"Howard," said Lord Osborne with much agitation, "if I thought you were serious in what you say, I would never speak to you again; I know you only say it to torment me, but is that generous when you are the winning party?"
"I beg your pardon," said Howard holding out his hand; and no more was said on the subject.
"What a pity it is," said Emma Watson to Howard when he was joyfully detailing to her his happy prospects, and Lord Osborne's generosity, "what a pity it is that Lord Osborne's manners are so inferior to his mind. With so much good feeling and generosity of sentiment, it is unfortunate that he should have so little engaging in his appearance and address."
"I do not think so at all, Emma, for if his manners had been such as you admire, and calculated to set off his good qualities, you would certainly have been lost to me."
"What abominable conceit!" cried Emma; "you really take credit to yourself, do you, for such very captivating manners yourself, since you think that those alone are the passports to my good opinion."
"I did not mean to say that; I trust my other good qualities are so remarkable that you have, in their favour, overlooked any little deficiencies which might otherwise strike you in my manners."
"Modest, truly! What is the income of the living which his lordship presents to you?"
"About a thousand a year, I believe, and a very pretty country and pleasant neighbourhood. I have been there, and always thought I should like it so very much."
"I am quite sorry to leave this pretty place though," said Emma looking at the Vicarage near which they were wandering; "I am sure the other cannot have so pleasant a garden, nor so pleasant a little drawing-room. Those were happy days when we were snowed up there."
They then went off into a long series of reminiscences and explanations through which it would be useless, were it possible, to follow them.