This is a reproduction of a library book that was digitized

by Google as part of an ongoing effort to preserve the

information in books and make it universally accessible.

https://books.google.com
Austen
Jane
prejudice'.
and
'Pride
of
author
the
by
Emma,

Austen
Jane
1
I
 STANDARD

NOVELS.

N° XXV.

'' No kind of literature is so generally attractive as Fiction. Pictures of

life and manners, and Stories of adventure, are more eagerly received by
the many than graver productions, however important these latter may be
Apuleius is better remembered by his fable of Cupid and Psyche than by
his abstruser Platonic writings; and the Decameron of Boccaccio has out
lived the Latin Treatises, and other learned works of that author."

EMMA.
BY JANE AUSTEN.
complete in one volume.

LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
(LATE COLBURN AND BENTLEY):
BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH;
CUMMING, DUBLIN ; AND
GALIGNANI, PARIS.
1833.
 London :
Printed by A. & EL SpottUwoode,
New-Street-Square.
nd,in- l.IvIiMshsJ. &y IilokanLJSenIte,f. 1-933.
 ml m jl

ax

' IQSDOS:
JRJ1CJB1 ARJl IMKNTiLlU'iY.
ISWCEIsuR TO I! CVLBBXN. '
CTMH1NG- DUBININ. Bl.I.l. Sr BRADFIXTK- KDINHURGH-
ilATiICNANl- PARIS.
18 33.
 EMMA:

A NOVEL.

BY JANE AUSTEN,
AUTHOR OF
•' SENSE AND SENSIBILITY," " MANSFIELD PARK," &c.

LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
(LATE COLBURN AND BENTLEY) :
BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH;
CUMMING, DUBLIN; AND
GALIGNANI, PARIS.
1833.
O 'A,
 E M M A.

VOLUME THE FIRST.

CHAPTER L
Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a
comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite
some of the best blessings of existence ; and had lived
nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to
distress or vex her.
She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most
affectionate, indulgent father ; and had, in consequence of
her sister's marriage, been mistress of his house from a
very early period. Her mother had died too long ago for
her to have more than an indistinct remembrance of her
caresses, and her place had been supplied by an excellent
woman as governess, who had fallen little short of a mother
in affection.
Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr. Woodhouse's
family, less as a governess than a friend, very fond of both
daughters, but particularly of Emma. Between them it
was more the intimacy of sisters. Even before Miss
Taylor had ceased to hold the nominal office of governess,
the mildness of her temper had hardly allowed her to im
pose any restraint ; and the shadow of authority being now
long passed away, they had been living together as friend
and friend very mutually attached, and Emma doing just
what she liked ; highly esteeming Miss Taylor's judgment,
but directed chiefly by her own.
The real evils, indeed, of Emma's situation were the
power of having rather too much her own way, and a dis-
B
 2 EMMA.
position to think a little too well of herself : these were
the disadvantages which threatened alloy to her many
enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so un-
perceived, that they did not by any means rank as mis
fortunes with her. .
Sorrow came — a gentle sorrow— but not at all in the
shape of any disagreeable consciousness. Miss Taylor
married. It was Miss Taylor's loss which first brought
grief. It was on the wedding-day of this beloved friend,
that Emma first sat in mournful thought of any continu
ance. The wedding over, and the bride-people gone, her
father and herself were left to dine together, with no pro
spect of a third to cheer a long evening. Her father
composed himself to sleep after dinner, as usual, and she
had then only to sit and think of what she had lost.
The event had every promise of happiness for her
friend. Mr. Weston was a man of unexceptionable cha
racter, easy fortune, suitable age, and pleasant manners ;
and there was some satisfaction in considering with what
self-denying, generous friendship, she had always wished
and promoted the match ; but it was a black morning's
work for her. The want of Miss Taylor would be felt
every hour of every day. She recalled her past kindness
— the kindness, the affection of sixteen years —how she
had taught and how she had played with her from five
years old—how she had devoted all her powers to attach
and amuse her in health — and how nursed her through
the various illnesses of childhood. A large debt of grati
tude was owing here ; but the intercourse of the last seven
years, the equal footing and perfect unreserve which had
soon followed Isabella's marriage on their being left to
each other, was yet a dearer, tenderer recollection. It had
been a friend and companion such as few possessed : intel
ligent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways
of the family, interested in all its concerns, and peculiarly
interested in herself, in every "pleasure, every scheme of
hers ; — one to whom she could speak every thought as it
arose, and who had such an affection for her as could
never find fault.
How was she to bear the change ? It was true, that
 EMMA. S
her friend was going only half a mile from them ; but
Emma was aware that great must be the difference between
a Mrs. Weston, only half a mile from them, and a Miss
Taylor in the house ; and with all her advantages, natural
and domestic, she was now in great danger of suffering
from intellectual solitude. She dearly loved her father,
but he was no companion for her. He could not meet her
in conversation, rational or playful.
The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and
Mr. Woodhouse had not married early) was much in
creased by his constitution and habits ; for having been a
valetudinarian alt his life, without activity of mind or
body, he was a much older man in ways than in years ;
and though every where beloved for the friendliness of his
heart and his amiable temper, his talents could not have
recommended him at any time.
Her sister, though comparatively but little removed by
matrimony, being settled in London, only sixteen miles
off, was much beyond her daily reach ; and many a long
October and November evening must be struggled through
at Hartfield. before Christmas brought the next visit from
Isabella and her husband, and their little children, to fill
the house, and give her pleasant society again.
Highbury, the large and populous village almost amount
ing to a town, to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate
lawn, and shrubberies, and name, did really belong, afforded
her no equals. The Woodhouses were. first in consequence
there. All looked up to them. She had many acquaint
ance in the place ; for her father was universally civil, but
not one among them who could be accepted in lieu of
Miss Taylor for even half a day. It was a melancholy
change ; and Emma could not but sigh over it, and wish
for impossible things, till her father awoke, and made it
necessary to be cheerful. His spirits required support.
He was a nervous man, easily depressed; fond of every
body that he was used to, and hating to part with them ;
hating change of every kind. Matrimony, as the origin of
change, was always disagreeable ; and he was by no means
yet reconciled to his own daughter's marrying, nor could
ever speak of her but with compassion, though it had been
b 2
 4 EMMA.
entirely a match of affection, when he was now obliged to
part with Miss Taylor too ; and from his habits of gentle
selfishness, and of being never able to suppose that other
people could feel differently from himself, he was very
much disposed to think Miss Taylor had done as sad a
thing for herself as for them, and would have been a great
deal happier if she had spent all the rest of her life at
Hartfield. Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she
could, to keep him from such thoughts ; but when tea
came, it was impossible for him not to say exactly as he
had said at dinner. i
"Poor Miss Taylor! — I wish she were here again.
What a pity it is that Mr. Weston ever thought of her !"
" I cannot agree with you, papa; you know I cannot.
Mr. Weston is such a good humoured, pleasant, excellent
man, that he thoroughly deserves a good wife ; and you
- would not have had Miss Taylor live with us for ever, and
bear all my odd humours, when she might have a house of
her own ? "
" A house of her own ! — but where is the advantage of
a house of her own ? This is three times as large ; — and
you have never any odd humours, my dear."
" How often we shall be going to see them, and they
coming to see us ! —We shall be always meeting ! We
must begin ; we must go and pay our wedding-visit very
soon."
" My dear, how am I to get so far ? Randalls is such
a distance. I could not walk half so far."
" No; papa ; nobody thought of your walking. We
must go in the carriage, to be sure."
" The carriage ! But James will not like to put the
horses to for such a little way ; — and where are the poor
horses to be while we are paying our visit ? "
" They are to be put into Mr. Weston's stable, papa.
You know we have settled 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 any where else. That
was your doing, papa. You got Hannah that good place.
 EMMA. 5
Nobody thought of Hannah till you mentioned her—
James is so obliged to you ! "
" I am very glad I did think of her. It was very
lucky, for I would not have had poor James think himself
slighted upon any account ; and I am sure she will make a
very good servant ; she is a civil, pretty spoken girl ; I
have a great opinion of her. Whenever I see her, she
always courtesies and asks me how I do, in a very pretty
manner ; and when you have had her here to do needle
work, I observe she always turns the lock of the door the
right way and never bangs it. I am sure she will be an
excellent servant; and it will be a great comfort to poor
Miss Taylor to have somebody about her that she is used
to see. Whenever James goes over to see his daughter, you
know, she will be hearing of us. He will be able to tell
her how we all are."
Emma spared no exertions to maintain this happier
flow of ideas, and hoped, by the help of backgammon,
to get her father tolerably through the evening, and be
attacked by no regrets but her own. The backgammon-
table was placed ; but a visiter immediately afterwards
walked in and made it unnecessary.
Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight and
thirty, was not only a very old and intimate friend of the
family, but particularly connected with it as the elder
brother of Isabella's husband. He lived about a mile
from Highbury, was a frequent visiter, and always wel
come, and at this time more welcome than usual, as coming
directly from their mutual connections in London. He
had returned to a late dinner after some days' absence, and
now walked up to Hartfield to say that all were well in
Brunswick Square. It was a happy circumstance, and ani
mated Mr. Woodhouse for some time. Mr. Knightley had
a cheerful manner which always did him good ; and his
many enquiries after " poor Isabella" and her children
were answered most satisfactorily. When this was over,
Mr. Woodhouse gratefully observed, —
"It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, to come out
at this late hour to call upon us. I am afraid you must
have had a shocking walk."
b 3
6 EMMA.
" Not all, sir. It is a beautiful moonlight night ; and
so mild that I must draw back from your great fire."
" But you must have found it very damp and dirty. I
wish you may not catch cold."
" Dirty, sir ! Look at my shoes. Not a speck on
them."
" Well ! that is quite surprising, for we have had a
vast deal of rain here. It rained dreadfully hard for half
an hour, while we were at breakfast. I wanted them to
put off the wedding."
" By the by, I have not wished you joy. Being
pretty well aware of what sort of joy you must both be
feeling, I have been in no hurry with my congratulations ;
but I hope it all went off tolerably well. How did you all
behave ? Who cried most."
" Ah ! poor Miss Taylor ! 'tis a sad business."
" Poor Mr. and Miss Woodhouse, if you please ; but I
cannot possibly say ' poor Miss Taylor.' I have a great
regard for you and Emma; but when it comes to the
question of dependence or independence ! At any rate,
it must be better to have only one to please than two."
" Especially when one of those two is such a fanciful,
troublesome creature!" said Emma playfully. " That is
what you have in your head, I know — and what you
would certainly say if my father were not by."
" I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed," said Mr.
Woodhouse with a sigh. " I am afraid I am sometimes
very fanciful and troublesome."
" My dearest papa ! You do not think I could mean
you, or suppose Mr. Knightley to mean you. What a hor
rible idea ! Oh, no ! I meant only myself. Mr. Knightley
loves to find fault with me, you know — in a joke — it is
all a joke. We always say what we like to one another."
Mr. Knightley, in fact, was one of the few people who
could see faults in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one
who ever told her of them ; and though this was not par
ticularly agreeable to Emma herself, she knew it would be
so much less so to her father, that she would not have him
really suspect such a circumstance as her not being thought
perfect by every body.
 EMMA. 7
" Emma knows I never flatter her," said Mr. Knightley;
" but I meant no reflection on any body. Miss Taylor
has been used to have two persons to please ; she will now
have but one. The chances are that she must be a gainer."
" Well," said Emma, willing to let it pass, " you want
to hear about the wedding ; and I shall be happy to tell
you, for we all behaved charmingly. Every body was
punctual, every body in their best looks : not a tear, and
hardly a long face to be seen. Oh, no ; we all felt that
we were going to be only half a mile apart, and were sure
of meeting every day."
" Dear Emma bears every thing so well," said her
father. " But, Mr. Knightley, she is really very sorry to
lose poor Miss Taylor, and I am sure she will miss her
more than she thinks for."
Emma turned away her head, divided between tears and
smiles.
" It is impossible that Emma should not miss such a
companion," said Mr. Knightley. " We should not like
her so well as we do, sir, if we could suppose it : but she
knows how much the marriage is to Miss Taylor's ad
vantage ; she knows how very acceptable it must be at
Miss Taylor's time of life to be settled in a home of her
own, and how important to her to be secure of a comfort
able provision, and therefore cannot allow herself to feel so
much pain as pleasure. Every friend of Miss Taylor
must be glad to have her so happily married."
" And you have forgotten one matter of joy to me,"
said Emma, " and a very considerable one — that I made
the match myself. I made the match, you know, four
years ago ; and to have it take place, and be proved in the
right, when so many people said Mr. Weston would never
marry again, may comfort me for any thing."
Mr. Knightley shook his head at her. Her father
fondly replied, " Ah ! my dear, I wish you would not
make matches and foretell things, for whatever you say
always comes to pass. Pray do not make any more
matches."
" I promise you to make none for myself, papa ; but I
must, indeed, for other people. It is the greatest amuse
b 4
8 EMMA.
ment in the world ! And after such success, you know !
Every body said that Mr. Weston would never marry
again. Oh dear, no ! Mr. Weston, who had been a
widower so long, and who seemed so perfectly comfortable
without a wife, so constantly occupied either in his busi
ness in town or among his friends here, always acceptable
wherever he went, always cheerful — Mr. Weston need
not spend a single evening in the year alone if he did not
like it. Oh, no ! Mr. Weston certainly would never
marry again. Some people even talked of a promise to his
wife on her death-bed, and others of the son and the uncle
not letting him. All manner of solemn nonsense was talked
on the subject, but I believed none of it. Ever since the
day (about four years ago) that Miss Taylor and I met
with him in Broadway Lane, when, because it began
to mizzle, he darted away with so much gallantry, and
borrowed two umbrellas for us from Farmer Mitchell's, I
made up my mind on the snbject. I planned the match
from that hour ; and when such success has blessed me in
this instance, dear papa, you cannot think that I shall
leave off match-making."
" I do not understand what you mean by ' success,'"
said Mr. Knightley. " Success supposes endeavour. Your
time has been properly and delicately spent, if you have
been endeavouring for the last four years to bring about
this marriage. A worthy employment for a young lady's
mind ! but if, which I rather imagine, your making the
match, as you call it, means only your planning it, your
saying to yourself one idle day, ' I think it would be a
very good thing for Miss Taylor if Mr. Weston were to
marry her,' and saying it again to yourself every now and
then afterwards, — why do you talk of success ? where is
your merit? What are you proud of? You made a
lucky guess ; and that is all that can be said."
" And have you never known the pleasure and triumph
of a lucky guess ? I pity you. I thought you cleverer ;
for depend upon it, a lucky guess is never merely luck.
There is always some talent in it. And as to my poor
word ' success,' which you quarrel with, I do not know
that I am so entirely without any claim to it. You have
 EMMA. 9
drawn two pretty pictures ; but I think there may be a
third, — a something between the do-nothing and the do-
all. If I had not promoted Mr. Weston's visits here,
and given many little encouragements, and smoothed many
little matters, it might not have come to any thing after
all. I think you must know Hartfield enough to com
prehend that."
" A straight-forward, open-hearted man, like Weston,
and a rational unaffected woman, like Miss Taylor, may
be safely left to manage their own concerns. You are
more likely to have done harm to yourself, than good to
them, by interference."
" Emma never thinks of herself, if she can do good to
others," rejoined Mr. Woodhouse, understanding but in
part. " But, my dear, pray do not make any more
matches, they are silly things, and break up one's family
circle grievously."
" Only one more, papa ; only for Mr. Elton. Poor
Mr. Elton ! You like Mr. Elton, papa ; I must look
about for a wife for him. There is nobody in Highbury
who deserves him, — and he has been here a whole year,
and has fitted up his house so comfortably, that it would
be a shame to have him single any longer ; and I thought
when he was joining their hands to-day, he looked so
very much as if he would like to have the same kind
office done for him ! I think very well of Mr. Elton,
and this is the only way I have of doing him a service."
" Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man, to be sure,
and a very good young man, and I have a great regard for
him. But if you want to show him any attention, my
dear, ask him to come and dine with us some day. That
will be a much better thing. I dare say Mr. Knightley
will be so kind as to meet him."
" With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time," said
Mr. Knightley, laughing ; " and I agree with you 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 choose his own wife. De
pend upon it, a man of six or seven and twenty can take
care of himself."
10 EMMA.

CHAPTER II.

Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a

respectable family, which for the last two or three ge
nerations had been rising into gentility and property. He
had received a good education, but on succeeding early in
life to a small independence, had become indisposed for
any of the more homely pursuits in which his brothers
were engaged ; and had satisfied an active cheerful mind
and social temper by entering into the militia of his county,
then embodied.
Captain Weston was a general favourite ; and when the
chances of his military life had introduced him to Miss
Churchill, of a great Yorkshire family, and Miss Churchill
fell in love with him, nobody was surprised except her
brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and who
were full of pride and importance, which the connection
would offend.
Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the
full command of her fortune — though her fortune bore
no proportion to the family-estate — was not to be dis
suaded from the marriage, and it took place to the infinite
mortification of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who threw her
off with due decorum. It was an unsuitable connection,
and did not produce much happiness. Mrs. Weston ought
to have found more in it, for she had a husband whose
warm heart and sweet temper made him think every thing
due to her in return for the great goodness of being in
love with him ; but though she had one sort of spirit, she
had not the best. She had resolution enough to pursue
her own will in spite of her brother, but not enough to
refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother's un
reasonable anger, nor from missing the luxuries of her
former home. They lived beyond their income, but still
it was nothing in comparison of Enscombe : she did not
cease to love her husband ; but she wanted at once to be
 EMMA. 11
the wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Ens-
combe.
Captain Weston, who had been considered, especially
by the Churchills, as making such an amazing match,
was proved to have much the worst of the bargain ; for
when his wife died, after a three years' marriage, he was
rather a poorer man than at first, and with a child to
maintain. From the expense of the child, however, he
was soon relieved. The boy had, with the additional
softening claim of a lingering illness of his mother's, been
the means of a sort of reconciliation ; and Mr. and Mrs.
Churchill, having no children of their own, nor any other
young creature of equal kindred to care for, offered to
take the whole charge of the little Frank soon after her
decease. Some scruples and some reluctance the widower-
father may be supposed to have felt; but as they were
overcome by other considerations, the child was given up
to the care and the wealth of the Churchills, and he had
only his own comfort to seek, and his own situation to
improve as he could.
A complete change of life became desirable. He quitted
the militia and engaged in trade, having brothers already
established in a good way in London, which afforded him
a favourable opening. It was a concern which brought
just employment enough. He had still a small house in
Highbury, where most of his leisure days were spent ; and
between useful occupation and the pleasures of society,
the next eighteen or twenty years of his life passed cheer
fully away. He had, by that time, realised an easy com
petence — enough to secure the purchase of a little estate
adjoining Highbury, which he had always longed for —
enough to marry a woman as portionless even as Miss
Taylor, and to live according to the wishes of his own
friendly and social disposition.
It was now some time since Miss Taylor had begun to
influence his schemes; but as it was not the tyrannic
influence of youth on youth, it had not shaken his deter
mination of never settling till he could purchase Randalls,
and the sale of Randalls was long looked forward to ; but
he had gone steadily on, with these objects in view, till
12 EMMA.
they were accomplished. He had made his fortune,
bought his house, and obtained his wife ; and was 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
second must show him how delightful a well-judging and
truly amiable woman could be, and must give him the
pleasantest proof of its being a great deal better to choose
than to be choseu, to excite gratitude than to feel it.
. He had only himself to please in his choice : his fortune
was his own ; for as to Frank,• it was more than being
tacitly brought up as his uncle's heir, it had become so
avowed an adoption as to have him assume the name of
Churchill on coming of age, It was most unlikely, there
fore, that he should ever want his father's assistance. His
father had no apprehension of it. The aunt was a capri
cious woman, and governed her husband entirely ; but it
was not in Mr. Weston's nature to imagine that any ca
price could be strong enough to affect one so dear, and, as
he believed, so deservedly dear. He saw his son every
year in London, and was proud of him ; and his fond
report of him as a very fine young man had made High
bury feel a sort of pride in him too. He was looked on
as sufficiently belonging to the place to make his merits
and prospects a kind of common concern.
Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of High
bury, and a lively curiosity to see him prevailed, though
the compliment was so little returned that he had never
been there in his life. His coming to visit his father had
been often talked of but never achieved.
Now, upon his father's marriage, it was very generally
proposed, as a most proper attention, that the visit should
take place. There was not a dissentient ^voice on the
subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tea with Mrs. and
Miss Bates, or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned the
visit. Now was the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to
come among them ; and the hope strengthened when it
was understood that he had written to his new mother
on the occasion. For a few days every morning visit
 EMMA. 13
in Highbury included some mention of the handsome
letter Mrs. Weston had received. " I suppose you have
heard of the handsome letter Mr. Frank Churchill 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 letter. Mrs. Weston
had, of course, formed a very favourable idea of the young
man ; and such a pleasing attention was an irresistible
proof of his great good sense, and a most welcome addition
to every source and every expression of congratulation
which her marriage had already secured. She felt herself
a most fortunate woman ; and she had lived long enough
to know how fortunate she might well be thought, where
the only regret was for a partial separation from friends,
whose friendship for her had never cooled, and who could
ill bear to part with her.
She knew that at times she must be missed ; and could
not think, without pain, of Emma's losing a single plea
sure, or suffering an hour's ennui, from the want of her
companionableness : but dear Emma was of no feeble
character ; she was more equal to her situation than most
girls would have been, and had sense, and energy, and
spirits that might be hoped would bear her well and hap
pily through its little difficulties and privations. And then
there was such comfort in the very easy distance of Ran
dalls from Hartfield, so convenient for even solitary female
walking, and in Mr. Weston's disposition and circum
stances, which would make the approaching season no
hinderance to their spending half the evenings in the week
together.
Her situation was altogether the subject of hours of
gratitude to Mrs. Weston, and of moments only of regret ;
and her satisfaction — her more than satisfaction — her
cheerful enjoyment was so just and so apparent, that
Emma, well as she knew her father, was sometimes taken
by surprise at his being still able to pity " poor Miss
Taylor," when they left her at Randalls in the centre of
every domestic comfort, or saw her go away in the evening
14 EMMA.
attended by her pleasant husband to a carriage of her own.
But never did she go without Mr. Woodhouse's giving a
gentle sigh, and saying, —
" Ah, poor Miss Taylor ! She would be very glad to
stay."
There was no recovering Miss Taylor— nor much like
lihood of ceasing to pity her ; but a few weeks brought
some alleviation to Mr. Woodhouse. The compliments
of his neighbours were over : he was no longer teased by
being wished joy of so sorrowful an event ; and the wed
ding-cake, which had been a great distress to him, was all
ate up. His own stomach could bear nothing rich, and
he could never believe other people to be different from
himself. What was unwholesome to him, he regarded as
unfit for any body ; and he had, therefore, earnestly tried
to dissuade them from having any wedding-cake at all ;
and when that proved vain, as earnestly tried to prevent
any body's eating it. He had been at the pains of con
sulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on the subject. Mr.
Perry was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose fre
quent visits were one of the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse's
life ; and, upon being applied to, he could not but acknow
ledge (though it seemed rather against the bias of inclina
tion), that wedding-cake might certainly disagree with
many — perhaps with most people, unless taken moderately.
With such an opinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr.
Woodhouse hoped to influence every visiter 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.
 EMMA. 15

CHAPTER III.
Mr. Woodhouse was fond of society in his own way. He
liked very much to have his friends come and see him ;
and from various united causes, from his long residence
at Hartfield, and his good nature, from his fortune, his
house, and his daughter, he could command the visits of
his own little circle, in a great measure, as he liked. He
had not much intercourse with any families beyond that
circle: his horror of late hours, and large dinner-parties,
made him unfit for any acquaintance, but such as would
visit him on his own terms. Fortunately for him, High
bury, including Randalls in the same parish, and Donwell
Abbey in the parish adjoining, the seat of Mr. Knightley,
comprehended many such. Not unfrequently, through
Emma's persuasion, he had some of the chosen and the
best to dine with him : but evening parties were what he
preferred ; and, unless he fancied himself at any time un
equal to company, there was scarcely an evening in the
week in which Emma could not make up a card-table for
him. ,
Real, long standing regard brought the Westons and
Mr. Knightley ; and by Mr. Elton, a young man living
alone without liking it, the privilege of exchanging any
vacant evening of his own blank solitude for the elegancies
and society of Mr. Woodhouse's drawing-room, and the
smiles of his lovely daughter, was in no danger of being
thrown away.
After these came a second set : among the most come-
at-able of whom were Mrs. and Miss Bates, and Mrs.
Goddard, three ladies almost always at the service of an
invitation from Hartfield, and who were fetched and car
ried home so often, that Mr. Woodhouse thought it no
hardship for either James or the horses. Had it taken
place only once a year, it would have been a grievance.
Mrs. Bates, the widow of a former vicar of Highbury,
16 EMMA.
was a very old lady, almost past every thing but tea and
quadrille. She lived with her single daughter in a very
small way, and was considered with all the regard and
respect which a harmless old lady, under such untoward
circumstances, can excite. Her daughter enjoyed a most
uncommon degree of popularity for a woman neither
young, handsome, rich, nor married. Miss Bates stood
in the very worst predicament in the world for having
much of the public favour ; and she had no intellectual
superiority to make atonement to herself, or frighten those
who might hate her, into outward respect. She had never
boasted either beauty or cleverness. Her youth had passed
without distinction, and her middle of life was devoted to
the care of a failing mother, and the endeavour to make a
small income go as far as possible. And yet she was a
happy woman, and a woman whom no one named without
good-will. It was her own universal good-will and con
tented temper which worked such wonders. She loved
every body, was interested in every body's happiness,
quicksighted to every body's merits ; thought herself a
most fortunate creature, and surrounded with blessings in
such an excellent mother, and so many good neighbours
and friends, and a home that wanted for nothing. The
simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature, her contented
and grateful spirit, were a recommendation to every body,
and a mine of felicity to herself. She was a great talker
upon little matters, which exactly suited Mr.Woodhouse,
full of trivial communications and harmless gossip.
Mrs. Goddard was the mistress of a school, — not of a
seminary, or an establishment, or any thing which pro
fessed, in long sentences of refined nonsense, to combine
liberal acquirements with elegant morality, upon new
principles and new systems, — and where young ladies for
enormous pay might be screwed out of health and into
vanity, — but a real, honest, old fashioned boarding-school,
where a reasonable quantity of accomplishments were sold
at a reasonable price, and where girls might be sent to be
out of the way, and scramble themselves into a little edu
cation, without any danger of coming back prodigies.
Mrs. Goddard's school was in high repute, and very de
 EMMA. 17
servedly ; for Highbury was reckoned a particularly healthy
spot : she had an ample house and garden, gave the chil
dren plenty of wholesome food, let them run about a great
deal in the summer, and in winter dressed their chilblains
with her own hands. " It was no wonder that a train of
twenty young couple now walked after her to church.
She was a plain, motherly kind of woman, who had
worked hard in her youth, and now thought herself 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 her to leave her neat parlour, hung
round with fancy work, whenever she could, and win or
lose a few sixpences by his fireside.
These were the ladies whom Emma found herself very
frequently able to collect ; and happy was she, for her
father's sake, in the power; though, as far as she was
herself concerned, it was no remedy for the absence of
Mrs. Weston. She was delighted to see her father look
comfortable, and very much pleased with herself for con
triving things so well ; but the quiet prosings of three
such women made her feel that every evening so spent
was indeed one of the long evenings she had fearfully
anticipated.
As she sat one morning, looking forward to exactly
such a close of the present day, a note was brought from
Mrs. Goddard, requesting, in most respectful terms, to be
allowed to bring Miss Smith with her : a most welcome
request ; for Miss Smith was a girl of seventeen, whom
Emma knew very well by sight, and had long felt an
interest in, on account of her beauty. A very gracious in
vitation was returned, and the evening no longer dreaded
by the fair mistress of the mansion.
Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of somebody.
Somebody had placed her, several years back, at Mrs. God-
dard'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 teen acquired at Highbury,
and was now just returned from a long visit in the country
c
18 EMMA.
to some young ladies who had been at school there with
her.
She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to
be of a sort which Emma particularly admired. She was
short, plump, and fair, with a fine bloom, blue eyes, light
hair, regular features, and a look of great sweetness ; and,
before the end of the evening, Emma was as much pleased
with her manners as her person, and quite determined to
continue the acquaintance.
She was not struck by any thing remarkably clever in
Miss Smith's conversation, but she found her altogether
very engaging, — not inconveniently shy, not unwilling to
talk, — and yet so far from pushing, showing so proper
and becoming a deference, seeming so pleasantly grateful for
being admitted to Hartfield, and so artlessly impressed by
the appearance of every thing in so superior a style to what
she had been used to, that she must have. good sense, and
deserve encouragement. Encouragement should be given.
Those soft blue eyes, and all those natural graces, should
not be wasted on the inferior society of Highbury, and its
connections. The acquaintance she had already formed
were unworthy of her. The friends from whom she had
just parted, though very good sort of people, must be
doing her harm. They were a family of the name of
Martin, whom Emma well knew by character, as renting
a large farm of Mr. Knightley, and residing in the parish
of Donwell, — very creditably, she believed : she knew
Mr. Knightley thought highly of them ; but they must be
coarse and unpolished, and very unfit to be the intimates of
a girl who wanted only a little more 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 society ; she
would form her opinions and her manners. It would be
an interesting and certainly a very kind undertaking;
highly becoming her own situation in life, her leisure, and
powers.
She was so busy in admiring those soft blue eyes, in
talking and listening, and forming all these schemes in the
in-betweens, that the evening flew away at a very un
 EMMA.
usual 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 for-_
wards to the fire, before she was aware. With an alacrity
beyond the common impulse of a spirit which yet was
never indifferent to the credit of doing every thing well
and attentively, with the real good-will of a mind delighted
with its own ideas, did she then do all the honours of
the meal, and help and recommend the minced chicken
and scalloped oysters, with an urgency which she knew
would be acceptable to the early hours and civil scruples
of their guests.
Upon such occasions poor Mr. Woodhouse's feelings
were in sad warfare. He loved to have the cloth laid,
because' it had been the fashion of his youth : but his
conviction of suppers being very unwholesome made him
rather sorry to see any thing put on it ; and while his
hospitality would have welcomed his visiters 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 that he could, with thorough self-approbation,
recommend ; though he might constrain himself, while
the ladies were comfortably clearing the nicer things, to
say,—
" Mrs. Bates, let me propose your venturing on one of
these eggs. An egg boiled very soft is not unwholesome.
Serle understands boiling an egg better than any body. I
would not recommend an egg boiled by any body else, —
but you need not be afraid, they are very small, you see, —
one of our small eggs will not hurt you. Miss Bates, let
Emma help you to a little bit of tart — a very little bit.
Ours are all apple tarts. You need not be afraid of un
wholesome preserves here. I do not advise the custard.
Mrs. Goddard, what say you to half a glass of wine ? A
small half glass, put into a tumbler of water ? I do not
think it could disagree with you."
Emma allowed her father to talk — but supplied her
visiters in a much more satisfactory style ; and on the
o 2
20 EMMA.
present evening had particular pleasure in sending' them
away happy. The happiness of Miss Smith was quite
equal to her intentions. Miss Woodhouse was so great
a personage in Highbury, that the prospect of the intro
duction had given as much panic a3 pleasure ; but the
humble, grateful little girl went off with highly gratified
feelings, delighted with the affability with which Miss
Woodhouse had treated her all the evening, and actually
shaken hands with her at last !

CHAPTER IV.
Harriet Smith's intimacy at Hartfleld was soon a set
tled thing. Quick and decided in her ways, Emma lost
no time in inviting, encouraging, and telling her to come
very often ; and as their acquaintance increased, so did
their satisfaction in each other. As a walking companion,
Emma had very early foreseen how useful she might find
her. In that respect Mrs. Weston's loss had been im
portant. Her father never went beyond the shrubbery,
where two divisions of the ground sufficed him for his
long walk, or his short, as the year varied ; and since
Mrs. Weston's marriage her exercise had been too much
confined. She had ventured once alone to Randalls, but
it was not pleasant ; and a Harriet Smith, therefore, one
whom she could summon at any time to a walk, would be
a valuable addition to her privileges. But in every re
spect as she saw more of her, she approved her, and was
confirmed in all her kind designs.
Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet,
docile, grateful disposition ; was totally free from conceit ;
and only desiring to be guided by any one she looked up
to. Her early attachment to herself was very amiable ;
and her inclination for good company, and power of ap
preciating what was elegant and clever, showed that there
was no want of taste, though strength of understanding
 EMMA. 21
must not be expected. Altogether she was quite convinced
of Harriet Smith's being exactly the young friend she
wanted, — exactly the something which her home required.
Such a friend as Mrs. Weston was out of the question.
Two such could never be granted. Two such she did not
want. It was quite a different sort of thing, — a senti
ment distinct and independent. Mrs. Weston was the
object of a regard which had its basis in gratitude and
esteem. Harriet would be loved as one to whom she
could be useful. For Mrs. Weston there was nothing to
be done ; for Harriet every thing.
Her first attempts at usefulness were in an endeavour to
find out who were the parents ; but Harriet could not tell.
She was ready to tell every thing in her power, but on
this subject questions were vain. Emma was obliged to
fancy what she liked ; but she could never believe that in
the same situation she should not have discovered the
truth. Harriet had no penetration. She had been satis
fied to hear and believe just what Mrs. Goddard chose to
tell her; and looked no farther.
Mrs. Goddard, and the teachers, and the girls, and the
affairs of the school in general, formed naturally a great
part of 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 talkativeness, — amused by such a
picture of another set of beings, and enjoying the youthful
simplicity which could speak with so much exultation of
Mrs. Martin's having " two parlours, two very good par
lours, indeed ; one of them quite as large as Mrs. God-
dard's drawing-room ; and of her having an upper maid
who had lived five-and-twenty years with her ; and of
their having eight cows, two of them Alderneys, and one
a little Welsh cow, a very pretty little Welsh cow, indeed;
and 'of Mrs. Martin's saying, as she was so fond of it, it
should be called her cow; and of their having a very
handsome summer-house in their garden, where some day
o 3
22 EMMA.
next year they were all to drink tea, — a very handsome
summer-house, large enough to hold a dozen people."
For some time she was amused, without thinking beyond
the immediate cause ; but as she came to understand the
family better, other feelings arose. She had taken up a
wrong idea, fancying it was a mother and daughter, a son
and son's wife, who all lived together ; but when it appeared
that the Mr. Martin, who bore a part in the narrative, and
was always mentioned with approbation for his great good
nature in doing something or other, was a single man ;
that there was no young Mrs. Martin, no wife in the
case ; she did suspect danger to her poor little friend from
all this hospitality and kindness, — and that if she were
not taken care of, she might be required to sink herself
for ever.
With this inspiriting notion, her questions increased in
number and meaning ; and she particularly led Harriet to
talk more of Mr. Martin, — and there was evidently no
dislike to it. Harriet was very ready to speak of the
share he had had in their moonlight walks and merry
evening games ; and dwelt a good deal upon his being so
very good-humoured and obliging. " He had gone three
miles round one day, in order to bring her some walnuts,
because she had said how fond she was of them, — and in
every thing else he was so very obliging. He had his
shepherd's son into the parlour one night on purpose to
sing to her. She was very fond of singing. He could
sing a little himself. She believed he was very clever, and
understood every thing. He had a very fine flock ; and,
while she was with them, he had been bid more for his
wool than any body in the country. She believed every
body spoke well of him. His mother and sisters were
very fond of him. Mrs. Martin had told her one day
(and there was a blush as she said it), that it was impos
sible for any body to he a better son ; and therefore she
was sure whenever he married he would make a good hus
band. Not that she wanted him to marry. She was in no
hurry at all."
"Well done, Mrs. Martin !" thought Emma. "You
know what you are about."
 EMMA.
" And when she had come away, Mrs. Martin was so
very kind as to send Mrs. Goddard a beautiful goose : the
finest goose Mrs. Goddard had ever seen. Mrs. Goddard
had dressed it on a Sunday, and asked all the three teach
ers, Miss Nash, and Miss Prince, and Miss Richardson,
to sup with her."
" Mr. Martin, I suppose, is not a man of information
beyond the line of his own business. He does not read? "
" Oh, yes ! — that is, no — I do not know — but I
believe 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 lie in one of the window seats
— but he reads all them to himself. But sometimes of an
evening, before we went to cards, he would read some
thing aloud out of the Elegant Extracts, very entertaining.
And I know he has read the Vicar of Wakefield. He
never read the Romance of the Forest, nor the Children
of the Abbey. He had never heard of such books before
I mentioned them, but he is determined to get them now
as soon as ever he can."
The next question was, —
" What sort of looking man is Mr. Martin ? "
" Oh ! not handsome — not at all handsome. I thought
him very plain at first, but I do not think him so plain now.
One does not, you know, after a time. But did you never
see him ? He is in Highbury every now and then, and
he is sure to ride through every week in his way to King
ston. He has passed you very often."
" That may be, and I may have seen him fifty times,
but without having any idea of his name. A young
farmer, whether on horseback or on foot, is the very last
sort of person to raise my curiosity. The yeomanry are
precisely the order of people with whom I feel I can have
nothing to do. A degree or two lower, and a creditable
appearance might interest me ; I might hope to be useful
to their families in some way or other. But a farmer
can need none of my help, and is therefore, in one sense,
as much above my notice, as in every other he is below
it"
" To be sure. Oh, yes, it is not likely you should
c 4
 EMMA.
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 birthday is the 23d : just a fortnight and a day's
difference ; which is very odd."
" Only four-and-twenty. That is too young to settle.
His mother is perfectly right not to be in a hurry. They
seem very comfortable as they are, and if she were to
take any pains to marry him, she would probably repent it.
Six years hence, if he could meet with a good sort of
young woman in the same rank as his own, with a little
money, it might be very desirable."
" Six years hence ! dear Miss Woodhouse, he would be
thirty years old."
" Well, and that is as early as most men can afford to
marry, who are not born to an independence. Mr. 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 property, it is, I dare say, all afloat, all em
ployed in his stock, and so forth ; and though, with dili
gence and good luck, he may be rich in time, it is next
to impossible that he should have realised any thing
yet."
" To be sure, so it is. But they live very comfortably.
They have no 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, when
ever he does marry, — I mean, as to being acquainted
with his wife ; for though his sisters, from a superior
education, are not to be altogether objected to, it does not
follow that he might marry any body at all fit for youjto
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
 EMMA. 25
your own power, or there will be plenty of people who
would take pleasure in degrading you."
" Yes, to be sure, I suppose there are. But while I
visit at Hartfield, and you are so kind to me, Miss Wood-
house, I am not afraid of what any body can do."
" You understand the force of influence pretty well,
Harriet ; but I would have you so firmly established in
good society, as to be independent even of Hartfield and
Miss Woodhouse. I want to see you permanently well
connected, — and to that end it will be advisable to have as
few odd acquaintance as may be ; and, therefore, I say,
that if you should still be in this country when Mr. Mar
tin marries, I wish you may not be drawn in by your
intimacy with the sisters, to be acquainted with the wife,
who will probably be some mere farmer's daughter, without
education."
" To be sure. Yes. Not that I think Mr. Martin
would ever marry any body but what had had some edu
cation, and been very well brought up. However, I do
not mean to set up my opinion against yours, — and I am
sure I shall not wish for the acquaintance of his wife. I
shall always have a great regard for the Miss Martins,
especially Elizabeth, and should be very sorry to give
them up, for they are quite as well educated as me. But
if he marries a very ignorant, vulgar woman, certainly I
had better not visit her, if I can help it."
Emma watched her through the fluctuations of this
speech, and saw no alarming symptoms of love. The
young man had been the first admirer, but she trusted
there was no other hold, and that there would be no serious
difficulty on Harriet's side to oppose any friendly arrange
ment of her own.
They met Mr. Martin the very next day, as they were
walking on the Donwell road. He was on foot, and after
looking very respectfully at her, looked with most un
feigned satisfaction at her companion. Emma was not
sorry to have such an opportunity of survey ; and walking
a few yards forward, while they talked together, soon made
her quick eye sufficiently acquainted with Mr. Robert
Martin. His appearance was very neat, and he looked
26 EMMA.
like a sensible young man, but his person had no other
advantage ; and when he came to be contrasted with gen
tlemen, she thought he must lose all the ground he had
gained in Harriet's inclination. Harriet was not insensible
of manner ; she had voluntarily noticed her father's gen
tleness with admiration as well as wonder. Mr. Martin
looked as if he did not know what manner was.
They remained but a few minutes together, as Miss
Woodhouse must not be kept waiting ; and Harriet then
came running to her with a smiling face, and in a flutter
of spirits, which Miss Woodhouse hoped very soon to com
pose.
"Only think of our happening to meet him! How
very odd ! It was quite a chance, he said, that he had
not gone round by Randalls. He did not think we ever
walked this road. He thought we walked towards 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 ! Well,
Miss Woodhouse, is he like what you expected ? What do
you think of him ? Do you think him so very plain ? "
" He is very plain, undoubtedly, remarkably plain ;
but that is nothing, compared with his entire want of gen
tility. I had no right to expect much, and I did not ex
pect much ; but I had no idea that he could be so very
clownish, so totally without air. I had imagined him, I
confess, a degree or two nearer gentility."
" To be sure," said Harriet, in a mortified voice, " he
is not so genteel as real gentlemen."
" I think, Harriet, since your acquaintance with us,
you have been repeatedly in the company of some, such
very real gentlemen, that you must yourself be struck
with the difference in Mr. Martin. At Hartfield, you have
had very good specimens of well educated, well bred men.
I should be surprised if, after seeing them, you could be
in company with Mr. Martin again without perceiving him
to be a very inferior creature, — and rather wondering at
yourself for having ever thought him at all agreeable be
fore. Do not you begin to feel that now ? Were not
 EMMA. 27
you struck ? I am sure you must have been struck by
his awkward look and abrupt manner ; and the uncouth-
ness of a voice, which I heard to be wholly unmodulated
as I stood here."
" Certainly, he is not like Mr. Knightley. He has
not such a fine air and way of walking as Mr. Knightley.
I see the difference plain enough. But Mr. Knightley
is so very fine a man ! "
" Mr. Knightley's air is so remarkably good that it is
not fair to compare Mr. Martin with him. You might
not see one in a hundred, with gentleman so plainly
written as in Mr. Knightley. But he is not the only
gentleman you have been lately used to. What say you to
Mr. Weston and Mr. Elton ? Compare Mr. Martin with
either of them. Compare their manner of carrying them
selves ; of walking ; of speaking ; of being silent. You
must see the difference."
" Oh, yes, there is a great difference. But Mr.
Weston is almost an old man. Mr. Weston must be
between forty and fifty."
" Which makes his good manners the more valuable.
The older a person grows, Harriet, the more important it is
that their manners should not be bad, — the more glaring
and disgusting any loudness, or coarseness, or awkward
ness becomes. ' What is passable in youth is detestable in
later age. Mr. Martin is now awkward and abrupt ; what
will he be at Mr. Weston's time of life ? "
" There is no saying, indeed," replied Harriet, rather
solemnly.
" But there may be pretty good guessing. He will be
a completely gross, vulgar farmer, — totally inattentive to
appearances, and thinking of nothing but profit and loss."
" Will he, indeed ? that will be very bad."
" How much his business engrosses him already, is
very plain from the circumstance of his forgetting to en
quire for the book you recommended. 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
28
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 dis
pleasure which Emma thought might be safely left to it
self. She, therefore, said no more for some time. Her
next beginning was, —
" In one respect, perhaps, Mr. Elton's manners are
superior to Mr. Knightley's or Mr. Weston's. They have
more gentleness. They might be more safely held up as a
pattern. There is an openness, a quickness, almost a
bluntness in Mr. Weston, which every body likes in him,
because there is so much good humour with it — but that
would not do to be copied. Neither would Mr. Knightley's
downright, decided, commanding sort of manner — though
it suits him very well: his figure, and look, and situation
in life seem to allow it ; but if any young man were to set
about copying him, he would not be sufferable. On the
contrary, I think a young man might be very safely re
commended to take Mr. Elton as a model. Mr. Elton is
good humoured, cheerful, obliging, and gentle. He seems
to me to be grown particularly gentle of late. I do not know
whether he has any design of ingratiating himself with
either of us, Harriet, by additional softness, but it strikes
me that his manners are softer than they used to be. If
he means any thing, it must be to please you. Did not I
tell you what he said of you the other day ? "
She then repeated some warm personal praise which she
had drawn from Mr. Elton, and now did full justice to ;
and Harriet blushed and smiled, and said she had always
thought Mr. Elton very agreeable.
Mr. Elton was the very person fixed on by Emma for
driving the young farmer out of Harriet's head. She
thought it would be an excellent match ; and only too
palpably desirable, natural and probable, for her to have
much merit in planning it. She feared it was what every
body else must think of and predict. It was not likely,
however, that any body should have equalled her in the
date of the plan, as it had entered her brain during the
 EMMA. 29
very first evening of Harriet's coming to Hartfield. The
longer she considered it, the greater was her sense of its
expediency. Mr. Elton's situation was most suitable,
quite the gentleman himself, and without low connections ;
at the same time not of any family that could fairly
object to the doubtful birth of Harriet. He had a com
fortable home for her, and Emma imagined a very suffi
cient income ; for though the vicarage of Highbury was
not large, he was known to have some independent pro
perty ; and she thought very highly of him as a good-
humoured, well-meaning, respectable young man, without
any deficiency of useful understanding or knowledge of the
world.
She had already satisfied herself that he thought Harriet
a beautiful girl, which she trusted, with such frequent
meetings at Hartfield, was foundation enough on his side ;
and on Harriet's there could be little doubt that the idea
of being preferred by him would have all the usual weight
and efficacy. And he was really a very pleasing young
man, a young man whom any woman not fastidious might
like. He was reckoned very handsome ; his person much
admired in general, though not by her, there being a want
of elegance of feature which she could not dispense with :
but the girl who could be gratified by a Robert Martin's
riding about the country to get walnuts for her might very
well be conquered by Mr. Elton's admiration.

CHAPTER V.
" I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston,"
said Mr. Knightley, " of this great intimacy between
Emma and Harriet Smith, but I think it a bad thing."
" A bad thing ! Do you really think it a bad thing ?
— why so ? "
" i think they will neither of them do the other any
good."
" You surprise me ! Emma must do Harriet good ; and
30 EMMA.
by supplying her with a new object of interest, Harriet
may be said to do Emma good. I have been seeing their
intimacy with the greatest pleasure. How very differently
we feel ! Not think they will do each other any good !
This will certainly be the beginning of one of our quarrels
about Emma, Mr. Knightley."
" Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel
with you, knowing Weston to be out, and that you must
still fight your own battle."
" Mr. Weston would undoubtedly support me, if he
were here, for he thinks exactly as I do on the subject.
We were speaking of it only yesterday, and agreeing how
fortunate it was for Emma, that there should be such a
girl in Highbury for her to associate with. Mr. Knightley,
I shall not allow you to be a fair judge in this case.
You are so much used to live alone, that you do not
know the value of a companion ; and, perhaps, no man
can be a good judge of the comfort a woman feels in the
society of one of her own sex, after being used to it all
her life. I can imagine your objection to Harriet Smith.
She is not the superior young woman which Emma's friend
ought to be. But, on the other hand, as Emma wants to
see her better informed, it will be an inducement to her to
read more herself. They will read together. She means
it, I know."
" Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she
was twelve years old. I have seen a great many lists of
her drawing up at various times of books that she meant
to read regularly through — and very good lists they were
— very well chosen, and very neatly arranged — some
times alphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule.
The list she drew up when only fourteen — I remember
thinking it did her judgment so much credit, that I pre
served it some time ; and I dare say she may have made
out a very good list now. But I have done with expect
ing any course of steady reading from Emma. She will
never submit to any thing requiring industry and patience,
and a subjection of the fancy to the understanding. Where
Miss Taylor failed to stimulate, I may safely affirm that
Harriet Smith will do nothing. You never could per
 EMMA. 31
made her to read half so much as you wished. You know
you could not."
" I dare say," replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, " that I
thought so then ; but since we have parted, I can never
remember Emma's omitting to do any thing I wished."
" There is hardly any desiring to refresh such a memory
as that," said Mr. Knightley, feelingly ; and for a mo
ment or two he had done. " But I," he soon added,
" who have had no such charm thrown over my senses,
must still see, hear, and remember. Emma is spoiled by
being the cleverest of her family. At ten years old she
had the misfortune of being able to answer questions
which puzzled her sister at seventeen. She was always
quick and assured ; Isabella slow and diffident. And ever
since she was twelve, Emma has been mistress of the
house and of you all. In her mother she lost the only
person able to cope with her. She inherits her mother's
talents, and must have been under subjection to her."
" I should have been sorry, Mr. Knightley, to be de
pendent on your recommendation, had I quitted Mr.
Woodhouse's family and wanted another situation ; I do
not think you would have spoken a good word for me to
any body. I am sure you always thought me unfit for the
office I held."
" Yes," said he smiling. " You are better placed
here ; very fit for a wife, but not at all for a governess.
But you were preparing yourself to be an excellent wife
all the time you were at Hartfield. You might not give
Emma such a complete education as your powers would
seem to promise ; but you were receiving a very good
education from her, on the very material matrimonial
point of submitting your own will, and doing as you were
bid ; and if Weston had asked me to recommend him a
wife, I should certainly have named Miss Taylor."
" Thank you. There will be very little merit in making
a good wife to such a man as Mr. Weston."
" Why, to own the truth, I am afraid you are rather
thrown away, and that with every disposition to bear,
there will be nothing to be borne. We will not despair,
 32 EMMA.
however. Weston may grow cross from the wantonness of
comfort, or his son may plague him."
" I hope not that. It is not likely. No, Mr. Knightley,
do not foretell vexation from that quarter."
" Not I, indeed. I only name possibilities. I do not
pretend to Emma's genius for foretelling and guessing. I
hope, with all my heart, the young man may be a Wes
ton in merit, and a Churchill in fortune. But Harriet
Smith,—I have not half done about Harriet Smith. I think
her the very worst sort of companion that Emma could
possibly have. She knows nothing herself, and looks upon
Emma as knowing every thing. She is a flatterer in all
her ways ; and so much the worse, because undesigned.
Her ignorance is hourly flattery. How can Emma ima
gine she has any thing to learn herself, while Harriet is
presenting such a delightful inferiority ? And as for Har
riet, I will venture to say that she cannot gain by the ac
quaintance. Hartfield will only put her out of conceit with
all the other places she belongs to. She will grow just
refined enough to be uncomfortable with those among
whom birth and circumstances have placed her home. I
am much mistaken if Emma's doctrines give any strength
of mind, or tend at all to make a girl adapt herself ration
ally to the varieties of her situation in life. They only
give a little polish."
" I either depend more upon Emma's good sense than
you do, or am more anxious for her present comfort; for
I cannot lament the acquaintance. How well she looked
last night."
" Oh, you would rather talk of her person than her
mind, would you ? Very well ; I shall not attempt to
deny Emma's being pretty."
" Pretty ! say beautiful rather. Can you imagine any
thing nearer perfect beauty than Emma altogether — face
and figure ? "
" I do not know what I could imagine, but I confess
that I have seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to
me than hers. But I am a partial old friend."
" Such an eye ! — the true hazel eye — and so brilliant !
 EMMA. 33
regular features, open countenance, with a complexion —
oh, what a bloom of full health, and such a pretty height
and size; such a firm and upright figure. There is
health, not merely in her bloom, but in her air, her head,
her glance. One hears sometimes of a child being 'the
picture of health;' now Emma always gives me the idea
of being the complete picture of grown-up health. She
is loveliness itself. Mr. Knightley, is not she ? "
" I have not a fault to find with her person," he replied.
" I think her all you describe. I love to look at her ; and
I will add this praise, that I do not think her personally
vain. Considering how very handsome she is, she appears
to be little occupied with it ; her vanity lies another way.
Mrs. Weston, I am not to be talked out of my dislike of
her intimacy with Harriet Smith, or my dread of its doing
them both harm."
" And I, Mr. Knightley, am equally stout in my confi
dence of its not doing them any harm. With all dear
Emma's little faults, she is an excellent creature. Where
shall we see a better daughter, or a kinder sister, or a truer
friend ? No, no ; she has qualities which may be trusted ;
she will never lead any one really wrong ; she will make
no lasting blunder ; where Emma errs once, she is in the
right a hundred times."
" Very well ; I will not plague you any more. Emma
shall be an angel, and I will keep my spleen to myself
till Christmas brings John and Isabella. John loves
Emma with a reasonable and therefore not a blind affec
tion, and Isabella always thinks as he does, except when
he is not quite frightened enough about the children.
I am sure of having their opinions with me."
. " I know that you all love her really too well to be un
just or unkind ; but excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if I take
the liberty, (I consider myself, you know, as having some
what of the privilege of speech that Emma's mother might
have had,) the liberty of hinting, that I do not think any
possible good can arise from Harriet Smith's intimacy
being made a matter of much discussion among you. Pray
excuse me ; but supposing any little inconvenience may be
apprehended from the intimacy, it cannot be expected that
 Z4 EMMA.
Emma, accountable to nobody but her father, who per
fectly approves the acquaintance, should put an end to
it, so long as it is a source of pleasure to herself. It has
been so many years my province to give advice, that you
cannot be surprised, Mr. Knightley, at this little remains
of office."
" Not at all," cried he ; " I am much obliged to you
for it. It is very good advice, and it shall have a better
fate than your advice has often found ; for it shall be at
tended to." '• '"
" Mrs. John Knightley is easily alarmed, and might be
made unhappy about her sister." "
" Be satisfied," said he, " I will not raise any outery.
I will keep my ill-humour to myself. I have a very sin
cere interest in Emma. Isabella does not seem more my
sister : has never excited a greater interest ; perhaps
hardly so great. There is an anxiety, a curiosity in
what one feels for Emma. I wonder what will become
of her."
" So do I," said Mrs. Weston, gently, " very much."
" She always declares she will never marry, which, of
course, means just nothing at all. But. I have no idea
that she has yet ever seen a man she cared for. It would
not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love with a
proper object. I should like to see Emma in love, and in
some doubt of a return : it would do her good. But there
is nobody hereabouts to attach her ; and she goes so seldom
from home."
" There does, indeed, seem as little to tempt her to
break her resolution at present," said Mrs. Weston, " as
can well be ; and while she is so happy at Hartfield, I
cannot wish her to be forming any attachment which
would be creating such difficulties, on poor Mr. Wood-
house's account. I do not recommend matrimony at
present to Emma, though I mean no slight to the state, I
assure you."
Part of her meaning was to conceal some favourite
thoughts of her own and Mr. Weston's on the subject as
much as possible. There were wishes at Randalls respect
ing Emma's destiny, but it was not desirable• to have them
 EMMA. 35
suspected ; and the quiet transition which Mr. Knightley
soon afterwards made to " What does Weston think of the
weather ? — shall we have rain ?"— convinced her that he
had nothing more to say or surmise about Hartfield.

CHAPTER VI.
Emma could not feel a doubt of having given Harriet's
fancy a proper direction, and raised the gratitude of her
young vanity to a very good purpose ; for she found her
decidedly more sensible than before of Mr. Elton's being a
remarkably handsome man, with most agreeable manners ;
and as she had no hesitation in following up the assurance
of his admiration by agreeable hints, she was soon pretty
confident of creating as much liking on Harriet's side as
there could be any occasion for. She was quite convinced
of Mr. Elton's being in the fairest way of falling in love, if
not in love already. She had no scruple with regard to
him. He talked of Harriet ; and praised her so warmly,
that she could not suppose any thing wanting which a
little time would not add. His perception of the striking
improvement of Harriet's manner, since her introduction
at Hartfield, was not one df the least agreeable proofs of
his growing attachment.
" You have given Miss Smith all that she required,''
said he : " you have made her graceful and easy. She
was a beautiful creature when she came to you ; but, in
my opinion, the attractions you have added are infinitely
superior to what she received from nature."
" I am glad you think I have been useful to her; but
Harriet only wanted drawing out, and receiving a few, very
few, hints. She had all the natural grace of sweetness of
temper and artlessness in herself. I have done very little."
" If it were admissible to contradict a lady " said
gallant Mr. Elton. . . -
" I have, perhaps, given her a little more decision of
d 2
36 EMMA.
character, — have taught her to think on points which had
not fallen in her way before."
" Exactly so ; that is what principally strikes me. So
much superadded decision of character ! Skilful has been
the hand."
" Great has been the pleasure, I am sure. I never met
with a disposition more truly amiable."
" I have no doubt of it." And it was spoken with a
sort of sighing animation which had a vast deal of the
lover. She was not less pleased, another day, with the
manner in which he seconded a sudden wish of hers — to
have Harriet's picture.
" Did you ever have your likeness taken, Harriet?"
said she : " did you ever sit for your picture ? "
Harriet was on the point of leaving the room, and only
stopped to say, with a very interesting naivett,—
"Oh, dear, no, — never."
No sooner was she out of sight than Emma exclaimed,—
" What an exquisite possession a good picture of her
would be ! I would give any money for it. I almost long
to attempt her likeness myself. You do not know it, I
dare say ; but, two or three years ago, I had a great passion
for taking likenesses, and attempted several of my friends,
and was thought to have a tolerable eye in general ; but,
from one cause or another, I gave it up in disgust. But,
really, I could almost venture, if Harriet would sit to me.
It would be such a delight to have her picture !"
" Let me entreat you," cried Mr. Elton, — " it would
indeed be a delight : let me entreat you, Miss Woodhouse,
to exercise so charming a talent in favour of your friend. I
know what your drawings are. How could you suppose
me ignorant ? Is not this room rich in specimens of your
landscapes and flowers ? and has not Mrs. Weston some
inimitable figure-pieces in her drawing-room at Randalls?"
Yes, good man ! — thought Emma — but what has all
that to do with taking likenesses ? You know nothing of
drawing. Don't pretend to be in raptures about mine.
Keep your raptures for Harriet's face. " Well, if you
give me such kind encouragement, Mr. Elton, I believe I
shall try what I can do. Harriet's features are very deli
 EMMA.
cate, which makes a likeness difficult ; and yet there is a
peculiarity in the shape of the eye and the lines about the
mouth which one ought to catch."
. " Exactly so, — the shape of the eye and the lines about
the mouth, — I have not a doubt of your success. Pray,
pray attempt it. As you will do it, it will indeed, to use
your own words, be an exquisite possession."
" But I am afraid, Mr. Elton, Harriet will not like to
sit, — she thinks so little of her own beauty. Did not
you observe her manner of answering me ? How com
pletely it meant, ' Why should my picture be drawn ? ' "
" Oh, yes, I observed it, I assure you. It was not
lost on me. But still I cannot imagine she would not be
persuaded."
Harriet was soon back again, and the proposal almost
immediately made ; and she had no scruples which could
stand many minutes against the earnest pressing of both
the others. Emma wished to go to work directly, and
therefore produced the portfolio containing her various at
tempts at portraits, for not one of them had ever been
finished, that they might decide together on the best size
for Harriet. Her many beginnings were displayed.
Miniatures, half-lengths, whole-lengths, pencil, crayon,
and water-colours had been all tried in turn. She had
always wanted to do every thing, and had made more pro
gress both in drawing and music than many might have
done with so little labour as she would ever submit to. She
played and sang, and drew in almost every style ; but
steadiness had always been wanting ; and in nothing had
she approached the degree of excellence which she would
have been glad to command, and ought not to have failed
of. She was not much deceived as to her own skill, either
as an artist or a musician ; but she was not unwilling to
have others deceived, or sorry to know her reputation for
accomplishment often higher than it deserved.
There was merit in every drawing, — in the least
finished, perhaps the most. Her style was spirited ; but
had there been much less, or had there been ten times
more, the delight and admiration of her two companions
would have been the same. They were both in ecstasies.
d 3
88 EMMA.
A likeness pleases every body ; and Miss Woodhouse's
performances must be capital.
" No great variety of faces for you," said Emma. " I
had only my own family to study from. There is my
father, — another of my father ; — but the idea of sitting
for his picture made him so nervous, that I could only
take him by stealth ; neither of them very like, therefore.
Mrs. Weston again, and again, and again, you see. Dear
Mrs. Weston —always my kindest friend on every occasion.
She would sit whenever I asked her. There is my sister ;
and really quite her own little elegant figure — and the face
not unlike. I should have made a good likeness of her, if
she would have sat longer ; but she was in such a hurry
to have me draw her four children that she would not be
quiet. Then, here come all my attempts at three of those
four children : — there they are, Henry, and John, and Bella,
from one end of the sheet to the other, and any one of
them might do for any one of the rest. She was so eager
to have them drawn that I could not refuse ; but there is
no making children of three or four years old stand still,
you know ; nor can it be very easy to take any likeness of
them, beyond the air and complexion, unless they are
coarser featured than any of mamma's children ever were.
Here is my sketch of the fourth, who was a baby. I took
him as he was sleeping on the sofa, and it is as strong a
likeness of his cockade as you would wish to see. He had
nestled down his head most conveniently : — that's very
like. I am rather proud of little George. The corner of
the sofa is very good. Then here is my last," —unclosing
a pretty sketch of a gentleman in small size, whole-length,
my last and my best, —my brother, Mr. John Knight-
ley. This did not want much of being finished, when I
put it away in a pet, and vowed I would never take an
other likeness. I could not help being provoked ; for
after all my pains, and when I had really made a very
good likeness of it — (Mrs. Weston and I were quite
agreed in thinking it very like) — only too handsome —
too flattering — but that was a fault on the right side ; —
after all this, came poor dear Isabella's cold approbation of
— ' Yes, it was a little like ; but to be sure it did not do
 EMMA.
him justice.' We had had a great deal of trouble in persuad
ing him to sit at all. It was made a great favour of ; and
altogether it was more than I could bear ; and so I never
would finish it, to have it apologised over as an unfavour
able likeness, to every morning visiter in Brunswick
Square ; and, as I said, I did then forswear ever drawing
any body again. But for Harriet's sake, or rather for
my own, and as there are no husbands and wives in the
case at present, I will break my resolution now."
Mr. Elton seemed very properly struck and delighted by
the idea, and was repeating, " No husbands and wives in
the case at present, indeed, as you observe. Exactly so.
No husbands and wives," with so interesting a conscious
ness, that Emma began to consider whether she had not
better leave them together at once. But as she wanted to
be drawing, the declaration must wait a little longer.
She had soon fixed on the size and sort of portrait. It
was to be a whole-length in water-colours, like Mr. John
Knightley's, and was destined, if she could please herself,
to hold a very honourable station over the mantle-piece.
The sitting began ; and Harriet, smiling and blushing,
and afraid of not keeping her attitude and countenance,
presented a very sweet mixture of youthful expression to
the steady eyes of the artist. But there was no doing
any thing, with Mr. Elton fidgeting behind her, and watch
ing every touch. She gave him credit for stationing him
self where he might gaze and gaze again without offence ;
but was really obliged to put an end to it, and request
him to place himself elsewhere. It then occurred to her
to employ him in reading.
" If he would be so good as to read to them, it would
be a kindness indeed! It would amuse away the diffi
culties of her part, and lessen the irksomeness of Miss
Smith's."
Mr. Elton was only too happy. Harriet listened, and
Emma drew in peace. She must allow him to be still
frequently coming to look ; any thing less would certainly
have been too little in a lover ; and he was ready at the
smallest intermission of the pencil to jump up and see
the progress, and be charmed. There was no being dis
d 4
40 EMMA.
pleased with such an encourager, for his admiration made
him discern a likeness almost before it was possible. She
could not respect his eye, but his love and his complaisance
were unexceptionable.
The sitting was altogether very satisfactory : she was
quite enough pleased with the first day's sketch to wish to
go on. There was no want of likeness: she had been for
tunate in the attitude ; and as she meant to throw in a
little improvement to the figure, to give a little more
height, and considerably more elegance, she had great
confidence of its being in every way a pretty drawing at
last, and of its filling its destined place with credit to
them both ; — a standing memorial of the beauty of one,
the skill of the other, and the friendship of both ; with as
many other agreeable associations as Mr. Elton's very pro
mising attachment was likely to add.
Harriet was to sit again the next day ; and Mr. Elton,
just as he ought, entreated for the permission of attending
and reading to them again.
" By all means. We shall be most happy to consider
you as one of the party."
The same civilities and courtesies, the same success and
satisfaction, took place on the morrow, and accompanied
the whole progress of the picture, which was rapid and
happy. Every body who saw it was pleased, but Mr.
Elton was in continual raptures, and defended it through
every criticism.
'' Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty
she wanted," observed Mrs. Weston to him, not in the
least suspecting that she was addressing a lover. " The
expression of the eye is most correct, but Miss Smith has
not those eyebrows and eyelashes. It is the fault of her
face that she has them not."
" Do you think so ? " replied he. " I cannot agree with
you. It appears to me a most perfect resemblance in every
feature. I never saw such a likeness in my life. We
must allow for the effect of shade, you know."
" You have made her too tall, Emma," said Mr.
Knightley.
 EMMA. 41
Emma knew that she had, but would not own it ; and
Mr. Elton warmly added, —
" Oh, no — certainly not too tall — not in the least too
tall. Consider she is sitting down, which naturally pre
sents a different — which in short gives exactly the idea ;
— and the proportions must be preserved, you know. Pro
portions, fore-shortening : — oh no : it gives one exactly
the idea of such a height as Miss Smith's ; — exactly so,
indeed."
" It is very pretty," said Mr. Woodhouse. " So pret
tily done! Just as your drawings always are, my dear.
I do not know any body who draws so well as you do.
The only thing I do not thoroughly like is, that she seems
to be sitting out of doors, with only a little shawl over
her shoulders ; and it makes one think she must catch
cold."
" But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be summer ; a
warm day in summer. Look at the tree."
" But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear."
" You, sir, may say any thing," cried Mr. Elton ;
" but I must confess that I regard it as a most happy
thought, the placing Miss Smith out of doors ; and the tree
is touched with such inimitable spirit ! Any other situ
ation would have been much less in character. The
naïveté of Miss Smith's manners, — and altogether — oh, it
is most admirable ! I cannot keep my eyes from it. I
never saw such a likeness."
The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed ;
and here were a few difficulties. It must be done directly;
it must be done in London ; the order must go through
the hands of some intelligent person whose taste could be
depended on ; and Isabella, the usual doer of all commis
sions, must not be applied to, because it was December,
and Mr. Woodhouse could not bear the idea of her stirring
out of her house in the fogs of December. But no sooner
was the distress known to Mr. Elton than it was removed.
His gallantry was always on the alert. " Might he be
trusted with the commission, what infinite pleasure should
he have in executing it ! he could ride to London at any
42 EMMA.
time. It was impossible to say how much he should be
gratified by being employed on such an errand."
" He was too good ! — she could not endure the thought !
— she would not give him such a troublesome office for
the world," — brought on the desired repetition of entreaties
and assurances, — and a very few minutes settled the
business.
, Mr. Elton was to take the drawing to London, choose
the frame, and give the directions ; and Emma thought
she could so pack it as to ensure its safety without much
incommoding him, while he seemed mostly fearful of not
being incommoded enough. •
" What a precious deposit ! " said he, with a tender
sigh, as he received it.
" This man is almost too gallant to be in love," thought
Emma. " I should say so, but that I suppose there may
be a hundred different ways of being in love. He is an
excellent young man, and will suit Harriet exactly : it will
be an ' exactly so,' as he says himself ; but he does sigh
and languish, and study for compliments rather more than
I could endure as a principal. • I come in for a pretty good
share as a second. But it is his gratitude on Harriet's
account." : . . ,

CHAPTER VII.
The very day of Mr. Elton's going to London produced a
fresh occasion for Emma's services towards her friend.
Harriet had been at Hartfield, as usual, soon after break
fast ; and after a time, had gone home to return again to
dinner : she returned, and sooner than had been talked of,
and with an agitated, hurried look, announcing something
extraordinary to have happened which she was longing to
tell. Half a minute brought it all out. She had heard,
as soon as she got back to Mrs. Goddard's, that Mr.
 EMMA. 43
Martin had been there an hour before, and finding she was
not at home, nor particularly expected, had left a little
parcel for her from one of his sisters, and gone away ; and
on opening this parcel, she had actually found, besides
the two songs which she had lent Elizabeth to copy, a let
ter to herself ; and this letter was from him, from Mr.
Martin, and contained a direct proposal of marriage.
" Who could have thought it ! She was so surprised she did
not know what to do. Yes, quite a proposal of marriage ;
and a very good letter, at least she thought so. And he
wrote as if he really loved her very much — but she did not
know — and so, she was come as fast as she could to ask
Miss Woodhouse what she should do." Emma was half
ashamed of her friend for seeming so pleased and so
doubtful. . .
" Upon my word," she cried, '' the young man is de
termined not to lose any thing for want of asking. He
will connect himself well if he can."
" Will you read the letter ? " cried Harriet. " Pray do.
I'd rather you would."
Emma was not sorry to be pressed. She read, and was
surprised. The style of the letter was much above her
expectation. There were not merely no grammatical errors,
but as a composition it would not have disgraced a gentle
man : the language, though plain, was strong and unaf
fected, and the sentiments it conveyed very much to the
credit of the writer. It was short, but expressed good
sense, warm attachment, liberality, propriety, even delicacy
of feeling. She paused over it, while Harriet stood anxi
ously watching for her opinion, with a " Well, well," and
was at last forced to add, " Is it a good letter ? or is it too
short ? "
" Yes, indeed, a very good letter," replied Emma, rather
slowly — " so good a letter, Harriet, that, every thing con
sidered, I think one of his sisters must have helped him.
I can hardly imagine the young man whom I saw talking
with you the other day could express himself so well, if
left quite to his own powers, and yet it is not the style
of a woman ; no, certainly, it is: too strong and concise;
not diffuse enough for a woman. No doubt he is a sen
44 EMMA.
sible man, and I suppose may have a natural talent for
thinks strongly and clearly — and when he takes a pen in
hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words. It is so
with some men. Yes, I understand the sort of mind.
Vigorous, decided, with sentiments to a certain point, not
coarse. A better written letter, Harriet (returning it),
than I had expected."
" Well," said the still waiting Harriet ; — " well — and
and what shall I do ? "
" What shall you do ! In what respect ? Do you mean
with regard to this letter ? "
" Yes."
" But what are you in doubt of? You must answer it
of course — and speedily."
" Yes. But what shall I say ? Dear Miss Woodhouse,
do advise sme."
" Oh, no, no : the letter had much better be all your
own. You will express yourself very properly, I am sure.
There is no danger of your not being intelligible, which is
the first thing. Your meaning must be unequivocal : no
doubts or demurs ; and such expressions of gratitude and
concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety requires,
will present themselves unbidden to your mind, I am per
suaded. You need not be prompted to write with the ap
pearance of sorrow for his disappointment."
" You think I ought to refuse him, then ? " said Harriet,
looking down.
" Ought to refuse him ! My dear Harriet, what do you
mean? Are you in any doubt as to that? I thought —but
I beg your pardon, 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 were consulting me only as to the wording of it."
Harriet was silent. With a little reserve of manner,
Emma continued, —
" You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect."
" No, I do not ; that is I do not mean — What shall I
do ? What would you advise me to do ? Pray, dear Miss
Woodhouse, tell me what I ought to do ? "
" I shall not give you any advice, Harriet. I will have
 EMMA. 45
nothing to do with it. This is a point which you must
settle with your own feelings."
" I had no notion that he liked me so very much," said
Harriet, contemplating the letter. For a little while Em
ma persevered in her silence ; but beginning to apprehend
the bewitching flattery of that letter might be too powerful,
she thought it best to say,—
" I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a wo
man doubts as to whether she should accept a man or not,
Bhe certainly ought to refuse him. If she can hesitate as
to 'Yes,' she ought to say 'No' directly. It is not a state
to be safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with half
a heart. I thought it my duty as a friend, and older than
yourself, to say thus much to you. But do not imagine
that I want to influence you."
" Oh, no, I am sure you are a great deal too kind to
but if you would just advise me what I had best do :
—no, no, I do not mean that: — as you say one's mind
ought to be quite made up— one should not be hesitating :
—it is a very serious thing. It will be safer to say ' No,'
perhaps. Do you think I had better say ' No ? ' "
" Not for the world," said Emma, smiling graciously,
" would I advise you either way. You must be the best
judge of your own happiness. If you prefer Mr. Martin
to every other person ; if you think him the most agreeable
man you have ever been in company with, why should you
hesitate ? You blush, Harriet. Does any body else occur
to you at this moment under such a definition ? Harriet,
Harriet, do not deceive yourself ; do not be run away with
by gratitude and compassion. At this moment whom are
you thinking of?"
The symptoms were favourable. Instead of answering,
Harriet turned away confused, and stood thoughtfully by
the fire ; and though the letter was still in her hand, it
was now mechanically twisted about without regard. Em
ma waited the result with impatience, but not without
strong hopes. At last, with some hesitation, 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
46 EMMA.
quite determined, and really almost made up my mind, to
refuse Mr. Martin. Do you think I am right ? "
" Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet ; you
are doing just what you ought. While you were at all in
suspense, I kept my feelings to myself, but now that you
are so completely decided I have no hesitation in approving.
Dear Harriet, I give myself joy of this. It would have
grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which must have
heen the consequence of your marrying Mr. Martin. While
you were in the smallest degree wavering, I said nothing
about it, because I would not influence ; but it would have
been the loss of a friend to me. I could not have visited
Mrs. Robert Martin, of Abbey-Mill Farm. Now I am
secure of you for ever." • '
Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but the idea
of it struck her forcibly.
" You could not have visited me ! " she cried, looking
aghast. " No, to be sure you could not ; but I never thought
of that before. That would have been too dreadful !
What an 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 have been a severe pang to
lose you; but it must have been. You would have thrown
yourself out of all good society. I must have given you
up."
"Dear me! How should I ever have borne it? It
would have killed me never to come to Hartfield any more."
' " Dear, affectionate creature ! You banished to Abbey-
Mill Farm ! You confined to the society of the illiterate
and vulgar all your life ! I wonder how the young man
could have the assurance to ask it. , He must have a pretty
good opinion of himself."
" I do not think he is conceited either, in general," said
Harriet, her conscience opposing such censure; " at least
he is very good natured, and I shall always feel much
obliged to him, and have a great regard for — but that is
quite a different thing from — and you know, though he
may like me, it does not follow that I should — and, cev-
tainly, I must confess that since my visiting here I have
 EMMA. 47
seen people — and if one comes to compare them, person
and manners, there is no comparison at all, one is so very
handsome and agreeable. However, I do really think Mr.
Martin a very amiable young man, and have a great opinion
of him ; and his being so much attached to me — and his
writing such a letter — but as to leaving you, it is what I
would not do upon any consideration."
" Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend.
We will not be parted. A woman is not to marry a man
merely because she is asked, or because he is attached to
her, and can write a tolerable letter."
" Oh, no ; — and it is but a short letter, too."
Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but let it psss
with a " very true ; and it would be a small consolation to
her, for the clownish manner which might be offending her
every hour of the day, to know that her husband could
write a good letter." *
" Oh yes, very. Nobody cares for a letter : the thing
is, to be always happy with pleasant companions. I am
quite determined to refuse him. But how shall I do?
What shall I say ? "
Emma assured her there would be no difficulty in the
answer, and advised its being written directly, which was
agreed to, in the hope of her assistance ; and though Emma
continued to protest against any. assistance being wanted, it
was in fact given in the formation of every sentence. The
looking over his letter again, in replying to it, had such a
softening tendency, that it was particularly necessary to
brace her up with a few decisive expressions ; and she was
so very much concerned at the idea of making him un-
naPPy> an(l thought so much of what his mother arid
sisters would think and say, and was so anxious that they
should not fancy her ungrateful, that Emma believed if the
young man had come in her way at that moment, he would
have been accepted after all.
This letter, however, was written, and sealed, and sent.
The business was finished, and Harriet safe. She was
rather low all the evening ; but Emma could allow for her
amiable regrets, and sometimes relieved them by speaking
48 EMMA.
of her own affection, sometimes by bringing forward the
idea of Mr. Elton.
" I shall never be invited to Abbey-Mill again," was
said in rather a sorrowful tone.
" Nor, if you were, could I ever bear to part with you,
my Harriet. You are a great deal too necessary at Hart-
field 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 surprised if she knew what had hap
pened. I am sure Miss Nash would — for Miss Nash
thinks her own sister very well married, and it is only a
linen-draper."
" One should be sorry to see greater pride or refinement
in the teacher of a school, Harriet. I dare say Miss Nash
would envy you such an opportunity as this of being mar
ried. Even this conquest would appear valuable in her
eyes. As to any thing superior for you, I suppose she is
quite in the dark. The attentions of a certain person can
hardly be among the tittle-tattle of Highbury yet. Hi
therto I fancy you and I are the only people to whom his
looks and manners have explained themselves."
Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about
wondering that people should like her so much. The idea
of Mr. Elton was certainly cheering ; but still, after a time,
she was tender-hearted again towards the rejected Mr.
Martin.
" Now he has got my letter," said she softly. " I won
der what they are all doing — whether his sisters know —
if he is unhappy, they will be unhappy too. I hope he
will not mind it so very much."
" Let us think of those among our absent friends who
are more cheerfully employed," cried Emma. " At this
moment, perhaps, Mr. Elton is showing your picture to his
mother and sisters, telling how much more beautiful is the
original, and after being asked for it five or six times, al
lowing them to hear your name, your own dear name."
" My picture ! But he has left my picture in Bond
Street."
 EMMA.
" Has he so ! Then I know nothing of Mr. Elton.
No, my dear little modest Harriet, depend upon it, the picture
will not be in Bond Street till just before he mounts his horse
to-morrow. It is his companion all this evening, his solace,
his delight. It opens his designs to his family, it intro
duces you among them, it diffuses through the party those
pleasantest feelings of our nature, eager curiosity and warm
prepossession. How cheerful, how animated, how sus
picious, how busy their imaginations all are ! "
Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger.

CHAPTER VIII.
Harriet slept at Hartfield that night. For some weeks
past she had been spending more than half her time there,
and gradually getting to have a bed-room appropriated to
herself ; and Emma judged it best in every respect, safest
and kindest, to keep her with them as much as possible just
at present. She was obliged to go the lfext morning for an
hour or two to Mrs. Goddard's, but it was then to be set
tled that she should return to Hartfield, to make a regular
visit of some days.
While she was gone, Mr. Knightley called, and sat some
time with Mr. Woodhouse and Emma, till Mr. Woodhouse,
who had previously made up his mind to walk out, was
persuaded by his daughter not to defer it, and was induced
by the entreaties of both, though against the scruples of
his own civility, to leave Mr. Knightley for that purpose.
Mr. Knightley, who had nothing of ceremony about him,
was offering, by his short, decided answers, an amusing
contrast to the protracted apologies and civil hesitations of
the other.
" Well, I believe, if you will excuse me, Mr. Knightley,
if you will not consider me as doing a very rude thing, I
shall take Emma's advice and go out for a quarter of an
E
 50 EMMA. •
hour. As the sun is out, I believe I had better take my
three turns while I can. I treat you without ceremony,
Mr. Knightley. We invalids think we are privileged
people." •
" My dear sir, do not make a stranger of me."
" I leave an excellent substitute in my daughter. Emma
will be happy to entertain you. And therefore I think I
will beg your excuse, and take my three turns — my winter
walk."
" You cannot do better, sir." . .
" I would ask for the pleasure of your company, Mr.
Knightley, but I am a very slow walker, and my pace would
be tedious to you ; and, besides, you have another long
walk before you, to Donwell Abbey."
" Thank you, sir, thank you I am going this moment
myself ; and I think the sooner you go the better. I will
fetch your great coat and open the garden door for you."
Mr. Woodhouse at last was off; but Mr. Knightley, in.
stead of being immediately off likewise, sat down again,
seemingly inclined for more chat. He began speaking of
Harriet, and speaking of her with more voluntary praise
than Emma had ever heard before.
" I cannot rate her beauty as you do," said he ; " but
she is a pretty little creature, and I am inclined to think
very well of her disposition. Her character depends upon
those she is with ; but in good hands she will turn out a
valuable woman."
" I am glad you think so ; and the good hands, I hope,
may not be wanting."
" Come," said he, " you are anxious for a compliment,
so I will tell you that you have improved her. You have
cured her of her school-girl's giggle ; she really does you
credit."
" Thank yon. I should be mortified, indeed, if I did
not believe I had been of some use ; but it is not every
body who will bestow praise where they may. You do not
often overpower me with it."
" You are expecting her again, you say, this morning?"
" Almost every moment. She has been gone longer »
already than she intended."
 EMMA. 51.
' " Something has happened to delay her; some visiters,,
perhaps."
" Highbury gossips ! Tiresome wretches ! "
" Harriet may not consider every body tiresome that you
would."
Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and,
therefore, said nothing. He presently added, with a smile,—
" I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must
tell you that I have good reason to believe your little friend
will soon hear of something to her advantage."
" Indeed ! how so ? of what sort ?"
" A very serious sort, I assure you," still smiling.
" Very serious ! I can think of but one thing : — who is
in love with her ? Who makes you their confidant ? "
. Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr. Elton's hav
ing dropped a hint. Mr. Knightley was a sort of general
friend and adviser, and she knew Mr. Elton looked up to
him.
" I have reason to think," he replied, " that Harriet
Smith will soon have an offer of marriage, and from a most
unexceptionable quarter: — Robert Martin is the man. Her
visit to Abbey-Mill, this summer, seems to have done his
business. He is desperately in love, and means to marry
her."
" He is very obliging," said Emma ; " but is he sure
that Harriet means to marry him ?"
" Well, well, means to make her an offer then. Will
that do ? He came to the Abbey two evenings ago, on
purpose to consult me about it. He knows I have a tho
rough regard for him and all his family, and, I believe,
considers me as one of his best friends. He came to ask
me whether I thought it would be imprudent in him to
settle so early ; whether I thought her too young : in short,
whether I approved his choice altogether ; having some
apprehension, perhaps, of her being considered (especially
since your making so much of her) as in a line of society
above him. I was very much pleased with all that he said.
I never hear better sense from any one than Robert Martin.
He always speaks to the purpose ; open, straight-forward,
and very well judging. He told me every thing ; his cir
b 2
52 EMMA.
cumstances and plans, and what they all proposed doing in
the event of his marriage. He is an excellent young man,
both as son and brother. I had no hesitation in advising
him to marry. He proved to me that he could afford it ;
and that being the case, I was convinced he could not do
better. I praised the fair lady too, and altogether sent him
away very happy. If he had never esteemed my opinion
before, he would have thought highly of me then ; and, I
dare say, left the house thinking me the best friend and
counsellor man ever had. This happened the night before
last. Now, as we may fairly suppose, he would not allow
much time to pass before he spoke to the lady, and as he
does not appear to have spoken yesterday, it is not unlikely
that he should be at Mrs. Goddard's to-day ; and she may
be detained by a visiter, without thinking him at all a tire
some wretch."
" Pray, Mr. Knightley," said Emma, who had been
smiling to herself through a great part of this speech,
" how do you know that Mr. Martin did not speak yester
day?"
" Certainly," replied he, surprised, " 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 before it could be be
lieved ; and Mr. Knightley actually looked red with surprise
and displeasure, as he stood up, in tall indignation, and
said,—
" Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed
her. What is the foolish girl about ? "
" Oh, to be sure," cried Emma, " it is always incom-
prehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an
offer of marriage. A man always imagines a woman to be
ready for any body who asks her."
" Nonsense ! a man does not imagine any such thing.
But what is the meaning of this ? Harriet Smith refuse
Robert Martin ! Madness, if it is so ; but I hope you are
mistaken."
 EMMA. 53
" I saw her answer ; nothing could he 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 be
Harriet's equal ; and am rather surprised, indeed, that he
should have ventured to address her. By your account,
he does seem to have had some scruples. It is a pity that
they were ever got over."
" Not Harriet's equal ! " exclaimed Mr. Knightley, loudly
and warmly ; and with calmer asperity added, a few mo
ments afterwards, " No, he is not her equal, indeed, for he
is as much her superior in sense as in situation. Emma,
your infatuation about that girl blinds you. What are
Harriet Smith's claims, either of birth, nature, or education,
to any connection higher than Robert Martin ? She is the
natural daughter of nobody knows whom, with 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 nothing useful, and is too
young and too simple to have acquired any thing herself.
At her age she can have no experience ; and, with her little
wit, is not very likely ever to have any that can avail her.
She is pretty, and she is good tempered, and that is all.
My only scruple in advising the match was on his account,
as being beneath his deserts, and a bad connection for him.
I felt that, as to fortune, in all probability he might do
much better ; and that, as to a rational companion or useful
helpmate, he could not do worse. But I could not reason
so to a man in love, and was willing to trust to there being
no harm in her ; to her having that sort of disposition
which, in good hands like his, might be easily led aright,
and turn out very well. The advantage of the match I felt
to be all on her side ; and had not the smallest doubt (nor
have I now) that there would be a general cry-out upon
her extreme good luck. Even your satisfaction I made sure
of. It crossed my mind immediately that you would not
e 3
'54 EMMA.
regret your friend's leaving Highbury, for the sake of her
being settled so well. I remember saying to myself, ' Even
Emma, with all her partiality for Harriet, will think this a
good match.' "
" I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of
Emma as to say any such thing. What ! think a farmer
(and with all his sense and all his merit Mr. Martin is
nothing more) a good match for my intimate friend ! Not
regret her leaving Highbury for the sake of marrying a
man whom I could never admit as an acquaintance of my
own ! I wonder you should think it possible for me to
have such feelings. I assure you mine are very different.
I must think your statement by no means fair. You are
not just to Harriet's claims. They would be estimated very
differently by others as well as myself ; Mr. Martin may be
the richest of the two, but he is undoubtedly her inferior
as to rank in society. The sphere in which she moves is
much above his. It would be a degradation."
" A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be
married to a respectable, intelligent gentleman-farmer !"
" As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal
sense she may be called Nobody, it will not hold in com
mon sense. She is not to pay for the offence of others, by
being held below the level of those with whom she is brought
up. There can scarcely be a doubt that her father is a
gentleman —:and a gentleman of fortune. Her allowance
is very liberal ; nothing has ever been grudged for her im
provement or comfort. That she is a gentleman's daugh
ter is indubitable to me ; that she associates with gentle
men's daughters, no one, I apprehend, will deny. She is
superior to Mr. Robert Martin."
" Whoever might be her parents," said Mr. Knightley,
" whoever may have had the charge of her, it does not
appear to have been any part of their plan to introduce her
into what you would call good society. After receiving a
very indifferent education, she is left in Mrs. Goddard's
hands to shift as she can; — to move, in short, in Mrs.
Goddard's line, to have Mrs. Goddard's acquaintance. Her
friends evidently thought this good enough for her ; and it
was good enough. She desired nothing better herself.
 EMMA. 55
-Till you chose to turn her into a friend, her mind had no
distaste for her own set, nor any ambition beyond it. She
was as happy as possible with the Martins in the summer.
She had no sense of superiority then. If she has it now,
you have given it. You have been no friend to Harriet
Smith, Emma. Robert Martin would never have pro
ceeded so far, if he had not felt persuaded of her not being
disinclined to him. I know him well. He has too much
real feeling to address any woman on the hap-hazard of
selfish passion. And as to conceit, he is the farthest from
it of any man I know. Depend upon it, he had encourage
ment."
It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct
reply to this assertion ; she chose rather to take up her own
line of the subject again.
" You are a very warm friend to Mr. Martin ; but, as I
said before, are unjust to Harriet. Harriet's claims to
marry well are not so contemptible as you represent them.
She is not a clever girl, but she has better sense than you
are aware of, and does not deserve to have her understand
ing spoken of so slightingly. Waving that point, however,
and supposing her to be, as you describe her, only pretty
and good natured, let me tell you, that in the degree she
possesses them, they are not trivial recommendations to the
world in general, for she is, in fact, a beautiful girl, and
must be thought so by ninety-nine people out of a hun
dred ; and till it appears that men are much more philo
sophic on the subject of beauty than they are generally
supposed; till they do fall in love with well-informed
minds instead of handsome faces, a girl, with such love
liness 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, comprehending, as it does,
real, thorough. sweetness of temper and manner, a very
humble opinion of herself, and a great readiness to be
pleased with other people. I am very much mistaken if
your sex in general would not think such beauty, and such
temper, the highest claims a woman could possess."
i " Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the rea
b 4
 EMMA.
son you have is almost enough to make me think so too.
Better be without sense, than misapply it as you do."
" To be sure," cried she playfully. " I know that is
the feeling of you all. I know that such a girl as Harriet
is exactly what every man delights in — what at once be
witches 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 seventeen,
just entering into life, just beginning to be known, to be
wondered at because she does not accept the first offer she
receives ? No —pray let her have time to look about her."
" I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy,"
said Mr. Knightley presently, " though I have kept my
thoughts to myself ; but I now perceive that it will be a
very unfortunate one for Harriet. You will puff her up
with such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has a
claim to, that, in a little while, nobody within her reach
will be good enough for her. Vanity working on a weak
head produces every sort of mischief. Nothing so easy as
for a young lady to raise her expectations too high. Miss
Harriet Smith may not find offers of marriage flow in so
fast, though she is a very pretty girl. Men of sense, what
ever you may choose to say, do not want silly wives. Men
of family would not be very fond of connecting themselves
with a girl of such obscurity, — and most prudent men
would be afraid of the inconvenience and disgrace they
might be involved in, when the mystery of her parentage
came to be revealed. Let her marry Robert Martin, and
she is safe, respectable, and happy for ever; but if you
encourage her to expect to marry greatly, and teach her to
be satisfied with nothing less than a man of consequence and
large fortune, she may be a parlour-boarder at Mrs. 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 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
 EMMA. 57
has refused him, and so decidedly, I think, as must prevent
any second application. She must abide by the evil of
having refused him, whatever it may be; and as to the
refusal itself, I will not pretend to say that I might not
influence her a little ; but I assure you there was very
little for me or for any body to do. His appearance is so
much against him, and his manner so bad, that if she
ever were disposed to favour him, she is not now. I can
imagine, that before she had seen any body superior, she
might tolerate him. He was the brother of her friends,
and he took pains to please her ; and altogether, having seen
nobody better (that must have been his great assistant), she
might not, while she was at Abbey-Mill, find him dis
agreeable. But the case is altered now. She knows now
what gentlemen are ; and nothing but a gentleman in educa
tion and manner has any chance with Harriet."
" Nonsense, arrant nonsense, as ever was talked ! " cried
Mr. Knightley. " Robert Martin's manners have sense,
sincerity, and good-humour to recommend them ; and his
mind has more true gentility than Harriet Smith could
understand."
Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully
unconcerned, but was really feeling uncomfortable, and
wanting him very much to be gone. She did not repent
what she had done ; she still thought herself a better judge
of such a point of female right and refinement than he could
be : but yet she had a sort of habitual respect for his judg
ment in general, which made her dislike having it so loudly
against her ; and to have him sitting just opposite to her
in angry state, was very disagreeable. Some minutes
passed in this unpleasant silence, with only one attempt
on Emma's side to talk of the weather, but he made no
answer. He was thinking. The result of his thoughts
appeared at last in these words, —
" Robert Martin has no great loss — if he can but think
so ; and I hope it will not be long before he does. Your
views for Harriet are best known to yourself; but as you
make no secret of your love of match-making, it is fair to
suppose that views, and plans, and projects you have; —
 - EMMA.
and as a friend I shall just hint to you, that if Elton is the
man, I think it will he all labour in vain."
Emma laughed and disclaimed. He continued,—
" Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very-
good sort of man, and a very respectable vicar of Highbury,
but not at all likely to make an imprudent match. He
knows the value of a good income as well as any body.
Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally.
He is as well acquainted with his own claims as you can
be with Harriet's. He knows that he is a very handsome
young man, and a great favourite wherever he goes ; and
from his general way of talking in unreserved moments,
when there are only men present, I am convinced that he
does not mean to throw himself away. I have heard .him
speak with great animation of a large family of young ladies
that his sisters are intimate with, who have all twenty
thousand pounds apiece."
" I am very much obliged to you," said Emma, laugh
ing again. " If I had set my heart on Mr. Elton's marry
ing Harriet, it would have been very kind to open my eyes ;
but at present I only want to keep Harriet to myself. I
have done with match-making, indeed. I could never hope
to equal my own doings at Randalls. I shall leave off
while I am well." »
" Good morning to you," said he, rising and walking
off abruptly. He was very much vexed. He felt the dis
appointment of the young man, and was mortified to have
been the means of promoting it, by the sanction he had
given ; and the part which he was persuaded Emma had
taken in the affair was provoking him exceedingly.
Emma remained in a state of vexation too ; but there
was more indistinctness in the causes of hers than in his.
She did not always feel so absolutely satisfied with herself,
so entirely convinced that her opinions were right and her
adversary's wrong, as Mr. Knightley. He walked off in
more complete self-approbation than he left for her. She
was not so materially cast down, however, but that a little
time and the return of Harriet were very adequate restor
atives. Harriet's staying away so long was beginning to
make her uneasy. The possibility of the young man's
 EMMA. 59
coming to Mrs. Goddard's that morning, and meeting with
Harriet, and pleading his own cause, gave alarming ideas.
The dread of such a failure, after all, became the prominent
uneasiness ; and when Harriet appeared, and in very good
spirits, and without having any such reason to give for her
long absence, she felt a satisfaction which settled her with
her own mind ; and convinced her, that, let Mr. Knightley
think or say what he would, she had done nothing which
woman's friendship and woman's feelings would not justify.
He had frightened her a little about Mr. Elton ; but
when she considered that Mr. Knightley could not have
observed him as she had done, neither with the interest nor
(she must be allowed to tell herself, in spite of Mr. Knight-
ley's pretensions) with the skill of such an observer on such
a question as herself, that he had spoken it hastily and in
anger, she was able to believe, that he had rather said what
he wished resentfully to be true, than what he knew any
thing about. He certainly might have heard Mr. Elton
speak with more unreserve than she had ever done, and
Mr. Elton might not be of an imprudent, inconsiderate dis
position, as to money matters : he might naturally be rather
attentive than otherwise to them ; but then, Mr. Knightley
did not make due allowance for the influence of a strong
passion at war with all interested motives. Mr. Knightley
saw no such passion, and of course thought nothing of its
effects ; but she saw too much of it to feel a doubt of its
overcoming any hesitations that a reasonable prudence might
originally suggest ; and more than a reasonable, becoming
degree of prudence, she was very sure did not belong to
Mr. Elton.
Harriet's cheerful look and manner established hers : she
came back, not to think of Mr. Martin, but to talk of
Mr. Elton. Miss Nash had been telling her something,
which she repeated immediately with great delight. Mr.
Perry had been to Mrs. Goddard's to attend a sick child,
and Miss Nash had seen him ; and he had told Miss Nash,
that as he was coming back yesterday from Clayton Park
he had met Mr. Elton, and found, to his great surprise^
that Mr. Elton was actually on his road to London, and
not meaning to return till the morrow, though it was the
 EMMA.
whist-club night, which he had been never known to miss
before ; and Mr. Perry had remonstrated with him about
it, and told him how shabby it was in him, their best
player, to absent himself, and tried very much to persuade
him to put off his journey only one day ; but it would not
do : Mr. Elton had been determined to go on, and had said,
in a very particular way indeed, that he was going on
business which he would not put off for any inducement in
the world ; and something about a very enviable commis
sion, and being the bearer of something exceedingly pre
cious. Mr. Perry could not quite understand him, but he
was very sure there must be a lady in the case, and he told
him so ; and Mr. Elton only looked very conscious and
smiling, and rode off in great spirits. Miss Nash had told
her all this, and had talked a great deal more about Mr.
Elton ; and said, looking so very significantly at her, " that
she did not pretend to understand what his business might
be, but she only knew, that any woman whom Mr. Elton
could prefer she should think the luckiest woman in the
world ; for, beyond a doubt, Mr. Elton had not his equal
for beauty or agreeableness."

