The next morning Emma had a succession of visitors. Miss Millar was
among the first and gayest of the number. She came up with Sam
immediately after breakfast, to spend a long day, and expressed great
satisfaction at seeing her again.
"You cannot think how dreadfully dull I have been," said she, "almost
ever since you went away. George being in love is the stupidest thing
in the world. Formerly when he had done with his business, and escaped
from his offices he used to be glad of my society and would read or
walk when I wanted him, but now all that is quite changed, and if I do
get a speech from him once in a week I am taught to consider it a
great favour. Upon my word it is a sad disease."
"They say it is infectious," said Emma, laughing.
"Oh I trust not," cried Annie quite seriously, "I hope I shall escape
the infection, I have such a horror of the whole thing. I beg the
pardon of all such of the present company who may be engaged, but I
think that people in love are very ridiculous."
"Can you always discern at the first glance when they have the
disease," enquired Miss Bridge good-humouredly.
"Yes I think I can—but happily it leaves no marks, and when it is
passed, people may be as amiable as before. But it's a sad thing that
young people should be so constantly exposed to the danger. I hope you
will keep clear Emma, in spite of the atmosphere to which you have
removed."
"Is it worse than when I was here two months ago?" enquired Emma,
secretly smiling at her young friend's remarks.
"We shall soon see," replied Annie; "if there were any one to fall in
love with here, I am certain you would be in a dangerous position."
"Well, why should you except me?" said Mr. Bridge, "here I am a
bachelor, why may I not aspire to be considered as a dangerous
individual?"
"You, my dear Mr. Bridge—because you are engaged to me; you know you
long ago promised to marry me yourself," replied Annie.
"I am flattered at your remembering our engagement, young lady, but I
am astonished that you are left so long to me without competition; I
think you must be something like Beatrice."
"No, I never had lovers to mock," said she, "except Mr. Alfred
Fremantle, and he is the facsimile of Sir John Suckling's constant
lover, or rather he resembles him in constancy, but has none of his
wit to express it. What is it he says—
"I have been in love three days,
And shall be three days more."
"I cannot remember the words exactly, but it is something to that
effect."
Sam turned round from the window, and repeated the lines to which
Annie alluded. She looked astonished.
"How came you to know them?" said she.
"I read them amongst his poems," was his answer.
"I thought you were a surgeon, Mr. Samuel Watson," said she still in
amazement, "and though never doubting that you knew a great deal of
anatomy and such things, did not expect you would be acquainted with
love poetry."
"And is it to want of taste or want of time, Miss Millar, that you
would attribute my imaginary ignorance?"
"I do not wish to offend you, but certainly I had expected a surgeon's
tastes to be different; and I should have referred a case of
dislocation or fracture to you, with much more faith than a failure of
memory."
"You thought I could mend your finger better than a broken verse, and
that though I might make you whole, I should make a line halt—was that
it?"
"I believe it was, and my amazement is so great, I do not know when I
shall recover," replied she saucily.
"I know you always had a strong prejudice against the medical
profession," said Mr. Bridge smiling, "you considered one specimen the
type of the whole class."
"I am delighted to hear it," exclaimed Sam, "I like of all things to
meet with prejudiced people, one has such a pleasure in disputing with
them; good, strong prejudices are delightful things, they are so
constantly changing their color and complexion; for I have often
observed a strong dislike converted into a decided approbation, whilst
the owner is unaware of the change, and gravely assures you he never
alters his mind."
"That must be a man's prejudice, Mr. Watson," said Annie, "women are
much more consistent. I have hated doctors, surgeons and apothecaries
ever since I was five years old, and Mr. Morgan gave me some
_bon-bons_ which made me sick. I have always distrusted them since
that."
"I am not at all surprised," said Sam, with much gravity; "such an
offence was unpardonable, and well deserves to be visited on the whole
of the medical profession by your unchanging and unmitigated contempt.
After this we cannot allow your dislike to be called a prejudice!"
"Is your brother always as impertinent to every young woman as he is
to me?" enquired Annie, turning to Emma, "he seems determined to
quarrel with me—has he naturally a bad temper?"
"Really I do not know," replied Emma, "I have seen so little of him,
and never with any other young ladies; do you imagine want of temper a
necessary accompaniment to his profession?"
"Oh no, I am not quite so bad as that," said she laughing, "doctors
ought to be particularly bland and insinuating, able to make all the
bitter realities they inflict on one, pass easily under the sweetening
cover of a smile and honied words."
