"I like Miss Osborne," said Elizabeth, after a moment's pause.
"So do I," replied her sister.
"Better than Miss Carr," continued Miss Watson, "I have a little fear of Miss Carr; but, Emma, I wonder how my father and Margaret get on, I am afraid he will find it very dull; she does not like backgammon or reading out loud—and this snow will prevent his getting the newspaper, or seeing any one to amuse him."
"Yes, I am afraid so," sighed Emma, "it is very pleasant here, but I wish we were home again."
"I wish home were like this," continued Miss Watson, "as airy and cheerful, and elegant-looking—what a nice room this is—we have not such a room in our house—and I am sure our furniture never looks so well, take what care I can of it. You had better take this for your own room when you are Mrs. Howard."
"I really wish you would not talk in that way, Elizabeth," remonstrated Emma, "it can do no good, and it will make me feel very uncomfortable."
"I beg your pardon, I will try not," said her sister laughing.
Long after her sister was asleep, Emma herself was thinking over the events of the morning, and recalling to memory every tone and word and look of Mr. Howard. She weighed them all, and tried to comprehend the cause of the changes which seemed to her rather sudden. She could hardly suppose it a caprice—she did not think him guilty of that—but why vary so completely.
She wished to be liked by him; she was pleased with the society both of himself and his sister, and he feared if she did not approve of her manners, or disliked her conversation, his sister likewise would draw back from the friendship which seemed to have begun so prosperously, and she should lose the pleasantest acquaintance she had found since returning to her father's house.