"I am glad of it," he replied with much animation, "you would have been very different from what I fancied, if you had found any pleasure in Mrs. Harding Russell."
Emma made no answer, and he immediately afterwards proposed her joining Lady Gordon, to which she assented. They found, on joining the circle round the hostess, that she was proposing for them a ramble through the prettiest parts of the park, to see the waterfall and the fairy fountain, and hear the echo, which was famous in the glen; there were a number of young people round her, and they seemed just in a humour for such an expedition. Some were to take carriages, some to go on foot, and amongst this latter group were included Emma and also Miss Carr, who seemed suddenly seized with a very decided partiality for Miss Watson, which grew particularly strong whenever Lord Osborne approached.
Quite uninvited she linked her arm in Emma's, and would be her inseparable companion in the walk. It was very pretty scenery through which they had to pass, and the lively party with their gay dresses gave it quite a novel effect. There was nothing like connected conversation carried on, only lively remarks, and quick repartees, with quaint observations from Sir William Gordon, who formed one of the party, and matter-of-fact assertions from his brother-in-law, who was, however, remarkably talkative for him.
In passing through one portion of the park under a sunny bank, they startled some of the harmless speckled snakes which writhed themselves away in haste, but not without causing much alarm and trepidation on the part of some of the young ladies, who protested they had a natural horror of such reptiles. This led the conversation into a new train, a long discussion on natural antipathies, when all the young ladies were called on by Sir William to declare what were their pet antipathies, presuming that they all cherished some such amiable weakness. He in return was immediately assaulted by an accusation of thinking ill of young women—entertaining satirical ideas about them, and making ill-natured speeches to them; which of course he denied, and the dispute which this accusation brought on lasted till they reached the fairy fountain.
Seated by the side of the spring was a brilliant, dark-eyed, beauty of a gipsy, who seemed to be waiting their approach.
"Here's a part of the masque for which I was not prepared," cried Sir William; "I wonder whether my wife sent this woman here."
Then advancing, he enquired what she wanted.
"I am waiting," she exclaimed with a smile, "to meet you all—not you, Sir William," putting him back with her hand. "It is not you I wish to see, but the young lord. Stand forth, Lord Osborne."
"Holloa! what now," cried he advancing—but another gentleman put him back, and placing himself before the gipsy enquired why she called him forth.
"I never called you, Arthur Brooke—who named your name?—keep in your proper place, and be not hurried to assume that of others." Then rising, she pointed to the spring and exclaimed, "Are you all come to drink at the fairy spring? How will you do it—where are your glasses or your pitchers?"