"I hope, Miss Watson, you were coming to ask me to dance."
"Indeed I was not," replied Emma, "for I did not see you, but I shall be very happy to do so immediately. Pray, Mr. Freemantle, go and dance with any one but myself."
"Unparalleled cruelty," cried he clasping his hands, and throwing up his chin into the air. "To ask me to stand up with any other woman than the fair, the captivating, the charming object of all my vows, of all my wishes."
"If you mean me by those expressions," replied Emma quite calmly, "and that you wish to stand up with me, allow me to save you all further trouble, by the information that I do not intend to dance at all this evening."
"Impossible, you cannot be so hard-hearted—so cruel to your devoted slaves, as all the men in this room must be—you cannot be so unjust to your own charms, so unkind to your own attractions. That elastic figure, graceful as the weeping willow, was formed to float through the dance like the water lily on the surface of the stream. Those fairy feet—those—in short do you really mean not to dance?"
"Really so," replied Emma.
"Your reason—tell me your reason, I entreat you, why should you shrink from bewitching our eyes, and lapping our senses in Elysium."
"Excuse me, I think I have done enough in giving you one positive answer; you have no right to require any reason from a woman: or let this suffice you, I will not because I will not."
"Mr. Freemantle," said Annie, advancing towards them, and effecting an agreeable diversion in Emma's favour, "I must request you to stand up; we can harbour no idle young men in corners here; you are doomed to make yourself agreeable to one lady for the space of two dances, and only on this condition shall you remain in the room."
"Since then the beauteous Miss Emma will not do me the honor, will you permit me to solicit your hand, Miss Millar."