Part 4 - Emma Audiobook by Jane Austen (Vol 2: Chs 08-13)

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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 certainly silly things do cease to be
silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent way.
Wickedness is always wickedness, but folly is not always folly.--It depends upon the
character of those who handle it. Mr. Knightley, he is not a trifling,
silly young man.
If he were, he would have done this differently.
He would either have gloried in the achievement, or been ashamed of it.
There would have been either the ostentation of a coxcomb, or the evasions
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 approbation while warm from her heart, for
he stopped to hand her out.
"This is coming as you should do," said she; "like a gentleman.--I am quite glad to
see you."
He thanked her, observing, "How lucky that we should arrive at the same moment! for,
if we had met first in the drawing-room, I doubt 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.
She was received with a cordial respect which could not but please, and given all
the consequence she could wish for.
When the Westons arrived, the kindest looks of love, the strongest of admiration were
for her, from both husband and wife; the son approached her with a cheerful
eagerness which marked her as his peculiar
object, and at dinner she found him seated by her--and, as she firmly believed, not
without some dexterity on his side.
The party was rather large, as it included one other family, a proper unobjectionable
country family, whom the Coles had the advantage of naming among their
acquaintance, and the male part of Mr. Cox's family, the lawyer of Highbury.
The less worthy females were to come in the evening, with Miss Bates, Miss Fairfax, and
Miss Smith; but already, at dinner, they were too numerous for any subject of
conversation to be general; and, while
politics and Mr. Elton were talked over, Emma could fairly surrender all her
attention to the pleasantness of her neighbour.
The first remote sound to which she felt herself obliged to attend, was the name of
Jane Fairfax.
Mrs. Cole seemed to be relating something of her that was expected to be very
interesting. She listened, and found it well worth
listening to.
That very dear part of Emma, her fancy, received an amusing supply.
Mrs. Cole was telling that she had been calling on Miss Bates, and as soon as she
entered the room had been struck by the sight of a pianoforte--a very elegant
looking instrument--not a grand, but a
large-sized square pianoforte; and the substance of the story, the end of all the
dialogue which ensued of surprize, and inquiry, and congratulations on her side,
and explanations on Miss Bates's, was, that
this pianoforte had arrived from Broadwood's the day before, to the great
astonishment of both aunt and niece-- 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 surprized that there
could ever have been a doubt.
But Jane, it seems, had a letter from them very lately, and not a word was said about
She knows their ways best; but I should not consider their silence as any reason for
their not meaning to make the present. They might chuse to surprize her."
Mrs. Cole had many to agree with her; every body who spoke on the subject was equally
convinced that it must come from Colonel Campbell, and equally rejoiced that such a
present had been made; and there were
enough ready to speak to allow Emma to think her own way, and still listen to Mrs.
"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, especially considering how many houses there are where
fine instruments are absolutely thrown away.
This is like giving ourselves a slap, to be sure! and it was but yesterday I was
telling Mr. Cole, I really was ashamed to look at our new grand pianoforte in the
drawing-room, while I do not know one note
from another, and our little girls, who are but just beginning, perhaps may never make
any thing of it; and there is poor Jane Fairfax, who is mistress of music, has not
any thing of the nature of an instrument,
not even the pitifullest old spinet in the world, to amuse herself with.--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 Campbell's being so rich and so liberal.--It is a handsome present."
"I rather wonder that it was never made before."
"Perhaps Miss Fairfax has never been staying here so long before."
"Or that he did not give her the use of their own instrument--which must now be
shut up in London, untouched by any body." "That is a grand pianoforte, and he might
think it too large for Mrs. Bates's house."
"You may say what you chuse--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?" "Mrs. Dixon! very true indeed.
I had not thought of Mrs. Dixon.
She must know as well as her father, how acceptable an instrument would be; and
perhaps the mode of it, the mystery, the surprize, is more like a young woman's
scheme than an elderly man's.
It is Mrs. Dixon, I dare say. I told you that your suspicions would guide
mine." "If so, you must extend your suspicions and
comprehend Mr.
Dixon in them." "Mr. Dixon.--Very well.
Yes, I immediately perceive that it must be the joint present of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon.
We were speaking the other day, you know, of his being so warm an admirer of her
"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 misfortune to fall
in love with her, or that he became conscious of a little attachment on her
One might guess twenty things without guessing exactly the right; but I am sure
there must be a particular cause for her chusing to come to Highbury instead of
going with the Campbells to Ireland.
Here, she must be leading a life of privation and penance; there it would have
been all enjoyment.
As to the pretence of trying her native air, I look upon that as a mere excuse.--In
the summer it might have passed; but what can any body's native air do for them in
the months of January, February, and March?
Good fires and carriages would be much more to the purpose in most cases of delicate
health, and I dare say in her's.
I do not require you to adopt all my suspicions, though you make so noble a
profession of doing it, but I honestly tell you what they are."
"And, upon my word, they have an air of great probability.
Mr. Dixon's preference of her music to her friend's, I can answer for being very
"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."
"He did. I was there--one of the party."
"Were you really?--Well!--But you observed nothing of course, for it seems to be a new
idea to you.--If I had been there, I think I should have made some discoveries."
"I dare say you would; but I, simple I, saw nothing but the fact, that Miss Fairfax was
nearly dashed from the vessel and that Mr. Dixon caught her.--It was the work of a
And though the consequent shock and alarm was very great and much more durable--
indeed I believe it was half an hour before any of us were comfortable 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 discoveries."
The conversation was here interrupted.
They were called on to share in the awkwardness of a rather long interval
between the courses, and obliged to be as formal and as orderly as the others; but
when the table was again safely covered,
when every corner dish was placed exactly right, and occupation and ease were
generally restored, Emma said, "The arrival of this pianoforte is decisive
with me.
I wanted to know a little more, and this tells me quite enough.
Depend upon it, we shall soon hear that it is a present from Mr. and Mrs. Dixon."
"And if the Dixons should absolutely deny all knowledge of it we must conclude it to
come from the Campbells." "No, I am sure it is not from the
Miss Fairfax knows it is not from the Campbells, or they would have been guessed
at first. She would not have been puzzled, had she
dared fix on them.
I may not have convinced you perhaps, but I am perfectly convinced myself that Mr.
Dixon is a principal in the business." "Indeed you injure me if you suppose me
Your reasonings carry my judgment along with them entirely.
At first, while I supposed you satisfied that Colonel Campbell was the giver, I saw
it only as paternal kindness, and thought it the most natural thing in the world.