CHAPTER IX.
Mr. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could
not quarrel with herself. He was so much displeased, that
it was longer than usual before he came to Hartfield again ;
and when they did meet, his grave looks showed that she
was not forgiven. She was sorry, but could not repent. On
the contrary, her plans and proceedings were more and
more justified, and endeared to her by the general 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 mantle-
piece of• the common sitting-room, he got up to look at it,
and sighed out his half sentences of admiration just as he
ought ; and as for Harriet's feelings, they were visibly
 61
forming themselves into as strong and steady an attachment
as her youth and sort of mind admitted. Emma was soon
perfectly satisfied of Mr. Martin's heing no otherwise re
membered, than as he furnished a contrast with Mr. Elton,
of the utmost advantage to the latter.
Her views of improving her little friend's mind, by a
great deal of useful reading and conversation, had never yet
led to more than a few first chapters, and the intention of
going on to-morrow. It was much easier to chat than to
study ; much pleasanter to let her imagination range and
work at Harriet's fortune, than to be labouring to enlarge
her comprehension, or exercise it on sober facts ; and the
only literary pursuit which engaged Harriet at present, the
only mental provision she was making for the evening of
life, was the collecting and transcribing all the riddles of
every sort that she could meet with, into a thin quarto of
hot-pressed paper, made up by her friend, and ornamented
with ciphers and trophies.
In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand
scale are not uncommon. Miss Nash, head teacher at Mrs.
Goddard's, had written out at least three hundred ; and
Harriet, who had taken the first hint of it from her, hoped,
with Miss Woodhouse's help, to get a great many more.
Emma assisted with her invention, memory, and taste ; and
as Harriet wrote a very pretty hand, it was likely to be an
arrangement of the first order, in form as well as quantity.
Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the
business as the girls, and tried very often to recollect 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 always ended in " Kitty,. a fair but frozen maid."
His good friend Perry, too, whom he had spoken to on
the subject, did not at present recollect any thing of the
riddle kind ; but he had desired Perry to be upon the watch,
and as he went about so much, something, he thought,
might come from that quarter.
It was by no means his daughter's wish that the intel-
lects of Highbury in general should be put under requisition.
Mr. Elton w?s the only or.e whose assistance she asked.
6'2 EMMA.
He was invited to contribute any really good enigmas, cha
rades, or conundrums, that he might recollect ; and she had
the pleasure of seeing him most intently at work with his
recollections ; and at the same time, as she could perceive,
most earnestly careful that nothing ungallant, nothing that
did not breathe a compliment to the sex, should pass his
lips. They owed to him their two or three politest puzzles ;
and the joy and exultation with which at last he recalled,
and rather sentimentally recited, that well-known charade,—
My first doth affliction denote,
Which my second is destin'd to feel ;
And my whole is the best antidote
That affliction to soften and heal, —
made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had tran
scribed it some pages ago already.
" Why will not you write one yourself for us, Mr. Elton?"
said she ; " that is the only security for its freshness ; and
nothing could be easier to you."
" Oh, no ; he had never written, hardly ever, any thing
of the kind in his life. The stupidest fellow ! He was
afraid not even Miss Woodhouse" — he stopped a moment
— " or Miss Smith could inspire him."
The very next day, however, produced some proof of
inspiration. He called for a few moments, just to leave a
piece of paper on the table containing, as he said, a charade
which a friend of his had addressed to a young lady, the
object of his admiration ; but which, from his manner,
Emma was immediately convinced must be his own.
" I do not offer it for Miss Smith's collection," said he.
" Being my friend's, I have no right to expose it in any
degree to the public eye, but perhaps you may not dislike
looking at it."
The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which
Emma could understand. There was deep consciousness
about him, and he found it easier to meet her eye than her
friend's. He was gone the next moment : — 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 tremour, and could not touch it ;
 EMMA. 63
and Emma, never loth to be first, was obliged to examine
it herself.
To Miss
CHARADE.
My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,
Lords of the earth ! their luxury and ease.
Another view of man, my second brings,
Behold him there, the monarch ofthe seas!
But ah ! united, what reverse we have !
Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown ;
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Thy ready wit the word will soon supply,
May its approval beam in that soft eye !
She cast her eye over it, pondered, caught the meaning,
read it through again to be quite certain, and quite mistress
of the lines, and then passing it to Harriet, sat happily,,
smiling, and saying to herself, while Harriet was puzzling
over the paper in all the confusion of hope and dulness,
" Very well, Mr. Elton, very well, indeed. I have read
worse charades. Courtship — a very good hint. I give
you credit for it. This is feeling your way. This is saying
very plainly — ' Pray, Miss Smith, give me leave to pay
my addresses to you. Approve my charade and my inten
tions in the same glance.'
May its approval beam in that soft eye!
Harriet exactly. Soft is the very word for her eye — of
all epithets, the justest that could be given.
Thy ready witthe word will soon supply.
Humph — Harriet's ready wit ! All the better. A man
must be very much in love, indeed, to describe her so. Ah !
Mr. Knightley, I wish you had the benefit of this ; I think
this would convince you. For once in your life you would
be obliged to own yourself mistaken. An excellent charade,
indeed — and very much to the purpose. Things must
come to a crisis soon now."
She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant
observations, which were otherwise of a sort to run into
great length, by the eagerness of Harriet's wondering
questions.
64 EMMA
" What can it be, Miss Woodhouse ? — what can it. be ?
I have not an idea — I cannot guess it in the least. What
can it possibly be ? Do try to find it out. Miss Wood-
house. Do help me. I never saw any thing so hard. Is
it kingdom ? I wonder who the friend was — and who
could be the young lady. Do you think it is a good one ?
Can it be woman ?
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Can it be Neptune ?
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas !
Or a trident ? or a mermaid ? or a shark ? Oh, no : shark
is only one syllable. It must be very clever, or he would
not have brought it. Oh, Miss Woodhouse, do you think
we shall ever find it out ?"
" Mermaids and sharks ! Nonsense ! My dear Harriet,
what are you thinking of ? Where would be the use of his
bringing us a charade made by a friend upon a mermaid or
a shark ? Give me the paper, and listen.
" For Miss , read Miss Smith.
My first displays the wealth and pomp ofkings,
Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.
That is court.
Another view ofman, my second brings ;
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas !
That is ship, — plain as he can be. — Now for the cream.
But ah ! united, (courtship, you know,) what reverse we have !
ManVboasted power and freedom, all are flown.
Lord of the earth and>ea, he bends a slave,
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
A very proper compliment ! — and then follows the ap
plication, which I think, my dear Harriet, you cannot find
much difficulty in comprehending. Read it in comfort to
yourself. There can be no doubt of its being written for
you and to you."
Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion.
She read the concluding lines, and was all flutter and hap
piness. She could not speak. But she Was not wanted to
 65
speak. It was enough for her to feel. Emma spoke for
her.
" There is so pointed, and so particular a meaning in
this compliment," said she, " that I cannot have a moment's
doubt as to Mr. Elton's intentions. You are his object, —
and you will soon receive the completest proof of it. I
thought it must be so. I thought I could not be so de
ceived ; but now it is clear : the state of his mind is as
clear and decided as my wishes on the subject have
been ever since I knew you. Yes, Harriet, just so long
have I been wanting the very circumstance to happen
which has happened. I could never tell whether an at
tachment between you and Mr. Elton were most desirable
or most natural. Its probability and its eligibility have
really so equalled each other ! I am very happy. I con
gratulate you, my dear Harriet, with all my heart. This
is an attachment which a woman may well feel pride in
creating. This is a connection which offers nothing but
good. It will give you every thing that you want, — con
sideration, independence, 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 Wood-
house," was all that Harriet, with many tender embraces,
could articulate at first ; but when they did arrive at some
thing more like conversation, it was sufficiently clear to
her friend that she saw, felt, anticipated, and remembered
just as she ought. Mr. Elton's superiority had very ample
acknowledgment.
" Whatever you say is always right," cried Harriet,
" and therefore I suppose, and believe, and hope it must
be so ; but otherwise I could not have imagined it. It is
so much beyond any thing I deserve. Mr. Elton, who
might marry any body ! There cannot be two opinions
about him. He is so very superior. Only think of those
sweet verses — ' To Miss .' Dear me, how clever !
Could it really be meant for me ? "
" I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about
p
65 EMMA.
that. It is a certainty. Receive it on my judgment. It
is a sort of prologue to the play, a motto to the chapter ;
and will be soon followed by matter-of-fact prose."
" It is a sort of thing which nobody could have expected.
I am sure, a month ago, I had no more idea myself ! —
The strangest things do take place ! "
" When Miss Smiths and Mr. Eltons get acquainted
— they do indeed — 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 Mr. Elton are by situation called together ;
you belong to one another by every circumstance of your
respective homes. Your marrying will be equal to the
match at Randalls. There does seem to be a something in
the air of Hartfield which gives love exactly the right di
rection, and sends it into the very channel where it ought
to flow. i
The course of true love never did run smooth —
A Hartfield edition of Shakspeare would have a long note
on that passage."
" That Mr. Elton should really be in love with me, —
me, of all people, who did not know him, to speak to him,
at Michaelmas ! And he, the very handsomest man that
ever was, and a man that every body looks up to, quite
like Mr. Knightley ! His company so sought after, that
every body says he need not eat a single meal by him
self if he does not choose it ; that he has more invitations
than there are days in the week. And so excellent in
the church ! Miss Nash has put down all the texts he
has ever preached from since he came to Highbary. Dear
me ! When I look back to the first time I saw him !
How little did I think ! 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 ; hew-
ever, she called me back presently, and let me look
too, which was very good-natured. And how beauti
 EMMA. 67
ful 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 ad
dressing our conduct to fools. If they are anxious to see
you happily married, here is a man whose amiable character
gives every assurance of it: if they wish to have you
settled in the same country and circle which they have
chosen to place you in, here it will be accomplished ; and
if their only object is that you should, in the common
phrase, be well married, here is the comfortable fortune,
the respectable establishment, the rise in the world which
must satisfy them."
" Yes, very true. How nicely you talk ! I love to hear
you. You understand every thing. You and Mr. Elton
are one as clever as the other. This charade ! If I had
studied a twelvemonth, I could never have made any thing
like it."
" I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner of
declining it yesterday."
" I do think it is, without exception, the best charade I
ever read."
" I never read one more to the purpose, certainly."
" It is as long again as almost all we have had before."
" I do not consider its length as particularly in its favour.
Such things in general cannot be too short."
Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most
satisfactory comparisons were rising in her mind.
" It is one thing," said she, presently, 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 desired a more spirited rejection
of Mr. Martin's prose.
" Such sweet lines!" continued Harriet — these two
last ! But how shall I ever be able to return the paper,
f 2
68 EMMA.
or say I have found it out ? Oh, Miss Woodhouse, what
can we do about that ? "
" Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here
this evening, I dare say, and then I will give it him back,
and some nonsense or other will pass between us, and you
shall not be committed. Your soft eyes shall choose their
own time for beaming. Trust to me."
" Oh, Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not
write this beautiful charade into my book ! I am sure I
have not got one half so good."
'•' Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason
why you should not write it into your book."
" Oh, but those two lines are " — " The best of all.
Granted ; — for private enjoyment ; and for private enjoy
ment keep them. They are not at all the less written you
know, because you divide them. The couplet does not
cease to be, nor does its meaning change. But take it
away, and all appropriation ceases, and a very pretty
gallant charade remains, fit for any collection. Depend
upon it, he would not like to have his charade slighted
much better than his passion. A poet in love must be
encouraged in both capacities, or neither. Give me the
book, I will write it down, and then there can be no pos
sible reflection on you."
Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly
separate the parts, so as to feel quite sure that her friend
were not writing down a declaration of love. It seemed
too precious an offering for any degree of publicity.
" I shall never let that book go out of my own hands,"
said she.
" Very well," replied Emma, " a most natural feeling ;
and the longer it lasts, the better I shall be pleased. But
here is my father coming: you will not object to my
reading the charade to him. It will be giving him so
much pleasure. He loves any thing of the sort, and
especially any thing that pays woman a compliment. He
has the tenderest spirit of gallantry towards us all. You
must let me read it to him."
Harriet looked grave.
" My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon
 EMMA. 69
this charade. You will betray your feelings improperly,
if you are too conscious and too quick, and appear to affix
more meaning, or even quite all the meaning which may
be affixed to it. Do not be overpowered by such a little
tribute of admiration. If he had been anxious for secrecy,
he would not have left the paper while I was by ; but he
rather pushed it towards me than towards you. Do not
let us be too solemn on the business. He has encourage
ment enough to proceed, without our sighing out our souls
over this charade."
" Oh no : I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it.
Do as you please."
Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the sub
ject again, by the recurrence of his very frequent enquiry
of " Well, my dears, how does your book go on ? Have
you got any thing fresh ? "
" Yes, papa ; we have something to read you, some
thing quite fresh. A piece of paper was found on the
table this morning — (dropped, we suppose, by a fairy) —
containing a very pretty charade, and we have just copied
it in."
She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing
read, slowly and distinctly, and two or three times over,
with explanations of every part as she proceeded ; and he
was very much pleased, and, as she had foreseen, espe
cially struck with the complimentary conclusion.
" Ay, that's very just, indeed ; that's very properly
said. Very true. ' Woman, lovely woman.' It is such
a pretty charade, my dear, that I can easily guess what
fairy brought it. Nobody could have written so prettily
but you; Emma."
Emma only nodded, and smiled. After a little think
ing, and a very tender sigh, he added,—
" Ah, it is no difficulty to see who you take after.
Your dear mother was so clever at all those things. If I
had but her memory. But I can remember nothing ;
not even that particular riddle which you have heard me
mention : I can only recollect the first stanza ; and there
are several.
p 3
70 EMMA.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid,
Kindled a flame I yet deplore;
The hoodwink'd boy I called to aid,
Though of his near approach afraid,
So fatal to my suit belore.
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."
" Ay, very true : — I wish I could recollect more of it.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.
The name makes me think of poor Isabella ; for she was
very near being christened Catherine after her grand
mamma. I hope we shall have her here next week. Have
you thought, my dear, where you shall put her, and
what room there will be for the children ? "
" Oh yes — she will have her own room, of course ;
the room she always has ;— and there is the nursery for
the children, —just as usual, you know. Why should
there be any change ?"
" I do not know, my dear — but it is so long since she
was here : — not since last Easter, and then only for a few
days. Mr. John Knightley's being a lawyer is very in
convenient. Poor Isabella! — she is sadly taken away
from us all ; — and how sorry she will be when she comes,
not to see Miss Taylor here."
" She will not be surprised, papa, at least."
" I do not know, my dear. I am sure I was very
much surprised when I first heard she was going to be
married."
" We must ask Mr. and Mrs. Weston to dine with us,
while Isabella is here."
" Yes, my dear, if there is time. 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 necessity. Mr. John Knightley must be
in town again on the 28th • and we ought to be thankful,
 71
papa, that we are to have the whole of the time they can
give to the country, that two or three days are not to he
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. Woodhouse could never allow for Mr. Knightley's
claims on his brother, or any body's claims on Isabella,
except his own. He sat musing a little while, and then
said, —
" But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged
to go back so soon, though he does. I think, Emma, I
shall try and persuade her to stay longer with us. She
and the children might stay very well."
" Ah, papa, that is what you never have been able to
accomplish, and I do not think you ever will. Isabella
cannot bear to stay behind her husband."
This was too true for contradiction. Unwelcome as it
was, Mr. Woodhouse could only give a submissive sigh ;
and as Emma saw his spirits affected by the idea of his
daughter's attachment to her husband, she immediately
led to such a branch of the subject as must raise them.
" Harriet must give us as much of her company as she
can while my brother and sister are here. I am sure she
will be pleased with the children. We are very proud of
the children, are not we, papa? I wonder which she will
think the handsomest, Henry or John?"
" Ay, I wonder which she will. Poor little dears,
how glad they will be to come. They are very fond of
being at Hartfield, Harriet."
" I dare say they are, sir. I am sure I do not know
who is not."
" Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mamma.
Henry is the eldest, he was named after me, not after his
father. John, the second, is named after his father.
Some people are surprised, I believe, that the eldest was
not, but Isabella would have him called Henry, which I
thought very pretty of her. And he is a very clever boy,
indeed. They are all remarkably clever ; and they have
p 4
72 EMMA.
so many pretty ways. They will come and stand by my
chair and say, ' Grandpapa, can you give me a bit of
string?' and once Henry asked me for a knife, but I told
him knives were only made for grandpapas. I think their
father is too rough with them very often."
" He appears rough to you," said Emma, " because
you are so very gentle yourself ; but if you could compare
him with other papas, you would not think him rough.
He wishes his boys to be active and hardy ; and if they
misbehave, can give them a sharp word now and then :
but he is an affectionate father — certainly Mr. John
Knightley is an affectionate father. The children are all
fond of him."
" And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to
the ceiling in a very frightful way."
" But they like it, papa ; there is nothing they like so
much. It is such enjoyment to them, that if their uncle
did not lay down the rule of their taking turns, 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 understand the pleasures of the other."
Later in the morning, and just as the girls were going
to separate in preparation for the regular four o'clock din
ner, the hero of this inimitable charade walked in again.
Harriet turned away : but Emma could receive him with
the usual smile, and her quick eye soon discerned in his
the consciousness of having made a push — of having
thrown a die ; and she imagined he was come to see how
it might turn up. His ostensible reason, however, was to
ask whether Mr. Woodhouse's party could be made up in
the evening without him, or whether he should be in the
smallest degree necessary at Hartfield. If he were, every
thing else must give way ; but otherwise his friend Cole
had been saying so much about his dining with him — had
made such a point of it — that he had promised him con
ditionally to come.
Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his disap
pointing his friend on their account ; her father was sure
of his rubber. He re-urged — she re-declined; and he
 is
seemed then about to make his bow, when, taking the
paper from the table, she returned it.
" Oh, here is the charade you were so obliging as to
leave with us ; thank you for the sight of it. We admired
' it so much, that I have ventured to write it into Miss
Smith's collection. Your friend will not take it amiss I
hope. Of course I have not transcribed beyond the 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 then seeing the book open on the table, took
it up, and examined it very attentively. With the view of
passing off an awkward moment, Emma smilingly said, —
" You must make my apologies to your friend ; but so
good a charade must not be confined to one or two. He
may be sure of every woman's approbation while he writes
with such gallantry."
" I have no hesitation in saying," replied Mr. Elton,
though hesitating a good deal while he spoke,—" I have no
hesitation in saying— 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 I see it, (looking at the book
again, and replacing it on the table,) he would consider it
as the proudest moment of his life."
After this speech he was gone as soon as possible.
Emma could not think it too soon ; for with all his good
and agreeable qualities there was a sort of parade in his
speeches which was very apt to incline her to laugh. She
ran away to indulge the inclination, leaving the tender and
the sublime of pleasure to Harriet's share. *

CHAPTER X.
Though now the middle of December, there had yet been no
weather to prevent the young ladies from tolerably regular
exercise ; and on the morrow, Emma had a charitable visit
74 EMMA.
to pay to a poor sick family who lived a little way out of
Highbury.
Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage
Lane, a lane leading at right-angles from the broad, though
irregular, main street of the place ; and, as may be inferred,
containing the blessed abode of Mr. Elton. A few inferior
dwellings were first to be passed, and then, about a quarter
of a mile down the lane, rose the vicarage ; an old and not
very good house, almost as close to the road as it could be.
It had no advantage of situation : but had been very much
smartened up by the present proprietor ; and, such as it
was, there could be no possibility of the two friends pass
ing it without a slackened pace and observing eyes. Emma's
remark was, —
" There it is. There go you and your riddle-book one
of these days." Harriet's was, —
" Oh, what a sweet house ! How very beautiful !
There are the yellow curtains that Miss Nash admires so
much."
" I do not often walk this way now," said Emma, as
they proceeded, " but then there will be an inducement, and
I shall gradually get intimately acquainted with all the
hedges, gates, pools, and pollards of this part of Highbury."
Harriet, she found, had never in her life been within-
side the vicarage ; and her curiosity to see it was so ex
treme, that, considering exteriors and probabilities, Emma
could only class it, as a proof of love, with Mr. Elton's see
ing ready wit in her.
" I wish we could contrive it," said she ; " but I can
not think of any tolerable pretence for going in ; — no
servant that I want to enquire about of his housekeeper
— no message from my father."
She pondered, but could think of nothing. After a
mutual silence of some minutes, Harriet thus began
again,
" I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not
be married, or going to be married — so charming as you
are."
Emma laughed, and replied,—
" My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough to
 EMMA. 75
induce me to marry ; I must find other people charming
— one other person at least. And I am not only not
going to he married at present, hut have very little inten
tion of ever marrying at all."
" Ah, so you say ; but I cannot believe it."
" I must see somebody very superior to any one I have
seen yet, to be tempted : Mr. Elton, you know (recollect
ing herself), is out of the question ; and I do not wish to
see any such person. I would rather not be tempted. I
cannot really change for the better. If I were to marry,
I must expect to repent it."
" Dear me ! — it is so odd to hear a woman talk so ! "
" I have none of the usual inducements of women to
marry. Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a dif
ferent thing ; but I never have been in love : it is not my
way, or my nature ; and I do not think I ever shall.
And, without love, I am sure I should be a fool to change
such a situation as mine. Fortune I do not want ; em
ployment I do not want ; consequence I do not want : I
believe few married women are half as much mistress of
their husband's house as I am of Hartfield ; and never,
never could I expect to be so truly beloved and important;
so always first and always right in any man's eyes as I am
in my father's."
" But then, to he an old maid at last, like Miss Bates ! "
" That is as formidable an image as you could present,
Harriet ; and if I thought I should ever be like Miss
Bates — so silly, so satisfied, so smiling, so prosing, so
undistinguishing and unfastidious, and so apt to tell
every thing relative to every body about me, I would
marry to-morrow. But between us, I am convinced there
never can be any likeness, except in being unmarried."
" But still, you will he an old maid — and that's so
dreadful !"
" Never mind, Harriet, I shall not be a poor old maid ;
and it is poverty only which makes celibacy contemptible to a
generous public ! A single woman with a very narrow
income must be a ridiculous, disagreeable old maid ! the
proper sport of boys and girls ; but a single woman of
good fortune is always respectable, and may be as sen
76 EMMA.
sible and pleasant as any body else ! And the distinction
is not quite so much against the candour and common
sense of the world as appears at first ; for a very narrow
income has a tendency to contract the mind, and sour the
temper. Those who can barely live, and who live perforce
in a very small, and generally very inferior, society, may
well be illiberal and cross. This does not apply, how
ever, to Miss Bates : she is only too good natured and too
silly to suit me ; but, in general, she is very much to the
taste of every body, though single and though poor.
Poverty certainly has not contracted her mind : I really
believe, if she had only a shilling in the world, she would
be very likely to give away sixpence of it ; and nobody is
afraid of her : that is a great charm."
"Dear me !, but what shall you do? How shall you
employ yourself when you grow old ? "
" If I know myself, Harriet, mine is an active, busy
mind, with a great many independent resources ; and I do
not perceive why I should be more in want of employment
at forty or fifty than one-and-twenty. Woman's usual
occupations of eye, and hand, and mind, will be as open to
me then as they are now, or with no important variation.
If I draw less, I shall read more ; if I give up music, I
shall take to carpet-work. And as for objects of interest,
objects for the affections, which is, in truth, the great point
of inferiority, the want of which is really the great evil to
be avoided in not marrying, I shall be very well off, with
all the children of a sister I love so much to care about.
There will be enough of them, in all probability, to supply
every sort of sensation that declining life can need. There
will be enough for every hope and every fear; and though
my attachment to none can equal that of a parent, it suits
my ideas of comfort better than what is warmer and
blinder. My nephews and nieces : I shall often have a
niece with me."
" Do you know Miss Bates's niece ? That is, I know
you must have seen her a hundred times — but are you
acquainted ?"
" Oh yes ; we are always forced to be acquainted
whenever she comes to Highbury. By the by, that is
 EMMA. 77
almost enough to put one out. of conceit with a niece.
Heaven forbid, at least, that I should ever bore people
half so much about all the Knightleys together as she
does about Jane Fairfax. One is sick of the very
name of Jane Fairfax. Every letter from her is read
forty times over : her compliments to all friends go round
and round again ; and if she does but send her aunt the
pattern of a stomacher, or knit a pair of garters for her
grandmother, one hears of nothing else for a month. I
wish Jane Fairfax very well ; but she tires me to death."
They were now approaching the cottage, and all idle
topics were superseded. Emma was very compassionate ;
and the distresses of the poor were as sure of relief from
her personal attention and kindness, her counsel and her
patience, as from her purse. She understood their ways,
could allow for their ignorance and their temptations, had
no romantic expectations of extraordinary virtue from
those for whom education had done so little, entered into
their troubles with ready sympathy, and always gave her
assistance with as much intelligence as good will. In the
present instance, it was sickness and poverty together
which she came to visit ; and after remaining there as long
as she could give comfort or advice, she quitted the cottage
with such an impression of the scene as made her say to
Harriet, as they walked away,—
" These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good. How
trifling they make every thing else appear ! I feel now as
if I could think of nothing but these poor creatures all the
rest of the day ; and yet who can say how soon it may all
vanish from my mind ? "
" Very true," said Harriet. " Poor creatures ! one can
think of nothing else."
" And really, I do not think the impression will soon
be over," said Emma, as she crossed the low hedge, and
tottering footstep which ended the narrow, slippery path
through the cottage garden, and brought them into the
lane again. " I do not think it will," stopping to look
once more at all the outward wretchedness of the place, and
recall the still greater within.
" Oh dear, no," said her companion.
 78 EMMA.
They walked on. The lane made a slight bend ; and when
that bend was passed, Mr. Elton was immediately in sight;
and so near as to give Emma time only to say farther,—
" Ah, Harriet, here comes a very sudden trial of our
stability in good thoughts. Well (smiling), I hope it
may be allowed that if compassion has produced exertion
and relief to the sufferers, it has done all that is truly
important. If we feel for the wretched, enough to do all
we can for them, the rest is empty sympathy, only dis
tressing to ourselves."
Harriet could just answer, " Oh dear, yes," before the
gentleman joined them. The wants and sufferings of the
poor family, however, were the first subject on meeting.
He had been going to call on them. His visit he would
now defer; but they had a very interesting parley about
what could be done and should be done. Mr. Elton then
turned back to accompany them.
" To fall in with each other on such an errand as this,"
thought Emma ; " to meet in a charitable scheme ; this
will bring a great increase of love on each side. I should
not wonder if it were to bring on the declaration. It
must, if I were not here. I wish I were any where else."
Anxious to separate herself from them as far as she
could, she soon afterwards took possession of a narrow
footpath, a little raised off one side of the lane, leaving
them together in the main road. But she had not been
there two minutes when she found that Harriet's habits
of dependence and imitation were bringing her up too,
and that, in short, they would both be soon after her.
This would not do ; she immediately stopped, under pre
tence of having some alteration to make in the lacing of
her half-boot, and stooping down in complete occupation
of the footpath, begged them to have the goodness to walk
on, and she would follow in half a minute. They did as
they were desired ; and by the time she judged it reason
able to have done with her boot, she had the comfort of
further delay in her power, being overtaken by a child
from the cottage, setting out, according to orders, with her
pitcher, to fetch broth from Hartfield. To walk by the
side of this child, and talk to and question her, was the
 EMMA. 79
most natural thing in the world, or would have been the
most natural, had she been acting just then without de
sign ; and by this means the others were still able to keep
ahead, without any obligation of waiting for her. She
gained on them, however, involuntarily : the child's pace
was quick, and theirs rather slow ; and she was the more
concerned at it, from their being evidently in a con
versation which interested them. Mr. Elton was speaking
with animation, Harriet listening with a very pleased at
tention ; and Emma having sent the child on, was beginning
to think how she might draw back a little more, when they
both looked around, and she was obliged to join them.
Mr. Elton was still talking, still engaged in some in
teresting detail ; and Emma experienced some disappoint
ment when she found that he was only giving his fair
companion an account of the yesterday's party at his
friend Cole's, and that she was come in herself for the
Stilton cheese, the north Wiltshire, the butter, the celery,
the beet-root, and all the dessert.
" This would soon have led to something better, of
course," was her consoling reflection ; " any thing interests
between those who love ; and any thing will serve as
introduction to what is near the heart. If I could but
have kept longer away."
They now walked on together quietly till within view
of the vicarage pales, when a sudden resolution, of at least
getting Harriet into the house, made her again find some
thing very much amiss about her boot, and fall behind to
arrange it once more. She then broke the lace off short,
and dexterously throwing it into a ditch, was presently
obliged to entreat them to stop, and acknowledge her in
ability to put herself to rights so as to be able to walk
home in tolerable comfort.
" Part of my lace is gone," said she, " and I do not
know how I am to contrive. I really am a most trouble
some 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 riband
or string, or any thing just to keep my boot on."
Mr. Elton looked all happiness at this proposition ; and
80
nothing could exceed his alertness and attention in con*-
ducting them into his house, and endeavouring to make
every thing appear to advantage. The room they were
taken into was the one he chiefly occupied, and looking
forwards ; behind it was another with which it immedi
ately communicated : the door between them was open, and
Emma passed into it with the housekeeper, to receive her
assistance in the most comfortable manner. She was
obliged to leave the door ajar as she found it ; but she
fully intended that Mr. Elton should close it. It was not
closed, however, it still remained ajar ; but by engaging
the housekeeper in incessant conversation, she hoped to
make it practicable for him to choose his own subject in
the adjoining room. For ten minutes she could hear
nothing but herself. It could be protracted no longer.
She was then obliged to be finished, and make her ap
pearance.
The lovers were standing together at one of the win
dows. It had a most favourable aspect ; and, for half a
minute, Emma felt the glory of having schemed success
fully. But it would not do ; he had not come to the point.
He had been most agreeable, most delightful : he had told
Harriet that he had seen them go by, and had purposely
followed them ; other little gallantries and allusions had
been dropped, but nothing serious.
" Cautious, very cautious," thought Emma : " he ad
vances inch by inch, and will hazard nothing till be
believes himself secure."
Still, however, though every thing had not been accom
plished by her ingenious device, she could not but flatter
herself that it had been the occasion of much present
enjoyment to both, and must be leading them forward to
the great event.

CHAPTER XI.
Mr. Elton must now be left to himself. It was no
longer in Emma's power to superintend his happiness, or
 EMMA. 81
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 the prime object of
interest ; and during the ten days of their stay at Hartfield
it was not to be expected — she did not herself expect—
that any thing beyond occasional, fortuitous assistance
could be afforded by her to the lovers. They might ad
vance rapidly if they would, however ; they must advance
somehow or other, whether they would or no. She hardly
wished to have more leisure for them. There are people,
who the more you do for them, the less they will do for
themselves.
Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer
than usual absent from Surrey, were exciting, of course, ra
ther more than the usual interest. Till this year, every
long vacation since their marriage had been divided be
tween Hartfield and Donwell Abbey : but all the holidays
of this autumn had been given to sea-bathing for the
children ; and it was therefore many months since they
had been seen in a regular way by their Surrey connections,
or seen at all by Mr. Woodhouse, who could not be in
duced to get so far as London, even for poor Isabella's
sake ; and who, consequently, was now most nervously and
apprehensively happy in forestalling this too short visit.
He thought much of the evils of the journey for her,
and not a little of the fatigues of his own horses and
coachman who "were to bring some of the party the last
half of the way ; but his alarms were needless : the six
teen miles being happily accomplished, and Mr. and Mrs.
John Knightley, their five children, and a competent num
ber 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 liis
nerves could not have borne under any other cause, nor
have endured much longer even for this ; but the ways of
Hartfield and the feelings of her father were so respected
by Mrs. John Knightley, that in spite of maternal solici
tude for the immediate enjoyment of her little ones, and
for their having instantly all the liberty and attendance, all
G
82 ' EMMA.
the eating and drinking, and sleeping and playing, which
they could possibly wish for, without the smallest delay,
the children were never allowed to be long a disturbance to
him, either in themselves or in any restless attendance on
them.
Mrs. John Knightley was a pretty, elegant little woman,
of gentle, quiet manners, and a disposition remarkably
amiable and affectionate, wrapt up in her family, a devoted
wife, a doting 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 resem
blance of her father, she inherited also much of his con
stitution ; was delicate in her own health, over-careful of
that of her children, had many fears and many nerves, and
was as fond of her own Mr. Wingfield in town as her
father could be of Mr. Perry. They were alike, too, in a
general benevolence of temper, and a strong habit of re
gard for every old acquaintance.
Mr. John Knightley was a tall, gentleman-like, and
very clever man ; rising in his profession, domestic, and
respectable in his private character : but with reserved
manners which prevented his being generally pleasing ;
and capable of being sometimes out of humour. He was
not an ill-tempered man, not so often unreasonably cross
as to deserve such a reproach : but his temper was not his
great perfection ; and, indeed, with such a worshipping wife,
it was hardly possible that any natural defects in it should
not be increased. The extreme sweetness of her temper
must hurt his. He had all the clearness and quickness of
mind which she wanted ; and he could sometimes act an
ungracious, or say a severe thing. He was not a great
favourite with his fair sister-in-law. Nothing wrong in
him escaped her. She was quick in feeling the little
injuries to Isabella, which Isabella never felt herself.
Perhaps she might have passed over more had his manners
been flattering to Isabella's sister, but they were only
those of a calmly kind brother and friend, without praise
and without blindness ; but hardly any degree of personal
 EMMA. 83
compliment could have made her regardless of that greatest
fault of all in her eyes which he sometimes fell into, the
want of respectful forbearance towards her father. There
he had not always the patience that could have been wished.
Mr. Woodhouse's peculiarities and fidgetiness were some
times provoking him to a rational remonstrance or sharp
retort equally ill bestowed. It did not often happen ; for
Mr. John Knightley had really a great regard for his
father-in-law, and generally a strong sense of what was
due to him : but it was too often for Emma's charity,
especially as there was all the pain of apprehension fre
quently to be endured, though the offence came not. The
beginning, however, of every visit displayed none but the
properest feelings, and this being of necessity so short
might be hoped to pass away in unsullied cordiality.
They had not been long seated and composed when Mr.
Woodhouse, with a melancholy shake of the head and a
sigh, called his daughter's attention to the sad change at
Hartfield since she had been there last.
" Ah, my dear," said he, " poor Miss Taylor. It is
a grievous business."
" Oh yes, sir," cried she, with ready sympathy, " how
you must miss her ! And dear Emma too. What a
dreadful loss to you both ! I have been so grieved for
you. I could not imagine how you could possibly do
without her. It is a sad change, indeed ; but I hope she
is pretty well, sir."
" Pretty well, my dear, — I hope, — pretty well. I
do not know but that the place agrees with her tolerably."
Mr. John Knightley here asked Emma, quietly, whether
there were any doubts of the air of Randalls.
" Oh no : none in the least. I never saw Mrs. Wes
ton better in my life, — never looking so well. Papa is
only speaking his own regret."
Very much to the honour of both," was the handsome
reply.
"And do you see her, sir, tolerably often?" asked
Isabella in the plaintive tone which just suited her father.
Mr. Woodhouse hesitated. " Not near so often, my
dear, as I could wish." -
o 2
84 EMMA.
" Oh, papa, we have missed seeing them but one
entire day since they married. Either in the morning or
evening of every day, excepting one, have we seen either
Mr. Weston or Mrs. Weston, and generally both, either at
Randalls or here ; and as you may suppose, Isabella, most
frequently here. They are very, very kind in their visits.
Mr. Weston is really as kind as herself. Papa, if you
speak in that melancholy way, you will be giving Isabella
a false idea of us all. Every body must be aware that
Miss Taylor must be missed; but every body ought also
to be assured that Me. and Mrs. Weston do really prevent
our missing her by any means to the extent we ourselves
anticipated, — which is the exact truth."
" Just as it should be," said Mr. John Knightley, '' and
just as I hoped it was from your letters. Her wish of
showing you attention could not be doubted, and his being
a disengaged and social man makes it all easy. I have
been always telling you, my love, that I had no idea of
the change being so very material to Hartfield as you ap
prehended; and now you have Emma's account, I hope
you will be satisfied."
" Why, to be sure," said Mr. Woodhouse, — " yes, cer
tainly. I cannot deny that Mrs. Weston, — poor Mrs.
Weston, — does come and see us pretty often ; but then,
she is always obliged to go away again."
"It would be very hard upon Mr. Weston if she did
not, papa. You quite forget poor Mr. Weston."
" I think, indeed," said John Knightley, pleasantly,
" that Mr. Weston has some little claim. You and I,
Emma, will venture to take the part of the poor husband.
I being a husband, and you not being a wife, the claims
of the man may very likely strike us with equal force.
As for Isabella, she has been married long enough to see
the convenience of putting all the Mr. Westons aside as
much as she can.''
" Me, my love," cried his wife, hearing and under
standing only in part. " Are you talking about me ?
I am sure nobody ought to be, or can be, a greater advo
cate for matrimony than I am ; and if it had not been for
the misery of her leaving Hartfield, I should never have
 EMMA. 85
thought of Miss Taylor but as the most fortunate woman
in the world ; and as to slighting Mr. Weston, — that excel
lent Mr. Weston, — I think there is nothing he does not
deserve. I believe he is one of the very best tempered
men that ever existed. Excepting yourself and your
brother, I do not know his equal for temper. I shall
never forget his flying Henry's kite for him that very
windy day last Easter ; and ever since his particular
kindness last September twelvemonth in writing that note,
at twelve o'clock at night, on purpose to assure me that
there was no scarlet fever at Cobham, I have been con
vinced there could not be a more feeling heart nor a better
man in existence. If any body can deserve him, it must
be Miss Taylor."
" Where is the young man?" said John Knightley.
" Has he been here on this occasion, or has he not ? "
" He has not been here yet," replied Emma. " There
was a strong expectation of his coming soon after the
marriage, but it ended in nothing ; and I have not heard
him mentioned lately."
" But you should tell them of the letter, my dear,"
said her father. " He wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston,
to congratulate her, and a very proper, handsome letter it
was. She showed it to me. I thought it very well done of
him, indeed. Whether it was his own idea, you know, one
cannot tell. He is but young, and his uncle, perhaps——"
" My dear papa, he is three-and-twenty. You forget
how time passes."
" Three-and-twenty ! is he, indeed ? Well, I could
not have thought it ; and he was but two years old when he
lost his poor mother. Well, time does fly indeed ! and
my memory is very bad. However, it was an exceed
ing good, pretty letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston a
great deal of pleasure. I remember it was written from
Weymouth, and dated Sept. 28th, and began, ' My dear
Madam,' but I forget how it went on ; and it was signed
' F. C. Weston Churchill.' I remember that perfectly."
" How very pleasing and proper of him ! " cried the
good-hearted Mrs. John Knightley. " I have no doubt of
his being a most amiable young man. But how sad it is
o 3
86
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 would
feel in giving up Henry or John. Mr. Weston is rather
an easy, cheerful tempered man, than a man of strong
feelings : he takes things as he finds them, and makes enjoy
ment of them somehow or other, depending, I suspect, much
more upon what is called society for his comforts, that is,
upon the power of 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 disposition
to look down on the common rate of social intercourse, and
those to whom it was important. It had a high claim to
forbearance.

CHAPTER XII.
Mr. Knightley was to dine with them, rather against
the inclination of Mr. Woodhouse, who did not like that
any one should share with him in Isabella's first day.
Emma's sense of right, however, had decided it ; and, be
sides the consideration of what was due to each brother,
she had particular pleasure, from the circumstance of the
late disagreement between Mr. Knightley and herself, in
procuring him the proper invitation.
 EMMA. 8?
She hoped they might now become friends again. She
thought it was time to make up. Making-up, indeed,
would not do. She certainly had not been in the wrong, and
he would never own that he had. Concession must be out
of the question : but it was time to appear to forget that
they had ever quarrelled ; and she hoped it might rather
assist the restoration of friendship, that when he came into
the room she had one of the children with her, — the
youngest, a nice little girl about eight months old, who was
now making her first visit to Hartfield, and very happy to
be danced about in her aunt's arms. It did assist ; for
though he began with grave looks and short questions, he
was soon led on to talk of them all in the usual way, and
to take the child out of her arms with all the unceremoni
ousness of perfect amity. Emma felt they were friends
again ; and the conviction giving her at first great satis
faction, and then a little sauciness, she could not help
saying, as he was admiring the baby, —
" What a comfort it is, that we think alike about our
nephews and nieces. As to men and women, our opinions
are sometimes very different ; but with regard to these
children, I observe we never disagree."
" If you were as much guided by nature in your esti
mate of men and women, and as little under the power of
fancy and whim in your dealings with them, as you are
where these children are concerned, we might always think
alike."
" To be sure — our discordances must always arise from
my being in the wrong."
" Yes," said he, smiling, " and reason good. I was
sixteen years old when you were born."
" A material difference, then," she replied ; " and no
doubt you were much my superior in judgment at that
period of our lives ; but does not the lapse of one-and-
twenty years bring our understandings a good deal nearer ? "
" Yes, a good deal nearer."
" But still, not near enough to give me a chance of
being right, if we think differently."
" I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years'
experience, and by not being a pretty young woman and
88 EMMA.
a spoiled child. Come, my dear Emma, let us be friends,
and say no more about it. Tell your aunt," little Emma,
that she ought to set you a better example than to be
renewing old grievances, and that if she were not wrong
before, she is now."
" That's true," she cried, " very true. Little Emma,
grow up a better woman than your aunt. Be infinitely
cleverer and not half so conceited. Now, Mr. Knightley,
a word or two more, and I have done. As far as good
intentions went, we were both right, and I must say, that
no effects on my side of the argument have yet proved
wrong. I only want to know that Mr. Martin is not very,
very bitterly disappointed."
" A man cannot be more so," was his short, full
answer.
" Ah ! Indeed I am very sorry. Come, shake hands
with me."
This had just taken place, and with great cordiality,
when John Knightley made his appearance; and " How
d'ye do, George?" and " John, how are you?" succeeded
in the true English style, burying under a calmness that
seemed all but indifference the real attachment which
would have led either of them, if requisite, to do every
thing for the good of the other.
The evening was quiet and conversible, as Mr. Wood-
house 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 occasion
ally joining in one or the other.
The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits,
but principally of those of the elder, whose temper was by
much the most communicative, and who was always the
greater talker. As a magistrate, he had generally some
point of law to consult John about, or, at least, some
curious anecdote to give ; and as a farmer, as keeping in
hand the home-farm at Donwell, he had to tell what every
field was to bear next year, and to give all such local in
formation as could not fail of being interesting to a brother,
 EMMA. 89
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 enquire about,
his enquiries even approached a tone of eagerness.
While they were thus comfortably occupied, Mr. Wood-
house was enjoying a full flow of happy regrets and fear
ful affection with his daughter.
" My poor dear Isabella," said he, fondly taking her
hand, and interrupting, for a few moments, her busy
labours for some one of her five children, " how long it
is, how terribly long since you were here ! And how tired
you must be after your journey ! You must go to bed
early, my dear, — and I recommend a little gruel to you
before you go. You and I will have a nice basiri 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
gruel, with some wondering at its not being taken every
evening by every body, he proceeded to say, with an air of
grave reflection, —
"It was an awkward business, my dear, your spending
the autumn at South End instead of coming here. I never
had much opinion of the sea air."
" Mr. Wingfield most strenuously recommended it, sir,
or we should not have gone. He recommended it for all
the children, but particularly for the weakness in little
Bella's throat, —both sea air and bathing."
" Ah, my dear, but Perry had many doubts about the
sea doing her any good ; and as to myself, I have been
long perfectly convinced, though perhaps I never told you
so bvfore, that the sea is very rarely of use to any body.
I am sure it almost killed me once."
" Come, come," cried Emma, feeling this to be an
90 EMMA.
unsafe subject, " I must beg you not to talk of the sea.
It makes me envious and miserable ; I who have never
seen it ! South End is prohibited, if you please. My dear
Isabella, I have not heard you make one enquiry 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 about myself of some conse
quence. And, my dear, whenever he comes, you had
better let him look at little Bella's throat."
" Oh, my dear sir, her throat is so much better that I
have hardly any uneasiness about it. Either bathing has
been of the greatest service to her, or else it is to be attri
buted to an excellent embrocation of Mr. Wingfield's,
which we have been applying at times ever since August."
" It is not very likely, my dear, that bathing should
have been of use to her ; and if I had known you were
wanting an embrocation, I would have spoken to "
" You seem to me to have forgotten Mrs. and Miss
Bates," said Emma ; " 1 have not heard one enquiry after
them."
" Oh, the good Bateses — I am quite ashamed of my
self ; but you mention them in most of your letters. I
hope they are quite well. Good old Mrs. Bates. I will
call upon her to-morrow, and take my children. They
are always so pleased to see my children. And that ex
cellent Miss Bates ! — such thorough worthy people !
How are they, sir ? "
" Why, pretty well, my dear, upon the whole. But
poor Mrs. Bates had a bad cold about a month ago."
 EMMA. 91
" How sorry I am ! but colds were never so prevalent
as they have been this autumn. Mr. 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 case, my dear, but not
to the degree you mention. Perry says that colds have
been very general, but not so heavy as he has very often
known them in November. Perry does not call it alto
gether a sickly season."
" No, I do not know that Mr. Wingfield considers it
very sickly, except "
" Ah, my poor dear child, the truth is, that in London
it is always a sickly season. Nobody is healthy in London,
nobody can be. It is a dreadful thing to have you forced
to live there ; — so far off ! — and the air so bad ! "
" No, indeed, we are not at all in a bad air. Our
part of London is so very superior to most others. You
must not confound us with London in general, my dear
sir. The neighbourhood of Brunswick Square is very dif
ferent from almost all the rest. We are so very airy ! I
should be unwilling, I own, to live in any other part of
the town ; there is hardly any other that I could be satis
fied to have my children in : but we are so remarkably
airy ! Mr. Wingfield thinks the vicinity of Brunswick
Square decidedly the most favourable as to air."
" Ah, my dear, it is not like Hartfield. You make
the best of it — but after you have been a week at Hart-
field, you are all of you different creatures ; you do not
look like the same. Now I cannot say that I think you
are any of you looking well at present."
" I am sorry to hear you say so, sir : but I assure you,
excepting those little nervous headachs 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 were a
little more tired than usual, from their journey and the
happiness of coming. I hope you will think better of
their looks to-morrow ; for I assure you Mr. Wingfield
told me, that he did not believe he had ever sent us off,
altogether, in such good case. I trust, at least, that you
92 EMMA.
do not think Mr. Knightley looking ill," turning her eyes
with affectionate anxiety towards her husband.
" Middling, my dear ; I cannot compliment you. I
think Mr. John Knightley very far from looking well."
" What is the matter, sir ? Did you speak to me ? "
cried Mr. John Knightley, hearing his own name.
" I am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not
think you looking well ; but I hope it is only from being
a little fatigued. I could have wished, however, as you
know, that you had seen Mr. Wingfield before you left
home."
" My dear Isabella," exclaimed he, hastily, " pray do
not concern yourself about my looks. Be satisfied with
doctoring and codling yourself and the children, and let
me look as I choose."
" I did not thoroughly understand what you were telling
your brother,'' cried Emma, " about your friend Mr.
Graham's intending to have a bailiff from Scotland, to look
after his new estate. 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 father and
sister, she had nothing worse to hear than Isabella's kind
enquiry after Jane Fairfax ; and Jane Fairfax, though no
great favourite with her in general, she was, at that mo
ment, very happy to assist in praising.
" That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax !" said Mrs. John
Knightley. " It is so long since I have seen her, except
now and then for a moment accidentally in town. What
happiness it must be to her good old grandmother and
excellent aunt, when she comes to visit them ! I always
regret excessively, on dear Emma's account, that she cannot
be more at Highbury ; but now their daughter is married,
I suppose Colonel and Mrs. Campbell will not be able to
part with her at all. She would he such a delightful
companion for Emma."
Mr. Woodhouse agreed to it all, but added, —
" Our little friend, Harriet Smith, however, is just such
another pretty kind of young person. You will like
 EMMA. 93
Harriet. Emma could not have a better companion than
Harriet."
" I am most happy to hear it ; but only Jane Fairfax
one knows to be so very accomplished and superior, and
exactly Emma's age."
This topic was discussed very happily, and others suc
ceeded of similar moment, and passed away with similar
harmony ; but the evening did not close without a little
return of agitation. The gruel came, and supplied a
great deal to be said — much praise and many comments
— undoubting decision of its wholesomeness for every
constitution, and pretty severe philippics upon the many
houses where it was never met with tolerable ; but, un
fortunately, among the failures which the daughter had to
instance, the most recent, and therefore most prominent,
was in her own cook at South End, a young woman hired
for the time, who never had been able to understand what
she meant by a basin of nice smooth gruel, thin, but
not too thin. Often as she had wished for and ordered it,
she had never been able to get any thing tolerable. Here
was a dangerous opening.
" Ah," said Mr. Woodhouse, shaking his head, and
fixing his eyes on her with tender concern. The ejacu
lation in Emma's ear expressed, " Ah, there is no end of
the sad consequences of your going to South End. It does
not bear talking of." And for a little while she hoped
he would not talk of it, and that a silent rumination
might suffice to restore him to the relish of his own
smooth gruel. After an interval of some minutes, how
ever, he began with, —
" I shall always be very sorry that you went to the sea
this autumn, instead of coming here."
" But why should you be sorry, sir ? I assure you, it
did the children a great deal of good."
" And, moreover, if you must go to the sea, it had
better not have been to South End. South End is an
unhealthy place. Perry was surprised to hear you had
fixed upon South End."
" I know there is such an idea with many people, but

«
 EMMA.
indeed it is quite a mistake, sir. We all had our health
perfectly well there, never found the least inconvenience
from the mud, and Mr. Wingfield says it is entirely a
mistake to suppose the place unhealthy ; and I am sure he
may be depended on, for he thoroughly understands the
nature of the air, and his own brother and family have
been there repeatedly."
" You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you
went any where. Perry was a week at Cromer once, and
he holds it to be the best of all the sea-bathing places. A
fine open sea, he says, and very pure air. And, by what
I understand, you might have had lodgings there quite
away from the sea— a quarter of a mile off—very com
fortable. You should have consulted Perry."
" But, my dear sir, the difference of the journey ; only
consider how great it would have been. A hundred miles,
perhaps, instead of forty."
" Ah, my dear," as Perry says, " where health is at
stake, nothing else should be considered ; and if one is to
travel, there is not much to choose between forty miles
and a hundred. Better not move at all, better stay in
London altogether, than travel forty miles to get into a
worse air. This is just what Perry said. It seemed to
him a very ill-judged measure."
Emma's attempts to stop her father had been vain ; and
when he had reached such a point as this, she could not
wonder at her brother-in-law's breaking out.
" Mr. Perry," said he, in a voice of very strong dis
pleasure, " would do as well to keep his opinion till it is
asked for. Why does he make it any business of his to
wonder at what I do? — at my taking my family to one
part of the coast or another ? I may be allowed, I hope,
the use of my judgment as well as Mr. Perry. I want his
directions no more than his drugs." He paused, and
growing cooler in a moment, added, with only sarcastic
dryness, " If Mr. Perry can tell me how to convey a wife
and five children a distance of a hundred and thirty miles
with no greater expense or inconvenience than a distance
of forty, I should be as. willing to prefer Cromer to South
End as he could himself."
 EMMA. 95
" True, true/' cried Mr. Knightley, with most ready
interposition, — very true. That's a consideration, in
deed. But, John, as to what I was telling you of my
idea of moving the path to Langham, of turning it more
to the right that it may not cut through the home
meadows, I cannot conceive any difficulty. I should not
attempt it, if it were to be the means of inconvenience to
the Highbury people, but if you call to mind exactly the
present line of the path .... The only way of proving
it, however, will be to turn to our maps. I shall see you
at the Abbey to-morrow morning I hope, and then we will
look them over, and you shall give me your opinion."
Mr. Woodhouse was rather agitated by such harsh re
flections on his friend Perry, to whom he had, in fact,
though unconsciously, been attributing many of his own
feelings and expressions ; but the soothing attentions of
his daughters gradually removed the present evil, and the
immediate alertness of one brother, and better recollections
of the other, prevented any renewal of it.

CHAPTER XIII.
There could hardly be a happier creature in the world
than Mrs. John Knightley, in this short visit to Hartfield,
going about every morning among her old acquaintance
with her five children, and talking over what she had done
every evening with her father and sister. She had nothing
to wish otherwise, but that the days did not pass so swiftly.
It was a delightful visit ; — perfect, in being much too
short.
In general their evenings were less engaged with friends
than their mornings : but one complete dinner engagement,
and out of the house too, there was no avoiding, though at
Christmas. Mr. Weston would take no denial : they must
all dine at Randalls one day ; — even Mr. Woodhouse was
persuaded to think it a possible thing in preference to a
division of the party.
96 EMMA.
How they were all to be conveyed, he would have made
a difficulty if he could, but as his son and daughter's car
riage and horses were actually at Hartfield, he was not able
to 'make more than a simple question on that head; it
hardly amounted to a doubt ; nor did it occupy Emma long
to convince him that they might in one of the carriages find
room for Harriet also.
Harriet, Mr. Elton, and Mr. Knightley, their own espe
cial set, were the only persons invited to meet them : —
the hours were to be early as well as the numbers few ;
Mr. Woodhouse's habits and inclination being consulted in
every thing.
The evening before this great event (for it was a very
great event that Mr. Woodhouse should dine out on the
24th of December) had been spent by Harriet at Hartfield,
and she had gone home so much indisposed with a cold,
that, but for her own earnest wish of being nursed by Mrs.
Goddard, Emma could not have allowed her to leave the
house. Emma called on her the next day, and found her
doom already signed with regard to Randalls. She was
very feverish and had a bad sore-throat : Mrs. Goddard was
full of care and affection, Mr. Perry was talked of, and
Harriet herself was too ill and low to resist the authority
which excluded her from this delightful engagement, though
she could not speak of her loss without many tears.
Emma sat with her as long as she could, to attend her in
Mrs. Goddard's unavoidable absences, and raise her spirits
by representing how much Mr. Elton's would be depressed
when he knew her state; and left her at last tolerably com
fortable, in the sweet dependence of his having a most
comfortless visit, and of their all missing her very much.
She had not advanced many yards from Mrs. Goddard's
door, when she was met by Mr. Elton himself, evidently
coming towards it, and as they walked on slowly together
in conversation about the invalid, — of whom he, on the
rumour of considerable illness, had been going to enquire,
that he might carry some report of her to Hartfield, — they
were overtaken by Mr. John Knightley returning from the
daily visit to Donwell, with his two eldest boys, whose
 EMMA. 97
healthy, glowing faces showed all the benefit of a country
run, and seemed to ensure a quick despatch of the roast
mutton and rice pudding they were hastening home for.
They joined company and proceeded together. Emma was
just describing the nature of her friend's complaint : — "a
throat very much inflamed, with a great deal of heat about
her, a quick low pulse, &c, and she was sorry to find from
Mrs. Goddard that Harriet was liable to very bad sore
throats, and had often alarmed her with them." Mr.
Elton looked all alarm on the occasion, as he exclaimed, —
'' A sore throat ! — I hope not infectious. I hope not
cf a putrid infectious sort. Has Perry seen her? In
deed you should take care of yourself as well as of your
friend. Let me entreat you to run no risks. Why does
not Perry see her?"
Emma, who was not really at all frightened herself, tran-
quillised this excess of apprehension by assurances of Mrs.
Goddard's experience and care; but as there must still re
main a degree of uneasiness which she could not wish to
reason away, which she would rather feed and assist than
not, she added soon afterwards — as if quite another sub
ject, —
" It is so cold, so very cold, and looks and feels so
very much like snow, that if it were to any other place or
with any other party, I should really try not to go out to
day, and dissuade my father from venturing ; but as he
has made up his mind, and does not seem to feel the cold
himself, I do not like to interfere, as I know it would be
so great a disappointment to Mr. and Mrs. Weston. But
upon my word, Mr. Elton, in your case, I should certainly
excuse myself. You appear to me a little hoarse already;
and when you consider what demand of voice and what
fatigues to-morrow will bring, I think it would be no more
than common prudence to stay at home and take care of
yourself to-night."
Mr. Elton looked as if he did not very well know what
answer to make; which was exactly the case; for though
very much gratified by the kind care of such a fair lady,
and not liking to resist any advice of hers, he had not
really the least inclination to give up the visit; but
H
 EMMA.
Emma, too eager and busy in her own previous conceptions
and views to hear him impartially, or see him with clear
vision, was very well satisfied with his muttering acknow
ledgment of its being " very cold, certainly very cold," and
walked on, rejoicing in having extricated himself from Ran
dalls, and secured him the power of sending to enquire after
Harriet every hour of the evening.
" You do quite right," said she : — "we will make your
apologies to Mr. and Mrs. Weston."
But hardly had she so spoken when she found her bro
ther was civilly offering a seat in his carriage, if the
weather were Mr. Elton's only objection, and Mr. Elton
actually accepting the offer with much prompt satisfaction.
It was a done thing : Mr. Elton was to go ; and never had
his broad handsome face expressed more pleasure than at
this moment ; never had his smile been stronger, nor his
eyes more exulting than when he next looked at her. >
" Well," said she to herself, " this is most strange !
,After I had gotten him off so well, to choose to go into
company, and leave Harriet ill behind ! Most strange in
deed ! But there is, I believe, in many men, especially
single men, such an inclination — such a passion for dining
out ; a dinner engagement is so high in the class of their
pleasures, their employments, their dignities, almost their
duties, that any thing gives way to it — and this must be
the case with Mr. Elton : a most valuable, amiable, pleasing
young man undoubtedly, and very much in love with Har
riet ; but still, he cannot refuse an invitation, he must dine
out wherever he is asked. What a strange thing love is !
he can see ready wit in Harriet, but will not dine alone for
lier."
Soon afterwards Mr. Elton quitted them, and she could
not but do him the justice of feeling that there was a great
deal of sentiment in his manner of naming Harriet at part
ing ; in the tone of his voice while assuring her that he
should call at Mrs. Goddard's for news of her fair friend,
the last thing before he prepared for the happiness of
meeting her again, when he hoped to be able to give a better
report ; and he sighed and smiled himself off in a way that
left the balance of approbation much in his favour.
 EMMA. 99
After a few minutes of entire silence between them, John
Knightley began with, —
" I never in my life saw a man more intent on being
agreeable than Mr. Elton. It is downright labour to him
where ladies are concerned. With men he can be rational
and unaffected, but when he has ladies to please every fea
ture works."
" Mr. Elton's manners are not perfect," replied Emma ;
" but where there is a wish to please, one ought to overlook,
and one does overlook a great deal. Where a man does his
best with only moderate powers, he will have the advantage
over negligent superiority. There is such perfect good
temper and good will in Mr. Elton as one cannot but
value."
" Yes," said Mr. John Knightley presently, with some
slyness, " he seems to have a great deal of good will to.
wards you."
" Me I" she replied, with a smile of astonishment; " are *
you imagining me to be Mr. Elton's object ? "
" Such an imagination has crossed me, I own, Emma ;
and if it never occurred to you before, you may as well take
it into consideration now."
" Mr. Elton in love with me ! What an idea ! "
" I do not say it is so; but you will do well to consider
whether it is so or not, and to regulate your behaviour ac
cordingly. I think your manners to him encouraging. I
speak as a friend, Emma. You had better look about you,
and ascertain what you do, and what you mean to do."
" I thank you ; but I assure you you are quite mistaken.
Mr. Elton and I are very good friends, and nothing more;"
and she walked on, amusing herself in the consideration of
the blunders which often arise from a partial knowledge of
circumstances, of the mistakes which people of high pre
tensions to judgment are for ever falling into ; and not very
well pleased with her brother for imagining her blind and
ignorant, and in want of counsel. He said no more.
Mr. Woodhouse had so completely made up his mind to
the visit, that in spite of the increasing coldness, he seemed
to have no idea of shrinking from it, and set forward at
last most punctually with his eldest daughter in his own
h 2
100 EMMA.
carriage, with less apparent consciousness of the weather
than either of the others; too full of the wonder of his
own going, and the pleasure it was to afford at Randalls to
see that it was cold, and too well wrapt up to feel it. The
cold, however, was severe ; and hy the time the second
carriage was in motion, a few. flakes of snow were finding
their way down, and the sky had the appearance of being
so overcharged as to want only a milder air to produce a
very white world in a very short time.
Emma soon saw that her companion was not in the hap
piest humour. The preparing and the going abroad in
such weather, with the sacrifice of his children after dinner,
were evils, were disagreeables at least, which Mr. John
Knightley did not by any means like : he anticipated
nothing in the visit that could be at all worth the purchase;
and the whole of their drive to the vicarage was spent by
him in expressing his discontent.
" A man," said he, " must have a very good opinion of
himself when he asks people to leave their own fire-side,
and encounter such a day as this, for the sake of coming to
see him. He must think himself a most agreeable fellow ; I
could not do such a thing. It is the greatest absurdity —
actually snowing at this moment ! The folly of not
allowing people to be comfortable at home — and the folly
of people's not staying comfortably at home when they can !
If we were obliged to go out such an evening as this, by
any call of duty or business, what a hardship we should
deem it ; — and here are we, probably with rather thinner
clothing than usual, setting forward voluntarily, without
excuse, in defiance of the voice of nature, which tells man,
in every thing given to his view or his feelings, to stay at
home himself, and keep all under shelter that he can ; —
here are we setting forward to spend five dull hours in
another man's house, with nothing to say or to hear that
was not said and heard yesterday, and may not be said and
heard again to-morrow. Going in dismal weather, to re
turn probably in worse ; — four horses and four servants
taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering
creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they
might have had at home."
 EMMA. 101
Emma did not find herself equal to give the pleased
assent, which no doubt he was in the habit of receiving, to
emulate the " Very true, my love," which must have been
usually administered by his travelling companion ; but she
had resolution enough to refrain from making any answer
at all. She could not be complying; she dreaded being
quarrelsome ; her heroism reached only to silence. She
allowed him to talk, and arranged the glasses, and wrapped
herself up, without opening her lips.
They arrived, the carriage turned, the step was let
down, and Mr. Elton, spruce, black, and smiling, was with
them instantly. Emma thought with pleasure of some
change of subject. Mr. Elton was all obligation and cheer
fulness ; he was so very cheerful in his civilities indeed,
that she began to think he must have received a different
account of Harriet from what had reached her. She had
sent while dressing, and the answer had been, " Much the
same — not better."
" My report from Mrs. Goddard's," said she, presently,
" was not so pleasant as I had hoped : —' Not better,' was
my answer."
His face lengthened immediately ; and his voice was the
voice of sentiment as he answered, —
" Oh no — I am grieved to find — I was on the point
of telling you that when I called at Mrs. Goddard's door,
which I did the very last thing before I returned to dress,
I was told that Miss Smith was not better, by no means
better, rather worse. Very much grieved and concerned—
I had flattered myself that she must be better after such a
cordial as I knew had been given in the morning."
Emma smiled, and answered, — " My visit was of use
to the nervous part of her complaint, I hope ; but not even
I can charm away a sore throat ; it is a most severe cold,
indeed. Mr. Perry has been with her, as you probably
heard."
" Yes — I imagined — that is — I did not "
" He has been used to her in these complaints, and 1
hope to-morrow morning will bring us both a more com
fortable report. But it is impossible not to feel uneasiness.
Such a sad loss to our party to-day ! "
h 3
 EMMA.
" Dreadful ! Exactly so, indeed. She will be missed
every moment."
This was very proper ; the sigh which accompanied it
was really estimable ; but it should have lasted longer.
Emma was rather in dismay when only half a minute
afterwards he began to speak of other things, and in a voice
of the greatest alacrity and enjoyment.
" What an excellent device," said he, " the use of a
sheep-skin for carriages. How very comfortable they
make it ; — impossible to feel cold with such precautions.
The contrivances of modern days, indeed, have rendered
a gentleman's carriage perfectly complete. One is so fenced
and guarded from the weather, that not a breath of air can
find its way unpermitted. Weather becomes absolutely of
no consequence. It is a very cold afternoon — but in this
carriage we know nothing of the matter. Ha ! snows a
little, I see."
" Yes," said John Knightley, " and I think we shall
have a good deal of it."
" Christmas weather," observed Mr. Elton. " Quite
seasonable ; and extremely fortunate we may think our
selves that it did not begin yesterday, and prevent this
day's party, which it might very possibly have done, for
Mr. Woodhouse would hardly have ventured had there
been much snow on the ground ; but now it is of no con
sequence. This is quite the season, indeed, for friendly
meetings. At Christmas every body invites their friends
about them, and people think little of even the worst
weather. I was snowed up at a friend's house once for
a week. Nothing could be pleasanter. I went for only
one night, and could not get away till that very day
se'nnight."
Mr. John Knightley looked as if he did not comprehend
the pleasure, but said only, coolly, —
" I cannot wish to be snowed up a week at Randalls."
At another time Emma might have been amused, but
she was too much astonished now at Mr. Elton's spirits for
other feelings. Harriet seemed quite forgotten in the ex
pectation of a pleasant party.
" We are sure of excellent fires," continued he, " and
 EMMA. 103
every thing in the greatest comfort. Charming people,
Mr. and Mrs. Weston ; — Mrs. Weston indeed is much
beyond praise, and he is exactly what one values, so hos
pitable, and so fond of society ; — it will be a small party,
but where small parties are select, they are, perhaps, the
most agreeable of any. Mr. Weston's dining-room does
not accommodate more than ten comfortably ; and for my
part, I would rather, under such circumstances, fall short
by two than exceed by two. I think you will agree with
me (turning with a soft air to Emma), I think I shall
certainly have your approbation, though Mr. Knightley,
perhaps, from being used to the large parties of London,
may not quite enter into our feelings."
" I know nothing of the large parties of London, sir —
I never dine with any body."
" Indeed ! (in a tone of wonder and pity,) I had no idea
that the law had been so great a slavery. Well, sir, the
time must come when you will be paid for all this, when,
you will have little labour and great enjoyment."
" My first enjoyment," replied John Knightley, as they
passed through the sweep-gate, " will be to find myself
safe at Hartfield again."

CHAPTER XIV.
Some change of countenance was necessary for each gentle
man as they walked into Mrs. Weston's drawing-room ; —
Mr. Elton must compose his joyous looks, and Mr. John
Knightley disperse his ill-humour. Mr. Elton must smile
less, and Mr. John Knightley more, to fit them for the
place. Emma only might be as nature prompted, and show
herself just as happy as she was. To her, it was real en
joyment to be with the Westons. Mr. Weston was a great
favourite, and there was not a creature in the world to
whom she spoke with such unreserve as to his wife ; not
h 4
104 EMMA.
any one, to whom she related with such conviction of being
listened to and understood, of being always interesting and
always intelligible, the little affairs, arrangements, perplex
ities, 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 commu
nication of all those little matters on which the daily hap
piness of private life depends, was one of the first gratifi
cations of each.
This was a pleasure which perhaps the whole day's visit
might not afford, which certainly did not belong to the
present half hour ; but the very sight of Mrs. Weston, her
smile, her touch, her voice, was grateful to Emma, and
she determined to think as little as possible of Mr. Elton's
oddities, or of any thing else unpleasant, and enjoy all that
was enjoyable to the utmost.
The misfortune of Harriet's cold had been pretty well
gone through before her arrival. Mr. Woodhouse had been
safely seated long enough to give the history of it, besides
all the history of his own and Isabella's coming, and of
Emma's being to follow ; and had, indeed, just got to the
end of his satisfaction that James should come and see his
daughter, when the others appeared, and Mrs. Weston,
who had been almost wholly engrossed by her attentions to
him, was able to turn away and welcome her dear Emma.
Emma's project of forgetting Mr. Elton for a while
made her rather sorry to find, when they had all taken their
places, that he was close to her. The difficulty was great
of driving his strange insensibility towards Harriet from
her mind, while he not only sat at her elbow, but was con
tinually obtruding his happy countenance on her notice,
and solicitously addressing her upon every occasion. Instead
of forgetting him, his behaviour was such that she could
not avoid the internal suggestion of " Can it really be as
my brother imagined ? can it be possible for this man to
be beginning to tranfer his affections from Harriet to me ?
-—Absurd and insufferable !" — Yet he would be so anxious
for her being perfectly warm, would be so interested about
her father, and so delighted with Mrs. Weston ; and, at
last, would begin admiring her drawings with so much
 EMMA. 105
&al and so little knowledge, as seemed terribly like a would-
be lover, and made it some effort with her to preserve her
good manners. For her own sake she could not be rude;
and for Harriet's, in the hope that all would yet turn out
right, she was even positively civil : but it was an effort ;
especially as something was going on amongst the others,
in the most overpowering period of Mr. Elton's nonsense,
which she particularly wished to listen to. She heard
enough to know that Mr. Weston was giving some inform
ation about his son : she heard the words " my son," and
" Frank," and " my son," repeated several times over ;
and, from a few other half syllables, very much suspected
that he was announcing an early visit from his son ; but
before she could quiet Mr. Elton, the subject was so com
pletely past, that any reviving question from her would
have been awkward.
Now it so happened, that, in spite of Emma's resolution
of never marrying, there was something in the name, in the
idea, of Mr. Frank Churchill, which always interested her.
She had frequently thought, — especially since his father's
marriage with Miss Taylor, — that if she were to marry, he
was the very person to suit her in age, character, and con
dition. 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 replete with good than any she could
change it for, she had a great curiosity to see him, a de
cided intention of finding him pleasant, of being liked by
him. to a certain degree, and a sort of pleasure in the idea
of their being coupled in their friends' imaginations.
With such sensations, Mr. Elton's civilities were dread
fully ill-timed ; but she had the comfort of appearing very
polite, while feeling very cross ; — and of thinking that the
rest of the visit could not possibly pass without bringing
forward the same information again, or the substance of it,
from the open-hearted Mr. Weston. So it proved ; — for,
when happily released from Mr. Elton, and seated by
106. EMMA.
Mr. Weston at dinner, he made use of the very first interval
in the cares of hospitality, the very first leisure from the
saddle of mutton, to say to her,—
" We want only two more to he just the right number.
I should like to see two more here, — your pretty little
friend, Miss Smith, and my son, — and then I should say
we were quite complete. I believe you did not hear me
telling the others in the drawing-room that we are ex
pecting Frank. I had a letter from him this morning, and
he will be with us within a fortnight."
Emma spoke with a very proper degree of pleasure, and
fully assented to his proposition, of Mr. Frank Churchill
and Miss Smith making their party quite complete.
" He has been wanting to come to us," continued Mr.
Weston, " ever since September : every letter has been full
of it ; but he cannot command his own time. He has those
to please who must be pleased, and who (between ourselves)
are sometimes to be pleased only by a good many sacrifices.
But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the
second week in January."
" What a very great pleasure it will be to you ! and
Mrs. Weston is so anxious to be acquainted with him, that
she must be almost as happy as yourself."
' '' Yes, she would be, but that she thinks there will be
another put-off. She does not depend upon his coming so
much as I do ; but she does not know the parties so well
as I do. The case, you see, is — (but this is quite between
ourselves : I did not mention a syllable of it in the other
room. There are secrets in all families, you know) — the
case is, that a party of friends are invited to pay a visit at
Enscombe in January, and that Frank's coming depends
upon their being put off. If they are not put off, he can
not stir. But I know they will, because it is a family that
a certain lady, of some consequence at Enscombe, has a
particular dislike to ; and though it is thought necessary to
invite them once in two or three years, they always are put
off when it comes to the point. I have not the smallest
doubt of the issue. I am as confident of seeing Frank
here before the middle of January, as I am of being here
myself : but your good friend there (nodding towards the
 EMMA.
upper end of the table) has so few vagaries herself, and has
been so little used to them at Hartfield, that she cannot
calculate on their effects, as I have been long in the prac
tice of doing."
" I am sorry there should be any thing like doubt in thei
case,'' replied Emma ; " but am disposed to side with you,
Mr. Weston. If you think he will come, I shall think so
too ; for you know Enscombe."
" Yes — I have some right to that knowledge ; though
I have never been at the place in my life. She is an odd
woman ! But I never allow myself to speak ill of her,
on Frank's account ; for I do believe her to be very fond
of him. I used to think she was not capable of being fond
of any body except herself : but she has always been kind
to him (in her way — allowing for little whims and caprices,
and expecting every thing to be as she likes). And it is
no small credit, in my opinion, to him, that he should ex
cite 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. Wes
ton agreed to it ; but added, that she should be very glad
to be secure of undergoing the anxiety of a first meeting
at the time talked of ; " for I cannot depend upon his
coming. I cannot be so sanguine as Mr. Weston. I am
very much afraid that it will all end in nothing. Mr.
Weston, I dare say, has been telling you exactly how the
matter stands." -
" Yes — it seems to depend upon nothing but the ill-
humour of Mrs. Churchill, which I imagine to be the most
certain thing in the world." ' >
" My Emma ! " replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, " what
is the certainty of caprice?" Then turning to Isabella,
who had not been attending before, — " You must know,
my dear Mrs. Knightley, that we are by no means so sure
of seeing Mr. Frank Churchill, in my opinion, as his fa
ther thinks. It depends entirely upon his aunt's spirits and
108 EMMA.
pleasure ; in short, upon her temper. To you— to my two
daughters — I may venture on the truth. Mrs. Churchill
rules at Enscombe, and is a very odd-tempered woman ;
and his coming now depends upon her being willing to
spare him."
" Oh, Mrs. Churchill, every body knows Mrs. Churchill,"
replied Isabella ; " and I am sure I never think of that
poor young man without the greatest compassion. To
be constantly living with an ill-tempered person must
be dreadful. It is what we happily have never known any
thing of; but it must be a life of misery. What a bless
ing, that she never had any children ! Poor little creatures,
how unhappy she would have made them ! "
Emma wished she had been alone with Mrs. Weston.
She should then have heard more: Mrs. Weston would
speak to her with a degree of unreserve which she would
pot hazard with Isabella ; and, she really believed, would
scarcely try to conceal any thing relative to the Churchills
from her, excepting those views on the young man, of
which her own imagination had already given her such
instinctive knowledge. But at present there was nothing
more to be said. Mr. Woodhouse very soon followed them
into the drawing-room. To be sitting long after dinner
was a confinement that he could not endure. Neither wine
nor conversation was any thing to him ; and gladly did he
move to those with whom he was always comfortable.
While he talked to Isabella, however, Emma found an
opportunity of saying, —
" And so you do not consider this visit from your son
as by any means certain. I am sorry for it. The 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 re
luctance on his side ; but I am sure there is a great wish
on the Churchills to keep him to themselves. There is
jealousy. They are jealous even of his regard for his father.
 Emma. 109
In short, I can feel no dependence on his coming, and I
wish Mr. Weston were less sanguine."
" He ought to come," said Emma. " If he could stay
only a couple of days, he ought to come ; and one can
hardly conceive a young man's not having it in his power
to do as much as that. A young woman, if she fall into
bad hands, may be teazed, and kept at a distance from
those she wants to be with; but one cannot comprehend a
young man's being under such restraint, as not to be able
to spend a week with his father, if he likes it."
" One ought to be at Enscombe, and know the ways of
the family, before one decides upon what he can do," re
plied Mrs. Weston. " One ought to use the same caution,
perhaps, in judging of the conduct of any one individual of
any one family ; but Enscombe, I believe, certainly must
not be judged by general rules : she is so very unreasonable ;
and every thing gives way to her."
" But she is so fond of the nephew : he is so very great
a favourite. Now, according to my idea of Mrs. Churchill,
it would be most natural, that while she makes no sacrifice
for the comfort of the husband, to whom she owes every
thing, while she exercises incessant caprice towards him,
she should frequently be governed by the nephew, to whom
she owes nothing at all."
" My dearest Emma, do not pretend, with your sweet
temper, to understand a bad one, or to lay down rules for
it : you must let it go its own way. I have no doubt of
his having, at times, considerable influence ; but it may be
perfectly impossible for him to know beforehand when it
will be."
Emma listened, and then coolly said, " I shall not be
satisfied, unless he comes."
" He may have a great deal of influence on some points,"
continued Mrs. Weston, " and on others, very little ; and
among those, on which she is beyond his reach, it is but
too likely may be this very circumstance of his coming
away from them to visit us."
110 . EMMA.

CHAPTER XV.
Mr. Woodhouse was soon ready for his tea ; and when he
had drank his tea he was quite ready to go home; and it
was as much as his three companions could do, to entertain
away his notice of the lateness of the hour, before the other
gentlemen appeared. Mr. Weston was chatty and convivial,
and no friend to early separations of any sort ; but at last
the drawing-room party did receive an augmentation. Mr.
Elton, in very good spirits, was one of the first to walk in.
Mrs. Weston and Emma were sitting together on a sofa.
He joined them immediately, and with scarcely an invita
tion, seated himself between them.
Emma, in good spirits too, from the amusement afforded
her mind by the expectation of Mr. Frank Churchill, was
willing to forget his late improprieties, and be as well sa
tisfied with him as before, and on his making Harriet his
very first subject, was ready to listen with most friendly
smiles.
He professed himself extremely anxious about her fair
friend — her fair, lovely, amiable friend. " Did she
know ? — had she heard any thing about her, since their
being at Randalls ? — he felt much anxiety — he must
confess that the nature of her complaint alarmed him con
siderably." And in this style he talked on for some time
very properly, not much attending to any answer, but alto
gether sufficiently awake to the terror of a bad sore throat;
and Emma was quite in charity with him.
But at last there seemed ai perverse turn ; it seemed all
at once as if he were more afraid of its being a bad sore
throat on her account than on Harriet's — more anxious
that she should escape the infection, than that there should
be no infection in the complaint. He began with great
earnestness to entreat her to refrain from visiting the sick
chamber again, for the present — to entreat her to promise
him not to venture into such hazard till he had seen Mr.
Perry and learned his opinion ; and though she tried to
 EMMA. Ill
laugh it off and bring the subject back into its proper
course, there was no putting an end to his extreme solici
tude about her. She was vexed. It did appear — there
was no concealing it — exactly like the pretence of being
in love with her, instead of Harriet ; an inconstancy, if
real, the most contemptible and abominable ! and she had
difficulty in behaving with temper. He turned to Mrs.
Weston to implore her assistance : " Would not she give
him her support ? — would not she add her persuasions to
his, to induce Miss Woodhouse not to go to Mrs. Goddard's,
till it were certain that Miss Smith's disorder had no in
fection ? He could not be satisfied without a promise —
would not she give him her influence in procuring it ?
" So scrupulous for others," he continued, " and yet so
careless for herself ! She wanted me to nurse my cold by
staying at home to-day, and yet will not promise to avoid
the danger of catching an ulcerated sore throat herself.
Is this fair, Mrs. Weston ? Judge between us. Have
not I some right to complain ? I am sure of your kind
support and aid."
Emma saw Mrs. Weston's surprise, and felt that it must
be great, at an address which, in words and manner, was
assuming to himself the right of first interest in her ; and
as for herself, she was too much provoked and offended to
have the power of directly saying any thing to the purpose.
She could only give him a look ; but it was such a look as
she thought must restore him to his senses ; and then left
the sofa, removing to a seat by her sister, and giving her
all her attention.
She had not time to know how Mr. Elton took the re
proof, 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 snow
ing fast, with a strong drifting wind ; concluding with these
words to Mr. Woodhouse, —
• " This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter
engagements, sir. Something new for your coachman and
horses to be making their way through a storm of snow."
Poor Mr. Woodhouse was silent from consternation ; but
112 EMMA.
every body else had something to say ; every body was
either surprised, or not surprised, and had some question to
ask, or some comfort to offer. Mrs. Weston and Emma tried
earnestly to cheer him and turn his attention from his son-
in-law, who was pursuing his triumph rather unfeelingly.
" I admired your resolution very much, sir," said he,
" in venturing out in such weather, for of course you saw
there would be snow very soon. Every body must have
seen the snow coming on. I admired your spirit ; and I
dare say we shall get home very well. Another hour or
two's snow can hardly make the road impassable ; and we
are two carriages ; if one is blown over in the bleak part
of the common field there will be the other at hand. I
dare say we shall be all safe at Hartfield before midnight."
Mr. Weston, with triumph of a different sort, was con
fessing that he had known it to be snowing some time, but
had not said a word, lest it should make Mr. Woodhouse
uncomfortable, and be an excuse for his hurrying away.
As to there being any quantity of snow fallen or likely to
fall to impede their return, that was a mere joke ; he was
afraid they would find no difficulty. He wished the road
might be impassable, that he might be able to keep them all
at Randalls ; and with the utmost good-will was sure that
accommodation might be found for every body, calling on
his wife to agree with him, that, with a little contrivance,
every body might be lodged, which she hardly knew how
to do, from the consciousness of there being but two spare
rooms in the house.
" What is to be done, my dear Emma ? what is to be
done ? " was Mr. Woodhouse's first exclamation, and all
that he could say for some time. To her he looked for
comfort ; and her assurances of safety, her representation
of the excellence of the horses, and of James, and of their
having so many friends about them, revived him a little.
His eldest daughter's alarm was equal to his own. The
horror of being blocked up at Randalls, while her children
were at Hartfield, was full in her imagination ; and fancy
ing the road to be now just passable for adventurous people,
but in a state that admitted no delay, she was eager to have
it settled, that her father and Emma should remain at
 EMMA. 113
Randalls, while she and her husband set forward instantly
.through all the possible accumulations of drifted snow that
might impede them.
• " You had better order the carriage directly, my love,"
said she : " I dare say we shall be able to get along, if we
set off directly; and if we do come to any thing very bad,
I can get out and walk. I am not at all afraid. I should
not mind walking half the way. I could change my shoes,
you know, the moment I got home ; and it is not the sort
of thing that gives me cold."
" Indeed ! " replied he. " Then, my dear Isabella, it '
is the most extraordinary sort of thing in the world, for in
general every thing does give you cold. Walk home ! —
you are prettily shod for walking home, I dare say. It
will be bad enough for the horses."
Isabella turned to Mrs. Weston for her approbation of
the plan. Mrs. Weston could only approve. Isabella then
went to Emma ; but Emma could not so entirely give up
the hope of their being all able to get away ; and they were
.still discussing the point, when Mr. Knightley, who had
left the room immediately after his brother's first report of
the snow, came back again, and told them that he had been
out of doors to examine, and could answer for there not
.being the smallest difficulty in their getting home, when
ever they liked it, either now or an hour hence. He had
gone 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 the ground; a
very few flakes were falling at present, but the clouds were
parting, and there was every appearance of its being soon
over. He had seen the coachmen, and they both agreed
with him in there being nothing to apprehend.
To Isabella, the relief of such tidings was very great,
and they were scarcely less acceptable to Emma on her
father's account, who was immediately set as much at ease
on the subject as his nervous constitution allowed; but the
alarm that had been raised could not be appeased so as to
admit of any comfort for him while he continued at Ran.
dalls. He was satisfied of there being no present danger
in returning home, but no assurances could convince him
i
 114 EMMA.
that it was safe to stay ; and while the others were variously
urging and recommending, Mr. Knightley and Emma seu
tled it in a few brief sentences : thus, —
" Your father will not be easy ; why do not you go ? "
" I am readyj if the others are."
" Shall I ring the bell?"
" Yes, do."
And the bell was rung, and the carriages spoken for. A
few minutes more, and Emma hoped to see one troublesome
companion deposited in his own house, to get sober and
cool, and the other recover his temper and happiness when
this visit of hardship were over.
The carriage came ; and Mr. Woodhouse, always the
first object on such occasions, was carefully attended to his
own by Mr. Knightley and Mr. Weston ; but not all that
either could say could prevent some renewal of alarm at the
sight of the snow which had actually fallen, and the dis
covery of a much darker night than he had been prepared
for. " He was afraid they should have a very bad drive.
He was afraid poor Isabella would not like it. And there
would be poor Emma in the carriage behind. He did not
know what they had best do. They must keep as much,
together as they could ; " and James was talked to, and
given a charge to go very slow, and wait for the other car
riage.
Isabella stept in after her father ; John Knightley, for
getting that he did not belong to their party, stept in after
his wife very naturally ; so that Emma found, on being
escorted and followed into the second carriage by Mr. Elton,
that the door was to be lawfully shut on them, and that
they were to have a tête-à-tête drive. It would Rot have
been the awkwardness Of a moment, it would have been
rather a pleasure, previous to the suspicions of this very
day ; she could have talked to him of Harriet, and the
three quarters of a mile would have seemed but one. But
now, she would rather it had not happened. She believed
he had been drinking too much of Mr. Weston's good wine,
and felt sure that he would want to be talking nonsense.
To restrain him as much as might be, by her own man
ners, she was immediately preparing to speak with exqui
 EMMA- 115
site calmness and gravity of the weather and the night;
but scarcely had she begun, scarcely had they passed the
sweep-gate and joined the other carriage, than she found
her subject cut up — her hand seized — her attention de
manded, and Mr. Elton actually making violent love to
her: availing himself of the precious opportunity, declaring
sentiments which must be already well known, hoping
— fearing — adoring — ready to die if she refused him ;
but flattering himself that his ardent attachment and un
equalled love and unexampled passion could not fail of
having some effect, and in short, very much resolved on
being seriously accepted as soon as possible. It really was
so. Without scruple —without apology — without much
apparent diffidence, Mr. Elton, the lover of Harriet, was
professing himself her lover. She tried to stop him ; but
. vainly ; he would go on, and say it all. Angry as she was,
the thought of the moment made her resolve to restrain
herself when she did speak. She felt that half this folly
must be drunkenness, and therefore .could hope that it
might belong only to the passing hour. Accordingly, with
a mixture of the serious and the playful, which she hoped
would best suit his half and half state, she replied, —
" I am very much astonished, Mr. Elton. This to me,
you forget yourself — you take me for my friend — any
message to Miss Smith I shall be happy to deliver ; but no
more of this to me, if you please."
" Miss Smith ! — Message to Miss Smith ! —What could
she possibly mean!"— And he repeated her words with
such assurance of accent, such boastful pretence of amaze
ment, that she could not help replying with quickness, —
" Mr. Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct !
and I can account for it only in one way ; you are not your
self, or you could not speak either to me, or of Harriet, in
such a manner. Command yourself enough to say no more,
and I will endeavour to forget it."
But Mr. Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate
his spirits, not at all to confuse his intellects. He perfectly
knew his own meaning ; and having warmly protested
against her suspicion as most injurious, and slightly touched
upon his respect for Miss Smith as her friend, — but ac
i 2
 116 EMMA.
knowledging his wonder that Miss Smith should he men
tioned at all, — he resumed the subject of his own passion,
and was very urgent for a favourable answer.
As she thought less of his inebriety, she thought more of
his inconstancy and presumption ; and with fewer struggles
for politeness, replied, —
" It is impossible for me to doubt any longer. You
have made yourself too clear. Mr. Elton, my astonishment
is much beyond any thing I can express. After such be
haviour, as I have witnessed during the last month, to Miss
Smith — such attentions as I have been in the daily habit
of observing — to be addressing me in this manner — this
is an unsteadiness of character, indeed, which I had not
supposed possible ! Believe me, sir, I am far — very far
— from gratified in being the object of such professions."
* " Good heaven ! " cried Mr. Elton, " what can be the
meaning of this ? Miss Smith ! I never thought of Miss
Smith in the whole course of my existence — never paid
her any attentions, but as your friend : never cared whe
ther she were dead or alive, but as your friend. If she
has fancied otherwise, her own wishes have misled her, and
I am very sorry — extremely sorry. But, Miss Smith, in
deed ! Oh, Miss Woodhouse, who can think of Miss
Smith when Miss Woodhouse is near ? No, upon my ho
nour, there is no unsteadiness of character. I have thought
only of you. I protest against having paid the smallest
attention to any one else. Every thing that I have said or
done, for many weeks past, has been with the sole view of
'marking my adoration of yourself. You cannot really,
seriously doubt it. No! (in an accent meant to be in
sinuating) I am sure you have seen and understood me."
It would be impossible to say what Emma felt on hear
ing this ; which of all her unpleasant sensations was upper
most. She was too completely overpowered to be im
mediately able to reply; and two moments of silence being
ample encouragement for Mr. Elton's sanguine state of
. mind, he tried to take her hand again, as he joyously ex
claimed, —
" Charming Miss Woodhouse ! allow me to interpret
 EMMA,
this interesting silence. It confesses that you have long,
understood me."
" No, sir," cried Emma, " it confesses no such thing.
So far from having long understood you, I have been in a
most complete error with respect to your views till this
moment. As to myself I am very sorry that you should
have been giving way to any feelings Nothing could
be farther from my wishes — your attachment to my friend
Harriet — your pursuit of her (pursuit it appeared) — gave
me great pleasure, and I have been very earnestly wishing
you success ; but had I supposed that she were not your
attraction to Hartfield, I should certainly have thought you
judged ill in making your visits so frequent. Am I to,
believe that you have never sought to recommend yourself
particularly to Miss Smith? that you have never thought
seriously of her ? "
" Never, madam," cried he, affronted in his turn :
" never, I assure you. / think seriously of Miss Smith !
— Miss Smith is a very good sort of girl ; and I should
be happy to see her respectably settled. I wish her ex.
tremely well ; and, no doubt, there are men who might not
object to Every body has their level ; but as for
myself, I am not, I think, quite so much at a loss. I
need not so totally despair of an equal alliance as to be ad
dressing myself to Miss Smith ! No, madam, my visits to
Hartfield have been for yourself only ; and the encourage
ment I received " ,
" Encouragement ! I give you encouragement ! — sir,
you have been entirely mistaken in supposing it. I have
seen you only as the admirer of my friend. In no other
light could you have been more to me than a common ac
quaintance. I am exceedingly sorry; but it is well that
the mistake ends where it does. Had the same behaviour
continued, Miss Smith might have been led into a miscon
ception of your views ; not being aware, probably, any
more than myself, of the very great inequality which you
are so sensible of. But, as it is, the disappointment is
single, and, I trust, will not be lasting. I have no thoughts
of matrimony at present."
He was too angry to say another word ; her manner too
i 8
118 EMMA.
decided to invite supplication : and in this state of swelling
resentment, and mutually deep mortification, they had to
continue together a few minutes longer, for the fears of
Mr. Woodhouse had confined them to a foot pace. If
there had not been so much anger, there would have been
desperate awkwardness ; but their straight-forward emotions
left• no room for the little zigzags of embarrassment. With
out knowing when the carriage turned into Vicarage Lane,
or when it stopped, they found themselves, all at once, at
the door of his house ; and he was out before another syl
lable passed. Emma then felt it indispensable to wish him
a good night. The compliment was just returned, coldly
and proudly; and, under indescribable irritation of spirits,
she was then conveyed to Hartfield.
- There she was welcomed, with the utmost delight, by
her father, who had been trembling for the dangers of a
solitary drive from Vicarage Lane — turning a corner
which he could never bear to think of — and in strange
hands — a mere common coachman — no James; and
there it seemed as if her return only were wanted to make
every thing go well: for Mr. John Knightley, ashamed of
his ill-humour, was now all kindness and attention ; and
so particularly solicitous for the comfort of her father, as
to seem — if not quite ready to join him in a basin of gruel
— perfectly sensible of its being exceedingly wholesome ;
and the day was concluding in peace and comfort to all
their little party, except herself. But her mind had never
been in such perturbation; and it needed a very strong
effort to appear attentive and cheerful till the usual hour of
separating allowed her the relief of quiet reflection.

