"Hum! That is being constant, however. But who else did you dance with?" "Mr. Norton and Mr. Styles." "And who are they?" "Mr. Norton is a cousin of Captain Hunter's." "And who is Mr. Styles?" "One of his particular friends." "All in the same regiment," added Mrs. Edwards. "Mary was surrounded by redcoats all the evening. I should have been better pleased to see her dancing with some of our old neighbours, I confess." "Yes, yes; we must not neglect our old neighbours. But if these soldiers are quicker than other people in a ball-room, what are young ladies to do?" "I think there is no occasion for their engaging themselves so many dances beforehand, Mr. Edwards." "No, perhaps not; but I remember, my dear, when you and I did the same." Mrs. Edwards said no more, and Mary breathed again. A good deal of good-humoured pleasantry followed, and Emma went to bed in charming spirits, her head full of Osbornes, Blakes, and Howards. CHAPTER III The next morning brought a great many visitors. It was the way of the place always to call on Mrs. Edwards the morning after a ball, and this neighbourly inclination was increased in the present instance by a general spirit of curiosity on Emma's account, as everybody wanted to look again at the girl who had been admired the night before by Lord Osborne. Many were the eyes, and various the degrees of approbation, with which she was examined. Some saw no fault, and some no beauty. With some, her brown skin was the annihilation of every grace, and others could never be persuaded that she was half so handsome as Elizabeth Watson had been ten years ago. The morning passed quickly away in discussing the merits of the ball with all this succession of company, and Emma was at once astonished by finding it two o'clock, and considering that she had heard nothing of her father's chair. After this discovery she had walked twice to the window to examine the street, and was on the point of asking leave to ring the bell and make enquiries, when the light sound of a carriage driving up to the door set her heart at ease. She stepped again to the window, but instead of the convenient though very un-smart family equipage, perceived a neat curricle. Mr. Musgrave was shortly afterwards announced, and Mrs. Edwards put on her very stiffest look at the sound. Not at all dismayed, however, by her chilling air, he paid his compliments to each of the ladies with no unbecoming ease, and continuing to address Emma, presented her a note, which "he had the honour of bringing from her sister, but to which, he must observe, a verbal postscript from himself would be requisite."