But when you mentioned Mrs. Dixon, I felt how much more probable that it should be
the tribute of warm female friendship. And now I can see it in no other light than
as an offering of love."
There was no occasion to press the matter farther.
The conviction seemed real; he looked as if he felt it.
She said no more, other subjects took their turn; and the rest of the dinner passed
away; the dessert succeeded, the children came in, and were talked to and admired
amid the usual rate of conversation; a few
clever things said, a few downright silly, but by much the larger proportion neither
the one nor the other--nothing worse than everyday remarks, dull repetitions, old
news, and heavy jokes.
The ladies had not been long in the drawing-room, before the other ladies, in
their different divisions, arrived.
Emma watched the entree of her own particular little friend; and if she could
not exult in her dignity and grace, she could not only love the blooming sweetness
and the artless manner, but could most
heartily rejoice in that light, cheerful, unsentimental disposition which allowed her
so many alleviations of pleasure, in the midst of the pangs of disappointed
There she sat--and who would have guessed how many tears she had been lately
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
Jane Fairfax did look and move superior; but Emma suspected she might have been glad
to change feelings with Harriet, very glad to have purchased the mortification of
having loved--yes, of having loved even Mr.
Elton in vain--by the surrender of all the dangerous pleasure of knowing herself
beloved by the husband of her friend. In so large a party it was not necessary
that Emma should approach her.
She did not wish to speak of the pianoforte, she felt too much in the secret
herself, to think the appearance of curiosity or interest fair, and therefore
purposely kept at a distance; but by the
others, the subject was almost immediately introduced, and she saw the blush of
consciousness with which congratulations were received, the blush of guilt which
accompanied the name of "my excellent friend Colonel Campbell."
Mrs. Weston, kind-hearted and musical, was particularly interested by the
circumstance, and Emma could not help being amused at her perseverance in dwelling on
the subject; and having so much to ask and
to say as to tone, touch, and pedal, totally unsuspicious of that wish of saying
as little about it as possible, which she plainly read in the fair heroine's
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 present must be thinking.
She was his object, and every body must perceive it.
She introduced him to her friend, Miss Smith, and, at convenient moments
afterwards, heard what each thought of the other.
"He had never seen so lovely a face, and was delighted with her naivete."
And she, "Only to be sure it was paying him too great a compliment, but she did think
there were some looks a little like Mr. Elton."
Emma restrained her indignation, and only turned from her in silence.
Smiles of intelligence passed between her and the gentleman on first glancing towards
Miss Fairfax; but it was most prudent to avoid speech.
He told her that he had been impatient to leave the dining-room--hated sitting long--
was always the first to move when he could- -that his father, Mr. Knightley, Mr. Cox,
and Mr. Cole, were left very busy over
parish business--that as long as he had staid, however, it had been pleasant
enough, as he had found them in general a set of gentlemanlike, sensible men; and
spoke so handsomely of Highbury altogether-
-thought it so abundant in agreeable families--that Emma began to feel she had
been used to despise the place rather too much.
She questioned him as to the society in Yorkshire--the extent of the neighbourhood
about Enscombe, and the sort; and could make out from his answers that, as far as
Enscombe was concerned, there was very
little going on, that their visitings were among a range of great families, none very
near; and that even when days were fixed, and invitations accepted, it was an even
chance that Mrs. Churchill were not in
health and spirits for going; that they made a point of visiting no fresh person;
and that, though he had his separate engagements, it was not without difficulty,
without considerable address at times,
that he could get away, or introduce an acquaintance for a night.
She saw that Enscombe could not satisfy, and that Highbury, taken at its best, might
reasonably please a young man who had more retirement at home than he liked.
His importance at Enscombe was very evident.
He did not boast, but it naturally betrayed itself, that he had persuaded his aunt
where his uncle could do nothing, and on her laughing and noticing it, he owned that
he believed (excepting one or two points)
he could 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
The rest of the gentlemen being now in the room, Emma found herself obliged to turn
from him for a few minutes, and listen to Mr. Cole.
When Mr. Cole had moved away, and her attention could be restored as before, she
saw Frank Churchill looking intently across the room at Miss Fairfax, who was sitting
exactly opposite.
"What is the matter?" said she. He started.
"Thank you for rousing me," he replied.
"I believe I have been very rude; but really Miss Fairfax has done her hair in so
odd a way--so very odd a way--that I cannot keep my eyes from her.
I never saw any thing so outree!--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
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 approbation, I made
my way directly to Miss Bates, to assure her that the carriage would be at her
service before it took us home; for I
thought it would be making her comfortable at once.
Good soul! she was as grateful as possible, you may be sure.
'Nobody was ever so fortunate as herself!'- -but with many, many thanks--'there was no
occasion to trouble us, for Mr. Knightley's carriage had brought, and was to take them
home again.'
I was quite surprized;--very glad, I am sure; but really quite surprized.
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
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
Fairfax's ill-health, would appear a case of humanity to him;--and for an act of
unostentatious kindness, there is nobody
whom I would fix on more than on Mr. Knightley.
I know he had horses to-day--for we arrived together; and I laughed at him about it,
but he said not a word that could betray."
"Well," said Mrs. Weston, smiling, "you give him credit for more simple,
disinterested benevolence in this instance than I do; for while Miss Bates was
speaking, a suspicion darted into my head,
and I have never been able to get it out again.
The more I think of it, the more probable it appears.
In short, I have made a match between Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax.
See the consequence of keeping you company!--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 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
"My dear Emma, I have told you what led me to think of it.
I do not want the match--I do not want to injure dear little Henry--but the idea has
been given me by circumstances; and if Mr. Knightley really wished to marry, you would
not have him refrain on Henry's account, a
boy of six years old, who knows nothing of the matter?"
"Yes, I would.
I could not bear to have Henry supplanted.- -Mr. Knightley marry!--No, I have never had
such an idea, and I cannot adopt it now. And Jane Fairfax, too, of all women!"
"Nay, she has always been a first favourite with him, as you very well know."
"But the imprudence of such a match!" "I am not speaking of its prudence; merely
its probability."
"I see no probability in it, unless you have any better foundation than what you
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 shew them attention. My dear Mrs. Weston, do not take to match-
You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax mistress of the Abbey!--Oh!
no, no;--every feeling revolts. For his own sake, I would not have him do
so mad a thing."
