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  • VOLUME I

  • CHAPTER X

  • Though now the middle of December, there had yet been no weather to prevent the

  • young ladies from tolerably regular exercise; and on the morrow, Emma had a

  • charitable visit to pay to a poor sick

  • family, who lived a little way out of Highbury.

  • Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage Lane, a lane leading at right

  • angles from the broad, though irregular, main street of the place; and, as may be

  • inferred, containing the blessed abode of Mr. Elton.

  • A few inferior dwellings were first to be passed, and then, about a quarter of a mile

  • down the lane rose the Vicarage, an old and not very good house, almost as close to the

  • road as it could be.

  • It had no advantage of situation; but had been very much smartened up by the present

  • proprietor; and, such as it was, there could be no possibility of the two friends

  • passing it without a slackened pace and observing eyes.--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 beautiful!--There are the yellow curtains

  • that Miss Nash admires so much."

  • "I do not often walk this way now," said Emma, as they proceeded, "but then there

  • will be an inducement, and I shall gradually get intimately acquainted with

  • all the hedges, gates, pools and pollards of this part of Highbury."

  • Harriet, she found, had never in her life been within side the Vicarage, and her

  • curiosity to see it was so extreme, that, considering exteriors and probabilities,

  • Emma could only class it, as a proof of

  • love, with Mr. Elton's seeing ready wit in her.

  • "I wish we could contrive it," said she; "but I cannot think of any tolerable

  • pretence for going in;--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,

  • Harriet 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 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 cannot 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 smiling--so prosing--so

  • undistinguishing and unfastidious--and so

  • apt to tell every thing relative to every body about me, I would marry to-morrow.

  • But between us, I am convinced there never can be any likeness, except in being

  • unmarried."

  • "But still, you will be an old maid! and that's so dreadful!"

  • "Never mind, Harriet, I shall not be a poor old maid; and it is poverty only which

  • makes celibacy contemptible to a generous public!

  • A single woman, with a very narrow income, must be a ridiculous, disagreeable old

  • maid! the proper sport of boys and girls, but a single woman, of good fortune, is

  • always respectable, and may be as sensible and pleasant as any body else.

  • And the distinction is not quite so much against the candour and common sense of the

  • world as appears at first; for a very narrow income has a tendency to contract

  • the mind, and sour the temper.

  • Those who can barely live, and who live perforce in a very small, and generally

  • very inferior, society, may well be illiberal and cross.

  • This does not apply, however, to Miss Bates; she is only too good natured and too

  • silly to suit me; but, in general, she is very much to the taste of every body,

  • though single and though poor.

  • Poverty certainly has not contracted her mind: I really believe, if she had only a

  • shilling in the world, she would be very likely to give away sixpence of it; and

  • nobody is afraid of her: that is a great charm."

  • "Dear me! but what shall you do? how shall you employ yourself when you grow old?"

  • "If I know myself, Harriet, mine is an active, busy mind, with a great many

  • independent resources; and I do not perceive why I should be more in want of

  • employment at forty or fifty than one-and- twenty.

  • Woman's usual occupations of hand and mind will be as open to me then as they are now;

  • or with no important variation.

  • If I draw less, I shall read more; if I give up music, I shall take to carpet-work.

  • And as for objects of interest, objects for the affections, which is in truth the great

  • point of inferiority, the want of which is really the great evil to be avoided in

  • 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 acquainted whenever she comes to Highbury.

  • By 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 Fairfax very well; but she tires me to death."

  • They were now approaching the cottage, and all idle topics were superseded.

  • Emma was very compassionate; and the distresses of the poor were as sure of

  • relief from her personal attention and kindness, her counsel and her patience, as

  • from her purse.

  • She understood their ways, could allow for their ignorance and their temptations, had

  • no romantic expectations of extraordinary virtue from those for whom education had

  • done so little; entered into their troubles

  • with ready sympathy, and always gave her assistance with as much intelligence as

  • good-will.

  • In the present instance, it was sickness and poverty together which she came to

  • visit; and after remaining there as long as she could give comfort or advice, she

  • quitted the cottage with such an impression

  • of the scene as made her say to Harriet, as they walked away,

  • "These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good.

  • How trifling they make every thing else appear!--I feel now as if I could think of

  • nothing but these poor creatures all the rest of the day; and yet, who can say how

  • soon it may all vanish from my mind?"

  • "Very true," said Harriet. "Poor creatures! one can think of nothing

  • else."

  • "And really, I do not think the impression will soon be over," said Emma, as she

  • crossed the low hedge, and tottering footstep which ended the narrow, slippery

  • path through the cottage garden, and brought them into the lane again.

  • "I do not think it will," stopping to look once more at all the outward wretchedness

  • of the place, and recall the still greater within.

  • "Oh! dear, no," said her companion.

  • They walked on. The lane made a slight bend; and when that

  • bend was passed, Mr. Elton was immediately in sight; and so near as to give Emma time

  • only to say farther,

  • "Ah! Harriet, here comes a very sudden trial of our stability in good thoughts.

  • Well, (smiling,) I hope it may be allowed that if compassion has produced exertion

  • and relief to the sufferers, it has done all that is truly important.

  • If we feel for the wretched, enough to do all we can for them, the rest is empty

  • sympathy, only distressing to ourselves." Harriet could just answer, "Oh! dear, yes,"

  • before the gentleman joined them.

  • The wants and sufferings of the poor family, however, were the first subject on

  • meeting. He had been going to call on them.

  • His visit he would now defer; but they had a very interesting parley about what could

  • be done and should be done. Mr. Elton then turned back to accompany

  • them.

  • "To fall in with each other on such an errand as this," thought Emma; "to meet in

  • a charitable scheme; this will bring a great increase of love on each side.

  • I should not wonder if it were to bring on the declaration.

  • It must, if I were not here. I wish I were anywhere else."

  • Anxious to separate herself from them as far as she could, she soon afterwards took

  • possession of a narrow footpath, a little raised on one side of the lane, leaving

  • them together in the main road.

  • But she had not been there two minutes when she found that Harriet's habits of

  • dependence and imitation were bringing her up too, and that, in short, they would both

  • be soon after her.

  • This would not do; she immediately stopped, under pretence of having some alteration to

  • make in the lacing of her half-boot, and stooping down in complete occupation of the

  • footpath, begged them to have the goodness

  • to walk on, and she would follow in half a minute.

  • They did as they were desired; and by the time she judged it reasonable to have done

  • with her boot, she had the comfort of farther delay in her power, being overtaken

  • by a child from the cottage, setting out,

  • according to orders, with her pitcher, to fetch broth from Hartfield.

  • To walk by the side of this child, and talk to and question her, was the most natural

  • thing in the world, or would have been the most natural, had she been acting just then

  • without design; and by this means the

  • others were still able to keep ahead, without any obligation of waiting for her.

  • She gained on them, however, involuntarily: the child's pace was quick, and theirs

  • rather slow; and she was the more concerned at it, from their being evidently in a

  • conversation which interested them.

  • Mr. Elton was speaking with animation, Harriet listening with a very pleased

  • attention; and Emma, having sent the child on, was beginning to think how she might

  • draw back a little more, when they both

  • looked around, and she was obliged to join them.

  • Mr. Elton was still talking, still engaged in some interesting detail; and Emma

  • experienced some disappointment when she found that he was only giving his fair

  • companion an account of the yesterday's

  • party at his friend Cole's, and that she was come in herself for the Stilton cheese,

  • the north Wiltshire, the butter, the celery, the beet-root, and all the dessert.

  • "This would soon have led to something better, of course," was her consoling

  • reflection; "any thing interests between those who love; and any thing will serve as

  • introduction to what is near the heart.

  • If I could but have kept longer away!"

  • They now walked on together quietly, till within view of the vicarage pales, when a

  • sudden resolution, of at least getting Harriet into the house, made her again find

  • something very much amiss about her boot, and fall behind to arrange it once more.

  • She then broke the lace off short, and dexterously throwing it into a ditch, was

  • presently obliged to entreat them to stop, and acknowledged her inability to put

  • herself to rights so as to be able to walk home in tolerable comfort.

  • "Part of my lace is gone," said she, "and I do not know how I am to contrive.

  • I really am a most troublesome companion to you both, but I hope I am not often so ill-

  • equipped.

  • Mr. Elton, I must beg leave to stop at your house, and ask your housekeeper for a bit

  • of ribband or string, or any thing just to keep my boot on."

  • Mr. Elton looked all happiness at this proposition; and nothing could exceed his

  • alertness and attention in conducting them into his house and endeavouring to make

  • every thing appear to advantage.

  • The room they were taken into was the one he chiefly occupied, and looking forwards;

  • behind it was another with which it immediately communicated; the door between

  • them was open, and Emma passed into it with

  • the housekeeper to receive her assistance in the most comfortable manner.

  • She was obliged to leave the door ajar as she found it; but she fully intended that

  • Mr. Elton should close it.

  • It was not closed, however, it still remained ajar; but by engaging the

  • housekeeper in incessant conversation, she hoped to make it practicable for him to

  • chuse his own subject in the adjoining room.

  • For ten minutes she could hear nothing but herself.

  • It could be protracted no longer.

  • She was then obliged to be finished, and make her appearance.

  • The lovers were standing together at one of the windows.

  • It had a most favourable aspect; and, for half a minute, Emma felt the glory of

  • having schemed successfully. But it would not do; he had not come to the

  • point.

  • He had been most agreeable, most delightful; he had told Harriet that he had

  • seen them go by, and had purposely followed them; other little gallantries and

  • allusions had been dropt, but nothing serious.

  • "Cautious, very cautious," thought Emma; "he advances inch by inch, and will hazard

  • nothing till he believes himself secure."

  • Still, however, though every thing had not been accomplished by her ingenious device,

  • she could not but flatter herself that it had been the occasion of much present

  • enjoyment to both, and must be leading them forward to the great event.

  • >

  • VOLUME I

  • CHAPTER XI

  • Mr. Elton must now be left to himself. It was no longer in Emma's power to

  • superintend his happiness or quicken his measures.

  • The coming of her sister's family was so very near at hand, that first in

  • anticipation, and then in reality, it became henceforth her prime object of

  • interest; and during the ten days of their

  • stay at Hartfield it was not to be expected--she did not herself expect--that

  • any thing beyond occasional, fortuitous assistance could be afforded by her to the

  • lovers.

  • They might advance rapidly if they would, however; they must advance somehow or other

  • whether they would or no. She hardly wished to have more leisure for

  • them.

  • There are people, who the more you do for them, the less they will do for themselves.

  • Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer than usual absent from Surry,

  • were exciting of course rather more than the usual interest.

