The novels and letters of Jane Austen. Edited by R. Brimley Johnson, with an introd. by William Lyon Phelps, with colored illus. by C.E. and H.M. Brock

THE NOVELS AND LETTERS OF

JANE AUSTEN

Edited by
REGINALD BRIMLEY JOHNSON

with an Introduction by
WILLIAM LYON PHELPS, Ph.D.

Complete in Twelve Volumes

STONELEIGII EDITION

Thi* Edition of the, Novel* and Letters of Jane Austen
it limited to twelve hundred and fifty numbered and
registered copies of which this is

Copy No. (046

THE NOVELS AND LETTERS OF

Edited by
R. BRIMLEY JOHNb

with an Introduction by
PROF. WILLIAM LYON PHEI

Lam f son Professor of English / .
Yale University,

EMMA

Part I

With Colored Illustration^^.V
C. E. and H. M. BR

<

Parlour in Chawton Cottage, Chawton , Haute.

FRANK S. HOLBY

He had been at the pains of consulting MT IVrrv. the apoth
ecary, on the subject (page 22)

THE NOVELS AND LETTERS OF

JANE AUSTEN

Edited by
R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON

with an Introduction by
PROF. WILLIAM LYON PHELPS, Ph. D.

Lamp son Professor of English Literature,
Yale University.

EMMA

Part I

With Colored Illustratio
C. E. and H. M. BR

Parlour in Chawton Cottage, Chawton, Hants.

FRANK S. HOLBY

NEW YORK PHILADELPHIA

MCMVI

Fil

^<?
76

To

His ROYAL HIGHNESS
THE PRINCE REGENT,

THIS WORK IS,

BY His ROYAL HIGHNESS 's PERMISSION,

MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED

BY His ROYAL HIGHNESSES

DUTIFUL AND OBEDIENT HUMBLE SERVANT,

THE AUTHOR.

[Reprinted from the First Edition, 1816.]

PREFACE

EMMA was written between February 1811 and
August 1816. Only one edition appeared in
Miss Austen's lifetime.

EMMA: a Novel in three volumes. By the author of
" Pride and Prejudice/' &c.} &c. London: Printed
for John Murray. 1816.

[Vols. I. and II. printed by C. Roworth, Bellyard,
Temple Bar; Vol. III. by J. Moyes, Greville Street,
Hatton Garden, London.]

It was originally dedicated to the Prince Re
gent, and has been reprinted many times. This
edition is a reprint of the first, except that a few
obvious misprints are corrected, which are indi
cated in square brackets. In Vol. III. Mr.
Moyes printed the name of the Westons' house
" Randall's/' but it is here spelt throughout as in
Vols. I. and II. of the first edition.

During the composition of this novel, Miss
Austen remarked that she was " going to take a
heroine whom no one but myself will much like,"
while she afterwards disclosed to her friends that
Mr. Woodhouse survived his daughter's mar-

[vii]

PREFACE

riage, and kept her and Mr. Knightley from set
tling at Don well about two years; and that " the
letters placed by Frank Churchill before Jane
Fairfax, which she swept away unread, con
tained the word * pardon.' '

[viii]

ILLUSTRATIONS

He had been at the pains of consulting Mr. Perry, the apoth
ecary, on the subject (page 22) . . . Frontispiece

PAGE

I planned the match from that hour — dear papa, you can
not think that I shall leave off matchmaking . . 12

He called for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper

on the table 98

"You are extremely kind," replied Miss Bates, highly

gratified 218

I stood for a minute, feeling dreadfully, you know . . 250

With mixed feelings she seated herself at a little distance

from the members around the instrument . 321

EMMA

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 mis
tress 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 par
ticularly of Emma. Between them it was more
the intimacy of sisters. Even before Miss Tay
lor had ceased to hold the nominal office of

[1]

EMMA

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 Tay
lor'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 un per
ceived, that they did not by any means rank as
misfortunes with her.

Sorrow came — a gentle sorrow — but not at all
in the shape of any disagreeable consciousness.
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 even
ing. Her father composed himself to sleep
after dinner, as usaul, 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 unexcep-
[2]

EMMA

tionable character, easy fortune, suitable age, and
pleasant manners; and there was some satisfac
tion in considering with what self-denying, gen
erous friendship she had always wished and pro
moted 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 — the kindness, the affection of six
teen years — how she had taught and how she
had played with her from five years old —
how she had devoted all her powers to attach
and amuse her in health — 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 foot
ing and perfect unreserve which had soon fol
lowed Isabella's marriage, on their being left
to each other, was yet a dearer, tender recollec
tion. It had been a friend and companion such
as few possessed : intelligent, well-informed, use
ful, gentle, knowing all the ways of the family,
interested in all its concerns, and peculiarly in
terested in herself, in every pleasure, every
scheme of hers; — 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? It was true
that her friend was going only half a mile from
them; but Emma was aware that great must be

[3]

EMMA

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 suffer
ing 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, with
out activity of mind or body, he was a much older
man in ways than in years; and though every
where 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 re
moved 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 al
most amounting to a town, to which Hartfield,
in spite of its separate lawn, and shrubberies, and
[4]

EMMA

name, did really belong, afforded her no equals.
The Woodhouses were first in consequence there.
All looked up to them. She had many acquaint
ance in the place, for her father was universally
civil, but not one among them who could be ac
cepted 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 impos
sible things, till her father awoke, and made it
necessary to be cheerful. His spirits required sup
port. He was a nervous man, easily depressed;
fond of everybody that he was used to, and hat
ing 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 Tay
lor too ; and from his habits of gentle selfishness,
and 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 —

EMMA

"Poor Miss Taylor! — I wish she were here
again. What a pity it is that Mr Weston eve*
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 de
serves a good wife; 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! — but where is the ad
vantage of a house of her own? This is three
times as large; — and you have never any odd
humours, my dear."

"How often we shall be going to see them, and
they coming to see us! — We shall be always
meeting I We must begin; we must go and pay
our 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; — 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 at that already.
We talked it all over with Mr Weston last night.
[6]

EMMA

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 — James is so obliged to you!"
"I am very glad I did think of her. It was

v C.7

very lucky, for I would not have had poor James
think himself slighted upon my 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 needle
work, 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.

EMMA

Mr Knightley, a sensible man about seven or
eight-and-thirty ; was not only a very old and in
timate friend of the family, but particularly con
nected with it, as the elder brother of Isabella's
husband. He lived about a mile from High
bury, was a frequent visitor, and always welcome,
and at this time more welcome than usual, as com
ing directly from their mutual connections in
London. He had returned to a late dinner after
some days' absence, and now walked up to Hart-
field to say that all were well in Brunswick
Square. It was a happy circumstance, and ani
mated 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 Wood-
house 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 I Look at my shoes. Not a speck
on them."

"Well; that is quite surprizing, for we have

[8]

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, 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 tol
erably 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 inde
pendence ! — at any rate, it must be better to have
only one to please than two."

"Especially when one of those two is such a
fanciful, troublesome creature!" said Emma
playfully. "That is what you have in your head,
I know — 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 you, or suppose Mr Knightley to mean you.
What a horrible idea ! Oh, no ! I meant only my
self. Mr Knightley loves to find fault with me,
you know — in a joke — it is all a joke. We al
ways say what we like to one another."

[*]

EMMA

Mr Knightley, in fact, was one of the few peo
ple 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 be
ing thought perfect by everybody.

"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, "you
want to hear about the wedding; and I shall be
happy to tell you, for we all behaved charmingly.
Everybody was punctual, everybody 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 meet
ing every day."

"Dear Emma bears everything so well," said
her father. "But, Mr Knightley, she is really
very sorry to lose poor Miss Taylor, and I am
sure she 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
[10]

EMMA

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 —
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 anything."

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! Everybody 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

cm

EMMA

a wife, so constantly occupied either in his busi
ness in town or among his friends here, always
acceptable wherever he went, always cheerful-
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 be
lieved none of it. Ever since the day (about
four years ago) that Miss Taylor and I met with
him in Broadway Lane, when, because it began
to mizzle, 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 'suc
cess,' " said Mr Knightley. "Success supposes
endeavour. Your time has been properly and del
icately 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
[12] '

/'
planned tlio match from that hour — dear papa, you can-

shall leave off matchmaking

XMMA

A wife, to ormsUMJ? omMpitid either in his busi
ness in tanm or sjsmg hi* friends h< rt always
4c wfcm««r Hr went, always cheerful—
Mr Wetton mm! swt *pmd a single x in

the year -ke it. i Mr

Weston <^T^-. never marry again.

•' a promise to his

on fc*r ,ers of the son and

the imcAe w > I manner of solemn

•*» subject, but I be-

••e the day (about

'or and I met with

dteD, because it began

ISM A gallantry,

:i from Farmer

n the subject.

when

such SHIOMSI km bt . imsjsjicc, dear

papa, yor A A*a Jeave off

match- maAoac

"I -1 what you mean by 'suc

cess,' " SMT) iccess supposes

p»dc^ me has been properly and del-

you have been endeavouring for

'

n ^ :v ; 'fliuthoD^l.Tl^d, ty*irtn"rii?<teinpr the
an you call it, means only your planning
nying to yourself one idle day, 'I think

EMMA

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 after
wards — why do you talk of success? where is your
merit? What are you proud of? You made a
lucky guess; and that is all that can be said."

"And have you never known the pleasure and
triumph of a lucky guess? I pity you. I thought
you cleverer; 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 en
tirely without any claim to it. You have drawn
two pretty pictures; but I think there may be a
third — 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 anything 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 inter
ference/'

"Emma never thinks of herself, if she can do
good to others," rejoined Mr Woodhouse, under
standing but in part. "But, my dear, pray do

[18J

EMMA

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; I
must look about for a wife for him. There is
nobody in Highbury who deserves him — 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; 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 show
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."

rni

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 be
come indisposed for any of the more homely pur
suits in which his brothers were engaged ; and had
satisfied an active, cheerful mind and social tem
per by entering into the militia of his county,
then embodied.

Captain Weston was a general favourite; and
wnen the chances of his military life had intro
duced him to Miss Churchill, of a great York
shire 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
connection would offend.

Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and
with the full command of her fortune — though
her fortune bore no proportion to the family es
tate — 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 connection,

[15]

EMMA

and did not produce much happiness. Mrs Wes-
ton ought to have found more in it, for she had
a husband whose warm heart and sweet temper
made him think everything 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 re
grets 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, es
pecially 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 that at first, and with a child to main
tain. From the expense of the child, however,
he was soon relieved. The boy had, with the ad
ditional softening claim of a lingering illness of
his mother's, been the means of a sort of recon
ciliation; and Mr and Mrs Churchill, having no
children of their own, nor any other young crea
ture of equal kindred to care for, offered to take
[16]

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 considera
tions, the child was given up to the care and the
wealth of the Chur chills, 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, hav
ing brothers already established in a good wray
in London, which afforded him a favorable open
ing. It was a concern which brought just em
ployment 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, realized an easy competence —
enough to secure the purchase of a little estate
adjoining Highbury, which he had always longed
for — enough to marry a woman as portionless
even as Miss Taylor, and to live according to
the wishes of his own friendly and social dis
position.

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

[17]

EMMA

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 for
tune, 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 show 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 chuse 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 com
ing 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
[18]

EMMA

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 pre
vailed, though the compliment was so little re
turned 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 hand
some letter Mr Frank Churchill has written to
Mrs Weston? I understand it was a very hand
some 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."

[19]

EMMA

It was, indeed, a highly-prized letter. Mrs
Western had, of course, formed a very favour
able 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 hap
pily through its little difficulties and privations.
And there was such comfort in the very easy
distance of Randalls from Hartfield, so conven
ient 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.
[20]

EMMA

Her situation was altogether the subject of
hours of gratitude to Mrs Weston, and of mo
ments only of regret; and her satisfaction — her
more than satisfaction — 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 — nor
much likelihood of ceasing to pity her ; but a few
weeks brought some alleviation to Mr Wood-
house. 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 noth
ing rich, and he could never believe other people
to be different from himself. What was un
wholesome 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

[21]

EMMA

to prevent anybody's eating it. He had been at
the pains of consulting Mr Perry, the apothecary,
on the subject. Mr Perry was an intelligent, gen
tlemanlike man, whose frequent visits were one
of the comforts of Mr Woodhouse's life; and,
upon being applied to, he could not but acknowl
edge (though it seemed rather against the bias
of inclination) that wedding-cake might cer
tainly disagree with many — perhaps with most
people, unless taken moderately. With such an
opinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr Wood-
house 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 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 resi
dence at Hartfield, and his good nature, from his
[22]

EMMA

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, compre
hended 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 Wes-
tons 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 so
ciety 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

[23]

EMMA

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 circum
stances, 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 atone
ment 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
everybody, was interested in everybody's happi
ness, quicksighted to everybody's merits ; thought
herself a most fortunate creature, and sur-
[24]

EMMA

rounded 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 recommend
ation to everybody, and a mine of felicity to her
self. 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 —
not of a seminary, or an establishment, or any
thing which professed, in long sentences of re
fined nonsense, to combine liberal acquirements
with elegant morality, upon new principles and
new systems — and where young ladies for enor
mous pay might be screwed out of health and into
vanity — but a real, honest, old-fashioned board
ing-school, where a reasonable quantity of ac
complishments were sold at a reasonable price,
and where girls might be sent to be out of the
way, and scramble themselves into a little educa
tion, without any danger of coming back prod
igies. Mrs Goddard's school was in high repute,
—and very deservedly; for Highbury was reck
oned a particularly healthy spot: she had an am
ple 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

[25]

EMMA

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 kind
ness, felt his particular claim on her to leave her
neat parlour, hung round with fancy work, when
ever she could, and win or lose a few sixpences
by his fireside.

These were the ladies whom Emma found her
self 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 com
fortable, 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 even
ings 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
[26]

EMMA

gracious invitation was returned, and the even
ing 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 some
body 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 hap
pened to be of a sort which Emma particularly
admired. She was short, plump, and fair, with
a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular fea
tures, 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 anything remarkably
clever in Miss Smith's conversation, but she
found her altogether very engaging — not incon
veniently shy, not unwilling to talk — and yet so
far from pushing, showing so proper and be
coming a deference, seeming so pleasantly grate
ful for being admitted to Hartfield, and so art
lessly impressed by the appearance of everything

[27]

EMMA

in so superior a style to what she had been used
to, that she must have good sense, and deserve en
couragement. Encouragement should be given.
Those soft blue eyes, and all those natural
graces, should not be wasted on the inferior so
ciety of Highbury and its connections. The
acquaintance she had already formed were un
worthy 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 Knight-
ley, and residing in the parish of Donwell — very
creditably, she believed ; she knew Mr Knightley
thought highly of them ; but they must be coarse
and unpolished, and very unfit to be the intimates
of a girl who wanted only a little more knowl
edge and elegance to be quite perfect. She would
notice her; she would improve her; she would
detach her from her bad acquaintance, and intro
duce her into good society; she would form her
opinions and her manners. It would be an inter
esting, 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 even
ing flew away at a very unusual rate; and the
[28]

EMMA

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 everything 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 Woodhouse's
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
anything put on it; and while his hospitality
would have welcomed his visitors to everything,
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 con
strain 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

[29]

EMMA

not unwholesome. Serle understands boiling an
egg better than anybody. I would not recom
mend an egg boiled by anybody else — but you
need not be afraid, they are very small, you see
— one of our small eggs will not hurt you. Miss
Bates, let Emma help you to a little bit of tart—
a 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 half a glass of wine? A small
half -glass, put into a tumbler of water? I do
not think it could disagree with you."

Emma allowed her father to talk — but sup
plied her visitors in a much more satisfactory
style; and on the present evening had particular
pleasure in sending them away happy. The hap
piness of Miss Smith was quite equal to her inten
tions. Miss Woodhouse was so great a personage
in Highbury, that the prospect of the introduc
tion had given as much panic as pleasure ; but the
humble, grateful little girl went off with highly
gratified feelings, delighted with the aff ability
with which Miss Woodhouse had treated her all
the evening, and actually shaken hands with her
at last!

[30]

EMMA

CHAPTER IV

HARRIET SMITH'S intimacy at Hart-
field 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 walk
ing 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 val
uable 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 attach
ment to herself was very amiable ; and her inclin
ation for good company, and power of appreciat-

[31]

EMMA

ing what was elegant and clever, showed 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 — 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 everything.

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

w

everything in her power, but on this subject ques
tions were vain. Emma was obliged to fancy
what she liked; but she could never believe that
in the same situation she should not have discov
ered 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 — and
[32]

EMMA

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, amused by such a picture of an
other set of beings, and enjoying the youthful
simplicity which could speak with so much exul
tation of Mrs Martin's having "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 livejd 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, in
deed; and of Mrs Martin's saying, as she was so
fond of it, it should be called 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; a very handsome summer-house,
large enough to hold a dozen people."

For some time she was amused, without think
ing 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

[33]

EMMA

that the Mr Martin, who bore a part in the nar
rative, and was always mentioned with approba
tion for his great good-nature in doing some
thing 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 for ever.

