"I can tell you, Miss Emma, it's no use at all, your trying to be so grand and indifferent; it was not a trifling mark of my regard, what I was going to tell you, but, if you do not wish to hear it, you may let it alone. I dare say, Margaret will shew more interest in my concerns; I can tell her some day."
And with these words, Penelope rose and hastily quitted the room, slamming the door after her with all her might.
During the three succeeding days there was every possible opportunity taken by her to display to Emma the superior confidence with which Margaret was treated. Slips of paper were continually thrown across the table, containing mysterious words or incomprehensible signs. There was whispering too in corners, and talking with their fingers; hints were thrown out, which convulsed Margaret with laughing, but in which the uninitiated could see no joke; and every means taken to raise a curiosity which would have flattered Pen's self-importance. Elizabeth and Emma bore this infliction with remarkable heroism—having a strong internal conviction that a secret which required so much exertion to give it importance could not be much worth knowing, or that it would soon certainly become public.
Affairs were in this state when the important day, which had already excited such intense speculation or anticipation in the minds of the four sisters. Emma's toilette was very satisfactory to herself in its results, she hoped she should not be the plainest or worst dressed person in the room, and she certainly took especial care to arrange her hair in a way that she had reason to think Mr. Howard admired.
Duly were they transported to the scene of such great anticipations, and when they had sufficiently arranged their dresses and shaken out the creases, after being so very much squeezed, they were marshalled up the grand staircase into the state-apartment.
It was worth while to watch Margaret's countenance, when, for the first time, contemplating the rich furniture and evidences of wealth which surrounded her. An overpowering sense of her own insignificance, and a conviction, that amidst so much that was rich, beautiful, and costly, her own elaborate toilette would pass unregarded, were the most prominent of her feelings. She could not resign herself to the idea of being one amongst the many unimportant individuals who contributed to form one whole and animated picture; she had flattered herself with the idea that she should be quite distinguished; she had fancied that because her dress was the most elegant she had ever worn, it would be equally superior to those of the other visitors. Suddenly she found her mistake. Around her, on every side, were gay groups dressed in a far more expensive style; jewels glittered, laces and Indian shawls, velvets and brocades rustled or waved before her eyes, and the discovery that, however superior to her usual style were her present habiliments, numbers present surpassed her in elegance, caused a bitter mortification to her vain mind. It was everywhere a scene of gay bustle: animated whispers, light laughter, finery and flirtation were on every side of her and her sisters, as they followed the stream of visitors ascending to the reception-rooms. There were few whom they knew by sight; none to speak to, amongst all the company; some who passed bestowed a stare, some put up their eye-glasses, and some their lips, as they saw the four sisters unattended by any gentleman walking together. These were ladies: men when they looked once, looked again, for the whole family were good-looking, and Emma's beauty could not fail to attract when once observed. But looks did not satisfy Margaret or Penelope, who both wanted to be conspicuous characters, envied every woman accompanied or addressed by a man, and felt extremely ill-used by everything around them.
After passing through several state-apartments, where they followed in the wake of many others, they arrived at the entrance of the music saloon, where they at last encountered Miss Osborne and her mother. The latter curtsied, and then turned to some one else; the former broke off a conversation with some young people round her, to offer her hand to Elizabeth and her youngest sister, to whom she expressed much pleasure at the meeting; and said a few civil words to the two others, when Miss Watson named them. Both Elizabeth and Emma were satisfied with their reception, and would have been glad to find quiet seats from which they might survey the company, and thus secure all the share in the amusement that they felt they had a right to expect. But the others were not so easily satisfied. They wanted to keep close to Miss Osborne, hoping for the distinction of further notice, and they both declared that they had no idea of being wedged into a corner where nobody could see them. To avoid attracting attention by their angry whispers, their sisters were obliged to comply, though they both felt uncomfortable at parading the rooms without any chaperone or gentleman to escort them, and yet did not like to attach themselves to Miss Osborne, lest she should think so large a body of followers troublesome.
Passing once more down one of the drawing-rooms, they for the first time perceived an acquaintance. This was Tom Musgrove, who was in the act of escorting a party of fashionable-looking ladies, and either did not, or would not see them. To pass him unobserved, however, suited neither Pen nor Margaret, and the latter having failed to catch his eye, the former pulled his elbow to make him look at them. Emma turned blushing away, quite ashamed of the free manner of her sister's address.
His attention thus arrested, he could not avoid speaking—but his bow was as short and hurried as it was possible, and he would again have turned to his party had Penelope or Margaret allowed it. But this they would not do.
"Bless me, Tom," cried the elder sister; "how many ages it is since we met, and yet you seem not to have a word to bestow on an old friend."