  • Till this year, every long vacation since their marriage had been divided between

  • Hartfield and Donwell Abbey; but all the holidays of this autumn had been given to

  • sea-bathing for the children, and it was

  • therefore many months since they had been seen in a regular way by their Surry

  • connexions, or seen at all by Mr. Woodhouse, who could not be induced to get

  • so far as London, even for poor Isabella's

  • sake; and who consequently was now most nervously and apprehensively happy in

  • forestalling this too short visit.

  • He thought much of the evils of the journey for her, and not a little of the fatigues

  • of his own horses and coachman who were to bring some of the party the last half of

  • the way; but his alarms were needless; the

  • sixteen miles being happily accomplished, and Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, their five

  • children, and a competent number of nursery-maids, all reaching Hartfield in

  • safety.

  • The bustle and joy of such an arrival, the many to be talked to, welcomed, encouraged,

  • and variously dispersed and disposed of, produced a noise and confusion which his

  • nerves could not have borne under any other

  • cause, nor have endured much longer even for this; but the ways of Hartfield and the

  • feelings of her father were so respected by Mrs. John Knightley, that in spite of

  • maternal solicitude for the immediate

  • enjoyment of her little ones, and for their having instantly all the liberty and

  • attendance, all the eating and drinking, and sleeping and playing, which they could

  • possibly wish for, without the smallest

  • delay, the children were never allowed to be long a disturbance to him, either in

  • themselves or in any restless attendance on them.

  • Mrs. John Knightley was a pretty, elegant little woman, of gentle, quiet manners, and

  • a disposition remarkably amiable and affectionate; wrapt up in her family; a

  • devoted wife, a doating mother, and so

  • tenderly attached to her father and sister that, but for these higher ties, a warmer

  • love might have seemed impossible. She could never see a fault in any of them.

  • She was not a woman of strong understanding or any quickness; and with this resemblance

  • of her father, she inherited also much of his constitution; was delicate in her own

  • health, over-careful of that of her

  • children, had many fears and many nerves, and was as fond of her own Mr. Wingfield in

  • town as her father could be of Mr. Perry.

  • They were alike too, in a general benevolence of temper, and a strong habit

  • of regard for every old acquaintance.

  • Mr. John Knightley was a tall, gentleman- like, and very clever man; rising in his

  • profession, domestic, and respectable in his private character; but with reserved

  • manners which prevented his being generally

  • pleasing; and capable of being sometimes out of humour.

  • He was not an ill-tempered man, not so often unreasonably cross as to deserve such

  • a reproach; but his temper was not his great perfection; and, indeed, with such a

  • worshipping wife, it was hardly possible

  • that any natural defects in it should not be increased.

  • The extreme sweetness of her temper must hurt his.

  • He had all the clearness and quickness of mind which she wanted, and he could

  • sometimes act an ungracious, or say a severe thing.

  • He was not a great favourite with his fair sister-in-law.

  • Nothing wrong in him escaped her.

  • She was quick in feeling the little injuries to Isabella, which Isabella never

  • felt herself.

  • Perhaps she might have passed over more had his manners been flattering to Isabella's

  • sister, but they were only those of a calmly kind brother and friend, without

  • praise and without blindness; but hardly

  • any degree of personal compliment could have made her regardless of that greatest

  • fault of all in her eyes which he sometimes fell into, the want of respectful

  • forbearance towards her father.

  • There he had not always the patience that could have been wished.

  • Mr. Woodhouse's peculiarities and fidgetiness were sometimes provoking him to

  • a rational remonstrance or sharp retort equally ill-bestowed.

  • It did not often happen; for Mr. John Knightley had really a great regard for his

  • father-in-law, and generally a strong sense of what was due to him; but it was too

  • often for Emma's charity, especially as

  • there was all the pain of apprehension frequently to be endured, though the

  • offence came not.

  • The beginning, however, of every visit displayed none but the properest feelings,

  • and this being of necessity so short might be hoped to pass away in unsullied

  • cordiality.

  • They had not been long seated and composed when Mr. Woodhouse, with a melancholy shake

  • of the head and a sigh, called his daughter's attention to the sad change at

  • Hartfield since she had been there last.

  • "Ah, my dear," said he, "poor Miss Taylor-- 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. "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 frequently here.

  • They are very, very kind in their visits. Mr. Weston is really as kind as herself.

  • Papa, if you speak in that melancholy way, you will be giving Isabella a false idea of

  • us all.

  • Every body must be aware that Miss Taylor must be missed, but every body ought also

  • to be assured that Mr. and Mrs. Weston do really prevent our missing her by any means

  • to the extent we ourselves anticipated-- which is the exact truth."

  • "Just as it should be," said Mr. John Knightley, "and just as I hoped it was from

  • your letters.

  • Her wish of shewing you attention could not be doubted, and his being a disengaged and

  • social man makes it all easy.

  • I have been always telling you, my love, that I had no idea of the change being so

  • very material to Hartfield as you apprehended; and now you have Emma's

  • account, I hope you will be satisfied."

  • "Why, to be sure," said Mr. 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 pleasantly, "that Mr. Weston has some

  • little claim. You and I, Emma, will venture to take the

  • part of the poor husband.

  • I, being a husband, and you not being a wife, the claims of the man may very likely

  • strike us with equal force.

  • As for Isabella, she has been married long enough to see the convenience of putting

  • all the Mr. Westons aside as much as she can."

  • "Me, my love," cried his wife, hearing and understanding only in part.-- "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 leaving Hartfield, I should never have thought of Miss Taylor

  • but as the most fortunate woman in the world; and as to slighting Mr. Weston, that

  • excellent Mr. Weston, I think there is nothing he does not deserve.

  • I believe he is one of the very best- tempered men that ever existed.

  • Excepting yourself and your brother, I do not know his equal for temper.

  • I shall never forget his flying Henry's kite for him that very windy day last

  • Easter--and ever since his particular kindness last September twelvemonth in

  • writing that note, at twelve o'clock at

  • night, on purpose to assure me that there was no scarlet fever at Cobham, I have been

  • convinced there could not be a more feeling heart nor a better man in existence.--If

  • any body can deserve him, it must be Miss Taylor."

  • "Where is the young man?" said John Knightley.

  • "Has he been here on this occasion--or has he not?"

  • "He has not been here yet," replied Emma.

  • "There was a strong expectation of his coming soon after the marriage, but it

  • ended in nothing; and I have not heard him mentioned lately."

  • "But you should tell them of the letter, my dear," said her father.

  • "He wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston, to congratulate her, and a very proper,

  • handsome letter it was.

  • She shewed it to me. I thought it very well done of him indeed.

  • Whether it was his own idea you know, one cannot tell.

  • He is but young, and his uncle, perhaps--"

  • "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 Weymouth, and dated Sept.

  • 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 comprehend how Mr. Weston could part with him.

  • To give up one's child!

  • I really never could think well of any body who proposed such a thing to any body

  • else."

  • "Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy," observed Mr. John

  • Knightley coolly.

  • "But you need not imagine Mr. Weston to have felt what you would feel in giving up

  • Henry or John.

  • Mr. Weston is rather an easy, cheerful- tempered man, than a man of strong

  • feelings; he takes things as he finds them, and makes enjoyment of them somehow or

  • other, depending, I suspect, much more upon

  • what is called society for his comforts, that is, upon the power of eating and

  • drinking, and playing whist with his neighbours five times a week, than upon

  • family affection, or any thing that home affords."

  • Emma could not like what bordered on a reflection on Mr. Weston, and had half a

  • mind to take it up; but she struggled, and let it pass.

  • She would keep the peace if possible; and there was something honourable and valuable

  • in the strong domestic habits, the all- sufficiency of home to himself, whence

  • resulted her brother's disposition to look

  • down on the common rate of social intercourse, and those to whom it was

  • important.--It had a high claim to forbearance.

  • >

  • VOLUME I

  • CHAPTER XII

  • Mr. Knightley 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; 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

  • satisfaction, and then a little sauciness, she could not help saying, as he was

  • admiring the baby,

  • "What a comfort it is, that we think alike about our nephews and nieces.

  • As to men and women, our opinions are sometimes very different; but with regard

  • to these children, I observe we never disagree."

  • "If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of men and women, and as

  • little under the power of fancy and whim in your dealings with them, as you are where

  • these children are concerned, we might always think alike."

  • "To be sure--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.

  • 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 cordiality, when John Knightley made his

  • appearance, and "How d'ye do, George?" and "John, how are you?" succeeded in the true

  • English style, burying under a calmness

  • that seemed all but indifference, the real attachment which would have led either of

  • them, if requisite, to do every thing for the good of the other.

  • The evening was quiet and conversable, as Mr. Woodhouse declined cards entirely for

  • the sake of comfortable talk with his dear Isabella, and the little party made two

  • natural divisions; on one side he and his

  • daughter; on the other the two Mr. Knightleys; their subjects totally

  • distinct, or very rarely mixing--and Emma only occasionally joining in one or the

  • other.

  • The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits, but principally of those of

  • the elder, whose temper was by much the most communicative, and who was always the

  • greater talker.

  • As a magistrate, he had generally some point of law to consult John about, or, at

  • least, some curious anecdote to give; and as a farmer, as keeping in hand the home-

  • farm at Donwell, he had to tell what every

  • field was to bear next year, and to give all such local information as could not

  • fail of being interesting to a brother whose home it had equally been the longest

  • part of his life, and whose attachments were strong.

  • The plan of a drain, the change of a fence, the felling of a tree, and the destination

  • of every acre for wheat, turnips, or spring corn, was entered into with as much

  • equality of interest by John, as his cooler

  • manners rendered possible; and if his willing brother ever left him any thing to

  • inquire about, his inquiries even approached a tone of eagerness.

  • While they were thus comfortably occupied, Mr. Woodhouse was enjoying a full flow of

  • happy regrets and fearful affection with his daughter.

  • "My poor dear Isabella," said he, fondly taking her hand, and interrupting, for a

  • few moments, her busy labours for some one of her five children--"How long it is, how

  • terribly long since you were here!

  • And how tired you must be after your journey!

  • You must go to bed early, my dear--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 every body, he proceeded to say, with an air of grave

  • reflection,

  • "It was an awkward business, my dear, your spending the autumn at South End instead of

  • coming here. I never had much opinion of the sea air."

  • "Mr. Wingfield most strenuously recommended it, sir--or we should not have gone.

  • He recommended it for all the children, but particularly 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 any body.

  • I am sure it almost killed me once."

  • "Come, come," cried Emma, feeling this to be an unsafe subject, "I must beg you not

  • to talk of the sea. It makes me envious and miserable;--I who

  • have never seen it!