With this inspiriting notion, her questions in
creased in number and meaning ; and she particu
larly 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 everything 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 everything. He had a very fine flock,
and, while she was with them, he had been bid
more for his wool than anybody in the country.
She believed everybody spoke well of him. His
mother and sisters were very fond of him. Mrs
[34]

EMMA

Martin had told her one day (and there was a
blush as she said it) that it was impossible for
anybody to be a better son, and therefore she was
sure, whenever he married, he would make a good
husband. Not that she 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 beau
tiful goose — the finest goose Mrs Goddard had
ever seen. Mrs Goddard had dressed it on a Sun
day, 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 infor
mation beyond the line of his own business? He
does not read?"

"Oh, yes ! — that is, no — I do not know — but I
believe he has read a good deal — but not what you
would think anything of. He reads the Agricul
tural Reports, and some other books that lay in
one of the window seats — but he reads all them
to himself. But sometimes of an evening, before
we went to cards, he would read something aloud
out of the 'Elegant Extracts,' very entertaining.
And I know he has read the 'Vicar of Wakefield.'
He never read the 'Romance of the Forest,' nor
the 'Children of the Abbey.' He had never heard

[35]

EMMA

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 —

"What sort of looking man is Mr Martin?"

"Oh! not handsome — 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 ap
pearance 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 — I mean by sight."

"I ha^e no doubt of his being a very respect
able young man. I know, indeed, that he is so,
[36]

EMMA

and, as such, wish him well. What do you im
agine his age to be?"

"He was f our-and-twenty the 8th of last June,
and my birthday is the 23rd — just a fortnight
and a day's difference — which is very odd."

"Only f our-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 inde
pendence. Mr Martin, I imagine, has his fortune
entirely to make — 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 anything yet."

"To be sure, so it is. But they live very com
fortably. They have no in-doors man, else they
do not want for anything; and Mrs Martin talks
of taking a boy another year."

[37]

EMMA

"I wish you may not get into a scrape, Harriet,
whenever he does many — I mean, as to being
acquainted with his wife; for though his sisters,
from a superior education, are not to be alto
gether objected to, it does not follow that he
might marry anybody 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 everything 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
anybody 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 ac
quainted with the wife, who will probably be some
mere farmer's daughter, without education."
[38]

EMMA

"To be sure. Yes. Not that I think Mr Martin
would ever marry anybody but what had had
some education, and been very well brought up.
However, I do not mean to set up my opinion
against yours — 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

[39]

EMMA

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!
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 '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, undoubtedly; remarkably
plain; but that is nothing compared with his en
tire want of gentility. I had no right to ex
pect much, and I did not expect much; but I
[40]

EMMA

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 with
out perceiving him to be a very inferior creature
— 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
him. You might not see one in a hundred with

[41]

EMMA

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 them. Compare their manner of carry
ing themselves, of walking, of speaking, of
being silent. You must see the difference."

"Oh, yes, 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 val
uable. 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 noth
ing 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 for
getting to inquire for the book you recommended.
He was a great deal too full of the market to
[42]

V

EMMA

think of anything else — 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 will thrive,
and be a very rich man in time; and his being
illiterate and coarse need not disturb us"

"I wonder he did not remember the book,"
was all Harriet's answer, and spoken with a
degree of grave displeasure which Emma
thought might be safely left to itself. She, there
fore, 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 open
ness, a quickness, almost a bluntness in Mr Wes-
ton, which everybody likes in him, because there
is so much good humour with it — but that would
not do to be copied. Neither would Mr Knight-
ley's downright, decided, commanding sort of
manner, though it suits 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 con
trary, 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 par
ticularly gentle of late. I do not know whether

[43]

EMMA

he has any designs 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 anything, 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 Har
riet's head. She thought it would be an excel
lent match; and only too palpably desirable,
natural, and probable, for her to have much
merit in planning it. She feared it was what
everybody else must think of and predict. It was
not likely, however, that anybody 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 suit
able, quite the gentleman himself, and without
low connections; 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
[44]

EMMA

income; for though the vicarage of Highbury
was not large, he was known to have some inde
pendent property; and she thought very highly
of him as a good-humoured, well meaning, re
spectable 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 meeting at Hart-
field, 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 ad
mired in general, though not by her, there being
a want of elegance of feature which she could
not dispense with ; but the girl who could be grat
ified by a Robert Martin's riding about the
country to get walnuts for her might very well
be conquered by Mr Elton's admiration.

EMMA

CHAPTER V.

1DO 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? — 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 !
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 yes
terday, and agreeing how fortunate it was for
Emma that there should be such a girl in High
bury for her to associate with. Mr Knightley,
I shall not allow you to be a fair judge in this
[46]

EMMA

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 regu
larly through — and very good lists they were,
very well chosen, and very neatly arranged —
sometimes alphabetically, and sometimes by some
other rule. The list she drew up when only
fourteen — I remember thinking it did her judg
ment 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 expect
ing any course of steady reading from Emma.
She will never submit to anything requiring in
dustry and patience, and a subjection of the
fancy to the understanding. Where Miss Taylor
failed to stimulate I may safely affirm that Har-

[47]

EMMA

riet Smith will do nothing. You never could per
suade her to read half so much as you wished.
You know you could not."

"I dare say," replied Mrs Weston, smiling,
"that I thought so then; but since we have parted,
I can never remember Emma's omitting to do
anything 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 clever
est 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 diffi
dent. 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 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 anybody. I am
sure you always thought me unfit for the office
I held."
[48]

EMMA

"Yes," said he, smiling. "You are better
placed 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 edu
cation from Iner, 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 dispo
sition 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 that. 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. But Harriet Smith. I

[49]

EMMA

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 ignor
ance is hourly flattery. How can Emma imagine
she has to learn herself, while Harriet is present
ing such a delightful inferiority? And as for
Harriet, I will venture to say that 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. 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 ac
quaintance. 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 im
agine any thing nearer perfect beauty than
Emma altogether — face and figure?"
[50]

"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! — the true hazle eye — 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 her intimacy with 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

[51]

EMMA

has qualities which may be trusted ; she will never
lead any one really wrong ; she will make no last
ing 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 appre
hended 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."
[52]

EMMA

"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; arid 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 form
ing any attachment which would be creating

[53]

EMMA

such difficulties on poor Mr Woodhouse's ac
count. I do not recommend matrimony at pres
ent to Emma, though I mean no slight to the
state, I assure you."

Part of her meaning was to conceal some
favorite 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 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 hesi
tation in following up the assurance of his ad
miration by agreeable hints, she was soon pretty
confident of creating as much liking on Harriet's
[54]

EMMA

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 anything 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 attach
ment.

"You have given Miss Smith all that she re
quired," said he; "y°u 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 artless-
ness in herself. I have done very little."

"If it were admissible to contradict a lady "

said the gallant Mr Elton.

"I have, perhaps, given her a little more deci
sion 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 super added decision of character I
Skilful has been the hand!"

[55]

EMMA

"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 sec
onded a sudden wish of hers — to have Harriet's
picture.

"Did you ever have your likeness taken, Har
riet?" 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
naivete —

"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 like
nesses, 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
[56]

EMMA

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 igno
rant? Is not this room rich in specimens of your
landscapes and flowers 1 and has not Mrs Weston
some inimitable figure pieces in her drawing-
room at Randalls?"

Yes, good man! thought Emma, 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 deli
cate, 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, — the shape of the eye and the
lines about the mouth, — 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?' '

[57]

EMMA

"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 pro
posal 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 pro
duced 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 everything, 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, 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, — in the least
[58]

EMMA

finished, perhaps the most. Her style was spir
ited; 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 extasies. A likeness
pleases everybody; and Miss Woodhouse's per
formances 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 — another of my
father — 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 when
ever I asked her. There is my sister ; and really
quite her own little elegant figure — 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 —
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;

[59]

EMMA

nor can it be very easy to take any likeness of
them, beyond the air and complexion, unless
they are coarser featured than any mamma's chil
dren 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 gen
tleman in small size, whole-length — "my last and
my best — my brother, Mr John Knightley. 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 pro
voked; for, after all my pains, and when I had
really made a very good likeness of it — (Mrs
Weston and I were quite agreed in thinking it
very like) — only too handsome — too flattering—
but that was a fault on the right side — after all
this, came poor dear Isabella's cold approbation
of — 'Yes, it was a little like; 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 apologized over, as an unfa
vourable likeness, to every morning visitor in
[60]

EMMA

Brunswick Square; and, as I said, I did then
forswear ever drawing anybody 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 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 por
trait. It was to be a whole-length in water-
colours, like Mr John Knightley's, and was des
tined, 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 anything, with
Mr Elton fidgetting 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

[61]

EMMA

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 lis
tened, 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 inter
mission of the pencil to jump up and see the
progress, and be charmed. There was no being
displeased with such an encourager, for his admi
ration made him discern a likeness almost before
it was possible. She could not respect his eye,
but his love and his complaisance were unexcep
tionable.

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 improve
ment 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, a standing memorial
of the beauty of one, the skill of the other, an
[62]

EMMA

the friendship of both ; with as many other agree
able 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 per
mission 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 mor
row, and accompanied the whole progress of the
picture, which was rapid and happy. Everybody
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, not in the least suspecting that she was
addressing a lover. "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.

[63]

EMMA

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,
which naturally presents a different — which in
short gives exactly the idea — and the proportions
must be preserved, you know. Proportions,
fore-shortening, — 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 anybody who draws
so well as you do. The only thing I do not thor
oughly like is, that she seems to be sitting out of
doors, with only a little shawl over her shoulders ;
and it makes one think she must catch cold."

"But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be sum
mer; 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 anything," 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 inim
itable spirit! Any other situation would have
been much less in character. The naivete of Miss
Smith's manners — and altogether — oh, it is most
admirable! I cannot keep my eyes from it. I
never saw such a likeness."
[64]

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 commis
sions, 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 dis
tress 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! — she could not endure the
thought ! — she would not give him such a trouble
some office for the world," — brought on the de
sired repetition of entreaties and assurances —
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 incom
moded enough.

"What a precious deposit!" said he, with a
tender sigh, as he received it.

[65]

EMMA

"This man is almost too gallant to be in love,"
thought Emma. "I should say so, but that I sup
pose 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 lan
guish, 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 VII.

THE very day of Mr Elton's going to Lon
don 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 agi
tated, hurried look, announcing something extra
ordinary 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 God-
dard's, that Mr Martin had been there an hour
before, and finding she was not at home, nor par
ticularly expected, had left a little parcel for her

t\66]

EMMA

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 Eliza
beth to copy, a letter to herself; and this letter
was from him — from Mr. Martin — and con
tained 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 — but she did not know — and so,
she was come as fast as she could to ask Miss
Woodhouse what she should do." 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 anything 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 compo
sition it would not have disgraced a gentleman;
the language, though plain, was strong and un
affected, and the sentiments it conveyed very

uch to the credit of the writer. It was short,
ut expressed good sense, warm attachment,

[67]

EMMA

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; — "so good a letter, Har
riet, that, everything 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 — thinks
strongly and clearly — 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 ex
pected."

"Well," said the still waiting Harriet; "well-
and — 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, and speedily."
[68]

EMMA

"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 prop
erly, 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 pro
priety requires, will present themselves unbidden
to your mind, I am persuaded. 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 — but I beg your pardon, per
haps I have been under a mistake. I certainly
have been misunderstanding you, if you feel in
doubt as to the 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 — what
shall I do? What would you advise me to do?

[69]

EMMA

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 own 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 flat
tery 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 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 — but if you would just advise me what I had
best do — no, no, I do not mean that — as you say,
one's mind ought to be quite made up — one
should not be hesitating — it is a very serious
thing. It will be safer to say 'No,' perhaps. Do
you think I had better say 'No'?"

"Not for the world," said Emma, smiling gra
ciously, "would I advise you either way. You
[70]

EMMA

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 hesi
tate? You blush, Harriet. Does anybody else
occur to you at this moment under such a defi
nition? Harriet, Harriet, do not deceive your
self; do not be run away with by gratitude and
compassion. At this moment whom are you
thinking of?"

The symptoms were favourable. 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 mechan
ically twisted about without regard. Emma
waited the result with impatience, but not without
strong hopes. At last, with some hesitation, Har
riet said —

"Miss Woodhouse, as you will not give me
your opinion, I must do as well as I can by my
self ; and I have now quite determined, and really
almost made up my mind, to refuse Mr Martin.
Do you think I am right?"

"Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Har
riet; 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

[71]

EMMA

have grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which
must have been the consequence of your marrying
Mr Martin. While you were in the smallest de
gree 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,
Jooking aghast. "No, to be sure you could not;
but I never thought of that before. That would
have been too dreadful ! What an escape ! Dear
Miss Woodhouse, I would not give up the pleas
ure and honour of being intimate with you for
anything 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 soci
ety. I must have given you up."

"Dear me! How should I ever have borne it?
It would have killed me never to come to Hart-
field any more."

"Dear, affectionate creature ! You banished to
Abbey Mill Farm! You confined to the society
of the illiterate and vulgar all your life! I won
der how the young man could have the assurance
to ask it. He must have a pretty good opinion of
himself."
[72]

EMMA

"I do not think he is conceited either, in gen
eral," 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 — but that is quite a different
thing from — and you know, though he may like
me, it does not follow that I should — and, cer
tainly, I must confess that since my visiting here
I have seen people — and if one comes to compare
them, person and manners, there is no comparison
at all, 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 — and
his writing such a letter — 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 tol
erable letter."

"Oh no; 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

[73]

EMMA

thing is, to be always happy with pleasant com
panions. 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 pro
test 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 par
ticularly 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 sis
ters 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.
[74]

EMMA

"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 ; 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 anything 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 man
ners have explained themselves."

Harriet blushed and smiled, and said some
thing about wondering that people should like
her so much. The idea of Mr Elton was cer
tainly 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.

[75]

EMMA

"I wonder what they are all doing — whether his
sisters know — if he is unhappy, they will be un
happy 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 showing 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! But he has left my picture in
Bond Street."

"Has he so! 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 preposses
sion. How cheerful, how animated, how sus
picious, how busy their imaginations all are!"

Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew
stronger.

[76]

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 bedroom appro
priated 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

[77]

EMMA

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 daugh
ter. Emma will be happy to entertain you. And
therefore I think I will beg your excuse, and
take my three turns — my winter walk."
"You cannot do better, sir."
"I would ask for the pleasure of your com
pany, Mr Knightley, but I am a very slow walker,
and my pace would be tedious to you; and, be
sides, 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 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 like
wise, sat down again, seemingly inclined for more
chat. He began speaking of Harriet, and speak
ing 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 in
clined to think very well of her disposition. Her
[78]

EMMA

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 com
pliment, 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 everybody who will bestow praise where
they may. 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! Tiresome wretches!"

"Harriet may not consider everybody tiresome
that you would."

Emma knew this was too true for contradic
tion, 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 some
thing to her advantage."

[79]

EMMA

"Indeed! how so? of what sort?"

"A very serious sort, I assure you," still
smiling.

"Very serious 1 I can think of but one thing—
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 Har
riet Smith will soon have an offer of marriage,
and from a most unexceptionable quarter —
Robert Martin is the man. Her visit to Abbey-
Mill, this summer, seems to have done his busi
ness. 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 Abby two even
ings 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
[80]

EMMA

considered (especially since 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 everything; his circumstances and plans, and
what they ah1 proposed doing in the event of his
marriage. He is an excellent young man, both
as son and brother. I had no hesitation in advis
ing 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?"

[81]

EMMA

"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 — that is, he wrote, and was re
fused."

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 in
comprehensible to a man, that a woman should
ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man always
imagines a woman to be ready for anybody who
asks her."

"Nonsense! a man does not imagine any such
thing. But what is the meaning of this? Har
riet Smith refuse Robert Martin! Madness, if
it is so; but I hope you are mistaken."

"I saw her answer! — nothing could be clearer."

"You saw her answer! — 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
[82]

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 Knight-
ley, 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 educa
tion, to any connection higher than Robert Mar
tin? 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 anything 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

[83]

EMMA

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 small
est doubt (nor have I now) that there would be
a general cry out upon her extreme good luck.
Even 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 par
tiality 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 differ
ently by others as well as myself; Mr Martin
may be the richest of the two, but he is undoubt-
[84]

EMMA

edly her inferior as to rank in society. The
sphere in which she moves is much above his. It
would be a degradation."

"A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance
to be married to a respectable, intelligent, gentle
man-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.
There can scarcely be a doubt that her father is
a gentleman — and a gentleman of fortune. Her
allowance is very liberal; nothing has ever been
grudged for her improvement or comfort. That
she is a gentleman's daughter is indubitable to
me; that she associates with gentlemen's daugh
ters, no one, I apprehend, will deny. She is supe
rior 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 indif
ferent education, she [is] left in Mrs. Goddard's
hands to shift as she can — 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 was good

[85]

EMMA

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 ad
dress any woman on the hap-hazard 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. Har
riet'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. Waving 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
[86]

EMMA

general, for she is, in fact, a beautiful girl, and
must be thought so by ninety-nine people out of
a 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 hand
some faces, a girl, with such loveliness as Har
riet, has a certainty of being admired and sought
after, of having the power of choosing 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 sweet
ness of temper and manner, a very humble opin
ion 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
that is the feeling of you all. I know that such
a girl as Harriet is exactly what every man
delights in — what at once bewitches his senses and
satisfies his judgment. Oh, Harriet may pick
and choose. Were you, yourself, ever to marry,
she is the very woman for you. And is she, at

[87]

EMMA

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 — pray
let her have time to look about her."

