the day. This made
a great falling-off in her acquaintance, which was the more felt as
she had never been, as a girl, devoted to a large circle of dearest
female friends. She whom she had loved best had been Mary Wharton,
and Mary Wharton had refused to be her bridesmaid almost without an
expression of regret. She saw her father occasionally. Once he came
and dined with them at their rooms, on which occasion Lopez struggled
hard to make up a well-sounding party. There were Roby from the
Admiralty, and the Happertons, and Sir Timothy Beeswax, with whom
Lopez had become acquainted at Gatherum, and old Lord Mongrober. But
the barrister, who had dined out a good deal in his time, perceived
the effort. Who, that ever with difficulty scraped his dinner
guests together, was able afterwards to obliterate the signs of the
struggle? It was, however, a first attempt, and Lopez, whose courage
was good, thought that he might do better before long. If he could
get into the House and make his mark there people then would dine
with him fast enough. But while this was going on Emily's life was
rather dull. He had provided her with a brougham, and everything
around her was even luxurious, but there came upon her gradually a
feeling that by her marriage she had divided herself from her own
people. She did not for a moment allow this feeling to interfere with
her loyalty to him. Had she not known that this division would surely
take place? Had she not married him because she loved him better than
her own people? So she sat herself down to read Dante,--for they had
studied Italian together during their honeymoon, and she had found
that he knew the language well. And she was busy with her needle. And
she already began to anticipate the happiness which would come to her
when a child of his should be lying in her arms.

She was of course much interested about the election. Nothing could
as yet be done, because as yet there was no vacancy; but still the
subject was discussed daily between them. "Who do you think is going
to stand against me?" he said one day with a smile. "A very old
friend of yours." She knew at once who the man was, and the blood
came to her face. "I think he might as well have left it alone, you
know," he said.

"Did he know?" she asked in a whisper.

"Know;--of course he knew. He is doing it on purpose. But I beat
him once, old girl, didn't I? And I'll beat him again." She liked
him to call her old girl. She loved the