No More Learning

--I was telling
you of your grandmama, Jane,--There was a little disappointment. --The
baked apples and biscuits, excellent in their way, you know; but there
was a delicate fricassee of sweetbread and some asparagus brought in at
first, and good Mr. Woodhouse, not thinking the asparagus quite boiled
enough, sent it all out again. Now there is nothing grandmama loves
better than sweetbread and asparagus--so she was rather disappointed,
but we agreed we would not speak of it to any body, for fear of
its getting round to dear Miss Woodhouse, who would be so very much
concerned! --Well, this is brilliant! I am all amazement! could not have
supposed any thing! --Such elegance and profusion! --I have seen nothing
like it since--Well, where shall we sit? where shall we sit? Anywhere,
so that Jane is not in a draught. Where _I_ sit is of no consequence.
Oh! do you recommend this side? --Well, I am sure, Mr. Churchill--only
it seems too good--but just as you please. What you direct in this house
cannot be wrong. Dear Jane, how shall we ever recollect half the dishes
for grandmama? Soup too! Bless me! I should not be helped so soon, but
it smells most excellent, and I cannot help beginning. ”

Emma had no opportunity of speaking to Mr. Knightley till after supper;
but, when they were all in the ballroom again, her eyes invited
him irresistibly to come to her and be thanked. He was warm in his
reprobation of Mr. Elton’s conduct; it had been unpardonable rudeness;
and Mrs. Elton’s looks also received the due share of censure.

“They aimed at wounding more than Harriet,” said he. “Emma, why is it
that they are your enemies? ”

He looked with smiling penetration; and, on receiving no answer, added,
“_She_ ought not to be angry with you, I suspect, whatever he may
be. --To that surmise, you say nothing, of course; but confess, Emma,
that you did want him to marry Harriet. ”

“I did,” replied Emma, “and they cannot forgive me. ”

He shook his head; but there was a smile of indulgence with it, and he
only said,

“I shall not scold you. I leave you to your own reflections. ”

“Can you trust me with such flatterers? --Does my vain spirit ever tell
me I am wrong? ”

“Not your vain spirit, but your serious spirit. --If one leads you wrong,
I am sure the other tells you of it. ”

“I do own myself to have been completely mistaken in Mr. Elton. There is
a littleness about him which you discovered, and which I did not: and I
was fully convinced of his being in love with Harriet. It was through a
series of strange blunders! ”

“And, in return for your acknowledging so much, I will do you the
justice to say, that you would have chosen for him better than he has
chosen for himself. --Harriet Smith has some first-rate qualities, which
Mrs. Elton is totally without. An unpretending, single-minded, artless
girl--infinitely to be preferred by any man of sense and taste to such a
woman as Mrs. Elton. I found Harriet more conversable than I expected. ”

Emma was extremely gratified. --They were interrupted by the bustle of
Mr. Weston calling on every body to begin dancing again.

“Come Miss Woodhouse, Miss Otway, Miss Fairfax, what are you all
doing? --Come Emma, set your companions the example. Every body is lazy!
Every body is asleep! ”

“I am ready,” said Emma, “whenever I am wanted. ”

“Whom are you going to dance with? ” asked Mr. Knightley.

She hesitated a moment, and then replied, “With you, if you will ask
me. ”

“Will you? ” said he, offering his hand.

“Indeed I will. You have shewn that you can dance, and you know we are
not really so much brother and sister as to make it at all improper. ”

“Brother and sister! no, indeed. ”



CHAPTER III


This little explanation with Mr. Knightley gave Emma considerable
pleasure. It was one of the agreeable recollections of the ball, which
she walked about the lawn the next morning to enjoy. --She was extremely
glad that they had come to so good an understanding respecting the
Eltons, and that their opinions of both husband and wife were so much
alike; and his praise of Harriet, his concession in her favour, was
peculiarly gratifying. The impertinence of the Eltons, which for a few
minutes had threatened to ruin the rest of her evening, had been the
occasion of some of its highest satisfactions; and she looked forward
to another happy result--the cure of Harriet’s infatuation. --From
Harriet’s manner of speaking of the circumstance before they quitted the
ballroom, she had strong hopes. It seemed as if her eyes were suddenly
opened, and she were enabled to see that Mr. Elton was not the superior
creature she had believed him. The fever was over, and Emma could
harbour little fear of the pulse being quickened again by injurious
courtesy. She depended on the evil feelings of the Eltons for
supplying all the discipline of pointed neglect that could be farther
requisite. --Harriet rational, Frank Churchill not too much in love, and
Mr. Knightley not wanting to quarrel with her, how very happy a summer
must be before her!

