property for sale custom house quay weymouth

volume ii chapter viii frank churchill came back again; and if hekept his father's dinner waiting, it was not known at hartfield; for mrs. weston wastoo anxious for his being a favourite with mr. woodhouse, to betray any imperfectionwhich could be concealed. he came back, had had his hair cut, andlaughed at himself with a very good grace, but without seeming really at all ashamedof what he had done. he had no reason to wish his hair longer,to conceal any confusion of face; no reason to wish the money unspent, to improve hisspirits.

he was quite as undaunted and as lively asever; 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 peoplein an impudent way. wickedness is always wickedness, but follyis 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 thisdifferently. he would either have gloried in theachievement, or been ashamed of it.

there would have been either theostentation of a coxcomb, or the evasions of a mind too weak to defend its ownvanities.--no, i am perfectly sure that he is not trifling or silly." with tuesday came the agreeable prospect ofseeing him again, and for a longer time than hitherto; of judging of his generalmanners, and by inference, of the meaning of his manners towards herself; of guessing how soon it might be necessary for her tothrow coldness into her air; and of fancying what the observations of all thosemight be, who were now seeing them together for the first time.

she meant to be very happy, in spite of thescene being laid at mr. cole's; and without being able to forget that among thefailings of mr. elton, even in the days of his favour, none had disturbed her morethan his propensity to dine with mr. cole. her father's comfort was amply secured,mrs. bates as well as mrs. goddard being able to come; and her last pleasing duty,before she left the house, was to pay her respects to them as they sat together after dinner; and while her father was fondlynoticing 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 theirconstitution might have obliged them to practise during the meal.--she had provideda plentiful dinner for them; she wished she could know that they had been allowed toeat it. she followed another carriage to mr. cole'sdoor; and was pleased to see that it was mr. knightley's; for mr. knightley keepingno horses, having little spare money and a great deal of health, activity, and independence, was too apt, in emma'sopinion, to get about as he could, and not use his carriage so often as became theowner of donwell abbey. she had an opportunity now of speaking herapprobation while warm from her heart, for

he stopped to hand her out. "this is coming as you should do," saidshe; "like a gentleman.--i am quite glad to see you." he thanked her, observing, "how lucky thatwe should arrive at the same moment! for, if we had met first in the drawing-room, idoubt whether you would have discerned me to be more of a gentleman than usual.--you might not have distinguished how i came, bymy look or manner." "yes i should, i am sure i should. there is always a look of consciousness orbustle when people come in a way which they

know to be beneath them. you think you carry it off very well, idare say, but with you it is a sort of bravado, an air of affected unconcern; ialways observe it whenever i meet you under those circumstances. now you have nothing to try for.you are not afraid of being supposed ashamed.you are not striving to look taller than any body else. now i shall really be very happy to walkinto the same room with you." "nonsensical girl!" was his reply, but notat all in anger.

emma had as much reason to be satisfiedwith the rest of the party as with mr. knightley. she was received with a cordial respectwhich could not but please, and given all the consequence she could wish for. when the westons arrived, the kindest looksof love, the strongest of admiration were for her, from both husband and wife; theson approached her with a cheerful eagerness which marked her as his peculiar object, and at dinner she found him seatedby her--and, as she firmly believed, not without some dexterity on his side.

the party was rather large, as it includedone other family, a proper unobjectionable country family, whom the coles had theadvantage of naming among their acquaintance, and the male part of mr.cox's family, the lawyer of highbury. the less worthy females were to come in theevening, with miss bates, miss fairfax, and miss smith; but already, at dinner, theywere 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 herneighbour. the first remote sound to which she feltherself obliged to attend, was the name of

jane fairfax. mrs. cole seemed to be relating somethingof her that was expected to be very interesting.she listened, and found it well worth listening to. that very dear part of emma, her fancy,received an amusing supply. mrs. cole was telling that she had beencalling on miss bates, and as soon as she entered the room had been struck by thesight of a pianoforte--a very elegant looking instrument--not a grand, but a large-sized square pianoforte; and thesubstance of the story, the end of all the

dialogue which ensued of surprize, andinquiry, and congratulations on her side, and explanations on miss bates's, was, that this pianoforte had arrived frombroadwood's the day before, to the great astonishment of both aunt and niece--entirely unexpected; that at first, by miss bates's account, jane herself was quite at a loss, quite bewildered to think who couldpossibly have ordered it--but now, they were both perfectly satisfied that it couldbe from only one quarter;--of course it must be from colonel campbell. "one can suppose nothing else," added mrs.cole, "and i was only surprized that there

could ever have been a doubt. but jane, it seems, had a letter from themvery lately, and not a word was said about it. she knows their ways best; but i should notconsider their silence as any reason for their not meaning to make the present.they might chuse to surprize her." mrs. cole had many to agree with her; everybody who spoke on the subject was equally convinced that it must come from colonelcampbell, and equally rejoiced that such a present had been made; and there were enough ready to speak to allow emma tothink her own way, and still listen to mrs.

cole. "i declare, i do not know when i have heardany thing that has given me more satisfaction!--it always has quite hurt methat jane fairfax, who plays so delightfully, should not have aninstrument. it seemed quite a shame, especiallyconsidering how many houses there are where fine instruments are absolutely thrownaway. this is like giving ourselves a slap, to besure! and it was but yesterday i was telling mr. cole, i really was ashamed tolook at our new grand pianoforte in the drawing-room, while i do not know one note

from another, and our little girls, who arebut just beginning, perhaps may never make any thing of it; and there is poor janefairfax, who is mistress of music, has not any thing of the nature of an instrument, not even the pitifullest old spinet in theworld, to amuse herself with.--i was saying this to mr. cole but yesterday, and hequite 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 itto 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 beashamed of it.--we are in great hopes that miss woodhouse may be prevailed with to tryit this evening." miss woodhouse made the properacquiescence; and finding that nothing more was to be entrapped from any communicationof 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 soliberal.--it is a handsome present." "very." "i rather wonder that it was never madebefore."

"perhaps miss fairfax has never beenstaying here so long before." "or that he did not give her the use oftheir own instrument--which must now be shut up in london, untouched by any body.""that is a grand pianoforte, and he might think it too large for mrs. bates's house." "you may say what you chuse--but yourcountenance testifies that your thoughts on this subject are very much like mine.""i do not know. i rather believe you are giving me morecredit for acuteness than i deserve. i smile because you smile, and shallprobably suspect whatever i find you suspect; but at present i do not see whatthere is to question.

if colonel campbell is not the person, whocan 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, howacceptable an instrument would be; and perhaps the mode of it, the mystery, thesurprize, 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 bethe 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 thegood intentions of either mr. dixon or miss fairfax, but i cannot help suspecting either that, after making his proposals toher friend, he had the misfortune to fall in love with her, or that he becameconscious of a little attachment on her

side. one might guess twenty things withoutguessing exactly the right; but i am sure there must be a particular cause for herchusing to come to highbury instead of going with the campbells to ireland. here, she must be leading a life ofprivation and penance; there it would have been all enjoyment. as to the pretence of trying her nativeair, i look upon that as a mere excuse.--in the summer it might have passed; but whatcan any body's native air do for them in the months of january, february, and march?

good fires and carriages would be much moreto the purpose in most cases of delicate health, and i dare say in her's. i do not require you to adopt all mysuspicions, though you make so noble a profession of doing it, but i honestly tellyou what they are." "and, upon my word, they have an air ofgreat probability. mr. dixon's preference of her music to herfriend's, i can answer for being very decided." "and then, he saved her life.did you ever hear of that?--a water party; and by some accident she was fallingoverboard.

he caught her." "he did.i was there--one of the party." "were you really?--well!--but you observednothing of course, for it seems to be a new idea to you.--if i had been there, i thinki should have made some discoveries." "i dare say you would; but i, simple i, sawnothing but the fact, that miss fairfax was nearly dashed from the vessel and that mr.dixon caught her.--it was the work of a moment. and though the consequent shock and alarmwas very great and much more durable-- indeed i believe it was half an hour beforeany of us were comfortable again--yet that

was too general a sensation for any thingof peculiar anxiety to be observable. i do not mean to say, however, that youmight not have made discoveries." the conversation was here interrupted. they were called on to share in theawkwardness of a rather long interval between the courses, and obliged to be asformal and as orderly as the others; but when the table was again safely covered, when every corner dish was placed exactlyright, 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 thistells me quite enough. depend upon it, we shall soon hear that itis a present from mr. and mrs. dixon." "and if the dixons should absolutely denyall 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 thecampbells, 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 iam 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 alongwith them entirely. at first, while i supposed you satisfiedthat colonel campbell was the giver, i saw it only as paternal kindness, and thoughtit the most natural thing in the world. but when you mentioned mrs. dixon, i felthow 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 matterfarther.

