The next morning at breakfast, one letter amongst many which Lady Gordon received, appeared to excite considerable surprise, and some other sensation nearly allied to discontent. She read it over, and then threw it down before her husband, with an exclamation:

"Only see there!"

"Why, what is it that clouds your brow so, Rosa?" replied he, looking at the letter without touching it, or interrupting himself in the process of dissecting a cold fowl.

"Just look at that letter;" said she, "have you no curiosity?" she added, seeing he did not take it up.

"Oh yes, a great deal of curiosity—but no time to spare, and I know that if I wait a little, you will tell me all without the trouble of looking at it."

"Provoking man," said Lady Gordon, "I declare I will not tell you a word, as a punishment for such incorrigible laziness and impertinence."

"I see by the address it is from your brother, my love," replied the husband, glancing again at the letter, "what does he say to provoke you, and put you so out of temper?"

"I will not tell you a word. I assure you."

"Is he going to be married?"

"Look in the letter and you will have no occasion to ask me."

"Miss Watson, suppose you were to take it, and oblige me by reading it out; you have done your breakfast, and I am still busy with mine."

"No, indeed, I quite agree with Lady Gordon in thinking it very indolent not to read it for yourself, and shall certainly not countenance it at all."

"I see you are in a conspiracy against me, and that is very unfair when there are two ladies to one man," replied he laughing.

"I am just going to make you even as to numbers at least," returned Emma, "for I am about to leave the room."

She did so, and Sir William immediately taking up the letter, read it through quietly and returned it to his wife.

"Well," said she, "what do you think of that?"

"First, that it is rather extraordinary your brother's proposal of a visit should cause you such annoyance; and secondly, that you should think it necessary to make this visit a secret."

"You are always more struck with my feelings than anything else: I believe if the Castle were to tumble on us, you would be only occupied in observing how I bore it."

"That is only because you are the most interesting object in the world to me: surely you would not quarrel with me for that, Rosa?"

She looked evidently gratified, yet still pretended to pout a little, then enquired:

"But why would you not look at the letter when I asked you?"

"Because I always feel myself de trop when I form the third, where the other two have letters for mutual inspection: if you wish me to read your letters, and do not choose to make Miss Watson acquainted with their contents, pray wait another time till she is out of the room. You see you have driven her away now."

"I certainly wished to talk to you about this, I am so annoyed at Osborne's coming now!"

"And I cannot imagine why!"

"Because I believe it to be only for the sake of Emma Watson, that he has so suddenly resolved to come down here."

"And you I suppose, Rosa, wish it to be for your own sake instead?"

"Nonsense; how can you suppose anything of the sort?"

"Then what am I to understand is the cause of your discontent, Rosa?" enquired her husband, looking rather surprised.

"I do not wish him to care for Emma in that sort of way at all. She is a very nice girl, and I should like to have her for a friend always, but I do not desire her for a sister; she is not Osborne's equal, and I should regret the connection."

"So should I, I confess, not for your brother's sake, but hers. He could hardly do a better thing for himself; she is his superior in everything but worldly position, and were there the least chance of his persuading her to accept him, I should think him a very lucky fellow. But I do not think there is; and therefore you need not be alarmed for him, nor I for her."

"And why should you be concerned for her at such a prospect—it would be a very good marriage for her," said Lady Gordon.

"I do not think unequal connexions desirable at all—and were she your brother's wife, she would be too far removed from the man who is to be her eldest sister's husband. If I understand rightly, the other is to marry a wealthy brewer at Croydon—a very good match for her, but not a desirable connection for Osborne; Emma would either grow ashamed of her own family and their station, or she would be pained by being obliged to neglect them in some degree. But she will never accept Osborne!"

"I cannot wish the temptation thrown in her way—I should be by no means sure of the result," said Lady Gordon.

"You cannot prevent it however," replied Sir William, "if Osborne has any such thoughts in his head—he is his own master, and cannot be kept away from her. The mischief is of your own doing too—for you had her here in the winter—and, if I recollect rightly, encouraged the acquaintance."

"That was entirely for Mr. Howard's sake," said she, "It never occurred to me that Osborne would notice her."

"I cannot see why you should have intermeddled between them at all," was his reply. "Mr. Howard would have gone on very well alone."

Lady Gordon did not choose to mention her principal motive, so she only replied—

"Well, it is too late for such reflections now to be of any use, so tell me what I had better do, and I will try and obey you."

