He talks very often about you.Of course you know what it is that we all wish.I love Arthur Fletcher almost as much as if he were my brother.He is my sister's brother-in-law, and if he could become my husband's brother-in-law too, I should be so happy.Of course we all know that he wishes it.Write immediately to wish me joy.Perhaps you could go to Howell and James's about the veil.And promise to come to us in May.Sarah says the veil should cost about thirty pounds.
Dearest, dearest Emily, I shall soon be your most affectionate sister, MARY WHARTONEmily's answer was full of warm, affectionate congratulations.
She had much to say in favour of Everett.She promised to use all her little skill at Howell and James's.She expressed a hope that the overtures to be made in regard to the bishop might be successful.And she made kind remarks even as to Muddocks and Crumble.But she would not promise that she herself would be at Wharton on the happy day.'Dear Mary,' she said, 'remember what I have suffered, and that I cannot be quite as other people are.
I could not stand at your marriage in black clothes,--nor should I have the courage even if had the will to dress myself in others.' None of the Whartons had come to her wedding.There was no feeling of anger now left as to that.She was quite aware that they had done right to stay away.But the very fact that it had been right that they should stay away would make it wrong that the widow of Ferdinand Lopez should now assist at the marriage of one Wharton to another.This was all that a marriage ought to be, whereas that had been--all that a marriage ought not to be.In answer to the paragraph about Arthur Fletcher Emily Lopez had not a word to say.
Soon after this, early in April, Everett came up to town.Though his bride might be content to get her bridal clothes in Hereford, none but a London tailor could decorate him properly for such an occasion.During these last weeks Arthur Fletcher had not been seen at Manchester Square; nor had his name been mentioned there by Mr Wharton.Of anything that may have passed between them Emily was altogether ignorant.She observed, or thought that she observed, that her father was more silent with her,--perhaps less tender than he had been since the day on which her husband had perished.His manner of life was the same.He almost always dined at home in order that she might not be alone, and made no complaint as to her conduct.But she could see that he was unhappy, and she knew the cause of his grief.'I think, papa,'
she said one day, 'that it would be better that I should go away.' This was on the day before Everett's arrival,--of which, however, he had given no notice.
'Go away! Where would you go to?'
'It does not matter.I do not make you happy.'
'What do you mean? Who says that I am not happy? Why do you talk like that?'
'Do not be angry with me.Nobody says so.I can see it well enough.I know how good you are to me, but I am ****** your life wretched.I am a wet blanket to you, and yet I cannot help myself.If I could go somewhere, where I could be of use.'
'I don't know what you mean.This is your proper home.'
'No;--it is not my home.I ought to have forfeited it.I ought to go where I could work and be of some use in the world.'
'You might use it if you chose, my dear.Your proper career is before you if you would condescend to accept it.It is not for me to persuade you, but I can see and feel the truth.Till you can bring yourself to do that, your days will be blighted,--and so will mine.You have made one great mistake in life.Stop a moment.I do not speak often, but I wish to listen to me now.