  • South End is prohibited, if you please. My dear Isabella, I have not heard you make

  • one inquiry about Mr. Perry yet; and he never forgets you."

  • "Oh! good Mr. Perry--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 any where."

  • "And Mrs. Perry and the children, how are they? do the children grow?

  • I have a great regard for Mr. Perry. I hope he will be calling soon.

  • He will be so pleased to see my little ones."

  • "I hope he will be here to-morrow, for I have a question or two to ask him about

  • myself of some consequence.

  • And, my dear, whenever he comes, you had better let him look at little Bella's

  • throat."

  • "Oh! my dear sir, her throat is so much better that I have hardly any uneasiness

  • about it.

  • Either bathing has been of the greatest service to her, or else it is to be

  • attributed to an excellent embrocation of Mr. Wingfield's, which we have been

  • applying at times ever since August."

  • "It is not very likely, my dear, that bathing should have been of use to her--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 November.

  • Perry does not call it altogether a sickly season."

  • "No, I do not know that Mr. Wingfield considers 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 general, my dear sir. The neighbourhood of Brunswick Square is

  • very different from almost all the rest.

  • We are so very airy!

  • I should be unwilling, I own, to live in any other part of the town;--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; and if the children were

  • rather pale before they went to bed, it was only because they were a little more tired

  • than usual, from their journey and the happiness of coming.

  • I hope you will think better of their looks to-morrow; for I assure you Mr. Wingfield

  • told me, that he did not believe he had ever sent us off altogether, in such good

  • case.

  • I trust, at least, that you do not think Mr. Knightley looking ill," turning her

  • eyes with affectionate anxiety towards her husband.

  • "Middling, my dear; I cannot compliment you.

  • I think Mr. John Knightley very far from looking well."

  • "What is the matter, sir?--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 yourself and the children, and let me look

  • as I chuse."

  • "I did not thoroughly understand what you were telling your brother," cried Emma,

  • "about your friend Mr. Graham's intending to have a bailiff from Scotland, to look

  • after his new estate.

  • What will it answer? Will not the old prejudice be too strong?"

  • And she talked in this way so long and successfully that, when forced to give her

  • attention again to her father and sister, she had nothing worse to hear than

  • Isabella's kind inquiry after Jane Fairfax;

  • and Jane Fairfax, though no great favourite with her in general, she was at that moment

  • very happy to assist in praising.

  • "That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax!" said Mrs. John Knightley.--"It is so long since

  • I have seen her, except now and then for a moment accidentally in town!

  • What happiness it must be to her good old grandmother and excellent aunt, when she

  • comes to visit them!

  • I always regret excessively on dear Emma's account that she cannot be more at

  • Highbury; but now their daughter is married, I suppose Colonel and Mrs.

  • Campbell will not be able to part with her at all.

  • She would be such a delightful companion for Emma."

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

  • "Our little friend Harriet Smith, however, is just such another pretty kind of young

  • person. You will like Harriet.

  • Emma could not have a better companion than Harriet."

  • "I am most happy to hear it--but only Jane Fairfax one knows to be so very

  • accomplished and superior!--and exactly Emma's age."

  • This topic was discussed very happily, and others succeeded of similar moment, and

  • passed away with similar harmony; but the evening did not close without a little

  • return of agitation.

  • The gruel came and supplied a great deal to be said--much praise and many comments--

  • undoubting 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 understand what she meant by a basin of

  • nice smooth gruel, thin, but not too thin.

  • Often as she had wished for and ordered it, she had never been able to get any thing

  • tolerable. Here was a dangerous opening.

  • "Ah!" said Mr. Woodhouse, shaking his head and fixing his eyes on her with tender

  • concern.--The ejaculation in Emma's ear expressed, "Ah! there is no end of the sad

  • consequences of your going to South End.

  • It does not bear talking of." And for a little while she hoped he would

  • not talk of it, and that a silent rumination might suffice to restore him to

  • the relish of his own smooth gruel.

  • After an interval of some minutes, however, he began with,

  • "I shall always be very sorry that you went to the sea this autumn, instead of coming

  • here."

  • "But why should you be sorry, sir?--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 understands the nature of the air, and his own brother and

  • family have been there repeatedly."

  • "You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you went anywhere.--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 comfortable.

  • You should have consulted Perry." "But, my dear sir, the difference of the

  • journey;--only consider how great it would have been.--An hundred miles, perhaps,

  • instead of forty."

  • "Ah! my dear, as Perry says, where health is at stake, nothing else should be

  • considered; and if one is to travel, there is not much to chuse between forty miles

  • and an hundred.--Better not move at all,

  • better stay in London altogether than travel forty miles to get into a worse air.

  • This is just what Perry said. It seemed to him a very ill-judged

  • measure."

  • Emma's attempts to stop her father had been vain; and when he had reached such a point

  • as this, she could not wonder at her brother-in-law's breaking out.

  • "Mr. Perry," said he, in a voice of very strong displeasure, "would do as well to

  • keep his opinion till it is asked for.

  • Why does he make it any business of his, to wonder at what I do?--at my taking my

  • family to one part of the coast or another?--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 distance of an hundred and

  • thirty miles with no greater expense or

  • inconvenience than a distance of forty, I should be as willing to prefer Cromer to

  • South End as he could himself." "True, true," cried Mr. Knightley, with

  • most ready interposition--"very true.

  • That's a consideration indeed.--But John, as to what I was telling you of my idea of

  • moving the path to Langham, of turning it more to the right that it may not cut

  • through the home meadows, I cannot conceive any difficulty.

  • I should not attempt it, if it were to be the means of inconvenience to the Highbury

  • people, but if you call to mind exactly the present line of the path....

  • The only way of proving it, however, will be to turn to our maps.

  • I shall see you at the Abbey to-morrow morning I hope, and then we will look them

  • over, and you shall give me your opinion."

  • Mr. Woodhouse was rather agitated by such harsh reflections on his friend Perry, to

  • whom he had, in fact, though unconsciously, been attributing many of his own feelings

  • and expressions;--but the soothing

  • attentions of his daughters gradually removed the present evil, and the immediate

  • alertness of one brother, and better recollections of the other, prevented any

  • renewal of it.

  • >

  • VOLUME I

  • CHAPTER XIII

  • There could hardly be a happier creature in the world than Mrs. John Knightley, in this

  • short visit to Hartfield, going about every morning among her old acquaintance with her

  • five children, and talking over what she

  • had done every evening with her father and sister.

  • She had nothing to wish otherwise, but that the days did not pass so swiftly.

  • It was a delightful visit;--perfect, in being much too short.

  • In general their evenings were less engaged with friends than their mornings; but one

  • complete dinner engagement, and out of the house too, there was no avoiding, though at

  • Christmas.

  • Mr. Weston would take no denial; they must all dine at Randalls one day;--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 inclination being consulted in every thing.

  • The evening before this great event (for it was a very great event that Mr. Woodhouse

  • should dine out, on the 24th of December) had been spent by Harriet at Hartfield, and

  • she had gone home so much indisposed with a

  • cold, that, but for her own earnest wish of being nursed by Mrs. Goddard, Emma could

  • not have allowed her to leave the house.

  • Emma called on her the next day, and found her doom already signed with regard to

  • Randalls.

  • She was very feverish and had a bad sore throat: Mrs. Goddard was full of care and

  • affection, Mr. Perry was talked of, and Harriet herself was too ill and low to

  • resist the authority which excluded her

  • from this delightful engagement, though she could not speak of her loss without many

  • tears.

  • Emma sat with her as long as she could, to attend her in Mrs. Goddard's unavoidable

  • absences, and raise her spirits by representing how much Mr. Elton's would be

  • depressed when he knew her state; and left

  • her at last tolerably comfortable, in the sweet dependence of his having a most

  • comfortless visit, and of their all missing her very much.

  • She had not advanced many yards from Mrs. Goddard's door, when she was met by Mr.

  • Elton himself, evidently coming towards it, and as they walked on slowly together in

  • conversation about the invalid--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

  • from the daily visit to Donwell, with his

  • two eldest boys, whose healthy, glowing faces shewed all the benefit of a country

  • run, and seemed to ensure a quick despatch of the roast mutton and rice pudding they

  • were hastening home for.

  • They joined company and proceeded together.

  • Emma was just describing the nature of her friend's complaint;--"a throat very much

  • inflamed, with a great deal of heat about her, a quick, low pulse, &c. and she was

  • sorry to find from Mrs. Goddard that

  • Harriet was liable to very bad sore- throats, and had often alarmed her with

  • them." Mr. Elton looked all alarm on the occasion,

  • as he exclaimed,

  • "A sore-throat!--I hope not infectious. I hope not of a putrid infectious sort.

  • Has Perry seen her? Indeed you should take care of yourself as

  • well as of your friend.

  • Let me entreat you to run no risks. Why does not Perry see her?"

  • Emma, who was not really at all frightened herself, tranquillised this excess of

  • apprehension by assurances of Mrs. Goddard's experience and care; but as there

  • must still remain a degree of uneasiness

  • which she could not wish to reason away, which she would rather feed and assist than

  • not, she added soon afterwards--as if quite another subject,

  • "It is so cold, so very cold--and looks and feels so very much like snow, that if it

  • were to any other place or with any other party, I should really try not to go out

  • to-day--and dissuade my father from

  • venturing; but as he has made up his mind, and does not seem to feel the cold himself,

  • I do not like to interfere, as I know it would be so great a disappointment to Mr.

  • and Mrs. Weston.

  • But, upon my word, Mr. Elton, in your case, I should certainly excuse myself.

  • You appear to me a little hoarse already, and when you consider what demand of voice

  • and what fatigues to-morrow will bring, I think it would be no more than common

  • prudence to stay at home and take care of yourself to-night."

  • Mr. Elton looked as if he did not very well know what answer to make; which was exactly

  • the case; for though very much gratified by the kind care of such a fair lady, and not

  • liking to resist any advice of her's, he

  • had not really the least inclination to give up the visit;--but Emma, too eager and

  • busy in her own previous conceptions and views to hear him impartially, or see him

  • with clear vision, was very well satisfied

  • with his muttering acknowledgment of its being "very cold, certainly very cold," and

  • walked on, rejoicing in having extricated him from Randalls, and secured him the

  • power of sending to inquire after Harriet every hour of the evening.

  • "You do quite right," said she;--"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 any

  • thing gives way to it--and this must be the case with Mr. Elton; a most valuable,

  • amiable, pleasing young man undoubtedly, and very much in love with Harriet; but

  • still, he cannot refuse an invitation, he must dine out wherever he is asked.