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
 EMMA. H9
had been wishing for ! Such a developement of every thing
most unwelcome ! Such a blow for Harriet ! — that was
the worst of all. Every part of it brought pain and, hu
miliation of some sort or other ; but, compared with the
evil to Harriet, all was light ; and she would gladly have
submitted to feel yet more mistaken — more in error —
more disgraced by mis-judgment than she actually was,
— could the effects of her blunders have been confined to
herself.
" If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking the man, I
could have borne any thing. He might have doubled his
presumption to me — but poor Harriet ! " .
How she could have been so deceived ! He protested
that he had never thought seriously of Harriet — never !
She looked back as well as she could ; but it was all con
fusion. She had taken up the idea, she supposed, and
made every thing bend to it. His manners, however, must
have been unmarked, wavering, dubious, or she could not
have been so misled.
The picture ! How eager he had been about the picture !
— and the ' charade ! — and a hundred other circum
stances ; — how clearly they had seemed to point at Har
riet. To be sure, the charade, with its " ready wit " —
but then, the " soft eyes " — in fact it suited neither ; it
was a jumble without taste or truth. Who could have
seen through such thick-headed nonsense ?
Certainly she had often, especially of late, thought his
manners to herself unnecessarily gallant ; but it had passed
as his way, as a mere error of judgment, of knowledge, of
taste, as one proof, among others, that he had not always
lived in the best society ; that with all the gentleness of his
address, true elegance was sometimes wanting ; but, till
tljis very day, she had never for an instant suspected it to
mean any thing but grateful respect to her as Harriet's
friend.
To Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first
idea on the subject, for the first start of its possibility.
There was no denying that those brothers had penetration.
She remembered what Mr. Knightley had once said to her
about Mr. Elton, the caution he had given, the conviction
i 4
 120 •EMMA.
he had professed that Mr. Elton would never marry indis
creetly ; and blushed to think how much truer a knowledge
of his character had been there shown than any she had
reached herself. It was dreadfully mortifying ; but Mr.
Elton was proving himself, in many respects, the very
reverse of what she had meant and believed him ; proud,
assuming, conceited : very full of his own claims, and little
concerned about the feelings of others.
Contrary to the usual course of things, Mr. Elton's
wanting to pay his addresses to her had sunk him in her
opinion. His professions and his proposals did him no
service. She thought nothing of his attachment, and was
insulted by his hopes. He wanted to marry well, and having
the arrogance to raise his eyes to her, pretended to be in
love ; but she was perfectly easy as to his not suffering any •
disappointment that need be cared for. There had been
no real affection either in his language or manners. Sighs
and fine words had been given in abundance ; but she could
hardly devise any set of expressions, or fancy any tone of
voice, less allied with real love. She need not trouble
herself to pity him. He only wanted to aggrandise and
enrich himself ; and if Miss Woodhouse of Hartfiekl, the
heiress of thirty thousand pounds, were not quite so easily
obtained as he had fancied, he would soon try for Miss
Somebody else with twenty, or with ten.
But, that he should talk of encouragement, should con
sider her as aware of his views, accepting his intentions,
meaning, in short, to marry him ! — should suppose him
self her equal in connection or mind ! -— look down upon
her friend, so well understanding the gradations of rank
below him, and be so blind to what rose above, as to fancy
himself showing no presumption in addressing her ! — it
was most provoking.
Perhaps it was not fair to expect him to feel how very
much he was her inferior in talent, and all the elegancies
of mind. The very want of such equality might prevent
his perception of it; but he must know that in fortune
and consequence she was greatly his superior. He must
know that the Woodhouses had been settled for several
generations at Hartfield, the younger branch of a very
 EMMA.' 121
ancient family, — and that the Eltons were nohody. The
landed property of Hartfield certainly was inconsiderable,
being but a sort of notch in the Donwell Abbey estate, to
which all the rest of Highbury belonged ; but their fortune,
from other sources, was such as to make them scarcely
secondary to Donwell Abbey itself, in every other kind of
consequence ; and the Woodhouses had long held a high
place in the consideration of the neighbourhood which
Mr. Elton had first entered not two years ago, to make his
way as he could, without any alliances but in trade, or any
thing to recommend him to notice but his situation and his
civility. But he had fancied her in love with him ; that
evidently must have been his dependence ; and after raving
a little about the seeming incongruity of gentle manners
and a conceited head, Emma was obliged, in common ho
nesty, to stop and admit, that her own behaviour to him
had been so complaisant and obliging, so full of courtesy
and attention, as (supposing her real motive unperceived)
might warrant a man of ordinary observation and delicacy,
like Mr. Elton, in fancying himself a very decided favourite.
If she had so misinterpreted his feelings, she had little right
to wonder that he, with self-interest to blind him, should
have mistaken hers.
The first error, and the worst, lay at her door. It was
foolish, it was wrong, to take so active a part in bringing
any two people together. It was adventuring too far, as
suming too much, making light of what ought to be serious,
a trick of what ought to be simple. She was quite con
cerned and ashamed, and resolved to do such things no
more.
" Here have I," said she, " actually talked poor Harriet
into being very much attached to this man. She might
never have thought of him but for me ; and certainly never
would have thought of him with hope, if I had not assured
her of his attachment, for she is as modest and humble as
I used to think him. Oh that I had been satisfied with
persuading her not to accept young Martin ! There I was
quite right : that was well done of me ; but there I should
have stopped, and left the rest to time and chance. I was
introducing her into good company, and giving her the opi
 EMMA.
portunity of pleasing some one worth having ; I ought not
to have attempted more. But now, poor girl, her peace is
cut up for some time. I have been but half a friend to
her; and if she were not to feel this disappointment so very
much, I am sure I have not an idea of any body else who
would be at all desirable for her: — William Coxe — oh
no, I could not endure William Coxe, — a pert young
lawyer."
She stopped to blush and laugh at her own relapse, and
then resumed a more serious, more dispiriting cogitation
upon what had been, and might be, and must be. The
ilistressing explanation she had to make to Harriet, and all
that poor Harriet would be suffering, with the awkwardness
of future meetings, the difficulties. of continuing or discon
tinuing the acquaintance, of subduing feelings, concealing
resentment, and avoiding éclat, were enough to occupy
her in most unmirthful reflections some time longer, and she
went to bed at last with nothing settled but the conviction
of her having blundered most dreadfully.
To youth and natural cheerfulness like Emma's, though
under temporary gloom at night, the return of day will
hardly fail to bring return of spirits. The youth and cheer
fulness of morning are in happy analogy, and of powerful
operation ; and if the distress be not poignant. enough to
keep the eyes unclosed, they will be sure to open to sensa
tions of softened pain and brighter hope.
Emma got up on the morrow more disposed for comfort
than she had gone to bed ; more ready to see alleviations
of the evil before her, and to depend on getting tolerably
out of it.
It was a great consolation that Mr. Elton should not
be really in love with her, or so particularly amiable as to
make it shocking to disappoint him ; that Harriet's nature
should not be of that superior sort in which the feelings
are most acute and retentive ; and that there could be no
necessity for any body's knowing what had passed except
the three principals, and especially for her father's being
given a moment's uneasiness about it.
These were very cheering thoughts ; and the sight of a
great deal of snow on the ground did her further service.
 EMMA. 123
for any thing was welcome that might justify their all three
being quite asunder at present.
' The weather was most favourable for her; though Christ
mas-day, she could not go to church. Mr. Woodhouse
would have been miserable had his daughter attempted it,
tad she was therefore safe from either exciting or receiving
unpleasant and most unsuitable ideas. The ground covered
with snow, and the atmosphere in that unsettled state be
tween frost and thaw, which is of all others the most un
friendly for exercise, every morning beginning in rain or
snow, and every evening setting in to freeze, she was for
many days a most honourable prisoner. No intercourse
with Harriet possible but by note ; no church for her on
Sunday any more than on Christmas-day ; and no need to
find excuses for Mr. Elton's absenting himself.
• It was weather which might fairly confine every body at
home ; and though she hoped and believed him to be really
taking comfort in some society or other, it was very pleasant
to have her father so well satisfied with his being all alone
in his own house, too wise to stir out ; and to hear him
say to Mr. Knightley, whom no weather could keep en
tirely from them, —
" Ah, Mr. Knightley, why do not you stay at home
like poor Mr. Elton ? "
These days of confinement would have been, but for her
private perplexities, remarkably comfortable, as such se
clusion exactly suited her brother, whose feelings must
always be of great importance to his companions ; and he
had, besides, so thoroughly cleared off his ill-humour at
Randalls, that his amiableness never failed him during the
rest of his stay at Hartfield. He was always agreeable and
obliging, and speaking pleasantly of every body. But with
all the hopes of cheerfulness, and all the present comfort
of delay, there was still such an evil hanging over her in
the hour of explanation with Harriet, as made it impossible
for Emma to be ever perfectly at ease.
124 EMMA.

CHAPTER XVII.
Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were not detained long at
Hartfield. The weather soon improved enough for those
to move who must move ; and Mr. Woodhouse having, as
usual, tried to persuade his daughter to stay behind with
all her children, was obliged to see the whole party set off,
and return to his lamentations over the destiny of poor
Isabella; — which poor Isabella, passing her life with those
she doted on, full of their merits, blind to their faults, and
always innocently busy, might have been a model of right
feminine happiness.
The evening of the very day on which they went brought
a note from Mr. Elton to Mr. Woodhouse, a long, civil;
ceremonious note, to say, with Mr. Elton's best compli
ments, " that he was proposing to leave Highbury the fol
lowing 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 im
possibility he was under, from various circumstances of
weather and business, of taking a personal leave of Mr.
Woodhouse, of whose friendly civilities he should ever re
tain a grateful sense ; and had Mr. Woodhouse any com-
mands, should be happy to attend to them."
Emma was most agreeably surprised. Mr. Elton's ab
sence just at this time was the very thing to be desired.
She admired him for contriving it, though not able to give
him much credit for the manner in which it was announced.
Resentment could not have been more plainly spoken than
in a civility to her father, from which she was so pointedly
excluded.' She had not even a share in his opening com
pliments. 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 acknowledgments,
as she thought, at first, could not escape her father's
suspicion.
It did, however. Her father Was quite taken up with
 EMMA. 125
the surprise of so sudden a journey, and his fears that
-Mr. Elton might never get safely to the end of it, and
saw nothing extraordinary in his language. It was a
very useful note, for it supplied them with fresh matter
for thought and conversation during the rest of their
lonely eveniDg. Mr. Woodhouse talked over his alarms,
and Emma was in spirits to persuade them away with all
-her usual promptitude.
She now resolved to keep Harriet no longer in the dark.
She had reason to believe her nearly recovered from her
cold, and it was desirable that she should have as much
time as possible for getting the better of her other com
plaint before the gentleman's return. She went to Mrs.
Goddard's accordingly the very next day, to undergo the
necessary penance of communication ; and a severe one
it was. She had to destroy all the hopes which she had
-been so industriously feeding, to appear in the ungracious
character of the one preferred, and acknowledge herself
grossly mistaken and misjudging in all her ideas on one
subject, all her observations, all her .convictions, all her
prophecies for the last six weeks.
The confession completely renewed her first shame,
and the sight of Harriet's tears made her think that she
should never be in charity with herself again.
Harriet bore the intelligence very well, blaming no-
body, and in every thing testifying such an ingenuousness
of disposition and lowly opinion of herself, as must appear
with particular advantage at that moment to her friend.
Emma was in the humour to value simplicity and mo
desty to the utmost ; and all that was amiable, all that
ought to be attaching, seemed on Harriet's side, not her
own. Harriet did not consider herself as having any
thing to complain of. The affection of such a man as
Mr. Elton would have been too great a distinction. She
never could have deserved him ; and nobody but so partial
and kind a friend as Miss Woodhouse would have thought
it possible.
Her tears fell abundantly ; but her grief was so truly
artless, that no dignity could have made it more respect
able in Emma's eyes ; and she listened to her, and tried to
126 EMMA.
console her with all her heart and understanding, — really
for the time convinced that Harriet was the superior crea
ture of the two, and that to resemble her would be more
for her own welfare and happiness than all that genius or
intelligence could do.
It was rather too late in the day to set about being
simple-minded and ignorant ; but she left her with every
previous resolution confirmed of being humble and dis
creet, 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 showed her the most
unvarying kindness, striving to occupy and amuse hei,
and by books and conversation to drive Mr. Elton from
her thoughts.
Time, she knew, must be allowed for this being tho
roughly done ; and she could suppose herself but an in
different judge of such matters in general, and very in
adequate to sympathise in an attachment to Mr. Elton in
particular; but it seemed to her reasonable that at Har
riet's age, and with the entire extinction of all hope, such
a progress might be made towards a state of composure
by the time of Mr. Elton's return, as to allow them all
to meet again in the common routine of acquaintance,
without any danger of betraying sentiments or increasing
them.
Harriet did think him all perfection, and 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 indubitable as she could not doubt he would
anxiously do, she could not imagine Harriet's persisting
to place her happiness in the sight or the recollection
of him.
Their being fixed, so absolutely fixed, in the same
 EMMA. 127
place, was bad for each, for all three. Not one of them
had the power of removal, or of effecting any material
change of society. They must encounter each other, and
mate the best of it.
Harriet was further unfortunate in the tone of her com
panions at Mrs. Goddard's, Mr. Elton being the adoration
of all the teachers and great girls in the school ; and it
must be at Hartfield only that she could have any chance
of hearing him spoken of with cooling moderation or re-
pellant truth. Where the wound had been given, there
must the cure be found, if any where ; and Emma felt
that, till she saw her in the way of cure, there could be no
true peace for herself.

CHAPTER XVIII.
Mr. Frank Churchill did not come. When the time
proposed drew near, Mrs. Weston's fears were justified
in the arrival of a letter of excuse. For the present, he
could not be spared, to his " very great mortification and
regret ; but still he looked forward with the hope of coming
to Randalls at no distant period."
Mrs. Weston was exceedingly disappointed, — much
more disappointed, in fact, than her husband, though her
dependence on seeing the young man had been so much
more sober ; but a sanguine temper, though for ever ex
pecting more good than occurs, does not always pay for its
hopes by any proportionate depression. It soon flies over
the present failure, and begins to hope again. For half
an hour Mr. Weston was surprised and sorry : but then
he began to perceive that Frank's coming two or three
months later would be a much better plan, better time cf
year, better weather ; and that he would be able, without
any doubt, to stay considerably longer with them than if
he had come sooner. >
These feelings rapidly restored his comfort, while Mrs.
Weston, of a more apprehensive disposition, foresaw no
 EMMA.
thing but a repetition. of excuses and delays ; and after all
her concern for what her husband was to suffer, suffered
a great deal more herself.
Emma was not at this time in a state of spirits to care
really about Mr. Frank Churchill's not coming, except as
a disappointment at Randalls. The acquaintance, at pre
sent, had no charm for her. She wanted, rather, to be
quiet and out of temptation ; but still, as it was desirable
that she should appear, in general, like her usual self, she
took care to express as much interest in the circumstance,
and enter as warmly into Mr. and Mrs. Weston's disap
pointment as might naturally belong to their friendship.
She was the first to announce it to Mr. Knightley ; and
exclaimed quite as much as was necessary (or, being act
ing a part, perhaps rather more,) at the conduct of the
Churchills in keeping him away. She then proceeded to
say a good deal more than she felt of the advantage of
such an addition to their confined society in Surrey ; the
pleasure of looking at somebody new ; the gala-day to
Highbury entire, which the sight of him would have
made ; and ending with reflections on the Churchills
again, found herself directly involved in a disagreement
with Mr. Knightley ; and, to her great amusement, per
ceived that she was taking the other side of the question
from her real opinion, and, making use of Mrs. Weston's
arguments against herself.
" The Churchills are very likely in fault," said Mr.
Knightley, coolly ; " but I dare say he might come if he
would."
" I do not know why you should say so. He wishes
exceedingly to come; but his uncle and aunt will not
spare him."
" I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming,
if he made a point of it. It is too unlikely for me to
believe it without proof."
" How odd you are ! What has Mr. Frank Churchill
done, to make you suppose him such an unnatural
creature ?"
" I am not supposing him at all an unnatural creature,
•in suspecting that he may have learned to be above his con
 EMMA. 129
nections, and to care very little for any thing but his own
pleasure, from living with those who have always set him
the example of it. It is a great deal more natural than
one could wish, that a young man, brought up by those
who are proud, luxurious, and selfish, should be proud,
luxurious, and selfish too. If Frank Churchill had wanted
to see his father, he would have contrived it between Sep
tember and January A man at his age, — what is he ? —
three or four and twenty — cannot be without the means
of doing as much as that. It is impossible."
" That's easily said, and easily felt by you, who have
always been your own master. You are the worst judge .
in the world, Mr. Knightley, of the difficulties of de
pendence. You do not know what it is to have tempers
to manage."
" It is not to be conceived that a man of three or four
and twenty should not have liberty of mind or limb to that
amount. He cannot want money, he cannot want leisure.
We know, on the contrary, that he has so much of both,
that he is glad to get rid of them at the idlest haunts in
the kingdom. We hear of him for ever at some watering-
place or other ; a little while ago he was at Weymouth.
This proves that he can leave the Churchills."
" Yes, sometimes he can."
" And those times are, whenever he thinks it worth his
while ; whenever there is any temptation of pleasure."
" It is very unfair to judge of any body's conduct,
without an intimate knowledge of their situation. Nobody,
who has not been in the interior of a family, can say what
the difficulties of any individual of that family may be.
We ought to be acquainted with Enscombe, and with
Mrs. Churchill's temper, before we pretend to decide upon
what her nephew can do. He may, at times, be able to
do a great deal more than he can at others."
" There is one thing, Emma,' which a man can always
do, if he chooses, and that is, his duty ; not by ma
noeuvring and finessing, but by -vigour and resolution.
It is Frank Churchill's duty to pay this attention to his
father. He knows it to be so, by his promises and mes
sages ; but if he wished to do it, it might be done. A
K
ISO EM1U .
man who felt rightly would say at once, simply and reso
lutely, to Mrs. Churchill, ' Every sacrifice of mere pleasure
you will always find me ready to make to your convenience;
but I must go and see my father immediately. I know
he would be hurt by my failing in such a mark of respect
to him on the present occasion. I shall, therefore, set off
to-morrow.' If he would say so to her at once, in the
tone of decision becoming a man, there would be no op
position made to his going."
" No," said Emma, laughing ; " but perhaps there
might be some made to his coming back again. Such
language for a young man entirely dependent to use 1
Nobody but you, Mr. Knightley, would imagine it
possible : but you have not an idea of what is requisite in
situations directly opposite to your own. Mr. Frank
Churchill to be making such a speech as that to the uncle
and aunt who have brought him up, and are to provide for
him ! — standing up in the middle of the room, I suppose,
and speaking as loud as he could ! How can you imagine
such conduct practicable ? "
" Depend upon it, Emma, a sensible man would find
no difficulty in it. He would feel himself in the right ;
and the declaration, — made, of course, as a man of sense
would make it, in a proper manner, — would do him more
good, raise him higher, fix his interest stronger with the
people he depended on, than all that a line of shifts and
expedients can ever do. Respect would be added to
affection. They would feel that they could trust him ;
that the nephew, who had done rightly by his father,
would do rightly by them ; for they know, as well as he
does, — as well as all the world must know, — that he
ought to pay this visit to his father ; and while meanly
exerting their power to delay it, are in their hearts not
thinking the better of him for submitting to their whims.
Respect for right conduct is felt by every body. If he
would act in this sort of manner, on principle, consistently,
regularly, their little minds would bend to his."
" I rather doubt that. You are very fond of bending
little minds ; but where little minds belong to rich people
in authority, I think they have a knack of swelling out,
 EMMA. 131
till they are quite as unmanageable as great ones. I can
imagine, that if you, as you are, Mr. Knightley, were to
be transported and placed all at once in Mr. Frank
Churchill's situation, you would be able to say and do
just what you have been recommending for him ; and it
might have a very good effect. The Churchills might not
have a word to say in return ; but then, you would have
no habits of early obedience and long observance to break
through. To him who has, it might not be so easy to
burst forth at once into perfect independence, and set all
their claims on his gratitude and regard at nought. He
may have as strong a sense of what would be right as
you can have, without being so equal, under particular
circumstances, to act up to it."
" Then, it would not be so strong a sense. If it failed
to produce equal exertion, it could not be an equal con.
viction."
" Oh the difference of situation and habit I I wish you
would try to understand what an amiable young man may
be likely to feel in directly opposing those whom, as child
and boy, he has been looking up to all his life."
" Your amiable young man is a very weak young man,
if this be the first occasion of his carrying through a reso
lution to do right against the will of others. It ought to
have been a habit with him, by this time, of following his
duty, instead of consulting expediency. I can allow for
the fears of the child, but not of the man. As he became
rational, he ought to have roused himself, and shaken off
all that was unworthy in their authority. He ought to
have opposed the first attempt on their side to make him
slight his father. Had he begun as he ought, there would,
have been no difficulty now."
" We shall never agree about him," cried Emma; " but
that is nothing extraordinary. I have not the least idea of
his being a weak young man : I feel sure that he is not.
Mr. Weston would not be blind to folly, though in his own
son ; but he is very likely to have a more yielding, com
plying, mild disposition, than would suit your notions of
man's perfection. I dare say he has ; and though it may
k 2
132 EMMA.
cut him off from some advantages, it will secure him many
others."
" Yes ; all the advantages of sitting still when he ought
to move, and of leading a life of mere idle pleasure, and
fancying himself extremely expert in finding excuses for it.
He can sit down and write a fine flourishing letter, full of
professions and falsehoods, and persuade himself that he
has hit upon the very hest method in the world of pre
serving peace at home, and preventing his father's having
any right to complain. His letters disgust me."
" Your feelings are singular. They seem to satisfy every
body else."
" I suspect they do not satisfy Mrs. Weston. They
hardly can satisfy a woman of her good sense and quick
feelings : standing in a mother's place, but without a
mother's affection to blind her. It is on her account that
attention to Randalls is doubly due, and she must doubly
feel the omission. Had she been a person of consequence
herself, he would have come, I dare say ; and it would not
have signified whether he did or no. Can you think your
friend behind-hand in these sort of considerations ? Do you
suppose she does not often say all this to herself? No,
Emma ; your amiable young man can be amiable only in
French, not in English. He may be very ' amiable,' have
very good manners, and be very agreeable; but he can
have no English delicacy towards the feelings of other
people, —nothing really amiable about him."
" You seem determined to think ill of him."
" Me ! not at all," replied Mr. Knightley, rather dis
pleased ; " I do not want to think ill of him. I should be
as ready to acknowledge his merits as any other man ; but
I hear of none, except what are merely personal, — that he
is well-grown and good-looking, with smooth, plausible
manners."
" Well, if he have nothing else to recommend him, he
will be a treasure at Highbury. We do not often look
upon fine young men, well bred and agreeable. We must
not be nice, and ask for all the virtues into the bargain.
Cannot you imagine, Mr. Knightley, what a sensation his
coming will produce? There will be but one subject
 EMMA. 133
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 will not occupy
much of my time or thoughts."
" My idea of him is, that he can adapt his conversation
to the taste of every body, and has the power as well as
the wish of being universally agreeable. To you, he will
talk of farming ; to me, of drawing or music ; and so on
to every body, having that general information on all sub
jects 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 insuffer
able fellow breathing ! What ! at three-and-twenty to be
the king of his company — the great man— the practised
politician, who is to read every body's character, and make
every body's talents conduce to the display of his own
superiority ; to be dispensing his flatteries around, that he
may make all appear like fools compared with himself!
My dear Emma, your own good sense could not endure
such a puppy when it came to the point."
" I will say no more about him," cried Emma, — " you
turn every thing to evil. We are both prejudiced; you
against, I for him ; and we have no chance of agreeing till
he is really here."
" Prejudiced ! I am not prejudiced."
" But I am very much, and without being at all ashamed
of it. My love for Mr. and Mrs. Weston gives me a de
cided prejudice in his favour."
" He is a person I never think of from one month's end
to another," said Mr. Knightley, with a degree of vexation,
which made Emma immediately talk of something else,
though she could not comprehend why he should be angry.
To take a dislike to a young man, only because he ap
peared to be of a different disposition from himself, was
k 3
134 EMMA.
unworthy the real liberality of mind which she was always
used to acknowledge in him ; for with all the high opinion
of himself, which she had often laid to his charge, she had
never before for a moment supposed it could make him
unjust to the merit of another.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

 EMMA. 135

VOLUME THE SECOND.

CHAPTER I.
Emma arid Harriet had been walking together one morn
ing, and, in Emma's opinion, been talking enough of Mr.
Elton for that day. She could not think that Harriet's
solace or her own sins required more ; and she was there
fore industriously getting rid of the subject as they re
turned ; — but it burst out again when she thought she
had succeeded, and after speaking some time of what the
poor must suffer in winter, and receiving no other answer
than a very plaintive — " Mr. Elton is so good to the
poor ! " she found something else must be done. -
They were just approaching the house where lived Mrs.
and Miss Bates. She determined to call upon them and
seek safety in numbers. There was always sufficient rea
son for such an attention : Mrs. and Miss Bates loved to
be called on ; and she knew she was considered by the very
few who presumed ever to see imperfection in her as ra
ther negligent in that respect, and as not contributing
what she ought to the stock of their scanty comforts.
She had had many a hint from Mr. Knightley and some
from her own heart, as to her deficiency, but none were
equal to counteract the persuasion of its being very dis
agreeable, — a waste of time — tiresome women — and
all the horror of being in danger of falling in with the
second rate and third rate of Highbury, who were calling
on them for ever, and therefore she seldom went near
them. But now she made the sudden resolution of not
passing their door without going in ; observing, as she pro
posed it to Harriet, that, as well as she could calculate, they
were just now quite safe from any letter from Jane Fairfax.
The house belonged to people in business. Mrs. and
Miss Bates occupied the drawing-room floor ; and there,
in the very moderate sized apartment, which was every
k 4
136 EMMA.
thing to them, the visiters were most cordially and even
gratefully welcomed; the quiet neat old lady, who with
her knitting was seated in the warmest corner, wanting
even to give up her place to Miss Woodhouse, and her
more active, talking daughter, almost ready to overpower
them with care and kindness, thanks for their visit, solici
tude for their shoes, .anxious enquiries after Mr. Wood-
house's health, cheerful communications about her mother's,
and sweet-cake from the buffet : — " Mrs. Cole had just
been there, just called in for ten minutes, and had been so
good as to sit an hour with them, and she had taken a
piece of cake, and been so kind as to say she liked it very
much ; and, therefore, she hoped Miss Woodhouse and
Miss Smith would do them the favour to eat a piece too."
The mention of the Coles was sure to be followed by
that of Mr. Elton. There was intimacy between them,
and Mr. Cole had heard from Mr. Elton since his going
away. Emma knew what was coming : they must have
the letter over again, and settle how long he had been gone,
and how much he was engaged in company, and what a
favourite he was wherever he went, and how full the Mas
ter of the Ceremonies' ball had been ; and she went
through it very well, with all the interest and all the com
mendation that could be requisite, and always putting for
ward to prevent Harriet's being obliged to say a word.
This she had been prepared for when she entered the
house ; but meant, having once talked him handsomely
over, to be no farther incommoded by any troublesome to
pic, and to wander at large amongst all the mistresses and
misses of Highbury, and their card-parties. She had not
been prepared to have Jane Fairfax succeed Mr. Elton ;
but he was actually hurried off by Miss Bates ; she jumped
away from him at last abruptly to the Coles, to usher in a
letter from her niece.
" Oh yes, — Mr. Elton, I understood, — certainly as to
dancing,—Mrs. Cole was telling me that dancing at the rooms
at Bath was —Mrs. Cole was so kind as to sit some time with
us, talking of Jane; for as soon as she came in, she
began enquiring after her, Jane is so very great a favourite
there. Whenever she is with us, Mrs. Cole does not
 EMMA. - t 137
know how to show her kindness enough ; and I must
say that Jane deserves it as much as any body can. And
so she began enquiring after her directly, saying, ' I know
you cannot have heard from Jane lately, because it is not
her time for writing and when I immediately said, ' But
indeed we have, we had a letter this very morning,' I do
not know that I ever saw any body more surprised. ' Have
you, upon your honour?' said she ; 'well, that is quite
unexpected. Do let me hear what she says.' "
Emma's politeness was at hand directly, to say, with
smiling interest, —
" Have you heard from Miss Fairfax so lately ? I am
extremely happy. I hope she is well ? "
" Thank you. You are so kind ! " replied the happily
deceived aunt, while eagerly hunting for the letter. " Oh,
here it is. I was sure it could not be far off; but I had
put my huswife upon it, you see, without being aware, and
so it was quite hid, but I had it in my hand so very lately
that I was almost sure it must be on the table. I was
reading it to Mrs. Cole, and, since she went away, I was
reading it again to my mother, for it is such a pleasure
to her — a letter from Jane — that she can never hear it
often enough ; so I knew it could not be far off, and here
it is, only just under my huswife, — and since you are so
kind as to wish to hear what she says ; but, first of all, I
really must, in justice to Jane, apologise for her writing so
short a letter, only two pages you see, hardly two, and in
general she fills the whole paper and crosses half. My
mother often wonders that I can make it out so well. She
often says, when the letter is first opened, ' Well, Hetty,
now I think you will be put to it to make out all that
checker-work' — don't you, ma'am ? And then I tell her,
I am sure she would contrive to make it out herself, if
she had nobody to do it for her, every word of it, — I am
sure she would pore over it till she had made out every
word. And, indeed, though my mother's eyes are not so
good as they were, she can see amazingly well still, thank
God ! with the help of spectacles. It is such a blessing !
My mother's are really very good indeed, Jane often says,
when she is here, ' I am sure, grandmamma, you must. have
 EMMA.
had very strong eyes to see as you do — and so much fine
work as you have done too ! — I only wish my eyes may
last me as well.' "
All this spoken extremely fast obliged Miss Bates to stop
for breath ; and Emma said something very civil about the
excellence of Miss Fairfax's handwriting.
" You are extremely kind," replied Miss Bates highly
gratified ; " you who are such a judge, and write so beau
tifully yourself. I am sure there is nobody's praise that
could give us so much pleasure as Miss Woodhouse's. My
mother does not hear ; she is a little deaf, you know.
Ma'am," addressing her, . " do you hear what Miss Wood-
house is so obliging to say about Jane's handwriting?"
And Emma had the advantage of hearing her own silly
compliment repeated twice over before the good old lady
could comprehend it. She was pondering, in the mean
while, upon the possibility, without seeming very rude, of
making her escape from Jane Fairfax's letter, and had
almost resolved on hurrying away directly under some
slight excuse, when Miss Bates turned to her again and
seized her attention.
" My mother's deafness is very trifling, you see, just
nothing at all. By only raising my voice, and saying any
thing two or three times over, she is sure to hear ; but
then she is used to my voice. But it is very remarkable that
she should always hear Jane better than she does me.
Jane speaks so distinct! However, she will not find her
grandmamma at all deafer than she was two years ago ;
which is saying a great deal at my mother's time of life;
and it really is full two years, you know, since she was
here. We never were so long without seeing her before,
and as I was telling Mrs. Cole, we shall hardly know how
to make enough of her now."
" Are you expecting Miss Fairfax here soon ? "
" Oh, yes ; next week."
" Indeed ! That must be a very great pleasure."
" Thank you. You are very kind. Yes, next week.
Every body is so surprised ; and every body says the same
obliging things. I am sure she will be as happy to see
her friends at Highbury as they can be to see her. Yes,
 EMMA. 139
Friday or Saturday; she cannot say which, because Col.
Campbell will be wanting the carriage himself one of those
days. So very good of them to send her ; the whole way !
But they always do, you know. Oh yes, Friday or Satur
day next. That is what she writes about. That is the
reason of her writing out of rule, as we call it ; for, in the
common course, we should not have heard from her before
next Tuesday or Wednesday."
" Yes, so I imagined. I was afraid there could be
little chance of my hearing any thing of Miss Fairfax
to-day."
" So obliging of you ! No, we should not have heard,
if it had not been for this particular circumstance, of her
being to come here so soon. My mother is so delighted !
for she is to be three months with us at least. Three
months, she says so, positively, as I am going to have the
pleasure of reading to you. The case is, you see, that the
Campbells are going to Ireland. Mrs. Dixon has per
suaded her father and mother to come over and see her
directly. They had not intended to go over till the sum
mer, but she is so impatient to see them again ; — for till
she married, last October, she was never away from them
so much as a week, which must make it very strange to be
in different kingdoms, I was going to say, but however
different countries, and so she wrote a very urgent letter to
her mother, or her father, — I declare I do not know
which it was, but we shall see presently in Jane's letter, —
wrote in Mr. Dixon's name as well as her own, to press
their coming over directly ; and they would give them the
meeting in Dublin, and take them back to their country-
seat, Baly-craig, — a beautiful place I fancy. Jane has
heard a great deal of its beauty, — from Mr. Dixon, I
mean, — I do not know that she ever heard about it from
any body else, — but it was very natural, you know, that
he should like to speak of his own place while he was
paying his addresses, — and as Jane used to be very often
walking out with them, — for Colonel and Mrs. Campbell
were very particular about their daughter's not walking
out often with only Mr. Dixon, for which I do not at all
blame them : of course she heard every thing he might be
140 Ell51A.
telling Miss Campbell about his own home in Ireland ;
and I think she wrote us word that he had shown them
some drawings of the place, views that he had taken him
self. He is a most amiable, charming young man, I be
lieve. Jane was quite longing to go to Ireland, from his
account of things."
At this moment, an ingenious and animating suspicion
entering Emma's brain with regard to Jane Fairfax, this
charming Mr. Dixon, and the not going to Ireland, she
said, with the insidious design of further discovery, —
" You must feel it very fortunate that Miss Fairfax
should be allowed to come to you at such a time. Con
sidering the very particular friendship between her and
Mrs. Dixon, you could hardly have expected her to be
excused from accompanying Colonel and Mrs. Campbell."
" Very true, very true, indeed. The very thing that
we have always been rather afraid of ; for we should not
have liked to have her at such a distance from us, for
months together,— not able to come if any thing was to hap
pen ; but you see every thing turns out for the best. They
want her (Mr. and Mrs. Dixon) excessively to come over
with Colonel and Mrs. Campbell ; quite depend upon it ;
nothing can be more kind or pressing than their joint in
vitation, Jane says, as you will hear presently. Mr. Dixon
does not seem in the least backward in any attention. He
is a most charming young man. Ever since the service
he rendered Jane at Weymouth, when they were out in
that party on the water, and she, by the sudden whirling
round of something or other among the sails, would have
been dashed into the sea at once, and actually was all but
gone, if he had not, with the greatest presence of mind,
caught hold of her habit, — I can never think of it without
trembling! — but ever since we had the history of that
day, I have been so fond of Mr. Dixon ! "
" But, in spite of all her friends' urgency, and her own
wish of seeing Ireland, Miss Fairfax prefers devoting the
time to you and Mrs. Bates ?"
" Yes — entirely her own doing, entirely her own
choice ; and Colonel and Mrs. Campbell think she does
quite rif»ht, just what they should recommend; and in
 EMMA. HI
deed they particularly wish her to try her native air, as
she has not been quite so well as usual lately."
" I am concerned to hear of it. I think they judge
wisely ; but Mrs. Dixon must be very much disappointed.
Mrs. Dixon, I understand, has no remarkable degree of
personal beauty, — is not by any means to be compared
with Miss Fairfax."
" Oh no. You are! very obliging to say such things,
but certainly not. There is no comparison between them.
Miss Campbell always was absolutely plain, but extremely
elegant and amiable."
" Yes, that of course."
" Jane caught a had cold, poor thing ! so long ago as
the 7 th of November (as I am going to read to you), and
has never been well since. A long time, is not it, for a
cold to hang upon her ? She never mentioned it before,
because she would not alarm us. Just like her ! so con
siderate ! — But, however, she is so far from well, that her
kind friends the Campbells thinks she had better come
home, and try an air that always agrees with her : and
they have no doubt that three or four months at Highbury
will entirely cure her ; and it is certainly a great deal bet
ter that she should come here than go to Ireland, if she is
unwell. Nobody could nurse her as we should do."
" It appears to me the most desirable arrangement in
the world."
" And so she is to come to us next Friday or Saturday,
and the Campbells leave town in their way to Holyhead
the Monday following, as you will find from Jane's letter.
So sudden ! — You may guess, dear Miss Woodhouse,
what a flurry it has thrown me in ! If it was not for the
drawback of her illness, — but I am afraid we must expect
to see her grown thin, and looking very poorly. I must
tell you what an unlucky thing happened to me as to that.
I always make a point of reading Jane's letters through to
myself first, before I read them aloud to my mother, you
know, for fear of there being any thing in them to distress
her. Jane desired me to do it, so I always do ; and so I
began to-day with my usual caution : but no sooner did 1
come to the mention of her being unwell, than I burst out.
 EMMA.
quite frightened, with ' Bless me! poor Jane is ill !' —
which my mother, being on the watch, heard distinctly,
and was sadly alarmed at. However, when I read on, I
found it was not near so bad as I fancied at first ; and I
make so light of it now to her, that she does not think
much about it : but I cannot imagine how I could be so
off" my guard ! If Jane does not get well soon, we will
call in Mr. Perry. The expense shall not be thought of ;
and though he is so liberal and so fond of Jane, that I
dare say he would not mean to charge any thing for attend
ance, we could not suffer it to be so, you know. He has
a wife and family to maintain, and is not to be giving
away his time. Well, now I have just given you a hint
of what Jane writes about, we will turn to her letter ; and
I am sure she tells her own story a great deal better than
I can tell it for her."
" I am afraid we must be running away," said Emma,
glancing at Harriet, and beginning to rise, " my father
will be expecting us. I had no intention, I thought I had
no power, of staying more than five minutes, when I first
entered the house. I merely called, because I would not
pass the door without enquiring after Mrs. Bates ; but I
have been so pleasantly detained ! Now, however, we
must wish you and Mrs. Bates good morning."
And not all that could be urged to detain her succeeded.
She regained the street, happy in this, that though much
had been forced on her against her will, though she had,
in fact, heard the whole substance of Jane Fairfax's letter,
she had been able to escape the letter itself.

CHAPTER II.
Jane Fairfax was an orphan, the only child of Mrs,
Bates's youngest daughter.
The marriage of Lieut. Fairfax, of the regiment of
infantry, and Miss Jane Bates, had had its day of fame
and pleasure, hope and interest ; but nothing now remained
 EMMA. 143
of it save the melancholy remembrance of him dying in
action abroad — of his widow sinking under consumption
and grief soon afterwards — and this girl.
By birth she belonged to Highbury : and when at three
years old, on losing her mother, she became the property,
the charge, the consolation, the fondling of her grand
mother and aunt, there had seemed every probability of
her being permanently fixed there; of her being taught
only what very limited means could command, and grow
ing up with no advantages of connection or improvement
to be engrafted on what nature had given her in a pleasing
person, good understanding, and warm-hearted, well-
meaning relations.
But the compassionate feelings of a friend of her father
gave a change to her destiny. This was Col. Camp
bell, who had very highly regarded Fairfax, as an excel
lent officer and most deserving young man ; and farther,
had been indebted to him for such attentions, during a
severe camp-fever, as he believed had saved his life. These
were claims which he did not learn to overlook, though
some years passed away from the death of poor Fairfax
before his own return to England put any thing in his
power. When he did return, he sought out the child and
took notice of her. He was a married man with only one
living child, a girl, about Jane's age: and Jane became
their guest, paying them long visits and growing a favourite
with all ; and, before she was nine years old, his daughter's
great fondness for her, and his own wish of being a real
friend, united to produce an offer from Col. Campbell
of undertaking the whole charge of her education. It was
accepted ; and from that period Jane had belonged to
Col. Campbell's family, and had lived with them entirely,
only visiting her grandmother from time to time.
The plan was that she should be brought up for edu
cating others ; the very few hundred pounds which she
inherited from her father making independence impossible.
To provide for her otherwise was out of Col. Campbell's
power ; for though his income, by pay and appointments,
was handsome, his fortune was moderate, and must be all
his daughter's ; but, by giving her an education, he hoped
144 EMMA.
to be supplying the means of respectable subsistence here
after.
Such was Jane Fairfax's history. She had fallen into
good hands, known nothing but kindness from the Camp
bells, and been given an excellent education. Living con
stantly with right-minded and well-informed people, her
heart and understanding had received every advantage of
discipline and culture; and Col. Campbell's residence
being in London, every lighter talent had been done full
justice to, by the attendance of first-rate masters. Her
disposition and abilities were equally worthy of all that
friendship could do ; and at eighteen or nineteen she was,
as far as such an early age can be qualified for the care of
children, fully competent to the office of instruction her
self ; but she was too much beloved to be parted with.
Neither father nor mother could promote, and the daugh
ter could not endure it. The evil day was put off. It
was easy to decide that she was still too young ; and Jane
remained with them, sharing, as another daughter, in all
the rational pleasures of an elegant society, and a judicious
mixture of home and amusement, with only the drawback
of the future, —the sobering suggestions of her own good
understanding to remind her that all this might soon be
over.
The affection of the whole family, the warm attachment
of Miss Campbell in particular, was the more honourable
to each party from the circumstance of Jane's decided
superiority both in beauty and acquirements. That na
ture had given it in feature could not be unseen by the
young woman, nor could her higher powers of mind be
unfelt by the parents. They continued together with un
abated regard, however, till the marriage of Miss Campbell,
who by that chance, that luck which so often defies antici
pation in matrimonial affairs, giving attraction to what is
moderate rather than to what is superior, engaged the
affections of Mr. Dixon, a young man, rich and agreeable,
almost as soon as they were acquainted ; and was eligibly
and happily settled, while Jane Fairfax had yet her bread
to earn.
This event had very lately taken place ; too lately for
 EMMA. 145
any thing to be yet attempted by her less fortunate friend
towards entering on her path of duty ; though she had
now reached the age which her own judgment had fixed
on for beginning. She had long resolved that one-and-
twenty should be the period. With the fortitude of a de
voted noviciate, she had resolved at one-and-twenty to
complete the sacrifice, and retire from all the pleasures of
life, of rational intercourse, equal society, peace and hope,
to penance and mortification for ever.
The good sense of Col. and Mrs. Campbell could not
oppose such a resolution, though their feelings did. As
long as they lived, no exertions would be necessary, their
home might be hers for ever ; and for their own comfort
they would have retained her wholly ; but this would be
selfishness: — what must be at last, had better be soon.
Perhaps they began to feel it might have been kinder and
wiser to have resisted the temptation of any delay, and
spared her from a taste of such enjoyments of ease and
leisure as must now be relinquished. Still, however,
affection was glad to catch at any reasonable excuse for not
hurrying on the wretched moment. She had never been
quite well since the time of their daughter's marriage ; and
till she should have completely recovered her usual strength,
they must forbid her engaging in duties, which, so fair
from being compatible with a weakened frame and varying
spirits, seemed, under the most favourable circumstances,
to require something more than human perfection of body
and mind to be discharged with tolerable comfort.
With regard to her not accompanying them to Ireland,
her account to her aunt contained nothing but truth,
though there might be some truths not told. It was her
own choice to give the time of their absence to Highbury ;
to spend, perhaps, her last months of perfect liberty with
those kind relations to whom she was so very dear : and
the Campbells, whatever might be their motive or motives,
whether single, or double, or treble, gave the arrangement
their ready sanction, and said, that they depended more
on a few months spent in her native air, for the recovery
of her health, than on any thing else. Certain it was
-that she was to come; and that Highbury, instead of
L
146 EMMA.
welcoming that perfect novelty which had been so long
promised it— Mr. Frank Churchill — must put up for the
present with Jane Fairfax, who could bring only the fresh
ness of a two years' absence.
Emma was sorry to have to pay civilities to a person
she did not like through three long months ! — to be always
doing more than she wished, and less than she ought !
Why she did not like Jane Fairfax might be a difficult
question to answer : Mr. Knightley had once told her it
was because she saw in her the really accomplished young
woman, which she wanted to be thought herself ; and
though the accusation had been eagerly refuted at the
time, there were moments of self-examination in which
her conscience could not quite acquit her. But " she
could never get acquainted with her : she did not know
how it was, but there was such coldness and reserve —
such apparent indifference whether she pleased or not —
and then, her aunt was such an eternal talker! — and she
was made such a fuss with by every body ! —and it had
been always imagined that they were to be so intimate—
because their ages were the same, every body had sup
posed they must be so fond of each other." These were
her reasons ; she had no better.
It was a dislike so little just, — every imputed fault was
so magnified by fancy, — that she never saw Jane Fairfax,
the first time after any considerable absence, without feel
ing that she had injured her ; and now, when the due
visit was paid, on her arrival, after a two years' interval,
she was particularly struck with the very appearance and
manners, which for those two whole years she had been
depreciating. Jane Fairfax was very elegant, remarkably
elegant ; and she had herself the highest value for elegance.
Her height was pretty, just such as almost every body
would think tall, and nobody could think very tall ; her
figure particularly graceful ; her size a most becoming
medium, between fat and thin, though a slight appearance
of ill-health seemed to point out the likeliest evil of the
two. Emma could not but feel all this ; and then, her
face — her features — there was more beauty in them all
together than she had remembered ; it was not regular,
 EMMA. 147
but it was very pleasing beauty. Her eyes, a deep grey,
with dark eyelashes and eyebrows, had never been de
nied their praise ; but the skin, which she had been used
to cavil at, as wanting colour, had a clearness and delicacy
which really needed no fuller bloom. It was a style of
beauty, of which elegance was the reigning character, and
as such, she must, in honour, by all her principles, admire
it: elegance, which, whether of person or of mind, she
saw so little in Highbury. There, not to be vulgar, was
distinction and merit.
In short, she sat, during the first visit, looking at Jane
Fairfax with twofold complacency, — the sense of pleasure
and the sense of rendering justice, and was determining
that she would dislike her no longer. When she took in
her history, indeed, her situation, as well as her beauty ;
when she considered what all this elegance was destined
to, what she was going to sink from, how she was going
to live, it seemed impossible to feel any thing but com
passion and respect; especially, if to every well-known
particular, entitling her to interest, were added the highly
probable circumstance of an attachment to Mr. Dixon,
which she had so naturally started to herself. In that
case, nothing could be more pitiable or more honourable
than the sacrifices she had resolved on. Emma was very
willing now to acquit her of having seduced Mr. Dixon's
affections from his wife, or of any thing mischievous which
her imagination had suggested at first. If it were love, it
might be simple, single, successless love on her side alone.
She might have been unconsciously sucking in the sad
poison, while a sharer of his conversation with her friend ;
and from the best, the purest of motives, might now be
denying herself this visit to Ireland, and resolving to
divide herself effectually from him and his connections
by soon beginning her career of laborious duty.
Upon the whole, Emma left her with such softened,
charitable feelings, as made her look around in walking
home, and lament that Highbury afforded no young man
worthy of giving her independence, — nobody that she could
wish to scheme about for her.
These were charming feelings, but not lasting. Before
l 2
 148 EMMA.
she had committed herself by any public profession of
eternal friendship for Jane Fairfax, or done more towards
a recantation of past prejudices and errors, than saying to
Mr. Knightley, " She certainly is handsome ; she is better
than handsome i " Jane had spent an evening at Hartfield
with her grandmother and aunt, and every thing was
relapsing much into its usual state. Former provocations
re-appeared. The aunt was as tiresome as ever; more
tiresome, because anxiety for her health was now added to
admiration of her powers ; and they had to listen to the
description of exactly how little bread and butter she ate
for breakfast, and how small a slice of mutton for dinner,
as well as to see exhibitions of new caps and new work,
bags for her mother and herself ; and Jane's offences rose
again. They had music : Emma was obliged to play ;
and the thanks and praise which necessarily followed ap
peared to her an affectation of candour, an air of greatness,
, meaning only to show off in higher style her own very
superior performance. She was, besides, which was the
worst of all, so cold, so cautious ! There was no getting
at her real opinion. Wrapt up in a cloak of politeness,
she seemed determined to hazard nothing. She was dis
gustingly, was suspiciously reserved.
If any thing could be more, where all was most, she
was more reserved on the subject of Weymouth and the
Dixons than any thing. She seemed bent on giving. no
real insight into Mr. Dixon's character, or her own value
for his company, or opinion of the suitableness of the
match. It was all general approbation and smoothness ;
nothing delineated or distinguished. It did her no service,
however. Her caution was thrown away. Emma saw
its artifice, and returned to her first surmises. There
probably was something more to conceal than her own
preference; Mr. Dixon, perhaps, had been very near
changing one friend for the other, or been fixed only to
Miss Campbell, for the sake of the future twelve thousand
pounds.
The like reserve prevailed on other topics. She and
Mr. Frank Churchill had been at Weymouth at the same
time. It was known that they were a little acquainted;
 EMMA. 149
but not a syllable of real information could Emma pro
cure as to what he truly was. " Was he handsome?"—
" She believed he was reckoned a very fine young man." —.
" Was he agreeable?" — " He was generally thought so."
— " Did he appear a sensible young man ; a young man of
information?" — "At a watering-place, or in a common
London acquaintance, it was difficult to decide on such
points. Manners were all that could be safely judged of,
under a much longer knowledge than they had yet had of
Mr. Churchill. She believed every body found his manners
pleasing." Emma could not forgive her.

CHAPTER III.
Emma could not forgive her : but as neither provocation
nor resentment were discerned by Mr. Knightley, who
had been of the party, and had seen only proper attention
and pleasing behaviour on each side, he was expressing
the next morning, being at Hartfield again on business
with Mr. Woodhouse, his approbation of the whole ; not
so openly as he might have done had her father been out
of the room, but speaking plain enough to be very intel
ligible to Emma. He had been used to think her unjust
to Jane, and had now great pleasure in marking an• im
provement.
" A very pleasant evening," he began as soon as Mr.
Woodhouse had been talked into what was necessary, told
that he understood, and the papers swept away ; — " par
ticularly pleasant. You and Miss Fairfax gave us some
very good music. I do not know a more luxurious state,
sir, than sitting at one's ease to be entertained a whole
evening by two such young women ; sometimes with music
and sometimes with conversation. I am sure Miss Fairfax
must have found the evening pleasant, Emma. You left
nothing undone. I was glad you made her play so much,
for having no instrument at her grandmother's, it must
have been a real indulgence."
150 EMMA.
" I am happy you approved," said Emma, smiling ;
" but I hope I am not often deficient in what is due to
guests at Hartfield."
" No, my dear," said her father instantly ; " that I am
sure you are not. There is nobody half so attentive and
civil as you are. If any thing, you are too attentive. The
muffin last night, —if it had been handed round once, I
think it would have been enough."
" No," said Mr. Knightley, nearly at the same time; "you
are not often deficient ; not often deficient, either in manner
or comprehension. I think you understand me, therefore."
An arch look expressed— " I understand you well
enough ; " but she said only, " Miss Fairfax is reserved."
" I always told you she was — a little ; but you will
soon overcome all that part of her reserve which ought to
be overcome, all that has its foundation in diffidence.
What arises from discretion must be honoured."
" You think her diffident. I do not see it."
" My dear Emma," said he, moving from his chair into
one close by her, " you are not going to tell me, I hope,
that you had not a pleasant evening."
" Oh no ; I was pleased with my own perseverance in
asking questions, and amused to think how little inform
ation I obtained."
" I am disappointed," was his only answer.
" I hope every body had a pleasant evening," said
Mr. Woodhouse, in his quiet way. " I had. Once, I
felt the fire rather too much ; but then I moved back my
chair a little, a very little, and it did not disturb me.
Miss Bates was very chatty and good humoured, as she
always is, though she speaks rather too quick. However,
she is very agreeable, and Mrs. Bates, too, in a different
way. I like old friends ; and Miss Jane Fairfax is a very
pretty sort of young lady ; a very pretty and a very well
behaved young lady indeed. She must have found the
evening agreeable, Mr. Knightley, because she had Emma."
" True, sir ; and Emma, because she had Miss Fairfax."
Emma saw his anxiety, and wishing to appease it, at
least for the present, said, and with a sincerity which no
one could question, —
 EMMA. 151
" She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep
one s eyes from. I am always watching her to admire ;
and I do pity her from my heart."
Mr. Knightley looked as if he were more gratified than
he cared to express ; and before he could make any reply,
Mr. Woodhouse, whose thoughts were on the Bates's,
said, —
" It is a great pity that their circumstances should be
so confined ! a great pity indeed ! and I have often wished
—but it is so little one can venture to do — small, trifling
presents, of any thing uncommon. Now, we have killed a
porker, and Emma thinks of sending them a loin or a leg ;
it is very small and delicate — Hartfield pork is not like
any other pork— but still it is pork — and, my dear Emma,
unless one could be sure of their making it into steaks,
nicely fried, as ours are fried, without the smallest grease,
and not roast it, for no stomach can bear roast pork — I
think we had better send the leg —do not you think so,
my dear?"
" My dear papa, I sent the whole hind-quarter. I knew
you would wish it. There will be the leg to be salted, you
know, which is so very nice, and the loin to be dressed
directly, in any manner they like."
" That's right, my dear, very right. I had not thought
of it before, but that was the best way. They must not
over-salt the leg ; and thenj if it is not over-salted, and if
it is very thoroughly boiled, just as Serle boils ours, and
eaten very moderately of, with a boiled turnip, and a little
carrot or parsnip, I do not consider it unwholesome."
" Emma," said Mr. Knightley, presently, " I have a
piece of news for you. You like news — and I heard an
article in my way hither that I think will interest you."
" News ! Oh yes, I always like news. What is it ?
— why do you smile so? — where did you hear it? —at
Randalls ? "
He had time only to say,—
" No, not at Randalls ; I have not been near Randalls,"
—when the door was -thrown open, and Miss Bates and
Miss Fairfax walked into the room. Full of thanks, and
full of news, Miss Bates knew not which to give quickest.
l 4
152 EMMA.
Mr. Knightley soon saw that he had lost his moment, and
that not another syllable of communication could rest with
him.
" Oh, my dear sir, how are you this morning? My
dear Miss Woodhouse — I come quite overpowered. Such
a beautiful hind-quarter of pork ! You are too bountiful !
Have you heard the news ? Mr. Elton is going to be
married."
Emma had not had time even to think of Mr. Elton,
and she was so completely surprised, that she could not
avoid a little start, and a little blush, at the sound.
- " There is my news : — I thought it would interest
you," said Mr. Knightley, with a smile, which implied a
conviction of some part of what had passed between them.
" But where could you hear it?" cried Miss Bates.
" Where could you possibly hear it, Mr. Knightley ? For
it is not five minutes since I received Mrs. Cole's note—
no, it cannot be more than five — or at least ten — for I
had got my bonnet and spencer on, just ready to come out
— I was only gone down to speak to Patty again about the
pork — Jane was standing in the passage — were not you,
Jane ? — for my mother was so afraid that we had not any
salting-pan large enough. So I said, I would go down
and see, and Jane said, ' Shall I go down instead ? for I
think you have a little cold, and Patty has been washing
the kitchen.' — ' Oh, my dear,' said I — well, and just
then came the note. A Miss Hawkins — that's all I know
— a Miss Hawkins of Bath. But, Mr. Knightley, how
could you possibly have heard it ? for the very moment
Mr. Cole told Mrs. Cole of it, she sat down and wrote to
me. A Miss Hawkins "
" I was with Mr. Cole on business an hour and a half
ago. He had just read Elton's letter as I was shown in,
and handed it to me directly."
"Well! that is quite— I suppose there never was a
piece of news more generally interesting. My dear sir,
you really are too bountiful. My mother desires her very
best compliments and regards, and a thousand thanks, and
says you really quite oppress her."
" We consider our Hartfield pork," replied Mr. Wood
 EMMA. 153
house — " indeed it certainly is, so very superior to all
other pork, that Emma and I cannot have a greater pleasure
than "
" Oh, my dear sir, as my mother says, our friends are
only too good to us. If ever there were people who, with
out having great wealth themselves, had every thing they
could wish for, I am sure it is us. We may well say,
that ' our lot is cast in a goodly heritage.' Well, Mr.
Knightley, and so you actually saw the letter — well "
" It was short, merely to announce —but cheerful,
exulting of course." Here was a sly glance at Emma.
" He had been so fortunate as to — I forget the precise
words — one has no business to remember them. The
information was, as you state, that he was going to be
married to a Miss Hawkins. By his style, I should im
agine it just settled."
" Mr. Elton going to be married ! " said Emma, as soon
as she could speak. " He will have every body's wishes
for his happiness."
" He is very young to settle," was Mr. Woodhouse's
observation. " He had better not be in a hurry. He
seemed to me very well off as he was. We were always
glad to see him at Hartfield."
" A new neighbour for us all, Miss Woodhouse ! " said
Miss Bates joyfully : " my mother is so pleased ! — she
says she cannot bear to have the poor old vicarage without
a mistress. This is great news, indeed. Jane, you have
never seen Mr. Elton : —no wonder that you have such a
curiosity to see him."
Jane's curiosity did not appear of that absorbing nature
as wholly to occupy her.
" No, I have never seen Mr. Elton," she replied,
starting on this appeal : " is he —is he a tall man ? "
" Who shall answer that question ? " cried Emma.
" My father would say, ' Yes ;' Mr. Knightley, ' No
and Miss Bates and I, that he is just the happy medium.
When you have been here a little longer, Miss Fairfax,
you will understand that Mr. Elton is the standard of per
fection in Highbury, both in person and mind."
" Very true, Miss Woodhouse, so she will. He is the
154 EMMA.
very best young man; — but, my dear Jane, if you re
member, I told you yesterday he was precisely the height
of Mr. Perry. Miss Hawkins, — I dare say, an excellent
young woman. His extreme attention to my mother —
wanting her to sit in the vicarage-pew, that she might
hear the better, for my mother is a little deaf, you know —
it is not much, but she does not hear quite quick. Jane
says that Col. Campbell is a little deaf. He fancied
bathing might be good for it — the warm bath — but she
says it did him no lasting benefit. Col. Campbell, you
know, is quite our angel. And Mr. Dixon seems a very
charming young man, quite worthy of him. It is such a
happiness when good people get together— and they always
do. Now, here will be Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins ;
and there are the Coles, such very good people ; and the
Perrys — I suppose there never was a happier or a better
couple than Mr. and Mrs. Perry. I say, sir," turning to
Mr. Woodhouse, " I think there are few places with such
society as Highbury. I always say, we are quite blessed
in our neighbours. My dear sir, if there is one thing my
mother loves better that another, it is pork — a roast loin
of pork "
" As to who, or what Miss Hawkins is, or how long
he has been acquainted with her," said Emma, " nothing,
I suppose, can be known. One feels that it cannot be a
very long acquaintance. He has been gone only four
weeks."
Nobody had any information to give ; and, after a few
more wonderings, Emma said, —
" You are silent, Miss Fairfax—but I hope you mean
to take an interest in this news. You, who have been
hearing and seeing so much of late on these subjects, who
must have been so deep in the business on Miss Camp-
bell's account — we shall not excuse your being indifferent
about Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins."
" When I have seen Mr. Elton," replied Jane, " I
dare say I shall be interested — but I believe it requires
that with me. And as it is some months since Miss
Campbell married, the impression may be a little worn
off."
 EMMA. 155
" Yes, he has been gone just four weeks, as you ob
serve, Miss Woodhouse," said Miss Bates, " four weeks
yesterday : — a Miss Hawkins: — well, I had always rather
fancied it would be some young lady hereabouts ; not that
I ever — Mrs. Cole once whispered to me — but I im
mediately said, ' No, Mr. Elton is a most worthy young
man — but ' In short, I do not think I am particu
larly quick at those sort of discoveries. I do not pretend
to it. What is before me, I see. At the same time,
nobody could wonder if Mr. Elton should have aspired
Miss Woodhouse lets me chatter on, so good humouredly.
She knows I would not offend for the world. How does
Miss Smith do ? She seems quite recovered now. Have
you heard from Mrs. John Knightley lately ? Oh, those
dear little children. Jane, do you know I always fancy
Mr. Dixon like Mr. John Knightley ? I mean in per
son — tall, and with that sort of look — and not very
talkative."
" Quite wrong, my dear aunt ; there is no likeness at all."
" Very odd ! but one never does form a just idea of any
body beforehand. One takes up a notion, and runs away
with it. Mr. Dixon, you say, is not, strictly speaking,
handsome."
"Handsome! Oh no — far from it— certainly plain.
I told you he was plain."
" My dear, you said that Miss Campbell would not
allow him to be plain, and that you yourself "
" Oh, as for me, my judgment is worth nothing.
Where I have a regard, I always think a person well
looking. But I gave what I believed the general opinion,
when I called him plain."
" Well, my dear Jane, I believe we must be running
away. The weather does not look well, and grandmamma
will be uneasy. You are too obliging, my dear Miss
Woodhouse; but we really must take leave. This has
been a most agreeable piece of news indeed. I shall just
go round by Mrs. Cole's; but I shall not stop three
minutes: and, Jane, you had better go home directly — I
would not have you out in a shower ! We think she is
the better for Highbury already. Thank you, we do indeed.
 EMMA.
I shall not attempt calling on Mrs. Goddard, for I really
do not think she cares for any thing but boiled pork :
when we dress the leg it will be another thing. Good
morning to you, my dear sir. Oh, Mr. Knightley is
coming too. Well, that is so very ! — I am sure if Jane is
tired, you will be so kind as to give her your arm. Mr.
Elton, and Miss Hawkins. Good morning to you."
Emma, alone with her father, had half her attention
wanted by him, while he lamented that young people would
be in such a hurry to marry — and to marry strangers too
— and the other half she could give to her own view of
the subject. It was to herself an amusing and a very
welcome piece of news, as proving that Mr. Elton could
not have suffered long ; but she was sorry for Harriet :
Harriet must feel it — and all that she could hope was, by
giving the first information herself, to save her from hearing
it abruptly from others. It was now about the time that
she was likely to call. If she were to meet Miss Bates in
her way! — and upon its beginning to rain, Emma was
obliged to expect that the weather would be detaining her
at Mrs. Goddard's, and that the intelligence would un
doubtedly rush upon her without preparation.
The shower was heavy, but short ; and it had not been
over five minutes, when in came Harriet, with just the
heated, agitated look which hurrying thither with a full
heart was likely to give ; and the " Oh, Miss Woodhouse,
what do you think has happened?" which instantly burst
forth, had all the evidence of corresponding perturbation.
As the blow was given, Emma felt that she could not now
show greater kindness than in listening ; and Harriet, un
checked, ran eagerly through what she had to tell. " She
had set out from Mrs. Goddard's half an hour ago— she had
been afraid it would rain — she had been afraid it would
pour down every moment— but she thought she might get
to Hartfield first — she had hurried on as fast as possible ;
but then, as she was passing by the house where a young
woman was making up a gown for her, she thought she
would just step in and see how it went on ; and though she
did not seem to stay half a moment there, soon after she came
out it beean to rain and she did not know what to do ; so
 EMMA. 157
she ran on directly, as fast as she could, and took shelter
at Ford's." Ford's was the principal woollen-draper,
linen-draper, and haberdasher's shop united — the shop first
in size and fashion in the place. " And so, there she had
sat, without an idea of any thing in the world, full ten
minutes, perhaps — where, all of a sudden, who should
come in — to be sure it was so very odd! — but they always
dealt at Ford's — who should come in, but Elizabeth Mar-
tin and her brother ! Dear Miss Woodhouse ! only think.
I thought I should have fainted. I did not know what
to do. I was sitting near the door — Elizabeth saw me
directly ; but he did not ; he was busy with the umbrella. I
am sure she saw me, but she looked away directly, and took
no notice ; and they both went to quite the farther end of
the shop ; and I kept sitting near the door. Oh dear ; I
was so miserable ! I am sure I must have been as white
as my gown. I could not go away, you know, because of
the rain ; but I did so wish myself any where in the world
but there. Oh dear, Miss Woodhouse — well, at last, I
fancy, he looked round and saw me ; for, instead of going
on with their buyings, they began whispering to one an
other. I am sure they were talking of me ; and I could
not help thinking that he was persuading her to speak to
me— (do you think he was, Miss Woodhouse ?) — for pre
sently she came forward — came quite up to me, and asked
me how I did, and seemed ready to shake hands, if I
would. She did not do any of it in the same way that
she used ; I could see she was altered ; but, however, she
seemed to try to be very friendly, and we shook hands,
and stood talking some time ; but I know no more what I
said — I was in such a tremble ! I remember she said
she was sorry we never met now ; which I thought almost
too kind ! dear Miss Woodhouse, I was absolutely miser
able ! By that time, it was beginning to hold up, and I
was determined that nothing should stop me from getting
away — and then — only think ! — I found he was coming
Op towards me too — slowly, you know, and as if he
did not quite know what to do ; and so he came and
spoke, and I answered — and I stood for a minute,
feeling dreadfully, you know, one cannot tell how ; and
 158 EMMA.
then I took courage, and said it did not rain, and I must
go ; and so off I set : and I had not got three yards from
the door, when he came after me, only to say, if I was
going to Hartfield, he thought I had much better go round
by Mr. Cole's stables, for I should find the near way quite
floated by this rain. Oh dear, I thought it would have
been the death of me ! So I said, I was very much obliged
to him : you know I could not do less ; and then he went
back to Elizabeth, and I came round by the stables — I
believe I did — but I hardly knew where I was, or any
thing about it. Oh, Miss Woodhouse, I would rather
have done any thing than had it happen ; and yet, you know,
there was a sort of satisfaction in seeing him behave so
pleasantly and so kindly. And Elizabeth, too. Oh, Miss
Woodhouse, do talk to me, and make me comfortable again."
Very sincerely did Emma wish to do so ; but it was not
immediately in her power. She was obliged to stop and
think. She was not thoroughly comfortable herself. The
young man's conduct, and his sister's, seemed the result of
real feeling, and she could not but pity them. As Harriet
described it, there had been an interesting mixture of
wounded affection and genuine delicacy in their behaviour:
but she had believed them to be well-meaning, worthy
people, before ; and what difference did this make in the
evils of the connection ? It was folly to be disturbed by
it. Of course, he must be sorry to lose her, — they must be
all sorry : ambition, as well as love, had probably been
mortified. They might all have hoped to rise by Harriet's
acquaintance ; and besides, what was the value of Harriet's
description ? So easily pleased, — so little discerning, —
what signified her praise ?
She exerted herself, and did try to make her comfortable,
by considering all that had passed as a mere trifle, and
quite unworthy of being dwelt on.
" It might be distressing for the moment," said she,
" but you seem to have behaved extremely well ; and it
is over, — and may never, — can never, as a first meeting,
— occur again, and therefore you need not think about it."
Harriet said, " Very true," and she " would not think
about it ; " but still she talked of it, — still she could talk
 EMMA. 159
of nothing else ; and Emma, at last, in order to put the
Martins out of her head, was obliged to hurry on the
news, which she had meant to give with so much tender
caution, hardly knowing herself whether to rejoice or be
angry, ashamed or only amused, at such a state of mind
in poor Harriet — such a conclusion of Mr. Elton's im
portance with her !
Mr. Elton's rights, however, gradually revived. Though
she did not feel the first intelligence as she might have
done the day before, or an hour before, its interest soon
increased ; and before their first conversation was over,
she had talked herself into all the sensations of curiosity,
wonder and regret, pain and pleasure, as to this fortunate
Miss Hawkins, which could conduce to place the Martins
under proper subordination in her fancy.
Emma learned to be rather glad that there had been
such a meeting. It had been serviceable in deadening the
first shock, without retaining any influence to alarm. As
Harriet now lived, the Martins could not get at her, with
out seeking her, where hitherto they had wanted either
the courage or the condescension to seek her ; for since
her refusal of the brother, the sisters had never been at
Mrs. Goddard's; and a twelvemonth might pass without
their being thrown together again, with any necessity, or
even any power of speech.

CHAPTER IV.
Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are
in interesting situations, that a young person, who either
marries or dies, is sure of being kindly spoken of.
A week had not passed since Miss Hawkins's name was
first mentioned in Highbury, before she was, by some
means or other, discovered to have every recommendation
of person and mind, — to be handsome, elegant, highly
accomplished, and perfectly amiable ; and when Mr. Elton
himself arrived to triumph in his happy prospects, and
160 EMMA.
circulate the fame of her merits, there was very little more
for him to do than to tell her Christian name, and say
whose music she principally played.
Mr. Elton returned, a very happy man. He had gone
away rejected and mortified, disappointed in a very san
guine hope, after a series of what had appeared to him
strong encouragement ; and not only losing the right lady,
but finding himself debased to the level of a very wrong
one. He had gone away deeply offended, he came back
engaged to another ; and to another as superior, of course,
to the first, as under such circumstances what is gained
always is to what is lost. He came back gay and self-
satisfied, eager and busy, caring nothing for Miss Wood-
house, and defying Miss Smith.
The charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the
usual advantages of perfect beauty and merit, was in pos
session of an independent fortune, of so many thousands
as would always be called ten, — a point of some dignity,
as well as some convenience. The story told well : he
had not thrown himself away — he had gained a woman
of 10,000l., or thereabouts, and he had gained her with
such delightful rapidity ; the first hour of introduction
had been so very soon followed by distinguishing notice ;
the history which he had to give Mrs. Cole of the rise and
progress of the affair was so glorious ; the steps so quick,
from the accidental rencontre, to the dinner at Mr. Green's,
and the party at Mrs. Brown's, — smiles and blushes rising
in importance, — with consciousness and agitation richly
scattered ; the lady had been so easily impressed, — so
sweetly disposed ; — had, in short, to use a most intelligible
phrase, been so very ready to have him, that vanity and
prudence were equally contented.
He had caught both substance and shadow, both fortune
and affection, and was just the happy man he ought to be ;
—talking only of himself and his own concerns,—expecting
to be congratulated, — ready to be laughed at, — and, with
cordial, fearless smiles, now addressing all the young ladies
of the place, to whom, a few weeks ago, he would have
been more cautiously gallant.
The wedding was no distant event, as the parties had
 EMMA. 161
only themselves to please, and nothing but the necessary
preparations to wait for ; and when he set out for Bath
again, there was a general expectation, which a certain
glance of Mrs. Cole's did not seem to contradict, that when
he next entered Highbury he would bring his bride.
During his present short stay, Emma had barely seen
him ; but just enough to feel that the first meeting was
over, and to give her the impression of his not being im
proved by the mixture of pique and pretension now
spread over his air. She was, in fact, beginning very
much to wonder that she had ever thought him pleasing
at all ; and his sight was so inseparably connected with
some very disagreeable feelings, that, except in a moral
light, as a penance, a lesson, a source of profitable hu
miliation to her own mind, she would have been thankful
to be assured of never seeing him again. She wished him
very well ; but he gave her pain ; and his welfare twenty
miles off would administer most satisfaction.
The pain of his continued residence in Highbury,
however, must certainly be lessened by his marriage.
Many vain solicitudes would be prevented — many awk
wardnesses smoothed by it. A Mrs. Elton would be an ex
cuse for any change of intercourse ; former intimacy might
sink without remark. It would be almost beginning their
life of civility again.
Of the lady individually, Emma thought very little.
She was good enough for Mr. Elton, no doubt ; accom
plished enough for Highbury — handsome enough — to
look plain, probably, by Harriet's side. As to connection,
there Emma was perfectly easy ; persuaded, that after all
his own vaunted claims and disdain of Harriet, he had
done nothing. On that article, truth seemed attainable!
What she was, must be uncertain ; but who she was, might
be found out ; and setting aside the 10,000l., it did not
appear that she was at all Harriet's superior. She brought
no name, no blood, no alliance. Miss Hawkins was the
youngest of the two daughters of a Bristol — merchant, of
course, he must be called ; but, as the whole of the profits
of his mercantile life appeared so very moderate, it was
not unfair to guess the dignity of his line of trade had
H
162 EMMA.
been very moderate also. Part of every winter she had
been used to spend in Bath ; but Bristol was her home,
the very heart of Bristol ; for though the father and mo
ther had died some years ago, an uncle remained — in the
law line:—nothing more distinctly honourable was hazarded
of him, than that he was in the law line ; and with him
the daughter had lived. Emma guessed him to be the
drudge of some attorney, and too stupid to rise. And all
the grandeur of the connection seemed dependent on the
elder sister, who was very well married, to a gentleman in a
great way, near Bristol, who kept two carriages ! That
was the wind-up of the history ; that was the glory of
Miss Hawkins.
Could she but have given Harriet her feelings about it
all ! She had talked her into love ; but, alas ! she was not
so easily to be talked out of it. The charm of an object
to occupy the many vacancies of Harriet's mind was not
to be talked away. He might be superseded hy another ;
he certainly would, indeed ; nothing could be clearer ; even
a Robert Martin would have been sufficient ; but nothing
else, she feared, would cure her. Harriet was one of those,
who, having once begun, would be always in love. And
now, poor girl, she was considerably worse from this re
appearance of Mr. Elton—she was always having a glimpse
of him somewhere or other. Emma saw him only once ;
but two or three times every day Harriet was sure just to
meet with him, or just to miss him, just to hear his voice,
or see his shoulder, just to have something occur to pre
serve him in her fancy, in all the favouring warmth of
surprise and conjecture. She was, moreover, perpetually
hearing about him ; for, excepting when at Hartfield, she
was always among those who saw no fault in Mr. Elton,
and found nothing so interesting as the discussion of his
concerns ; and every report, therefore, every guess, — all
that had already occurred, all that might occur in the ar
rangement of his affairs, comprehending income, servants,
and furniture,—was continually in agitation around her.
Her regard was receiving strength by invariable praise of
him, and her regrets kept alive, and feelings irritated by
ceaseless repetitions of Miss Hawkins's happiness, and
 EMMA. 163
continual observation of how much he seemed attached !
— his air as he walked by the house — the very sitting of
his hat, being all in proof of how much he was in love !
Had it been allowable entertainment, had there been no
pain to her friend, or reproach to herself, in the waverings
of Harriet's mind, Emma would have been amused by its
variations. Sometimes Mr. Elton predominated, sometimes
the Martins ; and each was occasionally useful' as a check
to the other. Mr. Elton's engagement had been the cure of
the agitation of meeting Mr. Martin. The unhappiness
produced by the knowledge of that engagement had been
a little put aside by Elizabeth Martin's calling at Mrs.
Goddard's a few days afterwards. Harriet had not been at
home ; but a note had been prepared and left for her,
written in the very style to touch,—a small mixture of re
proach with a great deal of kindness ; and till Mr. Elton
himself appeared, she had been much occupied by it, con
tinually pondering over what could be done in return, and
wishing to do more than she dared to confess. But Mr.
Elton, in person, had driven away all such cares. While
he staid, the Martins were forgotten ; and on the very
morning of his setting off for Bath again, Emma, to dis
sipate some of the distress it occasioned, judged it best for
iier to return Elizabeth Martin's visit.
How that visit was to be acknowledged, what would be
necessary, and what might be safest, had been a point of
some doubtful consideration. Absolute neglect of the mother
and sisters, when invited to come, would be ingratitude.
It must not be ; and yet the danger of a renewal of the
acquaintance !
After much thinking, she could determine on nothing
better than Harriet's returning the visit; but in a way
that, if they had understanding, should convince them
that it was to be only a formal acquaintance. She meant
to take her in the carriage, leave her at the Abbey- Mill,
while she drove a little farther, and call for her again so
soon as to allow no time for insidious applications or dan
gerous recurrences to the past, and give the most decided
proof of what degree of intimacy was chosen for the fu
ture.
m 2
164
She could think of nothnig better ; and though there
was something in it which her own heart could not approve
— something of ingratitude, merely glossed over — it
must be done, or what would become of Harriet ?

CHAPTER V
Small heart had Harrret for visiting. Only half an hour
before her friend called for her at Mrs. Goddard's, her evil
stars had led her to the very spot, where, at that moment,
a trunk, directed to The Rev. Philip Elton, White Hart,
Bath, was to be seen under the operation of being lifted
into the butcher's cart, which was to convey it to where
the coaches passed ; and every thing in this world, excepting
that trunk and the direction, was consequently a blank.
She went, however ; and when they reached the farm,
and she was to be put down, at the end of the broad, neat
gravel walk, which led between espalier apple-trees to the
front door, the sight of every thing which had given her
so much pleasure the autumn before, was beginning to re
vive a little local agitation ; and when they parted, Emma
observed her to be looking around with a sort of fearful
curiosity, which determined her not to allow the visit to
exceed the proposed quarter of an hour. She went on her
self, to give that portion of time to an old servant who was
married, and settled in Donwell.
The quarter of an hour brought her punctually to the
white gate again ; and Miss Smith receiving her summons,
was with her without delay, and unattended by any alarm
ing young man. She came solitarily down the gravel walk
— a Miss Martin just appearing at the door, and parting
with her seemingly with ceremonious civility.
Harriet could not very soon give an intelligible account.
She was feeling too much ; but at last Emma collected
from her enough to understand the sort of meeting, and
-the sort of pain it was creating. She had seen only Mrs.
Martin and the two girls. They had received her doubt
 EMMA. 165
ingly, if not coolly ; and nothing beyond the merest
common-place had been talked almost all the time — till
just at last, when Mrs. Martin's saying, all of a sudden,
that she thought Miss Smith was grown, had brought on a
more interesting subject, and a warmer manner. In that
very room she had been measured last September with
her two friends. There were the pencilled marks and memo
randums on the wainscot by the window. He had done
it. They all seemed to remember the day, the hour, the
party, the occasion, — to feel the same consciousness, the
same regrets, — to be ready to return to the same good
understanding ; and they were just growing again like them
selves (Harriet, as Emma must suspect, as ready as the
best of them to be cordial and happy,) when the carriage
re-appeared, and all was over. The style of the visit, and
the shortness of it, were then felt to be decisive. Four
teen minutes to be given to those with whom she had
thankfully passed six weeks not six months ago ! Emma
could not but picture it all, and feel how justly they might
resent, how naturally Harriet must suffer. It was a bad
business. She would have given a great deal, or endured
a great deal, to have had the Martins in a higher rank of
life. They were so deserving, that a little higher should
have been enough ; but as it was, how could she have
done otherwise ? Impossible ! She could not repent.
They must be separated ; but there was a great deal of
pain in the process — so much to herself at this time, that
she soon felt the necessity of a little consolation, and re
solved on going home by way of Randalls to procure it.
Her mind was quite sick of Mr. Elton and the Martins.
The refreshment of Randalls was absolutely necessary.
It was a good scheme ; but on driving to the door they
heard that neither " master nor mistress was at home : "
they had both been out some time ; the man believed they
were gone to Hartfield.
" This is too bad," cried Emma, as they turned away.
" And now we shall just miss them ; too provoking : I
do not know when I have been so disappointed." And
she leaned back in the corner, to indulge her murmurs, or
to reason them away ; probably a little of both — such
m 3
 166 EMMA.
being the commonest process of a not ill-disposed mind.
Presently the carriage stopt : she looked up ; it was stopt
by Mr. and Mrs. Weston, who were standing to speak to
her. There was instant pleasure in the sight of them,
and still greater pleasure was conveyed in sound ; for Mr.
Weston immediately accosted her with,—
"How d'ye do? — how d'ye do? — We have been
sitting with your father — glad to see him so well. Frank
comes to-morrow — I had a letter this morning — we see
him to-morrow by dinner-time to a certainty — he is at
Oxford to-day, and he comes for a whole fortnight ; I knew
it would be so. If he had come at Christmas he could not
have staid three days : I was always glad he did not come
at Christmas ; now we are going to have just the right
weather for him, — fine, dry, settled weather. We shall
enjoy him completely ; every thing has turned out exactly
as we could wish."
There was no resisting such news, no possibility of
avoiding the influence of such a happy face as Mr. Wes
ton's, confirmed as it all was by the words and the counte
nance of his wife, fewer and quieter, but not less to the
purpose. To know that she thought his coming certain
was enough to make Emma consider it so, and sincerely
did she rejoice in their joy. It was a most delightful re-
animation of exhausted spirits. The worn-out past was
sunk in the freshness of what was coming ; and in the ra
pidity of half a moment's thought, she hoped Mr. Elton
would now be talked of no more.
Mr. Weston gave her the history of the engagements at
Enscombe, which allowed his son, to answer for having an
entire fortnight at his command, as well as the route and
the method of his journey ; and she listened, and smiled,
and congratulated.
" I shall soon bring him over to Hartfield," said he, at
the conclusion.
Emma could imagine she saw a touch of the arm at this
speech, from his wife.
" We had better move on, Mr. Weston," said she ;
" we are detaining the girls."
" Well, well, I am ready ; " and turning again to Emma,
 EMMA. 167
" but you must not be expecting such a very fine young
man ; you have only had my account, you know ; I dare
say he is really nothing extraordinary," — though his own
sparkling eyes at the moment were speaking a very dif
ferent conviction.
Emma could look perfectly unconscious and innocent,
and answer in a manner that appropriated nothing.
. " Think of me to-morrow, my dear Emma, about four
o'clock," was Mrs. Weston's parting injunction ; spoken
with some anxiety, and meant only for her.
" Four o'clock ! — depend upon it he will be here by
three," was Mr. Weston's quick amendment ; and so ended
a most satisfactory meeting. Emma's spirits were mounted
quite up to happiness ; every thing wore a different air ;
James and his horses seemed not half so sluggish as before.
When she looked at the hedges, she thought the elder at
least must soon be coming out ; and when she turned
round to Harriet she saw something like a look of spring,
a tender smile even there.
" Will Mr. Frank Churchill pass through Bath as well
as Oxford ? " was a question, however, which did not augur
much.
But neither geography nor tranquillity could come all at
once; and Emma was now in a humour to resolve that they
should both come in time.
The morning of the interesting day arrived, and Mrs.
Weston's faithful pupil did not forget either at ten, or
eleven, or twelve o'clock, that she was to think of her at
four.
" My dear, dear, anxious friend," said she, in mental
soliloquy, while walking down stairs from her own room,
" always over-careful for every body's comfort but your
own : I see you now in all your little fidgets, going again
and again into his room, to be sure that all is right." The
clock struck twelve as she passed through the hall. "'Tis
twelve, — I shall not forget to think of you four hours hence;
and by this time to-morrow, perhaps, or a little later, 1
may be thinking of the possibility of their all calling here.
I am sure they will bring him soon."
She opened the parlour door, and saw two gentlemen
m 4
 168 EMMA.
sitting with her father, — Mr. Weston and his son. They
had been arrived only a few minutes; and Mr. Weston had
scarcely finished his explanation of Frank's being a day
before his time, and her father was yet in the .midst of
his very civil welcome and congratulations, when she
appeared, to have her share of surprise, introduction, and
pleasure.
The Frank Churchill so long talked of, so high in in
terest, was actually before her — he was presented to her ;
and she did not think too much had been said in his praise ;
he was a very good looking young man ; height, air, ad
dress, all were unexceptionable, and his countenance had a
great deal of the spirit and liveliness of his father's ; he
looked quick and sensible. She felt immediately that she
should like him ; and there was a well-bred ease of manner,
and a readiness to talk, which convinced her that he came
intending to be acquainted with her, and that acquainted
they soon must be.
He had reached Randalls the evening before. She was
pleased with the eagerness to arrive which had made him
alter his plan, and travel earlier, later, and quicker, that
he might gain half a day.
" I told you yesterday," cried Mr. Weston with exult
ation, — "I told you all that he would be here before
the time named. I remembered what I used to do myself.
One cannot creep upon a journey : one cannot help getting
on faster than one has planned ; and the pleasure of com
ing in upon one's friends before the look-out begins is
worth a great deal more than any little exertion it needs."
" It is a great pleasure where one can indulge in it," said
the young man, " though there are not many houses that
I should presume on so far ; but in coming home I felt I
might do any thing."
The word home made his father look on him with fresh
complacency. Emma was directly sure that he knew how
to make himself agreeable ; the conviction was strengthened
by what followed. He was very much pleased with Randalls,
thought it a most admirably arranged house, would hardly al
low it even to be very small, admired the situation, the walk
to Highbury, Highbury itself, Hartfield still more, and
 EMMA. 169
professed himself to have always felt the sort of interest in
the country, which none but one's own country gives, and
the greatest curiosity to visit it. That he should never
have been able to indulge so amiable a feeling before passed
suspiciously through Emma's brain ; but still if it were a
falsehood, it was a pleasant one, and pleasantly handled.
His manner had no air of study or exaggeration. He did
really look and speak as if in a state of no common enjoy
ment.
Their subjects, in general, were such as belong to an open
ing acquaintance. On his side were the enquiries, —
" Was she a horse-woman ? — Pleasant rides ? — Plea
sant walks ? — Had they a large neighbourhood ? — High
bury, perhaps, afforded society enough ? — There were
several very pretty houses in and about it. — Balls — had
they balls ? — Was it a musical society ? "
But when satisfied on all these points, and their acquaint
ance proportionably advanced, he contrived to find an oppor
tunity, while their two fathers were engaged with each
other, of introducing his mother-in-law, and speaking of
her with so much handsome praise, so much warm admir
ation, so much gratitude for the happiness she secured to
his father, and her very kind reception of himself, as was
an additional proof of his knowing how to please — and of
his certainly thinking it worth while to try to please her.
He did not advance a word of praise beyond what she
knew to be thoroughly deserved by Mrs. Weston ; but,
undoubtedly, he could know very little of the matter. He
understood what would be welcome ; he could be sure of
little else. " His father's marriage," he said, " had been
the wisest measure: every friend must rejoice in it; and
the family from whom he had received such a blessing
must be ever considered as having conferred the highest
obligation on him." '
He got as near as he could to thanking her for Miss
Taylor's merits, without seeming quite to forget that, in
the common course of things, it was to be rather supposed
that Miss Taylor had formed Miss Woodhouse's character,
than Miss Woodhouse Miss Taylor's. And at last, as if
resolved to qualify his opinion completely for travelling
170 EMMA.
round to its object, he wound it all up with astonishment
at the youth and beauty of her person.
" Elegant, agreeable manners, I was prepared for," said
he ; " but I confess that, considering every thing, I had
not expected more than a very tolerably well-looking wo
man of a certain age ; I did not know that I was to find a
pretty young woman in Mrs. Weston."
" You cannot see too much perfection in Mrs. Weston,
for my feelings," said Emma : " were you to guess her to
be eighteen, I should listen with pleasure ; but she would
be ready to quarrel with you for using such words. Don't
let her imagine that you have spoken of her as a pretty
young woman."
" I hope I should know better," he replied ; '' no, de
pend upon it (with a gallant bow), that in addressing Mrs.
Weston I should understand whom I might praise without
any danger of being thought extravagant in my terms."
Emma wondered whether the same suspicion of what
might be expected from their knowing each other, which
had taken strong possession of her mind, had ever crossed
his ; and whether his compliments were to be considered
as marks of acquiescence, or proofs of defiance. She must
see more of him to understand his ways ; at present, she
only felt they were agreeable.
She had no doubt of what Mr. Weston was often think
ing about. His quick eye she detected again and again
glancing towards them with a happy expression ; and even,
when he might have determined not to look, she was con
fident that he was often listening.
Her own father's perfect exemption from any thought of
the kind, the entire deficiency in him of all such sort of
penetration or suspicion, was a most comfortable circum
stance. Happily, he was not farther from approving
matrimony than from foreseeing it. Though always object
ing to every marriage that was arranged, he never suffered
beforehand from the apprehension of any ; it seemed as if
he could not think so ill of any two persons' understanding
as to suppose they meant to marry till it were proved
against them. She blessed the favouring blindness. He
could now, without the drawback of a single unpleasant sur
 EMMA. 171
mise, without a glance forward at any possible treachery in
his guest, give way to all his natural kind-hearted civility in
solicitous enquiries after Mr. Frank Churchill's accommo
dation on his journey, through the sad evils of sleeping two
nights on the road, and express very genuine unmixed
anxiety to know that he had certainly escaped catching
cold, — which, however, he could not allow him to feel quite
assured of himself, till after another night.
A reasonable visit paid, Mr. Weston began to move.
" He must be going. He had business at the Crown about
his hay, and a great many errands for Mrs. Weston at
Ford's ; but he need not hurry any body else." His son,
too well bred to hear the hint, rose immediately also,
saying, —
" As you are going farther on business, sir, I will take
the opportunity of paying a visit, which must be paid
some day or other, and therefore may as well be paid now.
I have the honour of being acquainted with a neighbour
of yours (turning to Emma), a lady residing in or near
Highbury ; a family of the name of Fairfax. I shall have
no difficulty, I suppose, in finding the house ; though Fair
fax, I believe, is not the proper name, — I should rather
say Barnes or Bates. Do you know any family of that
name ? "
" To be sure we do," cried his father : " Mrs. Bates —
we passed her house — I saw Miss Bates at the window.
True, true, you are acquainted with Miss Fairfax ; I re
member you knew her at Weymouth, and a fine girl she is.
Call upon her, by all means."
" There is no necessity for my calling this morning,"
said the young man : " another day would do as well ;
but there was that degree of acquaintance at Weymouth
which "
" Oh, go to-day, go to-day. Do not defer it. What is
right to be done cannot be done too soon. And, besides, I
must give you a hint, Frank — any want of attention to her
here should be carefully avoided. You saw her with the
Campbells, when she was the equal of every body she
mixed with, but here she i3 with a poor old grandmother,
172 EMMA.
who has barely enough to live on. If you do not call
early it will be a slight."
The son looked convinced.
" I have heard her speak of the acquaintance," said
Emma : " she is a very elegant young woman."
He agreed to it, but with so quiet a " Yes," as inclined
her almost to doubt his real concurrence ; and yet there
must be a very distinct sort of elegance for the fashionable
world, if Jane Fairfax could be thought only ordinarily
gifted with it.
" If you were never particularly struck by her manners
before," said she, " I think you will to-day. You will see
her to advantage ; see her and hear her— no, I am afraid
you will not hear her at all, for she has an aunt who never
holds her tongue."
" You are acquainted with Miss Jane Fairfax, sir, are
you ? " said Mr. Woodhouse, always the last to make his
way in conversation ; " then give me leave to assure you,
that you will find her a very agreeable young lady. She
is staying here on a visit to her grandmamma and aunt,
very worthy people ; I have known them all my life.
They will be extremely glad to see you, I am sure ; and
one of my servants shall go with you to show you the
way."
" My dear sir, upon no account in the world ; my father
can direct me."
" But your father is not going so far ; he is only going
to the Crown, quite on the other side of the street, and
there are a great many houses : you might be very much
at a loss, and it is a very dirty walk, unless you keep on
the footpath ; but my coachman can tell you where you
had best cross the street."
Mr. Frank Churchill still declined it, looking as serious
as he could ; and his father gave his hearty support, by
calling out, " My good friend, this is quite unnecessary ;
Frank knows a puddle of water when he sees it, and as to
Mrs. Bates's, he may get there from the Crown in a hop,
step, and jump."
They were permitted to go alone ; and with a cordial
nod from one, and a graceful bow from the other, the two
 EMMA. 173
gentlemen took leave. Emma remained very well pleased
with this beginning of the acquaintance, and could now
engage to think of them all at Randalls any hour of the
day, with full confidence in their comfort.

