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\title{Emma}


\author{Jane Austen}

\maketitle
\vspace*{\stretch{1}}

\noindent The preparer of this public-domain (U.S.) text is unknown.
The Project Gutenberg edition (designated {}``emma10'') was converted
to \LaTeX{} using \textbf{GutenMark} software, and re-edited by Ron
Burkey. Italics omitted in the Project Gutenberg edition were restored
by cross-referencing an alternate on-line version at etext.lib.virginia.edu.
Report problems to info@sandroid.org. Revision B1 differs from B in
that {}``----'' has everywhere been replaced by {}``---''.

\noindent \begin{center}Revision: B1\\
Date: 01/27/2008\end{center}

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\frontmatter

\pagestyle{myheadings} \tableofcontents{}\newpage

\mainmatter


\part*{VOLUME I}

\addcontentsline{toc}{part}{VOLUME I}


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER I}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER I}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER I}

Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home
and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings
of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with
very little to distress or vex her.

She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate,
indulgent father; and had, in consequence of her sister's marriage,
been mistress of his house from a very early period. Her mother had
died too long ago for her to have more than an indistinct remembrance
of her caresses; and her place had been supplied by an excellent woman
as governess, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection.

Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr.\ Woodhouse's family, less
as a governess than a friend, very fond of both daughters, but particularly
of Emma. Between \emph{them} it was more the intimacy of sisters.
Even before Miss Taylor had ceased to hold the nominal office of governess,
the mildness of her temper had hardly allowed her to impose any restraint;
and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they had been
living together as friend and friend very mutually attached, and Emma
doing just what she liked; highly esteeming Miss Taylor's judgment,
but directed chiefly by her own.

The real evils, indeed, of Emma's situation were the power of having
rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too
well of herself; these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy
to her many enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so unperceived,
that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her.

Sorrow came\mbox{---}a gentle sorrow\mbox{---}but not at all in
the shape of any disagreeable consciousness.\mbox{---} Miss Taylor
married. It was Miss Taylor's loss which first brought grief. It was
on the wedding-day of this beloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful
thought of any continuance. The wedding over, and the bride-people
gone, her father and herself were left to dine together, with no prospect
of a third to cheer a long evening. Her father composed himself to
sleep after dinner, as usual, and she had then only to sit and think
of what she had lost.

The event had every promise of happiness for her friend. Mr.\ Weston
was a man of unexceptionable character, easy fortune, suitable age,
and pleasant manners; and there was some satisfaction in considering
with what self-denying, generous friendship she had always wished
and promoted the match; but it was a black morning's work for her.
The want of Miss Taylor would be felt every hour of every day. She
recalled her past kindness\mbox{---}the kindness, the affection of
sixteen years\mbox{---}how she had taught and how she had played
with her from five years old\mbox{---}how she had devoted all her
powers to attach and amuse her in health\mbox{---}and how nursed
her through the various illnesses of childhood. A large debt of gratitude
was owing here; but the intercourse of the last seven years, the equal
footing and perfect unreserve which had soon followed Isabella's marriage,
on their being left to each other, was yet a dearer, tenderer recollection.
She had been a friend and companion such as few possessed: intelligent,
well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways of the family,
interested in all its concerns, and peculiarly interested in herself,
in every pleasure, every scheme of hers\mbox{---}one to whom she
could speak every thought as it arose, and who had such an affection
for her as could never find fault.

How was she to bear the change?\mbox{---} It was true that her friend
was going only half a mile from them; but Emma was aware that great
must be the difference between a Mrs.\ Weston, only half a mile from
them, and a Miss Taylor in the house; and with all her advantages,
natural and domestic, she was now in great danger of suffering from
intellectual solitude. She dearly loved her father, but he was no
companion for her. He could not meet her in conversation, rational
or playful.

The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and Mr.\ Woodhouse
had not married early) was much increased by his constitution and
habits; for having been a valetudinarian all his life, without activity
of mind or body, he was a much older man in ways than in years; and
though everywhere beloved for the friendliness of his heart and his
amiable temper, his talents could not have recommended him at any
time.

Her sister, though comparatively but little removed by matrimony,
being settled in London, only sixteen miles off, was much beyond her
daily reach; and many a long October and November evening must be
struggled through at Hartfield, before Christmas brought the next
visit from Isabella and her husband, and their little children, to
fill the house, and give her pleasant society again.

Highbury, the large and populous village, almost amounting to a town,
to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn, and shrubberies,
and name, did really belong, afforded her no equals. The Woodhouses
were first in consequence there. All looked up to them. She had many
acquaintance in the place, for her father was universally civil, but
not one among them who could be accepted in lieu of Miss Taylor for
even half a day. It was a melancholy change; and Emma could not but
sigh over it, and wish for impossible things, till her father awoke,
and made it necessary to be cheerful. His spirits required support.
He was a nervous man, easily depressed; fond of every body that he
was used to, and hating to part with them; hating change of every
kind. Matrimony, as the origin of change, was always disagreeable;
and he was by no means yet reconciled to his own daughter's marrying,
nor could ever speak of her but with compassion, though it had been
entirely a match of affection, when he was now obliged to part with
Miss Taylor too; and from his habits of gentle selfishness, and of
being never able to suppose that other people could feel differently
from himself, he was very much disposed to think Miss Taylor had done
as sad a thing for herself as for them, and would have been a great
deal happier if she had spent all the rest of her life at Hartfield.
Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she could, to keep him from
such thoughts; but when tea came, it was impossible for him not to
say exactly as he had said at dinner,

{}``Poor Miss Taylor!\mbox{---} I wish she were here again. What
a pity it is that Mr.\ Weston ever thought of her!''\ 

{}``I cannot agree with you, papa; you know I cannot. Mr.\ Weston
is such a good-humoured, pleasant, excellent man, that he thoroughly
deserves a good wife;\mbox{---}and you would not have had Miss Taylor
live with us for ever, and bear all my odd humours, when she might
have a house of her own?''\ 

{}``A house of her own!\mbox{---} But where is the advantage of
a house of her own? This is three times as large.\mbox{---} And you
have never any odd humours, my dear.''

{}``How often we shall be going to see them, and they coming to see
us!\mbox{---} We shall be always meeting! \emph{We} must begin; we
must go and pay wedding visit very soon.''

{}``My dear, how am I to get so far? Randalls is such a distance.
I could not walk half so far.''

{}``No, papa, nobody thought of your walking. We must go in the carriage,
to be sure.''

{}``The carriage! But James will not like to put the horses to for
such a little way;\mbox{---}and where are the poor horses to be while
we are paying our visit?''\ 

{}``They are to be put into Mr.\ Weston's stable, papa. You know
we have settled all that already. We talked it all over with Mr.\ Weston
last night. And as for James, you may be very sure he will always
like going to Randalls, because of his daughter's being housemaid
there. I only doubt whether he will ever take us anywhere else. That
was your doing, papa. You got Hannah that good place. Nobody thought
of Hannah till you mentioned her\mbox{---}James is so obliged to
you!''\ 

{}``I am very glad I did think of her. It was very lucky, for I would
not have had poor James think himself slighted upon any account; and
I am sure she will make a very good servant: she is a civil, pretty-spoken
girl; I have a great opinion of her. Whenever I see her, she always
curtseys and asks me how I do, in a very pretty manner; and when you
have had her here to do needlework, I observe she always turns the
lock of the door the right way and never bangs it. I am sure she will
be an excellent servant; and it will be a great comfort to poor Miss
Taylor to have somebody about her that she is used to see. Whenever
James goes over to see his daughter, you know, she will be hearing
of us. He will be able to tell her how we all are.''

Emma spared no exertions to maintain this happier flow of ideas, and
hoped, by the help of backgammon, to get her father tolerably through
the evening, and be attacked by no regrets but her own. The backgammon-table
was placed; but a visitor immediately afterwards walked in and made
it unnecessary.

Mr.\ Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty, was
not only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularly
connected with it, as the elder brother of Isabella's husband. He
lived about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor, and always
welcome, and at this time more welcome than usual, as coming directly
from their mutual connexions in London. He had returned to a late
dinner, after some days' absence, and now walked up to Hartfield to
say that all were well in Brunswick Square. It was a happy circumstance,
and animated Mr.\ Woodhouse for some time. Mr.\ Knightley had a
cheerful manner, which always did him good; and his many inquiries
after {}``poor Isabella'' and her children were answered most satisfactorily.
When this was over, Mr.\ Woodhouse gratefully observed, {}``It is
very kind of you, Mr.\ Knightley, to come out at this late hour to
call upon us. I am afraid you must have had a shocking walk.''

{}``Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful moonlight night; and so mild
that I must draw back from your great fire.''

{}``But you must have found it very damp and dirty. I wish you may
not catch cold.''

{}``Dirty, sir! Look at my shoes. Not a speck on them.''

{}``Well! that is quite surprising, for we have had a vast deal of
rain here. It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour while we were
at breakfast. I wanted them to put off the wedding.''

{}``By the bye\mbox{---}I have not wished you joy. Being pretty
well aware of what sort of joy you must both be feeling, I have been
in no hurry with my congratulations; but I hope it all went off tolerably
well. How did you all behave? Who cried most?''\ 

{}``Ah!\ poor Miss Taylor! 'Tis a sad business.''

{}``Poor Mr.\ and Miss Woodhouse, if you please; but I cannot possibly
say `poor Miss Taylor.' I have a great regard for you and Emma; but
when it comes to the question of dependence or independence!\mbox{---}
At any rate, it must be better to have only one to please than two.''

{}``Especially when \emph{one} of those two is such a fanciful, troublesome
creature!''\ said Emma playfully. {}``That is what you have in
your head, I know\mbox{---}and what you would certainly say if my
father were not by.''

{}``I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed,'' said Mr.\ Woodhouse,
with a sigh. {}``I am afraid I am sometimes very fanciful and troublesome.''

{}``My dearest papa! You do not think I could mean \emph{you}, or
suppose Mr.\ Knightley to mean \emph{you}. What a horrible idea!
Oh no! I meant only myself. Mr.\ Knightley loves to find fault with
me, you know\mbox{---}in a joke\mbox{---}it is all a joke. We always
say what we like to one another.''

Mr.\ Knightley, in fact, was one of the few people who could see
faults in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who ever told her of them:
and though this was not particularly agreeable to Emma herself, she
knew it would be so much less so to her father, that she would not
have him really suspect such a circumstance as her not being thought
perfect by every body.

{}``Emma knows I never flatter her,'' said Mr.\ Knightley, {}``but
I meant no reflection on any body. Miss Taylor has been used to have
two persons to please; she will now have but one. The chances are
that she must be a gainer.''

{}``Well,'' said Emma, willing to let it pass\mbox{---}{}``you
want to hear about the wedding; and I shall be happy to tell you,
for we all behaved charmingly. Every body was punctual, every body
in their best looks: not a tear, and hardly a long face to be seen.
Oh no; we all felt that we were going to be only half a mile apart,
and were sure of meeting every day.''

{}``Dear Emma bears every thing so well,'' said her father. {}``But,
Mr.\ Knightley, she is really very sorry to lose poor Miss Taylor,
and I am sure she \emph{will} miss her more than she thinks for.''

Emma turned away her head, divided between tears and smiles. {}``It
is impossible that Emma should not miss such a companion,'' said
Mr.\ Knightley. {}``We should not like her so well as we do, sir,
if we could suppose it; but she knows how much the marriage is to
Miss Taylor's advantage; she knows how very acceptable it must be,
at Miss Taylor's time of life, to be settled in a home of her own,
and how important to her to be secure of a comfortable provision,
and therefore cannot allow herself to feel so much pain as pleasure.
Every friend of Miss Taylor must be glad to have her so happily married.''

{}``And you have forgotten one matter of joy to me,'' said Emma,
{}``and a very considerable one\mbox{---}that I made the match myself.
I made the match, you know, four years ago; and to have it take place,
and be proved in the right, when so many people said Mr.\ Weston
would never marry again, may comfort me for any thing.''

Mr.\ Knightley shook his head at her. Her father fondly replied,
{}``Ah!\ my dear, I wish you would not make matches and foretell
things, for whatever you say always comes to pass. Pray do not make
any more matches.''

{}``I promise you to make none for myself, papa; but I must, indeed,
for other people. It is the greatest amusement in the world! And after
such success, you know!\mbox{---} Every body said that Mr.\ Weston
would never marry again. Oh dear, no! Mr.\ Weston, who had been a
widower so long, and who seemed so perfectly comfortable without a
wife, so constantly occupied either in his business in town or among
his friends here, always acceptable wherever he went, always cheerful\mbox{---}Mr.\ Weston
need not spend a single evening in the year alone if he did not like
it. Oh no! Mr.\ Weston certainly would never marry again. Some people
even talked of a promise to his wife on her deathbed, and others of
the son and the uncle not letting him. All manner of solemn nonsense
was talked on the subject, but I believed none of it.

{}``Ever since the day\mbox{---}about four years ago\mbox{---}that
Miss Taylor and I met with him in Broadway Lane, when, because it
began to drizzle, he darted away with so much gallantry, and borrowed
two umbrellas for us from Farmer Mitchell's, I made up my mind on
the subject. I planned the match from that hour; and when such success
has blessed me in this instance, dear papa, you cannot think that
I shall leave off match-making.''

{}``I do not understand what you mean by `success,''' said Mr.\ Knightley.
{}``Success supposes endeavour. Your time has been properly and delicately
spent, if you have been endeavouring for the last four years to bring
about this marriage. A worthy employment for a young lady's mind!
But if, which I rather imagine, your making the match, as you call
it, means only your planning it, your saying to yourself one idle
day, `I think it would be a very good thing for Miss Taylor if Mr.\ Weston
were to marry her,' and saying it again to yourself every now and
then afterwards, why do you talk of success? Where is your merit?
What are you proud of? You made a lucky guess; and \emph{that} is
all that can be said.''

{}``And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a lucky
guess?\mbox{---}I pity you.\mbox{---} I thought you cleverer\mbox{---}for,
depend upon it a lucky guess is never merely luck. There is always
some talent in it. And as to my poor word `success,' which you quarrel
with, I do not know that I am so entirely without any claim to it.
You have drawn two pretty pictures; but I think there may be a third\mbox{---}a
something between the do-nothing and the do-all. If I had not promoted
Mr.\ Weston's visits here, and given many little encouragements,
and smoothed many little matters, it might not have come to any thing
after all. I think you must know Hartfield enough to comprehend that.''

{}``A straightforward, open-hearted man like Weston, and a rational,
unaffected woman like Miss Taylor, may be safely left to manage their
own concerns. You are more likely to have done harm to yourself, than
good to them, by interference.''

{}``Emma never thinks of herself, if she can do good to others,''
rejoined Mr.\ Woodhouse, understanding but in part. {}``But, my
dear, pray do not make any more matches; they are silly things, and
break up one's family circle grievously.''

{}``Only one more, papa; only for Mr.\ Elton. Poor Mr.\ Elton!
You like Mr.\ Elton, papa,\mbox{---}I must look about for a wife
for him. There is nobody in Highbury who deserves him\mbox{---}and
he has been here a whole year, and has fitted up his house so comfortably,
that it would be a shame to have him single any longer\mbox{---}and
I thought when he was joining their hands to-day, he looked so very
much as if he would like to have the same kind office done for him!
I think very well of Mr.\ Elton, and this is the only way I have
of doing him a service.''

{}``Mr.\ Elton is a very pretty young man, to be sure, and a very
good young man, and I have a great regard for him. But if you want
to shew him any attention, my dear, ask him to come and dine with
us some day. That will be a much better thing. I dare say Mr.\ Knightley
will be so kind as to meet him.''

{}``With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time,'' said Mr.\ Knightley,
laughing, {}``and I agree with you entirely, that it will be a much
better thing. Invite him to dinner, Emma, and help him to the best
of the fish and the chicken, but leave him to chuse his own wife.
Depend upon it, a man of six or seven-and-twenty can take care of
himself.''


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER II}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER II}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER II}

Mr.\ Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable family,
which for the last two or three generations had been rising into gentility
and property. He had received a good education, but, on succeeding
early in life to a small independence, had become indisposed for any
of the more homely pursuits in which his brothers were engaged, and
had satisfied an active, cheerful mind and social temper by entering
into the militia of his county, then embodied.

Captain Weston was a general favourite; and when the chances of his
military life had introduced him to Miss Churchill, of a great Yorkshire
family, and Miss Churchill fell in love with him, nobody was surprized,
except her brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and who were
full of pride and importance, which the connexion would offend.

Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full command of
her fortune\mbox{---}though her fortune bore no proportion to the
family-estate\mbox{---}was not to be dissuaded from the marriage,
and it took place, to the infinite mortification of Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Churchill,
who threw her off with due decorum. It was an unsuitable connexion,
and did not produce much happiness. Mrs.\ Weston ought to have found
more in it, for she had a husband whose warm heart and sweet temper
made him think every thing due to her in return for the great goodness
of being in love with him; but though she had one sort of spirit,
she had not the best. She had resolution enough to pursue her own
will in spite of her brother, but not enough to refrain from unreasonable
regrets at that brother's unreasonable anger, nor from missing the
luxuries of her former home. They lived beyond their income, but still
it was nothing in comparison of Enscombe: she did not cease to love
her husband, but she wanted at once to be the wife of Captain Weston,
and Miss Churchill of Enscombe.

Captain Weston, who had been considered, especially by the Churchills,
as making such an amazing match, was proved to have much the worst
of the bargain; for when his wife died, after a three years' marriage,
he was rather a poorer man than at first, and with a child to maintain.
From the expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved. The
boy had, with the additional softening claim of a lingering illness
of his mother's, been the means of a sort of reconciliation; and Mr.\ and
Mrs.\ Churchill, having no children of their own, nor any other young
creature of equal kindred to care for, offered to take the whole charge
of the little Frank soon after her decease. Some scruples and some
reluctance the widower-father may be supposed to have felt; but as
they were overcome by other considerations, the child was given up
to the care and the wealth of the Churchills, and he had only his
own comfort to seek, and his own situation to improve as he could.

A complete change of life became desirable. He quitted the militia
and engaged in trade, having brothers already established in a good
way in London, which afforded him a favourable opening. It was a concern
which brought just employment enough. He had still a small house in
Highbury, where most of his leisure days were spent; and between useful
occupation and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or twenty
years of his life passed cheerfully away. He had, by that time, realised
an easy competence\mbox{---}enough to secure the purchase of a little
estate adjoining Highbury, which he had always longed for\mbox{---}enough
to marry a woman as portionless even as Miss Taylor, and to live according
to the wishes of his own friendly and social disposition.

It was now some time since Miss Taylor had begun to influence his
schemes; but as it was not the tyrannic influence of youth on youth,
it had not shaken his determination of never settling till he could
purchase Randalls, and the sale of Randalls was long looked forward
to; but he had gone steadily on, with these objects in view, till
they were accomplished. He had made his fortune, bought his house,
and obtained his wife; and was beginning a new period of existence,
with every probability of greater happiness than in any yet passed
through. He had never been an unhappy man; his own temper had secured
him from that, even in his first marriage; but his second must shew
him how delightful a well-judging and truly amiable woman could be,
and must give him the pleasantest proof of its being a great deal
better to choose than to be chosen, to excite gratitude than to feel
it.

He had only himself to please in his choice: his fortune was his own;
for as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly brought up as his
uncle's heir, it had become so avowed an adoption as to have him assume
the name of Churchill on coming of age. It was most unlikely, therefore,
that he should ever want his father's assistance. His father had no
apprehension of it. The aunt was a capricious woman, and governed
her husband entirely; but it was not in Mr.\ Weston's nature to imagine
that any caprice could be strong enough to affect one so dear, and,
as he believed, so deservedly dear. He saw his son every year in London,
and was proud of him; and his fond report of him as a very fine young
man had made Highbury feel a sort of pride in him too. He was looked
on as sufficiently belonging to the place to make his merits and prospects
a kind of common concern.

Mr.\ Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, and a lively
curiosity to see him prevailed, though the compliment was so little
returned that he had never been there in his life. His coming to visit
his father had been often talked of but never achieved.

Now, upon his father's marriage, it was very generally proposed, as
a most proper attention, that the visit should take place. There was
not a dissentient voice on the subject, either when Mrs.\ Perry drank
tea with Mrs.\ and Miss Bates, or when Mrs.\ and Miss Bates returned
the visit. Now was the time for Mr.\ Frank Churchill to come among
them; and the hope strengthened when it was understood that he had
written to his new mother on the occasion. For a few days, every morning
visit in Highbury included some mention of the handsome letter Mrs.\ Weston
had received. {}``I suppose you have heard of the handsome letter
Mr.\ Frank Churchill has written to Mrs.\ Weston? I understand it
was a very handsome letter, indeed. Mr.\ Woodhouse told me of it.
Mr.\ Woodhouse saw the letter, and he says he never saw such a handsome
letter in his life.''

It was, indeed, a highly prized letter. Mrs.\ Weston had, of course,
formed a very favourable idea of the young man; and such a pleasing
attention was an irresistible proof of his great good sense, and a
most welcome addition to every source and every expression of congratulation
which her marriage had already secured. She felt herself a most fortunate
woman; and she had lived long enough to know how fortunate she might
well be thought, where the only regret was for a partial separation
from friends whose friendship for her had never cooled, and who could
ill bear to part with her.

She knew that at times she must be missed; and could not think, without
pain, of Emma's losing a single pleasure, or suffering an hour's ennui,
from the want of her companionableness: but dear Emma was of no feeble
character; she was more equal to her situation than most girls would
have been, and had sense, and energy, and spirits that might be hoped
would bear her well and happily through its little difficulties and
privations. And then there was such comfort in the very easy distance
of Randalls from Hartfield, so convenient for even solitary female
walking, and in Mr.\ Weston's disposition and circumstances, which
would make the approaching season no hindrance to their spending half
the evenings in the week together.

Her situation was altogether the subject of hours of gratitude to
Mrs.\ Weston, and of moments only of regret; and her satisfaction\mbox{-----}her
more than satisfaction\mbox{---}her cheerful enjoyment, was so just
and so apparent, that Emma, well as she knew her father, was sometimes
taken by surprize at his being still able to pity `poor Miss Taylor,'
when they left her at Randalls in the centre of every domestic comfort,
or saw her go away in the evening attended by her pleasant husband
to a carriage of her own. But never did she go without Mr.\ Woodhouse's
giving a gentle sigh, and saying, {}``Ah, poor Miss Taylor! She would
be very glad to stay.''

There was no recovering Miss Taylor\mbox{---}nor much likelihood
of ceasing to pity her; but a few weeks brought some alleviation to
Mr.\ Woodhouse. The compliments of his neighbours were over; he was
no longer teased by being wished joy of so sorrowful an event; and
the wedding-cake, which had been a great distress to him, was all
eat up. His own stomach could bear nothing rich, and he could never
believe other people to be different from himself. What was unwholesome
to him he regarded as unfit for any body; and he had, therefore, earnestly
tried to dissuade them from having any wedding-cake at all, and when
that proved vain, as earnestly tried to prevent any body's eating
it. He had been at the pains of consulting Mr.\ Perry, the apothecary,
on the subject. Mr.\ Perry was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man,
whose frequent visits were one of the comforts of Mr.\ Woodhouse's
life; and upon being applied to, he could not but acknowledge (though
it seemed rather against the bias of inclination) that wedding-cake
might certainly disagree with many\mbox{---}perhaps with most people,
unless taken moderately. With such an opinion, in confirmation of
his own, Mr.\ Woodhouse hoped to influence every visitor of the newly
married pair; but still the cake was eaten; and there was no rest
for his benevolent nerves till it was all gone.

There was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little Perrys being
seen with a slice of Mrs.\ Weston's wedding-cake in their hands:
but Mr.\ Woodhouse would never believe it.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER III}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER III}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER III}

Mr.\ Woodhouse was fond of society in his own way. He liked very
much to have his friends come and see him; and from various united
causes, from his long residence at Hartfield, and his good nature,
from his fortune, his house, and his daughter, he could command the
visits of his own little circle, in a great measure, as he liked.
He had not much intercourse with any families beyond that circle;
his horror of late hours, and large dinner-parties, made him unfit
for any acquaintance but such as would visit him on his own terms.
Fortunately for him, Highbury, including Randalls in the same parish,
and Donwell Abbey in the parish adjoining, the seat of Mr.\ Knightley,
comprehended many such. Not unfrequently, through Emma's persuasion,
he had some of the chosen and the best to dine with him: but evening
parties were what he preferred; and, unless he fancied himself at
any time unequal to company, there was scarcely an evening in the
week in which Emma could not make up a card-table for him.

Real, long-standing regard brought the Westons and Mr.\ Knightley;
and by Mr.\ Elton, a young man living alone without liking it, the
privilege of exchanging any vacant evening of his own blank solitude
for the elegancies and society of Mr.\ Woodhouse's drawing-room,
and the smiles of his lovely daughter, was in no danger of being thrown
away.

After these came a second set; among the most come-at-able of whom
were Mrs.\ and Miss Bates, and Mrs.\ Goddard, three ladies almost
always at the service of an invitation from Hartfield, and who were
fetched and carried home so often, that Mr.\ Woodhouse thought it
no hardship for either James or the horses. Had it taken place only
once a year, it would have been a grievance.

Mrs.\ Bates, the widow of a former vicar of Highbury, was a very
old lady, almost past every thing but tea and quadrille. She lived
with her single daughter in a very small way, and was considered with
all the regard and respect which a harmless old lady, under such untoward
circumstances, can excite. Her daughter enjoyed a most uncommon degree
of popularity for a woman neither young, handsome, rich, nor married.
Miss Bates stood in the very worst predicament in the world for having
much of the public favour; and she had no intellectual superiority
to make atonement to herself, or frighten those who might hate her
into outward respect. She had never boasted either beauty or cleverness.
Her youth had passed without distinction, and her middle of life was
devoted to the care of a failing mother, and the endeavour to make
a small income go as far as possible. And yet she was a happy woman,
and a woman whom no one named without good-will. It was her own universal
good-will and contented temper which worked such wonders. She loved
every body, was interested in every body's happiness, quicksighted
to every body's merits; thought herself a most fortunate creature,
and surrounded with blessings in such an excellent mother, and so
many good neighbours and friends, and a home that wanted for nothing.
The simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature, her contented and grateful
spirit, were a recommendation to every body, and a mine of felicity
to herself. She was a great talker upon little matters, which exactly
suited Mr.\ Woodhouse, full of trivial communications and harmless
gossip.

Mrs.\ Goddard was the mistress of a School\mbox{---}not of a seminary,
or an establishment, or any thing which professed, in long sentences
of refined nonsense, to combine liberal acquirements with elegant
morality, upon new principles and new systems\mbox{---}and where
young ladies for enormous pay might be screwed out of health and into
vanity\mbox{---}but a real, honest, old-fashioned Boarding-school,
where a reasonable quantity of accomplishments were sold at a reasonable
price, and where girls might be sent to be out of the way, and scramble
themselves into a little education, without any danger of coming back
prodigies. Mrs.\ Goddard's school was in high repute\mbox{---}and
very deservedly; for Highbury was reckoned a particularly healthy
spot: she had an ample house and garden, gave the children plenty
of wholesome food, let them run about a great deal in the summer,
and in winter dressed their chilblains with her own hands. It was
no wonder that a train of twenty young couple now walked after her
to church. She was a plain, motherly kind of woman, who had worked
hard in her youth, and now thought herself entitled to the occasional
holiday of a tea-visit; and having formerly owed much to Mr.\ Woodhouse's
kindness, felt his particular claim on her to leave her neat parlour,
hung round with fancy-work, whenever she could, and win or lose a
few sixpences by his fireside.

These were the ladies whom Emma found herself very frequently able
to collect; and happy was she, for her father's sake, in the power;
though, as far as she was herself concerned, it was no remedy for
the absence of Mrs.\ Weston. She was delighted to see her father
look comfortable, and very much pleased with herself for contriving
things so well; but the quiet prosings of three such women made her
feel that every evening so spent was indeed one of the long evenings
she had fearfully anticipated.

As she sat one morning, looking forward to exactly such a close of
the present day, a note was brought from Mrs.\ Goddard, requesting,
in most respectful terms, to be allowed to bring Miss Smith with her;
a most welcome request: for Miss Smith was a girl of seventeen, whom
Emma knew very well by sight, and had long felt an interest in, on
account of her beauty. A very gracious invitation was returned, and
the evening no longer dreaded by the fair mistress of the mansion.

Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of somebody. Somebody had placed
her, several years back, at Mrs.\ Goddard's school, and somebody
had lately raised her from the condition of scholar to that of parlour-boarder.
This was all that was generally known of her history. She had no visible
friends but what had been acquired at Highbury, and was now just returned
from a long visit in the country to some young ladies who had been
at school there with her.

She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sort
which Emma particularly admired. She was short, plump, and fair, with
a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular features, and a look
of great sweetness, and, before the end of the evening, Emma was as
much pleased with her manners as her person, and quite determined
to continue the acquaintance.

She was not struck by any thing remarkably clever in Miss Smith's
conversation, but she found her altogether very engaging\mbox{---}not
inconveniently shy, not unwilling to talk\mbox{---}and yet so far
from pushing, shewing so proper and becoming a deference, seeming
so pleasantly grateful for being admitted to Hartfield, and so artlessly
impressed by the appearance of every thing in so superior a style
to what she had been used to, that she must have good sense, and deserve
encouragement. Encouragement should be given. Those soft blue eyes,
and all those natural graces, should not be wasted on the inferior
society of Highbury and its connexions. The acquaintance she had already
formed were unworthy of her. The friends from whom she had just parted,
though very good sort of people, must be doing her harm. They were
a family of the name of Martin, whom Emma well knew by character,
as renting a large farm of Mr.\ Knightley, and residing in the parish
of Donwell\mbox{---}very creditably, she believed\mbox{---}she knew
Mr.\ Knightley thought highly of them\mbox{---}but they must be
coarse and unpolished, and very unfit to be the intimates of a girl
who wanted only a little more knowledge and elegance to be quite perfect.
\emph{She} would notice her; she would improve her; she would detach
her from her bad acquaintance, and introduce her into good society;
she would form her opinions and her manners. It would be an interesting,
and certainly a very kind undertaking; highly becoming her own situation
in life, her leisure, and powers.

She was so busy in admiring those soft blue eyes, in talking and listening,
and forming all these schemes in the in-betweens, that the evening
flew away at a very unusual rate; and the supper-table, which always
closed such parties, and for which she had been used to sit and watch
the due time, was all set out and ready, and moved forwards to the
fire, before she was aware. With an alacrity beyond the common impulse
of a spirit which yet was never indifferent to the credit of doing
every thing well and attentively, with the real good-will of a mind
delighted with its own ideas, did she then do all the honours of the
meal, and help and recommend the minced chicken and scalloped oysters,
with an urgency which she knew would be acceptable to the early hours
and civil scruples of their guests.

Upon such occasions poor Mr.\ Woodhouses feelings were in sad warfare.
He loved to have the cloth laid, because it had been the fashion of
his youth, but his conviction of suppers being very unwholesome made
him rather sorry to see any thing put on it; and while his hospitality
would have welcomed his visitors to every thing, his care for their
health made him grieve that they would eat.

Such another small basin of thin gruel as his own was all that he
could, with thorough self-approbation, recommend; though he might
constrain himself, while the ladies were comfortably clearing the
nicer things, to say:

{}``Mrs.\ Bates, let me propose your venturing on one of these eggs.
An egg boiled very soft is not unwholesome. Serle understands boiling
an egg better than any body. I would not recommend an egg boiled by
any body else; but you need not be afraid, they are very small, you
see\mbox{---}one of our small eggs will not hurt you. Miss Bates,
let Emma help you to a \emph{little} bit of tart\mbox{---}a \emph{very}
little bit. Ours are all apple-tarts. You need not be afraid of unwholesome
preserves here. I do not advise the custard. Mrs.\ Goddard, what
say you to \emph{half} a glass of wine? A \emph{small} half-glass,
put into a tumbler of water? I do not think it could disagree with
you.''

Emma allowed her father to talk\mbox{---}but supplied her visitors
in a much more satisfactory style, and on the present evening had
particular pleasure in sending them away happy. The happiness of Miss
Smith was quite equal to her intentions. Miss Woodhouse was so great
a personage in Highbury, that the prospect of the introduction had
given as much panic as pleasure; but the humble, grateful little girl
went off with highly gratified feelings, delighted with the affability
with which Miss Woodhouse had treated her all the evening, and actually
shaken hands with her at last!


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER IV}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER IV}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER IV}

Harriet Smith's intimacy at Hartfield was soon a settled thing. Quick
and decided in her ways, Emma lost no time in inviting, encouraging,
and telling her to come very often; and as their acquaintance increased,
so did their satisfaction in each other. As a walking companion, Emma
had very early foreseen how useful she might find her. In that respect
Mrs.\ Weston's loss had been important. Her father never went beyond
the shrubbery, where two divisions of the ground sufficed him for
his long walk, or his short, as the year varied; and since Mrs.\ Weston's
marriage her exercise had been too much confined. She had ventured
once alone to Randalls, but it was not pleasant; and a Harriet Smith,
therefore, one whom she could summon at any time to a walk, would
be a valuable addition to her privileges. But in every respect, as
she saw more of her, she approved her, and was confirmed in all her
kind designs.

Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile, grateful
disposition, was totally free from conceit, and only desiring to be
guided by any one she looked up to. Her early attachment to herself
was very amiable; and her inclination for good company, and power
of appreciating what was elegant and clever, shewed that there was
no want of taste, though strength of understanding must not be expected.
Altogether she was quite convinced of Harriet Smith's being exactly
the young friend she wanted\mbox{---}exactly the something which
her home required. Such a friend as Mrs.\ Weston was out of the question.
Two such could never be granted. Two such she did not want. It was
quite a different sort of thing, a sentiment distinct and independent.
Mrs.\ Weston was the object of a regard which had its basis in gratitude
and esteem. Harriet would be loved as one to whom she could be useful.
For Mrs.\ Weston there was nothing to be done; for Harriet every
thing.

Her first attempts at usefulness were in an endeavour to find out
who were the parents, but Harriet could not tell. She was ready to
tell every thing in her power, but on this subject questions were
vain. Emma was obliged to fancy what she liked\mbox{---}but she could
never believe that in the same situation \emph{she} should not have
discovered the truth. Harriet had no penetration. She had been satisfied
to hear and believe just what Mrs.\ Goddard chose to tell her; and
looked no farther.

Mrs.\ Goddard, and the teachers, and the girls and the affairs of
the school in general, formed naturally a great part of the conversation\mbox{---}and
but for her acquaintance with the Martins of Abbey-Mill Farm, it must
have been the whole. But the Martins occupied her thoughts a good
deal; she had spent two very happy months with them, and now loved
to talk of the pleasures of her visit, and describe the many comforts
and wonders of the place. Emma encouraged her talkativeness\mbox{---}amused
by such a picture of another set of beings, and enjoying the youthful
simplicity which could speak with so much exultation of Mrs.\ Martin's
having {}``\emph{two} parlours, two very good parlours, indeed; one
of them quite as large as Mrs.\ Goddard's drawing-room; and of her
having an upper maid who had lived five-and-twenty years with her;
and of their having eight cows, two of them Alderneys, and one a little
Welch cow, a very pretty little Welch cow indeed; and of Mrs.\ Martin's
saying as she was so fond of it, it should be called \emph{her} cow;
and of their having a very handsome summer-house in their garden,
where some day next year they were all to drink tea:\mbox{---}a very
handsome summer-house, large enough to hold a dozen people.''

For some time she was amused, without thinking beyond the immediate
cause; but as she came to understand the family better, other feelings
arose. She had taken up a wrong idea, fancying it was a mother and
daughter, a son and son's wife, who all lived together; but when it
appeared that the Mr.\ Martin, who bore a part in the narrative,
and was always mentioned with approbation for his great good-nature
in doing something or other, was a single man; that there was no young
Mrs.\ Martin, no wife in the case; she did suspect danger to her
poor little friend from all this hospitality and kindness, and that,
if she were not taken care of, she might be required to sink herself
forever.

With this inspiriting notion, her questions increased in number and
meaning; and she particularly led Harriet to talk more of Mr.\ Martin,
and there was evidently no dislike to it. Harriet was very ready to
speak of the share he had had in their moonlight walks and merry evening
games; and dwelt a good deal upon his being so very good-humoured
and obliging. He had gone three miles round one day in order to bring
her some walnuts, because she had said how fond she was of them, and
in every thing else he was so very obliging. He had his shepherd's
son into the parlour one night on purpose to sing to her. She was
very fond of singing. He could sing a little himself. She believed
he was very clever, and understood every thing. He had a very fine
flock, and, while she was with them, he had been bid more for his
wool than any body in the country. She believed every body spoke well
of him. His mother and sisters were very fond of him. Mrs.\ Martin
had told her one day (and there was a blush as she said it,) that
it was impossible for any body to be a better son, and therefore she
was sure, whenever he married, he would make a good husband. Not that
she \emph{wanted} him to marry. She was in no hurry at all.

{}``Well done, Mrs.\ Martin!''\ thought Emma. {}``You know what
you are about.''

{}``And when she had come away, Mrs.\ Martin was so very kind as
to send Mrs.\ Goddard a beautiful goose\mbox{---}the finest goose
Mrs.\ Goddard had ever seen. Mrs.\ Goddard had dressed it on a Sunday,
and asked all the three teachers, Miss Nash, and Miss Prince, and
Miss Richardson, to sup with her.''

{}``Mr.\ Martin, I suppose, is not a man of information beyond the
line of his own business? He does not read?''\ 

{}``Oh yes!\mbox{---}that is, no\mbox{---}I do not know\mbox{---}but
I believe he has read a good deal\mbox{---}but not what you would
think any thing of. He reads the \emph{Agricultural Reports}, and
some other books that lay in one of the window seats\mbox{---}but
he reads all \emph{them} to himself. But sometimes of an evening,
before we went to cards, he would read something aloud out of the
\emph{Elegant Extracts}, very entertaining. And I know he has read
the \emph{Vicar of Wakefield}. He never read the \emph{Romance of
the Forest}, nor \emph{The Children of the Abbey}. He had never heard
of such books before I mentioned them, but he is determined to get
them now as soon as ever he can.''

The next question was\mbox{---}

{}``What sort of looking man is Mr.\ Martin?''\ 

{}``Oh!\ not handsome\mbox{---}not at all handsome. I thought him
very plain at first, but I do not think him so plain now. One does
not, you know, after a time. But did you never see him? He is in Highbury
every now and then, and he is sure to ride through every week in his
way to Kingston. He has passed you very often.''

{}``That may be, and I may have seen him fifty times, but without
having any idea of his name. A young farmer, whether on horseback
or on foot, is the very last sort of person to raise my curiosity.
The yeomanry are precisely the order of people with whom I feel I
can have nothing to do. A degree or two lower, and a creditable appearance
might interest me; I might hope to be useful to their families in
some way or other. But a farmer can need none of my help, and is,
therefore, in one sense, as much above my notice as in every other
he is below it.''

{}``To be sure. Oh yes! It is not likely you should ever have observed
him; but he knows you very well indeed\mbox{---}I mean by sight.''

{}``I have no doubt of his being a very respectable young man. I
know, indeed, that he is so, and, as such, wish him well. What do
you imagine his age to be?''\ 

{}``He was four-and-twenty the 8th of last June, and my birthday
is the 23rd just a fortnight and a day's difference\mbox{---}which
is very odd.''

{}``Only four-and-twenty. That is too young to settle. His mother
is perfectly right not to be in a hurry. They seem very comfortable
as they are, and if she were to take any pains to marry him, she would
probably repent it. Six years hence, if he could meet with a good
sort of young woman in the same rank as his own, with a little money,
it might be very desirable.''

{}``Six years hence! Dear Miss Woodhouse, he would be thirty years
old!''\ 

{}``Well, and that is as early as most men can afford to marry, who
are not born to an independence. Mr.\ Martin, I imagine, has his
fortune entirely to make\mbox{---}cannot be at all beforehand with
the world. Whatever money he might come into when his father died,
whatever his share of the family property, it is, I dare say, all
afloat, all employed in his stock, and so forth; and though, with
diligence and good luck, he may be rich in time, it is next to impossible
that he should have realised any thing yet.''

{}``To be sure, so it is. But they live very comfortably. They have
no indoors man, else they do not want for any thing; and Mrs.\ Martin
talks of taking a boy another year.''

{}``I wish you may not get into a scrape, Harriet, whenever he does
marry;\mbox{---}I mean, as to being acquainted with his wife\mbox{---}for
though his sisters, from a superior education, are not to be altogether
objected to, it does not follow that he might marry any body at all
fit for you to notice. The misfortune of your birth ought to make
you particularly careful as to your associates. There can be no doubt
of your being a gentleman's daughter, and you must support your claim
to that station by every thing within your own power, or there will
be plenty of people who would take pleasure in degrading you.''

{}``Yes, to be sure, I suppose there are. But while I visit at Hartfield,
and you are so kind to me, Miss Woodhouse, I am not afraid of what
any body can do.''

{}``You understand the force of influence pretty well, Harriet; but
I would have you so firmly established in good society, as to be independent
even of Hartfield and Miss Woodhouse. I want to see you permanently
well connected, and to that end it will be advisable to have as few
odd acquaintance as may be; and, therefore, I say that if you should
still be in this country when Mr.\ Martin marries, I wish you may
not be drawn in by your intimacy with the sisters, to be acquainted
with the wife, who will probably be some mere farmer's daughter, without
education.''

{}``To be sure. Yes. Not that I think Mr.\ Martin would ever marry
any body but what had had some education\mbox{---}and been very well
brought up. However, I do not mean to set up my opinion against your's\mbox{---}and
I am sure I shall not wish for the acquaintance of his wife. I shall
always have a great regard for the Miss Martins, especially Elizabeth,
and should be very sorry to give them up, for they are quite as well
educated as me. But if he marries a very ignorant, vulgar woman, certainly
I had better not visit her, if I can help it.''

Emma watched her through the fluctuations of this speech, and saw
no alarming symptoms of love. The young man had been the first admirer,
but she trusted there was no other hold, and that there would be no
serious difficulty, on Harriet's side, to oppose any friendly arrangement
of her own.

They met Mr.\ Martin the very next day, as they were walking on the
Donwell road. He was on foot, and after looking very respectfully
at her, looked with most unfeigned satisfaction at her companion.
Emma was not sorry to have such an opportunity of survey; and walking
a few yards forward, while they talked together, soon made her quick
eye sufficiently acquainted with Mr.\ Robert Martin. His appearance
was very neat, and he looked like a sensible young man, but his person
had no other advantage; and when he came to be contrasted with gentlemen,
she thought he must lose all the ground he had gained in Harriet's
inclination. Harriet was not insensible of manner; she had voluntarily
noticed her father's gentleness with admiration as well as wonder.
Mr.\ Martin looked as if he did not know what manner was.

They remained but a few minutes together, as Miss Woodhouse must not
be kept waiting; and Harriet then came running to her with a smiling
face, and in a flutter of spirits, which Miss Woodhouse hoped very
soon to compose.

{}``Only think of our happening to meet him!\mbox{---} How very
odd! It was quite a chance, he said, that he had not gone round by
Randalls. He did not think we ever walked this road. He thought we
walked towards Randalls most days. He has not been able to get the
\emph{Romance of the Forest} yet. He was so busy the last time he
was at Kingston that he quite forgot it, but he goes again to-morrow.
So very odd we should happen to meet! Well, Miss Woodhouse, is he
like what you expected? What do you think of him? Do you think him
so very plain?''\ 

{}``He is very plain, un\-doubt\-ed\-ly\mbox{---}remarkably plain:\mbox{---}but
that is nothing compared with his entire want of gentility. I had
no right to expect much, and I did not expect much; but I had no idea
that he could be so very clownish, so totally without air. I had imagined
him, I confess, a degree or two nearer gentility.''

{}``To be sure,'' said Harriet, in a mortified voice, {}``he is
not so genteel as real gentlemen.''

{}``I think, Harriet, since your acquaintance with us, you have been
repeatedly in the company of some such very real gentlemen, that you
must yourself be struck with the difference in Mr.\ Martin. At Hartfield,
you have had very good specimens of well educated, well bred men.
I should be surprized if, after seeing them, you could be in company
with Mr.\ Martin again without perceiving him to be a very inferior
creature\mbox{---}and rather wondering at yourself for having ever
thought him at all agreeable before. Do not you begin to feel that
now? Were not you struck? I am sure you must have been struck by his
awkward look and abrupt manner, and the uncouthness of a voice which
I heard to be wholly unmodulated as I stood here.''

{}``Certainly, he is not like Mr.\ Knightley. He has not such a
fine air and way of walking as Mr.\ Knightley. I see the difference
plain enough. But Mr.\ Knightley is so very fine a man!''\ 

{}``Mr.\ Knightley's air is so remarkably good that it is not fair
to compare Mr.\ Martin with \emph{him}. You might not see one in
a hundred with \emph{gentleman} so plainly written as in Mr.\ Knightley.
But he is not the only gentleman you have been lately used to. What
say you to Mr.\ Weston and Mr.\ Elton? Compare Mr.\ Martin with
either of \emph{them}. Compare their manner of carrying themselves;
of walking; of speaking; of being silent. You must see the difference.''

{}``Oh yes!\mbox{---}there is a great difference. But Mr.\ Weston
is almost an old man. Mr.\ Weston must be between forty and fifty.''

{}``Which makes his good manners the more valuable. The older a person
grows, Harriet, the more important it is that their manners should
not be bad; the more glaring and disgusting any loudness, or coarseness,
or awkwardness becomes. What is passable in youth is detestable in
later age. Mr.\ Martin is now awkward and abrupt; what will he be
at Mr.\ Weston's time of life?''\ 

{}``There is no saying, indeed,'' replied Harriet rather solemnly.

{}``But there may be pretty good guessing. He will be a completely
gross, vulgar farmer, totally inattentive to appearances, and thinking
of nothing but profit and loss.''

{}``Will he, indeed? That will be very bad.''

{}``How much his business engrosses him already is very plain from
the circumstance of his forgetting to inquire for the book you recommended.
He was a great deal too full of the market to think of any thing else\mbox{---}which
is just as it should be, for a thriving man. What has he to do with
books? And I have no doubt that he \emph{will} thrive, and be a very
rich man in time\mbox{---}and his being illiterate and coarse need
not disturb \emph{us}.''

{}``I wonder he did not remember the book''\mbox{---}was all Harriet's
answer, and spoken with a degree of grave displeasure which Emma thought
might be safely left to itself. She, therefore, said no more for some
time. Her next beginning was,

{}``In one respect, perhaps, Mr.\ Elton's manners are superior to
Mr.\ Knightley's or Mr.\ Weston's. They have more gentleness. They
might be more safely held up as a pattern. There is an openness, a
quickness, almost a bluntness in Mr.\ Weston, which every body likes
in \emph{him}, because there is so much good-humour with it\mbox{---}but
that would not do to be copied. Neither would Mr.\ Knightley's downright,
decided, commanding sort of manner, though it suits \emph{him} very
well; his figure, and look, and situation in life seem to allow it;
but if any young man were to set about copying him, he would not be
sufferable. On the contrary, I think a young man might be very safely
recommended to take Mr.\ Elton as a model. Mr.\ Elton is good-humoured,
cheerful, obliging, and gentle. He seems to me to be grown particularly
gentle of late. I do not know whether he has any design of ingratiating
himself with either of us, Harriet, by additional softness, but it
strikes me that his manners are softer than they used to be. If he
means any thing, it must be to please you. Did not I tell you what
he said of you the other day?''\ 

She then repeated some warm personal praise which she had drawn from
Mr.\ Elton, and now did full justice to; and Harriet blushed and
smiled, and said she had always thought Mr.\ Elton very agreeable.

Mr.\ Elton was the very person fixed on by Emma for driving the young
farmer out of Harriet's head. She thought it would be an excellent
match; and only too palpably desirable, natural, and probable, for
her to have much merit in planning it. She feared it was what every
body else must think of and predict. It was not likely, however, that
any body should have equalled her in the date of the plan, as it had
entered her brain during the very first evening of Harriet's coming
to Hartfield. The longer she considered it, the greater was her sense
of its expediency. Mr.\ Elton's situation was most suitable, quite
the gentleman himself, and without low connexions; at the same time,
not of any family that could fairly object to the doubtful birth of
Harriet. He had a comfortable home for her, and Emma imagined a very
sufficient income; for though the vicarage of Highbury was not large,
he was known to have some independent property; and she thought very
highly of him as a good-humoured, well-meaning, respectable young
man, without any deficiency of useful understanding or knowledge of
the world.

She had already satisfied herself that he thought Harriet a beautiful
girl, which she trusted, with such frequent meetings at Hartfield,
was foundation enough on his side; and on Harriet's there could be
little doubt that the idea of being preferred by him would have all
the usual weight and efficacy. And he was really a very pleasing young
man, a young man whom any woman not fastidious might like. He was
reckoned very handsome; his person much admired in general, though
not by her, there being a want of elegance of feature which she could
not dispense with:\mbox{---}but the girl who could be gratified by
a Robert Martin's riding about the country to get walnuts for her
might very well be conquered by Mr.\ Elton's admiration.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER V}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER V}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER V}

{}``I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs.\ Weston,'' said
Mr.\ Knightley, {}``of this great intimacy between Emma and Harriet
Smith, but I think it a bad thing.''

{}``A bad thing! Do you really think it a bad thing?\mbox{---}why
so?''\ 

{}``I think they will neither of them do the other any good.''

{}``You surprize me! Emma must do Harriet good: and by supplying
her with a new object of interest, Harriet may be said to do Emma
good. I have been seeing their intimacy with the greatest pleasure.
How very differently we feel!\mbox{---} Not think they will do each
other any good! This will certainly be the beginning of one of our
quarrels about Emma, Mr.\ Knightley.''

{}``Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel with you, knowing
Weston to be out, and that you must still fight your own battle.''

{}``Mr.\ Weston would undoubtedly support me, if he were here, for
he thinks exactly as I do on the subject. We were speaking of it only
yesterday, and agreeing how fortunate it was for Emma, that there
should be such a girl in Highbury for her to associate with. Mr.\ Knightley,
I shall not allow you to be a fair judge in this case. You are so
much used to live alone, that you do not know the value of a companion;
and, perhaps no man can be a good judge of the comfort a woman feels
in the society of one of her own sex, after being used to it all her
life. I can imagine your objection to Harriet Smith. She is not the
superior young woman which Emma's friend ought to be. But on the other
hand, as Emma wants to see her better informed, it will be an inducement
to her to read more herself. They will read together. She means it,
I know.''

{}``Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelve
years old. I have seen a great many lists of her drawing-up at various
times of books that she meant to read regularly through\mbox{---}and
very good lists they were\mbox{---}very well chosen, and very neatly
arranged\mbox{---}sometimes alphabetically, and sometimes by some
other rule. The list she drew up when only fourteen\mbox{---}I remember
thinking it did her judgment so much credit, that I preserved it some
time; and I dare say she may have made out a very good list now. But
I have done with expecting any course of steady reading from Emma.
She will never submit to any thing requiring industry and patience,
and a subjection of the fancy to the understanding. Where Miss Taylor
failed to stimulate, I may safely affirm that Harriet Smith will do
nothing.\mbox{---} You never could persuade her to read half so much
as you wished.\mbox{---} You know you could not.''

{}``I dare say,'' replied Mrs.\ Weston, smiling, {}``that I thought
so then;\mbox{---}but since we have parted, I can never remember
Emma's omitting to do any thing I wished.''

{}``There is hardly any desiring to refresh such a memory as that,''---said
Mr.\ Knightley, feelingly; and for a moment or two he had done. {}``But
I,'' he soon added, {}``who have had no such charm thrown over my
senses, must still see, hear, and remember. Emma is spoiled by being
the cleverest of her family. At ten years old, she had the misfortune
of being able to answer questions which puzzled her sister at seventeen.
She was always quick and assured: Isabella slow and diffident. And
ever since she was twelve, Emma has been mistress of the house and
of you all. In her mother she lost the only person able to cope with
her. She inherits her mother's talents, and must have been under subjection
to her.''

{}``I should have been sorry, Mr.\ Knightley, to be dependent on
\emph{your} recommendation, had I quitted Mr.\ Woodhouse's family
and wanted another situation; I do not think you would have spoken
a good word for me to any body. I am sure you always thought me unfit
for the office I held.''

{}``Yes,'' said he, smiling. {}``You are better placed \emph{here};
very fit for a wife, but not at all for a governess. But you were
preparing yourself to be an excellent wife all the time you were at
Hartfield. You might not give Emma such a complete education as your
powers would seem to promise; but you were receiving a very good education
from \emph{her}, on the very material matrimonial point of submitting
your own will, and doing as you were bid; and if Weston had asked
me to recommend him a wife, I should certainly have named Miss Taylor.''

{}``Thank you. There will be very little merit in making a good wife
to such a man as Mr.\ Weston.''

{}``Why, to own the truth, I am afraid you are rather thrown away,
and that with every disposition to bear, there will be nothing to
be borne. We will not despair, however. Weston may grow cross from
the wantonness of comfort, or his son may plague him.''

{}``I hope not \emph{that}.\mbox{---} It is not likely. No, Mr.\ Knightley,
do not foretell vexation from that quarter.''

{}``Not I, indeed. I only name possibilities. I do not pretend to
Emma's genius for foretelling and guessing. I hope, with all my heart,
the young man may be a Weston in merit, and a Churchill in fortune.\mbox{---}
But Harriet Smith\mbox{---}I have not half done about Harriet Smith.
I think her the very worst sort of companion that Emma could possibly
have. She knows nothing herself, and looks upon Emma as knowing every
thing. She is a flatterer in all her ways; and so much the worse,
because undesigned. Her ignorance is hourly flattery. How can Emma
imagine she has any thing to learn herself, while Harriet is presenting
such a delightful inferiority? And as for Harriet, I will venture
to say that \emph{she} cannot gain by the acquaintance. Hartfield
will only put her out of conceit with all the other places she belongs
to. She will grow just refined enough to be uncomfortable with those
among whom birth and circumstances have placed her home. I am much
mistaken if Emma's doctrines give any strength of mind, or tend at
all to make a girl adapt herself rationally to the varieties of her
situation in life.\mbox{---} They only give a little polish.''

{}``I either depend more upon Emma's good sense than you do, or am
more anxious for her present comfort; for I cannot lament the acquaintance.
How well she looked last night!''\ 

{}``Oh!\ you would rather talk of her person than her mind, would
you? Very well; I shall not attempt to deny Emma's being pretty.''

{}``Pretty!\ say beautiful rather. Can you imagine any thing nearer
perfect beauty than Emma altogether\mbox{---}face and figure?''\ 

{}``I do not know what I could imagine, but I confess that I have
seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers. But I
am a partial old friend.''

{}``Such an eye!\mbox{---}the true hazle eye\mbox{---}and so brilliant!\ regular
features, open countenance, with a complexion!\ oh!\ what a bloom
of full health, and such a pretty height and size; such a firm and
upright figure! There is health, not merely in her bloom, but in her
air, her head, her glance. One hears sometimes of a child being `the
picture of health;' now, Emma always gives me the idea of being the
complete picture of grown-up health. She is loveliness itself. Mr.\ Knightley,
is not she?''\ 

{}``I have not a fault to find with her person,'' he replied. {}``I
think her all you describe. I love to look at her; and I will add
this praise, that I do not think her personally vain. Considering
how very handsome she is, she appears to be little occupied with it;
her vanity lies another way. Mrs.\ Weston, I am not to be talked
out of my dislike of Harriet Smith, or my dread of its doing them
both harm.''

{}``And I, Mr.\ Knightley, am equally stout in my confidence of
its not doing them any harm. With all dear Emma's little faults, she
is an excellent creature. Where shall we see a better daughter, or
a kinder sister, or a truer friend? No, no; she has qualities which
may be trusted; she will never lead any one really wrong; she will
make no lasting blunder; where Emma errs once, she is in the right
a hundred times.''

{}``Very well; I will not plague you any more. Emma shall be an angel,
and I will keep my spleen to myself till Christmas brings John and
Isabella. John loves Emma with a reasonable and therefore not a blind
affection, and Isabella always thinks as he does; except when he is
not quite frightened enough about the children. I am sure of having
their opinions with me.''

{}``I know that you all love her really too well to be unjust or
unkind; but excuse me, Mr.\ Knightley, if I take the liberty (I consider
myself, you know, as having somewhat of the privilege of speech that
Emma's mother might have had) the liberty of hinting that I do not
think any possible good can arise from Harriet Smith's intimacy being
made a matter of much discussion among you. Pray excuse me; but supposing
any little inconvenience may be apprehended from the intimacy, it
cannot be expected that Emma, accountable to nobody but her father,
who perfectly approves the acquaintance, should put an end to it,
so long as it is a source of pleasure to herself. It has been so many
years my province to give advice, that you cannot be surprized, Mr.\ Knightley,
at this little remains of office.''

{}``Not at all,'' cried he; {}``I am much obliged to you for it.
It is very good advice, and it shall have a better fate than your
advice has often found; for it shall be attended to.''

{}``Mrs.\ John Knightley is easily alarmed, and might be made unhappy
about her sister.''

{}``Be satisfied,'' said he, {}``I will not raise any outcry. I
will keep my ill-humour to myself. I have a very sincere interest
in Emma. Isabella does not seem more my sister; has never excited
a greater interest; perhaps hardly so great. There is an anxiety,
a curiosity in what one feels for Emma. I wonder what will become
of her!''\ 

{}``So do I,'' said Mrs.\ Weston gently, {}``very much.''

{}``She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, means
just nothing at all. But I have no idea that she has yet ever seen
a man she cared for. It would not be a bad thing for her to be very
much in love with a proper object. I should like to see Emma in love,
and in some doubt of a return; it would do her good. But there is
nobody hereabouts to attach her; and she goes so seldom from home.''

{}``There does, indeed, seem as little to tempt her to break her
resolution at present,'' said Mrs.\ Weston, {}``as can well be;
and while she is so happy at Hartfield, I cannot wish her to be forming
any attachment which would be creating such difficulties on poor Mr.\ Woodhouse's
account. I do not recommend matrimony at present to Emma, though I
mean no slight to the state, I assure you.''

Part of her meaning was to conceal some favourite thoughts of her
own and Mr.\ Weston's on the subject, as much as possible. There
were wishes at Randalls respecting Emma's destiny, but it was not
desirable to have them suspected; and the quiet transition which Mr.\ Knightley
soon afterwards made to {}``What does Weston think of the weather;
shall we have rain?''\ convinced her that he had nothing more to
say or surmise about Hartfield.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER VI}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER VI}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER VI}

Emma could not feel a doubt of having given Harriet's fancy a proper
direction and raised the gratitude of her young vanity to a very good
purpose, for she found her decidedly more sensible than before of
Mr.\ Elton's being a remarkably handsome man, with most agreeable
manners; and as she had no hesitation in following up the assurance
of his admiration by agreeable hints, she was soon pretty confident
of creating as much liking on Harriet's side, as there could be any
occasion for. She was quite convinced of Mr.\ Elton's being in the
fairest way of falling in love, if not in love already. She had no
scruple with regard to him. He talked of Harriet, and praised her
so warmly, that she could not suppose any thing wanting which a little
time would not add. His perception of the striking improvement of
Harriet's manner, since her introduction at Hartfield, was not one
of the least agreeable proofs of his growing attachment.

{}``You have given Miss Smith all that she required,'' said he;
{}``you have made her graceful and easy. She was a beautiful creature
when she came to you, but, in my opinion, the attractions you have
added are infinitely superior to what she received from nature.''

{}``I am glad you think I have been useful to her; but Harriet only
wanted drawing out, and receiving a few, very few hints. She had all
the natural grace of sweetness of temper and artlessness in herself.
I have done very little.''

{}``If it were admissible to contradict a lady,'' said the gallant
Mr.\ Elton\mbox{---}

{}``I have perhaps given her a little more decision of character,
have taught her to think on points which had not fallen in her way
before.''

{}``Exactly so; that is what principally strikes me. So much superadded
decision of character! Skilful has been the hand!''\ 

{}``Great has been the pleasure, I am sure. I never met with a disposition
more truly amiable.''

{}``I have no doubt of it.'' And it was spoken with a sort of sighing
animation, which had a vast deal of the lover. She was not less pleased
another day with the manner in which he seconded a sudden wish of
hers, to have Harriet's picture.

{}``Did you ever have your likeness taken, Harriet?''\ said she:
{}``did you ever sit for your picture?''\ 

Harriet was on the point of leaving the room, and only stopt to say,
with a very interesting na\"{i}vete,

{}``Oh!\ dear, no, never.''

No sooner was she out of sight, than Emma exclaimed,

{}``What an exquisite possession a good picture of her would be!
I would give any money for it. I almost long to attempt her likeness
myself. You do not know it I dare say, but two or three years ago
I had a great passion for taking likenesses, and attempted several
of my friends, and was thought to have a tolerable eye in general.
But from one cause or another, I gave it up in disgust. But really,
I could almost venture, if Harriet would sit to me. It would be such
a delight to have her picture!''\ 

{}``Let me entreat you,'' cried Mr.\ Elton; {}``it would indeed
be a delight! Let me entreat you, Miss Woodhouse, to exercise so charming
a talent in favour of your friend. I know what your drawings are.
How could you suppose me ignorant? Is not this room rich in specimens
of your landscapes and flowers; and has not Mrs.\ Weston some inimitable
figure-pieces in her drawing-room, at Randalls?''\ 

Yes, good man!\mbox{---}thought Emma\mbox{---}but what has all that
to do with taking likenesses? You know nothing of drawing. Don't pretend
to be in raptures about mine. Keep your raptures for Harriet's face.
{}``Well, if you give me such kind encouragement, Mr.\ Elton, I
believe I shall try what I can do. Harriet's features are very delicate,
which makes a likeness difficult; and yet there is a peculiarity in
the shape of the eye and the lines about the mouth which one ought
to catch.''

{}``Exactly so\mbox{---}The shape of the eye and the lines about
the mouth\mbox{---}I have not a doubt of your success. Pray, pray
attempt it. As you will do it, it will indeed, to use your own words,
be an exquisite possession.''

{}``But I am afraid, Mr.\ Elton, Harriet will not like to sit. She
thinks so little of her own beauty. Did not you observe her manner
of answering me? How completely it meant, `why should my picture be
drawn?'''

{}``Oh!\ yes, I observed it, I assure you. It was not lost on me.
But still I cannot imagine she would not be persuaded.''

Harriet was soon back again, and the proposal almost immediately made;
and she had no scruples which could stand many minutes against the
earnest pressing of both the others. Emma wished to go to work directly,
and therefore produced the portfolio containing her various attempts
at portraits, for not one of them had ever been finished, that they
might decide together on the best size for Harriet. Her many beginnings
were displayed. Miniatures, half-lengths, whole-lengths, pencil, crayon,
and water-colours had been all tried in turn. She had always wanted
to do every thing, and had made more progress both in drawing and
music than many might have done with so little labour as she would
ever submit to. She played and sang;\mbox{---}and drew in almost
every style; but steadiness had always been wanting; and in nothing
had she approached the degree of excellence which she would have been
glad to command, and ought not to have failed of. She was not much
deceived as to her own skill either as an artist or a musician, but
she was not unwilling to have others deceived, or sorry to know her
reputation for accomplishment often higher than it deserved.

There was merit in every drawing\mbox{---}in the least finished,
perhaps the most; her style was spirited; but had there been much
less, or had there been ten times more, the delight and admiration
of her two companions would have been the same. They were both in
ecstasies. A likeness pleases every body; and Miss Woodhouse's performances
must be capital.

{}``No great variety of faces for you,'' said Emma. {}``I had only
my own family to study from. There is my father\mbox{---}another
of my father\mbox{---}but the idea of sitting for his picture made
him so nervous, that I could only take him by stealth; neither of
them very like therefore. Mrs.\ Weston again, and again, and again,
you see. Dear Mrs.\ Weston!\ always my kindest friend on every occasion.
She would sit whenever I asked her. There is my sister; and really
quite her own little elegant figure!\mbox{---}and the face not unlike.
I should have made a good likeness of her, if she would have sat longer,
but she was in such a hurry to have me draw her four children that
she would not be quiet. Then, here come all my attempts at three of
those four children;\mbox{---}there they are, Henry and John and
Bella, from one end of the sheet to the other, and any one of them
might do for any one of the rest. She was so eager to have them drawn
that I could not refuse; but there is no making children of three
or four years old stand still you know; nor can it be very easy to
take any likeness of them, beyond the air and complexion, unless they
are coarser featured than any of mama's children ever were. Here is
my sketch of the fourth, who was a baby. I took him as he was sleeping
on the sofa, and it is as strong a likeness of his cockade as you
would wish to see. He had nestled down his head most conveniently.
That's very like. I am rather proud of little George. The corner of
the sofa is very good. Then here is my last,''---unclosing a pretty
sketch of a gentleman in small size, whole-length\mbox{---}{}``my
last and my best\mbox{---}my brother, Mr.\ John Knightley.\mbox{---}
This did not want much of being finished, when I put it away in a
pet, and vowed I would never take another likeness. I could not help
being provoked; for after all my pains, and when I had really made
a very good likeness of it\mbox{---}(Mrs.\ Weston and I were quite
agreed in thinking it \emph{very} like)\mbox{---}only too handsome\mbox{---}too
flattering\mbox{---}but that was a fault on the right side\mbox{---}after
all this, came poor dear Isabella's cold approbation of\mbox{---}{}``Yes,
it was a little like\mbox{---}but to be sure it did not do him justice.''
We had had a great deal of trouble in persuading him to sit at all.
It was made a great favour of; and altogether it was more than I could
bear; and so I never would finish it, to have it apologised over as
an unfavourable likeness, to every morning visitor in Brunswick Square;\mbox{---}and,
as I said, I did then forswear ever drawing any body again. But for
Harriet's sake, or rather for my own, and as there are no husbands
and wives in the case at present, I will break my resolution now.''

Mr.\ Elton seemed very properly struck and delighted by the idea,
and was repeating, {}``No husbands and wives in the case \emph{at
present} indeed, as you observe. Exactly so. No husbands and wives,''
with so interesting a consciousness, that Emma began to consider whether
she had not better leave them together at once. But as she wanted
to be drawing, the declaration must wait a little longer.

She had soon fixed on the size and sort of portrait. It was to be
a whole-length in water-colours, like Mr.\ John Knightley's, and
was destined, if she could please herself, to hold a very honourable
station over the mantelpiece.

The sitting began; and Harriet, smiling and blushing, and afraid of
not keeping her attitude and countenance, presented a very sweet mixture
of youthful expression to the steady eyes of the artist. But there
was no doing any thing, with Mr.\ Elton fidgeting behind her and
watching every touch. She gave him credit for stationing himself where
he might gaze and gaze again without offence; but was really obliged
to put an end to it, and request him to place himself elsewhere. It
then occurred to her to employ him in reading.

{}``If he would be so good as to read to them, it would be a kindness
indeed! It would amuse away the difficulties of her part, and lessen
the irksomeness of Miss Smith's.''

Mr.\ Elton was only too happy. Harriet listened, and Emma drew in
peace. She must allow him to be still frequently coming to look; any
thing less would certainly have been too little in a lover; and he
was ready at the smallest intermission of the pencil, to jump up and
see the progress, and be charmed.\mbox{---} There was no being displeased
with such an encourager, for his admiration made him discern a likeness
almost before it was possible. She could not respect his eye, but
his love and his complaisance were unexceptionable.

The sitting was altogether very satisfactory; she was quite enough
pleased with the first day's sketch to wish to go on. There was no
want of likeness, she had been fortunate in the attitude, and as she
meant to throw in a little improvement to the figure, to give a little
more height, and considerably more elegance, she had great confidence
of its being in every way a pretty drawing at last, and of its filling
its destined place with credit to them both\mbox{---}a standing memorial
of the beauty of one, the skill of the other, and the friendship of
both; with as many other agreeable associations as Mr.\ Elton's very
promising attachment was likely to add.

Harriet was to sit again the next day; and Mr.\ Elton, just as he
ought, entreated for the permission of attending and reading to them
again.

{}``By all means. We shall be most happy to consider you as one of
the party.''

The same civilities and courtesies, the same success and satisfaction,
took place on the morrow, and accompanied the whole progress of the
picture, which was rapid and happy. Every body who saw it was pleased,
but Mr.\ Elton was in continual raptures, and defended it through
every criticism.

{}``Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty she wanted,''---observed
Mrs.\ Weston to him\mbox{---}not in the least suspecting that she
was addressing a lover.\mbox{---} {}``The expression of the eye
is most correct, but Miss Smith has not those eyebrows and eyelashes.
It is the fault of her face that she has them not.''

{}``Do you think so?''\ replied he. {}``I cannot agree with you.
It appears to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature. I never
saw such a likeness in my life. We must allow for the effect of shade,
you know.''

{}``You have made her too tall, Emma,'' said Mr.\ Knightley.

Emma knew that she had, but would not own it; and Mr.\ Elton warmly
added,

{}``Oh no!\ certainly not too tall; not in the least too tall. Consider,
she is sitting down\mbox{---}which naturally presents a different\mbox{---}which
in short gives exactly the idea\mbox{---}and the proportions must
be preserved, you know. Proportions, fore-shortening.\mbox{---} Oh
no!\ it gives one exactly the idea of such a height as Miss Smith's.
Exactly so indeed!''\ 

{}``It is very pretty,'' said Mr.\ Woodhouse. {}``So prettily
done! Just as your drawings always are, my dear. I do not know any
body who draws so well as you do. The only thing I do not thoroughly
like is, that she seems to be sitting out of doors, with only a little
shawl over her shoulders\mbox{---}and it makes one think she must
catch cold.''

{}``But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be summer; a warm day in
summer. Look at the tree.''

{}``But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear.''

{}``You, sir, may say any thing,'' cried Mr.\ Elton, {}``but I
must confess that I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing
of Miss Smith out of doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitable
spirit! Any other situation would have been much less in character.
The na\"{i}vete of Miss Smith's manners\mbox{---}and altogether\mbox{---}Oh,
it is most admirable! I cannot keep my eyes from it. I never saw such
a likeness.''

The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed; and here were
a few difficulties. It must be done directly; it must be done in London;
the order must go through the hands of some intelligent person whose
taste could be depended on; and Isabella, the usual doer of all commissions,
must not be applied to, because it was December, and Mr.\ Woodhouse
could not bear the idea of her stirring out of her house in the fogs
of December. But no sooner was the distress known to Mr.\ Elton,
than it was removed. His gallantry was always on the alert. {}``Might
he be trusted with the commission, what infinite pleasure should he
have in executing it!\ he could ride to London at any time. It was
impossible to say how much he should be gratified by being employed
on such an errand.''

{}``He was too good!\mbox{---}she could not endure the thought!\mbox{---}she
would not give him such a troublesome office for the world,''---brought
on the desired repetition of entreaties and assurances,\mbox{---}and
a very few minutes settled the business.

Mr.\ Elton was to take the drawing to London, chuse the frame, and
give the directions; and Emma thought she could so pack it as to ensure
its safety without much incommoding him, while he seemed mostly fearful
of not being incommoded enough.

{}``What a precious deposit!''\ said he with a tender sigh, as
he received it.

{}``This man is almost too gallant to be in love,'' thought Emma.
{}``I should say so, but that I suppose there may be a hundred different
ways of being in love. He is an excellent young man, and will suit
Harriet exactly; it will be an `Exactly so,' as he says himself; but
he does sigh and languish, and study for compliments rather more than
I could endure as a principal. I come in for a pretty good share as
a second. But it is his gratitude on Harriet's account.''


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER VII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER VII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER VII}

The very day of Mr.\ Elton's going to London produced a fresh occasion
for Emma's services towards her friend. Harriet had been at Hartfield,
as usual, soon after breakfast; and, after a time, had gone home to
return again to dinner: she returned, and sooner than had been talked
of, and with an agitated, hurried look, announcing something extraordinary
to have happened which she was longing to tell. Half a minute brought
it all out. She had heard, as soon as she got back to Mrs.\ Goddard's,
that Mr.\ Martin had been there an hour before, and finding she was
not at home, nor particularly expected, had left a little parcel for
her from one of his sisters, and gone away; and on opening this parcel,
she had actually found, besides the two songs which she had lent Elizabeth
to copy, a letter to herself; and this letter was from him, from Mr.\ Martin,
and contained a direct proposal of marriage. {}``Who could have thought
it? She was so surprized she did not know what to do. Yes, quite a
proposal of marriage; and a very good letter, at least she thought
so. And he wrote as if he really loved her very much\mbox{---}but
she did not know\mbox{---}and so, she was come as fast as she could
to ask Miss Woodhouse what she should do.\mbox{---}'' Emma was half-ashamed
of her friend for seeming so pleased and so doubtful.

{}``Upon my word,'' she cried, {}``the young man is determined
not to lose any thing for want of asking. He will connect himself
well if he can.''

{}``Will you read the letter?''\ cried Harriet. {}``Pray do. I'd
rather you would.''

Emma was not sorry to be pressed. She read, and was surprized. The
style of the letter was much above her expectation. There were not
merely no grammatical errors, but as a composition it would not have
disgraced a gentleman; the language, though plain, was strong and
unaffected, and the sentiments it conveyed very much to the credit
of the writer. It was short, but expressed good sense, warm attachment,
liberality, propriety, even delicacy of feeling. She paused over it,
while Harriet stood anxiously watching for her opinion, with a {}``Well,
well,'' and was at last forced to add, {}``Is it a good letter?
or is it too short?''\ 

{}``Yes, indeed, a very good letter,'' replied Emma rather slowly\mbox{---}{}``so
good a letter, Harriet, that every thing considered, I think one of
his sisters must have helped him. I can hardly imagine the young man
whom I saw talking with you the other day could express himself so
well, if left quite to his own powers, and yet it is not the style
of a woman; no, certainly, it is too strong and concise; not diffuse
enough for a woman. No doubt he is a sensible man, and I suppose may
have a natural talent for\mbox{---}thinks strongly and clearly\mbox{---}and
when he takes a pen in hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words.
It is so with some men. Yes, I understand the sort of mind. Vigorous,
decided, with sentiments to a certain point, not coarse. A better
written letter, Harriet (returning it,) than I had expected.''

{}``Well,'' said the still waiting Harriet;\mbox{---}'' well\mbox{---}and\mbox{---}and
what shall I do?''\ 

{}``What shall you do! In what respect? Do you mean with regard to
this letter?''\ 

{}``Yes.''

{}``But what are you in doubt of? You must answer it of course\mbox{---}and
speedily.''

{}``Yes. But what shall I say? Dear Miss Woodhouse, do advise me.''

{}``Oh no, no!\ the letter had much better be all your own. You
will express yourself very properly, I am sure. There is no danger
of your not being intelligible, which is the first thing. Your meaning
must be unequivocal; no doubts or demurs: and such expressions of
gratitude and concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety
requires, will present themselves unbidden to \emph{your} mind, I
am persuaded. \emph{You} need not be prompted to write with the appearance
of sorrow for his disappointment.''

{}``You think I ought to refuse him then,'' said Harriet, looking
down.

{}``Ought to refuse him! My dear Harriet, what do you mean? Are you
in any doubt as to that? I thought\mbox{---}but I beg your pardon,
perhaps I have been under a mistake. I certainly have been misunderstanding
you, if you feel in doubt as to the \emph{purport} of your answer.
I had imagined you were consulting me only as to the wording of it.''

Harriet was silent. With a little reserve of manner, Emma continued:

{}``You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect.''

{}``No, I do not; that is, I do not mean\mbox{---}What shall I do?
What would you advise me to do? Pray, dear Miss Woodhouse, tell me
what I ought to do.''

{}``I shall not give you any advice, Harriet. I will have nothing
to do with it. This is a point which you must settle with your feelings.''

{}``I had no notion that he liked me so very much,'' said Harriet,
contemplating the letter. For a little while Emma persevered in her
silence; but beginning to apprehend the bewitching flattery of that
letter might be too powerful, she thought it best to say,

{}``I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a woman \emph{doubts}
as to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought
to refuse him. If she can hesitate as to `Yes,' she ought to say `No'
directly. It is not a state to be safely entered into with doubtful
feelings, with half a heart. I thought it my duty as a friend, and
older than yourself, to say thus much to you. But do not imagine that
I want to influence you.''

{}``Oh!\ no, I am sure you are a great deal too kind to\mbox{---}but
if you would just advise me what I had best do\mbox{---}No, no, I
do not mean that\mbox{---}As you say, one's mind ought to be quite
made up\mbox{---}One should not be hesitating\mbox{---}It is a very
serious thing.\mbox{---} It will be safer to say `No,' perhaps.\mbox{---}
Do you think I had better say `No?'''

{}``Not for the world,'' said Emma, smiling graciously, {}``would
I advise you either way. You must be the best judge of your own happiness.
If you prefer Mr.\ Martin to every other person; if you think him
the most agreeable man you have ever been in company with, why should
you hesitate? You blush, Harriet.\mbox{---} Does any body else occur
to you at this moment under such a definition? Harriet, Harriet, do
not deceive yourself; do not be run away with by gratitude and compassion.
At this moment whom are you thinking of?''\ 

The symptoms were favourable.\mbox{---} Instead of answering, Harriet
turned away confused, and stood thoughtfully by the fire; and though
the letter was still in her hand, it was now mechanically twisted
about without regard. Emma waited the result with impatience, but
not without strong hopes. At last, with some hesitation, Harriet said\mbox{---}

{}``Miss Woodhouse, as you will not give me your opinion, I must
do as well as I can by myself; and I have now quite determined, and
really almost made up my mind\mbox{---}to refuse Mr.\ Martin. Do
you think I am right?''\ 

{}``Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet; you are doing
just what you ought. While you were at all in suspense I kept my feelings
to myself, but now that you are so completely decided I have no hesitation
in approving. Dear Harriet, I give myself joy of this. It would have
grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which must have been the consequence
of your marrying Mr.\ Martin. While you were in the smallest degree
wavering, I said nothing about it, because I would not influence;
but it would have been the loss of a friend to me. I could not have
visited Mrs.\ Robert Martin, of Abbey-Mill Farm. Now I am secure
of you for ever.''

Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but the idea of it struck
her forcibly.

{}``You could not have visited me!''\ she cried, looking aghast.
{}``No, to be sure you could not; but I never thought of that before.
That would have been too dreadful!\mbox{---} What an escape!\mbox{---}
Dear Miss Woodhouse, I would not give up the pleasure and honour of
being intimate with you for any thing in the world.''

{}``Indeed, Harriet, it would have been a severe pang to lose you;
but it must have been. You would have thrown yourself out of all good
society. I must have given you up.''

{}``Dear me!\mbox{---} How should I ever have borne it! It would
have killed me never to come to Hartfield any more!''\ 

{}``Dear affectionate creature!\mbox{---} \emph{You} banished to
Abbey-Mill Farm!\mbox{---} \emph{You} confined to the society of
the illiterate and vulgar all your life! I wonder how the young man
could have the assurance to ask it. He must have a pretty good opinion
of himself.''

{}``I do not think he is conceited either, in general,'' said Harriet,
her conscience opposing such censure; {}``at least, he is very good
natured, and I shall always feel much obliged to him, and have a great
regard for\mbox{---}but that is quite a different thing from\mbox{---}and
you know, though he may like me, it does not follow that I should\mbox{---}and
certainly I must confess that since my visiting here I have seen people\mbox{---}and
if one comes to compare them, person and manners, there is no comparison
at all, \emph{one} is so very handsome and agreeable. However, I do
really think Mr.\ Martin a very amiable young man, and have a great
opinion of him; and his being so much attached to me\mbox{---}and
his writing such a letter\mbox{---}but as to leaving you, it is what
I would not do upon any consideration.''

{}``Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend. We will not
be parted. A woman is not to marry a man merely because she is asked,
or because he is attached to her, and can write a tolerable letter.''

{}``Oh no;\mbox{---}and it is but a short letter too.''

Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but let it pass with a {}``very
true; and it would be a small consolation to her, for the clownish
manner which might be offending her every hour of the day, to know
that her husband could write a good letter.''

{}``Oh\  yes, very. Nobody cares for a letter; the thing is, to
be always happy with pleasant companions. I am quite determined to
refuse him. But how shall I do? What shall I say?''\ 

Emma assured her there would be no difficulty in the answer, and advised
its being written directly, which was agreed to, in the hope of her
assistance; and though Emma continued to protest against any assistance
being wanted, it was in fact given in the formation of every sentence.
The looking over his letter again, in replying to it, had such a softening
tendency, that it was particularly necessary to brace her up with
a few decisive expressions; and she was so very much concerned at
the idea of making him unhappy, and thought so much of what his mother
and sisters would think and say, and was so anxious that they should
not fancy her ungrateful, that Emma believed if the young man had
come in her way at that moment, he would have been accepted after
all.

This letter, however, was written, and sealed, and sent. The business
was finished, and Harriet safe. She was rather low all the evening,
but Emma could allow for her amiable regrets, and sometimes relieved
them by speaking of her own affection, sometimes by bringing forward
the idea of Mr.\ Elton.

{}``I shall never be invited to Abbey-Mill again,'' was said in
rather a sorrowful tone.

{}``Nor, if you were, could I ever bear to part with you, my Harriet.
You are a great deal too necessary at Hartfield to be spared to Abbey-Mill.''

{}``And I am sure I should never want to go there; for I am never
happy but at Hartfield.''

Some time afterwards it was, {}``I think Mrs.\ Goddard would be
very much surprized if she knew what had happened. I am sure Miss
Nash would\mbox{---}for Miss Nash thinks her own sister very well
married, and it is only a linen-draper.''

{}``One should be sorry to see greater pride or refinement in the
teacher of a school, Harriet. I dare say Miss Nash would envy you
such an opportunity as this of being married. Even this conquest would
appear valuable in her eyes. As to any thing superior for you, I suppose
she is quite in the dark. The attentions of a certain person can hardly
be among the tittle-tattle of Highbury yet. Hitherto I fancy you and
I are the only people to whom his looks and manners have explained
themselves.''

Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about wondering that
people should like her so much. The idea of Mr.\ Elton was certainly
cheering; but still, after a time, she was tender-hearted again towards
the rejected Mr.\ Martin.

{}``Now he has got my letter,'' said she softly. {}``I wonder what
they are all doing\mbox{---}whether his sisters know\mbox{---}if
he is unhappy, they will be unhappy too. I hope he will not mind it
so very much.''

{}``Let us think of those among our absent friends who are more cheerfully
employed,'' cried Emma. {}``At this moment, perhaps, Mr.\ Elton
is shewing your picture to his mother and sisters, telling how much
more beautiful is the original, and after being asked for it five
or six times, allowing them to hear your name, your own dear name.''

{}``My picture!\mbox{---} But he has left my picture in Bond-street.''

{}``Has he so!\mbox{---} Then I know nothing of Mr.\ Elton. No,
my dear little modest Harriet, depend upon it the picture will not
be in Bond-street till just before he mounts his horse to-morrow.
It is his companion all this evening, his solace, his delight. It
opens his designs to his family, it introduces you among them, it
diffuses through the party those pleasantest feelings of our nature,
eager curiosity and warm prepossession. How cheerful, how animated,
how suspicious, how busy their imaginations all are!''\ 

Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER VIII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER VIII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER VIII}

Harriet slept at Hartfield that night. For some weeks past she had
been spending more than half her time there, and gradually getting
to have a bed-room appropriated to herself; and Emma judged it best
in every respect, safest and kindest, to keep her with them as much
as possible just at present. She was obliged to go the next morning
for an hour or two to Mrs.\ Goddard's, but it was then to be settled
that she should return to Hartfield, to make a regular visit of some
days.

While she was gone, Mr.\ Knightley called, and sat some time with
Mr.\ Woodhouse and Emma, till Mr.\ Woodhouse, who had previously
made up his mind to walk out, was persuaded by his daughter not to
defer it, and was induced by the entreaties of both, though against
the scruples of his own civility, to leave Mr.\ Knightley for that
purpose. Mr.\ Knightley, who had nothing of ceremony about him, was
offering by his short, decided answers, an amusing contrast to the
protracted apologies and civil hesitations of the other.

{}``Well, I believe, if you will excuse me, Mr.\ Knightley, if you
will not consider me as doing a very rude thing, I shall take Emma's
advice and go out for a quarter of an hour. As the sun is out, I believe
I had better take my three turns while I can. I treat you without
ceremony, Mr.\ Knightley. We invalids think we are privileged people.''

{}``My dear sir, do not make a stranger of me.''

{}``I leave an excellent substitute in my daughter. Emma will be
happy to entertain you. And therefore I think I will beg your excuse
and take my three turns\mbox{---}my winter walk.''

{}``You cannot do better, sir.''

{}``I would ask for the pleasure of your company, Mr.\ Knightley,
but I am a very slow walker, and my pace would be tedious to you;
and, besides, you have another long walk before you, to Donwell Abbey.''

{}``Thank you, sir, thank you; I am going this moment myself; and
I think the sooner \emph{you} go the better. I will fetch your greatcoat
and open the garden door for you.''

Mr.\ Woodhouse at last was off; but Mr.\ Knightley, instead of being
immediately off likewise, sat down again, seemingly inclined for more
chat. He began speaking of Harriet, and speaking of her with more
voluntary praise than Emma had ever heard before.

{}``I cannot rate her beauty as you do,'' said he; {}``but she
is a pretty little creature, and I am inclined to think very well
of her disposition. Her character depends upon those she is with;
but in good hands she will turn out a valuable woman.''

{}``I am glad you think so; and the good hands, I hope, may not be
wanting.''

{}``Come,'' said he, {}``you are anxious for a compliment, so I
will tell you that you have improved her. You have cured her of her
school-girl's giggle; she really does you credit.''

{}``Thank you. I should be mortified indeed if I did not believe
I had been of some use; but it is not every body who will bestow praise
where they may. \emph{You} do not often overpower me with it.''

{}``You are expecting her again, you say, this morning?''\ 

{}``Almost every moment. She has been gone longer already than she
intended.''

{}``Something has happened to delay her; some visitors perhaps.''

{}``Highbury gossips!\mbox{---} Tiresome wretches!''\ 

{}``Harriet may not consider every body tiresome that you would.''

Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and therefore said
nothing. He presently added, with a smile,

{}``I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must tell you
that I have good reason to believe your little friend will soon hear
of something to her advantage.''

{}``Indeed! how so? of what sort?''\ 

{}``A very serious sort, I assure you;'' still smiling.

{}``Very serious! I can think of but one thing\mbox{---}Who is in
love with her? Who makes you their confidant?''\ 

Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr.\ Elton's having dropt a hint.
Mr.\ Knightley was a sort of general friend and adviser, and she
knew Mr.\ Elton looked up to him.

{}``I have reason to think,'' he replied, {}``that Harriet Smith
will soon have an offer of marriage, and from a most unexceptionable
quarter:\mbox{---}Robert Martin is the man. Her visit to Abbey-Mill,
this summer, seems to have done his business. He is desperately in
love and means to marry her.''

{}``He is very obliging,'' said Emma; {}``but is he sure that Harriet
means to marry him?''\ 

{}``Well, well, means to make her an offer then. Will that do? He
came to the Abbey two evenings ago, on purpose to consult me about
it. He knows I have a thorough regard for him and all his family,
and, I believe, considers me as one of his best friends. He came to
ask me whether I thought it would be imprudent in him to settle so
early; whether I thought her too young: in short, whether I approved
his choice altogether; having some apprehension perhaps of her being
considered (especially since \emph{your} making so much of her) as
in a line of society above him. I was very much pleased with all that
he said. I never hear better sense from any one than Robert Martin.
He always speaks to the purpose; open, straightforward, and very well
judging. He told me every thing; his circumstances and plans, and
what they all proposed doing in the event of his marriage. He is an
excellent young man, both as son and brother. I had no hesitation
in advising him to marry. He proved to me that he could afford it;
and that being the case, I was convinced he could not do better. I
praised the fair lady too, and altogether sent him away very happy.
If he had never esteemed my opinion before, he would have thought
highly of me then; and, I dare say, left the house thinking me the
best friend and counsellor man ever had. This happened the night before
last. Now, as we may fairly suppose, he would not allow much time
to pass before he spoke to the lady, and as he does not appear to
have spoken yesterday, it is not unlikely that he should be at Mrs.\ Goddard's
to-day; and she may be detained by a visitor, without thinking him
at all a tiresome wretch.''

{}``Pray, Mr.\ Knightley,'' said Emma, who had been smiling to
herself through a great part of this speech, {}``how do you know
that Mr.\ Martin did not speak yesterday?''\ 

{}``Certainly,'' replied he, surprized, {}``I do not absolutely
know it; but it may be inferred. Was not she the whole day with you?''\ 

{}``Come,'' said she, {}``I will tell you something, in return
for what you have told me. He did speak yesterday\mbox{---}that is,
he wrote, and was refused.''

This was obliged to be repeated before it could be believed; and Mr.\ Knightley
actually looked red with surprize and displeasure, as he stood up,
in tall indignation, and said,

{}``Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her. What
is the foolish girl about?''\ 

{}``Oh\  to be sure,'' cried Emma, {}``it is always incomprehensible
to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man
always imagines a woman to be ready for any body who asks her.''

{}``Nonsense!\ a man does not imagine any such thing. But what is
the meaning of this? Harriet Smith refuse Robert Martin?\ madness,
if it is so; but I hope you are mistaken.''

{}``I saw her answer!\mbox{---}nothing could be clearer.''

{}``You saw her answer!\mbox{---}you wrote her answer too. Emma,
this is your doing. You persuaded her to refuse him.''

{}``And if I did, (which, however, I am far from allowing) I should
not feel that I had done wrong. Mr.\ Martin is a very respectable
young man, but I cannot admit him to be Harriet's equal; and am rather
surprized indeed that he should have ventured to address her. By your
account, he does seem to have had some scruples. It is a pity that
they were ever got over.''

{}``Not Harriet's equal!''\ exclaimed Mr.\ Knightley loudly and
warmly; and with calmer asperity, added, a few moments afterwards,
{}``No, he is not her equal indeed, for he is as much her superior
in sense as in situation. Emma, your infatuation about that girl blinds
you. What are Harriet Smith's claims, either of birth, nature or education,
to any connexion higher than Robert Martin? She is the natural daughter
of nobody knows whom, with probably no settled provision at all, and
certainly no respectable relations. She is known only as parlour-boarder
at a common school. She is not a sensible girl, nor a girl of any
information. She has been taught nothing useful, and is too young
and too simple to have acquired any thing herself. At her age she
can have no experience, and with her little wit, is not very likely
ever to have any that can avail her. She is pretty, and she is good
tempered, and that is all. My only scruple in advising the match was
on his account, as being beneath his deserts, and a bad connexion
for him. I felt that, as to fortune, in all probability he might do
much better; and that as to a rational companion or useful helpmate,
he could not do worse. But I could not reason so to a man in love,
and was willing to trust to there being no harm in her, to her having
that sort of disposition, which, in good hands, like his, might be
easily led aright and turn out very well. The advantage of the match
I felt to be all on her side; and had not the smallest doubt (nor
have I now) that there would be a general cry-out upon her extreme
good luck. Even \emph{your} satisfaction I made sure of. It crossed
my mind immediately that you would not regret your friend's leaving
Highbury, for the sake of her being settled so well. I remember saying
to myself, `Even Emma, with all her partiality for Harriet, will think
this a good match.'''

{}``I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of Emma as
to say any such thing. What!\ think a farmer, (and with all his sense
and all his merit Mr.\ Martin is nothing more,) a good match for
my intimate friend! Not regret her leaving Highbury for the sake of
marrying a man whom I could never admit as an acquaintance of my own!
I wonder you should think it possible for me to have such feelings.
I assure you mine are very different. I must think your statement
by no means fair. You are not just to Harriet's claims. They would
be estimated very differently by others as well as myself; Mr.\ Martin
may be the richest of the two, but he is undoubtedly her inferior
as to rank in society.\mbox{---} The sphere in which she moves is
much above his.\mbox{---} It would be a degradation.''

{}``A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be married to
a respectable, intelligent gentleman-farmer!''\ 

{}``As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal sense
she may be called Nobody, it will not hold in common sense. She is
not to pay for the offence of others, by being held below the level
of those with whom she is brought up.\mbox{---} There can scarcely
be a doubt that her father is a gentleman\mbox{---}and a gentleman
of fortune.\mbox{---} Her allowance is very liberal; nothing has
ever been grudged for her improvement or comfort.\mbox{--}-- That
she is a gentleman's daughter, is indubitable to me; that she associates
with gentlemen's daughters, no one, I apprehend, will deny.\mbox{---}
She is superior to Mr.\ Robert Martin.''

{}``Whoever might be her parents,'' said Mr.\ Knightley, {}``whoever
may have had the charge of her, it does not appear to have been any
part of their plan to introduce her into what you would call good
society. After receiving a very indifferent education she is left
in Mrs.\ Goddard's hands to shift as she can;\mbox{---}to move,
in short, in Mrs.\ Goddard's line, to have Mrs.\ Goddard's acquaintance.
Her friends evidently thought this good enough for her; and it \emph{was}
good enough. She desired nothing better herself. Till you chose to
turn her into a friend, her mind had no distaste for her own set,
nor any ambition beyond it. She was as happy as possible with the
Martins in the summer. She had no sense of superiority then. If she
has it now, you have given it. You have been no friend to Harriet
Smith, Emma. Robert Martin would never have proceeded so far, if he
had not felt persuaded of her not being disinclined to him. I know
him well. He has too much real feeling to address any woman on the
haphazard of selfish passion. And as to conceit, he is the farthest
from it of any man I know. Depend upon it he had encouragement.''

It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct reply to this
assertion; she chose rather to take up her own line of the subject
again.

{}``You are a very warm friend to Mr.\ Martin; but, as I said before,
are unjust to Harriet. Harriet's claims to marry well are not so contemptible
as you represent them. She is not a clever girl, but she has better
sense than you are aware of, and does not deserve to have her understanding
spoken of so slightingly. Waiving that point, however, and supposing
her to be, as you describe her, only pretty and good-natured, let
me tell you, that in the degree she possesses them, they are not trivial
recommendations to the world in general, for she is, in fact, a beautiful
girl, and must be thought so by ninety-nine people out of an hundred;
and till it appears that men are much more philosophic on the subject
of beauty than they are generally supposed; till they do fall in love
with well-informed minds instead of handsome faces, a girl, with such
loveliness as Harriet, has a certainty of being admired and sought
after, of having the power of chusing from among many, consequently
a claim to be nice. Her good-nature, too, is not so very slight a
claim, comprehending, as it does, real, thorough sweetness of temper
and manner, a very humble opinion of herself, and a great readiness
to be pleased with other people. I am very much mistaken if your sex
in general would not think such beauty, and such temper, the highest
claims a woman could possess.''

{}``Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the reason you have,
is almost enough to make me think so too. Better be without sense,
than misapply it as you do.''

{}``To be sure!''\ cried she playfully. {}``I know \emph{that}
is the feeling of you all. I know that such a girl as Harriet is exactly
what every man delights in\mbox{---}what at once bewitches his senses
and satisfies his judgment. Oh!\ Harriet may pick and chuse. Were
you, yourself, ever to marry, she is the very woman for you. And is
she, at seventeen, just entering into life, just beginning to be known,
to be wondered at because she does not accept the first offer she
receives? No\mbox{---}pray let her have time to look about her.''

{}``I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy,'' said Mr.\ Knightley
presently, {}``though I have kept my thoughts to myself; but I now
perceive that it will be a very unfortunate one for Harriet. You will
puff her up with such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has
a claim to, that, in a little while, nobody within her reach will
be good enough for her. Vanity working on a weak head, produces every
sort of mischief. Nothing so easy as for a young lady to raise her
expectations too high. Miss Harriet Smith may not find offers of marriage
flow in so fast, though she is a very pretty girl. Men of sense, whatever
you may chuse to say, do not want silly wives. Men of family would
not be very fond of connecting themselves with a girl of such obscurity\mbox{---}and
most prudent men would be afraid of the inconvenience and disgrace
they might be involved in, when the mystery of her parentage came
to be revealed. Let her marry Robert Martin, and she is safe, respectable,
and happy for ever; but if you encourage her to expect to marry greatly,
and teach her to be satisfied with nothing less than a man of consequence
and large fortune, she may be a parlour-boarder at Mrs.\ Goddard's
all the rest of her life\mbox{---}or, at least, (for Harriet Smith
is a girl who will marry somebody or other,) till she grow desperate,
and is glad to catch at the old writing-master's son.''

{}``We think so very differently on this point, Mr.\ Knightley,
that there can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only be making
each other more angry. But as to my \emph{letting} her marry Robert
Martin, it is impossible; she has refused him, and so decidedly, I
think, as must prevent any second application. She must abide by the
evil of having refused him, whatever it may be; and as to the refusal
itself, I will not pretend to say that I might not influence her a
little; but I assure you there was very little for me or for any body
to do. His appearance is so much against him, and his manner so bad,
that if she ever were disposed to favour him, she is not now. I can
imagine, that before she had seen any body superior, she might tolerate
him. He was the brother of her friends, and he took pains to please
her; and altogether, having seen nobody better (that must have been
his great assistant) she might not, while she was at Abbey-Mill, find
him disagreeable. But the case is altered now. She knows now what
gentlemen are; and nothing but a gentleman in education and manner
has any chance with Harriet.''

{}``Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked!''\ cried Mr.\ Knightley.\mbox{---}
{}``Robert Martin's manners have sense, sincerity, and good-humour
to recommend them; and his mind has more true gentility than Harriet
Smith could understand.''

Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully unconcerned, but
was really feeling uncomfortable and wanting him very much to be gone.
She did not repent what she had done; she still thought herself a
better judge of such a point of female right and refinement than he
could be; but yet she had a sort of habitual respect for his judgment
in general, which made her dislike having it so loudly against her;
and to have him sitting just opposite to her in angry state, was very
disagreeable. Some minutes passed in this unpleasant silence, with
only one attempt on Emma's side to talk of the weather, but he made
no answer. He was thinking. The result of his thoughts appeared at
last in these words.

{}``Robert Martin has no great loss\mbox{---}if he can but think
so; and I hope it will not be long before he does. Your views for
Harriet are best known to yourself; but as you make no secret of your
love of match-making, it is fair to suppose that views, and plans,
and projects you have;\mbox{---}and as a friend I shall just hint
to you that if Elton is the man, I think it will be all labour in
vain.''

