“And to speak slightingly of Rawleys’ party,” said Charlotte. “That really was unkind in Mrs. Lyman, for she knows how much Mrs. Fortesque thinks of the Rawleys.” “That was the reason of course,” replied Emma laughing. “She knows the Rawleys are Mrs. Fortesque’s grandees. For there’s no one that thinks so much of fine people as Mrs. Fortesque.” “No. How droll it is,” said Charlotte. “Every invitation is taken as such a compliment, and every omission as a particular slight.” “That struck me very much,” remarked Mrs. Henry Willing who happened to be present, but who had not joined much in the conversation hitherto, “for I have always looked upon Mrs. Fortesque as a person who rather pinned her faith upon fashionable people, and who rated her acquaintance very much according to their consequence in society.” “Oh she does, decidedly,” said both the girls in a breath. “It’s that,” continued Emma, “that makes her so angry with Mrs. Lyman. They are intimate, and Mrs. Lyman is always ahead of her in making fine acquaintances, and in getting invited to parties that are rather exclusive. Now you will see that Mrs. Fortesque does not rest until she visits and is invited at Elliot’s too.” “But I think she is really unjust, Emma,” said Charlotte, “in saying her object is to get the girls married.” “To be sure she is,” replied Emma. “But the fact is, her own head is so full of anxiety on the subject of marrying Cornelia, that she thinks every other mother’s head must be the same.” “The Lymans are no beauties,” said Charlotte, “but they are quite as handsome as Cornelia Fortesque.” “And a great deal pleasanter,” replied Emma. “They have something at least, but poor Cornelia has nothing.” As the Appletons were “at home” that morning, the conversation was here interrupted by other visiters. Elliot’s party was again the theme under discussion, the display of wealth and beauty on the occasion giving rise to much animated remark. “One of the most striking persons there was your friend Mrs. Norton, Miss Appleton,” said Mrs. Henry Willing. “I never saw her look more beautiful,” remarked another. “Nor more beautifully dressed,” said Mrs. Willing quietly, but with meaning. Emma colored at this, for she felt the innuendo. Mr. Norton had failed not very long since, and the extravagance of his pretty wife had not escaped its due portion at least of animadversion. “What was it?” asked Emma. “A very rich blue silk, with flounces of superb lace almost to the hips,” replied Mrs. Willing in a tone that conveyed as much reprehension as tones could convey. “Oh, that’s the same lace she has worn these three years,” said Emma, vexed that her pretty friend could not even wear her old things without exciting unkind remarks. “It does not look well, Emma,” remarked Mrs. Grayson. “Though it is not new, it is expensive, and not in keeping with their present circumstances, it’s in bad taste.”