Chapter XII

Mr. Knightley was to dine with them. Mr. Woodhouse did not like that any one should share with him in Isabella’s first day. Emma hoped they might now become friends again. She thought it was time to make up. It was time to forget that they had ever quarrelled; and she hoped it might rather assist the restoration of friendship, that when he came into the room she had one of the children with her – the youngest, a nice little girl about eight months old, who was now making her first visit to Hartfield, and very happy to be danced about in her aunt’s arms.

Soon Emma felt they were friends again; and the conviction giving her at first great satisfaction, and then a little sauciness.

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

“If you were guided by nature in your estimate of men and women, as you are where these children are concerned, we might always think alike.”

“To be sure – our discordancies must always arise from my being in the wrong.”

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

“A material difference then,” she replied, “and no doubt you were much my superior in judgment at that period of our lives.”

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

“That’s true,” she cried, “very true. Little Emma, grow up a better woman than your aunt. Be infinitely cleverer. Now, Mr. Knightley, a word or two more. As far we were both right, I only want to know that Mr. Martin is not very, very bitterly disappointed.”

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

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

The evening was quiet and conversable. The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits, but principally of those of the elder, who was always the greater talker. While they were occupied, Mr. Woodhouse was enjoying a full flow of regrets with his daughter.

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

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

“Oh! I am quite ashamed of myself – but you mention them in most of your letters. I hope they are quite well. Good old Mrs. Bates – I will visit her tomorrow, and take my children. They are always so pleased to see my children. And that excellent Miss Bates! How are they?”

“Why, pretty well, my dear. But poor Mrs. Bates had a bad cold about a month ago.”

“How sorry I am! But colds were never so prevalent as they have been this autumn. And what about Jane Fairfax, how is she?”

“That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax!” said Mrs. John Knightley. “It is so long since I have seen her. What happiness it must be to her good old grandmother and excellent aunt, when she comes to visit them! I always regret excessively on dear Emma’s account that she cannot be more at Highbury. I suppose Colonel and Mrs. Campbell will not be able to part with her at all. She would be such a delightful companion for Emma.”

Mr. Woodhouse agreed to it all, but added, “Our little friend Harriet Smith, however, is just such another pretty kind of young person. You will like Harriet. Emma could not have a better companion than Harriet.”

“I am most happy to hear it – but only Jane Fairfax one knows to be so very accomplished and superior! – and exactly Emma’s age.”

Chapter XIII

There could hardly be a happier creature in the world than Mrs. Knightley, in this short visit to Hartfield, going about every morning among her old acquaintance with her five children, and talking over what she had done every evening with her father and sister. She had nothing to wish otherwise. It was a delightful visit.

One day they all decided to dine at Randalls; even Mr. Woodhouse was persuaded to think it a possible thing. The evening before this great event had been spent by Harriet at Hartfield, and she had gone home so much indisposed with a cold. Emma called on her the next day. Harriet was very feverish and had a bad sore throat: Mrs. Goddard was full of care and affection.

Emma sat with her as long as she could, representing how much Mr. Elton’s would be depressed when he knew her state. She had not advanced many yards from Mrs. Goddard’s door, when she was met by Mr. Elton himself, and as they walked on slowly together in conversation about Harriet – of whom he had been going to inquire, they were overtaken by Mr. John Knightley returning from the daily visit to Donwell, with his two eldest boys. They joined company and proceeded together. Emma was just describing the nature of her friend’s complaint; “a throat very much inflamed, with a great deal of heat about her, a quick, low pulse, and she was sorry to find from Mrs. Goddard that Harriet was liable to very bad sore-throats.” Mr. Elton he exclaimed,

“A sore-throat! I hope not infectious. I hope not of a putrid infectious sort. Has the doctor seen her? Indeed you should take care of yourself as well as of your friend. Why does not the doctor see her?”

