The Complete Works of Jane Austen - Part 4

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The Complete Works of Jane Austen - Part 4

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EMMA 
(First Published 1816) 



EMMA 

Chapter i 

EMMA WOODHOUSE, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable 
home and happy disposition seemed to unite some of the best blessings 
of existence ; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very 
little to distress or vex her. 

She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate, in- 
dulgent father; and had, in consequence of her sister's marriage, been 
mistress of his house from a very early period. Her mother had died too 
long ago for her to have more than an indistinct remembrance of her 
caresses; and her place had been supplied by an excellent woman as 
governess, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection. 

Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr. Woodhouse's family, less as 
a governess than a friend, very fond of both daughters, but particularly 
of Emma. Between them it was more the intimacy of sisters. Even before 
Miss Taylor had ceased to hold the nominal office of governess, the mild- 
ness of her temper had hardly allowed her to impose any restraint; and 
the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they had been living 
together as friend and friend very mutually attached, and Emma doing 
just what she liked ; highly esteeming Miss Taylor's judgment, but directed 
chiefly by her own. 

The real evils, indeed, of Emma's situation were the power of having 
rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too 
well of herself: these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to 
her many enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so unper- 
ceived, that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her. 

Sorrow came a gentle sorrow but not at all in the shape of any dis- 
agreeable consciousness. Miss Taylor married. It was Miss Taylor's loss 
which first brought grief. It was on the wedding day of this beloved friend 
that Emma first sat in mournful thought of any continuance. The wedding 
over, and the bride people gone, her father and herself were left to dine 
together, with no prospect of a third to cheer a long evening. Her father 
composed himself to sleep after dinner, as usual, and she had then only 
to sit and think of what she had lost. 

The event had every promise of happiness for her friend. Mr. Weston 
was a man of unexceptionable character, easy fortune, suitable age, and 
pleasant manners; and there was some satisfaction in considering with 
what self-denying, generous friendship she had always wished and pro- 
moted the match ; but it was a black morning's work for her. The want of 
Miss Taylor would be felt every hour of every day. She recalled her past 

763 



764 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

kindness the kindness, the affection of sixteen years how she had 
taught and how she had played with her from five years old how she 
had devoted all her powers to attach and amuse her in health and how 
nursed her through the various illnesses of childhood. A large debt of 
gratitude was owing here ; but the intercourse of the last seven years, the 
equal footing and perfect unreserve which had soon followed Isabella's 
marriage, on their being left to each other, was yet a dearer, tenderer 
recollection. She had been a- friend and companion such as few possessed: 
intelligent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways of the 
family, interested in all its concerns, and peculiarly interested in herself, 
in every pleasure, every scheme of hers; one to whom she could speak 
every thought as it arose, and who had such an affection for her as could 
never find fault. 

How was she to bear the change? It was true that her friend was going 
only half a mile from them ; but Emma was aware that great must be the 
difference between a Mrs. Weston, only half a mile from them, and a Miss 
Taylor in the house ; and with all her advantages, natural and domestic, 
she was now in great danger of suffering from intellectual solitude. She 
dearly loved her father, but he was no companion for her. He could not 
meet her in conversation, rational or playful. 

The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and Mr. Woodhouse had 
not married early) was much increased by his constitution and habits; for 
having been a valetudinarian all his life, without activity of mind or body, 
he was a much older man in ways than in years; and though everywhere 
beloved for the friendliness of his heart and his amiable temper, his talents 
could not have recommended him at any time. 

Her sister, though comparatively but little removed by matrimony, 
being settled in London, only sixteen miles off, was much beyond her 
daily reach; and many a long October and November evening must be 
struggled through at Hartfield, before Christmas brought the next visit 
from Isabella and her husband, and their little children, to fill the house, 
and give her pleasant society again. 

Highbury, the large and populous village almost amounting to a town, 
to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn, and shrubberies, and 
name, did really belong, afforded her no equals. The Woodhouses were 
first in consequence there. All looked up to them. She had many acquaint- 
ances in the place, for her father was universally civil, but not one among 
them who could be accepted in lieu of Miss Taylor for even half a day. It 
was a melancholy change ; and Emma could not but sigh over it, and wish 
for impossible things, till her father awoke, and made it necessary to be 
cheerful. His spirits required support. He was a nervous man, easily 
depressed ; fond of everybody that he was used to, and hating to part with 
them; hating change of every kind. Matrimony, as the origin of change, 
was always disagreeable; and he was by no means yet reconciled to his 
own daughter's marrying, nor could ever speak of her but with com- 
passion, though it had been entirely a match of affection, when he was 



EMMA 765 

now obliged to part with Miss Taylor too ; and from his habits of gentle 
selfishness, and of being never able to suppose that other people could feel 
differently from himself, he was very much disposed to think Miss Taylor 
had done as sad a thing for herself as for them, and would have been a 
great deal happier if she had spent all the rest of her life at Hartfield. 
Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she could, to keep him from 
such thoughts ; but when tea came, it was impossible for him not to say 
exactly as he had said at dinner : 

"Poor Miss Taylor! I wish she were here again. What a pity it is that 
Mr. Weston ever thought of her! " 

"I cannot agree with you, papa ; you know I cannot. Mr. Weston is such 
a good-humoured, pleasant, excellent man, that he thoroughly deserves 
a good wife; and you would not have had Miss Taylor live with us for 
ever, and bear all my odd humours, when she might have a house of her 
own?" 

"A house of her own ! but where is the advantage of a house of her own? 
This is three times as large; and you have never any odd humours, my 
dear." 

"How often we shall be going to see them, and they coming to see us! 
We shall be always meeting ! We must begin ; we must go and pay our 
wedding-visit very soon." 

"My dear, how am I to get so far? Randalls is such a distance. I could 
not walk half so far." 

"No, papa; nobody thought of your walking. We must go in the car- 
riage, to be sure." 

"The carriage! But James will not like to put the horses to for such a 
little way; and where are the poor horses to be while we are paying our 
visit?" 

"They are to be put into Mr. Weston 's stable, papa. You know we have 
settled all that already. We talked it all over with Mr. Weston last night. 
And as for James, you may be very sure he will always like going to 
Randalls, because of his daughter's being housemaid there. I only doubt 
whether he will ever take us anywhere else. That was your doing, papa. 
You got Hannah that good place. Nobody thought of Hannah till you 
mentioned her James is so obliged to you! " 

"I am very glad I did think of her. It was very lucky, for I would not 
have had poor James think himself slighted upon any account ; and I am 
sure she will make a very good servant; she is a civil, pretty-spoken girl; 
I have a great opinion of her. Whenever I see her, she always curtseys and 
asks me how I do, in a very pretty manner ; and when you have had her 
here to do needlework, I observe she always turns the lock of the door the 
right way and never bangs it. I am sure she will be an excellent servant; 
and it will be a great comfort to poor Miss Taylor to have somebody about 
her that she is used to see. Whenever James goes over to see his daughter, 
you know, she will be hearing of us. He will be able to tell her how we all 



766 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Emma spared no exertions to maintain this happier flow of ideas, and 
hoped, by the help of backgammon, to get her father tolerably through the 
evening, and be attacked fry no regrets but her own. The backgammon- 
table was placed; but a visitor immediately afterwards walked in and 
made it unnecessary. 

Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty, was not 
only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularly con- 
nected with it, as the elder brother of Isabella's husband. He lived about a 
mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor, and always welcome, and at 
this time more welcome than usual, as coming directly from their mutual 
connections in London. He had returned to a late dinner after some days' 
absence, and now walked up to Hartfield to say that all were well in 
Brunswick Square. It was a happy circumstance, and animated Mr. 
Woodhouse for some time. Mr. Knightley had a cheerful manner, which 
always did him good ; and his many inquiries after "poor Isabella" and 
her children were answered most satisfactorily. When this was over, Mr. 
Woodhouse gratefully observed: 

"It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, to come out at this late hour to 
call upon us. I am afraid you must have had a shocking walk." 

"Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful moonlight night; and so mild that I 
must draw back from your great fire." 

"But you must have found it very damp and dirty. I wish you may not 
catch cold." 

"Dirty, sir! Look at my shoes. Not a speck on them." 

"Well: that is quite surprising, for we have had a vast deal of rain here. 
It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour while we were at breakfast. I 
wanted them to put off the wedding." 

"By the bye, I have not wished you joy. Being pretty well aware of 
what sort of joy you must both be feeling, I have been in no hurry with 
my congratulations; but I hope it all went off tolerably well. How did 
you all behave? Who cried most?" 

"Ah! poor Miss Taylor! 'tis a sad business." 

"Poor Mr. and Miss Woodhouse, if you please; but I cannot possibly 
say 'poor Miss Taylor.' I have a great regard for you and Emma; but 
when it comes to the question of dependence or independence! at any rate, 
it must be better to have only one to please than two." 

"Especially when one of those two is such a fanciful, troublesome 
creature! " said Emma playfully. "That is what you have in your head, I 
know and what you would certainly say if my father were not by." 

"I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed," said Mr. Woodhouse, with 
a sigh. "I am afraid I am sometimes very fanciful and troublesome." 

"My dearest papa! You do not think I could mean you, or suppose Mr. 
Knightley to mean you. What a horrible idea ! Oh, no ! I meant only my- 
self. Mr. Knightley loves to find fault with me, you know in a joke it 
5s all a joke. We always say what we like to one another." 

Mr. Knightley, in fact, was one of the few people who could see faults 



EMMA 767 

in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who ever told her of them; and 
though this was not particularly agreeable to Emma herself, she knew it 
would be so much less so to her father, that she would not have him really 
suspect such a circumstance as her not being thought perfect by every- 
body. 

"Emma knows I never flatter her," said Mr. Knightley, "but I meant no 
reflection on anybody. Miss Taylor has been used to have two persons to 
please; she will now have but one. The chances are that she must be a 
gainer." 

"Well," said Emma, willing to let it pass, "you want to hear about the 
wedding; and I shall be happy to tell you, for we all behaved charmingly. 
Everybody was punctual, everybody in their best looks: not a tear, and 
hardly a long face to be seen. Oh, no ; we all felt that we were going to be 
only half a mile apart, and were sure of meeting every day." 

"Dear Emma bears everything so well," said her father. "But, Mr. 
Knightley, she is really very sorry to lose poor Miss Taylor, and I aw 
sure she will miss her more than she thinks for." 

Emma turned away her head, divided between tears and smiles. 

"It is impossible that Emma should not miss such a companion," said 
Mr. Knightley. "We should not like her so well as we do, sir, if we could 
suppose it: but she knows how much the marriage is to Miss Taylor's 
advantage; she knows how very acceptable it must be, at Miss Taylor's 
time of life, to be settled in a home of her own, and how important to her 
to be secure of a comfortable provision, and therefore cannot allow herself 
to feel so much pain as pleasure. Every friend of Miss Taylor must be 
glad to have her so happily married." 

"And you have forgotten one matter of joy to me," said Emma, "and 
a very considerable one that I made the match myself. I made the match, 
you know, four years ago ; and to have it take place, and be proved in the 
right, when so many people said Mr. Weston would never marry again, 
may comfort me for anything." 

Mr. Knightley shook his head at her. Her father fondly replied, "Ah! 
my dear, I wish you would not make matches and foretell things, for 
whatever you say always comes to pass. Pray do not make any more 
matches." 

"I promise you to make none for myself, papa; but I must, indeed, for 
other people. It is the greatest amusement in the world! And after such 
success, you know! Everybody said that Mr. Weston would never marry 
again. Oh dear, no! Mr. Weston, who had been a widower so long, and 
who seemed so perfectly comfortable without a wife, so constantly occu- 
pied either in his business in town or among his friends here, always ac- 
ceptable wherever he went, always cheerful Mr. Weston need not spend 
a single evening in the year alone if he did not like it. Oh no ! Mr. Weston 
certainly would never marry again. Some people even talked of a promise 
to his wife on her deathbed, and others of the son and the uncle not letting 
him. All manner of solemn nonsense was talked on the subject, but I 



768 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

believed none of it. Ever since the day (about four years ago) that Miss 
Taylor and I met with him in Broadway Lane, when, because it began to 
mizzle, he darted away with so much gallantry, and borrowed two um- 
brellas for us from Farmer Mitchell's, I made up my mind on the subject. 
I planned the match from that hour ; and when such success has blessed 
me in this instance, dear papa, you cannot think that I shall leave off 
matchmaking." 

"I do not understand what you mean by 'success,' " said Mr. Knightley. 
"Success supposes endeavour. Your time has been properly and delicately 
spent, if you have been endeavouring for the last four years to bring about 
this marriage. A worthy employment for a young lady's mind! but if, 
which I rather imagine, your making the match as you call it, means only 
your planning it, your saying to yourself one idle day, 'I think it would 
be a very good thing for Miss Taylor if Mr. Weston were to marry her,' 
and saying it again to yourself every now and then afterwards why do 
you talk of success? where is your merit? What are you proud of? You 
made a lucky guess; and that is all that can be said." 

"And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a lucky guess? 
I pity you. I thought you cleverer, for, depend upon it, a lucky guess is 
never merely luck. There is always some talent in it. And as to my poor 
word 'success/ which you quarrel with, I do not know that I am so entirely 
without any claim to it. You have drawn two pretty pictures ; but I think 
there may be a third a something between the do-nothing and the do-all, 
if I had not promoted Mr. Weston's visits here, and given many little 
encouragements, and smoothed many little matters, it might not have 
come to anything after all. I think you must know Hartfield enough to 
comprehend that." 

"A straightforward, open-hearted man like Weston, and a rational, 
unaffected woman like Miss Taylor may be safely left to manage their 
own concerns. You are more likely to have done harm to yourself, than 
good to them, by interference." 

"Emma never thinks of herself, if she can do good to others," rejoined 
Mr. Woodhouse, understanding but in part. "But, my dear, pray do not 
make any more matches; they are silly things, and break up one's family 
circle grievously." 

"Only one more, papa; only for Mr. Elton. Poor Mr. Elton! You like 
Mr. Elton, papa ; I must look about for a wife for him. There is no-body in 
Highbury who deserves him and he has been here a whole year, and has 
fitted up his house so comfortably, that it would be a shame to have him 
single any longer ; and I thought when he was joining their hands to-day, 
he looked so very much as if he would like to have the same kind office 
done for him ! I think very well of Mr. Elton, and this is the only way I 
have of doing him a service." 

"Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man, to be sure, and a very good 
young man, and I have a great regard for him. But if you want to show 
him any attention, my dear, ask him to come and dine with us some day. 



EMMA 769 

That will be a much better thing. I dare say Mr. Knightley will be so kind 
as to meet him." 

"With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time," said Mr. Knightley 
laughing: "and I agree with you entirely, that it will be a much better 
thing. Invite him to dinner, Emma, and help him to the best of the fish 
and the chicken, but leave him to choose his own wife. Depend upon it, a 
man of six or seven-and-twenty can take care of himself." 



Chapter 2 

MR. WESTON was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable 
family, which for the last two or three generations had been rising into 
gentility and property. He had received a good education, but, on suc- 
ceeding early in life to a small independence, had become indisposed 
for any of the more homely pursuits in which his brothers were engaged ; 
and had satisfied an active, cheerful mind and social temper by entering 
into the militia of his county, then embodied. 

Captain Weston was a general favourite ; and when the chances of his 
military life had introduced him to Miss Churchill, of a great Yorkshire 
family, and Miss Churchill fell in love with him, nobody was surprised, 
except her brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and who were 
full of pride and importance, which the connection would offend. 

Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full command of 
her fortune though her fortune bore no proportions to the family estate 
was not to be dissuaded from the marriage, and it took place, to the 
infinite mortification of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who threw her off with 
due decorum. It was an unsuitable connection, and did not produce much 
happiness. Mrs. Weston ought to have found more in it, for she had a 
husband whose warm heart and sweet temper made him think everything 
due to her in return for the great goodness of being in love with him ; but 
though she had one sort of spirit, she had not the best. She had resolution 
enough to pursue her own will in spite of her brother, but not enough to 
refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother's unreasonable anger, 
nor from missing the luxuries of her former home. They lived beyond their 
income, but still it was nothing in comparison of Enscombe : she did not 
cease to love her husband; but she wanted at once to be the wife of 
Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe. 

Captain Weston, who had been considered, especially by the Churchills, 
as making such an amazing match, was proved to have much the worst of 
the bargain ; for when his wife died, after a three years' marriage, he was 
rather a poorer man than at first, and with a child to maintain. From the 
expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved. The boy had, with the 
additional softening claim of a lingering illness of his mother's, been 
the means of a sort of reconciliation ; and Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, having 
no children of their own, nor any other young creature of equal kindred to 



770 THE WORKS OF JANE AUCTEN 

care for, offered to take the whole charge of the little Frank soon after her 
decease. Some scruples and some reluctance the widower-father may be 
supposed to have felt ; but as they were overcome by other considerations 
the child was given up to the care and the wealth of the Churchills, and 
he had only his own comfort to seek, and his own situation to improve as 
he could. 

A complete change of life became desirable. He quitted the militia and 
engaged in trade, having brothers already established in a good way in 
London, which afforded him a favourable opening. It was a concern 
which brought just employment enough. He had still a small house in 
Highbury, where most of his leisure days were spent ; and between useful 
occupation and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or twenty 
years of his life passed cheerfully away. He had by that time, realised an 
easy competence enough to secure the purchase of a little estate adjoin- 
ing Highbury, which he had always longed for enough to marry a woman 
as portionless even as Miss Taylor, and to live according to the wishes 
of his own friendly and social disposition. 

It was now some time since Miss Taylor had begun to influence his 
schemes; but as it was not the tyrannic influence of youth on youth, it 
had not shaken his determination of never settling till he could purchase 
Randalls, and the sale of Randalls was long looked forward to; but he 
had gone steadily on, with these objects in view, till they were accom- 
plished. He had made his fortune, bought his house and obtained his wife ; 
and was beginning a new period of existence, with every probability of 
greater happiness than in any yet passed through. He had never been an 
unhappy man ; his own temper had secured him from that, even in his first 
marriage; but his second must show him how delightful a well-judging 
and truly amiable woman could be, and must give him the most pleasant 
proof of its being a great deal better to choose than to be chosen, to excite 
gratitude than to feel it. 

He had only himself to please in his choice ; his fortune was his own ; 
for as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly brought up as his uncle's 
heir, it had become so avowed an adoption as to have him assume the 
name of Churchill on coming of age. It was most unlikely, therefore, that 
he should ever want his father's assistance. His father had no apprehension 
of it. The aunt was a capricious woman, and governed her husband en- 
tirely; but it was not in Mr. Weston's nature to imagine that any caprice 
could be strong enough to affect one so dear, and, as he believed, so 
deservedly dear. He saw his son every year in London, and was proud of 
him ; and his fond report of him as a very fine young man had made High- 
bury feel a sort of pride in him too. He was looked on as sufficiently 
belonging to the place to make his merits and prospects a kind of com- 
mon concern. 

Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury and a lively 
curiosity to see him prevailed, though the compliment was so little re- 



EMMA 771 

turned that he had never been there in his life. His coming to visit his 
father had been often talked of but never achieved. 

Now, upon his father's marriage, it was very generally proposed, as a 
most proper attention, that the visit should take place. There was not a 
dissentient voice on the subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tea with 
Mrs. and Miss Bates, or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned the visit. 
Now was the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to come among them; and 
the hope strengthened when it was understood that he had written to 
his new mother on the occasion. For a few days, every morning visit to 
Highbury included some mention of the handsome letter Mrs. Weston 
had received. "I suppose you have heard of the handsome letter Mr. 
Frank Churchill has written to Mrs. Weston? I understand it was a 
very handsome letter, indeed. Mr. Woodhouse told me of it. Mr. Wood- 
house saw the letter, and he says he never saw such a handsome letter 
in his life." 

It was, indeed, a highly-prized letter. Mrs. Weston had, of course, 
formed a very favourable idea of the young man; and such a pleasing 
attention was an irresistible proof of his great good sense, and a most 
welcome addition to every source and every expression of congratulation 
which her marriage had already secured. She felt herself a most fortu- 
nate woman; and she had lived long enough to know how fortunate 
she might well be thought, where the only regret was for a partial sepa- 
ration from friends whose friendship for her had never cooled, and who 
could ill bear to part with her. 

She knew that at times she must be missed ; and could not think, with- 
out pain, of Emma's losing a single pleasure, or suffering an hour's 
ennui from the want of her companionableness: but dear Emma was of 
no feeble character; she was more equal to her situation than most 
girls would have been, and had sense, and energy, and spirits that 
might be hoped would bear her well and happily through its little diffi- 
culties and privations. And then there was such comfort in the very 
easy distance of Randalls from Hartfield, so convenient for even soli- 
tary female walking, and in Mr. Weston 's disposition and circumstances, 
which would make the approaching season no hindrance to their spend- 
ing half the evenings in the week together. 

Her situation was altogether the subject of hours of gratitude to Mrs. 
Weston, and of moments only of regret; and her satisfaction her more 
than satisfaction her cheerful enjoyment, was so just and so apparent, 
that Emma, well as she knew her father, was sometimes taken by sur- 
prise at his being still able to pity "poor Miss Taylor," when they left 
her at Randalls in the centre of every domestic comfort, or saw her go 
away in the evening attended by her pleasant husband to a carriage 
of her own. But never did she go without Mr. Woodhouse's giving a 
gentle sigh, and saying: 

"Ah, poor Miss Taylor! She would be very glad to stay." 

There was no recovering Miss Taylor nor much likelihood of ceas- 



772 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

ing to pity her ; but a few weeks brought some alleviation to Mr. Wood- 
house. The compliments of his neighbours were over; he was no longer 
teased by being wished joy of so sorrowful an event; and the wedding- 
cake, which had been a great distress to him, was all ate up. His own 
stomach could bear nothing rich, and he could never believe other people 
to be different from himself. What was unwholesome to him he regarded 
as unfit for anybody; and he had, therefore, earnestly tried to dissuade 
them from having any wedding-cake at all, and when that proved vain, 
as earnestly tried to prevent anybody's eating it. He had been at the 
pains of consulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on the subject. Mr. Perry 
was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose frequent visits were one 
of the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse's life; and, upon being applied to, 
he could not but ackrowledge (though it seemed rather against the bias 
of inclination) that wedding-cake might certainly disagree with many 
perhaps with most people, unless taken moderately. With such an 
opinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr. Woodhouse hoped to influence 
every visitor of the newly married pair; but still the cake was eaten; 
and there was no rest for his benevolent nerves till it was all gone. 

There was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little Perrys being 
seen with a slice of Mrs. Weston's wedding-cake in their hands; but 
Mr. Woodhouse would never believe it. 



Chapter 3 

MR. WOODHOUSE was fond of society in his own way. He liked very 
much to have his friends come and see him; and from various united 
causes, from his long residence at Hartfield, and his good-nature, from 
his fortune, his house, and his daughter, he could command the visits of 
his own little circle, in a great measure as he liked. He had not much 
intercourse with any families beyond that circle; his horror of late 
hours, and large dinner-parties, made him unfit for any acquaintance 
but such as would visit him on his own terms. Fortunately for him, 
Highbury, including Randalls in the same parish, and Donwell Abbey 
in the parish adjoining, the seat of Mr. Knightley, comprehended many 
such. Not unfrequently, through Emma's persuasion, he had some of 
the chosen and the best to dine with him; but evening parties were 
what he preferred; and, unless he fancied himself at any time unequal 
to company, there was scarcely an evening in the week in which Emma 
could not make up a card-table for him. 

Real, long-standing regard brought the Westons and Mr. Knightley; 
and by Mr. Elton, a young man living alone without liking it, the 
privilege of exchanging any vacant evening of his own blank solitude for 
the elegancies and society of Mr. Woodhouse's drawing-room, and the 
smiles of his lovely daughter, was in no danger of being thrown away. 

After these came a second set; among the most come-at-able of whom 



EMMA 773 

were Mrs. and Miss Bates, and Mrs. Goddard, three ladies almost al- 
ways at the service of an invitation from Hartfield, and who were fetched 
and carried home so often, that Mr. Woodhouse thought it no hardship 
for either James or the horses. Had it taken place only once a year, it 
would have been a grievance. 

Mrs. Bates, the widow of a former vicar of Highbury, was a very old 
lady, almost past everything but tea and quadrille. She lived with her 
single daughter in a very small way, and was considered with all the 
regard and respect which a harmless old lady, under such untoward 
circumstances, can excite. Her daughter enjoyed a most uncommon 
degree of popularity for a woman neither young, handsome, rich, nor 
married. Miss Bates stood in the very worst predicament in the world for 
having much of the public favour ; and she had no intellectual superiority 
to make atonement to herself, or frighten those who might hate her 
into outward respect. She had never boasted either beauty or cleverness. 
Her youth had passed without distinction and her middle of life was 
devoted to the care of a failing mother, and the endeavour to make a 
small income go as far as possible. And yet she was a happy woman, 
and a woman whom no one named without good-will. It was her own 
universal good-will and contented temper which worked such wonders. 
She loved everybody, was interested in everybody's happiness, quick- 
sighted to everybody's merits; thought herself a most fortunate crea- 
ture, and surrounded with blessings in such an excellent mother, and 
so many good neighbours and friends, and a home that wanted for 
nothing. The simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature, her contented 
and grateful spirit, were a recommendation to everybody, and a mine of 
felicity to herself. She was a great talker upon little matters, which 
exactly suited Mr. Woodhouse, full of trivial communications and harm- 
less gossip. 

Mrs. Goddard was the mistress of a school not of a seminary, or an 
establishment, or anything which professed, in long sentences of refined 
nonsense, to combine liberal acquirements with elegant morality, upon 
new principles and new systems and where young ladies for enormous 
pay might be screwed out of health and into vanity but a real, honest, 
old-fashioned boarding-school, where a reasonable quantity of accom- 
plishments were sold at a reasonable price, and where girls might be 
sent to be out of the way, and scramble themselves into a little edu- 
cation, without any danger of coming back prodigies. Mrs. Goddard's 
school was in high repute, and very deservedly; for Highbury was 
reckoned a particularly healthy spot: she had an ample house and 
garden, gave the children plenty of wholesome food, let them run about 
a great deal in the summer, and in winter dressed their chilblains with 
her own hands. It was no wonder that a train of twenty young couples 
now walked after her to church. She was a plain, motherly kind of 
woman, who had worked hard in her youth, and now thought herself 
entitled to the occasional holiday of a tea-visit; and having formerly 



774 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

owed much to Mr. Woodhouse's kindness felt his particular claim on 
her to leave her neat parlour, hung round with fancy work whenever 
she could, and win or lose a few sixpences by his fireside. 

These were the ladies who Emma found herself very frequently able 
to collect; and happy was she, for her father's sake, in the power; 
though, as far as she was herself concerned, it was no remedy for the 
absence of Mrs. Weston. She was delighted to see her father look com- 
fortable, and very much pleased with herself for contriving things so 
well; but the quiet prosings of three such women made her feel that 
every evening so spent was indeed one of the evenings she had fearfully 
anticipated. 

As she sat one morning, looking forward to exactly such a close of the 
present day, a note was brought from Mrs. Goddard requesting, in most 
respectful terms, to be allowed to bring Miss Smith with her; a most 
welcome request; for Miss Smith was a girl of seventeen, whom Emma 
knew very well by sight, and had long felt an interest in, on account of 
her beauty. A very gracious invitation was returned, and the evening no 
longer dreaded by the fair mistress of the mansion. 

Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of somebody. Somebody had 
placed her, several years back, at Mrs. Goddard's school, and somebody 
had lately raised her from the condition of scholar to that of parlour 
boarder. This was all that was generally known of her history. She had 
no visible friends, but what had been acquired at Highbury, and was 
now just returned from a long visit in the country to some young ladies 
who had been at school there with her. 

She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sort 
which Emma particularly admired. She was short, plump, and fair, with 
a fine bloom, blue -eyes, light hair, regular features, and a look of great 
sweetness ; and, before the end of the evening, Emma was as much pleased 
with her manners as her person, and quite determined to continue the 
acquaintance. 

She was not struck by anything remarkably clever in Miss Smith's 
conversation, but she found her altogether very engaging not incon- 
veniently shy, nor unwilling to talk and yet so far from pushing, showing 
so proper and becoming a deference, seeming so pleasantly grateful for 
being admitted to Hartfield, and so artlessly impressed by the appearance 
of everything in so superior a style to what she had been used to, that she 
must have good sense, and deserve encouragement. Encouragement should 
be given. Those soft blue eyes, and all those natural graces, should 
not be wasted on the inferior society of Highbury and its connections. The 
acquaintances she had already formed were unworthy of her. The friends 
from whom she had just parted, though very good sort of people, must be 
doing her harm. They were a family of the name of Martin, whom Emma 
well knew by character, as renting a large farm of Mr. Knightley, and 
residing in the parish of Donwell very creditably, she believed ; she know 
Mr. Knightley thought highly of them; but they must be coarse and 



EMMA 775 

unpolished, and very unfit to be the intimates of a girl who wanted only 
a little more knowledge and elegance to be quite perfect. She would notice 
her ; she would improve her ; she would detach her from her bad acquaint- 
ances, and introduce her into good society ; she would form her opinions 
and her manners. It would be an interesting, and certainly a very kind 
undertaking ; highly becoming her own situation in life, her leisure, and 
powers. 

She was so busy in admiring those soft blue eyes, in talking and listening 
and forming all these schemes in the inbetweens that the evening flew 
away at a very unusual rate; and the supper-table, which always closed 
such parties, and for which she had been used to sit and watch the due 
time, was all set out and ready, and moved forwards to the fire, before she 
was aware. With an alacrity beyond the common impulse of a spirit 
which yet was never indifferent to the credit of doing everything well and 
attentively, with the real good-will of a mind delighted with its own ideas, 
did she then do all the honours of the meal, and help and recommend the 
minced chicken and scalloped oysters, with an urgency which she knew 
would be acceptable to the early hours and civil scruples of their guests. 

Upon such occasions poor Mr. Woodhouse's feelings were in sad war- 
fare. He loved to have the cloth laid, because it had been the fashion of his 
youth, but his conviction of suppers being very unwholesome made him 
rather sorry to see anything put on it ; and while his hospitality would have 
welcomed his visitors to everything, his care for their health made him 
grieve that they would eat. 

Such another small basin of thin gruel as his own was all that he could, 
with thorough self-approbation, recommend; though he might constrain 
himself, while the ladies were comfortably clearing the nicer things, to 
say 

"Mrs. Bates, let me propose your venturing on one of these eggs. An 
egg boiled very soft is not unwholesome. Serle understands boiling an egg 
better than anybody. I would not recommend an egg boiled by anybody 
else but you need not be afraid, they are very small, you see one of our 
small eggs will not hurt you. Miss Bates, let Emma help you to a little bit 
of tart a very little bit. Ours are all apple-tarts. You need not be afraid of 
unwholesome preserves here. I do not advise the custard. Mrs. Goddard, 
what say you to half a glass of wine? A small half -glass, put into a tumbler 
of water? I do not think it could disagree with you." 

Emma allowed her father to talk but supplied her visitors in a much 
more satisfactory style; and on the present evening had particular 
pleasure in sending them away happy. The happiness of Miss Smith was 
quite equal to her intentions. Miss Woodhouse was so great a personage 
in Highbury, that the prospect of the introduction had given as much 
panic as pleasure ; but the humble, grateful little girl went off with highly 
gratified feelings, delighted with the affability with which Miss Wood- 
house had treated her all the evening, and actually shaken hands with 
her at last! 



776 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Chapter 4 

HARRIET SMITH'S intimacy at Hartfield was soon a settled thing. 
Quick and decided in her ways, Emma lost no time in inviting, encourag- 
ing, and telling her to come very often; and as their acquaintance in- 
creased, so did their satisfaction in each other. As a walking companion, 
Emma had very early foreseen how useful she might find her. In that re- 
rspect Mrs. Weston's loss had been important. Her father never went 
beyond the shrubbery, where two divisions of the ground sufficed him for 
his long walk, or his short, as the year varied; and since Mrs. Weston's 
marriage her exercise had been too much confined. She had ventured once 
alone to Randalls, but it was not pleasant ; and a Harriet Smith, therefore, 
one whom she could summon at any time to a walk, would be a valuable 
addition to her privileges. But in every respect, as she saw more of her, 
she apprpved her, and was confirmed in all her kind designs. 

Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile, grateful 
disposition, was totally free from conceit, and only desiring to be guided 
by any one she looked up to. Her early attachment to herself was very 
amiable ; and her inclination for good company, and power of appreciating 
what was elegant and clever, showed that there was no want of taste, 
though strength of understanding must not be expected. Altogether she 
was quite convinced of Harriet Smith's being exactly the young friend she 
wanted exactly the something which her home required. Such a friend as 
Mrs. Weston was out of the question. Two such could never be granted. 
Two such she did not want. It was quite a different sort of thing, a senti- 
ment distinct and independent. Mrs. Weston was the object of a regard 
which had its basis in gratitude and esteem. Harriet would be loved as one 
to whom she could be useful. For Mrs. Weston there was nothing to be 
done ; for Harriet everything. 

Her first attempts at usefulness were in an endeavour to find out who 
were the parents; but Harriet could not tell. She was ready to tell every 
thing in her power, but on this subject questions were vain. Emma was 
obliged to fancy what she liked ; but she could never believe that in the 
same situation she should not have discovered the truth. Harriet had no 
penetration. She had been satisfied to hear and believe just what Mrs. 
Goddard chose to tell her ; and looked no further. 

Mrs. Goddard and the teachers, and the girls, and the affairs of the 
school in general, formed naturally a great part of the conversation and 
but for her acquaintance with the Martins of Abbey-Mill Farm, it must 
have been the whole. But the Martins occupied her thoughts a good deal; 
she had spent two very happy months with them, and now loved to talk 
of the pleasures of her visit, and describe the many comforts and wonders 
of the place. Emma encouraged her talkativeness, amused by such a 
picture of another set of beings, and enjoying the youthful simplicity 
which could speak with so much exultation of Mrs. Martin's having "two 



EMMA 777 

parlours, two very good parlours, indeed ; one of them quite as large as 
Mrs. Goddard's drawing-room; and of her having an upper maid who had 
lived five-and-twenty years with her ; and of their having eight cows, two 
of them Alderneys, and one a little Welch cow, a very pretty little Welch 
cow, indeed ; and of Mrs. Martin's saying, as she was so fond of it, it should 
be called her cow ; and of their having a very handsome summer-house in 
their garden, where some day next year they were all to drink tea; a very 
handsome summer-house, large enough to hold a dozen people." 

For some time she was amused, without thinking beyond the immediate 
cause; but as she came to understand the family better, other feelings 
arose. She had taken up a wrong idea, fancying it was a mother and 
daughter, a son and son's wife, who all lived together; but when it ap- 
peared that the Mr. Martin, who bore a part in the narrative, and was 
always mentioned with approbation for his great good-nature in doing 
something or other, was a single man that there was no young Mrs. 
Martin, no wife in the case she did suspect danger to her poor little 
friend from all this hospitality and kindness, and that, if she were not 
taken care of, she might be required to sink herself for ever. 

With this inspiring notion, her questions increased in number and 
meaning ; and she particularly led Harriet to talk more of Mr. Martin, and 
there was evidently no dislike to it. Harriet was very ready to speak of the 
share he had had in their moonlight walks and merry evening games ; and 
dwelt a good deal upon his being so very good-humoured and obliging. 
"He had gone three miles round one day in order to bring her some 
walnuts, because she had said how fond she was of them, and in every- 
thing else he was so very obliging. He had his shepherd's son into the 
parlour one night on purpose to sing to her. She was very fond of singing. 
He could sing a little himself. She believed he was very clever, and under- 
stood everything. He had a very fine flock, and, while she was with them, 
he had been bid more for his wool than anybody in the country. She 
believed everybody spoke well of him. His mother and sisters were very 
fond of him. Mrs. Martin had told her one day (and there was a blush as 
she said it) that it was impossible for anybody to be a better son, and 
therefore she was sure, whenever he married, he would make a good 
husband. Not that she wanted him to marry. She was in no hurry at all." 

"Well done, Mrs. Martin!" thought Emma. "You know what you are 
about." 

"And when she had come away, Mrs. Martin was so very kind as to 
send Mrs. Goddard a beautiful goose the finest goose Mrs. Goddard had 
ever seen. Mrs. Goddard had dressed it on a Sunday, and asked all the 
three teachers, Miss Nash, and Miss Prince, and Miss Richardson, to sup 
with her." 

"Mr. Martin, I suppose, is not a man of information beyond the line of 
his own business? He does not read?" 

"Oh, yes! that is, no I do not know but I believe he has read a good 
deal but not what you would think anything of. He reads the Agricul- 



778 THE WORKS (W JANE AUSTEN 

tural Reports, and some other books that lay in one of the window seats 
but he reads all them to himself. But sometimes of an evening, before we 
went to cards, he would read something aloud out of the 'Elegant Ex- 
tracts,' very entertaining. And I know he has read the 'Vicar of Wake- 
field.' He never read the 'Romance of the Forest,' nor the 'Children of the 
Abbey.' He had never heard of such books before I mentioned them, but 
he is determined to get them now as soon as ever he can." 

The next question was 

"What sort of looking man is Mr. Martin?" 

"Oh! not handsome not at all handsome. I thought him very plain at 
first, but I do not think him so plain now. One does not, you know, after a 
time. But did you never see him? He is in Highbury every now and then, 
and he is sure to ride through every week on his way to Kingston. He has 
passed you very often." 

"That may be, and I may have seen him fifty times, but without having 
any idea of his name. A young farmer, whether on horseback or on foot, 
is the very last sort of person to raise my curiosity. The yeomanry are 
precisely the order of people with whom I feel I can have nothing to do. A 
degree or two lower, and a creditable appearance might interest me; I 
might hope to be useful to their families in some way or other. But a 
farmer can need none of my help, and is, therefore, in one sense, as much 
above my notice, as in every other he is below it." 

"To be sure. Oh, yes ! it is not likely you should ever have observed him ; 
but he knows you very well, indeed I mean by sight." 

"I have no doubt of his being a very respectable young man. I know, 
indeed, that he is so, and, as such, wish him well. What do you imagine 
his age to be?" 

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

"Only four-and-twenty. That is too young to settle. His mother is 
perfectly right not to be in a hurry. They seem very comfortable as they 
are, and if she were to take any pains to marry him, she would probably 
repent it. Six years hence, if he could meet with a good sort of young 
woman in the same rank as his own, with a little money, it might be very 
desirable." 

"Six years hence ! dear Miss Woodhouse, he would be thirty years old ! " 

"Well, and that is as early as most men can afford to marry, who are 
not born to an independence. Mr. Martin, I imagine, has his fortune 
entirely to make cannot be at all beforehand with the world. Whatever 
money he might come into when his father died, whatever his share of the 
family property, it is, I dare say, all afloat, all employed in his stock, and 
so forth; and though, with diligence and good luck, he may be rich in time, 
it is next to impossible that he should have realised anything yet." 

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



EMMA 779 

"I wish you may not get into a scrape, Harriet, whenever he-does marry 
I mean, as to being acquainted with his wife; for though his sisters, 
from a superior education, are not to be altogether objected to, it does not 
follow that he might marry anybody at all .fit for you to notice. The 
misfortune of your birth ought to make you particularly careful as to 
your associates. There can be no doubt of your being a gentleman's 
daughter, and you must support your claim to that station by everything 
within your own power, or there will be plenty of people who would take 
pleasure in degrading you." 

"Yes, to be sure, I suppose there are. But while I visit at Hartfield, and 
you are so kind to me, Miss Woodhouse, I am not afraid of what anybody 
can do." 

"You understand the force of influence pretty well, Harriet; but I 
would have you so firmly established in good society, as to be independent 
even of Hartfield and Miss Woodhouse. I want to see you permanently 
well connected, and to that end it will be advisable to have as few odd 
acquaintances as may be ; and, therefore, I say, that if you should still be 
in this country when Mr. Martin marries, I wish you may not be drawn in 
by your intimacy with the sisters, to be acquainted with the wife, who 
will probably be some mere farmer's daughter, without education." 

"To be sure. Yes. Not that I think Mr. Martin would ever marry any- 
body but what had had some education, and been very well brought up. 
However, I do not mean to set up my opinion against yours and I am 
sure I shall not wish for the acquaintance of his wife. I shall always have 
a great regard for the Miss Martins, especially Elizabeth, and should be 
very sorry to give them up, for they are quite as well educated as me. But 
if he marries a very ignorant vulgar woman, certainly I had better not 
visit her, if I can help it." 

Emma watched her through the fluctuations of this speech, and saw no 
alarming symptoms of love. The young man had been the first admirer, 
but she trusted there was no other hold, and that there would be no serious 
difficulty, on Harriet's side, to oppose any friendly arrangement of her 
own. 

They met Mr. Martin the very next day, as they were walking on the 
Donwell road. He was on foot, and after looking very respectfully at her, 
looked with most unfeigned satisfaction at her companion. Emma was not 
sorry to have such an opportunity of survey; and walking a few yards 
forward, while they talked together, soon made her quick eye sufficiently 
acquainted with Mr. Robert Martin. His appearance was very neat and 
he looked like a sensible young man, but his person had no other advan- 
tage: and when he came to be contrasted with gentlemen, she thought he 
must lose all the ground he had gained in Harriet's inclination. Harriet 
was not insensible of manner; she had voluntarily noticed her father's 
gentleness with admiration as well as wonder. Mr. Martin looked as if he 
did not know what manner was. 

They remained but a few minutes together, as Miss Woodhouse must 



780 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

not be kept waiting; and Harriet then came running to her with a smiling 
face, and in a flutter of spirits, which Miss Woodhouse hoped very soon 
to compose. 

"Only think of our happening to meet him ! How very odd. It was quite 
a chance, he said, that he had not gone round by Randalls. He did not 
think we ever walked this road. He thought we walked towards Randalls 
most days. He has not been able to get the 'Romance of the Forest' yet. 
He was so busy the last time he was at Kingston that he quite forgot it, 
but he goes again to-morrow. So very odd we should happen to meet! 
Well, Miss Woodhouse, is he like what you expected? What do you think 
of him? Do you think him so very plain?" 

"He is very plain, undoubtedly; remarkably plain; but that is nothing 
compared with his entire want of gentility. I had no right to expect much, 
and I did not expect much; but I had no idea that he could be so very 
clownish, so totally without air. I had imagined him, I confess, a degree or 
two nearer gentility." 

"To be sure," said Harriet, in a mortified voice, "he is not so genteel as 
real gentlemen." 

"I think, Harriet, since your acquaintance with us, you have been 
repeatedly in the company of some such very real gentlemen, that you 
must yourself be struck with the difference in Mr. Martin. At Hartfield, 
you have had very good specimens of well-educated, weli-bred men. I 
should be surprised if, after seeing them, you could be in company with 
Mr. Martin again without perceiving him to be a very inferior creature 
and rather wondering at yourself for having ever thought him at all 
agreeable before. Do not you begin to feel that now? Were not you struck? 
I am sure you must have been struck by his awkward look and abrupt 
manner and the uncouthness of a voice which I heard to be wholly un- 
modulated as I stood here." 

"Certainly, he is not like Mr. Knightley. He has not such a fine air and 
way of walking as Mr. Knightley. I see the difference plain enough. But 
Mr. Knightley is so very fine a man! " 

"Mr. Knightley's air is so remarkably good that it is not fair to compare 
Mr. Martin with him. You might not see one in a hundred with gentleman 
so plainly written as in Mr. Kni-~htley. But he is not the only gentleman 
you have been lately used to. What say you to Mr. Weston and Mr. Elton? 
Compare Mr. Martin with either of them. Compare their manner of carry- 
ing themselves, of walking, of speaking, of being silent. You must see the 
difference." 

"Oh, yes, there is a great difference. But Mr. Weston is almost an old 
man. Mr. Weston must be between forty and fifty." 

"Which makes his good manners the more valuable. The older a person 
grows, Harriet, the more important it is that their manners should not be 
bad; the more glaring and disgusting any loudness, or coarseness, or awk- 
wardness becomes. What is passable in youth is detestable in later age. 



EMMA 781 

Mr. Martin is now awkward and abrupt; what will he be at Mr. Weston's 
time of life?" 

"There is no saying, indeed," replied Harriet, rather solemnly. 

"But there may be pretty good guessing. He will be a completely gross, 
vulgar farmer, totally inattentive to appearances, and thinking of nothing 
but profit and loss." 

"Will he, indeed? that will be very bad." 

"How much his business engrosses him already, is very plain from the 
circumstance of his forgetting to inquire for the book you recommended. 
He was a great deal too full of the market to think of anything else 
which is just as it should be, for a thriving man. What has he to do with 
books? And I have no doubt that he will thrive, and be a very rich man 
in time; and his being illiterate and coarse need not disturb us" 

"I wonder he did not remember the book," was all Harriet's answer, 
and spoken with a degree of grave displeasure which Emma thought 
might be safely left to itself. She, therefore, said no more for some time. 
Her next beginning was 

"In one respect, perhaps, Mr. Elton's manners are superior to Mr. 
Knightley's or Mr. Weston's. They have more gentleness. They might be 
more safely held up as a pattern. There is an openness, a quickness, almost 
a bluntness in Mr. Weston, which everybody likes in him, because there is 
so much good humotir with it but that would not do to be copied. 
Neither would Mr. Knightley's downright, decided, commanding sort of 
manner, though it suits him very well: his figure, and look, and situation 
in life seem to allow it ; but if any young man were to set about copying 
him, he would not be sufferable. On the contrary, I think a young man 
might be very safely recommended to take Mr. Elton as a model. Mr. 
Elton is good-humoured, cheerful, obliging, and gentle. He seems to me 
to be grown particularly gentle of late. I do not know whether he has any 
design of ingratiating himself with either of us, Harriet, by additional 
softness, but it strikes me that his manners are softer than they used to 
be. If he means anything, it must be to please you. Did not I tell you what 
he said of you the other day?" 

She then repeated some warm personal praise which she had drawn 
from Mr. Elton, and now did full justice to; and Harriet blushed and 
smiled, and said she had always thought Mr. Elton very agreeable. 

Mr. Elton was the very person fixed on by Emma for driving the young 
farmer out of Harriet's head. She thought it would be an excellent match; 
and only too palpably desirable, natural, and probable, for her to have 
much merit in planning it. She feared it was what everybody else must 
think of and predict. It was not likely, however, that anybody should 
have equalled her in the date of the plan as it had entered her brain during 
the very first evening of Harriet's coming to Hartfield. The longer she 
considered it, the greater was her sense of its expediency. Mr. Elton's 
situation was most suitable, quite the gentleman himself, and without 
low connections; at the same time, not of any family that could fairly 



782 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

object to the doubtful birth of Harriet. He had a comfortable home for 
her, and Emma imagined a very sufficient income; for though the vicarage 
of Highbury was not large, he was known to have some independent 
property ; and she thought very highly of him as a good-humoured, well- 
meaning, respectable young man, without any deficiency of useful under- 
standing or knowledge of the world. 

She had already satisfied herself that he thought Harriet a beautiful 
girl, which she trusted, with such frequent meetings at Hartfield, was 
foundation enough on his side; and on Harriet's there could be little doubt 
that the idea of being preferred by him would have all the usual weight 
and efficacy. And he was really a very pleasing young man, a young man 
whom any woman not fastidious might like. He was reckoned very 
handsome ; his person much admired in general, though not by her, there 
being a want of elegance of feature which she could not dispense with: 
but the girl who could be gratified by a Robert Martin's riding about the 
country to get walnuts for her might very well be conquered by Mr. 
Elton's admiration. 

Chapter 5 

"I DO not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston," said Mr. 
Knightley, "of this great intimacy between Emma and Harriet Smith, 
but I think it a bad thing." 

"A bad thing! Do you really think it a bad thing? why so?" 

"I think they will neither of them do the other any good." 

"You surprise me! Emma must do Harriet good; and by supplying her 
with a new object of interest, Harriet may be said to do Emma good. I 
have been seeing their intimacy with the greatest pleasure. How very 
differently we feel! Not think they will do each other any good! This 
will certainly be the beginning of one of our quarrels about Emma, Mr. 
Knightley." 

"Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel with you, knowing 
Weston to be out, and that you must still fight your own battle." 

"Mr. Weston would undoubtedly support me, if he were here, for he 
thinks exactly as I do on the subject. We were speaking of it only yester- 
day, and agreeing how fortunate it was for Emma that there should be 
such a girl in Highbury for her to associate with. Mr. Knightley, I shall 
not allow you to be a fair judge in this case. You are so much used to live 
alone, that you do not know the value of a companion; and, perhaps, no 
man can be a good judge of the comfort a woman feels in the society of one 
of her own sex, after being used to it all her life. I can imagine your objec- 
tion to Harriet Smith. She is not the superior young woman which Emma's 
friend ought to be. But, on the other hand, as Emma wants to see her 
better informed, it will be an inducement to her to read more herself. They 
Trill read together. She means it, I know." 

"Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelve years 



EMMA 783 

old. I have seen a great many lists of the drawing-up, at various times, of 
books that she meant to read regularly through and very good lists they 
were, very well chosen, and very neatly arranged sometimes alphabeti- 
cally, and sometimes by some other rule. The list she drew up when only 
fourteen I remember thinking it did her judgment so much credit, that 
I preserved it some time, and I dare say she may have made out a very 
good list now. But I have done with expecting any course of steady reading 
from Emma. She will never submit to anything requiring industry and 
patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the understanding. Where Miss 
Taylor failed to stimulate, I may safely affirm that Harriet Smith will do 
nothing. You never could persuade her to read half so much as you wished. 
You know you could not." 

"I dare say," replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, "that I thought so then; 
but since we have parted, I can never remember Emma's omitting to do 
anything I wished." 

"There is hardly any desiring to refresh such a memory as that," said 
Mr. Knightley, feelingly; and for a moment or two he had done. "But I," 
he soon added, "who have had no such charm thrown over my senses, 
must still see, hear, and remember. Emma is spoiled by being the cleverest 
of her family. At ten years old she had the misfortune of being able to 
answer questions which puzzled her sister at seventeen. She was always 
quick and assured; Isabella slow and diffident. And ever since she was 
twelve, Emma has been mistress of the house and of you all. In her 
mother she lost the only person able to cope with her. She inherits her 
mother's talents, and must have been under subjection to her." 

"I should have been sorry, Mr. Knightley, to be dependent on your 
recommendation, had I quitted Mr. Woodhouse's family and wanted 
another situation ; I do not think you have spoken a good word for me to 
anybody. I am sure you always thought me unfit for the office I held." 

"Yes," said he, smiling. "You are better placed here very fit for a 
wife, but not at all for a governess. But you were preparing yourself to 
be an excellent wife all the time you were at Hartfield. You might not give 
Emma such a complete education as your powers would seem to promise ; 
but you were receiving a very good education from her, on the very ma- 
terial matrimonial point of submitting your own will, and doing as you 
were bid; and if Weston had asked me to recommend him a wife, I 
should certainly have named Miss Taylor." 

"Thank you. There will be very little merit in making a good wife to 
such a man as Mr. Weston." 

"Why, to own the truth, I am afraid you are rather thrown away, and 
that with every disposition to bear, there will be nothing to be borne. We 
will not despair, however. W T eston may grow cross from the wantonness of 
comfort, or his son may plague him." 

"I hope not that. It is not likely. No, Mr. Knightley, do not foretell 
vexation from that quarter." 

"Not I, indeed. I only name possibilities. I do not pretend to Emma's 



784 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

genius for foretelling and guessing. I hope, with all my heart, the young 
man may be a Weston in merit, and a Churchill in fortune. But Harriet 
Smith, I have not half done about Harriet Smith. I think her the very 
worst sort of companion that Emma could possibly have. She knows 
nothing herself, and looks upon Emma as knowing everything. She is a 
flatterer in all her ways ; and so much the worse, because undesigned. Her 
ignorance is hourly flattery. How can Emma imagine she has anything to 
learn herself, while Harriet is presenting such a delightful inferiority? 
And as for Harriet, I will venture to say that she cannot gain by the 
acquaintance. Hartfield will only put her out of conceit with all the other 
places she belongs to. She will grow just refined enough to be uncom- 
fortable v/ith those among whom birth and circumstances have placed her 
home. I am much mistaken if Emma's doctrines give any strength of 
mind, or tend at all to make a girl adapt herself rationally to the varieties 
of her situation in life. They only give a little polish." 

"I either depend more upon Emma's good sense than you do, or am 
more anxious for her present comfort ; for I cannot lament the acquaint- 
ance. How well she looked last night!" 

"Oh, you would rather talk of her person than her mind, would you? 
Very well; I shall not attempt to deny Emma's being pretty." 

"Pretty! say beautiful rather. Can you imagine anything nearer perfect 
beauty than Emma altogether face and figure?" 

"I do not know what I could imagine, but I confess that I have seldom 
seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers. But I am a partial 
old friend." 

"Such an eye! the true hazel eye and so brilliant! regular features, 
open countenance, with a complexion oh, what a bloom of full health, 
and such a pretty height and size ! such a firm and upright figure ! There 
is health not merely in her bloom, but in her air, her head, her glance. 
One hears sometimes of a child being 'the picture of health' ; now, Emma 
always gives me the idea of being the complete picture of grown-up health. 
She is loveliness itself. Mr. Knightley, is not she?" 

"I have not a fault to find with her person," he replied. "I think her all 
you describe. I love to look at her; and I will add this praise, that I do 
not think her personally vain. Considering how very handsome she is, she 
appears to be little occupied with it; her vanity lies another way. Mrs. 
Weston, I am not to be talked out of my dislike of her intimacy with 
Harriet Smith, or my dread of its doing them both harm." 

"And I, Mr. Knightley, am equally stout in my confidence of its not 
doing them any harm. With all dear Emma's little faults, she is an excel- 
lent creature. Where shall we see a better daughter, or a kinder sister, or 
a truer friend? No, no; she has qualities which may be trusted; she will 
never lead any one really wrong ; she will make no lasting blunder ; where 
Emma errs once, she is in the right a hundred times." 

"Very well ; I will not plague you any more. Emma shall be an angel, 
and I will keep my spleen to myself till Christmas brings John and Isa- 



EMMA 785 

bella. John loves Emma with a reasonable, and therefore not a blind affec- 
tion, and Isabella always thinks as he -does, except when he is not quite 
frightened enough about the children. I am sure of having their opinions 
with me." 

"I know that you all love her really too well to be unjust or unkind ; 
but excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if I take the liberty (I consider myself, 
you know, as having somewhat of the privilege of speech that Emma's 
mother might have had) the liberty of hinting that I do not think any 
possible good can arise from Harriet Smith's intimacy being made a matter 
of much discussion among you. Pray excuse me ; but supposing any little 
inconvenience may be apprehended from the intimacy, it cannot be 
expected that Emma, accountable to nobody but her father, who per- 
fectly approves the acquaintance, should put an end to it, so long as it is 
a source of pleasure to herself. It has been so many years my province to 
give advice, that you cannot be surprised, Mr. Knightley, at this little 
remains of office." 

"Not at all," cried he; "I am much obliged to you for it. It is very good 
advice, and it shall have a better fate than your advice has often found ; 
for it shall be attend to." 

"Mrs. John Knightley is easily alarmed, and might be made unhappy 
about her sister." 

"Be satisfied," said he, "I will not raise any outcry. I will keep my ill- 
humour to myself. I have a very sincere interest in Emma. Isabella does 
not seem more my sister; has never excited a greater interest; perhaps 
hardly so great. There is an anxiety, a curiosity in what one feels for 
Emma. I wonder what will become of her." 

"So do I," said Mrs. Weston, gently, "very much." 

"She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, means just 
nothing at all. But I have no idea that she has yet ever seen a man she 
cared for. It would not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love with 
a proper object. I should like to see Emma in love, and in some doubt of 
a return; it would do her good. But there is nobody hereabouts to attach 
her; and she goes so seldom from home." 

"There does, indeed, seem as little to tempt her to break her resolution 
at present," said Mrs. Weston, "as can well be ; and while she is so happy 
at Hartfield, I cannot wish her to be forming any attachment which would 
be creating such difficulties on poor Mr. Woodhouse's account. I do not 
recommend matrimony at present to Emma, though I mean no slight to 
the state, I assure you." 

Part of her meaning was to conceal some favourite thoughts of her own 
and Mr. Weston 's on the subject as much as possible. There were wishes 
at Randalls respecting Emma's destiny, but it was not desirable to have 
them suspected ; and the quiet transition which Mr. Knightley soon after- 
wards made to "What does Weston think of the weather? shall we have 
rain?" convinced her that he had nothing more to say or surmise about 
Hartfield. 



786 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Chapter 6 

EMMA could .not feel a doubt of having given Harriet's fancy a proper 
direction, and raised the gratitude of her young vanity to a very good 
purpose; for she found her decidedly more sensible than before of Mr. 
Elton's being a remarkably handsome man, with most agreeable manners; 
and as she had no hesitation in following up the assurance of his admira- 
tion by agreeable hints, she was soon pretty confident of creating as much 
liking on Harriet's side as there could be any occasion for. She was quite 
convinced of Mr. Elton's being in the fairest way of falling in love, if not 
! n love already. She had no scruple with regard to him. He talked of 
Harriet ; and praised her so warmly that she could not suppose anything 
wanting which a little time would not add. His perception of the striking 
improvement ~>f Harriet's manner, since her introduction at Hartfield, 
was not one of the least agreeable proofs of his growing attachment. 

"You have given Miss Smith all that she required," said he; "you have 
made her graceful and easy. She was a beautiful creature when she came 
to you ; but, in my opinion, the attractions you have added are infinitely 
superior to what she received from nature." 

"I am glad you think I have been useful to her ; but Harriet only wanted 
drawing out, and receiving a few, very few hints. She had all the natural 
grace of sweetness of temper and artlessness in herself. I have done very 
little." 

"If it were admissible to contradict a lady " said the gallant Mr. 

Elton. 

"I have, perhaps, given her a little more decision of character have 
taught her to think on points which had not fallen in her way before." 

"Exactly so; that is what principally strikes me. So much superadded 
decision of character! Skilful has been the hand!" 

"Great has been the pleasure, I am sure. I never met with a disposition 
more truly amiable." 

"l have no doubt of it." And it was spoken with a sort of sighing anima- 
tion which had a vast deal of the lover. She was not less pleased, another 
day, with the manner in which he seconded a sudden wish of hers to 
have Harriet's picture. 

"DM you ever have your likeness taken, Harriet?" said she; "did you 
ever sit for your picture?" 

Harriet was on the point of leaving the room, and only stopped to say, 
with a very interesting naivete 

'Oh dear, no never." 

No sooner was she out of sight than Emma exclaimed 

"What an exquisite possession a good picture of her would be! I would 
give any money for it. I almost long to attempt her likeness myself. You 
do not know it, I dare say, but two or three years ago I had a great passion 
for taking likenesses, and attempted several of my friends, and was thought 



EMMA 787 

to have a tolerable eye in general ; but, from one cause or another, I gave 
it up in disgust. But, really, I could almost venture if Harriet would sit 
to me. It would be such a delight to have her picture! " 

"Let me entreat you," cried Mr. Elton; "it would indeed be a delight; 
let me entreat you, Miss Woodhouse, to exercise so charming a tafent in 
favour of your friend. I know what your drawings are. How could you 
suppose me ignorant? Is not this room rich in specimens of your land- 
scapes and flowers! and has not Mrs. Weston some inimitable figure 
pieces in her drawing-room at Randalls?" 

Yes, good man! thought Emma, but what has all that to do with taking 
likenesses? You know nothing of drawing. Don't pretend to be in raptures 
about mine. Keep your raptures for Harriet's face. "Well, if you give me 
such kind encouragement, Mr. Elton, I believe I shall try what I can do. 
Harriet's features are very delicate, which makes a likeness difficult; and 
yet, there is a peculiarity in the shape of the eye, and the lines about the 
mouth, which one ought to catch." 

"Exactly so, the shape of the eye and the lines about the mouth, I have 
not a doubt of your success. Pray, pray attempt it. As you will do it, it 
will indeed, to use your own words, be an exquisite possession." 

"But I am afraid, Mr. Elton, Harriet will not like to sit, she thinks so 
little of her cwn beauty. Did not you observe her manner of answering 
me? How completely it meant 'Why should my picture be drawn?' ' 

"Oh, yes, I observed it, I assure you. It was not lost on me. But still I 
cannot imagine she would not be persuaded." 

Harriet was soon back again, and the proposal almost immediately 
made ; and she had no scruples which could stand many minutes against 
the earnest pressing of both the others. Emma wished to go to work 
directly, and therefore produced the portfolio containing her various 
attempts at portraits, for not one of them had ever been finished, that 
they might decide together on the best size for Harriet. Her many begin- 
nings were displayed. Miniatures, half-lengths, whole-lengths, pencil, 
crayon, and water-colours had been all tried in turn. She had always 
wanted to do everything, and had made more progress, both in drawing 
and music, than many might have done with so little labour as she would 
ever submit to. She played and sang, and drew in almost every style; but 
steadiness had always been wanting ; and in nothing had she approached 
the degree of excellence which she would have been glad to command, 
and ought not to have failed of. She was not much deceived as to her own 
skill, either as an artist or a musician; but she was not unwilling to have 
others deceived, or sorry to know her reputation for accomplishment 
often higher than it deserved. 

There was merit in every drawing, in the least finished, perhaps the 
most. Her style was spirited ; but had there been much less, or had there 
been ten times more, the delight and admiration of her two companions, 
would have been the same. They were both in ecstasies. A likeness pleases 
everybody; and Miss Wbodhouse's performances must be capital. 



788 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"No great variety of faces for you," said Emma. "I had only my own 
family to study from. There is my father another of my father but the 
idea of sitting for his picture made him so nervous, that I could only take 
him by stealth, neither of them alike, therefore. Mrs. Weston again, and 
again, and again, you see. Dear Mrs. Weston always my kindest friend 
on every occasion. She would sit whenever I asked her. There is my sister; 
and really quite her own little elegant figure and the face not unlike. 
I should have made a good likeness of her, if she would have sat longer ; 
but she was in such a hurry to have me draw her four children that she 
would not be quiet. Then, here come all my attempts at three of those four 
children there they are, Henry, and John, and Bella, from one end of the 
sheet to the other, and any one of them might do for any one of the rest. 
She was so eager to have them drawn that I could not refuse ; but there 
is no making children of three or four years old stand still, you know; 
nor can it be very easy to take any likeness of them, beyond the air and 
complexion, unless they are coarser featured than any mamma's children 
ever were. Here is my sketch of the fourth, who was a baby. I took him as 
he was sleeping on the sofa, and it is as strong a likeness of his cockade as 
you would wish to see. He had nestled down his head most conveniently : 
that's very like. I am rather proud of little George. The corner of the sofa 
is very good. Then here is my last," unclosing a pretty sketch of a gentle- 
man in small size, whole-length "my last and my best my brother, Mr. 
John Knightley. This did not want much of being finished, when I put it 
away in a pet, and vowed I would never take another likeness. I could not 
help being provoked ; for, after all my pains, and when I had really made 
a very good likeness of it (Mrs. Weston and I were quite agreed in think- 
ing it very like) only too handsome too flattering but that was a 
fault on the right side after all this, came poor dear Isabella's cold 
approbation of 'Yes, it was a little like; but, to be sure, it did not do him 
justice.' We had had a great deal of trouble in persuading him to sit at 
all. It was made a great favour of; and altogether it was more than I could 
bear ; and so I never would finish it, to have it apologised over, as an un- 
favourable likeness, to every morning visitor in Brunswick Square; and, 
as I said, I did then forswear ever drawing anybody again. But, for Har- 
riet's sake, or rather for my own, and as there are no husbands and wives 
in the case at present, I will break my resolution now." 

Mr. Elton seemed very properly struck and delighted by the idea, and 
was repeating, "No husbands and wives in the case at present indeed, as 
you observe. Exactly so. No husbands and wives," with so interesting a 
consciousness that Emma began to consider whether she had not better 
leave them together at once. But as she wanted to be drawing, the declara- 
tion must wait a little longer. 

She had soon fixed on the size and sort of portrait. It was to be a whole- 
length in water-colours, like Mr. John Knightley's, and was destined, if 
she could please herself, to hold a very honourable station- over the man- 
telpiece. 



EMMA 789 

The sitting began; and Harriet smiling and blushing, and afraid of 
not keeping her attitude and countenance, presented a very sweet mixture 
of youthful expression to the steady .eye of the artist. But there was no 
doing anything, with Mr. Elton fidgeting behind her, and watching every 
touch. She gave him credit for stationing himself where he might gaze and 
gaze again without offence ; but was really obliged to put an end to it, and 
request him to place himself elsewhere. It then occurred to her to employ 
him in reading. 

"If he would be so good as to read to them, it would be a kindness 
indeed! It would amuse away the difficulties of her part, and lessen the 
irksomeness of Miss Smith's." 

Mr. Elton was only too happy. Harriet listened, and Emma drew in 
peace. She must allow him to be still frequently coming to look ; anything 
less would certainly have been too little in a lover ; and he was ready at the 
smallest intermission of the pencil to jump up and see the progress, and 
be charnud. There was no being displeased with such an encourager, for 
his admiration made him discern a likeness almost before it was possible. 
She could not respect his eye, but his love and his complaisance were 
unexceptionable. 

The sitting was altogether very satisfactory: she was quite enough 
pleased with the first day's sketch to wish to go on. There was no want 
of likeness; she had been fortunate in the attitude; and as she meant to 
throw in a little improvement to the figure, to give a little more height, 
and considerably more elegance, she had great confidence of its being in 
every way a pretty drawing at last, and of its filling its destined place with 
credit to them both, a standing memorial of the beauty of the one, the skill 
of the other, and the friendship of both ; with as many other agreeable 
associations as Mr. Elton's very promising attachment was likely to add. 

Harriet was to sit again the next day; and Mr. Elton, just as he ought, 
entreated for the permission of attending and reading to them again. 

"By all means. We shall be most happy to consider you as one of the 
party." 

The same civilities and courtesies, the same success and satisfaction, 
took place on the morrow, and accompanied the whole progress of the 
picture, which was rapid and happy. Everybody who saw it was pleased, 
but Mr. Elton was in continual raptures, and defended it through every 
criticism. 

"Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty she wanted," 
observed Mrs. Weston to him, not in the least suspecting that she was 
addressing a lover. "The expression of the eye is most correct, but Miss 
Smith has not those eyebrows and eyelashes. It is the fault of her face 
that she has them not." 

"Do you think so?" replied he. "I cannot agree with you. It appears 
to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature. I never saw such a 
likeness in my life. We must allow for the effect of shade, you know." 

"You have made her too tall, Emma," said Mr. Knightley. 



790 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Emma knew that she had, but would not own it; and Mr. Elton warmly 
added : 

"Oh, no certainly not too tall not in the least too tall. Consider, she 
is sitting down, which naturally presents a different which in short gives 
exactly the idea and the proportions must be preserved, you know. 
Proportions, fore-shortening oh, no! It gives one exactly the idea of 
such a height as Miss Smith's exactly so, indeed." 

"It is very pretty," said Mr. Woodhouse. "So prettily done! Just as 
your drawings always are, my dear. I do not know anybody who draws 
so well as you do. The only thing I do not thoroughly like is, that she 
seems to be sitting out of doors, with only a little shawl over her shoul- 
ders; and it makes one think she must catch cold." 

"But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be summer; a warm day in 
summer. Look at the tree." 

"But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear." 

"You, sir, may say anything," cried Mr. Elton, "but I must confess 
that I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing of Miss Smith out 
of doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitable spirit! Any other 
situation would have been much less in character. The naivete of Miss 
Smith's manners and altogether oh, it is most admirable! I cannot 
keep my eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness." 

The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed; and here were 
a few difficulties. It must be done directly; it must be done in London; 
the order must go through the hands of some intelligent person whose 
taste could be depended on; and Isabella, the usual doer of all com- 
missions, must not be applied to, because it was December, and Mr. 
Woodhouse could not bear the idea of her stirring out of her house in the 
fogs of December. But no sooner was the distress known to Mr. Elton 
than it was removed. His gallantry was always on the alert. "Might he 
be trusted with the commission, what infinite pleasure should he have in 
executing it! He could ride to London at any time. It was impossible to 
say how much he should be gratified by being employed on such an 
errand." 

"He was too good! She could not endure the thought! She would not 
give him such a troublesome office for the world" brought on the desired 
repetition of entreaties and assurances and a very few minutes settled 
the business. 

Mr. Elton was to take the drawing to London, choose the frame, and 
give the directions ; and Emma thought she could so pack it as to ensure 
its safety without much incommoding him, wbile he seemed mostly fear- 
ful of not being incommoded enough. 

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

"This man is almost too gallant to be in love," thought Emma. "I 
should say so, but that I suppose there may be a hundred different ways 
of being in love. He is an excellent young man, and will suit Harriet 
exactly; it will be an 'exactly so,' as he says himself; but he does sigh and 



EMMA . 791 

languish, and study for compliments rather more than I could endure as 
a principal. I come in for a pretty good share as a second. But it is his 
gratitude on Harriet's account." 



Chapter 7 

THE very day of Mr. Elton's going to London produced a fresh occa- 
sion for Emma's services towards her friend. Harriet had been at Hart- 
field, as usual, soon after breakfast ; and, after a time, had gone home to 
return again to dinner; she returned, and sooner than had been talked of, 
and with an agitated, hurried look, announcing something extraordinary 
to have happened which she was longing to tell. Half a minute brought it 
all out. She had heard, as soon as she got back to Mrs. Goddard's, that 
Mr. Martin had been there an hour before, and finding she was not at 
home, nor particularly expected, had left a little parcel for her from one 
of his sisters, and gone away; and, on opening this parcel, she had ac- 
tually found, besides the two songs which she* had lent Elizabeth to 
copy, a letter to herself; and this letter was from him from Mr. Martin 
and contained a direct proposal of marriage. "Who could have thought 
it? She was so surprised she did not know what to do. Yes, quite a pro- 
posal of marriage; and a very good letter, at least she thought so. And 
he wrote as if he really loved her very much but she did not know 
and so, she was come as fast as she could to ask Miss Woodhouse what 
she should do." Emma was half ashamed of her friend for seeming so 
pleased and so doubtful. 

"Upon my word," she cried, "the young man is determined not to lose 
anything for want of asking. He will connect himself well if he can." 

"Will you read the letter?" cried Harriet. "Pray do, I'd rather you 
would." 

Emma was not sorry to be pressed. She read, and was surprised. The 
style of the letter was much above her expectation. There were not merely 
no grammatical errors, but as a composition it would not have disgraced 
a gentleman ; the language, though plain, was strong and unaffected, and 
the sentiments it conveyed very much to the credit of the writer. It was 
short, but expressed good sense, warm attachment, liberality, propriety, 
even delicacy of feeling. She paused over it while Harriet stood anxiously 
watching for her opinion, with a "Well, well," and was at last forced to 
add, "Is it a good letter, or is it too short?" 

"Yes, indeed, a very good letter," replied Emma, rather slowly; "so 
good a letter, Harriet, that, everything considered, I think one of his 
sisters must have helped him. I can hardly imagine the young man whom 
I saw talking with you the other day could express himself so well, if left 
quite to his own powers, and yet it is not the style of a woman; no, cer- 
tainly, it is too strong and concise; but diffuse enough for a woman. No 
doubt he is a sensible man, and I suppose may have a natural talent for 



792 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

thinks strongly and clearly and when he takes a pen in hand, his 
thoughts naturally find proper words. It is so with some men. Yes, I 
understand the sort of mind. Vigorous, decided, with sentiments to a cer- 
tain point not coarse. A better written letter, Harriet (returning it), than 
I had expected." 

"Well," said the still waiting Harriet; "well and and what shall I 
do?" 

"What shall you do in what respect? Do you mean with regard to 
this letter?" 

"Yes." 

"But what are you in doubt of? You must answer it, of course, and 
speedily." 

"Yes. But what shall I say? Dear Miss Woodhouse, do advise me." 

"Oh, no, no; the letter had much better be all your own. You will 
express yourself very properly, I am sure. There is no danger of your not 
being intelligible, which is the first thing. Your meaning must be un- 
equivocal; no doubts or demurs; and such expressions of gratitude and 
concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety requires, will present 
themselves unbidden to your mind, I am persuaded. You need not be 
prompted to write with the appearance of sorrow for his disappointment." 

"You think I ought to refuse him, then?" said Harriet, looking down. 

"Ought to refuse him! My dear Harriet, what do you mean? Are you 
in any doubt as to that? I thought but I beg your pardon, perhaps I 
have been under a mistake. I certainly have been misunderstanding you, 
if you feel in doubt as to the purport of your answer. I had imagined you 
were consulting me only as to the wording of it." 

Harriet was silent. With a little reserve of manner, Emma continued: 

"You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect?" 

"No; I do not, that is, I do not mean what shall I do? What would 
you advise me to do? Pray, dear Miss Woodhouse, tell me what I ought 
to do." 

"I shall not give you any advice, Harriet. I will have nothing to do with 
it. This is a point which you must settle with your own feelings." 

"I had no notion that he liked me so very much," said Harriet, con- 
templating the letter. For a little while Emma persevered in her silence ; 
but, beginning to apprehend the bewitching flattery of that letter might 
be too powerful, she thought it best to say: 

"I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a woman doubts as to 
whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse 
him. If she can hesitate as to 'Yes,' she ought to say 'No,' directly. It is 
not a state to be safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with half a 
heart. I thought it my duty as a friend, and older than yourself, to say 
this much to you. But do not imagine that I want to influence you." 

"Oh, no, I am sure you are a great deal too kind to but if you would 
just advise me what I had best do no, no, I do not mean that as you 
say, one's mind ought to be quite made up one should not be hesitating 



EMMA 793 

it is a very serious thing. It will be safer to say 'No,' perhaps. Do you 
think I had better say 'No'?" 

"Not for the world," said Emma, smiling graciously, "would I advise 
you either way. You must be the best judge of your own happiness. If 
you prefer Mr. Martin to every other person, if you think him the most 
agreeable man you have ever been in company with, why should you hesi- 
tate? You blusir, Harriet. Does anybody else occur to you at this moment 
under such a definition? Harriet, Harriet, do not deceive yourself; do 
not be run away with by gratitude and compassion. At this moment whom 
are you thinking of?" 

The symptoms were favourable. Instead of answering, Harriet turned 
away confused, and stood thoughtfully by the fire; and though the letter 
was still in her hand, it was now mechanically twisted about without 
regard. Emma waited the result with impatience, but not without strong 
hopes. At last, with some hesitation, Harriet said: 

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

"Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet; you are doing just what 
you ought. While you were at all in suspense, I kept my feelings to my- 
self, but now that you are so completely decided, I have no hesitation in 
approving. Dear Harriet, I give myself joy of this. It would have grieved 
me to lose your acquaintance, which must have been the consequence of 
your marrying Mr. Martin. While you were in the smallest degree waver- 
ing, I said nothing about it, because I would not influence; but it would 
have been the loss of a friend to me. I could not have visited Mrs. 
Robert Martin, of Abbey-Mill Farm. Now I am secure of you for ever." 

Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but the idea of it struck her 
forcibly. 

"You could not have visited me!" she cried, looking aghast. "No, to 
be sure you could not; but I never thought of that before. That would 
have been too dreadful! What an escape! Dear Miss Woodhouse, I would 
not give up the pleasure and honour of being intimate with you for any- 
thing in the world." 

"Indeed, Harriet, it would have been a severe pang to lose you; but it 
must have been. You would have thrown yourself out of all good society. 
I must have given you up." 

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

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

"I do not think he is conceited either, in general," said Harriet, her 
conscience opposing such censure; "at least, he is very good-natured, and 



794 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

I shall always feel much obliged to him, and have a great regard for 
but that is quite a different thing from and you know, though he may 
like me, it does not follow that I should and, certainly, I must confess 
that since my visiting here I have seen people and if one comes to com- 
pare them, person and manners, there is no comparison at all, one is so 
very handsome and agreeable. However, I do really think Mr. Martin a 
very amiable young man, and have a great opinion of him ; and his being 
BO much attached to me and his writing such a letter but as to leaving 
you, it is what I would not do upon any consideration." 

"Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend. We will not be 
parted. A woman is not to marry a man merely because she is asked, or 
because he is attached to her, and can write a tolerable letter." 

"Oh no; and it is but a short letter, too." 

Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but let it pass with a "Very true: 
and it would be a small consolation to her, for the clownish manner which 
might be offending her every hour of the day, to know that her husband 
could write a good letter." . 

"Oh yes, very. Nobody cares for a letter: the thing is, to be always 
happy with pleasant companions. I am quite determined to refuse him. 
But how shall I do? What shall I say?" 

Emma assured her there would be no difficulty in the answer, and 
Advised its being written directly, which was agreed to, in the hope of her 
assistance ; and though Emma continued to protest against any assistance 
being wanted, it was, in fact, given in the formation of every sentence. 
The looking over his letter again, in replying to it, had such a softening 
tendency, that it was particularly necessary to brace her up with a few 
decisive expressions; and she was so very much concerned at the idea of 
making him unhappy, and thought so much of what his mother and sisters 
would think and say, and was so anxious that they should not fancy her 
ungrateful, that Emma believed, if the young man had come in her way 
at that moment, he would have been accepted after all. 

This letter, however, was written, and sealed, and sent. The business 
was finished, and Harriet safe. She was rather low all the evening; but 
Emma could allow for her amiable regrets, and sometimes relieved them 
by speaking of her own affection, sometimes by bringing forward the idea 
of Mr. Elton. 

"I shall never be invited to Abbey-Mill again," was said in rather a 
sorrowful tone. 

"Nor, if you were, could I ever bear to part with you, my Harriet. You 
Are a great deal too necessary at Hartfield to be spared to Abbey-Mill." 

"And I am sure I should never want to go there; for I am never happy 
but at Hartfield." 

Some time afterwards it was, "I think Mrs. Goddard would be very 
much surprised if she knew what had happened. I am sure Miss Nash 
would; for Miss Nash thinks her own sister very well married, and it is 
only a linen-draper." 



