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- Herausgeber: Mrs. Hubback
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
The Reverend John Watson, who, for the space of twenty years, was the incumbent of the village of Winston, had not always been such an indolent invalid as he appeared to those who only knew him during the last ten years of that time. When he was inducted into the living, he was a husband and the father of five children; a sixth was very shortly added to their nursery; and, for several years after her birth, Mrs. Watson's activity, good judgment, and influence with her husband, preserved, for him, the esteem and respect of his parishioners, and the character amongst his acquaintance, of a very kind and attentive neighbour, and a most highly respectable parish priest. But, with her life, his energy seemed to depart; he became indolent from sorrow; shunning society—shrinking from exertion—and confining himself to what was absolutely unavoidable of his duties. This line of conduct, begun from grief, which seemed to prostrate his mental strength, was continued from self-indulgence, long after the poignancy of the grief was worn away, and it ended in really entailing the ill-health—from which, he had, for sometime, pleased himself with fancying that he suffered. Frequent attacks of the gout, disabled him from much exertion, and often confined him to his room for weeks together.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
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Mrs. Hubback
The Younger Sister
Table of contents
THE YOUNGER SISTER, VOL I.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
THE YOUNGER SISTER, VOL II.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE YOUNGER SISTER, VOL III.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE YOUNGER SISTER, VOL I.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
They entered the ball-room; it looked very cold and very dull; the candles as yet hardly lighted, and the fires yielding far more smoke than heat. Over one of these several officers were lounging; Mrs. Edwards directed her steps to the other, and seated herself on the warmest side; her two companions found chairs near her, Mr. Edwards having left them at the door of the ball-room, to seek out his old associates at the whist-tables. But it was all so new to Emma, that she did not feel any of the annoyance at their early appearance with which a more experienced young lady would have been afflicted. Everything interested her happy mind, and she even felt amused in ascertaining the number of lights, and listening to the scraping of the fiddles tuning in the orchestra. They had not been seated many minutes, when they were joined by a young officer, whom Emma immediately guessed to be Captain Hunter, and from the pleasure which the quiet Mary demonstrated at his addresses, she augured unfavourably for her brother's prospects.
She could not, however, accuse Mrs. Edwards of looking more kindly on the gay soldier than she seemed to do on the doctor's assistant: and had it been Sam himself, he could hardly have received a more frigid recognition than the formal and ungracious bow, which Emma witnessed. Captain Hunter showed no symptom of discouragement, but continued a low but eloquent conversation with Mary, the only part of which intelligible to her companions was an engagement for the first two dances; for these were the days of country dances, before quadrilles, waltzes, and polkas had changed the face of the ball-room. There must certainly be some connexion between the style of dress and the style of dancing prevalent in any particular generation. The stiff ruffs, the awful long waists and formal boddices of Elizabeth's reign were quite in keeping with a stately pavan; the loose attire and complete undress adopted by the courtly beauties of Charles the Second may be considered characteristic of the elegant but licentious style pervading their dances. The minuet matched well with the buckram, and rich brocade, and high head-dress which marked the era of the earlier Georges; whilst powder and hoops of course disappeared under the influence of the merry country-dance and cotillion. Perhaps at the present time the dresses, like the dances, partake more of the character of the latter Stuarts—graceful and bewitching; the habiliments full and flowing, the steps vivacious but tending to giddiness, with a near approximation to romping, and a great risk of inducing a faux-pas, or even a serious fall.
But all this is a digression from my story, and cannot possibly have passed through my heroine's mind, since, sixty years ago, the liveliest fancy would have never pictured an English ball such as we now see it. The accessions to the company at first few and at great intervals, so as to allow Emma time to notice the dress, manners, and appearance of each individual, gradually became so much more numerous, as to prevent her seeing or observing more than half of them. Dancing, however, was delayed because the Osborne Castle party were expected, and the stewards, of course, were waiting for Miss Osborne to open the ball. At length, a bustle in the assembly-room called Emma's attention to the door, from a very remarkable dress which she had been for some minutes contemplating, and the important group made their appearance. Mary pointed them out to her young companion: there was Lady Osborne, with her splendid diamond necklace; her son and daughter, and her daughter's friend, Miss Carr; her son's late tutor, Mr. Howard, his sister, and her little boy, a child apparently about six years old. The last mentioned lady, a widow with pleasing manners and a very agreeable countenance, happened to seat herself near Emma, whose attention was speedily called to the little boy, by the extreme impatience he evinced for the dance to begin. His mother, turning to a friend beside her, observed,
"You will not wonder that Charles is so eager for his first dance, when you hear how he is to be honoured; Miss Osborne has promised to dance with him herself, which is very good-natured."