"Imprudent, if you please--but not mad. Excepting inequality of fortune, and
perhaps a little disparity of age, I can see nothing 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-
"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;
"Well," said Mrs. Weston, laughing, "perhaps the greatest good he could do
them, would be to give Jane such a respectable home."
"If it would be good to her, I am sure it would be evil to himself; a very shameful
and degrading connexion.
How would he bear to have Miss Bates belonging to him?--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
"For shame, Emma! Do not mimic her.
You divert me against my conscience.
And, upon my word, I do not think Mr. Knightley would be much disturbed by Miss
Bates. Little things do not irritate him.
She might talk on; and if he wanted to say any thing himself, he would only talk
louder, and drown her voice.
But the question is not, whether it would be a bad connexion for him, but whether he
wishes it; and I think he does. I have heard him speak, and so must you, so
very highly of Jane Fairfax!
The interest he takes in her--his anxiety about her health--his concern that she
should have no happier prospect!
I have heard him express himself so warmly on those points!--Such an admirer of her
performance on the pianoforte, and of her voice!
I have heard him say that he could listen to her for ever.
Oh! and I had almost forgotten one idea that occurred to me--this pianoforte that
has been sent here by somebody--though we have all been so well satisfied to consider
it a present from the Campbells, may it not be from Mr. Knightley?
I cannot help suspecting him. I think he is just the person to do it,
even without being in love."
"Then it can be no argument to prove that he is in love.
But I do not think it is at all a likely thing for him to do.
Mr. Knightley does nothing mysteriously."
"I have heard him lamenting her having no instrument repeatedly; oftener than I
should suppose such a circumstance would, in the common course of things, occur to
"Very well; and if he had intended to give her one, he would have told her so."
"There might be scruples of delicacy, my dear Emma.
I have a very strong notion that it comes from him.
I am sure he was particularly silent when Mrs. Cole told us of it at dinner."
"You take up an idea, Mrs. Weston, and run away with it; as you have many a time
reproached me with doing.
I see no sign of attachment--I believe nothing of the pianoforte--and proof only
shall convince me that Mr. Knightley has any thought of marrying Jane Fairfax."
They combated the point some time longer in the same way; Emma rather gaining ground
over the mind of her friend; for Mrs. Weston was the most used of the two to
yield; till a little bustle in the room
shewed them that tea was over, and the instrument in preparation;--and at the same
moment Mr. Cole approaching to entreat Miss Woodhouse would do them the honour of
trying it.
Frank Churchill, of whom, in the eagerness of her conversation with Mrs. Weston, she
had been seeing nothing, except that he had found a seat by Miss Fairfax, followed Mr.
Cole, to add his very pressing entreaties;
and as, in every respect, it suited Emma best to lead, she gave a very proper
She knew the limitations of her own powers too well to attempt more than she could
perform with credit; she wanted neither taste nor spirit in the little things which
are generally acceptable, and could accompany her own voice well.
One accompaniment to her song took her agreeably by surprize--a second, slightly
but correctly taken by Frank Churchill.
Her pardon was duly begged at the close of the song, and every thing usual followed.
He was accused of having a delightful voice, and a perfect knowledge of music;
which was properly denied; and that he knew nothing of the matter, and had no voice at
all, roundly asserted.
They sang together once more; and Emma would then resign her place to Miss
Fairfax, whose performance, both vocal and instrumental, she never could attempt to
conceal from herself, was infinitely superior to her own.
With mixed feelings, she seated herself at a little distance from the numbers round
the instrument, to listen.
Frank Churchill sang again. They had sung together once or twice, it
appeared, at Weymouth.
But the sight of Mr. Knightley among the most attentive, soon drew away half Emma's
mind; and she fell into a train of thinking on the subject of Mrs. Weston's suspicions,
to which the sweet sounds of the united voices gave only momentary interruptions.
Her objections to Mr. Knightley's marrying did not in the least subside.
She could see nothing but evil in it.
It would be a great disappointment to Mr. John Knightley; consequently to Isabella.
A real injury to the children--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 kindness in conveying the
aunt and niece; and though his answer was in the spirit of cutting the matter short,
she believed it to indicate only his
disinclination to dwell on any kindness of his own.
"I often feel concern," said she, "that I dare not make our carriage more useful on
such 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 he smiled with such seeming pleasure at the conviction, that she must proceed
another step.
"This present from the Campbells," said she--"this pianoforte is very kindly
"Yes," he replied, and without the smallest apparent embarrassment.--"But they would
have done better had they given her notice of it.
Surprizes are foolish things.
The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable.
I should have expected better judgment in Colonel Campbell."
From that moment, Emma could have taken her oath that Mr. Knightley had had no concern
in giving the instrument.
But whether he were entirely free from peculiar attachment--whether there were no
actual preference--remained a little longer doubtful.
Towards the end of Jane's second song, her voice grew thick.
"That will do," said he, when it was finished, thinking aloud--"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 account, and would only ask
for one more."
And Frank Churchill was heard to say, "I think you could manage this without effort;
the first part is so very trifling. The strength of the song falls on the
Mr. Knightley grew angry. "That fellow," said he, indignantly,
"thinks of nothing but shewing off his own voice.
This must not be."
And touching Miss Bates, who at that moment passed near--"Miss Bates, are you mad, to
let your niece sing herself hoarse in this manner?
Go, and interfere.
They have no mercy on her." Miss Bates, in her real anxiety for Jane,
could hardly stay even to be grateful, before she stept forward and put an end to
all farther singing.
Here ceased the concert part of the evening, for Miss Woodhouse and Miss
Fairfax were the only young lady performers; but soon (within five minutes)
the proposal of dancing--originating nobody
exactly knew where--was so effectually promoted by Mr. and Mrs. Cole, that every
thing was rapidly clearing away, to give proper space.
Mrs. Weston, capital in her country-dances, was seated, and beginning an irresistible
waltz; and Frank Churchill, coming up with most becoming gallantry to Emma, had
secured her hand, and led her up to the top.
While waiting till the other young people could pair themselves off, Emma found time,
in spite of the compliments she was receiving on her voice and her taste, to
look about, and see what became of Mr. Knightley.
This would be a trial. He was no dancer in general.
If he were to be very alert in engaging Jane Fairfax now, it might augur something.
There was no immediate appearance.
No; he was talking to Mrs. Cole--he was looking on unconcerned; Jane was asked by
somebody else, and he was still talking to Mrs. Cole.
Emma had no longer an alarm for Henry; his interest was yet safe; and she led off the
dance with genuine spirit and enjoyment.
