"What are you going to do this morning, Elizabeth?" inquired Margaret
in a voice between langour and peevishness.
"Oh, I have a hundred things to do," cried Miss Watson, turning from
the window where she had watched her brother and his wife drive off.
"I must go and see about helping Nanny put away the best china and
glass, and I must pin up the curtains, and put by all the things in
the best bed-room—which were had out for Jane's use; and I want to try
that receipt she gave me for a pudding for my father—and fifty other
things beside."
"Then you will not think of walking, I presume; shall you Emma?"
"I am not sure," replied she, "is it not very dirty!"
"Good gracious, Emma!" cried Margaret sharply, "I hope you are not
such a fine lady as to mind stepping out in a little mud, or what is
to become of me—I cannot bear walking alone, and Elizabeth is sure to
be busy when I want her company."
"Perhaps," said Emma gently, rather afraid of giving offence by
suggesting so evident a duty, "if we were to help Elizabeth, she would
have done in time to join you and enjoy the fine weather."
"I don't suppose she wants us a bit," cried Margaret again.
"Thank you, Emma," replied her eldest sister, without listening to
Margaret, "but do not put off your walk on my account, I am used to
these things, and mind the trouble no more than you do threading your
needle, or finding your place in a book," and taking her key-basket
from the table, she left the room.
"There, I told you so," said Margaret immediately, "I knew Elizabeth
disdains all assistance, and hates to be interfered with in her
housekeeping: she is as jealous of her authority as possible, and I
believe would rather go through any trouble herself, than allow us to
share it for half an hour. Now just make haste, do, and put your
pelisse on; I like the finest part of the day."
Emma still hesitated—
"I am not sure that I can go with you—perhaps my father may want me."
"My father want you!" repeated Margaret in a tone of astonishment, and
with a look of surprise and incredulity, which Emma thought the
announcement did not justify, "why what in all the world should he
want _you_ for?"
"I read to him a great deal," replied Emma colouring, lest her sister
should suppose she meant to suggest a comparison between their
relative conduct; for Margaret in general acted as if her father and
his comfort were the objects of the slightest importance to her.
"What a bore that must be," continued Margaret; "at least it is to me,
if not to you," added she, as Emma exclaimed at the idea—"for now you
have that as an excuse for not walking with me. I know what it is, you
don't want to come—and you might just as well say so at once, and not
worry me by all these put offs."
"Indeed I shall be very happy to walk with you," said Emma, in a
soothing tone, "if I my father can spare me; I will just run up and
see, and if so, we can go directly."
Mr. Watson happened to be occupied by letters of business; in which he
did not need Emma's help, and accordingly the sisters set off
together. They took the road towards the town, Margaret saying nothing
as to their object, and Emma making no enquiries. Indeed it did not
occur to her that her sister had any other motive for walking than the
desire of air and exercise.
"I have hardly had time to talk to you, Emma, since I came home; but
the fact is, Jane is so fond of me, that when we are together she
seldom can spare me ten minutes. She is an amazingly clever woman, I
assure you, and one of the best judges of character and manners I ever
saw."
This assertion, though Emma believed it might be perfectly true, did
not convey to her mind precisely the idea which Margaret expected; and
it rather convinced her of the narrow circle in which her sister had
always moved, than the depth of Mrs. Robert's penetration, or the
extent of Margaret's own virtues. She did not, however, dissent from
the praise, and her sister went on complacently.
"I am sure, Emma you must be struck with Tom Musgrove's manners—is he
not delightful?" enquired she, when her dissertation on Croydon was
ended.
"I cannot say that I admire him at all," replied Emma firmly.
"Not admire him!" cried Margaret, for a moment aghast at such
heresy—then recollecting herself, she added, "ah, I suppose you mean
he did not admire _you_—he did not dance with you at the ball I know;
I dare say, too, he was not in spirits—if I had been there it would
have been different; if you knew him as well as I and had received as
much attention from him, and knew what he thought of yourself as I do,
you would see him with very different eyes."
"I shall be quite satisfied to view him always with as much
indifference as I do now," said Emma, "and I trust, even if his
manners should improve, or my taste alter, I shall be able to look on
him without causing you any anxiety by excessive admiration. Elizabeth
tells me he has made sad inroads on the peace of most young ladies
hereabouts; I hope he will spare me, as I suppose I must not flatter
myself with being wiser or steadier than other girls."
"Elizabeth only says so from jealousy," cried Margaret indignantly,
"he never paid her any attentions, and so—but good gracious, Emma,"
added she, interrupting herself and looking behind, "there he is
coming, and some others with him—who can they be, only one wears a red
coat—I did not expect them so soon."
"Did you expect him at all?" said Emma, colouring with
astonishment—"Is it possible you walked here to meet him?"
"Well, and where's the harm if I did—I wish you would just look at
those other two gentlemen, and tell me if you know who they are!"
