No More Learning

”

“I met William Larkins,” continued Mr. Elton, “as I got near the house,
and he told me I should not find his master at home, but I did not
believe him. --William seemed rather out of humour. He did not know what
was come to his master lately, he said, but he could hardly ever get the
speech of him. I have nothing to do with William’s wants, but it really
is of very great importance that _I_ should see Knightley to-day; and it
becomes a matter, therefore, of very serious inconvenience that I should
have had this hot walk to no purpose. ”

Emma felt that she could not do better than go home directly. In
all probability she was at this very time waited for there; and Mr.
Knightley might be preserved from sinking deeper in aggression towards
Mr. Elton, if not towards William Larkins.

She was pleased, on taking leave, to find Miss Fairfax determined to
attend her out of the room, to go with her even downstairs; it gave her
an opportunity which she immediately made use of, to say,

“It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility. Had you
not been surrounded by other friends, I might have been tempted to
introduce a subject, to ask questions, to speak more openly than might
have been strictly correct. --I feel that I should certainly have been
impertinent. ”

“Oh! ” cried Jane, with a blush and an hesitation which Emma thought
infinitely more becoming to her than all the elegance of all her usual
composure--“there would have been no danger. The danger would have
been of my wearying you. You could not have gratified me more than
by expressing an interest--. Indeed, Miss Woodhouse, (speaking more
collectedly,) with the consciousness which I have of misconduct, very
great misconduct, it is particularly consoling to me to know that those
of my friends, whose good opinion is most worth preserving, are not
disgusted to such a degree as to--I have not time for half that I could
wish to say. I long to make apologies, excuses, to urge something for
myself. I feel it so very due. But, unfortunately--in short, if your
compassion does not stand my friend--”

“Oh! you are too scrupulous, indeed you are,” cried Emma warmly, and
taking her hand. “You owe me no apologies; and every body to whom you
might be supposed to owe them, is so perfectly satisfied, so delighted
even--”

“You are very kind, but I know what my manners were to you. --So
cold and artificial! --I had always a part to act. --It was a life of
deceit! --I know that I must have disgusted you. ”

“Pray say no more. I feel that all the apologies should be on my side.
Let us forgive each other at once. We must do whatever is to be done
quickest, and I think our feelings will lose no time there. I hope you
have pleasant accounts from Windsor? ”

“Very. ”

“And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are to lose you--just as
I begin to know you. ”

“Oh! as to all that, of course nothing can be thought of yet. I am here
till claimed by Colonel and Mrs. Campbell. ”

“Nothing can be actually settled yet, perhaps,” replied Emma,
smiling--“but, excuse me, it must be thought of. ”

The smile was returned as Jane answered,

“You are very right; it has been thought of. And I will own to you, (I
am sure it will be safe), that so far as our living with Mr. Churchill
at Enscombe, it is settled. There must be three months, at least, of
deep mourning; but when they are over, I imagine there will be nothing
more to wait for. ”

“Thank you, thank you. --This is just what I wanted to be assured
of. --Oh! if you knew how much I love every thing that is decided and
open! --Good-bye, good-bye. ”



CHAPTER XVII


Mrs. Weston’s friends were all made happy by her safety; and if the
satisfaction of her well-doing could be increased to Emma, it was by
knowing her to be the mother of a little girl. She had been decided in
wishing for a Miss Weston. She would not acknowledge that it was with
any view of making a match for her, hereafter, with either of Isabella’s
sons; but she was convinced that a daughter would suit both father
and mother best. It would be a great comfort to Mr. Weston, as he grew
older--and even Mr. Weston might be growing older ten years hence--to
have his fireside enlivened by the sports and the nonsense, the freaks
and the fancies of a child never banished from home; and Mrs. Weston--no
one could doubt that a daughter would be most to her; and it would be
quite a pity that any one who so well knew how to teach, should not have
their powers in exercise again.