Not more than five couple could be mustered; but the rarity and the suddenness
of it made it very delightful, and she found herself well matched in a partner.
They were a couple worth looking at.
Two dances, unfortunately, were all that could be allowed.
It was growing late, and Miss Bates became anxious to get home, on her mother's
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
"I must have asked Miss Fairfax, and her languid dancing would not have agreed with
me, after yours."
Emma did not repent her condescension in going to the Coles.
The visit afforded her many pleasant recollections the next day; and all that
she might be supposed to have lost on the side of dignified seclusion, must be amply
repaid in the splendour of popularity.
She must have delighted the Coles--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
She did unfeignedly and unequivocally regret the inferiority of her own playing
and singing.
She did most heartily grieve over the idleness of her childhood--and sat down and
practised vigorously an hour and a half.
She was then interrupted by Harriet's coming in; and if Harriet's praise could
have satisfied her, she might soon have been comforted.
"Oh! if I could but play as well as you and Miss Fairfax!"
"Don't class us together, Harriet. My playing is no more like her's, than a
lamp is like sunshine."
"Oh! dear--I think you play the best of the two.
I think you play quite as well as she does. I am sure I had much rather hear you.
Every body last night said how well you played."
"Those who knew any thing about it, must have felt the difference.
The truth is, Harriet, that my playing is just good enough to be praised, but Jane
Fairfax's is much beyond it."
"Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well as she does, or that if there
is any difference nobody would ever find it out.
Mr. Cole said how much taste you had; and Mr. Frank Churchill talked a great deal
about your taste, and that he valued taste much more than execution."
"Ah! but Jane Fairfax has them both, Harriet."
"Are you sure? I saw she had execution, but I did not know
she had any taste.
Nobody talked about it. And I hate Italian singing.--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 hesitatingly; "but it is nothing of
any consequence."
Emma was obliged to ask what they had told her, though fearful of its producing Mr.
Elton. "They told me--that Mr. Martin dined with
them last Saturday."
"Oh!" "He came to their father upon some
business, and he asked him to stay to dinner."
"They talked a great deal about him, especially Anne Cox.
I do not know what she meant, but she asked me if I thought I should go and stay there
again next summer."
"She meant to be impertinently curious, just as such an Anne Cox should be."
"She said he was very agreeable the day he dined there.
He sat by her at dinner.
Miss Nash thinks either of the Coxes would be very glad to marry him."
"Very likely.--I think they are, without exception, the most vulgar girls in
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 Highbury;--Mr. Perry
walking hastily by, Mr. William Cox letting himself in at the office-door, Mr. Cole's
carriage-horses returning from exercise, or
a stray letter-boy on an obstinate mule, were the liveliest objects she could
presume to expect; and when her eyes fell only on the butcher with his tray, a tidy
old woman travelling homewards from shop
with her full basket, two curs quarrelling over a dirty bone, and a string of dawdling
children round the baker's little bow- window eyeing the gingerbread, she knew she
had no reason to complain, and was amused
enough; quite enough still to stand at the door.
A mind lively and at ease, can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that
does not answer.
She looked down the Randalls road. The scene enlarged; two persons appeared;
Mrs. Weston and her son-in-law; they were walking into Highbury;--to Hartfield of
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 absolutely promised Miss Bates last
night, that I would come this morning. I was not aware of it myself.
I did not know that I had fixed a day, but as he says I did, I am going now."
"And while Mrs. Weston pays her visit, I may be allowed, I hope," said Frank
Churchill, "to join your party and wait for her at Hartfield--if you are going home."
Mrs. Weston was disappointed.
"I thought you meant to go with me. They would be very much pleased."
"Me! I should be quite in the way. But, perhaps--I may be equally in the way
Miss Woodhouse looks as if she did not want me.
My aunt always sends me off when she is shopping.
She says I fidget her to death; and Miss Woodhouse looks as if she could almost say
the same. What am I to do?"
"I am here on no business of my own," said Emma; "I am only waiting for my friend.
She will probably have soon done, and then we shall go home.
But you had better go with Mrs. Weston and hear the instrument."
"Well--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 neighbours, when it is necessary; but there is no reason to
suppose the instrument is indifferent.
Quite otherwise indeed, if I understood Miss Fairfax's opinion last night."
"Do come with me," said Mrs. Weston, "if it be not very disagreeable to you.
It need not detain us long.
We will go to Hartfield afterwards. We will follow them to Hartfield.
I really wish you to call with me. It will be felt so great an attention! and
I always thought you meant it."
He could say no more; and with the hope of Hartfield to reward him, returned with Mrs.
Weston to Mrs. Bates's door.
Emma watched them in, and then joined Harriet at the interesting counter,--
trying, with all the force of her own mind, to convince her that if she wanted plain
muslin it was of no use to look at figured;
and that a blue ribbon, be it ever so beautiful, would still never match her
yellow pattern. At last it was all settled, even to the
destination of the parcel.
"Should I send it to Mrs. Goddard's, ma'am?" asked Mrs. Ford.--"Yes--no--yes, to
Mrs. 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 ribbon directly--so it had better go to Hartfield--at least the
ribbon. You could make it into two parcels, Mrs.
Ford, could not you?"
"It is not worth while, Harriet, to give Mrs. Ford the trouble of two parcels."
"No more it is." "No trouble in the world, ma'am," said the
obliging Mrs. Ford.
"Oh! but indeed I would much rather have it only in one.
Then, if you please, you shall send it all to Mrs. Goddard's--I do not know--No, I
think, Miss Woodhouse, I may just as well have it sent to Hartfield, and take it home
with me at night.
What do you advise?" "That you do not give another half-second
to the subject. To Hartfield, if you please, Mrs. Ford."
"Aye, that will be much best," said Harriet, quite satisfied, "I should not at
all like to have it sent to Mrs. Goddard's."
Voices approached the shop--or rather one voice and two ladies: Mrs. Weston and Miss
Bates met them at the door.
"My dear Miss Woodhouse," said the latter, "I am just run across to entreat the favour
of you to come and sit down with us a little while, and give us your opinion of
our new 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.--'Aye, pray do,' said Mr.
Frank Churchill, 'Miss Woodhouse'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 believe it, Miss Woodhouse, there he is, in
the most obliging manner in the world,
fastening in the rivet of my mother's spectacles.--The rivet came out, you know,
this morning.--So very obliging!--For my mother had no use of her spectacles--could
not put them on.
