ch one day would be the very day of his party. His professional engagements did not allow of his being put off, but both father and daughter were disturbed by its happening, so... Mr. Woodhouse considered eight persons at dinner together as the utmost that his nerves could bear, and here would be a ninth, and him apprehended that it would be a ninth very much out of humor at not being able to come even to Hartfield for forty-eight hours without following in with the dinner party. She comforted her father better than she could comfort herself by representing that though he certainly would make them nine, yet he always said so little, that the increase of noise would be very immaterial. She thought it in reality a sad exchange for herself to have him with his grave looks and reluctant conversation opposed to her instead of his brother. The event was more favorable to Mr. Woodhouse than to Emma. John Knightley came, but Mr. Weston was unexpectedly summoned to town and must be absent on the very day. He might be able to join them in the evening, but certainly not to dinner. Mr. Woodhouse was quite at ease, and the seeing himself, with the arrival of his little boys in the philosophic composure of her brother unhearing his fate, removed the chief of even Emma's vexation. The day came, the party were punctually assembled, and Mr. John Knightley seemed early to devote himself to the business of being agreeable. Instead of drawing his brother off to a window while they waited for dinner, he was talking to Ms. Fairfax. Mrs. Elton as elegant as Lace and Pearls could make her, he looked at in silence, wanting only to observe enough for Isabella's information. But Ms. Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet girl, and he could talk to her. He met her before breakfast, as he was returning from a walk with his little boys, when it had been just beginning to rain. It was natural to have some civil hopes on the subject, and he said, I hope you did not venture far at Ms. Fairfax this morning, or I am sure you must have been wet. We scarcely got home in time. I hope you turned directly. I went only to the post office, said she, and reached home before the rain was much. It is my daily errand. I always fetch the letters when I am here. It saves trouble, and is a something to get me out. A walk before breakfast does me good. Not a walk in the rain, I should imagine. No, but it did not absolutely rain when I set out. Mr. John Knightley smiled and replied, That is to say, you chose to have your walk, for you were not six yards from your own door when I had the pleasure of meeting you, and Henry and John had seen more drops than they could count long before. The post office has a great charm at one period of our lives. When you have lived to my age, you will begin to think letters are never worth going through the rain for. There was a little blush, and then this answer. I must not hope to be ever situated as you are, in the midst of every dearest connection, and therefore I cannot expect that simply going older should make me indifferent about letters. Indifferent? Oh, no, I never conceived you could become indifferent. Letters are no matter of indifference. They are generally a very positive curse. You are speaking of letters of business, minor letters of friendship. I have often thought them the worst of the two, replied he coley. Business, you know, may bring money, but friendship hardly ever does. Ah, you are not serious now. I know Mr. John Knightley too well. I am very sure he understands the value of friendship as well as anybody. I can easily believe that letters are very little to you, much less than to me, but it is not your being ten years older than myself but to make the difference. It is not age, but situation. You have everybody dearest to you, always at hand. I probably never shall again, and therefore till I have outlived all my affections, a post office, I think, must always have power to draw me out, and worse whether than to die. When I talked of your being altered by time, by the progress of years, said John Knightley, I meant to imply the change of situation which time usually brings. I consider one as including the other. Time will generally lessen the interest of every attachment not within the daily circle, but that is not the change I had in view for you. As an old friend, you will allow me to hope, Miss Fairfax, that ten years hence you may have as many concentrated objects as I have. It was kindly said, and very far from giving offense. A pleasant thank you, seemed meant to laugh it off, but a blush, a quivering lip, a tear in the eye showed that it was felt beyond the laugh. Her attention was now claimed by Mr. Woodhouse, who being according to his custom on such occasions, making the circle of his guests and paying his particular compliments to the ladies, was