&^^ E'tlBRK-lOKBGOMITK Dr-KIMBERLEY L I E) RAR.Y OF THE UN IVLR5ITY Of ILLI NOIS Au7e leiG V.I EMMA: A NOVEL. IN THREE VOLUMES. AUTHOR OF " PRIDE AND PREJUDICE/ VOL. L LOKDON: PRINTED FOR JOHN MURRAY. /g/4 TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS CO £2 THE PRINCE REGENT, CO a- CO CL. THIS WORK IS, O ^ BY HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS'S PERMISSION, MOST RESPECTFULLY ^^ BY HIS ROYAL HIGHNESSES S DUTIFUL AND OBEDIENT ^ ' HUMBLE SERVANT; > THE AUTHOR. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/emmanovel01aust EMMA. CHAP. I. Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in tlie world with very little to distress or vex her. She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate, indul- gent father, and had, in consequence of her sister's marriage, been mistress of his house from a very early period. Her mother had died too Ions: a^o for her to have more than an indistinct re- membrance of her caresses, and her place had been supplied by an excel- lent woman a^ governess, who had vol.. 1. a fallen ( 2 ) fallen little short of a mother in affec- tion. Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been m Mr. Woodhouse's family, less as a governess than a friend, very fond of both daughters, but particularly of Emma. Between them it was more the intimacy of sisters. Even before Miss Taylor had ceased to hold the no- minal office of governess, the mildness of her temper had hardly allowed her to impose any restraint; and the sha- dov/ of authority being now long pass- ed away, they had been living together as friend and friend very mutually at- tached, and Emma doing just what she liked; highly esteeming Miss Taylor's judgment, but directed chiefly by her own. The real evils indeed of Emma's situation were the power of having rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of herself; these were the disadvan- tages which threatened alloy to her many ( 3 ) many enjoyments. The danger, how- ever, was at present so unperceived, that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her. Sorrow came — a gentle sorrow — but not at all in the shape of any disagree- able consciousness. — Miss Taylor mar- ried. It was Miss Taylor's loss which first brought grief It was on the wedding-day of this beloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful thought of any continuance. The. wedding over and the bride-people gone, her father and herself were left to dine together, with no prospect of a third to cheer a long evening. Her father composed himself to sleep after dinner, as usual, and she had then only to sit and think of what she had lost. The event had every promise of hap- piness for her friend. Mr. Weston was a man of unexceptionable charac- ter, easy fortune, suitable age and plea- sant manners; and there was some sa- tisfaction in considering with what u 2 selfr. ( 4 ) self-denying, generous friendship she had always wished and promoted the match; but it was a black moniino-'s work for her. The want of ]\Iiss Tay- lor would be felt every hour of every day. She recalled her past kindness — the kindness, the affection of sixteen years — how she had taught and how she had played with her from live years old — how she had dev^oted all her pow- ers to attach and amuse her in health — and how nursed her through the va- rious illnesses of childhood. A large debt of gratitude was owing here; but the intercourse of the last sev^en years, the equal footing and perfect unre- serve which had soon followed Isabel- la's marriage on their being left to each other, was yet a dearer, tendeier recol- lection. It had been a friend and com- panion such as few possessed, intelli- gent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways of the family, interested in all its concerns, and pecu- liarly interested in herself, in every plea- ( s ) pleasure, every scheme of her's; — one to whom she could speak ev ery thought as it arose, and who had such an affec- tion for her as could never find fault. How was she to bear the change? — It was true that her friend was going only half a mile from them ; but Ennna was aware that great must be the dif- ference between a Mrs. Weston only half a mile from them, and a Miss Tay- lor in the house; and with all her ad- vantages, natural and domestic, she was now in o-reat dano-cr of sufferino* from intellectual solitude. She dearly loved her father, but he was no com- panion for her. He could not meet her in conversation, rational or playful. The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and Mr. Woodhouse had not married early) was much increased by his constitution and habits; for hav- ing been a valetudinarian all his life, without activity of mind or body, he was a much older man in ways than in years; and though everywhere beloved B 3 for ( 6 ) for the friendliness of his heart and his amiable temper, his talents could not have recommended him at any time. Her sister, though comparatively but little removed by matrimony, being settled in London, only sixteen miles oif, was much beyond her daily reach; and many a long October and Novem- ber evening must be struggled through at Hartfield, before Christmas brought the next visit from Isabella and her husband and their little children to fill the house and give her pleasant society again. Highbury, the large and populous village almost amounting to a town, to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn and shrubberies and name, did really belong, afforded her no equals. The Woodhouses were first in conse- quence there. All looked up to them. She had many acquaintance in the place, for her father was universally civil, but not one among them who could ( 7 ) could be accepted in lieu of Miss Tay- lor for even half a day. It was a me- lancholy change; and Emma could not but sigh over it and wish for impossi* ble things, till her father awoke, and made it necessary to be cheerful. Hi« spirits required support. He was a ner* vous man, easily depressed; fond of every body that he was used to, and hating to part with them; hating change of every kind. Matrimony, as the origin of change, was always dis- agreeable; and he was by no means yet reconciled to his own daughter's mar- rying, nor could ever speak of her but with compassion, though it had beeii entirely a match of affection, when he was now obliged to part with Miss Taylor too; and from his habits of gen- tle selfishness and of being never able to suppose that other people could feel differently from himself, he was very much disposed to think Miss Taylor had done as sad a thing for herself as for them, and would have been a great B 4 deal ( 8 ) deal happier if she had spent all the rest of her life at Hartfield. Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she could, to keep him from such thoughts; but when tea came, it was impossible for him not to say exactly as he had said at dinner, ** Poor Miss Taylor! — I wish she ivere here again. What a pity it is that Mr. Weston ever thought of her I'* " I cannot agree with you, papa; jou know I cannot. Mr. Weston is such a good-humoured, pleasant, excel- lent man, that he thoroughly deserves a good wife; — and you would not hav« had Miss Taylor live with us for ever and bear all my odd humours, when she might have a house of her own?" " A house of her own! — but where is the advantage of a house of her own? This is three times as large. — And you have never any odd humours, my dear." *' IIow often we shall be going to see them and they coming to see us! — We shall be always meeting! JVc must ( 9 ) must begin, we must go and pay our wedding-visit very soon." " My dear, how am I to get so far? Randalls is such a distance. I could not walk half so far." " No, papa, nobody thought of your walking. We must go in the carriage to be sure." " The carriage ! But James will not like to put the horses to for such a little way ; — and where are the poor horses to he while we are paying our visit?" " They are to be put into Mr. Wes- ton's stable, papa. You know we have settled all that already. We talked it all over with Mr. Weston last night. And as for James, you may be very sure he will always like going to Randalls, because of his daughter's being housemaid there. I only doubt whether he will ever take us anywhere else. That, was your doing, papa. You got Hannah that good place. No- body thought of Hannah till you mcn- B 5 tioned ( 10 ) tioned her — James is so obliged to you!" " I am very glad I did think of her. It was very lucky, for I would not have had poor James think himself slighted upon any account; and I am sure she will make a very good ser- vant; she is a civil, pretty-spoken girl; I have a great opinion of her. When- ever I see her, she always curtseys and asks me how I do, in a very pretty manner; and when you have had her here to do needlework, I observe she always turns the lock of the door the right way and never bangs it. I am sure she will be an excellent servant; and it will be a great comfort to poor Miss Taylor to have somebody about her that she is used to see. Whenever James goes over to see his daughter you know, she Avill be hearing of us. He will be able to tell her how we all are." Emma spared no exertions to main- tain this happier flow of ideas, and hoped, ( " ) hoped, by the help of backgammon, to get her father tolerably through the evening, and be attacked by no regrets but her own. The backgammon-table was placed ; but a visitor immediately afterwards walked in and made it un- necessary. Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty, was not only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularly connected with it as the elder brother of Isabella's hus- band. He lived about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor and always welcome, and at this time more welcome than usual, as coming directly from their mutual connections in Lon- don. He had returned to a late din- ner after some days absence, and now walked up to Hartfield to say that all were well in Brunsv/ick-square. It was a happy circumstanoe and anima- ted Mr. Woodhouse for some time. Mr. Knightley had a cheerful manner which always did him good; and hig B 6 many . ( 12 ) many inquiries after " poor Isabella" and her children were answered most satisfactorily. When this was over, Air. Woodhouse gratefully observed, ^' It is very kind of you, Mr. Knight- ley, to come out at this late hour to call upon us. I am afraid you must have had a shocking walk." " Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful, mooiiiight night ; and so mild that I must draw back from your great fire." '* But you must have found it very damp and dirty. I wish you may not catch cold." " Dirty, sir! Look at my shoes. Not a speck on them." *' Well! tliat is quite surprizing, for we have had a vast deal of rain here. It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour, wliiie we were at breakfast. I v/ante well of Mr. Elton, and this is the only way I have of doing him a service." " Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man to be sure, and a very good young man, and I have a great regard for him. But if you want to shew him any attention, my dear, ask him to come and dine with us some day. That will be a much better thins:. I dare say Mr. Knightley will be so kind as to meet him." " With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time," said Mr. Knightley laughing ; " and I agree with you en- tirely that it will be a much better thing. Invite him to dinner, Emma, and help him to the best of the fish and the chicken, but leave him to chuse his own wife. Depend upon it, a man of six or sevcn-and-twenty can take care of himself." CHAP- ( 22 ) CHAPTER II. Mr. Weston was a native of High- bury, and born of a respectable family, which for the last two or three gene- rations had been rising into gentility and property. He had received a good education, but on succeeding early in hfe to a small independence, had be- come indisposed for any of the more homely pursuits in which his brothers were engaged ; and had satisfied an active cheerful mind and social temper by entering into the militia of his county, then embodied. Captain Weston was a general fa- vourite ; and when the chances of his military life had introduced him to Miss Churchill, of a great Yorkshire family, and Miss Churchill fell in love with him, nobody was surprized ex- cept ( 23 ) Cept her brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and who were full of pride and importance, which the con- nection would offend. Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full command of her fortune — though her fortune bore no proportion to the family-estate —was not to be dissuaded from the marriage, and it took place to the infinite mortifi- cation of Mr. and Mrs.. Churchill, who threw her off with due decorum. It was an unsuitable connection, and did not produce much happiness. Mrs. AYeston ouo-lit to have found more in it, for she had a husband vrhose warm heart and sweet temper made him think every thing due to lier in return for the great goodness of being in love with him ; but though she had one sort of spirit, she had not the best. She had resolution enough to pursue her own will in spite of her brother, but not enough to refrain from unrea- sonable regrets at that brother's un- reasonable ( 24 ) reasonable anger, nor from missing the luxuries of her former home. They lived beyond their income, but still it was nothing in comparison of Ens- combe : she did not cease to love her husband, but she wanted at once to be the wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe. Captain Weston, who had been considered, especially by the Church- ills, as making such an amazing match, was proved to have much the w^orst of the bargain ; for when his wife died after a three years' marriage, he was rather a poorer man than at first, and with a child to maintain. From the expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved. The boy had, with the additional softening claim of a linger- ing illness of his mother's, been the means of a sort of reconciliation ; and Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, having no children of their own, nor any other young creature of equal kindred to care for, oflered to take the whole charge ( Qo ) charge of the little Frank soon after her decease. Some scruples and some reluctance the widower-father may be supposed to have felt; but as they were overcome by other considerations, the child was given up to the care and the wealth of the Churchills, and he bad only his own comfort to seek and his own situation to improve as he could. A complete change of life became desirable. He quitted the militia and engaged in trade, having brothers al- ready establislied in a good way in London, which afforded him a favour- able opening. It was a concern which brought just employment enough. He had still a small house in Highburj^ where most of his leisure days were spent ; and between useful occupation and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or twenty years of his life passed cheerfully away. He had, by that time, realized an easy competence VOL. I. c —enough ( 26- ) ^—enough to secure the purchase of i httle estate adjoining Highbury, which he had always longed for — enough to marry a woman as portionless even as Miss Taylor, and to live according to the wishes of his own friendly and social disposition. It was now some time since Miss Taylor had begun to influence his schemes ; but as it was not the tyran- nic influence of youth on youth, it had not shaken his determination of never settHng till he could purchase Ran- dalls, and the sale of Randalls wa^ long looked forward to : but he had gone steadily on, with these objects in view, till they were accomplished. He had made his fortune, bought his house, and obtained his wife; and Vv^as begin^ ning a new period of existence with every probability of greater happiness than in any yet passed through. He had never been an unhappy man ; his own temper had secured him from that, even in his first marriage ; but his se- cond ( 27 ) tx)nd must sliew him how delightful a well-judging and truly amiable woman could be, and must give him the plea- santest proof of its being a great deal better to chuse than to be chosen, to excite gratitude than to feel it. He had only himself to please in his choice : his fortune was his own ; for as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly brought up as hi^s uncle's heir, it had become so avov/ed an adoption as to have him assume the name of Churchill on coming of age. It was most unlikely, therefore, that he should ever want his father's assist- ance. His father had no apprehensioa of it. The aunt was a capricious wo- man, and governed her husband entire- ly; but it was not in Mr. Weston's nature to imagine that any caprice could be strong enough to affect one so dear, and, as he believed, so de- seiTedly dear. He saw his son every year in London, and was proud of him.; and his fond report of him as a c 2 xQiy ( 28 ) very fine young man had made High- bury feel a sort of pride in him too. He was looked on as sufficiently be- longing to the place to make his me- rits and prospects a kind of common concern. Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, and a lively cu- riosity to see him prevailed, though the compliment was so little returned that he had never been there in his life. His comino* to visit his father o had been often talked of but never achiev^ed. Now, upon his father's marriage, it was very generally proposed, as a most proper attention, that the visit should take place. There was not a dissen- tient voice on the subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tea with Mrs. and Miss Bates, or when Mrs. and IMiss Bates returned the visit. Noav^ was the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to come among them ; and the hope strengthened v/hen it was understood tliat ( 29 ) that he had written to his new mother on the occasion. For a few days every morning visit in Highbury inchided some mention of the handsome letter Mrs. Weston had received. " I sup- pose you have heard of the handsome letter Mr. Frank Churchill had written to Mrs, Weston ? I understand it was a very handsome letter, indeed. Mr. Woodhouse told me of it. Mr. Woodhouse saw the letter, and he says he never saw such a handsome letter in his life." It was, indeed, a highly-prized let- ter. JMrs. Weston had, of course, formed a very fav^ourable idea of the young man ; and such a pleasing at- tention was an irresistible proof of his great good sense, and a most welcome addition to every source and every ex- pression of congratulation which her marriage had already secured. She felt licrself a most fortunate woman ; ^nd she had lived lono- enouo'h to kno\v^ how fortunate she might well q3 be ( 30 ) be thought, where the only regret was for a partial separation from friends^ Avhose friendship for her had never cooled, and who could ill bear to part Avith her I She knew that at times she must be missed ; and could not think, w^ithout pain, of Emma's losing a single plea- sure, or suffering an hour's ennui, from the want of her companionable- ness : but dear Emma was of no feeble character; she was more equal to her situation than most girls would have been, and had sense and energy and jBpirits that might be hoped would bear her well and happily through its littl« difficulties and privations. And then there was such comfort in the very easy distance of Randalls from Hart- field, so convenient for even solitary female walking, and in Mr. Weston'& disposition and circumstances, which would make the approaching season no hindrance to their spending half the evenings in the week together. Her ( 51 ) tier situation was altogether the subject of hours of gratitude to Mrs. Weston, and of moments only of re- gret; and her satisfaction — her more than satisfaction — her cheerful enjoy- ment was so just and so apparent, that Emma, well as she knew her fa- ther, was sometimes taken by surprize at his being still able to pity " poor Miss Taylor," when they left her at Randalls in the centre of every domes- tic comfort, or saw her go away in the evening attended by her pleasant hus- band to a carriage of her own. But never did she go without ]Mr. Vv'ood- house's giving a gentle sigh, and say- mg: " Ah ! poor Miss Ta3'lor. She would be very glad to stay." There was no recovering Miss Tay- lor — nor much likelihood of ceasino; to pity her: but a few weeks brought some alleviation to Mr. Woodhouse. The compliments of his neighbours were over; he was no longer teased c 4i by ( 32 > by being v/ished joy of so sorrow- ful an event ; and the wedding- cake, winch had been a great distress to him, was all eat up. His own sto- mach could bear nothing rich, and he could never believe other people to be different from himself. What was unwholesome to him, he regarded as unfit for any body ; and he had, there- fore, earnestly tried to dissuade them from having