And, by the bye, every body ought to have two pair of spectacles; they should indeed.
Jane said so.
I meant to take them over to John Saunders the first thing I did, but something or
other hindered me all the morning; first one thing, then another, there is no saying
what, you know.
At one time Patty came to say she thought the kitchen chimney wanted sweeping.
Oh, said I, Patty do not come with your bad news to me.
Here is the rivet of your mistress's spectacles out.
Then the baked apples came home, Mrs. Wallis sent them by her boy; they are
extremely civil and obliging to us, the Wallises, always--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
I believe it is the only way that Mr. Woodhouse thinks the fruit thoroughly
wholesome. We have apple-dumplings, however, very
Patty makes an excellent apple-dumpling. Well, Mrs. Weston, you have prevailed, I
hope, and these ladies will oblige us."
Emma would be "very happy to wait on Mrs. Bates, &c.," and they did at last move out
of the shop, with no farther delay from Miss Bates than,
"How do you do, Mrs. Ford?
I beg your pardon. I did not see you before.
I hear you have a charming collection of new ribbons from town.
Jane came back delighted yesterday.
Thank ye, the gloves do very well--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 shewed him to be so very....
Indeed I must say that, much as I had heard of him before and much as I had expected,
he very far exceeds any thing.... I do congratulate you, Mrs. Weston, most
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
Indeed they are very delightful apples, and Mrs. Wallis does them full justice--only we
do not have them baked more than twice, and Mr. Woodhouse made us promise to have them
done three times--but Miss Woodhouse will be so good as not to mention it.
The apples themselves are the very finest sort for baking, beyond a doubt; all from
Donwell--some of Mr. Knightley's most liberal supply.
He sends us a sack every year; and certainly there never was such a keeping
apple anywhere as one of his trees--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 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 acquaintance!
I am always glad to see him.
But, however, I found afterwards from Patty, that William said it was all the
apples of that sort his master had; he had brought them all--and now his master
had not one left to bake or boil.
William did not seem to mind it himself, he was so pleased to think his master had sold
so many; for William, you know, thinks more of his master's profit than any thing; but
Mrs. Hodges, he said, was quite displeased at their being all sent away.
She could not bear that her master should not be able to have another apple-tart this
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 visitors walked upstairs
without having any regular narration to attend to, pursued only by the sounds of
her desultory good-will.
"Pray take care, Mrs. Weston, there is a step at the turning.
Pray take care, Miss Woodhouse, ours is rather a dark staircase--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."
The appearance of the little sitting-room as they entered, was tranquillity itself;
Mrs. Bates, deprived of her usual employment, slumbering on one side of the
fire, Frank Churchill, at a table near her,
most deedily occupied about her spectacles, and Jane Fairfax, standing with her back to
them, intent on her pianoforte.
Busy as he was, however, the young man was yet able to shew a most happy countenance
on seeing Emma again.
"This is a pleasure," said he, in rather a low voice, "coming at least ten minutes
earlier than I had calculated. You find me trying to be useful; tell me if
you think I shall succeed."
"What!" said Mrs. Weston, "have not you finished it yet? you would not earn a very
good livelihood as a working silversmith at this rate."
"I have not been working uninterruptedly," he replied, "I have been assisting Miss
Fairfax in trying to make her instrument stand steadily, it was not quite firm; an
unevenness in the floor, I believe.
You see we have been wedging one leg with paper.
This was very kind of you to be persuaded to come.
I was almost afraid you would be hurrying home."
He contrived that she should be seated by him; and was sufficiently employed in
looking out the best baked apple for her, and trying to make her help or advise him
in his work, till Jane Fairfax was quite ready to sit down to the pianoforte again.
That she was not immediately ready, Emma did suspect to arise from the state of her
nerves; she had not yet possessed the instrument long enough to touch it without
emotion; she must reason herself into the
power of performance; and Emma could not but pity such feelings, whatever their
origin, and could not but resolve never to expose them to her neighbour again.
At last Jane began, and though the first bars were feebly given, the powers of the
instrument were gradually done full justice to.
Mrs. Weston had been delighted before, and was delighted again; Emma joined her in all
her praise; and the pianoforte, with every proper discrimination, was pronounced to be
altogether of the highest promise.
"Whoever Colonel Campbell might employ," said Frank Churchill, with a smile at Emma,
"the person has not chosen ill.
I heard a good deal of Colonel Campbell's taste at Weymouth; and the softness of the
upper notes I am sure is exactly what he and all that party would particularly
I dare say, Miss Fairfax, that he either gave his friend very minute directions, or
wrote to Broadwood himself. Do not you think so?"
Jane did not look round.
She was not obliged to hear. Mrs. Weston had been speaking to her at the
same moment. "It is not fair," said Emma, in a whisper;
"mine was a random guess.
Do not distress her." He shook his head with a smile, and looked
as if he had very little doubt and very little mercy.
Soon afterwards he began again,
"How much your friends in Ireland must be enjoying your pleasure on this occasion,
Miss Fairfax.
I dare say they often think of you, and wonder which will be the day, the precise
day of the instrument's coming to hand.
Do you imagine Colonel Campbell knows the business to be going forward just at this
time?--Do you imagine it to be the consequence of an immediate commission from
him, or that he may have sent only a
general direction, an order indefinite as to time, to depend upon contingencies and
conveniences?" He paused.
She could not but hear; she could not avoid answering,
"Till I have a letter from Colonel Campbell," said she, in a voice of forced
calmness, "I can imagine nothing with any confidence.
It must be all conjecture."
"Conjecture--aye, sometimes one conjectures right, and sometimes one conjectures wrong.
I wish I could conjecture how soon I shall make this rivet quite firm.
What nonsense one talks, Miss Woodhouse, when hard at work, if one talks at all;--
your real workmen, I suppose, hold their tongues; but we gentlemen labourers if we
get hold of a word--Miss Fairfax said something about conjecturing.
There, it is done.
I have the pleasure, madam, (to Mrs. Bates,) of restoring your spectacles,
healed for the present."
He was very warmly thanked both by mother and daughter; to escape a little from the
latter, he went to the pianoforte, and begged Miss Fairfax, who was still sitting
at it, to play something more.
"If you are very kind," said he, "it will be one of the waltzes we danced last
night;--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 pianoforte, 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 particularly; it shews it to have been so
thoroughly from the heart. Nothing hastily done; nothing incomplete.
True affection only could have prompted it."