  • What a strange thing love is! he can see ready wit in Harriet, but will not dine

  • alone for her."

  • Soon afterwards Mr. Elton quitted them, and she could not but do him the justice of

  • feeling that there was a great deal of sentiment in his manner of naming Harriet

  • at parting; in the tone of his voice while

  • assuring her that he should call at Mrs. Goddard's for news of her fair friend, the

  • last thing before he prepared for the happiness of meeting her again, when he

  • hoped to be able to give a better report;

  • and he sighed and smiled himself off in a way that left the balance of approbation

  • much in his favour. After a few minutes of entire silence

  • between them, John Knightley began with--

  • "I never in my life saw a man more intent on being agreeable than Mr. Elton.

  • It is downright labour to him where ladies are concerned.

  • With men he can be rational and unaffected, but when he has ladies to please, every

  • feature works."

  • "Mr. Elton's manners are not perfect," replied Emma; "but where there is a wish to

  • please, one ought to overlook, and one does overlook a great deal.

  • Where a man does his best with only moderate powers, he will have the advantage

  • over negligent superiority. There is such perfect good-temper and good-

  • will in Mr. Elton as one cannot but value."

  • "Yes," said Mr. John Knightley presently, with some slyness, "he seems to have a

  • great deal of good-will towards you."

  • "Me!" she replied with a smile of astonishment, "are you imagining me to be

  • Mr. Elton's object?"

  • "Such an imagination has crossed me, I own, Emma; and if it never occurred to you

  • before, you may as well take it into consideration now."

  • "Mr. Elton in love with me!--What an idea!"

  • "I do not say it is so; but you will do well to consider whether it is so or not,

  • and to regulate your behaviour accordingly. I think your manners to him encouraging.

  • I speak as a friend, Emma.

  • You had better look about you, and ascertain what you do, and what you mean to

  • do." "I thank you; but I assure you you are

  • quite mistaken.

  • Mr. Elton and I are very good friends, and nothing more;" and she walked on, amusing

  • herself in the consideration of the blunders which often arise from a partial

  • knowledge of circumstances, of the mistakes

  • which people of high pretensions to judgment are for ever falling into; and not

  • very well pleased with her brother for imagining her blind and ignorant, and in

  • want of counsel.

  • He said no more.

  • Mr. Woodhouse had so completely made up his mind to the visit, that in spite of the

  • increasing coldness, he seemed to have no idea of shrinking from it, and set forward

  • at last most punctually with his eldest

  • daughter in his own carriage, with less apparent consciousness of the weather than

  • either of the others; too full of the wonder of his own going, and the pleasure

  • it was to afford at Randalls to see that it was cold, and too well wrapt up to feel it.

  • The cold, however, was severe; and by the time the second carriage was in motion, a

  • few flakes of snow were finding their way down, and the sky had the appearance of

  • being so overcharged as to want only a

  • milder air to produce a very white world in a very short time.

  • Emma soon saw that her companion was not in the happiest humour.

  • The preparing and the going abroad in such weather, with the sacrifice of his children

  • after dinner, were evils, were disagreeables at least, which Mr. John

  • Knightley did not by any means like; he

  • anticipated nothing in the visit that could be at all worth the purchase; and the whole

  • of their drive to the vicarage was spent by him in expressing his discontent.

  • "A man," said he, "must have a very good opinion of himself when he asks people to

  • leave their own fireside, and encounter such a day as this, for the sake of coming

  • to see him.

  • He must think himself a most agreeable fellow; I could not do such a thing.

  • It is the greatest absurdity--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 clothing than usual, setting

  • forward voluntarily, without excuse, in defiance of the voice of nature, which

  • tells man, in every thing given to his view or his feelings, to stay at home himself,

  • and keep all under shelter that he can;--

  • here are we setting forward to spend five dull hours in another man's house, with

  • nothing to say or to hear that was not said and heard yesterday, and may not be said

  • and heard again to-morrow.

  • Going in dismal weather, to return probably in worse;--four horses and four servants

  • taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering creatures into colder rooms

  • and worse company than they might have had at home."

  • Emma did not find herself equal to give the pleased assent, which no doubt he was in

  • the habit of receiving, to emulate the "Very true, my love," which must have been

  • usually administered by his travelling

  • companion; but she had resolution enough to refrain from making any answer at all.

  • She could not be complying, she dreaded being quarrelsome; her heroism reached only

  • to silence.

  • She allowed him to talk, and arranged the glasses, and wrapped herself up, without

  • opening her lips.

  • They arrived, the carriage turned, the step was let down, and Mr. Elton, spruce, black,

  • and smiling, was with them instantly. Emma thought with pleasure of some change

  • of subject.

  • Mr. Elton was all obligation and cheerfulness; he was so very cheerful in

  • his civilities indeed, that she began to think he must have received a different

  • account of Harriet from what had reached her.

  • She had sent while dressing, and the answer had been, "Much the same--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

  • answered.

  • "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, and I hope to-morrow morning

  • will bring us both a more comfortable report.

  • But it is impossible not to feel uneasiness.

  • Such a sad loss to our party to-day!" "Dreadful!--Exactly so, indeed.--She will

  • be missed every moment."

  • This was very proper; the sigh which accompanied it was really estimable; but it

  • should have lasted longer.

  • Emma was rather in dismay when only half a minute afterwards he began to speak of

  • other things, and in a voice of the greatest alacrity and enjoyment.

  • "What an excellent device," said he, "the use of a sheepskin for carriages.

  • How very comfortable they make it;-- impossible to feel cold with such

  • precautions.

  • The contrivances of modern days indeed have rendered a gentleman's carriage perfectly

  • complete.

  • One is so fenced and guarded from the weather, that not a breath of air can find

  • its way unpermitted. Weather becomes absolutely of no

  • consequence.

  • It is a very cold afternoon--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 yesterday, and prevent this day's party, which it might very possibly have

  • done, for Mr. Woodhouse would hardly have

  • ventured had there been much snow on the ground; but now it is of no consequence.

  • This is quite the season indeed for friendly meetings.

  • At Christmas every body invites their friends about them, and people think little

  • of even the worst weather. I was snowed up at a friend's house once

  • for a week.

  • Nothing could be pleasanter. I went for only one night, and could not

  • get away till that very day se'nnight."

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

  • coolly, "I cannot wish to be snowed up a week at

  • Randalls."

  • At another time Emma might have been amused, but she was too much astonished now

  • at Mr. Elton's spirits for other feelings. Harriet seemed quite forgotten in the

  • expectation of a pleasant party.

  • "We are sure of excellent fires," continued he, "and every thing in the greatest

  • comfort.

  • Charming people, Mr. and Mrs. Weston;--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 does not accommodate more than ten comfortably; and

  • for my part, I would rather, under such circumstances, fall short by two than

  • exceed by two.

  • I think you will agree with me, (turning with a soft air to Emma,) I think I shall

  • certainly have your approbation, though Mr. Knightley perhaps, from being used to the

  • large parties of London, may not quite enter into our feelings."

  • "I know nothing of the large parties of London, sir--I never dine with any body."

  • "Indeed!

  • (in a tone of wonder and pity,) I had no idea that the law had been so great a

  • slavery.

  • Well, sir, the time must come when you will be paid for all this, when you will have

  • little labour and great enjoyment."

  • "My first enjoyment," replied John Knightley, as they passed through the

  • sweep-gate, "will be to find myself safe at Hartfield again."

  • >

  • VOLUME I

  • CHAPTER XIV

  • Some change of countenance was necessary 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. Elton must smile less, and Mr. John Knightley more, to fit them for the place.-

  • -Emma only might be as nature prompted, and shew herself just as happy as she was.

  • To her it was real enjoyment to be with the Westons.

  • Mr. Weston was a great favourite, and there was not a creature in the world to whom she

  • spoke with such unreserve, as to his wife; not any one, to whom she related with such

  • conviction of being listened to and

  • understood, of being always interesting and always intelligible, the little affairs,

  • arrangements, perplexities, and pleasures of her father and herself.

  • She could tell nothing of Hartfield, in which Mrs. Weston had not a lively concern;

  • and half an hour's uninterrupted communication of all those little matters

  • on which the daily happiness of private

  • life depends, was one of the first gratifications of each.

  • This was a pleasure which perhaps the whole day's visit might not afford, which

  • certainly did not belong to the present half-hour; but the very sight of Mrs.

  • Weston, her smile, her touch, her voice was

  • grateful to Emma, and she determined to think as little as possible of Mr. Elton's

  • oddities, or of any thing else unpleasant, and enjoy all that was enjoyable to the

  • utmost.

  • The misfortune of Harriet's cold had been pretty well gone through before her

  • arrival.

  • Mr. Woodhouse had been safely seated long enough to give the history of it, besides

  • all the history of his own and Isabella's coming, and of Emma's being to follow, and

  • had indeed just got to the end of his

  • satisfaction that James should come and see his daughter, when the others appeared, and

  • Mrs. Weston, who had been almost wholly engrossed by her attentions to him, was

  • able to turn away and welcome her dear Emma.

  • Emma's project of forgetting Mr. Elton for a while made her rather sorry to find, when

  • they had all taken their places, that he was close to her.

  • The difficulty was great of driving his strange insensibility towards Harriet, from

  • her mind, while he not only sat at her elbow, but was continually obtruding his

  • happy countenance on her notice, and

  • solicitously addressing her upon every occasion.

  • Instead of forgetting him, his behaviour was such that she could not avoid the

  • internal suggestion of "Can it really be as my brother imagined? can it be possible for

  • this man to be beginning to transfer his

  • affections from Harriet to me?--Absurd and insufferable!"--Yet he would be so anxious

  • for her being perfectly warm, would be so interested about her father, and so

  • delighted with Mrs. Weston; and at last

  • would begin admiring her drawings with so much zeal and so little knowledge as seemed

  • terribly like a would-be lover, and made it some effort with her to preserve her good

  • manners.

  • For her own sake she could not be rude; and for Harriet's, in the hope that all would

  • yet turn out right, she was even positively civil; but it was an effort; especially as

  • something was going on amongst the others,

  • in the most overpowering period of Mr. Elton's nonsense, which she particularly

  • wished to listen to.

  • She heard enough to know that Mr. Weston was giving some information about his son;

  • she heard the words "my son," and "Frank," and "my son," repeated several times over;

  • and, from a few other half-syllables very

  • much suspected that he was announcing an early visit from his son; but before she

  • could quiet Mr. Elton, the subject was so completely past that any reviving question

  • from her would have been awkward.

  • Now, it so happened that in spite of Emma's resolution of never marrying, there was

  • something in the name, in the idea of Mr. Frank Churchill, which always interested

  • her.