the conviction seemed real; he looked as ifhe felt it. she said no more, other subjects took theirturn; and the rest of the dinner passed away; the dessert succeeded, the childrencame 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 thaneveryday remarks, dull repetitions, old news, and heavy jokes. the ladies had not been long in thedrawing-room, before the other ladies, in their different divisions, arrived.

emma watched the entree of her ownparticular little friend; and if she could not exult in her dignity and grace, shecould not only love the blooming sweetness and the artless manner, but could most heartily rejoice in that light, cheerful,unsentimental disposition which allowed her so many alleviations of pleasure, in themidst of the pangs of disappointed affection. there she sat--and who would have guessedhow many tears she had been lately shedding? to be in company, nicely dressed herselfand seeing others nicely dressed, to sit

and smile and look pretty, and say nothing,was enough for the happiness of the present hour. jane fairfax did look and move superior;but emma suspected she might have been glad to change feelings with harriet, very gladto have purchased the mortification of having loved--yes, of having loved even mr. elton in vain--by the surrender of all thedangerous 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 thepianoforte, she felt too much in the secret

herself, to think the appearance ofcuriosity or interest fair, and therefore purposely kept at a distance; but by the others, the subject was almost immediatelyintroduced, and she saw the blush of consciousness with which congratulationswere received, the blush of guilt which accompanied the name of "my excellentfriend colonel campbell." mrs. weston, kind-hearted and musical, wasparticularly interested by the circumstance, and emma could not help beingamused at her perseverance in dwelling on the subject; and having so much to ask and to say as to tone, touch, and pedal,totally unsuspicious of that wish of saying

as little about it as possible, which sheplainly read in the fair heroine's countenance. they were soon joined by some of thegentlemen; and the very first of the early was frank churchill. in he walked, the first and the handsomest;and after paying his compliments en passant to miss bates and her niece, made his waydirectly to the opposite side of the circle, where sat miss woodhouse; and till he could find a seat by her, would not sitat all. emma divined what every body present mustbe thinking.

she was his object, and every body mustperceive it. she introduced him to her friend, misssmith, and, at convenient moments afterwards, heard what each thought of theother. "he had never seen so lovely a face, andwas delighted with her naivete." and she, "only to be sure it was paying himtoo great a compliment, but she did think there were some looks a little like mr.elton." emma restrained her indignation, and onlyturned from her in silence. smiles of intelligence passed between herand the gentleman on first glancing towards miss fairfax; but it was most prudent toavoid speech.

he told her that he had been impatient toleave 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 hadstaid, however, it had been pleasant enough, as he had found them in general aset of gentlemanlike, sensible men; and spoke so handsomely of highbury altogether- -thought it so abundant in agreeablefamilies--that emma began to feel she had been used to despise the place rather toomuch. she questioned him as to the society inyorkshire--the extent of the neighbourhood

about enscombe, and the sort; and couldmake out from his answers that, as far as enscombe was concerned, there was very little going on, that their visitings wereamong a range of great families, none very near; and that even when days were fixed,and invitations accepted, it was an even chance that mrs. churchill were not in health and spirits for going; that theymade a point of visiting no fresh person; and that, though he had his separateengagements, it was not without difficulty, without considerable address at times, that he could get away, or introduce anacquaintance 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 moreretirement at home than he liked. his importance at enscombe was veryevident. he did not boast, but it naturally betrayeditself, that he had persuaded his aunt where his uncle could do nothing, and onher 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 influencefailed, he then mentioned. he had wanted very much to go abroad--hadbeen 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 nolonger the same wish. the unpersuadable point, which he did notmention, 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 begunto enjoy myself. but just got acquainted with mrs. weston,and others!--i hate the recollection." "perhaps you may now begin to regret thatyou 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 theroom, emma found herself obliged to turn from him for a few minutes, and listen tomr. cole. when mr. cole had moved away, and herattention could be restored as before, she saw frank churchill looking intently acrossthe 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; butreally miss fairfax has done her hair in so odd a way--so very odd a way--that i cannotkeep my eyes from her. i never saw any thing so outree!--thosecurls!--this must be a fancy of her own. i see nobody else looking like her!--i mustgo 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 sawhim standing before miss fairfax, and talking to her; but as to its effect on theyoung lady, as he had improvidently placed himself exactly between them, exactly in front of miss fairfax, she could absolutelydistinguish nothing. before he could return to his chair, it wastaken by mrs. weston. "this is the luxury of a large party," saidshe:--"one can get near every body, and say every thing.my dear emma, i am longing to talk to you. i have been making discoveries and formingplans, 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 itoccurred to me how very sad it would be to have jane fairfax walking home again, lateat night, and cold as the nights are now. and as i looked at her, though i never sawher appear to more advantage, it struck me that she was heated, and would therefore beparticularly liable to take cold. poor girl!

i could not bear the idea of it; so, assoon as mr. weston came into the room, and i could get at him, i spoke to him aboutthe carriage. you may guess how readily he came into mywishes; and having his approbation, i made my way directly to miss bates, to assureher that the carriage would be at her service before it took us home; for i thought it would be making her comfortableat 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'scarriage had brought, and was to take them

home again.' i was quite surprized;--very glad, i amsure; but really quite surprized. such a very kind attention--and sothoughtful 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 carriagewas used at all. i do suspect he would not have had a pairof horses for himself, and that it was only as an excuse for assisting them.""very likely," said emma--"nothing more likely.

i know no man more likely than mr.knightley to do the sort of thing--to do any thing really good-natured, useful,considerate, or benevolent. he is not a gallant man, but he is a veryhumane one; and this, considering jane fairfax's ill-health, would appear a caseof humanity to him;--and for an act of unostentatious kindness, there is nobody whom i would fix on more than on mr.knightley. i know he had horses to-day--for we arrivedtogether; and i laughed at him about it, but he said not a word that could betray." "well," said mrs. weston, smiling, "yougive him credit for more simple,

disinterested benevolence in this instancethan i do; for while miss bates was speaking, a suspicion darted into my head, and i have never been able to get it outagain. the more i think of it, the more probableit appears. in short, i have made a match between mr.knightley and jane fairfax. see the consequence of keeping youcompany!--what do you say to it?" "mr. knightley and jane fairfax!" exclaimedemma. "dear mrs. weston, how could you think ofsuch a thing?--mr. knightley!--mr. knightley must not marry!--you would nothave little henry cut out from donwell?--

oh! no, no, henry must have donwell. i cannot at all consent to mr. knightley'smarrying; 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 meto think of it. i do not want the match--i do not want toinjure 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 ofthe matter?"

"yes, i would. i could not bear to have henry supplanted.--mr. knightley marry!--no, i have never had such an idea, and i cannot adopt it now.and jane fairfax, too, of all women!" "nay, she has always been a first favouritewith 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 youhave any better foundation than what you mention. his good-nature, his humanity, as i tellyou, would be quite enough to account for

the horses. he has a great regard for the bateses, youknow, independent of jane fairfax--and is always glad to shew 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 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 cansee nothing unsuitable."