Emma wished he would be less pointed, yet could not help being amused; and when on
glancing her eye towards Jane Fairfax she caught the remains of a smile, when she saw
that with all the deep blush of
consciousness, there had been a smile of secret delight, she had less scruple in the
amusement, and much less compunction with respect to her.--This amiable, upright,
perfect Jane Fairfax was apparently cherishing very reprehensible feelings.
He brought all the music to her, and they looked it over together.--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
horse-back 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
conversation 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 determined to be heard in his turn, for most resolutely and commandingly did he
"How is your niece, Miss Bates?--I want to inquire 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 before he would hear her in any
thing else.
The listeners were amused; and Mrs. Weston gave Emma a look of particular meaning.
But Emma still shook her head in steady scepticism.
"So obliged to you!--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 pianoforte. Do put up your horse at the Crown, and come
"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
"No, not now, I thank you. I could not stay two minutes.
I must get on to Kingston as fast as I can."
"Oh! do come in.
They will be so very happy to see you." "No, no; your room is full enough.
I will call another day, and hear the pianoforte."
"Well, I am so sorry!--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, 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 to the room,) I have not been able to succeed.
Mr. Knightley cannot stop. He is going to Kingston.
He asked me if he could do any thing...."
"Yes," said Jane, "we heard his kind offers, we heard every thing."
"Oh! yes, my dear, I dare say you might, because you know, the door was open, and
the window was open, and Mr. Knightley spoke loud.
You must have heard every thing to be sure.
'Can I do any thing for you at Kingston?' said he; so I just mentioned....
Oh! Miss Woodhouse, must you be going?--You seem but just come--so very obliging of
Emma found it really time to be at home; the visit had already lasted long; and on
examining watches, so much of the morning was perceived to be gone, that Mrs. Weston
and her companion taking leave also, could
allow themselves only to walk with the two young ladies to Hartfield gates, before
they set off for Randalls.
It may be possible to do without dancing entirely.
Instances have been known of young people passing many, many months successively,
without being at any ball of any description, and no material injury accrue
either to body or mind;--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 his the greatest zeal in pursuing it; for the lady
was the best judge of the difficulties, and the most solicitous for accommodation and
But still she had inclination enough for shewing 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.
"You and Miss Smith, and Miss Fairfax, will be three, and the two Miss Coxes five," had
been repeated many times over.
"And there will be the two Gilberts, young Cox, my father, and myself, besides Mr.
Knightley. Yes, that will be quite enough for
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
Emma said it would be awkward; Mrs. Weston was in distress about the supper; and Mr.
Woodhouse opposed it earnestly, on the score of health.
It made him so very unhappy, indeed, that it could not be persevered in.
"Oh! no," said he; "it would be the extreme of imprudence.
I could not bear it for Emma!--Emma is not strong.
She would catch a dreadful cold. So would poor little Harriet.
So you would all.
Mrs. Weston, you would be quite laid up; do not let them talk of such a wild thing.
Pray do not let them talk of it. That young man (speaking lower) is very
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
He does not think of the draught. I do not mean to set you against him, but
indeed he is not quite the thing!" Mrs. Weston was sorry for such a charge.
She knew the importance of it, and said every thing in her power to do it away.
Every door was now closed, the passage plan given up, and the first scheme of dancing
only in the room they were in resorted to again; and with such good-will on Frank
Churchill's part, that the space which a
quarter of an hour before had been deemed barely sufficient for five couple, was now
endeavoured to be made out quite enough for ten.
"We were too magnificent," said he.
"We allowed unnecessary room. Ten couple may stand here very well."
Emma demurred.
"It would be a crowd--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.
Exquisite, 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 compliment, 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 preference, and the character of his
temper; but for all the purposes of their acquaintance, he was quite amiable enough.
Before the middle of the next day, he was at Hartfield; and he entered the room with
such an agreeable smile as certified the continuance of the scheme.
It soon appeared that he came to announce an improvement.
"Well, Miss Woodhouse," he almost immediately began, "your inclination for
dancing has not been quite frightened away, I hope, by the terrors of my father's
little rooms.
I bring a new proposal on the subject:--a thought of my father's, which waits only
your approbation to be acted upon.
May I hope for the honour of your hand for the two first dances of this little
projected ball, to be given, not at Randalls, but at the Crown Inn?"
"The Crown!"
"Yes; if you and Mr. Woodhouse see no objection, and I trust you cannot, my
father hopes his friends will be so kind as to visit him there.
Better accommodations, he can promise them, and not a less grateful welcome than at
Randalls. It is his own idea.
Mrs. Weston sees no objection to it, provided you are satisfied.
This is what we all feel. Oh! you were perfectly right!
Ten couple, in either of the Randalls rooms, would have been insufferable!--
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
She was obliged to repeat and explain it, before it was fully comprehended; and then,
being quite new, farther representations were necessary to make it acceptable.
"No; he thought it very far from an improvement--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 anywhere."
"I was going to observe, sir," said Frank Churchill, "that one of the great
recommendations of this change would be the very little danger of any body's catching
cold--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, nobody would think of opening
the windows at Randalls.
Nobody could be so imprudent! I never heard of such a thing.
Dancing with open windows!--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 sometimes step behind a window-
curtain, and throw up a sash, without its being suspected.
I have often known it done myself."
"Have you indeed, sir?--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 consideration.
One cannot resolve upon them in a hurry.
If Mr. and Mrs. Weston will be so obliging as to call here one morning, we may talk it
over, and see what can be done." "But, unfortunately, sir, my time is so
"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, because it will be under Mrs.
Weston's care. Mrs. Weston undertakes to direct the
"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 compliment to her!"
"Aye, very true.
Mr. Perry did say so. I shall never forget it.
Poor little Emma!
You were very bad with the measles; that is, you would have been very bad, but for
Perry's great attention. He came four times a day for a week.
He said, from the first, it was a very good sort--which was our great comfort; but the
measles are a dreadful complaint. I hope whenever poor Isabella's little ones
have the measles, she will send for Perry."
"My father and Mrs. Weston are at the Crown at this moment," said Frank Churchill,
"examining the capabilities of the house.
I left them there and came on to Hartfield, impatient for your opinion, and hoping you
might be persuaded to join them and give your advice on the spot.
I was desired to say so from both.
It would be the greatest pleasure to them, if you could allow me to attend you there.
They can do nothing satisfactorily without you."