"Do nothing at all then, love; depend upon it, any opposition will only make your brother more decidedly bent on his own way, which you have no means of preventing him from following. Let him come, and trust to the evident partiality of your friend, Howard, as the safeguard of your brother."

Lady Gordon had speedily the opportunity of exercising the forbearance which her husband advised; as, punctual to his promise, her brother arrived that afternoon. The two young ladies were sitting together when he walked into the room; and she bore, with as much composure as she could, the evident warmth and eagerness with which he paid his compliments to Emma. He seated himself by her side, and after looking intently at her for a minute in the way for which he had been formerly remarkable, exclaimed with great energy:

"Upon my honour, Miss Watson, for all it's so very long since we met, you are looking uncommonly well and blooming!"

Emma felt excessively tempted to ask him whether he had expected she would have pined at his absence, or grown old in the last six months. She did not, however, because she thought he would not understand her, as he had never appeared at all ready to comprehend a jest.

"Croydon must have agreed famously with you," he continued, "I was there once, and had a great inclination to ride over and pay you a visit at Burton; but not knowing the people you were with I felt awkward, and did not like to do it; it is such a horrid thing going entirely amongst strangers."

"I am much honoured by your lordship thinking of me at all; but I should say you were quite right in not coming there; we should have been overpowered by the sudden apparition of a man of your rank."

"I dare say you created a great sensation in Croydon, did you not?"

"Not that I am aware of, my lord; I never wished to be conspicuous, and I trust, I did not do any thing whilst there, to excite observation amongst my acquaintance."

"You must have done one thing, which you could not help, at any time," replied he, in a very low voice, as if ashamed of himself. "You must have looked pretty; they must all have noticed that."

Emma met Lady Gordon's eyes fixed on her at this moment with an expression which it was impossible to misunderstand; it spoke so plainly of anxiety and mistrust. It did no good, however, for it only made her uncomfortable, and was totally unnoticed by him. He never was an adept at understanding looks—and, at this moment, all his senses were engrossed by his attention to Emma.

Not knowing precisely what to say next, he began to admire her work, a constant resource with young men who are anxious to talk, and rather barren of subjects; but this did not endure very long, and when he could find nothing more to say on this topic, he suddenly started a brilliant idea by enquiring if the ladies did not intend to go out. Emma appealed to Lady Gordon, who declared at first, she was too lazy to stir; but her brother pressed his proposition so very warmly, alternately suggesting riding, driving, or walking, that at last she yielded the point, and consented to allow him to drive them out.

Then followed a long discussion as to the vehicle to be chosen, which terminated in favour of an Irish car—a very favorite mode of conveyance of Lady Gordon's, and one which was by no means disagreeable to him, as he would be quite able to talk to Emma as much as he felt inclined.

The drive which they proposed to take was a very pretty one—through a country partaking of the nature of a forest—and Emma was at first, highly delighted with it. But an accident, which occurred when near the conclusion of their expedition, materially diminished the pleasure of the whole party. In stepping from the seat, in order to ascend a small eminence which commanded a beautiful view, Emma placed her foot on a rolling pebble, which giving way under her, twisted her ankle so severely as to incapacitate her entirely from walking, and occasion her very considerable pain. The concern of her friends on the occasion, was proportionate to their regard for her, and quite in character with their different dispositions. Lady Gordon expressed her sorrow in words—her brother confined his chiefly to looks. They returned home immediately; and Emma was, with the assistance of Sir William, who joined them at the castle porch, conveyed into the mansion and carried up-stairs. It was very painful at first, and she told her friend she could not join their party in the evening; but Lady Gordon expressed so much regret at this, that Emma consented to make an effort, as there was no necessity for ascending or descending stairs, their usual sitting room being on the same floor with her apartments.

Accordingly she spent the evening on a couch near to which Lord Osborne stationed himself, in order to enjoy a good view of her face. It was evident that his love for her had not made him more lively, or more talkative, and to judge from his manners that evening, he had not made much progress in politeness. He allowed all the little offices of civility to be performed by Sir William, never offering to hand her a cup of coffee, nor seeing when it was empty, and requiring removal; never noticing when her reel of silk dropped on the ground, or discovering if her embroidery frame was raised at the proper angle. His total neglect of all this, together with the little conversation he ever attempted to carry on, and the general reserve of his manner, entirely prevented Emma from entertaining the idea, that he was her serious admirer. Had she really supposed it, her manners might have been different, but as it was, she felt as much at ease with him, as with his brother-in-law, and treated him with equal frankness.