any wedding-cake at all, and when that proved vain, as earnestly tried to prevent any body's eating it. He had been at the pains of consulting My. Perry, the apothecary, on the subject. ^Ir. Perry was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose frequent visits were one of the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse's life; and, upon being applied to, he could not but acknow- ledge, (thougli it seemed rather against the bias of inclination,) that wedding- cake might certainly disagree with many — perhaps with most people, un- less taken moderately. With such an opinion;^ ( 33 ) Opinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr. Woodhouse hoped to influence every visitor of the new-married pair; but still the cake was eaten ; and there was no rest for his benevolent nerves till it was all gone. There was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little Perrys being- seen with a slice of Mrs. Weston's wedding-cake in their hands : but Mr. Woodhouse would never. believe it. c 5 CHAP- ( 54 ) CHAPTER III. Mr. Woodhouse was fond of society in his own way. He liked very much to have his friends come and see him ; and from various united causes, from bis long residence at Hartfield, and his good nature, from his fortune, his house, and his daughter, he could com- mand the visits of his own little circle^ in a great measure as he liked. He had not much intercourse with any families beyond that circle ; his horror of late hours and large dinner-parties made him unfit for any acquaintance, but such as woidd visit him on his own terms. Fortunately for him, Highbury, including Randalls in the same parish, and Donwell Abbey in the parish adjoining, the seat of Mr. Knightley, comprehended many such., Nat ( 55 ) Not unfrequently, through Emma's persuasion, he had some of the chosen and the best to dine with him, but evening-parties were what he prefer- red, and, unless he fancied himself at any time unequal to company, there was scarcely an evening in the week in which Emma could not make up a card-table for him. Real, long-standing regard brought the Westons and Mr. Knightley; and by My. Elton, a young man living alone without liking it, the privilege of exchanging any vacant evening of his own blank solitude for the eleoan- €ies and society of iVIr. Woodho use's drawing-room and the smiles of his lovely daughter, was in no danger of being thrown away. After these came a second set;: airronfv the most come-at-able of u horn, were Mrs. and Miss Bates and ]\frs^ Goddard, three ladies almost always ati the service of an invitation from Hart- field, and who were fetched and carried € & laoiwc ( 36 ) lioiiie so often that iMr. A\'occlliouse thought it no hardship for either James or the horses. Had it taken place only once a year, it would have heen a grievance. Mrs. Bates, the widow of a former vicar of Highbury, was a very old lady, almost past every thing but tea and quadrille. She' lived with her single daughter in a very small way, and was considered w ith all the re- gard and respect which a harmless old » lady, under such untoward circum- stances, can excite. Her daughter enjoyed a most uncommon degree of popularity for a vv^oman neither young, handsome, rich., nor married. ]\Iiss Bates stood in the very worst predica- ment in the world for having much of the public favour; and she had no intellectual superiority to make atone- ment to herself, or frighten those who might hate her, into outward respect. She had never boasted either beauty or cleverness. Her youth had passed without ( 37 ) without cUbiiuction, and her middle of life was de\oted to the care of a faihiig mother, and the endeavour to make a small income go as far as pos- sible. And yet she was a happy wo- man, and a woman whom no one named without good-will. It was her o^v^n universal good- will and contented temper which worked such wonders. She loved every body, was interested in evTry body's happiness, quick-sight- ed to every body's merits ; thought herself a most fortunate creature, and surrounded with blessings in such an excellent mother and so many o-ood neighliours and friends, and a home that wanted for nothino*. The sim- plicity and cheerfulness of her nature, her contented and grateful spirit, were a recommendation to every body and a mine of felicity to herself She was a great talker upon little matters, which exactly suited Mr. Woodhouse, full of trivial communications and harmless gossip. Mrs. ( 33 ) Mrs. Gocldard v/as the mistress of a School — not of a seininaiy, or an esta- blishment, or any thing which profess- ed, in long sentences of refined non- sense, to combine liberal acquirements with elegant morahty upon new prin- ciples and new systems---and where young ladies for enormous pay might be screwed out of health and into va- nity—but a real, honest, old-fashioned Boarding-school, where a reasonable quantity of accomplishments were sold at a reasonable price, and Vvhere girls might be sent to be out of the way and scramble themselves into a little edu- cation, without any danger of coming back prodigies. Mrs. Goddard's school was in high reput«---and very deser- vedly; for Highbury was reckoned a particularly healthy spot : she had an ample hou^e and garden, gave the chil- dren plenty of wholesome food, let them run about a o-reat deal in the sum- mer, and in winter dressed their chil- bLains with her own hands. It was no wpndcF ( 39 ) wonder that a train of twenty young couple now walked after her to church. She was a plain, motherly kind of avo- man, who had Avorked hard in her youth, and now thought herself enti- tled to the occasional holiday of a tea- visit; and having formerly owed much to Mr. Woodhouse's kindness, felt his particular claim on lier to leave her neat parlour hung round with fancy- work whenever she could, and win or lose a few sixpences hy his fireside. These were the ladies whom Emma found herself very frequently able to collect; and happy was she, for her fa- ther's sake, in the power; though, as far as she w^as herself concerned, it was no remedy for the absence of Mrs. Weston. She was delighted to see her father look comfortable, and very much pleased with herself for contriving things so well; but the quiet prosings of three such women made her feel that every evening so spent, was in- deed ( 40 ) deed one of the Ions; eveiiinors she liaci fearftdly anticipated. As she sat one morning, looking for- ward to exactly such a close of the present day, a note was brought from JNIrs. Goddard, requesting, in most re- spectfid terms, to be allowed to bring Miss Smith with her; a most welcome request: for Miss Smith was a girl of seventeen whom Emma knew very well by sight and had long felt an in- terest in, on account of her beauty. A very gracious invitation was return- ed, and the evening no longer dreaded ])y the fair mistress of the mansion. Harriet Smith was the natural daugh- ter of somebody. Somebody had pla- ced her, several years back, at iVJrs, Goddard's school, and somebody had lately raised her from the condition of scholar to that of parlour-boarder. This was all that was generally known of her history. She had no visible friends but what had been acquired at Highbury, ( 41 ) Highbury, and was now just returned from a long visit in the country to some young ladies who had been at school there with her. She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sort which Emma particularly admired. She was short, plump and fair, with a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular features, and a look of great sweetness; and be- fore the end of the evening, Emma was as much pleased with her manners as her person, and quite determined to continue the acquaintance. She was not struck by any thing re- markably clever in Miss Smith's con- versation, but she found her altoo-etlier very engaging — not inconveniently shy, not unwilling to talk — and yet so far from pushing, shewing so proper and becoming a deference, seeming so pleasantly grateful for being admitted to Hartfield, and so artlessly impressed by the appearance of every tiling in so superior a style to what she liad been used ( 42 > tised to, that she must have good sehs^ and deserve encouragement. Encou-' raa^ement should be eiven. Those soft blue eyes and all those natural graces should not be wasted on the inferior society of Highbury and its connec- tions. The acquaintance she had al- ready formed were unworthy of her. The friends from whom she had just parted, though very good sort of peo- ple, must be doing her harm. They were a family of the name of Martin, whom Emma well knew by character, as renting a large farm of Mr. Knight- ley, and residing in the parish of Don- well— very creditably she believed-— she knew Mr. Knightley thought high- ly of them — but they must be coarse and unpolished, and very unfit to be the intimates of a girl who wanted onlv a little more knowledge and ele- gance to be quite perfect. She would notice her ; she would improve her ; she would detach her from her bad acquaintance, and introduce her into good ( 43 ) good society ; she would form hef opinions and her manners. It would be an interesting, and certainly a very kind undertaking ; highly becoming her own situation in life, her leisure, and powers. She was so busy in admiring those soft blue eyes, in talking and listening, and forming all these schemes in the in-betweens, that the evening flew away at a very unusual rate ; and the supper-table, which always closed such parties, and for which she had been used to sit and watch the due time, was all set out and ready, and moved forwards to the fire, before she was aware. With an alacrity beyond the common impulse of a spirit which yet was never indifferent to the credit of doing every thing well and attentively, with the real good- will of a mind de- lighted with its own ideas, did she then do all the honours of the meal, and help and recommend the minced chicken and scalloped oysters with an urgency ( 44 ) tirgency which she knew \vould be acceptable to the early hours and civil scruples of their guests. Upon such occasions poor ]\Ir. Wood- house's feelings were in sad warfare. He loved to have the cloth laid, be- cause it had been the fashion of his youth; but his conviction of supperi^ being very unwholesome made him rather sorry to see any thing put on it; and while his hospitality would have welcomed his visitors to every thing, his care for their health made him grieve that they would eat. Such another small basin of thin gruel as his own, was all that he could, with thorough self-approbation, recom- mend, thouQ-h he mio-ht constrain him- self, while the ladies were comfortably clearing the nicer things, to say : " Mrs. Bates, let me propose your venturing on one of these eggs. An egg boiled very soft is not unwholesome. Serle understands boiling an egg better than any body. I would not recom- mend ( 45 ) Riend an egg boiled by any body else —but you need not be afraid — they are very small, you see — one of our small eggs will not hurt you. Miss Bates, let Emma help you to a little bit of tart — a veri/ little bit. Ours are all apple tarts. You need not be afraid of unwholesome preserves here. I do not advise the custard. JNTrs. Goddard, what say you to half a glass of wine? A small half glass — put into a tumbler of water? I do not think it could disagree with you.'' Emma allowed her father to talk — but supplied her visitors in a much more satisfactory style ; and on the present evening had particular plea- sure in sending them away happy. The happiness of Aliss Smith was quite equal to her intentions. jMiss Wood- house w^as so great a personage in Highbury, that the prospect of the introduction had given as much panic as pleasure — but the humble, grateful, little girl went off with highly grati- fied ( 46 ) lied feelings, delighted with the affa- bility with whicli Miss Woodhouse had treated her all the evening, and actually shaken hands with hex at ias^t! CHAP- < 47 ) CHAPTER lY. Hahriet Smith's intimacy at Hart- field was soon a settled thing. Quick and decided in her ways, Emma lost no time in inviting, encourag^ing, and telling her to come very often ; and as their acquaintance increased, so did their satisfaction in each other. As a walking companion, Emma had very earlv foreseen how useful she mio-ht iind her. In that respect Mrs. Wes- ton's loss had been important. Her father never went beyond the shrub- bery, where two divisions of the grounds sufficed him for his long walk, or his short, as the year varied ; and since Mrs. Weston's marriage her exercise had been too much confined. She had ventured once alone to Ran- dalls, but it was not pleasant ; and a Harriet ( 48 ) Harriet Smith, therefore, one whom she could summon at any time to a walk, would be a valuable addition to her privileges. But in every respect as she saw more of her, she approved her, and was confirmed in all her kind designs. Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile, grateful dispo- sition ; was totally free from conceit; and only desiring to be guided by any one she looked up to. Her early at- tachment to herself was very amiable ; and her inclination for good conipany, ^nd power of appreciating what was elegant and clever, shewed that there was no want of taste, though strength of understanding must not be ex- pected. Altogether she was quite convinced of Harriet Smith's being exactly the young friend she wanted — exactly the something which her home required. Such a friend as Mrs. Weston was out of the question. Two such could never be granted. Two such ( 49 ) such she did not want. It was quite a different sort of thing — a sentiment distinct and independent. Mrs. Wes- ton was the object of a regard, which had its basis in gratitude and esteem. Harriet would be loved as one to whom she could be useful. For Mrs. Weston there was nothing to be done ; for Harriet every thing. Her first attempts at usefulness were in an endeavour to find out who were the parents; but Harriet could not tell. She was ready to tell every thing in her power, but on this sub- ject questions were vain. Emma was obliged to fancy what she liked — but she could never believe that in the same situation she should not have dis- covered the truth. Harriet had no penetration. She had been satisfied to hear and believe just what Mrs. Goddard chose to tell her ; and looked no farther. Mrs. Goddard, and the teachers, and the girls, and the affairs of the school VOL. I. D in ( 50 ) in general, formed naturally a great- part of her conversation — and but for her acquaintance with the Martins of Abbey-Mill- Farm, it must have been the whole. But the Martins occupied her thoughts a good deal ; she had spent two very happy months with them, and now loved to talk of the pleasures of her visit, and describe the many comforts and wonders of the place. Emma encouraged her talka- tiveness — amused by such a picture of another set of beings, and enjoying the youthful simplicity which could speak Avith so much exultation of Mrs. Martin's having " two parlours, two very good parlours indeed ; one of them quite as large as Mrs. Goddard's drawing-room ; and of her having an upper maid who had lived five-and- twenty years with her; and of their having eight cow^s, two of them Alder- neys, and one a little Welch cow, a very pretty little Welch cow, indeed ; and .of -Mrs. Martin's saying, as she . was ( ^1 ) was so fond of it, it should be called her cow ; and of their having a very handsome summer-house in their gar- den, where some day next year they were all to drink tea: — a very hand- some summer-house, large enough to hold a dozen people." For some time she was amused, without thinking heyond the imme- diate cause ; but as she came to un- derstand the family better, other feel- ings arose. She had taken up a wrong idea, fancying it was a mother and daughter, a son and son's wife, who all lived together ; but when it ap- peared that the Mr. Martin, who bore a part in the narrative, and was always mentioned w^th approbation for hi& great good-nature in doing something or other, was a single man ; that there was no young Mrs. Martin, no wife in the case ; she did suspect danger to her poor little friend from all this hos- pitaUty and kindness — and that if she ^ ^ were UNiVERSiTY OF ILllNOfv ( 52 ) were not taken care of, she might Be required to sink herself for ever. With this inspiriting notion, her questions increased in nuniher and meaning; and she particularly led Harriet to talk more of Mr. Martin, — and there was evidently no disHke to it. Harriet was very ready to speak of the share he had had in their moon- light walks and merry evening games ; and dwelt a good deal upon his being so very good-humoured and obliging, '' He had gone three miles round one day, in order to bring her some wal- nuts, because she had said how fond she was of them-— and in every thing «lse he was so very obliging ! He had his shepherd's son into the parlour one night on purpose to sing to her. She was very fond of singing. He could sins: a little himself. She believed he was very clever, and understood every thing. He had a very fine flock ; and while she was with them, he had been bid ( 53 ) bid more for his wool than any body in the country. She beheved every body spoke well of him. His mother ^nd sisters were very fond of him. Mis. Martin had told her one day, (and there was a blush as she said it,) that it was impossible for any body to be a, better son ; and therefore she was sure whenever he married he would make a good husband. Not that she wanted him to marry. She was in no hurry at *' Well done, Mrs, Martini" thought Emma. " You know what you are about." ^' And when she had come away, Mrs. Martin was so very kind as tP send Mrs. Goddard a beautiful goose ; the finest goose Mrs. Goddard had ^ver iseen, Mrs. Goddard had dressed it on a Sunday, and asked all the thre^ teachers. Miss Nash, and Miss Prince, and Miss Richardson, to sup with her." '' Mr. Martin, I suppose, is not a D 3 man ( ^4 ) man of information beyond the line of his own business. He does not read ?" *' Oh, yes ! — that is, no — I do not know — but I beheve he has read a good deal — but not what you would think any thing of. He reads the Agricultural Reports and some other books, that lay in one of the window seats — but he reads all them to him- self. But sometimes of an evening, before we went to cards, he would read something aloud out of the Ele- gant Extracts — very entertai: ing. And I know he has read the Vicar of Wake- field. He never read the Romance of the Forest, nor the Children of the Abbey. He had never heard of such books before I mentioned them, but he is determine(.l to get them now as soon as ever he can." The next question was : " What sort of looking man is Mr. Martin?" '"■ Oh! not handsome — not at all handsome. ( 55 ) handsome. I thought him very ])laiii at first, hut I do not think him so plain no\r. One does not, you know, after a time. But, did you never see liim ? He is in Ilighhury every now and then, and he is sure to ride through every week in liis way to Kingston. He has passed you very often." " That may he — and I may have seen him fifty times, hut without hav- ing any idea of his name. A young farmer, whether on liorsehack or on foot, is the very last sort of person to raise my curiosity. The yeomanry are precisely the order of people with whom I feel I can have nothing to do. A degree or two lower, and a credit- ahle appearance might interest me ; I might hope to be useful to their fami- lies in some way or other. But a farmer can need none of my help, and is therefore in one sense as much above my notice as in every other he is below it.." " To be sure. Oh ! yes, it is not i:) 4 likely ( 56 ) likely you should ever have observed him — but he knows you very well indeed — I mean by sight." " I have no doubt of his being a very respectable young man. I know indeed that he is so ; and as such wish him well. What do you imagine his age to be ?" " He was four-and-twenty the 8th of last June, and my birth-day is the S3d — just a fortnight and a day's dif- ference ! which is very odd !" ** Only four-and-twenty. That is too young to settle. His mother is perfectly right not to be in a hurry. They seem very comfortable as they are, and if she were to take any pains to marry him, she would probably re- pent it. Six years hence, if he could meet with a good sort of young woman in the same rank as his own, with a little money, it might be very de- sirable." " Six years hence ! dear Miss Wood- house, he w^ould be thirty years old!" " Well, ( 57 ) ^* Well, and that is as early as most men can afford to marry, who are not bom to an independence. Mr. Mar- tin, I imagine, has his fortune entirely to make — cannot be at all beforehand with the world. Whatever money he might come into when his father died, whatever his share of the family pror perty, it is, I dare say, all afloat, ali employed in his stock, and so forth ; and though, with