ending with her, and with all his mildness for benedict said, I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being out this morning in the rain. Young ladies should take care of themselves. Young ladies are delicate plants. They should take care of their health and their complexion. My dear, did you change your stockings? Yes, sir, I did indeed, and I am very much obliged by your kind solicitude about me. My dear Miss Fairfax, young ladies are very sure to be cared for. I hope your good grandma and aunt are well. They are some of my very old friends. I wish my health allowed me to be a better neighbour. You do us a great deal of honour today, I am sure. My daughter and I are both highly sensible of your goodness, and have the greatest satisfaction in seeing you at Hartfield. The kind hearted, polite old man, might then sit down and feel that he had done his duty, and made every fair lady welcome and easy. By this time they'll welcome the rain and reach Mrs. Elton, and her room and strances now opened upon Jane. My dear Jane, what is this I hear? Grange the post office in the rain? This must not be, I assure you. You, sad girl, how could you do such a thing? It is a sign I was not there to take care of you. Jane very patiently assured her that she had not caught any cold. Oh, do not tell me. You really are a very sad girl, and do not know how to take care of yourself. To the post office indeed. Mrs. Weston, did you ever hear the like? You and I must positively exert our authority. My advice, said Mrs. Weston kindly and persuasively, I certainly do feel tempted to give. Miss Fairfax, you must not run such risks. Liable as you have been to severe colds, indeed you ought to be particularly careful, especially at this time of year. This spring, I always think, requires more than common care. Better wait an hour or two, or even have a day for your letters, then run the risk of being on your cough again. Now, do not you feel that you had? Yes, I am sure you are much too reasonable. You look as if you would not do such a thing again. Oh, she shall not do such a thing again. You could be rejoining Mrs. Elton. We would not allow her to do such a thing again. And nodding significantly, there must be some arrangement made. There must indeed. I shall speak to Mr. E. He manufactures our letters every morning. One of our men, I forget his name, shall inquire over years too and bring them to us. That will obviate all difficulties, you know. And from us, I really think, my dear Jane, you can have no scruple to accept such an accommodation. You are extremely kind, said Jane, but I cannot give up my early walk. I am advised to be out of doors as much as I can. I must walk somewhere, and the post office is an object.  My dear Jane, say no more about it. The thing is determined. That is, laughing effectively, as far as I can presume to determine anything without the concurrence of my lord and master. You know, Mrs. Weston, you and I must be cautious how we express ourselves. But I do flatter myself, my dear Jane, that my influence is not entirely worn out. If I meet with no inseparable difficulties therefore, consider that point is settled. Excuse me, said Jane earnestly. I cannot by any means consent to such an arrangement, so needlessly trouble some to your servant. If the errand would not a pleasure to me, it could be done, as it always is when I am not here, by my grandma's. Oh, my dear, but so much as Paddy has to do, and it is the kindness to employ our men. Jane looked as if she did not mean to be conquered, but instead of answering, she began speaking again to Mr. John Knightley. The post office is such a wonderful establishment, said she, the regularity and dispatch of it. If one thinks of all that it has to do, and all that it does so well, it is really astonishing. It is certainly very well regulated. So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears, so seldom that a letter among the thousands that are constantly passing about the kingdom is even carried wrong, and not one in a million, I suppose, actually lost. And when one considers the variety of hands and evade hands, too, that are to be deciphered, it increases the wonder. The clerks grow expert from habit. They must begin with some quickness of sight in hand, and exercise improves them. If you want any farther explanation, continued he, smiling, they are paid for it. That is a key to a great duo capacity. The public pays and must be served well. The varieties of handwriting were farther talked of, and the usual observations made. I have heard it asserted, said John Knightley, that the same sort of handwriting often prevails in a family, and where the same master teaches, it is natural enough. But for that reason I should imagine the likeness will be chiefly confined to the females, where boys have very little teaching