On the third day after the ball, as Nanny, at five minutes before
three, was beginning to bustle into the parlour with the tray and
knife-case, she was suddenly called to the front door by the sound
of as smart a rap as the end of a riding-whip could give; and though
charged by Miss Watson to let nobody in, returned in half a minute with
a look of awkward dismay to hold the parlour door open for Lord Osborne
and Tom Musgrave. The surprise of the young ladies may be imagined. No
visitors would have been welcome at such a moment; but such visitors
as these--such an one as Lord Osborne at least, a nobleman and a
stranger--was really distressing.
He looked a little embarrassed himself, as, on being introduced by
his easy voluble friend, he muttered something of doing himself the
honour of waiting upon Mr Watson. Though Emma could not but take the
compliment of the visit to herself, she was very far from enjoying
it. She felt all the inconsistency of such an acquaintance with the
very humble style in which they were obliged to live; and, having in
her aunt’s family been used to many of the elegancies of life, was
fully sensible of all that must be open to the ridicule of richer
people in her present home. Of the pain of such feelings, Elizabeth
knew very little. Her simple mind, or juster reason, saved her from
such mortification; and though shrinking under a general sense of
inferiority, she felt no particular shame. Mr Watson, as the gentlemen
had already heard from Nanny, was not well enough to be downstairs.
With much concern they took their seats; Lord Osborne near Emma, and
the convenient Mr Musgrave, in high spirits at his own importance, on
the other side of the fireplace with Elizabeth. _He_ was at no loss
for words; but when Lord Osborne had hoped that Emma had not caught
cold at the ball, he had nothing more to say for some time, and could
only gratify his eye by occasional glances at his fair companion. Emma
was not inclined to give herself much trouble for his entertainment,
and after hard labour of mind, he produced a remark of its being a
very fine day, and followed it up with the question of “Have you been
walking this morning?”
“No, my lord. We thought it too dirty.”
“You should wear half-boots.” After another pause:
“Nothing sets off a neat ankle more than a half-boot; nankeen, galoshed
with black, looks very well. Do not you like half-boots?”
“Yes; but unless they are so stout as to injure their beauty, they are
not fit for country walking.”
“Ladies should ride in dirty weather. Do you ride?”
“No, my lord.”
“I wonder every lady does not. A woman never looks better than on
horseback.”
“But every woman may not have the inclination, or the means.”
“If they knew how much it became them, they would all have the
inclination; and I fancy, Miss Watson, when once they had the
inclination, the means would soon follow.”
“Your lordship thinks we always have our own way. _That_ is a point on
which ladies and gentlemen have long disagreed; but without pretending
to decide it, I may say that there are some circumstances which even
_women_ cannot control. Female economy will do a great deal, my lord,
but it cannot turn a small income into a large one.”
Lord Osborne was silenced. Her manner had been neither sententious nor
sarcastic, but there was a something in its mild seriousness, as well
as in the words themselves, which made his lordship think; and when
he addressed her again, it was with a degree of considerate propriety
totally unlike the half-awkward, half-fearless style of his former
remarks. It was a new thing with him to wish to please a woman; it
was the first time that he had ever felt what was due to a woman in
Emma’s situation; but as he was wanting neither in sense nor a good
disposition, he did not feel it without effect.
“You have not been long in this country, I understand,” said he, in the
tone of a gentleman. “I hope you are pleased with it.”
He was rewarded by a gracious answer, and a more liberal full view
of her face than she had yet bestowed. Unused to exert himself, and
happy in contemplating her, he then sat in silence for some minutes
longer, while Tom Musgrave was chattering to Elizabeth, till they were
interrupted by Nanny’s approach, who, half-opening the door and putting
in her head, said:
“Please, ma’am, master wants to know why he be’nt to have his dinner?”
The gentlemen, who had hitherto disregarded every symptom, however
positive, of the nearness of that meal, now jumped up with apologies,
while Elizabeth called briskly after Nanny to “tell Betty to take up
the fowls.”
“I am sorry it happens so,” she added, turning good-humouredly towards
Musgrave, “but you know what early hours we keep.”
Tom had nothing to say for himself, he knew it very well, and such
honest simplicity, such shameless truth, rather bewildered him.
Lord Osborne’s parting compliments took some time, his inclination
for speech seeming to increase with the shortness of the term for
indulgence. He recommended exercise in defiance of dirt; spoke again in
praise of half-boots; begged that his sister might be allowed to send
Emma the name of her shoemaker; and concluded with saying, “My hounds
will be hunting this country next week. I believe they will throw
off at Stanton Wood on Wednesday at nine o’clock. I mention this in
hopes of your being drawn out to see what’s going on. If the morning’s
tolerable, pray do us the honour of giving us your good wishes in
person.”
The sisters looked on each other with astonishment when their visitors
had withdrawn.
“Here’s an unaccountable honour!” cried Elizabeth at last. “Who would
have thought of Lord Osborne’s coming to Stanton? He is very handsome;
but Tom Musgrave looks all to nothing the smartest and most fashionable
man of the two. I am glad he did not say anything to me; I would not
have had to talk to such a great man for the world. Tom was very
agreeable, was not he? But did you hear him ask where Miss Penelope and
Miss Margaret were, when he first came in? It put me out of patience. I
am glad Nanny had not laid the cloth, however; it would have looked so
awkward; just the tray did not signify.”
To say that Emma was not flattered by Lord Osborne’s visit would be to
assert a very unlikely thing, and describe a very odd young lady; but
the gratification was by no means unalloyed. His coming was a sort of
notice which might please her vanity, but did not suit her pride, and
she would rather have known that he wished the visit without presuming
to make it, than have seen him at Stanton.
Among other unsatisfactory feelings it once occurred to her to
wonder why Mr Howard had not taken the same privilege of coming, and
accompanied his lordship, but she was willing to suppose that he had
either known nothing about it, or had declined any share in a measure
which carried quite as much impertinence in its form as good breeding.
Mr Watson was very far from being delighted when he heard what had
passed; a little peevish under immediate pain, and ill-disposed to be
pleased, he only replied:
“Phoo! Phoo! What occasion could there be for Lord Osborne’s coming?
I have lived here fourteen years without being noticed by any of the
family. It is some fooling of that idle fellow Tom Musgrave. I cannot
return the visit. I would not if I could.”
And when Tom Musgrave was met with again, he was commissioned with a
message of excuse to Osborne Castle, on the too sufficient plea of Mr
Watson’s infirm state of health.