Upon the whole, however, it was evident that they did not betray that natural horror which pervaded the more experienced matrons. All agreed that the terms were "hard terms," and ill expressed: some added, that only love could persuade a woman to submit to them: and some still more sentimental maidens, in a lower voice, were understood to say, that as nothing is impossible to Cupid, they might be induced to such submission; but that it must be by a degree of love which they solemnly declared they had never felt or could imagine as yet.

"For my part," cried the modern Griselda, "I would sooner have lived an old maid to the days of Methusalem than have been so mean as to have married any man on earth upon such terms. But I know there are people who can never think 'marriage dear-bought.' My dear Mrs.

Granby, we have not yet heard your opinion, and we should have had yours first, as bride."

"I forgot that I was bride," said Emma.

"Forgot! Is it possible?" cried Mrs. Nettleby: "now this is an excess of modesty of which I have no notion."

"But for which Mr. Granby," continued our heroine, turning to Mr.

Granby, who at this moment entered the room, "ought to make his best bow. Here is your lady, sir, who has just a.s.sured us that she forgot she was a bride: bow to this exquisite humility."

"Exquisite vanity!" cried Mr. Granby; "she knows

"'How much the wife is dearer than the bride.'"

"She will be a singularly happy woman if she knows _that_ this time twelvemonth," replied our heroine, darting a reproachful look at her silent husband. "In the mean time, do let us hear Mrs. Granby speak for herself; I must have her opinion of Griselda's promise to obey her lord, right or wrong, in all things, no reasons given, to submit in deed, and word, and look, and thought. If Mrs. Granby tells us that is her theory, we must all reform our practice."

Every eye was fixed upon Emma, and every ear was impatient for her answer.

"I should never have imagined," said she, smiling, "that any person's practice could be influenced by my theory, especially as I have no theory."

"No more humility, my dear; if you have no theory, you have an opinion of your own, I hope, and we must have a distinct answer to this simple question: Would you have made the promise that was required from Griselda?"

"No," answered Emma; "distinctly no; for I could never have loved or esteemed the man who required such a promise."

Disconcerted by this answer, which was the very reverse of what she expected; amazed at the modest self-possession with which the timid Emma spoke, and vexed by the symptoms of approbation which Emma's words and voice excited, our heroine called upon her husband, in a more than usually authoritative tone, and bid him--read on.

He obeyed. Emma became again absorbed in the story, and her countenance showed how much she felt all its beauties, and all its pathos. Emma did all she could to repress her feelings; and our heroine all she could to make her and them ridiculous. But in this attempt she was unsuccessful; for many of the spectators, who at her instigation began by watching Emma's countenance to find subject for ridicule, ended by sympathizing with her unaffected sensibility.

When the tale was ended, the modern Griselda, who was determined to oppose as strongly as possible the charms of spirit to those of sensibility, burst furiously forth into an invective against the meanness of her namesake, and the tyranny of the odious Gualtherus.

"_Could_ you have forgiven him, Mrs. Granby? could you have forgiven the monster?"

"He repented," said Emma; "and does not a penitent cease to be a monster?"

"Oh, I never, never would have forgiven him, penitent or not penitent; I would not have forgiven him such sins."

"I would not have put it into his power to commit them," said Emma.

"I confess the story never touched me in the least," cried our heroine.

"Perhaps for the same reason that Petrarch's friend said that he read it unmoved," replied Mrs. Granby: "because he could not believe that such a woman as Griselda ever existed."

"No, no, not for that reason: I believe many such poor, meek, mean-spirited creatures exist."

Emma was at length wakened to the perception of her friend's envy and jealousy; but--

"She mild forgave the failing of her s.e.x."

"I cannot admire the original Griselda, or any of her imitators,"

continued our heroine.

"There is no great danger of her finding imitators in these days,"

said Mr. Granby. "Had Chaucer lived in our enlightened times, he would doubtless have drawn a very different character."

The modern Griselda looked "fierce as ten furies." Emma softened her husband's observation by adding, "that allowance should certainly be made for poor Chaucer, if we consider the times in which he wrote.

The situation and understandings of women have been so much improved since his days. Women were then slaves, now they are free. My dear,"

whispered she to her husband, "your mother is not well; shall we go home?"

Emma left the room; and even Mrs. Nettleby, after she was gone, said, "Really she is not ugly when she blushes."

"No woman is ugly when she blushes," replied our heroine; "but, unluckily, a woman cannot _always_ blush."

Finding that her attempt to make Emma ridiculous had failed, and that it had really placed Mrs. Granby's understanding, manners, and temper in a most advantageous and amiable light, Griselda was mortified beyond measure. She could scarcely bear to hear Emma's name mentioned.

CHAPTER V.

"She that can please, is certain to persuade, To-day is lov'd, to-morrow is obey'd."

A few days after the reading party, Griselda was invited to spend an evening at Mrs. Granby's.

"I shall not go," said she, throwing down the card with an air of disdain.

"I shall go," said her husband, calmly.

"You will go, my dear!" cried she, amazed. "You will go without _me_?"

"Not without you, if you will be so kind as to go with me, my love,"

said he.

"It is quite out of my power," said she: "I am engaged to my friend, Mrs. Nettleby."

"Very well, my dear," said he; "do as you please."

"Certainly I shall. And I am surprised, my dear, that you do not go to see Mr. John Nettleby."

"I have no desire to see him, my dear. He is, as I have often heard you say, an obstinate fool. He is a man I dislike particularly."

"Very possibly; but you ought to go to see him notwithstanding."

"Why so, my dear?"

"Because he is married to a woman I like. If you had any regard for me, your own feelings would have saved you the trouble of asking that question."