Emma laughed and disclaimed. He continued,

{}``Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very good sort
of man, and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely
to make an imprudent match. He knows the value of a good income as
well as any body. Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally.
He is as well acquainted with his own claims, as you can be with Harriet's.
He knows that he is a very handsome young man, and a great favourite
wherever he goes; and from his general way of talking in unreserved
moments, when there are only men present, I am convinced that he does
not mean to throw himself away. I have heard him speak with great
animation of a large family of young ladies that his sisters are intimate
with, who have all twenty thousand pounds apiece.''

{}``I am very much obliged to you,'' said Emma, laughing again.
{}``If I had set my heart on Mr.\ Elton's marrying Harriet, it would
have been very kind to open my eyes; but at present I only want to
keep Harriet to myself. I have done with match-making indeed. I could
never hope to equal my own doings at Randalls. I shall leave off while
I am well.''

{}``Good morning to you,''---said he, rising and walking off abruptly.
He was very much vexed. He felt the disappointment of the young man,
and was mortified to have been the means of promoting it, by the sanction
he had given; and the part which he was persuaded Emma had taken in
the affair, was provoking him exceedingly.

Emma remained in a state of vexation too; but there was more indistinctness
in the causes of her's, than in his. She did not always feel so absolutely
satisfied with herself, so entirely convinced that her opinions were
right and her adversary's wrong, as Mr.\ Knightley. He walked off
in more complete self-approbation than he left for her. She was not
so materially cast down, however, but that a little time and the return
of Harriet were very adequate restoratives. Harriet's staying away
so long was beginning to make her uneasy. The possibility of the young
man's coming to Mrs.\ Goddard's that morning, and meeting with Harriet
and pleading his own cause, gave alarming ideas. The dread of such
a failure after all became the prominent uneasiness; and when Harriet
appeared, and in very good spirits, and without having any such reason
to give for her long absence, she felt a satisfaction which settled
her with her own mind, and convinced her, that let Mr.\ Knightley
think or say what he would, she had done nothing which woman's friendship
and woman's feelings would not justify.

He had frightened her a little about Mr.\ Elton; but when she considered
that Mr.\ Knightley could not have observed him as she had done,
neither with the interest, nor (she must be allowed to tell herself,
in spite of Mr.\ Knightley's pretensions) with the skill of such
an observer on such a question as herself, that he had spoken it hastily
and in anger, she was able to believe, that he had rather said what
he wished resentfully to be true, than what he knew any thing about.
He certainly might have heard Mr.\ Elton speak with more unreserve
than she had ever done, and Mr.\ Elton might not be of an imprudent,
inconsiderate disposition as to money matters; he might naturally
be rather attentive than otherwise to them; but then, Mr.\ Knightley
did not make due allowance for the influence of a strong passion at
war with all interested motives. Mr.\ Knightley saw no such passion,
and of course thought nothing of its effects; but she saw too much
of it to feel a doubt of its overcoming any hesitations that a reasonable
prudence might originally suggest; and more than a reasonable, becoming
degree of prudence, she was very sure did not belong to Mr.\ Elton.

Harriet's cheerful look and manner established hers: she came back,
not to think of Mr.\ Martin, but to talk of Mr.\ Elton. Miss Nash
had been telling her something, which she repeated immediately with
great delight. Mr.\ Perry had been to Mrs.\ Goddard's to attend
a sick child, and Miss Nash had seen him, and he had told Miss Nash,
that as he was coming back yesterday from Clayton Park, he had met
Mr.\ Elton, and found to his great surprize, that Mr.\ Elton was
actually on his road to London, and not meaning to return till the
morrow, though it was the whist-club night, which he had been never
known to miss before; and Mr.\ Perry had remonstrated with him about
it, and told him how shabby it was in him, their best player, to absent
himself, and tried very much to persuade him to put off his journey
only one day; but it would not do; Mr.\ Elton had been determined
to go on, and had said in a \emph{very particular} way indeed, that
he was going on business which he would not put off for any inducement
in the world; and something about a very enviable commission, and
being the bearer of something exceedingly precious. Mr.\ Perry could
not quite understand him, but he was very sure there must be a \emph{lady}
in the case, and he told him so; and Mr.\ Elton only looked very
conscious and smiling, and rode off in great spirits. Miss Nash had
told her all this, and had talked a great deal more about Mr.\ Elton;
and said, looking so very significantly at her, {}``that she did
not pretend to understand what his business might be, but she only
knew that any woman whom Mr.\ Elton could prefer, she should think
the luckiest woman in the world; for, beyond a doubt, Mr.\ Elton
had not his equal for beauty or agreeableness.''


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER IX}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER IX}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER IX}

Mr.\ Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could not quarrel
with herself. He was so much displeased, that it was longer than usual
before he came to Hartfield again; and when they did meet, his grave
looks shewed that she was not forgiven. She was sorry, but could not
repent. On the contrary, her plans and proceedings were more and more
justified and endeared to her by the general appearances of the next
few days.

The Picture, elegantly framed, came safely to hand soon after Mr.\ Elton's
return, and being hung over the mantelpiece of the common sitting-room,
he got up to look at it, and sighed out his half sentences of admiration
just as he ought; and as for Harriet's feelings, they were visibly
forming themselves into as strong and steady an attachment as her
youth and sort of mind admitted. Emma was soon perfectly satisfied
of Mr.\ Martin's being no otherwise remembered, than as he furnished
a contrast with Mr.\ Elton, of the utmost advantage to the latter.

Her views of improving her little friend's mind, by a great deal of
useful reading and conversation, had never yet led to more than a
few first chapters, and the intention of going on to-morrow. It was
much easier to chat than to study; much pleasanter to let her imagination
range and work at Harriet's fortune, than to be labouring to enlarge
her comprehension or exercise it on sober facts; and the only literary
pursuit which engaged Harriet at present, the only mental provision
she was making for the evening of life, was the collecting and transcribing
all the riddles of every sort that she could meet with, into a thin
quarto of hot-pressed paper, made up by her friend, and ornamented
with ciphers and trophies.

In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand scale
are not uncommon. Miss Nash, head-teacher at Mrs.\ Goddard's, had
written out at least three hundred; and Harriet, who had taken the
first hint of it from her, hoped, with Miss Woodhouse's help, to get
a great many more. Emma assisted with her invention, memory and taste;
and as Harriet wrote a very pretty hand, it was likely to be an arrangement
of the first order, in form as well as quantity.

Mr.\ Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the business as the
girls, and tried very often to recollect something worth their putting
in. {}``So many clever riddles as there used to be when he was young\mbox{---}he
wondered he could not remember them! but he hoped he should in time.''
And it always ended in {}``Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.''

His good friend Perry, too, whom he had spoken to on the subject,
did not at present recollect any thing of the riddle kind; but he
had desired Perry to be upon the watch, and as he went about so much,
something, he thought, might come from that quarter.

It was by no means his daughter's wish that the intellects of Highbury
in general should be put under requisition. Mr.\ Elton was the only
one whose assistance she asked. He was invited to contribute any really
good enigmas, charades, or conundrums that he might recollect; and
she had the pleasure of seeing him most intently at work with his
recollections; and at the same time, as she could perceive, most earnestly
careful that nothing ungallant, nothing that did not breathe a compliment
to the sex should pass his lips. They owed to him their two or three
politest puzzles; and the joy and exultation with which at last he
recalled, and rather sentimentally recited, that well-known charade,
\begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

My first doth affliction denote, \\*

\ \ \ \ Which my second is destin'd to feel \\*

And my whole is the best antidote \\*

\ \ \ \ That affliction to soften and heal.---

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had transcribed it
some pages ago already.

{}``Why will not you write one yourself for us, Mr.\ Elton?''\ said
she; {}``that is the only security for its freshness; and nothing
could be easier to you.''

{}``Oh no! he had never written, hardly ever, any thing of the kind
in his life. The stupidest fellow! He was afraid not even Miss Woodhouse''---he
stopt a moment\mbox{---}{}``or Miss Smith could inspire him.''

The very next day however produced some proof of inspiration. He called
for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper on the table containing,
as he said, a charade, which a friend of his had addressed to a young
lady, the object of his admiration, but which, from his manner, Emma
was immediately convinced must be his own.

{}``I do not offer it for Miss Smith's collection,'' said he. {}``Being
my friend's, I have no right to expose it in any degree to the public
eye, but perhaps you may not dislike looking at it.''

The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which Emma could understand.
There was deep consciousness about him, and he found it easier to
meet her eye than her friend's. He was gone the next moment:\mbox{---}after
another moment's pause,

{}``Take it,'' said Emma, smiling, and pushing the paper towards
Harriet\mbox{---}{}``it is for you. Take your own.''

But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it; and Emma, never
loth to be first, was obliged to examine it herself.

\begin{center} \small \sc

To Miss ------ \\*

Charade. \\*

\end{center}

\begin{flushleft} \footnotesize

\  \\

\mbox{My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,} \\*

\mbox{\ \ \ \ Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.} \\*

\mbox{Another view of man, my second brings,} \\*

\mbox{\ \ \ \ Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!}



\mbox{But ah! united, what reverse we have!} \\*

\mbox{\ \ \ \ Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown;} \\*

\mbox{Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,} \\*

\mbox{\ \ \ \ And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.}



Thy ready wit the word will soon supply, \\*

May its approval beam in that soft eye!

\end{flushleft}

She cast her eye over it, pondered, caught the meaning, read it through
again to be quite certain, and quite mistress of the lines, and then
passing it to Harriet, sat happily smiling, and saying to herself,
while Harriet was puzzling over the paper in all the confusion of
hope and dulness, {}``Very well, Mr.\ Elton, very well indeed. I
have read worse charades. \emph{Courtship}---a very good hint. I give
you credit for it. This is feeling your way. This is saying very plainly\mbox{---}`Pray,
Miss Smith, give me leave to pay my addresses to you. Approve my charade
and my intentions in the same glance.''' \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

May its approval beam in that soft eye!

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} {}``Harriet exactly. Soft is the very word for her eye\mbox{---}of
all epithets, the justest that could be given.'' \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

Thy ready wit the word will soon supply.

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} {}``Humph\mbox{---}Harriet's ready wit! All the better. A man must
be very much in love, indeed, to describe her so. Ah!\ Mr.\ Knightley,
I wish you had the benefit of this; I think this would convince you.
For once in your life you would be obliged to own yourself mistaken.
An excellent charade indeed! and very much to the purpose. Things
must come to a crisis soon now.''

She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant observations,
which were otherwise of a sort to run into great length, by the eagerness
of Harriet's wondering questions.

{}``What can it be, Miss Woodhouse?\mbox{---}what can it be? I have
not an idea\mbox{---}I cannot guess it in the least. What can it
possibly be? Do try to find it out, Miss Woodhouse. Do help me. I
never saw any thing so hard. Is it kingdom? I wonder who the friend
was\mbox{---}and who could be the young lady. Do you think it is
a good one? Can it be woman?'' \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} {}``Can it be Neptune?'' \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

\  \\

\mbox{Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!}

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} {}``Or a trident?\ or a mermaid?\ or a shark? Oh, no!\ shark
is only one syllable. It must be very clever, or he would not have
brought it. Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse, do you think we shall ever find
it out?''

{}``Mermaids and sharks! Nonsense! My dear Harriet, what are you
thinking of? Where would be the use of his bringing us a charade made
by a friend upon a mermaid or a shark? Give me the paper and listen.

{}```For Miss \mbox{--------}', read Miss Smith.'' \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

\  \\

\mbox{My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,} \\*    

\mbox{\ \ \ \ Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.}

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} \textit{\emph{{}``That is}} \textit{court}\textit{\emph{.''}} \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

\mbox{Another view of man, my second brings;} \\*

\mbox{\ \ \ \ Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!}

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} \textit{\emph{{}``That is}} \textit{ship}\textit{\emph{;\mbox{---}plain
as it can be.\mbox{---} Now for the cream.''}} \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

But ah! united,---

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} {}``(\emph{courtship}, you know,)\textit{\emph{''}} \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ ---what reverse we have! \\*

\mbox{\ \ \ \ Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown.} \\*

\mbox{Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,} \\*

\mbox{\ \ \ \ And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.}

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} {}``A very proper compliment!\mbox{---}and then follows the application,
which I think, my dear Harriet, you cannot find much difficulty in
comprehending. Read it in comfort to yourself. There can be no doubt
of its being written for you and to you.''

Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion. She read
the concluding lines, and was all flutter and happiness. She could
not speak. But she was not wanted to speak. It was enough for her
to feel. Emma spoke for her.

{}``There is so pointed, and so particular a meaning in this compliment,''
said she, {}``that I cannot have a doubt as to Mr.\ Elton's intentions.
You are his object\mbox{---}and you will soon receive the completest
proof of it. I thought it must be so. I thought I could not be so
deceived; but now, it is clear; the state of his mind is as clear
and decided, as my wishes on the subject have been ever since I knew
you. Yes, Harriet, just so long have I been wanting the very circumstance
to happen what has happened. I could never tell whether an attachment
between you and Mr.\ Elton were most desirable or most natural. Its
probability and its eligibility have really so equalled each other!
I am very happy. I congratulate you, my dear Harriet, with all my
heart. This is an attachment which a woman may well feel pride in
creating. This is a connexion which offers nothing but good. It will
give you every thing that you want\mbox{---}consideration, independence,
a proper home\mbox{---}it will fix you in the centre of all your
real friends, close to Hartfield and to me, and confirm our intimacy
for ever. This, Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush
in either of us.''

{}``Dear Miss Woodhouse!''---and {}``Dear Miss Woodhouse,'' was
all that Harriet, with many tender embraces could articulate at first;
but when they did arrive at something more like conversation, it was
sufficiently clear to her friend that she saw, felt, anticipated,
and remembered just as she ought. Mr.\ Elton's superiority had very
ample acknowledgment.

{}``Whatever you say is always right,'' cried Harriet, {}``and
therefore I suppose, and believe, and hope it must be so; but otherwise
I could not have imagined it. It is so much beyond any thing I deserve.
Mr.\ Elton, who might marry any body! There cannot be two opinions
about \emph{him}. He is so very superior. Only think of those sweet
verses\mbox{---}`To Miss \mbox{------}.' Dear me, how clever!\mbox{---}
Could it really be meant for me?''\ 

{}``I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about that.
It is a certainty. Receive it on my judgment. It is a sort of prologue
to the play, a motto to the chapter; and will be soon followed by
matter-of-fact prose.''

{}``It is a sort of thing which nobody could have expected. I am
sure, a month ago, I had no more idea myself!\mbox{---} The strangest
things do take place!''\ 

{}``When Miss Smiths and Mr.\ Eltons get acquainted\mbox{---}they
do indeed\mbox{---}and really it is strange; it is out of the common
course that what is so evidently, so palpably desirable\mbox{---}-what
courts the pre-arrangement of other people, should so immediately
shape itself into the proper form. You and Mr.\ Elton are by situation
called together; you belong to one another by every circumstance of
your respective homes. Your marrying will be equal to the match at
Randalls. There does seem to be a something in the air of Hartfield
which gives love exactly the right direction, and sends it into the
very channel where it ought to flow.'' \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize \  \\ \mbox{The
course of true love never did run smooth\mbox{---}} \end{verse} \end{flushleft}
{}``a Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long note on
that passage.''

{}``That Mr.\ Elton should really be in love with me,\mbox{---}me,
of all people, who did not know him, to speak to him, at Michaelmas!
And he, the very handsomest man that ever was, and a man that every
body looks up to, quite like Mr.\ Knightley! His company so sought
after, that every body says he need not eat a single meal by himself
if he does not chuse it; that he has more invitations than there are
days in the week. And so excellent in the Church! Miss Nash has put
down all the texts he has ever preached from since he came to Highbury.
Dear me! When I look back to the first time I saw him! How little
did I think!\mbox{---} The two Abbots and I ran into the front room
and peeped through the blind when we heard he was going by, and Miss
Nash came and scolded us away, and staid to look through herself;
however, she called me back presently, and let me look too, which
was very good-natured. And how beautiful we thought he looked! He
was arm-in-arm with Mr.\ Cole.''

{}``This is an alliance which, whoever\mbox{---}whatever your friends
may be, must be agreeable to them, provided at least they have common
sense; and we are not to be addressing our conduct to fools. If they
are anxious to see you \emph{happily} married, here is a man whose
amiable character gives every assurance of it;\mbox{---}if they wish
to have you settled in the same country and circle which they have
chosen to place you in, here it will be accomplished; and if their
only object is that you should, in the common phrase, be \emph{well}
married, here is the comfortable fortune, the respectable establishment,
the rise in the world which must satisfy them.''

{}``Yes, very true. How nicely you talk; I love to hear you. You
understand every thing. You and Mr.\ Elton are one as clever as the
other. This charade!\mbox{---} If I had studied a twelvemonth, I
could never have made any thing like it.''

{}``I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner of declining
it yesterday.''

{}``I do think it is, without exception, the best charade I ever
read.''

{}``I never read one more to the purpose, certainly.''

{}``It is as long again as almost all we have had before.''

{}``I do not consider its length as particularly in its favour. Such
things in general cannot be too short.''

Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most satisfactory
comparisons were rising in her mind.

{}``It is one thing,'' said she, presently\mbox{---}her cheeks
in a glow\mbox{---}{}``to have very good sense in a common way,
like every body else, and if there is any thing to say, to sit down
and write a letter, and say just what you must, in a short way; and
another, to write verses and charades like this.''

Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection of Mr.\ Martin's
prose.

{}``Such sweet lines!''\ continued Harriet\mbox{---}{}``these
two last!\mbox{---} But how shall I ever be able to return the paper,
or say I have found it out?\mbox{---} Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse, what
can we do about that?''\ 

{}``Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this evening,
I dare say, and then I will give it him back, and some nonsense or
other will pass between us, and you shall not be committed.--- Your
soft eyes shall chuse their own time for beaming. Trust to me.''

{}``Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not write this
beautiful charade into my book! I am sure I have not got one half
so good.''

{}``Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason why you
should not write it into your book.''

{}``Oh\  but those two lines are''---

---{}``The best of all. Granted;\mbox{---}for private enjoyment;
and for private enjoyment keep them. They are not at all the less
written you know, because you divide them. The couplet does not cease
to be, nor does its meaning change. But take it away, and all \emph{appropriation}
ceases, and a very pretty gallant charade remains, fit for any collection.
Depend upon it, he would not like to have his charade slighted, much
better than his passion. A poet in love must be encouraged in both
capacities, or neither. Give me the book, I will write it down, and
then there can be no possible reflection on you.''

Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly separate the parts,
so as to feel quite sure that her friend were not writing down a declaration
of love. It seemed too precious an offering for any degree of publicity.

{}``I shall never let that book go out of my own hands,'' said she.

{}``Very well,'' replied Emma; {}``a most natural feeling; and
the longer it lasts, the better I shall be pleased. But here is my
father coming: you will not object to my reading the charade to him.
It will be giving him so much pleasure! He loves any thing of the
sort, and especially any thing that pays woman a compliment. He has
the tenderest spirit of gallantry towards us all!\mbox{---} You must
let me read it to him.''

Harriet looked grave.

{}``My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon this charade.\mbox{---}
You will betray your feelings improperly, if you are too conscious
and too quick, and appear to affix more meaning, or even quite all
the meaning which may be affixed to it. Do not be overpowered by such
a little tribute of admiration. If he had been anxious for secrecy,
he would not have left the paper while I was by; but he rather pushed
it towards me than towards you. Do not let us be too solemn on the
business. He has encouragement enough to proceed, without our sighing
out our souls over this charade.''

{}``Oh\  no\mbox{---}I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it.
Do as you please.''

Mr.\ Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject again, by
the recurrence of his very frequent inquiry of {}``Well, my dears,
how does your book go on?\mbox{---} Have you got any thing fresh?''\ 

{}``Yes, papa; we have something to read you, something quite fresh.
A piece of paper was found on the table this morning\mbox{---}(dropt,
we suppose, by a fairy)\mbox{---}containing a very pretty charade,
and we have just copied it in.''

She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing read, slowly
and distinctly, and two or three times over, with explanations of
every part as she proceeded\mbox{---}and he was very much pleased,
and, as she had foreseen, especially struck with the complimentary
conclusion.

{}``Aye, that's very just, indeed, that's very properly said. Very
true.\  `Woman, lovely woman.' It is such a pretty charade, my dear,
that I can easily guess what fairy brought it.\mbox{---} Nobody could
have written so prettily, but you, Emma.''

Emma only nodded, and smiled.\mbox{---} After a little thinking,
and a very tender sigh, he added,

{}``Ah!\ it is no difficulty to see who you take after! Your dear
mother was so clever at all those things! If I had but her memory!
But I can remember nothing;\mbox{---}not even that particular riddle
which you have heard me mention; I can only recollect the first stanza;
and there are several.'' \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

Kitty, a fair but frozen maid, \\*

\ \ \ \ Kindled a flame I yet deplore, \\*

The hood-wink'd boy I called to aid, \\*

Though of his near approach afraid, \\*

\ \ \ \ So fatal to my suit before.

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} {}``And that is all that I can recollect of it\mbox{---}but it
is very clever all the way through. But I think, my dear, you said
you had got it.''

{}``Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page. We copied it
from the \emph{Elegant Extracts}. It was Garrick's, you know.''

{}``Aye, very true.\mbox{---} I wish I could recollect more of it.''
\begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.

\end{verse} \end{flushleft}{}``The name makes me think of poor Isabella; for she was very near
being christened Catherine after her grandmama. I hope we shall have
her here next week. Have you thought, my dear, where you shall put
her\mbox{---}and what room there will be for the children?''\ 

{}``Oh\  yes\mbox{---}she will have her own room, of course; the
room she always has;\mbox{---}and there is the nursery for the children,\mbox{---}just
as usual, you know. Why should there be any change?''\ 

{}``I do not know, my dear\mbox{---}but it is so long since she
was here!\mbox{---}not since last Easter, and then only for a few
days.\mbox{---} Mr.\ John Knightley's being a lawyer is very inconvenient.\mbox{---}
Poor Isabella!\mbox{---}she is sadly taken away from us all!\mbox{---}and
how sorry she will be when she comes, not to see Miss Taylor here!''\ 

{}``She will not be surprized, papa, at least.''

{}``I do not know, my dear. I am sure I was very much surprized when
I first heard she was going to be married.''

{}``We must ask Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston to dine with us, while Isabella
is here.''

{}``Yes, my dear, if there is time.\mbox{---} But\mbox{---}(in
a very depressed tone)\mbox{---}she is coming for only one week.
There will not be time for any thing.''

{}``It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer\mbox{---}but
it seems a case of necessity. Mr.\ John Knightley must be in town
again on the 28th, and we ought to be thankful, papa, that we are
to have the whole of the time they can give to the country, that two
or three days are not to be taken out for the Abbey. Mr.\ Knightley
promises to give up his claim this Christmas\mbox{---}though you
know it is longer since they were with him, than with us.''

{}``It would be very hard, indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella were
to be anywhere but at Hartfield.''

Mr.\ Woodhouse could never allow for Mr.\ Knightley's claims on
his brother, or any body's claims on Isabella, except his own. He
sat musing a little while, and then said,

{}``But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged to go back
so soon, though he does. I think, Emma, I shall try and persuade her
to stay longer with us. She and the children might stay very well.''

{}``Ah!\ papa\mbox{---}that is what you never have been able to
accomplish, and I do not think you ever will. Isabella cannot bear
to stay behind her husband.''

This was too true for contradiction. Unwelcome as it was, Mr.\ Woodhouse
could only give a submissive sigh; and as Emma saw his spirits affected
by the idea of his daughter's attachment to her husband, she immediately
led to such a branch of the subject as must raise them.

{}``Harriet must give us as much of her company as she can while
my brother and sister are here. I am sure she will be pleased with
the children. We are very proud of the children, are not we, papa?
I wonder which she will think the handsomest, Henry or John?''\ 

{}``Aye, I wonder which she will. Poor little dears, how glad they
will be to come. They are very fond of being at Hartfield, Harriet.''

{}``I dare say they are, sir. I am sure I do not know who is not.''

{}``Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mama. Henry is
the eldest, he was named after me, not after his father. John, the
second, is named after his father. Some people are surprized, I believe,
that the eldest was not, but Isabella would have him called Henry,
which I thought very pretty of her. And he is a very clever boy, indeed.
They are all remarkably clever; and they have so many pretty ways.
They will come and stand by my chair, and say, `Grandpapa, can you
give me a bit of string?'\ and once Henry asked me for a knife, but
I told him knives were only made for grandpapas. I think their father
is too rough with them very often.''

{}``He appears rough to you,'' said Emma, {}``because you are so
very gentle yourself; but if you could compare him with other papas,
you would not think him rough. He wishes his boys to be active and
hardy; and if they misbehave, can give them a sharp word now and then;
but he is an affectionate father\mbox{---}certainly Mr.\ John Knightley
is an affectionate father. The children are all fond of him.''

{}``And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to the ceiling
in a very frightful way!''\ 

{}``But they like it, papa; there is nothing they like so much. It
is such enjoyment to them, that if their uncle did not lay down the
rule of their taking turns, whichever began would never give way to
the other.''

{}``Well, I cannot understand it.''

{}``That is the case with us all, papa. One half of the world cannot
understand the pleasures of the other.''

Later in the morning, and just as the girls were going to separate
in preparation for the regular four o'clock dinner, the hero of this
inimitable charade walked in again. Harriet turned away; but Emma
could receive him with the usual smile, and her quick eye soon discerned
in his the consciousness of having made a push\mbox{---}of having
thrown a die; and she imagined he was come to see how it might turn
up. His ostensible reason, however, was to ask whether Mr.\ Woodhouse's
party could be made up in the evening without him, or whether he should
be in the smallest degree necessary at Hartfield. If he were, every
thing else must give way; but otherwise his friend Cole had been saying
so much about his dining with him\mbox{---}had made such a point
of it, that he had promised him conditionally to come.

Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his disappointing his friend
on their account; her father was sure of his rubber. He re-\mbox{urged\mbox{---}}she
re-declined; and he seemed then about to make his bow, when taking
the paper from the table, she returned it\mbox{---}

{}``Oh!\ here is the charade you were so obliging as to leave with
us; thank you for the sight of it. We admired it so much, that I have
ventured to write it into Miss Smith's collection. Your friend will
not take it amiss I hope. Of course I have not transcribed beyond
the first eight lines.''

Mr.\ Elton certainly did not very well know what to say. He looked
rather doubtingly\mbox{---}rather confused; said something about
{}``honour,''---glanced at Emma and at Harriet, and then seeing
the book open on the table, took it up, and examined it very attentively.
With the view of passing off an awkward moment, Emma smilingly said,

{}``You must make my apologies to your friend; but so good a charade
must not be confined to one or two. He may be sure of every woman's
approbation while he writes with such gallantry.''

{}``I have no hesitation in saying,'' replied Mr.\ Elton, though
hesitating a good deal while he spoke; {}``I have no hesitation in
saying\mbox{---}at least if my friend feels at all as I do\mbox{---}I
have not the smallest doubt that, could he see his little effusion
honoured as I see it, (looking at the book again, and replacing it
on the table), he would consider it as the proudest moment of his
life.''

After this speech he was gone as soon as possible. Emma could not
think it too soon; for with all his good and agreeable qualities,
there was a sort of parade in his speeches which was very apt to incline
her to laugh. She ran away to indulge the inclination, leaving the
tender and the sublime of pleasure to Harriet's share.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER X}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER X}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER X}

Though now the middle of December, there had yet been no weather to
prevent the young ladies from tolerably regular exercise; and on the
morrow, Emma had a charitable visit to pay to a poor sick family,
who lived a little way out of Highbury.

Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage Lane, a lane
leading at right angles from the broad, though irregular, main street
of the place; and, as may be inferred, containing the blessed abode
of Mr.\ Elton. A few inferior dwellings were first to be passed,
and then, about a quarter of a mile down the lane rose the Vicarage,
an old and not very good house, almost as close to the road as it
could be. It had no advantage of situation; but had been very much
smartened up by the present proprietor; and, such as it was, there
could be no possibility of the two friends passing it without a slackened
pace and observing eyes.\mbox{---} Emma's remark was\mbox{---}

{}``There it is. There go you and your riddle-book one of these days.''---Harriet's
was\mbox{---}

{}``Oh, what a sweet house!\mbox{---} How very beautiful!\mbox{---}
There are the yellow curtains that Miss Nash admires so much.''

{}``I do not often walk this way \emph{now},'' said Emma, as they
proceeded, {}``but \emph{then} there will be an inducement, and I
shall gradually get intimately acquainted with all the hedges, gates,
pools and pollards of this part of Highbury.''

Harriet, she found, had never in her life been within side the Vicarage,
and her curiosity to see it was so extreme, that, considering exteriors
and probabilities, Emma could only class it, as a proof of love, with
Mr.\ Elton's seeing ready wit in her.

{}``I wish we could contrive it,'' said she; {}``but I cannot think
of any tolerable pretence for going in;\mbox{---}no servant that
I want to inquire about of his housekeeper\mbox{---}no message from
my father.''

She pondered, but could think of nothing. After a mutual silence of
some minutes, Harriet thus began again\mbox{---}

{}``I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not be married,
or going to be married! so charming as you are!''---

Emma laughed, and replied,

{}``My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough to induce me
to marry; I must find other people charming\mbox{---}one other person
at least. And I am not only, not going to be married, at present,
but have very little intention of ever marrying at all.''

{}``Ah!\mbox{---}so you say; but I cannot believe it.''

{}``I must see somebody very superior to any one I have seen yet,
to be tempted; Mr.\ Elton, you know, (recollecting herself,) is out
of the question: and I do \emph{not} wish to see any such person.
I would rather not be tempted. I cannot really change for the better.
If I were to marry, I must expect to repent it.''

{}``Dear me!\mbox{---}it is so odd to hear a woman talk so!''---

{}``I have none of the usual inducements of women to marry. Were
I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing! but I never
have been in love; it is not my way, or my nature; and I do not think
I ever shall. And, without love, I am sure I should be a fool to change
such a situation as mine. Fortune I do not want; employment I do not
want; consequence I do not want: I believe few married women are half
as much mistress of their husband's house as I am of Hartfield; and
never, never could I expect to be so truly beloved and important;
so always first and always right in any man's eyes as I am in my father's.''

{}``But then, to be an old maid at last, like Miss Bates!''\ 

{}``That is as formidable an image as you could present, Harriet;
and if I thought I should ever be like Miss Bates!\ so silly\mbox{---}so
satisfied\mbox{---}so smiling\mbox{---}so prosing\mbox{---}so un\-dis\-t\-in\-g\-uish\-ing
and unfastidious\mbox{---}and so apt to tell every thing relative
to every body about me, I would marry to-morrow. But between us, I
am convinced there never can be any likeness, except in being unmarried.''

{}``But still, you will be an old maid!\ and that's so dreadful!''\ 

{}``Never mind, Harriet, I shall not be a poor old maid; and it is
poverty only which makes celibacy contemptible to a generous public!
A single woman, with a very narrow income, must be a ridiculous, disagreeable
old maid!\ the proper sport of boys and girls, but a single woman,
of good fortune, is always respectable, and may be as sensible and
pleasant as any body else. And the distinction is not quite so much
against the candour and common sense of the world as appears at first;
for a very narrow income has a tendency to contract the mind, and
sour the temper. Those who can barely live, and who live perforce
in a very small, and generally very inferior, society, may well be
illiberal and cross. This does not apply, however, to Miss Bates;
she is only too good natured and too silly to suit me; but, in general,
she is very much to the taste of every body, though single and though
poor. Poverty certainly has not contracted her mind: I really believe,
if she had only a shilling in the world, she would be very likely
to give away sixpence of it; and nobody is afraid of her: that is
a great charm.''

{}``Dear me!\ but what shall you do?\ how shall you employ yourself
when you grow old?''\ 

{}``If I know myself, Harriet, mine is an active, busy mind, with
a great many independent resources; and I do not perceive why I should
be more in want of employment at forty or fifty than one-and-twenty.
Woman's usual occupations of hand and mind will be as open to me then
as they are now; or with no important variation. If I draw less, I
shall read more; if I give up music, I shall take to carpet-work.
And as for objects of interest, objects for the affections, which
is in truth the great point of inferiority, the want of which is really
the great evil to be avoided in \emph{not} marrying, I shall be very
well off, with all the children of a sister I love so much, to care
about. There will be enough of them, in all probability, to supply
every sort of sensation that declining life can need. There will be
enough for every hope and every fear; and though my attachment to
none can equal that of a parent, it suits my ideas of comfort better
than what is warmer and blinder. My nephews and nieces!\mbox{---}I
shall often have a niece with me.''

{}``Do you know Miss Bates's niece? That is, I know you must have
seen her a hundred times\mbox{---}but are you acquainted?''\ 

{}``Oh!\ yes; we are always forced to be acquainted whenever she
comes to Highbury. By the bye, \emph{that} is almost enough to put
one out of conceit with a niece. Heaven forbid!\ at least, that I
should ever bore people half so much about all the Knightleys together,
as she does about Jane Fairfax. One is sick of the very name of Jane
Fairfax. Every letter from her is read forty times over; her compliments
to all friends go round and round again; and if she does but send
her aunt the pattern of a stomacher, or knit a pair of garters for
her grandmother, one hears of nothing else for a month. I wish Jane
Fairfax very well; but she tires me to death.''

They were now approaching the cottage, and all idle topics were superseded.
Emma was very compassionate; and the distresses of the poor were as
sure of relief from her personal attention and kindness, her counsel
and her patience, as from her purse. She understood their ways, could
allow for their ignorance and their temptations, had no romantic expectations
of extraordinary virtue from those for whom education had done so
little; entered into their troubles with ready sympathy, and always
gave her assistance with as much intelligence as good-will. In the
present instance, it was sickness and poverty together which she came
to visit; and after remaining there as long as she could give comfort
or advice, she quitted the cottage with such an impression of the
scene as made her say to Harriet, as they walked away,

{}``These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good. How trifling they
make every thing else appear!\mbox{---} I feel now as if I could
think of nothing but these poor creatures all the rest of the day;
and yet, who can say how soon it may all vanish from my mind?''\ 

{}``Very true,'' said Harriet. {}``Poor creatures!\ one can think
of nothing else.''

{}``And really, I do not think the impression will soon be over,''
said Emma, as she crossed the low hedge, and tottering footstep which
ended the narrow, slippery path through the cottage garden, and brought
them into the lane again. {}``I do not think it will,'' stopping
to look once more at all the outward wretchedness of the place, and
recall the still greater within.

{}``Oh!\ dear, no,'' said her companion.

They walked on. The lane made a slight bend; and when that bend was
passed, Mr.\ Elton was immediately in sight; and so near as to give
Emma time only to say farther,

{}``Ah!\ Harriet, here comes a very sudden trial of our stability
in good thoughts. Well, (smiling,) I hope it may be allowed that if
compassion has produced exertion and relief to the sufferers, it has
done all that is truly important. If we feel for the wretched, enough
to do all we can for them, the rest is empty sympathy, only distressing
to ourselves.''

Harriet could just answer, {}``Oh!\ dear, yes,'' before the gentleman
joined them. The wants and sufferings of the poor family, however,
were the first subject on meeting. He had been going to call on them.
His visit he would now defer; but they had a very interesting parley
about what could be done and should be done. Mr.\ Elton then turned
back to accompany them.

{}``To fall in with each other on such an errand as this,'' thought
Emma; {}``to meet in a charitable scheme; this will bring a great
increase of love on each side. I should not wonder if it were to bring
on the declaration. It must, if I were not here. I wish I were anywhere
else.''

Anxious to separate herself from them as far as she could, she soon
afterwards took possession of a narrow footpath, a little raised on
one side of the lane, leaving them together in the main road. But
she had not been there two minutes when she found that Harriet's habits
of dependence and imitation were bringing her up too, and that, in
short, they would both be soon after her. This would not do; she immediately
stopped, under pretence of having some alteration to make in the lacing
of her half-boot, and stooping down in complete occupation of the
footpath, begged them to have the goodness to walk on, and she would
follow in half a minute. They did as they were desired; and by the
time she judged it reasonable to have done with her boot, she had
the comfort of farther delay in her power, being overtaken by a child
from the cottage, setting out, according to orders, with her pitcher,
to fetch broth from Hartfield. To walk by the side of this child,
and talk to and question her, was the most natural thing in the world,
or would have been the most natural, had she been acting just then
without design; and by this means the others were still able to keep
ahead, without any obligation of waiting for her. She gained on them,
however, involuntarily: the child's pace was quick, and theirs rather
slow; and she was the more concerned at it, from their being evidently
in a conversation which interested them. Mr.\ Elton was speaking
with animation, Harriet listening with a very pleased attention; and
Emma, having sent the child on, was beginning to think how she might
draw back a little more, when they both looked around, and she was
obliged to join them.

Mr.\ Elton was still talking, still engaged in some interesting detail;
and Emma experienced some disappointment when she found that he was
only giving his fair companion an account of the yesterday's party
at his friend Cole's, and that she was come in herself for the Stilton
cheese, the north Wiltshire, the butter, the cellery, the beet-root,
and all the dessert.

{}``This would soon have led to something better, of course,'' was
her consoling reflection; {}``any thing interests between those who
love; and any thing will serve as introduction to what is near the
heart. If I could but have kept longer away!''\ 

They now walked on together quietly, till within view of the vicarage
pales, when a sudden resolution, of at least getting Harriet into
the house, made her again find something very much amiss about her
boot, and fall behind to arrange it once more. She then broke the
lace off short, and dexterously throwing it into a ditch, was presently
obliged to entreat them to stop, and acknowledged her inability to
put herself to rights so as to be able to walk home in tolerable comfort.

{}``Part of my lace is gone,'' said she, {}``and I do not know
how I am to contrive. I really am a most troublesome companion to
you both, but I hope I am not often so ill-equipped. Mr.\ Elton,
I must beg leave to stop at your house, and ask your housekeeper for
a bit of ribband or string, or any thing just to keep my boot on.''

Mr.\ Elton looked all happiness at this proposition; and nothing
could exceed his alertness and attention in conducting them into his
house and endeavouring to make every thing appear to advantage. The
room they were taken into was the one he chiefly occupied, and looking
forwards; behind it was another with which it immediately communicated;
the door between them was open, and Emma passed into it with the housekeeper
to receive her assistance in the most comfortable manner. She was
obliged to leave the door ajar as she found it; but she fully intended
that Mr.\ Elton should close it. It was not closed, however, it still
remained ajar; but by engaging the housekeeper in incessant conversation,
she hoped to make it practicable for him to chuse his own subject
in the adjoining room. For ten minutes she could hear nothing but
herself. It could be protracted no longer. She was then obliged to
be finished, and make her appearance.

The lovers were standing together at one of the windows. It had a
most favourable aspect; and, for half a minute, Emma felt the glory
of having schemed successfully. But it would not do; he had not come
to the point. He had been most agreeable, most delightful; he had
told Harriet that he had seen them go by, and had purposely followed
them; other little gallantries and allusions had been dropt, but nothing
serious.

{}``Cautious, very cautious,'' thought Emma; {}``he advances inch
by inch, and will hazard nothing till he believes himself secure.''

Still, however, though every thing had not been accomplished by her
ingenious device, she could not but flatter herself that it had been
the occasion of much present enjoyment to both, and must be leading
them forward to the great event.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XI}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XI}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XI}

Mr.\ Elton must now be left to himself. It was no longer in Emma's
power to superintend his happiness or quicken his measures. The coming
of her sister's family was so very near at hand, that first in anticipation,
and then in reality, it became henceforth her prime object of interest;
and during the ten days of their stay at Hartfield it was not to be
expected\mbox{---}she did not herself expect\mbox{---}that any thing
beyond occasional, fortuitous assistance could be afforded by her
to the lovers. They might advance rapidly if they would, however;
they must advance somehow or other whether they would or no. She hardly
wished to have more leisure for them. There are people, who the more
you do for them, the less they will do for themselves.

Mr.\ and Mrs.\ John Knightley, from having been longer than usual
absent from Surry, were exciting of course rather more than the usual
interest. Till this year, every long vacation since their marriage
had been divided between Hartfield and Donwell Abbey; but all the
holidays of this autumn had been given to sea-bathing for the children,
and it was therefore many months since they had been seen in a regular
way by their Surry connexions, or seen at all by Mr.\ Woodhouse,
who could not be induced to get so far as London, even for poor Isabella's
sake; and who consequently was now most nervously and apprehensively
happy in forestalling this too short visit.

He thought much of the evils of the journey for her, and not a little
of the fatigues of his own horses and coachman who were to bring some
of the party the last half of the way; but his alarms were needless;
the sixteen miles being happily accomplished, and Mr.\ and Mrs.\ John
Knightley, their five children, and a competent number of nursery-maids,
all reaching Hartfield in safety. The bustle and joy of such an arrival,
the many to be talked to, welcomed, encouraged, and variously dispersed
and disposed of, produced a noise and confusion which his nerves could
not have borne under any other cause, nor have endured much longer
even for this; but the ways of Hartfield and the feelings of her father
were so respected by Mrs.\ John Knightley, that in spite of maternal
solicitude for the immediate enjoyment of her little ones, and for
their having instantly all the liberty and attendance, all the eating
and drinking, and sleeping and playing, which they could possibly
wish for, without the smallest delay, the children were never allowed
to be long a disturbance to him, either in themselves or in any restless
attendance on them.

Mrs.\ John Knightley was a pretty, elegant little woman, of gentle,
quiet manners, and a disposition remarkably amiable and affectionate;
wrapt up in her family; a devoted wife, a doating mother, and so tenderly
attached to her father and sister that, but for these higher ties,
a warmer love might have seemed impossible. She could never see a
fault in any of them. She was not a woman of strong understanding
or any quickness; and with this resemblance of her father, she inherited
also much of his constitution; was delicate in her own health, over-careful
of that of her children, had many fears and many nerves, and was as
fond of her own Mr.\ Wingfield in town as her father could be of
Mr.\ Perry. They were alike too, in a general benevolence of temper,
and a strong habit of regard for every old acquaintance.

Mr.\ John Knightley was a tall, gentleman-like, and very clever man;
rising in his profession, domestic, and respectable in his private
character; but with reserved manners which prevented his being generally
pleasing; and capable of being sometimes out of humour. He was not
an ill-tempered man, not so often unreasonably cross as to deserve
such a reproach; but his temper was not his great perfection; and,
indeed, with such a worshipping wife, it was hardly possible that
any natural defects in it should not be increased. The extreme sweetness
of her temper must hurt his. He had all the clearness and quickness
of mind which she wanted, and he could sometimes act an ungracious,
or say a severe thing.

He was not a great favourite with his fair sister-in-law. Nothing
wrong in him escaped her. She was quick in feeling the little injuries
to Isabella, which Isabella never felt herself. Perhaps she might
have passed over more had his manners been flattering to Isabella's
sister, but they were only those of a calmly kind brother and friend,
without praise and without blindness; but hardly any degree of personal
compliment could have made her regardless of that greatest fault of
all in her eyes which he sometimes fell into, the want of respectful
forbearance towards her father. There he had not always the patience
that could have been wished. Mr.\ Woodhouse's peculiarities and fidgetiness
were sometimes provoking him to a rational remonstrance or sharp retort
equally ill-bestowed. It did not often happen; for Mr.\ John Knightley
had really a great regard for his father-in-law, and generally a strong
sense of what was due to him; but it was too often for Emma's charity,
especially as there was all the pain of apprehension frequently to
be endured, though the offence came not. The beginning, however, of
every visit displayed none but the properest feelings, and this being
of necessity so short might be hoped to pass away in unsullied cordiality.
They had not been long seated and composed when Mr.\ Woodhouse, with
a melancholy shake of the head and a sigh, called his daughter's attention
to the sad change at Hartfield since she had been there last.

{}``Ah, my dear,'' said he, {}``poor Miss Taylor\mbox{---}It is
a grievous business.''

{}``Oh yes, sir,'' cried she with ready sympathy, {}``how you must
miss her! And dear Emma, too!\mbox{---} What a dreadful loss to you
both!\mbox{---} I have been so grieved for you.\mbox{---} I could
not imagine how you could possibly do without her.\mbox{---} It is
a sad change indeed.\mbox{---} But I hope she is pretty well, sir.''

{}``Pretty well, my dear\mbox{---}I hope\mbox{---}pretty well.\mbox{---}
I do not know but that the place agrees with her tolerably.''

Mr.\ John Knightley here asked Emma quietly whether there were any
doubts of the air of Randalls.

{}``Oh!\ no\mbox{---}none in the least. I never saw Mrs.\ Weston
better in my life\mbox{---}never looking so well. Papa is only speaking
his own regret.''

{}``Very much to the honour of both,'' was the handsome reply.

{}``And do you see her, sir, tolerably often?''\ asked Isabella
in the plaintive tone which just suited her father.

Mr.\ Woodhouse hesitated.\mbox{---}{}``Not near so often, my dear,
as I could wish.''

{}``Oh!\ papa, we have missed seeing them but one entire day since
they married. Either in the morning or evening of every day, excepting
one, have we seen either Mr.\ Weston or Mrs.\ Weston, and generally
both, either at Randalls or here\mbox{---}and as you may suppose,
Isabella, most frequently here. They are very, very kind in their
visits. Mr.\ Weston is really as kind as herself. Papa, if you speak
in that melancholy way, you will be giving Isabella a false idea of
us all. Every body must be aware that Miss Taylor must be missed,
but every body ought also to be assured that Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston
do really prevent our missing her by any means to the extent we ourselves
anticipated\mbox{---}which is the exact truth.''

{}``Just as it should be,'' said Mr.\ John Knightley, {}``and
just as I hoped it was from your letters. Her wish of shewing you
attention could not be doubted, and his being a disengaged and social
man makes it all easy. I have been always telling you, my love, that
I had no idea of the change being so very material to Hartfield as
you apprehended; and now you have Emma's account, I hope you will
be satisfied.''

{}``Why, to be sure,'' said Mr.\ Wood\-house\mbox{---}{}``yes,
certainly\mbox{---}I cannot de\-ny that Mrs.\ Weston, poor Mrs.\ Weston,
does come and see us pretty often\mbox{---}but then\mbox{---}she
is always obliged to go away again.''

{}``It would be very hard upon Mr.\ Weston if she did not, papa.\mbox{---}
You quite forget poor Mr.\ Weston.''

{}``I think, indeed,'' said John Knightley pleasantly, {}``that
Mr.\ Weston has some little claim. You and I, Emma, will venture
to take the part of the poor husband. I, being a husband, and you
not being a wife, the claims of the man may very likely strike us
with equal force. As for Isabella, she has been married long enough
to see the convenience of putting all the Mr.\ Westons aside as much
as she can.''

{}``Me, my love,'' cried his wife, hearing and understanding only
in part.\mbox{---} {}``Are you talking about me?\mbox{---} I am
sure nobody ought to be, or can be, a greater advocate for matrimony
than I am; and if it had not been for the misery of her leaving Hartfield,
I should never have thought of Miss Taylor but as the most fortunate
woman in the world; and as to slighting Mr.\ Weston, that excellent
Mr.\ Weston, I think there is nothing he does not deserve. I believe
he is one of the very best-tempered men that ever existed. Excepting
yourself and your brother, I do not know his equal for temper. I shall
never forget his flying Henry's kite for him that very windy day last
Easter\mbox{---}and ever since his particular kindness last September
twelvemonth in writing that note, at twelve o'clock at night, on purpose
to assure me that there was no scarlet fever at Cobham, I have been
convinced there could not be a more feeling heart nor a better man
in existence.\mbox{---} If any body can deserve him, it must be Miss
Taylor.''

{}``Where is the young man?''\ said John Knightley. {}``Has he
been here on this occasion\mbox{---}or has he not?''\ 

{}``He has not been here yet,'' replied Emma. {}``There was a strong
expectation of his coming soon after the marriage, but it ended in
nothing; and I have not heard him mentioned lately.''

{}``But you should tell them of the letter, my dear,'' said her
father. {}``He wrote a letter to poor Mrs.\ Weston, to congratulate
her, and a very proper, handsome letter it was. She shewed it to me.
I thought it very well done of him indeed. Whether it was his own
idea you know, one cannot tell. He is but young, and his uncle, perhaps\mbox{---}''

{}``My dear papa, he is three-and-twenty. You forget how time passes.''

{}``Three-and-twenty!\mbox{---}is he indeed?\mbox{---} Well, I
could not have thought it\mbox{---}and he was but two years old when
he lost his poor mother! Well, time does fly indeed!\mbox{---}and
my memory is very bad. However, it was an exceeding good, pretty letter,
and gave Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston a great deal of pleasure. I remember
it was written from Weymouth, and dated Sept.\ 28th\mbox{---}and
began, `My dear Madam,' but I forget how it went on; and it was signed
`F.\ C.\ Weston Churchill.'\mbox{---}I remember that perfectly.''

{}``How very pleasing and proper of him!''\ cried the good-hearted
Mrs.\ John Knightley. {}``I have no doubt of his being a most amiable
young man. But how sad it is that he should not live at home with
his father! There is something so shocking in a child's being taken
away from his parents and natural home! I never could comprehend how
Mr.\ Weston could part with him. To give up one's child! I really
never could think well of any body who proposed such a thing to any
body else.''

{}``Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy,'' observed
Mr.\ John Knightley coolly. {}``But you need not imagine Mr.\ Weston
to have felt what you would feel in giving up Henry or John. Mr.\ Weston
is rather an easy, cheerful-tempered man, than a man of strong feelings;
he takes things as he finds them, and makes enjoyment of them somehow
or other, depending, I suspect, much more upon what is called \emph{society}
for his comforts, that is, upon the power of eating and drinking,
and playing whist with his neighbours five times a week, than upon
family affection, or any thing that home affords.''

Emma could not like what bordered on a reflection on Mr.\ Weston,
and had half a mind to take it up; but she struggled, and let it pass.
She would keep the peace if possible; and there was something honourable
and valuable in the strong domestic habits, the all-sufficiency of
home to himself, whence resulted her brother's disposition to look
down on the common rate of social intercourse, and those to whom it
was important.\mbox{---} It had a high claim to forbearance.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XII}

Mr.\ Knightley was to dine with them\mbox{---}rather against the
inclination of Mr.\ Woodhouse, who did not like that any one should
share with him in Isabella's first day. Emma's sense of right however
had decided it; and besides the consideration of what was due to each
brother, she had particular pleasure, from the circumstance of the
late disagreement between Mr.\ Knightley and herself, in procuring
him the proper invitation.

She hoped they might now become friends again. She thought it was
time to make up. Making-up indeed would not do. \emph{She} certainly
had not been in the wrong, and \emph{he} would never own that he had.
Concession must be out of the question; but it was time to appear
to forget that they had ever quarrelled; and she hoped it might rather
assist the restoration of friendship, that when he came into the room
she had one of the children with her\mbox{---}the youngest, a nice
little girl about eight months old, who was now making her first visit
to Hartfield, and very happy to be danced about in her aunt's arms.
It did assist; for though he began with grave looks and short questions,
he was soon led on to talk of them all in the usual way, and to take
the child out of her arms with all the unceremoniousness of perfect
amity. Emma felt they were friends again; and the conviction giving
her at first great satisfaction, and then a little sauciness, she
could not help saying, as he was admiring the baby,

{}``What a comfort it is, that we think alike about our nephews and
nieces. As to men and women, our opinions are sometimes very different;
but with regard to these children, I observe we never disagree.''

{}``If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of men
and women, and as little under the power of fancy and whim in your
dealings with them, as you are where these children are concerned,
we might always think alike.''

{}``To be sure\mbox{---}our discordancies must always arise from
my being in the wrong.''

{}``Yes,'' said he, smiling\mbox{---}{}``and reason good. I was
sixteen years old when you were born.''

{}``A material difference then,'' she replied\mbox{---}{}``and
no doubt you were much my superior in judgment at that period of our
lives; but does not the lapse of one-and-twenty years bring our understandings
a good deal nearer?''\ 

{}``Yes\mbox{---}a good deal \emph{nearer}.''

{}``But still, not near enough to give me a chance of being right,
if we think differently.''

{}``I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years' experience,
and by not being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child. Come, my
dear Emma, let us be friends, and say no more about it. Tell your
aunt, little Emma, that she ought to set you a better example than
to be renewing old grievances, and that if she were not wrong before,
she is now.''

{}``That's true,'' she cried\mbox{---}{}``very true. Little Emma,
grow up a better woman than your aunt. Be infinitely cleverer and
not half so conceited. Now, Mr.\ Knightley, a word or two more, and
I have done. As far as good intentions went, we were \emph{both} right,
and I must say that no effects on my side of the argument have yet
proved wrong. I only want to know that Mr.\ Martin is not very, very
bitterly disappointed.''

{}``A man cannot be more so,'' was his short, full answer.

{}``Ah!\mbox{---} Indeed I am very sorry.\mbox{---} Come, shake
hands with me.''

This had just taken place and with great cordiality, when John Knightley
made his appearance, and {}``How d'ye do, George?''\ and {}``John,
how are you?''\ succeeded in the true English style, burying under
a calmness that seemed all but indifference, the real attachment which
would have led either of them, if requisite, to do every thing for
the good of the other.

The evening was quiet and conversable, as Mr.\ Woodhouse declined
cards entirely for the sake of comfortable talk with his dear Isabella,
and the little party made two natural divisions; on one side he and
his daughter; on the other the two Mr.\ Knightleys; their subjects
totally distinct, or very rarely mixing\mbox{---}and Emma only occasionally
joining in one or the other.

The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits, but principally
of those of the elder, whose temper was by much the most communicative,
and who was always the greater talker. As a magistrate, he had generally
some point of law to consult John about, or, at least, some curious
anecdote to give; and as a farmer, as keeping in hand the home-farm
at Donwell, he had to tell what every field was to bear next year,
and to give all such local information as could not fail of being
interesting to a brother whose home it had equally been the longest
part of his life, and whose attachments were strong. The plan of a
drain, the change of a fence, the felling of a tree, and the destination
of every acre for wheat, turnips, or spring corn, was entered into
with as much equality of interest by John, as his cooler manners rendered
possible; and if his willing brother ever left him any thing to inquire
about, his inquiries even approached a tone of eagerness.

While they were thus comfortably occupied, Mr.\ Woodhouse was enjoying
a full flow of happy regrets and fearful affection with his daughter.

{}``My poor dear Isabella,'' said he, fondly taking her hand, and
interrupting, for a few moments, her busy labours for some one of
her five children\mbox{---}{}``How long it is, how terribly long
since you were here! And how tired you must be after your journey!
You must go to bed early, my dear\mbox{---}and I recommend a little
gruel to you before you go.\mbox{---} You and I will have a nice
basin of gruel together. My dear Emma, suppose we all have a little
gruel.''

Emma could not suppose any such thing, knowing as she did, that both
the Mr.\ Knightleys were as unpersuadable on that article as herself;\mbox{---}and
two basins only were ordered. After a little more discourse in praise
of gruel, with some wondering at its not being taken every evening
by every body, he proceeded to say, with an air of grave reflection,

{}``It was an awkward business, my dear, your spending the autumn
at South End instead of coming here. I never had much opinion of the
sea air.''

{}``Mr.\ Wingfield most strenuously recommended it, sir\mbox{---}or
we should not have gone. He recommended it for all the children, but
particularly for the weakness in little Bella's throat,\mbox{---}both
sea air and bathing.''

{}``Ah!\ my dear, but Perry had many doubts about the sea doing
her any good; and as to myself, I have been long perfectly convinced,
though perhaps I never told you so before, that the sea is very rarely
of use to any body. I am sure it almost killed me once.''

{}``Come, come,'' cried Emma, feeling this to be an unsafe subject,
{}``I must beg you not to talk of the sea. It makes me envious and
miserable;\mbox{---}I who have never seen it! South End is prohibited,
if you please. My dear Isabella, I have not heard you make one inquiry
about Mr.\ Perry yet; and he never forgets you.''

{}``Oh!\ good Mr.\ Perry\mbox{---}how is he, sir?''\ 

{}``Why, pretty well; but not quite well. Poor Perry is bilious,
and he has not time to take care of himself\mbox{---}he tells me
he has not time to take care of himself\mbox{---}which is very sad\mbox{---}but
he is always wanted all round the country. I suppose there is not
a man in such practice anywhere. But then there is not so clever a
man any where.''

{}``And Mrs.\ Perry and the children, how are they? do the children
grow? I have a great regard for Mr.\ Perry. I hope he will be calling
soon. He will be so pleased to see my little ones.''

{}``I hope he will be here to-morrow, for I have a question or two
to ask him about myself of some consequence. And, my dear, whenever
he comes, you had better let him look at little Bella's throat.''

{}``Oh!\ my dear sir, her throat is so much better that I have hardly
any uneasiness about it. Either bathing has been of the greatest service
to her, or else it is to be attributed to an excellent embrocation
of Mr.\ Wingfield's, which we have been applying at times ever since
August.''

{}``It is not very likely, my dear, that bathing should have been
of use to her\mbox{---}and if I had known you were wanting an embrocation,
I would have spoken to\mbox{---}

{}``You seem to me to have forgotten Mrs.\ and Miss Bates,'' said
Emma, {}``I have not heard one inquiry after them.''

{}``Oh!\ the good Bateses\mbox{---}I am quite ashamed of myself\mbox{---}but
you mention them in most of your letters. I hope they are quite well.
Good old Mrs.\ Bates\mbox{---}I will call upon her to-morrow, and
take my children.\mbox{---} They are always so pleased to see my
children.\mbox{---} And that excellent Miss Bates!\mbox{---}such
thorough worthy people!\mbox{---} How are they, sir?''\ 

{}``Why, pretty well, my dear, upon the whole. But poor Mrs.\ Bates
had a bad cold about a month ago.''

{}``How sorry I am! But colds were never so prevalent as they have
been this autumn. Mr.\ Wingfield told me that he has never known
them more general or heavy\mbox{---}except when it has been quite
an influenza.''

{}``That has been a good deal the case, my dear; but not to the degree
you mention. Perry says that colds have been very general, but not
so heavy as he has very often known them in November. Perry does not
call it altogether a sickly season.''

{}``No, I do not know that Mr.\ Wingfield considers it very sickly
except\mbox{---}

{}``Ah!\  my poor dear child, the truth is, that in London it is
always a sickly season. Nobody is healthy in London, nobody can be.
It is a dreadful thing to have you forced to live there! so far off!\mbox{---}and
the air so bad!''\ 

{}``No, indeed\mbox{---}\emph{we} are not at all in a bad air. Our
part of London is very superior to most others!\mbox{---} You must
not confound us with London in general, my dear sir. The neighbourhood
of Brunswick Square is very different from almost all the rest. We
are so very airy! I should be unwilling, I own, to live in any other
part of the town;\mbox{---}there is hardly any other that I could
be satisfied to have my children in: but \emph{we} are so remarkably
airy!\mbox{---} Mr.\ Wingfield thinks the vicinity of Brunswick
Square decidedly the most favourable as to air.''

{}``Ah!\ my dear, it is not like Hartfield. You make the best of
it\mbox{---}but after you have been a week at Hartfield, you are
all of you different creatures; you do not look like the same. Now
I cannot say, that I think you are any of you looking well at present.''

{}``I am sorry to hear you say so, sir; but I assure you, excepting
those little nervous head-aches and palpitations which I am never
entirely free from anywhere, I am quite well myself; and if the children
were rather pale before they went to bed, it was only because they
were a little more tired than usual, from their journey and the happiness
of coming. I hope you will think better of their looks to-morrow;
for I assure you Mr.\ Wingfield told me, that he did not believe
he had ever sent us off altogether, in such good case. I trust, at
least, that you do not think Mr.\ Knightley looking ill,'' turning
her eyes with affectionate anxiety towards her husband.

{}``Middling, my dear; I cannot compliment you. I think Mr.\ John
Knightley very far from looking well.''

{}``What is the matter, sir?\mbox{---} Did you speak to me?''\ cried
Mr.\ John Knightley, hearing his own name.

{}``I am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not think you
looking well\mbox{---}but I hope it is only from being a little fatigued.
I could have wished, however, as you know, that you had seen Mr.\ Wingfield
before you left home.''

{}``My dear Isabella,''---exclaimed he hastily\mbox{---}{}``pray
do not concern yourself about my looks. Be satisfied with doctoring
and coddling yourself and the children, and let me look as I chuse.''

{}``I did not thoroughly understand what you were telling your brother,''
cried Emma, {}``about your friend Mr.\ Graham's intending to have
a bailiff from Scotland, to look after his new estate. What will it
answer? Will not the old prejudice be too strong?''\ 

And she talked in this way so long and successfully that, when forced
to give her attention again to her father and sister, she had nothing
worse to hear than Isabella's kind inquiry after Jane Fairfax; and
Jane Fairfax, though no great favourite with her in general, she was
at that moment very happy to assist in praising.

{}``That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax!''\ said Mrs.\ John Knightley.\mbox{---}
{}``It is so long since I have seen her, except now and then for
a moment accidentally in town! What happiness it must be to her good
old grandmother and excellent aunt, when she comes to visit them!
I always regret excessively on dear Emma's account that she cannot
be more at Highbury; but now their daughter is married, I suppose
Colonel and Mrs.\ Campbell will not be able to part with her at all.
She would be such a delightful companion for Emma.''

Mr.\ Woodhouse agreed to it all, but added,

{}``Our little friend Harriet Smith, however, is just such another
pretty kind of young person. You will like Harriet. Emma could not
have a better companion than Harriet.''

{}``I am most happy to hear it\mbox{---}but only Jane Fairfax one
knows to be so very accomplished and superior!\mbox{---}and exactly
Emma's age.''

This topic was discussed very happily, and others succeeded of similar
moment, and passed away with similar harmony; but the evening did
not close without a little return of agitation. The gruel came and
supplied a great deal to be said\mbox{---}much praise and many comments\mbox{---}undoubting
decision of its wholesomeness for every constitution, and pretty severe
Philippics upon the many houses where it was never met with tolerable;\mbox{---}but,
unfortunately, among the failures which the daughter had to instance,
the most recent, and therefore most prominent, was in her own cook
at South End, a young woman hired for the time, who never had been
able to understand what she meant by a basin of nice smooth gruel,
thin, but not too thin. Often as she had wished for and ordered it,
she had never been able to get any thing tolerable. Here was a dangerous
opening.

{}``Ah!''\ said Mr.\ Woodhouse, shaking his head and fixing his
eyes on her with tender concern.\mbox{---} The ejaculation in Emma's
ear expressed, {}``Ah!\ there is no end of the sad consequences
of your going to South End. It does not bear talking of.'' And for
a little while she hoped he would not talk of it, and that a silent
rumination might suffice to restore him to the relish of his own smooth
gruel. After an interval of some minutes, however, he began with,

{}``I shall always be very sorry that you went to the sea this autumn,
instead of coming here.''

{}``But why should you be sorry, sir?\mbox{---} I assure you, it
did the children a great deal of good.''

{}``And, moreover, if you must go to the sea, it had better not have
been to South End. South End is an unhealthy place. Perry was surprized
to hear you had fixed upon South End.''

{}``I know there is such an idea with many people, but indeed it
is quite a mistake, sir.\mbox{---} We all had our health perfectly
well there, never found the least inconvenience from the mud; and
Mr.\ Wingfield says it is entirely a mistake to suppose the place
unhealthy; and I am sure he may be depended on, for he thoroughly
understands the nature of the air, and his own brother and family
have been there repeatedly.''

{}``You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you went anywhere.\mbox{---}
Perry was a week at Cromer once, and he holds it to be the best of
all the sea-bathing places. A fine open sea, he says, and very pure
air. And, by what I understand, you might have had lodgings there
quite away from the sea\mbox{---}a quarter of a mile off\mbox{---}very
comfortable. You should have consulted Perry.''

{}``But, my dear sir, the difference of the journey;\mbox{---}only
consider how great it would have been.\mbox{---} An hundred miles,
perhaps, instead of forty.''

{}``Ah!\ my dear, as Perry says, where health is at stake, nothing
else should be considered; and if one is to travel, there is not much
to chuse between forty miles and an hundred.\mbox{---} Better not
move at all, better stay in London altogether than travel forty miles
to get into a worse air. This is just what Perry said. It seemed to
him a very ill-judged measure.''

Emma's attempts to stop her father had been vain; and when he had
reached such a point as this, she could not wonder at her brother-in-law's
breaking out.

{}``Mr.\ Perry,'' said he, in a voice of very strong displeasure,
{}``would do as well to keep his opinion till it is asked for. Why
does he make it any business of his, to wonder at what I do?\mbox{---}at
my taking my family to one part of the coast or another?\mbox{---}
I may be allowed, I hope, the use of my judgment as well as Mr.\ Perry.\mbox{---}
I want his directions no more than his drugs.'' He paused\mbox{---}and
growing cooler in a moment, added, with only sarcastic dryness, {}``If
Mr.\ Perry can tell me how to convey a wife and five children a distance
of an hundred and thirty miles with no greater expense or inconvenience
than a distance of forty, I should be as willing to prefer Cromer
to South End as he could himself.''

{}``True, true,'' cried Mr.\ Knightley, with most ready interposition\mbox{---}{}``very
true. That's a consideration indeed.\mbox{---} But John, as to what
I was telling you of my idea of moving the path to Langham, of turning
it more to the right that it may not cut through the home meadows,
I cannot conceive any difficulty. I should not attempt it, if it were
to be the means of inconvenience to the Highbury people, but if you
call to mind exactly the present line of the path\ldots{}. The only
way of proving it, however, will be to turn to our maps. I shall see
you at the Abbey to-morrow morning I hope, and then we will look them
over, and you shall give me your opinion.''

Mr.\ Woodhouse was rather agitated by such harsh reflections on his
friend Perry, to whom he had, in fact, though unconsciously, been
attributing many of his own feelings and expressions;\mbox{---}but
the soothing attentions of his daughters gradually removed the present
evil, and the immediate alertness of one brother, and better recollections
of the other, prevented any renewal of it.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XIII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XIII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XIII}

There could hardly be a happier creature in the world than Mrs.\ John
Knightley, in this short visit to Hartfield, going about every morning
among her old acquaintance with her five children, and talking over
what she had done every evening with her father and sister. She had
nothing to wish otherwise, but that the days did not pass so swiftly.
It was a delightful visit;\mbox{---}perfect, in being much too short.

In general their evenings were less engaged with friends than their
mornings; but one complete dinner engagement, and out of the house
too, there was no avoiding, though at Christmas. Mr.\ Weston would
take no denial; they must all dine at Randalls one day;\mbox{---}even
Mr.\ Woodhouse was persuaded to think it a possible thing in preference
to a division of the party.

How they were all to be conveyed, he would have made a difficulty
if he could, but as his son and daughter's carriage and horses were
actually at Hartfield, he was not able to make more than a simple
question on that head; it hardly amounted to a doubt; nor did it occupy
Emma long to convince him that they might in one of the carriages
find room for Harriet also.

Harriet, Mr.\ Elton, and Mr.\ Knightley, their own especial set,
were the only persons invited to meet them;\mbox{---}the hours were
to be early, as well as the numbers few; Mr.\ Woodhouse's habits
and inclination being consulted in every thing.

The evening before this great event (for it was a very great event
that Mr.\ Woodhouse should dine out, on the 24th of December) had
been spent by Harriet at Hartfield, and she had gone home so much
indisposed with a cold, that, but for her own earnest wish of being
nursed by Mrs.\ Goddard, Emma could not have allowed her to leave
the house. Emma called on her the next day, and found her doom already
signed with regard to Randalls. She was very feverish and had a bad
sore throat: Mrs.\ Goddard was full of care and affection, Mr.\ Perry
was talked of, and Harriet herself was too ill and low to resist the
authority which excluded her from this delightful engagement, though
she could not speak of her loss without many tears.

Emma sat with her as long as she could, to attend her in Mrs.\ Goddard's
unavoidable absences, and raise her spirits by representing how much
Mr.\ Elton's would be depressed when he knew her state; and left
her at last tolerably comfortable, in the sweet dependence of his
having a most comfortless visit, and of their all missing her very
much. She had not advanced many yards from Mrs.\ Goddard's door,
when she was met by Mr.\ Elton himself, evidently coming towards
it, and as they walked on slowly together in conversation about the
invalid\mbox{---}of whom he, on the rumour of considerable illness,
had been going to inquire, that he might carry some report of her
to Hartfield\mbox{---}they were overtaken by Mr.\ John Knightley
returning from the daily visit to Donwell, with his two eldest boys,
whose healthy, glowing faces shewed all the benefit of a country run,
and seemed to ensure a quick despatch of the roast mutton and rice
pudding they were hastening home for. They joined company and proceeded
together. Emma was just describing the nature of her friend's complaint;\mbox{---}{}``a
throat very much inflamed, with a great deal of heat about her, a
quick, low pulse, \&c.\  and she was sorry to find from Mrs.\ Goddard
that Harriet was liable to very bad sore-throats, and had often alarmed
her with them.'' Mr.\ Elton looked all alarm on the occasion, as
he exclaimed,

{}``A sore-throat!\mbox{---}I hope not infectious. I hope not of
a putrid infectious sort. Has Perry seen her? Indeed you should take
care of yourself as well as of your friend. Let me entreat you to
run no risks. Why does not Perry see her?''\ 

Emma, who was not really at all frightened herself, tranquillised
this excess of apprehension by assurances of Mrs.\ Goddard's experience
and care; but as there must still remain a degree of uneasiness which
she could not wish to reason away, which she would rather feed and
assist than not, she added soon afterwards\mbox{---}as if quite another
subject,

{}``It is so cold, so very cold\mbox{---}and looks and feels so
very much like snow, that if it were to any other place or with any
other party, I should really try not to go out to-day\mbox{---}and
dissuade my father from venturing; but as he has made up his mind,
and does not seem to feel the cold himself, I do not like to interfere,
as I know it would be so great a disappointment to Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston.
But, upon my word, Mr.\ Elton, in your case, I should certainly excuse
myself. You appear to me a little hoarse already, and when you consider
what demand of voice and what fatigues to-morrow will bring, I think
it would be no more than common prudence to stay at home and take
care of yourself to-night.''

Mr.\ Elton looked as if he did not very well know what answer to
make; which was exactly the case; for though very much gratified by
the kind care of such a fair lady, and not liking to resist any advice
of her's, he had not really the least inclination to give up the visit;\mbox{---}but
Emma, too eager and busy in her own previous conceptions and views
to hear him impartially, or see him with clear vision, was very well
satisfied with his muttering acknowledgment of its being {}``very
cold, certainly very cold,'' and walked on, rejoicing in having extricated
him from Randalls, and secured him the power of sending to inquire
after Harriet every hour of the evening.

{}``You do quite right,'' said she;\mbox{---}{}``we will make
your apologies to Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston.''

But hardly had she so spoken, when she found her brother was civilly
offering a seat in his carriage, if the weather were Mr.\ Elton's
only objection, and Mr.\ Elton actually accepting the offer with
much prompt satisfaction. It was a done thing; Mr.\ Elton was to
go, and never had his broad handsome face expressed more pleasure
than at this moment; never had his smile been stronger, nor his eyes
more exulting than when he next looked at her.

{}``Well,'' said she to herself, {}``this is most strange!\mbox{---}
After I had got him off so well, to chuse to go into company, and
leave Harriet ill behind!\mbox{---} Most strange indeed!\mbox{---}
But there is, I believe, in many men, especially single men, such
an inclination\mbox{---}such a passion for dining out\mbox{---}a
dinner engagement is so high in the class of their pleasures, their
employments, their dignities, almost their duties, that any thing
gives way to it\mbox{---}and this must be the case with Mr.\ Elton;
a most valuable, amiable, pleasing young man undoubtedly, and very
much in love with Harriet; but still, he cannot refuse an invitation,
he must dine out wherever he is asked. What a strange thing love is!\ he
can see ready wit in Harriet, but will not dine alone for her.''

Soon afterwards Mr.\ Elton quitted them, and she could not but do
him the justice of feeling that there was a great deal of sentiment
in his manner of naming Harriet at parting; in the tone of his voice
while assuring her that he should call at Mrs.\ Goddard's for news
of her fair friend, the last thing before he prepared for the happiness
of meeting her again, when he hoped to be able to give a better report;
and he sighed and smiled himself off in a way that left the balance
of approbation much in his favour.

After a few minutes of entire silence between them, John Knightley
began with\mbox{---}

{}``I never in my life saw a man more intent on being agreeable than
Mr.\ Elton. It is downright labour to him where ladies are concerned.
With men he can be rational and unaffected, but when he has ladies
to please, every feature works.''

{}``Mr.\ Elton's manners are not perfect,'' replied Emma; {}``but
where there is a wish to please, one ought to overlook, and one does
overlook a great deal. Where a man does his best with only moderate
powers, he will have the advantage over negligent superiority. There
is such perfect good-temper and good-will in Mr.\ Elton as one cannot
but value.''

{}``Yes,'' said Mr.\ John Knightley presently, with some slyness,
{}``he seems to have a great deal of good-will towards \emph{you}.''

{}``Me!''\ she replied with a smile of astonishment, {}``are you
imagining me to be Mr.\ Elton's object?''\ 

{}``Such an imagination has crossed me, I own, Emma; and if it never
occurred to you before, you may as well take it into consideration
now.''

{}``Mr.\ Elton in love with me!\mbox{---} What an idea!''\ 

{}``I do not say it is so; but you will do well to consider whether
it is so or not, and to regulate your behaviour accordingly. I think
your manners to him encouraging. I speak as a friend, Emma. You had
better look about you, and ascertain what you do, and what you mean
to do.''

{}``I thank you; but I assure you you are quite mistaken. Mr.\ Elton
and I are very good friends, and nothing more;'' and she walked on,
amusing herself in the consideration of the blunders which often arise
from a partial knowledge of circumstances, of the mistakes which people
of high pretensions to judgment are for ever falling into; and not
very well pleased with her brother for imagining her blind and ignorant,
and in want of counsel. He said no more.

Mr.\ Woodhouse had so completely made up his mind to the visit, that
in spite of the increasing coldness, he seemed to have no idea of
shrinking from it, and set forward at last most punctually with his
eldest daughter in his own carriage, with less apparent consciousness
of the weather than either of the others; too full of the wonder of
his own going, and the pleasure it was to afford at Randalls to see
that it was cold, and too well wrapt up to feel it. The cold, however,
was severe; and by the time the second carriage was in motion, a few
flakes of snow were finding their way down, and the sky had the appearance
of being so overcharged as to want only a milder air to produce a
very white world in a very short time.

Emma soon saw that her companion was not in the happiest humour. The
preparing and the going abroad in such weather, with the sacrifice
of his children after dinner, were evils, were disagreeables at least,
which Mr.\ John Knightley did not by any means like; he anticipated
nothing in the visit that could be at all worth the purchase; and
the whole of their drive to the vicarage was spent by him in expressing
his discontent.

{}``A man,'' said he, {}``must have a very good opinion of himself
when he asks people to leave their own fireside, and encounter such
a day as this, for the sake of coming to see him. He must think himself
a most agreeable fellow; I could not do such a thing. It is the greatest
absurdity\mbox{---}Actually snowing at this moment!\mbox{---} The
folly of not allowing people to be comfortable at home\mbox{---}and
the folly of people's not staying comfortably at home when they can!
If we were obliged to go out such an evening as this, by any call
of duty or business, what a hardship we should deem it;\mbox{---}and
here are we, probably with rather thinner clothing than usual, setting
forward voluntarily, without excuse, in defiance of the voice of nature,
which tells man, in every thing given to his view or his feelings,
to stay at home himself, and keep all under shelter that he can;\mbox{---}here
are we setting forward to spend five dull hours in another man's house,
with nothing to say or to hear that was not said and heard yesterday,
and may not be said and heard again to-morrow. Going in dismal weather,
to return probably in worse;\mbox{---}four horses and four servants
taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering creatures
into colder rooms and worse company than they might have had at home.''

Emma did not find herself equal to give the pleased assent, which
no doubt he was in the habit of receiving, to emulate the {}``Very
true, my love,'' which must have been usually administered by his
travelling companion; but she had resolution enough to refrain from
making any answer at all. She could not be complying, she dreaded
being quarrelsome; her heroism reached only to silence. She allowed
him to talk, and arranged the glasses, and wrapped herself up, without
opening her lips.

They arrived, the carriage turned, the step was let down, and Mr.\ Elton,
spruce, black, and smiling, was with them instantly. Emma thought
with pleasure of some change of subject. Mr.\ Elton was all obligation
and cheerfulness; he was so very cheerful in his civilities indeed,
that she began to think he must have received a different account
of Harriet from what had reached her. She had sent while dressing,
and the answer had been, {}``Much the same\mbox{---}not better.''

{}``\emph{My} report from Mrs.\ Goddard's,'' said she presently,
{}``was not so pleasant as I had hoped\mbox{---}`Not better' was
\emph{my} answer.''

His face lengthened immediately; and his voice was the voice of sentiment
as he answered.

{}``Oh!\ no\mbox{---}I am grieved to find\mbox{---}I was on the
point of telling you that when I called at Mrs.\ Goddard's door,
which I did the very last thing before I returned to dress, I was
told that Miss Smith was not better, by no means better, rather worse.
Very much grieved and concerned\mbox{---}I had flattered myself that
she must be better after such a cordial as I knew had been given her
in the morning.''

Emma smiled and answered\mbox{---}{}``My visit was of use to the
nervous part of her complaint, I hope; but not even I can charm away
a sore throat; it is a most severe cold indeed. Mr.\ Perry has been
with her, as you probably heard.''

{}``Yes\mbox{---}I imagined\mbox{---}that is\mbox{---}I did not\mbox{---}''

{}``He has been used to her in these complaints, and I hope to-morrow
morning will bring us both a more comfortable report. But it is impossible
not to feel uneasiness. Such a sad loss to our party to-day!''\ 

{}``Dreadful!\mbox{---} Exactly so, indeed.\mbox{---} She will
be missed every moment.''

This was very proper; the sigh which accompanied it was really estimable;
but it should have lasted longer. Emma was rather in dismay when only
half a minute afterwards he began to speak of other things, and in
a voice of the greatest alacrity and enjoyment.

{}``What an excellent device,'' said he, {}``the use of a sheepskin
for carriages. How very comfortable they make it;\mbox{---}impossible
to feel cold with such precautions. The contrivances of modern days
indeed have rendered a gentleman's carriage perfectly complete. One
is so fenced and guarded from the weather, that not a breath of air
can find its way unpermitted. Weather becomes absolutely of no consequence.
It is a very cold afternoon\mbox{---}but in this carriage we know
nothing of the matter.\mbox{---} Ha! snows a little I see.''

{}``Yes,'' said John Knightley, {}``and I think we shall have a
good deal of it.''

{}``Christmas weather,'' observed Mr.\ Elton. {}``Quite seasonable;
and extremely fortunate we may think ourselves that it did not begin
yesterday, and prevent this day's party, which it might very possibly
have done, for Mr.\ Woodhouse would hardly have ventured had there
been much snow on the ground; but now it is of no consequence. This
is quite the season indeed for friendly meetings. At Christmas every
body invites their friends about them, and people think little of
even the worst weather. I was snowed up at a friend's house once for
a week. Nothing could be pleasanter. I went for only one night, and
could not get away till that very day se'nnight.''

Mr.\ John Knightley looked as if he did not comprehend the pleasure,
but said only, coolly,

{}``I cannot wish to be snowed up a week at Randalls.''

At another time Emma might have been amused, but she was too much
astonished now at Mr.\ Elton's spirits for other feelings. Harriet
seemed quite forgotten in the expectation of a pleasant party.

{}``We are sure of excellent fires,'' continued he, {}``and every
thing in the greatest comfort. Charming people, Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston;\mbox{---}Mrs.\ Weston
indeed is much beyond praise, and he is exactly what one values, so
hospitable, and so fond of society;\mbox{---}it will be a small party,
but where small parties are select, they are perhaps the most agreeable
of any. Mr.\ Weston's dining-room does not accommodate more than
ten comfortably; and for my part, I would rather, under such circumstances,
fall short by two than exceed by two. I think you will agree with
me, (turning with a soft air to Emma,) I think I shall certainly have
your approbation, though Mr.\ Knightley perhaps, from being used
to the large parties of London, may not quite enter into our feelings.''

{}``I know nothing of the large parties of London, sir\mbox{---}I
never dine with any body.''

{}``Indeed! (in a tone of wonder and pity,) I had no idea that the
law had been so great a slavery. Well, sir, the time must come when
you will be paid for all this, when you will have little labour and
great enjoyment.''

{}``My first enjoyment,'' replied John Knightley, as they passed
through the sweep-gate, {}``will be to find myself safe at Hartfield
again.''


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XIV}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XIV}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XIV}

Some change of countenance was necessary for each gentleman as they
walked into Mrs.\ Weston's drawing-room;\mbox{---}Mr.\ Elton must
compose his joyous looks, and Mr.\ John Knightley disperse his ill-humour.
Mr.\ Elton must smile less, and Mr.\ John Knightley more, to fit
them for the place.\mbox{---} Emma only might be as nature prompted,
and shew herself just as happy as she was. To her it was real enjoyment
to be with the Westons. Mr.\ Weston was a great favourite, and there
was not a creature in the world to whom she spoke with such unreserve,
as to his wife; not any one, to whom she related with such conviction
of being listened to and understood, of being always interesting and
always intelligible, the little affairs, arrangements, perplexities,
and pleasures of her father and herself. She could tell nothing of
Hartfield, in which Mrs.\ Weston had not a lively concern; and half
an hour's uninterrupted communication of all those little matters
on which the daily happiness of private life depends, was one of the
first gratifications of each.

This was a pleasure which perhaps the whole day's visit might not
afford, which certainly did not belong to the present half-hour; but
the very sight of Mrs.\ Weston, her smile, her touch, her voice was
grateful to Emma, and she determined to think as little as possible
of Mr.\ Elton's oddities, or of any thing else unpleasant, and enjoy
all that was enjoyable to the utmost.

The misfortune of Harriet's cold had been pretty well gone through
before her arrival. Mr.\ Woodhouse had been safely seated long enough
to give the history of it, besides all the history of his own and
Isabella's coming, and of Emma's being to follow, and had indeed just
got to the end of his satisfaction that James should come and see
his daughter, when the others appeared, and Mrs.\ Weston, who had
been almost wholly engrossed by her attentions to him, was able to
turn away and welcome her dear Emma.

Emma's project of forgetting Mr.\ Elton for a while made her rather
sorry to find, when they had all taken their places, that he was close
to her. The difficulty was great of driving his strange insensibility
towards Harriet, from her mind, while he not only sat at her elbow,
but was continually obtruding his happy countenance on her notice,
and solicitously addressing her upon every occasion. Instead of forgetting
him, his behaviour was such that she could not avoid the internal
suggestion of {}``Can it really be as my brother imagined? can it
be possible for this man to be beginning to transfer his affections
from Harriet to me?\mbox{---} Absurd and insufferable!''\mbox{---}Yet
he would be so anxious for her being perfectly warm, would be so interested
about her father, and so delighted with Mrs.\ Weston; and at last
would begin admiring her drawings with so much zeal and so little
knowledge as seemed terribly like a would-be lover, and made it some
effort with her to preserve her good manners. For her own sake she
could not be rude; and for Harriet's, in the hope that all would yet
turn out right, she was even positively civil; but it was an effort;
especially as something was going on amongst the others, in the most
overpowering period of Mr.\ Elton's nonsense, which she particularly
wished to listen to. She heard enough to know that Mr.\ Weston was
giving some information about his son; she heard the words {}``my
son,'' and {}``Frank,'' and {}``my son,'' repeated several times
over; and, from a few other half-syllables very much suspected that
he was announcing an early visit from his son; but before she could
quiet Mr.\ Elton, the subject was so completely past that any reviving
question from her would have been awkward.

Now, it so happened that in spite of Emma's resolution of never marrying,
there was something in the name, in the idea of Mr.\ Frank Churchill,
which always interested her. She had frequently thought\mbox{---}especially
since his father's marriage with Miss Taylor\mbox{---}that if she
were to marry, he was the very person to suit her in age, character
and condition. He seemed by this connexion between the families, quite
to belong to her. She could not but suppose it to be a match that
every body who knew them must think of. That Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston
did think of it, she was very strongly persuaded; and though not meaning
to be induced by him, or by any body else, to give up a situation
which she believed more replete with good than any she could change
it for, she had a great curiosity to see him, a decided intention
of finding him pleasant, of being liked by him to a certain degree,
and a sort of pleasure in the idea of their being coupled in their
friends' imaginations.

With such sensations, Mr.\ Elton's civilities were dreadfully ill-timed;
but she had the comfort of appearing very polite, while feeling very
cross\mbox{---}and of thinking that the rest of the visit could not
possibly pass without bringing forward the same information again,
or the substance of it, from the open-hearted Mr.\ Weston.\mbox{---}
So it proved;\mbox{---}for when happily released from Mr.\ Elton,
and seated by Mr.\ Weston, at dinner, he made use of the very first
interval in the cares of hospitality, the very first leisure from
the saddle of mutton, to say to her,

{}``We want only two more to be just the right number. I should like
to see two more here,\mbox{---}your pretty little friend, Miss Smith,
and my son\mbox{---}and then I should say we were quite complete.
I believe you did not hear me telling the others in the drawing-room
that we are expecting Frank. I had a letter from him this morning,
and he will be with us within a fortnight.''

Emma spoke with a very proper degree of pleasure; and fully assented
to his proposition of Mr.\ Frank Churchill and Miss Smith making
their party quite complete.

{}``He has been wanting to come to us,'' continued Mr.\ Weston,
{}``ever since September: every letter has been full of it; but he
cannot command his own time. He has those to please who must be pleased,
and who (between ourselves) are sometimes to be pleased only by a
good many sacrifices. But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about
the second week in January.''

{}``What a very great pleasure it will be to you!\ and Mrs.\ Weston
is so anxious to be acquainted with him, that she must be almost as
happy as yourself.''

{}``Yes, she would be, but that she thinks there will be another
put-off. She does not depend upon his coming so much as I do: but
she does not know the parties so well as I do. The case, you see,
is\mbox{---}(but this is quite between ourselves: I did not mention
a syllable of it in the other room. There are secrets in all families,
you know)\mbox{---}The case is, that a party of friends are invited
to pay a visit at Enscombe in January; and that Frank's coming depends
upon their being put off. If they are not put off, he cannot stir.
But I know they will, because it is a family that a certain lady,
of some consequence, at Enscombe, has a particular dislike to: and
though it is thought necessary to invite them once in two or three
years, they always are put off when it comes to the point. I have
not the smallest doubt of the issue. I am as confident of seeing Frank
here before the middle of January, as I am of being here myself: but
your good friend there (nodding towards the upper end of the table)
has so few vagaries herself, and has been so little used to them at
Hartfield, that she cannot calculate on their effects, as I have been
long in the practice of doing.''

{}``I am sorry there should be any thing like doubt in the case,''
replied Emma; {}``but am disposed to side with you, Mr.\ Weston.
If you think he will come, I shall think so too; for you know Enscombe.''

{}``Yes\mbox{---}I have some right to that knowledge; though I have
never been at the place in my life.\mbox{---} She is an odd woman!\mbox{---}
But I never allow myself to speak ill of her, on Frank's account;
for I do believe her to be very fond of him. I used to think she was
not capable of being fond of any body, except herself: but she has
always been kind to him (in her way\mbox{---}allowing for little
whims and caprices, and expecting every thing to be as she likes).
And it is no small credit, in my opinion, to him, that he should excite
such an affection; for, though I would not say it to any body else,
she has no more heart than a stone to people in general; and the devil
of a temper.''

Emma liked the subject so well, that she began upon it, to Mrs.\ Weston,
very soon after their moving into the drawing-room: wishing her joy\mbox{---}yet
observing, that she knew the first meeting must be rather alarming.\mbox{--}--
Mrs.\ Weston agreed to it; but added, that she should be very glad
to be secure of undergoing the anxiety of a first meeting at the time
talked of: {}``for I cannot depend upon his coming. I cannot be so
sanguine as Mr.\ Weston. I am very much afraid that it will all end
in nothing. Mr.\ Weston, I dare say, has been telling you exactly
how the matter stands?''\ 

{}``Yes\mbox{---}it seems to depend upon nothing but the ill-humour
of Mrs.\ Churchill, which I imagine to be the most certain thing
in the world.''

{}``My Emma!''\ replied Mrs.\ Weston, smiling, {}``what is the
certainty of caprice?''\ Then turning to Isabella, who had not been
attending before\mbox{---}{}``You must know, my dear Mrs.\ Knightley,
that we are by no means so sure of seeing Mr.\ Frank Churchill, in
my opinion, as his father thinks. It depends entirely upon his aunt's
spirits and pleasure; in short, upon her temper. To you\mbox{---}to
my two daughters\mbox{---}I may venture on the truth. Mrs.\ Churchill
rules at Enscombe, and is a very odd-tempered woman; and his coming
now, depends upon her being willing to spare him.''

{}``Oh, Mrs.\ Churchill; every body knows Mrs.\ Churchill,'' replied
Isabella: {}``and I am sure I never think of that poor young man
without the greatest compassion. To be constantly living with an ill-tempered
person, must be dreadful. It is what we happily have never known any
thing of; but it must be a life of misery. What a blessing, that she
never had any children! Poor little creatures, how unhappy she would
have made them!''\ 

Emma wished she had been alone with Mrs.\ Weston. She should then
have heard more: Mrs.\ Weston would speak to her, with a degree of
unreserve which she would not hazard with Isabella; and, she really
believed, would scarcely try to conceal any thing relative to the
Churchills from her, excepting those views on the young man, of which
her own imagination had already given her such instinctive knowledge.
But at present there was nothing more to be said. Mr.\ Woodhouse
very soon followed them into the drawing-room. To be sitting long
after dinner, was a confinement that he could not endure. Neither
wine nor conversation was any thing to him; and gladly did he move
to those with whom he was always comfortable.

While he talked to Isabella, however, Emma found an opportunity of
saying,

{}``And so you do not consider this visit from your son as by any
means certain. I am sorry for it. The introduction must be unpleasant,
whenever it takes place; and the sooner it could be over, the better.''

{}``Yes; and every delay makes one more apprehensive of other delays.
Even if this family, the Braithwaites, are put off, I am still afraid
that some excuse may be found for disappointing us. I cannot bear
to imagine any reluctance on his side; but I am sure there is a great
wish on the Churchills' to keep him to themselves. There is jealousy.
They are jealous even of his regard for his father. In short, I can
feel no dependence on his coming, and I wish Mr.\ Weston were less
sanguine.''

{}``He ought to come,'' said Emma. {}``If he could stay only a
couple of days, he ought to come; and one can hardly conceive a young
man's not having it in his power to do as much as that. A young \emph{woman},
if she fall into bad hands, may be teazed, and kept at a distance
from those she wants to be with; but one cannot comprehend a young
\emph{man's} being under such restraint, as not to be able to spend
a week with his father, if he likes it.''

{}``One ought to be at Enscombe, and know the ways of the family,
before one decides upon what he can do,'' replied Mrs.\ Weston.
{}``One ought to use the same caution, perhaps, in judging of the
conduct of any one individual of any one family; but Enscombe, I believe,
certainly must not be judged by general rules: \emph{she} is so very
unreasonable; and every thing gives way to her.''

{}``But she is so fond of the nephew: he is so very great a favourite.
Now, according to my idea of Mrs.\ Churchill, it would be most natural,
that while she makes no sacrifice for the comfort of the husband,
to whom she owes every thing, while she exercises incessant caprice
towards \emph{him}, she should frequently be governed by the nephew,
to whom she owes nothing at all.''

{}``My dearest Emma, do not pretend, with your sweet temper, to understand
a bad one, or to lay down rules for it: you must let it go its own
way. I have no doubt of his having, at times, considerable influence;
but it may be perfectly impossible for him to know beforehand \emph{when}
it will be.''

Emma listened, and then coolly said, {}``I shall not be satisfied,
unless he comes.''

{}``He may have a great deal of influence on some points,'' continued
Mrs.\ Weston, {}``and on others, very little: and among those, on
which she is beyond his reach, it is but too likely, may be this very
circumstance of his coming away from them to visit us.''


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XV}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XV}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XV}

Mr.\ Woodhouse was soon ready for his tea; and when he had drank
his tea he was quite ready to go home; and it was as much as his three
companions could do, to entertain away his notice of the lateness
of the hour, before the other gentlemen appeared. Mr.\ Weston was
chatty and convivial, and no friend to early separations of any sort;
but at last the drawing-room party did receive an augmentation. Mr.\ Elton,
in very good spirits, was one of the first to walk in. Mrs.\ Weston
and Emma were sitting together on a sofa. He joined them immediately,
and, with scarcely an invitation, seated himself between them.

Emma, in good spirits too, from the amusement afforded her mind by
the expectation of Mr.\ Frank Churchill, was willing to forget his
late improprieties, and be as well satisfied with him as before, and
on his making Harriet his very first subject, was ready to listen
with most friendly smiles.

He professed himself extremely anxious about her fair friend\mbox{---}her
fair, lovely, amiable friend. {}``Did she know?\mbox{---}had she
heard any thing about her, since their being at Randalls?\mbox{---}he
felt much anxiety\mbox{---}he must confess that the nature of her
complaint alarmed him considerably.'' And in this style he talked
on for some time very properly, not much attending to any answer,
but altogether sufficiently awake to the terror of a bad sore throat;
and Emma was quite in charity with him.

But at last there seemed a perverse turn; it seemed all at once as
if he were more afraid of its being a bad sore throat on her account,
than on Harriet's\mbox{---}more anxious that she should escape the
infection, than that there should be no infection in the complaint.
He began with great earnestness to entreat her to refrain from visiting
the sick-chamber again, for the present\mbox{---}to entreat her to
\emph{promise him} not to venture into such hazard till he had seen
Mr.\ Perry and learnt his opinion; and though she tried to laugh
it off and bring the subject back into its proper course, there was
no putting an end to his extreme solicitude about her. She was vexed.
It did appear\mbox{---}there was no concealing it\mbox{---}exactly
like the pretence of being in love with her, instead of Harriet; an
inconstancy, if real, the most contemptible and abominable!\ and
she had difficulty in behaving with temper. He turned to Mrs.\ Weston
to implore her assistance, {}``Would not she give him her support?\mbox{---}would
not she add her persuasions to his, to induce Miss Woodhouse not to
go to Mrs.\ Goddard's till it were certain that Miss Smith's disorder
had no infection? He could not be satisfied without a promise\mbox{---}would
not she give him her influence in procuring it?''\ 

{}``So scrupulous for others,'' he continued, {}``and yet so careless
for herself! She wanted me to nurse my cold by staying at home to-day,
and yet will not promise to avoid the danger of catching an ulcerated
sore throat herself. Is this fair, Mrs.\ Weston?\mbox{---} Judge
between us. Have not I some right to complain? I am sure of your kind
support and aid.''

Emma saw Mrs.\ Weston's surprize, and felt that it must be great,
at an address which, in words and manner, was assuming to himself
the right of first interest in her; and as for herself, she was too
much provoked and offended to have the power of directly saying any
thing to the purpose. She could only give him a look; but it was such
a look as she thought must restore him to his senses, and then left
the sofa, removing to a seat by her sister, and giving her all her
attention.

She had not time to know how Mr.\ Elton took the reproof, so rapidly
did another subject succeed; for Mr.\ John Knightley now came into
the room from examining the weather, and opened on them all with the
information of the ground being covered with snow, and of its still
snowing fast, with a strong drifting wind; concluding with these words
to Mr.\ Woodhouse:

{}``This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter engagements,
sir. Something new for your coachman and horses to be making their
way through a storm of snow.''

Poor Mr.\ Woodhouse was silent from consternation; but every body
else had something to say; every body was either surprized or not
surprized, and had some question to ask, or some comfort to offer.
Mrs.\ Weston and Emma tried earnestly to cheer him and turn his attention
from his son-in-law, who was pursuing his triumph rather unfeelingly.

{}``I admired your resolution very much, sir,'' said he, {}``in
venturing out in such weather, for of course you saw there would be
snow very soon. Every body must have seen the snow coming on. I admired
your spirit; and I dare say we shall get home very well. Another hour
or two's snow can hardly make the road impassable; and we are two
carriages; if \emph{one} is blown over in the bleak part of the common
field there will be the other at hand. I dare say we shall be all
safe at Hartfield before midnight.''

Mr.\ Weston, with triumph of a different sort, was confessing that
he had known it to be snowing some time, but had not said a word,
lest it should make Mr.\ Woodhouse uncomfortable, and be an excuse
for his hurrying away. As to there being any quantity of snow fallen
or likely to fall to impede their return, that was a mere joke; he
was afraid they would find no difficulty. He wished the road might
be impassable, that he might be able to keep them all at Randalls;
and with the utmost good-will was sure that accommodation might be
found for every body, calling on his wife to agree with him, that
with a little contrivance, every body might be lodged, which she hardly
knew how to do, from the consciousness of there being but two spare
rooms in the house.

{}``What is to be done, my dear Emma?\mbox{---}what is to be done?''\ was
Mr.\ Woodhouse's first exclamation, and all that he could say for
some time. To her he looked for comfort; and her assurances of safety,
her representation of the excellence of the horses, and of James,
and of their having so many friends about them, revived him a little.

His eldest daughter's alarm was equal to his own. The horror of being
blocked up at Randalls, while her children were at Hartfield, was
full in her imagination; and fancying the road to be now just passable
for adventurous people, but in a state that admitted no delay, she
was eager to have it settled, that her father and Emma should remain
at Randalls, while she and her husband set forward instantly through
all the possible accumulations of drifted snow that might impede them.

{}``You had better order the carriage directly, my love,'' said
she; {}``I dare say we shall be able to get along, if we set off
directly; and if we do come to any thing very bad, I can get out and
walk. I am not at all afraid. I should not mind walking half the way.
I could change my shoes, you know, the moment I got home; and it is
not the sort of thing that gives me cold.''

{}``Indeed!''\ replied he. {}``Then, my dear Isabella, it is the
most extraordinary sort of thing in the world, for in general every
thing does give you cold. Walk home!\mbox{---}you are prettily shod
for walking home, I dare say. It will be bad enough for the horses.''

Isabella turned to Mrs.\ Weston for her approbation of the plan.
Mrs.\ Weston could only approve. Isabella then went to Emma; but
Emma could not so entirely give up the hope of their being all able
to get away; and they were still discussing the point, when Mr.\ Knightley,
who had left the room immediately after his brother's first report
of the snow, came back again, and told them that he had been out of
doors to examine, and could answer for there not being the smallest
difficulty in their getting home, whenever they liked it, either now
or an hour hence. He had gone beyond the sweep\mbox{---}some way
along the Highbury road\mbox{---}the snow was nowhere above half
an inch deep\mbox{---}in many places hardly enough to whiten the
ground; a very few flakes were falling at present, but the clouds
were parting, and there was every appearance of its being soon over.
He had seen the coachmen, and they both agreed with him in there being
nothing to apprehend.