CHAPTER VI.
The next morning brought Mr. Frank Churchill again.
He came with Mrs. Weston, to whom and to Highbury he
seemed to take very cordially. He had been sitting with
her, it appeared, most companionably at home, till her
usual hour of exercise ; and on being desired to choose
their walk, immediately fixed on Highbury. " He did
not doubt there being very pleasant walks in every direc
tion, but if left to him, he should always choose the same.
Highbury, that airy, cheerful, happy-looking Highbury,
would be his constant attraction." Highbury, with Mrs.
Weston, stood for Hartfield ; and she trusted to its bear
ing the same construction with him. They walked thither
directly.
Emma had hardly expected them : for Mr. Weston,
who had called in for half a minute, in order to hear that
his son was very handsome, knew nothing of their plans ;
and it was an agreeable surprise to her, therefore, to per
ceive them walking up to the house together, arm in arm.
She was wanting to see him again ; and especially to see
him in company with Mrs. Weston, upon his behaviour to
whom her opinion of him was to depend. If he were de
ficient there, nothing should make amends for it. But on
seeing them together, she became perfectly satisfied. It
was not merely in fine words or hyperbolical compliment
that he paid his duty ; nothing could be more proper or
pleasing than his whole manner to her, — nothing could
more agreeably denote his wish of considering her as a
friend and securing her affection. And there was time
enough for Emma to form a reasonable judgment, as their
visit included all the rest of the morning. They were all
 174! EMMA.
three walking about together for an hour or two, — first
round the shrubberies of Hartfield, and afterwards in
Highbury. He was delighted with every thing : admired
Hartfield sufficiently for Mr. Woodhouse's ear ; and when
their going farther was resolved on, confessed his wish to
be made acquainted with the whole village, and found
matter of commendation and interest much oftener than
Emma could have supposed.
Some of the objects of his curiosity spoke very amiable
feelings. He begged to be shown the house which his
father had lived in so long, and which had been the home
of his father's father ; and on recollecting that an old
woman, who had nursed him, was still living, walked in
quest of her cottage, from one end of the street to the
other ; and though in some points of pursuit or observ
ation there was no positive merit, they showed, altogether,
a good will towards Highbury in general, which must be
very like a merit to those he was with.
Emma watched, and decided, that with such feelings as
were now shown it could not be fairly supposed that he
had been ever voluntarily absenting himself : that he had
not been acting a part, or making a parade of insincere
professions; and "that Mr. Knightley certainly had not
done him justice.
Their first pause was at the Crown Inn, an inconsider-
able house, though the principal one of the sort, where a
couple of pair of post-horses were kept, more for the con
venience of the neighbourhood than from any run on the
road ; and his companions had not expected to be detained
by any interest excited there : but in passing it they gave
the history of the large room visibly added. It had been
built many years ago for a ball-room, and while the
neighbourhood had been in a particularly populous, dancing
state, had been occasionally used as such : but such bril-
' liant days had long passed away ; and now the highest
purpose for which it was ever wanted was to accommodate
a whist club established among the gentlemen and half
gentlemen of the place. He was immediately interested.
Its character as a ball-room caught him ; and instead of
passing on, he stopt for several minutes at the two superior
 EMMA. 175
sashed windows which were open, to look in and contem
plate its capabilities, and lament that its original purpose
should have ceased. He saw no fault in the room ; he
would acknowledge none which they suggested. No ; it
was long enough, broad enough, handsome enough. It
would hold the very number for comfort. They ought to
have balls there at least every fortnight through the winter.
Why had not Miss Woodhouse revived the former good
old days of the room ? She who could do any thing in
Highbury ! The want of proper families in the place, '
and the conviction that none beyond the place and its im
mediate environs could be tempted to attend, were men
tioned ; but he was not satisfied. He could not be per
suaded that so many good-looking houses as he saw around
him could not furnish numbers enough for such a meet
ing; and even when particulars were given and families
described, he was still unwilling to admit that the incon
venience of such a mixture would be any thing, or that
there would be the smallest difficulty in every body's re
turning into their proper place the next morning. He
argued like a young man very much bent on dancing ;
and Emma was rather surprised to see the constitution of
the Weston prevail so decidedly against "the habits of the
Churchills. He seemed to have all the life and spirit,
cheerful feelings, and social inclinations of his father, and
nothing of the pride or reserve of Enscombe. Of pride,
indeed, there was, perhaps, scarcely enough ; his indiffer
ence to a confusion of rank bordered too much on inele
gance of mind. He could be no judge, however, of the
evil he was holding cheap. It was but an effusion of
lively spirits.
At last he was persuaded to move on from the front of
the Crown ; and being now almost facing the house where
the Bates's lodged, Emma recollected his intended visit
the day before, and asked him if he had paid it.
" Yes, oh yes," he replied, " I was just going to men
tion it. A very successful visit. I saw all the three
ladies ; and felt very much obliged to you for your pre
paratory hint. If the talking aunt had taken me quite by
surprise, it must have been the death of me. As it was.
176 EMMA.
I was only betrayed into paying a most unreasonable visit.
Ten minutes would have been all that was necessary,
perhaps all that was proper ; and I had told my father I
should certainly be at home before him, but there was no
getting away, no pause ; and, to my utter astonishment, I
found, when he (finding me no where else) joined me
there at last, that I had been actually sitting with them
very nearly three quarters of an hour. The good lady
had not given me the possibility of escape before."
" And how did you think Miss Fairfax looking ? "
" I11, very ill ; — that is, if a young lady can ever be
allowed to look ill : but the expression is hardly admissible,
Mrs. Weston, is it ? Ladies can never look ill ; and,
seriously, Miss Fairfax is naturally so pale, as almost
always to give the appearance of ill health — a most de
plorable want of complexion."
Emma would not agree to this, and began a warm de
fence of Miss Fairfax's complexion. It was certainly
never brilliant, but she would not allow it to have a sickly
hue in general ; and there was a softness and delicacy in
her skin which gave peculiar elegance to the character of
her face." He listened with all due deference ; acknow
ledged that he had heard many people say the same : but
yet he must confess, that to him nothing could make
amends for the want of the fine glow of health. Where
features were indifferent, a fine complexion gave beauty
to them all ; and where they were good, the effect was,
— fortunately he need not attempt to describe what the
effect was.
" Well," said Emma, " there is no disputing about
taste. At least you admire her, except her complexion."
He shook his head and laughed. " I cannot separate
Miss Fairfax and her complexion."
" Did you see her often at Weymouth ? Were you
often in the same society ? " ,
At this moment they were approaching Ford's, and he
hastily exclaimed, " Ha ! this must be the very shop that
every body attends every day of their lives, as my father
informs me. He comes to Highbury himself, he says, six
days out of the seven, and has always business at Ford's.
 EMMA. 177
If it be not inconvenient to you, pray let us go in, that I
may prove myself to belong to the place, — to be a true
citizen of Highbury. I must buy something at Ford's.
It will be taking out my freedom. I dare say they sell
gloves."
" Oh yes, gloves and every thing. I do admire your
patriotism. You will he adored in Highbury. You were
very popular before you came, because you were Mr.
Weston's son ; but lay out half-a-guinea at Ford's, and
your popularity will stand upon your own virtues."
They went in ; and while the sleek, well-tied parcels
of " Men's Beavers" and " York Tan" were bringing
down and displaying on the counter, he said, — " But I
beg your pardon, Miss Woodhouse, you were speaking to
me, you were saying something at the very moment of
this burst of my amor patriee. Do not let me lose it;
I assure you the utmost stretch of public fame would not
make me amends for the loss of any happiness in private
life."
" I merely asked, whether you had known much of
Miss Fairfax and her party at Weymouth ? "
" And now that I understand your question, I must
pronounce it to he a very unfair one. It is always the
lady's right to decide on the degree of acquaintance. Miss
Fairfax must already have given her account. I shall not
commit myself by claiming more than she may choose
to allow."
" Upon my word, you answer as discreetly as she
could do herself. But her account of every thing leaves
so much to be guessed ; she is so very reserved, so very
\unwilling to give the least information about any body,
that I really think you may say what you like of your
acquaintance with her." .
" May I, indeed ? Then I will speak the truth, and
nothing suits me so well. I met her frequently at Wey
mouth. I had known the Campbells a little in town ; and
at Weymouth we were very much in the same set. Col.
Campbell is a very agreeable man, and Mrs. Campbell a
friendly, warm-hearted woman. I like them all."
N
178 EMMA.
" You know Miss Fairfax's situation in life, I conclude ;
what she is destined to be."
" Yes" — (rather hesitatingly) — " I believe I do."
" You get upon delicate subjects, Emma," said Mrs.
Weston, smiling; "remember that I am here. Mr. Frank
Churchill hardly knows what to say when you speak of
Miss Fairfax's situation in life. I will move a little
farther off."
" I certainly do forget to think of her," said Emma,
" as having ever been any thing but my friend and my
dearest friend."
He looked as if he fully understood and honoured such
a sentiment.
When the gloves were bought, and they had quitted the
shop again, — " Did you ever hear the young lady we were
speaking of play ? " said Frank Churchill.
" Ever hear her ! " repeated Emma. " You forget
how much she belongs to Highbury. I have heard her
every year of our lives since we both began. She plays
charmingly."
" You think so, do you ? I wanted the opinion of
some one who could really judge. She appeared to me to
play well, that is, with considerable taste, but I know no
thing of the matter myself. I am excessively fond of
music, but without the smallest skill or right of judging
of any body's performance. I have been used to hear
hers admired; and I remember one proof of her being
thought to play well : a man, a very musical man, and
in love with another woman — engaged to her — on the
point of marriage — would yet never ask that other woman
to sit down to the instrument, if the lady in question
could sit down instead — never seemed to like to hear one
if he could hear the other. That I thought, in a man of
known musical talent, was some proof."
" Proof, indeed ! " said Emma, highly amused. " Mr.
Dixon is very musical, is he? We shall know more
about them all, in half an hour, from you, than Miss
Fairfax would have vouchsafed in half a year."
" Yes, Mr. Dixon and Miss Campbell were the persons ;
and I thought it a very strong proof."
 EMMA. 179
" Certainly, very strong it was ; to own the truth, a
great deal stronger than, if / had been Miss Campbell,
would have been at all agreeable to me. I could not
excuse a man's having more music than love —more ear
than eye — a more acute sensibility to fine sounds than to
my feelings. How did Miss Campbell appear to like it ? "
" It was her very particular friend, you know."
" Poor comfort ! " said Emma, laughing. " One would
rather have a stranger preferred than one's very particular
friend : with a stranger it might not recur again ; but
the misery of having a very particular friend always at
hand, to do every thing better than one does one's self!
Poor Mrs. Dixon ! Well, I am glad she is gone to settle
in Ireland."
" You are right. It was not very flattering to Miss
Campbell ; but she really did not seem to feel it."
" So much the better, or so much the worse : I do
not know which. But be it sweetness, or be it stupidity
in her— quickness of friendship, or dulness of feeling—
theTe was one person, I think, who must have felt it-
Miss Fairfax herself. She must have felt the improper
and dangerous distinction."
" As to that— J do not "
" Oh, do not imagine that I expect an account of Miss
Fairfax's sensations from you, or from any body else.
They are known to no human being, I guess, but herself;
but if she continued to play whenever she was asked by
Mr. Dixon, one may guess what one chooses."
" There appeared such a perfectly good understanding
among them all " he began rather quickly, but check
ing himself, added, " however, it is impossible for me to
say on what terms they really were —how it might all be
behind the scenes. I can only say that there was smooth. .
ness outwardly. But you, who have known Miss Fairfax
from a child, must be a better judge of her character,
and of how she is likely to conduct herself in critical
situations, than I can be."
" I have known her from a child, undoubtedly : we
have been children and women together ; and it is natural
to suppose that we should be intimate, — that we should
xr 2
180 EMMA.
have taken to each other whenever she visited her friends.
But we never did. I hardly know how it has happened ;
a little, perhaps, from that wickedness on my side which
was prone to take disgust towards a girl so idolised and
50 cried up as she always was, by her aunt and grand
mother, and all their set. And then, her reserve ; I
never could attach myself to any one so completely re
served."
" It is a most repulsive quality, indeed," said he*
" Oftentimes very convenient, no doubt, but never pleas
ing. There is safety in reserve, but no attraction. One
cannot love a reserved person."
" Not till the reserve ceases towards one's self ; and then
the attraction may be the greater. But I must be more
in want of a friend, or an agreeable companion, than I
have yet been, to take the trouble of conquering any body's
reserve to procure one. Intimacy between Miss Fair
fax and me is quite out of the question. I have no reason
to think ill of her — not the least — except that such ex
treme and perpetual cautiousness of word and manner,
such a dread of giving a distinct idea about any body, is
apt to suggest .suspicions of there being something to
conceal."
He perfectly agreed with her ; and after walking to
gether so long, and thinking so much alike, Emma felt
herself so well acquainted with him, that she could hardly
believe it to be only their second meeting. He was not
exactly what she had expected ; less of the man of the
world in some of his notions, less of the spoiled child of
fortune, therefore better than she had expected. His
jdeas seemed more moderate — his feelings warmer. She
was particularly struck by his manner of considering Mr.
Elton's house, which, as well as the church, he would go
and look at, and would not join them in finding much
fault with. No, he could not believe it a bad house ; not
such a house as a man was to be pitied for having. If it
were to be shared with the woman he loved, he could not
think any man to be pitied for having that house. There
must be ample room in it for every real comfort. The
man must be a blockhead who wanted more.
 EMMA. 181
Mrs. Weston laughed, and said he did not know what
he was talking about. Used only to a large house him
self, and without ever thinking how many advantages
and accommodations were attached to its size, he could
be no judge of the privations inevitably belonging to a
small one. But Emma, in her own mind, determined
that he did know what he was talking about, and that he
showed a very amiable inclination to settle early in life,
and to marry, from worthy motives. He might not be
aware of the inroads on domestic peace to be occasioned
by no housekeeper's room, or a bad butler's pantry ; but
no doubt he did perfectly feel that Enscombe could not
make him happy, and that whenever he were attached,
he would willingly give up much of wealth to be allowed
an early establishment.

CHAPTER VII.
Emma's very good opinion of Frank Churchill was a little'
shaken the following day, by hearing that he was gone
off to - London, merely to have his hair cut. A sudden
freak seemed to have seized him at breakfast, and he had
sent for a chaise and set off, intending to return to dinner,
but with no more important view that appeared than
having his hair cut. There was certainly no harm in his
travelling sixteen miles twice over on such an errand ;
but there was an air of foppery and nonsense in it which
she could not approve. It did not accord with the ra
tionality of plan, the moderation in expense, or even the
Unselfish warmth of heart which she had believed herself
to discern in him yesterday. Vanity, extravagance, love of
change, restlessness of temper, which must be doing some
thing, good or bad ; heedlessness as to the pleasure of his
father and Mrs. Weston, indifferent as to how his conduct
might appear in general ; he became liable to all these
changes. His father only called him a coxcomb, and
thought it a very good story ; but that Mrs. Weston did
 182 EMMA.
not like it, was clear enough, by her passing it over as
quickly as possible, and making no other comment than
that " all young people would have their little whims."
With the exception of this little blot, Emma found that
his visit hitherto had given her friend only good ideas of
him. Mrs. Weston was very ready to say how attentive
and pleasant a companion he made himself, — how much
she saw to like in his disposition altogether. He appeared
to have a very open temper, — certainly a very cheerful
and lively one; she could observe nothing wrong in his
notions, a great deal decidedly right; he spoke of his
uncle with warm regard, was fond of talking of him ; said
he would be the best man in the world if he were left to
himself; and though there was no being attached to the
aunt, he acknowledged her kindness with gratitude, and
seemed to mean always to speak of her with respect. This
was all very promising ; and, but for such an unfortunate
fancy for having his hair cut, there was nothing to denote
him unworthy of the distinguished honour which her im
agination had given him ; the honour, if not of being
really in love with her, of being at least very near it, and
saved only by her own indifference — (for still her resolu
tion held of never marrying) — the honour, in short, of
being marked out for her by all their joint acquaintance.
Mr. Weston, on his side, added a virtue to the account
which must have some weight. He gave her to under
stand that Frank admired her extremely — thought her
very beautiful and very charming ; and with so much to
be said for him altogether, she found she must not judge
him harshly: — as Mrs. Weston observed, "all young
people would have their little whims."
There was one person among his new acquaintance in
Surrey not so leniently disposed. In general he was
judged, throughout the parishes of Donwell and Highbury,
with great candour ; liberal allowances were made for the
little excesses of such a handsome young man, — one who
-smiled so often and bowed so well; but there was one
spirit among them not to be softened, from its power of
censure, by bows or smiles,—Mr. Knightley. The circum
stance was told him at Hartfield : for the moment, he was
 EMMA. 18S
silent ; but Emma heard him almost immediately after
wards say to himself, over a newspaper he held in his
hand, " Hum ! just the trifling, silly fellow I took him
fer." She had half a mind to resent ; but an instant's ob
servation convinced her that it was really said only to
relieve his own feelings, and not meant to provoke ; and
therefore she let it pass.
Although in one instance the bearers of not good tidings,
Mr. and Mrs. Weston's visit this morning was in another
respect particularly opportune. Something occurred while
they were at Hartfield to make Emma want their advice ;
and, -which was still more lucky, she wanted exactly the
advice they gave.
This was the occurrence : — The Coles had been settled
some years in Highbury, and were very good sort of
people, friendly, liberal, and unpretending; but, on the
other hand, they were of low origin, in trade, and only
moderately genteel. On their first coming into the country,
they had lived in proportion to their income, quietly, keep
ing little company, and that little unexpensively ; but the
last year or two had brought them a considerable increase of
means — the house in town had yielded greater profits,
and fortune in general had smiled on them. With their
wealth, their views increased ; their want of a larger house,
their inclination for more company. They added to their
house, to their number of servants, to their expenses of
every sort ; and by this time were, in fortune and style of
living, second only to the family at Hartfield. Their love
of society, and their new dining-room, prepared every
body for their keeping dinner-company ; and a few parties,
chiefly among the single men, had already taken place.
The regular and best families Emma could hardly suppose
they would presume to invite,—neither Donwell, nor Hart
field, nor Randalls. Nothing should tempt her to go,
if they did ; and she regretted that her father's known
habits would be giving her refusal less meaning than she
could wish. The Coles were very respectable in their way,
but they ought to be taught that it was not for them ta
arrange the terms on which the superior families would
visit them. This lesson, she very much feared, they
v 4
18* EMMA.
would receive only from herself ; she had little hope of
Mr. Knightley, none of Mr. Weston.
But she had made up her mind how to meet this pre
sumption so many weeks before it appeared, that when the
insult came at last, it found her very differently affected.
Donwell and Randalls had received their invitation, and
none had come for her father and herself ; and Mrs. Wes
ton's accounting for it with " I suppose they will not take
the liberty with you ; they know you do not dine out,"
was not quite sufficient. She felt that she should like to
have had the power of refusal ; and afterwards, as the idea
of the party to be assembled there, consisting precisely of
those whose society was dearest to her, occurred again and
again, she did not know that she might not have been
tempted to accept. Harriet was to be there in the evening,
and the Bateses. They had been speaking of it as they
walked about Highbury the day before, and Frank
Churchill had most earnestly lamented her absence. Might
not the evening end in a dance ? had been a question of
bis. The bare possibility of it acted as a further irritation
on her spirits ; and htr being left in solitary grandeur, even
supposing the omission to be intended as a compliment,
was but poor comfort.
It was the arrival of this very invitation, while the Wes*
tons were at Hartfield, which made their presence so
acceptable ; for though her first remark on reading it
was that " of course it must be declined," she so very soon
proceeded to ask them what they advised her to do, that
their advice for her going was most prompt and successful.
She owned that, considering every thing, she was not
absolutely without inclination for the party. The Coles
expressed themselves so properly — there was so much real
attention in the manner of it — so much consideration for
her father. " They would have solicited the honour ear.
lier, but had been waiting the arrival of a folding screen
from London, which they hoped might keep Mr. Wood-
house from any draught of air, and therefore induce him
the more readily to give them the honour of his com
pany." Upon the whole, she was very persuadable ; and
it being briefly settled among themselves how it might he
 EMMA. 185
done without neglecting his comfort, — how certainly Mrs.
Goddard, if not Mrs. Bates, might be depended on for
bearing him company, — Mr. Woodhouse was to be talked
into an acquiescence of his daughter's going out to dinner
on a day now near at hand, and spending the whole even
ing away from him. As for his going, Emma did not wish
him to think it possible ; the hours would be too late, and
the party too numerous. He was soon pretty well resigned.
" I am not fond of dinner-visiting," said he ; "J never
was. No more is Emma. Late hours do not agree with
us. I am sorry Mr. and Mrs. Cole should have done it.
I think it would be much better if they would come in one
afternoon next summer, and take their tea with us ; take
us in their afternoon walk, which they might do, as our
hours are so reasonable, and yet get home without being
out in the damp of the evening. The dews of a summer
evening are what I would not expose any body too. However,
as they are so very desirous to have dear Emma dine with
them, and as you will both be there, and Mr. Knightley
too, to take care of her, I cannot wish to prevent it, pro
vided the weather be what it ought, neither damp, nor cold,
nor windy." Then turning to Mrs. Weston with a look
of gentle reproach, — " Ah, Miss Taylor, if you had not
married, you would have staid at home with me."
" Well, sir," cried Mr. Weston, " as I took Miss Tay
lor away, it is incumbent on me to supply her place, if I
can ; and I will step to Mrs. Goddard in a moment, if you
wish it."
But the idea of any thing to be done in a moment was
increasing, not lessening, Mr. Woodhouse's agitation. The
ladies knew better how to allay it. Mr. Weston must be
quiet, and every thing deliberately arranged.
With this treatment, Mr. Woodhouse was soon com
posed enough for talking as usual. " He should be happy
to see Mrs. Goddard. He had a great regard for Mrs.
Goddard ; and Emma should write a line and invite her.
James could take the note. But first of all, there must be
an answer written to Mrs. Cole."
" You will make my excuses, my dear, as civilly as
possible. You will say that I am quite an invalid, and
186 EMMA.
go nowhere, and therefore must decline their obliging in
vitation ; beginning with my compliments, of course. But
you will do every thing right. I need not tell you what is
to be done. We must remember to let James know that
the carriage will be wanted on Tuesday. I shall have no
fears for you with him. We have never been there above
once since the new approach was made ; but still I have
no doubt that James will take you very safely : and when
you get there, you must tell him at what time you would
have him come for you again ; and you had better name
an early hour. You will not like staying late. You will
get very tired when tea is over."
" But you would not wish me to come away before I
am tired, papa ? "
" Oh no, my love ; but you will soon be tired. There
will be a great many people talking at once. You will
not like the noise."
" But, my dear sir," cried Mr. Weston, " if Emma
comes away early, it will be breaking up the party."
" And no great harm if it does," said Mr. Woodhouse.
" The sooner every party breaks up the better."
'' But you do not consider how it may appear to the
Coles. Emma's going away directly after tea might be
giving offence. They are good-natured people, and think
little of their own claims; but still they must feel that
any body's hurrying away is no great compliment ; and
Miss Woodhouse's doing it would be more thought of than
any other person's in the room. You would not wish to
disappoint and mortify the Coles, I am sure, sir ; friendly,
good sort of people as ever lived, and who have been your
neighbours these ten years."
" No, upon no account in the world. Mr. Weston,
I am much obliged to you for reminding me. I should
be extremely sorry to be giving them any pain. I know
what worthy people they are. Perry tells me that Mr. Cole
never touches malt liquor. You would not think it to look
at him, but he is bilious — Mr. Cole is very bilious. No, I
would not be the means of giving them any pain. My dear
Emma, we must consider this. I am sure, rather than
run the risk of hurting Mr. and Mrs. Cole, you would
 EMMA 187
stay a little longer than you might wish. You will not
regard^being tired. You will be perfectly safe, you know,
among your friends."
" Oh yes, papa. I have no fears at all for myself;
and I should have no scruples of staying as late as Mrs.
Weston, but on your account. I am only afraid of your
sitting up for me. I am not afraid of your not being
exceedingly comfortable with Mrs. Goddard. She loves
piquet, you know ; but when she is gone home, I am
afraid you will be sitting up by yourself, instead of going to
bed at your usual time ; and the idea of that would entirely
destroy my comfort. You must promise me not to sit up."
He did, on the condition of some promises on her side :
such as that, if she came home cold, she would be sure to
warm herself thoroughly ; if hungry, that she would take
something to eat ; that her own maid should sit up for
her ; and that Serle and the butler should see that every
thing were safe in the house as usual.

CHAPTER VIII.
Frank Churchill came back again ; and if he kept
his father's dinner waiting it was not known at Hartfield ;
for Mrs. Weston was too anxious for his being a favourite
with Mr. Woodhouse, to betray any imperfection which
could be concealed.
He came back, had had his hair cut, and laughed at
himself with a very good grace, but without seeming
really at all ashamed of what he had done. He had no
reason to wish his hair longer to conceal any confusion of
face ; no reason to wish the money unspent to improve his
spirits. He was quite as undaunted and as lively as ever ;
and, after seeing him, Emma thus moralised to herself : —
" I do not know whether it ought to be so, but cer
tainly silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by
sensible people in an impudent way. Wickedness is always
wickedness, but folly is not always folly. It depends upon
the character of those who handle it. Mr. Knightley, he is
18£ EMMA.
not a trifling, silly young man. If he were, he would have
done this differently. He would either have gloried in the
achievement, or been ashamed of it. There would have
been either the ostentation of a coxcomb, or the evasions of
a mind too weak to defend its own vanities. No, I am
perfectly sure that he is not trifling or silly."
With Tuesday came the agreeable prospect of seeing him
again, and for a longer time than hitherto ; of judging of
his general manners, and, by inference, of the meaning of
his manners towards herself ; of guessing how soon it might
be necessary for her to throw coldness into her air ; and of
fancying what the observations of all those might be, who
were now seeing them together for the first time.
She meant to be very happy, in spite of the scene being
laid at Mr. Cole's ; and without being able to forget that
among the failings of Mr. Elton, even in the days of his
favour, none had disturbed her more than his propensity to
dine with Mr. Cole.
Her father's comfort was amply secured, Mrs. Bates as
well as Mrs. Goddard being able to come ; and her last
pleasing duty, before she left the house, was to pay her
respects to them as they sat together after dinner ; and
while her father was fondly noticing the beauty of her
dress, to make the two ladies all the amends in her power,
by helping them to large slices of cake and full glasses of
wine, for whatever unwilling self-denial his care of their
constitution might have obliged them to practise during the
meal. She had provided a plentiful dinner for them ; she
wished she could know that they had been allowed to eat it.
She followed another carriage to Mr. Cole's door ; and
was pleased to see that it was Mr. Knightley's ; for Mr.
Knightley keeping no horses, having little spare money and
a great deal of health, activity, and independence, was too
apt, in Emma's opinion, to get about as he could, and not
use his carriage so often as became the owner of Donwell
Abbey. She had an opportunity now of speaking her ap
probation while warm from her heart, for he stopped to
hand her out.
" This is coming as you should do," said she ; " like a
gentleman. I am quite glad to see you."
 EMMA. 189
He thanked her, observing, " How lucky that we should
arrive at the same moment ; for, if we had met first in the
drawing-room, I doubt whether you would have discerned
me to be more of a gentleman than usual. You might not
have distinguished how I came by my look or manner."
" Yes I should ; I am sure I should. There is always
a look of consciousness or bustle when people come in a way
which they know to be beneath them. You think you
carry it off very well, I dare say ; but with you it is a sort
of bravado, an air of affected unconcern : I always observe
it whenever I meet you under those circumstances. Now
you have nothing to try for. You are not afraid of being
supposed ashamed. You are not striving to look taller
than any body else. Now I shall really be very happy to
walk into the same room with you."
" Nonsensical girl ! " was his reply, but not at all in
anger.
Emma had as much reason to be satisfied with the rest
of the party as with Mr. Knightley. She was received with
a cordial respect which could not but please, and given all
the consequence she could wish for. When the Westons
arrived, the kindest looks of love, the strongest of ad
miration, were for her, from both husband and wife : the
son approached her with a cheerful eagerness which marked
her as his peculiar object, and at dinner she found him
seated by her; and, as she firmly believed, not without
some dexterity on his side.
The party was rather large, as it included one other
family, — a proper unobjectionable country family, whom the
Coles had the advantage of naming among their acquaint
ance,— and the male part of Mr. Cox's family, the lawyer of
Highbury. The less worthy females were to come in the
evening, with Miss Bates, Miss Fairfax, and Miss Smith ;
but already, at dinner, they were too numerous for any
subject of conversation to be general ; and, while politics
and Mr. Elton were talked over, Emma could fairly sur
render all her attention to the pleasantness of her neighbour.
The first remote sound to which she felt herself obliged to
attend was the name of Jane Fairfax. Mrs. Cole seemed
to be relating something of her that was expected to be
190 EMMA.
very interesting. She listened, and found it well worth
listening to. That very dear part of Emma, her fancy,
received an amusing supply. Mrs. Cole was telling that
she had been calling on Miss Bates ; and, as soon as she
entered the room, had been struck by the sight of a piano
forte, a very elegant looking instrument ; not a grand, but
a large-sized square piano-forte : and the substance of the
story, the end of all the dialogue which ensued of surprise,
and enquiry, and congratulations on her side, and explana
tions on Miss Bates's, was, that this piano-forte had arrived
from Broadwood's the day before, to the great astonishment
of both aunt and niece, entirely unexpected ; that, at first,
by Miss Bates's account, Jane herself was quite at a loss,
quite bewildered to think who could possibly have ordered it;
but now they were both perfectly satisfied that it could be
from only one quarter,—of course it must be from Colonel
Campbell.
" One can suppose nothing else," added Mrs. Cole; " and
I was only surprised that there could ever have been a
doubt. But Jane, it seems, had a letter from them very
lately, and not a word was said about it. She knows their
ways best ; but I should not consider their silence as any
reason for their not meaning to make the present. They
might choose to surprise her."
Mrs. Cole had many to agree with her ; every body who
spoke on the subject was equally convinced that it must
come from Colonel Campbell, and equally rejoiced that such
a present had been made ; and there were enough ready to
speak to allow Emma to think her own way, and still listen
to Mrs. Cole.
" I declare, I do not know when I have heard any thing
that has given me more satisfaction. It always has quite
hurt me that Jane Fairfax, who plays so delightfully, should
not have an instrument. It seemed quite a shame, espe
cially considering how many houses there are where fine in
struments are absolutely thrown away. This is like giving
ourselves a slap, to be- sure ; and it was but yesterday I was
telling Mr. Cole I really was ashamed to look at our new
grand piano-forte in the drawing-room, while I do not know
one note from another, and our little girls, who are but just
 EMMA. 191
beginning, perhaps may never make any thing of it ; and
there is poor Jane Fairfax, who is mistress of music, has
not any thing of the nature of an instrument, not even the
pitifulest old spinet in the world, to amuse herself with.
I was saying this to Mr. Cole but yesterday, and he quite
agreed with me ; only he is so particularly fond of music
that he could not help indulging himself in the purchase,
hoping that some of our good neighbours might be so
obliging occasionally to put it to a better use than we can ;
and that really is the reason why the instrument was bought
— or else I am sure we ought to be ashamed of it. We
are in great hopes that Miss Woodhouse may be prevailed
with to try it this evening." ,
Miss Woodhouse made the proper acquiescence ; and,
finding that nothing more was to be entrapped from any
communication of Mrs. Cole's, turned to Frank Churchill."
" Why do you smile ? " said she.
" Nay, why do you ? "
" Me ! I suppose I smile for pleasure at Colonel Camp
bell's being so rich and so liberal. It is a handsome pre
sent."
" Very."
" I rather wonder that it was never made before."
" Perhaps Miss Fairfax has never been staying here so
long before."
" Or that he did not give her the use of their own in
strument, which must now be shut up in London, un
touched by any body."
" That is a grand piano-forte, and he might think it too
large for Mrs. Bates's house."
" You may say what you choose, but your countenance
testifies that your thoughts on this subject are very much
like mine."
" I do not know. I rather believe you are giving me
more credit for acuteness than I deserve. I smile because
you smile, and shall probably suspect whatever I find you
suspect ; but at present I do not see what there is to
question. If Colonel Campbell is not the person, who
can be ? "
" What do you say to Mrs. Dixon ? "
 192 EMMA.
tf Mrs. Dixon ! very true, indeed. I had hot thought of
Mrs. Dixon. She must know, as well as her father, how
acceptable an instrument would be ; and perhaps the mode
of it, the mystery, the surprise, is more like a young wo
man's scheme than an elderly man's. It is Mrs. Dixon, I
dare say. I told you that your suspicions would guide
mine."
" If so, you must extend your suspicions, and compre
hend Mr. Dixon in them."
" Mr. Dixon ! very well. Yes, I immediately perceive
that it must be the joint present of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon.
We were speaking the other day, you know, of his being
so warm an admirer of her performance."
" Yes, and what you told me on that head confirmed
an idea which I had entertained before. I do not mean to
reflect upon the good intentions of either Mr. Dixon or
Miss Fairfax ; but I cannot help suspecting either that,
after making his proposals to her friend, he had the mis
fortune to fall in love with her, or that he became conscious
of a little attachment on her side. One might guess twenty
things without guessing exactly the right ; but I am sure
there must be a particular cause for her choosing to come
to Highbury, instead of going with the Campbells to Ire
land. Here, she must be leading a life of privation and
penance ; there, it would have been all enjoyment. As to
the pretence of trying her native air, I look upon that as a
mere excuse. In the summer it might have passed ; but
what can any body's native air do for them in the months,
of, January, February, and March? Good fires and car
riages would be much more to the purpose in most cases of
delicate health, and I dare say in hers. I do not require
you to adopt all my suspicions, though you make so noble
a profession of doing it, but I honestly tell you what they
are."
" And, upon my word, they have an air of great pro
bability. Mr. Dixon's preference of her music to her
friend's I can answer for being very decided."
" And then, he saved her life. Did you ever hear of
that ? A water party ; and by some accident she was
falling overboard. He caught her."
 EMMA. 193
* He did. I was there — one of the party."
" Were you really ? Well ! But you observed no
thing, of course, for it seems to be a new idea to you. If
I had been there, I think I should have [made some dis
coveries." •
" I dare say you would ; but I, simple I, saw nothing
but the fact, that Miss Fairfax was nearly dashed from the
vessel, and that Mr. Dixon caught her — it was the work
of a moment. And though the consequent shock and
alarm were very great, and much more durable — indeed I
believe it was half an hour before any of us were comfort
able again — yet that was too general a sensation for any
thing of peculiar anxiety to be observable. I do not mean
to say, however, that you might not have made dis
coveries."
The conversation was here interrupted. They were
called on to share in the awkwardness of a rather long in
terval between the courses, and obliged to be as formal and
as orderly as the others ; but when the table was again
safely covered, when every corner dish was placed exactly
right, and occupation and ease were generally restored,
Emma said,—
" The arrival of this piano-forte is decisive with me. I
wanted to know a little more, and this tells me quite
enough. Depend upon it, we shall soon hear that it is a
present from Mr. and Mrs. Dixon."
" And if the Dixons should absolutely deny all know
ledge of it, we must conclude it to come from the Camp
bells."
" No, I am sure it is not from the Campbells. Miss
Fairfax knows it is not from the Campbells, or they would
have been guessed at first. She would not have been puz
zled, had she dared fix on them. I may not have con
vinced you, perhaps, but I am perfectly convinced myself
that Mr. Dixon is a principal in the business."
" Indeed you injure me if you suppose me unconvinced.
Your reasonings carry my judgment along with them en
tirely. At first, while I supposed you satisfied that Colonel
Campbell was the giver, I saw it only as paternal kindness,
and thought it the most natural thing in the world. But
o
 EMMA.
when you mentioned Mrs. Dixon, I felt how much more
probable that it should be the tribute of warm female friend
ship. And now I can see it in no other light than as an
offering of love."
There was no occasion to press the matter farther. The
conviction seemed real ; he looked as if he felt it. She
said no more,—other subjects took their turn ; and the rest
of the dinner passed away ; the dessert succeeded ; the chil
dren came in, and were talked to and admired amid the
usual rate of conversation ; a few clever things said, a
few downright silly, but by much the larger proportion nei
ther the one nor the other — nothing worse than every-day
remarks, dull repetitions, old news, and heavy jokes.
The ladies had not been long in the drawing-room be
fore the other ladies, in their different divisions, arrived.
Emma watched the entrée of her own particular little
friend ; and if she could not exult in her dignity and grace,
she could not only love the blooming sweetness and the art
less manner, but could most heartily rejoice in that light,
cheerful, unsentimental disposition which allowed her so
many alleviations of pleasure in the midst of the pangs of
disappointed affection. There she sat — and who would
have guessed how many tears she had been lately shedding ?
To be in company, nicely dressed herself, and seeing others
nicely dressed, to sit and smile and look pretty, and say
nothing, was enough for the happiness of the present hour.
Jane Fairfax' did look and move superior ; but Emma
•suspected she might have been glad to change feelings with
Harriet,—very glad to have purchased the mortification of
having loved— yes, of having loved even Mr. Elton in
vain, —by the surrender of all the dangerous pleasure of
knowing herself beloved by the husband of her friend.
In so large a party it was not necessary that Emma
should approach her. She did not wish to speak of the
piano-forte, she felt too much in the secret herself, to think
the appearance of curiosity or interest fair, and therefore
purposely kept at a distance ; but by the others, the sub
ject was almost immediately introduced, and she saw the
blush of consciousness with which congratulations were
 EMMA. 195
received, the blush of guilt which accompanied the name of
" my excellent friend Colonel Campbell."
Mrs. Weston, kind-hearted and musical, was particularly
interested by the circumstance, and Emma could not help
being amused at her perseverance in dwelling on the sub
ject ; and having so much to ask and to say as to tone,
touch, and pedal, totally unsuspicious of that wish of saying
as little about it as possible, which she plainly read in the
fair heroine's countenance.
They were soon joined by some of the gentlemen ; and
the very first of the early was Frank Churchill. In he
walked, the first and the handsomest ; and after paying his
compliments en passant to Miss Bates and her niece, made
his way directly to the opposite side of the circle, where
sat Miss Woodhouse ; and till he could find a seat by her,
would not sit at all. Emma divined what every body pre
sent must be thinking. She was his object, and every body
must perceive it. She introduced him to her friend Miss
Smith, and, at convenient moments afterwards, heard what
each thought of the other. " He had never seen so lovely
a face, and was delighted with her naïveté." And she, —
" only to be sure it was paying him too great a compli
ment, but she did think there were some looks a little like
Mr. Elton." Emma restrained her indignation, and only
turned from her in silence.
Smiles of intelligence passed between her and the gen-
deman on first glancing towards Miss Fairfax ; but it was
most prudent to avoid speech. He told her that he had
been impatient to leave the dining-room — hated sitting
long — was always the first to move when he could — that
his father, Mr. Knightley, Mr. Cox, and Mr. Cole, were
left very busy over parish business — that as long as he
had staid, however, it had been pleasant enough, as he
found them in general a set of gentlemen-like, sensible
men ; and spoke so handsomely of Highbury altogether —
thought it so abundant in agreeable families — that Emma
began to feel she had been used to despise the place rather
too much. She questioned him as to the society in York
shire, the extent of the neighbourhood about Enscombe,
and the sort ; and could make out from his answers that,
0 2
196 EMMA.
as far as Enscombe was concerned, there was very little
going on ; that their visitings were among a range of great
families, none very near ; and that even when days were
fixed, and invitations accepted, it was an even chance that
Mrs. Churchill were not in health or spirits for going ; that
they made a point of visiting no fresh person ; and that,
though he had his separate engagements, it was not with-
out difficulty, without considerable address at times, that
he could get away, or introduce an acquaintance for a night.
She saw that Enscombe could not satisfy, and that High
bury, taken in its best, might reasonably please a young
man who had more retirement at home than he liked. His
importance at Enscombe was very evident. He did not
boast, but it naturally betrayed itself, that he had persuaded
his aunt where his uncle could do nothing, and on her
laughing and noticing it, he owned that he believed (ex
cepting one or two points) he could with time persuade her
to any thing. One of those points on which his influence
failed he then mentioned. He had wanted very much to
go abroad — had been very eager indeed to be allowed to
travel — but she would not hear of it. This had happened
the year before. Now, he said, he was beginning to have
no longer the same wish.
The^ unpersuadable point, which he did not mention,
Emma guessed to be good behaviour to his father.
" I have made a most wretched discovery," said he,
after a short pause. " I have been here a week to-morrow
— half my time. I never knew days fly so fast. A week
to-morrow ! — and I have hardly begun to enjoy myself.
But just got acquainted with Mrs. Weston, and others.
I hate the recollection."
" Perhaps you may now begin to regret that you spent
one whole day, out of so few, in having your hair cut."
" No," said he, smiling, " that is no subject of regret at
all. I have no pleasure in seeing my friends, unless I can
believe myself fit to be seen."
The rest of the gentlemen being now in the room, Emma
found herself obliged to turn from him for a few minutes,
and listen to Mr. Cole. When Mr. Cole had moved away,
and her attention could be restored as before, she saw
 EMMA. 197
Frank Churchill looking intently across the room at Miss
Fairfax, who was sitting exactly opposite.
" What is the matter ? " said she.
He started. " Thank you for rousing me," he replied.
" I believe I have been very rude ; but really Miss Fair
fax has done her hair in so odd a way — so very odd a
way — that I cannot keep my eyes from her. I never saw
any thing so outrée ! Those curls ! This must be a
fancy of her own. I see nobody else looking like her.
I must go and ask her whether it is an Irish fashion.
Shall I ? —Yes, I will — I declare I will — and you shall
see how she takes it ; — whether she colours."
He was gone immediately ; and Emma soon saw him
standing before Miss Fairfax, and talking to her; but as
to its effect on the young lady, as he had improvidently
placed himself exactly between them, exactly in front of
Miss Fairfax, she could absolutely distinguish nothing.
Before he could return to his chair, it was taken by Mrs,
Weston.
" This is the luxury of a large party," said she: "one
can get near every body, and say every thing. My dear
Emma, I am longing to talk to you. I have been making
discoveries and forming plans, just like yourself, and I
must tell them while the idea is fresh. Do you know how
Miss Bates and her niece came here ? "
" How ! — They were invited, were not they?"
" Oh yes — but how they were conveyed hither ? —,
the manner of their coming ? "
" They walked, I conclude. How else could they
come ? "
" Very true. Well, a little while ago it occurred to
me how very sad it would be to have Jane Fairfax walking
home again, late at night, and cold as the nights are now.
And as I looked at her, though I never saw her appear to
more advantage, it struck me that she was heated, and
would therefore be particularly liable to take cold. Poor
girl ! I could not bear the idea of it ; so, as soon as Mr.
Weston came into the room, and I could get at him, I
spoke to him about the carriage. You may guess how
readily he came into my wishes ; and having his approba
o 3
198 EMMA.
tion, I made my way directly to Miss Bates, to assure her•
that the carriage would be at her service before it took us
home ; for I thought it would be making her comfortable
at once. Good soul ! she was as grateful as possible, you
may be sure. ' Nobody was ever so fortunate as herself ! '
— but with many, many thanks, — ' there was no occa
sion to trouble us, for Mr. Knightley's carriage had brought,
and was to take them home again.' I was quite surprised ;
— very glad, I am sure ; but really quite surprised. Such
a very kind attention — and so thoughtful an attention !
— the sort of thing that so few men would think of. And,
in short, from knowing his usual ways, I am very much
inclined to think that it was for their accommodation the
carriage was used at all. I do suspect he would not have
had a pair of horses for himself, and that it was only as
an excuse for assisting them."
" Very likely," said Emma, " nothing more likely. I
know no man more likely than Mr. Knightley to do the
sort of thing — to do any thing really good-natured, useful,
considerate, or benevolent. He is not a gallant man, but
he is a very humane one ; and this, considering Jane Fair
fax's ill health, would appear a case of humanity to him ;
— and for an act of unostentatious kindness, there is no
body whom I would fix on more than on Mr. Knightley.
I know he had horses to-day — for we arrived together ;
and I laughed at him about it, but he said not a word that
could betray."
" Well," said Mrs. Weston, smiling, " you give him
credit for more simple, disinterested benevolence in this
instance than I do ; for while Miss Bates was speaking, a
suspicion darted into my head, and I have never been able
to get it out again. The more I think of it, the more pro
bable it appears. In short, I have made a match between
Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax. See the consequence of
keeping you company ! —What do you say to it ? "
" Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax !" exclaimed Emma.
" Dear Mrs. Weston, how could you think of such a thing ?
— Mr. Knightley ! — Mr. Knightley must not marry ! —
You would not have little Henry cut out from Donwell ?
— Oh no, no, — Henry must have Donwell. I cannot at
 EMMA. 199
all consent to Mr. Knightley's marrying ; and I am sure it
is not at all likely. I am amazed that you should think
of such a thing."
" My dear Emma, I have told you what led me to think
of it. I do not want the match — I do not want to injure
dear little Henry — but the idea has been given me by cir
cumstances ; and if Mr. Knightley really wished to marry,
you would not have him refrain on Henry's account, a boy
of six years old, who knows nothing of the matter?"
" Yes, I would. I could not bear to have Henry sup
planted. Mr. Knightley marry ! No, I have never had
such an idea, and I cannot adopt it now. And Jane Fair
fax, too, of all women ! "
" Nay, she has always been a first favourite with him,
as you very well know."
" But the imprudence of such a match ! "
" I am not speaking of its prudence — merely its proba
bility."
" I see no probability in it, unless you have any better
foundation than what you mention. His good-nature, his
humanity, as I tell you, would be quite enough to account
for the horses. He has a great regard for the Bateses, you
know, independent of Jane Fairfax — and is always glad to
show them attention. My dear Mrs. Weston, do not take
to match-making. You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax
mistress of the Abbey ! Oh no, no; — every feeling re
volts. For his own sake, I would not have him do so mad
a thing."
" Imprudent, if you please — but not mad. Excepting
inequality of fortune, and perhaps a little disparity of age,
I can see nothing unsuitable."
" But Mr. Knightley does not want to marry. I am
sure he has not the least idea of it. Do not put it into his
head. Why should he marry ? He is as happy as possible
by himself ; with his farm, and his sheep, and his library, and
all the parish to manage ; and he is extremely fond of his
brother's children. He has no occasion to marry, either to
fill up his time or his heart."
" My dear Emma, as long as he thinks so, it is so ; but
if he really loves Jane Fairfax "
o 4
200 EMMA.
" Nonsense ! He does not care about Jane Fairfax. In
the way of love, I am sure he does not. He would do any
good to her, or her family ; but "
" Well," said Mrs. Weston, laughing, " perhaps the
greatest good he could do them would be to give Jane
such a respectable home."
" If it would he good to her, I am sure it would be evil
to himself— a very shameful and degrading connection.
How would he bear to have Miss Bates belonging to him ?
To have her haunting the Abbey, and thanking him all
day long for his great kindness in marrying Jane? — ' So
very kind and obliging ! But he always had been such a
very kind neighbour ! ' And then fly off, through half a
sentence, to her mother's old petticoat. ' Not that it was
such a very old petticoat either — for still it would last a
great while, — and, indeed, she must thankfully say that
their petticoats were all very strong.'"
" For shame, Emma ! Do not mimic her. You divert
me against my conscience. And, upon my word, I do not
think Mr. Knightley would be much disturbed by Miss
Bates. Little things do not irritate him. She might talk
on ; and if he wanted to say any thing himself, he would
only talk louder, and drown her voice. But the question
is not, whether it would be a bad connection for him, but
whether he wishes it; and I think he does. I have heard
him speak, and so must you, so very highly of Jane Fair
fax ! The interest he takes in her — his anxiety about her
health — his concern that she should have no happier pro
spect ! I have heard him express himself so warmly on
those points ! Such an admirer of her performance on the
piano-forte, and of her voice ! I have heard him say, that
he could listen to her for ever. Oh, and I had almost
forgotten one idea that occurred to me — this piano-forte
that has been sent her by somebody — though we have all
been so well satisfied to consider it a present from the
Campbells, may it not be from Mr. Knightley ? I cannot
help suspecting him. I think he is just the person to do it,
even without being in love."
" Then it can be no argument to prove that he is in
 EMMA. 201
love. But I do not think it is at all a likely thing for him
to do. Mr. Knightley does nothing mysteriously."
" I have heard him lamenting her having no instrument
repeatedly ; oftener than I should suppose such a circum
stance would, in the common course of things, occur to
him."
" Very well ; and if he had intended to give her one,
he would have told her so."
" There might he scruples of delicacy, my dear Emma.
I have a very strong notion that it comes from him. I am
sure he was particularly silent when Mrs. Cole told us of
it at dinner."
" You take up an idea, Mrs. Weston, and run away
with it, as you have many a time reproached me with
doing. 1 see no sign of attachment. I believe nothing of
the piano-forte, and proof only shall convince me that Mr.
Knightley has any thought of marrying Jane Fairfax."
They combated the point some time longer in the same
way, Emma rather gaining ground over the mind of her
friend ; for Mrs. Weston was the most used of the two to
yield ; till a little bustle in the room showed them that tea
was over, and the instrument in preparation ; and at the
same moment Mr. Cole approaching to entreat Miss Wood-
house would do them the honour of trying it. Frank
Churchill, of whom, in the eagerness of her conversation
with Mrs. Weston, she had been seeing nothing, except
that he had found a seat by Miss Fairfax, followed Mr.
Cole, to add his very pressing entreaties ; and as, in every
respect, it suited Emma best to lead, she gave a very proper
compliance.
She knew the limitations of her own powers too well to
attempt more than she could perform with credit ; she
wanted neither taste nor spirit in the little things which are
generally acceptable, and could accompany her own voice
well. One accompaniment to her song took her agreeably
by surprise — a second, slightly but correctly taken by
Frank Churchill. Her pardon was duly begged at the
close of the song, and every thing usual followed. He was
accused of having a delightful voice, and a perfect know
ledge of music ; which was properly denied ; and that he
202 EMMA.
knew nothing of the matter, and had no voice at all, roundly
asserted. They sang together once more; and Emma
would then resign her place to Miss Fairfax, whose per-
formance, both vocal and instrumental, she never could at
tempt to conceal from herself, was infinitely superior to her
own.
With mixed feelings, she seated herself at a little distance
from the numbers round the instrument, to listen. Frank
Churchill sang again. They had sung together once or
twice, it appeared, at Weymouth. But the sight of Mr.
Knightley among the most attentive soon drew away half
Emma's mind ; and she fell into a train of thinking on the
subject of Mrs. Weston's suspicions, to which the sweet
sounds of the united voices gave only momentary interrup
tions. Her objections to Mr. Knightley's marrying did not
in the least subside. She could see nothing but evil in it.
It would be a great disappointment to Mr. John Knightley,
consequently to Isabella. A real injury to the children —
a most mortifying change, and material loss to them all—
a very great deduction from her father's daily comfort—
and, as to herself, she could not at all endure the idea of
Jane Fairfax at Donwell Abbey. A Mrs. Knightley for
them all to give way to ! No — Mr. Knightley must never
marry. Little Henry must remain the heir of Donwell.
Presently Mr. Knightley looked back, and came and sat
down by her. They talked at first only of the performance.
His admiration was certainly very warm ; yet she thought,
but for Mrs. Weston, it would not have struck her. As a
sort of touchstone, however, she began to speak of his kind
ness in conveying the aunt and niece; and though his an
swer was in the spirit of cutting the matter short, she be
lieved it to indicate only his disinclination to dwell on any
kindness of his own.
" I often feel concerned," said she, " that I dare not
make our carriage more useful on such occasions. It is not
that I am without the wish ; but you know how impossible
my father would deem it that James should put to for such
a purpose."
" Quite out of the question, quite out of the question,"
he replied ; " but you must often wish it, I am sure." And
 EMMA. 203
he smiled with such seeming pleasure at the conviction, that
she must proceed another step.
" This present from the Campbells," said she — "this
piano-forte is very kindly given."
" Yes," he replied, and without the smallest apparent
embarrassment. " But they would have done better had they
given her notice of it. Surprises are foolish things. The
pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often
considerable. I should have expected better judgment in
Colonel Campbell."
From that moment, Emma could have taken her oath
that Mr. Knightley had had no concern in giving the in
strument. But whether he were entirely free from peculiar
attachment — whether there were no actual preference— re
mained a little longer doubtful. Towards the end of Jane's
second song, her voice grew thick.
" That will do," said he, when it was finished, thinking
aloud, " you have sung quite enough for one evening ;
now be quiet."
Another song, however, was soon begged for. " One
more ; — they would not fatigue Miss Fairfax on any ac
count, and would only ask for one more." And Frank
Churchill was heard to say, " I think you could manage
this without effort ; the first part is so very trifling. The
strength of the song falls on the second."
Mr. Knightley grew angry.
" That fellow," said he, indignantly, " thinks of nothing
but showing off his own voice. This must not be." And
touching Miss Bates, who at that moment passed near, —
" Miss Bates, are you mad, to let your niece sing herself
hoarse in this manner ? Go, and interfere. They have
no mercy on her."
Miss Bates, in her real anxiety for Jane, could hardly
stay even to be grateful, before she stepped forward and
put an end to all further singing. Here ceased the concert
part of the evening, for Miss Woodhouse and Miss Fairfax
were the only young lady performers ; but soon (within
five minutes) the proposal of dancing — originating nobody
exactly knew where — was so effectually promoted by Mr.
and Mrs. Cole, that every thing was rapidly clearing away.
204 EMMA.
to give proper space. Mrs. Weston, capital in her country-
dances, was seated, and beginning an irresistible waltz ; and
Frank Churchill, coming up with most becoming gallantry
to Emma, had secured her hand, and led her up to the
top.
While waiting till the other young people could pair
themselves off, Emma found time, in spite of the compli
ments she was receiving on her voice and her taste, to look
about, and see what became of Mr. Knightley. This would
be a trial. He was no dancer in general. If he were to
be very alert in engaging Jane Fairfax now, it might augur
something. There was no immediate appearance. No ; he
was talking to Mrs. Cole — he was looking on unconcerned ;
Jane was asked by somebody else, and he was still talking
to Mrs. Cole.
Emma had no longer an alarm for Henry : his interest
was yet safe ; and she led off the dance with genuine spirit
and enjoyment. Not more than five couple could be mus
tered ; but the rarity and the suddenness of it made it very
delightful, and she found herself well matched in a partner.
They were a couple worth looking at.
Two dances, unfortunately, were all that could be al
lowed. It was growing late, and Miss Bates became anxious
to get home, on her mother's account. After some attempts,
therefore, to be permitted to begin again, they were obliged
to thank Mrs. Weston, look sorrowful, and have done.
" Perhaps it is as well," said Frank Churchill, as he
attended Emma to her carriage. " I must have asked
Miss Fairfax, and her languid dancing would not have
agreed with me, after yours."

CHAPTER IX.
Emma did not repent her condescension in going to the
Coles. The visit afforded her many pleasant recollections
the next day ; and all that she might be supposed to have
lost on the side of dignified seclusion must be amply re
 EMMA. 205
paid in the splendour of popularity. She must have de
lighted the Coles — worthy people, who deserved to be
made happy! — and left a name behind her that would not
soon die away.
Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not common ; and
there were two points on which she was not quite easy. She
doubted whether she had not transgressed the duty of
woman by woman, in betraying her suspicions of Jane
Fairfax's feelings to Frank Churchill. It was hardly right;
but it had been so strong an idea, that it would escape her,
and his submission to all that she told was a compliment
to her penetration which made it difficult for her to be quite
certain that she ought to have held her tongue.
The other circumstance of regret related also to Jane
Fairfax, and there she had no doubt. She did unfeignedly
and unequivocally regret the inferiority of her own playing
and singing. She did most heartily grieve over the idle
ness of her childhood ; and sat down and practised vigor
ously an hour and a half.
She was then interrupted by Harriet's coming in ; and
if Harriet's praise could have satisfied her, she might soon
have been comforted.
" Oh, if I could but play as well as you and Miss
Fairfax !"
" Don't class us together, Harriet. My playing is no
more like hers than a lamp is like sunshine."
" O dear, I think you play the best of the two. I think
you play quite as well as she does. I am sure I had much
rather hear you. Every body last night said how well you
played."
" Those who knew any thing about it must have felt
the difference. The truth is, Harriet, that my playing is
just good enough to be praised, but Jane Fairfax's is much
beyond it."
" Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well
as she does, or that if there is any difference nobody would
ever find it out. Mr. Cole said how much taste you had ;
and Mr. Frank Churchill talked a great deal about your
taste, and that he valued taste much more than execution."
"Ah, but Jane Fairfax has them both, Harriet." .
206 , EMMA.
" Are you sure ? I saw she had execution, but I did
not know she had any taste. Nobody talked about it ; and
I hate Italian singing : there is no understanding a word
of it. Besides, if she does play so very well, you know, it
is no more than she is obliged to do, because she will have
to teach. The Coxes were wondering last night whether
she would get into any great family. How did you think
the Coxes looked ? "
" Just as they always do, — very vulgar."
" They told me something," said Harriet, rather hesi
tatingly, " but it is nothing of any consequence."
Emma was obliged to ask what they had told her, though
fearful of its producing Mr. Elton.
" They told me that Mr. Martin dined with them last
Saturday."
" Oh ! "
" He came to their father upon some business, and he
asked him to stay dinner."
" Oh !"
' " They talked a great deal about him, especially Anne
Cox. 'I do not know what she meant, but she asked me
if I thought I should go and stay there again next sum
mer."
" She meant to be impertinently curious, just as such an
Anne Cox should be."
" She said he was very agreeable the day he dined there.
He sat by her at dinner. Miss Nash thinks either of the
Coxes would be very glad to marry him."
" Very likely ; I think they are, without exception, the
most vulgar girls in Highbury."
Harriet had business at Ford's, Emma thought it most
prudent to go with her. Another accidental meeting with
the Martins was possible, and, in her present state, would
be dangerous.
Harriet, tempted by every thing, and swayed by half a
word, was always very long at a purchase ; and while she
was still hanging over muslins, and changing her mind,
Emma went to the door for amusement. Much could not
be hoped from the traffic of even the busiest part of High
bury ; — Mr. Terry walking hastily by : Mr. William Cox
 EMMA. 207
letting himself in at the office door ; Mr. Cole's carriage-
horses returning from exercise ; or a stray letter-boy on an
obstinate mule, were the liveliest objects she could presume
to expect ; and when her eyes fell only on the butcher with
his tray, a tidy old woman travelling homewards from shop
with her full basket, two curs quarrelling over a dirty bone,
and a string of dawdling children round the baker's little
bow-window eyeing the gingerbread, she knew she had no
reason to complain, and was amused enough : quite enough
still to stand at the door. A mind lively and at ease can
do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not
answer.
She looked down the Randalls road. The scene enlarged;
two persons appeared ; Mrs. Weston and her son-in-law.
They were walking into Highbury ; — to Hartfield of
course : they were stopping, however, in the first place at
Mrs. Bates's, whose house was a little nearer Randalls than
Ford's, and had all but knocked when Emma caught their
eye. Immediately they crossed the road and came forward
to her ; and the agreeableness of yesterday's engagement
seemed to give fresh pleasure to the present meeting.
Mrs. Weston informed her that she was going to call on
the Bateses, in order to hear the new instrument.
" For my companion tells me," said she, " that I abso
lutely promised Miss Bates last night that I would come
this morning. I was not aware of it myself. I did not
know that I had fixed a day ; but as he says I did, I am
going now."
" And while Mrs. Weston pays her visit, I may be
allowed, I hope," said Frank Churchill, " to join your
party and wait for her at Hartfield, if you are going home."
Mrs. Weston was disappointed.
" I thought you meant to go with me. They would be
very much pleased."
'' Me ! I should be quite in the way. But, perhaps,
I may be equally in the way here. Miss Woodhouse looks
as if she did not want me. My aunt always sends me off
when she is shopping. She says I fidget her to death ;
and Miss Woodhouse looks as if she could almost say the
same. What am I to do ? "
 208 EMMA.
" I am here on no business of my own," said Emma,
" I am only waiting for my friend. She will probably
have soon done, and then we shall go home. But you
had better go with Mrs. Weston and hear the instrument."
" Well, if you advise it. But (with a smile) if Colonel
Campbell should have employed a careless friend, and if it
should prove to have an indifferent tone, what shall I say ?
I shall be no support to Mrs. Weston. She might do very
well by herself. A disagreeable truth would be palatable
through her lips, but I am the wretchedest being in the
world at a civil falsehood."
" I do not believe any such thing," replied Emma ; " I
am persuaded that you can be as insincere as your neigh
bours, when it is necessary ; but there is no reason to sup
pose the instrument is indifferent. Quite otherwise, indeed,
if I understood Miss Fairfax's opinion last night."
" Do come with me," said Mrs. Weston, " if it be not
very disagreeable to you. It need not detain us long. We
will go to Hartfield afterwards. We will follow them to
Hartfield. I really wish you to call with me : it will be
felt so great an attention — and I always thought you
meant it."
He could say no more ; and, with the hope of Hartfield
to reward him, returned with Mrs. Weston to Mrs. Bates's
door. Emma watched them in, and then joined Harriet
at the interesting counter, trying, with all the force of her
own mind, to convince her that, if she wanted plain muslin,
it was of no use to look at figured ; and that a blue riband,
be it ever so beautiful, would still never match her yellow
pattern. At last it was all settled, even to the destination
of the parcel.
" Should I send it to Mrs. Goddard's, ma'am ? " asked
Mrs. Ford. — "Yes — no — yes, to Mrs. Goddard's. Only
my pattern gown is at Hartfield. No, you shall send it to
Hartfield, if you please. But then, Mrs. Goddard will
want to see it. And I could take the pattern gown home
any day. But I shall want the riband directly ; so it had
better go to Hartfield — at least the riband. You could
make it into two parcels, Mrs. Ford, could not you ? "
 EMMA. 209
" It is not worth while, Harriet, to give Mrs. Ford the
trouble of two parcels."
" No more it is."
" No trouble in the world, ma'am," said the obliging
Mrs. Ford.
" Oh, but indeed I would much rather have it only in
one. Then, if you please, you shall send it all to Mrs.
Goddard's — I do not know — no, I think, Miss Woodhouse,
I may just as well have it sent to Hartfield, and take it
home with me at night. What do you advise ? "
" That you do not give another half-second to the subject.
To Hartfield, if you please, Mrs. Ford."
" Ay, that will be much best," said Harriet, quite
satisfied ; " I should not at all like to have it sent to Mrs.
Goddard's."
Voices approached the shop, or rather, one voice and two
ladies ; Mrs. Weston and Miss Bates met them at the door.
" My dear Miss Woodhouse," said the latter, " I am
just run across to entreat the favour of you to come and
sit down with us a little while, and give us your opinion of
our new instrument — you and Miss Smith. How do you
do. Miss Smith ? — Very well, I thank you. — And I
begged Mrs. Weston to come with me, that I might be
sure of succeeding." /
" I hope Mrs. Bates and Miss Fairfax are "
" Very well, I am much obliged to you. My mother is
delightfully well ; and Jane caught no cold last night.
How is Mr. Woodhouse ? I am so glad to hear such a
good account. Mrs. Weston told me you were here.—
Oh, then, said I, I must run across ; I am sure Miss
Woodhouse will allow me just to run across and entreat her
to come in : my mother will be so very happy to see her ;
and now we are such a nice party, she cannot refuse.
' Ay, pray do,' said Mr. Frank Churchill, ' Miss Wood-
house's opinion of the instrument will be worth having.' —
But, said I, I shall be more sure of succeeding if one
of you will go with me. — ' Oh,' said he, ' wait half a
minute, till I have finished my job : ' for, would you be
lieve it, Miss Woodhouse, there he is, in the most obliging
manner in the world, fastening in the rivet of my mother's
p
 210 EMMA.
spectacles. The rivet came out, you know, this morning ;
so very obliging ! — For my mother had no use of her
spectacles — could not put them on. And, by the by, every
body ought to have two pair of spectacles; they should
indeed. Jane said so. I meant to take them over to John
Saunders the first thing I did, but something or other
hindered me all the morning ; first one thing, then another,
there is no saying what, you know. At one time, Patty
came to say she thought the kitchen chimney wanted
sweeping. Oh, said I, Patty, do not come with your
bad news to me. Here is the rivet of your mistress's
spectacles out. Then the baked apples came home ; Mrs.
Wallis sent them by her boy ; they are extremely civil and
obliging to us, the Wallises, always. I have heard some
people say that Mrs. Wallis can be uncivil and give a very
rude answer ; but we have never known any thing but the
greatest attention from them. And it cannot be for the
value of our custom now, for what is our consumption of
bread, you know ? only three of us. Besides, dear Jane,
at present, — and she really eats nothing, — makes such a
shocking breakfast, you would be quite frightened if you
saw it. I dare not let my mother know how little she eats ;
so I say one thing, and then I say another, and it passes off.
But about the middle of the day she gets hungry, and there
is nothing she likes so well as these baked apples, and they
are extremely wholesome ; for I took the opportunity the
other day of asking Mr. Perry ; I happened to meet him
in the street. Not that I had any doubt before. I have
so often heard Mr. Woodhouse recommend a baked apple.
I believe it is the only way that Mr. Woodhouse thinks the
fruit thoroughly wholesome. We have apple dumplings,
however, very often. Patty makes an excellent apple-
dumpling. Well, Mrs. Weston, you have prevailed, I hope,
and these ladies will oblige us."
Emma would be " very happy to wait on Mrs. Bates,
&c," and they did at last move out of the shop, with no
further delay from Miss Bates than, —
" How do you do, Mrs. Ford ? I beg your pardon ;
I did not see you before. I hear you have a charming
collection of new ribands from town. Jane came back
 - EMMA. 211
oelighted yesterday. Thank ye, the gloves do very well
—only a little too large about the wrist ; but Jane is taking
them in."
" What was I talking of?" said she, beginning again
when they were all in the street.
Emma wondered on what, of all the medley, she would fix.
" I declare I cannot recollect what I was talking of.
Oh, my mother's spectacles. So very obliging of Mr.
Frank Churchill! 'Oh!' said he, ' I do think I can
fasten the rivet ; I like a job of this kind excessively.'
Which, you know, showed him to be so very In
deed I must say that, much as I had heard of him before,
and much as 1 had expected, he very far exceeds any thing
—— I do congratulate you, Mrs. Weston, most warmly.
He seems every thing the fondest parent could ' Oh ! '
said he, ' I can fasten the rivet. I like a job of that sort
excessively.' I never shall forget his manner. And when
I brought out the baked apples from the closet, and hoped
our friends would be so very obliging as to take some,
' Oh ! ' said he directly, • there is nothing in the way of
fruit half so good, and these are the finest looking home-
baked apples I ever saw in my life.' That, you know, was
so very And I am sure, by his manner, it was no
compliment. Indeed they are very delightful apples, . and
Mrs. Wallis does them full justice, only we do not have
them baked more than twice, and Mr. Woodhouse made us
promise to have them done three times; but Miss Wood-
house will be so good as not to mention it. The apples
themselves are the very finest sort for baking, beyond a
doubt ; all from Donwell — some of Mr. Knightley's most
• liberal supply. He sends us a sack every year ; and cer
tainly there never was such a keeping apple any where as
one of his trees — I believe there is two of them. My
mother says the orchard was always famous in her younger
days. But I was really quite shocked the other day ; for
Mr. Knightley called one morning, and Jane was eating
these apples, and we talked about them, and said how
much she enjoyed them, and he asked whether we were
not got to the end of our stock. ' I am sure you must be,'
said he, ' and I will send you another supply ; for I have
v 2
212 EMMA.
a great many more than I can ever use. William Larkins
let me keep a larger quantity than usual this year. I will
send you some more, before they get good for nothing.'
So I begged he would not —for really as to ours being gone,
I could not absolutely say that we had a great many left —
it was but half a dozen indeed; but they should be all
kept for Jane ; and I could not at all bear that he should
be sending us more, so liberal as he had been already; and
Jane said the same. And when he was gone, she almost
quarrelled with me : no I should not say quarrelled, for
we never had a quarrel in our lives; but she was quite
distressed that I had owned the apples were so nearly gone ;
she wished I had made him believe we had a great many
left. Oh, said I, my dear, I did say as much as I could.
However, the very same evening William Larkins came
over with a large basket of apples, the same sort of apples,
a bushel at least, and I was very much obliged, and went
down and spoke to William Larkins, and said every thing,
as you may suppose. William Larkins is such an old ac
quaintance ! I am always glad to see him. But, however,
I found afterwards from Patty, that William said it was
all the apples of that sort his master had ; he had brought
them all — and now his master had not one left to bake or
boil. William did not seem to mind it himself, he was so
pleased to think his master had sold so many ; for William,
you know, thinks more of his master's profit than any
thing ; but Mrs. Hodges, he said, was quite displeased at
their being all sent away. She could not bear that her mas
ter should not be able to have another apple-tart this spring.
He told Patty this, but bid her not mind it, and be sure
not to say any thing to us about it, for Mrs. Hodges would
be cross sometimes, and as long as so many sacks were sold,
it did not signify who ate the remainder. And so Patty
told me, and I was excessively shocked, indeed ! I would
not have Mr. Knightley know any thing about it for the
world ! He would be so very - I wanted to keep it
from Jane's knowledge ; but, unluckily, I had mentioned
it before I was aware."
Miss Bates had just done as Patty opened the door ; and
her visiters walked up stairs without having any regular
 EMMA. 213
narration to attend to, pursued only by the sounds of her
desultory good will.
" Pray take care, Mrs. Weston, there is a step at the
turning. Pray take care, Miss Woodhouse, ours is rather
a dark staircase — rather darker and narrower than one could
wish. Miss Smith, pray take care. Miss Woodhouse, I
am quite concerned, I am sure you hit your foot. Miss
Smith, the step at the turning."

CHAPTER X.
The appearance of the little sitting-room as they entered
was tranquillity itself ; Mrs. Bates, deprived of her usual
employment, slumbering on one side of the fire, Frank
Churchill, at a table near her, most deedily occupied about
her spectacles, and Jane Fairfax, standing with her back
to them, intent on her piano-forte.
Busy as he was, however, the young man was yet able
to show a most happy countenance on seeing Emma again.
This is a pleasure," said he, in rather a low voice,
" coming at least ten minutes earlier than I had calculated
You find me trying to be useful ; tell me if you think I
shall succeed."
" What ! " said Mrs. Weston, " have not you finished
it yet ? you would not earn a very good livelihood as a
working silversmith at this rate."
" I have not been working uninterruptedly," he replied,
" I have been assisting Miss Fairfax in trying to make
her instrument stand steadily ; it was not quite firm ; an
unevenness in the floor, I believe. You see we have been
wedging one leg with paper. This was very kind of you
to be persuaded to come. I was almost afraid you would
be hurrying home."
He contrived that she should be seated by him ; and
was sufficiently employed in looking out the best baked
apple for her, and trying to make her help or advise him in
his work, till Jane Fairfax was quite ready to sit down to
p 3
 214 EMMA.
the piano-forte again. That she was not immediately ready,
Emma did suspect to arise from the state of her nerves ;
she had not yet possessed the instrument long enough to
touch it without emotion ; she must reason herself into
the power of performance ; and Emma could not but pity
such feelings, whatever their origin, and could not but
resolve never to expose them to her neighbour again.
At last Jane began, and though the first bars were feebly
given, the powers of the instrument were gradually done
full justice to. Mrs. Weston had been delighted before,
and was delighted again ; Emma joined her in all her
praise ; and the piano-forte, with every proper discrimination,
was pronounced to be altogether of the highest promise.
" Whoever Colonel Campbell might employ," said Frank
Churchill, with a smile at Emma, " the person has not
chosen ill. I heard a good deal of Colonel Campbell's
taste at Weymouth ; and the softness of the upper notes I
am sure is exactly what he and all that party would parti
cularly prize. I dare say, Miss Fairfax, that he either
gave his friend very minute directions, or wrote to Broad-
wood himself. Do not you think so ? "
Jane did not look round. She was not obliged to hear.
Mrs. Weston had been speaking to her at the same moment.
" It is not fair," said Emma, in a whisper; " mine was a
random guess. Do not distress her."
He shook his head with a smile, and looked as if he had
t very little doubt and very little mercy. Soon afterwards
he began again, —
" How much your friends in Ireland must be enjoying
your pleasure on this occasion, Miss Fairfax. I dare say
they often think of you, and wonder which will be the day,
the precise day of the instrument's coming to hand. Do yiu
imagine Colonel Campbell knows the business to be going
forward just at this time ? Do you imagine it to be the
consequence of an immediate commission from him, or that
he may have sent only a general direction, an order inde
finite as to time, to depend upon contingencies and con
veniences ? "
He paused. She could not but hear ; she could not avoid
answering, —-
 EMMA. 215
" Till I have a letter from Colonel Campbell," said she>
in a voice of forced calmness, " I can imagine nothing with
any confidence. It must be all conjecture."
" Conjecture ! ay, sometimes one conjectures right, and
sometimes one conjectures wrong. I wish I could con
jecture how soon I shall make this rivet quite firm. What
nonsense one talks, Miss Woodhouse, when hard at work,
if one talks at all; your real workmen, I suppose, hold
their tongues ; but we, gentlemen labourers, if we get
hold of a word — Miss Fairfax said something about con
jecturing. There, it is done. I have the pfeasure, madam,
(to Mrs. Bates,) of restoring your spectacles, healed for the
present." "
He was very warmly thanked both by mother and
daughter : to escape a little from the latter, he went to the
piano-forte, and begged Miss Fairfax, who was still sitting
at it, to play something more.
" If you are very kind," said he, " it will be one of the
waltzes we danced last night ; let me live them over again.
You did not enjoy them as I did ; you appeared tired the
whole time. I believe you were glad we danced no longer ;
but I would have given worlds — all the worlds one ever has
to give — for another half hour."
She played.
" What felicity it is to hear a tune again which 'has
made one happy ! If I mistake not, that was danced at
Weymouth."
She looked up at him for a moment, coloured deeply, and
played something else. He took some music from a chair
near the piano-forte, and turning to Emma, said, —
" Here is something quite new to me. Do you know
it ? Cramer. And here are a new set of Irish melodies.
That, from such a quarter, one might expect. This was
all sent with the instrument. Very thoughtful of Colonel
Campbell, was not it ? He knew Miss Fairfax could have
no music here. I honour that part of the attention par
ticularly ; it shows it to have been so thoroughly from the
heart. Nothing hastily done ; nothing incomplete. True
affection only could have prompted it."
p 4
 EMMA.
Emma wished he would be less pointed, yet could not
help being amused ; and when, on glancing her eye towards
Jane Fairfax, she caught the remains of a smile ; when she
saw that, with all the deep blush of consciousness, there
had been a smile of secret delight, she had less scruple in
the amusement, and much less compunction with respect to
her. This amiable, upright, perfect Jane Fairfax was ap
parently cherishing very reprehensible feelings.
He brought all the music to her, and they looked it
over together. Emma took the opportunity of whispering, —
" You speak too plain. She must understand you."
" I hope she does. I would have her understand me.
I am not in the least ashamed of my meaning."
" But, really, I am half ashamed, and wish I had never
taken up the idea."
" I am very glad you did, and that you communicated it
to me. I have now a key to all her odd looks and ways.
Leave shame to her. If she does wrong, she ought to
feel it."
" She is not entirely without it, I think."
" I do not see much sign of it. She is playing Robin
Adair at this moment — his favourite."
Shortly afterwards Miss Bates, passing near the window,
descried Mr. Knightley on horseback not far off.
" Mr. Knightley, I declare ! I must speak to him, if
possible, just to thank him. I will not open the window
here ; it would give you all cold ; but I can go into my
mother's room, you know. I dare say he will come in
when he knows who is here. Quite delightful to have you
all meet so ! Our little room so honoured !"
She was in the adjoining chamber while she still spoke,
and, opening the casement there, immediately called Mr.
Knightley's attention, and every syllable of their convers
ation was as distinctly heard by the others as if it had
passed within the same apartment.
" How d' ye do ? How d' ye do ? Very well, I thank you.
So obliged to you for the carriage last night. We were just
in time ; my mother just ready for us. Pray come in ; do
come in. You will find some friends here."
So began Miss Bates ; and Mr. Knightley seemed deter
 EMMA. 217
mined to be heard in his turn, for most resolutely and com-
mandingly did he say, —
" How is your niece, Miss Bates ? I want to enquire
after you all, but particularly your niece. How is Miss
Fairfax ? I hope she caught no cold last night. How is
she to day ? Tell me how Miss Fairfax is."
And Miss Bates was obliged to give a direct answer be-
fore he would hear her in any thing else. The listeners
were amused ; and Mrs. Weston gave Emma a look of par
ticular meaning. But Emma still shook her head in steady
scepticism.
" So obliged to you ! — so very much obliged to you for
the carriage," resumed Miss Bates.
He cut her short with,—
" I am going to Kingston. Can I do any thing for
you ? "
" Oh dear, Kingston — are you ? Mrs. Cole was saying
the other day she wanted something from Kingston."
" Mrs. Cole has servants to send ; can I do any thing
for you ? "
" No, I thank you. But do come in. Who do you
think is here? Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith; so
kind as to call to hear the new piano-forte. Do put up
your horse at the Crown, and come in."
" Well," said he, in a deliberating manner, " for five
minutes, perhaps."
" And here is Mrs. Weston and Mr. Frank Churchill
too ! Quite delightful ; so many friends ! "
" No, not now, I thank you. I could not stay two mi
nutes. I must get on to Kingston as fast as I can."
" Oh, do come in. They will be so very happy to see
you."
" No, no ; your room is full enough. I will call an
other day, and hear the piano-forte."
" Well, I am so sorry ! Oh, Mr. Knightley, what a
delightful party last night ! how extremely pleasant ! Did
you ever see such dancing ? Was not it delightful ? Miss
Woodhouse and Mr. Frank Churchill ; I never saw any
thing equal to it."
" Oh, very delightful, indeed : I can say nothing less,
218 EMMA.
for I suppose Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Frank Churchill
are] hearing every thing that passes. And (raising his
voice still more) I do not see why Miss Fairfax should not
be mentioned too. I think Miss Fairfax, dances very well;
and Mrs. Weston is the very best country-dance player,
without exception, in England. Now, if your friends have
any gratitude, they will say something pretty loud about
you and me in return; but I cannot stay to hear it."
" Oh, Mr. Knightley, one moment more ; something of
consequence — so shocked ! Jane and I are both so shocked
about the apples ! "
" What is the matter now?"
" To think of your sending us all your store apples.
You said you had a great many, and now you have not one
left. We really are so shocked ! Mrs. Hodges may well
be angry. William Larkins mentioned it here. You
should not have done it, indeed you should not. Ah, he
is off. He never can bear to be thanked. But I thought
he would have staid now, and it would have been a pity
not to have mentioned — Well (returning into the
room), I have not been able to succeed. Mr. Knightley
cannot stop. He is going to Kingston. He asked me if
he could do any thing —— "
" Yes," said Jane ; " we heard his kind offers ; we
heard every thing."
" Oh yes, my dear, I dare say you might ; because, you
know, the door was open, and the] window was open, and
Mr Knightley spoke loud. You must have heard every
thing to be sure. ' Can I do any thing for you at King
ston?' said he; so I just mentioned— Oh, Miss
Woodhouse, must you be going? You seem but just
come ; so very obliging of you."
Emma found it really time to be at home ; the visit had
already lasted long ; and, on examining watches, so much of
the morning was perceived to be gone, that Mrs. Weston
and her companion, taking leave also, could allow them
selves only to walk with the two young ladies to Hartfield
gates, before they set off for Randalls.
 EMMA. 219

CHAPTER XI.
It may be possible to do without dancing entirely. In
stances have been known of young people passing many,
many months successively, without being at any ball of any
description, and no material injury accrue either to body
or mind; — but when a beginning is made — when the
felicities of rapid motion have once been, though slightly,
felt — it must be a very heavy set that does not ask for
more.
Frank Churchill had danced once at Highbury, and
longed to dance again ; and the last half hour of an evening
which Mr. Woodhouse was persuaded to spend with his
daughter at Randalls was passed by the two young people
in schemes on the subject. Frank's was the first idea, and
bis the greatest zeal in pursuing it ; for the lady was the
best judge of the difficulties, and the most solicitous for
accommodation and appearance. But still she had inclina
tion enough for showing people again how delightfully
Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse danced — for
doing that in which she need not blush to compare herself
with Jane Fairfax — and even for simple dancing itself,
without any of the wicked aids of vanity—to assist him
first in pacing out the room they were in to see what it
could be made to hold — and then in taking the dimensions
of the other parlour, in the hope of discovering, in spite of
all that Mr. Weston could say of their exactly equal size,
that it was a little the largest.
His first proposition and request, that the dance begun at
Mr. Cole's should be finished there, — that the same party
should be collected, and the same musician engaged, — met
with the readiest acquiescence. Mr. Weston entered into
the idea with thorough enjoyment, and Mrs. Weston most
willingly undertook to play as long as they could wish to
dance ; and the interesting employment had followed, of
reckoning up exactly who there would be, and portioning
out the indispensable division of space to every couple.
220 EMMA.
" You and Miss Smith, and Miss Fairfax, will be three,
and the two Miss Coxes five," had been repeated may times
over. " And there will be the two Gilberts, young Cox,
my father, and myself, besides Mr. Knightley. Yes, that
will be quite enough for pleasure. You and Miss Smith,
and Miss Fairfax, will be three, and the two Miss Coxes
five ; and for five couple there will be plenty of room."
But soon it came to be on one side, —
" But will there be good room for five couple ? — I really
do not think there will."
On another, —
" And after all, five couple are not enough to make it
worth while to stand up. Five couple are nothing, when
one thinks seriously about it. It will not do to invite five
couple. It can be allowable only as the thought of the
moment."
Somebody said that Miss Gilbert was expected at her
brother's, and must be invited with the rest. Somebody
else believed Mrs. Gilbert would have danced the other
evening, if she had been asked. A word was put in for a
second young Cox ; and at last, Mr. Weston naming one
family of cousins who must be included, and another of
very old acquaintance who could not be left out, it became
a certainty that the five couple would be at least ten, and a
very interesting speculation in what possible manner they
could be disposed of.
The doors of the two rooms were just opposite each
other. " Might not they use both rooms, and dance across
the passage ? " It seemed the best scheme ; and yet it was
not so good but that many of them wanted a better. Emma
said it would be awkward ; Mrs. Weston was in distress
about the supper ; and Mr. Woodhouse opposed it earnestly
on the score of health. It made him so very unhappy, in
deed, that it could not be persevered in.
" Oh no," said he ; " it would be the extreme of im
prudence. I could not bear it for Emma ! — Emma is not
strong. She would catch a dreadful cold. So would poor
little Harriet. So you would all. Mrs. Weston, you
would be quite laid up ; do not let them talk of such a
wild thing ; pray do not let them talk of it. That young
 EMMA. 221
man (speaking lower) is very thoughtless. Do not tell his
father, but that young man is not quite the thing. He has
been opening the doors very often this evening, and keeping
them open very inconsiderately. He does not think of the
draught. I do not mean to set you against him, but in
deed he is not quite the thing."
Mrs. Weston was sorry for such a charge. She knew
the importance of it, and said every thing in her power to
do it away. Every door was now closed, the passage plan
given up, and the first scheme, of dancing only in the room
they were in, resorted to again ; and with such good-will
on Frank Churchill's part, that the space which a quarter
of an hour before had been deemed barely sufficient for five
couple, was now endeavoured to be made out quite enough
for ten.
" We were too magnificent," said he. " We allowed
unnecessary room. Ten couple may stand here very
well."
Emma demurred. " It would be a crowd —a sad
crowd ; and what could be worse than dancing without
space to turn in ? "
" Very true," he gravely replied ; " it was very bad."
But still he went on measuring, and still he ended with,—
" I think there will be very tolerable room for ten
couple."
" No, no," said she, " you are quite unreasonable. It
would be dreadful to be standing so close. Nothing can
be farther from pleasure than to be dancing in a crowd —
and a crowd in a little room."
" There is no denying it," he replied. " I agree with
you exactly. A crowd in a little room — Miss Woodhouse,
you have the art of giving pictures in a few words. Ex
quisite, quite exquisite ! Still, however, having proceeded
so far, one is unwilling to give the matter up. It would
be a disappointment to my father — and altogether — I do
not know that — I am rather of opinion that ten couple
might stand here very well."
Emma perceived that the nature of his gallantry was a
little self-willed, and that he would rather oppose than lose
the pleasure of dancing with her ; but she took the com
 EMMA.
pliment, and forgave the rest. Had she intended ever to
marry him, it might have been worth while to pause
and consider, and try to understand the value of his pre
ference, and the character of his temper ; but for all the
purposes of their acquaintance he was quite amiable
enough.
Before the middle of the next day he was at Hartfield ;
and he entered the room with such an agreeable smile as
certified the continuance of the scheme. It soon appeared
that he came to announce an improvement.
" Well, Miss Woodhouse," he almost immediately be
gan, " your inclination for dancing has not been quite
frightened away, I hope, by the terrors of my father's little
rooms. I bring a new proposal on the subject — a thought
of my father's, which waits only your approbation to be
acted upon. May I hope for the honour of your hand for
the two first dances of this little projected ball, to be given,
not at Randalls, but at the Crown Inn ? "
" The Crown !"
" Yes ; if you and Mr. Woodhouse see no objection, and
I trust you cannot, my father hopes his friends will be so
kind as to visit him there. Better accommodations he can
promise them, and not a less grateful welcome than at
Randalls. It is his own idea. Mrs. Weston sees no ob
jection to it, provided you are satisfied. This is what we
all feel. Oh, you were perfectly right ! Ten couple, in
either of the Randalls' rooms, would have been insufferable
— dreadful ! I felt how right you were the whole time,
but was too anxious for securing any thing to like to yield.
Is not it a good exchange? You consent — I hope you
consent?"
" It appears to me a plan that nobody can object to, if
Mr. and Mrs. Weston do not. I think it admirable ; and,
as far as I can answer for myself, shall be most happy
It seems the only improvement that could be. Papa, do
you not think it an excellent improvement ? "
She was obliged to repeat and explain it, before it was
fully comprehended ; and then, being quite new, further
representations were necessary to make it acceptable.
" No; he thought it very far from an improvement—
 EMMA. 223
a very bad plan— much worse than the other. A room at
an inn was always damp and dangerous ; never properly
aired, or fit to be inhabited. If they must dance, they had
better dance at Randalls. He had never been in the room
at the Crown in his life—did not know the people who
kept it by sight. Oh no — a very bad plan. They would
catch worse colds at the Crown than any where."
" I was going to observe, sir," said Frank Churchill,
" that one of the great recommendations of this change
would be the very little danger of any body's catching cold
— so much less danger at the Crown than at Randalls !
Mr. Perry might have reason to regret the alteration, but
nobody else could."
" Sir," said Mr. Woodhouse, rather warmly, " you are
very much mistaken if you suppose Mr. Perry to be that
sort of character. Mr. Perry is extremely concerned when
any of us are ill. But I do not understand how the room
at the Crown can be safer for you than your father's
house."
" From the very circumstance of its being larger, sir.
We shall have no occasion to open the windows at all —
not once the whole evening ; and it is that dreadful habit
of opening the windows, letting in cold air upon heated
bodies, which (as you well know, sir) does the mischief."
" Open the windows ! but surely, Mr. Churchill, no
body would think of opening the windows at Randalls.
Nobody could be so imprudent ! I never heard of such a
thing. Dancing with open windows ! I am sure, neither
your father nor Mrs. Weston (poor Miss Taylor that was)
would suffer it."
" Ah ! sir — but a thoughtless young person will some
times step behind a window-curtain, and throw up a sash,
without its being suspected. I have often known it done
myself."
" Have you, indeed, sir ? Bless me ! I never could
have supposed it. But I live out of the world, and am
often astonished at what I hear. However, this does make
a difference ; and, perhaps, when we come to talk it over
— but these sort of things require a good deal of consider
ation. One cannot resolve upon them in a hurry. If Mr.
 EMMA.
and Mrs. Weston will be so obliging as to call here one
morning, we may talk it over, and see what can be done."
" But, unfortunately, sir, my time is so limited "
" Oh," interrupted Emma, " there will be plenty of
time for talking every thing over. There is no hurry at all.
If it can be contrived to be at the Crown, papa, it will be
very convenient for the horses. They will be so near their
own stable."
" So they will, my dear. That is a great thing. Not
that James ever complains ; but it is right to spare our
horses when we can. If I could be sure of the rooms
being thoroughly aired —but is Mrs. Stokes to be trusted ?
I doubt it. I do not know her, even by sight."
" I can answer for every thing of that nature, sir, be
cause it will be under Mrs. Weston's care. Mrs. Weston
undertakes to direct the whole."
" There, papa ! Now you must be satisfied —our
own dear Mrs. Weston, who is carefulness itself. Do not
you remember what Mr. Perry said, so many years ago,
when I had the measles ? 'If Miss Taylor undertakes to
wrap Miss Emma up, you need not have any fears, sir.'
How often have I heard you speak of it as such a com
pliment to her ! "
" Ay, very true. Mr. Perry did say so. I shall never
forget it. Poor little Emma! You were very bad with
the measles ; that is, you would have been very bad, but
for Perry's great attention. He came four times a-day for
a week. He said, from the first, it was a very good sort
— which was our great comfort; but the measles are a
dreadful complaint. I hope whenever poor Isabella's little
ones have the measles, she will send for Perry."
" My father and Mrs. Weston are at the Crown at this
moment," said Frank Churchill, " examining the capabili
ties of the house. I left them there and came on to Hart-
field, impatient for your opinion, and hoping you might be
persuaded to join them and give your advice on the spot.
I was desired to say so from both. It would be the great
est pleasure to them, if you could allow me to attend
you there. They can do nothing satisfactorily without
you.
 EMMA.
Emma was most happy to be called to such a council ;
and, her father engaging to think it all over while she was
gone, the two young people set off together without delay
for the Crown. There were Mr. and Mrs. Weston ;
delighted to see her and receive her approbation, very
busy and very happy in their different way ; she, in some
little distress ; and he, finding every thing perfect.
t> " Emma," said she, " this paper is worse than I ex
pected. Look ! in places you see it is dreadfully dirty ;
and the wainscot is more yellow and forlorn than any
thing could have imagined."
" My dear, you are too particular," said her husband.
" What does all that signify ? You will see nothing of
it by candle-light. It will be as clean as Randalls by
candle-light. We never see any thing of it on our club-
nights."
The ladies here probably exchanged looks which meant,
"Men never know when things are dirty or not;" and
the gentlemen perhaps thought each to himself, " Women
will have their little nonsenses and needless cares."
One perplexity, however, arose, which the gentlemen
did not disdain : it regarded a supper-room. At the time
of the ball-room's being built, suppers had not been in
question; and a small card-room adjoining was the only
addition. What was to be done? This card-room would
be wanted as a card-room now ; or, if cards were con
veniently voted unnecessary by their four selves, still was
not it too small for any comfortable supper ? Another
room of much better size might be secured for the pur
pose ; but it was at the other end of the house, and a long
awkward passage must be gone through to get at it. This
made a difficulty. Mrs. Weston was afraid of draughts
for the young people in that passage ; and neither Emma
nor the gentlemen could tolerate the prospect of being
miserably crowded at supper.
Mrs. Weston proposed having no regular supper:
merely sandwiches, &c. set out in the little room ; but that
was scouted as a wretched suggestion. A private dance,
without sitting down to supper, was pronounced an infa
mous fraud upon the rights of men and women ; and Mrs.
Q
 EMMA.
Weston must not speak of it again. She then took another
line of expediency, and looking into the doubtful room,
observed, —
" I do not think it is so very small. We shall not be
many, you know."
And Mr. Weston at the same time, walking briskly with
long steps through the passage, was calling out,—
" You talk a great deal of the length of this passage,
my dear. It is a mere nothing after all ; and not the least
draught from the stairs."
" I wish," said Mrs. Weston, " one could know which
arrangement our guests in general would like best. To
do what would be most generally pleasing must be our
object — if one could but tell what that would be."
" Yes, very true," cried Frank, " very true. You want
your neighbours' opinions. I do not wonder at you. If
one could ascertain what the chief of them — the Coles, for
instance. They are not far off. Shall I call upon them ?
Or Miss Bates ? She is still nearer. — And I do not
know whether Miss Bates is not as likely to understand the
inclinations of the rest of the people as any body. I think
we do want a larger council. Suppose I go and invite
Miss Bates to join us ? "
" Well — if you please," said Mrs. Weston, rather hesi
tating, " if you think she will be of any use."
" You will get nothing to the purpose from Miss Bates,"
said Emma. " She will be all delight and gratitude, but
she will tell you nothing. She will not even listen to
your questions. I see no advantage in consulting Miss
Bates."
" But she is so amusing, so extremely amusing ! I am
very fond of hearing Miss Bates talk. And I need not
bring the whole family, you know."
Here Mr. Weston joined them, and on hearing what was
proposed, gave it his decided approbation.
" Ay, do, Frank. — Go and fetch Miss Bates, and let
us end the matter at once. She will enjoy the scheme,
I am sure ; and I do not know a properer person for
showing us how to do away difficulties. Fetch Miss Bates.
We are growing a little too nice. She is a standing
 EMMA. 227
lesson of how to be happy. But fetch them both. Invite
them both."
" Both, sir ! Can the old lady ?"
" The old lady ! No, the young lady, to be sure. I
shall think you a great blockhead, Frank, if you bring the
aunt without the niece."
" Oh ! I beg your pardon, sir. I did not immedi
ately recollect. Undoubtedly, if you wish if,' I will en
deavour to persuade them both." And away he ran.
Long before he re-appeared, attending the short, neat,
brisk-moving aunt, and her elegant niece, — Mrs. Weston,
like a sweet-tempered woman and a good wife, had ex
amined the passage again, and found the evils of it much
less than she had supposed before — indeed very trifling ;
and here ended the difficulties of decision. All the rest,
in speculation at least, was perfectly smooth. All the minor
arrangements of table and chair, lights and music, tea
and supper, made themselves ; or were left as mere trifles,
to be settled at any time between Mrs. Weston and Mrs.
Stokes. Every body invited was certainly to come ; Frank
had already written to Enscombe to propose staying a few
days beyond his fortnight, which could not possibly be re
fused. And a delightful dance it was to be.
Most cordially, when Miss Bates arrived, did she agree
that it must. As a counsellor she was not wanted ; but as
an approver (a much safer character) she was truly wel
come. Her approbation, at once general and minute, warm
and incessant, could not but please ; and for another half-
hour they were all walking to and fro between the different
rooms, some suggesting, some attending, and all in happy
enjoyment of the future. The party did not break up
without Emma's being positively secured for the first two
dances by the hero of the evening, nor without her over
hearing Mr. Weston whisper to his wife, " He has asked
her, my dear. That's right. I knew he would !"