"I have always thought it a very foolish inti
macy," 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 work
ing on a weak head produces every sort of mis
chief. 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, — 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 ex
pect to marry greatly, and teach her to be satis
fied with nothing less than a man of consequence
and large fortune, she may be a parlour-boarder
[88]

EMMA

at Mrs Goddard's all the rest of her life, — 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 can
vassing it. We shall only be making each other
more angry. But as to my 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
anybody 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 anybody
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

[89]

EMMA

talked!" cried Mr Knightley. "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 re
spect 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 — 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; — 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 contin
ued —
[90]

EMMA

"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 anybody. 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 a-piece."

"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 pro
moting it, by the sanction he had given ; and the

[91]

EMMA

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
hers than in his. She did not always feel so
absolutely satisfied with herself, so entirely con
vinced that her opinions were right and her ad
versary'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 restora
tives. Harriet's staying away so long was begin
ning to make her uneasy. The possibility of the
young man's coming to Mrs Goddard's that
morning, and meeting with Harriet, and plead
ing his own cause, gave alarming ideas. The
dread of such a failure, after all, became the
prominent uneasiness; and when Harriet ap
peared, 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,
[92]

EMMA

neither with the interest nor (she must be allowed
to tell herself, in spite of Mr Knightley's preten
sions) 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 anything about. He cer
tainly might have heard Mr Elton speak with
more unreserve than she had ever done, and Mr
Elton might not be of an imprudent, inconsid
erate 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 Knight-
ley 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 sug
gest; 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 estab
lished 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

[93]

EMMA

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, thought 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
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 lady in the case, and he
told him so ; and Mr Elton only looked very con
scious 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."
[94]

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 con
trary, her plans and proceedings were more and
more justified, arid 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 con
versation, had never yet led to more than a few
first chapters, and the intention of going on to-

[95]

EMMA

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 exer
cise it on sober facts; and the only literary pur
suit 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 cyphers 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, mem
ory, 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 — 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."
[96]

EMMA

His good friend Perry, too, whom he had
spoken to on the subject, did not at present recol
lect anything of the riddle kind; but he had de
sired 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 re
cited, that well-known charade —

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 —

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

[97]

EMMA

for its freshness; and nothing could be easier to
you."

"Oh, no; he had never written, hardly ever,
anything of the kind in his life. The stupidest
fellow! He was afraid not even Miss Wood-
house" — he stopt a moment — "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 per
haps you may not dislike looking at it."

The speech was more to Emma than to Har
riet, 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 : — after another moment's
pause—

"Take it," — said Emma, smiling, and pushing
the paper towards Harriet — "it is for you. Take
your own."

But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not
[98]

He called for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper
on the table

for itj
you."

i wild be easier to

md TWVIT written, hardly ever,

upidest

; . ,o» • \ •<•». \V()Od-

friend *•!' t>
the objw't of ln>
his manner.
must be his own.
1 ' 1 do not (

fie. "Being
*>»yu»t it in any <i

Em

K

pauv

y. hr»*r«-v«r, produced some

; He Dolled for a few

i paper on the

h- ;urade which a

•(s.Htxi t> a young lady,

was urm»ediat<-ly convinced

h's collection,"

I have no right to

public eye, but per-

at it."

tir imia than to Har-

ulerstand. There was

• it him, and he found it

friend's. He was

another moment's

u •

mma, smiling, and pushing
"it is for you. Take

jmoni *•>} n 10! hellco

•or,

not

EMMA

touch it; and Emma, never loth to be first, was
obliged to examine it herself.

To Miss-

CHARADE.

My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,
Lords of the earth ! their luxury and ease.

Another "view of man, my second brings,
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas !

But ah ! united, what reverse we have !

Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown:
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,

And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.

Thy ready wit the word will soon supply,
May its approval beam in that soft eye !

She cast her eye over it, pondered, caught the
meaning, read it through again to be quite cer
tain, 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. Courtship — a very
good hint. I give you credit for it. This is feel
ing your way. This is saying very plainly —
'Pray, Miss Smith, give me leave to pay my
addresses to you. Approve my charade and my
intentions in the same glance.'

May its approval beam in that soft eye !

Harriet exactly. Soft is the very word for her

[99]

EMMA

eye — of all epithets, the justest that could be
given.

Thy ready wit the word will soon supply.

Humph — 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? — what
can it be? I have not an idea — 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 anything so hard. Is it kingdom? I
wonder who the friend was — and who could be
the young lady. Do you think it is a good one?
Can it be woman?

And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.

Can it be Neptune?

Behold him there, the monarch of the seas !

Or a trident? or a mermaid? or a shark? Oh, no;
[100]

EMMA

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.

" Tor Miss ,' read Miss Smith.

M j first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,
Lord? of the earth! their luxury and ease.

That is court.

Another view of man, my second brings ;
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!

That is ship — plain as it can be. — Now for the
cream.

But ah ! united (courtship, you know), what reverse we
have!

Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown.
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,

And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.

A very proper compliment! — and then follows
the application which I think, my dear Harriet,
you cannot find much difficulty in comprehend
ing. Read it in comfort to yourself. There can
be no doubt of its being written for you and to
you."

[101]

EMMA

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 mean
ing in this compliment," said she, "that I cannot
have a doubt as to Mr Elton's intentions. You
are his object — 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 de
cided 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 which 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 con
gratulate you, my dear Harriet, with all my heart.
This is an attachment which a woman may well
feel pride in creating. This is a connection which
offers nothing but good. It will give you every
thing that you want — consideration, independ
ence, a proper home — 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."
[102]

EMMA

"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 anything
I deserve. Mr Elton, who might marry anybody !
There cannot be two opinions about him. He is
so very superior. Only think of those sweet

verses — 'To Miss -.' Dear me, how clever!

Could it really be meant for me?"

"I cannot make a question, or listen to a ques
tion 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 ! The strangest things do take
place!"

"When Miss Smiths and Mr Eltons get ac
quainted — they do indeed — and really it is
strange ; it is out of the common course that what

[103]

EMMA

is so evidently, so palpably desirable — 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 to
gether; you belong to one another by every cir
cumstance of your respective homes. Your mar
rying 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 direc
tion, and sends it into the very channel where it
ought to flow.

The course of true love never did ran smooth —

A Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a
long note on that passage."

"That Mr Elton should really be in love with
me — 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 everybody looks up to, quite like Mr Knight-
ley. His company so sought after, that every
body says he need not eat a single meal by him
self if he does not chuse it; that he has more invi
tations 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
[104]

EMMA

I think! — 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 1 He
was arm-in-arm with Mr Cole."

"This is an alliance which, whoever — 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 happily married,
here is a man whose amiable character gives every
assurance of it: 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 accom
plished; and if their only object is that you
should, in the common phrase, be 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 everything.
You and Mr Elton are one as clever as the other.
This charade! If I had studied a twelvemonth,
I could never have made anything like it."

"I thought he meant to try his skill, by his
manner of declining it yesterday."

[105]

EMMA

"I do think it is, without exception, the best
charade I ever read."

"I never read one more to the purpose, cer
tainly."

"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, her cheeks
in a glow, "to have very good sense in a common
way, like everybody else, and if there is anything
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, "these
two last ! But how shall I ever be able to return
the paper, or say I have found it out? 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."
[106]

EMMA

"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 — for private en
joyment; 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 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 declara
tion 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

[107]

EMMA

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
anything of the sort, and especially anything that
pays woman a compliment. He has the tenderest
spirit of gallantry towards us all. You must let
me read it to him."

Harriet looked grave.

"My dear Harriet, you must not refine too
much upon this charade. 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: 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? Have you got anything
fresh?"

"Yes, papa; we have something to read you,
[108]

EMMA

something quite fresh. A piece of paper was
found on the table this morning (dropt, we sup
pose, by a fairy), 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; 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.
Nobody could have written so prettily but you,
Emma."

Emma only nodded and smiled. 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 ; not even that particular riddle
which you have heard me mention; I can only
recollect the first stanza; and there are several —

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.

And that is all that I can recollect of it; but it is

[109]

EMMA

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 Elegant Extracts.
It was Garrick's, you know."

"Ay, very true — I wish I could recollect more
of it-

Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.

The name makes me think of poor Isabella; for
she was very near being christened Catherine,
after her grandmamma. I hope we shall have her
here next week. Have you thought, my dear,
where you shall put her, and what room there will
be for the children?"

"Oh, yes — she will have her own room, of
course ; the room she always has ; and there is the
nursery for the children — just as usual, you
know. Why should there be any change?"

"I do not know, my dear — but it is so long since
she was here — not since last Easter, and then only
for a few days. Mr John Knightley's being a
lawyer is very inconvenient. Poor Isabella! she
is sadly taken away from us all; and how sorry
she will be, when she comes, not to see Miss Tay
lor 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."
[110]

EMMA

"We must ask Mr and Mrs Weston to dine
with us, while Isabella is here."

"Yes, my dear, if there is time. But" (in a
very depressed tone) "she is coming for only one
week. There will not be time for anything."

"It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer,
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 prom
ises to give up his claim this Christmas, 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 Hart-
field."

Mr Woodhouse could never allow for Mr
Knightley's claims on his brother, or anybody's
claims on Isabella, except his own. He sat mus
ing 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, that is what you never have been
able to accomplish, and I do not think you ever

[111]

EMMA

will. Isabella cannot bear to stay behind her
husband."

This was too true for contradiction. Unwel
come 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 com
pany 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
mamma. Henry is the eldest; he was named
after me, not after his father. John, the second,
is named after his father. Some people are sur
prized, 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,
[112]

EMMA

'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, "be
cause 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 — certainly Mr John Knight-
ley 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 inim
itable charade walked in again. Harriet turned

[113]

EMMA

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 — of hav
ing thrown a die; and she imagined he was come
to see how it might turn up. His ostensible rea
son, however, was to ask whether Mr Wood-
house'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, everything else must give way; but other
wise his friend Cole had been saying so much
about his dining with him — had made such a
point of it — that he had promised him condition
ally 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-urged—
she re-declined; and he seemed then about to
make his bow, when, taking the paper from the
table, she returned it.

"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 —
[114]

EMMA

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 smil
ingly 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 appro
bation 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 — at least
if my friend feels at all as I do — I have not the
smallest doubt that, could he see his little effu
sion 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 pos
sible. 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.

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, it 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 vicar
age, an old and not very good house, almost as
close to the road as it could be. It had no advan
tage of situation ; but had been very much smart
ened 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. Emma's remark was —

"There it is. There go you and your riddle-
book one of these days." Harriet's was—

"Oh, what a sweet house! How very beauti
ful! There are the yellow curtains that Miss
Nash admires so much."

"I do not often walk this way now" said
[116]

EMMA

Emma, as they proceeded, "but then there will
be an inducement, and I shall gradually get inti
mately 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; — no servant that I want to inquire about of
his housekeeper — no message from my father."

She pondered, but could think of nothing.
After a mutual silence of some minutes, Har
riet thus began again —

"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 — 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, so you say; but I cannot believe it."

"I must see somebody very superior to any

[117]

EMMA

one I have seen yet, to be tempted: Mr Elton,
you know" (recollecting herself), "is out of the
question: and I do not wish to see any such
person. I would rather not be tempted. I can
not really change for the better. If I were to
marry, I must expect to repent it."

"Dear me! — 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, so satisfied, so smil
ing, so prosing, so undistinguishing and unfas-
tidious, and so apt to tell everything relative to

EMMA

everybody about me, I would marry to-morrow.
But between us3 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 anybody else! And
the distinction is not quite so much against the
candour and common sense of the world as ap
pears 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 infe
rior, 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
everybody, 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 six
pence of it ; and nobody is afraid of her — that is
a great charm."

[119]

EMMA

'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 re
sources; 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 occupa
tions of eye, and 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 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: 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 —
but are you acquainted?"

"Oh, yes; we are always forced to be ac
quainted whenever she comes to Highbury. By-
[120]

EMMA

the-bye, 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 Fair
fax 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 temp
tations, had no romantic expectations of extra
ordinary 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 re
maining 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 Har
riet, as they walked away—

[121]

EMMA

"These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good.
How trifling they make everything else appear!
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 recal 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 come a very sudden trial
of our stability in good thoughts. Well" (smil
ing), "I hope it may be allowed that if com
passion 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."
122]

EMMA

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 depend
ence 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

[123]

EMMA

judged it reasonable to have done with her boot,
she had the comfort of further 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 inter
ested them. Mr Elton was speaking with anima
tion, Harriet listening with a very pleased atten
tion; 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 cel-
lery, the beet-root, and all the dessert.
[124]

EMMA

"This would soon have led to something better,
of course," was her consoling reflection; "any
thing interests between those who love; and
anything 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
1 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 anything just to keep my boot on."

Mr Elton looked all happiness at this proposi
tion; and nothing could exceed his alertness and
attention in conducting them into his house, and
endeavouring to make everything appear to ad
vantage. The room they were taken into was the

[125]

EMMA

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 house
keeper in incessant conversation, she hoped to
make it practicable for him to chuse his own sub
ject in the adjoining room. For ten minutes she
could hear nothing but herself. It could be pro
tracted 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 Har
riet that he had seen them go by, and had pur
posely 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 noth
ing till he believes himself secure."

Still, however, though everything had not
[126]

EMMA

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 XL

MR ELTON must now be left to him
self. 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 hence
forth her prime object of interest; and during
the ten days of their stay at Hartfield it was not
to be expected — she did not herself expect-
that anything 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

[127]

EMMA

interest. Till this year, every long vacation since
their marriage had been divided between Hart-
field and Don well 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 connections, 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 hap
pily accomplished, and Mr and Mrs John
Knightley, their five children, and a competent
number of nursery - maids, all reaching Hart-
field in safety. The bustle and joy of such an
arrival, the many to be talked to, welcomed,
encouraged, and variously dispersed and dis
posed 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
[128]

EMMA

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 attend
ance on them.

Mrs John Knightley was a pretty, elegant
little woman, of gentle, quiet manners, and a dis
position 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 quick
ness; 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 tem
per, 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 charac-

[129]

EMMA

ter: 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 tem
per was not his great perfection; and, indeed,
with such a worshipping wife, it was hardly pos
sible 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 fidgettiness were sometimes
provoking him to a rational remonstrance or
sharp retort equally ill bestowed. It did not
[130]

EMMA

often happen; for Mr John Knightley had really
a great regard for his father-in-law, and gen
erally a strong sense of what was due to him:
but it was too often for Emma's charity, espe
cially as there was all the pain of apprehension
frequently to be endureoT though the offence
came not^JThe 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!
It is a grievous business."

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

"Pretty well, my dear — I hope — pretty well.
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.

[131]

EMMA

"Oh no: none in the least. I never saw Mrs
Weston better in my life — 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. "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;
and as you may suppose, Isabella, most fre
quently 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.
Everybody must be aware that Miss Taylor
must be missed; but everybody ought also to be
assured that Mr and Mrs Weston do really pre
vent our missing her by any means to the extent
we ourselves anticipated — which is the exact
truth."

"Just as it should be," said Mr John Knight-
ley, "and just as I hoped it was from your letters.
Her wish of showing you attention could not be
[132]

EMMA

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 appre
hended; and now you have Emma's account, I
hope you will be satisfied."

"Why, to be sure," said Mr Woodhouse — "yes,
certainly. I cannot deny that Mrs Weston—
poor Mrs Weston — does come and see us pretty
often ; but then, she is always obliged to go away
again."

"It would be very hard upon Mr Weston if
she did not, papa. You quite forget poor Mr
Weston."

"I think, indeed," said John Knightley, pleas
antly, "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. "Are you talking
about me? 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 leav
ing Hartfield, I should never have thought of

[133]

EMMA

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. Ex
cepting 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; and ever since his particular kind
ness 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 Cob-
ham, I have been convinced there could not be a
more feeling heart nor a better man in existence.
If anybody can deserve him, it must be Miss
Taylor.".

"Where is the young man?" said John Knight-
ley. "Has he been here on this occasion, 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
[134]

EMMA

know, one cannot tell. He is but young, and his
uncle, perhaps "

"My dear papa, he is three-and-twenty. You
forget how time passes."

"Three-and-twenty! is he, indeed? Well, I
could not have thought it; and he was but two
years old when he lost his poor mother. Well,
time does fly, indeed ! 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 Wey-
mouth, and dated September 28th, and began,
'My dear Madam,' but I forget how it went on;
and it was signed 'F. C. Weston Churchill.' 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 com
prehend how Mr Weston could part with him.
To give up one's child! I really never could
think well of anybody who proposed such a
thing to anybody 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

[135]

EMMA

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 enjoy
ment of them somehow or other, depending, I
suspect, much more upon what is called society
for his comforts, that is, upon the power of eat
ing and drinking, and playing whist with his
neighbours five times a week, than upon family
affection, or anything that home affords."