Emma, who was not really at all frightened herself, said,

“It is so cold, so very cold – and looks and feels so very much like snow, that if it were to any other place or with any other party, I should really try not to go out today – and dissuade my father from venturing; but as he has made up his mind, I do not like to interfere, as I know it would be so great a disappointment to Mr. and Mrs. Weston. But, upon my word, Mr. Elton, in your case, I should certainly excuse myself. I think it would be no more than common prudence to stay at home and take care of yourself tonight.”

Mr. Elton looked as if he did not very well know what answer to make.

“We will make your apologies to Mr. and Mrs. Weston,” said she.

But hardly had she so spoken, when she found Mr. Knightley was civilly offering a seat in his carriage, if the weather were Mr. Elton’s only objection. Mr. Elton decided to go, and never had his broad handsome face expressed more pleasure than at this moment; never had his smile been stronger, nor his eyes more exulting than when he next looked at her.

“Well,” said Emma to herself, “this is most strange! To choose to go into company, and leave Harriet ill behind! Most strange indeed! Mr. Elton; a most valuable, amiable, pleasing young man undoubtedly, and very much in love with Harriet; but still, he cannot refuse an invitation, he dines out wherever he is asked. What a strange thing love is!”

Soon afterwards Mr. Elton quitted them. After a few minutes of silence between them, John Knightley began with —

“I never in my life saw a man more intent on being agreeable than Mr. Elton. Especially where ladies are concerned.”

“Mr. Elton’s manners are not perfect,” replied Emma; “but there is such perfect good-temper and good-will in Mr. Elton as one cannot but value.”

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

“Me!” she replied with a smile of astonishment, “are you imagining me to be Mr. Elton’s object?”

“Yes, I am, Emma; and if it never occurred to you before, you may as well take it into consideration now.”

“Mr. Elton in love with me! What an idea!”

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

“I thank you; but I assure you, you are quite mistaken. Mr. Elton and I are very good friends, and nothing more;” and she walked on. He said no more.

Chapter XIV

Some change of countenance was necessary for each gentleman as they walked into Mrs. Weston’s drawing-room; Mr. Elton must compose his joyous looks, and Mr. John Knightley disperse his ill-humour. Only Emma showed herself just as happy as she was. To her it was real enjoyment to be with the Westons.

Emma’s project of forgetting Mr. Elton for a while broke, when they had all taken their places: he was close to her. And he not only sat at her elbow, but was continually obtruding his happy countenance on her notice, and addressing her upon every occasion. Instead of forgetting him, his behaviour was such that she could not avoid the internal suggestion of “Can it really be as my brother imagined? can it be possible for this man to transfer his affections from Harriet to me? Absurd and insufferable!” For her own sake she could not be rude; and for Harriet’s, she was even positively civil; but it was an effort. She heard that Mr. Weston was giving some information about his son; she heard the words “my son,” and “Frank,” and “my son,” repeated several times over; and, from a few other half-syllables suspected that he was announcing an early visit from his son.

Now, it so happened that in spite of Emma’s resolution of never marrying, there was something in the name, in the idea of Mr. Frank Churchill, which always interested her. She had frequently thought – especially since his father’s marriage with Miss Taylor – that if she were to marry, he was the very person to suit her in age, character and condition. He seemed by this connexion between the families, quite to belong to her. That Mr. and Mrs. Weston did think of it, she was very strongly persuaded; and she had a great curiosity to see him, a decided intention of finding him pleasant, of being liked by him to a certain degree, and a sort of pleasure in the idea of their being coupled in their friends’ imaginations.

With such sensations, Mr. Elton’s civilities were dreadfully ill-timed.

“I should like to see two more here,” said Mr. Weston, “your pretty little friend, Miss Smith, and my son – and then I should say we were quite complete. I believe you did not hear me telling the others in the drawing-room that we are expecting Frank. I had a letter from him this morning, and he will be with us within a fortnight. He has been wanting to come to us, ever since September: every letter has been full of it; but he cannot command his own time. But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second week in January.”

“What a very great pleasure it will be to you! and Mrs. Weston is so anxious to be acquainted with him, that she must be almost as happy as yourself. He ought to come. If he could stay only a couple of days, he ought to come!”