The next morning Emma had a succession of visitors. Miss Millar was among the first and gayest of the number. She came up with Sam immediately after breakfast, to spend a long day, and expressed great satisfaction at seeing her again.

"You cannot think how dreadfully dull I have been," said she, "almost ever since you went away. George being in love is the stupidest thing in the world. Formerly when he had done with his business, and escaped from his offices he used to be glad of my society and would read or walk when I wanted him, but now all that is quite changed, and if I do get a speech from him once in a week I am taught to consider it a great favour. Upon my word it is a sad disease."

"They say it is infectious," said Emma, laughing.

"Oh I trust not," cried Annie quite seriously, "I hope I shall escape the infection, I have such a horror of the whole thing. I beg the pardon of all such of the present company who may be engaged, but I think that people in love are very ridiculous."

"Can you always discern at the first glance when they have the disease," enquired Miss Bridge good-humouredly.

"Yes I think I can—but happily it leaves no marks, and when it is passed, people may be as amiable as before. But it's a sad thing that young people should be so constantly exposed to the danger. I hope you will keep clear Emma, in spite of the atmosphere to which you have removed."

"Is it worse than when I was here two months ago?" enquired Emma, secretly smiling at her young friend's remarks.

"We shall soon see," replied Annie; "if there were any one to fall in love with here, I am certain you would be in a dangerous position."

"Well, why should you except me?" said Mr. Bridge, "here I am a bachelor, why may I not aspire to be considered as a dangerous individual?"

"You, my dear Mr. Bridge—because you are engaged to me; you know you long ago promised to marry me yourself," replied Annie.

"I am flattered at your remembering our engagement, young lady, but I am astonished that you are left so long to me without competition; I think you must be something like Beatrice."

"No, I never had lovers to mock," said she, "except Mr. Alfred Fremantle, and he is the facsimile of Sir John Suckling's constant lover, or rather he resembles him in constancy, but has none of his wit to express it. What is it he says—

"I cannot remember the words exactly, but it is something to that effect."

Sam turned round from the window, and repeated the lines to which Annie alluded. She looked astonished.

"How came you to know them?" said she.

"I read them amongst his poems," was his answer.

"I thought you were a surgeon, Mr. Samuel Watson," said she still in amazement, "and though never doubting that you knew a great deal of anatomy and such things, did not expect you would be acquainted with love poetry."

"And is it to want of taste or want of time, Miss Millar, that you would attribute my imaginary ignorance?"

"I do not wish to offend you, but certainly I had expected a surgeon's tastes to be different; and I should have referred a case of dislocation or fracture to you, with much more faith than a failure of memory."

"You thought I could mend your finger better than a broken verse, and that though I might make you whole, I should make a line halt—was that it?"

"I believe it was, and my amazement is so great, I do not know when I shall recover," replied she saucily.

"I know you always had a strong prejudice against the medical profession," said Mr. Bridge smiling, "you considered one specimen the type of the whole class."

"I am delighted to hear it," exclaimed Sam, "I like of all things to meet with prejudiced people, one has such a pleasure in disputing with them; good, strong prejudices are delightful things, they are so constantly changing their color and complexion; for I have often observed a strong dislike converted into a decided approbation, whilst the owner is unaware of the change, and gravely assures you he never alters his mind."

"That must be a man's prejudice, Mr. Watson," said Annie, "women are much more consistent. I have hated doctors, surgeons and apothecaries ever since I was five years old, and Mr. Morgan gave me some bon-bons which made me sick. I have always distrusted them since that."

"I am not at all surprised," said Sam, with much gravity; "such an offence was unpardonable, and well deserves to be visited on the whole of the medical profession by your unchanging and unmitigated contempt. After this we cannot allow your dislike to be called a prejudice!"

"Is your brother always as impertinent to every young woman as he is to me?" enquired Annie, turning to Emma, "he seems determined to quarrel with me—has he naturally a bad temper?"

"Really I do not know," replied Emma, "I have seen so little of him, and never with any other young ladies; do you imagine want of temper a necessary accompaniment to his profession?"

"Oh no, I am not quite so bad as that," said she laughing, "doctors ought to be particularly bland and insinuating, able to make all the bitter realities they inflict on one, pass easily under the sweetening cover of a smile and honied words."

