"They do not make me unhappy, I assure you," said she with spirit; "the value I place on such fluctuating friendships is low indeed."
"In one single instance, perhaps, it may be so—but you had better not dwell on such ideas; they will create eventually a habit of mind which must tend to produce secret irritation and uneasiness. The allowing yourself to think it—much more expressing that thought can do you no good, and each repetition deepens the impression!"
He spoke so gently, with such a low, earnest tone, she could not resist or for a moment longer indulge her half-formed suspicions relative to him and his sister. Whether he had guessed her feelings she could not tell; his eyes were fixed on her with too much of interest to allow her to attempt reading the whole of their meaning. She never liked him so well as when thus, and with justice, reproving her.
"I dare say you are right," said she meekly, "I will try to repress such feelings—indeed I am ashamed I ever gave them utterance—and here too, where I have been so very kindly welcomed!"
"And I am to imagine then," continued he, "that Croydon offers few attractions to you—a country town is not usually agreeable except to those who love gossip, of which I do not suspect you; but you must have found some compensations."
"It was a great pleasure to look forward to Elizabeth being so comfortably settled," replied Emma, "I like my future brother very much, and am pleased with his family. I have no doubt of her happiness—and the style of life will not be irksome to her—but I love the country, and country pursuits, and was right glad to exchange the noisy streets of Croydon for the delightful groves of Burton—its meadows and green-lanes."
"You have not then been the whole time at Croydon?"
She explained—he had certainly been in a state of complete darkness as to her movements lately; and she really felt a momentary mortification that he should have been contented to remain in such profound ignorance. Yet she also rejoiced that he had never heard anything relative to the course of events which had occasioned her so much pain at Croydon, and driven her from the place. He knew nothing of Mr. Morgan.
How much longer they would have been content to loiter in that pleasant flower-garden cannot now be known, but they were only induced to leave it by the sound of the gong, which summoned them to the Castle to prepare for dinner. The hour which they had thus enjoyed had been one of the pleasantest to Emma which she could recollect, and the witchery of it to Howard himself would have been quite unrivalled, had his conscience been easy on reflection, with regard to Lord Osborne's plans and hopes. He tormented himself with the idea that it was unjust to his friend to take advantage of his absence; yet a flattering hope dwelt in his heart, that she had shown no reluctance to the interview; nay, if his wishes did not deceive and mislead him, there was a glance in her averted eye, and a rich mantling of colour over her cheek once or twice, which spoke anything but aversion.
And if so—if he really had been so fortunate as to inspire her with a partiality so delightful, was he not privileged—more than privileged—bound in honour to her to prove himself deserving of such feelings, and capable of appreciating them. This conviction gave him a degree of confidence and animation quite different from the manners he had exhibited when they had previously met at Osborne Castle, and Emma found him as pleasant as in the earlier stage of their acquaintance.