She was not to see Frank Churchill this morning. He had told her that he
could not allow himself the pleasure of stopping at Hartfield, as he was
to be at home by the middle of the day. She did not regret it.

Having arranged all these matters, looked them through, and put them all
to rights, she was just turning to the house with spirits freshened up
for the demands of the two little boys, as well as of their grandpapa,
when the great iron sweep-gate opened, and two persons entered whom she
had never less expected to see together--Frank Churchill, with Harriet
leaning on his arm--actually Harriet! --A moment sufficed to convince
her that something extraordinary had happened. Harriet looked white
and frightened, and he was trying to cheer her. --The iron gates and the
front-door were not twenty yards asunder;--they were all three soon in
the hall, and Harriet immediately sinking into a chair fainted away.

A young lady who faints, must be recovered; questions must be answered,
and surprizes be explained. Such events are very interesting, but the
suspense of them cannot last long. A few minutes made Emma acquainted
with the whole.

Miss Smith, and Miss Bickerton, another parlour boarder at Mrs.
Goddard’s, who had been also at the ball, had walked out together, and
taken a road, the Richmond road, which, though apparently public enough
for safety, had led them into alarm. --About half a mile beyond Highbury,
making a sudden turn, and deeply shaded by elms on each side, it became
for a considerable stretch very retired; and when the young ladies
had advanced some way into it, they had suddenly perceived at a small
distance before them, on a broader patch of greensward by the side, a
party of gipsies. A child on the watch, came towards them to beg; and
Miss Bickerton, excessively frightened, gave a great scream, and calling
on Harriet to follow her, ran up a steep bank, cleared a slight hedge at
the top, and made the best of her way by a short cut back to Highbury.
But poor Harriet could not follow. She had suffered very much from cramp
after dancing, and her first attempt to mount the bank brought on such
a return of it as made her absolutely powerless--and in this state, and
exceedingly terrified, she had been obliged to remain.

How the trampers might have behaved, had the young ladies been more
courageous, must be doubtful; but such an invitation for attack could
not be resisted; and Harriet was soon assailed by half a dozen children,
headed by a stout woman and a great boy, all clamorous, and impertinent
in look, though not absolutely in word. --More and more frightened, she
immediately promised them money, and taking out her purse, gave them a
shilling, and begged them not to want more, or to use her ill. --She
was then able to walk, though but slowly, and was moving away--but her
terror and her purse were too tempting, and she was followed, or rather
surrounded, by the whole gang, demanding more.

In this state Frank Churchill had found her, she trembling and
conditioning, they loud and insolent. By a most fortunate chance his
leaving Highbury had been delayed so as to bring him to her assistance
at this critical moment. The pleasantness of the morning had induced
him to walk forward, and leave his horses to meet him by another road,
a mile or two beyond Highbury--and happening to have borrowed a pair
of scissors the night before of Miss Bates, and to have forgotten to
restore them, he had been obliged to stop at her door, and go in for a
few minutes: he was therefore later than he had intended; and being
on foot, was unseen by the whole party till almost close to them. The
terror which the woman and boy had been creating in Harriet was then
their own portion. He had left them completely frightened; and Harriet
eagerly clinging to him, and hardly able to speak, had just strength
enough to reach Hartfield, before her spirits were quite overcome.
It was his idea to bring her to Hartfield: he had thought of no other
place.