"Oh yes," cried Charles, "she has promised to be my partner ever since Saturday, indeed as long as I knew I was coming to the ball."
Just at this moment, Miss Osborne stepped hastily forward, and addressing the little boy in a hurried manner, said:
"Charles, I am very sorry, but I find I cannot keep my engagement with you this time; I must dance with Colonel Miller, but another time, the next dance, perhaps, will do just as well for us I dare say."
She then hastened away, without waiting to witness the effect of her communication on the little fellow, whose hopes and enjoyment seemed to vanish together. Disappointment was painted on every feature, and his swelling heart appeared about to prompt a shower of tears, with which a proud desire to appear manly was maintaining an ineffectual struggle. His mother, who seemed little less distressed, endeavoured to soothe his grief, and held out vague hopes of better luck another time; when Emma, who really pitied him, and was quite interested by the appearance of both, said with the most obliging air:
"If you will accept me as a substitute for Miss Osborne, sir, I shall be most happy to dance with you the two next dances."
It would be difficult to tell, of the mother or son, which countenance looked the brightest, or whose eyes showed the greatest pleasure at this kind offer: and the couple took their place in the dance with equal satisfaction, Emma being perfectly contented with her juvenile partner, whilst he was all anxiety to acquit himself well to do her honor, and especially intent on running his fingers as far as possible into the points of the new gloves which he had received from his mother on quitting her side, with sundry injunctions to keep them on.
Emma had been much amused when the Osborne party entered, to see Tom Musgrove accompanying them; having, no doubt, from the knowledge she had previously acquired, of his having been long in the house, that he had been waiting outside the door, in order to join them, and appear as if he formed one of their party. She now discerned him standing opposite to herself by the side of Lord Osborne; who, she learnt from casual remarks amongst ladies near her, never danced himself, and was now preventing or dissuading Tom Musgrove from doing so either. Lord Osborne was a remarkably plain young man, barely endowed with the air of a gentleman, and it seemed to observers, as if the time spent in the ball-room were one of actual penance to him. His principal occupation appeared to consist in regarding Emma with a broad, unmitigated stare, which rather disconcerted her, and made her exert herself to converse with Charles, that she might not seem to mind it. It was not easy for her to decide what drew his attention so fixedly on herself; she thought, perhaps, that he wondered at her presumption in standing up with one of his party; or that he was criticising her style of dress; or censuring her dancing; she wished with all her heart that he could find some other subject for his speculation, and was quite relieved at the gradual change of place which dancing produced. Charles was very happy, and spoke his feelings in rather an audible whisper, when addressing Mr. Howard, as that gentleman was passing near him, he said:
"Oh, do look, Uncle Howard, at my pretty partner, I do really think she is the prettiest girl in the room," an opinion which Mr. Howard himself did not seem inclined to controvert, though his answer was more cautiously and softly given.
"Upon my word, Charles," said Miss Osborne, as she gave him hands across; "you are in high luck; I am sure you have gained by the exchange," an assertion to which, had Charles been a few years older, he would have replied with less sincerity than his hurried "Yes," now announced.
He told Emma he was very glad now, that Miss Osborne had broken her promise, but could not help anxiously enquiring whether she thought she would keep her engagement for the next dance.
Emma answered in the affirmative, though she could have given no better reason for expecting Miss Osborne to perform her promise next time, than that she had broken it the last. When the dance was concluded, and Emma returned to her seat, Mrs. Wells, Charles' mother, expressed in warm terms, her obligation to Miss Watson for so kindly dancing with her little boy; Emma assured her, with great sincerity, that she was very happy to have given him pleasure, and that she had greatly enjoyed her dance.
