Mr. Howard having, by this time, recovered sufficient composure to
return to the company, re-appeared from the conservatory, where he had
been calming his feelings amidst roses and heliotropes, and soon
afterwards the other two gentlemen joined the party. Mr. Howard,
himself, did not venture near Emma; but, after paying his compliments to
Mrs. Musgrove, retreated to a window and seemed to be occupied with a
newspaper. Though the two ladies subsequently retired to their toilet
preparatory to dinner, there was no further _tête-à-tête_ between him
and Emma, as the other gentlemen continued in the room till dinner time.
Emma, of course, could not join in that meal; and did not, therefore,
hear the comments which Mr. Howard's absence of mind drew on him. Mrs.
Musgrove laughed outright—even Lady Gordon smiled, and Tom Musgrove
openly accused him of being decidedly in love. Sir William came to his
rescue, and parried the attacks of Tom for a time; but after the ladies
withdrew, Tom commenced again, and tormented him unmercifully on the
subject—declaring that he had long seen his attachment to Emma
Watson—and without scruple, held out himself as an example of the risk
of indulging in little harmless flirtations, by which one was
unknowingly drawn into the meshes of hopeless matrimony.
Mr. Howard was quite affronted; and answered indignantly, that whatever
his feelings towards Miss Emma Watson might be, he thought of her with
far too much respect, to allow her name to be used slightingly by any
one, and that he should, least of all, expect from her brother-in-law
insinuations so derogatory to her character.
Sir William again interfered, and requested the subject to be dropped;
he could not allow unfriendly feelings between his guests—and he had no
doubt but that Mr. Musgrove had been misunderstood, if he could be
supposed to speak unhandsomely of so amiable a young woman as Miss
Watson, and one, who was, at the very time, Lady Gordon's visitor.
"I defy any one to prove a word derogatory to Emma Watson," cried Lord
Osborne, his eyes flashing with most unusual animation; "In my house,
and as my sister's guest, her name must and shall be treated with
respect."
"Upon my honor I did not mean any reflection upon her," exclaimed Tom,
quite taken by surprise by the spirit he had raised, "it is the last
thing I dreamt of to offend you, my lord."
"Very well," cried Sir William, "that is sufficient, let the subject
drop."
And so it did for the present, but what passed had made a deep
impression on Lord Osborne, whose fears of Mr. Howard as a rival were
all confirmed by this discussion. He could not rest without some
explanation on this subject, and accordingly drew him into the garden
after dinner, and there whilst pacing up and down the terrace, told him
he had something very particular to say to him.
Howard's heart told him what was coming, and he resolved to summon his
courage and speak openly on this occasion.
"You know, Howard," said the young peer in a tone between remonstrance
and complaint, "I never made any secret to you of my wishes and hopes
with regard to Emma Watson—you have long known that nothing but
circumstances prevented my addressing her and asking her hand."
"I know it, my Lord," replied Howard.
"Well then, I must say I look upon it as neither kind nor honorable of
you to cut me out, or at least try to do so, for until _she_ convinces
me, I will not believe you have quite succeeded. But you should not have
used me so, when I had been quite open with you."
His companion was embarrassed; for the total absence of self-confidence,
which formed a prominent part of his character, made it very hard for
him to publish his love whilst his prospects were uncertain.
"Tell me," continued Lord Osborne with some warmth, "do you not yourself
love Emma Watson? Have you not sought to supplant me?"
"I will not deny that I do love her,—but I trust the acknowledgement
will be safe with you—I own I love her—have loved her long—did love her
well when you told me your own views, my Lord, and in fact have loved
her ever since our first meeting in the assembly rooms."
"And why was I not told of this when I mentioned my plans to you—why
allow me to form false hopes, whilst you were undermining the ground on
which I stood?"
"You are unjust to me, my Lord, you speak as if I had tried to injure
you, or prejudice her against you. Had _I_ not a right to love her—have
I not a right to win her if I can? Though I _am_ but a poor parson and
you are a peer, surely _she_ is the only one to decide whether my
addresses may not be acceptable to her. I have never attempted to thwart
your success, nor have I ever made Emma a declaration of my own
attachment. But I have as good a right to do so as yourself."
