"I suppose some of you girls will be for going over to return Mrs. Willis's visit," said Mr. Watson to his daughters, the next day; "she's a nice little woman so far as I saw, and I have no objection to your visiting her; but you must go to-morrow, if you go at all this week, for I cannot spare the horse after that day."

"Well, Emma," said Margaret directly, "I will drive you over to-morrow if you like—you don't drive, I dare say!"

"I think," said Emma, "that Elizabeth ought to go, because as it is a first visit, and she is the eldest—it will seem more complimentary."

"Certainly," cried Elizabeth, who was quite as anxious as Margaret to pay the visit, "you and I, Emma, must go at all events."

"But then I can't," exclaimed Margaret, "and why am I to be left out? if Elizabeth goes, because she is eldest, I have the best right to go too, when Pen is away, for I am older than Emma, at all events."

"But as the visit was paid especially to Emma," rejoined Elizabeth, "it is quite impossible that she should give up to you. She must go."

"Oh, yes, every body must go but me, that is always the way, it's very hard."

"Would not the chaise hold three?" suggested Emma, anxious for a compromise, "Margaret is so slight, and I am not large, I am sure we could sit so."

"I dare say you could," replied her father, "but I can tell you, you would have to sit in the stable-yard if you did, for the old horse could not draw you, and should not make the attempt—no, no, if Margaret wants to go she may wait till next time—if you pay visits at all, you shall pay them properly."

The consequence of this decision on the part of their father, was such an increase of fretfulness in Margaret for the rest of the day, as to make Emma inclined to think the society of her new acquaintance would be dearly bought at such a penalty. Elizabeth bore it with the indifference produced by long habit.

"It is no use minding her," said she to Emma, as they were undressing, that night; "she is always the same; if you give up one thing, she will quarrel about another; you can do no good to her by sacrificing every thing to her wishes, and you had much better take your own way when you can, and mind her crossness as little as possible."

Emma sighed at this assertion, but she sighed in vain; Margaret's ill-humour was as apparent next morning, and rather increased as the hour of setting off drew near. It was some consolation to her, however, to discover that the day was exceedingly cold, with a heavy canopy of clouds over head, and occasionally, slight sprinklings of snow, which promised any thing but a pleasant drive to her sisters. Wrapping themselves up as well as they could, they set off; but the ominous appearance of the sky rather increased than diminished; and before they came in sight of Osborne Castle, for the parsonage was within the park, a very heavy fall of snow overtook them. As their humble vehicle slowly progressed along, Elizabeth was earnestly hoping that none of the Osborne family would see them; she had never before reflected much on the difference in their rank and circumstances; but now, whilst driving along the road where their coach and four had so often passed, she was mentally comparing her lot with Miss Osborne's, and it seemed almost presumption in her to come, as it were, in contact with such superior elegance and grandeur.

Emma's sensations were different; she felt that their equipage was suitable to their station, and need therefore cost her no blushes, as it gave her no concern. The wish to find the inhabitants of the parsonage at home, was uppermost in her thoughts—and the hope that they should ultimately return, without being buried in the snow, her principal object of anxiety.

In the former of these she was perfectly gratified; the neat and pretty looking maid, who opened the door, announcing that both the master and mistress were within. Emma was struck with the air of comfort and tidiness in all she saw, possibly because it contrasted strongly with her father's house. It was owing to Mr. Watson's frequent illness perhaps, but at home she had observed so many things which appeared to require a master's eye. The gate swinging on one hinge, the trees straggling over the paths, the wall round the stable-yard broken down, and a hundred other examples of neglect and disorder had met her eyes at home. How different it all was at Mr. Howard's! Even with the disadvantage of winter, and the consequent dreariness of aspect which a lawn and shrubbery at such a season must present—the neatness of the place conveyed an idea of comfort and taste.

The porch and steps were clean and white; and the little vestibule, through which they passed to the parlour, was ornamented by some fine myrtles and geraniums in pots, which combined with the well-arranged guns, fishing-rods, and similar objects to give an air at once elegant and pleasing to the eye, but not too studied for the daily habits of domestic life. The useful and the ornamental were happily blended, and Emma looked with great pleasure round her.

They found Mrs. Willis sitting alone, and were received by her with warmth and ease.

"It is very good, indeed, of you to come through such weather to see us," said she, "I am sure you must be half frozen—what can I give you to make you comfortable."

