This was highly gratifying to Margaret, but she had her little discomforts too. There were some young ladies who shrugged their shoulders and wished Mr. and Mrs. Tom Musgrove might have a quiet house of it—there were others who whispered strange things about the courtship. Miss Lascomb thought it very odd indeed Mr. Musgrove did not come to see his betrothed—of course they knew their own affairs best, but she hoped if ever she were in such a situation, to see a little more devotion and warmth in her swain. Miss Johnston said she knew how young men were sometimes caught, that she did, and till she heard the gentleman declare his engagement with a smile, she should not be persuaded that it did not cost him a sigh.
These speeches, though not made to Margaret, were all carefully repeated to her, by some of her many kind friends, who delighted in retailing small ware of the kind. She coloured and pouted, tossed her head, and recommended people to leave affairs alone which did not belong to them, and wondered any people could take such pleasure in interfering in other people's concerns. But she knew what it came from, that she did, it was all envy and spite, because she was going to marry a real gentleman, who had nothing to do, and Mr. Johnston was only an apothecary, and all the world knew that Miss Lascomb had been setting her cap at the writing master for the last three years, and all to no purpose. In her heart, she was really troubled with some misgivings on account of not receiving any communication from Tom—she would have delighted to parade his letters before her admiring confidantes, and her envying female friends, but this pleasure was denied her. All she could do, was to write very often herself, and take care to have a letter directed to him beside her, whenever any of her gossipping acquaintance came to pay her a visit of inspection.
The news from Chichester which about this time arrived gave a very flourishing account of Penelope's affairs. Her lover, notwithstanding his advanced age, appeared far more ardent and energetic than the youthful Tom Musgrove.
In accordance, it was said, with his earnest solicitations, their union was to take place very speedily, and Penelope hoped that the next time she had occasion to write to her sisters, it would be to inform them that she no longer bore the same name as themselves. In the prospects of her two sisters, Emma saw little to console her for the blight which had fallen on her own; she would have rejoiced with all her heart had she been able to suppose they would be happy, but she could not reconcile herself to the proceedings of either, nor persuade herself, try as she would, that in either case, the motives which led them to engage in a connection so important as matrimony were such as could ensure a blessing with them. In Penelope's case especially, she could view it as nothing but a sale of herself for a certain amount of settlements; she knew there was neither love nor esteem on her side, for she had heard her, in unguarded moments, express sentiments quite the reverse, speaking of her future husband in a slighting tone, and with a contemptuous accent, as if she held him little better than an idiot for the very act of marrying her. As to Margaret, though she really seemed in love, after a fashion, with Mr. Musgrove, there was too evident a reluctance on his part, and too much want of delicacy on hers, to leave, as Emma imagined, the least chance of anything happier than a total rupture between them; and taking everything into consideration it seemed to her that such an event would be by much the most desirable circumstance that could occur.
Emma herself was, for some time, a close prisoner. Mrs. Watson found so much for her to do, that she had scarcely time to stir from the nursery, except when she took a walk with Janetta, who was now almost entirely confided to her care. The child loved her dearly; and had her exertions as nursery governess given the smallest satisfaction to her sister-in-law, had they even been treated by her as an equivalent for board and maintenance, she would have been less uncomfortable.
But whilst she was spending her whole time in unremunerated, and indeed unacknowledged services, she was perpetually reminded of her entire dependence on Robert, and taunted with her uselessness, her idle habits, and her fine lady manners. The numerous visitors, who dawdled away a morning hour in Mrs. Watson's parlour, were apt to expatiate on her extraordinary liberality and kindness in receiving her three sisters as her guests, little imagining that the two elder paid for their board out of their scanty incomes, and that the younger compensated for the misery she endured, under the show of patronage, in a way yet more advantageous to her grudging but ostentatious relatives.
At length, a grand event occurred. Mr. Millar invited them all to a dinner party, and Annie hinted that it was to be followed by a dance and a supper. They were all asked, and though Jane demurred about Emma, Robert overruled her.
"We must let the girl have a chance," said he; "if she is never seen, there's no chance of any of those young fellows proposing for her."
Jane had no wish that they should. She felt Emma's value far too strongly to be at all inclined to part with her. Her caps had never been so nicely made—her stockings so carefully darned—or Janetta's wardrobe so well attended to, as since she had turned over every trouble of the kind to Emma. But as she did not choose to own these considerations, she was obliged to assent to Robert's proposal, and Emma was to go to the Millars'. In spite of their mutual wishes, she had seen very little of Annie Millar; their meetings had been hindered in every possible way by Mrs. Watson, who was always apprehensive that Emma would complain, aware, as she was, that she had real reason to do so; but Mrs. Watson had skilfully contrived that the drawing back from her acquaintance should appear the voluntary act of Emma, a notion which cooled Annie's friendship towards her, until Elizabeth, with her usual frankness, had on one occasion afforded an explanation of the matter. The result of this was an energetic attempt, on Miss Millar's side, to secure her society for the evening in question, and as she had appealed to Robert as well as Jane, she was successful.
They went accordingly, and Emma's quick eyes were immediately caught by the difference of manner which George Millar displayed towards Elizabeth, compared with the rest of the party. To the others he was open, cordial, and kind, with an address which if not exactly polished, was at least far removed from vulgarity; but to Miss Watson he was hurried and awkward, apparently eager to please to a degree which deprived him of the self-possession necessary for that end. Elizabeth too, looked shy and conscious when their eyes met, though evidently expecting and wishing that he should take his stand beside her chair, which she had fortunately secured in such a position, that after walking forward to receive his visitors, he was able to fall back again, and resume his conversation with her. Emma saw this with satisfaction, and venturing, in spite of her own disappointments, to speculate on the future, she fancied that at least her dear sister Elizabeth would secure a happy home for herself.