Emma was most happy to be called to such a council; and her father, engaging to think
it all over while she was gone, the two young people set off together without delay
for the Crown.
There were Mr. and Mrs. Weston; delighted to see her and receive her approbation,
very busy and very happy in their different way; she, in some little distress; and he,
finding every thing perfect.
"Emma," said she, "this paper is worse than I expected.
Look! in places you see it is dreadfully dirty; and the wainscot is more yellow and
forlorn than any thing I could have imagined."
"My dear, you are too particular," said her husband.
"What does all that signify? You will see nothing of it by candlelight.
It will be as clean as Randalls by candlelight.
We never see any thing of it on our club- nights."
The ladies here probably exchanged looks which meant, "Men never know when things
are dirty or not;" and the gentlemen perhaps thought each to himself, "Women
will have their little nonsenses and needless cares."
One perplexity, however, arose, which the gentlemen did not disdain.
It regarded a supper-room.
At the time of the ballroom's being built, suppers had not been in question; and a
small card-room adjoining, was the only addition.
What was to be done?
This card-room would be wanted as a card- room now; or, if cards were conveniently
voted unnecessary by their four selves, still was it not too small for any
comfortable supper?
Another room of much better size might be secured for the purpose; but it was at the
other end of the house, and a long awkward passage must be gone through to get at it.
This made a difficulty.
Mrs. Weston was afraid of draughts for the young people in that passage; and neither
Emma nor the gentlemen could tolerate the prospect of being miserably crowded at
Mrs. Weston proposed having no regular supper; merely sandwiches, &c., set out in
the little room; but that was scouted as a wretched suggestion.
A private dance, without sitting down to supper, was pronounced an infamous fraud
upon the rights of men and women; and Mrs. Weston must not speak of it again.
She then took another line of expediency, and looking into the doubtful room,
observed, "I do not think it is so very small.
We shall not be many, you know."
And Mr. Weston at the same time, walking briskly with long steps through the
passage, was calling out, "You talk a great deal of the length of
this passage, my dear.
It is a mere nothing after all; and not the least draught from the stairs."
"I wish," said Mrs. Weston, "one could know which arrangement our guests in general
would like best.
To do what would be most generally pleasing must be our object--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
"Well--if you please," said Mrs. Weston rather hesitating, "if you think she will
be of any use." "You will get nothing to the purpose from
Miss Bates," said Emma.
"She will be all delight and gratitude, but she will tell you nothing.
She will not even listen to your questions. I see no advantage in consulting Miss
"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
Here Mr. Weston joined them, and on hearing what was proposed, gave it his decided
approbation. "Aye, 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 shewing
us how to do away difficulties. Fetch Miss Bates.
We are growing a little too nice.
She is a standing lesson of how to be happy.
But fetch them both. Invite them both."
"Both sir!
Can the old lady?"... "The old lady!
No, the young lady, to be sure. I shall think you a great blockhead, Frank,
if you bring the aunt without the niece."
"Oh! I beg your pardon, sir. I did not immediately recollect.
Undoubtedly if you wish it, I will endeavour to persuade them both."
And away he ran.
Long before he reappeared, attending the short, neat, brisk-moving aunt, and her
elegant niece,--Mrs. Weston, like a sweet- tempered woman and a good wife, had
examined the passage again, and found the
evils of it much less than she had supposed before--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 refused.
And a delightful dance it was to be.
Most cordially, when Miss Bates arrived, did she agree that it must.
As a counsellor she was not wanted; but as an approver, (a much safer character,) she
was truly welcome.
Her approbation, at once general and minute, warm and incessant, could not but
please; and for another half-hour they were all walking to and fro, between the
different rooms, some suggesting, some
attending, and all in happy enjoyment of the future.
The party did not break up without Emma's being positively secured for the two first
dances by the hero of the evening, nor without her overhearing Mr. Weston whisper
to his wife, "He has asked her, my dear.
That's right. I knew he would!"
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 Surry; for, in spite of
Mr. Weston's confidence, she could not think it so very impossible that the
Churchills might not allow their nephew to remain a day beyond his fortnight.
But this was not judged feasible.
The preparations must take their time, nothing could be properly ready till the
third week were entered on, and for a few days they must be planning, proceeding and
hoping in uncertainty--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 chuse
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 Larkins'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
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
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 over-throw of
every thing. A letter arrived 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
The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in a note from Mrs. Weston,
instantly. As to his going, it was inevitable.
He must be gone within a few hours, though without feeling any real alarm for his
aunt, to lessen his repugnance. He knew her illnesses; they never occurred
but for her own convenience.
Mrs. Weston added, "that he could only allow himself time to hurry to Highbury,
after breakfast, and take leave of the few friends there whom he could suppose to feel
any interest in him; and that he might be expected at Hartfield very soon."
This wretched note was the finale of Emma's breakfast.
When once it had been read, there was no doing any thing, but lament and exclaim.
The loss of the ball--the loss of the young man--and all that the young man might be
feeling!--It was too wretched!--Such a delightful 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 appeared; but if this reflected
at all upon his impatience, his sorrowful look and total want of spirits when he did
come might redeem him.
He felt the going away almost too much to speak of it.
His dejection was most evident.
He sat really lost in thought for the first few minutes; and when rousing himself, it
was only to say, "Of all horrid things, leave-taking is the
"But you will come again," said Emma. "This will not be your only visit to
"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 happiness 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.
"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
Happy those, who can remain at Highbury!" "As you do us such ample justice now," said
Emma, laughing, "I will venture to ask, whether you did not come a little
doubtfully at first?
Do not we rather surpass your expectations? I am sure we do.
I am sure you did not much expect to like us.
You would not have been so long in coming, if you had had a pleasant idea of
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 forerunner of something
absolutely serious, which she did not wish.
Forcing herself to speak, therefore, in the hope of putting it by, she calmly said,
"You are quite in the right; it was most natural to pay your visit, then"--
He was silent.
She believed he was looking at her; probably reflecting on what she had said,
and trying to understand the manner. She heard him sigh.
It was natural for him to feel that he had cause to sigh.
He could not believe her to be encouraging him.
A few awkward moments passed, and he sat down again; and in a more determined manner
said, "It was something to feel that all the rest
of my time might be given to Hartfield.
My regard for Hartfield is most warm"--
He stopt again, rose again, and seemed quite embarrassed.--He was more in love
with her than Emma had supposed; and who can say how it might have ended, if his
father had not made his appearance?
Mr. Woodhouse soon followed; and the necessity of exertion made him composed.