She never had thought him particularly agreeable, and it did not enter her head that he would wish to make himself so, for otherwise, he would probably have behaved very differently; at least so she concluded, when she contrasted his manner with that of some others of her acquaintance.

The sprain of her ankle occasioned her great pain all the evening, as Sir William guessed from the paleness of her cheeks, and the shade round her mouth at times; but she did all she could to conceal it, and chatted with him and Lady Gordon as long as they remained together.

But she never felt more relieved than when at his suggestion, the proposal for retiring was made early, in order to relieve her, for she had borne as much as she could in silence, and really felt once or twice on the point of fainting.

Lady Gordon took the most judicious step she could, for she summoned to her assistance the old house-keeper, who being peculiarly great in doctoring sprains, and all such accidental maladies, soon produced some remedy for the pain Emma was suffering. But it was evident it would be some days before she would be able to walk at all, and she very much regretted this deprivation, during the beautiful weather they were then enjoying.

In the forenoon of the following day, as she was reclining on a couch near the open window, engaged in drawing a group of flowers for Lady Gordon's portfolio, Mr. Howard entered the room. As her hostess happened to have left the room a few minutes before, he found Emma, to his great astonishment, tÊte-À-tÊte with Lord Osborne. He had no idea that the young nobleman was then in the country, and not the least expectation of meeting at that moment with one whom he could not avoid considering as a dangerous rival. His quick eye did not fail to perceive too, that some of the flowers in the vase before Emma were of precisely the same kind as the sprig in Lord Osborne's coat, and he came to the not unnatural conclusion, that they had been given to him by herself. He felt quite disconcerted at the circumstance, and he always had an uncomfortable sense of self-reproach, when he remembered that he had left his lordship in ignorance of his own wishes, at the time that he received his confidence. He now hesitated whether to enter the room or not, but Lord Osborne advanced to meet him with considerable pleasure, and effectually prevented his withdrawal. He was compelled to shake hands, when at the moment he felt so very unamiably disposed towards his former pupil, that he was far more inclined to turn his back upon him.

"Very glad indeed to see you, Mr. Howard," said the other, "I dare say you are a little surprised to see me here; but I could not help coming. You see we have got her back again, aren't you glad?" glancing at the sofa where Emma was lying.

She too held out her hand to him, and her cheeks crimsoned at seeing him again; but as she never suspected his jealousy, not supposing there was any occasion for it, she felt rather hurt at the coldness of his address, and the hurried way in which he greeted her.

Lord Osborne eyed them both, and though not in general gifted with much penetration, his love seemed, at least on this occasion, to have made him sharp-sighted, as the idea suddenly entered his mind that there was danger to his suit in the visits of his former tutor. He sat down in silence, determined to observe them closely, and not to disturb his powers of judging, he resolved to keep a profound silence.

The consequence of these various feelings was a peculiarly awkward silence, and Emma, angry with the lover she cared for, on account of his variable manners which perpetually perplexed and disappointed her, was almost determined not to open her lips to him.

At length he spoke.

"I called intending to enquire if you were disposed to fulfil the engagement we talked of the other day Miss Watson, about the picture-gallery; but perhaps I need not ask now—you probably are not disposed for the exertion."

"It is indeed quite out of my power this morning," replied Emma; "and I wish I could name a time when it would be possible to have the pleasure."

"It is only dependent on yourself—but if you have more agreeable engagements, of course it is natural you should defer this one. Whenever you wish it, will you let we know?"

"Do you suppose it to be a more agreeable engagement lying prisoner here?" replied Emma smiling; "our tastes must differ more than I had fancied they would if you do so."

"You did not use to be indolent, I know," replied he; "but no doubt it is far more like modern fashionable manners to pass the day on a sofa than in active pursuits."

"Now do not be satirical, Mr. Howard," said she in a lively tone; "I never was, and I hope I never shall be converted into a fashionable fine lady, and my lying on the sofa has nothing to do with indolence or inclination."

"Indeed!" he replied, with a provoking air of incredulity.

"Yes, indeed and indeed—I assure you it is a downright punishment to me, only alleviated by the kindness of my friends in trying to amuse me."

Mr. Howard glanced at Lord Osborne, as if he attributed the friendship and the amusement alike to him.