  • She had frequently thought--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 connexion between the families, quite to belong to her.

  • She could not but suppose it to be a match that every body who knew them must think

  • of.

  • That Mr. and Mrs. Weston did think of it, she was very strongly persuaded; and though

  • not meaning to be induced by him, or by any body else, to give up a situation which she

  • believed more replete with good than any

  • she could change it for, she had a great curiosity to see him, a decided intention

  • of finding him pleasant, of being liked by him to a certain degree, and a sort of

  • pleasure in the idea of their being coupled in their friends' imaginations.

  • With such sensations, Mr. Elton's civilities were dreadfully ill-timed; but

  • she had the comfort of appearing very polite, while feeling very cross--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."

  • Emma spoke with a very proper degree of pleasure; and fully assented to his

  • proposition of Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Smith making their party quite complete.

  • "He has been wanting to come to us," continued Mr. Weston, "ever since

  • September: every letter has been full of it; but he cannot command his own time.

  • He has those to please who must be pleased, and who (between ourselves) are sometimes

  • to be pleased only by a good many sacrifices.

  • But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second week in January."

  • "What a very great pleasure it will be to you! and Mrs. Weston is so anxious to be

  • acquainted with him, that she must be almost as happy as yourself."

  • "Yes, she would be, but that she thinks there will be another put-off.

  • She does not depend upon his coming so much as I do: but she does not know the parties

  • so well as I do.

  • The case, you see, is--(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 cannot stir.

  • But I know they will, because it is a family that a certain lady, of some

  • consequence, at Enscombe, has a particular dislike to: and though it is thought

  • necessary to invite them once in two or

  • three years, they always are put off when it comes to the point.

  • I have not the smallest doubt of the issue.

  • I am as confident of seeing Frank here before the middle of January, as I am of

  • being here myself: but your good friend there (nodding towards the upper end of the

  • table) has so few vagaries herself, and has

  • been so little used to them at Hartfield, that she cannot calculate on their effects,

  • as I have been long in the practice of doing."

  • "I am sorry there should be any thing like doubt in the case," replied Emma; "but am

  • disposed to side with you, Mr. Weston. If you think he will come, I shall think so

  • too; for you know Enscombe."

  • "Yes--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 every thing to be as she likes).

  • And it is no small credit, in my opinion, to him, that he should excite such an

  • affection; for, though I would not say it to any body else, she has no more heart

  • than a stone to people in general; and the devil of a temper."

  • Emma liked the subject so well, that she began upon it, to Mrs. Weston, very soon

  • after their moving into the drawing-room: wishing her joy--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

  • cannot depend upon his coming.

  • I cannot be so sanguine as Mr. Weston. I am very much afraid that it will all end

  • in nothing. Mr. Weston, I dare say, has been telling

  • you exactly how the matter stands?"

  • "Yes--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, depends upon her being willing to spare him."

  • "Oh, Mrs. Churchill; every body knows Mrs. Churchill," replied Isabella: "and I am

  • sure I never think of that poor young man without the greatest compassion.

  • To be constantly living with an ill- tempered person, must be dreadful.

  • It is what we happily have never known any thing of; but it must be a life of misery.

  • What a blessing, that she never had any children!

  • Poor little creatures, how unhappy she would have made them!"

  • Emma wished she had been alone with Mrs. Weston.

  • She should then have heard more: Mrs. Weston would speak to her, with a degree of

  • unreserve which she would not hazard with Isabella; and, she really believed, would

  • scarcely try to conceal any thing relative

  • to the Churchills from her, excepting those views on the young man, of which her own

  • imagination had already given her such instinctive knowledge.

  • But at present there was nothing more to be said.

  • Mr. Woodhouse very soon followed them into the drawing-room.

  • To be sitting long after dinner, was a confinement that he could not endure.

  • Neither wine nor conversation was any thing to him; and gladly did he move to those

  • with whom he was always comfortable.

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

  • "And so you do not consider this visit from your son as by any means certain.

  • I am sorry for it.

  • The introduction must be unpleasant, whenever it takes place; and the sooner it

  • could be over, the better." "Yes; and every delay makes one more

  • apprehensive of other delays.

  • Even if this family, the Braithwaites, are put off, I am still afraid that some excuse

  • may be found for disappointing us.

  • I cannot bear to imagine any reluctance on his side; but I am sure there is a great

  • wish on the Churchills' to keep him to themselves.

  • There is jealousy.

  • They are jealous even of his regard for his father.

  • In short, I can feel no dependence on his coming, and I wish Mr. Weston were less

  • sanguine."

  • "He ought to come," said Emma. "If he could stay only a couple of days, he

  • ought to come; and one can hardly conceive a young man's not having it in his power to

  • do as much as that.

  • A young woman, if she fall into bad hands, may be teased, and kept at a

  • distance from those she wants to be with; but one cannot comprehend a young man's

  • being under such restraint, as not to be

  • able to spend a week with his father, if he likes it."

  • "One ought to be at Enscombe, and know the ways of the family, before one decides upon

  • what he can do," replied Mrs. Weston.

  • "One ought to use the same caution, perhaps, in judging of the conduct of any

  • one individual of any one family; but Enscombe, I believe, certainly must not be

  • judged by general rules: she is so very

  • unreasonable; and every thing gives way to her."

  • "But she is so fond of the nephew: he is so very great a favourite.

  • Now, according to my idea of Mrs. Churchill, it would be most natural, that

  • while she makes no sacrifice for the comfort of the husband, to whom she owes

  • every thing, while she exercises incessant

  • caprice towards 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."

  • >

  • VOLUME I

  • CHAPTER XV

  • Mr. Woodhouse was soon ready for his tea; and when he had drank his tea he was quite

  • ready to go home; and it was as much as his three companions could do, to entertain

  • away his notice of the lateness of the hour, before the other gentlemen appeared.

  • Mr. Weston was chatty and convivial, and no friend to early separations of any sort;

  • but at last the drawing-room party did receive an augmentation.

  • Mr. Elton, in very good spirits, was one of the first to walk in.

  • Mrs. Weston and Emma were sitting together on a sofa.

  • He joined them immediately, and, with scarcely an invitation, seated himself

  • between them.

  • Emma, in good spirits too, from the amusement afforded her mind by the

  • expectation of Mr. Frank Churchill, was willing to forget his late improprieties,

  • and be as well satisfied with him as

  • before, and on his making Harriet his very first subject, was ready to listen with

  • most friendly smiles.

  • He professed himself extremely anxious about her fair friend--her fair, lovely,

  • amiable friend.

  • "Did she know?--had she heard any thing about her, since their being at Randalls?--

  • he felt much anxiety--he must confess that the nature of her complaint alarmed him

  • considerably."

  • And in this style he talked on for some time very properly, not much attending to

  • any answer, but altogether sufficiently awake to the terror of a bad sore throat;

  • and Emma was quite in charity with him.

  • But at last there seemed a perverse turn; it seemed all at once as if he were more

  • afraid of its being a bad sore throat on her account, than on Harriet's--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 off and bring the subject back

  • into its proper course, there was no putting an end to his extreme solicitude

  • about her.

  • She was vexed.

  • It did appear--there was no concealing it-- exactly like the pretence of being in love

  • with her, instead of Harriet; an inconstancy, if real, the most contemptible

  • and abominable! and she had difficulty in behaving with temper.

  • He turned to Mrs. Weston to implore her assistance, "Would not she give him her

  • support?--would not she add her persuasions to his, to induce Miss Woodhouse not to go

  • to Mrs. Goddard's till it were certain that Miss Smith's disorder had no infection?

  • He could not be satisfied without a promise--would not she give him her

  • influence in procuring it?"

  • "So scrupulous for others," he continued, "and yet so careless for herself!

  • She wanted me to nurse my cold by staying at home to-day, and yet will not promise to

  • avoid the danger of catching an ulcerated sore throat herself.

  • Is this fair, Mrs. Weston?--Judge between us.

  • Have not I some right to complain? I am sure of your kind support and aid."

  • Emma saw Mrs. Weston's surprize, and felt that it must be great, at an address which,

  • in words and manner, was assuming to himself the right of first interest in her;

  • and as for herself, she was too much

  • provoked and offended to have the power of directly saying any thing to the purpose.

  • She could only give him a look; but it was such a look as she thought must restore him

  • to his senses, and then left the sofa, removing to a seat by her sister, and

  • giving her all her attention.

  • She had not time to know how Mr. Elton took the reproof, so rapidly did another subject

  • succeed; for Mr. John Knightley now came into the room from examining the weather,

  • and opened on them all with the information

  • of the ground being covered with snow, and of its still snowing fast, with a strong

  • drifting wind; concluding with these words to Mr. Woodhouse:

  • "This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter engagements, sir.

  • Something new for your coachman and horses to be making their way through a storm of

  • snow."

  • Poor Mr. Woodhouse was silent from consternation; but every body else had

  • something to say; every body was either surprized or not surprized, and had some

  • question to ask, or some comfort to offer.

  • Mrs. Weston and Emma tried earnestly to cheer him and turn his attention from his

  • son-in-law, who was pursuing his triumph rather unfeelingly.

  • "I admired your resolution very much, sir," said he, "in venturing out in such weather,

  • for of course you saw there would be snow very soon.

  • Every body must have seen the snow coming on.

  • I admired your spirit; and I dare say we shall get home very well.

  • Another hour or two's snow can hardly make the road impassable; and we are two

  • carriages; if one is blown over in the bleak part of the common field there will

  • be the other at hand.

  • I dare say we shall be all safe at Hartfield before midnight."

  • Mr. Weston, with triumph of a different sort, was confessing that he had known it

  • to be snowing some time, but had not said a word, lest it should make Mr. Woodhouse

  • uncomfortable, and be an excuse for his hurrying away.

  • As to there being any quantity of snow fallen or likely to fall to impede their

  • return, that was a mere joke; he was afraid they would find no difficulty.

  • He wished the road might be impassable, that he might be able to keep them all at

  • Randalls; and with the utmost good-will was sure that accommodation might be found for

  • every body, calling on his wife to agree

  • with him, that with a little contrivance, every body might be lodged, which she

  • hardly knew how to do, from the consciousness of there being but two spare

  • rooms in the house.

  • "What is to be done, my dear Emma?--what is to be done?" was Mr. Woodhouse's first

  • exclamation, and all that he could say for some time.

  • To her he looked for comfort; and her assurances of safety, her representation of

  • the excellence of the horses, and of James, and of their having so many friends about

  • them, revived him a little.

  • His eldest daughter's alarm was equal to his own.