Q 2
 EMMA.

CHAPTER XII.
One thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the
ball completely satisfactory to Emma,—its being fixed for a
day within the granted term of Frank Churchill's stay in
Surrey ; for, in spite of Mr. Weston's confidence, she could
not think it so very impossible that the Churchills might
not allow their nephew to remain a day beyond his fort
night. But this was not judged feasible. The prepara
tions must take their time, nothing could be properly ready
till the third week were entered on, and for a few days
they must be planning, proceeding, and hoping in uncer
tainty — at the risk — in her opinion, the great risk of its
being all in vain.
Enscombe, however, was gracious, gracious in fact, if
not in word. His wish of staying longer evidently did
not please ; but it was not opposed. All was safe and
prosperous ; and as the removal of one solicitude generally
makes way for another, Emma, being now certain of her
ball, began to adopt as the next vexation Mr. Knightley's
provoking indifference about it. Either because he did
not dance himself, or because the plan had been formed
without his being consulted, he seemed resolved that it
should not interest him, determined against its exciting any
present curiosity, or affording him any future amusement.
To her voluntary communications Emma could get no more
approving reply than,
" Very well. If the Westons think it worth while to
be at all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment,
I have nothing to say against it, but that they shall not
choose pleasures for me. — Oh, yes ! I must be there ; I
could not refuse ; and I will keep as much awake as I can ;
but I would rather be at home, looking over William Lar-
kins's week's account ; much rather, I confess. — Pleasure
in seeing dancing ! — not I, indeed, — I never look at it —
I do not know who does. — Fine dancing, I believe, like
 EMMA. 229
virtue, must be its own reward. Those who are standing
by are usually thinking of something very different."
. This Emma felt was aimed at her ; and it made her
quite angry. It was not in compliment to Jane Fairfax,
however, that he was so indifferent, or so indignant; he
was not guided by her feelings in reprobating the ball, for
she enjoyed the thought of it to an extraordinary degree.
It made her animated — open-hearted : she voluntarily
said, —
" Oh ! Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to
prevent the ball ! What a disappointment it would be ! I
do look forward to it, I own, with very great pleasure."
It was not to oblige Jane Fairfax, therefore, that he
would have preferred the society of William Larkins. No !
— she was more and more convinced that Mrs. Weston was
quite mistaken in that surmise. There was a great deal of
friendly and of compassionate attachment on his side — but
no love.
Alas ! there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr.
Knightley. Two days of joyful security were immediately
followed by the overthrow of every thing. A letter ar
rived from Mr. Churchill to urge his nephew's instant
return. Mrs. Churchill was unwell — far too unwell to do
without him ; she had been in a very suffering state (so
said her husband) when writing to her nephew two days
before, though from her usual unwillingness to give pain,
and constant habit of never thinking of herself, she had
not mentioned it ; but now she was too ill to trifle, and
must entreat him to set off for Enscombe without delay.
The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in
a note from Mrs. Weston, instantly. As to his going, it
was inevitable. He must be gone within a few hours,
though without feeling any real alarm for his aunt, to lessen
his repugnance. He knew her illnesses; they never oc
curred but for her own convenience.
Mrs. Weston added, " that he could only allow himself
time to hurry to Highbury, after breakfast, and take leave
of the few friends there whom he could suppose to feel any
interest in him ; and that he might be expected at Hart-
field very soon."
« 3
230 EMMA.
This wretched note was the finale of Emma's breakfast.
When once it had been read, there was no doing any
thing, but lament and exclaim. The loss of the ball —
the loss of the young man — and all that the young man
might be feeling ! — It was too wretched ! — Such a de
lightful evening as it would have been ! — Every body so
happy ! and she and her partner the happiest ! — "I said
it would be so," was the only consolation.
Her father's feelings were quite distinct. He thought
principally of Mrs. Churchill's illness, and wanted to know
how she was treated ; and as for the ball, it was shocking
to have dear Emma disappointed ; but they would all be
safer at home.
Emma was ready for her visitor some time before he ap
peared ; but if this reflected at all upon his impatience, his
sorrowful look and total want of spirits when he did come
might redeem him. He felt the going away almost too
much to speak of it. His dejection was most evident. He
sat really lost in thought for the first few minutes ; and
when rousing himself, it was only to say, —
" Of all horrid things, leave-taking is the worst."
" But you will come again," said Emma. " This will
not be your only visit to Randalls."
" Ah ! — (shaking his head) — the uncertainty of when
I may be able to return ! — I shall try for it with a zeal !
It will be the object of all my thoughts and cares ! — and
if my uncle and aunt go to town this spring — but I am
afraid — they did not stir last spring — I am afraid it is a
custom gone for ever."
" Our poor ball must be quite given up."
" Ah ! that ball ! — why did we wait for any thing ? —
why not seize the pleasure at once? — How often is hap
piness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation ! —You
told us it would be so. — Oh ! Miss Woodhouse, why are
you always so right ? "
" Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance.
I would much rather have been merry than wise."
" If I can come again, we are still to have our ball. My
father depends on it. Do not forget your engagement."
Emma looked graciously. -
 Emma. 231
" Such a fortnight as it has been ! " he continued ;
" every day more precious and more delightful than the day
before ! — every day making me less fit to bear any other
place. Happy those who can remain at Highbury !"
" As you do us such ample justice now," said Emma,
laughing, " I will venture to ask, whether you did not
come a little doubtingly at first ? Do not we rather sur
pass your expectations ? I am sure we do. I am sure you
did not much expect to like us. You would not have been
so long in coming, if you had had a pleasant idea of High
bury."
He laughed rather consciously ; and though denying the
sentiment, Emma was convinced that it had been so.
" And you must be off this very morning ? "
Yes ; my father is to join me here : we shall walk
back together, and I must be off immediately. I am almost
afraid that every moment will bring him."
" Not five minutes to spare even for your friends Miss
Fairfax and Miss Bates ? How unlucky ! Miss Bates's
powerful, argumentative mind might have strengthened
yours."
• " Yes — I have called there ; passing the door, I thought
it better. It was a right thing to do. I went in for three
minutes, and was detained by Miss Bates's being absent.
She was out ; and I felt it impossible not to wait till she
came in. She is a woman that one may, that one must
laugh at ; but that one would not wish to slight. It was
better to pay my visit, then—"
He hesitated, got up, walked to a window.
'' In short," said he, " perhaps, Miss Woodhouse — I
think you can hardly be quite without suspicion."—
He looked at her, as if wanting to read her thoughts.
She hardly knew what to say. It seemed like the fore
runner of something absolutely serious, which she did not
wish. Forcing herself to speak, therefore, in the hope of
putting it by, she calmly said, —
" You are quite in the right ; it was most natural to
pay your visit, then —"
He was silent. She believed he was looking at her ;
probably reflecting on what she had said, and trying to
<j 4
 EMMA.
understand the manner. She heard him sigh. It was
natural for him to feel that he had cause to sigh. He could
not believe her to be encouraging him. A few awkward
moments passed, and he sat down again ; and in a more
determined manner said, —
"It was something to feel that all the rest of my time
might be given to Hartfield. My regard for Hartfield is
most warm," —
He stopped again, rose again, and seemed quite em
barrassed. — He was more in love with her than Emma
had supposed ; and who can say how it might have ended,
if his father had not made his appearance ? Mr. Wood-
house soon followed ; and the necessity of exertion made
him composed.
A very few minutes more, however, completed the pre
sent trial. Mr. Weston, always alert when business was
to be done, and as incapable of procrastinating any evil
that was inevitable, as of foreseeing any that was doubtful,
said, " It was time to go ; " and the young man, though
he might and did sigh, could not but agree, and rise to
take leave.
" I shall hear about you all," said he ; " that is my
chief consolation. I shall hear of every thing that is going
on among you. I have engaged Mrs. Weston to corre
spond with me. She has been so kind as to promise it.
Oh ! the blessing of a female correspondent, when one is
really interested in the absent ! — she will tell me every
thing. In her letters I shall be at dear Highbury again."
A very friendly shake of the hand, a very earnest " Good
bye," closed the speech, and the door had soon shut out
Frank Churchill. Short had been the notice — short their
meeting ; he was gone ; and Emma felt so sorry to part,
and foresaw so great a loss to their little society from his
absence as to begin to be afraid of being too sorry, and
feeling it too much.
It was a sad change. They had been meeting almost
every day since his arrival. Certainly his being at Ran
dalls had given great spirit to the last two weeks — inde
scribable spirit ; the idea, the expectation of seeing him
which every morning had brought, the assurance of his
 EMMA.
attentions, his liveliness, his manners ! It had been a very
happy fortnight, and forlorn must be the sinking from it
into the common course of Hartfield days. To complete
every other recommendation, he had almost told her that
he loved her. What strength, or what constancy of af
fection he might be subject to, was another point ; but at
present she could not doubt his having a decidedly warm
admiration, a conscious preference of herself ; and this
persuasion, joined to all the rest, made her think that she
must be a little in love with him, in spite of every previous
determination against it.
" I certainly must," said she. " This sensation of
listlessness, weariness, stupidity, this disinclination to sit
down and employ myself, this feeling of every thing being
dull and insipid about the house ! — I must be in love ;
I should be the oddest creature in the world if I were not
— for a few weeks at least. Well, evil to some is always
good to others. I shall have many fellow-mourners for
the ball, if not for Frank Churchill ; but Mr. Knightley
will be happy. He may spend the evening with his dear
William Larkins now if he likes."
Mr. Knightley, however, showed no triumphant hap
piness. He could not say that he was sorry on his own
account ; his very cheerful look would have contradicted
him if he had ; but he said, and very steadily, that he was
sorry for the disappointment of the others, and with con
siderable kindness added : —
" You, Emma, who have so few opportunities of dancing,
you are really out of luck ; you are very much out of luck 1"
It was some days before she saw Jane Fairfax, to judge
of her honest regret in this woful change ; but when they
did meet, her composure was odious. She had been par
ticularly unwell, however, suffering from head-ache to a
degree, which made her aunt declare that, had the ball
taken place, she did not think Jane could have attended it ;
and it was charity to impute some of her unbecoming in
difference to the languor of ill health.
234 EMMA.

CHAPTER XIII.
Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love.
Her ideas only varied as to the how much. At first, she
thought it was a good deal ; and afterwards, but little.
She had great pleasure in hearing Frank Churchill talked
of; and, for his sake, greater pleasure than ever in seeing
Mr. and Mrs. Weston ; she was very often thinking of him,
and quite impatient for a letter, that she might know how he
was, how were his spirits, how was his aunt, and what was
the chance of his coming to Randalls again this spring.
But, on the other hand, she could not admit herself to be
-unhappy, nor, after the first morning, to be less disposed
for employment than usual ; she was still busy and cheer
ful ; and, pleasing as he was, she could yet imagine him to
have faults ; and farther, though thinking of him so much,
and, as she sat drawing or working, forming a thousand
amusing schemes for the progress and close of their at
tachment, fancying interesting dialogues, and inventing
elegant letters; the conclusion of every imaginary declar
ation on his side was that she refused him. Their affection
was always to subside into friendship. Every thing tender
and charming was to mark their parting ; but still they were
to part. When she became sensible of this, it struck her
that she could not be very much in love ; for in spite of her
previous and fixed determination never to quit her father,
never to marry, a strong attachment certainly must pro
duce more of a struggle than she could foresee in her own
feelings.
" I do not find myself making any use of the word sacri
fice," said she. " In not one of all my clever replies, my
delicate negatives, is there any allusion to making a sacri
fice. I do suspect that he is not really necessary to my
happiness. So much the better. I certainly will not per
suade myself to feel more than I do. I am quite enough
in love. I should be sorry to be more."
 EMMA. 235
Upon the whole, she was equally contented with her view
of his feelings.
" He is undoubtedly very much in love — every thing
denotes it — very much in love indeed ! —- and when he
comes again, if his affection continue, I must be on my
guard not to encourage it. It would be most inexcusable
to do otherwise, as my own mind is quite made up. Not
that I imagine he can think I have been encouraging him
hitherto. No ; if he had believed me at all to share his
feelings, he would not have been so wretched. Could he
have thought himself encouraged, his looks and language at
parting would have been different. Still, however, I must
be on my guard. This is in the supposition of his attach
ment continuing what it now is ; but I do not know that I
expect it will ; I do not look upon him to be quite the sort
of man — I do not altogether build upon his steadiness or
constancy. His feelings are warm, but I can imagine
them rather changeable. Every consideration of the sub
ject, in short, makes me thankful that my happiness is not
more deeply involved. I shall do very well again after a
little while — and then, it will be a good thing over; for
they say every body is in love once in' their lives, and I
shall have been let off easily."
When his letter to Mrs Weston arrived, Emma had the
perusal of it ; and she read it with a degree of pleasure and
admiration which made her at first shake her head over
her own sensations, and think she had undervalued their
strength. It was a long, well-written letter, giving the
particulars of his journey and of his feelings, expressing all
the affection, gratitude, and respect which was natural and
honourable, and describing every thing exterior and local
that could be supposed attractive, with spirit and precision.
No suspicious flourishes now of apology or concern ; it was
the language of real feeling towards Mrs. Weston ; and the
transition from Highbury to Enscombe, the contrast be
tween the places in some of the first blessings of social life,
was just enough touched on to show how keenly it was felt,
and how much more might have been said but for the re
straints of propriety. — The charm of her own name was
not wanting. Miss Woodhouse appeared more than once,
236 EMMA.
and never without a something of pleasing connection, either
a compliment to her taste, or a remembrance of what she
had said ; and in the very last time of its meeting her eye,
unadorned as it was by any such broad wreath of gallantry,
she yet could discern the effect of her influence, and ac
knowledge the greatest compliment perhaps of all conveyed.
Compressed into the very lowest vacant corner were these
words — I had not a spare moment on Tuesday, as you
know, for Miss Woodhouse's beautiful little friend. Pray
make my excuses and adieus to her." This, Emma could
not doubt, was all for herself. Harriet was remembered
only from being her friend. His information and prospects,
as to Enscombe, were neither worse nor better than had
been anticipated ; Mrs. Churchill was recovering, and he
dared not yet, even in his own imagination, fix a time for
coming to Randalls again.
Gratifying, however, and stimulative as was the letter
in the material part, its sentiments, she yet found, when it
was folded up and returned to Mrs. Weston, that it had not
added any lasting warmth — that she could still do without
the writer, and that he must learn to do without her. Her
intentions were unchanged. Her resolution of refusal only
grew more interesting, by the addition of a scheme for his
subsequent consolation and happiness. His recollection of
Harriet, and the words which clothed it, — the " beautiful
little friend," — suggested to her the idea of Harriet's suc
ceeding her in his affections. Was it impossible? — No.
Harriet undoubtedly was greatly his inferior in understand
ing ; but he had been very much struck with the loveliness
of her face and the warm simplicity of her manner ; and
all the probabilities of circumstance and connection were in
her favour. For Harriet, it would be advantageous and
delightful indeed.
" I must not dwell upon it," said she ; " I must not
think of it. I know the danger of indulging such specu
lations. But stranger things have happened ; and when
we cease to care for each other as we do now, it will be
the means of confirming us in that sort of true disinter
ested friendship which I can already look forward to with
pleasure."
 EMMA. 237
It was well to have a comfort in store on Harriet's be.
half, though it might be wise to let the fancy touch it sel-
dom ; for evil in that quarter was at hand. As Frank
Churchill's arrival had succeeded Mr. Elton's engagement
in the conversation of Highbury, as the latest interest had
entirely borne down the first, so now, upon Frank Church
ill's disappearance, Mr. Elton's concerns were assuming the
most irresistible form His wedding-day was named. He
would soon be among them again — Mr. Elton and his
bride. There was hardly time to talk over the first letter
from Enscombe, before " Mr. Elton and his bride" was in
every body's mouth, and Frank Churchill was forgotten.
Emma grew sick at the sound. She had three weeks of
happy exemption from Mr. Elton ; and Harriet's mind, she
had been willing to hope, had been lately gaining strength.
With Mr. Weston's ball in view at least, there had been a
great deal of insensibility to other things ; but it was now
too evident that she had not attained such a state of com
posure as could stand against the actual approach — new
carriage, bell ringing and all.
Poor Harriet was in a flutter of spirits which re
quired all the reasonings, and soothings, and attentions of
every kind that Emma could give. Emma felt that she
could not do too much for her, that Harriet had a right to
all her ingenuity and all her patience ; but it was heavy
work to be for ever convincing without producing any effect ;
for ever agreed to, without being able to make their opi
nions the same. Harriet listened submissively, and said,
" it was very true ; it was just as Miss Woodhouse de
scribed— it was not worth while to think about them, —and
she would not think about them any longer." But no
change of subject could avail, and the next half hour saw
her as anxious and restless about the Eltons as before. At
last Emma attacked her on another ground.
" Your allowing yourself to be so occupied and so un
happy about Mr. Elton's marrying, Harriet, is the strongest
reproach you can make me. You could not give me a
greater reproof for the mistake I fell into. It was all my
doing, I know. I have not forgotten it, I assure you.
Deceived myself, I did very miserably deceive you ; and
 238 EMMA.
it will be a painful reflection to me for ever. Do not
imagine me in danger of forgetting it."
Harriet felt this too much to utter more than a few
words of eager exclamation. Emma continued, —
" I have not said, exert yourself, Harriet, for my sake ;
think less, talk less of Mr. Elton for my sake ; because, for
your own sake rather, I would wish it to be done, for the
sake of what is more important than my comfort, — a habit
of self-command in you, a consideration of what is your
duty, an attention to propriety, an endeavour to avoid the
suspicions of others, to save your health and credit, and
restore your tranquillity. These are the motives which I
have been pressing on you. They are very important, and
sorry I am that you cannot feel them sufficiently to act upon
them. My being saved from pain is a very secondary consi
deration. I want you to save yourself from greater pain.
Perhaps I may sometimes have felt that Harriet would not
forget what was due, — or rather, what would be kind
by me."
This appeal to her affections did more than all the rest.
The idea of wanting gratitude and consideration for Miss
Woodhouse, whom she really loved extremely, made her
wretched for a while ; and when the violence of grief was
comforted away, still remained powerful enough to prompt
to what was right, and support her in it very tolerably.
" You, who have been the best friend I ever had in my
life ! —Want gratitude to you ! — Nobody is equal to you !
I care for nobody as I do for you ! Oh, Miss Woodhouse,
how ungrateful I have been ! "
Such expressions, assisted as they were by every thing
that look and manner could do, made Emma feel that she
had never loved Harriet so well, nor valued her affection so
highly before.
" There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart," said
she afterwards to herself. " There is nothing to be com
pared to it. Warmth and tenderness of heart, with an
affectionate, open manner, will beat all the clearness of
head in the world, for attraction : I am sure it will. It is
tenderness of heart which makes my dear father so generally
beloved— which gives Isabella all her popularity. I have
 EMMA.
it not ; but I know how to prize and respect it. Harriet
is my superior in all the charm and all the felicity it gives.
Dear Harriet ! — I would not change you for the clearest-
headed, longest-sighted, best -judging female breathing.
Oh, the coldness of a Jane Fairfax! Harriet is worth a
hundred such : and for a wife — a sensible man's wife — it
is invaluable. I mention no names ; but happy the man
who changes Emma for Harriet ! "

CHAPTER XIV.
Mrs. Elton was first seen at church : but though devotion
might be interrupted, curiosity could not be satisfied by a
bride in a pew, and it must be left for the visits in form
which were then to be paid, to settle whether she were very
pretty indeed, or only rather pretty, or not pretty at all.
Emma had feelings, less of curiosity than of pride or
propriety, to make her resolve on not being the last to pay
her respects ; and she made a point of Harriet's going with
her, that the worst of the business might be gone through
as soon as possible.
She could not enter the house again, could not be in the
same room to which she had with such vain artifice retreated
three months ago, to lace up her boot, without recollecting.
A thousand vexatious thoughts would recur. Compliments,
charades, and horrible blunders ; and it was not to be sup
posed that poor Harriet should not be recollecting too ; but
she behaved very well, and was only rather pale and silent.
The visit was of course short ; and there was so much em
barrassment and occupation of mind to shorten it, that
Emma would not allow herself entirely to form an opinion
of the lady, and on no account to give one, beyond the
nothing-meaning terms of being " elegantly dressed, and
very pleasing."
She did not really like her. She would not be in a hurry
po find fault, but she suspected that there was no elegance ;
 240 EMMA.
— ease, but not elegance. She was almost sure that for a
young woman, a stranger, a bride, there was too much ease.
Her person was rather good ; her face not unpretty ; but
neither feature, nor air, nor voice, nor manner was elegant.
Emma thought, at least, it would turn out so.
As for Mr. Elton, his manners did not appear— but no,
she would not permit a hasty or a witty word from herself
about his manners. It was an awkward ceremony at any
time to be receiving wedding-visits ; and a man had need
be all grace to acquit himself well through it. The woman
was better off; she might have the assistance of fine clothes,
and the privilege of bashfulness ; but the man had only his
own good sense to depend on : and when she considered
how peculiarly unlucky poor Mr. Elton was in being in
the same room at once with the woman he had just married,
the woman he had wanted to marry, and the woman whom
he had been expected to marry, she must allow him to have
the right to look as little wise, and to be as much affectedly,
and as little really, easy as could be.
" Well, Miss Woodhouse," said Harriet, when they
had quitted the house, and after waiting in vain for her
friend to begin ; " Well, Miss Woodhouse (with a gentle
sigh), what do you think of her? Is not she very
charming ? "
There was a little hesitation in Emma's answer.
" Oh ! yes — very — a very pleasing young woman."
" I think her beautiful, quite beautiful."
" Very nicely dressed, indeed ; a remarkably elegant
gown."
" I am not at all surprised that she should have fallen
in love."
" Oh ! no; there is nothing to surprise one at all; —a
pretty fortune ; and she came in his way."
" I dare say," returned Harriet, sighing again, " I dare
say she was very much attached to him."
" Perhaps she might ; but it is not every man's fate to
marry the woman who loves him best. Miss Hawkins,
perhaps, wanted a home, and thought this the best offer she
was likely to have."
" Yes," said Harriet earnestly, " and well she might,
 EMMA. 241
nobody could ever have a better. Well, I wish them
happy with all my heart. And now, Miss Woodhouse, I
do not think I shall mind seeing them again. He is just as
superior as ever : but being married, you know, it is quite
a different thing. No, indeed, Miss Woodhouse, you need
not be afraid ; I can sit and admire him now without any
great misery. To know that he has not thrown himself
away, is such a comfort ! — She does seem a charming young
woman, just what he deserves. Happy creature ! He.
called her ' Augusta.' How delightful !"
When the visit was returned, Emma made up her mind.
She could then see more and judge better. From Harriet's
happening not to be at Hartfield, and her father's being
present to engage Mr. Elton, she had a quarter of an hour
of the lady's conversation to herself, and could composedly
attend to her ; and the quarter of an hour quite convinced
her that Mrs. Elton was a vain woman, extremely well sa
tisfied with herself, and thinking much of her own im
portance ; that she meant to shine and be very superior,
but with manners which had been formed in a bad school,
pert and familiar ; that all her notions were drawn from
one set of people, and one style of living ; that, if not
foolish, she was ignorant, and that her society would cer
tainly do Mr. Elton no good.
Harriet would have been a better match. If not wise
or refined herself, she would have connected him with those
who were ; but Miss Hawkins, it miglit be fairly supposed
from her easy conceit, had been the best of her own set.
The rich brother-in-law, near Bristol, was the pride of the
alliance, and his place and his carriages were the pride of
him.
The very first subject, after being seated, was Maple
Grove, " My brother Mr. Suckling's seat;" a comparison
of Hartfield to Maple Grove. The grounds of Hartfield
were small, but neat and pretty ; and the house was modern
and well-built. Mrs. Elton seemed most favourably im
pressed by the size of the room, the entrance, and all that
she could see or imagine. " Very like Maple Grovei indeed !
She was quite struck by the likeness ! —That room was the
242 EMMA.
very shape and size of the morning-room at Maple Grove ;
her sister's favourite room." Mr. Elton was appealed to.
" Was not it astonishingly like?— She could really almost
fancy herself at Maple Grove."
" And the staircase. — You know, as I came in, I ob
served how very like the staircase was ; placed exactly in
the same part of the house. I really could not help ex
claiming ! I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, it is very de
lightful to me to be reminded of a place I am so extremely
partial to as Maple Grove. I have spent so many happy
months there ! (with a little sign of sentiment.) A
charming place, undoubtedly. Every body who sees it is
struck by its beauty ; but to me it has been quite a home.
Whenever you are transplanted, like me, Miss Woodhouse,
you will understand how very delightful it is to meet with
any thing at all like what one has left behind. I always
say this is quite one of the evils of matrimony."
Emma made as slight a reply as she could ; but it vrm
fully sufficient for Mrs. Elton, who only wanted to be talking
herself.
" So extremely like Maple Grove ! And it is not merely
the house; the grounds, I assure you, as far as I could
observe, are strikingly like. The laurels at Maple Grove
are in the same profusion as here, and stand very much in
the same way, —just across the lawn; and I had a glimpse
of a fine large tree, with a bench round it, which put me so
exactly in mind ! My brother and sister will be enchanted
with this plaee. People who have extensive grounds them
selves are always pleased with any thing in the same style."
Emma doubted the truth of this sentiment. She had a
great idea that people who had extensive grounds them
selves cared very little for the extensive grounds of any
body else ; but it was not worth while to attack an error
so double-dyed, and she thereft re only said in reply, —;
" When you have seen more of this country, I am afraid
you will think you have over-rated Hartfield. Surrey is
full of beauties."
" Oh ! yes, I am quite aware of that. It is the garden of
England, you know. Surrey is the garden of England."
" Yes ; but we must not rest our claims on that dis«
 EMMA. 243
tinction. Many counties, I believe, are called the garden of
England, as well as Surrey."
" No, I fancy not," replied Mrs. Elton, with a most
satisfied smile. " I never heard any county but Surrey
called so."
Emma was silenced.
" My brother and sister have promised us a visit in the
spring. or summer at farthest," continued Mrs. Elton ;
" and that will be our time for exploring. While they are
with us, we shall explore a great deal, I dare say. They
will have their barouche-landau, of course, which holds four
perfectly ; and therefore, without saying any thing of our
carriage, we should be able to explore the different beauties
extremely well. They would hardly come in their chaise,
I think, at that season of the year. Indeed, when the time
draws on, I shall decidedly recommend their bringing the
barouche-landau ; it will be so very much preferable. When
people come into a beautiful country of this sort, you know,
Miss Woodhouse, one naturally wishes them to see as much
as possible ; and Mr. Suckling is extremely fond of ex
ploring. We explored to King's-Weston twice last sum
mer, in that way, most delightfully, just after their first
having the barouche-landau. You have many parties of
that kind here, I suppose, Miss Woodhouse, every sum
mer ? "
" No ; not immediately here. We are rather out of
distance of the very striking beauties which attract the sort
of parties you speak of; and we are a very quiet set of
people, I believe ; more disposed to stay at home than en
gage in schemes of pleasure."
" Ah ! there is nothing like staying at home, for real
comfort. Nobody can be more devoted to home than I am.
I was quite a proverb for it at Maple Grove. Many a time
has Selina said, when she has been going to Bristol, ' I
really cannot get this girl to move from the house. I ab
solutely must go in by myself, though I hate being stuck
up in the barouche-landau without a companion ; but Au
gusta, I believe, with her own good will, would never stir
beyond the park. paling.' Many a time has she said so ;
and yet I am no"advocate for entire seclusion. I think, on
b 2
 EMMA.
the contrary, when people shut themselves up entirely from
society, it is a very had thing ; and that it is much more
advisable to mix in the world in a proper degree, without
living in it either too much or too little. I perfectly un-,.
derstand your situation, however, Miss Woodhouse (look
ing towards Mr. Woodhouse), your father's state of health
must be a great drawback. Why does not he try Bath ?
— Indeed he should. Let me recommend Bath to you.
I assure you I have no doubt of its doing Mr. Woodhouse
good."
" My father tried it more than once, formerly, but
without receiving any benefit ; and Mr. Perry, whose name,
I dare say, is not unknown to you, does not conceive it
would be at all more likely to be useful now."
" Ah ! that's a great pity; for I assure you, Miss Wood-
house, where the waters do agree, it is quite wonderful the
relief they give. In my Bath life, I have seen such in
stances of it ! And it is so cheerful a place, that it could
not fail of being of use to Mr. Woodhouse's spirits, which,
I understand, are sometimes much depressed. And as to
its recommendation to you, I fancy I need not take much
pains to dwell on them. The advantages of Bath to the
young are pretty generally understood. It would be a
charming introduction for you, who have lived so secluded
a life ; and I could immediately secure you some of the
best society in the place. A line from me would bring you
a little host of acquaintance ; and my particular friend,
Mrs. Partridge, the lady I have always resided with when,
in Bath, would be most happy to show you any attentions,
and would be the very person for you to go into public
with."
It was as much as Emma could bear, without being im
polite. The idea of her being indebted to Mrs. Elton for
what was called an introduction — of her going into public
under the auspices of a friend of Mrs. Elton's, — probably
some vulgar, dashing widow, who, with the help of a
boarder, just made a shift to live ! — The dignity of Miss
Woodhouse, of Hartfield, was sunk indeed !
She restrained herself, however, from any of the reproofs
she could have given, and only thanked Mrs. Elton coolly ;
 emma'.
" but their going to Bath was quite out of the question ;
and she was not perfectly convinced that the place might
suit her better than her father." And then, to prevent
further outrage and indignation, changed the subject di
rectly.
" I do not ask whether you are musical, Mrs. Elton.
Upon these occasions, a lady's character generally precedes
her ; and Highbury has long known that you are a superior
performer."
" Oh ! no, indeed ; I must protest against any such
idea. A superior performer ! — very far from it, I assure
you : consider from how partial a quarter your information
came. I am doatingly fond of music —passionately fond ;
and my friends say I am not entirely devoid of taste ; but
as to any thing else, upon my honour my performance is
médiocre to the last degree. You, Miss Woodhouse, I
well know, play delightfully. I assure you it has been the
greatest satisfaction, comfort, and delight to me, to hear
what a musical society I am got into. I absolutely cannot
do without music ; it is a necessary of life to me ; and
having always been used to a very musical society, both at
Maple Grove and in Bath, it would have been a most se
rious sacrifice. I honestly said as much to Mr. E. when
he was speaking of my future home, and expressing his
fears lest the retirement of it should be disagreeable ; and
the inferiority of the house too — knowing what I had been
accustomed to — of course he was not wholly without ap
prehension. When he was speaking of it in that way, I
honestly said that the world I could give up — parties, balls,
plays — for I had no fear of retirement. Blessed with so
many resources within myself, the world was not necessary
to me. I could do very well without it. To those who
had no resources it was a different thing ; but my resources
made me quite independent. And as to smaller-sized rooms
than I had been used to, I really could not give it a thought.
I hoped I was perfectly equal to any sacrifice of that de
scription. Certainly, I had been accustomed to every
luxury at Maple Grove ; but I did assure him that two
carriages were not necessary to my happiness, nor were
Spacious apartments. ' But,' said I, ' to be quite honest,
B3
246 EMMA.
I do not think I can live without something of a musical
society. I condition for nothing else ; but, without music,
life would be a blank to me.' "
" We cannot suppose," said Emma, smiling, " that
Mr. Elton would hesitate to assure you of there being a very
musical society in Highbury; and I hope you will not find
he has outstepped the truth more than may be pardoned,
in consideration of the motive."
I j. ." No, indeed, I have no doubts at all on that head. I
am delighted to find myself in such a circle : I hope we
shall have many sweet little concerts together. I think,
Miss Woodhouse, you and I must establish a musical club,
and have regular weekly meetings at your house, or ours.
Will not it be a good plan ? If we exert ourselves, I think
we shall not be long in want of allies. Something of that
nature would be particularly desirable for me, as an induce
ment to keep me in practice; for married women, you
know — there is a sad story against them, in general. They
are but too apt to give up music."
" But you, who are so extremely fond of it, — there can
be no danger, surely."
" I should hope not ; but really, when I look round
among my acquaintance, I tremble. Selina has entirely
given up music ; — never touches the instrument, though
she played sweetly. And the same may be said of Mrs.
Jeffereys — Clara Partridge that was, — and of the two
Milmans, now Mrs. Bird and Mrs. James Cooper ; and of
more than I can enumerate. Upon my word, it is enough
to put one in a fright. I used to be quite angry with Selina;
but, really, I begin now to comprehend that a married
woman has many things to call her attention. I believe
I was half an hour this morning shut up with my house
keeper."
" But every thing of that kind," said Emma, " will soon
be in so regular a train "
" Well," said Mrs. Elton, laughing, " we shall see."
Emma, finding her so determined upon neglecting her
music, had nothing more to say ; and, after a moment's
pause, Mrs. Elton chose another subject.
" We have been calling at Randalls," said she, " and
 EMMA.
found them both at home ; and very pleasant people they
seem to be. I like them extremely. Mr. Weston seems an
excellent creature — quite a first-rate favourite with me
already, I assure you. And she appears so truly good, —
there is something so motherly and kind-hearted about her,
that it wins upon one directly.— She was your governess, I
think.
Emma was almost too much astonished to answer ; but
Mrs. Elton hardly waited for the affirmative before she
went on.
" Having understood as much, I was rather astonished
to find her so very lady-like. But she is really quite the
gentlewoman."
" Mrs. Weston's manners," said Emma, " were always
particularly good. Their propriety, simplicity, and ele
gance would make them the safest model for any young
woman."
" And who do you think came in while we were there?"
Emma was quite at a loss. The tone implied some old
acquaintance, and how could she possibly guess ?
" Knightley ! " continued Mrs. Elton ; — " Knightley
himself ! Was not it lucky ? For, not being within when
he called the other day, I had never seen him before ; and
of course, as so particular a friend of Mr. E.'s, I had a
great curiosity. ' My friend Knightley' had been so often
mentioned, that I was really impatient to see him ; and I
must do my cara sposo the justice to say, that he need not
be ashamed of his friend. Knightley is quite the gentle
man ; I like him very much. Decidedly, I think, a very
gentlemanlike man."
" Happily, it was now time to be gone. They were off,
and Emma could breathe.
" Insufferable woman !" was her immediate exclamation,
" Worse than I had supposed. Absolutely insufferable !
Knightley ! — I could not have believed it. Knightley !—
never seen him in her life before, and call him Knightley !
—and discover that he is a gentleman ! A little upstart,
vulgar being, with her Mr. E. and her caro sposo, and her
resources, and all her airs of pert pretension and under
bred finery. Actually to discover that Mr. Knightley is a
r 4
 EMMA.
gentleman ! I doubt whether he will return the compli
ment, and discover her to be a lady. I could not have
believed it ! And to propose that she and I should unite to
'form a musical club ! One would fancy we were bosom
friends ! And Mrs. Weston !—Astonished that the person
who had brought me up should be a gentlewoman ! Worse
and worse. I never met with her equal. Much beyond
my hopes. Harriet is disgraced by any comparison.
Oh ! what would Frank Churchill say to her, if he were
here ? How angry and how diverted he would be ! Ah i
there I am—thinking of him directly. Always the first
person to be thought of ! How I catch myself out ! Frank
Churchill comes as regularly into my mind I"—
All this ran so glibly through her thoughts, that by the
time her father had arranged himself, after the bustle of
the Eltons' departure, and was ready to speak, she was
very tolerably capable of attending.
" Well, my dear," he deliberately began, " considering
we never saw her before, she seems a very pretty sort of
young lady ; and I dare say she was very much pleased
with you. She speaks a little too quick. A little quick
ness of voice there is which rather hurts the ear. But I
believe I am nice ; I do not like strange voices ; and
nobody speaks like you and poor Miss Taylor. However,
she seems a very obliging, pretty-behaved young lady, and
no doubt will make him a very good wife. Though I think
he had better not have married. I made the best excuses I
could for not having been able to wait on him and
Mrs. Elton on this happy occasion ; I said that I hoped I
should in the course of the summer. But I ought to have
gone before. Not to wait upon a bride is very remiss.
Ah ! it shows what a sad invalid I am !—But I do not like
the corner into Vicarage-lane."
" I dare say your apologies were accepted, sir. Mr. Elton
knows you.''
" Yes : but a young lady— a bride—I ought to have paid
my respects to her if possible. It was being very deficient."
" But, my dear papa, you are no friend to matrimony ;
and therefore why should you be so anxious to pay your
respects to a bride ? It ought to be no recommendation
 EMMA.
to you. It is encouraging people to marry if you make so
much of them."
" No, my dear, I never encouraged any body to marry,
but I would always wish to pay every proper attention to
a lady—and a bride, especially, is never to be neglected.
More is avowedly due to her. A bride, you know, my
dear, is always the first in company, let the others be who
they may."
" Well, papa,if this is not encouragement to marry, I do
not know what is. And I should never have expected you
to be lending your sanction to such vanity-baits for poor
young ladies."
" My dear, you do not understand me. This is a
matter of mere common politeness and good-breeding, and
has nothing to do with any encouragement to people to
marry."
Emma had done. Her father was growing nervous,
and could not understand her. Her mind returned to
Mrs. Elton's offences, and long, very long, did they occupy
her.

CHAPTER XV.
Emma was not required, by any subsequent discovery, to
retract her ill opinion of Mrs. Elton. Her observation
had been pretty correct. Such as Mrs. Elton appeared to
her on this second interview, such she appeared whenever
they met again,—self-important, presuming, familiar, igno
rant, and ill-bred. She had a little beauty and a little
accomplishment, but so little judgment that she thought
herself coming with superior knowledge of the world, to
enliven and improve a country neighbourhood ; and con
ceived Miss Hawkins to have held such a place in society
as Mrs-. Elton's consequence only could surpass.
There was no reason to suppose Mr. Elton thought at
all differently from his wife. He seemed not merely happy
with her, but proud. He had the air of congratulating
 EMMA.
himself on having Drought such a woman to Highbury, as
not even Miss Woodhouse could equal ; and the greater
part of her new acquaintance, disposed to commend, or not
in the habit of judging, following the lead of Miss Bates's
good-will or taking it for granted that the bride must he
as clever and as agreeable as she professed herself, were
very well satisfied; so that Mrs. Elton's praise passed from
one mouth to another as it ought to do, unimpeded by
Miss Woodhouse, who readily continued her first contri
bution, and talked with a good grace of her being " very
pleasant, and very elegantly dressed."
In one respect Mrs. Elton grew even worse than she had
appeared at first. Her feelings altered towards Emma.—
Offended, probably, by the little encouragement which her
proposals of intimacy met with, she drew back, in her turn,
and gradually became much more cold and distant ; and
though the effect was agreeable, the ill-will which produced
it was necessarily increasing Emma's dislike. Her manners
too—and Mr. Elton's, were unpleasant towards Harriet.
They were sneering and negligent. Emma hoped it must
rapidly work Harriet's cure; but the sensations which
could prompt such behaviour sunk them both -very much.
—It was not to be doubted that poor Harriet's attachment
had been an offering to conjugal unreserve, and her own
share in the story, under a colouring the least favourable to
her and the most soothing to him, had in all likelihood
been given also. She was, of course, the object of their
joint dislike.—When they had nothing else to say, it must
be always easy to begin abusing Miss Woodhouse; and
the enmity which they dared not show in open disrespect
to her, found a broader vent in contemptuous treatment of
Harriet.
Mrs. Elton took a great fancy to Jane Fairfax ; and
from the first. Not merely when a state of warfare with
one young lady might be supposed to recommend the other,
but from the very first ; and she was not satisfied with
expressing a natural and reasonable admiration—but with
out solicitation, or plea, or privilege, she must be want
ing to assist and befriend her. —Before Emma had for
feited herg confidence, and about the third time of their
 EMMA. 251
meeting, she heard all Mrs. Elton's knight-errantry on the
subject.
" Jane Fairfax is absolutely charming, Miss Woodhouse.
—I quite rave about Jane Fairfax.—A sweet, interesting
creature. So mild and lady-like—and with such talents !—
I assure you I think she has very extraordinary talents. I
do not scruple to say that she plays extremely well. I know
enough of music to speak decidedly on that point. Oh !
she is absolutely charming ! You will laugh at my warmth
—but, upon my word, I talk of nothing but Jane Fairfax.
—And her situation is so calculated to affect one ! —Miss
Woodhouse, we must exert ourselves and endeavour to do
something for her. We must bring her forward. Such
talents as hers must not be suffered to remain unknown.—
I dare say you have heard those charming lines of the poet,
1 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
' And waste Its fragrance on the desert air.'
We must not allow them to be verified in sweet Jane
Fairfax."
" I cannot think there is any danger of it," was Emma's
calm answer ; — " and when you are better acquainted with
Miss Fairfax's situation, and understand what her home
has been, with Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, I have no idea
that you will suppose her talents can be unknown."
" Oh ! but, dear Miss Woodhouse, she is now in such
retirement, such obscurity, so thrown away. Whatever
advantages she may have enjoyed with the Campbells are so
palpably at an end ! And I think she feels it. I am sure
she does. She is very timid and silent. One can see that
she feels the want of encouragement. I like her the better
for it. I must confess it is a recommendation to me. I
am a great advocate for timidity — and I am sure one does
not often meet with it. But in those who are at all infe
rior, it is extremely prepossessing. Oh ! I assure you, Jane
Fairfax is a very delightful character, and interests me
more than I can express."
" You appear to feel a great deal — but I am not aware
how you or any of Miss Fairfax's acquaintance here, any
of those who have known her longer than yourself, can show
her any other attention than "
 EMMA.
" My dear Miss Woodhouse, a vast deal may be don*
by those who dare to act. You and I need not be afraid.
If we set the example, many will follow it as far as they
can ; though all have not our situations. We have car-
riagesto fetch and convey her home ; and we live in a style
which could not make the addition of Jane Fairfax at any
time the least inconvenient. I should be extremely dis
pleased if Wright were to send us up such a dinner, as
could make me regret having asked more than Jane Fairfax
to partake of it. I have no idea of that sort of thing. It
is not likely that I should, considering what I have been
used to. My greatest danger, perhaps, in housekeeping,
may be quite the other way, in doing too much, and being
too careless of expense. Maple Grove will probably be
my model more than it ought to be — for we do not at all
affect to equal my brother, Mr. Suckling, in income. How
ever, my resolution is taken as to noticing Jane Fairfax.
IJ shall certainly have her very often at my house, shall
introduce her wherever I can, shall have musical parties to
draw out her talents, and shall be constantly on the watch
for an eligible situation. My acquaintance is so very ex
tensive, that I have little doubt of hearing of something
to suit her shortly. I shall introduce her, of course, very
particularly to my brother and sister when they come to
us. I am sure they will like her extremely; and when
she gets a little acquainted with them, her fears will com
pletely wear off, for there really is nothing in the manners
of either but what is highly conciliating. I shall have her
very often indeed while they are with me ; and I dare say
we shall sometimes find a seat for her in the barouche-
landau in some of our exploring parties."
"Poor Jane Fairfax!" thought Emma, — "you have
liot deserved this. You may have done wrong with regard
to Mr. Dixon ; but this is a punishment beyond what you
can have merited ! The kindness and protection of Mrs.
Elton! — ' Jane Fairfax and Jane Fairfax.' Heavens!
let me not suppose that she dares go about Emma Wood-
house-ing me ! But, upon my honour, there seem no limits
to the licentiousness of that woman's tongue ! "
Emma had not to listen to such paradings again —• to
 EMMA.
any so exclusively addressed to herself — so disgustingly
decorated with a " dear Miss Woodhouse." The change on
Mrs. Elton's side soon afterwards appeared, and she was left
in peace — neither forced to be the very particular friend
of Mrs. Elton, nor, under Mrs. Elton's guidance, the very
active patroness of Jane Fairfax, and only sharing with
others in a general way, in knowing what was felt, what
was meditated, what was done.
She looked on with some amusement. Miss Bates's gra
titude for Mrs. Elton's attentions to Jane was in the first
style of guileless simplicity and warmth. She was quite
one of her worthies — the most amiable, affable, delightful
woman — just as accomplished and condescending as Mrs,
Elton meant to be considered. Emma's only surprise was
that Jane Fairfax should accept those attentions and tolerate
Mrs. Elton as she seemed to do. She heard of her walking
with the Eltons, sitting with the Eltons, spending a day
with the Eltons ! This was astonishing ! She could not
have believed it possible that the taste or the pride of Miss
Fairfax could endure such society and friendship as the
Vicarage had to offer.
" She is a riddle, quite a riddle," said she. — " To-.
choose to remain here month after month, under privations
of every sort. And now to choose the mortification of
Mrs. Elton's notice, and the penury of her conversation,
rather than return to the superior companions who have
always loved her with such real, generous affection."
Jane had come to Highbury professedly for three months ;
the Campbells were gone to Ireland for three months ; but
now the Campbells had promised their daughter to stay
at least till Midsummer, and fresh invitations had arrived
for her to join them there. According to Miss Bates —
it all came from her — Mrs. Dixon had written most press-
ingly. Would Jane but go, means were to be found, ser
vants sent, friends contrived — no travelling difficulty
allowed to exist ; but still she had declined it.
" She must have some motive, more powerful than ap
pears, for refusing this invitation," was Emma's conclusion.
" She must be under some sort of penance, inflicted either
by the Campbells or herself. There is great fear, great
254
caution, great resolution somewhere. She is not to be
with the Dixons. The decree is issued by somebody. But
why must she consent to be with the Eltons ? Here is
quite a separate puzzle."
Upon her speaking her wonder aloud on that part of the
subject, before the few who knew her opinion of Mrs.
Elton, Mrs. Weston ventured this apology for Jane.
" We cannot suppose that she has any great enjoyment
at the Vicarage, my dear Emma — but it is better than
being always at home. Her aunt is a good creature ; but,
as a constant companion, must be very tiresome. We must
consider what Miss Fairfax quits, before we condemn her
taste for what she goes to."
" You are right, Mrs. Weston," said Mr. Knightley
warmly ; " Miss Fairfax is as capable as any of us of form
ing a just opinion of Mrs. Elton. Could she have chosen
with whom to associate, she would not have chosen her.
But (with a reproachful smile at Emma) she receives at
tentions from Mrs. Elton, which nobody else pays her."
Emma felt that Mrs. Weston was giving her a momentary
glance, and she was herself struck by his warmth. With
a faint blush, she presently replied, —
" Such attentions as Mrs. Elton's, I should have ima
gined, would rather disgust than gratify Miss Fairfax.
Mrs. Elton's invitations I should have imagined any thing
but inviting."
" I should not wonder," said Mrs. Weston, " if Miss
Fairfax were to have been drawn on beyond her own in
clination, by her aunt's eagerness in accepting Mrs. Elton's
civilities for her. Poor Miss Bates may very likely have
committed her niece, and hurried her into a greater appear
ance of intimacy than her own good sense would have
dictated, in spite of the very natural wish of a little
change."
Both felt rather anxious to hear him speak again ; and,
after a few minutes' silence, he said, —
" Another thing must be taken into consideration too —
Mrs. Elton does not talk to Miss Fairfax as she speaks of
her. We all know the difference between the pronouns he
or she and thou, the plainest spoken amongst us ; we all
 - EMMA.
feel the influence of a something beyond common civility in
our personal intercourse with each other — a something
more early implanted. We cannot give any body the dis
agreeable hints that we may have been very full of the hour
before. We feel things differently. And besides the
operation of this, as a general principle, you may be sure
that Miss Fairfax awes Mrs. Elton by her superiority both
of mind and manner; and that, face to face, Mrs. Elton treats
her with all the respect which she has a claim to. Such
a woman as Jane Fairfax probably never fell in Mrs. Elton's
Way before — and no degree of vanity can prevent her ac
knowledging her own comparative littleness in action, if not
in consciousness."
" I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax," said
Emma. Little Henry was in her thoughts, and a mixture
of alarm and delicacy made her irresolute what else to say.
" Yes," he replied, " any body may know how highly I
think of her."
" And yet," said Emma, beginning hastily, and with an
arch look, but soon stopping — it was better, however, to
know the worst at once — she hurried on, " and yet,
perhaps, you may hardly be aware yourself how highly it is.
The extent of your admiration may take you by surprise
some day or other."
Mr. Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons
of his thick leather gaiters, and either the exertion of
getting them together, or some other cause, brought the
colour into his face, as he answered, —
" Oh ! are you there ? But you are miserably behind
hand. Mr. Cole gave me a hint of it six weeks ago."
He stopped. Emma felt her foot pressed by Mrs. Wes
ton, and did not herself know what to think. In a moment
he went on, —
" That will never be, however, I can assure you. Miss
Fairfax, I dare say, would not have me if I were to ask
her ; and I am very sure I shall never ask her."
Emma returned her friend's pressure with interest ; and
was pleased enough to exclaim, —
" You are not vain, Mr. Knightley. I will say that for
you."
256 . EMMA.
He seemed hardly to hear her ; he was thoughtful, and,
in a manner which showed him not pleased, soon afterwards
said, —
" So you have been settling that I should marry Jane
Fairfax."
" No, indeed, I have not. You have scolded me too
much for match-making for me to presume to take such a
liberty with you. What I said just now meant nothing.
One says those sort of things, of course, without any idea
of a serious meaning. Oh ! no ; upon my word I have not
the smallest wish for your marrying Jane Fairfax, or Jane
any body. You would not come in and sit with us in this
comfortable way if you were married."
Mr. Knightley was thoughtful again. The result of his
reverie was,— " No, Emma, I do not think the extent of my
admiration for her will ever take me by surprise. I never
had a thought of her in that way, I assure you." And,
soon afterwards, " Jane Fairfax is a very charming young
woman — but not even Jane Fairfax is perfect. She has
a fault. She has not the open temper which a man would
wish for in a wife."
Emma could not but rejoice to hear that she had a fault.
" Well," said she, " and you soon silenced Mr. Cole, I
suppose." •
" Yes, very soon. He gave me a quiet hint; I told
him he was mistaken ; he asked my pardon, and said no
more. Cole does not want to be wiser or wittier than his
neighbours."
" In that respect how unlike dear Mrs. Elton, who
wants to be wiser and wittier than all the world ! I won
der how she speaks of the Coles — what she calls them.
How can she find any appellation for them, deep enough
in familiar vulgarity? She calls you Knightley; what
can she do for Mr. Cole ? And so I am not to be surprised
that Jane Fairfax accepts her civilities, and consents to be
with her. Mrs. Weston, your argument weighs most with,
me. I can much more readily enter into the temptation of
getting away from Miss Bates, than I can believe in the
triumph of Miss Fairfax's mind over Mrs. Elton. I have
no faith in Mrs. Elton's acknowledging herself the inferior
 EMMA. 257
in thought, word, or deed ; or in her being under any re-
straint beyond her own scanty rule of good breeding. I
cannot imagine that she will not be continually insulting
her visiter with praise, encouragement, and offers of ser
vice ; that she will not be continually detailing her magni
ficent intentions, from the procuring her a permanent
situation to the including her in those delightful exploring
parties which are to take place in the barouche-landau."
"Jane Fairfax has feeling," said Mr. Knightley; " I
do not accuse her of want of feeling. Her sensibilities, I
suspect, are strong, and her temper excellent in its power
of forbearance, patience, self-control ; but it wants openness.
She is reserved ; more reserved, I think, than she used to
be : and I love an open temper. No ; till Cole alluded to
my supposed attachment, it had never entered my head. I
saw Jane Fairfax, and conversed with her, with admiration
and pleasure always ; but with no thought beyond.
" Well, Mrs. Weston," said Emma, triumphantly, when
he left them, " what do you say now to Mr. Knightley's
marrying Jane Fairfax?"
" Why, really, dear Emma, I say that he is so very
much occupied by the idea of not being in love with her,
that I should not wonder if it were to end in his being so
at last. Do not beat me."

CHAPTER XVI.
Every body in and about Highbury, who had ever visited
Mr. Elton, was disposed to pay him attention on his mar
riage. Dinner parties and evening parties were made for
him and his lady; and invitations flowed in so fast that
she had soon the pleasure of apprehending they were never
to have a disengaged day.
" I see how it is," said she ; " I see what a life I am to
lead among you. Upon my word we shall be absolutely
dissipated. We really seem quite the fashion. If this is
living in the country, it is nothing very formidable. From
s
258 EMMA.
Monday next to Saturday, I assure you we have not a dis
engaged day! A woman with fewer resources than I have
need not have been at a loss."
No invitation came amiss to her. Her Bath habits made
evening parties perfectly natural to her, and Maple Grove
had given her a taste for dinners. She was a little shocked
at the want of two drawing-rooms, at the poor attempt at
rout-cakes, and there being no ice in the Highbury card
parties. Mrs. Bates, Mrs. Perry, Mrs. Goddard, and others,
were a good deal behind hand in knowledge of the world,
but she would soon show them how every thing ought to
be arranged. In the course of the spring she must return
their civilities by one very superior party ; in which her
card tables should be set out with their separate candles and
unbroken packs in the true style, and more waiters engaged
for the evening than their own establishment could furnish,
to carry round the refreshments at exactly the proper hour,
and in the proper order.
Emma, in the meanwhile, could not be satisfied without
a dinner at Hartfield for the Eltons. They must not do
less than others, or she should be exposed to odious sus
picions, and imagined capable of pitiful resentment. A
dinner there must be. After Emma had talked about it
for ten minutes, Mr. Woodhouse felt no unwillingness, and
only made the usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom
of the table himself, with the usual regular difficulty of
deciding who should do it for him.
The persons to be invited requited little thought. Be
sides the Eltons, it must be the Westons and Mr. Knight-
ley ; so far it was all of course : and it was hardly less
inevitable that poor little Harriet must be asked to make
the eighth ; but this invitation was not given with equal
satisfaction, and, on many accounts, Emma was particularly
pleased by Harriet's begging to be allowed to decline it. " She
would rather not be in his company more than she could help.
She was not quite able to see him and his charming happy
wife together, without feeling uncomfortable. If Miss
Woodhouse would not be displeased, she would rather stay
at home." It was precisely what Emma would have wished,
had she deemed it possible enough for wishing. She was
 EMMA. 259
delighted with the fortitude of her little friend, — for for
titude she knew it wag in her to give up being in company,
and stay at home ; and she could now invite the very per
son whom she really wanted to make the eighth, Jane
Fairfax. Since her last conversation with Mrs. Weston
and Mr. Knightley she was more conscience-stricken about
Jane Fairfax than she had often been. Mr. Knightley's
words dwelt with her. He had said that Jane Fairfax re
ceived attentions from Mrs. Elton which nobody else paid
her.
" This is very true," said she, " at least as far as relates
to me, which was all that was meant, and it is very shame
ful. Of the same age, and always knowing her, I ought
to have been more her friend. She will never like me
now. I have neglected her too long. But I will show
her greater attention than I have done."
Every invitation was successful. They were all dis
engaged and all happy. The preparatory interest of this
dinner, however, was not yet over. A circumstance rather
unlucky occurred. The two eldest little Knightleys were
engaged to pay their grandpapa and aunt a visit of some weeks
in the spring, and their papa now proposed bringing them,
and staying one whole day at Hartfield — which one day
would be the very day of this party. His professional
engagements did not allow of his being put off, but both
father and daughter were disturbed by its happening so.'
Mr. Woodhouse considered eight persons at dinner together
as the utmost that his nerves could bear — and here would
be a ninth — and Emma apprehended that it would be a
ninth very much out of humour at not being able to
come even to Hartfield for forty-eight hours without falling
in with a dinner-party.
She comforted her father better than she could comfort
herself, by representing that though he certainly would
make them nine, yet he always said so little, that the in
crease of noise would be very immaterial. She thought it
in reality a sad exchange for herself, to have him, with his
grave looks and reluctant conversation, opposed to her in
stead of his brother.
The event was more favourable to Mr. Woodhouse than
s 2
2(30 EMMA.
to Emma. John Knightley came; but Mr. Weston was
unexpectedly summoned to town and must be absent on the
very day. He might be able to join them in the evening,
but certainly not to dinner. Mr. Woodhouse was quite
at ease ; and the seeing him so, with the arrival of the
little boys and the philosophic composure of her brother
on hearing his fate, removed the chief of even Emma's
vexation.
The day came, the party were punctually assembled,
and Mr. John Knightley seemed early to devote himself to
the business of being agreeable. Instead of drawing his
brother off to a window while they waited for dinner, he
was talking to Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton, as elegant as
lace and pearls could make her, he looked at in silence —
wanting only to observe enough for Isabella's information
— but Miss Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet
girl, and he could talk to her. He had met her before
breakfast as he was returning from a walk with his little
boys, when it had been just beginning to rain. It was
natural to have some civil hopes on the subject, and he
said,—
" I hope you did not venture far, Miss Fairfax, this
morning, or I am sure you must have been wet. We
scarcely got home in time. I hope you turned directly."
" I went only to the post-office," said she, " and reach
ed home before the rain was much. It is my daily errand.
I always fetch the letters when I am here. It saves trouble,
and is a something to get me out. A walk before break
fast does me good."
" Not a walk in the rain I should imagine."
" No ; but it did not absolutely rain when I set out."
Mr. John Knightley smiled, and replied, —
That is to say, you chose to have your walk, for you
were not six yards from your own door when I had the
pleasure of meeting you ; and Henry and John had seen
more drops than they could count long before. The post-
office has a great charm at one period of our lives. When
you have lived to my age, you will begin to think letters
are never worth going through the rain for."
There was a little blush and then this answer : —
 EMMA. 261
" I must not hope to be ever situated as you are, in the
midst of every dearest connection, and therefore I cannot
expect that simply growing older should make me indiffer
ent about letters."
" Indifferent ! Oh no — I never conceived you could
become indifferent. Letters are no matter of indifference ;
they are generally a very positive curse."
" You are speaking of letters of business ; mine are
letters of friendship."
" I have often thought them the worst of the two," re
plied he coolly. " Business, you know, may bring money,
but friendship hardly ever does."
" Ah ! you are not serious now. I know Mr. John
Knightley too well — I am very sure he understands the
value of friendship as well as any body. I can easily be
lieve that letters are very little to you, much less than to
me ; but it is not your being ten years older than myself
which makes the difference, it is not age, but situation.
You have every body dearest to you always at hand, I,
probably, never shall again ; and therefore till I have out
lived all my affections, a post-office, I think, must always
have power to draw me out, in worse weather than to
day."
" WTien I talked of your being altered by time, by the
progress of years," said John Knightley, " I meant to
imply the change of situation which time usually brings.
I consider one as including the other. Time will gene
rally lessen the interest of every attachment not within the
daily circle — but that is not the change I had in view
for you. As an old friend, you will allow me to hope,
Miss Fairfax, that ten years hence you may have as many
concentrated objects as I have."
It was kindly said, and very far from giving offence.
A pleasant " thank you " seemed meant to laugh it off ;
but a blush, a quivering Up, a tear in the eye, showed that
it was felt beyond a laugh. Her attention was now
claimed by Mr. Woodhouse, who being, according to his
custom on such occasions, making the circle of his guests,
and paying his particular compliments to the ladies, was
ending with her — and with all his mildest urbanity, said, —
8 3
262 EMMA.
" I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being
out this morning in the rain. Young ladies should take
care of themselves. Young ladies are delicate plants.
They should take care of their health and their complexion.
My dear, did you change your stockings ? "
" Yes, sir, I did indeed ; and I am very much obliged
by your kind solicitude about me."
" My dear Miss Fairfax, young ladies are very sure to
be cared for. — I hope your good grandmamma and aunt
are well. They are some of my very old friends. I wish
my health allowed me to be a better neighbour. You do
us a great deal of honour to-day, I am sure. My daughter
and I are both highly sensible of your goodness, and have
the greatest satisfaction in seeing you at Hartfield."
The kind-hearted, polite old man might then sit down
and feel that he had done his duty, and made every fair
lady welcome and easy.
By this time the walk in the rain had reached Mrs.
Elton, and her remonstrances now opened upon Jane.
" My dear Jane, what is this I hear ? — Going to the
post-office in the rain ! — This must not be I assure you.
You sad girl, how could you do such a thing? It is
a sign I was not there to take care of you."
Jane very patiently assured her that she had not caught
any cold.
" Oh ! do not tell me. You really are a very sad girl,
and do not know how to take care of yourself. To the
.post-office indeed ! Mrs. Weston, did you ever hear the
like ? You and I must positively exert our authority."
" My advice," said Mrs. Weston kindly and persua
sively, " I certainly do feel tempted to give.—Miss Fairfax,
you must not run such risks. Liable as you have been to
severe colds, indeed you ought to be particularly careful,
especially at this time of year. The spring I always think
requires more than common care. Better wait an hour or
two, or even half a day for your letters, than run the risk
of bringing on your cough again. Now do not you feel
that you had ? Yes, I am sure you are much too reason
able. You look as if you would not do such a thing
again."
 EMMA. 263
" Oh ! she shall not do such a thing again," eagerly re
joined Mrs. Elton. " We will not allow her to do such a
thing again : " — and nodding significantly — " there must
be some arrangement made, there must indeed. I shall
speak to Mr. E. The man who fetches our letters every
morning (one of our men, I forget his name) shall enquire
for yours too and bring them to you. That will obviate
all difficulties you know ; and from us I really think, my
dear Jane, you can have no scruple to accept such an ac
commodation."
" You are extremely kind," said Jane; " but I cannot
give up my early walk. I am advised to be out of doors
as much as I can ; I must walk somewhere, and the post-
office is an object ; and, upon my word, I have scarcely
ever had a bad morning before."
" My dear Jane, say no more about it. The thing is
determined, that is (laughing affectedly) as far as I can
presume to determine any thing without the concurrence
of my lord and master. You know, Mrs. Weston, you
and I must be cautious how we express ourselves. But I
do flatter myself, my dear Jane, that "my influence is not
entirely worn out. If I meet with no insuperable difficul
ties, therefore, consider that point as settled."
" Excuse me," said Jane earnestly, " I cannot by any
means consent to such an arrangement, so needlessly
troublesome to your servant. If the errand were not a
pleasure to me, it could be done, as it always is when I
am not here, by my grandmamma's."
" Oh ! my dear ; but so much as Patty has to do ! —
And it is a kindness to employ our men."
Jane looked as if she did not mean to be conquered ;
but, instead of answering, she began speaking again to Mr.
John Knightley.
" The post-office is a wonderful establishment ! " said
she. " The regularity and despatch of it ! If one thinks
of all that it has to do, and all that it does so well, it is
really astonishing !"
" It is certainly very well regulated."
" So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears
So seldom that a letter, among the thousands that are con
s 4
264 EMMA.
stantly passing about the kingdom, is even carried wrong
— and not one in a million, I suppose, actually lost ! And
when one considers the variety of hands, and of bad hands
too, that are to be deciphered, it increases the wonder."
" The clerks grow expert from habit. They must be
gin with some quickness of sight and hand, and exercise
improves them. If you want any further explanation,"
continued he, smiling, " they are paid for it. That is the
key to a great deal of capacity. The public pays and
must be served well."
The varieties of hand-writing were further talked of,
and the usual observations made.
" I have heard it asserted," said John Knightley, " that
the same sort of hand-writing often prevails in a family ;
and where the same master teaches, it is natural enough.
But for that reason, I should imagine the likeness must be
chiefly confined to the females, for boys have very little
teaching after an early age, and scramble into any hand
they can get. Isabella and Emma, I think, do write very
much alike. I have not always known their writing
apart."
" Yes," said his brother hesitatingly, " there is a like
ness. I know what you mean — but Emma's hand is the
strongest."
" Isabella and Emma both write beautifully," said Mr.
Woodhouse ; " and always did. And so does poor Mrs.
Weston" — with half a sigh and half a smile at her.
" I never saw any gentleman's hand-writing" — Emma
began, looking also at Mrs. Weston ; but stopped, on per
ceiving that Mrs. Weston was attending to some one else
— and the pause gave her time to reflect. " Now, how
am I going to introduce him ? — Am I unequal to speak
ing his name at once before all these people ? Is it ne
cessary for me to use any roundabout phrase ? — Your
Yorkshire friend — your correspondent in Yorkshire ; —
that would be the way, I suppose, if I were very bad.
No, I can pronounce his name without the smallest dis
tress. I certainly get better and better. — Now for it."
Mrs. Weston was disengaged and Emma began again —
 EMMA. 265
" Mr. Frank Churchill writes one of the best gentlemen's
hands I ever saw."
" I do not admire it," said Mr. Knightley. " It is too
small — wants strength. It is like a woman's writing." .
This was not submitted to by either lady. They vin.
dicated him against the base aspersion. " No, it by no
means wanted strength — it was not a large hand, but
very clear and certainly strong. Had not Mrs. Weston any
letter about her to produce ? " No, she had heard from him
very lately, but having answered the letter, had put it
away.
" If we were in the other room," said Emma — "if I
had my writing-desk, I am sure I could produce a speci
men. I have a note of his. — Do not you remember, Mrs.
Weston, employing him to write for you one day?"
" He chose to say he was employed."
" Well, well, I have that note ; and can show it after
dinner to convince Mr. Knightley."
" Oh ! when a gallant young man, like Mr. Frank
Churchill," said Mr. Knightley drily, "writes to a fair
lady like Miss Woodhouse, he will, of course, put forth his
best."
Dinner was on table. Mrs. Elton, before she could be
spoken to, was ready ; and before Mr. Woodhouse had
reached her with his request to be allowed to hand her into
the dining-parlour, was saying —
" Must I go first? I really am ashamed of always
leading the way."
Jane's solicitude about fetching her own letters had not
escaped Emma. She had heard and seen it all ; and felt
some curiosity to know whether the wet walk of this morn
ing had produced any. She suspected that it had; that it
would not have been so resolutely encountered but in full
expectation of hearing from some one very dear, and that
it had not been in vain. She thought there was an air of
greater happiness than usual—a glow both of complexion
and spirits.
She could have made an enquiry or two, as to the ex
pedition and the expense of the Irish mails ; — it was at her
tongue's end—but she abstained. She was quite deter.
266 EMMA.
mined not to utter a word that should hurt Jane Fairfax's
feelings ; and they followed the other ladies out of the
room, arm in arm, with an appearance of good-will highly
becoming to the beauty and grace of each.

CHAPTER XVII.
When the ladies returned to the drawing-room after din
ner, Emma found it hardly possible to prevent their mak
ing two distinct parties; — with so much perseverance in
judging and behaving ill did Mrs. Elton engross Jane Fair
fax and slight herself. She and Mrs. Weston were obliged
to be almost always either talking together or silent toge
ther. Mrs. Elton left them no choice. If Jane repressed
her for a little time, she soon began again ; and though
much that passed between them was in a half-whisper,
especially on Mrs. Elton's side, there was no avoiding a
knowledge of their principal subjects : — The post-office —
catching cold — fetching letters — and friendship, were long
under discussion ; and to them succeeded one which must
be at least equally unpleasant to Jane, — enquiries whether
she had yet heard of any situation likely to suit her, and
professions of Mrs. Elton's meditated activity. '
" Here is April come ! " said she ; " I get quite anxious
about you. Jane will soon be here."
"But I have never fixed on June or any other month —
merely looked forward to the summer in general."
" But have you really heard of nothing ? "
" I have not even made any enquiry ; I do not wish to
make any yet."
" Oh ! my dear, we cannot begin too early ; you are
not aware of the difficulty of procuring exactly the desir
able thing."
" I not aware ! " said Jane, shaking her head ; " dear
Mrs. Elton, who can have thought of it as I have done?"
" But you have not seen so much of the world as I have.
You do not know how many candidates there always are
 EMMA. 267
for the first situations. I saw a vast deal of that in the
neighbourhood round Maple Grove. A cousin of Mr.
Sucklings Mrs. Bragge, had such an infinity of applications;
every body was anxious to be in her family, for she moves
in the first circle. Wax-candles in the school-room ! You
may imagine how desirable ! Of all houses in the king
dom, Mrs. Bragge's is the one I would most wish to see
you in."
" Colonel and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by
midsummer," said Jane. " I must spend some time with
them; I am sure they will want it; — afterwards I may
probably be glad to dispose of myself. But I would not
wish you to take the trouble of making any enquiries at
present."
" Trouble ! ay, I know your scruples. You are afraid
of giving me trouble ; but I assure you, my dear Jane, the
Campbells can hardly be more interested about you than
I am. I shall write to Mrs. Partridge in a day or two,
and shall give her a strict charge to be on the look-out for
any thing eligible."
" Thank you, but I would rather you did not mention
the subject to her ; till the time draws nearer, I do not
wish to be giving any body trouble."
" But, my dear child, the time is drawing near ; here is
April, and June, or say even July, is very near, with such
business to accomplish before us. Your inexperience really
amuses me ! A situation such as you deserve, and your
friends would require for you, is no every-day occurrence,
is not obtained at a moment's notice ; indeed, indeed, we
must begin enquiring directly."
" Excuse me, ma'am, but this is by no means my in
tention ; I make no enquiry myself, and should be sorry to
have any made by my friends. When I am quite deter
mined as to the time, I am not at all afraid of being long
unemployed. There are places in town, offices, where en
quiry would soon produce something —offices for the sale,
not quite of human flesh, but of human intellect."
" Oh ! my dear, human flesh ! You quite shock me ;
if you mean a fling at the slave-trade, I assure you Mr.
Suckling was always rather a friend to the abolition."
268 EMMA.
" I did not mean, I was not thinking of the slave-trade,"
replied Jane ; " governess-trade, I assure you, was all that
I had in view ; widely different certainly as to the guilt of
those who carry it on ; but as to the greater misery of the
victims, I do not know where it lies. But I only mean to
say that there are advertising offices, and that by applying
to them I should have no doubt of very soon meeting with
something that would do."
"Something that would do!" repeated Mrs. Elton.
"Ay, that may suit your humble ideas of yourself; — I
know what a modest creature you are ; but it will not sa
tisfy your friends to have you taking up with any thing
that may offer, any inferior common-place situation, in a
family not moving in a certain circle, or able to command
the elegancies of life."
" You are very obliging ; but as to all that I am very
indifferent ; it would be no object to me to be with the
rich ; my mortifications, I think, would only be the
greater ; I should suffer more from comparison. A gentle
man's family is all that I should condition for."
" I know you, I know you ; you would take up with any
thing ; but I shall be a little more nice, and I am sure the
good Campbells will be quite on my side ; with your su
perior talents, you have a right to move in the first circle.
Your musical knowledge alone would entitle you to name
your own terms, have as many rooms as you like, and mix
in the family as much as you chose; — that is — I do not
know — if you knew the harp, you might do all that, I am
very sure; but you sing as well as play; — yes, I really
believe you might, even without the harp, stipulate for what
you chose; — and you must and shall be delightfully, ho
nourably and comfortably settled before the Campbells or I
have any rest."
" You may well class the delight, the honour, and the
comfort of such a situation together," said Jane, " they are
pretty sure to be equal ; however, I am very serious in not
wishing any thing to be attempted at present for me. I am
exceedingly obliged to you, Mrs. Elton, I am obliged to
any body who feels for me, but I am quite serious in wish
 EMMA. 269
ing nothing to be done till the summer. For two or three
months longer I shall remain where I am, and as I am."
" And I am quite serious too, I assure you," replied
Mrs. Elton gaily, " in resolving to be always on the watch,
and employing my friends to watch also, that nothing really
unexceptionable may pass us."
In this style she ran on ; never thoroughly stopped by
any thing till Mr. Woodhouse came into the room ; her
vanity had then a change of object, and Emma heard her
saying in the same half-whisper to Jane,—
" Here comes this dear old beau of mine, I protest ! —
Only think of his gallantry in coming away before the
other men ! — what a dear creature he is! — I assure you
I like him excessively. I admire all that quaint, old-
fashioned politeness ; it is much more to my taste than
modern ease; modern ease often disgusts me. But this
good old Mr. Woodhouse, I wish you had heard his gal
lant speeches to me at dinner. Oh ! I assure you I began
to think my cara sposa would be absolutely jealous. I fancy
I am rather a favourite ; he took notice of my gown. How
do you like it? — Selina's choice — handsome, I think, but
I do not know whether it is not over-trimmed ; I have the
greatest dislike to the idea of being over-trimmed— quite a
horror of finery. I must put on a few ornaments now, be-
because it is expected of me. A bride, you know, must
appear like a bride, but my natural taste is all for simpli
city ; a simple style of dress is so infinitely preferable to
finery. But I am quite in the minority, I believe; few
people seem to value simplicity of dress, —show and finery
are every thing. I have some notion of putting such a
trimming as this to my white and silver poplin. Do you
think it will look well ? "
The whole party were but just re-assembled in the draw
ing-room when Mr. Weston made his appearance among
them. He had returned to a late dinner, and walked to
Hartfield as soon as it was over. He had been too much
expected by the best judges, for surprise —but there was
great joy. Mr. Woodhouse was almost as glad to see him
now, as he would have been sorry to see him before. John
Knightley only was in mute astonishment. That a man
270 EMSTA.
who might have spent his evening quietly at home after a
day of business in London, should set off again, and walk
half-a-mile to another man's house, for the sake of being in
mixed company till bed-time, of finishing his day in the
efforts of civility and the noise of numbers, was a circum
stance to strike him deeply. A man who had been in mo
tion since eight o'clock in the morning, and might now
have been still, — who had been long talking, and might have
been silent, — who had been in more than one crowd, and
might have been alone ! — Such a man, to quit the tran
quillity and independence of his own fire-side, and on the
evening of a cold sleety April day rush out again into the
world ! — Could he, by a touch of his finger, have instantly
taken back his wife, there would have been a motive ; but
his coming would probably prolong rather than break up
the party. John Knightley looked at him with amaze
ment, then shrugged his shoulders, and said, " I could not
have believed it even of him."
Mr. Weston meanwhile, perfectly unsuspicious of the
indignation he was exciting, happy and cheerful as usual,
and with all the right of being principal talker, which a day
spent any where from home confers, was making himself
agreeable among the rest ; and having satisfied the enquiries
of his wife as to his dinner, convincing her that none of all
her careful directions to the servants had been forgotten,
and spread abroad what public news he had heard, was
proceeding to a family communication, which, though
principally addressed to Mrs. Weston, he had not the
smallest doubt of being highly interesting to every body in
the room. He gave her a letter—it was from Frank, and
to herself; he had met with it in his way, and had taken
the liberty of opening it.
" Read it, read it," said he, — " it will give you pleasure ;
only a few lines — will not take you long; read it to
Emma."
The two ladies looked over it together ; and he sat
smiling and talking to them the whole time, in a voice a
little subdued, but very audible to every body.
" Well, he is coming, you see ; good news, I think.
Well, what do you say to it ? I always told you he would
 EMMA. 271
be here again soon, did not I ? Anne, my dear, did not I
always tell you so, and you would not believe me? In
town next week, you see — at the latest, I dare say ; for
she is as impatient as the black gentleman when any thing
is to be done ; most likely they will be there to-morrow or
Saturday. As to her illness, all nothing, of course. But
it is an excellent thing to have Frank among us again, so
near as town. They will stay a good while when they do
come, and he will be half his time with us. This is pre
cisely what I wanted. Well, pretty good news, is not it ?
Have you finished it ? Has Emma read it all ? Put it
up, put it up ; we will have a good talk about it some other
time, but it will not do now. I shall only just mention
the circumstance to the others in a common way."
Mrs. Weston was most comfortably pleased on the oc
casion. Her looks and words had nothing to restrain them.
She was happy, she knew she was happy, and knew she
ought to be happy. Her congratulations were warm and
open; but Emma could not speak so fluently. She was a
little occupied in weighing her own feelings, and trying to
understand the degree of her agitation, which she rather
thought was considerable.
Mr. Weston, however, too eager to be very observant,
too communicative to want others to talk, was very well
satisfied with what she did say, and soon moved away to
make the rest of his friends happy by a partial commu
nication of what the whole room must have overheard
already.
It was well that he took every body's joy for granted,
or he might not have thought either Mr. Woodhouse or
Mr. Knightley particularly delighted. They were the
first entitled, after Mrs. Weston and Emma, to be made
happy. From them he would have proceeded to Miss
Fairfax; but she was so deep in conversation with John
Knightley, that it would have been too positive an inter
ruption ; and, finding himself close to Mrs. Elton, and
her attention disengaged, he necessarily began on the subject
with her.
272

CHAPTER XVIII.
I Hope I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing my
son to you," said Mr. Weston.
Mrs. Elton, very willing to suppose a particular compli
ment intended her by such a hope, smiled most graciously.
" You have heard of a certain Frank Churchill, I pre
sume," he continued, " and know him to be my son,
though he does not bear my name."
" Oh yes, and I shall be very happy in his acquaintance.
I am sure Mr. Elton will lose no time in calling on him ;
and we shall both have great pleasure in seeing him at the
Vicarage."
" You are very obliging. Frank will be extremely
happy, I am sure. He is to be in town next week, if not
sooner. We have notice of it in a letter to-day. I met the
letters in my way this morning, and seeing my son's hand,
presumed to open it, though it was not directed to me —it
was to Mrs. Weston. She is his principal correspondent,
I assure you. I hardly ever get a letter."
" And so you absolutely opened what was directed to
her ! Oh, Mr. Weston (laughing affectedly), I must protest
against that. A most dangerous precedent indeed ! I beg
you will not let your neighbours follow your example.
Upon my word, if this is what I am to expect, we married
women must begin to exert ourselves. Oh, Mr. Weston, I
could not have believed it of you !"
" Ay, we men are sad fellows. You must take care of
yourself, Mrs. Elton. This letter tells us — it is a short
letter — written in a hurry, merely to give us notice: it
tells us that they are all coming up to town directly, on
Mrs. Churchill's account : she has not been well the whole
winter, and thinks Enscombe too cold for her ; so they are
all to move southward without loss of time."
" Indeed ! from Yorkshire, I think. Enscombe is in
Yorkshire ?"
 EMMA.
" Yes, they are about 190 miles from London : a con
siderable journey."
" Yes, upon my word, very considerable. Sixty-five
miles farther than from Maple Grove to London. But
what is distance, Mr. Weston, to people of large fortune ?
You would be amazed to hear how my brother, Mr. Suck
ling, sometimes flies about. You will hardly believe me,
but twice in one week he and Mr. Bragge went to London
and back again with four horses."
" The evil of the distance from Enscombe," said Mr.
Weston, " is, that Mrs. Churchill, as we understand, has
not been able to leave the sofa for a week together. In
Frank's last letter she complained, he said, of being too
weak to get into her conservatory without having both his
arm and his uncle's. This, you know, speaks a great
degree of weakness ; but now she is so impatient to be in
town, that she means to sleep only two nights on the road
— so Frank writes word. Certainly, delicate ladies have
very extraordinary constitutions, Mrs. Elton ; you must
grant me that."
" No, indeed, I shall grant you nothing. I always take
the part of my own sex ; I do indeed. I give you notice,
you will find me a formidable antagonist on that point. I
always stand up for women ; and I assure you, if you knew
how Selina feels with respect to sleeping at an inn, you
would not wonder at Mrs. Churchill's making incredible ex
ertions to avoid it. Selina says it is quite horror to her ;
and I believe I have caught a little of her nicety. She
always travels with her own sheets ; an excellent pre
caution. Does Mrs. Churchill do the same?"
" Depend upon it, Mrs. Churchill does every thing that
any other fine lady ever did. Mrs. Churchill will not be
second to any lady in the land for "
Mrs. Elton eagerly interposed with, —
" Oh, Mr. Weston, do not mistake me. Selina is no
fine lady, I assure you. Do not run away with such an
idea."
" Is not she ? Then she is no rule for Mrs. Churchill,
who is as thorough a fine lady as any body ever beheld."
Mrs. Elton began to think she had been wrong in dis-
T
274 EMMA.
claiming so warmly. It was by no means her object to
have it believed that her sister was not a fine lady ; per
haps there was want of spirit in the pretence of it ; and she
was considering in what way she had best retract, when
Mr. Weston went on.
" Mrs. Churchill is not much in my good graces, as you
may suspect; but this is quite between ourselves. She is
very fond of Frank, and therefore I would not speak ill of
her. Besides, she is out of health now ; but that indeed,
by her own account, she has always been. I would not
say so to every body, Mrs. Elton ; but I have not much
faith in Mrs. Churchill's illness."
" If she is really ill, why not go to Bath, Mr. Weston ?
To Bath, or to Clifton ? "
" She has taken it into her head that Enscombe is too
cold for her. The fact is, I suppose, that she is tired of
Enscombe. She has now been a longer time stationary
there than she ever was before, and she begins to want
change. It is a retired place. A fine place, but very
retired."
" Ay — like Maple Grove, I dare say. Nothing can
stand more retired from the road than Maple Grove. Such
an immense plantation all round it ! You seem shut out
from every thing — in the most complete retirement. And
Mrs. Churchill probably has not health or spirits like Selina
to enjoy that sort of seclusion. Or, perhaps she may not
have resources enough in herself to be qualified for a coun.
try life. I always say a woman cannot have too many re
sources — and I feel very thankful that I have so many
myself as to be quite independent of society."
" Frank was here in February for a fortnight."
" So I remember to have heard. He will find an addi
tion to the society of Highbury when he comes again ; that
is, if I may presume to call myself an addition. But perhaps
he may never have heard of there being such a creature in
the world."
This was too loud a call for a compliment to be passed
by, and Mr. Weston, with a very good grace, immediately
exclaimed, —
 " My dear madam ! Nobody but yourself could ima
gine such a thing possible. Not heard of you ! I believe
Mrs. Weston's letters lately have been full of very little else
than Mrs. Elton."
He had done his duty, and could return to his son.
" When Frank left us," continued he, " it was quite
uncertain when we might see him again, which makes
this day's news doubly welcome. It has been completely
unexpected. That is, / always had a strong persuasion he
would be here again soon ; I was sure something favourable
would turn up — but nobody believed me. He and Mrs.
Weston were both dreadfully desponding. ' How could
he contrive to come ? And how could it be supposed that
his uncle and aunt would spare him again ? ' and so forth.
I always felt that something would happen hTour favour;
and so it has, you see. I have observed, Mrs. Elton, in
the course of my life, that if things are going untowardly
one month, they are sure to mend the next."
" Very true, Mr. Weston, perfectly true. It is just
what I used to say to a certain gentleman in company in
the days of courtship, when, because things did not go
quite right — did not proceed with all the rapidity which
suited his feelings — he was apt to be in despair, and ex
claim that he was sure at this rate it would be May before
Hymen's saffron robe would be put on for us ! Oh ! the
pains I have been at to dispel those gloomy ideas, and give
him cheerfuller views ! The carriage — we had disap
pointments about the carriage — one morning, I remember,
he came to me quite in despair."
She was stopped by a slight fit of coughing, and Mr.
Weston instantly seized the opportunity of going on.
" You were mentioning May. May is the very month
which Mrs. Churchill is ordered, or has ordered herself, to
spend in some warmer place than Enscombe — in short, to
spend in London ; so that we have the agreeable prospect
of frequent visits from Frank the whole spring — precisely
the season of the year which one should have chosen for it :
days almost at the longest; weather genial and pleasant,
always inviting one out, and never too hot for exercise.
When he was here before, we made the best of it ; but
t 2
 276 EMMA.
there was a good deal of wet, damp, cheerless weather ;
there always is in February, you know ; and we could not
do half that we intended. Now will be the time. This
will be complete enjoyment ; and I do not know, Mrs.
Elton, whether the uncertainty of our meetings, the
sort of constant expectation there will be of his coming in
to-day or to-morrow, and at any hour, may not be more
friendly to happiness than having him actually in the house.
I think it is so. I think it is the state of mind which gives
most spirit and delight. I hope you will be pleased with
my son ; but you must not expect a prodigy. He is gene
rally thought a fine young man, but do not expect a pro
digy. Mrs. Weston's partiality for him is very great, and,
as you may suppose, most gratifying to me. She thinks
nobody equal to him."
" And I assure you, Mr. Weston, I have very little
doubt that my opinion will be decidedly in his favour. I
have heard so much in praise of Mr. Frank Churchill. At
the same time it is fair to observe, that I am one of those
who always judge for themselves, and are by no means
implicitly guided by others. I give you notice, that as I
find your son, so I shall judge of him. I am no flatterer."
Mr. Weston was musing.
" I hope," said he presently, " I have not been severe
upon poor Mrs. Churchill. If she is ill, I should be sorry
to do her injustice ; but there are some traits in her cha
racter which make it difficult for me to speak of her with
the forbearance I could wish. You cannot be ignorant,
Mrs. Elton, of my connection with the family, nor of the
treatment I have met with ; and, between ourselves, the
whole blame of it is to be laid to her. She was the in
stigator. Frank's mother would never have been slighted
as she was but for her. Mr. Churchill has pride ; but his
pride is nothing to his wife's ; his is a quiet, indolent, gen
tlemanlike sort of pride, that would harm nobody, and only
make himself a little helpless and tiresome ; but her pride
is arrogance and insolence. And what inclines one less
to bear, she has no fair pretence of family or blood. She
was nobody when he married her, barely the daughter
pf a gentleman ; but ever since her being turned into, a
 EMMA. 277
Churchill, she has out-Churchill'd them all in high and
mighty claims : but in herself, I assure you, she is an
upstart."
" Only think ! well, that must be infinitely provoking !
I have quite a horror of upstarts. Maple Grove has given
me a thorough disgust to people of that sort ; for there is
a family in that neighbourhood who are such an annoyance
to my brother and sister from the airs they give themselves !
Your description of Mrs. Churchill made me think of them
directly. People of the name of Tupman, very lately set
tled there, and encumbered with many low connections, but
giving themselves limmense airs, and expecting to be on a
footing with the old established families. A year and a
half is the very utmost that they can have lived at West
Hall ; and how they got their fortune nobody knows.
They came from Birmingham, which is not a place to pro
mise much, you know, Mr. Weston. One has not great
hopes from Birmingham. I always say there is something
direful in the sound : but nothing more is positively known
of the Tupmans, though a good many things, I assure you,
are suspected ; and yet by their manners they evidently
think themselves equal even to my brother, Mr. Suckling,
who happens to be one of their nearest neighbours. It is
infinitely too bad. Mr. Suckling, who has been eleven
years a resident at Maple Grove, and whose father had it
before him — I believe, at least— I am almost sure that
old Mr. Suckling had completed the purchase before his
death."
They were interrupted. Tea was carrying round, and
Mr. Weston, having said all that he wanted, soon took the
opportunity of walking away.
After tea, Mr. and Mrs. Weston, and Mr. Elton, sat
down with Mr. Woodhouse to cards. The remaining five
were left to their own powers, and Emma doubted their
getting on very well ; for Mr. Knightley seemed little dis
posed for conversation ; Mrs. Elton was wanting notice,
which nobody had inclination to pay, and she was herself
in a worry of spirits which would have made her prefer
being silent.
Mr. John Knightley proved more talkative than his
t 3
278 EMMA.
brother. He was to leave them early the next day ; and
he soon began with—
" Well, Emma, I do not believe I have any thing more
to say about the boys ; but you have your sister's letter,
and every thing is down at full length there we may be
sure. My charge would be much more concise than her's,
and probably not much in the same spirit ; all that I have
to recommend being comprised in — Do not spoil them, and
do not physic them."
" I rather hope to satisfy you both," said Emma ; " for
I shall do all in my power to make them happy, which
will be enough for Isabella ; and happiness must preclude
false indulgence and physic."
" And if you find them troublesome, you must send
them home again."
" That is very likely. You think so, do not you ? "
" I hope I am aware that they may be too noisy for your
father ; or even may be some incumbrance to you, if your
visiting engagements continue to increase as much as they
have done lately."
" Increase ! "
" Certainly ; you must be sensible that the last half-year
has made a great difference in your way of life."
" Difference ! No, indeed I am not."
" There can be no doubt of your being much more en
gaged with company than you used to be. Witness this
very time. Here am I come down for only one day, and
you are engaged with a dinner-party ! When did it hap
pen before ? or any thing like it ? Your neighbourhood is
increasing, and you mix more with it. A little while ago,
every letter to Isabella brought an account of fresh gaieties ;
dinners at Mr. Cole's, or balls at the Crown. The differ
ence which Randalls, Randalls alone, makes in your goings-
on is very great."
" Yes," said his brother quickly ; " it is Randalls that
does it all."
" Very well ; and as Randalls, I suppose, is not likely
to have less influence than heretofore, it strikes me as a
possible thing, Emma, that Henry and John may be some
 EMMA. 279
times in the way. And if they are, I only beg you to send
them home."
" No," cried Mr. Knightley ; " that need not be the
consequence. Let them be sent to Donwell. I shall cer
tainly be at leisure."
" Upon my word," exclaimed Emma, " you amuse me !
I should like to know how many of all my numerous en
gagements take place without your being of the party ; and
why I am to be supposed in danger of wanting leisure to
attend to the little boys. These amazing engagements of
mine—what have they been ? Dining once with the
Coles, and having a ball talked of, which never took place.
I can understand you — (nodding at Mr. John Knightley) —
your good fortune in meeting with so many of your friends
at once here delights you too much to pass unnoticed. —
But you, (turning to Mr. Knightley,) who know how very,
very seldom I am ever two hours from Hartfield— why you
should foresee such a series of dissipation for me, I cannot
imagine. And as to my dear little boys, I must say, that
if aunt Emma has not time for them, I do not think they
would fare much better with uncle Knightley, who is ab
sent from home about five hours where she is absent one ;
and who, when he is at home, is either reading to himself
or settling his accounts."
Mr. Knightley seemed to be trying not to smile ; and
succeeded without difficulty, upon Mrs. Elton's beginning
to talk to him.