"No, you are wrong there—I dare say his lordship is afraid I should be spoilt if I had too much indulgence, so he contents himself with disarranging my flowers and contradicting my opinions: I really must trouble you, my lord, for the bud you stole," she added turning to him; "I cannot do without it."

"And I cannot possibly let you have it," replied he abruptly; "it's gone, I shall not tell you where."

"Now is not that too provoking!" cried Emma; "with all his conservatories and gardens at command, to envy me my single sprig which Sir William took so much trouble in procuring me. I had a particular value for it on his account, and having sketched it into this group: I must have it, or the whole will be spoilt."

"Will you promise me the drawing, if I give it back to you?" asked he.

"No indeed—it is for your sister. Mr. Howard, will you not take my part? I am exposed, without the power of resisting, to his depredations; he knows I cannot move from this sofa."

"But do tell me what is the matter?" enquired Mr. Howard seriously; "have you really met with an accident?"

"Only a sprain which incapacitates me from moving," she answered.

"I am exceedingly grieved to hear it," he said with looks of real concern. "I had been thinking only of want of inclination, not want of power, when you declined moving."

"You see in that instance then you misunderstood me, perhaps you do so in others likewise," she replied; an equivocal speech which threw Howard into a fit of abstraction for several minutes whilst pondering on her meaning. Recovering himself he began to enquire the particulars of the accident, which she detailed to him, ending her account with desiring him to deduce some moral from the history.

"Perhaps you would not like the moral I should draw," he replied with a smile; "it might not be flattering or agreeable."

"I dare say, it would not be flattering, Mr. Howard; I should not expect it from you—suppose we all make a moral to the tale, and see if we can think alike. Come, my lord, let us have yours."

"Give me time to think then," said he—for, in spite of his resolution in favor of silence, he could not help yielding to her smiles.

"Five minutes by the watch on the chimney-piece, and in good time—here come Sir William and Lady Gordon to give their opinion of our sentiments."

"I am quite ready to give mine at once," returned Sir William, who heard only the last speech, as he entered through the window from the terrace:

"I have no doubt that yours, Miss Watson, are very severe—Osborne's romantic—and Howard's common place. Will that do?"

"Not at all—you shall be no judge in the matter, since you make up your mind before you hear the cause," cried Emma, "Lady Gordon shall be umpire, and if you like to produce a moral, do so."

"What is it all about?" enquired Lady Gordon, "I must understand before I decide."

"Not the least necessary, my dear Rosa," said her husband, "and quite out of character; women always decide first—and understanding, if it comes at all, is quite a secondary consideration with them."

"A pretty speech to make," exclaimed Emma, "when he himself just now answered without understanding at all."

"I knew you would be severe," replied Sir William to Emma, "but I was, I assure you, only trying to bring down my conduct to the level of my companions."

"Shall we not turn him out of the room?" cried his wife, "he is intolerable to-day!"

"Oh no! take no notice of him," said Emma, with spirit, "I do not mind a word he says!"

"You—all of you talk so much," exclaimed Lord Osborne, "that it is impossible for me to settle my thoughts—but I think I have made my moral now—shall I say it?"

"By all means, my lord," said Emma.

"We are all grave attention," observed Sir William.

"Well, I think ladies should take great care not to make false steps—because, if they do, they will not be able to stand by themselves afterwards."

"Bravo, Osborne!" cried his sister, "but rather severe on my friend."

"And you, Mr. Howard," she continued, "will you favour us with your opinion?"

"Mine is, that Miss Watson should, in future, avoid any great haste in climbing to eminent situations, lest she be the loser in the attempt."

Emma colored slightly at the earnest glance which accompanied the low, emphatic tone of his speech, but laughed it off by observing:

"Yes, my nature is so ambitious, I need that counsel."

"And now, Miss Watson," cried Lord Osborne, eagerly; "it's your turn."

"Well, the moral I draw is, when I am in a comfortable position again, to take care and not lose it in searching for some imaginary advantage—the moral of 'The substance and the shadow.'"

"And mine," exclaimed Sir William, "you must hear mine—it is, that a young lady's strength of limb is probably less than her strength of will; and I have always observed it to be easier for her to twist her ankle, than to give up her own way."

"And mine," exclaimed Lady Gordon, "My dear Miss Watson, my moral is, that you should never invite men to comment on your conduct, for they are sure to draw false conclusions and make ill-natured remarks."

