Calm and polite as she was, he was sensible of a difference in her manners from past days, and he did not indulge a hope of regaining her confidence; but it wounded his vanity to suppose that she, amongst all the women of his acquaintance, beheld him with calm dislike; whilst he could not even to himself deny her superiority over the many whose approbation or admiration constantly followed his footsteps.
If he could not regain her friendship he wanted at least to excite some emotion in her mind, and call up one of her former smiles so full of brightness and feeling. With the tact which gave him half his popularity, he hit upon the subject most likely to awaken kind sentiments in her heart; he began praising her brother. The introduction had given him so much pleasure, he was, he would not say astonished, but certainly most agreeably surprised to find Mr. Samuel Watson so very superior a young man. There was no likeness to Mr. Watson—no—he could not compliment his good friend, Robert, by saying that there was; seldom had he seen two brothers more dissimilar; but her younger brother's manners were so good—such a young man must make his way in the world, must be a favourite; there was every probability of his success; nay, there was certainty of it: there was intelligence and spirit in his eye, which promised nobly. Then he enquired minutely into his prospects; entered with the warmth of a friend into the plan for his establishing himself at Chichester, and gave several hints for his benefit.
Emma, in spite of her aversion to the speaker, and her determination that nothing should make her admit even the semblance of mutual friendship in their future intercourse, found herself speaking with unintentional warmth and animation. She checked herself immediately, and a shade of vexation passed over her countenance; which was not lost on her companion. Accustomed to study the minds and inclinations of his various patients, his quickness at reading all the little marks of feeling evinced in their countenances, enabled him pretty well to appreciate the state of her mind; but when he proceeded on the same subject, in hopes of once more inducing her to express her feelings, he was extremely vexed to find that, after making him some short and trivial reply, she rose and walked away.
This movement marked a decided aversion on her part which piqued him deeply, and for which he was not prepared. He remained in his seat, spoke to no one else, and occupied himself, whilst he continued in the room, in considering whether he no longer had any chance of regaining his influence with her.
He knew pretty well all that had passed, and all that had been whispered about their former intimacy; but he thought that since all that had been set in a favourable point of view, and her character perfectly cleared, she need not now have been so cold and distant to him. If, as was whispered, she was engaged to some one else, there was no reason for shunning him, unless, and the thought actually thrilled his mind with delight, unless she had really preferred him, and now feared to trust herself in his power. This would account for all her conduct; her flight to Burton—her engagement itself, and her present shrinking from him—all might be traced to the same source. His vanity was excited to the highest pitch, as he thought of this interpretation, and he could believe her quite capable of such strength of mind, and firmness of purpose. Other women when they had liked him, had thrown themselves in his way, but it was perfectly consonant with what he supposed her character to be, that she should follow a precisely opposite course of conduct.
If this were the case he felt sure he might regain his former influence by a little dexterous management, and as a first step towards it, he resolved to cultivate the friendship of her youngest brother. Had he known that he was perfectly excluded from her regard by the double barrier of a very ill opinion of himself, and a warm attachment to Mr. Howard, he might have spared himself the trouble of the attempt.
Towards the end of the week a sort of gipsy party had been arranged to form an expedition to a pretty park in the neighbourhood, which from the absence of the owner was a frequent resort on such occasions. Mr. Morgan was not originally asked to join it; but knowing what was going on, he presented himself at the door of George Millar's house just before the company started, and his expressions of regret at not having time to see more of Sam speedily produced a very hearty invitation from Mrs. Turner, the chaperone of the party, to accompany them; for, as she observed, "on such occasions the more the merrier."
It was a very large party without him. Mrs. Turner and the two Millars, four Watsons, for Jane was of the party, with Alfred Freemantle as her escort, since her husband would not leave the office, two cousins of hers, young ladies who had arrived the day before to grace Elizabeth's wedding, Miss Bridge, and some young ladies, natives of the town: in short they numbered fourteen without Mr. Morgan, but as ladies were in the majority he was heartily welcomed by several of the party at least, if not by those particular individuals whose favour he most desired.
How the whole of the party were disposed of in different vehicles, need not now be particularised; there was variety at least in their equipages, and the power of choice in arranging themselves. Sam was the charioteer of an "inside Irish car," which of course amongst its passengers numbered Annie Millar, and likewise Emma Watson; Mrs. Robert Watson; two young cousins, completed this party, and apparently made any addition impossible; but one of the girls, not liking to be entitled to only a fifth part of the attention of any gentleman, suddenly abdicated her seat in favour of Mr. Morgan, that she might enjoy the place of third in a gig, under the escort of Alfred Freemantle. Nothing could have been more consonant to his wishes, than this sudden piece of good luck which thus befell Mr. Morgan: his gaiety was quite remarkable, but his judgment and tact, were still more so. For he devoted himself at first to please the stranger, and do the honors of the country to her; he was bent on making himself agreeable, but it was in the most open and unsuspicious way. There was nothing of tenderness or sentiment in his manners, nothing approaching to flirtation in his address to Miss Hall, and to the others it was as perfectly correct, as if dictated by Lord Chesterfield himself.
Annie, indeed, was too much engrossed by the driver to notice the intruder; she had no attention to bestow on any one else; and had not the horse been particularly quiet and sagacious, and the road remarkably smooth and straight, it is by no means unlikely that their drive might have terminated abruptly under some hedge, so much more was Sam himself occupied with the lady behind, than the road in front of him. Neither Miss Hall nor Emma, however, made any complaint of his coachmanship; for Emma, being opposite to Annie, enjoyed the full benefit of her lively remarks; and whilst her neighbour confined his attention to his vis-à-vis, the proximity to him, in which she unexpectedly found herself, did not discompose her at all, nor did she feel any impatience for the termination of so agreeable a drive.