been an infinite benefit that Lopez should go, if he could be got to go alone, but as great an evil if at last he should take his wife with him.But the father had never dared to express these doubts to her, and she had taught herself to think that absolute banishment with a man whom she certainly no longer loved, was the punishment she had to pay for the evil she had done.It was now March, and the second or third of April had been fixed for her departure.Of course, she had endeavoured from time to time to learn all that was to be learned from her husband.Sometimes he would be almost communicative to her; at other times she could hardly get a word from him.But, through it all, he gave her to believe that she would have to go.Nor did her father make any great effort to turn his mind the other way.If it must be so, of what use would be such false kindness on his part? She had therefore gone to work to make her purchases, studying that economy which must henceforth be the great duty of her life, and reminding herself as to everything she bought that it would have to be worn with tears and used in sorrow.
And then she sent a message to Arthur Fletcher.It so happened that Sir Alured Wharton was up in London at this time with his daughter Mary.Sir Alured did not come to Manchester Square.
There was nothing the old baronet could say in the midst of all this misery,--no comfort that he could give.It was well known now to all the Whartons and the Fletchers that this Lopez, who had married her who was to have been the pearl of the two families, had proved himself to be a scoundrel.The two old Whartons met no doubt at some club, or perhaps the Stone Buildings, and spoke some few bitter words to each other; but Sir Alured did not see the unfortunate young woman who had disgraced herself by so wretched a marriage.But Mary came, and by her a message was sent to Arthur Fletcher.'Tell him that I am going,'
said Emily.'Tell him not to come, but give him my love.He was always one of my kindest friends.'
'Why;--why;--why did you not take him?' said Mary, moved by the excitement of the moment to suggestions which were quite at variance with the fixed propriety of her general idea.
'Why should you speak of that?' said the other.'I never speak of him,--never think of him.But, if you see him, tell him what I say.' Arthur Fletcher was of course in the Square on the following day,--on that very day on which Mr Wharton learned that, whatever might be his daughter's fate, she would not, at any rate, be taken to Guatemala.They two had never met since the day on which they had been brought together for a moment at the Duchess's party at Richmond.It had of course been understood by both of them that they were not to be allowed to see each other.Her husband had made a pretext of an act of friendship on his part to establish a quarrel, and both of them had been bound by that quarrel.When a husband declares that his wife shall not know a man, that edict must be obeyed,--or, if disobeyed, must be subverted by intrigue.In this case there had been no inclination to intrigue on either side.The order had been obeyed, and as far as the wife was concerned, had been only a small part of the terrible punishment which had come upon her as a result of her marriage.But, now, when Arthur Fletcher had sent up his name, she did not hesitate as to seeing him.No doubt she had thought it probable that she might see him when she gave her message to her cousin.
'I could not let you go without coming to you,' he said.
'It is very good of you.Yes;--I suppose we are going.
Guatemala sounds a long way off, Arthur, does it not? But they tell me it is a beautiful country.' She spoke with a cheerful voice, almost as though she liked the idea of her journey; but he looked at her with beseeching, anxious, sorrow-laden eyes.
'After all, what is a journey of a few weeks? Why should I not be as happy in Guatemala as in London? As to friends, I do not know that it will make much difference,--except papa.'
'It seems to me to make a difference,' said he.
'I never see anybody now,--neither your people, nor the Wharton Whartons.Indeed, I see nobody.If it were not for papa Ishould be glad to go.I am told that it is a charming country.
I have not found Manchester Square very charming.I am inclined to think that all the world is very much alike, and that it does not matter very much where one lives,--or, perhaps, what one does.But at any rate I am going, and I am very glad to be able to say good-bye to you before I start.' All this she said rapidly, in a manner unlike herself.She was forcing herself to speak so that she might save herself, if possible, from breaking down in his presence.
'Of course I came when Mary told me.'
'Yes;--she was here.Sir Alured did not come.I don't wonder at that, however.And your mother in town some time ago,--but Ididn't expect her to come.Why should they come? I don't know whether you might not have better stayed away.Of course I am a Pariah now; but Pariah as I am, I shall be as good as anyone else in Guatemala.You have seen Everett since he has been in town, perhaps?'
Yes;--I have seen him.'