"It is the more hard, as your brother was the origin of my misfortune," observed Emma, "but for his persuasion, I should have sat still."

"Just like the precious sex, my dear friend," replied Lady Gordon, "lead you into a scrape, and then be the first to blame you for being there."

"All married women talk in that way," observed Sir William, "they make a point of abusing men on all occasions; I never could quite make out the reason."

"It is the very natural result of experience, my love," said his wife.

"I sometimes think it is to prevent other women marrying," continued he, "lest their offices, as chaperones, should be uncalled for; and sometimes, I think it is merely to contradict themselves—which all women are so fond of doing—for having paid a man the compliment of marrying him, it becomes necessary to thwart him afterwards, lest he be too proud."

"Miss Watson, have you air enough here," said Lord Osborne, coming up to her sofa; "do let me push you out on the terrace—it would be so pleasant now the sun is off."

Lady Gordon seconded the proposal, and called on Mr. Howard to assist her brother. He did so; and then, distressed to find that the young lord of the castle took his station closer than ever to her side, he tore himself away from the whole party and went to shut himself up at home till the evening.

Emma felt quite provoked at the pertinacity with which Lord Osborne kept at her elbow; she had hoped that he would have found it tedious to remain all day tranquil—but his patience was more enduring than she had given him credit for. He even seemed to improve in spirits and began talking more than before.

"Nice fellow, that Howard—is not he?" was his first observation, when the gentleman in question quitted them.

"Yes, very," replied Emma, not knowing precisely what else to say, and wondering what would come next.

"He has a prodigious deal to say for himself, which makes him a favorite," continued the animated peer, "I wish I could talk so, don't you?"

"I do not think he talked much to-day," replied Emma, "if he did, I did not hear it at least."

"Perhaps you do not care to have men such very great talkers—do you? I never heard your opinion about that."

"I really believe I have none, my lord," answered Emma, "I never made up mind as to how much a man or woman should talk to make themselves agreeable—some men I know, talk too much."

"Meaning me, Miss Watson?" cried Sir William.

"The too much, must depend on the quality likewise—if they happen to be very silly or very dull, a few sentences are enough to tire one," added Emma, "whereas a lively, clever man, may talk for an hour without being wearisome."

"That is a comforting speech," exclaimed Sir William, "Osborne, we will take out our watches next time we begin a conversation with Miss Watson. Lively, clever men—the description just suits us—we may talk precisely sixty minutes."

Lord Osborne looked grave, as he suspected his brother-in-law was laughing at him, and Emma was silent, being unwilling to annoy him.—It had been settled that the Musgroves were to come over early in the afternoon, that they might spend some time with their sister; and in spite of his usual predilection for late hours and unpunctuality, Tom was rendered too proud and happy by the invitation to feel at all disposed to delay the honor. Soon after luncheon they arrived; Margaret adorned in all her wedding finery, delighted at such an opportunity of showing it off. Her new bonnet and pelisse were decidedly more fashionable, according to the Lady's Magazine, than anything Lady Gordon herself could produce; and she was not a little surprised, as well as half-affronted, at the simplicity of dress which her hostess had adopted.

On discovering the circumstance that Emma was confined to the sofa, she would not rest till she had heard the whole history of the accident, and then she uttered this sisterly observation:

"Good gracious! how excessively awkward and careless of you, Emma; how could you be so stupid? well I am glad it is not me, as of all things I hate a sprain—to go waddling about like an old goose—it's too absurd really."

"I don't see anything absurd in it," said Lord Osborne sturdily, "it's very unfortunate and very vexatious to us, and I dare say very painful to her, but there's nothing absurd in it."

"I did not mean absurd precisely," retracted Margaret, who would never dream of contradicting a peer of the realm, "I only meant it was very ridiculous."

Lord Osborne did not condescend to answer any more, but rose and walked whistling away.

Meantime, Tom was trying to be excessively gallant and agreeable to Lady Gordon, who, never particularly prepossessed in his favor, seemed now unusually cold and ungracious. In fact she could not quite forgive the danger she had been in of being called into court, and naturally looking on him as the cause, she felt a considerable degree of repugnance towards him.

His obsequiousness and flatteries did him no service; she would not be accessible to any compliments of his, and to the most elaborate praises, returned him the coldest answers.

