"What are you going to do this morning, Elizabeth?" inquired Margaret in a voice between langour and peevishness.

"Oh, I have a hundred things to do," cried Miss Watson, turning from the window where she had watched her brother and his wife drive off. "I must go and see about helping Nanny put away the best china and glass, and I must pin up the curtains, and put by all the things in the best bed-room—which were had out for Jane's use; and I want to try that receipt she gave me for a pudding for my father—and fifty other things beside."

"Then you will not think of walking, I presume; shall you Emma?"

"I am not sure," replied she, "is it not very dirty!"

"Good gracious, Emma!" cried Margaret sharply, "I hope you are not such a fine lady as to mind stepping out in a little mud, or what is to become of me—I cannot bear walking alone, and Elizabeth is sure to be busy when I want her company."

"Perhaps," said Emma gently, rather afraid of giving offence by suggesting so evident a duty, "if we were to help Elizabeth, she would have done in time to join you and enjoy the fine weather."

"I don't suppose she wants us a bit," cried Margaret again.

"Thank you, Emma," replied her eldest sister, without listening to Margaret, "but do not put off your walk on my account, I am used to these things, and mind the trouble no more than you do threading your needle, or finding your place in a book," and taking her key-basket from the table, she left the room.

"There, I told you so," said Margaret immediately, "I knew Elizabeth disdains all assistance, and hates to be interfered with in her housekeeping: she is as jealous of her authority as possible, and I believe would rather go through any trouble herself, than allow us to share it for half an hour. Now just make haste, do, and put your pelisse on; I like the finest part of the day."

Emma still hesitated—

"I am not sure that I can go with you—perhaps my father may want me."

"My father want you!" repeated Margaret in a tone of astonishment, and with a look of surprise and incredulity, which Emma thought the announcement did not justify, "why what in all the world should he want you for?"

"I read to him a great deal," replied Emma colouring, lest her sister should suppose she meant to suggest a comparison between their relative conduct; for Margaret in general acted as if her father and his comfort were the objects of the slightest importance to her.

"What a bore that must be," continued Margaret; "at least it is to me, if not to you," added she, as Emma exclaimed at the idea—"for now you have that as an excuse for not walking with me. I know what it is, you don't want to come—and you might just as well say so at once, and not worry me by all these put offs."

"Indeed I shall be very happy to walk with you," said Emma, in a soothing tone, "if I my father can spare me; I will just run up and see, and if so, we can go directly."

Mr. Watson happened to be occupied by letters of business; in which he did not need Emma's help, and accordingly the sisters set off together. They took the road towards the town, Margaret saying nothing as to their object, and Emma making no enquiries. Indeed it did not occur to her that her sister had any other motive for walking than the desire of air and exercise.

"I have hardly had time to talk to you, Emma, since I came home; but the fact is, Jane is so fond of me, that when we are together she seldom can spare me ten minutes. She is an amazingly clever woman, I assure you, and one of the best judges of character and manners I ever saw."

This assertion, though Emma believed it might be perfectly true, did not convey to her mind precisely the idea which Margaret expected; and it rather convinced her of the narrow circle in which her sister had always moved, than the depth of Mrs. Robert's penetration, or the extent of Margaret's own virtues. She did not, however, dissent from the praise, and her sister went on complacently.

"I am sure, Emma you must be struck with Tom Musgrove's manners—is he not delightful?" enquired she, when her dissertation on Croydon was ended.

"I cannot say that I admire him at all," replied Emma firmly.

"Not admire him!" cried Margaret, for a moment aghast at such heresy—then recollecting herself, she added, "ah, I suppose you mean he did not admire you—he did not dance with you at the ball I know; I dare say, too, he was not in spirits—if I had been there it would have been different; if you knew him as well as I and had received as much attention from him, and knew what he thought of yourself as I do, you would see him with very different eyes."

"I shall be quite satisfied to view him always with as much indifference as I do now," said Emma, "and I trust, even if his manners should improve, or my taste alter, I shall be able to look on him without causing you any anxiety by excessive admiration. Elizabeth tells me he has made sad inroads on the peace of most young ladies hereabouts; I hope he will spare me, as I suppose I must not flatter myself with being wiser or steadier than other girls."

"Elizabeth only says so from jealousy," cried Margaret indignantly, "he never paid her any attentions, and so—but good gracious, Emma," added she, interrupting herself and looking behind, "there he is coming, and some others with him—who can they be, only one wears a red coat—I did not expect them so soon."

"Did you expect him at all?" said Emma, colouring with astonishment—"Is it possible you walked here to meet him?"

"Well, and where's the harm if I did—I wish you would just look at those other two gentlemen, and tell me if you know who they are!"