They were interrupted by the arrival of other visitors. Emma having just arrived from a prolonged visit to Lady Gordon at Osborne Castle, was likely to become a very popular character at Croydon; there was so much virtue comprised in the friendship of a baronet's wife, and as it was whispered, the admiration of her brother; for accounts of his visit to Croydon had been whispered abroad, and such an act could only be attributed to one motive. All her former acquaintance looked on her as a baroness elect, and all began to find out what a very charming girl they had always thought her. They would not for the world neglect calling on that sweet, amiable Emma Watson. They were so delighted to see her back again; they were so eager that she should make a long stay amongst them all. Croydon would be so gay with all that was going on. The three Miss Watsons had been such a very great addition, it had never been like itself since they came.

Amongst her visitors were her sister-in-law and niece. Emma was really glad to see the little girl, who clung to her and begged her to come back again very soon, as she had no one to teach her now so nicely as she had been used to do.

"My dear Emma," cried Jane, "how delighted I am to see you again, and so blooming as you are looking; upon my word, I really begin to see what Mr. Morgan once said of our likeness. I hope you left your kind friends at the Castle well—charming young man Lord Osborne; nothing of hauteur or pride about him. He seemed quite at home with me—but, to be sure, when people have lived in the same sort of society, they acquire a sort of ease towards each other. I cannot make out that he knew my uncle, Sir Thomas, but he reminded me very much of some of the young men that I used to see at his house."

Here she paused, and Emma, thinking some sort of remark necessary, and yet not having the least idea what she was expected to reply to, only ventured to enquire for her brother.

"Mr. Watson? oh, he is well enough, I believe! I have not seen him this morning, however, for he breakfasted early with Elizabeth; I believe, if he can, he will come and see you some day, but indeed, Emma, you must come to us. We have plenty of room, and should you have any friends coming, we could easily accommodate them too. I would not mind putting myself to any inconvenience for your sake, my dear."

"I am sure I feel much obliged, but at present I mast decline your offers," said Emma, trying to speak with warmth.

"Oh, no, not at all, I assure you, you could expect nothing less from us; we, you know, are your nearest relations, and under certain circumstances, we may naturally be expected to show our approbation and patronage; every young woman has a claim on her own family; so you will certainly come back to us."

"Indeed I must decline Jane," said Emma firmly, "at least, for the present."

"And indeed, dear, I will not take a refusal, so I shall certainly get a room ready for you, and another shall be prepared for a friend whenever it is needed. Did you leave Lord Osborne at the Castle, did you say?"

Emma replied in the negative of course.

"Really, for so young a man," continued Mrs. Watson, "his air and manner were remarkable; so exceedingly high-bred and aristocratic. I have seldom seen manners which delighted me more, I assure you. Don't blush so, my dear," added she, making believe to whisper; "nobody here knows anything about him, except you and me."

"Then allow me to suggest that, as a reason for dropping the subject," said Emma, "and recurring to some one more generally interesting."

"La, my dear," laughed Jane, "it looks very suspicious, your not choosing to talk of him. However, if you don't like it, I will say no more—I would not vex you for the world, my dear sister—what a sweet pretty gown that is you have on; Lady Gordon's choice, beyond a doubt."

"No, indeed," replied Emma, smiling, "but I dare say Miss Bridge remembers choosing it for me, whilst we were at Burton."

"What sort of bonnets are most in fashion, Emma?" asked Jane, "Elizabeth's wedding bonnet is, to my taste, vastly ugly; not that I pretend to be a judge at all,—though I used to be thought to have some taste—but I dare say, she was quite right not to take my advice; one must not expect to be always judged candidly—every one cannot see one's merits; so I am not surprised—how are heads worn now?"

Emma tried to recall and describe some of the bonnets she had seen at Lady Gordon's fÊte, but Mrs. Watson pronounced her description unsatisfactory, wished she had been there to see it, and wondered Margaret had never thought of asking her over for that day. She might have done it so easily, Jane was sure, and considering how very kind Jane had been to Margaret, and how large a share Robert had had in bringing about her marriage, she thought it was the least she could have done, to shew her gratitude and mark her sense of former favors.