EMMA 795 

"One should be sorry to see greater pride or refinement in the teacher 
of a school, Harriet. I dare say Miss Nash would envy you such an oppor- 
tunity as this of being married. Even this conquest would appear valuable 
in her eyes. As to anything superior for you, I suppose she is quite in the 
dark. The attentions of a certain person can hardly be among the tittle- 
tattle of Highbury yet. Hitherto, I fancy you and I are the only people 
to whom his looks and manners have explained themselves." 

Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about wondering that 
people should like her so much. The idea of Mr. Elton was certainly 
cheering; but still, after a time, she was tender-hearted again towards the 
rejected Mr. Martin. 

"Now he has got my letter," said she, softly. "I wonder what they are 
all doing whether his sisters know if he is unhappy, they will be un- 
happy too. I hope he will not mind it so very much." 

"Let us think of those among our absent friends who are more cheer- 
fully employed," cried Emma. "At this moment, perhaps, Mr. Elton is 
showing your picture to his mother and sisters, telling how much more 
beautiful is the original, and after being asked for it five or six times, 
allowing them to hear your name your own dear name." 

"My picture! But he has left my picture in Bond Street." 

"Has he so! Then I know nothing of Mr. Elton. No, my dear little 
modest Harriet, depend upon it, the picture will not be in Bond Street 
till just before he mounts his horse to-morrow. It is his companion all this 
evening, his solace, his delight. It opens his designs to his family, it intro- 
duces you among them, it diffuses through the party those pleasantest 
feelings of our nature eager curiosity and warm prepossession. How 
cheerful, how animated, how suspicious, how busy their imaginations all 
are!" 

Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger. 



Chapter 8 

HARRIET slept at Hartfield that night. For some weeks past she had 
been spending more than half her time there, and gradually getting to 
have a bedroom appropriated to herself; and Emma judged it best in 
every respect, safest and kindest, to keep her with them as much as 
possible just at present. She was obliged to go the next morning for an 
hour or two to Mrs. Goddard's, but it was then to be settled that she 
should return to Hartfield, to make a regular visit of s jme days. 

While she was gone, Mr. Knightley called, and :;at some time with Mr. 
Woodhouse and Emma, till Mr. Woodhouse, who had previously made up 
his mind to walk out, was persuaded by his da?ighter not to defer it, 
and was induced by the entreaties of both, though against the scruples of 
his own civility, to leave Mr. Knightley for that purpose. Mr. Knightley, 
who had nothing of ceremony about him, was offering, by his short, de- 



796 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

cided answers, an amusing contrast to the protracted apologies and civil 
hesitations of the other. 

"Well, I believe, if you will excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if you will not 
consider me as doing a very rude thing, I shall take Emma's advice and 
go out for a quarter of an hour. As the sun is out, I believe I had better 
take my three turns while I can. I treat you without ceremony, Mr. 
Knightley. We invalids think we are privileged people." 

"My dear sir, do not make a stranger of me." 

"I leave an excellent substitute in my daughter. Emma will be happy 
to entertain you. And therefore I think I will beg your excuse, and take 
my three turns my winter walk." 

"You cannot do better, sir." 

"I would ask for the pleasure of your company, Mr. Knightley, but I 
am a very slow walker, and my pace would be tedious to you; and, 
besides, you have another long walk before you, to Donwell Abbey." 

"Thank you, sir, thank you; I am going this moment myself; and I 
think the sooner you go the better. I will fetch your greatcoat and open 
the garden-door for you." 

Mr. Woodhouse at last was off; but Mr. Knightley, instead of being 
immediately off likewise, sat down again, seemingly inclined for more 
chat. He began speaking of Harriet, and speaking of her with more 
voluntary praise than Emma had ever heard before. 

"I cannot rate her beauty as you do," said he; "but she is a pretty 
little creature, and I am inclined to think very well of her disposition. 
Her character depends upon those she is with ; but in good hands she will 
turn out a valuable woman." 

"I am glad you think so; and the good hands, I hope, may not be 
wanting." 

"Come," said he, "you are anxious for a compliment, so I will tell you 
that you have improved her. You have cured her of her schoolgirl's giggle; 
she r really does you credit." 

"Thank you. I should be mortified, indeed, if I did not believe I had 
been of some use; but it is not everybody who will bestow praise where 
they may. You do not often overpower me with it." 

"You are expecting her again, you say, this morning?" 

"Almost every moment. She has been gone longer already than she 
intended." 

"Something has happened to delay her; some visitors, perhaps." 

"Highbury gossips! Tiresome wretches!" 

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

Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and, therefore, said 
nothing. He presently added, with a smile: 

"I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must tell you that I 
have good reason to believe your little friend will soon hear of something 
to her advantage." 

"Indeed! How so? Of what sort?" 



EMMA 797 

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

"Very serious! I can think of but one thing who is in love with her? 
Who makes you their confidant?" 

Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr. Elton's having dropped a 
hint. Mr. Knightley was a sort of general friend and adviser, and she 
knew Mr. Elton looked up to him. 

"I have reason to think," he replied, "that Harriet Smith will soon have 
an offer of marriage, and from a most unexceptionable quarter Robert 
Martin is the man. Her visit to Abbey-Mill, this summer, seems to have 
done his business. He is desperately in love, and means to marry her." 

"He is very obliging," said Emma; "but is he sure that Harriet means 
to marry him?" 

"Well, well, means to make her an offer, then. Will that do? He came 
to the Abbey two evenings ago, on purpose to consult me about it. He 
knows I have a thorough regard for him and all his family, and, I believe, 
considers me as one of his best friends. He came to ask me whether I 
thought it would be imprudent in him to settle so early; whether I 
thought her too young in short, whether I approved his choice alto- 
gether; having some apprehension, perhaps, of her being considered 
(especially since your making so much of her) as in a line of society 
above him. I was very much pleased with all that he said. I never hear 
better sense from anyone than Robert Martin. He always speaks to the 
purpose; open, straightforward, and very well judging. He told me every- 
thing; his circumstances and plans, and what they all proposed doing in 
the event of his marriage. He is an excellent young man, both as son and 
brother. I had no hesitation in advising him to marry. He proved to me 
that he could afford it ; and that being the case, I was convinced he could 
not do better. I praised the fair lady too, and altogether sent him away 
very happy. If he had never esteemed my opinion before, he would have 
thought highly of me then; and, I dare say, left the house thinking me 
the best friend and counsellor man ever had. This happened the night 
before last. Now, as we may fairly suppose, he would not allow much time 
to pass before he spoke to the lady, and as he does not appear to have 
spoken yesterday, it is not unlikely that he should be at Mrs. Goddard's 
to-day ; and she may be detained by a visitor, without thinking him at all 
a tiresome wretch." 

"Pray, Mr. Knightley," said Emma, who had been smiling to herself 
through a great part of this speech, "how do you know that Mr. Martin 
did not speak yesterday?" 

"Certainly," replied he, surprised, "I do not absolutely know it, but it 
may be inferred. Was not she the whole day with you?" 

"Come," said she, "I will tell you something in return for what you 
have told me. He did speak yesterday that is, he wrote, and was 
refused." 

This was obliged to be repeated before it could be believed; and Mr. 



798 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Knightley actually looked red with surprise and displeasure, as he stood 
up, in tall indignation, and said: 

"Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her. What is the 
foolish girl about?" 

"Oh, to be sure," cried Emma, "it is always incomprehensible to a man, 
that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man always 
imagines a woman to be ready for anybody who asks her." 

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

"I saw her answer! Nothing could be clearer." 

"You saw her answer ! You wrote her answer too. Emma, this is your 
doing. You persuaded her to refuse him." 

"And if I did (which, however, I am far from allowing), I should not 
feel that I had done wrong. Mr. Martin is a very respectable young man, 
but I cannot admit him to be Harriet's equal; and am rather surprised, 
indeed, that he should have ventured to address her. By your account he 
does seem to have had some scruples. It is a pity that they were ever got 
over." 

"Not Harriet's equal!" exclaimed Mr. Knightley, loudly and warmly; 
and with calmer asperity added, a few moments afterwards, "No, he is 
not her equal, indeed, for he is as much her superior in sense as in situa- 
tion. Emma, your infatuation about that girl blinds you. What are Harriet 
Smith's claims, either of birth, nature, or education, to any connection 
higher than Robert Martin ? She is the natural daughter of nobody knows 
whom, with probably no settled provision at all, and certainly no respect- 
able relations. She is known only as parlour boarder at a common school. 
She is not a sensible girl, nor a girl of any information. She has been 
taught nothing useful, and is too young and too simple to have acquired 
anything herself. At her age she can have no experience; and, with her 
little wit, is not very likely ever to have any that can avail her. She is 
pretty, and she is good-tempered, and that is all. My only scruple in advis- 
ing the match was on his account, as being beneath his deserts, and a bad 
connection for him. I felt that, as to fortune, in all probability he might do 
much better, and that, as to a rational companion or useful helpmate, he 
could not do worse. But I could not reason so to a man in love, and was 
willing to trust to there being no harm in her ; to her having that sort of 
disposition which, in good hands like his, might be easily led aright, and 
turn out very well. The advantage of the match I felt to be all on her 
side; and had not the smallest doubt (nor have I now) that there would 
be a general cry out upon her extreme good luck. Even your satisfaction 
I made sure of. It crossed my mind immediately that you would not 
regret your friend's leaving Highbury, for the sake of her being settled so 
well. I remember saying to myself, 'Even Emma, with all her partiality 
for Harriet, will think this a good match.' " 

"I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of Emma as to say 



EMMA 799 

any such thing. What! Think a farmer (and with all his sense and all his 
merit Mr. Martin is nothing more) a good match for my intimate friend! 
Not regret her leaving Highbury, for the sake of marrying a man whom 
I could never admit as an acquaintance of my own ! I wonder you should 
think it possible for me to have such feelings. I assure you mine are very 
different. I must think your statement by no means fair. You are not just 
to Harriet's claims. They would be estimated very differently by others 
as well as myself; Mr. Martin may be the richest of the two, but he is un- 
doubtedly her inferior as to rank in society. The sphere in which she 
moves is much above his. It would be a degradation." 

"A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance to be married to a 
respectable, intelligent, gentleman-farmer!" 

"As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal sense she may 
be called Nobody, it will not hold in common sense. She is not to pay for 
the offence of others, by being held below the level of those with whom 
she is brought up. There can scarcely be a doubt that her father is a 
gentleman and a gentleman of fortune. Her allowance is very liberal; 
nothing has ever been grudged for her improvement or comfort. That she 
is a gentleman's daughter is indubitable to me; that she associates with 
gentlemen's daughters, no one, I apprehend, will deny. She is superior to 
Mr. Robert Martin." 

"Whoever might be her parents," said Mr. Knightley, "whoever may 
have had the charge of her, it does not appear to have been any part of 
their plan to introduce her into what you would call good society. After 
receiving a very indifferent education, she is left in Mrs. Goddard's hands 
to shift as she can to move, in short, in Mrs. Goddard's line, to have Mrs. 
Goddard's acquaintance. Her friends evidently thought this good enough 
for her ; and it was good enough. She desired nothing better herself. Till 
you chose to turn her into a friend, her mind had no distaste for her own 
set, nor any ambition beyond it. She was as happy as possible with the 
Martins in the summer. She had no sense of superiority then. If she has it 
now, you have given it. You have been no friend to Harriet Smith, Emma. 
Robert Martin would never have proceeded so far, if he had not felt per- 
suaded of her not being disinclined to him. I know him well. He has too 
much real feeling to address any woman on the haphazard of selfish 
passion. And as to conceit, he is the farthest from it of any man I know. 
Depend upon it, he had encouragement." 

It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct reply to this 
assertion ; she chose rather to take up her own line of the subject again. 

"You are a very warm friend of Mr. Martin; but, as I said before, are 
unjust to Harriet. Harriet's claims to marry well are not so contemptible 
as you represent them. She is not a clever girl, but she has better sense 
than you are aware of, and does not deserve to have her understanding 
spoken of so slightingly. Waiving that point, however, and supposing her 
to be, as you describe her, only pretty and good-natured, let me tell you, 
that in the degree she possesses them, they are not trivial recommenda- 



8oo THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

tions to the world in general, for she is, in fact, a beautiful girl, and must 
be thought so by ninety-nine people out of a hundred ; and till it appears 
that men are much more philosophic on the subject of beauty than they 
are generally supposed, till they do fall in love with well-informed minds 
instead of handsome faces, a girl, with such loveliness as Harriet, has a 
certainty of being admired and sought after, of having the power of choos- 
ing from among many, consequently a claim to be nice. Her good nature, 
too, is not so very slight a claim, comprehending, as it does, real, thorough 
sweetness of temper and manner, a very humble opinion of herself, and 
a great readiness to be pleased with other people. I am very much mis- 
taken if your sex in general would not think such beauty, and such temper, 
the highest claims a woman could possess." 

"Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the reason you have, is 
almost enough to make me think so too. Better be without sense than 
misapply it as you do." 

"To be sure," cried she, playfully. "I know that is the feeling of you all. 
I know that such a girl as Harriet is exactly what every man delights in 
what at once bewitches his senses and satisfies his judgment. Oh, Harriet 
may pick and choose. Were you, yourself, ever to marry, she is the very 
woman for you. And is she, at seventeen, just entering into life, just 
beginning to be known, to be wondered at because she does not accept the 
first offer she receives? No pray let her have time to look about her." 

"I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy," said Mr. Knightley 
presently, "though I have kept my thoughts to myself ; but I now perceive 
that it will be a very unfortunate one for Harriet. You will puff her up 
with such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has a claim to, that, 
in a little while, nobody within her reach will be good enough for her. 
Vanity working on a weak head produces every sort of mischief. Nothing 
so easy as for a young lady to raise her expectations too high. Miss Har- 
riet Smith may not find offers of marriage flow in so fast, though she is a 
very pretty girl. Men of sense, whatever you may choose to say, do not 
want silly wives. Men of family would not be very fond of connecting 
themselves with a girl of such obscurity and most prudent men would 
be afraid of the inconvenience and disgrace they might be involved in, 
when the mystery of her parentage came to be revealed. Let her marry 
Robert Martin, and she is safe, respectable, and happy for ever; but if 
you encourage her to expect to marry greatly, and teach her to be satisfied 
with nothing less than a man of consequence and large fortune, she may 
be a parlour-boarder at Mrs. Goddard's all the rest of her life or, at 
least (for Harriet Smith is a girl who will marry somebody or other), till 
she grow desperate, and is glad to catch at the old writing-master's son." 

"We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley, that there 
can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only be making each other more 
angry. But as to my letting her marry Robert Martin, it is impossible; 
she has refused him, and so decidedly, I think, as must prevent any second 
application. She must abide by the evil of having refused him, whatever 



EMMA 801 

it may be; and as to the refusal itself, I will not pretend to say that I 
might not influence her a little ; but I assure you there was very little for 
me or for anybody to do. His appearance is so much against him, and his 
manner so bad, that if she ever were disposed to favour him, she is not 
now. I can imagine, that, before she had seen anybody superior, she might 
tolerate him. He was the brother of her friends, and he took pains to please 
her; and altogether, having seen nobody better (that must have been his 
great assistant), she might not, while she was at Abbey-Mill, find him 
disagreeable. But the case is altered now. She knows now what gentlemen 
are ; and nothing but a gentleman in education and manner has any chance 
with Harriet." 

"Nonsense, arrant nonsense, as ever was talked! " cried Mr. Knightley. 
"Robert Martin's manners have sense, sincerity, and good humour to 
recommend them; and his mind more true gentility than Harriet Smith 
could understand." 

Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully unconcerned, but 
was really feeling uncomfortable, and wanting him very much to be gone. 
She did not repent what she had done ; she still thought herself a better 
judge of such a point of female right and refinement than he could be; 
but yet she had a sort of habitual respect for his judgment in general, 
which made her dislike having it so loudly against her ; and to have him 
sitting just opposite to her in angry state was very disagreeable. Some 
minutes passed in this unpleasant silence, with only one attempt on 
Emma's side to talk of the weather, but he made no answer. He was 
thinking. The result of his thoughts appeared at last in these words : 

"Robert Martin has no great loss if he can but think so; and I hope 
it will not be long before he does. Your views for Harriet are best known 
to yourself ; but as you make no secret of your love of match-making, it 
is fair to suppose that views, and plans, and projects you have ; and as a 
friend I shall just hint to you, that if Elton is the man, I think it will be 
all labour in vain." 

Emma laughed and disclaimed. He continued: 

"Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very good sort of man, 
and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely to make an 
imprudent match. He knows the value of a good income as well as any- 
body. Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally. He is as 
well acquainted with his own claims as you can be with Harriet's. He 
knows that he is a very handsome young man, and a great favourite 
wherever he goes; and from his general way of talking in unreserved 
moments, when there are only men present, I am convinced that he does 
not mean to throw himself away. I have heard him speak with great ani- 
mation of a large family of young ladies that his sisters are intimate with, 
who have all twenty thousand pounds apiece." 

"I am very much obliged to you," said Emma, laughing again. "If I 
had set my heart on Mr. Elton's marrying Harriet, it would have been 
very kind to open my eyes; but at present I only want to keep Harriet to 



802 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

myself. I have done with matchmaking, indeed. I could never hope to 
equal my own doings at Randalls. I shall leave off while I am well." 

"Good morning to you," said he, rising and walking off abruptly. He 
was very much vexed. He felt the disappointment of the young man, and 
was mortified to have been the means of promoting it by the sanction he 
had given ; and the part which, he was persuaded, Emma had taken in the 
affair was provoking him exceedingly. 

Emma remained in a state of vexation too ; but there was more indis- 
tinctness in the causes of hers than in his. She did not always feel so abso- 
lutely satisfied with herself, so entirely convinced that her opinions were 
right and her adversary's wrong, as Mr. Knightley. He walked off in more 
complete self-approbation than he left for her. She was not so materially 
cast down, however, but that a little time and the return of Harriet were 
very adequate restoratives. Harriet's staying away so long was beginning 
to make her uneasy. The possibility of the young man's coming to Mrs. 
Goddard's that morning, and meeting with Harriet, and pleading his own 
cause, gave alarming ideas. The dread of such a failure, after all, became 
the prominent uneasiness ; and when Harriet appeared, and in very good 
spirits, and without having any such reason to give for her long absence, 
she felt a satisfaction which settled her with her own mind, and convinced 
her that, let Mr. Knightley think or say what he would, she had done 
nothing which woman's friendship and woman's feelings would not justify. 

He had frightened her a little about Mr. Elton ; but when she considered 
that Mr. Knightley could not have observed him as she had done, neither 
with the interest nor (she must be allowed to tell herself, in spite of Mr. 
Knightley 's pretensions) with the skill of such an observer on such a 
question as herself, that he had spoken it hastily and in anger, she was 
able to believe, that he had rather said what he wished resentfully to be 
true, than what he knew anything about. He certainly might have heard 
Mr. Elton speak with more unreserve than she had ever done, and Mr. 
Elton might not be of an imprudent, inconsiderate disposition, as to 
money matters: he might naturally be rather attentive than otherwise to 
them; but then, Mr. Knightley did not make due allowance for the influ- 
ence of a strong passion, at war with all interested motives. Mr. Knightley 
saw no such passion, and of course thought nothing of its effects ; but she 
saw too much of it to feel a doubt of its overcoming any hesitations that a 
reasonable prudence might originally suggest; and more than a reason- 
able, becoming degree of prudence, she was very sure did not belong to 
Mr. Elton. 

Harriet's cheerful look and manner established hers: she came back, 
not to think of Mr. Martin, but to talk of Mr. Elton. Miss Nash had been 
telling her something, which she repeated immediately with great delight. 
Mr. Perry had been to Mrs. Goddard's to attend a sick child, and Miss 
Nash had seen him; and he had told Miss Nash that as he was coming 
back yesterday from Clayton Park he had met Mr. Elton, and found, to 
his great surprise, that Mr. Elton was actually on his road to London, and 



EMMA 80* 

not meaning to return till the morrow, though it was the whist club night, 
which he had been never known to miss before; and Mr. Perry had remon- 
strated with him about it, and told him how shabby it was in him, their 
best player, to absent himself, and tried very much to persuade him to 
put off his journey only one day ; but it would not do ; Mr. Elton had been 
determined to go on, and had said, in a very particular way indeed, that 
he was going on business which he would not put off for any inducement 
in the world ; and something about a very enviable commission, and being 
the bearer of something exceedingly precious. Mr. Perry could not quite 
understand him, but he was very sure there must be a lady in the case, 
and he told him so ; and Mr. Elton only looked very conscious and smiling, 
and rode off in great spirits. Miss Nash had told her all this, and had 
talked a great deal more about Mr. Elton; and said, looking so very 
significantly at her, "that she did not pretend to understand what his 
business might be, but she only knew that any woman whom Mr. Elton 
could prefer, she should think the luckiest woman in the world; for, be- 
yond a doubt, Mr. Elton had not his equal for beauty or agreeableness." 



Chapter 9 

MR. KNIGHTLEY might quarrel with her, but Emma could not quarrel 
with herself. He was so much displeased, that it was longer than usual 
before he came to Hartfield again; and when they did meet, his grave 
looks showed that she was not forgiven. She was sorry, but could not re- 
pent. On the contrary, her plans and proceedings were more and more 
justified, and endeared to her by the general appearances of the next few 
days. 

The picture, elegantly framed, came safely to hand soon after Mr. 
Elton's return, and being hung over the mantelpiece of the common sitting- 
room, he got up to look at it, and sighed out his half sentences of admira- 
tion just as he ought; and as for Harriet's feelings, they were visibly 
forming themselves into as strong and steady an attachment as her youth 
and sort of mind admitted. Emma was soon perfectly satisfied of Mr. 
Martin's being no otherwise remembered, than as he furnished a contrast 
with Mr. Elton, of the utmost advantage to the latter. 

Her views of improving her little friend's mind, by a great deal of useful 
reading and conversation, had never yet led to more than a few first chap- 
ters, and the intention of going on to-morrow. It was much easier to chat 
than to study ; much pleasanter to let her imagination range and work at 
Harriet's fortune, than to be labouring to enlarge her comprehension, or 
exercise it on sober facts; and the only literary pursuit which engaged 
Harriet at present, the only mental provision she was making for the 
evening of life, was the collecting and transcribing all the riddles of every 
sort that she could meet with, into a thin quarto of hot-pressed paper, 
made up by her friend, and ornamented with cyphers and trophies. 



8o 4 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand scale are not 
uncommon. Miss Nash, head teacher at Mrs. Goddard's, had written out 
at least three hundred; and Harriet, who had taken the first hint of it 
from her, hoped, with Miss Woodhouse's help, to get a great many more. 
Emma assisted with her invention, memory, and taste; and as Harriet 
wrote a very pretty hand, it was likely to be an arrangement of the first 
order, in form as well as quantity. 

Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the business as the 
girls, and tried very often to recollect something worth their putting in. 
"So many clever riddles as there used to be when he was young he won- 
dered he could not remember them; but he hoped he should ; n time." 
And it always ended in "Kitty, a fair but frozen maid." 

His good friend Perry, too, whom he had spoken to on the subject, did 
not at present recollect anything of the riddle kind; but he had desired 
Perry to be upon the watch, and as he went about so much, something, 
he thought, might come from that quarter. 

It was by no means his daughter's wish that the intellects of Highbury 
in general should be put under requisition. Mr. Elton was the only one 
whose assistance she asked. He was invited to contribute any really good 
enigmas, charades or conundrums, that he might recollect; and she had 
the pleasure of seeing him most intently at work with his recollections; 
and at the same time, as she could perceive, most earnestly careful that 
nothing ungallant, nothing that did not breathe a compliment to the sex, 
should pass his lips. They owed to him their two or three politest puzzles; 
and the joy and exultation with which at last he recalled, and rather 
sentimentally recited, that well-known charade : 

My first doth affliction denote, 
Which my second is destin'd to feel, 

And my whole is the best antidote 
That affliction to soften and heal 

made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had transcribed it some 
pages ago already. 

"Why will not you write one yourself for us, Mr. Elton?" said she; 
"that i? the only security for its freshness; and nothing could be easier 
to you." 

"Oh no; he had never written, hardly ever, anything of the kind in his 
life. The stupidest fellow! He was afraid not even Miss Woodhouse" he 
stopped a moment "or Miss Smith could inspire him." 

The very next day, however, produced some proof of inspiration. He 
called for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper on the table con- 
taining, as he said, a charade which a friend of his had addressed to a 
young lady, the object of his admiration; but which, from his manner, 
Emma was immediately convinced must be his own. 

"I do not offer it for Miss Smith's collection," said he. "Being my 



EMMA 805 

friend's, I have no right to expose it in any degree to the public eye, but 
perhaps you may not dislike looking at it." 

The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which Emma could 
understand. There was deep consciousness about him, and he found it 
easier to meet her eye than her friend's. He was gone the next moment. 
After another moment's pause: 

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

But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it; and Emma, never 
loth to be first, was obliged to examine it herself. 

To Miss 

CHARADE 

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

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

But ah! united, what reverse we have! 

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

And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. 

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

She cast her eye over it, pondered, caught the meaning, read it through 
again to be quite certain, and quite mistress of the lines, and then passing 
it to Harriet, sat happily smiling, and saying to herself, while Harriet was 
puzzling over the paper in all the confusion of hope and dullness, "Very 
well, Mr. Elton, very well, indeed. I have read worse charades. Courtship 
a very good hint. I give you credit for it. This is feeling your way. This 
is saying very plainly, Tray, Miss Smith, give me leave to pay my ad- 
dresses to you. Approve my charade and my intentions in the same glance.' 

May its approval beam in that soft eye ! 

Harriet exactly. Soft is the very word for her eye of all epithets, the 
justest that could be given. 

Thy ready wit the word will soon supply. 

Humph Harriet's ready wit! All the better. A man must be very much 
in love, indeed, to describe her so. Ah! Mr. Knightley, I wish you had the 



8o6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

benefit of this ; I think this would convince you. For once in your life you 
would be obliged to own yourself mistaken. An excellent charade, indeed, 
and very much to the purpose. Things must come to a crisis soon now." 

She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant observations, 
which were otherwise of a sort to run into great length, by the eagerness 
of Harriet's wondering questions. 

"What can it be, Miss Woodhouse? What can it be? I have not an idea 
I cannot guess it in the least. What can it possibly be? Do try to find it 
out, Miss Woodhouse. Do help me. I never saw anything so hard. Is it 
kingdom? I wonder who the friend was and who could be the young lady. 
Do you think it is a good one? Can it be woman? 

And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. 
Can it be Neptune? 

Behold him there, the monarch of the seas! 

Or a trident? Or a mermaid? Or a shark? Oh, no; shark is only one syl- 
lable. It must be very clever, or he would not have brought it. Oh, Miss 
Woodhouse, do you think we shall ever find it out?" 

"Mermaids and sharks! Nonsense! My dear Harriet, what are you 
thinking of? Where would be the use of his bringing us a charade made by 
a friend upon a mermaid or a shark? Give me the paper and listen. 

"For Miss , read Miss Smith. 

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

That is court. 

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

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

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

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

And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone. 

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

Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion. She read the 
concluding lines, and was all flutter and happiness. She could not speak. 
But she was not wanted to speak. It was enough for her to feel. Emma 
spoke for her. 



EMMA 807 

"There is so pointed and so particular a meaning in this compliment," 
said she, "that I cannot have a doubt as to Mr. Elton's intentions. You 
are his object and you will soon receive the completest proof of it. I 
thought it must be so. I thought I could not be so deceived; but now it is 
clear: the state of his mind is as clear and decided as my wishes on the 
subject have been ever since I knew you. Yes, Harriet, just so long have I 
been wanting the very circumstance to happen which has happened. I 
could never tell whether an attachment between you and Mr. Elton were 
most desirable or most natural. Its probability and its eligibility have 
really so equalled each other! I am very happy. I congratulate you, my 
dear Harriet, with all my heart. This is an attachment which a woman 
may well feel pride in creating. This is a connection which offers nothing 
but good. It will give you everything that you want consideration, in- 
dependence, a proper home it will fix you in the centre of all your real 
friends, close to Hartfield and to me, and confirm our intimacy for ever. 
This, Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in either of us." 

"Dear Miss Woodhouse!" and "Dear Miss Woodhouse!" was all that 
Harriet, with many tender embraces could articulate at first; but when 
they did arrive at something more like conversation, it was sufficiently 
clear to her friend that she saw, felt, anticipated, and remembered just as 
she ought. Mr. Elton's superiority had very ample acknowledgment. 

"Whatever you say is always right," cried Harriet, "and therefore I 
suppose, and believe, and hope it must be so ; but otherwise I could not 
have imagined it. It is so much beyond anything I deserve. Mr. Elton, who 
might marry anybody! There cannot be two opinions about him. He is so 

very superior. Only think of those sweet verses 'To Miss .' Dear me, 

how clever! Could it really be meant for me?" 

"I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about that. It is a 
certainty. Receive it on my judgment. It is a sort of prologue to the play, 
a motto to the chapter ; and will be soon followed by matter-of-fact prose." 

"It is a sort of thing which nobody could have expected. I am sure, a 
month ago, I had no more idea myself! The strangest things do take 
place!" 

"When Miss Smiths and Mr. El tons get acquainted they do indeed 
and really it is strange ; it is out of the common course that what is so evi- 
dently, so palpably desirable what courts the prearrangement of other 
people should so immediately shape itself into the proper form. You 
and Mr. Elton are by situation called together ; you belong to one another 
by every circumstance of your respective homes. Your marrying will be 
equal to the match at Randalls. There does seem to be a something in the 
air of Hartfield which gives love exactly the right direction, and sends it 
into the very channel where it ought to flow. 

The course of true love never did run smooth 

A Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long note on that pas- 
sage." 



8o8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"That Mr. Elton should really be in love with me me, of all people, 
who did not know him, to speak to him, at Michaelmas. And he, the very 
handsomest man that ever was, and a man that everybody looks up to, 
quite like Mr. Knightley. His company so sought after, that everybody 
says he need not eat a single meal by himself if he does not choose it ; that 
he has more invitations than there are days in the week. And so excellent 
in the Church ! Miss Nash has put down all the texts he has ever preached 
from since he came to Highbury. Dear me ! When I look back to the first 
time I saw him ! How little did I think ! The two Abbots and I ran into the 
front room, and peeped through the blind when we heard he was going by, 
and Miss Nash came and scolded us away, and stayed to look through 
herself; however, she called me back presently, and let me look too, which 
was very good-natured. And how beautiful we thought he looked! He was 
arm-in-arm with Mr. Cole." 

"This is an alliance which, whoever whatever your friends may be., 
must be agreeable to them, provided, at least, they have common sense; 
and we are not to be addressing our conduct to fools. If they are anxious- 
to see you happily married, here is a man whose amiable character gives 
every assurance of it : if they wish to have you settled in the same country 
and circle which they have chosen to place you in, here it will be accom- 
plished ; and if their only object is that you should, in the common phrase, 
be well married, here is the comfortable fortune, the respectable establish- 
ment, the rise in the world which must satisfy them." 

"Yes, very true. How nicely you talk! I love to hear you. You under- 
stand everything. You and Mr. Elton are one as clever as the other. This 
charade! If I had studied a twelvemonth I could never have made any- 
thing like it." 

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

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

"I never read one more to the purpose, certainly." 

"It is as long again as almost all we have had before." 

"I do not consider its length as particularly in its favour. Such things 
in general cannot be too short." 

Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most satisfactory com- 
parisons were rising in her mind. 

"It is one thing," said she, presently, her cheeks in a glow, "to have very 
good sense in a common way, like everybody else, and if there is anything 
to say, to sit down and write a letter, and say just what you must, in a 
short way; and another, to write verses and charades like this." 

Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection of Mr. Martin's 
prose. 

"Such sweet lines! " continued Harriet, "these two last! But how shall 
I ever be able to return the paper, to say I have found it out? Oh, Miss 
Woodhouse, what can we do about that?" 

"Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this evening, I dare 



EMMA 809 

say, and then I will give it him back, and some nonsense or other will pass 
between us, and you shall not be committed. Your soft eyes shall choose 
their own time for beaming. Trust to me.' 7 

"Oh, Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not write this beautiful 
charade into my book ; I am sure I have not got one half so good." 

"Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason why you should not 
write it into your book." 

"Oh, but those two lines are " 

"The best of all. Granted for private enjoyment; and for private en- 
joyment keep them. They are not at all the less written, you know, 
because you divide them. The couplet does not cease to be, nor does its 
meaning change. But take it away, and all appropriation ceases, and a 
very pretty gallant charade remains, fit for any collection. Depend upon 
it, he would not like to have his charade slighted much better than his 
passion. A poet in love must be encouraged in both capacities, or neither. 
Give me the book. I will write it down, and then there can be no possible 
reflection on you." 

Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly separate the parts, so 
as to feel quite sure that her friend were not writing down a declaration of 
love. It seemed too precious an offering for any degree of publicity. 

"I shall never let that book go out of my own hands," said she. 

"Very well," replied Emma, "a most natural feeling, and the longer it 
lasts, the better I shall be pleased. But here is my father coming; you will 
not object to my reading the charade to him. It will be giving him so much 
pleasure. He loves anything of the sort, and especially anything that pays 
woman a compliment. He has the tenderest spirit of gallantry towards us 
all. You must let me read it to him." 

Harriet looked grave. 

"My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon this charade. You 
will betray your feelings improperly, if you are too conscious and too 
quick, and appear to affix more meaning, or even quite all the meaning 
which may be affixed to it. Do not be overpowered by such a little tribute 
of admiration. If he had been anxious for secrecy, he would not have left 
the paper while I was by, but he rather pushed it towards me than towards 
you. Do not let us be too solemn on the business. He has encouragement 
enough to proceed, without our sighing out our souls over this charade." 

"Oh no: I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it. Do as you please." 

Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject again, by the 
recurrence of his very frequent inquiry of "Well, my dears, how does your 
book go on? Have you got anything fresh?" 

"Yes, papa; we have something to read you, something quite fresh. A 
piece of paper was found on the table this morning (dropped, we suppose, 
by a fairy), containing a very pretty charade, and we have just copied it 
in." 

She read it to him, just as he liked to have anything read, slowly and 
distinctly, and two or three times over, with explanations of every part 



8io THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

as she proceeded ; and he was very much pleased, and, as she had foreseen, 
especially struck with the complimentary conclusion. 

"Aye, that's very just, indeed; that's very properly said. Very true. 
'Woman, lovely woman.' It is such a pretty charade, my dear, that I can 
easily guess what fairy brought it. Nobody could have written so prettily 
but you, Emma." 

Emma only nodded and smiled. After a little thinking, and a very 
tender sigh, he added: 

. "Ah, it is no difficulty to see who you take after. Your dear mother was 
so clever at all those things. If I had but her memory. But I can remember 
nothing ; not even that particular riddle which you have heard me men- 
tion; I can only recollect the first stanza; and there are several: 

Kitty, a fair but frozen maid, 

Kindled a flame I yet deplore ; 
The hoodwink 'd boy I called to aid, 
Though of his near approach afraid, 

So fatal to my suit before. 

And that is all that I can recollect of it ; but it is very clever all the way 
through. But I think, my dear, you said you had got it." 

"Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page. We copied it from the 
'Elegant Extracts.' It was Garrick's, you know." 

"Aye, very true I wish I could recollect more of it: 

Kitty, a fair but frozen maid 

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

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

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

"She will not be surprised, papa, at least." 

"I do not know, my dear. I am sure I was very much surprised when I 
first heard she was going to be married." 

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

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



EMMA 811 

"It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer, but it seems a case of 
necessity. Mr. John Knightley must be in town again on the 28th; and we 
ought to be thankful, papa, that we are to have the whole of the time they 
can give to the country, that two or three days are not to be taken out for 
the Abbey. Mr. Knightley promises to give up his claim this Christmas, 
though you know it is longer since they were with him than with us." 

"It would be very hard, indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella were to be 
anywhere but at Hartfield." 

Mr. Woodhouse could never allow for Mr. Knightley 's claims on his 
brother, or anybody's claims on Isabella, except his own. He sat musing a 
little while, and then said: 

"But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged to go back so 
soon, though he does. I think, Emma, I shall try and persuade her to stay 
longer with us. She and the children might stay very well." 

"Ah, papa, that is what you never have been able to accomplish, and 
I do not think you ever will. Isabella cannot bear to stay behind her 
husband." 

This was too true for contradiction. Unwelcome as it was, Mr. Wood- 
house could only give a submissive sigh; and as Emma saw his spirits 
affected by the idea of his daughter's attachment to her husband, she 
immediately led to such a branch of the subject as must raise them. 

"Harriet must give us as much of her company as she can while my 
brother and sister are here. I am sure she will be pleased with the children. 
We are very proud of the children, are not we, papa? I wonder which she 
will think the handsomest, Henry or John?" 

"Aye, I wonder which she will. Poor little dears, how glad they will be 
to come. They are very fond of being at Hartfield, Harriet." 

"I dare say they are, sir. I am sure I do not know who is not." 

"Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mamma. Henry is the 
eldest ; he was named after me, not after his father. John, the second, is 
named after his father. Some people are surprised, I believe, that the 
eldest was not, but Isabella would have him called Henry, which I thought 
very pretty of her. And he is a very clever boy, indeed. They are all re- 
markably clever; and they have so many pretty ways. They will come 
and stand by my chair and say, 'Grandpapa, can you give me a bit of 
string?' and once Henry asked me for a knife, but I told him knives were 
only made for grandpapas. I think their father is too rough with them very 
often." 

"He appears rough to you," said Emma, "because you are so very 
gentle yourself; but if you could compare him with other papas, you 
would not think him rough. He wishes his boys to be active and hardy; 
and if they misbehave, can give them a sharp word now and then ; but he 
is an affectionate father certainly Mr. John Knightley is an affectionate 
father. The children are all fond of him." 

"And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to the ceiling in a 
very frightful way." 



812 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"But they like it, papa; there is nothing they like so much. It is such 
enjoyment to them, that if their uncle did not lay down the rule of their 
taking turns, whichever began would never give way to the other." 

"Well, I cannot understand it." 

"That is the case with us all, papa. One half of the world cannot under- 
stand the pleasures of the other." 

Late in the morning, and just as the girls were going to separate, in 
preparation for the regular four o'clock dinner, the hero of this inimitable 
charade walked in again. Harriet turned away; but Emma could receive 
him with the usual smile, and her quick eye soon discerned in his the 
consciousness of having made a push of having thrown a die ; and she 
imagined he was come to see how it might turn up. His ostensible reason, 
however, was to ask whether Mr. Woodhouse's party could be made up in 
the evening without him, or whether he should be in the smallest degree 
necessary at Hartfield. If he were, everything else must give way; but 
otherwise his friend Cole had been saying so much about his dining with 
him had made such a point of it that he had promised him condition- 
ally to come. 

Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his disappointing his friend 
on their account; her father was sure of his rubber. He re-urged she 
re-declined ; and he seemed then about to make his bow, when, taking the 
paper from the table, she returned it. 

"Oh, here is the charade you were so obliging as to leave with us ; thank 
you for the sight of it. We admired it so much that I have ventured to 
write it into Miss Smith's collection. Your friend will not take it amiss, I 
hope. Of course, I have not transcribed beyond the first eight lines." 

Mr. Elton certainly did not very well know what to say. He looked 
rather doubtingly rather confused; said something about "honour," 
glanced at Emma and at Harriet, and then seeing the book open on the 
table, took it up, and examined it very attentively. With the view of 
passing off an awkward moment, Emma smilingly said : 

"You must make my apologies to your friend ; but so good a charade 
must not be confined to one or two. He may be sure of every woman's 
approbation while he writes with such gallantry." 

"I have no hesitation in saying," replied Mr. Elton, though hesitating a 
good deal while he spoke "I have no hesitation in saying at least if my 
friend feels at all as / do I have not the smallest doubt that, could he see 
his little effusion honoured as / see it (looking at the book again, and 
replacing it on the table), he would consider it as the proudest moment of 
his life." 

After this speech he was gone as soon as possible. Emma could not think 
it too soon ; for with all his good and agreeable qualities there was a sort 
of parade in his speeches which was very apt to incline her to laugh. She 
ran away to indulge the inclination, leaving the tender and the sublime of 
pleasure to Harriet's share. 



EMMA 813 

Chapter 10 

THOUGH now the middle of December, there had yet been no weather 
to prevent the young ladies from tolerably regular exercise; and on the 
morrow, Emma had a charitable visit to pay to a poor sick family who 
lived a little way out of Highbury. 

Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage Lane, a lane 
leading at right-angles from the broad, though irregular, main street of 
the place; and, as may be inferred, containing the blessed abode of Mr. 
Elton. A few inferior dwellings were first to be passed, and then, about a 
quarter of a mile down the line, rose the vicarage, an old and not very 
good house, almost as close to the road as is could be. It had no advantage 
of situation ; but had been very much smartened up by the present pro- 
prietor; and, such as it was, there could be no possibility of the two 
friends passing it without a slackened pace and observing eyes. Emma's 
remark was: 

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

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

"I do not often walk this way now," said Emma, as they proceeded, 
"but then there will be an inducement, and I shall gradually get inti- 
mately acquainted with all the hedges, gates, pools, and pollards, of this 
part of Highbury." 

Harriet, she found had never in her life been within side the vicarage ; 
and her curiosity to see it was so extreme, that, considering exteriors and 
probabilities, Emma could only class it as a proof of love, with Mr. Elton's 
seeing ready wit in her. 

"I wish we could contrive it," said she; "but I cannot think of any 
tolerable pretence for going in ; no servant that I want to inquire about of 
his housekeeper no message from my father." 

She pondered, but could think of nothing. After a mutual silence of 
some minutes, Harriet thus began again : 

"I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not be married, or 
going to be married so charming as you are." 

Emma laughed, and replied, 

"My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough to induce me to 
marry; I must find other people charming one other person at least. 
And I am not only not going to be married at present, but have very little 
intention of ever marrying at all." 

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

"I must see somebody very superior to any one I have seen yet, to be 
tempted: Mr. Elton, you know" (recollecting herself), "is out of the 
question: and I do not wish to see any such person. I would rather not be 



814 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

tempted. I cannot really change for the better. If I were to marry, I must 
expect to repent it." 

"Dear me ! it is so odd to hear a woman talk so ! " 

"I have none of the usual inducements of women to marry. Were I to 
fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing ; but I never have been in 
love ; it is not my way, or my nature ; and I do not think I ever shall. And, 
without love, I am sure I should be a fool to change such a situation as 
mine. Fortune I do not want; employment I do not want; consequence I 
do not want ; I believe few married women are half as much mistress of 
their husband's house as I am of Hartfield ; and never, never could I ex- 
pect to be so truly beloved and important; so always first and always 
right in any man's eyes as I am in my father's." 

"But then, to be an old maid at last, like Miss Bates! " 

"That is as formidable an image as you could present, Harriet ; and if 
I thought I should ever be like Miss Bates so silly, so satisfied, so smil- 
ing, so prosing, so undistinguishing and unfastidious, and so apt to tell 
everything relative to everybody about me, I would marry to-morrow. 
But between us, I am convinced there never can be any likeness, except in 
being unmarried." 

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

"Never mind, Harriet, I shall not be a poor old maid ; and it is poverty 
only which makes celibacy contemptible to a generous public! A single 
woman with a very narrow income must be a ridiculous, disagreeable old 
maid! the proper sport of boys and girls; but a single woman of good 
fortune is always respectable, and may be as sensible and pleasant as 
anybody else ! And the distinction is not quite so much against the can- 
dour and common-sense of the world as appears at first ; for a very narrow 
income has a tendency to contract the mind, and sour the temper. Those 
who can barely live, and who live perforce in a very small, and generally 
very inferior society, may well be illiberal and cross. This does not apply, 
however, to Miss Bates : she is only too good-natured and too silly to suit 
me; but, in general, she is very much to the taste of everybody, though 
single and though poor. Poverty certainly has not contracted her mind: 
I really believe, if she had only a shilling in the world, she would be very 
likely to give away sixpence of it ; and nobody is afraid of her that is a 
great charm." 

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

"If I know myself, Harriet, mine is an active, busy mind, with a great 
many independent resources ; and I do not perceive why I should be more 
in want of employment at forty or fifty than one-and-twenty. Woman's 
usual occupations of eye, and hand, and mind, will be as open to me then 
as they are now, or with no important variation. If I draw less, I shall 
read more; if I give up music, I shall take to carpet-work. And as for 
objects of interest, objects for the affections, which is, in truth, the great 
point of inferiority, the want of which is really the great evil to be avoided 



EMMA 815 

in not marrying, I shall be very well off, with all the children of a sister 
L love so much to care about. There will be enough of them, in all prob- 
ability, to supply every sort of sensation that declining life can need. 
There will be enough for every hope and every fear; and though my 
attachment to none can equal that of a parent, it suits my ideas of com- 
fort better than what is warmer and blinder. My nephews and nieces: I 
shall often have a niece with me." 

"Do you know Miss Bates's niece? That is, I know you must have seen 
her a hundred times but are you acquainted?" 

"Oh, yes; we are always forced to be acquainted whenever she comes 
to Highbury. By-tbe-bye, that is almost enough to put one out of conceit 
with a niece. Heaven forbid, at least, that I should ever bore people half 
so much about all the Knightleys together as she does about Jane Fairfax. 
One is sick of the very name of Jane Fairfax. Every letter from her is 
read forty times over ; her compliments to all friends go round and round 
again; and if she does but send her aunt the pattern of a stomacher, or 
knit a pair of garters for her grandmother, one hears of nothing else for 
a month. I wish Jane Fairfax very well, but she tires me to death." 

They were now approaching the cottage, and all idle topics were super- 
seded. Emma was very compassionate; and the distress of the poor were 
as sure of relief from her personal attention and kindness, her counsel 
and her patience, as from her purse. She understood their ways, could 
allow for their ignorance and their temptations, had no romantic expecta- 
tions of extraordinary virtue from those for whom education had done so 
little, entered into their troubles with ready sympathy, and always gave 
her assistance with as much intelligence as good-will. In the present 
instance, it was sickness and poverty together which she came to visit; 
and after remaining there as long as she could give comfort or advice, she 
quitted the cottage with such an impression of the scene as made her say 
to Harriet, as they walked away: 

"These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good. How trifling they make 
everything else appear! I feel now as if I could think of nothing but these 
poor creatures all the rest of the day; and yet who can say how soon it 
may all vanish from my mind?" 

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

"And really, I do not think the impression will soon be over," said 
Emma, as she crossed the low hedge, and tottering footstep which ended 
the narrow, slippery path through the cottage garden, and brought them 
into the lane again. "I do not think it will," stopping to look once more at 
all the outward wretchedness of the place, and recall the still greater 
within. 

"Oh dear no," said her companion. 

They walked on. The lane made a slight bend; and when that bend 
was passed, Mr. Elton was immediately in sight and so near as to give 
Emma time only to say further, 



8i6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"Ah, Harriet, here comes a very sudden trial of our stability in good 
thoughts. Well" (smiling), "I hope it may be allowed that if compassion 
has produced exertion and relief to the sufferers, it has done all that is 
truly important. If we feel for the wretched enough to do all we can for 
them, the rest is empty sympathy, only distressing to ourselves." 

Harriet could just answer, "Oh dear, yes," before the gentleman joined 
them. The wants and sufferings of the poor family, however, were the first 
subject on meeting. He had been going to call on them. His visit he would 
now defer; but they had a very interesting parley about what could be 
done and should be done. Mr. Elton then turned back to accompany them. 

"To fall in with each other on such an errand as this," thought Emma; 
"to meet in a charitable scheme; this will bring a great increase of love 
on each side. I should not wonder if it were to bring on the declaration. 
It must, if I were not here. I wish I were anywhere else." 

Anxious to separate herself from them as far as she could, she soon 
afterwards took possesion of a narrow footpath, a little raised on one 
side of the lane, leaving them together in the main road. But she had not 
been there two minutes when she found that Harriet's habits of depend- 
ence and imitation were bringing her up too, and that, in short, they 
would both be soon after her. This would not do; she immediately 
stopped, under pretence of having some alteration to make in the lacing 
of her half-boot, and stooping down in complete occupation of the foot- 
path, begged them to have the goodness to walk on, and she would follow 
in half a minute. They did as they were desired; and by the time she 
judged it reasonable to have done with her boot, she had the comfort of 
further delay in her power, being overtaken by a child from the cottage, 
setting out, according to orders, with her pitcher, to fetch broth from 
Hartfield. To walk by the side of this child, and talk to and question her, 
was the most natural thing in the world, or would have been the most 
natural, had she been acting just then without design ; and by this means 
the others were still able to keep ahead, without any obligation of waiting 
for her. She gained on them, however, involuntarily; the child's pace was 
quick, and theirs rather slow; and she was the more concerned at it, 
from their being evidently in a conversation which interested them. Mr. 
Elton was speaking with animation, Harriet listening with a very pleased 
attention ; and Emma having sent the child on, was beginning to think 
how she might draw back a little more, when they both looked round,, 
and she was obliged to join them. 

Mr. Elton was still talking, still engaged in some interesting detail ; and 
Emma experienced some disappointment when she found that he was only 
giving his fair companion an account of the yesterday's party at his 
friend Cole's, and that she was come in herself for the Stilton cheese, the 
North Wiltshire, the butter, the celery, the beetroot, and all the dessert. 

"This would soon have led to something better, of course," was her 
consoling reflection; "anything interests between those who love; and 



EMMA 817 

anything will serve as introduction to what is near the heart. If I could 
but have kept longer away." 

They now walked on together quietly till within view of the vicarage 
pales, when a sudden resolution of at least getting Harriet into the house, 
made her again find something very much amiss about her boot, and fall 
behind to arrange it once more. She then broke the lace off short and 
dexterously throwing it into a ditch, was presently obliged to entreat them 
to stop and acknowledged her inability to put herself to rights so as to be 
able to walk home in tolerable comfort. 

"Part of my lace is gone," said she, "and I do not know how I am to 
contrive. I really am a most troublesome companion to you both, but 1 
hope I am not often so ill-equipped. Mr. Elton, I must beg leave to stop 
at your house, and ask your housekeeper for a bit of ribbon or string, or 
anything just to keep my boot on." 

Mr. Elton looked all happiness at this proposition ; and nothing could 
exceed his alertness and attention in conducting them into his house, and 
endeavouring to make everything appear to advantage. The room they 
were taken into was the one he chiefly occupied, and looking forwards; 
behind it was another with which it immediately communicated ; the door 
between them was open, and Emma passed into it with the housekeeper, 
to receive her assistance in the most comfortable manner. She was obliged 
to leave the door ajar as she found it; but she fully intended that Mr, 
Elton should close it. It was not closed, however, it still remained ajar; 
but by engaging the housekeeper in incessant conversation, she hoped to 
make it practicable for him to choose his own subject in the adjoining 
room. For ten minutes she could hear nothing but herself. It could be 
protracted no longer. She was then obliged to be finished, and make her 
appearance. 

The lovers were standing together at one of the windows. It had a most 
favourable aspect ; and, for half a minute, Emma felt the glory of having 
schemed successfully. But it would not do ; he had not come to the point. 
He had been most agreeable, most delightful ; he had told Harriet that he 
had seen them go by, and had purposely followed them; other little gal- 
lantries and allusions had been dropped, but nothing serious. 

"Cautious, very cautious," thought Emma; "he advances inch by inch, 
and will hazard nothing till he believes himself secure." 

Still, however, though everything had not been accomplished by her 
ingenious device, she could not but flatter herself that it had been the 
occasion of much present enjoyment to both, and must be leading them 
forward to the great event. 



Chapter n 

MR. ELTON must now be left to himself. It was no longer in Emma's 
power to superintend his happiness, or quicken his measures. The coming 



8i8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

of her sister's family was so very near at hand, that first in anticipation, 
and then in reality, it became henceforth her prime object of interest ; and 
during the ten days of their stay at Hartfield it was not to be expected 
she did not herself expect that anything beyond occasional, fortuitous 
assistance could be afforded by her to the lovers. They might advance 
rapidly if they would, however; they must advance somehow or other, 
whether they would or no. She hardly wished to have more leisure for 
them. There are people, who the more you do for them, the less they 
will do for themselves. 

Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer than usual 
absent from Surrey, were exciting, of course, rather more than the usual 
interest. Till this year, every long vacation since their marriage had been 
divided between Hartfield and Donwell Abbey; but all the holidays of 
this autumn had been given to sea-bathing for the children ; and it was 
therefore many months since they had been seen in a regular way by their 
Surrey connections, or seen at all by Mr. Woodhouse, who could not be 
induced to get so far as London, even for poor Isabella's sake ; and who, 
consequently, was now most nervously and apprehensively happy in 
forestalling this too short visit. 

He thought much of the evils of the journey for her, and not a little of 
the fatigues of his own horses and cbachman, who were to bring some of 
the party the last half of the way; but his alarms were needless: the six- 
teen miles being happily accomplished, and Mr. and Mrs. John Knight- 
ley, their five children, and a competent number of nursery-maids, all 
reaching Hartfield in safety. The bustle and joy of such an arrival, the 
many to be talked to, welcomed, encouraged, and variously dispersed and 
disposed of, produced a noise and confusion which his nerves could not 
have borne under any other cause ; nor have endured much longer even 
for this ; but the ways of Hartfield and the feelings of her father were so 
respected by Mrs. John Knightley, that in spite of maternal solicitude 
for the immediate enjoyment of her little ones, and for their having 
instantly all the liberty and attendance, all the eating and drinking, and 
sleeping and playing, which they could possibly wish for, without the 
smallest delay, the children were never allowed to be long a disturbance 
to him, either in themselves or in any restless attendance on them. 

Mrs. John Knightley was a pretty, elegant little woman, of gentle, 
quiet manners, and a disposition remarkably amiable and affectionate, 
wrapped up in her family, a devoted wife, a doting mother, and so ten- 
derly attached to her father and sister that, but for these higher ties, 
a warmer love might have seemed impossible. She could never see a fault 
in any of them. She was not a woman of strong understanding or any 
quickness; and with this resemblance of her father, she inherited also 
much of his constitution ; was delicate in her own health, over-careful of 
that of her children, had many fears and many nerves, and was as fond of 
her own Mr. Wingfield in town as her father could be of Mr. Perry. They 



EMMA 819 

were alike, too, in a general benevolence of temper, and a strong habit of 
regard for every old acquaintance. 

Mr. John Knightley was a tall, gentleman-like, and very clever man, 
rising in his profession; domestic, and respectable in his private char- 
acter: but with reserved manners which prevented his being generally 
pleasing ; and capable of being sometimes out of humour. He was not au 
ill-tempered man, not so often unreasonably cross as to deserve such a 
reproach: but his temper was not his great perfection; and, indeed, with 
such a worshipping wife, it was hardly possible that any natural defects 
in it should not be increased. The extreme sweetness of her temper must 
hurt his. He had all the clearness and quickness of mind which she 
wanted; and he could sometimes act an ungracious, or say a severe thing. 
He was not a great favourite with his fair sister-in-law. Nothing wrong 
in him escaped her. She was quick in feeling the little injuries to Isabella, 
which Isabella never felt herself. Perhaps she might have passed over 
more had his manners been flattering to Isabella's sister, but they were 
only those of a calmly kind brother and friend, without praise and with- 
out blindness ; but hardly any degree of personal compliment could have 
made her regardless of that greatest fault of all in her eyes which he 
sometimes fell into, the want of respectful forbearance towards her father. 
There he had not always the patience that could have been wished. Mr. 
Woodhouse's peculiarities and fidgetiness were sometimes provoking 
him to a rational remonstrance or sharp retort equally ill bestowed. It 
did not often happen ; for Mr. John Knightley had really a great regard 
for his father-in-law, and generally a strong sense of what was due to him : 
but it was too often for Emma's charity, especially as there was all the 
pain of apprehension frequently to be endured, though the offence came 
not. The beginning, however, of every visit displayed none but the 
properest feelings, and this being of necessity so short might be hoped 
to pass away in unsullied cordiality. They had not been long seated and 
composed when Mr. Woodhouse, with a melancholy shake of the head 
and a sigh, called his daughter's attention to the sad change at Hartfield 
since she had been there last. 

"Ah, my dear," said he, "poor Miss Taylor! It is a grievous business." 

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

"Pretty well, my dear I hope pretty well. I do not know but that 
the place agrees with her tolerably." 

Mr. John Knightley here asked Emma, quietly, whether there were 
any doubts of the air of Randalls. 

"Oh no: none in the least. I never saw Mrs. Weston better in my life 
never looking so well. Papa is only speaking his own regret." 

"Very much to the honour of both," was the handsome reply. 



320 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"And do you see her, sir, tolerably often?" asked Isabella, in the 
plaintive tone which just suited her father. 

Mr. Woodhouse hesitated. "Not near so often, my dear, as I could 
wish." 

"Oh, papa, we have missed seeing them but one entire day since they 
married. Either in the morning or evening of every day, excepting one, 
have we seen either Mr. Weston or Mrs. Weston, and generally both, 
either at Randalls or here; and as you may suppose, Isabella, most fre- 
quently here. They are very, very kind in their visits. Mr. Weston is 
really as kind as herself. Papa, if you speak in that melancholy way, you 
will be giving Isabella a false idea of us all. Everybody must be aware 
that Miss Taylor must be missed; but everybody ought also to be assured 
that Mr. and Mrs. Weston do really prevent our missing her by any 
means to the extent we ourselves anticipated which is the exact truth." 

"Just as it should be," said Mr. John Knightley, "and just at I hoped 
it was from your letters. Her wish of showing you attention could not be 
doubted, and his being a disengaged and social man makes it all easy. I 
have been always telling you, my love, that I had no idea of the change 
being so very material to Hartfield as you apprehended; and now you 
have Emma's account, I hope you will be satisfied." 

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

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

"I think, indeed," said John Knightley, pleasantly, "that Mr. Westor. 
has some little claim. You and I, Emma, will venture to take the part of 
the poor husband. I being a husband, and you not being a wife, the claims 
of the man may very likely strike us with equal force. As for Isabella, she 
has been married long enough to see the convenience of putting all the 
Mr. Westons aside as much as she can," 

"Me, my love?" cried his wife, hearing and understanding only in part. 
"Are you talkirig about me? I am sure nobody ought to be, or can be, a 
greater advocate for matrimony than I am; and if it had not been for the 
misery of her leaving Hartfield, I should never have thought of Miss 
Taylor but as the most fortunate woman in the world ; and as to slighting 
Mr. Weston that excellent Mr. Weston I think there is nothing he 
does not deserve. I believe he is one of the very best-tempered men that 
ever existed. Excepting yourself and your brother, I do not know his equal 
for temper. I shall never forget his flying Henry's kite for him that very 
windy day last Easter; and ever since his particular kindness last Sep- 
tember twelvemonth in writing that note, at twelve o'clock at night, on 
purpose to assure me that there was no scarlet fever at Cobham, I have 
been convinced there could not be a more feeling heart nor a better man in 
existence. If anybody can deserve him, it must be Miss Taylor." 



EMMA 821 

"Where is the young man?" said John Knightley. "Has he been here 
on this occasion, or has he not?" 

"He has not been here yet," replied Emma. "There was a strong expec- 
tation of his coming soon after the marriage, but it ended in nothing; 
and I have not heard him mentioned lately." 

"But you should tell them of the letter, my dear," said her father. "He 
wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston, to congratulate her, and a very 
proper, handsome letter it was. She showed it to me. I thought it very 
well done of him, indeed. Whether it was his own idea, you know, one 
cannot tell. He is but young, and his uncle perhaps 

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

"Three-and-twenty! is he, indeed? Well, I could not have thought it; 
and he was but two years old when he lost his poor mother. Well, time 
does fly, indeed! and my memory is very bad. However, it was an ex- 
ceeding good, pretty letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston a great deal 
of pleasure. I remember it was written from Weymouth, and dated Sep- 
tember 28th, and began, 'My dear Madam,' but I forget how it went on; 
and it was signed 'F. C. Weston Churchill.' I remember that perfectly." 

"How very pleasing and proper of him!" cried the good-hearted Mrs. 
John Knightley. "I have no doubt of his being a most amiable young 
man. But how sad it is that he should not live at home with his father! 
There is something so shocking in a child's being taken away from his 
parents and natural home! I never could comprehend how Mr. Weston 
could part with him. To give up one's child! I really never could think 
well of anybody who proposed such a thing to anybody else." 

"Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy," observed Mr. 
John Knightley, coolly. "But you need not imagine Mr. Weston to have 
felt what you would feel in giving up Henry or John. Mr. Weston is 
rather an easy, cheerful-tempered man, than a man of strong feelings: 
he takes things as he finds them, and makes enjoyment of them some- 
how or other, depending, I suspect, much more upon what is called society 
for his comforts, that is, upon the power of eating and drinking, and 
playing whist with his neighbours five times a week, than upon family 
affection, or anything that home affords." 

Emma could not like what bordered on a reflection on Mr. Weston, and 
had half a mind to take it up; but she struggled, and let it pass. She 
would keep the peace ff possible; and there was something honourable 
and valuable in the strong domestic habits, the all-sufficiency of home to 
himself, whence resulted her brother's disposition to look down on the 
common rate of social intercourse, and those to whom it was important. 
It had a high claim to forbearance. 

Chapter 12 

MR. KNIGHTLEY was to dine with them, rather against the inclination 
of Mr. Woodhouse, who did not like that any one should share with 



822 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

him in Isabella's first day. Emma's sense of right, however, had decided 
it; and, besides the consideration of what was due to each brother, she 
had particular pleasure, from the circumstance of the late disagreement 
between Mr. Knightley and herself, in procuring him the proper invi- 
tation. 

She hoped they might now become friends again. She thought it was 
time to make up. Making-up, indeed, would not do. She certainly had 
not been in the wrong, and he would never own that he had. Concession 
must be out of the question ; but it was time to appear to forget that they 
had ever quarrelled ; and she hoped it might rather assist the restoration 
of friendship, that when he came into the room she had one of the children 
with her the youngest, a nice little girl about eight months old, who was 
now making her first visit to Hartfield, and very happy to be danced 
about in her aunt's arms. It did assist; for, though he began with grave 
looks and short questions, he was soon led on to talk of them all in the 
usual way, and to take the child out of her arms with all the uncere- 
moniousness of perfect amity. Emma felt they were friends again; and 
the conviction giving her at first great satisfaction, and then a little 
sauciness, she could not help saying, as he was admiring the baby: 

"What a comfort it is that we think alike about our nephews and 
nieces! As to men and women, our opinions are sometimes very different; 
but with regard to these children, I observe we never disagree." 

"If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of men and 
women, and as little under the power of fancy and whim in your dealings 
with them, as you are where these children are concerned, we might 
always think alike." 

"To be sure our discordancies must always arise from my being in the 
wrong." 

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

"A material difference, then," she replied; "and no doubt you were 
much my superior in judgment at that period of our lives ; but does not 
the lapse of one-and-twenty years bring our understandings a good deal 
nearer?" 

"Yes, a good deal nearer" 

"But still, not near enough to give me a chance of being right, if we 
think differently." 

"I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years' experience, and by 
not being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child. Come, my dear 
Emma, let us be friends, and say no more about it. Tell your aunt, little 
Emma, that she ought to set you a better example than to be renewing 
old grievances, and that if she were not wrong before, she is now." 

"That's true," she cried, "very true. Little Emma, grow up a better 
woman than your aunt. Be infinitely cleverer, and not half so conceited. 
Now, Mr. Knightley, a word or two more, and I have done. As far as good 
intentions went, we were both right, and I must say that no effects on my 



EMMA 823 

side of the argument have yet proved wrong. I only want to know that 
Mr. Martin is not very, very bitterly disappointed." 

"A man cannot be more so," was his short, full answer. 

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

This had just taken place, and with great cordiality, when John 
Knightley made his appearance; and "How d'ye do, George?" and "John, 
how are you?" succeeded in the true English style, burying under a calm- 
ness that seemed all but indifference the real attachment which would 
have led either of them, if requisite, to do everything for the good of the 
other. 

The evening was quiet and conversible, as Mr. Woodhouse declined 
cards entirely, for the sake of comfortable talk with his dear Isabella, 
and the little party made two natural divisions: on one side he and his 
daughter; on the other the two Mr. Knightleys; their subjects totally 
distinct, or very rarely mixing, and Emma only occasionally joining ir- 
one or the other. 

The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits, but principal!} 
of those of the elder, whose temper was by much the most communica- 
tive, and who was always the greater talker. As a magistrate, he had 
generally some point of law to consult John about, or, at least, some 
curious anecdote to give; and as a farmer, as keeping in hand the home- 
farm at Donwell, he had to tell what every field was to bear next year, 
and to give all such local information as could not fail of being interesting 
to a brother whose home it had equally been the longest part of his life, 
and whose attachments were strong. The plan of a drain, the change of 
a fence, the felling of a tree, and the destination of every acre for wheat, 
turnips, or spring corn, was entered into with as much equality of interest 
by John as his cooler manners rendered possible ; and if his willing brother 
ever left him anything to inquire about, his inquiries even approached a 
tone of eagerness. 

While they were thus comfortably occupied, Mr. Woodhouse was en- 
joying a full flow of happy regrets and fearful affection with his daughter. 

"My poor dear Isabella," said he, fondly taking her hand, and inter- 
rupting, for a few moments, her busy labours for some one of her five 
children, "how long it is, how terribly long since you were here! And how 
tired you must be after your journey! You must go to bed early, my 
dear and I recommend a little gruel to you before you go. You and I 
will have a nice basin of gruel together. My dear Emma, suppose we all 
have a little gruel." 

Emma could not suppose any such thing, knowing, as she did, that both 
the Mr. Knightleys were as unpersuadable on that article as herself, and 
two basins only were ordered. After a little more discourse in praise of 
gruel, with some wondering at its not being taken every evening by 
everybody, he proceeded to say, with an air of grave reflection: 

"It was an awkward business, my dear, your spending the autumn aJ 



8 j 4 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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

"Mr. Wingfield most strenuously recommended it, sir, or we should 
not have gone. He recommended it for all the children, but particularly 
for the weakness in little Bella's throat both sea air and bathing." 

"Ah, my dear, but Perry had many doubts about the sea doing her any 
good; and as to myself, I have been long perfectly convinced, though 
perhaps I never told you so before, that the sea is very rarely of use to 
anybody. I am sure it almost killed me once." 

"Come, come," cried Emma, feeling this to be an unsafe subject, "I 
must beg you not to talk of the sea. It makes me envious and miserable ; 
I who have never seen it ! Southend is prohibited, if you please. My dear 
Isabella, I have not heard you make one inquiry about Mr. Perry yet; 
and he never forgets you." 

"Oh, good Mr. Perry, how is he, sir?" 

"Why, pretty well; but not quite well. Poor Perry is bilious, and he has 
not time to take care of himself ; he tells me he has not time to take care 
of himself which is very sad but he is always wanted all around the 
country. I suppose there is not a man in such practice anywhere. But then 
there is not so clever a man anywhere." 

"And Mrs. Perry and the children, how are they? Do the children 
grow? I have a great regard for Mr. Perry. I hope he will be calling soon. 
He will be so pleased to see my little ones." 

"I hope he will be here to-morrow, for I have a question or two to ask 
him about myself of some consequence. And, my dear, whenever he 
comes, you had better let him look at little Bella's throat." 

"Oh, my dear sir, her throat is so much better that I have hardly any 
uneasiness about it. Either bathing has been of the greatest service to her, 
or else it is to be attributed to an excellent embrocation of Mr. Wingfield's, 
which we have been applying at times ever since August." 

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

"You seem to me to have forgotten Mrs. and Miss Bates," said Emma; 
"I have not heard one inquiry after them." 

"Oh! the good Bateses. I am quite ashamed of myself, but you mention 
them in most of your letters. I hope they are quite well. Good old Mrs. 
Bates! I will call upon her to-morrow, and take my children. They are 
always so pleased to see my children. And that excellent Miss Bates! 
such thorough worthy people! how are they, sir?" 

"Why, pretty well, my dear, upon the whole. But poor Mrs. Bates had 
a bad cold about a month ago." 

"How sony I am! but colds were never so prevalent as they have been 
this autumn. Mr. Wingfield told me that he has never known them more 
$;eneral or heavy, except when it has been quite an influenza." 

"That has been a good deal the case, my dear, but not to the degree you 



EMMA 825 

mention. Perry says that colds have been very general, but not so heavy 
as he has very often known them in November. Perry does not call it 
altogether a sickly season." 

"No, I do not know that Mr. Wingfield considers it very sickly, ex- 
cept 

"Ah, my poor dear child, the truth is, that in London it is always a 
sickly season. Nobody is healthy in London nobody can be. It is a 
dreadful thing to have you forced to live there; so far off! and the air so 
bad!" 

"No, indeed, we are not at all in a bad air. Our part of London is very 
superior to most others. You must not confound us with London in gen- 
eral, my dear sir. The neighbourhood of Brunswick Square is very 
different from almost all the rest. We are so very airy! I should be un- 
willing, I own, to live in any other part of the town ; there is hardly any 
other that I could be satisfied to have my children in: but we are so 
remarkably airy! Mr. Wingfield thinks the vicinity of Brunswick Square 
decidedly the most favourable as to air." 

"Ah, my dear, it is not like Hartfield. You make the best of it but 
after you have been a week at Hartfield, you are all of you different 
creatures; you do not look like the same. Now I cannot say that I think 
you are any of you looking well at present." 

"I am sorry to hear you say so, sir; but I assure you, excepting those 
little nervous headaches and palpitations which I am never entirely free 
from anywhere, I am quite well myself ; and if the children were rather 
pale before they went to bed, it was only because they were a little more 
tired than usual, from their journey and the happiness of coming. I hope 
you will think better of their looks to-morrow; for I assure you Mr. Wing- 
field told me, that he did not believe he had ever sent us off altogether in 
such good case. I trust, at least, that you do not think Mr. Knightley 
looking ill," turning her eyes with affectionate anxiety towards her hus- 
band. 

"Middling, my dear; I cannot compliment you. I think Mr. John 
Knightley very far from looking well." 

"What is the matter, sir? Did you speak to me?" cried Mr. John 
Knightley, hearing his own name. 

"I am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not think you looking 
well; but I hope it is only from being a little fatigued. I could have 
wished, however, as you know, that you had seen Mr. Wingfield before 
you left home." 

"My dear Isabella," exclaimed he, hastily, "pray do not concern your- 
self about my looks. Ff satisfied with doctoring and coddling yourself 
and the children, and let me look as I choose." 

"I did not thoroughly understand what you were telling your brother," 
cried Emma, "about your friend Mr. Graham's intending to have a bailiff 
from Scotland, to look after his new estate. But will it answer? Will not 
the old prejudice be too otrong?"_ 



8a6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

And she talked in this way so long and successfully that, when forced 
to give her attention again to her father and sister, she had nothing worse 
to hear than Isabella's kind inquiry after Jane Fairfax; and Jane Fairfax, 
though no great favourite with her in general, she was, at that moment, 
very happy to assist in praising. 

"That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax! " said Mrs. John Knightley. "It is 
so long since I have seen her, except now and then for a moment acci- 
dentally in town. What happiness it must be to her good old grandmother 
and excellent aunt, when she comes to visit them! I always regret ex- 
cessively, on dear Emma's account, that she cannot be more at Highbury ; 
but now their daughter is married, I suppose Colonel and Mrs. Campbell 
will not be able to part with her at all. She would be such a delightful 
companion for Emma." 

Mr. Woodhouse agreed to it all, but added: 

"Our little friend, Harriet Smith, however, is just such another pretty 
kind of young person. You will like Harriet. Emma could not have a 
better companion than Harriet." 

"I am most happy to hear it; but only Jane Fairfax one knows to be 
so very accomplished and superior, and exactly Emma's age." 

This topic was discussed very happily, and others succeeded of similar 
moment, and passed away with similar harmony ; but the evening did not 
close without a little return of agitation. The gruel came, and supplied a 
great deal to be said much praise and many comments undoubting 
decision of its wholesomeness for every constitution, and pretty severe 
philippics upon the many houses where it was never met with tolerable ; 
but, unfortunately, among the failures which the daughter had to in- 
stance, the most recent, and therefore most prominent, was in her own 
cook at Southend, a young woman hired for the time, who never had been 
able to understand what she meant by a basin of nice smooth gruel, thin, 
but not too thin. Often as she had wished for and ordered it, she had 
never been able to get anything tolerable. Here was a dangerous opening. 

"Ah," said Mr. Woodhouse, shaking his head, and fixing his eyes on her 
with tender concern. The ejaculation in Emma's ear expressed, "Ah, there 
is no end of the sad consequences of your going to Southend. It does not 
bear talking of." And for a little while she hoped he would not talk of it, 
and that a silent rumination might suffice to restore him to the relish of 
his own smooth gruel. After an interval of some minutes, however, he 
began with: 

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

"But why should you be sorry, sir? I assure you, it did the children a 
great deal of good." 

"And, moreover, if you must go to the sea, it had better not have been 
to Southend. Southend is an unhealthy place. Perry was surprised to 
hear you had fixed upon Southend." 

"I know there is such an idea with many people, but indeed it is quite a 



EMMA 82? 

mistake, sir. We all had our health perfectly well there, never found the 
.east inconvenience from the mud, and Mr. Wingfield says it is entirely a 
mistake to suppose the place unhealthy; and I am sure he may be de- 
pended on, for he thoroughly understands the nature of the air and his 
own brother and family have been there repeatedly." 

"You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you went anywhere. 
Perry was a week at Cromer once, and he holds it to be the best of all the 
sea-bathing places. A fine open sea, he says, and very pure air. And, by 
what I understand, you might have had lodgings there quite away from 
the sea a quarter of a mile off very comfortable. You should have 
consulted Perry." 

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

"Ah, my dear, as Perry says, where health is at stake nothing else 
should be considered : and if one is to travel, there is not much to choose 
between forty miles and a hundred. Better not move at all, better stay in 
London altogether, than travel forty miles to get into a worse air. This is 
just what Perry said. It seemed to him a very ill-judged measure." 

Emma's attempts to stop her father had been vain ; and when he had 
reached such a point as this, she could not wonder at her brother-in-law's 
breaking out. 

"Mr. Perry," said he, in a voice of very strong displeasure, "would do 
as well to keep his opinion till it is asked for. Why does he make it any 
business of his to wonder at what I do? at my taking my family to one 
part of the coast or another? I may be allowed, I hope, the use of my 
judgment as well as Mr. Perry. I want his directions no more than his 
drugs." He paused, and growing cooler in a moment, added, with only 
sarcastic dryness, "If Mr. Perry can tell me how to convey a wife and 
five children a distance of a hundred and thirty miles with no greater 
expense or inconvenience than a distance of forty, I should be as willing 
to prefer Cromer to Southend as he could himself." 

"True, true," cried Mr. Knightley, with most ready interposition 
"very true. That's a consideration, indeed. But, John, as to what I was 
telling you of my idea of moving the path to Langham, of turning it more 
to the right that it may not cut through the home meadows, I cannot 
conceive any difficulty. I should not attempt it, if it were to be the means 
of inconvenience to the Highbury people, but if you call to mind exactly 
the present line of the path the only way of proving it, however, will be 
to turn to our maps. I shall see you at the Abbey to-morrow morning, I 
hope, and then we will look them over, and you shall give me your 
opinion." 

Mr. Woodhouse was rather agitated by such harsh reflections on his 
friend Perry, to whom he had in fact, though unconsciously, been at- 
tributing many of his own feelings and expressions; but the soothing 
attentions of his daughters gradually removed the present evil, and the 



828 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

immediate alertness of one brother, and better recollections of the other, 
prevented any renewal of it. 



Chapter 13 

THERE could hardly be a happier creature in the world than Mrs, John 
Knightley, in this short visit to Hartfield, going about every morning 
among her old acquaintances with her five children, and talking over what 
she had done every evening with her father and sister. She had nothing 
to wish otherwise, but that the days did not pass so swiftly. It was a 
delightful visit perfect, in being much too short. 

In general their evenings were less engaged with friends than their 
mornings: but one complete dinner engagement, and out of the house too, 
there was no avoiding, though at Christmas. Mr. Weston would take no 
denial : they must all dine at Randalls one day ; even Mr. Woodhouse was 
persuaded to think it a possible thing in preference to a division of the 
party. 

How they were all to be conveyed, he would have made a difficulty if he 
could, but as his son and daughter's carriage and horses were actually at 
Hartfield, he was* not able to make more than a simple question on that 
head; it hardly amounted to a doubt; nor did it occupy Emma long to 
convince him that they might in one of the carriages find room for Harriet 
also. 

Harriet, Mr. Elton, and Mr. Knightley, their own especial set, were the 
only persons invited to meet them the hours were to be early as well as 
the numbers few; Mr. Woodhouse's habits and inclination being con- 
sulted in everything. 

The evening before this great event (for it was a very great event that 
Mr. Woodhouse should dine out on the 24th of December) had been spent 
by Harriet at Hartfield, and she had gone home so much indisposed with a 
cold, that, but for her own earnest wish of being nursed by Mrs. Goddard 
Emma could not have allowed her to leave the house. Emma called on her 
the next day, and found her doom already signed with regard to Randalls. 
She was very feverish and had a bad sore throat: Mrs. Goddard was full 
of care and affection, Mr. Perry was talked of, and Harriet herself was too 
ill and low to resist the authority which excluded her from this delightful 
engagement, though she could not speak of her loss without many tears. 

Emma sat with her as long as she could, to attend her in Mrs. Goddard's 
unavoidable absences, and raise her spirits by representing how much Mr. 
Elton's would be depressed when he knew her state ; and left her at last 
tolerably comfortable, in the sweet dependence of his having a most com- 
fortless visit, and of their all missing her very much. She had not ad- 
vanced many yards from Mrs. Goddard's door, when she was met by Mr, 
Elton himself, evidently coming towards it, and as they walked on slowly 
together in conversation about the invalid of whom he, on the rumour 



EMMA 829 

of considerable illness, had been going to inquire, that he might carry 
some report of her to Hartfield they were overtaken by Mr. John 
Knightley, returning from the daily visit to Donwell, with his two eldest 
boys, whose healthy, glowing faces showed all the benefit of a country 
run, and seem to ensure a quick despatch of the roast mutton and rice 
pudding they were hastening home for. They joined company and pro- 
ceeded together. Emma was just describing the nature of her friend's 
complaint "a throat very much inflamed, with a great deal of heat 
about her, a quick low pulse, etc., and she was sorry to find from Mrs. 
Goddard that Harriet was liable to very bad sore throats, and had often 
alarmed her with them." Mr. Elton looked all alarm on the occasion, as 
he exclaimed 

"A sore throat! I hope not infectious. I hope not of a putrid infectious 
sort. Has Perry seen her? Indeed you should take care of yourself as well 
as of your friend. Let me entreat you to run no risks. Why does not Perry 
see her?" 

