Mr. Howard did not leave the girls until they had reached their own
gate, and then with a quiet but decided assurance that he would soon
bring his sister, he mounted his horse, and rode homewards.
"Well, Emma," said Margaret, as they entered the parlour together, "I
wish every body had your luck; I cannot see why I should not have such
great friends, yet I dare say, I have been to fifty assemblies, and
never was a bit the nearer knowing Lord Osborne or any of his set—how
you managed it, I am sure I cannot guess."
"It was only because Emma is both good-natured and pretty," said
Elizabeth, looking up from the sofa-cover she was assiduously mending.
"Emma is not the first pretty girl who has been seen in those rooms, I
believe," said Margaret sharply; "and I should like to know what being
good-natured has to do with it!"
"It made her offer to dance with little Charles Willis—and by that
means please his uncle and mother; it was her kindness and good-nature
did that."
"No it was not; it was because she was so lucky as to sit next the
boy; if she had been at the other end of the room, all the good-nature
in the world would have been of no use—it was all her good luck."
"And if you had sat next to him the whole evening, should you have
thought of offering to be his partner, Margaret?" enquired Elizabeth.
"Very likely not—I hate dancing with boys. But I don't understand how
Emma got acquainted with Lord Osborne."
"And I cannot at all comprehend what makes your head so full of the
Osbornes this morning," replied Elizabeth.
"Why we met them all this morning, and first there was Lord Osborne
walking and talking with Emma, and then Mr. Howard—there never was
anything like it—he came right up to the garden-gate before he left
us."
"Did he indeed!" cried Elizabeth. "Do you mean Lord Osborne?"
Margaret explained, but her account was so tinctured with jealousy
that Elizabeth, curious and unsatisfied, ran up after Emma who had
left the room at the commencement of this discussion, to ascertain the
truth from her.
Even when Emma had related everything to her sister, it seemed almost
incredible—that Lord Osborne should have proposed such an
introduction, and Mr. Howard promised a visit from his sister,
appeared more like events in a fairy tale than the sober realities of
their every-day life.
"But why did you refuse the introduction, Emma?"
"What to Miss Osborne? Because I think such unequal acquaintances are
very undesirable and not likely to compensate for the trouble which
accompanies them, by any pleasure they can afford."
"I believe in my heart, Emma, you are very proud," said Elizabeth in a
doubting, puzzled tone that almost made her sister laugh.
"Too proud to become a hanger-on of Miss Osborne's, certainly,"
answered she; "much too proud to be condescended to, and encouraged,
or patronised, or anything of the sort."
"Well if I had been you, I would have just seen what his lordship
would do: suppose they had asked you up to the Castle—would you not
have liked that?"
"No," said Emma; "I should only indulge in luxuries which would make
my home uncomfortable from the contrast, or perhaps become envious
from comparing their state with my own. But I cannot imagine the
option will be given me: unless Miss Osborne seeks me, we shall not
meet, for I shall certainly not throw myself in her way."
"Well I am less proud and less philosophical than you, Emma, and I own
I would accept such an offer if it were made me, and be thankful for
the respite from the disagreeables of home, however temporary it might
be. I wonder whether Miss Osborne wishes it very much. But after all
Emma, you mean to let Mrs. Willis visit you—where's your pride in that
case?"
"Surely Elizabeth, you must see the difference," said Emma, coloring.
"Mr. Howard and his sister are in our rank of life, though their
intimacy at the castle gives them artificial consequence. There would
be no condescension on their part, and no obligation incurred by me,
which a return visit would not fairly pay."
"Well, I wish I knew what day they would come," said Miss Watson, "for
we could sit in the drawing-room, and not cover the sofa and carpets."
"Pray do not do anything of the sort," said Emma, in alarm; "I hope it
will not be the only visit they will pay—and we cannot _always_ sit in
state to receive them; make friends of them, and receive them in
parlour."
Elizabeth shook her head.
"You are very odd, Emma—what notions you have. I don't at all
understand you yet."
It was very evident by the result, that Mr. Howard had not overstated
his sister's anxiety to place her acquaintance with Emma on a footing
which would secure its permanence and authorise an increase of
intimacy; for the next Monday after making the request, the visitors
arrived. Elizabeth and Margaret were sitting together when they were
announced—but the former immediately left the room to seek for
Emma—although she would have been very glad if Margaret would have
saved her the trouble. Margaret, however, was determined to see as
much of these strangers from an unknown world, as she could, and
consequently, would not stir. She was very anxious to improve the
opportunity by immediately entering into conversation with Mr. Howard,
but she could think of nothing to say, and it was to the sister that
they were indebted for the introduction of a subject. Margaret, who
had taken little notice of her at first—for she always found a
difficulty in conversing with women, could not help feeling, in some
degree, obliged by the well-bred manner in which she commenced some
common topics of conversation.
