In that heat of her feelings she realized the horror of the words to her, with an intensity that made them seem to quiver like an arrow in her breast. "You don't like him?" said Mr. Pole. "Not love him! not love him!" "Yes, yes, but that comes after marriage. Often the case. Look here: don't you go against your interests. You mustn't be flighty. If Pericles speaks to you, have him. Clap your hands. Dozens of girls would, that I know." "But, oh!" interposed Emilia; "if he married me he would kiss me!" Mr. Pole coughed and blinked. "Well!" he remarked, as one gravely cogitating; and with the native delicacy of a Briton turned it off in a playful, "So shall I now," adding, "though I ain't your husband." He stooped his head. Emilia put her hands on his shoulders, and submitted her face to him. "There!" went Mr. Pole: "'pon my honour, it does me good:--better than medicine! But you mustn't give that dose to everybody, my dear. You don't, of course. All right, all right--I'm quite satisfied. I was only thinking of you going to Italy, among those foreign rascals, who've no more respect for a girl than they have for a monkey--their brother. A set of swindlers! I took you for the wife of one when you came in, at first. And now, business is business. Let's get it over. What have you come about? Glad to see you--understand that." Emilia lifted her eyes to his. "You know I love you, sir." "I'm sure you're a grateful little woman." She rose: "Oh! how can I speak it!" An idea that his daughters had possibly sent her to herald one of the renowned physicians of London, concerning whom he was perpetually being plagued by them, or to lead him to one, flashed through Mr. Pole. He was not in a state to weigh the absolute value of such a suspicion, but it seemed probable; it explained an extraordinary proceeding; and, having conceived, his wrath took it up as a fact, and fought with it. "Stop! If that's what you've come for, we'll bring matters to a crisis. You fancy me ill, don't you, my dear?" "You do not look well, sir." Emilia's unhesitating reply confirmed his suspicion. "I am well. I am, I say! And now, understand that, if that's your business, I won't go to the fellow, and I won't see him here. They'll make me out mad, next. He shall never have a guinea from me while I live. No, nor when I die. Not a farthing! Sit down, my dear, and wait for the biscuits. I wish to heaven they'd come. There's brandy coming, too. Where's Braintop?" He took out his handkerchief to wipe his forehead, and jerked it like a bell-rope. Emilia, in a singular bewilderment, sat eyeing a beam of sombre city sunlight on the dusty carpet. She could only suppose that the offending "he" was Wilfrid; but, why he should be so, she could not guess: and how to plead for him, divided her mind.