Mrs. Hubback Hubback - The Younger Sister

Elizabeth cast a triumphant look at Emma, as much as to say:

"Now, what do you say?" but Emma's judgment was not to be lightly shaken. Margaret looked down amiably modest and tried to blush, whilst she whispered:

"I am so glad

you

liked him. I knew you would! Was it not attentive to call to-day!" from which Emma inferred, that she took the compliment of his call entirely to herself.

CHAPTER V.

It was to be a very grand thing, indeed, the next day; and Elizabeth, seldom entertaining company, was quite in a fidget about the dinner, and tormented Emma all the time she was undressing, with questions, which could not be answered, and fears which could not be dispelled.

"Suppose Mr. Robinson were to be very cross, Emma, you cannot imagine how disagreeable he is then—or only fancy if the soup turns out ill, what shall I do? Do you really think my black satin gown good enough; I think nobody will see, by candle-light, where the cream was spilt; and it does not look ill—how tired you look, Emma; well, I will not tease you, only I want to know how did my aunt manage about—oh! by-the-bye, I'll ask Jane that." So Emma never learnt what it was, being too weary to ask.

A short silence followed.

"Now you see," burst out Elizabeth afresh, "you see, Emma, what Jane thinks of Tom Musgrove—you must change your mind."

"No, indeed; her liking him can make no difference to me," replied Emma, quietly.

"Oh, Emma! I did not think you so conceited, to think of your setting up your opinion against Jane's, a married woman, and so much older and more experienced; I could not have expected it."

"I do not set up my opinion against her, I only differ in taste," said her sister meekly, being very anxious to be allowed to go to sleep.

"You are quite impracticable, and, I fear, very obstinate," returned Elizabeth, with a gravity which made Emma smile in spite of her weariness. Then followed another long silence, and she was dropping into a comfortable slumber, when she was startled by Elizabeth springing up, and exclaiming: "Oh! I quite forgot—what shall I do?"

"What is the matter?" enquired Emma, quite alarmed.

"Why, I forgot to tell Nanny to be sure and put the custards into the safe, for there's a hole in the corner of the larder, where the cat gets in, and she will be certain to eat them all before morning."

"Oh," said Emma, as her eyes again closed irresistibly, and whether or not her sister quitted her bed to go down and rectify her error, she could not tell, for she, at length, dropped fast asleep.

Emma spent the greater part of the next day in her father's room. It was much more agreeable to her than the drawing-room; and Elizabeth, with all her good qualities, was not equal to her as a nurse, and really loved society and conversation, or rather chit-chat, so much as to be very glad to believe her sister's assertion, that she took pleasure in attending on her father. Mr. Watson, though indolent and self-indulgent, was a scholar, and enjoyed the pursuits of literature when not attended by too much labour. Emma found, as he recovered, that there was much to be gained by intercourse with him: she read to him both in English and French, and only regretted that she could not also assist him in Latin or Greek. Hour after hour she had devoted to amusing him, and felt herself well repaid by the affection he manifested in return; and now that the society down stairs, of course, compelled Elizabeth to absent herself, she rejoiced that it made her presence doubly necessary. She could not like her sister-in-law—she saw so much of peevishness in Margaret's general manner as to expect the same would be manifested to her, and Robert had so pained and shocked her by their first

tête-à-tête

, that she never approached him without dread lest he should renew so painful a subject.

A proposal to remain with her father all the evening, instead of appearing at dinner was negatived. He would not permit her to do so, as it really was not necessary for his comfort, and he expected amusement from her description of the dinner-party after it was over.

It was not a very large one; the size of their dining-parlour forbade that—besides their own party of five, there made their appearance Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, the country apothecary and his wife; Mrs. Steady, the widow of a former curate, who lived in the village, and Mr. Martin, who was doing duty for their father during his illness. To these had been added, as we already know, Tom Musgrove; and happy would it have been for the others had he been omitted, as it was impossible for so fashionable a young man to be guilty of such rustic simplicity as to be punctual. The guests whose appetites were set to that particular hour, displayed sundry symptoms of extreme impatience, and Robert Watson vented certain unintelligible ejaculations which were commonly supposed to be murmurs at his tardiness. Mr. Martin, a very absent individual, not having his wife at hand to remind him where he was, leant his head on his hand, and fell into a fit of abstraction. Mr. Robinson, who was making himself agreeable to Mrs. Watson, internally comforted himself with the hope that this long fast would be productive of evil to their digestive faculties, which he should be called in to set to rights.

Mrs. Steady was condoling with Elizabeth on the expected consequences of this delay, anticipating that the beef would be over roasted, and the chickens boiled to rags, and comparing this ill-bred fashionable behaviour with the regularity and decorum of her late lamented Steady. Emma was laboriously trying to talk to Mrs. Robinson, who looked all the while as if she thought that somehow the delay was all her fault, and feared to drop out a syllable, lest she should be punished for it; whilst Margaret who had dressed herself with unusual care, sat in a state of feverish impatience by the side of her sister-in-law, whispering to her, every few minutes, that she was sure some shocking accident had happened to

him

—

he

little knew the misery he caused her—and other ejaculations of a similar character.

Half an hour passed in this manner, when Robert approached his sister, in a glow of indignant hunger that could be no longer suppressed.

"Really, Elizabeth, I think this is too bad—there's no occasion that we should all starve, because that young fellow is not hungry—ten to one but he has forgotten his engagement, and we may wait till supper time for our meal, and he none the better. Do order dinner, I say, and leave him in the lurch for his inattention."

"Oh fie, my dear Mr. Watson!" cried his wife, quite shocked to think her husband should be guilty of the vulgarity of having an appetite; "Oh fie—sit down to dinner without our guest—you cannot really think of such a thing; you cannot possibly mean it—what does it matter if we dine now, or an hour hence? I am sure

we

do not keep such early hours ourselves. I have seen too much of fashionable life to be much surprised at his tardiness. You cannot expect punctuality from such a very agreeable, pleasant young man!"

"Pooh, pooh, Jane, I tell you, you know nothing about it. I cannot expect pleasure from such a very unpunctual young man—that's what you should say—it's very rude,—and he is very ill bred—and would never do for business."

"Business! Tom Musgrove do for business!" cried Margaret, indignantly, "I should think not—whoever thought of business and Tom Musgrove in the same breath?"

"Not many, I dare say," observed Robert, contemptuously, "but if he has no business to occupy him, the less excuse is there for his preposterous conduct."

"My dear," said Mrs. Watson, with decision; "he is very genteel—and genteel people, when they have an independent fortune, are not obliged to be so regular as others—Tom Musgrove is very genteel."