To Isabella, the relief of such tidings was very great, and they were
scarcely less acceptable to Emma on her father's account, who was
immediately set as much at ease on the subject as his nervous constitution
allowed; but the alarm that had been raised could not be appeased
so as to admit of any comfort for him while he continued at Randalls.
He was satisfied of there being no present danger in returning home,
but no assurances could convince him that it was safe to stay; and
while the others were variously urging and recommending, Mr.\ Knightley
and Emma settled it in a few brief sentences: thus\mbox{---}

{}``Your father will not be easy; why do not you go?''\ 

{}``I am ready, if the others are.''

{}``Shall I ring the bell?''\ 

{}``Yes, do.''

And the bell was rung, and the carriages spoken for. A few minutes
more, and Emma hoped to see one troublesome companion deposited in
his own house, to get sober and cool, and the other recover his temper
and happiness when this visit of hardship were over.

The carriage came: and Mr.\ Woodhouse, always the first object on
such occasions, was carefully attended to his own by Mr.\ Knightley
and Mr.\ Weston; but not all that either could say could prevent
some renewal of alarm at the sight of the snow which had actually
fallen, and the discovery of a much darker night than he had been
prepared for. {}``He was afraid they should have a very bad drive.
He was afraid poor Isabella would not like it. And there would be
poor Emma in the carriage behind. He did not know what they had best
do. They must keep as much together as they could;'' and James was
talked to, and given a charge to go very slow and wait for the other
carriage.

Isabella stept in after her father; John Knightley, forgetting that
he did not belong to their party, stept in after his wife very naturally;
so that Emma found, on being escorted and followed into the second
carriage by Mr.\ Elton, that the door was to be lawfully shut on
them, and that they were to have a \emph{t\^{e}te-\`{a}-t\^{e}te}
drive. It would not have been the awkwardness of a moment, it would
have been rather a pleasure, previous to the suspicions of this very
day; she could have talked to him of Harriet, and the three-quarters
of a mile would have seemed but one. But now, she would rather it
had not happened. She believed he had been drinking too much of Mr.\ Weston's
good wine, and felt sure that he would want to be talking nonsense.

To restrain him as much as might be, by her own manners, she was immediately
preparing to speak with exquisite calmness and gravity of the weather
and the night; but scarcely had she begun, scarcely had they passed
the sweep-gate and joined the other carriage, than she found her subject
cut up\mbox{---}her hand seized\mbox{---}her attention demanded,
and Mr.\ Elton actually making violent love to her: availing himself
of the precious opportunity, declaring sentiments which must be already
well known, hoping\mbox{---}fearing\mbox{---}adoring\mbox{---}ready
to die if she refused him; but flattering himself that his ardent
attachment and unequalled love and unexampled passion could not fail
of having some effect, and in short, very much resolved on being seriously
accepted as soon as possible. It really was so. Without scruple\mbox{---}without
apology\mbox{---}without much apparent diffidence, Mr.\ Elton, the
lover of Harriet, was professing himself \emph{her} lover. She tried
to stop him; but vainly; he would go on, and say it all. Angry as
she was, the thought of the moment made her resolve to restrain herself
when she did speak. She felt that half this folly must be drunkenness,
and therefore could hope that it might belong only to the passing
hour. Accordingly, with a mixture of the serious and the playful,
which she hoped would best suit his half and half state, she replied,

{}``I am very much astonished, Mr.\ Elton. This to \emph{me}!\ you
forget yourself\mbox{---}you take me for my friend\mbox{---}any
message to Miss Smith I shall be happy to deliver; but no more of
this to \emph{me}, if you please.''

{}``Miss Smith!\mbox{---}message to Miss Smith!\mbox{---} What
could she possibly mean!''---And he repeated her words with such
assurance of accent, such boastful pretence of amazement, that she
could not help replying with quickness,

{}``Mr.\ Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct!\ and I
can account for it only in one way; you are not yourself, or you could
not speak either to me, or of Harriet, in such a manner. Command yourself
enough to say no more, and I will endeavour to forget it.''

But Mr.\ Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate his spirits,
not at all to confuse his intellects. He perfectly knew his own meaning;
and having warmly protested against her suspicion as most injurious,
and slightly touched upon his respect for Miss Smith as her friend,\mbox{---}but
acknowledging his wonder that Miss Smith should be mentioned at all,\mbox{---}he
resumed the subject of his own passion, and was very urgent for a
favourable answer.

As she thought less of his inebriety, she thought more of his inconstancy
and presumption; and with fewer struggles for politeness, replied,

{}``It is impossible for me to doubt any longer. You have made yourself
too clear. Mr.\ Elton, my astonishment is much beyond any thing I
can express. After such behaviour, as I have witnessed during the
last month, to Miss Smith\mbox{---}such attentions as I have been
in the daily habit of observing\mbox{---}to be addressing me in this
manner\mbox{---}this is an unsteadiness of character, indeed, which
I had not supposed possible! Believe me, sir, I am far, very far,
from gratified in being the object of such professions.''

{}``Good Heaven!''\ cried Mr.\ Elton, {}``what can be the meaning
of this?\mbox{---}Miss Smith!\mbox{---}I never thought of Miss Smith
in the whole course of my existence\mbox{---}never paid her any attentions,
but as your friend: never cared whether she were dead or alive, but
as your friend. If she has fancied otherwise, her own wishes have
misled her, and I am very sorry\mbox{---}extremely sorry\mbox{---}But,
Miss Smith, indeed!\mbox{---} Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse!\ who can think
of Miss Smith, when Miss Woodhouse is near! No, upon my honour, there
is no unsteadiness of character. I have thought only of you. I protest
against having paid the smallest attention to any one else. Every
thing that I have said or done, for many weeks past, has been with
the sole view of marking my adoration of yourself. You cannot really,
seriously, doubt it. No!\mbox{---}(in an accent meant to be insinuating)\mbox{---}I
am sure you have seen and understood me.''

It would be impossible to say what Emma felt, on hearing this\mbox{---}which
of all her unpleasant sensations was uppermost. She was too completely
overpowered to be immediately able to reply: and two moments of silence
being ample encouragement for Mr.\ Elton's sanguine state of mind,
he tried to take her hand again, as he joyously exclaimed\mbox{---}

{}``Charming Miss Woodhouse!\ allow me to interpret this interesting
silence. It confesses that you have long understood me.''

{}``No, sir,'' cried Emma, {}``it confesses no such thing. So far
from having long understood you, I have been in a most complete error
with respect to your views, till this moment. As to myself, I am very
sorry that you should have been giving way to any feelings\mbox{---}Nothing
could be farther from my wishes\mbox{---}your attachment to my friend
Harriet\mbox{---}your pursuit of her, (pursuit, it appeared,) gave
me great pleasure, and I have been very earnestly wishing you success:
but had I supposed that she were not your attraction to Hartfield,
I should certainly have thought you judged ill in making your visits
so frequent. Am I to believe that you have never sought to recommend
yourself particularly to Miss Smith?\mbox{---}that you have never
thought seriously of her?''\ 

{}``Never, madam,'' cried he, affronted in his turn: {}``never,
I assure you. I think seriously of Miss Smith!\mbox{---} Miss Smith
is a very good sort of girl; and I should be happy to see her respectably
settled. I wish her extremely well: and, no doubt, there are men who
might not object to\mbox{---}Every body has their level: but as for
myself, I am not, I think, quite so much at a loss. I need not so
totally despair of an equal alliance, as to be addressing myself to
Miss Smith!\mbox{---} No, madam, my visits to Hartfield have been
for yourself only; and the encouragement I received\mbox{---}''

{}``Encouragement!\mbox{---} I give you en\-cour\-age\-ment!\mbox{---}
Sir, you have been entirely mistaken in supposing it. I have seen
you only as the admirer of my friend. In no other light could you
have been more to me than a common acquaintance. I am exceedingly
sorry: but it is well that the mistake ends where it does. Had the
same behaviour continued, Miss Smith might have been led into a misconception
of your views; not being aware, probably, any more than myself, of
the very great inequality which you are so sensible of. But, as it
is, the disappointment is single, and, I trust, will not be lasting.
I have no thoughts of matrimony at present.''

He was too angry to say another word; her manner too decided to invite
supplication; and in this state of swelling resentment, and mutually
deep mortification, they had to continue together a few minutes longer,
for the fears of Mr.\ Woodhouse had confined them to a foot-pace.
If there had not been so much anger, there would have been desperate
awkwardness; but their straightforward emotions left no room for the
little zigzags of embarrassment. Without knowing when the carriage
turned into Vicarage Lane, or when it stopped, they found themselves,
all at once, at the door of his house; and he was out before another
syllable passed.\mbox{---} Emma then felt it indispensable to wish
him a good night. The compliment was just returned, coldly and proudly;
and, under indescribable irritation of spirits, she was then conveyed
to Hartfield.

There she was welcomed, with the utmost delight, by her father, who
had been trembling for the dangers of a solitary drive from Vicarage
Lane\mbox{---}turning a corner which he could never bear to think
of\mbox{---}and in strange hands\mbox{---}a mere common coachman\mbox{---}no
James; and there it seemed as if her return only were wanted to make
every thing go well: for Mr.\ John Knightley, ashamed of his ill-humour,
was now all kindness and attention; and so particularly solicitous
for the comfort of her father, as to seem\mbox{---}if not quite ready
to join him in a basin of gruel\mbox{---}perfectly sensible of its
being exceedingly wholesome; and the day was concluding in peace and
comfort to all their little party, except herself.\mbox{---} But
her mind had never been in such perturbation; and it needed a very
strong effort to appear attentive and cheerful till the usual hour
of separating allowed her the relief of quiet reflection.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XVI}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XVI}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XVI}

The hair was curled, and the maid sent away, and Emma sat down to
think and be miserable.\mbox{---} It was a wretched business indeed!\mbox{---}
Such an overthrow of every thing she had been wishing for!\mbox{---}
Such a development of every thing most unwelcome!\mbox{---} Such
a blow for Harriet!\mbox{---}that was the worst of all. Every part
of it brought pain and humiliation, of some sort or other; but, compared
with the evil to Harriet, all was light; and she would gladly have
submitted to feel yet more mistaken\mbox{---}more in error\mbox{---}more
disgraced by mis-judgment, than she actually was, could the effects
of her blunders have been confined to herself.

{}``If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking the man, I could have
borne any thing. He might have doubled his presumption to me\mbox{---}but
poor Harriet!''\ 

How she could have been so deceived!\mbox{---} He protested that
he had never thought seriously of Harriet\mbox{---}never! She looked
back as well as she could; but it was all confusion. She had taken
up the idea, she supposed, and made every thing bend to it. His manners,
however, must have been unmarked, wavering, dubious, or she could
not have been so misled.

The picture!\mbox{---} How eager he had been about the picture!\mbox{---}and
the charade!\mbox{---}-and an hundred other circumstances;\mbox{---}how
clearly they had seemed to point at Harriet. To be sure, the charade,
with its {}``ready wit''---but then the {}``soft eyes''---in fact
it suited neither; it was a jumble without taste or truth. Who could
have seen through such thick-headed nonsense?

Certainly she had often, especially of late, thought his manners to
herself unnecessarily gallant; but it had passed as his way, as a
mere error of judgment, of knowledge, of taste, as one proof among
others that he had not always lived in the best society, that with
all the gentleness of his address, true elegance was sometimes wanting;
but, till this very day, she had never, for an instant, suspected
it to mean any thing but grateful respect to her as Harriet's friend.

To Mr.\ John Knightley was she indebted for her first idea on the
subject, for the first start of its possibility. There was no denying
that those brothers had penetration. She remembered what Mr.\ Knightley
had once said to her about Mr.\ Elton, the caution he had given,
the conviction he had professed that Mr.\ Elton would never marry
indiscreetly; and blushed to think how much truer a knowledge of his
character had been there shewn than any she had reached herself. It
was dreadfully mortifying; but Mr.\ Elton was proving himself, in
many respects, the very reverse of what she had meant and believed
him; proud, assuming, conceited; very full of his own claims, and
little concerned about the feelings of others.

Contrary to the usual course of things, Mr.\ Elton's wanting to pay
his addresses to her had sunk him in her opinion. His professions
and his proposals did him no service. She thought nothing of his attachment,
and was insulted by his hopes. He wanted to marry well, and having
the arrogance to raise his eyes to her, pretended to be in love; but
she was perfectly easy as to his not suffering any disappointment
that need be cared for. There had been no real affection either in
his language or manners. Sighs and fine words had been given in abundance;
but she could hardly devise any set of expressions, or fancy any tone
of voice, less allied with real love. She need not trouble herself
to pity him. He only wanted to aggrandise and enrich himself; and
if Miss Woodhouse of Hartfield, the heiress of thirty thousand pounds,
were not quite so easily obtained as he had fancied, he would soon
try for Miss Somebody else with twenty, or with ten.

But\mbox{---}that he should talk of encouragement, should consider
her as aware of his views, accepting his attentions, meaning (in short),
to marry him!\mbox{---}should suppose himself her equal in connexion
or mind!\mbox{---}look down upon her friend, so well understanding
the gradations of rank below him, and be so blind to what rose above,
as to fancy himself shewing no presumption in addressing her!\mbox{---}
It was most provoking.

Perhaps it was not fair to expect him to feel how very much he was
her inferior in talent, and all the elegancies of mind. The very want
of such equality might prevent his perception of it; but he must know
that in fortune and consequence she was greatly his superior. He must
know that the Woodhouses had been settled for several generations
at Hartfield, the younger branch of a very ancient family\mbox{---}and
that the Eltons were nobody. The landed property of Hartfield certainly
was inconsiderable, being but a sort of notch in the Donwell Abbey
estate, to which all the rest of Highbury belonged; but their fortune,
from other sources, was such as to make them scarcely secondary to
Donwell Abbey itself, in every other kind of consequence; and the
Woodhouses had long held a high place in the consideration of the
neighbourhood which Mr.\ Elton had first entered not two years ago,
to make his way as he could, without any alliances but in trade, or
any thing to recommend him to notice but his situation and his civility.\mbox{---}
But he had fancied her in love with him; that evidently must have
been his dependence; and after raving a little about the seeming incongruity
of gentle manners and a conceited head, Emma was obliged in common
honesty to stop and admit that her own behaviour to him had been so
complaisant and obliging, so full of courtesy and attention, as (supposing
her real motive unperceived) might warrant a man of ordinary observation
and delicacy, like Mr.\ Elton, in fancying himself a very decided
favourite. If \emph{she} had so misinterpreted his feelings, she had
little right to wonder that \emph{he}, with self-interest to blind
him, should have mistaken hers.

The first error and the worst lay at her door. It was foolish, it
was wrong, to take so active a part in bringing any two people together.
It was adventuring too far, assuming too much, making light of what
ought to be serious, a trick of what ought to be simple. She was quite
concerned and ashamed, and resolved to do such things no more.

{}``Here have I,'' said she, {}``actually talked poor Harriet into
being very much attached to this man. She might never have thought
of him but for me; and certainly never would have thought of him with
hope, if I had not assured her of his attachment, for she is as modest
and humble as I used to think him. Oh!\ that I had been satisfied
with persuading her not to accept young Martin. There I was quite
right. That was well done of me; but there I should have stopped,
and left the rest to time and chance. I was introducing her into good
company, and giving her the opportunity of pleasing some one worth
having; I ought not to have attempted more. But now, poor girl, her
peace is cut up for some time. I have been but half a friend to her;
and if she were \emph{not} to feel this disappointment so very much,
I am sure I have not an idea of any body else who would be at all
desirable for her;\mbox{---}William Coxe\mbox{---}Oh!\ no, I could
not endure William Coxe\mbox{---}a pert young lawyer.''

She stopt to blush and laugh at her own relapse, and then resumed
a more serious, more dispiriting cogitation upon what had been, and
might be, and must be. The distressing explanation she had to make
to Harriet, and all that poor Harriet would be suffering, with the
awkwardness of future meetings, the difficulties of continuing or
discontinuing the acquaintance, of subduing feelings, concealing resentment,
and avoiding \emph{\'{e}clat}, were enough to occupy her in most
unmirthful reflections some time longer, and she went to bed at last
with nothing settled but the conviction of her having blundered most
dreadfully.

To youth and natural cheerfulness like Emma's, though under temporary
gloom at night, the return of day will hardly fail to bring return
of spirits. The youth and cheerfulness of morning are in happy analogy,
and of powerful operation; and if the distress be not poignant enough
to keep the eyes unclosed, they will be sure to open to sensations
of softened pain and brighter hope.

Emma got up on the morrow more disposed for comfort than she had gone
to bed, more ready to see alleviations of the evil before her, and
to depend on getting tolerably out of it.

It was a great consolation that Mr.\ Elton should not be really in
love with her, or so particularly amiable as to make it shocking to
disappoint him\mbox{---}that Harriet's nature should not be of that
superior sort in which the feelings are most acute and retentive---and
that there could be no necessity for any body's knowing what had passed
except the three principals, and especially for her father's being
given a moment's uneasiness about it.

These were very cheering thoughts; and the sight of a great deal of
snow on the ground did her further service, for any thing was welcome
that might justify their all three being quite asunder at present.

The weather was most favourable for her; though Christmas Day, she
could not go to church. Mr.\ Woodhouse would have been miserable
had his daughter attempted it, and she was therefore safe from either
exciting or receiving unpleasant and most unsuitable ideas. The ground
covered with snow, and the atmosphere in that unsettled state between
frost and thaw, which is of all others the most unfriendly for exercise,
every morning beginning in rain or snow, and every evening setting
in to freeze, she was for many days a most honourable prisoner. No
intercourse with Harriet possible but by note; no church for her on
Sunday any more than on Christmas Day; and no need to find excuses
for Mr.\ Elton's absenting himself.

It was weather which might fairly confine every body at home; and
though she hoped and believed him to be really taking comfort in some
society or other, it was very pleasant to have her father so well
satisfied with his being all alone in his own house, too wise to stir
out; and to hear him say to Mr.\ Knightley, whom no weather could
keep entirely from them,\mbox{---}

{}``Ah!\ Mr.\ Knightley, why do not you stay at home like poor
Mr.\ Elton?''\ 

These days of confinement would have been, but for her private perplexities,
remarkably comfortable, as such seclusion exactly suited her brother,
whose feelings must always be of great importance to his companions;
and he had, besides, so thoroughly cleared off his ill-humour at Randalls,
that his amiableness never failed him during the rest of his stay
at Hartfield. He was always agreeable and obliging, and speaking pleasantly
of every body. But with all the hopes of cheerfulness, and all the
present comfort of delay, there was still such an evil hanging over
her in the hour of explanation with Harriet, as made it impossible
for Emma to be ever perfectly at ease.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XVII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XVII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XVII}

Mr.\ and Mrs.\ John Knightley were not detained long at Hartfield.
The weather soon improved enough for those to move who must move;
and Mr.\ Woodhouse having, as usual, tried to persuade his daughter
to stay behind with all her children, was obliged to see the whole
party set off, and return to his lamentations over the destiny of
poor Isabella;\mbox{---}which poor Isabella, passing her life with
those she doated on, full of their merits, blind to their faults,
and always innocently busy, might have been a model of right feminine
happiness.

The evening of the very day on which they went brought a note from
Mr.\ Elton to Mr.\ Woodhouse, a long, civil, ceremonious note, to
say, with Mr.\ Elton's best compliments, {}``that he was proposing
to leave Highbury the following morning in his way to Bath; where,
in compliance with the pressing entreaties of some friends, he had
engaged to spend a few weeks, and very much regretted the impossibility
he was under, from various circumstances of weather and business,
of taking a personal leave of Mr.\ Woodhouse, of whose friendly civilities
he should ever retain a grateful sense\mbox{---}and had Mr.\ Woodhouse
any commands, should be happy to attend to them.''

Emma was most agreeably surprized.\mbox{---} Mr.\ Elton's absence
just at this time was the very thing to be desired. She admired him
for contriving it, though not able to give him much credit for the
manner in which it was announced. Resentment could not have been more
plainly spoken than in a civility to her father, from which she was
so pointedly excluded. She had not even a share in his opening compliments.\mbox{---}
Her name was not mentioned;\mbox{---}and there was so striking a
change in all this, and such an ill-judged solemnity of leave-taking
in his graceful acknowledgments, as she thought, at first, could not
escape her father's suspicion.

It did, however.\mbox{---} Her father was quite taken up with the
surprize of so sudden a journey, and his fears that Mr.\ Elton might
never get safely to the end of it, and saw nothing extraordinary in
his language. It was a very useful note, for it supplied them with
fresh matter for thought and conversation during the rest of their
lonely evening. Mr.\ Woodhouse talked over his alarms, and Emma was
in spirits to persuade them away with all her usual promptitude.

She now resolved to keep Harriet no longer in the dark. She had reason
to believe her nearly recovered from her cold, and it was desirable
that she should have as much time as possible for getting the better
of her other complaint before the gentleman's return. She went to
Mrs.\ Goddard's accordingly the very next day, to undergo the necessary
penance of communication; and a severe one it was.\mbox{---} She
had to destroy all the hopes which she had been so industriously feeding\mbox{---}to
appear in the ungracious character of the one preferred\mbox{---}and
acknowledge herself grossly mistaken and mis-judging in all her ideas
on one subject, all her observations, all her convictions, all her
prophecies for the last six weeks.

The confession completely renewed her first shame\mbox{---}and the
sight of Harriet's tears made her think that she should never be in
charity with herself again.

Harriet bore the intelligence very well\mbox{---}blaming nobody\mbox{---}and
in every thing testifying such an ingenuousness of disposition and
lowly opinion of herself, as must appear with particular advantage
at that moment to her friend.

Emma was in the humour to value simplicity and modesty to the utmost;
and all that was amiable, all that ought to be attaching, seemed on
Harriet's side, not her own. Harriet did not consider herself as having
any thing to complain of. The affection of such a man as Mr.\ Elton
would have been too great a distinction.\mbox{---} She never could
have deserved him\mbox{---}and nobody but so partial and kind a friend
as Miss Woodhouse would have thought it possible.

Her tears fell abundantly\mbox{---}but her grief was so truly artless,
that no dignity could have made it more respectable in Emma's eyes\mbox{---}and
she listened to her and tried to console her with all her heart and
understanding\mbox{---}really for the time convinced that Harriet
was the superior creature of the two\mbox{---}and that to resemble
her would be more for her own welfare and happiness than all that
genius or intelligence could do.

It was rather too late in the day to set about being simple-minded
and ignorant; but she left her with every previous resolution confirmed
of being humble and discreet, and repressing imagination all the rest
of her life. Her second duty now, inferior only to her father's claims,
was to promote Harriet's comfort, and endeavour to prove her own affection
in some better method than by match-making. She got her to Hartfield,
and shewed her the most unvarying kindness, striving to occupy and
amuse her, and by books and conversation, to drive Mr.\ Elton from
her thoughts.

Time, she knew, must be allowed for this being thoroughly done; and
she could suppose herself but an indifferent judge of such matters
in general, and very inadequate to sympathise in an attachment to
Mr.\ Elton in particular; but it seemed to her reasonable that at
Harriet's age, and with the entire extinction of all hope, such a
progress might be made towards a state of composure by the time of
Mr.\ Elton's return, as to allow them all to meet again in the common
routine of acquaintance, without any danger of betraying sentiments
or increasing them.

Harriet did think him all perfection, and maintained the non-existence
of any body equal to him in person or goodness\mbox{---}and did,
in truth, prove herself more resolutely in love than Emma had foreseen;
but yet it appeared to her so natural, so inevitable to strive against
an inclination of that sort \emph{unrequited}, that she could not
comprehend its continuing very long in equal force.

If Mr.\ Elton, on his return, made his own indifference as evident
and indubitable as she could not doubt he would anxiously do, she
could not imagine Harriet's persisting to place her happiness in the
sight or the recollection of him.

Their being fixed, so absolutely fixed, in the same place, was bad
for each, for all three. Not one of them had the power of removal,
or of effecting any material change of society. They must encounter
each other, and make the best of it.

Harriet was farther unfortunate in the tone of her companions at Mrs.\ Goddard's;
Mr.\ Elton being the adoration of all the teachers and great girls
in the school; and it must be at Hartfield only that she could have
any chance of hearing him spoken of with cooling moderation or repellent
truth. Where the wound had been given, there must the cure be found
if anywhere; and Emma felt that, till she saw her in the way of cure,
there could be no true peace for herself.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XVIII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XVIII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XVIII}

Mr.\ Frank Churchill did not come. When the time proposed drew near,
Mrs.\ Weston's fears were justified in the arrival of a letter of
excuse. For the present, he could not be spared, to his {}``very
great mortification and regret; but still he looked forward with the
hope of coming to Randalls at no distant period.''

Mrs.\ Weston was exceedingly dis\-ap\-point\-ed\mbox{---}much
more disappointed, in fact, than her husband, though her dependence
on seeing the young man had been so much more sober: but a sanguine
temper, though for ever expecting more good than occurs, does not
always pay for its hopes by any proportionate depression. It soon
flies over the present failure, and begins to hope again. For half
an hour Mr.\ Weston was surprized and sorry; but then he began to
perceive that Frank's coming two or three months later would be a
much better plan; better time of year; better weather; and that he
would be able, without any doubt, to stay considerably longer with
them than if he had come sooner.

These feelings rapidly restored his comfort, while Mrs.\ Weston,
of a more apprehensive disposition, foresaw nothing but a repetition
of excuses and delays; and after all her concern for what her husband
was to suffer, suffered a great deal more herself.

Emma was not at this time in a state of spirits to care really about
Mr.\ Frank Churchill's not coming, except as a disappointment at
Randalls. The acquaintance at present had no charm for her. She wanted,
rather, to be quiet, and out of temptation; but still, as it was desirable
that she should appear, in general, like her usual self, she took
care to express as much interest in the circumstance, and enter as
warmly into Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston's disappointment, as might naturally
belong to their friendship.

She was the first to announce it to Mr.\ Knightley; and exclaimed
quite as much as was necessary, (or, being acting a part, perhaps
rather more,) at the conduct of the Churchills, in keeping him away.
She then proceeded to say a good deal more than she felt, of the advantage
of such an addition to their confined society in Surry; the pleasure
of looking at somebody new; the gala-day to Highbury entire, which
the sight of him would have made; and ending with reflections on the
Churchills again, found herself directly involved in a disagreement
with Mr.\ Knightley; and, to her great amusement, perceived that
she was taking the other side of the question from her real opinion,
and making use of Mrs.\ Weston's arguments against herself.

{}``The Churchills are very likely in fault,'' said Mr.\ Knightley,
coolly; {}``but I dare say he might come if he would.''

{}``I do not know why you should say so. He wishes exceedingly to
come; but his uncle and aunt will not spare him.''

{}``I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming, if he made
a point of it. It is too unlikely, for me to believe it without proof.''

{}``How odd you are! What has Mr.\ Frank Churchill done, to make
you suppose him such an unnatural creature?''\ 

{}``I am not supposing him at all an unnatural creature, in suspecting
that he may have learnt to be above his connexions, and to care very
little for any thing but his own pleasure, from living with those
who have always set him the example of it. It is a great deal more
natural than one could wish, that a young man, brought up by those
who are proud, luxurious, and selfish, should be proud, luxurious,
and selfish too. If Frank Churchill had wanted to see his father,
he would have contrived it between September and January. A man at
his age\mbox{---}what is he?\mbox{---}three or four-and-twenty\mbox{---}cannot
be without the means of doing as much as that. It is impossible.''

{}``That's easily said, and easily felt by you, who have always been
your own master. You are the worst judge in the world, Mr.\ Knightley,
of the difficulties of dependence. You do not know what it is to have
tempers to manage.''

{}``It is not to be conceived that a man of three or four-and-twenty
should not have liberty of mind or limb to that amount. He cannot
want money\mbox{---}he cannot want leisure. We know, on the contrary,
that he has so much of both, that he is glad to get rid of them at
the idlest haunts in the kingdom. We hear of him for ever at some
watering-place or other. A little while ago, he was at Weymouth. This
proves that he can leave the Churchills.''

{}``Yes, sometimes he can.''

{}``And those times are whenever he thinks it worth his while; whenever
there is any temptation of pleasure.''

{}``It is very unfair to judge of any body's conduct, without an
intimate knowledge of their situation. Nobody, who has not been in
the interior of a family, can say what the difficulties of any individual
of that family may be. We ought to be acquainted with Enscombe, and
with Mrs.\ Churchill's temper, before we pretend to decide upon what
her nephew can do. He may, at times, be able to do a great deal more
than he can at others.''

{}``There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always do, if he chuses,
and that is, his duty; not by man\oe{}uvring and finessing, but by
vigour and resolution. It is Frank Churchill's duty to pay this attention
to his father. He knows it to be so, by his promises and messages;
but if he wished to do it, it might be done. A man who felt rightly
would say at once, simply and resolutely, to Mrs.\ Churchill\mbox{---}`Every
sacrifice of mere pleasure you will always find me ready to make to
your convenience; but I must go and see my father immediately. I know
he would be hurt by my failing in such a mark of respect to him on
the present occasion. I shall, therefore, set off to-morrow.'\mbox{---}If
he would say so to her at once, in the tone of decision becoming a
man, there would be no opposition made to his going.''

{}``No,'' said Emma, laughing; {}``but perhaps there might be some
made to his coming back again. Such language for a young man entirely
dependent, to use!\mbox{---} Nobody but you, Mr.\ Knightley, would
imagine it possible. But you have not an idea of what is requisite
in situations directly opposite to your own. Mr.\ Frank Churchill
to be making such a speech as that to the uncle and aunt, who have
brought him up, and are to provide for him!\mbox{---} Standing up
in the middle of the room, I suppose, and speaking as loud as he could!\mbox{---}
How can you imagine such conduct practicable?''\ 

{}``Depend upon it, Emma, a sensible man would find no difficulty
in it. He would feel himself in the right; and the declaration\mbox{---}made,
of course, as a man of sense would make it, in a proper manner\mbox{---}would
do him more good, raise him higher, fix his interest stronger with
the people he depended on, than all that a line of shifts and expedients
can ever do. Respect would be added to affection. They would feel
that they could trust him; that the nephew who had done rightly by
his father, would do rightly by them; for they know, as well as he
does, as well as all the world must know, that he ought to pay this
visit to his father; and while meanly exerting their power to delay
it, are in their hearts not thinking the better of him for submitting
to their whims. Respect for right conduct is felt by every body. If
he would act in this sort of manner, on principle, consistently, regularly,
their little minds would bend to his.''

{}``I rather doubt that. You are very fond of bending little minds;
but where little minds belong to rich people in authority, I think
they have a knack of swelling out, till they are quite as unmanageable
as great ones. I can imagine, that if you, as you are, Mr.\ Knightley,
were to be transported and placed all at once in Mr.\ Frank Churchill's
situation, you would be able to say and do just what you have been
recommending for him; and it might have a very good effect. The Churchills
might not have a word to say in return; but then, you would have no
habits of early obedience and long observance to break through. To
him who has, it might not be so easy to burst forth at once into perfect
independence, and set all their claims on his gratitude and regard
at nought. He may have as strong a sense of what would be right, as
you can have, without being so equal, under particular circumstances,
to act up to it.''

{}``Then it would not be so strong a sense. If it failed to produce
equal exertion, it could not be an equal conviction.''

{}``Oh, the difference of situation and habit! I wish you would try
to understand what an amiable young man may be likely to feel in directly
opposing those, whom as child and boy he has been looking up to all
his life.''

{}``Our amiable young man is a very weak young man, if this be the
first occasion of his carrying through a resolution to do right against
the will of others. It ought to have been a habit with him by this
time, of following his duty, instead of consulting expediency. I can
allow for the fears of the child, but not of the man. As he became
rational, he ought to have roused himself and shaken off all that
was unworthy in their authority. He ought to have opposed the first
attempt on their side to make him slight his father. Had he begun
as he ought, there would have been no difficulty now.''

{}``We shall never agree about him,'' cried Emma; {}``but that
is nothing extraordinary. I have not the least idea of his being a
weak young man: I feel sure that he is not. Mr.\ Weston would not
be blind to folly, though in his own son; but he is very likely to
have a more yielding, complying, mild disposition than would suit
your notions of man's perfection. I dare say he has; and though it
may cut him off from some advantages, it will secure him many others.''

{}``Yes; all the advantages of sitting still when he ought to move,
and of leading a life of mere idle pleasure, and fancying himself
extremely expert in finding excuses for it. He can sit down and write
a fine flourishing letter, full of professions and falsehoods, and
persuade himself that he has hit upon the very best method in the
world of preserving peace at home and preventing his father's having
any right to complain. His letters disgust me.''

{}``Your feelings are singular. They seem to satisfy every body else.''

{}``I suspect they do not satisfy Mrs.\ Weston. They hardly can
satisfy a woman of her good sense and quick feelings: standing in
a mother's place, but without a mother's affection to blind her. It
is on her account that attention to Randalls is doubly due, and she
must doubly feel the omission. Had she been a person of consequence
herself, he would have come I dare say; and it would not have signified
whether he did or no. Can you think your friend behind-hand in these
sort of considerations? Do you suppose she does not often say all
this to herself? No, Emma, your amiable young man can be amiable only
in French, not in English. He may be very `\emph{aimable},' have very
good manners, and be very agreeable; but he can have no English delicacy
towards the feelings of other people: nothing really amiable about
him.''

{}``You seem determined to think ill of him.''

{}``Me!\mbox{---}not at all,'' replied Mr.\ Knightley, rather
displeased; {}``I do not want to think ill of him. I should be as
ready to acknowledge his merits as any other man; but I hear of none,
except what are merely personal; that he is well-grown and good-looking,
with smooth, plausible manners.''

{}``Well, if he have nothing else to recommend him, he will be a
treasure at Highbury. We do not often look upon fine young men, well-bred
and agreeable. We must not be nice and ask for all the virtues into
the bargain. Cannot you imagine, Mr.\ Knightley, what a \emph{sensation}
his coming will produce? There will be but one subject throughout
the parishes of Donwell and Highbury; but one interest\mbox{---}one
object of curiosity; it will be all Mr.\ Frank Churchill; we shall
think and speak of nobody else.''

{}``You will excuse my being so much over-powered. If I find him
conversable, I shall be glad of his acquaintance; but if he is only
a chattering coxcomb, he will not occupy much of my time or thoughts.''

{}``My idea of him is, that he can adapt his conversation to the
taste of every body, and has the power as well as the wish of being
universally agreeable. To you, he will talk of farming; to me, of
drawing or music; and so on to every body, having that general information
on all subjects which will enable him to follow the lead, or take
the lead, just as propriety may require, and to speak extremely well
on each; that is my idea of him.''

{}``And mine,'' said Mr.\ Knightley warmly, {}``is, that if he
turn out any thing like it, he will be the most insufferable fellow
breathing! What!\ at three-and-twenty to be the king of his company\mbox{---}the
great man\mbox{---}the practised politician, who is to read every
body's character, and make every body's talents conduce to the display
of his own superiority; to be dispensing his flatteries around, that
he may make all appear like fools compared with himself! My dear Emma,
your own good sense could not endure such a puppy when it came to
the point.''

{}``I will say no more about him,'' cried Emma, {}``you turn every
thing to evil. We are both prejudiced; you against, I for him; and
we have no chance of agreeing till he is really here.''

{}``Prejudiced! I am not prejudiced.''

{}``But I am very much, and without being at all ashamed of it. My
love for Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston gives me a decided prejudice in his
favour.''

{}``He is a person I never think of from one month's end to another,''
said Mr.\ Knightley, with a degree of vexation, which made Emma immediately
talk of something else, though she could not comprehend why he should
be angry.

To take a dislike to a young man, only because he appeared to be of
a different disposition from himself, was unworthy the real liberality
of mind which she was always used to acknowledge in him; for with
all the high opinion of himself, which she had often laid to his charge,
she had never before for a moment supposed it could make him unjust
to the merit of another.


\part*{VOLUME II}

\addcontentsline{toc}{part}{VOLUME II}


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER I}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER I}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER I}

Emma and Harriet had been walking together one morning, and, in Emma's
opinion, had been talking enough of Mr.\ Elton for that day. She
could not think that Harriet's solace or her own sins required more;
and she was therefore industriously getting rid of the subject as
they returned;\mbox{---}but it burst out again when she thought she
had succeeded, and after speaking some time of what the poor must
suffer in winter, and receiving no other answer than a very plaintive\mbox{---}{}``Mr.\ Elton
is so good to the poor!''\ she found something else must be done.

They were just approaching the house where lived Mrs.\ and Miss Bates.
She determined to call upon them and seek safety in numbers. There
was always sufficient reason for such an attention; Mrs.\ and Miss
Bates loved to be called on, and she knew she was considered by the
very few who presumed ever to see imperfection in her, as rather negligent
in that respect, and as not contributing what she ought to the stock
of their scanty comforts.

She had had many a hint from Mr.\ Knightley and some from her own
heart, as to her deficiency\mbox{---}but none were equal to counteract
the persuasion of its being very disagreeable,\mbox{---}a waste of
time\mbox{---}tiresome women\mbox{---}and all the horror of being
in danger of falling in with the second-rate and third-rate of Highbury,
who were calling on them for ever, and therefore she seldom went near
them. But now she made the sudden resolution of not passing their
door without going in\mbox{---}observing, as she proposed it to Harriet,
that, as well as she could calculate, they were just now quite safe
from any letter from Jane Fairfax.

The house belonged to people in business. Mrs.\ and Miss Bates occupied
the drawing-room floor; and there, in the very moderate-sized apartment,
which was every thing to them, the visitors were most cordially and
even gratefully welcomed; the quiet neat old lady, who with her knitting
was seated in the warmest corner, wanting even to give up her place
to Miss Woodhouse, and her more active, talking daughter, almost ready
to overpower them with care and kindness, thanks for their visit,
solicitude for their shoes, anxious inquiries after Mr.\ Woodhouse's
health, cheerful communications about her mother's, and sweet-cake
from the beaufet\mbox{---}{}``Mrs.\ Cole had just been there, just
called in for ten minutes, and had been so good as to sit an hour
with them, and \emph{she} had taken a piece of cake and been so kind
as to say she liked it very much; and, therefore, she hoped Miss Woodhouse
and Miss Smith would do them the favour to eat a piece too.''

The mention of the Coles was sure to be followed by that of Mr.\ Elton.
There was intimacy between them, and Mr.\ Cole had heard from Mr.\ Elton
since his going away. Emma knew what was coming; they must have the
letter over again, and settle how long he had been gone, and how much
he was engaged in company, and what a favourite he was wherever he
went, and how full the Master of the Ceremonies' ball had been; and
she went through it very well, with all the interest and all the commendation
that could be requisite, and always putting forward to prevent Harriet's
being obliged to say a word.

This she had been prepared for when she entered the house; but meant,
having once talked him handsomely over, to be no farther incommoded
by any troublesome topic, and to wander at large amongst all the Mistresses
and Misses of Highbury, and their card-parties. She had not been prepared
to have Jane Fairfax succeed Mr.\ Elton; but he was actually hurried
off by Miss Bates, she jumped away from him at last abruptly to the
Coles, to usher in a letter from her niece.

{}``Oh!\ yes\mbox{---}Mr.\ Elton, I understand\mbox{---}cer\-tain\-ly
as to dancing\mbox{---}Mrs.\ Cole was telling me that dancing at
the rooms at Bath was\mbox{---}Mrs.\ Cole was so kind as to sit
some time with us, talking of Jane; for as soon as she came in, she
began inquiring after her, Jane is so very great a favourite there.
Whenever she is with us, Mrs.\ Cole does not know how to shew her
kindness enough; and I must say that Jane deserves it as much as any
body can. And so she began inquiring after her directly, saying, `I
know you cannot have heard from Jane lately, because it is not her
time for writing;' and when I immediately said, `But indeed we have,
we had a letter this very morning,' I do not know that I ever saw
any body more surprized.\  `Have you, upon your honour?'\ said she;
`well, that is quite unexpected. Do let me hear what she says.'''

Emma's politeness was at hand directly, to say, with smiling interest\mbox{---}

{}``Have you heard from Miss Fairfax so lately? I am extremely happy.
I hope she is well?''\ 

{}``Thank you. You are so kind!''\ replied the happily deceived
aunt, while eagerly hunting for the letter.\mbox{---} {}``Oh!\ here
it is. I was sure it could not be far off; but I had put my huswife
upon it, you see, without being aware, and so it was quite hid, but
I had it in my hand so very lately that I was almost sure it must
be on the table. I was reading it to Mrs.\ Cole, and since she went
away, I was reading it again to my mother, for it is such a pleasure
to her\mbox{---}a letter from Jane\mbox{---}that she can never hear
it often enough; so I knew it could not be far off, and here it is,
only just under my huswife\mbox{---}and since you are so kind as
to wish to hear what she says;\mbox{---}but, first of all, I really
must, in justice to Jane, apologise for her writing so short a letter\mbox{---}only
two pages you see\mbox{---}hardly two\mbox{---}and in general she
fills the whole paper and crosses half. My mother often wonders that
I can make it out so well. She often says, when the letter is first
opened, `Well, Hetty, now I think you will be put to it to make out
all that checker-work'\mbox{---}don't you, ma'am?\mbox{---} And
then I tell her, I am sure she would contrive to make it out herself,
if she had nobody to do it for her\mbox{---}every word of it\mbox{---}I
am sure she would pore over it till she had made out every word. And,
indeed, though my mother's eyes are not so good as they were, she
can see amazingly well still, thank God!\ with the help of spectacles.
It is such a blessing! My mother's are really very good indeed. Jane
often says, when she is here, `I am sure, grandmama, you must have
had very strong eyes to see as you do\mbox{---}and so much fine work
as you have done too!\mbox{---} I only wish my eyes may last me as
well.'''

All this spoken extremely fast obliged Miss Bates to stop for breath;
and Emma said something very civil about the excellence of Miss Fairfax's
handwriting.

{}``You are extremely kind,'' replied Miss Bates, highly gratified;
{}``you who are such a judge, and write so beautifully yourself.
I am sure there is nobody's praise that could give us so much pleasure
as Miss Woodhouse's. My mother does not hear; she is a little deaf
you know. Ma'am,'' addressing her, {}``do you hear what Miss Woodhouse
is so obliging to say about Jane's handwriting?''\ 

And Emma had the advantage of hearing her own silly compliment repeated
twice over before the good old lady could comprehend it. She was pondering,
in the meanwhile, upon the possibility, without seeming very rude,
of making her escape from Jane Fairfax's letter, and had almost resolved
on hurrying away directly under some slight excuse, when Miss Bates
turned to her again and seized her attention.

{}``My mother's deafness is very trifling you see\mbox{---}just
nothing at all. By only raising my voice, and saying any thing two
or three times over, she is sure to hear; but then she is used to
my voice. But it is very remarkable that she should always hear Jane
better than she does me. Jane speaks so distinct! However, she will
not find her grandmama at all deafer than she was two years ago; which
is saying a great deal at my mother's time of life\mbox{---}and it
really is full two years, you know, since she was here. We never were
so long without seeing her before, and as I was telling Mrs.\ Cole,
we shall hardly know how to make enough of her now.''

{}``Are you expecting Miss Fairfax here soon?''\ 

{}``Oh yes; next week.''

{}``Indeed!\mbox{---}that must be a very great pleasure.''

{}``Thank you. You are very kind. Yes, next week. Every body is so
surprized; and every body says the same obliging things. I am sure
she will be as happy to see her friends at Highbury, as they can be
to see her. Yes, Friday or Saturday; she cannot say which, because
Colonel Campbell will be wanting the carriage himself one of those
days. So very good of them to send her the whole way! But they always
do, you know. Oh yes, Friday or Saturday next. That is what she writes
about. That is the reason of her writing out of rule, as we call it;
for, in the common course, we should not have heard from her before
next Tuesday or Wednesday.''

{}``Yes, so I imagined. I was afraid there could be little chance
of my hearing any thing of Miss Fairfax to-day.''

{}``So obliging of you! No, we should not have heard, if it had not
been for this particular circumstance, of her being to come here so
soon. My mother is so delighted!\mbox{---}for she is to be three
months with us at least. Three months, she says so, positively, as
I am going to have the pleasure of reading to you. The case is, you
see, that the Campbells are going to Ireland. Mrs.\ Dixon has persuaded
her father and mother to come over and see her directly. They had
not intended to go over till the summer, but she is so impatient to
see them again\mbox{---}for till she married, last October, she was
never away from them so much as a week, which must make it very strange
to be in different kingdoms, I was going to say, but however different
countries, and so she wrote a very urgent letter to her mother\mbox{---}or
her father, I declare I do not know which it was, but we shall see
presently in Jane's letter\mbox{---}wrote in Mr.\ Dixon's name as
well as her own, to press their coming over directly, and they would
give them the meeting in Dublin, and take them back to their country
seat, Baly-craig, a beautiful place, I fancy. Jane has heard a great
deal of its beauty; from Mr.\ Dixon, I mean\mbox{---}I do not know
that she ever heard about it from any body else; but it was very natural,
you know, that he should like to speak of his own place while he was
paying his addresses\mbox{---}and as Jane used to be very often walking
out with them\mbox{---}for Colonel and Mrs.\ Campbell were very
particular about their daughter's not walking out often with only
Mr.\ Dixon, for which I do not at all blame them; of course she heard
every thing he might be telling Miss Campbell about his own home in
Ireland; and I think she wrote us word that he had shewn them some
drawings of the place, views that he had taken himself. He is a most
amiable, charming young man, I believe. Jane was quite longing to
go to Ireland, from his account of things.''

At this moment, an ingenious and animating suspicion entering Emma's
brain with regard to Jane Fairfax, this charming Mr.\ Dixon, and
the not going to Ireland, she said, with the insidious design of farther
discovery,

{}``You must feel it very fortunate that Miss Fairfax should be allowed
to come to you at such a time. Considering the very particular friendship
between her and Mrs.\ Dixon, you could hardly have expected her to
be excused from accompanying Colonel and Mrs.\ Campbell.''

{}``Very true, very true, indeed. The very thing that we have always
been rather afraid of; for we should not have liked to have her at
such a distance from us, for months together\mbox{---}not able to
come if any thing was to happen. But you see, every thing turns out
for the best. They want her (Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Dixon) excessively to
come over with Colonel and Mrs.\ Campbell; quite depend upon it;
nothing can be more kind or pressing than their \emph{joint} invitation,
Jane says, as you will hear presently; Mr.\ Dixon does not seem in
the least backward in any attention. He is a most charming young man.
Ever since the service he rendered Jane at Weymouth, when they were
out in that party on the water, and she, by the sudden whirling round
of something or other among the sails, would have been dashed into
the sea at once, and actually was all but gone, if he had not, with
the greatest presence of mind, caught hold of her habit\mbox{---}(I
can never think of it without trembling!)\mbox{---}But ever since
we had the history of that day, I have been so fond of Mr.\ Dixon!''\ 

{}``But, in spite of all her friends' urgency, and her own wish of
seeing Ireland, Miss Fairfax prefers devoting the time to you and
Mrs.\ Bates?''\ 

{}``Yes\mbox{---}entirely her own doing, entirely her own choice;
and Colonel and Mrs.\ Campbell think she does quite right, just what
they should recommend; and indeed they particularly \emph{wish} her
to try her native air, as she has not been quite so well as usual
lately.''

{}``I am concerned to hear of it. I think they judge wisely. But
Mrs.\ Dixon must be very much disappointed. Mrs.\ Dixon, I understand,
has no remarkable degree of personal beauty; is not, by any means,
to be compared with Miss Fairfax.''

{}``Oh!\ no. You are very obliging to say such things\mbox{---}but
certainly not. There is no comparison between them. Miss Campbell
always was absolutely plain\mbox{---}but extremely elegant and amiable.''

{}``Yes, that of course.''

{}``Jane caught a bad cold, poor thing!\ so long ago as the 7th
of November, (as I am going to read to you,) and has never been well
since. A long time, is not it, for a cold to hang upon her? She never
mentioned it before, because she would not alarm us. Just like her!
so considerate!\mbox{---} But however, she is so far from well, that
her kind friends the Campbells think she had better come home, and
try an air that always agrees with her; and they have no doubt that
three or four months at Highbury will entirely cure her\mbox{---}and
it is certainly a great deal better that she should come here, than
go to Ireland, if she is unwell. Nobody could nurse her, as we should
do.''

{}``It appears to me the most desirable arrangement in the world.''

{}``And so she is to come to us next Friday or Saturday, and the
Campbells leave town in their way to Holyhead the Monday following\mbox{---}as
you will find from Jane's letter. So sudden!\mbox{---} You may guess,
dear Miss Woodhouse, what a flurry it has thrown me in! If it was
not for the drawback of her illness\mbox{---}but I am afraid we must
expect to see her grown thin, and looking very poorly. I must tell
you what an unlucky thing happened to me, as to that. I always make
a point of reading Jane's letters through to myself first, before
I read them aloud to my mother, you know, for fear of there being
any thing in them to distress her. Jane desired me to do it, so I
always do: and so I began to-day with my usual caution; but no sooner
did I come to the mention of her being unwell, than I burst out, quite
frightened, with `Bless me!\ poor Jane is ill!'\mbox{---}which my
mother, being on the watch, heard distinctly, and was sadly alarmed
at. However, when I read on, I found it was not near so bad as I had
fancied at first; and I make so light of it now to her, that she does
not think much about it. But I cannot imagine how I could be so off
my guard. If Jane does not get well soon, we will call in Mr.\ Perry.
The expense shall not be thought of; and though he is so liberal,
and so fond of Jane that I dare say he would not mean to charge any
thing for attendance, we could not suffer it to be so, you know. He
has a wife and family to maintain, and is not to be giving away his
time. Well, now I have just given you a hint of what Jane writes about,
we will turn to her letter, and I am sure she tells her own story
a great deal better than I can tell it for her.''

{}``I am afraid we must be running away,'' said Emma, glancing at
Harriet, and beginning to rise\mbox{---}{}``My father will be expecting
us. I had no intention, I thought I had no power of staying more than
five minutes, when I first entered the house. I merely called, because
I would not pass the door without inquiring after Mrs.\ Bates; but
I have been so pleasantly detained! Now, however, we must wish you
and Mrs.\ Bates good morning.''

And not all that could be urged to detain her succeeded. She regained
the street\mbox{---}happy in this, that though much had been forced
on her against her will, though she had in fact heard the whole substance
of Jane Fairfax's letter, she had been able to escape the letter itself.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER II}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER II}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER II}

Jane Fairfax was an orphan, the only child of Mrs.\ Bates's youngest
daughter. The marriage of Lieut.~Fairfax of the \mbox{--------}
regiment of infantry, and Miss Jane Bates, had had its day of fame
and pleasure, hope and interest; but nothing now remained of it, save
the melancholy remembrance of him dying in action abroad\mbox{---}of
his widow sinking under consumption and grief soon afterwards\mbox{---}and
this girl.

By birth she belonged to Highbury: and when at three years old, on
losing her mother, she became the property, the charge, the consolation,
the fondling of her grandmother and aunt, there had seemed every probability
of her being permanently fixed there; of her being taught only what
very limited means could command, and growing up with no advantages
of connexion or improvement, to be engrafted on what nature had given
her in a pleasing person, good understanding, and warm-hearted, well-meaning
relations.

But the compassionate feelings of a friend of her father gave a change
to her destiny. This was Colonel Campbell, who had very highly regarded
Fairfax, as an excellent officer and most deserving young man; and
farther, had been indebted to him for such attentions, during a severe
camp-fever, as he believed had saved his life. These were claims which
he did not learn to overlook, though some years passed away from the
death of poor Fairfax, before his own return to England put any thing
in his power. When he did return, he sought out the child and took
notice of her. He was a married man, with only one living child, a
girl, about Jane's age: and Jane became their guest, paying them long
visits and growing a favourite with all; and before she was nine years
old, his daughter's great fondness for her, and his own wish of being
a real friend, united to produce an offer from Colonel Campbell of
undertaking the whole charge of her education. It was accepted; and
from that period Jane had belonged to Colonel Campbell's family, and
had lived with them entirely, only visiting her grandmother from time
to time.

The plan was that she should be brought up for educating others; the
very few hundred pounds which she inherited from her father making
independence impossible. To provide for her otherwise was out of Colonel
Campbell's power; for though his income, by pay and appointments,
was handsome, his fortune was moderate and must be all his daughter's;
but, by giving her an education, he hoped to be supplying the means
of respectable subsistence hereafter.

Such was Jane Fairfax's history. She had fallen into good hands, known
nothing but kindness from the Campbells, and been given an excellent
education. Living constantly with right-minded and well-informed people,
her heart and understanding had received every advantage of discipline
and culture; and Colonel Campbell's residence being in London, every
lighter talent had been done full justice to, by the attendance of
first-rate masters. Her disposition and abilities were equally worthy
of all that friendship could do; and at eighteen or nineteen she was,
as far as such an early age can be qualified for the care of children,
fully competent to the office of instruction herself; but she was
too much beloved to be parted with. Neither father nor mother could
promote, and the daughter could not endure it. The evil day was put
off. It was easy to decide that she was still too young; and Jane
remained with them, sharing, as another daughter, in all the rational
pleasures of an elegant society, and a judicious mixture of home and
amusement, with only the drawback of the future, the sobering suggestions
of her own good understanding to remind her that all this might soon
be over.

The affection of the whole family, the warm attachment of Miss Campbell
in particular, was the more honourable to each party from the circumstance
of Jane's decided superiority both in beauty and acquirements. That
nature had given it in feature could not be unseen by the young woman,
nor could her higher powers of mind be unfelt by the parents. They
continued together with unabated regard however, till the marriage
of Miss Campbell, who by that chance, that luck which so often defies
anticipation in matrimonial affairs, giving attraction to what is
moderate rather than to what is superior, engaged the affections of
Mr.\ Dixon, a young man, rich and agreeable, almost as soon as they
were acquainted; and was eligibly and happily settled, while Jane
Fairfax had yet her bread to earn.

This event had very lately taken place; too lately for any thing to
be yet attempted by her less fortunate friend towards entering on
her path of duty; though she had now reached the age which her own
judgment had fixed on for beginning. She had long resolved that one-and-twenty
should be the period. With the fortitude of a devoted novitiate, she
had resolved at one-and-twenty to complete the sacrifice, and retire
from all the pleasures of life, of rational intercourse, equal society,
peace and hope, to penance and mortification for ever.

The good sense of Colonel and Mrs.\ Campbell could not oppose such
a resolution, though their feelings did. As long as they lived, no
exertions would be necessary, their home might be hers for ever; and
for their own comfort they would have retained her wholly; but this
would be selfishness:\mbox{---}what must be at last, had better be
soon. Perhaps they began to feel it might have been kinder and wiser
to have resisted the temptation of any delay, and spared her from
a taste of such enjoyments of ease and leisure as must now be relinquished.
Still, however, affection was glad to catch at any reasonable excuse
for not hurrying on the wretched moment. She had never been quite
well since the time of their daughter's marriage; and till she should
have completely recovered her usual strength, they must forbid her
engaging in duties, which, so far from being compatible with a weakened
frame and varying spirits, seemed, under the most favourable circumstances,
to require something more than human perfection of body and mind to
be discharged with tolerable comfort.

With regard to her not accompanying them to Ireland, her account to
her aunt contained nothing but truth, though there might be some truths
not told. It was her own choice to give the time of their absence
to Highbury; to spend, perhaps, her last months of perfect liberty
with those kind relations to whom she was so very dear: and the Campbells,
whatever might be their motive or motives, whether single, or double,
or treble, gave the arrangement their ready sanction, and said, that
they depended more on a few months spent in her native air, for the
recovery of her health, than on any thing else. Certain it was that
she was to come; and that Highbury, instead of welcoming that perfect
novelty which had been so long promised it\mbox{---}Mr.\ Frank Churchill\mbox{---}must
put up for the present with Jane Fairfax, who could bring only the
freshness of a two years' absence.

Emma was sorry;\mbox{---}to have to pay civilities to a person she
did not like through three long months!\mbox{---}to be always doing
more than she wished, and less than she ought! Why she did not like
Jane Fairfax might be a difficult question to answer; Mr.\ Knightley
had once told her it was because she saw in her the really accomplished
young woman, which she wanted to be thought herself; and though the
accusation had been eagerly refuted at the time, there were moments
of self-examination in which her conscience could not quite acquit
her. But {}``she could never get acquainted with her: she did not
know how it was, but there was such coldness and reserve\mbox{---}such
apparent indifference whether she pleased or not\mbox{---}and then,
her aunt was such an eternal talker!\mbox{---}and she was made such
a fuss with by every body!\mbox{---}and it had been always imagined
that they were to be so intimate\mbox{---}because their ages were
the same, every body had supposed they must be so fond of each other.''
These were her reasons\mbox{---}she had no better.

It was a dislike so little just\mbox{---}every imputed fault was
so magnified by fancy, that she never saw Jane Fairfax the first time
after any considerable absence, without feeling that she had injured
her; and now, when the due visit was paid, on her arrival, after a
two years' interval, she was particularly struck with the very appearance
and manners, which for those two whole years she had been depreciating.
Jane Fairfax was very elegant, remarkably elegant; and she had herself
the highest value for elegance. Her height was pretty, just such as
almost every body would think tall, and nobody could think very tall;
her figure particularly graceful; her size a most becoming medium,
between fat and thin, though a slight appearance of ill-health seemed
to point out the likeliest evil of the two. Emma could not but feel
all this; and then, her face\mbox{---}her features\mbox{---}there
was more beauty in them altogether than she had remembered; it was
not regular, but it was very pleasing beauty. Her eyes, a deep grey,
with dark eye-lashes and eyebrows, had never been denied their praise;
but the skin, which she had been used to cavil at, as wanting colour,
had a clearness and delicacy which really needed no fuller bloom.
It was a style of beauty, of which elegance was the reigning character,
and as such, she must, in honour, by all her principles, admire it:\mbox{---}elegance,
which, whether of person or of mind, she saw so little in Highbury.
There, not to be vulgar, was distinction, and merit.

In short, she sat, during the first visit, looking at Jane Fairfax
with twofold complacency; the sense of pleasure and the sense of rendering
justice, and was determining that she would dislike her no longer.
When she took in her history, indeed, her situation, as well as her
beauty; when she considered what all this elegance was destined to,
what she was going to sink from, how she was going to live, it seemed
impossible to feel any thing but compassion and respect; especially,
if to every well-known particular entitling her to interest, were
added the highly probable circumstance of an attachment to Mr.\ Dixon,
which she had so naturally started to herself. In that case, nothing
could be more pitiable or more honourable than the sacrifices she
had resolved on. Emma was very willing now to acquit her of having
seduced Mr.\ Dixon's actions from his wife, or of any thing mischievous
which her imagination had suggested at first. If it were love, it
might be simple, single, successless love on her side alone. She might
have been unconsciously sucking in the sad poison, while a sharer
of his conversation with her friend; and from the best, the purest
of motives, might now be denying herself this visit to Ireland, and
resolving to divide herself effectually from him and his connexions
by soon beginning her career of laborious duty.

Upon the whole, Emma left her with such softened, charitable feelings,
as made her look around in walking home, and lament that Highbury
afforded no young man worthy of giving her independence; nobody that
she could wish to scheme about for her.

These were charming feelings\mbox{---}but not lasting. Before she
had committed herself by any public profession of eternal friendship
for Jane Fairfax, or done more towards a recantation of past prejudices
and errors, than saying to Mr.\ Knightley, {}``She certainly is
handsome; she is better than handsome!''\ Jane had spent an evening
at Hartfield with her grandmother and aunt, and every thing was relapsing
much into its usual state. Former provocations reappeared. The aunt
was as tiresome as ever; more tiresome, because anxiety for her health
was now added to admiration of her powers; and they had to listen
to the description of exactly how little bread and butter she ate
for breakfast, and how small a slice of mutton for dinner, as well
as to see exhibitions of new caps and new workbags for her mother
and herself; and Jane's offences rose again. They had music; Emma
was obliged to play; and the thanks and praise which necessarily followed
appeared to her an affectation of candour, an air of greatness, meaning
only to shew off in higher style her own very superior performance.
She was, besides, which was the worst of all, so cold, so cautious!
There was no getting at her real opinion. Wrapt up in a cloak of politeness,
she seemed determined to hazard nothing. She was disgustingly, was
suspiciously reserved.

If any thing could be more, where all was most, she was more reserved
on the subject of Weymouth and the Dixons than any thing. She seemed
bent on giving no real insight into Mr.\ Dixon's character, or her
own value for his company, or opinion of the suitableness of the match.
It was all general approbation and smoothness; nothing delineated
or distinguished. It did her no service however. Her caution was thrown
away. Emma saw its artifice, and returned to her first surmises. There
probably \emph{was} something more to conceal than her own preference;
Mr.\ Dixon, perhaps, had been very near changing one friend for the
other, or been fixed only to Miss Campbell, for the sake of the future
twelve thousand pounds.

The like reserve prevailed on other topics. She and Mr.\ Frank Churchill
had been at Weymouth at the same time. It was known that they were
a little acquainted; but not a syllable of real information could
Emma procure as to what he truly was. {}``Was he handsome?''---{}``She
believed he was reckoned a very fine young man.'' {}``Was he agreeable?''---{}``He
was generally thought so.'' {}``Did he appear a sensible young man;
a young man of information?''---{}``At a watering-place, or in a
common London acquaintance, it was difficult to decide on such points.
Manners were all that could be safely judged of, under a much longer
knowledge than they had yet had of Mr.\ Churchill. She believed every
body found his manners pleasing.'' Emma could not forgive her.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER III}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER III}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER III}

Emma could not forgive her;\mbox{---}but as neither provocation nor
resentment were discerned by Mr.\ Knightley, who had been of the
party, and had seen only proper attention and pleasing behaviour on
each side, he was expressing the next morning, being at Hartfield
again on business with Mr.\ Woodhouse, his approbation of the whole;
not so openly as he might have done had her father been out of the
room, but speaking plain enough to be very intelligible to Emma. He
had been used to think her unjust to Jane, and had now great pleasure
in marking an improvement.

{}``A very pleasant evening,'' he began, as soon as Mr.\ Woodhouse
had been talked into what was necessary, told that he understood,
and the papers swept away;\mbox{---}{}``particularly pleasant. You
and Miss Fairfax gave us some very good music. I do not know a more
luxurious state, sir, than sitting at one's ease to be entertained
a whole evening by two such young women; sometimes with music and
sometimes with conversation. I am sure Miss Fairfax must have found
the evening pleasant, Emma. You left nothing undone. I was glad you
made her play so much, for having no instrument at her grandmother's,
it must have been a real indulgence.''

{}``I am happy you approved,'' said Emma, smiling; {}``but I hope
I am not often deficient in what is due to guests at Hartfield.''

{}``No, my dear,'' said her father instantly; {}``\emph{that} I
am sure you are not. There is nobody half so attentive and civil as
you are. If any thing, you are too attentive. The muffin last night\mbox{---}if
it had been handed round once, I think it would have been enough.''

{}``No,'' said Mr.\ Knightley, nearly at the same time; {}``you
are not often deficient; not often deficient either in manner or comprehension.
I think you understand me, therefore.''

An arch look expressed\mbox{---}{}``I understand you well enough;''
but she said only, {}``Miss Fairfax is reserved.''

{}``I always told you she was\mbox{---}a little; but you will soon
overcome all that part of her reserve which ought to be overcome,
all that has its foundation in diffidence. What arises from discretion
must be honoured.''

{}``You think her diffident. I do not see it.''

{}``My dear Emma,'' said he, moving from his chair into one close
by her, {}``you are not going to tell me, I hope, that you had not
a pleasant evening.''

{}``Oh!\ no; I was pleased with my own perseverance in asking questions;
and amused to think how little information I obtained.''

{}``I am disappointed,'' was his only answer.

{}``I hope every body had a pleasant evening,'' said Mr.\ Woodhouse,
in his quiet way. {}``I had. Once, I felt the fire rather too much;
but then I moved back my chair a little, a very little, and it did
not disturb me. Miss Bates was very chatty and good-humoured, as she
always is, though she speaks rather too quick. However, she is very
agreeable, and Mrs.\ Bates too, in a different way. I like old friends;
and Miss Jane Fairfax is a very pretty sort of young lady, a very
pretty and a very well-behaved young lady indeed. She must have found
the evening agreeable, Mr.\ Knightley, because she had Emma.''

{}``True, sir; and Emma, because she had Miss Fairfax.''

Emma saw his anxiety, and wishing to appease it, at least for the
present, said, and with a sincerity which no one could question\mbox{---}

{}``She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep one's
eyes from. I am always watching her to admire; and I do pity her from
my heart.''

Mr.\ Knightley looked as if he were more gratified than he cared
to express; and before he could make any reply, Mr.\ Woodhouse, whose
thoughts were on the Bates's, said\mbox{---}

{}``It is a great pity that their circumstances should be so confined!\ a
great pity indeed!\ and I have often wished\mbox{---}but it is so
little one can venture to do\mbox{---}small, trifling presents, of
any thing uncommon\mbox{---}Now we have killed a porker, and Emma
thinks of sending them a loin or a leg; it is very small and delicate---Hartfield
pork is not like any other pork\mbox{---}but still it is pork\mbox{---}and,
my dear Emma, unless one could be sure of their making it into steaks,
nicely fried, as ours are fried, without the smallest grease, and
not roast it, for no stomach can bear roast pork\mbox{---}I think
we had better send the leg\mbox{---}do not you think so, my dear?''\ 

{}``My dear papa, I sent the whole hind-quarter. I knew you would
wish it. There will be the leg to be salted, you know, which is so
very nice, and the loin to be dressed directly in any manner they
like.''

{}``That's right, my dear, very right. I had not thought of it before,
but that is the best way. They must not over-salt the leg; and then,
if it is not over-salted, and if it is very thoroughly boiled, just
as Serle boils ours, and eaten very moderately of, with a boiled turnip,
and a little carrot or parsnip, I do not consider it unwholesome.''

{}``Emma,'' said Mr.\ Knightley presently, {}``I have a piece
of news for you. You like news\mbox{---}and I heard an article in
my way hither that I think will interest you.''

{}``News! Oh!\ yes, I always like news. What is it?\mbox{---}why
do you smile so?\mbox{---}where did you hear it?\mbox{---}at Randalls?''\ 

He had time only to say,

{}``No, not at Randalls; I have not been near Randalls,'' when the
door was thrown open, and Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax walked into
the room. Full of thanks, and full of news, Miss Bates knew not which
to give quickest. Mr.\ Knightley soon saw that he had lost his moment,
and that not another syllable of communication could rest with him.

{}``Oh!\ my dear sir, how are you this morning? My dear Miss Woodhouse\mbox{---}I
come quite over-powered. Such a beautiful hind-quarter of pork! You
are too bountiful! Have you heard the news? Mr.\ Elton is going to
be married.''

Emma had not had time even to think of Mr.\ Elton, and she was so
completely surprized that she could not avoid a little start, and
a little blush, at the sound.

{}``There is my news:\mbox{---}I thought it would interest you,''
said Mr.\ Knightley, with a smile which implied a conviction of some
part of what had passed between them.

{}``But where could you hear it?''\ cried Miss Bates. {}``Where
could you possibly hear it, Mr.\ Knightley? For it is not five minutes
since I received Mrs.\ Cole's note\mbox{---}no, it cannot be more
than five\mbox{---}or at least ten\mbox{---}for I had got my bonnet
and spencer on, just ready to come out\mbox{---}I was only gone down
to speak to Patty again about the pork\mbox{---}Jane was standing
in the passage\mbox{---}were not you, Jane?\mbox{---}for my mother
was so afraid that we had not any salting-pan large enough. So I said
I would go down and see, and Jane said, `Shall I go down instead?\ for
I think you have a little cold, and Patty has been washing the kitchen.'\mbox{---}`Oh!\ my
dear,' said I\mbox{---}well, and just then came the note. A Miss
Hawkins\mbox{---}that's all I know. A Miss Hawkins of Bath. But,
Mr.\ Knightley, how could you possibly have heard it?\ for the very
moment Mr.\ Cole told Mrs.\ Cole of it, she sat down and wrote to
me. A Miss Hawkins\mbox{---}''

{}``I was with Mr.\ Cole on business an hour and a half ago. He
had just read Elton's letter as I was shewn in, and handed it to me
directly.''

{}``Well!\ that is quite\mbox{---}I suppose there never was a piece
of news more generally interesting. My dear sir, you really are too
bountiful. My mother desires her very best compliments and regards,
and a thousand thanks, and says you really quite oppress her.''

{}``We consider our Hartfield pork,'' replied Mr.\ Woodhouse\mbox{---}{}``indeed
it certainly is, so very superior to all other pork, that Emma and
I cannot have a greater pleasure than\mbox{---}''

{}``Oh!\ my dear sir, as my mother says, our friends are only too
good to us. If ever there were people who, without having great wealth
themselves, had every thing they could wish for, I am sure it is us.
We may well say that `our lot is cast in a goodly heritage.' Well,
Mr.\ Knightley, and so you actually saw the letter; well\mbox{---}''

{}``It was short\mbox{---}merely to announce\mbox{---}but cheerful,
exulting, of course.''---Here was a sly glance at Emma. {}``He had
been so fortunate as to\mbox{---}I forget the precise words\mbox{---}one
has no business to remember them. The information was, as you state,
that he was going to be married to a Miss Hawkins. By his style, I
should imagine it just settled.''

{}``Mr.\ Elton going to be married!''\ said Emma, as soon as she
could speak. {}``He will have every body's wishes for his happiness.''

{}``He is very young to settle,'' was Mr.\ Woodhouse's observation.
{}``He had better not be in a hurry. He seemed to me very well off
as he was. We were always glad to see him at Hartfield.''

{}``A new neighbour for us all, Miss Woodhouse!''\ said Miss Bates,
joyfully; {}``my mother is so pleased!\mbox{---}she says she cannot
bear to have the poor old Vicarage without a mistress. This is great
news, indeed. Jane, you have never seen Mr.\ Elton!\mbox{---}no
wonder that you have such a curiosity to see him.''

Jane's curiosity did not appear of that absorbing nature as wholly
to occupy her.

{}``No\mbox{---}I have never seen Mr.\ Elton,'' she replied, starting
on this appeal; {}``is he\mbox{---}is he a tall man?''\ 

{}``Who shall answer that question?''\ cried Emma. {}``My father
would say `yes,' Mr.\ Knightley `no;' and Miss Bates and I that he
is just the happy medium. When you have been here a little longer,
Miss Fairfax, you will understand that Mr.\ Elton is the standard
of perfection in Highbury, both in person and mind.''

{}``Very true, Miss Woodhouse, so she will. He is the very best young
man\mbox{---}But, my dear Jane, if you remember, I told you yesterday
he was precisely the height of Mr.\ Perry. Miss Hawkins,\mbox{---}I
dare say, an excellent young woman. His extreme attention to my mother\mbox{---}wanting
her to sit in the vicarage pew, that she might hear the better, for
my mother is a little deaf, you know\mbox{---}it is not much, but
she does not hear quite quick. Jane says that Colonel Campbell is
a little deaf. He fancied bathing might be good for it\mbox{---}the
warm bath\mbox{---}but she says it did him no lasting benefit. Colonel
Campbell, you know, is quite our angel. And Mr.\ Dixon seems a very
charming young man, quite worthy of him. It is such a happiness when
good people get together\mbox{---}and they always do. Now, here will
be Mr.\ Elton and Miss Hawkins; and there are the Coles, such very
good people; and the Perrys\mbox{---}I suppose there never was a
happier or a better couple than Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Perry. I say, sir,''
turning to Mr.\ Woodhouse, {}``I think there are few places with
such society as Highbury. I always say, we are quite blessed in our
neighbours.\mbox{---} My dear sir, if there is one thing my mother
loves better than another, it is pork\mbox{---}a roast loin of pork\mbox{---}''

{}``As to who, or what Miss Hawkins is, or how long he has been acquainted
with her,'' said Emma, {}``nothing I suppose can be known. One feels
that it cannot be a very long acquaintance. He has been gone only
four weeks.''

Nobody had any information to give; and, after a few more wonderings,
Emma said,

{}``You are silent, Miss Fairfax\mbox{---}but I hope you mean to
take an interest in this news. You, who have been hearing and seeing
so much of late on these subjects, who must have been so deep in the
business on Miss Campbell's account\mbox{---}we shall not excuse
your being indifferent about Mr.\ Elton and Miss Hawkins.''

{}``When I have seen Mr.\ Elton,'' replied Jane, {}`` I dare say
I shall be interested\mbox{---}but I believe it requires \emph{that}
with me. And as it is some months since Miss Campbell married, the
impression may be a little worn off.''

{}``Yes, he has been gone just four weeks, as you observe, Miss Woodhouse,''
said Miss Bates, {}``four weeks yesterday.\mbox{---} A Miss Hawkins!\mbox{---}
Well, I had always rather fancied it would be some young lady hereabouts;
not that I ever\mbox{---}Mrs.\ Cole once whispered to me\mbox{---}but
I immediately said, `No, Mr.\ Elton is a most worthy young man\mbox{---}but'\mbox{---}In
short, I do not think I am particularly quick at those sort of discoveries.
I do not pretend to it. What is before me, I see. At the same time,
nobody could wonder if Mr.\ Elton should have aspired\mbox{---}Miss
Woodhouse lets me chatter on, so good-humouredly. She knows I would
not offend for the world. How does Miss Smith do? She seems quite
recovered now. Have you heard from Mrs.\ John Knightley lately? Oh!\ those
dear little children. Jane, do you know I always fancy Mr.\ Dixon
like Mr.\ John Knightley. I mean in person\mbox{---}tall, and with
that sort of look\mbox{---}and not very talkative.''

{}``Quite wrong, my dear aunt; there is no likeness at all.''

{}``Very odd!\ but one never does form a just idea of any body beforehand.
One takes up a notion, and runs away with it. Mr.\ Dixon, you say,
is not, strictly speaking, handsome?''\ 

{}``Handsome! Oh!\ no\mbox{---}far from it\mbox{---}cer\-t\-ain\-ly
plain. I told you he was plain.''

{}``My dear, you said that Miss Campbell would not allow him to be
plain, and that you yourself\mbox{---}''

{}``Oh!\ as for me, my judgment is worth nothing. Where I have a
regard, I always think a person well-looking. But I gave what I believed
the general opinion, when I called him plain.''

{}``Well, my dear Jane, I believe we must be running away. The weather
does not look well, and grandmama will be uneasy. You are too obliging,
my dear Miss Woodhouse; but we really must take leave. This has been
a most agreeable piece of news indeed. I shall just go round by Mrs.\ Cole's;
but I shall not stop three minutes: and, Jane, you had better go home
directly\mbox{---}I would not have you out in a shower!\mbox{---}
We think she is the better for Highbury already. Thank you, we do
indeed. I shall not attempt calling on Mrs.\ Goddard, for I really
do not think she cares for any thing but \emph{boiled} pork: when
we dress the leg it will be another thing. Good morning to you, my
dear sir. Oh!\ Mr.\ Knightley is coming too. Well, that is so very!\mbox{---}I
am sure if Jane is tired, you will be so kind as to give her your
arm.\mbox{---} Mr.\ Elton, and Miss Hawkins!\mbox{---} Good morning
to you.''

Emma, alone with her father, had half her attention wanted by him
while he lamented that young people would be in such a hurry to marry\mbox{---}and
to marry strangers too\mbox{---}and the other half she could give
to her own view of the subject. It was to herself an amusing and a
very welcome piece of news, as proving that Mr.\ Elton could not
have suffered long; but she was sorry for Harriet: Harriet must feel
it\mbox{---}and all that she could hope was, by giving the first
information herself, to save her from hearing it abruptly from others.
It was now about the time that she was likely to call. If she were
to meet Miss Bates in her way!\mbox{---}and upon its beginning to
rain, Emma was obliged to expect that the weather would be detaining
her at Mrs.\ Goddard's, and that the intelligence would undoubtedly
rush upon her without preparation.

The shower was heavy, but short; and it had not been over five minutes,
when in came Harriet, with just the heated, agitated look which hurrying
thither with a full heart was likely to give; and the {}``Oh!\ Miss
Woodhouse, what do you think has happened!''\ which instantly burst
forth, had all the evidence of corresponding perturbation. As the
blow was given, Emma felt that she could not now shew greater kindness
than in listening; and Harriet, unchecked, ran eagerly through what
she had to tell. {}``She had set out from Mrs.\ Goddard's half an
hour ago\mbox{---}she had been afraid it would rain\mbox{---}she
had been afraid it would pour down every moment\mbox{---}but she
thought she might get to Hartfield first\mbox{---}she had hurried
on as fast as possible; but then, as she was passing by the house
where a young woman was making up a gown for her, she thought she
would just step in and see how it went on; and though she did not
seem to stay half a moment there, soon after she came out it began
to rain, and she did not know what to do; so she ran on directly,
as fast as she could, and took shelter at Ford's.''---Ford's was
the principal woollen-draper, linen-draper, and haberdasher's shop
united; the shop first in size and fashion in the place.\mbox{---}
{}``And so, there she had set, without an idea of any thing in the
world, full ten minutes, perhaps\mbox{---}when, all of a sudden,
who should come in\mbox{---}to be sure it was so very odd!\mbox{---}but
they always dealt at Ford's\mbox{---}who should come in, but Elizabeth
Martin and her brother!\mbox{---} Dear Miss Woodhouse!\ only think.
I thought I should have fainted. I did not know what to do. I was
sitting near the door\mbox{---}Elizabeth saw me directly; but he
did not; he was busy with the umbrella. I am sure she saw me, but
she looked away directly, and took no notice; and they both went to
quite the farther end of the shop; and I kept sitting near the door!\mbox{---}
Oh!\ dear; I was so miserable! I am sure I must have been as white
as my gown. I could not go away you know, because of the rain; but
I did so wish myself anywhere in the world but there.\mbox{---} Oh!\ dear,
Miss Woodhouse\mbox{---}well, at last, I fancy, he looked round and
saw me; for instead of going on with her buyings, they began whispering
to one another. I am sure they were talking of me; and I could not
help thinking that he was persuading her to speak to me\mbox{---}(do
you think he was, Miss Woodhouse?)\mbox{---}for presently she came
forward\mbox{---}came quite up to me, and asked me how I did, and
seemed ready to shake hands, if I would. She did not do any of it
in the same way that she used; I could see she was altered; but, however,
she seemed to \emph{try} to be very friendly, and we shook hands,
and stood talking some time; but I know no more what I said\mbox{---}I
was in such a tremble!\mbox{---} I remember she said she was sorry
we never met now; which I thought almost too kind! Dear, Miss Woodhouse,
I was absolutely miserable! By that time, it was beginning to hold
up, and I was determined that nothing should stop me from getting
away\mbox{---}and then\mbox{---}only think!\mbox{---} I found he
was coming up towards me too\mbox{---}slowly you know, and as if
he did not quite know what to do; and so he came and spoke, and I
answered\mbox{---}and I stood for a minute, feeling dreadfully, you
know, one can't tell how; and then I took courage, and said it did
not rain, and I must go; and so off I set; and I had not got three
yards from the door, when he came after me, only to say, if I was
going to Hartfield, he thought I had much better go round by Mr.\ Cole's
stables, for I should find the near way quite floated by this rain.
Oh!\ dear, I thought it would have been the death of me! So I said,
I was very much obliged to him: you know I could not do less; and
then he went back to Elizabeth, and I came round by the stables\mbox{---}I
believe I did\mbox{---}but I hardly knew where I was, or any thing
about it. Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse, I would rather done any thing than
have it happen: and yet, you know, there was a sort of satisfaction
in seeing him behave so pleasantly and so kindly. And Elizabeth, too.
Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse, do talk to me and make me comfortable again.''

Very sincerely did Emma wish to do so; but it was not immediately
in her power. She was obliged to stop and think. She was not thoroughly
comfortable herself. The young man's conduct, and his sister's, seemed
the result of real feeling, and she could not but pity them. As Harriet
described it, there had been an interesting mixture of wounded affection
and genuine delicacy in their behaviour. But she had believed them
to be well-meaning, worthy people before; and what difference did
this make in the evils of the connexion? It was folly to be disturbed
by it. Of course, he must be sorry to lose her\mbox{---}they must
be all sorry. Ambition, as well as love, had probably been mortified.
They might all have hoped to rise by Harriet's acquaintance: and besides,
what was the value of Harriet's description?\mbox{---} So easily
pleased\mbox{---}so little discerning;\mbox{---}what signified her
praise?

She exerted herself, and did try to make her comfortable, by considering
all that had passed as a mere trifle, and quite unworthy of being
dwelt on,

{}``It might be distressing, for the moment,'' said she; {}``but
you seem to have behaved extremely well; and it is over\mbox{---}and
may never\mbox{---}can never, as a first meeting, occur again, and
therefore you need not think about it.''

Harriet said, {}``very true,'' and she {}``would not think about
it;'' but still she talked of it\mbox{---}still she could talk of
nothing else; and Emma, at last, in order to put the Martins out of
her head, was obliged to hurry on the news, which she had meant to
give with so much tender caution; hardly knowing herself whether to
rejoice or be angry, ashamed or only amused, at such a state of mind
in poor Harriet\mbox{---}such a conclusion of Mr.\ Elton's importance
with her!

Mr.\ Elton's rights, however, gradually revived. Though she did not
feel the first intelligence as she might have done the day before,
or an hour before, its interest soon increased; and before their first
conversation was over, she had talked herself into all the sensations
of curiosity, wonder and regret, pain and pleasure, as to this fortunate
Miss Hawkins, which could conduce to place the Martins under proper
subordination in her fancy.

Emma learned to be rather glad that there had been such a meeting.
It had been serviceable in deadening the first shock, without retaining
any influence to alarm. As Harriet now lived, the Martins could not
get at her, without seeking her, where hitherto they had wanted either
the courage or the condescension to seek her; for since her refusal
of the brother, the sisters never had been at Mrs.\ Goddard's; and
a twelvemonth might pass without their being thrown together again,
with any necessity, or even any power of speech.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER IV}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER IV}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER IV}

Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting
situations, that a young person, who either marries or dies, is sure
of being kindly spoken of.

A week had not passed since Miss Hawkins's name was first mentioned
in Highbury, before she was, by some means or other, discovered to
have every recommendation of person and mind; to be handsome, elegant,
highly accomplished, and perfectly amiable: and when Mr.\ Elton himself
arrived to triumph in his happy prospects, and circulate the fame
of her merits, there was very little more for him to do, than to tell
her Christian name, and say whose music she principally played.

Mr.\ Elton returned, a very happy man. He had gone away rejected
and mortified\mbox{---}disappointed in a very sanguine hope, after
a series of what appeared to him strong encouragement; and not only
losing the right lady, but finding himself debased to the level of
a very wrong one. He had gone away deeply offended\mbox{---}he came
back engaged to another\mbox{---}and to another as superior, of course,
to the first, as under such circumstances what is gained always is
to what is lost. He came back gay and self-satisfied, eager and busy,
caring nothing for Miss Woodhouse, and defying Miss Smith.

The charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the usual advantages
of perfect beauty and merit, was in possession of an independent fortune,
of so many thousands as would always be called ten; a point of some
dignity, as well as some convenience: the story told well; he had
not thrown himself away\mbox{---}he had gained a woman of \pounds 10,000
or thereabouts; and he had gained her with such delightful rapidity\mbox{---}the
first hour of introduction had been so very soon followed by distinguishing
notice; the history which he had to give Mrs.\ Cole of the rise and
progress of the affair was so glorious\mbox{---}the steps so quick,
from the accidental rencontre, to the dinner at Mr.\ Green's, and
the party at Mrs.\ Brown's\mbox{---}smiles and blushes rising in
importance\mbox{---}with consciousness and agitation richly scattered\mbox{---}the
lady had been so easily impressed\mbox{---}so sweetly disposed\mbox{---}had
in short, to use a most intelligible phrase, been so very ready to
have him, that vanity and prudence were equally contented.

He had caught both substance and shadow\mbox{---}both fortune and
affection, and was just the happy man he ought to be; talking only
of himself and his own concerns\mbox{---}expecting to be congratulated\mbox{---}ready
to be laughed at\mbox{---}and, with cordial, fearless smiles, now
addressing all the young ladies of the place, to whom, a few weeks
ago, he would have been more cautiously gallant.

The wedding was no distant event, as the parties had only themselves
to please, and nothing but the necessary preparations to wait for;
and when he set out for Bath again, there was a general expectation,
which a certain glance of Mrs.\ Cole's did not seem to contradict,
that when he next entered Highbury he would bring his bride.

During his present short stay, Emma had barely seen him; but just
enough to feel that the first meeting was over, and to give her the
impression of his not being improved by the mixture of pique and pretension,
now spread over his air. She was, in fact, beginning very much to
wonder that she had ever thought him pleasing at all; and his sight
was so inseparably connected with some very disagreeable feelings,
that, except in a moral light, as a penance, a lesson, a source of
profitable humiliation to her own mind, she would have been thankful
to be assured of never seeing him again. She wished him very well;
but he gave her pain, and his welfare twenty miles off would administer
most satisfaction.

The pain of his continued residence in Highbury, however, must certainly
be lessened by his marriage. Many vain solicitudes would be prevented\mbox{---}many
awkwardnesses smoothed by it. A \emph{Mrs.\ Elton} would be an excuse
for any change of intercourse; former intimacy might sink without
remark. It would be almost beginning their life of civility again.

Of the lady, individually, Emma thought very little. She was good
enough for Mr.\ Elton, no doubt; accomplished enough for Highbury\mbox{---}handsome
enough\mbox{---}to look plain, probably, by Harriet's side. As to
connexion, there Emma was perfectly easy; persuaded, that after all
his own vaunted claims and disdain of Harriet, he had done nothing.
On that article, truth seemed attainable. \emph{What} she was, must
be uncertain; but \emph{who} she was, might be found out; and setting
aside the \pounds 10,000, it did not appear that she was at all Harriet's
superior. She brought no name, no blood, no alliance. Miss Hawkins
was the youngest of the two daughters of a Bristol\mbox{---}merchant,
of course, he must be called; but, as the whole of the profits of
his mercantile life appeared so very moderate, it was not unfair to
guess the dignity of his line of trade had been very moderate also.
Part of every winter she had been used to spend in Bath; but Bristol
was her home, the very heart of Bristol; for though the father and
mother had died some years ago, an uncle remained\mbox{---}in the
law line\mbox{---}nothing more distinctly honourable was hazarded
of him, than that he was in the law line; and with him the daughter
had lived. Emma guessed him to be the drudge of some attorney, and
too stupid to rise. And all the grandeur of the connexion seemed dependent
on the elder sister, who was \emph{very well married}, to a gentleman
in a \emph{great way}, near Bristol, who kept two carriages! That
was the wind-up of the history; that was the glory of Miss Hawkins.

Could she but have given Harriet her feelings about it all! She had
talked her into love; but, alas!\ she was not so easily to be talked
out of it. The charm of an object to occupy the many vacancies of
Harriet's mind was not to be talked away. He might be superseded by
another; he certainly would indeed; nothing could be clearer; even
a Robert Martin would have been sufficient; but nothing else, she
feared, would cure her. Harriet was one of those, who, having once
begun, would be always in love. And now, poor girl!\ she was considerably
worse from this reappearance of Mr.\ Elton. She was always having
a glimpse of him somewhere or other. Emma saw him only once; but two
or three times every day Harriet was sure \emph{just} to meet with
him, or \emph{just} to miss him, \emph{just} to hear his voice, or
see his shoulder, \emph{just} to have something occur to preserve
him in her fancy, in all the favouring warmth of surprize and conjecture.
She was, moreover, perpetually hearing about him; for, excepting when
at Hartfield, she was always among those who saw no fault in Mr.\ Elton,
and found nothing so interesting as the discussion of his concerns;
and every report, therefore, every guess\mbox{---}all that had already
occurred, all that might occur in the arrangement of his affairs,
comprehending income, servants, and furniture, was continually in
agitation around her. Her regard was receiving strength by invariable
praise of him, and her regrets kept alive, and feelings irritated
by ceaseless repetitions of Miss Hawkins's happiness, and continual
observation of, how much he seemed attached!\mbox{---}his air as
he walked by the house\mbox{---}the very sitting of his hat, being
all in proof of how much he was in love!

Had it been allowable entertainment, had there been no pain to her
friend, or reproach to herself, in the waverings of Harriet's mind,
Emma would have been amused by its variations. Sometimes Mr.\ Elton
predominated, sometimes the Martins; and each was occasionally useful
as a check to the other. Mr.\ Elton's engagement had been the cure
of the agitation of meeting Mr.\ Martin. The unhappiness produced
by the knowledge of that engagement had been a little put aside by
Elizabeth Martin's calling at Mrs.\ Goddard's a few days afterwards.
Harriet had not been at home; but a note had been prepared and left
for her, written in the very style to touch; a small mixture of reproach,
with a great deal of kindness; and till Mr.\ Elton himself appeared,
she had been much occupied by it, continually pondering over what
could be done in return, and wishing to do more than she dared to
confess. But Mr.\ Elton, in person, had driven away all such cares.
While he staid, the Martins were forgotten; and on the very morning
of his setting off for Bath again, Emma, to dissipate some of the
distress it occasioned, judged it best for her to return Elizabeth
Martin's visit.

How that visit was to be ac\-know\-ledged\mbox{---}what would be
ne\-c\-es\-sa\-r\-y\mbox{---}and what might be safest, had been
a point of some doubtful consideration. Absolute neglect of the mother
and sisters, when invited to come, would be ingratitude. It must not
be: and yet the danger of a renewal of the acquaintance!\mbox{---}

After much thinking, she could determine on nothing better, than Harriet's
returning the visit; but in a way that, if they had understanding,
should convince them that it was to be only a formal acquaintance.
She meant to take her in the carriage, leave her at the Abbey Mill,
while she drove a little farther, and call for her again so soon,
as to allow no time for insidious applications or dangerous recurrences
to the past, and give the most decided proof of what degree of intimacy
was chosen for the future.

She could think of nothing better: and though there was something
in it which her own heart could not approve\mbox{---}something of
ingratitude, merely glossed over\mbox{---}it must be done, or what
would become of Harriet?


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER V}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER V}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER V}

Small heart had Harriet for visiting. Only half an hour before her
friend called for her at Mrs.\ Goddard's, her evil stars had led
her to the very spot where, at that moment, a trunk, directed to \noun{The
Rev.\ Philip Elton, White-Hart, Bath}, was to be seen under the operation
of being lifted into the butcher's cart, which was to convey it to
where the coaches past; and every thing in this world, excepting that
trunk and the direction, was consequently a blank.

She went, however; and when they reached the farm, and she was to
be put down, at the end of the broad, neat gravel walk, which led
between espalier apple-trees to the front door, the sight of every
thing which had given her so much pleasure the autumn before, was
beginning to revive a little local agitation; and when they parted,
Emma observed her to be looking around with a sort of fearful curiosity,
which determined her not to allow the visit to exceed the proposed
quarter of an hour. She went on herself, to give that portion of time
to an old servant who was married, and settled in Donwell.

The quarter of an hour brought her punctually to the white gate again;
and Miss Smith receiving her summons, was with her without delay,
and unattended by any alarming young man. She came solitarily down
the gravel walk\mbox{---}a Miss Martin just appearing at the door,
and parting with her seemingly with ceremonious civility.

Harriet could not very soon give an intelligible account. She was
feeling too much; but at last Emma collected from her enough to understand
the sort of meeting, and the sort of pain it was creating. She had
seen only Mrs.\ Martin and the two girls. They had received her doubtingly,
if not coolly; and nothing beyond the merest commonplace had been
talked almost all the time\mbox{---}till just at last, when Mrs.\ Martin's
saying, all of a sudden, that she thought Miss Smith was grown, had
brought on a more interesting subject, and a warmer manner. In that
very room she had been measured last September, with her two friends.
There were the pencilled marks and memorandums on the wainscot by
the window. \emph{He} had done it. They all seemed to remember the
day, the hour, the party, the occasion\mbox{---}to feel the same
consciousness, the same regrets\mbox{---}to be ready to return to
the same good understanding; and they were just growing again like
themselves, (Harriet, as Emma must suspect, as ready as the best of
them to be cordial and happy,) when the carriage reappeared, and all
was over. The style of the visit, and the shortness of it, were then
felt to be decisive. Fourteen minutes to be given to those with whom
she had thankfully passed six weeks not six months ago!\mbox{---}
Emma could not but picture it all, and feel how justly they might
resent, how naturally Harriet must suffer. It was a bad business.
She would have given a great deal, or endured a great deal, to have
had the Martins in a higher rank of life. They were so deserving,
that a \emph{little} higher should have been enough: but as it was,
how could she have done otherwise?\mbox{---} Impossible!\mbox{---}
She could not repent. They must be separated; but there was a great
deal of pain in the process\mbox{---}so much to herself at this time,
that she soon felt the necessity of a little consolation, and resolved
on going home by way of Randalls to procure it. Her mind was quite
sick of Mr.\ Elton and the Martins. The refreshment of Randalls was
absolutely necessary.

It was a good scheme; but on driving to the door they heard that neither
{}``master nor mistress was at home;'' they had both been out some
time; the man believed they were gone to Hartfield.

{}``This is too bad,'' cried Emma, as they turned away. {}``And
now we shall just miss them; too provoking!\mbox{---} I do not know
when I have been so disappointed.'' And she leaned back in the corner,
to indulge her murmurs, or to reason them away; probably a little
of both\mbox{---}such being the commonest process of a not ill-disposed
mind. Presently the carriage stopt; she looked up; it was stopt by
Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston, who were standing to speak to her. There
was instant pleasure in the sight of them, and still greater pleasure
was conveyed in sound\mbox{---}for Mr.\ Weston immediately accosted
her with,

{}``How d'ye do?\mbox{---}how d'ye do?\mbox{---} We have been sitting
with your father\mbox{---}glad to see him so well. Frank comes to-morrow\mbox{---}I
had a letter this morning\mbox{---}we see him to-morrow by dinner-time
to a certainty\mbox{---}he is at Oxford to-day, and he comes for
a whole fortnight; I knew it would be so. If he had come at Christmas
he could not have staid three days; I was always glad he did not come
at Christmas; now we are going to have just the right weather for
him, fine, dry, settled weather. We shall enjoy him completely; every
thing has turned out exactly as we could wish.''

There was no resisting such news, no possibility of avoiding the influence
of such a happy face as Mr.\ Weston's, confirmed as it all was by
the words and the countenance of his wife, fewer and quieter, but
not less to the purpose. To know that \emph{she} thought his coming
certain was enough to make Emma consider it so, and sincerely did
she rejoice in their joy. It was a most delightful reanimation of
exhausted spirits. The worn-out past was sunk in the freshness of
what was coming; and in the rapidity of half a moment's thought, she
hoped Mr.\ Elton would now be talked of no more.

Mr.\ Weston gave her the history of the engagements at Enscombe,
which allowed his son to answer for having an entire fortnight at
his command, as well as the route and the method of his journey; and
she listened, and smiled, and congratulated.

{}``I shall soon bring him over to Hartfield,'' said he, at the
conclusion.

Emma could imagine she saw a touch of the arm at this speech, from
his wife.

{}``We had better move on, Mr.\ Weston,'' said she, {}``we are
detaining the girls.''

{}``Well, well, I am ready;''---and turning again to Emma, {}``but
you must not be expecting such a \emph{very} fine young man; you have
only had my account you know; I dare say he is really nothing extraordinary:''---though
his own sparkling eyes at the moment were speaking a very different
conviction.

Emma could look perfectly unconscious and innocent, and answer in
a manner that appropriated nothing.

{}``Think of me to-morrow, my dear Emma, about four o'clock,'' was
Mrs.\ Weston's parting injunction; spoken with some anxiety, and
meant only for her.

{}``Four o'clock!\mbox{---}depend upon it he will be here by three,''
was Mr.\ Weston's quick amendment; and so ended a most satisfactory
meeting. Emma's spirits were mounted quite up to happiness; every
thing wore a different air; James and his horses seemed not half so
sluggish as before. When she looked at the hedges, she thought the
elder at least must soon be coming out; and when she turned round
to Harriet, she saw something like a look of spring, a tender smile
even there.

{}``Will Mr.\ Frank Churchill pass through Bath as well as Oxford?''---was
a question, however, which did not augur much.

But neither geography nor tranquillity could come all at once, and
Emma was now in a humour to resolve that they should both come in
time.

The morning of the interesting day arrived, and Mrs.\ Weston's faithful
pupil did not forget either at ten, or eleven, or twelve o'clock,
that she was to think of her at four.

{}``My dear, dear anxious friend,''---said she, in mental soliloquy,
while walking downstairs from her own room, {}``always overcareful
for every body's comfort but your own; I see you now in all your little
fidgets, going again and again into his room, to be sure that all
is right.'' The clock struck twelve as she passed through the hall.\ {}
{}``'Tis twelve; I shall not forget to think of you four hours hence;
and by this time to-morrow, perhaps, or a little later, I may be thinking
of the possibility of their all calling here. I am sure they will
bring him soon.''

She opened the parlour door, and saw two gentlemen sitting with her
father\mbox{---}Mr.\ Weston and his son. They had been arrived only
a few minutes, and Mr.\ Weston had scarcely finished his explanation
of Frank's being a day before his time, and her father was yet in
the midst of his very civil welcome and congratulations, when she
appeared, to have her share of surprize, introduction, and pleasure.

The Frank Churchill so long talked of, so high in interest, was actually
before her\mbox{---}he was presented to her, and she did not think
too much had been said in his praise; he was a very good looking young
man; height, air, address, all were unexceptionable, and his countenance
had a great deal of the spirit and liveliness of his father's; he
looked quick and sensible. She felt immediately that she should like
him; and there was a well-bred ease of manner, and a readiness to
talk, which convinced her that he came intending to be acquainted
with her, and that acquainted they soon must be.

He had reached Randalls the evening before. She was pleased with the
eagerness to arrive which had made him alter his plan, and travel
earlier, later, and quicker, that he might gain half a day.

{}``I told you yesterday,'' cried Mr.\ Weston with exultation,
{}``I told you all that he would be here before the time named. I
remembered what I used to do myself. One cannot creep upon a journey;
one cannot help getting on faster than one has planned; and the pleasure
of coming in upon one's friends before the look-out begins, is worth
a great deal more than any little exertion it needs.''

{}``It is a great pleasure where one can indulge in it,'' said the
young man, {}``though there are not many houses that I should presume
on so far; but in coming \emph{home} I felt I might do any thing.''