Emma could not like what bordered on a re
flection 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 inter
course, and those to whom it was important. It
had a high claim to forbearance.

CHAPTER XII.

MR KNIGHTLE Y was to dine with them,
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;
[136]

EMMA

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. She certainly
had not been in the wrong, and 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 — 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 satisfac
tion, 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

[13?]

EMMA

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 — our discordancies must always
arise from my being in the wrong."

"Yes," said he, smiling, "and reason good. I
was sixteen years old when you were born."

"A material difference, then," she replied;
"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, a good deal 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, "very true. Little
Emma, grow up a better woman than your aunt.
[138]

EMMA

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 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! Indeed I am very sorry. Come, shake
hands with me."

This had just taken place, and with great cor
diality, when John Knightley made his appear
ance; 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 conversible, 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 dis
tinct, or very rarely mixing, 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,

[139]

EMMA

whose temper was by much the most communi
cative, 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 anything to inquire about,
his inquiries even approached a tone of eager
ness.

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 tak
ing her hand, and interrupting, for a few
moments, her busy labours for some one of her
five children, "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,
[140]

EMMA

my dear — and I recommend a little gruel to you
before you go. 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,
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 everybody, 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 recom
mended it, sir, or we should not have gone. He
recommended it for all the children, but particu
larly for the weakness in little Bella's throat —
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 anybody. 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

[141]

EMMA

of the sea. It makes me envious and miserable ;
I who have never seen it I South End is prohib
ited, 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, 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; he tells me he has not time to take
care of himself — which is very sad — 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 anywhere."

"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 embro
cation of Mr Wingfield's, which we have been
applying at times ever since August."
[142]

EMMA

"It is not very likely, my dear, that bathing
should have been of use to her; and if I had
known you were wanting an embrocation, I
would have spoken to "

"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. I am quite ashamed of
myself, but you mention them in most of your
letters. I hope they are quite well. Good old
Mrs Bates! I will call upon her to-morrow, and
take my children. They are always so pleased
to see my children. And that excellent Miss
Bates! — such thorough worthy people! 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, 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 No
vember. Perry does not call it altogether a
sickly season."

[143]

EMMA

"No, I do not know that Mr Wingfield con
siders it very sickly, except—

"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! — and the air so bad!"

"No, indeed, we are not at all in a bad air. Our
part of London is very superior to most others.
You must not confound us with London in gen
eral, my dear sir. The neighbourhood of Bruns
wick 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 ; there
is hardly any other that I could be satisfied to
have my children in; but we are so remarkably
airy! 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 — 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;
[144]

EMMA

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 Knight-
ley 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? 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; 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,
"pray do not concern yourself about my looks.
Be satisfied with doctoring and coddling your
self 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

10 [145]

EMMA

estate. But will it answer? Will not the old
prejudice be too strong?"

And she talked in this way so long and suc
cessfully 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. "It is so long since I have
seen her, except now and then for a moment acci
dentally 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; but only Jane
Fairfax one knows to be so very accomplished
and superior, and exactly Emma's age."
[146]

EMMA

This topic was discussed very Jjappily, 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 — much praise and many comments — un-
doubting decision of its wholesomeness for every
constitution, and pretty severe philippics upon
the many houses where it was never met with
tolerable ; 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 under
stand 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 anything tolerable. Here was a
dangerous opening.

"Ah," said Mr Woodhouse, shaking his head,
and fixing his eyes on her with tender concern.
The ejaculation in Emma's ear expressed, "All,
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 min
utes, however, he began with —

[147]

EMMA

"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? 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. 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 under
stands 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. 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— a quarter of a mile off — very com
fortable. You should have consulted Perry."

"But, my dear sir, the difference of the jour
ney ; only consider how great it wrould have been.
A hundred miles, perhaps, instead of forty."

"Ah, my dear, as Perry says, where health is
[148]

EMMA

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. 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 opin
ion till it is asked for. Why does he make it any
business of his to wonder at what I do? — at my
taking my family to one part of the coast or an
other? I may be allowed, I hope, the use of my
judgment as well as Mr Perry. I want his
directions no more than his drugs." He paused,
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 dis
tance 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 — "very true. That's a con
sideration, indeed. But, John, as to what I was

[149]

EMMA

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 can
not 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— 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 attribut
ing many of his own feelings and expressions;
but the soothing attentions of his daughters
gradually removed the present evil, and the im
mediate alertness of one brother, and better recol
lections of the other, prevented any renewal of it.

CHAPTER XIII.

THERE could hardly be a happier crea
ture in the world than Mrs John Knight-
ley, in this short visit to Hartfield, going
about every morning among her old acquaintance
with her five children, and talking over what she
[150]

EMMA

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 — perfect, in being much too
short.

In general their evenings were less engaged
with friends than their mornings: but one com
plete 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; 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 — the hours were to be early as well as
the numbers few ; Mr Woodhouse's habits and in
clination being consulted in everything.

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

[151]

EMMA

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 re
gard 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 Har
riet herself was too ill and low to resist the author
ity 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 ab
sences, and raise her spirits by representing how
much Mr Elton 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 com
ing towards it, and as they walked on slowly
together in conversation about the invalid — of
whom he, on the rumour of considerable illness,
had been going to inquire, that he might carry
some report of her to Hartfield — they were
overtaken by Mr John Knightley, returning
[152]

\

EMMA

from the daily visit to Donwell, with his two
eldest boys, whose healthy, glowing faces showed
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 — "a throat very much in
flamed, 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! — I hope not infectious. I
hope not of a putrid infectious sort. Has Perry
seen her? Indeed you should take care of your
self 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, tranquillized 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 — as if quite
another subject—

"It is so cold, so very cold, and looks and feels

[153]

EMMA

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, and dissuade
my father from venturing; but as he has made up
his mind, and does not seem to feel the cold him
self, 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; but Emma,
too eager and busy in her own previous concep
tions 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 Ran
dalls, and secured him the power of sending to
inquire after Harriet every hour of the even
ing.

[154]

EMMA

"You do quite right," said she; "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! After I had got him off so well, to
chuse to go into company, and leave Harriet ill
behind! Most strange indeed! But there is, I
believe, in many men, especially single men, such
an inclination — such a passion for dining out; a
dinner engagement is so high in the class of their
pleasures, their employments, their dignities,
almost their duties, that anything gives way to it,
and this must be the case with Mr Elton — a most
valuable, amiable, pleasing young man undoubt
edly, 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

[155]

EMMA

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 happi
ness 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—

"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 mod
erate 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 you."

"Me!" she replied with a smile of astonishment;
"are you imagining me to be Mr Elton's object?"
[156]

EMMA

"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! What an ideal"

"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 man
ners 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 circum- v
stances, 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

[157]

EMMA

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 dis
agreeables at least, which Mr John Knightley
did not by any means like; he anticipated noth
ing in the visit that could be at all worth the pur
chase ; 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
— actually snowing at this moment! The folly
of not allowing people to be comfortable at home,
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; — and here are we, probably with rather thinner
[158]

EMMA

clothing than usual, setting forward voluntarily,
without excuse, in defiance of the voice of nature,
which tells man, in everything given to his view
or his feelings, to stay at home himself, and keep
all under shelter that he can; — here are we set
ting 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 ; 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 resolu
tion 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.

[159]

EMMA

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 — not
better."

"My report from Mrs Goddard's," said she,
presently, "was not so pleasant as I had hoped: —
'not better,' was my answer."

His face lengthened immediately, and his
voice was the voice of sentiment as he an
swered :—

"Oh no — I am grieved to find — 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 — 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 — "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 — I imagined — that is — I did not — "

"He has been used to her in these complaints,
[160]

EMMA

and I hope to-morrow morning will bring us
both a more comfortable report. But it is impos
sible not to feel uneasiness. Such a sad loss to
our party to-day!"

"Dreadful! Exactly so, indeed. She will be
missed every moment."

This was very proper; the sigh which accom
panied 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 sheep-skin for carriages. How very com
fortable they make it; impossible to feel cold,
with such precautions. The contrivances of mod
ern 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 — but in this carriage we
know nothing of the matter. 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 yester-
11 [161]

EMMA

day, 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 conse
quence. This is quite the season, indeed, for
friendly meetings. At Christmas everybody
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. Noth
ing could be pleasanter. I went for only one
night, and could not get away till that very day
sennight."

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 Ran
dalls."

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 everything in the greatest comfort. Charm
ing people, Mr and Mrs Weston; Mrs Weston
indeed is much beyond praise, and he is exactly
what one values, so hospitable, and so fond of
society; 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
[162]

EMMA

does not accommodate more than ten com
fortably ; 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 cer
tainly 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 Lon
don, sir — I never dine with anybody."

"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 Knight-
ley, as they passed through the sweep-gate, "will
be to find myself safe at Hartfield again."

CHAPTER XIV.

SOME change of countenance was neces
sary for each gentleman as they walked
into Mrs Weston's drawing-room; — Mr
Elton must compose his joyous looks, and Mr
John Knightley disperse his ill-humour. Mr

[163]

EMMA

Elton must smile less, and Mr John Knightley
more, to fit them for the place. Emma only
might be as nature prompted, and show 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 crea
ture 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 lis
tened to and understood, of being always inter
esting 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 com
munication 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 deter
mined to think as little as possible of Mr Elton's
oddities, or of anything 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
[164]

EMMA

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? — Absurd and insufferable!"
— Yet he would be so anxious for her being per
fectly 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

[165]

EMMA

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 par
ticularly wished to listen to. She heard enough
to know that Mr Weston was giving some infor
mation about his son: she heard the words "mv

»

son," and "Frank," and "my son," repeated
several times over; and, from a few other half
syllables, very much suspected that he was an
nouncing 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 some
thing in the name, in the idea, of Mr Frank
Churchill, which always interested her. She had
frequently thought — especially since his father's
marriage with Miss Taylor — that if she were to
marry, he was the very person to suit her in age,
character, and condition. He seemed, by this
connection between the families, quite to belong
to her. She could not but suppose it to be a
match that everybody who knew them must think
of. That Mr and Mrs Weston did think of it,
[1663

EMMA

she was very strongly persuaded; and though not
meaning to be induced by him, or by anybody
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 ; —
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. So it
proved; — 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 —
your pretty little friend, Miss Smith, and my son
— 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."

[167]

EMMA

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," contin
ued 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 — (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) — 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 can
not stir. But I know they will, because it is a
family that a certain lady, of some consequence
[168]

EMMA

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 Jan
uary, 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 anything like
doubt in the case," replied Emma; "but am dis
posed to side with you, Mr Weston. If you
think he will come, I shall think so too; for you
know Enscombe."

"Yes — I have some right to that knowledge;
though I have never been at the place in my life.
She is an odd woman ! 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 — allowing for little
whims and caprices, and expecting everything 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

[169]

EMMA

/anybody 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 — yet observing that she knew the first
meeting must be rather alarming. 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 can
not 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 Wes
ton, I dare say, has been telling you exactly how
the matter stands?"

"Yes — 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,—
"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 — to
my two daughters — I may venture on the truth.
Mrs Churchill rules at Enscombe, and is a very
odd-tempered woman; and his coming now de
pends upon her being willing to spare him."

EMMA

"Oh, Mrs Churchill! everybody 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 anything
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 anything 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 anything 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

[171]

EMMA

your son as by any means certain. I am sorry for
it. The introduction must be unpleasant, when
ever it takes place; and the sooner it could be
over the better."

"Yes; and every delay makes one more appre
hensive 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 depend
ence 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 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 com
prehend a young man's being under such re
straint, 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 judg-

[172]

EMMA

ing of the conduct of any one individual of any
one family; but Enscombe, I believe, certainly
must not be judged by general rules; she is so
very unreasonable; and everything 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 com
fort of the husband, to whom she owes every
thing, while she exercises incessant caprice
towards 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 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."

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 aug
mentation. Mr Elton, in very good spirits, was
one of the first to walk in. Mrs Weston and
Emma were sitting together on a sopha. He
joined them immediately, and with scarcely aw
invitation, seated himself between them.

Emma, in good spirits too, from the amuse
ment 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 — her fair, lovely, amiable friend.
"Did she know? — had she heard anything about
her, since their being at Randalls? — he felt much
anxiety — he must confess that the nature of her
[174]

EMMA

complaint alarmed him considerably." And in
this style he talked on for some time very prop
erly, 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 — 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,
to entreat her to 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 ofT
and bring the subject back into its proper course,
there was no putting an end to his extreme solici
tude about her. She was vexed. It did appear —
there was no concealing it — exactly like the pre
tence of being in love with her instead of Har
riet; an inconstancy, if real, the most contempti
ble and abominable! and she had difficulty in
behaving with temper. He turned to Mrs Wes-
ton to implore her assistance: "Would not she
give him her support? — would not she add her
persuasions to his, to induce Miss Woodhouse
not to go to Mrs Goddard's, till it were certain

[175]

EMMA

that Miss Smith's disorder had no infection?
He could not be satisfied without a promise-
would not she give him her influence in procur
ing 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 catch
ing an ulcerated sore throat herself. Is this fair,
Mrs Weston? 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 anything 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 sopha, removing
to a seat by her sister, and giving her all her atten
tion.

She had not time to know how Mr Elton took
the reproof, so rapidly did another subject suc
ceed; 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
[176]

EMMA

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 con
sternation; but everybody else had something to
say; everybody was either surprized, or not sur
prized, 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 tri
umph 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.
Everybody must have seen the snow coming on.
I admired [your] spirit; and I daresay we shall
get home very well. Another hour or two's snow
can hardly make the road impassable ; and we are
two carriages; if 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 Hart-
field before midnight."

Mr Weston, with triumph of a different sort,
was confessing that he had known it to be snow
ing some time, but had not said a word, lest it
should make Mr Woodhouse uncomfortable, and
la [177]

EMMA

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 accom
modation might be found for everybody, calling
on his wife to agree with him, that, with a little
contrivance, everybody might be lodged, which
she hardly knew how to do, from the conscious
ness of there being but two spare rooms in the
house.

"What is to be done, my dear Emma? what
is to be done?" was Mr Woodhouse's first excla
mation, 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 Ran
dalls, 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
[178]

EMMA

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 anything 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 Isa
bella, it is the most extraordinary sort of tiling in
the world, for in general everything does give
you cold. Walk home! — 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 appro
bation of the plan. Mrs Weston could only ap
prove. 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 ex
amine, 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 — some way along

[179]

EMMA

the Highbury road — the snow was nowhere
above half an inch deep — in many places hardly
enough to whiten the ground; a very few flakes
were falling at present, but the clouds were part
ing, 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 imme
diately 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 con
tinued 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 vari
ously urging and recommending, Mr Knightley
and Emma settled it in a few brief sentences:
thus—

"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
[180]

EMMA

hoped to see one troublesome companion depos
ited 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 carriages 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 fol
lowed into the second carriage by Mr Elton, that
the door was to be lawfully shut on them, and
that they were to have a tete-a-tete drive. It
would not have been the awkwardness of a
moment, it would have been rather a pleasure,
previous to £hg suspicions of this very day; she

[181]

EMMA

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 hap
pened. 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 be
gun, scarcely had they passed the sweep-gate
and joined the other carriage, than she found
her subject cut up — her hand seized — her atten
tion demanded, and Mr Elton actually making
violent love to her: availing himself of the pre
cious opportunity, declaring sentiments which
must be already well known, hoping — fearing —
adoring — 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
— without apology — without much apparent dif
fidence, Mr Elton, the lover of Harriet, was pro
fessing himself her lover. She tried to stop him ;
but vainly; he would go on, and say it all. An
gry as she was, the thought of the moment made
her resolve to restrain herself when she did speak.
[182]

EMMA

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 me! you forget yourself; you take me for my
friend; any message to Miss Smith I shall be
happy to deliver; but no more of this to me, if
you please."

"Miss Smith! — message to Miss Smith!
What could she possibly mean?" And he re
peated 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 con
duct! 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 sus
picion as most injurious, and slightly touched
upon his respect for Miss Smith as her friend,
but acknowledging his wonder that Miss Smith

[183]

EMMA

should be mentioned at all, he resumed the sub
ject 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 anything I can
express. After such behaviour as I have wit
nessed during the last month, to Miss Smith —
such attentions as I have been in the daily habit
of observing — to be addressing me in this man
ner: 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? — Miss Smith! I never
thought of Miss Smith in the whole course of
my existence; 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, extremely sorry. But,
Miss Smith, indeed! Oh, Miss Woodhouse, who
can think of Miss Smith when Miss Woodhouse
is near? No, upon my honour, there is no un
steadiness of character. I have thought only
[184]

EMMA

of you. I protest against having paid the smal
lest attention to any one else. Everything 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" (in an accent meant to be insinuating) ,
"I am sure you have seen and understood me."

