Chapter IV

Had Emma Watson known precisely what had passed between Mr. Howard
and Lord Osborne, on the morning preceding her last interview with
the former, a great deal of suspense, anxiety and doubt would have
been spared to her.

The young lord, in fact, had fallen deeply in love with her, and
had chosen to confide his affection to his former tutor in these
terms.

"I say, Howard; what a remarkably nice girl Emma Watson is—and so
pretty."

"Undoubtedly, my lord," was the reply, given rather reluctantly,
and with evident embarrassment.

"I don't know that I ever liked any girl half so well," continued
the young lover; "don't you think she would make a famous wife?"

Another reluctant assent was Mr. Howard's reply.

"Do you know I mean to marry her?" this was a great effort; and
having made this declaration, he drew a long breath.

"You mean, my lord, to propose to her? or have you done so
already?" enquired Howard, in as steady a voice as he could
command.

"Oh not yet; that's the worst part of it—confound it, I wish I
could get out of that. I say, Howard, you could not do it for me,
could you? would not that do as well?"

"I fear not," replied he, gravely; "I am afraid I could not trust
myself; I might make some blunder which would ruin the suit, and
the blame of miscarriage would fall on me."

"Well, I suppose I must do my best some day—she's so monstrous
good-natured, that I am not so much afraid of her as of many
women; but I would bet you a hundred to one, I shall make some
unpardonable blunder."

"But, my dear lord, have you considered what the consequences will
be if you take this step."

"The consequences, yes—that I shall have to marry her, of course."

"And do you imagine such a marriage will be at all agreeable to
your mother and sister? Will not Lady Osborne be shocked at your
forming such an alliance?"

"Perhaps she may—I dare say she will—but then you see, Howard,
that does not signify in the least, because, whenever I marry, she
will leave the Castle and go to the old Dower House, so her not
liking my wife will not signify in the smallest degree."

"You treat the idea of displeasing her very lightly, my lord."

"Well, but what would you have me do? I don't marry to please her
only; and it cannot matter to her what my wife was before; for
when she is my wife, she will be Lady Osborne, had she been even a
cook-maid before. It's much more consequence to me to have a woman
I like, than one whose pedigree is as long as my arm, if she is
disagreeable. As to Rosa, she likes Emma, and I dare say she would
not mind it at all; but at all events, she can marry somebody, and
be happy her own way, if she will only let me be happy mine."

The animation of Lord Osborne's love had quite made him eloquent,
and Howard listened to him with surprise. He saw he was bent on
the step proposed; one doubt, however, remained—would he be
accepted? He suggested this to his lordship.

"Why now that's just a question I cannot answer myself," replied
he; "if I only knew that I should have no anxiety at all. But I
think she is so very good-natured she will very likely accept me.
Don't you?"

"As to her good-nature, my lord, I can answer without hesitation,
but as to her accepting you, that must depend on other things—on
her opinion of yourself perhaps in some degree. If she loves you,
I dare say she will not refuse you."

"Only think, Howard," cried he with enthusiasm, "how pleasant it
would be to be loved by her—to have her for one's wife—to say,
'Emma come and ride with me'—'Emma I want you to walk,' and she
doing it immediately; always at hand to chat when one wanted, and
never cross or tired, or playing whist all the evening."

Mr. Howard smiled faintly at his companion's idea of domestic
felicity.

"She shall have such a beautiful house," he continued; "and she
shall go to court if she likes—all women like that—how well she
will look in my mother's diamonds—she must let her have them, I
declare. I wish I had made the offer and it was all settled
now—don't you?"

Mr. Howard could not conscientiously say that he did.

"That's the worst part of it, and you say you will not help me. Do
you think it would do to send Tom Musgrove to make the proposals?
Perhaps she might not dislike that—Tom has a very winning way with
the girls."

"I do not think it would do at all," replied Mr. Howard.
"Independent of her possibly considering such a reference to a
third person disagreeable, I know, that is I think, that she has a
particular dislike to Mr. Musgrove, which would make but an
unfavorable commencement for your suit."

"Indeed!—that's unlucky; I am sure I do not know what to do then,
there seems no alternative but addressing her myself, and that
certainly needs a great deal of courage; I had much rather leap
that ditch on Clapham Common—would not you—it's desperate work.
Suppose she should refuse me! a pretty confounded scrape I should
be in then—what should I do Howard, then?"

"Learn to bear it like a man, my dear lord!"

"That's easy talking. I say, don't you think a man must feel
preciously uncomfortable and foolish when a girl has refused him?
If I were to write, it would not be so bad quite."

His companion gave a quiet assent to this proposition.

"What should I say? that's the thing; I never know what words to
use: I say, I am in a complete dilemma, and must take some time to
think about it and make up my mind. I want you to promise to be my
friend, and faithfully keep my counsel."