"I did not mean to call your rights in question at all, Mr. Howard; what
I quarrel with is, your want of openness in not letting me know that I
had a rival in you. Had you done so, I should have had no cause to
complain."
"I own I was sorry afterwards that I did not speak openly, my lord, on
that occasion, but my uncertainty as to _her_ feelings prevented me!"
"Then you are _now_ convinced of success?" observed Lord Osborne
gloomily.
"By no means; you have forced a confession from me, which under other
circumstances I would not have made; but I am very far indeed from
confidence on the subject. She has never heard me declare my feelings."
"I am glad of it—well then I really think, Howard, the best thing you
can do is to take yourself off for a few days, and leave the field clear
for me. Now do, there's a good fellow, and I shall be eternally obliged
to you."
"You ask a great deal," replied Howard gravely.
"Not so very much, because, you see, if I am accepted it proves that you
would be refused, and just saves you the trouble altogether; and if I am
refused I will let you know, and you can come in directly and follow up
your chase. Do you agree to it?"
"I must have a little time to think of that proposal, my lord," replied
Howard, hesitating and unwilling to assent.
"Till to-morrow morning, I cannot give you longer, let me know what you
settle on to-morrow, and I shall arrange my plans. Do you know my mother
talks of coming down here?"
"I had not heard of it; when does her ladyship think of doing so?"
"Very soon; I think the good old soul has taken it into that precious
head of hers to suspect what I am about, and in her horror of a
misalliance, she is coming down in hopes of stopping me altogether. By
Jove it would be a good joke to get it all settled before her
appearance."
"Do you think Emma Watson will consent to be your wife, if she supposes,
her ladyship, your mother, objects?"
"That's the worst of it—I am afraid she may have some scruples, but I
mean to try my luck at all events. There's another thing too, to be
considered, Fanny Carr is coming here—that eternal talker, Fanny Carr,
and it would save me an immense deal of trouble with her if I could give
myself out as an engaged man. She would not talk half so much."
"You really think that would make a difference," said Mr. Howard, trying
to smile, but not very successfully.
"I have no doubt of it at all, and the blessing of being freed in some
degree from the trouble of answering her is more than I could tell. That
girl would talk the hind leg off a horse in no time."
Howard deliberated. He felt perfectly convinced that Emma never would
marry from ambition or mercenary motives, but he was not quite sure what
degree of influence the young peer might have over her heart. The idea
of meeting Lady Osborne again was excessively disagreeable, and as he
was really under the necessity of going to fetch his sister home, he
thought perhaps he might as well go at once, and allow Lord Osborne a
fair field. Then if the event were consonant to his own wishes he might
return with a safe conscience. But the question arose, what would Emma
herself think of it; in what light would she consider his quitting her
thus suddenly, after the betrayal of feeling which he that very
afternoon had made? Would she not think him the most capricious, the
most changeable of mortals—might she not be justly affronted with him,
indignant at his vacillation—might she not suspect him of trifling with
her feelings—might she not think herself extremely ill-used—could he
bear to forfeit the esteem which she had sometimes shown for him. No,
Lord Osborne asked too much, he thought only of himself, and expected to
rule Howard now, in an affair of consequence like this, in the same way
as he had formerly done, when the question solely regarded what part of
the river they should fish, or which copse they should go through with
their guns. It was impossible, he could not, and he ought not to yield,
and he determined that he would not. These thoughts occupying his mind,
he was exceedingly silent during the whole evening, hardly venturing to
trust his voice beyond a monosyllable, and never raising his eyes except
by stealth to that part of the room where Emma sat.
The evening passed very much as might be expected amongst such a
party—Margaret talked a great deal, and her husband took every
opportunity of contradicting her assertions, and turning her opinions
into ridicule. Lady Gordon gave up all attempts at keeping the peace as
perfectly hopeless, and Sir William sat by Emma and entertained her with
his conversation, whilst his brother-in-law was quite as silent as his
rival. At length, to the great relief of the whole party, the Musgroves'
carriage was announced, and they took their leave, and Emma, ashamed,
agitated, fatigued, and worried, left the party immediately afterwards,
for the silence and peace of her own apartments.
