"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."