Emma, who was not really at all frightened herself, tranquillised this 
excess of apprehension by assurances of Mrs. Goddard's experience and 
care; but as there must still remain a degree of uneasiness which she 
could not wish to reason away, which she would rather feed and assist 
than not, she added soon afterwards as if quite another subject 

"It is so cold, so very cold, and looks and feels so very much like snow, 
that if it were to any other place or with any other party, I should really 
try not to go out to-day, and dissuade my father from venturing ; but as 
he has made up his mind, and does not seem to feel the cold himself, I do 
not like to interfere, as I know it would be so great a disappointment to 
Mr. and Mrs. Weston. But upon my word, Mr. Elton, in your case, I 
should certainly excuse myself. You appear to me a little hoarse already; 
and when you consider what demand of voice and what fatigues to-morrow 
will bring, I think it would be no more than common prudence to stay at 
home and take care of yourself to-night." 

Mr. Elton looked as if he did not very well know what answer to make ; 
which was exactly the case; for though very much gratified by the kind 
care of such a fair lady, and not liking to resist any advice of hers, he had 
not really the least inclination to give up the visit ; but Emma, too eager 
and busy in her own previous conceptions and views to hear him impar- 
tially, or see him with clear vision, was very well satisfied with his mutter- 
ing acknowledgment of its being "very cold, certainly very cold," and 
walked on, rejoicing in having extricated him from Randalls, and secured 
him the power of sending to inquire after Harriet every hour of the eve- 
ning. 

"You do quite right," said she; "we will make your apologies to Mr. 
and Mrs. Weston." 

But hardly had she so spoken, when she found her brother was civilly 
offering a seat in his carriage, if the weather were Mr. Elton's only objec- 
tion, and Mr. Elton actually accepting the offer with much prompt satis- 



830 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

faction. It was a done thing ; Mr. Elton was to go, and never had his broad 
handsome face expressed more pleasure than at this moment ; never had 
his smile been stronger, nor his eyes more exulting than when he next 
looked at her. 

"Well," she said to herself, "this is most strange! After I had got him 
off so well, to choose to go into company, and leave Harriet ill behind! 
Most strange indeed ! But there is, I believe, in many men, especially single 
men, such an inclination such a passion for dining out ; a dinner engage- 
ment is so high in the class of their pleasures, their employments, their 
dignities, almost their duties, that everything gives way to it, and this 
must be the case with Mr. Elton a most valuable, amiable, pleasing 
young man undoubtedly, and very much in love with Harriet ; but still 
he cannot refuse an invitation, he must dine out wherever he is asked. 
What a strange thing love is! he can see ready wit in Harriet, but will not 
dine alone for her." 

Soon afterwards, Mr. Elton quitted them, and she could not but do him 
the justice of feeling that there was a great deal of sentiment in his manner 
of naming Harriet at parting ; in the tone of his voice, while assuring her 
that he should call at Mrs. Goddard's for news of her fair friend, the last 
thing before he prepared for the happiness of meeting her again, when 
he hoped to be able to give a better report; and he sighed and smiled him- 
self off in a way that left the balance of approbation much in his favour. 

After a few minutes of entire silence between them, John Knightley 
began with 

"I never in my life saw a man more intent on being agreeable than Mr. 
Elton. It is downright labour to him where ladies are concerned. With 
men he can be rational and unaffected, but when he has ladies to please, 
every feature works." 

"Mr. Elton's manners are not perfect," replied Emma; "but where 
there is a wish to please, one ought to overlook, and one does overlook a 
great deal. Where a man does his best with only moderate powers, he will 
have the advantage over negligent superiority. There is such perfect good 
temper and good-will in Mr. Elton, as one cannot but value." 

"Yes," said Mr. John Knightley presently, with some slyness, "he 
seems to have a great deal of good-will towards you." 

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

"Such an imagination has crossed me, I own, Emma; and if it never 
occurred to you before, you may as well take it into consideration now." 

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

"I do not say it is so ; but you will do well to consider whether it is so 
or not, and to regulate your behaviour accordingly. I think your manners 
to him encouraging. I speak as a friend, Emma. You had better look 
about you, and ascertain what you do, and what you mean to do." 

"I thank you; but I assure you, you are quite mistaken. Mr. Elton and 
I are very good friends, and nothing more;" and she walked on, amusing 



EMMA 831 

herself in the consideration of the blunders which often arise from a par- 
tial knowledge of circumstances, of the mistakes which people of high 
pretensions to judgment are for ever falling into; and not very well 
pleased with her brother for imagining her blind and ignorant, and in 
want of counsel. He said no more. 

Mr. Woodhouse had so completely made up his mind to the visit, that 
in spite of the increasing coldness, he seemed to have no idea of shrinking 
from it, and set forward at last most punctually with his eldest daughter 
in his own carriage, with less apparent consciousness of the weather than 
either of the others; too full of the wonder of his own going, and the 
pleasure it was to afford at Randalls, to see that it was cold, and too well 
wrapped up to feel it. The cold, however, was severe; and by the time the 
second carriage was in motion, a few flakes of snow were finding their way 
down, and the sky had the appearance of being so overcharged as to want 
only a milder air to produce a very white world in a very short time. 

Emma soon saw that her companion was not in the happiest humour. 
The preparing and the going abroad in such weather, with the sacrifice of 
his children after dinner, were evils, were disagreeables at least, which 
Mr. John Knightley did not by any means like ; he anticipated nothing in 
the visit that could be at all worth the purchase; and the whole of their 
drive to the vicarage was spent by him in expressing his discontent. 

"A man," said he, "must have a very good opinion of himself when he 
asks people to leave their own fireside, and encounter such a day as this, 
for the sake of coming to see him. He must think himself a most agreeable 
fellow; I could not do such a thing. It is the greatest absurdity actually 
snowing at this moment ! The folly of not allowing people to be comfort- 
able at home, and the folly of people's not staying comfortably at home 
when they can ! If we were obliged to go out such an evening as this by 
any call of duty or business, what a hardship we should deem it ; and here 
are we, probably with rather thinner clothing than usual, setting forward 
voluntarily, without excuse, in defiance of the voice of nature, which tells 
man, in everything given to his view or his feelings, to stay at home him- 
self, and keep all under shelter that he can ; here are we setting forward 
to spend five dull hours in another man's house, with nothing to say or to 
hear that was not said and heard yesterday, and may not be said and 
heard again to-morrow. Going in dismal weather, to return probably in 
worse ; four horses and four servants taken out for nothing but to convey 
five idle, shivering creatures into colder rooms and worse company than 
they might have had at home." 

Emma did not find herself equal to give the pleased assent, which no 
doubt he was in the habit of receiving, to emulate the "Very true, my 
love," which must have been usually administered by his travelling com- 
panion ; but she had resolution enough to refrain from making any answer 
at all. She could not be complying; she dreaded being quarrelsome; her 
heroism reached only to silence. She allowed him to talk, and arranged 
the glasses, and wrapped herself up, without opening her lips. 



832 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

They arrived, the carriage turned, the step was let down, and Mr. Elton, 
spruce, black, and smiling, was with them instantly. Emma thought with 
pleasure of some change of subject. Mr. Elton was all obligation and 
cheerfulness; he was so very cheerful in his civilities indeed, that she 
began to think he must have received a different account of Harriet from 
what had reached her. She had sent while dressing, and the answer had 
been, "Much the same not better." 

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

His face lengthened immediately, and his voice was the voice of senti- 
ment as he answered: 

"Oh no I am grieved to find I was on the point of telling you, that 
when I called at Mrs. Goddard's door, which I did the very last thing 
before I returned to dress, I was told that Miss Smith was not better, by 
no means better, rather worse. Very much grieved and concerned I had 
flattered myself that she must be better after such a cordial as I knew 
had been given her in the morning." 

Emma smiled, and answered: "My visit was of use to the nervous part 
of her complaint, I hope ; but not even I can charm away sore throat ; it 
is a most severe cold, indeed. Mr. Perry has been with her ; as you prob- 
ably heard." 

"Yes I imagined that is I did not " 

"He has been used to her in these complaints, and I hope to-morrow 
morning will bring us both a more comfortable report. But it is impossi- 
ble not to feel uneasiness. Such a sad loss to our party to-day! " 

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

This was very proper; the sigh which accompanied it was really esti- 
mable ; but it should have lasted longer. Emma was rather in dismay when 
only half a minute afterwards he began to speak of other things, and in 
a voice of the greatest alacrity and enjoyment. 

"What an excellent device," said he, "the use of a sheep-skin for 
carriages. How very comfortable they make it ; impossible to feel cold 
with such precautions. The contrivances of modern days, indeed, have 
rendered a gentleman's carriage perfectly complete. One is so fenced and 
guarded from the weather, that not a breath of air can find its way un- 
permitted. Weather becomes absolutely of no consequence. It is a very 
cold afternoon but in this carriage we know nothing of the matter. Ha ! 
Snows a little, I see." 

"Yes," said John Knightley, "and I think we shall have a good deal 
of it." 

"Christmas weather," observed Mr. Elton. "Quite seasonable; and ex- 
tremely fortunate we may think ourselves that it did not begin yesterday, 
and prevent this day's party, which it might very possibly have done, for 
Mr. Woodhouse would hardly have ventured had there been much snow 
on the ground ; but now it is of no consequence. This is quite the season, 
indeed, for friendly meetings. At Christmas everybody invites their 



EMMA 833 

friends about them, and people think little of even the worst weather. I 
was snowed up at a friend's house once for a week. Nothing could be 
pleasanter. I went for only one night, and could not get away till that 
very day sennight." 

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

"I cannot wish to be snowed up a week at Randalls." 

At another time Emma might have been amused, but she was too much 
astonished now at Mr. Elton's spirit for other feelings. Harriet seemed 
quite forgotten in the expectation of a pleasant party. 

"We are sure of excellent fires," continued he, "and everything in the 
greatest comfort. Charming people, Mr. and Mrs. Weston ; Mrs. Weston 
indeed is much beyond praise, and he is exactly what one values, so 
hospitable, and so fond of society ; it will be a small party, but where small 
parties are select, they are, perhaps, the most agreeable of any. Mr. 
Weston's dining-room does not accommodate more than ten comfortably; 
and for my part, I would rather, under such circumstances, fall short by 
two than exceed by two. I think you will agree with me (turning with a 
soft air to Emma) , I think I shall certainly have your approbation, though 
Mr. Knightley, perhaps, from being used to the large parties of London, 
may not quite enter into our feelings." 

"I know nothing of the large parties of London, sir I never dine with 
anybody." 

"Indeed! " (in a tone of wonder and pity). "I had no idea that the law 
had been so great a slavery. Well, sir, the time must come when you will 
be paid for all this, when you will have little labour and great enjoyment." 

"My first enjoyment," replied John Knightley, as they passed through 
the sweep-gate, "will be to find myself safe at Hartfield again." 



Chapter 14 

SOME change of countenance was necessary for each gentleman as they 
walked into Mrs. Weston's drawing-room; Mr. Elton must compose his 
joyous looks, and Mr. John Knightley disperse his ill-humour. Mr. Elton 
must smile less, and Mr. John Knightley more, to fit them for the place. 
Emma only might be as nature prompted, and show herself just as happy 
as she was. To her, it was real enjoyment to be with the Westons. Mr. 
Weston was a great favourite, and there was not a creature in the world 
to whom she spoke with such unreserve as to his wife; not anyone, to 
whom she related with such conviction of being listened to and under- 
stood, of being always interesting and always intelligible, the little affairs, 
arrangements, perplexities, and pleasures of her father and herself. She 
could tell nothing of Hartfield, in which Mrs. Weston had not a lively con- 
cern; and half an hour's uninterrupted communication of all those little 



834 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

matters on which the daily happiness of private life depends, was one of 
the first gratifications of each. 

This was a pleasure which perhaps the whole day's visit might not 
afford, which certainly did not belong to the present half-hour; but the 
very sight of Mrs. Weston, her smile, her touch, her voice, was grateful 
to Emma, and she determined to think as little as possible of Mr. Elton's 
oddities, or of anything else unpleasant, and enjoy all that was enjoyable 
to the utmost. 

The misfortune of Harriet's cold had been pretty well gone through 
before her arrival. Mr. Woodhouse had been safely seated long enough to 
give the history of it, besides all the history of his own and Isabella's 
coming, and of Emma's being to follow; and had, indeed, just got to the 
end of his satisfaction that James should come and see his daughter, when 
the others appeared, and Mrs. Weston, who had been almost wholly en- 
grossed by her attentions to him, was able to turn away and welcome her 
dear Emma. 

Emma's project of forgetting Mr. Elton for a while made her rather 
sorry to find, when they had all taken their places, that he was close te- 
her. The difficulty was great of driving this strange insensibility towards* 
Harriet from her mind, while he not only sat at her elbow, but was con- 
tinually obtruding his happy countenance on her notice, and solicitously 
addressing her upon every occasion. Instead of forgetting him, his be-, 
haviour was such that she could not avoid the internal suggestion of "Can 
it really be as my brother imagined? Can it be possible for this man to be 
beginning to transfer his affections from Harriet to me? Absurd and in- 
sufferable!" Yet he would be so anxious for her being perfectly warm, 
would be so interested about her father, and so delighted with Mrs. 
Weston; and, at last, would begin admiring her drawings with so much 
zeal and so little knowledge, as seemed terribly like a would-be lover, and 
made it some effort with her to preserve her good manners. For her own 
sake she could not be rude ; and for Harriet's in the hope that all would 
yet turn out right, she was even positively civil; but it was an effort, 
especially as something was going on amongst the others, in the most 
overpowering period of Mr. Elton's nonsense, which she particularly 
wished to listen to. She heard enough to know that Mr. Weston was giving 
some information about his son: she heard the words a my son," and 
"Frank," and "my son," repeated several times over; and, from a few 
other half syllables, very much suspected that he was announcing an early 
visit from his son ; but before she could quiet Mr. Elton, the subject was 
so completely past, that any reviving question from her would have been 
awkward. 

Now it so happened, that, in spite of Emma's resolution of never 
marrying, there was something in the name, in the idea, of Mr. Frank 
Churchill, which always interested her. She had frequently thought 
especially since his father's marriage with Miss Taylor that if she were 
to marry, he was the very person to suit her in age, character, and con- 



EMMA 835 

dition. He seemed, by this connection between the families, quite to be- 
long to her. She could not but suppose it to be a match that everybody who 
knew them must think of. That Mr. and Mrs. Weston did think of it, she 
was very strongly persuaded ; and though not meaning to be induced by 
him, or by anybody else, to give up a situation which she believed more 
replete with good than any she could change it for, she had a great curi- 
osity to see him, a decided intention of finding him pleasant, of being 
liked by him to a certain degree, and a sort of pleasure in the idea of their 
being coupled in their friends' imaginations. 

With such sensations, Mr. Elton's civilities were dreadfully ill-timed; 
but she had the comfort of appearing very polite, while feeling very cross ; 
and of thinking that the rest of the visit could not possibly pass without 
bringing forward the same information again, or the substance of it, from 
the open-hearted Mr. Weston. So it proved; for, when happily released 
from Mr. Elton, and seated by Mr. Weston at dinner, he made use of the 
very first interval in the cares of hospitality, the very first leisure from 
the saddle of mutton, to say to her: 

"We want only two more to be just the right number. I should like to 
see two more here your pretty little friend, Miss Smith, and my son 
and then I should say we were quite complete. I believe you did not hear 
me telling the others in the drawing-room that we are expecting Frank. 
I had a letter from him this morning, and he will be with us within a 
fortnight." 

Emma spoke with a very proper degree of pleasure, and fully assented 
to his proposition, of Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Smith making their 
party quite complete. 

"He has been wanting to come to us," continued Mr. Weston, "ever 
since September: every letter has been full of it; but he cannot command 
his own time. He has those to please who must be pleased, and who (be- 
tween ourselves) are sometimes to be pleased only by a good many sacri- 
fices. But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second week 
in January." 

"What a very great pleasure it will be to you! And Mrs. Weston is so 
anxious to be acquainted with him, that she must be almost as happy as 
yourself." 

"Yes, she would be, but that she thinks there will be another put-off. 
She does not depend upon his coming so much as I do ; but she does not 
know the parties so well as I do. The case, you see, is (but this is quite 
between ourselves ; I did not mention a syllable of it in the other room. 
There are secrets in all families, you know) the case is, that a party of 
friends are invited to pay a visit at Enscombe in January, and that Frank's 
coming depends upon their being put off. If they are not put off, he cannot 
stir. But I know they will, because it is a family that a certain lady, of 
some consequence at Enscombe, has a particular dislike to ; and though 
it is thought necessary to invite them once in two or three years, they 
always are put off when it comes to the point. I have not the smallest 



836 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

doubt of the issue. I am as confident of seeing Frank here before the 
middle of January, as I am of being here myself ; but your good friend 
there (nodding towards the upper end of the table) has so few vagaries 
herself, and has been so little used to them at Hartfield, that she cannot 
calculate on their effects, as I have been long in the practice of doing." 

"I am sorry there should be anything like doubt in the case," replied 
Emma; " but am disposed to side with you, Mr. Weston. If you think he 
will come, I shall think so too; for you know Enscombe." 

"Yes I have some right to that knowledge; though I have never been 
at the place in my life. She is an odd woman! But I never allow myself to 
speak ill of her, on Frank's account ; for I do believe her to be very fond 
of him. I used to think she was not capable of being fond of anybody 
except herself; but she has always been kind to him (in her way allow- 
ing for little whims and caprices, and expecting everything to be as she 
likes). And it is no small credit, in my opinion, to him, that he should 
excite such an affection ; for, though I would not say it to anybody else, 
she has no more heart than a stone to people in general, and the devil of 
a temper." 

Emma liked the subject so well, that she began upon it to Mrs. Weston, 
very soon after their moving into the drawing-room, wishing her joy 
yet observing that she knew the first meeting must be rather alarming. 
Mrs. Weston agreed to it ; but added, that she should be very glad to be 
secure of undergoing the anxiety of a first meeting at the time talked of ; 
"for I cannot depend upon his coming. I cannot be so sanguine as Mr. 
Weston. I am very much afraid that it will all end in nothing. Mr. Weston, 
I dare say, has been telling you exactly how the matter stands?" 

"Yes it seems to depend upon nothing but the ill-humour of Mrs. 
Churchill, which I imagine to be the most certain thing in the world." 

"My, Emma!" replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, "what is the certainty of 
caprice?" Then turning to Isabella, who had not been attending before: 
"You must know, my dear Mrs. Knightley, that we are by no means so 
sure of seeing Mr. Frank Churchill, in my opinion, as his father thinks. 
It depends entirely upon his aunt's spirits and pleasure ; in short, upon her 
temper. To you to my two daughters I may venture on the truth. Mrs. 
Churchill rules at Enscombe, and is a very odd-tempered woman ; and his 
coming now depends upon her being willing to spare him." 

"Oh, Mrs. Churchill! everybody knows Mrs. Churchill," replied Isa- 
bella, "and I am sure I never think of that poor young man without the 
greatest compassion. To be constantly living with an ill-tempered person 
must be dreadful. It is what we happily have never known anything of ; 
but it must be a life of misery. What a blessing that she never had any 
children ! Poor little creatures, how unhappy she would have made them ! " 

Emma wished she had been alone with Mrs. Weston. She should then 
have heard more. Mrs. Weston would speak to her with a degree of un- 
reserve which she would not hazard with Isabella; and, she really be- 
lieved, would scarcely try to conceal anything relative to the Churchills 



EMMA 837 

from her, excepting those views on the young man, of which her own 
imagination had already given her such instinctive knowledge. But at 
present there was nothing more to be said. Mr. Woodhouse very soon fol- 
lowed them into the drawing-room. To be sitting long after dinner was a 
confinement that he could not endure. Neither wine nor conversation was 
anything to him ; and gladly did he move to those .with whom he was 
always comfortable. 

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

"And so you do not consider this visit from your son as by any means 
certain. I am sorry for it. The introduction must be unpleasant, when- 
ever it takes place; and the sooner it could be over the better." 

"Yes; and every delay makes one more apprehensive of other delays. 
Even if this family, the Braithwaites, are put off, I am still afraid that 
some excuse may be found for disappointing us. I cannot bear to imagine 
any reluctance on his side; but I am sure there is a great wish on the 
Churchills to keep him to themselves. There is jealousy. They are jealous 
even of his regard for his father. In short, I can feel no dependence on his 
coming, and I wish Mr. Weston were less sanguine." 

"He ought to come," said Emma. "If he could stay only a couple of 
days, he ought to come ; and one can hardly conceive a young man's not 
having it in his power to do as much as that. A young woman, if she fall 
into bad hands, may be teased, and kept at a distance from those she 
wants to be with ; but one cannot comprehend a young man's being under 
such restraint, as not to be able to spend a week with his father, if he 
likes it." 

"One ought to be at Enscombe, and know the ways of the family, 
before one decides upon what he can do," replied Mrs. Weston. "One ought 
to use the same caution, perhaps, in judging of the conduct of any onejndi- 
vidual of any one family; but Enscombe, I believe, certainly must not 
be judged by general rules; she is so very unreasonable; and everything 
gives way to her." 

"But she is so fond of the nephew; he is so very great a favourite. Now, 
according to my idea of Mrs. Churchill, it would be most natural, that 
while she makes no sacrifice for the comfort of the husband, to whom she 
owes everything, while she exercises incessant caprice towards him, she 
should frequently be governed by the nephew, to whom she owes nothing 
at all." 

"My dearest Emma, do not pretend, with your sweet temper, to under- 
stand a bad one, or to lay down rules for it: you must let it go its own 
way. I have no doubt of his having, at times, considerable influence; but 
it may be perfectly impossible for him to know beforehand when it will 
be." 

Emma listened, and then coolly said: "I shall not be satisfied unless he 
comes." 

"He may have a great deal of influence on some points," continued 



838 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Mrs. Weston, "and on others, very little ; and among those, on which she 
is beyond his reach, it is but too likely may be this very circumstance of 
his coming away from them to visit us." 



Chapter 15 

MR. WOODHOUSE was soon ready for his tea; and when he had drank 
his tea he was quite ready to go home ; and it was as much as his three 
companions could do, to entertain away his notice of the lateness of the 
hour before the other gentlemen appeared. Mr. Weston was chatty and 
convivial, and no friend to early separations of any sort ; but at last the 
drawing-room party did receive an augmentation. Mr. Elton, in very good 
spirits, was one of the first to walk in. Mrs. Weston and Emma were sit- 
ting together on a sofa. He joined them immediately, and with scarcely 
an invitation, seated himself between them. 

Emma, in good spirits too, from the amusement afforded her mind by 
the expectation of Mr. Frank Churchill, was willing to forget his late im- 
proprieties, and be as well satisfied with him as before, and on his making 
Harriet his very first subject, was ready to listen with most friendly smiles. 

He professed himself extremely anxious about her fair friend her fair, 
lovely, amiable friend. "Did she know? Had she heard anything about her, 
since their being at Randalls? He felt much anxiety he must confess that 
the nature of her complaint alarmed him considerably." And in this style 
he talked on for some time very properly, not much attending to any 
answer, but altogether sufficiently awake to the terror of a bad sore 
throat ; and Emma was quite in charity with him. 

But at last there seemed a perverse turn ; it seemed all at once as if he 
were more afraid of its being a bad sore throat on her account than on 
Harriet's more anxious that she should escape the infection, than that 
there should be no infection in the complaint. He began with great earnest- 
ness to entreat her to refrain from visiting the sick chamber again, for the 
present, to entreat her to promise him not to venture into such hazard 
till he had seen Mr. Perry and learnt his opinion ; and though she tried to 
laugh it off and bring the subject back into its proper course, there was no 
putting an end to his extreme solicitude about her. She was vexed. It did 
appear there was no concealing It exactly like the pretence of being in 
love with her instead of Harriet; an inconstancy, if real, the most con- 
temptible and abominable ! And she had difficulty in behaving with tem- 
per. He turned to Mrs. Weston to implore her assistance: "Would not she 
give him her support? Would not she add her persuasions to his, to induce 
Miss Woodhouse not to go to Mrs. Goddard's, till it were certain that Miss 
Smith's disorder had no infection? He could not be satisfied without a 
promise would not she give him her influence in procuring it?" 

"So scrupulous for others," he continued, "and yet so careless for her- 
self 1 She wanted me to nurse my cold by staying at home to-day, and yet 



EMMA 839 

will not promise to avoid the danger of catching an ulcerated sore throat 
herself. Is this fair, Mrs. Weston? Judge between us. Have not I some 
right to complain? I am sure of your kind support and aid." 

Emma saw Mrs. Weston's surprise, and felt that it must be great, at 
an address which, in words and manner, was assuming to himself the right 
of first interest in her; and as for herself, she was too much provoked and 
offended to have the power of directly saying anything to the purpose. 
She could only give him a look ; but it was such a look as she thought must 
restore him to his senses, and then left the sofa, removing to a seat by 
her sister, and giving her all her attention. 

She had not time to know how Mr. Elton took the reproof, so rapidly 
did another subject succeed ; for Mr. John Knightley now came into the 
room from examining the weather, and opened on them all with the in- 
formation of the ground being covered with snow, and of its still snowing 
fast, with a strong, drifting wind; concluding with these words to Mr. 
Woodhouse: 

"This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter engagements, sir. 
Something new for your coachman and horses to be making their way 
through a storm of snow." 

Poor Mr. Woodhouse was silent from consternation; but everybody 
else had something to say; everybody was either surprised, or not sur- 
prised, and had some question to ask, or some comfort to offer. Mrs. 
Weston and Emma tried earnestly to cheer him and turn his attention 
from his son-in-law, who was pursuing his triumph rather unfeelingly: 

"I admired your resolution very much, sir," said he, "in venturing out 
in such weather, for of course you saw there would be snow very soon. 
Everybody must have seen the snow coming on. I admired your spirit; 
and I dare say we shall get home very well. Another hour or two's snow 
can hardly make the road impassable ; and we are two carriages ; if one is 
blown over in the bleak part of the common field there will be the other 
at hand. I dare say we shall be all safe at Hartfield before midnight." 

Mr. Weston, with triumph of a different sort, was confessing that he 
had known it to be snowing some time, but had not said a word, lest it 
should make Mr. Woodhouse uncomfortable, and be an excuse for his 
hurrying away. As to there being any quantity of snow fallen or likely to 
fall to impede their return, that was a mere joke ; he was afraid they would 
find no difficulty. He wished the road might be impassable, that he might 
be able to keep them all at Randalls ; and with the utmost goodwill was 
sure that accommodation might be found for everybody, calling on his 
wife to agree with him, that, with a little contrivance, everybody might be 
lodged, which she hardly knew how to do, from the consciousness of there 
being but two spare rooms in the house. 

"What is to be done, my dear Emma? What is to be done?" was Mr. 
Woodhouse 's first exclamation, and all that he could say for some time. 
To her he looked for comfort; and her assurances of safety, her repre- 



8 4 o THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

sentation of the excellence of the horses, and of James, and of their having 
so many friends about them, revived him a little. 

His eldest daughter's alarm was equal to his own. The horror of being 
blocked up at Randalls, while her children were at Hartfield, was full in 
her imagination ; and fancying the road to be now just passable for adven- 
turous people, but in a state that admitted no delay, she was eager to have 
it settled, that her father and Emma should remain at Randalls, while she 
and her husband set forward instantly, through all the possible accumu- 
lations of drifted snow that might impede them. 

"You had better order the carriage directly, my love," said she ; "I dare 
say we shall be able to get along, if we set off directly ; and if we do come 
to anything very bad, I can get out and walk. I am not at all afraid. I 
should not mind walking half the way. I could change my shoes, you 
know, the moment I got home ; and it is not the sort of thing that gives 
me cold." 

"Indeed!" replied he. "Then, my dear Isabella, it is the most extraor- 
dinary sort of thing in the world, for in general everything does give you 
cold. Walk home! You are prettily shod for walking home, I dare say. It 
will be bad enough for the horses." 

Isabella turned to Mrs. Weston for her approbation of the plan. Mrs. 
Weston could only approve. Isabella then went to Emma; but Emma 
could not so entirely give up the hope of their being all able to get away; 
and they were still discussing the point, when Mr. Knightley, who had left 
the room immediately after his brother's first report of the snow, came 
back again, and told them that he had been out of doors to examine, and 
could answer for there not being the smallest difficulty in their getting 
home, whenever they liked it, either now or an hour hence. He had gone 
beyond the sweep some way along the Highbury road the snow was 
nowhere above half an inch deep in many places hardly enough to 
whiten the ground; a very few flakes were falling at present, but the 
clouds were parting, and there was every appearance of its being soon 
over. He had seen the coachmen, and they both agreed with him in there 
being nothing to apprehend. 

To Isabella the relief of such tidings was very great, and they were 
scarcely less acceptable to Emma on her father's account, who was imme- 
diately set as much at ease on the subject as his nervous constitution 
allowed; but the alarm that had been raised could not be appeased, so 
as to admit of any comfort for him while he continued at Randalls. He 
was satisfied of their being no present danger in returning home, but no 
assurances could convince him that it was safe to stay; and while the 
others were variously urging and recommending, Mr. Knightley and 
Emma settled it in a few brief sentences thus : 

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

"I am ready, if the others are." 

"Shall I ring the bell?" 

"Yes, do." 



EMMA 841 

And the bell was rung, and the carriages spoken for. A few minutes 
more, and Emma hoped to see one troublesome companion deposited in 
his own house, to get sober and cool, and the other recover his temper 
and happiness when this visit of hardship were over. 

The carriage came; and Mr. Woodhouse, always the first object on 
such occasions, was carefully attended to his own by Mr. Knightley and 
Mr. Weston ; but not all that either could say could prevent some renewal 
of alarm at the sight of the snow which had actually fallen, and the dis- 
covery of a much darker night than he had been prepared for. "He was 
afraid they should have a very bad drive. He was afraid poor Isabella 
would not like it. And there would be poor Emma in the carriage behind 
He did not know what they had best do. They must keep as much together 
as they could"; and James was talked to, and given a charge to go very 
slow, and wait for the other carriage. 

Isabella stepped in after her father ; John Knightley, forgetting that he 
did not belong to their party, stepped in after his wife very naturally; so 
that Emma found, on being escorted and followed into the second carriage 
by Mr. Elton, that the door was to be lawfully shut on them, and that they 
were to have a tete-a-tete drive. It would not have been the awkwardness 
of a moment, it would have been rather a pleasure, previous to the sus- 
picions of this very day; she could have talked to him of Harriet, and the 
three-quarters of a mile would have seemed but one. But now, she would 
rather it had not happened. She believed he had been drinking too much 
of Mr. Weston's good wine, and felt sure that he would want to be talking 
nonsense. 

To restrain him as much as might be, by her own manners, she was 
immediately preparing to speak, with exquisite calmness and gravity, of 
the weather and the night; but scarcely had she begun, scarcely had they 
passed the sweep-gate and joined the other carriage, than she found her 
subject cut up her hand seized her attention demanded, and Mr. Elton 
actually making violent love to her: availing himself of the precious op- 
portunity, declaring sentiments which must be already well known, hop- 
ing fearing adoring ready to die if she refused him; but flattering 
himself that his ardent attachment and unequalled love and unexampled 
passion could not fail of having some effect, and, in short, very much re- 
solved on being seriously accepted as soon as possible. It really was so. 
Without scruple without apology without much apparent diffidence, 
Mr. Elton, the lover of Harriet, was professing himself her lover. She tried 
to stop him; but vainly; he would go on, and say it all. Angry as she was, 
the thought of the moment made her resolve to restrain herself when she 
did speak. She felt that half this folly must be drunkenness, and therefore 
could hope that it might belong only to the passing hour. Accordingly, 
with a mixture of the serious and the playful, which she hoped would best 
suit his half-and-half state, she replied: 

"I am much astonished, Mr. Elton. This to me! You forget your- 



842 THEWORKSOFJA N'E AUSTEN 

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

"Miss Smith! message to Miss Smith! What could she possibly 
mean?" And he repeated her words with such assurance of accent, such 
boastful pretence of amazement, that she could not help replying with 
quickness : 

"Mr. Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct! And I can account 
for it only in one way: you are not yourself, or you could not speak either 
to me or of Harriet in such a manner. Command yourself enough to say no 
more, and I will endeavour to forget it." 

But Mr. Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate his spirits, not 
at all to confuse his intellects. He perfectly knew his own meaning ; and 
having warmly protested against her suspicion as most injurious, and 
slightly touched upon his respect for Miss Smith as her friend, but ac- 
knowledging his wonder that Miss Smith should be mentioned at all, he 
resumed the subject of his own passion, and was very urgent for a favour- 
able answer. 

As she thought less of his inebriety, she thought more of his inconstancy 
and presumption, and with fewer struggles for politeness, replied: 

"It is impossible for me to doubt any longer. You have made yourself 
too clear. Mr. Elton, my astonishment is much beyond anything I can 
express. After such behaviour as I have witnessed during the last month, 
to Miss Smith such attentions as I have been in the daily habit of ob- 
serving to be addressing me in this manner: this is an unsteadiness of 
character, indeed, which I had not supposed possible. Believe me, sir, I 
am far, very far, from gratified in being the object of such professions." 

"Good heaven!" cried Mr. Elton, "what can be the meaning of this? 
Miss Smith! I never thought of Miss Smith in the whole course of my 
existence ; never paid her any attentions, but as your friend ; never cared 
whether she were dead or alive, but as your friend. If she has fancied 
otherwise, her own wishes have misled her, and I am very sorry, extremely 
sorry. But, Miss Smith, indeed! Oh, Miss Woodhouse, who can think of 
Miss Smith when Miss Woodhouse is near? No, upon my honour, there is 
no unsteadiness of character. I have thought only of you. I protest against 
having paid the smallest attention to any one else. Everything that I have 
said or done, for many weeks past, has been with the sole view of marking 
my adoration of yourself. You cannot really seriously doubt it. No" (in 
an accent meant to be insinuating), "I am sure you have seen and under- 
stood me." 

It would be impossible to say what Emma felt on hearing this ; which of 
all her unpleasant sensations was uppermost. She was too completely 
overpowered to be immediately able to reply ; and two moments of silence 
being ample encouragement, for Mr. Elton's sanguine state of mind, he 
tried to take her hand again, as he joyously exclaimed : 

"Charming Miss Woodhouse! Allow me to interpret this interesting 
silence. It confesses that you have long understood me." 



EMMA 845 

"No, sir," cried Emma, "it confesses no such thing. So far from having 
long understood you, I have been in a most complete error with respect 
to your views, till this moment. As to myself, I am very sorry that you 
should have been giving way to any feelings. Nothing could be further 
from my wishes your attachment to my friend Harriet your pursuit 
of her (pursuit it appeared) gave me great pleasure, and I have been very 
earnestly wishing you success ; but had I supposed that she were not your 
attraction to Hartfield, I should certainly have thought you judged ill 
in making your visits so frequent. Am I to believe that you have never 
sought to recommend yourself particularly to Miss Smith that you have 
never thought seriously of her?'' 

"Never, madam," cried he, affronted in his turn; "never, I assure you. 
/ think seriously of Miss Smith ! Miss Smith is a very good sort of girl ; 
and I should be happy to see her respectably settled. I wish her extremely 
well ; and, no doubt, there are men who might not object to - Every- 
body has their level ; but as for myself, I am not, I think, quite so much at 
a loss. I need not so totally despair of an equal alliance as to be addressing 
myself to Miss Smith! No, madam, my visits to Hartfield have been for 
yourself only; and the encouragement I received " 

"Encouragement! I give you encouragement! Sir, you have been en- 
tirely mistaken in supposing it. I have seen you only as the admirer of my 
friend. In no other light could you have been more to me than a common 
acquaintance. I am exceedingly sorry; but it is well that the mistake ends 
where it does. Had the same behaviour continued, Miss Smith might have 
been led into a misconception of your views; not being aware, probably, 
any more than myself, of the very great inequality which you are so 
sensible of. But, as it is, the disappointment is single, and, I trust, will 
not be lasting. I have no thoughts of matrimony at present." 

He was too angry to say another word, her manner too decided to invite 
supplication ; and in this state of swelling resentment, and mutually deep 
mortification, they had to continue together a few minutes longer, for the 
fears of Mr. Woodhouse had confined them to a foot-pace. If there had not 
been so much anger, there would have been desperate awkwardness; but 
their straightforward emotions left no room for the little zig-zags of em- 
barrassment. Without knowing when the carriage turned into Vicarage 
Lane, or when it stopped, they found themselves, all at once, at the door 
of his house ; and he was out before another syllable passed. Emma then 
felt it indispensable to wish him a good-night. The compliment was just 
returned, coldly and proudly ; and, under indescribable irritation of spirits, 
she was then conveyed to Hartfield. 

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



844 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

and so particularly solicitous for the comfort of her father, as to seem 
if not quite ready to join him in a basin of gruel perfectly sensible of its 
being exceedingly wholesome ; and the day was concluding in peace and 
comfort to all their little party, except herself. But her mind had never 
been in such perturbation; and it needed a very strong effort to appear 
attentive and cheerful till the usual hour of separating allowed her the 
relief of quiet reflection. 



Chapter 16 

THE hair was curled, and the maid sent away, and Emma sat down to 
think and be miserable. It was a wretched business indeed. Such an over- 
throw of everything she had been wishing for. Such a development of 
everything most unwelcome! Such a blow for Harriet! that was the 
worst of all. Every part of it brought pain and humiliation of some sort or 
other ; but, compared with the evil to Harriet, all was light ; and she would 
gladly have submitted to feel yet more mistaken more in error more 
disgraced by misjudgment than she actually was, could the effects of her 
blunders have been confined to herself. 

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

How she could have been so deceived ! He protested that he had never 
thought seriously of Harriet never ! She looked back as well as she could ; 
but it was all confusion. She had taken up the idea, she supposed, and 
made everything bend to it. His manners, however, must have been un- 
marked, wavering, dubious, or she could not have been so misled. 

The picture ! How eager he had been about the picture ! And the cha- 
rade ! And a hundred other circumstances ; how clearly they had seemed 
to point at Harriet! To be sure, the charade, with its "ready wit" but 
then, the "soft eyes" in fact it suited neither; it was a jumble without 
taste or truth. Who could have seen through such thick-headed nonsense? 

Certainly she had often, especially of late, thought his manners to her- 
self unnecessarily gallant ; but it had passed as his way, as a mere error of 
judgment, of knowledge, of taste, as one proof, among others, that he had 
not always lived in the best society; that, with all the gentleness of his 
address, true elegance was sometimes wanting ; but, till this very day, she 
had never for an instant suspected it to mean anything but grateful re- 
spect to her as Harriet's friend. 

To Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first idea on the sub- 
ject, for the first start of its possibility. There was no denying that those 
brothers had penetration. She remembered what Mr. Knightley had once 
said to her about Mr. Elton, the caution he had given, the conviction he 
had professed that Mr. Elton would never marry indiscreetly ; and blushed 
to think how much truer a knowledge of his character had been there 



EMMA 845 

shown than any she had reached herself. It was dreadfully mortifying; 
but Mr. Elton was proving himself, in many respects, the very reverse of 
what she had meant and believed him proud, assuming, conceited; very 
full of his own claims, and little concerned about the feelings of others. 

Contrary to the usual course of things, Mr. Elton's wanting to pay his 
addresses to her had sunk him in her opinion. His professions and his pro- 
posals did him no service. She thought nothing of his attachment, and was 
insulted by his hopes. He wanted to marry well, and having the arrogance 
to raise his eyes to her, pretended to be in love ; but she was perfectly easy 
as to his not suffering any disappointment that need be cared for. There 
had been no real affection either in his language or manners. Sighs and 
fine words had been given in abundance ; but she could hardly devise any 
set of expressions, or fancy any tone of voice, less allied with real love. 
She need not trouble herself to pity him. He only wanted to aggrandise 
and enrich himself; and if Miss Woodhouse of Hartfield, the heiress of 
thirty thousand pounds, were not quite so easily obtained as he had 
fancied, he would soon try for Miss Somebody-else with twenty, or with 
ten. 

But, that he should talk of encouragement, should consider her as aware 
of his views, accepting his attentions, meaning, in short, to marry him! 
should suppose himself her equal in connection or mind ! look down upon 
her friend, so well understanding the gradations of rank below him, and 
be so blind to what rose above, as to fancy himself showing no presump- 
tion in addressing her! it was most provoking. 

Perhaps it was not fair to expect him to feel how very much he was 
her inferior in talent, and all the elegancies of mind. -The very want of such 
equality might prevent his perception of it; but he must know that in 
fortune and consequence she was greatly his superior. He must know that 
the Woodhouses had been settled for several generations at Hartfield, the 
younger branch of a very ancient family, and that the Eltons were nobody. 
The landed property of Hartfield certainly was inconsiderable, being but 
a sort of notch in the Donwell Abbey estate, to which all the rest of High- 
bury belonged ; but their fortune, from other sources, was such as to make 
them scarcely secondary to Donwell Abbey itself, in every other kind of 
consequence ; and the Woodhouses had long held a high place in the con- 
sideration of the neighbourhood which Mr. Elton had first entered not 
two years ago, to make his way as he could, without any alliances but in 
trade, or anything to recommend him to notice but his situation and his 
civility. But he had fancied her in love with him ; that evidently must have 
been his dependence; and after raving a little about the seeming incon- 
gruity of gentle manners and a conceited head, Emma was obliged in 
common honesty, to stop and admit that her own behaviour to him had 
been so complaisant and obliging, so full of courtesy and attention, as 
(supposing her real motive unperceived) might warrant a man of ordinary 
observation and delicacy, like Mr. Elton, in fancying himself a very de- 
cided favourite. If she had so misinterpreted his feelings, she had little 



846 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

right to wonder that he, with self-interest to blind him, should have mis- 
taken hers. 

The first error, and the worst, lay at her door. It was foolish, it was 
wrong, to take so active a part in bringing any two people together. It was 
adventuring too far, assuming too much, making light of what ought to 
be serious a trick of what ought to be simple. She was quite concerned 
and ashamed, and resolved to do such things no more. 

"Here have I," said she, "actually talked poor Harriet into being very 
much attached to this man. She might never have thought of him but for 
me; and certainly never would have thought of him with hope, if I had 
not assured her of his attachment, for she is as modest and humble as I 
used to think him. Oh, that I had been satisfied with persuading her not 
to accept young Martin. There I was quite right: that was well done of 
me ; but there I should have stopped, and left the rest to time and chance. 
I was introducing her into good company, and giving her the opportunity 
of pleasing someone worth having ; I ought not to have attempted more. 
But now, poor girl ! her peace is cut up for some time. I have been but half 
a friend to her! and if she were not to feel this disappointment so very 
much, I am sure I have not an idea of anybody else who would be at all 
desirable for her. William Coxe oh, no, I could not endure William Coxe 
a pert young lawyer." 

She stopped to blush and laugh at her own relapse, and then resumed a 
more serious, more dispiriting cogitation upon what had been, and might 
be, and must be. The distressing explanation she had to make to Harriet, 
and all that poor Harriet would be suffering, with the awkwardness of 
future meetings, the -difficulties of continuing or discontinuing the ac- 
quaintance, of subduing feelings, concealing resentment, and avoiding 
eclat, were enough to occupy her in most unmirthful reflections some time 
longer, and she went to bed at last with nothing settled but the conviction 
of her having blundered most dreadfully. 

To youth and natural cheerfulness like Emma's, though under tempo- 
rary gloom at night, the return of day will hardly fail to bring return of 
spirits. The youth and cheerfulness of morning are in happy analogy, and 
of powerful operation ; and if the distress be not poignant enough to keep 
the eyes unclosed, they will be sure to open to sensations of softened pain 
and brighter hope. 

Emma got up on the morrow more disposed for comfort than she had 
gone to bed; more ready to see alleviations of the evil before her, and to 
depend on getting tolerably out of it. 

It was a great consolation that Mr. Elton should not be really in love 
with her, or so particularly amiable as to make it shocking to disappoint 
him; that Harriet's nature should not be of that superior sort in which 
the feelings are most acute and retentive; and that there could be no 
necessity for anybody's knowing what had passed except the three prin- 
cipals, and especially for her father's being given a moment's uneasiness 
about it. 



EMMA 847 

These were very cheering thoughts; and the sight of a great deal of 
snow on the ground did her further service, for anything was welcome 
that might justify their all three being quite asunder at present. 

The weather was most favourable for her ; though Christmas Day, she 
could not go to church. Mr. Woodhouse would have been miserable had 
his daughter attempted it, and she was therefore safe from either exciting 
or receiving unpleasant and most unsuitable ideas. The ground covered 
with snow, and the atmosphere in that unsettled state between frost and 
thaw which is, of all others, the most unfriendly for exercise, every morn- 
ing beginning in rain or snow, and every evening setting in to freeze, she 
was for many days a most honourable prisoner. No intercourse with 
Harriet possible but by note ; no church for her on Sunday any more than 
on Christmas Day; and no need to find excuses for Mr. Elton's absenting 
himself. 

It was weather which might fairly confine everybody at home; and 
though she hoped and believed him to be really taking comfort in some 
society or other, it was very pleasant to have her father so well satisfied 
with his being all alone in his own house, too wise to stir out ; and to hear 
him say to Mr, Knightley, whom no weather could keep entirely from 
them: 

"Ah, Mr. Knightley, why do not you stay at home like poor Mr. Elton?" 

These days of confinement would have been, but for her private per- 
plexities, remarkably comfortable, as such seclusion exactly suited her 
brother, whose feelings must always be of great importance to his com- 
panions ; and he had, besides, so thoroughly cleared off his ill-humour at 
Randalls, that his amiableness never failed him during the rest of his stay 
at Hartfield. He was always agreeable and obliging, and speaking pleas- 
antly of everybody. But with all the hopes of cheerfulness, and all the 
present comfort of delay, there was still such an evil hanging over her in 
the hour of explanation with Harriet, as made it impossible for Emma to 
be ever perfectly at ease. 



Chapter 17 

MR. AND MRS. JOHN KNIGHTLEY were not detained long at Hartfield. 
The weather soon improved enough for those to move who must move ; 
and Mr. Woodhouse having, as usual, tried to persuade his daughter to 
stay behind with all her children, was obliged to see the whole party set 
off, and return to his lamentations over the destiny of poor Isabella 
which poor Isabella, passing her life with those she doted on, full of their 
merits, blind to their faults, and always innocently busy, might have been 
a model of right feminine happiness. 

The evening of the very day on which they went brought a note from 
Mr. Elton to Mr. Woodhouse, a long, civil, ceremonious note, to say, with 
Mr. Elton's best compliments, "that he was proposing to leave Highbury 



848 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

the following morning in his way to Bath ; where, in compliance with the 
pressing entreaties of some friends, he had engaged to spend a few weeks ; 
and very much regretted the impossibility he was under, from various 
circumstances of weather and business, of taking a personal leave of Mr. 
Woodhouse, of whose friendly civilities he should ever retain a grateful 
sense; and had Mr. Woodhouse any commands, should be happy to attend 
to them." 

Emma was most agreeably surprised. Mr. Elton's absence just at this 
time was the very thing to be desired. She admired him for contriving it, 
though not able to give him much credit for the manner in which it was 
announced. Resentment could not have been more plainly spoken than 
in a civility to her father, from which she was so pointedly excluded. She 
had not even a share in his opening compliments. Her name was not men- 
tioned; and there was so striking a change in all this, and such an ill- 
judged solemnity of leavetaking in his graceful acknowledgments, as she 
thought, at first, could not escape her father's suspicion. 

It did, however. Her father was quite taken up with the surprise of so 
sudden a journej', and his fears that Mr. Elton might never get safely to 
the end of it, and saw nothing extraordinary in his language. It -^as a very 
useful note, for it supplied them with fresh matter for thought and con- 
versation during the rest of their lonely evening. Mr. Woodhouse talked 
over his alarms, and Emma was in spirits to persuade them away with all 
her usual promptitude. 

She now resolved to keep Harriet no longer in the dark. She had reason 
to believe her nearly recovered from her cold, and it was desirable that 
she should have as much time as possible for getting the better of her 
other complaint before the gentleman's return. She went to Mrs. God- 
dard's, accordingly, the very next day, to undergo the necessary penance of 
communication; and a severe one it was. She had to destroy all the hopes 
which she had been so industriously feeding, to appear in the ungracious 
character of the one preferred, and acknowledge herself grossly mistaken 
and misjudging in all her ideas on one subject, all her observations, all her 
convictions, all her prophecies for the last six weeks. 

The confession completely renewed her first shame, and the sight of 
Harriet's tears made her think that she should never be in charity with 
herself again. 

Harriet bore the intelligence very well, blaming nobody, and in every- 
thing testifying such an ingenuousness of disposition and lowly opinion 
of herself as must appear with particular advantage at that moment to 
her friend. 

Emma was in the humour to value simplicity and modesty to the ut- 
most ; and all that was amiable, all that ought to be attaching, seemed on 
Harriet's side, not her own. Harriet did not consider herself as having 
anything to complain of. The affection of such a man as Mr. Elton would 
have been too great a distinction. She never could have deserved him ; and 



EMMA 849 

nobody but so partial and kind a friend as Miss Woodhouse would have 
thought it possible. 

Her tears fell abundantly; but her grief was so truly artless, that no 
dignity could have made it more respectable in Emma's eyes; and she 
listened to her, and tried to console her with all her heart and under- 
standing really for the time convinced that Harriet was the superior 
creature of the two, and that to resemble her would be more for her own 
welfare and happiness than all that genius or intelligence could do. 

It was rather too late in the day to set about being simpleminded and 
ignorant; but she left her with every previous resolution confirmed of 
being humble and discreet, and repressing imagination all the rest of her 
life. Her second duty now, inferior only to her father's claims, was to 
promote Harriet's comfort, and endeavour to prove her own affection in 
some better method than by match-making. She got her to Hartfield, and 
showed her the most unvarying kindness, striving to occupy and amuse 
her, and by books and conversation to drive Mr. Elton from her thoughts. 

Time, she knew, must be allowed for this being thoroughly done; and 
she could suppose herself but an indifferent judge of such matters in 
general, and very inadequate to sympathise in an attachment to Mr. 
Elton in particular; but it seemed to her reasonable that at Harriet's age, 
and with the entire extinction of all hope, such a progress might be made 
towards a state of composure by the time of Mr. Elton's return, as to 
allow them all to meet again in the common routine of acquaintance, 
without any danger of betraying sentiments or increasing them. 

Harriet did think him all perfection, and maintain the non-existence of 
anybody equal to him in person or goodness, and did, in truth, prove 
herself more resolutely in love than Emma had foreseen; but yet it ap- 
peared to her so natural, so inevitable to strive against an inclination of 
that sort unrequited, that she could not comprehend its continuing very 
long in equal force. 

If Mr. Elton, on his return, made his own indifference as evident and 
indubitable as she could not doubt he would anxiously do, she could not 
imagine Harriet's persisting to place her happiness in the sight or the 
recollection of him. 

Their being fixed, so absolutely fixed, in the same place, was bad for 
each, for all three. Not' one of them had the power of removal, or of 
effecting any material change of society. They must encounter each other, 
and make the best of it. 

Harriet was further unfortunate in the tone of her companions at Mrs. 
Goddard's, Mr. Elton being the adoration of all the teachers and great 
girls in the school ; and it must be at Hartfield only that she could have 
any chance of hearing him spoken of with cooling moderation or repellent 
truth. Where the wound had been given, there must the cure be found, if 
anywhere ; and Emma felt that till she saw her in the way of cure, there 
couid be no true peace for herself. 



850 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Chapter 18 

MR. FRANK CHURCHILL did not come. When the time proposed drew 
near, Mrs. Weston's fears were justified in the arrival of a letter of 
excuse. For the present, he could not be spared, to his "very great mortifi- 
cation and regret; but still he looked forward with the hope of coming 
to Randalls at no distant period." 

Mrs. Weston was exceedingly disappointed much more disappointed, 
in fact, than her husband, though her dependence on seeing the young 
man had been so much more sober; but a sanguine temper, though for 
ever expecting more good than occurs, does not always pay for its hopes 
by any proportionate depression. It soon flies over the present failure, 
and begins to hope again. For half an hour Mr. Weston was surprised and 
sorry; but then he began to perceive that Frank's coming two or three 
months later would be a much better plan, better time of year, better 
weather; and that he would be able, without any doubt, to stay consider- 
ably longer with them than if he had come sooner. 

These feelings rapidly restored his comfort, while Mrs. Weston, of a 
more apprehensive disposition, foresaw nothing but a repetition of ex- 
cuses and delays; and after all her concern for what her husband was 
to suffer, suffered a great deal more herself. 

Emma was not, at this time, in a state of spirits to care really about 
Mr. Frank Churchill's not coming, except as a disappointment at 
Randalls. The acquaintance, at present, had no charm for her. She 
wanted rather to be quiet and out of temptation ; but still, as it was de- 
sirable that she should appear, in general, like her usual self, she took 
care to express as much interest in the circumstance, and enter as warmly 
into Mr. and Mrs. Weston's disappointment as might naturally belong 
to their friendship. 

She was the first to announce it to Mr. Knightley; and exclaimed 
quite as much as was necessary (or, being acting a part, perhaps rather 
more), at the conduct of the Churchills in keeping him away. She then 
proceeded to say a good deal more than she felt of the advantage of 
such an addition to their confined society in Surrey; the pleasure of 
looking at somebody new; the gala-day to Highbury entire, which the 
sight of him would have made; and ending with reflections on the 
Churchills again, found herself directly involved in a disagreement with 
Mr. Knightley; and, to her great amusement, perceived that she was 
taking the other side of the question from her real opinion, and making 
use of Mrs. Weston's arguments against herself. 

"The Churchills are very likely in fault," said Mr. Knightley coolly; 
"but I dare say he might come if he would." 

"I do not know why you should say so. He wishes exceedingly to 
come; but his uncle and aunt will not spare him." 

"I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming, if he made a 



EMMA 551 

point of it. It is too unlikely for me to believe it without proof." 

"How odd you are! What has Mr. Frank Churchill done, to make you 
suppose him such an unnatural creature?" 

"I am not supposing him at all an unnatural creature in suspecting 
that he may have learnt to be above his connections, and to care 
very little for anything but his own pleasure, from living with those 
who have always set him the example of it. It is a great deal more natural 
than one could wish, that a young man, brought up by those who are 
proud, luxurious, and selfish, should be proud, luxurious, and selfish too. 
If Frank Churchill had wanted to see his father, he would have con- 
trived it between September and January. A man at his age what is 
he? three or four-and- twenty cannot be without the means of doing 
as much as that. It is impossible." 

"That's easily said, and easily felt by you, who have always been 
your own master. You are the worst judge in the world, Mr. Knightley, 
of the difficulties of dependence. You do not know what it is to have 
tempers to manage." 

"It is not to be conceived that a man of three or four-and- twenty 
should not have liberty of mind or limb to that amount. He cannot 
want money, he cannot want leisure. We know, on the contrary, that 
he has so much of both, that he is glad to get rid of them at the idlest 
haunts in the kingdom. We hear of him for ever at some watering-place 
or other; a little while ago he was at Weymouth. This proves that he 
can leave the Churchills." 

"Yes, sometimes, he can." 

"And those times are, whenever he thinks it worth his while ; whenever 
there is any temptation of pleasure." 

"It is very unfair to judge of anybody's conduct without an intimate 
knowledge of their situation. Nobody, who has not been in the interior 
of a family, can say what the difficulties of any individual of that family 
may be. We ought to be acquainted with Enscombe, and with Mrs. 
Churchill's temper before we pretend to decide upon what her nephew 
can do. He may, at times, be able to do a great deal more than he can 
at others." 

"There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always do, if he chooses, 
and that is, his duty; not by manoeuvring and finessing, but by vigour 
and resolution. It is Frank Churchill's duty to pay this attention to his 
father. He knows it to be so, by his promises and messages; but if he 
wished to do it, it might be done. A man who felt rightly would say 
at once, simply and resolutely, to Mrs. Churchill, 'Every sacrifice of 
mere pleasure you will always find me ready to make to your con- 
venience; but I must go and see my father immediately. I know he 
would be hurt by my failing in such a mark of respect to him on the 
present occasion. I shall, therefore, set off to-morrow.' If he would say 
so to her at once in the tone of decision becoming a man, there would 
be no opposition made to his going." 



852 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"No," said Emma, laughing, "but perhaps there might be some made 
to his coming back again. Such language for a young man entirely de- 
pendent to use! Nobody but you, Mr. Knightley, would imagine it 
possible; but you have not an idea of what is requisite in situations 
directly opposite to your own. Mr. Frank Churchill to be making such 
a speech as that to the uncle and aunt who have brought him up, and 
are to provide for him! standing up in the middle of the room, I sup- 
pose, and speaking as loud as he could! How can you imagine such 
conduct practicable?" 

"Depend upon it, Emma, a sensible man would find no difficulty in 
it. He would feel himself in the right; and the declaration, made, of 
course, as a man of sense would make it, in a proper manner, would 
do him more good, raise him higher, fix his interest stronger with the 
people he depended on, than all that a line of shifts and expedients 
can ever do. Respect would be added to affection. They would feel that 
they could trust him; that the nephew who had done rightly by his 
father would do rightly by them; for they know as well as he does, as 
well as all the world must know, that he ought to pay this visit to his 
father; and while meanly exerting their power to delay it are in their 
hearts not thinking the better of him for submitting to their whims. 
Respect for right conduct is felt by everybody: if he would act in this 
sort of manner on principle, consistently, regularly, their little minds 
would bend to his." 

"I rather doubt that. You are very fond of bending little minds; but 
where little minds belong to rich people in authority, I think they have a 
knack of swelling out till they are quite as unmanageable as great ones. 
I can imagine that if you, as you are, Mr. Knightley, were to be trans- 
ported and placed all at once in Mr. Frank Churchill's situation, you 
would be able to say and do just what you have been recommending 
for him; and it might have a very good effect. The Churchills might 
not have a word to say in return; but then you would have no habits 
of early obedience and long observance to break through. To him who 
has, it might not be so easy to burst forth at once into perfect inde- 
pendence, and set all their claims on his gratitude and regard at nought. 
He may have as strong a sense of what would be right as you can 
have, without being so equal, under particular circumstances, to act 
up to it." 

"Then it would not be so strong a sense. If it failed to produce equal 
exertion, it could not be an equal conviction." 

"Oh the difference of situation and habit! I wish you would try to 
understand what an amiable young man may be likely to feel in directly 
opposing those whom, as child and boy, he has been looking up to all 
his life." 

"Your amiable young man is a very weak young man, if this be the 
first occasion of his carrying through a resolution to do right against 
the will of others. It ought to have been a habit with him, by this time, 



EMMA 853 

of following his duty, instead of consulting expediency. I can allow 
for the fears of the child, but not of the man. As he became rational, 
he ought to have roused himself, and shaken off all that was unworthy 
in their authority. He ought to have opposed the first attempt on their 
side to make him slight his father. Had he begun as he ought, there 
would have been no difficulty now." 

"We shall never agree about him," cried Emma; "but that is nothing 
extraordinary. I have not the least idea of his being a weak young man ; 
I feel sure that he is not. Mr. Weston would not be blind to folly, 
though in his own son; but he is very likely to have a more yielding, 
complying, mild disposition than would suit your notions of man's per- 
fection. I dare say he has; and though it may cut him off from some 
advantages, it will secure him many others." 

"Yes; all the advantages of sitting still when he ought to move, and 
of leading a life of mere idle pleasure, and fancying himself extremely 
expert in finding excuses for it. He can sit down and write a fine flourish- 
ing letter, full of professions and falsehoods, and persuade himself that 
he has hit upon the very best method in the world of preserving peace 
at home, and preventing his father's having any right to complain. His 
letters disgust me." 

"Your feelings are singular. They seem to satisfy everybody else." 

"I suspect they do not satisfy Mrs. Weston. They hardly can satisfy 
a woman of her good sense and quick feelings: standing in a mother's 
place, but without a mother's affection to blind her. It is on her account 
that attention to Randalls is doubly due, and she must doubly feel the 
omission. Had she been a person of consequence herself he would have 
come, I dare say! and it would not have signified whether he did or no. 
Can you think your friend behind-hand in these sort of considerations? 
Do you suppose she does not often say all this to herself? No, Emma; 
your amiable young man can be amiable only in French, not in English. 
He may be very 'amiable/ have very good manners, and be very 
agreeable; but he can have no English delicacy towards the feelings of 
other people nothing really amiable about him." 

"You seem determined to think ill of him." 

"Me! not at all," replied Mr. Knightley, rather displeased; "I do not 
want to think ill of him. I should be as ready to acknowledge his merits 
as any other man ; but I hear of none, except what are merely personal 
that he is well-grown and good-looking, with smooth, plausible manners." 

"Well, if he have nothing else to recommend him, he will be a treasure 
at Highbury. We do not often look upon fine young men, well-bred and 
agreeable. We must not be nice, and ask for all the virtues into the bar- 
gain. Cannot you imagine, Mr. Knightley, what a sensation his coming 
will produce? There will be but one subject throughout the parishes of 
Donwell and Highbury; but one interest one object of curiosity; it will 
be all Mr. Frank Churchill; we shall think and speak of nobody else." 

"You will excuse my being so much overpowered. If I find him con- 



854 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

versable, I shall be glad of his acquaintance; but if he is only a chat- 
tering coxcomb, he will not occupy much of my time or thoughts." 

"My idea of him is, that he can adapt his conversation to the taste of 
everybody, and has the power as well as the wish of being universally 
agreeable. To you, he will talk of farming; to me, of drawing or music; 
and so on to everybody, having that general information on all subjects 
which will enable him to follow the lead, or take the lead, just as pro- 
priety may require, and to speak extremely well on each; that is my 
idea of him." 

"And mine," said Mr. Knightley warmly, "is, that if he turn out 
anything like it, he will be the most insufferable fellow breathing! What! 
at three-and-twenty to be the king of his company the great man 
the practised politician, who is to read everybody's character, and make 
everybody's talents conduce to the display of his own superiority; to be 
dispensing his flatteries around, that he may make all appear like fools 
compared with himself ! My dear Emma, your own good sense could not 
endure such a puppy when it came to the point." 

"I will say no more about him," cried Emma "you turn everything 
to evil. We are both prejudiced! you against, I for him; and we have 
no chance of agreeing till he is really here." 

"Prejudiced! I am not prejudiced." 

"But I am very much, and without being at all ashamed of it. My 
love for Mr. and Mrs. Weston gives me a decided prejudice in his 
favour." 

"He is a person I never think of from one month's end to another," 
said Mr. Knightley, with a degree of vexation, which made Emma imme- 
diately talk of something else, though she could not comprehend why 
he should be angry. 

To take a dislike to a young man, only because he appeared to be of a 
different disposition from himself, was unworthy the real liberality of 
mind which she was always used to acknowledge in him; for, with all 
the high opinion of himself which she had often laid to his charge she 
had never before for a moment supposed it could make him unjust to 
the merit of another. 



Chapter 19 

EMMA and Harriet had been walking together one morning, and, in 
Emma's opinion, had been talking enough of Mr. Elton for that day. 
She could not think that Harriet's solace or her own sins required more; 
and she was therefore industriously getting rid of the subject as they 
returned, but it burst out again when she thought she had succeeded, 
and after speaking some time of what the poor must suffer in winter, 
and receiving no other answer than a very plaintive "Mr. Elton is so 
good to the poor!" she found something else must be done. 



EMMA 855 

They were just approaching the house where lived Mrs. and Miss Bates. 
She determined to call upon them, and seek safety in numbers. There was 
always sufficient reason for such an attention ; Mrs. and Miss Bates loved 
to be called on ; and she knew she was considered by the very few who 
presumed ever to see imperfection in her, as rather negligent in that 
respect, and as not contributing what she ought to the stock of their 
scanty comforts. 

She had had many a hint from Mr. Knightley, and some from her own 
heart, as to her deficiency, but none were equal to counteract the per- 
suasion of its being very disagreeable a waste of time tiresome women 
and all the horror of being in danger of falling in with the second rate 
and third rate of Highbury, who were calling on them for ever, and 
therefore she seldom went near them. But now she made the sudden 
resolution of not passing their door without going in; observing, as she 
proposed it to Harriet, that, as well as she could calculate, they were 
just now quite safe from any letter from Jane Fairfax. 

The house belonged to people in business. Mrs. and Miss Bates occu- 
pied the drawing-room floor; and there, in the very moderate-sized 
apartment, which was everything to them, the visitors were most cor- 
dially and even gratefully welcomed ; the quiet, neat old lady, who with 
her knitting was seated in the warmest corner, wanting even to give up 
her place to Miss Woodhouse, and her more active, talking daughter 
almost ready to overpower them with care and kindness, thanks for 
their visit, solicitude for their shoes, anxious inquiries after Mr. Wood- 
house's health; cheerful communications about her mother's, and sweet- 
cake from the buffet: "Mrs. Cole had just been there, just called in 
for ten minutes, and had been so good as to sit an hour with them, and 
she had taken a piece of cake, and been so kind as to say she liked it 
very much; and, therefore, she hoped Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith 
would do them the favour to eat a piece too." 

The mention of the Coles was sure to be followed by that of Mr. Elton. 
There was intimacy between them, and Mr. Cole had heard from Mr. 
Elton since his going away. Emma knew what was coming: they must 
have the letter over again, and settle how long he had been gone, and 
how much he was engaged in company, and what a favourite he was 
wherever he went, and how full the Master of the Ceremonies' ball had 
been; and she went through it very well, with all the interest and all 
the commendation that could be requisite, and always putting forward 
to prevent Harriet's being obliged to say a word. 

This she had been prepared for when she entered the house; but 
meant, having once talked him handsomely over, to be no further in- 
commoded by any troublesome topic, and to wander at large amongst 
all the Mistresses and Misses of Highbury, and their card-parties. She 
had not been prepared to have Jane Fairfax succeed Mr. Elton ; but he 
was actually hurried off by Miss Bates; she jumped away from him 
at last abruptly to the Coles, to usher in a letter from her niece. 



856 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"Oh yes Mr. Elton, I understand certainly as to dancing Mrs. 
Cole was telling me that dancing at the rooms at Bath was Mrs. Cole 
was so kind as to sit some time with us, talking of Jane; for as soon as 
she came in she began inquiring after her, Jane is so very great a 
favourite there. Whenever she is with us, Mrs. Cole does not know how 
to show her kindness enough; and I must say that Jane deserves it as 
much as anybody can. And so she began inquiring after her directly, 
saying, 'I know you cannot have heard from Jane lately, because it is 
not her time for writing;' and when I immediately said, 'But indeed we 
have, we had a letter this very morning,' I do not know that I ever saw 
anybody more surprised. 'Have you, upon your honour?' she said; 'well, 
that is quite unexpected. Do let me hear what she says.' " 

Emma's politeness was at hand directly, to say, with smiling interest: 

"Have you heard from Miss Fairfax so lately? I am extremely 
happy. I hope she is well?" 

"Thank you. You are so kind!" replied the happily deceived aunt, 
while eagerly hunting for the letter. "Oh, here it is. I was sure it could 
not be far off; but I had put my housewife upon it, you see, without 
being aware, and so it was quite hid; but I had it in my hand so very 
lately that I was almost sure it must be on the table. I was reading it 
to Mrs. Cole, and, since she went away, I was reading it again to my 
mother, for it is such a pleasure to her a letter from Jane that she 
can never hear it often enough; so I knew it could not be far off, and 
here it is, only just under my housewife and since you are so kind 
as to wish to hear what she says but, first of all, I really must, in 
justice to Jane, apologise for her writing so short a letter only two 
pages, you see hardly two, and in general she fills the whole paper and 
crosses half. My mother often wonders that I can make it out so well. 
She often says, when the letter is first opened, 'Well, Hetty, now I think 
you will be put to it to make out all that checker-work' don't you, 
ma'am? And then I tell her, I am sure she would contrive to make it out 
herself, if she had nobody to do it for her, every word of it I am sure 
she would pore over it till she had made out every word. And, indeed, 
though my mother's eyes are not so good as they were, she can see 
amazingly well still, thank God! with the help of spectacles. It is such 
a blessing! My mother's are really very good indeed. Jane often says, 
when she is here, 'I am sure, grandmamma, you must have had very 
strong eyes to see as you do, and so much fine work as you have done 
too! I only wish my eyes may last me as well.' ' : 

All this, spoken extremely fast, obliged Miss Bates to stop for breath; 
and Emma said something very civil about the excellence of Miss Fair- 
fax's handwriting. 

"You are extremely kind," replied Miss Bates, highly gratified; "you, 
who are such a judge, and write so beautifully yourself. I am sure there 
is nobody's praise that could give us so much pleasure as Miss Wood- 
house's. My mother does not hear; she is a little deaf, you know. Ma'am," 



EMMA 857 

addressing her, "do you hear what Miss Woodhouse is so obliging to say 
about Jane's handwriting?" 

And Emma had the advantage of hearing her own silly compliment 
repeated twice over before the good old lady could comprehend it. She was 
pondering, in the meanwhile, upon the possibility, without seeming very 
rude, of making her escape from Jane Fairfax's letter, and had almost 
resolved on hurrying away directly, under some slight excuse when Miss 
Bates turned to her again and seized her attention. 

"My mother's deafness is very trifling, you see, just nothing at all. By 
only raising my voice, and saying anything two or three times over, she is 
sure to hear ; but then she is used to my voice. But it is very remarkable 
that she should always hear Jane better than she does me. Jane speaks so 
distinct ! However, she will not find her grandmamma at all deafer than she 
was two years ago ; which is saying a great deal at my mother's time of 
life; and it really is full two years, you know, since she was here. We never 
were so long without seeing her before ; and, as I was telling Mrs. Cole, we 
shall hardly know how to make enough of her now." 

"Are you expecting Miss Fairfax here soon?" 

"Oh, yes; next week." 

"Indeed! that must be a very great pleasure." 

"Thank you. You are very kind. Yes, next week. Everybody is so sur- 
prised ; and everybody says the same obliging things. I am sure she will 
be as happy to see her friends at Highbury as they can be to see her. Yes, 
Friday or Saturday ; she cannot say which, because Colonel Campbell will 
be wanting the carriage himself one of those days. So very good of them 
to send her the whole way! But they always do, you know. Oh, yes, Friday 
or Saturday next. That is what she writes about. That is the reason of her 
writing out of rule, as we call it ; for, in the common course, we should not 
have heard from her before next Tuesday or Wednesday." 

"Yes, so I imagined. I was afraid there could be little chance of my 
hearing anything of Miss Fairfax to-day." 

"So obliging of you! No, we should not have heard, if it had not been 
for this particular circumstance, of her being to come here so soon. My 
mother is so delighted ! for she is to be three months with us at least. Three 
months, she says so, positively, as I am going to have the pleasure of 
reading to you. The case is, you see, that the Campbells are going to 
Ireland. Mrs. Dixon has persuaded her father and mother to come over 
and see her directly. They had not intended t ) go over till the summer, 
but she is so impatient to see them again ; for till she married, last October, 
she was never away from them so much as a week, which must make it 
very strange to be in different kingdoms, I was going to say, but, however, 
different countries, and so she wrote a very urgent letter to her mother, or 
her father. I declare I do not know which it was, but we shall see presently 
in Jane's letter wrote in Mr. Dixon's name as well as her own, to press 
their coming over directly; and they would give them the meeting in 
Dublin, and take them back to their country-seat, Baly-craig^a beautiful 



8s8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

place, I fancy. Jane has heard a great deal of its beauty from Mr. Dixon, 
I mean I do not know that she ever heard about it from anybody else 
but it was very natural, you know, that he should like to speak of his own 
place while he was paying his addresses and as Jane used to be very 
often walking out with them for Colonel and Mrs. Campbell were very 
particular about their daughter's not walking out often with only Mr. 
Dixon, for which I do not at all blame them; of course she heard every- 
thing he might be telling Miss Campbell about his own home in Ireland; 
and I think she wrote us word that he had shown them some drawing of the 
place, views that he had taken himself. He is a most amiable, charming 
young man, I believe. Jane was quite longing to go to Ireland, from his 
account of things." 

At this moment, an ingenious and animating suspicion entering Emma's 
brain with regard to Jane Fairfax, this charming Mr. Dixon, and the not 
going to Ireland, she said, with the insidious design of further discovery: 

"You must feel it very fortunate that Miss Fairfax should be allowed 
to come to you at such a time. Considering the very particular friendship 
between her and Mrs. Dixon you could hardly have expected her to be 
excused from accompanying Colonel and Mrs. Campbell." 

"Very true, very true, indeed. The very thing that we have always been 
rather afraid of ; for we should not have liked to have her at such a distance 
from us, for months together, not able to come if anything was to hap- 
pen; but you see everything turns out for the best. They want her (Mr. 
and Mrs. Dixon) excessively to come over with Colonel and Mrs. Camp- 
bell; quite depend upon it; nothing can be more kind or pressing than 
their joint invitation Jane says, as you will hear presently. Mr. Dixon does 
not seem in the least backward in any attention. He is a most charming 
young man. Ever since the service he rendered Jane at Weymouth, when 
they were out in that party on the water, and she, by the sudden whirling 
round of something or other among the sails, would have been dashed into 
the sea at once, and actually was all but gone, if he had not with the 
greatest presence of mind, caught hold of her habit, I can never think of it 
without trembling! but ever since we had the history of that day, I have 
been so fond of Mr. Dixon!" 

"But in spite of all her friends' urgency, and her own wish of seeing 
Ireland, Miss Fairfax prefers devoting the time to you and Mrs. Bates?" 

"Yes entirely her own doing, entirely her own choice ; and Colonel and 
Mrs. Campbell think she does quite right, just what they should recom- 
mend ; and indeed they particularly wish her to try her native air, as she 
has not been quite so well as usual lately." 

"I am concerned to hear it. I think they judge wisely; but Mrs. Dixon 
must be very much disappointed. Mrs. .Dixon, I understand, has no 
remarkable degree of personal beauty is not, by any means, to be 
compared with Miss Fairfax?" 

"Oh, no. You are very obliging to say such things, but certainly not; 



EMMA 859. 

there is no comparison between them. Miss Campbell always was ab- 
solutely plain, but extremely elegant and amiable." 

"Yes, that of course." 

"Jane caught a bad cold, poor thing! so long ago as the yth of November 
(as I am going to read to you) , and has never been well since. A long time,, 
is it not, for a cold to hang upon her? She never mentioned it before, 
because she would not alarm us. Just like her! so considerate! But, how- 
ever, she is so far from well, that her kind friends the Campbells think she 
had better come home, and try an air that always agrees with her: and 
they have no doubt that three or four months at Highbury will entirely 
cure her ; and it is certainly a great deal better that she should come here 
than go to Ireland, if she is unwell. Nobody could nurse her as we 
should do." 

"It appears to me the most desirable arrangement in the world." 

"And so she is to come to us next Friday or Saturday, and the Camp^ 
bells leave town in their way to Holyhead the Monday following, as you 
will find from Jane's letter. So sudden! You may guess, dear Miss Wood- 
house, what a flurry it has thrown me in. If it was not for the drawback 
of her illness but I am afraid we must expect to see her grown thin, and 
looking very poorly. I must tell you what an unlucky thing happened to 
me as to that. I always make a point of reading Jane's letters through to 
myself first, before I read them aloud to my mother, you know, for fear 
of there being anything in them to distress her. Jane desired me to do it, 
so I always do! and so I began to-day with my usual caution: but nc 
sooner did I come to the mention of her being unwell, than I burst out, 
quite frightened, with 'Bless me! poor Jane is ill!' which my mother, 
being on the watch, heard distinctly, and was sadly alarmed at. How- 
ever, when I read on, I found it was not near so bad as I had fancied at 
first ; and I make so light of it now to her that she does not think much 
about it: but I cannot imagine how I could be so off my guard. If Jane 
does not get well soon, we will call in Mr. Perry. The expense shall not 
be thought of ; and though he is so liberal and so fond of Jane, that I dare 
say he would not mean to charge anything for attendance, we could not 
suffer it to be so, you know. He has a wife and family to maintain, and 
is not to be giving away his time. Well, now I have just given you a hint 
of what Jane writes about, we will turn to her letter, and I am sure she 
tells her own story a great deal better than I can tell it for her." 

"I am afraid we must be running away," said Emma, glancing at 
Harriet, and beginning to rise, "my father will be expecting us. I had no 
intention, I thought I had no power, of staying more than five minutes, 
when I first entered the house. I merely called because I would not pass 
the door without inquiring after Mrs. Bates ; but I have been so pleasantly 
detained. Now, however, we must wish you and Mrs. Bates good 
morning." 

And not all that could be urged to detain her succeeded. She regained 
the street, happy in this, that though much had been forced on her against 



860 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

her will; though she had, in fact, heard the whole substance of Jane 
Fairfax's letter, she had been able to escape the letter itself. 



Chapter 20 

JANE FAIRFAX was an orphan, the only child of Mrs. Bates's youngest 
daughter. 

The marriage of Lieut. Fairfax, of the regiment of infantry, and 

Miss Jane Bates, had had its day of fame and pleasure, hope and interest ; 
but nothing now remained of it save the melancholy remembrance of him 
dying in action abroad, of his widow sinking under consumption and 
grief soon afterwards, and this girl. 

By birth she belonged to Highbury; and when, at three years old, on 
losing her mother she became the property, the charge, the consolation, the 
fondling of her grandmother and aunt, there had seemed every probability 
of her being permanently fixed there ; of her being taught only what very 
limited means could command, and growing up with no advantages of 
connection or improvement, to be engrafted on what nature had given her 
in a pleasing person, good understanding, and warm-hearted, well- 
meaning relations. 

