I do not think that I am a mercenary man. When I married your daughter I raised no question as to her fortune. Being embarked in trade I no doubt thought that her means—whatever they might be—would be joined to my own. I know that a sum of £20,000, with my experience in the use of money, would give us a noble income. But I would not condescend to ask a question which might lead to a supposition that I was marrying her for her money and not because I loved her.
You now know, I think, all that I can tell you. If there be any other questions I would willingly answer them. It is certainly the case that Emily’s fortune, whatever you may choose to give her, would be of infinitely greater use to me now—and consequently to her—than at a future date which I sincerely pray may be very long deferred.
This letter he himself took up to town on the following day, and there posted, addressing it to Wharton Hall. He did not expect very great results from it. As he read it over, he was painfully aware that all his trash about caravels and cargoes of sulphur would not go far with Mr. Wharton. But it might go farther than nothing. He was bound not to neglect Mr. Wharton’s letter to him. When a man is in difficulty about money, even a lie—even a lie that is sure to be found out to be a lie—will serve his immediate turn better than silence. There is nothing that the courts hate so much as contempt;—not even perjury. And Lopez felt that Mr. Wharton was the judge before whom he was bound to plead.
He returned to Dovercourt on that day, and he and his wife dined with the Parkers. No woman of her age had known better what were the manners of ladies and gentlemen than Emily Wharton. She had thoroughly understood that when in Herefordshire she was surrounded by people of that class, and that when she was with her aunt, Mrs. Roby, she was not quite so happily placed. No doubt she had been terribly deceived by her husband—but the deceit had come from the fact that his manners gave no indication of his character. When she found herself in Mrs. Parker’s little sitting-room, with Mr. Parker making florid speeches to her, she knew that she had fallen among people for whose society she had not been intended. But this was a part, and only a very trifling part, of the punishment which she felt that she deserved. If that, and things like that, were all, she would bear them without a murmur.
“Now I call Dovercourt a dooced nice little place,” said Mr. Parker, as he helped her to the “bit of fish,” which he told her he had brought down with him from London.
“It is very healthy, I should think.”
“Just the thing for the children, ma’am. You’ve none of your own, Mrs. Lopez, but there’s a good time coming. You were up today, weren’t you, Lopez? Any news?”
“Things seemed to be very quiet in the city.”
“Too quiet, I’m afraid. I hate having ’em quiet. You must come and see me in Little Tankard Yard some of these days, Mrs. Lopez. We can give you a glass of cham. and the wing of a chicken;—can’t we, Lopez?”
“I don’t know. It’s more than you ever gave me,” said Lopez, trying to look good-humoured.
“But you ain’t a lady.”
“Or me,” said Mrs. Parker.
“You’re only a wife. If Mrs. Lopez will make a day of it we’ll treat her well in the city;—won’t we, Ferdinand?” A black cloud came across “Ferdinand’s” face, but he said nothing. Emily of a sudden drew herself up, unconsciously—and then at once relaxed her features and smiled. If her husband chose that it should be so, she would make no objection.
“Upon my honour, Sexty, you are very familiar,” said Mrs. Parker.
“It’s a way we have in the city,” said Sexty. Sexty knew what he was about. His partner called him Sexty, and why shouldn’t he call his partner Ferdinand?
“He’ll call you Emily before long,” said Lopez.
“When you call my wife Jane, I shall—and I’ve no objection in life. I don’t see why people ain’t to call each other by their Christian names. Take a glass of champagne, Mrs. Lopez. I brought down half-a-dozen today so that we might be jolly. Care killed a cat. Whatever we call each other, I’m very glad to see you here, Mrs. Lopez, and I hope it’s the first of a great many. Here’s your health.”
It was all his ordering, and if he bade her dine with a crossing-sweeper she would do it. But she could not but remember that not long since he had told her that his partner was not a person with whom she could fitly associate; and she did not fail to perceive that he must be going down in the world to admit such association for her after he had so spoken. And as she sipped the mixture which Sexty called champagne, she thought of Herefordshire and the banks of the Wye, and—alas, alas—she thought of Arthur Fletcher. Nevertheless, come what might, she would do her duty, even though it might call upon her to sit at dinner with Mr. Parker three days in the week. Lopez was her husband, and would be the father of her child, and she would make herself one with him. It mattered not what people might call him—or even her. She had acted on her own judgment in marrying him, and had been a fool; and now she would bear the punishment without complaint.
When dinner was over Mrs. Parker helped the servant to remove the dinner things from the single sitting-room, and the two men went out to smoke their cigars in the covered