They were interrupted by the arrival of other visitors. Emma having
just arrived from a prolonged visit to Lady Gordon at Osborne Castle,
was likely to become a very popular character at Croydon; there was so
much virtue comprised in the friendship of a baronet's wife, and as it
was whispered, the admiration of her brother; for accounts of his
visit to Croydon had been whispered abroad, and such an act could only
be attributed to one motive. All her former acquaintance looked on her
as a baroness elect, and all began to find out what a very charming
girl they had always thought her. They would not for the world neglect
calling on that sweet, amiable Emma Watson. They were so delighted to
see her back again; they were so eager that she should make a long
stay amongst them all. Croydon would be so gay with all that was going
on. The three Miss Watsons had been such a very great addition, it had
never been like itself since they came.
Amongst her visitors were her sister-in-law and niece. Emma was really
glad to see the little girl, who clung to her and begged her to come
back again very soon, as she had no one to teach her now so nicely as
she had been used to do.
"My dear Emma," cried Jane, "how delighted I am to see you again, and
so blooming as you are looking; upon my word, I really begin to see
what Mr. Morgan once said of our likeness. I hope you left your kind
friends at the Castle well—charming young man Lord Osborne; nothing of
hauteur or pride about him. He seemed quite at home with me—but, to be
sure, when people have lived in the same sort of society, they acquire
a sort of ease towards each other. I cannot make out that he knew my
uncle, Sir Thomas, but he reminded me very much of some of the young
men that I used to see at his house."
Here she paused, and Emma, thinking some sort of remark necessary, and
yet not having the least idea what she was expected to reply to, only
ventured to enquire for her brother.
"Mr. Watson? oh, he is well enough, I believe! I have not seen him
this morning, however, for he breakfasted early with Elizabeth; I
believe, if he can, he will come and see you some day, but indeed,
Emma, you must come to us. We have plenty of room, and should you have
any friends coming, we could easily accommodate them too. I would not
mind putting myself to any inconvenience for your sake, my dear."
"I am sure I feel much obliged, but at present I mast decline your
offers," said Emma, trying to speak with warmth.
"Oh, no, not at all, I assure you, you could expect nothing less from
us; _we_, you know, are your nearest relations, and under certain
circumstances, _we_ may naturally be expected to show our approbation
and patronage; every young woman has a claim on her own family; so you
will certainly come back to us."
"Indeed I must decline Jane," said Emma firmly, "at least, for the
present."
"And indeed, dear, I will not take a refusal, so I shall certainly get
a room ready for you, and another shall be prepared for a friend
whenever it is needed. Did you leave Lord Osborne at the Castle, did
you say?"
Emma replied in the negative of course.
"Really, for so young a man," continued Mrs. Watson, "his air and
manner were remarkable; so exceedingly high-bred and aristocratic. I
have seldom seen manners which delighted me more, I assure you. Don't
blush so, my dear," added she, making believe to whisper; "nobody here
knows anything about him, except you and me."
"Then allow me to suggest that, as a reason for dropping the subject,"
said Emma, "and recurring to some one more generally interesting."
"La, my dear," laughed Jane, "it looks very suspicious, your not
choosing to talk of him. However, if you don't like it, I will say no
more—I would not vex you for the world, my dear sister—what a sweet
pretty gown that is you have on; Lady Gordon's choice, beyond a
doubt."
"No, indeed," replied Emma, smiling, "but I dare say Miss Bridge
remembers choosing it for me, whilst we were at Burton."
"What sort of bonnets are most in fashion, Emma?" asked Jane,
"Elizabeth's wedding bonnet is, to my taste, vastly ugly; not that I
pretend to be a judge at all,—though I used to be thought to have some
taste—but I dare say, she was quite right not to take my advice; one
must not expect to be always judged candidly—every one cannot see
one's merits; so I am not surprised—how are heads worn now?"
Emma tried to recall and describe some of the bonnets she had seen at
Lady Gordon's _fête_, but Mrs. Watson pronounced her description
unsatisfactory, wished she had been there to see it, and wondered
Margaret had never thought of asking her over for that day. She might
have done it so easily, Jane was sure, and considering how very kind
Jane had been to Margaret, and how large a share Robert had had in
bringing about her marriage, she thought it was the least she could
have done, to shew her gratitude and mark her sense of former favors.
