During all this time Mr Wharton had not seen his son.Everett had gone abroad just as his father returned to London from Brighton, and was still on the continent.He received his allowance punctually, and that was the only intercourse which took place between them.But Emily had written to him, not telling him much of her troubles,--only saying that she believed her husband would take her to Central America early in the spring, and begging him to come home before she went.
Just before Christmas her baby was born, but the poor child did not live a couple of days.She herself at the time was so worn with care, so thin and wan and wretched, that looking in the glass she hardly knew her own face.'Ferdinand,' she said to him, 'I know he will not live.The Doctor says so.'
'Noting thrives that I have to do with,' he answered gloomily.
'Will you not look at him?'
'Well; yes.I have looked at him, have I not? I wish to God that where he is going I could go with him.'
'I wish I was;--I wish I was going,' said the poor mother.Then the father went out, and before he had returned to the house the child was dead.'Oh, Ferdinand, speak one kind word to me now,'
she said.
'What kind word can I speak when you have told me that you do not love me.Do you think that I can forget that because, because he has gone?'
'A woman's love may always be won back by kindness.'
'Psha! How am I to kiss and make pretty speeches with my mind harassed as it is now?' But he did touch her brow with his lips before he went away.
The infant was buried, and then there was not much show of mourning in the house.The poor mother would sit gloomily alone day after day, telling herself that it was perhaps better that she should have been robbed of her treasure than have gone forth with him into the wide, unknown, harsh world with such a father as she had given him.Then she would look at all the preparations she had made,--the happy work of her fingers when her thoughts of their future use were her sweetest consolation,--and weep till she would herself feel that there never could be an end to her tears.
The second week in January had come and yet nothing further had been settled as to the Guatemala project.Lopez talked about it as though it was certain, and even told his wife as they would move so soon it would not be now worth while for him to take other lodgings for her.But when she asked as to her own preparations,--the wardrobe necessary for the long voyage and her general outfit,--he told her that three weeks or a fortnight would be enough for all, and that he would give her sufficient notice.'Upon my word he is very kind to honour my poor house as he does,' said Mr Wharton.
'Papa, we will go at once if you wish it,' said his daughter.
'Nay, Emily; do not turn upon me.I cannot but be sensible to the insult of his daily presence, but even that is better than losing you.'
Then there occurred a ludicrous incident,--or the combination of incidents,--which, in spite of their absurdity, drove Mr Wharton almost frantic.First there came to him the bill from Messrs Stewam and Sugarscraps for the dinner.At this time he kept nothing back from his daughter.'Look at that!' he said.The bill was absolutely made out in his name.
'It is a mistake, papa.'
'Not at all.The dinner was given in my house, and I must pay for it.I would sooner do so than he should pay it,--even if he had the means.' So he paid Messrs Stewam and Sugarscraps 25pounds 9s 6d., begging them as he did so never to send another dinner into his house, and observing that he was in the habit of entertaining his friends at less than three guineas a head.'But Chateau Yquem and Cote d'Or!' said Mr Sugarscraps.'Chateau fiddlesticks!' said Mr Wharton, walking out of the house with his receipt.
Then came the bill for the brougham,--for the brougham from the very day of their return to town after their wedding trip.This he showed to Lopez.Indeed the bill had been made out to Lopez and sent to Mr Wharton with an apologetic note.'I didn't tell him to send it,' said Lopez.
'But will you pay it?'
'I certainly shall not ask you to pay it.' But Mr Wharton at last did pay it, and he also paid the rent of the rooms in the Belgrave Mansions, and between 30 pounds and 40 pounds for dresses which Emily had got at Lewes and Allenby's under her husband's orders in the first days of their married life in London.
'Oh, papa, I wish I had not gone there,' she said.
'My dear, anything that you may have had I do not grudge in the least.And even for him, if he would let you remain here, Iwould pay willingly.I would supply all he wants if he would only--go away.'