"Upon my word you honor my table with a very pretty costume," eyeing Emma fixedly, "may I ask how long it has been your fashion to have your hair awry in that way, and your gown tumbled—do you come out of your bed, or have you been indulging in an interesting game of romps?"
Robert looked at Emma, and even he was struck with the appearance of suffering; and coupling with it the fact that she had eaten no dinner, and moreover, feeling rather cross with his wife, he began to defend her, desiring Jane not to worry his sister, as it was evident she was very far from well. Mrs. Watson fired up at this. She wondered what people could mean speaking to ladies that way—she was sure they must quite forget who they were addressing—as to what she said to Emma, she wondered what she should be forbidden to say next! Really it was too good, if she might not find fault with a girl like Emma in her own house, and at her own table too! She supposed the next thing she should hear, would be that Emma sat there to find fault with her. Her manners, her dress, her general behaviour would be called into question; if Emma gave her approbation no doubt, she should be right—she only hoped she should not be obliged to adopt the elegant negligence of Miss Emma Watson's present style—it was not to her taste she was afraid she must confess.
"Emma has really a very bad headache," interposed Elizabeth, "and would be much better in bed."
"Then pray, let her to go to bed," cried Jane, tossing her head; "who wants her to sit up? not I, I am sure; she may go to bed if she likes; but, if she thinks I am going to call in a doctor for her, she is very much mistaken; I will indulge no such whims and fancies."
Emma gladly availed herself of the permission to retire thus graciously accorded, and Elizabeth accompanied her up-stairs and assisted her to undress; neither would she leave her until summoned down to tea; even then, the temptation of Mr. Millar coming in, could not detain her from Emma's room; she told him how ill her sister was, and she returned to sit by her bedside, and attempt, by cool applications, to allay the burning, throbbing pain in her head, which Emma complained almost drove her mad. But she showed no symptoms of amendment, and towards morning she was in a decided fever. Elizabeth, who had sat up with her all night, now pressed her to consent to see Mr. Morgan—the name made her shudder, and she resolutely refused to do so. She declared she was not very ill—nothing more than her sister's skill could alleviate; but that to see Mr. Morgan would infallibly make her worse. Elizabeth thought this rather odd, but she let her have her own way, and said no more about the doctor. Mrs. Watson began to be frightened, when she found that Emma was really very ill; she too then proposed her seeing the doctor; but with more moderation, though with equal firmness Emma rejected her proposal, as she had done that of Elizabeth.
She only wished to see Mr. Bridge—but she had not energy or courage to request an interview with him; she lay in a kind of half-dreamy state, during the greater part of that day and the next; then Elizabeth thought her worse, and without asking her any more on the subject she went to Robert—and with tears in her eyes, entreated that some advice might be sent for—as otherwise, she felt sure Emma would die. This startled Robert—it would have been so exceedingly unpleasant—it would have interfered sadly with Margaret's marriage—and in several other ways would have greatly inconvenienced himself. Accordingly, he decided at once, that Mr. Morgan should be called in, and so he was. Emma was in too profound a state of stupor to notice him, or to be aware of what was passing beside her bed. She did wake a little at the sound of voices, but she could not guess whose they were; they seemed to her even a great way off—though, in reality, close to her; he might hold her hand now, she could not withdraw it; nay, when he put back the dark hair from her brow, and laid his hand on her temples to count the throbbing of the pulse there—she made no resistance now—she was unconscious of his touch. He was not alarmed about her, though he saw she was really ill—too ill for him to flatter his vanity with the idea that it was affected for the sake of seeing him; but he felt sure she would recover, and greatly consoled Elizabeth by his lively hopes on this subject. Nevertheless, he came to see her twice that evening, and early again the next morning. On neither visit did he find her sufficiently conscious to recognise him—but she gradually began to amend—and on waking from a prolonged slumber on the afternoon of the third day, she was sufficiently restored to the use of her faculties, to enquire of Elizabeth, whether any one had been attending her during the intervening time. Her sister, without circumlocution, told her how often Mr. Morgan had seen her, and added, that he was to come again that evening. Emma appeared excessively discomposed, and asked her if she could not prevent his coming; persisting that she did not want to see any doctor, and that, if she were only left alone, she should soon be well.
Miss Watson, who considered this merely as a fancy belonging to her state of disease, tried to avoid giving her a direct answer, and when she found this would not satisfy her, she endeavoured to persuade Emma of the unreasonable nature of her request, and ended by saying she would see what could be done for her. Of course Mr. Morgan came at the time appointed, end she was obliged to bear it, though the very sight of him threw her into such a state of agitation that his feeling her pulse was perfectly useless and only served to mislead him. He had, however, too much penetration not to discover quickly that his presence caused the feverish symptoms which at first alarmed him; he would gladly have persuaded himself that they indicated partiality, but not even his vanity could so far mislead him. The averted eye, the constrained voice, the cold composed look which wore the expression of her real feelings, told him a very different tale. He felt that he had lost ground in her good opinion, though he could not exactly tell why or how, and still less did he know how to recover it. His visit was short, and his conversation confined entirely to professional subjects, and he took his leave of her with a bow which was intended to express a profound mixture of admiration and respect towards her, mingled with regret, self-reproach, humility and penitence on his part. If any bow could have conveyed so much meaning, it would certainly have been his, and it did undoubtedly express the utmost that a bow could do. Emma drew a long breath when he was gone, and whispered,
"I wish he would never come again."
Elizabeth tried seriously to convince her that she was exceedingly unjust, and pressed her to name any fault she could find with Mr. Morgan, of her own knowledge, not speaking merely from hear-say. Emma's nerves were not in a state to bear argument, and instead of answering she began to cry, and went off in a fit of hysterics which Elizabeth had great difficulty in soothing away.
The next morning Emma requested Elizabeth to procure her a visit from Mr. Bridge; she could not rest longer without an interview, and she now felt strong enough to make her wishes known. She would not allow any reference to be made to Jane, but sent a request, in her own name, that he would call on her, and when this request was complied with, as it speedily was, she sent Elizabeth out of the room that she might have an unreserved conversation with her old friend.