But she could not bring herself to say that Arthur Fletcher had behaved badly.She could not.She knew well that his conduct had been noble and generous.Then unconsciously and involuntarily,--or rather in opposition to her own will and inward efforts,--her mind would draw comparisons between her husband and Arthur Fletcher.There was some peculiar gift, or grace, or acquirement belonging without dispute to the one, which the other lacked.What was it? She had heard her father say when talking of gentlemen,--of that race of gentlemen with whom it had been his lot to live,--that you could not make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.The use of the proverb had offended her much, for she had known well whom he had then regarded as a silk purse and whom a sow's ear.But now she perceived that there had been truth in all this, though she was as anxious as ever to think well of her husband, and to endow him with all possible virtues.She had once ventured to form a doctrine for herself, to preach to herself a sermon of her own, and to tell herself that this gift of gentle blood and of gentle nurture, of which her father thought so much, and to which something of divinity was attributed down in Hertfordshire, was after all but a weak, spiritless quality.It could exist without intellect, without heart, and with very moderate culture.It was compatible with many littlenesses and with many vices.As for that love of honest, courageous truth which her father was wont to attribute to it, she regarded his theory as based on legends, as in earlier years was the theory of the courage, and constancy, and loyalty, of the knights of those days.The beau ideal of a man which she then pictured to herself was graced, first with intelligence, then with affection, and lastly with ambition.She knew no reason why such a hero as her fancy created should be born of lords and ladies rather than of working mechanics, should be English rather than Spanish or French.The man could not be her hero without education, without attributes to be attained no doubt more easily by the rich than the poor; but, with that granted, with those attained, she did not see why she, or why the world, should go beyond the man's own self.Such had been her theories as to men and their attributes, and acting on that, she had given herself and all her happiness into the keeping of Ferdinand Lopez.Now, there was gradually coming upon her a change in her convictions,--a change that was most unwelcome, that she strove to reject,--one which she would not acknowledge that she had adopted even while adopting it.But now,--ay, from the very hour of her marriage,--she had commenced to learn what it was that her father had meant when he spoke of the pleasure of living with gentlemen.Arthur Fletcher certainly was a gentleman.He would not have entertained the suspicion which her husband had expressed.He could not have failed to believe such assertions as had been made.He could never have suggested to his own wife that another man had endeavoured to entrap her into a secret correspondence.She seemed to hear the tones of Arthur Fletcher's voice, as those of her husband still rang in her ear when he bade her remember that she was now removed from her father's control.Every now and then the tears would come to her eyes, and she would sit pondering, listless, low in heart.Then she would suddenly rouse herself with a shake, and take up her book with a resolve that she would read steadily, would assure herself as she did so that her husband should still be her hero.
The intelligence at any rate was there, and, in spite of his roughness, the affection which she craved.And the ambition, too, was there.But, alas, alas! why should such vile suspicions have fouled his mind?
He was late that night, but when he came he kissed her brow as she lay in bed, and she knew that his temper was again smooth.
She feigned to be sleepy, though not asleep, as she just put her hand up to his cheek.She did not wish to speak to him again that night, but she was glad to know that in the morning he would smile on her.'Be early at breakfast,' he said to her as he left her next morning, 'for I'm going down to Silverbridge today.'
Then she started up.'To-day!'
'Yes,--by the 11.20.There is plenty of time, only don't be unusually late.'
Of course she was something more than usually early, and when she came out she found him reading his paper.'It's all settled now,' he said.'Grey has applied for the Hundreds, and Mr Rattler is to move for the new writ to-morrow.It has come rather sudden at last, as these things always do after long delays.But they say the suddenness is rather in my favour.'
'When will the election take place?'
'I suppose in about a fortnight;--perhaps a little longer.'
'And must you be at Silverbridge all that time?'
'Oh dear no.I shall stay there to-night, and perhaps to-morrow night.Of course I shall telegraph you directly I find how it is to be.I shall see the principal inhabitants, and probably make a speech or two.'
'I do wish I could hear you.'
'You'd find it awfully dull work, my girl.And I shall find it awfully dull too.I do not imagine that Mr Sprugeon and Mr Sprout will be pleasant companions.Well; I shall stay there a day or two and settle when I am to go down for the absolute canvass.I shall have to go with my hat in my hand to every blessed inhabitant in that dirty little town, and ask them all to be kind enough to drop in a paper for the most humble of their servants, Ferdinand Lopez.'
'I suppose all candidates have to do the same.'
'Oh yes;--your friend, Master Fletcher, will have to do it.' She winced at this.Arthur Fletcher was her friend, but at the present moment he ought not so to have spoken of him.'And from all I hear, he is just the sort of fellow that will like the doing of it.It is odious to me to ask a fellow that I despise for anything.'
'Why should you despise them?'
