“Your lordship is very kind,” said the banker, with an expression of irony, and ill concealed, offended pride on his countenance, “whenever I do visit you, I will certainly claim your obliging offer.”
After Lord Arlingford had driven off, all remained for some time silent; at length Mr. Benson muttered to himself, “I see through it all—I am not the fool he takes me for—I am not to be coaxed by a few civil speeches from a lord into mean forbearance. A fortnight more, and I shall most assuredly visit his lordship, and he shall see whom he has to deal with. You, Emmeline, I dare say, would wish to go and curry favour with him, that he may speak a word in your favour to his precious son, and you may, if you please; but I’ll be d—d if I do, till it is to tell him a bit of my mind, and inform him, in pretty plain terms, that you and your husband are two, and that the law will give us redress.”
And so saying, Mr. Benson left the room more irritated in temper than Emmeline had ever seen him. Her head fell on her hands, and her long-stifled feelings burst forth.
“Bear up, dearest Emmy,” said her mother, endeavouring to soothe her; “surely this visit of Lord Arlingford’s must, in many ways, give you comfort. He never would have come unless he had known that all was likely soon to be explained, and to end well between you and your husband.”
Emmeline shook her head. “You don’t know them as I do. No two beings can be so different, can act on such different motives, as Lord Arlingford and——Fitzhenry.” At that name, that beloved name, for the first time for long uttered by herself, she sobbed as if her heart would break. “And then my father,” she continued, “he terrifies me. Oh! that he could, that he would for my sake, be more patient, more conciliatory! He talks, too, always of pride, and forgets that one can have none where one loves as I do. Oh! if I could but see him once again!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, “I believe I could on my knees entreat of him to be kind to me, to love me—I am so very miserable; and yet when I was with him, when I saw him every day, I was cold and repulsive, I know I was; I believe I was the most to blame. I dare say I could have won upon his kindness had I acted differently; for he is so kind to every body, every thing—but me. It must have been all my fault.”
Thus did poor Emmeline comfort herself by voluntary self-accusation, rather than impute blame to him she worshipped.
After the agitation occasioned by Lord Arlingford’s visit had subsided, the family-party at Charlton returned to their former melancholy composure. Day after day still passed, and no letter came; no intelligence reached them. Every ray of hope now vanished; all intercourse between Emmeline and the being on whom her existence hung, seemed now at an end for ever. Her father never alluded to the subject; but she had every reason to think that he still kept to his resolution of demanding an explanation; and indeed their formal and total separation seemed now almost unavoidable. Even Pelham, her best friend, seemed to have forgotten her; and thus deserted, the few past months of her life, during which all the feelings of her heart had been roused, and a new existence had been opened to her, seemed a dream of delirium. All had vanished. Apparently also neglected by that gay world which so lately courted her with all its most intoxicating blandishments, the admired, flattered Lady Fitzhenry, had again sunk into Emmeline Benson, and was living in all the retired concealment of guilt, without one fault, one folly to be laid to her charge.
Perhaps some of her fashionable friends when they chanced to drive through Grosvenor-street, and when their attention was attracted by the closed windows of Lord Fitzhenry’s house, at that season of the year when every open London balcony is gay with dear-bought sooty flowers, might, as they cast up their eyes on the deserted habitation, wonder what had become of its inmates, and what might be the most like truth of the many stories which were for some days circulated about them.
But after those few days, the daily business of amusement, and some new tale of scandal, soon superseded that of the Fitzhenrys; their vacated places were soon filled up at those meetings of pleasure to which they had been invited; and he was allowed quietly to prosecute his journey on the Continent, and she to drag on her melancholy existence within nine miles of all her former associates, unmolested and unthought of. Who then would sacrifice happiness or comfort to the opinion of the world? Often the sacrifice of a whole life to the idle talk of a day!
One evening, when the Benson family were as usual sitting together in mournful silence, which was only at times broken by some forced remark from Mrs. Benson, as she sat dismally at her work, her husband having had recourse to his usual amusement, the newspapers, the latter looking suddenly towards Emmeline, said: “At last I see the abominable west wind has changed, and has allowed vessels to get across the Channel: no less than four French mails are due. Emmy, dear girl, cheer up,” added he, patting her cheek as he spoke; “there is no saying what news these mails may bring, for I dreamt last night——”