diligence and goo4 luck, he may be rich in time, it is next to impossible that he should have rea* Used any thing yet." '^ To be sure, so it is. But they live very comfortably. They have no in-doors man— else they do not want for any thing ; and Mrs. Martin talks of taking a boy another year."' " I wish you may not get into a scrape, Harriet, whenever he does marry; — I mean, as to being ac- quainted with iiis wife — for though his sisters, from a superior C( hi cation, ;are not to be altogether objected to, it ^ ^ does 1 58 ) does not follow tliat he might marry any body at all fit for you to notice. The misfortune of your birth ought to make you particularly careful as to your associates. There can be no doubt of your being a gentleman's daughter, and you must support your claim to that station by every thing within your own power, or there will be plenty of people who would take pleasure in degrading you." " Yes, to be sure — I suppose there are. But while I visit at Hartfield, and vou are so kind to me, Miss Wood- house, I am not afraid of what any body can do." " You understand the force of in- fluence pretty well, Harriet ; but I \vould have you so firmly established in good society, as to be independent^ even of Hartfield and Miss Wood- house. I want to see you perma- nently well connected — and to that end it will be advisable to have as few •©^d acquaintance as may be; and, therefore, ( -^9 ) therefore, I say that if you should still- be in this country when I\lr. Martin marries, I wish you may not be drawn in, by your intimacy with the sisters, to be acquainted with the wife, who will probably be some mere farmer's daugiiter, without education." " To be sure. Yes. Not that I think Mr. Martin would ever marry any body but what had had some educa- tion — and been very well brought up. However, I do not mean to set up my opinion against your's — and I am sure. I shall not w^ish for the acquaintance of his wife. I shall always have a great regard for the ^liss Martins, es- pecially Elizabeth, and should be very sorry to give them up, for they are quite as well educated as me. But if he marries a very ignorant, vulgar woman, certainly I had better not vi- sit her, if I can help it." Emma watched her through the fluctuations of this speech, and saw no alarming symptoms of love. The D 6 young ( ^0 ) young man had been the first admirer, but she trusted there was no other hold, and that there would be no serious difficulty on Haniet's side to oppose any friendly arrangement o-f her own. They met Mr. Martin the very next day, as they were walking on the Donwell road. He was on foot, and after looking very respectfully at her, looked with most unfeigned satisfac- tion at her companion. Emma was not Sony to have such an opportunity of survey; and walking a few yaixls forward, while they talked together, soon made her quick eye sufficiently acquainted with Mr. Robert Martin. His appearance was very neat, and he looked like a sensible young man, but his person had no other advantage ; and when he came to be contrasted with gentlemen, she thought he must lose all the ground he liad gained in Harriet's inclination. Harriet was not insensible of manner; she had volun- tarily ( 61 ) tariiy noticed her father's gentleness with admiration as well as wonder. Mr. JMartin looked as if he did not know what manner was. They remained but a few minutes together, as Miss Woodhouse must not be kept waiting ; and Harriet then came running to her with a smiling face, and in a flutter of spirits, which Miss Woodhouse hoped very soon to compose. " Only think of our happening to meet him ! — How very odd ! It was quite a chance, he said, that lie had not gone round by Randalls. He did not think we ever walked this road. He thought w€ walked towards Ran- dalls most days. He has not been able to get the Romance of the Forest yet. He was so busy the last time he was at Kingston that he quite forgot it, but he goes again to-morrow. So very odd we should happen to meet ! WeU, Miss Woodhouse, is he like what you ex^pected.^ What do you think of him } ( 62 ) him? Do you think him so very plain ?" " He is very plain, undoubtedly — remarkably plain : — but that is no- thing, compared with his entire want of gentility. I had no right to expect much, and I did not expect much ; but I had no idea that he could be so very clownish, so totally without air. Iliad imagined him, I confess, a de- gree or two nearer gentility." " To be sure," said Harriet, in a mortified voice, ^' he is not so genteel as real gentlemen." " 1 think, Harriet, since your ac- quaintance with us, you have been repeatedly in the company of some, such very real gentlemen, that you must yourself be struck with the dif- ference in Mr. Martin. At Hartfield you have had very good specimens of well educated, well bred men. I should be surprized if, after seeing them, you could be in company with Mr. Martin again without perceiving him ( 63 ) him to be a very inferior creature — and rather wondering at yourself for having ever thouglit him at all agree- able before. Do not you begin to feel that now ? Were not you struck ? I am sure you must have been struck by his awkward look and abrupt man- ner — and the uncouthness of a voice, which I heard to be wholly unmodu- lated as I stood here." " Certainly, he is not like Mr. Knightley. He has not such a fine air ancl way of walking as Mr. Knight- ley. I see the difference plain enough. But Mr. Knightley is >jo very fine a man !" *' Mr. Knightley 's air is so remark- ably good, that it is not fair to com- pare Mr. Martin with Iwn. You might not see one in a hundred, with gen- tleman so plainly written as in Mr. Knightley. But he is not the only gentleman you have been lately used to. What say you to Mr. Weston and Mr. ( 64, ) Mr. Elton ? Compare Mr. Martin with •either ofihem. Compare their manner of carrying themselves; of walking; of s{3eaking; of being silent. You must see the difference." ^' Oh, yes !— there is a great dif^ ference. But Mr. Weston is almost jm old man. Mr. Weston must be between forty and fifty." '* Which makes his good manners the more valuable The older a person ^rows, Harriet, the more important it is that their manners should not be bad — the more glaring and disgusting any loudness, or coarseness, or awk- wardness becomes. What is passable ijEi youthj is detestable in later age. Mr. Martin is now awkward and ab- rupt ; what will he be at Mr. Weston's time of life?" ^' There is no saying, indeed '/' re- plied Harriet, rather solemnly. " But there may be pretty good guessing. He will be a completely gross, ( 65 ) gross, vulgar farmer — totally inatten- tive to appearances, and thinking of no- thing but profit and loss." " Will he, indeed, that will be very bad." " How much his business engrosses him already, is very plain from the circumstance of his forgetting to in- quire for the book you recommend- ed. He was a great deal too full of the market to think of any thing else — which is just as it should be, for a thriving man. What has he to do with books? And I have no doubt that he will thrive and be a very rich man in time — and his being illiterate and coarse need not disturb us'' " I wonder he did not remember the book" — was all Harriet's answer, and spoken with a degree of grave displea- sure which Emma thought might be safely left to itself. She, therefore, said no more for some time. Her next beginning was, " In one respect, perhaps, Mr. El- ton's ( 66 ) ton's manners are superior to Mr. Knightley's or Mr. Weston's. They have more gentleness. They might be more safely held np as a pattern. There is an openness, a quickness, al- most a bluntness in Mr. Weston, which every body likes in him because there is so much good humour with it — but that would not do to be copied. Nei- ther would Mr. Knightley's downright, decided, commanding sort of manner — though it suits him very well ; hi§ ^figure and look, and situation in life «eem to allow^ it; but if any young f a woman ; no, certainly, it is too .•strons: and concise : not diffuse enough for a woman. No doubt be is a sen- sible man, and 1 suppose may have a natural talent for — tliinks strongly and clearly ^ — and when he takes a pen in liand, his thoughts naturally find proper words. It is so with some men. Yes, I understand the sort of mind. Vigorous, decided, with sen- timents to a certain point, not coarse. A better written letter, Harriet, (re- turning it,) than I had expected." " Well," said the still waiting Har- riet ; — " well — and — and what shall I do?" " What shall you do ! In what re- spect? Do you mean wath regard to this letter ?" " Yes." " But what are you in doubt of? You must answer it of course — and speedily." " Yes. But what shall I say ? Dear Miss Woodhouse, do advise me." " Oh, ( 105 ) " Oh, no, no ! the letter had much better be all your own. You will ex- press yourself very properly, I am sure. There is no danger of your not being intelligible, which is the first thing. Your meaning must be unequivocal; no doubts or demurs : and such ex- pressions of gratitude and concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety requires, will present themselves un- bidden to 7/our mind, I am persuaded. Vou need not be prompted to write with the appearance of sorrow for his disappointment/' " You think I ought to refuse him tlien," said Harriet, looking down. '"' Ought to refuse him I My dear Harriet, what do you mean r Are you in any doubt as to that ? I thought — but I beg your pardon, perhaps I have been under a mistake. I certainly have been misunderstanding you, if you feel in doubt as to the purport of your answer. I had imagined you F S were ( 105 ) Were consulting me only as to the wording of it." Harriet was silent. With a little re- serve of manner, Emma continued : " You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect." " No, I do not ; that is, I do not mean — What shall I do ? What would you advise me to do ? Pray, dear Miss Woodhouse, tell me what I ought to do?" " I shall not give you any advice, Harriet. I will have nothing to do with it. This is a point which you must settle with your own feelings." " I had no notion that he liked me so very much/' said Harriet, contem- plating the letter. For a little while Emma persevered in her silence ; but beginning to apprehend the bewitch- ing flattery of that letter might be too powerful, she thought it best to say,. " I lay it down as a general rule, .Harriet, that if a woman doubts as to whether ( lor ) whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse him. If she can hesitate as to ' Yes/ she ought to say ' No' directly. It is not a state to he safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with half a heart. I thought it my duty as a friend, and older than yourself, to say thus much to you. But do not imagine that I want to influence you." " Oh ! no, I am sure you are a great deal too kind to but if you would just advise me what I had best do — No, no, I do not mean that — As you say, one's mind ought to be quite made up — One should not be hesitating — It is a very serious thing. — It will be safer to say ^ No,' perhaps. — Do you think I had better say ' No ?' " " Not for the world," said Emma, smiling graciously, "would ladviseyou either way. You must be the best judge of your own happiness. If you prefer Mr. Martin to every other person; if you think, him the most agreeable man you have ever been in company r 6 with, C 108 ) with, why should you hesitate 7 You blush, Harriet. — Does any body else oc- cur to you at this moment under such a definition? Harriet, Harriet, do not de- ceive yourself; do not be runaway with by gratitude and compassion. At this moment whom are you thinking of?" The symptoms were favourable. — Instead of answering, Harriet turned away confused, and stood thought- fully by the fire; and though the let- ter was still in her hand, it was now mechanically twisted about without ' regard. Emma waited the result with impatience, but not without strong hopes. At last, with some hesita- tion, Harriet said — " Miss Woodhouse, as you will not give me your opinion, I must do as well as I can by myself ; and I have now quite determined, and really al- most made up my mind — to refuse Mr. Martin. Do you think I am right ?" ^* Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest ( 109 ) dearest Harriet; you are doing just what you ought. While you were at all ill suspense I kept my feelings to myself, but now that you are so com- pletely decided I have no hesitation in approving. Dear Harriet, I give my- self joy of this. It would have grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which must have been the consequence of your marrying Mr. Martin. While you were in the smallest degree wavering, I said nothing about it, because I would not influence ; but it Avould have been the loss of a friend to me. I could not have visited Mrs. Robert Martin, of Abbey-Mill Farm. Now I am secure of you for ever." Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but the idea of it struck her forcibly. ^' You could not have visited me 1" jshe cried, looking aghast. " No, to be sure you could not; but I never thought of that before. That would have been too dreadful ! — What an escape ! ( no ) escape !— Dear Miss Woodhouse, I would not give up the pleasure and honour of being intimate with you for any thing in the world." " Indeed, Harriet, it would hav^e been a severe pang to lose you ; but it must have been. You would have thrown yourself out of all good soci- ety. I must have given you up." " Dear me ! — How should I ever have borne it ! It would have killed me never to come to Hartfield any more !" " Dear affectionate creature ! — Vou banished to Abbey-^Iill Farm ! — You confined to the society of the illite- rate and vailgar all your life ! I won- der how the young man could have the assurance to ask it. He must have a pretty good opinion of him- self." *^ I do not think he is conceited either, in general," said Harriet, her conscience opposing such censure ; " at least he is very good natured, and ( in ) and I shall always feel much obliged to him, and have a great regard for — but that is quite a different thing from — and you know, though he may like me, it does not follow that I should — and certainly I must confess that since my visiting here I have seen people — and if one comes to compare them, person and manners, there is no comparison at all, o?ie is so very handsome and agreeable. How- ever, I do really think Mr. Martin a veiy amiable young man, and have a great opinion of him ; and his being so much attached to me — and his writing such a letter — but as to leav- ing you, it is what I would not do upon any consideration." '^ Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend. We will not be parted. A woman is not to marry a man merely l^ccause she is asked, or because he is attached to her, and can write a tolerable letter," *'0h! ( 112 ) ■ " Oh! no; — and it is but a short letter too." Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but let it pass with a " very true ; and it would be a small conso- lation to her, for the clownish manner which might be offending her every hour of the day, to know that her husband could write a good letter." " Oh! yes, very. Nobody cares for a letter; the thing is, to be always happy w'th pleasant companions. I am quite determined to refuse him. But how shall I do ? What shall I say?" Emma assured her there would be no difficulty in the answer, and ad- vised its being written directly, which was agreed to, in the hope of her as- sistance ; and tliough Emma conti- nued to protest against any assistance being wanted, it was in fact given in the formation of every sentence. The looking over his letter again, in re- plying ( 113 ) plying to it, had such a softening tendency, that it was particularly ne- cessary to brace her up with a few decisive expressions; and she was so very much concerned at the idea of making him unhappy, and thought so much of what his mother and sis- ters would think and say, and was so anxious that they should not fancy her ungrateful, that Emma believed if the young man had come in her way at that moment, he would have been accepted after all. This letter, however, was written, and sealed, and sent. The business was finished, and Harriet safe. She was rather low all the evening, but Emma could allow for her amiable re- grets, and sometimes relieved them by speaking of her own affection, sometimes by bringing forward the idea of Mr. Elton. " I shall never be invited to Ab- bey-Mill again," was said in rather a sorrowful tone. " Nor ( 114 ) " Nor if you were, could I ever bear to part with you, my Harriet. You are a great deal too necessary at Hartfield, to be spared to Abbey- Mill." " And I am sure I should never want to go there ; for I am never happy but at Hartfield." Some time afterwards it was, '^ I think Mrs. Goddard would be very much surprized if she knew what had happened. I am sure Miss Nash would — for Miss Nash thinks Iter own sister very well married, and it is only a linen-draper." " One should be sorry to see greater pride or refinement in the teacher of a school, Harriet. I dare say Miss Nash would envy you such an opportunity as this of being mar- ried. Even this conquest would ap- pear valuable in her eyes. As to any- thing superior for you, I suppose she is quite in the dark. The attentions of a certain person can hardly be among the ( 115 ) the tittle-tattle of Highbury yet. Hi- therto I fancy you and I are tlie onTy people to whom his looks and man- ners have explained themselves." Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about wondering that people should like her so much. The idea of Mr. Elton was certainly cheer- ing; but still, after a time, she was tender-hearted again towards the re- jected Mr. Martin. " Now he has got my letter," said she softly. " I wonder what they are all doing — whether his sisters know — if he is unhappy, they will be un- happy too. I hope he will not mind it so very much." *^ Let us think of those among our absent friends who are more cheerful- ly employed," cried Emma. " At this moment, perhaps, IMr. Elton is shew- ing your picture to his mother and sisters, telling how much more beau- tiful is the original, and after being «sked for it five or six times, allowing them ( U6 ) them to hear your name, your own dear name." " My picture ! — But he has left my picture in Bond-street." " Has he so ! — Then I know no- thing of Mr. Elton. No, my dear httle modest Harriet, depend upon it the picture will not be in Bond-street till just before he mounts his horse to- morrows It is his companion all this evening, his solace, his delight. It opens his designs to his family, it in- troduces you among them, it diffuses through the party those pleasantest feelings of our nature, eager curio- sity and warm prepossession. How cheerful, how animated, how suspi- cious, how busy their imaginations all are !' Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger. CHAP^ C ^^7 ) CHAPTER VIII. Harriet slept at Hartfiekl that night. For some weeks past she had been spending more than half her time there, and gradually getting to have a bed-room appropriated to herself; and Emma judged it best in every respect, safest and kindest, to keep her with them as much as possible just at pre- sent. She was obliged to go the next morning for an hour or two to Mrs. Goddard's, but it was then to be settled that she should return to Hart- field, to make a regular visit of some days. While she was gone, Mr. Knightley called, and sat some time with Mr. Woodhouse and Emma, till Mr. Woodhouse, who had previously made up his mind to walk out, Avas per- suaded ( 118 ) suaded by his daughter not to defer it, and was induced by the entreaties of both, though against the scruples of his own civiUty, to leave Mr. Knight- ley for that purpose. Mr. Knightley, who had nothing of ceremony about him, was offering by his short, decided answers, an amusing contrast to the protracted apologies and civil hesita- tions of the other, " Well, I believe, if you will excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if you will not consider me as doing a very rude thing, J shall take Emma's advice and go out for a quarter of an hour. As the sun is out, I believe I had better take my three turns while I can. I treat you without ceremony, Mr. Knightley. We invalids think we are privileged people." *< My dear sir, do not make a straiv- ger of me." ** I leave an excellent substitute in my daughter. Emma will be happy to entertain you. And therefore I thinJi ( 119 ) think I will beg your excuse and take my three turns — my winter walk." " You cannot do better, sir." *' I would ask for the pleasure of your company, Mr. Knightley, but I am a very slow walker, and my pace would be tedious to you ; and besides, you have another long walk before you, to Donwell Abbey." *^ Thank you, sir, thank you; I am C'oino; this moment mvself : and I think the sooner you go the better. I will fetch your great coat and open the gar- den door for you." Mr. Woodhouse at last was off; but ■Mr. Knightley, instead of being imme- diately off likewise, sat down again, seemingly inclined for more chat. He began speaking of Harriet, and speak- ing of her with more voluntary praise than Emma had ever heard before. '* I cannot rate her beauty as you do," said he; '' but she is a pretty lit- tle creature, and I am inclined to think very well of her disposition. Her cha racter ( 120 ) ractcr depends upon those she is with ; but in good hands she will turn out a valuable woman." " I am glad you think so ; and the good hands, I hope, may not be wanting." " Come," said he, " you are anxious for a compliment, so I will tell you that you have improved her. You have cured her of her school-girl's giggle ; she really does you credit." " Thank you. I should be morti- fied indeed if I did not believe I had been of some use ; but it is not every body who will bestow praise where they may. You do not often over- power me with it." " You are expecting her again, you say, ^h is morning?" " Almost every moment. She has been gone longer already than she in- tended." " Something has happened to delay her ; some visitors perhaps." ** Highbury gossips ! — Tiresome wretches !" " Harriet ( 121 ) " Harriet may not consider every body tiresome that you would." Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and therefore said no- thing. He presently added, Avnth a smile, " I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must tell you that I have good reason to believe your little friend will soon hear of something to her ad- vantage." " Indeed ! how so ? of what sort ?*' *^ A very serious sort, I assure you :"' still smiling. " Very serious ! 1 can think of but one thing — Who is in love with her? Who makes you their confidant?" Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr. Elton's liaving dropt a hint. Mr. Knightley was a sort of general friend and adviser, and she knew Mr, Elton looked up to him. " I have reason to think," he re- plied, " that Harriet Smith will soon have an offer of marriage, and from a VOL. I. G most ( 122 ) most unexceptionable quajter: — Ro- bert Martin is the man. Her visit to Abbey-Mill, this summer, seems to have done his business. He is desperate- ly in love and means to marry her." " He is very obliging," said Emma ; ^^ but is he sure that Harriet means to marry him ?" '^ Well, well, means to make her au bfFer then. Will that do ? He came to the Abbey two evenings ago, on pur- pose to consult me about it. He knows I have a thorough regard for him and all his family, and, I believe, considers me as one of his best friends. He came to ask me whether I thought it would be imprudent in him to settle so early ; whether I thought her too young : in short, whether I approved his choice altogether ; having some apprehension perhaps of her being considered (espe^ cially since your making so much of her) as in a line of society above him. I was very much pleased with all that he said. I never hear better sense from any ( 123 ) any one than Robert Martin. He always speaks to the purpose ; open, straight forward, and very well judg- ing. He told me every thing ; his cir- cumstances and plans, and what they all proposed doing in the event of his marriao'e. He is an excellent -o youn^ man, both as son and brother. I had no hesitation in advising him to marry. He proved to me that he could afford it; and that being the case, I was con* vinced he could not do better. I praised the fair lady too, and altogether sent him away very happy. If he had never esteemed my opinion before, he would have thought highly of me then; and, I dare say, left the house tliinking me the best friend and counsellor man ever had. This happened the night be- fore last. Now, as we may fairly sup- pose, he would not allow much time to pass before he spoke to the lady, and as he does not appear to have spoken yesterday, it is not unlikely that he should be at Mrs. Goddard's to day ; ^v ^ and ( 124 ) and she may be detained by a visitor^ without thinking him at all a tiresome wretch.' '' Pray, Mv. Knightley," said Emma, who had been smihng to herself through a great part of this speech, " how do you know that Mr. Martin did not speak yesterday ?" " Certainly," replied he, surprized, " I do not absolutely know it ; but it may be inferred. Was not she the whole day with you?" " Come," said she, ^' I will tell you something, in return for what you have told me. He did speak yesterday — that is, he wrote, and was refused." This was obliged to be repeated be- fore it could be believed ; and Mr. Knightley actually looked red with sur- prize and displeasure, as he stood up, in tall indignation, and said, " Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her. What is the foolish girl about?" *^ Oh ! to be sure," cried Emma, " it is ( 125 ) h alwaj^s incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man always ima- gines a woman to be ready for any- body who asks her." " Nonsense ! a man does not ima- gine any such thing. But what is the meaning of this ? Harriet Smith refuse Robert Martin? madness, if it is so; but I hope you are mistaken." ^* I saw her answer, nothing could be clearer." " You saw her answer ! you wrote her answer too. Emma, this is your doing. You persuaded her to refuse him." " And if I did, (which, however, I am far from allowing,) I should not feel that I had done wrong. Mr. Martin is a very respectable young man, but I cannot admit him to he Harriet's equal ; and am rather sur- prized indeed that he should have ven- tured to address her. By your account, he does seem to have had some scru- G 3 pies. ( IQ6 ) pies. It is a pity that they were ever got over." " Not Harriet's equal !" exclaimed Mr. Knightley loudly and warmly; and with calmer asperity, added, a few moments afterwards, " No, he is not her equal indeed, for he is as much her superior in sense as in situation*. Em- ma, your infatuation about that girl blinds you. What are Harriet Smith's claims, either of birth, nature or educa- tion, to any connection higher than Robert Martin? She is the natural daughter of nobody knows whom, ^^ith probably no settled provision at all, and certainly no respectable rela- tions^. She is known only as parlour- boarder at a common school. She is not a sensible girl, nor a girl of any in- formation. She has been taught no- thing useful, and is too young and too simple to have acquired any thing her- self. At her age she can have no ex- periq^ce, and with her little wit, is not very likely ever to have any that can avail ( 127 ) avail her. She is pretty, and she is good tempered, and that is all. My only scruple in advising the match was on his account, as being beneath his deserts, and a bad connexion for him. I felt, that as to fortune, in all proba- bility he might do much better ; and that as to a rational companion or use- ful helpmate, he could not do worse. But I could not reason so to a man in love, and was willing to trust to there being no harm in her, to her having that sort of disposition, which, in good hands, like his, might be easily led aright and turn out very well. The advantage of the match I felt to be all on her side ; and had not the smallest doubt fnor have I now) that there would be a general cry-out upon her extreme good luck. Even your satis- faction I made sure of. It crossed my mind immediately that you would not regret your friend's leaving Highbury^ for the sake of her being settled so well. I remember saying to myself, G 4 ' Even ( 128 ) ' Even Emma, with all her partiality for Harriet, will think this a good match." ^ " I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of Emma as to say any such thing. What! think a far- mer, (and with all his sense and all his merit Mr. Martin is nothing more,) a good match for my intimate friend I Not regret her leaving Highbury for the sake of marrying a man whom I could never admit as an acquaintance of my own! I wonder you should think it possible for me to have such feelings. I assure you mine are very different. I must think your state- ment by no means fair. You are not just to Harriet's claims. They would be estimated very differently by others as well as myself; Mr. Martin may be the richest of the two, but he is un- doubtedly her inferior as to rank in society. — The sphere in which she moves is much above his. — It would be a degradation." ^' A degra- ( no ) ** A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be married to a respecta- ble, intelligent gentleman-farmer !" " As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal sense she may be called Nobody, it will not hold in common sense. She is not to pay for the offence of others, by being held below the level of those with whom she is brought up. — There can scarcely be a doubt that her father is a gentle- man — and a gentlemian of fortune. — Her allowance is very liberal ; nothinar has ever been grudged for her improve- ment or comfort. — That she is a 2:en- tleman's daughter, is indubitable to me; that she associates with gentle- men's daughters, no one, I apprehend, will deny. — She is superior to Mr. Ro- bert Martin." " Whoever might be her parents," said Mr. Knightley, ^' whoever may have had the charge of her, it does not appear to have been any part of their ^lan to introduce her into what you G .5 would ( 130 ) would call good society. After receiv- ing a V3ry indifferent education she i left in Mrs. Goddard's hands to shift as she can ;— to move, in short, in Mrs. Xjroddard's line, to have Mrs. Goddard's acquaintance. Her friends evidently thought this good enough for her; and it was good enough. She desired no- thing better herself. Till you chose to turn her into a friend, her mind had no distaste for her own set, nor any ambition beyond it. She was as happy as possible with the Martins in the summer. She had no sense of supe- riority then. If she has it now, you have given it. You have been no friend to Harriet Smith, Emma. Ro- bert ^lartin would never have proceed- ed so far, if he liad not felt persuaded of her not being disinclined to him. I know him well. He has too much real feelinsj to address aiiv woman on the hap-hazard of selfish passion. And as to conceit, he is tlie farthest from it of ( 131 ) of any man I know. Depend upon it he had encouragement." It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct reply to this as- sertion; she chose rather to take up her own line of the subject again. " You are a very warm friend to Mr. Martin ; but, as I said before, are unjust to Harriet. Harriet's claims to marry well are not so contemptible as you represent them. She is not a clever girl, but she has better sense than you are aware of, and does not deserve to have her understanding spoken of so slightingly. Waving that point, how- ever, and supposing her to be, as you describe her, only pretty and good-na- tured, let me tell you, that in the degree she possesses them, they are not trivial recommendations to the v/orld in gene- ral, for she is, in fact, a beautiful girl, and must be thought so by ninety- nine people out of an hundred ; and till it appears that men are much more philosophic on the subject of beauty G 6 than ( 132 ) than they are generally supposed; tilt they do fall in love with well-informed minds instead of handsome faces, a girl, with such loveliness as Harriet, has a certainty of being admired and sought after, of having the power of choosing from among many, consequently a claim to be nice. Her good-nature, too, is not so very slight a claim, com- prehending, as it does, real, thorough sweetness of temper and manner, a very humble opinion of herself, and a great readiness to be pleased with other people. I am very much mistaken if your sex in general would not think such beauty, and such temper, the highest claims a woman could possess." " Upon m}^ word, Emma, to hear you abusing the reason 3'ou have, is almost enough to make me think so too. Better be without sense, than misapply it as you do." "To be sure!" cried she playfully. '^ I know that is the feeling of you all. 1 know that such a girl as Harriet is exactly ( 133 ) exactly what every man delights in — what at once bewitches his senses and satisfies his judgment. Oh! Harriet may pick and choose. Were you, yourself, ever to marry, she is the very woman for you. And is she, at seven- teen, just entering into life, just be- ginning to be known, to be wondered at because she does not accept the first offer she receives ? No — pray let her have time to look about her." " I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy," said Mr. Knightley presently, " though I have kept my thoughts to myself; but I now perceive that it will be a very unfortunate one for Harriet. You will puff her up with such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has a claim to, that, in a little while, nobody within her reach will be good enough for her. Vanity work- ing on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief. Nothing so easy as for a young lady to raise her cx^Dccta- tions too high. Miss Harriet Smith may ( 134 ) may not find offers of marriage flow in so fast, though she is a very pretty girl. Men of sense, whatever you may chuse to say, do not want silly wives. Men of family would not be very fond of connecting themselves with a girl of such obscurity — and most prudent men would be afraid of the inconve- nience and disgrace they might be in- volved in, when the mystery of her parentage came to be revealed. Let her marry Robert ]\Iartin, and she is safe, respectable, and happy for ever ; but if you encourage her to expect to marry greatly, and teach her to be sa- tisfied with nothing less than a man of consequence and large fortune, she may be a parlour-boarder at Mrs. God- dard's all the rest of her life — or, at least, (for Harriet Smith is a girl who will marry somebody or other,) till she grow desperate, and is glad to catch at the old writing master's son." " We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley, that there can ( 13^ ) can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only be making each other more angry. But as to my letting her marry Robert Martin, it is impossible ; she has refused him, and so decidedly, I tliink, as must prevent any second ap- plication. She must abide by the evil of having refused him, whatever it may be ; and as to the refusal itself, I will not pretend to say that I might not in- fluence her a little; but I assure you there was very little for me or for any- body to do. His appearance is so much against him, and his manner so bad, that if she ever were disposed to favour him, she is not now. I can imagine, that before she had seen anybody su- perior, she might tolerate him. He was the brother of her friends, and he took pains to please iier ; and altoge- ther, having seen nobody better (that must have been his great assistant) she might not, while she was at Abbey- Mill, find him disagreeable. But the case is altered now. She knows now what ( 136 ) what gentlemen are ; and nothing but a gentleman in education and manner has any chance with Harriet." " Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked !" cried Mr. Knightley. — ^' Robert Martin's manners have sense, sincerity, and good-humour to recom- mend them ; and his mind has more true gentility than Harriet Smith could understand." Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully unconcerned, but was really feeling uncomfortable and want- ing him very much to be gone. She did not repent what she had done ; she still thought herself a better judge of such a point of female right and refine- ment than he could be; but yet she had a sort of habitual respect for his judgment in general, which made her dislike having it so loudly against her ; and to have him sitting just opposite to her in angry state, was very disagree- able. Some minutes passed in this impleasant silence, with only one at- tempt ( 157 ) tempt on Emma's side to talk of the weather, but he made no answer. He was thinking. The result of his thoughts appeared at last in these words. " Robert Martin has no great loss — if he can but think so ; and I hope it Avill not be long before he does. Your views for Harriet are best known to yourself; but as you make no secret of your love of match-making, it is fair to suppose that views, and plans, and pro- jects you have ; — and as a friend I shall just hint to you that if Elton is the man, I think it will be all labour in vain." Emma laughed and disclaimed. He continued, " Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very good sort of man, and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely to make an impru- dent match. He knows the value of a good income as well as anybody. El- ton may talk sentimentally, but he will act ( 138 ) act rationally. He is as well acquaint- ed with his own claims, as you can be with Harriet's. He knows that he is a very handsome young man, and a great favourite wherever he goes ; and from his general way of talking in unreserv- ed moments, when there are only men present, I am convinced that he does not mean to throw himself away. I have heard him speak wnth great animation of a large family of young ladies that his sisters are intimate with, who have all twenty thousand pounds apiece." " I am very much obliged to you," said Emma, laughing again. " If I had set my heart on Mr. Elton's marrying Harriet, it would have been very kind to open my eyes ; but at present I only Avant to keep Harriet to myself. I have done with match-making indeed. I could never hope to equal my own do- ings at Randalls. I shall leave off while I am well." ^' Good morning to you," — said he, rising and walking off abruptly. He was ( m ) was very much vexed. He felt the disappointment of the young man, and was mortified to have been the means of promoting it, by the sanction he had given ; and the part which he was per- suaded Emma had taken in the affair, was provoking him exceedingly. Emma remained in a state of vexa- tion too; but there was more indis- tinctness in the causes of her's, than in his. She did not always feel so abso- lutely satisfied with herself, so entirely convinced that her opinions were right and her adversary's wrong, as Mr. Knightley. He walked off in more complete self-approbation than he left for her. She was not so materially cast down, howxv^er, but that a little time and the return of Harriet w^ere very adequate restoratives. Harriet's stay- ing away so long was beginning to make her uneasy. The possibility of the young man's coming to Mrs. God- tlard's that morning, and meeting with Harriet and pleading his own cause, gave ( 140 ) gave alarming ideas. The dread of such a failure after all became the prominent uneasiness ; and when Har- riet appeared, and in very good spirits, and without having any such reason to give for her long absence, she felt a satisfaction which settled her with her own mind, and convinced her, that let Mr. Knightley think or say what he would, she had done nothing which woman's friendship and woman's feel- ings would not justify. He had frightened her a little about Mr. Elton; but when she considered that Mr. Knightley could not have observed him as she had done, neither with the interest, nor (she must be allowed to tell herself, in spite of Mr, Knightley's pretensions) with the skill of such an observer on such a question as herself, that he had spoken it hastily and in anger, she was able to believe, that he had rather said what he wished resentfully to be true, than what he knew anything about. He certainly might ( 141 ) might have heard Mr. Elton speak with more unreserve tlian she liad ever done, and Mr. Elton might not he of an im- prudent, inconsiderate disposition as to money-matters; he might naturally be rather attentive than otherwise to them; but then, Mr. Knightley did not make due allowance for the influ- ence of a strong passion at war with all interested motives. Mr. Knightley saw no such passion, and of course thought nothing of its ejects ; but she saw too much of it, to feel a doubt of its over- coming any hesitations that a reason- able prudence might originally sug- gest ; and more than a reasonable, be- coming degree of prudence, she was very sure did not belong to Mr. Elton. Harriet's cheerful look and manner established her's : she came back, not to think of Mr. Martin, but to talk of Mr. Elton. Miss Nash had been tell- ing her something, which she repeated immediately with great delight. Mr. Perry had been to Mrs. Goddard's to attend ( 142 ) attend a sick child, and Miss Nasli had seen him, and he had told Miss Nash, that as he was coming back yesterday from Clayton Park, he had met Mr. Elton, and found to his great surprize that Mr. Elton was actually on his road to London, and not meaning to return till the morrow, though it was the whist-club night, which he had been never known to miss before ; and IMr. Perry had remonstrated with him about it, and told him how shabby it- was in him, their best player, to absent himself, and tried very much to per- suade him to put off his journey only one day ; but it would not do ; ^Ir. Elton had been determined to go on, and had said in a vey^y particular way indeed, that he v/as going on bu- siness which he would not put off for any inducement in the world; and something about a very enviable com- mission, and being the bearer of some- thing exceedingly precious. Mr. Per- ry could not quite understand him, but he ( 143 ) he was very sure there must be a lady in the case, and he told him so ; and Mr. Elton only looked very conscious and smiling, and rode off in great spi- rits. Miss Nash had told her all this, and had talked a great deal more about ^Ir. Elton ; and said, looking so very significantly at her, " that she did not pretend to understand what his busi- ness might be, but she only knew that any woman whom ^Ir. Elton could prefer, she should think the luckiest woman in the world; for, beyond a doubt, Mr. Elton had not his equal for beauty or agreeableness." CHAP- ( 144 ) CHAPTER IX. jMr. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could not quarrel with lierself. He was so much displeased, that it was longer than usual before he came to Hartiield again ; and when they did meet, his grave looks shewed that she. was not forgiven. She was sorry, but could not repent. On the contrary, lier plans and proceedings were n^ore and more justilied, and en- deared to her by the general appear- ances of the next few days. The Picture, elegantly framed, came safely to hand soon after Mr. Elton's return, and being hung over the man- tle-piece of the common sitting-room, he got up to look at it, and sighed out }iis half sentences of admiration just as he ought; and as for Harriet's, feelings, they ( 145 ) they were visibly forming themselves into as strons: and steady an attacli- mentas her youth and sort of mind ad- mitted. Emma \\^s soon perfectly satisfied of Mr. IMartin's being no otherwise remembered, than as he fur- nished a contrast with Mr. Elton, of the utmost advantage to the latter. Her views of improving her little friend's mind, by a great deal of useful reading and conversation, had never yet led to more than a few first chap- ters, and the intention of going on to- morrow. It was much easier to chat than to study ; much pleasanter to let her imagination range and work at Har~ riets fortune, than to be labouring to enlarge her comprehension or exercise it on sober facts ; and the only literary pursuit which engaged Harriet at pre- sent, the only mental provision she was making for the evening of life, was the collecting and transcribing all the rid- dles of every sort that she could meet with, into a thin quarto of hot-pressetl VOL. I, H paper, ( 146 ) paper, made up by her friend, and or- namented with cyphers and trophies. In this age of hterature, such collec- tions on a very grand scale are not uncommon. Miss Nash, head-teacher at Mrs. Goddard's, had written out at least three hundred ; and Harriet, who had taken the first hint of it from her, hoped, with Miss Woodhouse's help, to get a great many more. Emma as- sisted with her invention, memory and taste ; and as Harriet wrote a very pretty hand, it was likely to be an ar- rangement of the first order, in form as w^ell as quantity. Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the business as the girls, and tried very often to recollect some- thing worth their putting in. " So many clever riddles as there used to be when he was young — he wondered he could not remember them ! but he hoped he should in time." And it al- ways ended in " Kitty, a fair but fro- zen maid." His ( 147 ) His good friend Perry too, whom he had spoken to on the subject, did not at present recollect any thing of the riddle kind ; but he had desired Perry to be upon the watch, and as he went about so much, something, he thought^ might come from that quarter. It was by no means his daughter s wish that the intellects of Highbury in general should be put under requisi- tion. Mr. Elton was the only one whose assistance she asked. He was invited to contribute any really good enigmas, charades, or conundrums that he might recollect ; and she had the pleasure of seeing him most intently at work with his recollections; and at the same time, as she could perceive, most earnestly careful that nothing ungallant, nothing that did not breathe a compliment to the sex shou. J pass his lips. They owed to him their two or three politest'' puzzles ; and the joy and exultation with which at last he nQ recalled:, ( 148 ) recalled, and rather sentimentally reci- ted, that well-known charade, jiiy first doth affliction denote, Which my second is destin'd to feel And my whole is the best antidote That affliction to soften and heal. — made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had transcribed it some pages ago already. ^* Why will not you write one your- self for us, Mr. Elton?" said she; " that IS the only security for its freshness; and nothing could be easier to you." '* Oh, no ! he had never written, hardly ever, any thing of the kind in his life. The stupidest fellow ! He was afraid not even Miss Woodhouse" — he stopt a moment^ — •" or Miss Smith could inspire him." The very next clay however pro- duced some proof of inspiration. He called for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper on the table contain- ing, as he said,, a charade, which a friend ( 149 ) friend of bis had addressed to a young lady, the object of his admiration, but which, from his manner, Emma was immediately convinced must be his own. " I do not offer it for Miss Smith's collection," saidhe. " Being my friend's, I have no right to expose it in any de- gree to the pubhc eye, but perhaps you may not dishke looking at it" The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which Emma could under- stand. There was deep consciousness about him, and he found it easier to meet her eye than her friend's. He was gone the next moment: — after another moment's pause, ^' Take it," said Emma, smiling, and pushing the paper towards Harriet — *' it is for you. Take your own. " But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it ; and Emma, never loth to be first, was obliged to examine it herself. H 5 To (150 ) To Miss CHARADE. My first displays the wealth and pomp of kin^i, Lords of the earth ! their luxury and ease. Another view of man, my second brings, Behold him there, the monarch of the seas! But, ah ! united, what reverse we have ! Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown ; Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. Thy ready wit the word will soon supply, May its approval beam in that soft eye ! She cast her eye over it, ponderedj caught the meaning, read it tlirough again to be quite certain, and quite jnistress of the lines, and then passing- it to Harriet, sat happily smiling, and saying to herself, Avhile Harriet was puzzling over tlie paper in all the con- fusion of hope and dulness, " Very "well, Mr. Elton, very well, indeed. I have read worse charades. Court- ship — a very good hint. I give you credit for it. This is feeling your way. This is saying very plainly — ' Pray, ( 151 ) * Pray, Miss Smith, give nie leave to pay my addresses to you. Approve my charade and my intentions in the same glance.' May its approval beam in that soft eye ! Harriet exactly. Soft, is the very word for her eye — of all epitliets, the justest that could be given. Thy ready wit the word will soon supply. Humph — Harriet's ready wit ! All the better. A man must be very much in love indeed, to describe her so. Ah i Mr. Knightley, I wish you had the be- nefit of this ; I think this would con- vince you. For once in your life you would be obliged to own yourself mis- taken. An excellent charade indeed ! and very much to the purpose. Things must come to a crisis soon now." She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant observations, which were otherwise of a sort to run into great length, by the eagerness of Har- riet's wondering questions. H 4 ^' What ( ]5'J, ) ** What can it be, Miss Woodliousc? -^wliat can it be? I have not an idea • — I cannotguess it in the least. What can it possibly be ? Do try to iind it out, Miss Woodhouse. Do lielp mc. I never saw any tiling so hard. Is it Icingdom? I wonder v/lio the friend was — and who could be the vouno- lady ! Do you think it is a good one ? Can it be woman ? And woman, lovely wonian, reigns along. Can it be Neptune ? Behold him therC; the monarch of the seas i Or a trident ? or a mermaid ? or a shark ? Oh, no ! shark is only one syl- lable. It must be very clever, or he would not have brought it. Oh ! Miss Woodhouse, do you think we shall ever find it out?' " Mermaids and sharks ! Nonsense ! My dear Harriet, what are you think- ing of ? Where would be the use of his bringing us a charade made by a friend upon a mermaid or a shark? Give me the paper and listen. *' For ( 1^3 ) ** For Miss , read -Miss Smith. My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease. That is court. Another view of man, my second brings ; Behold him there, the monarch of the seas! That is ship ; — plain as can be, — Now for the cream. But ah ! united, {courtship, you know,) what re- verse we have ! Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown. Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. A very proper compliment! — and then follows the application, which I think, my dear Harriet, you cannot find much difficulty in comprehending. Read it in comfort to yourself. There can be no doubt of its being written for you and to you." Harriet could not long resist so de- lightful a persuasion. She read the concluding lines, and was all flutter and happiness. She could not speak. But she was not wanted to speak. It H 5 was { 1^4 ) was enough for her to feel. Emma spoke for her. : "There is so pointed, and so parti- cular a meaning in this compliment," said she, " that I cannot have a ^mo- ment's doubt as to Mr. Elton's inten- tions. You are his object — and you will soon receive the completest proof of it. I thought it must be so. I thought I could not be so deceived; but now, it is clear; the state of his mind is as clear and decided, as my wishes on the subject have been ever since I knew you. Yes, Harriet, just so long have I been wanting the very circum- stance to happen which has happened. I could never tell whether an attach- ment between you and Mr. Elton were most desirable or most natural. Its probability and its eligibility have really so equalled each other \ I am very happy. I congratulate you, my dear Harriet, with all my heart. This is an attachment which a woman may well feel pricje in creating. This is a con- ( 15^ ) connection which offers nothing but good. It will give you every thing that you want — consideration, inde- pendence, a proper home — it will fix you in the centre of all your real friends, close to Hartfield and to me, and confirm our intimacy for ever. This, Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in either of us." " Dear Miss Woodhouse" — and " Dear Miss Woodhouse," was all that Harriet, with many tender embraces could articulate at first ; but when they did arrive at something more like con- versation, it was sufficiently clear to her friend that she saw, felt, antici- pated, and remembered just as she ought. Mr. Elton's superiority had very ample acknowledgment. " Whatever you say is always right,' cried Harriet, " and therefore I sup- pose, and believe, and hope it must be so; but otherwise I could not have imagined it. It is so much beyond any thing I deserve. Mr. Elton, who H 6 might ( 156 ) imight many any body ! There cannot be two opinions about him. He is so rery superior. Only think of those sweet verses — ' To Miss .' Dear me, how clever ! — Could it really be meant for me 7' " I cannot make a question, or list- en to a question about that. It is a certainty. Receive it oil my judg- ment. It is a sort of prologue to the play, a motto to the chapter; and will be soon followed by matter-of-fact prose." " It is a sort of thing w^hich nobody could have expected. I am sure, a month ago, I had no more idea myself! — ^The strangest things do take place !" '' When Miss Smiths and Mr. El tons get acquainted — they do in- deed — and really it is strange; it is out of the common course that what is so evidently, so palpably desirable-^ what courts the pre-arrangement of other people,, should so immediately shape itself into the proper form. You and. ( 157 T and Mr. Elton are by situation callec* together ; you belong to one another by every circumstanee of your respec- tive homes. Your marrying will be equal to the match at Randalls. There does seem to be a something in the air of Hartfield which gives love exactly the right direction, and sends it inta the very channel where it ought to flow. The course of true love never did run smooth-— A Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long note on that pas- sage." " That Mr. Elton should really be in love with me, — me, of all people, wha did not know him, to speak to him, at Michaelmas ! And he, the very hand- somest man that ever was, and a man that every body looks up to, quite like Mr. Knightley ! His company sa sought after, that every body says he need not eat a single meal by himself if he does not chuse it ; that he has more invitations than there are days in the week. And so excellent in the Church I ( 1^8 ) Church ! Miss Nash has put down all the texts he has ev^er preached from since he came to Highbury. Dear me 1 When I look back to the first time I saw him ! How little did I think 1 — The two Abbotts and I ran into the front room and peeped through the blind when we heard he was going by, and Miss Nash came and scolded us away, and staid to look through herself; however, she called me back presently, and let me look too, which was very good-natured. And how beautiful we thought he looked ! He was arm in arm with Mr. Cole." '^ This is an alliance which, whoever — whatever your friends may be, must be agreeable to them, provided at least they have common sense; and we are not to be addressing our conduct to fools. If they are anxious to see you happily married, here is a man whose amiable character gives every assu- rance of it ; — if they wish to have you settled iu the same country and circle r . ! > which ( 1^9 ) which they have chosen to place you m, here it will be accomplished ; and if their only object is that you should, in the common phrase, be well mar- ried, here is the comfortable fortune, the respectable establishment, the rise in the world which must satisfy them." " Yes, very true. How nicely you talk ; I love to hear you. You under- stand every thing. You and Mr. El- ton are one as clever as the other. This charade 1 — If I had studied a twelvemonth, I could never have made any thing like it." " I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner of declining it yester- day." , " I do think it is, without exception, the best charade I ever read." ^' I never read one more to the pur- pose, certainly." " It is as long again as almost all we have had before." '* I do not consider its length as par- ( 160 ) f^artlculai ly in its favour. Such things in general cannot be too short.' Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most satisfactory com- parisons were rising in her mind. '' It is one thing," said she, present- ly — her cheeks in a glow — " to have very good sense in a common way, like every body else, and if there is any thing to say, to sit down and write a letter, and say just what you must^ in a short way ; and another, to write verses and charades like this." Emma could not have deshed a more spirited rejection of Mr. Martin's prose. " Such sweet lines !" continued^ Harriet — *' these two last ! — But how shall I ever be able to return the paper, or say I have found it out? — Oh! Miss Woodhonse, what can we do about that ?" " Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this evening, I dare say, and then I will give it him back, and ( 161 ) and some nonsense or other will pass between us, and you sliall not be com- mitted. — Your soft eyes shall chuse their own time for beaming. Trust to me.'' *' Oh ! ]\liss "Woodliouse, what a pity that I must not wTitc this beauti- ful charade into my book ! I am sure I have not got one lialf so good." " Leiave out the two last lines, and there is no reason wdiy you should not write it into your book." " Oh! but those two lines are" ** Tlic best of all. Granted; — for private enjoyment; and for private enjoyment keep them. They are not at all the less written you know, be- cause you divide them. The couplet does not cease to be, nor does its meaning change. But take it away, and all appropriation ceases, and a very pretty gallant charade remains, fit for any collection. Depend upon it, he would not like to have his charade slighted, much better than his passion. A poat ( 162 ) A poet in love must be encouraged in both capacities, or neither. Give me the book, I will write it clown, and then there can be no possible reflec- tion on you." Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly separate the parts, so as to feel quite sure that her friend were not writing down a declaration of love. It seemed too precious an offering for any degree of publicity. " I shall never let that book go out of my own hands," said she. " Very well," replied Emma, " a most natural feeling ; and the longer it lasts, the better I shall be pleased. But here is my father coming : you will not object to my reading the cha- rade to him. It will be giving him so much pleasure! He loves any thing of the sort, and especially any thing that pays woman a compliment. He has the tenderest spirit of gallantry towards us all ! — You must let me read it to him." Harriet ( 163 ) Harriet looked grave. ** My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon this charade. — You will betray your feelings impro- perly, if you are too conscious and too quick, and appear to affix more mean- ing, or even quite all the meaning which may be affixed to it. Do not be overpowered by such a little tribute of admiration. If he had been anxious for secrecy, he would not have left the paper while I was by; but he rather pushed it towards me than towards you. Do not let us be too solemn on the business. He has en- couragement enough to proceed, with- out our sighing out our souls over this charade." " Oh! no — I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it. Do as you please." Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject again, by the recurrence of his very frequent inqui- ry of ^' Well, my dears, how does your ( 164 ) your book go on ? — Have you got any thing fresh?" " Yes, papa, we have something to read you^ something quite fresh. A piece of paper was found on the table this morning— (dropt, we suppose, by a fair}^) — containing a very pretty cha- ]'ade, and we have just copied it in." She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing read, slowly and dis- tinctly, and two or three times over, with explanations of every part as she proceeded — and he was very much pleased, and, as she had foreseen, espe- cially struck with the complimentary conclusion. " Aye, that's very just, indeed, that's very properly said. Very true. ' Wo- ma:n, lovely woman.' It is such a pretty charade, my dear, that I can easily guess what fairy brought it.