after an early age, and scramble into any hand they can get. Isabella and Emma, I think, do write very much alike. I have not always known their writing apart. Yes, said his brother hesitatingly, there is a likeness, I know what you mean, but Emma's hand is the strongest. Isabella and Emma both write beautifully, said Mr. Woodhouse, and always did. And so does poor Mrs. Weston, with half a sigh and half a smile at her. I never saw any gentleman's handwriting, Emma began, looking also at Mrs. Weston, but stopped on perceiving that Mrs. Weston was attending to someone else, and the pause gave her time to reflect. Now, how am I going to introduce him? Am I unequal to speaking his name at once, before all these people? Is it necessary for me to use any roundabout phrase? Your Yorkshire, friend, your correspondent, Yorkshire. That would be the way, I suppose, if we're very bad. No, I cannot pronounce his name without the smallest of stress. I certainly get better and better. Now, for it. Mrs. Weston was disengaged, and Emma began again. Mr. Frank Churchill writes one of the best gentleman's hands I ever saw. I do not admire it, so, Mr. Knightley, it is too small, one strength, it is like a woman's writing. This was not submitted to by either lady. They've indicated him against the basis version. No, if I know means one at strength, it was not a large hand, but very clear and certainly strong. Had not Mrs. Weston any letter about her to produce? No, she had heard from him very lately, but having answered the letter had put it away. If I were in the other room, said Emma, if I had my writing desk, I am sure I could reduce the specimen. I have a note of his. Do not you remember Mrs. Weston employing him to write for you one day? He chose to say he was employed. Well, well, I have that note, and can show it after dinner to convince Mr. Knightley. Oh, when a gauntlet young man, like Mr. Frank Churchill, said Mr. Knightley dryly, writes to a fair lady like Mrs. Woodhouse, he will, of course, put forth his vest. Dinner was on table. Mrs. Elton, before she could be spoken to, was ready, and before Mr. Woodhouse had reached her with his request to be allowed to hand her into the dining-parlor, was saying. Must I go first? I really am ashamed of always being the way. Jane's solicitude about fetching her own letters had not escaped Emma.  She suspected that it had, that it would not have been so resolutely encountered but in full expectation of hearing from someone very dear, and that it had not been in vain. She thought there was an air of greater happiness than usual, a glow both of conflection and spirits. She could have made an inquiry or two, as to the expedition and the expense of the Irish males. It was at her tongue's end, but she abstained. She was quite determined not to utter a word that should hurt Jane for her faxes' feelings, and they followed the other ladies out of the room, arm in arm, with an appearance of goodwill hardly becoming to the beauty and grace of each. End of Volume 2, Chapter 16. Volume 2, Chapter 17 of Emma by Jane Austen. The Slipper Fox recording is in the public domain. When the ladies returned to the drawing-room after dinner, Emma found it hardly possible to prevent their making two distinct parties, with so much perseverance in judging and behaving ill, that Mrs. Elton engrossed Jane Fairfax and Slight herself. She and Mrs. Weston were obliged to be almost always either talking together or silent together. Mrs. Elton left them no choice. If Jane repressed her for a little time, she soon began again, and though much that passed between them was in half whisper, especially on Mrs. Elton's side, there was no avoiding a knowledge of their principal subjects. The post-office, catching cold, fetching letters, and friendship were long under discussion, and to them succeeded one, which must be at least equally unpleasant to Jane, in queries whether she had yet heard of any situation likely to suit her and professions of Mrs. Elton's meditated activity. Here is April come, said she. I get quite anxious about you. June will soon be here. But I have never fixed on June or any other month, merely look forward to the summer in general. But have you really heard of nothing? I have not even made an inquiry. I do not wish to make any yet. Oh, my dear, we cannot begin too early. You are not aware of the difficulty procuring exactly the desirable thing. I not aware, said Jane, shaking her head. Dear Mrs. Elton, who can have thought of it as I have done? But you have not seen so much of the world as I have. You do not know how many candidates there always are for the first situations. I saw a vast deal of that in the neighborhood around Maple Grove. A cousin of Mr. Suckling, Mrs. Bragg, has such an infinity of applications. Everybody was anxious to be in her family, for she