"Indeed," replied Emma, vexed and embarrassed, "I do not like to look
round in that way; it does not seem—at least I have been told it is
not lady-like to turn round and stare at people—but, Margaret, is it
really the case, that you came here with this view?"
"Pooh, pooh, how can you be so tiresome, didn't you know as well as
me, that the hounds were to meet at Ashley Lodge—I thought most likely
Tom Musgrove would come this way, it is his direct road; but I wish I
could make out who it is with him; they are just putting their horses
into a trot,—I declare I believe it is Lord Osborne and Mr. Howard—how
tiresome now—for Tom will not stop when Lord Osborne is there—how very
provoking!"
"If I had known this," said Emma blushing painfully, "nothing would
have persuaded me to come this way—they will think we did it to meet
them—"
The gentlemen were now come so near, that Emma's concluding words were
lost in the noise produced by the sharp trot of several horses. She
was thinking rather uncomfortably about what Mr. Howard would think,
and whether _he_ would suppose she had walked out to throw herself in
Lord Osborne's way, when the gentlemen suddenly drew up beside the
high, narrow foot-path on which the sisters were walking.
"Miss Emma Watson," cried Lord Osborne, as he threw himself from his
horse, which he hastily resigned to the groom, "by Jove! how lucky I
am to have come this way—so you are come out to see the hounds throw
off? I am so glad to have met you."
Tom Musgrove dismounted in imitation of his noble friend; but, as the
path only admitted two, he was obliged to draw back—and, whilst Lord
Osborne walked by the side of Emma, Tom was exposed, without defence,
to the appealing glances and soft whispers of Margaret. Emma saw, with
a sort of concern, which she could not exactly analyse, that Mr.
Howard remained on horseback, and only acknowledged his former partner
by a bow, much colder and more formal than his reminiscences at the
visitation had led her to expect. Whilst she was wondering at the
change, her companion was trying to be as agreeable as nature would
allow him, and she could almost have laughed outright at the air of
deference and attention with which the dashing Tom Musgrove listened
to his lordship's remarks, and confirmed any of his statements which
required support. Thus they had walked for more than five minutes,
when they reached a bend of the road, where another branch of the lane
opened to them, which Emma knew would lead them almost directly home.
"Margaret," said she, turning to her sister, "I think we had better
return this way, we may, perhaps, be wanted at home before we can
reach it."
"I am sure I am quite ready to go," said Margaret, apparently on the
point of bursting into tears of spite and envy at finding it useless
to attempt to fix Tom's attention on herself.
"I thought you were come here on purpose to see the hounds throw off,"
said Lord Osborne to Emma, "and what's the use of going home before
you reach the cover."
"Indeed you were mistaken, my lord," replied Emma calmly, but
decidedly; "for I was not aware till we saw you, that the hounds met
in this neighbourhood!"
"Well, but do come on now, you are so near—my sister and Miss Carr are
to be there, and I want to introduce you to them."
"Your lordship must be perfectly aware that what you propose is
impossible," replied Emma, "I have no claim to intrude on Miss
Osborne's notice, and she would, probably, be far more surprised than
pleased by such an extraordinary step."
"No, indeed, on my honor, my sister wishes to know you—Tom Musgrove
knows what she said about it last night—" looking over his shoulder at
his friend, but going on speaking too eagerly to allow time for more
than a simple assent from Tom. "I believe I was wrong in what I said,
which, I suppose, is what you mean, I want to introduce my sister to
you—is that right?" Emma could not quite control a smile; "so now you
will just come on with us, without stopping here any longer."
"I am much obliged to you, my lord; but, indeed, I cannot comply with
your request; and as Miss Osborne would not be expecting to meet us
to-day, she will experience no disappointment."
Very reluctantly the young nobleman was obliged to give up his
proposition; and, as they rode way, he suddenly turned towards Tom
Musgrove, after some minutes' silence, and exclaimed:
"I say, Musgrove, how is it you manage with women to make them worship
you so—Emma Watson is the only girl I ever _tried_ to please, and she
seems to delight in refusing everything I propose. I can make no way
with her."
Tom's self-complacency was very near betraying him into a serious
blunder at this speech; for he was on the point of assenting to the
proposition that he was more successful in making fools of young women
than Lord Osborne. Fortunately, he recollected in time, that however
agreeable a strenuous support to his lordship's opinions might be
under ordinary circumstances, there were occasions when a well turned
negative was far more flattering. Lord Osborne, like many other
people, might depreciate himself—but he could not wish his friends to
take the same view of the subject; Musgrove, therefore, judiciously
replied, that Miss Emma Watson had treated him precisely the same,
from which he concluded it was her way.
The sisters, in the meantime, were pursuing their path homewards,
whilst Margaret was raining questions on Emma as to the commencement
and progress of her acquaintance with Lord Osborne,—an event which
seemed to her so very astonishing, as only to be surpassed by the cool
and composed manner with which Emma treated the affair.