The word \emph{home} made his father look on him with fresh complacency.
Emma was directly sure that he knew how to make himself agreeable;
the conviction was strengthened by what followed. He was very much
pleased with Randalls, thought it a most admirably arranged house,
would hardly allow it even to be very small, admired the situation,
the walk to Highbury, Highbury itself, Hartfield still more, and professed
himself to have always felt the sort of interest in the country which
none but one's \emph{own} country gives, and the greatest curiosity
to visit it. That he should never have been able to indulge so amiable
a feeling before, passed suspiciously through Emma's brain; but still,
if it were a falsehood, it was a pleasant one, and pleasantly handled.
His manner had no air of study or exaggeration. He did really look
and speak as if in a state of no common enjoyment.

Their subjects in general were such as belong to an opening acquaintance.
On his side were the inquiries,\mbox{---}{}``Was she a horsewoman?\mbox{---}
Pleasant rides?\mbox{---} Pleasant walks?\mbox{---} Had they a large
neighbourhood?\mbox{---} Highbury, perhaps, afforded society enough?\mbox{---}
There were several very pretty houses in and about it.\mbox{---}
Balls\mbox{---}had they balls?\mbox{---} Was it a musical society?''\ 

But when satisfied on all these points, and their acquaintance proportionably
advanced, he contrived to find an opportunity, while their two fathers
were engaged with each other, of introducing his mother-in-law, and
speaking of her with so much handsome praise, so much warm admiration,
so much gratitude for the happiness she secured to his father, and
her very kind reception of himself, as was an additional proof of
his knowing how to please\mbox{---}and of his certainly thinking
it worth while to try to please her. He did not advance a word of
praise beyond what she knew to be thoroughly deserved by Mrs.\ Weston;
but, undoubtedly he could know very little of the matter. He understood
what would be welcome; he could be sure of little else. {}``His father's
marriage,'' he said, {}``had been the wisest measure, every friend
must rejoice in it; and the family from whom he had received such
a blessing must be ever considered as having conferred the highest
obligation on him.''

He got as near as he could to thanking her for Miss Taylor's merits,
without seeming quite to forget that in the common course of things
it was to be rather supposed that Miss Taylor had formed Miss Woodhouse's
character, than Miss Woodhouse Miss Taylor's. And at last, as if resolved
to qualify his opinion completely for travelling round to its object,
he wound it all up with astonishment at the youth and beauty of her
person.

{}``Elegant, agreeable manners, I was prepared for,'' said he; {}``but
I confess that, considering every thing, I had not expected more than
a very tolerably well-looking woman of a certain age; I did not know
that I was to find a pretty young woman in Mrs.\ Weston.''

{}``You cannot see too much perfection in Mrs.\ Weston for my feelings,''
said Emma; {}``were you to guess her to be \emph{eighteen}, I should
listen with pleasure; but \emph{she} would be ready to quarrel with
you for using such words. Don't let her imagine that you have spoken
of her as a pretty young woman.''

{}``I hope I should know better,'' he replied; {}``no, depend upon
it, (with a gallant bow,) that in addressing Mrs.\ Weston I should
understand whom I might praise without any danger of being thought
extravagant in my terms.''

Emma wondered whether the same suspicion of what might be expected
from their knowing each other, which had taken strong possession of
her mind, had ever crossed his; and whether his compliments were to
be considered as marks of acquiescence, or proofs of defiance. She
must see more of him to understand his ways; at present she only felt
they were agreeable.

She had no doubt of what Mr.\ Weston was often thinking about. His
quick eye she detected again and again glancing towards them with
a happy expression; and even, when he might have determined not to
look, she was confident that he was often listening.

Her own father's perfect exemption from any thought of the kind, the
entire deficiency in him of all such sort of penetration or suspicion,
was a most comfortable circumstance. Happily he was not farther from
approving matrimony than from foreseeing it.\mbox{---} Though always
objecting to every marriage that was arranged, he never suffered beforehand
from the apprehension of any; it seemed as if he could not think so
ill of any two persons' understanding as to suppose they meant to
marry till it were proved against them. She blessed the favouring
blindness. He could now, without the drawback of a single unpleasant
surmise, without a glance forward at any possible treachery in his
guest, give way to all his natural kind-hearted civility in solicitous
inquiries after Mr.\ Frank Churchill's accommodation on his journey,
through the sad evils of sleeping two nights on the road, and express
very genuine unmixed anxiety to know that he had certainly escaped
catching cold\mbox{---}which, however, he could not allow him to
feel quite assured of himself till after another night.

A reasonable visit paid, Mr.\ Weston began to move.\mbox{---} {}``He
must be going. He had business at the Crown about his hay, and a great
many errands for Mrs.\ Weston at Ford's, but he need not hurry any
body else.'' His son, too well bred to hear the hint, rose immediately
also, saying,

{}``As you are going farther on business, sir, I will take the opportunity
of paying a visit, which must be paid some day or other, and therefore
may as well be paid now. I have the honour of being acquainted with
a neighbour of yours, (turning to Emma,) a lady residing in or near
Highbury; a family of the name of Fairfax. I shall have no difficulty,
I suppose, in finding the house; though Fairfax, I believe, is not
the proper name\mbox{---}I should rather say Barnes, or Bates. Do
you know any family of that name?''\ 

{}``To be sure we do,'' cried his father; {}``Mrs.\ Bates\mbox{---}we
passed her house\mbox{---}I saw Miss Bates at the window. True, true,
you are acquainted with Miss Fairfax; I remember you knew her at Weymouth,
and a fine girl she is. Call upon her, by all means.''

{}``There is no necessity for my calling this morning,'' said the
young man; {}``another day would do as well; but there was that degree
of acquaintance at Weymouth which\mbox{---}''

{}``Oh!\ go to-day, go to-day. Do not defer it. What is right to
be done cannot be done too soon. And, besides, I must give you a hint,
Frank; any want of attention to her \emph{here} should be carefully
avoided. You saw her with the Campbells, when she was the equal of
every body she mixed with, but here she is with a poor old grandmother,
who has barely enough to live on. If you do not call early it will
be a slight.''

The son looked convinced.

{}``I have heard her speak of the acquaintance,'' said Emma; {}``she
is a very elegant young woman.''

He agreed to it, but with so quiet a {}``Yes,'' as inclined her
almost to doubt his real concurrence; and yet there must be a very
distinct sort of elegance for the fashionable world, if Jane Fairfax
could be thought only ordinarily gifted with it.

{}``If you were never particularly struck by her manners before,''
said she, {}``I think you will to-day. You will see her to advantage;
see her and hear her\mbox{---}no, I am afraid you will not hear her
at all, for she has an aunt who never holds her tongue.''

{}``You are acquainted with Miss Jane Fairfax, sir, are you?''\ said
Mr.\ Woodhouse, always the last to make his way in conversation;
{}``then give me leave to assure you that you will find her a very
agreeable young lady. She is staying here on a visit to her grandmama
and aunt, very worthy people; I have known them all my life. They
will be extremely glad to see you, I am sure; and one of my servants
shall go with you to shew you the way.''

{}``My dear sir, upon no account in the world; my father can direct
me.''

{}``But your father is not going so far; he is only going to the
Crown, quite on the other side of the street, and there are a great
many houses; you might be very much at a loss, and it is a very dirty
walk, unless you keep on the footpath; but my coachman can tell you
where you had best cross the street.''

Mr.\ Frank Churchill still declined it, looking as serious as he
could, and his father gave his hearty support by calling out, {}``My
good friend, this is quite unnecessary; Frank knows a puddle of water
when he sees it, and as to Mrs.\ Bates's, he may get there from the
Crown in a hop, step, and jump.''

They were permitted to go alone; and with a cordial nod from one,
and a graceful bow from the other, the two gentlemen took leave. Emma
remained very well pleased with this beginning of the acquaintance,
and could now engage to think of them all at Randalls any hour of
the day, with full confidence in their comfort.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER VI}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER VI}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER VI}

The next morning brought Mr.\ Frank Churchill again. He came with
Mrs.\ Weston, to whom and to Highbury he seemed to take very cordially.
He had been sitting with her, it appeared, most companionably at home,
till her usual hour of exercise; and on being desired to chuse their
walk, immediately fixed on Highbury.\mbox{---} {}``He did not doubt
there being very pleasant walks in every direction, but if left to
him, he should always chuse the same. Highbury, that airy, cheerful,
happy-looking Highbury, would be his constant attraction.''---Highbury,
with Mrs.\ Weston, stood for Hartfield; and she trusted to its bearing
the same construction with him. They walked thither directly.

Emma had hardly expected them: for Mr.\ Weston, who had called in
for half a minute, in order to hear that his son was very handsome,
knew nothing of their plans; and it was an agreeable surprize to her,
therefore, to perceive them walking up to the house together, arm
in arm. She was wanting to see him again, and especially to see him
in company with Mrs.\ Weston, upon his behaviour to whom her opinion
of him was to depend. If he were deficient there, nothing should make
amends for it. But on seeing them together, she became perfectly satisfied.
It was not merely in fine words or hyperbolical compliment that he
paid his duty; nothing could be more proper or pleasing than his whole
manner to her\mbox{---}nothing could more agreeably denote his wish
of considering her as a friend and securing her affection. And there
was time enough for Emma to form a reasonable judgment, as their visit
included all the rest of the morning. They were all three walking
about together for an hour or two\mbox{---}first round the shrubberies
of Hartfield, and afterwards in Highbury. He was delighted with every
thing; admired Hartfield sufficiently for Mr.\ Woodhouse's ear; and
when their going farther was resolved on, confessed his wish to be
made acquainted with the whole village, and found matter of commendation
and interest much oftener than Emma could have supposed.

Some of the objects of his curiosity spoke very amiable feelings.
He begged to be shewn the house which his father had lived in so long,
and which had been the home of his father's father; and on recollecting
that an old woman who had nursed him was still living, walked in quest
of her cottage from one end of the street to the other; and though
in some points of pursuit or observation there was no positive merit,
they shewed, altogether, a good-will towards Highbury in general,
which must be very like a merit to those he was with.

Emma watched and decided, that with such feelings as were now shewn,
it could not be fairly supposed that he had been ever voluntarily
absenting himself; that he had not been acting a part, or making a
parade of insincere professions; and that Mr.\ Knightley certainly
had not done him justice.

Their first pause was at the Crown Inn, an inconsiderable house, though
the principal one of the sort, where a couple of pair of post-horses
were kept, more for the convenience of the neighbourhood than from
any run on the road; and his companions had not expected to be detained
by any interest excited there; but in passing it they gave the history
of the large room visibly added; it had been built many years ago
for a ball-room, and while the neighbourhood had been in a particularly
populous, dancing state, had been occasionally used as such;\mbox{---}but
such brilliant days had long passed away, and now the highest purpose
for which it was ever wanted was to accommodate a whist club established
among the gentlemen and half-gentlemen of the place. He was immediately
interested. Its character as a ball-room caught him; and instead of
passing on, he stopt for several minutes at the two superior sashed
windows which were open, to look in and contemplate its capabilities,
and lament that its original purpose should have ceased. He saw no
fault in the room, he would acknowledge none which they suggested.
No, it was long enough, broad enough, handsome enough. It would hold
the very number for comfort. They ought to have balls there at least
every fortnight through the winter. Why had not Miss Woodhouse revived
the former good old days of the room?\mbox{---} She who could do
any thing in Highbury! The want of proper families in the place, and
the conviction that none beyond the place and its immediate environs
could be tempted to attend, were mentioned; but he was not satisfied.
He could not be persuaded that so many good-looking houses as he saw
around him, could not furnish numbers enough for such a meeting; and
even when particulars were given and families described, he was still
unwilling to admit that the inconvenience of such a mixture would
be any thing, or that there would be the smallest difficulty in every
body's returning into their proper place the next morning. He argued
like a young man very much bent on dancing; and Emma was rather surprized
to see the constitution of the Weston prevail so decidedly against
the habits of the Churchills. He seemed to have all the life and spirit,
cheerful feelings, and social inclinations of his father, and nothing
of the pride or reserve of Enscombe. Of pride, indeed, there was,
perhaps, scarcely enough; his indifference to a confusion of rank,
bordered too much on inelegance of mind. He could be no judge, however,
of the evil he was holding cheap. It was but an effusion of lively
spirits.

At last he was persuaded to move on from the front of the Crown; and
being now almost facing the house where the Bateses lodged, Emma recollected
his intended visit the day before, and asked him if he had paid it.

{}``Yes, oh!\ yes''---he replied; {}``I was just going to mention
it. A very successful visit:\mbox{---}I saw all the three ladies;
and felt very much obliged to you for your preparatory hint. If the
talking aunt had taken me quite by surprize, it must have been the
death of me. As it was, I was only betrayed into paying a most unreasonable
visit. Ten minutes would have been all that was necessary, perhaps
all that was proper; and I had told my father I should certainly be
at home before him\mbox{---}but there was no getting away, no pause;
and, to my utter astonishment, I found, when he (finding me nowhere
else) joined me there at last, that I had been actually sitting with
them very nearly three-quarters of an hour. The good lady had not
given me the possibility of escape before.''

{}``And how did you think Miss Fairfax looking?''\ 

{}``Ill, very ill\mbox{---}that is, if a young lady can ever be
allowed to look ill. But the expression is hardly admissible, Mrs.\ Weston,
is it? Ladies can never look ill. And, seriously, Miss Fairfax is
naturally so pale, as almost always to give the appearance of ill
health.\mbox{---} A most deplorable want of complexion.''

Emma would not agree to this, and began a warm defence of Miss Fairfax's
complexion. {}``It was certainly never brilliant, but she would not
allow it to have a sickly hue in general; and there was a softness
and delicacy in her skin which gave peculiar elegance to the character
of her face.'' He listened with all due deference; acknowledged that
he had heard many people say the same\mbox{---}but yet he must confess,
that to him nothing could make amends for the want of the fine glow
of health. Where features were indifferent, a fine complexion gave
beauty to them all; and where they were good, the effect was\mbox{---}fortunately
he need not attempt to describe what the effect was.

{}``Well,'' said Emma, {}``there is no disputing about taste.\mbox{---}
At least you admire her except her complexion.''

He shook his head and laughed.\mbox{---} {}``I cannot separate Miss
Fairfax and her complexion.''

{}``Did you see her often at Weymouth? Were you often in the same
society?''\ 

At this moment they were approaching Ford's, and he hastily exclaimed,
{}``Ha!\ this must be the very shop that every body attends every
day of their lives, as my father informs me. He comes to Highbury
himself, he says, six days out of the seven, and has always business
at Ford's. If it be not inconvenient to you, pray let us go in, that
I may prove myself to belong to the place, to be a true citizen of
Highbury. I must buy something at Ford's. It will be taking out my
freedom.\mbox{---} I dare say they sell gloves.''

{}``Oh!\ yes, gloves and every thing. I do admire your patriotism.
You will be adored in Highbury. You were very popular before you came,
because you were Mr.\ Weston's son\mbox{---}but lay out half a guinea
at Ford's, and your popularity will stand upon your own virtues.''

They went in; and while the sleek, well-tied parcels of {}``Men's
Beavers'' and {}``York Tan'' were bringing down and displaying
on the counter, he said\mbox{---}{}``But I beg your pardon, Miss
Woodhouse, you were speaking to me, you were saying something at the
very moment of this burst of my \emph{amor patriae}. Do not let me
lose it. I assure you the utmost stretch of public fame would not
make me amends for the loss of any happiness in private life.''

{}``I merely asked, whether you had known much of Miss Fairfax and
her party at Weymouth.''

{}``And now that I understand your question, I must pronounce it
to be a very unfair one. It is always the lady's right to decide on
the degree of acquaintance. Miss Fairfax must already have given her
account.\mbox{---} I shall not commit myself by claiming more than
she may chuse to allow.''

{}``Upon my word!\ you answer as discreetly as she could do herself.
But her account of every thing leaves so much to be guessed, she is
so very reserved, so very unwilling to give the least information
about any body, that I really think you may say what you like of your
acquaintance with her.''

{}``May I, indeed?\mbox{---} Then I will speak the truth, and nothing
suits me so well. I met her frequently at Weymouth. I had known the
Campbells a little in town; and at Weymouth we were very much in the
same set. Colonel Campbell is a very agreeable man, and Mrs.\ Campbell
a friendly, warm-hearted woman. I like them all.''

{}``You know Miss Fairfax's situation in life, I conclude; what she
is destined to be?''\ 

{}``Yes''---(rather hesitatingly)\mbox{---}{}``I believe I do.''

{}``You get upon delicate subjects, Emma,'' said Mrs.\ Weston smiling;
{}``remember that I am here.\mbox{---} Mr.\ Frank Churchill hardly
knows what to say when you speak of Miss Fairfax's situation in life.
I will move a little farther off.''

{}``I certainly do forget to think of \emph{her},'' said Emma, {}``as
having ever been any thing but my friend and my dearest friend.''

He looked as if he fully understood and honoured such a sentiment.

When the gloves were bought, and they had quitted the shop again,
{}``Did you ever hear the young lady we were speaking of, play?''\ 
said Frank Churchill.

{}``Ever hear her!''\ repeated Emma. {}``You forget how much she
belongs to Highbury. I have heard her every year of our lives since
we both began. She plays charmingly.''

{}``You think so, do you?\mbox{---} I wanted the opinion of some
one who could really judge. She appeared to me to play well, that
is, with considerable taste, but I know nothing of the matter myself.\mbox{---}
I am excessively fond of music, but without the smallest skill or
right of judging of any body's performance.\mbox{---}- I have been
used to hear her's admired; and I remember one proof of her being
thought to play well:\mbox{---}a man, a very musical man, and in
love with another woman\mbox{---}engaged to her\mbox{---}on the
point of marriage\mbox{---}would yet never ask that other woman to
sit down to the instrument, if the lady in question could sit down
instead\mbox{---}never seemed to like to hear one if he could hear
the other. That, I thought, in a man of known musical talent, was
some proof.''

{}``Proof indeed!''\ said Emma, highly amused.\mbox{---} {}``Mr.\ Dixon
is very musical, is he? We shall know more about them all, in half
an hour, from you, than Miss Fairfax would have vouchsafed in half
a year.''

{}``Yes, Mr.\ Dixon and Miss Campbell were the persons; and I thought
it a very strong proof.''

{}``Certainly\mbox{---}very strong it was; to own the truth, a great
deal stronger than, if \emph{I} had been Miss Campbell, would have
been at all agreeable to me. I could not excuse a man's having more
music than love\mbox{---}more ear than eye\mbox{---}a more acute
sensibility to fine sounds than to my feelings. How did Miss Campbell
appear to like it?''\ 

{}``It was her very particular friend, you know.''

{}``Poor comfort!''\ said Emma, laughing. {}``One would rather
have a stranger preferred than one's very particular friend\mbox{---}with
a stranger it might not recur again\mbox{---}but the misery of having
a very particular friend always at hand, to do every thing better
than one does oneself!\mbox{---} Poor Mrs.\ Dixon! Well, I am glad
she is gone to settle in Ireland.''

{}``You are right. It was not very flattering to Miss Campbell; but
she really did not seem to feel it.''

{}``So much the better\mbox{---}or so much the worse:\mbox{---}I
do not know which. But be it sweetness or be it stupidity in her\mbox{---}quickness
of friendship, or dulness of feeling\mbox{---}there was one person,
I think, who must have felt it: Miss Fairfax herself. She must have
felt the improper and dangerous distinction.''

{}``As to that\mbox{---}I do not\mbox{---}''

{}``Oh!\ do not imagine that I expect an account of Miss Fairfax's
sensations from you, or from any body else. They are known to no human
being, I guess, but herself. But if she continued to play whenever
she was asked by Mr.\ Dixon, one may guess what one chuses.''

{}``There appeared such a perfectly good understanding among them
all\mbox{---}'' he began rather quickly, but checking himself, added,
{}``however, it is impossible for me to say on what terms they really
were\mbox{---}how it might all be behind the scenes. I can only say
that there was smoothness outwardly. But you, who have known Miss
Fairfax from a child, must be a better judge of her character, and
of how she is likely to conduct herself in critical situations, than
I can be.''

{}``I have known her from a child, undoubtedly; we have been children
and women together; and it is natural to suppose that we should be
intimate,\mbox{---}that we should have taken to each other whenever
she visited her friends. But we never did. I hardly know how it has
happened; a little, perhaps, from that wickedness on my side which
was prone to take disgust towards a girl so idolized and so cried
up as she always was, by her aunt and grandmother, and all their set.
And then, her reserve\mbox{---}I never could attach myself to any
one so completely reserved.''

{}``It is a most repulsive quality, indeed,'' said he. {}``Oftentimes
very convenient, no doubt, but never pleasing. There is safety in
reserve, but no attraction. One cannot love a reserved person.''

{}``Not till the reserve ceases towards oneself; and then the attraction
may be the greater. But I must be more in want of a friend, or an
agreeable companion, than I have yet been, to take the trouble of
conquering any body's reserve to procure one. Intimacy between Miss
Fairfax and me is quite out of the question. I have no reason to think
ill of her\mbox{---}not the least\mbox{---}except that such extreme
and perpetual cautiousness of word and manner, such a dread of giving
a distinct idea about any body, is apt to suggest suspicions of there
being something to conceal.''

He perfectly agreed with her: and after walking together so long,
and thinking so much alike, Emma felt herself so well acquainted with
him, that she could hardly believe it to be only their second meeting.
He was not exactly what she had expected; less of the man of the world
in some of his notions, less of the spoiled child of fortune, therefore
better than she had expected. His ideas seemed more moderate\mbox{---}his
feelings warmer. She was particularly struck by his manner of considering
Mr.\ Elton's house, which, as well as the church, he would go and
look at, and would not join them in finding much fault with. No, he
could not believe it a bad house; not such a house as a man was to
be pitied for having. If it were to be shared with the woman he loved,
he could not think any man to be pitied for having that house. There
must be ample room in it for every real comfort. The man must be a
blockhead who wanted more.

Mrs.\ Weston laughed, and said he did not know what he was talking
about. Used only to a large house himself, and without ever thinking
how many advantages and accommodations were attached to its size,
he could be no judge of the privations inevitably belonging to a small
one. But Emma, in her own mind, determined that he \emph{did} know
what he was talking about, and that he shewed a very amiable inclination
to settle early in life, and to marry, from worthy motives. He might
not be aware of the inroads on domestic peace to be occasioned by
no housekeeper's room, or a bad butler's pantry, but no doubt he did
perfectly feel that Enscombe could not make him happy, and that whenever
he were attached, he would willingly give up much of wealth to be
allowed an early establishment.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER VII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER VII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER VII}

Emma's very good opinion of Frank Churchill was a little shaken the
following day, by hearing that he was gone off to London, merely to
have his hair cut. A sudden freak seemed to have seized him at breakfast,
and he had sent for a chaise and set off, intending to return to dinner,
but with no more important view that appeared than having his hair
cut. There was certainly no harm in his travelling sixteen miles twice
over on such an errand; but there was an air of foppery and nonsense
in it which she could not approve. It did not accord with the rationality
of plan, the moderation in expense, or even the unselfish warmth of
heart, which she had believed herself to discern in him yesterday.
Vanity, extravagance, love of change, restlessness of temper, which
must be doing something, good or bad; heedlessness as to the pleasure
of his father and Mrs.\ Weston, indifferent as to how his conduct
might appear in general; he became liable to all these charges. His
father only called him a coxcomb, and thought it a very good story;
but that Mrs.\ Weston did not like it, was clear enough, by her passing
it over as quickly as possible, and making no other comment than that
{}``all young people would have their little whims.''

With the exception of this little blot, Emma found that his visit
hitherto had given her friend only good ideas of him. Mrs.\ Weston
was very ready to say how attentive and pleasant a companion he made
himself\mbox{---}how much she saw to like in his disposition altogether.
He appeared to have a very open temper\mbox{---}certainly a very
cheerful and lively one; she could observe nothing wrong in his notions,
a great deal decidedly right; he spoke of his uncle with warm regard,
was fond of talking of him\mbox{---}said he would be the best man
in the world if he were left to himself; and though there was no being
attached to the aunt, he acknowledged her kindness with gratitude,
and seemed to mean always to speak of her with respect. This was all
very promising; and, but for such an unfortunate fancy for having
his hair cut, there was nothing to denote him unworthy of the distinguished
honour which her imagination had given him; the honour, if not of
being really in love with her, of being at least very near it, and
saved only by her own indifference\mbox{---}(for still her resolution
held of never marrying)\mbox{---}-the honour, in short, of being
marked out for her by all their joint acquaintance.

Mr.\ Weston, on his side, added a virtue to the account which must
have some weight. He gave her to understand that Frank admired her
extremely\mbox{---}thought her very beautiful and very charming;
and with so much to be said for him altogether, she found she must
not judge him harshly. As Mrs.\ Weston observed, {}``all young people
would have their little whims.''

There was one person among his new acquaintance in Surry, not so leniently
disposed. In general he was judged, throughout the parishes of Donwell
and Highbury, with great candour; liberal allowances were made for
the little excesses of such a handsome young man\mbox{---}one who
smiled so often and bowed so well; but there was one spirit among
them not to be softened, from its power of censure, by bows or smiles\mbox{---}Mr.\ Knightley.
The circumstance was told him at Hartfield; for the moment, he was
silent; but Emma heard him almost immediately afterwards say to himself,
over a newspaper he held in his hand, {}``Hum! just the trifling,
silly fellow I took him for.'' She had half a mind to resent; but
an instant's observation convinced her that it was really said only
to relieve his own feelings, and not meant to provoke; and therefore
she let it pass.

Although in one instance the bearers of not good tidings, Mr.\ and
Mrs.\ Weston's visit this morning was in another respect particularly
opportune. Something occurred while they were at Hartfield, to make
Emma want their advice; and, which was still more lucky, she wanted
exactly the advice they gave.

This was the occurrence:\mbox{---}The Coles had been settled some
years in Highbury, and were very good sort of people\mbox{---}friendly,
liberal, and unpretending; but, on the other hand, they were of low
origin, in trade, and only moderately genteel. On their first coming
into the country, they had lived in proportion to their income, quietly,
keeping little company, and that little unexpensively; but the last
year or two had brought them a considerable increase of means\mbox{---}the
house in town had yielded greater profits, and fortune in general
had smiled on them. With their wealth, their views increased; their
want of a larger house, their inclination for more company. They added
to their house, to their number of servants, to their expenses of
every sort; and by this time were, in fortune and style of living,
second only to the family at Hartfield. Their love of society, and
their new dining-room, prepared every body for their keeping dinner-company;
and a few parties, chiefly among the single men, had already taken
place. The regular and best families Emma could hardly suppose they
would presume to invite\mbox{---}neither Donwell, nor Hartfield,
nor Randalls. Nothing should tempt \emph{her} to go, if they did;
and she regretted that her father's known habits would be giving her
refusal less meaning than she could wish. The Coles were very respectable
in their way, but they ought to be taught that it was not for them
to arrange the terms on which the superior families would visit them.
This lesson, she very much feared, they would receive only from herself;
she had little hope of Mr.\ Knightley, none of Mr.\ Weston.

But she had made up her mind how to meet this presumption so many
weeks before it appeared, that when the insult came at last, it found
her very differently affected. Donwell and Randalls had received their
invitation, and none had come for her father and herself; and Mrs.\ Weston's
accounting for it with {}``I suppose they will not take the liberty
with you; they know you do not dine out,'' was not quite sufficient.
She felt that she should like to have had the power of refusal; and
afterwards, as the idea of the party to be assembled there, consisting
precisely of those whose society was dearest to her, occurred again
and again, she did not know that she might not have been tempted to
accept. Harriet was to be there in the evening, and the Bateses. They
had been speaking of it as they walked about Highbury the day before,
and Frank Churchill had most earnestly lamented her absence. Might
not the evening end in a dance?\ had been a question of his. The
bare possibility of it acted as a farther irritation on her spirits;
and her being left in solitary grandeur, even supposing the omission
to be intended as a compliment, was but poor comfort.

It was the arrival of this very invitation while the Westons were
at Hartfield, which made their presence so acceptable; for though
her first remark, on reading it, was that {}``of course it must be
declined,'' she so very soon proceeded to ask them what they advised
her to do, that their advice for her going was most prompt and successful.

She owned that, considering every thing, she was not absolutely without
inclination for the party. The Coles expressed themselves so properly\mbox{---}there
was so much real attention in the manner of it\mbox{---}so much consideration
for her father. {}``They would have solicited the honour earlier,
but had been waiting the arrival of a folding-screen from London,
which they hoped might keep Mr.\ Woodhouse from any draught of air,
and therefore induce him the more readily to give them the honour
of his company.'' Upon the whole, she was very persuadable; and it
being briefly settled among themselves how it might be done without
neglecting his comfort\mbox{---}how certainly Mrs.\ Goddard, if
not Mrs.\ Bates, might be depended on for bearing him company\mbox{---}Mr.\ Woodhouse
was to be talked into an acquiescence of his daughter's going out
to dinner on a day now near at hand, and spending the whole evening
away from him. As for \emph{his} going, Emma did not wish him to think
it possible, the hours would be too late, and the party too numerous.
He was soon pretty well resigned.

{}``I am not fond of dinner-visiting,'' said he\mbox{---}{}``I
never was. No more is Emma. Late hours do not agree with us. I am
sorry Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Cole should have done it. I think it would
be much better if they would come in one afternoon next summer, and
take their tea with us\mbox{---}take us in their afternoon walk;
which they might do, as our hours are so reasonable, and yet get home
without being out in the damp of the evening. The dews of a summer
evening are what I would not expose any body to. However, as they
are so very desirous to have dear Emma dine with them, and as you
will both be there, and Mr.\ Knightley too, to take care of her,
I cannot wish to prevent it, provided the weather be what it ought,
neither damp, nor cold, nor windy.'' Then turning to Mrs.\ Weston,
with a look of gentle reproach\mbox{---}{}``Ah!\ Miss Taylor, if
you had not married, you would have staid at home with me.''

{}``Well, sir,'' cried Mr.\ Weston, {}``as I took Miss Taylor
away, it is incumbent on me to supply her place, if I can; and I will
step to Mrs.\ Goddard in a moment, if you wish it.''

But the idea of any thing to be done in a \emph{moment}, was increasing,
not lessening, Mr.\ Woodhouse's agitation. The ladies knew better
how to allay it. Mr.\ Weston must be quiet, and every thing deliberately
arranged.

With this treatment, Mr.\ Woodhouse was soon composed enough for
talking as usual. {}``He should be happy to see Mrs.\ Goddard. He
had a great regard for Mrs.\ Goddard; and Emma should write a line,
and invite her. James could take the note. But first of all, there
must be an answer written to Mrs.\ Cole.''

{}``You will make my excuses, my dear, as civilly as possible. You
will say that I am quite an invalid, and go no where, and therefore
must decline their obliging invitation; beginning with my \emph{compliments},
of course. But you will do every thing right. I need not tell you
what is to be done. We must remember to let James know that the carriage
will be wanted on Tuesday. I shall have no fears for you with him.
We have never been there above once since the new approach was made;
but still I have no doubt that James will take you very safely. And
when you get there, you must tell him at what time you would have
him come for you again; and you had better name an early hour. You
will not like staying late. You will get very tired when tea is over.''

{}``But you would not wish me to come away before I am tired, papa?''\ 

{}``Oh!\ no, my love; but you will soon be tired. There will be
a great many people talking at once. You will not like the noise.''

{}``But, my dear sir,'' cried Mr.\ Weston, {}``if Emma comes away
early, it will be breaking up the party.''

{}``And no great harm if it does,'' said Mr.\ Woodhouse. {}``The
sooner every party breaks up, the better.''

{}``But you do not consider how it may appear to the Coles. Emma's
going away directly after tea might be giving offence. They are good-natured
people, and think little of their own claims; but still they must
feel that any body's hurrying away is no great compliment; and Miss
Woodhouse's doing it would be more thought of than any other person's
in the room. You would not wish to disappoint and mortify the Coles,
I am sure, sir; friendly, good sort of people as ever lived, and who
have been your neighbours these \emph{ten} years.''

{}``No, upon no account in the world, Mr.\ Weston; I am much obliged
to you for reminding me. I should be extremely sorry to be giving
them any pain. I know what worthy people they are. Perry tells me
that Mr.\ Cole never touches malt liquor. You would not think it
to look at him, but he is bilious\mbox{---}Mr.\ Cole is very bilious.
No, I would not be the means of giving them any pain. My dear Emma,
we must consider this. I am sure, rather than run the risk of hurting
Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Cole, you would stay a little longer than you might
wish. You will not regard being tired. You will be perfectly safe,
you know, among your friends.''

{}``Oh yes, papa. I have no fears at all for myself; and I should
have no scruples of staying as late as Mrs.\ Weston, but on your
account. I am only afraid of your sitting up for me. I am not afraid
of your not being exceedingly comfortable with Mrs.\ Goddard. She
loves piquet, you know; but when she is gone home, I am afraid you
will be sitting up by yourself, instead of going to bed at your usual
time\mbox{---}and the idea of that would entirely destroy my comfort.
You must promise me not to sit up.''

He did, on the condition of some promises on her side: such as that,
if she came home cold, she would be sure to warm herself thoroughly;
if hungry, that she would take something to eat; that her own maid
should sit up for her; and that Serle and the butler should see that
every thing were safe in the house, as usual.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER VIII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER VIII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER VIII}

Frank Churchill came back again; and if he kept his father's dinner
waiting, it was not known at Hartfield; for Mrs.\ Weston was too
anxious for his being a favourite with Mr.\ Woodhouse, to betray
any imperfection which could be concealed.

He came back, had had his hair cut, and laughed at himself with a
very good grace, but without seeming really at all ashamed of what
he had done. He had no reason to wish his hair longer, to conceal
any confusion of face; no reason to wish the money unspent, to improve
his spirits. He was quite as undaunted and as lively as ever; and,
after seeing him, Emma thus moralised to herself:\mbox{---}

{}``I do not know whether it ought to be so, but certainly silly
things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in
an impudent way. Wickedness is always wickedness, but folly is not
always folly.\mbox{---} It depends upon the character of those who
handle it. Mr.\ Knightley, he is \emph{not} a trifling, silly young
man. If he were, he would have done this differently. He would either
have gloried in the achievement, or been ashamed of it. There would
have been either the ostentation of a coxcomb, or the evasions of
a mind too weak to defend its own vanities.\mbox{---} No, I am perfectly
sure that he is not trifling or silly.''

With Tuesday came the agreeable prospect of seeing him again, and
for a longer time than hitherto; of judging of his general manners,
and by inference, of the meaning of his manners towards herself; of
guessing how soon it might be necessary for her to throw coldness
into her air; and of fancying what the observations of all those might
be, who were now seeing them together for the first time.

She meant to be very happy, in spite of the scene being laid at Mr.\ Cole's;
and without being able to forget that among the failings of Mr.\ Elton,
even in the days of his favour, none had disturbed her more than his
propensity to dine with Mr.\ Cole.

Her father's comfort was amply secured, Mrs.\ Bates as well as Mrs.\ Goddard
being able to come; and her last pleasing duty, before she left the
house, was to pay her respects to them as they sat together after
dinner; and while her father was fondly noticing the beauty of her
dress, to make the two ladies all the amends in her power, by helping
them to large slices of cake and full glasses of wine, for whatever
unwilling self-denial his care of their constitution might have obliged
them to practise during the meal.\mbox{---} She had provided a plentiful
dinner for them; she wished she could know that they had been allowed
to eat it.

She followed another carriage to Mr.\ Cole's door; and was pleased
to see that it was Mr.\ Knightley's; for Mr.\ Knightley keeping
no horses, having little spare money and a great deal of health, activity,
and independence, was too apt, in Emma's opinion, to get about as
he could, and not use his carriage so often as became the owner of
Donwell Abbey. She had an opportunity now of speaking her approbation
while warm from her heart, for he stopped to hand her out.

{}``This is coming as you should do,'' said she; {}``like a gentleman.\mbox{---}
I am quite glad to see you.''

He thanked her, observing, {}``How lucky that we should arrive at
the same moment! for, if we had met first in the drawing-room, I doubt
whether you would have discerned me to be more of a gentleman than
usual.\mbox{---} You might not have distinguished how I came, by
my look or manner.''

{}``Yes I should, I am sure I should. There is always a look of consciousness
or bustle when people come in a way which they know to be beneath
them. You think you carry it off very well, I dare say, but with you
it is a sort of bravado, an air of affected unconcern; I always observe
it whenever I meet you under those circumstances. \emph{Now} you have
nothing to try for. You are not afraid of being supposed ashamed.
You are not striving to look taller than any body else. \emph{Now}
I shall really be very happy to walk into the same room with you.''

{}``Nonsensical girl!''\ was his reply, but not at all in anger.

Emma had as much reason to be satisfied with the rest of the party
as with Mr.\ Knightley. She was received with a cordial respect which
could not but please, and given all the consequence she could wish
for. When the Westons arrived, the kindest looks of love, the strongest
of admiration were for her, from both husband and wife; the son approached
her with a cheerful eagerness which marked her as his peculiar object,
and at dinner she found him seated by her\mbox{---}and, as she firmly
believed, not without some dexterity on his side.

The party was rather large, as it included one other family, a proper
unobjectionable country family, whom the Coles had the advantage of
naming among their acquaintance, and the male part of Mr.\ Cox's
family, the lawyer of Highbury. The less worthy females were to come
in the evening, with Miss Bates, Miss Fairfax, and Miss Smith; but
already, at dinner, they were too numerous for any subject of conversation
to be general; and, while politics and Mr.\ Elton were talked over,
Emma could fairly surrender all her attention to the pleasantness
of her neighbour. The first remote sound to which she felt herself
obliged to attend, was the name of Jane Fairfax. Mrs.\ Cole seemed
to be relating something of her that was expected to be very interesting.
She listened, and found it well worth listening to. That very dear
part of Emma, her fancy, received an amusing supply. Mrs.\ Cole was
telling that she had been calling on Miss Bates, and as soon as she
entered the room had been struck by the sight of a pianoforte\mbox{---}a
very elegant looking instrument\mbox{---}not a grand, but a large-sized
square pianoforte; and the substance of the story, the end of all
the dialogue which ensued of surprize, and inquiry, and congratulations
on her side, and explanations on Miss Bates's, was, that this pianoforte
had arrived from Broadwood's the day before, to the great astonishment
of both aunt and niece\mbox{---}entirely unexpected; that at first,
by Miss Bates's account, Jane herself was quite at a loss, quite bewildered
to think who could possibly have ordered it\mbox{---}but now, they
were both perfectly satisfied that it could be from only one quarter;\mbox{---}of
course it must be from Colonel Campbell.

{}``One can suppose nothing else,'' added Mrs.\ Cole, {}``and
I was only surprized that there could ever have been a doubt. But
Jane, it seems, had a letter from them very lately, and not a word
was said about it. She knows their ways best; but I should not consider
their silence as any reason for their not meaning to make the present.
They might chuse to surprize her.''

Mrs.\ Cole had many to agree with her; every body who spoke on the
subject was equally convinced that it must come from Colonel Campbell,
and equally rejoiced that such a present had been made; and there
were enough ready to speak to allow Emma to think her own way, and
still listen to Mrs.\ Cole.

{}``I declare, I do not know when I have heard any thing that has
given me more satisfaction!\mbox{---} It always has quite hurt me
that Jane Fairfax, who plays so delightfully, should not have an instrument.
It seemed quite a shame, especially considering how many houses there
are where fine instruments are absolutely thrown away. This is like
giving ourselves a slap, to be sure!\ and it was but yesterday I
was telling Mr.\ Cole, I really was ashamed to look at our new grand
pianoforte in the drawing-room, while I do not know one note from
another, and our little girls, who are but just beginning, perhaps
may never make any thing of it; and there is poor Jane Fairfax, who
is mistress of music, has not any thing of the nature of an instrument,
not even the pitifullest old spinet in the world, to amuse herself
with.\mbox{---} I was saying this to Mr.\ Cole but yesterday, and
he quite agreed with me; only he is so particularly fond of music
that he could not help indulging himself in the purchase, hoping that
some of our good neighbours might be so obliging occasionally to put
it to a better use than we can; and that really is the reason why
the instrument was bought\mbox{---}or else I am sure we ought to
be ashamed of it.\mbox{---} We are in great hopes that Miss Woodhouse
may be prevailed with to try it this evening.''

Miss Woodhouse made the proper acquiescence; and finding that nothing
more was to be entrapped from any communication of Mrs.\ Cole's,
turned to Frank Churchill.

{}``Why do you smile?''\ said she.

{}``Nay, why do you?''\ 

{}``Me!\mbox{---}I suppose I smile for pleasure at Colonel Campbell's
being so rich and so liberal.\mbox{---} It is a handsome present.''

{}``Very.''

{}``I rather wonder that it was never made before.''

{}``Perhaps Miss Fairfax has never been staying here so long before.''

{}``Or that he did not give her the use of their own instrument\mbox{---}which
must now be shut up in London, untouched by any body.''

{}``That is a grand pianoforte, and he might think it too large for
Mrs.\ Bates's house.''

{}``You may \emph{say} what you chuse\mbox{---}but your countenance
testifies that your \emph{thoughts} on this subject are very much
like mine.''

{}``I do not know. I rather believe you are giving me more credit
for acuteness than I deserve. I smile because you smile, and shall
probably suspect whatever I find you suspect; but at present I do
not see what there is to question. If Colonel Campbell is not the
person, who can be?''\ 

{}``What do you say to Mrs.\ Dixon?''\ 

{}``Mrs.\ Dixon!\ very true indeed. I had not thought of Mrs.\ Dixon.
She must know as well as her father, how acceptable an instrument
would be; and perhaps the mode of it, the mystery, the surprize, is
more like a young woman's scheme than an elderly man's. It is Mrs.\ Dixon,
I dare say. I told you that your suspicions would guide mine.''

{}``If so, you must extend your suspicions and comprehend \emph{Mr}.\ Dixon
in them.''

{}``Mr.\ Dixon.\mbox{---} Very well. Yes, I immediately perceive
that it must be the joint present of Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Dixon. We were
speaking the other day, you know, of his being so warm an admirer
of her performance.''

{}``Yes, and what you told me on that head, confirmed an idea which
I had entertained before.\mbox{---} I do not mean to reflect upon
the good intentions of either Mr.\ Dixon or Miss Fairfax, but I cannot
help suspecting either that, after making his proposals to her friend,
he had the misfortune to fall in love with \emph{her}, or that he
became conscious of a little attachment on her side. One might guess
twenty things without guessing exactly the right; but I am sure there
must be a particular cause for her chusing to come to Highbury instead
of going with the Campbells to Ireland. Here, she must be leading
a life of privation and penance; there it would have been all enjoyment.
As to the pretence of trying her native air, I look upon that as a
mere excuse.\mbox{---} In the summer it might have passed; but what
can any body's native air do for them in the months of January, February,
and March? Good fires and carriages would be much more to the purpose
in most cases of delicate health, and I dare say in her's. I do not
require you to adopt all my suspicions, though you make so noble a
profession of doing it, but I honestly tell you what they are.''

{}``And, upon my word, they have an air of great probability. Mr.\ Dixon's
preference of her music to her friend's, I can answer for being very
decided.''

{}``And then, he saved her life. Did you ever hear of that?\mbox{---}
A water party; and by some accident she was falling overboard. He
caught her.''

{}``He did. I was there\mbox{---}one of the party.''

{}``Were you really?\mbox{---} Well!\mbox{---} But you observed
nothing of course, for it seems to be a new idea to you.\mbox{---}
If I had been there, I think I should have made some discoveries.''

{}``I dare say you would; but I, simple I, saw nothing but the fact,
that Miss Fairfax was nearly dashed from the vessel and that Mr.\ Dixon
caught her.\mbox{---} It was the work of a moment. And though the
consequent shock and alarm was very great and much more durable\mbox{---}indeed
I believe it was half an hour before any of us were comfortable again\mbox{---}yet
that was too general a sensation for any thing of peculiar anxiety
to be observable. I do not mean to say, however, that you might not
have made discoveries.''

The conversation was here interrupted. They were called on to share
in the awkwardness of a rather long interval between the courses,
and obliged to be as formal and as orderly as the others; but when
the table was again safely covered, when every corner dish was placed
exactly right, and occupation and ease were generally restored, Emma
said,

{}``The arrival of this pianoforte is decisive with me. I wanted
to know a little more, and this tells me quite enough. Depend upon
it, we shall soon hear that it is a present from Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Dixon.''

{}``And if the Dixons should absolutely deny all knowledge of it
we must conclude it to come from the Campbells.''

{}``No, I am sure it is not from the Campbells. Miss Fairfax knows
it is not from the Campbells, or they would have been guessed at first.
She would not have been puzzled, had she dared fix on them. I may
not have convinced you perhaps, but I am perfectly convinced myself
that Mr.\ Dixon is a principal in the business.''

{}``Indeed you injure me if you suppose me unconvinced. Your reasonings
carry my judgment along with them entirely. At first, while I supposed
you satisfied that Colonel Campbell was the giver, I saw it only as
paternal kindness, and thought it the most natural thing in the world.
But when you mentioned Mrs.\ Dixon, I felt how much more probable
that it should be the tribute of warm female friendship. And now I
can see it in no other light than as an offering of love.''

There was no occasion to press the matter farther. The conviction
seemed real; he looked as if he felt it. She said no more, other subjects
took their turn; and the rest of the dinner passed away; the dessert
succeeded, the children came in, and were talked to and admired amid
the usual rate of conversation; a few clever things said, a few downright
silly, but by much the larger proportion neither the one nor the other\mbox{---}nothing
worse than everyday remarks, dull repetitions, old news, and heavy
jokes.

The ladies had not been long in the drawing-room, before the other
ladies, in their different divisions, arrived. Emma watched the \emph{entr\'{e}e}
of her own particular little friend; and if she could not exult in
her dignity and grace, she could not only love the blooming sweetness
and the artless manner, but could most heartily rejoice in that light,
cheerful, unsentimental disposition which allowed her so many alleviations
of pleasure, in the midst of the pangs of disappointed affection.
There she sat\mbox{---}and who would have guessed how many tears
she had been lately shedding? To be in company, nicely dressed herself
and seeing others nicely dressed, to sit and smile and look pretty,
and say nothing, was enough for the happiness of the present hour.
Jane Fairfax did look and move superior; but Emma suspected she might
have been glad to change feelings with Harriet, very glad to have
purchased the mortification of having loved\mbox{---}yes, of having
loved even Mr.\ Elton in vain\mbox{---}by the surrender of all the
dangerous pleasure of knowing herself beloved by the husband of her
friend.

In so large a party it was not necessary that Emma should approach
her. She did not wish to speak of the pianoforte, she felt too much
in the secret herself, to think the appearance of curiosity or interest
fair, and therefore purposely kept at a distance; but by the others,
the subject was almost immediately introduced, and she saw the blush
of consciousness with which congratulations were received, the blush
of guilt which accompanied the name of {}``my excellent friend Colonel
Campbell.''

Mrs.\ Weston, kind-hearted and musical, was particularly interested
by the circumstance, and Emma could not help being amused at her perseverance
in dwelling on the subject; and having so much to ask and to say as
to tone, touch, and pedal, totally unsuspicious of that wish of saying
as little about it as possible, which she plainly read in the fair
heroine's countenance.

They were soon joined by some of the gentlemen; and the very first
of the early was Frank Churchill. In he walked, the first and the
handsomest; and after paying his compliments \emph{en passant} to
Miss Bates and her niece, made his way directly to the opposite side
of the circle, where sat Miss Woodhouse; and till he could find a
seat by her, would not sit at all. Emma divined what every body present
must be thinking. She was his object, and every body must perceive
it. She introduced him to her friend, Miss Smith, and, at convenient
moments afterwards, heard what each thought of the other. {}``He
had never seen so lovely a face, and was delighted with her na\"{i}vete.''
And she, {}``Only to be sure it was paying him too great a compliment,
but she did think there were some looks a little like Mr.\ Elton.''
Emma restrained her indignation, and only turned from her in silence.

Smiles of intelligence passed between her and the gentleman on first
glancing towards Miss Fairfax; but it was most prudent to avoid speech.
He told her that he had been impatient to leave the dining-room\mbox{---}hated
sitting long\mbox{---}was always the first to move when he could\mbox{---}that
his father, Mr.\ Knightley, Mr.\ Cox, and Mr.\ Cole, were left
very busy over parish business\mbox{---}that as long as he had staid,
however, it had been pleasant enough, as he had found them in general
a set of gentlemanlike, sensible men; and spoke so handsomely of Highbury
altogether\mbox{---}thought it so abundant in agreeable families\mbox{---}that
Emma began to feel she had been used to despise the place rather too
much. She questioned him as to the society in Yorkshire\mbox{---}the
extent of the neighbourhood about Enscombe, and the sort; and could
make out from his answers that, as far as Enscombe was concerned,
there was very little going on, that their visitings were among a
range of great families, none very near; and that even when days were
fixed, and invitations accepted, it was an even chance that Mrs.\ Churchill
were not in health and spirits for going; that they made a point of
visiting no fresh person; and that, though he had his separate engagements,
it was not without difficulty, without considerable address \emph{at
times}, that he could get away, or introduce an acquaintance for a
night.

She saw that Enscombe could not satisfy, and that Highbury, taken
at its best, might reasonably please a young man who had more retirement
at home than he liked. His importance at Enscombe was very evident.
He did not boast, but it naturally betrayed itself, that he had persuaded
his aunt where his uncle could do nothing, and on her laughing and
noticing it, he owned that he believed (excepting one or two points)
he could \emph{with time} persuade her to any thing. One of those
points on which his influence failed, he then mentioned. He had wanted
very much to go abroad\mbox{---}had been very eager indeed to be
allowed to travel\mbox{---}but she would not hear of it. This had
happened the year before. \emph{Now}, he said, he was beginning to
have no longer the same wish.

The unpersuadable point, which he did not mention, Emma guessed to
be good behaviour to his father.

{}``I have made a most wretched discovery,'' said he, after a short
pause.\mbox{---} {}``I have been here a week to-morrow\mbox{---}half
my time. I never knew days fly so fast. A week to-morrow!\mbox{---}
And I have hardly begun to enjoy myself. But just got acquainted with
Mrs.\ Weston, and others!\mbox{---}I hate the recollection.''

{}``Perhaps you may now begin to regret that you spent one whole
day, out of so few, in having your hair cut.''

{}``No,'' said he, smiling, {}``that is no subject of regret at
all. I have no pleasure in seeing my friends, unless I can believe
myself fit to be seen.''

The rest of the gentlemen being now in the room, Emma found herself
obliged to turn from him for a few minutes, and listen to Mr.\ Cole.
When Mr.\ Cole had moved away, and her attention could be restored
as before, she saw Frank Churchill looking intently across the room
at Miss Fairfax, who was sitting exactly opposite.

{}``What is the matter?''\ said she.

He started. {}``Thank you for rousing me,'' he replied. {}``I believe
I have been very rude; but really Miss Fairfax has done her hair in
so odd a way\mbox{---}so very odd a way\mbox{---}that I cannot keep
my eyes from her. I never saw any thing so \emph{outree}!\mbox{---}
Those curls!\mbox{---} This must be a fancy of her own. I see nobody
else looking like her!\mbox{---} I must go and ask her whether it
is an Irish fashion. Shall I?\mbox{---} Yes, I will\mbox{---}I declare
I will\mbox{---}and you shall see how she takes it;\mbox{---}whether
she colours.''

He was gone immediately; and Emma soon saw him standing before Miss
Fairfax, and talking to her; but as to its effect on the young lady,
as he had improvidently placed himself exactly between them, exactly
in front of Miss Fairfax, she could absolutely distinguish nothing.

Before he could return to his chair, it was taken by Mrs.\ Weston.

{}``This is the luxury of a large party,'' said she:\mbox{---}{}``one
can get near every body, and say every thing. My dear Emma, I am longing
to talk to you. I have been making discoveries and forming plans,
just like yourself, and I must tell them while the idea is fresh.
Do you know how Miss Bates and her niece came here?''\ 

{}``How?\mbox{---} They were invited, were not they?''\ 

{}``Oh!\ yes\mbox{---}but how they were conveyed hither?\mbox{---}the
manner of their coming?''\ 

{}``They walked, I conclude. How else could they come?''\ 

{}``Very true.\mbox{---} Well, a little while ago it occurred to
me how very sad it would be to have Jane Fairfax walking home again,
late at night, and cold as the nights are now. And as I looked at
her, though I never saw her appear to more advantage, it struck me
that she was heated, and would therefore be particularly liable to
take cold. Poor girl! I could not bear the idea of it; so, as soon
as Mr.\ Weston came into the room, and I could get at him, I spoke
to him about the carriage. You may guess how readily he came into
my wishes; and having his approbation, I made my way directly to Miss
Bates, to assure her that the carriage would be at her service before
it took us home; for I thought it would be making her comfortable
at once. Good soul!\ she was as grateful as possible, you may be
sure. `Nobody was ever so fortunate as herself!'\mbox{---}but with
many, many thanks\mbox{---}`there was no occasion to trouble us,
for Mr.\ Knightley's carriage had brought, and was to take them home
again.' I was quite surprized;\mbox{---}very glad, I am sure; but
really quite surprized. Such a very kind attention\mbox{---}and so
thoughtful an attention!\mbox{---}the sort of thing that so few men
would think of. And, in short, from knowing his usual ways, I am very
much inclined to think that it was for their accommodation the carriage
was used at all. I do suspect he would not have had a pair of horses
for himself, and that it was only as an excuse for assisting them.''

{}``Very likely,'' said Emma\mbox{---}{}``nothing more likely.
I know no man more likely than Mr.\ Knightley to do the sort of thing\mbox{---}to
do any thing really good-natured, useful, considerate, or benevolent.
He is not a gallant man, but he is a very humane one; and this, considering
Jane Fairfax's ill-health, would appear a case of humanity to him;\mbox{---}and
for an act of unostentatious kindness, there is nobody whom I would
fix on more than on Mr.\ Knightley. I know he had horses to-day\mbox{---}for
we arrived together; and I laughed at him about it, but he said not
a word that could betray.''

{}``Well,'' said Mrs.\ Weston, smiling, {}``you give him credit
for more simple, disinterested benevolence in this instance than I
do; for while Miss Bates was speaking, a suspicion darted into my
head, and I have never been able to get it out again. The more I think
of it, the more probable it appears. In short, I have made a match
between Mr.\ Knightley and Jane Fairfax. See the consequence of keeping
you company!\mbox{---} What do you say to it?''\ 

{}``Mr.\ Knightley and Jane Fairfax!''\ exclaimed Emma. {}``Dear
Mrs.\ Weston, how could you think of such a thing?\mbox{---} Mr.\ Knightley!\mbox{---}
Mr.\ Knightley must not marry!\mbox{---} You would not have little
Henry cut out from Donwell?\mbox{---} Oh!\ no, no, Henry must have
Donwell. I cannot at all consent to Mr.\ Knightley's marrying; and
I am sure it is not at all likely. I am amazed that you should think
of such a thing.''

{}``My dear Emma, I have told you what led me to think of it. I do
not want the match\mbox{---}I do not want to injure dear little Henry\mbox{---}but
the idea has been given me by circumstances; and if Mr.\ Knightley
really wished to marry, you would not have him refrain on Henry's
account, a boy of six years old, who knows nothing of the matter?''\ 

{}``Yes, I would. I could not bear to have Henry supplanted.\mbox{---}
Mr.\ Knightley marry!\mbox{---} No, I have never had such an idea,
and I cannot adopt it now. And Jane Fairfax, too, of all women!''\ 

{}``Nay, she has always been a first favourite with him, as you very
well know.''

{}``But the imprudence of such a match!''\ 

{}``I am not speaking of its prudence; merely its probability.''

{}``I see no probability in it, unless you have any better foundation
than what you mention. His good-nature, his humanity, as I tell you,
would be quite enough to account for the horses. He has a great regard
for the Bateses, you know, independent of Jane Fairfax\mbox{---}-and
is always glad to shew them attention. My dear Mrs.\ Weston, do not
take to match-making. You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax mistress of
the Abbey!\mbox{---} Oh!\ no, no;\mbox{---}every feeling revolts.
For his own sake, I would not have him do so mad a thing.''

{}``Imprudent, if you please\mbox{---}but not mad. Excepting inequality
of fortune, and perhaps a little disparity of age, I can see nothing
unsuitable.''

{}``But Mr.\ Knightley does not want to marry. I am sure he has
not the least idea of it. Do not put it into his head. Why should
he marry?\mbox{---} He is as happy as possible by himself; with his
farm, and his sheep, and his library, and all the parish to manage;
and he is extremely fond of his brother's children. He has no occasion
to marry, either to fill up his time or his heart.''

{}``My dear Emma, as long as he thinks so, it is so; but if he really
loves Jane Fairfax\mbox{---}''

{}``Nonsense! He does not care about Jane Fairfax. In the way of
love, I am sure he does not. He would do any good to her, or her family;
but\mbox{---}''

{}``Well,'' said Mrs.\ Weston, laughing, {}``perhaps the greatest
good he could do them, would be to give Jane such a respectable home.''

{}``If it would be good to her, I am sure it would be evil to himself;
a very shameful and degrading connexion. How would he bear to have
Miss Bates belonging to him?\mbox{---} To have her haunting the Abbey,
and thanking him all day long for his great kindness in marrying Jane?\mbox{---}
`So very kind and obliging!\mbox{---} But he always had been such
a very kind neighbour!' And then fly off, through half a sentence,
to her mother's old petticoat.\  `Not that it was such a very old
petticoat either\mbox{---}for still it would last a great while\mbox{---}and,
indeed, she must thankfully say that their petticoats were all very
strong.'''

{}``For shame, Emma! Do not mimic her. You divert me against my conscience.
And, upon my word, I do not think Mr.\ Knightley would be much disturbed
by Miss Bates. Little things do not irritate him. She might talk on;
and if he wanted to say any thing himself, he would only talk louder,
and drown her voice. But the question is not, whether it would be
a bad connexion for him, but whether he wishes it; and I think he
does. I have heard him speak, and so must you, so very highly of Jane
Fairfax! The interest he takes in her\mbox{---}his anxiety about
her health\mbox{---}his concern that she should have no happier prospect!
I have heard him express himself so warmly on those points!\mbox{---}
Such an admirer of her performance on the pianoforte, and of her voice!
I have heard him say that he could listen to her for ever. Oh!\ and
I had almost forgotten one idea that occurred to me\mbox{---}this
pianoforte that has been sent here by somebody\mbox{---}though we
have all been so well satisfied to consider it a present from the
Campbells, may it not be from Mr.\ Knightley? I cannot help suspecting
him. I think he is just the person to do it, even without being in
love.''

{}``Then it can be no argument to prove that he is in love. But I
do not think it is at all a likely thing for him to do. Mr.\ Knightley
does nothing mysteriously.''

{}``I have heard him lamenting her having no instrument repeatedly;
oftener than I should suppose such a circumstance would, in the common
course of things, occur to him.''

{}``Very well; and if he had intended to give her one, he would have
told her so.''

{}``There might be scruples of delicacy, my dear Emma. I have a very
strong notion that it comes from him. I am sure he was particularly
silent when Mrs.\ Cole told us of it at dinner.''

{}``You take up an idea, Mrs.\ Weston, and run away with it; as
you have many a time reproached me with doing. I see no sign of attachment\mbox{---}I
believe nothing of the pianoforte\mbox{---}and proof only shall convince
me that Mr.\ Knightley has any thought of marrying Jane Fairfax.''

They combated the point some time longer in the same way; Emma rather
gaining ground over the mind of her friend; for Mrs.\ Weston was
the most used of the two to yield; till a little bustle in the room
shewed them that tea was over, and the instrument in preparation;\mbox{---}and
at the same moment Mr.\ Cole approaching to entreat Miss Woodhouse
would do them the honour of trying it. Frank Churchill, of whom, in
the eagerness of her conversation with Mrs.\ Weston, she had been
seeing nothing, except that he had found a seat by Miss Fairfax, followed
Mr.\ Cole, to add his very pressing entreaties; and as, in every
respect, it suited Emma best to lead, she gave a very proper compliance.

She knew the limitations of her own powers too well to attempt more
than she could perform with credit; she wanted neither taste nor spirit
in the little things which are generally acceptable, and could accompany
her own voice well. One accompaniment to her song took her agreeably
by surprize\mbox{---}a second, slightly but correctly taken by Frank
Churchill. Her pardon was duly begged at the close of the song, and
every thing usual followed. He was accused of having a delightful
voice, and a perfect knowledge of music; which was properly denied;
and that he knew nothing of the matter, and had no voice at all, roundly
asserted. They sang together once more; and Emma would then resign
her place to Miss Fairfax, whose performance, both vocal and instrumental,
she never could attempt to conceal from herself, was infinitely superior
to her own.

With mixed feelings, she seated herself at a little distance from
the numbers round the instrument, to listen. Frank Churchill sang
again. They had sung together once or twice, it appeared, at Weymouth.
But the sight of Mr.\ Knightley among the most attentive, soon drew
away half Emma's mind; and she fell into a train of thinking on the
subject of Mrs.\ Weston's suspicions, to which the sweet sounds of
the united voices gave only momentary interruptions. Her objections
to Mr.\ Knightley's marrying did not in the least subside. She could
see nothing but evil in it. It would be a great disappointment to
Mr.\ John Knightley; consequently to Isabella. A real injury to the
children\mbox{---}a most mortifying change, and material loss to
them all;\mbox{---}a very great deduction from her father's daily
comfort\mbox{---}and, as to herself, she could not at all endure
the idea of Jane Fairfax at Donwell Abbey. A Mrs.\ Knightley for
them all to give way to!\mbox{---} No\mbox{---}Mr.\ Knightley must
never marry. Little Henry must remain the heir of Donwell.

Presently Mr.\ Knightley looked back, and came and sat down by her.
They talked at first only of the performance. His admiration was certainly
very warm; yet she thought, but for Mrs.\ Weston, it would not have
struck her. As a sort of touchstone, however, she began to speak of
his kindness in conveying the aunt and niece; and though his answer
was in the spirit of cutting the matter short, she believed it to
indicate only his disinclination to dwell on any kindness of his own.

{}``I often feel concern,'' said she, {}``that I dare not make
\emph{our} carriage more useful on such occasions. It is not that
I am without the wish; but you know how impossible my father would
deem it that James should put-to for such a purpose.''

{}``Quite out of the question, quite out of the question,'' he replied;\mbox{---}{}``but
you must often wish it, I am sure.'' And he smiled with such seeming
pleasure at the conviction, that she must proceed another step.

{}``This present from the Campbells,'' said she\mbox{---}{}``this
pianoforte is very kindly given.''

{}``Yes,'' he replied, and without the smallest apparent embarrassment.\mbox{---}
{}``But they would have done better had they given her notice of
it. Surprizes are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and
the inconvenience is often considerable. I should have expected better
judgment in Colonel Campbell.''

From that moment, Emma could have taken her oath that Mr.\ Knightley
had had no concern in giving the instrument. But whether he were entirely
free from peculiar attachment\mbox{---}whether there were no actual
preference\mbox{---}remained a little longer doubtful. Towards the
end of Jane's second song, her voice grew thick.

{}``That will do,'' said he, when it was finished, thinking aloud\mbox{---}{}``you
have sung quite enough for one evening\mbox{---}now be quiet.''

Another song, however, was soon begged for. {}``One more;\mbox{---}they
would not fatigue Miss Fairfax on any account, and would only ask
for one more.'' And Frank Churchill was heard to say, {}``I think
you could manage this without effort; the first part is so very trifling.
The strength of the song falls on the second.''

Mr.\ Knightley grew angry.

{}``That fellow,'' said he, indignantly, {}``thinks of nothing
but shewing off his own voice. This must not be.'' And touching Miss
Bates, who at that moment passed near\mbox{---}{}``Miss Bates, are
you mad, to let your niece sing herself hoarse in this manner? Go,
and interfere. They have no mercy on her.''

Miss Bates, in her real anxiety for Jane, could hardly stay even to
be grateful, before she stept forward and put an end to all farther
singing. Here ceased the concert part of the evening, for Miss Woodhouse
and Miss Fairfax were the only young lady performers; but soon (within
five minutes) the proposal of dancing\mbox{---}originating nobody
exactly knew where\mbox{---}was so effectually promoted by Mr.\ and
Mrs.\ Cole, that every thing was rapidly clearing away, to give proper
space. Mrs.\ Weston, capital in her country-dances, was seated, and
beginning an irresistible waltz; and Frank Churchill, coming up with
most becoming gallantry to Emma, had secured her hand, and led her
up to the top.

While waiting till the other young people could pair themselves off,
Emma found time, in spite of the compliments she was receiving on
her voice and her taste, to look about, and see what became of Mr.\ Knightley.
This would be a trial. He was no dancer in general. If he were to
be very alert in engaging Jane Fairfax now, it might augur something.
There was no immediate appearance. No; he was talking to Mrs.\ Cole\mbox{---}he
was looking on unconcerned; Jane was asked by somebody else, and he
was still talking to Mrs.\ Cole.

Emma had no longer an alarm for Henry; his interest was yet safe;
and she led off the dance with genuine spirit and enjoyment. Not more
than five couple could be mustered; but the rarity and the suddenness
of it made it very delightful, and she found herself well matched
in a partner. They were a couple worth looking at.

Two dances, unfortunately, were all that could be allowed. It was
growing late, and Miss Bates became anxious to get home, on her mother's
account. After some attempts, therefore, to be permitted to begin
again, they were obliged to thank Mrs.\ Weston, look sorrowful, and
have done.

{}``Perhaps it is as well,'' said Frank Churchill, as he attended
Emma to her carriage. {}``I must have asked Miss Fairfax, and her
languid dancing would not have agreed with me, after your's.''


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER IX}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER IX}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER IX}

Emma did not repent her condescension in going to the Coles. The visit
afforded her many pleasant recollections the next day; and all that
she might be supposed to have lost on the side of dignified seclusion,
must be amply repaid in the splendour of popularity. She must have
delighted the Coles\mbox{---}worthy people, who deserved to be made
happy!\mbox{---} And left a name behind her that would not soon die
away.

Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not common; and there were two
points on which she was not quite easy. She doubted whether she had
not transgressed the duty of woman by woman, in betraying her suspicions
of Jane Fairfax's feelings to Frank Churchill. It was hardly right;
but it had been so strong an idea, that it would escape her, and his
submission to all that she told, was a compliment to her penetration,
which made it difficult for her to be quite certain that she ought
to have held her tongue.

The other circumstance of regret related also to Jane Fairfax; and
there she had no doubt. She did unfeignedly and unequivocally regret
the inferiority of her own playing and singing. She did most heartily
grieve over the idleness of her childhood\mbox{---}and sat down and
practised vigorously an hour and a half.

She was then interrupted by Harriet's coming in; and if Harriet's
praise could have satisfied her, she might soon have been comforted.

{}``Oh!\ if I could but play as well as you and Miss Fairfax!''\ 

{}``Don't class us together, Harriet. My playing is no more like
her's, than a lamp is like sunshine.''

{}``Oh!\ dear\mbox{---}I think you play the best of the two. I
think you play quite as well as she does. I am sure I had much rather
hear you. Every body last night said how well you played.''

{}``Those who knew any thing about it, must have felt the difference.
The truth is, Harriet, that my playing is just good enough to be praised,
but Jane Fairfax's is much beyond it.''

{}``Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well as she
does, or that if there is any difference nobody would ever find it
out. Mr.\ Cole said how much taste you had; and Mr.\ Frank Churchill
talked a great deal about your taste, and that he valued taste much
more than execution.''

{}``Ah!\ but Jane Fairfax has them both, Harriet.''

{}``Are you sure? I saw she had execution, but I did not know she
had any taste. Nobody talked about it. And I hate Italian singing.\mbox{---}
There is no understanding a word of it. Besides, if she does play
so very well, you know, it is no more than she is obliged to do, because
she will have to teach. The Coxes were wondering last night whether
she would get into any great family. How did you think the Coxes looked?''\ 

{}``Just as they always do\mbox{---}very vulgar.''

{}``They told me something,'' said Harriet rather hesitatingly;
{}``but it is nothing of any consequence.''

Emma was obliged to ask what they had told her, though fearful of
its producing Mr.\ Elton.

{}``They told me\mbox{-----}that Mr.\ Martin dined with them last
Saturday.''

{}``Oh!''\ 

{}``He came to their father upon some business, and he asked him
to stay to dinner.''

{}``Oh!''\ 

{}``They talked a great deal about him, especially Anne Cox. I do
not know what she meant, but she asked me if I thought I should go
and stay there again next summer.''

{}``She meant to be impertinently curious, just as such an Anne Cox
should be.''

{}``She said he was very agreeable the day he dined there. He sat
by her at dinner. Miss Nash thinks either of the Coxes would be very
glad to marry him.''

{}``Very likely.\mbox{---} I think they are, without exception,
the most vulgar girls in Highbury.''

Harriet had business at Ford's.\mbox{---} Emma thought it most prudent
to go with her. Another accidental meeting with the Martins was possible,
and in her present state, would be dangerous.

Harriet, tempted by every thing and swayed by half a word, was always
very long at a purchase; and while she was still hanging over muslins
and changing her mind, Emma went to the door for amusement.\mbox{---}
Much could not be hoped from the traffic of even the busiest part
of Highbury;\mbox{---}Mr.\ Perry walking hastily by, Mr.\ William
Cox letting himself in at the office-door, Mr.\ Cole's carriage-horses
returning from exercise, or a stray letter-boy on an obstinate mule,
were the liveliest objects she could presume to expect; and when her
eyes fell only on the butcher with his tray, a tidy old woman travelling
homewards from shop with her full basket, two curs quarrelling over
a dirty bone, and a string of dawdling children round the baker's
little bow-window eyeing the gingerbread, she knew she had no reason
to complain, and was amused enough; quite enough still to stand at
the door. A mind lively and at ease, can do with seeing nothing, and
can see nothing that does not answer.

She looked down the Randalls road. The scene enlarged; two persons
appeared; Mrs.\ Weston and her son-in-law; they were walking into
Highbury;\mbox{---}to Hartfield of course. They were stopping, however,
in the first place at Mrs.\ Bates's; whose house was a little nearer
Randalls than Ford's; and had all but knocked, when Emma caught their
eye.\mbox{---} Immediately they crossed the road and came forward
to her; and the agreeableness of yesterday's engagement seemed to
give fresh pleasure to the present meeting. Mrs.\ Weston informed
her that she was going to call on the Bateses, in order to hear the
new instrument.

{}``For my companion tells me,'' said she, {}``that I absolutely
promised Miss Bates last night, that I would come this morning. I
was not aware of it myself. I did not know that I had fixed a day,
but as he says I did, I am going now.''

{}``And while Mrs.\ Weston pays her visit, I may be allowed, I hope,''
said Frank Churchill, {}``to join your party and wait for her at
Hartfield\mbox{---}if you are going home.''

Mrs.\ Weston was disappointed.

{}``I thought you meant to go with me. They would be very much pleased.''

{}``Me! I should be quite in the way. But, perhaps\mbox{---}I may
be equally in the way here. Miss Woodhouse looks as if she did not
want me. My aunt always sends me off when she is shopping. She says
I fidget her to death; and Miss Woodhouse looks as if she could almost
say the same. What am I to do?''\ 

{}``I am here on no business of my own,'' said Emma; {}``I am only
waiting for my friend. She will probably have soon done, and then
we shall go home. But you had better go with Mrs.\ Weston and hear
the instrument.''

{}``Well\mbox{---}if you advise it.\mbox{---} But'' (with a smile)
{}``if Colonel Campbell should have employed a careless friend, and
if it should prove to have an indifferent tone\mbox{---}what shall
I say? I shall be no support to Mrs.\ Weston. She might do very well
by herself. A disagreeable truth would be palatable through her lips,
but I am the wretchedest being in the world at a civil falsehood.''

{}``I do not believe any such thing,'' replied Emma.\mbox{---}
{}``I am persuaded that you can be as insincere as your neighbours,
when it is necessary; but there is no reason to suppose the instrument
is indifferent. Quite otherwise indeed, if I understood Miss Fairfax's
opinion last night.''

{}``Do come with me,'' said Mrs.\ Weston, {}``if it be not very
disagreeable to you. It need not detain us long. We will go to Hartfield
afterwards. We will follow them to Hartfield. I really wish you to
call with me. It will be felt so great an attention!\ and I always
thought you meant it.''

He could say no more; and with the hope of Hartfield to reward him,
returned with Mrs.\ Weston to Mrs.\ Bates's door. Emma watched them
in, and then joined Harriet at the interesting counter,\mbox{---}trying,
with all the force of her own mind, to convince her that if she wanted
plain muslin it was of no use to look at figured; and that a blue
ribbon, be it ever so beautiful, would still never match her yellow
pattern. At last it was all settled, even to the destination of the
parcel.

{}``Should I send it to Mrs.\ Goddard's, ma'am?''\ asked Mrs.\ Ford.\mbox{---}
{}``Yes\mbox{---}no\mbox{---}yes, to Mrs.\ Goddard's. Only my
pattern gown is at Hartfield. No, you shall send it to Hartfield,
if you please. But then, Mrs.\ Goddard will want to see it.\mbox{---}
And I could take the pattern gown home any day. But I shall want the
ribbon directly\mbox{---}so it had better go to Hartfield\mbox{---}at
least the ribbon. You could make it into two parcels, Mrs.\ Ford,
could not you?''\ 

{}``It is not worth while, Harriet, to give Mrs.\ Ford the trouble
of two parcels.''

{}``No more it is.''

{}``No trouble in the world, ma'am,'' said the obliging Mrs.\ Ford.

{}``Oh!\ but indeed I would much rather have it only in one. Then,
if you please, you shall send it all to Mrs.\ Goddard's\mbox{---}I
do not know\mbox{---}No, I think, Miss Woodhouse, I may just as well
have it sent to Hartfield, and take it home with me at night. What
do you advise?''\ 

{}``That you do not give another half-second to the subject. To Hartfield,
if you please, Mrs.\ Ford.''

{}``Aye, that will be much best,'' said Harriet, quite satisfied,
{}``I should not at all like to have it sent to Mrs.\ Goddard's.''

Voices approached the shop\mbox{---}or rather one voice and two ladies:
Mrs.\ Weston and Miss Bates met them at the door.

{}``My dear Miss Woodhouse,'' said the latter, {}``I am just run
across to entreat the favour of you to come and sit down with us a
little while, and give us your opinion of our new instrument; you
and Miss Smith. How do you do, Miss Smith?\mbox{---} Very well I
thank you.\mbox{---} And I begged Mrs.\ Weston to come with me,
that I might be sure of succeeding.''

{}``I hope Mrs.\ Bates and Miss Fairfax are\mbox{---}''

{}``Very well, I am much obliged to you. My mother is delightfully
well; and Jane caught no cold last night. How is Mr.\ Woodhouse?\mbox{---}
I am so glad to hear such a good account. Mrs.\ Weston told me you
were here.\mbox{---} Oh!\ then, said I, I must run across, I am
sure Miss Woodhouse will allow me just to run across and entreat her
to come in; my mother will be so very happy to see her\mbox{---}and
now we are such a nice party, she cannot refuse.\mbox{---} `Aye,
pray do,' said Mr.\ Frank Churchill, `Miss Woodhouse's opinion of
the instrument will be worth having.'\mbox{---}But, said I, I shall
be more sure of succeeding if one of you will go with me.\mbox{---}
`Oh,' said he, `wait half a minute, till I have finished my job;'\mbox{---}For,
would you believe it, Miss Woodhouse, there he is, in the most obliging
manner in the world, fastening in the rivet of my mother's spectacles.\mbox{---}
The rivet came out, you know, this morning.\mbox{---} So very obliging!---
For my mother had no use of her spectacles\mbox{---}could not put
them on. And, by the bye, every body ought to have two pair of spectacles;
they should indeed. Jane said so. I meant to take them over to John
Saunders the first thing I did, but something or other hindered me
all the morning; first one thing, then another, there is no saying
what, you know. At one time Patty came to say she thought the kitchen
chimney wanted sweeping. Oh, said I, Patty do not come with your bad
news to me. Here is the rivet of your mistress's spectacles out. Then
the baked apples came home, Mrs.\ Wallis sent them by her boy; they
are extremely civil and obliging to us, the Wallises, always\mbox{---}I
have heard some people say that Mrs.\ Wallis can be uncivil and give
a very rude answer, but we have never known any thing but the greatest
attention from them. And it cannot be for the value of our custom
now, for what is our consumption of bread, you know? Only three of
us.\mbox{---} besides dear Jane at present\mbox{---}and she really
eats nothing\mbox{---}makes such a shocking breakfast, you would
be quite frightened if you saw it. I dare not let my mother know how
little she eats\mbox{---}so I say one thing and then I say another,
and it passes off. But about the middle of the day she gets hungry,
and there is nothing she likes so well as these baked apples, and
they are extremely wholesome, for I took the opportunity the other
day of asking Mr.\ Perry; I happened to meet him in the street. Not
that I had any doubt before\mbox{---}I have so often heard Mr.\ Woodhouse
recommend a baked apple. I believe it is the only way that Mr.\ Woodhouse
thinks the fruit thoroughly wholesome. We have apple-dumplings, however,
very often. Patty makes an excellent apple-dumpling. Well, Mrs.\ Weston,
you have prevailed, I hope, and these ladies will oblige us.''

Emma would be {}``very happy to wait on Mrs.\ Bates, \&c.,'' and
they did at last move out of the shop, with no farther delay from
Miss Bates than,

{}``How do you do, Mrs.\ Ford? I beg your pardon. I did not see
you before. I hear you have a charming collection of new ribbons from
town. Jane came back delighted yesterday. Thank ye, the gloves do
very well\mbox{---}only a little too large about the wrist; but Jane
is taking them in.''

{}``What was I talking of?''\ said she, beginning again when they
were all in the street.

Emma wondered on what, of all the medley, she would fix.

{}``I declare I cannot recollect what I was talking of.\mbox{---}
Oh!\ my mother's spectacles. So very obliging of Mr.\ Frank Churchill!
`Oh!'\ said he, `I do think I can fasten the rivet; I like a job
of this kind excessively.'\mbox{---}Which you know shewed him to
be so very\ldots{}. Indeed I must say that, much as I had heard of
him before and much as I had expected, he very far exceeds any thing\ldots{}.
I do congratulate you, Mrs.\ Weston, most warmly. He seems every
thing the fondest parent could\ldots{}. `Oh!'\ said he, `I can fasten
the rivet. I like a job of that sort excessively.' I never shall forget
his manner. And when I brought out the baked apples from the closet,
and hoped our friends would be so very obliging as to take some, `Oh!'\ said
he directly, `there is nothing in the way of fruit half so good, and
these are the finest-looking home-baked apples I ever saw in my life.'
That, you know, was so very\ldots{}. And I am sure, by his manner,
it was no compliment. Indeed they are very delightful apples, and
Mrs.\ Wallis does them full justice\mbox{---}only we do not have
them baked more than twice, and Mr.\ Woodhouse made us promise to
have them done three times\mbox{---}but Miss Woodhouse will be so
good as not to mention it. The apples themselves are the very finest
sort for baking, beyond a doubt; all from Donwell\mbox{---}some of
Mr.\ Knightley's most liberal supply. He sends us a sack every year;
and certainly there never was such a keeping apple anywhere as one
of his trees\mbox{---}I believe there is two of them. My mother says
the orchard was always famous in her younger days. But I was really
quite shocked the other day\mbox{---}for Mr.\ Knightley called one
morning, and Jane was eating these apples, and we talked about them
and said how much she enjoyed them, and he asked whether we were not
got to the end of our stock. `I am sure you must be,' said he, `and
I will send you another supply; for I have a great many more than
I can ever use. William Larkins let me keep a larger quantity than
usual this year. I will send you some more, before they get good for
nothing.' So I begged he would not\mbox{---}for really as to ours
being gone, I could not absolutely say that we had a great many left\mbox{---}it
was but half a dozen indeed; but they should be all kept for Jane;
and I could not at all bear that he should be sending us more, so
liberal as he had been already; and Jane said the same. And when he
was gone, she almost quarrelled with me\mbox{---}No, I should not
say quarrelled, for we never had a quarrel in our lives; but she was
quite distressed that I had owned the apples were so nearly gone;
she wished I had made him believe we had a great many left. Oh, said
I, my dear, I did say as much as I could. However, the very same evening
William Larkins came over with a large basket of apples, the same
sort of apples, a bushel at least, and I was very much obliged, and
went down and spoke to William Larkins and said every thing, as you
may suppose. William Larkins is such an old acquaintance! I am always
glad to see him. But, however, I found afterwards from Patty, that
William said it was all the apples of \emph{that} sort his master
had; he had brought them all\mbox{---}and now his master had not
one left to bake or boil. William did not seem to mind it himself,
he was so pleased to think his master had sold so many; for William,
you know, thinks more of his master's profit than any thing; but Mrs.\ Hodges,
he said, was quite displeased at their being all sent away. She could
not bear that her master should not be able to have another apple-tart
this spring. He told Patty this, but bid her not mind it, and be sure
not to say any thing to us about it, for Mrs.\ Hodges \emph{would}
be cross sometimes, and as long as so many sacks were sold, it did
not signify who ate the remainder. And so Patty told me, and I was
excessively shocked indeed! I would not have Mr.\ Knightley know
any thing about it for the world! He would be so very\ldots{}. I
wanted to keep it from Jane's knowledge; but, unluckily, I had mentioned
it before I was aware.''

Miss Bates had just done as Patty opened the door; and her visitors
walked upstairs without having any regular narration to attend to,
pursued only by the sounds of her desultory good-will.

{}``Pray take care, Mrs.\ Weston, there is a step at the turning.
Pray take care, Miss Woodhouse, ours is rather a dark staircase\mbox{---}rather
darker and narrower than one could wish. Miss Smith, pray take care.
Miss Woodhouse, I am quite concerned, I am sure you hit your foot.
Miss Smith, the step at the turning.''


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER X}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER X}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER X}

The appearance of the little sitting-room as they entered, was tranquillity
itself; Mrs.\ Bates, deprived of her usual employment, slumbering
on one side of the fire, Frank Churchill, at a table near her, most
deedily occupied about her spectacles, and Jane Fairfax, standing
with her back to them, intent on her pianoforte.

Busy as he was, however, the young man was yet able to shew a most
happy countenance on seeing Emma again.

{}``This is a pleasure,'' said he, in rather a low voice, {}``coming
at least ten minutes earlier than I had calculated. You find me trying
to be useful; tell me if you think I shall succeed.''

{}``What!''\ said Mrs.\ Weston, {}``have not you finished it
yet? you would not earn a very good livelihood as a working silversmith
at this rate.''

{}``I have not been working uninterruptedly,'' he replied, {}``I
have been assisting Miss Fairfax in trying to make her instrument
stand steadily, it was not quite firm; an unevenness in the floor,
I believe. You see we have been wedging one leg with paper. This was
very kind of you to be persuaded to come. I was almost afraid you
would be hurrying home.''

He contrived that she should be seated by him; and was sufficiently
employed in looking out the best baked apple for her, and trying to
make her help or advise him in his work, till Jane Fairfax was quite
ready to sit down to the pianoforte again. That she was not immediately
ready, Emma did suspect to arise from the state of her nerves; she
had not yet possessed the instrument long enough to touch it without
emotion; she must reason herself into the power of performance; and
Emma could not but pity such feelings, whatever their origin, and
could not but resolve never to expose them to her neighbour again.

At last Jane began, and though the first bars were feebly given, the
powers of the instrument were gradually done full justice to. Mrs.\ Weston
had been delighted before, and was delighted again; Emma joined her
in all her praise; and the pianoforte, with every proper discrimination,
was pronounced to be altogether of the highest promise.

{}``Whoever Colonel Campbell might employ,'' said Frank Churchill,
with a smile at Emma, {}``the person has not chosen ill. I heard
a good deal of Colonel Campbell's taste at Weymouth; and the softness
of the upper notes I am sure is exactly what he and \emph{all that
party} would particularly prize. I dare say, Miss Fairfax, that he
either gave his friend very minute directions, or wrote to Broadwood
himself. Do not you think so?''\ 

Jane did not look round. She was not obliged to hear. Mrs.\ Weston
had been speaking to her at the same moment.

{}``It is not fair,'' said Emma, in a whisper; {}``mine was a random
guess. Do not distress her.''

He shook his head with a smile, and looked as if he had very little
doubt and very little mercy. Soon afterwards he began again,

{}``How much your friends in Ireland must be enjoying your pleasure
on this occasion, Miss Fairfax. I dare say they often think of you,
and wonder which will be the day, the precise day of the instrument's
coming to hand. Do you imagine Colonel Campbell knows the business
to be going forward just at this time?\mbox{---} Do you imagine it
to be the consequence of an immediate commission from him, or that
he may have sent only a general direction, an order indefinite as
to time, to depend upon contingencies and conveniences?''\ 

He paused. She could not but hear; she could not avoid answering,

{}``Till I have a letter from Colonel Campbell,'' said she, in a
voice of forced calmness, {}``I can imagine nothing with any confidence.
It must be all conjecture.''

{}``Conjecture\mbox{---}aye, sometimes one conjectures right, and
sometimes one conjectures wrong. I wish I could conjecture how soon
I shall make this rivet quite firm. What nonsense one talks, Miss
Woodhouse, when hard at work, if one talks at all;\mbox{---}your
real workmen, I suppose, hold their tongues; but we gentlemen labourers
if we get hold of a word\mbox{---}Miss Fairfax said something about
conjecturing. There, it is done. I have the pleasure, madam, (to Mrs.\ Bates,)
of restoring your spectacles, healed for the present.''

He was very warmly thanked both by mother and daughter; to escape
a little from the latter, he went to the pianoforte, and begged Miss
Fairfax, who was still sitting at it, to play something more.

{}``If you are very kind,'' said he, {}``it will be one of the
waltzes we danced last night;\mbox{---}let me live them over again.
You did not enjoy them as I did; you appeared tired the whole time.
I believe you were glad we danced no longer; but I would have given
worlds\mbox{---}all the worlds one ever has to give\mbox{---}for
another half-hour.''

She played.

{}``What felicity it is to hear a tune again which \emph{has} made
one happy!\mbox{---} If I mistake not that was danced at Weymouth.''

She looked up at him for a moment, coloured deeply, and played something
else. He took some music from a chair near the pianoforte, and turning
to Emma, said,

{}``Here is something quite new to me. Do you know it?\mbox{---}Cramer.\mbox{---}
And here are a new set of Irish melodies. That, from such a quarter,
one might expect. This was all sent with the instrument. Very thoughtful
of Colonel Campbell, was not it?\mbox{---} He knew Miss Fairfax could
have no music here. I honour that part of the attention particularly;
it shews it to have been so thoroughly from the heart. Nothing hastily
done; nothing incomplete. True affection only could have prompted
it.''

Emma wished he would be less pointed, yet could not help being amused;
and when on glancing her eye towards Jane Fairfax she caught the remains
of a smile, when she saw that with all the deep blush of consciousness,
there had been a smile of secret delight, she had less scruple in
the amusement, and much less compunction with respect to her.\mbox{---}
This amiable, upright, perfect Jane Fairfax was apparently cherishing
very reprehensible feelings.

He brought all the music to her, and they looked it over together.\mbox{---}
Emma took the opportunity of whispering,

{}``You speak too plain. She must understand you.''

{}``I hope she does. I would have her understand me. I am not in
the least ashamed of my meaning.''

{}``But really, I am half ashamed, and wish I had never taken up
the idea.''

{}``I am very glad you did, and that you communicated it to me. I
have now a key to all her odd looks and ways. Leave shame to her.
If she does wrong, she ought to feel it.''

{}``She is not entirely without it, I think.''

{}``I do not see much sign of it. She is playing \emph{Robin Adair}
at this moment\mbox{---}\emph{his} favourite.''

Shortly afterwards Miss Bates, passing near the window, descried Mr.\ Knightley
on horse-back not far off.

{}``Mr.\ Knightley I declare!\mbox{---} I must speak to him if
possible, just to thank him. I will not open the window here; it would
give you all cold; but I can go into my mother's room you know. I
dare say he will come in when he knows who is here. Quite delightful
to have you all meet so!\mbox{---} Our little room so honoured!''\ 

She was in the adjoining chamber while she still spoke, and opening
the casement there, immediately called Mr.\ Knightley's attention,
and every syllable of their conversation was as distinctly heard by
the others, as if it had passed within the same apartment.

{}``How d' ye do?\mbox{---}how d'ye do?\mbox{---} Very well, I
thank you. So obliged to you for the carriage last night. We were
just in time; my mother just ready for us. Pray come in; do come in.
You will find some friends here.''

So began Miss Bates; and Mr.\ Knightley seemed determined to be heard
in his turn, for most resolutely and commandingly did he say,

{}``How is your niece, Miss Bates?\mbox{---} I want to inquire after
you all, but particularly your niece. How is Miss Fairfax?\mbox{---}
I hope she caught no cold last night. How is she to-day? Tell me how
Miss Fairfax is.''

And Miss Bates was obliged to give a direct answer before he would
hear her in any thing else. The listeners were amused; and Mrs.\ Weston
gave Emma a look of particular meaning. But Emma still shook her head
in steady scepticism.

{}``So obliged to you!\mbox{---}so very much obliged to you for
the carriage,'' resumed Miss Bates.

He cut her short with,

{}``I am going to Kingston. Can I do anything for you?''\ 

{}``Oh!\ dear, Kingston\mbox{---}are you?\mbox{---} Mrs.\ Cole
was saying the other day she wanted something from Kingston.''

{}``Mrs.\ Cole has servants to send. Can I do any thing for \emph{you}?''\ 

{}``No, I thank you. But do come in. Who do you think is here?\mbox{---}
Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith; so kind as to call to hear the new
pianoforte. Do put up your horse at the Crown, and come in.''

{}``Well,'' said he, in a deliberating manner, {}``for five minutes,
perhaps.''

{}``And here is Mrs.\ Weston and Mr.\ Frank Churchill too!\mbox{---}
Quite delightful; so many friends!''\ 

{}``No, not now, I thank you. I could not stay two minutes. I must
get on to Kingston as fast as I can.''

{}``Oh!\ do come in. They will be so very happy to see you.''

{}``No, no; your room is full enough. I will call another day, and
hear the pianoforte.''

{}``Well, I am so sorry!\mbox{---} Oh!\ Mr.\ Knightley, what a
delightful party last night; how extremely pleasant.\mbox{---} Did
you ever see such dancing?\mbox{---} Was not it delightful?\mbox{---}
Miss Woodhouse and Mr.\ Frank Churchill; I never saw any thing equal
to it.''

{}``Oh!\ very delightful indeed; I can say nothing less, for I suppose
Miss Woodhouse and Mr.\ Frank Churchill are hearing every thing that
passes. And'' (raising his voice still more) {}``I do not see why
Miss Fairfax should not be mentioned too. I think Miss Fairfax dances
very well; and Mrs.\ Weston is the very best country-dance player,
without exception, in England. Now, if your friends have any gratitude,
they will say something pretty loud about you and me in return; but
I cannot stay to hear it.''

{}``Oh!\ Mr.\ Knightley, one moment more; something of consequence\mbox{---}so
shocked!\mbox{---} Jane and I are both so shocked about the apples!''\ 

{}``What is the matter now?''\ 

{}``To think of your sending us all your store apples. You said you
had a great many, and now you have not one left. We really are so
shocked! Mrs.\ Hodges may well be angry. William Larkins mentioned
it here. You should not have done it, indeed you should not. Ah!\ he
is off. He never can bear to be thanked. But I thought he would have
staid now, and it would have been a pity not to have mentioned\ldots{}.
Well,'' (returning to the room,) {}``I have not been able to succeed.
Mr.\ Knightley cannot stop. He is going to Kingston. He asked me
if he could do any thing\ldots{}.''

{}``Yes,'' said Jane, {}``we heard his kind offers, we heard every
thing.''

{}``Oh!\ yes, my dear, I dare say you might, because you know, the
door was open, and the window was open, and Mr.\ Knightley spoke
loud. You must have heard every thing to be sure.\  `Can I do any
thing for you at Kingston?'\ said he; so I just mentioned\ldots{}.
Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse, must you be going?\mbox{---} You seem but just
come\mbox{---}so very obliging of you.''

Emma found it really time to be at home; the visit had already lasted
long; and on examining watches, so much of the morning was perceived
to be gone, that Mrs.\ Weston and her companion taking leave also,
could allow themselves only to walk with the two young ladies to Hartfield
gates, before they set off for Randalls.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XI}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XI}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XI}

It may be possible to do without dancing entirely. Instances have
been known of young people passing many, many months successively,
without being at any ball of any description, and no material injury
accrue either to body or mind;\mbox{---}but when a beginning is made\mbox{---}when
the felicities of rapid motion have once been, though slightly, felt\mbox{---}it
must be a very heavy set that does not ask for more.

Frank Churchill had danced once at Highbury, and longed to dance again;
and the last half-hour of an evening which Mr.\ Woodhouse was persuaded
to spend with his daughter at Randalls, was passed by the two young
people in schemes on the subject. Frank's was the first idea; and
his the greatest zeal in pursuing it; for the lady was the best judge
of the difficulties, and the most solicitous for accommodation and
appearance. But still she had inclination enough for shewing people
again how delightfully Mr.\ Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse danced\mbox{---}for
doing that in which she need not blush to compare herself with Jane
Fairfax\mbox{---}and even for simple dancing itself, without any
of the wicked aids of vanity\mbox{---}to assist him first in pacing
out the room they were in to see what it could be made to hold\mbox{---}and
then in taking the dimensions of the other parlour, in the hope of
discovering, in spite of all that Mr.\ Weston could say of their
exactly equal size, that it was a little the largest.

His first proposition and request, that the dance begun at Mr.\ Cole's
should be finished there\mbox{---}that the same party should be collected,
and the same musician engaged, met with the readiest acquiescence.
Mr.\ Weston entered into the idea with thorough enjoyment, and Mrs.\ Weston
most willingly undertook to play as long as they could wish to dance;
and the interesting employment had followed, of reckoning up exactly
who there would be, and portioning out the indispensable division
of space to every couple.

{}``You and Miss Smith, and Miss Fairfax, will be three, and the
two Miss Coxes five,'' had been repeated many times over. {}``And
there will be the two Gilberts, young Cox, my father, and myself,
besides Mr.\ Knightley. Yes, that will be quite enough for pleasure.
You and Miss Smith, and Miss Fairfax, will be three, and the two Miss
Coxes five; and for five couple there will be plenty of room.''

But soon it came to be on one side,

{}``But will there be good room for five couple?\mbox{---} I really
do not think there will.''

On another,

{}``And after all, five couple are not enough to make it worth while
to stand up. Five couple are nothing, when one thinks seriously about
it. It will not do to \emph{invite} five couple. It can be allowable
only as the thought of the moment.''

Somebody said that \emph{Miss} Gilbert was expected at her brother's,
and must be invited with the rest. Somebody else believed \emph{Mrs.}\ Gilbert
would have danced the other evening, if she had been asked. A word
was put in for a second young Cox; and at last, Mr.\ Weston naming
one family of cousins who must be included, and another of very old
acquaintance who could not be left out, it became a certainty that
the five couple would be at least ten, and a very interesting speculation
in what possible manner they could be disposed of.

The doors of the two rooms were just opposite each other. {}``Might
not they use both rooms, and dance across the passage?''\ It seemed
the best scheme; and yet it was not so good but that many of them
wanted a better. Emma said it would be awkward; Mrs.\ Weston was
in distress about the supper; and Mr.\ Woodhouse opposed it earnestly,
on the score of health. It made him so very unhappy, indeed, that
it could not be persevered in.

{}``Oh!\ no,'' said he; {}``it would be the extreme of imprudence.
I could not bear it for Emma!\mbox{---} Emma is not strong. She would
catch a dreadful cold. So would poor little Harriet. So you would
all. Mrs.\ Weston, you would be quite laid up; do not let them talk
of such a wild thing. Pray do not let them talk of it. That young
man (speaking lower) is very thoughtless. Do not tell his father,
but that young man is not quite the thing. He has been opening the
doors very often this evening, and keeping them open very inconsiderately.
He does not think of the draught. I do not mean to set you against
him, but indeed he is not quite the thing!''\ 

Mrs.\ Weston was sorry for such a charge. She knew the importance
of it, and said every thing in her power to do it away. Every door
was now closed, the passage plan given up, and the first scheme of
dancing only in the room they were in resorted to again; and with
such good-will on Frank Churchill's part, that the space which a quarter
of an hour before had been deemed barely sufficient for five couple,
was now endeavoured to be made out quite enough for ten.

{}``We were too magnificent,'' said he. {}``We allowed unnecessary
room. Ten couple may stand here very well.''

Emma demurred. {}``It would be a crowd\mbox{---}a sad crowd; and
what could be worse than dancing without space to turn in?''\ 

{}``Very true,'' he gravely replied; {}``it was very bad.'' But
still he went on measuring, and still he ended with,

{}``I think there will be very tolerable room for ten couple.''

{}``No, no,'' said she, {}``you are quite unreasonable. It would
be dreadful to be standing so close! Nothing can be farther from pleasure
than to be dancing in a crowd\mbox{---}and a crowd in a little room!''\ 

{}``There is no denying it,'' he replied. {}``I agree with you
exactly. A crowd in a little room\mbox{---}Miss Woodhouse, you have
the art of giving pictures in a few words. Exquisite, quite exquisite!\mbox{---}
Still, however, having proceeded so far, one is unwilling to give
the matter up. It would be a disappointment to my father\mbox{---}and
altogether\mbox{---}I do not know that\mbox{---}I am rather of opinion
that ten couple might stand here very well.''

Emma perceived that the nature of his gallantry was a little self-willed,
and that he would rather oppose than lose the pleasure of dancing
with her; but she took the compliment, and forgave the rest. Had she
intended ever to \emph{marry} him, it might have been worth while
to pause and consider, and try to understand the value of his preference,
and the character of his temper; but for all the purposes of their
acquaintance, he was quite amiable enough.

Before the middle of the next day, he was at Hartfield; and he entered
the room with such an agreeable smile as certified the continuance
of the scheme. It soon appeared that he came to announce an improvement.