  • The horror of being blocked up at Randalls, while her children were at Hartfield, was

  • full in her imagination; and fancying the road to be now just passable for

  • adventurous people, but in a state that

  • admitted no delay, she was eager to have it settled, that her father and Emma should

  • remain at Randalls, while she and her husband set forward instantly through all

  • the possible accumulations of drifted snow that might impede them.

  • "You had better order the carriage directly, my love," said she; "I dare say

  • we shall be able to get along, if we set off directly; and if we do come to any

  • thing very bad, I can get out and walk.

  • I am not at all afraid. I should not mind walking half the way.

  • I could change my shoes, you know, the moment I got home; and it is not the sort

  • of thing that gives me cold."

  • "Indeed!" replied he. "Then, my dear Isabella, it is the most

  • extraordinary sort of thing in the world, for in general every thing does give you

  • cold.

  • Walk home!--you are prettily shod for walking home, I dare say.

  • It will be bad enough for the horses." Isabella turned to Mrs. Weston for her

  • approbation of the plan.

  • Mrs. Weston could only approve.

  • Isabella then went to Emma; but Emma could not so entirely give up the hope of their

  • being all able to get away; and they were still discussing the point, when Mr.

  • Knightley, who had left the room

  • immediately after his brother's first report of the snow, came back again, and

  • told them that he had been out of doors to examine, and could answer for there not

  • being the smallest difficulty in their

  • getting home, whenever they liked it, either now or an hour hence.

  • He had gone beyond the sweep--some way along 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 parting, and there was every appearance of its being soon over.

  • He had seen the coachmen, and they both agreed with him in there being nothing to

  • apprehend.

  • To Isabella, the relief of such tidings was very great, and they were scarcely less

  • acceptable to Emma on her father's account, who was immediately set as much at ease on

  • the subject as his nervous constitution

  • allowed; but the alarm that had been raised could not be appeased so as to admit of any

  • comfort for him while he continued at Randalls.

  • He was satisfied of there being no present danger in returning home, but no assurances

  • could convince him that it was safe to stay; and while the others were variously

  • urging and recommending, Mr. Knightley and

  • Emma settled it in a few brief sentences: thus--

  • "Your father will not be easy; why do not you go?"

  • "I am ready, if the others are."

  • "Shall I ring the bell?" "Yes, do."

  • And the bell was rung, and the carriages spoken for.

  • A few minutes more, and Emma hoped to see one troublesome companion deposited in his

  • own house, to get sober and cool, and the other recover his temper and happiness when

  • this visit of hardship were over.

  • The carriage came: and Mr. Woodhouse, always the first object on such occasions,

  • was carefully attended to his own by Mr. Knightley and Mr. Weston; but not all that

  • either could say could prevent some renewal

  • of alarm at the sight of the snow which had actually fallen, and the discovery of a

  • much darker night than he had been prepared for.

  • "He was afraid they should have a very bad drive.

  • He was afraid poor Isabella would not like it.

  • And there would be poor Emma in the carriage behind.

  • He did not know what they had best do.

  • They must keep as much together as they could;" and James was talked to, and given

  • a charge to go very slow and wait for the other carriage.

  • Isabella stept in after her father; John Knightley, forgetting that he did not

  • belong to their party, stept in after his wife very naturally; so that Emma found, on

  • being escorted and followed into the second

  • carriage by Mr. Elton, that the door was to be lawfully shut on them, and that they

  • were to have a tete-a-tete drive.

  • It would not have been the awkwardness of a moment, it would have been rather a

  • pleasure, previous to the suspicions of this very day; she could have talked to him

  • of Harriet, and the three-quarters of a mile would have seemed but one.

  • But now, she would rather it had not happened.

  • She believed he had been drinking too much of Mr. Weston's good wine, and felt sure

  • that he would want to be talking nonsense.

  • To restrain him as much as might be, by her own manners, she was immediately preparing

  • to speak with exquisite calmness and gravity of the weather and the night; but

  • scarcely had she begun, scarcely had they

  • passed the sweep-gate and joined the other carriage, than she found her subject cut

  • up--her hand seized--her attention demanded, and Mr. Elton actually making

  • violent love to her: availing himself of

  • the precious opportunity, declaring sentiments which must be already well

  • known, hoping--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 diffidence, Mr. Elton, the

  • lover of Harriet, was professing himself her lover.

  • She tried to stop him; but vainly; he would go on, and say it all.

  • Angry as she was, the thought of the moment made her resolve to restrain herself when

  • she did speak.

  • She felt that half this folly must be drunkenness, and therefore could hope that

  • it might belong only to the passing hour.

  • Accordingly, with a mixture of the serious and the playful, which she hoped would best

  • suit his half and half state, she replied, "I am very much astonished, Mr. Elton.

  • This to 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 repeated

  • her words with such assurance of accent, such boastful pretence of amazement, that

  • she could not help replying with quickness,

  • "Mr. Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct! and I can account for it only in

  • one way; you are not yourself, or you could not speak either to me, or of Harriet, in

  • such a manner.

  • Command yourself enough to say no more, and I will endeavour to forget it."

  • But Mr. Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate his spirits, not at all to confuse

  • his intellects.

  • He perfectly knew his own meaning; and having warmly protested against her

  • suspicion as most injurious, and slightly touched upon his respect for Miss Smith as

  • her friend,--but acknowledging his wonder

  • that Miss Smith should be mentioned at all,--he resumed the subject of his own

  • passion, and was very urgent for a favourable answer.

  • As she thought less of his inebriety, she thought more of his inconstancy and

  • presumption; and with fewer struggles for politeness, replied,

  • "It is impossible for me to doubt any longer.

  • You have made yourself too clear. Mr. Elton, my astonishment is much beyond

  • any thing I can express.

  • After such behaviour, as I have witnessed during the last month, to Miss Smith--such

  • attentions as I have been in the daily habit of observing--to be addressing me in

  • this manner--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 unsteadiness of character.

  • I have thought only of you. I protest against having paid the smallest

  • attention to any one else.

  • Every thing that I have said or done, for many weeks past, has been with the sole

  • view of marking my adoration of yourself. You cannot really, seriously, doubt it.

  • No!--(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 completely overpowered to be immediately able to reply: and two moments

  • of silence being ample encouragement for Mr. Elton's sanguine state of mind, he

  • tried to take her hand again, as he joyously exclaimed--

  • "Charming Miss Woodhouse! allow me to interpret this interesting silence.

  • It confesses that you have long understood me."

  • "No, sir," cried Emma, "it confesses no such thing.

  • So far from having long understood you, I have been in a most complete error with

  • respect to your views, till this moment.

  • As to myself, I am very sorry that you should have been giving way to any

  • feelings--Nothing could be farther from my wishes--your attachment to my friend

  • Harriet--your pursuit of her, (pursuit, it

  • appeared,) gave me great pleasure, and I have been very earnestly wishing you

  • success: but had I supposed that she were not your attraction to Hartfield, I should

  • certainly have thought you judged ill in making your visits so frequent.

  • Am I to believe that you have never sought to recommend yourself particularly to Miss

  • Smith?--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 respectably settled.

  • I wish her extremely well: and, no doubt, there are men who might not object to--

  • Every body has their level: but as for myself, I am not, I think, quite so much at

  • a loss.

  • I need not so totally despair of an equal alliance, as to be addressing myself to

  • Miss Smith!--No, madam, my visits to Hartfield have been for yourself only; and

  • the encouragement I received--"

  • "Encouragement!--I give you encouragement!- -Sir, you have been entirely mistaken in

  • supposing it. I have seen you only as the admirer of my

  • friend.

  • In no other light could you have been more to me than a common acquaintance.

  • I am exceedingly sorry: but it is well that the mistake ends where it does.

  • Had the same behaviour continued, Miss Smith might have been led into a

  • misconception of your views; not being aware, probably, any more than myself, of

  • the very great inequality which you are so sensible of.

  • But, as it is, the disappointment is single, and, I trust, will not be lasting.

  • I have no thoughts of matrimony at present."

  • He was too angry to say another word; her manner too decided to invite supplication;

  • and in this state of swelling resentment, and mutually deep mortification, they had

  • to continue together a few minutes longer,

  • for the fears of Mr. Woodhouse had confined them to a foot-pace.

  • If there had not been so much anger, there would have been desperate awkwardness; but

  • their straightforward emotions left no room for the little zigzags of embarrassment.

  • Without knowing when the carriage turned into Vicarage Lane, or when it stopped,

  • they found themselves, all at once, at the door of his house; and he was out before

  • another syllable passed.--Emma then felt it indispensable to wish him a good night.

  • The compliment was just returned, coldly and proudly; and, under indescribable

  • irritation of spirits, she was then conveyed to Hartfield.

  • There she was welcomed, with the utmost delight, by her father, who had been

  • trembling for the dangers of a solitary drive from Vicarage Lane--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 every thing go well: for Mr. John Knightley, ashamed of

  • his ill-humour, was now all kindness and

  • attention; and so particularly solicitous for the comfort of her father, as to seem--

  • if not quite ready to join him in a basin of gruel--perfectly sensible of its being

  • exceedingly wholesome; and the day was

  • concluding in peace and comfort to all their little party, except herself.--But

  • her mind had never been in such perturbation; and it needed a very strong

  • effort to appear attentive and cheerful

  • till the usual hour of separating allowed her the relief of quiet reflection.

  • >

  • VOLUME I

  • 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 every thing

  • she had been wishing for!--Such a

  • development of every thing 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. "If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking

  • the man, I could have borne any thing.

  • 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 without taste or truth.

  • Who could have seen through such thick- headed nonsense?

  • Certainly she had often, especially of late, thought his manners to herself

  • unnecessarily gallant; but it had passed as his way, as a mere error of judgment, of

  • knowledge, of taste, as one proof among

  • others that he had not always lived in the best society, that with all the gentleness

  • of his address, true elegance was sometimes wanting; but, till this very day, she had

  • never, for an instant, suspected it to mean

  • any thing but grateful respect to her as Harriet's friend.

  • To Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first idea on the subject, for the

  • first start of its possibility.

  • There was no denying that those brothers had penetration.

  • She remembered what Mr. Knightley had once said to her about Mr. Elton, the caution he

  • had given, the conviction he had professed that Mr. Elton would never marry

  • indiscreetly; and blushed to think how much

  • truer a knowledge of his character had been there shewn than any she had reached

  • herself.

  • It was dreadfully mortifying; but Mr. Elton was proving himself, in many respects, the

  • very reverse of what she had meant and believed him; proud, assuming, conceited;

  • very full of his own claims, and little concerned about the feelings of others.

