"And would she--would she--do anything without your sanction?" He was always thinking of the disgrace attaching to himself by reason of his nephew's vileness, and now, if a daughter of the family should also go astray, so as to be exiled from the bosom of the Whartons, how manifest would it be that all the glory was departing from their house! "No! She will do nothing without my sanction. She has given her word,--which is gospel." As he spoke the old lawyer struck his hand upon the table. "Then why should you run away to Dresden?" "Because she is unhappy. She will not marry him,--or even see him, if I forbid it. But she is near him." "Herefordshire is a long way off," said the baronet, pleading. "Change of scene is what she should have," said the father. "There can't be more of a change than she'd get at Wharton. She always did like Wharton. It was there that she met Arthur Fletcher." The father only shook his head as Arthur Fletcher's name was mentioned. "Well,--that is sad. I always thought she'd give way about Arthur at last." "It is impossible to understand a young woman," said the lawyer. With such an English gentleman as Arthur Fletcher on one side, and with this Portuguese Jew on the other, it was to him Hyperion to a Satyr. A darkness had fallen over his girl's eyes, and for a time her power of judgment had left her. "But I don't see why Wharton should not do just as well as Dresden," continued the baronet. Mr. Wharton found himself quite unable to make his cousin understand that the greater disruption caused by a residence abroad, the feeling that a new kind of life had been considered necessary for her, and that she must submit to the new kind of life, might be gradually effective, while the journeyings and scenes which had been common to her year after year would have no effect. Nevertheless he gave way. They could hardly start to Germany at once, but the visit to Wharton might be accelerated; and the details of the residence abroad might be there arranged. It was fixed, therefore, that Mr. Wharton and Emily should go down to Wharton Hall at any rate before the end of July. "Why do you go earlier than usual, papa?" Emily asked him afterwards. "Because I think it best," he replied angrily. She ought at any rate to understand the reason. "Of course I shall be ready, papa. You know that I always like Wharton. There is no place on earth I like so much, and this year it will be especially pleasant to me to go out of town. But--" "But what?" "I can't bear to think that I shall be taking you away." "I've got to bear worse things than that, my dear."