This was the amount of the whole story,--of his communication and of
Harriet’s as soon as she had recovered her senses and speech. --He dared
not stay longer than to see her well; these several delays left him
not another minute to lose; and Emma engaging to give assurance of her
safety to Mrs. Goddard, and notice of there being such a set of people
in the neighbourhood to Mr. Knightley, he set off, with all the grateful
blessings that she could utter for her friend and herself.

Such an adventure as this,--a fine young man and a lovely young woman
thrown together in such a way, could hardly fail of suggesting certain
ideas to the coldest heart and the steadiest brain. So Emma thought, at
least. Could a linguist, could a grammarian, could even a mathematician
have seen what she did, have witnessed their appearance together, and
heard their history of it, without feeling that circumstances had been
at work to make them peculiarly interesting to each other? --How much
more must an imaginist, like herself, be on fire with speculation and
foresight! --especially with such a groundwork of anticipation as her
mind had already made.

It was a very extraordinary thing! Nothing of the sort had ever
occurred before to any young ladies in the place, within her memory; no
rencontre, no alarm of the kind;--and now it had happened to the very
person, and at the very hour, when the other very person was chancing
to pass by to rescue her! --It certainly was very extraordinary! --And
knowing, as she did, the favourable state of mind of each at this
period, it struck her the more. He was wishing to get the better of his
attachment to herself, she just recovering from her mania for Mr. Elton.
It seemed as if every thing united to promise the most interesting
consequences. It was not possible that the occurrence should not be
strongly recommending each to the other.

In the few minutes’ conversation which she had yet had with him, while
Harriet had been partially insensible, he had spoken of her terror,
her naivete, her fervour as she seized and clung to his arm, with a
sensibility amused and delighted; and just at last, after Harriet’s
own account had been given, he had expressed his indignation at the
abominable folly of Miss Bickerton in the warmest terms. Every thing was
to take its natural course, however, neither impelled nor assisted.
She would not stir a step, nor drop a hint. No, she had had enough of
interference. There could be no harm in a scheme, a mere passive scheme.
It was no more than a wish. Beyond it she would on no account proceed.

Emma’s first resolution was to keep her father from the knowledge of
what had passed,--aware of the anxiety and alarm it would occasion: but
she soon felt that concealment must be impossible. Within half an hour
it was known all over Highbury. It was the very event to engage those
who talk most, the young and the low; and all the youth and servants in
the place were soon in the happiness of frightful news. The last night’s
ball seemed lost in the gipsies. Poor Mr. Woodhouse trembled as he sat,
and, as Emma had foreseen, would scarcely be satisfied without their
promising never to go beyond the shrubbery again. It was some comfort
to him that many inquiries after himself and Miss Woodhouse (for his
neighbours knew that he loved to be inquired after), as well as Miss
Smith, were coming in during the rest of the day; and he had
the pleasure of returning for answer, that they were all very
indifferent--which, though not exactly true, for she was perfectly well,
and Harriet not much otherwise, Emma would not interfere with. She had
an unhappy state of health in general for the child of such a man,
for she hardly knew what indisposition was; and if he did not invent
illnesses for her, she could make no figure in a message.

The gipsies did not wait for the operations of justice; they took
themselves off in a hurry. The young ladies of Highbury might have
walked again in safety before their panic began, and the whole history
dwindled soon into a matter of little importance but to Emma and her
nephews:--in her imagination it maintained its ground, and Henry and
John were still asking every day for the story of Harriet and the
gipsies, and still tenaciously setting her right if she varied in the
slightest particular from the original recital.



CHAPTER IV


A very few days had passed after this adventure, when Harriet came one
morning to Emma with a small parcel in her hand, and after sitting down
and hesitating, thus began:

“Miss Woodhouse--if you are at leisure--I have something that I should
like to tell you--a sort of confession to make--and then, you know, it
will be over. ”

Emma was a good deal surprized; but begged her to speak. There was a
seriousness in Harriet’s manner which prepared her, quite as much as her
words, for something more than ordinary.