{}``Well, Miss Woodhouse,'' he almost immediately began, {}``your
inclination for dancing has not been quite frightened away, I hope,
by the terrors of my father's little rooms. I bring a new proposal
on the subject:\mbox{---}a thought of my father's, which waits only
your approbation to be acted upon. May I hope for the honour of your
hand for the two first dances of this little projected ball, to be
given, not at Randalls, but at the Crown Inn?''\ 

{}``The Crown!''\ 

{}``Yes; if you and Mr.\ Woodhouse see no objection, and I trust
you cannot, my father hopes his friends will be so kind as to visit
him there. Better accommodations, he can promise them, and not a less
grateful welcome than at Randalls. It is his own idea. Mrs.\ Weston
sees no objection to it, provided you are satisfied. This is what
we all feel. Oh!\ you were perfectly right! Ten couple, in either
of the Randalls rooms, would have been insufferable!\mbox{---} Dreadful!\mbox{---}
I felt how right you were the whole time, but was too anxious for
securing \emph{any thing} to like to yield. Is not it a good exchange?\mbox{---}
You consent\mbox{---}I hope you consent?''\ 

{}``It appears to me a plan that nobody can object to, if Mr.\ and
Mrs.\ Weston do not. I think it admirable; and, as far as I can answer
for myself, shall be most happy\mbox{---}It seems the only improvement
that could be. Papa, do you not think it an excellent improvement?''\ 

She was obliged to repeat and explain it, before it was fully comprehended;
and then, being quite new, farther representations were necessary
to make it acceptable.

{}``No; he thought it very far from an improvement\mbox{---}a very
bad plan\mbox{---}much worse than the other. A room at an inn was
always damp and dangerous; never properly aired, or fit to be inhabited.
If they must dance, they had better dance at Randalls. He had never
been in the room at the Crown in his life\mbox{---}did not know the
people who kept it by sight.\mbox{---} Oh!\ no\mbox{---}a very
bad plan. They would catch worse colds at the Crown than anywhere.''

{}``I was going to observe, sir,'' said Frank Churchill, {}``that
one of the great recommendations of this change would be the very
little danger of any body's catching cold\mbox{---}so much less danger
at the Crown than at Randalls! Mr.\ Perry might have reason to regret
the alteration, but nobody else could.''

{}``Sir,'' said Mr.\ Woodhouse, rather warmly, {}``you are very
much mistaken if you suppose Mr.\ Perry to be that sort of character.
Mr.\ Perry is extremely concerned when any of us are ill. But I do
not understand how the room at the Crown can be safer for you than
your father's house.''

{}``From the very circumstance of its being larger, sir. We shall
have no occasion to open the windows at all\mbox{---}not once the
whole evening; and it is that dreadful habit of opening the windows,
letting in cold air upon heated bodies, which (as you well know, sir)
does the mischief.''

{}``Open the windows!\mbox{---}but surely, Mr.\ Churchill, nobody
would think of opening the windows at Randalls. Nobody could be so
imprudent! I never heard of such a thing. Dancing with open windows!\mbox{---}
I am sure, neither your father nor Mrs.\ Weston (poor Miss Taylor
that was) would suffer it.''

{}``Ah!\ sir\mbox{---}but a thoughtless young person will sometimes
step behind a window-curtain, and throw up a sash, without its being
suspected. I have often known it done myself.''

{}``Have you indeed, sir?\mbox{---} Bless me! I never could have
supposed it. But I live out of the world, and am often astonished
at what I hear. However, this does make a difference; and, perhaps,
when we come to talk it over\mbox{---}but these sort of things require
a good deal of consideration. One cannot resolve upon them in a hurry.
If Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston will be so obliging as to call here one
morning, we may talk it over, and see what can be done.''

{}``But, unfortunately, sir, my time is so limited\mbox{---}''

{}``Oh!''\ interrupted Emma, {}``there will be plenty of time
for talking every thing over. There is no hurry at all. If it can
be contrived to be at the Crown, papa, it will be very convenient
for the horses. They will be so near their own stable.''

{}``So they will, my dear. That is a great thing. Not that James
ever complains; but it is right to spare our horses when we can. If
I could be sure of the rooms being thoroughly aired\mbox{---}but
is Mrs.\ Stokes to be trusted? I doubt it. I do not know her, even
by sight.''

{}``I can answer for every thing of that nature, sir, because it
will be under Mrs.\ Weston's care. Mrs.\ Weston undertakes to direct
the whole.''

{}``There, papa!\mbox{---} Now you must be satisfied\mbox{---}Our
own dear Mrs.\ Weston, who is carefulness itself. Do not you remember
what Mr.\ Perry said, so many years ago, when I had the measles?
`If \emph{Miss Taylor} undertakes to wrap Miss Emma up, you need not
have any fears, sir.' How often have I heard you speak of it as such
a compliment to her!''\ 

{}``Aye, very true. Mr.\ Perry did say so. I shall never forget
it. Poor little Emma! You were very bad with the measles; that is,
you would have been very bad, but for Perry's great attention. He
came four times a day for a week. He said, from the first, it was
a very good sort\mbox{---}which was our great comfort; but the measles
are a dreadful complaint. I hope whenever poor Isabella's little ones
have the measles, she will send for Perry.''

{}``My father and Mrs.\ Weston are at the Crown at this moment,''
said Frank Churchill, {}``examining the capabilities of the house.
I left them there and came on to Hartfield, impatient for your opinion,
and hoping you might be persuaded to join them and give your advice
on the spot. I was desired to say so from both. It would be the greatest
pleasure to them, if you could allow me to attend you there. They
can do nothing satisfactorily without you.''

Emma was most happy to be called to such a council; and her father,
engaging to think it all over while she was gone, the two young people
set off together without delay for the Crown. There were Mr.\ and
Mrs.\ Weston; delighted to see her and receive her approbation, very
busy and very happy in their different way; she, in some little distress;
and he, finding every thing perfect.

{}``Emma,'' said she, {}``this paper is worse than I expected.
Look!\ in places you see it is dreadfully dirty; and the wainscot
is more yellow and forlorn than any thing I could have imagined.''

{}``My dear, you are too particular,'' said her husband. {}``What
does all that signify? You will see nothing of it by candlelight.
It will be as clean as Randalls by candlelight. We never see any thing
of it on our club-nights.''

The ladies here probably exchanged looks which meant, {}``Men never
know when things are dirty or not;'' and the gentlemen perhaps thought
each to himself, {}``Women will have their little nonsenses and needless
cares.''

One perplexity, however, arose, which the gentlemen did not disdain.
It regarded a supper-room. At the time of the ballroom's being built,
suppers had not been in question; and a small card-room adjoining,
was the only addition. What was to be done? This card-room would be
wanted as a card-room now; or, if cards were conveniently voted unnecessary
by their four selves, still was it not too small for any comfortable
supper? Another room of much better size might be secured for the
purpose; but it was at the other end of the house, and a long awkward
passage must be gone through to get at it. This made a difficulty.
Mrs.\ Weston was afraid of draughts for the young people in that
passage; and neither Emma nor the gentlemen could tolerate the prospect
of being miserably crowded at supper.

Mrs.\ Weston proposed having no regular supper; merely sandwiches,
\&c., set out in the little room; but that was scouted as a wretched
suggestion. A private dance, without sitting down to supper, was pronounced
an infamous fraud upon the rights of men and women; and Mrs.\ Weston
must not speak of it again. She then took another line of expediency,
and looking into the doubtful room, observed,

{}``I do not think it is so very small. We shall not be many, you
know.''

And Mr.\ Weston at the same time, walking briskly with long steps
through the passage, was calling out,

{}``You talk a great deal of the length of this passage, my dear.
It is a mere nothing after all; and not the least draught from the
stairs.''

{}``I wish,'' said Mrs.\ Weston, {}``one could know which arrangement
our guests in general would like best. To do what would be most generally
pleasing must be our object\mbox{---}if one could but tell what that
would be.''

{}``Yes, very true,'' cried Frank, {}``very true. You want your
neighbours' opinions. I do not wonder at you. If one could ascertain
what the chief of them\mbox{---}the Coles, for instance. They are
not far off. Shall I call upon them? Or Miss Bates? She is still nearer.\mbox{---}
And I do not know whether Miss Bates is not as likely to understand
the inclinations of the rest of the people as any body. I think we
do want a larger council. Suppose I go and invite Miss Bates to join
us?''\ 

{}``Well\mbox{---}if you please,'' said Mrs.\ Weston rather hesitating,
{}``if you think she will be of any use.''

{}``You will get nothing to the purpose from Miss Bates,'' said
Emma. {}``She will be all delight and gratitude, but she will tell
you nothing. She will not even listen to your questions. I see no
advantage in consulting Miss Bates.''

{}``But she is so amusing, so extremely amusing! I am very fond of
hearing Miss Bates talk. And I need not bring the whole family, you
know.''

Here Mr.\ Weston joined them, and on hearing what was proposed, gave
it his decided approbation.

{}``Aye, do, Frank.\mbox{---} Go and fetch Miss Bates, and let us
end the matter at once. She will enjoy the scheme, I am sure; and
I do not know a properer person for shewing us how to do away difficulties.
Fetch Miss Bates. We are growing a little too nice. She is a standing
lesson of how to be happy. But fetch them both. Invite them both.''

{}``Both sir! Can the old lady?''\ldots{}

{}``The old lady! No, the young lady, to be sure. I shall think you
a great blockhead, Frank, if you bring the aunt without the niece.''

{}``Oh!\ I beg your pardon, sir. I did not immediately recollect.
Undoubtedly if you wish it, I will endeavour to persuade them both.''
And away he ran.

Long before he reappeared, attending the short, neat, brisk-moving
aunt, and her elegant niece,\mbox{---}Mrs.\ Weston, like a sweet-tempered
woman and a good wife, had examined the passage again, and found the
evils of it much less than she had supposed before\mbox{---}indeed
very trifling; and here ended the difficulties of decision. All the
rest, in speculation at least, was perfectly smooth. All the minor
arrangements of table and chair, lights and music, tea and supper,
made themselves; or were left as mere trifles to be settled at any
time between Mrs.\ Weston and Mrs.\ Stokes.\mbox{---} Every body
invited, was certainly to come; Frank had already written to Enscombe
to propose staying a few days beyond his fortnight, which could not
possibly be refused. And a delightful dance it was to be.

Most cordially, when Miss Bates arrived, did she agree that it must.
As a counsellor she was not wanted; but as an approver, (a much safer
character,) she was truly welcome. Her approbation, at once general
and minute, warm and incessant, could not but please; and for another
half-hour they were all walking to and fro, between the different
rooms, some suggesting, some attending, and all in happy enjoyment
of the future. The party did not break up without Emma's being positively
secured for the two first dances by the hero of the evening, nor without
her overhearing Mr.\ Weston whisper to his wife, {}``He has asked
her, my dear. That's right. I knew he would!''\ 


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XII}

One thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the ball completely
satisfactory to Emma\mbox{---}its being fixed for a day within the
granted term of Frank Churchill's stay in Surry; for, in spite of
Mr.\ Weston's confidence, she could not think it so very impossible
that the Churchills might not allow their nephew to remain a day beyond
his fortnight. But this was not judged feasible. The preparations
must take their time, nothing could be properly ready till the third
week were entered on, and for a few days they must be planning, proceeding
and hoping in uncertainty\mbox{---}at the risk\mbox{---}in her opinion,
the great risk, of its being all in vain.

Enscombe however was gracious, gracious in fact, if not in word. His
wish of staying longer evidently did not please; but it was not opposed.
All was safe and prosperous; and as the removal of one solicitude
generally makes way for another, Emma, being now certain of her ball,
began to adopt as the next vexation Mr.\ Knightley's provoking indifference
about it. Either because he did not dance himself, or because the
plan had been formed without his being consulted, he seemed resolved
that it should not interest him, determined against its exciting any
present curiosity, or affording him any future amusement. To her voluntary
communications Emma could get no more approving reply, than,

{}``Very well. If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this
trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to
say against it, but that they shall not chuse pleasures for me.\mbox{---}
Oh!\ yes, I must be there; I could not refuse; and I will keep as
much awake as I can; but I would rather be at home, looking over William
Larkins's week's account; much rather, I confess.\mbox{---} Pleasure
in seeing dancing!\mbox{---}not I, indeed\mbox{---}I never look
at it\mbox{---}I do not know who does.\mbox{---} Fine dancing, I
believe, like virtue, must be its own reward. Those who are standing
by are usually thinking of something very different.''

This Emma felt was aimed at her; and it made her quite angry. It was
not in compliment to Jane Fairfax however that he was so indifferent,
or so indignant; he was not guided by \emph{her} feelings in reprobating
the ball, for \emph{she} enjoyed the thought of it to an extraordinary
degree. It made her animated\mbox{---}open hearted\mbox{---}she
voluntarily said;\mbox{---}

{}``Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to prevent the
ball. What a disappointment it would be! I do look forward to it,
I own, with very great pleasure.''

It was not to oblige Jane Fairfax therefore that he would have preferred
the society of William Larkins. No!\mbox{---}she was more and more
convinced that Mrs.\ Weston was quite mistaken in that surmise. There
was a great deal of friendly and of compassionate attachment on his
side\mbox{---}but no love.

Alas!\ there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr.\ Knightley.
Two days of joyful security were immediately followed by the over-throw
of every thing. A letter arrived from Mr.\ Churchill to urge his
nephew's instant return. Mrs.\ Churchill was unwell\mbox{---}far
too unwell to do without him; she had been in a very suffering state
(so said her husband) when writing to her nephew two days before,
though from her usual unwillingness to give pain, and constant habit
of never thinking of herself, she had not mentioned it; but now she
was too ill to trifle, and must entreat him to set off for Enscombe
without delay.

The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in a note from
Mrs.\ Weston, instantly. As to his going, it was inevitable. He must
be gone within a few hours, though without feeling any real alarm
for his aunt, to lessen his repugnance. He knew her illnesses; they
never occurred but for her own convenience.

Mrs.\ Weston added, {}``that he could only allow himself time to
hurry to Highbury, after breakfast, and take leave of the few friends
there whom he could suppose to feel any interest in him; and that
he might be expected at Hartfield very soon.''

This wretched note was the finale of Emma's breakfast. When once it
had been read, there was no doing any thing, but lament and exclaim.
The loss of the ball\mbox{---}the loss of the young man\mbox{---}and
all that the young man might be feeling!\mbox{---} It was too wretched!\mbox{---}
Such a delightful evening as it would have been!\mbox{---} Every
body so happy!\ and she and her partner the happiest!\mbox{---}
{}``I said it would be so,'' was the only consolation.

Her father's feelings were quite distinct. He thought principally
of Mrs.\ Churchill's illness, and wanted to know how she was treated;
and as for the ball, it was shocking to have dear Emma disappointed;
but they would all be safer at home.

Emma was ready for her visitor some time before he appeared; but if
this reflected at all upon his impatience, his sorrowful look and
total want of spirits when he did come might redeem him. He felt the
going away almost too much to speak of it. His dejection was most
evident. He sat really lost in thought for the first few minutes;
and when rousing himself, it was only to say,

{}``Of all horrid things, leave-taking is the worst.''

{}``But you will come again,'' said Emma. {}``This will not be
your only visit to Randalls.''

{}``Ah!''---(shaking his head)\mbox{---}{}``the uncertainty of
when I may be able to return!\mbox{---} I shall try for it with a
zeal!\mbox{---} It will be the object of all my thoughts and cares!\mbox{---}and
if my uncle and aunt go to town this spring\mbox{---}but I am afraid\mbox{---}they
did not stir last spring\mbox{---}I am afraid it is a custom gone
for ever.''

{}``Our poor ball must be quite given up.''

{}``Ah!\ that ball!\mbox{---}why did we wait for any thing?\mbox{---}why
not seize the pleasure at once?\mbox{---} How often is happiness
destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!\mbox{---} You told
us it would be so.\mbox{---} Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse, why are you always
so right?''\ 

{}``Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance. I would
much rather have been merry than wise.''

{}``If I can come again, we are still to have our ball. My father
depends on it. Do not forget your engagement.''

Emma looked graciously.

{}``Such a fortnight as it has been!''\ he continued; {}``every
day more precious and more delightful than the day before!\mbox{---}every
day making me less fit to bear any other place. Happy those, who can
remain at Highbury!''\ 

{}``As you do us such ample justice now,'' said Emma, laughing,
{}``I will venture to ask, whether you did not come a little doubtfully
at first? Do not we rather surpass your expectations? I am sure we
do. I am sure you did not much expect to like us. You would not have
been so long in coming, if you had had a pleasant idea of Highbury.''

He laughed rather consciously; and though denying the sentiment, Emma
was convinced that it had been so.

{}``And you must be off this very morning?''\ 

{}``Yes; my father is to join me here: we shall walk back together,
and I must be off immediately. I am almost afraid that every moment
will bring him.''

{}``Not five minutes to spare even for your friends Miss Fairfax
and Miss Bates? How unlucky! Miss Bates's powerful, argumentative
mind might have strengthened yours.''

{}``Yes\mbox{---}I \emph{have} called there; passing the door, I
thought it better. It was a right thing to do. I went in for three
minutes, and was detained by Miss Bates's being absent. She was out;
and I felt it impossible not to wait till she came in. She is a woman
that one may, that one \emph{must} laugh at; but that one would not
wish to slight. It was better to pay my visit, then''---

He hesitated, got up, walked to a window.

{}``In short,'' said he, {}``perhaps, Miss Woodhouse\mbox{---}I
think you can hardly be quite without suspicion''---

He looked at her, as if wanting to read her thoughts. She hardly knew
what to say. It seemed like the forerunner of something absolutely
serious, which she did not wish. Forcing herself to speak, therefore,
in the hope of putting it by, she calmly said,

{}``You are quite in the right; it was most natural to pay your visit,
then''---

He was silent. She believed he was looking at her; probably reflecting
on what she had said, and trying to understand the manner. She heard
him sigh. It was natural for him to feel that he had \emph{cause}
to sigh. He could not believe her to be encouraging him. A few awkward
moments passed, and he sat down again; and in a more determined manner
said,

{}``It was something to feel that all the rest of my time might be
given to Hartfield. My regard for Hartfield is most warm''---

He stopt again, rose again, and seemed quite embarrassed.\mbox{---}
He was more in love with her than Emma had supposed; and who can say
how it might have ended, if his father had not made his appearance?
Mr.\ Woodhouse soon followed; and the necessity of exertion made
him composed.

A very few minutes more, however, completed the present trial. Mr.\ Weston,
always alert when business was to be done, and as incapable of procrastinating
any evil that was inevitable, as of foreseeing any that was doubtful,
said, {}``It was time to go;'' and the young man, though he might
and did sigh, could not but agree, to take leave.

{}``I shall hear about you all,'' said he; {}``that is my chief
consolation. I shall hear of every thing that is going on among you.
I have engaged Mrs.\ Weston to correspond with me. She has been so
kind as to promise it. Oh!\ the blessing of a female correspondent,
when one is really interested in the absent!\mbox{---}she will tell
me every thing. In her letters I shall be at dear Highbury again.''

A very friendly shake of the hand, a very earnest {}``Good-bye,''
closed the speech, and the door had soon shut out Frank Churchill.
Short had been the notice\mbox{---}short their meeting; he was gone;
and Emma felt so sorry to part, and foresaw so great a loss to their
little society from his absence as to begin to be afraid of being
too sorry, and feeling it too much.

It was a sad change. They had been meeting almost every day since
his arrival. Certainly his being at Randalls had given great spirit
to the last two weeks\mbox{---}indescribable spirit; the idea, the
expectation of seeing him which every morning had brought, the assurance
of his attentions, his liveliness, his manners! It had been a very
happy fortnight, and forlorn must be the sinking from it into the
common course of Hartfield days. To complete every other recommendation,
he had \emph{almost} told her that he loved her. What strength, or
what constancy of affection he might be subject to, was another point;
but at present she could not doubt his having a decidedly warm admiration,
a conscious preference of herself; and this persuasion, joined to
all the rest, made her think that she \emph{must} be a little in love
with him, in spite of every previous determination against it.

{}``I certainly must,'' said she. {}``This sensation of listlessness,
weariness, stupidity, this disinclination to sit down and employ myself,
this feeling of every thing's being dull and insipid about the house!\mbox{---}
I must be in love; I should be the oddest creature in the world if
I were not\mbox{---}for a few weeks at least. Well!\ evil to some
is always good to others. I shall have many fellow-mourners for the
ball, if not for Frank Churchill; but Mr.\ Knightley will be happy.
He may spend the evening with his dear William Larkins now if he likes.''

Mr.\ Knightley, however, shewed no triumphant happiness. He could
not say that he was sorry on his own account; his very cheerful look
would have contradicted him if he had; but he said, and very steadily,
that he was sorry for the disappointment of the others, and with considerable
kindness added,

{}``You, Emma, who have so few opportunities of dancing, you are
really out of luck; you are very much out of luck!''\ 

It was some days before she saw Jane Fairfax, to judge of her honest
regret in this woeful change; but when they did meet, her composure
was odious. She had been particularly unwell, however, suffering from
headache to a degree, which made her aunt declare, that had the ball
taken place, she did not think Jane could have attended it; and it
was charity to impute some of her unbecoming indifference to the languor
of ill-health.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XIII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XIII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XIII}

Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love. Her ideas
only varied as to the how much. At first, she thought it was a good
deal; and afterwards, but little. She had great pleasure in hearing
Frank Churchill talked of; and, for his sake, greater pleasure than
ever in seeing Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston; she was very often thinking
of him, and quite impatient for a letter, that she might know how
he was, how were his spirits, how was his aunt, and what was the chance
of his coming to Randalls again this spring. But, on the other hand,
she could not admit herself to be unhappy, nor, after the first morning,
to be less disposed for employment than usual; she was still busy
and cheerful; and, pleasing as he was, she could yet imagine him to
have faults; and farther, though thinking of him so much, and, as
she sat drawing or working, forming a thousand amusing schemes for
the progress and close of their attachment, fancying interesting dialogues,
and inventing elegant letters; the conclusion of every imaginary declaration
on his side was that she \emph{refused him}. Their affection was always
to subside into friendship. Every thing tender and charming was to
mark their parting; but still they were to part. When she became sensible
of this, it struck her that she could not be very much in love; for
in spite of her previous and fixed determination never to quit her
father, never to marry, a strong attachment certainly must produce
more of a struggle than she could foresee in her own feelings.

{}``I do not find myself making any use of the word \emph{sacrifice},''
said she.\mbox{---} {}``In not one of all my clever replies, my
delicate negatives, is there any allusion to making a sacrifice. I
do suspect that he is not really necessary to my happiness. So much
the better. I certainly will not persuade myself to feel more than
I do. I am quite enough in love. I should be sorry to be more.''

Upon the whole, she was equally contented with her view of his feelings.

{}``\emph{He} is undoubtedly very much in love\mbox{---}every thing
denotes it\mbox{---}very much in love indeed!\mbox{---}and when
he comes again, if his affection continue, I must be on my guard not
to encourage it.\mbox{---} It would be most inexcusable to do otherwise,
as my own mind is quite made up. Not that I imagine he can think I
have been encouraging him hitherto. No, if he had believed me at all
to share his feelings, he would not have been so wretched. Could he
have thought himself encouraged, his looks and language at parting
would have been different.\mbox{---} Still, however, I must be on
my guard. This is in the supposition of his attachment continuing
what it now is; but I do not know that I expect it will; I do not
look upon him to be quite the sort of man\mbox{---}I do not altogether
build upon his steadiness or constancy.\mbox{--}-- His feelings are
warm, but I can imagine them rather changeable.\mbox{---} Every consideration
of the subject, in short, makes me thankful that my happiness is not
more deeply involved.\mbox{---} I shall do very well again after
a little while\mbox{---}and then, it will be a good thing over; for
they say every body is in love once in their lives, and I shall have
been let off easily.''

When his letter to Mrs.\ Weston arrived, Emma had the perusal of
it; and she read it with a degree of pleasure and admiration which
made her at first shake her head over her own sensations, and think
she had undervalued their strength. It was a long, well-written letter,
giving the particulars of his journey and of his feelings, expressing
all the affection, gratitude, and respect which was natural and honourable,
and describing every thing exterior and local that could be supposed
attractive, with spirit and precision. No suspicious flourishes now
of apology or concern; it was the language of real feeling towards
Mrs.\ Weston; and the transition from Highbury to Enscombe, the contrast
between the places in some of the first blessings of social life was
just enough touched on to shew how keenly it was felt, and how much
more might have been said but for the restraints of propriety.\mbox{---}
The charm of her own name was not wanting. \emph{Miss Woodhouse} appeared
more than once, and never without a something of pleasing connexion,
either a compliment to her taste, or a remembrance of what she had
said; and in the very last time of its meeting her eye, unadorned
as it was by any such broad wreath of gallantry, she yet could discern
the effect of her influence and acknowledge the greatest compliment
perhaps of all conveyed. Compressed into the very lowest vacant corner
were these words\mbox{---}{}``I had not a spare moment on Tuesday,
as you know, for Miss Woodhouse's beautiful little friend. Pray make
my excuses and \emph{adieu}s to her.'' This, Emma could not doubt,
was all for herself. Harriet was remembered only from being \emph{her}
friend. His information and prospects as to Enscombe were neither
worse nor better than had been anticipated; Mrs.\ Churchill was recovering,
and he dared not yet, even in his own imagination, fix a time for
coming to Randalls again.

Gratifying, however, and stimulative as was the letter in the material
part, its sentiments, she yet found, when it was folded up and returned
to Mrs.\ Weston, that it had not added any lasting warmth, that she
could still do without the writer, and that he must learn to do without
her. Her intentions were unchanged. Her resolution of refusal only
grew more interesting by the addition of a scheme for his subsequent
consolation and happiness. His recollection of Harriet, and the words
which clothed it, the {}``beautiful little friend,'' suggested to
her the idea of Harriet's succeeding her in his affections. Was it
impossible?\mbox{---} No.\mbox{---} Harriet undoubtedly was greatly
his inferior in understanding; but he had been very much struck with
the loveliness of her face and the warm simplicity of her manner;
and all the probabilities of circumstance and connexion were in her
favour.\mbox{---} For Harriet, it would be advantageous and delightful
indeed.

{}``I must not dwell upon it,'' said she.\mbox{---} {}``I must
not think of it. I know the danger of indulging such speculations.
But stranger things have happened; and when we cease to care for each
other as we do now, it will be the means of confirming us in that
sort of true disinterested friendship which I can already look forward
to with pleasure.''

It was well to have a comfort in store on Harriet's behalf, though
it might be wise to let the fancy touch it seldom; for evil in that
quarter was at hand. As Frank Churchill's arrival had succeeded Mr.\ Elton's
engagement in the conversation of Highbury, as the latest interest
had entirely borne down the first, so now upon Frank Churchill's disappearance,
Mr.\ Elton's concerns were assuming the most irresistible form.\mbox{---}
His wedding-day was named. He would soon be among them again; Mr.\ Elton
and his bride. There was hardly time to talk over the first letter
from Enscombe before {}``Mr.\ Elton and his bride'' was in every
body's mouth, and Frank Churchill was forgotten. Emma grew sick at
the sound. She had had three weeks of happy exemption from Mr.\ Elton;
and Harriet's mind, she had been willing to hope, had been lately
gaining strength. With Mr.\ Weston's ball in view at least, there
had been a great deal of insensibility to other things; but it was
now too evident that she had not attained such a state of composure
as could stand against the actual approach\mbox{---}new carriage,
bell-ringing, and all.

Poor Harriet was in a flutter of spirits which required all the reasonings
and soothings and attentions of every kind that Emma could give. Emma
felt that she could not do too much for her, that Harriet had a right
to all her ingenuity and all her patience; but it was heavy work to
be for ever convincing without producing any effect, for ever agreed
to, without being able to make their opinions the same. Harriet listened
submissively, and said {}``it was very true\mbox{---}it was just
as Miss Woodhouse described\mbox{---}it was not worth while to think
about them\mbox{---}and she would not think about them any longer''
but no change of subject could avail, and the next half-hour saw her
as anxious and restless about the Eltons as before. At last Emma attacked
her on another ground.

{}``Your allowing yourself to be so occupied and so unhappy about
Mr.\ Elton's marrying, Harriet, is the strongest reproach you can
make \emph{me}. You could not give me a greater reproof for the mistake
I fell into. It was all my doing, I know. I have not forgotten it,
I assure you.\mbox{---} Deceived myself, I did very miserably deceive
you\mbox{---}and it will be a painful reflection to me for ever.
Do not imagine me in danger of forgetting it.''

Harriet felt this too much to utter more than a few words of eager
exclamation. Emma continued,

{}``I have not said, exert yourself Harriet for my sake; think less,
talk less of Mr.\ Elton for my sake; because for your own sake rather,
I would wish it to be done, for the sake of what is more important
than my comfort, a habit of self-command in you, a consideration of
what is your duty, an attention to propriety, an endeavour to avoid
the suspicions of others, to save your health and credit, and restore
your tranquillity. These are the motives which I have been pressing
on you. They are very important\mbox{---}and sorry I am that you
cannot feel them sufficiently to act upon them. My being saved from
pain is a very secondary consideration. I want you to save yourself
from greater pain. Perhaps I may sometimes have felt that Harriet
would not forget what was due\mbox{---}or rather what would be kind
by me.''

This appeal to her affections did more than all the rest. The idea
of wanting gratitude and consideration for Miss Woodhouse, whom she
really loved extremely, made her wretched for a while, and when the
violence of grief was comforted away, still remained powerful enough
to prompt to what was right and support her in it very tolerably.

{}``You, who have been the best friend I ever had in my life\mbox{---}Want
gratitude to you!\mbox{---} Nobody is equal to you!\mbox{---} I
care for nobody as I do for you!\mbox{---} Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse,
how ungrateful I have been!''\ 

Such expressions, assisted as they were by every thing that look and
manner could do, made Emma feel that she had never loved Harriet so
well, nor valued her affection so highly before.

{}``There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart,'' said she afterwards
to herself. {}``There is nothing to be compared to it. Warmth and
tenderness of heart, with an affectionate, open manner, will beat
all the clearness of head in the world, for attraction, I am sure
it will. It is tenderness of heart which makes my dear father so generally
beloved\mbox{---}which gives Isabella all her popularity.\mbox{---}
I have it not\mbox{---}but I know how to prize and respect it.\mbox{---}
Harriet is my superior in all the charm and all the felicity it gives.
Dear Harriet!\mbox{---} I would not change you for the clearest-headed,
longest-sighted, best-judging female breathing. Oh!\ the coldness
of a Jane Fairfax!\mbox{---} Harriet is worth a hundred such\mbox{---}And
for a wife\mbox{---}a sensible man's wife\mbox{---}it is invaluable.
I mention no names; but happy the man who changes Emma for Harriet!''\ 


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XIV}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XIV}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XIV}

Mrs.\ Elton was first seen at church: but though devotion might be
interrupted, curiosity could not be satisfied by a bride in a pew,
and it must be left for the visits in form which were then to be paid,
to settle whether she were very pretty indeed, or only rather pretty,
or not pretty at all.

Emma had feelings, less of curiosity than of pride or propriety, to
make her resolve on not being the last to pay her respects; and she
made a point of Harriet's going with her, that the worst of the business
might be gone through as soon as possible.

She could not enter the house again, could not be in the same room
to which she had with such vain artifice retreated three months ago,
to lace up her boot, without \emph{recollecting}. A thousand vexatious
thoughts would recur. Compliments, charades, and horrible blunders;
and it was not to be supposed that poor Harriet should not be recollecting
too; but she behaved very well, and was only rather pale and silent.
The visit was of course short; and there was so much embarrassment
and occupation of mind to shorten it, that Emma would not allow herself
entirely to form an opinion of the lady, and on no account to give
one, beyond the nothing-meaning terms of being {}``elegantly dressed,
and very pleasing.''

She did not really like her. She would not be in a hurry to find fault,
but she suspected that there was no elegance;\mbox{---}ease, but
not elegance.\mbox{---} She was almost sure that for a young woman,
a stranger, a bride, there was too much ease. Her person was rather
good; her face not unpretty; but neither feature, nor air, nor voice,
nor manner, were elegant. Emma thought at least it would turn out
so.

As for Mr.\ Elton, his manners did not appear\mbox{---}but no, she
would not permit a hasty or a witty word from herself about his manners.
It was an awkward ceremony at any time to be receiving wedding visits,
and a man had need be all grace to acquit himself well through it.
The woman was better off; she might have the assistance of fine clothes,
and the privilege of bashfulness, but the man had only his own good
sense to depend on; and when she considered how peculiarly unlucky
poor Mr.\ Elton was in being in the same room at once with the woman
he had just married, the woman he had wanted to marry, and the woman
whom he had been expected to marry, she must allow him to have the
right to look as little wise, and to be as much affectedly, and as
little really easy as could be.

{}``Well, Miss Woodhouse,'' said Harriet, when they had quitted
the house, and after waiting in vain for her friend to begin; {}``Well,
Miss Woodhouse, (with a gentle sigh,) what do you think of her?\mbox{---}
Is not she very charming?''\ 

There was a little hesitation in Emma's answer.

{}``Oh!\ yes \mbox{---} very \mbox{---} a very pleasing young
woman.''

{}``I think her beautiful, quite beautiful.''

{}``Very nicely dressed, indeed; a remarkably elegant gown.''

{}``I am not at all surprized that he should have fallen in love.''

{}``Oh!\ no\mbox{---}there is nothing to surprize one at all.\mbox{---}
A pretty fortune; and she came in his way.''

{}``I dare say,'' returned Harriet, sighing again, {}``I dare say
she was very much attached to him.''

{}``Perhaps she might; but it is not every man's fate to marry the
woman who loves him best. Miss Hawkins perhaps wanted a home, and
thought this the best offer she was likely to have.''

{}``Yes,'' said Harriet earnestly, {}``and well she might, nobody
could ever have a better. Well, I wish them happy with all my heart.
And now, Miss Woodhouse, I do not think I shall mind seeing them again.
He is just as superior as ever;\mbox{---}but being married, you know,
it is quite a different thing. No, indeed, Miss Woodhouse, you need
not be afraid; I can sit and admire him now without any great misery.
To know that he has not thrown himself away, is such a comfort!\mbox{---}
She does seem a charming young woman, just what he deserves. Happy
creature! He called her `Augusta.' How delightful!''\ 

When the visit was returned, Emma made up her mind. She could then
see more and judge better. From Harriet's happening not to be at Hartfield,
and her father's being present to engage Mr.\ Elton, she had a quarter
of an hour of the lady's conversation to herself, and could composedly
attend to her; and the quarter of an hour quite convinced her that
Mrs.\ Elton was a vain woman, extremely well satisfied with herself,
and thinking much of her own importance; that she meant to shine and
be very superior, but with manners which had been formed in a bad
school, pert and familiar; that all her notions were drawn from one
set of people, and one style of living; that if not foolish she was
ignorant, and that her society would certainly do Mr.\ Elton no good.

Harriet would have been a better match. If not wise or refined herself,
she would have connected him with those who were; but Miss Hawkins,
it might be fairly supposed from her easy conceit, had been the best
of her own set. The rich brother-in-law near Bristol was the pride
of the alliance, and his place and his carriages were the pride of
him.

The very first subject after being seated was Maple Grove, {}``My
brother Mr.\ Suckling's seat;''---a comparison of Hartfield to Maple
Grove. The grounds of Hartfield were small, but neat and pretty; and
the house was modern and well-built. Mrs.\ Elton seemed most favourably
impressed by the size of the room, the entrance, and all that she
could see or imagine. {}``Very like Maple Grove indeed!\mbox{---}
She was quite struck by the likeness!\mbox{---} That room was the
very shape and size of the morning-room at Maple Grove; her sister's
favourite room.''---Mr.\ Elton was appealed to.\mbox{---} {}``Was
not it astonishingly like?\mbox{---} She could really almost fancy
herself at Maple Grove.''

{}``And the staircase\mbox{---}You know, as I came in, I observed
how very like the staircase was; placed exactly in the same part of
the house. I really could not help exclaiming! I assure you, Miss
Woodhouse, it is very delightful to me, to be reminded of a place
I am so extremely partial to as Maple Grove. I have spent so many
happy months there!'' (with a little sigh of sentiment). {}``A charming
place, undoubtedly. Every body who sees it is struck by its beauty;
but to me, it has been quite a home. Whenever you are transplanted,
like me, Miss Woodhouse, you will understand how very delightful it
is to meet with any thing at all like what one has left behind. I
always say this is quite one of the evils of matrimony.''

Emma made as slight a reply as she could; but it was fully sufficient
for Mrs.\ Elton, who only wanted to be talking herself.

{}``So extremely like Maple Grove! And it is not merely the house\mbox{---}the
grounds, I assure you, as far as I could observe, are strikingly like.
The laurels at Maple Grove are in the same profusion as here, and
stand very much in the same way\mbox{---}just across the lawn; and
I had a glimpse of a fine large tree, with a bench round it, which
put me so exactly in mind! My brother and sister will be enchanted
with this place. People who have extensive grounds themselves are
always pleased with any thing in the same style.''

Emma doubted the truth of this sentiment. She had a great idea that
people who had extensive grounds themselves cared very little for
the extensive grounds of any body else; but it was not worth while
to attack an error so double-dyed, and therefore only said in reply,

{}``When you have seen more of this country, I am afraid you will
think you have overrated Hartfield. Surry is full of beauties.''

{}``Oh!\ yes, I am quite aware of that. It is the garden of England,
you know. Surry is the garden of England.''

{}``Yes; but we must not rest our claims on that distinction. Many
counties, I believe, are called the garden of England, as well as
Surry.''

{}``No, I fancy not,'' replied Mrs.\ Elton, with a most satisfied
smile. {}``I never heard any county but Surry called so.''

Emma was silenced.

{}``My brother and sister have promised us a visit in the spring,
or summer at farthest,'' continued Mrs.\ Elton; {}``and that will
be our time for exploring. While they are with us, we shall explore
a great deal, I dare say. They will have their barouche-landau, of
course, which holds four perfectly; and therefore, without saying
any thing of \emph{our} carriage, we should be able to explore the
different beauties extremely well. They would hardly come in their
chaise, I think, at that season of the year. Indeed, when the time
draws on, I shall decidedly recommend their bringing the barouche-landau;
it will be so very much preferable. When people come into a beautiful
country of this sort, you know, Miss Woodhouse, one naturally wishes
them to see as much as possible; and Mr.\ Suckling is extremely fond
of exploring. We explored to King's-Weston twice last summer, in that
way, most delightfully, just after their first having the barouche-landau.
You have many parties of that kind here, I suppose, Miss Woodhouse,
every summer?''\ 

{}``No; not immediately here. We are rather out of distance of the
very striking beauties which attract the sort of parties you speak
of; and we are a very quiet set of people, I believe; more disposed
to stay at home than engage in schemes of pleasure.''

{}``Ah!\ there is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.
Nobody can be more devoted to home than I am. I was quite a proverb
for it at Maple Grove. Many a time has Selina said, when she has been
going to Bristol, `I really cannot get this girl to move from the
house. I absolutely must go in by myself, though I hate being stuck
up in the barouche-landau without a companion; but Augusta, I believe,
with her own good-will, would never stir beyond the park paling.'
Many a time has she said so; and yet I am no advocate for entire seclusion.
I think, on the contrary, when people shut themselves up entirely
from society, it is a very bad thing; and that it is much more advisable
to mix in the world in a proper degree, without living in it either
too much or too little. I perfectly understand your situation, however,
Miss Woodhouse''---(looking towards Mr.\ Woodhouse), {}``Your father's
state of health must be a great drawback. Why does not he try Bath?\mbox{---}
Indeed he should. Let me recommend Bath to you. I assure you I have
no doubt of its doing Mr.\ Woodhouse good.''

{}``My father tried it more than once, formerly; but without receiving
any benefit; and Mr.\ Perry, whose name, I dare say, is not unknown
to you, does not conceive it would be at all more likely to be useful
now.''

{}``Ah!\ that's a great pity; for I assure you, Miss Woodhouse,
where the waters do agree, it is quite wonderful the relief they give.
In my Bath life, I have seen such instances of it! And it is so cheerful
a place, that it could not fail of being of use to Mr.\ Woodhouse's
spirits, which, I understand, are sometimes much depressed. And as
to its recommendations to \emph{you}, I fancy I need not take much
pains to dwell on them. The advantages of Bath to the young are pretty
generally understood. It would be a charming introduction for you,
who have lived so secluded a life; and I could immediately secure
you some of the best society in the place. A line from me would bring
you a little host of acquaintance; and my particular friend, Mrs.\ Partridge,
the lady I have always resided with when in Bath, would be most happy
to shew you any attentions, and would be the very person for you to
go into public with.''

It was as much as Emma could bear, without being impolite. The idea
of her being indebted to Mrs.\ Elton for what was called an \emph{introduction}---of
her going into public under the auspices of a friend of Mrs.\ Elton's\mbox{---}probably
some vulgar, dashing widow, who, with the help of a boarder, just
made a shift to live!\mbox{---} The dignity of Miss Woodhouse, of
Hartfield, was sunk indeed!

She restrained herself, however, from any of the reproofs she could
have given, and only thanked Mrs.\ Elton coolly; {}``but their going
to Bath was quite out of the question; and she was not perfectly convinced
that the place might suit her better than her father.'' And then,
to prevent farther outrage and indignation, changed the subject directly.

{}``I do not ask whether you are musical, Mrs.\ Elton. Upon these
occasions, a lady's character generally precedes her; and Highbury
has long known that you are a superior performer.''

{}``Oh!\ no, indeed; I must protest against any such idea. A superior
performer!\mbox{---}very far from it, I assure you. Consider from
how partial a quarter your information came. I am doatingly fond of
music\mbox{---}passionately fond;\mbox{---}and my friends say I
am not entirely devoid of taste; but as to any thing else, upon my
honour my performance is \emph{mediocre} to the last degree. You,
Miss Woodhouse, I well know, play delightfully. I assure you it has
been the greatest satisfaction, comfort, and delight to me, to hear
what a musical society I am got into. I absolutely cannot do without
music. It is a necessary of life to me; and having always been used
to a very musical society, both at Maple Grove and in Bath, it would
have been a most serious sacrifice. I honestly said as much to Mr.\ E.\ when
he was speaking of my future home, and expressing his fears lest the
retirement of it should be disagreeable; and the inferiority of the
house too\mbox{---}knowing what I had been accustomed to\mbox{---}of
course he was not wholly without apprehension. When he was speaking
of it in that way, I honestly said that \emph{the world} I could give
up\mbox{---}parties, balls, plays\mbox{---}for I had no fear of
retirement. Blessed with so many resources within myself, the world
was not necessary to \emph{me}. I could do very well without it. To
those who had no resources it was a different thing; but my resources
made me quite independent. And as to smaller-sized rooms than I had
been used to, I really could not give it a thought. I hoped I was
perfectly equal to any sacrifice of that description. Certainly I
had been accustomed to every luxury at Maple Grove; but I did assure
him that two carriages were not necessary to my happiness, nor were
spacious apartments.\  `But,' said I, `to be quite honest, I do not
think I can live without something of a musical society. I condition
for nothing else; but without music, life would be a blank to me.'''

{}``We cannot suppose,'' said Emma, smiling, {}``that Mr.\ Elton
would hesitate to assure you of there being a \emph{very} musical
society in Highbury; and I hope you will not find he has outstepped
the truth more than may be pardoned, in consideration of the motive.''

{}``No, indeed, I have no doubts at all on that head. I am delighted
to find myself in such a circle. I hope we shall have many sweet little
concerts together. I think, Miss Woodhouse, you and I must establish
a musical club, and have regular weekly meetings at your house, or
ours. Will not it be a good plan? If \emph{we} exert ourselves, I
think we shall not be long in want of allies. Something of that nature
would be particularly desirable for \emph{me}, as an inducement to
keep me in practice; for married women, you know\mbox{---}there is
a sad story against them, in general. They are but too apt to give
up music.''

{}``But you, who are so extremely fond of it\mbox{---}there can
be no danger, surely?''\ 

{}``I should hope not; but really when I look around among my acquaintance,
I tremble. Selina has entirely given up music\mbox{---}never touches
the instrument\mbox{---}though she played sweetly. And the same may
be said of Mrs.\ Jeffereys\mbox{---}Clara Partridge, that was\mbox{---}and
of the two Milmans, now Mrs.\ Bird and Mrs.\ James Cooper; and of
more than I can enumerate. Upon my word it is enough to put one in
a fright. I used to be quite angry with Selina; but really I begin
now to comprehend that a married woman has many things to call her
attention. I believe I was half an hour this morning shut up with
my housekeeper.''

{}``But every thing of that kind,'' said Emma, {}``will soon be
in so regular a train\mbox{---}''

{}``Well,'' said Mrs.\ Elton, laughing, {}``we shall see.''

Emma, finding her so determined upon neglecting her music, had nothing
more to say; and, after a moment's pause, Mrs.\ Elton chose another
subject.

{}``We have been calling at Randalls,'' said she, {}``and found
them both at home; and very pleasant people they seem to be. I like
them extremely. Mr.\ Weston seems an excellent creature\mbox{---}quite
a first-rate favourite with me already, I assure you. And \emph{she}
appears so truly good\mbox{---}there is something so motherly and
kind-hearted about her, that it wins upon one directly. She was your
governess, I think?''\ 

Emma was almost too much astonished to answer; but Mrs.\ Elton hardly
waited for the affirmative before she went on.

{}``Having understood as much, I was rather astonished to find her
so very lady-like! But she is really quite the gentlewoman.''

{}``Mrs.\ Weston's manners,'' said Emma, {}``were always particularly
good. Their propriety, simplicity, and elegance, would make them the
safest model for any young woman.''

{}``And who do you think came in while we were there?''\ 

Emma was quite at a loss. The tone implied some old acquaintance\mbox{---}and
how could she possibly guess?

{}``Knightley!''\ continued Mrs.\ Elton; {}``Knight\-ley himself!\mbox{---}
Was not it lucky?\mbox{---}for, not being within when he called the
other day, I had never seen him before; and of course, as so particular
a friend of Mr.\ E.'s, I had a great curiosity.\  `My friend Knightley'
had been so often mentioned, that I was really impatient to see him;
and I must do my \emph{caro sposo} the justice to say that he need
not be ashamed of his friend. Knightley is quite the gentleman. I
like him very much. Decidedly, I think, a very gentleman-like man.''

Happily, it was now time to be gone. They were off; and Emma could
breathe.

{}``Insufferable woman!''\ was her immediate exclamation. {}``Worse
than I had supposed. Absolutely insufferable! Knightley!\mbox{---}
I could not have believed it. Knightley!\mbox{---}never seen him
in her life before, and call him Knightley!\mbox{---}and discover
that he is a gentleman! A little upstart, vulgar being, with her Mr.\ E.,
and her \emph{caro sposo}, and her resources, and all her airs of
pert pretension and underbred finery. Actually to discover that Mr.\ Knightley
is a gentleman! I doubt whether he will return the compliment, and
discover her to be a lady. I could not have believed it! And to propose
that she and I should unite to form a musical club! One would fancy
we were bosom friends! And Mrs.\ Weston!\mbox{---} Astonished that
the person who had brought me up should be a gentlewoman! Worse and
worse. I never met with her equal. Much beyond my hopes. Harriet is
disgraced by any comparison. Oh!\ what would Frank Churchill say
to her, if he were here? How angry and how diverted he would be! Ah!\ there
I am\mbox{---}thinking of him directly. Always the first person to
be thought of! How I catch myself out! Frank Churchill comes as regularly
into my mind!''---

All this ran so glibly through her thoughts, that by the time her
father had arranged himself, after the bustle of the Eltons' departure,
and was ready to speak, she was very tolerably capable of attending.

{}``Well, my dear,'' he deliberately began, {}``considering we
never saw her before, she seems a very pretty sort of young lady;
and I dare say she was very much pleased with you. She speaks a little
too quick. A little quickness of voice there is which rather hurts
the ear. But I believe I am nice; I do not like strange voices; and
nobody speaks like you and poor Miss Taylor. However, she seems a
very obliging, pretty-behaved young lady, and no doubt will make him
a very good wife. Though I think he had better not have married. I
made the best excuses I could for not having been able to wait on
him and Mrs.\ Elton on this happy occasion; I said that I hoped I
\emph{should} in the course of the summer. But I ought to have gone
before. Not to wait upon a bride is very remiss. Ah!\ it shews what
a sad invalid I am! But I do not like the corner into Vicarage Lane.''

{}``I dare say your apologies were accepted, sir. Mr.\ Elton knows
you.''

{}``Yes: but a young lady\mbox{---}a bride\mbox{---}I ought to
have paid my respects to her if possible. It was being very deficient.''

{}``But, my dear papa, you are no friend to matrimony; and therefore
why should you be so anxious to pay your respects to a \emph{bride}?
It ought to be no recommendation to \emph{you}. It is encouraging
people to marry if you make so much of them.''

{}``No, my dear, I never encouraged any body to marry, but I would
always wish to pay every proper attention to a lady\mbox{---}and
a bride, especially, is never to be neglected. More is avowedly due
to \emph{her}. A bride, you know, my dear, is always the first in
company, let the others be who they may.''

{}``Well, papa, if this is not encouragement to marry, I do not know
what is. And I should never have expected you to be lending your sanction
to such vanity-baits for poor young ladies.''

{}``My dear, you do not understand me. This is a matter of mere common
politeness and good-breeding, and has nothing to do with any encouragement
to people to marry.''

Emma had done. Her father was growing nervous, and could not understand
\emph{her}. Her mind returned to Mrs.\ Elton's offences, and long,
very long, did they occupy her.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XV}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XV}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XV}

Emma was not required, by any subsequent discovery, to retract her
ill opinion of Mrs.\ Elton. Her observation had been pretty correct.
Such as Mrs.\ Elton appeared to her on this second interview, such
she appeared whenever they met again,\mbox{---}self-important, presuming,
familiar, ignorant, and ill-bred. She had a little beauty and a little
accomplishment, but so little judgment that she thought herself coming
with superior knowledge of the world, to enliven and improve a country
neighbourhood; and conceived Miss Hawkins to have held such a place
in society as Mrs.\ Elton's consequence only could surpass.

There was no reason to suppose Mr.\ Elton thought at all differently
from his wife. He seemed not merely happy with her, but proud. He
had the air of congratulating himself on having brought such a woman
to Highbury, as not even Miss Woodhouse could equal; and the greater
part of her new acquaintance, disposed to commend, or not in the habit
of judging, following the lead of Miss Bates's good-will, or taking
it for granted that the bride must be as clever and as agreeable as
she professed herself, were very well satisfied; so that Mrs.\ Elton's
praise passed from one mouth to another as it ought to do, unimpeded
by Miss Woodhouse, who readily continued her first contribution and
talked with a good grace of her being {}``very pleasant and very
elegantly dressed.''

In one respect Mrs.\ Elton grew even worse than she had appeared
at first. Her feelings altered towards Emma.\mbox{---} Offended,
probably, by the little encouragement which her proposals of intimacy
met with, she drew back in her turn and gradually became much more
cold and distant; and though the effect was agreeable, the ill-will
which produced it was necessarily increasing Emma's dislike. Her manners,
too\mbox{---}and Mr.\ Elton's, were unpleasant towards Harriet.
They were sneering and negligent. Emma hoped it must rapidly work
Harriet's cure; but the sensations which could prompt such behaviour
sunk them both very much.\mbox{---} It was not to be doubted that
poor Harriet's attachment had been an offering to conjugal unreserve,
and her own share in the story, under a colouring the least favourable
to her and the most soothing to him, had in all likelihood been given
also. She was, of course, the object of their joint dislike.\mbox{---}
When they had nothing else to say, it must be always easy to begin
abusing Miss Woodhouse; and the enmity which they dared not shew in
open disrespect to her, found a broader vent in contemptuous treatment
of Harriet.

Mrs.\ Elton took a great fancy to Jane Fairfax; and from the first.
Not merely when a state of warfare with one young lady might be supposed
to recommend the other, but from the very first; and she was not satisfied
with expressing a natural and reasonable admiration\mbox{---}but
without solicitation, or plea, or privilege, she must be wanting to
assist and befriend her.\mbox{---} Before Emma had forfeited her
confidence, and about the third time of their meeting, she heard all
Mrs.\ Elton's knight-errantry on the subject.\mbox{---}

{}``Jane Fairfax is absolutely charming, Miss Woodhouse.\mbox{---}
I quite rave about Jane Fairfax.\mbox{---} A sweet, interesting creature.
So mild and ladylike\mbox{---}and with such talents!\mbox{---} I
assure you I think she has very extraordinary talents. I do not scruple
to say that she plays extremely well. I know enough of music to speak
decidedly on that point. Oh!\ she is absolutely charming! You will
laugh at my warmth\mbox{---}but, upon my word, I talk of nothing
but Jane Fairfax.\mbox{---} And her situation is so calculated to
affect one!\mbox{---} Miss Woodhouse, we must exert ourselves and
endeavour to do something for her. We must bring her forward. Such
talent as hers must not be suffered to remain unknown.\mbox{---}
I dare say you have heard those charming lines of the poet, \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

\  \\

\mbox{`Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,} \\*

\mbox{\ \ \ \ `And waste its fragrance on the desert air.'}

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} We must not allow them to be verified in sweet Jane Fairfax.''

{}``I cannot think there is any danger of it,'' was Emma's calm
answer\mbox{---}{}``and when you are better acquainted with Miss
Fairfax's situation and understand what her home has been, with Colonel
and Mrs.\ Campbell, I have no idea that you will suppose her talents
can be unknown.''

{}``Oh!\ but dear Miss Woodhouse, she is now in such retirement,
such obscurity, so thrown away.\mbox{---} Whatever advantages she
may have enjoyed with the Campbells are so palpably at an end! And
I think she feels it. I am sure she does. She is very timid and silent.
One can see that she feels the want of encouragement. I like her the
better for it. I must confess it is a recommendation to me. I am a
great advocate for timidity\mbox{---}and I am sure one does not often
meet with it.\mbox{---} But in those who are at all inferior, it
is extremely prepossessing. Oh!\  I assure you, Jane Fairfax is a
very delightful character, and interests me more than I can express.''

{}``You appear to feel a great deal\mbox{---}but I am not aware
how you or any of Miss Fairfax's acquaintance here, any of those who
have known her longer than yourself, can shew her any other attention
than''---

{}``My dear Miss Woodhouse, a vast deal may be done by those who
dare to act. You and I need not be afraid. If we set the example,
many will follow it as far as they can; though all have not our situations.
\emph{We} have carriages to fetch and convey her home, and \emph{we}
live in a style which could not make the addition of Jane Fairfax,
at any time, the least inconvenient.\mbox{---} I should be extremely
displeased if Wright were to send us up such a dinner, as could make
me regret having asked \emph{more} than Jane Fairfax to partake of
it. I have no idea of that sort of thing. It is not likely that I
\emph{should}, considering what I have been used to. My greatest danger,
perhaps, in housekeeping, may be quite the other way, in doing too
much, and being too careless of expense. Maple Grove will probably
be my model more than it ought to be\mbox{---}for we do not at all
affect to equal my brother, Mr.\ Suckling, in income.\mbox{---}
However, my resolution is taken as to noticing Jane Fairfax.\mbox{---}
I shall certainly have her very often at my house, shall introduce
her wherever I can, shall have musical parties to draw out her talents,
and shall be constantly on the watch for an eligible situation. My
acquaintance is so very extensive, that I have little doubt of hearing
of something to suit her shortly.\mbox{---} I shall introduce her,
of course, very particularly to my brother and sister when they come
to us. I am sure they will like her extremely; and when she gets a
little acquainted with them, her fears will completely wear off, for
there really is nothing in the manners of either but what is highly
conciliating.\mbox{---} I shall have her very often indeed while
they are with me, and I dare say we shall sometimes find a seat for
her in the barouche-landau in some of our exploring parties.''

{}``Poor Jane Fairfax!''---thought Emma.\mbox{---} {}``You have
not deserved this. You may have done wrong with regard to Mr.\ Dixon,
but this is a punishment beyond what you can have merited!\mbox{---}
The kindness and protection of Mrs.\ Elton!\mbox{---} `Jane Fairfax
and Jane Fairfax.' Heavens! Let me not suppose that she dares go about,
Emma Woodhouse-ing me!\mbox{---} But upon my honour, there seems
no limits to the licentiousness of that woman's tongue!''\ 

Emma had not to listen to such paradings again\mbox{---}to any so
exclusively addressed to herself\mbox{---}so disgustingly decorated
with a {}``dear Miss Woodhouse.'' The change on Mrs.\ Elton's side
soon afterwards appeared, and she was left in peace\mbox{---}neither
forced to be the very particular friend of Mrs.\ Elton, nor, under
Mrs.\ Elton's guidance, the very active patroness of Jane Fairfax,
and only sharing with others in a general way, in knowing what was
felt, what was meditated, what was done.

She looked on with some amusement.\mbox{---} Miss Bates's gratitude
for Mrs.\ Elton's attentions to Jane was in the first style of guileless
simplicity and warmth. She was quite one of her worthies\mbox{---}the
most amiable, affable, delightful woman\mbox{---}just as accomplished
and condescending as Mrs.\ Elton meant to be considered. Emma's only
surprize was that Jane Fairfax should accept those attentions and
tolerate Mrs.\ Elton as she seemed to do. She heard of her walking
with the Eltons, sitting with the Eltons, spending a day with the
Eltons! This was astonishing!\mbox{---} She could not have believed
it possible that the taste or the pride of Miss Fairfax could endure
such society and friendship as the Vicarage had to offer.

{}``She is a riddle, quite a riddle!''\ said she.\mbox{---} {}``To
chuse to remain here month after month, under privations of every
sort! And now to chuse the mortification of Mrs.\ Elton's notice
and the penury of her conversation, rather than return to the superior
companions who have always loved her with such real, generous affection.''

Jane had come to Highbury professedly for three months; the Campbells
were gone to Ireland for three months; but now the Campbells had promised
their daughter to stay at least till Midsummer, and fresh invitations
had arrived for her to join them there. According to Miss Bates\mbox{---}it
all came from her\mbox{---}Mrs.\ Dixon had written most pressingly.
Would Jane but go, means were to be found, servants sent, friends
contrived\mbox{---}no travelling difficulty allowed to exist; but
still she had declined it!

{}``She must have some motive, more powerful than appears, for refusing
this invitation,'' was Emma's conclusion. {}``She must be under
some sort of penance, inflicted either by the Campbells or herself.
There is great fear, great caution, great resolution somewhere.\mbox{---}
She is \emph{not} to be with the \emph{Dixons}. The decree is issued
by somebody. But why must she consent to be with the Eltons?\mbox{---}
Here is quite a separate puzzle.''

Upon her speaking her wonder aloud on that part of the subject, before
the few who knew her opinion of Mrs.\ Elton, Mrs.\ Weston ventured
this apology for Jane.

{}``We cannot suppose that she has any great enjoyment at the Vicarage,
my dear Emma\mbox{---}but it is better than being always at home.
Her aunt is a good creature, but, as a constant companion, must be
very tiresome. We must consider what Miss Fairfax quits, before we
condemn her taste for what she goes to.''

{}``You are right, Mrs.\ Weston,'' said Mr.\ Knightley warmly,
{}``Miss Fairfax is as capable as any of us of forming a just opinion
of Mrs.\ Elton. Could she have chosen with whom to associate, she
would not have chosen her. But'' (with a reproachful smile at Emma)
{}``she receives attentions from Mrs.\ Elton, which nobody else
pays her.''

Emma felt that Mrs.\ Weston was giving her a momentary glance; and
she was herself struck by his warmth. With a faint blush, she presently
replied,

{}``Such attentions as Mrs.\ Elton's, I should have imagined, would
rather disgust than gratify Miss Fairfax. Mrs.\ Elton's invitations
I should have imagined any thing but inviting.''

{}``I should not wonder,'' said Mrs.\ Weston, {}``if Miss Fairfax
were to have been drawn on beyond her own inclination, by her aunt's
eagerness in accepting Mrs.\ Elton's civilities for her. Poor Miss
Bates may very likely have committed her niece and hurried her into
a greater appearance of intimacy than her own good sense would have
dictated, in spite of the very natural wish of a little change.''

Both felt rather anxious to hear him speak again; and after a few
minutes silence, he said,

{}``Another thing must be taken into consideration too\mbox{---}Mrs.\ Elton
does not talk \emph{to} Miss Fairfax as she speaks \emph{of} her.
We all know the difference between the pronouns he or she and thou,
the plainest spoken amongst us; we all feel the influence of a something
beyond common civility in our personal intercourse with each other\mbox{---}a
something more early implanted. We cannot give any body the disagreeable
hints that we may have been very full of the hour before. We feel
things differently. And besides the operation of this, as a general
principle, you may be sure that Miss Fairfax awes Mrs.\ Elton by
her superiority both of mind and manner; and that, face to face, Mrs.\ Elton
treats her with all the respect which she has a claim to. Such a woman
as Jane Fairfax probably never fell in Mrs.\ Elton's way before\mbox{---}and
no degree of vanity can prevent her acknowledging her own comparative
littleness in action, if not in consciousness.''

{}``I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax,'' said Emma. Little
Henry was in her thoughts, and a mixture of alarm and delicacy made
her irresolute what else to say.

{}``Yes,'' he replied, {}``any body may know how highly I think
of her.''

{}``And yet,'' said Emma, beginning hastily and with an arch look,
but soon stopping\mbox{---}it was better, however, to know the worst
at once\mbox{---}she hurried on\mbox{---}{}``And yet, perhaps,
you may hardly be aware yourself how highly it is. The extent of your
admiration may take you by surprize some day or other.''

Mr.\ Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons of his thick
leather gaiters, and either the exertion of getting them together,
or some other cause, brought the colour into his face, as he answered,

{}``Oh!\ are you there?\mbox{---} But you are miserably behindhand.
Mr.\ Cole gave me a hint of it six weeks ago.''

He stopped.\mbox{---} Emma felt her foot pressed by Mrs.\ Weston,
and did not herself know what to think. In a moment he went on\mbox{---}

{}``That will never be, however, I can assure you. Miss Fairfax,
I dare say, would not have me if I were to ask her\mbox{---}and I
am very sure I shall never ask her.''

Emma returned her friend's pressure with interest; and was pleased
enough to exclaim,

{}``You are not vain, Mr.\ Knightley. I will say that for you.''

He seemed hardly to hear her; he was thoughtful\mbox{---}and in a
manner which shewed him not pleased, soon afterwards said,

{}``So you have been settling that I should marry Jane Fairfax?''\ 

{}``No indeed I have not. You have scolded me too much for match-making,
for me to presume to take such a liberty with you. What I said just
now, meant nothing. One says those sort of things, of course, without
any idea of a serious meaning. Oh!\ no, upon my word I have not the
smallest wish for your marrying Jane Fairfax or Jane any body. You
would not come in and sit with us in this comfortable way, if you
were married.''

Mr.\ Knightley was thoughtful again. The result of his reverie was,
{}``No, Emma, I do not think the extent of my admiration for her
will ever take me by surprize.\mbox{---} I never had a thought of
her in that way, I assure you.'' And soon afterwards, {}``Jane Fairfax
is a very charming young woman\mbox{---}but not even Jane Fairfax
is perfect. She has a fault. She has not the open temper which a man
would wish for in a wife.''

Emma could not but rejoice to hear that she had a fault. {}``Well,''
said she, {}``and you soon silenced Mr.\ Cole, I suppose?''\ 

{}``Yes, very soon. He gave me a quiet hint; I told him he was mistaken;
he asked my pardon and said no more. Cole does not want to be wiser
or wittier than his neighbours.''

{}``In that respect how unlike dear Mrs.\ Elton, who wants to be
wiser and wittier than all the world! I wonder how she speaks of the
Coles\mbox{---}what she calls them! How can she find any appellation
for them, deep enough in familiar vulgarity? She calls you, Knightley\mbox{---}what
can she do for Mr.\ Cole? And so I am not to be surprized that Jane
Fairfax accepts her civilities and consents to be with her. Mrs.\ Weston,
your argument weighs most with me. I can much more readily enter into
the temptation of getting away from Miss Bates, than I can believe
in the triumph of Miss Fairfax's mind over Mrs.\ Elton. I have no
faith in Mrs.\ Elton's acknowledging herself the inferior in thought,
word, or deed; or in her being under any restraint beyond her own
scanty rule of good-breeding. I cannot imagine that she will not be
continually insulting her visitor with praise, encouragement, and
offers of service; that she will not be continually detailing her
magnificent intentions, from the procuring her a permanent situation
to the including her in those delightful exploring parties which are
to take place in the barouche-landau.''

{}``Jane Fairfax has feeling,'' said Mr.\ Knightley\mbox{---}{}``I
do not accuse her of want of feeling. Her sensibilities, I suspect,
are strong\mbox{---}and her temper excellent in its power of forbearance,
patience, self-controul; but it wants openness. She is reserved, more
reserved, I think, than she used to be\mbox{---}And I love an open
temper. No\mbox{---}till Cole alluded to my supposed attachment,
it had never entered my head. I saw Jane Fairfax and conversed with
her, with admiration and pleasure always\mbox{---}but with no thought
beyond.''

{}``Well, Mrs.\ Weston,'' said Emma triumphantly when he left them,
{}``what do you say now to Mr.\ Knightley's marrying Jane Fairfax?''\ 

{}``Why, really, dear Emma, I say that he is so very much occupied
by the idea of \emph{not} being in love with her, that I should not
wonder if it were to end in his being so at last. Do not beat me.''


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XVI}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XVI}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XVI}

Every body in and about Highbury who had ever visited Mr.\ Elton,
was disposed to pay him attention on his marriage. Dinner-parties
and evening-parties were made for him and his lady; and invitations
flowed in so fast that she had soon the pleasure of apprehending they
were never to have a disengaged day.

{}``I see how it is,'' said she. {}``I see what a life I am to
lead among you. Upon my word we shall be absolutely dissipated. We
really seem quite the fashion. If this is living in the country, it
is nothing very formidable. From Monday next to Saturday, I assure
you we have not a disengaged day!\mbox{---} A woman with fewer resources
than I have, need not have been at a loss.''

No invitation came amiss to her. Her Bath habits made evening-parties
perfectly natural to her, and Maple Grove had given her a taste for
dinners. She was a little shocked at the want of two drawing rooms,
at the poor attempt at rout-cakes, and there being no ice in the Highbury
card-parties. Mrs.\ Bates, Mrs.\ Perry, Mrs.\ Goddard and others,
were a good deal behind-hand in knowledge of the world, but \emph{she}
would soon shew them how every thing ought to be arranged. In the
course of the spring she must return their civilities by one very
superior party\mbox{---}in which her card-tables should be set out
with their separate candles and unbroken packs in the true style\mbox{---}and
more waiters engaged for the evening than their own establishment
could furnish, to carry round the refreshments at exactly the proper
hour, and in the proper order.

Emma, in the meanwhile, could not be satisfied without a dinner at
Hartfield for the Eltons. They must not do less than others, or she
should be exposed to odious suspicions, and imagined capable of pitiful
resentment. A dinner there must be. After Emma had talked about it
for ten minutes, Mr.\ Woodhouse felt no unwillingness, and only made
the usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom of the table himself,
with the usual regular difficulty of deciding who should do it for
him.

The persons to be invited, required little thought. Besides the Eltons,
it must be the Westons and Mr.\ Knightley; so far it was all of course\mbox{---}and
it was hardly less inevitable that poor little Harriet must be asked
to make the eighth:\mbox{---}but this invitation was not given with
equal satisfaction, and on many accounts Emma was particularly pleased
by Harriet's begging to be allowed to decline it. {}``She would rather
not be in \emph{his} company more than she could help. She was not
yet quite able to see him and his charming happy wife together, without
feeling uncomfortable. If Miss Woodhouse would not be displeased,
she would rather stay at home.'' It was precisely what Emma would
have wished, had she deemed it possible enough for wishing. She was
delighted with the fortitude of her little friend\mbox{---}for fortitude
she knew it was in her to give up being in company and stay at home;
and she could now invite the very person whom she really wanted to
make the eighth, Jane Fairfax.\mbox{---} Since her last conversation
with Mrs.\ Weston and Mr.\ Knightley, she was more conscience-stricken
about Jane Fairfax than she had often been.\mbox{---} Mr.\ Knightley's
words dwelt with her. He had said that Jane Fairfax received attentions
from Mrs.\ Elton which nobody else paid her.

{}``This is very true,'' said she, {}``at least as far as relates
to me, which was all that was meant\mbox{---}and it is very shameful.\mbox{---}
Of the same age\mbox{---}and always knowing her\mbox{---}I ought
to have been more her friend.\mbox{---} She will never like me now.
I have neglected her too long. But I will shew her greater attention
than I have done.''

Every invitation was successful. They were all disengaged and all
happy.\mbox{---} The preparatory interest of this dinner, however,
was not yet over. A circumstance rather unlucky occurred. The two
eldest little Knightleys were engaged to pay their grandpapa and aunt
a visit of some weeks in the spring, and their papa now proposed bringing
them, and staying one whole day at Hartfield\mbox{---}which one day
would be the very day of this party.\mbox{---} His professional engagements
did not allow of his being put off, but both father and daughter were
disturbed by its happening so. Mr.\ Woodhouse considered eight persons
at dinner together as the utmost that his nerves could bear\mbox{---}and
here would be a ninth\mbox{---}and Emma apprehended that it would
be a ninth very much out of humour at not being able to come even
to Hartfield for forty-eight hours without falling in with a dinner-party.

She comforted her father better than she could comfort herself, by
representing that though he certainly would make them nine, yet he
always said so little, that the increase of noise would be very immaterial.
She thought it in reality a sad exchange for herself, to have him
with his grave looks and reluctant conversation opposed to her instead
of his brother.

The event was more favourable to Mr.\ Woodhouse than to Emma. John
Knightley came; but Mr.\ Weston was unexpectedly summoned to town
and must be absent on the very day. He might be able to join them
in the evening, but certainly not to dinner. Mr.\ Woodhouse was quite
at ease; and the seeing him so, with the arrival of the little boys
and the philosophic composure of her brother on hearing his fate,
removed the chief of even Emma's vexation.

The day came, the party were punctually assembled, and Mr.\ John
Knightley seemed early to devote himself to the business of being
agreeable. Instead of drawing his brother off to a window while they
waited for dinner, he was talking to Miss Fairfax. Mrs.\ Elton, as
elegant as lace and pearls could make her, he looked at in silence\mbox{---}wanting
only to observe enough for Isabella's information\mbox{---}but Miss
Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet girl, and he could talk
to her. He had met her before breakfast as he was returning from a
walk with his little boys, when it had been just beginning to rain.
It was natural to have some civil hopes on the subject, and he said,

{}``I hope you did not venture far, Miss Fairfax, this morning, or
I am sure you must have been wet.\mbox{---} \emph{We} scarcely got
home in time. I hope you turned directly.''

{}``I went only to the post-office,'' said she, {}``and reached
home before the rain was much. It is my daily errand. I always fetch
the letters when I am here. It saves trouble, and is a something to
get me out. A walk before breakfast does me good.''

{}``Not a walk in the rain, I should imagine.''

{}``No, but it did not absolutely rain when I set out.''

Mr.\ John Knightley smiled, and replied,

{}``That is to say, you chose to have your walk, for you were not
six yards from your own door when I had the pleasure of meeting you;
and Henry and John had seen more drops than they could count long
before. The post-office has a great charm at one period of our lives.
When you have lived to my age, you will begin to think letters are
never worth going through the rain for.''

There was a little blush, and then this answer,

{}``I must not hope to be ever situated as you are, in the midst
of every dearest connexion, and therefore I cannot expect that simply
growing older should make me indifferent about letters.''

{}``Indifferent! Oh!\ no\mbox{---}I never conceived you could become
indifferent. Letters are no matter of indifference; they are generally
a very positive curse.''

{}``You are speaking of letters of business; mine are letters of
friendship.''

{}``I have often thought them the worst of the two,'' replied he
coolly. {}``Business, you know, may bring money, but friendship hardly
ever does.''

{}``Ah!\ you are not serious now. I know Mr.\ John Knightley too
well\mbox{---}I am very sure he understands the value of friendship
as well as any body. I can easily believe that letters are very little
to you, much less than to me, but it is not your being ten years older
than myself which makes the difference, it is not age, but situation.
You have every body dearest to you always at hand, I, probably, never
shall again; and therefore till I have outlived all my affections,
a post-office, I think, must always have power to draw me out, in
worse weather than to-day.''

{}``When I talked of your being altered by time, by the progress
of years,'' said John Knightley, {}``I meant to imply the change
of situation which time usually brings. I consider one as including
the other. Time will generally lessen the interest of every attachment
not within the daily circle\mbox{---}but that is not the change I
had in view for you. As an old friend, you will allow me to hope,
Miss Fairfax, that ten years hence you may have as many concentrated
objects as I have.''

It was kindly said, and very far from giving offence. A pleasant {}``thank
you'' seemed meant to laugh it off, but a blush, a quivering lip,
a tear in the eye, shewed that it was felt beyond a laugh. Her attention
was now claimed by Mr.\ Woodhouse, who being, according to his custom
on such occasions, making the circle of his guests, and paying his
particular compliments to the ladies, was ending with her\mbox{---}and
with all his mildest urbanity, said,

{}``I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being out this
morning in the rain. Young ladies should take care of themselves.\mbox{---}
Young ladies are delicate plants. They should take care of their health
and their complexion. My dear, did you change your stockings?''\ 

{}``Yes, sir, I did indeed; and I am very much obliged by your kind
solicitude about me.''

{}``My dear Miss Fairfax, young ladies are very sure to be cared
for.\mbox{---} I hope your good grand-mama and aunt are well. They
are some of my very old friends. I wish my health allowed me to be
a better neighbour. You do us a great deal of honour to-day, I am
sure. My daughter and I are both highly sensible of your goodness,
and have the greatest satisfaction in seeing you at Hartfield.''

The kind-hearted, polite old man might then sit down and feel that
he had done his duty, and made every fair lady welcome and easy.

By this time, the walk in the rain had reached Mrs.\ Elton, and her
remonstrances now opened upon Jane.

{}``My dear Jane, what is this I hear?\mbox{---} Going to the post-office
in the rain!\mbox{---} This must not be, I assure you.\mbox{---}
You sad girl, how could you do such a thing?\mbox{---} It is a sign
I was not there to take care of you.''

Jane very patiently assured her that she had not caught any cold.

{}``Oh!\ do not tell \emph{me}. You really are a very sad girl,
and do not know how to take care of yourself.\mbox{---}- To the post-office
indeed! Mrs.\ Weston, did you ever hear the like? You and I must
positively exert our authority.''

{}``My advice,'' said Mrs.\ Weston kindly and persuasively, {}``I
certainly do feel tempted to give. Miss Fairfax, you must not run
such risks.\mbox{---} Liable as you have been to severe colds, indeed
you ought to be particularly careful, especially at this time of year.
The spring I always think requires more than common care. Better wait
an hour or two, or even half a day for your letters, than run the
risk of bringing on your cough again. Now do not you feel that you
had? Yes, I am sure you are much too reasonable. You look as if you
would not do such a thing again.''

{}``Oh!\ she \emph{shall not} do such a thing again,'' eagerly
rejoined Mrs.\ Elton. {}``We will not allow her to do such a thing
again:''---and nodding significantly\mbox{---}{}``there must be
some arrangement made, there must indeed. I shall speak to Mr.\ E.\ The
man who fetches our letters every morning (one of our men, I forget
his name) shall inquire for yours too and bring them to you. That
will obviate all difficulties you know; and from \emph{us} I really
think, my dear Jane, you can have no scruple to accept such an accommodation.''

{}``You are extremely kind,'' said Jane; {}``but I cannot give
up my early walk. I am advised to be out of doors as much as I can,
I must walk somewhere, and the post-office is an object; and upon
my word, I have scarcely ever had a bad morning before.''

{}``My dear Jane, say no more about it. The thing is determined,
that is'' (laughing affectedly) {}``as far as I can presume to determine
any thing without the concurrence of my lord and master. You know,
Mrs.\ Weston, you and I must be cautious how we express ourselves.
But I do flatter myself, my dear Jane, that my influence is not entirely
worn out. If I meet with no insuperable difficulties therefore, consider
that point as settled.''

{}``Excuse me,'' said Jane earnestly, {}``I cannot by any means
consent to such an arrangement, so needlessly troublesome to your
servant. If the errand were not a pleasure to me, it could be done,
as it always is when I am not here, by my grandmama's.''

{}``Oh!\ my dear; but so much as Patty has to do!\mbox{---} And
it is a kindness to employ our men.''

Jane looked as if she did not mean to be conquered; but instead of
answering, she began speaking again to Mr.\ John Knightley.

{}``The post-office is a wonderful establishment!''\ said she.\mbox{---}
{}``The regularity and despatch of it! If one thinks of all that
it has to do, and all that it does so well, it is really astonishing!''\ 

{}``It is certainly very well regulated.''

{}``So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears! So seldom that
a letter, among the thousands that are constantly passing about the
kingdom, is even carried wrong\mbox{---}and not one in a million,
I suppose, actually lost! And when one considers the variety of hands,
and of bad hands too, that are to be deciphered, it increases the
wonder.''

{}``The clerks grow expert from habit.\mbox{---} They must begin
with some quickness of sight and hand, and exercise improves them.
If you want any farther explanation,'' continued he, smiling, {}``they
are paid for it. That is the key to a great deal of capacity. The
public pays and must be served well.''

The varieties of handwriting were farther talked of, and the usual
observations made.

{}``I have heard it asserted,'' said John Knightley, {}``that the
same sort of handwriting often prevails in a family; and where the
same master teaches, it is natural enough. But for that reason, I
should imagine the likeness must be chiefly confined to the females,
for boys have very little teaching after an early age, and scramble
into any hand they can get. Isabella and Emma, I think, do write very
much alike. I have not always known their writing apart.''

{}``Yes,'' said his brother hesitatingly, {}``there is a likeness.
I know what you mean\mbox{---}but Emma's hand is the strongest.''

{}``Isabella and Emma both write beautifully,'' said Mr.\ Woodhouse;
{}``and always did. And so does poor Mrs.\ Weston''---with half
a sigh and half a smile at her.

{}``I never saw any gentleman's hand\-writing''---Emma began, looking
also at Mrs.\ Weston; but stopped, on perceiving that Mrs.\ Weston
was attending to some one else\mbox{---}and the pause gave her time
to reflect, {}``Now, how am I going to introduce him?\mbox{---}
Am I unequal to speaking his name at once before all these people?
Is it necessary for me to use any roundabout phrase?\mbox{---} Your
Yorkshire friend\mbox{---}your correspondent in Yorkshire;\mbox{---}that
would be the way, I suppose, if I were very bad.\mbox{---} No, I
can pronounce his name without the smallest distress. I certainly
get better and better.\mbox{---} Now for it.''

Mrs.\ Weston was disengaged and Emma began again\mbox{---}{}``Mr.\ Frank
Churchill writes one of the best gentleman's hands I ever saw.''

{}``I do not admire it,'' said Mr.\ Knightley. {}``It is too small\mbox{---}wants
strength. It is like a woman's writing.''

This was not submitted to by either lady. They vindicated him against
the base aspersion. {}``No, it by no means wanted strength\mbox{---}it
was not a large hand, but very clear and certainly strong. Had not
Mrs.\ Weston any letter about her to produce?''\ No, she had heard
from him very lately, but having answered the letter, had put it away.

{}``If we were in the other room,'' said Emma, {}``if I had my
writing-desk, I am sure I could produce a specimen. I have a note
of his.\mbox{---} Do not you remember, Mrs.\ Weston, employing him
to write for you one day?''\ 

{}``He chose to say he was employed''---

{}``Well, well, I have that note; and can shew it after dinner to
convince Mr.\ Knightley.''

{}``Oh!\ when a gallant young man, like Mr.\ Frank Churchill,''
said Mr.\ Knightley dryly, {}``writes to a fair lady like Miss Woodhouse,
he will, of course, put forth his best.''

Dinner was on table.\mbox{---} Mrs.\ Elton, before she could be
spoken to, was ready; and before Mr.\ Woodhouse had reached her with
his request to be allowed to hand her into the dining-parlour, was
saying\mbox{---}

{}``Must I go first? I really am ashamed of always leading the way.''

Jane's solicitude about fetching her own letters had not escaped Emma.
She had heard and seen it all; and felt some curiosity to know whether
the wet walk of this morning had produced any. She suspected that
it \emph{had}; that it would not have been so resolutely encountered
but in full expectation of hearing from some one very dear, and that
it had not been in vain. She thought there was an air of greater happiness
than usual\mbox{---}a glow both of complexion and spirits.

She could have made an inquiry or two, as to the expedition and the
expense of the Irish mails;\mbox{---}it was at her tongue's end\mbox{---}but
she abstained. She was quite determined not to utter a word that should
hurt Jane Fairfax's feelings; and they followed the other ladies out
of the room, arm in arm, with an appearance of good-will highly becoming
to the beauty and grace of each.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XVII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XVII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XVII}

When the ladies returned to the drawing-room after dinner, Emma found
it hardly possible to prevent their making two distinct parties;\mbox{---}with
so much perseverance in judging and behaving ill did Mrs.\ Elton
engross Jane Fairfax and slight herself. She and Mrs.\ Weston were
obliged to be almost always either talking together or silent together.
Mrs.\ Elton left them no choice. If Jane repressed her for a little
time, she soon began again; and though much that passed between them
was in a half-whisper, especially on Mrs.\ Elton's side, there was
no avoiding a knowledge of their principal subjects: The post-office\mbox{---}catching
cold\mbox{---}fetching letters\mbox{---}and friendship, were long
under discussion; and to them succeeded one, which must be at least
equally unpleasant to Jane\mbox{---}inquiries whether she had yet
heard of any situation likely to suit her, and professions of Mrs.\ Elton's
meditated activity.

{}``Here is April come!''\ said she, {}``I get quite anxious about
you. June will soon be here.''

{}``But I have never fixed on June or any other month\mbox{---}merely
looked forward to the summer in general.''

{}``But have you really heard of nothing?''\ 

{}``I have not even made any inquiry; I do not wish to make any yet.''

{}``Oh!\ my dear, we cannot begin too early; you are not aware of
the difficulty of procuring exactly the desirable thing.''

{}``I not aware!''\ said Jane, shaking her head; {}``dear Mrs.\ Elton,
who can have thought of it as I have done?''\ 

{}``But you have not seen so much of the world as I have. You do
not know how many candidates there always are for the \emph{first}
situations. I saw a vast deal of that in the neighbourhood round Maple
Grove. A cousin of Mr.\ Suckling, Mrs.\ Bragge, had such an infinity
of applications; every body was anxious to be in her family, for she
moves in the first circle. Wax-candles in the schoolroom! You may
imagine how desirable! Of all houses in the kingdom Mrs.\ Bragge's
is the one I would most wish to see you in.''

{}``Colonel and Mrs.\ Campbell are to be in town again by midsummer,''
said Jane. {}``I must spend some time with them; I am sure they will
want it;\mbox{---}afterwards I may probably be glad to dispose of
myself. But I would not wish you to take the trouble of making any
inquiries at present.''

{}``Trouble!\ aye, I know your scruples. You are afraid of giving
me trouble; but I assure you, my dear Jane, the Campbells can hardly
be more interested about you than I am. I shall write to Mrs.\ Partridge
in a day or two, and shall give her a strict charge to be on the look-out
for any thing eligible.''

{}``Thank you, but I would rather you did not mention the subject
to her; till the time draws nearer, I do not wish to be giving any
body trouble.''

{}``But, my dear child, the time \emph{is} drawing near; here is
April, and June, or say even July, is very near, with such business
to accomplish before us. Your inexperience really amuses me! A situation
such as you deserve, and your friends would require for you, is no
everyday occurrence, is not obtained at a moment's notice; indeed,
indeed, we must begin inquiring directly.''

{}``Excuse me, ma'am, but this is by no means my intention; I make
no inquiry myself, and should be sorry to have any made by my friends.
When I am quite determined as to the time, I am not at all afraid
of being long unemployed. There are places in town, offices, where
inquiry would soon produce something\mbox{--}--Offices for the sale\mbox{---}not
quite of human flesh\mbox{---}but of human intellect.''

{}``Oh!\ my dear, human flesh! You quite shock me; if you mean a
fling at the slave-trade, I assure you Mr.\ Suckling was always rather
a friend to the abolition.''

{}``I did not mean, I was not thinking of the slave-trade,'' replied
Jane; {}``governess-trade, I assure you, was all that I had in view;
widely different certainly as to the guilt of those who carry it on;
but as to the greater misery of the victims, I do not know where it
lies. But I only mean to say that there are advertising offices, and
that by applying to them I should have no doubt of very soon meeting
with something that would do.''

{}``Something that would do!''\ repeated Mrs.\ Elton. {}``Aye,
\emph{that} may suit your humble ideas of yourself;\mbox{---}I know
what a modest creature you are; but it will not satisfy your friends
to have you taking up with any thing that may offer, any inferior,
commonplace situation, in a family not moving in a certain circle,
or able to command the elegancies of life.''

{}``You are very obliging; but as to all that, I am very indifferent;
it would be no object to me to be with the rich; my mortifications,
I think, would only be the greater; I should suffer more from comparison.
A gentleman's family is all that I should condition for.''

{}``I know you, I know you; you would take up with any thing; but
I shall be a little more nice, and I am sure the good Campbells will
be quite on my side; with your superior talents, you have a right
to move in the first circle. Your musical knowledge alone would entitle
you to name your own terms, have as many rooms as you like, and mix
in the family as much as you chose;\mbox{---}that is\mbox{---}I
do not know\mbox{---}if you knew the harp, you might do all that,
I am very sure; but you sing as well as play;\mbox{---}yes, I really
believe you might, even without the harp, stipulate for what you chose;\mbox{---}and
you must and shall be delightfully, honourably and comfortably settled
before the Campbells or I have any rest.''

{}``You may well class the delight, the honour, and the comfort of
such a situation together,'' said Jane, {}``they are pretty sure
to be equal; however, I am very serious in not wishing any thing to
be attempted at present for me. I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mrs.\ Elton,
I am obliged to any body who feels for me, but I am quite serious
in wishing nothing to be done till the summer. For two or three months
longer I shall remain where I am, and as I am.''

{}``And I am quite serious too, I assure you,'' replied Mrs.\ Elton
gaily, {}``in resolving to be always on the watch, and employing
my friends to watch also, that nothing really unexceptionable may
pass us.''

In this style she ran on; never thoroughly stopped by any thing till
Mr.\ Woodhouse came into the room; her vanity had then a change of
object, and Emma heard her saying in the same half-whisper to Jane,

{}``Here comes this dear old beau of mine, I protest!\mbox{---}
Only think of his gallantry in coming away before the other men!\mbox{---}what
a dear creature he is;\mbox{---}I assure you I like him excessively.
I admire all that quaint, old-fashioned politeness; it is much more
to my taste than modern ease; modern ease often disgusts me. But this
good old Mr.\ Woodhouse, I wish you had heard his gallant speeches
to me at dinner. Oh!\ I assure you I began to think my \emph{caro
sposo} would be absolutely jealous. I fancy I am rather a favourite;
he took notice of my gown. How do you like it?\mbox{---} Selina's
choice\mbox{---}handsome, I think, but I do not know whether it is
not over-trimmed; I have the greatest dislike to the idea of being
over-trimmed\mbox{---}quite a horror of finery. I must put on a few
ornaments \emph{now}, because it is expected of me. A bride, you know,
must appear like a bride, but my natural taste is all for simplicity;
a simple style of dress is so infinitely preferable to finery. But
I am quite in the minority, I believe; few people seem to value simplicity
of dress,\mbox{---}show and finery are every thing. I have some notion
of putting such a trimming as this to my white and silver poplin.
Do you think it will look well?''\ 

The whole party were but just reassembled in the drawing-room when
Mr.\ Weston made his appearance among them. He had returned to a
late dinner, and walked to Hartfield as soon as it was over. He had
been too much expected by the best judges, for surprize\mbox{---}but
there was great joy. Mr.\ Woodhouse was almost as glad to see him
now, as he would have been sorry to see him before. John Knightley
only was in mute astonishment.\mbox{---} That a man who might have
spent his evening quietly at home after a day of business in London,
should set off again, and walk half a mile to another man's house,
for the sake of being in mixed company till bed-time, of finishing
his day in the efforts of civility and the noise of numbers, was a
circumstance to strike him deeply. A man who had been in motion since
eight o'clock in the morning, and might now have been still, who had
been long talking, and might have been silent, who had been in more
than one crowd, and might have been alone!\mbox{---} Such a man,
to quit the tranquillity and independence of his own fireside, and
on the evening of a cold sleety April day rush out again into the
world!\mbox{---} Could he by a touch of his finger have instantly
taken back his wife, there would have been a motive; but his coming
would probably prolong rather than break up the party. John Knightley
looked at him with amazement, then shrugged his shoulders, and said,
{}``I could not have believed it even of \emph{him}.''

Mr.\ Weston meanwhile, perfectly unsuspicious of the indignation
he was exciting, happy and cheerful as usual, and with all the right
of being principal talker, which a day spent anywhere from home confers,
was making himself agreeable among the rest; and having satisfied
the inquiries of his wife as to his dinner, convincing her that none
of all her careful directions to the servants had been forgotten,
and spread abroad what public news he had heard, was proceeding to
a family communication, which, though principally addressed to Mrs.\ Weston,
he had not the smallest doubt of being highly interesting to every
body in the room. He gave her a letter, it was from Frank, and to
herself; he had met with it in his way, and had taken the liberty
of opening it.

{}``Read it, read it,'' said he, {}``it will give you pleasure;
only a few lines\mbox{---}will not take you long; read it to Emma.''

The two ladies looked over it together; and he sat smiling and talking
to them the whole time, in a voice a little subdued, but very audible
to every body.

{}``Well, he is coming, you see; good news, I think. Well, what do
you say to it?\mbox{---} I always told you he would be here again
soon, did not I?\mbox{---} Anne, my dear, did not I always tell you
so, and you would not believe me?\mbox{---} In town next week, you
see\mbox{---}at the latest, I dare say; for \emph{she} is as impatient
as the black gentleman when any thing is to be done; most likely they
will be there to-morrow or Saturday. As to her illness, all nothing
of course. But it is an excellent thing to have Frank among us again,
so near as town. They will stay a good while when they do come, and
he will be half his time with us. This is precisely what I wanted.
Well, pretty good news, is not it? Have you finished it? Has Emma
read it all? Put it up, put it up; we will have a good talk about
it some other time, but it will not do now. I shall only just mention
the circumstance to the others in a common way.''

Mrs.\ Weston was most comfortably pleased on the occasion. Her looks
and words had nothing to restrain them. She was happy, she knew she
was happy, and knew she ought to be happy. Her congratulations were
warm and open; but Emma could not speak so fluently. \emph{She} was
a little occupied in weighing her own feelings, and trying to understand
the degree of her agitation, which she rather thought was considerable.

Mr.\ Weston, however, too eager to be very observant, too communicative
to want others to talk, was very well satisfied with what she did
say, and soon moved away to make the rest of his friends happy by
a partial communication of what the whole room must have overheard
already.

It was well that he took every body's joy for granted, or he might
not have thought either Mr.\ Woodhouse or Mr.\ Knightley particularly
delighted. They were the first entitled, after Mrs.\ Weston and Emma,
to be made happy;\mbox{---}from them he would have proceeded to Miss
Fairfax, but she was so deep in conversation with John Knightley,
that it would have been too positive an interruption; and finding
himself close to Mrs.\ Elton, and her attention disengaged, he necessarily
began on the subject with her.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XVIII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XVIII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XVIII}

{}``I hope I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing my son to
you,'' said Mr.\ Weston.

Mrs.\ Elton, very willing to suppose a particular compliment intended
her by such a hope, smiled most graciously.

{}``You have heard of a certain Frank Churchill, I presume,'' he
continued\mbox{---}{}``and know him to be my son, though he does
not bear my name.''

{}``Oh!\ yes, and I shall be very happy in his acquaintance. I am
sure Mr.\ Elton will lose no time in calling on him; and we shall
both have great pleasure in seeing him at the Vicarage.''

{}``You are very obliging.\mbox{---} Frank will be extremely happy,
I am sure.\mbox{---} He is to be in town next week, if not sooner.
We have notice of it in a letter to-day. I met the letters in my way
this morning, and seeing my son's hand, presumed to open it\mbox{---}though
it was not directed to me\mbox{---}it was to Mrs.\ Weston. She is
his principal correspondent, I assure you. I hardly ever get a letter.''

{}``And so you absolutely opened what was directed to her! Oh!\ Mr.\ Weston''---(laughing
affectedly) {}``I must protest against that.\mbox{---} A most dangerous
precedent indeed!\mbox{---} I beg you will not let your neighbours
follow your example.\mbox{---} Upon my word, if this is what I am
to expect, we married women must begin to exert ourselves!--- Oh!\ Mr.\ Weston,
I could not have believed it of you!''\ 

{}``Aye, we men are sad fellows. You must take care of yourself,
Mrs.\ Elton.\mbox{---} This letter tells us\mbox{---}it is a short
letter\mbox{---}written in a hurry, merely to give us notice\mbox{---}it
tells us that they are all coming up to town directly, on Mrs.\ Churchill's
account\mbox{---}she has not been well the whole winter, and thinks
Enscombe too cold for her\mbox{---}so they are all to move southward
without loss of time.''

{}``Indeed!\mbox{---}from Yorkshire, I think. Enscombe is in Yorkshire?''\ 

{}``Yes, they are about one hundred and ninety miles from London.
a considerable journey.''

{}``Yes, upon my word, very considerable. Sixty-five miles farther
than from Maple Grove to London. But what is distance, Mr.\ Weston,
to people of large fortune?\mbox{---} You would be amazed to hear
how my brother, Mr.\ Suckling, sometimes flies about. You will hardly
believe me\mbox{---}but twice in one week he and Mr.\ Bragge went
to London and back again with four horses.''

{}``The evil of the distance from Enscombe,'' said Mr.\ Weston,
{}``is, that Mrs.\ Churchill, \emph{as we understand}, has not been
able to leave the sofa for a week together. In Frank's last letter
she complained, he said, of being too weak to get into her conservatory
without having both his arm and his uncle's! This, you know, speaks
a great degree of weakness\mbox{---}but now she is so impatient to
be in town, that she means to sleep only two nights on the road.\mbox{---}
So Frank writes word. Certainly, delicate ladies have very extraordinary
constitutions, Mrs.\ Elton. You must grant me that.''

{}``No, indeed, I shall grant you nothing. I Always take the part
of my own sex. I do indeed. I give you notice\mbox{---}You will find
me a formidable antagonist on that point. I always stand up for women\mbox{---}and
I assure you, if you knew how Selina feels with respect to sleeping
at an inn, you would not wonder at Mrs.\ Churchill's making incredible
exertions to avoid it. Selina says it is quite horror to her\mbox{---}and
I believe I have caught a little of her nicety. She always travels
with her own sheets; an excellent precaution. Does Mrs.\ Churchill
do the same?''\ 

{}``Depend upon it, Mrs.\ Churchill does every thing that any other
fine lady ever did. Mrs.\ Churchill will not be second to any lady
in the land for''---

Mrs.\ Elton eagerly interposed with,

{}``Oh!\ Mr.\ Weston, do not mistake me. Selina is no fine lady,
I assure you. Do not run away with such an idea.''

{}``Is not she? Then she is no rule for Mrs.\ Churchill, who is
as thorough a fine lady as any body ever beheld.''

Mrs.\ Elton began to think she had been wrong in disclaiming so warmly.
It was by no means her object to have it believed that her sister
was \emph{not} a fine lady; perhaps there was want of spirit in the
pretence of it;\mbox{---}and she was considering in what way she
had best retract, when Mr.\ Weston went on.

{}``Mrs.\ Churchill is not much in my good graces, as you may suspect\mbox{---}but
this is quite between ourselves. She is very fond of Frank, and therefore
I would not speak ill of her. Besides, she is out of health now; but
\emph{that} indeed, by her own account, she has always been. I would
not say so to every body, Mrs.\ Elton, but I have not much faith
in Mrs.\ Churchill's illness.''

{}``If she is really ill, why not go to Bath, Mr.\ Weston?\mbox{---}
To Bath, or to Clifton?''

{}``She has taken it into her head that Enscombe is too cold for
her. The fact is, I suppose, that she is tired of Enscombe. She has
now been a longer time stationary there, than she ever was before,
and she begins to want change. It is a retired place. A fine place,
but very retired.''

{}``Aye\mbox{---}like Maple Grove, I dare say. Nothing can stand
more retired from the road than Maple Grove. Such an immense plantation
all round it! You seem shut out from every thing\mbox{---}in the
most complete retirement.\mbox{---} And Mrs.\ Churchill probably
has not health or spirits like Selina to enjoy that sort of seclusion.
Or, perhaps she may not have resources enough in herself to be qualified
for a country life. I always say a woman cannot have too many resources\mbox{---}and
I feel very thankful that I have so many myself as to be quite independent
of society.''

{}``Frank was here in February for a fortnight.''

{}``So I remember to have heard. He will find an \emph{addition}
to the society of Highbury when he comes again; that is, if I may
presume to call myself an addition. But perhaps he may never have
heard of there being such a creature in the world.''

This was too loud a call for a compliment to be passed by, and Mr.\ Weston,
with a very good grace, immediately exclaimed,

{}``My dear madam! Nobody but yourself could imagine such a thing
possible. Not heard of you!\mbox{---} I believe Mrs.\ Weston's letters
lately have been full of very little else than Mrs.\ Elton.''

He had done his duty and could return to his son.

{}``When Frank left us,'' continued he, {}``it was quite uncertain
when we might see him again, which makes this day's news doubly welcome.
It has been completely unexpected. That is, I always had a strong
persuasion he would be here again soon, I was sure something favourable
would turn up\mbox{---}but nobody believed me. He and Mrs.\ Weston
were both dreadfully desponding.\  `How could he contrive to come?
And how could it be supposed that his uncle and aunt would spare him
again?'\ and so forth\mbox{---}I always felt that something would
happen in our favour; and so it has, you see. I have observed, Mrs.\ Elton,
in the course of my life, that if things are going untowardly one
month, they are sure to mend the next.''

{}``Very true, Mr.\ Weston, perfectly true. It is just what I used
to say to a certain gentleman in company in the days of courtship,
when, because things did not go quite right, did not proceed with
all the rapidity which suited his feelings, he was apt to be in despair,
and exclaim that he was sure at this rate it would be \emph{May} before
Hymen's saffron robe would be put on for us. Oh!\ the pains I have
been at to dispel those gloomy ideas and give him cheerfuller views!
The carriage\mbox{---}we had disappointments about the carriage;\mbox{---}one
morning, I remember, he came to me quite in despair.''

She was stopped by a slight fit of coughing, and Mr.\ Weston instantly
seized the opportunity of going on.