Emma tried to excuse Margaret, but fortunately, before she had wasted much eloquence in that way, Jane perceived it was time to withdraw.

No sooner was she out of the room than Sam returned from the window where he had ensconced himself during her visit, and exclaimed:

"Really, I hope it is not very wicked, but that woman puts me more out of patience than all the rest of the world of Croydon put together."

"The rest of the world of Croydon is infinitely obliged to you," said Annie Millar, walking up to him; "allow me, sir, as its representative, to make you a grateful curtsey on the occasion. You can bear with us all better than with your sister-in-law?"

She made him a saucy curtsey as she spoke, looking exceedingly pretty as she did so.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself for such a speech, Sam," said Emma, at the same moment; "I am sure she meant to be kind."

"Yes, but who did she mean to be kind to, Emma? was it to Emma Watson or some imaginary future baroness," replied Sam.

"Why should I enquire into motives, or attribute a bad ones? She might have been just the same if Lord Osborne had never existed."

"I do not believe it," persisted he.

"Your brother wants to see how violent prejudices become him," said Annie Millar, "do not argue with him—he does not deserve it."

"Miss Millar is angry with me for the implied reflection on Croydon," said he, "but I knew she had not been brought up here, and never thought of her as belonging to the place."

"And what do you know of Croydon, to give you so dark an opinion of its inhabitants?" enquired she, "I do not think we slander, or court here worse than in other places."

"I have heard a great deal about you all, from my two sisters," replied he; "Emma especially, gave me lively pictures of your proceedings. I was well acquainted with you and your irreconcileable prejudices against unfortunate surgeons several months ago.

"Oh! you used to correspond with Emma, did you?" said she.

"To be sure I did; would not you write to your brother, Miss Millar?"

"Perhaps I might—but I do not think he would read it if I did—especially if I crossed the letter! George is not fond of letters!"

"But you like them yourself?"

"Oh yes! I should like to have seen Emma's to you. I am sure they would have been very interesting—does she not write very clever letters?"

"I used to think them interesting and clever—but, perhaps, that was because I am only a surgeon, and could not be expected to have either taste or judgment," replied he, with mock humility.

"Oh, but I think you might have both on that subject—your admiring Emma's letters is decidedly a proof of it."

"Even though I am a surgeon?"

"Yes, even though you are a surgeon."

"And though you have never seen any of those letters, the liking which secures your approbation?"

"Ah! you are too clever for me—you want to make me contradict myself, or something of that sort—but I will not argue with you, and then you cannot prove me wrong."

"You need not say you will not—you cannot argue; no woman can, they can only feel, and express those feelings."

"And taking the converse of your proposition, Mr. Samuel Watson, I presume that men surpass us so much in argument, because they have no feelings. Am I to infer that?"

"We have them, but we guide them, not they us. It is exactly the reverse with you, and you never see more than one side of a question," replied he, in the most straightforward manner possible.

"Yes; you have some feelings very apparent," replied she, "contempt for women is evidently a prominent one."

"Contempt, Miss Millar! no indeed, you do me injustice, if you think so—but, perhaps, you imagine that a part of my profession?"

"I certainly think it one that hardens all the feelings," said she turning away and thus putting a stop to the conversation. It had been settled that the whole vicarage party were to dine at the Millars' that afternoon, and it now became time for those who did not belong to it, to return home to prepare for dinner. Elizabeth Watson, her brother, and Miss Millar accordingly set off together. Elizabeth taking Sam's arm, and Annie walking on her other side; they made the passage with scarcely a syllable passing between them; and as the Millars' house was nearer the vicarage than the residence of the Robert Watsons, Annie left them at the door of her house.

"What do you think of Annie Millar?" cried Elizabeth eagerly, as she and her brother proceeded together. "Is she not charming?"

"Yes, she is a very fine girl," replied he quietly.

"Oh, Sam," continued Elizabeth, "I do so wish you would like her; I have always thought she was exactly suited to you. She will have twenty thousand pounds of her own, and I am sure she is much better worth liking than Mary Edwards."

Elizabeth, in her open-hearted zeal for Sam's welfare, never for a moment reflected that she was taking the most probable way to prejudice him against her, since there is nothing which in general has more influence that way than a sister's praises; whilst the surest means to interest a man's favor for any young woman, is to abuse or find fault with her. True to his feelings as a man, Sam of course replied:

"If you reckon her merits by her pounds, I dare say she is, but I do not see otherwise in what she surpasses Mary Edwards."