They soon entered into an agreeable conversation—and she was exceedingly pleased, when, a short time afterwards, they were joined by Mr. Howard, who begged his sister to introduce him, and solicited her hand for the ensuing dance. Mr. Howard's appearance and manner were such, as could not fail to prepossess any one in his favor, and Emma had formed a favorable opinion of him already, from the affectionate terms in which little Charles had spoken of his uncle, when he informed her that he and his mother resided constantly with him. The good nature which had actuated her brought its own reward; and she thought, with much pleasure, of the ensuing dances. Previous to their commencement, there was a proposal made by Mrs. Wells, that they should go in search of tea. They set off accordingly—Charles very proudly escorting his partner—Mr. Howard and his sister being close behind; when, in attempting to enter the tea-room, they were met by so many returning to the dancing, that they were forced to draw aside; and, almost pushed behind a half-opened door. Whilst waiting here for a passage, Emma heard Lord Osborne address Mr. Tom Musgrove, as they were standing together before the very door which concealed her.
"I say, Musgrove, why don't you go and dance with that beautiful Emma Watson that I may come and look at her?"
"I was just going to ask her, my lord:" cried Tom, "the very thought that I had in my head this moment."
"Ay, do so, then," continued Lord Osborne, "and I will stand behind you; by Jove, she's so handsome that, if ever I did dance with any girl, it should be with her!"
It was with no little self-congratulation, that Emma reflected on her engagement to Mr. Howard, which would save her, as she hoped, from the unwelcome suit of Mr. Musgrove and the stare of Lord Osborne. There was a sort of suppressed look of mirth and amusement on the countenance of Mr. Howard, which convinced her that he, too, had heard this short dialogue, and Charles evinced his perception of it by whispering:
"They did not know we could hear them—and I would not have told them for the world—would you?" A sentiment in which Emma silently, but entirely joined.
It was not till they left the room—and she had joined Mrs. Edwards—that they again encountered Mr. Musgrove. He immediately requested an introduction, and Mrs. Edwards was obliged to comply; but, it was in her coldest and most ungracious manner. It evidently made not the slightest difference to the gentleman, however, who heeded not the means to gain a wished-for end, and had long been aware that he was no favorite with the Edwards' family generally. He immediately flattered himself he should be permitted the great honor of dancing with Miss Emma Watson the two next dances. She had peculiar satisfaction in replying that she was engaged.
"Oh! but, indeed," he eagerly replied, "we must not let my little friend, Charles, engross you entirely, Miss Emma?"
To which, with a demure face, and an internal sensation of delight, she answered that she was not engaged to dance with Master Wells.
Tom was baffled and mortified, and he shewed it in his face. He lingered, however, near her, until her partner appeared to claim her hand; when, with a look of surprise, he went to inform Lord Osborne of his ill-success.
The young nobleman bore it with great philosophy.
"Oh, with Howard is it!" was his observation; "well, that will do just as well for me."
And accordingly he stationed himself exactly behind that gentleman, and again indulged in the stare which Emma had previously found so annoying. She wished with all her heart that he could find a less disagreeable way of expressing his admiration, as even the idea that he thought her so handsome could not reconcile her to his method of demonstrating it. However, she found Mr. Howard quite us agreeable as his countenance had led her to expect, and upon the whole she enjoyed herself exceedingly. When the dance had concluded, whilst she was still engaged in a pleasant conversation with her partner, they were suddenly interrupted by discovering that the Osborne Castle party were preparing to leave. She heard Lord Osborne telling Tom Musgrove that the thing had become very dull to the ladies, and his mother was determined to go home: though for his own part, he thought it was the best ball he had been at for a long time. Mrs. Wells and her brother of course accompanied the others, and Emma wished them good night, and saw them depart with regret, in which they appeared to participate. Lord Osborne entered, after quitting the room for a minute or two, as if reluctant to tear himself away, and disturbing her from the corner where she was resting, muttered an inaudible excuse of having left his gloves in the window-seat behind her; though the said gloves being carefully coiled up in his hand all the time, it was certain that he must have had some other object in view, which probably was to enjoy one more stare at her.
Tom Musgrove disappeared at the same time from the ball-room, as he would not be guilty of the vulgarity of outstaying the grandest part of the company; whether he spent the rest of the evening in helping Mrs. Newland make negus at the bar, or consoled himself by ordering a barrel of oysters and whisky-punch in his own room, Emma never ascertained, but her partner, who laughed excessively at his airs of elegance, assured her he had no doubt it was great mortification and self-denial on his part to appear indifferent, and she was too little pleased with him to avoid feeling a secret satisfaction at this conviction.