"but mr. knightley does not want to marry. i am sure he has not the least idea of it.do not put it into his head. why should he marry?--he is as happy aspossible by himself; with his farm, and his sheep, and his library, and all the parishto manage; and he is extremely fond of his brother's children. he has no occasion to marry, either to fillup his time or his heart." "my dear emma, as long as he thinks so, itis 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 arespectable home." "if it would be good to her, i am sure itwould be evil to himself; a very shameful and degrading connexion. how would he bear to have miss batesbelonging to him?--to have her haunting the abbey, and thanking him all day long forhis great kindness in marrying jane?--'so very kind and obliging!--but he always hadbeen 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 petticoateither--for still it would last a great while--and, indeed, she must thankfully saythat their petticoats were all very strong.'" "for shame, emma!do not mimic her. you divert me against my conscience. and, upon my word, i do not think mr.knightley would be much disturbed by miss bates.little things do not irritate him. she might talk on; and if he wanted to sayany thing himself, he would only talk

louder, and drown her voice. but the question is not, whether it wouldbe a bad connexion for him, but whether he wishes it; and i think he does.i have heard him speak, and so must you, so very highly of jane fairfax! the interest he takes in her--his anxietyabout her health--his concern that she should have no happier prospect! i have heard him express himself so warmlyon those points!--such an admirer of her performance on the pianoforte, and of hervoice! i have heard him say that he could listento her for ever.

oh! and i had almost forgotten one ideathat occurred to me--this pianoforte that has been sent here by somebody--though wehave all been so well satisfied to consider it a present from the campbells, may it notbe 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 thathe is in love. but i do not think it is at all a likelything for him to do. mr. knightley does nothing mysteriously." "i have heard him lamenting her having noinstrument 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 giveher one, he would have told her so." "there might be scruples of delicacy, mydear emma. i have a very strong notion that it comesfrom him. i am sure he was particularly silent whenmrs. cole told us of it at dinner." "you take up an idea, mrs. weston, and runaway with it; as you have many a time reproached me with doing. i see no sign of attachment--i believenothing of the pianoforte--and proof only

shall convince me that mr. knightley hasany thought of marrying jane fairfax." they combated the point some time longer inthe same way; emma rather gaining ground over the mind of her friend; for mrs.weston was the most used of the two to yield; till a little bustle in the room shewed them that tea was over, and theinstrument in preparation;--and at the same moment mr. cole approaching to entreat misswoodhouse would do them the honour of trying it. frank churchill, of whom, in the eagernessof her conversation with mrs. weston, she had been seeing nothing, except that he hadfound a seat by miss fairfax, followed mr.

cole, to add his very pressing entreaties; and as, in every respect, it suited emmabest to lead, she gave a very proper compliance. she knew the limitations of her own powerstoo well to attempt more than she could perform with credit; she wanted neithertaste nor spirit in the little things which are generally acceptable, and couldaccompany her own voice well. one accompaniment to her song took heragreeably by surprize--a second, slightly but correctly taken by frank churchill. her pardon was duly begged at the close ofthe song, and every thing usual followed.

he was accused of having a delightfulvoice, and a perfect knowledge of music; which was properly denied; and that he knewnothing of the matter, and had no voice at all, roundly asserted. they sang together once more; and emmawould then resign her place to miss fairfax, whose performance, both vocal andinstrumental, she never could attempt to conceal from herself, was infinitelysuperior to her own. with mixed feelings, she seated herself ata 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 themost attentive, soon drew away half emma's mind; and she fell into a train of thinkingon the subject of mrs. weston's suspicions, to which the sweet sounds of the unitedvoices gave only momentary interruptions. her objections to mr. knightley's marryingdid 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 mostmortifying change, and material loss to them all;--a very great deduction from herfather's daily comfort--and, as to herself,

she could not at all endure the idea ofjane fairfax at donwell abbey. a mrs. knightley for them all to give wayto!--no--mr. knightley must never marry. little henry must remain the heir ofdonwell. presently mr. knightley looked back, andcame and sat down by her. they talked at first only of theperformance. his admiration was certainly very warm; yetshe thought, but for mrs. weston, it would not have struck her. as a sort of touchstone, however, she beganto speak of his kindness in conveying the aunt and niece; and though his answer wasin the spirit of cutting the matter short,

she believed it to indicate only his disinclination to dwell on any kindness ofhis own. "i often feel concern," said she, "that idare not make our carriage more useful on such occasions. it is not that i am without the wish; butyou know how impossible my father would deem it that james should put-to for such apurpose." "quite out of the question, quite out ofthe question," he replied;--"but you must often wish it, i am sure." and he smiled with such seeming pleasure atthe conviction, that she must proceed

another step. "this present from the campbells," saidshe--"this pianoforte is very kindly given." "yes," he replied, and without the smallestapparent embarrassment.--"but they would have done better had they given her noticeof it. surprizes are foolish things. the pleasure is not enhanced, and theinconvenience is often considerable. i should have expected better judgment incolonel campbell." from that moment, emma could have taken heroath that mr. knightley had had no concern

in giving the instrument. but whether he were entirely free frompeculiar attachment--whether there were no actual preference--remained a little longerdoubtful. towards the end of jane's second song, hervoice grew thick. "that will do," said he, when it wasfinished, thinking aloud--"you have sung quite enough for one evening--now bequiet." another song, however, was soon begged for. "one more;--they would not fatigue missfairfax on any account, and would only ask for one more."

and frank churchill was heard to say, "ithink 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 shewing off his ownvoice. this must not be." and touching miss bates, who at that momentpassed near--"miss bates, are you mad, to let your niece sing herself hoarse in thismanner? go, and interfere.

they have no mercy on her."miss bates, in her real anxiety for jane, could hardly stay even to be grateful,before she stept forward and put an end to all farther singing. here ceased the concert part of theevening, for miss woodhouse and miss fairfax were the only young ladyperformers; but soon (within five minutes) the proposal of dancing--originating nobody exactly knew where--was so effectuallypromoted by mr. and mrs. cole, that every thing was rapidly clearing away, to giveproper space. mrs. weston, capital in her country-dances,was seated, and beginning an irresistible

waltz; and frank churchill, coming up withmost becoming gallantry to emma, had secured her hand, and led her up to thetop. while waiting till the other young peoplecould pair themselves off, emma found time, in spite of the compliments she wasreceiving 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 engagingjane fairfax now, it might augur something. there was no immediate appearance. no; he was talking to mrs. cole--he waslooking on unconcerned; jane was asked by

somebody else, and he was still talking tomrs. cole. emma had no longer an alarm for henry; hisinterest was yet safe; and she led off the dance with genuine spirit and enjoyment. not more than five couple could bemustered; but the rarity and the suddenness of it made it very delightful, and shefound herself well matched in a partner. they were a couple worth looking at. two dances, unfortunately, were all thatcould be allowed. it was growing late, and miss bates becameanxious to get home, on her mother's account.

after some attempts, therefore, to bepermitted to begin again, they were obliged to thank mrs. weston, look sorrowful, andhave done. "perhaps it is as well," said frankchurchill, as he attended emma to her carriage. "i must have asked miss fairfax, and herlanguid dancing would not have agreed with me, after yours." > chapter ix emma did not repent her condescension ingoing to the coles.

the visit afforded her many pleasantrecollections the next day; and all that she might be supposed to have lost on theside of dignified seclusion, must be amply repaid in the splendour of popularity. she must have delighted the coles--worthypeople, who deserved to be made happy!--and left a name behind her that would not soondie away. perfect happiness, even in memory, is notcommon; and there were two points on which she was not quite easy. she doubted whether she had nottransgressed the duty of woman by woman, in betraying her suspicions of jane fairfax'sfeelings to frank churchill.

it was hardly right; but it had been sostrong 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 hertongue. the other circumstance of regret relatedalso to jane fairfax; and there she had no doubt. she did unfeignedly and unequivocallyregret the inferiority of her own playing and singing. she did most heartily grieve over theidleness of her childhood--and sat down and

practised vigorously an hour and a half. she was then interrupted by harriet'scoming in; and if harriet's praise could have satisfied her, she might soon havebeen comforted. "oh! if i could but play as well as you andmiss fairfax!" "don't class us together, harriet.my playing is no more like her's, than a lamp is like sunshine." "oh! dear--i think you play the best of thetwo. i think you play quite as well as she does.i am sure i had much rather hear you. every body last night said how well youplayed."

"those who knew any thing about it, musthave felt the difference. the truth is, harriet, that my playing isjust good enough to be praised, but jane fairfax's is much beyond it." "well, i always shall think that you playquite as well as she does, or that if there is any difference nobody would ever find itout. mr. cole said how much taste you had; andmr. frank churchill talked a great deal about your taste, and that he valued tastemuch 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, youknow, 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 harrietrather hesitatingly; "but it is nothing of any consequence."

emma was obliged to ask what they had toldher, 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 todinner." "oh!" "they talked a great deal about him,especially anne cox. i do not know what she meant, but she askedme if i thought i should go and stay there again next summer."