"Where is your charming friend Miss Carr now?" enquired he at length, "I should rejoice to meet her again, though my position is altered since I last had that felicity. I hope she has not forgotten me!"

"I cannot possibly answer for that, but I have no idea that your change of position will at all affect her; but she will soon remember you if she does not at first."

"She was a delightful girl," observed he again, "so truly lady-like and lively; a combination one does not often meet with."

"She has high spirits," replied Lady Gordon.

"High spirits are charming things—so captivating."

"I think them very apt to be tiresome," observed she.

"High spirits united to good sense and abilities, form a very charming character," observed Sir William, "but unbalanced by these, they are apt to be overpowering. However, I should acquit Miss Carr of them altogether; she tried to be lively with all her might, but it was rather heavy work."

"I heard she was in this neighbourhood," returned Tom, "is that true?"

"I believe so," said Lady Gordon, "and I rather expect her here soon."

"Who is that you are talking of, Tom?" cried his wife in a sharp voice, "who is this charming woman?"

"Nobody you know," replied he carelessly.

"My friend Miss Carr," said Lady Gordon, shocked at the rudeness of the gentleman's reply, "perhaps you remember seeing her with me formerly."

"Oh dear yes, I remember her very well. Tom used to admire her very much, he often talked about her beautiful complexion," was Margaret's answer, "Fanny Carr he used to speak of a great deal, he thought she admired him!"

Tom bit his lips, and looked anything but gratified at his wife's observation, who exceedingly enjoyed his vexation, and triumphed in having so amply revenged herself for his rude reply.

"It is very provoking of you to be laid up lame there," she continued presently to Emma, "I should like to see the grounds of the Castle; I am always so unfortunate on such occasions: nobody meets with so many disappointments as me."

"No doubt Emma did it to provoke you," observed Tom with a sneer.

"I shall be very happy to show you over the grounds myself," interrupted Lady Gordon, convinced that anything would be better than the altercation going on between the husband and wife, which must be equally disagreeable to Emma as herself.

Margaret accepted the proposition very joyfully, and the two ladies left the room together, as Sir William saw no necessity for accompanying them.

"I suppose you enjoy yourself famously here, Emma," observed Tom, coming close up to her sofa.

"Yes, when I have not a sprained ankle," replied she.

"And even when you have, your spirits are so good, you seem to enjoy yourself still," observed Lord Osborne, who had returned from the terrace when Margaret left the room.

"But it makes her of consequence, and all young ladies like that," answered her brother-in-law. "I am sure Margaret is always affecting to be ill for no other purpose, and reproaching me because I do not believe it."

"I do not think your wife at all like her sister," observed Lord Osborne, coolly.

"I wish to heaven she were in any respect," cried Tom, "but I had no such good luck. However, I suppose I must bear my yoke."

Nobody answered, and after a little while Mr. Musgrove continued,

"One comfort of being married is, that I can flirt now without danger with any girl I choose, there is no risk now of being compelled to marry any more."

"You consider that a privilege of married men," said Sir William, enquiringly.

"Certainly, for on my honour, they need some compensation; I recommend you to marry, my lord, as indeed the privilege is a great comfort!"

"When I marry I shall leave off flirting," said Lord Osborne, decidedly, "out of compliment to my wife."

"Tantamount to an assertion you will never marry, Osborne," said Sir William, "for I never knew you flirt yet."

"How does your stable go on, my lord?" enquired Tom, "I should like to see it."

"You are welcome to go and see it if you please, so long as you don't drag me there; I am not inclined for an excursion to the stables at present."

Tom whistled and walked away, Lord Osborne drew nearer to Emma, and said,

"I hope you don't like him—do you?"

"He is my brother-in-law," replied Emma, "you forget that."

"I think he does," retorted Lord Osborne, "but one is not obliged to like one's brother-in-law, I suppose."

"I hope you mean nothing personal or disrespectful by that observation," exclaimed Sir William.

"No, on my honour, I forgot about you, Gordon," said he, "but I should think it quite enough if the husband likes his wife without its being at all necessary that the mother and sisters, and brother-in-law, should all like her too."

"Not necessary, certainly, but altogether desirable, and certainly conducive to domestic felicity."

"If my sister does not like my wife she must keep at a distance from her," said Lord Osborne, positively, "and then her feelings will be of no consequence—Don't you agree with me, Miss Watson?"

"Not exactly, my lord; I should not in practice, certainly—I do not think I would marry into a family where I was altogether unwelcome!"

