ur husband's friendships and your husband's
quarrels. Did I not tell you that he had insulted you?"

"He never insulted me."

"Emily, you must allow me to be the judge of that. He insulted you,
and then he behaved like a poltroon down at Silverbridge, and I will
not have you know him any more. When I say so I suppose that will be
enough." He waited for a reply, but she said nothing. "I ask you to
tell me that you will obey me in this."

"Of course he will not come to my house, nor should I think of going
to his, if you disapproved."

"Going to his house! He is unmarried."

"Supposing he had a wife! Ferdinand, perhaps it will be better that
you and I should not talk about him."

"By G----," said Lopez, "there shall be no subject on which I will be
afraid to talk to my own wife. I insist on your assuring me that you
will never speak to him again."

He had taken her along one of the upper walks because it was
desolate, and he could there speak to her, as he thought, without
being heard. She had, almost unconsciously, made a faint attempt
to lead him down upon the lawn, no doubt feeling averse to private
conversation at the moment; but he had persevered, and had resented
the little effort. The idea in his mind that she was unwilling
to hear him abuse Arthur Fletcher, unwilling to renounce the man,
anxious to escape his order for such renunciation, added fuel to his
jealousy. It was not enough for him that she had rejected this man
and had accepted him. The man had been her lover, and she should be
made to denounce the man. It might be necessary for him to control
his feelings before old Wharton;--but he knew enough of his wife to
be sure that she would not speak evil of him or betray him to her
father. Her loyalty to him, which he could understand though not
appreciate, enabled him to be a tyrant to her. So now he repeated his
order to her, pausing in the path, with a voice unintentionally loud,
and frowning down upon her as he spoke. "You must tell me, Emily,
that you will never speak to him again."

She was silent, looking up into his face, not with tremulous eyes,
but with infinite woe written in them, had he been able to read the
writing. She knew that he was disgracing himself, and yet he was
the man whom she loved! "If you bid me not to speak to him, I will
not;--but he must know the reason why."

"He shall know nothing from you. You do not mean to say that you
would write to him?"

"Papa must tell him."