Margaret, in the joy of her heart under circumstances which she
chose to consider as peculiarly propitious, would willingly have
made a confidante of Emma when they were alone for a short time
the next morning, and had proceeded so far as to say, “The young
man who was here last night, my dear Emma, and returns to-day, is
more interesting to me than perhaps you may be aware--” but Emma,
pretending to understand nothing extraordinary in the words, made
some very inapplicable reply, and jumping up, ran away from a subject
which was odious to her. As Margaret would not allow a doubt to be
repeated of Musgrave’s coming to dinner, preparations were made for
his entertainment much exceeding what had been deemed necessary the
day before; and taking the office of superintendence entirely from her
sister, she was half the morning in the kitchen herself directing and
scolding.
After a great deal of indifferent cooking and anxious suspense,
however, they were obliged to sit down without their guest. Tom
Musgrave never came; and Margaret was at no pains to conceal her
vexation under the disappointment, or repress the peevishness of her
temper. The peace of the party for the remainder of that day and
the whole of the next, which comprised the length of Robert and
Jane’s visit, was continually invaded by her fretful displeasure and
querulous attacks. Elizabeth was the usual object of both. Margaret
had just respect enough for her brother’s and sister’s opinion to
behave properly by _them_, but Elizabeth and the maids could never
do right; and Emma, whom she seemed no longer to think about, found
the continuance of the gentle voice beyond calculation short. Eager
to be as little among them as possible, Emma was delighted with the
alternative of sitting above with her father, and warmly entreated to
be his constant companion each evening; and as Elizabeth loved company
of any kind too well not to prefer being below at all risks, as she had
rather talk of Croydon with Jane, with every interruption of Margaret’s
perverseness, than sit with only her father, who frequently could not
endure talking at all, the affair was so settled, as soon as she could
be persuaded to believe it no sacrifice on her sister’s part. To Emma
the change was most acceptable and delightful. Her father, if ill,
required little more than gentleness and silence, and, being a man of
sense and education, was, if able to converse, a welcome companion. In
_his_ chamber Emma was at peace from the dreadful mortifications of
unequal society and family discord; from the immediate endurance of
hard-hearted prosperity, low-minded conceit, and wrong-headed folly,
engrafted on an untoward disposition. She still suffered from them in
the contemplation of their existence, in memory and in prospect, but
for the moment she ceased to be tortured by their effects. She was at
leisure; she could read and think, though her situation was hardly such
as to make reflection very soothing. The evils arising from the loss of
her uncle were neither trifling nor likely to lessen; and when thought
had been freely indulged in contrasting the past and the present, the
employment of mind and dissipation of unpleasant ideas which only
reading could produce, made her thankfully turn to a book.
The change in her home society and style of life, in consequence of
the death of one friend and the imprudence of another, had indeed
been striking. From being the first object of hope and solicitude to
an uncle who had formed her mind with the care of a parent, and of
tenderness to an aunt whose amiable temper had delighted to give her
every indulgence, from being the life and spirit of a house where all
had been comfort and elegance, and the expected heiress of an easy
independence, she was become of importance to no one--a burden on
those whose affections she could not expect, an addition in a house
already overstocked, surrounded by inferior minds, with little chance
of domestic comfort, and as little hope of future support. It was well
for her that she was naturally cheerful, for the change had been such
as might have plunged weak spirits in despondence.
She was very much pressed by Robert and Jane to return with them to
Croydon, and had some difficulty in getting a refusal accepted, as
they thought too highly of their own kindness and situation to suppose
the offer could appear in a less advantageous light to anybody else.
Elizabeth gave them her interest, though evidently against her own, in
privately urging Emma to go.
“You do not know what you refuse, Emma,” said she, “nor what you
have to bear at home. I would advise you by all means to accept the
invitation; there is always something lively going on at Croydon; you
will be in company almost every day, and Robert and Jane will be very
kind to you. As for me, I shall be no worse off without you than I
have been used to be; but poor Margaret’s disagreeable ways are new to
_you_, and they would vex you more than you think for, if you stay at
home.”
Emma was of course uninfluenced, except to greater esteem for
Elizabeth, by such representations, and the visitors departed without
her.