"I am sorry for it," said Lord Osborne, very softly, and then looking remarkably conscious and awkward, he walked away.

"His theories sound more unprincipled than his practice would be, I suspect," observed Sir William, looking after him, and glancing at Emma, "I doubt whether he would really bear a quarrel with his sister with such indifference."

"I dare say not," said Emma, without at all suspecting she had any share in his feelings, or interest in his proceedings. "Young men often assert far more than they would like to realise, and I do not think worse of him than of many of his neighbours. I dare say he likes his own way—"

"He is very determined in following out his own opinions, I assure you," he replied, "but what I meant was, that though from impulse he might act in opposition to the wishes of his family, he would certainly repent it, as every body does sooner or later."

"Very likely, so for his sake I hope he will not try!" replied Emma, very unconcernedly.

"Shall I go on reading to you, Miss Watson," enquired Sir William, "or is there anything you want."

Emma replied that she should prefer reading to herself, and Sir William, having supplied her with the volumes she desired, left her in solitude.

Thus she remained until she was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Howard, who looked something between pleased and frightened at finding her alone. She told him where the others were gone, so far as she knew herself, but he seemed perfectly satisfied to take her assertions on trust, evincing no desire at all to follow them. He said it was very warm out of doors, that her room was exceedingly comfortable, and that he hoped she would make no objection to his remaining in her company.

She, as may easily be supposed, had no wish to oppose him, and a long and amicable conversation followed relative to the books she had been reading. They agreed in admiring the authors in question, and then in praising Sir William Gordon, who had recommended them. Mr. Howard declared him to be, in his opinion, a very superior young man, calculated to raise the character and improve the mind of his wife; he had the power, and the will, to guide her right, and it was probable that their domestic happiness would continue and increase.

Emma earnestly hoped it would; there was a great deal to love and value in Lady Gordon, and hers was a character which would certainly, with judicious management, be greatly improved.

"I like her," said Mr. Howard, "for her freedom from pride of birth; and considering what lessons she received from her mother that shows very great independence of character."

"Her friendship for me is one proof of that," observed Emma, "she has been invariably kind to me, and I have no claim to equality with her."

"Not in rank or fortune," replied he, "but allow me to say, in habits, tastes, and education, you are completely her equal, and she feels it so; her admiration and regard for you are so perfectly natural, that I can allow her no credit for that part of her conduct."

"I think I shall give you no credit, Mr. Howard, if you indulge in such a very complimentary strain," replied Emma smiling; "though I suppose you think something due to me to make up for your severe reflections on my ambitious projects."

"Your ambitious projects!" repeated he surprised.

"Yes; no later than this morning you warned me not to climb too high, lest I should fall irretrievably; you see I remember your lessons, though you may affect a short memory on the occasion."

"I wish I could consider it as a proof that you are not offended at my boldness," said he drawing his chair closer to her; "I really wished afterwards to apologise for my words, I feared you would think me so impertinent. You were not angry?"

"Not the least in the world—why should I be?" was her answer, gaily smiling. "Indeed I did not believe you were serious; you may laugh at my vanity, but I did not feel guilty of ambition."

"And if you were, I had no right, no title, no claim to correct you," said he looking very earnestly at her.

"The right of a friend and well-wisher, Mr. Howard," replied she looking down with a heightened colour—she never could meet his eyes when they had that peculiar expression in them. "I trust I may consider you in that light at least."

"You have not a sincerer well-wisher in the world," he replied with emphasis, and then stopped abruptly.

To break the pause which appeared to her to be awkward, she observed,

"You did not tell me where your sister is, Mr. Howard—or else I have forgotten: where is it?"

"In North Wales, not far from Denbigh. I am going shortly to fetch her home."

"I think you are always going somewhere; ever since I knew you, you have been perpetually offering to go away. Do you ever put it in practice."

"Sometimes—you will find I shall in this instance. I must go to fetch Clara, the only question is when?"

"And does that depend on Mrs. Willis' wishes, or your caprice."

"A little on both, if you mean by caprice the power of absenting myself from the duties of my station," replied he.

"I wish I had met Mrs. Willis," said Emma; "pray make haste and fetch her, for if I leave the country without our meeting now, it is impossible to say when, if ever, I shall see her again."

"Are you going quite away then?" enquired he with concern. "I thought your home was at Croydon."