Her visitors assured her they needed nothing; which, however, was not strictly true, as Emma certainly required the presence of the brother to make her quite contented. This assurance did not satisfy the hospitality of their hostess, who persisted in ordering hot wine and water, and would not be satisfied without their eating something to keep prevent any ill effects from the cold, as she said.

They had not sat there many minutes, when Mr. Howard entered from his little study which faced the entrance. He had seen their arrival, but would not gratify his wishes of immediately presenting himself till he had ascertained that their horse was properly attended to, and the carriage placed under cover, to shelter it from the now thickly descending snow.

Elizabeth looked round the room with surprise and admiration. It was not larger or better than their own—and the furniture was, apparently, neither more expensive, nor more plentiful—but there was an air which their sitting-room never had. Instead of the old discoloured engravings of bishops with wonderful wigs, or gentlemen in broad-tailed coats, and flapped waistcoats, with their black frames, and dull, dusty glasses, which adorned the walls of their usual sitting-room at home, there hung here a few beautiful copies from the well-known and most admired works of the Italian masters, which Mr. Howard had brought as the fruits of his tour with Lord Osborne. These appeared to Elizabeth far more cheerful than the dingy prints before mentioned, although the idea of objecting to the latter, had never before entered her head. There was a flower-stand with some pretty plants; an embroidery frame; a bird cage with Charles's pet canary; a set of bookshelves well-filled, and a comfortable fire. But she could not make out why the appearance of the room was so different from things at home. Perhaps one reason was, that the whole of the furniture, having been bought and arranged at the same time, harmonised together; unlike the articles in her father's house, which having been picked up at different auctions in the neighbourhood, or purchased second-hand from the broker, appeared, when put together, ill-matched and out of place, however good in themselves the individual articles were. She wished she could learn the art of giving such an air to a room, but she feared she never should. These thoughts wandered through her mind during the intervals of her conversation with their hostess, mixed with occasional wonder that Emma should find so much to say, and say it all with so much ease to Mr. Howard; for though Elizabeth could get on pretty well with Mrs. Willis, she still felt some degree of awe towards Mr. Howard himself; a man who taught young Lord Osborne, and played at cards with his mother. Emma, evidently undeterred by such considerations, or rather not considering the subject at all, kept up a very pleasant chat with him, though nothing was said by either particularly deserving to be recorded. Half an hour passed rapidly, but when the sisters, after glancing at each other as a signal for departure, began to look rather anxiously at the weather, they found that it had changed decidedly for the worse since their entrance, although their attentions had been too much engrossed to perceive it before. The heavy sky was discharging itself on the earth in a thick veil of snow, which entirely concealed the distance, and rapidly whitened all surrounding objects. So dense was the atmosphere, that it rather seemed as if the clouds had themselves suddenly descended and settled upon the earth, than as if they were merely dispensing their superfluous contents. The wind too, which had before blown only in occasional gusts, was now almost incessant, and greatly increased in violence, and as their road lay eastward, they were certain of encountering it in full force. The whirlwinds of snow which it raised, threatened almost to smother unhappy travellers, and would have made it madness to attempt to face it.

"What can we do?" said Emma, as she contemplated the scene in some alarm; "do you think you could drive in such a storm, Elizabeth?"

"Oh, I should not mind venturing," said Miss Watson, "but I am afraid for you; you know you had a cold this morning, and to encounter such a storm would make you worse."

"Encounter the storm!" cried the brother and sister at once, "impossible, not to be mentioned or thought of, much less put in practice—they must wait a little while, if they wished very much to return home, and see what patience would produce; in case it did not mend, they might send a message if they feared Mr. Watson would be uneasy—but indeed Mr. Howard thought they had better give up all idea of returning at once, and allow him immediately to dispatch some one to answer for their safety to their father's house. But as to leaving the house during such a tempest, it was quite out of the question."

With the most friendly warmth, every possible accommodation was placed at their disposal; every objection done away as soon as started; every difficulty proved to be a vain fancy of its originator. The idea of the addition to their circle at dinner, did not seem at all to discompose Mrs. Willis; and the minor arrangements, the things to be lent for their use and comfort, appeared rather to bring her positive enjoyment. In a short time, the young ladies felt themselves quite domesticated in the house; their cloaks and bonnets removed, their hair smoothed, and their thick boots exchanged, for comfortable slippers of their new friend, they found themselves again seated comfortably in the pretty parlour—and, ere long, were busily employed in helping Mrs. Willis in the agreeable occupation of sewing certain little colored silk bags which Mr. Howard and Charles afterwards filled with deliciously scented pot-pourri, from the large china jar in the corner of the room. Now, their only subject of uneasiness besides the dread of giving too much trouble, was the fear that their father's comfort would suffer in their absence, as they knew only too well how little Margaret contributed towards his amusement, or sought to spare him trouble.

