"That is so pleasant of you, Emma," said Elizabeth, "I must say, with all your refinement, you are easier pleased than either Pen or Margaret. How very comfortably we could live together."
Mr. Watson returned from the visitation and the dinner in very good spirits.
"I am very glad I went," said he, "people were all very kind, and the dinner was very good. I don't know how many people told me they were glad to see me, and I had some capital venison—there was turbot too, and hare soup—all excellent—and a very civil young clergyman, a very nice young man indeed, would help me down to dinner, and took care I had a warm seat, and saved me the trouble of calling for things. I thought it very kind of him, I think his name is Howard. He asked after my daughter too—I don't know which he meant at all—but I suppose you can tell amongst yourselves. I really don't know when I passed a more pleasant afternoon!"
The next morning, however, brought a different story. The unusual exertion combined with turbot and venison, brought on a violent fit of the gout, and for a day or two the girls hardly left their father's room, or had any other pursuit or occupation than attempting to relieve his pain, or amuse his intervals of rest.
The third day after the ball, whilst Jenny was slowly preparing the dinner-table in the parlour, with more noise than despatch, the two girls standing over the fire looking at her movements, the door-bell was heard following the tread of horses on the gravel at the entrance.
"Who can that possibly be?" cried Elizabeth, "run and let them in, Jenny—no, stop, I think you had better not—just say your master is ill."
Jenny bustled off—leaving the knife-basket on the floor, and the cloth half opened on the table. A moment of silent suspense followed, when in reply to some mutterings of Jenny, they heard through the door which she had left open Tom Musgrove's voice—
"Oh, never mind, we will go in all the same; we came to enquire for Mr. Watson."
And another voice, laughing harshly, was heard, and steps along the passage, which excited Elizabeth to such a degree, that she hastily twitched off the unspread cloth, and threw it into a chair behind the door—which she had just time to do, before the visitors presented themselves unannounced; for Jenny was too much astonished at the event to find tongue to utter the names of Lord Osborne and Mr. Musgrove; but stood with her mouth open gazing in the passage. Elizabeth felt excessive surprise at this unexpected visit, to a degree which almost made her unconscious of what she was doing. Shame at being detected by Lord Osborne in dining at three o'clock, and doubt how to behave to him—an inclination to apologise for her homely appearance, plain stuff-gown and untidy room, which, however, was fortunately checked by her uncertainty how to express herself properly, all contended in her mind; when the first gush of surprise was abated, it was quite a relief to her, to shake hands with her old friend Tom Musgrove, and to see him seat himself without ceremony. Emma, on the contrary, felt this intrusion extremely impertinent and ill-bred; what excuse was there for Lord Osborne calling in this way; there never had been any acquaintance previously between the families, her father had never been noticed by the inhabitants of the Castle, nor invited there as many of the neighbouring gentry were; and now that he was ill, and they knew it, she was indignant that they should thus force themselves on her sister and herself.
Her own curtsey was as stiff and reserved, as if she had been taking lessons of Mrs. Edwards; and she resumed her seat without feeling the slightest inclination to converse herself, and being almost displeased with Elizabeth for the easy manner in which she allowed, or perhaps encouraged, Tom Musgrove to address her. Lord Osborne's visit was certainly meant for Emma, for he placed himself near her, and sat some minutes with his eyes fixed on her countenance, until she began to think he meant to preserve the same conduct in her father's house, as he had done at the ball.