Emmeline returned to Lord Arlingford, and was happy to find him and her mother conversing on indifferent subjects. In nervous agitation, she seated herself by them, listening with painful anxiety for her father’s approach—while her eyes and ears were fixed on Lord Arlingford, eagerly watching for every look, every tone, that bore the slightest resemblance to his son. It is hard to say, whether there is most pain or pleasure in such recollections of a beloved object, but who can help catching at them? A glance, a word will sometimes make the heart start from a stupor of grief to which it had been reduced, and give it a passing sensation of something we, at the moment, mistake for happiness. So it was with Emmeline; and, lost in such thoughts, she sat gazing on the still handsome countenance of Lord Arlingford, till, hearing her father’s step, she hastily rose, and walked towards the window, to conceal her nervous apprehensions as to the result of their meeting.
Mr. Benson entered the room with a knit brow and both hands in his pockets; but Lord Arlingford’s decided resolution to meet him cordially, at last forced one hand out of its repulsive retreat.
“I am glad to find our Emmeline looking better than I expected,” said Lord Arlingford, a little at a loss for a subject to begin with—the coldness of Mr. Benson’s look and manner having rather disconcerted him. “I heard she had left town on account of her health, the heat having been too much for her.”
“I don’t know what your lordship expected,” said Mr. Benson, surlily, “but Lady Fitzhenry can scarcely look worse than she does.”
Lord Arlingford not seeming to heed the incivility of his answer, continued—“Ernest, too, did well to leave London, for he knocked himself up in the House of Commons. No constitution can stand it; and I was quite glad when I heard he had obtained leave of absence to take a little trip on the continent, with his friend Mr. Pelham,”—and Lord Arlingford glanced at Emmeline, with a look which meant to express gallant pleasantry, but the anxiety which accompanied it, was very perceptible.
Mr. Benson cleared his throat—seemed beating the time of some tune on his knee, and, after a moment’s pause, said: “In my time, husbands and wives took those little trips together; but I presume that is no longer the fashion; at least, not at the west end of the town.”
Lord Arlingford made no reply—but, turning to Emmeline—“I suppose you can hardly have heard from our travellers yet; that lazy boy, Ernest, has not written to me one word since he went. Indeed, it was the newspapers that first informed me of his departure; but, in truth, I believe the wind has been directly contrary for packets coming over. I never remember, at this time of the year, such a continuation of high winds; and those diplomatic people always travel ventre à terre, in order, I suppose, to give a vast opinion of their importance; so we must not be too severe on Fitzhenry.”
Emmeline tried to speak; her nervous lips moved, but not a word could she articulate; and her mother, wishing to change the subject, made some remarks on the freshness and beauty of the country.
“Yes, indeed it is particularly beautiful just now,” said Arlingford; “and I do wonder how people can remain in town as they do; however, numbers have followed our wise example, and I thought the streets looked very dull and empty to-day, as I passed through. I suppose, Lady Fitzhenry, you have no thoughts of returning to Grosvenor-Street, while Ernest is away. I dare say he would not trust you in the gay world of London without him,” added he laughing.
Emmeline, without raising her eyes from the carpet, on which they had been fixed, replied, that she meant to remain at Charlton some time longer.