“It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,” she continued, “to have
no reserves with you on this subject. As I am happily quite an altered
creature in _one_ _respect_, it is very fit that you should have
the satisfaction of knowing it. I do not want to say more than is
necessary--I am too much ashamed of having given way as I have done, and
I dare say you understand me. ”

“Yes,” said Emma, “I hope I do. ”

“How I could so long a time be fancying myself! . . . ” cried Harriet,
warmly. “It seems like madness! I can see nothing at all extraordinary
in him now. --I do not care whether I meet him or not--except that of the
two I had rather not see him--and indeed I would go any distance round
to avoid him--but I do not envy his wife in the least; I neither admire
her nor envy her, as I have done: she is very charming, I dare say, and
all that, but I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable--I shall
never forget her look the other night! --However, I assure you, Miss
Woodhouse, I wish her no evil. --No, let them be ever so happy together,
it will not give me another moment’s pang: and to convince you that I
have been speaking truth, I am now going to destroy--what I ought to
have destroyed long ago--what I ought never to have kept--I know that
very well (blushing as she spoke). --However, now I will destroy it
all--and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you
may see how rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel
holds? ” said she, with a conscious look.

“Not the least in the world. --Did he ever give you any thing? ”

“No--I cannot call them gifts; but they are things that I have valued
very much. ”

She held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the words _Most_
_precious_ _treasures_ on the top. Her curiosity was greatly excited.
Harriet unfolded the parcel, and she looked on with impatience. Within
abundance of silver paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box,
which Harriet opened: it was well lined with the softest cotton; but,
excepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of court-plaister.

“Now,” said Harriet, “you _must_ recollect. ”

“No, indeed I do not. ”

“Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you could forget what
passed in this very room about court-plaister, one of the very last
times we ever met in it! --It was but a very few days before I had my
sore throat--just before Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley came--I think the
very evening. --Do not you remember his cutting his finger with your new
penknife, and your recommending court-plaister? --But, as you had none
about you, and knew I had, you desired me to supply him; and so I took
mine out and cut him a piece; but it was a great deal too large, and he
cut it smaller, and kept playing some time with what was left, before he
gave it back to me. And so then, in my nonsense, I could not help making
a treasure of it--so I put it by never to be used, and looked at it now
and then as a great treat. ”

“My dearest Harriet! ” cried Emma, putting her hand before her face,
and jumping up, “you make me more ashamed of myself than I can bear.
Remember it? Aye, I remember it all now; all, except your saving this
relic--I knew nothing of that till this moment--but the cutting the
finger, and my recommending court-plaister, and saying I had none
about me! --Oh! my sins, my sins! --And I had plenty all the while in my
pocket! --One of my senseless tricks! --I deserve to be under a continual
blush all the rest of my life. --Well--(sitting down again)--go on--what
else? ”

“And had you really some at hand yourself? I am sure I never suspected
it, you did it so naturally. ”

“And so you actually put this piece of court-plaister by for his sake! ”
said Emma, recovering from her state of shame and feeling divided
between wonder and amusement. And secretly she added to herself, “Lord
bless me! when should I ever have thought of putting by in cotton a
piece of court-plaister that Frank Churchill had been pulling about! I
never was equal to this. ”

“Here,” resumed Harriet, turning to her box again, “here is something
still more valuable, I mean that _has_ _been_ more valuable, because
this is what did really once belong to him, which the court-plaister
never did. ”

Emma was quite eager to see this superior treasure. It was the end of an
old pencil,--the part without any lead.

“This was really his,” said Harriet. --“Do not you remember one
morning? --no, I dare say you do not. But one morning--I forget exactly
the day--but perhaps it was the Tuesday or Wednesday before _that_
_evening_, he wanted to make a memorandum in his pocket-book; it was
about spruce-beer. Mr. Knightley had been telling him something about
brewing spruce-beer, and he wanted to put it down; but when he took out
his pencil, there was so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and
it would not do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon the
table as good for nothing. But I kept my eye on it; and, as soon as I
dared, caught it up, and never parted with it again from that moment.
”

“I do remember it,” cried Emma; “I perfectly remember it. --Talking
about spruce-beer. --Oh! yes--Mr. Knightley and I both saying we
liked it, and Mr. Elton’s seeming resolved to learn to like it too. I
perfectly remember it. --Stop; Mr. Knightley was standing just here, was
not he? I have an idea he was standing just here. ”

