e was relieved, and her
health was re-established. A certain amount of unjoyous cheerfulness
was returning to her. It was impossible to doubt that she must have
known that a great burden had fallen from her back. And yet she would
never allow his name to be mentioned without giving some outward
sign of affection for his memory. If he was bad, so were others bad.
There were many worse than he. Such were the excuses she made for
her late husband. Old Mr. Wharton, who really thought that in all
his experience he had never known any one worse than his son-in-law,
would sometimes become testy, and at last resolved that he would
altogether hold his tongue. But he could hardly hold his tongue now.

He, no doubt, had already formed his hopes in regard to Arthur
Fletcher. He had trusted that the man whom he had taught himself some
years since to regard as his wished-for son-in-law, might be constant
and strong enough in his love to forget all that was past, and to be
still willing to redeem his daughter from misery. But as days had
crept on since the scene at the Tenway Junction, he had become aware
that time must do much before such relief would be accepted. It
was, however, still possible that the presence of the man might do
something. Hitherto, since the deed had been done, no stranger had
dined in Manchester Square. She herself had seen no visitor. She
had hardly left the house except to go to church, and then had been
enveloped in the deepest crape. Once or twice she had allowed herself
to be driven out in a carriage, and, when she had done so, her
father had always accompanied her. No widow, since the seclusion
of widows was first ordained, had been more strict in maintaining
the restraints of widowhood as enjoined. How then could he bid
her receive a new lover,--or how suggest to her that a lover was
possible? And yet he did not like to answer Arthur Fletcher without
naming some period for the present mourning,--some time at which he
might at least show himself in Manchester Square.

"I have had a letter from Arthur Fletcher," he said to his daughter a
day or two after he had received it. He was sitting after dinner, and
Everett was also in the room.

"Is he in Herefordshire?" she asked.

"No;--he is up in town, attending to the House of Commons, I suppose.
He had something to say to me, and as we are not in the way of
meeting he wrote. He wants to come and see you."

"Not yet, papa."

"He talked of coming and di