But the compassionate feelings of a friend of her father gave a change 
to her destiny. This was Colonel Campbell, who had very highly regarded 
Fairfax, as an excellent officer and most deserving young man; and 
further had been indebted to him for such attentions, during a severe 
camp-fever, as he believed had saved his life. These were claims which he 
did not learn to overlook, though some years passed away from the death 
of poor Fairfax before his own return to England put anything in his 
power. When he did return, he sought out the child and took notice of her. 
He was a married man, with only one living child, a girl, about Jane's age; 
and Jane became their guest, paying them long visits and growing a 
favourite with all, and before she was nine years old, his daughter's great 
fondness for her, and his own wish of being a real friend, united to 
produce an offer from Colonel Campbell of undertaking the whole charge 
of her education. It was accepted ; and from that period Jane had belonged 
to Colonel Campbell's family, and had lived with them entirely, only 
visiting her grandmother from time to time. 

The plan was that she should be brought up for educating others ; the 
very few hundred pounds which she inherited from her father making 
independence impossible. To provide for her otherwise was out of Colonel 
Campbell's power; for though his income, by pay and appointments, was 
handsome, his fortune was moderate, and must be all his daughter's; 
but, by giving her an education, he hoped to be supplying the means of 
respectable subsistence hereafter. 

Such was Jane Fairfax's history. She had fallen into good hands, known 
nothing but kindness from the Campbells, and been given an excellent 



EMMA 861 

education. Living constantly with right-minded and well-informed people, 
her heart and understanding had received every advantage of discipline 
and culture; and Colonel Campbell's residence being in London, every 
lighter talent had been done full justice to, by the attendance of first-rate 
masters. Her disposition and abilities were equally worthy of all that 
friendship could do ; and at eighteen or nineteen she was, as far as such an 
early age can be qualified for the care of children, fully competent to the 
office of instruction herself; but she was too much beloved to be parted 
with. Neither father nor mother could promote, and the daughter could 
not endure it. The evil day was put off. It was easy to decide that she was 
still too young; and Jane remained with them, sharing as another daugh- 
ter, in all the rational pleasures of an elegant society, and a judicious 
mixture of home and amusement, with only the drawback of the future 
the sobering suggestions of her own good understanding to remind her 
that all this might soon be over. 

The affection of the whole family, the warm attachment of Miss Camp- 
bell in particular, was the more honourable to each party from the 
circumstance of Jane's decided superiority, both in beauty and acquire- 
ments. That nature had given it in feature could not be unseen by the 
young woman, nor could her higher powers of mind be unfelt by the 
parents. They continued together with unabated regard, however, till 
the marriage of Miss Campbell, who, by that chance, that luck which so 
often defies anticipation in matrimonial affairs, giving attraction to what 
is moderate rather than to what is superior, engaged the affections of Mr. 
Dixon, a young man, rich and agreeable, almost as soon as they were 
acquainted ; and was eligibly and happily settled, while Jane Fairfax had 
yet her bread to earn. 

This event had very lately taken place ; too lately for anything to be yet 
attempted by her less fortunate friend towards entering on her path of 
duty, though she had now reached the age which her own judgment had 
fixed on for beginning. She had long resolved that one-and-twenty should 
be the period. With the fortitude of a devoted novitiate, she had resolved 
at one-and-twenty to complete the sacrifice, and retire from all the 
pleasures of life, of rational intercourse, equal society, peace and hope, to 
penance and mortification for ever. 

The good sense of Colonel and Mrs. Campbell could not oppose such a 
resolution, though their feelings did. As long as they lived, no exertions 
would be necessary, their home might be hers for ever ; and for their own 
comfort they would have retained her wholly ; but this would be selfish- 
ness: what must be at last had better be soon. Perhaps they began to feel 
it might have been kinder and wiser to have resisted the temptation of any 
delay, and spared her from a taste of such enjoyments of ease and leisure 
as must now be relinquished. Still, however, affection was glad to catch at 
any reasonable excuse for not hurrying on the wretched moment. She had 
never been quite well since the time of their daughter's marriage; and till 
she should have completely recovered her usual strength, they must forbH 



862 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

her engaging in duties, which, so far from being compatible with a weak- 
ened frame and varying spirits, seemed, under the most favourable cir- 
cumstances, to require something more than human perfection of body 
and mind to be discharged with tolerable comfort. 

With regard to her not accompanying them to Ireland her account to 
her aunt contained nothing but truth, though there might be some truths 
not told. It was her own choice to give the time of their absence to 
Highbury; to spend, perhaps, her last months of perfect liberty with those 
kind relations to whom she was so very dear ; and the Campbells, what- 
ever might be their motive or motives, whether single, or double, or 
treble, gave the arrangement their ready sanction, and said that they 
depended more on a few months spent in her native air, for the recovery 
of her health, than on anything else. Certain it was that she was to come, 
and that Highbury, instead of welcoming that perfect novelty which had 
been so long promised it Mr. Frank Churchill must put up for the 
present with Jane Fairfax, who could bring only the freshness of a two 
years' absence. 

Emma was sorry to have to pay civilities to a person she did not like 
through three long months! to be always doing more than she wished, 
and less than she ought! Why she did not like Jane Fairfax might be a 
difficult question to answer; Mr. Knightley had once told her it was 
because she saw in her the really accomplished young woman which she 
wanted to be thought herself ; and though the accusation had been eagerly 
refuted at the time, there were moments of self-examination in which 
her conscience could not quite acquit her. But "she could never get 
acquainted with her; she did not know how it was, but there was such 
coldness and reserve; such apparent indifference whether she pleased or 
not; and then, her aunt was such an eternal talker! and she was made 
such a fuss with by everybody! and it had been always imagined that 
they were to be so intimate ; because their ages were the same, everybody 
had supposed they must be so fond of each other." These were her 
reasons ; she had no better. 

It was a dislike so little just every imputed fault was so magnified by 
fancy that she never saw Jane Fairfax, the first time after any consider- 
able absence, without feeling that she had injured her ; and now, when the 
due visit was paid on her arrival, after a two years' interval, she was 
particularly struck with the very appearance and manners which for 
those two whole years she had been depreciating. Jane Fairfax was very 
elegant, remarkably elegant, and she had herself the highest value for 
elegance. Her height was pretty, just such as almost everybody would 
think tall, and nobody could think very tall; her figure particularly 
graceful ; her size a most becoming medium, between fat and thin, though 
a slight appearance of ill-health seemed to point out the likeliest evil of 
the two. Emma could not but feel all this; and then, her face her fea- 
tures there was more beauty in them all together than she had remem- 
bered; it was not regular, but it was very pleasing beauty. Her eyes, a 



EMMA 863 

deep grey, with dark eyelashes and eyebrows, had never been denied their 
praise; but the skin, which she had been used to cavil at, as wanting 
colour, had a clearness and delicacy which really needed no fuller bloom. 
It was a style of beauty of which elegance was the reigning character, and 
as such, she must, in honour, by all her principles, admire it; elegance 
which, whether of person or of mind, she saw so little in Highbury. There, 
not to be vulgar, was distinction and merit. 

In short, she sat, during the first visit, looking at Jane Fairfax with 
twofold complacency the sense of pleasure and the sense of rendering 
justice, and was determining that she would dislike her no longer. When 
she took in her history, indeed, her situation, as well as her beauty ; when 
she considered what all this elegance was destined to, what she was going 
to sink from, how she was going to live, it seemed impossible to feel any- 
thing but compassion and respect; especially, if to every well-known 
particular, entitling her to interest, were added the highly probable cir- 
cumstance of an attachment to Mr. Dixon, which she had so naturally 
started to herself. In that case, nothing could be more pitiable or more 
honourable than the sacrifices she had resolved on. Emma was very 
willing now to acquit her of having seduced Mr. Dixon's affections from 
his wife, or of anything mischievous which her imagination had suggested 
at first. If it were love, it might be simple, single, unsuccessful love on her 
side. She alone might have been unconsciously sucking in the sad poison, 
while a sharer of his conversation with her friend ; and from the best, the 
purest of motives, might now be denying herself this visit to Ireland, and 
resolving to divide herself effectually from him and his connections by 
soon beginning her career of laborious duty. 

Upon the whole, Emma left her with such softened, charitable feelings, 
as made her look around in walking home, and lament that Highbury 
afforded no young man worthy of giving her independence nobody that 
she could wish to scheme about for her. 

These were charming feelings, but not lasting. Before she had com- 
mitted herself by any public profession of eternal friendship for Jane 
Fairfax, or done more towards a recantation of past prejudices and errors, 
than saying to Mr. Knightley, "She certainly is handsome: she is better 
than handsome! " Jane had spent an evening at Hartfield with her grand- 
mother and aunt, and everything was relapsing much into its usual state. 
Former provocations reappeared. The aunt was as tiresome as ever; 
more tiresome, because anxiety for her health was now added to 
admiration of her powers; and they had to listen to the description of 
exactly how little bread and butter she ate for breakfast, and how small 
a slice of mutton for dinner, as well as to see exhibitions of new caps and 
new work-bags for her mother and herself ; and Jane's offences rose again. 
They had music : Emma was obliged to play ; and the thanks and praise 
which necessarily followed appeared to her an affectation of candour, an 
air of greatness, meaning only to show off in higher style her own very 
superior performance. She was, besides, which was the worst of all, so cold, 



864 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

so cautious! There was no getting at her real opinion. Wrapped up in a 
cloak of politeness, she seemed determined to hazard nothing. She was 
disgustingly, was suspiciously reserved. 

If anything could be more, where all was most, she was more reserved 
on the subject of Weymouth and the Dixons than anything. She seemed 
bent on giving no real insight into Mr. Dixon's character, or her own 
value for his company, or opinion of the suitableness of the match. It was 
all general approbation and smoothness; nothing delineated or distin- 
guished. It did her no service, however. Her caution was thrown away. 
Emma saw its artifice, and returned to her first surmises. There probably 
was something more to conceal than her own preference ; Mr. Dixon, per- 
haps, had been very near changing one friend for the other, or been fixed 
only to Miss Campbell, for the sake of the future twelve thousand pounds. 

The like reserve prevailed on other topics. She and Mr. Frank Churchill 
had been at Weymouth at the same time. It was known that they were a 
little acquainted, but not a syllable of real information could Emma 
procure as to what he truly was. "Was he handsome?" "She believed he 
was reckoned a very fine young man." "Was he agreeable?" "He was 
generally thought so." "Did he appear a sensible young man; a young 
man of information?" "At a watering-place, or in a common London 
acquaintance, it was difficult to decide on such points. Manners were all 
that could be safely judged of, under a much longer knowledge than they 
had yet had of Mr. Churchill. She believed everybody found his manners 
pleasing." Emma could not forgive her. 



Chapter 21 

i 

EMMA could not forgive her ; but as neither provocation nor resentment 
were discerned by Mr. Knightley, who had been of the party, and had 
seen only proper attention and pleasing behaviour on each side, he was 
expressing the next morning, being at Hartfield again on business with 
Mr. Woodhouse, his approbation of the whole, not so openly as he might 
have done had her father been out of the room, but speaking plain 
enough to be very intelligible to Emma. He had been used to think her 
unjust to Jane, and had now great pleasure in marking an improvement. 

"A very pleasant evening," he began, as soon as Mr. Woodhouse had 
been talked into what was necessary, told .that he understood, and the 
papers swept away "particularly pleasant. You and Miss Fairfax gave 
us some very good music. I do not know a more luxurious state, sir, than 
sitting at one's ease to be entertained a whole evening by two such young 
women; sometimes with music and sometimes with conversation. I am 
sure Miss Fairfax must have found the evening pleasant, Emma. You left 
nothing undone. I was glad you made her play so much, for having no 
instrument at her grandmother's, it must have been a real indulgence." 



EMMA 865 

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

"No, my dear," said her father, instantly; "that I am sure you are not. 
There is nobody half so attentive and civil as you are. If anything you are 
too attentive. The muffin last night if it had been handed round once, 
I think it would have been enough." 

"No," said Mr. Knightley, nearly at the same time; "you are not often 
deficient; not often deficient, either in manner or comprehension. I think 
you understand me, therefore." 

An arch look expressed "I understand you well enough ; " but she said 
only, "Miss Fairfax is reserved." 

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

"You think her diffident. I do not see it." 

"My dear Emma," said he, moving from his chair into one close by 
her, "you are not going to tell me, I hope, that you had not a pleasant 
evening?" 

"Oh no; I was pleased with my own perseverance in asking questions; 
and amused to think how little information I obtained." 

"I am disappointed," was his only answer. 

"I hope everybody had a pleasant evening," said Mr. Woodhouse, in 
his quiet way. "I had. Once, I felt the fire rather too much; but then I 
moved back my chair a little, a very little, and it did not disturb me. Miss 
Bates was very chatty and good-humoured, as she always is, though she 
speaks rather too quick. However, she is very agreeable, and Mrs. Bates, 
too, in a different way. I like old friends ; and Miss Jane Fairfax is a very 
pretty sort of young lady ; a very pretty and a very well-behaved young 
lady indeed. She must have found the evening agreeable, Mr. Knightley, 
because she had Emma." 

"True, sir; and Emma, because she had Miss Fairfax." 

Emma saw his anxiety, and wishing to appease it, at least for the 
present, said, and with a sincerity which no one could question 

"She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep one's eyes from. 
I am always watching her to admire; and I do pity her from my heart." 

Mr. Knightley looked as if he were more gratified than he cared to 
express; and before he could make any reply Mr. Woodhouse, whose 
thoughts were on the Bateses, said 

"It is a great pity that their circumstances should be so confined ! a grea,t 
pity indeed ! and I have often wished but it is so little one can venture to 
do small, trifling presents, of anything uncommon. Now, we have killed a 
porker, and Emma thinks of sending them a loin or a leg ; it is very small 
and delicate Hartfield pork is not like any other pork but still it is 
pork and, my dear Emma, unless one could be sure of their making it 
into steaks, nicely fried, as ours are fried, without the smallest grease, and 



866 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

not roast it, for no stomach can bear roast pork I think we had better 
send the leg do not you think so, my dear?" 

"My dear papa, I sent the whole hind-quarter. I knew you would wish 
it. There will be the leg to be salted, you know, which is so very nice, and 
the loin to be dressed directly, in any manner they like." 

"That's right, my dear very right. I had not thought of it before, but 
that is the best way. They must not oversalt the leg; and then, if it is not 
over-salted, and if it is very thoroughly boiled, just as Serle boils ours, and 
eaten very moderately of, with a boiled turnip, and a little carrot or 
parsnip, I do not consider it unwholesome." 

"Emma," said Mr. Knightley, presently, "I have a piece of news for 
you. You like news and I heard an article in my way hither that I think 
will interest you." 

"News! Oh yes, I always like news. What is it? why do you smile so? 
where did you hear it? at Randalls?" 

He had time only to say 

"No, not at Randalls; I have not been near Randalls," when the door 
was thrown open, and Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax walked into the room. 
Full of thanks, and full of news, Miss Bates knew not which to give quick- 
est. Mr. Knightley soon saw that he had lost his moment, and that not 
another syllable of communication could rest with him. 

"Oh, my dear sir, how are you this morning? My dear Miss Wood- 
house I come quite overpowered. Such a beautiful hind-quarter of pork! 
You are too bountiful! Have you heard the news? Mr. Elton is going to 
be married." 

Emma had not had time even to think of Mr. Elton, and she was so 
completely surprised, that she could not avoid a little start, and a little 
blush, at the sound. 

"There is my news I thought it would interest you," said Mr. Knight- 
ley, with a smile, which implied a conviction of some part of what had 
passed between them. 

"But where could you hear it?" cried Miss Bates. "Where could you 
possibly hear it, Mr. Knightley? For it is not five minutes since I received 
Mrs. Cole's note no, it cannot be more than five or at least ten for I 
had got my bonnet and spencer on, just ready to come out I was only 
gone down to speak to Patty again about the pork Jane was standing in 
the passage were not you, Jane? for my mother was so afraid that we 
had not any saltingpan large enough. So I said, I would go down and see, 
and Jane said, 'Shall I go down instead? for I think you have a little cold, 
and Patty has been washing the kitchen.' 'Oh, my dear,' said I well, 
and just then came the note. A Miss Hawkins that's all I know. A Miss 
Hawkins of Bath. But, Mr. Knightley, how could you possibly have heard 
it, for the very moment Mr. Cole told Mrs. Cole of it, she sat down and 
wrote to me. A Miss Hawkins " 

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



EMMA 867 

"Well! that is quite I suppose there never was a piece of news more 
generally interesting. My dear sir, you really are too bountiful. My mother 
desires her very best compliments and regards, and a thousand thanks, 
and says you really oppress quite her." 

"We consider our Hartfield pork," replied Mr. Woodhouse "indeed it 
certainly is, so very superior to all other pork, that Emma and I cannot 
have a greater pleasure than " 

"Oh, my dear sir, as my mother says, our friends are only too good to us. 
If ever there were people who, without having great wealth themselves, 
had everything they could wish for, I am sure it is us. We may well say, 
that 'our lot is cast in a goodly heritage.' Well, Mr. Knightley, and so you 
actually saw the letter well " 

"It was short merely to announce but cheerful, exulting, of course." 
Here was a sly glance at Emma. "He had been so fortunate as to I 
forget the precise words one has no business to remember them. The 
information was, as you state, that he was going to be married to a Miss 
Hawkins. By his style I should imagine it just settled." 

"Mr. Elton going to be married!" said Emma, as soon as she could 
speak. "He will have everybody's wishes for his happiness." 

"He is very young to settle," was Mr. Woodhouse's observation. "He 
had better not be in a hurry. He seemed to me very well off as he was. We 
were always glad to see him at Hartfield." 

"A new neighbour for us all, Miss Woodhouse!" said Miss Bates joy- 
fully; "my mother is so pleased! she says she cannot bear to have the poor 
old vicarage without a mistress. This is great news, indeed. Jane, you have 
never seen Mr. Elton ; no wonder that you have such a curiosity to see 
him." 

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

"No, I have never seen Mr. Elton," she replied, starting on this appeal: 
"is he---is he a tall man?" 

"Who shall answer that question?" cried Emma. "My father would 
say, 'Yes'; Mr. Knightley, 'No'; and Miss Bates and I, that he is just the 
happy medium. When you have been here a little longer, Miss Fairfax, you 
will understand that Mr. Elton is the standard of perfection in Highbury, 
both in person and mind." 

"Very true, Miss Woodhouse, so she will. He is the very best young 
man ; but, my dear Jane, if you remember, I told you yesterday he was 
precisely the height of Mr. Perry. Miss Hawkins! I dare say, an excel- 
lent young woman. His extreme attention to my mother wanting her to 
sit in the vicarage-pew, that she might hear the better, for my mother is a 
little deaf, you know it is not much, but she does not hear quite quick, 
Jane says that Colonel Campbell is a little deaf. He fancied bathing might 
be good for it the warm bath but she says it did him no lasting benefit. 
Colonel Campbell, you know, is quite our angel. And Mr. Dixon seems a 
very charming young man, quite worthy of him. It is such a happiness 



868 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

when good people get together and they always do. Now, here will be 
Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins; and there are the Coles, such very good 
people ; and the Perrys I suppose there never was a happier or a better 
couple than Mr. and Mrs. Perry. I say, sir," turning to Mr. Woodhouse, "I 
think there are few places with such society as Highbury. I always say, 
we are quite blessed in our neighbours. My dear sir, if there is one thing 
my mother loves better than another, it is pork a roast loint of pork " 

"As to who, or what, Miss Hawkins is, or how long he has been ac- 
quainted with her," said Emma, "nothing, I suppose, can be known. One 
feels that it cannot be a very long acquaintance. He has been gone only 
four weeks." 

Nobody had any information to give; and, after a few more wonder- 
ings, Emma said 

"You are silent, Miss Fairfax but I hope you mean to take an interest 
in this news. You, who have been hearing and seeing so much of late on 
these subjects, who must have been so deep in the business on Miss 
Campbell's account we shall not excuse your being indifferent about Mr. 
Elton and Miss Hawkins." 

"When I have seen Mr. Elton," replied Jane, "I dare say I shall be 
interested but I believe it requires that with me. And as it is some 
months since Miss Campbell married, the impression may be a little 
worn off." 

"Yes, he has been gone just four weeks, as you observe, Miss Wood- 
house," said Miss Bates, "four weeks yesterday. A Miss Hawkins! Well, I 
had always rather fancied it would be some young lady hereabouts ; not 
that I ever Mrs. Cole once whispered to me but I immediately said, 

'No, Mr. Elton is a most worthy young man but ' In short, I do not 

think I am particularly quick at those sort of discoveries. I do not pretend 
to it. What is before me, I see. At the same time, nobody could wonder if 
Mr. Elton should have aspired Miss Woodhouse lets me chatter on, so 
good-humouredly. She knows I would not offend for the world. How does 
Miss Smith do? She seems quite recovered now. Have you heard from Mrs. 
John Knightley lately? Oh, those dear little children. Jane, do you know I 
always fancy Mr. Dixon like Mr. John Knightley. I mean in person tall, 
and with that sort of look and not very talkative." 

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

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

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

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

"Oh, as for me, my judgment is worth nothing. Where I have regard, J 
always think a person well-looking. But I gave what I believed the general 
opinion, when I called him plain." 



EMMA 869 

"Well, my dear Jane. I believe we must be running away. The weather 
does not look well, and grandmamma will be uneasy. You are too obliging, 
my dear Miss Woodhouse; but we really must take leave. This has been 
;> most agreeable piece of news indeed. I shall just go round by Mrs. 
Cole's; but I shall not stop three minutes; and, Jane, you had better 
go home directly I would not have you out in a shower. We think 
she is the better for Highbury already. Thank you we do indeed. I 
shall not attempt calling on Mrs. Goddard, for I really do not think she 
cares for anything but boiled pork ; when we dress the leg it will be an- 
other thing. Good morning to you, my dear sir. Oh, Mr. Knightley is 
coming too. Well, that is so very ! I am sure if Jane is tired, you will 
be so kind as to give her your arm. Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins! 
Good morning to you." 

Emma, alone with her father, had half her attention wanted by him, 
while he lamented that young people would be in such a hurry to marry 
and to marry strangers too and the other half she could give to her 
own view of the subject. It was to herself an amusing and a very wel- 
come piece of news, as proving that Mr. Elton could not have suffered 
long; but she was sorry for Harriet Harriet must feel it and all that 
she could hope was, by giving the first information herself, to save her 
from hearing it abruptly from others. It was now about the time that 
she was likely to call. If she were to meet Miss Bates in her way! and 
upon its beginning to rain, Emma was obliged to expect that the weather 
would be detaining her at Mrs. Goddard's, and that the intelligence would 
undoubtedly rush upon her without preparation. 

The shower was heavy, but short ; and it had not been over five min- 
utes, when in came Harriet, with just the heated, agitated look which 
hurrying thither with a full heart was likely to give; and the "Oh, Miss 
Woodhouse, what do you think has happened?" which instantly burst 
forth, had all the evidence of corresponding perturbation. As the blow 
was given, Emma felt that she could not now show greater kindness 
than in listening; and Harriet, unchecked, ran eagerly through what 
she had to tell. "She had set out from Mrs. Goddard's half an hour ago 
she had been afraid it would rain she had been afraid it would pour 
down every moment but she thought she might get to Hartfield first 
she had hurried on as fast as possible; but then, as she was passing 
by the house where a young woman was making up a gown for her, 
she thought she would just step in and see how it went on ; and though 
she did not seem to stay half a moment there, soon after she came out 
it began to rain, and she did not know what to do; so she ran on 
directly, as fast as she could, and took shelter at Ford's." Ford's was 
the principal woollendraper, linendraper, and haberdasher's shop united 
the shop first in size and fashion in the place. "And so there she had 
sat, without an idea of anything in the world, full ten minutes perhaps 
when, all of a sudden, who should come in to be sure it was so very 
odd! but they always dealt at Ford's who should come in, but Eliza- 



870 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

beth Martin and her brother! Dear Miss Woodhouse! only think. I 
thought I should have fainted. I did not know what to do. I was sitting 
near the door Elizabeth saw me directly ; but he did not ; he was busy 
with the umbrella. I am sure she saw me, but she looked away directly, 
and took no notice; and they both went to quite the farther end of the 
shop ; and I kept sitting near the door. Oh dear, I was so miserable ! I am 
sure I must have been as white as my gown. I could not go away, you 
know, because of the rain ; but I did so wish myself anywhere in the world 
but there. Oh dear, Miss Woodhouse! well at last, I fancy, he looked 
round and saw me ; for instead of going on with her buyings, they began 
whispering to one another. I am sure they were talking of me; and I 
could not help thinking that he was persuading her to speak to me 
(do you think he was, Miss Woodhouse?) for presently she came for- 
ward came quite up to me, and asked me how I did, and seemed ready 
to shake hands, if I would. She did not do any of it in the same way that 
she used: I could see she was altered; but, however, she seemed to try 
to be very friendly, and we shook hands, and stood talking some time; 
but I know no more what I said I was in such a tremble ! I remember 
she said she was sorry we never met now, which I thought almost too 
kind! Dear Miss Woodhouse, I was absolutely miserable! By that time, 
it was beginning to hold up, and I was determined that nothing should 
stop me from getting away and then only think! I found he was 
coming up towards me too slowly, you know, and as if he did not 
quite know what to do; and so he came and spoke, and I answered 
and I stood for a minute, feeling dreadfully, you know, one can't tell 
how; and then I took courage, and said it did not rain, and I must go; 
and so off I set; and I had not got three yards from the door, when he 
came after me, only to say, if I was going to Hartfield, he thought I 
had much better go round by Mr. Cole's stables, for I should find the 
near way quite floated by this rain. Oh dear, I thought it would have 
been the death of me! So I said I was very much obliged to him; you 
know I could not do less; and then he went back to Elizabeth, and I 
came round by the stables I believe I did but I hardly knew where 
I was, or anything about it. Oh, Miss Woodhouse, I would rather done 
anything than have had it happen; and yet, you know, there was a 
sort of satisfaction in seeing him behave so pleasantly and so kindly. 
And Elizabeth, too. Oh, Miss Woodhouse, do talk to me, and make me 
comfortable again." 

Very sincerely did Emma wish to do so ; but it was not immediately in 
her power. She was obliged to stop and think. She was not thoroughly 
comfortable herself. The young man's conduct, and his sister's, seemed 
the result of real feeling, and she could not but pity them. As Harriet 
described it, there had been an interesting mixture of wounded affection 
and genuine delicacy in their behaviour; but she had believed them to 
be well-meaning, worthy people before; and what difference did this 
make in the evils of the connection? It was folly to be disturbed by it. 



EMMA 871 

Of course, he must be sorry to lose her they must be all sorry ambi- 
tion, as well as love, had probably been mortified. They might all have 
hoped to rise by Harriet's acquaintance; and besides, what was the 
value of Harriet's description? So easily pleased so little discerning 
what signified her praise? 

She exerted herself, and did try to make her comfortable, by consid- 
ering all that had passed as a mere trifle, and quite unworthy of being 
dwelt on. 

"It might be distressing for the moment," said she, "but you seem 
to have behaved extremely well; and it is over, and may never can 
never, as a first meeting occur again, and therefore you need not think 
about it." 

Harriet said, "Very true," and she "would not think about it;" but 
still she talked of it still she could talk of nothing else; and Emma, 
at last, in order to put the Martins out of her head, was obliged to 
hurry on the news, which she had meant to give with so much tender 
caution, hardly knowing herself whether to rejoice or be angry, ashamed, 
or only amused, at such a state of mind in poor Harriet such a con- 
clusion of Mr. Elton's importance with her! 

Mr. Elton's rights, however, gradually revived. Though she did not 
feel the first intelligence as she might have done the day before, or an 
hour before, its interest soon increased; and before their first conver- 
sation was over, she had talked herself into all the sensations of curi- 
osity, wonder and regret, pain and pleasure, as to this fortunate Miss 
Hawkins, which could conduce to place the Martins under proper subor- 
dination in her fancy. 

Emma learned to be rather glad that there had been such a meeting. 
It had been serviceable in deadening the first shock, without retaining 
any influence to alarm. As Harriet now lived, the Martins could not get 
at her, without seeking her where hitherto they had wanted either the 
courage or the condescension to seek her; for since her refusal of the 
brother, the sisters never had been at Mrs. Goddard's; and a twelve- 
month might pass without their being thrown together again, with any 
necessity, or even any power of speech. 



Chapter 22 

HUMAN nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting 
situations, that a young person, who either marries or dies, is sure of 
being kindly spoken of. 

A week had not passed since Miss Hawkins's name was first men- 
tioned in Highbury, before she was, by some means or other, discovered 
to have every recommendation of person and mind to be handsome, 
elegant, highly accomplished, and perfectly amiable; and when Mr. 
Elton himself arrived to triumph in his happy prospects, and circulate 



872 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

the fame of her merits, there was very little more for him to do than 
to tell her Christian name, and say whose music she principally played. 

Mr. Elton returned, a very happy man. He had gone away rejected 
and mortified, disappointed in a very sanguine hope, after a series of 
what appeared to him strong encouragements; and not only losing the 
right lady, but finding himself debased to the level of a very wrong one. 
He had gone away deeply offended, he came back engaged to another; 
and to another as superior, of course, to the first, as under such circum- 
stances what is gained always is to what is lost. He came back gay and 
self-satisfied, eager and busy, caring nothing for Miss Woodhouse, and 
defying Miss Smith. 

The charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the usual advan- 
tages of perfect beauty and merit, was in possession of an independent 
fortune, of so many thousands as would always be called ten a point 
of some dignity, as well as some convenience. The story told well: he 
had not thrown himself away he had gained a woman of ten thousand 
pounds, or thereabouts, and he had gained her with such delightful 
rapidity; the first hour of introduction had been so very soon followed 
by distinguishing notice; the history which he had to give Mrs. Cole 
of the rise and progress of the affair was so glorious ; the steps so quick, 
from the accidental rencontre, to the dinner at Mr. Green's, and the 
party at Mrs. Brown's smiles and blushes rising in importance with 
consciousness and agitation richly scattered ; the lady had been so easily 
impressed so sweetly disposed; had, in short, to use a most intelligent 
phrase, been so very ready to have him, that vanity and prudence were 
equally contented. 

He had caught both substance and shadow, both fortune and affec- 
tion, and was just the happy man he ought to be; talking only of himself 
and his own concerns expecting to be congratulated ready to be 
laughed at and, with cordial, fearless smiles, now addressing all the 
young ladies of the place, to whom, a few weeks ago, he would have 
been more cautiously gallant. 

The wedding was no distant event, as the parties had only themselves 
to please, and nothing but the necessary preparations to wait for; and 
when he set out for Bath again, there was a general expectation, which 
a certain glance of Mrs. Cole's did not seem to contradict, that when he 
next entered Highbury he would bring his bride. 

During his present short stay, Emma had barely seen him; but just 
enough to feel that the first meeting was over, and to give her the im- 
pression of his not being improved by the mixture of pique and preten- 
sion now spread over his air. She was, in fact, beginning very much to 
wonder that she had ever thought him pleasing at all ; and his right was 
so inseparably connected with some very disagreeable feelings, that, 
except in a moral light, as a penance, a lesson, a source of profitable 
humiliation to her own mind, she would have been thankful to be as- 
sured of never seeing him again. She wished him very well ; but he gave 



EMMA 873 

her pain ; and his welfare twenty miles off would administer most satis- 
faction. 

The pain of his continued residence in Highbury, however, must 
certainly be lessened by his marriage. Many vain solicitudes would be 
prevented many awkwardnesses smoothed by it. A Mrs. Elton would 
be an excuse for any change of intercourse ; former intimacy might sink 
without remark. It would be almost beginning their life of civility again. 

Of the lady individually, Emma thought very little. She was good 
enough for Mr. Elton, no doubt; accomplished enough for Highbury 
handsome enough to look plain, probably, by Harriet's side. As to 
connection, there Emma was perfectly easy; persuaded that, after all his 
own vaunted claims and disdain of Harriet, he had done nothing. On 
that article, truth seemed attainable. What she was, must be uncertain ; 
but who she was, might be found out; and setting aside the io,oco it 
did not appear that she was at all Harriet's superior. She brought no 
name, no blood, no alliance. Miss Hawkins was the youngest of the two 
daughters of a Bristol merchant, of course, he must be called; but, as 
the whole of the profits of his mercantile life appeared so very moderate, 
it was not unfair to guess the dignity of his line of trade had been very 
moderate also. Part of every winter she had been used to spend in 
Bath; but Bristol was her home, the very heart of Bristol; for though 
the father and mother had died some years ago, an uncle remained 
in the law line: nothing more distinctly honourable was hazarded of 
him, than that he was in the law line; and with him the daughter had 
lived. Emma guessed him to be the drudge of some attorney, and too 
stupid to rise. And all the grandeur of the connection seemed dependent 
on the elder sister, who was very well married, to a gentleman in a great 
way, near Bristol, who kept two carriages! That was the wind-up of the 
history; that was the glory of Miss Hawkins. 

Could she but have given Harriet her feelings about it all! She had 
talked her into love; but, alas! she was not so easily to be talked out 
of it. The charm of an object to occupy the many vacancies of Harriet's 
mind was not to be talked away. He might be superseded by another; 
he certainly would, indeed! nothing could be clearer; even a Robert 
Martin would have been sufficient ; but nothing else, she feared, would 
cure her. Harriet was one of those, who, having once begun, would be 
always in love. And now, poor girl, she was considerably worse from this 
reappearance of Mr. Elton she was always having a glimpse of him 
somewhere or other. Emma saw him only once; but two or three times 
every day Harriet was sure just to meet with him, or just to miss him, 
just to hear his voice, or see his shoulder, just to have something occur 
to preserve him in her fancy, in all the favouring warmth of surprise 
and conjecture. She was, moreover, perpetually hearing about him; for, 
excepting when at Hartfield, she was always among those who saw no 
fault in Mr. Elton, and found nothing so interesting as the discussion 
of his concerns; and every report, therefore, every guess all that had 



874 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

already occurred, all that might occur in the arrangement of his affairs, 
comprehending income, servants, and furniture was continually in 
agitation around her. Her regard was receiving strength by invariable 
praise cf him, and her regrets kept alive, and feelings irritated by 
ceaseless repetitions of Miss Hawkins's happiness, and continual observa- 
tion of how much he seemed attached! his air as he walked by the 
house, the very sitting of his hat, being all in proof of how much he 
was in love! 

Had it been allowable entertainment, had there been no pain to her 
friend, or reproach to herself, in the waverings of Harriet's mind, Emma 
would have been amused by its variations. Sometimes Mr. Elton pre- 
dominated, sometimes the Martins; and each was occasionally useful as a 
check to the other. Mr. Elton's engagement had been the cure of the 
agitation of meeting Mr. Martin. The unhappiness produced by the 
knowledge of that engagement had been a little put aside by Elizabeth 
Martin's calling at Mrs. Goddard's a few days afterwards. Harriet had 
not been at home; but a note had been prepared and left for her, written 
in the very style to touch a small mixture of reproach with a great 
deal of kindness; and till Mr. Elton himself appeared, she had been 
much occupied by it, continually pondering over what could be done 
in return, and wishing to do more than she dared to confess. But Mr. 
Elton, in person, had driven away all such cares. While he stayed, the 
Martins were forgotten; and on the very morning of his setting off 
for Bath again, Emma, to dissipate some of the distress it occasioned, 
judged it best for her to return Elizabeth Martin's visit. 

How that visit was to be acknowledged, what would be necessary, 
and what might be safest, had been a point of some doubtful consid- 
ertation. Absolute neglect of the mother and sisters, when invited to 
come, would be ingratitude. It must not be; and yet the danger of a 
renewal of the acquaintance! 

After much thinking, she could determine on nothing better than 
Harriet's returning the visit; but in a way that, if they had under- 
standing, should convince them that it was to be only a formal acquaint- 
ance. She meant to take her in the carriage, leave her at the Abbey-Mill, 
while she drove a little further, and call for her again so soon as to 
allow no time for insidious applications or dangerous recurrences to 
the past, and give the most decided proof of what degree of intimacy 
was chosen for the future. 

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

Chapter 23 

SMALL heart had Harriet for visiting. Only half an hour before her 
friend called for her at Mrs. Goddard's, her evil stars had led her to 



EMMA 875 

the very spot, where, at that moment, a trunk, directed to The Rev. 
Philip Elton, White Hart, Bath, was to be seen under the operation of 
being lifted into the butcher's cart, which was to convey it to where 
the coaches passed; and everything in this world, except that trunk and 
the direction, was consequently a blank. 

She went, however; and when they reached the farm, and she was to 
be put down, at the end of the broad, neat gravel walk, which led be- 
tween espalier apple-trees to the front door, the sight of everything 
which had given her so much pleasure the autumn before was beginning 
to revive a little local agitation ; and when they parted, Emma observed 
her to be looking around with a sort of fearful curiosity, which deter- 
mined her not to allow the visit to exceed the proposed quarter of an 
hour. She went on herself, to give that portion of time to an old servant 
who was married, and settled in Donwell. 

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

Harriet could not very soon give an intelligible account. She was feel- 
ing too much; but at last Emma collected from her enough to under- 
stand the sort of meeting, and the sort of pain it was creating. She had 
seen only Mrs. Martin and the two girls. They had received her doubt- 
ingly, if not coolly; and nothing beyond the merest commonplace had 
been talked almost all the time till just at last, when Mrs. Martin's 
saying all of a sudden, that she thought Miss Smith was grown, had 
brought on a more interesting subject, and a warmer manner. In that 
very room she had been measured last September with her two friends. 
There were the pencilled marks and memorandums on the wainscot by 
the window. He had done it. They all seemed to remember the day, the 
hour, the party, the occasion to feel the same consciousness, the same 
regrets to be ready to return to the same good understanding; and 
they were just growing again like themselves (Harriet, as Emma must 
suspect, as ready as the best of them to be cordial and happy) when the 
carriage reappeared, and all was over. The style of the visit, and the 
shortness of it, were then felt to be decisive. Fourteen minutes to be 
given to those with whom she had thankfully passed six weeks not six 
months ago ! Emma could not but picture it all, and feel how justly they 
might resent, how naturally Harriet must differ. It was a bad business. She 
would have given a great deal, or endured a great deal, to have had 
the Martins in a higher rank of life. They were so deserving, that a 
little higher should have been enough; but as it was, how could she 
have done otherwise? Impossible! She could not repent. They must be 
separated; but there was a great deal of pain in the process so much 
to herself at this time, that she soon felt the necessity of a little con- 
solation, and resolved on going home by way of Randalls to orocure 



876 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

it. Her mind was quite sick of Mr. Elton and the Martins. The refresh- 
ment of Randalls was absolutely necessary. 

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

"This is too bad," cried Emma, as they turned away. "And now we 
shall just miss them; too provoking. I do not know when I have been so 
disappointed." And she leaned back in the corner, to indulge her mur- 
murs, or to reason them away; probably a little of both such being 
the commonest process of a not ill-disposed mind. Presently the carriage 
stopped: she looked up; it was stopped by Mr. and Mrs. Weston, who 
were standing to speak to her. There was instant pleasure in the sight 
of them, and still greater pleasure was conveyed in sound; for Mr. 
Weston immediately accosted her with: 

"How d'ye do? How d'ye do? We have been sitting with your father 
glad to see him so well. Frank comes to-morrow I had a letter this 
morning we see him to-morrow by dinner-time to a certainty he is at 
Oxford to-day, and he comes for a whole fortnight I knew it would be 
so. If he had come at Christmas he could not have stayed three days. 
I was always glad he did not come at Christmas; now we are going 
to have just the right weather for him fine, dry, settled weather. We 
shall enjoy him completely; everything has turned out exactly as we 
could wish." 

There was no resisting such news, no possibility of avoiding the influ- 
ence of such a happy face as Mr. Weston 's, confirmed as it all was by 
the words and the countenance of his wife, fewer and quieter, but not 
less to the purpose. To know that she thought his coming certain was 
enough to make Emma consider it so, and sincerely did she rejoice in 
their joy. It was a most delightful reanimation of exhausted spirits. The 
worn-out past was sunk in the freshness of what was coming; and in 
the rapidity of half a moment's thought, she hoped Mr. Elton would 
now be talked of no more. 

Mr. Weston gave her the history of the engagements at Enscombe, 
which allowed his son to answer for having an entire fortnight at his 
command, as well as the route and the method of his journey; and she 
listened, and smiled, and congratulated. 

"I shall soon bring him over to Hartfield," said he, at the conclusion. 

Emma could imagine she saw a touch of the arm at this speech, from 
his wife. 

"We had better move on, Mr. Weston," said she; "we are detaining 
the girls." 

"Well, well, I am ready;" and turning again to Emma "but you 
must not be expecting such a very fine young man; you have only had 
my account, you know; I dare say he is really nothing extraordinary," 
though his own sparkling eyes at the moment were speaking a very 
different conviction. 



EMMA 877 

Emma could look perfectly unconscious and innocent, and answer in 
a manner that appropriated nothing. 

"Think of me to-morrow, my dear Emma, about four o'clock," was 
Mrs. Weston's parting injunction, spoken with some anxiety, and meant 
only for her. 

"Four o'clock! Depend upon it he will be here by three," was Mr. 
Weston's quick amendment; and so ended a most satisfactory meeting. 
Emma's spirits were mounted quite up to happiness. Everything wore a 
different air. James and his horses seemed not half so sluggish as before. 
When she looked at the hedges, she thought the elder, at least, must 
soon be coming out; and when she turned round to Harriet she saw 
something like a look of spring, a tender smile even there. 

"Will Mr. Frank Churchill pass through Bath as well as Oxford?" was 
a question, however, which did not augur much. 

But neither geography nor tranquillity could come all at once; and 
Emma was now in a humour to resolve that they should both come in 
time. 

The morning of the interesting day arrived, and Mrs. Weston's faith- 
ful pupil did not forget either at ten, or eleven, or twelve o'clock, that 
she was to think of her at four. 

"My dear, dear anxious friend," said she, in mental soliloquy, while 
walking downstairs from her own room, "always over-careful for every- 
body's comfort but your own; I see you now in all your little fidgets, 
going again and again into his room, to be sure that all is right." The 
clock struck twelve as she passed through the hall. " 'Tis twelve; I 
shall not forget to think of you four hours hence; and by this time to- 
morrow, perhaps, or a little later, I may be thinking of the possibility 
of their all calling here. I am sure they will bring him soon." 

She opened the parlour door, and saw two gentlemen sitting with her 
father Mr. Weston and his son. They had been arrived only a few 
minutes; and Mr. Weston had scarcely finished his explanation of 
Frank's being a day before his time, and her father was yet in the 
midst of his very civil welcome and congratulations, when she appeared, 
to have her share of surprise, introduction and pleasure. 

The Frank Churchill so long talked of, so high in interest, was 
actually before her. He was presented to her, and she did not think too 
much had been said in his praise. He was a very good-looking young 
man height, air, address, all were unexceptionable, and his countenance 
had a great deal of the spirit and liveliness of his father's he looked 
quick and sensible. She felt immediately that she should like him; and 
there was a well-bred ease of manner, and a readiness to talk, which 
convinced her that he came intending to be acquainted with her, and 
that acquainted they soon must be. 

He had reached Randalls the evening before. She was pleased with 
the eagerness to arrive which had made him alter his plan, and travel 
earlier, later and quicker, that he might gain half a day. 



878 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"I told you yesterday," cried Mr. Weston, with exultation, "I told you 
all that he would be here before the time named. I remembered what I 
used to do myself. One cannot creep upon a journey; one cannot help 
getting on faster than one has planned: and the pleasure of coming in 
upon one's friends before the look-out begins is worth a great deal more 
than any little exertion it needs." 

"It is a great pleasure where one can indulge in it," said the young 
man, "though there are not many houses that I should presume on so 
far; but in coming home I felt I might do anything." 

The word home made his father look on him with fresh complacency. 
Emma was directly sure that he knew how to make himself agreeable; 
the conviction was strengthened by what followed. He was very much 
pleased with Randalls, thought it a most admirably arranged house, 
would hardly allow it even to be very small, admired the situation, the 
walk to Highbury, Highbury itself, Hartfield still more, and professed 
himself to have always felt the sort of interest in the country, which 
none but one's own country gives, and the greatest curiosity to visit it. 
That he should never have been able to indulge so amiable a feeling 
before passed suspiciously through Emma's brain; but still if it were 
a falsehood, it was a pleasant one, and pleasantly handled. His manner 
had no air of study or exaggeration. He did really look and speak as if 
in a state of no common enjoyment. 

Their subjects, in general, were such as belong to an opening ac- 
quaintance. On his side were the inquiries: "Was she a horsewoman? 
Pleasant rides? Pleasant walks? Had they a large neighbourhood? High- 
bury, perhaps, afforded society enough? There were several very pretty 
houses in and about it. Balls had they balls? Was it a musical society?" 

But when satisfied on all these points, and their acquaintance propor- 
tionately advanced, he contrived to find an opportunity, while their two 
fathers were engaged with each other, of introducing his mother-in-law, 
and speaking of her with so much handsome praise, so much warm ad- 
miration, so much gratitude for the happiness she secured to his father, 
and her very kind reception of himself, as was an additional proof of his 
knowing how to please and of his certainly thinking it worth while to 
try to please her. He did not advance a word of praise beyond what she 
knew to be thoroughly deserved by Mrs. Weston; but, undoubtedly, 
he could know very little of the matter. He understood what would be 
welcome; he could be sure of little else. "His father's marriage," he 
said, "had been the wisest measure: every friend must rejoice in it; and 
the family from whom he had received such a blessing must be ever 
considered as having conferred the highest obligation on him." 

He got as near as he could to thanking her for Miss Taylor's merits, 
without seeming quite to forget that, in the common course of things, 
it was to be rather supposed that Miss Taylor had formed Miss Wood- 
house's character, than Miss Woodhouse Miss Taylor's. And at last, 
as if resolved to qualify his opinion completely for travelling around to 



EMMA 879 

its object, he wound it all up with astonishment at the youth and beauty 
of her person. 

"Elegant, agreeable manners, I was prepared for," said he; "but I 
confess that, considering everything, I had not expected more than a very 
tolerably well-looking woman of a certain age; I did not know that I was 
to find a pretty young woman in Mrs. Weston." 

"You cannot see too much perfection in Mrs. Weston, for my feel- 
ings," said Emma; "were you to guess her to be eighteen, I should listen 
with pleasure; but she would be ready to quarrel with you for using 
such words. Don't let her imagine that you have spoken of her as a 
pretty young woman." 

"I hope I should know better," he replied; "no, depend upon it" (with 
a gallant bow), "that in addressing Mrs. Weston, I should understand 
whom I might praise without any danger of being thought extravagant 
in my terms." 

Emma wondered whether the same suspicion of what might be ex- 
pected from their knowing each other, which had taken strong possession 
of her mind, had ever crossed his; and whether his compliments were 
to be considered as marks of acquiescence or proofs of defiance. She 
must see more of him to understand his ways; at present she only felt 
they were agreeable. 

She had no doubt of what Mr. Weston was often thinking about. His 
quick eye she detected again and again glancing towards them with 
a happy expression; and even when he might have determined not to 
look she was confident that he was often listening. 

Her own father's perfect exemption from any thought of the kind, the 
entire deficiency in him of all such sort of penetration or suspicion, was 
a most comfortable circumstance. Happily he was not further from ap- 
proving matrimony than from foreseeing it. Though always objecting 
to every marriage that was arranged, he never suffered beforehand from 
the apprehension of any; it seemed as if he could not think so ill of 
any two persons' understanding as to suppose they meant to marry till 
it were proved against them. She blessed the favouring blindness. He 
could now, without the drawback of a single unpleasant surmise, with- 
out a glance forward at any possible treachery in his guest, give way 
to all his natural kind-hearted civility, in solicitous inquiries after Mr. 
Frank Churchill's accommodation on his journey, through the sad evils 
of sleeping two nights on the road, and express very genuine unmixed 
anxiety to know that he had certainly escaped catching cold which, 
however, he could not allow him to feel quite assured of himself, till 
after another night. 

A reasonable visit paid, Mr. Weston began to move. "He must be 
going. He had business at the Crown about his hay, and a great many 
errands for Mrs. Weston at Ford's; but he need not hurry anybody 
else." His son, too well bred to hear the hint, rose immediately also, 
saying: 



S8o THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"As you are going further on business, sir, I will take the opportunity 
of paying a visit, which must be paid some day or other, and therefore 
may as well be paid now. I have the honour of being acquainted with a 
neighbour of yours" (turning to Emma), "a lady residing in or near 
Highbury; a family of the name of Fairfax. I shall have no difficulty, 
I suppose, in finding the house; though Fairfax, I believe, is not the 
proper name I should rather say Barnes or Bates. Do you know any 
family of that name?" 

"To be sure we do," cried his father; "Mrs. Bates we passed her 
house I saw Miss Bates at the window. True, true, you are acquainted 
with Miss Fairfax ; I remember you knew her at Weymouth, and a fine 
girl she is. Call upon her, by all means." 

"There is no necessity for my calling this morning," said the young 
man; "another day would do as well; but there was that degree of 
acquaintance at Weymouth, which " 

"Oh, go to-day, go to-day. Do not defer it. What is right to be done 
cannot be done too soon. And besides, I must give you a hint, Frank 
any want of attention to her here should be carefully avoided. You saw 
her with the Campbells, when she was the equal of everybody she mixed 
with, but here she is with a poor old grandmother, who has barely 
enough to live on. If you do not call early it will be a slight." 

The son looked convinced. 

"I have heard her speak of the acquaintance," said Emma; "she is a 
very elegant young woman." 

He agreed to it, but with so quiet a "Yes," as inclined her almost to 
doubt his real concurrence; and yet there must be a very distinct sort of 
elegance for the fashionable world if Jane Fairfax could be thought only 
ordinarily gifted with it. 

"If you were never particularly struck by her manners before," said 
she, "I think you will to-day, You will see her to advantage; see her 
and hear her no, I am afraid you will not hear her at all, for she has 
an aunt who never holds her tongue." 

"You are acquainted with Jane Fairfax, sir, are you?" said Mr. 
Woodhouse, always the last to make his way in conversation ; "then give 
me leave to assure you that you will find her a very agreeable young 
lady. She is staying here on a visit to her grandmamma and aunt, very 
worthy people; I have known them all my life. They will be extremely 
glad to see you, I am sure; and one of my servants shall go with you 
to show you the way." 

"My dear sir, upon no account in the world; my father can direct me." 

"But your father is not going so far; he is only going to the Crown, 
quite on the other side of the street, and there are a great many houses; 
you might be very much at a loss, and it is a very dirty walk, unless you 
keep on the footpath; but my coachman can tell you where you had 
best cross the street." 

Mr. Frank Churchill still declined it, looking as serious as he could ; and 



EMMA 88r. 

his father gave his hearty support, by calling out: "My good friend, this 
is quite unnecessary; Frank knows a puddle of water when he sees it, 
and as to Mrs. Bates's, he may get there from the Crown in a hop, step 
and jump." 

They were permitted to go alone; and with a cordial nod from one, 
and a graceful bow from the other, the two gentlemen took leave. Emma 
remained very well pleased with this beginning of the acquaintance, and 
could now engage to think of them all at Randalls any hour of the day, 
with full confidence in their comfort. 



Chapter 24 

THE next morning brought Mr. Frank Churchill again. He came with 
Mrs. Weston, to whom and to Highbury he seemed to take very cordially. 
He had been sitting with her, it appeared, most companionably at home, 
till her usual hour of exercise: and on being desired to choose their walk, 
immediately fixed on Highbury. "He did not doubt there being very 
pleasant walks in every direction, but if left to him, he should always 
choose the same. Highbury, that airy, cheerful, happy-looking Highbury, 
would be his constant attraction." Highbury, with Mrs. Weston, stood 
for Hart field ; and she trusted to its bearing the same construction with 
him. They walked thither directly. 

Emma had hardly expected them: for Mr. Weston, who had called in 
for half a minute, in order to hear that his son was very handsome, knew 
nothing of their plans ; and it was an agreeable surprise to her, therefore, 
to perceive them walking up to the house together, arm in arm. She was 
wanting to see him again ; and especially to see him in company with Mrs. 
Weston, upon his behaviour to whom her opinion of him was to depend. 
If he were deficient there, nothing should make amends for it. But on 
seeing them together she became perfectly satisfied. It was not merely in 
fine words or hyperbolical compliment that he paid his duty; nothing 
could be more proper or pleasing than his whole manner to her nothing 
could more agreeably denote his wish of considering her as a friend, and 
securing her affection. And there was time enough for Emma to form a 
reasonable judgment, as their visit included all the rest of the morning. 
They were all three walking about together for an hour or two first 
round the shrubberies of Hartfield, and afterwards in Highbury. He was 
delighted with everything; admired Hartfield sufficiently for Mr. Wood- 
house's ear; and when their going further was resolved on, confessed his 
wish to be made acquainted with the whole village, and found matter of 
commendation and interest much oftener than Emma could have sup- 
posed. 

Some of the objects of his curiosity spoke very amiable feelings. He 
begged to be shown the house which his father had lived in so long, and 
which had been the home of his father's father, and on recollecting that 



882 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

an old woman who had nursed him was still living, walked in quest of her 
cottage, from one end of the street to the other ; and though in some points 
of pursuit or observation there was no positive merit, they showed alto- 
gether a goodwill towards Highbury in general which must be very like 
a merit to those he was with. 

Emma watched, and decided that with such feelings as were now 
shown it could not be fairly supposed that he had been ever voluntarily 
absenting himself ; that he had not been acting a part, or making a parade 
of insincere professions ; and that Mr. Knightley certainly had not done 
him justice. 

Their first pause was at the Crown Inn, an inconsiderable house, though 
the principal one of the sort, where a couple of pair of post-horses were 
kept, more for the convenience of the neighbourhood than from any run 
on the road ; and his companions had not expected to be detained by any 
interest excited there ; but in passing it they gave the history of the large 
room visibly added. It had been built many years ago for a ballroom, and 
while the neighbourhood had been in a particularly populous, dancing 
state, had been occasionally used as such ; but such brilliant days had long 
passed away ; and now the highest purpose for which it was ever wanted 
was to accommodate a whist-club, established among the gentlemen and 
half-gentlemen of the place. He was immediately interested. Its character 
as a ballroom caught him; and instead of passing on, he stopped for 
several minutes at the two superior sashed windows which were open, 
to look in and contemplate its capabilities, and lament that its original 
purpose should have ceased. He saw no fault in the room; he would 
acknowledge none which they suggested. No ; it was long enough, broad 
enough, handsome enough. It would hold the very number for comfort. 
They ought to have balls there at least every fortnight through the winter. 
Why had not Miss Woodhouse revived the former good old days of the 
room? She who could do anything in Highbury! The want of proper 
families in the place, and the conviction that none beyond the place and 
its immediate environs could be tempted to attend, were mentioned ; but 
he was not satisfied. He could not be persuaded that so many good-looking 
houses as he saw around him could not furnish numbers enough for such 
a meeting ; and even when particulars were given and families described, 
he was still unwilling to admit that the inconvenience of such a mixture 
would be anything, or that there would be the smallest difficulty in every- 
body's returning into their proper place the next morning. He argued like 
a young man very much bent on dancing ; and Emma was rather surprised 
to see the constitution of the Weston prevail so decidedly against the 
habits of the Churchills. He seemed to have all the life and spirit, cheerful 
feelings, and social inclinations of his father, and nothing of the pride or 
reserve of Enscombe. Of pride, indeed, there was, perhaps, scarcely 
enough; his indifference to a confusion of rank bordered too much on in- 
elegance of mind. He could be no judge, however, of the evil he was 
holding cheap. It was but an effusion of lively spirits. 



EMMA 883 

At last he was persuaded to move on from the front of the Crown ; and 
being now almost facing the house where the Bateses lived, Emma recol- 
lected his intended visit the day before, and asked him if he had paid it. 

"Yes ? oh yes!" he replied. "I was just going to mention it. A very suc- 
cessful visit. I saw all the three ladies ; and felt very much obliged to you 
for your preparatory hint. If the talking aunt had taken me quite by 
surprise it must have been the death of me. As it was, I was only betrayed 
into paying a most unreasonable visit. Ten minutes would have been all 
that was necessary, perhaps all that was proper ; and I had told my father 
I should certainly be at home before him, but there was no getting away, 
no pause; and, to my utter astonishment, I found, when he (finding me 
nowhere else) joined me there at last, that I had been actually sitting with 
them very nearly three-quarters of an hour. The good lady had not given 
me the possibility of escape before." 

"And how did you think Miss Fairfax looking ?" 

"Ill, very ill that is, if a young lady can ever be allowed to look ill ; 
but the expression is hardly admissible, Mrs. Weston, is it? Ladies can 
never look ill ; and seriously, Miss Fairfax is naturally so pale as almost 
always to give the appearance of ill-health a most deplorable want of 
complexion/ 

Emma would not agree to this, and began a warm defence of Miss 
Fairfax's complexion. "It was certainly never brilliant, but she would not 
allow it to have a sickly hue in general ; and there was a softness and deli- 
cacy in her skin which gave peculiar elegance to the character of her 
face." He listened with all due deference ; acknowledged that he had heard 
many people say the same ; but yet he must confess that to him nothing 
could make amends for the want of the fine glow of health. Where fea- 
tures were indifferent, a fine complexion gave beauty to them all; and 
where they were good, the effect was fortunately he need not attempt to 
describe what the effect was. 

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

He shook his head and laughed. "I cannot separate Miss Fairfax and 
her complexion." 

"Did you see her often at Weymouth? Were you often in the same 
society ?" 

At this moment they were approaching Ford's, and he hastily ex- 
claimed, "Ha! this must be the very shop that everybody attends every 
day of their lives, as my father informs me. He comes to Highbury him- 
self, he says, six days out of the seven, and has always business at Ford's. 
If it be not inconvenient to you, pray let us go in, that I may prove myself 
to belong to the place to be a true citizen of Highbury. I must buy some- 
thing at Ford's. It will be taking out my freedom. I dare say they sell 
gloves." 

"Oh, yes, gloves and everything. I do admire your patriotism. You will 
be adored in Highbury. You were very popular before you came, because 



884 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

you were Mr. Western's son ; but lay out half a guinea at Ford's, and your 
popularity will stand upon your own virtues." 

They went in ; and while the sleek, well-tied parcels of "Men's Beavers" 
and "York Tan" were bringing down and displaying on the counter, he 
said: "But I beg your pardon, Miss Woodhouse; you were speaking to 
me, you were saying something at the very moment of this burst of my 
amor patrice. Do not let me lose it; I assure you the utmost stretch of 
public fame would not make me amends for the loss of any happiness in 
private life." 

"I merely asked, whether you had known much of Miss Fairfax and 
her party at Weymouth." 

"And now that I understand your question I must pronounce it to be 
a very unfair one. It is always the lady's right to decide on the degree of 
acquaintance. Miss Fairfax must already have given her account. I shall 
not commit myself by claiming more than she may choose to allow.' ' 

"Upon my word, you answer as discreetly as she could do herself. But 
her account of everything leaves so much to be guessed; she is so very 
reserved, so very unwilling to give the least information about anybody, 
that I really think you may say what you like of your acquaintance with 
her." 

"May I, indeed? Then I will speak the truth, and nothing suits me so 
well. I met her frequently at Weymouth. I had known the Campbells a 
little in town; and at Weymouth we were very much. in the same set. 
Colonel Campbell is a very agreeable man. and Mrs. Campbell a friendly 
warm-hearted woman. I like them all." 

"You know Miss Fairfax's situation in life, I conclude? What she is 
destined to be?" 

"Yes" (rather hesitatingly) "I believe I do." 

"You get upon delicate subjects, Emma," said Mrs. Weston, smiling; 
"remember that I am here. Mr. Frank Churchill hardly knows what to 
say when you speak of Miss Fairfax's situation in life. I will move a little 
further off." 

"I certainly do forget to think of her" said Emma, "as having ever 
been anything but my friend and my dearest friend." 

He looked as if he fully understood and honoured such a sentiment. 

When the gloves were bought, and they had quitted the shop again: 
"Did you ever hear the young lady we were speaking of play?" said 
Frank Churchill. 

"Ever hear her?" repeated Emma. "You forget how much she belongs 
to Highbury. I have heard her every year of our lives since we both began. 
She plays charmingly." 

"You think so, do you? I wanted the opinion of some one who could 
really judge. She appeared to me to play well, that is, with considerable 
taste, but I know nothing of the matter myself. I am excessively fond of 
music, but without the smallest skill or right of judging of anybody's 
performance. I have been used to hear hers admired ; and I remember one 



EMMA 885 

proof of her being thought to play well : a man, a very musical man, and 
in love with another woman engaged to her on the point of marriage 
would yet never ask that other woman to sit down to the instrument, if 
the lady in question could sit down instead never seemed to like to hear 
one if he could hear the other. That I thought, in a man of known musical 
talent, was some proof." 

"Proof, indeed!" said Emma, highly amused. "Mr. Dixon is very 
musical, is he? We shall know more about them all, in half an hour, from 
you, than Miss Fairfax would have vouchsafed in half a year." 

"Yes, Mr. Dixon and Miss Campbell were the persons; and I thought 
it a very strong proof.'-' 

"Certainly, very strong it was; to own the truth, a great deal stronger 
than, if 7 had been Miss Campbell, would have been at all agreeable to 
me. I could not excuse a man's having more music than love more ear 
than eye a more acute sensibility to fine sounds than to my feelings. 
How did Miss Campbell appear to like it?" 

"It was her very particular friend, you know." 

"Poor comfort!" said Emma, laughing. "One would rather have a 
stranger preferred than one's very particular friend; with a stranger it 
might not recur again, but the misery of having a very particular friend 
always at hand, to do everything better than one does one's self. Poor Mrs. 
Dixon! Well, I am glad she is gone to settle in Ireland." 

"You are right. It was not very flattering to Miss Campbell; but she 
really did not seem to feel it." 

"So much the better, or so much the worse; I do not know which. But 
be it sweetness, or be it stupidity in her quickness of friendship, or dull- 
ness of feeling there was one person, I think, who must have felt it 
Miss Fairfax herself. She must have felt the improper and dangerous 
distinction." 

"As to that I do not " 

"Oh, do not imagine that I expect an account of Miss Fairfax's sensa- 
tions from you, or from anybody else. They are known to no human 
being, I guess, but herself; but if she continued to play whenever she 
was asked by Mr. Dixon, one may guess what one chooses." 

"There appeared such a perfectly good understanding among them 
all " he began rather quickly, but checking himself, added: "How- 
ever, it is impossible for me to say on what terms they really were how 
it might all be behind the scenes. I can only say that there was smoothness 
outwardly. But you, who have known Miss Fairfax from a child, must be 
a better judge of her character, and of how she is likely to conduct herself 
in critical situations, than I can be." 

"I have known her from a child, undoubtedly; we have been children 
and women together ; and it is natural to suppose that we should be 
intimate that we should have taken to each other whenever she visited 
her friends. But we never did. I hardly know how it has happened; a 
little, perhaps, from that wickedness on my side which was prone to take 



<86 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

disgust towards a girl so idolised and so cried up as she always was, by 
her aunt and grandmother, and all their set. And then, her reserve! I 
never could attach myself to anyone so completely reserved." 

"It is a most repulsive quality, indeed," said he. "Oftentimes very con- 
venient, no doubt, but never pleasing. There is safety in reserve, but no 
attraction. One cannot love a reserved person." 

"Not till the reserve ceases towards one's self ; and then the attraction 
may be the greater. But I must be more in want of a friend, or an agree- 
able companion, than I have yet been, to take the trouble of conquering 
anybody's reserve to procure one. Intimacy between Miss Fairfax and me 
is quite out of the question. I have no reason to think ill of her not the 
least except that such extreme and perpetual cautiousness of word and 
manner, such a dread of giving a distinct idea about anybody, is apt to 
suggest suspicions of there being something to conceal." 

He perfectly agreed with her ; and after walking together so long, and 
thinking so much alike, Emma felt herself so well acquainted with him 
that she could hardly believe it to be only their second meeting. He was 
not exactly what she had expected ; less of a man of the world in some of 
his notions, less of the spoiled child of fortune, therefore better than she 
had expected. His ideas seemed more moderate his feelings warmer. 
She was particularly struck by his manner of considering Mr. Elton's 
house, which, as well as the church, he would go and look at, and would 
not join them in finding much fault with. No, he could not believe it a 
bad house ; not such a house as a man was to be pitied for having. If it 
were to be shared with the woman he loved, he could not think any man 
to be pitied for having that house. There must be ample room in it for 
every real comfort. The man must be a blockhead who wanted more. 

Mrs. Weston laughed, and said he did not know what he was talking 
about. Used only to a large house himself, and without ever thinking how 
many advantages and accommodations were attached to its size, he could 
be no judge of the privations inevitably belonging to a small one. But 
Emma, in her own mind, determined that he did know what he was 
talking about, and that he showed a very amiable inclination to settle 
early in life, and to marry from worthy motives. He might not be aware 
of the inroads on domestic peace to be occasioned by no housekeeper's 
room, or a bad butler's pantry ; but no doubt he did perfectly feel that 
Enscombe could not make him happy, and that whenever he were attached 
he would willingly give up much of wealth to be allowed an early estab- 
lishment. 

Chapter 25 

EMMA'S very good opinion of Frank Churchill was a little shaken the 
following day by hearing that he was gone off to London, merely to have 
his hair cut. A sudden freak seemed to have seized him at breakfast, and 
be had sent for a chaise, and set off, intending to return to dinner, but 



EMMA 887 

with no more important view that appeared than having his hair cut. 
There was certainly no harm in his travelling sixteen miles twice over on 
such an errand ; but there was an air of foppery and nonsense in it which 
she could not approve. It did not accord with the rationality of plan, the 
moderation in expense, or even the unselfish warmth of heart, which she 
had believed herself to discern in him yesterday. Vanity, extravagance, 
love of change, restlessness of temper, which must be doing something, 
good or bad ; heedlessness as to the pleasure of his father and Mrs. Weston, 
indifferent as to how his conduct might appear in general he became 
liable to all these charges. His father only called him a coxcomb, and 
thought it a very good story; but that Mrs. Weston did not like it was 
clear enough by her passing it over as quickly as possible, and making no 
other comment than that "all young people would have their little whims." 

With the exception of this little blot, Emma found that his visit hitherto 
had given her friend only good ideas of him. Mrs. Weston was very ready 
to say how attentive and pleasant a companion he made himself how 
much she saw to like in his disposition altogether. He appeared to have a 
very open temper certainly a very cheerful and lively one; she could 
observe nothing wrong in his notions a great deal decidedly right; he 
spoke of his uncle with warm regard was fond of talking of him; said he 
would be the best man in the world if he were left to himself ; and though 
there was no being attached to the aunt, he acknowledged her kindness 
with gratitude, and seemed to mean always to speak of her with respect. 
This was all very promising ; and but for such an unfortunate fancy for 
having his hair cut, there was nothing to denote him unworthy of the 
distinguished honour which her imagination had given him ; the honour } 
if not of being really in love with her, of being at least very near it, and 
saved only by her own indifference (for still her resolution held of never 
marrying) the honour, in short, of being marked out for her by all their 
joint acquaintances. 

Mr. Weston, on his side, added a virtue to the account which must have 
some weight. He gave her to understand that Frank admired her extremely 
thought her very beautiful and very charming; and with so much to 
be said for him altogether, she found she must not judge him harshly: as 
Mrs. Weston observed, "all young people would have their little whims." 

There was one person among his new acquaintances in Surrey not so 
leniently disposed. In general, he was judged, throughout the parishes of 
Donwell and Highbury with great candour ; liberal allowances were made 
for the little excesses of such a handsome young man one who smiled 
so often and bowed so well ; but there was one spirit among them not to 
be softened, from its power of censure, by bows or smiles Mr. Knightley. 
The circumstance was told him at Hartfield; for the moment he was 
silent ; but Emma heard him almost immediately afterwards say to him- 
self, over a newspaper he held in his hand, "Hum! just the trifling, silly 
fellow I took him for." She had half a mind to resent; but an instant's 



888 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

observation convinced her that it was really said only to relieve his own 
feelings, and not meant to provoke ; and therefore she let it pass. 

Although in one instance the bearers of not good tidings, Mr. and Mrs. 
Weston's visit this morning was in another respect particularly opportune. 
Something occurred while they were at Hartfield to make Emma want 
their advice; and, which was still more lucky, she wanted exactly the 
advice they gave. 

This was the occurrence: The Coles had been settled some years in 
Highbury, and were very good sort of people, friendly, liberal and unpre- 
tending ; but, on the other hand, they were of low origin, in trade, and only 
moderately genteel. On their first coming into the country they had lived 
in proportion to their income, quietly, keeping little company, and that 
little unexpensively ; but the last year or two had brought them a con- 
siderable increase of means the house in town had yielded greater 
profits, and fortune in general had smiled on them. With their wealth their 
views increased ; their want of a larger house, their inclination for more 
company. They added to their house, to their number of servants, to their 
expenses of every sort; and by this time were, in fortune and style of 
living, second only to the family at Hartfield. Their love of society, and 
their new dining-room, prepared everybody for their keeping dinner- 
company ; and a few parties, chiefly among the single men, had already 
taken place. The regular and best families Emma could hardly suppose 
they would presume to invite neither Donwell, nor Hartfield, nor Ran- 
dalls. Nothing should tempt her to go, if they did ; and she regretted that 
her father's known habits would be giving her refusal less meaning than 
she could wish. The Coles were very respectable in their way, but they 
ought to be taught that it was not for them to arrange the terms on which 
the superior families would visit them. This lesson, she very much feared, 
they would receive only from herself ; she had little hope of Mr. Knightley, 
none of Mr. Weston. 

But she had made up her mind how to meet this presumption so many 
weeks before it appeared, that when the insult came at last it found her 
very differently affected. Donwell and Randalls had received their invi- 
tation, and none had come for her father and herself; and Mrs. Weston's 
accounting for it with, "I suppose they will not take the liberty with you; 
they know you do not dine out," was not quite sufficient. She felt that 
she should like to have had the power of refusal ; and afterwards, as the 
idea of the party to be assembled there, consisting precisely of those whose 
society was dearest to her, occurred again and again, she did not know 
that she might not have been tempted to accept. Harriet was to be there 
in the evening, and the Bateses. They had been speaking of it as they 
walked about Highbury the day before, and Frank Churchill had most 
earnestly lamented her absence. Might not the evening end in a dance? 
had been a question of his. The bare possibility of it acted as a further 
irritation on her spirits; and her being left in solitary grandeur, even sup- 
posing the omission to be intended as a compliment, was but poor comfort. 



EMMA 889 

It was the arrival of this very invitation, while the Westons were at 
Hartfield, which made their presence so acceptable; for though her first 
remark on reading it was, that, "of course it must be declined," she so 
very soon proceeded to ask them what they advised her to do, that their 
advice for her going was most prompt and successful. 

She owned that, considering everything, she was not absolutely without 
inclination for the party. The Coles expressed themselves so properly 
there was so much real attention in the manner of it so much considera- 
tion for her father. "They would have solicited the honour earlier, but had 
been waiting the arrival of a folding-screen from London, which they 
hoped might keep Mr. Woodhouse from any draught of air, and, there- 
fore, induce him the more readily to give them the honour of his com- 
pany." Upon the whole, she was very persuadable; and it being briefly 
settled among themselves how it might be done without neglecting his 
comfort how certainly Mrs. Goddard, if not Mrs. Bates, might be de- 
pended on for bearing him company Mr. Woodhouse was to be talked 
into an acquiescence of his daughter's going out to dinner on a day now 
near at hand, and spending the whole evening away from him. As for his 
going, Emma did not wish him to think it possible ; the hours would be too 
late, and the party too numerous. He was soon pretty well resigned. 

"I am not fond of dinner-visiting," said he; "I never was. No more is 
Emma. Late hours do not agree with us. I am sorry Mr. and Mrs. Cole 
should have done it. I think it would be much better if they would come 
in one afternoon next summer and take their tea with us ; take us in their 
afternoon walk, which they might do, as our hours are so reasonable, and 
yet get home without being out in the damp of the evening. The dews of 
a summer evening are what I would not exoose anybody to. However, 
as they are so very desirous to have dear Emma dine with them, and as 
vou will both be there, and Mr. Knightley too, to take care of her, I cannot 
wish to prevent it, provided the weather be what it ought, neither damp, 
nor cold, nor windy." Then turning to Mrs. Weston, with a look of gentle 
reproach: "Ah, Miss Taylor, if you had not married, you would have 
stayed at home with me." 

"Well, sir," cried Mr. Weston, "as I took Miss Taylor away, it is in- 
cumbent on me to supply her place, if I can ; and I will step to Mrs. God- 
dard in a moment, if you wish it." 

But the idea of anything to be done in a moment was increasing, not 
lessening Mr. Woodhouse's agitation. The ladies knew better how to allay 
it. Mr. Weston must be quiet, and everything deliberately arranged. 

With this treatment Mr. Woodhouse was soon composed enough for 
talking as usual. "He should be happy to see Mrs. Goddard. He had a 
great regard for Mrs. Goddard ; and Emma should write a line and invite 
her. James could take the note. But first of all there must be an answer 
written to Mrs. Cole. 

"You will make my excuses, my dear, as civilly as possible. You will 
say that I am quite an invalid, and go nowhere, and therefore must 



8po THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

decline their obliging invitation; beginning with my compliments, of 
course. But you will do everything right. I need not tell you what is to be 
done. We must remember to let James know that the carriage will be 
wanted on Tuesday. I shall have no fears for you with him. We have 
never been there above once since the new approach was made ; but still I 
have no doubt that James will take you very safely ; and when you get 
there you must tell him at which time you would have him come for you 
again ; and you had better name an early hour. You will not like staying 
late. You will get very tired when tea is over." 

"But you would not wish me to come away before I am tired, papa?" 

"Oh no, my love; but you will soon be tired. There will be a great 
many people talking at once. You will not like the noise." 

"But, my dear sir," cried Mr. Weston, "if Emma comes away early it 
will be breaking up the party." 

"And no great harm if it does," said Mr. Woodhouse. "The sooner every 
party breaks up the better." 

"But you do not consider how it may appear to the Coles. Emma's 
going away directly after tea might be giving offence. They are good- 
natured people, and think little of their own claims ; but still they must 
feel that anybody's hurrying away is no great compliment; and Miss 
Woodhouse's doing it would be more thought of than any other person's 
in the room. You would not wish to disappoint and mortify the Coles, I 
am sure, sir; friendly, good sort of people as ever lived, and who have 
been your neighbours for ten years." 

"No, upon no account in the world, Mr. Weston, I am much obliged to 
you for reminding me. I should be extremely sorry to be giving them any 
pain. I know what worthy people they are. Perry tells me that Mr. Cole 
never touches malt liquor. You would not think it to look at him, but he is 
Bilious Mr. Cole is very bilious. No, I would not be the means of giving 
them any pain. My dear Emma, we must consider this. I am sure rather 
than run the risk of hurting Mr. and Mrs. Cole you would stay a little 
longer than you might wish. You will not regard being tired. You will be 
perfectly safe, you know, among your friends." 

"Oh yes, papa. I have no fears at all for myself; and I should have no 
scruples of staying as late as Mrs. Weston, but on your account. I am only 
afraid of your stiting up for me. I am not afraid of your not being exceed- 
ingly comfortable with Mrs. Goddard. She loves piquet, you know; but 
when she is gone liome I am afraid you will be sitting up by yourself, 
instead of going to bed at your usual time; and the idea of that would 
entirely destroy my comfort. You must promise me not to sit up." 

He did on the condition of some promises on her side ; such as that, if 
she came home cold, she would be sure to warm herself thoroughly; if 
hungry that she would take something to eat; that her own maid should 
sit up for her ; and that Serle and the butler should see that everything 
were safe in the house as usual. 



EMMA 891 

Chapter 26 

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 con- 
fusion 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 eva- 
sions 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 din- 
ner; 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 constitutions 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 inde- 
pendence, 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. 



892 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 conscious- 
ness 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 when- 
ever 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 anybody else. Now I shall really be very happy to walk 
into the same room with you." 

"Nonsensical girl! " was his reply, but not at all in anger. 

Emma had as much reason to be satisfied with the rest of the party as 
with Mr. Knightley. She was received with a cordial respect which could 
not but please, and given all the 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 acquaintances 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 amus- 
ing 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 surprise, 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 



EMMA 893 

account, Jane herself was quite at a loss, quite bewildered to think who 
could possibly have ordered it ; but now they were both perfectly satisfied 
that it could be from only one quarter of course it must be from Colonel 
Campbell. 

"One can suppose nothing else," added Mrs. Cole; "and I was only 
surprised that there could ever have been a doubt. But Jane, it seems, had 
a letter from them very lately, and not a word was said about it. She 
knows their ways best; but I should not consider their silence as any 
reason for their not meaning to make the present. They might choose to 
surprise her." 

Mrs. Cole had many to agree with her; everybody who spoke on the 
subject was equally convinced that it must come from Colonel Campbell, 
and equally rejoiced that such a present had been made ; and there were 
enough ready to speak to allow Emma to think her own way, and still 
listen to Mrs. Cole. 

"I declare, I do not know when I have heard anything that has given 
me more satisfaction. It always has quite hurt me that Jane Fairfax, who 
plays so delightfully, should not have an instrument. It seemed quite a 
shame, especially considering how many houses there are where fine 
instruments are absolutely thrown away. This is like giving ourselves a 
slap, to be sure ; and it was but yesterday I was telling Mr. Cole I really 
was ashamed to look at our new grand pianoforte in the drawing-room, 
while I do not know one note from another, and our little girls, who are but 
just beginning, perhaps may never make anything of it ; and there is poor 
Jane Fairfax, who is mistress of music, has not anything 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." 

"Very." 

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

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

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



894 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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

"You may say what you choose, but your countenance testifies that 
your thoughts on this subject are very much like mine." 

