e had forgotten her misery for the moment.

"I suppose you and Everett ought to be there."

"Heaven knows where Everett is. I ought to be there, and I suppose
that on such an occasion as this you will condescend to go with me."

"Condescend, papa;--what does that mean?"

"You know I cannot go alone. It is out of the question that I should
leave you here."

"Why, papa?"

"And at such a time the family ought to come together. Of course they
will take it very much amiss if you refuse. What will Lady Wharton
think if you refuse after her writing such a letter as that? It is my
duty to tell you that you ought to go. You cannot think that it is
right to throw over every friend that you have in the world."

There was a great deal more said in which it almost seemed that the
father's tenderness had been worn out. His words were much rougher
and more imperious than any that he had yet spoken since his daughter
had become a widow, but they were also more efficacious, and
therefore probably more salutary. After twenty-four hours of this
she found that she was obliged to yield, and a telegram was sent to
Wharton,--by no means the first telegram that had been sent since the
news had arrived,--saying that Emily would accompany her father. They
were to occupy themselves for two days further in preparations for
their journey.

These preparations to Emily were so sad as almost to break her heart.
She had never as yet packed up her widow's weeds. She had never as
yet even contemplated the necessity of coming down to dinner in them
before other eyes than those of her father and brother. She had as
yet made none of those struggles with which widows seek to lessen
the deformity of their costume. It was incumbent on her now to get a
ribbon or two less ghastly than those weepers which had, for the last
five months, hung about her face and shoulders. And then how should
she look if he were to be there? It was not to be expected that the
Whartons should seclude themselves because of her grief. This very
change in the circumstances of the property would be sure, of itself,
to bring the Fletchers to Wharton,--and then how should she look at
him, how answer him, if he spoke to her tenderly? It is very hard for
a woman to tell a lie to a man when she loves him. She may speak the
words. She may be able to assure him that he is indifferent to her.
But when a woman really loves a man, as she loved this man, there is
a desire to touch him whi