the warsons(华森夫妇)-第13节
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Mr。 Watson had not been well enough to join the party at
dinner； but was prevailed on to come down and drink tea with
them。—‘I wish we may be able to have a game of cards tonight；’
said Elizabeth to Mrs。 R。 after seeing her rather comfortably
seated in his arm chair。 ‘Not on my account my dear； I beg。 You
know I am no card player。 I think a snug chat infinitely better。 I
always say cards are very well sometimes； to break a formal circle；
but one never wants them among friends。’ ‘I was thinking of its
being something to amuse my father；’ answered Elizabeth—‘if it
was not disagreable to you。 He says his head won’t bear Whist—
but perhaps if we make a round game he may be tempted to sit
down with us。’—‘By all means my dear Creature。 I am quite at
your service。 Only do not oblige me to chuse the game； that’s all。
Speculation is the only round game at Croydon now； but I can play
anything。—When there is only one or two of you at home； you
must be quite at a loss to amuse him—why do not you get him to
play at Cribbage？—Margaret and I have played at Cribbage； most
nights that we have not been engaged。’—A sound like a distant
Carriage was at this moment caught； everybody listened； it
became more decided； it certainly drew nearer。—It was an
unusual sound in Stanton at any time of the day； for the Village
was on no very public road； and contained no gentleman’s family
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but the Rector’s。—The wheels rapidly approached；—in two
minutes the general expectation was answered； they stopped
beyond a doubt at the garden gate of the Parsonage。 ‘Who could it
be？—it was certainly a postchaise。—Penelope was the only
creature to be thought of。 She might perhaps have met with some
unexpected opportunity of returning。’—A pause of suspense
ensued。—Steps were distinguished； first along the paved Footway
which led under the windows of the house to the front door； and
then within the passage。 They were the steps of a Man。 It could
not be Penelope。 It must be Samuel。—The door opened； and
displayed Tom Musgrave in the wrap of a Travellor。—He had been
in London and was now on his way home； and he had come half a
mile out of his road merely to call for ten minutes at Stanton。 He
loved to take people by surprise； with sudden visits at
extraordinary seasons； and in the present instance had had the
additional motive of being able to tell the Miss Watsons； whom he
depended on finding sitting quietly employed after tea； that he
was going home to an 8 o’clock dinner。—As it happened however；
he did not give more surprise than he received； when instead of
being shewn into the usual little sitting room； the door of the best
parlour a foot larger each way than the other was thrown open；
and he beheld a circle of smart people whom he could not
immediately recognise arranged with all the honours of visiting
round the fire； and Miss Watson sitting at the best Pembroke
Table； with the best Tea things before her。 He stood for a few
seconds； in silent amazement。—‘Musgrave！’—ejaculated Margaret
in a tender voice。—He recollected himself； and came forward；
delighted to find such a circle of Friends； and blessing his good
fortune for the unlooked…for Indulgence。—He shook hands with
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Robert； bowed and smiled to the Ladies； and did everything very
prettily； but as to any particularity of address or Emotion towards
Margaret； Emma who closely observed him； perceived nothing
that did not justify Elizabeth’s opinions tho’ Margaret’s modest
smiles imported that she meant to take the visit to herself。—He
was persuaded without much difficulty to throw off his greatcoat；
and drink tea with them。 ‘For whether he dined at 8 or 9； as he
observed； was a matter of very little consequence。’—and without
seeming to seek； he did not turn away from the chair close to
Margaret which she was assiduous in providing him。—She had
thus secured him from her Sisters—but it was not immediately in
her power to preserve him from her Brother’s claims； for as he
came avowedly from London； and had left it only four hours ago；
the last current report as to public news； and the general opinion
of the day must be understood； before Robert could let his
attention be yielded to the less national； and important demands
of the Women。—At last however he was at liberty to hear
Margaret’s soft address； as she spoke her fears of his having had a
most terrible； cold； dark dreadful Journey。—‘Indeed you should
not have set out so late。’ ‘I could not be earlier；’ he replied。 ‘I was
detained chatting at the Bedford； by a friend。—All hours are alike
to me。—How long have you been in the Country Miss
Margaret？’—‘We came only this morning。—My kind Brother and
Sister brought me home this very morning。—’Tis singular is not
it？’ ‘You were gone a great while； were not you？ a fortnight I
suppose？’—‘You may call a fortnight a great while Mr。 Musgrave；’
said Mrs。 Robert smartly—‘but we think a month very little。 I
assure you we bring her home at the end of a month； much against
our will。’ ‘A month！ have you really been gone a month！ ’tis
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amazing how Time flies。’ ‘You may imagine；’ said Margaret in a
sort of Whisper； ‘what are my Sensations in finding myself once
more at Stanton。 You know what a sad visitor I make。—And I was
so excessively impatient to see Emma；—I dreaded the meeting；
and at the same time longed for it。—Do you not comprehend the
sort of feeling？’—‘Not at all；’ cried he aloud。 ‘I could never dread a
meeting with Miss Emma Watson；—or any of her Sisters。’ It was
lucky that he added that finish。—‘Were you speaking to me？’—
said Emma； who had caught her own name。—‘Not absolutely’—he
answered—‘but I was thinking of you；—as many at a greater
distance are probably doing at this moment。—Fine open weather
Miss Emma！—Charming season for Hunting。’ ‘Emma is delightful；
is not she？’—whispered Margaret。 ‘I have found her more than
answer my warmest hopes。—Did you ever see anything more
perfectly beautiful？ I think even you must be a convert to a brown
complexion。’—He hesitated； Margaret was fair herself； and he did
not particularly want to compliment her； but Miss Osborne and
Miss Carr were likewise fair； and his devotion to them carried the
day。 ‘Your Sister’s complexion；’ said he at last； ‘is as fine as a dark
complexion can be； but I still profess my preference of a white
skin。 You have seen Miss Osborne？—she is my model for a truly
feminine complexion； and she is very fair。’—‘Is she fairer than
me？’—Tom made no reply。—‘Upon my Honour Ladies；’ said he；
giving a glance over his own person； ‘I am highly endebted to your
Condescension for admitting me； in such Dishabille into your
Drawing room。 I really did not consider how unfit I was to be here
or I hope I should have kept my distance。 Lady Osborne would tell
me that I were growing as careles
