he old man's house, where the old man could see not only him
but his treatment of his wife, and the old man's good-will and good
opinion were essential to him. Yet he could not restrain one glance
of anger at her when he saw that look upon her face.

"I suppose I shall," said the barrister. "I must go somewhere. My
going need not disturb you."

"I think we have made up our mind," said Lopez, "to take a cottage at
Dovercourt. It is not a very lively place, nor yet fashionable. But
it is very healthy, and I can run up to town easily. Unfortunately my
business won't let me be altogether away this autumn."

"I wish my business would keep me," said the barrister.

"I did not understand that you had made up your mind to go to
Dovercourt," said Emily. He had spoken to Mr. Wharton of their joint
action in the matter, and as the place had only once been named by
him to her, she resented what seemed to be a falsehood. She knew
that she was to be taken or left as it suited him. If he had said
boldly,--"We'll go to Dovercourt. That's what I've settled on.
That's what will suit me," she would have been contented. She quite
understood that he meant to have his own way in such things. But
it seemed to her that he wanted to be a tyrant without having the
courage necessary for tyranny.

"I thought you seemed to like it," he said.

"I don't dislike it at all."

"Then, as it suits my business, we might as well consider it
settled." So saying, he left the room and went off to the city. The
old man was still sipping his tea and lingering over his breakfast in
a way that was not usual with him. He was generally anxious to get
away to Lincoln's Inn, and on most mornings had left the house before
his son-in-law. Emily of course remained with him, sitting silent in
her place opposite to the teapot, meditating perhaps on her prospects
of happiness at Dovercourt,--a place of which she had never heard
even the name two days ago, and in which it was hardly possible that
she should find even an acquaintance. In former years these autumn
months, passed in Herefordshire, had been the delight of her life.

Mr. Wharton also had seen the cloud on his daughter's face, and had
understood the nature of the little dialogue about Dovercourt. And
he was aware,--had been aware since they had both come into his
house,--that the young wife's manner and tone to her husband was not
that of perfect conjugal sympathy. He had already said to himself
more tha