Emma tried to excuse Margaret, but fortunately, before she had wasted
much eloquence in that way, Jane perceived it was time to withdraw.
No sooner was she out of the room than Sam returned from the window
where he had ensconced himself during her visit, and exclaimed:
"Really, I hope it is not very wicked, but that woman puts me more out
of patience than all the rest of the world of Croydon put together."
"The rest of the world of Croydon is infinitely obliged to you," said
Annie Millar, walking up to him; "allow me, sir, as its
representative, to make you a grateful curtsey on the occasion. You
can bear with us all better than with your sister-in-law?"
She made him a saucy curtsey as she spoke, looking exceedingly pretty
as she did so.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself for such a speech, Sam," said
Emma, at the same moment; "I am sure she meant to be kind."
"Yes, but who did she mean to be kind to, Emma? was it to Emma Watson
or some imaginary future baroness," replied Sam.
"Why should I enquire into motives, or attribute a bad ones? She might
have been just the same if Lord Osborne had never existed."
"I do not believe it," persisted he.
"Your brother wants to see how violent prejudices become him," said
Annie Millar, "do not argue with him—he does not deserve it."
"Miss Millar is angry with me for the implied reflection on Croydon,"
said he, "but I knew she had not been brought up here, and never
thought of her as belonging to the place."
"And what do you know of Croydon, to give you so dark an opinion of
its inhabitants?" enquired she, "I do not think we slander, or court
here worse than in other places."
"I have heard a great deal about you all, from my two sisters,"
replied he; "Emma especially, gave me lively pictures of your
proceedings. I was well acquainted with you and your irreconcileable
prejudices against unfortunate surgeons several months ago.
"Oh! you used to correspond with Emma, did you?" said she.
"To be sure I did; would not you write to your brother, Miss Millar?"
"Perhaps I might—but I do not think he would read it if I
did—especially if I crossed the letter! George is not fond of
letters!"
"But you like them yourself?"
"Oh yes! I should like to have seen Emma's to you. I am sure they
would have been very interesting—does she not write very clever
letters?"
"_I_ used to think them interesting and clever—but, perhaps, that was
because I am only a surgeon, and could not be expected to have either
taste or judgment," replied he, with mock humility.
"Oh, but I think you might have both on _that_ subject—your admiring
Emma's letters is decidedly a proof of it."
"Even though I am a surgeon?"
"Yes, even though you are a surgeon."
"And though you have never seen any of those letters, the liking which
secures your approbation?"
"Ah! you are too clever for me—you want to make me contradict myself,
or something of that sort—but I will not argue with you, and then you
cannot prove me wrong."
"You need not say you _will_ not—you _cannot_ argue; no woman can,
they can only feel, and express those feelings."
"And taking the converse of your proposition, Mr. Samuel Watson, I
presume that men surpass us so much in argument, because they have
_no_ feelings. Am I to infer that?"
"We have them, but we guide them, not they us. It is exactly the
reverse with you, and you never see more than one side of a question,"
replied he, in the most straightforward manner possible.
"Yes; you have some feelings very apparent," replied she, "contempt
for women is evidently a prominent one."
"Contempt, Miss Millar! no indeed, you do me injustice, if you think
so—but, perhaps, you imagine that a part of my profession?"
"I certainly think it one that hardens all the feelings," said she
turning away and thus putting a stop to the conversation. It had been
settled that the whole vicarage party were to dine at the Millars'
that afternoon, and it now became time for those who did not belong to
it, to return home to prepare for dinner. Elizabeth Watson, her
brother, and Miss Millar accordingly set off together. Elizabeth
taking Sam's arm, and Annie walking on her other side; they made the
passage with scarcely a syllable passing between them; and as the
Millars' house was nearer the vicarage than the residence of the
Robert Watsons, Annie left them at the door of her house.
"What do you think of Annie Millar?" cried Elizabeth eagerly, as she
and her brother proceeded together. "Is she not charming?"
"Yes, she is a very fine girl," replied he quietly.
"Oh, Sam," continued Elizabeth, "I do so wish you would like her; I
have always thought she was exactly suited to you. She will have
twenty thousand pounds of her own, and I am sure she is much better
worth liking than Mary Edwards."
Elizabeth, in her open-hearted zeal for Sam's welfare, never for a
moment reflected that she was taking the most probable way to
prejudice him against her, since there is nothing which in general has
more influence that way than a sister's praises; whilst the surest
means to interest a man's favor for any young woman, is to abuse or
find fault with her. True to his feelings as a man, Sam of course
replied:
"If you reckon her merits by her pounds, I dare say she is, but I do
not see otherwise in what she surpasses Mary Edwards."