{}``You were mentioning May. May is the very month which Mrs.\ Churchill
is ordered, or has ordered herself, to spend in some warmer place
than Enscombe\mbox{---}in short, to spend in London; so that we have
the agreeable prospect of frequent visits from Frank the whole spring\mbox{---}precisely
the season of the year which one should have chosen for it: days almost
at the longest; weather genial and pleasant, always inviting one out,
and never too hot for exercise. When he was here before, we made the
best of it; but there was a good deal of wet, damp, cheerless weather;
there always is in February, you know, and we could not do half that
we intended. Now will be the time. This will be complete enjoyment;
and I do not know, Mrs.\ Elton, whether the uncertainty of our meetings,
the sort of constant expectation there will be of his coming in to-day
or to-morrow, and at any hour, may not be more friendly to happiness
than having him actually in the house. I think it is so. I think it
is the state of mind which gives most spirit and delight. I hope you
will be pleased with my son; but you must not expect a prodigy. He
is generally thought a fine young man, but do not expect a prodigy.
Mrs.\ Weston's partiality for him is very great, and, as you may
suppose, most gratifying to me. She thinks nobody equal to him.''

{}``And I assure you, Mr.\ Weston, I have very little doubt that
my opinion will be decidedly in his favour. I have heard so much in
praise of Mr.\ Frank Churchill.\mbox{---} At the same time it is
fair to observe, that I am one of those who always judge for themselves,
and are by no means implicitly guided by others. I give you notice
that as I find your son, so I shall judge of him.\mbox{---} I am
no flatterer.''

Mr.\ Weston was musing.

{}``I hope,'' said he presently, {}``I have not been severe upon
poor Mrs.\ Churchill. If she is ill I should be sorry to do her injustice;
but there are some traits in her character which make it difficult
for me to speak of her with the forbearance I could wish. You cannot
be ignorant, Mrs.\ Elton, of my connexion with the family, nor of
the treatment I have met with; and, between ourselves, the whole blame
of it is to be laid to her. She was the instigator. Frank's mother
would never have been slighted as she was but for her. Mr.\ Churchill
has pride; but his pride is nothing to his wife's: his is a quiet,
indolent, gentlemanlike sort of pride that would harm nobody, and
only make himself a little helpless and tiresome; but her pride is
arrogance and insolence! And what inclines one less to bear, she has
no fair pretence of family or blood. She was nobody when he married
her, barely the daughter of a gentleman; but ever since her being
turned into a Churchill she has out-Churchill'd them all in high and
mighty claims: but in herself, I assure you, she is an upstart.''

{}``Only think!\ well, that must be infinitely provoking! I have
quite a horror of upstarts. Maple Grove has given me a thorough disgust
to people of that sort; for there is a family in that neighbourhood
who are such an annoyance to my brother and sister from the airs they
give themselves! Your description of Mrs.\ Churchill made me think
of them directly. People of the name of Tupman, very lately settled
there, and encumbered with many low connexions, but giving themselves
immense airs, and expecting to be on a footing with the old established
families. A year and a half is the very utmost that they can have
lived at West Hall; and how they got their fortune nobody knows. They
came from Birmingham, which is not a place to promise much, you know,
Mr.\ Weston. One has not great hopes from Birmingham. I always say
there is something direful in the sound: but nothing more is positively
known of the Tupmans, though a good many things I assure you are suspected;
and yet by their manners they evidently think themselves equal even
to my brother, Mr.\ Suckling, who happens to be one of their nearest
neighbours. It is infinitely too bad. Mr.\ Suckling, who has been
eleven years a resident at Maple Grove, and whose father had it before
him\mbox{---}I believe, at least\mbox{---}I am almost sure that
old Mr.\ Suckling had completed the purchase before his death.''

They were interrupted. Tea was carrying round, and Mr.\ Weston, having
said all that he wanted, soon took the opportunity of walking away.

After tea, Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston, and Mr.\ Elton sat down with
Mr.\ Woodhouse to cards. The remaining five were left to their own
powers, and Emma doubted their getting on very well; for Mr.\ Knightley
seemed little disposed for conversation; Mrs.\ Elton was wanting
notice, which nobody had inclination to pay, and she was herself in
a worry of spirits which would have made her prefer being silent.

Mr.\ John Knightley proved more talkative than his brother. He was
to leave them early the next day; and he soon began with\mbox{---}

{}``Well, Emma, I do not believe I have any thing more to say about
the boys; but you have your sister's letter, and every thing is down
at full length there we may be sure. My charge would be much more
concise than her's, and probably not much in the same spirit; all
that I have to recommend being comprised in, do not spoil them, and
do not physic them.''

{}``I rather hope to satisfy you both,'' said Emma, {}``for I shall
do all in my power to make them happy, which will be enough for Isabella;
and happiness must preclude false indulgence and physic.''

{}``And if you find them troublesome, you must send them home again.''

{}``That is very likely. You think so, do not you?''\ 

{}``I hope I am aware that they may be too noisy for your father\mbox{---}or
even may be some encumbrance to you, if your visiting engagements
continue to increase as much as they have done lately.''

{}``Increase!''\ 

{}``Certainly; you must be sensible that the last half-year has made
a great difference in your way of life.''

{}``Difference! No indeed I am not.''

{}``There can be no doubt of your being much more engaged with company
than you used to be. Witness this very time. Here am I come down for
only one day, and you are engaged with a dinner-party!--- When did
it happen before, or any thing like it? Your neighbourhood is increasing,
and you mix more with it. A little while ago, every letter to Isabella
brought an account of fresh gaieties; dinners at Mr.\ Cole's, or
balls at the Crown. The difference which Randalls, Randalls alone
makes in your goings-on, is very great.''

{}``Yes,'' said his brother quickly, {}``it is Randalls that does
it all.''

{}``Very well\mbox{---}and as Randalls, I suppose, is not likely
to have less influence than heretofore, it strikes me as a possible
thing, Emma, that Henry and John may be sometimes in the way. And
if they are, I only beg you to send them home.''

{}``No,'' cried Mr.\ Knightley, {}``that need not be the consequence.
Let them be sent to Donwell. I shall certainly be at leisure.''

{}``Upon my word,'' exclaimed Emma, {}``you amuse me! I should
like to know how many of all my numerous engagements take place without
your being of the party; and why I am to be supposed in danger of
wanting leisure to attend to the little boys. These amazing engagements
of mine\mbox{---}what have they been? Dining once with the Coles\mbox{---}and
having a ball talked of, which never took place. I can understand
you''---(nodding at Mr.\ John Knightley)\mbox{---}{}``your good
fortune in meeting with so many of your friends at once here, delights
you too much to pass unnoticed. But you,'' (turning to Mr.\ Knightley,)
{}``who know how very, very seldom I am ever two hours from Hartfield,
why you should foresee such a series of dissipation for me, I cannot
imagine. And as to my dear little boys, I must say, that if Aunt Emma
has not time for them, I do not think they would fare much better
with Uncle Knightley, who is absent from home about five hours where
she is absent one\mbox{---}and who, when he is at home, is either
reading to himself or settling his accounts.''

Mr.\ Knightley seemed to be trying not to smile; and succeeded without
difficulty, upon Mrs.\ Elton's beginning to talk to him.


\part*{VOLUME III}

\addcontentsline{toc}{part}{VOLUME III}


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER I}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER I}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER I}

A very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma as to the
nature of her agitation on hearing this news of Frank Churchill. She
was soon convinced that it was not for herself she was feeling at
all apprehensive or embarrassed; it was for him. Her own attachment
had really subsided into a mere nothing; it was not worth thinking
of;\mbox{---}but if he, who had undoubtedly been always so much the
most in love of the two, were to be returning with the same warmth
of sentiment which he had taken away, it would be very distressing.
If a separation of two months should not have cooled him, there were
dangers and evils before her:\mbox{---}caution for him and for herself
would be necessary. She did not mean to have her own affections entangled
again, and it would be incumbent on her to avoid any encouragement
of his.

She wished she might be able to keep him from an absolute declaration.
That would be so very painful a conclusion of their present acquaintance!\ and
yet, she could not help rather anticipating something decisive. She
felt as if the spring would not pass without bringing a crisis, an
event, a something to alter her present composed and tranquil state.

It was not very long, though rather longer than Mr.\ Weston had foreseen,
before she had the power of forming some opinion of Frank Churchill's
feelings. The Enscombe family were not in town quite so soon as had
been imagined, but he was at Highbury very soon afterwards. He rode
down for a couple of hours; he could not yet do more; but as he came
from Randalls immediately to Hartfield, she could then exercise all
her quick observation, and speedily determine how he was influenced,
and how she must act. They met with the utmost friendliness. There
could be no doubt of his great pleasure in seeing her. But she had
an almost instant doubt of his caring for her as he had done, of his
feeling the same tenderness in the same degree. She watched him well.
It was a clear thing he was less in love than he had been. Absence,
with the conviction probably of her indifference, had produced this
very natural and very desirable effect.

He was in high spirits; as ready to talk and laugh as ever, and seemed
delighted to speak of his former visit, and recur to old stories:
and he was not without agitation. It was not in his calmness that
she read his comparative difference. He was not calm; his spirits
were evidently fluttered; there was restlessness about him. Lively
as he was, it seemed a liveliness that did not satisfy himself; but
what decided her belief on the subject, was his staying only a quarter
of an hour, and hurrying away to make other calls in Highbury. {}``He
had seen a group of old acquaintance in the street as he passed\mbox{---}he
had not stopped, he would not stop for more than a word\mbox{---}but
he had the vanity to think they would be disappointed if he did not
call, and much as he wished to stay longer at Hartfield, he must hurry
off.'' She had no doubt as to his being less in love\mbox{---}but
neither his agitated spirits, nor his hurrying away, seemed like a
perfect cure; and she was rather inclined to think it implied a dread
of her returning power, and a discreet resolution of not trusting
himself with her long.

This was the only visit from Frank Churchill in the course of ten
days. He was often hoping, intending to come\mbox{---}but was always
prevented. His aunt could not bear to have him leave her. Such was
his own account at Randall's. If he were quite sincere, if he really
tried to come, it was to be inferred that Mrs.\ Churchill's removal
to London had been of no service to the wilful or nervous part of
her disorder. That she was really ill was very certain; he had declared
himself convinced of it, at Randalls. Though much might be fancy,
he could not doubt, when he looked back, that she was in a weaker
state of health than she had been half a year ago. He did not believe
it to proceed from any thing that care and medicine might not remove,
or at least that she might not have many years of existence before
her; but he could not be prevailed on, by all his father's doubts,
to say that her complaints were merely imaginary, or that she was
as strong as ever.

It soon appeared that London was not the place for her. She could
not endure its noise. Her nerves were under continual irritation and
suffering; and by the ten days' end, her nephew's letter to Randalls
communicated a change of plan. They were going to remove immediately
to Richmond. Mrs.\ Churchill had been recommended to the medical
skill of an eminent person there, and had otherwise a fancy for the
place. A ready-furnished house in a favourite spot was engaged, and
much benefit expected from the change.

Emma heard that Frank wrote in the highest spirits of this arrangement,
and seemed most fully to appreciate the blessing of having two months
before him of such near neighbourhood to many dear friends\mbox{---}for
the house was taken for May and June. She was told that now he wrote
with the greatest confidence of being often with them, almost as often
as he could even wish.

Emma saw how Mr.\ Weston understood these joyous prospects. He was
considering her as the source of all the happiness they offered. She
hoped it was not so. Two months must bring it to the proof.

Mr.\ Weston's own happiness was indisputable. He was quite delighted.
It was the very circumstance he could have wished for. Now, it would
be really having Frank in their neighbourhood. What were nine miles
to a young man?\mbox{---} An hour's ride. He would be always coming
over. The difference in that respect of Richmond and London was enough
to make the whole difference of seeing him always and seeing him never.
Sixteen miles\mbox{---}nay, eighteen\mbox{---}it must be full eighteen
to Manchester-street---was a serious obstacle. Were he ever able to
get away, the day would be spent in coming and returning. There was
no comfort in having him in London; he might as well be at Enscombe;
but Richmond was the very distance for easy intercourse. Better than
nearer!

One good thing was immediately brought to a certainty by this removal,\mbox{---}the
ball at the Crown. It had not been forgotten before, but it had been
soon acknowledged vain to attempt to fix a day. Now, however, it was
absolutely to be; every preparation was resumed, and very soon after
the Churchills had removed to Richmond, a few lines from Frank, to
say that his aunt felt already much better for the change, and that
he had no doubt of being able to join them for twenty-four hours at
any given time, induced them to name as early a day as possible.

Mr.\ Weston's ball was to be a real thing. A very few to-morrows
stood between the young people of Highbury and happiness.

Mr.\ Woodhouse was resigned. The time of year lightened the evil
to him. May was better for every thing than February. Mrs.\ Bates
was engaged to spend the evening at Hartfield, James had due notice,
and he sanguinely hoped that neither dear little Henry nor dear little
John would have any thing the matter with them, while dear Emma were
gone.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER II}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER II}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER II}

No misfortune occurred, again to prevent the ball. The day approached,
the day arrived; and after a morning of some anxious watching, Frank
Churchill, in all the certainty of his own self, reached Randalls
before dinner, and every thing was safe.

No second meeting had there yet been between him and Emma. The room
at the Crown was to witness it;\mbox{---}but it would be better than
a common meeting in a crowd. Mr.\ Weston had been so very earnest
in his entreaties for her arriving there as soon as possible after
themselves, for the purpose of taking her opinion as to the propriety
and comfort of the rooms before any other persons came, that she could
not refuse him, and must therefore spend some quiet interval in the
young man's company. She was to convey Harriet, and they drove to
the Crown in good time, the Randalls party just sufficiently before
them.

Frank Churchill seemed to have been on the watch; and though he did
not say much, his eyes declared that he meant to have a delightful
evening. They all walked about together, to see that every thing was
as it should be; and within a few minutes were joined by the contents
of another carriage, which Emma could not hear the sound of at first,
without great surprize. {}``So unreasonably early!''\ she was going
to exclaim; but she presently found that it was a family of old friends,
who were coming, like herself, by particular desire, to help Mr.\ Weston's
judgment; and they were so very closely followed by another carriage
of cousins, who had been entreated to come early with the same distinguishing
earnestness, on the same errand, that it seemed as if half the company
might soon be collected together for the purpose of preparatory inspection.

Emma perceived that her taste was not the only taste on which Mr.\ Weston
depended, and felt, that to be the favourite and intimate of a man
who had so many intimates and confidantes, was not the very first
distinction in the scale of vanity. She liked his open manners, but
a little less of open-heartedness would have made him a higher character.\mbox{---}
General benevolence, but not general friendship, made a man what he
ought to be.\mbox{---} She could fancy such a man. The whole party
walked about, and looked, and praised again; and then, having nothing
else to do, formed a sort of half-circle round the fire, to observe
in their various modes, till other subjects were started, that, though
\emph{May}, a fire in the evening was still very pleasant.

Emma found that it was not Mr.\ Weston's fault that the number of
privy councillors was not yet larger. They had stopped at Mrs.\ Bates's
door to offer the use of their carriage, but the aunt and niece were
to be brought by the Eltons.

Frank was standing by her, but not steadily; there was a restlessness,
which shewed a mind not at ease. He was looking about, he was going
to the door, he was watching for the sound of other carriages,\mbox{---}impatient
to begin, or afraid of being always near her.

Mrs.\ Elton was spoken of. {}``I think she must be here soon,''
said he. {}``I have a great curiosity to see Mrs.\ Elton, I have
heard so much of her. It cannot be long, I think, before she comes.''

A carriage was heard. He was on the move immediately; but coming back,
said,

{}``I am forgetting that I am not acquainted with her. I have never
seen either Mr.\ or Mrs.\ Elton. I have no business to put myself
forward.''

Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Elton appeared; and all the smiles and the proprieties
passed.

{}``But Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax!''\ said Mr.\ Weston, looking
about. {}``We thought you were to bring them.''

The mistake had been slight. The carriage was sent for them now. Emma
longed to know what Frank's first opinion of Mrs.\ Elton might be;
how he was affected by the studied elegance of her dress, and her
smiles of graciousness. He was immediately qualifying himself to form
an opinion, by giving her very proper attention, after the introduction
had passed.

In a few minutes the carriage returned.\mbox{---} Somebody talked
of rain.\mbox{---} {}``I will see that there are umbrellas, sir,''
said Frank to his father: {}``Miss Bates must not be forgotten:''
and away he went. Mr.\ Weston was following; but Mrs.\ Elton detained
him, to gratify him by her opinion of his son; and so briskly did
she begin, that the young man himself, though by no means moving slowly,
could hardly be out of hearing.

{}``A very fine young man indeed, Mr.\ Weston. You know I candidly
told you I should form my own opinion; and I am happy to say that
I am extremely pleased with him.\mbox{---} You may believe me. I
never compliment. I think him a very handsome young man, and his manners
are precisely what I like and approve\mbox{---}so truly the gentleman,
without the least conceit or puppyism. You must know I have a vast
dislike to puppies\mbox{---}quite a horror of them. They were never
tolerated at Maple Grove. Neither Mr.\ Suckling nor me had ever any
patience with them; and we used sometimes to say very cutting things!
Selina, who is mild almost to a fault, bore with them much better.''

While she talked of his son, Mr.\ Weston's attention was chained;
but when she got to Maple Grove, he could recollect that there were
ladies just arriving to be attended to, and with happy smiles must
hurry away.

Mrs.\ Elton turned to Mrs.\ Weston. {}``I have no doubt of its
being our carriage with Miss Bates and Jane. Our coachman and horses
are so extremely expeditious!\mbox{---} I believe we drive faster
than any body.\mbox{---} What a pleasure it is to send one's carriage
for a friend!\mbox{---} I understand you were so kind as to offer,
but another time it will be quite unnecessary. You may be very sure
I shall always take care of \emph{them}.''

Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, escorted by the two gentlemen, walked
into the room; and Mrs.\ Elton seemed to think it as much her duty
as Mrs.\ Weston's to receive them. Her gestures and movements might
be understood by any one who looked on like Emma; but her words, every
body's words, were soon lost under the incessant flow of Miss Bates,
who came in talking, and had not finished her speech under many minutes
after her being admitted into the circle at the fire. As the door
opened she was heard,

{}``So very obliging of you!\mbox{---} No rain at all. Nothing to
signify. I do not care for myself. Quite thick shoes. And Jane declares\mbox{---}Well!''---(as
soon as she was within the door) {}``Well! This is brilliant indeed!\mbox{---}
This is admirable!\mbox{---} Excellently contrived, upon my word.
Nothing wanting. Could not have imagined it.\mbox{---} So well lighted
up!\mbox{---} Jane, Jane, look!\mbox{---} did you ever see any thing?
Oh!\ Mr.\ Weston, you must really have had Aladdin's lamp. Good
Mrs.\ Stokes would not know her own room again. I saw her as I came
in; she was standing in the entrance.\  `Oh!\ Mrs.\ Stokes,' said
I\mbox{---}but I had not time for more.'' She was now met by Mrs.\ Weston.\mbox{---}
{}``Very well, I thank you, ma'am. I hope you are quite well. Very
happy to hear it. So afraid you might have a headache!\mbox{---}seeing
you pass by so often, and knowing how much trouble you must have.
Delighted to hear it indeed. Ah!\ dear Mrs.\ Elton, so obliged to
you for the carriage!\mbox{---}excellent time. Jane and I quite ready.
Did not keep the horses a moment. Most comfortable carriage.\mbox{---}
Oh!\ and I am sure our thanks are due to you, Mrs.\ Weston, on that
score. Mrs.\ Elton had most kindly sent Jane a note, or we should
have been.\mbox{---} But two such offers in one day!\mbox{---} Never
were such neighbours. I said to my mother, `Upon my word, ma'am\mbox{---}.'
Thank you, my mother is remarkably well. Gone to Mr.\ Woodhouse's.
I made her take her shawl\mbox{---}for the evenings are not warm\mbox{---}her
large new shawl\mbox{---}Mrs.\ Dixon's wedding-present.\mbox{---}
So kind of her to think of my mother! Bought at Weymouth, you know\mbox{---}Mr.\ Dixon's
choice. There were three others, Jane says, which they hesitated about
some time. Colonel Campbell rather preferred an olive. My dear Jane,
are you sure you did not wet your feet?\mbox{---} It was but a drop
or two, but I am so afraid:\mbox{---}but Mr.\ Frank Churchill was
so extremely\mbox{---}and there was a mat to step upon\mbox{---}I
shall never forget his extreme politeness.\mbox{---} Oh!\ Mr.\ Frank
Churchill, I must tell you my mother's spectacles have never been
in fault since; the rivet never came out again. My mother often talks
of your good-nature. Does not she, Jane?\mbox{---} Do not we often
talk of Mr.\ Frank Churchill?\mbox{---} Ah!\ here's Miss Woodhouse.\mbox{---}
Dear Miss Woodhouse, how do you do?\mbox{---} Very well I thank you,
quite well. This is meeting quite in fairy-land!\mbox{---} Such a
transformation!\mbox{---} Must not compliment, I know'' (eyeing
Emma most complacently)\mbox{---}{}``that would be rude\mbox{---}but
upon my word, Miss Woodhouse, you do look\mbox{---}how do you like
Jane's hair?\mbox{---} You are a judge.\mbox{---} She did it all
herself. Quite wonderful how she does her hair!\mbox{---} No hairdresser
from London I think could.\mbox{---} Ah!\ Dr.\ Hughes I declare\mbox{---}and
Mrs.\ Hughes. Must go and speak to Dr.\ and Mrs.\ Hughes for a
moment.\mbox{---} How do you do? How do you do?\mbox{---} Very well,
I thank you. This is delightful, is not it?\mbox{---} Where's dear
Mr.\ Richard?\mbox{---} Oh!\  there he is. Don't disturb him. Much
better employed talking to the young ladies. How do you do, Mr.\ Richard?\mbox{---}
I saw you the other day as you rode through the town\mbox{---}Mrs.\ Otway,
I protest!\mbox{---}and good Mr.\ Otway, and Miss Otway and Miss
Caroline.\mbox{---} Such a host of friends!\mbox{---}and Mr.\ George
and Mr.\ Arthur!\mbox{---} How do you do? How do you all do?\mbox{---}
Quite well, I am much obliged to you. Never better.\mbox{---} Don't
I hear another carriage?\mbox{---} Who can this be?\mbox{---}very
likely the worthy Coles.\mbox{---} Upon my word, this is charming
to be standing about among such friends! And such a noble fire!\mbox{---}
I am quite roasted. No coffee, I thank you, for me\mbox{---}never
take coffee.\mbox{---} A little tea if you please, sir, by and bye,\mbox{---}no
hurry\mbox{---}Oh!\  here it comes. Every thing so good!''\ 

Frank Churchill returned to his station by Emma; and as soon as Miss
Bates was quiet, she found herself necessarily overhearing the discourse
of Mrs.\ Elton and Miss Fairfax, who were standing a little way behind
her.\mbox{---} He was thoughtful. Whether he were overhearing too,
she could not determine. After a good many compliments to Jane on
her dress and look, compliments very quietly and properly taken, Mrs.\ Elton
was evidently wanting to be complimented herself\mbox{---}and it
was, {}``How do you like my gown?\mbox{---} How do you like my trimming?\mbox{---}
How has Wright done my hair?''---with many other relative questions,
all answered with patient politeness. Mrs.\ Elton then said, {}``Nobody
can think less of dress in general than I do\mbox{---}but upon such
an occasion as this, when every body's eyes are so much upon me, and
in compliment to the Westons\mbox{---}who I have no doubt are giving
this ball chiefly to do me honour\mbox{---}I would not wish to be
inferior to others. And I see very few pearls in the room except mine.\mbox{---}
So Frank Churchill is a capital dancer, I understand.\mbox{---} We
shall see if our styles suit.\mbox{---} A fine young man certainly
is Frank Churchill. I like him very well.''

At this moment Frank began talking so vigorously, that Emma could
not but imagine he had overheard his own praises, and did not want
to hear more;\mbox{---}and the voices of the ladies were drowned
for a while, till another suspension brought Mrs.\ Elton's tones
again distinctly forward.\mbox{---} Mr.\ Elton had just joined them,
and his wife was exclaiming,

{}``Oh!\ you have found us out at last, have you, in our seclusion?\mbox{---}
I was this moment telling Jane, I thought you would begin to be impatient
for tidings of us.''

{}``Jane!''---repeated Frank Churchill, with a look of surprize
and displeasure.\mbox{---} {}``That is easy\mbox{---}but Miss Fairfax
does not disapprove it, I suppose.''

{}``How do you like Mrs.\ Elton?''\ said Emma in a whisper.

{}``Not at all.''

{}``You are ungrateful.''

{}``Ungrateful!\mbox{---} What do you mean?''\ Then changing from
a frown to a smile\mbox{---}{}``No, do not tell me\mbox{---}I do
not want to know what you mean.\mbox{---} Where is my father?\mbox{---}
When are we to begin dancing?''\ 

Emma could hardly understand him; he seemed in an odd humour. He walked
off to find his father, but was quickly back again with both Mr.\ and
Mrs.\ Weston. He had met with them in a little perplexity, which
must be laid before Emma. It had just occurred to Mrs.\ Weston that
Mrs.\ Elton must be asked to begin the ball; that she would expect
it; which interfered with all their wishes of giving Emma that distinction.\mbox{---}
Emma heard the sad truth with fortitude.

{}``And what are we to do for a proper partner for her?''\ said
Mr.\ Weston. {}``She will think Frank ought to ask her.''

Frank turned instantly to Emma, to claim her former promise; and boasted
himself an engaged man, which his father looked his most perfect approbation
of\mbox{---}and it then appeared that Mrs.\ Weston was wanting \emph{him}
to dance with Mrs.\ Elton himself, and that their business was to
help to persuade him into it, which was done pretty soon.\mbox{---}
Mr.\ Weston and Mrs.\ Elton led the way, Mr.\ Frank Churchill and
Miss Woodhouse followed. Emma must submit to stand second to Mrs.\ Elton,
though she had always considered the ball as peculiarly for her. It
was almost enough to make her think of marrying. Mrs.\ Elton had
undoubtedly the advantage, at this time, in vanity completely gratified;
for though she had intended to begin with Frank Churchill, she could
not lose by the change. Mr.\ Weston might be his son's superior.\mbox{---}
In spite of this little rub, however, Emma was smiling with enjoyment,
delighted to see the respectable length of the set as it was forming,
and to feel that she had so many hours of unusual festivity before
her.\mbox{---} She was more disturbed by Mr.\ Knightley's not dancing
than by any thing else.\mbox{---} There he was, among the standers-by,
where he ought not to be; he ought to be dancing,\mbox{---}not classing
himself with the husbands, and fathers, and whist-players, who were
pretending to feel an interest in the dance till their rubbers were
made up,\mbox{---}so young as he looked!\mbox{---} He could not
have appeared to greater advantage perhaps anywhere, than where he
had placed himself. His tall, firm, upright figure, among the bulky
forms and stooping shoulders of the elderly men, was such as Emma
felt must draw every body's eyes; and, excepting her own partner,
there was not one among the whole row of young men who could be compared
with him.\mbox{---} He moved a few steps nearer, and those few steps
were enough to prove in how gentlemanlike a manner, with what natural
grace, he must have danced, would he but take the trouble.\mbox{---}
Whenever she caught his eye, she forced him to smile; but in general
he was looking grave. She wished he could love a ballroom better,
and could like Frank Churchill better.\mbox{---} He seemed often
observing her. She must not flatter herself that he thought of her
dancing, but if he were criticising her behaviour, she did not feel
afraid. There was nothing like flirtation between her and her partner.
They seemed more like cheerful, easy friends, than lovers. That Frank
Churchill thought less of her than he had done, was indubitable.

The ball proceeded pleasantly. The anxious cares, the incessant attentions
of Mrs.\ Weston, were not thrown away. Every body seemed happy; and
the praise of being a delightful ball, which is seldom bestowed till
after a ball has ceased to be, was repeatedly given in the very beginning
of the existence of this. Of very important, very recordable events,
it was not more productive than such meetings usually are. There was
one, however, which Emma thought something of.\mbox{---} The two
last dances before supper were begun, and Harriet had no partner;\mbox{---}the
only young lady sitting down;\mbox{---}and so equal had been hitherto
the number of dancers, that how there could be any one disengaged
was the wonder!\mbox{---} But Emma's wonder lessened soon afterwards,
on seeing Mr.\ Elton sauntering about. He would not ask Harriet to
dance if it were possible to be avoided: she was sure he would not\mbox{---}and
she was expecting him every moment to escape into the card-room.

Escape, however, was not his plan. He came to the part of the room
where the sitters-by were collected, spoke to some, and walked about
in front of them, as if to shew his liberty, and his resolution of
maintaining it. He did not omit being sometimes directly before Miss
Smith, or speaking to those who were close to her.\mbox{---} Emma
saw it. She was not yet dancing; she was working her way up from the
bottom, and had therefore leisure to look around, and by only turning
her head a little she saw it all. When she was half-way up the set,
the whole group were exactly behind her, and she would no longer allow
her eyes to watch; but Mr.\ Elton was so near, that she heard every
syllable of a dialogue which just then took place between him and
Mrs.\ Weston; and she perceived that his wife, who was standing immediately
above her, was not only listening also, but even encouraging him by
significant glances.\mbox{---} The kind-hearted, gentle Mrs.\ Weston
had left her seat to join him and say, {}``Do not you dance, Mr.\ Elton?''\ to
which his prompt reply was, {}``Most readily, Mrs.\ Weston, if you
will dance with me.''

{}``Me!\mbox{---}oh! no\mbox{---}I would get you a better partner
than myself. I am no dancer.''

{}``If Mrs.\ Gilbert wishes to dance,'' said he, {}``I shall have
great pleasure, I am sure\mbox{---}for, though beginning to feel
myself rather an old married man, and that my dancing days are over,
it would give me very great pleasure at any time to stand up with
an old friend like Mrs.\ Gilbert.''

{}``Mrs.\ Gilbert does not mean to dance, but there is a young lady
disengaged whom I should be very glad to see dancing\mbox{---}Miss
Smith.'' 

{}``Miss Smith!\mbox{---}oh!\mbox{---}I had not ob\-serv\-ed.\mbox{---}
You are extremely ob\-lig\-ing\mbox{---}and if I were not an old
married man.\mbox{---} But my dancing days are over, Mrs.\ Weston.
You will excuse me. Any thing else I should be most happy to do, at
your command\mbox{---}but my dancing days are over.''

Mrs.\ Weston said no more; and Emma could imagine with what surprize
and mortification she must be returning to her seat. This was Mr.\ Elton!\ the
amiable, obliging, gentle Mr.\ Elton.\mbox{---} She looked round
for a moment; he had joined Mr.\ Knightley at a little distance,
and was arranging himself for settled conversation, while smiles of
high glee passed between him and his wife.

She would not look again. Her heart was in a glow, and she feared
her face might be as hot.

In another moment a happier sight caught her;\mbox{---}Mr.\ Knightley
leading Harriet to the set!\mbox{---} Never had she been more surprized,
seldom more delighted, than at that instant. She was all pleasure
and gratitude, both for Harriet and herself, and longed to be thanking
him; and though too distant for speech, her countenance said much,
as soon as she could catch his eye again.

His dancing proved to be just what she had believed it, extremely
good; and Harriet would have seemed almost too lucky, if it had not
been for the cruel state of things before, and for the very complete
enjoyment and very high sense of the distinction which her happy features
announced. It was not thrown away on her, she bounded higher than
ever, flew farther down the middle, and was in a continual course
of smiles.

Mr.\ Elton had retreated into the card-room, looking (Emma trusted)
very foolish. She did not think he was quite so hardened as his wife,
though growing very like her;\mbox{---}\emph{she} spoke some of her
feelings, by observing audibly to her partner,

{}``Knightley has taken pity on poor little Miss Smith!\mbox{---}
Very good-natured, I declare.''

Supper was announced. The move began; and Miss Bates might be heard
from that moment, without interruption, till her being seated at table
and taking up her spoon.

{}``Jane, Jane, my dear Jane, where are you?\mbox{---} Here is your
tippet. Mrs.\ Weston begs you to put on your tippet. She says she
is afraid there will be draughts in the passage, though every thing
has been done\mbox{---}One door nailed up\mbox{---}Quantities of
matting\mbox{---}My dear Jane, indeed you must. Mr.\ Churchill,
oh! you are too obliging! How well you put it on!\mbox{---}so gratified!
Excellent dancing indeed!\mbox{---} Yes, my dear, I ran home, as
I said I should, to help grandmama to bed, and got back again, and
nobody missed me.\mbox{---} I set off without saying a word, just
as I told you. Grandmama was quite well, had a charming evening with
Mr.\ Woodhouse, a vast deal of chat, and backgammon.\mbox{---} Tea
was made downstairs, biscuits and baked apples and wine before she
came away: amazing luck in some of her throws: and she inquired a
great deal about you, how you were amused, and who were your partners.\ 
`Oh!'\ said I, `I shall not forestall Jane; I left her dancing with
Mr.\ George Otway; she will love to tell you all about it herself
to-morrow: her first partner was Mr.\ Elton, I do not know who will
ask her next, perhaps Mr.\ William Cox.' My dear sir, you are too
obliging.\mbox{---} Is there nobody you would not rather?\mbox{---}
I am not helpless. Sir, you are most kind. Upon my word, Jane on one
arm, and me on the other!\mbox{---} Stop, stop, let us stand a little
back, Mrs.\ Elton is going; dear Mrs.\ Elton, how elegant she looks!\mbox{---}
Beautiful lace!\mbox{---} Now we all follow in her train. Quite the
queen of the evening!\mbox{---} Well, here we are at the passage.
Two steps, Jane, take care of the two steps. Oh!\ no, there is but
one. Well, I was persuaded there were two. How very odd! I was convinced
there were two, and there is but one. I never saw any thing equal
to the comfort and style\mbox{---}Candles everywhere.\mbox{---}
I was telling you of your grandmama, Jane,\mbox{---}There was a little
disappointment.--- The baked apples and biscuits, excellent in their
way, you know; but there was a delicate fricassee of sweetbread and
some asparagus brought in at first, and good Mr.\ Woodhouse, not
thinking the asparagus quite boiled enough, sent it all out again.
Now there is nothing grandmama loves better than sweetbread and asparagus\mbox{---}so
she was rather disappointed, but we agreed we would not speak of it
to any body, for fear of its getting round to dear Miss Woodhouse,
who would be so very much concerned!\mbox{---} Well, this is brilliant!
I am all amazement!\ could not have supposed any thing!\mbox{---}
Such elegance and profusion!\mbox{---} I have seen nothing like it
since\mbox{---}Well, where shall we sit?\ where shall we sit? Anywhere,
so that Jane is not in a draught. Where I sit is of no consequence.
Oh!\ do you recommend this side?\mbox{---} Well, I am sure, Mr.\ Churchill\mbox{---}only
it seems too good\mbox{---}but just as you please. What you direct
in this house cannot be wrong. Dear Jane, how shall we ever recollect
half the dishes for grandmama? Soup too! Bless me! I should not be
helped so soon, but it smells most excellent, and I cannot help beginning.''

Emma had no opportunity of speaking to Mr.\ Knightley till after
supper; but, when they were all in the ballroom again, her eyes invited
him irresistibly to come to her and be thanked. He was warm in his
reprobation of Mr.\ Elton's conduct; it had been unpardonable rudeness;
and Mrs.\ Elton's looks also received the due share of censure.

{}``They aimed at wounding more than Harriet,'' said he. {}``Emma,
why is it that they are your enemies?''\ 

He looked with smiling penetration; and, on receiving no answer, added,
{}``\emph{She} ought not to be angry with you, I suspect, whatever
he may be.\mbox{---} To that surmise, you say nothing, of course;
but confess, Emma, that you did want him to marry Harriet.''

{}``I did,'' replied Emma, {}``and they cannot forgive me.''

He shook his head; but there was a smile of indulgence with it, and
he only said,

{}``I shall not scold you. I leave you to your own reflections.''

{}``Can you trust me with such flatterers?\mbox{---} Does my vain
spirit ever tell me I am wrong?''\ 

{}``Not your vain spirit, but your serious spirit.\mbox{---} If
one leads you wrong, I am sure the other tells you of it.''

{}``I do own myself to have been completely mistaken in Mr.\ Elton.
There is a littleness about him which you discovered, and which I
did not: and I was fully convinced of his being in love with Harriet.
It was through a series of strange blunders!''\ 

{}``And, in return for your acknowledging so much, I will do you
the justice to say, that you would have chosen for him better than
he has chosen for himself.\mbox{---} Harriet Smith has some first-rate
qualities, which Mrs.\ Elton is totally without. An unpretending,
single-minded, artless girl\mbox{---}infinitely to be preferred by
any man of sense and taste to such a woman as Mrs.\ Elton. I found
Harriet more conversable than I expected.''

Emma was extremely gratified.\mbox{---} They were interrupted by
the bustle of Mr.\ Weston calling on every body to begin dancing
again.

{}``Come Miss Woodhouse, Miss Otway, Miss Fairfax, what are you all
doing?\mbox{---} Come Emma, set your companions the example. Every
body is lazy! Every body is asleep!''\ 

{}``I am ready,'' said Emma, {}``whenever I am wanted.''

{}``Whom are you going to dance with?''\ asked Mr.\ Knightley.

She hesitated a moment, and then replied, {}``With you, if you will
ask me.''

{}``Will you?''\ said he, offering his hand.

{}``Indeed I will. You have shewn that you can dance, and you know
we are not really so much brother and sister as to make it at all
improper.''

{}``Brother and sister! no, indeed.''


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER III}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER III}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER III}

This little explanation with Mr.\ Knightley gave Emma considerable
pleasure. It was one of the agreeable recollections of the ball, which
she walked about the lawn the next morning to enjoy.\mbox{---} She
was extremely glad that they had come to so good an understanding
respecting the Eltons, and that their opinions of both husband and
wife were so much alike; and his praise of Harriet, his concession
in her favour, was peculiarly gratifying. The impertinence of the
Eltons, which for a few minutes had threatened to ruin the rest of
her evening, had been the occasion of some of its highest satisfactions;
and she looked forward to another happy result\mbox{---}the cure
of Harriet's infatuation.\mbox{---} From Harriet's manner of speaking
of the circumstance before they quitted the ballroom, she had strong
hopes. It seemed as if her eyes were suddenly opened, and she were
enabled to see that Mr.\ Elton was not the superior creature she
had believed him. The fever was over, and Emma could harbour little
fear of the pulse being quickened again by injurious courtesy. She
depended on the evil feelings of the Eltons for supplying all the
discipline of pointed neglect that could be farther requisite.\mbox{---}
Harriet rational, Frank Churchill not too much in love, and Mr.\ Knightley
not wanting to quarrel with her, how very happy a summer must be before
her!

She was not to see Frank Churchill this morning. He had told her that
he could not allow himself the pleasure of stopping at Hartfield,
as he was to be at home by the middle of the day. She did not regret
it.

Having arranged all these matters, looked them through, and put them
all to rights, she was just turning to the house with spirits freshened
up for the demands of the two little boys, as well as of their grandpapa,
when the great iron sweep-gate opened, and two persons entered whom
she had never less expected to see together\mbox{---}Frank Churchill,
with Harriet leaning on his arm\mbox{---}actually Harriet!\mbox{---}
A moment sufficed to convince her that something extraordinary had
happened. Harriet looked white and frightened, and he was trying to
cheer her.\mbox{---} The iron gates and the front-door were not twenty
yards asunder;\mbox{---}they were all three soon in the hall, and
Harriet immediately sinking into a chair fainted away.

A young lady who faints, must be recovered; questions must be answered,
and surprizes be explained. Such events are very interesting, but
the suspense of them cannot last long. A few minutes made Emma acquainted
with the whole.

Miss Smith, and Miss Bickerton, another parlour boarder at Mrs.\ Goddard's,
who had been also at the ball, had walked out together, and taken
a road, the Richmond road, which, though apparently public enough
for safety, had led them into alarm.\mbox{---} About half a mile
beyond Highbury, making a sudden turn, and deeply shaded by elms on
each side, it became for a considerable stretch very retired; and
when the young ladies had advanced some way into it, they had suddenly
perceived at a small distance before them, on a broader patch of greensward
by the side, a party of gipsies. A child on the watch, came towards
them to beg; and Miss Bickerton, excessively frightened, gave a great
scream, and calling on Harriet to follow her, ran up a steep bank,
cleared a slight hedge at the top, and made the best of her way by
a short cut back to Highbury. But poor Harriet could not follow. She
had suffered very much from cramp after dancing, and her first attempt
to mount the bank brought on such a return of it as made her absolutely
powerless\mbox{---}and in this state, and exceedingly terrified,
she had been obliged to remain.

How the trampers might have behaved, had the young ladies been more
courageous, must be doubtful; but such an invitation for attack could
not be resisted; and Harriet was soon assailed by half a dozen children,
headed by a stout woman and a great boy, all clamorous, and impertinent
in look, though not absolutely in word.\mbox{---} More and more frightened,
she immediately promised them money, and taking out her purse, gave
them a shilling, and begged them not to want more, or to use her ill.\mbox{---}
She was then able to walk, though but slowly, and was moving away\mbox{---}but
her terror and her purse were too tempting, and she was followed,
or rather surrounded, by the whole gang, demanding more.

In this state Frank Churchill had found her, she trembling and conditioning,
they loud and insolent. By a most fortunate chance his leaving Highbury
had been delayed so as to bring him to her assistance at this critical
moment. The pleasantness of the morning had induced him to walk forward,
and leave his horses to meet him by another road, a mile or two beyond
Highbury\mbox{---}and happening to have borrowed a pair of scissors
the night before of Miss Bates, and to have forgotten to restore them,
he had been obliged to stop at her door, and go in for a few minutes:
he was therefore later than he had intended; and being on foot, was
unseen by the whole party till almost close to them. The terror which
the woman and boy had been creating in Harriet was then their own
portion. He had left them completely frightened; and Harriet eagerly
clinging to him, and hardly able to speak, had just strength enough
to reach Hartfield, before her spirits were quite overcome. It was
his idea to bring her to Hartfield: he had thought of no other place.

This was the amount of the whole story,\mbox{---}of his communication
and of Harriet's as soon as she had recovered her senses and speech.\mbox{---}
He dared not stay longer than to see her well; these several delays
left him not another minute to lose; and Emma engaging to give assurance
of her safety to Mrs.\ Goddard, and notice of there being such a
set of people in the neighbourhood to Mr.\ Knightley, he set off,
with all the grateful blessings that she could utter for her friend
and herself.

Such an adventure as this,\mbox{---}a fine young man and a lovely
young woman thrown together in such a way, could hardly fail of suggesting
certain ideas to the coldest heart and the steadiest brain. So Emma
thought, at least. Could a linguist, could a grammarian, could even
a mathematician have seen what she did, have witnessed their appearance
together, and heard their history of it, without feeling that circumstances
had been at work to make them peculiarly interesting to each other?\mbox{---}
How much more must an imaginist, like herself, be on fire with speculation
and foresight!\mbox{---}especially with such a groundwork of anticipation
as her mind had already made.

It was a very extraordinary thing! Nothing of the sort had ever occurred
before to any young ladies in the place, within her memory; no rencontre,
no alarm of the kind;\mbox{---}and now it had happened to the very
person, and at the very hour, when the other very person was chancing
to pass by to rescue her!\mbox{---} It certainly was very extraordinary!\mbox{---}
And knowing, as she did, the favourable state of mind of each at this
period, it struck her the more. He was wishing to get the better of
his attachment to herself, she just recovering from her mania for
Mr.\ Elton. It seemed as if every thing united to promise the most
interesting consequences. It was not possible that the occurrence
should not be strongly recommending each to the other.

In the few minutes' conversation which she had yet had with him, while
Harriet had been partially insensible, he had spoken of her terror,
her na\"{i}vete, her fervour as she seized and clung to his arm,
with a sensibility amused and delighted; and just at last, after Harriet's
own account had been given, he had expressed his indignation at the
abominable folly of Miss Bickerton in the warmest terms. Every thing
was to take its natural course, however, neither impelled nor assisted.
She would not stir a step, nor drop a hint. No, she had had enough
of interference. There could be no harm in a scheme, a mere passive
scheme. It was no more than a wish. Beyond it she would on no account
proceed.

Emma's first resolution was to keep her father from the knowledge
of what had passed,\mbox{---}aware of the anxiety and alarm it would
occasion: but she soon felt that concealment must be impossible. Within
half an hour it was known all over Highbury. It was the very event
to engage those who talk most, the young and the low; and all the
youth and servants in the place were soon in the happiness of frightful
news. The last night's ball seemed lost in the gipsies. Poor Mr.\ Woodhouse
trembled as he sat, and, as Emma had foreseen, would scarcely be satisfied
without their promising never to go beyond the shrubbery again. It
was some comfort to him that many inquiries after himself and Miss
Woodhouse (for his neighbours knew that he loved to be inquired after),
as well as Miss Smith, were coming in during the rest of the day;
and he had the pleasure of returning for answer, that they were all
very indifferent\mbox{---}which, though not exactly true, for she
was perfectly well, and Harriet not much otherwise, Emma would not
interfere with. She had an unhappy state of health in general for
the child of such a man, for she hardly knew what indisposition was;
and if he did not invent illnesses for her, she could make no figure
in a message.

The gipsies did not wait for the operations of justice; they took
themselves off in a hurry. The young ladies of Highbury might have
walked again in safety before their panic began, and the whole history
dwindled soon into a matter of little importance but to Emma and her
nephews:\mbox{---}in her imagination it maintained its ground, and
Henry and John were still asking every day for the story of Harriet
and the gipsies, and still tenaciously setting her right if she varied
in the slightest particular from the original recital.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER IV}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER IV}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER IV}

A very few days had passed after this adventure, when Harriet came
one morning to Emma with a small parcel in her hand, and after sitting
down and hesitating, thus began:

{}``Miss Woodhouse\mbox{---}if you are at leisure\mbox{---}I have
something that I should like to tell you\mbox{---}a sort of confession
to make\mbox{---}and then, you know, it will be over.''

Emma was a good deal surprized; but begged her to speak. There was
a seriousness in Harriet's manner which prepared her, quite as much
as her words, for something more than ordinary.

{}``It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,'' she continued,
{}``to have no reserves with you on this subject. As I am happily
quite an altered creature in \emph{one respect}, it is very fit that
you should have the satisfaction of knowing it. I do not want to say
more than is necessary\mbox{---}I am too much ashamed of having given
way as I have done, and I dare say you understand me.''

{}``Yes,'' said Emma, {}``I hope I do.''

{}``How I could so long a time be fancying myself!\ldots{}'' cried
Harriet, warmly. {}``It seems like madness! I can see nothing at
all extraordinary in him now.\mbox{---} I do not care whether I meet
him or not\mbox{---}except that of the two I had rather not see him\mbox{---}and
indeed I would go any distance round to avoid him\mbox{---}but I
do not envy his wife in the least; I neither admire her nor envy her,
as I have done: she is very charming, I dare say, and all that, but
I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable\mbox{---}I shall never
forget her look the other night!\mbox{---} However, I assure you,
Miss Woodhouse, I wish her no evil.\mbox{---} No, let them be ever
so happy together, it will not give me another moment's pang: and
to convince you that I have been speaking truth, I am now going to
destroy\mbox{---}what I ought to have destroyed long ago\mbox{---}what
I ought never to have kept\mbox{---}I know that very well'' (blushing
as she spoke).\mbox{---} {}``However, now I will destroy it all\mbox{---}and
it is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you may see
how rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel holds?''\ said
she, with a conscious look.

{}``Not the least in the world.\mbox{---} Did he ever give you any
thing?''

{}``No\mbox{---}I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that
I have valued very much.''

She held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the words \noun{Most
precious treasures} on the top. Her curiosity was greatly excited.
Harriet unfolded the parcel, and she looked on with impatience. Within
abundance of silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box,
which Harriet opened: it was well lined with the softest cotton; but,
excepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of court-plaister.

{}``Now,'' said Harriet, {}``you \emph{must} recollect.''

{}``No, indeed I do not.''

{}``Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you could forget
what passed in this very room about court-plaister, one of the very
last times we ever met in it!\mbox{---} It was but a very few days
before I had my sore throat\mbox{---}just before Mr.\ and Mrs.\ John
Knightley came\mbox{---}I think the very evening.\mbox{---} Do not
you remember his cutting his finger with your new penknife, and your
recommending court-plaister?\mbox{---} But, as you had none about
you, and knew I had, you desired me to supply him; and so I took mine
out and cut him a piece; but it was a great deal too large, and he
cut it smaller, and kept playing some time with what was left, before
he gave it back to me. And so then, in my nonsense, I could not help
making a treasure of it\mbox{---}so I put it by never to be used,
and looked at it now and then as a great treat.''

{}``My dearest Harriet!''\ cried Emma, putting her hand before
her face, and jumping up, {}``you make me more ashamed of myself
than I can bear. Remember it? Aye, I remember it all now; all, except
your saving this relic\mbox{---}I knew nothing of that till this
moment\mbox{---}but the cutting the finger, and my recommending court-plaister,
and saying I had none about me!\mbox{---} Oh!\ my sins, my sins!\mbox{---}
And I had plenty all the while in my pocket!\mbox{---} One of my
senseless tricks!\mbox{---} I deserve to be under a continual blush
all the rest of my life.\mbox{---} Well''---(sitting down again)\mbox{---}{}``go
on\mbox{---}what else?''

{}``And had you really some at hand yourself? I am sure I never suspected
it, you did it so naturally.''

{}``And so you actually put this piece of court-plaister by for his
sake!''\ said Emma, recovering from her state of shame and feeling
divided between wonder and amusement. And secretly she added to herself,
{}``Lord bless me! when should I ever have thought of putting by
in cotton a piece of court-plaister that Frank Churchill had been
pulling about! I never was equal to this.''

{}``Here,'' resumed Harriet, turning to her box again, {}``here
is something still more valuable, I mean that \emph{has been} more
valuable, because this is what did really once belong to him, which
the court-plaister never did.''

Emma was quite eager to see this superior treasure. It was the end
of an old pencil,\mbox{---}the part without any lead.

{}``This was really his,'' said Harriet.\mbox{---} {}``Do not
you remember one morning?\mbox{---}no, I dare say you do not. But
one morning\mbox{---}I forget exactly the day\mbox{---}but perhaps
it was the Tuesday or Wednesday before \emph{that evening}, he wanted
to make a memorandum in his pocket-book; it was about spruce-beer.
Mr.\ Knightley had been telling him something about brewing spruce-beer,
and he wanted to put it down; but when he took out his pencil, there
was so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and it would not
do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon the table as good
for nothing. But I kept my eye on it; and, as soon as I dared, caught
it up, and never parted with it again from that moment.''

{}``I do remember it,'' cried Emma; {}``I perfectly remember it.\mbox{---}
Talking about spruce-beer.\mbox{---} Oh!\ yes\mbox{---}Mr.\ Knightley
and I both saying we liked it, and Mr.\ Elton's seeming resolved
to learn to like it too. I perfectly remember it.\mbox{---} Stop;
Mr.\ Knightley was standing just here, was not he? I have an idea
he was standing just here.''

{}``Ah!\ I do not know. I cannot recollect.\mbox{---} It is very
odd, but I cannot recollect.\mbox{---} Mr.\ Elton was sitting here,
I remember, much about where I am now.''---

{}``Well, go on.''

{}``Oh!\ that's all. I have nothing more to shew you, or to say\mbox{---}except
that I am now going to throw them both behind the fire, and I wish
you to see me do it.''

{}``My poor dear Harriet!\ and have you actually found happiness
in treasuring up these things?''

{}``Yes, simpleton as I was!\mbox{---}but I am quite ashamed of
it now, and wish I could forget as easily as I can burn them. It was
very wrong of me, you know, to keep any remembrances, after he was
married. I knew it was\mbox{---}but had not resolution enough to
part with them.''

{}``But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court-plaister?\mbox{---}
I have not a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the court-plaister
might be useful.''

{}``I shall be happier to burn it,'' replied Harriet. {}``It has
a disagreeable look to me. I must get rid of every thing.\mbox{---}
There it goes, and there is an end, thank Heaven!\ of Mr.\ Elton.''

{}``And when,'' thought Emma, {}``will there be a beginning of
Mr.\ Churchill?''\


She had soon afterwards reason to believe that the beginning was already
made, and could not but hope that the gipsy, though she had \emph{told}
no fortune, might be proved to have made Harriet's.\mbox{---} About
a fortnight after the alarm, they came to a sufficient explanation,
and quite undesignedly. Emma was not thinking of it at the moment,
which made the information she received more valuable. She merely
said, in the course of some trivial chat, {}``Well, Harriet, whenever
you marry I would advise you to do so and so''---and thought no more
of it, till after a minute's silence she heard Harriet say in a very
serious tone, {}``I shall never marry.''

Emma then looked up, and immediately saw how it was; and after a moment's
debate, as to whether it should pass unnoticed or not, replied,

{}``Never marry!\mbox{---} This is a new resolution.''

{}``It is one that I shall never change, however.''

After another short hesitation, {}``I hope it does not proceed from\mbox{---}I
hope it is not in compliment to Mr.\ Elton?''

{}``Mr.\ Elton indeed!''\ cried Harriet in\-dig\-nant\-ly.\mbox{---}
{}``Oh!\ no''---and Emma could just catch the words, {}``so superior
to Mr.\ Elton!''

She then took a longer time for consideration. Should she proceed
no farther?\mbox{---}should she let it pass, and seem to suspect
nothing?\mbox{---} Perhaps Harriet might think her cold or angry
if she did; or perhaps if she were totally silent, it might only drive
Harriet into asking her to hear too much; and against any thing like
such an unreserve as had been, such an open and frequent discussion
of hopes and chances, she was perfectly resolved.\mbox{---} She believed
it would be wiser for her to say and know at once, all that she meant
to say and know. Plain dealing was always best. She had previously
determined how far she would proceed, on any application of the sort;
and it would be safer for both, to have the judicious law of her own
brain laid down with speed.\mbox{---} She was decided, and thus spoke\mbox{---}

{}``Harriet, I will not affect to be in doubt of your meaning. Your
resolution, or rather your expectation of never marrying, results
from an idea that the person whom you might prefer, would be too greatly
your superior in situation to think of you. Is not it so?''\ 

{}``Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse, believe me I have not the presumption to
suppose\mbox{---}Indeed I am not so mad.\mbox{---} But it is a pleasure
to me to admire him at a distance\mbox{---}and to think of his infinite
superiority to all the rest of the world, with the gratitude, wonder,
and veneration, which are so proper, in me especially.''

{}``I am not at all surprized at you, Harriet. The service he rendered
you was enough to warm your heart.''

{}``Service!\ oh!\ it was such an inexpressible obligation!\mbox{---}
The very recollection of it, and all that I felt at the time\mbox{---}when
I saw him coming\mbox{---}his noble look\mbox{---}and my wretchedness
before. Such a change! In one moment such a change! From perfect misery
to perfect happiness!''\ 

{}``It is very natural. It is natural, and it is honourable.\mbox{---}
Yes, honourable, I think, to chuse so well and so gratefully.\mbox{---}
But that it will be a fortunate preference is more that I can promise.
I do not advise you to give way to it, Harriet. I do not by any means
engage for its being returned. Consider what you are about. Perhaps
it will be wisest in you to check your feelings while you can: at
any rate do not let them carry you far, unless you are persuaded of
his liking you. Be observant of him. Let his behaviour be the guide
of your sensations. I give you this caution now, because I shall never
speak to you again on the subject. I am determined against all interference.
Henceforward I know nothing of the matter. Let no name ever pass our
lips. We were very wrong before; we will be cautious now.\mbox{---}
He is your superior, no doubt, and there do seem objections and obstacles
of a very serious nature; but yet, Harriet, more wonderful things
have taken place, there have been matches of greater disparity. But
take care of yourself. I would not have you too sanguine; though,
however it may end, be assured your raising your thoughts to \emph{him},
is a mark of good taste which I shall always know how to value.''

Harriet kissed her hand in silent and submissive gratitude. Emma was
very decided in thinking such an attachment no bad thing for her friend.
Its tendency would be to raise and refine her mind\mbox{---}and it
must be saving her from the danger of degradation.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER V}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER V}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER V}

In this state of schemes, and hopes, and connivance, June opened upon
Hartfield. To Highbury in general it brought no material change. The
Eltons were still talking of a visit from the Sucklings, and of the
use to be made of their barouche-landau; and Jane Fairfax was still
at her grandmother's; and as the return of the Campbells from Ireland
was again delayed, and August, instead of Midsummer, fixed for it,
she was likely to remain there full two months longer, provided at
least she were able to defeat Mrs.\ Elton's activity in her service,
and save herself from being hurried into a delightful situation against
her will.

Mr.\ Knightley, who, for some reason best known to himself, had certainly
taken an early dislike to Frank Churchill, was only growing to dislike
him more. He began to suspect him of some double dealing in his pursuit
of Emma. That Emma was his object appeared indisputable. Every thing
declared it; his own attentions, his father's hints, his mother-in-law's
guarded silence; it was all in unison; words, conduct, discretion,
and indiscretion, told the same story. But while so many were devoting
him to Emma, and Emma herself making him over to Harriet, Mr.\ Knightley
began to suspect him of some inclination to trifle with Jane Fairfax.
He could not understand it; but there were symptoms of intelligence
between them\mbox{---}he thought so at least\mbox{---}symptoms of
admiration on his side, which, having once observed, he could not
persuade himself to think entirely void of meaning, however he might
wish to escape any of Emma's errors of imagination. \emph{She} was
not present when the suspicion first arose. He was dining with the
Randalls family, and Jane, at the Eltons'; and he had seen a look,
more than a single look, at Miss Fairfax, which, from the admirer
of Miss Woodhouse, seemed somewhat out of place. When he was again
in their company, he could not help remembering what he had seen;
nor could he avoid observations which, unless it were like Cowper
and his fire at twilight, \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \small

Myself creating what I saw,

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} brought him yet stronger suspicion of there being a something of
private liking, of private understanding even, between Frank Churchill
and Jane.

He had walked up one day after dinner, as he very often did, to spend
his evening at Hartfield. Emma and Harriet were going to walk; he
joined them; and, on returning, they fell in with a larger party,
who, like themselves, judged it wisest to take their exercise early,
as the weather threatened rain; Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Weston and their
son, Miss Bates and her niece, who had accidentally met. They all
united; and, on reaching Hartfield gates, Emma, who knew it was exactly
the sort of visiting that would be welcome to her father, pressed
them all to go in and drink tea with him. The Randalls party agreed
to it immediately; and after a pretty long speech from Miss Bates,
which few persons listened to, she also found it possible to accept
dear Miss Woodhouse's most obliging invitation.

As they were turning into the grounds, Mr.\ Perry passed by on horseback.
The gentlemen spoke of his horse.

{}``By the bye,'' said Frank Churchill to Mrs.\ Weston presently,
{}``what became of Mr.\ Perry's plan of setting up his carriage?''\ 

Mrs.\ Weston looked surprized, and said, {}``I did not know that
he ever had any such plan.''

{}``Nay, I had it from you. You wrote me word of it three months
ago.''

{}``Me!\ impossible!''\ 

{}``Indeed you did. I remember it perfectly. You mentioned it as
what was certainly to be very soon. Mrs.\ Perry had told somebody,
and was extremely happy about it. It was owing to her persuasion,
as she thought his being out in bad weather did him a great deal of
harm. You must remember it now?''\ 

{}``Upon my word I never heard of it till this moment.''

{}``Never!\ really, never!\mbox{---} Bless me!\ how could it be?\mbox{---}
Then I must have dreamt it\mbox{---}but I was completely persuaded\mbox{---}Miss
Smith, you walk as if you were tired. You will not be sorry to find
yourself at home.''

{}``What is this?\mbox{---} What is this?''\ cried Mr.\ Weston,
{}``about Perry and a carriage? Is Perry going to set up his carriage,
Frank? I am glad he can afford it. You had it from himself, had you?''\ 

{}``No, sir,'' replied his son, laughing, {}``I seem to have had
it from nobody.\mbox{---} Very odd!\mbox{---} I really was persuaded
of Mrs.\ Weston's having mentioned it in one of her letters to Enscombe,
many weeks ago, with all these particulars\mbox{---}but as she declares
she never heard a syllable of it before, of course it must have been
a dream. I am a great dreamer. I dream of every body at Highbury when
I am away\mbox{---}and when I have gone through my particular friends,
then I begin dreaming of Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Perry.''

{}``It is odd though,'' observed his father, {}``that you should
have had such a regular connected dream about people whom it was not
very likely you should be thinking of at Enscombe. Perry's setting
up his carriage!\ and his wife's persuading him to it, out of care
for his health\mbox{---}just what will happen, I have no doubt, some
time or other; only a little premature. What an air of probability
sometimes runs through a dream! And at others, what a heap of absurdities
it is! Well, Frank, your dream certainly shews that Highbury is in
your thoughts when you are absent. Emma, you are a great dreamer,
I think?''\ 

Emma was out of hearing. She had hurried on before her guests to prepare
her father for their appearance, and was beyond the reach of Mr.\ Weston's
hint.

{}``Why, to own the truth,'' cried Miss Bates, who had been trying
in vain to be heard the last two minutes, {}``if I must speak on
this subject, there is no denying that Mr.\ Frank Churchill might
have\mbox{---}I do not mean to say that he did not dream it\mbox{---}I
am sure I have sometimes the oddest dreams in the world\mbox{---}but
if I am questioned about it, I must acknowledge that there was such
an idea last spring; for Mrs.\ Perry herself mentioned it to my mother,
and the Coles knew of it as well as ourselves\mbox{---}but it was
quite a secret, known to nobody else, and only thought of about three
days. Mrs.\ Perry was very anxious that he should have a carriage,
and came to my mother in great spirits one morning because she thought
she had prevailed. Jane, don't you remember grandmama's telling us
of it when we got home? I forget where we had been walking to\mbox{---}very
likely to Randalls; yes, I think it was to Randalls. Mrs.\ Perry
was always particularly fond of my mother\mbox{---}indeed I do not
know who is not\mbox{---}and she had mentioned it to her in confidence;
she had no objection to her telling us, of course, but it was not
to go beyond: and, from that day to this, I never mentioned it to
a soul that I know of. At the same time, I will not positively answer
for my having never dropt a hint, because I know I do sometimes pop
out a thing before I am aware. I am a talker, you know; I am rather
a talker; and now and then I have let a thing escape me which I should
not. I am not like Jane; I wish I were. I will answer for it \emph{she}
never betrayed the least thing in the world. Where is she?\mbox{---}
Oh!\ just behind. Perfectly remember Mrs.\ Perry's coming.\mbox{---}
Extraordinary dream, indeed!''\ 

They were entering the hall. Mr.\ Knightley's eyes had preceded Miss
Bates's in a glance at Jane. From Frank Churchill's face, where he
thought he saw confusion suppressed or laughed away, he had involuntarily
turned to hers; but she was indeed behind, and too busy with her shawl.
Mr.\ Weston had walked in. The two other gentlemen waited at the
door to let her pass. Mr.\ Knightley suspected in Frank Churchill
the determination of catching her eye\mbox{---}he seemed watching
her intently\mbox{---}in vain, however, if it were so\mbox{---}Jane
passed between them into the hall, and looked at neither.

There was no time for farther remark or explanation. The dream must
be borne with, and Mr.\ Knightley must take his seat with the rest
round the large modern circular table which Emma had introduced at
Hartfield, and which none but Emma could have had power to place there
and persuade her father to use, instead of the small-sized Pembroke,
on which two of his daily meals had, for forty years been crowded.
Tea passed pleasantly, and nobody seemed in a hurry to move.

{}``Miss Woodhouse,'' said Frank Churchill, after examining a table
behind him, which he could reach as he sat, {}``have your nephews
taken away their alphabets\mbox{---}their box of letters? It used
to stand here. Where is it? This is a sort of dull-looking evening,
that ought to be treated rather as winter than summer. We had great
amusement with those letters one morning. I want to puzzle you again.''

Emma was pleased with the thought; and producing the box, the table
was quickly scattered over with alphabets, which no one seemed so
much disposed to employ as their two selves. They were rapidly forming
words for each other, or for any body else who would be puzzled. The
quietness of the game made it particularly eligible for Mr.\ Woodhouse,
who had often been distressed by the more animated sort, which Mr.\ Weston
had occasionally introduced, and who now sat happily occupied in lamenting,
with tender melancholy, over the departure of the {}``poor little
boys,'' or in fondly pointing out, as he took up any stray letter
near him, how beautifully Emma had written it.

Frank Churchill placed a word before Miss Fairfax. She gave a slight
glance round the table, and applied herself to it. Frank was next
to Emma, Jane opposite to them\mbox{---}and Mr.\ Knightley so placed
as to see them all; and it was his object to see as much as he could,
with as little apparent observation. The word was discovered, and
with a faint smile pushed away. If meant to be immediately mixed with
the others, and buried from sight, she should have looked on the table
instead of looking just across, for it was not mixed; and Harriet,
eager after every fresh word, and finding out none, directly took
it up, and fell to work. She was sitting by Mr.\ Knightley, and turned
to him for help. The word was \emph{blunder}; and as Harriet exultingly
proclaimed it, there was a blush on Jane's cheek which gave it a meaning
not otherwise ostensible. Mr.\ Knightley connected it with the dream;
but how it could all be, was beyond his comprehension. How the delicacy,
the discretion of his favourite could have been so lain asleep! He
feared there must be some decided involvement. Disingenuousness and
double dealing seemed to meet him at every turn. These letters were
but the vehicle for gallantry and trick. It was a child's play, chosen
to conceal a deeper game on Frank Churchill's part.

With great indignation did he continue to observe him; with great
alarm and distrust, to observe also his two blinded companions. He
saw a short word prepared for Emma, and given to her with a look sly
and demure. He saw that Emma had soon made it out, and found it highly
entertaining, though it was something which she judged it proper to
appear to censure; for she said, {}``Nonsense!\ for shame!''\ He
heard Frank Churchill next say, with a glance towards Jane, {}``I
will give it to her\mbox{---}shall I?''---and as clearly heard Emma
opposing it with eager laughing warmth. {}``No, no, you must not;
you shall not, indeed.''

It was done however. This gallant young man, who seemed to love without
feeling, and to recommend himself without complaisance, directly handed
over the word to Miss Fairfax, and with a particular degree of sedate
civility entreated her to study it. Mr.\ Knightley's excessive curiosity
to know what this word might be, made him seize every possible moment
for darting his eye towards it, and it was not long before he saw
it to be \emph{Dixon}. Jane Fairfax's perception seemed to accompany
his; her comprehension was certainly more equal to the covert meaning,
the superior intelligence, of those five letters so arranged. She
was evidently displeased; looked up, and seeing herself watched, blushed
more deeply than he had ever perceived her, and saying only, {}``I
did not know that proper names were allowed,'' pushed away the letters
with even an angry spirit, and looked resolved to be engaged by no
other word that could be offered. Her face was averted from those
who had made the attack, and turned towards her aunt.

{}``Aye, very true, my dear,'' cried the latter, though Jane had
not spoken a word\mbox{---}{}``I was just going to say the same
thing. It is time for us to be going indeed. The evening is closing
in, and grandmama will be looking for us. My dear sir, you are too
obliging. We really must wish you good night.''

Jane's alertness in moving, proved her as ready as her aunt had preconceived.
She was immediately up, and wanting to quit the table; but so many
were also moving, that she could not get away; and Mr.\ Knightley
thought he saw another collection of letters anxiously pushed towards
her, and resolutely swept away by her unexamined. She was afterwards
looking for her shawl\mbox{---}Frank Churchill was looking also\mbox{---}it
was growing dusk, and the room was in confusion; and how they parted,
Mr.\ Knightley could not tell.

He remained at Hartfield after all the rest, his thoughts full of
what he had seen; so full, that when the candles came to assist his
observations, he must\mbox{---}yes, he certainly must, as a friend\mbox{---}an
anxious friend\mbox{---}give Emma some hint, ask her some question.
He could not see her in a situation of such danger, without trying
to preserve her. It was his duty.

{}``Pray, Emma,'' said he, {}``may I ask in what lay the great
amusement, the poignant sting of the last word given to you and Miss
Fairfax? I saw the word, and am curious to know how it could be so
very entertaining to the one, and so very distressing to the other.''

Emma was extremely confused. She could not endure to give him the
true explanation; for though her suspicions were by no means removed,
she was really ashamed of having ever imparted them.

{}``Oh!''\ she cried in evident embarrassment, {}``it all meant
nothing; a mere joke among ourselves.''

{}``The joke,'' he replied gravely, {}``seemed confined to you
and Mr.\ Churchill.''

He had hoped she would speak again, but she did not. She would rather
busy herself about any thing than speak. He sat a little while in
doubt. A variety of evils crossed his mind. Interference\mbox{---}fruitless
interference. Emma's confusion, and the acknowledged intimacy, seemed
to declare her affection engaged. Yet he would speak. He owed it to
her, to risk any thing that might be involved in an unwelcome interference,
rather than her welfare; to encounter any thing, rather than the remembrance
of neglect in such a cause.

{}``My dear Emma,'' said he at last, with earnest kindness, {}``do
you think you perfectly understand the degree of acquaintance between
the gentleman and lady we have been speaking of?''\


{}``Between Mr.\ Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax? Oh!\ yes, perfectly.\mbox{---}
Why do you make a doubt of it?''\


{}``Have you never at any time had reason to think that he admired
her, or that she admired him?''\


{}``Never, never!''\ she cried with a most open eagerness\mbox{---}{}``Never,
for the twentieth part of a moment, did such an idea occur to me.
And how could it possibly come into your head?''\


{}``I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of attachment between
them\mbox{---}certain expressive looks, which I did not believe meant
to be public.''

{}``Oh!\ you amuse me excessively. I am delighted to find that you
can vouchsafe to let your imagination wander\mbox{---}-but it will
not do\mbox{---}very sorry to check you in your first essay\mbox{---}but
indeed it will not do. There is no admiration between them, I do assure
you; and the appearances which have caught you, have arisen from some
peculiar circumstances\mbox{---}feelings rather of a totally different
nature\mbox{---}it is impossible exactly to explain:\mbox{---}-there
is a good deal of nonsense in it\mbox{---}but the part which is capable
of being communicated, which is sense, is, that they are as far from
any attachment or admiration for one another, as any two beings in
the world can be. That is, I \emph{presume} it to be so on her side,
and I can \emph{answer} for its being so on his. I will answer for
the gentleman's indifference.''

She spoke with a confidence which staggered, with a satisfaction which
silenced, Mr.\ Knightley. She was in gay spirits, and would have
prolonged the conversation, wanting to hear the particulars of his
suspicions, every look described, and all the wheres and hows of a
circumstance which highly entertained her: but his gaiety did not
meet hers. He found he could not be useful, and his feelings were
too much irritated for talking. That he might not be irritated into
an absolute fever, by the fire which Mr.\ Woodhouse's tender habits
required almost every evening throughout the year, he soon afterwards
took a hasty leave, and walked home to the coolness and solitude of
Donwell Abbey.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER VI}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER VI}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER VI}

After being long fed with hopes of a speedy visit from Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Suckling,
the Highbury world were obliged to endure the mortification of hearing
that they could not possibly come till the autumn. No such importation
of novelties could enrich their intellectual stores at present. In
the daily interchange of news, they must be again restricted to the
other topics with which for a while the Sucklings' coming had been
united, such as the last accounts of Mrs.\ Churchill, whose health
seemed every day to supply a different report, and the situation of
Mrs.\ Weston, whose happiness it was to be hoped might eventually
be as much increased by the arrival of a child, as that of all her
neighbours was by the approach of it.

Mrs.\ Elton was very much disappointed. It was the delay of a great
deal of pleasure and parade. Her introductions and recommendations
must all wait, and every projected party be still only talked of.
So she thought at first;\mbox{---}but a little consideration convinced
her that every thing need not be put off. Why should not they explore
to Box Hill though the Sucklings did not come? They could go there
again with them in the autumn. It was settled that they should go
to Box Hill. That there was to be such a party had been long generally
known: it had even given the idea of another. Emma had never been
to Box Hill; she wished to see what every body found so well worth
seeing, and she and Mr.\ Weston had agreed to chuse some fine morning
and drive thither. Two or three more of the chosen only were to be
admitted to join them, and it was to be done in a quiet, unpretending,
elegant way, infinitely superior to the bustle and preparation, the
regular eating and drinking, and picnic parade of the Eltons and the
Sucklings.

This was so very well understood between them, that Emma could not
but feel some surprise, and a little displeasure, on hearing from
Mr.\ Weston that he had been proposing to Mrs.\ Elton, as her brother
and sister had failed her, that the two parties should unite, and
go together; and that as Mrs.\ Elton had very readily acceded to
it, so it was to be, if she had no objection. Now, as her objection
was nothing but her very great dislike of Mrs.\ Elton, of which Mr.\ Weston
must already be perfectly aware, it was not worth bringing forward
again:\mbox{---}it could not be done without a reproof to him, which
would be giving pain to his wife; and she found herself therefore
obliged to consent to an arrangement which she would have done a great
deal to avoid; an arrangement which would probably expose her even
to the degradation of being said to be of Mrs.\ Elton's party! Every
feeling was offended; and the forbearance of her outward submission
left a heavy arrear due of secret severity in her reflections on the
unmanageable goodwill of Mr.\ Weston's temper.

{}``I am glad you approve of what I have done,'' said he very comfortably.
{}``But I thought you would. Such schemes as these are nothing without
numbers. One cannot have too large a party. A large party secures
its own amusement. And she is a good-natured woman after all. One
could not leave her out.''

Emma denied none of it aloud, and agreed to none of it in private.

It was now the middle of June, and the weather fine; and Mrs.\ Elton
was growing impatient to name the day, and settle with Mr.\ Weston
as to pigeon-pies and cold lamb, when a lame carriage-horse threw
every thing into sad uncertainty. It might be weeks, it might be only
a few days, before the horse were useable; but no preparations could
be ventured on, and it was all melancholy stagnation. Mrs.\ Elton's
resources were inadequate to such an attack.

{}``Is not this most vexations, Knightley?''\ she cried.\mbox{---}
{}``And such weather for exploring!\mbox{---} These delays and disappointments
are quite odious. What are we to do?\mbox{---} The year will wear
away at this rate, and nothing done. Before this time last year I
assure you we had had a delightful exploring party from Maple Grove
to Kings Weston.''

{}``You had better explore to Donwell,'' replied Mr.\ Knightley.
{}``That may be done without horses. Come, and eat my strawberries.
They are ripening fast.''

If Mr.\ Knightley did not begin seriously, he was obliged to proceed
so, for his proposal was caught at with delight; and the {}``Oh!\ 
I should like it of all things,'' was not plainer in words than manner.
Donwell was famous for its strawberry-beds, which seemed a plea for
the invitation: but no plea was necessary; cabbage-beds would have
been enough to tempt the lady, who only wanted to be going somewhere.
She promised him again and again to come\mbox{---}much oftener than
he doubted\mbox{---}and was extremely gratified by such a proof of
intimacy, such a distinguishing compliment as she chose to consider
it.

{}``You may depend upon me,'' said she. {}``I certainly will come.
Name your day, and I will come. You will allow me to bring Jane Fairfax?''\ 

{}``I cannot name a day,'' said he, {}``till I have spoken to some
others whom I would wish to meet you.''

{}``Oh!\ leave all that to me. Only give me a \emph{carte-blanche}.\mbox{---}
I am Lady Patroness, you know. It is my party. I will bring friends
with me.''

{}``I hope you will bring Elton,'' said he: {}``but I will not
trouble you to give any other invitations.''

{}``Oh!\ now you are looking very sly. But consider\mbox{---}you
need not be afraid of delegating power to \emph{me}. I am no young
lady on her preferment. Married women, you know, may be safely authorised.
It is my party. Leave it all to me. I will invite your guests.''

{}``No,''---he calmly replied,\mbox{---}{}``there is but one married
woman in the world whom I can ever allow to invite what guests she
pleases to Donwell, and that one is\mbox{---}''

{}``---Mrs.\ Weston, I suppose,'' interrupted Mrs.\ Elton, rather
mortified.

{}``No\mbox{---}Mrs.\ Knightley;\mbox{---}and till she is in being,
I will manage such matters myself.''

{}``Ah!\ you are an odd creature!''\ she cried, satisfied to have
no one preferred to herself.\mbox{---} {}``You are a humourist,
and may say what you like. Quite a humourist. Well, I shall bring
Jane with me\mbox{---}Jane and her aunt.\mbox{---} The rest I leave
to you. I have no objections at all to meeting the Hartfield family.
Don't scruple. I know you are attached to them.''

{}``You certainly will meet them if I can prevail; and I shall call
on Miss Bates in my way home.''

{}``That's quite unnecessary; I see Jane every day:\mbox{---}but
as you like. It is to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightley; quite
a simple thing. I shall wear a large bonnet, and bring one of my little
baskets hanging on my arm. Here,\mbox{---}probably this basket with
pink ribbon. Nothing can be more simple, you see. And Jane will have
such another. There is to be no form or parade\mbox{---}a sort of
gipsy party. We are to walk about your gardens, and gather the strawberries
ourselves, and sit under trees;\mbox{---}and whatever else you may
like to provide, it is to be all out of doors\mbox{---}a table spread
in the shade, you know. Every thing as natural and simple as possible.
Is not that your idea?''\ 

{}``Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural will be to have
the table spread in the dining-room. The nature and the simplicity
of gentlemen and ladies, with their servants and furniture, I think
is best observed by meals within doors. When you are tired of eating
strawberries in the garden, there shall be cold meat in the house.''

{}``Well\mbox{---}as you please; only don't have a great set out.
And, by the bye, can I or my housekeeper be of any use to you with
our opinion?\mbox{---} Pray be sincere, Knightley. If you wish me
to talk to Mrs.\ Hodges, or to inspect anything\mbox{---}''

{}``I have not the least wish for it, I thank you.''

{}``Well\mbox{---}but if any difficulties should arise, my housekeeper
is extremely clever.''

{}``I will answer for it, that mine thinks herself full as clever,
and would spurn any body's assistance.''

{}``I wish we had a donkey. The thing would be for us all to come
on donkeys, Jane, Miss Bates, and me\mbox{---}and my \emph{caro sposo}
walking by. I really must talk to him about purchasing a donkey. In
a country life I conceive it to be a sort of necessary; for, let a
woman have ever so many resources, it is not possible for her to be
always shut up at home;\mbox{---}and very long walks, you know\mbox{---}in
summer there is dust, and in winter there is dirt.''

{}``You will not find either, between Donwell and Highbury. Donwell
Lane is never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry. Come on a donkey,
however, if you prefer it. You can borrow Mrs.\ Cole's. I would wish
every thing to be as much to your taste as possible.''

{}``That I am sure you would. Indeed I do you justice, my good friend.
Under that peculiar sort of dry, blunt manner, I know you have the
warmest heart. As I tell Mr.\ E., you are a thorough humourist.\mbox{---}
Yes, believe me, Knightley, I am fully sensible of your attention
to me in the whole of this scheme. You have hit upon the very thing
to please me.''

Mr.\ Knightley had another reason for avoiding a table in the shade.
He wished to persuade Mr.\ Woodhouse, as well as Emma, to join the
party; and he knew that to have any of them sitting down out of doors
to eat would inevitably make him ill. Mr.\ Woodhouse must not, under
the specious pretence of a morning drive, and an hour or two spent
at Donwell, be tempted away to his misery.

He was invited on good faith. No lurking horrors were to upbraid him
for his easy credulity. He did consent. He had not been at Donwell
for two years. {}``Some very fine morning, he, and Emma, and Harriet,
could go very well; and he could sit still with Mrs.\ Weston, while
the dear girls walked about the gardens. He did not suppose they could
be damp now, in the middle of the day. He should like to see the old
house again exceedingly, and should be very happy to meet Mr.\ and
Mrs.\ Elton, and any other of his neighbours.\mbox{---} He could
not see any objection at all to his, and Emma's, and Harriet's going
there some very fine morning. He thought it very well done of Mr.\ Knightley
to invite them\mbox{---}very kind and sensible\mbox{---}much cleverer
than dining out.\mbox{---} He was not fond of dining out.''

Mr.\ Knightley was fortunate in every body's most ready concurrence.
The invitation was everywhere so well received, that it seemed as
if, like Mrs.\ Elton, they were all taking the scheme as a particular
compliment to themselves.--- Emma and Harriet professed very high
expectations of pleasure from it; and Mr.\ Weston, unasked, promised
to get Frank over to join them, if possible; a proof of approbation
and gratitude which could have been dispensed with.\mbox{---} Mr.\ Knightley
was then obliged to say that he should be glad to see him; and Mr.\ Weston
engaged to lose no time in writing, and spare no arguments to induce
him to come.

In the meanwhile the lame horse recovered so fast, that the party
to Box Hill was again under happy consideration; and at last Donwell
was settled for one day, and Box Hill for the next,\mbox{---}the
weather appearing exactly right.

Under a bright mid-day sun, at almost Midsummer, Mr.\ Woodhouse was
safely conveyed in his carriage, with one window down, to partake
of this \emph{al-fresco} party; and in one of the most comfortable
rooms in the Abbey, especially prepared for him by a fire all the
morning, he was happily placed, quite at his ease, ready to talk with
pleasure of what had been achieved, and advise every body to come
and sit down, and not to heat themselves.\mbox{---} Mrs.\ Weston,
who seemed to have walked there on purpose to be tired, and sit all
the time with him, remained, when all the others were invited or persuaded
out, his patient listener and sympathiser.

It was so long since Emma had been at the Abbey, that as soon as she
was satisfied of her father's comfort, she was glad to leave him,
and look around her; eager to refresh and correct her memory with
more particular observation, more exact understanding of a house and
grounds which must ever be so interesting to her and all her family.

She felt all the honest pride and complacency which her alliance with
the present and future proprietor could fairly warrant, as she viewed
the respectable size and style of the building, its suitable, becoming,
characteristic situation, low and sheltered\mbox{---}its ample gardens
stretching down to meadows washed by a stream, of which the Abbey,
with all the old neglect of prospect, had scarcely a sight\mbox{---}and
its abundance of timber in rows and avenues, which neither fashion
nor extravagance had rooted up.\mbox{---} The house was larger than
Hartfield, and totally unlike it, covering a good deal of ground,
rambling and irregular, with many comfortable, and one or two handsome
rooms.\mbox{---} It was just what it ought to be, and it looked what
it was\mbox{---}and Emma felt an increasing respect for it, as the
residence of a family of such true gentility, untainted in blood and
understanding.\mbox{---} Some faults of temper John Knightley had;
but Isabella had connected herself unexceptionably. She had given
them neither men, nor names, nor places, that could raise a blush.
These were pleasant feelings, and she walked about and indulged them
till it was necessary to do as the others did, and collect round the
strawberry-beds.--- The whole party were assembled, excepting Frank
Churchill, who was expected every moment from Richmond; and Mrs.\ Elton,
in all her apparatus of happiness, her large bonnet and her basket,
was very ready to lead the way in gathering, accepting, or talking\mbox{---}strawberries,
and only strawberries, could now be thought or spoken of.\mbox{---}
{}``The best fruit in England\mbox{---}every body's favourite\mbox{---}always
wholesome.\mbox{---} These the finest beds and finest sorts.\mbox{---}
Delightful to gather for one's self\mbox{---}the only way of really
enjoying them.\mbox{---} Morning decidedly the best time\mbox{---}never
tired\mbox{---}every sort good\mbox{---}hautboy infinitely superior\mbox{---}no
comparison\mbox{---}the others hardly eatable\mbox{---}hautboys
very scarce\mbox{---}Chili preferred\mbox{---}white wood finest
flavour of all\mbox{---}price of strawberries in London\mbox{---}abundance
about Bristol\mbox{---}Maple Grove\mbox{---}cultivation\mbox{---}beds
when to be renewed\mbox{---}gardeners thinking exactly different\mbox{---}no
general rule\mbox{---}gardeners never to be put out of their way\mbox{---}delicious
fruit\mbox{---}only too rich to be eaten much of\mbox{---}inferior
to cherries\mbox{---}currants more refreshing\mbox{---}only objection
to gathering strawberries the stooping\mbox{---}glaring sun\mbox{---}tired
to death\mbox{---}could bear it no longer\mbox{---}must go and sit
in the shade.''

Such, for half an hour, was the conversation\mbox{---}interrupted
only once by Mrs.\ Weston, who came out, in her solicitude after
her son-in-law, to inquire if he were come\mbox{---}and she was a
little uneasy.\mbox{---} She had some fears of his horse.

Seats tolerably in the shade were found; and now Emma was obliged
to overhear what Mrs.\ Elton and Jane Fairfax were talking of.\mbox{---}
A situation, a most desirable situation, was in question. Mrs.\ Elton
had received notice of it that morning, and was in raptures. It was
not with Mrs.\ Suckling, it was not with Mrs.\ Bragge, but in felicity
and splendour it fell short only of them: it was with a cousin of
Mrs.\ Bragge, an acquaintance of Mrs.\ Suckling, a lady known at
Maple Grove. Delightful, charming, superior, first circles, spheres,
lines, ranks, every thing\mbox{---}and Mrs.\ Elton was wild to have
the offer closed with immediately.\mbox{---} On her side, all was
warmth, energy, and triumph\mbox{---}and she positively refused to
take her friend's negative, though Miss Fairfax continued to assure
her that she would not at present engage in any thing, repeating the
same motives which she had been heard to urge before.\mbox{---} Still
Mrs.\ Elton insisted on being authorised to write an acquiescence
by the morrow's post.\mbox{---} How Jane could bear it at all, was
astonishing to Emma.\mbox{---} She did look vexed, she did speak
pointedly\mbox{---}and at last, with a decision of action unusual
to her, proposed a removal.\mbox{---} {}``Should not they walk?
Would not Mr.\ Knightley shew them the gardens\mbox{---}all the
gardens?\mbox{---} She wished to see the whole extent.''---The pertinacity
of her friend seemed more than she could bear.

It was hot; and after walking some time over the gardens in a scattered,
dispersed way, scarcely any three together, they insensibly followed
one another to the delicious shade of a broad short avenue of limes,
which stretching beyond the garden at an equal distance from the river,
seemed the finish of the pleasure grounds.\mbox{---} It led to nothing;
nothing but a view at the end over a low stone wall with high pillars,
which seemed intended, in their erection, to give the appearance of
an approach to the house, which never had been there. Disputable,
however, as might be the taste of such a termination, it was in itself
a charming walk, and the view which closed it extremely pretty.\mbox{---}
The considerable slope, at nearly the foot of which the Abbey stood,
gradually acquired a steeper form beyond its grounds; and at half
a mile distant was a bank of considerable abruptness and grandeur,
well clothed with wood;\mbox{---}and at the bottom of this bank,
favourably placed and sheltered, rose the Abbey Mill Farm, with meadows
in front, and the river making a close and handsome curve around it.

It was a sweet view\mbox{---}sweet to the eye and the mind. English
verdure, English culture, English comfort, seen under a sun bright,
without being oppressive.

In this walk Emma and Mr.\ Weston found all the others assembled;
and towards this view she immediately perceived Mr.\ Knightley and
Harriet distinct from the rest, quietly leading the way. Mr.\ Knightley
and Harriet!\mbox{---} It was an odd \emph{t\^{e}te-\`{a}-t\^{e}te};
but she was glad to see it.\mbox{---} There had been a time when
he would have scorned her as a companion, and turned from her with
little ceremony. Now they seemed in pleasant conversation. There had
been a time also when Emma would have been sorry to see Harriet in
a spot so favourable for the Abbey Mill Farm; but now she feared it
not. It might be safely viewed with all its appendages of prosperity
and beauty, its rich pastures, spreading flocks, orchard in blossom,
and light column of smoke ascending.\mbox{---} She joined them at
the wall, and found them more engaged in talking than in looking around.
He was giving Harriet information as to modes of agriculture, \textit{etc}.
and Emma received a smile which seemed to say, {}``These are my own
concerns. I have a right to talk on such subjects, without being suspected
of introducing Robert Martin.''---She did not suspect him. It was
too old a story.\mbox{---} Robert Martin had probably ceased to think
of Harriet.\mbox{---} They took a few turns together along the walk.\mbox{---}
The shade was most refreshing, and Emma found it the pleasantest part
of the day.

The next remove was to the house; they must all go in and eat;\mbox{---}and
they were all seated and busy, and still Frank Churchill did not come.
Mrs.\ Weston looked, and looked in vain. His father would not own
himself uneasy, and laughed at her fears; but she could not be cured
of wishing that he would part with his black mare. He had expressed
himself as to coming, with more than common certainty. {}``His aunt
was so much better, that he had not a doubt of getting over to them.''---Mrs.\ Churchill's
state, however, as many were ready to remind her, was liable to such
sudden variation as might disappoint her nephew in the most reasonable
dependence\mbox{---}and Mrs.\ Weston was at last persuaded to believe,
or to say, that it must be by some attack of Mrs.\ Churchill that
he was prevented coming.\mbox{---} Emma looked at Harriet while the
point was under consideration; she behaved very well, and betrayed
no emotion.

The cold repast was over, and the party were to go out once more to
see what had not yet been seen, the old Abbey fish-ponds; perhaps
get as far as the clover, which was to be begun cutting on the morrow,
or, at any rate, have the pleasure of being hot, and growing cool
again.\mbox{---} Mr.\ Woodhouse, who had already taken his little
round in the highest part of the gardens, where no damps from the
river were imagined even by him, stirred no more; and his daughter
resolved to remain with him, that Mrs.\ Weston might be persuaded
away by her husband to the exercise and variety which her spirits
seemed to need.

Mr.\ Knightley had done all in his power for Mr.\ Woodhouse's entertainment.
Books of engravings, drawers of medals, cameos, corals, shells, and
every other family collection within his cabinets, had been prepared
for his old friend, to while away the morning; and the kindness had
perfectly answered. Mr.\ Woodhouse had been exceedingly well amused.
Mrs.\ Weston had been shewing them all to him, and now he would shew
them all to Emma;\mbox{---}fortunate in having no other resemblance
to a child, than in a total want of taste for what he saw, for he
was slow, constant, and methodical.\mbox{---} Before this second
looking over was begun, however, Emma walked into the hall for the
sake of a few moments' free observation of the entrance and ground-plot
of the house\mbox{---}and was hardly there, when Jane Fairfax appeared,
coming quickly in from the garden, and with a look of escape.\mbox{---}
Little expecting to meet Miss Woodhouse so soon, there was a start
at first; but Miss Woodhouse was the very person she was in quest
of.

{}``Will you be so kind,'' said she, {}``when I am missed, as to
say that I am gone home?\mbox{---} I am going this moment.\mbox{---}
My aunt is not aware how late it is, nor how long we have been absent\mbox{---}but
I am sure we shall be wanted, and I am determined to go directly.\mbox{---}
I have said nothing about it to any body. It would only be giving
trouble and distress. Some are gone to the ponds, and some to the
lime walk. Till they all come in I shall not be missed; and when they
do, will you have the goodness to say that I am gone?''\ 

{}``Certainly, if you wish it;\mbox{---}but you are not going to
walk to Highbury alone?''\ 

{}``Yes\mbox{---}what should hurt me?\mbox{---} I walk fast. I
shall be at home in twenty minutes.''

{}``But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite alone. Let
my father's servant go with you.\mbox{---} Let me order the carriage.
It can be round in five minutes.''

{}``Thank you, thank you\mbox{---}but on no ac\-count.\mbox{---}
I would rather walk.\mbox{---} And for me to be afraid of walking
alone!\mbox{---} I, who may so soon have to guard others!''\ 

She spoke with great agitation; and Emma very feelingly replied, {}``That
can be no reason for your being exposed to danger now. I must order
the carriage. The heat even would be danger.\mbox{---} You are fatigued
already.''

{}``I am,''---she answered\mbox{---}{}``I am fatigued; but it
is not the sort of fatigue\mbox{---}quick walking will refresh me.\mbox{---}
Miss Woodhouse, we all know at times what it is to be wearied in spirits.
Mine, I confess, are exhausted. The greatest kindness you can shew
me, will be to let me have my own way, and only say that I am gone
when it is necessary.''

Emma had not another word to oppose. She saw it all; and entering
into her feelings, promoted her quitting the house immediately, and
watched her safely off with the zeal of a friend. Her parting look
was grateful\mbox{---}and her parting words, {}``Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse,
the comfort of being sometimes alone!''---seemed to burst from an
overcharged heart, and to describe somewhat of the continual endurance
to be practised by her, even towards some of those who loved her best.

{}``Such a home, indeed!\ such an aunt!''\ said Emma, as she turned
back into the hall again. {}``I do pity you. And the more sensibility
you betray of their just horrors, the more I shall like you.''

Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they had only accomplished
some views of St.\ Mark's Place, Venice, when Frank Churchill entered
the room. Emma had not been thinking of him, she had forgotten to
think of him\mbox{---}but she was very glad to see him. Mrs.\ Weston
would be at ease. The black mare was blameless; \emph{they} were right
who had named Mrs.\ Churchill as the cause. He had been detained
by a temporary increase of illness in her; a nervous seizure, which
had lasted some hours\mbox{---}and he had quite given up every thought
of coming, till very late;\mbox{---}and had he known how hot a ride
he should have, and how late, with all his hurry, he must be, he believed
he should not have come at all. The heat was excessive; he had never
suffered any thing like it\mbox{---}almost wished he had staid at
home\mbox{---}nothing killed him like heat\mbox{---}he could bear
any degree of cold, \textit{etc}., but heat was intolerable\mbox{---}and
he sat down, at the greatest possible distance from the slight remains
of Mr.\ Woodhouse's fire, looking very deplorable.

{}``You will soon be cooler, if you sit still,'' said Emma.

{}``As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could very ill
be spared\mbox{---}but such a point had been made of my coming! You
will all be going soon I suppose; the whole party breaking up. I met
\emph{one} as I came\mbox{---}Madness in such weather!\mbox{---}absolute
madness!''\ 

Emma listened, and looked, and soon perceived that Frank Churchill's
state might be best defined by the expressive phrase of being out
of humour. Some people were always cross when they were hot. Such
might be his constitution; and as she knew that eating and drinking
were often the cure of such incidental complaints, she recommended
his taking some refreshment; he would find abundance of every thing
in the dining-room\mbox{---}and she humanely pointed out the door.

{}``No\mbox{---}he should not eat. He was not hungry; it would only
make him hotter.'' In two minutes, however, he relented in his own
favour; and muttering something about spruce-beer, walked off. Emma
returned all her attention to her father, saying in secret\mbox{---}

{}``I am glad I have done being in love with him. I should not like
a man who is so soon discomposed by a hot morning. Harriet's sweet
easy temper will not mind it.''

He was gone long enough to have had a very comfortable meal, and came
back all the better\mbox{---}grown quite cool\mbox{---}and, with
good manners, like himself\mbox{---}able to draw a chair close to
them, take an interest in their employment; and regret, in a reasonable
way, that he should be so late. He was not in his best spirits, but
seemed trying to improve them; and, at last, made himself talk nonsense
very agreeably. They were looking over views in Swisserland.

{}``As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad,'' said he.
{}``I shall never be easy till I have seen some of these places.
You will have my sketches, some time or other, to look at\mbox{---}or
my tour to read\mbox{---}or my poem. I shall do something to expose
myself.''

{}``That may be\mbox{---}but not by sketches in Swisserland. You
will never go to Swisserland. Your uncle and aunt will never allow
you to leave England.''

{}``They may be induced to go too. A warm climate may be prescribed
for her. I have more than half an expectation of our all going abroad.
I assure you I have. I feel a strong persuasion, this morning, that
I shall soon be abroad. I ought to travel. I am tired of doing nothing.
I want a change. I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, whatever your penetrating
eyes may fancy\mbox{---}I am sick of England\mbox{---}and would
leave it to-morrow, if I could.''

{}``You are sick of prosperity and indulgence. Cannot you invent
a few hardships for yourself, and be contented to stay?''\ 

{}``I sick of prosperity and indulgence! You are quite mistaken.
I do not look upon myself as either prosperous or indulged. I am thwarted
in every thing material. I do not consider myself at all a fortunate
person.''

{}``You are not quite so miserable, though, as when you first came.
Go and eat and drink a little more, and you will do very well. Another
slice of cold meat, another draught of Madeira and water, will make
you nearly on a par with the rest of us.''

{}``No\mbox{---}I shall not stir. I shall sit by you. You are my
best cure.''

{}``We are going to Box Hill to-morrow;\mbox{---}you will join us.
It is not Swisserland, but it will be something for a young man so
much in want of a change. You will stay, and go with us?''\ 

{}``No, certainly not; I shall go home in the cool of the evening.''

{}``But you may come again in the cool of to-morrow morning.''

{}``No\mbox{---}It will not be worth while. If I come, I shall be
cross.''

{}``Then pray stay at Richmond.''

{}``But if I do, I shall be crosser still. I can never bear to think
of you all there without me.''

{}``These are difficulties which you must settle for yourself. Chuse
your own degree of crossness. I shall press you no more.''

The rest of the party were now returning, and all were soon collected.
With some there was great joy at the sight of Frank Churchill; others
took it very composedly; but there was a very general distress and
disturbance on Miss Fairfax's disappearance being explained. That
it was time for every body to go, concluded the subject; and with
a short final arrangement for the next day's scheme, they parted.
Frank Churchill's little inclination to exclude himself increased
so much, that his last words to Emma were,

{}``Well;\mbox{---}if you wish me to stay and join the party, I
will.''

She smiled her acceptance; and nothing less than a summons from Richmond
was to take him back before the following evening.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER VII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER VII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER VII}

They had a very fine day for Box Hill; and all the other outward circumstances
of arrangement, accommodation, and punctuality, were in favour of
a pleasant party. Mr.\ Weston directed the whole, officiating safely
between Hartfield and the Vicarage, and every body was in good time.
Emma and Harriet went together; Miss Bates and her niece, with the
Eltons; the gentlemen on horseback. Mrs.\ Weston remained with Mr.\ Woodhouse.
Nothing was wanting but to be happy when they got there. Seven miles
were travelled in expectation of enjoyment, and every body had a burst
of admiration on first arriving; but in the general amount of the
day there was deficiency. There was a languor, a want of spirits,
a want of union, which could not be got over. They separated too much
into parties. The Eltons walked together; Mr.\ Knightley took charge
of Miss Bates and Jane; and Emma and Harriet belonged to Frank Churchill.
And Mr.\ Weston tried, in vain, to make them harmonise better. It
seemed at first an accidental division, but it never materially varied.
Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Elton, indeed, shewed no unwillingness to mix, and
be as agreeable as they could; but during the two whole hours that
were spent on the hill, there seemed a principle of separation, between
the other parties, too strong for any fine prospects, or any cold
collation, or any cheerful Mr.\ Weston, to remove.