“She has had the advantage, you know, of practising on me,” she
continued--“like La Baronne d’Almane on La Comtesse d’Ostalis, in Madame
de Genlis’ Adelaide and Theodore, and we shall now see her own little
Adelaide educated on a more perfect plan. ”

“That is,” replied Mr. Knightley, “she will indulge her even more than
she did you, and believe that she does not indulge her at all. It will
be the only difference. ”

“Poor child! ” cried Emma; “at that rate, what will become of her? ”

“Nothing very bad. --The fate of thousands. She will be disagreeable
in infancy, and correct herself as she grows older. I am losing all my
bitterness against spoilt children, my dearest Emma. I, who am owing all
my happiness to _you_, would not it be horrible ingratitude in me to be
severe on them? ”

Emma laughed, and replied: “But I had the assistance of all your
endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other people. I doubt whether
my own sense would have corrected me without it. ”

“Do you? --I have no doubt. Nature gave you understanding:--Miss Taylor
gave you principles. You must have done well. My interference was quite
as likely to do harm as good. It was very natural for you to say, what
right has he to lecture me? --and I am afraid very natural for you to
feel that it was done in a disagreeable manner. I do not believe I did
you any good. The good was all to myself, by making you an object of the
tenderest affection to me. I could not think about you so much without
doating on you, faults and all; and by dint of fancying so many errors,
have been in love with you ever since you were thirteen at least. ”

“I am sure you were of use to me,” cried Emma. “I was very often
influenced rightly by you--oftener than I would own at the time. I
am very sure you did me good. And if poor little Anna Weston is to be
spoiled, it will be the greatest humanity in you to do as much for her
as you have done for me, except falling in love with her when she is
thirteen. ”

“How often, when you were a girl, have you said to me, with one of your
saucy looks--‘Mr. Knightley, I am going to do so-and-so; papa says I
may, or I have Miss Taylor’s leave’--something which, you knew, I
did not approve. In such cases my interference was giving you two bad
feelings instead of one. ”

“What an amiable creature I was! --No wonder you should hold my speeches
in such affectionate remembrance. ”

“‘Mr. Knightley. ’--You always called me, ‘Mr. Knightley;’ and, from
habit, it has not so very formal a sound. --And yet it is formal. I want
you to call me something else, but I do not know what. ”

“I remember once calling you ‘George,’ in one of my amiable fits, about
ten years ago. I did it because I thought it would offend you; but, as
you made no objection, I never did it again. ”

“And cannot you call me ‘George’ now? ”

“Impossible! --I never can call you any thing but ‘Mr. Knightley. ’ I
will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by
calling you Mr. K. --But I will promise,” she added presently, laughing
and blushing--“I will promise to call you once by your Christian name.
I do not say when, but perhaps you may guess where;--in the building in
which N. takes M. for better, for worse. ”

Emma grieved that she could not be more openly just to one important
service which his better sense would have rendered her, to the
advice which would have saved her from the worst of all her womanly
follies--her wilful intimacy with Harriet Smith; but it was too tender a
subject. --She could not enter on it. --Harriet was very seldom mentioned
between them. This, on his side, might merely proceed from her not being
thought of; but Emma was rather inclined to attribute it to delicacy,
and a suspicion, from some appearances, that their friendship were
declining. She was aware herself, that, parting under any other
circumstances, they certainly should have corresponded more, and that
her intelligence would not have rested, as it now almost wholly did, on
Isabella’s letters. He might observe that it was so. The pain of being
obliged to practise concealment towards him, was very little inferior to
the pain of having made Harriet unhappy.

Isabella sent quite as good an account of her visitor as could be
expected; on her first arrival she had thought her out of spirits, which
appeared perfectly natural, as there was a dentist to be consulted; but,
since that business had been over, she did not appear to find Harriet
different from what she had known her before. --Isabella, to be sure,
was no very quick observer; yet if Harriet had not been equal to playing
with the children, it would not have escaped her. Emma’s comforts and
hopes were most agreeably carried on, by Harriet’s being to stay longer;
her fortnight was likely to be a month at least. Mr. and Mrs. John
Knightley were to come down in August, and she was invited to remain
till they could bring her back.

“John does not even mention your friend,” said Mr. Knightley. “Here is
his answer, if you like to see it. ”

It was the answer to the communication of his intended marriage. Emma
accepted it with a very eager hand, with an impatience all alive to know
what he would say about it, and not at all checked by hearing that her
friend was unmentioned.