"Indeed," replied Emma, vexed and embarrassed, "I do not like to look round in that way; it does not seem—at least I have been told it is not lady-like to turn round and stare at people—but, Margaret, is it really the case, that you came here with this view?"

"Pooh, pooh, how can you be so tiresome, didn't you know as well as me, that the hounds were to meet at Ashley Lodge—I thought most likely Tom Musgrove would come this way, it is his direct road; but I wish I could make out who it is with him; they are just putting their horses into a trot,—I declare I believe it is Lord Osborne and Mr. Howard—how tiresome now—for Tom will not stop when Lord Osborne is there—how very provoking!"

"If I had known this," said Emma blushing painfully, "nothing would have persuaded me to come this way—they will think we did it to meet them—"

The gentlemen were now come so near, that Emma's concluding words were lost in the noise produced by the sharp trot of several horses. She was thinking rather uncomfortably about what Mr. Howard would think, and whether he would suppose she had walked out to throw herself in Lord Osborne's way, when the gentlemen suddenly drew up beside the high, narrow foot-path on which the sisters were walking.

"Miss Emma Watson," cried Lord Osborne, as he threw himself from his horse, which he hastily resigned to the groom, "by Jove! how lucky I am to have come this way—so you are come out to see the hounds throw off? I am so glad to have met you."

Tom Musgrove dismounted in imitation of his noble friend; but, as the path only admitted two, he was obliged to draw back—and, whilst Lord Osborne walked by the side of Emma, Tom was exposed, without defence, to the appealing glances and soft whispers of Margaret. Emma saw, with a sort of concern, which she could not exactly analyse, that Mr. Howard remained on horseback, and only acknowledged his former partner by a bow, much colder and more formal than his reminiscences at the visitation had led her to expect. Whilst she was wondering at the change, her companion was trying to be as agreeable as nature would allow him, and she could almost have laughed outright at the air of deference and attention with which the dashing Tom Musgrove listened to his lordship's remarks, and confirmed any of his statements which required support. Thus they had walked for more than five minutes, when they reached a bend of the road, where another branch of the lane opened to them, which Emma knew would lead them almost directly home.

"Margaret," said she, turning to her sister, "I think we had better return this way, we may, perhaps, be wanted at home before we can reach it."

"I am sure I am quite ready to go," said Margaret, apparently on the point of bursting into tears of spite and envy at finding it useless to attempt to fix Tom's attention on herself.

"I thought you were come here on purpose to see the hounds throw off," said Lord Osborne to Emma, "and what's the use of going home before you reach the cover."

"Indeed you were mistaken, my lord," replied Emma calmly, but decidedly; "for I was not aware till we saw you, that the hounds met in this neighbourhood!"

"Well, but do come on now, you are so near—my sister and Miss Carr are to be there, and I want to introduce you to them."

"Your lordship must be perfectly aware that what you propose is impossible," replied Emma, "I have no claim to intrude on Miss Osborne's notice, and she would, probably, be far more surprised than pleased by such an extraordinary step."

"No, indeed, on my honor, my sister wishes to know you—Tom Musgrove knows what she said about it last night—" looking over his shoulder at his friend, but going on speaking too eagerly to allow time for more than a simple assent from Tom. "I believe I was wrong in what I said, which, I suppose, is what you mean, I want to introduce my sister to you—is that right?" Emma could not quite control a smile; "so now you will just come on with us, without stopping here any longer."

"I am much obliged to you, my lord; but, indeed, I cannot comply with your request; and as Miss Osborne would not be expecting to meet us to-day, she will experience no disappointment."

Very reluctantly the young nobleman was obliged to give up his proposition; and, as they rode way, he suddenly turned towards Tom Musgrove, after some minutes' silence, and exclaimed:

"I say, Musgrove, how is it you manage with women to make them worship you so—Emma Watson is the only girl I ever tried to please, and she seems to delight in refusing everything I propose. I can make no way with her."

Tom's self-complacency was very near betraying him into a serious blunder at this speech; for he was on the point of assenting to the proposition that he was more successful in making fools of young women than Lord Osborne. Fortunately, he recollected in time, that however agreeable a strenuous support to his lordship's opinions might be under ordinary circumstances, there were occasions when a well turned negative was far more flattering. Lord Osborne, like many other people, might depreciate himself—but he could not wish his friends to take the same view of the subject; Musgrove, therefore, judiciously replied, that Miss Emma Watson had treated him precisely the same, from which he concluded it was her way.

The sisters, in the meantime, were pursuing their path homewards, whilst Margaret was raining questions on Emma as to the commencement and progress of her acquaintance with Lord Osborne,—an event which seemed to her so very astonishing, as only to be surpassed by the cool and composed manner with which Emma treated the affair.

