After Lord Arlingford had driven off, all remained for some time silent; at length Mr. Benson muttered to himself, “I see through it all—I am not the fool he takes me for—I am not to be coaxed by a few civil speeches from a lord into mean forbearance. A fortnight more, and I shall most assuredly visit his lordship, and he shall see whom he has to deal with. _You_, Emmeline, I dare say, would wish to go and curry favour with him, that he may speak a word in your favour to his precious son, and you may, if you please; but I’ll be d—d if I do, till it is to tell him a bit of my mind, and inform him, in pretty plain terms, that you and your husband are two, and that the law will give us redress.” And so saying, Mr. Benson left the room more irritated in temper than Emmeline had ever seen him. Her head fell on her hands, and her long-stifled feelings burst forth. “Bear up, dearest Emmy,” said her mother, endeavouring to soothe her; “surely this visit of Lord Arlingford’s must, in many ways, give you comfort. He never would have come unless he had known that all was likely soon to be explained, and to end well between you and your husband.” Emmeline shook her head. “You don’t know them as I do. No two beings can be so different, can act on such different motives, as Lord Arlingford and——Fitzhenry.” At that name, that beloved name, for the first time for long uttered by herself, she sobbed as if her heart would break. “And then my father,” she continued, “he terrifies me. Oh! that he could, that he would for my sake, be more patient, more conciliatory! He talks, too, always of pride, and forgets that one can have none where one loves as I do. Oh! if I could but see _him_ once again!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, “I believe I could on my knees entreat of him to be kind to me, to love me—I am so very miserable; and yet when I was with him, when I saw him every day, I was cold and repulsive, I know I was; I believe I was the most to blame. I dare say I could have won upon his kindness had I acted differently; for he is so kind to every body, every thing—but me. It must have been all my fault.” Thus did poor Emmeline comfort herself by voluntary self-accusation, rather than impute blame to him she worshipped.