“John enters like a brother into my happiness,” continued Mr. Knightley,
“but he is no complimenter; and though I well know him to have,
likewise, a most brotherly affection for you, he is so far from making
flourishes, that any other young woman might think him rather cool in
her praise. But I am not afraid of your seeing what he writes. ”

“He writes like a sensible man,” replied Emma, when she had read the
letter. “I honour his sincerity. It is very plain that he considers the
good fortune of the engagement as all on my side, but that he is not
without hope of my growing, in time, as worthy of your affection, as
you think me already. Had he said any thing to bear a different
construction, I should not have believed him. ”

“My Emma, he means no such thing. He only means--”

“He and I should differ very little in our estimation of the two,”
interrupted she, with a sort of serious smile--“much less, perhaps, than
he is aware of, if we could enter without ceremony or reserve on the
subject. ”

“Emma, my dear Emma--”

“Oh! ” she cried with more thorough gaiety, “if you fancy your brother
does not do me justice, only wait till my dear father is in the secret,
and hear his opinion. Depend upon it, he will be much farther from doing
_you_ justice. He will think all the happiness, all the advantage, on
your side of the question; all the merit on mine. I wish I may not
sink into ‘poor Emma’ with him at once. --His tender compassion towards
oppressed worth can go no farther. ”

“Ah! ” he cried, “I wish your father might be half as easily convinced as
John will be, of our having every right that equal worth can give, to be
happy together. I am amused by one part of John’s letter--did you notice
it? --where he says, that my information did not take him wholly by
surprize, that he was rather in expectation of hearing something of the
kind. ”

“If I understand your brother, he only means so far as your having
some thoughts of marrying. He had no idea of me. He seems perfectly
unprepared for that. ”

“Yes, yes--but I am amused that he should have seen so far into my
feelings. What has he been judging by? --I am not conscious of any
difference in my spirits or conversation that could prepare him at
this time for my marrying any more than at another. --But it was so, I
suppose. I dare say there was a difference when I was staying with them
the other day. I believe I did not play with the children quite so much
as usual. I remember one evening the poor boys saying, ‘Uncle seems
always tired now. ’”

The time was coming when the news must spread farther, and other
persons’ reception of it tried. As soon as Mrs. Weston was sufficiently
recovered to admit Mr. Woodhouse’s visits, Emma having it in view that
her gentle reasonings should be employed in the cause, resolved first to
announce it at home, and then at Randalls. --But how to break it to her
father at last! --She had bound herself to do it, in such an hour of Mr.
Knightley’s absence, or when it came to the point her heart would have
failed her, and she must have put it off; but Mr. Knightley was to come
at such a time, and follow up the beginning she was to make. --She was
forced to speak, and to speak cheerfully too. She must not make it a
more decided subject of misery to him, by a melancholy tone herself.
She must not appear to think it a misfortune. --With all the spirits she
could command, she prepared him first for something strange, and then,
in a few words, said, that if his consent and approbation could be
obtained--which, she trusted, would be attended with no difficulty,
since it was a plan to promote the happiness of all--she and Mr.
Knightley meant to marry; by which means Hartfield would receive the
constant addition of that person’s company whom she knew he loved, next
to his daughters and Mrs. Weston, best in the world.

Poor man! --it was at first a considerable shock to him, and he tried
earnestly to dissuade her from it. She was reminded, more than once, of
having always said she would never marry, and assured that it would be
a great deal better for her to remain single; and told of poor Isabella,
and poor Miss Taylor. --But it would not do. Emma hung about him
affectionately, and smiled, and said it must be so; and that he must
not class her with Isabella and Mrs. Weston, whose marriages taking them
from Hartfield, had, indeed, made a melancholy change: but she was not
going from Hartfield; she should be always there; she was introducing
no change in their numbers or their comforts but for the better; and she
was very sure that he would be a great deal the happier for having Mr.
Knightley always at hand, when he were once got used to the idea. --Did
he not love Mr. Knightley very much? --He would not deny that he did,
she was sure. --Whom did he ever want to consult on business but Mr.
Knightley? --Who was so useful to him, who so ready to write his letters,
who so glad to assist him? --Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached
to him? --Would not he like to have him always on the spot? --Yes. That
was all very true. Mr. Knightley could not be there too often; he should
be glad to see him every day;--but they did see him every day as it
was. --Why could not they go on as they had done?

Mr. Woodhouse could not be soon reconciled; but the worst was overcome,
the idea was given; time and continual repetition must do the rest. --To
Emma’s entreaties and assurances succeeded Mr. Knightley’s, whose fond
praise of her gave the subject even a kind of welcome; and he was soon
used to be talked to by each, on every fair occasion. --They had all
the assistance which Isabella could give, by letters of the strongest
approbation; and Mrs. Weston was ready, on the first meeting, to
consider the subject in the most serviceable light--first, as a settled,
and, secondly, as a good one--well aware of the nearly equal importance
of the two recommendations to Mr. Woodhouse’s mind. --It was agreed
upon, as what was to be; and every body by whom he was used to be
guided assuring him that it would be for his happiness; and having some
feelings himself which almost admitted it, he began to think that some
time or other--in another year or two, perhaps--it might not be so very
bad if the marriage did take place.