Tom Musgrove's intimacy at Osborne Castle, had always greatly elevated
his importance in her eyes; yet here was her own sister, who not only
had walked side by side with the peer himself, but had positively
refused to accompany him farther, in spite of his entreaties; and she
now wound it all up by coolly declaring, that she thought Lord Osborne
very far from an agreeable young man, and had no wish to see more of
him. Emma was a perfect enigma to her sister, and but for a feeling of
awe, which such exalted acquaintance had impressed on her mind,
Margaret would have railed at her for her refusal to walk further. She
was silently pondering on these extraordinary circumstances, when she
was roused by the angry bark of a fierce dog—which rushing from the
farm-yard, took up a position in the centre of the way, and seemed
determined to dispute the passage. Margaret, screaming aloud, turned
to run away, and Emma's first impulse was to follow her example; but a
moment's consideration checked her, and she attempted to soothe or
overcome the animal by speaking gently, and looking fixedly at him.
She was so far successful, that his bark sunk into a low irritable
growl, and Emma profited by the comparative silence to address a man
in the farm-yard, and beg him to call back the dog.
"He woant hurt thee, Missus," was the reply of the countryman, who
seemed, in reality, rather amused at the fright of the young ladies.
"But my sister is afraid to pass him," said Emma, imploringly, looking
round at Margaret who was standing at the distance of a hundred yards,
and evidently prepared again to take flight at the smallest aggressive
movement of the enemy.
"Thy sister must jist make up her moinde to pass as other foalk
do—unless you chose to go athert the field yonder, to get out of him's
way."
"Athert the field," Emma concluded they must go, as Margaret would not
advance; and she was about reluctantly to turn back, when the sound of
horse's hoofs was heard, and the next moment Mr. Howard appeared
advancing towards them. A glance shewed him the dilemma in which the
ladies were placed, and he was as quick in overcoming as in
comprehending their difficulties. A well aimed blow of his whip sent
the aggressor yelping to his kennel, and a sharp reproof to his master
followed, for not interfering in their favour, accompanied with a hint
about the necessity of confining his dog, if he did not wish to have
it indicted.
Mr. Howard was too well known for his word to be disputed or his
reproofs resented; the farmer promised it should not happen
again—peace was restored, and under Mr. Howard's protection, even
Margaret ventured to pass.
"I thought you were going to hunt," said Emma, in reply to his offer
to see them safely out of reach of their terrible foe. Mr. Howard said
he had only ridden out for pleasure, not for so important and
imperative a business as fox-hunting: it was evident, however, that he
considered walking with the Miss Watsons quite as pleasant as riding,
and that he was in no hurry to remount.
"Would you allow my sister to do herself the honour of calling on
you?" said he, presently; "your kindness to her little boy has quite
captivated her, and Charles is as anxious as herself to carry on the
acquaintance so happily begun. She has been ill since the assembly or
the offer would have been made sooner."
Emma coloured highly, but from very pleasurable feelings at this
speech, and readily professed that it would give her great pleasure to
become better acquainted both with Charles and his mother.
"I was almost afraid to propose it," said Mr. Howard, "when I heard
the bad success of Lord Osborne's negotiation for a similar point: you
do not really mean to refuse Miss Osborne's overtures."
"They must be made in a different way," said Emma, "before I am
tempted to accept them; or, indeed, to believe that anything more is
intended than to make me look ridiculous."
"You do less than justice both to yourself and to my friends," said
Mr. Howard, gently, "I assure you, the wish was really expressed by
Miss Osborne; and though my pupil blundered in making it known, I am
certain it was entirely from want of self-possession, not from want of
respect."
Emma did not answer; she was trying to ascertain whether the gratified
feeling she experienced, at the moment, arose from the wish ascribed
to Miss Osborne, or the anxiety shown by Mr. Howard to set those
wishes in a proper light.
A pause soon afterwards occurring in the conversation, Margaret seized
the opportunity, and leaning past her sister, addressed Mr. Howard in
an earnest and anxious manner—
"Is it really true, Mr. Howard, that Miss Carr is so very beautifully
fair?"
"She is certainly very fair," replied he, rather astonished at the
question, "I do not know that I ever saw a whiter skin; but is it
possible that her complexion can be a subject of discussion or
interest in your village?"
"I do not know," replied Margaret, not at all understanding him; "Mr.
Musgrove is a great deal at the castle, is he not?"
"Yes often, I believe," said Mr. Howard, quietly.
"I do not wonder at it—he must be a great favorite with the ladies, no
doubt," continued she; "I should think his manners must recommend him
everywhere."
"I fancy his intimacy at the castle is more owing to Lord Osborne's
partiality than that of his mother or sister," said he, still in a
reserved tone of voice, as if not wishing to discuss the domestic
circle of the Osbornes; yet there was a suppressed smile on his mouth,
which Emma construed into amusement at the idea of Miss Osborne's
admiring her brother's hanger-on; and she silently diverted herself
with fancying the probable degree of esteem which his complaisance and
flattery would win for him.