It would be impossible to say what Emma felt
on hearing this; which of all her unpleasant
sensations was uppermost. She was too com
pletely 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 —

"Charming Miss Woodhouse! allow me to in
terpret 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. — Nothing could be farther
from my wishes — your attachment to my friend
Harriet — your pursuit of her (pursuit it ap
peared) gave me great pleasure, and I have been
very earnestly wishing you success; but had I
supposed that she were not your attraction to

[185]

EMMA

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?
— 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! — Miss Smith is a very good sort
of girl: and I should be happy to see her re
spectably settled. I wish her extremely well;
and, no doubt, there are men who might not ob
ject to Everybody 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 !
No, madam, my visits to Hartfield have been
for yourself only; and the encouragement I re
ceived "

"Encouragement! I give you encourage
ment! — Sir, you have been entirely mistaken in
supposing it. I have seen you only as the ad
mirer of my friend. In no other light could
you have been more to me than a common ac
quaintance. 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 my
self, of the very great inequality which you are
[186]

EMMA

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 Wood-
house 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 know
ing 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. Emma then felt
it indispensable to wish him a good-night. The
compliment was just returned, coldly and proud
ly; and, under indescribable irritation of spirits,
she was then conveyed to Hartfield.

There she was welcomed, with the utmost de
light, by her father, who had been trembling for
the dangers of a solitary drive from Vicarage
Lane — turning a corner which he could never
bear to think of — and in strange hands — a mere
common coachman — no James; and there it
seemed as if her return only were wanted to make
everything go well: for Mr John Knightley,

[187]

EMMA

ashamed of his ill-humour, was now all kindness
and attention; and so particularly solicitous for
the comfort of her father, as to seem — if not
quite ready to join him in a basin of gruel — per
fectly sensible of its being exceedingly whole
some; and the day was concluding in peace and
comfort to all their little party, except herself.
But her mind had never been in such perturba
tion ; and it needed a very strong effort to appear
attentive and cheerful till the usual hour of
separating allowed her the relief of quiet re
flection.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE hair was curled, and the maid sent
away, and Emma sat down to think and
be miserable. It was a wretched business
indeed. Such an overthrow of everything she
had been wishing for. Such a development of
everything most unwelcome! Such a blow for
Harriet! — 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 — more
in error — more disgraced by mis judgment than
she actually was, could the effects of her blunders
have been confined to herself.
[188]

EMMA

"If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking
the man, I could have borne anything. He might
have doubled his presumption to me — but poor
Harriet!"

How she could have been so deceived! He
protested that he had never thought seriously
of Harriet — 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! How eager he had been about
the picture! — and the charade! and an hundred
other circumstances ; 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 with
out 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 gentle
ness of his address, true elegance was sometimes
wanting; but, till this very day, she had never
for an instant suspected it to mean anything
but grateful respect to her as Harriet's friend.

[189]

EMMA

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 convic
tion 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 shown than any she had reached her
self. 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 feel
ings 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
[190]

EMMA

fancy any tone of voice, less allied with real love.
She need not trouble herself to pity him. He
only wanted to aggrandize 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, that he should talk of encouragement,
should consider her as aware of his views, accept
ing his attentions, meaning, in short, to marry
him! — should suppose himself her equal in con
nection or mind! — 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 showing no presumption in
addressing her ! — 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 con
sequence 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, 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,

[191]

EMMA

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 anything to recommend him to
notice but his situation and his civility. But
he had fancied her in love with him; that evi
dently 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 com
plaisant and obliging, so full of courtesy and
attention, as (supposing her real motive unper-
ceived) might warrant a man of ordinary obser
vation and delicacy, like Mr Elton, in fancying
himself a very decided favourite. If she had
so misinterpreted his feelings, she had little right
to wonder that 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
[192]

EMMA

of what ought to be simple. She was quite con
cerned 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 not to feel this disappoint
ment so very much, I am sure I have not an idea
of anybody else who would be at all desirable
for her. William Coxe — oh no, I could not en
dure William Coxe, — a pert young lawyer."

She stopt to blush and laugh at her own relapse,
and then resumed a more serious, more dispirit
ing cogitation upon what had been, and might
be, and must be. The distressing explanation
she had to make to Harriet, and all that poor

[193]

EMMA

Harriet would be suffering, with the awkward
ness of future meetings, the difficulties of con
tinuing or discontinuing the acquaintance, of
subduing feelings, concealing resentment, and
avoiding eclat, 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 power
ful 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; 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 anybody's knowing what had passed
[194]

EMMA

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 anything 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 miser
able 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 pris
oner. 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
everybody 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

[195]

EMMA

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—

"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 com
fortable, as such seclusion exactly suited her
brother, whose feelings must always be of great
importance to his companions; and he had, be
sides, 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 everybody. 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 per
fectly at ease.

[196]

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 — 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 hap
piness.

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
s&y, with Mr Elton's best compliments, "that he
was proposing to leave Highbury the following
morning in his way to Bath; where, in com
pliance 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 ; and had Mr Wood-

[197]

EMMA

house any commands, should be happy to attend
to them."

Emma was most agreeably surprized. Mr El
ton'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. Re
sentment 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. Her name
was not mentioned; and there was so striking a
change in all this, and such an ill-judged solem
nity of leave-taking in his graceful acknowledg
ments, as she thought, at first, could not escape
her father's suspicion.

It did, however. 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 extraor
dinary 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
[198]

EMMA

that she should have as much time as possible for
getting the better of hei other complaint before
the gentleman's return. She went to Mrs God-
dard's, accordingly, the very next day, to under
go the necessary penance of communication ; and
a severe one it was. She had to destroy all the
hopes which she had been so industriously feed
ing, to appear in the ungracious character of the
one preferred, and acknowledge herself grossly
mistaken and misjudging in all her ideas on one
subject, all her observations, all her convictions,
all her prophesies for the last six weeks.

The confession completely renewed her first
shame, 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, blaming
nobody, and in everything testifying such an
ingenuousness of disposition and lowly opinion
of herself as must appear with particular ad
vantage 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 atl selling, seemed
on Harriet's side, not her own. Harriet did not
consider herself as having anything to complain
of. The affection of such a man as Mr Elton
would have been too great a distinction. She
never could have deserved him; and nobody but

[199]

EMMA

so partial and kind a friend as Miss Woodhouse
would have thought it possible.

Her tears fell abundantly; but her grief was
so truly artless, that no dignity could have made
it more respectable in Emma's eyes; and she
listened to her, and tried to console her with all
her heart and understanding — really for the time
convinced that Harriet was the superior creature
of the two, 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 imag
ination 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 Hart-
field, and shewed her the most unvarying kind
ness, striving to occupy and amuse her, and by
books and conversation to drive Mr Elton from
her thoughts. Jfy -

Time, she/oiew, must be allowed for this be
ing thoroughly done; and she could suppose her
self but an indifferent judge of such matters
in general, and very inadequate to sympathize
in an attachment to Mr Elton in particular; but
[200]

EMMA

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 main
tain the non-existence of anybody equal to him
in person or goodness, 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 unrequited, that she could not compre
hend its continuing very long in equal force.

If Mr Elton on his return, made his own in
difference as evident and indubitable as she could
not doubt he would anxiously do, she could not
imagine Harriet's persisting to place her hap
piness 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 ef
fecting any material change of society. They
must encounter each other, and make the best
of it.

Harriet was further unfortunate in the tone
of her companions at Mrs Goddard's, Mr El
ton being the adoration of all the teachers and

[201]

EMMA

great girls in the school ; and it must be at Hart-
field only that she could have any chance of hear
ing him spoken of with cooling moderation or
repellant 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 XVIII.

MR FRANK CHURCHILL did not
come. When the time proposed drew
near, Mrs Weston's fears were justi
fied 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 disappointed —
much more disappointed, in fact, than her hus
band, though her dependence on seeing the young
man had been so much more sober; but a san
guine 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 sur-
[202]

EMMA

prized 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 cir
cumstance, 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 Knight-
ley; and exclaimed quite as much as was neces
sary (or, being acting a part, perhaps rather
more), at the conduct of the Churchills in keep
ing him away. She then proceeded to say a
good deal more than she felt of the advantage of

[203]

EMMA

such an addition to their confined society in Sur-
ry; the pleasure of looking at somebody new;
the gala-day to Highbury entire, which the sight
of him would have made; and ending with re
flections on the Churchills again, found herself
directly involved in a disagreement with Mr
Knightley; and, to her great amusement, per
ceived 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 connections, and to care very
little for anything 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
[204]

EMMA

up by those who are proud, luxurious, and sel
fish, 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 — what is he?
—three or four-and-twenty — cannot be without
the means of doing as much as that. It is im
possible."

"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, 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 tempta
tion of pleasure."

"It is very unfair to judge of anybody's con
duct without an intimate knowledge of their

[205]

EMMA

situation. Nobody, who has not been in the in
terior 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 manoeuvring 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 reso
lutely, to Mrs Churchill, '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.' 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 ! Nobody but you, Mr Knight-

[206]

EMMA

ley, could 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! — standing up in the middle of the
room, I suppose, and speaking as loud as he
could! 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, made, of course,
as a man of sense would make it, in a proper man
ner, would do him more good, raise him higher,
fix his interest stronger with the people he de
pended 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 everybody : if he would act in this sort of man
ner on principle, consistently, regularly, their
little minds would bend to his."

[207]

EMMA

"I rather doubt that. You are very fond of
bending little minds; but where little minds be
long 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 inde
pendence, and set all their claims on his grati
tude and regard at naught. He may have as
strong a sense of what would be right as you
can have, without being so equal, under particu
lar 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 1 I
wish you would try to understand what an ami
able 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."

"Your amiable young man is a very weak
[208]

EMMA

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 ad
vantages, 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

[209]

EMMA

the world of preserving peace at home, and pre
venting his father's having any right to com
plain. His letters disgust me."

"Your feelings are singular. They seem to
satisfy everybody 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 Ran
dalls 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 *aim-
able,' have very good manners, and be very agree
able ; 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! 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
[210]

EMMA

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 sensation
his coming will produce? There will be but one
subject throughout the parishes of Don well and
Highbury; but one interest — 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 con
versation to the taste of everybody, 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 anything like it, he will be the

[211]

EMMA

most insufferable fellow breathing! What! at
three-and-twenty to be the king of his company—
the great man — the practised politician, who is
to read everybody'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 everything 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 Wes-
ton 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 im
mediately 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
[212]

EMMA

never before for a moment supposed it could
make him unjust to the merit of another.

CHAPTER XIX.

EMMA and Harriet had been walking to
gether one morning, and, in Emma's opin
ion, had been talking enough of Mr El
ton 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, 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 — "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,

[213]

EMMA

and some from her own heart, as to her deficiency,
but none were equal to counteract the persuasion
of its being very disagreeable — a waste of time —
tiresome women — 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; ob
serving, 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 apart
ment, which was everything to them, the visitors
were most cordially and even gratefully wel
comed; the quiet neat old lady, who with her
knitting was seated in the warmest corner, want
ing even to give up her place to Miss Wood-
house, 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: —
"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 she had taken a piece of
[214]

EMMA

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 fol
lowed 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 pre
vent Harriet's being obliged to say a word.

This she had been prepared for when she en
tered the house; but meant, having once talked
him handsomely over, to be no farther incom
moded 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 suc
ceed 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 — Mr Elton, I understand — certainly

[215]

EMMA

as to dancing — Mrs Cole was telling me that
dancing at the rooms at Bath was — Mrs Cole was
so kind as to sit some time with us, talking of
Jane ; for as soon as she came in she began inquir
ing 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 anybody more sur
prized. '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 —

"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. "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
[216]

EMMA

away, I was reading it again to my mother, f oi
it is such a pleasure to her — a letter from Jane
— 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 — and since you are so kind
as to wish to hear what she says — but, first of
all, I really must, in justice to Jane, apologize
for her writing so short a letter — only two pages,
you see, hardly two, 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' — don't you, ma'am?
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, every word of it — 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, and so
much fine work as you have done too! 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 some-

[217]

EMMA

thing very civil about the excellence of Miss Fair-
fax'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 Wood-
house is so obliging to say about Jane's hand
writing?"

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 pos
sibility, 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,
just nothing at all. By only raising my voice,
and saying anything 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
[218]

r

y kind." replied Miss Mutes, highly

gratified

ate inch a judge, and
yourself. I am sure there
i*« that <i>uld give us so much
•Ihouse's. My mother does
ir -she is. leaf, you know. Ma'am,"

ling her, "do you hear what Miss Wood-
it 10 obliging to nay about Jane's hand-

v

i Bpna had the advantage of hearing her
nent repeated twice over before
the go* H! «>M My could comprehend it. She
was \ fi«. in the meanwhile, upon the pos

sibility, w.rbout seemj. . rude, of ma1,

her escape from J> K'S letter, and had

almost resolved on i ^ay directly, under

some slight «•*. ^ Bates turned to

her again and s< 'ion.

"My moth* T trifling, you sec,

just nothing a1 1 mY voice'

., ; :n ;.-s over, she

re to hear : but **<* to my voice.

Utti it is very rem;< ;-H! tihe should always

Jane I - .»n she deoa me. Jane sp<

Jfetinrt! 1 •• • *** v'^ no* ^nd ^er

al a

EMMA

time of life; 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! that must be a very great pleasure."

"Thank you. You are very kind. Yes, next
week. Everybody is so surprized; and every
body says the same obliging things. I am sure
she will be as happy to see her friends at High
bury 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 anything of Miss
Fairfax to-day."

"So obliging of you! No, we should not have
heard, if it had not been for this particular cir
cumstance, of her being to come here so soon.
My mother is so delighted! for she is to be three

[219]

EMMA

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; — 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, or her
father — I declare I do not know which it was,
but we shall see presently in Jane's letter — 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 — I do not
know that she ever heard about it from anybody
else — but it was very natural, you know, that he
should like to speak of his own place while he was
paying his addresses — and as Jane used to be
very often walking out with them — 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 ;
[220]

EMMA

of course she heard everything he might be telling
Miss Campbell about his own home in Ireland;
and I think she wrote us word that he had shown
them some drawings of the place, views that he
had taken himself. He is a most amiable, charm
ing young man, I believe. Jane was quite long
ing 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 in
sidious design of further 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 friend
ship 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 dis
tance from us, for months together, — not able
to come if anything was to happen; but you see
everything turns out for the best. They want
her (Mr and Mrs Dixon) excessively to come
over with Colonel and Mrs Campbell; quite de
pend upon it ; nothing can be more kind or press
ing than their joint invitation Jane says, as you

[221]

EMMA

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, — I can never think of
it without trembling! — 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 — entirely her own doing, entirely her
own choice ; and Colonel and Mrs Campbell think
she does quite right, just what they should recom
mend; and indeed they particularly 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 Fair
fax?"

"Oh, no. You are very obliging to say such
[222]

EMMA

things, but certainly not; there is no comparison
between them. Miss Campbell always was abso
lutely plain, 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!
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;
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 arrange
ment 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, as you
will find from Jane's letter. So sudden! You
may guess, dear Miss Woodhouse, what a flurry
it has thrown me in. If it was not for the draw
back of her illness — but I am afraid we must
expect to see her grown thin, and looking very

[223]

EMMA

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 anything 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, then I burst out, quite
frightened, with 'Bless mel poor Jane is ill!'
which my mother, being on the watch, heard
distinctly, and was sadly alarmed at. How
ever, 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 ex
pense shall not be thought of; and though he is
so liberal and so fond of Jane, that I daresay
he would not mean to charge anything for attend
ance, 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
1224]

EMMA

Emma, glancing at Harriet, and beginning to
rise, "my father will be expecting us. I had
no intention, I thought I had no power, of stay
ing 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, 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.

J

CHAPTER XX.

ANE FAIRFAX was an orphan, the only
child of Mrs Bates's youngest daughter.
The marriage of Lieut. Fairfax, of the

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, of his widow sinking under con
sumption and grief soon afterwards, and this girl.

[225]

EMMA

By birth she belonged to Highbury; and when,
at three years old, on losing her mother she
became the property, the charge, the consola
tion, 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 connec
tion or improvement, to be engrafted on what
nature had given her in a pleasing person, good
understanding, and warm-hearted, well mean
ing 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 re
garded 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 f rona
the death of poor Fairfax before his own return
to England put anything 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
[226]

EMMA

for her, and his own wish of being a real friend,
united to produce an off er from Colonel Camp
bell of undertaking the whole charge of her edu
cation. 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 mak
ing 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 sup
plying 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 dis
position and abilities were equally worthy of all

[227]

EMMA

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 com
petent 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 sugges
tions 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 unf elt 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
[228]

EMMA

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 anything 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 forti
tude of a devoted noviciate, 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 Camp
bell 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: 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

[229]

EMMA

excuse for not hurrying on the wretched mo
ment. 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 noth
ing 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 sanc
tion, and said that they depended more on a few
months spent in her native air, for the recovery
of her health, than on anything 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 — Mr Frank
Churchill — must put up for the present with
Jane Fairfax, who could bring only the fresh
ness of a two years' absence.
[230]

Emma was sorry to have to pay civilities to
a person she did not like through three long
months! — 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 accom
plished 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 con
science 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; such apparent indifference whether
she pleased or not; and then, her aunt was such
an eternal talker? — and she was made such a
fuss with by everybody ! — and it had been always
imagined that they were to be so intimate;
because their ages were the same, everybody had
supposed they must be so fond of each other."
These were her reasons ; she had no better.