"she meant to be impertinently curious,just as such an anne cox should be." "she said he was very agreeable the day hedined there. he sat by her at dinner. miss nash thinks either of the coxes wouldbe very glad to marry him." "very likely.--i think they are, withoutexception, the most vulgar girls in highbury." harriet had business at ford's.--emmathought it most prudent to go with her. another accidental meeting with the martinswas possible, and in her present state, would be dangerous.

harriet, tempted by every thing and swayedby half a word, was always very long at a purchase; and while she was still hangingover muslins and changing her mind, emma went to the door for amusement.--much could not be hoped from the traffic of even thebusiest part of highbury;--mr. perry walking hastily by, mr. william cox lettinghimself 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 fellonly on the butcher with his tray, a tidy old woman travelling homewards from shop

with her full basket, two curs quarrellingover a dirty bone, and a string of dawdling children round the baker's little bow-window eyeing the gingerbread, she knew she had no reason to complain, and was amused enough; quite enough still to stand at thedoor. a mind lively and at ease, can do withseeing 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 werewalking into highbury;--to hartfield of course.

they were stopping, however, in the firstplace at mrs. bates's; whose house was a little nearer randalls than ford's; and hadall but knocked, when emma caught their eye.--immediately they crossed the road and came forward to her; and the agreeablenessof yesterday's engagement seemed to give fresh pleasure to the present meeting. mrs. weston informed her that she was goingto call on the bateses, in order to hear the new instrument. "for my companion tells me," said she,"that i absolutely promised miss bates last night, that i would come this morning.i was not aware of it myself.

i did not know that i had fixed a day, butas he says i did, i am going now." "and while mrs. weston pays her visit, imay be allowed, i hope," said frank churchill, "to join your party and wait forher 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 wantme. my aunt always sends me off when she isshopping.

she says i fidget her to death; and misswoodhouse looks as if she could almost say the same.what am i to do?" "i am here on no business of my own," saidemma; "i am only waiting for my friend. she will probably have soon done, and thenwe shall go home. but you had better go with mrs. weston andhear the instrument." "well--if you advise it.--but (with asmile) if colonel campbell should have employed a careless friend, and if itshould prove to have an indifferent tone-- what shall i say? i shall be no support to mrs. weston.she might do very well by herself.

a disagreeable truth would be palatablethrough her lips, but i am the wretchedest being in the world at a civil falsehood." "i do not believe any such thing," repliedemma.--"i am persuaded that you can be as insincere as your neighbours, when it isnecessary; but there is no reason to suppose the instrument is indifferent. quite otherwise indeed, if i understoodmiss fairfax's opinion last night." "do come with me," said mrs. weston, "if itbe 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 ofhartfield to reward him, returned with mrs. weston to mrs. bates's door. emma watched them in, and then joinedharriet 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 sobeautiful, 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 youplease. but then, mrs. goddard will want to seeit.--and i could take the pattern gown home any day. but i shall want the ribbon directly--so ithad better go to hartfield--at least the ribbon.you could make it into two parcels, mrs. ford, could not you?"

"it is not worth while, harriet, to givemrs. ford the trouble of two parcels." "no more it is.""no trouble in the world, ma'am," said the obliging mrs. ford. "oh! but indeed i would much rather have itonly in one. then, if you please, you shall send it allto mrs. goddard's--i do not know--no, i think, miss woodhouse, i may just as wellhave 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," saidharriet, quite satisfied, "i should not at all like to have it sent to mrs.goddard's." voices approached the shop--or rather onevoice 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 alittle while, and give us your opinion of our new instrument; you and miss smith. how do you do, miss smith?--very well ithank you.--and i begged mrs. weston to come with me, that i might be sure ofsucceeding."

"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 runacross and entreat her to come in; my mother will be so very happy to see her-- and now we are such a nice party, shecannot refuse.--'aye, pray do,' said mr. frank churchill, 'miss woodhouse's opinionof 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 youbelieve it, miss woodhouse, there he is, in the most obliging manner in the world, fastening in the rivet of my mother'sspectacles.--the rivet came out, you know, this morning.--so very obliging!--for mymother had no use of her spectacles--could not put them on. and, by the bye, every body ought to havetwo pair of spectacles; they should indeed. jane said so.

i meant to take them over to john saundersthe first thing i did, but something or other hindered me all the morning; firstone thing, then another, there is no saying what, you know. at one time patty came to say she thoughtthe kitchen chimney wanted sweeping. oh, said i, patty do not come with your badnews to me. here is the rivet of your mistress'sspectacles out. then the baked apples came home, mrs.wallis sent them by her boy; they are extremely civil and obliging to us, thewallises, always--i have heard some people say that mrs. wallis can be uncivil and

give a very rude answer, but we have neverknown any thing but the greatest attention from them. and it cannot be for the value of ourcustom now, for what is our consumption of bread, you know? only three of us.--besides dear jane atpresent--and she really eats nothing--makes such a shocking breakfast, you would bequite frightened if you saw it. i dare not let my mother know how littleshe eats--so i say one thing and then i say another, and it passes off. but about the middle of the day she getshungry, and there is nothing she likes so

well as these baked apples, and they areextremely wholesome, for i took the opportunity the other day of asking mr. perry; i happened to meet him in thestreet. not that i had any doubt before--i have sooften heard mr. woodhouse recommend a baked apple. i believe it is the only way that mr.woodhouse thinks the fruit thoroughly wholesome.we have apple-dumplings, however, very often. patty makes an excellent apple-dumpling.well, mrs. weston, you have prevailed, i

hope, and these ladies will oblige us." emma would be "very happy to wait on mrs.bates, &c.," and they did at last move out of the shop, with no farther delay frommiss 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 ofnew ribbons from town. jane came back delighted yesterday. thank ye, the gloves do very well--only alittle 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 wastalking of.--oh! my mother's spectacles. so very obliging of mr. frank churchill! 'oh!' said he, 'i do think i can fasten therivet; i like a job of this kind excessively.'--which you know shewed him tobe so very.... indeed i must say that, much as i had heardof him before and much as i had expected, he very far exceeds any thing....i do congratulate you, mrs. weston, most

warmly. he seems every thing the fondest parentcould.... '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 applesfrom 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 iever 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, andmrs. wallis does them full justice--only we do not have them baked more than twice, andmr. woodhouse made us promise to have them done three times--but miss woodhouse willbe so good as not to mention it. the apples themselves are the very finestsort for baking, beyond a doubt; all from donwell--some of mr. knightley's mostliberal supply. he sends us a sack every year; andcertainly there never was such a keeping apple anywhere as one of his trees--ibelieve there is two of them. my mother says the orchard was alwaysfamous in her younger days.

but i was really quite shocked the otherday--for mr. knightley called one morning, and jane was eating these apples, and wetalked about them and said how much she enjoyed them, and he asked whether we werenot got to the end of our stock. 'i am sure you must be,' said he, 'and iwill send you another supply; for i have a great many more than i can ever use. william larkins let me keep a largerquantity than usual this year. i will send you some more, before they getgood for nothing.' so i begged he would not--for really as toours being gone, i could not absolutely say that we had a great many left--it was buthalf 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, soliberal as he had been already; and jane said the same. and when he was gone, she almost quarrelledwith me--no, i should not say quarrelled, for we never had a quarrel in our lives;but she was quite distressed that i had owned the apples were so nearly gone; she wished i had made him believe we had agreat many left. oh, said i, my dear, i did say as much as icould. however, the very same evening williamlarkins came over with a large basket of

apples, the same sort of apples, a bushelat least, and i was very much obliged, and went down and spoke to william larkins andsaid every thing, as you may suppose. william larkins is such an oldacquaintance! i am always glad to see him. but, however, i found afterwards frompatty, that william said it was all the apples of that sort his master had; hehad brought them all--and now his master had not one left to bake or boil. william did not seem to mind it himself, hewas so pleased to think his master had sold so many; for william, you know, thinks moreof his master's profit than any thing; but

mrs. hodges, he said, was quite displeasedat their being all sent away. she could not bear that her master shouldnot be able to have another apple-tart this spring. he told patty this, but bid her not mindit, and be sure not to say any thing to us about it, for mrs. hodges would be crosssometimes, and as long as so many sacks were sold, it did not signify who ate theremainder. and so patty told me, and i was excessivelyshocked 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 openedthe door; and her visitors walked upstairs without having any regular narration toattend to, pursued only by the sounds of her desultory good-will. "pray take care, mrs. weston, there is astep at the turning. pray take care, miss woodhouse, ours israther a dark staircase--rather darker and narrower than one could wish. miss smith, pray take care.miss woodhouse, i am quite concerned, i am

sure you hit your foot.miss smith, the step at the turning." chapter x the appearance of the little sitting-roomas they entered, was tranquillity itself; mrs. bates, deprived of her usualemployment, slumbering on one side of the fire, frank churchill, at a table near her, most deedily occupied about her spectacles,and jane fairfax, standing with her back to them, intent on her pianoforte. busy as he was, however, the young man wasyet able to shew a most happy countenance on seeing emma again.

