Chapter II

“Is it not too bad,” said Emma, one day to Alice, “in Charles Cooper to wear that ring of mine; and before Mr. Dashwood, too?”

“You did give it to him, then?” said Alice, quickly. “I thought so; and yet you looked so unconscious, and joined in so carelessly when Mr. Dashwood was talking about it, that I supposed I must be mistaken.”

“Did I?” said Emma, evidently relieved. “I was so afraid I colored, or looked guilty; for I was so startled and frightened, that it was as much as I could do to command myself.”

“Oh, Emma,” said Alice, earnestly, “since you had given the ring, why did you not say so frankly?”

“How could I?” exclaimed Emma, looking aghast at the idea, “when Mr. Dashwood spoke of such things as being vulgar. If he had not made use of that horrible word, ‘vulgar,’ may be I might; but I could not acknowledge it after that, you know.”

“What did he say?” inquired Alice. “I did not hear the commencement of the conversation. How came he to speak of it?”

“Oh, he happened to say he did not like Charles Cooper, (another reason, by the way, for my saying nothing of my old flirtation,) that he was so full of little vanities; and mentioned, as an instance, that he wore a lady’s ring, which he was very fond of displaying and having noticed, which Mr. Dashwood said was ‘very contemptible;’ but the dreadful part of it was, that he added, ‘To be sure he did not suppose the lady could be very fastidious, or she would not have given a ring to such a man as Charles Cooper; and, indeed, for his part, he thought such flirtations vulgar things always.’ Ah! I almost gasped for breath; and I was so thankful I had not said the ring was mine, which I was on the point of doing, when he began the story.”

“Oh, how I wish you had!” exclaimed Alice, fervently.

“Heavens, Alice!” said Emma, reproachfully; “how can you? Do you really wish to see me lowered in his eyes?” and the tears gushed into hers at the bare suggestion.

“No, Emma,” said Alice, affectionately. “But that would have been far from the case. If you had said frankly, and in your playful way, ‘Ah, take care, for I gave him that ring,’ Mr. Dashwood would have thought nothing of it, or only admired you the more for your sincerity.”

“Do you think so?” said Emma, doubtingly. “If I thought that—yes—I believe you are right I wish I had; but I was so frightened at the time—and it’s too late now.”

“Oh, no, it is not, Emma,” said Alice, earnestly. “Do tell him this evening.”

“What, tell him I did a ‘vulgar’ thing, in the first instance, and told a fib about it afterward! Why, what can you be thinking of, Alice?” and Emma actually turned pale at the idea. “You know how scrupulous he is in such matters. You really seem anxious that I should make him despise me,” she added, reproachfully.

“No, indeed, Emma; but he is so noble and upright, that I cannot bear that you should deceive him in any thing; and I am sure you may trust his admiration and affection to any extent, Emma. Why should you be afraid of him? If you begin so now, what will it be after you are married?”

“Oh,” replied Emma, laughing, “when we are once married, he takes me ‘for better or worse,’ and so must put up with me, faults and all; so I shall not be afraid to tell him any thing.”

“Better begin now,” urged Alice.

“Well, I will next time,” said Emma, impatiently. “But there’s no use in bringing this up again. It has passed off now, and he’ll never think of it again; so let the matter rest—it is ended now.”

But here Emma was mistaken. She met Mr. Cooper at a small party in the evening; and to her annoyance, the ring was on his little finger. Some one said, “Cooper, what ring is that you are flourishing?” and the young man smiled in reply, and looked at his little finger caressingly, and said it was “a ring he valued very highly.” Whereupon some badinage followed; all of which Mr. Cooper took very kindly. Emma was excessively vexed and annoyed, although she commanded herself to look calm and indifferent; but afterward she took an opportunity to say to him, in a low voice, “You must return me that ring.”

“You surely are not in earnest. You will not be so cruel,” he replied in a tone equally low.