"It is impossible to say where my home may be—not Croydon certainly—perhaps I may never have another. I must in future be content to dwell amongst strangers, and dare not talk of home. I am wishing for a situation as governess."

A slight shade of melancholy replaced the usually gay expression of her countenance as she said this, but she did not raise her eyes to read the many conflicting feelings which were depicted in his countenance as he listened to her low and feeble voice. He could not command words to express his sentiments, or indeed feel at all sure us to what he ought to express at the moment; and she added, after a short pause,

"I have one prospect of a home, though an uncertain one at present; my brother—I mean my youngest brother—urges me to go and live with him the moment he can obtain a living for us both in his profession. But it must be quite uncertain when that will be."

He was still silent, hesitating whether or not he should at that moment offer her one other home more settled and more permanent. He hesitated, and the opportunity was lost. Footsteps were heard approaching; the high, shrill voice of Margaret sounded in the conservatory. In a low and hurried tone he spoke, clasping her hand in his;

"Dearest Miss Watson, I feel for you! If I had only time I would prove it!"

There was no time for more, but with a gentle pressure which made the blood thrill from her hands up to her heart, he rose and quitted her abruptly, escaping just quickly enough through one window to avoid being seen, as Lady Gordon and Mrs. Musgrove entered at another.

Emma remained in a state of feeling which she would have found it exceedingly difficult to describe, such was the confusion in her mind at the moment. Her most prominent idea was, however, disappointment that he had said so little. She really believed he loved her—at least that he intended her to suppose it; but why not speak more plainly, or why speak at all? It would be so very hard to meet him after what had passed, in the same way as formerly; and yet, how could she avoid it? There seemed no possibility, however, of his doing anything but explaining himself the very first opportunity—surely he could not hesitate longer, and all would then be right.

But with these contradictory notions in her mind, and the agitation to which they gave rise evident in her face, it was impossible for her manners to be sufficiently composed, not to attract her friend's notice. Lady Gordon thought she was in pain, and accused her of having been attempting to move; which she attributed to the fact of Sir William having gone out and left her alone; Emma defended both Sir William and herself as well as she could, forcing herself to speak cheerfully, and denying all accession of pain or efforts at improper exertion.

Margaret, throwing herself on an easy chair, declared that she was perfectly exhausted by the heat and the fatigue of their walk, and she quite wondered how Lady Gordon could bear so much exertion.

"But I really believe that I am more delicate and sooner tired than any woman in the world. I have never been accustomed to hard work."

Lady Gordon did not trouble herself to assert that neither had she, but quietly observed that she was sorry Mrs. Musgrove had tired herself.

"Do you see much of your brother, Lady Gordon?" enquired Margaret.

"Yes, when he is with me," she answered.

"I hope he is pleasanter than mine, then," observed Margaret, "or else it must be a prodigious bore."

"I dare say, they are not alike," said Lady Gordon, who was existing in a state of incessant surprise at the conversation of Margaret.

"I do so wish my brothers had no profession—it would be so nice if they had nothing to do—like gentlemen—Tom's being a complete gentleman is very lucky, I should not have liked to have been a doctor's wife or an attorney's. Should you, Lady Gordon?"

"Really, it was an event which I never took into contemplation," replied she, "I know so few doctors, or attorneys either, that I cannot pretend to judge."

"I wish somebody would marry Emma," continued her amiable sister. "I am quite afraid she is doomed to be an old maid—one of a family must be they say; and as Pen is married, and Elizabeth will soon be, it must be Emma's fate. I am quite sorry for her."

"I am exceedingly obliged to you for your concern, Margaret," replied Emma, laughing; "but I trust, even if such a catastrophe is to occur, I shall bear it with philosophy. So pray, do not make yourself unhappy about my future. I shall not."

"All young ladies talk in that way," observed Tom Musgrove, who entered the room unperceived, whilst his wife was speaking. "No girl ever owns wishing to be married, though we know very well that they are all longing for husbands—and most are ready to take any means to secure one!"

"I am gratified that you include us all in the same condemnation, Mr. Musgrove," said Lady Gordon, haughtily, "your very flattering opinion of us, is equally creditable to your fancy and your feeling of propriety."

"Of course, I did not mean to include you," answered Tom, gallantly, "I could not, for I never thought of you as a woman, but as an angel."

Lady Gordon did not condescend to answer—she was not to be propitiated by his flattery, and was more likely to be affronted at his presuming to offer it at all.