"this is a pleasure," said he, in rather alow voice, "coming at least ten minutes earlier than i had calculated.you find me trying to be useful; tell me if you think i shall succeed." "what!" said mrs. weston, "have not youfinished it yet? you would not earn a very good livelihood as a working silversmith atthis rate." "i have not been working uninterruptedly,"he replied, "i have been assisting miss fairfax in trying to make her instrumentstand steadily, it was not quite firm; an unevenness in the floor, i believe. you see we have been wedging one leg withpaper.

this was very kind of you to be persuadedto come. i was almost afraid you would be hurryinghome." he contrived that she should be seated byhim; 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 quiteready to sit down to the pianoforte again. that she was not immediately ready, emmadid suspect to arise from the state of her nerves; she had not yet possessed theinstrument long enough to touch it without emotion; she must reason herself into the power of performance; and emma could notbut pity such feelings, whatever their

origin, and could not but resolve never toexpose them to her neighbour again. at last jane began, and though the firstbars were feebly given, the powers of the instrument were gradually done full justiceto. mrs. weston had been delighted before, andwas delighted again; emma joined her in all her praise; and the pianoforte, with everyproper 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'staste at weymouth; and the softness of the

upper notes i am sure is exactly what heand all that party would particularly prize. i dare say, miss fairfax, that he eithergave 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 verylittle mercy. soon afterwards he began again, "how much your friends in ireland must beenjoying your pleasure on this occasion, miss fairfax. i dare say they often think of you, andwonder which will be the day, the precise day of the instrument's coming to hand. do you imagine colonel campbell knows thebusiness to be going forward just at this time?--do you imagine it to be theconsequence of an immediate commission from him, or that he may have sent only a

general direction, an order indefinite asto time, to depend upon contingencies and conveniences?"he paused. she could not but hear; she could not avoidanswering, "till i have a letter from colonelcampbell," said she, in a voice of forced calmness, "i can imagine nothing with anyconfidence. it must be all conjecture." "conjecture--aye, sometimes one conjecturesright, and sometimes one conjectures wrong. i wish i could conjecture how soon i shallmake 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 theirtongues; but we gentlemen labourers if we get hold of a word--miss fairfax saidsomething 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 motherand daughter; to escape a little from the latter, he went to the pianoforte, andbegged miss fairfax, who was still sitting at it, to play something more. "if you are very kind," said he, "it willbe 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 nolonger; but i would have given worlds--all the worlds one ever has to give--foranother half-hour." she played. "what felicity it is to hear a tune againwhich has made one happy!--if i mistake not that was danced at weymouth."she looked up at him for a moment, coloured deeply, and played something else. he took some music from a chair near thepianoforte, and turning to emma, said,

"here is something quite new to me.do you know it?--cramer.--and here are a new set of irish melodies. that, from such a quarter, one mightexpect. this was all sent with the instrument. very thoughtful of colonel campbell, wasnot it?--he knew miss fairfax could have no music here. i honour that part of the attentionparticularly; it shews it to have been so thoroughly from the heart.nothing hastily done; nothing incomplete. true affection only could have promptedit."

emma wished he would be less pointed, yetcould not help being amused; and when on glancing her eye towards jane fairfax shecaught the remains of a smile, when she saw that with all the deep blush of consciousness, there had been a smile ofsecret delight, she had less scruple in the amusement, and much less compunction withrespect to her.--this amiable, upright, perfect jane fairfax was apparentlycherishing very reprehensible feelings. he brought all the music to her, and theylooked it over together.--emma took the opportunity of whispering, "you speak too plain.she must understand you."

"i hope she does.i would have her understand me. i am not in the least ashamed of mymeaning." "but really, i am half ashamed, and wish ihad never taken up the idea." "i am very glad you did, and that youcommunicated it to me. i have now a key to all her odd looks andways. 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 nearthe window, descried mr. knightley on horse-back not far off."mr. knightley i declare!--i must speak to him if possible, just to thank him. i will not open the window here; it wouldgive 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 shestill spoke, and opening the casement there, immediately called mr. knightley'sattention, and every syllable of their

conversation was as distinctly heard by the others, as if it had passed within the sameapartment. "how d' ye do?--how d'ye do?--very well, ithank you. so obliged to you for the carriage lastnight. we were just in time; my mother just readyfor us. pray come in; do come in. you will find some friends here."so began miss bates; and mr. knightley seemed determined to be heard in his turn,for most resolutely and commandingly did he say,

"how is your niece, miss bates?--i want toinquire 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 directanswer before he would hear her in any thing else. the listeners were amused; and mrs. westongave emma a look of particular meaning. but emma still shook her head in steadyscepticism. "so obliged to you!--so very much obligedto you for the carriage," resumed miss

bates.he cut her short with, "i am going to kingston. can i do any thing for you?""oh! dear, kingston--are you?--mrs. cole was saying the other day she wantedsomething from kingston." "mrs. cole has servants to send. can i do any thing for you?""no, i thank you. but do come in. who do you think is here?--miss woodhouseand 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. frankchurchill too!--quite delightful; so many friends!" "no, not now, i thank you.i could not stay two minutes. i must get on to kingston as fast as ican." "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 thepianoforte."

"well, i am so sorry!--oh! mr. knightley,what a delightful party last night; how extremely pleasant.--did you ever see suchdancing?--was not it delightful?--miss woodhouse and mr. frank churchill; i neversaw any thing equal to it." "oh! very delightful indeed; i can saynothing less, for i suppose miss woodhouse and mr. frank churchill are hearing everything that passes. and (raising his voice still more) i do notsee why miss fairfax should not be mentioned too. i think miss fairfax dances very well; andmrs. 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 tohear it." "oh! mr. knightley, one moment more;something of consequence--so shocked!--jane and i are both so shocked about theapples!" "what is the matter now?" "to think of your sending us all your storeapples. you said you had a great many, and now youhave 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 youshould not. ah! he is off. he never can bear to be thanked.but i thought he would have staid now, and it would have been a pity not to havementioned.... well, (returning to the room,) i have notbeen able to succeed. mr. knightley cannot stop.he is going to kingston. he asked me if he could do any thing...." "yes," said jane, "we heard his kindoffers, we heard every thing." "oh! yes, my dear, i dare say you might,because you know, the door was open, and

the window was open, and mr. knightleyspoke loud. you must have heard every thing to be sure. 'can i do any thing for you at kingston?'said he; so i just mentioned.... oh! miss woodhouse, must you be going?--youseem 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 morningwas perceived to be gone, that mrs. weston and her companion taking leave also, could allow themselves only to walk with the twoyoung ladies to hartfield gates, before

they set off for randalls. chapter xi it may be possible to do without dancingentirely. instances have been known of young peoplepassing many, many months successively, without being at any ball of anydescription, and no material injury accrue either to body or mind;--but when a beginning is made--when the felicities ofrapid motion have once been, though slightly, felt--it must be a very heavy setthat does not ask for more. frank churchill had danced once athighbury, 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 twoyoung people in schemes on the subject. frank's was the first idea; and his thegreatest zeal in pursuing it; for the lady was the best judge of the difficulties, andthe most solicitous for accommodation and appearance. but still she had inclination enough forshewing people again how delightfully mr. frank churchill and miss woodhouse danced--for doing that in which she need not blush to compare herself with jane fairfax--and even for simple dancing itself, without anyof the wicked aids of vanity--to assist him

first in pacing out the room they were into see what it could be made to hold--and then in taking the dimensions of the other parlour, in the hope of discovering, inspite of all that mr. weston could say of their exactly equal size, that it was alittle the largest. his first proposition and request, that thedance begun at mr. cole's should be finished there--that the same party shouldbe collected, and the same musician engaged, met with the readiestacquiescence. mr. weston entered into the idea withthorough enjoyment, and mrs. weston most willingly undertook to play as long as theycould wish to dance; and the interesting

employment had followed, of reckoning up exactly who there would be, and portioningout the indispensable division of space to every couple. "you and miss smith, and miss fairfax, willbe three, and the two miss coxes five," had been repeated many times over. "and there will be the two gilberts, youngcox, my father, and myself, besides mr. knightley.yes, that will be quite enough for pleasure. you and miss smith, and miss fairfax, willbe three, and the two miss coxes five; and

for five couple there will be plenty ofroom." but soon it came to be on one side, "but will there be good room for fivecouple?--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 thinksseriously 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 wasexpected at her brother's, and must be

invited with the rest.somebody else believed mrs. gilbert would have danced the otherevening, 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, andanother of very old acquaintance who could not be left out, it became a certainty that the five couple would be at least ten, anda very interesting speculation in what possible manner they could be disposed of.the doors of the two rooms were just opposite each other. "might not they use both rooms, and danceacross the passage?"