She was ashamed and mortified that the Gordons should have seen the want
of concord, and the absence of courtesy between her sister and her
husband—it was much worse than she had expected. Tom seemed to think no
civility even was due, and Margaret set no bounds to her peevishness;
but all this anxiety was merged in her considerations as to Mr. Howard's
conduct and feelings. She could not comprehend him, and she understood
herself only too well.
His last words to her might in themselves mean nothing, but there was a
tone and a look which accompanied them which gave them a deep, and, to
her, most important meaning. Her hand still seemed to feel the thrilling
pressure of his fingers, and she could hardly believe that after this he
could longer leave her in doubt as to his wishes.
Whether it was the agitation of mind which these reflections occasioned,
or solely owing to the pain which for two days she had been suffering,
she could hardly tell, but the next morning she found herself so
feverish and unwell as to be quite unable to leave her room. She felt
this the more because she thus, as she fancied, lost the interview with
Mr. Howard which she had been promising herself, and until she found all
chance of it gone, she had not known how very much she was depending on
it.
In the meantime a scene which she little dreamt of was enacted at the
vicarage. Early in the morning, Lord Osborne, impatient for the decision
which he fully expected would be in his favour, hurried to secure an
interview with Mr. Howard. Great was his surprise when he met with a
firm refusal from this gentleman to accede to his proposal. He would not
absent himself from Emma at this time; he would not forego the chances
of success in his suit; no voluntary act on his part should cause her to
doubt his sincerity, or suppose him indifferent to her. Lord Osborne was
thwarted in a way which he little expected, and he had so seldom met
with opposition before, that he knew not how to brook it on this
occasion. He was quite silent, but with gloomy look, and long strides,
he paced up and down the little drawing-room, uncertain what to do or
say next, or how to express his indignation.
Circumstances, however, befriended him in an unexpected way; whilst he
was giving way to his irritation by heavy steps and bent brows, and his
host was heartily wishing the unpleasant interview terminated, the post
arrived, and a letter was brought to Mr. Howard which speedily engrossed
all his attention. It was from his sister, and written in great
distress—her little boy was dangerously ill, and she urged her brother
to come to her, as from a variety of circumstances she stood in need of
his protection and advice. She was in lodgings, and the mistress of the
house, a hard-hearted and parsimonious woman, took advantage of the
difficulties in which she was placed, and not only imposed on her in
every possible way, but refused her the assistance of which she stood in
need in the present extremity.
Deeply grieved at this detail of the sufferings undergone by the sister
on whom he doted, he felt not a moment's hesitation as to his
determination. To fly to comfort and defend her must be his first wish,
and let the consequences be what they might, all must give way before
such an appeal.
With emotion scarcely to be repressed, he turned to Lord Osborne and
said,
"Providence, my lord, has decided against me, and your request must now
be acceded to as an imperative duty on my part. My sister requires my
presence, and if I can arrange my affairs to-day I shall leave by the
night mail for Wales."
Lord Osborne's irrepressible pleasure was a certain proof how deeply he
had taken this affair to heart, and how little he cared for the feelings
of others, except as they thwarted or fell in with his own. He greatly
commended Howard for determining to go immediately, and would have been
quite as ready to commend Mrs. Willis for wanting him. He was zealous in
obviating any possible difficulty about the performance of the Sunday
duty, and only demurred to the absolute necessity which Howard alleged
of going up to the Castle to see and take leave of the ladies.
But here his arguments were met with entire unconcern; Mr. Howard was
determined himself to explain the reason of his conduct, and not trust
that office to another. Perhaps he flattered himself that his friend
Lady Gordon would considerately allow him an interview with Emma
untroubled by witnesses, when he might have an opportunity of setting
his own wishes in a clearer light than he had hitherto had courage to
do. But if he nourished such ideas, they were of course doomed to an
entire disappointment, for on arriving at the well known sitting-room,
he learnt, with infinite concern, that Emma was completely invalided.
"Quite unwell, and unfit for any exertion," Lady Gordon pronounced her
to be, and with so much fever about her that if the evening did not find
her better, medical advice must certainly be sent for. Sorrowfully,
therefore, he was compelled to take his leave, only cheered by the
assurance that Lady Gordon sympathised much in his anxieties, and that
Emma would certainly do the same whenever she could be allowed to learn
them.