It was a dislike so little just — every imputed
fault so magnified by fancy — that she never
saw Jane Fairfax, the first time after any con
siderable 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 appear-

[231]

EMMA

ance 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 — her features — there was more beauty in
them all together than she had remembered; it
was not regular, but it was very pleasing beauty.
Her eyes, a deep grey, with dark eyelashes 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 ; 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 dis-

[232]

like 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
anything but compassion and respect; especially,
if to every well-known particular, entitling her
to interest, were added the highly probable cir
cumstance 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 affections from
his wife, or of anything 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 uncon
sciously 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 con
nections 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 High
bury afforded no young man worthy of giving

[233]

EMMA

her independence — nobody that she could wish to
scheme about for her.

These were charming feelings, but not last
ing. 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 everything 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 ex
hibitions of new caps and new work-bags 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 can
dour, an air of greatness, meaning only to show
off in higher style her own very superior per
formance. 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
[234]

EMMA

hazard nothing. She was disgustingly, was
suspiciously reserved.

If anything could be more, where all was most,
she was more reserved on the subject of Wey-
mouth and the Dixons than anything. She
seemed bent on giving no real insight into Mr
Dixon's character, or her own value for his com
pany, 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 was some
thing 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 Wey-
mouth 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 diffi-

[235]

EMMA

cult 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 everybody found his
manners pleasing." Emma could not forgive
her.

CHAPTER XXI.

EMMA could not forgive her ; 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 express
ing the next morning, being at Hartfield again
on business with Mr Woodhouse, his approba
tion 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 — "particularly pleasant.
You and Miss Fairfax gave us some very good
music. I do not know a more luxurious state,
[236]

EMMA

sir, than sitting at one's ease to be entertained
a whole evening by two such young women;
sometimes with music and sometimes with con
versation. 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 grand
mother's, it must have been a real indulgence."

"I am happy you approved," said Emma, smil
ing; "but I hope I am not often deficient in what
is due to guests at Hartfield."

"No, my dear," said her father, instantly;
"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 — 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 — "I understand you
well enough;" but she said only, "Miss Fairfax
is reserved."

"I always told you she was — a little; but you
will soon overcome all that part of her reserve
which ought to be overcome, all that has its foun
dation in diffidence. What arises from discre
tion must be honoured."

[237]

"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 persever
ance in asking questions; and amused to think
how little information I obtained."

"I am disappointed," was his only answer.

"I hope everybody 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 even
ing 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 sin
cerity which no one could question —

"She is a sort of elegant creature that one can-
[238]

EMMA

not keep one's eyes from. I am always watch
ing her to admire; and I do pity her from my
heart."

Mr Knightley looked as if he were more grati
fied than he cared to express ; and before he could
make any reply, Mr Woodhouse, whose thoughts
were on the Bates's, said —

"It is a great pity that their circumstances
should be so confined ! a great pity indeed ! and I
have often wished — but it is so little one can ven
ture to do — small, trifling presents, of anything
uncommon. 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 — but still it is pork —
and, rny 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 —
I think we had better send the leg — 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,

[239]

EMMA

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 unwhole
some."

"Emma," said Mr Knightley, presently, "I
have a piece of news for you. You like news
—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? — why do you smile so? — where did you
hear it? — 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 — 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.
[240]

EMMA

"There is my news — I thought it would interest
you," said Mr Knightley, with a smile, which im
plied 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 — no, it cannot be more
than five — or at least ten — for I had got my
bonnet and spencer on, just ready to come out —
I was only gone down to speak to Patty again
about the pork — Jane was standing in the pas
sage — were not you, Jane? — 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 1
think you have a little cold, and Patty has been
washing the kitchen.' — 'Oh, my dear,' — said I —
well, and just then came the note. A Miss
Hawkins — 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 — "

"I was with Mr Cole on business an hour arid
a half ago. He had just read Elton's letter as
I was shown in, and handed it to me directly."

"Well! that is quite — I suppose there never
was a piece of news more generally interesting.

[241]

EMMA

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 — "indeed it certainly is, so very
superior to all other pork, that Emma and 1
cannot have a greater pleasure than—

"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 everything 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— "

"It was short — merely to announce — but cheer
ful, exulting, of course." Here was a sly glance
at Emma. "He had been so fortunate as to—
I forget the precise words — 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 Wood-
house's observation. "He had better not be in
[242]

EMMA

a hurry. He seemed to me very well off as he
was. We were always glad to see him at Hart-
field."

"A new neighbour for us all, Miss Wood-
house!" said Miss Bates joyfully; "my mother
is so pleased! — 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; — no wonder that you have such
a curiosity to see him."

Jane's curiosity did not appear of that absorb
ing nature as wholly to occupy her.

"No, I have never seen Mr Elton," she re
plied, starting on this appeal: "is he — 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 ; — but, my dear Jane,
if you remember, I told you yesterday he was
precisely the height of Mr Perry. Miss Haw
kins! — I dare say, an excellent young woman.
His extreme attention to my mother — wanting

[243]

EMMA

her to sit in the vicarage-pew, that she might hear
the better, for my mother is a little deaf, you
know — 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 — the warm bath — 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 — 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
—I suppose there never was a happier or a bet- j
ter couple than Mr and Mrs Perry. I say, sir,''
turning to Mr Woodhouse, "I think there are
few places with such society as Highbury. II
always say, we are quite blessed in our neigh
bours. My dear sir, if there is one thing my :
mother loves better than another, it is pork — a
roast loin of pork—

"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 — but I hope you
[244]

EMMA

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

—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 — but I believe
it requires that with me. And as it is some
months since Miss Campbell married, the im
pression may be a little worn of."

"Yes, he has been gone just four weeks, as
you observe, Miss Woodhouse," said Miss Bates,

'four weeks yesterday. A Miss Hawkins!
Well, I had always rather fancied it would be
some young lady hereabouts; not that I ever—
Mrs Cole once whispered to me — but I imme
diately said, 'No, Mr Elton is a most worthy

young man — but In short, I do not think

I am particularly quick at those sort of dis
coveries. I do not pretend to it. What is before
me, I see. At the same time, nobody could won
der if Mr Elton should have aspired — Miss
Woodhouse lets me chatter on, so good-hu-
mouredly. 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

[245]

EMMA

fancy Mr Dixon like Mr John Knightley. I
mean in person — tall, and with that sort of look
—and not very talkative."

"Quite wrong, my dear aunt; there is no like
ness at all."

"Very odd! but one never does form a just
idea of anybody beforehand. One takes up a
notion and runs away with it. Mr Dixon, you
say, is not, strictly speaking, handsome?"

"Handsome! Oh no — far from it — certainly
plain. I told you he was plain."

"My dear, you said that Miss Campbell would
not allow him to be plain, and that you your-
self-

"Oh, as for me, my judgment is worth noth
ing. Where I have a regard, I always think a
person well-looking. But I gave what I be
lieved 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 grandmamma 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 — I would not have you out in a shower.
We think she is the better for Highbury already.
[246]

EMMA

Thank you — we do indeed. I shall not attempt
calling on Mrs Goddard, for I really do not
think she cares for anything but 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!
—I am sure if Jane is tired, you will be so kind
as to give her your arm. Mr Elton and Miss
Hawkins! 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
— and to marry strangers too — and the other
half she could give to her own view of the sub
ject. It was to herself an amusing and a very
welcome piece of news, as proving that Mr El
ton could not have suffered long; but she was
sorry for Harriet — Harriet must feel it — 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! — and upon its be
ginning to rain, Emma was obliged to expect
that the weather would be detaining her at Mrs
Goddard's, and that the intelligence would un
doubtedly rush upon her without preparation.

The shower was heavy, but short; and it had
not been over five minutes, when in came Har-

[247]

EMMA

net, 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 perturba
tion. As the blow was given, Emma felt that
she could not now show greater kindness than
in listening; and Harriet, unchecked, ran eag
erly through what she had to tell. "She had set
out from Mrs Goddard's half an hour ago—
she had been afraid it would rain — she had been
afraid it would pour down every moment — but
she thought she might get to Hartfield first — 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 woollendraper, linendraper, and haber
dasher's shop united — the shop first in size and
fashion in the place. "And so there she had
set, without an idea of anything in the world,
full ten minutes perhaps — when, all of a sudden,
who should come in — to be sure it was so very
odd! — but they always dealt at Ford's — who
[248]

EMMA

should come in, but Elizabeth Martin and her
brother! Dear Miss Woodhouse! only think.
I thought I should have fainted. I did not
know what to do. I was sitting near the door

—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 far
ther end of the shop ; and I kept sitting near the
door. 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. Oh dear, Miss Woodhouse ! — 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 —

(do you think he was, Miss Woodhouse?) —
for presently she came forward — 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 try to be very friendly, and we shook
hands, and stood talking some time; but I know
no more what I said — I was in such a tremble!
I remember she said she was sorry we never met

[249]

EMMA

now, which I thought almost too kind! Dear,
Miss Woodhouse, I was absolutely miserable 1
By that time, it was beginning to hold up, and
I was determined that nothing should stop me
from getting away — and then — only think! — I
found he was coming up towards me too — slowly,
you know, and as if he did not quite know what
to do ; and so he came and spoke, and I answered
—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 verv

•>

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 — I believe I did — but
I hardly knew where I was, or anything about it.
Oh, Miss Woodhouse, I would rather done any
thing than have had 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
[250]

I stood for a minute, feeling dreadfully, you know

'•d^+*<r8'i~

now, which I thought almost too kind! Dear,
Vlias Woodhoroe. 1 was absolutely miserable!
By that time, it w*a beginning to hold up, and
I wan determined that nothing should stop i
from geUing away — and then — only think! — I
found he was con towards me too — slowly,

you know, and as :f he did not quite know what
to do; and so he came and spoke, and I answered
and I stood for a nu'nute, feeling dreadfully,
you know, one c; il how; and then I to

courage, and said not rain, and I must g

and ao off I set: and I had not got three yar
from the door. »vht-u he came after me, only to
say, if I was going to Hartfield, he thought 1
had uuHi brtt r ,.d by Mr Cole's stub!-

for I thonlii -ir way quite floated by

this rain. Oh dear, I thought it would ha
t me! So I said I was vc
much now I could not «

leas; and then he went back to Elizabeth, and
came rouM ; y the stables — I believe I did — but
I hardly km-w where I was, or anything ab<
Oh, M I would rather done

thing thai* it happen: and yet, you

know, there wma a sort of satisfaction in st
Kim 'x.hftx- «o ph and so kindly.

omfortable again.'*
Emma wish to do so;

EMMA

it was not immediately in her power. She was
obliged to stop and think. She was not thor
oughly 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 interest
ing 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 connection? It was folly to be disturbed
by it. Of course, he must be sorry to lose her,
— 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? So easily pleased — so little dis
cerning — 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, and may never — 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—

[251]

EMMA

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 cau
tion, hardly knowing herself whether to rejoice
or be angry, ashamed, or only amused, at such
a state of mind in poor Harriet — such a conclu
sion of Mr Elton's importance with her!

Mr Elton's rights, however, gradually re
vived. Though she did not feel the first intelli
gence 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 subor
dination 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 twelve
month might pass without their being thrown
together again, with any necessity, or even any
power of speech.
[252]

EMMA

CHAPTER XXII.

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 him
self 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 prin
cipally played.

Mr Elton returned, a very happy man. He
had gone away rejected and mortified, disap
pointed 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, he
came back engaged to another; 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,

[253]

EMMA

eager and busy, caring nothing for Miss Wood-
house, 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 — he had gained a
woman of .£10,000, or thereabouts, and he had
gained her with such delightful rapidity ; the first
hour of introduction had been so very soon fol
lowed by distinguishing notice ; the history which
he had to give Mrs Cole of the rise and progress
of the affair was so glorious; the steps so quick,
from the accidental rencontre, to the dinner at
Mr Green's, and the party at Mrs Brown's —
smiles and blushes rising in importance — with
consciousness and agitation richly scattered; the
lady had been so easily impressed — so sweetly
disposed; — had, in short, to use a most intelli
gible phrase, been so very ready to have him, that
vanity and prudence were equally contented.

He had caught both substance and shadow,
both fortune and affection, and was just the hap
py man he ought to be; — talking only of him
self and his own concerns — expecting to be con
gratulated — ready to be laughed at — and, with
cordial, fearless smiles, now addressing all the
[254]

EMMA

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 par
ties 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 bare
ly 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 profit
able humiliation to her own mind, she would
have been thankful to be assured of never see
ing 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 High
bury, however, must certainly be lessened by
his marriage. Many vain solicitudes would be
prevented — many awkwardnesses smoothed by it.

[255]

EMMA

A Mrs Elton would be an excuse for any chang
of intercourse ; former intimacy might sink with
out remark. It would be almost beginning thei
life of civility again.

Of the lady individually, Emma thought ver
little. She was good enough for Mr Elton, n<
doubt; accomplished enough for Highbury-
handsome enough — to look plain, probably, b;
Harriet's side. As to connection, there Emma
was perfectly easy; persuaded that, after all hia
own vaunted claims and disdain of Harriet, lie
had done nothing. On that article, truth seemed
attainable. What she was, must be uncertain}
but who she was, might be found out ; and setting
aside the £10,000 it did not appear that she wad
at all Harriet's superior. She brought no namej
no blood, no alliance. Miss Hawkins was th^
youngest of the two daughters of a Bristol — mer
chant, of course, he must be called; but, as thi
whole of the profits of his mercantile life ap«
peared 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 — in the law line; nothing more
distinctly honourable was hazarded of him, than
that he was in the law line; and with him the
[256]

EMMA

daughter had lived. Emma guessed him to be the
drudge of some attorney, and too stupid to rise.
And all the grandeur of the connection seemed
dependent on the elder sister, who was very well
married, to a gentleman in a 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 va
cancies 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 be
gun, would be always in love. And now, poor
girl, she was considerably worse from this re
appearance 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 just to meet with him, or
just to miss him, just to hear his voice, or see his
shoulder, just to have something occur to pre
serve him in her fancy, in all the favouring
warmth of surprize and conjecture. She was,
moreover, perpetually hearing about him; for,

[257]

EMMA

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 — all that had already occured, all
that might occur in the arrangement of his af
fairs, comprehending income, servants, and fur
niture — was continually in agitation around her.
Her regard was receiving strength by invari
able praise of him, and her regrets kept alive,
and feelings irritated by ceaseless repetitions of
Miss Hawkins's happiness, and continual obser
vation of how much he seemed attached! his air
as he walked by the house, 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 her
self, 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 ajside by Elizabeth Martin's calling at Mrs
GodtArd's a ^ew days afterwards. Harriet had
not been at home; but a note had been prepared
[25$]

EMMA

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 ap
peared, she had been much occupied by it, con
tinually 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 acknowledged, what
would be necessary, 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 !

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 appli
cations or dangerous recurrences to the past,
and give the most decided proof of what degree
of intimacy was chosen for the future.

[259]

EMMA

She could think of nothing better ; and though
there was something in it which her own heart
could not approve — something of ingratitude,
merely glossed over — it must be done, or what
would become of Harriet?

CHAPTER XXIII.

SMALL heart had Harriet for visiting. On
ly 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 mo
ment, a trunk, directed to The Rev. Philip El
ton, 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 everything in this world, except 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 everything 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 deter-
[260]

EMMA

mined her not to allow the visit to exceed the
proposed quarter of an hour. She went on her
self, to give that portion of time to an old ser
vant who was married, and settled in Donwell.

The quarter of an hour brought her punctually
to the white gate again; and Miss Smith receiv
ing her summons, was with her without delay,
and unattended by any alarming young man.
She came solitarily down the gravel walk — a Miss
Martin just appearing at the door, and parting
with her seemingly with ceremonious civility.

Harriet could not very soon give an intel
ligible account. She was feeling too much; but
at last Emma collected from her enough to under
stand 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 doubt-
ingly, if not coolly; and nothing beyond the
merest common-place had been talked almost all
the time — 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 inter
esting subject, and a warmer manner. In that
very room she had been measured last Septem
ber with her two friends. There were the pen
cilled marks and memorandums on the wainscot
by the window. He had done it. — They all
seemed to remember the day, the hour, the party,
the occasion — to feel the same consciousness, the

[261]

EMMA

same regrets — 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 cor
dial 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 ! Emma could not but picture it all,
and feel how justly they might resent, how nat
urally Harriet must suffer. It was a bad busi
ness. 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 little higher should have been enough;
but as it was, how could she have done otherwise ?
Impossible! She could not repent. They must
be separated; but there was a great deal of pain
in the process — so much to herself at this time,
that she soon felt the necessity of a little conso
lation, and resolved on going home by way of
Randalls to procure it. Her mind was quite
sick of Mr Elton and the Martins. The refresh
ment of Randalls was absolutely necessary.

It was a good scheme: but on driving to the
door they heard that neither "master nor mis
tress was at home:" they had both been out some
time; the man believed they were gone to Hart-
field.

[262]

EMMA

"This is too bad," cried Emma, as they turned
away. "And now we shall just miss them; too
provoking. 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 — 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 ; for Mr Weston
immediately accosted her with —

"How d'ye do? — how d'ye do? We have been
sitting with your father — glad to see him well.
Frank comes to-morrow — I had a letter this
morning — we see him to-morrow by dinner-time
to a certainty — 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 en j oy him completely ;
everything has turned out exactly as we could
wish."