"My brother has been telling me of your adventures on Saturday with
the dog," said Mrs. Willis presently, "I hope you suffered no further
inconvenience from it."
"Oh," said Margaret, "I was dreadfully frightened; I believe, but for
Mr. Howard's interference, I should have fainted; I am very nervous,
and I declare I would rather have remained there the whole night, than
have ventured past the horrid animal."
"My arrival there must be esteemed most fortunate," said he, "but I
own I am astonished at the rudeness of the man in the farm-yard, who
contented himself with looking on."
"Oh. he was a brute," cried Margaret, "no better than the dog—but what
else can you expect from boors like him. They have no sentiment or
feeling."
"I do not agree with you," replied Mr. Howard, "I assure you, I have
often been struck with instances of disinterested kindness and
generosity amongst the labouring classes, which prove that they are
endowed with excellent feelings."
"They have no delicacy or sentiment," said Margaret, "and without that
they are uninteresting to me. I own my partiality for the favorites of
nature, the gentle and elegant in manner, the aristocratic in birth
and breeding."
"Still I think you do our peasantry injustice, if you suppose them
destitute of delicacy of feeling, because they have not a refined way
of expressing their thoughts in words," replied Mr. Howard. "Their
manners of course are uncultivated, and their habits are what you
would call unrefined—and no one would wish they should be cursed with
the desire for elegancies, which habit has rendered indispensable with
us, but which must be unattainable to them; but the germs of
generosity, gratitude, and self-sacrifice for the good of others, may
be found in many a one who would be puzzled to express his ideas in
words."
"I dare say that is very true," replied Margaret; "but I must say I
think them very coarse and clownish; now and then one sees a pretty
looking girl; but the men are all detestable."
"I have little to say for their manners or persons," said Mr. Howard;
"but, I assure you, I have met with poetical though uncultivated minds
amongst labouring men—the true poetry of nature."
"It must be very odd poetry expressed in such gothic language," said
Margaret, laughing: as she had not the smallest poetical feeling
herself, she could not comprehend what he meant when he talked of it,
and concluded that the peasantry spoke in rhyme, or, at least, blank
verse.
At this moment the entrance of the other young ladies cut short the
discussion, and introduced a new subject. Charles, who had been
standing by his mother, earnestly contemplating the crown of his hat,
and drawing figures with his finger on the beaver, now looked up, all
animation, as Emma kindly greeted him as her "first partner at her
first ball." His mother's eyes sparkled almost as much as the little
boy's, at her good-natured notice. Mr. Howard's admiration of her was
less obvious, but, perhaps, not less sincere than the others. A moment
after, Mr. Watson entered the room: his gout was better, and allowed
him to come down stairs.
Mr. Howard noticed that it was Emma who rolled his easy chair into the
proper position, Emma, who arranged his footstool, who drew the
curtain to exclude the glare of the wintry sun, placed the screen to
ward off the draught from the door, and laid his spectacles,
snuff-box, and writing-case on precisely the proper spots of the
proper table next him. Elizabeth was conversing with her visitor, and
Margaret never stirred on such occasions. Certainly Emma's exertions,
at this time, were almost rendered useless by the zeal with which Mr.
Howard seconded her movements. Mr. Watson's comforts were soon
arranged in the most satisfactory manner, such as long habit had
rendered indispensable to him, and when he had carefully adjusted his
spectacles, and taken a survey of the room, he turned to Mr. Howard,
and enquired, who was that nice young woman talking to Elizabeth.
On being answered that it was his sister, he civilly apologised for
not having known her, which, as he had never seen her before, he
remarked, was not wonderful; but Elizabeth ought to have introduced
him before he sat down, as really the gout made it extremely difficult
to move across the room. Elizabeth did not think it necessary to
justify herself by informing him, that it was only owing to the
self-engrossment and bustle attending his progress and settlement in
his arm-chair, that her attempt at an introduction had been thwarted;
indeed, Miss Watson was so little used to such ceremonies as to have
seized precisely the most inauspicious moment for speaking, and having
been foiled in her first essay, sat down without trying again.
Mrs. Willis, however, made it all easy, and soothed Mr. Watson's
discomposure at such a breach of etiquette, by the good-natured and
respectful manner in which she now addressed him.
Whilst they were sitting in pleasant chat, Tom Musgrove again appeared
amongst them. Emma really began to hate the sight of him on Margaret's
account, as her sister's manners whilst in his company, cost her many
blushes; and her increase of fretfulness after his departure
occasioned discomfort to the whole party. It was a great gratification
to her to discover from Mr. Watson's manner, that he was very far from
looking on Tom Musgrove as the amiable and elegant gentleman that he
aspired to be considered, and she even fancied that her father did not
receive him simply as an inoffensive guest; on the contrary, he seemed
annoyed at his visit, and inclined to regard it as an intrusion.