END OP THE SECOND VOLUME.

x4
280 EMMA.

VOLUME THE THIRD.

CHAPTER I.
A very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma
as to the nature of her agitation on hearing this news of
Frank Churchill. She was soon convinced that it was not for
herself she was feeling at all apprehensive or embarrassed —
it was for him. Her own attachment had really subsided
into a mere nothing — it was not worth thinking of ; but
if he, who had undoubtedly been always so much the most
in love of the two, were to be returning with the same
warmth of sentiment which he had taken away, it would
be very distressing. If a separation of two months should
not have cooled him, there were dangers and evils before
her : caution for him and for herself would be necessary.
She did not mean to have her own affections entangled
again, and it would be incumbent on her to avoid any
encouragement of his.
She wished she might be able to keep him from an ab
solute declaration. That would be so very painful a con
clusion of their present acquaintance ; and yet, she could
not help rather anticipating something decisive. She felt
as if the spring would not pass without bringing a crisis,
an event, a something to alter her present composed and
tranquil state.
It was not very long, though rather longer 'than Mr.
Weston had foreseen, before she had the power of forming
some opinion of Frank Churchill's feelings. The Ens-
combe family were not in town quite so soon as had been
imagined, but he was at Highbury very soon afterwards.
He rode down for a couple of hours ; he could not yet
 EMMA. 281
do more ; but as he came from Randalls immediately to
Hartfield, she could then exercise all her quick observation,
and speedily determine how he was influenced, and how
she must act. They met with the utmost friendliness.
There could be no doubt of his great pleasure in seeing
her. But she had an almost instant doubt of his caring
for her as he had done, of his feeling the same tenderness
in the same degree. She watched him well. It was a
clear thing he was less in love than he had been. Ab
sence, with the conviction probably of her indifference, had
produced this very natural and very desirable effect.
He was in high spirits ; as ready to talk and laugh as
ever; and seemed delighted to speak of his former visit,
and recur to old stories ; and he was not without agitation.
It was not in his calmness that she read his comparative
indifference. He was not calm; his spirits were evidently
fluttered ; there was restlessness about him. Lively as he
was, it seemed a liveliness that did not satisfy himself:
but what decided her belief on the subject, was his staying
only a quarter of an hour, and hurrying away to make
other calls in Highbury. "He had seen a group of old
acquaintance in the street as he passed — he had not stop
ped, he would not stop for more than a word — but he had
the vanity to think they would be disappointed if he did
not call ; and, much as he wished to stay longer at Hartfield,
he must hurry off."
She had no doubt as to his being less in love, but nei
ther his agitated spirits nor his hurrying away seemed like
a perfect cure ; and she was rather inclined to think it
implied a dread of her returning power, and a discreet
resolution of not trusting himself with her long.
This was the only visit from Frank Churchill in the
course of ten days. He was often hoping, intending to
come ; but was always prevented. His aunt could not
bear to have him leave her. Such was his own account at
Randalls. If he were quite sincere, if he really tried to
come, it was to be inferred that Mrs. Churchill's removal
to London had been of no service to the wilful or nervous
part of her disorder. That she was really ill was very
certain ; he had declared himself convinced of it, at Ran
 EMMA.
dalls. Though much might be fancy, he could not doubt,
when he looked back, that she was in a weaker state of
health than she had been half a year ago. He did not be
lieve it to proceed from any thing that care and medicine
might not remove, or at least that she might not have many
years of existence before her ; but he could not be pre
vailed on, by all his father's doubts, to say that her com
plaints were merely imaginary, or that she was as strong as
ever.
It soon appeared that London was not the place for her.
She could not endure its noise. Her nerves were under
continual irritation and suffering ; and by the ten days' end,
her nephew's letter to Randall's, communicated a change of
plan. They were going to remove immediately to Rich
mond. Mrs. Churchill had been recommended to the
medical skill of an eminent person there, and had other
wise a fancy for the place. A ready-furnished house in
a favourite spot was engaged, and much benefit expected
from the change.
Emma heard that Frank wrote in the highest spirits of
this arrangement, and seemed most fully to appreciate the
blessing of having two months before him of such near
neighbourhood to many dear friends; for the house was
taken for May and June. She was told that now he
wrote with the greatest confidence of being often with them,
almost as often as he could even wish.
Emma saw how Mr. Weston understood these joyous
prospects. He was considering her as the source of all the
happiness they offered. She hoped it was not so. Two
months must bring it to proof.
Mr. Weston's own happiness was indisputable. He was
quite delighted. It was the very circumstance he could
have wished for. Now, it would be really having Frank
in their neighbourhood. What were nine miles to a young
man ? — An hour's ride. He would be always coming
over. The difference in that respect of Richmond and
London, was enough to make the whole difference of seeing
him always and seeing him never. Sixteen miles — nay,
eighteen — it must be full eighteen to Manchester Street —
was a serious obstacle. Were he ever able to get away,
 EMMA. 283
the day would be spent in coming and returning. There
was no comfort in having him in London ; he might as
well be at Enscombe ; but Richmond was the very dis
tance for easy intercourse. Better than nearer !
One good thing was immediately brought to a certainty
by this removal, — the ball at the Crown. It had not
been forgotten before ; but it had been soon acknowledged
vain to attempt to fix a day. Now, however, it was abso
lutely to be ; every preparation was resumed ; and very
soon after the Churchills had removed to Richmond, a few
lines from Frank, to say that his aunt felt already much
better for the change, and that he had no doubt of being
able to join them for twenty-four hours at any given time,
induced them to name as early a day as possible.
Mr. Weston's ball was to be a real thing. A very few
to-morrows stood between the young people of Highbury
and happiness.
Mr. Woodhouse was resigned. The time of year light
ened the evil to him. May was better for every thing than
February. Mrs. Bates was engaged to spend the evening
at Hartfield ; James had due notice, and he sanguinely
hoped that neither dear little Henry nor dear little John
would have any thing the matter with them while dear
Emma were gone.

CHAPTER II.
No misfortune occurred, again to prevent the ball. The
day approached, the day arrived ; and, after a morning of
some anxious watching, Frank Churchill, in all the cer
tainty of his own self, reached Randalls before dinner, and
every thing was safe.
No second meeting had there yet been between him and
Emma. The room at the Crown was to witness it ; but
it would be better than a common meeting in a crowd.
Mr. Weston had been so very earnest in his entreaties for
284 EMMA.
her early attendance, for her arriving there as soon as
possible after themselves, for the purpose of taking her
opinion as to the propriety and comfort of the rooms be
fore any other person came, that she could not refuse him,
and must therefore spend some quiet interval in the young
man's company. She was to convey Harriet, and they
drove to the Crown in good time, the Randalls party just
sufficiently before them.
Frank Churchill seemed to have been on the watch ;
and though he did not say much, his eyes declared that he
meant to have a delightful evening. They all walked
about together, to see that every thing was as it should be ;
and within a few minutes were joined by the contents of
another carriage, which Emma could not hear the sound of
at first, without great surprise. " So unreasonably early ! "
she was going to exclaim ; but she presently found that it
was a family of old friends, who were coming, like herself,
by particular desire, to help Mr. Weston's judgment ; and
they were so very closely followed by another carriage of
cousins, who had been entreated to come early with the
same distinguishing earnestness, on the same errand, that
it .seemed as if half the company might soon be collected
together for the purpose of preparatory inspection.
Emma perceived that her taste was not the only taste
on which Mr. Weston depended, and felt, that to be the
favourite and intimate of a man who had so many inti
mates and confidants, was not the very first distinction in
the scale of vanity. She liked his open manners, but a
little less of open-heartedness would have made him a
higher character. — General benevolence, but not general
friendship, made a man what he ought to be. — She could
fancy such a man.
The whole party walked about, and looked, and praised
again ; and then, having nothing else to do, formed a sort
of half circle round the fire, to observe in their various
modes, till other subjects were started, that, though May,
a fire in the evening was still very pleasant.
Emma found, that it was not Mr. Weston's fault, that
the number of privy counsellors was not yet larger. They
had stopped at Mrs. Bates's door to offer the use of their
 EMMA. 285
carriage, but the aunt and niece were to be brought by the
Eltons.
Frank was standing by her, but not steadily ; there was
a restlessness, which showed a mind not at ease. He was
looking about, he was going to the door, he was watching
for the sound of other carriages, — impatient to begin, or
afraid of being always near her.
Mrs. Elton was spoken of. " I think she must be here
soon," said he. " I have a great curiosity to see Mrs. El
ton, I have heard so much of her. It cannot be long, I
think, before she comes."
A carriage was heard. He was on the move immedi
ately ; but coming back, said,—
" I am forgetting that I am not acquainted with her.
I have never seen either Mr. or Mrs. Elton. I have no
business to put myself forward."
Mr. and Mrs. Elton appeared; and all the smiles and
the proprieties passed.
" But Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax !" said Mr. Weston,
looking about. " We thought you were to bring them."
The mistake had been slight. The carriage was sent
for them now. Emma longed to know what Frank's first
opinion of Mrs. Elton might be ; how he was affected by
the studied elegance of her dress, and her smiles of gra-
ciousness. He was immediately qualifying himself to form
an opinion, by giving her very proper attention, after the
introduction had passed.
In a few minutes the carriage returned. — Somebody
talked of rain. — I will see that there are umbrellas, sir,"
said Frank to his father : " Miss Bates must not be for
gotten :" and away he went. Mr. Weston was following ;
but Mrs. Elton detained him, to gratify him by her opinion
of |his son ; and so briskly did she begin, that the young
man himself, though by no means moving slowly, could
hardly be out of hearing.
" A very fine young man, indeed, Mr. Weston. You
know I candidly told you I should form my own opinion ;
and I am happy to say that I am extremely pleased with
him. You may believe me. I never compliment. I
think him a very handsome young man, and his manners
286 EMMA.
are precisely what I like and approve, — so truly the gentle
man, without the least conceit or puppyism. You must
know I have a vast dislike to puppies — quite a horror
of them. They were never tolerated at Maple Grove.
Neither Mr. Suckling nor me had ever any patience with
them ; and we used sometimes to say very cutting things.
Selina, who is mild almost to a fault, bore with them
much better."
While she talked of his son, Mr. Weston's attention was
chained ; but when she got to Maple Grove, he could
recollect that there were ladies just arriving to be attended
to, and with happy smiles must hurry away.
Mrs. Elton turned to Mrs. Weston. " I have no doubt
of its being our carriage with Miss Bates and Jane. Our
coachman and horses are so extremely expeditious ! I
believe we drive faster than any body. What a pleasure it
is to send one's carriage for a friend ! I understand you
were so kind as to offer, but another time it will be quite
unnecessary. You may be very sure I shall always take
care of them."
Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, escorted by the two gen
tlemen, walked into the room ; and Mrs. Elton seemed to
think it as much her duty as Mrs. Weston's to receive
them. Her gestures and movements might be understood
by any one who looked on like Emma; but her words,
every body's words, were soon lost under the incessant
flow of Miss Bates, who came in talking, and had not
finished her speech under many minutes after her being
admitted into the circle at the fire. As the door opened
she was heard, —
" So very obliging of you ! — No rain at all. Nothing
to signify. I do not care for myself. Quite thick shoes.
And Jane declares — Well ! (as soon as she was within
the door), well ! This is brilliant indeed ! This is ad
mirable ! Excellently contrived, upon my word. No
thing wanting. Could not have imagined it. So well
lighted up ! Jane, Jane, look ! did you ever see any
thing ? Oh ! Mr. Weston, you must really have had
Aladdin's lamp. Good Mrs. Stokes would not know her
own room again. I saw her as I came in ; she was stand
 EMMA. 287
ing in the entrance. ' Oh ! Mrs. Stokes,' said I — but I
had not time for more." She was now met by Mrs. Wes
ton. " Very well, I thank you, ma'am. I hope you are
quite well. Very happy to hear it. So afraid you might
have a headach ! seeing you pass by so often, and know
ing how much trouble you must have. Delighted to hear
it indeed. — Ah ! dear Mrs. Elton, so obliged to you for
the carriage ; excellent time ; Jane and I quite ready.
Did not keep the horses a moment. Most comfortable
carriage. Oh ! and I am sure our thanks are due to
you, Mrs. Weston, on that score. Mrs. Elton had most
kindly sent Jane a note, or we should have been. But
two such offers in one day ! Never were such neighbours.
I said to my mother, ' Upon my word, ma'am.' Thank
you, my mother is remarkably well. Gone to Mr. Wood-
house's. I made her take her shawl, — for the evenings
are not warm, — her large new shawl, Mrs. Dixon's wed
ding present. So kind of her to think of my mother !
Bought at Weymouth, you know ; Mr. Dixon's choice.
There were three others, Jane says, which they hesitated
about some time. Colonel Campbell rather preferred an
olive. — My dear Jane, are you sure you did not wet your
feet? It was but a drop or two, but I am so afraid:
but Mr. Frank Churchill was so extremely — and there
was a mat to step upon. I shall never forget his extreme
politeness. Oh ! Mr. Frank Churchill, I must tell you
my mother's spectacles have never been in fault since ; the
rivet never came out again. My mother often talks of
your good-nature : does not she Jane? Do not we often
talk of Mr. Frank Churchill ? Ah! here's Miss Woodhouse.
Dear Miss Woodhouse, how do you do ? Very well, I thank
you, quite well. This is meeting quite in fairy land. Such
a transformation ! Must not compliment, I know (eyeing
Emma most complacently) — that would be rude ; but upon
my word, Miss Woodhouse, you do look — how do you like
Jane's hair? You are a judge. She did it all herself.
Quite wonderful how she does her hair ! No hairdresser
from London, I think, could. — Ah ! Dr. Hughes, I declare
— and Mrs. Hughes. Must go and speak to Dr. and
Mrs. Hughes for a moment. How do you do ? How do
 288 EMMA.
you do ? Very well I thank you. This is delightful, is
not it ? Where 's dear Mr. Richard ? Oh ! there he is.
Don't disturb him. Much better employed talking to the
young ladies. How do you do, Mr. Richard? I saw
you the other day as you rode through the town. Mrs.
Otway, I protest ! arid good Mr. Otway, and Miss Otway,
and Miss Caroline. Such a host of friends ! and Mr.
George and Mr. Arthur ! How do you do ? How do
you all do? Quite well, I am much obliged to you.
Never better. Don't I hear another carriage ? Who can
this be ? — very likely the worthy Coles. Upon my
word, this is charming, to be standing about among such
friends ! And such a noble fire ! I am quite roasted.
No coffee, I thank you, for me ; never take coffee. A
little tea, if you please, sir, by-and-by ; no hurry. Oh !
here it comes. Every thing so good ! "
Frank Churchill returned to his station by Emma ; and
as soon as Miss Bates was quiet, she found herself neces
sarily overhearing the discourse of Mrs. Elton and Miss
Fairfax, who were standing a little way behind her. He
was thoughtful. Whether he were overhearing too, she
could not determine. After a good many compliments to
Jane on her dress and look, — compliments very quietly and
properly taken, — Mrs. Elton was evidently wanting to be
complimented herself — and it was, " How do you like my
gown?—How do you like my trimming?—How has Wright
done my hair?" with many other relative questions, all
answered with patient politeness. Mrs. Elton then said, —
" Nobody can think less of dress in general than I do :
but upon such an occasion as this, when every body's eyes
are so much upon me, and in compliment to the Westons,
who I have no doubt are giving this ball chiefly to do me
honour, — I would not wish to be inferior to others :
and I see very few pearls in the room except mine. — So,
Frank Churchill is a capital dancer, I understand. We
shall see if our styles suit. — A fine young man certainly
is Frank Churchill. I like him very well."
At this moment Frank began talking so vigorously, that
Emma could not but imagine he had overheard his own
praises, and did not want to hear more ; — and the voices
 EMMA. 289
of the ladies were drowned for awhile, till another suspen
sion brought Mrs. Elton's tones again distinctly forward.
Mr. Elton had just joined them, and his wife was ex
claiming, — ,
" Oh ! you have found us out at last, have you, in our
seclusion ? — I was this moment telling Jane, I thought
you would begin to be impatient for tidings of us."
" Jane !" repeated Frank Churchill, with a look of sur
prise and displeasure. " That is easy ; but Miss Fairfax
does not disapprove it, I suppose."
" How do you like Mrs. Elton?" said Emma, in a
whisper.
" Not at all." ;- > ~ ' rW** i ' .
" You are ungrateful."
" Ungrateful ! — What do you mean ? " Then chang
ing from a frown to a smile, — " No, do not tell me, — I
do not want to know what you mean. Where is my
father ? When are we to begin dancing ?
Emma could hardly understand him : he seemed in an
odd humour. He walked off to find his father, but was
quickly back again with both Mr. and Mrs. Weston. He
had met with them in a little perplexity, which must be
laid before Emma. It had just occurred to Mrs. Weston
i that Mrs. Elton must be asked to begin the ball ; that she
would expect it ; which interfered with all their wishes of
giving Emma that distinction. Emma heard the sad truth
with fortitude.
" And what are we to do for a proper partner for her? "
said Mr. Weston. " She will think Frank ought to ask
her."
Frank turned instantly to Emma, to claim her former
promise ; and boasted himself an engaged man, which his
father looked his most perfect approbation of — and it
then appeared that Mrs. Weston was wanting him to dance
with Mrs. Elton himself, and that their business was to
help to persuade him into it, which was done pretty soon.
Mr. Weston and Mrs. Elton led the way ; Mr. Frank
Churchill and Miss Woodhouse followed. Emma must
submit to stand second to Mrs. Elton, though she had
I v
290 EMMA.
always considered the ball as peculiarly for her. It was
-almost enough to make her think of marrying.
Mrs. Elton had undoubtedly the advantage, at this time,
in vanity completely gratified ; for though she had intended
to begin with Frank Churchill, she could not lose by the
change. Mr. Weston might be his son's superior. In
spite of this little rub, however, Emma was smiling with
enjoyment, delighted to see the respectable length of the
set as it was forming, and to feel that she had so many
hours of unusual festivity before her. She was more dis
turbed by Mr. Knightley's not dancing, than by any thing
else. There he was, among the standers-by, where he
ought not to be; he ought to be dancing, —not classing
himself with the husbands, and fathers, and whist-players,
who were pretending to feel an interest in the dance till
their rubbers were made up, — so young as he looked ! He
could not have appeared to greater advantage perhaps any
where, than where he had placed himself. His tall, firm,
upright figure, among the bulky forms and stooping
shoulders of the elderly men, was such as Emma felt
must draw every body's eyes ; and, excepting her own
partner, there was not one among the whole row of young
men who could be compared with him. He moved a few
steps nearer, and those few steps were enough to prove in
how gentlemanlike a manner, with what natural grace, he
must have danced, would he but take the trouble. When
ever she caught his eye, she forced him to smile ; but in
general he was looking grave. She wished he could love
a ball-room better, and could like Frank Churchill better.
He seemed often observing her. She must not flatter
herself that he thought of her dancing ; but if he were
criticising her behaviour, she did not feel afraid. There
was nothing like flirtation between her and her partner.
They seemed more like cheerful easy friends, than lovers.
That Frank Churchill thought less of her than he had
done, was indubitable.
The ball proceeded pleasantly. The anxious cares, the
incessant attentions of Mrs. Weston, were not thrown away.
Every body seemed happy ; and the praise of being a
delightful ball, which is seldom bestowed till after a ball
 EMMA. 291
has ceased to be, was repeatedly given in the very begin
ning of the existence of this. Of very important, very ■
recordable events, it was not more productive than such
meetings usually are. There was one, however, which
Emma thought something of.—The two last dances before
supper were begun, and Harriet had no partner ; — the
only young lady sitting down ; — and so equal had been
hitherto the number of dancers, that how there could be '
any one disengaged was the wonder. But Emma's wonder
lessened soon afterwards, on seeing Mr. Elton sauntering
about. He would not ask Harriet to dance if it were
possible to be avoided : she was sure he would not — and
she was expecting him every moment to escape into the
card-room.
Escape, however, was not his plan. He came to the
^part of the room where the sitters-by were collected, spoke
to some, and walked about in front of them, as if to show
his liberty, and his resolution of maintaining it. He did
not omit being sometimes directly before Miss Smith, or
speaking to those who were close to her. Emma saw it.
She was not yet dancing ; she was working her way up
from the bottom, and had therefore leisure to look around,
and by only turning her head a little she saw it all. When
she was half way up the set, the whole group were exactly
behind her, and she would no longer allow her eyes to
watch ; but Mr. Elton was so near, that she heard every
syllable of a dialogue which just then took place between
him and Mrs. Weston ; and she perceived that his wife,
who was standing immediately above her, was not only
listening also, but even encouraging him by significant
glances. The kind-hearted, gentle Mrs. Weston had left
her seat to join him and say, " Do not you dance, Mr.
Elton ? " to which his prompt reply was, " Most readily,
Mrs. Weston, if you will dance with me."
" Me! — oh! no — I would get you a better partner
than myself. I am no dancer."
" If Mrs. Gilbert wishes to dance," said he, " I shall
have great pleasure, I am sure ; for, though beginning to
feel myself rather an old married man, and that my
dancing days are over, it would give me very great plea-
V 2 - .-- /
292 EMMA.
sure at any time to stand up with an old friend like Mrs.
Gilbert."
" Mrs. Gilbert does not mean to dance, but there is
a young lady disengaged whom I should be very glad to
see dancing— Miss Smith."
" Miss Smith — oh ! — I had not observed. You are
extremely obliging — and if I were not an old married
man, — but my dancing days are over, Mrs. Weston. You
will excuse me. Any thing else I should be most happy to
do, at your command —but my dancing days are over."
Mrs. Weston said no more ; and Emma could imagine
with what surprise and mortification she must be return
ing to her seat. This was Mr. Elton ! the amiable, obliging,
gentle Mr. Elton. She looked round for a moment ; he
had joined Mr. Knightley at a little distance, and was
arranging himself for settled conversation, while smiles of
high glee passed between him and his wife.
She would not look again. Her heart was in a glow,
and she feared her face might be as hot.
In another moment a happier sight caught her— Mr.
Knightley leading Harriet to the set! — Never had she
been more surprised, seldom more delighted, than at that
instant. She was all pleasure and gratitude, both for
Harriet and herself, and longed to be thanking him ; and
though too distant for speech, her countenance said much,
as soon as she could catch his eye again.
His dancing proved to be just what she had believed it,
extremely good ; and Harriet would have seemed almost
too lucky, if it had not been for the cruel state of things
before, and for the very complete enjoyment and very high
sense of the distinction which her happy features announced.
It was not thrown away on her ; she bounded higher than
ever, flew farther down the middle, and was in a continual
course of smiles.
Mr. Elton had retreated into the card-room, looking
(Emma trusted) very foolish. She did not think he was
quite so hardened as his wife, though growing very like
her : she spoke some of her feelings, by observing audibly to
her partner,—
" Knightley has taken pity on poor little Miss Smith ! —
Yery good-natured, I declare."
 EMMA.
Supper was announced. The move began ; and Miss
Bates might be heard from that moment without inter
ruption, till her being seated at table and taking up her
spoon.
" Jane, Jane, my dear Jane, where are you ? Here is
your tippet. Mrs. Weston begs you to put on your tippet.
She says she is afraid there will be draughts in the passage,
though every thing has been done— one door nailed up —
quantities of matting— my dear Jane, indeed you must.
Mr. Churchill, oh ! you are too obliging ! — How well you
put it on ! — so gratified ! Excellent dancing indeed!—
Yes, my dear, I ran home, as I said I should, to help
grandmamma to bed, and got back again, and nobody
missed me. I set off without saying a word, just as I told
you. Grandmamma was quite well, had a charming even
ing with Mr. Woodhouse, a vast deal of chat, and back
gammon. Tea was made down stairs, biscuits and baked
apples and wine before she came away : amazing luck in
some of her throws : and she enquired a great deal about
you, how you were amused, and who were your partners.
" Oh !" said I, " I shall not forestall Jane ; I left her
dancing with Mr. George Otway ; she will love to tell you
all about it herself to-morrow : her first partner was Mr.
Elton ; I do not know who will ask her next, perhaps Mr.
William Cox." My dear sir, you are too obliging. Is
there nobody you would not rather ? — I am not helpless.
Sir, you are most kind. Upon my word, Jane on one
arm, and me on the other ! Stop, stop, let us stand a little
back, Mrs. Elton is going ; dear Mrs. Elton, how elegant
she looks — beautiful lace ! — Now we all follow in her
train. Quite the queen of the evening ! — Well, here we
are at the passage. Two steps, Jane, take care of the two
steps. Oh ! no, there is but one. Well, I was persuaded
there were two. How very odd ! I was convinced there
were two, and there is but one. I never saw any thing •
equal to the comfort and style — candles everywhere. I
was telling you of your grandmamma, Jane, — there was a
little disappointment. The baked apples and biscuits,
excellent in their way, you know ; but there was a delicate
fricassee of sweetbread and some asparagus brought in at
v 3
 294 EMMA.
first, and good Mr. Woodhouse, not thinking the asparagus
quite boiled enough, sent it all out again. Now there is
nothing grandmamma loves better than sweetbread and
asparagus — so she was rather disappointed ; but we agreed
we would not speak of it to any body, for fear of its get
ting round to dear Miss Woodhouse, who would be so very
much concerned !—Well, this is brilliant ! I am all amaze
ment !—could not have supposed anything !—such elegance
and profusion ! I have seen nothing like it since. Well,
where shall we sit ? Where shall we sit ? Any where, so
that Jane is not in a draught. Where / sit is of no con
sequence. Oh ! do you recommend this side ? Well, I
am sure, Mr. Churchill — only it seems too good — but
just as you please. What you direct in this house cannot
fee wrong. Dear Jane, how shall we ever recollect half the
dishes for grandmamma. Soup too ! Bless me ! I should
not be helped so soon, but it smells most excellent, and I
cannot help beginning."
Emma had no opportunity of speaking to Mr. Knightley
till after supper ; but, when they were all in the ball-room
again, her eyes invited him irresistibly to come to her and
be thanked. He was warm in his reprobation of Mr.
Elton's conduct ; it had been unpardonable rudeness ; and
Mrs. Elton's looks also received the due share of censure.
" They aimed at wounding more than Harriet," said he.
" Emma, why is it that they are your enemies ? "
He looked with smiling penetration ; and, on receiving
no answer, added, " She ought not to be angry with you,
I suspect, whatever he may be. — To that surmise, you
say nothing, of course : but confess, Emma, that you did
want him to marry Harriet."
" I did," replied Emma, " and they cannot forgive
me."
He shook his head ; but there was a smile of indulgence
with it, and he only said,—
" I shall not scold you. I leave you to your own re
flections."
" Can you trust me with such flatterers? Does my.
vain spirit ever tell me I am wrong ? "
- " Not your vain spirit, but your serious spirit. If one
leads you wrong, I am sure the other tells you of it."
 EMMA,
' " I do own myself to have been completely mistaken in
Mr. Elton. There is a littleness about him which you dis
covered, and which I did not : and I was fully convinced
of his being in love with Harriet. It was through a series
of strange blunders !"
" And, in return for your acknowledging so much, I
will do you the justice to say, that you would have chosen
for him better than he has chosen for himself. Harriet
Smith has some first-rate qualities, which Mrs. Elton is
totally without. An unpretending, single-minded, artless
girl — infinitely to be preferred by any man of sense and
taste to such a woman as Mrs. Elton. I found Harriet
more conversable than I expected."
. Emma was extremely gratified. They were interrupted
by the bustle of Mr. Weston calling on every body to begirt
dancing again.
" Come, Miss Woodhouse. Miss Otway, Miss Fairfax,
what are you all doing? Come, Emma, set your com
panions the example. Every body is lazy ! Every body
is asleep ! "
s " I am ready," said Emma, " whenever I am wanted."
• f< Whom are you going to dance with ? " asked Mr.
Knightley. -
She hesitated a moment, and then replied, " With you,
if you will ask me."
" Will you," said he, offering his hand.
• v Indeed I will. You have shown that you can dance,
and you know we are not really so much brother and sister
as to make it at all improper."
" Brother and sister ! — no, indeed."

CHAPTER III.
This little explanation with Mr. Knightley gave Emma.
considerable pleasure. It was one of the agreeable recol
lections of the ball, which she walked about the lawn the
next morning to enjoy. She was extremely glad that they had
u 4
296 EMMA.
come to so good an understanding respecting the Eltons, and
that their opinions of both husband and wife were so much
alike ; and his praise of Harriet, his concession in her
favour, was peculiarly gratifying. The impertinence of the
Eltons, which for a few minutes had threatened to ruin
the rest of her evening, had been the occasion of some of
its highest satisfactions; and she looked forward to an
other happy result — the cure of Harriet's infatuation.
From Harriet's manner of speaking of the circumstance
before they quitted the ball-room, she had strong hopes.
It seemed as if her eyes were suddenly opened, and she
were enabled to see that Mr. Elton was not the superior
creature she had believed him. The fever was over, and
Emma could harbour little fear of the pulse being quick-
ened again by injurious courtesy. She depended on the
evil feelings of the Eltons for supplying all the discipline of
pointed neglect that could be further requisite. Harriet
rational, Frank Churchill not too much in love, and Mr.
Knightley not wanting to quarrel with her ; how very
happy a summer must be before her !
She was not to see Frank Churchill this morning. He
had told her, that he could not allow himself the pleasure
of stopping at Hartfield, as he was to be at home by the
middle of the day. She did not regret it.-
Having arranged all these matters, looked them through,
and put them all to rights, she was just turning to the
house, with spirits freshened up for the demands of the two
little boys, as well as of their grandpapa, when the great
iron sweep-gate opened, and two persons entered whom she
had never less expected to see together — Frank Churchill,
with Harriet leaning on his arm — actually Harriet ! A
moment sufficed to convince her that something extra
ordinary had happened. Harriet looked white and fright
ened, and he was trying to cheer her. The iron gates and
the front door were not twenty yards asunder; — they
were all three soon in the hall ; and Harriet immediately
sinking into a chair, fainted away.
• A young lady who faints must be recovered ; questions
must be answered, and surprises be explained. Such events
are very interesting ; but the suspense of them cannot last
 EMMA. 297
long. A few minutes made Emma acquainted with the
whole.
Miss Smith, and Miss Bickerton, another parlour boarder
at Mrs. Goddard's, who had been also at the ball, had
walked out together, and taken a road — the Richmond
road, which, though apparently public enough for safety,
had led them into alarm. About half a mile beyond
Highbury, making a sudden turn, and deeply shaded by
elms on each side, it became for a considerable stretch
very retired ; and when the young ladies had advanced
some way into it, they had suddenly perceived, at a small
distance before them, on a broader patch of greensward by
the side, a party of gipsies. A child on the watch came
towards them to beg; and Miss Bickerton, excessively
frightened, gave a great scream, and calling on Harriet to fol
low her, ran up a steep bank, cleared a slight hedge at the top,
and made the best of her way by a short cut back to High
bury. But poor Harriet could not follow. She had suf
fered very much from cramp after dancing, and her first
attempt to mount the bank brought on such a return of it
as made her absolutely powerless ; and in this state, and
exceedingly terrified, she had been obliged to remain.
How the trampers might have behaved, had the young
ladies been more courageous, must be doubtful ; but such
an invitation for attack could not be resisted ; and Harriet
was soon assailed by half a dozen children, headed by a
stout woman and a great boy, all clamorous, and imper
tinent in look, though not absolutely in word. More and
more frightened, she immediately promised them money,
and taking out her purse, gave them a shilling, and begged
them not to want more, or to use her ill. She was then
able to walk, though but slowly, and was moving away —
but her terror and her purse were too tempting ; and she
was followed, or rather surrounded, by the whole gang, de
manding more.
' In this state Frank Churchill had found her, she trem
bling and conditioning, they loud and insolent. By a
most fortunate chance, his leaving Highbury had been de
layed so as to bring him to her assistance at this critical
moment. The pleasantness of the morning had induced
 EMMA.
him to walk forward, and leave his horses to meet him
by another road, a mile or two beyond Highbury ; and
happening to have borrowed a pair of scissors the night
before of Miss Bates, and to have forgotten to restore them,
he had been obliged to stop at her door, and go in for a few
minutes : he was therefore later than he had intended ;
and being on foot, was unseen by the whole party till
almost close to them. The terror which the woman and
boy had been creating in Harriet was then their own por
tion. He had left them completely frightened ; and Har
riet eagerly clinging to him, and hardly able to speak, had
just strength enough to reach Hartfield, before her spirits
were quite overcome. It was his idea to bring her to
Hartfield ; he had thought of no other place.
This was the amount of the whole story, — of his com
munication and of Harriet's, as soon as she had recovered
her senses and speech. He dared not stay longer than to
see her well ; these several delays left him not another mi
nute to lose ; and Emma engaging to give assurance of her
safety to Mrs. Goddard, and notice of there being such a
set of people in the neighbourhood to Mr. Knightley, he
set off, with all the grateful blessings that she could utter
for her friend and herself.
Such an adventure as this,—a fine young man and a lovely
young woman thrown together in such a way,— could hardly
fail of suggesting certain ideas to the coldest heart and the
steadiest brain. So Emma thought, at least. Could a
linguist, could a grammarian, could even a mathematician
have seen what she did, have witnessed their appearance
together, and heard their history of it, without feeling that
circumstances had been at work to make them peculiarly
interesting to each other ? How much more must an im«
aginist, like herself, be on fire with speculation and fore
sight! — especially with such a ground-work of anticipation
as her mind had already made.
. It was a very extraordinary thing ! Nothing of the sort
had ever occurred before to any young ladies in the place,
within her memory ; no rencontre, no alarm of the kind :
and now it had happened to the very person, and at the
very hour, when the other very person was chancing to.
 EMMA.
pass by to rescue her ! It certainly was very extraordi
nary ! And knowing, as she did, the favourable state of
mind of each at this period, it struck her the more. He
was wishing to get the better of his attachment to herself,
she just recovering from her mania for Mr. Elton. It
seemed as if every thing united to promise the most inter
esting consequences. It was not possible that the occur
rence should not be strongly recommending each to the
other.
In the few minutes' conversation which she had yet had
with him, while Harriet had been partially insensible, he had
spoken of her terror, her naïveté, her fervor as she seized and
clung to his arm, with a sensibility amused and delighted;
and just at last, after Harriet's own account had been given,
he had expressed his indignation at the abominable folly of
Miss Bickerton in the warmest terms. Every thing was
to take its natural course, however, neither impelled nor
assisted. She would not stir a step, nor drop a hint. No,
she had had enough of interference. There could be no
harm in a scheme, a mere passive scheme. It was no
more than a wish. Beyond it she would on no account
proceed.
i Emma's first resolution was to keep her father from the
knowledge of what had passed, aware of the anxiety and
alarm it would occasion : but she soon felt that concealment
must be impossible. Within half an hour it was known
all over Highbury. It was the very event to engage those
who talk most, the young and the low ; and all the youth
and servants in the place were soon in the happiness of
frightful news. The last night's ball seemed lost in the
gipsies. Poor Mr. Woodhouse trembled as he sat, and, as
Emma had foreseen, would scarcely be satisfied without
their promising never to go beyond the shrubbery again.
It was some comfort to him that many enquiries after him
self and Miss Woodhouse (for his neighbours knew that
he loved to be enquired after), as well as Miss Smith, were
coming in during the rest of the day ; and he had the
pleasure of returning for answer, that they were all very
indifferent ; which,' though not exactly true, for she was
perfectly well, and Harriet not much otherwise, Emma
300 EMMA.
»*
would not interfere with. She had an unhappy state of
health in general for the child of such a man, for she hardly
knew what indisposition was ; and if he did not invent ill
nesses for her, she could make no figure in a message.
The gipsies did not wait for the operations of justice ;
they took themselves ofF in a hurry. The young ladies of
Highbury might have walked again in safety before their
panic began, and the whole history dwindled soon into a
matter of little importance but to Emma and her nephews :
in her imagination it maintained its ground; and Henry and
John were still asking every day for the story of Harriet
and the gipsies, and still tenaciously setting her right if
she varied in the slightest particular from the original
recital.

CHAPTER IV.
A very few days had passed after this adventure, when
Harriet came one morning to Emma with a small parcel
in her hand, and after sitting down and hesitating, thus
began :—
" Miss Woodhouse — if you are at leisure, I have some
thing that I should like to tell you ; a sort of confession to
make — and then, you know, it will be over."
Emma was a good deal surprised; but begged her to
speak. There was a seriousness in Harriet's manner which
prepared her, quite as much as her words, for something
more than ordinary.
" It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish," she con
tinued, " to have no reserves with you on this subject. As
I am, happily, quite an altered creature in one respect, it
is very fit that you should have the satisfaction of knowing
it. I do not want to say more than is necessary ; I am
too much ashamed of having given way as I have done,
and I dare say you understand me."
" Yes," said Emma, " I hope I do."
" How I could so long a time be fancying myself "'
 EMMA. 301
cried Harriet, warmly. " It seems like madness ! I can
see nothing at all extraordinary in him now. I do not care
whether I meet him or not, except that, of the two, I had
rather not see him ; and, indeed, I would go any distance
round to avoid him ; but I do not envy his wife in the least:
I neither admire her nor envy her, as I have done. She is
very charming, I dare say, and all that ; but I think her
very ill-tempered and disagreeable : I shall never forget her
look the other night. However, I assure you. Miss Wood-
house, I wish her no evil. No ; let them be ever so happy
together, it will not give me another moment's pang ; and,
to convince you that I have been speaking truth, I am now
going to destroy—what I ought to have destroyed long ago
—what I ought never to have kept : I know that very well
(blushing as she spoke). However, now I will destroy it
all ; and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence,
that you may see how rational I am grown. Cannot you
guess what this parcel holds ? " said she, with a conscious
look.
" Not the least in the world. Did he ever give you any
thing ? "
"No— I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that
I have valued very much."
She held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the
words " Most precious treasures" on the top. Her curi
osity was greatly excited. Harriet unfolded the parcel,
and she looked on with impatience. Within abundance of
silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box, which
Harriet opened : it was well lined with the softest cotton ;
but, excepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of
court-plaister.
" Now," said Harriet, " you must recollect."
" No, indeed, I do not."
" Dear me ! I should not have thought it possible you
could forget what passed in this very room about court-
plaister, one of the very last times we ever met in it. It
was but a very few days before I had my sore throat —just
before Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley came; I think the
very evening. Do not you remember his cutting his finger
with your new penknife, and your recommending court
S02 EMMA.
plaister ? But, as you had none about you, and knew I had,
you desired me to supply him ; and so I took mine out,
and cut him a piece : but it was a great deal too large, and
he cut it smaller, and kept playing some time with what
was left before he gave it back to me. And so then, in my
nonsense, I could not help making a treasure of it ; so I
put it by, never to be used, and looked at it now and then
as a great treat."
" My dearest Harriet ! " cried Emma, putting her hand
before her face, and jumping up, " you make me more
ashamed of myself than I can bear. Remember it ? Ay, I
remember it all now ; all, except your saving this relic : I
knew nothing of that till this moment, — but the cutting
the finger, and my recommending court-plaister, and saying
I had none about me. — Oh ! my sins, my sins ! — And I
had plenty all the while in my pocket ! One of my sense
less tricks. I deserve to be under a continual blush all the
test of my life. —Well (sitting down again), go on : what
else?"
" And had you really some at hand yourself?" I am
sure I never suspected it, you did it so naturally."
" And so you actually put this piece of court-plaister by
for his sake," said Emma, recovering from her state of
shame and feeling, divided between wonder and amuse
ment ; and secretly she added to herself, " Lord bless me !
when should I ever have thought of putting by in cotton
a piece of court-plaister that Frank Churchill had been
pulling about ! I never was equal to this."
" Here," resumed Harriet, turning to her box again,
" here is something still more valuable, — I mean that has
been more valuable, — because this is what did really once
belong to him, which the court-plaister never did."
Emma was quite eager to see this superior treasure.
It was the end of an old pencil, the part without any
lead.
" This was really his," said Harriet. " Do not you
remember one morning ? — no, I dare say you do not.
But one morning — I forget exactly the day, — but perhaps
it was the Tuesday or Wednesday before that evening, he
wanted to make a memorandum in his pocket-book ; it
 EMMA. 303
was about spruce beer. Mr. Knightley had been telling
him something about brewing spruce beer, and he wanted
to put it down ; but when he took out his pencil, there
was so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and it would
not do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon
the table as good for nothing. But I kept my eye on it ;
and, as soon as I dared, caught it up, and never parted
with it again from that moment."
" I do remember it," cried Emma ; " I perfectly re
member it. Talking] about spruce beer. Oh ! yes. Mr.
-Knightley and I both saying we liked it, and Mr. Elton's
seeming resolved to learn to like it too. I perfectly re
member it. — Stop ; Mr. Knightley was standing just here,
was not he ? I have an idea he was standing just here."
" Ah ! I do not know. I cannot recollect. It is very
odd, but I cannot recollect. Mr. Elton was sitting here,
I remember, much about where I am now."
" Well, go on."
" Oh ! that's all. I have nothing more] to "show you,
or to say, except that I am now going to throw them both
behind the fire, and I wish you to see me do it."
" My poor dear Harriet ! and have you actually found
happiness in treasuring up these things ? "
" Yes, simpleton as I was ! — but I am quite ashamed
of it now, and wish I could forget as easily as I can burn
them. It was very wrong of me, you know, to keep any
remembrances after he was married. I knew it was—
but had not resolution enough to part with them."
" But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court-plaister ?
I have not a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the
court-plaister might be useful."
" I shall be happier to burn it," replied Harriet. It
has a disagreeable look to me. I must get rid of every
thing. There it goes, and there is an end, thank Heaven !
of Mr. Elton.
" And when," thought Emma, " will there be a be
ginning of Mr. Churchill?"
She had soon afterwards reason to believe, that the be
ginning was already made, and could not but hope that the
gipsy, though she had told no fortune, might be proved to
 304 EMMA.
have made Harriet's. About a fortnight after the alarm,
they came to a sufficient explanation, and quite undesign
edly. Emma was not thinking of it at the moment, which
made the information she received more valuable. She
merely said, in the course of some trivial chat, " Well,
Harriet, whenever you marry, I would advise you to do so
and so" — and thought no more of it, till after a minute's
silence she heard Harriet say, in a very serious tone, " I
shall never marry."
Emma then looked up, and immediately saw how it
was ; and after a moment's debate, as to whether it should
pass unnoticed or not, replied, —
" Never marry ! — This is a new resolution."
" It is one that I shall never change, however."
After another short hesitation, " I hope it does not
proceed from I hope it is not in compliment to Mr.
Elton?"
" Mr. Elton, indeed!" cried Harriet, indignantly. —
Oh ! no" — and Emma could just catch the words, " so
superior to Mr. Elton ! "
She then took a longer time for consideration. Should
she proceed no farther ? —should she let it pass, and seem
to suspect nothing ? — Perhaps Harriet might think her
cold or angry if she did ; or, perhaps, if she were totally
silent, it might only drive Harriet into asking her to hear
too much ; and against any thing like such an unreserve
as had been, such an open and frequent discussion of
hopes and chances, she was perfectly resolved. She be
lieved it would be wiser for her to say and know at once,
all that she meant to say and know. Plain dealing was
always best. She had previously determined how far she
would proceed, on any application of the sort ; and it
would be safer for both, to have the judicious law of her
own brain laid down with speed. She was decided, and
thus spoke, —
" Harriet, I will not affect to be in doubt of your
meaning. Your resolution, or rather your expectation of
never marrying, results from an idea that the person whom
you might prefer would be too greatly your superior in
situation to think of you. Is not it so ? "
 EMMA.
" Oh, Miss Woodhouse, believe me, I have not the
presumption to suppose, — indeed I am not so mad. But
it is a pleasure to me to admire him at a distance, and to
think of his infinite superiority to all the rest of the world,
with the gratitude, wonder, and veneration, which are so
proper, in me especially."
" I am not at all surprised at you, Harriet. The ser-
vice he rendered you was enough to warm your heart."
" Service ! oh, it was such an inexpressible obligation !
The very recollection of it, and all that I felt at the
time, when I saw him coming, — his noble look, and my
wretchedness before. Such a change ! In one moment
such a change ! From perfect misery to perfect happi
ness !"
" It is very natural. It is natural, and it is honourable
Yes, honourable, I think, to choose so well and so grate
fully. But that it will be a fortunate preference is more
than I can promise. I do not advise you to give way to
it, Harriet. I do not by any means engage for its being
returned. Consider what you are about. Perhaps it will
be wisest in you to check your feelings while you can : at
any rate do not let them carry you far, unless you are per
suaded of his liking you. Be observant of him. Let his
behaviour be the guide of your sensations. I give you this
caution now, because I shall never speak to you again on
the subject. I am determined against all interference.
Henceforward I know nothing of the matter. Let no .
name ever pass our lips. We were very wrong before ;
we will be cautious now. He is your superior, no doubt,
and there do seem objections and obstacles of a very
serious nature ; but yet, Harriet, more wonderful things
have taken place ; there have been matches of greater
disparity. But take care of yourself. I would not have
you too sanguine ; though, however it may end, be
assured that your raising your thoughts to him, is a
mark of good taste which I shall always know how to
value."
Harriet kissed her hand in silent and submissive grati
tude. Emma was very decided in thinking such an attach
ment no bad thing for her friend. Its tendency would he
x
306 EMMA.
to raise and refine her mind — and it must be saving her
from the danger of degradation.

CHAPTER V.
In this state of schemes, and hopes, and connivance, June
opened upon Hartfield. To Highbury, in general, it brought
no material change. The Eltons were still talking of a
visit from the Sucklings, and of the use to be made of their
barouche-landau ; and Jane Fairfax was still at her grand
mother's ; and as the return of the Campbells from Ireland
was again delayed, and August, instead of Midsummer,
fixed for it, she was likely to remain there full two months
longer, provided at least she were able to defeat Mrs. Elton's
activity in her service, and save herself from being hurried
into a delightful situation against her will.
Mr. Knightley, who, for some reason best known to
himself, had certainly taken an early dislike to Frank
Churchill, was only growing to dislike him more. He
began to suspect him of some double dealing in his pursuit
of Emma. That Emma was his object appeared indis
putable. Every thing declared it ; his own attentions, his
father's hints, his mother-in-law's guarded silence ; it was
all in unison ; words, conduct, discretion, and indiscretion,
told the same story. But while so many were devoting
him to Emma, and Emma herself making him over to
Harriet, Mr. Knightley began to suspect him of some in
clination to trifle with Jane Fairfax. He could not under
stand it ; but there were symptoms of intelligence between
them — he thought so at least — symptoms of admiration on
his side, which, having once observed, he could not per
suade himself to think entirely void of meaning, however
he might wish to escape any of Emma's errors of imagin
ation. She was not present when the suspicion first arose.
He was dining with the Randalls' family, and Jane at the
Eltons' ; and he had seen a look, more than a single look,
at Miss Fairfax, which, from the admirer of Miss Wood
 EMMA. 307
house, seemed somewhat out of place. When he was again
in their company, he could not help remembering what he
had seen ; nor could he avoid observations which, unless it
were like Cowper and his fire at twilight,
Myself creating what I saw,
brought him yet stronger suspicion of there being a some
thing of private liking, of private understanding even,
between Frank Churchill and Jane.
He had walked up one day after dinner, as he very often
did, to spend his evening at Hartfield. Emma and Harriet
were going to walk ; he joined them ; and, on returning,
they fell in with a larger party, who, like themselves,
judged it wisest to take their exercise early, as the weather
threatened rain ; Mr. and Mrs. Weston and their son, Miss
Bates and her niece, who had accidentally met. They all
united ; and, on reaching Hartfield gates, Emma, who
knew it was exactly the sort of visiting that would be wel
come to her father, pressed them all to go in and drink tea
with him. The Randalls' party agreed to it immediately;
and after a pretty long speech from Miss Bates, which few
persons listened to, she also found it possible to accept dear
Miss Woodhouse's most obliging invitation.
As they were turning into the grounds, Mr. Perry passed
by on horseback. The gentlemen spoke of his horse.
" By the bye," said Frank Churchill to Mrs. Weston
presently, " what became of Mr. Perry's plan of setting
up his carriage?"
Mrs. Weston looked surprised, and said, " I did not
know that he ever had any such plan."
" Nay, I had it from you. You wrote me word of it
three months ago."
" Me ! impossible ! "
" Indeed you did. I remember it perfectly. You men
tioned it as what was certainly to be very soon. Mrs. Perry
had told somebody, and was extremely happy about it. It
was owing to her persuasion, as she thought his being out
in bad weather did him a great deal of harm. You must
remember it now ? "
x 2
308 EMMA.
" Upon my word I never heard of it till this moment."
" Never! really never! — Bless me! how could it be?
Then I must have dreamt it — but I was completely per
suaded — Miss Smith, you walk as if you were tired. You
will not be sorry to find yourself at home."
"What is this? —What is this?" cried Mr. Weston,
" about Perry and a carriage ? Is Perry going to set
up his carriage, Frank? I am glad he can afford it.
You had it from himself, had you ? "
" No, sir," replied his son, laughing, " I seem to have
had it from nobody. Very odd ! I really was persuaded
of Mrs. Weston's having mentioned it in one of her letters
to Enscombe, many weeks ago, with all these particulars —
but as she declares she never heard a syllable of it before,
of course it must have been a dream. I am a great
dreamer. I dream of every body at Highbury when I am
away ; and when I have gone through my particular friends,
then I begin dreaming of Mr. and Mrs. Perry."
" It is odd though," observed his father, " that you
should have had such a regular connected dream about
people whom it was not very likely you should be thinking
of at Enscombe. Perry's setting up his carriage ! and his
wife's persuading him to it, out of care for his health—
just what will happen, I have no doubt, some time or
other; only a little premature. What an air of proba,
bility sometimes runs through a dream ! And at others,
what a heap of absurdities it is ! Well, Frank, your dream
certainly shows that Highbury is in your thoughts when
you are absent. Emma, you are a great dreamer, I think ? "
Emma was out of hearing. She had hurried on before
her guests to prepare her father for their appearance, and
was beyond the reach of Mr. Weston's hint.
" Why, to own the truth," cried Miss Bates, who had
been trying in vain to be heard the last two minutes, " if
I must speak on this subject, there is no denying that Mr.
Frank Churchill might have — I do not mean to say that
he did not dream it— I am sure I have sometimes the
oddest dreams in the world— but if I am questioned about
it, I must acknowledge that there was such an idea last
spring : for Mrs. Perry herself mentioned it to my mother,
 EMMA. 30})
and the Coles knew of it as well as ourselves — but it was
quite a secret, known to nobody else, and only thought of
about three days. Mrs. Perry was very anxious that he
should have a carriage, and came to my mother in 'great
spirits one morning because she thought she had prevailed.
Jane, don't you remember grandmamma's telling us of it
when we got home? I forget where we had been walking to
—very likely to Randalls ; yes, I think it was to Randalls.
Mrs. Perry was always particularly fond of my mother—
indeed I do not know who is not — and she had mentioned
it to her in confidence ; she had no objection to her telling
us, of course, but it was not to go beyond : and, from that
day to this, I never mentioned it to a soul that I know of.
At the same time, I will not positively answer for my having
never dropt a hint, because I know I do sometimes pop out
a thing before I am aware. I am a talker, you know ; I
am rather a talker ; and now and then I have let a thing
escape me which I should not. I am not like Jane ; I
wish I were. I will answer for it she never betrayed the
least thing in the world. Where is she ? Oh ! just be
hind. Perfectly remember Mrs. Perry's coming. Extra
ordinary dream indeed!"
They were entering the hall. Mr. Knightley's eyes had
preceded Miss Bates's in a glance at Jane. From Frank
Churchill's face, where he thought he saw confusion sup
pressed or laughed away, he had involuntarily turned to
hers ; but she was indeed behind, and too busy with her
shawl. Mr. Weston had walked in. The two other gen
tlemen waited at the door to let her pass. Mr. Knightley
suspected in Frank Churchill the determination of catching
her eye — he seemed watching her intently — in vain, how
ever, if it were so. Jane passed between them into the hall,
and looked at neither.
There was no time for further remark or explanation.
The dream must be borne with, and Mr. Knightley must
take his seat with the rest round the large modern circular
table which Emma had introduced at Hartfield, and which
none but Emma could have had power to place there and
persuade her father to use, instead of the small sized Pem-
broke, on which two of his daily meals had, for forty years,
310 EMMA.
been crowded. Tea passed pleasantly, and nobody seemed
in a hurry to move.
" Miss Woodhouse," said Frank Churchill, after ex
amining a table behind him, which he could reach as he
sat, " have your nephews taken away their alphabets —
their box of letters ? It used to stand here. Where is it ?
This is a sort of dull-looking evening, that ought to be
treated rather as winter than summer. We had great amuse
ment with those letters one morning. I want to puzzle you
again."
Emma was pleased with the thought ; and producing
the box, the table was quickly scattered over with alphabets,
which no one seemed so much disposed to employ as their
two selves. They were rapidly forming words for each
other, or for any body else who would be puzzled. The
quietness of the game made it particularly eligible for Mr.
Woodhouse, who had often been distressed by the more
animated sort, which Mr. Weston had occasionally intro
duced, and who now sat happily occupied in lamenting, with
tender melancholy, over the departure' of the " poor little
boys," or in fondly pointing out, as he took up any stray let
ter near him, how beautifully Emma had written it.
Frank Churchill placed a word before Miss Fairfax.
She gave a slight glance round the table, and applied her
self to it. Frank was next to Emma, Jane opposite to
them ; and Mr. Knightley so placed as to see them all ;
and it was his object to see as much as he could, with as
little apparent observation. The word was discovered,
and with a faint smile pushed away. If meant to be im
mediately mixed with the others, and buried from sight,
she should have looked on the table instead of looking just
across, for it was not mixed ; and Harriet, eager after
every fresh word, and finding out none, directly took it up,
and fell to work. She was sitting by Mr. Knightley, and
turned to him for help. The word was blunder ; and as
Harriet exultingly proclaimed it, there was a blush on
Jane's cheek which gave it a meaning not otherwise osten
sible. Mr. Knightley connected it with the dream ; but
how it could all be. was beyond his comprehension. How
the delicacy, the discretion of his favourite could have been
 EMMA. 311
so lain asleep ! He feared there must be some decided in
volvement. Disingenuousness and double dealing seemed
to meet him at every turn. These letters were but the
vehicle for gallantry and trick. It was a child's play,
chosen to conceal a deeper game on Frank Churchill's part.
With great indignation did he continue to observe him ;
with great alarm and distrust, to observe also his two
blinded companions. He saw a short word prepared for
Emma, and given to her with a look sly and demure. He
saw that Emma had soon made it out, and found it highly
entertaining, though it was something which she judged it
proper to appear to censure ; for she said, " Nonsense !
for shame ! " He heard Frank Churchill next say, with a
glance towards Jane, " I will give it to her, — shall I ? "
and as clearly heard Emma opposing it with eager laughing
warmth, — No, no, you must, not, you shall not, indeed."
It was done, however. This gallant young man, who
seemed to love without feeling, and to recommend himself
without complaisance, directly handed over the word to
Miss Fairfax, and with a particular degree of sedate civility
entreated her to study it. Mr. Knightley's excessive curi
osity to know what this word might be, made him seize
every possible moment for darting bis eye towards it, and
it was not long before he saw it to be Dixon. Jane Fair
fax's perception seemed to accompany his ; her comprehen
sion was certainly more equal to the covert meaning, the
superior intelligence, of those five letters so arranged. She
was evidently displeased ; looked up, and seeing herself
watched, blushed more deeply than he had ever perceived
her, and saying only, " I did not know that proper names
were allowed," pushed away the letters with even an angry
spirit, and looked resolved to be engaged by no other word
that could be offered. Her face was averted from those
who had made the attack, and turned towards her aunt.
" Ay, very true, my dear," cried the latter, though Jane
had not spoken a word : " I was just going to say the
same thing. It is time for us to be going, indeed. The
evening is closing in, and grandmamma will be looking for
us. My dear sir, you are too obliging. We really must
wish you good night."
x 4
312 EMMA.
Jane's alertness in moving, proved her as ready as her
aunt had preconceived. She was immediately up, and
wanting to quit the table ; but so many were also moving,
that she could not get away ; and Mr. Knightley thought
he saw another collection of letters, anxiously pushed to
wards her, and resolutely swept away by her unexamined.
She was afterwards looking for her shawl,— Frank Church
ill was looking also : it was growing dusk, and the room
was in confusion ; and how they parted, Mr. Knightley
could not tell.
He remained at Hartfield after all the rest, his thoughts
full of what he had seen ; so full, that when the candles
came to assist his observations, he must, — yes, he certainly
must, as a friend — an anxious friend — give Emma some
hint, ask her some question. He could not see her in a
situation of such danger, without trying to preserve her.
It was his duty.
" Pray, Emma," said he, " may I ask in what lay the
great amusement, the poignant sting of the last word given
to you and Miss Fairfax ? I saw the word, and am curious
to know how it could be so very entertaining to the one,
and so very distressing to the other."
Emma was extremely confused. She could not endure
to give him the true explanation ; for though her sus
picions were by no means removed, she was really ashamed
of having ever imparted them.
" Oh ! " she cried, in evident embarrassment, " it all
meant nothing : a mere joke among ourselves."
" The joke," he replied, gravely, " seemed confined to
you and Mr. Churchill."
He had hoped she would speak again, but she did not.
She would rather busy herself about any thing, than speak.
He sat a little while in doubt. A variety of evils crossed his
mind. Interference — fruitless interference. Emma's con
fusion, and the acknowledged intimacy, seemed to declare
her affection engaged. Yet he would speak. He owed it to
her, to risk any thing that might be involved in an unwel
come interference, rather than her welfare ; to encounter
any thing, rather than the remembrance of neglect in such
a cause. ',
 EMMA. 313
" My dear Emma," said he at last, with earnest
kindness, " do you think you perfectly understand the de
gree of acquaintance between the gentleman and lady we
have been speaking of ? "
" Between Mr. Frank Churchill, 1 and Miss Fairfax ?
Oh ! yes, perfectly. Why do you make a doubt of it ? "
" Have you never at any time had reason to think that
he admired her, or that she admired him ? "
" Never, never ! " she cried with a most open eagerness :
" Never, for the twentieth part of a moment, did such an
idea occur to me. And how could it possibly come into
your head ? "
" I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of at
tachment between them ; certain expressive looks, which I
did not believe meant to be public."
" Oh ! you amuse me excessively. I am delighted to
find that you can vouchsafe to let your imagination wan
der; but it will not do — very sorry to check you in your
first essay, but indeed it will not do. There is no admir
ation between them, I do assure you ; and the appearances
which have caught you, have arisen from some peculiar
circumstances ; feelings rather of a totally different nature :
it is impossible exactly to explain ; there is a good deal of
nonsense in it ; but the part which is capable of being com
municated, which is sense, is, that they are as far from any
attachment or admiration for one another, as any two be
ings in the world can be. That is, I presume it to be so
on her side, and I cm'answer for its being so on his. I
will answer for the gentleman's indifference.''
She spoke with a confidence which staggered, with a
satisfaction which silenced Mr. Knightley. She was in
gay spirits, and would have prolonged the conversation,
wanting to hear the particulars of his suspicions, every
look described, and all the wheres and hows of a circum
stance which highly entertained her ; but his gaiety did not
meet hers. He found he could not be useful, and his feel
ings were too much irritated for talking. That he might not
be irritated into an absolute fever by the fire which Mr.
Woodhouse's tender habits required almost every evening
314 EMMA.
throughout the year, he soon afterwards took a hasty leave,
and walked home to the coolness and solitude of Donwell
Abbey.

CHAPTER VI.
After being long fed with hopes of a speedy visit from
Mr. and Mrs. Suckling, the Highbury world were obliged
to endure the mortification of hearing that they could not
possibly come till the autumn. No such importation of
novelties could enrich their intellectual stores at present.
In the daily interchange of news, they must be again re
stricted to the other topics, with which for a while the
Sucklings' coming had been united, such as the last ac
counts of Mrs. Churchill, whose health seemed every day
to supply a different report, and the situation of Mrs.
Weston, whose happiness it was to be hoped might event
ually be as much increased by the arrival of a child, as
that of all her neighbours was by the approach of it.
Mrs. Elton was very much disappointed. It was the
delay of a great deal of pleasure and parade. Her intro
ductions and recommendations must all wait, and every
projected party be still only talked of. So she thought at
first ; — but a little consideration convinced her that every
thing need not be put off. Why should not they explore
to Box Hill though the Sucklings did not come ? They
could go there again with them in the autumn. 'It was set
tled that they should go to Box Hill. That there was
to be such a party had been long generally known : it had
even given the idea of another. Emma had never been to Box
Hill ; she wished to see what every body found so well
worth seeing, and she and Mr. Weston had agreed to choose
some fine morning and drive thither. Two or three more
of the chosen only were to be admitted to join them, and
it was to be done in a quiet, unpretending, elegant way,
infinitely superior to the bustle and preparation, the regular
 EMMA. 315
eating and drinking, and pic-nic parade of the Eltons and
the Sucklings.
This was so very well understood between them, that
Emma could not but feel some surprise, and a little dis
pleasure, on hearing from Mr. Weston that he had been
proposing to Mrs. Elton, as her brother and sister had
failed her, that the two parties should unite, and go toge
ther ; and that as Mrs. Elton had very readily acceded to
it, so it was to be, if she had no objection. Now, as her
objection was nothing but her very great dislike of Mrs.
Elton, of which Mr. Weston must already be perfectly
aware, it was not worth bringing forward again : — it could
not be done without a reproof to him, which would be
giving pain to his wife ; and she found herself, therefore,
obliged to consent to an arrangement which she would have
done a great deal to avoid ; an arrangement which would,
probably, expose her even to the degradation of being said
to be of Mrs. Elton's party ! Every feeling was offended ;
and the forbearance of her outward submission left a heavy
arrear due of secret severity in her reflections, on the un
manageable good-will of Mr. Weston's temper.
" I am glad you approve of what I have done," said he,
very comfortably. " But I thought you would. Such
schemes as these are nothing without numbers. One can
not have too large a party. A large party secures its own
amusement. And she is a good-natured woman after all.
One could not leave her out."
Emma denied none of it aloud, and agreed to none of
it in private.
It was now the middle of June and the weather fine ;
and Mrs. Elton was growing impatient to name the day,
and settle with Mr. Weston as to pigeon-pies and cold
lamb, when a lame carriage-horse threw every thing into
sad uncertainty. It might be weeks, it might be only a
few days, before the horse were useable ; but no prepar
ations could be ventured on, and it was all melancholy
stagnation. Mrs. Elton's resources were inadequate to
such an attack.
" Is not this most vexatious, Knightley ? " she cried ;
" and such weather for exploring ! these delays and disap
316 EMMA.
pointments are quite odious. What are we to do ? The
year will wear away at this rate, and nothing done. Be
fore this time, last year, I assure you, we had a delightful
exploring party from Maple Grove to Kings Weston."
" You had better explore to Don well," replied Mr.
Knightley. " That may be done without horses. Come,
and eat my strawberries : they are ripening fast."
If Mr. Knightley did not begin seriously, he was obliged
to proceed so ; for his proposal was caught at with delight ;
and the " Oh ! I should like it of all things," was not
plainer in words than manner. Donwell was famous for
its strawberry-beds, which seemed a plea for the invitation :
but no plea was necessary ; cabbage-beds would have been
enough to tempt the lady, who only wanted to be going
somewhere. She promised him again and again to come
— much oftener than he doubted — and was extremely
gratified by such a proof of intimacy, such a distinguishing
compliment as she chose to consider it.
" You may depend upon me," said she ; " I certainly
will come Name your day, and I will come. — You will
allow me to bring Jane Fairfax ? "
" I cannot name a day," said he, " till I have spoken to
some others, whom I would wish to meet you."
" Oh, leave all that to me ; only give me a carte-blanche.
— I am Lady Patroness, you know. It is my party. I
will bring friends with me."
" I hope you will bring Elton," said he ; " but I will
not trouble you to give any other invitations."
" Oh, now you are looking very sly ; — but consider,
—you need not be afraid of delegating power to me. I am
no young lady on her preferment. Married women, you
know, may be safely authorised. It is my party. Leave
it all to me. I will invite your guests."
" No," he calmly replied, " there is but one married
woman in the world whom I can ever allow to invite what
guests she pleases to Donwell, and that one is —"
" Mrs. Weston, I suppose," interrupted Mrs. Elton,
rather mortified.
" No, — Mrs. Knightley ; and, till she is in being, I
will manage such matters myself."
 317
" Ah, you are an odd creature !" she cried, satisfied to
have no one preferred to herself. " You are a humourist,
and may say what you like. Quite a humourist. Well, I
shall bring Jane with me — Jane and her aunt. The rest
I leave to you. I have no objections at all to meeting the
Hartfield family. Don't scruple, I know you are attached
to them."
- " You certainly will meet them, if I can prevail ; and I
shall call on Miss Bates in my way home."
" That is quite unnecessary; I see Jane every day ;—but
as you like. It is to be a morning scheme, you know,
Knightley ; quite a simple thing. I shall wear a large
bonnet, and bring one of my little baskets hanging on my
arm. Here, — probably this basket with pink riband. No
thing can be more simple, you see. And Jane will have
such another. There is to be no form or parade — a sort
of gipsy party. We are to walk about your gardens, and
gather the strawberries ourselves, and sit under trees ; and
whatever else you may like to provide, it is to be all out of
doors ; a table spread in the shade, you know. Every
thing as natural and simple as possible. Is not that your
idea?"
" Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural
will be to have the table spread in the dining-room. The
nature and the simplicity of gentlemen and ladies, with
their servants and furniture, I think is best observed by
meals within doors. When you are tired of eating straw
berries in the garden, there shall be cold meat in the
house."
" Well, as you please ; only don't have a great set-out.
And, by the bye, can I or my housekeeper be of any use
to you with our opinion ? Pray be sincere, Knightley.
If you wish me to talk to Mrs. Hodges, or to inspect any
thing —"
" I have not the least wish for it, I thank you."
" Well, — but if any difficulties should arise, my houser
keeper is extremely clever."
" I will answer for it, that mine thinks herself full as
clever, and would spurn anybody's assistance."
" I wish we had a donkey. The thing would be for us
 318
all to come on donkeys, Jane, Miss Bates, and me, and my
caro sposo walking by. I really must talk to him about
purchasing a donkey. In a country life I conceive it to
be a sort of necessary ; for, let a woman have ever so many
resources, it is not possible for her to be always shut up at
home ; and very long walks, you know — in summer there
is dust, and in winter there is dirt."
" You will not find either between Donwell and High
bury. Donwell-lane is never dusty, and now it is per
fectly dry. Come on a donkey, however, if you prefer it.
You can borrow Mrs. Cole's. I would wish every thing to
be as much to your taste as possible."
" That I am sure you would. Indeed I do you justice,
my good friend. Under that peculiar sort of dry, blunt
manner, I know you have the warmest heart. As I tell
Mr. E., you are a thorough humourist. Yes, believe me,
Knightley, I am fully sensible of your attention to me in
the whole of this scheme. You have hit upon the very
thing to please me."
Mr. Knightley had another reason for avoiding a table in
the shade. He wished to persuade Mr. Woodhouse, as well
as Emma, to join the party ; and he knew that to have any
of them sitting down out of doors to eat would inevitably
make him ill. Mr. Woodhouse must not, under the
specious pretence of a morning drive, and an hour or two
spent at Donwell, be tempted away to his misery.
He was invited on good faith. No lurking horrors were
to upbraid him for his easy credulity. He did consent.
He had not been at Donwell for two years. " Some very
fine morning, he, Emma, and Harriet, could go very well ;
and he could sit still with Mrs. Weston while the dear girls
walked about the gardens. He did not suppose they could
be damp now, in the middle of the day. He should like
to see the old house again exceedingly, and should be very
happy to meet Mr. and Mrs. Elton, and any other of his
neighbours. He could not see any objection at all to his
and Emma's, and Harriet's, going there some very fine
morning. He thought it very well done of Mr. Knightley
to invite them ; very kind and sensible ; much cleverer
than dining out. He was not fond of dining out."
 EMMA. 319
Mr. Knightley was fortunate in every body's most ready
concurrence. The invitation was every where so well re
ceived, that it seemed as if, like Mrs. Elton, they were all
taking the scheme as a particular compliment to themselves.
Emma and Harriet professed very high expectations of plea
sure from it ; and Mr. Weston, unasked, promised to get
Frank over to join them, if possible ; a proof of approbation
and gratitude which could have been dispensed with. Mr.
Knightley was then obliged to say that he should be glad
to see him ; and Mr. Weston engaged to lose no time in
writing, and spare no arguments to induce him to come.
In the meanwhile the lame horse recovered so fast, . that
the party to Box Hill was again under happy consider
ation ; and at last Donwell was settled for one day, and
Box Hill for the next ; the weather appearing exactly
right.
Under a bright mid-day sun, at almost Midsummer, Mr.
Woodhouse was safely conveyed in his carriage, with one
window down, to partake of this al fresco party ; and in
one of the most comfortable rooms in the Abbey, especially
prepared for him by a fire all the morning, he was happily
placed, quite at his ease, ready to talk with pleasure of
what had been achieved, and advise every body to come and
sit down, and not to heat themselves. Mrs. Weston, who
seemed to have walked there on purpose to be tired, and
sit all the time with him, remained, when all the others
were invited or persuaded out, his patient listener and sym
pathiser.
It was so long since Emma had been at the Abbey, that
as soon as she was satisfied of her father's comfort, she
was glad to leave him, and look around her ; eager to re
fresh and correct her memory with more particular observ
ation, more exact understanding of a house and grounds
whicli must ever be so interesting to her and all her family.
She felt all the honest pride and complacency which her
alliance with the present and future proprietor could fairly
warrant, as she viewed the respectable size and style of the
building, its suitable, becoming characteristic situation, low
and sheltered ; its ample gardens stretching down to mea
dows washed by a stream, of which the Abbey, with all the
 EMMA.
old neglect of prospect, had scarcely a sight, — and its abun
dance of timber in rows and avenues, which neither fashion
nor extravagance had rooted up. The house was larger
than Hartfield, and totally unlike it, covering a good deal
of ground, rambling and irregular, with many comfortable
and one or two handsome rooms. It was just what it
ought to be, and it looked what it was ; and Emma felt an
increasing respect for it, as the residence of a family of
such true gentility, untainted in blood and understanding.
Some faults of temper John Knightley had ; but Isabella
had connected herself unexceptionably. She had given them
neither men, nor names, nor places, that could raise a blush.
These were pleasant feelings, and she walked about and in
dulged them till it was necessary to do as the others did,
and collect round the strawberry beds. The whole party
were assembled, excepting Frank Churchill, who was ex
pected every moment from Richmond ; and Mrs. Elton, in
all her apparatus of happiness, her large bonnet and her
basket, was very ready to lead the way in gathering, accept
ing, or talking. Strawberries, and only strawberries, could
now be thought or spoken of. " The best fruit in Eng
land — every body's favourite — always wholesome. These
the finest beds and finest sorts. Delightful to gather for
one's self— the only way of really enjoying them. Morn
ing decidedly the best time — never tired —every sort good
—hautboy infinitely superior — no comparison — the other*
hardly eatable— hautboys very scarce — Chili preferred—
white wood finest flavour of all — price of strawberries in
London— abundance about Bristol — Maple Grove — cul
tivation —beds when to be renewed — gardeners thinking
exactly different — no general rule — gardeners never to be
put out of their way — delicious fruit — only too rich to be
eaten much of— inferior to cherries — currants more refresh
ing — only objection to gathering strawberries the stooping
— glaring sun — tired to death — could bear it no longer—
must go and sit in the shade."
Such, for half an hour, was the conversation ; inter
rupted only once by Mrs. Weston, who came out, in her
solicitude after her son-in-law, to enquire if he were come;
 EMMA. 321
and she was a little uneasy. She had some fears of his
horse.
Seats tolerably in the shade were found ; and now Emma
was obliged to overhear what Mrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax
were talking of. A situation, a most desirable situation,
was in question. Mrs. Elton had received notice of it that
morning, and was in raptures. It was not with Mrs.
Suckling, it was not with Mrs. Bragge, but in felicity and
splendour it fell short only of them : it was with a cousin
of Mrs. Bragge, an acquaintance of Mrs. Suckling, a lady
known at Maple Grove. Delightful, charming, superior,
first circles, spheres, lines, ranks, every thing : and Mrs.
Elton was wild to have the offer closed with immediately.
On her side, all was warmth, energy, and triumph ; and
she positively refused to take her friend's negative, though
Miss Fairfax continued to assure her that she would not at
present engage in any thing— repeating the same motives
which she had been heard to urge before. Still Mrs. Elton
insisted on being authorised to write an acquiescence by the
morrow's post. How Jane could bear it at all, was asto
nishing to Emma. She did look vexed; she did speak
pointedly ; and at last, with a decision of action unusual
to her, proposed a removal. " Should not they walk ?
Would not Mr. Knightley show them the gardens — all
the gardens ? She wished to see the whole extent." The
pertinacity of her friend seemed more than she could bear.
It was hot ; and after walking some time over the
gardens in a scattered, dispersed way, scarcely any three
together, they insensibly followed one another to the de
licious shade of a broad short avenue of limes, which,
stretching beyond the garden at an equal distance from the
river, seemed the finish of the pleasure grounds. It led
to nothing; nothing but a view at the end over a low
stone wall with high pillars, which seemed intended, in
their erection, to give the appearance of an approach to the
house, which never had been there. Disputable, however,
as might be the taste of such a termination, it was in itself
a charming walk, and the view which closed it extremely
pretty. The considerable slope, at nearly the foot of which
the Abbey stood, gradually acquired a steeper form beyond
Y
322 EMMA.
its grounds ; and at half a mile distant was a bank of
considerable abruptness and grandeur, well clothed with
wood ; and at the bottom of this bank, favourably placed
and sheltered, rose the Abbey-Mill Farm, with meadows
in front, and the river making a close and handsome curve
around it.
It was a sweet view — sweet to the eye and the mind.
English verdure, English culture, English comfort, seen
under a sun bright, without being oppressive.
In this walk Emma and Mr. Weston found all the others
assembled ; and towards this view she immediately per
ceived Mr. Knightley and Harriet distinct from the rest,
quietly leading the way. Mr. Knightley and Harriet !
It was an odd tête-à-tête ; but she was glad to see it.
There had been a time when he would have scorned her
as a companion, and turned from her with little ceremony.
Now they seemed in pleasant conversation. There had
been a time also when Emma would have been sorry to
see Harriet in a spot so favourable for the Abbey-Mill
Farm ; but now she feared it not. It might be safely
viewed with all its appendages of prosperity and beauty,
its rich pastures, spreading flocks, orchard in blossom, and
light column of smoke ascending. She joined them at the
wall, and found them more engaged in talking than in
looking around. He was giving Harriet information as to
modes of agriculture, &c; and Emma received a smile
which seemed to say, " These are my own concerns. I
have a right to talk on such subjects, without being sus
pected of introducing Robert Martin." She did not suspect
him. It was too old a story. Robert Martin had pro
bably ceased to think of Harriet. They took a few turns
together along the walk. The shade was most refreshing,
and Emma found it the pleasantest part of the day.
The next remove was to the house ; they must all go in
and eat ; and they were all seated and busy, and still Frank
Churchill did not come. Mrs. Weston looked, and looked
in vain. His father would not own himself uneasy, and
laughed at her fears ; but she could not be cured of wishing
that he would part with his black mare. He had expressed
himself as to coming, with more than common certainty.
 EMMA. 323
" His aunt was so much better, that he had not a doubt of
getting over to them." Mrs. Churchill's state, however,
as many were ready to remind her, was liable to such
sudden variation as might disappoint her nephew in the
most reasonable dependence ; and Mrs. Weston was at last
persuaded to believe, or to say, that it must be by some
attack of Mrs. Churchill that he was prevented coming.
Emma looked at Harriet while the point was under
consideration ; she behaved very well, and betrayed no
emotion.
The cold repast was over, and the party were to go out
once more to see what had not yet been seen, the old Abbey
fish-ponds ; perhaps get as far as the clover, which was to
be begun cutting on the morrow, or, at any rate, have the
pleasure of being hot, and growing cool again. Mr. Wood-
house, who had already taken his little round in the highest
part of the gardens, where no damps from the river were
imagined even by him, stirred no more ; and his daughter
resolved to remain with him, that Mrs. Weston might be
persuaded away by her husband to the exercise and variety
which her spirits seemed to need.
Mr. Knightley had done all in his power for Mr. Wood-
house's entertainment. Books of engravings, drawers of
medals, cameos, corals, shells, and every other family col
lection within his cabinets, had been prepared for his old
friend, to while away the morning ; and the kindness had
perfectly answered. Mr. Woodhouse had been exceedingly
well amused. Mrs. Weston had been showing them all
to him, and now he would show them all to Emma ; for
tunate in having no other resemblance to a child, than in
a total want of taste for what he saw, for he was slow,
constant, and methodical. Before this second looking over
was begun, however, Emma walked into the hall for the
sake of a few moments' free observation of the entrance
and ground-plot of the house, and was hardly there, when
Jane Fairfax appeared, coming quickly in from the garden,
and with a look of escape. Little expecting to meet Miss
Woodhouse so soon, there was a start at first ; but Miss
Woodhouse was the very person she was in quest of.
" Will you be so kind,"- said she, " when I am missed,
y 2
324 EMMA.
as to say that I am gone home ? I am going this moment.
My aunt is not aware how late it is, nor how long we have
been absent ; but I am sure we shall be wanted, and I am
determined to go directly. I have said nothing about it
to any body. It would only be giving trouble and distress.
Some are gone to the ponds, and some to the lime walk.
Till they all come in I shall not be missed ; and when
they do, will you have the goodness to say that I am gone? "
" Certainly, if you wish it ; but you are not going to
walk to Highbury alone?"
" Yes ; what should hurt me ? I walk fast. I shall
be at home in twenty minutes."
" But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite
alone. Let my father's servant go with you. Let me
order the carriage. It can be round in five minutes."
" Thank you, thank you ; but on no account ; I would
rather walk. And for me to be afraid of walking alone !
I, who may so soon have to guard others ! "
She spoke with great agitation ; and Emma very feel
ingly replied, — That can be no reason for your being ex
posed to danger now. I must order the carriage. The
heat even would be danger. You are fatigued already."
" I am," she answered, " I am fatigued ; but it is not
the sort of fatigue — quick walking will refresh me. Miss
Woodhouse, we all know at times what it is to be wearied
in spirits. Mine, I confess, are exhausted. The greatest
kindness you can showme, will be to let me have my own
way, and only say that I am gone when it is necessary."
Emma had not another word to oppose. She saw it all ;
and entering into her feelings, promoted her quitting the
house immediately, and watched her safely off with the
zeal of a friend. Her parting look was grateful ; and her
parting words, " Oh ! Miss Woodhouse, the comfort of
being sometimes alone ! " seemed to burst from an over
charged heart, and to describe somewhat of the continual
endurance to be practised by her, even towards some of
those who loved her best.
" Such a home, indeed! such an aunt!" said Emma,
as she turned back into the hall again. " I do pity you.
 EMMA.
And the more sensibility you betray of their just horrors,
the more I shall like you."
Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they
had only accomplished some views of St. Mark's Place,
Venice, when Frank Churchill entered the room. Emma
had not been thinking of him ; she had forgotten to think
of him ; but she was very glad to see him. Mrs. Weston
would be at ease. The black mare was blameless ; they
were right who had named Mrs. Churchill as the cause.
He had been detained by a temporary increase of illness in
her ; — a nervous seizure, which had lasted some hours ;
and he had quite given up every thought of coming till
very late ; and had he known how hot a ride he should
have, and how late, with all his hurry, he must be, he
believed he should not have come at all. The heat was
excessive ; he had never suffered any thing like it — almost
wished he had staid at home — nothing killed him like
heat — he could bear any degree of cold, &c., but heat was
intolerable ; and he sat down, at the greatest possible dis
tance from the slight remains of Mr. Woodhouse's fire,
looking very deplorable.
" You will soon be cooler, if you sit still," said Emma.
" As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could
very ill be spared ; but such a point had been made of
my coming ! You will all be going soon, I suppose ; the
whole party breaking up. I met one as I came — Mad-
ness in such weather ! — absolute madness ! "
Emma listened, and looked, and soon perceived that
Frank Churchill's state might be best defined by the ex
pressive phrase of being out of humour. Some people
were always cross when they were hot. Such might be
his constitution ; and as she knew that eating and drinking
were often the cure of such incidental complaints, she
recommended his taking some refreshment ; he would find
abundance of every thing in the dining-room ; and she
humanely pointed out the door.
" No ; he should not eat. He was not hungry ; it
would only make him hotter." In two minutes, however,
he relented in his own favour ; and muttering something
y 3
326 EMMA.
about spruce beer, walked off. Emma returned all her
attention to her father, saying in secret, —
" I am glad I have done being in love with him. I
should not like a man who is so soon discomposed by a hot
morning. Harriet's fweet easy temper will not mind it."
He was gone long enough to have had a very comfortable
meal, and came back all the better — grown quite cool,
and, with good manners, like himself, able to draw a chair
close to them, take an interest in their employment, and
regret, in a reasonable way, that he should be so late.
He was not in his best spirits, but seemed trying to im
prove them ; and, at last, made himself talk nonsense very
agreeably. They were looking over views in Swisserland.
" As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad,"
said he. I shall never be easy till I have seen some of
these places. You will have my sketches, some time or
other, to look at — or my tour to read — or my poem. I
shall do something to expose myself.''
" That may be — but not by sketches in Swisserland.
You will never go to Swisserland. Your uncle and aunt
will never allow you to leave England."
" They may be induced to go too. A warm climate
may be prescribed for her. I have more than half an ex
pectation of our all going abroad. I assure you I have. I
feel a strong persuasion, this morning, that I shall soon be
abroad. I ought to travel. I am tired of doing nothing.
I want a change. I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, 'what
ever your penetrating eyes may fancy — I am sick of
England — and would leave it to-morrow, if I could."
" You are sick of prosperity and indulgence. Cannot
you invent a few hardships for yourself, and be contented
to stay ? "
" / sick of prosperity and indulgence ! You are quite
mistaken. I do not look upon myself as either prosperous
or indulged. I am thwarted in every thing material. I do
not consider myself at all a fortunate person."
" You are not quite so miserable, though, as when you
first came. Go, and eat and drink a little more, and you will
do very well. Another slice of cold meat, another draught
 EMMA. 327
of Madeira and water, will make you nearly on a par with
the rest of us."
" No — I shall not stir. I shall sit hy you. You are
my best cure!"
" We are going to Box Hill to-morrow : you will join
us. It is not Swisserland, but it will be something for a
young man so much in want of a change. You will stay,
and go with us ? "
" No, certainly not ; I shall go home in the cool of the
evening."
" But you may come again in the cool of to-morrow
morning."
" No — It will not be worth while. If I come, I
shall be cross."
" Then pray stay at Richmond."
" But if I do, I shall be crosser still. I can never bear
to think of you all there without me."
" These are difficulties which you must settle for your
self. Choose your own degree of crossness. I shall press
you no more."
The rest of the party were now returning, and all were
soon collected. With some there was greatjoy at the sight of
Frank Churchill ; others took it very composedly ; but there
was a very general distress and disturbance on Miss Fair
fax's disappearance being explained. That it was time for
every body to go, concluded the subject ; and with a short
final arrangement for the next day's scheme, they parted.
Frank Churchill's little inclination to exclude himself in
creased so much, that his last words to Emma were,—
" Well ; — if you wish me to stay and join the party,
I will."
She smiled her acceptance ; and nothing less than a
summons from Richmond was to take him back before the
following evening.

y 4
328 EMMA.

