The Prime Minister

to extract money. When by degrees the son-in-law began to feel that even this would not be operative on his father-in-law’s purse⁠—when under this threat neither Wharton nor Emily gave way⁠—and when, with the view of strengthening his threat, he renewed his inquiries as to Guatemala and found that there might still be an opening for him in that direction⁠—the threat took the shape of a true purpose, and he began to think that he would in real earnest try his fortunes in a new world. From day to day things did not go well with him, and from day to day Sexty Parker became more unendurable. It was impossible for him to keep from his partner this plan of emigration⁠—but he endeavoured to make Parker believe that the thing, if done at all, was not to be done till all his affairs were settled⁠—or in other words all his embarrassments cleared by downright money payments, and that Mr. Wharton was to make these payments on the condition that he thus expatriated himself. But Mr. Wharton had made no such promise. Though the threatened day came nearer and nearer he could not bring himself to purchase a short respite for his daughter by paying money to a scoundrel⁠—which payment he felt sure would be of no permanent service. During all this time Mr. Wharton was very wretched. If he could have freed his daughter from her marriage by half his fortune he would have done it without a second thought. If he could have assuredly purchased the permanent absence of her husband, he would have done it at a large price. But let him pay what he would, he could see his way to no security. From day to day he became more strongly convinced of the rascality of this man who was his son-in-law, and who was still an inmate in his own house. Of course he had accusations enough to make within his own breast against his daughter, who, when the choice was open to her, would not take the altogether fitting husband provided for her, but had declared herself to be brokenhearted forever unless she were allowed to throw herself away upon this wretched creature. But he blamed himself almost as much as he did her. Why had he allowed himself to be so enervated by her prayers at last as to surrender everything⁠—as he had done? How could he presume to think that he should be allowed to escape, when he had done so little to prevent this misery?

He spoke to Emily about it⁠—not often indeed, but with great earnestness. “I have done it myself,” she said, “and I will bear it.”

“Tell him you cannot go till you know to what home you are going.”

“That is for him to consider. I have begged him to let me remain, and I can say no more. If he chooses to take me, I shall go.”

Then he spoke to her about money. “Of course I have money,” he said. “Of course I have enough both for you and Everett. If I could do any good by giving it to him, he should have it.”

“Papa,” she answered, “I will never again ask you to give him a single penny. That must be altogether between you and him. He is what they call a speculator. Money is not safe with him.”

“I shall have to send it you when you are in want.”

“When I am⁠—dead there will be no more to be sent. Do not look like that, papa. I know what I have done, and I must bear it. I have thrown away my life. It is just that. If baby had lived it would have been different.” This was about the end of January, and then Mr. Wharton heard of the great attack made by Mr. Quintus Slide against the Prime Minister, and heard, of course, of the payment alleged to have been made to Ferdinand Lopez by the Duke on the score of the election at Silverbridge. Some persons spoke to him on the subject. One or two friends at the club asked him what he supposed to be the truth in the matter, and Mrs. Roby inquired of him on the subject. “I have asked Lopez,” she said, “and I am sure from his manner that he did get the money.”

“I don’t know anything about it,” said Mr. Wharton.

“If he did get it I think he was very clever.” It was well known at this time to Mrs. Roby that the Lopez marriage had been a failure, that Lopez was not a rich man, and that Emily, as well as her father, was discontented and unhappy. She had latterly heard of the Guatemala scheme, and had of course expressed her horror. But she sympathised with Lopez rather than with his wife, thinking that if Mr. Wharton would only open his pockets wide enough things might still be right. “It was all the Duchess’s fault, you know,” she said to the old man.

“I know nothing about it, and when I want to know I certainly shall not come to you. The misery he has brought upon me is so great that it makes me wish that I had never seen anyone who knew him.”

“It was Everett who introduced him to your house.”

“It was you who introduced him to Everett.”

“There you are wrong⁠—as you so often are, Mr. Wharton. Everett met him first at the club.”

“What’s the use of arguing about it? It was at your house that Emily met him. It was you that did it. I wonder you can have the face to mention his name to me.”

“And the man living all the time in your own house!”

Up to this time Mr. Wharton had not mentioned to a single person the fact that he had paid his son-in-law’s election expenses at Silverbridge. He had given him the cheque without much consideration, with the feeling that by doing so he would in some degree benefit his daughter; and had