The certainty that she would learn the real reason that hurried him away
was his greatest consolation, and in that case she must forgive, and
would probably pity him. He went—and Lord Osborne, relieved from the
immediate dread of such a rival, instantaneously resolved to defer his
own declaration until some indefinite and distant period, there being
not the least occasion to hurry, since any day previous to Howard's
return would be early enough for him.
Emma's indisposition lasted several days, and was probably rather
increased than otherwise by the information which her attendant gave
her, that Mr. Howard was gone to Wales, for no one knew how long. She
had no one to whom she could communicate her feelings, and the
disappointment was all the more deeply felt from being dwelt on in
secret. Lady Gordon possibly guessed her sensations, but was too
considerate to show it if she did, except perhaps by an increased
kindness of manner. She saw no one else of course except the apothecary,
who was by no means an entertaining man, and would bear no comparison
with her former acquaintance, Mr. Morgan. It was quite true what Lord
Osborne had mentioned, that his mother had talked of coming down to the
Castle; she, however, changed her mind and remained at Richmond instead;
but Miss Carr arrived on a visit, during the time of Emma's retirement
in her own room, and she once more commenced a series of attacks upon
the young peer's affections, which though extremely detrimental to his
peace of mind, did not at all produce the effect which she intended.
Miss Carr began strongly to suspect that some unseen obstacle must
neutralize her efforts, and form a bar to her progress. She could not
believe he would be so impenetrable to her charms if there were no other
affection to shield his heart. She asked questions, considered, watched,
and came to the conclusion that Emma Watson, whose presence she had
learnt with surprise, was the individual who cast a malignant spell
around her intended victim, which enabled him to elude her best devices.
She never for a moment imagined that Emma herself could be insensible or
regardless of his admiration; what was a prize of such value to Miss
Carr, must be a still greater object to Miss Watson, and doubtless she
was internally triumphing in her superior attraction and success. No
doubt, indeed, but this sprained ankle was a part of her plan; all
devised to make herself of importance, and excite his sympathy.
Something must be done to counteract such deep-laid schemes, and that
immediately too, or all exertion would be too late; but yet it must be
cautiously entered on, or she might only hurt her own cause.
Fortunately for her plans, she was possessed of a very unexpected means
of assailing Emma. She had been staying at Lady Fanny Allston's, her
ladyship being her cousin, at the time when the negotiation was carried
on for the situation of governess, and had learnt the exact reason why
it had been so abruptly terminated. The scandal which had thrown a shade
over Emma's name at Croydon, would, on reaching her ears have been
passed as a thing deserving neither attention nor memory, but for the
incipient jealousy which even then she felt against her rival.
This had fixed it in her memory; and now she was determined to bring it
forward in such a way as to make it tell with best advantage in her own
favor. She made no comment when she heard that Emma was in the house;
and bore, without remark and apparent philosophy, the regrets of the
whole party at her absence—only secretly resolving to watch Lord Osborne
well on her re-appearance, and ascertain the state of his feelings from
his looks and actions.
The return of Emma Watson to their usual party was hailed with great
satisfaction by the family. She looked a shade paler than usual, but
otherwise, well and animated—for she had, on her convalescence, learnt
from her friend the exact reason of Mr. Howard's absence; and satisfied
that it was inevitable, and no desertion of her from choice or caprice,
she felt only uneasy for Mrs. Willis, not on her own account.
Sir William and his wife spoke their pleasure aloud; Lord Osborne only
looked his in public, but he seated himself next her at breakfast, and
was extremely attentive in supplying her plate with what he thought
best.
Miss Carr being late, missed the rencounter—and by the same means,
forfeited the seat at breakfast, which she had always, hitherto,
appropriated to herself. This vexed her; and when, on entering the room,
she saw Emma, she did not speak, but went coolly round the table and
seated herself precisely opposite.
"Fanny," said Lady Gordon, "I believe you are acquainted with my
_friend_, Miss Watson—you met her here before."
Fanny bowed haughtily, which was the only answer she would, at first,
condescend to return; but after a moment's consideration, she said with
something like a sneer:
"Though it is some time since we met, Miss Watson, you will be surprised
to learn I have heard a great deal about you in the last three months."