Dinner time came, and Elizabeth was surprised to find that, although in the vicinity of Osborne Castle, their hour of dining was no later than what she was accustomed to; and still more surprised that the simple meal—the single joint, and the plain, but certainly well-made, pudding which followed it, was considered quite sufficient in itself, and needing no apologies. Not that she expected anything more elegant or uncommon, much less wished for it, but she felt had she been the entertainer, she would, certainly, have regretted the absence of further luxuries. The hour of dusk which followed the dinner, was particularly agreeable, as they drew their chairs round the comfortable fire, and chatted with the easy good nature which such a situation and such a combination of circumstances is sure to promote. The man or woman who can be cross and disagreeable at such a moment, must either be cursed with an uncommonly perverse temper, or have eaten a great deal more than is good for the health. This was not the case with either of the five who formed this cheerful group—and Charles very freely expressed his extreme satisfaction at the turn events had taken; appealing to his uncle to confirm his assertion that nothing could be more delightful than the fact of the two Miss Watsons being forced to remain in the house, and to join in his hope that the snow would keep them prisoners for a week to come. Mr. Howard readily assented to his view of their own good fortune in the turn events had taken, and only demurred to his wishes from the doubt whether the young ladies themselves would not find such a detention a severe penalty—in which case, he was sure, even Charles could not wish, for his own gratification, to inflict it on them.

"Oh, certainly not, if they did not like it," cried Charles, "only I am sure Miss Emma, you are too good-natured to object to what would give us all so much pleasure."

"If my opinion or wishes could make any difference to the snow, or serve to open the road, Charles, it would be worth while to form a deliberate decision," said Emma, good naturedly; "but now I want you, in the meantime, to guess this riddle," and she diverted his attention by proposing some charades and enigmas for his amusement.

The diversion soon occupied the whole party, and much mirth ensued at the variety and strange guesses which it gave rise to. Presently a note was brought to Mr. Howard, which after studying near a light for some time, he threw down on the table, and said:

"There, ladies, there is a riddle which I would almost defy you to read—look at it!"

His sister took it up.

"Oh! I see—pray Miss Watson can you read that name?" and she held it out to Elizabeth, who, with Emma, looked at it with great curiosity.

"Is that writing!" cried Emma, "and can any one expect it to be read; I do not understand a word, except the three first."

"Yes," said Elizabeth, "one can read that, 'my dear Mr. Howard,' but the rest appears as if the writer had dipped a stick in an ink bottle, and scribbled over the paper at random—you do not mean to say, you have read it, Mr. Howard?"

"I made out its meaning," said he, looking up from a writing-table, at a little distance, "and I am answering it at this moment."

"Well, you must be much more clever than I am," said Elizabeth, simply, "they are all hieroglyphics to me."

"It is a note from Lady Osborne," said Mrs. Willis, "I know her signature; but I am not sure that I could decipher more."

"Lady Osborne!" cried Elizabeth, looking at it again, but this time with great respect, "do peeresses write in that way."

"Not all, I trust, for the credit of the peerage," replied Mr. Howard, "or, at least, for the comfort of their correspondents."

"It is certainly a great misapplication of abilities," observed Emma, coolly, "for I am sure it must cost a person more trouble to produce such a scrawl than it would to write three legible letters."

"I have no doubt it has cost her ladyship some trouble, and I am certain it has put her to needless expense," said he, "for on one occasion, her steward sent an express to London to enquire the meaning of a note he had received which was intended to announce her return home: they passed the man on the road, and consequently the housekeeper was taken by surprise; how angry she was at the blunder!"

"Well but, Edward, what is the subjects of your present billet-doux, or is it a secret that you are answering in such a hurry?"

"It is only to invite me to the castle to-night, to make up their card-table, which I have refused," said he, as he gave his note to the servant and seated himself again.

"Ah, how glad I am," cried his sister, "such a night, to ask you out, though only across the park! The Miss Watson's company affords a sufficient apology even to Lady Osborne, I should think."

"It is a sufficient one to myself," said Mr. Howard, "Lady Osborne may be unable to calculate accurately what I gain by the refusal—but I know that I secure a pleasant party, and escape a dreadful walk, to say nothing of the tedium of the card-table itself; you see how deeply I am indebted to your presence, Miss Watson, which serves me as an excuse on this occasion."