He gave the required promise, and then ventured to ask if his
lordship had in his own opinion any ground, from Miss Watson's
conduct and manners, to expect a favorable result to his
proposals. Lord Osborne flattered himself that he had; she was
always very kind and cordial, smiled most sweetly, and gave him
all the encouragement he could expect.

"Though you know after all, Howard," he added in conclusion, "she
may still refuse me."

Mr. Howard did know this, and this knowledge was in fact his chief
comfort under the infliction of such a discussion.

If he had previously entertained any doubt as to the state of his
own feelings, this conversation must have enlightened him. Once or
twice on previous occasions he had been seized with a temporary
jealousy of Lord Osborne's place in her estimation, but from this
moment the fit came strongly on him.

He was one of those individuals who never feel any confidence in
their own merit, who estimate every one in some respect above
themselves, and are continually mistrusting the influence which
they really possess over their friends. Had he been properly aware
of his own worth, his knowledge of Emma Watson's character would
effectually have preserved her from the imputation he now mentally
cast on her, of preferring the young lord to himself. Had
phrenology then been in fashion, it is possible that the origin of
this weakness would have been discovered in the absence of the
bump of self-esteem; but this not being the case, and in
consequence, his head never having been phrenologically examined,
I cannot answer for more than the entire absence of the quality,
and Mr. Howard cannot be brought forward in evidence of any
phrenological theory whatever.

He felt now that he must withdraw his attentions and give up his
dearest plans, to allow a fair field to Lord Osborne's
attempts—though, in doing so, he might lose her entirely. He had,
for a moment, entertained the idea of explaining his wishes to his
rival and asserting an equal right to compete for her hand. But he
could not bring himself to confess his own attachment to a young
man like his pupil; he could not depend on the secret being
preserved, and he shrunk from profaning his love by making it the
possible joke of Tom Musgrove and his associates. No, he would
withdraw from the competition—he would not be the means of
depriving her of wealth and rank—if she valued them—and if not—if,
as was possible, his lordship should be refused, then, with hope
and joy, he would return to try his fate in the same adventure.

For this end it was, in part, that he determined to obtain a
holiday; he had long begun to feel that he ought to go for another
reason, but Emma Watson's attractions had kept him stationary. The
other reason arose from the sentiments which the dowager Lady
Osborne began to make very apparent to him. His modesty had long
resisted the idea and denied the fact, when, as often happened, he
was charged by young men of his acquaintance with designs upon the
well-jointured widow.

But even his modest estimation of himself was forced to yield
before the conviction which her looks, her manners, and her
language conveyed to his mind.

Most unwelcome this conviction certainly was, as it could end, he
thought, in nothing but a positive rupture between his family and
the Osbornes; and unless he had the power of obtaining another
home, it would certainly render them exceedingly uncomfortable. He
knew the dowager to be of a vindictive disposition when she
considered herself injured or insulted, and both to his own family
and that of his beloved Emma, he foresaw nothing but evil from the
prospect before then. If Emma should accept the son, the rage of
his mother would certainly be intense, and if she refused him and
accepted Mr. Howard instead, there was but little probability she
would be better pleased. All hopes of further advancement from the
family patronage would be at an end, and he was not sure that upon
the small income his present living afforded him, it would be
prudent to marry, as his sister and her little boy were quite
dependent on himself. There were Charles' maintenance at a public
school, and his subsequent expenses at the university to be looked
forward to and provided for; he had engaged to do this,
voluntarily engaged himself, and now that he came seriously to
reflect on his position and ties, on the expenses of a married
man, and the probabilities of any better future provision, he
began to wonder what infatuation had before closed his eyes, and
hurried him on against his better judgment, to an affection which
threatened so much of care and difficulty. Yet it was hard, very
hard to give up the charming hopes with which he had flattered his
fancy; he did not feel equal to such a sacrifice; he did not feel
positively called to it. For the present he would quit her, but he
would make no desperate resolves for the future: when he came
nearer that part of his path, he should be better able to tell in
which direction his duty would guide him.

When he unexpectedly found himself in Emma's presence, and alone
with her, his contending feelings had almost deprived him of
self-control, and he had been scarcely conscious what he said or
did, though on quitting her, he carried away a decided conviction
that he had behaved extremely ill, and no doubt she was disgusted
with him. With this pleasing notion he returned to his house, and
his sister soon saw that there was something the matter, by the
absence of his mind, and the air of depression which hung over
him.

He told her he wanted to leave home for a time, that he thought it
would do them both good, that he had been talking to Lord Osborne
about it, that he must apply to her ladyship, and that he expected
her to refuse. Mrs. Willis was a good deal puzzled by all this,
but could obtain from him no more satisfactory answer. Playfully
she accused him of having been refused by some lady, which of
course he denied; then of having affronted some one by refusing
her, which met with a similar answer. Her invention and
imagination seemed to go no farther, and she was obliged to be
quiet and watchful.