THE TENWAY JUNCTION.
And thus the knowledge was conveyed to Mrs Lopez that her fate in life was not to carry her to Guatemala.At the very moment in which she had been summoned to meet Arthur Fletcher she had been busy with her needle preparing that almost endless collection of garments necessary for a journey of many days at sea.And now she was informed, by a chance expression, by a word aside, as it were, that the journey was not to be made.'That is all over,'
he had said,--and then had left her, telling her nothing further.Of course she stayed her needle.Whether the last word had been true or false, she could not work again, at any rate till it had been contradicted.If it were so, what was to be her fate? One thing was certain to her,--that she could not remain under her father's roof.It was impossible that an arrangement so utterly distasteful as the present one, both on to her father and to herself, should be continued.But where then should they live,--and of what nature would her life be should she be separated from her father?
That evening she saw her father, and he corroborated her husband's statement.'It is all over now,' he said,--'that scheme of his of going to superintend the mines.The mines don't want him, and won't have him.I can't say I wonder at it.'
'What are we to do, papa?'
'Ah;--that I cannot say.I suppose he will condescend still to honour me with his company.I do not know why he should wish to go to Guatemala or elsewhere.He has everything here that he can want.'
'You know, papa, that that is impossible.'
'I cannot say what with him is possible or impossible.He is bound by none of the ordinary rules of mankind.'
That evening Lopez returned to his dinner at Manchester Square, which was still regularly served for him and his wife, though the servants who attended upon him did so under silent and oft-repeated protest.He said not a word more as to Arthur Fletcher, nor did her seek any ground of quarrel with his wife.But that he continued melancholy and dejection made anything like good-humour impossible, even on his part, he would have been good-humoured.When they were alone, she asked him as to their future destiny.'Papa tells me you are not going,' she began saying.
'Did I not tell you so this morning?'
'Yes; you said so.But I did not know you were in earnest.Is it all over?'
'All over;--I suppose.'
'I should have thought that you would have told me with more,--more seriousness.'
'I don't know what you would have.I was serious enough.The fact is, that your father has delayed so long the payment of the promised money that the thing has fallen through of necessity.Ido not know that I can blame the Company.'
Then there was a pause.'And now,' she said, 'what do you mean to do?'
'Upon my word I cannot say.I am quite as much in the dark as you can be.'
'That is nonsense, Ferdinand.'
'Thank you! Let it be nonsense if you will.It seems to me that there is a great deal of nonsense going on in the world; but very little of it as true as what I say now.'
'But it is your duty to know.Of course you cannot stay here.'
'Nor you, I suppose,--without me.'
'I am not speaking of myself.If you choose, I can remain here.'
'And--just throw me overboard altogether.'
'If you provide another home for me, I will go to it.However poor it may be I will go to it, if you bid me.But for you,--of course you cannot stay here.'
'Has your father told you to say so to me?'
'No;--but I can say so without his telling me.You are banishing him from his own house.He has put up with it while he thought that you were going to this foreign country; but there must be an end of that now.You must have some scheme of life.'
'Upon my soul I have none.'
'You must have some intentions for the future.'
'None in the least.I have had intentions, and they have failed;--from want of that support which I had a right to expect.Ihave struggled and I have failed, and now I have got no intention.What are yours?'
'It is not my duty to have any purpose, as what I do must depend on your commands.' Then again there was a silence, during which he lit a cigar, although he was sitting in the drawing-room.
This was a profanation of the room on which he had never ventured before, but at the present moment she was unable to notice it by any words.'I must tell papa,' she said after a while, 'what our plans are.'
'You can tell him what you please.I have literally nothing to say to him.If he will settle an adequate income on us, payable of course to me, I will go and live elsewhere.If he turns me out in the street without provision, he must turn you out too.
That is all I have got to say.It will come better from you than from me.I am sorry, of course, that things have gone wrong with me.When I found myself the son-in-law of a very rich man Ithought that I might spread my wings a bit.But my rich father-in-law threw me over, and now I am helpless.You are not very cheerful, and I think I'll go down to the club.'