Emma did look rather surprised, more, perhaps, at the tone in which this
was said, than by the fact; she did not know what she had done to give
rise to such a look of scorn or contempt. The next words enlightened
her.
"Lady Fanny Allston is my relative—perhaps you did not know that, and I
was there last April."
Emma felt a little confused at the many recollections which were
connected with that name—visions of Mr. Morgan and country-town
gossip—unpleasant sensations and unkind relations, flitted across her
mind—but she looked up after a moment, and conscious that she had been
clear of blame in that transaction, and not quite believing all Mr.
Morgan had said on the subject, she replied:
"Then, there was much probability at one time, of our meeting. I suppose
you know what passed between her ladyship and me?"
"Indeed I do," replied Miss Carr, fixing her large, blue eyes on her
with a malicious look; "and all about a certain Mr. Morgan too—what a
pleasant man he can be. I do not wonder at his misleading girls in that
way. Ah! you need not blush so—upon my word, I think _you_ were almost
excusable in your situation. I dare say, I might have been tempted to do
the same."
Lord Osborne's eyes were turned from his plate of broiled ham to Emma's
face, with an earnest expression, which Miss Carr did not fail to
notice. There was awakened jealousy, and surprise, and something of
displeasure in his countenance as he looked at her—but who was the
object of the displeasure, she was not quite certain; she almost thought
it was herself.
Lady Gordon looked up likewise.
"Why, my dear Fanny," said she, "I fancy you have got hold of some
country-town gossip; I wonder you are not ashamed to repeat it."
"I certainly should disdain country-town gossip," repeated she, "what I
was alluding to, was an event which nearly concerned Lady Fanny, and
which no doubt, Miss Watson perfectly comprehends."
"I beg your pardon," said Emma, "but indeed, I do no such thing. If you
allude to the fact of my employing Mr. Morgan as a means of
communicating with your relative, I have no idea any one could blame me
for such a proceeding, it seems so natural and straightforward."
"I was not thinking of your employing Mr. Morgan as a _negotiator_,"
replied Miss Carr with emphasis, "it was very _friendly_ of him, no
doubt, to interest himself in your concerns; single men are often
_friendly_ to young ladies."
"And so are married men too, I trust," cried Sir William, "at least I
am; and, therefore, I recommend you young ladies, both of you, to
postpone your unintelligible discussion on unknown topics, until such
time as having no witnesses, you may be able to converse in plain
English, without figure of speech, or oratorical hieroglyphics."
Emma looked gratefully at Sir William for his interference; he was
always ready to stand her friend. Lord Osborne continued to look
thoughtfully and uneasily at her, between the intervals of replenishing
his mouth, or whilst stirring his coffee, but Emma felt not the
slightest concern about his feeling jealousy or any other emotion; he
was extremely welcome to fancy that she was desperately in love with Mr.
Morgan or any other man in Croydon—especially, as in that case, he would
probably make some relaxation in his devotion to her.
As her ankle was not yet sufficiently strong for walking, Lady Gordon
proposed her taking a drive after luncheon in the pony phaeton, and
until that time, prescribed perfect rest on the sofa. This Emma
acquiesced in the more readily, as the post had brought her some
peculiarly pleasant letters. One was from Elizabeth, detailing many
interesting particulars relative to the preparations for her marriage,
and some amusing anecdotes from the Croydon circle, the other was still
more calculated to please and excite her. It was from Sam, and contained
the agreeable information that a very good situation had presented
itself. It was to Penelope that he was indebted for the offer. Since her
marriage, she had been anxious to persuade her husband to give up his
practice, or at least to take a partner in his business, and now she had
the satisfaction of making an offer to Sam on such very advantageous
terms, that he could not hesitate a moment about accepting them. He was
to remove to Chichester next month, and though at first he was to live
in his brother-in-law's house, if the scheme answered, he was
subsequently to have a house of his own, and then he looked forward with
delight to the idea that Emma could come and reside with him. The
prospect of this gave her courage and strength to support all the
disagreeable innuendoes which Miss Carr might throw out, and even to
bear with Lord Osborne's presence and Mr. Howard's absence. Settled at
Chichester, it was not likely that the former of these gentlemen would
follow her for the purpose of looking at her, or that the latter, if he
wished to see her again, would have any difficulty in tracing her steps.