Mrs. Weston was acting no part, feigning no feelings in all that she
said to him in favour of the event. --She had been extremely surprized,
never more so, than when Emma first opened the affair to her; but she
saw in it only increase of happiness to all, and had no scruple in
urging him to the utmost. --She had such a regard for Mr. Knightley, as
to think he deserved even her dearest Emma; and it was in every respect
so proper, suitable, and unexceptionable a connexion, and in one
respect, one point of the highest importance, so peculiarly eligible,
so singularly fortunate, that now it seemed as if Emma could not safely
have attached herself to any other creature, and that she had herself
been the stupidest of beings in not having thought of it, and wished it
long ago.
--How very few of those men in a rank of life to address Emma
would have renounced their own home for Hartfield! And who but Mr.
Knightley could know and bear with Mr. Woodhouse, so as to make such
an arrangement desirable! --The difficulty of disposing of poor Mr.
Woodhouse had been always felt in her husband’s plans and her own, for
a marriage between Frank and Emma. How to settle the claims of Enscombe
and Hartfield had been a continual impediment--less acknowledged by Mr.
Weston than by herself--but even he had never been able to finish
the subject better than by saying--“Those matters will take care of
themselves; the young people will find a way. ” But here there was
nothing to be shifted off in a wild speculation on the future. It was
all right, all open, all equal. No sacrifice on any side worth the name.
It was a union of the highest promise of felicity in itself, and without
one real, rational difficulty to oppose or delay it.

Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in such reflections
as these, was one of the happiest women in the world. If any thing could
increase her delight, it was perceiving that the baby would soon have
outgrown its first set of caps.

The news was universally a surprize wherever it spread; and Mr. Weston
had his five minutes share of it; but five minutes were enough to
familiarise the idea to his quickness of mind. --He saw the advantages
of the match, and rejoiced in them with all the constancy of his wife;
but the wonder of it was very soon nothing; and by the end of an hour he
was not far from believing that he had always foreseen it.

“It is to be a secret, I conclude,” said he. “These matters are always a
secret, till it is found out that every body knows them. Only let me be
told when I may speak out. --I wonder whether Jane has any suspicion. ”

He went to Highbury the next morning, and satisfied himself on that
point. He told her the news. Was not she like a daughter, his eldest
daughter? --he must tell her; and Miss Bates being present, it passed,
of course, to Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Perry, and Mrs. Elton, immediately
afterwards. It was no more than the principals were prepared for; they
had calculated from the time of its being known at Randalls, how soon it
would be over Highbury; and were thinking of themselves, as the evening
wonder in many a family circle, with great sagacity.

In general, it was a very well approved match. Some might think him, and
others might think her, the most in luck. One set might recommend their
all removing to Donwell, and leaving Hartfield for the John Knightleys;
and another might predict disagreements among their servants; but yet,
upon the whole, there was no serious objection raised, except in one
habitation, the Vicarage. --There, the surprize was not softened by any
satisfaction. Mr. Elton cared little about it, compared with his wife;
he only hoped “the young lady’s pride would now be contented;” and
supposed “she had always meant to catch Knightley if she could;” and,
on the point of living at Hartfield, could daringly exclaim, “Rather
he than I! ”--But Mrs. Elton was very much discomposed indeed. --“Poor
Knightley! poor fellow! --sad business for him. ”--She was extremely
concerned; for, though very eccentric, he had a thousand good
qualities. --How could he be so taken in? --Did not think him at all in
love--not in the least. --Poor Knightley! --There would be an end of all
pleasant intercourse with him. --How happy he had been to come and dine
with them whenever they asked him! But that would be all over now. --Poor
fellow! --No more exploring parties to Donwell made for _her_. Oh!
no; there would be a Mrs. Knightley to throw cold water on every
thing. --Extremely disagreeable! But she was not at all sorry that
she had abused the housekeeper the other day. --Shocking plan, living
together. It would never do. She knew a family near Maple Grove who
had tried it, and been obliged to separate before the end of the first
quarter.



CHAPTER XVIII


Time passed on. A few more to-morrows, and the party from London would
be arriving. It was an alarming change; and Emma was thinking of it one
morning, as what must bring a great deal to agitate and grieve her, when
Mr. Knightley came in, and distressing thoughts were put by. After the
first chat of pleasure he was silent; and then, in a graver tone, began
with,

“I have something to tell you, Emma; some news. ”

“Good or bad? ” said she, quickly, looking up in his face.