The rest of the assembly lost nothing in spirit by their departure, and seemed determined to enjoy themselves, though Miss Osborne had pronounced the evening dull, and her friend Miss Carr was heard to declare, after surveying every one through her glass, that it all seemed very vulgar.
Emma's next partner was an officer, but she had several other solicitations which she was forced to refuse, as a very pretty girl, quite new, and evidently admired by Lord Osborne, was not likely to be neglected in a country assembly-room, and for the rest of the evening it was quite the fashion to call her "the pretty Miss Watson."
As it was a regulation in the ball-room that no other dance should be called after one o'clock, this finished her amusement; and at the summons of Mr. Edwards she was not at all dissatisfied to return home, although she professed to have spent a most delightful evening. She felt rather anxious to ascertain whether Mr. Edwards had lost or won at cards, and on entering the dining-room, where the supper-table was spread, she looked anxiously at his countenance, to read his features, and discover his state of mind. The pleasant conviction that fortune had favoured him was conveyed to her mind, when, on the subsidence of the frown which the sudden glare of candle-light occasioned, he presented a bland smile and self-satisfied aspect, pronounced the soup which, as Elizabeth had predicted, appeared to comfort them, to be extremely good, and joked with Emma about the hearts which he guessed she had conquered on this her first appearance in their country.
"Well, Mary," added he, turning to his daughter, and chucking her under the chin, "and who did you dance with? Who was your first partner?"
"Captain Hunter, sir," replied Mary, demurely, yet blushing a little.
"And who next?" pursued he.
"Mr. Edward Hunter, sir."
"And who is he?"
"Captain Hunter's cousin."
"Oh, aye—very well: who next?"
"Captain Scott, sir."
"Who is he—another cousin of Captain Hunter, eh?"
"No, sir; only a friend of his."
"I thought so," said her father, chuckling.
"Mary was surrounded with red-coats the whole evening," observed Mrs. Edwards. "I must say I should have been as well pleased to have seen her dancing with some of our old friends and neighbours, and less taken up with those soldiers."
It was lucky for Mary that her father had been winning at cards, as he would otherwise, very probably, have been as much offended as her mother seemed to be on hearing of her conduct. He now, however, good-humouredly took her part—only saying—
"Pooh, pooh, my dear, the girl naturally likes officers, all girls do—besides, if those young men are quicker at asking her than others, how could she help dancing with them."
Mrs. Edwards looked very little pleased at an observation which was too true to be contradicted, and observed, in a general way, that she had always remarked girls could contrive to oblige their parents when they had a mind to do so.
"I hope you had your share of officers, Miss Emma," said the old gentleman.
"Thank you, sir, I had quite sufficient," said Emma, quietly.
"Oh, Miss Emma was almost above the officers, she got into the Osborne Castle set, and her partner was no less than Mr. Howard. Did Lord Osborne ask you?"
"No, ma'am," replied Emma.
"I am sure he looked at you enough," continued Mrs. Edwards; "I thought he was going to eat you."
"I was not afraid of that," said Emma, smiling; "but I own I was rather annoyed."
"I think Mr. Musgrove was more insufferable than ever," pursued Mrs. Edwards; "I am glad you did not dance with him, Miss Emma; really that young man is beyond bearing in his impertinence."
"Oh, you should not abuse him to Miss Emma; I dare say her sisters give a very different account of him; he is a great favorite with all of them, I know," said Mr. Edwards.
"I never heard anything of him which particularly prepossessed me in his favour," replied Emma, very coolly. "Elizabeth mentioned him, and, from what I have seen, I should think her description was very like the truth."
Little more was said by any one, and the party, after many yawns, separated for the night, to the great relief of their young guest, who was exceedingly sleepy, and longing for darkness and silence.
CHAPTER III.