Tom Musgrove's intimacy at Osborne Castle, had always greatly elevated his importance in her eyes; yet here was her own sister, who not only had walked side by side with the peer himself, but had positively refused to accompany him farther, in spite of his entreaties; and she now wound it all up by coolly declaring, that she thought Lord Osborne very far from an agreeable young man, and had no wish to see more of him. Emma was a perfect enigma to her sister, and but for a feeling of awe, which such exalted acquaintance had impressed on her mind, Margaret would have railed at her for her refusal to walk further. She was silently pondering on these extraordinary circumstances, when she was roused by the angry bark of a fierce dog—which rushing from the farm-yard, took up a position in the centre of the way, and seemed determined to dispute the passage. Margaret, screaming aloud, turned to run away, and Emma's first impulse was to follow her example; but a moment's consideration checked her, and she attempted to soothe or overcome the animal by speaking gently, and looking fixedly at him. She was so far successful, that his bark sunk into a low irritable growl, and Emma profited by the comparative silence to address a man in the farm-yard, and beg him to call back the dog.

"He woant hurt thee, Missus," was the reply of the countryman, who seemed, in reality, rather amused at the fright of the young ladies.

"But my sister is afraid to pass him," said Emma, imploringly, looking round at Margaret who was standing at the distance of a hundred yards, and evidently prepared again to take flight at the smallest aggressive movement of the enemy.

"Thy sister must jist make up her moinde to pass as other foalk do—unless you chose to go athert the field yonder, to get out of him's way."

"Athert the field," Emma concluded they must go, as Margaret would not advance; and she was about reluctantly to turn back, when the sound of horse's hoofs was heard, and the next moment Mr. Howard appeared advancing towards them. A glance shewed him the dilemma in which the ladies were placed, and he was as quick in overcoming as in comprehending their difficulties. A well aimed blow of his whip sent the aggressor yelping to his kennel, and a sharp reproof to his master followed, for not interfering in their favour, accompanied with a hint about the necessity of confining his dog, if he did not wish to have it indicted.

Mr. Howard was too well known for his word to be disputed or his reproofs resented; the farmer promised it should not happen again—peace was restored, and under Mr. Howard's protection, even Margaret ventured to pass.

"I thought you were going to hunt," said Emma, in reply to his offer to see them safely out of reach of their terrible foe. Mr. Howard said he had only ridden out for pleasure, not for so important and imperative a business as fox-hunting: it was evident, however, that he considered walking with the Miss Watsons quite as pleasant as riding, and that he was in no hurry to remount.

"Would you allow my sister to do herself the honour of calling on you?" said he, presently; "your kindness to her little boy has quite captivated her, and Charles is as anxious as herself to carry on the acquaintance so happily begun. She has been ill since the assembly or the offer would have been made sooner."

Emma coloured highly, but from very pleasurable feelings at this speech, and readily professed that it would give her great pleasure to become better acquainted both with Charles and his mother.

"I was almost afraid to propose it," said Mr. Howard, "when I heard the bad success of Lord Osborne's negotiation for a similar point: you do not really mean to refuse Miss Osborne's overtures."

"They must be made in a different way," said Emma, "before I am tempted to accept them; or, indeed, to believe that anything more is intended than to make me look ridiculous."

"You do less than justice both to yourself and to my friends," said Mr. Howard, gently, "I assure you, the wish was really expressed by Miss Osborne; and though my pupil blundered in making it known, I am certain it was entirely from want of self-possession, not from want of respect."

Emma did not answer; she was trying to ascertain whether the gratified feeling she experienced, at the moment, arose from the wish ascribed to Miss Osborne, or the anxiety shown by Mr. Howard to set those wishes in a proper light.

A pause soon afterwards occurring in the conversation, Margaret seized the opportunity, and leaning past her sister, addressed Mr. Howard in an earnest and anxious manner—

"Is it really true, Mr. Howard, that Miss Carr is so very beautifully fair?"

"She is certainly very fair," replied he, rather astonished at the question, "I do not know that I ever saw a whiter skin; but is it possible that her complexion can be a subject of discussion or interest in your village?"

"I do not know," replied Margaret, not at all understanding him; "Mr. Musgrove is a great deal at the castle, is he not?"

"Yes often, I believe," said Mr. Howard, quietly.

"I do not wonder at it—he must be a great favorite with the ladies, no doubt," continued she; "I should think his manners must recommend him everywhere."

"I fancy his intimacy at the castle is more owing to Lord Osborne's partiality than that of his mother or sister," said he, still in a reserved tone of voice, as if not wishing to discuss the domestic circle of the Osbornes; yet there was a suppressed smile on his mouth, which Emma construed into amusement at the idea of Miss Osborne's admiring her brother's hanger-on; and she silently diverted herself with fancying the probable degree of esteem which his complaisance and flattery would win for him.