“With Emma? Indeed if you will recall the past you will know better. My interests are always postponed to His Lordship’s. Not that I think he likes it any better than myself, but he is subservient to all her whims. Little could I foresee all this the day he first visited us in Naples! If the house were my own I might make some stand. As it is, it is not mine, and I do assure you, money flows away like water.”
Greville’s face was grave indeed at this admission. He had guessed it must be so, but to hear the fact was a serious matter. That ill-advised recommendation of Emma to his uncle was coming home to him now in ways he had little dreamt of in the happy freedom of getting rid of her without cost so long ago.
“I think you should remonstrate. I do indeed. It pains me, my dear Hamilton, it pains me seriously to see you treated so unwarrantably. I am all for a remonstrance.”
“Will you believe it, Greville,” says Sir William, weakly querulous, “that she laid a paper from her banker Coutts on my table yesterday, intimating that Her Ladyship’s balance was now twelve shillings!”
“It cannot be borne. It cannot indeed!” cries Greville, stirred into real warmth. “You must speak strongly, finally. You will be ruined, my dear Hamilton, unless you do.”
“I can’t speak and I won’t,” says Sir William. “Her temper—you knew it of old.”
“Then you shall write to her. Indeed you must.”
That too appeared an insuperable difficulty until Greville offered his assistance in composing a letter.
With their heads together they compounded it, Greville’s mind returning by devious ways to Up Park and the misfortune of ever showing compassion to undeserving strangers, especially young women of uncertain character. It was strongly borne in upon him now.
“I by no means wish to live in solitary retreat [it ran] but to have seldom less than twelve or fourteen at table, and those varying continually, is coming back to what was become so irksome to me in Italy during the latter years. I have no complaint to make, but I feel that the whole attention of my wife is given to Lord N. and his interest at Merton. I well know the purity of Lord N.’s friendship, and I know how very uncomfortable it would make his Lordship if a separation should take place and am therefore determined to do all in my power to prevent such an extremity” [“That will alarm her!” said Greville, pausing. “We can scarcely put that too strongly.”] “which [he continued] would be detrimental to all parties but would be more sensibly felt by our dear friend than by us. Provided our expenses in housekeeping do not increase beyond measure I am willing to go on upon our present footing. But I am fully determined not to have more of the very silly altercations that happen but too often between us and embitter the present moments. If really one cannot live comfortably together a wise and well-concerted separation is preferable, but I think, considering the probability of my not troubling any party long in this world, the best for us all would be to bear those ills we know of.”