The next morning, as the ladies were quietly sitting together, and just as Emma was beginning to expect the arrival of her sister to take her home, a loud knock was heard at the door, which gave audible notice of a far more masculine hand than that of Elizabeth Watson. There was hardly time, however, for more than a brief wonder on the subject, when Mr. Musgrove was announced. The stiffness of Mrs. Edwards' reception, and the cold tranquillity of Mary's manners, seemed to make no impression on him; at least, so Emma judged from there being no abatement of that air of self-complacency which had early struck her as belonging to him.
After the opening compliments to the party, he turned to Emma herself, and presenting a note, observed that this would, in part, explain and excuse his intrusion. It was from Elizabeth to herself, to say, that as her father had found himself better than usual, he had suddenly resolved to go to the visitation which happened that day, and in consequence of his thus employing the chaise, she could not come, as she had promised, to bring her sister home. She added, that she did not, in the least, know what Emma could do, only if the Edwardses asked her to remain, she thought that was the best thing that could be contrived.
After pondering over this unwelcome note for several minutes, Emma was just about to state the dilemma to Mrs. Edwards, when Tom Musgrove broke in.
"I had an interest, Miss Emma, in bringing that note, and a message besides, from your sister, which you must allow me to state. I met Miss Watson in the village seeking for a messenger, and offered to do her errand, as she told me the object of it, on condition that she would sanction my bringing you home in my curricle. Believe me, it will be with the greatest delight that I will drive you to Winston, and the carriage is now at the door waiting for the honour of your occupation."
Emma looked a little distressed.
"Did Elizabeth really wish me to come home that way," said she, hesitating.
"I assure you, my proposal had her full and unqualified consent, and you have only to say the word, and now—in half an hour—an hour—two hours time—any time—I am at your service."
"I am much obliged to you," replied Emma, embarrassed between her fear lest she should be supposed intruding on her hostess, and her extreme dislike of encouraging any appearance of intimacy with Mr. Musgrove; "but I do not think it is in the least degree necessary that I should give you the trouble. The walk is nothing, and I dare say I can easily find a person to carry my few things."
"The trouble is nothing, Miss Emma," cried he, "but the walk cannot be ranked in that way; three—four miles—what is it—five perhaps—and such mud and dirt to get through—and after dancing all night too: indeed it must be impossible. And there stand my horses—useless—unemployed save by my unworthy self—indeed you must accept my offer."
Emma would not yield; she was quite determined to encounter any inconvenience rather than accept the offered seat; and the more pressing he became the firmer her refusals grew.
Mrs. Edwards, who had been quietly listening to what was passing between them, no sooner ascertained that the inclination of her young visitor was decidedly opposed to an offer, which she would have deemed it in the highest degree indecorous to accept, than with a very unusual warmth of manner on her part, she interposed, and greatly relieved Emma by saying:
"If Miss Watson can wait until after luncheon, I shall have great pleasure in conveying her home in our coach."
This well-timed offer was gratefully and gladly accepted, but Tom loudly interposed.
"But you know, Mrs. Edwards, that is contrary to all your rules—quite impossible to have your horses out to-day, after their night-work. Surely you cannot really and seriously mean such a thing—and my curricle here to make it quite unnecessary."
"I do really mean it;" replied Mrs. Edwards steadily, "our carriage and horses are quite at Miss Watson's service; and I am happy to relieve her from the risk which she evidently apprehends in so dashing an equipage as your curricle. She will, no doubt, feel much safer in our coach!"
The gentleman bit his lip, but was forced to yield; and turning to Emma, enquired:
"How did it happen, Miss Emma, that none of your sisters were at the ball?—I don't think I saw them there all the evening."
"My eldest sister," answered Emma coldly, "could not leave my father, and she is the only one at home now."
"Oh, indeed; why how long have the others been away?" then without waiting for an answer, he continued—"How did you like our ball last night? I suppose you did not keep it up much after I was gone!"
"When did you leave the room?" enquired Emma, pleased to give him the retort courteous, for his affected ignorance about her sisters.
"Oh, I did not stay after the Osbornes' party went away—I was tired and bored."
"And we enjoyed ourselves nearly two hours after that," cried Emma, "and as the room was less crowded with idlers who would not dance, I think it was particularly pleasant."
"Upon my word, I wish I had known that, I really should have been tempted to come back, after seeing Miss Carr to the carriage," said Tom, "but you know, Mrs. Edwards, sometimes when one's particular friends are gone, one fancies all the rest will be dull—so I went to my room."