— Nobody could have written so prettily, but you, Emma." Emma only nodded, and smiled, — After ( 165 ) After a little thinking, and a very ten- der sigh, he added, " Ah 1 it is no difficulty to see who you take after ! Your dear mother was so clever at all those things ! If I had but her memory ! But I can remem- ber nothing ; — not even that particular riddle which you have heard me men- tion ; I can only recollect the first stanza ; and there are several. Kitty, a fair but frozen maid, Kindled a flame I yet deplore, The hood-wink'd boy I called to aid, Though of his near approach afraid, So fatal to my suit before* And that is all that I can recollect of it — ^but it is very clever all the way through. But I think, my dear, you said you had got it." " Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page. We copied it from the Elegant Extracts. It was Garrick's, you know." " Aye, very true. — I wish I could recollect more of it. Kitty, a fair but frozen maid. The ( 166 ) The name makes me think of pool- er Isabella; for she was very near being christened Catherine after her grand- mama. I hope we shall have her here next week. Have you thought, my dear, where you shall put her — and what room there will be for the chil- dren ?" " Oh I yes — she will have her own room, of course ; the room she always has ; — and there is the nursery for the children, — just as usual, you know. — Why should there be any change r" " I do not know, my dear — but it is so long since she was here ! — not since last Easter, and then only for a few days. — Mr. John Knightley's being a lawyer is very inconvenient. — Poor Isabella ! — ^she is sadly taken away from us all ! — and how sorry she will be when she comes, not to see Miss Tay- lor here !" " She will not be surprized, papa, at least." '' I do not know, my dear. I am SUl'C ( 167 ) sure I was very much surprized when I first heard she was going to be mar- ried." ^^ We must ask Mr. and Mrs. Wes- ton to dine with us, while Isabella is here." " Yes, my dear, if there is time. — But — (in a very depressed tone) — she is coming for only one week. There will not be time for any thing." " It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer — but it seems a case of ne- cessity. ISTr. John Knightley must be in town again on the 28th, and we ought to be thankful, papa, that we are to have the \yhole of the time they can give to the country, that two or three days are not to be taken out for the Abbey. Mr. Knightley promises to give up his claim this Christmas — though you know it is longer since they were with him, than with us." " It would be very hard indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella were to be any- where but at Hartfield." Mr. ( 168 ) Mr. Woodhouse could never allow for Mr. Knightley's claims on his bro- ther, or any body's claims on Isabella, except his own. He sat musing a lit- tle while, and then said, '' But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged to go back so soon, though he does. I thi^ik, Emma, I shall try and persuade her to stay longer with us. She and the children might stay very well." " Ah ! papa — that is what you never have been able to accomplish, and I do not think you ever will. Isabella cannot bear to stay behind her hus- band." This was too true for contradiction. Unwelcome as it was, Mr. Woodhouse could only give a submissive sigh ; and as Emma saw his spirits affected by the idea of his daughter's attachment to her husband, she immediately led to such a branch of the subject as must raise them. " Harriet ( 169 ) ^* Harriet must give us as much of her company as she can M'hiie my bro- ther and sister are here. I am sure she will be pleased with the children. We are very proud of the children, are not we, papa ? I wonder which she will think the handsomest, Henry or John ?" " Aye, I wonder which she will. Poor little dears, how glad they will be to come. They are very fond of being at Hartfield, Harriet." " I dare say they are, sil*. I am sure I do not know who is not." " Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mamma. Henry is the eldest, he was named after me, not after his father. John, the second, is named after his father. Some people are surprized, I believe, that the eldest was not, but Isabella would have him called Henry, which I thought very pretty of her. And he is a very cle- ver boy, indeed. They are all re- markably clever; and they have so VOL. T. J many ( 170 ) many pretty ways. They will come and stand by my chair, and say, 'Grand- papa, can you give me a bit of string?' and once Henry asked me for a knife, but I told him knives were only made for grandpapas. I think their father is too rough with them very often." " He appears rough to you," said Emma, " because you are so very gentle yourself; but if you could com- pare him with other papas, you would not think him rough. He wishes his boys to be active and hardy ; and if they misbehave, can give them a sharp word now and then ; but he is an af- fectionate father — certainly Mr. John Knightley is an affectionate father. The children are all fond of him." " And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to the ceiling in a very frightful way !" ''But they like it, papa; there is nothing they like so much. It is such enjoyment to them, that if their uncle ( 171 ) ^ncle did not lay down the rule of their taking turns, which ever began would never give way to the other." " Well, I cannot understand it." " That is the case with us all, papa. One half of the world cannot under- stand the pleasures of the other." Later in the morning, and just as the girls were going to separate in preparation for the regular four o'clock dinner, the hero of this inimitable cha- rade walked in again. Harriet turned away ; but Emma could receive him with the usual smile, and her quick eye soon discerned in his the con- sciousness of having made a push — of having thrown a die ; and she ima- gined he was come to see how it might turn up. His ostensible reason, how- ever, was to ask whether Mr. Wood- house's party could be made up in the evening without him, or whether he should be in the smallest degree ne- cessary at Hartfield. If he were, every thing else must give way ; but other- I 2 wise •( 17-2 ) wise his friend Cole had been saying so much about his dining with him — had made such a point of it, that he had promised him conditionally to Gome. Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his disappointing his friend on their account ; her father was sure of his rubber. He re-urged — she re- declined ; and he seemed then about to make his bow, when taking the paper from the table, she returned it — " Oh ! here's the charade you were so obliging as to leave with us ; thank you for the sight of it. We admired it so much, that I have ventured to write it into Miss Smith's collection. Your friend will not take it amiss I hope. Of course I have not transcribed beyond the eight first lines." Mr. Elton certainly did not very well know what to say. He looked rather doubtingly — rather confused ; said something about " honour ;" — glanced at Emma and at Harriet, and ( 173 ) and then seeing the book open on the table, took it up, and examined it very attentively. With the view of passing off an awkward moment, Emma smi- lingly said, '' You must make my apologies to your friend ; but so good a charade must not be confined to one or two. He may be sure of every woman's ap- probation while he writes with such gallantry." " I have no hesitation in saying," replied Mr. Elton," though hesitating a good deal while he spoke, '^ I have no hesitation in saying — at least if my friend feels at all as / do — I have not the smallest doubt that, could he see his little effusion honoured as /see it, (looking at the book again, and re- placing it on the table,) he would con- der it as the proudest moment of his life." After this speech he was gone as soon as possible. Emma could not think it too soon ; for with all his I 3 good ( 174 ) good and agreeable qualities, there was a sort of parade in his speeches- which was very apt to incline her to laugh. She ran away to indulge the inclination, leaving the tender and the sublime of pleasure to Harriet's share^ CHAP- ( 175 ) CHAPTER X. Though now the middle of December, there had yet been no weather to pre- vent the young ladies from tolerably regular exercise ; and on the morroAV^, Emma had a charitable visit to pay to a poor sick family, who Hved 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, al- most as close to the road as it could be. It had no advantage of situation ; I 4 but i 176 ) but had been very much smartened up by the present proprietor ; and, such as it was, there could be no possibihty 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 the?i there will be an inducement, and I shall gradually get intimately ac- quainted with all the hedges, gates^ pools, and pollards of this part of High- bury." Harriet, she found, had never in her life been within side the Vicarage, and hex curiosity to see it was so extreme, that, considering exteriors and proba- bilities, Emma could only class it, as a proof ( 177 ) praof of love, Avith Mr. Elton's seeing ready wit in her, " I wish we could contrive it," said she ; *' but I cannot think of any tolera- ble 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 ^ain — " I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not be married, or go- ing to be married ! so charming as you are !"— Emma laughed, and replied, " My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough to induce me to mar- ry ; I must find other people charm- ing — one other person at least. And I am not only, not going to be married, at present, but hav6 very little inten- tion of ever marrying at all." I 5 '^ Ah !— ( 178 ) " Ah ! so you say ; but I cannot be-- lieve it." " I must see somebody very superior to any one I have seen yet, to be tempted ; Mr. Elton, you know, (re- collecting herself,) is out of the ques- tion: and I do not wish to see any such person. I would rather not be tempted. I cannot really change fqr 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 induce- ments of women to marry. Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a dif- ferent thing ! but I never have been in love ; it is not my way, or my na- ture; 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; em- ployment I do not want; consequence I do not want: I believe few married women ( 179 ) women are half as much mistress of their husband's house, as I am of Hart- field; and never, never could I expect to be so truly beloved and important ; so always first and always right in any man's eyes as I am in my father's." " But then, to be an old maid at last, like Miss Bates !" " That is as formidable an image as you could present, Harriet; and if I thought I should ever be like Miss Bates ! so silly — so satisfied — so smil- ing — so prosing — so undistinguishing and unfastidious — and so apt to tell every thing relative to every body about me, I would marry to-morrow. But between iis^ 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 contempti- ble to a generous public! A single I 6 woman. ( 180 ) woman, with a very narrow income, must be a ridiculous, disagreeable, old maid ! the proper sport of boys and girls; but a single woman, of good fortune, is always respectable, and may be as sensible and pleasant as anybody else. And the distinction is not quite so much asfainst the candour and com- mon 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, $lie 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 ( 181 ) " 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 eye and hand and mind will be as open to me then, as they are now ; or with no important variation. If I draw less, I shall read more ; if I give up music, I shall take to carpet- work. And as for objects of interest, objects for the affections, which is in truth the great point of inferiority, the w^ant 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 eveiy hope ( 182 ) hope and every fear ; and though nij 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 ac- quainted ?" " 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 no- thing ( 183 ) thing 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 super- seded. Emma was very compassionate ; and the distresses of the poor were as sure of relief from her personal atten- tion and kindness, her counsel and her patience, as from her purse. She un- derstood their ways, could allow for their ignorance and their temptations, had no romantic expectations of extra- ordinary virtue from those, for whom education had done so little ; entered into their troubles with ready sympathy, and always gave her assistance with as much intelligence as good-will. In the present instance, it was sickness and poverty together which she came to visit ; and after remaining there as long as she could give comfort or ad- vice, she quitted the cottage with such an impression of the scene as made her say to Harriet, as they walked away, " These ( 184» ) " 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 im- pression will soon be over," said Em- ma, as she crossed the low hedge, and tottering footstep which ended the narrow, slippery path through the cot- tage garden, and brought them into the lane again. " 1 do not think it will," stopping to look once more at all the outward wretchedness of the place, and recal the still greater within. " Oh ! dear, no," said her companion. They walked on. The lane made a slight bend ; and when that bend was passed, Mr. Elton was immediately in sight ; ( 185 ) 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 distress- ing 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 inte- resting 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 ( 186 ) 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 v/ish I were anywhere else." Anxious to separate herself from them as far as she could, she soon after- wards took possession of a narrow foot- path^ 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 Har- riet's habits of dependence and imita- tion 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 iu the lacing of her half-boot, and stoop- ing 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 ( 187 ) with her boot, she had the comfort of further delay in her power, being over- taken by a child from the cottage, set- ting 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 w^ould 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 obli- gation 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 evi- dently in a conversation which inte- rested them. Mr. Elton was speaking with animation, Harriet listening with a very pleased attention ; and Emma having sent the child on, was begin- ning to think how she might draw back a little more, when they both looked around, ( 188 ) around, and she was obliged to join them. Mr. Elton was still talking, still engaged in sonic interesting detail; and Emma experienced -some disap- pointment when she found that he was only giving his fair companion an account of the yesterday's party at his friend Cole's, and that she was come in herself for the Stilton cheese, the north Wiltshire, the butter, the cellery, the beet-root and all the dessert. " This would soon have led to some- thing better of course," was her con- soling 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 ( 189 ) much amiss about her boot, aud fall behind to arrange it once more. She then bjoke the lace off short, and dex- terously throwing it into a ditch, was presently obliged to entreat them to stop, and acknowledge 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 knovv^ how I am to con- trive. 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; be- hind ( 190 ) liind it Avas another with which it im* mediately communicated; the door be- tween them was open, and Emma passed into it with the housekeeper to receive her assistance in the most com- fortable manner. She w^as obliged to leave the door ajar as she found it; but she fully intended that Mr. Elton should close it. It was not closed how- ever, it still remained ajar; but by en- gaging 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 Ion O'er. She was then obho-ed to be finished and make her appearance. The lovers were standing together at one of the window^s. It had a most favourable aspect; and, for half a mi- nute, Emma felt the glory of having schemed successfully. But it w^ould not do ; he had not come to the point. He liad been most agreeable, most de- lightful ; ( 191 ) lightful; he had told Harriet that he had seen them go by, and had pur- posely followed them ; other little gal- lantries 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 tiling had not been accomplished by her in- genious device, she could not but flat- ter herself that it had been the occa- sion of much present enjoyment to both, and mu«t be leading them for- ward to the great event. CHAP- ( 192 ) CHAPTER XL Mr. Elton must now be left to him- self. It was no longer in Emma's power to superintend his happiness or quicken his measures. The coming of her sister's family was so very near at hand, that first in anticipation and then in reality, it became 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 be- yond 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 ( 193 ) 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 fiom Surry, were exciting of course rather more than the usual interest. Till this year, every long vacation since their marriage had been divided be- tv/een Hartiield and Donwell Abbey ; but all the holidays of this autumn had been given to sea-bathing for the chil- dren, and it was therefore many months since they had been seen in a regular way by their Surry connections, or seen at all by Mr. Woodhouse, who could not be induced to get so far as London, even for poor Isabella's sake ; and who consequently was now most nerv'ously and apprehensively happy in forestalling this too short visit. He thought nuich of the evils of the journey for her, and not a little of the fatigues of his own horses and coach- man who were to bring some of the VOL. I. K party ( m ) 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 live childi^n, 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 born under any other cause, nor have endured much longer even for this ; but the ways of Hart- field 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 sleep- ing and playing, which they could pos- sibly wish for, without the smallest delay, the children were never allowed to ( m ) to be long a disturbance to him, eitiier in themselves or in any restless atten- dance 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 re- semblance of her father, she inherited also much of his constitution; was de- licate in her own health, over-careful of that of her children, had many fears and many nei-ves, 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 benevo- lence of temper, and a strong habit of regard for every old acquaintance. K 2 Mr. ( 196 ) My. John Knightley was a tall, gen- tleman-like, and very clever man ; ris- ing in his profession, domestic, and re- spectable in his private character ; but with reserved manners which prevent^ cd 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 Avife, it w^as hardly possible that any natural defects in it should not be in- creased. The extreme sweetness of her temper must hurt his. He had all the clearness and quickness of mind which she wanted, and he could some- times act an ungracious, or say a se- vere thing. He was not a great favou- rite 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 pass- ed ( 197 ) ed over more had his manners been flattering to Isabella's sister, but they were only those of a calmly kind bro- ther and friend, without praise and without blindness ; but hardly any de- gree of personal compliment could have made her regardless of that greatest fault of all in her eyes which he some- times fell into, the want of respectful forbearance towards her father. There he had not always the patience that could have been wished. ]\Ir. Wood- liouse's peculiarities and fidgettiness were sometimes provoking him to a rational remonstrance or sharp retoit 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 \v^as 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 K 3 Uut ( 158 ) but the properest feelings, and this being of necessity so short might be hoped to pass away in unsullied cordi- *ality. 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 atten- tion 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 vv^eil, sir." " Pretty well, my dear — I hope — pretty Avell. — 1 do not know but that the place agrees witli her tolerably." Mr. John Knightley here asked Emma quietly whether there wxre any doubts of the air of Randalls. "Oh! { m ) ^ " 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. Woodhou^e 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 geneially both, either at Randalls or here — and as you may suppose, Isabella, most frequent- ly heie. 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 givhig Isabella a false idea of us all. K 4 Every ( 200 ) 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 ex- tent 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 shew- ing you attention could not be doubt- ed, 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 ap- prehended ; and now you have Emma's account, I hope you will be satisfied." '^ Why to be sure," said Mr. Wood- house — " yes, certainly — I cannot deny that Mrs. Weston, poor Mrs. Wes- ton, does come and see us pretty often — but then — she is always obliged to go away again." '^ It would be very hard upon INIr. Weston ( 201 ) Weston if she did not, papa. — Yoii quite forget poor Mr. Weston." " I think, indeed," said John Knight- ley pleasantly, " that Mv. 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, hear* ing 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 nothino- he does not deserve. K 5 I believe ( 202 ) I believe he is one of the very best tempered men that ever existed. Ex- cepting yourself and your brother, I do not know his equal for temper. I shall never forget his flying Henry's kite for him that very windy day last Easter — and ever since his particular 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 expec- tation 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, ( 203 ) 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 Avas his own idea you know, one cannot tell. He is but young, and his uncle per- haps " " My dear papa, he is three-and- twenty. — You forget how time passes." " Three-and-twenty ! — is he indeed? — Well, T 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 exceed- Mig good, pretty letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston a great deal of plea- sure. 