it seemed the best scheme; and yet it wasnot so good but that many of them wanted a better. emma said it would be awkward; mrs. westonwas in distress about the supper; and mr. woodhouse opposed it earnestly, on thescore of health. it made him so very unhappy, indeed, thatit could not be persevered in. "oh! no," said he; "it would be the extremeof imprudence. i could not bear it for emma!--emma is notstrong. she would catch a dreadful cold.so would poor little harriet. so you would all.

mrs. weston, you would be quite laid up; donot let them talk of such a wild thing. pray do not let them talk of it.that young man (speaking lower) is very thoughtless. do not tell his father, but that young manis not quite the thing. he has been opening the doors very oftenthis 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 saidevery thing in her power to do it away.

every door was now closed, the passage plangiven up, and the first scheme of dancing only in the room they were in resorted toagain; and with such good-will on frank churchill's part, that the space which a quarter of an hour before had been deemedbarely sufficient for five couple, was now endeavoured to be made out quite enough forten. "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 whatcould 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 stillhe ended with, "i think there will be very tolerable roomfor ten couple." "no, no," said she, "you are quiteunreasonable. it would be dreadful to be standing soclose! nothing can be farther from pleasure thanto 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 mightstand here very well." emma perceived that the nature of hisgallantry was a little self-willed, and that he would rather oppose than lose thepleasure of dancing with her; but she took the compliment, and forgave the rest.

had she intended ever to marry him, itmight have been worth while to pause and consider, and try to understand the valueof his preference, and the character of his temper; but for all the purposes of theiracquaintance, he was quite amiable enough. before the middle of the next day, he wasat hartfield; and he entered the room with such an agreeable smile as certified thecontinuance of the scheme. it soon appeared that he came to announcean improvement. "well, miss woodhouse," he almostimmediately began, "your inclination for dancing has not been quite frightened away,i hope, by the terrors of my father's little rooms.

i bring a new proposal on the subject:--athought of my father's, which waits only your approbation to be acted upon. may i hope for the honour of your hand forthe two first dances of this little projected ball, to be given, not atrandalls, but at the crown inn?" "the crown!" "yes; if you and mr. woodhouse see noobjection, and i trust you cannot, my father hopes his friends will be so kind asto visit him there. better accommodations, he can promise them,and not a less grateful welcome than at randalls.it is his own idea.

mrs. weston sees no objection to it,provided you are satisfied. this is what we all feel.oh! you were perfectly right! ten couple, in either of the randallsrooms, would have been insufferable!-- dreadful!--i felt how right you were thewhole time, but was too anxious for securing any thing to like to yield. is not it a good exchange?--you consent--ihope you consent?" "it appears to me a plan that nobody canobject to, if mr. and mrs. weston do not. i think it admirable; and, as far as i cananswer for myself, shall be most happy--it seems the only improvement that could be.papa, do you not think it an excellent

improvement?" she was obliged to repeat and explain it,before it was fully comprehended; and then, being quite new, farther representationswere necessary to make it acceptable. "no; he thought it very far from animprovement--a very bad plan--much worse than the other. a room at an inn was always damp anddangerous; 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 crownin his life--did not know the people who

kept it by sight.--oh! no--a very bad plan.they would catch worse colds at the crown than anywhere." "i was going to observe, sir," said frankchurchill, "that one of the great recommendations of this change would be thevery little danger of any body's catching cold--so much less danger at the crown thanat randalls! mr. perry might have reason to regret thealteration, but nobody else could." "sir," said mr. woodhouse, rather warmly,"you are very much mistaken if you suppose mr. perry to be that sort of character.mr. perry is extremely concerned when any of us are ill.

but i do not understand how the room at thecrown 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 thewindows at all--not once the whole evening; and it is that dreadful habit of openingthe windows, letting in cold air upon heated bodies, which (as you well know,sir) does the mischief." "open the windows!--but surely, mr.churchill, nobody would think of opening the windows at randalls. nobody could be so imprudent!i never heard of such a thing.

dancing with open windows!--i am sure,neither your father nor mrs. weston (poor miss taylor that was) would suffer it." "ah! sir--but a thoughtless young personwill sometimes step behind a window- curtain, and throw up a sash, without itsbeing 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 oftenastonished 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 ofconsideration.

one cannot resolve upon them in a hurry. if mr. and mrs. weston will be so obligingas 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 beplenty of time for talking every thing over.there is no hurry at all. if it can be contrived to be at the crown,papa, it will be very convenient for the horses.they will be so near their own stable." "so they will, my dear.

that is a great thing.not that james ever complains; but it is right to spare our horses when we can. if i could be sure of the rooms beingthoroughly aired--but is mrs. stokes to be trusted?i doubt it. i do not know her, even by sight." "i can answer for every thing of thatnature, 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 missemma up, you need not have any fears, sir.' how often have i heard you speak of it assuch 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; thatis, 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 goodsort--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 crownat 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 giveyour 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 withoutyou." emma was most happy to be called to such acouncil; and her father, engaging to think it all over while she was gone, the twoyoung people set off together without delay for the crown. there were mr. and mrs. weston; delightedto see her and receive her approbation, very busy and very happy in their differentway; she, in some little distress; and he, finding every thing perfect. "emma," said she, "this paper is worse thani expected. look! in places you see it is dreadfullydirty; and the wainscot is more yellow and

forlorn than any thing i could haveimagined." "my dear, you are too particular," said herhusband. "what does all that signify?you will see nothing of it by candlelight. it will be as clean as randalls bycandlelight. we never see any thing of it on our club-nights." the ladies here probably exchanged lookswhich meant, "men never know when things are dirty or not;" and the gentlemenperhaps thought each to himself, "women will have their little nonsenses andneedless cares." one perplexity, however, arose, which thegentlemen did not disdain.

it regarded a supper-room. at the time of the ballroom's being built,suppers had not been in question; and a small card-room adjoining, was the onlyaddition. what was to be done? this card-room would be wanted as a card-room now; or, if cards were conveniently voted unnecessary by their four selves,still was it not too small for any comfortable supper? another room of much better size might besecured for the purpose; but it was at the other end of the house, and a long awkwardpassage must be gone through to get at it.

this made a difficulty. mrs. weston was afraid of draughts for theyoung people in that passage; and neither emma nor the gentlemen could tolerate theprospect of being miserably crowded at supper. mrs. weston proposed having no regularsupper; merely sandwiches, &c., set out in the little room; but that was scouted as awretched suggestion. a private dance, without sitting down tosupper, 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, walkingbriskly 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 theleast draught from the stairs." "i wish," said mrs. weston, "one could knowwhich arrangement our guests in general would like best. to do what would be most generally pleasingmust 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 tounderstand the inclinations of the rest of the people as any body. i think we do want a larger council.suppose i go and invite miss bates to join

us?" "well--if you please," said mrs. westonrather hesitating, "if you think she will be of any use.""you will get nothing to the purpose from miss bates," said emma. "she will be all delight and gratitude, butshe 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 extremelyamusing! 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 hearingwhat 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 ido not know a properer person for shewing us how to do away difficulties.fetch miss bates. we are growing a little too nice. she is a standing lesson of how to behappy. but fetch them both.invite them both."