At first it was downright dulness to Emma. She had never seen Frank
Churchill so silent and stupid. He said nothing worth hearing\mbox{---}looked
without seeing\mbox{---}admired without intelligence\mbox{---}listened
without knowing what she said. While he was so dull, it was no wonder
that Harriet should be dull likewise; and they were both insufferable.

When they all sat down it was better; to her taste a great deal better,
for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object.
Every distinguishing attention that could be paid, was paid to her.
To amuse her, and be agreeable in her eyes, seemed all that he cared
for\mbox{---}and Emma, glad to be enlivened, not sorry to be flattered,
was gay and easy too, and gave him all the friendly encouragement,
the admission to be gallant, which she had ever given in the first
and most animating period of their acquaintance; but which now, in
her own estimation, meant nothing, though in the judgment of most
people looking on it must have had such an appearance as no English
word but flirtation could very well describe. {}``Mr.\ Frank Churchill
and Miss Woodhouse flirted together excessively.'' They were laying
themselves open to that very phrase\mbox{---}and to having it sent
off in a letter to Maple Grove by one lady, to Ireland by another.
Not that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any real felicity; it was
rather because she felt less happy than she had expected. She laughed
because she was disappointed; and though she liked him for his attentions,
and thought them all, whether in friendship, admiration, or playfulness,
extremely judicious, they were not winning back her heart. She still
intended him for her friend.

{}``How much I am obliged to you,'' said he, {}``for telling me
to come to-day!\mbox{---} If it had not been for you, I should certainly
have lost all the happiness of this party. I had quite determined
to go away again.''

{}``Yes, you were very cross; and I do not know what about, except
that you were too late for the best strawberries. I was a kinder friend
than you deserved. But you were humble. You begged hard to be commanded
to come.''

{}``Don't say I was cross. I was fatigued. The heat overcame me.''

{}``It is hotter to-day.''

{}``Not to my feelings. I am perfectly comfortable to-day.''

{}``You are comfortable because you are under command.''

{}``Your command?\mbox{---} Yes.''

{}``Perhaps I intended you to say so, but I meant self-command. You
had, somehow or other, broken bounds yesterday, and run away from
your own management; but to-day you are got back again\mbox{---}and
as I cannot be always with you, it is best to believe your temper
under your own command rather than mine.''

{}``It comes to the same thing. I can have no self-command without
a motive. You order me, whether you speak or not. And you can be always
with me. You are always with me.''

{}``Dating from three o'clock yesterday. My perpetual influence could
not begin earlier, or you would not have been so much out of humour
before.''

{}``Three o'clock yesterday! That is your date. I thought I had seen
you first in February.''

{}``Your gallantry is really unanswerable. But'' (lowering her voice)\mbox{---}{}``nobody
speaks except ourselves, and it is rather too much to be talking nonsense
for the entertainment of seven silent people.''

{}``I say nothing of which I am ashamed,'' replied he, with lively
impudence. {}``I saw you first in February. Let every body on the
Hill hear me if they can. Let my accents swell to Mickleham on one
side, and Dorking on the other. I saw you first in February.'' And
then whispering\mbox{---}{}``Our companions are excessively stupid.
What shall we do to rouse them? Any nonsense will serve. They \emph{shall}
talk. Ladies and gentlemen, I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse (who, wherever
she is, presides) to say, that she desires to know what you are all
thinking of?''\ 

Some laughed, and answered good-humouredly. Miss Bates said a great
deal; Mrs.\ Elton swelled at the idea of Miss Woodhouse's presiding;
Mr.\ Knightley's answer was the most distinct.

{}``Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what we are
all thinking of?''\ 

{}``Oh!\ no, no''---cried Emma, laughing as carelessly as she could\mbox{---}{}``Upon
no account in the world. It is the very last thing I would stand the
brunt of just now. Let me hear any thing rather than what you are
all thinking of. I will not say quite all. There are one or two, perhaps,''
(glancing at Mr.\ Weston and Harriet,) {}``whose thoughts I might
not be afraid of knowing.''

{}``It is a sort of thing,'' cried Mrs.\ Elton emphatically, {}``which
I should not have thought myself privileged to inquire into. Though,
perhaps, as the \emph{Chaperon} of the party\mbox{---}\emph{I} never
was in any circle\mbox{---}exploring parties\mbox{---}young ladies\mbox{---}married
women\mbox{---}''

Her mutterings were chiefly to her husband; and he murmured, in reply,

{}``Very true, my love, very true. Exactly so, indeed\mbox{---}quite
unheard of\mbox{---}but some ladies say any thing. Better pass it
off as a joke. Every body knows what is due to \emph{you}.''

{}``It will not do,'' whispered Frank to Emma; {}``they are most
of them affronted. I will attack them with more address. Ladies and
gentlemen\mbox{---}I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse to say, that she
waives her right of knowing exactly what you may all be thinking of,
and only requires something very entertaining from each of you, in
a general way. Here are seven of you, besides myself, (who, she is
pleased to say, am very entertaining already,) and she only demands
from each of you either one thing very clever, be it prose or verse,
original or repeated\mbox{---}or two things moderately clever\mbox{---}or
three things very dull indeed, and she engages to laugh heartily at
them all.''

{}``Oh!\ very well,'' exclaimed Miss Bates, {}``then I need not
be uneasy. `Three things very dull indeed.' That will just do for
me, you know. I shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as
ever I open my mouth, shan't I?'' (looking round with the most good-humoured
dependence on every body's assent)\mbox{--}--{}``Do not you all
think I shall?''\ 

Emma could not resist.

{}``Ah!\ ma'am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me\mbox{---}but
you will be limited as to number\mbox{---}only three at once.''

Miss Bates, deceived by the mock ceremony of her manner, did not immediately
catch her meaning; but, when it burst on her, it could not anger,
though a slight blush shewed that it could pain her.

{}``Ah!\mbox{---}well\mbox{---}to be sure. Yes, I see what she
means,'' (turning to Mr.\ Knightley,) {}``and I will try to hold
my tongue. I must make myself very disagreeable, or she would not
have said such a thing to an old friend.''

{}``I like your plan,'' cried Mr.\ Weston. {}``Agreed, agreed.
I will do my best. I am making a conundrum. How will a conundrum reckon?''\ 

{}``Low, I am afraid, sir, very low,'' answered his son;\mbox{---}{}``but
we shall be indulgent\mbox{---}especially to any one who leads the
way.''

{}``No, no,'' said Emma, {}``it will not reckon low. A conundrum
of Mr.\ Weston's shall clear him and his next neighbour. Come, sir,
pray let me hear it.''

{}``I doubt its being very clever myself,'' said Mr.\ Weston. {}``It
is too much a matter of fact, but here it is.\mbox{---} What two
letters of the alphabet are there, that express perfection?''\ 

{}``What two letters!\mbox{---}express perfection! I am sure I do
not know.''

{}``Ah!\ you will never guess. You,'' (to Emma), {}``I am certain,
will never guess.\mbox{---} I will tell you.\mbox{---} M.\ and
A.\mbox{---} Em-ma.\mbox{---} Do you understand?''\ 

Understanding and gratification came together. It might be a very
indifferent piece of wit, but Emma found a great deal to laugh at
and enjoy in it\mbox{---}and so did Frank and Harriet.\mbox{---}
It did not seem to touch the rest of the party equally; some looked
very stupid about it, and Mr.\ Knightley gravely said,

{}``This explains the sort of clever thing that is wanted, and Mr.\ Weston
has done very well for himself; but he must have knocked up every
body else. \emph{Perfection} should not have come quite so soon.''

{}``Oh!\ for myself, I protest I must be excused,'' said Mrs.\ Elton;
{}``I really cannot attempt\mbox{---}I am not at all fond of the
sort of thing. I had an acrostic once sent to me upon my own name,
which I was not at all pleased with. I knew who it came from. An abominable
puppy!\mbox{---} You know who I mean'' (nodding to her husband).
{}``These kind of things are very well at Christmas, when one is
sitting round the fire; but quite out of place, in my opinion, when
one is exploring about the country in summer. Miss Woodhouse must
excuse me. I am not one of those who have witty things at every body's
service. I do not pretend to be a wit. I have a great deal of vivacity
in my own way, but I really must be allowed to judge when to speak
and when to hold my tongue. Pass us, if you please, Mr.\ Churchill.
Pass Mr.\ E., Knightley, Jane, and myself. We have nothing clever
to say\mbox{---}not one of us.

{}``Yes, yes, pray pass \emph{me},'' added her husband, with a sort
of sneering consciousness; {}``\emph{I} have nothing to say that
can entertain Miss Woodhouse, or any other young lady. An old married
man\mbox{---}quite good for nothing. Shall we walk, Augusta?''\ 

{}``With all my heart. I am really tired of exploring so long on
one spot. Come, Jane, take my other arm.''

Jane declined it, however, and the husband and wife walked off. {}``Happy
couple!''\ said Frank Churchill, as soon as they were out of hearing:\mbox{---}{}``How
well they suit one another!\mbox{---} Very lucky\mbox{---}marrying
as they did, upon an acquaintance formed only in a public place!\mbox{---}
They only knew each other, I think, a few weeks in Bath! Peculiarly
lucky!\mbox{---}for as to any real knowledge of a person's disposition
that Bath, or any public place, can give\mbox{---}it is all nothing;
there can be no knowledge. It is only by seeing women in their own
homes, among their own set, just as they always are, that you can
form any just judgment. Short of that, it is all guess and luck\mbox{---}and
will generally be ill-luck. How many a man has committed himself on
a short acquaintance, and rued it all the rest of his life!''\ 

Miss Fairfax, who had seldom spoken before, except among her own confederates,
spoke now.

{}``Such things do occur, undoubtedly.''---She was stopped by a
cough. Frank Churchill turned towards her to listen.

{}``You were speaking,'' said he, gravely. She recovered her voice.

{}``I was only going to observe, that though such unfortunate circumstances
do sometimes occur both to men and women, I cannot imagine them to
be very frequent. A hasty and imprudent attachment may arise\mbox{---}but
there is generally time to recover from it afterwards. I would be
understood to mean, that it can be only weak, irresolute characters,
(whose happiness must be always at the mercy of chance,) who will
suffer an unfortunate acquaintance to be an inconvenience, an oppression
for ever.''

He made no answer; merely looked, and bowed in submission; and soon
afterwards said, in a lively tone,

{}``Well, I have so little confidence in my own judgment, that whenever
I marry, I hope some body will chuse my wife for me. Will you?''
(turning to Emma.) {}``Will you chuse a wife for me?\mbox{---} I
am sure I should like any body fixed on by you. You provide for the
family, you know,'' (with a smile at his father). {}``Find some
body for me. I am in no hurry. Adopt her, educate her.''

{}``And make her like myself.''

{}``By all means, if you can.''

{}``Very well. I undertake the commission. You shall have a charming
wife.''

{}``She must be very lively, and have hazle eyes. I care for nothing
else. I shall go abroad for a couple of years\mbox{---}and when I
return, I shall come to you for my wife. Remember.''

Emma was in no danger of forgetting. It was a commission to touch
every favourite feeling. Would not Harriet be the very creature described?
Hazle eyes excepted, two years more might make her all that he wished.
He might even have Harriet in his thoughts at the moment; who could
say? Referring the education to her seemed to imply it.

{}``Now, ma'am,'' said Jane to her aunt, {}``shall we join Mrs.\ Elton?''\ 

{}``If you please, my dear. With all my heart. I am quite ready.
I was ready to have gone with her, but this will do just as well.
We shall soon overtake her. There she is\mbox{---}no, that's somebody
else. That's one of the ladies in the Irish car party, not at all
like her.\mbox{---} Well, I declare\mbox{---}''

They walked off, followed in half a minute by Mr.\ Knightley. Mr.\ Weston,
his son, Emma, and Harriet, only remained; and the young man's spirits
now rose to a pitch almost unpleasant. Even Emma grew tired at last
of flattery and merriment, and wished herself rather walking quietly
about with any of the others, or sitting almost alone, and quite unattended
to, in tranquil observation of the beautiful views beneath her. The
appearance of the servants looking out for them to give notice of
the carriages was a joyful sight; and even the bustle of collecting
and preparing to depart, and the solicitude of Mrs.\ Elton to have
\emph{her} carriage first, were gladly endured, in the prospect of
the quiet drive home which was to close the very questionable enjoyments
of this day of pleasure. Such another scheme, composed of so many
ill-assorted people, she hoped never to be betrayed into again.

While waiting for the carriage, she found Mr.\ Knightley by her side.
He looked around, as if to see that no one were near, and then said,

{}``Emma, I must once more speak to you as I have been used to do:
a privilege rather endured than allowed, perhaps, but I must still
use it. I cannot see you acting wrong, without a remonstrance. How
could you be so unfeeling to Miss Bates? How could you be so insolent
in your wit to a woman of her character, age, and situation?\mbox{---}
Emma, I had not thought it possible.''

Emma recollected, blushed, was sorry, but tried to laugh it off.

{}``Nay, how could I help saying what I did?\mbox{---} Nobody could
have helped it. It was not so very bad. I dare say she did not understand
me.''

{}``I assure you she did. She felt your full meaning. She has talked
of it since. I wish you could have heard how she talked of it\mbox{---}with
what candour and generosity. I wish you could have heard her honouring
your forbearance, in being able to pay her such attentions, as she
was for ever receiving from yourself and your father, when her society
must be so irksome.''

{}``Oh!''\ cried Emma, {}``I know there is not a better creature
in the world: but you must allow, that what is good and what is ridiculous
are most unfortunately blended in her.''

{}``They are blended,'' said he, {}``I acknowledge; and, were she
prosperous, I could allow much for the occasional prevalence of the
ridiculous over the good. Were she a woman of fortune, I would leave
every harmless absurdity to take its chance, I would not quarrel with
you for any liberties of manner. Were she your equal in situation\mbox{---}but,
Emma, consider how far this is from being the case. She is poor; she
has sunk from the comforts she was born to; and, if she live to old
age, must probably sink more. Her situation should secure your compassion.
It was badly done, indeed! You, whom she had known from an infant,
whom she had seen grow up from a period when her notice was an honour,
to have you now, in thoughtless spirits, and the pride of the moment,
laugh at her, humble her\mbox{---}and before her niece, too\mbox{---}and
before others, many of whom (certainly \emph{some},) would be entirely
guided by \emph{your} treatment of her.\mbox{---} This is not pleasant
to you, Emma\mbox{---}and it is very far from pleasant to me; but
I must, I will,\mbox{---}I will tell you truths while I can; satisfied
with proving myself your friend by very faithful counsel, and trusting
that you will some time or other do me greater justice than you can
do now.''

While they talked, they were advancing towards the carriage; it was
ready; and, before she could speak again, he had handed her in. He
had misinterpreted the feelings which had kept her face averted, and
her tongue motionless. They were combined only of anger against herself,
mortification, and deep concern. She had not been able to speak; and,
on entering the carriage, sunk back for a moment overcome\mbox{---}then
reproaching herself for having taken no leave, making no acknowledgment,
parting in apparent sullenness, she looked out with voice and hand
eager to shew a difference; but it was just too late. He had turned
away, and the horses were in motion. She continued to look back, but
in vain; and soon, with what appeared unusual speed, they were half
way down the hill, and every thing left far behind. She was vexed
beyond what could have been expressed\mbox{---}almost beyond what
she could conceal. Never had she felt so agitated, mortified, grieved,
at any circumstance in her life. She was most forcibly struck. The
truth of this representation there was no denying. She felt it at
her heart. How could she have been so brutal, so cruel to Miss Bates!
How could she have exposed herself to such ill opinion in any one
she valued! And how suffer him to leave her without saying one word
of gratitude, of concurrence, of common kindness!

Time did not compose her. As she reflected more, she seemed but to
feel it more. She never had been so depressed. Happily it was not
necessary to speak. There was only Harriet, who seemed not in spirits
herself, fagged, and very willing to be silent; and Emma felt the
tears running down her cheeks almost all the way home, without being
at any trouble to check them, extraordinary as they were.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER VIII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER VIII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER VIII}

The wretchedness of a scheme to Box Hill was in Emma's thoughts all
the evening. How it might be considered by the rest of the party,
she could not tell. They, in their different homes, and their different
ways, might be looking back on it with pleasure; but in her view it
was a morning more completely misspent, more totally bare of rational
satisfaction at the time, and more to be abhorred in recollection,
than any she had ever passed. A whole evening of back-gammon with
her father, was felicity to it. \emph{There}, indeed, lay real pleasure,
for there she was giving up the sweetest hours of the twenty-four
to his comfort; and feeling that, unmerited as might be the degree
of his fond affection and confiding esteem, she could not, in her
general conduct, be open to any severe reproach. As a daughter, she
hoped she was not without a heart. She hoped no one could have said
to her, {}``How could you be so unfeeling to your father?\mbox{---}
I must, I will tell you truths while I can.'' Miss Bates should never
again\mbox{---}no, never! If attention, in future, could do away
the past, she might hope to be forgiven. She had been often remiss,
her conscience told her so; remiss, perhaps, more in thought than
fact; scornful, ungracious. But it should be so no more. In the warmth
of true contrition, she would call upon her the very next morning,
and it should be the beginning, on her side, of a regular, equal,
kindly intercourse.

She was just as determined when the morrow came, and went early, that
nothing might prevent her. It was not unlikely, she thought, that
she might see Mr.\ Knightley in her way; or, perhaps, he might come
in while she were paying her visit. She had no objection. She would
not be ashamed of the appearance of the penitence, so justly and truly
hers. Her eyes were towards Donwell as she walked, but she saw him
not.

{}``The ladies were all at home.'' She had never rejoiced at the
sound before, nor ever before entered the passage, nor walked up the
stairs, with any wish of giving pleasure, but in conferring obligation,
or of deriving it, except in subsequent ridicule.

There was a bustle on her approach; a good deal of moving and talking.
She heard Miss Bates's voice, something was to be done in a hurry;
the maid looked frightened and awkward; hoped she would be pleased
to wait a moment, and then ushered her in too soon. The aunt and niece
seemed both escaping into the adjoining room. Jane she had a distinct
glimpse of, looking extremely ill; and, before the door had shut them
out, she heard Miss Bates saying, {}``Well, my dear, I shall \emph{say}
you are laid down upon the bed, and I am sure you are ill enough.''

Poor old Mrs.\ Bates, civil and humble as usual, looked as if she
did not quite understand what was going on.

{}``I am afraid Jane is not very well,'' said she, {}``but I do
not know; they \emph{tell} me she is well. I dare say my daughter
will be here presently, Miss Woodhouse. I hope you find a chair. I
wish Hetty had not gone. I am very little able\mbox{---}Have you
a chair, ma'am? Do you sit where you like? I am sure she will be here
presently.''

Emma seriously hoped she would. She had a moment's fear of Miss Bates
keeping away from her. But Miss Bates soon came\mbox{---}{}``Very
happy and obliged''---but Emma's conscience told her that there was
not the same cheerful volubility as before\mbox{---}less ease of
look and manner. A very friendly inquiry after Miss Fairfax, she hoped,
might lead the way to a return of old feelings. The touch seemed immediate.

{}``Ah!\ Miss Woodhouse, how kind you are!\mbox{---} I suppose
you have heard\mbox{---}and are come to give us joy. This does not
seem much like joy, indeed, in me''---(twinkling away a tear or two)\mbox{---}{}``but
it will be very trying for us to part with her, after having had her
so long, and she has a dreadful headache just now, writing all the
morning:\mbox{---}such long letters, you know, to be written to Colonel
Campbell, and Mrs.\ Dixon.\  `My dear,' said I, `you will blind
yourself'\mbox{---}for tears were in her eyes perpetually. One cannot
wonder, one cannot wonder. It is a great change; and though she is
amazingly fortunate\mbox{---}such a situation, I suppose, as no young
woman before ever met with on first going out\mbox{---}do not think
us ungrateful, Miss Woodhouse, for such surprising good fortune''---(again
dispersing her tears)\mbox{---}{}``but, poor dear soul! if you were
to see what a headache she has. When one is in great pain, you know
one cannot feel any blessing quite as it may deserve. She is as low
as possible. To look at her, nobody would think how delighted and
happy she is to have secured such a situation. You will excuse her
not coming to you\mbox{---}she is not able\mbox{---}she is gone
into her own room\mbox{---}I want her to lie down upon the bed.\ 
`My dear,' said I, `I shall say you are laid down upon the bed:' but,
however, she is not; she is walking about the room. But, now that
she has written her letters, she says she shall soon be well. She
will be extremely sorry to miss seeing you, Miss Woodhouse, but your
kindness will excuse her. You were kept waiting at the door\mbox{---}I
was quite ashamed\mbox{---}but somehow there was a little bustle\mbox{---}for
it so happened that we had not heard the knock, and till you were
on the stairs, we did not know any body was coming.\  `It is only
Mrs.\ Cole,' said I, `depend upon it. Nobody else would come so early.'
`Well,' said she, `it must be borne some time or other, and it may
as well be now.' But then Patty came in, and said it was you.\  `Oh!'\ said
I, `it is Miss Woodhouse: I am sure you will like to see her.'\mbox{---}`I
can see nobody,' said she; and up she got, and would go away; and
that was what made us keep you waiting\mbox{---}and extremely sorry
and ashamed we were.\  `If you must go, my dear,' said I, `you must,
and I will say you are laid down upon the bed.'''

Emma was most sincerely interested. Her heart had been long growing
kinder towards Jane; and this picture of her present sufferings acted
as a cure of every former ungenerous suspicion, and left her nothing
but pity; and the remembrance of the less just and less gentle sensations
of the past, obliged her to admit that Jane might very naturally resolve
on seeing Mrs.\ Cole or any other steady friend, when she might not
bear to see herself. She spoke as she felt, with earnest regret and
solicitude\mbox{---}sincerely wishing that the circumstances which
she collected from Miss Bates to be now actually determined on, might
be as much for Miss Fairfax's advantage and comfort as possible. {}``It
must be a severe trial to them all. She had understood it was to be
delayed till Colonel Campbell's return.''

{}``So very kind!''\ replied Miss Bates. {}``But you are always
kind.''

There was no bearing such an {}``always;'' and to break through
her dreadful gratitude, Emma made the direct inquiry of\mbox{---}

{}``Where\mbox{---}may I ask?\mbox{---}is Miss Fairfax going?''\ 

{}``To a Mrs.\ Smallridge\mbox{---}charming wo\-m\-an\mbox{---}most
superior\mbox{---}to have the charge of her three little girls\mbox{---}delightful
children. Impossible that any situation could be more replete with
comfort; if we except, perhaps, Mrs.\ Suckling's own family, and
Mrs.\ Bragge's; but Mrs.\ Smallridge is intimate with both, and
in the very same neighbourhood:\mbox{---}lives only four miles from
Maple Grove. Jane will be only four miles from Maple Grove.''

{}``Mrs.\ Elton, I suppose, has been the person to whom Miss Fairfax
owes\mbox{---}''

{}``Yes, our good Mrs.\ Elton. The most indefatigable, true friend.
She would not take a denial. She would not let Jane say, `No;' for
when Jane first heard of it, (it was the day before yesterday, the
very morning we were at Donwell,) when Jane first heard of it, she
was quite decided against accepting the offer, and for the reasons
you mention; exactly as you say, she had made up her mind to close
with nothing till Colonel Campbell's return, and nothing should induce
her to enter into any engagement at present\mbox{---}and so she told
Mrs.\ Elton over and over again\mbox{---}and I am sure I had no
more idea that she would change her mind!\mbox{---}but that good
Mrs.\ Elton, whose judgment never fails her, saw farther than I did.
It is not every body that would have stood out in such a kind way
as she did, and refuse to take Jane's answer; but she positively declared
she would \emph{not} write any such denial yesterday, as Jane wished
her; she would wait\mbox{---}and, sure enough, yesterday evening
it was all settled that Jane should go. Quite a surprize to me! I
had not the least idea!\mbox{---} Jane took Mrs.\ Elton aside, and
told her at once, that upon thinking over the advantages of Mrs.\ Smallridge's
situation, she had come to the resolution of accepting it.\mbox{---}
I did not know a word of it till it was all settled.''

{}``You spent the evening with Mrs.\ Elton?''\ 

{}``Yes, all of us; Mrs.\ Elton would have us come. It was settled
so, upon the hill, while we were walking about with Mr.\ Knightley.
`You \emph{must all} spend your evening with us,' said she\mbox{---}`I
positively must have you \emph{all} come.'''

{}``Mr.\ Knightley was there too, was he?''\ 

{}``No, not Mr.\ Knightley; he declined it from the first; and though
I thought he would come, because Mrs.\ Elton declared she would not
let him off, he did not;\mbox{---}but my mother, and Jane, and I,
were all there, and a very agreeable evening we had. Such kind friends,
you know, Miss Woodhouse, one must always find agreeable, though every
body seemed rather fagged after the morning's party. Even pleasure,
you know, is fatiguing\mbox{---}and I cannot say that any of them
seemed very much to have enjoyed it. However, \emph{I} shall always
think it a very pleasant party, and feel extremely obliged to the
kind friends who included me in it.''

{}``Miss Fairfax, I suppose, though you were not aware of it, had
been making up her mind the whole day?''\ 

{}``I dare say she had.''

{}``Whenever the time may come, it must be unwelcome to her and all
her friends\mbox{---}but I hope her engagement will have every alleviation
that is possible\mbox{---}I mean, as to the character and manners
of the family.''

{}``Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse. Yes, indeed, there is every thing
in the world that can make her happy in it. Except the Sucklings and
Bragges, there is not such another nursery establishment, so liberal
and elegant, in all Mrs.\ Elton's acquaintance. Mrs.\ Smallridge,
a most delightful woman!\mbox{---} A style of living almost equal
to Maple Grove\mbox{---}and as to the children, except the little
Sucklings and little Bragges, there are not such elegant sweet children
anywhere. Jane will be treated with such regard and kindness!\mbox{---}
It will be nothing but pleasure, a life of pleasure.\mbox{---} And
her salary!\mbox{---} I really cannot venture to name her salary
to you, Miss Woodhouse. Even you, used as you are to great sums, would
hardly believe that so much could be given to a young person like
Jane.''

{}``Ah!\ madam,'' cried Emma, {}``if other children are at all
like what I remember to have been myself, I should think five times
the amount of what I have ever yet heard named as a salary on such
occasions, dearly earned.''

{}``You are so noble in your ideas!''\ 

{}``And when is Miss Fairfax to leave you?''\ 

{}``Very soon, very soon, indeed; that's the worst of it. Within
a fortnight. Mrs.\ Smallridge is in a great hurry. My poor mother
does not know how to bear it. So then, I try to put it out of her
thoughts, and say, Come ma'am, do not let us think about it any more.''

{}``Her friends must all be sorry to lose her; and will not Colonel
and Mrs.\ Campbell be sorry to find that she has engaged herself
before their return?''\ 

{}``Yes; Jane says she is sure they will; but yet, this is such a
situation as she cannot feel herself justified in declining. I was
so astonished when she first told me what she had been saying to Mrs.\ Elton,
and when Mrs.\ Elton at the same moment came congratulating me upon
it! It was before tea\mbox{---}stay\mbox{---}no, it could not be
before tea, because we were just going to cards\mbox{---}and yet
it was before tea, because I remember thinking\mbox{---}Oh!\ no,
now I recollect, now I have it; something happened before tea, but
not that. Mr.\ Elton was called out of the room before tea, old John
Abdy's son wanted to speak with him. Poor old John, I have a great
regard for him; he was clerk to my poor father twenty-seven years;
and now, poor old man, he is bed-ridden, and very poorly with the
rheumatic gout in his joints\mbox{---}I must go and see him to-day;
and so will Jane, I am sure, if she gets out at all. And poor John's
son came to talk to Mr.\ Elton about relief from the parish; he is
very well to do himself, you know, being head man at the Crown, ostler,
and every thing of that sort, but still he cannot keep his father
without some help; and so, when Mr.\ Elton came back, he told us
what John ostler had been telling him, and then it came out about
the chaise having been sent to Randalls to take Mr.\ Frank Churchill
to Richmond. That was what happened before tea. It was after tea that
Jane spoke to Mrs.\ Elton.''

Miss Bates would hardly give Emma time to say how perfectly new this
circumstance was to her; but as without supposing it possible that
she could be ignorant of any of the particulars of Mr.\ Frank Churchill's
going, she proceeded to give them all, it was of no consequence.

What Mr.\ Elton had learned from the ostler on the subject, being
the accumulation of the ostler's own knowledge, and the knowledge
of the servants at Randalls, was, that a messenger had come over from
Richmond soon after the return of the party from Box Hill\mbox{---}which
messenger, however, had been no more than was expected; and that Mr.\ Churchill
had sent his nephew a few lines, containing, upon the whole, a tolerable
account of Mrs.\ Churchill, and only wishing him not to delay coming
back beyond the next morning early; but that Mr.\ Frank Churchill
having resolved to go home directly, without waiting at all, and his
horse seeming to have got a cold, Tom had been sent off immediately
for the Crown chaise, and the ostler had stood out and seen it pass
by, the boy going a good pace, and driving very steady.

There was nothing in all this either to astonish or interest, and
it caught Emma's attention only as it united with the subject which
already engaged her mind. The contrast between Mrs.\ Churchill's
importance in the world, and Jane Fairfax's, struck her; one was every
thing, the other nothing\mbox{---}and she sat musing on the difference
of woman's destiny, and quite unconscious on what her eyes were fixed,
till roused by Miss Bates's saying,

{}``Aye, I see what you are thinking of, the pianoforte. What is
to become of that?\mbox{---} Very true. Poor dear Jane was talking
of it just now.\mbox{---} `You must go,' said she.\  `You and I
must part. You will have no business here.\mbox{---} Let it stay,
however,' said she; `give it houseroom till Colonel Campbell comes
back. I shall talk about it to him; he will settle for me; he will
help me out of all my difficulties.'\mbox{---}And to this day, I
do believe, she knows not whether it was his present or his daughter's.''

Now Emma was obliged to think of the pianoforte; and the remembrance
of all her former fanciful and unfair conjectures was so little pleasing,
that she soon allowed herself to believe her visit had been long enough;
and, with a repetition of every thing that she could venture to say
of the good wishes which she really felt, took leave.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER IX}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER IX}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER IX}

Emma's pensive meditations, as she walked home, were not interrupted;
but on entering the parlour, she found those who must rouse her. Mr.\ Knightley
and Harriet had arrived during her absence, and were sitting with
her father.\mbox{---} Mr.\ Knightley immediately got up, and in
a manner decidedly graver than usual, said,

{}``I would not go away without seeing you, but I have no time to
spare, and therefore must now be gone directly. I am going to London,
to spend a few days with John and Isabella. Have you any thing to
send or say, besides the `love,' which nobody carries?''\ 

{}``Nothing at all. But is not this a sudden scheme?''\ 

{}``Yes\mbox{---}rather\mbox{---}I have been thinking of it some
little time.''

Emma was sure he had not forgiven her; he looked unlike himself. Time,
however, she thought, would tell him that they ought to be friends
again. While he stood, as if meaning to go, but not going\mbox{---}her
father began his inquiries.

{}``Well, my dear, and did you get there safely?\mbox{---} And how
did you find my worthy old friend and her daughter?\mbox{---} I dare
say they must have been very much obliged to you for coming. Dear
Emma has been to call on Mrs.\ and Miss Bates, Mr.\ Knightley, as
I told you before. She is always so attentive to them!''\ 

Emma's colour was heightened by this unjust praise; and with a smile,
and shake of the head, which spoke much, she looked at Mr.\ Knightley.\mbox{---}
It seemed as if there were an instantaneous impression in her favour,
as if his eyes received the truth from her's, and all that had passed
of good in her feelings were at once caught and honoured.\mbox{---}
He looked at her with a glow of regard. She was warmly gratified\mbox{---}and
in another moment still more so, by a little movement of more than
common friendliness on his part.\mbox{---} He took her hand;\mbox{---}whether
she had not herself made the first motion, she could not say\mbox{---}she
might, perhaps, have rather offered it\mbox{---}but he took her hand,
pressed it, and certainly was on the point of carrying it to his lips\mbox{---}when,
from some fancy or other, he suddenly let it go.\mbox{---} Why he
should feel such a scruple, why he should change his mind when it
was all but done, she could not perceive.\mbox{---} He would have
judged better, she thought, if he had not stopped.\mbox{---} The
intention, however, was indubitable; and whether it was that his manners
had in general so little gallantry, or however else it happened, but
she thought nothing became him more.\mbox{---} It was with him, of
so simple, yet so dignified a nature.\mbox{---} She could not but
recall the attempt with great satisfaction. It spoke such perfect
amity.\mbox{---} He left them immediately afterwards\mbox{---}gone
in a moment. He always moved with the alertness of a mind which could
neither be undecided nor dilatory, but now he seemed more sudden than
usual in his disappearance.

Emma could not regret her having gone to Miss Bates, but she wished
she had left her ten minutes earlier;\mbox{---}it would have been
a great pleasure to talk over Jane Fairfax's situation with Mr.\ Knightley.\mbox{---}
Neither would she regret that he should be going to Brunswick Square,
for she knew how much his visit would be enjoyed\mbox{---}but it
might have happened at a better time\mbox{---}and to have had longer
notice of it, would have been pleasanter.\mbox{---} They parted thorough
friends, however; she could not be deceived as to the meaning of his
countenance, and his unfinished gallantry;\mbox{---}it was all done
to assure her that she had fully recovered his good opinion.\mbox{---}
He had been sitting with them half an hour, she found. It was a pity
that she had not come back earlier!

In the hope of diverting her father's thoughts from the disagreeableness
of Mr.\ Knightley's going to London; and going so suddenly; and going
on horseback, which she knew would be all very bad; Emma communicated
her news of Jane Fairfax, and her dependence on the effect was justified;
it supplied a very useful check,\mbox{---}interested, without disturbing
him. He had long made up his mind to Jane Fairfax's going out as governess,
and could talk of it cheerfully, but Mr.\ Knightley's going to London
had been an unexpected blow.

{}``I am very glad, indeed, my dear, to hear she is to be so comfortably
settled. Mrs.\ Elton is very good-natured and agreeable, and I dare
say her acquaintance are just what they ought to be. I hope it is
a dry situation, and that her health will be taken good care of. It
ought to be a first object, as I am sure poor Miss Taylor's always
was with me. You know, my dear, she is going to be to this new lady
what Miss Taylor was to us. And I hope she will be better off in one
respect, and not be induced to go away after it has been her home
so long.''

The following day brought news from Richmond to throw every thing
else into the background. An express arrived at Randalls to announce
the death of Mrs.\ Churchill! Though her nephew had had no particular
reason to hasten back on her account, she had not lived above six-and-thirty
hours after his return. A sudden seizure of a different nature from
any thing foreboded by her general state, had carried her off after
a short struggle. The great Mrs.\ Churchill was no more.

It was felt as such things must be felt. Every body had a degree of
gravity and sorrow; tenderness towards the departed, solicitude for
the surviving friends; and, in a reasonable time, curiosity to know
where she would be buried. Goldsmith tells us, that when lovely woman
stoops to folly, she has nothing to do but to die; and when she stoops
to be disagreeable, it is equally to be recommended as a clearer of
ill-fame. Mrs.\ Churchill, after being disliked at least twenty-five
years, was now spoken of with compassionate allowances. In one point
she was fully justified. She had never been admitted before to be
seriously ill. The event acquitted her of all the fancifulness, and
all the selfishness of imaginary complaints.

{}``Poor Mrs.\ Churchill!\ no doubt she had been suffering a great
deal: more than any body had ever supposed\mbox{---}and continual
pain would try the temper. It was a sad event\mbox{---}a great shock\mbox{---}with
all her faults, what would Mr.\ Churchill do without her? Mr.\ Churchill's
loss would be dreadful indeed. Mr.\ Churchill would never get over
it.''---Even Mr.\ Weston shook his head, and looked solemn, and
said, {}``Ah!\ poor woman, who would have thought it!''\ and resolved,
that his mourning should be as handsome as possible; and his wife
sat sighing and moralising over her broad hems with a commiseration
and good sense, true and steady. How it would affect Frank was among
the earliest thoughts of both. It was also a very early speculation
with Emma. The character of Mrs.\ Churchill, the grief of her husband\mbox{---}her
mind glanced over them both with awe and compassion\mbox{---}and
then rested with lightened feelings on how Frank might be affected
by the event, how benefited, how freed. She saw in a moment all the
possible good. Now, an attachment to Harriet Smith would have nothing
to encounter. Mr.\ Churchill, independent of his wife, was feared
by nobody; an easy, guidable man, to be persuaded into any thing by
his nephew. All that remained to be wished was, that the nephew should
form the attachment, as, with all her goodwill in the cause, Emma
could feel no certainty of its being already formed.

Harriet behaved extremely well on the occasion, with great self-command.
What ever she might feel of brighter hope, she betrayed nothing. Emma
was gratified, to observe such a proof in her of strengthened character,
and refrained from any allusion that might endanger its maintenance.
They spoke, therefore, of Mrs.\ Churchill's death with mutual forbearance.

Short letters from Frank were received at Randalls, communicating
all that was immediately important of their state and plans. Mr.\ Churchill
was better than could be expected; and their first removal, on the
departure of the funeral for Yorkshire, was to be to the house of
a very old friend in Windsor, to whom Mr.\ Churchill had been promising
a visit the last ten years. At present, there was nothing to be done
for Harriet; good wishes for the future were all that could yet be
possible on Emma's side.

It was a more pressing concern to shew attention to Jane Fairfax,
whose prospects were closing, while Harriet's opened, and whose engagements
now allowed of no delay in any one at Highbury, who wished to shew
her kindness\mbox{---}and with Emma it was grown into a first wish.
She had scarcely a stronger regret than for her past coldness; and
the person, whom she had been so many months neglecting, was now the
very one on whom she would have lavished every distinction of regard
or sympathy. She wanted to be of use to her; wanted to shew a value
for her society, and testify respect and consideration. She resolved
to prevail on her to spend a day at Hartfield. A note was written
to urge it. The invitation was refused, and by a verbal message. {}``Miss
Fairfax was not well enough to write;'' and when Mr.\ Perry called
at Hartfield, the same morning, it appeared that she was so much indisposed
as to have been visited, though against her own consent, by himself,
and that she was suffering under severe headaches, and a nervous fever
to a degree, which made him doubt the possibility of her going to
Mrs.\ Smallridge's at the time proposed. Her health seemed for the
moment completely deranged\mbox{---}appetite quite gone\mbox{---}and
though there were no absolutely alarming symptoms, nothing touching
the pulmonary complaint, which was the standing apprehension of the
family, Mr.\ Perry was uneasy about her. He thought she had undertaken
more than she was equal to, and that she felt it so herself, though
she would not own it. Her spirits seemed overcome. Her present home,
he could not but observe, was unfavourable to a nervous disorder:\mbox{---}confined
always to one room;\mbox{---}he could have wished it otherwise---and
her good aunt, though his very old friend, he must acknowledge to
be not the best companion for an invalid of that description. Her
care and attention could not be questioned; they were, in fact, only
too great. He very much feared that Miss Fairfax derived more evil
than good from them. Emma listened with the warmest concern; grieved
for her more and more, and looked around eager to discover some way
of being useful. To take her\mbox{---}be it only an hour or two\mbox{---}from
her aunt, to give her change of air and scene, and quiet rational
conversation, even for an hour or two, might do her good; and the
following morning she wrote again to say, in the most feeling language
she could command, that she would call for her in the carriage at
any hour that Jane would name\mbox{---}mentioning that she had Mr.\ Perry's
decided opinion, in favour of such exercise for his patient. The answer
was only in this short note:

{}``Miss Fairfax's compliments and thanks, but is quite unequal to
any exercise.''

Emma felt that her own note had deserved something better; but it
was impossible to quarrel with words, whose tremulous inequality shewed
indisposition so plainly, and she thought only of how she might best
counteract this unwillingness to be seen or assisted. In spite of
the answer, therefore, she ordered the carriage, and drove to Mrs.\ Bates's,
in the hope that Jane would be induced to join her\mbox{---}but it
would not do;\mbox{---}Miss Bates came to the carriage door, all
gratitude, and agreeing with her most earnestly in thinking an airing
might be of the greatest service\mbox{---}and every thing that message
could do was tried\mbox{---}but all in vain. Miss Bates was obliged
to return without success; Jane was quite unpersuadable; the mere
proposal of going out seemed to make her worse.\mbox{---} Emma wished
she could have seen her, and tried her own powers; but, almost before
she could hint the wish, Miss Bates made it appear that she had promised
her niece on no account to let Miss Woodhouse in. {}``Indeed, the
truth was, that poor dear Jane could not bear to see any body\mbox{---}any
body at all\mbox{---}Mrs.\ Elton, indeed, could not be denied\mbox{---}and
Mrs.\ Cole had made such a point\mbox{---}and Mrs.\ Perry had said
so much\mbox{---}but, except them, Jane would really see nobody.''

Emma did not want to be classed with the Mrs.\ Eltons, the Mrs.\ Perrys,
and the Mrs.\ Coles, who would force themselves anywhere; neither
could she feel any right of preference herself\mbox{---}she submitted,
therefore, and only questioned Miss Bates farther as to her niece's
appetite and diet, which she longed to be able to assist. On that
subject poor Miss Bates was very unhappy, and very communicative;
Jane would hardly eat any thing:\mbox{---}Mr.\ Perry recommended
nourishing food; but every thing they could command (and never had
any body such good neighbours) was distasteful.

Emma, on reaching home, called the housekeeper directly, to an examination
of her stores; and some arrowroot of very superior quality was speedily
despatched to Miss Bates with a most friendly note. In half an hour
the arrowroot was returned, with a thousand thanks from Miss Bates,
but {}``dear Jane would not be satisfied without its being sent back;
it was a thing she could not take\mbox{---}and, moreover, she insisted
on her saying, that she was not at all in want of any thing.''

When Emma afterwards heard that Jane Fairfax had been seen wandering
about the meadows, at some distance from Highbury, on the afternoon
of the very day on which she had, under the plea of being unequal
to any exercise, so peremptorily refused to go out with her in the
carriage, she could have no doubt\mbox{---}putting every thing together\mbox{---}that
Jane was resolved to receive no kindness from her. She was sorry,
very sorry. Her heart was grieved for a state which seemed but the
more pitiable from this sort of irritation of spirits, inconsistency
of action, and inequality of powers; and it mortified her that she
was given so little credit for proper feeling, or esteemed so little
worthy as a friend: but she had the consolation of knowing that her
intentions were good, and of being able to say to herself, that could
Mr.\ Knightley have been privy to all her attempts of assisting Jane
Fairfax, could he even have seen into her heart, he would not, on
this occasion, have found any thing to reprove.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER X}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER X}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER X}

One morning, about ten days after Mrs.\ Churchill's decease, Emma
was called downstairs to Mr.\ Weston, who {}``could not stay five
minutes, and wanted particularly to speak with her.''---He met her
at the parlour-door, and hardly asking her how she did, in the natural
key of his voice, sunk it immediately, to say, unheard by her father,

{}``Can you come to Randalls at any time this morning?\mbox{---}
Do, if it be possible. Mrs.\ Weston wants to see you. She must see
you.''

{}``Is she unwell?''\ 

{}``No, no, not at all\mbox{---}only a little agitated. She would
have ordered the carriage, and come to you, but she must see you alone,
and that you know''---(nodding towards her father)\mbox{---}{}``Humph!\mbox{---}
Can you come?''\ 

{}``Certainly. This moment, if you please. It is impossible to refuse
what you ask in such a way. But what can be the matter?\mbox{---}
Is she really not ill?''\ 

{}``Depend upon me\mbox{---}but ask no more questions. You will
know it all in time. The most unaccountable business! But hush, hush!''\ 

To guess what all this meant, was impossible even for Emma. Something
really important seemed announced by his looks; but, as her friend
was well, she endeavoured not to be uneasy, and settling it with her
father, that she would take her walk now, she and Mr.\ Weston were
soon out of the house together and on their way at a quick pace for
Randalls.

{}``Now,''---said Emma, when they were fairly beyond the sweep gates,\mbox{---}{}``now
Mr.\ Weston, do let me know what has happened.''

{}``No, no,''---he gravely replied.\mbox{---} {}``Don't ask me.
I promised my wife to leave it all to her. She will break it to you
better than I can. Do not be impatient, Emma; it will all come out
too soon.''

{}``Break it to me,'' cried Emma, standing still with terror.\mbox{---}
{}``Good God!\mbox{---} Mr.\ Weston, tell me at once.\mbox{---}
Something has happened in Brunswick Square. I know it has. Tell me,
I charge you tell me this moment what it is.''

{}``No, indeed you are mistaken.''---

{}``Mr.\ Weston do not trifle with me.\mbox{---} Consider how many
of my dearest friends are now in Brunswick Square. Which of them is
it?\mbox{---} I charge you by all that is sacred, not to attempt
concealment.''

{}``Upon my word, Emma.''---

{}``Your word!\mbox{---}why not your honour!\mbox{---}why not say
upon your honour, that it has nothing to do with any of them? Good
Heavens!\mbox{---} What can be to be \emph{broke} to me, that does
not relate to one of that family?''\ 

{}``Upon my honour,'' said he very seriously, {}``it does not.
It is not in the smallest degree connected with any human being of
the name of Knightley.''

Emma's courage returned, and she walked on.

{}``I was wrong,'' he continued, {}``in talking of its being \emph{broke}
to you. I should not have used the expression. In fact, it does not
concern you\mbox{---}it concerns only myself,\mbox{---}that is,
we hope.\mbox{---} Humph!\mbox{---} In short, my dear Emma, there
is no occasion to be so uneasy about it. I don't say that it is not
a disagreeable business\mbox{---}but things might be much worse.\mbox{---}
If we walk fast, we shall soon be at Randalls.''

Emma found that she must wait; and now it required little effort.
She asked no more questions therefore, merely employed her own fancy,
and that soon pointed out to her the probability of its being some
money concern\mbox{---}-something just come to light, of a disagreeable
nature in the circumstances of the family,\mbox{---}something which
the late event at Richmond had brought forward. Her fancy was very
active. Half a dozen natural children, perhaps\mbox{---}and poor
Frank cut off!\mbox{---} This, though very undesirable, would be
no matter of agony to her. It inspired little more than an animating
curiosity.

{}``Who is that gentleman on horseback?''\ said she, as they proceeded\mbox{---}speaking
more to assist Mr.\ Weston in keeping his secret, than with any other
view.

{}``I do not know.\mbox{---} One of the Otways.\mbox{---} Not Frank;\mbox{---}it
is not Frank, I assure you. You will not see him. He is half way to
Windsor by this time.''

{}``Has your son been with you, then?''\ 

{}``Oh!\ yes\mbox{---}did not you know?\mbox{---} Well, well,
never mind.''

For a moment he was silent; and then added, in a tone much more guarded
and demure,

{}``Yes, Frank came over this morning, just to ask us how we did.''

They hurried on, and were speedily at Randalls.\mbox{---} {}``Well,
my dear,'' said he, as they entered the room\mbox{---}{}``I have
brought her, and now I hope you will soon be better. I shall leave
you together. There is no use in delay. I shall not be far off, if
you want me.''---And Emma distinctly heard him add, in a lower tone,
before he quitted the room,\mbox{---}{}``I have been as good as
my word. She has not the least idea.''

Mrs.\ Weston was looking so ill, and had an air of so much perturbation,
that Emma's uneasiness increased; and the moment they were alone,
she eagerly said,

{}``What is it my dear friend? Something of a very unpleasant nature,
I find, has occurred;\mbox{---}do let me know directly what it is.
I have been walking all this way in complete suspense. We both abhor
suspense. Do not let mine continue longer. It will do you good to
speak of your distress, whatever it may be.''

{}``Have you indeed no idea?''\ said Mrs.\ Weston in a trembling
voice. {}``Cannot you, my dear Emma\mbox{---}cannot you form a guess
as to what you are to hear?''\ 

{}``So far as that it relates to Mr.\ Frank Churchill, I do guess.''

{}``You are right. It does relate to him, and I will tell you directly;''
(resuming her work, and seeming resolved against looking up.) {}``He
has been here this very morning, on a most extraordinary errand. It
is impossible to express our surprize. He came to speak to his father
on a subject,\mbox{---}to announce an attachment\mbox{---}''

She stopped to breathe. Emma thought first of herself, and then of
Harriet.

{}``More than an attachment, indeed,'' resumed Mrs.\ Weston; {}``an
engagement\mbox{---}a positive engagement.\mbox{---} What will you
say, Emma\mbox{---}what will any body say, when it is known that
Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax are engaged;\mbox{---}nay, that
they have been long engaged!''\ 

Emma even jumped with surprize;\mbox{---}and, horror-struck, exclaimed,

{}``Jane Fairfax!\mbox{---} Good God! You are not serious? You do
not mean it?''\ 

{}``You may well be amazed,'' returned Mrs.\ Weston, still averting
her eyes, and talking on with eagerness, that Emma might have time
to recover\mbox{---}{}``You may well be amazed. But it is even so.
There has been a solemn engagement between them ever since October\mbox{---}formed
at Weymouth, and kept a secret from every body. Not a creature knowing
it but themselves\mbox{---}neither the Campbells, nor her family,
nor his.\mbox{---} It is so wonderful, that though perfectly convinced
of the fact, it is yet almost incredible to myself. I can hardly believe
it.\mbox{---} I thought I knew him.''

Emma scarcely heard what was said.\mbox{---} Her mind was divided
between two ideas\mbox{---}her own former conversations with him
about Miss Fairfax; and poor Harriet;\mbox{---}and for some time
she could only exclaim, and require confirmation, repeated confirmation.

{}``Well,'' said she at last, trying to recover herself; {}``this
is a circumstance which I must think of at least half a day, before
I can at all comprehend it. What!\mbox{---}engaged to her all the
winter\mbox{---}before either of them came to Highbury?''\ 

{}``Engaged since October,\mbox{---}secretly engaged.\mbox{---}
It has hurt me, Emma, very much. It has hurt his father equally. \emph{Some
part} of his conduct we cannot excuse.''

Emma pondered a moment, and then replied, {}``I will not pretend
\emph{not} to understand you; and to give you all the relief in my
power, be assured that no such effect has followed his attentions
to me, as you are apprehensive of.''

Mrs.\ Weston looked up, afraid to believe; but Emma's countenance
was as steady as her words.

{}``That you may have less difficulty in believing this boast, of
my present perfect indifference,'' she continued, {}``I will farther
tell you, that there was a period in the early part of our acquaintance,
when I did like him, when I was very much disposed to be attached
to him\mbox{---}nay, was attached\mbox{---}and how it came to cease,
is perhaps the wonder. Fortunately, however, it did cease. I have
really for some time past, for at least these three months, cared
nothing about him. You may believe me, Mrs.\ Weston. This is the
simple truth.''

Mrs.\ Weston kissed her with tears of joy; and when she could find
utterance, assured her, that this protestation had done her more good
than any thing else in the world could do.

{}``Mr.\ Weston will be almost as much relieved as myself,'' said
she. {}``On this point we have been wretched. It was our darling
wish that you might be attached to each other\mbox{---}and we were
persuaded that it was so.\mbox{---} Imagine what we have been feeling
on your account.''

{}``I have escaped; and that I should escape, may be a matter of
grateful wonder to you and myself. But this does not acquit \emph{him},
Mrs.\ Weston; and I must say, that I think him greatly to blame.
What right had he to come among us with affection and faith engaged,
and with manners so \emph{very} disengaged? What right had he to endeavour
to please, as he certainly did\mbox{---}to distinguish any one young
woman with persevering attention, as he certainly did\mbox{---}while
he really belonged to another?\mbox{---} How could he tell what mischief
he might be doing?\mbox{---} How could he tell that he might not
be making me in love with him?\mbox{---}very wrong, very wrong indeed.''

{}``From something that he said, my dear Emma, I rather imagine\mbox{---}''

{}``And how could \emph{she} bear such behaviour! Composure with
a witness! to look on, while repeated attentions were offering to
another woman, before her face, and not resent it.\mbox{---} That
is a degree of placidity, which I can neither comprehend nor respect.''

{}``There were misunderstandings between them, Emma; he said so expressly.
He had not time to enter into much explanation. He was here only a
quarter of an hour, and in a state of agitation which did not allow
the full use even of the time he could stay\mbox{---}but that there
had been misunderstandings he decidedly said. The present crisis,
indeed, seemed to be brought on by them; and those misunderstandings
might very possibly arise from the impropriety of his conduct.''

{}``Impropriety! Oh!\ Mrs.\ Weston\mbox{---}it is too calm a censure.
Much, much beyond impropriety!\mbox{---} It has sunk him, I cannot
say how it has sunk him in my opinion. So unlike what a man should
be!\mbox{---} None of that upright integrity, that strict adherence
to truth and principle, that disdain of trick and littleness, which
a man should display in every transaction of his life.''

{}``Nay, dear Emma, now I must take his part; for though he has been
wrong in this instance, I have known him long enough to answer for
his having many, very many, good qualities; and\mbox{---}''

{}``Good God!''\ cried Emma, not attending to her.\mbox{---} {}``Mrs.\ Smallridge,
too! Jane actually on the point of going as governess! What could
he mean by such horrible indelicacy? To suffer her to engage herself\mbox{---}to
suffer her even to think of such a measure!''\ 

{}``He knew nothing about it, Emma. On this article I can fully acquit
him. It was a private resolution of hers, not communicated to him\mbox{---}or
at least not communicated in a way to carry conviction.\mbox{---}
Till yesterday, I know he said he was in the dark as to her plans.
They burst on him, I do not know how, but by some letter or message\mbox{---}and
it was the discovery of what she was doing, of this very project of
hers, which determined him to come forward at once, own it all to
his uncle, throw himself on his kindness, and, in short, put an end
to the miserable state of concealment that had been carrying on so
long.''

Emma began to listen better.

{}``I am to hear from him soon,'' continued Mrs.\ Weston. {}``He
told me at parting, that he should soon write; and he spoke in a manner
which seemed to promise me many particulars that could not be given
now. Let us wait, therefore, for this letter. It may bring many extenuations.
It may make many things intelligible and excusable which now are not
to be understood. Don't let us be severe, don't let us be in a hurry
to condemn him. Let us have patience. I must love him; and now that
I am satisfied on one point, the one material point, I am sincerely
anxious for its all turning out well, and ready to hope that it may.
They must both have suffered a great deal under such a system of secresy
and concealment.''

{}``\emph{His} sufferings,'' replied Emma dryly, {}``do not appear
to have done him much harm. Well, and how did Mr.\ Churchill take
it?''\ 

{}``Most favourably for his nephew\mbox{---}gave his consent with
scarcely a difficulty. Conceive what the events of a week have done
in that family! While poor Mrs.\ Churchill lived, I suppose there
could not have been a hope, a chance, a possibility;\mbox{---}but
scarcely are her remains at rest in the family vault, than her husband
is persuaded to act exactly opposite to what she would have required.
What a blessing it is, when undue influence does not survive the grave!\mbox{---}
He gave his consent with very little persuasion.''

{}``Ah!''\ thought Emma, {}``he would have done as much for Harriet.''

{}``This was settled last night, and Frank was off with the light
this morning. He stopped at Highbury, at the Bates's, I fancy, some
time\mbox{---}and then came on hither; but was in such a hurry to
get back to his uncle, to whom he is just now more necessary than
ever, that, as I tell you, he could stay with us but a quarter of
an hour.\mbox{---} He was very much agitated\mbox{---}very much,
indeed\mbox{---}to a degree that made him appear quite a different
creature from any thing I had ever seen him before.\mbox{---} In
addition to all the rest, there had been the shock of finding her
so very unwell, which he had had no previous suspicion of\mbox{---}and
there was every appearance of his having been feeling a great deal.''

{}``And do you really believe the affair to have been carrying on
with such perfect secresy?\mbox{---} The Campbells, the Dixons, did
none of them know of the engagement?''\ 

Emma could not speak the name of Dixon without a little blush.

{}``None; not one. He positively said that it had been known to no
being in the world but their two selves.''

{}``Well,'' said Emma, {}``I suppose we shall gradually grow reconciled
to the idea, and I wish them very happy. But I shall always think
it a very abominable sort of proceeding. What has it been but a system
of hypocrisy and deceit,\mbox{---}espionage, and treachery?\mbox{---}
To come among us with professions of openness and simplicity; and
such a league in secret to judge us all!\mbox{---} Here have we been,
the whole winter and spring, completely duped, fancying ourselves
all on an equal footing of truth and honour, with two people in the
midst of us who may have been carrying round, comparing and sitting
in judgment on sentiments and words that were never meant for both
to hear.\mbox{---} They must take the consequence, if they have heard
each other spoken of in a way not perfectly agreeable!''\ 

{}``I am quite easy on that head,'' replied Mrs.\ Weston. {}``I
am very sure that I never said any thing of either to the other, which
both might not have heard.''

{}``You are in luck.\mbox{---} Your only blunder was confined to
my ear, when you imagined a certain friend of ours in love with the
lady.''

{}``True. But as I have always had a thoroughly good opinion of Miss
Fairfax, I never could, under any blunder, have spoken ill of her;
and as to speaking ill of him, there I must have been safe.''

At this moment Mr.\ Weston appeared at a little distance from the
window, evidently on the watch. His wife gave him a look which invited
him in; and, while he was coming round, added, {}``Now, dearest Emma,
let me intreat you to say and look every thing that may set his heart
at ease, and incline him to be satisfied with the match. Let us make
the best of it\mbox{---}and, indeed, almost every thing may be fairly
said in her favour. It is not a connexion to gratify; but if Mr.\ Churchill
does not feel that, why should we?\ and it may be a very fortunate
circumstance for him, for Frank, I mean, that he should have attached
himself to a girl of such steadiness of character and good judgment
as I have always given her credit for\mbox{---}and still am disposed
to give her credit for, in spite of this one great deviation from
the strict rule of right. And how much may be said in her situation
for even that error!''\ 

{}``Much, indeed!''\ cried Emma feelingly. {}``If a woman can
ever be excused for thinking only of herself, it is in a situation
like Jane Fairfax's.\mbox{---} Of such, one may almost say, that
`the world is not their's, nor the world's law.'''

She met Mr.\ Weston on his entrance, with a smiling countenance,
exclaiming,

{}``A very pretty trick you have been playing me, upon my word! This
was a device, I suppose, to sport with my curiosity, and exercise
my talent of guessing. But you really frightened me. I thought you
had lost half your property, at least. And here, instead of its being
a matter of condolence, it turns out to be one of congratulation.\mbox{---}
I congratulate you, Mr.\ Weston, with all my heart, on the prospect
of having one of the most lovely and accomplished young women in England
for your daughter.''

A glance or two between him and his wife, convinced him that all was
as right as this speech proclaimed; and its happy effect on his spirits
was immediate. His air and voice recovered their usual briskness:
he shook her heartily and gratefully by the hand, and entered on the
subject in a manner to prove, that he now only wanted time and persuasion
to think the engagement no very bad thing. His companions suggested
only what could palliate imprudence, or smooth objections; and by
the time they had talked it all over together, and he had talked it
all over again with Emma, in their walk back to Hartfield, he was
become perfectly reconciled, and not far from thinking it the very
best thing that Frank could possibly have done.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XI}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XI}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XI}

{}``Harriet, poor Harriet!''---Those were the words; in them lay
the tormenting ideas which Emma could not get rid of, and which constituted
the real misery of the business to her. Frank Churchill had behaved
very ill by herself\mbox{---}very ill in many ways,\mbox{---}but
it was not so much \emph{his} behaviour as her \emph{own}, which made
her so angry with him. It was the scrape which he had drawn her into
on Harriet's account, that gave the deepest hue to his offence.\mbox{---}
Poor Harriet! to be a second time the dupe of her misconceptions and
flattery. Mr.\ Knightley had spoken prophetically, when he once said,
{}``Emma, you have been no friend to Harriet Smith.''---She was
afraid she had done her nothing but disservice.\mbox{---} It was
true that she had not to charge herself, in this instance as in the
former, with being the sole and original author of the mischief; with
having suggested such feelings as might otherwise never have entered
Harriet's imagination; for Harriet had acknowledged her admiration
and preference of Frank Churchill before she had ever given her a
hint on the subject; but she felt completely guilty of having encouraged
what she might have repressed. She might have prevented the indulgence
and increase of such sentiments. Her influence would have been enough.
And now she was very conscious that she ought to have prevented them.\mbox{---}
She felt that she had been risking her friend's happiness on most
insufficient grounds. Common sense would have directed her to tell
Harriet, that she must not allow herself to think of him, and that
there were five hundred chances to one against his ever caring for
her.\mbox{---} {}``But, with common sense,'' she added, {}``I
am afraid I have had little to do.''

She was extremely angry with herself. If she could not have been angry
with Frank Churchill too, it would have been dreadful.\mbox{---}
As for Jane Fairfax, she might at least relieve her feelings from
any present solicitude on her account. Harriet would be anxiety enough;
she need no longer be unhappy about Jane, whose troubles and whose
ill-health having, of course, the same origin, must be equally under
cure.\mbox{---} Her days of insignificance and evil were over.\mbox{---}
She would soon be well, and happy, and prosperous.\mbox{---} Emma
could now imagine why her own attentions had been slighted. This discovery
laid many smaller matters open. No doubt it had been from jealousy.\mbox{---}
In Jane's eyes she had been a rival; and well might any thing she
could offer of assistance or regard be repulsed. An airing in the
Hartfield carriage would have been the rack, and arrowroot from the
Hartfield storeroom must have been poison. She understood it all;
and as far as her mind could disengage itself from the injustice and
selfishness of angry feelings, she acknowledged that Jane Fairfax
would have neither elevation nor happiness beyond her desert. But
poor Harriet was such an engrossing charge! There was little sympathy
to be spared for any body else. Emma was sadly fearful that this second
disappointment would be more severe than the first. Considering the
very superior claims of the object, it ought; and judging by its apparently
stronger effect on Harriet's mind, producing reserve and self-command,
it would.\mbox{---} She must communicate the painful truth, however,
and as soon as possible. An injunction of secresy had been among Mr.\ Weston's
parting words. {}``For the present, the whole affair was to be completely
a secret. Mr.\ Churchill had made a point of it, as a token of respect
to the wife he had so very recently lost; and every body admitted
it to be no more than due decorum.''---Emma had promised; but still
Harriet must be excepted. It was her superior duty.

In spite of her vexation, she could not help feeling it almost ridiculous,
that she should have the very same distressing and delicate office
to perform by Harriet, which Mrs.\ Weston had just gone through by
herself. The intelligence, which had been so anxiously announced to
her, she was now to be anxiously announcing to another. Her heart
beat quick on hearing Harriet's footstep and voice; so, she supposed,
had poor Mrs.\ Weston felt when \emph{she} was approaching Randalls.
Could the event of the disclosure bear an equal resemblance!\mbox{---}
But of that, unfortunately, there could be no chance.

{}``Well, Miss Woodhouse!''\ cried Harriet, coming eagerly into
the room\mbox{---}{}``is not this the oddest news that ever was?''\ 

{}``What news do you mean?''\ replied Emma, unable to guess, by
look or voice, whether Harriet could indeed have received any hint.

{}``About Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear any thing so strange? Oh!\mbox{---}you
need not be afraid of owning it to me, for Mr.\ Weston has told me
himself. I met him just now. He told me it was to be a great secret;
and, therefore, I should not think of mentioning it to any body but
you, but he said you knew it.''

{}``What did Mr.\ Weston tell you?''---said Emma, still perplexed.

{}``Oh!\ he told me all about it; that Jane Fairfax and Mr.\ Frank
Churchill are to be married, and that they have been privately engaged
to one another this long while. How very odd!''\ 

It was, indeed, so odd; Harriet's behaviour was so extremely odd,
that Emma did not know how to understand it. Her character appeared
absolutely changed. She seemed to propose shewing no agitation, or
disappointment, or peculiar concern in the discovery. Emma looked
at her, quite unable to speak.

{}``Had you any idea,'' cried Harriet, {}``of his being in love
with her?\mbox{---} You, perhaps, might.\mbox{---} You'' (blushing
as she spoke) {}``who can see into every body's heart; but nobody
else\mbox{---}''

{}``Upon my word,'' said Emma, {}``I begin to doubt my having any
such talent. Can you seriously ask me, Harriet, whether I imagined
him attached to another woman at the very time that I was\mbox{---}tacitly,
if not openly\mbox{---}encouraging you to give way to your own feelings?\mbox{---}
I never had the slightest suspicion, till within the last hour, of
Mr.\ Frank Churchill's having the least regard for Jane Fairfax.
You may be very sure that if I had, I should have cautioned you accordingly.''

{}``Me!''\ cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished. {}``Why should
you caution me?\mbox{---} You do not think I care about Mr.\ Frank
Churchill.''

{}``I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the subject,''
replied Emma, smiling; {}``but you do not mean to deny that there
was a time\mbox{---}and not very distant either\mbox{---}when you
gave me reason to understand that you did care about him?''\ 

{}``Him!\mbox{---}never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how could you
so mistake me?''\ turning away distressed.

{}``Harriet!''\ cried Emma, after a moment's pause\mbox{---}{}``What
do you mean?\mbox{---} Good Heaven! what do you mean?\mbox{---}
Mistake you!\mbox{---} Am I to suppose then?\mbox{---}''

She could not speak another word.\mbox{---} Her voice was lost; and
she sat down, waiting in great terror till Harriet should answer.

Harriet, who was standing at some distance, and with face turned from
her, did not immediately say any thing; and when she did speak, it
was in a voice nearly as agitated as Emma's.

{}``I should not have thought it possible,'' she began, {}``that
you could have misunderstood me! I know we agreed never to name him\mbox{---}but
considering how infinitely superior he is to every body else, I should
not have thought it possible that I could be supposed to mean any
other person. Mr.\ Frank Churchill, indeed! I do not know who would
ever look at him in the company of the other. I hope I have a better
taste than to think of Mr.\ Frank Churchill, who is like nobody by
his side. And that you should have been so mistaken, is amazing!\mbox{---}
I am sure, but for believing that you entirely approved and meant
to encourage me in my attachment, I should have considered it at first
too great a presumption almost, to dare to think of him. At first,
if you had not told me that more wonderful things had happened; that
there had been matches of greater disparity (those were your very
words);\mbox{---}I should not have dared to give way to\mbox{---}I
should not have thought it possible\mbox{---}But if \emph{you}, who
had been always acquainted with him\mbox{---}''

{}``Harriet!''\ cried Emma, collecting herself resolutely\mbox{---}{}``Let
us understand each other now, without the possibility of farther mistake.
Are you speaking of\mbox{---}Mr.\ Knightley?''\ 

{}``To be sure I am. I never could have an idea of any body else\mbox{---}and
so I thought you knew. When we talked about him, it was as clear as
possible.''

{}``Not quite,'' returned Emma, with forced calmness, {}``for all
that you then said, appeared to me to relate to a different person.
I could almost assert that you had \emph{named} Mr.\ Frank Churchill.
I am sure the service Mr.\ Frank Churchill had rendered you, in protecting
you from the gipsies, was spoken of.''

{}``Oh!\ Miss Woodhouse, how you do forget!''\ 

{}``My dear Harriet, I perfectly remember the substance of what I
said on the occasion. I told you that I did not wonder at your attachment;
that considering the service he had rendered you, it was extremely
natural:\mbox{---}and you agreed to it, expressing yourself very
warmly as to your sense of that service, and mentioning even what
your sensations had been in seeing him come forward to your rescue.\mbox{---}
The impression of it is strong on my memory.''

{}``Oh, dear,'' cried Harriet, {}``now I recollect what you mean;
but I was thinking of something very different at the time. It was
not the gipsies\mbox{---}it was not Mr.\ Frank Churchill that I
meant. No!'' (with some elevation) {}``I was thinking of a much
more precious circumstance\mbox{---}of Mr.\ Knightley's coming and
asking me to dance, when Mr.\ Elton would not stand up with me; and
when there was no other partner in the room. That was the kind action;
that was the noble benevolence and generosity; that was the service
which made me begin to feel how superior he was to every other being
upon earth.''

{}``Good God!''\ cried Emma, {}``this has been a most unfortunate\mbox{---}most
deplorable mistake!\mbox{---} What is to be done?''\ 

{}``You would not have encouraged me, then, if you had understood
me? At least, however, I cannot be worse off than I should have been,
if the other had been the person; and now\mbox{---}it is possible\mbox{---}''

She paused a few moments. Emma could not speak.

{}``I do not wonder, Miss Woodhouse,'' she resumed, {}``that you
should feel a great difference between the two, as to me or as to
any body. You must think one five hundred million times more above
me than the other. But I hope, Miss Woodhouse, that supposing\mbox{---}that
if\mbox{---}strange as it may appear\mbox{---}. But you know they
were your own words, that \emph{more} wonderful things had happened,
matches of \emph{greater} disparity had taken place than between Mr.\ Frank
Churchill and me; and, therefore, it seems as if such a thing even
as this, may have occurred before\mbox{---}and if I should be so
fortunate, beyond expression, as to\mbox{---}if Mr.\ Knightley should
really\mbox{---}if \emph{he} does not mind the disparity, I hope,
dear Miss Woodhouse, you will not set yourself against it, and try
to put difficulties in the way. But you are too good for that, I am
sure.''

Harriet was standing at one of the windows. Emma turned round to look
at her in consternation, and hastily said,

{}``Have you any idea of Mr.\ Knightley's returning your affection?''\ 

{}``Yes,'' replied Harriet modestly, but not fearfully\mbox{---}{}``I
must say that I have.''

Emma's eyes were instantly withdrawn; and she sat silently meditating,
in a fixed attitude, for a few minutes. A few minutes were sufficient
for making her acquainted with her own heart. A mind like hers, once
opening to suspicion, made rapid progress. She touched\mbox{---}she
admitted\mbox{---}she acknowledged the whole truth. Why was it so
much worse that Harriet should be in love with Mr.\ Knightley, than
with Frank Churchill? Why was the evil so dreadfully increased by
Harriet's having some hope of a return? It darted through her, with
the speed of an arrow, that Mr.\ Knightley must marry no one but
herself!

Her own conduct, as well as her own heart, was before her in the same
few minutes. She saw it all with a clearness which had never blessed
her before. How improperly had she been acting by Harriet! How inconsiderate,
how indelicate, how irrational, how unfeeling had been her conduct!
What blindness, what madness, had led her on! It struck her with dreadful
force, and she was ready to give it every bad name in the world. Some
portion of respect for herself, however, in spite of all these demerits\mbox{---}-some
concern for her own appearance, and a strong sense of justice by Harriet\mbox{--}--(there
would be no need of \emph{compassion} to the girl who believed herself
loved by Mr.\ Knightley\mbox{---}but justice required that she should
not be made unhappy by any coldness now,) gave Emma the resolution
to sit and endure farther with calmness, with even apparent kindness.\mbox{---}
For her own advantage indeed, it was fit that the utmost extent of
Harriet's hopes should be enquired into; and Harriet had done nothing
to forfeit the regard and interest which had been so voluntarily formed
and maintained\mbox{---}or to deserve to be slighted by the person,
whose counsels had never led her right.\mbox{---} Rousing from reflection,
therefore, and subduing her emotion, she turned to Harriet again,
and, in a more inviting accent, renewed the conversation; for as to
the subject which had first introduced it, the wonderful story of
Jane Fairfax, that was quite sunk and lost.\mbox{---} Neither of
them thought but of Mr.\ Knightley and themselves.

Harriet, who had been standing in no unhappy reverie, was yet very
glad to be called from it, by the now encouraging manner of such a
judge, and such a friend as Miss Woodhouse, and only wanted invitation,
to give the history of her hopes with great, though trembling delight.\mbox{---}
Emma's tremblings as she asked, and as she listened, were better concealed
than Harriet's, but they were not less. Her voice was not unsteady;
but her mind was in all the perturbation that such a development of
self, such a burst of threatening evil, such a confusion of sudden
and perplexing emotions, must create.\mbox{---} She listened with
much inward suffering, but with great outward patience, to Harriet's
detail.\mbox{---} Methodical, or well arranged, or very well delivered,
it could not be expected to be; but it contained, when separated from
all the feebleness and tautology of the narration, a substance to
sink her spirit\mbox{---}especially with the corroborating circumstances,
which her own memory brought in favour of Mr.\ Knightley's most improved
opinion of Harriet.

Harriet had been conscious of a difference in his behaviour ever since
those two decisive dances.\mbox{---} Emma knew that he had, on that
occasion, found her much superior to his expectation. From that evening,
or at least from the time of Miss Woodhouse's encouraging her to think
of him, Harriet had begun to be sensible of his talking to her much
more than he had been used to do, and of his having indeed quite a
different manner towards her; a manner of kindness and sweetness!\mbox{---}
Latterly she had been more and more aware of it. When they had been
all walking together, he had so often come and walked by her, and
talked so very delightfully!\mbox{---} He seemed to want to be acquainted
with her. Emma knew it to have been very much the case. She had often
observed the change, to almost the same extent.\mbox{---} Harriet
repeated expressions of approbation and praise from him\mbox{---}and
Emma felt them to be in the closest agreement with what she had known
of his opinion of Harriet. He praised her for being without art or
affectation, for having simple, honest, generous, feelings.\mbox{---}
She knew that he saw such recommendations in Harriet; he had dwelt
on them to her more than once.\mbox{---} Much that lived in Harriet's
memory, many little particulars of the notice she had received from
him, a look, a speech, a removal from one chair to another, a compliment
implied, a preference inferred, had been unnoticed, because unsuspected,
by Emma. Circumstances that might swell to half an hour's relation,
and contained multiplied proofs to her who had seen them, had passed
undiscerned by her who now heard them; but the two latest occurrences
to be mentioned, the two of strongest promise to Harriet, were not
without some degree of witness from Emma herself.\mbox{---} The first,
was his walking with her apart from the others, in the lime-walk at
Donwell, where they had been walking some time before Emma came, and
he had taken pains (as she was convinced) to draw her from the rest
to himself\mbox{---}and at first, he had talked to her in a more
particular way than he had ever done before, in a very particular
way indeed!\mbox{---} (Harriet could not recall it without a blush.)
He seemed to be almost asking her, whether her affections were engaged.\mbox{---}
But as soon as she (Miss Woodhouse) appeared likely to join them,
he changed the subject, and began talking about farming:\mbox{---}The
second, was his having sat talking with her nearly half an hour before
Emma came back from her visit, the very last morning of his being
at Hartfield\mbox{---}though, when he first came in, he had said
that he could not stay five minutes\mbox{---}and his having told
her, during their conversation, that though he must go to London,
it was very much against his inclination that he left home at all,
which was much more (as Emma felt) than he had acknowledged to \emph{her}.
The superior degree of confidence towards Harriet, which this one
article marked, gave her severe pain.

On the subject of the first of the two circumstances, she did, after
a little reflection, venture the following question. {}``Might he
not?\mbox{---} Is not it possible, that when enquiring, as you thought,
into the state of your affections, he might be alluding to Mr.\ Martin\mbox{---}he
might have Mr.\ Martin's interest in view?'' But Harriet rejected
the suspicion with spirit.

{}``Mr.\ Martin! No indeed!\mbox{---} There was not a hint of Mr.\ Martin.
I hope I know better now, than to care for Mr.\ Martin, or to be
suspected of it.''

When Harriet had closed her evidence, she appealed to her dear Miss
Woodhouse, to say whether she had not good ground for hope.

{}``I never should have presumed to think of it at first,'' said
she, {}``but for you. You told me to observe him carefully, and let
his behaviour be the rule of mine\mbox{---}and so I have. But now
I seem to feel that I may deserve him; and that if he does chuse me,
it will not be any thing so very wonderful.''

The bitter feelings occasioned by this speech, the many bitter feelings,
made the utmost exertion necessary on Emma's side, to enable her to
say on reply,

{}``Harriet, I will only venture to declare, that Mr.\ Knightley
is the last man in the world, who would intentionally give any woman
the idea of his feeling for her more than he really does.''

Harriet seemed ready to worship her friend for a sentence so satisfactory;
and Emma was only saved from raptures and fondness, which at that
moment would have been dreadful penance, by the sound of her father's
footsteps. He was coming through the hall. Harriet was too much agitated
to encounter him. {}``She could not compose herself\mbox{---}Mr.\ Woodhouse
would be alarmed\mbox{---}she had better go;''---with most ready
encouragement from her friend, therefore, she passed off through another
door\mbox{---}and the moment she was gone, this was the spontaneous
burst of Emma's feelings: {}``Oh God!\ that I had never seen her!''\ 

The rest of the day, the following night, were hardly enough for her
thoughts.\mbox{---}- She was bewildered amidst the confusion of all
that had rushed on her within the last few hours. Every moment had
brought a fresh surprize; and every surprize must be matter of humiliation
to her.\mbox{---} How to understand it all! How to understand the
deceptions she had been thus practising on herself, and living under!\mbox{---}
The blunders, the blindness of her own head and heart!\mbox{---}she
sat still, she walked about, she tried her own room, she tried the
shrubbery\mbox{---}in every place, every posture, she perceived that
she had acted most weakly; that she had been imposed on by others
in a most mortifying degree; that she had been imposing on herself
in a degree yet more mortifying; that she was wretched, and should
probably find this day but the beginning of wretchedness.

To understand, thoroughly understand her own heart, was the first
endeavour. To that point went every leisure moment which her father's
claims on her allowed, and every moment of involuntary absence of
mind.

How long had Mr.\ Knightley been so dear to her, as every feeling
declared him now to be? When had his influence, such influence begun?\mbox{---}
When had he succeeded to that place in her affection, which Frank
Churchill had once, for a short period, occupied?\mbox{---} She looked
back; she compared the two\mbox{---}compared them, as they had always
stood in her estimation, from the time of the latter's becoming known
to her\mbox{---}and as they must at any time have been compared by
her, had it\mbox{---}oh!\ had it, by any blessed felicity, occurred
to her, to institute the comparison.\mbox{---}- She saw that there
never had been a time when she did not consider Mr.\ Knightley as
infinitely the superior, or when his regard for her had not been infinitely
the most dear. She saw, that in persuading herself, in fancying, in
acting to the contrary, she had been entirely under a delusion, totally
ignorant of her own heart\mbox{---}and, in short, that she had never
really cared for Frank Churchill at all!

This was the conclusion of the first series of reflection. This was
the knowledge of herself, on the first question of inquiry, which
she reached; and without being long in reaching it.\mbox{---} She
was most sorrowfully indignant; ashamed of every sensation but the
one revealed to her\mbox{---}her affection for Mr.\ Knightley.\mbox{---}
Every other part of her mind was disgusting.

With insufferable vanity had she believed herself in the secret of
every body's feelings; with unpardonable arrogance proposed to arrange
every body's destiny. She was proved to have been universally mistaken;
and she had not quite done nothing\mbox{---}for she had done mischief.
She had brought evil on Harriet, on herself, and she too much feared,
on Mr.\ Knightley.\mbox{---} Were this most unequal of all connexions
to take place, on her must rest all the reproach of having given it
a beginning; for his attachment, she must believe to be produced only
by a consciousness of Harriet's;\mbox{---}and even were this not
the case, he would never have known Harriet at all but for her folly.

Mr.\ Knightley and Harriet Smith!\mbox{---} It was a union to distance
every wonder of the kind.\mbox{---} The attachment of Frank Churchill
and Jane Fairfax became commonplace, threadbare, stale in the comparison,
exciting no surprize, presenting no disparity, affording nothing to
be said or thought.\mbox{---} Mr.\ Knightley and Harriet Smith!\mbox{---}
Such an elevation on her side! Such a debasement on his! It was horrible
to Emma to think how it must sink him in the general opinion, to foresee
the smiles, the sneers, the merriment it would prompt at his expense;
the mortification and disdain of his brother, the thousand inconveniences
to himself.\mbox{---} Could it be?\mbox{---} No; it was impossible.
And yet it was far, very far, from impossible.\mbox{---} Was it a
new circumstance for a man of first-rate abilities to be captivated
by very inferior powers? Was it new for one, perhaps too busy to seek,
to be the prize of a girl who would seek him?\mbox{---} Was it new
for any thing in this world to be unequal, inconsistent, incongruous\mbox{---}or
for chance and circumstance (as second causes) to direct the human
fate?

Oh!\ had she never brought Harriet forward! Had she left her where
she ought, and where he had told her she ought!\mbox{---} Had she
not, with a folly which no tongue could express, prevented her marrying
the unexceptionable young man who would have made her happy and respectable
in the line of life to which she ought to belong\mbox{---}all would
have been safe; none of this dreadful sequel would have been.

How Harriet could ever have had the presumption to raise her thoughts
to Mr.\ Knightley!\mbox{---} How she could dare to fancy herself
the chosen of such a man till actually assured of it!\mbox{---} But
Harriet was less humble, had fewer scruples than formerly.\mbox{---}
Her inferiority, whether of mind or situation, seemed little felt.\mbox{---}
She had seemed more sensible of Mr.\ Elton's being to stoop in marrying
her, than she now seemed of Mr.\ Knightley's.\mbox{---} Alas!\ was
not that her own doing too? Who had been at pains to give Harriet
notions of self-consequence but herself?\mbox{---} Who but herself
had taught her, that she was to elevate herself if possible, and that
her claims were great to a high worldly establishment?\mbox{---}
If Harriet, from being humble, were grown vain, it was her doing too.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XII}

Till now that she was threatened with its loss, Emma had never known
how much of her happiness depended on being first with Mr.\ Knightley,
first in interest and affection.\mbox{---} Satisfied that it was
so, and feeling it her due, she had enjoyed it without reflection;
and only in the dread of being supplanted, found how inexpressibly
important it had been.\mbox{---} Long, very long, she felt she had
been first; for, having no female connexions of his own, there had
been only Isabella whose claims could be compared with hers, and she
had always known exactly how far he loved and esteemed Isabella. She
had herself been first with him for many years past. She had not deserved
it; she had often been negligent or perverse, slighting his advice,
or even wilfully opposing him, insensible of half his merits, and
quarrelling with him because he would not acknowledge her false and
insolent estimate of her own\mbox{---}but still, from family attachment
and habit, and thorough excellence of mind, he had loved her, and
watched over her from a girl, with an endeavour to improve her, and
an anxiety for her doing right, which no other creature had at all
shared. In spite of all her faults, she knew she was dear to him;
might she not say, very dear?\mbox{---} When the suggestions of hope,
however, which must follow here, presented themselves, she could not
presume to indulge them. Harriet Smith might think herself not unworthy
of being peculiarly, exclusively, passionately loved by Mr.\ Knightley.
\emph{She} could not. She could not flatter herself with any idea
of blindness in his attachment to \emph{her}. She had received a very
recent proof of its impartiality.\mbox{---} How shocked had he been
by her behaviour to Miss Bates! How directly, how strongly had he
expressed himself to her on the subject!\mbox{---} Not too strongly
for the offence\mbox{---}but far, far too strongly to issue from
any feeling softer than upright justice and clear-sighted goodwill.\mbox{---}
She had no hope, nothing to deserve the name of hope, that he could
have that sort of affection for herself which was now in question;
but there was a hope (at times a slight one, at times much stronger,)
that Harriet might have deceived herself, and be overrating his regard
for \emph{her}.\mbox{---} Wish it she must, for his sake\mbox{---}be
the consequence nothing to herself, but his remaining single all his
life. Could she be secure of that, indeed, of his never marrying at
all, she believed she should be perfectly satisfied.\mbox{---} Let
him but continue the same Mr.\ Knightley to her and her father, the
same Mr.\ Knightley to all the world; let Donwell and Hartfield lose
none of their precious intercourse of friendship and confidence, and
her peace would be fully secured.\mbox{---} Marriage, in fact, would
not do for her. It would be incompatible with what she owed to her
father, and with what she felt for him. Nothing should separate her
from her father. She would not marry, even if she were asked by Mr.\ Knightley.

It must be her ardent wish that Harriet might be disappointed; and
she hoped, that when able to see them together again, she might at
least be able to ascertain what the chances for it were.\mbox{---}
She should see them henceforward with the closest observance; and
wretchedly as she had hitherto misunderstood even those she was watching,
she did not know how to admit that she could be blinded here.\mbox{---}
He was expected back every day. The power of observation would be
soon given\mbox{---}frightfully soon it appeared when her thoughts
were in one course. In the meanwhile, she resolved against seeing
Harriet.\mbox{---} It would do neither of them good, it would do
the subject no good, to be talking of it farther.\mbox{---} She was
resolved not to be convinced, as long as she could doubt, and yet
had no authority for opposing Harriet's confidence. To talk would
be only to irritate.\mbox{---} She wrote to her, therefore, kindly,
but decisively, to beg that she would not, at present, come to Hartfield;
acknowledging it to be her conviction, that all farther confidential
discussion of \emph{one} topic had better be avoided; and hoping,
that if a few days were allowed to pass before they met again, except
in the company of others\mbox{---}she objected only to a \emph{t\^{e}te-\`{a}-t\^{e}te}---they
might be able to act as if they had forgotten the conversation of
yesterday.\mbox{---} Harriet submitted, and approved, and was grateful.

This point was just arranged, when a visitor arrived to tear Emma's
thoughts a little from the one subject which had engrossed them, sleeping
or waking, the last twenty-four hours\mbox{---}Mrs.\ Weston, who
had been calling on her daughter-in-law elect, and took Hartfield
in her way home, almost as much in duty to Emma as in pleasure to
herself, to relate all the particulars of so interesting an interview.

Mr.\ Weston had accompanied her to Mrs.\ Bates's, and gone through
his share of this essential attention most handsomely; but she having
then induced Miss Fairfax to join her in an airing, was now returned
with much more to say, and much more to say with satisfaction, than
a quarter of an hour spent in Mrs.\ Bates's parlour, with all the
encumbrance of awkward feelings, could have afforded.

A little curiosity Emma had; and she made the most of it while her
friend related. Mrs.\ Weston had set off to pay the visit in a good
deal of agitation herself; and in the first place had wished not to
go at all at present, to be allowed merely to write to Miss Fairfax
instead, and to defer this ceremonious call till a little time had
passed, and Mr.\ Churchill could be reconciled to the engagement's
becoming known; as, considering every thing, she thought such a visit
could not be paid without leading to reports:\mbox{---}but Mr.\ Weston
had thought differently; he was extremely anxious to shew his approbation
to Miss Fairfax and her family, and did not conceive that any suspicion
could be excited by it; or if it were, that it would be of any consequence;
for {}``such things,'' he observed, {}``always got about.'' Emma
smiled, and felt that Mr.\ Weston had very good reason for saying
so. They had gone, in short\mbox{---}and very great had been the
evident distress and confusion of the lady. She had hardly been able
to speak a word, and every look and action had shewn how deeply she
was suffering from consciousness. The quiet, heart-felt satisfaction
of the old lady, and the rapturous delight of her daughter\mbox{---}who
proved even too joyous to talk as usual, had been a gratifying, yet
almost an affecting, scene. They were both so truly respectable in
their happiness, so disinterested in every sensation; thought so much
of Jane; so much of every body, and so little of themselves, that
every kindly feeling was at work for them. Miss Fairfax's recent illness
had offered a fair plea for Mrs.\ Weston to invite her to an airing;
she had drawn back and declined at first, but, on being pressed had
yielded; and, in the course of their drive, Mrs.\ Weston had, by
gentle encouragement, overcome so much of her embarrassment, as to
bring her to converse on the important subject. Apologies for her
seemingly ungracious silence in their first reception, and the warmest
expressions of the gratitude she was always feeling towards herself
and Mr.\ Weston, must necessarily open the cause; but when these
effusions were put by, they had talked a good deal of the present
and of the future state of the engagement. Mrs.\ Weston was convinced
that such conversation must be the greatest relief to her companion,
pent up within her own mind as every thing had so long been, and was
very much pleased with all that she had said on the subject.

{}``On the misery of what she had suffered, during the concealment
of so many months,'' continued Mrs.\ Weston, {}``she was energetic.
This was one of her expressions.\  `I will not say, that since I
entered into the engagement I have not had some happy moments; but
I can say, that I have never known the blessing of one tranquil hour:'\mbox{---}and
the quivering lip, Emma, which uttered it, was an attestation that
I felt at my heart.''

{}``Poor girl!''\ said Emma. {}``She thinks herself wrong, then,
for having consented to a private engagement?''\ 

{}``Wrong! No one, I believe, can blame her more than she is disposed
to blame herself.\  `The consequence,' said she, `has been a state
of perpetual suffering to me; and so it ought. But after all the punishment
that misconduct can bring, it is still not less misconduct. Pain is
no expiation. I never can be blameless. I have been acting contrary
to all my sense of right; and the fortunate turn that every thing
has taken, and the kindness I am now receiving, is what my conscience
tells me ought not to be. Do not imagine, madam,' she continued, `that
I was taught wrong. Do not let any reflection fall on the principles
or the care of the friends who brought me up. The error has been all
my own; and I do assure you that, with all the excuse that present
circumstances may appear to give, I shall yet dread making the story
known to Colonel Campbell.'''

{}``Poor girl!''\ said Emma again. {}``She loves him then excessively,
I suppose. It must have been from attachment only, that she could
be led to form the engagement. Her affection must have overpowered
her judgment.''

{}``Yes, I have no doubt of her being extremely attached to him.''

{}``I am afraid,'' returned Emma, sighing, {}``that I must often
have contributed to make her unhappy.''

{}``On your side, my love, it was very innocently done. But she probably
had something of that in her thoughts, when alluding to the misunderstandings
which he had given us hints of before. One natural consequence of
the evil she had involved herself in,'' she said, {}``was that of
making her \emph{unreasonable}. The consciousness of having done amiss,
had exposed her to a thousand inquietudes, and made her captious and
irritable to a degree that must have been\mbox{---}that had been\mbox{---}hard
for him to bear.\  `I did not make the allowances,' said she, `which
I ought to have done, for his temper and spirits\mbox{---}his delightful
spirits, and that gaiety, that playfulness of disposition, which,
under any other circumstances, would, I am sure, have been as constantly
bewitching to me, as they were at first.' She then began to speak
of you, and of the great kindness you had shewn her during her illness;
and with a blush which shewed me how it was all connected, desired
me, whenever I had an opportunity, to thank you\mbox{---}I could
not thank you too much\mbox{---}for every wish and every endeavour
to do her good. She was sensible that you had never received any proper
acknowledgment from herself.''

{}``If I did not know her to be happy now,'' said Emma, seriously,
{}``which, in spite of every little drawback from her scrupulous
conscience, she must be, I could not bear these thanks;\mbox{---}for,
oh! Mrs.\ Weston, if there were an account drawn up of the evil and
the good I have done Miss Fairfax!\mbox{---} Well'' (checking herself,
and trying to be more lively), {}``this is all to be forgotten. You
are very kind to bring me these interesting particulars. They shew
her to the greatest advantage. I am sure she is very good\mbox{---}I
hope she will be very happy. It is fit that the fortune should be
on his side, for I think the merit will be all on hers.''

Such a conclusion could not pass unanswered by Mrs.\ Weston. She
thought well of Frank in almost every respect; and, what was more,
she loved him very much, and her defence was, therefore, earnest.
She talked with a great deal of reason, and at least equal affection\mbox{---}but
she had too much to urge for Emma's attention; it was soon gone to
Brunswick Square or to Donwell; she forgot to attempt to listen; and
when Mrs.\ Weston ended with, {}``We have not yet had the letter
we are so anxious for, you know, but I hope it will soon come,''
she was obliged to pause before she answered, and at last obliged
to answer at random, before she could at all recollect what letter
it was which they were so anxious for.

{}``Are you well, my Emma?''\ was Mrs.\ Weston's parting question.

{}``Oh!\ perfectly. I am always well, you know. Be sure to give
me intelligence of the letter as soon as possible.''

Mrs.\ Weston's communications furnished Emma with more food for unpleasant
reflection, by increasing her esteem and compassion, and her sense
of past injustice towards Miss Fairfax. She bitterly regretted not
having sought a closer acquaintance with her, and blushed for the
envious feelings which had certainly been, in some measure, the cause.
Had she followed Mr.\ Knightley's known wishes, in paying that attention
to Miss Fairfax, which was every way her due; had she tried to know
her better; had she done her part towards intimacy; had she endeavoured
to find a friend there instead of in Harriet Smith; she must, in all
probability, have been spared from every pain which pressed on her
now.\mbox{---} Birth, abilities, and education, had been equally
marking one as an associate for her, to be received with gratitude;
and the other\mbox{---}what was she?\mbox{---} Supposing even that
they had never become intimate friends; that she had never been admitted
into Miss Fairfax's confidence on this important matter\mbox{---}which
was most probable\mbox{--}--still, in knowing her as she ought, and
as she might, she must have been preserved from the abominable suspicions
of an improper attachment to Mr.\ Dixon, which she had not only so
foolishly fashioned and harboured herself, but had so unpardonably
imparted; an idea which she greatly feared had been made a subject
of material distress to the delicacy of Jane's feelings, by the levity
or carelessness of Frank Churchill's. Of all the sources of evil surrounding
the former, since her coming to Highbury, she was persuaded that she
must herself have been the worst. She must have been a perpetual enemy.
They never could have been all three together, without her having
stabbed Jane Fairfax's peace in a thousand instances; and on Box Hill,
perhaps, it had been the agony of a mind that would bear no more.

The evening of this day was very long, and melancholy, at Hartfield.
The weather added what it could of gloom. A cold stormy rain set in,
and nothing of July appeared but in the trees and shrubs, which the
wind was despoiling, and the length of the day, which only made such
cruel sights the longer visible.

The weather affected Mr.\ Woodhouse, and he could only be kept tolerably
comfortable by almost ceaseless attention on his daughter's side,
and by exertions which had never cost her half so much before. It
reminded her of their first forlorn \emph{t\^{e}te-\`{a}-t\^{e}te},
on the evening of Mrs.\ Weston's wedding-day; but Mr.\ Knightley
had walked in then, soon after tea, and dissipated every melancholy
fancy. Alas!\ such delightful proofs of Hartfield's attraction, as
those sort of visits conveyed, might shortly be over. The picture
which she had then drawn of the privations of the approaching winter,
had proved erroneous; no friends had deserted them, no pleasures had
been lost.\mbox{---} But her present forebodings she feared would
experience no similar contradiction. The prospect before her now,
was threatening to a degree that could not be entirely dispelled\mbox{---}that
might not be even partially brightened. If all took place that might
take place among the circle of her friends, Hartfield must be comparatively
deserted; and she left to cheer her father with the spirits only of
ruined happiness.

The child to be born at Randalls must be a tie there even dearer than
herself; and Mrs.\ Weston's heart and time would be occupied by it.
They should lose her; and, probably, in great measure, her husband
also.\mbox{---} Frank Churchill would return among them no more;
and Miss Fairfax, it was reasonable to suppose, would soon cease to
belong to Highbury. They would be married, and settled either at or
near Enscombe. All that were good would be withdrawn; and if to these
losses, the loss of Donwell were to be added, what would remain of
cheerful or of rational society within their reach? Mr.\ Knightley
to be no longer coming there for his evening comfort!\mbox{---} No
longer walking in at all hours, as if ever willing to change his own
home for their's!\mbox{---} How was it to be endured? And if he were
to be lost to them for Harriet's sake; if he were to be thought of
hereafter, as finding in Harriet's society all that he wanted; if
Harriet were to be the chosen, the first, the dearest, the friend,
the wife to whom he looked for all the best blessings of existence;
what could be increasing Emma's wretchedness but the reflection never
far distant from her mind, that it had been all her own work?

When it came to such a pitch as this, she was not able to refrain
from a start, or a heavy sigh, or even from walking about the room
for a few seconds\mbox{--}--and the only source whence any thing
like consolation or composure could be drawn, was in the resolution
of her own better conduct, and the hope that, however inferior in
spirit and gaiety might be the following and every future winter of
her life to the past, it would yet find her more rational, more acquainted
with herself, and leave her less to regret when it were gone.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XIII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XIII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XIII}

The weather continued much the same all the following morning; and
the same loneliness, and the same melancholy, seemed to reign at Hartfield\mbox{---}but
in the afternoon it cleared; the wind changed into a softer quarter;
the clouds were carried off; the sun appeared; it was summer again.
With all the eagerness which such a transition gives, Emma resolved
to be out of doors as soon as possible. Never had the exquisite sight,
smell, sensation of nature, tranquil, warm, and brilliant after a
storm, been more attractive to her. She longed for the serenity they
might gradually introduce; and on Mr.\ Perry's coming in soon after
dinner, with a disengaged hour to give her father, she lost no time
ill hurrying into the shrubbery.\mbox{---} There, with spirits freshened,
and thoughts a little relieved, she had taken a few turns, when she
saw Mr.\ Knightley passing through the garden door, and coming towards
her.\mbox{---} It was the first intimation of his being returned
from London. She had been thinking of him the moment before, as unquestionably
sixteen miles distant.\mbox{---} There was time only for the quickest
arrangement of mind. She must be collected and calm. In half a minute
they were together. The {}``How d'ye do's'' were quiet and constrained
on each side. She asked after their mutual friends; they were all
well.\mbox{---} When had he left them?\mbox{---} Only that morning.
He must have had a wet ride.\mbox{---} Yes.\mbox{---} He meant to
walk with her, she found. {}``He had just looked into the dining-room,
and as he was not wanted there, preferred being out of doors.''---She
thought he neither looked nor spoke cheerfully; and the first possible
cause for it, suggested by her fears, was, that he had perhaps been
communicating his plans to his brother, and was pained by the manner
in which they had been received.

They walked together. He was silent. She thought he was often looking
at her, and trying for a fuller view of her face than it suited her
to give. And this belief produced another dread. Perhaps he wanted
to speak to her, of his attachment to Harriet; he might be watching
for encouragement to begin.\mbox{---} She did not, could not, feel
equal to lead the way to any such subject. He must do it all himself.
Yet she could not bear this silence. With him it was most unnatural.
She considered\mbox{---}resolved\mbox{---}and, trying to smile,
began\mbox{---}

{}``You have some news to hear, now you are come back, that will
rather surprize you.''

{}``Have I?''\ said he quietly, and looking at her; {}``of what
nature?''\ 

{}``Oh!\ the best nature in the world\mbox{---}a wedding.''

After waiting a moment, as if to be sure she intended to say no more,
he replied,

{}``If you mean Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have heard that
already.''

{}``How is it possible?''\ cried Emma, turning her glowing cheeks
towards him; for, while she spoke, it occurred to her that he might
have called at Mrs.\ Goddard's in his way.