Fortunately they had just arrived at the termination of their walk, and Sam having seen his sister safely deposited in the house, returned alone to George Millar's residence.

The evening was a very merry one, for the whole party was well assorted and in good spirits, in spite, as Annie observed, of the tremendous event hanging over some of them. But it was not Elizabeth's nature to be very pensive; positive evils did not make her sad, it was not likely then that what she firmly believed to be a positive good, would weigh heavily on her spirits. She was perfectly satisfied with her future prospects, and could look forward without any trembling emotion to her approaching fate. After dinner, when the ladies had returned to the drawing-room, Elizabeth, who was burning with anxiety to make known the fact of Emma's engagement, began enquiring of Annie, if she thought her sister changed since her visit to Osborne Castle. Miss Millar declared she was looking better, plumper, gayer, prettier than ever; but in no other respect was she altered.

"Then you do not suspect her of having fallen in love?" enquired Miss Watson laughingly.

"I see no trace of it," said the other, examining Emma from head to foot with a grave air, taking a candle from the chimney-piece to throw more light on her countenance. "I see no symptoms at all, pray do not attempt to raise such unfounded imputations against her, Elizabeth; your insinuations disgrace you!"

"Nay then, in my own justification I must inform you, Annie,—shall I tell, Emma—or do you blush to own the truth?" enquired Miss Watson with a significant smile.

"Not that she is engaged to that Lord Osborne!" cried Annie, starting back with horror, "you are not going to confirm the rumour which Miss Jenkins and Mrs. Watson so industriously circulate, and that brought Miss Morgan and Miss Fenton to call on her to-day. This can never be."

"My dear Annie," said Emma smiling quietly, "that Lord Osborne, as you call him, is a very estimable young man, and would make any woman who liked him very happy I have no doubt."

"Indeed! well I hope he will, if you are going to marry him," said Annie with a mournful countenance and expression, that made Elizabeth laugh out-right, "but in that case, when you are Lady Osborne, we shall never see you again."

"I dare say not," replied Emma, "but, believe me, I never intend to be Lady Osborne, so your alarm is unfounded."

"And you are not engaged to him, and you are free—oh, how glad I am—I was sure you could not be," cried Annie quite rapturously.

Emma looked at Elizabeth and said,

"Finish the story, as you began it."

"Well then, Annie, I am sorry to lower your opinion of my sister, but as the fact must come sooner or later to your knowledge, and you seem now tolerably prepared to receive it, I have to make to you the distressing announcement that Emma is in reality engaged to be married, though not to Lord Osborne, who is not the only man in the world I assure you."

"Emma engaged to be married," said Annie with a desponding look, "then I have no hope; the next thing I shall hear, is that my hand is disposed of; we shall none of us escape it. Dear Miss Bridge, how did you manage?"

"I would not recommend you to wish for my fate, my dear, I had a bitter disappointment," replied the old lady with extraordinary placidity.

"My dear madam," said Annie respectfully, and taking her hand as she spoke, "I beg your pardon a thousand times, but I assure you I did not know that, or I would not have jested on the subject."

"My dear child, the thing is too long passed to hurt my feelings now," said Miss Bridge smoothing down Annie's glossy hair as she inclined her head towards her; "but I do not think you would wish to buy my present peace of mind by undergoing all I have felt and suffered."

A pause ensued, which Mrs. Turner was the first to break.

"Well Elizabeth, do tell us what is the name of your sister's young man—who is he and what is he? I am longing to know all about it."

Elizabeth told them all she knew, and when she added that Lord Osborne had recently given him a valuable living, Emma enquired whether she was not right in saying that Lord Osborne was an estimable young man.

"What, because he has livings to dispose of?" said Annie. "I suppose he could not help that."

Emma was silent, but Elizabeth exclaimed,

"Oh! but you must understand that Lord Osborne was in love with her, and therefore, as he could not marry her himself, it was very generous of him to give his rival an income to enable him to do so."

"Elizabeth!" said Emma reproachfully.

