een of her and Emma.

In fact, that unfortunate party at Mrs. Bryanstone's had been a
sacrifice of the high esteem in which she had once been held. Emma, with
the harshness of youthful judgments, could not overlook the folly that
had hazarded so much for the sake of gaiety; and was the more pained
because of the enthusiasm she had once felt for her, when she
had believed her superior to all the world. She recollected her
love-at-first-sight for the pretty bride, and well-nigh regarded the
friendship as a romance of her girlhood. She did not blame poor Violet,
for no more could have been expected than that so simple a girl would
be spoiled by admiration, and by such a husband. She should always be
interested in her, but there could be no sympathy for deeper visions
and higher subjects in one devoted to the ordinary frivolities of life.
Violet owned she could not understand her; what could be more true?

So Emma betook herself more and more to her other friend, lamented over
present evils, made visionary amendments and erected dreamy worlds of
perfection, till she condemned and scorned all that did not accord with
them.

Lady Elizabeth would rather have seen her daughter intimate with Violet.
Mistaken though that party was, it was hard measure, she thought,
utterly to condemn a girl hardly eighteen. She could understand
Violet--she could not understand Miss Marstone; and the ruling
domineering nature that laid down the law frightened her. She found
herself set aside for old-fashioned notions whenever she hinted at any
want of judgment or of charity in the views of the friends; she could no
longer feel the perfect consciousness of oneness of mind and sufficiency
for each other's comfort that had been such happiness between her and
her daughter; and yet everything in Theresa Marstone was so excellent,
her labours among the poor so devoted, and her religion so evidently
heartfelt, that it was impossible to consider the friendship as
otherwise than an honour to Emma.

Lady Elizabeth could only feel that she should be more at ease when she
was not always in dread of interrupting a tete-a-tete, and when there
was no longer any need to force Emma into society, and see her put on
that resigned countenance which expressed that it was all filial duty
to a mother who knew no better. Moreover, Lady Elizabeth hoped for a
cessation of the schemes for the Priory, which were so extravagant as to
make her dread Emma's five-and-twentie