Fortunately they had just arrived at the termination of their walk,
and Sam having seen his sister safely deposited in the house, returned
alone to George Millar's residence.
The evening was a very merry one, for the whole party was well
assorted and in good spirits, in spite, as Annie observed, of the
tremendous event hanging over some of them. But it was not Elizabeth's
nature to be very pensive; positive evils did not make her sad, it was
not likely then that what she firmly believed to be a positive good,
would weigh heavily on her spirits. She was perfectly satisfied with
her future prospects, and could look forward without any trembling
emotion to her approaching fate. After dinner, when the ladies had
returned to the drawing-room, Elizabeth, who was burning with anxiety
to make known the fact of Emma's engagement, began enquiring of Annie,
if she thought her sister changed since her visit to Osborne Castle.
Miss Millar declared she was looking better, plumper, gayer, prettier
than ever; but in no other respect was she altered.
"Then you do not suspect her of having fallen in love?" enquired Miss
Watson laughingly.
"I see no trace of it," said the other, examining Emma from head to
foot with a grave air, taking a candle from the chimney-piece to throw
more light on her countenance. "I see no symptoms at all, pray do not
attempt to raise such unfounded imputations against her, Elizabeth;
your insinuations disgrace you!"
"Nay then, in my own justification I must inform you, Annie,—shall I
tell, Emma—or do you blush to own the truth?" enquired Miss Watson
with a significant smile.
"Not that she is engaged to that Lord Osborne!" cried Annie, starting
back with horror, "you are not going to confirm the rumour which Miss
Jenkins and Mrs. Watson so industriously circulate, and that brought
Miss Morgan and Miss Fenton to call on her to-day. This can never be."
"My dear Annie," said Emma smiling quietly, "_that_ Lord Osborne, as
you call him, is a very estimable young man, and would make any woman
who liked him very happy I have no doubt."
"Indeed! well I hope he will, if you are going to marry him," said
Annie with a mournful countenance and expression, that made Elizabeth
laugh out-right, "but in that case, when you are Lady Osborne, we
shall never see you again."
"I dare say not," replied Emma, "but, believe me, I never intend to be
Lady Osborne, so your alarm is unfounded."
"And you are not engaged to him, and you are free—oh, how glad I am—I
was sure you could not be," cried Annie quite rapturously.
Emma looked at Elizabeth and said,
"Finish the story, as you began it."
"Well then, Annie, I am sorry to lower your opinion of my sister, but
as the fact must come sooner or later to your knowledge, and you seem
now tolerably prepared to receive it, I have to make to you the
distressing announcement that Emma is in reality engaged to be
married, though not to Lord Osborne, who is not the only man in the
world I assure you."
"Emma engaged to be married," said Annie with a desponding look, "then
_I_ have no hope; the next thing I shall hear, is that my hand is
disposed of; we shall none of us escape it. Dear Miss Bridge, how did
you manage?"
"I would not recommend you to wish for my fate, my dear, I had a
bitter disappointment," replied the old lady with extraordinary
placidity.
"My dear madam," said Annie respectfully, and taking her hand as she
spoke, "I beg your pardon a thousand times, but I assure you I did not
know that, or I would not have jested on the subject."
"My dear child, the thing is too long passed to hurt my feelings now,"
said Miss Bridge smoothing down Annie's glossy hair as she inclined
her head towards her; "but I do not think you would wish to buy my
present peace of mind by undergoing all I have felt and suffered."
A pause ensued, which Mrs. Turner was the first to break.
"Well Elizabeth, do tell us what is the name of your sister's young
man—who is he and what is he? I am longing to know all about it."
Elizabeth told them all she knew, and when she added that Lord Osborne
had recently given him a valuable living, Emma enquired whether she
was not right in saying that Lord Osborne was an estimable young man.
"What, because he has livings to dispose of?" said Annie. "I suppose
he could not help that."
Emma was silent, but Elizabeth exclaimed,
"Oh! but you must understand that Lord Osborne was in love with her,
and therefore, as he could not marry her himself, it was very generous
of him to give his rival an income to enable _him_ to do so."
"Elizabeth!" said Emma reproachfully.