"We always hear virtue is its own reward," said Emma, "and your hospitality to us is now repaid in kind; as you would not allow us to encounter the snow, it would have been unjust that you should be exposed to it yourself."

"Well, Edward, I must say, I should be glad if you had a living in some other part of the country—for you must know," turning to Elizabeth, "that the inhabitants of the castle are almost too near to be pleasant. We are under obligations which neither party can forget, and Edward is compelled to sacrifice a great deal of time, and suffer much occasional inconvenience from the whims of the great lady, which would be all obviated if our residence were fifty miles off. You have no idea how exacting she is; and if my brother were not one of the best-tempered men in the world we never could go on as well as we do."

Here was food for wonder to Elizabeth; after all then the Osbornes though noble were not perfect; and the Howards, with their nice house, comfortable income, and high connections had, like other people, their own peculiar grievances, and cherished those hopes of improving their lot, by some anticipated change, which form the principal charm of life to half the world.

"I owe much to Lady Osborne for kindness both of deed and of intention," said Mr. Howard seriously; "and I should be sorry either by word or act, to fail in the respect which is her due. She always means kindly at least."

"It is quite right of you, Edward, to be careful how you express your opinion, but neither gallantry nor gratitude have the same claim on me. She always means kindly to herself, I dare say, and thinks she means so to us—but she is no judge of our comfort, and fancies because our rank is different, we have a different set of feelings likewise—"

"For shame, Clara," interrupted her brother, "you forget what you are saying, and the best thing for you is, that we should forget it too."

"No indeed," replied she smiling; "must she not suppose you endowed with an extraordinary indifference to cold, and a super-human energy of frame to be pleased at encountering such a storm as this? hark to the wind!"

"Well, I am convinced, that were we removed from the vicinity of the Castle, as you so much desire, Clara, we should suffer as much inconvenience from the loss of many comforts which they afford us now; and you would admit then, that the good and evil were more equally balanced than you are at present disposed to allow."

"We might not have quite so much game, Edward; Miss Osborne would not give me flowers, and we should not go to assemblies in their coach; but on the other hand, I should not be so plagued by our best maid marrying their groom, as Lucy is going to do next month, because the Osborne Arms will then be vacant; nor would the laundress tell me when I complained of her clear-starching, that she had always helped in my lady's laundry, and the housekeeper had been perfectly satisfied with her."

"But pray tell me," said Emma, "is there any reason for her ladyship's curiously illegible hand, has she lost any of her fingers, or did she never learn to write?"

"I assure you she would be surprised at your not admiring her writing," said Mrs. Willis; "she piques herself on its peculiar and aristocratic beauty."

"I am sure," said Elizabeth, "I have often been punished for writing which was much better than that; the writing master at school would have groaned at such a prodigious waste of paper and ink."

"Nevertheless, it thoroughly attains the object at which she aims, to be unique," said Mr. Howard, "and I am sure she would be much surprised at hearing it was illegible; but she thinks a fair, flowing hand, in an Italian character, much more a round, distinct, and clear one, only fit for tradesmen's accounts or clergymen's sermons."

"She has the same taste in everything," said his sister; "that frightful little dog she is so fond of petting, and half the ornaments in the drawing-room have no value but in their singularity."

"And do her family inherit her tastes?" enquired Emma, "does her son, for instance, prefer the wonderful to the beautiful?"

Mr. Howard gave Emma an enquiring glance, which seemed intended to question the motive of her curiosity; then answered rather gravely, that Lord Osborne's tastes and opinions were as yet unformed.

"But he is not insensible to the power of some kind of beauty," cried Elizabeth, looking archly at her sister; "from what I have lately heard of him, I am certain he is not."

Why the subject of Lord Osborne's tastes should be disagreeable to Mr. Howard, Emma could not precisely comprehend, though she pondered long on the matter, but this short discussion was evidently followed by a certain coldness and restraint in his manner of addressing her, which puzzled and rather vexed her. It was not, however, shaken off during the rest of the evening, and the unpleasant sensation it produced, was only mitigated by his being persuaded to read aloud to them, and in this manner the rest of the evening was spent.

The weather the next morning did not offer any prospect of a release to the young ladies, and to say the truth they evidently bore the involuntary absence from home without suffering very acutely, if either their air of complacency or their lively conversation might be considered indicative of their feelings. Breakfast passed pleasantly away, and the ladies were quietly sitting together afterwards, when the door opened and Lord Osborne's head appeared.