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 remem- ber that perfectly." K 6 " How ( 204 ) " HoAV very pleasing and proper of him!" cried the good-hearted Mrs. John Knightle}^ " I have no doubt of his being a most arniable 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 can compre- hend 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 Avould 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 en- joyment of them somehow or other, ilepending, I suspect, much more upon what ( £05 ) 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 valu- able in the strong domestic habits, the all-sufficiency of home to himself, whence resulted her brother's disposi- tion to look down on the common rate of social intercourse, and those to whom it was important. — It had a high claim to forbearance. CHAP' ( £06 ) 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 Isa- bella s first day. Emma's sense of right however had decided it ; and be- sides the consideration of what Avas due to each brother, she had particular pleasure, from the circumstance of the late disagreement between Mr. Knight- ley 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 ( 207 ) to appear to forget that they had ever quarrelled; and she hoped it might rather assist the restoration of friend- ship, 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 mak- ing 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 Sire sometimes very different ; but with regard ( 208 ) regaixl 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 al- ways think alike." " To be sure — our discordancies must always arise from my being in the wrong." " Yes," said he, smiling — " and rea- son good. I was sixteen years old when you were born*" '' A material difference then," she replied—" and no doubt you were much m}^ 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 ( 209 ) me a chance of being right, if we think differently." " I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years' experience, and b}^ not being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child. Come, my dear Em- ma, let us be friends and say no more about it. Tell your aunt, little Emma, that she ought to set you a better ex- ample than to be renewing old griev- ances, and that if she were not Avrong before, she is now." " That's true," she cried — ^' very tme. 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, w^e were both right, and I must say that no effects on my side of the argument have yet proved w^rong. I only want to know that Mr. Martin is not very, veiy bitterly disappointed." ( 210 ) *' A man cannot be more so," was bis sbort, full answer. " Ah ! — Indeed I am very sorry. — Come, shake hands with me." This had just taken place and witli great cordiality, when John KnightJey 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 indiiference, the real attachment which would have led either of them, if requisite, to do every thing for the good of the other. The evening Avas quiet and conver- sible, 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 ( 211 ) 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 Don well, 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 inqui- ries ( 212 ) hes even approached a tone of eager-* ness. While they were thus comfortably- occupied, Mr. Woodhouse was enjoy- ing a full flow of happy regrets and fearful affection with his daughter. *' My poor dear Isabella," said he, fondly taking her hand, and interrupt- ing, for a few moments, her busy la- bours 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 unper- suadable on that article as herself; — and two basins only were ordered. After a little more discourse in praise of ( 213 ) 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 per- haps I never told you so before, that the sea is very rarely of use to any bod^^ 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 mc envious and miserable;— I who ( 214 ) \vho have never seen it ! South End is prohibited, if you please. My dear Isabella, I have not heard you make one inquiry after 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 any where. 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 aboutmyself of some consequence. And, my dear, whenever he comes, you ( 215 -) you had better let him look at little Bellas throat." *' Oh! my clear 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 ex- cellent embrocation of Mr. Whigfiekrs, wliich we have been applying at times ever oince 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 licr to- morrow, and take my children. — They are always so pleased to see my chil- dren. ( 216 ) dren. — x\nd that excellent Miss Bates'. — such thorough worthy people ! — How are they, sir?" " Wh}^, pretty w^ell, my dear, upon the whole. But poor Mrs. Bates had a bad cold about a month ago," *' How sorry I am ! But colds were nev^er so prevalent as they have been this autumn. My. Wingfield told me that he had never known them more general or heavy — except when it has been quite an influenza." " That has been a good deal the ease, my dear ; but not to the degree you mention. Perr}' 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 altoo-ether a sicklv season." " No, I do not know that My. AVing- field 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 Lon- don, nobody can be. It is a dreadful thing ( ^^17 ) thing to have you forced to hve 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 so very superior to most others! — You must not confound us with London in gene- ral, 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 ha idly any other that I could be satisfied to have my children in : — but we are so remarkably airy ! — Mr. Wingfield thinks tlie vicinity of Brunswick Square decidedly the most favourable as to air."' ^' Ah ! my dear, it is not like Hart- field. You make the best of it — but after you have been a week at Ilart- ficld, you are all of you different crea- tures; 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; VOL. I. L but ( 218 ) but I assure you, excepting those little nervous bead-aches and palpitations which I am never entirely free from any where, I am quite well myself; and if the children were rather pale before they went to bed, it was only because they w^ere a little more tired than usual, fiom their journey and the happiness of coming. I hope you \v\\\ think better of their looks to-morrow; for I assure you M\\ Wingfield told me, that he did not believe he had ever sent us off altogetlier, in such good case. I trust, at least, that you do not think Mr. Knightlcy looking ill,'' — turning her eyes with affectionate anxiety towards her hus])and. " Middling, my dear; I cannot com- pliment you. 1 think Mr. John Knightlev very far from lookini>vwelL'' *' What is the matter, sir r — Did you speak to me?"' cried ]\Ir. John Knight- ley, hearing his ow^n name. *^ I am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not think you looking well ( ^19 ) well — but I hope it is only fioni being a little fatigued. I could have wished, however, as you know, that you had seen Mr. Wingiield before you left home." " My dear Isabella,"- — exclaimed he hastily — " pray do not concern your- self 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 v/hat 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. But 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 fatlier 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 L 2 general, ( 220 ) general, sbe was at that moment verj- 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 excel- lent aunt, when she comes to visit them 1 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 Em- ma." 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 bet- ter companion than Harriet." " I am most happy to hear it — but only ( 221 ) oniy Jane Fairfax one knows to be so very accomplished and superior ! — and exactly Emma's age/' This topic was discussed very hap- pily, and others succeeded of similar moment, and passed away with similar harmony ; but the evening di CHAPTER XIV. Some change of countenance was ne- cessary for each gentleman as tliey walked into Mrs. Weston's drawing- room ; — Mr. Elton must compose his joyous looks, and Mr. John Knightley disperse his ill-humour. J\lr. Elton must smile less, and Mr. John Knight- ley more, to fit them for the place. — Emma only might be as nature prompt- ed, and shew herself just as happy as she was. To her, it was leal enjoy- ment to be with the Westons. IMr. 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 be- ing listened to and understood, of being always interestino- and alwavs intcllici- 3i 4 , ble, SI- ■ ( 248 ) blcj 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 hfe 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 pos- sible 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 ( 249 ) Emma's being to follow, and had in deed just got to the end of his satisfac- tion that James should come and see his daughter, when the others appear- ed, and Mrs. Weston, who had been almost wholly engrossed b}^ her atten- tions to him, vvas able to turn away and welcome her dear Emn>a. 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 insensibihty towards Harriet, from her mind, while he not only sat at her elbow, bnt was continually ob- truding his happy countenance on her notice, and solicitously addressing her upon every occasion. Inste-ad of for- getting 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 hh affections from Harriet to mc?~ ■^ M 5 AUsnrd ( 25G ) Absurd and insufferable !" — Yet he would be so anxious for her being per- fectly warm, would be so interested about her father, and so delighted with Mrs. Weston ; and at last would begin admiring her drawings with so much zeal and so little knowledge as seemed terribly like a would-be lover, and made it some 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 some- thing was going on amongst the others, in the most overpowering period of Mr. Elton's nonsense, which she particu- larly wished to listen to. She heard enough to know that ]\Ir. Weston was giving some information about his son; she heard the words *' my son," and '' Frank," and " my son," repeated se- veral times over ; and from a few other half-syllables very much suspected that he was announcing an early visit from his ( 2ol ) Ills son ; but before she could quiet Mr. Elton, the subject was so com- pletely past tJiat 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 fre- (juently thought — especially since his father's marriao'c with Miss TaVlor — that if she zcere to marry, he was the ^'cry person to suit her in age, charac- ter and condition. He seemed by this connection between the families, quite to belong to her. She could not but suppose it to be a match that 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 re- plete with good than any she could change it \'o]\ she had a great curiosity M (; ' to ( 252 ) to see him, a decided intention of find- ing him pleasant, of being hked by him to a certain degree, and a sort of pleasure in the idea of their being cou- pled 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 bring- ing 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 inteival 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 com- plete. ( 253 ) plete. 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 w^ith us within a fortnight." Emma spoke with a very proper de- gree 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 (be- tween ourselves) are sometimes to be pleased only by a good many sacri- fices. But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second week in January." " What a very great pleasure it wili be to you ! and Mrs. Weston is no anxious to be acquainted with him, that ( 254 ) that she must be ahiiost 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 Ens- combe in January ; and that Frank's coming depends upon their being put oif. If they are not put oif, 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 Frcink ( 255 ) 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 Hart- field, 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 lie 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 — allov/- jng ( 256 ) iiig 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- ( 257 ) " 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 Isa- bella : " and I am sure I never think of that poor young man without the greatest compassion. To be constantly living ( ^iS ) living with an ill-tempered person^ must be dreadful. It is what we hap- pily 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 heaijd more : Mrs. Weston woulii. speak to her, with a degree of unre- serve which she would not hazard with Isabella ; and, she really believed, would scarcely try to conceal any thing relative to the Churchills froili her, excepting those views on the young man, of which her own ima- gination 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 con finement that he could not endure. Neither wine nor conversation was anv ( ^59 ) any thing to him ; and gladly did he move to those with whom he was always comfortable. While he talked to Isabella, how- ever, 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 intro- duction 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 arc jealous even of his regard for his father. In short, I can feel no dependence on his coming, ( 260 ) comhiig, and I wish Mr. Weston wcv^ less sanguine." " He ought to come," said Eirim^i "' If he could stay only a couple of days, he ought to come ; and one can hardly conceive a young man's not liaving it in his power to do as much as that. A young woma?t, if she fall into had hands, may he teazed, and kept at a distance from those she wants to he with; but one cannot comprehend a young ma?i's being under such restraint, as not to be able to spend a week with his father, if he likes if' " 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, per- haps, 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 ( 261 ) 50 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 in- cessant caprice towards h'un^ she shoul4 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 in- fluence on some points," continued I\lrs. ( £62 ) Mrs. Weston, " and on others, very little : and among those, on which she is beyond his reach, it is but too hkely, niay be tliis very circumstance of his coming away from them to visit us." CHAP- ( ^65 CHAPTEU XV, Mr. Wood house 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 com- panions 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. Wes- ton and Emma were sitting together on a sopha. He joined them imme- diately, and with scarcely an invita- tion, seated himself between them. Emma, in good spirits too, from t\\^ jjmusement afforded her mind by the expectation ( 264 ) exp'ectation of ]\Ir. Frank ChurchiH, was willing to forget his late impro- prieties, and be as well satisfied with him as before, and on his making Har^ riet his very first subject, was ready to listen with most friendly smiles. He professed himself extremely anxious aboat her fair friend — her fair, lovely, amiable friend. " Did she know? — had she lieard any thing about er, -since their being at Randalls ? — he felt much anxiety — he must con- fess 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 beino: a bad sore throat on her account, than on Harriet's — more anxious that she should escape ( 265 ) ^escape the infection, than that there should be no infection in the com- plaint. He began with great earnest- ness to entreat her to refrain from visit- ing 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 abo- minable ! and she had difficulty in be- having 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 VOL. I. w n« ( 266 ) no infection ? He could not be satis* iied without a promise — would not she give him her influence in procuring it?" *' So scrupulous for others," he con- tinued, " and yet so careless for her^ self! 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 nlcerated 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 w^hich, 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 of- fended to have the power of direct i}^ saying any tiling to the purpose. She could only give him a look; but it was such a look as she thought must re- store him to his senses ; luid then left the ( 267 ) the sopha, 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 begin- ning of your winter engagements, sir. Something new for your coacliman and horses to be making their way through a storm of snow." Poor Mr. Woodhouse was silent from consternation ; but eveiy body else liad something to say ; every body was either surprized or not surprized, and had some question to ask, or some com- fort to offer. Mrs. Weston and Emma tried earnestly to cheer him and turn his attention from his son-in-law, who N 2 was ( Q6S ) was pursuing his triumph rather un^ feeUngly. " 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 you spirit; and I dare say we shall get home very well. An- other 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 dif- ferent 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 ( 269 ) afraid they would find no difficulty. He wished the road might be impass- able, that he might be able to keep them all at Randalls; and with the utmost good-will was sure that ac- commodation 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 Em- ma? — 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 as- surances 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 N 3 children (' 270 ) eWidren wei^ at Hartfield, was full in her imagination ; and fancying the road to be now just passable for ad- venturous 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 ac- cumulations 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 setoff directly ; and if we do come to any thing very l:>ad, 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 tlmt gives me cold." " Indeed !" replied he. " Then, my dear Isabella, it is the most extraor- dinary sort of thing in the world, for In general every thing does give you cold. ( 271 ) . 