moves in the first circles. Wax candles in the schoolroom. You may imagine how desirable. Of all houses in the kingdom, Mrs. Braggs is the one I would most wish to see. You win. Colonel and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by mid-summer, said Jane. I must spend some time with them. I am sure they will want it. Afterwards, I may probably be glad to dispose of myself. But I would not wish you to take the trouble of making any inquiries at present. Trouble? I—I know your scruples. You are afraid of giving me trouble. But I assure you, my dear Jane, the Campbell's can hardly be more interested about you than I am. I shall write to Mrs. Partridge in a day or two, and she'll give her a strict charge to be on the lookout for anything eligible. Thank you. But I would rather you did not mention the subject to her. So the time draws nearer. I do not wish to be giving anybody trouble. But, my dear child, the time is drawing nearer. Here is April and June. Or, say, even July, is very nearer, with such business to accomplish before us. Your inexperience really amuses me. A situation such as you deserve, and your friends will require it for you, his no-everyday occurrence, is not attained at a moment's notice. Indeed, indeed, we must begin inquiring directly. Excuse me, ma'am, but this is by no means my intention. I make no inquiry myself, and should be sorry to have any made by my friends. When I am quite determined as to the time, I am not at all afraid of being long unemployed. There are places in town, offices, where inquiry would soon produce something, offices for the sale, not quite of human flesh, but of human intellect. Oh, my dear, human flesh! You quite shock me. If you mean a fling at the slave trade, I assure you Mr. Suckling was always whether a friend to the abolition. I do not mean I was not thinking of the slave trade, replied Jane. Coveness trade, I assure you, was all that I had in view. Widely different, certainly, as to the guilt of those who carry it on, but as to the greater misery of the victims. I do not know where it lies. But I only mean to say that there are advertising offices, and that by applying to them, I should have no doubt a very soon meeting with something that would do. Something that would do. Repeat it, Mrs. Elton. Aye, that may suit your humble ideas of yourself. I know what a modest creature you are, but it will not satisfy your friends to have you taking up with anything that may offer any inferior, commonplace situation in a family, not moving in a certain circle, or able to command the elegancies of life. You are very obliging, but as to all that, I am very indifferent. It would be no object to me to be with the rich. My mortifications, I think, would only be the greater. I should suffer more from comparison. A gentleman's family is all that I should condition for. I know you. I know you. You would take up with anything, but I shall be a little more nice, and I am sure the good Campbells will be quite on my side. With your superior talents, you have a right to move in this first circle. Your musical knowledge alone would entitle you to name your own terms, have as many rooms as you like, and mix in the family as much as you chose. That is, I do not know. If you knew the harp, you might do all that. I am very sure, but you sing as well as play. Yes, I really believe you might even without the harp stipulate for what you chose, and you must and shall be flightfully, honorably and comfortably settled before the Campbells or I have any rest. You may well class the delight, the honor, and the comfort of such a situation together, said Jane. They are pretty sure to be equal. However, I am very serious and not wishing anything to be attempted at present for me. I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mrs. Elton. I am obliged to anybody who feels for me, but I am quite serious and wishing nothing to be done till the summer. For two or three months longer, I shall remain where I am and as I am. And I am quite serious too, I assure you, reply, Mrs. Elton Gailey, and resolving to be always on the watch and employing my friends to watch also, then nothing really unexceptionable may pass us. In this style she ran on, never thoroughly stopped by anything till Mr. Woodhouse came into the room. Her vanity had then a change of object, and Emma heard her saying in the same half was through to Jane. Here comes a dear old bow of mine, I protest, I only think of his gallant tree, and coming away before the other men.   I admire all that queen's old-fashioned politeness, and it is much more to my taste than modern ease. Modern ease often disgusts me. For this good old Mr. Woodhouse, I wish you would hurt his gallant speeches to me at dinner.  