When the service was concluded, the clergyman quitted the pulpit and walked out before all his congregation, who stood up respectfully to let him pass, and then Miss Bridge and Emma, who had their seat in the squire's pew, followed before any one else presumed to stir from their places: there was then a friendly greeting between the Rector and his principal parishioners, after which they took their quiet way homewards, to partake of their early dinner, and return to the afternoon service.
Such was the tenor of Emma's life, whilst she remained with Miss Bridge—the only incident that varied the scene, was a drive over to Croydon one day, in order to attend Margaret's wedding. Emma had recovered her strength so rapidly, that she was perfectly equal to the exertion, and Margaret had sent a pressing invitation not only to her, but to Miss Bridge likewise. It was, therefore, settled that they should go and spend the night at the vicarage, as Robert Watson's house was quite full—with the addition of some cousins of his wife, who were paying a visit. In consequence of this arrangement, she did not see her future brother-in-law that day; but Elizabeth spent the afternoon with them. She saw, with sincere pleasure, how much Emma was improved in looks—she was plumper and fresher—more blooming and bewitching than ever; and so thought Mr. Morgan too—for he likewise, called to see her—and was quite startled with the alteration in her appearance.
"I need not ask you _how_ you are," said he, fixing on her eyes which spoke his admiration as plainly as if he had put it into words; "you are looking _so_ well."
Emma was forced to turn away, for the expression of his face was too openly admiring to be pleasant.
Elizabeth had a long chat with her in private: there was so much to learn about her new way of life, and so much to tell in return, that it seemed as if four and twenty hours instead of two, might have been talked away with ease. There was much to discuss about Margaret's prospects; Elizabeth was very little satisfied with Tom Musgrove, and only wondered that her sister appeared so well pleased as she did. He was careless and cold—almost to insolence—and had, evidently, tried to annoy her in every way he could; flirting with every girl who came in his way, and only shewing that he was not careless to her feelings, by his repeated attempts to wound them. To all this she seemed perfectly indifferent—whether from vanity, she really did _not_ see, or from wilful blindness she _would_ not perceive his meaning, Elizabeth could not tell; but she always continued to preserve a most satisfied air; and when slighted by Tom, sought peace and contentment in the contemplation of her wedding presents and bridal finery; constantly talking as if she enjoyed the unlimited affection of the most amiable and agreeable man in the world.