"Well master Tom," said he, "what foolish thing have you been doing
lately?—breaking any more horses' knees or dinner-engagements—your
genius cannot have been idle since I saw you last—let's hear all about
it."
"No indeed sir," replied Tom; "I have been doing nothing worth
chronicling, at least to such a _judge_ as you. I have had my own
little amusements, but they are not worth detailing. By the bye
Howard, I dare say Osborne did not tell you how completely I beat him
at Fives the other day: he's a good player too—but didn't I astonish
him."
"Lord Osborne seldom entertains me with accounts of his sports,
whether defeated or victorious," replied Mr. Howard, coolly.
"When you have the gout in your foot even twice as bad as I have,"
observed Mr. Watson, "it will be consolatory to you to remember that
you could once beat Lord Osborne at Fives."
"Aye sir, I dare say I shall have my turn by-and-bye, I expect to have
it early—Osborne tells me _his_ father had it at five-and-twenty. It's
an aristocratic complaint."
"Unless you have reason to suppose the late Lord Osborne was _your_
father likewise," resumed Mr. Watson drily, "I don't see what either
his gout or his aristocracy have to do with you."
"Do you feel any symptoms already?" whispered Margaret; "you really
ought to take care of yourself—who would be so much missed if you were
laid up with that dreadful disorder! and who would you get to nurse
you in your hours of suffering?"
"Oh I'll take care of myself, Miss Margaret," said he pointedly; "gout
makes one a prisoner, which is bad—I hate all confinement, and bonds
of every kind, especially fire-side bonds: freedom for me—freedom at
home and abroad—perfect freedom. By the bye, Howard," continued he,
breaking in upon a very agreeable conversation which that gentleman
was carrying on aside with Emma, "I knew you were here when I came in,
by that curious vehicle standing at the door. Positively it must have
belonged to your great grandfather—nobody more modern could have built
such a conveyance!"
"One thing is certain," said Mr. Watson, "Mr. Howard _had_ a great
grandfather to whom it might have belonged—it is more than every one
can say!"
Tom rather winced at this observation, for as it was known, to those
who possessed good memories, that his grandfather had ridden about the
country on a donkey, whilst carrying on the lucrative business of a
rag-merchant, it was no very great stretch of the imagination to
conclude that his more remote ancestor had been equally humble in his
means of travelling.
"Perhaps it is not the most elegant conveyance in the world," replied
its owner good-humouredly; "but it carries us very safely, and the
most fashionable curricle would do no more."
"Upon my word I must beg to have the refusal of it, if you can be
tempted to part with it, Howard, and I will send it to a museum
somewhere, labelled the car of Cybele; I protest it puts me in mind of
an old print of that machine, which belonged to an aunt of mine."
"Lord Osborne has promised to give me a new carriage when either he or
I marry," said Mr. Howard; "and I mean to make mine serve till that
event."
"And are you come wooing now in person or as proxy?" whispered Tom,
quite loud enough for Emma to hear. "A good place this—one need not
ask twice, I fancy."
"Mr. Musgrove," said Howard in his particularly quiet but decisive
way, "you are as welcome to laugh at my carriage as you should be to
use it, if it were necessary; but remember there are subjects on which
jesting is indelicate, and places where it is insulting." He turned
away as he spoke and addressed Mr. Watson, to give Emma's cheeks time
to recover from the glow which betrayed that she had heard more than
was pleasant.
Tom looked a little foolish, and after a moment's hesitation,
addressed an enquiry to Emma as to whether she had been walking that
forenoon. He only gained a mono-syllable in reply, and then Emma
drawing little Charles towards her, began a confidential conversation
with him on the subject of his garden and companions at school, and
the comparative merits of base-ball and cricket. Tom was repulsed, so
turning to Elizabeth, he cried:
"Well I must be going, Miss Watson, for I have an engagement. I
promised to meet Fred Simpson and Beauclerc and another fellow
presently—so I must be off. They want my opinion about some greyhounds
Beauclerc has taken a fancy to but wouldn't buy till I had had time to
see them. They are monstrous good fellows, and must not be kept
waiting. Great friends of Osborne's, I assure you."
Nobody opposed his design: then turning with a softer tone and manner
to Emma, he said,
"Really I must go to school again and take lessons from my little
friend, to learn from him the art of finding agreeable conversation.
What is the secret, Charles?"
"It is more easily explained than taught," replied Emma, "unaffected
good-humour, sincerity, and simplicity. That is all!"
Tom took himself off, and as the sound of his curricle wheels died
away in the distance, Mr. Watson observed:
"There goes a young man, who if he had had to work for his bread might
have been a useful member of society. But unfortunately the father
made a fortune, so the son can only make a fool of himself."