"So I am to call Miss Watson down to you, persuading her to come with an assurance, that you feel so confident of what her answer will be that you entertain no anxiety, no alarm. Is that what I am to say?"
"Say anything you please, Lady Gordon," exclaimed he, in desperation, "only procure me the sight of Miss Watson, and the opportunity to speak to her."
"Very well, go to the library, and I will bring her there."
He anxiously hastened to the rendezvous she appointed; she crossed the gallery to her friend's dressing-room.
On obtaining admission, she found Emma had been lying on the sofa in a darkened room; she sat down by her, and affectionately kissing her forehead and cheek, she said,
"I am come to congratulate you, my dear Miss Watson, that our imaginary tragedy has proved an entire fable—Mr. Howard is quite well, and all the loss on the occasion is that of a very pleasant dance, which I had intended should be very much enjoyed."
"It seems so strange and incomprehensible," observed Emma, putting back the ringlets from her forehead, "I could hardly believe my eyes, or credit my senses, and as to speaking, that was out of the question. I hope you did not think me very rude if you noticed me, but the only thing I could do, was to run away."
"But now you have recovered your self-possession, and the use of your speech, I hope you do not mean to seclude yourself here all day; pray come and join us all. You had better."
"Perhaps I had," said Emma, "I will come with you in a moment; just let me smooth my hair first."
"It is very nice I assure you, but I will wait as long as you please."