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 tlie 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, when- ever they liked it, either now or an hour hence. He had o'one beyond the sweep — some way along the Highbury road — the snow was no where above half an inch deep — in many places hardly enough to whiten tlic ground; a very few flakes were falling at pre- N 4 sent, ( 272 ) sent, but the clouds were parting, and there was every appearance of its be- ing soon over. He had seen the coach- men, and they both agreed with him in there being nothing to apprehend. To Isabella, the rehef of such tid- ings was very great, and they were scarcely less acceptable to Emma on her father's account, who was imme- diately set as much at ease on the sub- ject as his nervous constitution allow- ed ; but the alarm that had been raised could not be appeased so as to admit of any comfort for him while he con- tinued at Randalls. He was satisfied of there being no present danger in re- turning home, but no assurances could convince him that it was safe to stay ; and while the others were variously urg- ing 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 ( 273 ) *' I am ready, if the others are." " Shall I ring the bell r" " Yes, do," And the bell was rung, and the car- riages 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 ^Ir. Wood- house, always the first object on such occasions, was carefully attended t<~^ his own by ]\Ir. Knight ley 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 N 5 Em;na ( 274 ): 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 afti^r Ills wife very naturally ; so that Emma found, on being escorted and followed into the second carriage by Mr. Elton, that the e immediately able to reply : and two mon^,ents of silence being ample encouragement for Mr. Elton's sanguine state of mind, he tried ( 280 ) 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 under- stood me." " No, sir," cried Emma, " it con- fesses no such thing. So far from having long understood you, I havp 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 cer- tainly have thought you judged ill in making your visits so frequent. Am I to believe that you have never sought ( 281 ) sought to recommend yourself par- ticularly to Miss Smith? — that you have never thought seriously of her?" " Never, madam," cried he, af- fronted, in his turn : " never, I assure you. / think seriously of Miss Smith I — Miss Smith is a very good sort of girl ; and I should be happy to see her respectably settled. I wish her extreme- ly well : and, no doubt, there are men who might not object to Every body has their level : but as for my- self, 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 en- couragement I — sii', 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 ( 282 ) common acquaintance. I am exceed- ingly sorry : but it is well that tlie mistake ends where it does. Had the same behaviour continued, Miss Smith might have been led into a miscon- ception of your views; not being aware, probably, any more than my- self, of the very great inequality whicli you are so sensible of. But, as it is, the disappointment is single, and, 1 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 in- vite supplication ; and in this state of swelling resentment, and mutually deep mortification, they had to con- tinue 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 awkward- ness ; but their straight-forward emo- tions left no room for the little zigzags of embarrassment. Without knowing when ( 283 ) 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 \visli 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 soli- tary 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 ( 284 ) perfectly sensible of its being exceed- ingly 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 per^ turbation, 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. CHAP. ( 285 ) 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 o-ladlv 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 • ( 286 ) " If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking the man, I could have born any thing. He might have doubled his presumption to me — But poor Harriet !" How she could have been so de- ceived! — 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 sup- posed, and mad« every thing bend to it. His manners, however, must have been unmarked, wavering, dubious, or she could not have been so misled. The picture ! — Hov/ eager he had been about the pictiue ! — and the cha- rade ! — and an hundred otlier circum- stances ; — how clearly they had seemed to point at Harriet. To be sure, the charade, Avith its " ready wit" — but then,, the " soft eyes" — in fact it suited neither; it was a jumble with- out taste or truth. Who could have seen ( 287 ) seen through such thick-headed non- sense ? Certainl}' she had often, especially of late, thought his manners to her- self 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 ad- dress, true elegance was sometimes wanting ; but, till this very day, she had never, for an instant, suspected it to mean any thing but grateful re- spect to her as Harriet's friend. To Air. John Knightley was she indebted ibr her first idea on the sub- ject, for the first start of its possibility. There was no denying that those bro- thers had penetration. She remem- bered what Mr. Knightley had once said to her about Mr. Elton, the cau- tion he had given, the conviction he had professed that j\Ir. Elton would never marry incUscrectly; and blushed to ( 288 ) 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 pro- posals 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 suifering any disappoint- ment 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 ( 289 ) l>ut 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. lie only wanted to aggrandize and enrich himself; and if Miss Woodhouse of Hartfield, the heiress of thirty thou- sand pounds, wxre 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 encou- ragement, should consider her as aware of his views, accepting his attentions, meaning (in short), to marry him ! — should, suppose himself her equal in connection or mind! — look dow^n upon her friend, so well understand- ing the gradations of rank below him, and be so blind to what rose above, as to fancy himself shewing no presump- tion in addressing her! — It was most provoking. Perhaps it was not fair to expect him to feel how very much he was her VOL, I. o inferior ( 290 ) inferior in talent, and all the elegancies of mind. The very want of such equality might prevent his perception of it ; hut he must know that in for- tune and consequence she was greatly his superior. He must know that the Woodhouses had heen settled for se- veral generations at Hartfield, the younger hranch of a very ancient fa- mily — and that the Eltons were no- body. The landed property of Hart- field certainly was inconsiderahle, be- ing but a sort of notch in the Don- well Abbey estate, to Avhich 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 Wood- houses had long held a high place in the consideration of the neighbour- hood which Mr. Elton had first en- tered not two years ago, to make his way as he could, without any allian- ces but in trade, or any thing to re- commend ( 291 ) ■commend Iiim to notice but his situa- tion and his civiHty. — But he had fan- cied her in love with him; that evi- dently must have been his dependence; and after raving a little about the seeming incongruity of gentle man- ners 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 atten- tion, as (supposing her real motive unperceived) miglit warrant a man of ordinary observation and delicacy, like Mr. Elton, in fancying himself a very decided favouiite. li' she had so mis- interpreted his feehngs, she had little right to wonder that he, with self-in- terest to blind him, should have mis- taken her's. 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 adven- turing too far, assuming too much, o Q making ( 29^2 ) making light of what ought to be se- rious, a trick of what ought to be sim- ple. 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 bat 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 2:ood com- pany, 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 ( 293 ) lialf a friend to her ; and if slie 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 cogita- tion upon what had been, and might be, and must be. The distressing ex- planation she had to make to Harriet, and all that poor Harriet would be suffering, with tlie awkwardness of fu- ture meetings, the difiiculties of con- tinuing or discontinuing the acquaint- ance, of subduing feedings, concealing resentment, and avoiding eclat, were enough to occupy her in most un- mirthful reflections some time longer, and she went to bed at last with no- thing settled but the conviction of her having blundered most dreadfully. To youth and natural cheerfulness o 3 like ( 294 ) like Emma's, though under temporary glootn at night, the return of day\vill hardly fail to bring return of spirits. The youth and cheerfulness of motn- ing are in happy analogy, and of pow- erful operation ; and if the distress be not poignant enough to keep the eye.'? unclosed, they will be sure to open t6 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 allevi- ations of the evil before her, and to de- pend 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 a^ to make it shocking to disappoint him ---that Harriet's nature should not be of that superior sort in winch the feelings afe most acute and retentive — ^and that there could be no necessity for any body's knowing wdiat had pas&ed except the three principals, and especially ( 295 ) 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 v/elcome that might justify their all thr^e being quite asun- der at present. The weather was most favourable for her; though Christmas-day, she could not go to church. Mr. Wood- house would have been miserable had his daughter attempted it, and she was therefore safe from either exciting or receiving unpleasant and most un- suitable ideas. The ground covered with snow, and the atmosphere in that unsettled state between frost and thaw, w^hich 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 o 4 Sunday ( ^96 ) 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; antl though she hoped and believed him to be really taking comfort in some soci- ety 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 wea- ther could keep entirely from them^ — " Ah ! Mr. Knightley, why do not you stay at home like poor Mr. El- ton?" These days of confinement would have been, but for her private per- plexities, remarkably comfortable, as such seclusion exactly suited her bro- ther, whose feelings must always be of great importance to his compa- nions; and he had, besides, so tho- roughly cleared off his ill-humour at Randalls, that his amiableness never failed ( Q97 ) failed him during the rest of his stay at Hartfield. He was always agree- able and obliging, and speaking plea- santly of every body. But with all the liopes of cheerfulness, and all the present comfort of delay, there w^as still such an evil hano-ino- over her in the hour of explanation with Harriet, as made it impossible for Emma to be ever perfectly at ease. o 5 CHAP- ( 293 ) CHAPTER XVII. Mr. and Mrs. John Knightlcy were not detained long at Hartficld. The weather soon improved enough for those to move who must move ; and Mr. Woodliouse having, as usual, tried to persuade his daughter to stay behind "with all her children, Avas obhged to see the whole party set off, and return to his lamentations over the destiny of poor Isabella; — Avhich 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 light fe- minine happiness. The evenino- of the verv dav on which they went, brought a note from Mr. Elton to i\Ir. Woodhouse, a long, civil, ceremonious note, to say, with Mr. ( ^99 ) 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 circum- stances of weather and business, of taking a personal leave of Mr. Wood- house, of whose friendly civilities he should ever retain a grateful sense — and had Mr. Woodhouse any com- mands, 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 pointed- ly excluded. She had not even a 6 share ( 500 ) 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 grateful acknow- ledgments, 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 extra- ordinary in his language. It was a very useful note, for it supplied them with fresh matter for thought and con- versation 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 ( 301 ) for getting the better of her other coiii- plahit before the gentleman's return. She went to Mrs. Gocklarcrs accord- ingly the very next day, to undergo the necessary penance of communica- tion ; and a ^ severe one it was. — She had to destroy all the hopes which she liad been so industriously Heeding — to appear in the ungracious character, of the one preferred — and acknowledge herself grossly mistaken and mis-judg- ing in all her ideas on one subject, all her observations, all her convictions, all her prophesies for the last six weeks. The confession completely renewed her first shame — and the sight of Har- riet's tears made her think that she should never be in charity with herself asjain. 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 ( 302 ) Emma was in the humour to vaUie simphcity and modesty to the utmost; and all that was amiahle, aH 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 Avould have been too o^reat a distinction. — She never could have deserved him — and nobody but so partial and kind a friend as ]\Iiss Woodhouse would have thought it pos- sible. Her tears fell abundantly — but her grief Avas so truly artless, that no dig- nity could have made it more respec- table 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 happi- ness than all that genius or intelligence eould do. It ( 303 ) It was rather too late in the clay to set about behig simple-minded and ig- norant; 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 h.er, and by books and conversation, to drive IMr. Elton from her thoughts. Time, she knew, must be allowed for this being thoroughly done ; and she could suppose herself but an indif- ferent judge of such matters in general, and very inadequate to sympathize in an attachment to Mr. Elton in parti- cular; but it seemed to her reasonable that at Harriet's age, and with the en- tire extinction of all hope, such a pro- gress ( 304 ) gress might be made towards a state of composure by the time of Mr. Elton's return, as to allows them all to meet again in the common routine of ac- quaintance, without any danger of be- traying sentiments or increasing them. Harriet did think him all perfection, and maintain the non-existence of any body equal to him in person or good- ness — 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 indu- bitable as she could not doubt he would anxiously do, she could not imagine Harriet's persisting to place her happi- ness in the sight or the recollection of him. Their being fixed, so absolutely fix- ed, in the same place, was bad for each, fov ( 505 ) for all three. Not one of tiicm 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 further unfortunate in the tone of her companions at Mrs. Goddard's; Mr. Elton being the ado- ration of all the teachers and great girls in the school ; and it must be at Ilartfield only that she could have any chance of hearing him spoken of with cooling moderation or repellant truth. Where the wound had been given, there must the cure be found if anv- where; and Emma felt that, till she saw her in the way of cure, there could be no true peace for herself CHAP ( 306^ ) CHAPTER XYIII. !Mu. Frank Churchill did not come. When the time proposed drew near, ]\Irs. Weston's fears were justified in tlie arrival of a letter of excuse. For the present, he could not be spared, to his " very great mortification and re- gret ; but still he looked forward with the hope of coming to Randalls at no distant period." Mrs. Weston was exceedingly dis- appointed — much more disappointed, in fact, than her hus])and, though her dependence on seeing the young man had been so much more sober : but a sanguine temper, though for ever ex- pecting more good than occurs, does not always pay for its hopes by any proportionate depression. It soon flics over the present failure, and begins to hope ( 307 ) hope again. I^or half an hour T\fi\ Weston was surprized and sorry ; hut then he began to perceive that Frank's coming two or three months later Avould 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 bib comfort, while IMrs. Vv^eston, of a more apprehensive disposition, foresaw no- thing but a repetition of excuses and delays ; and after all her concern for what her husband was to suffer, suf- fered a great deal more herself. Emma was not at this time in a state of spirits to care really about Mr. Frank Churchills not coming, ex- cept 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 ( SOS ) sliOuld appear, in general, like hdi* 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 na- turally belong to their friendship. She was the first to announce it to Air. Knightley ; and exclaimed quite as much as was necessary, (or, being acting a part, perhaps rather more,) at the conduct of the Chnrchills, in keep- ing 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 some body new; the gala-day to Highbury en- tire, 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 tlie other side of the question from ( 309 ) from her real opinion, and making use of Mrs. Weston's aio'uments ao^ainst herself. " The Churchills are very hkely 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 lie made a point of it. It is too unlikely, for me to believe it without proof" " How odd you are ! What has Mr. Frank Churchill done, to make you suppose him such an unnatural creature ?" *^ I am not supposing him at all an unnatural creature, in suspecting that he may have learnt to be above his connections, and to care very little for any thing but his own pleasure, from living with those who have always set him ( 310 ) 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 nuich as that. It is impossible." " That's easily said, and easily felt by you, who have always been your own mastei'. You are the worst judg€ in the Vv^orld, 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 ( 311 ) of botli, that he is glad to get rid of them at the idlest liaiints in the king- dom. 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." " Ves, 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. No- body, who has not })cen in the interior of a family, can say what the diffi- culties of any individual of that family may be. We ought to be acquaint- ed with P^nscombe, and with lilrs. Churchilfs temper, before we pretend to decide upon wliat her nephew can do. lie may, at times, be able to do a 2:reat deal more than he can at others." " There ( 312 ) *• There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always do, if he chuses, and that is, his duty ; not hy ma- noeuvring and finessing, hut hy vigour and resolution. It is Frank Churchill's duty to pay this attention to his father. -lie knows it to he so, hy his promises and messages ; hut if he wished to do it, it might be done. A man who felt rightly W'Ould 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 lie 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 w^ould say so to her at once, in the tone of decision becoming a man, there w^ould be no opposition made to his going." " No," said Emma, laughing; *< but perhaps there might be some made to his ( 313 ) his coming back again . S uch 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 I — 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 difficidty 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 VOL. t» V would ( 314 ) 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 j^ay this visit to his father ; and while meanly exert- ing their power to delay it, are in their hearts not thinking the better of him for submitting to their whims. Re- spect for right conduct is felt by every body. If he would act in this sort of manner, on principle, consistently, re- gularly, their little minds would bend to his." " I rather doubt that. You are very fond of bending little minds ; but v/here little minds belong to rich peo- ple 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 3'Ou are, Mr. Knightley, were to be transported and ( 315 ) 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 in- dependence, and set all their claims on liis gratitude and regard at nought. He may have as strong a sense of what would be right, as you can have, with- out 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 con- viction." ** Oh ! the difference of situation and habit ! I wish you would try to understand what an amiable young p 2 man ( 316 ) limn may be likely to feel in directly opposing those, whom as child and boy he has been looking up to all his life." " Your amiable young man is a very weak young man, if this be the first occasion of his carrying through a re- solution to do right against the will of others. It ought to have been an habit with him by this time, of following his duty, instead of consulting expedi- ency. I can allow for the fears of the child, but not of the man. As he be- came rational, he ought to have roused himself and shaken off all that was un- worthy in their authority. lie 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 extraordinarv. I have not the least t/ idea of his being a weak young man : I feel ( 317 ) 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 tQ have a more yielding, complying, mild disposition than would suit your no- tions 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 false- hoods, 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. p 3 Weston. ( 318 ) 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 sig-nified whether he did or no. Can you think your friend behind-hand in these sort of considerations? Do you suppose she does not often say all this to her- self? No, Emma, jour amiable young man can be amiable only in French, not in English. He may be very ' aimable/ have very good manners, and bp 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!— no^ at all," replied Mr. Knio'htlev, ( ^iy ) Knight ley, 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 ao-reeable. 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 pro- duce ? 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 overpowered. If I find him conversible, I shall be glad of his acquaintance; but if he is only a chattering coxcomb, he ( 320 ) 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 hody, and has the power as well as the wish of being universally agree- able. To you, he w^ill talk of farming; to me, of drawing or music ; and so on to every body, having that general in- fo miation 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 in- sufferable 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 ( 321 ) he may make all appear like fools com- pared with himself! Mj 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 2:ives me a f 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 vexa- tion, 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 ( 322 ) different disposition from himself, was unworthy tlie real liberality of mind which she was always used to acknow- ledge in him; for with all the high opinion of himself, which she had often laid to his charge, she had never be- fore for a moment supposed it could make him unjust to the merit of an- other. JpND QF VOL. I. / Loii.ion : Printed by C. R B. ll-vard,Tpnii>l.-l); '^ w