"Possibly," replied Mrs. Edwards, "but I am used to judge for myself in such matters, and therefore am not likely to be misled in the way you are now regretting."
After remaining as long as he could without very great rudeness, and receiving no invitation to stay and take luncheon, Mr. Musgrove drove off in his curricle, exceedingly astonished at the fact of the offered seat in it being so firmly rejected.
It was something quite new to him, for he had been used to consider the other Miss Watsons as quite at his disposal, and could hardly imagine that one of the family could have ideas and feelings so diametrically opposed to her sisters'.
According to her promise, Mrs. Edwards' carriage safely conveyed Emma to her father's house in the course of that afternoon, Mary Edwards accompanying her, but not remaining many minutes, as she well knew their dinner hour was approaching, and she did not wish to be in their way.
No sooner had she withdrawn, than Elizabeth began expressing her extreme surprise at the fact of the Edwards' coach, coachman, and horses being considered in a state fit for use the day after the ball, as they always used to rest when they had been out at night.
"Only think of their sending you home, my dear Emma, I cannot tell you how surprised I am—I never knew such a thing done before."
"I assure you, it was very kindly done, Elizabeth; and not only was the carriage placed at my service, but Mrs. Edwards' manner became much more friendly from that time."
"Well, I wonder you did not accept Tom Musgrove's offer—or did he not make it—or did you get my note?"
"Yes; he brought the note; but, indeed, dear Elizabeth, I was so unprepared for your proposing, or allowing him to propose such a thing, that I thought you had, probably, known nothing about it; and that the whole was a device on his part. How could you imagine, after what you had yourself told me, that I would allow him to drive me about in that way. I could not do such a thing."
"Indeed, I had some scruples, Emma, about it; I did not like throwing you together in that way, but I could see no other means of your getting home—and I did long for that. Who would have thought of the Edwardses having out their coach? But I never, for a moment, expected you would refuse him. I don't think I could have done such a thing—though, I dare say, it was quite right; I should not have had the resolution to resist such a temptation!"
"It was no temptation to me; and, therefore, required no extraordinary resolution Elizabeth. I thought it wrong, besides,—but I certainly should have disliked it."
"You do not mean to say you dislike Tom Musgrove!" cried Elizabeth, in great surprise; "did you not dance with him? Did he not ask you?"
"He did ask me, and I did not accept him," replied Emma, smiling at her sister's amazement, "but his manners do not please me; and I do not think that, having accepted him last night as a partner, would have made me wish for him to-day as a driver."
"Well, tell me all about it," cried Elizabeth, "I am longing to hear all about the ball. Who did you dance with? How did you like it—give me the whole history."
Emma complied, and related, as minutely as possible, all the events of the preceding evening. Elizabeth's surprise on hearing it was extreme.
"Good gracious!" cried she, much agitated; "dance with Mr. Howard? Well, Emma, how could you venture? were you not frightened out of your wits? Dance with the man who plays at cards with old Lady Osborne!—whom she seems so fond of—well, you are the boldest little thing possible! And you say you were not afraid?"
"No, really," said Emma, "why should I be—he was quite the gentleman, I assure you."
"Oh, yes!" said Miss Watson, "a gentleman, of course he is; but, why should that prevent your being afraid? Did you talk to him? How did you know what to say?"
"There was no difficulty about that," replied Emma, "he was very agreeable and we had a great deal of conversation."
"Well, I am glad you were so noticed, Emma," said her sister, kindly; "I knew you must be admired; and, really, am rejoiced that you have made so good a beginning. Dance with Mr. Howard—refuse Tom Musgrove—and come home in Mrs. Edwards' coach! I wonder what you will do next!"
"Come home in my own, we will hope," said Emma, laughing; "like a good girl in a fairy story—very grand in a gilt coach and four."
Elizabeth then proceeded to enquire about Mary Edwards and Captain Hunter; and the inference which she deduced from Emma's narrative, was extremely unfavorable to her brother's prospects. She declared she would write to Sam that evening, and tell him he had no hope.
"But here comes Jenny with the dinner. Poor Emma! you will not dine as well as you did yesterday. There is only fried beef—for, as my father was gone out, and I hardly expected you, I did not think it worth while to get any thing more. If I had been sure of your coming, I would have got you a chop."