{}``I had a few lines on parish business from Mr.\ Weston this morning,
and at the end of them he gave me a brief account of what had happened.''

Emma was quite relieved, and could presently say, with a little more
composure,

{}``\emph{You} probably have been less surprized than any of us,
for you have had your suspicions.\mbox{---} I have not forgotten
that you once tried to give me a caution.\mbox{---}- I wish I had
attended to it\mbox{---}but''---(with a sinking voice and a heavy
sigh) {}``I seem to have been doomed to blindness.''

For a moment or two nothing was said, and she was unsuspicious of
having excited any particular interest, till she found her arm drawn
within his, and pressed against his heart, and heard him thus saying,
in a tone of great sensibility, speaking low,

{}``Time, my dearest Emma, time will heal the wound.\mbox{---} Your
own excellent sense\mbox{---}your exertions for your father's sake\mbox{---}I
know you will not allow yourself\mbox{---}.'' Her arm was pressed
again, as he added, in a more broken and subdued accent, {}``The
feelings of the warmest friendship\mbox{---}Indignation\mbox{---}Abominable
scoundrel!''---And in a louder, steadier tone, he concluded with,
{}``He will soon be gone. They will soon be in Yorkshire. I am sorry
for \emph{her}. She deserves a better fate.''

Emma understood him; and as soon as she could recover from the flutter
of pleasure, excited by such tender consideration, replied,

{}``You are very kind\mbox{---}but you are mistaken\mbox{---}and
I must set you right.\mbox{---} I am not in want of that sort of
compassion. My blindness to what was going on, led me to act by them
in a way that I must always be ashamed of, and I was very foolishly
tempted to say and do many things which may well lay me open to unpleasant
conjectures, but I have no other reason to regret that I was not in
the secret earlier.''

{}``Emma!''\ cried he, looking eagerly at her, {}``are you, indeed?''---but
checking himself\mbox{---}{}``No, no, I understand you\mbox{---}forgive
me\mbox{---}I am pleased that you can say even so much.\mbox{---}
He is no object of regret, indeed! and it will not be very long, I
hope, before that becomes the acknowledgment of more than your reason.\mbox{---}
Fortunate that your affections were not farther entangled!\mbox{---}
I could never, I confess, from your manners, assure myself as to the
degree of what you felt\mbox{---}I could only be certain that there
was a preference\mbox{---}and a preference which I never believed
him to deserve.\mbox{---} He is a disgrace to the name of man.\mbox{---}
And is he to be rewarded with that sweet young woman?\mbox{---}-
Jane, Jane, you will be a miserable creature.''

{}``Mr.\ Knightley,'' said Emma, trying to be lively, but really
confused\mbox{---}{}``I am in a very extraordinary situation. I
cannot let you continue in your error; and yet, perhaps, since my
manners gave such an impression, I have as much reason to be ashamed
of confessing that I never have been at all attached to the person
we are speaking of, as it might be natural for a woman to feel in
confessing exactly the reverse.\mbox{---}- But I never have.''

He listened in perfect silence. She wished him to speak, but he would
not. She supposed she must say more before she were entitled to his
clemency; but it was a hard case to be obliged still to lower herself
in his opinion. She went on, however.

{}``I have very little to say for my own conduct.\mbox{---} I was
tempted by his attentions, and allowed myself to appear pleased.\mbox{---}
An old story, probably\mbox{---}a common case\mbox{---}and no more
than has happened to hundreds of my sex before; and yet it may not
be the more excusable in one who sets up as I do for Understanding.
Many circumstances assisted the temptation. He was the son of Mr.\ Weston\mbox{---}he
was continually here\mbox{---}I always found him very pleasant\mbox{---}and,
in short, for'' (with a sigh) {}``let me swell out the causes ever
so ingeniously, they all centre in this at last\mbox{---}my vanity
was flattered, and I allowed his attentions. Latterly, however\mbox{---}for
some time, indeed\mbox{---}I have had no idea of their meaning any
thing.\mbox{---} I thought them a habit, a trick, nothing that called
for seriousness on my side. He has imposed on me, but he has not injured
me. I have never been attached to him. And now I can tolerably comprehend
his behaviour. He never wished to attach me. It was merely a blind
to conceal his real situation with another.\mbox{---} It was his
object to blind all about him; and no one, I am sure, could be more
effectually blinded than myself\mbox{---}except that I was \emph{not}
blinded\mbox{---}that it was my good fortune\mbox{---}that, in short,
I was somehow or other safe from him.''

She had hoped for an answer here\mbox{---}for a few words to say
that her conduct was at least intelligible; but he was silent; and,
as far as she could judge, deep in thought. At last, and tolerably
in his usual tone, he said,

{}``I have never had a high opinion of Frank Churchill.\mbox{---}
I can suppose, however, that I may have underrated him. My acquaintance
with him has been but trifling.\mbox{---} And even if I have not
underrated him hitherto, he may yet turn out well.\mbox{---} With
such a woman he has a chance.\mbox{---} I have no motive for wishing
him ill\mbox{---}and for her sake, whose happiness will be involved
in his good character and conduct, I shall certainly wish him well.''

{}``I have no doubt of their being happy together,'' said Emma;
{}``I believe them to be very mutually and very sincerely attached.''

{}``He is a most fortunate man!''\ returned Mr.\ Knightley, with
energy. {}``So early in life\mbox{---}at three-and-twenty\mbox{---}a
period when, if a man chuses a wife, he generally chuses ill. At three-and-twenty
to have drawn such a prize! What years of felicity that man, in all
human calculation, has before him!\mbox{---} Assured of the love
of such a woman\mbox{---}the disinterested love, for Jane Fairfax's
character vouches for her disinterestedness; every thing in his favour,\mbox{---}equality
of situation\mbox{---}I mean, as far as regards society, and all
the habits and manners that are important; equality in every point
but one\mbox{---}and that one, since the purity of her heart is not
to be doubted, such as must increase his felicity, for it will be
his to bestow the only advantages she wants.\mbox{---} A man would
always wish to give a woman a better home than the one he takes her
from; and he who can do it, where there is no doubt of \emph{her}
regard, must, I think, be the happiest of mortals.\mbox{---} Frank
Churchill is, indeed, the favourite of fortune. Every thing turns
out for his good.\mbox{---} He meets with a young woman at a watering-place,
gains her affection, cannot even weary her by negligent treatment\mbox{---}and
had he and all his family sought round the world for a perfect wife
for him, they could not have found her superior.\mbox{---} His aunt
is in the way.\mbox{---} His aunt dies.\mbox{---} He has only to
speak.\mbox{---} His friends are eager to promote his happiness.\mbox{---}
He had used every body ill\mbox{---}and they are all delighted to
forgive him.\mbox{---} He is a fortunate man indeed!''\ 

{}``You speak as if you envied him.''

{}``And I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the object of my
envy.''

Emma could say no more. They seemed to be within half a sentence of
Harriet, and her immediate feeling was to avert the subject, if possible.
She made her plan; she would speak of something totally different\mbox{---}the
children in Brunswick Square; and she only waited for breath to begin,
when Mr.\ Knightley startled her, by saying,

{}``You will not ask me what is the point of envy.\mbox{---} You
are determined, I see, to have no curiosity.\mbox{---} You are wise\mbox{---}but
I cannot be wise. Emma, I must tell you what you will not ask, though
I may wish it unsaid the next moment.''

{}``Oh!\ then, don't speak it, don't speak it,'' she eagerly cried.
{}``Take a little time, consider, do not commit yourself.''

{}``Thank you,'' said he, in an accent of deep mortification, and
not another syllable followed.

Emma could not bear to give him pain. He was wishing to confide in
her\mbox{---}perhaps to consult her;\mbox{---}cost her what it would,
she would listen. She might assist his resolution, or reconcile him
to it; she might give just praise to Harriet, or, by representing
to him his own independence, relieve him from that state of indecision,
which must be more intolerable than any alternative to such a mind
as his.\mbox{---} They had reached the house.

{}``You are going in, I suppose?''\ said he.

{}``No,''---replied Emma\mbox{---}quite confirmed by the depressed
manner in which he still spoke\mbox{---}{}``I should like to take
another turn. Mr.\ Perry is not gone.'' And, after proceeding a
few steps, she added\mbox{---}{}``I stopped you ungraciously, just
now, Mr.\ Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave you pain.\mbox{---}
But if you have any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or to
ask my opinion of any thing that you may have in contemplation\mbox{---}as
a friend, indeed, you may command me.\mbox{---} I will hear whatever
you like. I will tell you exactly what I think.''

{}``As a friend!''---repeated Mr.\ Knightley.\mbox{---} {}``Emma,
that I fear is a word\mbox{---}No, I have no wish\mbox{---}Stay,
yes, why should I hesitate?\mbox{---} I have gone too far already
for concealment.\mbox{---} Emma, I accept your offer\mbox{---}Extraordinary
as it may seem, I accept it, and refer myself to you as a friend.\mbox{---}
Tell me, then, have I no chance of ever succeeding?''\ 

He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and the expression
of his eyes overpowered her.

{}``My dearest Emma,'' said he, {}``for dearest you will always
be, whatever the event of this hour's conversation, my dearest, most
beloved Emma\mbox{---}tell me at once. Say `No,' if it is to be said.''---She
could really say nothing.\mbox{---} {}``You are silent,'' he cried,
with great animation; {}``absolutely silent! at present I ask no
more.''

Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment.
The dread of being awakened from the happiest dream, was perhaps the
most prominent feeling.

{}``I cannot make speeches, Emma:'' he soon resumed; and in a tone
of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably
convincing.\mbox{---} {}``If I loved you less, I might be able to
talk about it more. But you know what I am.\mbox{---} You hear nothing
but truth from me.\mbox{---} I have blamed you, and lectured you,
and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne
it.\mbox{---} Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest
Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may
have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent
lover.\mbox{---} But you understand me.\mbox{---} Yes, you see,
you understand my feelings\mbox{---}and will return them if you can.
At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.''

While he spoke, Emma's mind was most busy, and, with all the wonderful
velocity of thought, had been able\mbox{---}and yet without losing
a word\mbox{---}to catch and comprehend the exact truth of the whole;
to see that Harriet's hopes had been entirely groundless, a mistake,
a delusion, as complete a delusion as any of her own\mbox{---}that
Harriet was nothing; that she was every thing herself; that what she
had been saying relative to Harriet had been all taken as the language
of her own feelings; and that her agitation, her doubts, her reluctance,
her discouragement, had been all received as discouragement from herself.\mbox{---}
And not only was there time for these convictions, with all their
glow of attendant happiness; there was time also to rejoice that Harriet's
secret had not escaped her, and to resolve that it need not, and should
not.\mbox{---} It was all the service she could now render her poor
friend; for as to any of that heroism of sentiment which might have
prompted her to entreat him to transfer his affection from herself
to Harriet, as infinitely the most worthy of the two\mbox{---}or
even the more simple sublimity of resolving to refuse him at once
and for ever, without vouchsafing any motive, because he could not
marry them both, Emma had it not. She felt for Harriet, with pain
and with contrition; but no flight of generosity run mad, opposing
all that could be probable or reasonable, entered her brain. She had
led her friend astray, and it would be a reproach to her for ever;
but her judgment was as strong as her feelings, and as strong as it
had ever been before, in reprobating any such alliance for him, as
most unequal and degrading. Her way was clear, though not quite smooth.\mbox{---}
She spoke then, on being so entreated.\mbox{---} What did she say?\mbox{---}
Just what she ought, of course. A lady always does.\mbox{---} She
said enough to shew there need not be despair\mbox{---}and to invite
him to say more himself. He \emph{had} despaired at one period; he
had received such an injunction to caution and silence, as for the
time crushed every hope;\mbox{---}she had begun by refusing to hear
him.\mbox{---} The change had perhaps been somewhat sudden;\mbox{---}her
proposal of taking another turn, her renewing the conversation which
she had just put an end to, might be a little extraordinary!\mbox{---}
She felt its inconsistency; but Mr.\ Knightley was so obliging as
to put up with it, and seek no farther explanation.

Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure;
seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or
a little mistaken; but where, as in this case, though the conduct
is mistaken, the feelings are not, it may not be very material.\mbox{---}
Mr.\ Knightley could not impute to Emma a more relenting heart than
she possessed, or a heart more disposed to accept of his.

He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of his own influence. He
had followed her into the shrubbery with no idea of trying it. He
had come, in his anxiety to see how she bore Frank Churchill's engagement,
with no selfish view, no view at all, but of endeavouring, if she
allowed him an opening, to soothe or to counsel her.\mbox{---} The
rest had been the work of the moment, the immediate effect of what
he heard, on his feelings. The delightful assurance of her total indifference
towards Frank Churchill, of her having a heart completely disengaged
from him, had given birth to the hope, that, in time, he might gain
her affection himself;\mbox{---}but it had been no present hope\mbox{---}he
had only, in the momentary conquest of eagerness over judgment, aspired
to be told that she did not forbid his attempt to attach her.\mbox{---}
The superior hopes which gradually opened were so much the more enchanting.\mbox{---}
The affection, which he had been asking to be allowed to create, if
he could, was already his!\mbox{---} Within half an hour, he had
passed from a thoroughly distressed state of mind, to something so
like perfect happiness, that it could bear no other name.

\emph{Her} change was equal.\mbox{---} This one half-hour had given
to each the same precious certainty of being beloved, had cleared
from each the same degree of ignorance, jealousy, or distrust.\mbox{---}
On his side, there had been a long-standing jealousy, old as the arrival,
or even the expectation, of Frank Churchill.\mbox{---} He had been
in love with Emma, and jealous of Frank Churchill, from about the
same period, one sentiment having probably enlightened him as to the
other. It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill that had taken him from
the country.\mbox{---} The Box Hill party had decided him on going
away. He would save himself from witnessing again such permitted,
encouraged attentions.\mbox{---} He had gone to learn to be indifferent.\mbox{---}
But he had gone to a wrong place. There was too much domestic happiness
in his brother's house; woman wore too amiable a form in it; Isabella
was too much like Emma\mbox{---}differing only in those striking
inferiorities, which always brought the other in brilliancy before
him, for much to have been done, even had his time been longer.\mbox{---}
He had stayed on, however, vigorously, day after day\mbox{---}till
this very morning's post had conveyed the history of Jane Fairfax.\mbox{---}
Then, with the gladness which must be felt, nay, which he did not
scruple to feel, having never believed Frank Churchill to be at all
deserving Emma, was there so much fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety
for her, that he could stay no longer. He had ridden home through
the rain; and had walked up directly after dinner, to see how this
sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her
faults, bore the discovery.

He had found her agitated and low.\mbox{---} Frank Churchill was
a villain.\mbox{---} He heard her declare that she had never loved
him. Frank Churchill's character was not desperate.\mbox{---} She
was his own Emma, by hand and word, when they returned into the house;
and if he could have thought of Frank Churchill then, he might have
deemed him a very good sort of fellow.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XIV}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XIV}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XIV}

What totally different feelings did Emma take back into the house
from what she had brought out!\mbox{---}she had then been only daring
to hope for a little respite of suffering;\mbox{---}she was now in
an exquisite flutter of happiness, and such happiness moreover as
she believed must still be greater when the flutter should have passed
away.

They sat down to tea\mbox{---}the same party round the same table\mbox{---}how
often it had been collected!\mbox{---}and how often had her eyes
fallen on the same shrubs in the lawn, and observed the same beautiful
effect of the western sun!\mbox{---} But never in such a state of
spirits, never in any thing like it; and it was with difficulty that
she could summon enough of her usual self to be the attentive lady
of the house, or even the attentive daughter.

Poor Mr.\ Woodhouse little suspected what was plotting against him
in the breast of that man whom he was so cordially welcoming, and
so anxiously hoping might not have taken cold from his ride.\mbox{---}
Could he have seen the heart, he would have cared very little for
the lungs; but without the most distant imagination of the impending
evil, without the slightest perception of any thing extraordinary
in the looks or ways of either, he repeated to them very comfortably
all the articles of news he had received from Mr.\ Perry, and talked
on with much self-contentment, totally unsuspicious of what they could
have told him in return.

As long as Mr.\ Knightley remained with them, Emma's fever continued;
but when he was gone, she began to be a little tranquillised and subdued\mbox{---}and
in the course of the sleepless night, which was the tax for such an
evening, she found one or two such very serious points to consider,
as made her feel, that even her happiness must have some alloy. Her
father\mbox{---}and Harriet. She could not be alone without feeling
the full weight of their separate claims; and how to guard the comfort
of both to the utmost, was the question. With respect to her father,
it was a question soon answered. She hardly knew yet what Mr.\ Knightley
would ask; but a very short parley with her own heart produced the
most solemn resolution of never quitting her father.\mbox{---} She
even wept over the idea of it, as a sin of thought. While he lived,
it must be only an engagement; but she flattered herself, that if
divested of the danger of drawing her away, it might become an increase
of comfort to him.\mbox{---} How to do her best by Harriet, was of
more difficult decision;\mbox{---}how to spare her from any unnecessary
pain; how to make her any possible atonement; how to appear least
her enemy?\mbox{---} On these subjects, her perplexity and distress
were very great\mbox{---}and her mind had to pass again and again
through every bitter reproach and sorrowful regret that had ever surrounded
it.\mbox{---} She could only resolve at last, that she would still
avoid a meeting with her, and communicate all that need be told by
letter; that it would be inexpressibly desirable to have her removed
just now for a time from Highbury, and\mbox{---}indulging in one
scheme more\mbox{---}nearly resolve, that it might be practicable
to get an invitation for her to Brunswick Square.\mbox{---} Isabella
had been pleased with Harriet; and a few weeks spent in London must
give her some amusement.\mbox{---} She did not think it in Harriet's
nature to escape being benefited by novelty and variety, by the streets,
the shops, and the children.\mbox{---} At any rate, it would be a
proof of attention and kindness in herself, from whom every thing
was due; a separation for the present; an averting of the evil day,
when they must all be together again.

She rose early, and wrote her letter to Harriet; an employment which
left her so very serious, so nearly sad, that Mr.\ Knightley, in
walking up to Hartfield to breakfast, did not arrive at all too soon;
and half an hour stolen afterwards to go over the same ground again
with him, literally and figuratively, was quite necessary to reinstate
her in a proper share of the happiness of the evening before.

He had not left her long, by no means long enough for her to have
the slightest inclination for thinking of any body else, when a letter
was brought her from Randalls\mbox{---}a very thick letter;\mbox{---}she
guessed what it must contain, and deprecated the necessity of reading
it.\mbox{---} She was now in perfect charity with Frank Churchill;
she wanted no explanations, she wanted only to have her thoughts to
herself\mbox{---}and as for understanding any thing he wrote, she
was sure she was incapable of it.\mbox{---} It must be waded through,
however. She opened the packet; it was too surely so;\mbox{---}a
note from Mrs.\ Weston to herself, ushered in the letter from Frank
to Mrs.\ Weston.

\begin{quotation}
\noindent {}``I have the greatest pleasure, my dear Emma, in forwarding
to you the enclosed. I know what thorough justice you will do it,
and have scarcely a doubt of its happy effect.\mbox{---} I think
we shall never materially disagree about the writer again; but I will
not delay you by a long preface.\mbox{---} We are quite well.\mbox{---}
This letter has been the cure of all the little nervousness I have
been feeling lately.\mbox{---} I did not quite like your looks on
Tuesday, but it was an ungenial morning; and though you will never
own being affected by weather, I think every body feels a north-east
wind.\mbox{---} I felt for your dear father very much in the storm
of Tuesday afternoon and yesterday morning, but had the comfort of
hearing last night, by Mr.\ Perry, that it had not made him ill.

{}``Yours ever,

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``A. W.''

\begin{center}{[}To Mrs.\ Weston.{]}\end{center}

\textit{\hspace{\stretch{1}}Windsor}-\textit{July}.

\noindent \textit{\emph{\noun{My}}} \textit{\emph{\noun{dear}}}
\textit{\emph{\noun{madam}}},

{}``If I made myself intelligible yesterday, this letter will be
expected; but expected or not, I know it will be read with candour
and indulgence.\mbox{---} You are all goodness, and I believe there
will be need of even all your goodness to allow for some parts of
my past conduct.\mbox{---} But I have been forgiven by one who had
still more to resent. My courage rises while I write. It is very difficult
for the prosperous to be humble. I have already met with such success
in two applications for pardon, that I may be in danger of thinking
myself too sure of yours, and of those among your friends who have
had any ground of offence.\mbox{---} You must all endeavour to comprehend
the exact nature of my situation when I first arrived at Randalls;
you must consider me as having a secret which was to be kept at all
hazards. This was the fact. My right to place myself in a situation
requiring such concealment, is another question. I shall not discuss
it here. For my temptation to \emph{think} it a right, I refer every
caviller to a brick house, sashed windows below, and casements above,
in Highbury. I dared not address her openly; my difficulties in the
then state of Enscombe must be too well known to require definition;
and I was fortunate enough to prevail, before we parted at Weymouth,
and to induce the most upright female mind in the creation to stoop
in charity to a secret engagement.\mbox{---} Had she refused, I should
have gone mad.\mbox{---} But you will be ready to say, what was your
hope in doing this?\mbox{---} What did you look forward to?\mbox{---}
To any thing, every thing\mbox{---}to time, chance, circumstance,
slow effects, sudden bursts, perseverance and weariness, health and
sickness. Every possibility of good was before me, and the first of
blessings secured, in obtaining her promises of faith and correspondence.
If you need farther explanation, I have the honour, my dear madam,
of being your husband's son, and the advantage of inheriting a disposition
to hope for good, which no inheritance of houses or lands can ever
equal the value of.\mbox{---} See me, then, under these circumstances,
arriving on my first visit to Randalls;\mbox{---}and here I am conscious
of wrong, for that visit might have been sooner paid. You will look
back and see that I did not come till Miss Fairfax was in Highbury;
and as \emph{you} were the person slighted, you will forgive me instantly;
but I must work on my father's compassion, by reminding him, that
so long as I absented myself from his house, so long I lost the blessing
of knowing you. My behaviour, during the very happy fortnight which
I spent with you, did not, I hope, lay me open to reprehension, excepting
on one point. And now I come to the principal, the only important
part of my conduct while belonging to you, which excites my own anxiety,
or requires very solicitous explanation. With the greatest respect,
and the warmest friendship, do I mention Miss Woodhouse; my father
perhaps will think I ought to add, with the deepest humiliation.\mbox{---}
A few words which dropped from him yesterday spoke his opinion, and
some censure I acknowledge myself liable to.\mbox{---} My behaviour
to Miss Woodhouse indicated, I believe, more than it ought.\mbox{---}
In order to assist a concealment so essential to me, I was led on
to make more than an allowable use of the sort of intimacy into which
we were immediately thrown.\mbox{---} I cannot deny that Miss Woodhouse
was my ostensible object\mbox{---}but I am sure you will believe
the declaration, that had I not been convinced of her indifference,
I would not have been induced by any selfish views to go on.\mbox{---}
Amiable and delightful as Miss Woodhouse is, she never gave me the
idea of a young woman likely to be attached; and that she was perfectly
free from any tendency to being attached to me, was as much my conviction
as my wish.\mbox{---} She received my attentions with an easy, friendly,
goodhumoured playfulness, which exactly suited me. We seemed to understand
each other. From our relative situation, those attentions were her
due, and were felt to be so.\mbox{---} Whether Miss Woodhouse began
really to understand me before the expiration of that fortnight, I
cannot say;\mbox{---}when I called to take leave of her, I remember
that I was within a moment of confessing the truth, and I then fancied
she was not without suspicion; but I have no doubt of her having since
detected me, at least in some degree.\mbox{---} She may not have
surmised the whole, but her quickness must have penetrated a part.
I cannot doubt it. You will find, whenever the subject becomes freed
from its present restraints, that it did not take her wholly by surprize.
She frequently gave me hints of it. I remember her telling me at the
ball, that I owed Mrs.\ Elton gratitude for her attentions to Miss
Fairfax.\mbox{---} I hope this history of my conduct towards her
will be admitted by you and my father as great extenuation of what
you saw amiss. While you considered me as having sinned against Emma
Woodhouse, I could deserve nothing from either. Acquit me here, and
procure for me, when it is allowable, the acquittal and good wishes
of that said Emma Woodhouse, whom I regard with so much brotherly
affection, as to long to have her as deeply and as happily in love
as myself.\mbox{---} Whatever strange things I said or did during
that fortnight, you have now a key to. My heart was in Highbury, and
my business was to get my body thither as often as might be, and with
the least suspicion. If you remember any queernesses, set them all
to the right account.\mbox{---} Of the pianoforte so much talked
of, I feel it only necessary to say, that its being ordered was absolutely
unknown to Miss F\mbox{--------}, who would never have allowed me
to send it, had any choice been given her.\mbox{---} The delicacy
of her mind throughout the whole engagement, my dear madam, is much
beyond my power of doing justice to. You will soon, I earnestly hope,
know her thoroughly yourself.\mbox{---} No description can describe
her. She must tell you herself what she is\mbox{---}yet not by word,
for never was there a human creature who would so designedly suppress
her own merit.\mbox{---} Since I began this letter, which will be
longer than I foresaw, I have heard from her.\mbox{---} She gives
a good account of her own health; but as she never complains, I dare
not depend. I want to have your opinion of her looks. I know you will
soon call on her; she is living in dread of the visit. Perhaps it
is paid already. Let me hear from you without delay; I am impatient
for a thousand particulars. Remember how few minutes I was at Randalls,
and in how bewildered, how mad a state: and I am not much better yet;
still insane either from happiness or misery. When I think of the
kindness and favour I have met with, of her excellence and patience,
and my uncle's generosity, I am mad with joy: but when I recollect
all the uneasiness I occasioned her, and how little I deserve to be
forgiven, I am mad with anger. If I could but see her again!\mbox{---}
But I must not propose it yet. My uncle has been too good for me to
encroach.\mbox{---} I must still add to this long letter. You have
not heard all that you ought to hear. I could not give any connected
detail yesterday; but the suddenness, and, in one light, the unseasonableness
with which the affair burst out, needs explanation; for though the
event of the 26th ult., as you will conclude, immediately opened to
me the happiest prospects, I should not have presumed on such early
measures, but from the very particular circumstances, which left me
not an hour to lose. I should myself have shrunk from any thing so
hasty, and she would have felt every scruple of mine with multiplied
strength and refinement.\mbox{---} But I had no choice. The hasty
engagement she had entered into with that woman\mbox{---}Here, my
dear madam, I was obliged to leave off abruptly, to recollect and
compose myself.\mbox{---} I have been walking over the country, and
am now, I hope, rational enough to make the rest of my letter what
it ought to be.\mbox{---} It is, in fact, a most mortifying retrospect
for me. I behaved shamefully. And here I can admit, that my manners
to Miss W., in being unpleasant to Miss F., were highly blameable.
\emph{She} disapproved them, which ought to have been enough.\mbox{---}
My plea of concealing the truth she did not think sufficient.\mbox{---}
She was displeased; I thought unreasonably so: I thought her, on a
thousand occasions, unnecessarily scrupulous and cautious: I thought
her even cold. But she was always right. If I had followed her judgment,
and subdued my spirits to the level of what she deemed proper, I should
have escaped the greatest unhappiness I have ever known.\mbox{---}
We quarrelled.\mbox{---} Do you remember the morning spent at Donwell?\mbox{---}
\emph{There} every little dissatisfaction that had occurred before
came to a crisis. I was late; I met her walking home by herself, and
wanted to walk with her, but she would not suffer it. She absolutely
refused to allow me, which I then thought most unreasonable. Now,
however, I see nothing in it but a very natural and consistent degree
of discretion. While I, to blind the world to our engagement, was
behaving one hour with objectionable particularity to another woman,
was she to be consenting the next to a proposal which might have made
every previous caution useless?\mbox{---}- Had we been met walking
together between Donwell and Highbury, the truth must have been suspected.\mbox{---}
I was mad enough, however, to resent.\mbox{---} I doubted her affection.
I doubted it more the next day on Box Hill; when, provoked by such
conduct on my side, such shameful, insolent neglect of her, and such
apparent devotion to Miss W., as it would have been impossible for
any woman of sense to endure, she spoke her resentment in a form of
words perfectly intelligible to me.\mbox{---} In short, my dear madam,
it was a quarrel blameless on her side, abominable on mine; and I
returned the same evening to Richmond, though I might have staid with
you till the next morning, merely because I would be as angry with
her as possible. Even then, I was not such a fool as not to mean to
be reconciled in time; but I was the injured person, injured by her
coldness, and I went away determined that she should make the first
advances.\mbox{---} I shall always congratulate myself that you were
not of the Box Hill party. Had you witnessed my behaviour there, I
can hardly suppose you would ever have thought well of me again. Its
effect upon her appears in the immediate resolution it produced: as
soon as she found I was really gone from Randalls, she closed with
the offer of that officious Mrs.\ Elton; the whole system of whose
treatment of her, by the bye, has ever filled me with indignation
and hatred. I must not quarrel with a spirit of forbearance which
has been so richly extended towards myself; but, otherwise, I should
loudly protest against the share of it which that woman has known.\mbox{---}
{}``Jane,'' indeed!\mbox{---} You will observe that I have not
yet indulged myself in calling her by that name, even to you. Think,
then, what I must have endured in hearing it bandied between the Eltons
with all the vulgarity of needless repetition, and all the insolence
of imaginary superiority. Have patience with me, I shall soon have
done.\mbox{---} She closed with this offer, resolving to break with
me entirely, and wrote the next day to tell me that we never were
to meet again.\mbox{---} \emph{She felt the engagement to be a source
of repentance and misery to each: she dissolved it.}--- This letter
reached me on the very morning of my poor aunt's death. I answered
it within an hour; but from the confusion of my mind, and the multiplicity
of business falling on me at once, my answer, instead of being sent
with all the many other letters of that day, was locked up in my writing-desk;
and I, trusting that I had written enough, though but a few lines,
to satisfy her, remained without any uneasiness.\mbox{---} I was
rather disappointed that I did not hear from her again speedily; but
I made excuses for her, and was too busy, and\mbox{---}may I add?\mbox{---}too
cheerful in my views to be captious.--- We removed to Windsor; and
two days afterwards I received a parcel from her, my own letters all
returned!\mbox{---}and a few lines at the same time by the post,
stating her extreme surprize at not having had the smallest reply
to her last; and adding, that as silence on such a point could not
be misconstrued, and as it must be equally desirable to both to have
every subordinate arrangement concluded as soon as possible, she now
sent me, by a safe conveyance, all my letters, and requested, that
if I could not directly command hers, so as to send them to Highbury
within a week, I would forward them after that period to her at\mbox{---}:
in short, the full direction to Mr.\ Smallridge's, near Bristol,
stared me in the face. I knew the name, the place, I knew all about
it, and instantly saw what she had been doing. It was perfectly accordant
with that resolution of character which I knew her to possess; and
the secrecy she had maintained, as to any such design in her former
letter, was equally descriptive of its anxious delicacy. For the world
would not she have seemed to threaten me.\mbox{---} Imagine the shock;
imagine how, till I had actually detected my own blunder, I raved
at the blunders of the post.\mbox{---} What was to be done?\mbox{---}
One thing only.\mbox{---} I must speak to my uncle. Without his sanction
I could not hope to be listened to again.\mbox{---} I spoke; circumstances
were in my favour; the late event had softened away his pride, and
he was, earlier than I could have anticipated, wholly reconciled and
complying; and could say at last, poor man! with a deep sigh, that
he wished I might find as much happiness in the marriage state as
he had done.\mbox{---} I felt that it would be of a different sort.\mbox{---}
Are you disposed to pity me for what I must have suffered in opening
the cause to him, for my suspense while all was at stake?\mbox{---}
No; do not pity me till I reached Highbury, and saw how ill I had
made her. Do not pity me till I saw her wan, sick looks.\mbox{---}
I reached Highbury at the time of day when, from my knowledge of their
late breakfast hour, I was certain of a good chance of finding her
alone.\mbox{---} I was not disappointed; and at last I was not disappointed
either in the object of my journey. A great deal of very reasonable,
very just displeasure I had to persuade away. But it is done; we are
reconciled, dearer, much dearer, than ever, and no moment's uneasiness
can ever occur between us again. Now, my dear madam, I will release
you; but I could not conclude before. A thousand and a thousand thanks
for all the kindness you have ever shewn me, and ten thousand for
the attentions your heart will dictate towards her.\mbox{---} If
you think me in a way to be happier than I deserve, I am quite of
your opinion.\mbox{---} Miss W.\ calls me the child of good fortune.
I hope she is right.\mbox{---} In one respect, my good fortune is
undoubted, that of being able to subscribe myself,

Your obliged and affectionate Son,

\noun{\hspace{\stretch{1}}F.\ C.\ {}}\textit{\emph{\noun{Weston}}}
\textit{\emph{\noun{Churchill}}}\noun{.}
\end{quotation}

\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XV}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XV}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XV}

This letter must make its way to Emma's feelings. She was obliged,
in spite of her previous determination to the contrary, to do it all
the justice that Mrs.\ Weston foretold. As soon as she came to her
own name, it was irresistible; every line relating to herself was
interesting, and almost every line agreeable; and when this charm
ceased, the subject could still maintain itself, by the natural return
of her former regard for the writer, and the very strong attraction
which any picture of love must have for her at that moment. She never
stopt till she had gone through the whole; and though it was impossible
not to feel that he had been wrong, yet he had been less wrong than
she had supposed\mbox{---}and he had suffered, and was very sorry\mbox{---}and
he was so grateful to Mrs.\ Weston, and so much in love with Miss
Fairfax, and she was so happy herself, that there was no being severe;
and could he have entered the room, she must have shaken hands with
him as heartily as ever.

She thought so well of the letter, that when Mr.\ Knightley came
again, she desired him to read it. She was sure of Mrs.\ Weston's
wishing it to be communicated; especially to one, who, like Mr.\ Knightley,
had seen so much to blame in his conduct.

{}``I shall be very glad to look it over,'' said he; {}``but it
seems long. I will take it home with me at night.''

But that would not do. Mr.\ Weston was to call in the evening, and
she must return it by him.

{}``I would rather be talking to you,'' he replied; {}``but as
it seems a matter of justice, it shall be done.''

He began\mbox{---}stopping, however, almost directly to say, {}``Had
I been offered the sight of one of this gentleman's letters to his
mother-in-law a few months ago, Emma, it would not have been taken
with such indifference.''

He proceeded a little farther, reading to himself; and then, with
a smile, observed, {}``Humph! a fine complimentary opening: But it
is his way. One man's style must not be the rule of another's. We
will not be severe.''

{}``It will be natural for me,'' he added shortly afterwards, {}``to
speak my opinion aloud as I read. By doing it, I shall feel that I
am near you. It will not be so great a loss of time: but if you dislike
it\mbox{---}''

{}``Not at all. I should wish it.''

Mr.\ Knightley returned to his reading with greater alacrity.

{}``He trifles here,'' said he, {}``as to the temptation. He knows
he is wrong, and has nothing rational to urge.\mbox{---} Bad.\mbox{---}
He ought not to have formed the engagement.\mbox{---} `His father's
disposition:'\mbox{---}he is unjust, however, to his father. Mr.\ Weston's
sanguine temper was a blessing on all his upright and honourable exertions;
but Mr.\ Weston earned every present comfort before he endeavoured
to gain it.\mbox{---} Very true; he did not come till Miss Fairfax
was here.''

{}``And I have not forgotten,'' said Emma, {}``how sure you were
that he might have come sooner if he would. You pass it over very
handsomely\mbox{---}but you were perfectly right.''

{}``I was not quite impartial in my judgment, Emma:\mbox{---}but
yet, I think\mbox{---}had \emph{you} not been in the case\mbox{---}I
should still have distrusted him.''

When he came to Miss Woodhouse, he was obliged to read the whole of
it aloud\mbox{---}all that related to her, with a smile; a look;
a shake of the head; a word or two of assent, or disapprobation; or
merely of love, as the subject required; concluding, however, seriously,
and, after steady reflection, thus\mbox{---}

{}``Very bad\mbox{---}though it might have been worse.\mbox{---}
Playing a most dangerous game. Too much indebted to the event for
his acquittal.\mbox{---} No judge of his own manners by you.\mbox{---}
Always deceived in fact by his own wishes, and regardless of little
besides his own convenience.\mbox{---} Fancying you to have fathomed
his secret. Natural enough!\mbox{---}his own mind full of intrigue,
that he should suspect it in others.\mbox{---} Mystery; Finesse\mbox{---}how
they pervert the understanding! My Emma, does not every thing serve
to prove more and more the beauty of truth and sincerity in all our
dealings with each other?''\ 

Emma agreed to it, and with a blush of sensibility on Harriet's account,
which she could not give any sincere explanation of.

{}``You had better go on,'' said she.

He did so, but very soon stopt again to say, {}``the pianoforte!
Ah! That was the act of a very, very young man, one too young to consider
whether the inconvenience of it might not very much exceed the pleasure.
A boyish scheme, indeed!\mbox{---} I cannot comprehend a man's wishing
to give a woman any proof of affection which he knows she would rather
dispense with; and he did know that she would have prevented the instrument's
coming if she could.''

After this, he made some progress without any pause. Frank Churchill's
confession of having behaved shamefully was the first thing to call
for more than a word in passing.

{}``I perfectly agree with you, sir,''---was then his remark. {}``You
did behave very shamefully. You never wrote a truer line.'' And having
gone through what immediately followed of the basis of their disagreement,
and his persisting to act in direct opposition to Jane Fairfax's sense
of right, he made a fuller pause to say, {}``This is very bad.\mbox{---}
He had induced her to place herself, for his sake, in a situation
of extreme difficulty and uneasiness, and it should have been his
first object to prevent her from suffering unnecessarily.\mbox{---}
She must have had much more to contend with, in carrying on the correspondence,
than he could. He should have respected even unreasonable scruples,
had there been such; but hers were all reasonable. We must look to
her one fault, and remember that she had done a wrong thing in consenting
to the engagement, to bear that she should have been in such a state
of punishment.''

Emma knew that he was now getting to the Box Hill party, and grew
uncomfortable. Her own behaviour had been so very improper! She was
deeply ashamed, and a little afraid of his next look. It was all read,
however, steadily, attentively, and without the smallest remark; and,
excepting one momentary glance at her, instantly withdrawn, in the
fear of giving pain\mbox{---}no remembrance of Box Hill seemed to
exist.

{}``There is no saying much for the delicacy of our good friends,
the Eltons,'' was his next observation.\mbox{---} {}``His feelings
are natural.\mbox{---} What!\ actually resolve to break with him
entirely!\mbox{---} She felt the engagement to be a source of repentance
and misery to each\mbox{---}she dissolved it.\mbox{---} What a view
this gives of her sense of his behaviour!\mbox{---} Well, he must
be a most extraordinary\mbox{---}''

{}``Nay, nay, read on.\mbox{---} You will find how very much he
suffers.''

{}``I hope he does,'' replied Mr.\ Knightley coolly, and resuming
the letter. {}```Smallridge!'\mbox{---}What does this mean? What
is all this?''\ 

{}``She had engaged to go as governess to Mrs.\ Smallridge's children\mbox{---}a
dear friend of Mrs.\ Elton's\mbox{---}a neighbour of Maple Grove;
and, by the bye, I wonder how Mrs.\ Elton bears the disappointment?''\ 

{}``Say nothing, my dear Emma, while you oblige me to read\mbox{---}not
even of Mrs.\ Elton. Only one page more. I shall soon have done.
What a letter the man writes!''\ 

{}``I wish you would read it with a kinder spirit towards him.''

{}``Well, there is feeling here.\mbox{---} He does seem to have
suffered in finding her ill.\mbox{---} Certainly, I can have no doubt
of his being fond of her. `Dearer, much dearer than ever.' I hope
he may long continue to feel all the value of such a reconciliation.\mbox{---}
He is a very liberal thanker, with his thousands and tens of thousands.\mbox{---}
`Happier than I deserve.' Come, he knows himself there.\  `Miss Woodhouse
calls me the child of good fortune.'\mbox{---}Those were Miss Woodhouse's
words, were they?\mbox{---} And a fine ending\mbox{---}and there
is the letter. The child of good fortune! That was your name for him,
was it?''\ 

{}``You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I am;
but still you must, at least I hope you must, think the better of
him for it. I hope it does him some service with you.''

{}``Yes, certainly it does. He has had great faults, faults of inconsideration
and thoughtlessness; and I am very much of his opinion in thinking
him likely to be happier than he deserves: but still as he is, beyond
a doubt, really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it may be
hoped, have the advantage of being constantly with her, I am very
ready to believe his character will improve, and acquire from hers
the steadiness and delicacy of principle that it wants. And now, let
me talk to you of something else. I have another person's interest
at present so much at heart, that I cannot think any longer about
Frank Churchill. Ever since I left you this morning, Emma, my mind
has been hard at work on one subject.''

The subject followed; it was in plain, unaffected, gentlemanlike English,
such as Mr.\ Knightley used even to the woman he was in love with,
how to be able to ask her to marry him, without attacking the happiness
of her father. Emma's answer was ready at the first word. {}``While
her dear father lived, any change of condition must be impossible
for her. She could never quit him.'' Part only of this answer, however,
was admitted. The impossibility of her quitting her father, Mr.\ Knightley
felt as strongly as herself; but the inadmissibility of any other
change, he could not agree to. He had been thinking it over most deeply,
most intently; he had at first hoped to induce Mr.\ Woodhouse to
remove with her to Donwell; he had wanted to believe it feasible,
but his knowledge of Mr.\ Woodhouse would not suffer him to deceive
himself long; and now he confessed his persuasion, that such a transplantation
would be a risk of her father's comfort, perhaps even of his life,
which must not be hazarded. Mr.\ Woodhouse taken from Hartfield!\mbox{---}
No, he felt that it ought not to be attempted. But the plan which
had arisen on the sacrifice of this, he trusted his dearest Emma would
not find in any respect objectionable; it was, that he should be received
at Hartfield; that so long as her father's happiness in other words
his life\mbox{---}required Hartfield to continue her home, it should
be his likewise.

Of their all removing to Donwell, Emma had already had her own passing
thoughts. Like him, she had tried the scheme and rejected it; but
such an alternative as this had not occurred to her. She was sensible
of all the affection it evinced. She felt that, in quitting Donwell,
he must be sacrificing a great deal of independence of hours and habits;
that in living constantly with her father, and in no house of his
own, there would be much, very much, to be borne with. She promised
to think of it, and advised him to think of it more; but he was fully
convinced, that no reflection could alter his wishes or his opinion
on the subject. He had given it, he could assure her, very long and
calm consideration; he had been walking away from William Larkins
the whole morning, to have his thoughts to himself.

{}``Ah!\ there is one difficulty unprovided for,'' cried Emma.
{}``I am sure William Larkins will not like it. You must get his
consent before you ask mine.''

She promised, however, to think of it; and pretty nearly promised,
moreover, to think of it, with the intention of finding it a very
good scheme.

It is remarkable, that Emma, in the many, very many, points of view
in which she was now beginning to consider Donwell Abbey, was never
struck with any sense of injury to her nephew Henry, whose rights
as heir-expectant had formerly been so tenaciously regarded. Think
she must of the possible difference to the poor little boy; and yet
she only gave herself a saucy conscious smile about it, and found
amusement in detecting the real cause of that violent dislike of Mr.\ Knightley's
marrying Jane Fairfax, or any body else, which at the time she had
wholly imputed to the amiable solicitude of the sister and the aunt.

This proposal of his, this plan of marrying and continuing at Hartfield\mbox{---}the
more she contemplated it, the more pleasing it became. His evils seemed
to lessen, her own advantages to increase, their mutual good to outweigh
every drawback. Such a companion for herself in the periods of anxiety
and cheerlessness before her!\mbox{---} Such a partner in all those
duties and cares to which time must be giving increase of melancholy!

She would have been too happy but for poor Harriet; but every blessing
of her own seemed to involve and advance the sufferings of her friend,
who must now be even excluded from Hartfield. The delightful family
party which Emma was securing for herself, poor Harriet must, in mere
charitable caution, be kept at a distance from. She would be a loser
in every way. Emma could not deplore her future absence as any deduction
from her own enjoyment. In such a party, Harriet would be rather a
dead weight than otherwise; but for the poor girl herself, it seemed
a peculiarly cruel necessity that was to be placing her in such a
state of unmerited punishment.

In time, of course, Mr.\ Knightley would be forgotten, that is, supplanted;
but this could not be expected to happen very early. Mr.\ Knightley
himself would be doing nothing to assist the cure;\mbox{---}not like
Mr.\ Elton. Mr.\ Knightley, always so kind, so feeling, so truly
considerate for every body, would never deserve to be less worshipped
than now; and it really was too much to hope even of Harriet, that
she could be in love with more than \emph{three} men in one year.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XVI}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XVI}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XVI}

It was a very great relief to Emma to find Harriet as desirous as
herself to avoid a meeting. Their intercourse was painful enough by
letter. How much worse, had they been obliged to meet!

Harriet expressed herself very much as might be supposed, without
reproaches, or apparent sense of ill-usage; and yet Emma fancied there
was a something of resentment, a something bordering on it in her
style, which increased the desirableness of their being separate.\mbox{---}
It might be only her own consciousness; but it seemed as if an angel
only could have been quite without resentment under such a stroke.

She had no difficulty in procuring Isabella's invitation; and she
was fortunate in having a sufficient reason for asking it, without
resorting to invention.\mbox{---} There was a tooth amiss. Harriet
really wished, and had wished some time, to consult a dentist. Mrs.\ John
Knightley was delighted to be of use; any thing of ill health was
a recommendation to her\mbox{---}and though not so fond of a dentist
as of a Mr.\ Wingfield, she was quite eager to have Harriet under
her care.\mbox{---} When it was thus settled on her sister's side,
Emma proposed it to her friend, and found her very persuadable.\mbox{---}
Harriet was to go; she was invited for at least a fortnight; she was
to be conveyed in Mr.\ Woodhouse's carriage.\mbox{---} It was all
arranged, it was all completed, and Harriet was safe in Brunswick
Square.

Now Emma could, indeed, enjoy Mr.\ Knightley's visits; now she could
talk, and she could listen with true happiness, unchecked by that
sense of injustice, of guilt, of something most painful, which had
haunted her when remembering how disappointed a heart was near her,
how much might at that moment, and at a little distance, be enduring
by the feelings which she had led astray herself.

The difference of Harriet at Mrs.\ Goddard's, or in London, made
perhaps an unreasonable difference in Emma's sensations; but she could
not think of her in London without objects of curiosity and employment,
which must be averting the past, and carrying her out of herself.

She would not allow any other anxiety to succeed directly to the place
in her mind which Harriet had occupied. There was a communication
before her, one which \emph{she} only could be competent to make\mbox{---}the
confession of her engagement to her father; but she would have nothing
to do with it at present.\mbox{---} She had resolved to defer the
disclosure till Mrs.\ Weston were safe and well. No additional agitation
should be thrown at this period among those she loved\mbox{---}and
the evil should not act on herself by anticipation before the appointed
time.\mbox{---} A fortnight, at least, of leisure and peace of mind,
to crown every warmer, but more agitating, delight, should be hers.

She soon resolved, equally as a duty and a pleasure, to employ half
an hour of this holiday of spirits in calling on Miss Fairfax.\mbox{---}
She ought to go\mbox{---}and she was longing to see her; the resemblance
of their present situations increasing every other motive of goodwill.
It would be a \emph{secret} satisfaction; but the consciousness of
a similarity of prospect would certainly add to the interest with
which she should attend to any thing Jane might communicate.

She went\mbox{---}she had driven once unsuccessfully to the door,
but had not been into the house since the morning after Box Hill,
when poor Jane had been in such distress as had filled her with compassion,
though all the worst of her sufferings had been unsuspected.\mbox{---}
The fear of being still unwelcome, determined her, though assured
of their being at home, to wait in the passage, and send up her name.\mbox{---}
She heard Patty announcing it; but no such bustle succeeded as poor
Miss Bates had before made so happily intelligible.\mbox{---} No;
she heard nothing but the instant reply of, {}``Beg her to walk up;''---and
a moment afterwards she was met on the stairs by Jane herself, coming
eagerly forward, as if no other reception of her were felt sufficient.\mbox{---}
Emma had never seen her look so well, so lovely, so engaging. There
was consciousness, animation, and warmth; there was every thing which
her countenance or manner could ever have wanted.\mbox{---} She came
forward with an offered hand; and said, in a low, but very feeling
tone,

{}``This is most kind, indeed!\mbox{---} Miss Woodhouse, it is impossible
for me to express\mbox{---}I hope you will believe\mbox{---}Excuse
me for being so entirely without words.''

Emma was gratified, and would soon have shewn no want of words, if
the sound of Mrs.\ Elton's voice from the sitting-room had not checked
her, and made it expedient to compress all her friendly and all her
congratulatory sensations into a very, very earnest shake of the hand.

Mrs.\ Bates and Mrs.\ Elton were together. Miss Bates was out, which
accounted for the previous tranquillity. Emma could have wished Mrs.\ Elton
elsewhere; but she was in a humour to have patience with every body;
and as Mrs.\ Elton met her with unusual graciousness, she hoped the
rencontre would do them no harm.

She soon believed herself to penetrate Mrs.\ Elton's thoughts, and
understand why she was, like herself, in happy spirits; it was being
in Miss Fairfax's confidence, and fancying herself acquainted with
what was still a secret to other people. Emma saw symptoms of it immediately
in the expression of her face; and while paying her own compliments
to Mrs.\ Bates, and appearing to attend to the good old lady's replies,
she saw her with a sort of anxious parade of mystery fold up a letter
which she had apparently been reading aloud to Miss Fairfax, and return
it into the purple and gold reticule by her side, saying, with significant
nods,

{}``We can finish this some other time, you know. You and I shall
not want opportunities. And, in fact, you have heard all the essential
already. I only wanted to prove to you that Mrs.\ S.\ admits our
apology, and is not offended. You see how delightfully she writes.
Oh!\ she is a sweet creature! You would have doated on her, had you
gone.\mbox{---} But not a word more. Let us be discreet\mbox{---}quite
on our good behaviour.\mbox{---} Hush!\mbox{---} You remember those
lines\mbox{---}I forget the poem at this moment:'' \begin{flushleft} \begin{verse} \footnotesize

For when a lady's in the case, \\*

You know all other things give place.

\end{verse} \end{flushleft} {}``Now I say, my dear, in \emph{our} case, for \emph{lady}, read\mbox{---}mum!\ a
word to the wise.\mbox{---} I am in a fine flow of spirits, an't
I? But I want to set your heart at ease as to Mrs.\ S.\mbox{---}
\emph{My} representation, you see, has quite appeased her.''

And again, on Emma's merely turning her head to look at Mrs.\ Bates's
knitting, she added, in a half whisper,

{}``I mentioned no \emph{names}, you will observe.\mbox{---} Oh!\ no;
cautious as a minister of state. I managed it extremely well.''

Emma could not doubt. It was a palpable display, repeated on every
possible occasion. When they had all talked a little while in harmony
of the weather and Mrs.\ Weston, she found herself abruptly addressed
with,

{}``Do not you think, Miss Woodhouse, our saucy little friend here
is charmingly recovered?\mbox{---} Do not you think her cure does
Perry the highest credit?''---(here was a side-glance of great meaning
at Jane.) {}``Upon my word, Perry has restored her in a wonderful
short time!\mbox{---} Oh!\ if you had seen her, as I did, when she
was at the worst!''---And when Mrs.\ Bates was saying something
to Emma, whispered farther, {}``We do not say a word of any \emph{assistance}
that Perry might have; not a word of a certain young physician from
Windsor.\mbox{---} Oh!\ no; Perry shall have all the credit.''

{}``I have scarce had the pleasure of seeing you, Miss Woodhouse,''
she shortly afterwards began, {}``since the party to Box Hill. Very
pleasant party. But yet I think there was something wanting. Things
did not seem\mbox{---}that is, there seemed a little cloud upon the
spirits of some.\mbox{---} So it appeared to me at least, but I might
be mistaken. However, I think it answered so far as to tempt one to
go again. What say you both to our collecting the same party, and
exploring to Box Hill again, while the fine weather lasts?\mbox{---}
It must be the same party, you know, quite the same party, not one
exception.''

Soon after this Miss Bates came in, and Emma could not help being
diverted by the perplexity of her first answer to herself, resulting,
she supposed, from doubt of what might be said, and impatience to
say every thing.

{}``Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse, you are all kindness.\mbox{---}
It is impossible to say\mbox{---}Yes, indeed, I quite understand\mbox{---}dearest
Jane's prospects\mbox{---}that is, I do not mean.\mbox{---} But
she is charmingly recovered.\mbox{---} How is Mr.\ Woodhouse?\mbox{---}
I am so glad.\mbox{---} Quite out of my power.\mbox{---} Such a
happy little circle as you find us here.\mbox{---} Yes, indeed.\mbox{---}
Charming young man!\mbox{---}that is\mbox{---}so very friendly;
I mean good Mr.\ Perry!\mbox{---}such attention to Jane!''---And
from her great, her more than commonly thankful delight towards Mrs.\ Elton
for being there, Emma guessed that there had been a little show of
resentment towards Jane, from the vicarage quarter, which was now
graciously overcome.\mbox{---} After a few whispers, indeed, which
placed it beyond a guess, Mrs.\ Elton, speaking louder, said,

{}``Yes, here I am, my good friend; and here I have been so long,
that anywhere else I should think it necessary to apologise; but,
the truth is, that I am waiting for my lord and master. He promised
to join me here, and pay his respects to you.''

{}``What! are we to have the pleasure of a call from Mr.\ Elton?\mbox{---}
That will be a favour indeed! for I know gentlemen do not like morning
visits, and Mr.\ Elton's time is so engaged.''

{}``Upon my word it is, Miss Bates.\mbox{---} He really is engaged
from morning to night.\mbox{---} There is no end of people's coming
to him, on some pretence or other.\mbox{---} The magistrates, and
overseers, and churchwardens, are always wanting his opinion. They
seem not able to do any thing without him.\mbox{---} `Upon my word,
Mr.\ E.,' I often say, `rather you than I.\mbox{---} I do not know
what would become of my crayons and my instrument, if I had half so
many applicants.'\mbox{---}Bad enough as it is, for I absolutely
neglect them both to an unpardonable degree.\mbox{---} I believe
I have not played a bar this fortnight.\mbox{---} However, he is
coming, I assure you: yes, indeed, on purpose to wait on you all.''
And putting up her hand to screen her words from Emma\mbox{---}{}``A
congratulatory visit, you know.\mbox{---} Oh!\ yes, quite indispensable.''

Miss Bates looked about her, so happily!\mbox{---}

{}``He promised to come to me as soon as he could disengage himself
from Knightley; but he and Knightley are shut up together in deep
consultation.\mbox{---} Mr.\ E.\ is Knightley's right hand.''

Emma would not have smiled for the world, and only said, {}``Is Mr.\ Elton
gone on foot to Donwell?\mbox{---} He will have a hot walk.''

{}``Oh!\ no, it is a meeting at the Crown, a regular meeting. Weston
and Cole will be there too; but one is apt to speak only of those
who lead.\mbox{---} I fancy Mr.\ E.\ and Knightley have every thing
their own way.''

{}``Have not you mistaken the day?''\ said Emma. {}``I am almost
certain that the meeting at the Crown is not till to-morrow.\mbox{---}
Mr.\ Knightley was at Hartfield yesterday, and spoke of it as for
Saturday.''

{}``Oh!\ no, the meeting is certainly to-day,'' was the abrupt
answer, which denoted the impossibility of any blunder on Mrs.\ Elton's
side.\mbox{---} {}``I do believe,'' she continued, {}``this is
the most troublesome parish that ever was. We never heard of such
things at Maple Grove.''

{}``Your parish there was small,'' said Jane.

{}``Upon my word, my dear, I do not know, for I never heard the subject
talked of.''

{}``But it is proved by the smallness of the school, which I have
heard you speak of, as under the patronage of your sister and Mrs.\ Bragge;
the only school, and not more than five-and-twenty children.''

{}``Ah!\ you clever creature, that's very true. What a thinking
brain you have! I say, Jane, what a perfect character you and I should
make, if we could be shaken together. My liveliness and your solidity
would produce perfection.\mbox{---} Not that I presume to insinuate,
however, that \emph{some} people may not think \emph{you} perfection
already.\mbox{---} But hush!\mbox{---}not a word, if you please.''

It seemed an unnecessary caution; Jane was wanting to give her words,
not to Mrs.\ Elton, but to Miss Woodhouse, as the latter plainly
saw. The wish of distinguishing her, as far as civility permitted,
was very evident, though it could not often proceed beyond a look.

Mr.\ Elton made his appearance. His lady greeted him with some of
her sparkling vivacity.

{}``Very pretty, sir, upon my word; to send me on here, to be an
encumbrance to my friends, so long before you vouchsafe to come!\mbox{---}
But you knew what a dutiful creature you had to deal with. You knew
I should not stir till my lord and master appeared.\mbox{---} Here
have I been sitting this hour, giving these young ladies a sample
of true conjugal obedience\mbox{---}for who can say, you know, how
soon it may be wanted?''

Mr.\ Elton was so hot and tired, that all this wit seemed thrown
away. His civilities to the other ladies must be paid; but his subsequent
object was to lament over himself for the heat he was suffering, and
the walk he had had for nothing.

{}``When I got to Donwell,'' said he, {}``Knightley could not be
found. Very odd!\ very unaccountable!\ after the note I sent him
this morning, and the message he returned, that he should certainly
be at home till one.''

{}``Donwell!''\ cried his wife.\mbox{---} {}``My dear Mr.\ E.,
you have not been to Donwell!\mbox{---} You mean the Crown; you come
from the meeting at the Crown.''

{}``No, no, that's to-morrow; and I particularly wanted to see Knightley
to-day on that very account.\mbox{---} Such a dreadful broiling morning!\mbox{---}
I went over the fields too''---(speaking in a tone of great ill-usage,)
{}``which made it so much the worse. And then not to find him at
home! I assure you I am not at all pleased. And no apology left, no
message for me. The housekeeper declared she knew nothing of my being
expected.\mbox{---} Very extraordinary!\mbox{---} And nobody knew
at all which way he was gone. Perhaps to Hartfield, perhaps to the
Abbey Mill, perhaps into his woods.\mbox{---} Miss Woodhouse, this
is not like our friend Knightley!\mbox{---} Can you explain it?''\


Emma amused herself by protesting that it was very extraordinary,
indeed, and that she had not a syllable to say for him.

{}``I cannot imagine,'' said Mrs.\ Elton, (feeling the indignity
as a wife ought to do,) {}``I cannot imagine how he could do such
a thing by you, of all people in the world! The very last person whom
one should expect to be forgotten!\mbox{---} My dear Mr.\ E., he
must have left a message for you, I am sure he must.\mbox{---} Not
even Knightley could be so very eccentric;\mbox{---}and his servants
forgot it. Depend upon it, that was the case: and very likely to happen
with the Donwell servants, who are all, I have often observed, extremely
awkward and remiss.\mbox{---} I am sure I would not have such a creature
as his Harry stand at our sideboard for any consideration. And as
for Mrs.\ Hodges, Wright holds her very cheap indeed.\mbox{---}
She promised Wright a receipt, and never sent it.''

{}``I met William Larkins,'' continued Mr.\ Elton, {}``as I got
near the house, and he told me I should not find his master at home,
but I did not believe him.\mbox{---} William seemed rather out of
humour. He did not know what was come to his master lately, he said,
but he could hardly ever get the speech of him. I have nothing to
do with William's wants, but it really is of very great importance
that I should see Knightley to-day; and it becomes a matter, therefore,
of very serious inconvenience that I should have had this hot walk
to no purpose.''

Emma felt that she could not do better than go home directly. In all
probability she was at this very time waited for there; and Mr.\ Knightley
might be preserved from sinking deeper in aggression towards Mr.\ Elton,
if not towards William Larkins.

She was pleased, on taking leave, to find Miss Fairfax determined
to attend her out of the room, to go with her even downstairs; it
gave her an opportunity which she immediately made use of, to say,

{}``It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility.
Had you not been surrounded by other friends, I might have been tempted
to introduce a subject, to ask questions, to speak more openly than
might have been strictly correct.\mbox{---} I feel that I should
certainly have been impertinent.''

{}``Oh!''\ cried Jane, with a blush and an hesitation which Emma
thought infinitely more becoming to her than all the elegance of all
her usual composure\mbox{---}{}``there would have been no danger.
The danger would have been of my wearying you. You could not have
gratified me more than by expressing an interest\mbox{---}. Indeed,
Miss Woodhouse,'' (speaking more collectedly,) {}``with the consciousness
which I have of misconduct, very great misconduct, it is particularly
consoling to me to know that those of my friends, whose good opinion
is most worth preserving, are not disgusted to such a degree as to\mbox{---}I
have not time for half that I could wish to say. I long to make apologies,
excuses, to urge something for myself. I feel it so very due. But,
unfortunately\mbox{---}in short, if your compassion does not stand
my friend\mbox{---}''

{}``Oh!\ you are too scrupulous, indeed you are,'' cried Emma warmly,
and taking her hand. {}``You owe me no apologies; and every body
to whom you might be supposed to owe them, is so perfectly satisfied,
so delighted even\mbox{---}''

{}``You are very kind, but I know what my manners were to you.\mbox{---}
So cold and artificial!\mbox{---} I had always a part to act.\mbox{---}
It was a life of deceit!\mbox{---} I know that I must have disgusted
you.''

{}``Pray say no more. I feel that all the apologies should be on
my side. Let us forgive each other at once. We must do whatever is
to be done quickest, and I think our feelings will lose no time there.
I hope you have pleasant accounts from Windsor?''\ 

{}``Very.''

{}``And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are to lose you\mbox{---}just
as I begin to know you.''

{}``Oh!\ as to all that, of course nothing can be thought of yet.
I am here till claimed by Colonel and Mrs.\ Campbell.''

{}``Nothing can be actually settled yet, perhaps,'' replied Emma,
smiling\mbox{---}{}``but, excuse me, it must be thought of.''

The smile was returned as Jane answered,

{}``You are very right; it has been thought of. And I will own to
you, (I am sure it will be safe), that so far as our living with Mr.\ Churchill
at Enscombe, it is settled. There must be three months, at least,
of deep mourning; but when they are over, I imagine there will be
nothing more to wait for.''

{}``Thank you, thank you.\mbox{---} This is just what I wanted to
be assured of.\mbox{---} Oh!\ if you knew how much I love every
thing that is decided and open!\mbox{---} Good-bye, good-bye.''


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XVII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XVII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XVII}

Mrs.\ Weston's friends were all made happy by her safety; and if
the satisfaction of her well-doing could be increased to Emma, it
was by knowing her to be the mother of a little girl. She had been
decided in wishing for a Miss Weston. She would not acknowledge that
it was with any view of making a match for her, hereafter, with either
of Isabella's sons; but she was convinced that a daughter would suit
both father and mother best. It would be a great comfort to Mr.\ Weston,
as he grew older\mbox{---}and even Mr.\ Weston might be growing
older ten years hence\mbox{---}to have his fireside enlivened by
the sports and the nonsense, the freaks and the fancies of a child
never banished from home; and Mrs.\ Weston\mbox{---}no one could
doubt that a daughter would be most to her; and it would be quite
a pity that any one who so well knew how to teach, should not have
their powers in exercise again.

{}``She has had the advantage, you know, of practising on me,''
she continued\mbox{---}{}``like La Baronne d'Almane on La Comtesse
d'Ostalis, in Madame de Genlis' \emph{Adelaide and Theodore}, and
we shall now see her own little Adelaide educated on a more perfect
plan.''

{}``That is,'' replied Mr.\ Knightley, {}``she will indulge her
even more than she did you, and believe that she does not indulge
her at all. It will be the only difference.''

{}``Poor child!''\ cried Emma; {}``at that rate, what will become
of her?''\ 

{}``Nothing very bad.\mbox{---} The fate of thousands. She will
be disagreeable in infancy, and correct herself as she grows older.
I am losing all my bitterness against spoilt children, my dearest
Emma. I, who am owing all my happiness to \emph{you}, would not it
be horrible ingratitude in me to be severe on them?''\ 

Emma laughed, and replied: {}``But I had the assistance of all your
endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other people. I doubt whether
my own sense would have corrected me without it.''

{}``Do you?\mbox{---} I have no doubt. Nature gave you understanding:\mbox{---}Miss
Taylor gave you principles. You must have done well. My interference
was quite as likely to do harm as good. It was very natural for you
to say, what right has he to lecture me?\mbox{---}and I am afraid
very natural for you to feel that it was done in a disagreeable manner.
I do not believe I did you any good. The good was all to myself, by
making you an object of the tenderest affection to me. I could not
think about you so much without doating on you, faults and all; and
by dint of fancying so many errors, have been in love with you ever
since you were thirteen at least.''

{}``I am sure you were of use to me,'' cried Emma. {}``I was very
often influenced rightly by you\mbox{---}oftener than I would own
at the time. I am very sure you did me good. And if poor little Anna
Weston is to be spoiled, it will be the greatest humanity in you to
do as much for her as you have done for me, except falling in love
with her when she is thirteen.''

{}``How often, when you were a girl, have you said to me, with one
of your saucy looks\mbox{---}`Mr.\ Knightley, I am going to do so-and-so;
papa says I may, or I have Miss Taylor's leave'\mbox{---}something
which, you knew, I did not approve. In such cases my interference
was giving you two bad feelings instead of one.''

{}``What an amiable creature I was!\mbox{---} No wonder you should
hold my speeches in such affectionate remembrance.''

{}```Mr.\ Knightley.'\mbox{---}You always called me, `Mr.\ Knightley;'
and, from habit, it has not so very formal a sound.\mbox{---} And
yet it is formal. I want you to call me something else, but I do not
know what.''

{}``I remember once calling you `George,' in one of my amiable fits,
about ten years ago. I did it because I thought it would offend you;
but, as you made no objection, I never did it again.''

{}``And cannot you call me `George' now?''\ 

{}``Impossible!\mbox{---} I never can call you any thing but `Mr.\ Knightley.'
I will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs.\ Elton,
by calling you Mr.\ K.\mbox{---} But I will promise,'' she added
presently, laughing and blushing\mbox{---}{}``I will promise to
call you once by your Christian name. I do not say when, but perhaps
you may guess where;\mbox{---}in the building in which N.\ takes
M.\ for better, for worse.''

Emma grieved that she could not be more openly just to one important
service which his better sense would have rendered her, to the advice
which would have saved her from the worst of all her womanly follies\mbox{---}her
wilful intimacy with Harriet Smith; but it was too tender a subject.\mbox{---}
She could not enter on it.\mbox{---} Harriet was very seldom mentioned
between them. This, on his side, might merely proceed from her not
being thought of; but Emma was rather inclined to attribute it to
delicacy, and a suspicion, from some appearances, that their friendship
were declining. She was aware herself, that, parting under any other
circumstances, they certainly should have corresponded more, and that
her intelligence would not have rested, as it now almost wholly did,
on Isabella's letters. He might observe that it was so. The pain of
being obliged to practise concealment towards him, was very little
inferior to the pain of having made Harriet unhappy.

Isabella sent quite as good an account of her visitor as could be
expected; on her first arrival she had thought her out of spirits,
which appeared perfectly natural, as there was a dentist to be consulted;
but, since that business had been over, she did not appear to find
Harriet different from what she had known her before.\mbox{---} Isabella,
to be sure, was no very quick observer; yet if Harriet had not been
equal to playing with the children, it would not have escaped her.
Emma's comforts and hopes were most agreeably carried on, by Harriet's
being to stay longer; her fortnight was likely to be a month at least.
Mr.\ and Mrs.\ John Knightley were to come down in August, and she
was invited to remain till they could bring her back.

{}``John does not even mention your friend,'' said Mr.\ Knightley.
{}``Here is his answer, if you like to see it.''

It was the answer to the communication of his intended marriage. Emma
accepted it with a very eager hand, with an impatience all alive to
know what he would say about it, and not at all checked by hearing
that her friend was unmentioned.

{}``John enters like a brother into my happiness,'' continued Mr.\ Knightley,
{}``but he is no complimenter; and though I well know him to have,
likewise, a most brotherly affection for you, he is so far from making
flourishes, that any other young woman might think him rather cool
in her praise. But I am not afraid of your seeing what he writes.''

{}``He writes like a sensible man,'' replied Emma, when she had
read the letter. {}``I honour his sincerity. It is very plain that
he considers the good fortune of the engagement as all on my side,
but that he is not without hope of my growing, in time, as worthy
of your affection, as you think me already. Had he said any thing
to bear a different construction, I should not have believed him.''

{}``My Emma, he means no such thing. He only means\mbox{---}''

{}``He and I should differ very little in our estimation of the two,''
interrupted she, with a sort of serious smile\mbox{---}{}``much
less, perhaps, than he is aware of, if we could enter without ceremony
or reserve on the subject.''

{}``Emma, my dear Emma\mbox{---}''

{}``Oh!''\ she cried with more thorough gaiety, {}``if you fancy
your brother does not do me justice, only wait till my dear father
is in the secret, and hear his opinion. Depend upon it, he will be
much farther from doing \emph{you} justice. He will think all the
happiness, all the advantage, on your side of the question; all the
merit on mine. I wish I may not sink into `poor Emma' with him at
once.\mbox{---} His tender compassion towards oppressed worth can
go no farther.''

{}``Ah!''\ he cried, {}``I wish your father might be half as easily
convinced as John will be, of our having every right that equal worth
can give, to be happy together. I am amused by one part of John's
letter\mbox{---}did you notice it?\mbox{---}where he says, that
my information did not take him wholly by surprize, that he was rather
in expectation of hearing something of the kind.''

{}``If I understand your brother, he only means so far as your having
some thoughts of marrying. He had no idea of me. He seems perfectly
unprepared for that.''

{}``Yes, yes\mbox{---}but I am amused that he should have seen so
far into my feelings. What has he been judging by?\mbox{---} I am
not conscious of any difference in my spirits or conversation that
could prepare him at this time for my marrying any more than at another.\mbox{---}
But it was so, I suppose. I dare say there was a difference when I
was staying with them the other day. I believe I did not play with
the children quite so much as usual. I remember one evening the poor
boys saying, `Uncle seems always tired now.'''

The time was coming when the news must spread farther, and other persons'
reception of it tried. As soon as Mrs.\ Weston was sufficiently recovered
to admit Mr.\ Woodhouse's visits, Emma having it in view that her
gentle reasonings should be employed in the cause, resolved first
to announce it at home, and then at Randalls.\mbox{---} But how to
break it to her father at last!\mbox{---} She had bound herself to
do it, in such an hour of Mr.\ Knightley's absence, or when it came
to the point her heart would have failed her, and she must have put
it off; but Mr.\ Knightley was to come at such a time, and follow
up the beginning she was to make.\mbox{---} She was forced to speak,
and to speak cheerfully too. She must not make it a more decided subject
of misery to him, by a melancholy tone herself. She must not appear
to think it a misfortune.\mbox{---} With all the spirits she could
command, she prepared him first for something strange, and then, in
a few words, said, that if his consent and approbation could be obtained\mbox{---}which,
she trusted, would be attended with no difficulty, since it was a
plan to promote the happiness of all\mbox{---}she and Mr.\ Knightley
meant to marry; by which means Hartfield would receive the constant
addition of that person's company whom she knew he loved, next to
his daughters and Mrs.\ Weston, best in the world.

Poor man!\mbox{---}it was at first a considerable shock to him, and
he tried earnestly to dissuade her from it. She was reminded, more
than once, of having always said she would never marry, and assured
that it would be a great deal better for her to remain single; and
told of poor Isabella, and poor Miss Taylor.\mbox{---} But it would
not do. Emma hung about him affectionately, and smiled, and said it
must be so; and that he must not class her with Isabella and Mrs.\ Weston,
whose marriages taking them from Hartfield, had, indeed, made a melancholy
change: but she was not going from Hartfield; she should be always
there; she was introducing no change in their numbers or their comforts
but for the better; and she was very sure that he would be a great
deal the happier for having Mr.\ Knightley always at hand, when he
were once got used to the idea.\mbox{---} Did he not love Mr.\ Knightley
very much?\mbox{---} He would not deny that he did, she was sure.\mbox{---}
Whom did he ever want to consult on business but Mr.\ Knightley?\mbox{---}
Who was so useful to him, who so ready to write his letters, who so
glad to assist him?\mbox{---} Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached
to him?\mbox{---} Would not he like to have him always on the spot?\mbox{---}
Yes. That was all very true. Mr.\ Knightley could not be there too
often; he should be glad to see him every day;\mbox{---}but they
did see him every day as it was.\mbox{---} Why could not they go
on as they had done?

Mr.\ Woodhouse could not be soon reconciled; but the worst was overcome,
the idea was given; time and continual repetition must do the rest.\mbox{---}
To Emma's entreaties and assurances succeeded Mr.\ Knightley's, whose
fond praise of her gave the subject even a kind of welcome; and he
was soon used to be talked to by each, on every fair occasion.\mbox{---}
They had all the assistance which Isabella could give, by letters
of the strongest approbation; and Mrs.\ Weston was ready, on the
first meeting, to consider the subject in the most serviceable light\mbox{---}first,
as a settled, and, secondly, as a good one\mbox{---}well aware of
the nearly equal importance of the two recommendations to Mr.\ Woodhouse's
mind.\mbox{---} It was agreed upon, as what was to be; and every
body by whom he was used to be guided assuring him that it would be
for his happiness; and having some feelings himself which almost admitted
it, he began to think that some time or other\mbox{---}in another
year or two, perhaps\mbox{---}it might not be so very bad if the
marriage did take place.

Mrs.\ Weston was acting no part, feigning no feelings in all that
she said to him in favour of the event.\mbox{---} She had been extremely
surprized, never more so, than when Emma first opened the affair to
her; but she saw in it only increase of happiness to all, and had
no scruple in urging him to the utmost.\mbox{---} She had such a
regard for Mr.\ Knightley, as to think he deserved even her dearest
Emma; and it was in every respect so proper, suitable, and unexceptionable
a connexion, and in one respect, one point of the highest importance,
so peculiarly eligible, so singularly fortunate, that now it seemed
as if Emma could not safely have attached herself to any other creature,
and that she had herself been the stupidest of beings in not having
thought of it, and wished it long ago.\mbox{---} How very few of
those men in a rank of life to address Emma would have renounced their
own home for Hartfield! And who but Mr.\ Knightley could know and
bear with Mr.\ Woodhouse, so as to make such an arrangement desirable!\mbox{---}
The difficulty of disposing of poor Mr.\ Woodhouse had been always
felt in her husband's plans and her own, for a marriage between Frank
and Emma. How to settle the claims of Enscombe and Hartfield had been
a continual impediment\mbox{---}less acknowledged by Mr.\ Weston
than by herself\mbox{---}but even he had never been able to finish
the subject better than by saying\mbox{---}{}``Those matters will
take care of themselves; the young people will find a way.'' But
here there was nothing to be shifted off in a wild speculation on
the future. It was all right, all open, all equal. No sacrifice on
any side worth the name. It was a union of the highest promise of
felicity in itself, and without one real, rational difficulty to oppose
or delay it.

Mrs.\ Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in such reflections
as these, was one of the happiest women in the world. If any thing
could increase her delight, it was perceiving that the baby would
soon have outgrown its first set of caps.

The news was universally a surprize wherever it spread; and Mr.\ Weston
had his five minutes share of it; but five minutes were enough to
familiarise the idea to his quickness of mind.\mbox{---} He saw the
advantages of the match, and rejoiced in them with all the constancy
of his wife; but the wonder of it was very soon nothing; and by the
end of an hour he was not far from believing that he had always foreseen
it.

{}``It is to be a secret, I conclude,'' said he. {}``These matters
are always a secret, till it is found out that every body knows them.
Only let me be told when I may speak out.\mbox{---} I wonder whether
Jane has any suspicion.''

He went to Highbury the next morning, and satisfied himself on that
point. He told her the news. Was not she like a daughter, his eldest
daughter?\mbox{---}he must tell her; and Miss Bates being present,
it passed, of course, to Mrs.\ Cole, Mrs.\ Perry, and Mrs.\ Elton,
immediately afterwards. It was no more than the principals were prepared
for; they had calculated from the time of its being known at Randalls,
how soon it would be over Highbury; and were thinking of themselves,
as the evening wonder in many a family circle, with great sagacity.

In general, it was a very well approved match. Some might think him,
and others might think her, the most in luck. One set might recommend
their all removing to Donwell, and leaving Hartfield for the John
Knightleys; and another might predict disagreements among their servants;
but yet, upon the whole, there was no serious objection raised, except
in one habitation, the Vicarage.\mbox{---} There, the surprize was
not softened by any satisfaction. Mr.\ Elton cared little about it,
compared with his wife; he only hoped {}``the young lady's pride
would now be contented;'' and supposed {}``she had always meant
to catch Knightley if she could;'' and, on the point of living at
Hartfield, could daringly exclaim, {}``Rather he than I!''---But
Mrs.\ Elton was very much discomposed indeed.\mbox{---} {}``Poor
Knightley!\ poor fellow!\mbox{---}sad business for him.\mbox{---}
She was extremely concerned; for, though very eccentric, he had a
thousand good qualities.\mbox{---} How could he be so taken in?\mbox{---}
Did not think him at all in love\mbox{---}not in the least.\mbox{---}
Poor Knightley!\mbox{---} There would be an end of all pleasant intercourse
with him.\mbox{---} How happy he had been to come and dine with them
whenever they asked him! But that would be all over now.\mbox{---}
Poor fellow!\mbox{---} No more exploring parties to Donwell made
for her. Oh!\ no; there would be a Mrs.\ Knightley to throw cold
water on every thing.\mbox{---} Extremely disagreeable! But she was
not at all sorry that she had abused the housekeeper the other day.\mbox{---}
Shocking plan, living together. It would never do. She knew a family
near Maple Grove who had tried it, and been obliged to separate before
the end of the first quarter.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XVIII}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XVIII}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XVIII}

Time passed on. A few more to-morrows, and the party from London would
be arriving. It was an alarming change; and Emma was thinking of it
one morning, as what must bring a great deal to agitate and grieve
her, when Mr.\ Knightley came in, and distressing thoughts were put
by. After the first chat of pleasure he was silent; and then, in a
graver tone, began with,

{}``I have something to tell you, Emma; some news.''

{}``Good or bad?''\ said she, quickly, looking up in his face.

{}``I do not know which it ought to be called.''

{}``Oh!\ good I am sure.\mbox{---} I see it in your countenance.
You are trying not to smile.''

{}``I am afraid,'' said he, composing his features, {}``I am very
much afraid, my dear Emma, that you will not smile when you hear it.''

{}``Indeed!\ but why so?\mbox{---} I can hardly imagine that any
thing which pleases or amuses you, should not please and amuse me
too.''

{}``There is one subject,'' he replied, {}``I hope but one, on
which we do not think alike.'' He paused a moment, again smiling,
with his eyes fixed on her face. {}``Does nothing occur to you?\mbox{---}
Do not you recollect?\mbox{---} Harriet Smith.''

Her cheeks flushed at the name, and she felt afraid of something,
though she knew not what.

{}``Have you heard from her yourself this morning?''\ cried he.
{}``You have, I believe, and know the whole.''

{}``No, I have not; I know nothing; pray tell me.''

{}``You are prepared for the worst, I see\mbox{---}and very bad
it is. Harriet Smith marries Robert Martin.''

Emma gave a start, which did not seem like being prepared\mbox{---}and
her eyes, in eager gaze, said, {}``No, this is impossible!''\ but
her lips were closed.

{}``It is so, indeed,'' continued Mr.\ Knightley; {}``I have it
from Robert Martin himself. He left me not half an hour ago.''

She was still looking at him with the most speaking amazement.

{}``You like it, my Emma, as little as I feared.\mbox{---} I wish
our opinions were the same. But in time they will. Time, you may be
sure, will make one or the other of us think differently; and, in
the meanwhile, we need not talk much on the subject.''

{}``You mistake me, you quite mistake me,'' she replied, exerting
herself. {}``It is not that such a circumstance would now make me
unhappy, but I cannot believe it. It seems an impossibility!\mbox{---}
You cannot mean to say, that Harriet Smith has accepted Robert Martin.
You cannot mean that he has even proposed to her again\mbox{---}yet.
You only mean, that he intends it.''

{}``I mean that he has done it,'' answered Mr.\ Knightley, with
smiling but determined decision, {}``and been accepted.''

{}``Good God!''\ she cried.\mbox{---} {}``Well!''---Then having
recourse to her workbasket, in excuse for leaning down her face, and
concealing all the exquisite feelings of delight and entertainment
which she knew she must be expressing, she added, {}``Well, now tell
me every thing; make this intelligible to me. How, where, when?\mbox{---}
Let me know it all. I never was more surprized\mbox{---}but it does
not make me unhappy, I assure you.\mbox{---} How\mbox{---}how has
it been possible?''

{}``It is a very simple story. He went to town on business three
days ago, and I got him to take charge of some papers which I was
wanting to send to John.\mbox{---} He delivered these papers to John,
at his chambers, and was asked by him to join their party the same
evening to Astley's. They were going to take the two eldest boys to
Astley's. The party was to be our brother and sister, Henry, John\mbox{---}and
Miss Smith. My friend Robert could not resist. They called for him
in their way; were all extremely amused; and my brother asked him
to dine with them the next day\mbox{---}which he did\mbox{---}and
in the course of that visit (as I understand) he found an opportunity
of speaking to Harriet; and certainly did not speak in vain.\mbox{---}
She made him, by her acceptance, as happy even as he is deserving.
He came down by yesterday's coach, and was with me this morning immediately
after breakfast, to report his proceedings, first on my affairs, and
then on his own. This is all that I can relate of the how, where,
and when. Your friend Harriet will make a much longer history when
you see her.\mbox{---} She will give you all the minute particulars,
which only woman's language can make interesting.\mbox{---} In our
communications we deal only in the great.\mbox{---} However, I must
say, that Robert Martin's heart seemed for \emph{him}, and to \emph{me},
very overflowing; and that he did mention, without its being much
to the purpose, that on quitting their box at Astley's, my brother
took charge of Mrs.\ John Knightley and little John, and he followed
with Miss Smith and Henry; and that at one time they were in such
a crowd, as to make Miss Smith rather uneasy.''

He stopped.\mbox{---} Emma dared not attempt any immediate reply.
To speak, she was sure would be to betray a most unreasonable degree
of happiness. She must wait a moment, or he would think her mad. Her
silence disturbed him; and after observing her a little while, he
added,

{}``Emma, my love, you said that this circumstance would not now
make you unhappy; but I am afraid it gives you more pain than you
expected. His situation is an evil\mbox{---}but you must consider
it as what satisfies your friend; and I will answer for your thinking
better and better of him as you know him more. His good sense and
good principles would delight you.\mbox{---} As far as the man is
concerned, you could not wish your friend in better hands. His rank
in society I would alter if I could, which is saying a great deal
I assure you, Emma.\mbox{---} You laugh at me about William Larkins;
but I could quite as ill spare Robert Martin.''

He wanted her to look up and smile; and having now brought herself
not to smile too broadly\mbox{---}she did\mbox{---}cheerfully answering,

{}``You need not be at any pains to reconcile me to the match. I
think Harriet is doing extremely well. \emph{Her} connexions may be
worse than \emph{his}. In respectability of character, there can be
no doubt that they are. I have been silent from surprize merely, excessive
surprize. You cannot imagine how suddenly it has come on me!\ how
peculiarly unprepared I was!\mbox{---}for I had reason to believe
her very lately more determined against him, much more, than she was
before.''

{}``You ought to know your friend best,'' replied Mr.\ Knightley;
{}``but I should say she was a good-tempered, soft-hearted girl,
not likely to be very, very determined against any young man who told
her he loved her.''

Emma could not help laughing as she answered, {}``Upon my word, I
believe you know her quite as well as I do.\mbox{---} But, Mr.\ Knightley,
are you perfectly sure that she has absolutely and downright \emph{accepted}
him. I could suppose she might in time\mbox{---}but can she already?\mbox{---}
Did not you misunderstand him?\mbox{---} You were both talking of
other things; of business, shows of cattle, or new drills\mbox{---}and
might not you, in the confusion of so many subjects, mistake him?\mbox{---}
It was not Harriet's hand that he was certain of\mbox{---}it was
the dimensions of some famous ox.''

The contrast between the countenance and air of Mr.\ Knightley and
Robert Martin was, at this moment, so strong to Emma's feelings, and
so strong was the recollection of all that had so recently passed
on Harriet's side, so fresh the sound of those words, spoken with
such emphasis, {}``No, I hope I know better than to think of Robert
Martin,'' that she was really expecting the intelligence to prove,
in some measure, premature. It could not be otherwise.

{}``Do you dare say this?''\ cried Mr.\ Knightley. {}``Do you
dare to suppose me so great a blockhead, as not to know what a man
is talking of?\mbox{---} What do you deserve?''\


{}``Oh!\ I always deserve the best treatment, because I never put
up with any other; and, therefore, you must give me a plain, direct
answer. Are you quite sure that you understand the terms on which
Mr.\ Martin and Harriet now are?''\


{}``I am quite sure,'' he replied, speaking very distinctly, {}``that
he told me she had accepted him; and that there was no obscurity,
nothing doubtful, in the words he used; and I think I can give you
a proof that it must be so. He asked my opinion as to what he was
now to do. He knew of no one but Mrs.\ Goddard to whom he could apply
for information of her relations or friends. Could I mention any thing
more fit to be done, than to go to Mrs.\ Goddard? I assured him that
I could not. Then, he said, he would endeavour to see her in the course
of this day.''

{}``I am perfectly satisfied,'' replied Emma, with the brightest
smiles, {}``and most sincerely wish them happy.''

{}``You are materially changed since we talked on this subject before.''

{}``I hope so\mbox{---}for at that time I was a fool.''

{}``And I am changed also; for I am now very willing to grant you
all Harriet's good qualities. I have taken some pains for your sake,
and for Robert Martin's sake, (whom I have always had reason to believe
as much in love with her as ever,) to get acquainted with her. I have
often talked to her a good deal. You must have seen that I did. Sometimes,
indeed, I have thought you were half suspecting me of pleading poor
Martin's cause, which was never the case; but, from all my observations,
I am convinced of her being an artless, amiable girl, with very good
notions, very seriously good principles, and placing her happiness
in the affections and utility of domestic life.\mbox{---} Much of
this, I have no doubt, she may thank you for.''

{}``Me!''\ cried Emma, shaking her head.\mbox{---} {}``Ah!\ poor
Harriet!''

She checked herself, however, and submitted quietly to a little more
praise than she deserved.

Their conversation was soon afterwards closed by the entrance of her
father. She was not sorry. She wanted to be alone. Her mind was in
a state of flutter and wonder, which made it impossible for her to
be collected. She was in dancing, singing, exclaiming spirits; and
till she had moved about, and talked to herself, and laughed and reflected,
she could be fit for nothing rational.

Her father's business was to announce James's being gone out to put
the horses to, preparatory to their now daily drive to Randalls; and
she had, therefore, an immediate excuse for disappearing.

The joy, the gratitude, the exquisite delight of her sensations may
be imagined. The sole grievance and alloy thus removed in the prospect
of Harriet's welfare, she was really in danger of becoming too happy
for security.\mbox{---} What had she to wish for? Nothing, but to
grow more worthy of him, whose intentions and judgment had been ever
so superior to her own. Nothing, but that the lessons of her past
folly might teach her humility and circumspection in future.

Serious she was, very serious in her thankfulness, and in her resolutions;
and yet there was no preventing a laugh, sometimes in the very midst
of them. She must laugh at such a close! Such an end of the doleful
disappointment of five weeks back! Such a heart\mbox{---}such a Harriet!

Now there would be pleasure in her returning\mbox{---}Every thing
would be a pleasure. It would be a great pleasure to know Robert Martin.

High in the rank of her most serious and heartfelt felicities, was
the reflection that all necessity of concealment from Mr.\ Knightley
would soon be over. The disguise, equivocation, mystery, so hateful
to her to practise, might soon be over. She could now look forward
to giving him that full and perfect confidence which her disposition
was most ready to welcome as a duty.

In the gayest and happiest spirits she set forward with her father;
not always listening, but always agreeing to what he said; and, whether
in speech or silence, conniving at the comfortable persuasion of his
being obliged to go to Randalls every day, or poor Mrs.\ Weston would
be disappointed.

They arrived.\mbox{---} Mrs.\ Weston was alone in the drawing-room:\mbox{---}but
hardly had they been told of the baby, and Mr.\ Woodhouse received
the thanks for coming, which he asked for, when a glimpse was caught
through the blind, of two figures passing near the window.

{}``It is Frank and Miss Fairfax,'' said Mrs.\ Weston. {}``I was
just going to tell you of our agreeable surprize in seeing him arrive
this morning. He stays till to-morrow, and Miss Fairfax has been persuaded
to spend the day with us.\mbox{---} They are coming in, I hope.''

In half a minute they were in the room. Emma was extremely glad to
see him\mbox{---}but there was a degree of confusion\mbox{---}a
number of embarrassing recollections on each side. They met readily
and smiling, but with a consciousness which at first allowed little
to be said; and having all sat down again, there was for some time
such a blank in the circle, that Emma began to doubt whether the wish
now indulged, which she had long felt, of seeing Frank Churchill once
more, and of seeing him with Jane, would yield its proportion of pleasure.
When Mr.\ Weston joined the party, however, and when the baby was
fetched, there was no longer a want of subject or animation\mbox{---}or
of courage and opportunity for Frank Churchill to draw near her and
say,

{}``I have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very kind forgiving
message in one of Mrs.\ Weston's letters. I hope time has not made
you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then
said.''

{}``No, indeed,'' cried Emma, most happy to begin, {}``not in the
least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you\mbox{---}and
to give you joy in person.''

He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak
with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness.

{}``Is not she looking well?''\ said he, turning his eyes towards
Jane. {}``Better than she ever used to do?\mbox{---} You see how
my father and Mrs.\ Weston doat upon her.''

But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after
mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name
of Dixon.\mbox{---} Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced
in her hearing.

{}``I can never think of it,'' she cried, {}``without extreme shame.''

{}``The shame,'' he answered, {}``is all mine, or ought to be.
But is it possible that you had no suspicion?\mbox{---} I mean of
late. Early, I know, you had none.''

{}``I never had the smallest, I assure you.''

{}``That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near\mbox{---}and
I wish I had\mbox{---}it would have been better. But though I was
always doing wrong things, they were very \emph{bad} wrong things,
and such as did me no service.\mbox{---} It would have been a much
better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you
every thing.''

{}``It is not now worth a regret,'' said Emma.

{}``I have some hope,'' resumed he, {}``of my uncle's being persuaded
to pay a visit at Randalls; he wants to be introduced to her. When
the Campbells are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue
there, I trust, till we may carry her northward.\mbox{---} But now,
I am at such a distance from her\mbox{---}is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?\mbox{---}
Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of reconciliation.
Do not you pity me?''\


Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of
gay thought, he cried,

{}``Ah!\ by the bye,'' then sinking his voice, and looking demure
for the moment\mbox{---}{}``I hope Mr.\ Knightley is well?''\ He
paused.\mbox{---} She coloured and laughed.\mbox{---} {}``I know
you saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in your favour.
Let me return your congratulations.\mbox{---} I assure you that I
have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction.\mbox{---}
He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise.''

Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style;
but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his
own Jane, and his next words were,

{}``Did you ever see such a skin?\mbox{---}such smoothness!\ such
delicacy!\mbox{---}and yet without being actually fair.\mbox{---}
One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion, with her
dark eye-lashes and hair\mbox{---}a most distinguishing complexion!
So peculiarly the lady in it.\mbox{---} Just colour enough for beauty.''

{}``I have always admired her complexion,'' replied Emma, archly;
{}``but do not I remember the time when you found fault with her
for being so pale?\mbox{---} When we first began to talk of her.\mbox{---}
Have you quite forgotten?''\


{}``Oh!\ no\mbox{---}what an impudent dog I was!\mbox{---} How
could I dare\mbox{---}''

But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma could not
help saying,

{}``I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time,
you had very great amusement in tricking us all.\mbox{---} I am sure
you had.\mbox{---} I am sure it was a consolation to you.''

{}``Oh!\ no, no, no\mbox{---}how can you suspect me of such a thing?
I was the most miserable wretch!''

{}``Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure
it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were
taking us all in.\mbox{---} Perhaps I am the readier to suspect,
because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement
to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness
between us.''

He bowed.

{}``If not in our dispositions,'' she presently added, with a look
of true sensibility, {}``there is a likeness in our destiny; the
destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much
superior to our own.''

{}``True, true,'' he answered, warmly. {}``No, not true on your
side. You can have no superior, but most true on mine.\mbox{---}
She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she an angel in every
gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes, as she
is looking up at my father.\mbox{---} You will be glad to hear''
(inclining his head, and whispering seriously) {}``that my uncle
means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I
am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it
be beautiful in her dark hair?''

{}``Very beautiful, indeed,'' replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly,
that he gratefully burst out,

{}``How delighted I am to see you again!\ and to see you in such
excellent looks!\mbox{---} I would not have missed this meeting for
the world. I should certainly have called at Hartfield, had you failed
to come.''

The others had been talking of the child, Mrs.\ Weston giving an
account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before,
from the infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been
foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute
of sending for Mr.\ Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr.\ Weston
had been almost as uneasy as herself.\mbox{---} In ten minutes, however,
the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and
particularly interesting it was to Mr.\ Woodhouse, who commended
her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted
that she had not done it. {}``She should always send for Perry, if
the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only
for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry
too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night;
for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would
probably have been better if Perry had seen it.''

Frank Churchill caught the name.

{}``Perry!''\ said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch
Miss Fairfax's eye. {}``My friend Mr.\ Perry! What are they saying
about Mr.\ Perry?\mbox{---} Has he been here this morning?\mbox{---}
And how does he travel now?\mbox{---} Has he set up his carriage?''

Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in
the laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance that she too was
really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf.

{}``Such an extraordinary dream of mine!''\ he cried. {}``I can
never think of it without laughing.\mbox{---} She hears us, she hears
us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt
to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very
passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under
her eye\mbox{---}that the whole blunder is spread before her\mbox{---}that
she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the
others?''

Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly
remained as she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low,
yet steady voice,

{}``How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!\mbox{---}
They \emph{will} sometimes obtrude\mbox{---}but how you can \emph{court}
them!''

He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly; but
Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane, in the argument; and on leaving
Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men,
she felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and
really regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been
more sensible of Mr.\ Knightley's high superiority of character.
The happiness of this most happy day, received its completion, in
the animated contemplation of his worth which this comparison produced.


\chapter*{\raggedright CHAPTER XIX}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{CHAPTER XIX}

\markboth{EMMA}{CHAPTER XIX}

If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a
momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of
her attachment to Mr.\ Knightley, and really able to accept another
man from unbiased inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer
from the recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought
the party from London, and she had no sooner an opportunity of being
one hour alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied\mbox{---}unaccountable
as it was!\mbox{---}that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted
Mr.\ Knightley, and was now forming all her views of happiness.

Harriet was a little distressed\mbox{---}did look a little foolish
at first: but having once owned that she had been presumptuous and
silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain and confusion seemed to
die away with the words, and leave her without a care for the past,
and with the fullest exultation in the present and future; for, as
to her friend's approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear
of that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified congratulations.\mbox{---}
Harriet was most happy to give every particular of the evening at
Astley's, and the dinner the next day; she could dwell on it all with
the utmost delight. But what did such particulars explain?\mbox{---}
The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always
liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing to love her had been
irresistible.\mbox{---} Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible
to Emma.

The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her
fresh reason for thinking so.\mbox{---} Harriet's parentage became
known. She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to
afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and
decent enough to have always wished for concealment.\mbox{---} Such
was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to
vouch for!\mbox{---} It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as
the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing
for Mr.\ Knightley\mbox{---}or for the Churchills\mbox{---}or even
for Mr.\ Elton!\mbox{---} The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached
by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed.

No objection was raised on the father's side; the young man was treated
liberally; it was all as it should be: and as Emma became acquainted
with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully
acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could
bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness
with any good-tempered man; but with him, and in the home he offered,
there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement.
She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had
better sense than herself; retired enough for safety, and occupied
enough for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor
left for it to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and
Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have
created so steady and persevering an affection in such a man;\mbox{---}or,
if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself.

Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins,
was less and less at Hartfield; which was not to be regretted.\mbox{---}
The intimacy between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must
change into a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought
to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual,
natural manner.

Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and
saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction,
as no remembrances, even connected with Mr.\ Elton as he stood before
them, could impair.\mbox{---} Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely
saw Mr.\ Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar
might next fall on herself.\mbox{---} Robert Martin and Harriet Smith,
the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married.

Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the
comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells.\mbox{---} The Mr.\ Churchills
were also in town; and they were only waiting for November.

The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared,
by Emma and Mr.\ Knightley.\mbox{---} They had determined that their
marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still
at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the
seaside, which was the plan.\mbox{---} John and Isabella, and every
other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr.\ Woodhouse\mbox{---}how
was Mr.\ Woodhouse to be induced to consent?\mbox{---}he, who had
never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event.

When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they
were almost hopeless.\mbox{---} A second allusion, indeed, gave less
pain.\mbox{---} He began to think it was to be, and that he could
not prevent it\mbox{---}a very promising step of the mind on its
way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared
so much otherwise, that his daughter's courage failed. She could not
bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected;
and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of
both the Mr.\ Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his
distress would be soon over too, she hesitated\mbox{---}she could
not proceed.

In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden
illumination of Mr.\ Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of
his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another
way.\mbox{---} Mrs.\ Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night
of all her turkeys\mbox{---}evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other
poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.\mbox{---} Pilfering
was \emph{housebreaking} to Mr.\ Woodhouse's fears.\mbox{---} He
was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection,
would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The
strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr.\ Knightleys,
commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him
and his, Hartfield was safe.\mbox{---} But Mr.\ John Knightley must
be in London again by the end of the first week in November.

The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary,
cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at
the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day\mbox{---}and Mr.\ Elton
was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr.\ and Mrs.\ Robert
Martin, to join the hands of Mr.\ Knightley and Miss Woodhouse.

The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have
no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs.\ Elton, from the particulars
detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very
inferior to her own.\mbox{---} {}``Very little white satin, very
few lace veils; a most pitiful business!\mbox{---} Selina would stare
when she heard of it.''--- But, in spite of these deficiencies, the
wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band
of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in
the perfect happiness of the union. 
\end{document}
