"'Pon my honour, I think," said Tom, "it's a monstrous pity he is so altered, for I am sure he's not the same person to me that he was; I really think it is all for the sake of my sister-in-law, that pretty girl who is here now, you noticed her I dare say."
"Not I, I never look after pretty girls of that class—those I can have nothing to say to; there's an uncommon pretty girl at the lodge-gate, who stared at me as I came in, I noticed her there, and winked at her as hard as I could; and I intend to notice her again before I've done with her; but what are other pretty girls to me—not my sort, eh Tom?"
Tom laughed so much, Emma did not hear what followed, but it ended with a proposal that when they had had enough grub, they should adjourn to the lodge to look after the rustic beauty.
By this time Emma had been borne by the throng into the interior, and unluckily the place she found for herself, was close to Mrs. Harding Russell and her brother-in-law. She did not expect much pleasure from this vicinity, and could not, therefore, complain of disappointment, as well as disagreeables during this part of the entertainment.
Mrs. Harding Russell for some minutes would not turn her head towards Tom, and when he claimed her attention, she turned towards him with a scornful smile and exclaimed:
"Oh, you are come, are you? I hope you did not hurry yourself on my account, Mr. Musgrove. I should be sorry if you had put yourself to any inconvenience."
"Indeed I have though. I have been making frantic exertions, and trodden on at least a dozen toes to secure a place near you, convinced you would enjoy nothing unless I were here to help you."
"Upon my word, a very pretty speech—just like a man though—quite what one might expect from the vain sex. Pray do not take a seat, which I have no doubt must be very disagreeable to you. I dare say somebody else would change places with you: the young fellow talking to your wife—Baker—Butcher—Barber—what's his name—I shall call him, he would do just as well—he could hardly say less civil things."
"What did I say, anything rude? do you not know you were to take my speeches by contraries—did we not agree so—it is so much safer: but you know your power—your delight in tormenting me—caprice is so charming in women—and you know how to make it positively bewitching."
"Really I have not the slightest wish to bewitch you, nor can I believe that I do so—I have no power over any one, least of all you—I who have no charms, no graces—oh, no indeed, I do not expect civility, much less attention from men."