He did not understand--how could he?--that though she had never loved Arthur Fletcher, had never been able to bring herself to love him when all her friends had wished it, her feelings to him were nevertheless those of affectionate friendship;--that she regarded him as being perfect in his way, a thorough gentleman, a man who would not for worlds tell a lie, as most generous among the generous, most noble among the noble.When the other Whartons had thrown her off, he had not been cold to her.That very day, as soon as her husband had left her, she looked again at that little note.'I am as I always have been!' And she remembered that farewell down by the banks of the Wye.'You will always have one,--one besides him,--who will love you best in the world.' They were dangerous words for her to remember; but in recalling them to her memory she had often assured herself that they should not be dangerous to her.She had loved the one man and had not loved the other;--but yet, now when her husband talked of beating him again, she could not but remember his words.
She did not think,--or rather had not thought,--that Arthur Fletcher would willingly stand against her husband.It had occurred to her at once that he must first have become a candidate without knowing who would be his opponent.But Ferdinand had assured her as a matter of fact that Fletcher had known all about it.'I suppose in politics men are different,'
she said to herself.Her husband had evidently supposed that Arthur Fletcher had proposed himself as a candidate for Silverbridge, with the express object of doing an injury to the man who had carried off his love.And she repeated to herself her husband's words, 'He's doing it on purpose.' She did not like to differ from her husband, but she could hardly bring herself to believe that revenge of this kind should have recommended itself to Arthur Fletcher.
Some little time after this, when she had settled in London, above a month, a letter was brought to her, and she at once recognized Arthur Fletcher's writing.She was alone at the time, and it occurred to her at first that perhaps she ought not to open any communication from him without showing it to her husband.But then it seemed that such a hesitation would imply a doubt of the man, and almost a doubt of herself.Why should she fear what any man might write to her? So she opened the letter, and read it,--with infinite pleasure.It was as follows:
DEAR Mrs LOPEZ, I think it best to make an explanation to you as to a certain coincidence which might possibly be misunderstood unless explained.I find that your husband and I are opponents at Silverbridge.I wish to say that I had pledged myself to the borough before I had heard his name as connected with it.I have very old associations with the neighbourhood, and was invited to stand by friends who had known me all my life as soon as it was understood that there would be an open contest.I cannot retire now without breaking faith with my party, nor do I know that there is a reason why I should do so.I should not, however, have come forward had I known that Mr Lopez was to stand.I think you had better tell him so, and tell him also, with my compliments, that I hope we may fight our political battle with mutual good-fellowship and good feeling.
Yours very sincerely, ARTHUR FLETCHER
Emily was very much pleased by this letter, and yet she wept over it.She felt that she understood accurately all the motives that were at work within the man's breast when he was writing it.As to its truth,--of course the letter was gospel to her.Oh,--if the man could become her husband's friend how sweet it would be!
