Emma almost forgave her assumption on the occasion, in consideration of the beneficial effects arising from it. It was in vain, however, to hope that release from weariness would follow a secession from the dinner-table; everything seemed so intolerably dull, that she was enraged with herself for her own stupidity, feeling convinced that the want of interest in all around her must arise from too much self-engrossment; she tried accordingly to school herself into listening to the platitudes of Mrs. Steady, or the boastings of her sister-in-law with something like attention; but she tried in vain; her mind was continually wandering away to some distant subject, or was only recalled to the objects present, to calculate the number of minutes before the probable time of their departure. She did not doubt their being all amiable and excellent persons; but they certainly were not interesting characters; Mrs. Steady, in particular, next whom she was seated, seemed much fitter to knit stockings or make jam, than to keep up an intellectual conversation.
The weariest evenings, however, have an end: and this, like all others, terminated at last. Whist and loo—even the supper itself—were all finished; and when Mr. Martin had succeeded in putting on Robert's great coat; and secured, instead of his own, the old clerk's hat, which had been carefully hidden behind the door, he, the last of the party, disappeared, and Emma stole away without waiting to hear her brother Robert's animadversions on the dinner.
The succeeding day was much too wet and stormy to allow any of the females the relief of change of air and scene; but Emma, in the stronghold of her father's apartment, felt less disturbed than she could have expected. If there was storm abroad, there was anything but fair weather within the house. Mrs. Watson was affronted with her husband, and revenged herself by praising Tom Musgrove, and indulging in severe strictures on those whose birth and early education incapacitated them from judging of manners and fashion. These refined and elegant inuendos had all the effect she could desire—irritating her husband the more, because he could not treat them as personal and offensive, without at the same time admitting the implied inferiority of his situation in life, and opportunities of information and improvement. Accordingly, he could only testify his extreme displeasure by a general crossness to all around him, never speaking except when an opportunity to say something disagreeable presented itself. The novelty of such a domestic scene, by no means gave it any charms in Emma's eyes, and she could not help considering that if Jane was annoyed by her husband's temper, it would, at least, be wiser to try to soothe and amend it, than, by irritating his infirmity, encrease the source of her own discomfort. The pleasure of fretting and galling any one, was beyond her comprehension, requiring abilities and understanding, similar to those of her sister-in-law, properly to appreciate.
Compared with this scene of strife, her father's company was perfect happiness, and she delighted in burying her own discomforts in a volume of Shakespeare, or Boswell's delightful reminiscences of his idol.
Yet Elizabeth seemed really to regret that the visit was so short, and tried, though vainly, to persuade both her brother and wife to prolong their stay.
Robert was determined to go on Saturday; and Jane, who knew it would be vain to oppose him, wisely took her part with a good grace, and resolved to make it appear to be her own free will likewise.
"It is not the slightest use to press me, Elizabeth," he said, with more truth than graciousness; "you know I can be a very determined character when I please. I flatter myself, I have as much firmness and decision of mind, as any woman in England. When I have taken a resolution, I have taken it."
"But why take this resolution, Jane; if Robert must go to business, why not stay here by yourself, and let us have a little time to enjoy your society."
"It is very strange," said the lady, affecting to laugh, and turning to Emma. "I always have such extreme difficulty in getting away from this sister of yours. Indeed, I may say the same of all, or most of my friends. 'My dear Mrs. Watson, do come!' writes one. 'My dearest friend, you must stay' cries another. I am positively torn to pieces between them all. My sweet friend Lady Browning was just the same when I was with her at Clifton—upon my word, it's quite distressing."
Emma was saved the trouble of answering by Elizabeth again interposing.