“Ah! I do not know. I cannot recollect. --It is very odd, but I cannot
recollect. --Mr. Elton was sitting here, I remember, much about where I
am now. ”--

“Well, go on. ”

“Oh! that’s all. I have nothing more to shew you, or to say--except that
I am now going to throw them both behind the fire, and I wish you to see
me do it. ”

“My poor dear Harriet! and have you actually found happiness in
treasuring up these things? ”

“Yes, simpleton as I was! --but I am quite ashamed of it now, and wish I
could forget as easily as I can burn them. It was very wrong of me, you
know, to keep any remembrances, after he was married. I knew it was--but
had not resolution enough to part with them. ”

“But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court-plaister? --I have not
a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the court-plaister might be
useful. ”

“I shall be happier to burn it,” replied Harriet. “It has a disagreeable
look to me. I must get rid of every thing. --There it goes, and there is
an end, thank Heaven! of Mr. Elton. ”

“And when,” thought Emma, “will there be a beginning of Mr. Churchill? ”

She had soon afterwards reason to believe that the beginning was already
made, and could not but hope that the gipsy, though she had _told_ no
fortune, might be proved to have made Harriet’s. --About a fortnight
after the alarm, they came to a sufficient explanation, and quite
undesignedly. Emma was not thinking of it at the moment, which made the
information she received more valuable. She merely said, in the course
of some trivial chat, “Well, Harriet, whenever you marry I would advise
you to do so and so”--and thought no more of it, till after a minute’s
silence she heard Harriet say in a very serious tone, “I shall never
marry. ”

Emma then looked up, and immediately saw how it was; and after a
moment’s debate, as to whether it should pass unnoticed or not, replied,

“Never marry! --This is a new resolution. ”

“It is one that I shall never change, however. ”

After another short hesitation, “I hope it does not proceed from--I hope
it is not in compliment to Mr. Elton? ”

“Mr. Elton indeed! ” cried Harriet indignantly. --“Oh! no”--and Emma could
just catch the words, “so superior to Mr. Elton! ”

She then took a longer time for consideration. Should she proceed no
farther? --should she let it pass, and seem to suspect nothing? --Perhaps
Harriet might think her cold or angry if she did; or perhaps if she were
totally silent, it might only drive Harriet into asking her to hear too
much; and against any thing like such an unreserve as had been, such
an open and frequent discussion of hopes and chances, she was perfectly
resolved. --She believed it would be wiser for her to say and know at
once, all that she meant to say and know. Plain dealing was always
best. She had previously determined how far she would proceed, on any
application of the sort; and it would be safer for both, to have the
judicious law of her own brain laid down with speed. --She was decided,
and thus spoke--

“Harriet, I will not affect to be in doubt of your meaning. Your
resolution, or rather your expectation of never marrying, results from
an idea that the person whom you might prefer, would be too greatly your
superior in situation to think of you. Is not it so? ”

“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, believe me I have not the presumption to suppose--
Indeed I am not so mad. --But it is a pleasure to me to admire him at a
distance--and to think of his infinite superiority to all the rest of
the world, with the gratitude, wonder, and veneration, which are so
proper, in me especially. ”

“I am not at all surprized at you, Harriet. The service he rendered you
was enough to warm your heart. ”

“Service! oh! it was such an inexpressible obligation! --The very
recollection of it, and all that I felt at the time--when I saw him
coming--his noble look--and my wretchedness before. Such a change! In
one moment such a change! From perfect misery to perfect happiness! ”

“It is very natural. It is natural, and it is honourable. --Yes,
honourable, I think, to chuse so well and so gratefully. --But that
it will be a fortunate preference is more than I can promise. I do not
advise you to give way to it, Harriet. I do not by any means engage
for its being returned. Consider what you are about. Perhaps it will be
wisest in you to check your feelings while you can: at any rate do not
let them carry you far, unless you are persuaded of his liking you. Be
observant of him. Let his behaviour be the guide of your sensations. I
give you this caution now, because I shall never speak to you again on
the subject. I am determined against all interference. Henceforward I
know nothing of the matter. Let no name ever pass our lips. We were very
wrong before; we will be cautious now. --He is your superior, no doubt,
and there do seem objections and obstacles of a very serious nature; but
yet, Harriet, more wonderful things have taken place, there have been
matches of greater disparity. But take care of yourself. I would not
have you too sanguine; though, however it may end, be assured your
raising your thoughts to _him_, is a mark of good taste which I shall
always know how to value. ”