"I do not know. I rather believe you are giving me more credit for 
acuteness than I deserve. I smile because you smile, and shall probably 
suspect whatever I find you suspect ; but at present I do not see what there 
is to question. If Colonel Campbell is not the person, who can be?" 

"What do you say to Mrs. Dixon?" 

"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 surprise, is more like a young 
woman's scheme than an elderly man's. It is Mrs. Dixon, I dare say. I told 
you that your suspicions would guide mine." 

"If so, you must extend your suspicions, and comprehend Mr. Dixon 
in them."" 

"Mr. Dixon! very well. Yes. I immediately perceive that it must be the 
joint present of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon. We were speaking the other day, you 
know, of his being so warm an admirer of her performance." 

"Yes, and what you told me on that head 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 
side. One might guess twenty things without guessing exactly the right ; 
but I am sure there must be a particular cause for her choosing to come to 
Highbury, instead of going with the Campbells to 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 hers. I do not require you 
to adopt all my suspicions, though you make so noble a profession of 
doing it, but I honestly tell you what they are." 

"And upon my word, they have an air of great probability. Mr. Dixon's 
preference of her music to her friend's I can answer for being very de- 
cided." 

"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 



EMMA 895 

caught her it was the work of a moment. And though the consequent 
shock and alarm was very great, and much more durable indeed I 
believe it was half an hour before any of us were comfortable again yet 
that was too general a sensation for anything of peculiar anxiety to be 
observable. I do not mean to say, however, that you might not have made 
discoveries." 

The conversation was here interrupted. They were called on to share in 
the awkwardness of a rather long interval between the courses, and 
obliged to be as formal and as orderly as the others ; but when the table 
was again safely covered, when every corner dish was placed exactly right, 
and occupation and ease were generally restored, Emma said : 

"The arrival of this pianoforte is decisive with me. I wanted to know a 
little more, and this tells me quite enough. Depend upon it, we shall soon 
hear that it is a present from Mr. and Mrs. Dixon." 

"And if the Dixons should absolutely deny all knowledge of it we must 
conclude it to come from the Campbells." 

"No, I am sure it is not from the Campbells. Miss Fairfax knows it is 
not from the 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 unconvinced. 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 further. 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 dis- 
position which allowed her so many alleviations of pleasure in the midst 
of the pangs of disappointed affection. There she sat and who would 
have guessed how many tears she had been lately shedding? To be in 
company, nicely dressed herself, and seeing others nicely dressed, to sit 
and smile and look pretty and say nothing, was enough for the happiness 
of the present hour. Jane Fairfax did look and move superior ; but Emma 



S 9 6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 accom- 
panied 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 per- 
severance in dwelling on the subject; and having so much to ask and to 
say as to tone, touch, and pedal, totally unsuspicious of that wish of say- 
ing as little about it as possible, which she plainly read in the fair heroine's 
countenance. 

They were soon joined by some of the gentlemen ; and the very first of 
the early was Frank Churchill. In he walked, the first and 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 everybody present must be thinking. She was his object, 
and everybody 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 stayed, however, it had been pleasant 
enough, as he had found them in general a set of gentlemenlike, sensible 
men; and spoke so handsomely of Highbury altogether thought it so 
abundant in agreeable families that Emma began to feel she had been 
used to despise the place rather too much. She questioned him as to the 
society in Yorkshire, the extent of the neighbourhood about Enscombe, 
and the sort ; and could make out from his answers that, as far as Ens- 
combe 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, there was an even 
chance that Mrs. Churchill were not in health and spirits for going; that 



EMMA 897 

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 anything. One of those points on which his influence 
failed he then mentioned. He had wanted very much to go abroad had 
been very eager indeed to be allowed to travel but she would not hear 
of it. This had happened the year before. Now, he said, he was beginning 
to have no longer the same wish. 

The unpersuadable point, which he did not mention, Emma guessed to 
be good behaviour to his father. 

"I have made a most wretched discovery," said he, after a short pause. 
"I have been here a week to-morrow half my time. I never knew 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 recol- 
lection." 

"Perhaps you may now begin to regret that you spent one whole day, 
out of so few, in having your hair cut." 

"No," said he smiling, "that is no subject of regret at all. I have no 
pleasure in seeing my friends, unless I can believe myself fit to be seen." 

The rest of the gentlemen being now in the room, Emma found herself 
obliged to turn from him for a few minutes, and listen to Mr. Cole. When 
Mr. Cole had moved away, and her attention could be restored as before, 
she saw Frank Churchill looking intently across the room at Miss Fairfax, 
who was sitting exactly opposite. 

"What is the matter?" said she. 

He started. "Thank you for rousing me," he replied. "I believe I have 
been very rude ; but really Miss Fairfax has done her hair in so odd a way 
so very odd a way that I cannot keep my eyes from her. I never saw 
anything so outre! Those curls! This must be a fancy of her own. I see 
nobody else looking like her. I must go and ask her whether it is an Irish 
fashion. Shall I? Yes, I will I declare I will; and you shall see how she 
takes it whether she colours." 

He was gone immediately; and Emma soon 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 everything. My dear Emma, I am longing to talk to you. I 



898 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 surprised; very 
glad, I am sure ; but really quite surprised. Such a very kind attention 
and so thoughtful an attention! the sort of thing that so few men would 
think of. And, in short, from knowing his usual ways, I am very much 
inclined to think that it was for their accommodation the carriage was 
used at all. I do suspect he would not have had a pair of horses for himself, 
and that it was only as an excuse for assisting them." 

"Very likely," said Emma, "nothing more likely. I know no man more 
likely than Mr. Knightley to do the sort of thing to do anything really 
good-natured, useful, considerate, or benevolent. He is not a gallant man, 
but he is a very humane one; and this, considering Jane Fairfax's ill- 
health, would appear a case of humanity to him; and for an act of un- 
ostentatious 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 prob- 
able 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 Don well. I cannot at all 



EMMA 899 

consent to Mr. Knightley's marrying ; and I am sure it is not at all likely. 
I am amazed that you should think of such a thing." 

"My dear Emma, I have told you what led me to think of it. I do not 
want the match I do not want to injure dear little Henry but the 
idea has been given me by 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. Knight- 
ley marry! No, I have never had such an idea, and I cannot adopt it now. 
And Jane Fairfax, too, of all women!" 

"Nay, she has always been a first favourite with him, as you very well 
know." 

"But the imprudence of such a match!" 

"I am not speaking of its prudence merely its probability." 

"I see no probability in it, unless you have any better foundation than 
what you mention. His good-nature, his humanity, as I tell you, would be 
quite enough to account for the horses. He has a great regard for the 
Bateses, you know, independent of Jane Fairfax and is always glad to 
show them attention. My dear Mrs. Weston, do not take to match-making. 
You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax mistress of the Abbey? Oh no, no every 
feeling revolts. For his own sake, I would not have had him do so mad a 
thing." 

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

"But Mr. Knightley does not want to marry. I am sure he has not the 
least idea of it. Do not put it into his head. Why should he marry? He is as 
happy as possible by himself ; with his farm, and his sheep, and his library, 
and all the parish to manage ; and he is extremely fond of his brother's 
children. He has no occasion to marry, either to fill up his time or his 
heart." 

"My dear Emma, as long as he thinks so, it is so; but if he really loves 
Jane Fairfax 

"Nonsense! He does not care about Jane Fairfax. In the way of love, 
I am sure he does not. He would do any good to her, or her family; but " 

"Well," said Mrs. Weston, laughing, "perhaps the greatest good he 
could do them would be to give Jane such a respectable home." 

"If it would be good to her I am sure it would be evil to himself a very 
shameful and degrading connection. How would he bear to have Miss 
Bates belonging to him? To have her haunting the Abbey, and thank- 
ing him all day long for his great kindness in marrying Jane? 'So very kind 
and obliging! But he always had been such a very kind neighbour.' And 
then fly off, through half a sentence, to her mother's old petticoat. 'Not 
that it was such a very old petticoat either for still it would last a great 
while and, indeed, she must thankfully say that their petticoats were all 
very strong.' " 



9 oo THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"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 anything himself, he would only talk 
louder, and drown her voice. But the question is not, whether it would be a 
bad connection for him, but whether he wishes it ; and I think he does. I 
have heard him speak, and so must you, so very highly of Jane 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 him." 

"Very well ; and if he had intended to give her one, he would have told 
her so." 

"There might be scruples of delicacy, my dear Emma. I have a very 
strong notion that it comes from him. I am sure he was particularly silent 
when Mrs. Cole told us of it at dinner." 

"You take up an idea, Mrs. Weston, and run away with it, as you have 
many a time reproached me with doing. I see no sign of attachment. I 
believe nothing of the pianoforte, and proof only shall convince me that 
Mr. Knightley has any thought of marrying Jane Fairfax." 

They combated the point some time longer in the same way, Emma 
rather gaining ground over the mind of her friend ; for Mrs. Weston was 
the most used of the two to yield ; till a little bustle in the room showed 
them that tea was over, and the instrument in preparation; and at the 
same moment, Mr. Cole approaching to entreat Miss 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 compliance. 

She knew the limitations of her own powers too well to attempt more 
than she could perform with credit ; she wanted neither taste nor spirit in 
the little things which are generally acceptable, and could accompany her 
own voice well. One accompaniment to her song took her agreeably by 
surprise ; a second, slightly, but correctly taken by Frank Churchill. Her 



fc M M A 901 

pardon was duly begged at the close of the song, and everything 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 to- 
gether 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 marry- 
ing 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 given." 

"Yes," he replied, and without the smallest apparent embarrassment. 
"But they would have done better had they given her notice of it. Sur- 
prises are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the incon- 
venience is often considerable. I should have expected better judgment in 
Colonel Campbell." 

From that moment Emma could have taken her oath that Mr. Knight- 
ley had had no concern in giving the instrument. But whether he were 
entirely free from peculiar attachment whether there were no actual 



902 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

preference remained a little longer doubtful. Toward 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 second." 

Mr. Knightley grew angry. 

"That fellow," said he, indignantly, "thinks of nothing but showing off 
his own voice. This must not be." And touching Miss Bates, who at that 
moment passed near, "Miss Bates, are you mad, to let your niece sing 
herself hoarse in this manner? Go, and interfere. They have no mercy 
on her." 

Miss Bates, in her real anxiety for Jane, could hardly stay even to be 
grateful, before she stepped forward and put an end to all further singing. 
Here ceased the concert part of the evening, for Miss Woodhouse and Miss 
Fairfax were the only young lady performers; but soon (within five 
minutes) the proposal of dancing originating nobody exactly knew 
where was so effectually promoted by Mr. and Mrs. Cole that every- 
thing was rapidly cleared 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 look- 
ing 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 couples 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 
account. After some attempts, therefore, to be permitted to begin again, 
they were obliged to thank Mrs. Weston, look sorrowful, and have done. 

"Perhaps it is as well," said Frank Churchill, as he attended Emma to 
her carriage. "I must have asked Miss Fairfax, and her languid dancing 
would not have agreed with me after yours." 



EMMA 9oa 

Chapter 27 

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 deserve 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 circumstances of regret related also to Jane Fairfax, and 
there she had no doubt. She did unfeignedly and unequivocally regret the 
inferiority of her own playing and singing. She did most heartily grieve 
over the 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 hers 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. Everybody last 
night said how well you played." 

"Those who knew anything about it must have felt the difference. The 
truth is, Harriet, that my playing is just good enough to be praised, but 
Jane Fairfax's is much beyond it." 

"Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well as she does, or 
that if there is any 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." 



904 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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

"They told me that Mr. Martin dined with them last Saturday." 

"Oh!" 

"He came to their father upon some business, and he asked him to stay 
to dinner." 

"Oh!" 

"They talked a great deal about him, especially Anne Cox. I do not 
know what she meant, but she asked me if I thought I should go and stay 
there again next summer." 

"She meant to be impertinently curious, just as such as Anne Cox 
should be." 

"She said he was very agreeable the day he dined there. He sat by her 
at dinner. Miss Nash thinks either of the Coxes would be very glad to 
marry him." 

"Very likely: I think they are, without exception, the most vulgar girls 
in Highbury." 

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

Harriet, tempted by everything, 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 ginger 
bread, she knew she had no reason to complain, and was amused enough ; 
quite enough still to stand at the door. A mind lively and at ease can do 
with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer. 

She looked down the Randalls road. The scene enlarged: two persons 
appeared: Mrs. Weston and her son-in-law. They were walking into 
Highbury; to Hartfield of course; they were stopping, however, in the 
first place at Mrs. Bates's, whose house was a little nearer Randalls than 
Ford's, and had all but knocked when Emma caught their eye. Imme- 
diately they crossed the road and came forward to her ; and the agreeable- 
ness 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 



EMMA 905 

it myself. I did not know that I had fixed a day; but as he says I did 
I am going now." 

"And while Mrs. Weston pays her visit, I may be allowed, I hope," said 
Frank Churchill, "to join your party and wait for her at Hartfield, if you 
are going home." 

Mrs. Weston was disappointed. 

"I thought you meant to go with me. They would be very much pleased." 

"Me! I should be quite in the way. But, perhaps, I may be equally in 
the way here. Miss Woodhouse looks as if she did not want me. My aunt 
always sends me off when she is shopping. She says I fidget her to death; 
and Miss Woodhouse looks as if she could almost say the same. What am 
I to do?"' 

"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 in- 
different 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? J> 

"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. 



906 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"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 spectables could not put 
them on. And, by-the-bye, everybody ought to have two pair of spectacles ; 
they should indeed. Jane said so. I meant to take them over to John 
Saunders the first thing I did, but something or other 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 anything but the greatest attention from them. And it cannot be 
for the value of our custom now, for what is our consumption of bread, 
you know? only three of us. Besides, dear Jane at 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 



EMMA 907 

as these baked apples, and they are extremely wholesome ; for I took the 
opportunity the other day of asking Mr. Perry; I happened to meet him 
in the street. Not that I had any doubt before. I have so often heard Mr. 
Woodhouse recommend a baked apple. I believe it is the only way that 
Mr. Woodhouse thinks the fruit thoroughly wholesome. We have apple 
dumplings, however, very often. Patty makes an excellent apple crumpling. 
Well, Mrs. W T eston, you have prevailed, I hope, and these ladies will 
oblige us." 

Emma would be "very happy to wait on Mrs. Bates," etc., and they did 
at last move out of the shop, with no further delay from Miss Bates than: 

"How do you do, Mrs. Ford? I beg your pardon; I did not see you 
before. I hear you have a charming collection of new 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, showed him to be so very Indeed I must say that, much as 1 
had heard of him before, and much as I had expected, he very far exceeds 
anything I do congratulate you, Mrs. Weston, most warmly. He seems 
everything the fondest parent could 'Oh! ' said he, 'I can fasten the rivet. 
I like a job of that sort excessively.' I never shall forget his manner. And 
when I brought out the baked apples from the closet, and hoped our 
friends would be so very obliging as to take some, 'Oh! ' said he, directly, 
'there is nothing in the way of fruit half so good, and these are the finest- 
looking home-baked apples I ever saw in my life.' That, you know, was so 
very And I am sure, by his manner, it was no compliment. Indeed they 
are very delightful apples, and Mrs. Wallis does them full justice, only we 
do not have them baked more than twice, and Mr. Woodhouse made us 
promise to have them done three times ; but Miss Woodhouse will be so 
good as not to mention it. The apples themselves are the very finest sort 
for baking, beyond a doubt; all from 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 



9 o8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 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 everything, as you may 
suppose. William Larkins is such an old acquaintance ! I am always glad 
to see him. But, however, I found afterwards from Patty that William said 
it was all the apples of that sort his master had ; he had brought them all 
and now his master had not one left to bake or boil. William did not seem 
to mind it himself, he was so pleased to think his master had sold so many; 
for William, you know, thinks more of his master's profit than anything; 
but Mrs. Hodges, he said, was quite displeased at their being all sent away. 
She could not bear that her master should not be able to have another 
apple-tart this spring. He told Patty this, but bid her not mind it, and be 
sure not to say anything to us about it, for Mrs. Hodges would be cross 
sometimes and as long as so many sacks were sold it did not signify who 
ate the remainder. And so Patty told me, and I was excessively shocked 
indeed! I would not have Mr. Knightley know anything about it for the 
world. He would be so very I wanted to keep it from Jane's knowledge ; 
but, unluckily, I had mentioned it before I was aware." 

Miss Bates had just done as Patty opened the door; and her visitors 
walked upstairs, without having any regular narration to attend to, pur- 
sued only by the sounds of her desultory good-will. 

"Pray, take care, Mrs. Weston, there is a step at the turning. Pray, take 
care, Miss Woodhouse, ours is rather a dark staircase rather darker and 
narrower than one could wish. Miss Smith, pray take care. Miss Wood- 
house, I am quite concerned, I am sure you hit your foot. Miss Smith, the 
step at the turning." 



Chapter 28 

THE appearance of the little sitting-room as they entered was tran- 
quillity itself; Mrs. Bates, deprived of her usual employment, slumber- 
ing 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 show a most 
happy countenance on seeing Emma again. 

"This is a pleasure," said he, in rather a low voice, "coming at least 



EMMA 909 

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 per- 
suaded 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 
prize. 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 won- 
der 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 



9 io THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 some- 
thing else. He took some music from a chair near the pianoforte, and turn- 
ing 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 shows 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 oportunity 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 



EMMA 911 

now a key to all her odd looks and ways. Leave shame to her. If she does 
wrong, she ought to feel it." 

"She is not entirely without it, I think." 

"I do not see much sign of it. She is playing 'Robin Adair' at this 
moment his favourite." 

Shortly afterwards Miss Bates, passing near the window, descried 
Mr. Knightley on horseback not far off. 

"Mr. Knightley, I declare! I must speak to him, if possible, just to 
thank him. I will not open the window here ; it would give you all cold ; but 
I can go into my mother's room, you know. I dare say he will come in 
when he knows who is here. Quite delightful to have you all meet so! Our 
little room so honoured!" 

She was in the adjoining chamber while she still spoke, and, opening 
the casement there, immediately called Mr. Knightley's attention, and 
every syllable of their 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.' 1 

So began Miss Bates; and Mr. Knightley seemed determined to be 
heard in his turn, for most resolutely and commandingly did he say 

"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 anything 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 anything 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 anything 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 in." 

"Well," said he, in a deliberating manner, "for five minutes, perhaps." 

"And here is Mrs. Weston and Mr. Frank Churchill too! Quite delight- 
ful! so many friends!" 

"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." 



9i2 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"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 everything 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 of 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 stayed 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 anything " 

"Yes," said Jane, "we heard his kind offers; we heard everything." 

"Oh, yes, my dear, I dare say you might ; because, you know, the door 
ivas open, and the window was open, and Mr. Knightley spoke loud. You 
must have heard everything, to be sure. 'Can I do anything 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 you." 

Emma found it really time to be at home ; the visit had already lasted 
long; and, on examining watches, so much of the morning was perceived 
to be gone, that Mrs. Weston and her companion, taking leave also, could 
allow themselves only to walk with the two young ladies to Hartfield gates 
before they set off for Randalls. 



Chapter 29 

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 



EMMA 913 

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 appearance. 
But still she had inclination enough for showing people again how delight- 
fully 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 pleasure. You and Miss Smith and Miss 
Fairfax will be three, and the two Miss Coxes five, and for five couple 
there will be plenty of room." 

But soon it came to be on one side 

"But will there be good room for five couple? I really do not think there 
will." 

On another 

"And, after all, five couple are not enough to make it worth while to 
stand up. Five couple are nothing when one thinks seriously about it. It 
will not do to invite five couple. It can be allowable only as the thought of 
the moment." 

Somebody said that Miss Gilbert was expected at her brother's, and 
must be invited with the rest. Somebody else believed Mrs. Gilbert would 
have danced the other evening if she had been asked. A word was put in 
for a second young Cox! and at last, Mr. Weston naming one family of 
cousins who must be included, and another of very old acquaintance who 
could not be left out, it became a certainty that the five couple would be at 
least ten, and a very interesting speculation in what possible manner the} 
could be disposed of. 

The doors of the two rooms were just opposite each other. "Might not 
they use both rooms, and dance across the passage?" It seemed the best 
scheme ; and yet it was not so good but that many of them wanted a better. 
Emma said it would be awkward ; Mrs. Weston was in distress about the 
supper; and Mr. Woodhouse opposed it earnestly on the score of health. 



?I4 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 thought- 
less. Do not tell his father, but that young man is not quite the thing. He 
has been opening the doors very often this evening, and keeping them 
open very inconsiderately. He does not think of the draught. I do not mean 
to set you against him, but indeed he is not quite the thing." 

Mrs. Weston was sorry for such a charge. She' knew the importance of 
it, and said everything 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 goodwill 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 further 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 
ijver to many him, it might have been worth while to pause and consider 
and try to understand the value of his preference, and the character of 
ais 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 inclina- 
tion 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 



EMMA 915 

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 objec- 
tion 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 anything 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 my- 
self, shall be most happy it seems the only improvement that could be. 
Papa, do you not think it an excellent improvement?" 

She was obliged to repeat and explain it before it was fully compre- 
hended ; and then, being quite new, further 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 dan- 
gerous, never properly aired, or fit to be inhabited. If they must dance, 
they had better dance at Randalls. He had never been in the room at the 
Crown in his life did not know the people who kept it by sight. Oh no 
a very bad plan. They would catch worse colds at the Crown than any- 
where." 

"I was going to observe, sir," said Frank Churchill, "that one of the 
great recommendations of this change would be the very little danger of 
anybody's catching cold so much less danger at the Crown than at 
Randalls! Mr. Perry might have reason to regret the alteration, but no- 
body else could." 

"Sir," said Mr. Woodhouse, rather warmly, "you are very much mis- 
taken 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." 



9 i6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"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 limited " 

"Oh," interrupted Emma, "there will be plenty of time for talking 
everything 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 com- 
plains ; 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 everything of that nature, sir, because it will be under 
Mrs. Weston's care. Mrs. Weston undertakes to direct the whole." 

"There, papa! Now you must be satisfied our own dear Mrs. Weston, 
who is carefulness itself. Do not you remember what Mr. Perry said, so 
many years ago, when I had the measles? 'If Miss Taylor undertakes to 
wrap Miss Emma up, you need not have any fears, sir.' How often have 
I heard you speak of it as such a 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 everything perfect. 

"Emma," said she, "this paper is worse than I expected. Look! in 



EMMA 917 

places you see it is dreadfully dirty; and the wainscot is more yellov; 
and forlorn than anything 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 candle-light. It will be as clean 
as Randalls by candle-light. We never see anything of it on our club- 
nights." 

The ladies here probably exchanged looks which meant, "Men never 
know when things are dirty or not"; and the gentlemen perhaps thought 
each to himself, "Women will have their little nonsenses and needless 
cares." 

One perplexity, however, arose, which the gentlemen did not disdain: 
it regarded a supper-room. At the time of the ball-room's being built 
suppers had not been in question ; and a small card-room adjoining was 
the only addition. What was to be done? This card-room would be 
wanted as a card-room now; or, if cards were conveniently voted unnec- 
essary 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 supper. 

Mrs. Weston proposed having no regular supper; merely sandwiches, 
etc., set out in the little room; but that was scouted as a wretched sug- 
gestion. 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 anybody. I think we do want a larger council. Suppose I 
go and invite Miss Bates to join us?" 

"Well if you please," said Mrs. Weston, rather hesitating. "If you 
think she will be of any use." 

"You will get nothing to the purpose from Miss Bates," said Emma; 



918 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"she will be all delight and gratitude, but she will tell you nothing. She 
will not even listen to your questions. I see no advantage in consulting 
Miss Bates." 

"But she is so amusing, so extremely amusing! I am very fond of 
hearing Miss Bates talk. And I need not bring the whole family, you 
know." 

Here Mr. Weston joined them, and on hearing what was proposed gave 
it his decided approbation. 

"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 more 
proper person for showing 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. Un- 
doubtedly, 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. 
Everybody invited was certain 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 Lappy 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 over- 
hearing Mr. Weston whisper to his wife, "He has asked her, my dear. 
That's right. I knew he would!" 



Chapter 30 

ONE thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the ball com- 
pletely satisfactory to Emma its being fixed for a day within the 



EMMA 919 

granted term of Frank Churchill's stay in Surrey; for, in spite of Mr. 
Weston's confidence, she could not think it so very impossible that the 
Churchills might not allow their nephew to remain a day beyond his fort- 
night. But this was not judged feasible. The 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 gen- 
erally makes way for another, Emma being now certain of her ball, 
began to adopt as the next vexation Mr. Knightley's provoking indiffer- 
ence 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 pres- 
ent curiosity, or affording him any future amusement. To her voluntary 
communications Emma could get no more approving reply than: 

"Very well. If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this trouble 
for a few hours of noisy entertainment I have nothing to say against it, 
but that they shall not choose pleasures for me. Oh, yes! I must be 
there ; I could not refuse ; and I will keep as much awake as I can ; but I 
would rather be at home, looking over William 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 pre- 
ferred the society of William Larkins. No! she was more and more 
convinced that Mrs. Weston was quite mistaken in that surmise. There 
was a great deal of friendly and of compassionate attachment on his side 
but no love. 

Alas! there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr. Knightley. 
Two days of joyful security were immediately followed by the overthrow 
of everything. 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 unwilling- 



920 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

ness to give pain, and constant habit of never thinking of herself, she 
had not mentioned it ; but now she was too ill to trifle, and must entreat 
him to set off for Enscombe without delay. 

The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in a note from 
Mrs. Weston, instantly. As to his going, it was inevitable. He must be 
gone within a few hours, though without feeling any real alarm for his 
aunt, to lessen his repugnance. He knew her illnesses; they never oc- 
curred but for her own convenience. 

Mrs. Weston added, "that he could only allow himself time to hurry 
to Highbury, after breakfast, and take leave of the few friends there 
whom he could suppose to feel any interest in him; and that he might 
be expected at Hartfield very soon." 

This wretched note was the finale of Emma's breakfast. When once it 
had been read there was no doing anything 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! Everybody 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 worst." 

"But you will come again," said Emma. "This will not be your only 
visit to Randalls." 

"Ah!" (shaking his head) "the uncertainty of when I may be able 
to return I 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 anything? Why not seize the 
pleasure at once? How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, fool- 
ish preparation? You told us it would be so. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, why 
are you always so right?" 

"Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance. I would much 
rather have been merry than wise." 

"If I can come again, we are still to have our ball. My father depends 
on it. Do not forget your engagement." 

Emma looked graciously. 



EMMA 921 

"Such a fortnight as it has been!" he continued; "every day more 
precious and more delightful than the day before ! Every day making me 
less fit to bear any other place. Happy those who can remain at High- 
bury!" 

"As vou 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 Highbury." 

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 t; sale Jane, "they are pretty sure to be equal; how- 
ever, I am very serious in not wishing anything to be attempted at 
present for me. I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mrs. Elton; I am 
obliged to anybody who feels for me, but I am quite serious in wishing 
nothing to be done till the summer. For two or three months longer I 
shall remain where I am, and as I am." 

"And I am quite serious too, I assure you," replied Mrs. Elton gaily, 
"in resolving to be always on the watch, and employing friends to watch 
also, that nothing really unexceptionable may pass us." 

In this style she ran on; never thoroughly stopped by anything till 
Mr. Woodhouse came into the room ; her vanity had then a change of 
object, and Emma heard her saying in the same half -whisper to Jane: 

"Here comes this dear old beau of mine, I protest! Only think of his 
gallantry in coming away before the other men! what a dear creature 
he is! I assure you I like him excessively. I admire all that quaint, old- 
fashioned politeness; it is much more to my taste than modern ease; 
modern ease often disgusts me. But this good old Mr. Woodhouse, I 
wish you had heard his gallant speeches to me at dinner. Oh! I assure 
you I began to think my caro sposo would be absolutely jealous. I fancy 
I am rather a favourite; he took notice of my gown. How do you like 
it? Selina's choice handsome, I think, but I do not know whether 
it is not over-trimmed; I have the greatest dislike to the idea of being 
overtrimmed; quite a horror of finery. I must put on a few ornaments 
now, because it is expected of me. A bride, you know, must appear like 
a bride, but my natural taste is all for simplicity; a simple style of dress 
is so infinitely preferable to finery. But I am quite in the minority, I 
believe; few people seem to value simplicity of dress show and finery 
are everything. I have some notion of putting such a trimming as this 
to my white and silver poplin. Do you think it will look well?" 

The whole party were but just reassembled in the drawing-room, when 
Mr. Weston made his appearance among them. He had returned to a 
late dinner, and walked to Hartfield as soon as it was over. He had been 
too much expected by the best judges, for surprise but there was great 
joy. Mr. Woodhouse was almost as glad to see him now, as he would 
have been sorry to see him before. John Knightley only was in mute 
astonishment. That a man who might have spent his evening quietly 
at home after a day of business in London should set off again, and 
walk half a mile to another man's house for the sake of being in mixed 
company till bed-time, of finishing his day in the efforts of civility and 
the noise of numbers, was a circumstance to strike him deeply. A mar 
who had been in motion since eight o'clock in the morning, and might 
now have been still who had been long talking, and might have been 
silent who had been in more than one crowd, and might have been 



948 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

alone! Such a man to quit the tranquillity and independence of his own 
fireside, and on the evening of a cold sleety April day rush out again into 
the world ! Could he, by a touch of his finger, have instantly taken back 
his wife, there would have been a motive ; but his coming would probably 
prolong rather than break up the party. John Knightley looked at him 
with amazement, then shrugged his shoulders, and said, "I could not have 
believed it even of him." 

Mr. Weston, meanwhile, perfectly unsuspicious of the indignation he 
was exciting, happy and cheerful as usual, and with all the right of being 
principal talker, which a day spent anywhere from home confers, was 
making himself agreeable among the rest; and having satisfied the in- 
quiries of his wife as to his dinner, convincing her that none of all her 
careful directions to the servants had been forgotten, and spread abroad 
what public news he had heard, was proceeding to a family communica- 
tion which, though principally addressed to Mrs. Weston, he had not the 
smallest doubt of being highly interesting to everybody in the room. He 
gave her a letter it was from Frank, and to herself ; he had met with it 
in his way, and had taken the liberty of opening it. 

"Read it, read it," said he "it will give you pleasure; only a few 
lines will not take you long; read it to Emma." 

The two ladies looked over it together; and he sat smiling and talking 
to them the whole time, in a voice a little subdued, but very audible to 
everybody. 

"Well, he is coming, you see ; good news, I think. Well, what do you say 
to it? I always told you he would be here again soon, did not I? Anne, my 
dear, did not I always tell you so, and you would not believe me? In town 
next week, you see at the latest, I dare say; for she is as impatient as the 
black gentleman when anything is to be done; most likely they will be 
there to-morrow or Saturday. As to her illness, all nothing, of course. But 
it is an excellent thing to have Frank among us again, so near as town. 
They will stay a good while when they do come, and he will be half his 
time with us. This is precisely what I wanted. Well, pretty good news, is 
not it? Have you finished it? Has Emma read it all? Put it up, put it up; 
we will have a good talk about it some other time, but it will not do now. 
I shall only just mention the circumstance to the others in a common way." 

Mrs. Weston was most comfortably pleased on the occasion. Her looks 
and words had nothing to restrain them. She was happy, she knew she was 
happy, and knew she ought to be happy. Her congratulations were warm 
and open ; but Emma could not speak so fluently. She was a little occupied 
in weighing her own feelings, and trying to understand the degree of her 
agitation, which she rather thought was considerable. 

Mr. Weston, however, too eager to be very observant, too communica- 
tive to want others to talk, was very well satisfied with what she did say, 
and soon moved away to make the rest of his friends happy, by a partial 
communication of what the whole room must have overheard already. 

It was well that he took everybody's joy for granted, or he might not 



EMMA 949 

have thought either Mr. Woodhouse or Mr. Knightley particularly de- 
lighted. They were the first entitled, after Mrs. Weston and Emma, to 
be made happy. From them he would have proceeded to Miss Fairfax ; but 
she was so deep in conversation with John Knightley, that it would have 
been too positive an interruption ; and, finding himself close to Mrs. Elton, 
and her attention disengaged, he necessarily began on the subject with 
her. 

Chapter 36 

"I HOPE I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing my son to you," 
said Mr. Weston. 

Mrs. Elton, very willing to suppose a particular compliment intended 
her by such a hope, smiled most graciously. 

"You have heard of a certain Frank Churchill, I presume," he con- 
tinued, "and know him to be my son, though he does not bear my name." 

"Oh, yes, and I shall be very happy in his acquaintance. I am sure Mr. 
Elton will lose no time in calling on him ; and we shall both have great 
pleasure in seeing him at the vicarage." 

"You are very obliging. Frank will be extremely happy, I am sure. He 
is to be in town next week, if not sooner. We have notice of it in a letter 
to-day. I met the letters in my way this morning, and seeing my son's 
hand, presumed to open it, though it was not directed to me it was to 
Mrs. Weston. She is his principal correspondent, I assure you. I hardly 
ever get a letter." 

"And so you absolutely opened what was directed to her! Oh, Mr. 
Weston" (laughing affectedly), "I must protest against that. A most 
dangerous precedent indeed ! I beg you will not let your neighbours follow 
your example. Upon my word, if this is what I am to expect, we married 
women must begin to exert ourselves. Oh, Mr. Weston, I could not have 
believed it of you!" 

"Aye, we men are sad fellows. You must take care of yourself, Mrs. 
Elton. This letter tells us it is a short letter, written in a hurry, merely, 
to give us notice it tells us that they are all coming up to town directly, 
on Mrs. Churchill's account! she has not been well the whole winter, and 
thinks Enscombe too cold for her; so they are all to move southward 
without loss of time." 

"Indeed! from Yorkshire, I think. Enscombe is in Yorkshire?" 

"Yes, they are about one hundred and ninety miles from London: a 
considerable journey." 

"Yes, upon my word, very considerable. Sixty-five miles farther than 
from Maple Grove to London. But what is distance, Mr. Weston, to people 
of large fortune? You would be amazed to hear how my brother, Mr. 
Suckling, sometimes flies about. You will hardly believe me, but twice in 
one week he and Mr. Bragge went to London and back again with four 
horses." 



$50 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"The evil of the distance from Enscombe," said Mr. Weston, "is, ihat 
Mrs. Churchill, as we understood, has not been able to leave the sofa for a 
week together. In Frank's last letter she complained, he said, of being too 
weak to get into her conservatory without having both his arm and his 
uncle's. This, you know, speaks a great degree of weakness ; but now she 
is so impatient to be in town, that she means to sleep only two nights on 
the road so Frank writes word. Certainly, delicate ladies have very 
extraordinary constitutions, Mrs. Elton; you must grant me that." 

"No, indeed, I shall grant you nothing. I always take the part of my 
own sex; I do, indeed. I give you notice, you will find me a formidable 
antagonist on that point. I always stand up for women; and I assure you, 
if you knew how Selina feels with respect to sleeping at an inn, you would 
not wonder at Mrs. Churchill's making incredible exertions to avoid it. 
Selina says it is quite horror to her ; and I believe I have caught a little of 
her nicety. She always travels with her own sheets; an excellent precau- 
tion. Does Mrs. Churchill do the same?" 

"Depend upon it, Mrs. Churchill does everything that any other fine 
lady ever did. Mrs. Churchill will not be second to any lady in the land 
for 

Mrs. Elton eagerly interposed with 

"Oh, Mr. Weston, do not mistake me. Selina is no fine lady, I assure 
you. Do not run away with such an idea." 

"Is not she? Then she is no rule for Mrs. Churchill, who is as thorough 
a fine lady as anybody ever beheld." 

Mrs. Elton began to think she had been wrong in disclaiming so warmly. 
It was by no means her object to have it believed that her sister was not a 
fine lady ; perhaps there was want of spirit in the pretence of it ; and she 
was considering in what way she had best retract, when Mr. Weston 
went on : 

"Mrs. Churchill is not much in my good graces, as you may suspect; 
but this is quite between ourselves. She is very fond of Frank, and there- 
fore I would not speak ill of her. Besides, she is out of health now; but 
that indeed, by her own account, she had always been. I would not say so 
to everybody, Mrs. Elton ; but I have not much faith in Mrs. Churchill's 
illness." 

"If she is really ill, why not go to Bath, Mr. Weston? To Bath, or to 
Clifton?" 

"She has taken it into her head that Enscombe is too cold for her. The 
fact is, I suppose, that she is tired of Enscombe. She has now been a longer 
time stationary there than she ever was before, and she begins to want 
change. It is a retired place. A fine place, but very retired." 

"Aye, like Maple Grove, I dare say. Nothing can stand more retired 
from the road than Maple Grove. Such an immense plantation all round 
it! You seem shut out from everything in the most complete retirement. 
And Mrs. Churchill probably has not health or spirits like Selina to enjoy 
that sort of seclusion. Or, perhaps, she may not have resources enough in 



EMMA 9$I 

herself to be qualified for a country life. I always say a woman cannot 
have too many resources and I feel very thankful that I have so many 
myself as to be quite independent of society." 

"Frank was here in February for a fortnight." 

"So I remember to have heard. He will find an addition to the society of 
Highbury when he comes again ; that is, if I may presume to call myself 
an addition. But perhaps he may never have heard of there being such a 
creature in the world." 

This was too loud a call for a compliment to be passed by, and Mr. 
Weston, with a very good grace, immediately exclaimed: 

"My dear madam! Nobody but yourself could imagine such a thing 
possible. Not heard of you! I believe Mrs. Weston's letters lately have 
been full of very little else than Mrs. Elton." 

He had done his duty, and could return to his son. 

"When Frank left us," continued he, "it was quite uncertain when we 
might see him again, which makes this day's news doubly welcome. It has 
been completely unexpected. That is, / always had a strong persuasion he 
would be here again soon ; I was sure something favourable would turn up 
but nobody believed me. He and Mrs. Weston were both dreadfully 
desponding. 'How could he contrive to come? And how could it be sup- 
posed that his uncle and aunt would spare him again?' and so forth. I 
always felt that something would happen in our favour, and so it has, you 
see. I have observed, Mrs. Elton, in the course of my life, that if things are 
going untowardly one month, they are sure to mend the next." 

"Very true, Mr. Weston, perfectly true. It is just what I used to say to a 
certain gentleman in company in the days of courtship, when, because 
things did not go quite right did not proceed with all the rapidity which 
suited his feelings he was apt to be in despair, and exclaim that he was 
sure at this rate it would be May before Hymen's saffron robe would be 
put on for us ! Oh ! the pains I have been at to dispel those gloomy ideas, 
and give him cheerfuller views! The carriage we had disappointments 
about the carriage one morning, I remember, he came to me quite in 
despair." 

She was stopped by a slight fit of coughing, and Mr. Weston instantly 
seized the opportunity of going on. 

"You were mentioning May. May is the very month which Mrs. 
Churchill is ordered, or has ordered herself, to spend in some warmer place 
than Enscombe in short, to spend in London ; so that we have the agree- 
able prospect of frequent visits from Frank, the whole spring precisely 
the season of the year which one should have chosen for it: days almost 
at the longest : weather genial and pleasant, always inviting one out, and 
never too hot for exercise. When he was here before, we made the best of 
it ; but there was a good deal of wet, damp, cheerless weather ; there always 
is in February, you know; and we could not do half that we intended. 
Now will be the time. This will be complete enjoyment; and I do not 
know, Mrs. Elton, whether the uncertainty of our meetings, the sort of 



952 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

constant expectation there will be of his coming in to-day or to-morrow, 
and at any hour, may not be more friendly to happiness than having him 
actually in the house. I think it is so. I think it is the state of mind which 
gives most spirit and delight. I hope you will be pleased with my son; but 
you must not expect a prodigy. He is generally thought a fine young man, 
but do not expect a prodigy. Mrs. Weston's partiality for him is very 
great, and, as you may suppose, most gratifying to me. She thinks nobody 
equal to him." 

"And I assure you, Mr. Weston, I have very little doubt that my 
opinion will be decidedly in his favour. I have heard so much in praise of 
Mr. Frank Churchill. At the same time, it is fair to observe, that I am one 
of those who always judge for themselves, and are by no means implicitly 
guided by others. I give you notice, that as I find your son, so I shall judge 
of him. I am no flatterer." 

Mr. Weston was musing. 

"I hope," said he, presently, "I have not been severe upon poor Mrs. 
Churchill. If she is ill, I should be sorry to do her injustice; but there are 
some traits in her character which make it difficult for me to speak of her 
with the forbearance I could wish. You cannot be ignorant, Mrs. Elton, of 
,ny connection with the family, nor of the treatment I have met with ; and, 
between ourselves, the whole blame of it is to be laid to her. She was the 
instigator. Frank's mother would never have been slighted as she was but 
for her. Mr. Churchill has pride ; but his pride is nothing to his wife's ; his 
is a quiet, indolent, gentlemanlike sort of pride, that would harm nobody, 
a id only make himself a little helpless and tiresome ; but her pride is ar- 
rogance and insolence. And what inclines one less to bear, she has no fair 
pretence of family or blood. She was nobody when he married her, barely 
the daughter of a gentleman; but ever since her being turned into a 
Churchill, she has out-Churchill'd them all in high and mighty claims; 
but in herself, I assure you, she is an upstart." , 

"Only think! well, that must be infinitely provoking! I have quite a 
horror of upstarts. Maple Grove has given me a thorough disgust to people 
of that sort ; for there is a family in that neighbourhood who are such an 
annoyance to my brother and sister from the airs they give themselves! 
Your description of Mrs. Churchill made me think of them directly. People 
of the name of Tupman, very lately settled there, and encumbered with 
many low connections, but giving themselves immense airs, and expecting 
to be on a footing with the eld established families. A year and a half is 
the very utmost that they can have lived at West Hall ; and how they got 
their fortune nobody knows. They came from Birmingham, which is not 
a place to promise much, you know, Mr. Weston. One has not great hopes 
from Birmingham. I always say there is something direful in the sound; 
but nothing more is positively known of the Tupmans, though a good 
many things, I assure you, are suspected ; and yet by their manners they 
evidently think themselves equal even to my brother, Mr. Suckling, who 
happens to be one of their nearest neighbours. It is infinitely too bad. Mr. 



EMMA 953 

Suckling, who has been eleven years a resident at Maple Grove, and whose 
father had it before him I believe, at least I am almost sure that old 
Mr. Suckling had completed the purchase before his death." 

They were interrupted. Tea was carrying round, and Mr. Weston, 
having said all that he wanted, soon took the opportunity of walking 
away. 

After tea, Mr. and Mrs. Weston, and Mr. Elton, sat down with Mr. 
Woodhouse to cards. The remaining five were left to their own powers, 
and Emma doubted their getting on very well ; for Mr. Knightley seemed 
little disposed for conversation; Mrs. Elton was wanting notice, which 
nobody had inclination to pay, and she was herself in a worry of spirits 
which would have made her prefer being silent. 

Mr. John Knightley proved more talkative than his brother. He was to 
leave them early the next day ; and he soon began with 

"Well, Emma, I do not believe I have anything more to say about the 
boys; but you have your sister's letter, and everything is down at full 
length there, we may be sure. My charge would be much more concise 
than hers, and probably not much in the same spirit ; all that I have to 
recommend being comprised in Do not spoil them, and do not physic 
them." 

"I rather hope to satisfy you both," said Emma; "for I shall do all 
in my power to make them happy, which will be enough for Isabella; 
and happiness must preclude false indulgence and physic." 

"And if you find them troublesome, you must send them home again.'' 

"That is very likely. You think so, do not you?" 

"I hope I am aware that they may be too noisy for your father; or even 
may be some incumbrance to you, if your visiting engagements continue 
to increase as much as they have done lately." 

"Increase!" 

"Certainly; you must be sensible that the last half-year has made a 
great difference in your way of life." 

"Difference! No, indeed, J am not." 

"There can be no doubt of your being much more engaged with company 
than you used to be. Witness this very time. Here am I come down for only 
one day, and you are engaged with a dinner-party! When did it happen 
before, or anything like it? Your neighbourhood is increasing, and you mix 
more with it. A little while ago, every letter to Isabella brought an account 
of fresh gaieties ; dinners at Mr. Cole's, or balls at the Crown. The differ- 
ence which Randalls, Randalls alone, makes in your goings on is very 
great." 

"Yes," said his brother, quickly, "it is Randalls that does it all." 

"Very well ; and as Randalls, I suppose, is not likely to have less in- 
fluence than heretofore it strikes me as a possible thing, Emma, that 
Henry and John may be sometimes in the way. And if they are, I only beg 
you to send them home." 



954 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"No," cried Mr. Knightley; "that need not be the consequence. Let 
them be sent to Donwell. I shall certainly be at leisure." 

"Upon my word," exclaimed Emma, "you amuse me! I should like to 
know how many of all my numerous engagements take place without 
your being of the party ; and why I am to be supposed in danger of wanting 
leisure to attend to the little boys. These amazing engagements of mine 
what have they been? Dining once with the Coles, and having a ball talked 
of, which never took place. I can understand you" (nodding at Mr. John 
Knightley) "your good fortune in meeting with so many of your friends 
at once here delights you too much to pass unnoticed. But you" (turning 
to Mr. Knightley), "who know how very, very seldom I am ever two 
hours from Hartfield why you should foresee such a series of dissipation 
for me, I cannot imagine. And as to my dear little boys, I must say, that if 
Aunt Emma has not time for them, I do not think they would fare much 
better with Uncle Knightley, who is absent from home about five hours 
where she is absent one ; and who, when he is at home, is either reading to 
himself or settling his accounts." 

Mr. Knightley seemed to be trying not to smile ; and succeeded without 
difficulty, upon Mrs. Elton's beginning to talk to him. 



Chapter 37 

A VERY little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma as to the 
nature of her agitation on hearing this news of Frank Churchill. She 
was soon convinced that it was not for herself she was feeling at all appre- 
hensive or embarrassed it was for him. Her own attachment had really 
subsided into a mere nothing it was not worth thinking of; but if he, 
who had undoubtedly been always so much the most in love of the two, 
were to be returning with the same warmth of sentiment which he had 
taken away, it would be very distressing. If a separation of two months 
should not have cooled him, there were dangers and evils before her: 
caution for him and for herself would be necessary. She did not mean to 
have her own affections entangled again, and it would be incumbent on 
her to avoid any encouragement of his. 

She wished jhe might be able to keep him from an absolute declaration. 
That would be so very painful a conclusion of their present acquaintance ; 
and yet she could not help rather anticipating something decisive. She felt 
as if the spring would not pass without bringing a crisis, an event, a some- 
thing to alter her present composed and tranquil state. 

It was not very long, though rather longer than Mr. Weston had fore- 
seen, before she had the power of forming some opinion of Frank 
Churchill's feelings. The Enscombe family were not in town quite so soon 
as had been imagined, but he was at Highbury very soon afterwards. He 
rode down for a couple of hours ; he could not yet do more ; but as he came 
from Randalls immediately to Hartfield, she could then exercise all her 



EMMA 955 

quick observation, and speedily determine how he was influenced, and 
how she must act. They met with the utmost friendliness. There could be 
no doubt of his great pleasure in seeing her. But she had an almost instant 
doubt of his caring for her as he had done, of his feeling the same tender- 
ness in the same degree. She watched him well. It was a clear thing he was 
less in love than he had been. Absence, with the conviction probably of her 
indifference, had produced this very natural and very desirable effect. 

He was in high spirits ; as ready to talk and laugh as ever ; and seemed 
delighted to speak of his former visit, and recur to old stories ; and he was 
not without agitation. It was not in his calmness that she read his com- 
parative difference. He was not calm; his spirits were evidently fluttered; 
there was restlessness about him. Lively as he was, it seemed a liveliness 
that did not satisfy himself; but what decided her belief on the subject, 
was his staying only a quarter of an hour, and hurrying away to make 
other calls in Highbury. "He had seen a group of old acquaintances in the 
street as he passed he had not stopped, he would not stop for more than a 
word but he had the vanity to think they would be disappointed if he did 
not call; and, much as he wished to stay longer at Hartfield, he must 
hurry off." 

She had no doubt as to his being less in love, but neither his agitated 
spirits nor his hurrying away seemed like a perfect cure; and she was 
rather inclined to think it implied a dread of her returning power, and a 
discreet resolution of not trusting himself with her long. 

This was the only visit from Frank Churchill in the course of ten days. 
He was often hoping, intending to come; but was always prevented. His 
aunt could not bear to have him leave her. Such was his own account at 
Randalls. If he were quite sincere, if he really tried to come, it was to be 
inferred that Mrs. Churchill's removal to London had been of no service to 
the wilful or nervous part of her disorder. That she was really ill was very 
certain; he had declared himself convinced of it, at Randalls. Though 
much might be fancy, he could not doubt, when he looked back, that she 
was in a weaker state of health than she had been half a year ago. He did 
not believe it to proceed from anything that care and medicine might not 
remove, or at least that she might not have many years of existence 
before her; but he could not be prevailed on, by all his father's doubts, to 
say that her complaints were merely imaginary, or that she was as strong 
as ever. 

It soon appeared that London was not the place for her. She could not 
endure its noise. Her nerves were under continual irritation and suffering; 
and by the ten days' end, her nephew's letter to Randalls communicated a 
change of plan. They were going to remove immediately to Richmond. 
Mrs. Churchill had been recommended to the medical skill of an eminent 
person there, and had otherwise a fancy for the place. A ready-furnished 
house in a favourite spot was engaged, and much benefit expected from the 
change. 

Emma heard that Frank wrote in the highest spirits of this arrange- 



956 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

ment, and seemed most fully to appreciate the blessing of having two 
months before him of such near neighbourhood to many dear friends ; for 
the house was taken for May and June. She was told that now he wrote 
with the greatest confidence of being often with them, almost as often as 
he could even wish. 

Emma saw how Mr. Weston understood these joyous prospects. He was 
considering her as the source of all the happiness they offered. She hoped 
it was not so. Two months must bring it to the proof. 

Mr. Weston's own happiness was indisputable. He was quite delighted. 
It was the very circumstance he could have wished for. Now, it would be 
really having Frank in their neighbourhood. What were nine miles to a 
young man? An hour's ride. He would be always coming over. The 
difference in that respect of Richmond and London was enough to make 
the whole difference of seeing him always and seeing him never. Sixteen 
miles nay, eighteen it must be full eighteen to Manchester Street 
was a serious obstacle. Were he ever able to get away, the day would be 
spent in coming and returning. There was no comfort in having him in 
London ; he might as well be at Enscombe ; but Richmond was the very 
distance for easy intercourse. Better than nearer! 

One good thing was immediately brought to a certainty by this removal 
the ball at the Crown. It had not been forgotten before; but it had been 
soon acknowledged vain to attempt to fix a day. Now, however, it was 
absolutely to be ; every preparation was resumed ; and very soon after the 
Churchills had removed to Richmond, a few lines from Frank, to say that 
his aunt felt already much better for the change, and that he had no 
doubt of being able to join them for twenty-four hours at any given time, 
induced them to name as early a day as possible. 

Mr. Weston's ball was to be a real thing. A very few to-morrows stood 
between the young people of Highbury and happiness. 

Mr. Woodhouse was resigned. The time of year lightened the evil to 
him. May was better for everything than February. Mrs. Bates was 
engaged to spend the evening at Hartfield ; James had due notice, and he 
sanguinely hoped that neither dear little Henry nor dear little John would 
have anything the matter with them while dear Emma were gone. 



Chapter 38 

No misfortune occurred again to prevent the ball. The day approached, 
the day arrived ; and, after a morning of some anxious watching, Frank 
Churchill, in all the certainty of his own self, reached Randalls before 
dinner ; and everything was safe. 

No second meeting had there yet been between him and Emma. The 
room at the Crown was to witness it ; but it would be better than a common 
meeting in a crowd. Mr. Weston had been so very earnest in his entreaties 
for her early attendance, for her arriving there as soon as possible after 



EMMA 9517 

themselves, for the purpose of taking her opinion as to the propriety and 
comfort of the rooms before any other persons came, that she could not 
refuse him, and therefore must spend some quiet interval in the young 
man's company. She was to convey Harriet, and they drove to the Crown 
in good time, the Randalls party just sufficiently before them. 

Frank Churchill seemed to have been on the watch ; and though he did 
not say much, his eyes declared that he meant to have a delightful evening. 
They all walked about together, to see that everything was as it should be ; 
and within a few minutes were joined by the contents of another carriage 
which Emma could not hear the sound of at first without great surprise. 
"So unreasonably early!" she was going to exclaim; but she presently 
found that it was a family of old friends, who were coming, like herself, by 
particular desire, to help Mr. Weston's judgment; and they were so very 
closely followed by another carriage of cousins, who had been entreated to 
come early with the same distinguishing earnestness, on the same errand 
that it seemed as if half the company might soon be collected together for 
the purpose of preparatory inspection. 

Emma perceived that her taste was not the only taste on which Mr. 
Weston depended, and felt that to be the favourite and intimate of a man 
who had so many intimates and confidantes, was not the very first dis- 
tinction in the scale of vanity. She liked his open manners, but a little 
less of open-heartedness would have made him a higher character. General 
benevolence, but not general friendship, made a man what he ought to be. 
She could fancy such a man. 

The whole party walked about, and looked, and praised again; and 
then, having nothing else to do, formed a sort of half-circle round the fire, 
to observe in their various modes, till other subjects were started, that, 
though May, a fire in the evening was still very pleasant. 

Emma found that it was not Mr. Weston's fault that the number of 
privy counsellors was not yet larger. They had stopped at Mrs. Bates's 
door to offer the use of their carriage, but the aunt and niece were to be 
brought by the Eltons. 

Frank was standing by her, but not steadily ; there was a restlessness, 
which showed a mind not at ease. He was looking about, he was going to 
the door, he was watching for the sound of other, carriages impatient to 
begin, or afraid of being always near her. 

Mrs. Elton was spoken of. "I think she must be here soon," said he. "I 
have a great curiosity to see Mrs. Elton, I have heard so much of her. It 
cannot be long, I think, before she comes." 

A carriage was heard. He was on the move immediately; but coming 
back, said: 

"I am forgetting that I am not acquainted with her. I have never seen 
either Mr. or Mrs. Elton. I have no business to put myself forward." 

Mr. and Mrs. Elton appeared; and all the smiles and the proprieties 
passed 



958 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"But Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax!" said Mr. Weston, looking about. 
"We thought you were to bring them." 

The mistake had been slight. The carriage was sent for them now. 
Emma longed to know what Frank's first opinion of Mrs. Elton might be ; 
how he was affected by the studied elegance of her dress, and her smiles of 
graciousness. He was immediately qualifying himself to form an opinion, 
by giving her very proper attention, after the introduction had passed. 

In a few minutes the carriage returned. Somebody talked of rain. "I will 
see that there are umbrellas, sir," said Frank to his father: "Miss Bates 
must not be forgotten ; " and away he went. Mr. Weston was following : but 
Mrs. Elton detained him, to gratify him by her opinion of his son; and 
so briskly did she begin, that the young man himself, though by no means 
moving slowly, could hardly be out of hearing. 

"A very fine young man, indeed, Mr. Weston. You know I candidly told 
you I should form my own opinion ; and I am happy to say that I am 
extremely pleased with him. You may believe me. I never compliment. I 
think him a very handsome young man, and his manners are precisely 
what I like and approve, so truly the gentleman, without the least conceit 
or puppyism. You must know I have a vast dislike to puppies quite a 
horror of them. They were never tolerated at Maple Grove. Neither Mr. 
Suckling nor me had ever any patience with them ; and we used sometimes 
to say very cutting things. Selina, who is mild almost to a fault, bore with 
them much better." 

While she talked of his son, Mr. Weston's attention was chained; but 
when she got to Maple Grove, he could recollect that there were ladies just 
arriving to be attended to, and with happy smiles must hurry away. 

Mrs. Elton turned to Mrs. Weston. "I have no doubt of its being our 
carriage with Miss Bates and Jane. Our coachman and horses are so 
extremely expeditious ! I believe we drive faster than anybody. What a 
pleasure it is to send one's carriage for a friend! I understand you were so 
kind as to offer, but another time it will be quite unnecessary. You may 
be very sure I shall always take care of them" 

Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, escorted by the two gentlemen, walked 
into the room; and Mrs. Elton seemed to think it as much her duty as 
Mrs. Weston's to receive them. Her gestures and movements might be 
understood by anyone who looked on like Emma ; but her words, every- 
body's words, were soon lost under the incessant flow of Miss Bates, who 
came in talking, and had not finished her speech under many minutes after 
her being admitted into the circle at the fire. As the door opened she was 
heard 

"So very obliging of you! No rain at all. Nothing to signify. I do not 
care for myself. Quite thick shoes. And Jane declares Well!" (as soon 
as she was within the door), "well! This is brilliant indeed! This is ad- 
mirable! Excellently contrived, upon my word. Nothing wanting. Could 
not have imagined it. So well lighted up! Jane, Jane, look! did you ever 
see anything ? Oh! Mr. Weston, you must really have had Aladdin's 



EMMA 959 

lamp. Good Mrs. Stokes would not know her own room again. I saw her as 
I came in ; she was standing in the entrance. 'Oh! Mrs. Stokes,' said I but 
I had not time for more." She was now met by Mrs. Weston. "Very well, 
I thank you, ma'am. I hope you are quite well. Very happy to hear it. So 
afraid you might hav a headache ! seeing you pass by so often, and know- 
ing how much trouble you must have. Delighted to hear it indeed ! Ah ! 
dear Mrs. Elton, so obliged to you for the carriage; excellent time; Jane 
and I quite ready. Did not keep the horses a moment. Most comfortable 
carriage. Oh ! and I am sure our thanks are due to you, Mrs. Weston, on 
that score. Mrs. Elton had most kindly sent Jane a note, or we should 
have been. But two such offers in one day! Never were such neighbours. 
I said to my mother, 'Upon my word, ma'am ' Thank you, my mother 
is remarkably well. Gone to Mr. Woodhouse's. I made her take her 
shawl for the evenings are not warm her large new shawl, Mrs 
Dixon's wedding present. So kind of her to think of my mother! Bought 
at Weymouth, you know; Mr. Dixon's choice. There were three others, 
Jane says, which they hesitated about some time. Colonel Campbell 
rather preferred an olive. My dear Jane, are you sure you did not wet 
your feet? It was but a drop or two, but I am so afraid; but Mr. Frank 
Churchill was so extremely and there was a mat to step upon. I shall 
never forget his extreme politeness. Oh! Mr. Frank Churchill, I must tell 
you my mother's spectacles have never been in fault since; the rivet never 
came out again. My mother often talks of your good-nature ; does not she, 
Jane? Do not we often talk of Mr. Frank Churchill? Ah, here's Miss 
Woodhouse. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how do you do? Very well, I thank 
you, quite well. This is meeting quite in fairy land. Such a transformation! 
Must not compliment, I know" (eyeing Emma most complacently) 
"that would be rude; but upon my word, Miss Woodhouse, you do look 
how do you like Jane's hair? You are a judge. She did it all herself. 
Quite wonderful how she does her hair! No hairdresser from London, 
I think, could Ah! Dr. Hughes, I declare and Mrs. Hughes. Must 
go and speak to Dr. and Mrs. Hughes for a moment. How do you do? 
How do you do? Very well, I thank you. This is delightful, is not it? 
Where's dear Mr. Richard? Oh! there he is. Don't disturb him. Much 
better employed talking to the young ladies. How do you do, Mr. Richard? 
I saw you the other day as you rode through the town. Mrs. Otway, I 
protest, and good Mr. Otway, and Miss Otway, and Miss Caroline. Such a 
host of friends! and Mr. George and Mr. Arthur! How do you do? How do 
you all do? Quite well, I am much obliged to you. Never better. 
Don't I hear another carriage? Who can this be? very likely the worthy 
Coles. Upon my word, this is charming, to be standing about among such 
friends! and such a noble fire! I am quite roasted. No coffee, I thank you, 
for me ; never take coffee. A little tea, if you please, sir, by and by ; no 
hurry. Oh! here it comes. Everything is so good!" 

Frank Churchill returned to his station by Emma ; and as soon as Miss 
Bates was quiet, she found herself necessarily overhearing the discourse of 



960 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Mrs. Elton and Miss Fairfax, who were standing a little way behind her. 
He was thoughtful. Whether he were overhearing too she could not 
determine. After a good many compliments to Jane on her dress and look 
compliments very quietly and properly taken Mrs. Elton was evi- 
dently wanting to be complimented herself and it was, "How do you 
like my gown? How do you like my trimming! How has Wright done my 
hair?" with many other relative questions, all answered with patient 
politeness. Mrs. Elton then said: 

"Nobody can think less of dress in general than I do: but upon such an 
occasion as this, when everybody's eyes are so much upon me, and in 
compliment to the Westons, who I have no doubt are giving this ball 
chiefly to do me honour I would not wish to be inferior to others ; and 
I see very few pearls in the room except mine. So Frank Churchill is a 
capital dancer, I understand. We shall see if our styles suit. A fine young 
man certainly is Frank Churchill. I like him very well." 

At this moment Frank began talking so vigorously, that Emma could 
not but imagine he had overheard his own praises, and did not want to 
hear more ; and the voices of the ladies were drowned for a while, till an- 
other suspension brought Mrs. Elton's tones again distinctly forward. Mr. 
Elton had just joined him, and his wife was exclaiming: 

"Oh! you have found us out at last, have you, in our seclusion? I was 
this moment telling Jane, I thought you would begin to be impatient for 
tidings of "us." 

"Jane!" repeated Frank Churchill, with a look of surprise and dis- 
pleasure. "That is easy ; but Miss Fairfax does not disapprove it, I sup- 
pose." 

"How do you like Mrs. Elton?" said Emma, in a whisper. 

"Not at all." 

"You are ungrateful." 

"Ungrateful! What do you mean?" Then changing from a frown to a 
smile, "No, do not tell me, I do not want to know what you mean. Where 
is my father? When are we to begin dancing?" 

Emma could hardly understand him ; he seemed in an odd humour. He 
walked off to rind his father, but was quickly back again with both Mr. and 
Mrs. Weston. He had met with them in a little perplexity, which must be 
laid before Emma. It had just occurred to Mrs. Weston that Mrs. Elton 
must be asked to begin the ball ; that she would expect it ; which interfered 
with all their wishes of giving Emma that distinction. Emma heard the 
sad truth with fortitude. 

"And what are we to do for a proper partner for her?" said Mr. Weston. 
"She will think Frank ought to ask her." 

Frank turned instantly to Emma, to claim her former promise; and 
boasted himself an engaged man, which his father looked his most perfect 
approbation of and it then appeared that Mrs. Weston was wanting him 
to dance with Mrs. Elton himself, and that their business was to help to 
persuade him into it, which was done pretty soon. Mr. Weston and Mrs. 



EMMA 961 

Elton led the way; Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse followed, 
Emma must submit to stand second to Mrs. Elton though she had always 
considered the ball as peculiarly for her. It was almost enough to make 
her think of marrying. 

Mrs. Elton had undoubtedly the advantage, at this time, in vanity 
completely gratified; for though she had intended to begin with Frank 
Churchill, she could not lose by the change. Mr. Weston might be his 
son's superior. In spite of this little rub, however, Emma was smiling with 
enjoyment, delighted to see the respectable length of the set as it was 
forming, and to feel that she had so many hours of unusual festivity before 
her. She was more disturbed by Mr. Knightley's not dancing than by 
anything else. There he was, among the standers-by, where he ought not 
to be ; he ought to be dancing, not classing himself with the husbands, and 
fathers, and whist-players, who were pretending to feel an interest in the 
dance till their rubbers were made up, so young as he looked ! He could 
not have appeared to greater advantage perhaps anywhere, than where he 
had placed himself. His tall, firm, upright figure, among the bulky forms 
and stooping shoulders of the elderly men, was such as Emma felt must 
draw everybody's eyes ; and, excepting her own partner, there was not one 
among the whole row of young men who could be compared with him. 
He moved a few steps nearer, and those few steps were enough to prove in 
how gentlemanlike a manner, with what natural grace, he must have 
danced, would he but take the trouble. Whenever she caught his eye, she 
forced him to smile ; but in general he was looking grave. She wished he 
could love a ball-room better, and could like Frank Churchill better. He 
seemed often observing her. She must not flatter herself that he thought 
of her dancing; but if he were criticising her behaviour, she did not feel 
afraid. There was nothing like flirtation between her and her partner. 
They seemed more like cheerful, easy friends than lovers. That Frank 
Churchill thought less of her than he had done was indubitable. 

The ball proceeded pleasantly. The anxious cares, the incessant atten- 
tions of Mrs. Weston were not thrown away. Everybody seemed happy; 
and the praise of being a delightful ball, which is seldom bestowed till after 
a ball has ceased to be, was repeatedly given in the very beginning of the 
existence of this. Of very important, very recordable events, it was not 
more productive than such meetings usually are. There was one, however, 
which Emma thought something of. The two last dances before supper 
were begun, and Harriet had no partner; the only young lady sitting 
down ; and so equal had been hitherto the number of dancers, that how 
there could be any one disengaged was the wonder. But Emma's wonder 
lessened soon afterwards, on seeing Mr. Elton sauntering about. He would 
not ask Harriet to dance, if it were possible to be avoided; she was 
sure he would not and she was expecting him every moment to escape 
into the card-room. 

Escape, however, was not his plan. He came to the part of the room 
where the sitters-by were collected, spoke to some, and walked about in 



962 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

front of them, as if to show his liberty, and his resolution of maintaining it. 
He did not omit being sometimes directly before Miss Smith, or speaking 
to those who were close to her. Emma saw it. She was not yet dancing ; she 
was working her way up from the bottom, and had therefore leisure to 
look around, and by only turning her head a little she saw it all. When she 
was half-way up the set, the whole group were exactly behind her, and she 
would no longer allow her eyes to watch ; but Mr. Elton was so near, that 
she heard every syllable of a dialogue which just then took place between 
him and Mrs. Weston ; and she perceived that his wife, who was standing 
immediately above her, was not only listening also, but even encouraging 
him by significant glances. The kind-hearted, gentle Mrs. Weston had 
left her seat to join him and say, "Do not you dance, Mr. Elton?" to 
which his prompt reply was, "Most readily, Mrs. Weston, if you will 
dance with me." 

"Me! oh! no I would get you a better partner than myself. I am no 
dancer." 

"If Mrs. Gilbert wishes to dance," said he, "I shall have great pleasure, 
I am sure; for, though beginning to feel myself rather an old married man, 
and that my dancing days are over, it would give me very great pleasure 
at any time to stand up with an old friend like Mrs. Gilbert." 

"Mrs. Gilbert does not mean to dance, but there is a young lady dis- 
engaged whom I should be very glad to see dancing Miss Smith." 

"Miss Smith Oh! I had not observed. You are extremely obliging 
and if I were not an old married but my dancing days are over, Mrs. 
Weston. You will excuse me. Anything else I should be most happy to do, 
at your command but my dancing days are over." 

Mrs. Weston said no more ; and Emma could imagine with what surprise 
and mortification she must be returning to her seat. This was Mr. Elton ! 
the amiable, obliging, gentle Mr. Elton. She looked round for a moment; 
he had joined Mr. Knightley at a little distance, and was arranging him- 
self for settled conversation, while smiles of high glee passed between 
him and his wife. She would not look again. Her heart was in a glow, and 
she feared her face might be as hot. 

In another moment a happier sight caught her Mr. Knightley leading 
Harriet to the set! Never had she been more surprised, seldom more de- 
lighted, than at that instant. She was all pleasure and gratitude, both 
for Harriet and herself, and longed to be thanking him ; and though too 
distant for speech, her countenance said much, as soon as she could catch 
his eye again. 

His dancing proved to be just what she had believed it, extremely good ; 
and Harriet would have seemed almost too lucky, if it had not been for the 
cruel state of things before, and for the very complete enjoyment and very 
high sense of the distinction which her happy features announced. It was 
not thrown away on her ; she bounded higher than ever, flew farther down 
the middle, and was in a continual course of smiles. 

Mr. Elton had retreated into the card-room, looking (Emma trusted) 



EMMA 963 

very foolish. She did not think he was quite so hardened as his wife, though 
growing very like her; she spoke some of her feelings, by observing 
audibly to her partner: 

"Knightley has taken pity on poor little Miss Smith! Very good- 
natured, I declare." 

Supper was announced. The move began; and Miss Bates might be 
heard from that moment without interruption, till her being seated at 
table and taking up her spoon. 

"Jane, Jane, my dear Jane, where are you? Here is your tippet. Mrs. 
Weston begs you to put on your tippet. She says she is afraid there will be 
draughts in the passage, though everything has been done one door 
nailed up quantities of matting my dear Jane, indeed you must. Mr. 
Churchill, oh ! you are too obliging. How well you put it on so gratified ! 
Excellent dancing indeed. Yes, my dear, I ran home, as I said I should, to 
help grandmamma to bed, and got back again, and nobody missed me. I 
set off without saying a word, just as I told you. Grandmamma was quite 
well, had a charming evening with Mr. Woodhouse, a vast deal of chat,, 
and backgammon. Tea was made downstairs, biscuits and baked apples, 
and wine before she came away : amazing luck in some of her throws : and 
she inquired a great deal about you, how you were amused, and who 
were your partners. 'Oh!' said I, 'I shall not forestall Jane; I left her 
dancing with Mr. George Otway; she will love to tell you all about it 
herself to-morrow: her first partner was Mr. Elton; I do not know who 
will ask her next, perhaps Mr. William Cox.' My dear sir, you are too 
obliging. Is there nobody you would not rather? I am not helpless. Sir, 
you are most kind. Upon my word, Jane on one arm, and me on the 
other. Stop, stop, let us stand a little back, Mrs. Elton is going; dear 
Mrs. Elton, how elegant she looks beautiful lace. Now we all follow in 
her train. Quite the queen of the evening! Well, here we are at the pas- 
sage. Two steps, Jane, take care of the two steps. Oh, no, there is but 
one. Well, I was persuaded there were two. How very odd! I was con- 
vinced there were two, and there is but one. I never saw anything equal 
to the comfort and style candles everywhere. I was telling you of your 
grandmamma, Jane there was a little disappointment. The baked apples 
and biscuits, excellent in their way, you know; but there was a delicate 
fricassee of sweetbread and some asparagus brought in at first, and good 
Mr. Woodhouse, not thinking the asparagus quite boiled enough, sent it 
all out again. Now there is nothing grandmamma loves better than sweet- 
bread and asparagus so she was rather disappointed ; but we agreed we 
would not speak of it to anybody, for fear of its getting round to dear 
Miss Woodhouse, who would be so very much concerned. Well, this is 
brilliant! I am all amazement! could not have supposed anything such 
elegance and profusion! I have seen nothing like it since Well, where 
shall we sit? Where shall we sit? Anywhere, so that Jane is not in a 
draught. Where 7 sit is of no consequence. Oh! do you recommend this 
side? Well, I am sure, Mr. Churchill only it seems too good but just 



964 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

as you please. What you direct in this house cannot be wrong. Dear Jane, 
how shall we ever recollect half the dishes for grandmamma? Soup too! 
Bless me! I should not be helped so soon, but it smells most excellent, 
and I cannot help beginning." 

Emma had noopportunity of speaking to Mr. Knightley till after sup- 
per ; but, when they were all in the ball-room again, her eyes invited him 
irresistibly to come to her and be thanked. He was warm in his reprobation 
of Mr. Elton's conduct; it had been unpardonable rudeness; and Mrs. 
Elton's looks also received the due share of censure. 

"They aimed at wounding more than Harriet," said he. "Emma, why 
is it that they are your enemies?" 

He looked with smiling penetration; and, on receiving no answer, 
added, "She ought not to be angry with you, I suspect, whatever he may 
be. To that surmise, you say nothing, of course: but confess, Emma, that 
you did want him to marry Harriet." 

"I did," replied Emma, "and they cannot forgive me." 

He shook his head ; but there was a smile of indulgence with it, and he 
only said: 

"I shall not scold you. I leave you to your own reflections." 

"Can you trust me with such flatterers? Does my vain spirit ever tell 
me I am wrong?" 

"Not your vain spirit, but your serious spirit. If one leads you wrong, 
I am sure the other tells you of it." 

"I do own myself to have been completely mistaken in Mr. Elton. There 
is a littleness about him which you discovered, which I did not : and I was 
fully convinced of his being in love with Harriet. It was through a series 
of strange blunders!" 

"And, in return for your acknowledging so much, I will do you the 
justice to say, that you would have chosen for him better than he has 
chosen for himself. Harriet Smith has some first-rate qualities, which Mrs. 
Elton is totally without. An unpretending, single-minded, artless girl 
infinitely to be preferred by any man of sense and taste to such a woman 
as Mrs. Elton. I found Harriet more conversable than I expected." 

Emma was extremely gratified. They were interrupted by the bustle of 
Mr. Weston calling on everybody to begin dancing again. 

"Come, Miss Woodhouse, Miss Otway, Miss Fairfax, what are you all 
doing? Come, Emma, set your companions the example. Everybody is 
lazy! Everybody is asleep!" 

"I am ready," said Emma, "whenever I am wanted." 

"Whom are you going to dance with?" asked Mr. Knightley. 

She hesitated a moment, and then replied, "With you if you will ask 
me." 

"Will you?" said he, offering his hand. 

"Indeed I will. You have shown that you can dance, and you know we 
are not really so much brother and sister as to make it at all improper." 

"Brother and sister! no, indeed." 



EMMA 965 

Chapter 39 

THIS little explanation with Mr. Knightley gave Emma considerable 
pleasure. It was one of the agreeable recollections of the ball, which she 
walked about the lawn the next morning to enjoy. She was extremely glad 
that they had come to so good an understanding respecting the Eltons, 
and that their opinions of both husband and wife were so much alike ; and 
his praise of Harriet, his concession in her favour, was peculiarly gratify- 
ing. The impertinence of the Eltons, which for a few moments had threat- 
ened to ruin the rest of her evening, had been the occasion of some of its 
highest satisfactions ; and she looked forward to another happy result 
the cure of Harriet's infatuation. From Harriet's manner of speaking of 
the circumstance before they quitted the ball-room she had strong hopes. 
It seemed as if her eyes were suddenly opened, and she were enabled to see 
that Mr. Elton was not the superior creature she had believed him. The 
fever was over, and Emma could harbour little fear of the pulse being 
quickened again by injurious courtesy. She depended on the evil feelings 
of the Eltons for supplying all the discipline of pointed neglect that could 
be further requisite. Harriet rational, Frank Churchill not too much in 
love, and Mr. Knightley not wanting to quarrel with her, how very happy 
a summer must be before her. 

She was not to see Frank Churchill this morning. He had told her that 
he could not allow himself the pleasure of stopping at Hartfield, as he was 
to be home by the middle of the day. She did not regret it. 

Having arranged all these matters, looked them through, and put them 
all to rights, she was just turning to the house, with spirits freshened up 
for the demands of the two little boys, as well as of their grandpapa, when 
the great iron sweep-gate opened, and two persons entered whom she had 
never less expected to see together Frank Churchill, with Harriet leaning 
on his arm actually Harriet! A moment sufficed to convince her that 
something extraordinary had happened. Harriet looked white and fright- 
ened, and he was trying to cheer her. The iron gates and the front-door 
were not twenty yards asunder they were all three soon in the hall; and 
Harriet, immediately sinking into a chair, fainted away. 

A young lady who faints must be recovered; questions must be an- 
swered, and surprises be explained. Such events are very interesting ; but 
the suspense of them cannot last long. A few minutes made Emma ac- 
quainted with the whole. 

Miss Smith, and Miss Bickerton, another parlour boarder at Mrs. 
Goddard's, who had been also at the ball, had walked out together, and 
taken a road the Richmond road, which, though apparently public 
enough for safety, had led them into alarm. About half a mile beyond 
Highbury, making a sudden turn, and deeply shaded by elms on each side, 
it became for a considerable stretch very retired; and when the young 
ladies had advanced some way into it, they had suddenly perceived, at a 



906 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

small distance before them, on a broader patch of greensward by the side, 
a party of gipsies. A child on the watch came towards them to beg ; and 
Miss Bickerton, excessively frightened, gave a great scream, and calling 
on Harriet to follow her, ran up a steep bank, cleared a slight hedge at the 
top, and made the best of her way by a short cut back to Highbury. But 
poor Harriet could not follow. She had suffered very much from cramp 
after dancing, and her first attempt to mount the bank brought on such 
a return of it as made her absolutely powerless; and in this state, and 
exceedingly terrified, she had been obliged to remain. 

How the trampers might have behaved, had the young ladies been more 
courageous, must be doubtful ; but such an invitation for attack could not 
be resisted ; and Harriet was soon assailed by half a dozen children, headed 
by a stout woman, and a great boy, all clamorous, and impertinent in look, 
though not absolutely in word. More and more frightened, she immedi- 
ately promised them money, and taking out her purse, gave them a shilling, 
and begged them not to want more, or to use her ill. She was then able to 
walk, though but slowly, and was moving away but her terror and her 
purse were too tempting ; and she was followed, or rather surrounded, by 
the whole gang, demanding more. 

In this state Frank Churchill had found her, she trembling and con- 
ditioning, .hey loud and insolent. By a most fortunate chance, his leaving 
Highbury had been delayed so as to bring him to her assistance at this 
critical moment. The pleasantness of the morning had induced him to walk 
forward, and leave his horses to meet him by another road, a mile or two 
beyond Highbury; and happening to have borrowed a pair of scissors the 
night before of Miss Bates, and to have forgotten to restore them, he had 
been obliged to stop at her door, and go in for a few minutes; he was 
therefore later than he had intended ; and being on foot, was unseen by the 
whole party till almost close to them. The terror which the woman and boy 
had been creating in Harriet was then their own portion. He had left them 
completely frightened; and Harriet eagerly clinging to him, and hardly 
able to speak, had just strength enough to reach Hartfield, before her 
spirits were quite overcome. It was his idea to bring her to Hartfield; he 
had thought of no other place. 

This was the amount of the whole story of his communication and of 
Harriet's, as soon as she had recovered her senses and speech. He dared 
not stay longer than to see her well ; these several delays left him not an- 
other minute to lose ; and Emma engaging to give assurance of her safety 
to Mrs. Goddard, and notice of there being such a set of people in the 
neighbourhood to Mr. Knightley, he set off, with all the grateful blessings 
that she could utter for her friend and herself. 

