Dinner came, and except when Mrs Robert looked at her husband’s head,
she continued gay and flippant, chiding Elizabeth for the profusion
on the table, and absolutely protesting against the entrance of the
roast turkey, which formed the only exception to “You see your dinner.”
“I do beg and entreat that no turkey may be seen to-day. I am really
frightened out of my wits with the number of dishes we have already.
Let us have no turkey I beseech you.”
“My dear,” replied Elizabeth, “the turkey is roasted, and it may just
as well come in as stay in the kitchen. Besides, if it is cut, I am
in hopes my father may be tempted to eat a bit, for it is rather a
favourite dish.”
“You may have it in, my dear, but I assure you I shan’t touch it.”
Mr Watson had not been well enough to join the party at dinner, but was
prevailed on to come down and drink tea with them.
“I wish he may be able to have a game of cards to-night,” said
Elizabeth to Mrs Robert, after seeing her father comfortably seated in
his arm-chair.
“Not on my account, my dear, I beg. You know I am no card-player. I
think a snug chat infinitely better. I always say cards are very well
sometimes, to break a formal circle, but one never wants them among
friends.”
“I was thinking of its being something to amuse my father,” said
Elizabeth, “if it was not disagreeable to you. He says his head won’t
bear whist, but perhaps if we make a round game he may be tempted to
sit down with us.”
“By all means, my dear creature, I am quite at your service, only do
not oblige me to choose the game, that’s all. _Speculation_ is the only
round game at Croydon now, but I can play anything. When there is only
one or two of you at home, you must be quite at a loss to amuse him.
Why do you not get him to play at cribbage? Margaret and I have played
at cribbage most nights that we have not been engaged.”
A sound like a distant carriage was at this moment caught. Everybody
listened; it became more decided; it certainly drew nearer. It was
an unusual sound for Stanton at any time of the day, for the village
was on no very public road, and contained no gentleman’s family but
the Rector’s. The wheels rapidly approached; in two minutes the
general expectation was answered; they stopped beyond a doubt at the
garden-gate of the Parsonage. Who could it be? It was certainly a
post-chaise. Penelope was the only creature to be thought of. She might
perhaps have met with some unexpected opportunity of returning. A pause
of suspense ensued. Steps were distinguished, first along the paved
footway which led under the window of the house to the front door, and
then within the passage. They were the steps of a man. It could not
be Penelope. It must be Samuel. The door opened, and displayed Tom
Musgrave in the wrap of a traveller. He had been in London and was now
on his way home, and he had come half a mile out of his road merely to
call for ten minutes at Stanton. He loved to take people by surprise
with sudden visits at extraordinary seasons; and, in the present
instance, had had the additional motive of being able to tell the Miss
Watsons, whom he depended on finding sitting quietly employed after
tea, that he was going home to an eight o’clock dinner.
As it happened, he did not give more surprise than he received when,
instead of being shown into the usual little sitting-room, the door of
the best parlour (a foot larger each way than the other) was thrown
open, and he beheld a circle of smart people, whom he could not
immediately recognise, arranged with all the honours of visiting round
the fire, and Miss Watson seated at the best Pembroke table, with the
best tea-things before her. He stood a few seconds in silent amazement.
“Musgrave!” ejaculated Margaret, in a tender voice. He recollected
himself, and came forward, delighted to find such a circle of friends,
and blessing his good fortune for the unlooked-for indulgence. He shook
hands with Robert, bowed and smiled to the ladies, and did everything
very prettily, but as to any particularity of address or emotion
towards Margaret, Emma, who closely observed him, perceived nothing
that did not justify Elizabeth’s opinion, though Margaret’s modest
smiles imported that she meant to take the visit to herself. He was
persuaded without much difficulty to throw off his greatcoat and drink
tea with them. For “Whether he dined at eight or nine,” as he observed,
“was a matter of very little consequence”; and without seeming to seek
he did not turn away from the chair close by Margaret which she was
assiduous in providing him. She had thus secured him from her sisters,
but it was not immediately in her power to preserve him from her
brother’s claims; for as he came avowedly from London, and had left it
only four hours ago, the last current report as to public news, and the
general opinion of the day, must be understood before Robert could let
his attention be yielded to the less national and important demands of
the women. At last, however, he was at liberty to hear Margaret’s soft
address, as she spoke her fears of his having had a most terrible cold,
dark, dreadful journey----
“Indeed you should not have set out so late.”
“I could not be earlier,” he replied. “I was detained chatting at the
Bedford by a friend. All hours are alike to me. How long have you been
in the country, Miss Margaret?”
“We only came this morning; my kind brother and sister brought me home
this very morning. ’Tis singular--is not it?”
“You were gone a great while, were you not? A fortnight, I suppose?”
“_You_ may call a fortnight a great while, Mr Musgrave,” said Mrs
Robert smartly, “but _we_ think a month very little. I assure you we
bring her home at the end of a month much against our will.”
“A month! Have you really been gone a month? ’tis amazing how time
flies.”
“You may imagine,” said Margaret, in a sort of whisper, “what are my
sensations in finding myself once more at Stanton. You know what a
sad visitor I make. And I was so excessively impatient to see Emma; I
dreaded the meeting, and at the same time longed for it. Do you not
comprehend the sort of feeling?”
“Not at all,” cried he aloud; “I could never dread a meeting with Miss
Emma Watson, or any of her sisters.”
It was lucky that he added that finish.
“Were you speaking to me?” said Emma, who had caught her own name.