"May I come in?" said he, standing with the door in his hand. "You look very comfortable."

"You will not disturb us, my lord," said Mrs. Willis gently but good-humouredly, "provided you have no dog with you."

He advanced and paid his compliments to the ladies, then turned to the fire.

"That's nice," said he; "you can't think how pleasant it is after the cold air;" then seating himself and holding out his feet to dry before the fire, he said to Emma, "I heard you were snowed up here last night."

"Did you, my lord," said she very coolly.

"Yes; my mother would know who it was with Howard, and so I learnt, and I am to give you my sister's compliments, or love or something of the sort, and as soon as the road is swept she will come and see you."

Emma was rather embarrassed at this declaration; she did not wish for Miss Osborne's notice, and felt uncomfortably averse to her patronage; yet the declaration seemed to excite so little surprise or emotion of any kind on the part of her new friend that she began to think it might be a more common-place matter than she had anticipated. The feelings of the sisters were not at all alike, though the result was the same in each; they both shrank from any intercourse with Miss Osborne; Elizabeth because she feared their inferior style of living would shock and disgust her, or perhaps excite her ridicule; Emma because she apprehended the superiority of her birth and fortune would lead the peer's daughter to expect a degree of complaisance and submission which Emma herself would only pay to superior talents or virtue; but when she saw the quiet ease with which Lord Osborne was received, and the indifference with which the announcement of his sister's intentions was listened to, she became better reconciled to her lot, and prepared to go through her share of the introduction with calmness.

After all, Miss Osborne, though a baron's daughter and living in a castle, might have the tastes which are to be found amongst the dwellers in parsonages—though she travelled in a coach and four, she might love variety and novelty as much as the driver of the humblest one-horse chaise, and the prospect of forming a new acquaintance might have many charms for her on a snowy day when her time would probably hang heavy on her hands.

"It's not such bad walking either as you would think," said Lord Osborne to nobody, and in answer to nothing; "and the walk down here is screened from the wind; but you would be surprised to see how the snow has drifted in places: it will be impossible for you to get through the lanes to-day Miss Watson."

"We do not intend that they should attempt it," said their hostess, "until we have ascertained that the roads are perfectly practicable, it would be inhuman to turn them out."

A short silence ensued. Lord Osborne sat by the fire looking at Emma, who proceeded steadily with her work; presently Mrs. Willis commenced, or rather resumed a conversation with Elizabeth, for the entrance of his lordship had interrupted it, on the best methods of rearing domestic poultry.

Gradually as Miss Watson became hardened to the consciousness of being listened to by Lord Osborne, her faculties returned; and though at his first entrance she could not have told how young chickens should be fed, before the expiration of half an hour she was equal to imparting to her companion the deepest mysteries of the poultry yard.

Whilst they were thus sitting, quiet and composed, Charles Willis suddenly rushed into the room and took up his station close to Emma's work-table.

"Why, Charles," said Lord Osborne, "don't you see me—aren't you going to speak to me this morning," and he laid a firm grasp, as he spoke, on Charles's coat collar, and drew the boy towards himself.

"I beg your pardon, my lord, I really did not see you," replied Charles, twisting his person in the vain hope of eluding his lordship's grasp, and keeping his place.

"I say, Charles," continued the young man, "how comes it lessons are over so early this morning—a holiday—hey—or uncle lazy—I thought you never finished till noon?"

"Oh no, we have been very industrious," Charles answered; "we both worked as hard as we could to get lessons over because we wanted to come early into the drawing-room as the Miss Watsons were here."

"But you don't mean to say you like the Miss Watsons better than Latin grammar—or Greek verbs—that's impossible altogether."

Charles laughed.

"Are you so fond of the Latin grammar, my lord?" asked he, slyly.

"I! oh no; but then I learnt all mine long ago; and since I survived the flogging, I dare say it did me no harm. But now tell me," added he, in a whisper, quite distinct enough for every one in the room to hear, "was it you or your uncle who was in the greatest hurry: or does not he like the Miss Watsons as well as you, Charles."

"Oh, I assure you, he was quite as anxious as myself—and I think he likes Miss Emma as much as I do," whispered Charles in reply.

Whether the deep colour in Emma's cheek, at that moment, was occasioned by this answer of Charles, or by vexation at an obstinate knot in her thread, which she vainly endeavoured to disentangle, was not exactly obvious to Lord Osborne's perceptions. He thought the effect, however, so very becoming as to regard her with great admiration, and his looks were intently fixed on her, when Mr. Howard entered the room.