Harriet kissed her hand in silent and submissive gratitude. Emma was
very decided in thinking such an attachment no bad thing for her friend.
Its tendency would be to raise and refine her mind--and it must be
saving her from the danger of degradation.



CHAPTER V


In this state of schemes, and hopes, and connivance, June opened upon
Hartfield. To Highbury in general it brought no material change. The
Eltons were still talking of a visit from the Sucklings, and of the use
to be made of their barouche-landau; and Jane Fairfax was still at her
grandmother’s; and as the return of the Campbells from Ireland was again
delayed, and August, instead of Midsummer, fixed for it, she was likely
to remain there full two months longer, provided at least she were able
to defeat Mrs. Elton’s activity in her service, and save herself from
being hurried into a delightful situation against her will.

Mr. Knightley, who, for some reason best known to himself, had certainly
taken an early dislike to Frank Churchill, was only growing to dislike
him more. He began to suspect him of some double dealing in his pursuit
of Emma. That Emma was his object appeared indisputable. Every thing
declared it; his own attentions, his father’s hints, his mother-in-law’s
guarded silence; it was all in unison; words, conduct, discretion, and
indiscretion, told the same story. But while so many were devoting him
to Emma, and Emma herself making him over to Harriet, Mr. Knightley
began to suspect him of some inclination to trifle with Jane Fairfax. He
could not understand it; but there were symptoms of intelligence between
them--he thought so at least--symptoms of admiration on his side, which,
having once observed, he could not persuade himself to think entirely
void of meaning, however he might wish to escape any of Emma’s errors
of imagination. _She_ was not present when the suspicion first arose.
He was dining with the Randalls family, and Jane, at the Eltons’; and he
had seen a look, more than a single look, at Miss Fairfax, which, from
the admirer of Miss Woodhouse, seemed somewhat out of place. When he was
again in their company, he could not help remembering what he had seen;
nor could he avoid observations which, unless it were like Cowper and
his fire at twilight,

“Myself creating what I saw,”

brought him yet stronger suspicion of there being a something of private
liking, of private understanding even, between Frank Churchill and Jane.

He had walked up one day after dinner, as he very often did, to spend
his evening at Hartfield. Emma and Harriet were going to walk; he joined
them; and, on returning, they fell in with a larger party, who, like
themselves, judged it wisest to take their exercise early, as the
weather threatened rain; Mr. and Mrs. Weston and their son, Miss Bates
and her niece, who had accidentally met. They all united; and, on
reaching Hartfield gates, Emma, who knew it was exactly the sort of
visiting that would be welcome to her father, pressed them all to go in
and drink tea with him. The Randalls party agreed to it immediately; and
after a pretty long speech from Miss Bates, which few persons listened
to, she also found it possible to accept dear Miss Woodhouse’s most
obliging invitation.

As they were turning into the grounds, Mr. Perry passed by on horseback.
The gentlemen spoke of his horse.

“By the bye,” said Frank Churchill to Mrs. Weston presently, “what
became of Mr. Perry’s plan of setting up his carriage? ”

Mrs. Weston looked surprized, and said, “I did not know that he ever had
any such plan. ”

“Nay, I had it from you. You wrote me word of it three months ago. ”

“Me! impossible! ”

“Indeed you did. I remember it perfectly. You mentioned it as what
was certainly to be very soon. Mrs. Perry had told somebody, and was
extremely happy about it. It was owing to _her_ persuasion, as she
thought his being out in bad weather did him a great deal of harm. You
must remember it now? ”

“Upon my word I never heard of it till this moment. ”