Such an adventure as this, a fine young man and a lovely young woman 
thrown together in such a way, could hardly fail of suggesting certain ideas 
to the coldest heart and the steadiest brain. So Emma thought, at least. 
Could a linguist, could a grammarian, could even a mathematician have 
seen what she did, have witnessed their appearance together, and heard 



EMMA 967' 

their history of it, without feeling that circumstances had been at work to 
make them peculiarly interesting to each other? How much more must an 
imaginist, like herself, be on fire with speculation and foresight? especially 
with such a groundwork of anticipation as her mind had already made. 

It was a very extraordinary thing! Nothing of the sort had ever oc- 
curred before to any young ladies in the place, within her memory; no 
rencontre, no, alarm of the kind ; and now it had happened to the very per- 
son, and at the very hour, when the other very person was chancing to pass 
by to rescue her! It certainly was very extraordinary! And knowing, as 
she did, the favourable state of mind of each at this period, it struck her 
the more. He was wishing to get the better of his attachment to herself, 
she just recovering from her mania for Mr. Elton. It seemed as if every- 
thing united to promise the most interesting consequences. It was not 
possible that the occurrence should not be strongly recommending each to 
the other. 

In the few minutes ' conversation which she had yet had with him, while 
Harriet had been partially insensible, he had spoken of her terror, her 
naivete, her fervour as she seized and clung to his arm, with a sensibility 
amused and delighted ; and just at last, after Harriet's own account had 
been given, he had expressed his indignation at the abominable folly of 
Miss Bickerton in the warmest terms. Everything was to take its natural 
course, however, neither impelled nor assisted. She would not stir a step 
nor drop a hint. No, she had had enough of interference. There could be no 
harm in a scheme, a mere passive scheme. It was no more than a wish. 
Beyond it she would on no account proceed. 

Emma's first resolution was to keep her father from the knowledge of 
what had passed, aware of the anxiety and alarm it would occasion ; but 
she soon felt that concealment must be impossible. Within half an hour it 
was known all over Highbury. It was the very event to engage those who 
talk most the young and the low; and all the youth and servants in the 
place were soon in the happiness of frightful news. The last night's ball 
seemed lost in the gipsies. Poor Mr. Woodhouse trembled as he sat, and, as 
Emma had foreseen, would scarcely be satisfied without their promising 
never to go beyond the shrubbery again. It was some comfort to him that 
many inquiries after himself and Miss Woodhouse (for his neighbours 
knew that he loved to be inquired after), as well as Miss Smith, were com- 
ing in during the rest of the day ; and he had the pleasure of returning for 
answer, that they were all very indifferent; which, though not exactly 
true, for she was perfectly well, and Harriet not much otherwise, Emma 
would not interfere with. She had an unhappy state of health in general 
for the child of such a man, for she hardly knew what indisposition was; 
and if he did not invent illnesses for her, she could make no figure in a 
message. 

The gipsies did not wait for the operations of justice; they took them- 
selves off in a hurry. The young ladies of Highbury might have walked 
again in safety before their panic began, and the whole history dwindled 



968 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

soon into a matter of little importance but to Emma and her nephews: 
in her imagination it maintained its ground ; and Henry and John were 
Still asking every day for the story of Harriet and the gipsies, and still 
tenaciously setting her right if she varied in the slightest particular from 
the original recital. 

Chapter 40 

A VERY few days had passed after this adventure, when Harriet came 
one morning to Emma with a small parcel in her hand, and after sitting 
down and hesitating, thus began : 

"Miss Woodhouse if you are at leisure, I have something that I should 
like to tell you: a sort of confession to make and then, you know, it will 
be over." 

Emma was a good deal surprised ; but begged her to speak. There was a 
seriousness in Harriet's manner which prepared her, quite as much as her 
words, for something more than ordinary. 

"It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish," she continued, "to have no 
reserves with you on this subject. As I am, happily, quite an altered 
creature, in one respect, it is very fit that you should have the satisfaction 
of knowing it. I do not want to say more than is necessary; I am too much 
ashamed of having given way as I have done, and I dare say you under- 
stand me." 

"Yes," said Emma, "I hope I do." 

"How I could so long a time be fancying myself " cried Harriet 
warmly. "It seems like madness! I can see nothing at all extraordinary in 
him now. I do not care whether I meet him or not, except that, of the two, 
I had rather not see him ; and, indeed, I would go any distance round to 
avoid him ; but I do not envy her, as I have done. She is very charming, I 
dare say, and all that ; but I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable : 
I shall never forget her look the other night. However, I assure you, Miss 
Woodhouse, I wish her no evil. No ; let them be ever so happy together, it 
will not give me another moment's pang ; and, to convince you that I have 
been speaking truth, I am now going to destroy what I ought to have 
destroyed long ago what I ought never to have kept : I know that very 
well" (blushing as she spoke). "However, now I will destroy it all; and it 
is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you may see how 
rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel holds?" said she, 
with a conscious look. 

"Not the least in the world. Did he ever give you anything?" 

"No I cannot call them gifts ; but they are things that I have valued 
very much." 

She held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the words Most 
precious treasures on the top. Her curiosity was greatly excited. Harriet 
unfolded the parcel, and she looked on with impatience. Within abundance 
of silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box, which Harriet 



EMMA 969 

opened : it was well lined with the softest cotton ; but, excepting the cotton, 
Emma saw only a small piece of court-plaster. 

"Now," said Harriet, "you must recollect." 

"No, indeed, I do not." 

"Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you could forget what 
passed in this very room about court-plaster, one of the very last times 
we ever met in it. It was but a very few days before I had my sore throat 
just before Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley came ; I think the very evening. 
Do not you remember his cutting his finger with your new penknife, and 
your recommending court-plaster? But, as you had none about you, and 
knew I had, you desired me to supply him ; and so I took mine out and cut 
him a piece: but it was a great deal too large, and he cut it smaller, and 
kept playing some time with what was left, before he gave it back to me, 
And so then, in my nonsense, I could not help making a treasure of it ; so 
I put it by, never to be used, and looked at it now and then as a great 
treat." 

"My dearest Harriet! " cried Emma, putting her hand before her face, 
and jumping up, "you make me more ashamed of myself than I can bear. 
Remember it? Aye, I remember it all now; all, except your saving this 
relic : I knew nothing of that till this moment, but the cutting the finger, 
and my recommending court-plaster, and saying I had none about me. 
Oh ! my sins ! my sins ! And I had plenty all the while in my pocket ! One of 
my senseless tricks. I deserve to be under a continual blush all the rest of 
my life. Well" (sitting down again), "go on: what else?" 

"And had you really some at hand yourself? I am sure I never suspected 
it, you did it so naturally." 

"And so you actually put this piece of court-plaster by for his sake!" 
said Emma, recovering from her state of shame, and feeling divided 
between wonder and amusement ; and secretly she added to herself, "Lord 
bless me I when should I ever have thought of putting by in cotton a piece 
of court-plaster that Frank Churchill had been pulling about! I never was 
equal to this." 

"Here," resumed Harriet, turning to her box again, "here is something 
still more valuable, I mean that has been more valuable, because this is 
what did really once belong to him, which the court-plaster never did." 

Emma was quite eager to see this superior treasure. It was the end of an 
old pencil, the part without any lead. 

"This was really his," said Harriet. "Do not you remember one morn- 
ing? no, I dare say you do not. But one morning I forget exactly the day 
but perhaps it was the Tuesday or Wednesday before that evening, he 
wanted to make a memorandum in his pocket-book ; it was about spruce- 
beer. Mr. Knightley had been telling him something about brewing 
spruce-beer, and he wanted to put it down ; but when he took out his 
pencil, there was so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and it would 
not do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon the table as good 



970 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

for nothing. But I kept my eye on it; and, as soon as I dared, caught it up, 
and never parted with it again from that moment." 

"I do remember it," cried Emma; "I perfectly remember it. Talking 
about spruce-beer. Oh! yes. Mr. Knightley and I both saying we liked it, 
and Mr. Elton's seeming resolved to learn to like it too. I perfectly remem- 
ber it. Stop Mr. Knightley was standing just here, was not he? I have an 
idea he was standing just here." 

"Ah! I do not know. I cannot recollect. It is very odd, but I cannot 
recollect. Mr. Elton was sitting here, I remember, much about where I am 
now." 

"Well, go on." 

"Oh! that's all. I have nothing more to show you, or to say, except that 
I am now going to throw them both behind the fire, and I wish you to see 
me do it." 

"My poor dear Harriet! and have you actually found happiness in 
treasuring up these things?" 

"Yes, simpleton as I was! but I am quite ashamed of it now, and wish 
J could forget as easily as I can burn them. It was very wrong of me, you 
know, to keep any remembrances after he was married. I knew it was 
but had not resolution enough to part with them." 

"But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court-plaster? I have not a 
word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the court-plaster might be useful." 

"I shall be happier to burn it," replied Harriet. "It has a disagreeable 
look to me. I must get rid of everything. There it goes, and there is an end, 
thank Heaven! of Mr. Elton." 

"And when," thought Emma, "will there be a beginning of Mr. 
Churchill?" 

She had soon afterwards reason to believe that the beginning was al- 
ready made, and could not but hope that the gipsy, though she had told no 
fortune, might be proved to have made Harriet's. About a fortnight after 
the alarm they came to a sufficient explanation, and quite undesignedly 
Emma was not thinking of it at the moment, which made the information 
she received more valuable. She merely said in the course of some trivial 
chat, "Well, Harriet, whenever you marry, I would advise you to do so 
and so" and thought no more of it, till, after a minute's silence she 
heard Harriet say, in a very serious tone, "I shall never marry." Emma 
then looked up, and immediately saw how it was; and after a moment's 
debate, as to whether it should pass unnoticed or not, replied: 

"Never marry! This is a new resolution." 

"It is one that I shall never change, however." 

After another short hesitation, "I hope it does not proceed from I 
hope it is not in compliment to Mr. Elton?" 

"Mr. Elton, indeed! " cried Harriet, indignantly. "Oh! no" and Emma 
could just catch the words, "so superior to Mr. Elton!" 

She then took a longer time for consideration. Should she proceed no 
further? should she let it pass, and seem to suspect nothing? Perhaps 



EMMA 971 

Harriet might think her cold or angry if she did; or perhaps, if she were 
totally silent, it might only drive Harriet into asking her to hear too much; 
and against anything like such an unreserve as had been, such an open and 
frequent discussion of hopes and chances, she was perfectly resolved. She 
believed it would be wiser for her to say and know at once all that she 
meant to say and know. Plain dealing was always best. She had previously 
determined how far she would'proceed, on any application of the sort ; and 
it would be safer for both to have the judicious law of her own brain laid 
down with speed. She was decided, and thus spoke: 

"Harriet, I will not affect to be in doubt of your meaning. Your reso- 
lution, or rather your expectation of never marrying, results from an idea 
that the person whom you might prefer would be too greatly your superior 
in situation to think of you. Is not it so?" 

"Oh, Miss Woodhouse, believe me, I have not the presumption to sup- 
pose indeed I am not so mad. But it is a pleasure to me to admire him 
at a distance, and to think of his infinite superiority to all the rest of the 
world, with the gratitude, wonder, and veneration which are so proper, in 
me especially." 

"I am not at all surprised at you, Harriet. The service he rendered you 
was enough to warm your heart." 

"Service! oh, it was such an inexpressible obligation! The very recol- 
lection of it, and all that I felt at the time, when I saw him coming his 
noble look, and my wretchedness before. Such a change! In one moment 
such a change ! From perfect misery to perfect happiness ! " 

"It is very natural. It is natural, and it is honourable. Yes, honourable, 
I think, to choose so well and so gratefully. But that it will be a fortunate 
preference is more than I can promise. I do not advise you to give way to 
it, Harriet. I do not by any means engage for its being returned. Consider 
what you are about. Perhaps it will be wisest in you to check your feelings 
while you can: at any rate do not let them carry you far, unless you are 
persuaded of his liking you. Be observant of him. Let his behaviour be 
the guide of your sensations. I give you this caution now, because I shall 
never speak to you again on the subject. I am determined against all in- 
terference. Henceforward, I know nothing of the matter. Let no name ever 
pass our lips. We were very wrong before ; we will be cautious now. He is 
your superior, no doubt, and there do seem objections and obstacles of a 
very serious nature; but yet, Harriet, more wonderful things have taken 
place: there have been matches of greater disparity. But take care of your- 
self; I would not have you too sanguine; though, however it may end, be 
assured that your raising your thoughts to him is a mark of good taste 
which I shall always know how to value.'* 

Harriet kissed her hand in silent and submissive gratitude. Emma was 
very decided in thinking such an attachment no bad thing for her friend. 
Its tendency would be to raise and refine her mind and it must be saving 
her from the danger of degradation. 



972 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Chapter 41 

IN this state of schemes, and hopes, and connivance, June opened upon 
Hartfield. To Highbury, in general, it brought no material change. The 
Eltons were still talking of a visit from the Sucklings, and of the use to be 
made of their barouche-landau, and Jane Fairfax was still at her grand- 
mother's; and as the return of the Campbells from Ireland was again 
delayed, and August, instead of Midsummer, fixed for it, she was likely to 
remain there full two months longer, provided at least she were able to 
defeat Mrs. Elton's activity in her service, and save herself from being 
hurried into a delightful situation against her will. 

Mr. Knightley, who, for some reason best known to himself, had cer- 
tainly taken an early dislike to Frank Churchill, was only growing to 
dislike him more. He began to suspect him of some double dealing in his 
pursuit of Emma. That Emma was his object appeared indisputable. 
Everything declared it; his own attentions, his father's hints, his step- 
mother's guarded silence ; it was all in unison ; words, conduct, discretion 
and indiscretion, told the same story. But while so many were devoting 
him to Emma, and Emma herself making him over to Harriet, Mr. Knight- 
ley began to suspect him of some inclination to trifle with Jane Fairfax. 
He could not understand it; but there were symptoms of intelligence 
between them he thought so at least symptoms of admiration on his 
side, which, having once observed, he could not persuade himself to think 
entirely void of meaning, however he might wish to escape any of Emma's 
errors of imagination. She was not present when the suspicion first arose. 
He was dining with the Randalls family and Jane at the Eltons' ; and he 
had seen a look, more than a single look, at Miss Fairfax, which, from the 
admirer of Miss Woodhouse, seemed somewhat out of place. When he was 
again in their company, he could not help remembering what he had seen ; 
nor could he avoid observations which, unless it were like Cowper and his 
fire at twilight, 

"Myself creating what I saw," 

brought him yet stronger suspicion of there being a something of private 
liking, of private understanding even, between Frank Churchill and Jane. 
He had walked up one day after dinner, as he very often did, to spend 
his evening at Hartfield. Emma and Harriet were going to walk ; he joined 
them; and, on returning, they fell in with a larger party, who, like them- 
selves, judged it wisest to take their exercise early as the weather threat- 
ened rain ; Mr. and Mrs. Weston and their son, Miss Bates and her niece, 
who had accidentally met. They all united; and, on reaching Hartfield 
gates, Emma, who knew it was exactly the sort of visiting that would be 
welcome to her father, pressed them all to go in and drink tea with him. 
The Randalls party agreed to it immediately; and after a pretty long 



EMMA 973 

Speech from Miss Bates, which few persons listened to, she also found it 
possible to accept dear Miss Woodhouse's most obliging invitation. 

As they were turning into the grounds, Mr. Perry passed by on horse- 
back. The gentlemen spoke of his horse. 

"By the bye," said Frank Churchill to Mrs. Weston presently, "what 
became of Mr. Perry's plan of setting up his carriage?" 

Mrs. Weston looked surprised, and said, "I did not know that he ever 
had any such plan." 

"Nay, I had it from you. You wrote me word of it three months ago." 

"Me! impossible!" 

"Indeed you did. I remember it perfectly. You mentioned it as what was 
certainly to be very soon. Mrs. Perry had told somebody and was ex- 
tremely happy about it. It was owing to her persuasion, as she thought his 
being out in bad weather did him a great deal of harm. You must remem- 
ber it now?" 

"Upon my word, I never heard of it till this moment." 

"Never really never! Bless me! how could it be? Then I must have 
dreamt it but I was completely persuaded Miss Smith, you walk as if 
you were tired. You will not be sorry to find yourself at home." 

"What is this? What is this?" cried Mr. Weston, "about Perry and a 
carriage? Is Perry going to set up his carriage, Frank? I am glad he can 
afford it. You had it from himself, had you?" 

"No, sir," replied his son, laughing. "I seem to have had it from nobody. 
Very odd! I really was persuaded of Mrs. Weston's having mentioned it in 
one of her letters to Enscombe, many weeks ago, with all these particulars ; 
but as she declares she never heard a syllable of it before, of course it must 
have been a dream. I am a great dreamer. I dream of everybody at High- 
bury, when I am away; and when I have gone through my particular 
friends, then I begin dreaming of Mr. and Mrs. Perry." 

"It is odd, though," observed his father, "that you should have had 
such a regular connected dream about people whom it was not very likely 
you should be thinking of at Enscombe. Perry's setting up his carriage! 
and his wife's persuading him to it, out of care for his health just what 
will happen, I have no. doubt, some time or other ; only a little premature. 
What an air of probability sometimes runs through a dream! And at 
others, what a heap of absurdities it is! Well, Frank, your dream certainly 
shows that Highbury is in your thoughts when you are absent. Emma, you 
are a great dreamer, I think?" 

Emma was out of hearing. She had hurried on before her guests to 
prepare her father for their appearance, and was beyond the reach of Mr. 
Weston's hint. 

"Why, to own the truth," cried Miss Bates, who had been trying in vain 
to be heard the last two minutes, "if I must speak on this subject, there is 
no denying that Mr. Frank Churchill might have I do not mean to say 
that he did not dream it I am sure I have sometimes the oddest dreams 
in the world but if I am questioned about it, I must acknowledge that 



974 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

there was such an idea last spring ; for Mrs. Perry herself mentioned it to 
my mother, and the Coles knew of it as well as ourselves but it was quite 
a secret, known to nobody else, and only thought of about three days. Mrs. 
Perry was very anxious that he should have a carriage, and came to my 
mother in great spirits one morning because she thought she had pre- 
vailed. Jane, don't you remember grandmamma's telling us of it when we 
got home? I forget where we had been walking to very likely to Ran- 
dalls ; yes, I think it was to Randalls. Mrs. Perry was always particularly 
fond of my mother indeed I do not know who is not and she had men- 
tioned it to her in confidence ; she had no objection to her telling us, of 
course, but it was not to go beyond; and from that day to this I never 
mentioned it to a soul that I know of. At the same time, I will not posi- 
tively answer for my having never dropped a hint, because I know I do 
sometimes pop out a thing before I am aware. I am a talker, you know; 
I am rather a talker; and now and then I have let a thing escape me which 
I should not. I am not like Jane ; I wish I were. I will answer for it she 
never betrayed the least thing in the world. Where is she? Oh! just behind. 
Perfectly remember Mrs. Perry's coming. Extraordinary dream, indeed!" 

They were entering the hall. Mr. Knightley's eyes had preceded Miss 
Bates's in a glance at Jane. From Frank Churchill's face, where he thought 
he saw confusion suppressed or laughed away, he had involuntarily turned 
to hers; but she was indeed behind, and too busy with her shawl. Mr. 
Weston had walked in. The two other gentlemen waited at the door to let 
her pass. Mr. Knightley suspected in Frank Churchill the determination 
of catching her eye he seemed watching her intently in vain, however, 
if it were so. Jane passed between them into the hall, and looked at neither. 

There was no time for further remark or explanation. T*he dream must 
be borne with, and Mr. Knightley must take his seat with the rest round 
the large modern circular table which Emma had introduced at Hartfield, 
and which none but Emma could have had power to place there and per- 
suade her father to use, instead of the small-sized Pembroke, on which 
two of his daily meals had for forty years been crowded. Tea passed pleas- 
antly, and nobody seemed in a hurry to move. 

"Miss Woodhouse," said Frank Churchill, after examining a table be- 
hind him, which he could reach as he sat, "have your nephews taken away 
their alphabets their box of letters? It used to stand here. Where is it? 
This is a sort of dull-looking evening, that ought to be treated rather as 
winter than summer. We had great amusement with those letters one 
morning. I want to puzzle you again." 

Emma was pleased with the thought ; and producing the box, the table 
~vas quickly scattered over with alphabets, which no one seemed so much 
disposed to employ as their two selves. They were rapidly forming words 
for each other, or for anybody else who would be puzzled. The quietness of 
the game made it particularly eligible for Mr. Woodhouse, who had often 
been distressed by the more animated sort, which Mr. Weston had oc- 
casionally introduced., and who now sat happily occupied in lamenting, 



EMMA 97S 

with tender melancholy, over the departure of the "poor little boys," or 
m fondly pointing out, as he took up any stray letter near him. how beau- 
tifully Emma had written it. 

Frank Churchill placed a word before Miss Fairfax. She gave a slight 
glance round the table, and applied herself to it. Frank was next to Emma, 
Jane opposite to them; and Mr. Knightley so placed as to see them all; 
and it was his object to see as much as he could, with as little apparent 
observation. The word was discovered, and with a faint smile pushed 
away. If meant to be immediately mixed with the others, and buried from 
sight, she should have looked on the table instead of looking just across, 
for it was not mixed; and Harriet, eager after every fresh word, and find- 
ing out none, directly took it up, and fell to work. She was sitting by Mr. 
Knightley, and turned to him for help. The word was blunder; and as 
Harriet exultingly proclaimed it, there was a blush on Jane's cheek which 
gave it a meaning not otherwise ostensible. Mr. Knightley connected it 
with the dream; but how it could all be, was beyond his comprehension. 
How the delicacy, the discretion of his favourite could have been so lain 
asleep ! He feared there must be some decided involvement. Disingenuous- 
ness and double dealing seemed to meet him at every turn. These letters 
were but the vehicle for gallantry and trick. It was a child's play, chosen 
to conceal a deeper game on Frank Churchill's part. 

With great indignation did he continue to observe him; with great 
alarm and distrust, to observe also his two blinded companions. He saw a 
short word prepared for Emma, and given to her with a look sly anc 1 
demure. He saw that Emma had soon made it out, and found it highly 
entertaining, though it was something which she judged it proper to ap- 
pear to censure; for she said, "Nonsense! for shame!" He heard Frank 
Churchill next say, with a glance towards Jane, "I will give it to her- 
shall I?" and as clearly heard Emma opposing it with eager laughing 
warmth, "No, no, you must not, you shall not, indeed." 

It was done, however. This gallant young man, who seemed to love 
without feeling, and to recommend himself without complaisance, directly 
handed over the word to Miss Fairfax, and with a particular degree of 
sedate civility entreated her to stuory it. Mr. Knightley 's excessive curi- 
osity to know what this word might be, made him seize every possible 
moment for darting his eye towards it, and it was not long before he saw 
it to be Dixon. Jane Fairfax's perception seemed to accompany his ; her 
comprehension was certainly more equal to the covert meaning, the su- 
perior intelligence, of those five letters so arranged. She was evidently 
displeased ; looked up, and seeing herself watched, blushed more deeply 
than he had ever perceived her, and saying only, "I did not know that 
proper names were allowed," pushed away the letters with even an angry 
spirit, and looked resolved to be engaged by no other word that could bt 
offered. Her face was averted from those who had made the attack, ano 
turned towards her aunt. 

"Aye, very true, my dear," cried the latter, though Jane had not spoken 



976 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

a word: "I was just going to say the same thing. It is time for us to be 
going, indeed. The evening is closing in, and grandmamma will be looking 
for us. My dear sir, you are too obliging. We really must wish you good- 
night." 

Jane's alertness in moving proved her as ready as her aunt had pre- 
conceived. She was immediately up, and wanting to quit the table ; but so 
many were also moving, that she could not get away; and Mr. Knightley 
thought he saw another collection of letters, anxiously pushed towards 
her, and resolutely swept away by her unexamined. She was afterwards 
looking for her shawl Frank Churchill was looking also : it was growing 
dusk, and the room was in confusion ; and how they parted Mr. Knightley 
could not tell. 

He remained at Hartfield after all the rest, his thoughts full of what he 
had seen ; so full, that when the candles came to assist his observations, he 
must yes, he certainly must, as a friend an anxious friend give Emma 
some hint, ask her some question. He could not see her in a situation of 
such danger without trying to preserve her. It was his duty. 

"Pray, Emma," said he, "may I ask in what lay the great amusement, 
the poignant sting of the last word given to you and Miss Fairfax? I saw 
the word, and am curious to know how it could be so very entertaining to 
the one, and so very distressing to the other. " 

Emma was extremely confused. She could not endure to give him the 
true explanation ; for though her suspicions were by no means removed, 
she was really ashamed of having ever imparted them. 

"Oh!" she cried in evident embarrassment, "it all meant nothing, a 
mere joke among ourselves." 

"The joke," he replied gravely, "seemed confined to you and Mr. 
Churchill." 

He had hoped she would speak again, but she did not. She would rather 
busy herself about anything than speak. He sat a little while in doubt. A 
variety of evils crossed his mind. Interference fruitless interference. 
Emma's confusion, and the acknowledged intimacy, seemed to declare her 
affection engaged. Yet he would speak. He owed it to her to risk anything 
that might be involved in an unwelcome interference, rather than her 
welfare ; to encounter anything, rather than the remembrance of neglect in 
such a cause. 

"My dear Emma," said he at last, with earnest kindness, "do you think 
you perfectly understand the degree of acquaintance between the gentle- 
man and lady we have been speaking of?" 

"Between Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax? Oh! yes, perfectly. 
Why do you make a doubt of it?" 

"Have you never at any time had reason to think that he admired her, 
or that she admired him?" 

"Never, never!" she cried with a most open eagerness. "Never, for the 
twentieth part of a moment, did such an idea occur to me. And how could 
it possibly come into your head?" 



EMMA 97", 

"I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of attachment between 
them; certain expressive looks, which I did not believe meant to be 
public." 

"Oh! you amuse me excessively. I am delighted to find that you can 
vouchsafe to let your imagination wander ; but it will not do very sorry 
to check you in your first essay, but indeed it will not do. There is no 
admiration between them, I do assure you; and the appearances which 
have caught you, have arisen from some peculiar circumstances; feelings 
rather of a totally different nature; it is impossible exactly to explain - 
there is a good deal of nonsense in it but the part which is capable of 
being communicated, which is sense, is, that they are as far from any at- 
tachment or admiration for one another as any two beings in the world can 
be. That is, I presume it to be so on her side, and I can answer for its being 
so on his. I will answer for the gentleman's indifference." 

She spoke with a confidence which staggered, with a satisfaction which 
silenced Mr. Knightley. She was in gay spirits, and would have prolonged 
the conversation, wanting to hear the particulars of his suspicions, every 
look described, and all the wheres and hows of a circumstance which 
highly entertained her; but his gaiety did not meet hers. He found he 
could not be useful, and his feelings were too much irritated for talking. 
That he might not be irritated into an absolute fever by the fire which Mr. 
Woodhouse's tender habits required almost every evening throughout the 
year, he soon afterwards took a hasty leave, and walked home to the cool- 
ness and solitude of Donwell Abbey. 



Chapter 42 

AFTER being long fed with hopes of a speedy visit from Mr. and Mrs. 
Suckling, the Highbury world were obliged to endure the mortification of 
hearing that they could not possibly come till the autumn. No such im- 
portation of novelties could enrich their intellectual stores at present. In 
the daily interchange of news, they must be again restricted to the other 
topics, with which for a while the Sucklings' coming had been united, 
such as the last accounts of Mrs. Churchill, whose health seemed every 
day to supply a different report, and the situation of Mrs. Weston, whose 
happiness, it was to be hoped, might eventually be as much increased 
by the arriva 1 of a child, as that of all her neighbours was by the approach 
of it. 

Mrs. Elton was very much disappointed. It was the delay of a great deal 
of pleasure and parade. Her introductions and recommendations must all 
wait, and every projected party be still only talked of. So she thought at 
first ; but a little consideration convinced her that everything need not be 
put off. Why should not they explore to Box Hill though the Sucklings 
did not come? They could go there again with them m the autumn. It was 
settled that they should go to Box Hill. That there was to be such a party 



^78 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

had been long generally known; it had even given the idea of another. 
Emma had never been to Box Hill; she wished to see what everybody 
found so well worth seeing, and she and Mr. Weston had agreed to choose 
some fine morning and drive thither. Two or three more of the chosen only 
were to be admitted to join them, and it was to be done in a quiet, unpre- 
tending, elegant way, infinitely superior to the bustle and preparation, the 
regular eating and drinking and picnic parade of the Eltons and the 
Sucklings. 

This was so very well understood between them that Emma could not 
but feel some surprise, and a little displeasure, on hearing from Mr. 
Weston that he had been proposing to Mrs. Elton, as her brother and 
sister had failed her, that the two parties should unite, and go together ; 
and that as Mrs. Elton had very readily acceded to it, so it was to be, if 
she had no objection. Now, as her objection was nothing but her very 
great dislike of Mrs. Elton, of which Mr. Weston must already be per- 
fectly aware, it was not worth bringing forward again: it could not be 
done without a reproof to him, which would be giving pain to his wife ; 
and she found herself, therefore, obliged to consent to an arrangement 
which she would have done a great deal to avoid ; an arrangement which 
would, probably, expose her even to the degradation of being said to be of 
Mr. Elton's party! Every feeling was offended; and the forbearance of 
her outward submission left a heavy arrear due of secret severity in her 
reflections, on the unmanageable goodwill of Mr. Weston's temper. 

"I am glad you approve of what I have done," said he, very comfortably. 
"But I thought you would. Such schemes as these are nothing without 
numbers. One cannot have too large a party. A large party secures its own 
amusement. And she is a good-natured woman after all. One could not 
leave her out." 

Emma denied none of it aloud, and agreed to none of it in private. 

It was now the middle of June and the weather fine ; and Mrs. Elton was 
growing impatient to name the day, and settle with Mr. Weston as to 
pigeon-pies and cold lamb, when a lame carriage-horse threw everything 
into sad uncertainty. It might be weeks, it might be only a few days, be- 
fore the horse were usable ; but no preparations could be ventured on, and 
it was all melancholy stagnation. Mrs. Elton's resources were inadequate 
to such an attack. 

"Is not this most vexatious, Knightley?" she cried; "and such weather 
for exploring! These delays and disappointments are quite odious. What 
are we to do? The year will wear away at this rate, and nothing done. 
Before this time last year, I assure you, we had a delightful exploring 
party from Maple Grove to King's Weston." 

"You had better explore to Donwell," replied Mr. Knightley. "That 
may be done without horses. Come and eat my strawberries; they are 
ripening fast." 

If Mr. Knightley did not begin seriously, he was obliged to proceed so; 
for his proposal was caught at with delight; and the "Oh! I should like it 



EMMA 979 

of all things," was not plainer in words than manner. Donwell was famous 
for its strawberry-beds, which seemed a plea for the invitation; but no 
plea was necessary ; cabbage-beds would have been enough to tempt the 
lady, who only wanted to be going somewhere. She promised him again 
and again to come much oftener than he doubted and was extremely 
gratified by such a proof of intimacy, such a distinguishing compliment as 
she chose to consider it. 

"You may depend upon me," said she; "I certainly will come. Name 
your day, and I will come. You will allow me to bring Jane Fairfax?" 

"I cannot name a day," said he, "till I have spoken to some others, 
whom I would wish to meet you." 

"Oh, leave all that to me; only give me a carte blanche. I am Lady 
Patroness, you know. It is my party. I will bring friends with me." 

"I hope you will bring Elton," said he; "but I will not trouble you to 
give any other invitations." 

"Oh, now you are looking very sly; but consider you need not be 
afraid of delegating power to me. I am no young lady on her preferment. 
Married women, you know, may be safely authorised. It is my party. 
Leave it all to me. I will invite your guests." 

"No," he calmly replied, "there is but one married woman in the world 
whom I can ever allow to invite what guests she pleases to Donwell, and 
that one is " 

"Mrs. Weston, I suppose," interrupted Mrs. Elton, rather mortified 

"No Mrs. Knightley ; and till she is in being, I will manage such mat- 
ters myself." 

"Ah, you are an odd creature! " she cried, satisfied to have no one pre- 
ferred to herself. "You are a humorist, and may say what you like. Quite 
a humorist. Well, I shall bring Jane with me Jane and her aunt. The 
rest I leave to you. I have no objections at all to meeting the Hartfield 
family. Don't scruple, I know you are attached to them." 

"You certainly will meet them, if I can prevail ; and I shall call on Miss 
Bates in my way home." 

"That's quite unnecessary; I see Jane every day; but as you like. It 
is to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightley; quite a simple thing. 
I shall wear a large bonnet, and bring one of my little baskets hanging on 
my arm. Here probably this basket with pink ribbon. Nothing can be 
more simple, you see. And Jane will have such another. There is to be no 
form or parade a sort of gipsy party. We are to walk about your gardens, 
and gather the strawberries ourselves, and sit under trees ; and whatever 
else you may like to provide, it is to be all out of doors ; a table spread in 
the shade, you know. Everything as natural and simple as possible. Is not 
that your idea?" 

"Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural will be to have the 
table spread in the dining-room. The nature and the simplicity of gentle- 
men and ladies, with their servants and furniture, I think is best observed 



9 8o THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

by meals within doors. When you are tired of eating strawberries in the 
garden, there shall be cold meat in the house." 

"Well, as you please; only don't have a great set-out. And, by the bye, 
can I or my housekeeper be of any use to you with our opinion? Pray be 
sincere, Knightley. If you wish me to talk to Mrs. Hodges, or to inspect 
anything " 

"I have not the least wish for it, I thank you." 

"Well but if any difficulties should arise, my housekeeper is extremely 
clever." 

"I will answer for it that mine thinks herself full as clever, and would 
spurn anybody's assistance." 

"I wish we had a donkey. The thing would be for us all to come on 
donkeys, Jane, Miss Bates, and me, and my caro sposo walking by. I really 
must talk to him about purchasing a donkey. In a country life I conceive 
it to be a sort of necessary ; for, let a woman have ever so many resources, 
it is not possible for her to be always shut up at home; and very long 
walks, you know in summer there is dust, and in winter there is dirt." 

"You will not find either between Donwell and Highbury. Donwell 
Lane is never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry. Come on a donkey, how- 
ever, if you prefer it. You can borrow Mrs. Cole's. I would wish everything 
to be as much to your taste as possible." 

"That I am sure you would. Indeed I do you justice, my good friend. 
Under that peculiar sort of dry, 'blunt manner, I know you have the 
warmest heart. As I tell Mr. E., you are a thorough humorist. Yes, believe 
me, Knightley, I am fully sensible of your attention to me in the whole 
of this scheme. You have hit upon the very thing to please me." 

Mr. Knightley had another reason for avoiding a table in the shade. 
He wished to persuade Mr. Woodhouse, as well as Emma, to join the 
party ; and he knew that to have any of them sitting down out of doors to 
eat would inevitably make him ill. Mr. Woodhouse must not, under the 
specious pretence of a morning drive, and an hour or two spent at Donwell, 
be tempted away to his misery. 

He was invited on good faith. No lurking horrors were to upbraid him 
for his easy credulity. He did consent. He had not been at Donwell for two 
years. "Some very fine morning, he, and Emma, and Harriet could go very 
well ; and he could sit still with Mrs. Weston while the dear girls walked 
about the garden. He did not suppose they could be damp now, in the 
middle of the day. He should like to see the old house again exceedingly, 
and should be very happy to meet Mr. and Mrs. Elton, and any other of 
his neighbours. He could not see any objection at all to his, and Emma's, 
and Harriet's going there some very fine morning. He thought it very well 
done of Mr. Knightley to invite them; very kind and sensible; much 
cleverer than dining out. He was not fond of dining out." 

Mr. Knightley was fortunate in everybody's most ready concurrence. 
The invitation was everywhere so well received, that it seemed as if, like 
Mrs. Elton, they were all taking the scheme as a particular compliment to 



EMMA 981 

themselves. Emma and Harriet professed very high expectations of pleas- 
ure from it; and Mr. Weston, unasked, promised to get Frank over to join 
them, if possible ; a proof of approbation and gratitude which could have 
been dispensed with. Mr. Knightley was then obliged to say that he should 
be glad to see him ; and Mr. Weston engaged to lose no time in writing) 
and spare no arguments to induce him to come. 

In the meanwhile the lame horse recovered so fast that the party to Box 
Hill was again under happy consideration ; and at last Donwell was set- 
tled for one day; and Box Hill for the next, the weather appearing exactly 
right. 

Under a bright midday sun, at almost Midsummer, Mr. Woodhouse was 
safely conveyed in his carriage, with one window down, to partake of this 
alfresco party ; and in one of the most comfortable rooms in the Abbey, 
especially prepared for him by a fire all the morning, he was happily 
placed, quite at his ease, ready to talk with pleasure of what had been 
achieved, and advise everybody to come and sit down, and not to heat 
themselves. Mrs. Weston, who seemed to have walked there on purpose to 
be tired, and sit all the time with him, remained, when all the others were 
invited or persuaded out, his patient listener and sympathiser. 

It was so long since Emma had been at the Abbey, that as soon as she 
was satisfied of her father's comfort, she was glad to leave him and look 
around her ; eager to refresh and correct her memory with more particular 
observation, more exact understanding of a house and grounds which must 
ever be so interesting to her and all her family. 

She felt all the honest pride and complacency which her alliance with 
the present and future proprietor could fairly warrant, as she viewed the 
respectable size and style of the building, its suitable, becoming, charac- 
teristic situation, low and sheltered ; its ample gardens stretching down to 
meadows washed by a stream, of which the Abbey, with all the old neglect 
of prospect, had scarcely a sight and its abundance of timber in rows and 
avenues, which neither fashion nor extravagance had rooted up. The house 
was larger than Hartfield, and totally unlike it, covering a good deal of 
ground, rambling and irregular, with many comfortable, and one or two 
handsome rooms. It was just what it ought to be, and it looked what it 
was; and Emma felt an increasing respect for it, as the residence of a 
family of such true gentility, untainted in blood and understanding. Some 
faults of temper John Knightley had ; but Isabella had connected herself 
unexceptionally. She had given them neither men, nor names, nor places, 
that could raise a blush. These were pleasant feelings, and she walked 
about and indulged them till it was necessary to do as the others did, and 
collect round the strawberry-beds. The whole party were assembled, ex- 
cepting Frank Churchill, who was expected every moment from Rich- 
mond ; and Mrs. Elton, in all her apparatus of happiness, her large bonnet 
and her basket, was very ready to lead the way in gathering, accepting, or 
talking. Strawberries, and only strawberries, could now be thought or 
spoken of. "The best fruit in England everybody's favourite always 



982 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

wholesome. These the finest beds and finest sorts. Delightful to gather for 
one's self the only way of really enjoying them. Morning decidedly the 
best time never tired every sort good hautboy infinitely superior 
no comparison the others hardly eatable hautboys very scarce Chili 
preferred white wood finest flavour of all price of strawberries in Lon- 
don abundance about Bristol Maple Grove cultivations beds when 
to be renewed gardeners thinking exactly different no general rule 
gardeners never to be put out of their way delicious fruit only too rich 
to be eaten much of inferior to cherries currants more refreshing 
only objections to gathering strawberries the stooping glaring sun tired 
to death could bear it no longer must go and sit in the shade." 

Such, for half an hour, was the conversation ; interrupted only once by 
Mrs. Weston, who came out, in her solicitude after her son-in-law, to in- 
quire if he were come ; and she was a little uneasy. She had some fears of 
his horse. 

Seats tolerably in the shade were found ; and now Emma was obliged to 
overhear what Mrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax were talking of. A situation, 
a most desirable situation, was in question. Mrs. Elton had received notice 
of it that morning, and was in raptures. It was not with Mrs. Suckling, it 
was not with Mrs. Bragge, but in felicity and splendour it fell short only 
of them: it was with a cousin of Mrs. Bragge, an acquaintance of Mrs. 
Suckling, a lady known at Maple Grove. Delightful, charming, superior, 
first circles, spheres, lines, ranks, everything; and Mrs. Elton was wild to 
have the offer closed with immediately. On her side, all was warmth, 
energy, and triumph; and she positively refused to take her friend's 
negative, though Miss Fairfax continued to assure her that she would not 
at present engage in anything repeating the same motives which she had 
been heard to urge before. Still Mrs. Elton insisted on being authorised to 
write an acquiescence hy the morrow's post. How Jane could bear it at 
all, was astonishing to Emma. She did look vexed, she did speak pointedly 
1 and at last, with a decision of action unusual to her, proposed a removal. 
"Should not they walk? Would not Mr. Knightley show them the gardens 
all the gardens? She wished to see the whole extent.'' The pertinacity of 
her friend seemed more than she could bear. 

It was hot ; and after walking some time over the gardens in a scattered, 
dispersed way, scarcely any three together, they insensibly followed one 
another to the delicious shade of a broad short avenue of limes, which, 
stretching beyond the garden at an equal distance from the river, seemed 
the finish of the pleasure ground. It led to nothing; nothing but a view 
at the end over a low stone wall with high pillars, which seemed intended, 
in their erection, to give the appearance of an approach to the house, which 
never had been there. Disputable, however, as might be the taste of such 
a termination, it was in itself a charming walk, and the view which closed 
it extremely pretty. The considerable slope, at nearly the foot of which 
the Abbey stood, gradually acquired a steeper form beyond its grounds ; 
and at half a mile distant was a bank of considerable abruptness and 



EMMA 983 

grandeur, well clothed with wood; and at the bottom of this bank,, favour- 
ably placed and sheltered, rose the Abbey-Mill Farm, with meadows in 
front, and the river making a close and handsome curve around it. 

It was a sweet view sweet to the eye and the mind. English verdure, 
English culture, English comfort, seen under a bright sun, without being 
oppressive. 

In this walk Emma and Mr. Weston found all the others assembled; 
and towards this view she immediately perceived Mr. Knightley and 
Harriet distinct from the rest, quietly leading the way. Mr. Knightley and 
Harriet! It was an odd tete-a-tete; but she was glad to see it. There had 
been a time when he would have scorned her as a companion, and turned 
from her with little ceremony. Now they seemed in pleasant conversation. 
There had been a time also when Emma would have been sorry to see 
Harriet in a spot so favourable for the Abbey-Mill Farm; but now she 
feared it not. It might be safely viewed, with all its appendages of pros- 
perity and beauty, its rich pastures, spreading flocks, orchard in blossom, 
and light column of smoke ascending. She joined them at the wall, and 
found them more engaged in talking than in looking around. He was giv- 
ing Harriet information as to modes of agriculture, etc. ; and Emma re- 
ceived a smile which seemed to say, "These are my own concerns. I have 
a right to talk on such subjects, without being suspected of introducing 
Robert Martin." She did not suspect him. It was too old a story. Robert 
Martin had probably ceased to think of Harriet. They took a few turns 
together along the walk. The shade was most refreshing, and Emma found 
it the pleasantest part of the day. 

The next remove was to the house ; they must all go in and eat ; and they 
were all seated and busy, and still Frank Churchill did not come. Mrs. 
Weston looked, and looked in vain. His father would not own himself 
uneasy, and laughed at her fears; but she could not be cured of wishing 
that he would part with his black mare. He had expressed himself as to 
coming with more than common certainty. "His aunt was so much better, 
that he had not a doubt of getting over to them." Mrs. Churchill's state, 
however, as many were ready to remind her, was liable to such sudden 
variation as might disappoint her nephew in the most reasonable depend- 
ence; and Mrs. Weston was at last persuaded to believe, or to say, that it 
must be by some attack of Mrs. Churchill that he was prevented coming. 
Emma looked at Harriet while the point was under consideration; she 
behaved very well, and betrayed no emotion. 

The cold repast was over, and the party were to go out once more to see 
what had not yet been seen, the old Abbey fish-ponds; perhaps get as far 
as the clover, which was to be begun cutting on the morrow, or, at any 
rate, have the pleasure of being hot, and growing cool again. Mr. Wood- 
house, who had already taken his little round in the highest part of the 
gardens, where no damps from the river were imagined even by him/ 
stirred no more; and his daughter resolved to remain with him, that Mrs. 



9 8 4 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Weston might be persuaded away by her husband to the exercise and 
variety which her spirits seemed to need. 

Mr. Knightley had done all in his power for Mr. Woodhouse's entertain- 
ment. Books of engravings, drawers of medals, cameos, corals, shells, and 
every other family collection within his cabinets, had been prepared for 
his old friend, to while away the morning ; and the kindness had perfectly 
answered. Mr. Woodhouse had been exceedingly well amused. Mrs. Wes- 
ton had been showing them all to him, and now he would show them all to 
Emma; fortunate in having no other resemblance to a child, than in a 
total want of taste for what he saw, for he was slow, constant, and me- 
thodical. Before this second looking over was begun, however, Emma 
walked into the hall for the sake of a few moments' free observation of 
the entrance and ground-plot of the house, and was hardly there when 
Jane Fairfax appeared, coming quickly in from the garden, and with a look 
of escape. Little expecting to meet Miss Woodhouse so soon, there was a 
start at first ; but Miss Woodhouse was the very person she was in quest of. 

"Will you be so kind," said she, "when I am missed, as to say that I 
am gone home ! I am going this moment. My aunt is not aware how late 
it is, nor how long we have been absent ; but I am sure we shall be wanted, 
and I am determined to go directly. I have said nothing about it to any- 
body. It would only be giving trouble and distress. Some are gone to the 
ponds, and some to the lime-walk. Till they all come in I shall not be 
missed ; and when they do, will you have the goodness to say that I am 
gone?" 

"Certainly, if you wish it; but you are not going to walk to Highbury 
alone?" 

"Yes; what should hurt me? I walk fast. I shall be at home in twenty 
minutes." 

"But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite alone. Let my father's 
servant go with you. Let me order the carriage. It can be round in five 
minutes.' 7 

"Thank you, thank you but on no account I would rather walk. 
And for me to be afraid of walking alone! I, who may so soon have to 
guard others!" 

She spoke with great agitation; and Emma very feelingly replied: 
"That can be no reason for your being exposed to danger now. I must order 
the carriage. The heat even would be danger. You are fatigued already." 

"I am," she answered, "I am fatigued; but it is not the sort of fatigue 
quick walking will refresh me. Miss Woodhouse, we all know at times what 
it is to be wearied in spirits. Mine, I confess, are exhausted. The greatest 
kindness you can show me will be to let me have my own way, and only 
say that I am gone when it is necessary." 

Emma had not another word to oppose. She saw it all ; and entering into 
her feelings, promoted her quitting the house immediately, and watched 
her safely off with the ze.al of a friend. Her parting look was grateful; 
and her parting words, "Oh! Miss Woodhouse, the comfort of being some- 



EMMA 985 

times alone! " seemed to burst from an overcharged heart, and to describe 
somewhat of the continual endurance to be practised by her, even towards 
some of those who loved her best. 

"Such a home, indeed! Such an aunt! " said Emma, as she turned back 
into the hall again. "I do pity you. And the more sensibility you betray 
of their just horrors, the more I shall like you." 

Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they had only accom- 
plished some views of St. Mark's Place, Venice, when Frank Churchill 
entered the room. Emma had not been thinking of him ; she had forgotten 
to think of him, but she was very glad to see him. Mrs. Weston would be at 
ease. The black mare was blameless ; they were right who had named Mrs. 
Churchill as the cause. He had been detained by a temporary increase of 
illness in her a nervous seizure which had lasted some hours ; and he had 
quite given up every thought of coming till very late ; and had he known 
how hot a ride he should have, and how late, with all his hurry, he must be, 
he believed he should not have come at all. The heat was excessive ; he had 
never suffered anything like it almost wished he had stayed at home 
nothing killed him like heat he could bear any degree of cold, etc., but 
heat was intolerable ; and he sat down, at the greatest possible distance 
from the slight remains of Mr. Woodhouse's fire, looking very deplorable. 

"You will soon be cooler, if you sit still," said Emma. 

"As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could very ill be spared ; 
but such a point had been made of my coming! You will all be going soon, 
I suppose ; the whole party breaking up. I met one as I came. Madness in 
such weather absolute madness!' 7 

Emma listened, and looked, and soon perceived that Frank Churchill's 
state might be best defined by the expressive phrase of being out of 
humour. Some people were always cross when they were hot. Such might 
be his constitution ; and as she knew that eating and drinking were often 
the cure of such incidental complaints, she recommended his taking some 
refreshment ; he would find abundance of everything in the dining-room ; 
and she humanely pointed out the door. 

"No; he should not eat. He was not hungry; it would only make him 
hotter." In two minutes, however, he relented in his own favour; and 
muttering something about spruce-beer, walked off. Emma returned all 
her attention to her father, saying in secret: 

"I am glad I have done being in love with him. I should not like a man 
who is so soon discomposed by a hot morning. Harriet's sweet easy temper 
will not mind it." 

He was gone long enough to have had a very comfortable meal, and 
came back all the better grown quite cool, and with good manners, like 
himself, able to draw a chair close to them, take an interest in their em- 
ployment, and regret, in a reasonable way, that he should be so late. He 
was not in his best spirits, but seemed trying to improve them; and, at 
last, made himself talk nonsense very agreeably. They were looking over 
views in Switzerland. 



986 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"As soon as my aunt gets well I shall go abroad," said he. "I shall 
never be easy till I have seen some of these places. You will have my 
sketches, some time or other, to look at or my tour to read or my poem. 
I shall do something to expose myself." 

"That may be but not by sketches in Switzerland. You will never 
go to Switzerland. Your uncle and aunt will never allow you to leave 
England." 

"They may be induced to go too. A warm climate may be prescribed 
for her. I have more than half an expectation of our all going abroad. I 
assure you, I have. I feel a strong persuasion, this morning, that I shall 
soon be abroad. I ought to travel. I am tired of doing nothing. I want a 
change. I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, whatever your penetrating eyes 
may fancy I am sick of England, and would leave it to-morrow if I 
could." 

"You are sick of prosperity and indulgence! Cannot you invent a few 
hardships for yourself, and be contented to stay?" 

"/ sick of prosperity and indulgence! You are quite mistaken. I do not 
look upon myself as either prosperous or indulged. I am thwarted in 
everything material. I do not consider myself at all a fortunate person." 

"You are not quite so miserable, though, as when you first came. Go 
and eat and drink a little more, and you will do very well. Another slice of 
cold meat, another draught of Madeira and water, will make you nearly 
on a par with the rest of us." 

"No I shall not stir. I shall sit by you. You are my best cure." 

"We are going to Box Hill to-morrow; you will join us. It is not Switzer- 
land, but it will be something for a young man so much in want of a 
change. You will stay and go with us?" 

"No ; certainly not. I shall go home in the cool of the evening." 

"But you may come again in the cool of to-morrow morning." 

"No it will not be worth while. If I come, I shall be cross." 

"Then pray stay at Richmond." 

"But if I do, I shall be crosser still. I can never bear to think of you all 
there without me." 

"These are difficulties which you must settle for yourself. Choose your 
own degree of crossness. I shall press you no more." 

The rest of the party were now returning, and all were soon collected. 
With some there was great joy at the sight of Frank Churchill ; others took 
it very composedly ; but there was a very general distress and disturbance 
on Miss Fairfax's disappearance being explained. That it was time for 
everybody to go concluded the subject ; and with a short final arrangement 
for the next day's scheme, they parted. Frank Churchill's little inclination 
to exclude himself increased so much, that his last words to Emma were : 

"Well; if you wish me to stay and join the party, I will." 

She smiled her acceptance; and nothing less than a summons from 
Richmond was to take him back before the following evening. 



EMMA 987 

Chapter 43 

THEY had a very fine day for Box Hill ; and all the other outward cir- 
cumstances of arrangement, accommodation, and punctuality, were in 
favour of a pleasant party. Mr. Weston directed the whole., officiating 
safely between Hartfield and the vicarage, and everybody was in good 
time. Emma and Harriet went together; Miss Bates and her niece with 
the Eltons ; the gentlemen on horseback. Mrs. Weston remained with Mr. 
Woodhouse. Nothing was wanting but to be happy when they got there. 
Seven miles were travelled in expectation of enjoyment, and everybody 
had a burst of admiration on first arriving ; but in the general amount of 
the day there was deficiency. There was a languor, a want of spirits, a 
want of union, which could not be got over. They separated too much into 
parties. The Eltons walked together ; Mr. Knightley took charge of Miss 
Bates and Jane ; and Emma and Harriet belonged to Frank Churchill. And 
Mr. Weston tried, in vain, to make them harmonise better. It seemed at 
first an accidental division, but it never materially varied. Mr. and Mrs. 
Elton, indeed, showed no unwillingness to mix, and be as agreeable as they 
could ; but during the two whole hours that were spent on the Hill, there 
seemed a principle of separation between the other parties, too strong for 
any fine prospects, or any cold collation, or any cheerful Mr. Weston, to 
remove. 

At first it was downright dullness to Emma. She had never seen Frank 
Churchill so silent and stupid. He said nothing worth hearing looked 
without seeing admired without intelligence listened without knowing 
what she said. While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Harriet should 
be dull likewise ; and they were both insufferable. 

When they all sat down it was better to her taste a great deal better-^ 
for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object. 
Every distinguishing attention that could be paid, was paid to her. To 
amuse her, and be agreeable in her eyes, seemed all that he cared for and 
Emma, glad to be enlivened, not sorry to be flattered, was gay and easy 
too, and gave him all the friendly encouragement, the admission to be 
gallant, which she had ever given in the first and most animating period 
of their acquaintance ; but which now, in her own estimation, meant noth- 
ing, though in the judgment of most people looking on, it must have had 
such an appearance as no English word but flirtation could very well 
describe. "Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse flirted together ex- 
cessively." They were laying themselves open to that very phrase and 
to having it sent off in a letter to Maple Grove by one lady, to Ireland by 
another. Not that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any real felicity ; 
it was rather because she felt less happy than she had expected. She 
laughed because she was disappointed ; and though she liked him for his 
attentions, and thought them all, whether in friendship, admiration, or 



9 88 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

playfulness, extremely judicious, they were not winning back her heart. 
She still intended him for her friend. 

"How much I am obliged to you," said he, "for telling me to come 
to-day! If it had not been for you, I should certainly have lost all the 
happiness of this party. I had quite determined to go away again." 

"Yes, you were very cross ; and I do not know what about, except that 
you were too late for the best strawberries. I was a kinder friend than you 
deserved. But you were humble. You begged hard to be commanded to 
come." 

"Don't say I was cross. I was fatigued. The heat overcame me." 

"It is hotter to-day." 

"Not to my feelings. I am perfectly comfortable to-day." 

"You are comfortable because you are under command." 

"Your command? Yes." 

"Perhaps I intended yon to say so, but I meant self-command. You had, 
somehow or other, broken bounds yesterday, and run away from your 
own management; but to-day you are got back again and as I cannot 
be always with you, it is best to believe your temper under your own com- 
mand rather than mine." 

"It comes to the same thing. I can have no self-command without a 
motive. You order me, whether you speak or not. And you can be always 
with me. You are always with me." 

"Dating from three o'clock yesterday. My perpetual influence could not 
begin earlier, or you would not have been so much out of humour before." 

"Three o'clock yesterday! That is your date. I thought I had seen you 
first in February." 

"Your gallantry is really unanswerable. But" (lowering her voice), 
"nobody speaks except ourselves, and it is rather too much to be talking 
nonsense for the entertainment of seven silent people." 

"I say nothing of which I am ashamed," replied he, with lively impu- 
dence. "I saw you first in February. Let everybody on the Hill hear me 
if they can. Let my accent swell to Mickleham on one side, and Dorking 
on the other. I saw you first in February." And then whispering: "Our 
companions are excessively stupid. What shall we do to rouse them? Any 
nonsense will serve. They shall talk. Ladies and gentlemen, I am ordered 
by Miss Woodhouse (who, wherever she is, presides) to say, that she 
desires to know what you are all thinking of." 

Some laughed, and anwered good-humouredly. Miss Bates said a great 
deal ; Mrs. Elton swelled at the idea of Miss Woodhouse's presiding ; Mr. 
Knightley's answer was the most distinct. 

"Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what we are all 
thinking of?" 

"Oh, no, no!" cried Emma, laughing as carelessly as she could; "upon 
no account in the world. It is the very last thing I would stand the brunt 
of just now. Let me hear anything rather than what you are all thinking of. 
I will not say quite all. There are one or two perhaps" (glancing at Mr. 



EMMA 989 

Western and Harriet), "whose thoughts I might not be afraid of knowing." 

"It is a sort of thing," cried Mrs. Elton emphatically, "which / should 
not have thought myself privileged to inquire into. Though, perhaps, as 
the chaperone of the party / never was in any circle exploring parties 
young ladies married women " 

Her mutterings were chiefly to her husband; and he murmured, in 
reply: 

"Very true, my love, very true. Exactly so, indeed quite unheard of 
but some ladies say anything. Better pass it off as a joke. Everybody 
knows what is due to you." 

"It will not do," whispered Frank to Emma, "they are most of them 
affronted. I will attack them with more address. Ladies and gentlemen, 
I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse to say, that she waives her right of 
knowing exactly what you may all be thinking of, and only requires 
something very entertaining from each of you, in a general way. Here are 
seven of you, besides myself (who, she is pleased to say, am very enter- 
taining already), and she only demands from each of you, either one thing 
very clever, be it prose or verse, original or repeated; or two things 
moderately clever; or three things very dull indeed; and she engages to 
laugh heartily at them all." 

"Oh! very well," exclaimed Miss Bates; "then I need not be uneasy. 
'Three things very dull indeed.' That will just do for me, you know. I shall 
be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan't 
I?" (looking round with the most good-humoured dependence on every- 
body's assent). "Do not you all think I shall?" 

Emma could not resist. 

"Ah ! ma'am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me, but you will be 
limited as to number only three at once." 

Miss Bates, deceived by the mock ceremony of her manner, did not 
immediately catch her meaning; but, when it burst on her, it could not 
anger, though a slight blush showed that it could pain her. 

"Ah! well to be sure. Yes, I see what she means" (turning to Mr. 
Knightley), "and I will try to hold my tongue. I must make myself very 
disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend." 

"I like your plan," cried Mr. Weston. "Agreed, agreed. I will do my 
best. I am making a conundrum. How will a conundrum reckon?" 

"Low, I am afraid, sir, very low," answered his son; "but we shall be 
indulgent, especially to anyone who leads the way." 

"No, no," said Emma, "it will not reckon low. A conundrum of Mr. 
Weston 's shall clear him and his next neighbour. Come, sir, pray let me 
hear it." 

"I doubt its being very clever myself," said Mr. Weston. "It is too much 
a matter of fact; but here it is: What two letters of the alphabet are there 
that express perfection?" 

"What two letters express perfection? I am sure I do not know." 



990 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"Ah! you will never guess. You" (to Emma), "I am certain, will never 
guess. I will tell you. M. and A. Emma. Do you understand?" 

Understanding and gratification came together. It might be a very in- 
different piece of wit, but Emma found a great deal to laugh at and enjoy 
in it: and so did Frank and Harriet. It did not seem to touch the rest of 
the party equally ; some looked very stupid about it, and Mr. Knightley 
gravely said: 

"This explains the sort of clever thing that is wanted, and Mr. Weston 
has done very well for himself ; but he must have knocked up everybody 
else. Perfection should not have come quite so soon." 

"Oh! for myself, I protest I must be excused," said Mrs. Elton. "7 really 
cannot attempt I am not at all fond of the sort of thing. I had an acrostic 
once sent to me upon my own name which I was not at all pleased with. 
I knew who it came from. An abominable puppy! You know who I mean" 
(nodding to her husband). "These kind of things are very well at Christ- 
mas, when one is sitting round the fire; but quite out of place, in my 
opinion, when one is exploring about the country in summer. Miss Wood- 
house must excuse me. I am not one of those who have witty things at 
everybody's service. I do not pretend to be a wit. I have a great deal of 
vivacity in my own way, but I really must be allowed to judge when to 
speak, and when to hold my tongue. Pass us, if you please, Mr. Churchill. 
Pass Mr. E., Knightley, Jane, and myself. We have nothing clever to say 
not one of us." 

"Yes, yes, pray pass me" added her husband, with a sort of sneering 
consciousness ; "/ have nothing to say that can entertain Miss Woodhouse, 
or any other young lady. An old married man quite good for nothing. 
Shall we walk, Augusta?" 

"With all my heart. I am really tired of exploring so long on one spot. 
Come, Jane, take my other arm." 

Jane declined it, however, and the husband and wife walked off. "Happy 
couple! " said Frank Churchill, as soon as they were out of hearing; "how 
well they suit one another! Very lucky marrying as they did, upon an 
acquaintance formed only in a public place ! They only knew each other, 
I think, a few weeks in Bath ! Peculiarly lucky ! For as to any real knowl- 
edge of a person's disposition that Bath, or any public place, can give it 
is all nothing; there can be no knowledge. It is only by seeing women in 
their own homes, among their own set, just as they always are, that you 
can form any just judgment. Short of that, it is all guess and luck and 
will generally be ill-luck. How many a man has committed himself on a 
short acquaintance, and rued it all the rest of his life! " 

Miss Fairfax, who had seldom spoken before, except among her own 
confederates, spoke now. 

"Such things do occur, undoubtedly." She was stopped by a cough. 
Frank Churchill turned towards her to listen. 

"You were speaking," said he gravely. She recovered her voice. 

"I was only going to observe, that though such unfortunate circum- 



EMMA 99i 

stances do sometimes occur both to men and women, I cannot imagine 
them to be very frequent. A hasty and imprudent attachment may arise 
but there is generally time to recover from it afterwards. I would be 
understood to mean, that it can be only weak, irresolute characters (whose 
happiness must be always at the mercy of chance), who will suffer an 
unfortunate acquaintance to be an inconvenience, an oppression for ever." 

He made no answer ; merely looked, and bowed in submission; and soon 
afterwards said, in a lively tone: 

"Well, I have so little confidence in my own judgment, that whenever 
I marry, I hope somebody will choose my wife for me? Will you?" (turn- 
ing to Emma). "Will you choose a wife for me? I am sure I should like 
anybody fixed on by you. You provide for the family, you know" (with a 
smile at his father). "Find somebody for me. I am in no hurry. Adopt her; 
educate her." 

"And make her like myself." 

"By all means, if you can." 

"Very well. I undertake the commission. You shall have a charming 
wife." 

"She must be very lively and have hazel eyes. I care for nothing else. 
I shall go abroad for a couple of years and when I return, I shall come 
to you for my wife. Remember." 

Emma was in no danger of forgetting. It was a commission to touch 
every favourite feeling. Would not Harriet be the very creature described? 
Hazel eyes excepted, two years more might make her all that he wished. 
He might even have Harriet in his thoughts at the moment; who could 
say? Referring the education to her seemed to imply it. 

"Now, ma'am," said Jane to her aunt, "shall we join Mrs. Elton?" 

"If you please, my dear. With all my heart. / am quite ready. I was 
ready to have gone with her, but this will do just as well. We shall soon 
overtake her. There she is no, that's somebody else. That's one of the 
ladies in the Irish car party, not at all like her. Well, I declare 

They walked off, followed in half a minute by Mr. Knightley. Mr. 
Weston, his son, Emma, and Harriet only remained; and the young man's 
spirits now rose to a pitch almost unpleasant. Even Emma grew tired at 
last of flattery and merriment, and wished herself rather walking quietly 
about with any of the others, or sitting almost alone, and quite unattended 
to, in tranquil observation of the beautiful views beneath her. The appear- 
ance of the servants looking out for them to give notice of the carriages 
was a joyful sight; and even the bustle of collecting and preparing to 
depart, and the solicitude of Mrs. Elton to have her carriage first, were 
gladly endured, in the prospect of the quiet drive home which was to close 
the very questionable enjoyments of this day of pleasure. Such another 
scheme, composed of so many ill-assorted people, she hoped never to be 
betrayed into again. 

While waiting for the carriage, she found Mr. Knightley by her side. 
He looked around, as if to see that no one were near, and then said: 



992 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"Emma, I must once more speak to you as I have been used to do; a 
privilege rather endured than allowed, perhaps, but I must still use it. 
I cannot see you acting wrong, without a remonstrance. How could you 
be so unfeeling to Miss Bates? How could you be so insolent in your wit 
to a woman of her character, age, and situation? Emma, I had not thought 
it possible." 

Emma recollected, blushed, was sorry, but tried to laugh it off. 
. "Nay, how could I help saying what I did? Nobody could have helped 
it. It was not so very bad. I dare say she did not understand me." 

"I assure you she did. She felt your full meaning. She has talked of it 
since. I wish you could have heard how she talked of it with what 
candour and generosity. I wish you could have heard her honouring your 
forbearance, in being able to pay her such attentions, as she was for ever 
receiving from yourself and your father, when her society must be so 
irksome." 

"Oh! " cried Emma, "I know there is not a better creature in the world ; 
but you must allow, that what is good and what is ridiculous are most 
unfortunately blended in her." 

"They are blended," said he, "I acknowledge ; and, were she prosperous, 
I could allow much for the occasional prevalence of the ridiculous over the 
good. Were she a woman of fortune, I would leave every harmless absurd- 
ity to take its chance; I would not quarrel with you for any liberties of 
manner. Were she your equal in situation but, Emma, consider how far 
this is from being the case. She is poor ; she has sunk from the comforts she 
was born to ; and if she live to old age must probably sink more. Her situa- 
tion should secure your compassion. It was badly done, indeed! You, whom 
she had known from an infant, whom she had seen grow up from a period 
when her notice was an honour to have you now, in thoughtless spirits, 
and the pride of the moment, laugh at her, humble her and before her 
niece, too and before others, many of whom (certainly some) would be 
entirely guided by your treatment of her. This is not pleasant to you, 
Emma and it is very far from pleasant to me ; but I must, I will I will 
tell you truths while 1 can ; satisfied with proving myself your friend by 
very faithful counsel and trusting that you will some time or other do me 
greater justice than you can do now." 

While they talked they were advancing towards the carriage; it was 
ready; and, before she could speak again, he had handed her in. He had 
misinterpreted the feelings which had kept her face averted, and her 
tongue motionless. They were combined only of anger against herself, 
mortification, and deep concern. She had not been able to speak ; and, on 
entering the carriage, sunk back for a moment overcome ; then reproaching 
herself for having taken no leave, making no acknowledgment, parting in 
apparent sullenness, she looked out with voice and hand eager to show a 
difference ; but it was just too late. He had turned away, and the horses 
were in motion. She continued to look back, but in vain; and soon, with 
what appeared unusual speed, they were half-way down the hill, and 



EMMA 993 

everything left far behind. She was vexed beyond what could have been 
expressed almost beyond what she could conceal. Never had she felt so 
agitated, mortified, grieved, at any circumstance in her life. She was most 
forcibly struck. The truth of his representation there was no denying. She 
felt it at her heart. How could she have been so brutal, so cruel to Miss 
Bates! How could she have exposed herself to such ill opinion in any one 
she valued ! And how suffer him to leave her without saying one word of 
gratitude, of concurrence, of common kindness ! 

Time did not compose her. As she reflected more, she seemed but to feel 
it more. She never had been so depressed. Happily it was not necessary to 
speak. There was only Harriet, who seemed not in spirits herself, fagged, 
and very willing to be silent ; and Emma felt the tears running down her 
cheeks almost all the way home, without being at any trouble to check 
them, extraordinary as they were. 



Chapter 44 

THE wretchedness of a scheme to Box Hill was in Emma's thoughts 
all the evening. How it might be considered by the rest of the party she 
could not tell. They, in their different homes, and in their different ways, 
might be looking back on it with pleasure ; but in her view it was a morning 
more completely misspent, more totally bare of rational satisfaction at 
the time, and more to be abhorred in recollection, than any she had ever 
passed. A whole evening of backgammon with her father was felicity to it. 
There, indeed, lay real pleasure, for there she was giving up the sweetest 
hours of the twenty- four to his comfort ; and feeling that, unmerited as 
might be the degree of his fond affection and confiding esteem, she could 
not, in her general conduct, be open to any severe reproach. As a daughter, 
she hoped she was not without a heart. She hoped no one could have said 
to her, "How could you be so unfeeling to your father? I must, I will tell 
you truths while I can." Miss Bates should never again no never! If 
attention in future could do away the past she might hope to be forgiven. 
She had been often remiss, her conscience told her so; remiss, perhaps, 
more in thought than fact ; scornful, ungracious. But it should be so no 
more. In the warmth of true contrition she would call upon her the very 
next morning, and it should be the beginning, on her side, of a regular, 
equal, kindly intercourse. 

She was just as determined when the morrow came and went early, that 
nothing might prevent her. It was not unlikely, she thought, that she 
might see Mr. Knightley in her way ; or perhaps he might come in while 
she were paying her visit. She had no objection. She would not be ashamed 
of the appearance of the penitence, so justly and truly hers. Her eyes were 
towards Donwell as she walked, but she saw him not. 

"The ladies were all at home." She had never rejoiced at the sound 
before, nor ever before entered the passage, nor walked up the stairs, with 



994 THE V/ O R K S OF JANE AUSTEN 

any wish of giving pleasure, but in conferring obligation, or of deriving i t , 
except in subsequent ridicule. 

There was a bustle on her approach ; a good deal of moving and talking. 
She heard Miss Bates 's voice; something was to be done in a hurry; the 
maid looked frightened and awkward ; hoped she would be pleased to wait 
a moment, and then ushered her in too soon. The aunt and niece seemed 
both escaping into the adjoining room. Jane she had a distinct glimpse of, 
looking extremely ill ; and, before the door had shut them out, she heard 
Miss Bates saying, "Well, my dear, I shall say you are laid down upon the 
bed, and I am sure you are ill enough." 

Poor old Mrs. Bates, civil and humble as usual, looked as if she did not 
quite understand what was going on. 

"I am afraid Jane is not very well," said she, "but 7 do not know; they 
teh me she is well. I dare say my daughter will be here presently, Miss 
Woodhouse. I hope you find a chair. I wish Hetty had not gone. I am very 
little able have you a chair, ma'am? Do you sit where you like? I am 
sure she will be here presently." 

Emma seriously hoped she would. She had a moment's fear of Miss 
Bates keeping away from her. But Miss Bates soon came "Very happy 
and obliged" but Emma's conscience told her that there was not the 
same cheerful volubility as before less ease of look and manner. A very 
friendly inquiry after Miss Fairfax, she hoped, might lead the way to a 
return of old feelings. The touch seemed immediate. 

"Ah, Miss Woodhouse, how kind you are! I suppose you have heard 
and are come to give us joy. This does not seem much like joy, indeed, in 
me" (twinkling away a tear or two) ; "but it will be very trying for us to 
part with her, after having had her so long ; and she has a dreadful head- 
ache just now, writing all the morning ; such long letters, you know, to be 
written to Colonel Campbell and Mrs. Dixon. 'My dear,' said I, 'you will 
blind yourself,' for tears were in her eyes perpetually. One cannot wonder, 
one cannot wonder. It is a great change; and though she is amazingly 
fortunate such a situation, I suppose, as no young woman before ever 
met with on first going out ; do not think us ungrateful, Miss Woodhouse, 
for such surprising good fortune" (again dispersing her tears), "but, poor 
dear soul ! If you were to see what a headache she has. When one is in great 
pain, you know one cannot feel any blessing quite as it may deserve. She 
is as low as possible. To look at her nobody would think how delighted and 
happy she is to have secured such a situation. You will excuse her not 
coming to you ; she is not able, she is gone into her own room. I want her to 
lie down upon the bed. 'My dear,' said I, 'I shall say you are laid down 
upon the bed ; ' but, however, she is not ; she is walking about the room. 
But, now that she has written her letters, she says she shall soon be well. 
She will be extremely sorry to miss seeing you, Miss Woodhouse, but your 
kindness will excuse her. You were kept waiting at the door: I was quite 
ashamed ; but somehow there was a little bustle ; for it so happened that we 
had not heard the knock ; and, till you were on the stairs, we did not know 



EMMA 995 

anybody was coming. 'It is only Mrs. Cole,' said I, 'depend upon it; 
nobody else would come so early.' 'Well,' said she, 'it must be borne some 
time or other, and it may as well be now.' But then Patty came in, and 
said it was you. 'Oh! ' said I, 'it is Miss Woodhouse, I am sure you will like 
to see her.' 'I can see nobody,' said she, and up she got, and would go away ; 
and that was what made us keep you waiting ; and extremely sorry and 
ashamed we were. 'If you must go, my dear,' said I, 'you must, and I will 
say you are laid down upon the bed.' >: 

Emma was most sincerely interested. Her heart had been long growing 
kinder towards Jane ; and this picture of her present sufferings acted as a 
cure of every former ungenerous suspicion, and left her nothing but pity ; 
and the remembrance of the less just and less gentle sensations of the past 
obliged her to admit that Jane might very naturally resolve on seeing Mrs. 
Cole, or any other steady friend, when she might not bear to see herself. 
She spoke as she felt, with earnest regret and solicitude sincerely wishing 
that the circumstances which she collected from Miss Bates to be now 
actually determined on, might be as much for Miss Fairfax's advantage 
and comfort as possible. 

"It must be a severe trial to them all. She had understood it was to be 
delayed till Colonel Campbell's return." 

"So very kind! " replied Miss Bates; "but you are always kind." 

There was no bearing such an "always"; and to break through her 
dreadful gratitude Emma made the direct inquiry of: 

"Where, may I ask, is Miss Fairfax going?" 

"To a Mrs. Smallridge charming woman most superior to have the 
charge of her three little girls delightful children ! Impossible that any 
situation could be more replete with comfort: if we except, perhaps, Mrs. 
Suckling's own family, and Mrs. Bragge's, but Mrs. Smallridge is intimate 
with both, and in the very same neighbourhood : lives only four miles from 
Maple Grove. Jane will be only four miles from Maple Grove." 

"Mrs. Elton, I suppose, has been the person to whom Miss Fairfax 
owes " 

"Yes, our good Mrs. Elton. The most indefatigable, true friend. She 
would not take a denial. She would not let Jane say 'No ; ' for when Jane 
first heard of it (it was the day before yesterday, the very morning we were 
at Donwell), when Jane first heard of it, she was quite decided against 
accepting the offer, and for the reasons you mention ; exactly as you say, 
she had made up her mind to close with nothing till Colonel Campbell's 
return, and nothing should induce her to enter into any engagement at 
present and so she told Mrs, Elton over and over again and I am sure 
I had no more idea that she would change her mind! But that good Mrs. 
Elton, whose judgment never fails her, saw further than I did. It is not 
everybody that would have stood out in such a kind way as she did, and 
refuse to take Jane's answer ; but she positively declared she would not 
write any such denial yesterday, as Jane wished her; she would wait 
and, sure enough, yesterday evening it was all settled that Jane should go. 



f 9 6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Quite a surprise to me! I had not the least idea! Jane took Mrs. Elton 
aside, and told her at once, that, upon thinking over the advantages of 
Mrs. Smallridge's situation, she had come to the resolution of accepting it. 
I did not know a word of it till it was all settled." 

"You spent the evening with Mrs. Elton?" 

"Yes, all of us ; Mrs. Elton would have us come. It was settled so, upon 
the Hill, while we were walking about with Mr. Knightley. 'You must alf 
spend your evening with us,' said she. 'I positively must have you ak 
come.' " 

"Mr. Knightley was there, too, was he?" 

"No, not Mr. Knightley; he declined it from the first; and though I 
thought he would come, because Mrs. Elton declared she would not let 
him off, he did not; but my mother, and Jane, and I, were all there, and a 
very agreeable evening we had. Such kind friends, you know, Miss Wood- 
house, one must always find agreeable, though everybody seemed rather 
fagged after the morning's party. Even pleasure, you know, is fatiguing 
and I cannot say that any of them seemed very much to have enjoyed it. 
However, / shall always think it a very pleasant party, and feel extremely 
obliged to the kind friends who included me in it." 

"Miss Fairfax, I suppose, though you were not aware of it, had been 
making up her mind the whole day?" 

"I dare say she had." 

"Whenever the time may come it must be unwelcome to her and all her 
friends but I hope her engagement will have every alleviation that is 
possible I mean, as to the character and manners of the family." 

"Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse. Yes, indeed, there is everything in 
the world that can make her happy in it. Except the Sucklings and 
Bragges, there is not such another nursery establishment, so liberal and 
elegant, in all Mrs. Elton's acquaintance. Mrs. Smallridge, a most delight- 
ful woman ! A style of living almost equal to Maple Grove and as to the 
children, except the little Sucklings and little Bragges, there are not such 
elegant sweet children anywhere. Jane will be treated with such regard and 
kindness! It will be nothing but pleasure a life of pleasure. And her 
salary I really cannot venture to name her salary to you, Miss Wood- 
house. Even you, used as you are to great sums, would hardly believe that 
so much could be given to a young person like Jane." 

"Ah, madam," cried Emma, "if other children are at all like what I 
remember to have been myself, I should think five times the amount of 
what I have ever yet heard named as a salary on such occasions dearly 
earned." 

"You are so noble in your ideas!" 

"And when is Miss Fairfax to leave you?" 

"Very soon, very soon, indeed; that's the worst of it. Witmn a fort 
night. Mrs. Smallridge is in a great hurry. My poor mother does no', 
know how to bear it. So, then, I try to put it out of her thoughts, and say, 
'Come, ma'am, do not let us think about it any more,' " 



EMMA 997 

"Her friends must all be sorry to lose her; and will not Colonel and 
Mrs. Campbell be sorry to find that she has engaged herself before their 
return?" 

"Yes; Jane says she is sure they will; but yet this is such a situation as 
she cannot feel herself justified in declining. I was so astonished when she 
first told me what she had been saying to Mrs. Elton, and when Mrs. 
Elton at the same moment came congratulating me upon it ! It was before 
tea stay no, it could not be before tea, because we were just going to 
cards and yet it was before tea, because I remember thinking Oh, no, 
now I recollect, now I have it : something happened before tea, but not that. 
Mr. Elton was called out of the room before tea, old John Abdy's son 
wanted to speak with him. Poor old John I have a great regard for him; 
he was clerk to my poor father twenty-seven years; and now, poor old 
man, he is bedridden, and very poorly with the rheumatic gout in his 
joints I must go and see him to-day ; and so will Jane, I am sure, if she 
gets out at all. And Poor John's son came to talk to Mr. Elton about 
relief from the parish: he is very well-to-do himself, you know, being head 
man at the Crown ostler, and everything of that sort but still he 
cannot keep his father without some help; and so, when Mr. Elton came 
back, he told us what John ostler had been telling him, and then it came 
out about the chaise having been sent to Randalls to take Mr. Frank 
Churchill to Richmond. That was what happened before tea. It was after 
tea that Jane spoke to Mrs. Elton." 