The eager step and open, happy look with which he was advancing, seemed to meet an unexpected shock at the sight of his young pupil. His air was embarrassed as he paid him his compliments, and after standing for a moment, as if in hesitation, he drew a chair near Miss Watson and his sister, on the opposite side of the table to the others.

A pause of some minutes ensued: it appeared that Lord Osborne found sufficient, amusement in contemplating the varying colour in Emma's cheeks, whilst Mr. Howard was occupied in playing with a pencil he took from the table, and did not raise his eyes at all.

"It is not like your lordship's usual aversion to cold," said he, at length, "to venture out on foot in such a morning. I thought nothing could have tempted you to such an exertion."

"One changes sometimes," replied Lord Osborne, "and one can do anything with a sufficient motive—I mean to turn over a new leaf, as my nursery maids used to say—and you will hardly know me again."

Another silence, during which his lordship crossed and uncrossed his legs repeatedly—then took up the poker and stirred the fire. Emma heartily wished him back at the castle: his looks fixed on her were very unpleasant; and she hoped that his departure would release Mr. Howard from the spell which appeared to overpower him, and restore his ordinary animation.

She had, however, long to wait for this desirable result; it was evident that the drawing-room at the parsonage presented more charms to the young peer, than the castle halls, and he continued to sit in silent admiration of Emma's blushes long after Mr. Howard had risen in despair, and left the room.

The sound of the door bell about noon, brought some prospect of a change; eliciting from Mrs. Willis an exclamation of wonder, and from Lord Osborne an interjection—

"I'll bet anything that's my sister."

He was right. Wrapt in a furred mantle which might almost have defied the cold of a Siberian winter, Miss Osborne made her entry, on purpose to call on Miss Emma Watson, as she declared immediately. Emma observed her with some curiosity. She was a small, young woman, with lively manners, a quick, dark eye, and good humoured expression. Quite pretty enough, considering her birth, to be called beautiful, though had she been without the advantages of rank, fashion and dress—had she, in fact, been a Miss Watson, and not a Miss Osborne, she would not, probably, have been noticed a second time. She was extremely courteous and agreeable in her manners, chatting with volubility and animation, as if it was a relief to her to escape from the state apartments of her mother's house, to the unrestrained warmth and good-nature of the parsonage.

"Where's your brother to-day, Mrs. Willis," said she presently, "has he run away from me; does he fancy we are charged with lectures for his desertion of our drawing-room last night. He need not be afraid. I think he was very excusable."

"He was here just now. I do not think his conscience seems very uneasy—he is probably engaged in some business at present—I will let him know you are here."

"Oh no, pray don't disturb him; I have too much regard for his credit, and the good of his parishioners. What should I say if my intrusion broke in on an argument, or put to flight a beautiful figure of speech. How could I answer for such mischief. Let him write his sermon in peace."

Mrs. Willis assented. Probably Miss Osborne did not expect she would, for she presently added:

"I don't know, however, but that on the whole you had better summon him, because then he can give us his opinion on the proposal that I am charged to make, being nothing less than that you should all come and dine at the Castle this evening."

It would not be easy for words to convey an accurate idea of the look and feelings of Elizabeth Watson on hearing this proposal. To say she was astonished, is to tell but a small part of her sensations. The idea that she should have lived to see the day which brought about such an invitation was so perfectly overwhelming, that she seemed to herself until that moment never to have been surprised before. But to accept it was impossible: she felt an instantaneous conviction that it must be refused; for besides not knowing how to conduct herself under such circumstances, she had no dress to go in. Their visit to the parsonage having been entirely unpremeditated, it followed, of course, that there had been no preparations made; their best dresses, inferior as they were to what the visitors at Osborne Castle might be expected to produce, were reposing in quietness in Elizabeth's wardrobe.

Miss Osborne's proposal was followed by a short, hesitating silence amongst those to whom it was addressed.

"Perhaps," cried she perceiving this, "you will like a moment's consideration. I do not wish to hurry for an answer. Pray deliberate on the case, Mrs. Willis, but if you can, persuade your friends to conclude their deliberations in our favour."

"I am afraid," said Elizabeth, urged by the desperate nature of her feelings to some immediate exertion, "I am afraid we cannot have the pleasure—do ourselves the honor I believe I ought to say—but indeed we were not prepared—we have no dress at all suitable for the occasion"—she stopped, afraid that she might have done wrong in exposing the real state of the case.