Just then she caught Mr. Dashwood’s eye, who looked surprised at the sort of intimacy with which they seemed to be talking, and she hastily turned away. Mr. Cooper caught the look at the same time; and the idea instantly occurred to him that Dashwood was jealous. The idea both gratified and amused him; and in a spirit of fun, which often animates young men under such circumstances, he determined to add to his uneasiness. Beside, he saw that Emma was decidedly annoyed; and as she had treated him with some caprice, he thought this a good opportunity for ‘paying her off;’ and so he took particular pleasure in displaying the ring whenever he could. Emma could bear it no longer; and the first time he was by her, and no one else in the group, she said,

“I wish you would give me that ring.”

“What, now?” said the young man, glancing his eye toward Mr. Dashwood, who was just then approaching.

“No,” she replied, almost with a shiver, feeling at once how that would betray her. “Not now; send it to me to-morrow.” And then, as Mr. Dashwood joined them, she continued, in the same tone, to talk of other things.

Cooper saw his power over her, and determined to use it, partly in the spirit of fun, and yet not without a dash of malice in it either. So the next morning he wrote her a few lines, enclosing another ring of more value than hers, and “begging that it might be substituted in the place of one he treasured so highly, he could not readily bring himself to part with it.”

Emma was exceedingly angry. “Did you ever know any thing so impudent?” she said to Alice, with tears in her eyes. “Hateful creature! how could I be such a fool as ever to have let him take it at all!” And she opened her writing-desk to take out some note paper, when Alice said,

“What are you going to do, Emma?”

“Why, return it to him, of course,” she replied, indignantly, “and insist upon having my own again.”

“Oh, don’t write to him, Emma,” said Alice; “pray don’t. Depend upon it, he will take advantage of it if you do.”

“What shall I do, then?” said Emma, despairingly.

“He will probably be here this evening,” replied Alice, “and if you take my advice, you will give it back to him before Mr. Dashwood, and ask for your own at the same time. He’s only trying now to annoy you, because he sees that you are afraid of Mr. Dashwood’s knowing the truth.”

“Well, so I am,” replied Emma. “That’s just the thing. If it was not for Mr. Dashwood, there would be no difficulty about it.”

“Ah, Emma, if you would——”

“But I wont, Alice,” said Emma, interrupting her impatiently. “I know what you are going to say—but I wont—I can’t tell Mr. Dashwood. If you can suggest nothing better than that, leave me to take my own way.”

“Don’t write, then,” said Alice, imploringly.

“Why, Alice, what else can I do!” replied Emma, much vexed. “You make objections to every thing, and yet don’t suggest anything better.” And so she wrote a few rapid lines, enclosing the ring, and dispatched a servant with it to Mr. Cooper’s. He was out. The note was left; and she received no answer that day.

The next morning, however, brought a reply, apologizing, in the first place, for not answering her immediately; but he had been absent from home; then, half expostulatingly, and half playfully, protesting against her exactions—in short, a very flirty note, and without the ring.

Emma was very angry, and foolishly wrote a spirited reply, which, of course, brought a rejoinder; and thus, in spite of Alice’s entreaties, several notes passed between them, and Emma was no nearer her object than before. When they met, he sometimes promised to give up the ring, sometimes playfully evaded the point; but still always kept her in hopes and suspense. Mr. Dashwood noticed the kind of growing intimacy that seemed to subsist between them, and noticed it, too, with displeasure; not that he was jealous at all—for he was of a noble, confiding temper; but he was a proud, reserved man, and did not like the peculiar manner in which Emma allowed Mr. Cooper to address her; and was still less pleased with the low, earnest tones in which he sometimes heard her speaking to him.

Mr. Dashwood was the soul of truth and honor himself, but was of a reserved and even stern temper, too; and in spite of the witchery Emma’s playfulness exercised over him, he would occasionally bend his eyes upon her with a stern look, that frightened the soul almost out of her body—for Emma, like all fibbers, was a coward. She was desperately in love with him, but at the same time desperately afraid of him.

“Oh, if I only get out of this scrape safely,” she said to Alice, “I’ll take care how I get into another.”

“Well,” said Alice, cheerfully, “that is the best thing I’ve heard you say yet, Emma. Pray tell him the truth always in future.”