Miss Bates would hardly give Emma time to say how perfectly new this 
circumstance was to her ; but as, without supposing it possible that she 
could be ignorant of any of the particulars of Mr. Frank Churchill's going, 
she proceeded to give them all, it was of no consequence. 

What Mr. Elton had learned from the ostler on the subject, being the 
accumulation of the ostler's own knowledge, and the knowledge of the 
servants at Randalls, was, that a messenger had come over from Rich- 
mond soon after the return of the party from Box Hill which messenger, 
however, had been no more than was expected; and that Mr. Churchill 
had sent his nephew a few lines containing, upon the whole, a tolerable 
account of Mrs. Churchill, and only wishing him not to delay coming 
back beyond the next morning early ; but that Mr. Frank Churchill having 
resolved to go home directly, without waiting at all, and his horse seeming 
to have got a cold, Tom had been sent off immediately for the Crown 
chaise, and the ostler had stood out and seen it pass by, the boy going a 
good pace, and driving very steady. 

There was nothing in all this either to astonish or interest, and it caught 
Emma's attention only as It united with the subject which already engage ) 
her mind. The contrast between Mrs. Churchill's importance in the world 
and Jane Fairfax's struck her ; one was everything, the other nothing 
and she sat musing on the difference of woman's destiny, and quite un- 
conscious on what her eyes were fixed, till roused by Miss Bates saying: 

"Aye, I see what you are thinking of. the pianoforte. What is to become 



998 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

of that? Very true. Poor dear Jane was talking of it just now. 'You must 
go,' said she. 'You and I must part. You will have no business here. Let it 
stay, however,' said she; 'give it house-room till Colonel Campbell comes 
back. I shall talk about it to him ; he will settle for me ; he will help me out 
of all my difficulties.' And to this day, I do believe, she knows not whether 
it was his present or his daughter's." 

Now Emma was obliged to think of the pianoforte; and the remem- 
brance of all her former fanciful and unfair conjectures was so little 
pleasing that she soon allowed herself to believe her visit had been long 
enough; and, with a repetition of everything that she could venture to 
say of the good wishes which she really felt, took leave. 



Chapter 45 

EMMA'S pensive meditations, as she walked home, were not interrupted ; 
but on entering the parlour, she found those who must rouse her. Mr. 
Knightley and Harriet had arrived during her absence, and were sitting 
with her father. Mr. Knightley immediately got up, and, in a manner 
decidedly graver than usual, said: 

"I would not go away without seeing you, but I have no time to spare, 
and therefore must now be gone directly. I am going to London, to spend 
a few days with John and Isabella. Have you anything to send or say, 
besides the 'love,' which nobody carries?" 

"Nothing at all. But is not this a sudden scheme?" 

"Yes rather I have been thinking of it some little time." 

Emma was sure he had not forgiven her; he looked unlike himself. 
Time, however, she thought, would tell him that they ^ught to be friends 
again. While he stood, as if meaning to go, but not going her father 
began his inquiries. 

"Well, my dear, and did you get there safely? And how did you find my 
worthy old friend and her daughter? I dare say they must have been very 
much obliged to you for coming. Dear Emma has been to call on Mrs. and 
Miss Bates, Mr. Knightley, as I told you before. She is always so attentive 
to them." 

Emma's colour was heightened by this unjust praise; and with a smile 
and shake of the head, which spoke much, she looked at Mr. Knightley. 
It seemed as if there were an instantaneous impression in her favour, as if 
his eyes received the truth from hers, and all that had passed of good in 
her feelings were at once caught and honoured. He looked at her with a 
glow of regard. She was warmly gratified and in another moment still 
more so, by a little movement of more than common friendliness on his 
part. He took her hand ; whether she had not herself made the first motion, 
she could not say she might, perhaps, have rather offered it but he took 
her hand, pressed it, and certainly was on the point of carrying it to his 
lips when, from some fancy or other, he suddenly let it go. Why he 



EMMA 999 

should feel such a scruple, why he should change his mind when it was all 
but done, she could not perceive. He would have judged better, she 
thought, if he had not stopped. The intention, however, was indubitable; 
and whether it was that his manners had in general so little gallantry, or 
however else it happened, but she thought nothing became him more. It 
was with him of so simple, yet so dignified a nature. She could not but 
recall the attempt with great satisfaction. It spoke such perfect amity. 
He left them immediately afterwards gone in a moment. He always 
moved with the alertness of a mind which could neither be undecided nor 
dilatory, but now he seemed more sudden than usual in his disappearance. 

Emma could not regret her having gone to Miss Bates, but she wished 
she had left her ten minutes earlier ; it would have been a great pleasure 
to talk over Jane Fairfax's situation with Mr. Knightley. Neither would 
she regret that he should be going to Brunswick Square, for she knew 
how much his visit would be enjoyed but it might have happened at a 
better time and to have had longer notice of it would have been 
pleasanter. They parted thorough friends, however; she could not be 
deceived as to the meaning of his countenance, and his unfinished gal- 
lantry ; it was all done to assure her that she had fully recovered his good 
opinion. He had been sitting with them half an hour, she found. It was a 
pity that she had not come back earlier. 

In the hope of diverting her father's thoughts from the disagreeable- 
ness of Mr. Knightley 's going to London, and going so suddenly, and going 
on horseback, which she knew would be all very bad, Emma communi- 
cated her news of Jane Fairfax, and her dependence on the effect was 
justified; it supplied a very useful check interested, without disturbing 
him. He had long made up his mind to Jane Fairfax's going out as gover- 
ness, and could talk of it cheerfully, but Mr. Knightley's going to London 
had been an unexpected blow. 

"I am very glad, indeed, my dear, to hear she is to be so comfortably 
settled. Mrs. Elton is very good-natured and agreeable, and I dare say her 
acquaintances are just what they ought to be. I hope it is a dry situation, 
and that her health will be taken good care of. It ought to be a first object, 
as I am sure poor Miss Taylor's always was with me. You know, my 
dear, she is going to be to this new lady what Miss Taylor was to us. And 
I hope she will be better off in one respect, and not be induced to go away 
after it has been her home so long." 

The following day brought news from Richmond to throw everything 
else into the background. An express arrived at Randalls to announce the 
death of Mrs. Churchill. Though her nephew had had no particular reason 
to hasten back on her account, she had not lived above six-and-thirty 
hours after his return. A sudden seizure, of a different nature from any- 
thing foreboded by her general state, had carried her off after a short 
struggle. The great Mrs. Churchill was no more. 

It was felt as such things must be felt. Everybody had a degree of 
gravity and sorrow; tenderness towards the departed, solicitude for the 



looe THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

surviving friends ; and, in a reasonable time, curiosity to know where she 
would be buried. Goldsmith tells us, that when lovely woman stoops to 
folly, she has nothing to do but to die; and when she stoops to be dis- 
agreeable, it is equally to be recommended as a clearer of ill-fame. Mrs. 
Churchill, after being disliked at least twenty-five years, was now spoken 
of with compassionate allowances. In one point she was fully justified. She 
had never been admitted before to be seriously ill. The event acquitted 
her of all the fancifulness, and all the selfishness of imaginary complaints. 

"Poor Mrs. Churchill! no doubt she had been suffering a great deal: 
more than anybody had ever supposed and continual pain would try 
the temper. It was a sad event a great shock with all her faults, what 
would Mr. Churchill do without her? Mr. Churchill's loss would be 
dreadful, indeed, Mr. Churchill would never get over it." Even Mr. 
Weston shook his head, and looked solemn, and said, "Ah, poor woman, 
who would have thought it!" and resolved that his mourning should 
be as handsome as possible; and his wife sat sighing and moralizing over 
her broad hems with a commiseration and good sense true and steady. 
How it would affect Frank, was among the earliest thoughts of both. It 
was also a very early speculation with Emma. The character of Mrs. 
Churchill, the grief of her husband her mind glanced over them both 
with awe and compassion and then rested with lightened feelings on 
how Frank might be affected by the event, how benefited, how freed. She 
saw in a moment all the possible good. Now an attachment to Harriet 
Smith would have nothing to encounter. Mr. Churchill, independent of his 
wife, was feared by nobody ; an easy, guidable man, to be persuaded into 
anything by his nephew. All that remained to be wished was that the 
nephew should form the attachment, as, with all her good-will in the cause, 
Emma could feel no certainty of its being already formed. 

Harriet behaved extremely well on the occasion with great self-com- 
mand. Whatever she might feel of brighter hope she betrayed nothing. 
Emma was gratified to observe such a proof in her of strengthened 
character, and refrained from any allusion that might endanger its main- 
tenance. They spoke, therefore, of Mrs. Churchill's death with mutual 
forbearance. 

Short letters from Frank were received at Randalls, communicating all 
that was immediately important of their state and plans. Mr. Churchill 
was better than could be expected ; and their first removal, on the depar- 
ture of the funeral for Yorkshire, was to be to the house of a very old 
friend in Windsor, to whom Mr. Churchill had been promising a visit the 
last ten years. At present, there was nothing to be done for Harriet ; good 
wishes for the future were all that could yet be possible on Emma's side. 

It was a more pressing concern to show attention to Jane Fairfax, 
whose prospects were closing while Harriet's opened, and whose engage- 
ments now allowed of no delay in any one at Highbury who wished to 
show her kindness and with Emma it was grown into a first wish. She 
had scarcely a stronger regret than for her past coldness ; and the person, 



EMMA looi 

whom she had been so many months neglecting, was now the very one on 
whom she would have lavished every distinction of regard or sympathy. 
She wanted to be of use to her ; wanted to show a value for her society, and 
testify respect and consideration. She resolved to prevail on her to spend 
a day at Hartfield. A note was written to urge it. The invitation was 
refused, and by a verbal message. "Miss Fairfax was not well enough to 
write;" and when Mr. Perry called at Hartfield, the same morning, it 
appeared that she was so much indisposed as to have been visited, though 
against her own consent, by himself, and that she was suffering under 
severe headaches, and a nervous fever to a degree which made him doubt 
the possibility of her going to Mrs. Smallridge's at the time proposed. Her 
health seemed for the moment completely deranged appetite quite 
gone ; and though there were no absolutely alarming symptoms, nothing 
touching the pulmonary complaint which was the standing apprehension 
of the family, Mr. Perry was uneasy about her. He thought she had under- 
taken more than she was equal to, and that she felt it so herself, though 
she would not own it. Her spirits seemed overcome. Her present home, he 
could not but observe, was unfavourable to a nervous disorder ; confined 
always to one room ; he could have wished it otherwise ; and her good aunt, 
though his very old friend, he must acknowledge to be not the best com- 
panion for an invalid of that description. Her care and attention could not 
be questioned ; they were, in fact, only too great. He very much feared that 
Miss Fairfax derived more evil than good from them. Emma listened with 
the warmest concern ; grieved for her more and more, and looked around 
eager to discover some way of being useful. To take her be it only an 
hour or two from her aunt, to give her change of air and scene, and quiet, 
rational conversation, even for an hour or two, might do her good ; and the 
following morning she wrote again to say, in the most feeling language she 
could command, that she would call for her in the carriage at any hour 
that Jane would name mentioning that she had Mr. Perry's decided 
opinion in favour of such exercise for his patient. The answer was only in 
this short note: 

"Miss Fairfax's compliments and thanks, but is quite unequal to any 
exercise." 

Emma felt that her own note had deserved something better ; but it was 
impossible to quarrel with words, whose tremulous inequality showed 
indisposition so plainly, and she thought only of how she might best 
counteract this unwillingness to be seen or assisted. In spite of the answer, 
therefore, she ordered the carriage, and drove to Mrs. Bates's, in the hope 
that Jane would be induced to join her but it would not do ; Miss Bates 
came to the carriage door, all gratitude, and agreeing with her most 
earnestly in thinking an airing might be of the greatest service and 
everything that message could do was tried but all in vain. Miss Bates 
was obliged to return without success ; Janes was quite unpersuadable ; the 
mere proposal of going out seemed to make her worse. Emma wished 
she could have seen her, and tried her own powers ; but, almost before she 



ioo2 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

could hint the wish, Miss Bates made it appear that she had promised her 
niece on no acount to let Miss Woodhouse in. "Indeed, the truth was, 
that poor dear Jane could not bear to see anybody anybody at all Mrs. 
Elton, indeed, could not be denied and Mrs. Cole had made such a point 
and Mrs. Perry had said so much but, except them, Jane would really 
see nobody." 

Emma did not want to be classed with the Mrs. Eltons, the Mrs. Perrys, 
and the Mrs. Coles, who would force themselves anywhere ; neither could 
she feel any right of preference herself she submitted, therefore, and 
only questioned Miss Bates further as to her niece's appetite and diet, 
which she longed to be able to assist. On that subject poor Miss Bates was 
very unhappy, and very communicative ; Jane would hardly eat anything. 
Mr. Perry recommended nourishing food ; but everything they could com- 
mand (and never had anybody such good neighbours) was distasteful. 

Emma, on reaching home, called the housekeeper directly to an exami- 
nation of her stores; and some arrowroot of very superior quality was 
speedily despatched to Miss Bates with a most friendly note. In half an 
hour the arrowroot was returned, with a thousand thanks from Miss Bates, 
but "dear Jane would not be satisfied without its being sent back; it was 
a thing she could not take and, moreover, she insisted on her saying that 
she was not at all in want of anything." 

When Emma afterwards heard that Jane Fairfax had been seen wander- 
ing about the meadows, at some distance from Highbury, on the afternoon 
of the very day on which she had, under the plea of being unequal to any 
exercise, so peremptorily refused to go out with her in the carriage, she 
could have no doubt putting everything together that Jane was re- 
solved to receive no kindness from her. She was sorry, very sorry. Her 
heart was grieved for a state which seemed but the more pitiable from this 
sort of irritation of spirits, inconsistency of action, and inequality of 
powers ; and it mortified her that she was given so little credit for proper 
feeling, or esteemed so little worthy as a friend: but she had the con- 
solation of knowing that her intentions were good, and of being able to 
say to herself, that could Mr. Knightley have been privy to all her at- 
tempts of assisting Jane Fairfax, could he even have seen into her heart, 
he would not, on this occasion, have found anything to reprove. 



Chapter 46 

ONE morning, about ten days after Mrs. Churchill's decease, Emma was 
called downstairs to Mr. Weston, who "could not stay five minutes, and 
wanted particularly to speak with her." He met her at the parlour-door, 
and hardly asking her how she did, in the natural key of his voice, sunk 
it immediately, to say, unheard by her father: 

"Can you come to Randalls at any time this morning? Do, if it be 
possible. Mrs. Weston wants to see you. She must see you." 



EMMA 1003 

"Is she unwell?" 

"No, no; not at all; only a little agitated. She would have ordered 
the carriage and come to you, but she must see you alone, and that you 
know" (nodding towards her father) "Humph! can you come?" 

"Certainly. This moment, if you please. It is impossible to refuse 
what you ask in such a way, but what can be the matter? is she really 
not ill?" 

"Depend upon me; but ask no more questions. You will know it all 
in time. The most unaccountable business! But hush, hush!" 

To guess what all this meant was impossible even for Emma. Some- 
thing really important seemed announced by his looks ; but, as her friend 
was well, she endeavoured not to be uneasy, and settling it with her 
father, that she would take her walk now, she and Mr. Weston were 
soon out of the house together, and on their way at a quick pace for 
Randalls. 

"Now," said Emma, when they were fairly beyond the sweep-gates 
"now, Mr. Weston, do let me know what has happened." 

"No, no," he gravely replied. "Don't ask me. I promised my wife to 
leave it all to her. She will break it to you better than I can. Do not be 
impatient, Emma; it will all come out too soon." 

"Break it to me! " cried Emma, standing still with terror. "Good God! 
Mr. Weston, tell me at once. Something has happened in Brunswick 
Square. I know it has. Tell me, I charge you, tell me this moment what 
it is." 

"No, indeed, you are mistaken." 

"Mr. Weston, do not trifle with me. Consider how many of my dearest 
friends are now in Brunswick Square. Which of them is it? I charge 
you by all that is sacred not to attempt concealment." 

"Upon my word, Emma " 

"Your word! why not your honour! why not say upon your honour, 
that it has nothing to do with any of them? Good heavens! What can be 
to be broke to me, that does not relate to one of that family?" 

"Upon my honour," said he very seriously, "it does not. It is not in 
the smallest degree connected with any human being of the name of 
Knightley." 

Emma's courage returned, and she walked on. 

"I was wrong," he continued, "in talking of its being broke to you. I 
should not have used the expression. In fact, it does not concern you, 
it concerns only myself; that is, we hope. Humph! In short, my dear 
Emma, there is no occasion to be so uneasy about it. I don't say that 
it is not a disagreeable business, but things might be much worse. If we 
walk fast, we shall soon be at Randalls." Emma found that she must 
wait; and now it required little effort. She asked no more questions 
therefore, merely employed her own fancy, and that soon pointed out 
to her the probability of its being some money concern something just 
come to light, of a disagreeable nature, in the circumstances of the 



1004 T H~E WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

family; something which the late event at Richmond had brought for- 
ward. Her fancy was very active. Half a dozen natural children, perhaps, 
and poor Frank cut off! This, though very undesirable, would be no 
matter of agony to her. It inspired more than an animating curiosity. 

"Who is that gentleman on horseback?" said she, as they proceeded; 
speaking more to assist Mr. Weston in keeping his secret than with any 
other view. 

"I do not know. One of the Otways. Not Frank: it is not Frank, I 
assure you. You will not see him. He is half-way to Windsor by this 
time." 

"Has your son been with you, then?" 

"Oh! yes, did not you know? Well, well, never mind." 

For a moment he was silent; and then added, in a tone much more 
guarded and demure: 

"Yes, Frank came over this morning just to ask us how we did." 

They hurried on, and were speedily at Randalls. "Well, my dear," 
said he, as they entered the room, "I have brought her, and now I hope 
you will soon be better. I shall leave you together. There is no use in 
delay. I shall not be far off, if you want me." And Emma distinctly 
heard him add, in a lower tone, before he quitted the room "I have 
been as good as my word. She has not the least idea." 

Mrs. Weston was looking so ill, and had an air of so much perturba- 
tion, that Emma's uneasiness increased: and the moment they were 
alone, she eagerly said : 

"What is it, my dear friend? Something of a very unpleasant nature, I 
find, has occurred; do let me know directly what it is. I have been walk- 
ing all this way in complete suspense. We both abhor suspense. Do not 
let mine continue longer. It will do you good to speak of your distress, 
whatever it may be." 

"Have you, indeed, no idea?" said Mrs. Weston in a trembling voice. 
"Cannot you, my dear Emma cannot you form a guess as to what you 
are to hear?" 

"So far as that it relates to Mr. Frank Churchill, I do guess." 

"You are right. It does relate to him, and I will tell you directly" 
(resuming her work, and seeming resolved against looking up). "He 
has been here, this very morning, on a most extraordinary errand. It is 
impossible to express our surprise. He came to speak to his father on a 
subject to announce an attachment " 

She stopped to breathe. Emma thought first of herself, and then of 
Harriet. 

"More than an attachment, indeed," resumed Mrs. Weston: "an 
engagement a positive engagement. What will you say, Emma what 
will anybody say when it is known that Frank Churchill and Miss 
Fairfax are engaged nay, that they have been long engaged?" 

Emma even jumped with surprise; and, horror-struck, exclaimed: 

"Jane Fairfax! Good God! You are not serious? You do not mean it?" 



EMMA 1005 

"You may well be amazed," returned Mrs. Weston, still averting her 
eyes, and talking on with eagerness, that Emma might have time to 
recover "you may well be amazed. But it is even so. There has been a 
solemn engagement between them ever since October formed at Wey- 
mouth, and kept a secret from everybody. Not a creature knowing it but 
themselves neither the Campbells, nor her family, nor his. It is so won- 
derful, that though perfectly convinced of the fact, it is yet almost 
incredible to myself. I can hardly believe it. I thought I knew him." 

Emma scarcely heard what was said. Her mind was divided between 
two ideas; her own former conversations with him about Miss Fairfax 
and poor Harriet ; and for some time she could only exclaim, and require 
confirmation, repeated confirmation. 

"Well!" said she at last, trying to recover herself, "this is a circum- 
stance which I must think of at least half a day before I can at all com- 
prehend it. What! engaged to her all the winter before either of them 
came to Highbury?" 

"Engaged since October secretly engaged. It has hurt me, Emma, 
very much. It has hurt his father equally. Some part of his conduct we 
cannot excuse." 

Emma pondered a moment, and then replied: "I will not pretend 
not to understand you; and to give you all the relief in my power, be 
assured that no s^ch effect has followed his attentions to me as you are 
apprehensive of." 

Mrs. Weston looked up, afraid to believe; but Emma's countenance 
was as steady as her words. 

"That you may have less difficulty in believing this boast of my pres- 
ent perfect indifference," she continued, "I will further tell you, that 
there was a period in the early part of our acquaintance when I did like 
him when I was very much disposed to be attached to him; nay, was 
attached and how it came to cease is perhaps the wonder. Fortunately, 
however, it did cease. I have really for some time past for at least 
three months cared nothing about him. You may believe me, Mrs. 
Weston. This is the simple truth." 

Mrs. Weston kissed her with tears of joy; and when she could 
find utterance, assured her that this protestation had done her more 
good than anything else in the world could do. 

"Mr. Weston will be almost as much relieved as myself," said she. 
"On this point we have been wretched. It was our darling wish that you 
might be attached to each other, and we were persuaded that it was so. 
Imagine what we have been feeling on your account." 

"I have escaped; and that I should escape may be a matter of 
grateful wonder to you and myself. But this does not acquit him, Mrs. 
Weston; and I must say that I think him greatly to blame. What right 
had he to come among us with affection and faith engaged, and with 
manners so very disengaged? What right had he to endeavour to please, 
as he certainly did to distinguish any one young woman with per- 



ioo6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

severing attention, as he certainly did, while he really belonged to an- 
other? How could he tell what mischief he might be doing? How could 
he tell that he might not be making me in love with him? Very wrong, 
very wrong, indeed." 

"From something that he said, my dear Emma, I rather imagine " 

"And how could she bear such behaviour? Composure with a witness! 
to look on, while repeated attentions were offering to another woman 
before her face, and not resent it. That is a degree of placidity which 
I can neither comprehend nor respect." 

"There were misunderstandings between them, Emma; he said so 
expressly. He had no time to enter into much explanation. He was here 
only a quarter of an hour, and in a state of agitation which did not 
allow the full use even of the time he could stay but that there had 
been misunderstandings, he decidedly said. The present crisis, indeed, 
seemed to be brought on by them; and those misunderstandings might 
very possibly arise from the impropriety of his conduct." 

"Impropriety! Oh! Mrs. Weston, it is too calm a censure. Much, much 
beyond impropriety! It has sunk him I cannot say how it has sunk 
him in my opinion. So unlike what a man should be! None of that 
upright integrity, that strict adherence to truth and principle, that dis- 
dain of trick and littleness, which a man should display in every trans- 
action of his life." 

"Nay, dear Emma, now I must, take his part; for though he has been 
wrong in this instance, I have known him long enough to answer for his 
having many, very many good qualities; and " 

"Good God!" cried Emma, not attending to her, "Mrs. Smallridge 
too! Jane actually on the point of going as governess! What could he 
mean by such horrible indelicacy? To suffer her to engage herself to 
suffer her even to think of such a measure ! " 

"He knew nothing about it, Emma. On this article I can fully acquit 
him. It was a private resolution of hers, not communicated to him, or at 
least not communicated in a way to carry conviction. Till yesterday, I 
know, he said he was in the dark as to her plans. They burst on him, I 
do not know how, but by some letter or message and it was the dis- 
covery of what she was doing, of this very project of hers, which deter- 
mined him to come forward at once, own it all to his uncle, throw 
himself on his kindness, and, in short, put an end to the miserable state 
of concealment that had been carrying on so long." 

Emma began to listen better. 

"I am to hear from him soon," continued Mrs. Weston. "He told me 
at parting that he should soon write; and he spoke in a manner which 
seemed to promise me many particulars that could not be given now. Let 
us wait, therefore, for this letter. It may bring many extenuations. It 
may make many things intelligible and excusable which now are not to be 
understood. Don't let us be severe; don't let us be in a hurry to condemn 
him. Let us have patience. I must love him; and now that I am satisfied 



EMMA 1007 

on one point, the one material point, I am sincerely anxious for its all 
turning out well, and ready to hope that it may. They must both have 
suffered a great deal under such a system of secrecy and concealment." 

"His sufferings," replied Emma drily, "do not appear to have done 
him much harm. Well, and how did Mr. Churchill take it?" 

"Most favourably for his nephew gave his consent with scarcely a 
difficulty. Conceive what the events of a week have done in that family! 
While poor Mrs. Churchill lived, I suppose there could not have been a 
hope, a chance, a possibility ; but scarcely are her remains at rest in the 
family vault than her husband is persuaded to act exactly opposite to 
what she would have required. What a blessing it is, when undue influ- 
ence does not survive the grave! He gave his consent with very little 
persuasion." 

"Ah!" thought Emma, "he would have done as much for Harriet." 

"This was settled last night, and Frank was off with the light this 
morning. He stopped at Highbury, at the Bates's, I fancy, some time, 
and then came on hither; but was in such a hurry to get back to his 
uncle, to whom he is just now more necessary than ever, that, as I tell 
you, he could stay with us but a quarter of an hour. He was very much 
agitated very much indeed to a degree that made him appear quite 
a different creature from anything I had ever seen him before. In addi- 
tion to all the rest there had been the shock of finding her so very un- 
well, which he had had no previous suspicion of, and there was every 
appearance of his having been feeling a great deal." 

"And do you really believe the affair to have been carrying on with 
such perfect secrecy? The Campbells, the Dixons did none of them 
know of the engagement?" 

Emma could not speak the name of Dixon without a little blush. 

"None ; not one. He positively said that it had been known to no being 
in the world but their two selves." 

"Well," said Emma, "I suppose we shall gradually grow reconciled to 
the idea, and I wish them very happy. But I shall always think it a very 
abominable sort of proceeding. What has it been but a system of hypoc- 
risy and deceit, espionage and treachery? To come among us with pro- 
fessions of openness and simplicity; and such a league in secret to judge 
us all! Here have we been the whole winter and spring, completely 
duped, fancying ourselves all on an equal footing of truth and honour, 
with two people in the midst of us who may have been carrying round, 
comparing and sitting in judgment on sentiments and words that were 
never meant for both to hear. They must take the consequence, if they 
have heard each other spoken of in a way not perfectly agreeable." 

"I am quite easy on that head," replied Mrs. Weston. "I am very sure 
that I never said anything of either to the other which both might not 
have heard." 

"You are in luck. Your only blunder was confined to my ear, when 
you imagined a certain friend of ours in love with the lady." 



ioo8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"True. But as I have always had a thoroughly good opinion of Miss 
Fairfax, I never could, under any blunder, have spoken ill of her; and 
as to speaking ill of him, there I must have been safe." 

At this moment Mr. Weston appeared at a little distance from the 
window, evidently on the watch. His wife gave him a look which invited 
him in; and, while he was coming round, added: 

"Now, dearest Emma, let me entreat you to say and look everything 
that may set his heart at ease, and incline him to be satisfied with the 
match. Let us make the best of it and, indeed, almost everything may 
be fairly said in her favour. It is not a connection to gratify ; but if Mr. 
Churchill does not feel that, why should we? and it may be a very 
fortunate circumstance for him for Frank, I mean that he should 
have attached himself to a girl of such steadiness of character and good 
judgment as I have always given her credit for, and still am disposed 
to give her credit for, in spite of this one great deviation from the strict 
rule of right. And how much may be said, in her situation, for even that 
error!" 

"Much, indeed!" cried Emma feelingly. "If a woman can ever be 
excused for thinking only of herself, it is in a situation like Jane Fairfax's. 
Of such, one may almost say, that 'the world is not theirs, nor the 
world's law.' " 

She met Mr. Weston on his entrance with a smiling countenance, 
exclaiming: 

"A very pretty trick you have been playing me, upon my word ! This 
was a device, I suppose, to sport with my curiosity, and exercise my 
talent of guessing. But you really frightened me. I thought you had lost 
half your property, at least. And here, instead of its being a matter of 
condolence, it turns out to be one of congratulation. I congratulate you, 
Mr. Weston, with all my heart, on the prospect of having one of the 
most lovely and accomplished young women in England for your 
daughter." 

A glance or two between him and his wife convinced him that all was 
as right as this speech proclaimed; and its happy effect on his spirits 
was immediate. His air and voice recovered their usual briskness; he 
shook her heartily and gratefully by the hand, and entered on the 
subject in a manner to prove that he now only wanted time and per- 
suasion to think the engagement no very bad thing. His companions 
suggested only what could palliate imprudence or smooth objections; 
and by the time they had talked it all over together, and he had talked 
it all over again with Emma, in their walk back to Hartfield, he was 
become perfectly reconciled, and not far from thinking it the very best 
thing Frank could possibly have done. 



EMMA 1009 

Chapter 47 

"HARRIET, poor Harriet!" Those were the words; in them lay the 
tormenting ideas which Emma could not get rid of, and which consti- 
tuted the real misery of the business to her. Frank Churchill had be- 
haved very ill by herself very ill in many ways but it was not so 
much his behaviour as her own which made her so angry with him. It was 
the scrape which he had drawn her into on Harriet's account, that gave 
the deepest hue to his offence. Poor Harriet! to be a second time th< 
dupe of her misconceptions and flattery. Mr. Knightley had spoken 
prophetically when he once said, "Emma, you have been no friend to 
Harriet Smith." She was afraid she had done her nothing but disservice. 
It was true that she had not to charge herself in this instance, as in the 
former, with being the sole and original author of the mischief: with 
having suggested such feelings as might otherwise never have entered 
Harriet's imagination; for Harriet had acknowledged her admiration and 
preference of Frank Churchill before she had ever given her a hint on 
the subject; but she felt completely guilty of having encouraged what 
she might have repressed. She might have prevented the indulgence and 
increase of such sentiments. Her influence would have been enough. 
And now she was very conscious that she ought to have prevented them. 
She felt that she had been risking her friend's happiness on most insuffi- 
cient grounds. Common sense would have directed her to tell Harriet 
that she must not allow herself to think of him, and that there were 
five hundred chances to one against his ever caring for her. "But with 
common sense," she added, "I am afraid I have had little to do." 

She was extremely angry with herself. If she could not have been 
angry with Frank Churchill too, it would have been dreadful. As for 
Jane Fairfax, she might at least relieve her feelings from any present 
solicitude on her account. Harriet would be anxiety enough; she need 
no longer be unhappy about Jane, whose troubles and whose ill-health 
having, of course, the same origin, must be equally under cure. Her 
days of insignificance and evil were over. She would soon be well, and 
happy and prosperous. Emma could not imagine why her own at- 
tentions had been slighted. This discovery laid many smaller matters 
open. No doubt it had been from jealousy. In Jane's eyes she had been 
a rival ; and well might anything she could offer of assistance or regard 
be repulsed. An airing in the Hartfield carriage would have been the 
rack, and arrowroot from the Hartfield store-room must have been 
poison. She understood it all; and as far as her mind could disengage 
itself from the injustice and selfishness of angry feelings, she acknowl- 
edged that Jane Fairfax would have neither elevation nor happiness 
beyond her desert. But poor Harriet was such an engrossing charge! 
There. was little sympathy to be spared for anybody else. Emma was 
sadly fearful that this second disappointment would be more severe than 



ioio THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

the first. Considering the very superior claims of the object, it ought; 
and judging by its apparently stronger effect on Harriet's mind, produc- 
ing reserve and self-command, it would. She must communicate the 
painful truth, however, and as soon as possible. An injunction of secrecy 
had been among Mr. Weston 's parting words. "For the present the whole 
affair was to be completely a secret. Mr. Churchill had made a point of 
it, as a token of respect to the wife he had so very recently lost; and 
everybody admitted it to be no more than due decorum." Emma had 
promised; but still Harriet must be excepted. It was her superior duty. 

In spite of her vexation, she could not help feeling it almost ridiculous, 
that she should have the very same distressing and delicate office to 
perform by Harriet which Mrs. Weston had just gone through by her- 
self. The intelligence, which had been so anxiously announced to her, 
she was now to be anxiously announcing to another. Her heart beat quick 
on hearing Harriet's footstep and voice; so, she supposed, had poor Mrs. 
Weston felt when she was approaching Randalls. Could the event of the 
disclosure bear an equal resemblance! But of that, unfortunately, there 
could be no chance. 

"Well, Miss Woodhouse," cried Harriet, coming eagerly into the 
room, "is not this the oddest news that ever was?" 

"What news do you mean?" replied Emma, unable to guess, by look 
or voice, whether Harriet could indeed have received any hint. 

"About Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear anything so strange? Oh! 
you need not be afraid of owning it to me, for Mr. Weston has told me 
himself. I met him just now. He told me it was to be a great secret; and, 
therefore, I should not think of mentioning it to anybody but you, but 
he said you knew it." 

"What did Mr. Weston tell you?" said Emma, still perplexed. 

"Oh! he told me all about it; that Jane Fairfax and Mr. Frank 
Churchill are to be married, and that they have been privately engaged 
to one another this long while. How very odd!" 

It was, indeed, so odd, Harriet's behaviour was so extremely odd, that 
Emma did not know how to understand it. Her character appeared abso- 
lutely changed. She seemed to propose showing no agitation, or disap- 
pointment, or peculiar concern in the discovery. Emma looked at her, 
quite unable to speak. 

"Had you any idea," cried Harriet, "of his being in love with her? 
You, perhaps, might. You" (blushing as she spoke), "who can see into 
everybody's heart; but nobody else " 

"Upon my word," said Emma, "I begin to doubt my having any such 
talent. Can you seriously ask me, Harriet, whether I imagined him 
attached to another woman at the very time that I was tacitly if not 
openly encouraging you to give way to your own feelings? I never had 
the slightest suspicion, till within the last hour, of Mr. Frank Churchill's 
having the least regard for Jane Fairfax. You may be very sure that, 
if I had, I should have cautioned you accordingly." 



EMMA ioii 

"Me!" cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished. "Why should you 
caution me? You do not think I care about Mr. Frank Churchill?" 

"I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the subject," replied 
Emma, smiling, "but you do not mean to deny that there was a time 
and not very distant either when you gave me reason to understand 
that you did care about him?" 

"Him! never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse., how could you so mistake 
me?" (turning away distressed). 

"Harriet," cried Emma, after a moment's pause, "what do you mean? 
Good Heaven! what do you mean? Mistake you! Am I to suppose 
then?" 

She could not speak another word. Her voice was lost; and she sat 
down, waiting in great terror till Harriet should answer. 

Harriet, who was standing at some distance and with face turned 
from her, did not immediately say anything; and when she did speak, 
it was in a voice nearly as agitated as Emma's. 

"I should not have thought it possible," she began, "that you could 
have misunderstood me! I know we agreed never to name him but 
considering how infinitely superior he is to everybody else, I should not 
have thought it possible that I could be supposed to mean any other 
person. Mr. Frank Churchill, indeed! I do not know who would ever 
look at him in the company of the other. I hope I have a better taste 
than to think of Mr. Frank Churchill, who is like nobody by his side. 
And that you should have been so mistaken, is amazing! I am sure, but 
for believing that you entirely approved and meant to encourage me in 
my attachment, I should have considered it at first too great a presump- 
tion almost to dare to think of him. At first, if you had not told me that 
more wonderful things had happened; that there had been matches of 
greater disparity (those were your very words) I should not have 
dared to give way to I should not have thought it possible; but if you, 
who had been always acquainted with him " 

"Harriet," cried Emma, collecting herself resolutely, "let us under- 
stand each other now, without the possibility of further mistake. Are 
you speaking of Mr. Knightley?" 

"To be sure I am. I never could have an idea of anybody else and 
so I thought you knew. When we talked about him, it was as clear as 
possible." 

"Not quite," returned Emma, with forced calmness; "for all that you 
then said appeared to me to relate to a different person. I could almost 
assert that you had named Mr. Frank Churchill. I am sure the service 
Mr. Frank Churchill had rendered you, in protecting you from the 
gipsies, was spoken of." 

"Oh, Miss Woodhouse, how you do forget!" 

"My dear Harriet, I perfectly remember the substance of what I said 
on the occasion. I told you that I did not wonder at your attachment; 
that, considering the service he had rendered you, it was extremely natu- 



ioi2 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

ral; and you agreed to it, expressing yourself very warmly as to your 
sense of that service, and mentioning even what your sensations had 
been in seeing him come forward to your rescue. The impression of it 
is strong on my memory." 

"Oh, dear," cried Harriet, "now I recollect what you mean; but I was 
thinking of something very different at the time. It was not the gipsies 
it was not Mr. Frank Churchill that I meant. No!" (with some eleva- 
tion) "I was thinking of a much more precious circumstance of Mr. 
Knightley's coming and asking me to dance, when Mr. Elton would 
not stand up with me, and when there was no other partner in the room. 
That was the kind action; that was the noble benevolence and gen- 
erosity; that was the service which made me begin to feel how superior 
he was to every other being upon earth." 

"Good God!" cried Emma, "this has been a most unfortunate most 
deplorable mistake! What is to be done?" 

"You would not have encouraged me, then, if you had understood 
me? At least, however, I cannot be worse off than I should have been, 
if the other had been the person; and now it is possible " 

She paused a few moments. Emma could not speak. 

"I do not wonder, Miss Woodhouse," she resumed, "that you should 
feel a great difference between the two, as to me or as to anybody. You 
must think one five hundred million times more above me than the 
other. But I hope, Miss Woodhouse, that supposing that if strange 
as it may appear But you know they were your own words, that more 
wonderful things had happened; matches of greater disparity had taken 
place than between Mr. Frank Churchill and me; and, therefore, it 
seems as if such a thing even as this may have occurred before and 
if I should be so fortunate, beyond expression, as to if Mr. Knightley 
should really if he does not mind the disparity, I hope, dear Miss 
Woodhouse" you will not set yourself against it and try to put diffi- 
culties in the way. But'you are too good for that, I am sure." 

Harriet was standing at one of the windows. Emma turned round to 
look at her in consternation, and hastily said: 

"'Have you any idea of Mr. Knightley's returning your affection?" 

"Yes," replied Harriet, modestly, but not fearfully; "I must say 
that I have." 

Emma's eyes were instantly withdrawn; and she sat silently meditat- 
ing, in a fixed attitude, for a few minutes. A few minutes were sufficient 
for making her acquainted with her own heart. A mind like hers, once 
opening to suspicion, made rapid progress; she touched, she admitted, 
she acknowledged the whole truth. Why was it so much worse that 
Harriet should be in love with Mr. Knightley than with Frank Church- 
ill? Why was the evil so dreadfully increased by Harriet's having some 
hope of a return? It darted through her with the speed of an arrow 
that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself! 

Her own conduct, as well as her own heart, was before her in the same 



EMMA 1013 

few minutes. She saw it all with a clearness which had never blessed her 
before. How improperly had she been acting by Harriet! How inconsider- 
ate, how indelicate, how irrational, how unfeeling, had been her conduct! 
What blindness, what madness had led her on ! It struck her with dreadful 
force, and she was ready to give it every bad name in the world. Some 
portion of respect for herself, however, in spite of all these demerits, some 
concern for her own appearance, and a strong sense of justice by Harriet 
(there would be no need of compassion to the girl who believed herself 
loved by Mr. Knightley but justice required that she should not be made 
unhappy by any coldness now), gave Emma the resolution to sit and 
endure further with calmness, with even apparent kindness. For her own 
advantage, indeed, it was fit that the utmost extent of Harriet's hopes 
should be inquired into ; and Harriet had done nothing to forfeit the regard 
and interest which had been so voluntarily formed and maintained, or to 
deserve to be slighted by the person whose counsels had never led her 
right. Rousing from reflection, therefore, and subduing her emotion, she 
turned to Harriet again, and in a more inviting accent renewed the con- 
versation ; for as to the subject which had first introduced it, the wonderful 
story of Jane Fairfax, that was quite sunk and lost. Neither of them 
thought but of Mr. Knightley and themselves. 

Harriet, who had been standing in no unhappy reverie, was yet very 
glad to be called from it by the now encouraging manner of such a judge, 
and such a friend, as Miss Woodhouse ; and only wanted invitation to give 
the history of her hopes with great though trembling delight. Emma's 
tremblings, as she asked, and as she listened, were better concealed than 
Harriet's, but they were not less. Her voice was not unsteady, but her 
mind was in all the perturbation that such a development of self, such a 
burst of threatening evil, such a confusion of sudden and perplexing emo- 
tions, must create. She listened with much inward suffering, but with great 
outward patience, to Harriet's detail. Methodical, or well arranged, or 
very well delivered, it could not b<* expected to be ; but it contained, when 
separated from all the feebleness and tautology of the narration, a sub- 
stance to sink her spirit ; especially with the corroborating circumstances 
which her own memory brought in favour of Mr. Knightley's most inb 
proved opinion of Harriet. 

Harriet had been conscious of a difference in his behaviour ever since 
those two decisive dances. Emma knew that he had, on that occasion, 
found her much superior to his expectation. From that evening, or at least 
from the time of Miss Woodhouse's encouraging her to think of him, 
Harriet had begun to be sensible of his talking to her much more than he 
had been used to do, and of his having, indeed, quite a different manner 
towards her ; a manner of kindness and sweetness. Latterly, she had been 
more and more aware of it. When they had been all walking together, he 
had so often come and walked by her, and talked so very delightfully ! He 
seemed to want to be acquainted with her. Emma knew it to have been 
very much the case: she had often observed the change, to almost the 



ioi4 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

same extent. Harriet repeated expressions of approbation and praise from 
him and Emma felt them to be in the closest agreement with what she 
had known of his opinion of Harriet. He praised her for being without art 
or affectation; for having simple, honest, generous feelings. She knew that 
he saw such recommendations in Harriet; he had dwelt on them to her 
more than once. Much that lived in Harriet's memory, many little par- 
ticulars of the notice she had received from him, a look, a speech, a re- 
moval from one chair to another, a compliment implied, a preference 
inferred, had been unnoticed, because unsuspected, by Emma. Circum- 
stances that might swell to half an hour's relation, and contained multiplied 
proofs to her who had seen them, had passed undiscerned by her who now 
heard them; but the two latest occurrences to be mentioned the two of 
strongest promise to Harriet were not without some degree of witness 
from Emma herself. The first was his walking with her apart from the 
others in the limewalk at Donwell, where they had been walking some 
time before Emma came, and he had taken pains (as she was convinced) 
to draw her from the rest to himself; and at first he had talked to her in 
a more particular way than he had ever done before in a very particular 
way indeed! (Harriet could not recall it without a blush.) He seemed to 
be almost asking her whether her affections were engaged. But as soon as 
she (Miss Woodhouse) appeared likely to join them, he changed the sub- 
ject, and began talking about farming. The second was his having sat 
talking with her nearly half an hour before Emma came back from her 
visit, the very last morning of his being at Hartfield though, when he 
first came in, he had said that he could not stay five minutes and his 
having told her, during their conversation, that though he must go to 
London, it was very much against his inclination that he left home at all, 
which was much more (as Emma felt) than he had acknowledged to her. 
The superior degree of confidence towards Harriet which this one article 
marked gave her severe pain. 

On the subject of the first of the two circumstances, she did, after a little 
reflection, venture the following question: "Might he not? Is not it pos- 
sible, that, when inquiring, as you thought, into the state of your affec- 
tions, he might be alluding to Mr. Martin he might have Mr. Martin's 
interest in view?" But Harriet rejected the suspicion with spirit. 

"Mr. Martin! No, indeed! There was not a hint of Mr. Martin. I hope I 
know better now than to care for Mr. Martin, or to be suspected of it." 

When Harriet had closed her evidence, she appealed to her dear Miss 
Woodhouse to say whether she had not good ground for hope. 

"I never should have presumed to think of it at first," said she, "but for 
you. You told me to observe him carefully, and let his behaviour be the 
rule of mine and so I have. But now I seem to feel that I may deserve 
him; and that if he does choose me, it will not be anything so very 
wonderful." 

The bitter feelings occasioned by this speech, the many bitter feelings, 



EMMA 1015 

made the utmost exertion necessary on Emma's side to enable her to say 
in reply : , 

"Harriet, I will only venture to declare, that Mr. Knightley is the last 
man in the world who would intentionally give any woman the idea of his 
feeling for her more than he really does." 

Harriet seemed ready to worship her friend for a sentence so satisfac- 
tory; and Emma was only saved from raptures and fondness, which at 
that moment would have been dreadful penance, by the sound of her 
father's footsteps. He was coming through the hall. Harriet was too much 
agitated to encounter him. "She could not compose herself Mr. Wood- 
house would be alarmed she had better go ; " with most ready encourage- 
ment from her friend, therefore, she passed off through another door 
and the moment she was gone, this was the spontaneous burst of Emma's 
feelings: "O God! that I had never seen her! " 

The rest of the day, the following night, were hardly enough for her 
thoughts. She was bewildered amidst the confusion of all that had rushed 
on her within the last few hours. Every moment had brought a fresh 
surprise; and every surprise must be matter of humiliation to her. How to 
understand it all! How to understand the deceptions she had been thus 
practising on herself, and living under ! The blunders, the blindness of her 
own head and heart! She sat still, she walked about, she tried her own 
room, she tried the shrubbery in every place, every posture, she per- 
ceived that she had acted most weakly ; that she had been imposed on by 
others in a most mortifying degree ; that she had been imposing on herself 
in a degree yet more mortifying; that she was wretched, and should prob- 
ably find this day but the beginning of wretchedness. 

To understand, thoroughly understand her own heart, was the first 
endeavour. To that point went every leisure moment which her father's 
claims on her allowed, and every moment of involuntary absence of mind. 

How long had Mr. Knightley been so dear to her, as every feeling 
declared him now to be? When had his influence, such influence begun? 
When had he succeeded to that place in her affection which Frank Church- 
ill had once, for a short period, occupied? She looked back; she compared 
the two compared them, as they had always stood in her estimation, 
from the time of the latter's becoming known to her and as they must 
at any time have been compared by her, had it oh! had it, by any 
blessed felicity, occurred to her to institute the comparison. She saw 
that there never had been a time when she did not consider Mr. Knightley 
as infinitely the superior, or when his regard for her had not been infinitely 
the most dear. She saw, that in persuading herself, in fancying, in acting 
to the contrary, she had been entirely under a delusion, totally ignorant 
of her own heart and, in short, that she had never really cared for Frank 
Churchill at all! 

This was the conclusion of the first series of reflections. This was the 
knowledge of herself, on the first question of inquiry, which she reached; 
and without being long in reaching it. She was most sorrowfully indignant; 



I0i6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

ashamed of every sensation but the one revealed to her her affection for 
Mr. Knightley. Every other part of her mind was disgusting. 

With insufferable vanity had she believed herself in the secret of every- 
body's feelings ; with unpardonable arrogance proposed to arrange every- 
body's destiny. She was proved to have been universally mistaken; and 
she had not quite done nothing for she had done mischief. She had 
brought evil on Harriet, on herself, and, she too much feared, on Mr. 
Knightley. Were this most unequal of all connections to take place, on 
her must rest all the reproach of having given it a beginning; for this 
attachment she must believe to be produced only by a consciousness of 
Harriet's; and even were this not the case, he would never have known 
Harriet at all but for her folly. 

Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith! It was a union to distance every 
wonder of the kind. The attachment of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax 
became commonplace, threadbare, stale in the comparison, exciting no 
surprise, presenting no disparity, affording nothing to be said or thought. 
Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith! Such an elevation on her side! Such a 
debasement on his ! It was horrible to Emma to think how it must sink him 
in the general opinion, to foresee the smiles, the sneers, the merriment it 
would prompt at his expense ; the mortification and disdain of his brother, 
the thousand inconveniences to himself. Could it be? No; it was impos- 
sible. And yet it was far, very far, from impossible. Was it a new circum- 
stance for a man of first-rate abilities to be captivated by very inferior 
powers? was it new for one, perhaps too busy to seek, to be the prize of a 
girl who would seek him? Was it new for anything in this world to be 
unequal, inconsistent, incongruous or for chance and circumstance (as 
second causes) to direct the human fate? 

Oh ! had she never brought Harriet forward! Had she left her where she 
ought, and where he had told her she ought! Had she not, with a folly 
which no tongue could express, prevented her marrying the unexception- 
able young man who would have made her happy and respectable in the 
line of life to which she ought to belong, all would have been safe ; none 
of this dreadful sequel would have been. 

How Harriet could ever have had the presumption to raise her 
thoughts to Mr. Knightley! How she could dare to fancy herself the 
chosen of such a man till actually assured of it! But Harriet was less 
humble, had fewer scruples than formerly. Her inferiority, whether of 
mind or situation, seemed little felt. She had seemed more sensible of Mr. 
Elton's being to stoop in marrying her, than she now seemed of Mr. 
Knightley 's. Alas! was not that her own doing too? Who had been at pains 
to give Harriet notions of self -consequence but herself? Who but herself 
had taught her, that she was to elevate herself if possible, and that her 
claims were great to a high worldly establishment? If Harriet, from being 
humble, were grown vain, it was her doing too. 



EMMA 1017 

Chapter 48 

TILL now that she was threatened with its loss, Emma had never 
known how much of her happiness depended on being first with Mr. 
Knightley, first in interest and affection. Satisfied that it was so, and 
feeling it her due, she had enjoyed it without reflection ; and only in the 
dread of being supplanted, found how inexpressibly important it had 
been. Long, very long, she felt she had been first ; for, having no female 
connections of his own, there had been only Isabella whose claims could be 
compared with hers, and she had always known exactly how far he loved 
and esteemed Isabella. She had herself been first with him for many 
years past. She had not deserved it; she had often been negligent or 
perverse, slighting his advice, or even wilfully opposing him, insensible of 
half his merits, and quarrelling with him because he would not acknowl- 
edge her false and insolent estimate of her own but still, from family 
attachment and habit, and thorough excellence of mind, he had loved her, 
and watched over her from a girl, with an endeavour to improve her, and 
an anxiety for her doing right, which no other creature had at all shared. 
In spite of all her faults, she knew she was dear to him; might she not say, 
very dear? When the suggestions of hope, however, which must follow 
here, presented themselves, she could not presume to indulge them. 
Harriet Smith might think herself not unworthy of being peculiarly, 
exclusively, passionately loved by Mr. Knightley. She could not. She could 
not flatter herself with any idea of blindness in his attachment to her. She 
had received a very recent proof of its impartiality. How shocked had he 
been by her behaviour to Miss Bates! How directly, how strongly had he 
expressed himself to her on the subject! Not too strongly for the offence 
but far, far too strongly to issue from any feeling softer than upright 
justice and clear-sighted good-will. She had no hope, nothing to deserve 
the name of hope, that he could have that sort of affection for herself 
which was now in question ; but there was a hope (at times a slight one, at 
times much stronger) that Harriet might have deceived herself, and be 
overrating his regard for her. Wish it she must, for his sake be the 
consequence nothing to herself, but his remaining single all his life. Could 
she be secure of that, indeed, of his never marrying at all, she believed she 
should be perfectly satisfied. Let him but continue the same Mr. Knightley 
to her, and her father, the same Mr. Knightley to all the world; let 
Donweli and Hartfield lose none of their precious intercourse of friendship 
and confidence, and her peace would be fully secured. Marriage, in fact, 
would not do for her. It would be incompatible with what she owed to her 
father, and with what she felt for him. Nothing should separate her from 
her father. She would not marry, even if she were asked by Mr. Knightley. 

It must be her ardent wish that Harriet might be disappointed ; and she 
hoped, that when able to see them together again, she might at least be 
able to ascertain what the chances for it were. She should see them 



ioi8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

henceforward with the closest observance; and wretchedly as she nad 
hitherto misunderstood even those she was watching, she did not know 
how to admit that she could be blinded here. He was expected back every 
day. The power of observation would be soon given frightfully soon it 
appeared when her thoughts were in one course. In the meanwhile, she 
resolved against seeing Harriet. It would do neither of them good, it 
would do the subject no good, to be talking of it further. She was resolved 
not to be convinced, as long as she could doubt, and yet had no authority 
for opposing Harriet's confidence. To talk would be only to irritate. She 
wrote to her, therefore, kindly, but decisively, to beg that she would not, 
at present, come to Hartfield ; acknowledging it to be her conviction that 
all further confidential discussion of one topic had better be avoided ; and 
hoping, that if a few days were allowed to pass before they met again, 
except in the company of others she objected only to a tete-a-tete they 
might be able to act as if they had forgotten the conversation of yesterday. 
Harriet submitted, and approved, and was grateful. 

This point was just arranged when a visitor arrived to tear Emma's 
thoughts a little from the one subject which had engrossed them, sleeping 
or waking, the last twenty-four hours Mrs. Weston, who had been call- 
ing on her daughter-in-law elect, and took Hartfield in her way home, 
almost as much in duty to Emma as in pleasure to herself, to relate all 
the particulars of so interesting an interview. 

Mr. Weston had accompanied her to Mrs. Bates's, and gone through his 
share of this essential attention most handsomely; but she having then 
induced Miss Fairfax to join her in an airing, was now returned with much 
more to say, and much more to say with satisfaction, than a quarter of an 
hour spent in Mrs. Bates's parlour, with all the incumbrance of awkward 
feelings, could have afforded. 

A little curiosity Emma had, and she made the most of it while her 
friend related. Mrs. Weston had set off to pay the visit in a good deal of 
agitation herself ; and in the first place had wished not to go at all at pres- 
ent ; to be allowed merely to write to Miss Fairfax instead, and to defer this 
ceremonious call till a little time had passed, and Mr. Churchill could be 
reconciled to the engagement's becoming known; as, considering every- 
thing, she thought such a visit could not be paid without leading to reports ; 
but Mr. Weston had thought differently; he was extremely anxious to 
show his approbation to Miss Fairfax and her family, and did not con- 
ceive that any suspicion could be excited by it ; or if it were, that it would 
be of any consequence ; for "such things," he observed, "always got about." 
Emma smiled, and felt that Mr. Weston had very good reason for saying 
so. They had gone, in short; a^d very great had been the evident distress 
and confusion of the lady. She had hardly been able to speak a word, and 
every look and action had shown how deeply she was suffering from 
consciousness. The quiet, heart-felt satisfaction of the old lady, and the 
rapturous delight of her daughter, who proved even too joyous to talk as 
usual, had been a gratifying, yet almost an affecting scene. They were both 



EMMA 1019 

so truly respectable in their happiness, so disinterested in every sensation ; 
thought so much of Jane, so much of everybody, and so little of themselves 
that every kindly feeling was at work for them. Miss Fairfax's recent 
illness had offered a fair plea for Mrs. Weston to invite her to an airing ; 
she had drawn back and declined at first, but, on being pressed, had 
yielded; and, in the course of their drive, Mrs. Weston had, by gentle 
encouragement, overcome so much of her embarrassment, as to bring her 
to converse on the important subject. Apologies for her seemingly un- 
gracious silence in their first reception, and the warmest expressions of the 
gratitude she was always feeling towards herself and Mr. Weston, must 
necessarily open the cause ; but when these effusions were put by, they had 
talked a good deal of the present and of the future state of the engage- 
ment. Mrs. Weston was convinced that such conversation must be the 
greatest relief to her companion, pent up within her own mind as every- 
thing had so long been, and was very much pleased with all that she had 
said on the subject. 

"On the misery of what she had suffered, during the concealment of so 
many months," continued Mrs. Weston, "she was energetic. This was one 
of her expressions: 'I will not say that since I entered into the engagement 
I have not had some happy moments; but I can say, that I have never 
known the blessing of one tranquil hour:' and the quivering lip, Emma, 
which uttered it was an attestation that I felt at my heart. " 

"Poor girl!" said Emma. "She thinks herself wrong, then, for having 
consented to a private engagement?" 

"Wrong! No one, I believe, can blame her more than she is disposed to 
blame herself. 'The consequence,' said she, 'has been a state of perpetual 
suffering to me; and so it ought. But after all the punishment that mis- 
conduct can bring, it is still not less misconduct. Pain is no expiation. I 
never can be blameless. I have been acting contrary to all my sense of 
right; and the fortunate turn that everything has taken, and the kindness 
I am now receiving, is what my conscience tells me ought not to be. Do 
not imagine, madam,' she continued, 'that I was taught wrong. Do not let 
any reflection fall on the principles or the care of the friends who brought 
me up. The error has been all my own and I do assure you that, with all 
the excuse that the present circumstances may appear to give, I shall yet 
dread making the story known to Colonel Campbell.' " 

"Poor girl!" said Emma, again. "She loves him, then, excessively, I 
suppose. It must have been from attachment only that she could be led to 
form the engagement. Her affection must have overpowered her judg- 
ment." 

"Yes, I have no doubt of her being extremely attached to him." 

"I am afraid," returned Emma, sighing, "that I must often have con- 
tributed to make her unhappy." 

"On your side, my love, it was very innocently done. But she probably 
had something of that in her thoughts, when alluding to the misunder- 
standings which he had given us hints of before. One natural consequence 



1020 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

of the evil she had involved herself in, she said, was that of making her 
unreasonable. The consciousness of having done amiss had exposed her to 
a thousand inquietudes, and made her captious and irritable to a degree 
that must have been that had been hard for him to bear. 'I did not 
make the allowances,' said she, 'which I ought to have done, for his temper 
and spirits his delightful spirits, and that gaiety, that playfulness of 
disposition, which, under any other circumstances, would, I am sure, have 
been as constantly bewitching to me as they were at first.' She then began 
to speak of you, and of the great kindness you had shown her during her 
illness; and, with a blush which showed me how it was all connected, 
desired me, whenever I had an opportunity, to thank you I could not 
thank you too much for every wish and every endeavour to do her good. 
She was sensible that you had never received any proper acknowledgment 
from herself." 

"If I did not know her to be happy now," said Emma, seriously, "which, 
in spite of every little drawback from her scrupulous conscience, she must 
be, I could not bear these thanks; for, oh! Mrs. Weston, if there were an 

account drawn up of the evil and the good I have done Miss Fairfax 

Well" (checking herself and trying to be more lively), "this is all to be 
forgotten. You are very kind to bring me these interesting particulars; 
they show her to the greatest advantage. I am sure she is very good; I hope 
she will be very happy. It is fit that the fortune should be on his side, for 
I think the merit will be all on hers." 

Such a conclusion could not pass unanswered by Mrs. Weston. She 
thought well of Frank in almost every respect ; and, what was more, she 
loved him very much, and her defence was, therefore, earnest. She talked 
with a great deal of reason, and at least equal affection ; but she had too 
much to urge for Emma's attention ; it was soon gone to Brunswick Square 
or to Donwell; she forgot to attempt to listen; and when Mrs. Weston 
ended with, "We have not yet had the letter we are so anxious for, you 
know, but I hope it will soon come," she was obliged to pause before she 
answered, and at last obliged to answer at random, before she could at 
all recollect what letter it was which they were so anxious for. 

"Are you well, my Emma?" was Mrs. Weston's parting question. 

"Oh, perfectly. I am always well, you know. Be sure to give me intelli- 
gence of the letter as soon as possible." 

Mrs. Weston's communications furnished Emma with more food for 
unpleasant reflection, by increasing her esteem and compassion, and her 
sense of past injustice towards Miss Fairfax. She bitterly regretted not 
having sought a closer acquaintance with her, and blushed for the envious 
feelings which had certainly been, in some measure, the cause. Had she 
followed Mr. Knightley's known wishes, in paying that attention to Miss 
Fairfax which was every way her due ; had she tried to know her better ; 
had she done her part towards intimacy ; had she endeavoured to find a 
friend there instead of in Harriet Smith, she must, in all probability, have 
been spared from every pain which pressed on her now. Birth, abilities. 



EMMA 1021 

and education had been equally marking one as an associate for her, to be 
received with gratitude; and the other what was she? Supposing even 
that they had never become intimate friends; that she had never been 
admitted into Miss Fairfax's confidence on this important matter which 
was most probable still, in knowing her as she ought, and as she might, 
she must have been preserved from the abominable suspicions of an 
improper attachment to Mr. Dixon, which she had not only so foolishly 
fashioned and harboured herself, but had so unpardonably imparted; an 
idea which she greatly feared had been made a subject of material distress 
to the delicacy of Jane's feelings, by the levity or carelessness of Frank 
Churchill's. Of all the sources of evil surrounding the former, since her 
coming to Highbury, she was persuaded that she must herself have been 
the worst. She must have been a perpetual enemy. They never could have 
been all three together, without her having stabbed Jane Fairfax's peace 
in a thousand instances ; and on Box Hill, perhaps, it had been the agony 
of a mind that would bear no more. 

The evening of this day was very long and melancholy at Hartfield. The 
weather added what it could of gloom. A cold stormy rain set in, and 
nothing of July appeared but in the trees and shrubs, which the wind was 
despoiling, and the length of the day, which only made such cruel sights 
the longer visible. 

The weather affected Mr. Woodhouse; and he could only be kept 
tolerably comfortable by almost ceaseless attention on his daughter's 
side, and by exertions which had never cost her half so much before. It 
reminded her of their first forlorn tete-a-tete, on the evening of Mrs. 
Weston's wedding-day; but Mr. Knightley had walked in then, soon after 
tea, and dissipated every melancholy fancy. Alas! such delightful proofs 
of Hartfield's attraction, as those sort of visits conveyed, might shortly be 
over. The picture which she had then drawn of the privations of the 
approaching winter had proved erroneous ; no friends had deserted them, 
no pleasures had been lost. But her present forebodings she feared would 
experience no similar contradiction. The prospect before her now was 
threatening to a degree that could not be entirely dispelled that might 
not be even partially brightened. If all took place that might take place 
among the circle of her friends, Hartfield must be comparatively deserted ; 
and she left to cheer her father with the spirits only of ruined happiness. 

The child to be born at Randalls must be a tie there even dearer than 
herself; and Mrs. Weston's heart and time would be occupied by it. They 
should lose her ; and probably, in great measure, her husband also. Frank 
Churchill would return among them no more; and Miss Fairfax, it was 
reasonable to suppose, would soon cease to belong to Highbury. They 
would be married, and settled either at or near Enscombe. All that were 
good would be withdrawn ; and if to these losses the loss of Donwell were 
to be added, what would remain of cheerful or of rational society within 
their reach? Mr. Knightley to be no longer coming there for his evening 
comfort! No longer walking in at all hours, as if ever willing to change hi* 



1022 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

own home for theirs! How was it to be endured? And if he were to be lost 
to them for Harriet's sake ; if he were to be thought of hereafter, as finding 
in Harriet's society all that he wanted! if Harriet were to be the chosen, 
the first, the dearest, the friend, the wife to whom he looked for all the best 
blessings of existence ; what could be increasing Emma's wretchedness but 
the reflection, never far distant from her mind, that it had been all her 
own work? 

When it came to such a pitch as this, she was not able to refrain from a 
start, or a heavy sigh, or even from walking about the room for a few 
seconds; and the only source whence anything like consolation or com- 
posure could be drawn, was in the resolution of her own better conduct, 
and the hope that, however inferior in spirit and gaiety might be the 
following and every future winter of her life to the past, it would yet find 
her more rational, more acquainted with herself, and leave her less to 
regret when it were gone. 

Chapter 49 

THE weather continued much the same all the following morning ; and 
the same loneliness, and the same melancholy, seemed to reign at Hart- 
field; but in the afternoon it cleared; the wind changed into a softer 
quarter; the clouds were carried off: the sun appeared; it was summer 
again. With all the eagerness which such a transition gives Emma re- 
solved to be out of doors as soon as possible. Never had the exquisite sight, 
smell, sensation of nature, tranquil, warm, and brilliant after a storm, 
been more attractive to her. She longed for the serenity they might gradu- 
ally introduce; and on Mr. Perry's coming in soon after dinner, with a 
disengaged hour to give her father, she lost no time in hurrying into the 
shrubbery. There, with spirits freshened, and thoughts a little relieved, 
she had taken a few turns, when she saw Mr. Knightley passing through 
the garden door, and coming towards her. It was the first intimation of his 
being returned from London. She had been thinking of him the moment 
before, as unquestionably sixteen miles distant. There was time only for 
the quickest arrangement of mind. She must be collected and calm. In 
half a minute they were together. The "How-d'ye-do's" were quiet and 
constrained on each side. She asked after their mutual friends; they were 
all well. When had he left them? Only that morning. He must have had a 
wet ride. Yes! He meant to walk with her, she found. "He had just looked 
into the dining-room, and as he was not wanted there, preferred being out 
of doors." She thought he neither looked nor spoke cheerfully; and the 
first possible cause for it, suggested by her fears, was, that he had perhaps 
been communicating his plans to his brother, and was pained by the 
manner in which they had been received. 

They walked together. He was silent. She thought he was often looking 
at her, and trying for a fuller view of her face than it suited her to give. 
And this belief produced another dread. Perhaps he wanted to speak to 



EMMA 1023 

ner of his attachment to Harriet, he might be watching for encouragement 
to begin. She did not, could not, feel equal to lead the way to any such sub- 
ject. He must do it all himself. Yet she could not bear this silence. With 
him it was most unnatural. She considered, resolved, and, trying to smile, 
began: 

"You have some news to hear, now you are come back, that will rather 
surprise you." 

"Have I?" said he quietly, and looking at her; "of what nature?" 

"Oh, the best nature in the world a wedding." 

After waiting a moment, as if to be sure she intended to say no more, 
he replied : 

"If you mean Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have heard that 
already." 

"How is it possible?" cried Emma, turning her glowing cheeks towards 
him ; for, while she spoke, it occurred to her that he might have called at 
Mrs. Gooddard's in his way. 

"I had a few lines on parish business from Mr. Weston this morning, 
and at the end of them he gave me a brief account of what had happened. " 

Emma was quite relieved, and could presently say, with a little more 
composure: 

" You probably have been less surprised than any of us, for you have 
had your suspicions. I have not forgotten that you once tried to give me a 
caution. I wish I had attended to it but" (with a sinking voice and a 
heavy sigh) "I seem to have been doomed to blindness." 

For a moment or two nothing was said, and she was unsuspicious of 
having excited any particular interest till she found her arm drawn within 
his, and pressed against his heart, and heard him thus saying, in a tone of 
great sensibility, speaking low: 

"Time, my dearest Emma, time will heal the wound. Your own ex- 
cellent sense; your exertions for ycmr father's sake: I know you will not 
allow yourself " Her arm was pressed again, as he added, in a more 
broken and subdued accent, "The feelings of the warmest friendship 
indignation abominable scoundrel!" And in a louder, steadier tone, he 
concluded with, "He will soon be gone. They will soon be in Yorkshire. I 
am sorry for her. She deserves a better fate." 

Emma understood him; and as soon as she could recover from the 
flutter of pleasure, excited by such tender consideration, replied: 

"You are very kind, but you are mistaken, and I must set you right. 
I am not in want of that sort of compassion. My blindness to what was 
going on led me to act by them in a way that I must always be ashamed 
of, and I was very foolishly tempted to say and do many things which 
may well lay me open to unpleasant conjectures, but I have no other 
reason to regret that I was not in the secret earlier." 

"Emma," cried he, looking eagerly at her, "are you indeed?" but 
checking himself "No, no, I understand you forgive me I am pleased 
that you can say even so much. He is no object of regret, indeed! and it 



1024 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

will not be very long, I hope, before that becomes the acknowledgment of 
more than your reason. Fortunate that your affections were not further 
entangled! I could never, I confess, from your manners, assure myself as 
to the degree of what you felt I could only be certain that there was a 
preference and a preference which I never believed him to deserve. He is 
a disgrace to the name of man. And is he to be rewarded with that sweet 
young woman? Jane! Jane! you will be a miserable creature." 

"Mr. Knightley," said Emma, trying to be lively, but really confused 
"I am in a very extraordinary situation. I cannot let you continue in your 
error; and yet, perhaps, since my manners gave such an impression, I have 
as much reason to be ashamed of confessing that I never have been at all 
attached to the person we are speaking of, as it might be natural for a 
woman to feel in confessing exactly the reverse. But I never have." 

He listened in perfect silence. She wished him to speak, but he would 
not. She supposed she must say more before she were entitled to his 
clemency ; but it was a hard case to be obliged still to lower herself in his 
opinion. She went on, however: 

"I have very little to say for my own conduct. I was tempted by his 
attentions, and allowed myself to appear pleased. An old story, probably 
a common case and no more than has happened to hundreds of my 
sex before ; and yet it may not be the more excusable in one who sets up as 
I do for Understanding. Many circumstances assisted the temptation. He 
was the son of Mr. Weston he was continually here I always found him 
very pleasant and, in short, for" (with a sigh) "let me swell out the 
causes ever so ingeniously, they all centre in this at last my vanity was 
flattered, and I allowed his attentions. Latterly, however for some time, 
indeed I have had no idea of their meaning anything. I thought them 9 
habit, a trick, nothing that called for seriousness on my side. He has im- 
posed on me, but he has not injured me. I have never been attached to 
him. And now I can tolerably comprehend his behaviour. He never wished 
to attach me. It was merely a blind to conceal his real situation with 
another. It was his object to blind all about him ; and no one, I am sure, 
could be more effectually blinded than myself except that I was not 
blinded that it was my good fortune that, in short, I was somehow or 
other safe from him." 

She had hoped for an answer here for a few words to say that her 
conduct was at least intelligible; but he was silent; and, as far as she 
could judge, deep in thought. At last, and tolerably in his usual tone, 
he said : 

"I have never had a high opinion of Frank Churchill. I can suppose, 
however, that I may have underrated him. My acquaintance with him has 
been but trifling. And even if I have not underrated him hitherto, he may 
yet turn out well. With such a woman he has a chance. I have no motive 
for wishing him ill and for her sake, whose happiness will be involved in 
his good character and conduct, I shall certainly wish him well." 






EMMA 1025 

"I have no doubt of their being happy together," said Emma ; "I believe 
them to be very mutually and very sincerely attached." 

"He is a most fortunate man," returned Mr. Knightley, with energy. 
"So early in life at three-and-twenty a period when, if a man chooses 
a wife, he generally chooses ill. At three-and-twenty to have drawn such 
a prize! What years of felicity that man, in all human calculation, has 
before him! Assured of the love of such a woman the disinterested love 
for Jane Fairfax's character vouches for her disinterestedness ; everything 
in his favour equality of situation I mean, as far as regards society } 
and all the habits and manners that are important ; equality in every point 
but one and that one, since the purity of her heart is not to be doubted, 
such as must increase his felicity, for it will be his to bestow the only 
advantages she wants. A man would always wish to give a woman a better 
home than the one he takes her from ; and he who can do it, where there 
is no doubt of her regard, must, I think, be the happiest of mortals. Frank 
Churchill is, indeed, the favourite of fortune. Everything turns out for his 
good. He meets with a young woman at a watering-place, gains her affec- 
tion, cannot even weary her by negligent treatment and had he and all 
his family sought round the world for a perfect wife for him, they could 
not have found her superior. His aunt is in the way. His aunt dies. He has 
only to speak. His friends are eager to promote his happiness. He has used 
everybody ill and they are all delighted to forgive him. He is a fortunate 
man, indeed!" 

"You speak as if you envied him." 

"And I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the object of my 
envy." 

Emma could say no more. They seemed to be within half a sentence of 
Harriet, and her immediate feeling was to avert the subject, if possible. 
She made her plan ; she would speak of something totally different the 
children in Brunswick Square; and she only waited for breath to begin, 
when Mr. Knightley startled her by saying: 

"You will not ask me what is the point of envy. You are determined, 
I see, to have no curiosity. You are wise but 7 cannot be wise. Emma, 
I must tell what you will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid the next 
moment." 

"Oh, then, don't speak it, don't speak it," she eagerly cried. "Take a 
little time, consider, do not commit yourself." 

"Thank you," said he, in an accent of deep mortification, and not 
another syllable followed. 

Emma could not bear to give him pain. He was wishing to confide in 
her perhaps to consult her ; cost her what it would, she would listen. She 
might assist his resolution, or reconcile him to it ; she might give just praise 
to Harriet, or, by representing to him his own independence, relieve him 
from that state of indecision which must be more intolerable than any 
alternative to such a mind as his. They had reached the house. 

"You are going in, I suppose?" said he. 



1026 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"No," replied Emma, quite confirmed by the depressed manner in 
which he still spoke, "I should like to take another turn. Mr. Perry is not 
gone." And, after proceeding a few steps, she added: "I stopped you 
ungraciously just now, Mr. Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave you pain. 
But if you have any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or to ask my 
opinion of anything that you may have in contemplation as a friend, 
indeed, you may command me. I will hear whatever you like. I will tell 
you exactly what I think." 

"As a friend! " repeated Mr. Knightley. "Emma, that, I fear, is a word 
no, I have no wish. Stay, yes, why should I hesitate? I have gone too far 
already for concealment. Emma, I accept your offer, extraordinary as it 
may seem, I accept it, and refer myself to you as a friend. Tell me, then, 
have I no chance of ever succeeding?" 

He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and the expression 
of his eyes overpowered her. 

i "My dearest Emma," said he, "for dearest you will always be, whatever 
the event of this hour's conversation, my dearest, most beloved Emma 
tell me at once. Say 'No,' if it is to be said." She could really say nothing. 
"You are silent," he cried, with great animation; "absolutely silent! At 
present I ask no more." 

Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of this moment. 
The dread of being awakened from the happiest dream was perhaps the 
most prominent feeling. 

"I cannot make speeches, Emma," he soon resumed, and in a tone of 
such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing. 
"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know 
what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and 
lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would 
have borne it. Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, 
as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as 
little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent 
lover. But you understand me. Yes, you see, you understand my feelings 
and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear once 
to hear your voice." 

While he spoke, Emma's mind was most busy, and, with all the wonder- 
ful velocity of thought, had been able and yet without losing a word 
to catch and comprehend the exact truth of the whole ; to see that Harriet's 
hopes had been entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion, as complete a 
delusion as any of her own that Harriet was nothing; that she was 
everything herself ; that what she had been saying relative to Harriet had 
been all taken as the language of her own feelings ; and that her agitation, 
her doubts, her reluctance, her discouragement, had been all received as 
discouragement from herself. And not only was there time for these con- 
victions, with all their glow of attendant happiness, there was time also 
to rejoice that Harriet's secret had not escaped her, and to resolve that it 
need not, and should not. It was all the service she could now render her 



EMMA 1027 

poor friend ; for as to any of that heroism of sentiment which might have 
prompted her to entreat him to transfer his affection from herself to 
Harriet, as infinitely the most worthy of the two or even the more simple 
sublimity of resolving to refuse him at once and for ever, without vouch- 
safing any motive because he could not marry them both, Emma had it 
not. She felt for Harriet, with pain and with contrition ; but no flight of 
generosity run mad, opposing all that could be probable or reasonable, 
entered her brain. She had led her friend astray, and it would be a reproach 
to her for ever ; but her judgment was as strong as her feelings, and as 
strong as it had ever been before, in reprobating any such alliance for him, 
as most unequal and degrading. Her way was clear, though not quite 
smooth. She spoke then, on being so entreated. What did she say? Just 
what she ought, of course. A lady always does. She said enough to show 
there need not be despair and to invite him to say more himself. He had 
despaired at one period ; he had received such an injunction to caution and 
silence, as for the time crushed every hope she had begun by refusing to 
hear him. The change had perhaps been somewhat sudden her proposal 
of taking another turn, her renewing the conversation which she had just 
put an end to, might be a little extraordinary. She felt its inconsistency ; 
but Mr. Knightley was so obliging as to put up with it, and seek no 
further explanation. 

Seldom, very seldom does complete truth belong to any human dis- 
closure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or 
a little mistaken; but where, as in this case, though the conduct is mis- 
taken, the feelings are not, it may not be very material. Mr. Knightley 
could not impute to Emma a more relenting heart than she possessed, 
or a heart more disposed to accept of his. 

He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of his own influence. He had 
followed her into the shrubbery with no idea of trying it. He had come, 
in his anxiety to see how she bore Frank Churchill's engagement, with no 
selfish view, no view at all, but of endeavouring, if she allowed him an 
opening, to soothe or to counsel her. The rest had been the work of the 
moment, the immediate effect of what he heard, on his feelings. The de- 
lightful assurance of her total indifference towards Frank Churchill, of her 
having a heart completely disengaged from him, had given birth to the 
hope that, in time, he might gain her affection himself; but it had been no 
present hope he had only, in the momentary conquest of eagerness over 
judgment, aspired to be told that she did not forbid his attempt to attach 
her. The superior hopes which gradually opened were so much the more 
enchanting. The affection which he had been asking to be allowed to 
create, if he could, was already his. Within half an hour he had passed from 
a thoroughly distressed state of mind, to something so like perfect happi- 
ness, that it could bear no other name. 

Her change was equal. This one half -hour had given to each the same 
precious certainty of being beloved, had cleared from each the same degree 
of ignorance, jealousy, or distrust. On his side, there had been a long- 



1028 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

standing jealousy, old as the arrival, or even the expectation, of Frank 
Churchill. He had been in love with Emma, and jealous of Frank 
Churchill, from about the same period, one sentiment having probably en- 
lightened him as to the other. It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill that 
had taken him from the country. The Box Hill party had decided him on 
going away. He would save himself from witnessing again such permitted, 
encouraged attentions. He had gone to learn to be indifferent. But he had 
gone to a wrong place. There was too much domestic happiness in his 
brother's house; women wore too amiable a form in it; Isabella was too 
much like Emma differing only in those striking inferiorities which 
always brought the other in brilliancy before him, for much to have been 
done even had his time been longer. He had stayed on, however, vigor- 
ously, day after day till this very morning's post had conveyed the his- 
tory of Jane Fairfax. Then, with the gladness which must be felt, nay, 
which he did not scruple to feel, having never believed Frank Churchill 
to be at all deserving of Emma, was there so much fond solicitude, so 
much keen anxiety for her, that he could stay no longer. He had ridden 
home through the rain ; and had walked up directly after dinner, to see 
how this sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her 
faults, bore the discovery. 