"both sir! can the old lady?"..."the old lady! no, the young lady, to be sure.i shall think you a great blockhead, frank, if you bring the aunt without the niece." "oh! i beg your pardon, sir.i did not immediately recollect. undoubtedly if you wish it, i willendeavour to persuade them both." and away he ran. long before he reappeared, attending theshort, 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 supposedbefore--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 andchair, lights and music, tea and supper, made themselves; or were left as meretrifles to be settled at any time between mrs. weston and mrs. stokes.--every body invited, was certainly to come; frank hadalready 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 asan approver, (a much safer character,) she was truly welcome. her approbation, at once general andminute, warm and incessant, could not but please; and for another half-hour they wereall walking to and fro, between the different rooms, some suggesting, some attending, and all in happy enjoyment ofthe future. the party did not break up without emma'sbeing positively secured for the two first

dances by the hero of the evening, norwithout her overhearing mr. weston whisper to his wife, "he has asked her, my dear. that's right.i knew he would!" chapter xii one thing only was wanting to make theprospect of the ball completely satisfactory to emma--its being fixed for aday within the granted term of frank churchill's stay in surry; for, in spite of mr. weston's confidence, she could notthink it so very impossible that the churchills might not allow their nephew toremain a day beyond his fortnight.

but this was not judged feasible. the preparations must take their time,nothing could be properly ready till the third week were entered on, and for a fewdays they must be planning, proceeding and hoping in uncertainty--at the risk--in her opinion, the great risk, of its being allin vain. enscombe however was gracious, gracious infact, if not in word. his wish of staying longer evidently didnot please; but it was not opposed. all was safe and prosperous; and as theremoval of one solicitude generally makes way for another, emma, being now certain ofher ball, began to adopt as the next

vexation mr. knightley's provokingindifference about it. either because he did not dance himself, orbecause the plan had been formed without his being consulted, he seemed resolvedthat it should not interest him, determined against its exciting any present curiosity,or affording him any future amusement. to her voluntary communications emma couldget no more approving reply, than, "very well. if the westons think it worth while to beat all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, i have nothing to sayagainst it, but that they shall not chuse pleasures for me.--oh! yes, i must be

there; i could not refuse; and i will keepas much awake as i can; but i would rather be at home, looking over william larkins'sweek's account; much rather, i confess.-- pleasure in seeing dancing!--not i, indeed- -i never look at it--i do not know whodoes.--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 itmade her quite angry. it was not in compliment to jane fairfaxhowever that he was so indifferent, or so indignant; he was not guided by herfeelings in reprobating the ball, for she

enjoyed the thought of it to anextraordinary degree. it made her animated--open hearted--shevoluntarily said;-- "oh! miss woodhouse, i hope nothing mayhappen 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 thereforethat he would have preferred the society of william larkins. no!--she was more and more convinced thatmrs. weston was quite mistaken in that surmise.

there was a great deal of friendly and ofcompassionate attachment on his side--but no love.alas! there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with mr. knightley. two days of joyful security wereimmediately followed by the over-throw of every thing.a letter arrived from mr. churchill to urge his nephew's instant return. mrs. churchill was unwell--far too unwellto do without him; she had been in a very suffering state (so said her husband) whenwriting to her nephew two days before, though from her usual unwillingness to give

pain, and constant habit of never thinkingof herself, she had not mentioned it; but now she was too ill to trifle, and mustentreat him to set off for enscombe without delay. the substance of this letter was forwardedto emma, in a note from mrs. weston, instantly.as to his going, it was inevitable. he must be gone within a few hours, thoughwithout feeling any real alarm for his aunt, to lessen his repugnance.he knew her illnesses; they never occurred but for her own convenience. mrs. weston added, "that he could onlyallow himself time to hurry to highbury,

after breakfast, and take leave of the fewfriends there whom he could suppose to feel any interest in him; and that he might beexpected at hartfield very soon." this wretched note was the finale of emma'sbreakfast. when once it had been read, there was nodoing any thing, but lament and exclaim. the loss of the ball--the loss of the youngman--and all that the young man might be feeling!--it was too wretched!--such adelightful evening as it would have been!-- every body so happy! and she and her partner the happiest!--"i said it would beso," was the only consolation. her father's feelings were quite distinct.

he thought principally of mrs. churchill'sillness, and wanted to know how she was treated; and as for the ball, it wasshocking to have dear emma disappointed; but they would all be safer at home. emma was ready for her visitor some timebefore he appeared; but if this reflected at all upon his impatience, his sorrowfullook and total want of spirits when he did come might redeem him. he felt the going away almost too much tospeak of it. his dejection was most evident. he sat really lost in thought for the firstfew 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 uncertaintyof when i may be able to return!--i shall try for it with a zeal!--it will be theobject of all my thoughts and cares!--and if my uncle and aunt go to town this spring--but i am afraid--they did not stirlast 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 bypreparation, foolish preparation!--you told us it would be so.--oh! miss woodhouse, whyare you always so right?" "indeed, i am very sorry to be right inthis instance. i would much rather have been merry thanwise." "if i can come again, we are still to haveour ball. my father depends on it. do not forget your engagement."emma looked graciously. "such a fortnight as it has been!" hecontinued; "every day more precious and

more delightful than the day before!--everyday making me less fit to bear any other place. happy those, who can remain at highbury!""as you do us such ample justice now," said emma, laughing, "i will venture to ask,whether you did not come a little doubtfully at first? do not we rather surpass your expectations?i am sure we do. i am sure you did not much expect to likeus. you would not have been so long in coming,if you had had a pleasant idea of he laughed rather consciously; and thoughdenying 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: weshall 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 yourfriends miss fairfax and miss bates? how unlucky!miss bates's powerful, argumentative mind might have strengthened yours." "yes--i have called there; passing thedoor, 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 notto wait till she came in. she is a woman that one may, that onemust laugh at; but that one would not wish to slight. it was better to pay my visit, then"--he hesitated, got up, walked to a window. "in short," said he, "perhaps, misswoodhouse--i think you can hardly be quite without suspicion"-- he looked at her, as if wanting to read herthoughts. she hardly knew what to say.it seemed like the forerunner of something

absolutely serious, which she did not wish. forcing herself to speak, therefore, in thehope of putting it by, she calmly said, "you are quite in the right; it was mostnatural to pay your visit, then"-- he was silent. she believed he was looking at her;probably reflecting on what she had said, and trying to understand the manner.she heard him sigh. it was natural for him to feel that he hadcause to sigh. he could not believe her to be encouraginghim. a few awkward moments passed, and he satdown again; and in a more determined manner

said,"it was something to feel that all the rest of my time might be given to hartfield. my regard for hartfield is most warm"-- he stopt again, rose again, and seemedquite embarrassed.--he was more in love with her than emma had supposed; and whocan say how it might have ended, if his father had not made his appearance? mr. woodhouse soon followed; and thenecessity of exertion made him composed. a very few minutes more, however, completedthe present trial. mr. weston, always alert when business wasto be done, and as incapable of

procrastinating any evil that wasinevitable, as of foreseeing any that was doubtful, said, "it was time to go;" and the young man, though he might and didsigh, could not but agree, to take leave. "i shall hear about you all," said he;"that is my chief consolation. i shall hear of every thing that is goingon among you. i have engaged mrs. weston to correspondwith me. she has been so kind as to promise it. oh! the blessing of a female correspondent,when one is really interested in the absent!--she will tell me every thing.in her letters i shall be at dear highbury

again." a very friendly shake of the hand, a veryearnest "good-bye," closed the speech, and the door had soon shut out frank churchill. short had been the notice--short theirmeeting; he was gone; and emma felt so sorry to part, and foresaw so great a lossto their little society from his absence as to begin to be afraid of being too sorry,and feeling it too much. it was a sad change.they had been meeting almost every day since his arrival. certainly his being at randalls had givengreat spirit to the last two weeks--

indescribable spirit; the idea, theexpectation of seeing him which every morning had brought, the assurance of hisattentions, his liveliness, his manners! it had been a very happy fortnight, andforlorn must be the sinking from it into the common course of hartfield days. to complete every other recommendation, hehad almost told her that he loved her. what strength, or what constancy ofaffection he might be subject to, was another point; but at present she could notdoubt his having a decidedly warm admiration, a conscious preference of herself; and this persuasion, joined to allthe rest, made her think that she must be

a little in love with him, in spite ofevery previous determination against it. "i certainly must," said she. "this sensation of listlessness, weariness,stupidity, this disinclination to sit down and employ myself, this feeling of everything's being dull and insipid about the house!-- i must be in love; i should be the oddest creature in the world if i were not--for a few weeks at least. well! evil to some is always good toothers. i shall have many fellow-mourners for theball, if not for frank churchill; but mr. knightley will be happy.he may spend the evening with his dear

william larkins now if he likes." mr. knightley, however, shewed notriumphant happiness. he could not say that he was sorry on hisown account; his very cheerful look would have contradicted him if he had; but hesaid, and very steadily, that he was sorry for the disappointment of the others, andwith considerable kindness added, "you, emma, who have so few opportunitiesof dancing, you are really out of luck; you are very much out of luck!" it was some days before she saw janefairfax, to judge of her honest regret in this woeful change; but when they did meet,her composure was odious.

she had been particularly unwell, however,suffering from headache to a degree, which made her aunt declare, that had the balltaken place, she did not think jane could have attended it; and it was charity to impute some of her unbecoming indifferenceto the languor of ill-health. chapter xiii emma continued to entertain no doubt of herbeing in love. her ideas only varied as to the how much.at first, she thought it was a good deal; and afterwards, but little. she had great pleasure in hearing frankchurchill talked of; and, for his sake,

greater pleasure than ever in seeing mr.and mrs. weston; she was very often thinking of him, and quite impatient for a letter, that she might know how he was, howwere his spirits, how was his aunt, and what was the chance of his coming torandalls again this spring. but, on the other hand, she could not admitherself to be unhappy, nor, after the first morning, to be less disposed for employmentthan usual; she was still busy and cheerful; and, pleasing as he was, she could yet imagine him to have faults; andfarther, though thinking of him so much, and, as she sat drawing or working, forminga thousand amusing schemes for the progress

and close of their attachment, fancying interesting dialogues, and inventingelegant letters; the conclusion of every imaginary declaration on his side was thatshe refused him. their affection was always to subside intofriendship. every thing tender and charming was to marktheir parting; but still they were to part. when she became sensible of this, it struckher that she could not be very much in love; for in spite of her previous andfixed determination never to quit her father, never to marry, a strong attachment certainly must produce more of a strugglethan she could foresee in her own feelings.

