The party left at the Castle, was too ill-suited to be particularly agreeable, and Sir William now and then privately complained to his wife of the dead weight which Miss Carr was in society where there were no young men present. She had so little conversation besides scandal, and so little occupation of any kind, that Sir William was extremely weary of her. She sometimes played a little on the harp, but she never did that with perseverance, or anything else at all. Her father had never allowed her to learn any species of needle-work, which in some shape or other forms the universal occupation and resource of women, because, he said, there were so many unfortunates who were compelled to earn their bread in that way, that it was unfair to take it out of their hands. With no taste for anything but the lightest species of literature, a novel was her only quiet resource, and in the country it was difficult in those days to procure a sufficient supply of new novels. Lady Gordon could only listen patiently to her husband's complaints; she did not know when Fanny and her foibles would remove; nor could she at all foretell when Lord Osborne and her spirits would return, though pretty well aware that they would re-appear together.

The only resource she could suggest was arranging a small party for a dance or some such amusement, as she had never said another word about the acting, which at one time had so occupied her mind. This would give her friend something to think of and amuse herself with, as she might arrange a new dress for the occasion; nay, if Lady Gordon could only unite a daylight and an evening party in one, she might have the happiness of preparing two dresses at least.

The prospect of such a pleasure revived Miss Carr, and she awoke to a full sense of the responsibilities of life, when so important a thing as a fÊte was in progress. Of what nature should it be, was the question, and one which occasioned as much amusement as could be hoped from the actual party. They had a great many different plans in their heads; fancy dresses—historical characters—costumes from the old family portraits in the picture-gallery, were all discussed with much warmth and animation. But every one of these proposals had so many objections attached to it. The difficulty of getting other individuals to enter into their views, and the impossibility of those unaccustomed to such scenes entering into them at all, were all suggested as impediments by Sir William, who had no fancy for any of their plans, and it ended in a much more simple arrangement. A collation in a marquÉe, in some romantic part of the park, bands of music stationed in favorable situations, to entertain them whilst eating; and the beauties of the glen, the echo, and the waterfall within a distance favorable for a walk, to amuse them afterwards. Then there might be the return to the Castle in the evening, and a dance afterwards, which would finish the day's pleasure, and afford a proper proportion of fatigue to all.

To settle on a picturesque costume for this occasion, became now the pre-eminent object of Fanny Carr's thoughts. Emma herself was under no uneasiness on that point, as Lady Gordon had taken the occasion to present her with a suitable and elegant dress, on the plea of making some compensation for the awkwardness of her brother on the occasion of the last ball at Osborne Castle.

Lord Osborne's return was delayed from day to day, by his finding more difficulty in his undertaking than he had expected; but as the course of his pursuit led him to London, he wrote from thence to his sister and gave her reason to expect to see him again before the fÊte day arrived. This was a relief to Miss Carr's mind, for although desirous of universal admiration, she was peculiarly anxious for his special attention and regard.

Fortunately for her she was gratified; as she was sitting in Lady Gordon's dressing-room the day preceding that for universal happiness, busily engaged in twining a delicate wreath to deck her hair on the festive night, Lord Osborne marched into the room, and suddenly laid down before her a packet of papers, which he was carrying in his hand. She gave a great jump and a little scream, exclaimed at his abrupt entrance, and enquired playfully if he meant to frighten her out of her senses. He replied quietly:

"Not in the least, but he knew there was no danger of that, as her nerves were sufficiently strong to bear a much greater shock."

But what in the world were those papers he had placed before her? what was she to do with them?

He told her to read them and they would gratify her exceedingly.

"What on earth are they?" said she, unfolding the packet—"'Testimonials—Miss Emma Watson—Rev. John Bridge—Barbara Bridge—Lucy Jenkins—Eliza Lamb—'good heavens! what is the meaning of all this, my lord—are you trying to make a fool of me?"

"No, Miss Carr, I am only trying to prevent your making a fool of yourself," answered he with perfect self-possession.

"I really am excessively obliged to you. I did not know I was in danger of such a catastrophe, or that I was likely to be indebted in that respect to your lordship's deep intellect, and brilliant genius. Pray may I ask the meaning of all this, for really at present my folly is too profound to allow me to reach the pinnacle of comprehension."

"You remember, Miss Carr," said Lord Osborne gravely, "those slanderous tales against Miss Watson, which you were pleased to repeat the day before I left this place."

"Yes, I remember saying something which indeed I am certain could be proved to a fraction. If you think I repeat things without a foundation, you are very much mistaken indeed. I assure you I am excessively careful of what I say, and never dream of giving circulation to unfounded reports, or—"

"I am excessively glad to hear it—I hope you never will—I listened to you then without speaking, I must beg you will do so now to me. Feeling perfectly sure, as I did, that your tale was untrue; I have been to Croydon—and, without troubling you with a long detail of the trouble I have taken, I shall just make a short story of it at once, by saying that the result is, that Emma Watson's character is perfectly clear."

"I am sure then, my lord, that Emma Watson herself must be excessively obliged to you; but really, excuse me for asking what is all this to me!"

"It's no use your attempting to deny it, Miss Carr, it convicts you at once of the very unpleasant and disagreeable fault of repeating slanderous reports. I hope it will serve as a warning to you to prevent such wickedness again."

"Upon my word, my lord, your Quixotism surpasses all ordinary bounds—do tell me what you will do next? Riding about the country one day to exculpate a girl who can be nothing to you, beyond a common acquaintance, and then sitting down to preach lectures to me, without fee or reward for it; I do not know how sufficiently to honour such exemplary greatness of mind."

"You are welcome to your wit and your eloquence, Miss Carr; I have neither wish nor pretension to equal you in the flow of words; but you cannot, even if you take the most round about form of expression possible, deny that you have been quite wrong in the whole affair."

"I am amazingly flattered by the extremely complimentary turn which your conversation takes, Lord Osborne. You seem to have benefitted by the superior style of society with which you must have associated at Croydon; really, your sister will hardly know you again. May I venture to enquire whether you have confided to the fair Emma—the heroic devotion and the extraordinary exertions to which she has inspired you?"

Lord Osborne, who was looking over the packet of papers which Miss Carr had tossed contemptuously back on the table, neither answered nor looked up; and the sudden entrance of Lady Gordon, prevented any further acrimony on the part of the young lady—who, as soon as she recovered her temper, became very sorry that she had spoken as she did, whilst under the influence of vexation and shame.

Lady Gordon appeared very glad to see her brother; though she declared she had always felt certain that he would return in time for her fÊte—she always had such good luck at her fÊte. Her astonishment was extreme when she learnt the end and object of his journey; and she certainly felt, besides astonishment, a considerable portion of secret annoyance, that he should have been sufficiently under the influence of partiality for Emma, to be roused to such an exertion. She, who knew him well, was aware how very strong must have been the feeling of interest which could incite him to undertake and carry through a task repulsive to all his former habits and tastes. It marked a very decided love indeed; and Rosa lamented the existence of such a partiality, even whilst rejoicing that its results were so favorable to the reputation of her friend. But, on the whole, she was growing more reasonable than formerly—like all women who love their husbands, she was adopting her husband's opinions, and beginning to think that Emma would be no disgrace to the peerage, were she ever to become a member of it; but that her brother's chance of winning her being small, his affection would not be conducive to his happiness. The astonishing degree of warmth he had manifested on the present occasion, shewed the state of his mind; but as for Emma herself, if she had read her feelings rightly, they were in favor of another object. Lord Osborne detailed to his sister the whole history of his exertions. He had gone to Croydon quite incognito—had established himself very quietly at the principal inn, and after bespeaking a dinner, walked down to call on the Vicar. To him he had detailed his object, and asked his advice, giving, as a reason for the interference of an unconnected individual like himself, the peculiar intimacy which existed between his sister and the young lady in question. Mr. Bridge had entered most kindly and warmly into his views, had pointed out the course he thought best, and made Robert Watson and his wife own that Emma had remonstrated against being exposed to meeting Mr. Morgan out walking, and that she had made no secret of the occurrence. It was not without great difficulty and adroit arguments that he had brought Jane to acknowledge the truth on this subject; only by representations of the necessity of clearing her own character, which she could do, by admitting, as Mr. Bridge knew was the case, that she had yielded to her sister's persuasions, and in consequence of them had abstained from sending Emma out with her little girl.

Having thus cleared Emma from the imputation of there being anything clandestine or intentional in her meetings with the doctor, a fact which the eldest Miss Watson could also corroborate, his next step was to see Lady Fanny Allston and learn from her who had been her authority for the slander to which she had yielded. Her ladyship was in town, but Lord Osborne, not to be baffled by such a circumstance, set off after her, and without waste of time presented himself in her drawing-room in London.

On his first application her ladyship denied all recollection of the circumstance, there were so many young women who applied for the situation of governess to Miss Allston, that she could not be expected to remember any of them after the lapse of so long a time as three or four months. But he was not to be so put off, and took so much trouble to remind her of the circumstances, that she was at last forced to admit that she could recal something about it. When in consequence he pressed for her authorities on the occasion, she laughed excessively at his heroic exertions in a cause which could not concern him in the least. What possible motive could he have she observed, for interesting himself in a girl whose state and circumstances were so obscure. A girl who was forced to go out as governess, what could he know about her—what ought he to know about her—a mere country-parson's daughter, without fortune or connections, it was ridiculous of him to be tearing about the country to vindicate her from a little country-gossip. His lordship must excuse her laughing at him for his knight errantry, but what mattered it whether the said Emma Watson had flirted with the doctor of Croydon or not, or who had said that she had, if she had not.

It appeared as if Lord Osborne's character had been totally changed under the influence of Emma's charms, or the excitement of his pursuit; indeed he owned to his sister it was as animating as a fox-chase, and that he enjoyed hunting up scandal-mongers excessively. Lady Fanny's ridicule, from which formerly he might have shrunk, could not now move him from his object. He answered her quietly, that the character of every individual was of value to them, and the more so in proportion to the less of wealth or importance they had. Her ladyship might, without scruple, forfeit her reputation for integrity, honour and justice, if she chose, by refusing what he asked, and thus robbing Miss Watson; and that the world, seeing she was Lady Fanny still, might consider it no great matter; but the case was very different with his sister's friend, who as Lady Fanny justly observed, had neither friends, rank nor fortune to gloss over the calumny, or support her through right and wrong, and who it was possible might depend on her character for her subsistence. But seeing that she was his sister's friend, and at this moment her guest, he was determined to see justice done to her, both for her own and his sister's sake; he therefore called on Lady Fanny, if she did not wish to be considered the fabricator of the false report herself, to acknowledge who was the author of it—for false it certainly was, as he had other means of proving.

After some attempts at prevarication, she at length owned that she had learnt the circumstances from Miss Jenkins, and she even at last produced and gave up to him the identical letter to herself which contained the whole tale, with a variety of circumstances which it was evident to any unprejudiced observer must have been entirely invention, as no one could have been witness to them, by the writer's own showing.

Armed with this document, Lord Osborne had returned to Croydon and laid the paper before Mr. Bridge. That gentleman, delighted at having reduced the accusations to a form so easily combated, had agreed that they should go together, and compel Miss Jenkins to retract her assertions.

They had called on her, and at first met only with impertinence and prevarication. She did not know who Lord Osborne was, and would not allow his right, or that of Mr. Bridge, to question her conduct. Supposing his lordship to be only one of Emma's relations, and as such deserving no particular consideration or courtesy, she did not scruple to behave with the insolence and neglect with which underbred people consider themselves entitled to treat their inferiors. Of course her confusion was extreme when she found, to her astonishment, that it was a baron whom she had scornfully answered, and whom she had scarcely condescended to ask to seat himself.

She fell, on this discovery, into a prodigious fit of agitation and flutter, protested that she was perfectly ashamed of herself—quite shocked his lordship should have been treated so—would not his lordship move nearer the fire—would he not take a more comfortable chair. She hoped his lordship would not refuse a glass of wine or a little cake; was he quite sure that he did not sit in a draft—the corner of the sofa and a foot-stool would be much better for him. Lord Osborne very positively, and rather abruptly, declined all her attentions, declaring that he wished for nothing better than his present situation, nor desired anything else from Miss Jenkins than the fulfilment of the particular object of their visit—the declaration what authority she had for her assertions regarding Emma Watson.

She now attempted to deny that she had ever said anything at all injurious to Miss Emma Watson's character; it was quite impossible that she should—she had the highest regard for the young lady in question, and must have for any one whom she knew to be the intimate friend of Lady Gordon, and about whom his lordship was so kind as to interest himself. She never could have been guilty of any unjust reflections on such a person, and it must be an entire mistake of Lady Fanny Allston's if she imagined anything to the contrary.

With the greatest self-possession Lord Osborne listened to her assertions, and then producing the letter and laying it before her, said he was exceedingly concerned to be compelled to disprove the assertions of a lady, but really her present words were so contrary to her former opinions as recorded on that paper, that he must beg to revive her memory on the subject. Would she be so kind as to look over the accusations which that letter brought against Miss Watson, and let them know how much of it was false, and what part, if any, was true; and how she became possessed of the knowledge which she had there set down.

Miss Jenkins looked a little confused on seeing her own writing brought to witness against her, but not nearly so much so, as she had done when she found she had allowed a peer of the realm to seat himself so near the door. However, she set herself to work resolutely to deny all she had written; she could not imagine how she had ever made such assertions, she could recollect nothing about it; it was most strange, most extraordinary, most wonderful, most incomprehensible that she should have written such things, she could not believe it possible: she even seemed to expect that they would be so complaisant as to disbelieve it likewise. Miss Lamb had been with her when she wrote the letter, it must have been on her authority that she had made these extraordinary statements. In short she was perfectly ready to contradict them entirely now, and to sign any statement which Lord Osborne would please to suggest; such was her respect for Miss Emma Watson, she was sure she could never speak of her in terms too high.

With great satisfaction, but unutterable contempt, Lord Osborne compelled her to retract every particular which she had formerly stated, and after agreeing that one copy of her present deposition should be sent to Lady Fanny Allston, they decided to continue their investigation by a reference to Miss Lamb, who was accused of being her fellow-conspirator on the past occasion.

Miss Lamb was a very different person from Miss Jenkins; cold and repulsive in her manners, and sparing of her words, she hardly deigned even to justify herself. She did condescend, however, so far as to say, that she had had nothing at all to do in the most distant degree with the affair in question, either by word or deed; though on being cross-questioned she admitted she had seen the letter which Miss Jenkins had sent to Lady Fanny; she had indeed been sitting by whilst it was in the course of composition; but she denied entirely having assisted her companion in any way, excepting in spelling and grammar, points in which she sarcastically observed her friend occasionally needed help. As to her requiring assistance or suggestion beyond her own imagination, where anything ill-natured was in question, that was quite unnecessary as everybody acquainted with Miss Jenkins's taste for gossip must be aware. She had such a superfluity of invention on all such matters as could be equalled by few ladies in Croydon. She, Miss Lamb, knew she had watched Emma closely, and discovered that Mr. Morgan had joined her occasionally when out walking, and this was quite enough to form the foundation of any little scandalous romance which she thought might look well, or be agreeable and amusing to Lady Fanny. For her own part, she knew no harm at all of Emma Watson, and she hoped that after this statement she should have no further trouble in the matter, as she was going out, and did not wish to be detained.

Thus their interview terminated; and Lord Osborne perfectly satisfied with his success so far, having shown the declarations of these two young ladies to Mr. Watson, and his wife, once more repaired to London, to learn what Lady Fanny thought of the paper he had sent her.

Her ladyship this time was ill-used and hysterical, sobbing over the depravity of human nature, which had led Miss Jenkins wickedly to invent such tales, and thereby greatly to deceive and incommode her ladyship; preventing her obtaining a desirable governess to her great inconvenience, and exposing her moreover to much trouble, anxiety, and other evils, endangering her reputation for veracity, and threatening to place her in a ridiculous position.

Lord Osborne could not help perceiving the absurdity and selfishness of her lamentations, but he let her go on as she would, so long as she agreed to sign an admission that she had been misled. He would not, however, make her the promise which she requested from him, that he would use his influence with this very charming young person to undertake the situation from which she had previously been so scornfully repulsed; he gravely observed he did not think it was any business of his, and that he could not interfere in her private arrangements. Lady Fanny, smitten with a vehement desire to become the patroness of the slandered Emma, determined, she said, to write and renew her proposals. He made no objection, though perfectly determined that proposals from himself, and of a different nature should if possible precede hers.

This resolution of his own he did not detail to his sister, nor did he communicate another circumstance which had occurred, namely that he had, whilst in London, sought an interview with his mother, whom he found deeply engrossed in a flirtation with a young colonel of the guards. He did not like the young fellow's appearance at all, nor the air of being at home which he assumed, but on his taking leave a still more unpleasant scene had occurred. His mother had enquired if Howard were still at the Castle, and on her son mentioning where he was, but adding that he hoped soon to remove him to a better living, her ladyship had broken out into the most violent opposition to this plan.

Lord Osborne had just learnt that the incumbent of another living, to which he had the right of presentation, a very old man, was in a state of health, which would in all probability speedily terminate in death, and he was perfectly determined to give it, immediately it fell vacant, to his former tutor. He felt that in every respect this would be a most desirable circumstance, and had not the present incumbent so opportunely fallen sick, he should certainly have attempted to negotiate some other exchange which would have promised a speedy removal. Why Lady Osborne should so resolutely set herself against it, he could not imagine; her feelings towards Howard he could not understand, unless in case of a suspicion which occurred to him proving correct, that the clergyman had refused the baron's widow. She who used to be so friendly and favourable to him, now indulged in feelings apparently of hatred and enmity. She evidently wished to injure him, wished to hinder any improvement in his circumstances, wished to prejudice her son against him. He thought his mother hardly in her senses on this subject, so extremely bitter and unreasonable her sentiments appeared. Her indignation passed all bounds when she found him perfectly unpersuadable on this point. His object in wishing to remove Mr. Howard was quite as potent as hers in wishing to torment him, and his obstinacy in following his own opinion at least as great; there was therefore no chance of their coming to any agreement, and they parted on very bad terms.

Now when his tale was done, he was ready to sit and listen to his sister's plans and designs for to-morrow, ready to encourage her with hopes of a fine day, and still more ready to anticipate much intercourse with Emma Watson. He determined to seize some opportunity during the approaching fÊte to make known his sentiments, and ask her hand. His courage felt quite high: he had been so successful in this undertaking at Croydon that he began to think he must have quite a winning way with women, and thoughts, complimentary to himself, which had never before entered his brain, began now to bud and grow, and rapidly increase within him.