"Emma tries to make a mystery of it," continued her sister; "I cannot get her to own that Lord Osborne proposed to her; but I am sure if he did not, it was because she accepted Mr. Howard before he had time to do so."

The gentlemen at this juncture returned to the drawing-room, for neither of the three seemed disposed to prefer the bottle to the ladies, and Annie sat down to prepare tea. Sam approached the table, which was a little removed from the others, and tendered his assistance if necessary. She did not accept or decline his offer, but looked a little confused; he could not decide whether she was angry or vexed, and stood quietly by considering her countenance, and aiding her whenever she required more water from the elegant silver kettle which swung over a spirit-lamp in the place of our modern urn.

At length, when the others seemed engrossed with their tea and conversation, she raised her head and said, with a little embarrassment,

"I certainly owe you some apology, Mr. Watson, for the incivility of my last speech to you this afternoon. I am quite shocked to think I should have been so rude."

"Indeed, Miss Millar, I was not affronted, for I had known your opinion before, and I thought the apologies were rather due from me, since, though quite unintentionally, I had given you the idea that I entertained a contempt for women. I did not deserve that accusation, but my expressions must have been wrong, if they awoke such an idea."

Annie could not help feeling that even a surgeon might look very handsome, and that his tone and manner might convey the conviction of his perfect sincerity: she liked him, in spite of his profession.

"Seriously, Mr. Watson, I should never accuse you of anything of the sort," returned she after a moment's reflection; "so I suppose we may pass an amnesty for past offences, and declare a truce for the present."

"Let it be a treaty of peace," said he playfully; "permanent peace."

"No," she replied shaking her head; "that would be promising too much. I shall be certain to quarrel with you again, and it does not do to break treaties. Do you know I was never, as a child, so much inclined to be naughty as when I had just promised to be very good. Let us content ourselves with a four hours' truce, renewable or not at the end of that time."

"Be it so," replied he laughing, "if you think that the safest proceeding or the most agreeable. So you were a naughty girl, were you, at school?"

"Oh, always in a scrape—the torment of my governess," said she laughing at the recollection. "They used gravely to shake their heads, and say they did not know what would become of me; I should never be good for anything; so idle—so rebellious—so mischievous—so saucy—and withal so merry and happy—I always got my own way with them all."

"And what did you learn at school, may I ask?"

"First to play at battledore and shuttle-cock, and repeat 'I love my love with an A,' &c.—then to dance—I liked that—then to do cross-stitch, tent and marking—I worked a magnificent sampler, which I will show you some day. Then I learnt my letters and to read, because they promised me some fairy tales if I would try. The next accomplishment I acquired was to do a sum in the rule of three, for which I was rewarded with 'Sir Charles Grandison,' in seven volumes. I do not know that I learnt anything else, except the way to govern all my companions, coax my superiors—oh, and write a letter."

"Well, I think it must have been a very good school, and if ever I have daughters they shall be sent there too. I admire the system exceedingly."

"Yes, I think it was a very good school," replied Annie; "to be sure, I learnt nothing worth knowing, and a great deal which I had better have let alone: one sees a prodigious deal of meanness, and manoeuvring, and artful conduct when thirty or forty girls are assembled together; but I suppose it is all right, since it has gone on for so many generations, and I do not know that women are worse than they used to be before they ever pretended to learn. We do not expect to rival Lady Jane Grey, or Queen Elizabeth, or the daughters of Evelyn, and I dare say if we did, we should only be disliked and ridiculed. No doubt it is quite right that women should be idle and frivolous; it keeps us in our right places in the world."

She spoke with something in her tone between jest and bitterness, to which Sam hardly knew how to answer.

"I protest against your giving the conversation such a turn; it is breaking our truce," said he, "you must either speak in complete jest, or serious earnest. I shall be getting into a scrape again with you, if I answer now, for I do not know which you mean."

"Let it pass for a jest then, lest you should think me seriously discontented with my position in society," replied she, "and in the meantime, give me Miss Bridge's teacup to replenish!"

"She is an odd girl," thought he, "I wonder in what light she looks upon me!"

"After all, for a surgeon, he really is pleasant," thought she, "it is a pity he has such a bad profession, I am quite sorry for him."

It was with these feelings that they sat down to cards; after which, of course, they had no more private conversation until the company had left the house.