  • Contrary to the usual course of things, Mr. Elton's wanting to pay his addresses to her

  • had sunk him in her opinion.

  • His professions and his proposals did him no service.

  • She thought nothing of his attachment, and was insulted by his hopes.

  • He wanted to marry well, and having the arrogance to raise his eyes to her,

  • pretended to be in love; but she was perfectly easy as to his not suffering any

  • disappointment that need be cared for.

  • There had been no real affection either in his language or manners.

  • Sighs and fine words had been given in abundance; but she could hardly devise any

  • set of expressions, or fancy any tone of voice, less allied with real love.

  • She need not trouble herself to pity him.

  • He only wanted to aggrandise and enrich himself; and if Miss Woodhouse of

  • Hartfield, the heiress of thirty thousand pounds, were not quite so easily obtained

  • as he had fancied, he would soon try for

  • Miss Somebody else with twenty, or with ten.

  • But--that he should talk of encouragement, should consider her as aware of his views,

  • accepting his attentions, meaning (in short), to marry him!--should suppose

  • himself her equal in connexion 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 shewing 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 consequence she was greatly his superior.

  • He must know that the Woodhouses had been settled for several generations at

  • Hartfield, the younger branch of a very ancient family--and that the Eltons were

  • nobody.

  • The landed property of Hartfield certainly was inconsiderable, being but a sort of

  • notch in the Donwell Abbey estate, to which all the rest of Highbury belonged; but

  • their fortune, from other sources, was such

  • as to make them scarcely secondary to Donwell Abbey itself, in every other kind

  • of consequence; and the Woodhouses had long held a high place in the consideration of

  • the neighbourhood which Mr. Elton had first

  • entered not two years ago, to make his way as he could, without any alliances but in

  • trade, or any thing to recommend him to notice but his situation and his civility.-

  • -But he had fancied her in love with him;

  • that evidently must have been his dependence; and after raving a little about

  • the seeming incongruity of gentle manners and a conceited head, Emma was obliged in

  • common honesty to stop and admit that her

  • own behaviour to him had been so complaisant and obliging, so full of

  • courtesy and attention, as (supposing her real motive unperceived) might warrant a

  • man of ordinary observation and delicacy,

  • like Mr. Elton, in fancying himself a very decided favourite.

  • If 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 of what ought to be simple.

  • She was quite concerned and ashamed, and resolved to do such things no more.

  • "Here have I," said she, "actually talked poor Harriet into being very much attached

  • to this man.

  • She might never have thought of him but for me; and certainly never would have thought

  • of him with hope, if I had not assured her of his attachment, for she is as modest and

  • humble as I used to think him.

  • Oh! that I had been satisfied with persuading her not to accept young Martin.

  • There I was quite right.

  • That was well done of me; but there I should have stopped, and left the rest to

  • time and chance.

  • I was introducing her into good company, and giving her the opportunity of pleasing

  • some one worth having; I ought not to have attempted more.

  • But now, poor girl, her peace is cut up for some time.

  • I have been but half a friend to her; and if she were not to feel this

  • disappointment so very much, I am sure I have not an idea of any body else who would

  • be at all desirable for her;--William Coxe-

  • -Oh! no, I could not endure William Coxe--a pert young lawyer."

  • She stopt to blush and laugh at her own relapse, and then resumed a more serious,

  • more dispiriting cogitation upon what had been, and might be, and must be.

  • The distressing explanation she had to make to Harriet, and all that poor Harriet would

  • be suffering, with the awkwardness of future meetings, the difficulties of

  • continuing or discontinuing the

  • acquaintance, of subduing feelings, concealing resentment, and avoiding 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 powerful

  • operation; and if the distress be not poignant enough to keep the eyes unclosed,

  • they will be sure to open to sensations of softened pain and brighter hope.

  • Emma got up on the morrow more disposed for comfort than she had gone to bed, more

  • ready to see alleviations of the evil before her, and to depend on getting

  • tolerably out of it.

  • It was a great consolation that Mr. Elton should not be really in love with her, or

  • so particularly amiable as to make it shocking to disappoint him--that Harriet's

  • nature should not be of that superior sort

  • in which the feelings are most acute and retentive--and that there could be no

  • necessity for any body's knowing what had passed except the three principals, and

  • especially for her father's being given a moment's uneasiness about it.

  • These were very cheering thoughts; and the sight of a great deal of snow on the ground

  • did her further service, for any thing was welcome that might justify their all three

  • being quite asunder at present.

  • The weather was most favourable for her; though Christmas Day, she could not go to

  • church.

  • Mr. Woodhouse would have been miserable had his daughter attempted it, and she was

  • therefore safe from either exciting or receiving unpleasant and most unsuitable

  • ideas.

  • The ground covered with snow, and the atmosphere in that unsettled state between

  • frost and thaw, which is of all others the most unfriendly for exercise, every morning

  • beginning in rain or snow, and every

  • evening setting in to freeze, she was for many days a most honourable prisoner.

  • No intercourse with Harriet possible but by note; no church for her on Sunday any more

  • than on Christmas Day; and no need to find excuses for Mr. Elton's absenting himself.

  • It was weather which might fairly confine every body at home; and though she hoped

  • and believed him to be really taking comfort in some society or other, it was

  • very pleasant to have her father so well

  • satisfied with his being all alone in his own house, too wise to stir out; and to

  • hear him say to Mr. Knightley, whom no weather could keep entirely from them,--

  • "Ah! Mr. Knightley, why do not you stay at home like poor Mr. Elton?"

  • These days of confinement would have been, but for her private perplexities,

  • remarkably comfortable, as such seclusion exactly suited her brother, whose feelings

  • must always be of great importance to his

  • companions; and he had, besides, so thoroughly cleared off his ill-humour at

  • Randalls, that his amiableness never failed him during the rest of his stay at

  • Hartfield.

  • He was always agreeable and obliging, and speaking pleasantly of every body.

  • But with all the hopes of cheerfulness, and all the present comfort of delay, there was

  • still such an evil hanging over her in the hour of explanation with Harriet, as made

  • it impossible for Emma to be ever perfectly at ease.

  • >

  • VOLUME I

  • 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 happiness.

  • The evening of the very day on which they went brought a note from Mr. Elton to Mr.

  • Woodhouse, a long, civil, ceremonious note, to say, with Mr. Elton's best compliments,

  • "that he was proposing to leave Highbury

  • the following morning in his way to Bath; where, in compliance with the pressing

  • entreaties of some friends, he had engaged to spend a few weeks, and very much

  • regretted the impossibility he was under,

  • from various circumstances of weather and business, of taking a personal leave of Mr.

  • Woodhouse, of whose friendly civilities he should ever retain a grateful sense--and

  • had Mr. Woodhouse any commands, should be happy to attend to them."

  • Emma was most agreeably surprized.--Mr. Elton's absence just at this time was the

  • very thing to be desired.

  • She admired him for contriving it, though not able to give him much credit for the

  • manner in which it was announced.

  • Resentment could not have been more plainly spoken than in a civility to her father,

  • from which she was so pointedly excluded.

  • She had not even a share in his opening compliments.--Her name was not mentioned;--

  • and there was so striking a change in all this, and such an ill-judged solemnity of

  • leave-taking in his graceful

  • acknowledgments, as she thought, at first, could not escape her father's suspicion.

  • It did, however.--Her father was quite taken up with the surprize of so sudden a

  • journey, and his fears that Mr. Elton might never get safely to the end of it, and saw

  • nothing extraordinary in his language.

  • It was a very useful note, for it supplied them with fresh matter for thought and

  • conversation during the rest of their lonely evening.

  • Mr. Woodhouse talked over his alarms, and Emma was in spirits to persuade them away

  • with all her usual promptitude. She now resolved to keep Harriet no longer

  • in the dark.

  • She had reason to believe her nearly recovered from her cold, and it was

  • desirable that she should have as much time as possible for getting the better of her

  • other complaint before the gentleman's return.

  • She went to Mrs. Goddard's accordingly the very next day, to undergo the necessary

  • penance of communication; and a severe one it was.--She had to destroy all the hopes

  • which she had been so industriously

  • feeding--to appear in the ungracious character of the one preferred--and

  • acknowledge herself grossly mistaken and mis-judging in all her ideas on one

  • subject, all her observations, all her

  • convictions, all her prophecies for the last six weeks.

  • The confession completely renewed her first shame--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 every thing

  • testifying such an ingenuousness of disposition and lowly opinion of herself,

  • as must appear with particular advantage at that moment to her friend.

  • Emma was in the humour to value simplicity and modesty to the utmost; and all that was

  • amiable, all that ought to be attaching, seemed on Harriet's side, not her own.

  • Harriet did not consider herself as having any thing to complain of.

  • The affection of such a man as Mr. Elton would have been too great a distinction.--

  • She never could have deserved him--and nobody but 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 imagination all the rest of her life.

  • Her second duty now, inferior only to her father's claims, was to promote Harriet's

  • comfort, and endeavour to prove her own affection in some better method than by

  • match-making.

  • She got her to Hartfield, and shewed her the most unvarying kindness, striving to

  • occupy and amuse her, and by books and conversation, to drive Mr. Elton from her

  • thoughts.

  • Time, she knew, must be allowed for this being thoroughly done; and she could

  • suppose herself but an indifferent judge of such matters in general, and very

  • inadequate to sympathise in an attachment

  • to Mr. Elton in particular; but it seemed to her reasonable that at Harriet's age,

  • and with the entire extinction of all hope, such a progress might be made towards a

  • state of composure by the time of Mr.

  • Elton's return, as to allow them all to meet again in the common routine of

  • acquaintance, without any danger of betraying sentiments or increasing them.

  • Harriet did think him all perfection, and maintained the non-existence of any body

  • equal to him in person or goodness--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 comprehend its continuing very long in

  • equal force.

  • If Mr. Elton, on his return, made his own indifference as evident and indubitable as

  • she could not doubt he would anxiously do, she could not imagine Harriet's persisting

  • to place her happiness in the sight or the recollection of him.

  • Their being fixed, so absolutely fixed, in the same place, was bad for each, for all

  • three.

  • Not one of them had the power of removal, or of effecting any material change of

  • society. They must encounter each other, and make

  • the best of it.

  • Harriet was farther unfortunate in the tone of her companions at Mrs. Goddard's; Mr.

  • Elton being the adoration of all the teachers and great girls in the school; and

  • it must be at Hartfield only that she could

  • have any chance of hearing him spoken of with cooling moderation or repellent truth.

  • Where the wound had been given, there must the cure be found if anywhere; and Emma

  • felt that, till she saw her in the way of cure, there could be no true peace for

  • herself.

