“But surely, Sir, with such feelings——!”
“Feeling! stuff again,” replied Lord Arlingford. “Why really, Ernest, you have learnt little of the world in your travels; I am sure any one of your young friends would laugh to hear you give such a reason for refusing a most excellent, and, I must add, advantageous marriage.”
Although without principles, Ernest was shocked at his father’s levity; he was in all the heroic romance of passion; to love more than one, to plight his faith to another, did not strike him as morally, religiously wrong, but as sacrilege to the one adored being. All he could obtain, however, was delay, and that his father would allow him some little time for reflection.
Thus passed some months. Lord Fitzhenry occasionally met the Benson family; but Emmeline he hardly looked at, hardly noticed; although, when in her society, his manner towards her was perfectly civil; but it was the civility of indifference; his thoughts were fixed on another, and had he been asked the colour of Emmeline’s hair or eyes, he probably could not have answered.
Spring arrived, and with it Lady Florence. This event did not further Lord Arlingford’s plan. Fitzhenry was more and more decided in his objections, and in his determination not to fulfil what his father called his engagement.
Many violent altercations passed between them, and, at last, in one of these agitating scenes, Lord Arlingford was seized with an apoplectic fit, and (as Ernest thought) fell dead at his feet. Horror-stricken, he raised him from the ground; medical assistance was procured, and life and hope returned after some days of dreadful apprehension and suspense; but the impression left on his mind was too strong to allow of further resistance; and, in an unguarded moment, Fitzhenry, attacked on every side, gave his reluctant consent to the hated union. His father allowed him no time to retract. His proposals were immediately made; though not without a secret hope, on Fitzhenry’s part, of their being rejected, which, owing to the marked neglect with which he had ever treated her whose hand he claimed, seemed not unlikely. But, contrary to his expectations, his offer was accepted.
Emmeline, as has before been stated, was remarkably young and innocent for her age; she had been brought up in the idea that Lord Fitzhenry was to be her husband; and, although without any very decided preference for him, and with a heart perfectly free, she had looked to her marriage as to a thing of course, and as to an event that was to secure her happiness.
His indifference, however, had not escaped her observation; and, her cheek reddening with offended pride, she mentioned it to her father, when, breathless with delight, he came to announce to her that Lord Fitzhenry claimed her as his bride.
Mr. Benson ridiculed what he called her conceit, her romance; exaggerated into compliments many a simply civil thing which Fitzhenry had, or possibly had not, said of her; set forth all the advantages of the marriage; used every argument which he knew her affectionate deference to him would give weight to; even hinted at his word being pledged, till he succeeded at last in silencing her doubts and scruples. The good and pious Mrs. Benson too was not quite free from worldly vanities; she told herself, and she told Emmeline, that so good a son must make a good husband; that it would be such a comfort to see her settled in life with one whom she had known since a boy, and of whom she knew so much good.
At last, with something between a smile and a sigh, Emmeline gave her consent, and all was thus finally arranged: