Chapter VI

After being long fed with hopes of a speedy visit from Mr. and Mrs.

Suckling, the Highbury world were obliged to endure the m ortification of hearing that they could not possibly com e till the autum n. No such im portation of novelties could enrich their intellectual stores at present. In the daily interchange of news, they m ust be again restricted to the other topics with which for a while the Sucklings’ com ing had been united, such as the last accounts of Mrs. Churchill, whose health seem ed every day to supply a different report, and the situation of Mrs. Weston, whose happiness it was to be hoped m ight eventually be as m uch increased by the arrival of a child, as that of all her neighbours was by the approach of it.

Mrs. Elton was very m uch disappointed. It was the delay of a great deal of pleasure and parade. Her introductions and recom m endations m ust all wait, and every proj ected party be still only talked of. So she thought at first; – but a little consideration convinced her that every thing need not be put off. Why should not they explore to Box Hill though the Sucklings did not com e? They could go there again with them in the autum n. It was settled that they should go to Box Hill. That there was to be such a party had been long generally known: it had even given the idea of another. Em m a had never been to Box Hill; she wished to see what every body found so well worth seeing, and she and Mr. Weston had agreed to chuse som e fine m orning and drive thither. Two or three m ore of the chosen only were to be adm itted to j oin them , and it was to be done in a quiet, unpretending, elegant way, infinitely superior to the bustle and preparation, the regular eating and drinking, and picnic parade of the Eltons and the Sucklings.

This was so very well understood between them , that Em m a could not but feel som e surprise, and a little displeasure, on hearing from Mr. Weston that he had been proposing to Mrs. Elton, as her brother and sister had failed her, that the two parties should unite, and go together; and that as Mrs. Elton had very readily acceded to it, so it was to be, if she had no obj ection. Now, as her obj ection was nothing but her very great dislike of Mrs. Elton, of which Mr.

Weston m ust already be perfectly aware, it was not worth bringing forward again: – it could not be done without a reproof to him , which would be giving pain to his wife; and she found herself therefore obliged to consent to an arrangem ent which she would have done a great deal to avoid; an arrangem ent which would probably expose her even to the degradation of being said to be of Mrs. Elton’s party ! Every feeling was offended; and the forbearance of her outward subm ission left a heavy arrear due of secret severity in her reflections on the unm anageable goodwill of Mr. Weston’s tem per.

“I am glad y ou approve of what I have done,” said he very com fortably. “But I thought y ou would. Such schem es as these are nothing without num bers. One cannot have too large a party. A large party secures its own am usem ent. And she is a good-natured wom an after all. One could not leave her out.”

Em m a denied none of it aloud, and agreed to none of it in private.

It was now the m iddle of June, and the weather fine; and Mrs. Elton was growing im patient to nam e the day, and settle with Mr. Weston as to pigeon-pies and cold lam b, when a lam e carriage-horse threw every thing into sad uncertainty. It m ight be weeks, it m ight be only a few day s, before the horse were useable; but no preparations could be ventured on, and it was all m elancholy stagnation. Mrs. Elton’s resources were inadequate to such an attack.

“Is not this m ost vexatious, Knightley ?” she cried. – “And such weather for exploring! – These delay s and disappointm ents are quite odious. What are we to do? – The y ear will wear away at this rate, and nothing done. Before this tim e last y ear I assure y ou we had had a delightful exploring party from Maple Grove to Kings Weston.”

“You had better explore to Donwell,” replied Mr. Knightley. “That m ay be done without horses. Com e, and eat m y strawberries. They are ripening fast.”

If Mr. Knightley did not begin seriously, he was obliged to proceed so, for his proposal was caught at with delight; and the “Oh! I should like it of all things,” was not plainer in words than m anner. Donwell was fam ous for its strawberry -beds, which seem ed a plea for the invitation: but no plea was necessary ; cabbage-beds would have been enough to tem pt the lady, who only wanted to be going som ewhere. She prom ised him again and again to com e –

m uch oftener than he doubted – and was extrem ely gratified by such a proof of intim acy, such a distinguishing com plim ent as she chose to consider it.

“You m ay depend upon m e,” said she. “I certainly will com e. Nam e y our day, and I will com e. You will allow m e to bring Jane Fairfax?”

“I cannot nam e a day,” said he, “till I have spoken to som e others whom I would wish to m eet y ou.”

“Oh! leave all that to m e. Only give m e a carte-blanche. – I am Lady Patroness, y ou know. It is m y party. I will bring friends with m e.”

“I hope y ou will bring Elton,” said he: “but I will not trouble y ou to give any other invitations.”

“Oh! now y ou are looking very sly. But consider – y ou need not be

afraid of delegating power to m e. I am no y oung lady on her preferm ent.

Married wom en, y ou know, m ay be safely authorised. It is m y party. Leave it all to m e. I will invite y our guests.”

“No,” – he calm ly replied, – “there is but one m arried wom an in the world whom I can ever allow to invite what guests she pleases to Donwell, and that one is – “

“ – Mrs. Weston, I suppose,” interrupted Mrs. Elton, rather m ortified.

“No – Mrs. Knightley ; – and till she is in being, I will m anage such m atters m y self.”

“Ah! y ou are an odd creature!” she cried, satisfied to have no one preferred to herself. – “You are a hum ourist, and m ay say what y ou like. Quite a hum ourist. Well, I shall bring Jane with m e – Jane and her aunt. – The rest I leave to y ou. I have no obj ections at all to m eeting the Hartfield fam ily. Don’t scruple. I know y ou are attached to them .”

“You certainly will m eet them if I can prevail; and I shall call on Miss Bates in m y way hom e.”

“That’s quite unnecessary ; I see Jane every day : – but as y ou like. It is to be a m orning schem e, y ou know, Knightley ; quite a sim ple thing. I shall wear a large bonnet, and bring one of m y little baskets hanging on m y arm . Here, –

probably this basket with pink ribbon. Nothing can be m ore sim ple, y ou see. And Jane will have such another. There is to be no form or parade – a sort of gipsy party. We are to walk about y our gardens, and gather the strawberries ourselves, and sit under trees; – and whatever else y ou m ay like to provide, it is to be all out of doors – a table spread in the shade, y ou know. Every thing as natural and sim ple as possible. Is not that y our idea?”

“Not quite. My idea of the sim ple and the natural will be to have the table spread in the dining-room . The nature and the sim plicity of gentlem en and ladies, with their servants and furniture, I think is best observed by m eals within doors. When y ou are tired of eating strawberries in the garden, there shall be cold m eat in the house.”

“Well – as y ou please; only don’t have a great set out. And, by the by e, can I or m y housekeeper be of any use to y ou with our opinion? – Pray be sincere, Knightley. If y ou wish m e to talk to Mrs. Hodges, or to inspect any thing –

“

“I have not the least wish for it, I thank y ou.”

“Well – but if any difficulties should arise, m y housekeeper is

extrem ely clever.”

“I will answer for it, that m ine thinks herself full as clever, and would spurn any body ’s assistance.”

“I wish we had a donkey. The thing would be for us all to com e on donkey s, Jane, Miss Bates, and m e – and m y caro sposo walking by. I really m ust talk to him about purchasing a donkey. In a country life I conceive it to be a sort of necessary ; for, let a wom an have ever so m any resources, it is not possible for her to be alway s shut up at hom e; – and very long walks, y ou know – in sum m er there is dust, and in winter there is dirt.”

“You will not find either, between Donwell and Highbury. Donwell Lane is never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry. Com e on a donkey, however, if y ou prefer it. You can borrow Mrs. Cole’s. I would wish every thing to be as m uch to y our taste as possible.”

“That I am sure y ou would. Indeed I do y ou j ustice, m y good friend.

Under that peculiar sort of dry, blunt m anner, I know y ou have the warm est heart. As I tell Mr. E., y ou are a thorough hum ourist. – Yes, believe m e, Knightley, I am fully sensible of y our attention to m e in the whole of this schem e.

You have hit upon the very thing to please m e.”

Mr. Knightley had another reason for avoiding a table in the shade. He wished to persuade Mr. Woodhouse, as well as Em m a, to j oin the party ; and he knew that to have any of them sitting down out of doors to eat would inevitably m ake him ill. Mr. Woodhouse m ust not, under the specious pretence of a m orning drive, and an hour or two spent at Donwell, be tem pted away to his m isery.

He was invited on good faith. No lurking horrors were to upbraid him for his easy credulity. He did consent. He had not been at Donwell for two y ears.

“Som e very fine m orning, he, and Em m a, and Harriet, could go very well; and he could sit still with Mrs. Weston, while the dear girls walked about the gardens.

He did not suppose they could be dam p now, in the m iddle of the day. He should like to see the old house again exceedingly, and should be very happy to m eet Mr.

and Mrs. Elton, and any other of his neighbours. – He could not see any obj ection at all to his, and Em m a’s, and Harriet’s going there som e very fine m orning. He thought it very well done of Mr. Knightley to invite them – very kind and sensible

– m uch cleverer than dining out. – He was not fond of dining out.”

Mr. Knightley was fortunate in every body ’s m ost ready concurrence.

The invitation was every where so well received, that it seem ed as if, like Mrs.

Elton, they were all taking the schem e as a particular com plim ent to them selves.

– Em m a and Harriet professed very high expectations of pleasure from it; and Mr. Weston, unasked, prom ised to get Frank over to j oin them , if possible; a proof of approbation and gratitude which could have been dispensed with. – Mr.

Knightley was then obliged to say that he should be glad to see him ; and Mr.

Weston engaged to lose no tim e in writing, and spare no argum ents to induce him to com e.

In the m eanwhile the lam e horse recovered so fast, that the party to Box Hill was again under happy consideration; and at last Donwell was settled for one day, and Box Hill for the next, – the weather appearing exactly right.

Under a bright m id-day sun, at alm ost Midsum m er, Mr. Woodhouse was safely convey ed in his carriage, with one window down, to partake of this al-fresco party ; and in one of the m ost com fortable room s in the Abbey, especially prepared for him by a fire all the m orning, he was happily placed, quite at his ease, ready to talk with pleasure of what had been achieved, and advise every body to com e and sit down, and not to heat them selves. – Mrs. Weston, who seem ed to have walked there on purpose to be tired, and sit all the tim e with him , rem ained, when all the others were invited or persuaded out, his patient listener and sy m pathiser.

It was so long since Em m a had been at the Abbey, that as soon as she was satisfied of her father’s com fort, she was glad to leave him , and look around her; eager to refresh and correct her m em ory with m ore particular observation, m ore exact understanding of a house and grounds which m ust ever be so interesting to her and all her fam ily.

She felt all the honest pride and com placency which her alliance with the present and future proprietor could fairly warrant, as she viewed the respectable size and sty le of the building, its suitable, becom ing, characteristic situation, low and sheltered – its am ple gardens stretching down to m eadows washed by a stream , of which the Abbey, with all the old neglect of prospect, had scarcely a sight – and its abundance of tim ber in rows and avenues, which neither fashion nor extravagance had rooted up. – The house was larger than Hartfield, and totally unlike it, covering a good deal of ground, ram bling and irregular, with m any com fortable, and one or two handsom e room s. – It was j ust what it ought to be, and it looked what it was – and Em m a felt an increasing respect for it, as the residence of a fam ily of such true gentility, untainted in blood and understanding. – Som e faults of tem per John Knightley had; but Isabella had connected herself unexceptionably. She had given them neither m en, nor nam es, nor places, that could raise a blush. These were pleasant feelings, and she walked about and indulged them till it was necessary to do as the others did, and collect round the strawberry -beds. – The whole party were assem bled, excepting Frank Churchill, who was expected every m om ent from Richm ond; and Mrs. Elton, in

all her apparatus of happiness, her large bonnet and her basket, was very ready to lead the way in gathering, accepting, or talking – strawberries, and only strawberries, could now be thought or spoken of. – “The best fruit in England –

every body ’s favourite – alway s wholesom e. – These the finest beds and finest sorts. – Delightful to gather for one’s self – the only way of really enj oy ing them .

– Morning decidedly the best tim e – never tired – every sort good – hautboy infinitely superior – no com parison – the others hardly eatable – hautboy s very scarce – Chili preferred – white wood finest flavour of all – price of strawberries in London – abundance about Bristol – Maple Grove – cultivation – beds when to be renewed – gardeners thinking exactly different – no general rule – gardeners never to be put out of their way – delicious fruit – only too rich to be eaten m uch of – inferior to cherries – currants m ore refreshing – only obj ection to gathering strawberries the stooping – glaring sun – tired to death – could bear it no longer –

m ust go and sit in the shade.”

Such, for half an hour, was the conversation – interrupted only once by Mrs. Weston, who cam e out, in her solicitude after her son-in-law, to inquire if he were com e – and she was a little uneasy. – She had som e fears of his horse.

Seats tolerably in the shade were found; and now Em m a was obliged to overhear what Mrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax were talking of. – A situation, a m ost desirable situation, was in question. Mrs. Elton had received notice of it that m orning, and was in raptures. It was not with Mrs. Suckling, it was not with Mrs.

Bragge, but in felicity and splendour it fell short only of them : it was with a cousin of Mrs. Bragge, an acquaintance of Mrs. Suckling, a lady known at Maple Grove.

Delightful, charm ing, superior, first circles, spheres, lines, ranks, every thing –

and Mrs. Elton was wild to have the offer closed with im m ediately. – On her side, all was warm th, energy, and trium ph – and she positively refused to take her friend’s negative, though Miss Fairfax continued to assure her that she would not at present engage in any thing, repeating the sam e m otives which she had been heard to urge before. – Still Mrs. Elton insisted on being authorised to write an acquiescence by the m orrow’s post. – How Jane could bear it at all, was astonishing to Em m a. – She did look vexed, she did speak pointedly – and at last, with a decision of action unusual to her, proposed a rem oval. – “Should not they walk? Would not Mr. Knightley shew them the gardens – all the gardens? – She wished to see the whole extent.” – The pertinacity of her friend seem ed m ore than she could bear.

It was hot; and after walking som e tim e over the gardens in a scattered, dispersed way, scarcely any three together, they insensibly followed one another to the delicious shade of a broad short avenue of lim es, which stretching bey ond the garden at an equal distance from the river, seem ed the finish of the pleasure grounds. – It led to nothing; nothing but a view at the end over a low stone wall

with high pillars, which seem ed intended, in their erection, to give the appearance of an approach to the house, which never had been there. Disputable, however, as m ight be the taste of such a term ination, it was in itself a charm ing walk, and the view which closed it extrem ely pretty. – The considerable slope, at nearly the foot of which the Abbey stood, gradually acquired a steeper form bey ond its grounds; and at half a m ile distant was a bank of considerable abruptness and grandeur, well clothed with wood; – and at the bottom of this bank, favourably placed and sheltered, rose the Abbey Mill Farm , with m eadows in front, and the river m aking a close and handsom e curve around it.

It was a sweet view – sweet to the ey e and the m ind. English verdure, English culture, English com fort, seen under a sun bright, without being oppressive.

In this walk Em m a and Mr. Weston found all the others assem bled; and towards this view she im m ediately perceived Mr. Knightley and Harriet distinct from the rest, quietly leading the way. Mr. Knightley and Harriet! – It was an odd tete-a-tete; but she was glad to see it. – There had been a tim e when he would have scorned her as a com panion, and turned from her with little cerem ony. Now they seem ed in pleasant conversation. There had been a tim e also when Em m a would have been sorry to see Harriet in a spot so favourable for the Abbey Mill Farm ; but now she feared it not. It m ight be safely viewed with all its appendages of prosperity and beauty, its rich pastures, spreading flocks, orchard in blossom , and light colum n of sm oke ascending. – She j oined them at the wall, and found them m ore engaged in talking than in looking around. He was giving Harriet inform ation as to m odes of agriculture, etc. and Em m a received a sm ile which seem ed to say, “These are m y own concerns. I have a right to talk on such subj ects, without being suspected of introducing Robert Martin.” – She did not suspect him . It was too old a story. – Robert Martin had probably ceased to think of Harriet. – They took a few turns together along the walk. – The shade was m ost refreshing, and Em m a found it the pleasantest part of the day.

The next rem ove was to the house; they m ust all go in and eat; – and they were all seated and busy, and still Frank Churchill did not com e. Mrs. Weston looked, and looked in vain. His father would not own him self uneasy, and laughed at her fears; but she could not be cured of wishing that he would part with his black m are. He had expressed him self as to com ing, with m ore than com m on certainty. “His aunt was so m uch better, that he had not a doubt of getting over to them .” – Mrs. Churchill’s state, however, as m any were ready to rem ind her, was liable to such sudden variation as m ight disappoint her nephew in the m ost reasonable dependence – and Mrs. Weston was at last persuaded to believe, or to say, that it m ust be by som e attack of Mrs. Churchill that he was prevented com ing. – Em m a looked at Harriet while the point was under consideration; she

behaved very well, and betray ed no em otion.

The cold repast was over, and the party were to go out once m ore to see what had not y et been seen, the old Abbey fish-ponds; perhaps get as far as the clover, which was to be begun cutting on the m orrow, or, at any rate, have the pleasure of being hot, and growing cool again. – Mr. Woodhouse, who had already taken his little round in the highest part of the gardens, where no dam ps from the river were im agined even by him , stirred no m ore; and his daughter resolved to rem ain with him , that Mrs. Weston m ight be persuaded away by her husband to the exercise and variety which her spirits seem ed to need.

Mr. Knightley had done all in his power for Mr. Woodhouse’s entertainm ent. Books of engravings, drawers of m edals, cam eos, corals, shells, and every other fam ily collection within his cabinets, had been prepared for his old friend, to while away the m orning; and the kindness had perfectly answered.

Mr. Woodhouse had been exceedingly well am used. Mrs. Weston had been shewing them all to him , and now he would shew them all to Em m a; – fortunate in having no other resem blance to a child, than in a total want of taste for what he saw, for he was slow, constant, and m ethodical. – Before this second looking over was begun, however, Em m a walked into the hall for the sake of a few m om ents’

free observation of the entrance and ground-plot of the house – and was hardly there, when Jane Fairfax appeared, com ing quickly in from the garden, and with a look of escape. – Little expecting to m eet Miss Woodhouse so soon, there was a start at first; but Miss Woodhouse was the very person she was in quest of.

“Will y ou be so kind,” said she, “when I am m issed, as to say that I am gone hom e? – I am going this m om ent. – My aunt is not aware how late it is, nor how long we have been absent – but I am sure we shall be wanted, and I am determ ined to go directly. – I have said nothing about it to any body. It would only be giving trouble and distress. Som e are gone to the ponds, and som e to the lim e walk. Till they all com e in I shall not be m issed; and when they do, will y ou have the goodness to say that I am gone?”

“Certainly, if y ou wish it; – but y ou are not going to walk to Highbury alone?”

“Yes – what should hurt m e? – I walk fast. I shall be at hom e in twenty m inutes.”

“But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite alone. Let m y father’s servant go with y ou. – Let m e order the carriage. It can be round in five m inutes.”

“Thank y ou, thank y ou – but on no account. – I would rather walk. –

And for m e to be afraid of walking alone! – I, who m ay so soon have to guard others!”

She spoke with great agitation; and Em m a very feelingly replied, “That can be no reason for y our being exposed to danger now. I m ust order the carriage. The heat even would be danger. – You are fatigued already.”

“I am ,” – she answered – “I am fatigued; but it is not the sort of fatigue

– quick walking will refresh m e. – Miss Woodhouse, we all know at tim es what it is to be wearied in spirits. Mine, I confess, are exhausted. The greatest kindness y ou can shew m e, will be to let m e have m y own way, and only say that I am gone when it is necessary.”

Em m a had not another word to oppose. She saw it all; and entering into her feelings, prom oted her quitting the house im m ediately, and watched her safely off with the zeal of a friend. Her parting look was grateful – and her parting words, “Oh! Miss Woodhouse, the com fort of being som etim es alone!” –

seem ed to burst from an overcharged heart, and to describe som ewhat of the continual endurance to be practised by her, even towards som e of those who loved her best.

“Such a hom e, indeed! such an aunt!” said Em m a, as she turned back into the hall again. “I do pity y ou. And the m ore sensibility y ou betray of their j ust horrors, the m ore I shall like y ou.”

Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they had only accom plished som e views of St. Mark’s Place, Venice, when Frank Churchill entered the room . Em m a had not been thinking of him , she had forgotten to think of him – but she was very glad to see him . Mrs. Weston would be at ease. The black m are was blam eless; they were right who had nam ed Mrs. Churchill as the cause. He had been detained by a tem porary increase of illness in her; a nervous seizure, which had lasted som e hours – and he had quite given up every thought of com ing, till very late; – and had he known how hot a ride he should have, and how late, with all his hurry, he m ust be, he believed he should not have com e at all. The heat was excessive; he had never suffered any thing like it – alm ost wished he had staid at hom e – nothing killed him like heat – he could bear any degree of cold, etc., but heat was intolerable – and he sat down, at the greatest possible distance from the slight rem ains of Mr. Woodhouse’s fire, looking very deplorable.

“You will soon be cooler, if y ou sit still,” said Em m a.

“As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could very ill be spared

– but such a point had been m ade of m y com ing! You will all be going soon I

suppose; the whole party breaking up. I m et one as I cam e – Madness in such weather! – absolute m adness!”

Em m a listened, and looked, and soon perceived that Frank Churchill’s state m ight be best defined by the expressive phrase of being out of hum our.

Som e people were alway s cross when they were hot. Such m ight be his constitution; and as she knew that eating and drinking were often the cure of such incidental com plaints, she recom m ended his taking som e refreshm ent; he would find abundance of every thing in the dining-room – and she hum anely pointed out the door.

“No – he should not eat. He was not hungry ; it would only m ake him hotter.” In two m inutes, however, he relented in his own favour; and m uttering som ething about spruce-beer, walked off. Em m a returned all her attention to her father, say ing in secret –

“I am glad I have done being in love with him . I should not like a m an who is so soon discom posed by a hot m orning. Harriet’s sweet easy tem per will not m ind it.”

He was gone long enough to have had a very com fortable m eal, and cam e back all the better – grown quite cool – and, with good m anners, like him self – able to draw a chair close to them , take an interest in their em ploy m ent; and regret, in a reasonable way, that he should be so late. He was not in his best spirits, but seem ed try ing to im prove them ; and, at last, m ade him self talk nonsense very agreeably. They were looking over views in Swisserland.

“As soon as m y aunt gets well, I shall go abroad,” said he. “I shall never be easy till I have seen som e of these places. You will have m y sketches, som e tim e or other, to look at – or m y tour to read – or m y poem . I shall do som ething to expose m y self.”

“That m ay be – but not by sketches in Swisserland. You will never go to Swisserland. Your uncle and aunt will never allow y ou to leave England.”

“They m ay be induced to go too. A warm clim ate m ay be prescribed for her. I have m ore than half an expectation of our all going abroad. I assure y ou I have. I feel a strong persuasion, this m orning, that I shall soon be abroad. I ought to travel. I am tired of doing nothing. I want a change. I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, whatever y our penetrating ey es m ay fancy – I am sick of England –

and would leave it to-m orrow, if I could.”

“You are sick of prosperity and indulgence. Cannot y ou invent a few hardships for y ourself, and be contented to stay ?”

“I sick of prosperity and indulgence! You are quite m istaken. I do not look upon m y self as either prosperous or indulged. I am thwarted in every thing m aterial. I do not consider m y self at all a fortunate person.”

“You are not quite so m iserable, though, as when y ou first cam e. Go and eat and drink a little m ore, and y ou will do very well.

Another slice of cold m eat, another draught of Madeira and water, will m ake y ou nearly on a par with the rest of us.”

“No – I shall not stir. I shall sit by y ou. You are m y best cure.”

“We are going to Box Hill to-m orrow; – y ou will j oin us. It is not Swisserland, but it will be som ething for a y oung m an so m uch in want of a change. You will stay, and go with us?”

“No, certainly not; I shall go hom e in the cool of the evening.”

“But y ou m ay com e again in the cool of to-m orrow m orning.”

“No – It will not be worth while. If I com e, I shall be cross.”

“Then pray stay at Richm ond.”

“But if I do, I shall be crosser still. I can never bear to think of y ou all there without m e.”

“These are difficulties which y ou m ust settle for y ourself. Chuse y our own degree of crossness. I shall press y ou no m ore.”

The rest of the party were now returning, and all were soon collected.

With som e there was great j oy at the sight of Frank Churchill; others took it very com posedly ; but there was a very general distress and disturbance on Miss Fairfax’s disappearance being explained. That it was tim e for every body to go, concluded the subj ect; and with a short final arrangem ent for the next day ’s schem e, they parted. Frank Churchill’s little inclination to exclude him self increased so m uch, that his last words to Em m a were,

“Well; – if y ou wish m e to stay and j oin the party, I will.”

She sm iled her acceptance; and nothing less than a sum m ons from Richm ond was to take him back before the following evening.