"Quite unnecessary, dear Elizabeth, I do not care what I eat," replied Emma, as she moved her chair to the table.
"That is so pleasant of you, Emma," said Elizabeth, "I must say, with all your refinement, you are easier pleased than either Pen or Margaret. How very comfortably we could live together."
Mr. Watson returned from the visitation and the dinner in very good spirits.
"I am very glad I went," said he, "people were all very kind, and the dinner was very good. I don't know how many people told me they were glad to see me, and I had some capital venison—there was turbot too, and hare soup—all excellent—and a very civil young clergyman, a very nice young man indeed, would help me down to dinner, and took care I had a warm seat, and saved me the trouble of calling for things. I thought it very kind of him, I think his name is Howard. He asked after my daughter too—I don't know which he meant at all—but I suppose you can tell amongst yourselves. I really don't know when I passed a more pleasant afternoon!"
The next morning, however, brought a different story. The unusual exertion combined with turbot and venison, brought on a violent fit of the gout, and for a day or two the girls hardly left their father's room, or had any other pursuit or occupation than attempting to relieve his pain, or amuse his intervals of rest.
The third day after the ball, whilst Jenny was slowly preparing the dinner-table in the parlour, with more noise than despatch, the two girls standing over the fire looking at her movements, the door-bell was heard following the tread of horses on the gravel at the entrance.
"Who can that possibly be?" cried Elizabeth, "run and let them in, Jenny—no, stop, I think you had better not—just say your master is ill."
Jenny bustled off—leaving the knife-basket on the floor, and the cloth half opened on the table. A moment of silent suspense followed, when in reply to some mutterings of Jenny, they heard through the door which she had left open Tom Musgrove's voice—
"Oh, never mind, we will go in all the same; we came to enquire for Mr. Watson."
And another voice, laughing harshly, was heard, and steps along the passage, which excited Elizabeth to such a degree, that she hastily twitched off the unspread cloth, and threw it into a chair behind the door—which she had just time to do, before the visitors presented themselves unannounced; for Jenny was too much astonished at the event to find tongue to utter the names of Lord Osborne and Mr. Musgrove; but stood with her mouth open gazing in the passage. Elizabeth felt excessive surprise at this unexpected visit, to a degree which almost made her unconscious of what she was doing. Shame at being detected by Lord Osborne in dining at three o'clock, and doubt how to behave to him—an inclination to apologise for her homely appearance, plain stuff-gown and untidy room, which, however, was fortunately checked by her uncertainty how to express herself properly, all contended in her mind; when the first gush of surprise was abated, it was quite a relief to her, to shake hands with her old friend Tom Musgrove, and to see him seat himself without ceremony. Emma, on the contrary, felt this intrusion extremely impertinent and ill-bred; what excuse was there for Lord Osborne calling in this way; there never had been any acquaintance previously between the families, her father had never been noticed by the inhabitants of the Castle, nor invited there as many of the neighbouring gentry were; and now that he was ill, and they knew it, she was indignant that they should thus force themselves on her sister and herself.
Her own curtsey was as stiff and reserved, as if she had been taking lessons of Mrs. Edwards; and she resumed her seat without feeling the slightest inclination to converse herself, and being almost displeased with Elizabeth for the easy manner in which she allowed, or perhaps encouraged, Tom Musgrove to address her. Lord Osborne's visit was certainly meant for Emma, for he placed himself near her, and sat some minutes with his eyes fixed on her countenance, until she began to think he meant to preserve the same conduct in her father's house, as he had done at the ball.
At length, however, he spoke:
"It's a beautiful morning; ain't you going to walk to-day?"
"No, my Lord," replied she quietly, raising her eyes from her work, "I think it is too dirty!"
"You should wear boots," said he, "nankeen with block tops, look very nice, when a woman has a pretty ankle."
She had nothing to object to his taste, and did not reply.
"Do you ride?" continued he.
"No, my lord."
"Why not? every woman should ride; a woman never looks so well as on horse-back, well mounted, and in a handsome habit—you should ride—don't you like it?"
"There are, sometimes, other impediments, my lord, besides want of taste, even to so becoming an amusement," replied Emma, gravely.