  • >

  • VOLUME I

  • CHAPTER XVIII

  • Mr. Frank Churchill did not come. When the time proposed drew near, Mrs.

  • Weston's fears were justified in the arrival of a letter of excuse.

  • For the present, he could not be spared, to his "very great mortification and regret;

  • but still he looked forward with the hope of coming to Randalls at no distant

  • period."

  • Mrs. Weston was exceedingly disappointed-- much more disappointed, in fact, than her

  • husband, though her dependence on seeing the young man had been so much more sober:

  • but a sanguine temper, though for ever

  • expecting more good than occurs, does not always pay for its hopes by any

  • proportionate depression. It soon flies over the present failure, and

  • begins to hope again.

  • For half an hour Mr. Weston was surprized and sorry; but then he began to perceive

  • that Frank's coming two or three months later would be a much better plan; better

  • time of year; better weather; and that he

  • would be able, without any doubt, to stay considerably longer with them than if he

  • had come sooner.

  • These feelings rapidly restored his comfort, while Mrs. Weston, of a more

  • apprehensive disposition, foresaw nothing but a repetition of excuses and delays; and

  • after all her concern for what her husband

  • was to suffer, suffered a great deal more herself.

  • Emma was not at this time in a state of spirits to care really about Mr. Frank

  • Churchill's not coming, except as a disappointment at Randalls.

  • The acquaintance at present had no charm for her.

  • She wanted, rather, to be quiet, and out of temptation; but still, as it was desirable

  • that she should appear, in general, like her usual self, she took care to express as

  • much interest in the circumstance, and

  • enter as warmly into Mr. and Mrs. Weston's disappointment, as might naturally belong

  • to their friendship.

  • She was the first to announce it to Mr. Knightley; and exclaimed quite as much as

  • was necessary, (or, being acting a part, perhaps rather more,) at the conduct of the

  • Churchills, in keeping him away.

  • She then proceeded to say a good deal more than she felt, of the advantage of such an

  • addition to their confined society in Surry; the pleasure of looking at somebody

  • new; the gala-day to Highbury entire, which

  • the sight of him would have made; and ending with reflections on the Churchills

  • again, found herself directly involved in a disagreement with Mr. Knightley; and, to

  • her great amusement, perceived that she was

  • taking the other side of the question from her real opinion, and making use of Mrs.

  • Weston's arguments against herself.

  • "The Churchills are very likely in fault," said Mr. Knightley, coolly; "but I dare say

  • he might come if he would." "I do not know why you should say so.

  • He wishes exceedingly to come; but his uncle and aunt will not spare him."

  • "I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming, if he made a point of it.

  • It is too unlikely, for me to believe it without proof."

  • "How odd you are!

  • What has Mr. Frank Churchill done, to make you suppose him such an unnatural

  • creature?"

  • "I am not supposing him at all an unnatural creature, in suspecting that he may have

  • learnt to be above his connexions, and to care very little for any thing but his own

  • pleasure, from living with those who have always set him the example of it.

  • It is a great deal more natural than one could wish, that a young man, brought up by

  • those who are proud, luxurious, and selfish, should be proud, luxurious, and

  • selfish too.

  • If Frank Churchill had wanted to see his father, he would have contrived it between

  • September and January.

  • A man at his age--what is he?--three or four-and-twenty--cannot be without the

  • means of doing as much as that. It is impossible."

  • "That's easily said, and easily felt by you, who have always been your own master.

  • You are the worst judge in the world, Mr. Knightley, of the difficulties of

  • dependence.

  • You do not know what it is to have tempers to manage."

  • "It is not to be conceived that a man of three or four-and-twenty should not have

  • liberty of mind or limb to that amount.

  • He cannot want money--he cannot want leisure.

  • We know, on the contrary, that he has so much of both, that he is glad to get rid of

  • them at the idlest haunts in the kingdom.

  • We hear of him for ever at some watering- place or other.

  • A little while ago, he was at Weymouth. This proves that he can leave the

  • Churchills."

  • "Yes, sometimes he can." "And those times are whenever he thinks it

  • worth his while; whenever there is any temptation of pleasure."

  • "It is very unfair to judge of any body's conduct, without an intimate knowledge of

  • their situation.

  • Nobody, who has not been in the interior of a family, can say what the difficulties of

  • any individual of that family may be.

  • We ought to be acquainted with Enscombe, and with Mrs. Churchill's temper, before we

  • pretend to decide upon what her nephew can do.

  • He may, at times, be able to do a great deal more than he can at others."

  • "There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always do, if he chuses, and that is, his

  • duty; not by 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 resolutely, 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.

  • Knightley, would imagine it possible.

  • But you have not an idea of what is requisite in situations directly opposite

  • to your own.

  • Mr. Frank Churchill to be making such a speech as that to the uncle and aunt, who

  • have brought him up, and are to provide for him!--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 manner-- would do him more good, raise him higher,

  • fix his interest stronger with the people

  • he depended on, than all that a line of shifts and expedients can ever do.

  • Respect would be added to affection.

  • They would feel that they could trust him; that the nephew who had done rightly by his

  • father, would do rightly by them; for they know, as well as he does, as well as all

  • the world must know, that he ought to pay

  • this visit to his father; and while meanly exerting their power to delay it, are in

  • their hearts not thinking the better of him for submitting to their whims.

  • Respect for right conduct is felt by every body.

  • If he would act in this sort of manner, on principle, consistently, regularly, their

  • little minds would bend to his."

  • "I rather doubt that.

  • You are very fond of bending little minds; but where little minds belong to rich

  • people in authority, I think they have a knack of swelling out, till they are quite

  • as unmanageable as great ones.

  • I can imagine, that if you, as you are, Mr. Knightley, were to be transported and

  • placed all at once in Mr. Frank Churchill's situation, you would be able to say and do

  • just what you have been recommending for him; and it might have a very good effect.

  • The Churchills might not have a word to say in return; but then, you would have no

  • habits of early obedience and long observance to break through.

  • To him who has, it might not be so easy to burst forth at once into perfect

  • independence, and set all their claims on his gratitude and regard at nought.

  • He may have as strong a sense of what would be right, as you can have, without being so

  • equal, under particular circumstances, to act up to it."

  • "Then it would not be so strong a sense.

  • If it failed to produce equal exertion, it could not be an equal conviction."

  • "Oh, the difference of situation and habit!

  • I wish you would try to understand what an amiable young man may be likely to feel in

  • directly opposing those, whom as child and boy he has been looking up to all his

  • life."

  • "Our amiable young man is a very weak young man, if this be the first occasion of his

  • carrying through a resolution to do right against the will of others.

  • It ought to have been a habit with him by this time, of following his duty, instead

  • of consulting expediency. I can allow for the fears of the child, but

  • not of the man.

  • As he became rational, he ought to have roused himself and shaken off all that was

  • unworthy in their authority.

  • He ought to have opposed the first attempt on their side to make him slight his

  • father. Had he begun as he ought, there would have

  • been no difficulty now."

  • "We shall never agree about him," cried Emma; "but that is nothing extraordinary.

  • I have not the least idea of his being a weak young man: I feel sure that he is not.

  • Mr. Weston would not be blind to folly, though in his own son; but he is very

  • likely to have a more yielding, complying, mild disposition than would suit your

  • notions of man's perfection.

  • I dare say he has; and though it may cut him off from some advantages, it will

  • secure him many others."

  • "Yes; all the advantages of sitting still when he ought to move, and of leading a

  • life of mere idle pleasure, and fancying himself extremely expert in finding excuses

  • for it.

  • He can sit down and write a fine flourishing letter, full of professions and

  • falsehoods, and persuade himself that he has hit upon the very best method in the

  • world of preserving peace at home and

  • preventing his father's having any right to complain.

  • His letters disgust me." "Your feelings are singular.

  • They seem to satisfy every body else."

  • "I suspect they do not satisfy Mrs. Weston. They hardly can satisfy a woman of her good

  • sense and quick feelings: standing in a mother's place, but without a mother's

  • affection to blind her.

  • It is on her account that attention to Randalls is doubly due, and she must doubly

  • feel the omission.

  • Had she been a person of consequence herself, he would have come I dare say; and

  • it would not have signified whether he did or no.

  • Can you think your friend behindhand 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 'aimable,' have very good manners, and be very agreeable; but he can

  • have no English delicacy towards the feelings of other people: nothing really

  • amiable about him."

  • "You seem determined to think ill of him." "Me!--not at all," replied Mr. Knightley,

  • rather displeased; "I do not want to think ill of him.

  • I should be as ready to acknowledge his merits as any other man; but I hear of

  • none, except what are merely personal; that he is well-grown and good-looking, with

  • smooth, plausible manners."

  • "Well, if he have nothing else to recommend him, he will be a treasure at Highbury.

  • We do not often look upon fine young men, well-bred and agreeable.

  • We must not be nice and ask for all the virtues into the bargain.

  • Cannot you imagine, Mr. Knightley, what a sensation his coming will produce?

  • There will be but one subject throughout the parishes of Donwell 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 conversation to the taste of every body,

  • and has the power as well as the wish of being universally agreeable.

  • To you, he will talk of farming; to me, of drawing or music; and so on to every body,

  • having that general information on all subjects which will enable him to follow

  • the lead, or take the lead, just as

  • propriety may require, and to speak extremely well on each; that is my idea of

  • him."

  • "And mine," said Mr. Knightley warmly, "is, that if he turn out any thing like it, he

  • will be the most insufferable fellow breathing!

  • What! at three-and-twenty to be the king of his company--the great man--the practised

  • politician, who is to read every body's character, and make every body's talents

  • conduce to the display of his own

  • superiority; to be dispensing his flatteries around, that he may make all

  • appear like fools compared with himself!

  • My dear Emma, your own good sense could not endure such a puppy when it came to the

  • point." "I will say no more about him," cried Emma,

  • "you turn every thing to evil.

  • We are both prejudiced; you against, I for him; and we have no chance of agreeing till

  • he is really here." "Prejudiced!

  • I am not prejudiced."

  • "But I am very much, and without being at all ashamed of it.

  • My love for Mr. and Mrs. Weston gives me a decided prejudice in his favour."

  • "He is a person I never think of from one month's end to another," said Mr.

  • Knightley, with a degree of vexation, which made Emma immediately talk of something

  • else, though she could not comprehend why he should be angry.

  • To take a dislike to a young man, only because he appeared to be of a different

  • disposition from himself, was unworthy the real liberality of mind which she was

  • always used to acknowledge in him; for with

  • all the high opinion of himself, which she had often laid to his charge, she had never

  • before for a moment supposed it could make him unjust to the merit of another.

  • >

VOLUME I

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