“Thank God, thank God!” repeated Mr. Benson, with a sort of hurried nervousness of manner, as he kissed his daughter’s forehead: “I could not have borne that; your dishonour I could not have borne, Emmy, it would soon have brought me to my grave. I believe you, Emmeline, on my honour I do; you never in your life deceived me; but what does that cursed story mean?” pointing to the paragraph to which his mind seemed again to have returned with doubt and anxiety.
“I will tell you all, as far as——” and Emmeline stopped short, for how could she explain what had passed, without drawing on a necessary confession of her whole sad story.
“No more concealments, Emmy, I will and must know all,” said Mr. Benson sternly.
Emmeline looked at her father as if supplicating for pity.
“Spare her now Mr. Benson,” said her mother as she folded her in her arms: “we have it from her own true lips, that she is blameless, and let what will have happened, we can bear any thing now.”
“Bless you, bless you for believing me,” said Emmeline, as she threw her arms round her mother’s neck in gratitude: “but,” added she, with a melancholy and reproachful look, “my father does not, he still doubts me.”
“No, my girl, indeed I don’t,” cried Mr. Benson: “do you think I would call you my Emmy, and let you remain one instant under my roof if I thought you were disgraced. On my honour, I believe you, but I am fretted and unhappy. I have toiled for your happiness, and it has ended in nothing but mortification; for I see my darling is not happy, which is more than I can bear,” and tears once more rushed into his eyes. “And who the deuce do they mean by their ‘diplomatic champion?’” added he, again casting his eyes on the paragraph.
“The whole is an abominable falsehood,” said Emmeline, in a hurried manner. “They mean Mr. Pelham, I suppose, for he was with me;” and she reddened as she spoke, at the bare possibility of such an insinuation. “Coming out of the opera-house last night, there was a battle between the coachmen—and it seemed as if something disagreeable had passed between Lord Fitzhenry and Mr. Pelham—but it must have been only a misunderstanding—no one was to blame—only when I parted from them last night, they certainly seemed much irritated against each other.”
“And have you not seen your husband since?” eagerly enquired Mrs. Benson.
“No,” said Emmeline, in a low tone, and averting her head. Mr. Benson gave a significant shrug of his shoulders.