How happy she should be in her brother's little _ménage_, even if she
were never to see anything more of those whom she had known whilst at
Winston or Osborne Castle. She could fancy it all to herself, and in her
joyous answer, she drew a lively picture of the pleasure she intended
they should have together.
Tired of the anxieties attending an attachment which had not progressed
very happily, she felt as if it would be delightful to settle for life
with her brother, and forswear all other and deeper affection. If she
could only make sure that he would never marry, it would be all perfect;
so she wrote to him, and her letter made Sam smile with pleasure when he
read it, and proved the best restorative after a toilsome day in the
heat of the summer, during a particularly unhealthy season.
"William, as I am going to drive with Emma, you must really ride out
with Fanny Carr," said Lady Gordon to her husband, before luncheon that
morning. "She will expect something of the sort."
"Why can you not take her with you, my love?" enquired he.
"She is so very cross to-day, I do not know what is the matter with
her," replied the lady, "and really I cannot undertake her, or we shall
certainly quarrel."
"And so she is to be put off upon me, is she Rosa? I am much obliged
truly."
"Oh yes, because you are so good tempered, you will be certain to bear
with her petulance, so do not refuse me," said the young wife with a
look of entreaty, which her husband could not resist.
"Very well, I am resigned, pray let Miss Carr know the felicity that
awaits her; but I hope you will ask your brother to accompany us."
"I am sure neither Fanny nor I should make any objection to that; but I
do not think you will easily persuade him; he is shyer of her than ever,
and seems quite to detest her."
"I do not wonder at it, any man would dislike a girl who made such a
desperate attack on him; I am sure I should for one; I always liked you
because you were so capricious and cross; sometimes unkind, and always
careless towards me."
"You loved me purely out of contradiction I have no doubt, and to hear
your account, we must both have been particularly amiable characters;
but so long as you ride to-day with Fanny Carr, I shall be satisfied."
"And shall I obtain from her all the particulars about which she was
indulging in such edifying hints at breakfast—shall I enquire into the
particulars relative to Lady Fanny and Mr. Morgan?"
"I dare say they would not repay the trouble," replied Lady Gordon,
"Fanny rather likes to say ill-natured things; I do not attach much
credit to her stories in general."
"Upon my word, Rosa, considering she is your very particular friend, I
think you speak very freely of her; I wonder whether you discuss my
character with equal candour and openness."
"Yours—of course, why should you doubt it—but I think if there is
anything to explain, Emma will probably explain it herself—she is so
particularly open and straight-forward."
"She is so, indeed; one of the most amiable young women I know; don't be
jealous, Rosa, but I like her very much."
Lady Gordon did not seem much troubled by jealousy, and so the affair
was settled.
Miss Carr was very well pleased when she learnt what arrangement had
been made, and only required to make her perfectly happy to be secure of
Lord Osborne's company, as she had a most charming new riding hat, with
a lovely plume, which she was certain would make her look bewitching,
and place her beyond competition with Emma. Instead, however, of
offering to accompany her, his lordship began quarrelling with his
sister about the arrangement she had projected. Why was not Miss Watson
to ride?—he was certain it would be much better for her than being
cooped up in a pony phaeton, where she would have no room for her feet.
In the saddle, as it was the right ankle which had been sprained, she
would have so much freedom, and he was certain she would enjoy it
extremely. Emma, however, protested against this arrangement; another
day she would be glad to try a ride, but not this morning; she was too
weak, quite unequal to such an exertion. Lord Osborne submitted, but
said not a word of himself accompanying Miss Carr; who, therefore,
considered it a settled thing. Accordingly, her new hat was arranged in
the most becoming style—her long ringlets drawn out to float on her
shoulders, and her dainty figure set off to the utmost by her tight
fitting riding habit. But all in vain; Sir William was the only cavalier
who appeared to wait on her, and he being a married man, was no good at
all. She was very sulky, and Sir William had no other pleasure in his
ride, than such as he could derive for himself from air and exercise on
a beautiful day.