"i do not find myself making any use of theword sacrifice," said she.--"in not one of all my clever replies, my delicatenegatives, is there any allusion to making a sacrifice. i do suspect that he is not reallynecessary to my happiness. so much the better.i certainly will not persuade myself to feel more than i do. i am quite enough in love.i should be sorry to be more." upon the whole, she was equally contentedwith her view of his feelings. "he is undoubtedly very much in love--every thing denotes it--very much in love

indeed!--and when he comes again, if hisaffection continue, i must be on my guard not to encourage it.--it would be most inexcusable to do otherwise, as my own mindis quite made up. not that i imagine he can think i have beenencouraging him hitherto. no, if he had believed me at all to sharehis feelings, he would not have been so wretched. could he have thought himself encouraged,his looks and language at parting would have been different.--still, however, imust be on my guard. this is in the supposition of hisattachment continuing what it now is; but i

do not know that i expect it will; i do notlook upon him to be quite the sort of man-- i do not altogether build upon his steadiness or constancy.--his feelings arewarm, but i can imagine them rather changeable.--every consideration of thesubject, in short, makes me thankful that my happiness is not more deeply involved.-- i shall do very well again after a littlewhile--and then, it will be a good thing over; for they say every body is in loveonce in their lives, and i shall have been let off easily." when his letter to mrs. weston arrived,emma had the perusal of it; and she read it

with a degree of pleasure and admirationwhich made her at first shake her head over her own sensations, and think she hadundervalued their strength. it was a long, well-written letter, givingthe particulars of his journey and of his feelings, expressing all the affection,gratitude, and respect which was natural and honourable, and describing every thing exterior and local that could be supposedattractive, with spirit and precision. no suspicious flourishes now of apology orconcern; it was the language of real feeling towards mrs. weston; and thetransition from highbury to enscombe, the contrast between the places in some of the

first blessings of social life was justenough touched on to shew how keenly it was felt, and how much more might have beensaid but for the restraints of propriety.-- the charm of her own name was not wanting. miss woodhouse appeared more than once,and never without a something of pleasing connexion, either a compliment to hertaste, or a remembrance of what she had said; and in the very last time of its meeting her eye, unadorned as it was by anysuch broad wreath of gallantry, she yet could discern the effect of her influenceand acknowledge the greatest compliment perhaps of all conveyed.

compressed into the very lowest vacantcorner were these words--"i had not a spare moment on tuesday, as you know, for misswoodhouse's beautiful little friend. pray make my excuses and adieus to her." this, emma could not doubt, was all forherself. harriet was remembered only from beingher friend. his information and prospects as toenscombe were neither worse nor better than had been anticipated; mrs. churchill wasrecovering, and he dared not yet, even in his own imagination, fix a time for comingto randalls again. gratifying, however, and stimulative as wasthe letter in the material part, its

sentiments, she yet found, when it wasfolded up and returned to mrs. weston, that it had not added any lasting warmth, that she could still do without the writer, andthat he must learn to do without her. her intentions were unchanged. her resolution of refusal only grew moreinteresting by the addition of a scheme for his subsequent consolation and happiness. his recollection of harriet, and the wordswhich clothed it, the "beautiful little friend," suggested to her the idea ofharriet's succeeding her in his affections. was it impossible?--no.--harrietundoubtedly was greatly his inferior in

understanding; but he had been very muchstruck with the loveliness of her face and the warm simplicity of her manner; and all the probabilities of circumstance andconnexion were in her favour.--for harriet, it would be advantageous and delightfulindeed. "i must not dwell upon it," said she.--"imust not think of it. i know the danger of indulging suchspeculations. but stranger things have happened; and whenwe cease to care for each other as we do now, it will be the means of confirming usin that sort of true disinterested friendship which i can already look forwardto with pleasure."

it was well to have a comfort in store onharriet's behalf, though it might be wise to let the fancy touch it seldom; for evilin that quarter was at hand. as frank churchill's arrival had succeededmr. elton's engagement in the conversation of highbury, as the latest interest hadentirely borne down the first, so now upon frank churchill's disappearance, mr. elton's concerns were assuming the mostirresistible form.--his wedding-day was named.he would soon be among them again; mr. elton and his bride. there was hardly time to talk over thefirst letter from enscombe before "mr.

elton and his bride" was in every body'smouth, and frank churchill was forgotten. emma grew sick at the sound. she had had three weeks of happy exemptionfrom mr. elton; and harriet's mind, she had been willing to hope, had been latelygaining strength. with mr. weston's ball in view at least,there had been a great deal of insensibility to other things; but it wasnow too evident that she had not attained such a state of composure as could stand against the actual approach--new carriage,bell-ringing, and all. poor harriet was in a flutter of spiritswhich required all the reasonings and

soothings and attentions of every kind thatemma could give. emma felt that she could not do too muchfor her, that harriet had a right to all her ingenuity and all her patience; but itwas heavy work to be for ever convincing without producing any effect, for ever agreed to, without being able to make theiropinions the same. harriet listened submissively, and said "itwas very true--it was just as miss woodhouse described--it was not worth whileto think about them--and she would not think about them any longer" but no change of subject could avail, and the next half-hour saw her as anxious and restless about

the eltons as before.at last emma attacked her on another ground. "your allowing yourself to be so occupiedand so unhappy about mr. elton's marrying, harriet, is the strongest reproach you canmake me. you could not give me a greater reproof forthe mistake i fell into. it was all my doing, i know. i have not forgotten it, i assure you.--deceived myself, i did very miserably deceive you--and it will be a painfulreflection to me for ever. do not imagine me in danger of forgettingit."

harriet felt this too much to utter morethan a few words of eager exclamation. emma continued, "i have not said, exert yourself harrietfor my sake; think less, talk less of mr. elton for my sake; because for your ownsake rather, i would wish it to be done, for the sake of what is more important than my comfort, a habit of self-command in you,a consideration of what is your duty, an attention to propriety, an endeavour toavoid the suspicions of others, to save your health and credit, and restore yourtranquillity. these are the motives which i have beenpressing on you.

they are very important--and sorry i amthat you cannot feel them sufficiently to act upon them.my being saved from pain is a very secondary consideration. i want you to save yourself from greaterpain. perhaps i may sometimes have felt thatharriet would not forget what was due--or rather what would be kind by me." this appeal to her affections did more thanall the rest. the idea of wanting gratitude andconsideration for miss woodhouse, whom she really loved extremely, made her wretchedfor a while, and when the violence of grief

was comforted away, still remained powerful enough to prompt to what was right andsupport her in it very tolerably. "you, who have been the best friend i everhad in my life--want gratitude to you!-- nobody is equal to you!--i care for nobodyas i do for you!--oh! miss woodhouse, how ungrateful i have been!" such expressions, assisted as they were byevery thing that look and manner could do, made emma feel that she had never lovedharriet so well, nor valued her affection so highly before. "there is no charm equal to tenderness ofheart," said she afterwards to herself.

"there is nothing to be compared to it. warmth and tenderness of heart, with anaffectionate, open manner, will beat all the clearness of head in the world, forattraction, i am sure it will. it is tenderness of heart which makes mydear father so generally beloved--which gives isabella all her popularity.--i haveit not--but i know how to prize and respect it.--harriet is my superior in all thecharm and all the felicity it gives. dear harriet!--i would not change you forthe clearest-headed, longest-sighted, best- judging female breathing. oh! the coldness of a jane fairfax!--harriet is worth a hundred such--and for a

wife--a sensible man's wife--it isinvaluable. i mention no names; but happy the man whochanges emma for harriet!"