“Oh!” said Emma, eager to correct a mistake, “that just shows how little people in the country know. You think London means the London you read of in books, where you meet all the great people and have half-a-dozen parties every night. But when London means Kilburn!” said Emma shaking her head, “where all the gentlemen go to the city every morning, and there is perhaps one dance given in a whole season, and only the people asked that you know! and we know scarcely one. You see the people there don’t think of calling because they are your neighbours. There are so many: and unless you get introductions, or work in the parish, or something—Working in the parish is a very good way,” Emma added, with a sudden recollection; “you get invited to a great many evening parties where you just stand about and talk, or people sing: and not many dances. Unfortunately I never was much used to parish work. In Elinor’s there was too much to do, and Bee was too worldly, and as for William’s wife, though we should not like it to be known, Cousin Catherine, she is—a Dissenter.”
Emma made this admission with the reluctance it merited.
“I have not told grandpapa,” she said, with bated breath.
“I think he could bear it,” said Catherine. “I think you might venture on the communication. In some things he is very strong-minded.”
“It was a very bitter pill to us,” Emma said.
Here they were interrupted by the entrance of the captain himself, who had left his grandchild in a cowardly way to make Catherine’s acquaintance by herself. But Emma had not minded. She had not even divined that his pretence of business was hypocritical. She had not been alarmed by Catherine, and now she was comfortably confident of having made a good impression, and secured a friend.
“I am quite ready, grandpapa,” she said. “Cousin Catherine has been so kind. She says she will speak to Mrs. Merridew about my invitation, so you may make yourself quite easy on that subject. And grandmamma will be very pleased. Of course I could not expect such an old lady as she is to exert herself. But Cousin Catherine understands how important that sort of thing is to a girl,” Emma said, with an air of great gravity.
The captain gave Catherine a piteous glance. He did not understand the new specimen of womankind of whom he had the responsibility, and Catherine, whose powers of self-restraint had been called forth to an unusual degree, responded with an outburst of laughter.
“We have got on admirably,” she said. “I like a straightforward mind, with such a power of applying reason to practical uses. You must come to see me often, Emma. Never mind grandpapa. He will tell you I am busy, but when I am so, I shall tell you so. You are far too sensible to take offence.”
“Oh, offence, Cousin Catherine? between you and me!” said Emma, “that would be too ridiculous. I hope I know my place. When you are the youngest you soon learn that. Your first lesson is that nobody wants you, and that you must just do the best you can for yourself. There is only just one thing I should like to mention, and that is, that the first time it would be a great advantage to me if you would take me. It is such a fine thing for a girl when she is known to belong to the best people in a place. It is not even as if my name were Vernon. But people will say ‘Miss Ashton! who is Miss Ashton? I never heard of her!’ Whereas if I were with you, the best partners in the place would ask to get introduced to me, and that would give me a start. Afterwards I could get on by myself, as I hear Mrs. Merridew does not care for chaperons,” Emma said.
Once more Catherine was struck dumb. She pushed her chair back a little and regarded this dauntless young woman with a mixture of dismay, admiration, and amusement.
“But I assure you I have never gone to any of Ellen’s junketings,” she said.
“That will not matter,” said the persistent Emma, “Of course she will be pleased to have you. It will be a great honour. And then to me it would be such an advantage. I should feel that I really was having my chance.”
When she left the gate of the Grange, walking by the side of the bewildered captain, Emma felt that she was tolerably sure of getting all she wanted, and her triumph, though quite moderate and serious, was great.
“I am very glad you left me to make acquaintance with Cousin Catherine by myself,” she said, “grandpapa; I was a little frightened, but she was so nice. She was very nice to Roland too; and it will be such an advantage to go into society for the first time with such a well-known person. It makes all the difference. People see at once who you are, and there is no difficulty afterwards.”
“And you think Catherine Vernon will depart from all her habits and take you to that butterfly’s ball?” the captain said.
“Of course, grandpapa,” said Emma, in the calm of simple conviction. It was not a matter which admitted of any doubt.
And the wonderful thing was, that she proved right. To her own great amazement, and to the consternation of everybody concerned, Catherine Vernon assumed her grey gown, the gayest of her evening garments, and most befitting a dance, and took Emma Ashton in her own carriage to Mrs. Merridew’s house on the hill. Catherine was too genial a person in ordinary
