Danvers was at the house about sunset, reporting her mistress to be on her way, with Mr. Redworth.  The maid’s tale of the dreadful state of the lanes, accounted for their tardiness; and besides the sunset had been magnificent.  Diana knocked at Emma’s bedroom door, to say, outside, hurriedly in passing, how splendid the sunset had been, and beg for an extra five minutes.  Taking full fifteen, she swam into the drawing-room, lively with kisses on Emma’s cheeks, and excuses, referring her misconduct in being late to the seductions of ‘Sol’ in his glory.  Redworth said he had rarely seen so wonderful a sunset.  The result of their unanimity stirred Emma’s bosom to match-making regrets; and the walk of the pair together, alone under the propitious laming heavens, appeared to her now as an opportunity lost.  From sisterly sympathy, she fancied she could understand Tony’s liberty-loving reluctance:  she had no comprehension of the backwardness of the man beholding the dear woman handsomer than in her maiden or her married time:  and sprightlier as well.  She chatted deliciously, and drew Redworth to talk his best on his choicer subjects, playing over them like a fide-wisp, determined at once to flounder him and to make him shine.  Her tender esteem for the man was transparent through it all; and Emma, whose evening had gone happily between them, said to her, in their privacy, before parting:  ’You seemed to have been inspired by “Sol,” my dear.  You do like him, don’t you?’

Diana vowed she adored him; and with a face of laughter in rosy suffusion, put Sol for Redworth, Redworth for Sol; but, watchful of Emma’s visage, said finally:  ’If you mean the mortal man, I think him up to almost all your hyperboles—­as far as men go; and he departed to his night’s rest, which I hope will be good, like a king.  Not to admire him, would argue me senseless, heartless.  I do; I have reason to.’

‘And you make him the butt of your ridicule, Tony.’

’No; I said “like a king”; and he is one.  He has, to me, morally the grandeur of your Sol sinking, Caesar stabbed, Cato on the sword-point.  He is Roman, Spartan, Imperial; English, if you like, the pick, of the land.  It is an honour to call him friend, and I do trust he will choose the pick among us, to make her a happy woman—­if she’s for running in harness.  There, I can’t say more.’

Emma had to be satisfied with it, for the present.

They were astonished at breakfast by seeing Sir Lukin ride past the windows.  He entered with the veritable appetite of a cavalier who had ridden from London fasting; and why he had come at that early hour, he was too hungry to explain.  The ladies retired to read their letters by the morning’s post; whereupon Sir Lukin called to Redworth; ’I met that woman in the park yesterday, and had to stand a volley.  I went beating about London for you all the afternoon and evening.  She swears you rated her like a scullery wench, and threatened to ruin Wroxeter.  Did you see him?  She says, the story’s true in one particular, that he did snatch a kiss, and got mauled.  Not so much to pay for it!  But what a ruffian—­eh?’