“It was a pity I did not in the beginning,” said Emma; “for I do believe with you, that he would have thought nothing of it then. He does not suspect any thing now; but still it is unlucky.”

Emma had no feeling about deceiving one who trusted her so fully, but only thought that she was very ‘unlucky’ and in a ‘scrape.’

The next time she met Mr. Cooper, the subject of the ring was resumed. He protested he had it not with him, or he would give it to her. “Will you allow me to call this evening,” he said, “and I will bring it?”

She immediately remembered that Mr. Dashwood would be at her house in the evening, and she said,

“No, I shall not be at home. I am going to spend the evening with Miss Pearsall. Will you not be there?”

“If you are, certainly,” he replied, in a manner implying that it was an appointment, which was the fact, though Emma was vexed at his letting it appear.

Mr. Dashwood said to her afterward, “I will bring the book you wish this evening,” but she answered, to Alice’s surprise, “No, don’t, for I am going with mamma to old Mrs. Haight’s to drink tea; so you must pass the evening at the club for this once,” but, she added, holding out her hand, “come to-morrow; until when, good-by.”

“Why, Emma, what on earth takes you to Mrs. Haight’s to tea?” said Alice, afterward.

“I am not going to Mrs. Haight’s,” she coolly replied. “I am going to Ellen Pearsall’s. Mr. Cooper has promised at last to give me that tiresome ring, and my notes, too.”

Alice looked quite shocked.

“Emma, Emma!” she said. “How can you?”

“How can I what, Alice?” said Emma, impatiently. “You know I can’t let him come here, for Mr. Dashwood is always here.”

“But why say you are going to Mrs. Haight’s?”

“Oh, Alice, how tiresome you are? Because, if I had said I was going to Ellen’s, of course, Mr. Dashwood would have offered to go, or call for me. Now, he knows Mrs. Haight never receives any one but our family; so that matter is settled.”

“But suppose he finds it out?” persisted Alice.

“Oh, he wont find it out,” returned Emma, who was always confident in any expedient that saved her for the time being.

In the evening, it so happened, that one or two gentlemen called also at Miss Pearsall’s; and the circle was so small, that the conversation being general, as they sat round Miss Pearsall’s tea-table, Emma had no opportunity of effecting the object she came for; and she returned home quite provoked, and out of spirits. But it so happened, that one of the young men who had chanced to be there, on his way home, went into the very club-room where Mr. Dashwood was sitting.

“You are a very pretty fellow, are you not!” exclaimed the young man, gayly, as he saw Dashwood. “And this is your engagement, is it? ’Pon my word, I think Miss Percival is very good to make your apologies in this way, and let you come off to a club-room.”

“What are you talking of?” said Dashwood, looking up surprised.

“Why, of your letting Miss Percival go alone to Miss Pearsall, saying you were engaged. She has just gone home with her brother, while her most devoted of lovers sits smoking his cigar in a club-room.”

Mr. Dashwood could scarcely believe his senses. He doubted, for the moment, whether he was smoking—whether he was in a club-room—whether he was sitting or standing. But, too proud and reserved to betray his emotions to a casual acquaintance, he asked no questions; and observing that the room was cold, buttoned up his coat, and left the house.

The next day he said to Emma,

“Did not you tell me you were going last evening to Mrs. Haight’s with your mother?”

“Yes,” she replied, “mamma and I went early to an old-fashioned cup of tea.”

“Hawthorn told me,” he said, bending his eyes upon her with an expression that brought her heart to her lips in an instant, “that he met you at Mrs. Pearsall’s.”

“Yes,” she replied, with a presence of mind worthy of a better cause—for she felt it was what is vulgarly called “neck or nothing”—“yes, it was so dull, that I could not bear it long. All my humanity and kindness for poor old Mrs. Haight could not stand her prosing; so I left mamma there, and went into Ellen’s—they live next door, you know.”

“Hawthorn said you apologized for me, saying I was engaged,” he continued, not yet quite satisfied.

“I said nothing of the kind,” she said, feeling that her only resource was to deny this in toto. “What could Mr. Hawthorn be thinking of? I said you were going to the club.”

