ways did like Wharton. It was there that she met Arthur Fletcher."
The father only shook his head as Arthur Fletcher's name was
mentioned. "Well,--that is sad. I always thought she'd give way about
Arthur at last."

"It is impossible to understand a young woman," said the lawyer. With
such an English gentleman as Arthur Fletcher on one side, and with
this Portuguese Jew on the other, it was to him Hyperion to a Satyr.
A darkness had fallen over his girl's eyes, and for a time her power
of judgment had left her.

"But I don't see why Wharton should not do just as well as Dresden,"
continued the baronet. Mr. Wharton found himself quite unable to
make his cousin understand that the greater disruption caused by
a residence abroad, the feeling that a new kind of life had been
considered necessary for her, and that she must submit to the new
kind of life, might be gradually effective, while the journeyings and
scenes which had been common to her year after year would have no
effect. Nevertheless he gave way. They could hardly start to Germany
at once, but the visit to Wharton might be accelerated; and the
details of the residence abroad might be there arranged. It was
fixed, therefore, that Mr. Wharton and Emily should go down to
Wharton Hall at any rate before the end of July.

"Why do you go earlier than usual, papa?" Emily asked him afterwards.

"Because I think it best," he replied angrily. She ought at any rate
to understand the reason.

"Of course I shall be ready, papa. You know that I always like
Wharton. There is no place on earth I like so much, and this year it
will be especially pleasant to me to go out of town. But--"

"But what?"

"I can't bear to think that I shall be taking you away."

"I've got to bear worse things than that, my dear."

"Oh, papa, do not speak to me like that! Of course I know what
you mean. There is no real reason for your going. If you wish it
I will promise you that I will not see him." He only shook his
head,--meaning to imply that a promise which could go no farther
than that would not make him happy. "It will be just the same,
papa,--either here, or at Wharton, or elsewhere. You need not be
afraid of me."

"I am not afraid of you;--but I am afraid for you. I fear for your
happiness,--and for my own."

"So do I, papa. But what can be done? I suppose sometimes people must
be unhappy. I can't change myself, and I can't change you. I find
myself to be as much bound to Mr. Lop