Emma and Lady Gordon fared much better; the fresh air, after confinement
to one room, was delicious to the former; and, as her pleasure kept her
nearly silent, her companion was not troubled to make herself agreeable
either. They drove along, engrossed each by her own thoughts; Emma's
wandering down along each sunny glade or green alley in the forest,
revelling in the glorious pictures which presented themselves of ancient
trees, and groups of deer, sunshine and flickering shadows, deep pools
sleeping under precipitous banks tufted with fern and ivy, and crowned
with feathery copse wood.
The scenery of Comus seemed exemplified, and she almost expected to see
some mysterious forms gliding under the shadows of the forest trees.
Lady Gordon's feelings were much more mundane, and more immediately
connected with the interests of life. She was reflecting on the visibly
growing attachment of her brother, and wondering what would be the
result of it. At length she spoke.
"What shall I give you for your thoughts, Miss Watson? I am anxious, I
own, to know the subject of them."
"I am thinking," said she, "what a lovely wood this would be to rehearse
Comus in; on such an afternoon as this—would it not be effective?"
"What a good idea!" cried Lady Gordon, all animation at the proposal; "I
should like it of all things! Suppose we try?"
"With your present company?" enquired Emma.
"Yes; we should have quite enough—should we not? You shall be the lady,
and Fanny, Sabrina; I, the Spirit—Sir William, Comus, and Osborne—let me
see, we should want one other man. I suppose Mr. Howard would take a
part?"
"Mr. Howard? oh, no! I should think not. I am sure he would not like
it!"
"Well, well; any one could do the brother's part. I think it would be
exquisite. I am quite delighted with the idea."
"Did you ever act, Lady Gordon?" enquired Emma.
"Never at all; but I am sure it must be delightful. I wonder whether Sir
William would make any objection?"
"There would be some difficulties in the way," observed Emma.
"So much the better; difficulties to overcome give one spirits. Here we
would have our theatre,"—stopping the carriage and looking round. "A
marquee or something of the sort, and seats raised in a semi-circle—it
would be quite delightful, such a _fête champêtre_. I am certain we
could manage it; and the novelty of the thing would give it great
_éclat_."
"But, Lady Gordon, if you talk in that way you will frighten me; I am
certain I could not act before an audience—I never tried any thing of
the sort, except in the most quiet way; amongst cousins and intimate
friends, with nobody to look on, but my uncle and aunt, and one or two
old people, whom we were not afraid of. We did it only for own
amusement, without thinking of being looked at or producing an effect;
acting for the entertainment of a circle of people, must be such a very
different thing from acting for one's pleasure."
"Very different, indeed; and I should think much more agreeable; what
would be the good of fine acting, if there was nobody to see it, and
none on whom it could produce any effect."
"But acting in itself, is so very amusing, like dancing—one does not
dance to be looked at, but for one's satisfaction; and it was the same
with me in the only acting I ever attempted. I forgot every thing but my
part."
"I dare say, you acted very well," said Lady Gordon.
"I liked it exceedingly," replied Emma.
"I cannot give up my plan, however;" continued Lady Gordon, "you have
put it into my head, but you will not find it easy to put it out again."
Just, at this moment, a turn of the road they were pursuing, brought
Lord Osborne immediately before them, leisurely sauntering along on his
horse.
He quickened his pace of course, on perceiving the carriage, and was
beside them immediately; with a look of pleasure which was not lost upon
his sister, who was always watching his address to Emma.
"So, I have had the good luck to meet you at last," exclaimed he, "I was
dreadfully afraid I should come upon the other couple, instead of you,
Rosa; and Fanny Carr looked so cross because I would not ride with her.
I do not think I shall face her again for a month. I wish girls would
learn to govern their tempers; they cannot always expect all the men to
be scampering at their heels, just when they want it."
"You used her extremely ill, I must say, in running away from her as you
have done, and riding alone after all. I wonder you are not ashamed of
it," said his sister reproachfully.
"I did not run away from her; I waited till she was gone, and did not
make up my mind until then, whether I would ride or walk," was his
reply.
His sister then began, in the warmth of her present feelings, trying to
interest him in the plan they had been talking of when he joined them.
He did not know what Comus was, and as to acting out in a wood, he was
certain it would be much more convenient, agreeable, and altogether
safer to have the play in the house. He had no objection to acting at
all, if he could do it, but he did not think he could—however, he would
try.