I fancy I am mother a favorite. He took notice of my gown. How do you like it? Selina's choice. Handsome, I think, but I do not know whether it is not overtrimmed. I have the greatest delight to the idea of being over-trimmed. Quite a horror of finery. I must put on a few ornaments now, because it is expected of me.  A simple style of dress is still infinitely preferable to finery. But I am quite in the minority, I believe. Few people seem to value simplicity of dress. Show and finery are everything. I have some notion of putting such a trimming as this to my white and silver poplin. Do you think it will look well? The whole party would be just reassembled in the drawing room when Mr. Weston made his appearance among them. He had returned to a late dinner and walked to Hartfield as soon as it was over. He had been too much expected by the best judges for surprise, but there was great joy. Mr. Woodhouse was almost as glad to see him now as he would have been sorry to see him before. John Knightley only was in mute astonishment. Though a man who might have spent his evening quietly at home after a day of business in London should set off again and walk half a mile to another man's house, for the sake of being in mixed company till bedtime, of finishing his day in the efforts of civility and the noise of numbers, was a circumstance to strike him deeply. A man who had been in motion since eight o'clock in the morning and might now have been still, who had been long talking and might have been silent, who had been in more than one crowd and might have been alone. Such a man took with the tranquility and independence of his own fireside and on the evening of a cold, sleety April day reached out again into the world. Could he by a touch of his finger have instantly taken back his wife? There would have been a motive, but his coming would probably prolong rather than break up the party. John Knightley looked at him with amazement, then shrugged his shoulders and said, I could not have believed it even of him. Mr. Weston, meanwhile, perfectly unsuspicious of the indignation he was exciting, happy and cheerful as usual, and with all the right of being principal talker, which a day spent anywhere from home confers, was making himself agreeable among the rest, and having satisfied the inquiries of his wife as to his dinner, convincing her that none of all her careful directions to the servants had been forgotten, and spread abroad what public news he had heard, was proceeding to a family communication, which, though principally addressed to Mrs. Weston, he had not the smallest doubt of being highly interesting to everybody in the room. He gave her a letter, it was from Frank, and to herself. He had met with it in his way, and had taken the liberty of opening it. Read it, read it, said he. It will give you pleasure. Only a few lines will not take you long. Read it to Emma. The two ladies looked over it together, and he sat smiling and talking to them the whole time, and a voice a little subdued, but very audible to everybody. Well, he is coming, you see. Good news, I think. Well, what do you say to it? I always told you he would be here again soon. Did not I? And, my dear, did not I always tell you so, and you would not believe me? In town next week, you see, at the latest, I dare say, for she is as impatient as the Black Gentleman when anything is to be done. Most likely they will be there tomorrow or Saturday. As to her illness, all nothing, of course, but it is an excellent thing to have Frank among us again. So near his town, they will stay a good while when they do come, and he will be half his time with us. This is precisely what I wanted. Well, pretty good news, is not it? Have you finished it? Has Emma read it all? Put it up, put it up. We will have a good talk about it some other time, but it will not do now. I shall only just mention the circumstance to the others in a common way. Mrs. Weston was most comfortably pleased on the occasion. Her looks and words had nothing to restrain them. She was happy, she knew she was happy, and knew she ought to be happy. Her congratulations were warm and open, but Emma cannot speak so fluently. She was a little occupied in weighing her own feelings and trying to understand the degree of her agitation which he rather thought was considerable. Mr. Weston, however, too eager to be very observant, too communicative to want others to talk, was very well satisfied with what she did say, and soon moved away to make the rest of his friends happy by partial communication of what the whole room must have overheard already. It was well that he took everybody's joy for granted, or he might not have thought either Mr. Woodhouse or Mr. Knightley particularly delighted. They were the first entitled, after Mrs. Weston and Emma, to be made happy. From them he would have proceeded to miss Fairfax, but she was so deep in conversation with John Knightley that it would