"Emma tries to make a mystery of it," continued her sister; "I cannot
get her to own that Lord Osborne proposed to her; but I am sure if he
did not, it was because she accepted Mr. Howard before he had time to
do so."
The gentlemen at this juncture returned to the drawing-room, for
neither of the three seemed disposed to prefer the bottle to the
ladies, and Annie sat down to prepare tea. Sam approached the table,
which was a little removed from the others, and tendered his
assistance if necessary. She did not accept or decline his offer, but
looked a little confused; he could not decide whether she was angry or
vexed, and stood quietly by considering her countenance, and aiding
her whenever she required more water from the elegant silver kettle
which swung over a spirit-lamp in the place of our modern urn.
At length, when the others seemed engrossed with their tea and
conversation, she raised her head and said, with a little
embarrassment,
"I certainly owe you some apology, Mr. Watson, for the incivility of
my last speech to you this afternoon. I am quite shocked to think I
should have been so rude."
"Indeed, Miss Millar, I was not affronted, for I had known your
opinion before, and I thought the apologies were rather due from me,
since, though quite unintentionally, I had given you the idea that I
entertained a contempt for women. I did not deserve that accusation,
but my expressions must have been wrong, if they awoke such an idea."
Annie could not help feeling that even a surgeon might look very
handsome, and that _his_ tone and manner might convey the conviction
of his perfect sincerity: she liked him, in spite of his profession.
"Seriously, Mr. Watson, I should never accuse you of anything of the
sort," returned she after a moment's reflection; "so I suppose we may
pass an amnesty for past offences, and declare a truce for the
present."
"Let it be a treaty of peace," said he playfully; "permanent peace."
"No," she replied shaking her head; "that would be promising too much.
I shall be certain to quarrel with you again, and it does not do to
break treaties. Do you know I was never, as a child, so much inclined
to be naughty as when I had just promised to be very good. Let us
content ourselves with a four hours' truce, renewable or not at the
end of that time."
"Be it so," replied he laughing, "if you think that the safest
proceeding or the most agreeable. So you were a naughty girl, were
you, at school?"
"Oh, always in a scrape—the torment of my governess," said she
laughing at the recollection. "They used gravely to shake their heads,
and say they did not know what would become of me; I should never be
good for anything; so idle—so rebellious—so mischievous—so saucy—and
withal so merry and happy—I always got my own way with them all."
"And what did you learn at school, may I ask?"
"First to play at battledore and shuttle-cock, and repeat 'I love my
love with an A,' &c.—then to dance—I liked that—then to do
cross-stitch, tent and marking—I worked a magnificent sampler, which I
will show you some day. Then I learnt my letters and to read, because
they promised me some fairy tales if I would try. The next
accomplishment I acquired was to do a sum in the rule of three, for
which I was rewarded with 'Sir Charles Grandison,' in seven volumes. I
do not know that I learnt anything else, except the way to govern all
my companions, coax my superiors—oh, and write a letter."
"Well, I think it must have been a very good school, and if ever I
have daughters they shall be sent there too. I admire the system
exceedingly."
"Yes, I think it was a very good school," replied Annie; "to be sure,
I learnt nothing worth knowing, and a great deal which I had better
have let alone: one sees a prodigious deal of meanness, and
manœuvring, and artful conduct when thirty or forty girls are
assembled together; but I suppose it is all right, since it has gone
on for so many generations, and I do not know that women are worse
than they used to be before they ever pretended to learn. We do not
expect to rival Lady Jane Grey, or Queen Elizabeth, or the daughters
of Evelyn, and I dare say if we did, we should only be disliked and
ridiculed. No doubt it is quite right that women should be idle and
frivolous; it keeps us in our right places in the world."
She spoke with something in her tone between jest and bitterness, to
which Sam hardly knew how to answer.
"I protest against your giving the conversation such a turn; it is
breaking our truce," said he, "you must either speak in complete jest,
or serious earnest. I shall be getting into a scrape again with you,
if I answer now, for I do not know which you mean."
"Let it pass for a jest then, lest you should think me seriously
discontented with my position in society," replied she, "and in the
meantime, give me Miss Bridge's teacup to replenish!"
"She is an odd girl," thought he, "I wonder in what light she looks
upon me!"
"After all, for a surgeon, he really is pleasant," thought she, "it is
a pity he has such a bad profession, I am quite sorry for him."
It was with these feelings that they sat down to cards; after which,
of course, they had no more private conversation until the company had
left the house.