“I do not know which it ought to be called. ”

“Oh! good I am sure. --I see it in your countenance. You are trying not
to smile. ”

“I am afraid,” said he, composing his features, “I am very much afraid,
my dear Emma, that you will not smile when you hear it. ”

“Indeed! but why so? --I can hardly imagine that any thing which pleases
or amuses you, should not please and amuse me too. ”

“There is one subject,” he replied, “I hope but one, on which we do not
think alike. ” He paused a moment, again smiling, with his eyes fixed on
her face. “Does nothing occur to you? --Do not you recollect? --Harriet
Smith. ”

Her cheeks flushed at the name, and she felt afraid of something, though
she knew not what.

“Have you heard from her yourself this morning? ” cried he. “You have, I
believe, and know the whole. ”

“No, I have not; I know nothing; pray tell me. ”

“You are prepared for the worst, I see--and very bad it is. Harriet
Smith marries Robert Martin. ”

Emma gave a start, which did not seem like being prepared--and her eyes,
in eager gaze, said, “No, this is impossible! ” but her lips were closed.

“It is so, indeed,” continued Mr. Knightley; “I have it from Robert
Martin himself. He left me not half an hour ago. ”

She was still looking at him with the most speaking amazement.

“You like it, my Emma, as little as I feared. --I wish our opinions were
the same. But in time they will. Time, you may be sure, will make one
or the other of us think differently; and, in the meanwhile, we need not
talk much on the subject. ”

“You mistake me, you quite mistake me,” she replied, exerting herself.
“It is not that such a circumstance would now make me unhappy, but I
cannot believe it. It seems an impossibility! --You cannot mean to say,
that Harriet Smith has accepted Robert Martin. You cannot mean that he
has even proposed to her again--yet. You only mean, that he intends it. ”

“I mean that he has done it,” answered Mr. Knightley, with smiling but
determined decision, “and been accepted. ”

“Good God! ” she cried. --“Well! ”--Then having recourse to her workbasket,
in excuse for leaning down her face, and concealing all the exquisite
feelings of delight and entertainment which she knew she must be
expressing, she added, “Well, now tell me every thing; make this
intelligible to me. How, where, when? --Let me know it all. I never was
more surprized--but it does not make me unhappy, I assure you. --How--how
has it been possible? ”

“It is a very simple story. He went to town on business three days ago,
and I got him to take charge of some papers which I was wanting to send
to John. --He delivered these papers to John, at his chambers, and was
asked by him to join their party the same evening to Astley’s. They were
going to take the two eldest boys to Astley’s. The party was to be our
brother and sister, Henry, John--and Miss Smith. My friend Robert could
not resist. They called for him in their way; were all extremely amused;
and my brother asked him to dine with them the next day--which he
did--and in the course of that visit (as I understand) he found an
opportunity of speaking to Harriet; and certainly did not speak
in vain. --She made him, by her acceptance, as happy even as he is
deserving. He came down by yesterday’s coach, and was with me this
morning immediately after breakfast, to report his proceedings, first
on my affairs, and then on his own. This is all that I can relate of
the how, where, and when. Your friend Harriet will make a much
longer history when you see her. --She will give you all the minute
particulars, which only woman’s language can make interesting. --In our
communications we deal only in the great. --However, I must say, that
Robert Martin’s heart seemed for _him_, and to _me_, very overflowing;
and that he did mention, without its being much to the purpose, that
on quitting their box at Astley’s, my brother took charge of Mrs. John
Knightley and little John, and he followed with Miss Smith and Henry;
and that at one time they were in such a crowd, as to make Miss Smith
rather uneasy. ”

He stopped. --Emma dared not attempt any immediate reply. To speak, she
was sure would be to betray a most unreasonable degree of happiness.
She must wait a moment, or he would think her mad. Her silence disturbed
him; and after observing her a little while, he added,

“Emma, my love, you said that this circumstance would not now make you
unhappy; but I am afraid it gives you more pain than you expected. His
situation is an evil--but you must consider it as what satisfies your
friend; and I will answer for your thinking better and better of him
as you know him more. His good sense and good principles would delight
you. --As far as the man is concerned, you could not wish your friend
in better hands. His rank in society I would alter if I could, which is
saying a great deal I assure you, Emma. --You laugh at me about William
Larkins; but I could quite as ill spare Robert Martin. ”