“Never! really, never! --Bless me! how could it be? --Then I must have
dreamt it--but I was completely persuaded--Miss Smith, you walk as if
you were tired. You will not be sorry to find yourself at home. ”

“What is this? --What is this? ” cried Mr. Weston, “about Perry and a
carriage? Is Perry going to set up his carriage, Frank? I am glad he can
afford it. You had it from himself, had you? ”

“No, sir,” replied his son, laughing, “I seem to have had it from
nobody. --Very odd! --I really was persuaded of Mrs. Weston’s having
mentioned it in one of her letters to Enscombe, many weeks ago, with all
these particulars--but as she declares she never heard a syllable of
it before, of course it must have been a dream. I am a great dreamer.
I dream of every body at Highbury when I am away--and when I have gone
through my particular friends, then I begin dreaming of Mr. and Mrs.
Perry. ”

“It is odd though,” observed his father, “that you should have had such
a regular connected dream about people whom it was not very likely you
should be thinking of at Enscombe. Perry’s setting up his carriage! and
his wife’s persuading him to it, out of care for his health--just
what will happen, I have no doubt, some time or other; only a little
premature. What an air of probability sometimes runs through a dream!
And at others, what a heap of absurdities it is! Well, Frank, your dream
certainly shews that Highbury is in your thoughts when you are absent.
Emma, you are a great dreamer, I think? ”

Emma was out of hearing. She had hurried on before her guests to
prepare her father for their appearance, and was beyond the reach of Mr.
Weston’s hint.

“Why, to own the truth,” cried Miss Bates, who had been trying in vain
to be heard the last two minutes, “if I must speak on this subject,
there is no denying that Mr. Frank Churchill might have--I do not mean
to say that he did not dream it--I am sure I have sometimes the oddest
dreams in the world--but if I am questioned about it, I must acknowledge
that there was such an idea last spring; for Mrs. Perry herself
mentioned it to my mother, and the Coles knew of it as well as
ourselves--but it was quite a secret, known to nobody else, and only
thought of about three days. Mrs. Perry was very anxious that he should
have a carriage, and came to my mother in great spirits one morning
because she thought she had prevailed. Jane, don’t you remember
grandmama’s telling us of it when we got home? I forget where we
had been walking to--very likely to Randalls; yes, I think it was to
Randalls. Mrs. Perry was always particularly fond of my mother--indeed
I do not know who is not--and she had mentioned it to her in confidence;
she had no objection to her telling us, of course, but it was not to go
beyond: and, from that day to this, I never mentioned it to a soul that
I know of. At the same time, I will not positively answer for my having
never dropt a hint, because I know I do sometimes pop out a thing before
I am aware. I am a talker, you know; I am rather a talker; and now and
then I have let a thing escape me which I should not. I am not like
Jane; I wish I were. I will answer for it _she_ never betrayed the least
thing in the world. Where is she? --Oh! just behind. Perfectly remember
Mrs. Perry’s coming. --Extraordinary dream, indeed! ”

They were entering the hall. Mr. Knightley’s eyes had preceded Miss
Bates’s in a glance at Jane. From Frank Churchill’s face, where
he thought he saw confusion suppressed or laughed away, he had
involuntarily turned to hers; but she was indeed behind, and too busy
with her shawl. Mr. Weston had walked in. The two other gentlemen waited
at the door to let her pass. Mr. Knightley suspected in Frank
Churchill the determination of catching her eye--he seemed watching her
intently--in vain, however, if it were so--Jane passed between them
into the hall, and looked at neither.

There was no time for farther remark or explanation. The dream must be
borne with, and Mr. Knightley must take his seat with the rest round the
large modern circular table which Emma had introduced at Hartfield, and
which none but Emma could have had power to place there and persuade her
father to use, instead of the small-sized Pembroke, on which two of his
daily meals had, for forty years been crowded. Tea passed pleasantly,
and nobody seemed in a hurry to move.

“Miss Woodhouse,” said Frank Churchill, after examining a table behind
him, which he could reach as he sat, “have your nephews taken away their
alphabets--their box of letters? It used to stand here. Where is it?