CHAPTER VII.
They had a very fine day for Box Hill ; and all the other
outward circumstances of arrangement, accommodation, and
punctuality, were in favour of a pleasant party. Mr.
Weston directed the whole, officiating safely between Hart-
field and the vicarage, and every body was in good time.
Emma and Harriet went together ; Miss Bates and her
niece, with the Eltons ; the gentlemen on horseback. Mrs.
Weston remained with Mr. Woodhouse. Nothing was
wanting but to be happy when they got there. Seven
miles were travelled in expectation of enjoyment, and
every body had a burst of admiration on first arriving ;
but in the general amount of the day there was deficiency.
There was a languor, a want of spirits, a want of union,
which could not be got over. They separated too much
into parties. The Eltons walked together ; Mr. Knightley
took charge of Miss Bates and Jane ; and Emma and
Harriet belonged to Frank Churchill. And Mr. Weston
tried, in vain, to make them harmonise better. It seemed
at first an accidental division, but it never materially
varied. Mr. and Mrs. Elton, indeed, showed no unwil
lingness to mix, and be as agreeable as they could : but
during the two whole hours that were spent on the hill,
there seemed a principle of separation between the other
parties, too strong for any fine prospects, or any cold col
lation, or any cheerful Mr. Weston, to remove.
At first it was downright dulness to Emma. She had
never seen Frank Churchill so silent and stupid. He said
nothing worth hearing — looked without seeing — admired
without intelligence — listened without knowing what she
said. While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Har
riet should be dull likewise ; and they were both insuf
ferable.
When they all sat down] it was better — to her taste a
great deal better — for Frank Churchill grew talkative and
 EMMA. 329
gay, making her his first subject. Every distinguishing
attention that could be paid, was paid to her. To amuse
her, and be agreeable in her eyes, seemed all that he cared
for, — and Emma, glad to be enlivened, not sorry to be
flattered, was gay and easy too, and gave him all the
friendly encouragement, the admission to be gallant, which
she had ever given in the first and most animating period
of their acquaintance ; but which now, in her own esti
mation, meant [nothing, though in the judgment of most
people looking on it, must have had such an appearance as
no English word but flirtation could very well describe.
" Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse flirted toge
ther excessively." They were laying themselves open to
that very phrase — and to having it sent off in a letter to
Maple Grove by one lady, to Ireland by another. Not
that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any real felicity ;
it was rather because she felt less happy than she had ex
pected. She laughed because she was disappointed ; and
though she liked him for his attentions, and thought them
all, whether in friendship, admiration, or playfulness, ex
tremely judicious, they were not winning back her heart
She still intended him for her friend.
" How much I am obliged to you," said he, " for telling
me to come to-day ! —If it had not been for you, I should
certainly have lost all the happiness of this party. I had
quite determined to go away again."
" Yes, you were very cross ; and I do not know what
about, except that you were too late for the best strawber
ries. I was a kinder friend than you deserved. But you
were humble. You begged hard to be commanded to
come."
" Don't say I was cross. I was fatigued. The heat
overcame me." •
" It is hotter to-day."
" Not to my feelings. I am perfectly comfortable to
day."
" You are comfortable because you are under com
mand."
" Your command ? — Yes.
" Perhaps I intended you to say so, but I meant self-
330 EMMA.
command. You had, somehow or other, broken bounds
yesterday, and run away from your own management ; but
to-day you are got back again — and as I cannot be always
with you, it is best to believe your temper under your own
command rather than mine."
"It comes to the same thing. I can have no self-
command without a motive. You order me, whether you
speak or not. And you can be always with me. You are
always with me."
" Dating from three o'clock yesterday. My perpetual
influence could not begin earlier, or you would not have
been so much out of humour before."
" Three o'clock yesterday ! That is your date. I
thought I had seen you first in February."
" Your gallantry is really unanswerable. But (lower
ing her voice) nobody speaks except ourselves, and it is ra
ther too much to be talking nonsense for the entertainment
of seven silent people." f
" I say nothing of which I am ashamed," replied he,
with lively impudence. " I saw you first in February.
Let every body on the Hill hear me if they can. Let my
accents swell to Mickleham on one side, and Dorking on
the other. I saw you first in February." And then
whispering, — " Our companions are excessively stupid.
What shall we do to rouse them ? Any nonsense will
serve. They shall talk. Ladies and gentlemen, I am or
dered by Miss Woodhouse (who, where ever she is, pre
sides,) to say, that she desires to know what you are all
thinking of."
Some laughed, and answered good-humouredly. Miss
Bates said a great deal ; Mrs. Elton swelled at the idea of
Miss Woodhouse's presiding ; Mr. Knightley's answer
was the most distinct.
" Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear
what we are all thinking of ? "
" Oh, no, no ! " cried Emma, laughing as carelessly as
she could, — " upon no account in the world. It is the
very last thing I would stand the brunt of just now. Let
me hear any thing rather than what you are all thinking of.
I will not say quite all. There are one or two, perhaps
 EMMA. 331
(glancing at Mr. Weston and Harriet), whose thoughts I
might not he afraid of knowing."
" It is a sort of thing," cried Mrs. Elton emphatically,
" which I should not have thought myself privileged to
enquire into. Though, perhaps, as the chaperon of the
party —I never was in any circle — exploring parties —
young ladies — married women — "
Her mutterings were chiefly to her hushand ; and he
murmured, in reply,—
" Very true, my love, very true. Exactly so, indeed —
quite unheard of — but some ladies say any thing. Bet
ter pass it off as a joke. Every body knows what is due
to you."
" It will not do," whispered Frank 'to Emma, " they
are most of them affronted. I will attack them with more
address. Ladies and gentlemen, I am ordered by Miss
Woodhouse to say, that she waves her right of knowing
exactly what you may all be thinking of, and only requires
something very entertaining from each of you, in a general
way. Here are seven of you, besides myself, (who, she
is pleased to say, am very entertaining already,) and she
only demands from each of you, either one thing very
clever, be it prose or verse, original or repeated ; or two
things moderately clever ; or three things very dull indeed ;
and she engages to laugh heartily at them all."
" Oh ! very well," exclaimed Miss Bates ; " then I
need not be uneasy. ' Three things very dull indeed.'
That will just do for me, you know. I shall be sure to
say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth,
sha'n't I ? (looking round with the most good-humoured
dependence on every body's assent.) Do not you all think
I shall?"
Emma could not resist.
" Ah ! ma'am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon
me, but you will be limited as to the number, — only three
at once."
Miss Bates, deceived by the mock ceremony of her man
ner, did not immediately catch her meaning ; but, when it
burst on her, it could not anger, though a slight blush
showed that it could pain her.
 EMMA.
" Ah ! well — to be sure. Yes, I see what she means
(turning to Mr. Knightley), and I will try to hold my
tongue. I must make myself very disagreeable, or she
would not have said such a thing to an old friend."
" I like your plan," cried Mr. Weston. " Agreed,
agreed. I will do my best. I am making a conundrum.
How will a conundrum reckon ? "
" Low, I am afraid, sir, very low," answered his son ;
" but we shall be indulgent, especially to any one who
leads the way."
" No, no," said Emma, " it will not reckon low. A
conundrum of Mr. Weston's shall clear him and his next
neighbour, Come, sir, pray let me hear it."
" I doubt its being very clever myself," said Mr. Wes
ton. " It is too much a matter of fact; but here it is
What two letters of the alphabet are there that express
perfection ? "
" What two letters ! — express perfection ! I am sure I
do not know."
" Ah ! you will never guess. You (to Emma), I am
certain, will never guess. I will tell you. M. and A.
Em—ma. Do you understand ? "
Understanding and gratification came together. It
might be a very indifferent piece of wit ; but Emma found
a great deal to laugh at and enjoy in it; and so did Frank
and Harriet. It did not seem to touch the rest of the
party equally ; some looked very stupid about it ; and Mr.
Knightley gravely said,—
" This explains the sort of clever thing that is wanted,
and Mr. Weston has done very well for himself ; but he
must have knocked up every body else. Perfection should
not have come quite so soon."
" Oh ! for myself, I protest I must be excused," said
Mrs. Elton. " / really cannot attempt — I am not at all
fond of the sort of thing. I had an acrostic once sent to
me upon my own name, which I was not at all pleased
with. I knew who it came from. An abominable puppy!
You know who I mean (nodding to her husband). These
kind of things are very well at Christmas, when one is
sitting round the fire ; but quite out of place, in my opinion,
 EMMA. 333
when one is exploring about the country in summer.
Miss Woodhouse must excuse me. I am not one of those
who have witty things at every body's service. I do not
pretend to be a wit. I have a great deal of vivacity in
my own way, but I really must be allowed to judge when
to speak, and when to hold my tongue. Pass us, if you
please, Mr. Churchill. Pass Mr. E., Knightley, Jane, and
myself. We have nothing clever to say, — not one of us."
" Yes, yes, pray pass me," added her husband, with a
sort of sneering consciousness ; " I have nothing to say
that can entertain Miss Woodhouse, or any other young
lady. An old married man — quite good for nothing.
Shall we walk, Augusta?"
" With all my heart. I am really tired of exploring so
long on one spot. Come, Jane, take my other arm."
Jane declined it, however, and the husband and wife
walked off. " Happy couple ! " said Frank Churchill, as
soon as they were out of hearing ; " how well they suit
one another ! Very lucky — marrying as they did, upon
an acquaintance formed only in a public place ! They
only knew each other, I think, a few weeks in Bath !
Peculiarly lucky ! for as to any real knowledge of a person's
disposition that Bath, or any public place, can give—it is all
nothing ; there can be no knowledge. It is only by seeing
women in their own homes, among their own set, just as
they always are, that you can form any just judgment.
Short of that, it is all guess and luck — and will generally
be ill-luck. How many a man has committed himself on
a short acquaintance, and rued it all the rest of his life ! "
Miss Fairfax, who had seldom spoken before, except
among her own confederates, spoke now.
" Such things do occur, undoubtedly." She was
stopped by a cough. Frank Churchill turned towards her
to listen.
" You were speaking," said he, gravely. She recovered
her voice.
" I was only going to observe, that though such unfor
tunate circumstances do sometimes occur both to men and
women, I cannot imagine them to be very frequent. A
hasty and imprudent attachment may arise — but there is
 334 EMMA.
generally time to recover from it afterwards. I would be
understood to mean, that it can be only weak, irresolute
characters (whose happiness must be always at the mercy
of chance), who will suffer an unfortunate acquaintance to
be an inconvenience, an oppression for ever."
He made no answer ; merely looked, and bowed in sub
mission ; and soon afterwards said, in a lively tone, —
" Well, I have so little confidence in my own judgment,
that whenever I marry, I hope somebody will choose my
wife for me. Will you ? (turning to Emma). Will you
choose a wife for me ? I am sure I should like any body
fixed on by you. You provide for the family, you know
(with a smile at his father). Find somebody for me. I
am in no hurry. Adopt her ; educate her."
" And make her like myself."
" By all means, if you can."
" Very well. I undertake the commission. You shall
have a charming wife."
" She must be very lively, and have hazle eyes. I care
for nothing else. I shall go abroad for a couple of years —
and when I return, I shall come to you for my wife.
Remember."
Emma was in no danger of forgetting. It was a com
mission to touch every favourite feeling. Would not Har
riet be the very creature described ? Hazle eyes excepted,
two years more might make her all that he wished. He
might even have Harriet in his thoughts at the moment ;
who could say? Referring the education to her seemed
to imply it.
" Now, ma'am," said Jane to her aunt, " shall we join
Mrs. Elton?"
" If you please, my dear. With all my heart. I am
quite ready. I was ready to have gone with her, but this
will do just as well. We shall soon overtake her. There
she is — no, that's somebody else. That's one of the
ladies in the Irish car party, not at all like her. Well, I
declare "
They walked off, followed in half a minute by Mr.
Knightley. Mr. Weston, his son, Emma, and Harriet,
only remained • and the young man's spirits now rose to a
 EMMA. 335
pitch almost unpleasant. Even Emma grew tired at last
of flattery and merriment, and wished herself rather walk
ing quietly about with any of the others, or sitting almost
alone, and quite unattended to, in tranquil observation of
the beautiful views beneath her. The appearance of the
servants looking out for them to give notice of the carriages
was a joyful sight ; and even the bustle of collecting and
preparing to depart, and the solicitude of Mrs. Elton to
have her carriage first, were gladly endured, in the pro
spect of the quiet drive home which was to close the very
questionable enjoyments of this day of pleasure. Such an
other scheme, composed of so many ill-assorted people,
she hoped never to be betrayed into again.
While waiting for the carriage, she found Mr. Knight-
ley by her side. He looked around, as if to see that no
one were near, and then said,—
" Emma, I must once more speak to you as I have been
used to do : a privilege rather endured than allowed, per
haps ; but I must still use it. I cannot see you acting
wrong, without a remonstrance. How could you be so
unfeeling to Miss Bates ? How could you be so insolent
in your wit to a woman of her character, age, and situ
ation ? Emma, I had not thought it possible."
Emma recollected, blushed, was sorry, but tried to
laugh it off".
" Nay, how could I help saying what I did ? Nobody
could have helped it. It was not so very bad. I dare say
she did not understand me."
" I assure you she did. She felt your full meaning.
She has talked of it since. I wish you could have heard
how she talked of it— with what candour and generosity.
I wish you could have heard her honouring your forbear
ance, in being able to pay her such attentions, as she was
for ever receiving from yourself and your father, when her
society must be so irksome."
" Oh !" cried Emma, " I know there is not a better
creature in the world : but you must allow, that what is
good and what is ridiculous are most unfortunately blended
in her."
" They are blended," said he, " I acknowledge ; and.
 EMMA.
were she prosperous, I could allow much for the occasional
prevalence of the ridiculous over the good. Were she a wo
man of fortune, I would leave her every harmless absurdity
to take its chance, I would not quarrel with you for any
liberties of manner. Were she your equal in situation —
but, Emma, consider how far this is from being the case.
She is poor ; she has sunk from the comforts she was
born to ; and if she live to old age, must probably sink
more. Her situation |should secure your compassion. It
was badly done, indeed ! You, whom she had known from
an infant, whom she had seen grow up from a period when
her notice was an honour, — to have you now, in thoughtless
spirits, and the pride of the moment, laugh at her, humble
her —and before her niece, too — and before others, many
of whom (certainly some) would be entirely guided by your
treatment of her. This is not pleasant to you, Emma —
and it is very far from pleasant to me ; but I must, I will,
— I will tell you truths while I can ; satisfied with proving
myself your friend by very faithful counsel, and trusting
that you will some time or other do me greater justice than
you can do now."
While they talked, they were advancing towards the car
riage ; it was ready ; and, before she could speak again, he
had handed her in. He had misinterpreted the feelings
which had kept her face averted, and her tongue motionless.
They were combined only of anger against herself, morti
fication, and deep concern. She had not been able to speak ;
and, on entering the carriage, sunk back for a moment
overcome ; then reproaching herself for having taken no
leave, making no acknowledgment, parting in apparent
sullenness, she looked out with voice and hand eager to
show a difference ; but it was just too late. He had
turned away, and the horses were in motion. She continued
to look back, but in vain ; and soon, with what appeared
unusual speed, they were half way down the hill, and every
thing left far behind. She was vexed beyond what could
have been expressed—almost beyond what she could con
ceal. Never had she felt so agitated, mortified, grieved, at
any circumstance in her life. She was most forcibly struck
The truth of his representation there was no denying. She
 J3MMA. 337
felt it at her heart. How could she have been so brutal, so
cruel to Miss Bates ! How could she have exposed herself
to such ill opinion in any one she valued ! And how suffer
him to leave her without saying one word of gratitude, of
concurrence, of common kindness !
Time did not compose her. As she reflected more, she
seemed but to feel it more. She never had been so de
pressed. Happily it was not necessary to speak. There
was only Harriet, who seemed not in spirits herself, fagged,
and very willing to be silent; and Emma felt the tears
running down her cheeks almost all the way home, with-
out being at any trouble to check them, extraordinary as
they were.

CHAPTER VIII.
The wretchedness of a scheme to Box Hill was in Emma's
thoughts all the evening. How it might be considered by
the rest of the party, she could not tell. They, in their
different homes, and their different ways, might be looking
back on it with pleasure ; but in her view it was a morn
ing more completely mis-spent, more totally bare of rational
satisfaction at the time, and more to be abhorred in recol
lection, than any she had ever passed. A whole evening
of backgammon with her father was felicity to it. There,
indeed, lay real pleasure, for there she was giving up the
sweetest hours of the twenty-four to his comfort ; and feel
ing that, unmerited as might be the degree of his fond af
fection and confiding esteem, she could not, in her general
conduct, be open to any severe reproach. As a daughter,
she hoped she was not without a heart. She hoped no one
could have said to her, " How could you be so unfeeling
to your father? — I must, I will tell you truths while I
can." Miss Bates should never again — no never ! If at
tention, in future, could do away the past, she might hope
to be forgiven. She had been often remiss, her conscience
z
338
told her so ; remiss, perhaps, more in thought than fact ;
scornful, ungracious. But it should he so no more. In
the warmth of true contrition, she would call upon her the
very next morning, and it should be the beginning, on her
side, of a regular, equal, kindly intercourse.
She was just as determined when the morrow came, and
went early, that nothing might prevent her. It was not
unlikely, she thought, that she might see Mr. Knightley in
her way ; or, perhaps, he might come in while she were
paying her visit. She had no objection. She would not
be ashamed of the appearance of the penitence, so justly
and truly hers. Her eyes were towards Donwell as she
walked, but she saw him not.
" The ladies were all at home." She had never rejoiced
at the sound before, nor ever before entered the passage,
nor walked up the stairs, with any wish of giving pleasure,
but in conferring obligation, or of deriving it, except in
subsequent ridicule.
There was a bustle on her approach ; a good deal of
moving and talking. She heard Miss Bates's voice; some
thing was to be done in a hurry ; the maid looked fright
ened and awkward ; hoped she would be pleased to wait a
moment, and then ushered her in too soon. The aunt and
niece seemed both escaping into the adjoining room. Jane
she had a distinct glimpse of, looking extremely ill ; and,
before the door had shut them out, she heard Miss Bates
saying, " Well, my dear, I shall say you are laid down
upon the bed, and I am sure you are ill enough."
Poor old Mrs. Bates, civil and humble as usual, looked
as if she did not quite understand what was going on.
" I am afraid Jane is not very well," said she, " but I
do not know ; they tell me she is well. I dare say my
daughter will be here presently, Miss Woodhouse. I hope
you find a chair. I wish Hetty had not gone. I am very
little able — have you a chair, ma'am ? Do you sit where
you like ? I am sure she will be here presently."
Emma seriously hoped she would. She had a moment's
fear of Miss Bates keeping away from her. But Miss
Bates soon came — " Very happy and obliged," — but
Emma's conscience told her that there was not the same
 EMMA. 339
cheerful volubility as before, — less ease of look and man
ner. A very friendly enquiry after Miss Fairfax, she
hoped, might lead the way to a return of old feelings. The
touch seemed immediate.
" Ah, Miss Woodhouse, how kind you are ! I suppose
you have heard — and are come to give us joy. This does
not seem much like joy, indeed, in me (twinkling away a
tear or two) ; but it will be very trying for us to part with
her, after having had her so long ; and she has a dreadful
headach just now, writing all the morning: such long let
ters, you know, to be written to Colonel Campbell and
Mrs. Dixon. ' My dear,' said I, ' you will blind yourself,'
for tears were in her eyes perpetually. One cannot wonder,
one cannot wonder. It is a great change ; and though she
is amazingly fortunate, — such a situation, I suppose, as no
young woman before ever met with on first going out ; do
not think us ungrateful, Miss Woodhouse, for such sur
prising good fortune (again dispersing her tears) — but,
poor dear soul ; if you were to see what a headach she has.
When one is in geat pain, you know one cannot feel any
blessing quite as it may deserve. She is as low as possible.
To look at her, nobody would think how delighted and
happy she is to have secured such a situation. You will
excuse her not coming to you, she is not able, she is gone
into her own room. I want her to lie down upon the
bed. ' My dear,' said I, ' I shall say you are laid down
upon the bed : ' but, however, she is not ; she is walking
about the room. But, now that she has written her letters,
she says she shall soon he well. She will be extremely
sorry to miss seeing you, Miss Woodhouse, but your kind
ness will excuse her. You were kept waiting at the door ;
I was quite ashamed ; but somehow there was a little
bustle ; for it so happened, that we had not heard the
knock ; and, till you were on the stairs, we did not know
any body was coming. ' It is only Mrs. Cole,' said I,
• depend upon it ; nobody else would come so early.'—
' Well,' said she, ' it must be borne some time or other,
and it may as well be now.' But then Patty came in, and
said it was you. ' Oh ! ' said I, ' it is Miss Woodhouse,
I am sure you will like to see her.' — I can see nobody,'
340 EMMA.
said she, and up she got, and would go away ; and that
was what made us keep you waiting ; and extremely sorry
and ashamed we were. ' If you must go, my dear,' said I,
' you must, and I will say you are laid down upon the
bed.' "
Emma was most sincerely interested. Her heart had
been long growing kinder towards Jane; and this picture
of her present sufferings acted as a cure of every former
ungenerous suspicion, and left her nothing but pity ; and
the remembrance of the less just and less gentle sensations
of the past, obliged her to admit that Jane might very
naturally resolve, on seeing Mrs. Cole, or any other steady
friend, when she might not bear to see herself. She spoke
as she felt, with earnest regret and solicitude ; sincerely
wishing that the circumstances which she collected from
Miss Bates to be now actually determined on, might be as
much for Miss Fairfax's advantage and comfort as possible.
" It must be a severe trial to them all. She had under
stood it was to be delayed till Colonel Campbell's return."
" So very kind ! " replied Miss Bates ; " but you are
always kind."
There was no bearing such an " always ;" and to break
through her dreadful gratitude, Emma made the direct en
quiry of —
" Where, may I ask, is Miss Fairfax going ? "
" To a Mrs. Smallridge, — charming woman, — most
superior, — to have the charge of her three little girl***—
delightful children. Impossible that any situation could be
more replete with comfort ; if we except, perhaps, Mrs.
Suckling's own family, and Mrs. Bragge's ; but Mrs. Small
ridge is intimate with both, and in the very same neigh
bourhood: — lives only four miles from Maple Grove. Jane
will be only four miles from Maple Grove."
" Mrs. Elton, I suppose, has been the person, to whom
Miss Fairfax owes "
" Yes, our good Mrs. Elton. The most indefatigable,
true friend. She would not take a denial. She would not
let Jane say, ' No;' for when Jane first heard of it, (it
was the day before yesterday, the very morning we were at
Donwell,) when Jane first heard of it, she was quite de
 EMMA. 341
tided against accepting the offer, and for the reasons you
mention ; exactly as you say, she had made up her mind
to close with nothing till Colonel Campbell's return, and
nothing should induce her to enter into any engagement at
present — and so she told Mrs. Elton over and over again
— and I am sure I had no more idea that she would
change her mind ; — but that good Mrs. Elton, whose
judgment never fails her, saw farther than I did. It is
not every body that would have stood out in such a kind
way as she did, and refuse to take Jane's answer ; but she
positively declared she would not write any such denial
yesterday, as Jane wished her ; she would wait — and,
sure enough, yesterday evening, it was all settled that Jane
should go. Quite a surprise to me ! I had not the least
idea ! — Jane took Mrs. Elton aside, and told her at once,
that upon thinking over the advantages of Mrs. Suckling's
situation, she had come to the resolution of accepting it.
I did not know a word of it till it was all settled."
" You spent the evening with Mrs. Elton ? "
" Yes, all of us ; Mrs. Elton would have us come. It
was settled so, upon the hill, while we were walking about
with Mr. Knightley. ' You must all spend your evening
with us,' said she —' I positively must have you all come.' "
" Mr. Knightley was there too, was he ? "
" No, not Mr. Knightley ; he declined it from the first ;
and though I thought he would come, because Mrs. Elton de
clared she would not let him off, he did not ; but my mo
ther, and Jane, and I, were all there, and a very agreeable
evening we had. Such kind friends, you know, Miss Wood-
house, one must always find agreeable, though every body
seemed rather fagged after the morning's party. Even
pleasure, you know, is fatiguing — and I cannot say that
any of them seemed very much to have enjoyed it. How
ever, / shall always think it a very pleasant party, and feel
extremely obliged to the kind friends who included me
in it.
" Miss Fairfax, I suppose, though you were not aware
of it, had been making up her mind the whole day."
" I dare say she had."
* *' Whenever the time may come, it must be unwelcome
z 3
342 EMMA.
to her and all her friends — but I hope her engagement
will have every alleviation that is possible — I mean, as to
the character and manners of the family."
" Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse. Yes, indeed,
there is every thing in the world that can make her happy
in it. Except the Sucklings and Bragges, there is not
such another nursery establishment, so liberal and elegant,
in all Mrs. Elton's acquaintance. Mrs. Smallridge, a most
delightful woman ! A style of living almost equal to
Maple Grove — and as to the children, except the little
Sucklings and little Bragges, there are not such elegant
sweet children any where. Jane will be treated with such
regard and kindness ! It will be nothing but pleasure, a
life of pleasure. And her salary — I really cannot venture
to name her salary to you, Miss Woodhouse. Even you,
used as you are to great sums, would hardly believe
that so much could be given to a young person like
Jane."
" Ah, madam," cried Emma, " if other children are
at all like what I remember to have been myself, I should
think five times the amount of what I have ever yet heard
named as a salary on such occasions dearly earned."
" You are so noble in your ideas."
" And when is Miss Fairfax to leave you ? "
" Very soon, very soon, indeed ; that's the worst of it
Within a fortnight. Mrs. Smallridge is in a great hurry.
My poor mother does not know how to bear it. So then,
I try to put it out of her thoughts, and say, ' Come,
ma'am, do not let us think about it any more.' "
" Her friends must all be sorry to lose her ; and will
not Colonel and Mrs. Campbell be sorry to find that she
has engaged herself before their return? '"
" Yes ; Jane says she is sure they will ; but yet, this
is such a situation as she cannot feel herself justified in de
clining. I was so astonished when she first told me what
she had been saying to Mrs. Elton, and when Mrs. Elton
at the same moment came congratulating me upon it It
was before tea — stay — no, it could not be before tea,
because we were just going to cards — and yet it was be
fore tea, because I remember thinking — oh no, now I
 343
recollect, now I have it ; something happened before tea,
but not that. Mr. Elton was called out of the room before
tea, old John Abdy's son wanted to speak with him. Poor
old John, I have a great regard for him ; he was clerk
to my poor father twenty-seven years ; and now, poor old
man, he is bed-ridden, and very poorly with the rheumatic
gout in his joints — I must go and see him to-day ; and
so will Jane, I am sure, if she gets out at all. And poor
John's son came to talk to Mr. Elton about relief from the
parish: he is very well to do himself, you know, being
head man at the Crown, ostler, and every thing of that
sort, but still he cannot keep his father without some help ;
and so, when Mr. Elton came back, he told us what
John ostler had been telling him, and then it came out
about the chaise having been sent to Randalls to take
Mr. Frank Churchill to Richmond. That was what hap
pened before tea. It was after tea that Jane spoke to
Mrs. Elton."
Miss Bates would hardly give Emma time to say how
perfectly new this circumstance was to her ; but as with
out supposing it possible that she could be ignorant of any
of the particulars of Mr. Frank Churchill's going, she pro
ceeded to give them all, it was of no consequence.
What Mr. Elton had learned from the ostler on the
subject, being the accumulation of the ostler's own know
ledge, and the knowledge of the servants at Randalls, was,
that a messenger had come over from Richmond soon after
the return of the party from Box Hill — which messenger,
however, had been no more than was expected ; and that
Mr. Churchill had sent his nephew a few lines, containing,
upon the whole, a tolerable account of Mrs. Churchill, and
only wishing him not to delay coming back beyond the
next morning early ; but that Mr. Frank Churchill having
resolved to go home directly, without waiting at all, and
his horse seeming to have got a cold, Tom had been sent
off immediately for the Crown chaise, and the ostler had
stood out and seen it pass by, the boy going a good pace,
and driving very steady.
There was nothing in all this either to astonish or in
terest, and it caught Emma's attention only as it united
z 4
 EMMA.
with the subject which already engaged her mind. The
contrast between Mrs. Churchill's importance in the world,
and Jane Fairfax's, struck her ; one was every thing, the
other nothing — and she sat musing on the difference of
woman's destiny, and quite unconscious on what her eyes
were fixed, till roused by Miss Bates's saying, —
" Ay, I see what you are thinking of, the piano-forte.
What is to become of that? Very true. Poor dear Jane
was talking of it just now. ' You must go,' said she.
' You and I must part. You will have no business here.
Let it stay, however,' said she ; ' give it house-room till
Colonel Campbell comes back. I shall talk about it to him ;
he will settle for me ; he will help me out of all my diffi
culties.'— And to this day, I do believe, she knows not
whether it was his present or his daughter's."
Now Emma was obliged to think of the piano-forte ;
and the remembrance of all her former fanciful and unfair
conjectures was so little pleasing, that she soon allowed
herself to believe her visit had been long enough ; and,
with a repetition of every thing that she could venture to
say of the good wishes which she really felt, took leave.

CHAPTER IX.
Emma's pensive meditations, as she walked home, were not
interrupted ; but on entering the parlour, she found those
who must rouse her. Mr. Knightley and Harriet had
arrived during her absence, and were sitting with her
father. Mr. Knightley immediately got up, and, in a
manner decidedly graver than usual, said,—
" I would not go away without seeing you, but I have
no time to spare, and therefore must now be gone directly.
I am going to London, to spend a few days with John and
Isabella Have you any thing to send or say, besides the
'. love,' which nobody carries ? "
" Nothing at all. But is not this a sudden scheme ? "
 EMMA. 345
" Yes— rather— I have been thinking of it some little
time.
Emma was sure he had not forgiven her ; he looked
unlike himself. Time, however, she thought, would tell
him that they ought to be friends again. While he stood,
as if meaning to go, but not going — her father began his
enquiries.
" Well, my dear, and did you get there safely? — And
how did you find my worthy old friend and her daughter?
— I dare say they must have been very much obliged to
you for coming. Dear Emma has been to call on Mrs.
and Miss Bates, Mr. Knightley, as I told you before. She
is always so attentive to them."
Emma's colour was heightened by this unjust praise; and
with a smile and shake of the head, which spoke much, she
looked at Mr. Knightley. It seemed as if there were
an instantaneous impression in her favour, as if his eyes
received the truth from hers, and all that had passed of
good in her feelings were at once caught and honoured.
He looked at her with a glow of regard. She was warmly
gratified — and in another moment still more so, by a little
movement of more than common friendliness on his part.
He took her hand ; — whether she had not herself made the
first motion, she could not say — she might, perhaps, have
rather offered it — but he took her hand, pressed it, and
certainly was on the point of carrying it to his lips —when,
from some fancy or other, he suddenly let it go. Why he
should feel such a scruple, why he should change his mind
when it was all but done, she could not perceive. He
would have judged better, she thought, if he had not stop
ped. The intention, however, was indubitable ; and whe
ther it was that his manners had in general so little"gal
lantry, or however else it happened, but she thought
nothing became him more. It was with him, of so simple,
yet so dignified a nature. She could not but recall the
attempt with great satisfaction. It spoke such perfect
amity. He left them immediately afterwards — gone in a
moment. He always moved with the alertness of a mind
which could neither be undecided nor dilatory, but now he
seemed more sudden than usual in his disappearance.
346 EMMA.
Emma could not regret her having gone to Miss Bates,
but she wished she had left her ten minutes earlier; — it
would have been a great pleasure to talk over Jane Fair
fax's situation with Mr. Knightley. Neither would she
regret that he should be going to Brunswick Square, for
she knew how much his visit would be enjoyed — but
it might have happened at a better time — and to have had
longer notice of it, would have been pleasanter. They
parted thorough friends, however ; she could not be de.
ceived as to the meaning of his countenance, and his
unfinished gallantry ; — it was all done to assure her that
she had fully recovered his good opinion. He had been
sitting with them half an hour, she found. It was a pity
that she had not come back earlier.
In the hope of diverting her father's thoughts from the
disagreeableness of Mr. Knightley's going to London ; and
going so suddenly ; and going on horseback, which she
knew would be all very bad ; Emma communicated her
news of Jane Fairfax, and her dependence on the effect
was justified; it supplied a very useful check, — interested,
without disturbing him. He had long made up his mind
to Jane Fairfax's going out as governess, and could talk of
it cheerfully, but Mr. Knightley's going to London had
been an unexpected blow.
" I am very glad, indeed, my dear, to hear she is to be
so comfortably settled. Mrs. Elton is very good-natured
and agreeable, and I dare say her acquaintance are just
what they ought to be. I hope it is a dry situation, and
that her health will be taken good care of. It ought to be
a first object, as I am sure poor Miss Taylor's always was
with me. You know, my dear, she is going to be to this
new lady what Miss Taylor was to us. And I hope she
will be better off in one respect, and not be induced to go
away after it has been her home so long."
The following day brought news from Richmond to
throw every thing else into the back-ground. An express
arrived at Randalls to announce the death of Mrs.
Churchill. Though her nephew had had no particular
reason to hasten back on her account, she had not lived
above six-and-thirty hours after his return. A sudden
 EMMA. 347
seizure, of a different nature from any thing foreboded hy
her general state, had carried her off after a short struggle.
The great Mrs. Churchill was no more.
It was felt as such things must be felt. Every body had
a degree of gravity and sorrow ; tenderness towards the
departed, solicitude for the surviving friends ; and, in a
reasonable time, curiosity to know where she would be
buried. Goldsmith tells us, that when lovely woman stoops
to folly, she has nothing to do but to die ; and when she
stoops to be disagreeable, it is equally to be recommended
as a clearer of ill fame. Mrs. Churchill, after being dis
liked at least twenty, five years, was now spoken of with
compassionate allowances. In one point she was fully
justified. She had never been admitted before to be
seriously ill. The event acquitted her of all the fanciful-
ness, and all the selfishness of imaginary complaints.
" Poor Mrs. Churchill ! no doubt she had been suffering
a great deal : more than any body had ever supposed— and
continual pain would try the temper. It was a sad event—
a great shock — with all her faults, what would Mr.
Churchill do without her ? Mr. Churchill's loss would be
dreadful, indeed. Mr. Churchill would never get over it."
Even Mr. Weston shook his head, and looked solemn, and
said, "Ah, poor woman, who would have thought it!",
and resolved, that his mourning should be as handsome as
possible ; and his wife sat sighing and moralising over her
broad hems with a commiseration and good sense true and
steady. How it would affect Frank was among the earliest
thoughts of both. It was also a very early speculation with
Emma. The character of Mrs. Churchill, the grief of her
husband — her mind glanced over them both with awe and
compassion — and then rested with lightened feelings on
how Frank might be affected by the event, how benefited,
how freed. She saw in a moment all the possible good.
Now an attachment to Harriet Smith would have nothing
to encounter. Mr. Churchill, independent of his wife, was
feared by nobody ; an easy, guidable man, to be persuaded
into any thing by his nephew. All that remained to be
wished was, that the nephew should form the attachment,
348 EMMA.
ag, with all her good will in the cause, Emma could feel no
certainty of its being already formed.
Harriet behaved extremely well on the occasion, with
great self-command. Whatever she might feel of brighter
hope, she betrayed nothing. Emma was gratified to ob
serve such a proof in her of strengthened character, and
refrained from any allusion that might endanger its main
tenance. They spoke, therefore, of Mrs. Churchill's death
with mutual forbearance.
Short letters from Frank were received at Randalls,
communicating all that was immediately important of their
state and plans. Mr. Churchill was better than could be
expected ; and their first removal, on the departure of the
funeral for Yorkshire, was to be to the house of a very old
friend in Windsor, to whom Mr. Churchill had been pro
mising a visit the last ten years. At present, there was
nothing to be done for Harriet ; good wishes for the future
were all that could yet be possible on Emma's side.
It was a more pressing concern to show attention to
Jane Fairfax, whose prospects were closing, while Harriet's
opened, and whose engagements now allowed of no delay
in any one at Highbury, who wished to show her kindness
— and with Emma it was grown into a first wish. She
had scarcely a stronger regret than for her past coldness ;
and the person, whom she had been so many months neg
lecting, was now the very one on whom she would have
lavished every distinction of regard or sympathy. She
wanted to be of use to her ; wanted to show a value for
her society, and testify respect and consideration. She re
solved to prevail on her to spend a day at Hartfield. A
note was written to urge it. The invitation was refused,
and by a verbal message. " Miss Fairfax was not well
enough to write ;" and when Mr. Perry called at Hartfield,
the same morning, it appeared that she was so much
indisposed as to have been visited, though against her own
consent, by himself, and that she was suffering under severe
headachs, and a nervous fever to a degree, which made him
doubt the possibility of her going to Mrs. Smallridge's at
the time proposed. Her health seemed for the moment
completely deranged—appetite quite gone — and though
 EMMA.
there were no absolutely alarming symptoms, nothing touch-
ing the pulmonary complaint, which was the standing ap
prehension of the family, Mr. Perry was uneasy about her.
He thought she had undertaken more than she was equal
to, and that she felt it so herself, though she would not own
it. Her spirits seemed overcome. Her present home, he
could not but observe, was unfavourable to a nervous dis
order ; — confined always to one room ; — he could have
wished it otherwise ; — and her good aunt, though his very
old friend, he must acknowledge to be not the best com
panion for an invalid of that description. Her care and
attention could not be questioned ; they were, in fact, only
too graet. He very much feared that Miss Fairfax derived
more evil than good from them. Emma listened with the
warmest concern ; grieved for her more and more, and
looked around eager to discover some way of being useful.
To take her —be it only an hour or two — from her aunt,
to give her change of air and scene, and quiet rational con
versation, even for an hour or two, might do her good ;
and the following morning she wrote again to say, in the
most feeling language she could command, that she would
call for her in the carriage at any hour that Jane would
name — mentioning that she had Mr. Perry's decided
opinion, in favour of such exercise for his patient. The
answer was only in this short note : —
" Miss Fairfax's compliments and thanks, but is quite
unequal to any exercise."
Emma felt that her own note had deserved something
better ; but it was impossible to quarrel with words, whose
tremulous inequality showed indisposition so plainly, and
she thought only of how she might best counteract this
unwillingness to be seen or assisted. In spite of the answer,
therefore, she ordered the carriage, and drove to Mrs.
Bates's, in the hope that Jane would be induced to join
her — but it would not do ; —Miss Bates came to the car
riage door, all gratitude, and agreeing with her most
earnestly in thinking an airing might be of the greatest
service — and every thing that message could do was tried
— but all in vain. Miss Bates was obliged to return
without success ; Jane was quite unpersuadable ; the
350 EMMA.
mere proposal of going out seemed to make her worse.
Emma wished she could have seen her, and tried her own
powers ; but, almost before she could hint the wish, Miss
Bates made it appear that she had promised her niece on
no account to let Miss Woodhouse in. " Indeed, the truth
was, that poor dear Jane could not bear to see anybody —
any body at all — Mrs. Elton, indeed, could not be denied —
and Mrs. Cole had made such a point — and Mrs Perry
had said so much — but, except them, Jane would really
see nobody."
Emma did not want to be classed with the Mrs. Eltons,
the Mrs. Perrys, and the Mrs. Coles, who would force
themselves any where ; neither could she feel any right of
preference herself— she submitted, therefore, and only
questioned Miss Bates farther as to her niece's appetite
and diet, which she longed to be able to assist. On that
subject poor Miss Bates was very unhappy, and very com
municative; Jane would hardly eat any thing: —Mr. Perry
recommended nourishing food ; but every thing they could
command (and never had any body such good neighbours)
was distasteful.
Emma, on reaching home, called the housekeeper directly
to an examination of her stores ; and some arrow-root of
very superior quality was speedily despatched to Miss Bates
with a most friendly note. In half an hour the arrow-root
was returned, with a thousand thanks from Miss Bates,
but "dear Jane would not be satisfied without its being
sent back ; it was a thing she could not take — and, more
over, she insisted on her saying, that she was not at all in
want of any thing."
When Emma afterwards heard that Jane Fairfax had
been seen wandering about the meadows, at some distance
from Highbury, on the afternoon of the very day on which
she had, under the plea of being unequal to any exercise,
so peremptorily refused to go out with her in the carriage,
she could have no doubt — putting every thing together —
that Jane was resolved to receive no kindness from her.
She was sorry, very sorry. Her heart was grieved for a
state which seemed but the more pitiable from this sort of
irritation of spirits, inconsistency of action, and inequality
 EMMA. 351
of powers ; and it mortified her that she was given so little
credit for proper feeling, or esteemed so little worthy as a
friend : but she had the consolation of knowing that her
intentions were good, and of being able to say to herself,
that could Mr. Knightley have been privy to all her
attempts of assisting Jane Fairfax, could he even have
seen into her heart, he would not, on this occasion, have
found any thing to reprove.

CHAPTER X.
One morning, about ten days after Mrs. Churchill's decease,
Emma was called down stairs to Mr. Weston, who " could
not stay five minutes, and wanted particularly to speak
with her."— He met her at the parlour door, and hardly
asking her how she did, in the natural key of his voice,
sunk it immediately, to say, unheard by her father,—
" Can you come to Randalls at any time this morning ?
—Do, if it be possible. Mrs. Weston wants to see you.
She must see you."
" Is she unwell ?"
" No, no, not at all— only a little agitated. See would
have ordered the carriage, and come to you, but she must
see you alone, and that you know (nodding towards her
father) — Humph ! can you come ?"
" Certainly. This moment, if you please. It is im
possible to refuse what you ask in such a way, but what
can be the matter ? is she really not ill ?"
" Depend upon me, but ask no more questions. You
will know it all in time. The most unaccountable business !
But hush, hush ! "
To guess what all this meant was impossible even for Em
ma. Something really important seemed announced by his
looks; but, as her friend was well, she endeavoured not to be
uneasy, and settling it with her father, that she would take
her walk now, she and Mr. Weston were soon out of the
 352 EMMA.
house together, and on their way at a quick pace for
Randalls.
" Now," said Emma, when they were fairly beyond the
sweep gates — now, Mr. Weston, do let me know what
has happened."
" No, no," he gravely replied. " Don't ask me. I
promised my wife to leave it all to her. She will break it
to you better than I can. Do not be impatient, Emma ;
it will all come out too soon."
" Break it to me," cried Emma, standing still with
terror. " Good God ! Mr. Weston, tell me at once.
Something has happened in Brunswick Square. I know it
has. Tell me, I charge you tell me this moment what
it is."
" No, indeed, you are mistaken."
" Mr. Weston do not trifle with me. Consider how
many of my dearest friends are now in Brunswick Square.
Which of them is it ? I charge you by all that is sacred
not to attempt concealment."
" Upon my word, Emma."
" Your word ! why not your honour ! why not say
upon your honour, that it has nothing to do with any of
them ? Good heavens ! What can be to be broke to me,
that does relate to one of that family ?"
" Upon my honour,'' said he very seriously, " it does
not. It is not in the smallest degree connected with any
human being of the name of Knightley."
Emma's courage returned, and she walked on.
" I was wrong," he continued, " in talking of its being
broke to you. I should not have used the expression. In
fact, it does not concern you, it concerns only myself ; —
that is, we hope. Humph !—In short, my dear Emma,
there is no occasion to be so uneasy about it. I don't say
that it is not a disagreeable business, but things might be
much worse. If we walk fast, we shall soon be at
Randalls."
Emma found that she must wait ; and now it required
little effort. She asked no more questions therefore, merely
employed her own fancy, and that soon pointed out to her
the probability of its being some money concern,—something
 EMMA.
just come to light, of a disagreeable nature in the circum
stances of the family; something which the late event at
Richmond had brought forward. Her fancy was very
active. Half a dozen natural children, perhaps, and poor
Frank cut off! This, though very undesirable, would be no
matter of agony to her. It inspired little more than an
animating curiosity.
" Who is that gentleman on horseback ?" said she, as
they proceeded; speaking more to assist Mr. Weston in
keeping his secret, than with any other view.
" I do not know. One of the Otways. — Not Frank ;
it is not Frank, I assure you. You will not see him. He
is half way to Windsor by this time."
" Has your son been with you, then ?"
" Oh ! yes, did not you know ? Well, well, never
mind."
For a moment he was silent ; and then added, in a tone
much more guarded and demure, —
" Yes, Frank came over this morning, just to ask us how
we did." .
They hurried on, and were speedily at Randalls. —
" Well, my dear," said he, as they entered the room, — " I
have brought her, and now I hope you will soon be better.
I shall leave you together. There is no use in delay. I
shall not be far off, if you want me."—And Emma dis
tinctly heard him add, in a lower tone, before he quitted
the room, — " I have been as good as my word. She has
not the least idea."
Mrs. Weston was looking so ill, and had an air of so
much perturbation, that Emma's uneasiness increased ; and
the moment they were alone, she eagerly said, —
" What is it, my dear friend ? Something of a very un
pleasant nature, I find, has occurred; — do let me know
directly what it is. I have been walking all this way in
complete suspense. We both abhor suspense. Do not let
mine continue longer. It will do you good to speak of
your distress, whatever it may be."
" Have you, indeed, no idea?" said Mrs. Weston in a
trembling voice. "Cannot you, my dear Emma — cannot
you form a guess as to what you are to hear ? "
a \
354 EMMA.
" So far as that it relates to Mr. Frank Churchill, I do
guess."
" You are right. It does relate to him, and I will tell
you directly ; " (resuming her work, and seeming resolved
against looking up.) " He has been here this very morn
ing, on a most extraordinary errand. It is impossible to
express our surprise. He came to speak to his father on
a subject, — to announce an attachment "
She stopped to breathe. Emma thought first of herself,
and then of Harriet.
" More than an attachment, indeed," resumed Mrs.
Weston : " an engagement — a positive engagement. What
will you say, Emma — what will any body say — when it is
known that Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax are engaged ;
nay, that they have been long engaged?"
Emma even jumped with surprise ; and, horror-struck,
exclaimed, —
" Jane Fairfax ! Good God ! You are not serious ?
You do not mean it ?"
" You may well be amazed," returned Mrs. Weston,
still averting her eyes, and talking on with eagerness, that
Emma might have time to recover — you may well be
amazed. But it is even so. There has been a solemn en
gagement between them ever since October, — formed at
Weymouth, and kept a secret from every body. Not a
creature knowing it but themselves — neither the Camp
bells, nor her'' family, nor his. It is so wonderful, that,
though perfectly convinced of the fact, it is yet almost in
credible to myself. I can hardly believe it. I thought I
knew him."
Emma scarcely heard what was said. Her mind was
divided between two ideas : her own former conversations
with him about Miss Fairfax ; and poor Harriet : and for
some time she could only exclaim, and require confirmation,
repeated confirmation.
"Well!" said she at last, trying to recover herself;
" this is a circumstance which I must think of at least
half a day, before I can at all comprehend it. What ! —
engaged to her all the winter — before either of them came
to Highbury ? "
 EMMA. 355
- " Engaged since October, — secretly 'engaged. It has
hurt me, Emma, very much. It has hurt his father equally.
Some part of his conduct we cannot excuse."
Emma pondered a moment, and then replied, — "I will
not pretend not to understand you ; and to give you all
the relief in my power, be assured that no such effect has
followed his attentions to me, as you are apprehensive of."
Mrs. Weston looked up, afraid to believe ; but Emma's
countenance was as steady as her words.
" That you may have less difficulty in believing this
boast, of my present perfect indifference," she continued,
" I will farther tell you, that there was a period in the
early part of our acquaintance, when I did like him — when
I was very much disposed to be attached to him ; nay, was
attached — and how it came to cease, is perhaps the wonder.
Fortunately, however, it did cease. I have really for some
time past, for at least these three months, cared nothing
about him. You may believe me, Mrs. Weston. This is
the simple truth."
Mrs. Weston kissed her with tears of joy ; and when she
could find utterance, assured her, that this protestation had
done her more good than any thing else in the world could do.
" Mr. Weston will be almost as much relieved as my
self," said she. " On this point we have been wretched.
It was our darling wish that you might be attached to each
other, and we were persuaded that it was so. Imagine
what we have been feeling on your account."
" I have escaped ; and that I should escape, may be a
matter of grateful wonder to you and myself. But this
does not acquit him, Mrs. Weston ; and I must say, that I
think him greatly to blame. What right had he to come
among us with affection and faith engaged, and with man
ners so very disengaged ? What right had he to endeavour
to please, as he certainly did — to distinguish any one young
woman with persevering attention, as he certainly did,
while he really belonged to another ? How could he tell
what mischief he might be doing ? — How could he tell
that he might not be making me in love with him ? Very
wrong, very wrong indeed."
aa 2
 356 EMMA.
" From something that he said, my dear Emma, I rather
imagine "
" And how could she bear such behaviour ? Composure
with a witness ! to look on, while repeated attentions were
offering to another woman before her face, and not resent
it. That is a degree of placidity, which I can neither
comprehend nor respect."
" There were misunderstandings between them, Emma ;
he said so expressly. He had not time to enter into much
explanation. He was here only a quarter of an hour, and
in a state of agitation which did not allow the full use even
of the time he could stay —but that there had been misun
derstandings he decidedly said. The present crisis, indeed,
seemed to be brought on by them ; and those misunder
standings might very possibly arise from the impropriety of
his conduct."
" Impropriety ! Oh ! Mrs. Weston, it is too calm a
censure. Much, much beyond impropriety ! It has sunk
him — I cannot say how it has sunk him in my opinion. So
unlike what a man should be ! None of that upright in
tegrity, that strict adherence to truth and principle, that
disdain of trick and littleness, which a man should display
in every transaction of his life."
" Nay, dear Emma, now I must take his part ; for
though he has been wrong in this instance, I have known
him long enough to answer for his having many, very many
good qualities ; and "
" Good God!" cried Emma, not attending to her. —
Mrs. Smallridge, too ! Jane actually on the point of going
as governess ! What could he mean by such horrible in
delicacy ? To suffer her to engage herself— to suffer her
even to think of such a measure ! "
" He knew nothing about it, Emma. On this article I
can fully acquit him. It was a private resolution of hers,
not communicated to him, or at least not communicated in
a way to carry conviction. Till yesterday, I know, he said
he was in the dark as to her plans. They burst on him, I
do not know how, but by some' letter or message — and it
was the discovery of what she was doing, of this very pro
ject of hers, which determined him to come forward at
 EMMA.
once, own it all to his uncle, throw himself on his kindness,
and, in short, put an end to the miserable state of conceal
ment that had been carrying on so long."
Emma began to listen better.
" I am to hear from him soon," continued Mrs. Weston.
" He told me at parting, that he should soon write ; and he
spoke in a manner which seemed to promise me many par
ticulars that could not be given now. Let us wait, there
fore, for this letter. It may bring many extenuations. It
may make many things intelligible and excusable which
now are not to be understood. Don't let us be severe ;
don't let us be in a hurry to condemn him. Let us have
patience. I must love him ; and now that I am satisfied
on one point, the one material point, I am sincerely anxious
for its all turning out well, and ready to hope that it may.
They must both have suffered a great deal under such a
system of secresy and concealment."
" His sufferings," replied Emma drily, " do not appear
to have done him much harm. Well, and how did Mr.
Churchill take it ? "
" Most favourably for his nephew — gave his consent
with scarcely a difficulty. Conceive what the events of a
week have done in that family ! While poor Mrs. Churchill
lived, I suppose there could not have been a hope, a chance,
a possibility ; but scarcely are her remains at rest in the
family vault, than her husband is persuaded to act exactly
opposite to what she would have required. What a bless
ing it is, when undue influence does not survive the grave !
— He gave his consent with very little persuasion."
" Ah ! " thought Emma, " he would have done as much
for Harriet."
" This was settled last night, and Frank was off with
the light this morning. He stopped at Highbury, at the
Bates's, I fancy, some time, and then came on hither ; but
was in such a hurry to get back to his uncle, to whom he
is just now more necessary than ever, that, as I tell you,
he could stay with us but a quarter of an hour. He was
very much agitated — very much indeed — to a degree that
made him appear quite a different creature from any thing
I had ever seen him before. In addition to all the rest,
Aa 3
S5S EMMA.
there had heen the shock of rinding her so very unwell,
which he had had no previous suspicion of, and there was
every appearance of his having been feeling a great deal."
" And do you really believe the affair to have been car
rying on with such perfect secresy ? — The Campbells, the
Dixons — did none of them know of the engagement ? "
Emma could not speak the name of Dixon without a
little blush.
" None ; not one. He positively said that it had been
known to no being in the world but their two selves."
" Well," said Emma, " I suppose we shall gradually
grow reconciled to the idea, and I wish them very happy.
But I shall always think it a very abominable sort of pro.
ceeding. What has it been but a system of hypocrisy
and deceit, — espionage, and treachery ? — To come among
us with professions of openness and simplicity ; and such
a league in secret to judge us all! — Here have we been
the whole winter and spring completely duped, fancying
ourselves all on an equal footing of truth and honour, with
two people in the midst of us who may have been carrying
round, comparing and sitting in judgment on sentiments
and words that were never meant for both to hear They
must take the consequence, if they have heard each other
spoken of in a way not perfectly agreeable ! "
" I am quite easy on that head," replied Mrs. Weston.
" I am very sure that I never said any thing of either to
the other, which both might not have heard."
" You are in luck. — Your only blunder was confined
to my ear, when you imagined a certain friend of ours in
love with the lady."
" True. But as I have always had a thoroughly good
opinion of Miss Fairfax, I never could, under any blunder,
have spoken ill of her ; and as to speaking ill of him, there
I must have been safe."
At this moment Mr. Weston appeared at a little distance
from the window, evidently on the watch. His wife gave
him a look which invited him in ; and, while he was
coming round, added, — " Now, dearest Emma, let me
entreat you to say and look every thing that may set his
heart at ease, and incline him to be satisfied with the
 EMMA. 359
match. Let us make the hest of it — and, indeed, almost
every thing may he fairly said in her favour. It is not
a connection to gratify ; hut if Mr. Churchill does not feel
that, why should we ? and it may he a very fortunate cir
cumstance for him, — for Frank, I mean, — that he should
have attached himself to a girl of such steadiness of cha
racter and good judgment as I have always given her
credit for — and still am disposed to give her credit for, in
spite of this one great deviation from the strict rule of
right. And how much may he said in her situation for
even that error ! "
" Much, indeed! " cried Emma, feelingly. " If a woman
can ever he excused for thinking only of herself, it is in
a situation like Jane Fairfax's. — Of such, one may almost
say, that ' the world is not theirs, nor the world's law.' "
She met Mr. Weston on his entrance, with a smiling
countenance, exclaiming, —
" A very pretty trick you have heen playing me, upon
my word ! This was a device, I suppose, to sport with
my curiosity, and exercise my talent of guessing. But
you really frightened me. I thought you had lost half
your property, at least. And here, instead of its heing a
matter of condolence, it. turns out to he one of congratu
lation. — I congratulate you, Mr. Weston, with all my
heart, on the prospect of having one of the most lovely
and accomplished young women in England for your
daughter."
A glance or two between him and his wife convinced
him that all was as right as this speech proclaimed ; and
its happy effect on his spirits was immediate. His air and
voice recovered their usual briskness : he shook her heartily
and gratefully by the hand, and entered on the subject in
a manner to prove that he now only wanted time and per
suasion to think the engagement no very bad thing. His
companions suggested only what could palliate imprudence
or smooth objections ; and by the time they had talked it
all over together, and he had talked it all over again with
Emma, in their walk back to Hartfield, he was become
perfectly reconciled, and not far from thinking it the very
best thing that Frank could possibly have done.
Aa 4
360

CHAPTER XI.
" Harriet, poor Harriet !" — Those were the words ; in
them lay the tormenting ideas which Emma could not get
rid of, and which constituted the real misery of the busi
ness to her. Frank Churchill had behaved very ill by
herself — very ill in many ways, — but it was not so much
his behaviour as her own, which made her so angry with
him. It was the scrape which he had drawn her into on
Harriet's account, that gave the deepest hue to his offence.
— Poor Harriet ! to be a second time the dupe of her
misconceptions and flattery. Mr. Knightley had spoken
prophetically, when he once said, " Emma, you have been
no friend to Harriet Smith." — She was afraid she had
done her nothing but disservice. — It was true that she had
not to charge herself in this instance, as in the former,
with being the sole and original author of the mischief ;
with having suggested such feelings as might otherwise
never have entered Harriet's imagination ; for Harriet had
acknowledged her admiration and preference of Frank
Churchill before she had ever given her a hint on the
subject ; but she felt completely guilty of having encou
raged what she might have repressed. She might have
prevented. the indulgence and increase of such sentiments.
Her influence would have been enough. And now she
was very conscious that she ought to have prevented them.
— She felt that she had been risking her friend's happi
ness on most insufficient grounds. Common sense would
have directed her to tell Harriet that she must not allow
herself to think of him, and that there were five hundred
chances to one against his ever caring for her. — " But,
with common sense," she added, " I am afraid I have had
little to do."
She was extremely angry with herself. If she could
not have been angry with Frank Churchill too, it would
have been dreadful. — As for Jane Fairfax, she might at
least relieve her feelings from any present solicitude on her
 EMMA. 361
account. Harriet would be anxiety enough ; she need no
longer be unhappy about Jane, whose troubles and whose
ill health having, of course, the same origin, must be
equally under cure. — Her days of insignificance and evil
were over. — She would soon be well, and happy, and
prosperous. — Emma could now imagine why her own
attentions had been slighted. This discovery laid many
smaller matters open. No doubt it had been from jealousy.
—: In Jane's eyes she had been a rival ; and well might
any thing she could offer of assistance or regard be re
pulsed. An airing in the Hartfield carriage would have
been the rack, and arrow-root from the Hartfield store
room must have been poison. She understood it all ; and
as far as her mind could disengage itself from the injustice
and selfishness of angry feelings, she acknowledged that
Jane Fairfax would have neither elevation nor happiness
beyond her desert. But poor Harriet was such an en
grossing charge ! There was little sympathy to be spared
for any body else. Emma was sadly fearful that this
second disappointment would be more severe than the first.
Considering the very superior claims of the object, it
ought ; and judging by its apparently stronger effect on
Harriet's mind, produce reserve and self-command, it
would. — She must communicate the painful truth, how
ever, and as soon as possible. An injunction of secresy
had been among Mr. Weston's parting words. " For the
present the whole affair was to be completely a secret.
Mr. Churchill had made a point of it, as a token of respect
to the wife he had so very recently lost ; and every body
admitted it to be no more than due decorum." — Emma
had promised ; but still Harriet must be excepted. It was
her superior duty.
In spite of her vexation, she could not help feeling it
almost ridiculous, that she should have the very same dis
tressing and delicate office to perform by Harriet, which
Mrs. Weston had just gone through by herself. The in
telligence, which had been so anxiously announced to her,
she was now to be anxiously announcing to another. Her
heart beat quick on hearing Harriet's footstep and voice ;
so, she supposed, had poor Mrs. Weston felt when she was
362 EMMA.
approaching Randalls. Could the event of the disclosure
bear an equal resemblance ! — But of that, unfortunately,
there could be no chance.
" Well, Miss Woodhouse," cried Harriet, coming
eagerly into the room, " is not this the oddest news that
ever was ? "
" What news do you mean ? " replied Emma, unable to
guess, by look or voice, whether Harriet could indeed
have received any hint.
" About Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear any thing
so strange ? Oh ! — you need not be afraid of owning it
to me, for Mr. Weston has told me himself. I met him
just now. He told me it was to be a great secret ; and,
therefore, I should not think of mentioning it to any body
but you, but he said you knew it."
" What did Mr. Weston tell you ? " said Emma, still
perplexed.
" Oh ! he told me all about it; that Jane Fairfax and
Mr. Frank Churchill are to be married, and that they have
been privately engaged to one another this long while.
How very odd ! "
It was, indeed, so odd ; Harriet's behaviour was so ex
tremely odd, that Emma did not know how to understand
it. Her character appeared absolutely changed. She
seemed to propose showing no agitation, or disappointment,
or peculiar concern in the discovery. Emma looked at
her, quite unable to speak.
" Had you any idea," cried Harriet, " of his being in
love with her? — You, perhaps, might. — You (blushing
as she spoke), who can see into every body's heart ; but
nobody else "
" Upon my word," said Emma, " I begin to doubt my
having any such talent. Can you seriously ask me, Har
riet, whether I imagined him attached to another woman
at the very time that I was — tacitly, if not openly — en
couraging you to give way to your own feelings ? — I
never had the slightest suspicion, till within the last hour,
of Mr. Frank Churchill's having the least regard for Jane
Fairfax. You may be very sure that, if I had, I should
have cautioned you accordingly.
 EMMA. 363
" Me ! " cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished. " Why
should you caution me ? — You do not think I care about
Mr. Frank Churchill."
" I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the
subject," replied Emma, smiling ; " but you do not mean
to deny that there was a time — and not very distant either
— when you gave me reason to understand that you did
care about him ? "
" Him ! — never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how
could you so mistake me ? " (turning away distressed.)
" Harriet," cried Emma, after a moment's pause,
" what do you mean ? — Good Heaven ! what do you
mean ? — Mistake you ! — Am I to suppose then ?"
She could not speak another word. — Her voice was
lost ; and she sat down, waiting in great terror till Harriet
should answer.
Harriet, who was standing at some distance, and with
face turned from her, did not immediately say any thing ;
and when she did speak, it was in a voice nearly as agitated
as Emma's.
" I should not have thought it possible," she began,
" that you could have misunderstood me ! I know we agreed
never to name him — but considering how infinitely supe
rior he is to every body else, I should not have thought it
possible that I could be supposed to mean any other person.
Mr. Frank Churchill, indeed ! I do not know who would
ever look at him in the company of the other. I hope I
have a better taste than to think of Mr. Frank Churchill,
who is like nobody by his side. And that you should have
been so mistaken, is amazing ! — I am sure, but for be
lieving that you entirely approved and meant to encourage
me in my attachment, I should have considered it at first
too great a presumption almost to dare to think of him.
At first, if you had not told me that more wonderful things
had happened ; that there had been matches of greater
disparity (those were your, very words); — I should not
have dared to give way to I should not have thought
it possible But if you, who had always acquainted
with him "
" Harriet," cried Emma, collecting herself resolutely,
364 EMMA.
" let us understand each other now, without the possi
bility of farther mistake. Are you speaking of — Mr.
Knightley?"
" To be sure I am. I never could have an idea of any
body else, — and so I thought you knew. When we talked
about him, it was clear as possible."
" Not quite," returned Emma, with forced calmness ;
" for all that you then said appeared to me to relate to a
different person. I could almost assert that you had named
Mr. Frank Churchill. I am sure the service Mr. Frank
Churchill had rendered you, in protecting you from the
gipsies, was spoken of."
" Oh, Miss Woodhouse, how you do forget ! "
" My dear Harriet, I perfectly remember the substance
of what I said on the occasion. I told you that I did not
wonder at your attachment ; that, considering the service
he had rendered you, it was extremely natural: — and you
agreed to it, expressing yourself very warmly as to your
sense of that service, and mentioning even what your sens
ations had been in seeing him come forward to your rescue.
The impression of it is strong on my memory."
" Oh, dear," cried Harriet, " now I recollect what you
mean ; but I was thinking of something very different at
the time. It was not the gipsies — it was not Mr. Frank
Churchill that I meant. No! (with some elevation) I was
thinking of a much more precious circumstance, — of Mr.
Knightley's coming and asking me to dance, when Mr.
Elton would not stand up with me, and when there was
no other partner in the room. That was the kind action ;
that was the noble benevolence and generosity ; that was
the service which made me begin to feel how superior he
was to every other being upon earth."
" Good God !" cried Emma, " this has been a most
unfortunate — most deplorable mistake ! What is to be
done ? "
" You would not have encouraged me, then, if you had
understood me. At least, however, I cannot be worse off
than I should have been, if the other had been the person ;
and now — it is possible " . '
She paused a few moments. Emma could not speak.
 EMMA. 365
" I do not wonder, Miss Woodhouse," she resumed*
" that you should feel a great difference between the two,
as to me or as to any body. You must think one five hun
dred million times more above me than the other. But I
hope, Miss Woodhouse, that supposing — that if— strange
as it may appear But you know they were your own
words, that more wonderful things had happened; matches
of greater disparity had taken place than between Mr.
Frank Churchill and me ; and, therefore, it seems as if
such a thing even as this may have occurred before; — and
if I should be so fortunate, beyond expression, as to ,
if Mr. Knightley should really if he does not mind
the disparity, I hope, dear Miss Woodhouse, you will not
set yourself against it, and try to put difficulties in the way.
But you are too good for that, I am sure."
Harriet was standing at one of the windows. Emma
turned round to look at her in consternation, and hastily
said, —
" Have you any idea of Mr. Knightley's returning your
affection ? "
" Yes," replied Harriet modestly, but not fearfully; " I
must say that I have."
Emma's eyes were instantly withdrawn ; and she sat
silently meditating, in a fixed attitude, for a few minutes.
A few minutes were sufficient for making her acquainted
with her own heart. A mind like hers, once opening to
suspicion, made rapid progress : she touched — she ad
mitted — she acknowledged the whole truth. Why was it
so much worse that Harriet should be in love with Mr.
Knightley, than with Frank Churchill ? Why was the
evil so dreadfully increased by Harriet's having some hope
of a return ? It darted through her with the speed of an
arrow, that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself !
Her own conduct, as well as her own heart, was before
her in the same few minutes. She saw it all with a clear
ness which had never blessed her before. How impro
perly had she been acting by Harriet ! How inconsiderate,
how indelicate, how irrational, how unfeeling, had been her
conduct ! What blindness, what madness, had led her on !
It struck her with dreadful force, and she was ready to
366 EMMA.
give it every bad name in the world. Some portion of
respect for herself, however, in spite of all these demerits
— some concern for her own appearance, and a strong
sense of justice by Harriet (there would be no need of
compassion to the girl who believed herself loved by Mr.
Knightley — but justice required that she should not be
made unhappy by any coldness now) — gave Emma the re
solution to sit and endure farther with calmness, with even
apparent kindness. For her own advantage, indeed, it was
fit that the utmost extent of Harriet's hopes should be
enquired into; and Harriet had done nothing to forfeit the
regard and interest which had been so voluntarily formed
and maintained — or to deserve to be slighted by the per
son whose counsels had never led her right. Rousing from
reflection, therefore, and subduing her emotion, she turned
to Harriet again, and, in a more inviting accent, renewed
the conversation ; for as to the subject which had first in
troduced it, the wonderful story of Jane Fairfax, that was
quite sunk and lost. Neither of them thought but of
Mr. Knightley and themselves.
Harriet, who had been standing in no unhappy reverie,
was yet very glad to be called from it, by the now encou
raging manner of such a judge, and such a friend, as Miss
Woodhouse ; and only wanted invitation to give the his
tory of her hopes with great though trembling delight.
Emma's tremblings, as she asked, and as she listened, were
better concealed than Harriet's, but they were not less.
Her voice was not unsteady ; but her mind was in all the
perturbation that such a developement of self, such a burst
of threatening evil, such a confusion of sudden and per
plexing emotions, must create. She listened with much
inward suffering, but with great outward patience, to Har
riet's detail. Methodical, or well arranged, or very well
delivered, it could not be expected to be ; but it contained,
when separated from all the feebleness and tautology of the
narration, a substance to sink her spirit ; especially with
the corroborating circumstances which her own memory
brought in favour of Mr. Knightley's most improved opinion
of Harriet.
Harriet had been conscious of a difference in his be
 EMMA. 367
haviour ever since those two decisive dances. Emma knew
that he had, on that occasion, found her much superior to
his expectation. From that evening, or at least from the
time of Miss Woodhouse's encouraging her to think of
him, Harriet had begun to he sensible of his talking to her
much more than she had been used to do, and of his
having, indeed, quite a different manner towards her ; —
a manner of kindness and sweetness. Latterly, she had
been more and more aware of it. When they had been all
walking together, he had so often come and walked by her,
and talked so very delightfully ! — He seemed to want to
be acquainted with her. Emma knew it to have been very
much the case : she had often observed the change, to
almost the same extent. Harriet repeated expressions of
approbation and praise from him, — and Emma felt them to
be in the closest agreement with what she had known of
his opinion of Harriet. He praised her for being without
art or affectation ; for having simple, honest, generous
feelings. She knew that he saw such recommendations in
Harriet ; he had dwelt on them to her more than once.
Much that lived in Harriet's memory ; many little par
ticulars of the notice she had received from him ; a look,
a speech, a removal from one chair to another, a compli
ment implied, a preference inferred ; had been unnoticed,
because unsuspected, by Emma. Circumstances that might
swell to half an hour's relation, and contained multiplied
proofs to her who had seen them, had passed undiscerned
by her who now heard them ; but the two latest occur-
rences to be mentioned — the two of strongest promise to
Harriet — were not without some degree of witness from
Emma herself. The first was his walking with her apart
from the others in the lime walk at Donwell, where they
had been walking some time before Emma came, and he
had taken pains (as she was convinced) to draw her from
the rest to himself ; and at first he had talked to her in a
more particular way than he had ever done before, — in
a very particular way indeed ! — (Harriet could not recall
it without a blush.) He seemed to be almost asking her
whether her affections were engaged. But as soon as she
(Miss Woodhouse) appeared likely to join them, he changed
368 EMMA.
the subject, and began talking about farming. The second
was his having sat talking with her nearly half an hour
before Emma came back from her yisit, the very last morn
ing of his being at Hartfield, — though, when he first came
in, he had said that lie could not stay five minutes, — and
his having told her, during their conversation, that though
he must go to London, it was very much against his in
clination that he left home at all, which was much more
(as Emma felt) than he had acknowledged to her. The
superior degree of confidence towards Harriet which this
one article marked, gave her severe pain.
On the subject of the first of the two circumstances, she
did, after a little reflection, venture the following question :
— " Might he not ? — Is not it possible, that when en
quiring, as you thought, into the state of your affections,
he might be alluding to Mr. Martin, — he might have
Mr. Martin's interest in view ?" But Harriet rejected the
suspicion with spirit.
" Mr. Martin ! No, indeed J.-— There was not a hint of
Mr. Martin. I hope I know better now, than to care for
Mr. Martin, or to be suspected of it." '
When Harriet had closed her evidence, she appealed to
her dear Miss Woodhouse, to say whether she had not
good ground for hope.
" I never should have presumed to think of it at first,"
said she, " but for you. You told me to observe him
carefully, and let his behaviour be the rule of mine — and
so I have. But now I seem to feel that I may deserve
him; and that if he does choose me, it will not be any
thing so very wonderful."
The bitter feelings occasioned by this speech, the many
bitter feelings, made the utmost exertion necessary on
Emma's side, to enable her to say in reply, —
" Harriet, I will only venture to declare, that Mr.
Knightley is the last man in the world who would inten
tionally give any woman the idea of his feeling for her
more than he really does."
Harriet seemed ready to worship her friend for. a sen
tence so satisfactory ; and Emma was only saved from
raptures and fondness, which at that moment would have
 EMMA. 369
been dreadful penance, by the sound of her father's foot
steps. He was coming through the hall. Harriet was
too much agitated to encounter him. " She could not
compose herself — Mr. Woodhouse would be alarmed —
she had better go;" — with most ready encouragement
from her friend, therefore, she passed off through another
door — and the moment she was gone, this was the spon
taneous burst of Emma's feelings : " Oh God ! that I had
never seen her ! "
The rest of the day, the following night, were hardly
enough for her thoughts. She was bewildered amidst the
confusion of all that had rushed on her within the last
few hours. Every moment had brought a fresh surprise ;
and every surprise must be matter of humiliation to her.
— How to understand it all ! How to understand the
deceptions she had been thus practising on herself, and
living under ! — The blunders, the blindness of her own
head and heart ! — She sat still, she walked about, she
tried her own room, she taed the shrubbery — in every
place, every posture, she perceived that she had acted most
weakly ; that she had been imposed on by others in a most
mortifying degree ; that she had been imposing on herself
in a degree yet more mortifying ; that she was wretched,
and should probably find this day but the beginning of
wretchedness.
To understand, thoroughly understand her own heart,
was the first endeavour. To that point went every leisure
moment which her father's claims on her allowed, and
every moment of involuntary absence of mind.
How long had Mr. Knightley been so dear to her, as
every feeling declared him now to be ? When had his in
fluence, such influence begun? When had he succeeded to
that place in her affection, which Frank Churchill had once,
for a short period, occupied ? — She looked back ; she com
pared the two — compared them, as they had always stood
in her estimation, from the time of the latter's becoming
known to her — and as they must at any time have been
compared by her, had it — oh ! had it, by any blessed
felicity, occurred to her, to institute the comparison. She
saw that there never had been a time when she did not
570 EMMA.
consider Mr. Knightley as infinitely the superior, or when
his regard for her had not been infinitely the most dear.
She saw, that in persuading herself, in fancying, in acting
to the contrary, she had been entirely under a delusion,
totally ignorant of her own heart — and, in short, that
she had never really cared for Frank Churchill at all !
This was the conclusion of the first series of reflection.
This was the knowledge of herself, on the first question of
enquiry, which she reached ; and without being long in
reaching it. She was most sorrowfully indignant ;
ashamed of every sensation but the one revealed to her —
her affection for Mr. Knightley. Every other part of her
mind was disgusting.
With insufferable vanity had she believed herself in the
secret of every body's feelings ; with unpardonable arro
gance proposed to arrange every body's destiny. She was
proved to have been universally mistaken ; and she had not
quite done nothing — for she had done mischief. She
had brought evil on Harriet, on herself, and, she too much
feared, on Mr. Knightley. Were this most unequal of
all connections to take place, on her must rest all the re
proach of having given it a beginning ; for his attachment,
she must believe to be produced only by a consciousness of
Harriet's ; — and even were this not the case, he would
never have known Harriet at all but for her folly.
Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith ! — It was an union
to distance every wonder of the kind. The attachment
of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax became common
place, threadbare, stale in the comparison, exciting no sur
prise, presenting no disparity, affording nothing to be said
or thought. Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith ! Such
an elevation on her side ! Such a debasement on his !
It was horrible to Emma to think how it must sink him
in the general opinion, to foresee the smiles, the sneers,
the merriment it would prompt at his expense ; the mor
tification and disdain of his brother, the thousand incon-
veniencies to himself. Could it be ? No ; it was im
possible. And yet it was far, very far, from impossible.
— Was it a new circumstance for a man of first-rate
abilities to be captivated by very inferior powers ? Was
 Emma.
it new for one, perhaps too busy to seek, to be the prize
of a girl who would seek him ? Was it new for any
thing in this world to be unequal, inconsistent, incon
gruous — or for chance and circumstance (as second causes)
to direct the human fate ?
Oh ! had she never brought Harriet forward ! Had she
left her where she ought, and where he had told her
she ought ! Had she not, with a folly which no tongue
could express, prevented her marrying the unexceptionable
young man who would have made her happy and re
spectable in the line of life to which she ought to belong,
all would have been safe ; none of this dreadful sequel would
have been.
How Harriet could ever have had the presumption to
raise her thoughts to Mr. Knightley ! — How she could
dare to fancy herself the chosen of such a man till actually
assured of it ! But Harriet was less humble, had fewer
scruples than formerly. Her inferiority, whether of mind
or situation, seemed little felt. She had seemed more
sensible of Mr. Elton's being to stoop in marrying her,
than she now seemed of Mr. Knightley's. Alas ! was
not that her own doing too ? Who had been at pains to
give Harriet notions of self-consequence but herself?
Who but herself had taught her, that she was to elevate
herself if possible, and that her claims were great to a high
worldly establishment? If Harriet, from being humble,
were grown vain, it was her doing too.

CHAPTER XII.
Till now that she was threatened with its loss, Emma
had never known how much of her happiness depended on
being first with Mr. Knightley, first in interest and affec
tion. Satisfied that it was so, and feeling it her due,
she had enjoyed it without reflection; and only in the
dread of being supplanted, found how inexpressibly im
portant it had been. Long, very long, she felt she had
bb 2
372 EMMA.
been first ; for, having no female connections of his own,
there had been only Isabella whose claims could be com
pared with hers, and she had always known exactly how
far he loved and esteemed Isabella. She had herself been
first with him for many years past. She had not deserved
it ; she had often been negligent or perverse, slighting his
advice, or even wilfully opposing him, insensible of half
his merits, and quarrelling with him because he would not
acknowledge her false and insolent estimate of her own —
but still, from family attachment and habit, and thorough
excellence of mind, he had loved her, and watched over
her from a girl, with an endeavour to improve her, and an
anxiety for her doing right, which no other creature had
at all shared. In spite of all her faults, she knew she was
dear to him ; might she not say, very dear ? When the
suggestions of hope, however, which must follow here,
presented themselves, she could not presume to indulge
them. Harriet Smith might think herself not unworthy
of being peculiarly, exclusively, passionately loved by Mr.
Knightley. She could not. She could not flatter herself
with any idea of blindness in his attachment to her. She
had received a very recent proof of its impartiality.
How shocked had he been by her behaviour to Miss
Bates ! How directly, how strongly had he expressed
himself to her on the subject ! Not too strongly for the
offence — but far, far too strongly to issue from any feel
ing softer than upright justice and clear-sighted good will.
She had no hope, nothing to deserve the name of hope,
that he could have that sort of affection for herself which
was now in question ; but there was a hope, (at times a
slight one, at times much stronger,) that Harriet might
have deceived herself, and be over-rating his regard for
her. Wish it she must, for his sake — be the conse
quence nothing to herself, but his remaining single all his
life. Could she be secure of that, indeed, of his never
marrying at all, she believed she should be perfectly satis
fied. Let him but continue the same Mr. Knightley to
her and her father, the same Mr. Knightley to all the
world ; let Donwell and Hartfield lose none of their pre
cious intercourse of friendship and confidence, and her
 EMMA. 373
peace would be fully secured. Marriage, in fact, would
not do for her. It would be incompatible with what she
owed to her father, and with what she felt for him. No
thing should separate her from her father. She would not
marry, even if she were ashed by Mr. Knightley.
It must be her ardent wish that Harriet might be dis
appointed ; and she hoped, that when able to see them to
gether again, she might at least be able to ascertain what
the chances for it were. She should see them hencefor
ward with the closest observance ; and wretchedly as she
had hitherto misunderstood even those she was watching,
she did not know how to admit that she could be blinded
here. He was expected back every day. The power of
observation would be soon given — frightfully soon it ap
peared when her thoughts were in one course. In the
meanwhile, she resolved against seeing Harriet. It would
do neither of them good, it would do the subject no good,
to be talking of it farther. She was resolved not to be
convinced, as long as she could doubt, and yet had no
authority for opposing Harriet's confidence. To talk would
be only to irritate. She wrote to her, therefore, kindly,
but decisively, to beg that she would not, at present, come
to Hartfield ; acknowledging it to be her conviction, that
all farther confidential discussion of one topic had better be
avoided ; and hoping, that if a few days were allowed to
pass before they met again, except in the company of
others — she objected only to a tête-à-tête — they might
be able to act as if they had forgotten the conversation of
yesterday. Harriet submitted, and approved, and was
grateful.
This point was just arranged, when a visiter arrived to
tear Emma's thoughts a little from the one subject which
had engrossed them, sleeping or waking, the last twenty-
four hours — Mrs. Weston, who had been calling on her
daughter-in-law elect, and took Hartfield in her way home,
almost as much in duty to Emma as in pleasure to herself,
to relate all the particulars of so interesting an interview.
Mr. Weston had accompanied her to Mrs. Bates's, and
gone through his share of this essential attention most
handsomely ; but she having then induced Miss Fairfax to
BBS
374 EMMA.
join her in an airing, was now returned with much more to
say, and much more to say with satisfaction, than a quarter
of an hour spent in Mrs. Bates's parlour, with all the in
cumbrance of awkward feelings, could have afforded.
A little curiosity Emma had ; and she made the most
of it while her friend related. Mrs. Weston had set off to
pay the visit in a good deal of agitation herself; and in the
first place had wished not to go at all at present, to be
allowed merely to write to Miss Fairfax instead, and to
defer this ceremonious call till a little time had passed, and
Mr. Churchill could be reconciled to the engagement's
becoming known ; as, considering every thing, she thought
such a visit could not be paid without leading to reports :
but Mr. Weston had thought differently ; he was extremely
anxious to show his approbation to Miss Fairfax and her
family, and did not conceive that any suspicion could be
excited by it ; or if it were, that it would be of any con
sequence ; for " such things," he observed, " always got
about." Emma smiled, and felt that Mr. Weston had very
good reason for saying so. They had gone, in short ; and
very great had been the evident distress and confusion of
the lady. She had hardly been able to speak a word, and
every look and action had shown how deeply she was
suffering from consciousness. The quiet, heartfelt satis
faction of the old lady, and the rapturous delight of he
daughter, who proved even too joyous to talk as usual, had
been a gratifying, yet almost an affecting, scene. They
were both so truly respectable in their happiness, so disin
terested in every sensation; thought so much of Jane; so
much of every body, and so little of themselves, that every
kindly feeling was at work for them. Miss Fairfax's
recent illness had offered a fair plea for Mrs. Weston to
invite her to an airing ; she had drawn back and declined
at first, but, on being pressed, had yielded ; and, in the
course of their drive, Mrs. Weston had, by gentle en
couragement, overcome so much of her embarrassment, as
to bring her to converse on the important subject. Apo
logies for her seemingly ungracious silence in their first
reception, and the warmest expressions of the gratitude she
was always feeling towards herself and Mr. Weston, must
 fcMHAt 375
necessarily open the cause ; but when these effusions were
put by, they had talked a good deal of the present and of
the future state of the engagement. Mrs. Weston was
convinced that such conversation must be the greatest
relief to her companion, pent up within her own mind as
every thing had so long been, and was very much pleased
with all that she had said on the subject.
" On the misery of what she had suffered, during the
concealment of so many months," continued Mrs. Weston,
" she was energetic. This was one of her expressions.
' I will not say, that since I entered into the engagement
I have not had some happy moments ; but I can say, that
I have never known the blessing of one tranquil hour:' —
and the quivering lip, Emma, which uttered it, was an
attestation that I felt at my heart."
" Poor girl ! " said Emma. " She thinks herself wrong,
then, for having consented to a private engagement ? "
" Wrong ! No one, I believe, can blame her more
than she is disposed to blame herself. ' The consequence,'
said she, ' has been a state of perpetual suffering to me ;
and so it ought. But after all the punishment that mis
conduct can bring, it is still not less misconduct. Pain is
no expiation. I never can be blameless. I have been
acting contrary to all my sense of right ; and the fortunate
turn that every thing has taken, and the kindness I am
now receiving, is what my conscience tells me ought not to
be. Do not imagine, madam,' she continued, ' that I was
taught wrong. Do not let any reflection fall on the prin
ciples or the care of the friends who brought me up. The
error has been all my own ; and I do assure you that, with
all the excuse that present circumstances may appear to
give, I shall yet dread making the story known to Colonel
Campbell.' "
" Poor girl !" said Emma again. " She loves him,
then, excessively, I suppose. It must have been from
attachment only, that she could be led to form the en
gagement. Her affection must have overpowered her
judgment."
" Yes, I have no doubt of her being extremely attached
to him."
BB 4
 376 EMMA.
" I am afraid," returned Emma, sighing, " that I must
often have contributed to make her unhappy."
" On your side, my love, it was very innocently done.
But she probably had something of that in her thoughts,
when alluding to the misunderstandings which he had given
us hints of before. One natural consequence of the evil she
had involved herself in," she said, " was that of making her
unreasonable. The consciousness of having done amiss, had
exposed her to a thousand inquietudes, and made her captious
and irritable to a degree that must have been — that had been
— hard for him to bear. ' I did not make the allowances,'
said she, ' which I ought to have done, for his temper
and spirits — his delightful spirits, and that gaiety, that
playfulness of disposition, which, under any other circum
stances, would, I am sure, have been as constantly bewitch
ing to me as they were at first.' She then began to speak of
you, and of the great kindness you had shown her during
her illness ; and, with a blush which showed me how it
was all connected, desired me, whenever I had an oppor
tunity, to thank you — I could not thank you too much —
for every wish and every endeavour to do her good. She
was sensible that you had never received any proper ac
knowledgment from herself."
" If I did not know her to be happy now," said Emma,
seriously, " which, in spite of every little drawback from her
scrupulous conscience, she must be, I could not bear these
thanks ; for, oh, Mrs. Weston, if there, were an account
drawn up of the evil and the good I have done Miss
Fairfax Well (checking herself and trying to be more
lively), this is all to be forgotten. You are very kind to
bring me these interesting particulars : they show her to
the greatest advantage. I am sure she is very good: I
hope she will be very happy. It is fit that the fortune
should be on his side, for I think the merit will be all on
hers."
Such a conclusion could not pass unanswered by Mrs.
Weston. She thought well of Frank in almost every
respect ; and, what was more, she loved him very much,
and her defence was, therefore, earnest. She talked with a
great deal of reason, and at least equal affection ; but she
 EMMA. 877
had too much to urge for Emma's attention : it was soon
gone to Brunswick Square or to Donwell : she forgot to
attempt to listen ; and when Mrs. Weston ended with,
" We have not yet had the letter we are so anxious for,
you know, but I hope it will soon come," she was obliged
to pause before she answered, and at last obliged to answer
at random, before she could at all recollect what letter it
was which they were so anxious for.
" Are you well, my Emma ? " was Mrs. Weston's parting
question.
Oh, perfectly. I am always well, you know. Be sure
to give me intelligence of the letter as soon as possible."
Mrs. Weston's communications furnished Emma with
more food for unpleasant reflection, by increasing her
esteem and compassion, and her sense of past injustice
towards Miss Fairfax. She bitterly regretted not having
sought a closer acquaintance with her, and blushed for the
envious feelings which had certainly been, in some measure,
the cause. Had she followed Mr. Knightley's known
wishes, in paying that attention to Miss Fairfax which was
every way her due ; had she tried to know her better ;
had she done her part towards intimacy ; had she endea«
voured to find a friend there instead of in Harriet Smith ;
she must, in all probability, have been spared from every
pain which pressed on her now. Birth, abilities, and
education had been equally marking one as an associate for
her, to be received with gratitude ; and the other — what
was she? Supposing even that they had never become
intimate friends ; that she had never been admitted into
Miss Fairfax's confidence on this important matter,— which
was most probable, — still, in knowing her as she ought,
and as she might, she must have been preserved from the
abominable suspicions of an improper attachment to Mr.
Dixon, which she had not only so foolishly fashioned and
harboured herself, but had so unpardonably imparted ; an
idea which she greatly feared had been made a subject of
material distress to the delicacy of Jane's feelings, by the
levity or carelessness of Frank Churchill's. Of all the
sources of evil surrounding the former, since her coming to
Highbury, she was persuaded that she must herself have
378 EMMA.
been the worst. She must have been a perpetual enemy.
They never could have been all three together, without her
having stabbed Jane Fairfax's peace in a thousand in-
stances ; and on Box Hill, perhaps, it had been the agony
of a mind that would bear no more.
The evening of this day was very long, and melancholy,
at Hartfield. The weather added what it could of gloom.
A cold stormy rain set in, and nothing of July appeared
but in the trees and shrubs, which the wind was despoiling,
and the length of the day, which only made such cruel
sights the longer visible.
The weather affected Mr. Woodhouse; and he could
only be kept tolerably comfortable by almost ceaseless
attention on his daughter's side, and by exertions which
had never caused her half so much before. It reminded
her of their first forlorn tête-à-tête, on the evening of Mrs.
Weston's wedding-day; but Mr. Knightley had walked in
then, soon after tea, and dissipated every melancholy fancy.
Alas ! such delightful proofs of Hartfield's attraction, as
those sort of visits conveyed, might shortly be over. The
picture which she had then drawn of the privations of the
approaching winter had proved erroneous ; no friends had
deserted them, no pleasures had been lost. But her present
forebodings she feared would experience no similar contra
diction. The prospect before her now was threatening to
a degree that could not be entirely dispelled — that might
not be even partially brightened. If all took place that
might take place among the circle of her friends, Hartfield
must be comparatively deserted ; and she left to cheer her
father with the spirits only of ruined happiness.
The child to be born at Randalls must be a tie there
even dearer than herself ; and Mrs. Weston's heart and
time would be occupied by it. They should lose her;
and probably, in great measure, her husband also. Frank
Churchill would return among them no more ; and Miss
Fairfax, it was reasonable to suppose, would soon cease to
belong to Highbury. They would be married, and settled
either at or near Enscombe. All that were good would be
withdrawn ; and if to these losses the loss of Donwell were
to be added, what would remain of cheerful or of rational
 EMMA. 379
society within their reach ? Mr. Knightley to be no longer
coming there for his evening comfort ! No longer walking
in at all hours, as if ever willing to change his own home
for theirs ! How was it to be endured ? And if he were to
be lost to them for Harriet's sake; if he were to be thought
of hereafter, as finding in Harriet's society all that he
wanted; if Harriet were to be the chosen, the first, the
dearest, the friend, the wife to whom he looked for all the
best blessings of existence ; what could be increasing
Emma's wretchedness but the reflection never far distant
from her mind, that it had been all her own work ?
When it came to such a pitch as this, she was not able
to refrain from a start, or a heavy sigh, or even from
walking about the room for a few seconds; and the only
source whence any thing like consolation or composure could
be drawn, was in the resolution of her own better conduct,
and the hope that, however inferior in spirit and gaiety
might be the following and every future winter of her life
to the past, it would yet find her more rational, more ac
quainted with herself, and leave her less to regret when it
were gone.

