No More Learning

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

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

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

To Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first idea on the
subject, for the first start of its possibility. There was no denying
that those brothers had penetration. She remembered what Mr. Knightley
had once said to her about Mr. Elton, the caution he had given,
the conviction he had professed that Mr. Elton would never marry
indiscreetly; and blushed to think how much truer a knowledge of his
character had been there shewn than any she had reached herself. It
was dreadfully mortifying; but Mr. Elton was proving himself, in many
respects, the very reverse of what she had meant and believed him;
proud, assuming, conceited; very full of his own claims, and little
concerned about the feelings of others.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XVII


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

The evening of the very day on which they went brought a note from Mr.
Elton to Mr. Woodhouse, a long, civil, ceremonious note, to say, with
Mr. Elton’s best compliments, “that he was proposing to leave Highbury
the following morning in his way to Bath; where, in compliance with
the pressing entreaties of some friends, he had engaged to spend a few
weeks, and very much regretted the impossibility he was under, from
various circumstances of weather and business, of taking a personal
leave of Mr. Woodhouse, of whose friendly civilities he should ever
retain a grateful sense--and had Mr. Woodhouse any commands, should be
happy to attend to them. ”

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

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

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

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

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

Emma was in the humour to value simplicity and modesty to the utmost;
and all that was amiable, all that ought to be attaching, seemed on
Harriet’s side, not her own. Harriet did not consider herself as having
any thing to complain of. The affection of such a man as Mr. Elton
would have been too great a distinction. --She never could have deserved
him--and nobody but so partial and kind a friend as Miss Woodhouse would
have thought it possible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XVIII


Mr. Frank Churchill did not come. When the time proposed drew near, Mrs.
Weston’s fears were justified in the arrival of a letter of excuse. For
the present, he could not be spared, to his “very great mortification
and regret; but still he looked forward with the hope of coming to
Randalls at no distant period. ”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming, if he made a
point of it. It is too unlikely, for me to believe it without proof. ”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sometimes he can. ”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our amiable young man is a very weak young man, if this be the first
occasion of his carrying through a resolution to do right against the
will of others. It ought to have been a habit with him by this time, of
following his duty, instead of consulting expediency. I can allow for
the fears of the child, but not of the man. As he became rational, he
ought to have roused himself and shaken off all that was unworthy in
their authority. He ought to have opposed the first attempt on their
side to make him slight his father. Had he begun as he ought, there
would have been no difficulty now. ”

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

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

“Your feelings are singular. They seem to satisfy every body else. ”

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

“You seem determined to think ill of him. ”

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

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

“You will excuse my being so much over-powered. If I find him
conversable, I shall be glad of his acquaintance; but if he is only a
chattering coxcomb, he will not occupy much of my time or thoughts. ”

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

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

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

“Prejudiced! I am not prejudiced. ”

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

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

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




VOLUME II



CHAPTER I


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emma’s politeness was at hand directly, to say, with smiling interest--

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

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

All this spoken extremely fast obliged Miss Bates to stop for breath;
and Emma said something very civil about the excellence of Miss
Fairfax’s handwriting.

“You are extremely kind,” replied Miss Bates, highly gratified; “you who
are such a judge, and write so beautifully yourself. I am sure there is
nobody’s praise that could give us so much pleasure as Miss Woodhouse’s.
My mother does not hear; she is a little deaf you know. Ma’am,”
addressing her, “do you hear what Miss Woodhouse is so obliging to say
about Jane’s handwriting? ”

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

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

“Are you expecting Miss Fairfax here soon? ”

“Oh yes; next week. ”

“Indeed! --that must be a very great pleasure. ”

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

“Yes, so I imagined. I was afraid there could be little chance of my
hearing any thing of Miss Fairfax to-day. ”

“So obliging of you! No, we should not have heard, if it had not been
for this particular circumstance, of her being to come here so soon. My
mother is so delighted! --for she is to be three months with us at
least. Three months, she says so, positively, as I am going to have the
pleasure of reading to you. The case is, you see, that the Campbells are
going to Ireland. Mrs. Dixon has persuaded her father and mother to come
over and see her directly. They had not intended to go over till the
summer, but she is so impatient to see them again--for till she married,
last October, she was never away from them so much as a week, which must
make it very strange to be in different kingdoms, I was going to say,
but however different countries, and so she wrote a very urgent letter
to her mother--or her father, I declare I do not know which it was, but
we shall see presently in Jane’s letter--wrote in Mr. Dixon’s name as
well as her own, to press their coming over directly, and they would
give them the meeting in Dublin, and take them back to their country
seat, Baly-craig, a beautiful place, I fancy. Jane has heard a great
deal of its beauty; from Mr. Dixon, I mean--I do not know that she ever
heard about it from any body else; but it was very natural, you know,
that he should like to speak of his own place while he was paying his
addresses--and as Jane used to be very often walking out with them--for
Colonel and Mrs. Campbell were very particular about their daughter’s
not walking out often with only Mr. Dixon, for which I do not at all
blame them; of course she heard every thing he might be telling Miss
Campbell about his own home in Ireland; and I think she wrote us word
that he had shewn them some drawings of the place, views that he had
taken himself. He is a most amiable, charming young man, I believe. Jane
was quite longing to go to Ireland, from his account of things. ”

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

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

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

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