“Fitzhenry then repeated to me again and again, all his _proofs_ of your indifference and dislike,—all which were only proofs of his own blind infatuation. In short, poor fellow,” added Mr. Pelham, smiling—“he talked a great deal of nonsense. However, at last, by setting up my proofs in opposition to his, I succeeded in extorting from him an agreement, that he would go with me directly to Charlton. I was first to see you alone, and he promised that he would then be guided by my judgment as to his own conduct. The carriage which was to convey us to you was actually at the door, but, unfortunately, Fitzhenry, who was in a state of diseased anxiety, and restlessness of mind, insisted on waiting for the arrival of the post; it brought no letter from you, (which was what he had secretly hoped for,) but one from his father, that immediately destroyed all I had been labouring to accomplish. Gossip had been busy with you and your husband; indeed had even brought in my name. The scene which took place at the opera, your both abruptly leaving town—these circumstances, put together, and enlarged upon, had been formed into a regular story of rupture, elopement, duel, and the Lord knows what, till at last it found its way into the newspapers, I was told; and thus reached Lord Arlingford, who, much alarmed at the report, wrote directly to his son, entreating him to consider well what he was about; to break off immediately a connexion which was now become so public, and consequently so disgraceful, and endeavour to be reconciled to his wife. “So far all was well; but unfortunately the arguments he used were the last to influence your husband’s noble mind, for they were those of interest. Knowing Lord Arlingford as well as he did, at any other time Fitzhenry would have treated such a hint with the contempt it deserved; but he was then no way himself—he tore his father’s letter into a thousand pieces, and, with a bitter smile, while his face was ghastly pale said, ‘he is right, quite right; it is my _interest_ to be reconciled to Lady Fitzhenry—no power on earth shall make me seek her forgiveness—the first overtures must come from herself. Even you surely would not have me go as a beggar, and sue and humble myself to her father: what an honourable appearance would repentance have just now! No, Pelham, I will not do it; and any attempt to persuade me to such a step, I warn you, will be perfectly vain.’ “During our friend’s own story,” continued Pelham, “I think, Lady Fitzhenry, he has probably let you a little into the secret of his character; and, therefore, I may venture to say, that pride is his besetting sin. Had I but hinted this at that time, I suppose he would have knocked me down; but we have him in our power now; and who would believe, seeing him, as he now is, so meek, so humble, so contrite, and subdued, what a perfect devil he was then!”