His countenance cleared immediately; indeed, he was angry, and despised himself that he could have been uneasy, or doubted her for a moment. He grew animated and cheerful, and asked so pleasantly who she had met there, that, excited by her success, or “escape,” as she would have called it, she mentioned the gentlemen, among whom she even boldly named Mr. Cooper, who had been Miss Pearsall’s guests.

“Emma,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “perfect confidence must exist where there is perfect affection; so I will be frank with you at once. I do not like that gentleman’s manner toward you. It seems to me as if there were some secret between you;” and he fixed his searching eyes upon her with an inquiring expression.

She felt now that he had seen too much to be satisfied of the contrary, even if she denied it; so she said,

“Well, to be frank with you, there is something between us; but as it is not a secret of mine—I do not know that I am authorized to tell even you of it.”

He looked grave, as he replied,

“Certainly, if it is the secret of another, I have no right, nor wish, even, to inquire further. But I hope in future, Emma, you may have no secrets, even of others, from which I am excluded.”

It was half affectionately, half gravely said; and Emma promised most fully to have no reserves from him henceforth.

“Do you know,” continued he, smiling, though still not looking quite satisfied, “that I imagined it was something concerning that ring that Cooper sports?”

Emma felt again that she was treading on ice, that might give way the next instant, and that denial was unsafe, so she answered boldly,

“You are right again. And, upon the whole, I don’t know why I should not tell you the truth just as it is. I do not suppose Ellen will care about your knowing it, particularly as you, of course, will not repeat it. She gave him that ring, and wanted me to get it back for her.”

“Why did she not ask for it herself?” he said, somewhat sternly.

“She was afraid of her mother’s knowing it,” replied Emma. “You know what a prim, particular old lady Mrs. Pearsall is.”

“Foolish girl,” he said, contemptuously, “and worse than foolish, to be deceiving those she should most trust.”

Emma felt her heart die within her; but there was no help for her—so she agreed to all his animadversions on Miss Pearsall, and only said,

“Yes, so she is; but say nothing about it. Make no allusion to her, or to any one else.”

“Of course not,” he replied; and the subject dropped.

To Emma’s great relief she heard, a few days afterward, that Mr. Cooper was going to Europe very soon. Expected to sail, indeed, in the course of a fortnight.

“I have a little package for you,” he said; “when can I call,” he added, smiling, “when Mr. Dashwood is not at your house?”

Emma saw that he thought she was afraid of Mr. Dashwood, and supposed, too, that he was jealous; and the idea that he should presume to think Dashwood jealous, and of him, too, roused her temper; and she said with spirit,

“You may call whenever it suits you. Mr. Dashwood’s visits need not interfere with yours.”

“Indeed!” he said, looking at her inquiringly.

“Why,” said she, scornfully, provoked with his impudence, “do you imagine that Mr. Dashwood cares about that ring?”

“Does he know it to be yours?” he asked, with surprise.

“To be sure he does,” she boldly replied; and, to her great satisfaction, she saw at once that all the peculiar pleasure and interest in possessing the ring was dispelled.

“I will send you the package to-morrow,” he said, quietly, “if I have not time to call myself before I sail.”

He was very much occupied, however, during the day, and forgot it; but the evening prior to his departure, Dashwood called at his rooms to entrust him with some European letters. He found him making a few last arrangements, and a couple of gentlemen were with him. After some general conversation, just as Cooper was closing his writing-desk, where he had deposited Dashwood’s letters, his eye happened to fall upon Emma’s package, which he had forgotten in his hurry until then. Supposing that Dashwood knew all about it, and not wishing to mention names before the strangers, who were with him, he said, handing it to Dashwood, “I wish you would hand this to its fair owner; and tell Miss Percival,” he said, “that I should have called to make my adieux, if I had not been so pressed for time.”

It was a small package addressed to “Miss E. P.” which Dashwood, remembering his conversation with Emma, supposed he was to hand to Miss Ellen Pearsall; so, asking no questions, he put it in his pocket, and after bidding Cooper farewell, left him to go to a large party where he expected to meet Emma, and probably Ellen.