He had found her agitated and low. Frank Churchill was a villain. He 
heard her declare that she had never loved him. Frank Churchill's charac- 
ter was not desperate. She was his own Emma, by hand and word, when 
they returned into the house; and if he could have thought of Frank 
Churchill then, he might have deemed him a very good sort of fellow. 



Chapter 50 

WHAT totally different feelings did Emma take back into the house 
from what she had brought out! She had then been only daring to hope 
for a little respite of suffering ; she was now in an exquisite flutter of hap- 
piness and such happiness, moreover, as she believed must still be 
greater when the flutter should have passed away. 

They sat down to tea the same party round the same table how often 
it had been collected! and how often had her eyes fallen on the same 
shrubs in the lawn, and observed the same beautiful effect of the western 
sun! But never in such a state of spirits, never in anything like it; and it 
was with difficulty that she could summon enough of her usual self to be 
the attentive lady of the house, or even the attentive daughter. 

Poor Mr. Woodhouse little suspected what was plotting against him in 
the breast of that man whom he was so cordially welcoming, and so 
anxiously hoping might not have taken cold from his ride. Could he have 
seen the heart, he would have cared very little for the lungs ; but without 
the most distant imagination of the impending evil, without the slightest 
perception of anything extraordinary, in the looks or ways of either, he 



EMMA 1029 

repeated to them very comfortably all the articles of news he had received 
from Mr. Perry, and talked on with much self-contentment, totally unsus- 
picious of what they could have told him in return. 

As long as Mr. Knightley remained with them, Emma's fever con- 
tinued ; but when he was gone she began to be a little tranquillised and 
subdued, and in the course of the sleepless night, which was the tax for 
such an evening, she found one or two such very serious points to consider, 
as made her feel that even her happiness must have some alloy. Her 
father and Harriet. She could not be alone without feeling the full 
weight of their separate claims ; and how to guard the comfort of both to 
the utmost was the question. With respect to her father, it was a question 
soon answered. She hardly knew yet what Mr. Knightley would ask; but 
a very short parley with her own heart produced the most solemn resolu- 
tion of never quitting her father. She even wept over the idea of it, as a 
sin of thought. While he lived, it must be only an engagement ; but she 
flattered herself that if divested of the danger of drawing her away, it 
might become an increase of comfort to him. How to do her best by 
Harriet was of more difficult decision ; how to spare her from any unneces- 
sary pain ; how to make her any possible atonement ; how to appear least 
her enemy? On these subjects her perplexity and distress were very great 
and her mind had to pass again and again through every bitter reproach 
and sorrowful regret that had ever surrounded it. She could only resolve 
at last that she would still avoid a meeting with her, and communicate all 
that need be told by letter ; that it would be inexpressibly desirable to have 
her removed just now for a time from Highbury, and indulging in one 
scheme more nearly resolve that it might be practicable to get an invita- 
tion for her to Brunswick Square. Isabella had been pleased with Harriet; 
and a few weeks spent in London must give her some amusement. She did 
not think it in Harriet's nature to escape being benefited by novelty and 
variety, by the streets, the shops, and the children. At any rate, it would be 
a proof of attention and kindness in herself, from whom everything was 
due ; a separation for the present ; an averting of the evil day, when they 
must all be together again. 

She rose early, and wrote her letter to Harriet ; an employment which 
left her so very serious, so nearly sad, that Mr. Knightley, in walking up 
to Hartfield to breakfast, did not arrive at all too soon ; and half an hour 
stolen afterwards to go over the same ground again with him, literally 
and figuratively, was quite necessary to reinstate her in a proper share of 
the happiness of the evening before. 

He had not left her long by no means long enough for her to have the 
slightest inclination for thinking of anybody else when a letter was 
brought her from Randalls, a very thick letter; she guessed what it must 
contain, and deprecated the necessity of reading it. She was now in perfect 
charity with Frank Churchill: she wanted no explanations, she wanted 
only to have her thoughts to herself and as for understanding anything 
he wrote, she was sure she was incapable of it. It must be waded through, 



1030 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

however. She opened the packet ; it was too surely so ; a note from Mrs. 
Weston to herself, ushered in the letter from Frank to Mrs. Weston: 

"I have the greatest pleasure, my dear Emma, in forwarding to you the 
enclosed. I know what thorough justice you will do it, and have scarcely a 
doubt of its happy effect. I think we shall never materially disagree about 
the writer again ; but I will not delay you by a long preface. We are quite 
well. This letter has been the cure of all the little nervousness I have been 
feeling lately. I did not quite like your looks on Tuesday, but it was an 
ungenial morning; and though you will never own being affected by 
weather, I think everybody feels a north-east wind. I felt for your dear 
father very much in the storm of Tuesday afternoon and yesterday morn- 
ing, but had the comfort of hearing last night, by Mr. Perry, that it had 
not made him ill. Yours ever, 

[To Mrs. Weston.] 

"WINDSOR. July. 

"My DEAR MADAM, If I made myself intelligible yesterday, this 
letter will be expected; but expected or not, I know it will be read with 
candour and indulgence. You are all goodness, and I believe there will 
be need of even all your goodness to allow for some parts of my past 
conduct. But I have been forgiven by one who had still more to resent. 
My courage rises while I write. It is very difficult for the prosperous to 
be humble. I have already met with such success in two applications for 
pardon, that I may be in danger of thinking myself too sure of yours, 
and of those among your friends who have had any ground of offence. 
You must all endeavour to comprehend the exact nature of my situa- 
tion when I first arrived at Randalls; you must consider me as having 
a secret which was to be kept at all hazards. This was the fact. My 
right to place myself in a situation requiring such concealment is an- 
other question. I shall not discuss it here. For my temptation to think 
it a right, I refer every caviller to a brick house, sashed windows below, 
and casements above, in Highbury. I dared not address her openly ; my 
difficulties in the then state of Enscombe must be too well known to 
require definition ; and I was fortunate enough to prevail, before we parted 
at Weymouth, and to induce the most upright female mind in the cre- 
ation to stoop in charity to a secret engagement. Had she refused, I 
should have gone mad. But you will be ready to say, What was your 
hope in doing this? What did you look forward to? To anything, every- 
thing to time, chance, circumstance, slow effects, sudden bursts, per- 
severance, and weariness, health and sickness. Every possibility of good 
was before me, and the first of blessings secured, in obtaining her 
promises of faith and correspondence. If you need further explanation, I 
have the honour, my dear madam, of being your husband's son, and the 
advantage of inheriting a disposition to hope for good, which no in- 
heritance of houses or lands can ever equal the value of. See me, then, 
under these circumstances, arriving on my first visit to Randalls; and 



EMMA 1031 

here I am conscious of wrong, for that visit might have been sooner 
paid. You will look back, and see that I did not come till Miss Fairfax 
was in Highbury ; and as you were the person slighted, you will forgive 
me instantly; but I must work on my father's compassion, by remind- 
ing him, that so long as I absented myself from his house, so long I lost 
the blessing of knowing you. My behaviour, during the very happy 
fortnight which I spent with you, did not, I hope, lay me open to repre- 
hension, excepting on one point. And now I come to the principal, the 
only important part of my conduct, while belonging to you, which ex- 
cites my own anxiety, or requires very solicitous explanation. With the 
greatest respect, and the warmest friendship, do I mention Miss Wood- 
house; my father, perhaps, will think I ought to add, with the deepest 
humiliation. A few words which dropped from him yesterday spoke his 
opinion, and some censure I acknowledge myself liable to. My behaviour 
to Miss Woodhouse indicated, I believe, more than it ought. In order 
to assist a concealment so essential to me, I was led on to make more 
than an allowable use of the sort of intimacy into which we were imme- 
diately thrown. I cannot deny that Miss Woodhouse was my ostensible 
object; but I am sure you will believe the declaration, that had I not 
been convinced of her indifference, I would not have been induced by 
any selfish views to go on. Amiable and delightful as Miss Woodhouse 
is, she never gave me the idea of a young woman likely to be attached ; 
and that she was perfectly free from any tendency to being attached to 
me, was as much my conviction as my wish. She received my attentions 
with an easy, friendly, good-humoured playfulness which exactly suited 
me. We seemed to understand each other. From our relative situation, 
those attentions were her due, and were felt to be so. Whether Miss 
Woodhouse began really to understand me before the expiration of that 
fortnight I cannot say; when I called to take leave of her, I remember 
that I was within a moment of confessing the truth, and I then fancied 
she was not without suspicion ; but I have no doubt of her having since 
detected me at least in some degree. She may not have surmised the 
whole, but her quickness must have penetrated a part. I cannot doubt 
it. You will find, whenever the subject becomes freed from its present 
restraints, that it did not take her wholly by surprise. She frequently 
gave me hints of it. I remember her telling me at the ball that I owed 
Mrs. Elton gratitude for her attentions to Miss Fairfax. I hope this 
history of my conduct towards her will be admitted by you and my 
father as great extenuation of what you saw amiss. While you con- 
sidered me as having sinned against Emma Woodhouse, I could deserve 
nothing from either. Acquit me here, and procure for me, when it is 
allowable, the acquittal and good wishes of that said Emma Wood- 
house, whom I regard with so much brotherly affection as to long to 
have her as deeply and as happily in love as myself. Whatever strange 
things I said or did during that fortnight you have now a key to. My 
heart was in Highbury, and my business was to get my body thither as 



1032 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

often as might be, and with the least suspicion. If you remember any 
queernesses set them all to the right account. Of the pianoforte so much 
talked of, I feel it only necessary to say, that its being ordered was abso- 
lutely unknown to Miss Fairfax, who would never have allowed me to 
send it had any choice been given her. The delicacy of her mind through- 
out the whole engagement, my dear madam, is much beyond my power 
of doing justice to. You will soon, I earnestly hope, know her thoroughly 
yourself. No description can describe her. She must tell you herself what 
she is; yet not by word, for never was there a human creature wh& 
would so designedly suppress her own merit. Since I began this letter, 
which will be longer than I foresaw, I have heard from her. She gives a 
good account of her own health ; but as she never complains, I dare not 
depend. I want to have your opinion of her looks. I know you will soon 
call on her; she is living in dread of the visit. Perhaps it is paid already. 
Let me hear from you without delay, I am impatient for a thousand 
particulars. Remember how few minutes I was at Randalls, and in how 
bewildered, how mad a state ; and I am not much better yet ; still insane 
either from happiness or misery. When I think of the kindness and favour 
I have met with, of her excellence and patience, and my uncle's generosity, 
I am mad with joy; but when I recollect all the uneasiness I occasioned 
her, and how little I deserve to be forgrven, I am mad with anger. If I 
could but see her again! But I must not propose it yet ; my uncle has been 
too good for me to encroach. I must still add to this long letter. You have 
not heard all that you ought to hear. I could not give any connected de- 
tail yesterday; but the suddenness and, in one light, the unseasonableness 
with which the affair burst out, needs explanation ; for, though the event 
of the 26th ult., as you will conclude, immediately opened to me the hap- 
piest prospects, I should not have presumed on such early measures, but 
from the very particular circumstances which left me not an hour to lose. 
I should myself have shrunk from anything so hasty, and she would have 
felt every scruple of mine with multiplied strength and refinement; but 
I had no choice. The hasty engagement she had entered into with that 
woman here, my dear madam, I was obliged to leave off abruptly, to 
recollect and compose myself. I have been walking over the country, and 
am now, I hope, rational enough to make the rest of my letter what it 
ought to be. It is, in fact, a most mortifying retrospect for me. I behaved 
shamefully. And here I can admit that my manners to Miss W., in being 
unpleasant to Miss F., were highly blameable. She disapproved them, 
which ought to have been enough. My plea of concealing the truth she did 
not think sufficient. She was displeased: I thought unreasonably so; I 
thought her, on a thousand occasions, unnecessarily scrupulous and cau- 
tious; I thought her even cold. But she was always right. If I had followed 
her judgment, and subdued my spirits to the level of what she deemed 
proper, I should have escaped the greatest unhappiness I have ever known. 
We quarrelled. Do you remember the morning spent at Donwell? There 
every little dissatisfaction that had occurred before came to a crisis. I 



EMMA 1033 

was late: I met her walking home by herself, and wanted to walk with her, 
but she would not suffer it. She absolutely refused to allow me, which I 
then thought most unreasonable. Now, however, I see nothing in it but a 
very natural and consistent degree of discretion. While I, to blind the 
world to our engagement, was behaving one hour with objectionable par- 
ticularly to another woman, was she to be consenting the next to a proposal 
which might have made every previous caution useless? Had we been 
met walking together between Donwell and Highbury, the truth must 
have been suspected. I was mad enough, however, to resent. I doubted her 
affection. I doubted it more the next day on Box Hill; when, provoked 
by such conduct on my side, such shameful, insolent neglect of her, and 
such apparent devotion to Miss W., as it would have been impossible for 
any woman of sense to endure, she spoke her resentment in a form of 
words perfectly intelligible to me. In short, my dear madam, it was a 
quarrel blameless on her side, abominable on mine; and I returned the 
same evening to Richmond, though I might have stayed with you till the 
next morning, merely because I would be as angry with her as possible. 
Even then, I was not such a fool as not to mean to be reconciled in time ; 
but I was the injured person injured by her coldness and I went away 
determined that she should make the first advances. I shall always con- 
gratulate myself that you were not of the Box Hill party. Had you wit- 
nessed my behaviour there, I can hardly suppose you would ever have 
thought well of me again. Its effect upon her appears in the immediate 
resolution it produced. As soon as she found I was really gone from Ran- 
dalls, she closed with the offer of that officious Mrs. Elton; the whole 
system of whose treatment of her, by the bye, has ever filled me with in- 
dignation and hatred. I must not quarrel with a spirit of forbearance which 
has been so richly extended towards myself; but, otherwise, I should 
loudly protest against the share of it which that woman has known. 
'Jane,' indeed! You will observe that I have not yet indulged myself in 
calling her by that name, even to you. Think, then, what I must have 
endured in hearing it bandied between the Eltons, with all the vulgarity 
of needless repetition, and all the insolence of imaginary superiority. Have 
patience with me, I shall soon have done. She closed with this offer, re- 
solving to break with me entirely, and wrote the next day to tell me that 
we never were to meet again. She felt the engagement to be a source of 
repentance and misery to each: she dissolved it. This letter reached me on 
the very morning of my poor aunt's death. I answered it within an hour; 
but from the confusion of my mind, and the multiplicity of business fall- 
ing on me at once, my answer, instead of being sent with all the many 
other letters of that day, was locked up in my writing-desk, and I, trusting 
that I had written enough, though but a few lines, to satisfy her, remained 
without any uneasiness. I was rather disappointed that I did not hear 
from her again speedily ; but I made excuses for her, and was too busy, 
and may I add? too cheerful in my views to be captious. We removed 
to Windsor ; and two days afterwards I received a parcel from her my 



1034 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

own letters all returned and a few lines at the same time by the post ? 
stating her extreme surprise at not having had the smallest reply to her 
last; and adding that as silence on such a point could not be misconstrued, 
and as it must be equally desirable to both to have every subordinate 
arrangement concluded as soon as possible, she now sent me, by a safe 
conveyance, all my letters, and requested, that if I could not directly 
command hers, so as to send them to Highbury within a week, I would 

forward them after that period to her at : in short, the full direction 

to Mr. Smallridge's, near Bristol, stared me in the face. I knew the name, 
the place, I knew all about it, and instantly saw what she had been doing. 
It was perfectly accordant with that resolution of character which I knew 
her to possess ; and the secrecy she had maintained as to any such design 
in her former letter, was equally descriptive of its anxious delicacy. For 
the world would not she have seemed to threaten me. Imagine the shock ; 
imagine how, till I had actually detected my own blunder, I raved at the 
blunders of the post. What was to be done? One thing only. I must speak 
to my uncle. Without his sanction I could not hope to be listened to again. 
I spoke; circumstances were in my favour; the late event had softened 
away his pride, and he was, earlier than I could have anticipated, wholly 
reconciled and complying; and could say at last, poor man! with a deep 
sigh, that he wished I might find as much happiness in the marriage state 
as he had done. I felt that it would be of a different sort. Are you disposed 
to pity me for what I must have suffered in opening the cause to him, for 
my suspense while all was at stake? No; do not pity me till I reached 
Highbury, and saw how ill I had made her. Do not pity me till I saw har 
wan, sick looks. I reached Highbury at the time of day when, from my 
knowledge of their late breakfast-hour, I was certain of a good chance of 
finding her alone. I was not disappointed; and at last I was not disap- 
pointed either in the object of my journey. A great deal of very reasonable, 
very just displeasure I had to persuade away. But it is done; we are recon- 
ciled, dearer, much dearer, than ever, and no moment's uneasiness can 
ever occur between us again. Now, my dear madam, I will release you; 
but I could not conclude before. A thousand and a thousand thanks for all 
the kindness you have ever shown me, and ten thousand for the atten- 
tions your heart will dictate towards her. If you think me in a way to be 
happier than I deserve, I am quite of your opinion. Miss W. calls me the 
child of good fortune. I hope she is right. In one respect my good fortune 
is undoubted, that of being able to subscribe myself, your obliged and 
affectionate Son, 

"F. C. WESTON CHURCHILL." 

I 

Chapter 51 

His letter must make its way to Emma's feelings. She was obliged, in 
spite of her previous determination to the contrary, to do it all the justice 



EMMA 1035 

that Mrs. Weston foretold. As soon as she came to her own name, it was 
irresistible; every line relating to herself was interesting, and almost 
every line agreeable ; and when this charm ceased, the subject could still 
maintain itself by the natural return of her former regard for the writer, 
and the very strong attraction which any picture of love must have for 
her at that moment. She never stopped till she had gone through the 
whole: and though it was impossible not to feel that he had been wrong, 
yet he had been less wrong than she had supposed ; and he had suffered and 
was very sorry; and he was so grateful to Mrs. Weston, and so much in 
love with Miss Fairfax, and she was so happy herself, that there was no 
being severe ; and could he have entered the room, she must have shaken 
hands with him as heartily as ever. 

She thought so well of the letter, that when Mr. Knightley came again 
she desired him to read it. She was sure of Mrs. Weston 's wishing it to be 
communicated; especially to one who, like Mr. Knightley, had seen so 
much to blame in his conduct. 

"I shall be very glad to look it over," said he; "but it seems long. I will 
take it home with me at night." 

But that would not do. Mr. Weston was to call in the evening, and she 
must return it by him. 

"I would rather be talking to you," he replied ; "but as it seems a matter 
of justice, it shall be done." 

He began stopping, however, almost directly to say, "Had I been 
offered the sight of one of this gentleman's letters to his mother-in-law a 
few months ago, Emma, it would not have been taken with such indif- 
ference." 

He proceeded a little further, reading to himself; and then, with a smile, 
observed: "Humph! a fine complimentary opening: but it is his way. One 
man's style must not be the rule of another's. We will not be severe." 

"It will be natural for me," he added shortly afterwards, "to speak my 
opinion aloud as I read. By doing it, I shall feel that I am near you. It will 
not be so great a loss of time; but if you dislike it " 

"Not at all. I should wish it." 

Mr. Knightley returned to his reading with greater alacrity. 

"He trifles here," said he, "as to the temptation. He knows he is wrong, 
and has nothing rational to urge. Bad. He ought not to have formed the 
engagement. 'His father's disposition' he is unjust, however, to his 
father. Mr. Weston's sanguine temper was a blessing on all his upright 
and honourable exertions ; but Mr. Weston earned every present comfort 
before he endeavoured to gain it. Very true; he did not come till Miss 
Fairfax was here." 

"And I have not forgotten," said Emma, "how sure you were that he 
might have come sooner if he would. You pass it over very handsomely: 
but you were perfectly right." 

"I was not quite impartial in my judgment, Emma; but yet, I think, 
had you not been in the case, I should still have mistrusted him." 



1036 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

When he came to Miss Woodhouse, he was obliged to read the whole 
of it aloud all that related to her with a smile, a look, a shake of the 
head, a word or two of assent, or disapprobation, or merely of love, as the 
subject required; concluding, however, seriously, and, after steady re- 
flection, thus: 

"Very bad though it might have been worse. Playing a most dangerous 
game. Too much indebted to the event for his acquittal. No judge of his 
own manners by you. Always deceived, in fact, by his own wishes, and re- 
gardless of little besides his own convenience. Fancying you to have fath- 
omed his secret ! Natural enough ! His own mind full of intrigue, that he 
should suspect it in others. Mystery finesse how they pervert the un- 
derstanding! My Emma, does not everything serve to prove more and 
more the beauty of truth and sincerity in all our dealings with each other?" 

Emma agreed to it, and with a blush of sensibility on Harriet's account, 
which she could not give any sincere explanation of. 

"You had better go on," said she. 

He did so, but very soon stopped again to say, "The pianoforte! Ah! 
That was the act of a very, very young man, one too young to consider 
whether the inconvenience of it might not very much exceed the pleasure. 
A boyish scheme, indeed! I cannot comprehend a man's wishing to give a 
woman any proof of affection which he knows she would rather dispense 
with: and he did know that she would have prevented the instrument's 
coming if she could." 

After this, he made some progress without any pause. Frank Churchill's 
confession of having behaved shamefully was the first thing to call for 
more than a word in passing. 

"I perfectly agree with you, sir," was then this remark. "You did behave 
very shamefully. You never wrote a truer line." And having gone through 
what immediately followed of the basis of their disagreement, and his 
persisting to act in direct opposition to Jane Fairfax's sense of right, he 
made a fuller pause to say, "This is very bad. He had induced her to place 
herself, for his sake, in a situation of extreme difficulty and uneasiness, and 
it should have been his first object to prevent her from suffering unneces- 
sarily. She must have had much more to contend with in carrying on the 
correspondence than he could. He should have respected even unreason- 
able scruples, had there been such; but hers were all reasonable. We must 
look to her one fault, and remember that she had done a wrong thing in 
consenting to the engagement ; to bear that she should have been in such 
a state of punishment." 

Emma knew that he was now getting to the Box Hill party, and grew 
uncomfortable. Her own behaviour had been so very improper! She was 
deeply ashamed, and a little afraid of his next look. It was all read, how- 
ever, steadily, attentively, and without the smallest remark ; and, except- 
ing one momentary glance at her, instantly withdrawn, in the fear of 
giving pain, no remembrance of Box Hill seemed to exist. 

"There is no saying much for the delicacy of our good friends, the 



EMMA 1037 

Eltons," was his next observation. "His feelings are natural. What? 
Actually resolve to break with him entirely! She felt the engagement to 
be a source of repentance and misery to each: she dissolved it. What a 
view this gives of her sense of his behaviour! Well, he must be a most 
extraordinary 

"Nay, nay, read on. You will find how very much he suffers." 

"I hope he does," replied Mr. Knightley coolly, and resuming the letter. 
" 'Smallridge!' What does this mean? What is all this?" 

"She had engaged to go as governess to Mrs. Smallridge's children a 
dear friend of Mrs. Elton's a neighbour of Maple Grove ; and, by the 
bye, I wonder how Mrs. Elton bears the disappointment?" 

"Say nothing, my dear Emma, while you oblige me to read not even 
of Mrs. Elton. Only one page more. I shall soon have done. What a letter 
the man writes!" 

"I wish you would read it with a kinder spirit towards him." 

"Well, there is feeling here. He does seem to have suffered in finding 
her ill. Certainly, I can have no doubt of his being fond of her. 'Dearer, 
much dearer, than ever.' I hope he may long continue to feel all the value 
of such a reconciliation. He is a very liberal thanker, with his thousands 
and tens of thousands. 'Happier than I deserve.' Come, he knows himself 
there. 'Miss Woodhouse calls me the child of good fortune.' Those were 
Miss Woodhouse's words, were they? And a fine ending and there is the 
letter. The child of good fortune! ' That was your name for him, was it?" 

"You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I am ; but still you 
must, at least I hope you must, think the better of him for it. I hope it 
does him some service with you." 

"Yes, certainly it does. He has had great faults faults of inconsidera- 
tion and thoughtlessness ; and I am very much of his opinion in thinking 
him likely to be happier than he deserves; but still as he is, beyond a 
doubt, really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it may be hoped, 
have the advantage of being constantly with her, I am very ready to be- 
lieve his character will improve, and acquire from hers the steadiness and 
delicacy of principle that it wants. And now, let me talk to you of some- 
thing else. I have another person's interest at present so much at heart, 
that I cannot think any longer about Frank Churchill. Ever since I left 
you this morning, Emma, my mind has been hard at work on one subject." 

The subject followed; it was in plain, unaffected, gentlemanlike English, 
such as Mr. Knightley used even to the woman he was in love with, how 
to be able to ask her to marry him without attacking the happiness of her 
father. Emma's answer was ready at the first word. "While her dear father 
lived, any change of condition must be impossible for her. She could never 
quit him." Part only of this answer, however, was admitted. The impossi- 
bility of her quitting her father Mr. Knightley felt as strongly as herself ; 
but the inadmissibility of any other change he could not agree to. He had 
been thinking it over most deeply, most intently ; he had at first hoped to 
induce Mr. Woodhouse to remove with her to Don well ; he had wanted to 



1038 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

believe it feasible, but his knowledge of Mr. Woodhouse would not suffer 
him to deceive himself long ; and now he confessed his persuasion that such 
a transplantation would be a risk of her father's comfort, perhaps even of 
his life, which must not be hazarded. Mr. Woodhouse taken from Hart- 
field! No, he felt that it ought not to be attempted. But the plan which 
had arisen on the sacrifice of this, he trusted his dearest Emma would not 
find in any respect objectionable; it was, that he should be received at 
Hartfield! That so long as her father's happiness in other words his life 
required Hartfield to continue her home, it should be his likewise. 

Of their all removing to Donwell, Emma had already had her own 
passing thoughts. Like him, she had tried the scheme and rejected it; but 
such an alternative as this had not occurred to her. She was sensible of all 
the affection it evinced. She felt that, in quitting Donwell, he must be 
sacrificing a great deal of independence'of hours and habits; that in living 
constantly with her father, and in no house of his own, there would be 
much, very much, to be borne with. She promised to think of it, and ad- 
vised him to think of it more ; but he was fully convinced that no reflection 
could alter his wishes or his opinion on the subject. He had given it, he 
could assure her, very long and calm consideration ; he had been walking 
away from William Larkins the whole morning to have his thoughts to 
himself. 

"Ah! there is one difficulty unprovided for," cried Emma. "I am sure 
William Larkins will not like it. You must get his consent before you ask 
mine." 

She promised, however, to think of it ; and pretty nearly promised more- 
over, to think of it with the intention of finding it a very good scheme. 

It is remarkable that Emma, in the many, very many, points of view 
in which she was now beginning to consider Donwell Abbey, was never 
struck with any sense of injury to her nephew Henry, whose rights as heir 
expectant had formerly been so tenaciously regarded. Think she must of 
the possible difference to the poor little boy ; and yet she only gave herself 
a saucy conscious smile about it, and found amusement in detecting the 
real cause of that violent dislike of Mr. Knightley's marrying Jane Fair- 
fax, or anybody else, which at the time she had wholly imputed to the 
amiable solicitude of the sister and the aunt. 

This proposal of his, this plan of marrying and continuing at Hartfield 
the more she contemplated it the more pleasing it became. His evils 
seemed to lessen, her own advantages to increase, their mutual good to 
outweigh every drawback. Such a companion for herself in the periods of 
anxiety and cheerlessness before her ! Such a partner in all those duties and 
cares to which time must be giving increase of melancholy! 

She would have been too happy but for poor Harriet ; but every blessing 
of her own seemed to involve and advance the sufferings of her friend, who 
must now be even excluded from Hartfield. The delightful family party 
which Emma was securing for herself, poor Harriet must, in mere chari- 
table caution, be kept at a distance from. She would be a loser in every 



EMMA 1039 

way. Emma could not deplore her future absence as any deduction from 
her own enjoyment. In such a party, Harriet would be rather a dead weight 
than otherwise ; but for the poor girl herself, it seemed a peculiarly cruel 
necessity that was to be placing her in such a state of unmerited punish- 
ment. 

In time, of course, Mr. Knightley would be forgotten, that is, sup- 
planted ; but this could not be expected to happen very early. Mr. Knight- 
ley himself would be doing nothing to assist the cure; not like Mr. Elton. 
Mr. Knightley, always so kind, so feeling, so truly considerate for 
everybody, would never deserve to be less worshipped than now; and it 
really was too much to hope even of Harriet, that she could be in love with 
more than three men in one year. 



Chapter 52 

IT was a very great relief to Emma to find Harriet as desirous as herself 
to avoid a meeting. Their intercourse was painful enough by letter. How 
much worse had they been obliged to meet ! 

Harriet expressed herself very much, as might be supposed, without 
reproaches, or apparent sense of ill-usage; and yet Emma fancied there 
was a something of resentment, a something bordering on it in her style, 
Which increased the desirableness of their being separate. It might be only 
her own consciousness ; but it seemed as if only an angel could have been 
quite without resentment under such a stroke. 

She had no difficulty in procuring Isabella's invitation; and she was 
fortunate in having a sufficient reason for asking it, without resorting to 
invention. There was a tooth amiss. Harriet really wished, and had wished 
some time, to consult a dentist. Mrs. John Knightley was delighted to be 
of use ; anything of ill -health was a recommendation to her ; and though 
not so fond of a dentist as of a Mr. Wingfield, she was quite eager to have 
Harriet under her care. When it was thus settled on her sister's side, Emma 
proposed it to her friend, and found her very persuadable. Harriet was to 
go ; she was invited for at least a fortnight. She was to be conveyed in Mr. 
Woodhouse's carriage. It was all arranged, it was all completed, and Har- 
riet was safe in Brunswick Square. 

Now Emma could, indeed, enjoy Mr. Knightley's visits; now she could 
talk, and he could listen with true happiness, unchecked by that sense of 
injustice, of guilt, of something most painful, which had haunted her when 
remembering how disappointed a heart was near her, how much might at 
that moment, and at a little distance, be enduring by the feelings which 
she had led astray herself. 

The difference of Harriet at Mrs. Goddard's, o'r in London made, per- 
haps, an unreasonable difference in Emma's sensations ; but she could not 
think of her in London without objects of curiosity and employment, 
which must be averting the past, and carrying her out of herself. 



1040 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

She would not allow any other anxiety to succeed directly to the place 
in her mind which Harriet had occupied. There was a communication 
before her, one which she only could be competent to make the con- 
fession of her engagement to her father ; but she would have nothing to do 
with it at present. She had resolved to defer the disclosure till Mrs. Weston 
were safe and well. No additional agitation should be thrown at this period 
among those she loved and the evil should not act on herself by anticipa- 
tion before the appointed time. A fortnight, at least, of leisure and peace 
of mind, to crown every warmer, but more agitating, delight, should be 
hers. 

She soon resolved, equally as a duty and a pleasure, to employ half an 
hour of this holiday of spirits in calling on Miss Fairfax. She ought to go 
and she was longing to see her ; the resemblance of their present situations 
increasing every other motive of good-will. It would be a secret satisfac- 
tion; but the consciousness of a similarity of prospect would certainly 
add to the interest with which she should attend to anything Jane might 
communicate. 

She went she had driven once unsuccessfully to the door, but had not 
been into the house since the morning after Box Hill, when. poor Jane had 
been in such distress as had filled her with compassion, though all the 
worst of her sufferings had been unsuspected. The fear of being still un- 
welcome determined her, though assured of their being at home, to wait 
in the passage, and send up her name. She heard Patty announcing it; but 
no such bustle succeeded as poor Miss Bates had before made so happily 
intelligible. No; she heard nothing but the instant reply of "Beg her to 
walk up"; and a moment afterwards she was met on the stairs by Jane 
herself coming eagerly forward, as if no other reception of her were felt 
sufficient. Emma had never seen her look so well, so lovely, so engaging. 
There was consciousness, animation, and warmth ; there was everything 
which her countenance or manner could ever have wanted. She came for- 
ward with an offered hand ; and said, in a low, but very feeling tone : 

"This is most kind indeed! Miss Woodhouse, it is impossible for me to 
express I hope you will believe Excuse me for being so entirely without 
words." 

Emma was gratified, and would soon have shown no want of words, if 
the sound of Mrs. Elton's voice from the sitting-room had not checked her, 
and made it expedient to compress all her friendly and all her congratula- 
tory sensations into a very, very earnest shake of the hand. 

Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Elton were together. Miss Bates was out, which 
accounted for the previous tranquillity. Emma could have wished Mrs. 
Elton elsewhere; but she was in a humour to have patience with every- 
body; and as Mrs. Elton met her with unusual graciousness, she hoped 
the rencontre would do them no harm. 

She soon believed herself to penetrate Mrs. Elton's thoughts, and un- 
derstand why she was, like herself, in happy spirits ; it was being in Miss 
Fairfax's confidence, and fancying herself acquainted with what was still 



EMMA 1041 

a secret to other people. Emma saw symptoms of it immediately in the 
expression of her face; and while paying her own compliments to Mrs. 
Bates, and appearing to attend to the good old lady's replies, she saw her 
with a sort of anxious parade of mystery fold up a letter which she had 
apparently been reading aloud to Miss Fairfax, and return it into the 
purple and gold reticule by her side, saying, with significant nods : 

"We can finish this some other time, you know. You and I shall not 
want opportunities ; and, in fact, you have heard all the essential already. 
I only wanted to prove to you that Mrs. S. admits our apology, and is not 
offended. You see how delightfully she writes. Oh, she is a sweet creature! 
You would have doted on her, had you gone. But not a word more. Let 
us be discreet quite on our good behaviour. Hush ! You remember those 
lines I forget the poem at this moment: 

'For when a lady's in the case, 

You know, all other things give place.' 

Now I say, my dear, in our case, for lady, read mum! a word to the wise. 
I am in a fine flow of spirits, an't I? But I want to set your heart at ease as 
to Mrs. S. My representation, you see, has quite appeased her." 

And again, on Emma's merely turning her head to look at Mrs. Bates's 
knitting, she added, in a half whisper: 

"I mentioned no names, you will observe. Oh no! cautious as a minister 
of state. I managed it extremely well." 

Emma could not doubt. It was a palpable display, repeated on every 
possible occasion. When thej/ had all talked a little while in harmony of 
the weather and Mrs. Weston, she found herself abruptly addressed with : 

"Do not you think, Miss Woodhouse, our saucy little friend here is 
charmingly recovered? Do not you think her cure does Perry the highest 
credit?" (here was a side glance of great meaning at Jane). "Upon my 
word, Perry has resorted her in a wonderful short time! Oh, if you had 
seen her, as I did, when she was at the worst ! " And when Mrs. Bates was 
saying something to Emma, whispered further, "We do not say a word of 
any assistance that Perry might have; not a word of a certain young 
physician from Windsor. Oh! no, Perry shall have all the credit." 

"I have scarce had the pleasure of seeing you, Miss Woodhouse," she 
shortly afterwards began, "since the party to Box Hill. Very pleasant 
party. But yet I think there was something wanting. Things did not seem 
that is, there seemed a little cloud upon the spirits of some. So it ap- 
peared to me, at least, but I might be mistaken. However, I think it an- 
swered so far as to tempt one to go again. What say you both to our 
collecting the same party, and exploring to Box Hill again, while the fine 
weather lasts? It must be the same party, you know quite the same 
party, not one exception." 

Soon after this Miss Bates came in and Emma could not help being 
diverted by the perplexity of her first answer to herself, resulting, she sup- 



to 4 2 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

posed, from doubt of what might be said, and impatience to say every- 
thing. 

"Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse, you are all kindness. It is impos- 
sible to say Yes, indeed, I quite understand dearest Jane's prospects 
that is, I do not mean. But she is charmingly recovered. How is Mr. Wood- 
house? I am so glad. Quite out of my power such a happy little circle 
as you find us here. Yes, indeed. Charming young man! that is so very 
friendly; I mean good Mr. Perry! such attention to Jane!" And from her 
great, her more than commonly thankful delight towards Mrs. Elton for 
being there, Emma guessed that there had been a little show of resent- 
ment towards Jane, from the vicarage quarter, which was now graciously 
overcome. After a few whispers, indeed, which placed it beyond a guess, 
Mrs. Elton, speaking louder, said: 

"Yes, here I am, my good friend ; and here I have been so long, that 
anywhere else I should think it necessary to apologise; but the truth is, 
that I am waiting for my lord and master. He promised to join me here, 
and pay his respects to you." 

"What! are we to have the pleasure of a call from Mr. Elton? That will 
be a favour indeed ; for I know gentlemen do not like morning visits, and 
Mr. Elton's time is so engaged." 

"Upon my word it is, Miss Bates. He really is engaged from morning to 
night. There is no end of people's coming to him, on some pretence or 
other. The magistrates, and overseers, and churchwardens, are always 
wanting his opinion. They seem not able to do anything without him. 
'Upon my word, Mr. E.,' I often say, 'rather you than I. I do not know 
what would become of my crayons and my instrument if I had half so 
many applicants.' Bad enough as it is, for I absolutely neglect them both 
to an unpardonable degree. I believe I have not played a bar this fortnight. 
However, he is coming, I assure you: yes, indeed, on purpose to wait on 
you all." And putting up her head to screen her words from Emma "A 
congratulatory visit, you know. Oh! yes, quite indispensable." 

Miss Bates looked about her, so happily. 

"He promised to come to me as soon as he could disengage himself from 
Knightley; but he and Knightley are shut up together in deep consulta- 
tion. Mr. E. is Knightley's right hand." 

Emma would not have smiled for the world, and only said, "Is Mr. 
Elton gone on foot to Donwell? He will have a hot walk." 

"Oh no, it is a meeting at the Crown a regular meeting. Weston and 
Cole will be there too ; but one is apt to speak only of those who lead. I 
fancy Mr. E. and Knightley have everything their own way." 

"Have not you mistaken the day?" said Emma. "I am almost certain 
that the meeting at the Crown is not till to-morrow. Mr. Knightley was at 
Hartfield yesterday, and spoke of it as for Saturday." 

"Oh no, the meeting is certainly to-day," was the abrupt answer, which 
denoted the impossibility of any blunder on Mrs. Elton's side. "I do be- 



EMMA 1043 

lieve," she continued, "this is the most troublesome parish that ever was. 
We never heard of such things at Maple Grove." 

"Your parish there was small," said Jane. 

"Upon my word, my dear, I do not know, for I never heard the subject 
talked of." 

"But it is proved by the smallness of the school, which I have heard you 
speak of, as under the patronage of your sister and Mrs. Bragge ; the only 
school, and not more than five-and-twenty children." 

"Ah! you clever creature, that's very true. What a thinking brain you 
have ! I say, Jane, what a perfect character you and ^ should make, if we 
could be shaken together. My liveliness and your solidity would produce 
perfection. Not that I presume to insinuate, however, that some people 
may not think you perfection already. But hush! not a word, if you 
please." 

It seemed an unnecessary caution ; Jane was wanting to give her words, 
not to Mrs. Elton, but to Miss Woodhouse, as the latter plainly saw. The 
wish of distinguishing her, as far as civility permitted, was very evident, 
though it could not often proceed beyond a look. 

Mr. Elton made his appearance. His lady greeted him with some of her 
sparkling vivacity. 

"Very pretty, sir, upon my word; to send me on here, to be an encum- 
brance to my friends, so long before you vouchsafe to come. But you knew 
what a dutiful creature you had to deal with. You knew I should not stir 
till my lord and master appeared. Here have I been sitting this hour, giv- 
ing these young ladies a sample of true conjugal obedience ; for who can 
say, you know, how soon it may be wanted?" 

Mr. Elton was so hot and tired, that all this wit seemed thrown away. 
His civilities to the other ladies must be paid ; but his subsequent object 
was to lament over himself, for the heat he was suffering, and the walk he 
had had for nothing. 

"When I got to Donwell," said he, "Knightley could not be found. Very 
odd ! very unaccountable ! after the note I sent him this morning, and the 
message he returned, that he should certainly be at home till one." 

"Donwell!" cried his wife. "My dear Mr. E., you have not been to 
Donwell ! you mean the Crown ; you come from the meeting at the Crown." 

"No, no, that's to-morrow; and I particularly wanted to see Knightley 
to-day on that very account. Such a dreadful broiling morning! I went 
over the fields too" (speaking in a tone of great ill-usage), "which made it 
so much the worse. And then not to find him at home! I assure you I am 
not at all pleased. And no apology left, no message for me. The house- 
keeper declared she knew nothing of my being expected. Very extraor- 
dinary! And nobody knew at all which way he was gone. Perhaps to 
Hartfield, perhaps to the Abbey-Mill, perhaps into his woods. Miss Wood- 
house, this is not like our friend Knightley! Can you explain it?" 

Emma amused herself by protesting that it was very extraordinary 
indeed, and that she had not a syllable to say for him. 



1044 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"I cannot imagine," said Mrs. Elton (feeling the indignity as a wife 
ought to do), ' 'I cannot imagine how he could do such a thing by you, of 
all people in the world! The very last person whom one should expect to be 
forgotten! My dear Mr, E., he must have left a message for you, I am sure 
he must. Not even Knightley could be so very eccentric ; and his servants 
forgot it. Depend upon it that was the case ; and very likely to happen 
with the Donwell servants, who are all, I have often observed, extremely 
awkward and remiss. I am sure I would not have such a creature as his 
Harry stand at our sideboard for any consideration. And as for Mrs. 
Hodges, Wright holds her very cheap indeed. She promised Wright a 
receipt, and never sent it." 

"I met William Larkins," continued Mr. Elton, "as I got near the house, 
and he told me I should not find his master at home, but I did not believe 
him. William seemed rather out of humour. He did not know what was 
come to his master lately, he said, but he could hardly ever get the speech 
of him. I have nothing to do with William's wants, but it really is of very 
great importance that / should see Knightley to-day; and it becomes a 
matter, therefore, of very serious inconvenience that I should have had 
this hot walk to no purpose." 

Emma felt that she could not do better than go home directly. In all 
probability she was at this very time waited for there ; and Mr. Knightley 
might be preserved from sinking deeper in aggression towards Mr. Elton, 
if not towards William Larkins. 

She was pleased, on taking leave, to find Miss Fairfax determined to 
attend her out of the room, to go with her even downstairs ; it gave her an 
opportunity, which she immediately made use of, to say: 

"It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility. Had you not 
been surrounded by other friends, I might have been tempted to introduce 
a subject, to ask questions, to speak more openly than might have been 
strictly correct. I feel that I should certainly have been impertinent." 

"Oh! " cried Jane, with a blush and an hesitation which Emma thought 
infinitely more becoming to her than all the elegance of all her usual 
composure " there would have been no danger. The danger would have 
been of my wearying you. You could not have gratified me more than by 
expressing an interest Indeed, Miss Woodhouse" (speaking more col- 
lectedly), "with the consciousness which I have of misconduct very- 
great misconduct it is particularly consoling to me to know that those of 
my friends whose good opinion is most worth preserving, are not disgusted 
to such a degree as to I have not time for half that I could wish to say. 
I long to make apologies, excuses, to urge something for myself. I feel it so 
very due. But, unfortunately in short, if your compassion does not stand 
my friend " 

"Oh! you are too scrupulous, indeed you are," cried Emma warmly, and 
taking her hand. "You owe me no apologies; and everybody to whom you 
might be supposed to owe them is so perfectly satisfied, so delighted 
even " 



EMMA 1045 

"You are very kind, but I know what my manners were to you. So cold 
and artificial! I had always a part to act. It was a life of deceit! I know 
that I must have disgusted you." 

"Pray say no more. I feel that all the apologies should be on my side. 
Let us forgive each other at once. We must do whatever is to be done 
quickest, and I think our feelings will lose no time there. I hope you have 
pleasant accounts from Windsor?" 

"Very." 

"And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are to lose you just as 
I begin to know you." 

"Oh! as to all that, of course nothing can be thought of yet. I am here 
till claimed by Colonel and Mrs. Campbell." 

"Nothing can be actually settled yet, perhaps," replied Emma, smiling 
"but, excuse me, it must be thought of." 

The smile was returned as Jane answered : 

"You are very right; it has been thought of. And I will own to you (I 
am sure it will be safe), that so far as our living with Mr. Churchill at 
Enscombe, it is settled. There must be three months, at least, of deep 
mourning ; but when they are over, I imagine there will be nothing more 
to wait for." 

"Thank you, thank you. This is just what I wanted to be assured of. 
Oh ! if you knew how much I love everything that is decided and open ! 
Good-bye, good-bye." 

Chapter 53 

MRS. WESTON'S friends were all made happy by her safety, and if the 
satisfaction of her well-doing could be increased to Emma, it was by 
knowing her to be the mother of a little girl. She had been decided in wish- 
ing for a Miss Weston. She would not acknowledge that it was with any 
view of making a match for her, hereafter, with either of Isabella's sons ; 
but she was convinced that a daughter would suit both father and mother 
best. It would be a great comfort to Mr. Weston, as he grew older and 
even Mr. Weston might be growing older ten years hence to have his 
fireside enlivened by the sports and the nonsense, the freaks and the 
fancies of a child never banished from home ; and Mrs. Weston no one 
could doubt that a daughter would be most to her ; and it would be quite 
a pity that anyone who so well knew how to teach, should not have their 
powers in exercise again. 

"She has had the advantage, you know, of practising on me," she con- 
tinued "like La Baronne d'Almane on La Comtesse d'Ostalis, in Madame 
de Gehlis' 'Adelaide and Theodore/ and we shall now see her own little 
Adelaide educated on a more perfect plan." 

"That is," replied Mr. Knightley, "she will indulge her even more than 
she did you, and believe that she does not indulge her at all. It will be the 
only difference." 



1046 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"Poor child!" cried Emma; "at that rate what will become of her?" 

"Nothing very bad. The fate of thousands. She will be disagreeable in 
infancy, and correct herself as she grows older. I am losing all my bitter- 
ness against spoilt children, my dearest Emma. I, who am owing all my 
happiness to you, would not it be horrible ingratitude in me to be severe on 
them?" 

Emma laughed, and replied: "But I had the assistance of all your en- 
deavours to counteract the indulgence of other people. I doubt whether 
my own sense would have corrected me without it." 

"Do you? I have no doubt. Nature gave you understanding: Miss 
Taylor gave you principles. You must have done well. My interference was 
quite as likely to do harm as good. It was very natural for you to say 
'What right has he to lecture me?' and I am afraid very natural for you to 
feel that it was done in a disagreeable manner. I do not believe I did you 
any good. The good was all to myself, by making you an object of the 
tenderest affection to me. I could not think about you so much without 
doting on you, faults and all ; and by dint of fancying so many errors, have 
been in love with you ever since you were thirteen at least." 

"I am sure you were of use to me," cried Emma. "I was very often 
influenced rightly by you oftener than I would own at the time. I am 
very sure you did me good. And if poor little Anna Weston is to be spoiled, 
it will be the greatest humanity in you to do as much for her as you have 
done for me, except falling in love with her when she is thirteen." 

"How often, when you were a girl, have you said to me, with one of 
your saucy looks 'Mr. Knightley, I am going to do so-and-so; papa says 
I may,' or 'I have Miss Taylor's leave' something which, you knew, I 
did not approve. In such cases my interference was giving you two bad 
feelings instead of one." 

"What an amiable creature I was! No wonder you should hold my 
speeches in such affectionate remembrance." 

" 'Mr. Knightley/ you always called me. 'Mr. Knightley'; and, from 
habit, it has not so very formal a sound. And yet it is formal. I want you to 
call me something else, but I do not know what." 

"I remember once calling you 'George,' in one of my amiable fits, about 
ten years ago. I did it because I thought it would offend you; but, as you 
made no objection, I never did it again." 

"And cannot you call me 'George' now?" 

"Impossible! I never can call you anything but 'Mr. Knightley.' I will 
not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by calling 
you Mr. K. But I will promise," she added presently, laughing and blush- 
ing, "I will promise to call you once by your Christian name. I do not say 
when, but perhaps you may guess where in the building in which N. 
takes M. for better, for worse." 

Emma grieved that she could not be more openly just to one important 
service which his better sense would have rendered her, to the advice 
which would have saved her from the worst of all her womanly follies 



EMMA 1047 

her wilful intimacy with Harriet Smith; but it was too tender a subject. 
She could not enter on it. Harriet was very seldom mentioned between 
them. 

This, on his side, might merely proceed from her not being thought of ; 
but Emma was rather inclined to attribute it to delicacy, and a suspicion, 
from some appearances, that their friendship were declining. She was 
aware herself, that parting under any other circumstances, they certainly 
should have corresponded more, and that her intelligence would not have 
rested, as it now almost wholly did, on Isabella's letters. He might observe 
that it was so. The pain of being obliged to practise concealment towards 
him was very little inferior to the pain of having made Harriet unhappy. 

Isabella sent quite as good an account of her visitor as could be ex- 
pected; on her first arrival she had thought her out of spirits, which ap- 
peared perfectly natural, as there was a dentist to be consulted ; but since 
that business had been over, she did not appear to find Harriet different 
from what she had known her before. Isabella, to be sure, was no ver> 
quick observer; yet if Harriet had not been equal to playing with the chil- 
dren, it would not have escaped her. Emma's comforts and hopes were 
most agreeably carried on, by Harriet's being to stay longer; her fortnight 
was likely to be a month at least. Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were to 
come down in August, and she was invited to remain till they could bring 
her back. 

"John does not even mention your friend," said Mr. Knightley. "Here 
is his answer, if you like to see it." It was the answer to the communication 
of his intended marriage. Emma accepted it with a very eager hand, with 
an impatience all alive to know what he would say about it, and not at all 
checked by hearing that her friend was unmentioned. 

"John enters like a brother into my happiness," continued Mr. Knight- 
ley, "but he is no complimenter ; and though I well know him to have, 
likewise, a most brotherly affection for you, he is so far from making 
flourishes, that any other young woman might think him rather cool in 
her praise. But I am not afraid of your seeing what he writes." 

"He writes like a sensible man," replied Emma, when she had read the 
letter. "I honour his sincerity. It is very plain that he considers the good 
fortune of the engagement as all on my side, but that he is not without 
hope of my growing, in time, as worthy of your affection as you think me 
already. Had he said anything to bear a different construction, I should 
not have believed him." 

"My Emma, he means no such thing. He only means 

"He and I should differ very little in our estimation of the two," in- 
terrupted she, with a sort of serious smile "much less, perhaps, than he is 
aware of it, if we could enter without ceremony or reserve on the subject." 

"Emma, my dear Emma 

"Oh! " she cried with more thorough gaiety, "if you fancy your brother 
does not do me justice, only wait till my dear father is in the secret, and 
hear his opinion. Depend upon it, he will be much further from doing you 



1048 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

justice. He will think all the happiness, all the advantage on your side of 
the question; all the merit on mine. I wish I may not sink into 'poor 
Emma' with him at once. His tender compassion towards oppressed worth 
can go no further." 

"Ah! " he cried, "I wish your father might be half as easily convinced as 
John will be, of our having every right that equal worth can give, to be 
happy together. I am amused by one part of John's letter did you notice 
it? where he says that my information did not take him wholly by sur- 
prise, that he was rather in expectation of hearing something of the kind." 

"If I understand your brother, he only means so far as your having 
some thoughts of marrying. He had no idea of me. He seems perfectly 
unprepared for that." 

"Yes, yes but I am amused that he should have seen so far into my 
feelings. What has he been judging by? I am not conscious of any differ- 
ence in my spirits or conversation that could prepare him at this time for 
my marrying any more than at another. But it was so, I suppose. I dare 
say there was a difference when I was staying with them the other day. I 
believe I did not play with the children quite so much as usual. I remember 
one evening the poor boys saying, 'Uncle seems always tired now.' " 

The time was coming when the news must spread further, and other 
persons' reception of it tried. As soon as Mrs. Weston was sufficiently 
recovered to admit Mr. Woodhouse's visits, Emma having it in view that 
her gentle reasonings should be employed in the cause, resolved first to 
announce it at home, and then at Randalls. But how to break it to her 
father at last! She had bound herself to do it, in such an hour of Mr. 
Knightley's absence, or when it came to the point her heart would have 
failed her, and she must have put it off; but Mr. Knightley was to come at 
such a time, and follow up the beginning she was to make. She was forced 
to speak, and to speak cheerfully too. She must not make it a more de- 
cided subject of misery to him, by a melancholy tone herself. She must 
not appear to think it a misfortune. With all the spirits she could command 
she prepared him first for something strange, and then, in a few words, 
said, that if his consent and approbation could be obtained which, she 
trusted, would be attended with no difficulty, since it was a plan to pro- 
mote the happiness of all she and Mr. Knightley meant to marry; by 
which means Hartfield would receive the constant addition of that per- 
son's company, whom she knew he loved, next to his daughters and Mrs. 
Weston, best in the world. 

Poor man! it was at first a considerable shock to him, and he tried 
earnestly to dissuade her from it. She was reminded, more than once, of 
having always said she would never marry, and assured that it would be a 
great deal better for her to remain single ; and told of poor Isabella, and 
poor Miss Taylor. But it would not do. Emma hung about him affection- 
ately, and smiled, and said it must be so ; and that he must not class her 
with Isabella and Mrs. Weston, whose marriages taking them from Hart- 
Iield had, indeed, made a melancholy change : but she was not going from 



EMMA 1049 

Hartfield ; she should be always there ; she was introducing no change in 
their numbers or their comforts but for the better ; and she was very sure 
that he would be a great deal the happier for having Mr. Knightley always 
at hand, when he were once got used to the idea. Did he not love Mr. 
Knightley very much? He would not deny that he did, she was sure. 
Whom did he ever want to consult on business but Mr. Knightley? Who 
was so useful to him, who so ready to write his letters, who so glad to as- 
sist him? Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached to him? Would not he 
like to have him always on the spot? Yes. That was all very true. Mr. 
Knightley could not be there too often ; he should be glad to see him every 
day ; bu f they did see him every day as it was. Why could not they go on 
as they had done? 

Mr. Woodhouse could not be soon reconciled ; but the worst was over- 
come, the idea was given ; time and continual repetition must do the rest. 
To Emma's entreaties and assurances succeeded Mr. Knightley 's, whose 
fond praise of her gave the subject even a kind of welcome ; and he was 
soon used to be talked to by each on every fair occasion. They had all the 
assistance which Isabella could give, by letters of the strongest approba- 
tion; and Mrs. Weston was ready, on the first meeting, to consider the 
subject in the most serviceable light ; first as a settled, and secondly as a 
good one well aware of the nearly equal importance of the two recom- 
mendations to Mr. Woodhouse's mind. It was agreed upon, as what was 
to be ; and everybody by whom he was used to be guided assuring him that 
it would be for his happiness, and having some feelings himself which al- 
most admitted it, he began to think that some time or other, in another 
year or two perhaps, it might not be so very bad if the marriage did take 
place. 

Mrs. Weston was acting no part, feigning no feelings in all that she said 
to him in favour of the event. She had been extremely surprised, never 
more so, than when Emma first opened the affair to her ; but she saw in it 
only increase of happiness to all, and had no scruple in urging him to the 
utmost. She had such a regard for Mr. Knightley, as to think he deserved 
even her dearest Emma ; and it was in every respect so proper, suitable, 
and unexceptionable a connection, and in one respect, one point of the 
highest importance, so peculiarly eligible, so singularly fortunate, that 
now it seemed as if Emma could not safely have attached herself to any 
other creature, and that she had herself been the stupidest of beings in 
not having thought of it, and wished it long ago. How very few of those 
men in a rank of life to address Emma would have renounced their own 
home for Hartfield! And who but Mr. Knightley could know and bear 
with Mr. Woodhouse, as so to make such an arrangement desirable ! The 
difficulty of disposing of poor Mr. Woodhouse had been always felt in 
her husband's plans and her own, for a marriage between Frank and 
Emma. How to settle the claims of Enscombe and Hartfield had been a 
continual impediment less acknowledged by Mr. Weston than by her- 
self but even he had never been able to finish the subject better than 



toso THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

by saying "Those matters will take care of themselves; the young 
people will find a way." But here there was nothing to be shifted off in 
a wild speculation on the future. It was all right, all open, all equal. 
No sacrifice on any side worth the name. It was a union of the highest 
promise of felicity in itself, and without one real, rational difficulty to 
oppose or delay it. 

Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in such reflections 
as these, was one of the happiest women in the world. If anything could 
increase her delight, it was perceiving that the baby would soon have 
outgrown its first set of caps. 

The news was universally a surprise wherever it spread; and Mr. 
Weston had his five minutes' share of it; but five minutes were enough 
to familiarize the idea to his quickness of mind. He saw the advantages 
of the match, and rejoiced in them with all the constancy of his wife; but 
the wonder of it was very soon nothing ; and by the end of an hour he was 
not far from believing that he had always foreseen it. 

"It is to be a secret, I conclude," said he. "These matters are always 
a secret, till it is found out that everybody knows them. Only let me be 
told when I may speak out. I wonder whether Jane has any suspicion?" 

He went to Highbury the next morning, and satisfied himself on that 
point. He told her the news. Was not she like a daughter, his eldest 
daughter? he must tell her; and Miss Bates being present, it passed, of 
course, to Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Perry, and Mrs. Elton, immediately after- 
wards. It was no more than the principals were prepared for; they had 
calculated from the time of its being known at Randalls how soon it 
would be over Highbury; and were thinking of themselves, as the evening 
wonder in many a family circle, with great sagacity. 

In general, it was a very well approved match. Some might think him, 
and others might think her, the most in luck. One set might recommend 
their all removing to Donwell, and leaving Hartfield for the John Knight- 
leys ; and another might predict disagreements among their servants ; but 
yet, upon the whole, there was no serious objection raised, except in one 
habitation the Vicarage. There, the surprise was not softened by any 
satisfaction. Mr. Elton cared little about it, compared with his wife; he 
only hoped "the young lady's pride would now be contented"; and 
supposed "she had always meant to catch Knightley if she could"; and, 
on the point of living at Hartfield, could daringly exclaim, "Rather he 
than I!" But Mrs. Elton was very much discomposed indeed. "Poor 
Knightley! poor fellow! sad business for him. She was extremely con- 
cerned ; for though very eccentric, he had a thousand good qualities. How 
could he be so taken in? Did not think him at all in love not in the 
least. Poor Knightley! There would be an end of all pleasant intercourse 
with him. How happy he had been to come and dine with them whenever 
they asked him! But that would be all over now. Poor fellow! No more 
exploring parties to Donwell made for her. Oh no ; there would be a Mrs. 
Knightley to throw cold water on everything. Extremely disagreeable; 



EMMA 1051 

but she was not at all sorry that she had abused the housekeeper the other 
day. Shocking plan, living together. It would never do. She knew a family 
near Maple Grove who had tried it, and been obliged to separate before 
the end of the first quarter." 



Chapter 54 

TIME passed on. A few more to-morrows, and the party from London 
would be arriving. It was an alarming change; and Emma was thinking 
of it one morning, as what must bring a great deal to agitate and grieve 
her, when Mr. Knightley came in, and distressing thoughts were put by. 
After the first chat of pleasure, he was silent; and then, in a graver 
tone, began with: 

"I have something to tell you, Emma; some news.'" 

"Good or bad?" said she, quickly, looking up in his face. 

"I do not know which it ought to be called." 

"Oh, good I am sure. I see it in your countenance. You are trying not 
to smile." 

"I am afraid," said he, composing his features, "I am very much afraid, 
my dear Emma, that you will not smile when you hear it." 

"Indeed! but why so? I can hardly imagine that anything which 
pleases or amuses you should not please and amuse me too." 

"There is one subject," he replied, "I hope but one, on which we do not 
think alike." He paused a moment, again smiling, with his eyes fixed on 
her face. "Does nothing occur to you? Do not you recollect? Harriet 
Smith." 

Her cheeks flushed at the name, and she felt afraid of something, 
though she knew not what. 

"Have you heard from her yourself this morning?" cried he. "You 
have, I believe, and know the whole." 

"No, I have not; I know nothing; pray tell me." 

"You are prepared for the worst, I see; and very bad it is. Harriet 
Smith marries Robert Martin." 

Emma gave a start, which did not seem like being prepared; and her 
eyes, in eager gaze, said, "No, this is impossible!" but her lips were 
closed. 

"It is so, indeed!" continued Mr. Knightley; "I have it from Robert 
Martin himself. He left me not half an hour ago." 

She was still looking at him with the most speaking amazement. 

"You like it, my Emma, as little as I feared I wish our opinions were 
the same. But in time they will be. Time, you may be sure, will make one 
or the other of us think differently; and in the meanwhile, we need not 
talk much on the subject." 

"You mistake me, you quite mistake me," she replied, exerting her- 
self. "It is not that such a circumstance would now make me unhappy, 



1052 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

but I cannot believe it. It seems an impossibility! You cannot mean to 
say that Harriet Smith has accepted Robert Martin! You cannot mean 
that he has even proposed to her again yet! You only mean that he 
intends it." 

"I mean that he has done it," answered Mr. Knightley with smiling 
but determined decision, "and been accepted." 

"Good God!" she cried. "Well!" Then, having recourse to her work- 
basket in excuse for leaning down her face, and concealing all the ex- 
quisite feelings of delight and entertainment which she knew she must 
be expressing, she added, "Well, now, tell me everything; make this 
intelligible to me. How, where, when? Let me know it all. I never was 
more surprised but it does not make me unhappy, I assure you. How 
how has it been possible?" 

"It is a very simple story. He went to town on business three days ago, 
and I got him to take charge of some papers which I was wanting to send 
to John. He delivered these papers to John, at his chambers, and was 
asked by him to join their party the same evening to Astley's. They were 
going to take the two eldest boys to Astley's. The party was to be our 
brother and sister, Henry, John and Miss Smith. My friend Robert 
could not resist. They called for him in their way; were all extremely 
amused : and my brother asked him to dine with them the next day, which 
he did, and in the course of that visit (as I understand) he found an 
opportunity of speaking to Harriet; and certainly did not speak in vain. 
She made him, by her acceptance, as happy even as he is deserving. He 
came down by yesterday's coach, and was with me this morning, im- 
mediately after breakfast, to report his proceedings, first on my affairs, 
and then on his own. This is all that I can relate of the how, where, and 
when. Your friend Harriet will make a much longer history when you 
see her. She will give you all the minute particulars, which only woman's 
language can make interesting. In our communications we deal only in the 
great. However, I must say, that Robert Martin's heart seemed for him, 
and to me, very overflowing; and that he did mention, without its being 
much to the purpose, that on quitting their box at Astley's, my brother 
took charge of Mrs. John Knightley and little John, and he followed, 
with Miss Smith and Henry; and that at one time they were in such a 
crowd as to make Miss Smith rather uneasy." 

He stopped. Emma dared not attempt any immediate reply. To speak, 
she was sure, would be to betray a most unreasonable degree of happiness. 
She must wait a moment, or he would think her mad. Her silence disturbed 
him ; and after observing her a little while, he added : 

"Emma, my love, you said that this circumstance would not now make 
you unhappy ; but I am afraid it gives you more pain than you expected. 
His situation is an evil; but you must consider it as what satisfies your 
friend; and I will answer for your thinking better and better of him as 
you know him more; his good sense and good principles would delight 
you. As far as the man is concerned, you could not wish your friend in 



EMMA 1053 

better hands. His rank in society I would alter if I could, which is saying 
a great deal, I assure you, Emma. You laugh at me about William Larkins; 
but I could quite as ill spare Robert Martin." 

He wanted her to look up and smile ; and having now brought herself 
not to smile too broadly, she did, cheerfully answering: 

"You need not be at any pains to reconcile me to the match. I think 
Harriet is doing extremely well. Her connections may be worse than his: 
in respectability of character, there can be no doubt that they are. I 
have been silent from surprise, merely excessive surprise. You cannot 
imagine how suddenly it has come on me: how peculiarly unprepared I 
was! for I had reason to believe her very lately more determined against 
him, much more than she was before." 

"You ought to know your friend best," replied Mr. Knightley ; "but I 
should say she was a good-tempered, soft-hearted girl, not likely to be 
very, very determined against any young man who told her he loved her." 

Emma could not help laughing as she answered, "Upon my word, I 
believe you know her quite as well as I do. But, Mr. Knightley, are you 
perfectly sure that she has absolutely and downright accepted him? I 
could suppose she might in time, but can she already? Did not you 
misunderstand him? You were both talking of other things; of business, 
shows of cattle, or new drills ; and might not you, in the confusion of so 
many subjects, mistake him? It was not Harriet's hand that he was 
certain of it was the dimensions of some famous ox." 

The contrast between the countenance and air of Mr. Knightley and 
Robert Martin was, at this moment, so strong to Emma's feelings, and so 
strong was the recollection of all that had so recently passed on Harriet's 
side, so fresh the sound of those words spoken with such emphasis, "No, 
I hope I know better than to think of Robert Martin," that she was really 
expecting the intelligence to prove, in some measure, premature. It could 
not be otherwise. 

"Do you dare say this?" cried Mr. Knightley. "Do you dare to sup- 
pose me so great a blockhead as not to know what a man is talking of? 
What do you deserve?" 

"Oh ! I always deserve the best treatment, because I never put up with 
any other ; and, therefore, you must give me a plain, direct answer. Are 
you quite sure that you understand the terms on which Mr. Martin and 
Harriet now are?" 

"I am quite sure," he replied, speaking very distinctly, "that he told 
me she had accepted him; and that there was no obscurity, nothing doubt- 
ful, in the words he used; and I think I can give you a proof that it must 
be so. He asked my opinion as to what he was now to do. He knew of 
no one but Mrs. Goddard to whom he could apply for information of her 
relations or friends. Could I mention anything more fit to be done than 
to go to Mrs. Goddard? I assured him that I could not. Then, he said, 
he would endeavour to see her in the course of this day." 



1054 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"I am perfectly satisfied," replied Emma, with the brightest smiles, 
"and most sincerely wish them happy." 

"You are materially changed since we talked on this subject before." 

"I hope so for at that time I was a fool." 

"And I am changed also ; for I am now very willing to grant you all 
Harriet's good qualities. I have taken some pains for your sake, and for 
Robert Martin's sake (whom I have always had reason to believe as much 
in love with her as ever), to get acquainted with her. I have often talked 
to her a good deal. You must have seen that I did. Sometimes, indeed, 
I have thought you were half suspecting me of pleading poor Martin's 
cause, which was never the case; but, from all my observations, I am 
convinced of her being an artless, amiable girl, with very good notions, 
very seriously good principles, and placing her happiness in the affections 
and utility of domestic life. Much of this, I have no doubt, she may thank 
you for." 

"Me!" cried Emma, shaking her head. "Ah, poor Harriet!" 

She checked herself, however, and submitted quietly to a little more 
praise than she deserved. 

Their conversation was soon afterwards closed by the entrance of her 
father. She was not sorry. She wanted to be alone. Her mind was in a 
state of flutter and wonder, which made it impossible for her to be col- 
lected. She was in dancing, singing, exclaiming spirits; and till she had 
moved about, and talked to herself, and laughed and reflected, she could 
be fit for nothing rational. 

Her father's business was to announce James' being gone out to put 
the horses to, preparatory to their now daily drive to Randalls ; and she 
had, therefore, an immediate excuse for disappearing. 

The joy, the gratitude, the exquisite delight of her sensations may be 
imagined. The sole grievance and alloy thus removed in the prospect of 
Harriet's welfare, she was really in danger of becoming too happy for 
security. What had she to wish for? Nothing, but to grow more worthy 
of him, whose intentions and judgment had been ever so superior to her 
own. Nothing but that the lessons of her past folly might teach her 
humility and circumspection in future. 

Serious she was, very serious, in her thankfulness and in her resolu- 
tions; and yet there was no preventing a laugh, sometimes in the very 
midst of them. She must laugh at such a close such an end of the dole- 
ful disappointment of five weeks back such, a heart such a Harriet! 

Now there would be pleasure in her returning; everything would be 
a pleasure; it would be a great pleasure to know Robert Martin. 

High in the rank of her most serious and heartfelt felicities was the 
reflection that all necessity of concealment from Mr. Knightley would 
soon be over. The disguise, equivocation, mystery, so hateful to her to 
practise, might soon be over. She could now look forward to giving him 
that full and perfect confidence which her disposition was most ready to 
welcome as a duty. 



EMMA loss 

In the gayest and happiest spirits, she set forward with her father, not 
always listening, but always agreeing to what he said; and, whether in 
speech or silence, conniving at the comfortable persuasion of his being 
obliged to go to Randalls every day, or poor Mrs. Weston would be 
disappointed. 

They arrived. Mr. Weston was alone in the drawing-room. But hardly 
had they been told of the baby, and Mr. Woodhouse received the thanks 
for coming, which he asked for, when a glimpse was caught through the 
blind of two figures passing near the window. 

"It is Frank and Miss Fairfax," said Mrs. Weston. "I was just going 
to tell you of our agreeable surprise in seeing him arrive this morning. 
He stays till to-morrow, and Miss Fairfax has been persuaded to spend 
the day with us. They are coming in, I hope." 

In half a minute they were in the room. Emma was extremely glad to 
see him; but there was a degree of confusion, a number of embarrassing 
recollections, on each side. They met readily and smiling, but with a 
consciousness which at first allowed little to be said; and having all sat 
down again, there was for some time such a blank in the circle that Emma 
began to doubt whether the wish now indulged, which she had long felt, 
of seeing Frank Churchill once more, and of seeing him with Jane, would 
yield its proportion of pleasure. When Mr. Weston joined the party, 
however, and when the baby was fetched, there was no longer a want of 
subject or animation, or of courage and opportunity for Frank Churchill 
to draw near her and say : 

"I have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very kind, forgiving 
message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less 
willing to pardon ; I hope you do not retract what you then said." 

"No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin; "not in the least. I 
am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you, and to give you 
joy in person." 

He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak 
with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness. 

"Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane 
"better than she ever used to do? You see how my father and Mrs. Weston 
dote upon her." 

But his spirits were soon rising again; and, with laughing eyes, after 
mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of 
Dixon. Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing. 

"I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame." 

"The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it pos- 
sible that you had no suspicion? I mean of late: early, I know^you had 
none." 

"I never had the smallest, I assure you." 

"That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near and I wish I 
had; it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong 
things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service. 



ios6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of 
secrecy and told you everything." 

"It is not now worth a regret," said Emma. 

"I have some hope," resumed he, "of my uncle's being persuaded to pay 
a visit at Randalls ; he wants to be introduced to her. When the Campbells 
are returned, we shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust, 
till we may carry her northward ; but now, I am at such a distance from 
her is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse? Till this morning, we have not 
once met since the day of reconciliation. Do not you pity me?" 

Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that with a sudden accession of 
gay thought, he cried: 

"Ah! by the bye," then sinking his voice, and looking demure for the 
moment, "I hope Mr. Knightley is well?" He paused. She coloured and 
laughed. "I know you saw my letter, and think you may remember my 
wish in your favour. Let me return your congratulations. I assure you 
that I have heard the news with the warmest interest and satisfaction. 
He is a man whom I cannot presume to praise." 

Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in the same style ; 
but his mind was the next moment in his own concerns and with his own 
Jane, and his next words were: 

"Did you ever see such a skin? such smoothness! such delicacy! and 
yet without being actually fair. One cannot call her fair. It is a most un- 
common complexion, with her dark eyelashes and hair a most dis- 
tinguishing complexion! So peculiarly the lady in it. Just colour enough 
for beauty." 

"I have always admired her complexion," replied Emma, archly; "but 
do not I remember the time when you found fault with her for being so 
pale? When we first began to talk of her. Have you quite forgotten?" 

"Oh, no! what an impudent dog I was! how could I dare " 

But he laughed so heartily at the recollection that Emma could not 
help saying: 

"I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you 
had very great amusement in tricking us all. I am sure you had. I am 
sure it was a consolation to you." 

"Oh, no, no, no! how can you suspect me of such a thing? I was the 
most miserable wretch." 

"Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth. I am sure it was a 
source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in. 
Perhaps I am the readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think 
it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I 
think the/e is a little likeness between us." 

He bowed. 

"If not in our dispositions," she presently added, with a look of true 
sensibility, "there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair 
to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own." 

"True, true," he answered warmly. "No, not true on your side. You can 



EMMA 1057 

have no superior, but most true on mine. She is a complete angel. Look 
at her. Is not she an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her 
throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my father. You will be 
glad to hear" (inclining his head, and whispering seriously) "that my 
uncle means to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. 
I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be 
beautiful in her dark hair?" 

"Very beautiful, indeed," replied Emma; and she spoke so kindly that 
he gratefully burst out: 

"How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you in such excellent 
looks! I would not have missed this meeting for the world. I should cer- 
tainly have called at Hartfield had you failed to come." 

The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an ac- 
count of a little alarm she had been under the evening before, from the 
infant's appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but 
it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for 
Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed but Mr. Weston had been 
almost as uneasy as herself. In ten minutes, however, the child had been 
perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it 
was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of 
sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. "She 
should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree 
disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, 
nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not 
come last night; for, though the child seemed well now very well con- 
sidering it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it." 

Frank Churchill caught the name. 

"Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss 
Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. 
Perry? Has he been here this morning? And how does he travel now? 
Has he set up his carriage?" 

Emma soon recollected, and understood him ; and while she joined in the 
laugh, it was evident from Jane's countenance, that she too was really 
hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. 

"Such an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think 
of it without laughing. She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see 
it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not 
you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which 
sent me the report, is passing under her eye; that the whole blunder is 
spread before her ; that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending 
to listen to the others?" 

Jane was forced to smile completely for a moment ; and the smile partly 
remained as she turned towards him, and said, in a conscious, low, yet 
steady voice: 

"How you can bear such recollections is astonishing to me. They will 
sometimes obtrude; but how you can court them!" 



ios8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

He had a great deal to say in "return, and very entertainingly; but 
Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane in the argument ; and on leaving 
Randalls, and falling naturally into a comparison of the two men, she 
felt, that pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really 
regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never been more sensible 
of Mr. Knightley's high superiority of character. The happiness of this 
most happy day received its completion in the animated contemplation 
of his worth which this comparison produced. 



Chapter 55 

IF Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for Harriet, a 
momentary doubt of its being possible for her to be really cured of her 
attachment to Mr. Knightley, and really able to accept another man from 
unbiassed inclination, it was not long that she had to suffer from the 
recurrence of any such uncertainty. A very few days brought the party 
from London ; and she had no sooner an opportunity of being one hour 
alone with Harriet, than she became perfectly satisfied, unaccountable as 
It was, that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley; 
and was now forming all her views of happiness. 

Harriet was a little distressed did look a little foolish at first: but 
having once owned that she had been presumptuous and silly, and self- 
deceived before, her pain and confusion seemed to die away with the 
words, and leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest 
exultation in the present and future: for as to her friend's approbation, 
Emma had instantly removed every fear of that nature, by meeting her 
with the most unqualified congratulations. Harriet was most happy to 
give every particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the next 
day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost delight. But what did such 
particulars explain? The fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, 
that Harriet had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing 
to love her had been irresistible. Beyond this, it must ever be unintelligible 
to Emma. 

The event, however, was most joyful; and every day was giving her 
fresh reason for thinking so. Harriet's parentage became known. She 
proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the 
comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to 
have always wished for concealment. Such was the blood of gentility 
which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for ! It was likely to be 
as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what 
a connection had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley, or for the 
Churchills, or even for Mr. Elton! The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached 
by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. 

No objection was raised on the father's side ; the young man was treated 
liberally; it was all as it should be; and as Emma became acquainted 



EMMA 1059 

with Robert Martin, who was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully 
acknowledged in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could 
bid fairest for her little friend. She had no doubt of Harriet's happiness 
with any good-tempered man ; but with him, and in the home he offered, 
there would be the hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement. 
She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her, and who had 
better sense than herself ; retired enough for safety, and occupied enough 
for cheerfulness. She would be never led into temptation, nor left for it 
to find her out. She would be respectable and happy; and Emma admitted 
her to be the luckiest creature in the world, to have created so steady and 
persevering an affection in such a man; or, if not the luckiest, to yield 
only to herself. 

Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements with the Martins, 
was less and less at Hartfield, which was not to be regretted. The intimacy 
between her and Emma must sink; their friendship must change into a 
calmer sort of good-will; and, fortunately, what ought to be, and must be, 
seemed already beginning, and in the most gradual, natural manner. 

Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and 
saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, 
as no remembrances even connected with Mr. Elton, as he stood before 
them, could impair. Perhaps indeed, at that time, she scarcely saw Mr. 
Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on 
herself. Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of 
the three, were the first to be married. 

Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the 
comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells. The Mr. Churchills 
were also in town ; and they were only waiting for November. 

The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, bj 
Emma and Mr. Knightley. They had determined that their marriage 
ought to be concluded, while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to 
allow them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the 
plan. John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving 
it. But Mr. Woodhouse how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to con- 
sent? he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant 
event. 

When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable that they were 
almost hopeless. A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain. He began to 
think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it a very promising step 
of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. 
Nay, he appeared so much otherwise that his daughter's courage failed. 
She could not bear to see him suffering; to know him fancying himself 
neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the as- 
surance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event was over 
his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated she could not proceed. 

In this state of suspense, they were befriended, not by any sudden 
illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or any wonderful change of his 



I06o THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way. 
Mrs. Weston's poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys 
evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbour- 
hood also suffered. Pilfering was house-breaking to Mr. Woodhouse's 
fears. He was very uneasy ; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's pro- 
tection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The 
strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys com- 
manded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and 
his, Hartfield was safe. But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again 
by the end of the first week in November. 

The result of this distress, was, that, with a much more voluntary, 
cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the 
moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day ; and Mr. Elton was called 
on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to 
join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. 

The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have 
no taste for finery or parade ; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed 
by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her 
own. "Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business! 
Selina would stare when she heard of it." But, in spite of these deficiencies, 
the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of 
true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the per- 
fect happiness of the union. 



FINIS