“Not absolutely,” he answered; “but I was thinking of you, as many at a
greater distance are probably doing at this moment. Fine open weather,
Miss Emma! charming season for hunting.”
“Emma is delightful, is not she?” whispered Margaret. “I have found
her more than answer my warmest hopes. Did you ever see anything more
perfectly beautiful? I think even _you_ must be a convert to a brown
complexion.”
He hesitated. Margaret was fair herself, and he did not particularly
want to compliment her; but Miss Osborne and Miss Carr were likewise
fair, and his devotion to them carried the day.
“Your sister’s complexion,” said he at last, “is as fine as a dark
complexion can be; but I still profess my preference of a white skin.
You have seen Miss Osborne? She is my model for a truly feminine
complexion, and she is very fair.”
“Is she fairer than me?”
Tom made no reply. “Upon my honour, ladies,” said he, giving a glance
over his own person, “I am highly indebted to your condescension for
admitting me in such _déshabille_ into your drawing-room. I really did
not consider how unfit I was to be here, or I hope I should have kept
my distance. Lady Osborne would tell me that I was growing as careless
as her son, if she saw me in this condition.”
The ladies were not wanting in civil returns, and Robert Watson,
stealing a view of his own head in an opposite glass, said with equal
civility:
“You cannot be more in _déshabille_ than myself. We got here so late
that I had not time even to put a little fresh powder into my hair.”
Emma could not help entering into what she supposed her sister-in-law’s
feelings at the moment.
When the tea-things were removed, Tom began to talk of his carriage;
but the old card-table being set out, and the fish and counters, with a
tolerably clean pack, brought forward from the buffet by Miss Watson,
the general voice was so urgent with him to join their party that he
agreed to allow himself another quarter of an hour. Even Emma was
pleased that he would stay, for she was beginning to feel that a family
party might be the worst of all parties; and the others were delighted.
“What’s your game?” cried he, as they stood round the table.
“Speculation, I believe,” said Elizabeth. “My sister recommends it, and
I fancy we all like it. I know _you_ do, Tom.”
“It is the only round game played at Croydon now,” said Mrs Robert; “we
never think of any other. I am glad it is a favourite with you.”
“Oh! me!” said Tom. “Whatever you decide on will be a favourite with
_me_. I have had some pleasant hours at speculation in my time; but
I have not been in the way of it for a long while. Vingt-un is the
game at Osborne Castle. I have played nothing but vingt-un of late.
You would be astonished to hear the noise we make there--the fine old
lofty drawing-room rings again. Lady Osborne sometimes declares she
cannot hear herself speak. Lord Osborne enjoys it famously--he makes
the best dealer without exception that I ever beheld--such quickness
and spirit! he lets nobody dream over their cards. I wish you could see
him overdraw himself on both his own cards--it is worth anything in the
world!”
“Dear me!” cried Margaret, “why should not we play vingt-un? I think it
is a much better game than speculation. I cannot say I am very fond of
speculation.”
Mrs Robert offered not another word in support of the game. She was
quite vanquished, and the fashions of Osborne Castle carried it over
the fashions of Croydon.
“Do you see much of the Parsonage family at the Castle, Mr Musgrave?”
said Emma, as they were taking their seats.
“Oh! yes; they are almost always there. Mrs Blake is a nice, little,
good-humoured woman; she and I are sworn friends; and Howard’s a very
gentlemanlike good sort of fellow! You are not forgotten, I can assure
you, by any of the party. I fancy you must have a little cheek-glowing
now and then, Miss Emma. Were you not rather warm last Saturday about
nine or ten o’clock in the evening? I will tell you how it was--I see
you are dying to know. Says Howard to Lord Osborne----”
At this interesting moment he was called on by the others to regulate
the game, and determine some disputable point; and his attention was so
totally engaged in the business, and afterwards by the course of the
game, as never to revert to what he had been saying before; and Emma,
though suffering a good deal from curiosity, dared not remind him.
He proved a very useful addition at their table. Without him it would
have been a party of such very near relations as could have felt little
interest, and perhaps maintained little complaisance, but his presence
gave variety and secured good manners. He was, in fact, excellently
qualified to shine at a round game; and few situations made him
appear to greater advantage. He played with spirit, and had a great
deal to say; and though with no wit himself, could sometimes make use
of the wit of an absent friend, and had a lively way of retailing a
commonplace, or saying a mere nothing, that had great effect at a
card-table. The ways and good jokes of Osborne Castle were now added to
his ordinary means of entertainment; he repeated the smart sayings of
one lady, detailed the oversights of another, and indulged them even
with a copy of Lord Osborne’s overdrawing himself on both cards.
The clock struck nine while he was thus agreeably occupied; and when
Nanny came in with her master’s basin of gruel, he had the pleasure
of observing to Mr Watson that he should leave him at supper while he
went home to dinner himself. The carriage was ordered to the door, and
no entreaties for his staying longer could now avail; for he well knew
that if he stayed he would have to sit down to supper in less than ten
minutes, which to a man whose heart had been long fixed on calling his
next meal a dinner, was quite insupportable. On finding him determined
to go, Margaret began to wink and nod at Elizabeth to ask him to dinner
for the following day; and Elizabeth, at last, not able to resist hints
which her own hospitable social temper more than half seconded, gave
the invitation--“Would he give Robert the meeting, they should be very
happy.”
“With the greatest pleasure,” was his first reply. In a moment
afterwards, “That is, if I can possibly get here in time; but I shoot
with Lord Osborne, and therefore must not engage. You will not think of
me unless you see me.” And so he departed, delighted in the uncertainty
in which he had left it.