Emma was silent, but looked extremely uneasy. Her brother observed her distressed appearance, and after thinking a few minutes, addressed her.
"As you know so much of the Osbornes, Emma, and it really appears that you can keep a secret, which considering your age and sex is rather remarkable, I will tell you my whole plan, and we will see whether your wit can help me carry it out. Look here—suppose Tom Musgrove refuses all acknowledgment of the engagement, I threaten an action, call on you and Miss Osborne as witnesses; if it really comes before a jury she will be compelled to appear; but say she dislikes it—is too fine or too delicate—well let her family use their influence with Musgrove to induce a marriage, and they may succeed. By threatening to make his perfidy public, by menacing him with the indignation of the family, if he compels us to resort to such extremities—possibly even by the judicious application of family interests to procure him some situation, some sinecure appointment, or in many similar ways, the Osbornes may work upon his feelings in a way which we could never do. Meantime say nothing; I will explain enough to Margaret, and you have only to answer all enquiries by the assurance that you are not allowed by me to mention the matter. Go now."
Emma would gladly have retreated to her own room, but Jane was too sharp for her.
"What an immense time you have been," cried she impatiently clutching hold of Emma's shoulder; "I thought you would never come out; and I could not hear a word you said. Now tell me all about it."
Emma assured her that she dared not—her brother had so strictly forbidden all allusion to the subject; she really was not at liberty to mention a single word.
"Well really that's great impertinence of Mr. Watson—I'll give it him well for that: what can it signify whether I know it or not—I dare say a mighty matter to make so much fuss about—any affair you are concerned in must be so very important: no, don't go up-stairs, I want you in the parlour, child."
Emma reluctantly returned to the parlour. Elizabeth and Margaret were both there; but before Jane had time to expatiate upon the injustice and tyranny of her husband in denying her knowledge which did not concern her, a morning visitor was announced.
The lady who entered was a Mrs. Turner, a widow, with an unfashionable black dress, a good-humoured but unmeaning face, and a cheerful manner.
"Well, Mrs. Watson," cried she, "here you are, amiable and industrious as ever; I am sure your husband must thank his lucky stars which gave him such a wife—I always consider you quite as the pattern for all housekeepers and married ladies. And such a cheerful party as I find—who are these sweet girls?—charming creatures I have no doubt."
"Mr. Watson's sisters," said Jane laconically.