Miss Osborne looked surprised, as if the idea of not possessing a sufficient stock of gowns had never before entered her head.

"I am sorry there should be any difficulty," she cried, "gowns that are good enough for Mrs. Willis and Mr. Howard, must surely be good enough for us. We shall not make the smallest objection to your coming as you are. You will be conferring on us a most important favour. You cannot imagine how miserably dull we find ourselves in this weather. Mama dozes over a fire-screen, and Miss Carr and I sit and look at each other, and long for a change of scene. Snow is always detestable, but at Osborne Castle it surpasses everything for deadening the faculties and damping the spirits. Come now, do think favourably of my request, how shall I dare to face Lady Osborne with a second refusal?"

"I hope her ladyship was not vexed at my brother's refusal last night?" said Mrs. Willis, with a little anxiety.

"I will not say she was not disappointed," replied Miss Osborne gaily, "we are so dreadfully dull and melancholy; but he has my full and entire forgiveness for his defalcation, on condition that he comes to-night to repair his errors, and brings you all with him."

Meantime Lord Osborne had edged his chair closer to Emma, and was in low tones pressing on her the request his sister had just made.

"Do come, you look too good-natured to say no—I am sure you must be monstrously obliging."—Emma shook her head and tried not to smile.—"And as to what your sister says about dress, that's nonsense; that is, I don't mean she talks nonsense, but it's foolish to care about dress—you look very nice—you always do—and we don't the least mind about your gown. My mother and sister have such loads of fine clothes themselves, that depend upon it they will not care the least for seeing any more."

Emma thought this extremely probable, but yet it did not seem quite applicable to their case. How, indeed, could any young lady be expected to derive consolation from the idea that her personal appearance could be a matter of total indifference to her companions. It was evident to Miss Osborne, that the ladies wished to discuss this question amongst themselves; she therefore dropped the subject, and after chatting good-naturedly on some indifferent topics, took her leave, with an assurance that if they decided in favour of the Castle, a carriage should be sent down to fetch them. She persuaded her brother to return with her, which was a particular relief to Emma, who had grown quite tired of his eyes.

Hardly was the house door closed on them, when Elizabeth drawing a long breath, exclaimed:

"Oh dear, Mrs. Willis, do tell me what we had better do, I am sure I would much rather refuse if we can, but then perhaps it would not be thought right—and I must say if I were not so frightened I should rather like to see the inside of the Castle, and how people go on there."

"I do not think you need be much alarmed," replied Mrs. Willis smiling good-humouredly, "you will survive it I dare say, if you make up your mind to go. Lady Osborne is rather stiff certainly, but though she does nothing to make herself agreeable, she is not unpleasant—not more so than a handsome piece of furniture—a picture, or anything of that sort. And I really think you would be more amused there than in our little drawing-room."

"But we have no dress fit for company," again urged Elizabeth.

"They are aware of the circumstances under which you came, and therefore must know you to be unprepared. I do not, therefore, think that need be an insurmountable objection. Your own inclination must decide it."

At this moment Mr. Howard re-entered the room. His sister immediately began to relate to him the fact of the visit and the invitation; but he cut her short by saying that he knew it; he had met Miss Osborne and her brother as they were leaving the house, and accompanied her part of the way home. His eyes were turned on Emma as he spoke, and an idea which suddenly occurred to her relative to his acquaintance with the young lady, caused her a sensation that brought the blood to her cheeks. Why she should color and feel warm at the notion that he had any particular regard for Miss Osborne, she could not exactly decide. It certainly could not concern her in the least if he had, and she would have been very glad to have kept her looks and feelings under better regulation, she was so very much afraid that he would guess her thought. This was an alarm entirely without foundation, as far from rightly guessing what was passing in her mind, Mr. Howard's fancy went off in a totally different direction. He attributed her blushes to some sentiment connected with the brother, not the sister, and supposed her to be pleased with the consciousness of these attentions being meant for her. For his own part he felt considerable surprise that Miss Osborne should so directly and decidedly countenance her brother's admiration. He had expected more pride from her.—Could he have heard the conversation that passed on the subject at Osborne Castle, he would have better understood the hidden machinery on which these matters turned.

"What makes you so anxious to cultivate an intimacy with those Watson girls," said Miss Carr to her friend, when she heard her announce an intention of calling on them.

"I like the looks of Emma particularly," replied the young lady addressed; "there is expression in her countenance, an air and manner in her motions which I admire."