CHAPTER XIII.
The weather continued much the same all the following
morning ; and the same loneliness, and the same melan
choly, seemed to reign at Hartfield ; but in the afternoon
it cleared ; the wind changed into a softer• quarter ; the
clouds were carried off ; the sun appeared ; it was summer
again. With all the eagerness which such a transition
gives, Emma resolved to be out of doors as soon as possible.
Never had the exquisite sight, smell, sensation of nature,
tranquil, warm, and brilliant after a storm, been more at
tractive to her. She longed for the serenity they might
gradually introduce ; and on Mr. Perry's coming in soon
after dinner, with a disengaged hour to give her father, she
lost no time in hurrying into the shubbery. There, with
380 EMMA.
spirits freshened, and thoughts a little relieved, she had
taken a few turns, when she saw Mr. Knightley passing
through the garden door, and coming towards her. It was
the first intimation of his being returned from London.
She had been thinking of him the moment before, as
unquestionably sixteen miles distant. There was time
only for the quickest arrangement of mind. She must be
collected and calm. In half a minute they were together.
The " How d'ye do's" were quiet and constrained on each
side. She asked after their mutual friends ; they were
all well. When had he left them ? Only that morning.
He must have had a wet ride. Yes ! He meant to walk
with her, she found. " He had just looked into the dining
room, and as he was not wanted there, preferred being out
of doors." She thought he neither looked nor spoke
cheerfully ; and the first possible cause for it, suggested by
her fears, was, that he had perhaps been communicating
his plans to his brother, and was pained by the manner in
which they had been received.
They walked together. He was silent. She thought he
was often looking at her, and trying for a fuller view of
her face than it suited her to give. And this belief pro
duced another dread. Perhaps he wanted to. speak to her
of his attachment to Harriet ; he might be watching for
encouragement to begin. She did not, could not, feel equal
to lead the way to any such subject. He must do it all
himself. Yet she could not bear this silence. With him
it was most unnatural. She considered, resolved, and,
trying to smile, began,—
" You have some news to hear, now you are come back,
that will rather surprise you."
" Have I?" said he quietly, and looking at her ; "of
what nature ?"
. " Oh, the best nature in the world— a wedding."
After waiting a moment, as if to be sure she intended to
say no more, he replied,—
" If you mean Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I
have heard that already."
" How is it possible ?" cried Emma, turning her glow-
ing cheeks towards him ; for while she spoke, it occurred
 EMMA. 381
to her that he might have called at Mrs. Goddard's in his
way.
" I had a few lines on parish business from Mr. Weston
this morning, and at the end of them he gave me a brief
account of what had happened."
Emma was quite relieved, and could presently say, with
a little more composure,—
" You probably have been less surprised than any of us,
for you have had your suspicions. I have not forgotten
that you once tried to give me a caution. I wish I had
attended to it — but (with a sinking voice and a heavy
sigh) I seem to have been doomed to blindness."
For a moment or two nothing was said, and she was
unsuspicious of having excited any particular interest, till
she found her arm drawn within his, and pressed against
his heart, and heard him thus saying, in a tone of great
sensibility, speaking low,—
" Time, my dearest Emma, time will heal the wound.
Your own excellent sense ; your exertions for your father's
sake ; I know you will not allow yourself " Her arm was
pressed again, as he added, in a more broken and subdued
accent, " The feelings of the warmest friendship —indig
nation — abominable scoundrel !" And in alouder, steadier
tone, he concluded with, " He will soon be gone. They
will soon be in Yorkshire. I am sorry for her. She de
serves a better fate.''
Emma understood him ; and as soon as she could recover
from the flutter of pleasure, excited by such tender consider
ation, replied,—
" You are very kind, but you are mistaken, and I must
set you right. I am not in want of that sort of compassion.
My blindness to what was going on led me to act by them
in a way that I must always be ashamed of, and I was very
foolishly tempted to say and do many things which may
well lay me open to unpleasant conjectures, but I have no
other reason to regret that I was not in the secret earlier/'
" Emma," cried he, looking eagerly at her, " are you,
indeed?" — but checking himself— " No, no, I under
stand you — forgive me — I am pleased that you can say
even so much. He is no object of regret, indeed ! and it
382 EMMA.
will not be very long, I hope, before that becomes the
acknowledgment of more than your reason. Fortunate
that your affections were not farther entangled ! — I could
never, I confess, from your manners, assure myself as to
the degree of what you felt — I could only be certain that
there was a preference — and a preference which I never
believed him to deserve. He is a disgrace to the name
of man. And is he to be rewarded with that sweet young
woman ? — Jane, Jane, you will be a miserable creature."
" Mr. Knightley," said Emma, trying to be lively, but
really confused, — " I am in a very extraordinary situation.
I cannot let you continue in your error ; and yet, perhaps,
since my manners gave such an impression, I have as
much reason to be ashamed of confessing that I never
have been at all attached to the person we are speaking of,
as it might be natural for a woman to feel in confessing
exactly the reverse. But I never have."
He listened in perfect silence. She wished him to
speak, but he would not. She supposed she must say
more before she were entitled to his clemency ; but it was
a hard case to be obliged still to lower herself in his opinion.
She went on, however.
" I have very little to say for my own conduct. I was
tempted by his attentions, and allowed myself to appear
pleased. An old story, probably, — a common case, —
and no more than has happened to hundreds of my sex
before ; and yet it may not be the more excusable in one
who sets up as I do for understanding. Many circum
stances assisted the temptation. He was the son of Mr.
Weston — he was continually here — I always found him
very pleasant — and, in short, for (with a sigh) let me
swell out the causes ever so ingeniously, they all centre in
this at last — my vanity was flattered, and I allowed his
attentions. Latterly, however, for some time, indeed, I
have had no idea of their meaning any thing. I thought
them a habit, a trick, nothing that called for seriousness
on my side. He has imposed on me, but he has not in.
jured me. I have never been attached to him. And now
I can tolerably comprehend his behaviour. He never
wished to attach me. It was merely a blind to conceal
 EMMA.
his real situation with another. It was his object to
blind all about him ; and no one, I am sure, could be more
effectually blinded than myself — except that I was not
blinded — that it was my good fortune — that, in short, I
was somehow or other safe from him."
She had hoped for an answer here — for a few words
to say that her conduct was at least intelligible ; but he
was silent ; and, as far as she could judge, deep in thought.
At last, and tolerably in his usual tone, he said, —
" I have never had a high opinion of Frank Churchill.
I can suppose, however, that I may have under-rated
him. My acquaintance with him has been but trifling.
And even if I have not under-rated him hitherto, he
may yet turn out well. With such a woman he has
a chance. I have no motive for wishing him ill— and
for her sake, whose happiness will be involved in his
good character and conduct, I shall certainly wish him
well."
" I have no doubt of their being happy together," said
Emma ; " I believe them to be very mutually and very
sincerely attached."
" He is a most fortunate man," returned Mr. Knightley,
with energy. " So early in life — at three-and-twenty —
a period when, if a man chooses a wife, he generally chooses
ill. At three-and-twenty to have drawn such a prize !
What years of felicity that man, in all human calculation,
has before him ! Assured of the love of such a woman —
the disinterested love for Jane Fairfax's character vouches
for her disinterestedness ; every thing in his favour, —
equality of situation — I mean, as far as regards society,
and all the habits and manners that are important ; equality
in every point but one — and that one, since the purity of
her heart is not to be doubted, such as must increase his
felicity, for it will be his to bestow the only advantages
she wants. A man would always wish to give a woman a
better home than the one he takes her from ; and he who
can do it, where there is no doubt of her regard, must, I
think, be the happiest of mortals. Frank Churchill is,
indeed, the favourite of fortune. Every thing turns out
for his good. He meets with a young woman at a water
 EMMA.
ing-place, gains her affection, cannot even weary her by
negligent treatment — and had he and all his family sought
round the world for a perfect wife for him, they could not
have found her superior. His aunt is in the way. His
aunt dies. He has only to speak. His friends are eager
to promote his happiness. He has used every body ill —
and they are all delighted to forgive him. He is a for
tunate man, indeed ! "
" You speak as if you envied him."
" And I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the
object of my envy."
Emma could say no more. They seemed to be within
half a sentence of Harriet, and her immediate feeling was
to avert the subject, if possible. She made her plan ; she
would speak of something totally different — the children
in Brunswick Square ; and she only waited for breath to
begin, when Mr. Knightley startled her, by saying, —
" You will not ask me what is the point of envy. You
are determined, I see, to have no curiosity. You are wise
— but J cannot be wise. Emma, I must tell what you
will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid the next mo
ment."
" Oh, then, don't speak it, don't speak it," she eagerly
cried. " Take a little time, consider, do not commit
yourself."
" Thank you," said he, in an accent of deep mortifica
tion, and not another syllable followed.
Emma could not bear to give him pain. He was wish
ing to confide in her — perhaps to consult her ; — cost her
what it would, she would listen. She might assist his re
solution, or reconcile him to it ; she might give just praise
to Harriet, or, by representing to him his own independ
ence, relieve him from that state of indecision, which must
be more intolerable than any alternative to such a mind as
his. They had reached the house.
" You are going in, I suppose," said he.
" No," replied Emma, quite confirmed by the depressed
manner in which he still spoke, " I should like to take
another turn. Mr. Perry is not gone." And, after pro
ceeding a few steps, she added, — I stopped you ungra
 EMMA. 385
ciously, just now, Mr. Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave
you pain. But if you have any wish to speak openly to
me as a friend, or to ask my opinion of any thing that you
may have in contemplation — as a friend, indeed, you may
command me. I will hear whatever you like. I will tell
you exactly what I think."
" As a friend ! " repeated Mr. Knightley. " Emma,
that I fear is a word — No, I have no wish. Stay, yes,
why should I hesitate ? I have gone too far already for
concealment. Emma, I accept your offer, extraordinary
as it may seem, I accept it, and refer myself to you as a
friend. Tell me, then, have I no chance of ever suc
ceeding ? "
He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and
the expression of his eyes overpowered her.
" My dearest Emma," said he, " for dearest you will
always be, whatever the event of this hour's conversation,
my dearest, most beloved Emma — tell me at once. Say
' No,' if it is to be said." She could really say nothing.
" You are silent," he cried, with great animation ; " ab
solutely silent ! at present I ask no more."
Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of
this moment. The dread of being awakened from the
happiest dream was perhaps the most prominent feeling.
" I cannot make speeches, Emma:" — he soon resumed,
and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tender
ness as was tolerably convincing. " If I loved you less,
I might be able to talk about it more. But you know
what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I
have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it
as no other woman in England would have borne it. Bear
with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as
well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps,
may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I
have been a very indifferent lover. But you understand
me. Yes, you see, you understand my feelings — and
will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to
hear, once to hear your voice."
While he spoke, Emma's mind was most busy, and,
with all the wonderful velocity of thought, had been able —
co
 386 EMMA.
and yet without losing a word — to catch and comprehend
the exact truth of the whole ; to see that Harriet's hopes
had been entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion, as com
plete a delusion as any of her own — that Harriet was
nothing ; that she was every thing herself ; that what she
had been saying relative to Harriet had been all taken as
the language of her own feelings ; and that her agitation,
her doubts, her reluctance, her discouragement, had been
all received as discouragement from herself. And not only
was there time for these convictions, with all their glow of
attendant happiness ; there was time also to rejoice that
Harriet's secret had not escaped her, and to resolve that it
need not and should not. It was all the service she could
now render her poor friend ; for as to any of that heroism
of sentiment which might have prompted her to entreat
him to transfer his affection from herself to Harriet, as
infinitely the most worthy of the two — or even the more
simple sublimity of resolving to refuse him at once and for
ever, without vouchsafing any motive, because he could not
marry them both, Emma had it not. She felt for Harriet,
with pain and with contrition ; but no flight of generosity
run mad, opposing all that could be probable or reasonable,
entered her brain. She had led her friend astray, and it
would be a reproach to her for ever ; but her judgment
was as strong as her feelings, and as strong as it had ever
been before, in reprobating any such alliance for him, as
most unequal and degrading. Her way was clear, though
not quite smooth. She spoke then, on being so entreated.
What did she say ? Just what she ought, of course. A
lady always does. She said enough to show there need
not be despair — and to invite him to say more himself.
He had despaired at one period ; he had received such an
injunction to caution and silence, as for the time crushed
every hope ; — she had begun by refusing to hear him.
The change had perhaps been somewhat sudden ; — her
proposal of taking another turn, her renewing the convers
ation which she had just put an end to, might be a little
extraordinary. She felt its inconsistency ; but Mr. Knight-
ley was so obliging as to put up with it, and seek no far
ther explanation.
 EMMA. 387
Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any
human disclosure ; seldom can it happen that something
is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken ; but where,
as in this case, though the conduct is mistaken, the feelings
are not, it may not be very material. Mr. Knightley could
not impute to Emma a more relenting heart than she pos
sessed, or a heart more disposed to accept of his.
He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicous of his own
influence. He had followed her into the shrubbery with
no idea of trying it. He had come, in his anxiety to see
how she bore Frank Churchill's engagement, with no sel
fish view, no view at all, but of endeavouring, if she
allowed him an opening, to soothe or to counsel her. The
rest had been the work of the moment, the immediate
effect of what he heard, on his feelings. The delightful
assurance of her total indifference towards Frank Churchill,
of her having a heart completely disengaged from him,
had given birth to the hope, that, in time, he might gain
her affection himself; —but it had been no present hope —
he had only, in the momentary conquest of eagerness over
judgment, aspired to be told that she did not forbid his
attempt to attach her. The superior hopes which gradually
opened were so much the more enchanting. The affec
tion which he had been asking to be allowed to create if
he could, was already his. Within half an hour he had
passed from a thoroughly distressed state of mind, to some
thing so like perfect happiness, that it could bear no other
name.
Her change was equal. This one half hour had given
to each the same precious certainty of being beloved, had
cleared from each the same degree of ignorance, jealousy,
or distrust. On his side, there had been a long standing
jealousy, old as the arrival, or even the expectation, of
Frank Churchill. He had been in love with Emma, and
jealous of Frank Churchill, from about the same period,
one sentiment having probably enlightened him as to the
other. It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill that had taken
him from the country. The Box Hill party had decided
him on going away. He would save himself from wit
nessing again such permitted, encouraged attentions. He
cc 2
 EMMA.
had gone to learn to be indifferent. But he had gone to a
wrong place. There was too much domestic happiness in
his brother's house ; woman wore too amiable a form in,
it ; Isabella was too much like Emma — differing only in
those striking inferiorities which always brought the other
in brilliancy before him, for much to have been done, even,
had his time been longer. He had staid on, however, vigor
ously, day after day — till this very morning's post had con
veyed the history of Jane Fairfax. Then, with the glad
ness which must be felt, nay, which he did not scruple to
feel, having never believed Frank Churchill to be at all
deserving Emma, was there so much fond solicitude, so
much keen anxiety for her, that he could stay no longer.
He had ridden home through the rain ; and had walked up
directly after dinner, to see how this sweetest and best of
all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults, bore the
discovery.
He had found her agitated and low. Frank Churchill
was a villain. He heard her declare that she had never
loved him. Frank Churchill's character was not desperate.
She was his own Emma, by hand and word, when they
returned into the house ; and if he could have thought of
Frank Churchill then, he might have deemed him a very
good sort of fellow.

CHAPTER XIV.
What totally different feelings did Emma take back into
the house from what she had brought out ! —she had then
been only daring to hope for a little respite of suffering ;
— she was now in an exquisite flutter of happiness, and
such happiness, moreover, as she believed must still be greater
when the flutter should have passed away.
They sat down to tea— the same party round the same
table — how often it had been collected! and how often
had her eyes fallen on the same shrubs in the lawn, and ob
served the same beautiful effect of the western sun ! But
never in such a state of spirits, never in any thing like
 EMMA. 389
it ; and it was with difficulty that she could summon enough
of her usual self to be the attentive lady of the house, or
even the attentive daughter.
Poor Mr. Woodhouse little suspected what was plotting
against him in the breast of that man whom he was so
cordially welcoming, and so anxiously hoping might not
have taken cold from his ride. Could he have seen the
heart, he would have cared very little for the lungs ; but
without the most distant imagination of the impending evil,
without the slighest perception of any thing extraordinary,
in the looks or ways of either, he repeated to them very
comfortably all the articles of news he had received from
Mr. Perry, and talked on with much self-contentment,
totally unsuspicious of what they could have told him in
return.
As long as Mr. Knightley remained with them, Emma's
fever continued ; but when he was gone, she began to be
a little tranquillised and subdued, and in the course of the
sleepless night, which was the tax for such an evening, she
found one or two such very serious points to consider, as
made her feel, that even her happiness must have some
alloy. Her father — and Harriet. She could not be alone
without feeling the full weight of their separate claims ;
and how to guard the comfort of both to the utmost, was
the question. With respect to her father, it was a question
soon answered. She hardly knew yet what Mr. Knightley
would ask ; but a very short parley with her own heart
produced the most solemn resolution of never quitting her
father. She even wept over the idea of it, as a sin of
thought. While he lived, it must be only an engagement ;
but she flattered herself, that if divested of the danger of
drawing her away, it might become an increase of comfort
to him. How to do her best by Harriet, was of more dif
ficult decision ; how to spare her from any unnecessary
pain ; how to make her any possible atonement ; how to
appear least her enemy. On these subjects, her per
plexity and distress were very great — and her mind had
to pass again and again through every bitter reproach and
sorrowful regret that had ever surrounded it. She could
only resolve at last, that she would still avoid a meeting
cc 3
 ago EMMA.
with her, and communicate all that need be told by letter ;
that it would be inexpressibly desirable to have her re
moved just now for a time from Highbury, and — indulg
ing in one scheme more — nearly resolve, that it might be
practicable to get an invitation for her to Brunswick Square.
Isabella had been pleased with Harriet; and a few weeks
spent in London must give her some amusement. She did
not think it in Harriet's nature to escape being benefited
by novelty and variety, by the streets, the shops, and the
children. At any rate, it would be a proof of attention
and kindness in herself, from whom every thing was due ;
a separation for the present ; an averting of the evil day,
when they must all be together again.
She rose early, and wrote her letter to Harriet ; an em
ployment which left her so very serious, so nearly sad,
that Mr. Knightley, in walking up to Hartfield to break
fast, did not arrive at all too soon ; and half an hour stolen
afterwards to go over the same ground again with him,
literally and figuratively, was quite necessary to reinstate
her in a proper share of the happiness of the evening before.
He had not left her long, by no means long enough for
her to have the slightest inclination for thinking of any
body else, when a letter was brought her from Randalls —
a very thick letter ; she guessed what it must contain, and
deprecated the necessity of reading it. She was now in
perfect charity with Frank Churchill ; she wanted no ex
planations, she wanted only to -have her thoughts to herself
— and as for understanding any thing he wrote, she was
sure she was incapable of it. It must be waded through.
however. She opened the packet ; it was too surely so ;
— a note from Mrs. Weston to herself, ushered in the let
ter from Frank to Mrs. Weston.
" I have the greatest pleasure, my dear Emma, in for
warding to you the enclosed. I know what thorough jus
tice you will do it, and have scarcely a doubt of its happy
effect. I think we shall never materially disagree about
the writer again ; but I will not delay you by a long pre
face. We are quite well. This letter has been the cure
of all the little nervousness I have been feeling lately. I
did not quite like your looks on Tuesday, but it was an
ungenial morning ; and though you will never own being
 EMMA. 391
affected by weather, I think every body feels a north-east
wind. I felt for your dear father very much in the storm
of Tuesday afternoon and yesterday morning, but had the
comfort of hearing last night, by Mr. Perry, that it had
not made him ill.
" Yours ever,
" A. W."
[To Mrs. Weston.]
" My dear Madam, Windsor, — July.
" If I made myself intelligible yesterday, this letter will
be expected ; but, expected or not, I know it will be read
with candour and indulgence. You are all goodness, and
I believe there will be need of even all your goodness to
allow for some parts of my past conduct. But I have been
forgiven by one who had still more to resent. My courage
rises while I write. It is very difficult for the prosperous
to be humble. I have already met with such success in
two applications for pardon, that I may be in danger of
thinking myself too sure of yours, and of those among
your friends who have had any ground of offence. You
must all endeavour to comprehend the exact nature of my
situation when I first arrived at Randalls ; you must con
sider me as having a secret which was to be kept at all
hazards. This was the fact. My right to place myself
in a situation requiring such concealment is another ques
tion. I shall not discuss it here. For my temptation to
think it a right, I refer every caviller to a brick house,
sashed windows below, and casements above, in Highbury.
I dared not address her openly ; my difficulties in the then
state of Enscombe must be too well known to require de
finition ; and I was fortunate enough to prevail, before we
parted at Weymouth, and to induce the most upright
female mind in the creation to stoop in charity to a secret
engagement. Had she refused, I should have gone mad.
But you will be ready to say, What was your hope in
doing this ? What did you look forward too ? To any
thing, every thing — to time, chance, circumstance, slow
effects, sudden bursts, perseverance and weariness, health
cc 4
392 EMMA.
and sickness. Every possibility of good was before me,
and the first of blessings secured, in obtaining her promises
of faith and correspondence. If you need farther explan
ation, I have the honour, my dear madam, of being your
husband's son, and the advantage of inheriting a disposition
to hope for good, which no inheritance of houses or lands
can ever equal the value of. See me, then, under these
circumstances, arriving on my first visit to Randalls ; and
here I am conscious of wrong, for that visit might have
been sooner paid. You will look back, and see that I did
not come till Miss Fairfax was in Highbury ; and as you
were the person slighted, you will forgive me instantly :
but I must work on my father's compassion, by reminding
him, that so long as I absented myself from his house, so
long I lost the blessing of knowing you. My behaviour,
during the very happy fortnight which I spent with you,
did not, I hope, lay me open to reprehension, excepting on
one point. And now I come to the principal, the only im
portant part of my conduct, while belonging to you, which
excites my own anxiety, or requires very solicitous explan
ation. With the greatest respect, and the warmest friend
ship, do I mention Miss Woodhouse ; my father, perhaps,
will think I ought to add, with the deepest humiliation. A
few words which dropped from him yesterday spoke his
opinion, and some censure I acknowledge myself liable to.
My behaviour to Miss Woodhouse indicated, I believe,
more than it ought. In order to assist a concealment so
essential to me, I was led on to make more than an allow
able use of the sort of intimacy into which we were imme
diately thrown. I cannot deny that Miss Woodhouse was
my ostensible object ; but I am sure you will believe the
declaration, that had I not been convinced of her indiffer
ence, I would not have been induced by any selfish views
to go on. Amiable and delightful as Miss Woodhouse is,
she never gave me the idea of a young woman likely to be
attached ; and that she was perfectly free from any ten
dency to being attached to me, was as much my conviction
as my wish. She received my attentions with an easy,
friendly, good-humoured playfulness, which exactly suited
me. We seemed to understand each other. From our
 EMMA.
relative situation, those attentions were her due, and were
felt to be so. Whether Miss Woodhouse began really to
understand me before the expiration of that fortnight, I
cannot say : when I called to take leave of her, I remember
that I was within a moment of confessing the truth, and I
then fancied she was not without suspicion ; but I have no
- doubt of her having since detected me, — at least, in some
degree. She may not have surmised the whole, but her
quickness must have penetrated a part. I cannot doubt it.
You will find, whenever the subject becomes freed from its
present restraints, that it did not take her wholly by sur
prise. She frequently gave me hints of it. I remember
her telling me at the ball, that I owed Mrs. Elton gratitude
for her attentions to Miss Fairfax. I hope this history
of my conduct towards her will be admitted by you and
my father as great extenuation of what you saw amiss.
While you considered me as having sinned against Emma
Woodhouse, I could deserve nothing from either. Acquit
me here, and procure for me, when it is allowable, the ac
quittal and good wishes of that said Emma Woodhouse,
whom I regard with so much brotherly affection as to long
to have her as deeply and as happily in love as myself.
Whatever strange things I said or did during that fort
night, you have now a key to. My heart was in High
bury, and my business was to get my body thither as often
as might be, and with the least suspicion. If you remember
any queernesses, set them all to the right account. Of the
piano-forte so much talked of, I feel it only necessary to
say, that its being ordered was absolutely unknown to Miss
F , who would never have allowed me to send it, had
any choice been given her. The delicacy of her mind
throughout the whole engagement, my dear madam, is much
beyond my power of doing justice to. You will soon, I
earnestly hope, know her thoroughly yourself. No de
scription can describe her. She must tell you herself what
she is ; yet not by word, for never was there a human
creature who would so designedly suppress her own merit.
Since I began this letter, which will be longer than I fore
saw, I have heard from her. She gives a good account of
her own health ; but, as she never complains, I dare not
394 EMMA.
depend. I want to have your opinion of her looks. I
know you will soon call on her ; she is living in dread of
the visit. Perhaps it is paid already. Let me hear from
you without delay; I am impatient for a thousand par
ticulars. Remember how few minutes I was at Randalls,
and in how bewildered, how mad a state : and I am not
much better yet ; still insane either from happiness or
misery. When I think of the kindness and favour I have
met with, of her excellence and patience, and my uncle's
generosity, I am mad with joy: but when I recollect all
the uneasiness I occasioned her, and how little I deserve to
be forgiven, I am mad with anger. If I could but see
her again ! But I must not propose it yet : my uncle has
been too good for me to encroach. I must still add to this
long letter. You have not heard all that you ought to hear.
I could not give any connected detail yesterday ; but the sud
denness and, in one light, the unseasonableness with which the
affair burst out, needs explanation ; for though the event of
the 26th ult.,as you will conclude, immediately opened to me
the happiest prospects, I should not have presumed on such
early measures, but from the very particular circumstances
which left me not an hour to lose. I should myself have
shrunk from any thing so hasty, and she would have felt
every scruple of mine with multiplied strength and refine
ment : but I had no choice. The hasty engagement she
had entered into with that woman Here, my dear ma
dam, I was obliged to leave off abruptly, to recollect and
compose myself. I have been walking over the country,
and am now, I hope, rational enough to make the rest of
my letter what it ought to be. It is, in fact, a most mor
tifying retrospect for me. I behaved shamefully. And
here I can admit, that my manners to Miss W., in being
unpleasant to Miss F., were highly blamable. She disap
proved them, which ought to have been enough. My plea
of concealing the truth she did not think sufficient. She
was displeased ; I thought unreasonably so : I thought her,
on a thousand occasions, unnecessarily scrupulous and cau
tious : I thought her even cold. But she was always right.
If I had followed her judgment, and subdued my spirits
to the level of what she deemed proper, I should have
 EMMA. 395
escaped the greatest unhappiness I have ever known. We
quarrelled. Do you remember the morning spent at Don-
well ? There every little dissatisfaction that had occurred
before came to a crisis. I was late ; I met her walking
home by herself, and wanted to walk with her, but she
would not suffer it. She absolutely refused to allow me,
which I then thought most unreasonable. Now, however,
I see nothing in it but a very natural and consistent degree
of discretion. While I, to blind the world to our engage
ment, was behaving one hour with objectionable particu
larity to another woman, was she to be consenting the next
to a proposal which might have made every previous cau
tion useless ? Had we been met walking together between
Donwell and Highbury, the truth must have been sus
pected. I was mad enough, however, to resent. I doubted
her affection. I doubted it more the next day on Box
Hill; when, provoked by such conduct on my side, such
shameful, insolent neglect of her, and such apparent devo
tion to Miss W., as it would have been impossible for any
woman of sense to endure, she spoke her resentment in a
form of words perfectly intelligible to me. In short, my
dear madam, it was a quarrel blameless on her side, abo
minable on mine ; and I returned the same evening to
Richmond, though I might have staid with you till the
next morning, merely because I would be as angry with
her as possible. Even then, I was not such a fool as not
to mean to be reconciled in time ; but I was the injured
person, injured by her coldness, and I went away, deter
mined that she should make the first advances. I shall
always congratulate myself that you were not of the Box-
Hill party. Had you witnessed my behaviour there, I can
hardly suppose you would ever have thought well of me
again. Its effect upon her appears in the immediate resolu
tion it produced : as soon as she found I was really gone
from Randalls, she closed with the offer of that officious
Mrs. Elton ; the whole system of whose treatment of her,
by the by, has ever filled me with indignation and hatred.
I must not quarrel with a spirit of forbearance which has
been so richly extended towards myself; but, otherwise,
I should loudly protest against the share of it which that
396 EMMA.
woman has known. ' Jane/ indeed ! You will observe
that I have not yet indulged myself in calling her by that
name, even to you. Think, then, what I must have en
dured in hearing it bandied between the Eltons, with all
the vulgarity of needless repetition, and all the insolence
of imaginary superiority. Have patience with me, I shall
soon have done. She closed with this offer, resolving to
break with me entirely, and wrote the next day to tell me
that we never were to meet again. She felt the engagement
to be a source of repentance and misery to each : she dis
solved it. This letter reached me on the very morning of
my poor aunt's death. I answered it within an hour ; but
from the confusion of my mind, and the multiplicity of
business falling on me at once, my answer, instead of being
sent with all the many other letters of that day, was locked
up in my writing-desk ; and I, trusting that I had written
enough, though but a few lines, to satisfy her, remained
without any uneasiness. I was rather disappointed that I
did not hear from her again speedily ; but I made excuses
for her, and was too busy, and — may I add ? — too cheer
ful in my views to be captious. We removed to Windsor ;
and two days afterwards I received a parcel from her— my
own letters all returned ! — and a few lines at the same time
by the post, stating her extreme surprise at not having had
the smallest reply to her last ; and adding, that as silence
on such a point could not be misconstrued, and as it must
be equally desirable to both to have every subordinate ar
rangement concluded as soon as possible, she now sent me,
by a safe conveyance, all my letters, and requested, that if
I could not directly command hers, so as to send them to
Highbury within a week, I would forward them after that
period to her at : in short, the full direction to Mr.
Smallridge's, near Bristol, stared me in the face. I knew
the name, the place, I knew all about it, and instantly saw
what she had been doing. It was perfectly accordant with
that resolution of character which I knew her to possess ;
and the secrecy she had maintained, as to any such design
in her former letter, was equally descriptive of its anxious
delicacy. For the world would not she have seemed to
threaten me. Imagine the shock ; imagine how, till I had
 EMMA. 397
actually detected my own blunder, I raved at the blunders
of the post. What was to be done? One thing only.
I must speak to my uncle. Without his sanction I could
not hope to be listened to again. I spoke ; circumstances
were in my favour ; the late event had softened away his
pride, and he was, earlier than I could have anticipated,
wholly reconciled and complying ; and could say at last,
poor man ! with a deep sigh, that he wished I might find
as much happiness in the marriage state as he had done.
I felt that it would be of a different sort. Are you dis
posed to pity me for what I must have suffered in opening
the cause to him, for my suspense while all was at stake ?
No ; do not pity me till I reached Highbury, and saw how
ill I had made her. Do not pity me till I saw her wan,
sick looks. I reached Highbury at the time of day when,
from my knowledge of their late breakfast hour, I was
certain of a good chance of finding her alone. I was not
disappointed ; and at last I was not disappointed either in
the object of my journey. A great deal of very reasonable,
very just displeasure I had to persuade. away. But it is
done ; we are reconciled, dearer, much dearer, than ever,
and no moment's uneasiness can ever occur between us
again. Now, my dear madam, I will release you ; but I
could not conclude before. A thousand and a thousand
thanks for all the kindness you have ever shown me, and
ten thousand for the attentions your heart will dictate to
wards her. If you think me in a way to be happier than
I deserve, I am quite of your opinion. Miss W. calls me
the child of good fortune. I hope she is right. In one
respect, my good fortune is undoubted, that of being able
to subscribe myself,
" Your obliged and affectionate Son,
" F. C. Weston Churchill."

CHAPTER XV.
This lettter must make its way to Emma's feelings. She
was obliged, in spite of her previous determination to the
398 EMMA.
contrary, to do it all the justice that Mrs. Weston foretold.
As soon as she came to her own name, it was irresistible :
every line relating to herself was interesting, and almost
every line agreeable ; and when this charm ceased, the
subject could still maintain itself, by the natural return of
her former regard for the writer, and the very strong at
traction which any picture of love must have for her at
that moment. She never stopped till she had gone through
the whole ; and though it was impossible not to feel that
he had been wrong, yet he had been less wrong than she
had supposed ; and he had suffered, and was very sorry ;
and he was so grateful to Mrs. Weston, and so much in
love with Miss Fairfax, and she was so happy herself, that
there was no being severe ; and could he have entered the
room, she must have shaken hands with him as heartily as
ever.
She thought so well of the letter, that when Mr. Knight-
ley came again, she desired him to read it. She was sure
of Mrs. Weston's wishing it to be communicated ; espe
cially to one, who, like Mr. Knightley, had seen so much
to blame in his conduct.
" I shall be very glad to look it over," said he, " but it
seems long. I will take it home with me at night."
But that would not do. Mr. Weston was to call in the
evening, and she must return it by him.
" I would rather be talking to you," he replied ; " but
as it seems a matter of justice, it shall be done."
He began — stopping, however, almost directly to say,
" Had I been offered the sight of one of this gentleman's
letters to his mother-in-law a few months ago, Emma, it
would not have been taken with such indifference."
He proceeded a little farther, reading to himself; and
then, with a smile, observed, " Humph ! — a fine compli
mentary opening ; but it is his way. One man's style must
not be the rule of another's. We will not be severe."
" It will be natural for me," he added shortly after
wards, " to speak my opinion aloud as I read. By doing
it, I shall feel that I am near you. It will not be so great
a loss of time ; but if you dislike it "
" Not at all. I should wish it."
 EMMA. 599
Mr. Knightley returned to his reading with greater
alacrity.
" He trifles here," said he, " as to the temptation. He
knows he is wrong, and has nothing rational to urge. Bad.
He ought not to have formed the engagement. ' His
father's disposition:' — he is unjust, however, to his father.
Mr. Weston's sanguine temper was a blessing on all his
upright and honourable exertions ; but Mr. Weston earned
every present comfort before he endeavoured to gain it.
Very true ; he did not come till Miss Fairfax was here."
" And I have not forgotten," said Emma, " how sure
you were that he might have come sooner if he would.
You pass it over very handsomely ; — but you were per
fectly right."
" I was not quite impartial in my judgment, Emma ;
but yet, I think, had you not been in the case, I should
still have distrusted him."
When he came to Miss Woodhouse, he was obliged to
read the whole of it aloud — all that related to her, with a
smile, a look, a shake of the head, a word or two of assent,
or disapprobation, or merely of love, as the subject re
quired ; concluding, however, seriously, and, after steady
reflection, thus, —
" Very bad — though it might have been worse. Play
ing a most dangerous game. Too much indebted to the
event for his acquittal. No judge of his own manners by
you. Always deceived, in fact, by his own wishes, and
regardless of little besides his own convenience. Fancying
you to have fathomed his secret ! Natural enough ! his
own mind full of intrigue, that he should suspect it in
others. Mystery — finesse — how they pervert the under
standing! My Emma, does not every thing serve to prove
more and more the beauty of truth and sincerity in all our
dealings with each other ? "
Emma agreed to it, and with a blush of sensibility on
Harriet's account, which she could not give any sincere
explanation of.
" You had better go on," said she.
He did so, but very soon stopped again to say, " The
piano-forte ! Ah! — that was the act of a very, very young
400 EMMA.
man, one too young to consider whether the inconvenience
of it might not very much exceed the pleasure. A boyish
scheme, indeed ! I cannot comprehend a man's wishing to
give a woman any proof of affection which he knows she
would rather dispense with ; and he did know that she would
have prevented the instrument's coming if she could."
After this, he made some progress without any pause.
Frank Churchill's confession of having behaved shamefully
was the first thing to call for more than a word in passing.
" I perfectly agree with you, sir," was then his remark.
" You did behave very shamefully. You never wrote a
truer line." And having gone through what immediately
followed of the basis of their disagreement, and his per
sisting to act in direct opposition to Jane Fairfax's sense
of right, he made a fuller pause to say, " This is very bad.
He had induced her to place herself, for his sake, in a
situation of extreme difficulty and uneasiness, and it should
have been his first object to prevent her from suffering
unnecessarily. She must have had much more to contend
with in carrying on the correspondence than he could. He
should have respected even unreasonable scruples, had there
been such ; but hers were all reasonable. We must look
to her one fault, and remember that she had done a wrong
thing in consenting to the engagement, to bear that she
should have been in such a state of punishment."
Emma knew that he was now getting to the Box Hill
party, and grew uncomfortable. Her own behaviour had
been so very improper ! She was deeply ashamed, and a
little afraid of his next look. It was all read, however,
steadily, attentively, and without the smallest remark ;
and, excepting one momentary glance at her, instantly
withdrawn, in the fear of giving pain — no remembrance
of Box Hill seemed to exist.
" There is no saying much for the delicacy of our good
friends, the Eltons," was his next observation. " His
feelings are natural. What ! actually resolve to break with
him entirely ! She felt the engagement to be a source of
repentance and misery to each — she dissolved it. What
a view this gives of her sense of his behaviour ! Well,
he must be a most extraordinary "
 EMMA. 401
" Nay, nay, read on. You will find how very much
he suffers."
" I hope he does," replied Mr. Knightley, coolly and
resuming the letter. — "' Smallridge!' —What does this
mean ? What is all this ? "
" She had engaged to go as governess to Mrs. Small-
ridge's children — a dear friend of Mrs. Elton's — a neigh
bour of Maple Grove ; and, by the bye, I wonder how
Mrs. Elton bears the disappointment."
" Say nothing, my dear Emma, while you oblige me to
read — not even of Mrs. Elton. Only one page more.
I shall soon have done. What a letter the man writes ! "
" I wish you would read it with a kinder spirit towards
him."
" Well, there is feeling here. He does seem to have
suffered in finding her ill. Certainly, I can have no doubt
of his being fond of her. ' Dearer, much dearer than
ever.' I hope he may long continue to feel all the value
of such a reconciliation. He is a very liberal thanker,
with his thousands and tens of thousands ' Happier
than I deserve.' Come, he knows himself there. ' Miss
Woodhouse calls me the child of good fortune.' Those
were Miss Woodhouse's words, were they ? And a fine'
ending — and there is a letter. ' The child of good fortune!'
That was your name for him, was it ? "
" You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter asi
I am ; but still you must, at least I hope you must, think
the better of him for it. I hope it does him some service
with you."
" Yes, certainly it does. He has had great faults, —
faults of inconsideration and thoughtlessness ; and I am
very much of his opinion in thinking him likely to be
happier than he deserves : but still as he is, beyond a
doubt, really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it
may be hoped, have the advantage of being constantly with
her, I am very ready to believe his character will improve,
and acquire from hers the steadiness and delicacy of prin
ciple that it wants. And now, let me talk to you of
something else. I have another person's interest at pre
sent so much at heart, that I cannot think any longer about
402 EMMA.
Frank Churchill. Ever since I left you this morning,
Emma, my mind has been hard at work on one subject."
The subject followed ; it was in plain, unaffected, gen
tleman-like English, such as Mr. Knightley used even to
the woman he was in love with, how to be able to ask her
to marry him, without attacking the happiness of her
father. Emma's answer was ready at the first word.
" While her dear father lived, any change of condition
must be impossible for her. She could never quit him."
Part only of this answer, however, was admitted. The
impossibility of her quitting her father, Mr. Knightley
felt as strongly as herself ; but the inadmissibility of any
other change he could not agree to. He had been thinking
it over most deeply, most intently ; he had at first hoped
to induce Mr. Woodhouse to remove with her to Donwell ;
he had wanted to believe it feasible, but his knowledge of
Mr. Woodhouse would not suffer him to deceive himself
long; and now he confessed his persuasion, that such a
transplantation would be a risk of her father's comfort,
perhaps even of his life, which must not be hazarded. Mr.
Woodhouse taken from Hartfield ! — No, he felt that it
ought not to be attempted. But the plan which had arisen
on the sacrifice of this, he trusted his dearest Emma would
not find in any respect objectionable ; it was, that he
should be received at Hartfield ! that so long as her father's
happiness — in other words his life — required Hartfield
to continue her home, it should be his likewise.
Of their all removing to Donwell, Emma had already
had her own passing thoughts. Like him, she had tried
the scheme and rejected it ; but such an alternative as this
had not occurred to her. She was sensible of all the af
fection it evinced. She felt that, in quitting Donwell, he
must be sacrificing a great deal of independence of hours
and habits ; that in living constantly with her father, and
in no house of his own, there would be much, very much,
to be borne with. She promised to think of it, and ad
vised him to think of it more ; but he was fully convinced,
that no reflection could alter his wishes or his opinion on
the subject. He had given it, he could assure her, very
long and calm consideration ; he had been walking away.
 EMMA. 403
from William Larkins the whole morning to have his
thoughts to himself.
" Ah ! there is one difficulty unprovided for," cried
Emma. " I am sure William Larkins will not like it.
You must get his consent before you ask mine."
She promised, however, to think of it; and pretty nearly
promised, moreover, to think of it, with the intention of
finding it a very good scheme.
It is remarkable, that Emma, in the many, very many,
points of view in which she was now beginning to consider
Donwell Abbey, was never struck with any sense of injury
to her nephew Henry, whose rights as heir expectant had
formerly been so tenaciously regarded. Think she must
of the possible difference to the poor little boy ; and yet
she only gave herself a saucy conscious smile about it, and
found amusement in detecting the real cause of that violent
dislike of Mr. Knightley's marrying Jane Fairfax, or any
body else, which at the time she had wholly imputed to
the amiable solicitude of the sister and the aunt.
This proposal of his, this plan of marrying and continu
ing at Hartfield— the more she contemplated it the more
pleasing it became. His evils seemed to lessen, her own
advantages to increase, their mutual good to outweigh every
drawback. Such a companion for herself in the periods
of anxiety and cheerlessness before her ! Such a partner in
all those duties and cares to which time must be giving
increase of melancholy !
She would have been too happy but for poor Harriet ;
but every blessing of her own seemed to involve and advance
the sufferings of her friend, who must now be even exclu
ded from Hartfield. The delightful family-party which
Emma was securing for herself, poor Harriet must, in mere
charitable caution, be kept at a distance from. She would
be a loser in every way. Emma could not deplore her
future absence as any deduction from her own enjoyment.
In such a party, Harriet would be rather a dead weight
than otherwise ; but for the poor girl herself, it seemed a
peculiarly cruel necessity that was to be placing her in such
a state of unmerited punishment.
In time, of course, Mr. Knightley would be forgotten,
dd 2
404 EMMA.
that is, supplanted; but this could not be expected to
happen very early. Mr. Knightley himself would be doing
nothing to assist the cure ; not like Mr. Elton. Mr.
Knightley, always so kind, so feeling, so truly considerate
for every body, would never deserve to be less worshipped
than now ; and it really was too much to hope even of
Harriet, that she could be in love with more than three
men in one year.

CHAPTER XVI.
It was a very great relief to Emma to find Harriet as
desirous as herself to avoid a meeting. Their intercourse
was painful enough by letter. How much worse had they
been obliged to meet !
Harriet expressed herself very much, as might be sup
posed, without reproaches, or apparent sense of ill usage ;
and yet Emma fancied there was a something of resent
ment, a something bordering on it in her style, which in
creased the desirableness of their being separate. It
might be only her own consciousness ; but it seemed as if
an angel only could have been quite without resentment
under such a stroke.
She had no difficulty in procuring Isabella's invitation ;
and she was fortunate in having a sufficient reason for
asking it, without resorting to invention. There was a
tooth amiss. Harriet really wished, and had wished some
time, to consult a dentist. Mrs. John Knightley was de
lighted to be of use : any thing of ill-health was a recom
mendation to her — and though not so fond of a dentist as
of a Mr. Wingfield, she was quite eager to have Harriet
under her care. When it was thus settled on her sister's
side, Emma proposed it to her friend, and found her very
persuadable. Harriet was to go ; she was invited for at
least a fortnight ; she was to be conveyed in Mr. Wood-
 EMMA. 405
house's carriage. It was all arranged, it was all completed,
and Harriet was safe in Brunswick Square.
Now Emma could, indeed, enjoy Mr. Knightley's visits ;
now she could talk, and she could listen with true happi
ness, unchecked by that sense of injustice, of guilt, of
something most painful, which had haunted her when re
membering how disappointed a heart was near her, how much
might at that moment, and at a little distance, be endur
ing by the feelings which she had led astray herself.
The difference of Harriet at Mrs. Goddard's, or in Lon
don, made perhaps an unreasonable difference in Emma's
sensations ; but she could not think of her in London
without objects of curiosity and employment, which must
be averting the past, and carrying her out of herself.
She would not allow any other anxiety to succeed
directly to the place in her mind which Harriet had occu
pied. There was a communication before her, one which
she only could be competent to make — the confession of
her engagement to her father; but she would have nothing
to do with it at present. She had resolved to defer the dis
closure till Mrs. Weston were safe and well. No additional
agitation should be thrown at this period among those she
loved .— and the evil should not act on herself by anticipa
tion before the appointed time. A fortnight, at least, of
leisure and peace of mind, to crown every warmer, but
more agitating, delight, should be hers.
She soon resolved, equally as a duty and a pleasure, to
employ half an hour of this holiday of spirits in calling on
Miss Fairfax. She ought to go — and she was longing to
see her ; the resemblance of their present situations increas
ing every other motive of good will. It would be a secret
satisfaction ; but the consciousness of a similarity of pros
pect would certainly add to the interest with which she
should attend to any thing Jane might communicate.
She went — she had driven once unsuccessfully to the
door, but had not been into the house since the morning
after Box Hill, when poor Jane had been in such distress
as had filled her with compassion, though all the worst of
her sufferings had been unsuspected. The fear of being
still unwelcome determined her, though assured of their
do 3
406' EMMA.
being at home, to wait in the passage, and send up her
name. She heard Patty announcing it ; but no such bustle
succeeded as poor Miss Bates had before made so happily
intelligible. No ; she heard nothing but the instant reply
of, " Beg her to walk up ;" and a moment afterwards she
was met on the stairs by Jane herself, coming eagerly for
ward as if no other reception of her were felt sufficient.
Emma had never seen her look so well, so lovely, so en
gaging. There was consciousness, animation, and warmth ;
there was every thing' which her countenance or manner
could ever have wanted. She came forward with an
offered hand ; and said, in a low, but very feeling tone, —
" This is most kind, indeed! Miss Woodhouse, it is
impossible for me to express I hope you will believe
Excuse me for being so entirely without words."
Emma was gratified, and would soon have shown no
want of words if the sound of Mrs. Elton's voice from the
sitting-room had not checked her, and made it expedient
to compress all her friendly and all her congratulatory sen
sations into a very, very earnest shake of the hand.
Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Elton were together. Miss Bates
was out, which accounted for the previous tranquillity.
Emma could have wished Mrs. Elton elsewhere ; but she
was in a humour to have patience with every body ; and as
Mrs. Elton met her with unusual graciousness, she hoped
the rencontre would do them no harm.
She soon believed herself to penetrate Mrs. Elton's
thoughts, and understand why she was, like herself, in
happy spirits ; it was being in Miss Fairfax's confidence,
and fancying herself acquainted with what was still a secret
to other people. Emma saw symptoms of it immediately
in the expression of her face ; and while paying her own
compliments to Mrs. Bates, and appearing to attend to the
good old lady's replies, she saw her with a sort of anxious
parade of mystery fold up a letter which she had ap
parently been reading aloud to Miss Fairfax, and return it
into the purple and gold reticule by her side, saying, with
significant nods, —
" We can finish this some other time, you know. You
and I shall not want opportunities ; and, in fact, you have
 407
heard all the essential already. I only wanted to prove to
you that Mrs. S. admits our apology, and is not offended.
You see how delightfully she writes. Oh, she is a sweet
creature ! You would have doated on her, had you gone.
-— But not a word more. Let us he discreet — quite on
our good behaviour. — Hush J —You remember those lines
— I forget the poem at this moment : —
• For when a lady 's in the case,
You know, all other things give place.'
Now I say, my dear, ir. our case, for lady, read mum !
a word to the wise. I am in a fine flow of spirits, an't I ?
But I want to set your heart at ease as to Mrs. S. My
representation, you see, has quite appeased her."
And again, on Emma's merely turning her head to look
at Mrs. Bates's knitting, she added, in a half whisper, —
" I mentioned no names, you will observe. Oh no I
cautious as a minister of state. I managed it extremely
well."
Emma could not doubt. It was a palpable display, re
peated on every possible occasion. When they had all
talked a little while in harmony of the weather and Mrs.
Weston, she found herself abruptly addressed with, —
" Do not you think, Miss Woodhouse, our saucy little
friend here is charmingly recovered? Do not you think
her cure does Perry the highest credit ? (here was a side
glance of great meaning at Jane.) Upon my word, Perry
has restored her in a wonderful short time ! Oh, if you
had seen her, as I did, when she was at the worst ! " And
when Mrs. Bates was saying something to Emma, whis
pered farther, " We do not say a word of any assistance
that Perry might have ; not a word of a certain young
physician from Windsor. Oh no, Perry shall have all the
credit. •
" I have scarce had the pleasure of seeing you, Miss
Woodhouse," she shortly afterwards began, " since the
party to Box Hill. Very pleasant party. But yet I
think there was something wanting. Things did not
seem — that is, there seemed a little cloud upon the spirits
of some. So it appeared to me, at least, but I might be
dd 4
408 EMMA.
mistaken. However, I think it answered so far as to
tempt one to go again. What say you both to our collecting
the same party, and exploring to Box Hill again, while the
fine weather lasts ? It must be the same party, you know,
quite the same party, not one exception."
Soon after this Miss Bates came in, and Emma could
not help being diverted by the perplexity of her first answer
to herself, resulting, she supposed, from doubt of what
might be said, and impatience to say every thing.
" Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse, you are all kind
ness. It is impossible to say—Yes, indeed, I quite under
stand — dearest Jane's prospects — that is, I do not mean.
But she is charmingly recovered. How is Mr. Woodhouse ?
I am so glad. — Quite out of my power. — Such a happy
little circle as you find us here. — Yes, indeed. — Charm
ing young man ! — that is — so very friendly; I mean good
Mr. Perry ! — such attention to Jane ! " And from her
great, her more than commonly thankful delight towards
Mrs. Elton for being there, Emma guessed that there had
been a little show of resentment towards Jane, from the
vicarage quarter, which was now graciously overcome. —
After a few whispers, indeed, which placed it beyond a
guess, Mrs Elton, speaking louder, said,—
" Yes, here I am, my good friend ; and here I have
been so long, that any where else I should think it neces
sary to apologise : but, the truth is, that I am waiting for
my lord and master. He promised to join me here, and
pay his respects to you."
" What ! are we to have the pleasure of a call from Mr.
Elton ? That will be a favour indeed ! for I know gentle
men do not like morning visits, and Mr. Elton's time is so
engaged."
" Upon my word it is, Miss Bates. He really is engaged
from morning to night. There is no end of people's
coming to him, on some pretence or other. The magis
trates, and overseers, and churchwardens, are always want
ing his opinion. They seem not able to do any thing
without him. ' Upon my word, Mr. E., I often say, ra
ther you than I. I do not know what would become of
my crayons and my instrument, if I had half so many ap
 EMMA. 409
plicants.' Bad enough as it is, for I absolutely neglect
them both to an unpardonable degree. I believe I have
not played a bar this fortnight. However, he is coming, I
assure you : yes, indeed, on purpose to wait on you all."
And putting up her hand to screen her words from Emma
— " A congratulatory visit, you know. Oh ! yes, quite
indispensable."
Miss Bates looked about her, so happily.
" He promised to come to me as soon as he could dis
engage himself from Knightley ; but he and Knightley are
shut up together in deep consultation. Mr. E. is Knight-
ley's right hand."
Emma would not have smiled for the world, and only
said, " Is Mr. Elton gone on foot to Donwell ? He will
have a hot walk."
" Oh no, it is a meeting at the Crown — a regular meet
ing. Weston and Cole will be there too ; but one is apt
to speak only of those who lead. I fancy Mr. E. and
Knightley have every thing their own way."
" Have not you mistaken the day ? " said Emma. " I
am almost certain that the meeting at the Crown is not till
to-morrow. Mr. Knightley was at Hartfield yesterday,
and spoke of it as for Saturday."
" Oh no, the meeting is certainly to-day," was the
abrupt answer, which denoted the impossibility of any
blunder on Mrs. Elton's side. " I do believe," she con
tinued, " this is the most troublesome parish that ever
was. We never heard of such things at Maple Grove."
" Your parish there was small," said Jane.
" Upon my word, my dear, I do not know, for I never
heard the subject talked of."
" But it is proved by the smallness of the school, which
I have heard you speak of, as under the patronage of your
sister and Mrs. Bragge ; the only school, and not more
than five and twenty children."
" Ah ! you clever creature, that's very true. What
a thinking brain you have! I say, Jane, what a per
fect character you and I should make, if we could be
shaken together. My liveliness and your solidity would
produce perfection. Not that I presume to insinuate,
410 EMMA.
however, that some people may not think you perfection
already. But hush ! — not a word, if you please."
It seemed an unnecessary caution ; Jane was wanting
to give her words, not to Mrs. Elton, but to Miss Wood-
house, as the latter plainly saw. The wish of distinguish
ing her, as far as civility permitted, was very evident,
though it could not often proceed beyond a look.
Mr. Elton made his appearance. His lady greeted him
with some of her sparkling vivacity.
" Very pretty, sir, upon my word ; to send me on here,
to be an encumbrance to my friends, so long before you
vouchsafe to come. But you knew what a dutiful creature
you had to deal with. You knew I should not stir till my
lord and master appeared. Here have I been sitting this
hour, giving these young ladies a sample of true conjugal
obedience ; for who can say, you know, how soon it may
be wanted ? "
Mr. Elton was so hot and tired, that all this wit seemed
thrown away. His civilities to the other ladies must be
paid ; but his subsequent object was to lament over him
self, for the heat he was suffering, and the walk he had
had for nothing.
" When I got to Donwell," said he, " Knightley could
not be found. Very odd ! very unaccountable ! after the
note I sent him this morning, and the message he returned,
that he should certainly be at home till one."
" Donwell ! " cried his wife. " My dear Mr. E., you
have not been to Donwell ; you mean the Crown ; you
come from the meeting at the Crown."
" No, no, that's to-morrow ; and I particularly wanted
to see Knightley to-day on that very account. Such a
dreadful broiling morning ! I went over the fields too
(speaking in a tone of great ill usage), which made it so
much the worse. And then not to find him at home ! I
assure you I am not at all pleased. And no apology left,
no message for me. The housekeeper declared she knew
nothing of my being expected. Very extraordinary !
And nobody knew at all which way he was gone. Perhaps
to Hartfield, perhaps to the Abbey Mill, perhaps into his
 EMMA. 411
woods. Miss Woodhouse, this is not like our friend
Knightley. Can you explain it ? "
Emma amused herself by protesting that it was very ex
traordinary indeed, and that she had not a syllable to say
for him.
" I cannot imagine," cried Mrs. Elton, (feeling the in
dignity as a wife ought to do,) " I cannot imagine how he
could do such a thing by you, of all people in the world !
The very last person whom one should expect to be for
gotten ! My dear Mr. E., he must have left a message for
you, I am sure he must. Not even Knightley could be so
very eccentric ; — and his servants forgot it. Depend upon
it that was the case : and very likely to happen with the
Donwell servants, who are all, I have often observed, ex
tremely awkward and remiss. I am sure I would not have
such a creature as his Harry stand at our sideboard for any
consideration. And as for Mrs. Hodges, Wright holds her
very cheap indeed. She promised Wright a receipt, and
never sent it."
" I met William Larkins," continued Mr. Elton, " as I
got near the house, and he told me I should not find his
master at home, but I did not believe him. William seemed
rather out of humour. He did not know what was come
to his master lately, he said, but he could hardly ever get
the speech of him. I have nothing to do with William's
wants, but it really is of very great importance that / should
see Knightley to-day ; and it becomes a matter, therefore,
of very serious inconvenience that I should have had this
hot walk to no purpose."
Emma felt that she could not do better than go home
directly. In all probability she was at this very time waited
for there ; and Mr. Knightley might be preserved from
sinking deeper in aggression towards Mr. Elton, if not
towards William Larkins.
She was pleased, on taking leave, to find Miss Fairfax
determined to attend her out of the room, to go with her
even down stairs; it gave her an opportunity which she
immediately made use of, to say,—
" It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possi
bility. Had you not been surrounded by other friends, I
 EMMA.
might haye been tempted to introduce a subject, to ask
questions, to speak more openly than might have been
strictly correct. I feel that I should certainly have been
impertinent."
" Oh ! " cried Jane, with a blush and an hesitation which
Emma thought infinitely more becoming to her than all the
elegance of all her usual composure — there would have
been no danger. The danger would have been of my wearying
you. You could not have gratified me more than by ex
pressing an interest . Indeed, Miss Woodhouse, (speak
ing more collectedly,) with the consciousness which I have
of misconduct, very great misconduct, it is particularly con
soling to me to know that those of my friends, whose good
opinion is most worth preserving, are not disgusted to such
a degree as to — I have not time for half that I could wish
to say. I long to make apologies, excuses, to urge some
thing for myself. I feel it so very due. But, unfor
tunately — in short, if your compassion does not stand
my friend "
" Oh ! you are too scrupulous, indeed you are," cried
Emma, warmly, and taking her hand. " You owe me no
apologies ; and every body to whom you might be supposed
to owe them, is so perfectly satisfied, so delighted even—"
" You are very kind, but I know what my manners
were to you. So cold and artificial ! I had always a part
to act. It was a life of deceit ! I know that I must have
disgusted you."
" Pray say no more. I feel that all the apologies should
be on my side. Let us forgive each other at once. We
must do whatever is to be done quickest, and I think our
feelings will lose no time there. I hope you have pleasant
accounts from Windsor ? "
" Very."
" And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are
to lose you —just as I begin to know you."
" Oh ! as to all that, of course nothing can be thought
of yet. I am here till claimed by Colonel and Mrs. Camp
bell."
" Nothing can be actually settled yet, perhaps," replied
 EMMA. 413
Emma, smiling — "but, excuse me, it must be thought
of."
The smile was returned as Jane answered,—
" You are very right ; it has been thought of. And I
will own to you (I am sure it will be safe), that so far
as our living with Mr. Churchill at Enscombe, it is settled.
There must be three months, at least, of deep mourning ;
but when they are over, I imagine there will be nothing
more to wait for."
" Thank you, thank you. This is just what I wanted
to be assured of. Oh ! if you knew how much I love
every thing that is decided and open ! — Good bye, good
bye."

CHAPTER XVII.
Mrs. Weston's friends were all made happy by her safety ;
and if the satisfaction of her well-doing could be increased
to Emma, it was by knowing her to be the mother of a
little girl. She had been decided in wishing for a Miss
Weston. She would not acknowledge that it was with
any view of making a match for her, hereafter, with either
of Isabella's sons ; but she was convinced that a daughter
would suit both father and mother best. It would be a
great comfort to Mr. Weston, as he grew older — and
even Mr. Weston might be growing older ten years hence
— to have his fireside enlivened by the sports and the non
sense, the freaks and the fancies of a child never banished
from home ; and Mrs. Weston — no one could doubt that
a daughter would be most to her ; and it would be quite
a pity that any one who so well knew how to teach, should
not have their powers in exercise again.
" She has had the advantage, you know, of practising
on me," she continued — " like La Baronne d'Almane on
La Comtesse d'Ostalis, in Madame de Genlis' Adelaide and
Theodore, and we shall now see her own little Adelaide
educated on a more perfect plan."
414 EMMA.
" That is," replied Mr. Knightley, " she will indulge
her even more than she did you, and believe that she does
not indulge her at all. It will be the only difference."
" Poor child ! " cried Emma ; " at that rate, what will
become of her ? "
" Nothing very bad. The fate of thousands. She will
be disagreeable in infancy, and correct herself as she grows
older. I am losing all my bitterness against spoiled
children, my dearest Emma. I, who am owing all my
happiness to you, would not it be horrible ingratitude in
me to be severe on them ? "
Emma laughed, and replied : " But I had the assistance
of all your endeavours to counteract the indulgence of
other people. I doubt whether my own sense would have
corrected me without it."
" Do you ? — I have no doubt. Nature gave you
understanding : — Miss Taylor gave you principles. You
must have done well. My interference was quite as likely
to do harm as good. It was very natural for you to say,
what right has he to lecture me ? and I am afraid very
natural for you to feel that it was done in a disagreeable
manner. I do not believe I did you any good. The good
was all to myself, by making you an object of the tenderest
affection to me. I could not think about you so much
without doating on you, faults and all ; and by dint of
fancying so many errors, have been in love with you ever
since you were thirteen at least."
" I am sure you were of use to me," cried Emma. " I was
very often influenced rightly by you—oftener than I would
own at the time. I am very sure you did me good. And if
poor little Anna Weston is to be spoiled, it will be the
greatest humanity in you to do as much for her as you
have done for me, except falling in love with her when she
is thirteen."
" How often, when you were a girl, have you said to
me, with one of your saucy looks, — Mr. Knightley, I am
going to do so and so ; papa says I may,' or, ' I have Miss
Taylor's leave' — something which, you knew, I did not
approve. In such cases my interference was giving you
two bad feelings instead of one."
 EMMA. 415
" What an amiable creature I was ! No wonder you
should hold my speeches in such affectionate remem
brance."
" ' Mr. Knightley.' You always called me, ' Mr.
Knightley and, from habit, it has not so very formal a
sound. And yet it is formal. I want you to call me
something else, but I do not know what."
" I remember once calling you ' George,' in one of
my amiable fits, about ten years ago. I did it because I
thought it would offend you ; but, as you made ho objec
tion, I never did it again."
" And cannot you call me ' George' now ? "
" Impossible ! I never can call you any thing but
' Mr. Knightley.' I will not promise even to equal the
elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by calling you Mr. K.
But I will promise," she added presently, laughing and
blushing, " I will promise to call you once by your
Christian name. I do not say when, but perhaps you may
guess where ; —in the building in which N. takes M. for
better, for worse."
Emma grieved that she could not be more openly just
to one important service which his better sense would have
rendered her, to the advice which would have saved her
from the worst of all her womanly follies — her wilful
intimacy with Harriet Smith ; but it was too tender a sub
ject. She could not enter on it. Harriet was very seldom
mentioned between them. This, on his side, might merely
proceed from her not being thought of ; but Emma was
rather inclined to attribute it to delicacy, and a suspicion,
from some appearances, that their friendship were declin
ing. She was aware herself, that, parting under any other
circumstances, they certainly should have corresponded
more, and that her intelligence would not have rested, as it
now almost wholly did, on Isabella's letters. He might
observe that it was so. The pain of being obliged to prac
tise concealment towards him, was very little inferior to
the pain of having made Harriet unhappy.
Isabella sent quite as good an account of her visiter as
could be expected ; on her first arrival she had thought her
out of spirits, which appeared perfectly natural, as there
416 EMMA.
was a dentist to be consulted ; but, since that business had
been over, she did not appear to find Harriet different from
what she had known her before. Isabella, to be sure, was
no very quick observer ; yet if Harriet had not been equal
to playing with the children, it would not have escaped her.
Emma's comforts and hopes were most agreeably carried on,
by Harriet's being to stay longer ; her fortnight was likely
to be a month at least. Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley
were to come down in August, and she was invited to re
main till they could bring her back.
" John does not even mention your friend," said Mr.
Knightley. " Here is his answer, if you like to see it."
It was the answer to the communication of his intended
marriage. Emma accepted it with a very eager hand,
with an impatience all alive to know what he would say
about it, and not at all checked by hearing that her friend
was unmentioned.
" John enters like a brother into my happiness," con-
tinued Mr. Knightley, " but he is no complimenter ; and
though I well know him to have, likewise, a most brotherly
affection for you, he is so far from making flourishes, that
any other young woman might think him rather cool in
her praise. But I am not afraid of your seeing what he
writes."
" He writes like a sensible man," replied Emma, when
she had read the letter. " I honour his sincerity. It is
very plain that he considers the good fortune of the en
gagement as all on my side, but that he is not without
hope of my growing, in time, as worthy of your affection,
as you think me already. Had he said any thing to bear
a different construction, I should not have believed him."
" My Emma, he means no such thing. He only
means——"
'' He and I should differ very little in our estimation
of the two," — interrupted she, with a sort of serious
smile — " much less, perhaps, than he is aware of, if we
could enter without ceremony or reserve on the subject."
" Emma, my dear Emma "
" Oh ! " she cried with more thorough gaiety, " if you
fancy your brother does not do me justice, only wait till
 EMMA. 417
my dear father is in the secret, and hear his opinion.
Depend upon it, he will be much farther from doing you
justice. He will think all the happiness, all the advantage,
on your side of the question ; all the merit on mine. I
wish I may not sink into ' poor Emma ' with him at once.
His tender compassion towards oppressed worth can go no
farther."
" Ah !" he cried, " I wish your father might be half
as easily convinced as John will be, of our having every
right that equal worth can give, to be happy together. I
am amused by one part of John's letter — did you notice
it? — where he says, that my information did not take
him wholly by surprise, that he was rather in expectation
of hearing something of the kind."
" If I understand your brother, he only means so far
as your having some thoughts of marrying. He had no
idea of me. He seems perfectly unprepared for that."
" Yes, yes — but I am amused that he should have
seen so far into my feelings. What has he been judging
by ? I am not conscious of any difference in my spirits
or conversation that could prepare him at this time for my
marrying any more than at another. But it was so, I
suppose. I dare say there was a difference when I was
staying with them the other day. I believe I did not
play with the children quite so much as usual. I re
member one evening the poor boys saying, ' Uncle seems '
always tired now.' "
The time was coming when the news must spread
farther, and other persons' reception of it tried. As soon
as Mrs. Weston was sufficiently recovered to admit Mr.
Woodhouse's visits, Emma having it in view that her
gentle reasonings should be employed in the cause, resolved
first to announce it at home, and then at Randalls. But
how to break it to her father at last ! She had hound
herself to do it, in such an hour of Mr. Knightley's ab
sence, or when it came to the point her heart would have
failed her, and she must have put it off ; but Mr. Knight-
ley was to come at such a time, and follow up the begin
ning she was to make. She was forced to speak, and to
speak cheerfully too. She must not make it a more de
ls E
 418
cided subject of misery to him, by a melancholy tone
herself. She must not appear to think it a misfortune.
With all the spirits she could command, she prepared him
first for something strange, and then, in few words, said,
that if his consent and approbation could be obtained —
which, she trusted, would be attended with no difficulty,
since it was a plan to promote the happiness of all — she
and Mr. Knightley meant to marry ; by which means
Hartfield would receive the constant addition of that
person's company, whom she knew he loved, next to his
daughters and Mrs. Weston, best in the world.
Poor man ! — it was at first a considerable shock to him,
and he tried earnestly to dissuade her from it. She was
reminded, more than once, of her having always said she
would never marry, and assured that it would be a great
deal better for her to remain single ; and told of poor Isa
bella, and poor Miss Taylor. But it would not do. Emma
hung about him affectionately, and smiled, and said it must
be so ; and that he must not class her with Isabella and Mrs.
Weston, whose marriages taking them from Hartfield had,
indeed, made a melancholy change : but she was not going
from Hartfield ; she should be always there ; she was in
troducing no change in their numbers or their comforts but
for the better ; and she was very sure that he would be a
great deal the happier for having Mr. Knightley always at
hand, when he were once got used to the idea. Did not
he love Mr. Knightley very much ? He would not deny
that he did, she was sure. Whom did he ever want to
consult on business but Mr. Knightley? Who was so
useful to him, who so ready to write his letters, who so glad
to assist him ? Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached
to him ? Would not he like to have him always on the
spot ? Yes. That was all very true. Mr. Knightley
could not be there too often ; he should be glad to see him
every day : but they did see him every day as it was.
Why could not they go on as they had done ?
Mr. Woodhouse could not be soon reconciled ; but the
worst was overcome, the idea was given ; time and con
tinual repetition must do the rest. To Emma's entreaties
and assurances succeeded Mr. Knightley's, whose fond
 EMMA. 419
praise of her gave the subject even a kind of welcome ;
and he was soon used to be talked to by each on every fair
occasion. They had all the assistance which Isabella could
give, by letters of the strongest approbation ; and Mrs.
Weston was ready, on the first meeting, to consider the
subject in the most serviceable light ; first, as a settled, and,
secondly, as a good one — well aware of the nearly equal
importance of the two recommendations to Mr. Woodhouse's
mind. It was agreed upon, as what was to be ; and every
body by whom he was used to be guided assuring him that
it would be for his happiness ; and having some feelings
himself which almost admitted it, he began to think that
some time or other, in another year or two, perhaps, it
might not be so very bad if the marriage did take place.
Mrs. Weston was acting no part, feigning no feelings in
all that she said to him in favour of the event. She had
been extremely surprised, never more so, than when Emma
first opened the affair to her ; but she saw in it only in
crease of happiness to all, and had no scruple in urging him
to the utmost. She had such a regard for Mr. Knightley,
as to think he deserved even her dearest Emma ; and it was
in every respect so proper, suitable, and unexceptionable a
connection, and in one respect, one point of the highest
importance, so peculiarly eligible, so singularly fortunate,
that now it seemed as if Emma could not safely have at
tached herself to any other creature, and that she had her
self been the stupidest of beings in not having thought of
it, and wished it long ago. How very few of those men
in a rank of life to address Emma would have renounced
their own home for Hartfield! And who but Mr. Knightley
could know and bear with Mr. Woodhouse, so as to make
such an arrangement desirable ! The difficulty of disposing
of poor Mr. Woodhouse had been always felt in her hus
band's plans and her own, for a marriage between Frank
and Emma. How to settle the claims of Enscombe and
Hartfield had been a continual impediment — less acknow
ledged by Mr. Weston than by herself— but even he had ne
ver been able to finish the subject better than by saying, —
" Those matters will take care of themselves ; the young
people will find a way." But here there was nothing to be
BB 2
 'EMMA.
shifted off in a wild speculation on the future. It was all
right, all open, all equal. No sacrifice on any side worth
the name. It was a union of the highest promise of felicity
in itself, and without one real, rational difficulty to oppose
or delay it.
Mrs. Weston, with her haby on her knee, indulging in
such reflections as these, was one of the happiest women in
the world. If any thing could increase her delight, it was
perceiving that the baby would soon have outgrown its first
set of caps.
The news was universally a surprise wherever it spread ;
and Mr. Weston had his five minutes' share of it ; but five
minutes were enough to familiarise the idea to his quick
ness of mind. He saw the advantages of the match, and
rejoiced in them with all the constancy of his wife ; but
the wonder of it was very soon nothing ; and by the end of
an hour, he was not far from believing that he had always
foreseen it.
" It is to be a secret, I conclude," said he. " These
matters are always a secret, till it is found out that every
body knows them. Only let me be told when I may
speak out. I wonder whether Jane has any suspicion."
He went to Highbury the next morning and satisfied
himself on that point. He told her the news. Was not
she like a daughter, his eldest daughter ? — he must tell
her ; and Miss Bates being present, it passed, of course, to
Mrs Cole, Mrs. Perry, and Mrs. Elton, immediately after
wards. It was no more than the principals were prepared
for ; they had calculated from the time of its being known
at Randalls, how soon it would be over Highbury ; and
were thinking of themselves, as the evening wonder in many
a family circle, with great sagacity.
. In general, it was a very well approved match. Some
might think him, and others might think her, the most in
luck. One set might recommend their all removing to Don-
well, and leaving Hartfield for the John Knightleys ; and
another might predict disagreements among their servants ;
but yet, upon the whole, there was no serious objection
raised, except in one habitation — the vicarage. There,
the surprise was not softened by any satisfaction. Mr.
 EMMA. 421
Elton cared little about it, compared with his wife; he
only hoped " the young lady's pride would now be con
tented ; " and supposed " she had always meant to catch
Knightley if she could ; " and, on the point of living at
Hartfield, could daringly exclaim, " Rather he than I ! "
But Mrs. Elton was very much discomposed indeed.
" Poor Knightley ! poor fellow ! — sad business for him.
She was extremely concerned ; for, though very eccentric,
he had a thousand good qualities. How could he be so
taken in ? Did not think him at all in love — not in the
least. Poor Knightley ! There would be an end of all
pleasant intercourse with him. How happy he had been to
come and dine with them whenever they asked him ! But
that would be all over now. Poor fellow ! No more
exploring parties to Donwell made for her. Oh no ; there
would be a Mrs. Knightley to throw cold water on every
thing. Extremely disagreeable ! But she was not at all
sorry that she had abused the housekeeper the other day.
Shocking plan, living together. It would never do. She
knew a family near Maple Grove who had tried it, and
been obliged to separate before the end of the first quarter."

CHAPTER XVIII.
Time passed on. A few more to-morrows, and the party
from London would be arriving. It was an alarming
change ; and Emma was thinking of it one morning, as
what must bring a great deal to agitate and grieve her,
when Mr. Knightley came in, and distressing thoughts
were put by. After the first chat of pleasure, he was
silent; and then, in a graver tone, began with, —
" I have something to tell you, Emma ; some news."
" Good or bad ? " said she, quickly, looking up in his
face.
" I do not know which it ought to be called."
" Oh, good I am sure. I see it in your countenance
You are trying not to smile."
ee 3
 EMMA.
" I am afraid," said he, composing his features, " I am
very much afraid, my dear Emma, that you will not smile
when you hear it."
" Indeed! but why so? — I can hardly imagine that
any thing which pleases or amuses you should not please
and amuse me too."
" There is one subject," he replied, " I hope but one,
on which we do not think alike." He paused a moment,
again smiling, with his eyes fixed on her face. " Does
nothing occur to you ? Do not you recollect ? Harriet
Smith."
Her cheeks flushed at the name, and she felt afraid of
something, though she knew not what.
" Have you heard from her yourself this morning?"
cried he. " You have, I believe, and know the whole."
" No, I have not : I know nothing ; pray tell me."
" You are prepared for the worst, I see ; and very bad
it is. Harriet Smith marries Robert Martin."
Emma gave a start, which did not seem like being pre
pared ; and her eyes, in eager gaze, said, " No, this is
impossible ! " but her lips were closed.
" It is so, indeed ! " continued Mr. Knightley ; " I
have it from Robert Martin himself. He left me not half
an hour ago."
She was still looking at him with the most speaking
amazement.
" You like it, my Emma, as little as I feared— I wish
our opinions were the same. But in time they will.
Time, you may be very sure, will make one or the other
of us think differently ; and, in the meanwhile, we need
not talk much on the subject."
" You mistake me, you quite mistake me," she replied,
exerting herself. " It is not that such a circumstance
would now make me unhappy, but I cannot believe it. It
seems an impossibility ! You cannot mean to say, that
Harriet Smith has accepted Robert Martin. You cannot
mean that he has even proposed to her again — yet. You
only mean, that he intends it."
" I mean that he has done it," answered Mr. Knight
 EMMA.
ley, with smiling but determined decision, " and been
accepted."
" Good God ! " she cried. " Well ! " —Then having re
course to her work-basket, in excuse for leaning down her
face, and concealing all the exquisite feelings of delight
and entertainment which she knew she must be expressing,
she added, "Well, now tell me every thing; make this
intelligible to me. How, where, when ? Let me know
it all. I never was more surprised —but it does not make
. me unhappy, I assure you. How—how has it been pos
sible?"
" It is a very simple story. He went to town on busi
ness three days ago, and I got him to take charge of some
papers which I was wanting to send to John. He de
livered these papers to John, at his chambers, and was
asked by him to join their party the same evening to
Astley's. They were going to take the two eldest boys to
Astley's. The party was to be our brother and sister,
Henry, John—, and Miss Smith. My friend Robert
could not resist. They called for him in their way ; were
all extremely amused ; and my brother asked him to dine
with them the next day, which he did, and in the course
of that visit (as I understand) he found an opportunity of
speaking to Harriet ; and certainly did not speak in vain.
She made him, by her acceptance, as happy even as he is
deserving. He came down by yesterday's coach, and was
with me this morning, immediately after breakfast, to
report his proceedings, first on my affairs, and then on his
own. This is all that I can relate of the how, where, and
when. Your friend Harriet will make a much longer his
tory when you see her. She will give you all the minute
particulars, which only woman's language can make in
teresting. In our communications we deal only in the
great. However, I must say, that Robert Martin's heart
seemed for him, and to me, very overflowing ; and that he
did mention, without its being much to the purpose, that
on quitting their box at Astley's, my brother took charge
of Mrs. John Knightley and little John, and he followed,
with Miss Smith and Henry ; and that at one time they
eb 4
 EMMA.
were in such a crowd, as to make Miss Smith rather
uneasy."
He stopped. Emma dared not attempt any immediate
reply. To speak, she was sure would be to betray a most
unreasonable degree of happiness. She must wait a mo
ment, or he would think her mad. Her silence disturbed
him ; and after observing her a little while, he added, —
" Emma, my love, you said that this circumstance
would not now make you unhappy ; but I am afraid it
gives you more pain than you expected. His situation is
an evil ; but you must consider it as what satisfies your
friend : and I will answer for your thinking better and
better of him as you know him more : his good sense and
good principles would delight you. As far as the man is
concerned, you could not wish your friend in better hands.
His rank in society I would alter if I could ; which is
saying a great deal, I assure you, Emma. You laugh at
me about William Larkins ; but I could quite as ill spare
Robert Martin."
He wanted her to look up and smile ; and having now
brought herself not to smile too broadly, she did, cheerfully
answering, —
" You need not be at any pains to reconcile me to the
match. I think Harriet is doing extremely well. Her
connections may be worse than his : in respectability of
character, there can be no doubt that they are. I have
been silent from surprise merely, excessive surprise. You
cannot imagine how suddenly it has come on me ! how
peculiarly unprepared I was ! for I had reason to believe
her very lately more determined against him, much more
than she was before."
" You ought to know your friend best," replied Mr.
Knightley ; " but I should say she was a good-tempered,
soft-hearted girl, not likely to be very, very determined
against any young man who told her he loved her."
Emma could not help laughing as she answered, " Upon
my word, I believe you know her quite as well as I do.
But, Mr. Knightley, are you perfectly sure that she has
absolutely and downright accepted him. I could suppose
she might in time, but can she already ? Did not you
 EMMA. 425
misunderstand him? You were both talking of other
things ; of business, shows of cattle, or new drills ; and
might not you, in the confusion of so many subjects, mis
take him ? It was not Harriet's hand that he was certain
of — it was the dimensions of some famous ox."
The contrast between the countenance and air of Mr.
Knightley and Robert Martin was, at this moment, so
strong to Emma's feelings, and so strong was the recollec
tion of all that had so recently passed on Harriet's side,
so fresh the sound of those words spoken with such
emphasis, " No, I hope I know better than to think of
Robert Martin," that she was really expecting the intelli
gence to prove, in some measure, premature. It could not
be otherwise.
" Do you dare say this ? " cried Mr. Knightley. " Do
you dare to suppose me so great a blockhead, as not to
know what a man is talking of? What do you deserve?'*
" Oh ! I always deserve the best treatment, because I
never put up with any other; and, therefore, you must
give me a plain, direct answer. Are you quite sure that
you understand the terms on which Mr. Martin and Har
riet now are ? "
" I am quite sure," he replied, speaking very dis
tinctly, " that he told me she had accepted him ; and
that there was no obscurity, nothing doubtful, in the
words he used ; and I think I can give you a proof that it
must be so. He asked my opinion as to what he was now
to do. He knew of no one but Mrs. Goddard to whom he
could apply for information of her relations or friends.
Could I mention any thing more fit to be done, than to go
to Mrs. Goddard ? I assured him that I could not. Then,
he said, he would endeavour to see her in the course of
this day."
" I am perfectly satisfied," replied Emma, with the
brightest smiles, " and most sincerely wish them happy."
" You are materially changed since we talked on this
subject before."
" I hope so — for at that time I was a fool."
" And I am changed also ; for I am now very willing
to grant you all Harriet's good qualities. I have taken
426 EMMA.
some pains for your sake, and for Robert Martin's sake
(whom I have always had reason to believe as much in love
with her as ever), to get acquainted with her. I have often
talked to her a good deal. You must have seen that I did.
Sometimes, indeed, I have thought you were half suspect
ing me of pleading poor Martin's cause, which was never
the case : but, from all my observations, I am convinced
of her being an artless, amiable girl, with very good notions,
very seriously good principles, and placing her happiness
in the affections and utility of domestic life. Much of
this, I have no doubt, she may thank you for."
" Me ! " cried Emma, shaking her head. " Ah, poor
Harriet!"
She checked herself, however, and submitted quietly to
a little more praise than she deserved.
Their conversation was soon afterwards closed by the
entrance of her father. She was not sorry. She wanted
to be alone. Her mind was in a state of flutter and won
der, which made it impossible for her to be collected. She
was in dancing, singing, exclaiming spirits ; and till she
had moved about, and talked to herself, and laughed and
reflected, she could be fit for nothing rational.
Her father's business was to announce James's being
gone out to put the horses to, preparatory to their now daily
drive to Randalls ; and she had, therefore, an immediate
excuse for disappearing.
The joy, the gratitude, the exquisite delight of her sens
ations may be imagined. The sole grievance and alloy
thus removed in the prospect of Harriet's welfare, she was
really in danger of becoming too happy for security. What
had she to wish for ? Nothing, but to grow more worthy
of him, whose intentions and judgment had been ever so
superior to her own. Nothing but that the lessons of her
past folly might teach her humility and circumspection in
future.
Serious she was, very serious, in her thankfulness and in
her resolutions ; and yet there was no preventing a laugh,
sometimes in the very midst of them. She must laugh at
such a close — such an end of the doleful disappointment of
five weeks back — such a heart — such a Harriet !
 427
Now there would be pleasure in her returning; every
thing would be a pleasure : it would be a great pleasure to
know Robert Martin.
High in the rank of her most serious and heartfelt
felicities was the reflection that all necessity of concealment
from Mr. Knightley would soon be over. The disguise,
equivocation, mystery, so hateful to her to practise, might
soon be over. She could now look forward to giving him
that full and perfect confidence which her disposition was
most ready to welcome as a duty.
In the gayest and happiest spirits, she set forward with
her father, not always listening, but always agreeing, to
what he said ; and, whether in speech or silence, conniving
at the comfortable persuasion of his being obliged to go to
Randalls every day, or poor Mrs. Weston would be dis
appointed. i
They arrived. Mrs. Weston was alone in the drawing-
room. But hardly had they been told of the baby, and Mr.
Woodhouse received the thanks for coming, which he asked
for, when a glimpse was caught through the blind of two
figures passing near the window.
" It is Frank and Miss Fairfax," said Mrs. Weston.
" I was just going to tell you of our agreeable surprise in
seeing him arrive this morning. He stays till to-morrow,
and Miss Fairfax has been persuaded to spend the day with
us. They are coming in, I hope."
In half a minute they were in the room. Emma was
extremely glad to see him ; but there was a degree of con
fusion, a number of embarrassing recollections, on each
side. They met readily and smiling, but with a conscious
ness which at first allowed little to be said ; and having all
sat down again, there was for some time such a blank in the
circle that Emma began to doubt whether the wish now in
dulged, which she had long felt, of seeing Frank Churchill
once more, and of seeing him with Jane, would yield jts
proportion of pleasure. When Mr. Weston joined the party,
however, and when the baby was fetched, there was no
longer a want of subject or animation, or of courage and
opportunity for Frank Churchill to draw near her and
•ay,—
428 EMMA.
" I have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very
kind, forgiving message, in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I
hope time has not made you less willing to pardon : I hope
you do not retract what you then said."
tt "No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin;
" not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake
hands with you, and to give you joy in person."
He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some
time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and
happiness. •
" Is not she looking well ? " said he, turning his eyes
towards Jane, — " better than she ever used to do ? You
see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her."
But his spirits were soon rising again ; and, with laugh
ing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the
Campbells, he named the name of Dixon. Emma blushed,
and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing.
" I can never think of it," she cried, " without extreme
ahame."
" The shame," he answered, " is all mine, or ought to
be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion ? I mean
of late : early, I know, you had none."
" I never had the smallest, I assure you."
" That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near,
— and I wish I had ; it would have been better. But
though I was always doing wrong things, they were very
bad wrong things, and such as did me no service. It would
have been a much better transgression, had I broken the
bond of secrecy and told you every thing.
" It is now not worth a regret," said Emma.
" I have some hope," resumed he, " of my uncle's being
persuaded to pay a visit at Randalls ; he wants to be in
troduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we
shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust,
tilj we may carry her northward1; but now, I am at such
a distance from her — is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse ?
Till this morning, we have not once met since the day
of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?"
Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that, with a sud
den accession of gay thought, he cried,—
 429
" Ah ! by the by,"— then sinking his voice, and look
ing demure for the moment, — " I hope Mr. Knightley is
well?" He paused. She coloured and laughed. "1
know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my
wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations.
I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest
interest and satisfaction. He is a man whom I cannot
presume to praise."
Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in
the same style ; but his mind was the next moment in
his own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next
words were,—
" Did you ever see such a skin ? such smoothness,
such delicacy, and yet without being actually fair. One
cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion,
with her dark eyelashes and hair — a most distinguishing
complexion ! So peculiarly the lady in it. Just colour
enough for beauty."
" I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma,
archly ; " but do not I remember the time when you found
fault with her for being so pale ? When we first began
to talk of her. Have you quite forgotten ?"
" Oh no ! —what an impudent dog I was! — how could
I dare "
But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that Emma
could not help saying,—
' " I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at
that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all.
I am sure you had. I am sure it was a consolation to
you."
" Oh no, no, no ! — how can you suspect me of such a
thing ? I was the most miserable wretch."
" Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth.
I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to
feel that you were taking us all in. Perhaps I am the
readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it
might have been some amusement to myself in the same
situation. I think there is a little likeness between us."
He bowed.
" If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a
430 EMMA.
look of true sensibility, " there is a likeness in our destiny ;
the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters
so much superior to our own."
" True, true," he answered, warmly. " No, not true
on your side. You can have no superior, but most true on
mine. She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not
she an angel in every gesture ? Observe the turn of her
throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my fa
ther. You will be glad to hear (inclining his head, and
whispering seriously) that my uncle means to give her all
my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am re
solved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will
not it be beautiful in her dark hair ? "
" Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma ; and she
spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out,—
" How delighted I am to see you again ! and to see you
in such excellent looks ! I would not have missed this
meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at
Hartfield had you failed to come."
The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston
giving an account of a little alarm she had been under the
evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well.
She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her,
and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr.
Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston
had been almost as uneasy as herself. In ten minutes,
however, the child had been perfectly well again. This
was her history ; and particularly interesting it was to Mr.
Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking
of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not
done it. " She should always send for Perry, if the child
appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for
a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send
for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had
not come last night ; for, though the child seemed well
now, very well considering, it would probably have been
better if Perry had seen it."
Frank Churchill caught the name.
" Perry ! " said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to
Catch Miss Fairfax's eye. " My friend Mr. Perry ! What
 EMMA. 431
are they saying about Mr. Perry ? Has he been here thi*
morning ? And how does he travel now ? Has he set up
his carriage?"
Emma soon recollected, and understood him ; and while
she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's coun
tenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying
to seem deaf.
" Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. " I
can never think of it without laughing. She hears us, she
hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her
smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not
you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own
letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye ;
that the whole blunder is spread before her ; that she can
attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the
others ? "
Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment ; and
the smile partly remained as she turned towards him, and
said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice,—
" How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to
me ! They will sometimes obtrude : but how can you
court them ? "
He had a great deal to say in return, and very enter
tainingly ; but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane in
the argument : and on leaving Randalls, and falling na
turally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that
pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really
regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never
been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of
character. The happiness of this most happy day received
its completion in the animated contemplation of his worth
which this comparison produced.

CHAPTER XIX.
If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for
Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her
432 EMMA.
to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and
really able to accept another man from unbiassed inclination,
it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence
of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the
party from London ; and she had no sooner an opportunity
of being one hour alone with Harriet, than she became
perfectly satisfied, unaccountable as it was, that Robert
Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley, and was
now forming all her views of happiness.
Harriet was a little distressed — did look a little foolish
at first ; but having once owned that she had been pre-
sumptuous and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain
and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and
leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest
exultation, in the present and future ; for, as to her friend's
approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of
that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified con
gratulations. Harriet was most happy to give every par
ticular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next
day ; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight.
But what did such particulars explain ? The fact was,
as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet had always
liked Robert Martin ; and that his continuing to love her
had been irresistible. Beyond this, it must ever be unin
telligible to Emma.
The event, however, was most joyful ; and every day
was giving her fresh reason for thinking so. Harriet's
parentage became known. She proved to be the daughter
of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable
maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough
to have always wished for concealment. Such was the
blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so
ready to vouch for ! It was likely to be as untainted,
perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman ; but what a
connection had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley, or
for the Churchills, or even for Mr. Elton ! The stain
of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would
have been a stain indeed.
No objection was raised on the father's side ; the young
man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and
 EMMA. 433
as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who
was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged
in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could
bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of
Harriet's happiness with any good-tempered man ; but
with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the
hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement.
She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her,
and who had better sense than herself ; retired enough for
safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She would
be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find her out.
She would be respectable and happy ; and Emma admitted
her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created
so steady and persevering an affection in such a man ; or,
if not quite the luckiest, to yield only to herself.
Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements
with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield, which
was not to be regretted. The intimacy between her and
Emma must sink ; their friendship must change into a
calmer sort of good-will ; and, fortunately, what ought to
be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the
most gradual, natural manner.
Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to
church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with
so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even con
nected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could im
pair. Perhaps, indeed, at that time, she scarcely saw Mr.
Elton, but. as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar
might next fall on herself. Robert Martin and Harriet
Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first
to be married.
Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was
restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the
Campbells. The Mr. Churchills were also in town ; and
they were only waiting for November.
The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as
they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley. They had de
termined that their marriage ought to be concluded, while
John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the
fortnight's absence in a tour to the sea-side, which was the
r k
434 EMMA.
plan. John and Isabella, and every other friend, were
agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse — how was
Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent ? — he, who had
never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event.
When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable,
that they were almost hopeless. A second allusion, in
deed, gave less pain. He began to think it was to be, and
that he could not prevent it — a very promising step of the
mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was
not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his
daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to see him
suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected ; and
though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assur
ance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event
were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated
— she could not proceed.
In this state of suspense, they were befriended, not by
any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any
wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the oper
ation of the same system in another way. Mrs. Weston's
poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys, —
evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards
in the neighbourhood also suffered. Pilfering was house
breaking to Mr. Woodhouse's fears. He was very un
easy ; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's protection,
would have been under wretched alarm every night of his
life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of
the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence.
While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield
was safe. But Mr. John Knightley must be in London
again by the end of the first week in November.
The result of this distress was, that, with a much more
voluntary, cheerful consent, than his daughter had ever
presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix
her wedding-day ; and Mr. Elton was called on, within a
month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin,
to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse.
The wedding was very much like other weddings, where
the parties have no taste for finery or parade ; and Mrs. El
ton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought
 EMMA. 435
it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own.
" Very little white satin, very few lace veils ; a most
pitiful business ! Selina would stare when she heard of
it." But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the
hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of
true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully an
swered in the perfect happiness of the union.

the end.
 London :
Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode,
New-Street-Square.