There was no resisting such news, no pos
sibility of avoiding the influence of such a happy
face as Mr Weston's, confirmed as it all was by

[263]

EMMA

the words and the countenance of his wife, fewer
and quieter, but not less to the purpose. To
know that she thought his coming certain was
enough to make Emma consider it so, and sin
cerely did she rejoice in their joy. It was a
most delightful reanimation of exhausted spirits.
The wornout 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 engage
ments 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 very fine young man; you have only had my
account, you know; I dare say he is really noth
ing extraordinary," though his own sparkling
eyes at the moment were speaking a very dif
ferent conviction.
[264]

EMMA

Emma could look perfectly unconscious and
innocent, and answer in a manner that appro
priated 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! — depend upon it he will be
here by three," was Mr Weston's quick amend
ment; and so ended a most satisfactory meeting.
Emma's spirits were mounted quite up to hap
piness. Everything 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

[265]

EMMA

mental soliloquy, while walking downstairs from
her own room, "always over-careful 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 think
ing of the possibility of their all calling here.
I am sure they will bring him soon."

She opened the parlour door, and saw two gen
tlemen sitting with her father — Mr Weston and
his son. They had been arrived only a few min
utes; 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, introduc
tion, and pleasure.

The Frank Churchill so long talked of, so
high in interest, was actually before her. 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, ad
dress, all were unexceptionable, and his coun
tenance had a great deal of the spirit and liveli
ness of his father's — he looked quick and sensible.
She felt immediately that she should like him;
[266]

EMMA

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 com
ing in upon one's friends before the lookout be
gins 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 home I felt I might do any
thing."

The word 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 fol
lowed. He was very much pleased with Ran
dalls, thought it a most admirably-arranged

[267]

EMMA

house, would hardly allow it even to be very
small, admired the situation, the walk to High
bury, Highbury itself, Hartfield still more, and
professed himself to have always felt the sort of
interest in the country, which none but one's
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 be
long to an opening acquaintance. On his side
were the inquiries — "Was she a horse-woman?
Pleasant rides? Pleasant walks? Had they a
large neighbourhood? Highbury, perhaps, af
forded society enough ? There were several very
pretty houses in and about it. Balls — had they
balls? Was it a musical society?"

But when satisfied on all these points, and their
acquaintance proportionably advanced, he con
trived to find an opportunity, while their two
fathers were engaged with each other, of intro
ducing 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 re-
[268]

EMMA

ception of himself, as was an additional proof
of his knowing how to please — and of his cer
tainly 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 bles
sing 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
everything, 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."

[269]

EMMA

"You cannot see too much perfection in Mrs
Weston, for my feelings," said Emma; "were
you to guess her to be eighteen, I should listen
with pleasure ; but 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 pre
sent she only felt they were agreeable.

She had no doubt of what Mr Weston was
often thinking about. His quick eye she detec
ted 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
[270 ]

EMMA

a most comfortable circumstance. Happily he
was not farther from approving matrimony than
from foreseeing it. Though always objecting to
every marriage that was arranged, he never suf
fered 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 unpleas
ant 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 accommo
dation 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 — which, how
ever, he could not allow him to feel quite assured
of himself, till after another night.

A reasonable visit paid, Mr Weston began to
move. "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 anybody 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 there-

[271]

EMMA

fore 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 — 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 — we passed her house — 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—

"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 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,"
[272]

EMMA

said Emma; "she is a very elegant young wo
man."

He agreed to it, but with so quiet a "Yes,"
as inclined her almost to doubt his real concur
rence; 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 — 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 grandmamma 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 show 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 ;

[273]

EMMA

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 XXIV.

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
[274]

EMMA

being desired to chuse their walk, immediately
fixed on Highbury. "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 attrac
tion." Highbury with Mrs Weston, stood for
Hartfield : and she trusted to its bearing the same
construction with him. They walked thither di
rectly.

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 agree
able 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 com
pliment that he paid his duty; nothing could be
more proper or pleasing than his whole manner
to her — nothing could more agreeably denote
his wish of considering her as a friend, and secur
ing her affection. And there was time enough
for Emma to form a reasonable judgment, as

[275]

EMMA

their visit included all the rest of the morning.
They were all three walking about together for
an hour or two — first round the shrubberies of
Hartfield, and afterwards in Highbury. He
was delighted with everything; admired Hart-
field sufficiently for Mr Woodhouse's ear; and
when their going farther was resolved on, con
fessed his wish to be made acquainted with the
whole village, and found matter of commenda
tion 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 ab
senting himself; that he had not been acting a
part, or making a parade of insincere profes
sions; and that Mr Knightley certainly had not
done him justice.
[276]

EMMA

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 neigh
bourhood 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; 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 su
perior 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 Wood-
house revived the former good old days of the room ?

[277]

EMMA

She who could do anything 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-look
ing houses as he saw around him could not fur
nish 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
anything, or that there would be the smallest
difficulty in everybody'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 constitu
tion of the Weston prevail so decidedly against
the habits of the Churchills. He seemed to have
all the life and spirit, cheerful feelings, and so
cial inclinations of his father, and nothing of the
pride or reserve of Enscombe. Of pride, in
deed, 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 fac
ing the house where the Bateses lodged, Emma
[278]

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. 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, 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 look
ing?"

"Ill, very ill — 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 — a most deplorable want of com
plexion."

Emma would not agree to this, and began

[279]

EMMA

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; but yet he must confess that to
him nothing could make amends for the want of
the fine glow of health. Where features were
indiiferent, a fine complexion gave beauty to
them all; and where they were good, the effect
was — fortunately he need not attempt to describe
what the effect was.

"Well," said Emma, "there is no disputing
about taste. At least you admire her, except
her complexion."

He shook his head and laughed. "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 everybody 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
[280]

EMMA

place — to be a true citizen of Highbury. I must
buy something at Ford's. It will be taking
out my freedom. I dare say they sell gloves."

"Oh yes, gloves and everything. I do admire
your patriotism. You will be adored in High
bury. You were very popular before you came,
because you were Mr Weston's son; 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 — "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 amor patrice. 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. I shall not commit
myself by claiming more than she may chuse to
allow."

"Upon my word you answer as discreetly as

[281]

EMMA

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 in
formation about anybody, that I really think you
may say what you like of your acquaintance with
her."

"May I, indeed? Then I will speak the truth,
and nothing suits me so well. I met her fre
quently at Weymouth. I had known the Camp
bells a little in town ; and at Weymouth we were
very much in the same set. Col. 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 ) — "I believe
I do."

"You get upon delicate subjects, Emma," said
Mrs Weston, smiling; "remember that I am
here. 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 her" said
Emma, "as having ever been anything 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
[282]

EMMA

young lady we were speaking of play?" said
Frank Churchill.

"Ever hear her?" repeated Emma. "You for
get 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? I wanted the opinion
of some one who could really judge. She ap
peared to me to play well, that is, with consider
able taste, but I know nothing of the matter my
self. I am excessively fond of music, but with
out the smallest skill or right of judging of any
body's performance. I have been used to hear
hers admired; and I remember one proof of her
being thought to play well : a man, a very musical
man, and in love with another woman — engaged
to her — on the point of marriage — would yet
never ask that other woman to sit down to the
instrument, if the lady in question could sit down
instead — 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.
"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."

[283]

EMMA

"Certainly, very strong it was; to own the
truth, a great deal stronger than, if / had been
Miss Campbell, would have been at all agreeable
to me. I could not excuse a man's having more
music than love — more ear than eye — a more
acute sensibility to fine sounds than to my feel
ings. 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 ; with a stranger
it might not recur again, but the misery of hav
ing a very particular friend always at hand, to
do everything better than one does one's self.
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, or so much the worse;
I do not know which. But be it sweetness, or
be it stupidity in her — quickness of friendship,
or dulness of feeling — there was one person, I
think, who must have felt it — Miss Fairfax her-
\self. She must have felt the improper and dan
gerous distinction."

TAs to that— I do not—

"Oh, do not imagine that I expect an account
[284]

EMMA

of Miss Fairfax's sensations from you, or from
anybody 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 under
standing among them all — " he began rather
quickly, but checking himself, added, "however,
it is impossible for me to say on what terms they
really were — 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 con
duct 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 inti
mate — 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 idol
ized and so cried up as she always was, by her
aunt and grandmother, and all their set. And
then, her reserve! 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

[285]

EMMA

never pleasing. There is safety in reserve, but
no attraction. One cannot love a reserved per
son."

"Not till the reserve ceases towards one's self;
and then the attraction may be the greater. But
I must be more in want of a friend, or an agree
able companion, than I have yet been, to take
the trouble of conquering anybody'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 — not the least — except
that such extreme and perpetual cautiousness of
word and manner, such a dread of giving a dis
tinct idea about anybody, is apt to suggest suspi
cions of there being something to conceal."

He perfectly agreed with her ; and after walk
ing 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 — 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;
[286]

EMMA

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 did know what he was talking about, and that
he showed a very amiable inclination to settle
early in life, and to marry from worthy motives.
He might not be aware of the inroads on domes
tic 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.

[287]

EMMA

CHAPTER XXV.

EMMA'S very good opinion of Fran!
Churchill was a little shaken the f ollowini
day by hearing that he was gone off
London, merely to have his hair cut. A suddei
freak seemed to have seized him at breakfas
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 traveling six
teen 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
expense, or even the unselfish warmth of hearfl
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 Wes
ton did not like it was clear enough by her pas
sing it over as quickly as possible, and making
no other comment than that "all young people
would have their little whims."
[288]

EMMA

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 com
panion he made himself — how much she saw to
like in his disposition altogether. He appeared
to have a very open temper — certainly a very
cheerful and lively one; she could observe noth
ing wrong in his notions — a great deal decidedly
right ; he spoke of his uncle with warm regard —
was fond of talking of him; 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 promis
ing; 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 — (for still her resolution held of
never marrying) — the honour, in short, of being
marked out for her by all their joint acquaint
ance.

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 ex-

[289]

EMMA

tremely — 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 acquaint
ance in Surry not so leniently disposed. In gen
eral, he was judged, throughout the parishes of
Don well and Highbury with great candour;
liberal allowances were made for the little ex
cesses of such a handsome young man, — one
wrho smiled so often and bowed so well; but
there was one spirit among them not to be soft
ened, from its power of censure, by bows or
smiles — 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 there
fore 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 op
portune. Something occurred while they were at
Hartfield to make Emma want their advice ; and,
[290]

EMMA

which was still more lucky, she wanted exactly
the advice they gave.

This was the occurrence : — The Coles had been
settled some years in Highbury, and were very
good sort of people, friendly, liberal, and un
pretending; 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 —
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 Hart-
field. Their love of society, and their new din
ing-room, prepared everybody 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 — neither
Donwell, nor Hartfield, nor Randalls. Noth
ing should tempt her to go, if they did; and she
regretted that her father's known habits would

[291]

EMMA

be giving her refusal less meaning than sh
could wish. The Coles were very respectable i
their way, but they ought to be taught that :
was not for them to arrange the terms on wmtS

____rtMMM^M^MM^MvMw^w^MMww^ta^k«MMMMM**^VM>l'*M*MMM***"AMMMMnHMM^^^*^**^A

the superior families would visit them. This le;
son, she very much feared, they would receh
only from herself; she had little hope of JM
Knightley, none of Mr Weston.

But she had made up her mind how to me
this presumption so many weeks before it a)
peared, that when the insult came at last it four
her very differently affected. Donwell ar
Randalls had received their invitation, and noi
had come for her father and herself; and M
Weston's accounting for it with, "I suppose th-
will not take the liberty with you; they knc
you do not dine out," was not quite sufficiei
She felt that she should like to have had 1 1
power of refusal; and afterwards, as the id
of the party to be assembled there, consisti]
precisely of those whose society was dearest
her, occurred again and again, she did not kn«
that she might not have been tempted to acce
Harriet was to be there in the evening, and 1
Bateses. They had been speaking of it as tl
walked about Highbury the day before, &
Frank Churchill had most earnestly lamented 1
absence. Might not the evening end in a dan«
had been a question of his. The bare possibil
[292]

on

EMMA

f it acted as a further irritation on her spirits;
nd her being left in solitary grandeur, even
upposing the omission to be intended as a com-
liment, was but poor comfort.

It was the arrival of this very invitation, while
be Westons were at Hartfield, which made their
resence so acceptable; for though her first re-
nark on reading it was, that, "of course it must
e declined," she so very soon proceeded to ask
hem what they advised her to do, that their ad-
ice for her going was most prompt and suc-
essful.

She owned that, considering everything, she
ras not absolutely without inclination for the
arty. The Coles expressed themselves so prop-
rly — there was so much real attention in the
nanner of it — so much consideration for her
ather. "They would have solicited the honour
arlier, but had been waiting the arrival of a
'oldmg-screen from London, which they hoped
night keep Mr Woodhouse from any draught
>f air, and, therefore, induce him the more
eadily to give them the honour of his company."
Jpon the whole, she was very persuadable; and
: being briefly settled among themselves how it
night be done without neglecting his comfort,—
low certainly Mrs Goddard, if not Mrs Bates,
night be depended on for bearing him com-
>any, — Mr Woodhouse was to be talked into an

[293]

EMMA

acquiesence of his daughter's going out to din
ner on a day now near at hand, and spending
the whole evening away from him. As for hi ft
going, Emma did not wish him to think it pos
sible; the hours would be too late, and the party
too numerous. He was soon pretty well re
signed.

"I am not fond of dinner- visiting," said he;
"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; 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 even
ing. The dews of a summer evening are wh«
I would not expose anybody to. However,
they are so very desirous to have dear Ei
dine with them, and as you will both be then
and Mr Knightley too, to take care of her, I cai
not wish to prevent it, provided the weather
what it ought, neither damp, nor cold, nor
dy." Then turning to Mrs Weston, with a lool
of gentle reproach, — "Ah, Miss Taylor, if yoi
had not married, you would have staid at hoi
with me."

"Well, sir," cried Mr Weston, "as I took Mi$
Taylor away, it is incumbent on me to suppb
[294]

EMMA

her place, if I can; and I will step to Mrs God-
dard in a moment, if you wish it."

But the idea of anything to be done in a mo
ment was increasing, not lessening, Mr Wood-
house'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 nowhere, and therefore must de
cline their obliging invitation; beginning with
my compliments, of course. But you will do
everything 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 Tues
day. 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

[295]

EMMA

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 Wood-
house. "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 anybody'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 ten years."

"No, upon no account in the world, Mr Wes
ton, 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
[296]

EMMA

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 — Mr Cole is very
bilious. No, I would not be the means of giv
ing 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 my
self; 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 ; 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
everything were safe in the house as usual.

[297]

EMMA

CHAPTER XXVI.

FRANK CHURCHILL came back again;
and if he kept his father's dinner wait
ing 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
moralized to herself-

"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 fol
ly is not always folly. It depends upon the
character of those who handle it. Mr Knightley,
he is 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
[298]

EMMA

of a mind too weak to defend its own vanities.
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 to
wards 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 un
willing self-denial his care of their constitution
might have obliged them to practice during the

[299]

EMMA

meal. 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
lie could, and not use his carriage so often as be
came 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. 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
wrhether you would have discerned me to be more
of a gentleman than usual. 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
[300]

EMMA

observe it whenever I meet you under those cir
cumstances. Now you have nothing to try for.
You are not afraid of being supposed ashamed.
You are not striving to look taller than anybody
else. 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 conse
quence 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 ; 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 High
bury. 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

[301]

EMMA

be general; and, while politics and Mr Elton
were talked over, Emma could fairly surrender
all her attention to the pleasantness of her neigh
bour. The first remote sound to which she felt
herself obliged to attend was the name of Jane
Fairfax. Mrs Cole seemed to be relating some
thing of her that was expected to be very inter
esting. 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,
a very elegant looking instrument; 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 con
gratulations 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, entirely
unexpected; that, at first, by Miss Bates's ac
count, Jane herself was quite at a loss, quite be
wildered to think who could possibly have ordered
it; but now they were both perfectly satisfied
that it could be from only one quarter — of course
it must be from Colonel Campbell.

"One can suppose nothing else," added Mrs
Cole; "and I was only; surprized that there could
[302]

EMMA

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 con
vinced that it must come from Colonel Camp
bell, 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
anything that has given me more satisfaction.
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 anything 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

[303]

EMMA

the pitifullest old spinnet in the world, to amuse
herself with. 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, hop
ing 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 — or else I am sure
we ought to be ashamed of it. We are in great
hopes that Miss Woodhouse may be prevailed
with to try it this evening."

Miss Woodhouse made the proper acquies
cence; and finding that nothing more was to
entrapped from any communication of H
Cole's, turned to Frank Churchill.

"Why do you smile?" said she.

"Nay, why do you?"

"Me! I suppose I smile for pleasure
Colonel Campbell's being so rich and so li
It is a handsome present."

"Very."

"I rather wonder that it was never mad
before."

"Perhaps Miss Fairfax has never been stayir
here so long before."

"Or that he did not give her the use of the
own instrument, which must now be shut up
London, untouched by anybody."
[304]

EMMA

"That is a grand pianoforte, and he might
think it too large for Mrs Bates's house."