"And do you run after all the girls who have a little manner or expression, Rosa?" enquired her friend again, with something of superciliousness in her tone.

"I don't like those who have not, Fanny—but there is more than this in my plan—I think Mr. Howard likes her."

"Well, and what does that signify to you? what have you to do with Mr. Howard's liking?" this question was accompanied with a sharp, interrogative look from Miss Carr, as if she strongly suspected her friend's motive.

"I have half a scruple about explaining to you, Fanny."

"Oh, pray throw it away then and explain it once. I am dying of curiosity to understand the motive of your manoeuvres."

"I will tell you nothing whilst you look so much as if you think you understand all—your quizzical look provokes me to silence."

"And if you will not tell me, Rosa, I will just tell you what I think; listen—you think Mr. Howard admires Emma Watson—and you cultivate her acquaintance for the sake of thwarting their attachment. Is that worthy of you."

"Worthy indeed," cried Miss Osborne, throwing back her head with an air of disdain. "I might justly retort your question—upon my word, I am highly flattered by your gracious opinion of me. No, if I do stoop to manoeuvre, it is not to dishonor our house, or to promote alliances unworthy of it. Now I will tell you my real motive—though positively even to you, I am half-ashamed of mentioning it. My mother—have you not observed—she is so very partial to—"

Miss Osborne paused in some confusion. Her friend looked puzzled.

"Partial to whom—to Emma Watson? I really don't understand."

"No, no, to Mr. Howard," replied the blushing daughter, in a low tone; "and I would give the world to see him married and out of her way."

"Very well—very reasonable," said Miss Carr, coolly, twisting her fingers through her long ringlets. "But how does your patronising this Emma promise any particular progress to Mr. Howard's passion? In my opinion, you had much better let them alone."

"I don't think so," replied Miss Osborne, decisively; "the Watsons have always been considered as very low in rank amongst visitable people. The few we know ourselves decidedly hold them cheaply—and I think it possible that, accustomed to superior society, Mr. Howard might hesitate a moment before throwing himself amongst a set so decidedly inferior to those with whom he is used to mix."

"He does not seem to feel any such nicety, since his admiration has begun, and will, no doubt, prosper without your intervention. I still repeat, you had better let them alone."

"But I have a great regard for Mr. Howard, and should like to be on good terms with his wife."

"Wait till she is in existence then."

"But if I slight her now, will she be more inclined to be sociable then?"

"You need not slight her—be civil if you like—but why seek her out unnecessarily?"

"Because I foresee that his marriage, whenever it takes place, will cause a fracas, and I should wish them both to feel they have a friend in me."

"Well, it is an affair that concerns you no doubt, much more nearly than me, and I cannot presume to dictate. But I think all manoeuvring dangerous."

"Besides," continued Miss Osborne, changing the ground of her reasoning, "Emma Watson, in herself seems a nice conversable girl, and, I assure you, at Osborne Castle, when there is no party in the house, such an acquisition is not to be despised."

"Why, Rosa, you never spoke a word to her—how can you tell that she is conversable."

"Not from my own observation of course; but I can form some judgment from what Mrs. Willis and her brother have told us—"

"And your brother, too," said Miss Carr, with some emphasis; "he seems to be taking some trouble to make her acquaintance."

"Who, Osborne? yes, he admires her, I believe; but his is a very passive sort of admiration, not in the least likely to lead to any vehement results."

"Well, I can admit your being sometimes lonely as a motive for wishing for a country friend; but, if I do not think you make the selection with your usual judgment, you must forgive me."

"I cannot imagine why you entertain such a prejudice against poor Emma Watson, Fanny; you cannot, surely, be jealous of her—are you in love with Mr. Howard—come—confess!"

"No," replied Miss Carr, coloring deeply as she spoke.

The result of this conversation was that visit and invitation already related. Lady Osborne made no objection to her daughter's proposal. Her card-table would be then certain to be filled, and Mr. Howard would have no excuse for absenting himself. Her pride did not stand in the way on this occasion—she considered every individual not belonging to the peerage to be so much beneath her, that the gradations amongst themselves were invisible to her exalted sight; and a step or two, more or less, made no difference. She had not, therefore, the smallest inclination to oppose the admission of new spectators to her glory—and rather rejoiced in the idea of the envy and admiration to which her jewels, her equipages, and her general style of grandeur would give rise.

With these amiable motives, she allowed her daughter to do as she liked, and the only one who seemed at all discomposed by the circumstance, was Miss Carr, whose remonstrances, however, proved quite ineffectual.