have been too positive an interruption, and finding himself close to Mrs. Elton, and her attention disengaged, he necessarily began on the subject with her. CHAPTER XVII. I hope I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing my son to you, said Mr. Weston. Mrs. Elton, very willing to suppose, a particular compliment intended her by such a hope, a smell less graciously. You have heard of a certain Frank Churchill, I presume, he continued, and know him to be my son, though he does not bear my name. Oh, yes, and I shall be very happy in his acquaintance. I am sure Mr. Elton will lose no time in calling on him, and we shall both have great pleasure in seeing him at the vicarage. You are very obliging. Frank will be extremely happy, I am sure. He is to be in town next week, if not sooner. We have noticed a bit in a letter to-day. I met the letters in my way this morning, and seeing my son's hand, presumed to open it, though it was not directed to me. It was to Mrs. Weston. She is his principal correspondent.  And so you absolutely opened, but was directed to her. Oh, Mr. Weston! Laughing effectively, I must protest against that. A most dangerous precedent, indeed. I beg you, will not let your neighbours follow your example. Upon my word, if this is what I am to expect, we married women must begin to exert ourselves. Oh, Mr. Weston, I could not have believed it of you. Aye, we men are sad fellows. You must take care of yourself, Mrs. Elton. This letter tells us, it is a short letter, written in a hurry, merely to give us notice. It tells us that they are all coming up to town directly. I am Mrs. Churchill's account. She has not been well the whole winter, and thinks in scum too cold for her. So they are all to move southward without loss of time. Indeed, from Yorkshire, I think, and scum is in Yorkshire. Yes, they are about 190 miles from London. A considerable journey. Yes, upon my word, very considerable, 65 miles farther than from Maple Grove to London. But what is distance, Mr. Weston, to people of large fortune? You would be amazed to hear my brother Mr. Stuckling sometimes lies about. You will hardly believe me. But twice in one week he and Mr. Rag went to London and back again with four horses. The evil of the distance from in scum, said Mr. Weston, is that Mrs. Churchill, as we understand, has not been able to leave the sofa for a week together. In Frank's last letter she complained. He said, a being too weak to get into her conservatory without having both his arm and his uncles. This, you know, speaks a great degree of weakness. But now she is so impatient to be in town that she means to sleep only two nights on the road. So Frank writes word. Certainly, delicate ladies of very extraordinary constitutions, Mrs. Elton. You must grant me that. No, indeed. I shall grant you nothing. I always take the part of my own sex. I do indeed. I give you notice. You will find me a formidable antagonist on that point. I always stand up for women, and I assure you, if you knew how Selena feels with respect to sleeping at an inn, you would not wonder Mrs. Churchill's making incredible exertions to avoid it. Selena says it is quite horrid to her, and I believe I have caught a little of her nicety. She always travels with her own sheets, an excellent precaution. Does Mrs. Churchill do the same? Depend upon it. Mrs. Churchill does everything that any other fine lady ever did. Mrs. Churchill will not be stuck into any lady in the land for. Mrs. Elton eagerly interposed with. Oh, Mr. Weston, do not mistake me. Selena is no fine lady, I assure you. Do not run away with such an idea. Is not she? Then she has no role for Mrs. Churchill, who is as thorough a fine lady as anybody ever beheld. Mrs. Elton began to think she had been wrong in disclaiming so warmly. It was by no means her object to have it believed that her sister was not a fine lady. Perhaps there was one to spirit in the pretense of it, and she was considering in what way she had best retract when Mr. Weston went on. Mrs. Churchill is not much in my good graces, as you may suspect, but this is quite between ourselves. She is very fond of Frank, and therefore I would not speak ill of her. Besides, she is out of health now. But that indeed, by her own account, she has always been. I would not say so to everybody, Mrs. Elton, but I have not much faith in Mrs. Churchill's illness. If she is really ill, why not go to Bath? Mr. Weston, to Bath, or to Clifton? She has taken it into her head that Enscombe is too cold for her. The fact is, I suppose, that she is tired of Enscombe. She has now been a longer-time stationary there than she ever was before, and she begins to want change. It is a retired place, a fine place, but very retired. I, like Maple Grove, I dare say, nothing can stand more retired from the road than Maple Grove, such an immense plantation all round it.  