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—
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.