"Eh? I don't understand," resumed he, "what prevents you?"
"I have no horse," replied Emma, thinking that the shortest way of finishing the subject, and reducing it to the level of his capacity.
"Then your father should keep one for you," observed he.
"My father cannot afford it," said Emma, decidedly; "and I have no wish to act in a way inconsistent with our circumstances."
"Poor is he? how uncomfortable!" said Lord Osborne, "why, what's his income, do you suppose?" continuing in the tone in which he would have questioned a day labourer as to his wages.
"It is a point upon which I never thought myself entitled to enquire," she replied, drawing herself proudly up, and speaking in a tone not to be misunderstood.
Lord Osborne looked at her with surprise, which was gradually converted into admiration at the beautiful effect of the colour which dyed her cheek as she spoke. An idea crossed his mind that, perhaps, he had not been sufficiently civil, and he tried to soften his voice, and put on a more winning manner.
"The hounds meet next Monday about a mile from here, at Upham—will you not come and see them throw off. It's a pretty sight."
"I do not think it will be in my power, my lord."
"I wish you could—did you ever see it?"
"Never."
"Well, you cannot imagine how gay it is; we have such a capital breakfast always at Upham Lodge; then the scarlet coats round the edge of the cover; the horses—the talking and laughing, the ladies who drive over to see us—though I often think them rather a bore—then the great burst when the dogs do find; and off they go away, and we after them, and forget every thing in the world, except one wish, to be in at the death. You cannot think how exciting it is. Do come."
"Thank you, my lord; but I must be satisfied with your description. I cannot accept your invitation."
"Perhaps you are afraid of the cold; my sister caught a dreadful cold one day, when she came in an open carriage, and it was wet; are you thinking of that?"
"No, for I did not know it before."
"Didn't you? She was ill a month; I was monstrous sorry for her—for you see it was partly my fault; I persuaded her to come; I don't know how it is. I rather like to have her with me—some men don't."
Emma could hardly suppress a smile at this eloquent demonstration of his fraternal affection. She began, however, to think that if Lord Osborne liked his sister there might be some good in him; which, before, she had been inclined to question. The gentlemen sat long, although Tom Musgrove, at least, must have been perfectly aware that he was encroaching on their dinner hour; and Emma was growing exceedingly weary of the looks of Lord Osborne, who sunk into repeated fits of silence, which were interrupted by abrupt and disconnected questions or observations. At length, they were all roused by the maid servant, who, putting her head into the half-opened door-way, called out:
"Please ma'am, Master wants to know why he beant to have any dinner to-day!"
This very unmistakeable announcement, brought a deep blush to Elizabeth's cheek, who, interrupting her chat with Tom Musgrove, said:
"Very well, Jenny, I hear."
The gentlemen now rose to go, and, to Emma's great relief, took leave; Elizabeth calling briskly after the maid, as she was shewing them out, to tell Nanny to take up the fowls immediately.
"Well," said she, drawing a long breath when the room was once more quiet, "what are we to think of this? I wonder whether Lord Osborne saw the knife-tray? I hope he did not notice, or what he thinks of us dining at this hour!"
"I must say, I think it was taking an unwarrantable liberty," cried Emma, "calling in this way—very impertinent and disagreeable—though he is a lord, what right has he to intrude on us?"
"Do you think so, Emma? well, it did not strike me so—I was only hoping he would not notice the table-cloth or the steel forks. I know they have silver ones every day at Osborne Castle. I wish Jenny had not began putting out the things, or had not brought that tiresome message."
"He never called here before, why should he come now without excuse or apology?" persisted Emma.
"Why, to see you to be sure—and very good use he made of his eyes. Now really, Emma, you ought not to quarrel with him, for it is evidently admiration of you that brings him here."
"I do not care for admiration without respect, Elizabeth, and I hope the visit will not be repeated."
Her father's opinion quite coincided with hers, when he came to hear of the visit in question. There had been no acquaintance between old Lord Osborne and himself, he observed, and he would have none with his son, of whom he had formed a very moderate opinion; and as to Tom Musgrove, he was always coming when he was not wanted, and scampering after Lord Osborne in an absurd way: what right had such a Tom Fool as he to interfere with his dinner hour, or cause the roast fowls to be overdone.