In the course of the evening he said,

“I have a small package for you, Miss Pearsall, which I will give you when you leave.”

“A package for me!” she exclaimed, with surprise. “What can it be! Oh, give it to me now.”

As Mrs. Pearsall, the “prim, particular old lady,” was not near, he handed Ellen the package, who instantly broke the seal of the envelope, from which fell two or three notes, while the young lady exclaimed,

“Why this is Emma’s ring. What were you thinking of, Mr. Dashwood?” she added, laughing. “You must be an absent gentleman, to be sure, to mistake me for Emma. Is not that a good joke?” and she laughed heartily, as he stooped to pick up the notes, which to his amazement he saw were directed, in Emma’s handwriting, to “Charles Cooper, Esq.”

“That Miss Percival’s ring?” he said, bewildered, and not knowing what to think.

“Yes, certainly!” she replied. “See, there is her name engraved inside”—and so it was. “Is not that amusing, mamma?” she continued, turning to her mother, and explaining what she seemed to think an excellent joke. Dashwood saw the truth at once in her tones and whole manner.

“What is that,” said Emma, crossing the room to join them, “that seems to be amusing you all so?”

“Only, my dear,” said Ellen, laughing, “that Mr. Dashwood has mistaken me for you. Very complimentary to me, certainly; though I don’t know what you’ll say to such compliments.”

“This package,” said Mr. Dashwood, gravely, without raising his eyes to Emma’s face, “is, it seems, addressed to you. Miss Pearsall broke the seal under a mistake. But there is no mistake now, I believe,” he added, with an emphasis that sent Emma’s blood tingling to the tips of her fingers. He handed her the package, slightly bowed and passed on.

Emma saw him no more that evening. Startled and terrified by the facts, which she felt even her powers of dissimulation were unequal to cover, she was yet more alarmed by the manner in which he had received them. Had he seemed angry, though frightened, she still would have had hope. Had he reproached her, she might have wept and apologized. But his manner had been cold and stern; he had merely bowed, he had not even looked at her, and left her.

She passed an agonized night of doubt and suspense.

He suffered no less than herself, but not from doubt and suspense. Unhappily, there was no room for that. He was a man of firm mind, and decided character. His sense of honor was fine, almost romantic; and he was the soul of truth and integrity. He was not angry, but worse than that, he was shocked; and, shall we say it, disgusted. He had been easily blinded, because he fully confided. He was too upright, too high-minded, readily to suspect others. But his eyes once opened, and his rapid, clear mind saw the whole at once. The falsehoods that Emma had told him, much as they pained him, were not to him the worst part of the affair. He remembered her innocent looks, her unconscious air, her apparently frank and careless manner; and his soul sickened—for he felt, in the emphatic language of the ritual, that “the truth was not in her.”

Confidence was destroyed forever. Happiness between them was out of the question. He wrote to her, “freeing her from an engagement with one whom she evidently not only did not trust, but feared.”

The letter was a manly, feeling letter; short, but breathing the anguish of a deeply wounded spirit.

Emma wept passionately over it; mourned, and mourned again, that she had not told him the truth in the beginning. “It was so unlucky,” as she kept repeating—for beyond that her sense of right did not go, even yet.

But Mr. Dashwood was on his way to New Orleans. He left the Percivals to tell what story they pleased; and it was soon announced by her friends that “Emma had dismissed him.”

When the reason was asked, Emma said “she felt she never could be happy with him;” and her mother intimated that his temper was a stern, unpleasant one.

“And I always should have been afraid of him,” said Emma to Alice, beginning to draw consolation as soon as she could from the first source that occurred to her. “He thought so much of trifles that I know that I should always have been in trouble, and horribly afraid of him.”

Alice sighed, for she believed so too. She had once hoped much from the influence of Dashwood’s superior character over her; but she now saw how fallacious those hopes would have been. Emma, she felt, was incorrigible, for she had no perception even yet of her fault. Dashwood had been right—“the truth was not in her.”