The Prime Minister

met every day for the next week, nothing more was said about the schedule. The old man was thinking about it every day, and so also was Lopez. But Mr. Wharton had made his demand, and, as he thought, nothing more was to be said on the subject. He could not continue the subject as he would have done with his son. But as day after day passed by he became more and more convinced that his son-in-law’s affairs were not in a state which could bear to see the light. He had declared his purpose of altering his will in the man’s favour, if the man would satisfy him. And yet nothing was done and nothing was said.

Lopez had come among them and robbed him of his daughter. Since the man had become intimate in his house he had not known an hour’s happiness. The man had destroyed all the plans of his life, broken through into his castle, and violated his very hearth. No doubt he himself had vacillated. He was aware of that, and in his present mood was severe enough in judging himself. In his desolation he had tried to take the man to his heart⁠—had been kind to him, and had even opened his house to him. He had told himself that as the man was the husband of his daughter he had better make the best of it. He had endeavoured to make the best of it, but between him and the man there were such differences that they were poles asunder. And now it became clear to him that the man was, as he had declared to the man’s face, no better than an adventurer!

By his will as it at present stood he had left two-thirds of his property to Everett, and one-third to his daughter, with arrangements for settling her share on her children, should she be married and have children at the time of his death. This will had been made many years ago, and he had long since determined to alter it, in order that he might divide his property equally between his children;⁠—but he had postponed the matter, intending to give a large portion of Emily’s share to her directly on her marriage with Arthur Fletcher. She had not married Arthur Fletcher;⁠—but still it was necessary that a new will should be made.

When he left town for Herefordshire he had not yet made up his mind how this should be done. He had at one time thought that he would give some considerable sum to Lopez at once, knowing that to a man in business such assistance would be useful. And he had not altogether abandoned that idea, even when he had asked for the schedule. He did not relish the thought of giving his hard-earned money to Lopez, but, still, the man’s wife was his daughter, and he must do the best that he could for her. Her taste in marrying the man was inexplicable to him. But that was done;⁠—and now how might he best arrange his affairs so as to serve her interests?

About the middle of August he went to Herefordshire and she to the seaside in Essex⁠—to the little place which Lopez had selected. Before the end of the month the father-in-law wrote a line to his son-in-law.

Dear Lopez,

not without premeditation had he departed from the sternness of that “Mr. Lopez,” which in his anger he had used at his chambers⁠—

When we were discussing your affairs I asked you for a schedule of your assets and liabilities. I can make no new arrangement of my property till I receive this. Should I die leaving my present will as the instrument under which my property would be conveyed to my heirs, Emily’s share would go into the hands of trustees for the use of herself and her possible children. I tell you this that you may understand that it is for your own interest to comply with my requisition.

Yours,

A. Wharton.

Of course questions were asked him as to how the newly married couple were getting on. At Wharton these questions were mild and easily put off. Sir Alured was contented with a slight shake of his head, and Lady Wharton only remarked for the fifth or sixth time that “it was a pity.” But when they all went to Longbarns, the difficulty became greater. Arthur was not there, and old Mrs. Fletcher was in full strength. “So the Lopezes have come to live with you in Manchester Square?” Mr. Wharton acknowledged that it was so with an affirmative grunt. “I hope he’s a pleasant inmate.” There was a scorn in the old woman’s voice as she said this, which ought to have provoked any man.

“More so than most men would be,” said Mr. Wharton.

“Oh, indeed!”

“He is courteous and forbearing, and does not think that everything around him should be suited to his own peculiar fancies.”

“I am glad that you are contented with the marriage, Mr. Wharton.”

“Who has said that I am contented with it? No one ought to understand or to share my discontent so cordially as yourself, Mrs. Fletcher;⁠—and no one ought to be more chary of speaking of it. You and I had hoped other things, and old people do not like to be disappointed. But I needn’t paint the devil blacker than he is.”

“I’m afraid that, as usual, he is rather black.”

“Mother,” said John Fletcher, “the thing has been done and you might as well let it be. We are all sorry that Emily has not come nearer to us; but she has had a right to choose for herself, and I for one wish⁠—as does my brother also⁠—that she may be happy in the lot she has chosen.”

“His conduct to Arthur at Silverbridge was so nice!” said the pertinacious old woman.

“Never mind his conduct, mother. What is it to us?”

“That’s all very well, John; but according to that nobody is to talk about anybody.”

“I would