He wanted her to look up and smile; and having now brought herself not
to smile too broadly--she did--cheerfully answering,

“You need not be at any pains to reconcile me to the match. I think
Harriet is doing extremely well. _Her_ connexions may be worse than
_his_. In respectability of character, there can be no doubt that they
are. I have been silent from surprize merely, excessive surprize. You
cannot imagine how suddenly it has come on me! how peculiarly unprepared
I was! --for I had reason to believe her very lately more determined
against him, much more, than she was before. ”

“You ought to know your friend best,” replied Mr. Knightley; “but I
should say she was a good-tempered, soft-hearted girl, not likely to be
very, very determined against any young man who told her he loved her. ”

Emma could not help laughing as she answered, “Upon my word, I believe
you know her quite as well as I do. --But, Mr. Knightley, are you
perfectly sure that she has absolutely and downright _accepted_ him.
I could suppose she might in time--but can she already? --Did not you
misunderstand him? --You were both talking of other things; of business,
shows of cattle, or new drills--and might not you, in the confusion of
so many subjects, mistake him? --It was not Harriet’s hand that he was
certain of--it was the dimensions of some famous ox. ”

The contrast between the countenance and air of Mr. Knightley and Robert
Martin was, at this moment, so strong to Emma’s feelings, and so strong
was the recollection of all that had so recently passed on Harriet’s
side, so fresh the sound of those words, spoken with such emphasis,
“No, I hope I know better than to think of Robert Martin,” that she was
really expecting the intelligence to prove, in some measure, premature.
It could not be otherwise.

“Do you dare say this? ” cried Mr. Knightley. “Do you dare to suppose me
so great a blockhead, as not to know what a man is talking of? --What do
you deserve? ”

“Oh! I always deserve the best treatment, because I never put up with
any other; and, therefore, you must give me a plain, direct answer. Are
you quite sure that you understand the terms on which Mr. Martin and
Harriet now are? ”

“I am quite sure,” he replied, speaking very distinctly, “that he
told me she had accepted him; and that there was no obscurity, nothing
doubtful, in the words he used; and I think I can give you a proof that
it must be so. He asked my opinion as to what he was now to do. He knew
of no one but Mrs. Goddard to whom he could apply for information of
her relations or friends. Could I mention any thing more fit to be done,
than to go to Mrs. Goddard? I assured him that I could not. Then, he
said, he would endeavour to see her in the course of this day. ”

“I am perfectly satisfied,” replied Emma, with the brightest smiles,
“and most sincerely wish them happy. ”

“You are materially changed since we talked on this subject before. ”

“I hope so--for at that time I was a fool. ”

“And I am changed also; for I am now very willing to grant you all
Harriet’s good qualities. I have taken some pains for your sake, and for
Robert Martin’s sake, (whom I have always had reason to believe as much
in love with her as ever,) to get acquainted with her. I have often
talked to her a good deal. You must have seen that I did. Sometimes,
indeed, I have thought you were half suspecting me of pleading poor
Martin’s cause, which was never the case; but, from all my observations,
I am convinced of her being an artless, amiable girl, with very good
notions, very seriously good principles, and placing her happiness in
the affections and utility of domestic life. --Much of this, I have no
doubt, she may thank you for. ”

“Me! ” cried Emma, shaking her head. --“Ah! poor Harriet! ”

She checked herself, however, and submitted quietly to a little more
praise than she deserved.

Their conversation was soon afterwards closed by the entrance of her
father. She was not sorry. She wanted to be alone. Her mind was in a
state of flutter and wonder, which made it impossible for her to be
collected. She was in dancing, singing, exclaiming spirits; and till she
had moved about, and talked to herself, and laughed and reflected, she
could be fit for nothing rational.

Her father’s business was to announce James’s being gone out to put the
horses to, preparatory to their now daily drive to Randalls; and she
had, therefore, an immediate excuse for disappearing.

The joy, the gratitude, the exquisite delight of her sensations may be
imagined. The sole grievance and alloy thus removed in the prospect of
Harriet’s welfare, she was really in danger of becoming too happy for
security. --What had she to wish for? Nothing, but to grow more worthy of
him, whose intentions and judgment had been ever so superior to her own.
Nothing, but that the lessons of her past folly might teach her humility
and circumspection in future.

Serious she was, very serious in her thankfulness, and in her
resolutions; and yet there was no preventing a laugh, sometimes in the
very midst of them. She must laugh at such a close!