A very few minutes more, however, completed the present trial.
Mr. Weston, always alert when business was to be done, and as incapable of
procrastinating any evil that was inevitable, as of foreseeing any that was
doubtful, said, "It was time to go;" and
the young man, though he might and did sigh, could not but agree, to take leave.
"I shall hear about you all," said he; "that is my chief consolation.
I shall hear of every thing that is going on among you.
I have engaged Mrs. Weston to correspond with me.
She has been so kind as to promise it.
Oh! the blessing of a female correspondent, when one is really interested in the
absent!--she will tell me every thing. In her letters I shall be at dear Highbury
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 Randalls had given great spirit to the last two weeks--
indescribable spirit; the idea, the expectation of seeing him which every
morning had brought, the assurance of his attentions, his liveliness, his manners!
It had been a very happy fortnight, and forlorn must be the sinking from it into
the common course of Hartfield days.
To complete every other recommendation, he had almost told her that he loved her.
What strength, or what constancy of affection he might be subject to, was
another point; but at present she could not doubt his having a decidedly warm
admiration, a conscious preference of
herself; and this persuasion, joined to all the rest, made her think that she must be
a little in love with him, in spite of every previous determination against it.
"I certainly must," said she.
"This sensation of listlessness, weariness, stupidity, this disinclination to sit down
and employ myself, this feeling of every thing's being dull and insipid about the
house!-- 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, shewed no triumphant happiness.
He could not say that he was sorry on his own account; his very cheerful look would
have contradicted him if he had; but he said, and very steadily, that he was sorry
for the disappointment of the others, and with considerable kindness added,
"You, Emma, who have so few opportunities of dancing, you are really out of luck; you
are very much out of luck!"
It was some days before she saw Jane Fairfax, to judge of her honest regret in
this woeful change; but when they did meet, her composure was odious.
She had been particularly unwell, however, suffering from headache to a degree, which
made her aunt declare, that had the ball taken place, she did not think Jane could
have attended it; and it was charity to
impute some of her unbecoming indifference to the languor of ill-health.
Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love.
Her ideas only varied as to the how much. At first, she thought it was a good deal;
and afterwards, but little.
She had great pleasure in hearing Frank Churchill talked of; and, for his sake,
greater pleasure than ever in seeing Mr. and Mrs. Weston; she was very often
thinking of him, and quite impatient for a
letter, that she might know how he was, how were his spirits, how was his aunt, and
what was the chance of his coming to Randalls again this spring.
But, on the other hand, she could not admit herself to be unhappy, nor, after the first
morning, to be less disposed for employment than usual; she was still busy and
cheerful; and, pleasing as he was, she
could yet imagine him to have faults; and farther, though thinking of him so much,
and, as she sat drawing or working, forming a thousand amusing schemes for the progress
and close of their attachment, fancying
interesting dialogues, and inventing elegant letters; the conclusion of every
imaginary declaration on his side was that she refused him.
Their affection was always to subside into friendship.
Every thing tender and charming was to mark their parting; but still they were to part.
When she became sensible of this, it struck her that she could not be very much in
love; for in spite of her previous and fixed determination never to quit her
father, never to marry, a strong attachment
certainly must produce more of a struggle than she could foresee in her own feelings.
"I do not find myself making any use of the word sacrifice," said she.--"In not one
of all my clever replies, my delicate negatives, is there any allusion to making
a sacrifice.
I do suspect that he is not really necessary to my happiness.
So much the better. I certainly will not persuade myself to
feel more than I do.
I am quite enough in love. I should be sorry to be more."
Upon the whole, she was equally contented with her view of his feelings.
"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
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 attachment continuing what it now is; but I
do not know that I expect it will; I do not look upon him to be quite the sort of man--
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 subject, 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 between the places in some of the
first blessings of social life was just enough touched on to shew how keenly it was
felt, and how much more might have been said but for the restraints of propriety.--
The charm of her own name was not wanting.
Miss Woodhouse appeared more than once, and never without a something of pleasing
connexion, either a compliment to her taste, or a remembrance of what she had
said; and in the very last time of its
meeting her eye, unadorned as it was by any such broad wreath of gallantry, she yet
could discern the effect of her influence and acknowledge the greatest compliment
perhaps of all conveyed.
Compressed into the very lowest vacant corner were these words--"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 succeeding her in his affections.
Was it impossible?--No.--Harriet undoubtedly was greatly his inferior in
understanding; but he had been very much struck with the loveliness of her face and
the warm simplicity of her manner; and all
the probabilities of circumstance and connexion were in her favour.--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 speculations.
But stranger things have happened; and when we cease to care for each other as we do
now, it will be the means of confirming us in that sort of true disinterested
friendship which I can already look forward to with pleasure."
It was well to have a comfort in store on Harriet's behalf, though it might be wise
to let the fancy touch it seldom; for evil in that quarter was at hand.
As Frank Churchill's arrival had succeeded Mr. Elton's engagement in the conversation
of Highbury, as the latest interest had entirely borne down the first, so now upon
Frank Churchill's disappearance, Mr.
Elton's concerns were assuming the most irresistible form.--His wedding-day was
named. He would soon be among them again; Mr.
Elton and his bride.
There was hardly time to talk over the first letter from Enscombe before "Mr.
Elton and his bride" was in every body's mouth, and Frank Churchill was forgotten.
Emma grew sick at the sound.
She had had three weeks of happy exemption from Mr. Elton; and Harriet's mind, she had
been willing to hope, had been lately gaining strength.
With Mr. Weston's ball in view at least, there had been a great deal of
insensibility to other things; but it was now too evident that she had not attained
such a state of composure as could stand
against the actual approach--new carriage, bell-ringing, and all.
Poor Harriet was in a flutter of spirits which required all the reasonings and
soothings and attentions of every kind that Emma could give.
Emma felt that she could not do too much for her, that Harriet had a right to all
her ingenuity and all her patience; but it was heavy work to be for ever convincing
without producing any effect, for ever
agreed to, without being able to make their opinions the same.
Harriet listened submissively, and said "it was very true--it was just as Miss
Woodhouse described--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
"Your allowing yourself to be so occupied and so unhappy 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 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 consideration.
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 compared to it.
Warmth and tenderness of heart, with an affectionate, open manner, will beat all
the clearness of head in the world, for attraction, I am sure it will.
It is tenderness of heart which makes my dear father so generally beloved--which
gives Isabella all her popularity.--I have 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!"