"You may say what you chuse, but your coun
tenance testifies that your thoughts on this sub
ject are very much like mine."

"I do not know. I rather believe you are giv
ing me more credit for acuteness than I deserve.
I smile because you smile, and shall probably
suspect whatever I find you suspect; but at pres
ent 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 Mr Dixon in them."

"Mr Dixon ! 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 con
firmed an idea which I had entertained before.

[305]

EMMA

I do not mean to reflect upon the good intentions
of either Mr Dixon or Miss Fairfax ; but I can
not help suspecting either that, after making his
proposals to her friend, he had the misfortune to
fall in love with 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. In the summer
it might have passed; but what can anybody's
native air do for them in the months of January,
February, and March? Good fires and car
riages would be much more to the purpose in
most cases of delicate health, and I dare say in
hers. I do not require you to adopt all my suspi
cions, 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? A water party; and by some ac
cident she was falling overboard. He caught
her."

[306]

EMMA

"He did. I was there — one of the party."

"Were you really? Well! But you observed
nothing, of course, for it seems to be a new idea
to you. 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 — it was the work of a moment. And
though the consequent shock and alarm was very
great, and much more durable — indeed I believe
it was half an hour before any of us were com
fortable again — yet that was too general a sen
sation for anything 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."

[307]

EMMA

"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 Camp
bells, 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, per
haps, 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 judg
ment along with them entirely. At first, while I
supposed you satisfied that Colonel CampbeD
was the giver, I saw it only as paternal kindness,
and thought it the most natural thing in the worldl
But when you mentioned Mrs Dixon, I felt ho*
much more probable that it should be the tribute
of warm female friendship. And now I cafl
see it in no other light than as an offering oi
love."

There was no occasion to press the mattei
farther. The conviction seemed real; he lookec
as if he felt it. She said no more — other sub
jects took their turn, and the rest of the dinner
passed away; the dessert succeeded, the childrer
came in, and were talked to and admired amk
the usual rate of conversation; a few clever
things said, a few downright silly, but by mucl
[308]

EMMA

the larger proportion neither the one nor the
other — 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 entree 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 — 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 hap
piness 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 — yes, of having
loved even Mr Elton in vain 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

[309]

EMMA

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 congratu
lations were received, the blush of guilt which
accompanied the name of "my excellent friend,
Col. Campbell."

Mrs Weston, kind-hearted and musical, was
particularly interested by the circumstance, and
Emma could not help being amused at her per
severance 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 gentle
men; and the very first of the early was Frank
Churchill. In he walked, the first and the hand
somest; and after paying his compliments, 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 everybody present must be think
ing. She was his object and everybody must
perceive it. She introduced him to her friend
Miss Smith, and, at convenient moments after
wards, heard what each thought of the other.
[310]

"He had never seen so lovely a face, and was de
lighted with her naivete." 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 indigna
tion, 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 — hated sitting long — was always
the first to move when he could — that his father,
Mr Knightley, Mr Cox, and Mr Cole, were left
very busy over parish business — that as long as
he had staid, however, it had been pleasant
enough, as he had found them in general a set
of gentlemenlike, sensible men; and spoke so
handsomely of Highbury altogether — thought it
so abundant in agreeable families — 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, the extent of the neigh
bourhood 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

[311]

EMMA

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, at times, that he could get away, or in
troduce an acquaintance for a night.

She saw that Enscombe could not satisfy, and
that Highbury, taken at its best, might reason
ably please a young man who had more retire
ment at home than he liked. His importance at
Enscombe was very evident. He did not boast,
but it naturally betrayed itself, that he had per
suaded 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 with time persuade her to anything.
One of those points on which his influence failed
he then mentioned. He had wanted very much
to go abroad — had been very eager indeed to be
allowed to travel — but she would not hear of it.
This had happened the year before. 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. "I have been here a
week to-morrow — half my time. I never knew
[312]

EMMA

days fly so fast. A week to-morrow! — and I
have hardly begun to enjoy myself. But just
got acquainted with Mrs Weston, and others.
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 atten
tion 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 — so very odd a way — that I cannot keep my
eyes from her. I never saw anything so outre!
Those curls ! This must be a fancy of her own.
I see nobody else looking like her. I must go
and ask her whether it is an Irish fashion. Shall
I? Yes, I will — I declare I will; and you shall
see how she takes it — whether she colours."

He was gone immediately; and Emma soon

[313]

EMMA

saw him standing before Miss Fairfax, and talk
ing 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 ;
"one can get near everybody, and say every
thing. My dear Emma, I am longing to talk to
you. I have been making discoveries and form
ing 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! They were invited, were not they?"

"Oh yes — but how they were conveyed hither?
— the manner of their coming?"

"They walked, I conclude. How else could
they come?"

"Very true. Well, a little while ago it occur
red 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
[314]

EMMA

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 be
fore 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 !'-
but with many, many thanks — 'there was no occa
sion to trouble us, for Mr Knightley's carriage
had brought, and was to take them home again.'
I was quite surprized ; — very glad, I am sure ; but
really quite surprized. Such a very kind atten
tion — and so thoughtful an attention! — 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, "nothing more like
ly. I know no man more likely than Mr Knight-
ley to do the sort of thing — to do anything 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;
and for an act of unostentatious kindness there

[315]

EMMA

is nobody whom I would fix on more than on Mr
Knightley. I know he had horses to-day, 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 benevo
lence 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!
What do you say to it?"

"Mr Knightley and Jane Fairfax!" exclaimed
Emma. "Dear Mrs Weston, how could you
jthink of such a thing? Mr Knightley! — Mr
iKnightley must not marry ! You would not have
little Henry cut out from Don well ? Oh no, no ;
Henry must have Donwell. I cannot at all con
sent 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 — I do
not want to injure dear little Henry — 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,
[316]

EMMA

a boy of six years old, who knows nothing of
the matter?"

"Yes, I would. I could not bear to have
Henry supplanted. Mr Knightley marry ! 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 — and is always
glad to show them attention. My dear Mrs
Weston, do not take to match-making. You do
it very ill. Jane Fairfax mistress of the Abbey?
Oh no, no — every feeling revolts. For his own
sake, I would not have him do so mad a thing."

"Imprudent, if you please — but not mad.
Excepting inequality of fortune, and perhaps
a little disparity of age, I can see nothing unsuit
able."

"But Mr Knightley does not want to marry.
I am sure he has not the least idea of it. Do

[317]

EMMA

not put it into his head. Why should he marry ?
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—

"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 — "

"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 degrad
ing connection. How would he bear to have
Miss Bates belonging to him? To have her
haunting the Abbey, and thanking him all day
long for his great kindness in marrying Jane?
-'So very kind and obliging! 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 — for still it would last
a great while — and, indeed, she must thankfully
say that their petticoats were all very strong.'

"For shame, Emma! Do not mimic her.
[318]

EMMA

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 anything
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 — his anxiety about her
health — his concern that she should have no hap
pier prospect ! I have heard him express himself
so warmly on those points. 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 — this pianoforte that
has been sent here by somebody — 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 in-

[319]

EMMA

strument, repeatedly; oftener than I should sup
pose 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. I
believe nothing of the pianoforte, and proof only
shall convince me that Mr Knightley has an
thought of marrying Jane Fairfax."

They combated the point some time longer
the same way, Emma rather gaining ground ove
the mind of her friend ; for Mrs Weston was th
most used of the two to yield; till a little bust!
in the room showed them that tea was over, an
the instrument in preparation; and at the sam
moment, Mr Cole approaching to entreat Mi
Woodhouse would do them the honour of tryin
it. Frank Churchill, of whom, in the eagerne
of her conversation with Mrs Weston, she ha
been seeing nothing, except that he had found
seat by Miss Fairfax, followed Mr Cole, to ad
his very pressing entreaties; and as, in eve
respect, it suited Emma best to lead, she gave
very proper compliance.
[320]

With mixed feelings she seated herself at a little distance
from the members around the instrument

EMMA

strument, repeatedly; oftener than I should suj
pose such a circumstance would in the coi,
course of things occur to him."

"Very well: and if he had intended to give h«'i

'

"There inig ruples of delicacy, my dea'

i ma. I have a very strong notion that it come*
from him. I am sure he was particularly
when Mrs Cole told us of it at dinner."

"You take up an idea, Mrs Weston, and n>
away with it, ?« «nany a time repn •

me with i -x I tee no sign of attachment.
. . ; H the pianoforte, and proo'
DM that Mr Knightley has an>
ing Jane Fairfax."
I the point some time longer
saji , . Kinma rather gaining groun<;

f her friend; for Mrs Weston w
• of the two to yield; till a little bust)
i showed them that tea was over, ai*J
the instrument in preparation; and at the sai«r
;nent. Mr Cole approach entreat

• would do them the honour of t.
it. frank Churchill, of whom, in the cagt

;aticm with Mrs Weston, she h»*.'
l>et »thing, that he had f<»

seat by Mi.-w Fairfax, followed Mr Cole, to ait
his entreaties; and as, in ev«*

*Mtt«|>e4fcji it hi

very pi^i n-anm *di moil

0]

EMMA

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 ac
companiment to her song took her agreeably by
surprise ; a second, slightly, but correctly taken by
Frank Churchill. Her pardon was duly begged
at the close of the song, and everything usual fol
lowed. 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 as
serted. They sang together once more; and
Emma would then resign her place to Miss Fair
fax, whose performance, both vocal and instru
mental, she never could attempt to conceal from
herself, was infinitely superior to her own.

With mixed feelings she seated herself at a lit
tle distance from the numbers round the instru
ment, to listen. Frank Churchill sang again.
They had sung together once or twice, it ap
peared, 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 sus
picions, to which the sweet sounds of the united
voices gave only momentary interruptions. Her
objections to Mr Knightley 's marrying did not

[321]

EMMA

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 — a most mortifying
change and material loss to them all — a very great
deduction from her father's daily comfort — 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 ! No — 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 cer
tainly 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 our carriage more useful on such occa
sions. 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; "but you must often wish
it, I am sure." And he smiled with such seeming

EMMA

pleasure at the conviction, that she must proceed
another step.

"This present from the Campbells," said she—
"this pianoforte is very kindly given."

"Yes," he replied, and without the smallest
apparent embarrassment. "But they would have
done better had they given her notice of it. Sur
prizes are foolish things. The pleasure is not
enhanced, and the inconvenience is often con
siderable. I should have expected better judg
ment 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 en
tirely free from peculiar attachment — whether
there were no actual preference — remained a lit
tle 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; "you have sung quite enough for
one evening; now be quiet."

Another song, however, was soon begged for.
"One more; they would not fatigue Miss Fair
fax 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.

[323]

"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, "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 further 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 — originating
nobody exactly knew where — was so effectually
promoted by Mr and Mrs Cole that everything
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
[324]

EMMA

augur something. There was no immediate ap
pearance. No; he was talking to Mrs Cole — 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 ac
count. 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 danc
ing would not have agreed with me after yours."

[325]

EMMA

CHAPTER XXVII.

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 am
ply repaid in the splendour of popularity. She
must have delighted the Coles — worthy people;
who deserved to be made happy! — and left a
name behind her that would not soon die away.

Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not com
mon ; 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 feel
ings 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 unf eignedly and unequivocally regret the
inferiority of her own playing and singing. She
did most heartily grieve over the idleness of her
childhood? and sat down and practised vigor
ously an hour and a half.
[326]

EMMA

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 play
ing is no more like hers than a lamp in like sun
shine."

"O dear, 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. Everybody
last night said how well you played."

"Those who knew anything 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 differ
ence 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 exe
cution."

"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, there
is no understanding a word of it. Besides, if

[327]

EMMA

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 — very vulgar."

"They told me something," said Harriet, rather
hesitatingly, "but it is nothing of any conse
quence."

Emma was obliged to ask what they had told
her, though fearful of its producing Mr Elton.

"They told me 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 : I think they are, without excep
tion, the most vulgar girls in Highbury."
[328]

EMMA

Harriet had business at Ford's. Emma
thought it most prudent to go with her. An
other accidental meeting with the Martins was
possible, and in her present state, would be dan
gerous.

Harriet, tempted by everything, and swayed
by half a word, was always very long at a pur
chase; and while she was still hanging over mus
lins and changing her mind Emma went to the
door for amusement. Much could not be hoped
from the traffic of even the busiest part of High
bury: — Mr Perry walking hastily by; Mr Wil
liam 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 quar
relling over a dirty bone, and a string of dawdling
children round the baker's little bow- window eye
ing 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

[329]

EMMA

into Highbury; — to Hartfield of course; they
were stopping, however, in the first place at Mrs
Bates's, whose house was a little nearer Ran
dalls than Ford's, and had all but knocked when
Emma caught their eye. 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 meet
ing. 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,
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, 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 Wood-
house looks as if she could almost say the same.
What am I to do?"
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EMMA

"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 Wes-
ton and hear the instrument."

"Well, if you advise it. But" (with a smile)
"if Colonel Campbell should have employed a
careless friend, and if it should prove to have an
indifferent tone, 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 wretchest
being in the world at a civil falsehood."

"I do not believe any such thing," replied
Emma; "I am persuaded that you can be as in
sincere as your neighbours, when it is necessary;
but there is no reason to suppose the instrument
is indifferent. Quite otherwise, indeed, if I un
derstood Miss Fairfax's opinion last night."

"Do come with me," said Mrs Weston, "if it
be not very disagreeable to you. It need not de
tain us long. We will go to Hartfield after
wards. 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 Wes
ton to Mrs Bates's door. Emma watched them

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EMMA

in, and then joined Harriet at the interesting
counter, 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.— "Yes — no — yes, to Mrs God
dard'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. And
I could take the pattern gown home any day.
But I shall want the ribbon directly; so it had
better go to Hartfield — 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 — I do not know — 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?"
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EMMA

"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, 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 instru
ment — you and Miss Smith. How do you do,
Miss Smith? — Very well, I thank you. — And I
begged Mrs Weston to come with me, that I
might be sure of succeeding."

"I hope Mrs Bates and Miss Fairfax are — "

"Very well, I am much obliged to you. My
mother is delightfully well; and Jane caught no
cold last night. How is Mr Woodhouse? I am
so glad to hear such a good account. Mrs Wes
ton told me you were here. '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; and now we are such a nice party, she
cannot refuse.' 'Ay, pray do,' said Mr Frank
Churchill, 'Miss Woodhouse's opinion of the in-

[333]

EMMA

strument will be worth having.' 'But,' said I,
'I shall be more sure of succeeding if one of you
will go with me.' — 'Oh,' said he, 'wait half a min
ute, till I have finished my job;' 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. The rivet
came out, you know, this morning ; so very oblig
ing! — For my mother had no use of her spect
acles — could not put them on. And, by-the-bye,
everybody 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 hindred 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, Tatty, do not
come with your bad news to me. Here is the
rivet of you 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. I have heard some peo
ple say that Mrs Wallis can be uncivil and give
a very rude answer; but we have never known
anything 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. Besides, dear Jane at
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EMMA

present — and she really eats nothing — makes such
a shocking breakfast, you would be quite fright
ened if you saw it. I dare not let my mother
know how little she eats ; 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. 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 whole
some. We have apple dumplings, however, very
often. Patty makes an excellent apple-dump
ling. 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 further delay from Miss Bates
than —

"How do you do, Mrs Ford? I beg your par
don; 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 — 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.

[335]

EMMA

Emma wondered on what, of all the medley,
she would fix.

"I declare I cannot recollect what I was talking
of. Oh, my mother's spectacles ! So very oblig
ing of Mr Frank Churchill! 'Oh!' said he, 'I
do think I can fasten the rivet; I like a job of
this kind excessively.' Which, you know, showed
him to be so very — Indeed I must say that, much
as I had heard of him before, and much as I had
expected, he very far exceeds anything — I do
congratulate you, Mrs Weston, most warmly.
He seems everything the fondest parent could —
'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 — And I am sure, by his
manner, it was no compliment. Indeed they are
very delightful apples, and Mrs Wallis does them
full justice, only we do not have them baked
more than twice, and Mr Woodhouse made us
promise to have them done three times; 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 Don-
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EMMA

well — some of Mr Knightley's most liberal sup
ply. He sends us a sack every year; and cer
tainly there never was such a keeping apple any
where as one of his trees — I believe there is two
of them. My mother says the orchard was al
ways famous in her younger days. But I was
really quite shocked the other day; for Mr
Knightley called one morning, and Jane was eat
ing 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 — for
really as to ours being gone, I could not abso
lutely say that we had a great many left — 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
— no, I should not say quarrelled, for we never
had a quarrel in our lives — but she was quite dis
tressed 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

[337]

EMMA

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 everything, 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 that sort his master had;
he had brought them all — 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 anything; 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 anything to us about it, for Mrs
Hodges 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 anything about it for
the world! !He would be so very — I wanted to
keep it from Jane's knowledge ; but, unluckily, I
had mentioned it before I was aware."
[338]

EMMA

Miss Bates had just done as Patty opened the
door; and her visitors walked upstairs, without
having any regular narration to attend to, pur
sued 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 Wood-
house, ours is rather a dark staircase — 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."

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