Or perhaps she may not have resources enough in herself to be qualified for a country life. I always say a woman cannot have too many resources, and I feel very thankful that I have so many myself, as to be quite independent of society. Frank was here in February for a fortnight. So I remember to have heard. He will have an addition to the Society of Highbury when he comes again. That is, if I may presume to call myself an addition, but perhaps he may never have heard of there being such a creature in the world. This was too loud a call for a compliment to be passed by, and Mr. Weston, with a very good grace, immediately exclaimed, My dear madam, nobody but yourself could imagine such a thing possible. Not heard of you. I believe Mrs. Weston's letters lately have been full of very little else than Mrs. Elton. He had done his duty, and could return to his son. When Frank left us, continued he. It was quite uncertain when we might see him again, which makes this day's news doubly welcome. It has been completely unexpected. That is, I always had a strong persuasion he would be here again soon. I was sure something favourable would turn up, but nobody believed me. He and Mrs. Weston were both dreadfully desponding. How could he contrive to come? And how could he be supposed that his uncle and aunt would spare him again? And so forth. I always felt that something would happen in our favour, and so it has, you see. I have observed Mrs. Elton in the course of my life, that if things are going untowardly one month they are sure to mend the next. Very true, Mr. Weston, perfectly true. It is just what I used to say to a certain gentleman and company in the days of courtship, when, because things did not go quite right, did not foresee with all the rapidity which suited his feelings, he was apt to be in despair, and exclaim that he was sure at this rate it would be May before Hyman's saffron robe would be put on for us. Oh, the pains I had been at to dispel those gloomy ideas and give him cheerful reviews. The carriage, great disappointments about the carriage. One morning I remember he came to me quite in despair. She was stopped by a slight fit of coughing, and Mr. Weston instantly seized the opportunity of going on. He were mentioning May. May is the very month which Mrs. Churchill was ordered, or had ordered herself, to spend in some warmer place in Enskolm, in short, to spend in London, so that we have the agreeable prospect of frequent visits from Frank the whole spring, precisely the season of the year at which one should have chosen for it. Day is almost at the longest, weather-genial and pleasant, always inviting one out, and never too hot for exercise. When he was here before we made the best of it, but there was a good deal of wet, damp, cheerless weather. There always is in February, you know, and we could not do half that we intended. Now will be the time. This will be complete enjoyment, and I do not know, Mrs. Elton, whether the uncertainty of our meetings, the sort of constant expectation there will be of his coming, and to-day, or to-morrow, and at any hour, may not be more friendly to happiness than having him actually in the house. I think it is so. I think it is the state of mind which gives most fear and delight. I hope you will be pleased with my son, but you must not expect a prodigy. He has generally thought a fine young man, but do not expect a prodigy. Mrs. Weston's partiality for him is very great, and, as you may suppose, most gratifying to me. She thinks nobody equal to him. And I assure you, Mr. Weston, I have very little doubt that my opinion will be decidedly in his favour. I have heard so much in praise of Mr. Frank Churchill, at the same time it is fair to observe that I am one of those who always judge for themselves, and have I no means implicitly guided by others. I give you notice that as I find your son, so shall I judge of him. I am no fatterer. Mr. Weston was musing. I hope, said he presently, I have not been severe upon poor Mrs. Churchill. If she is ill, I should be sorry to do her injustice. But there are some traits in her character which make it difficult for me to speak of her with the forbearance I could wish. You cannot be ignorant, Mrs. Elton, of my connection with the family, nor of the treatment I have met with. And, between ourselves, the whole blame of it is to be laid to her. She was the instigator. Frank's mother would never have been slighted as she was, but for her. Mr. Churchill has pride, but his pride is nothing to his wife's. His is a quiet, indolent, gentleman-like sort of pride. That would harm nobody, and only make himself a little helpless and tiresome. But her pride is arrogance and insolence, and what inclines one less to bear. She is no fair pretence of family or blood. She was nobody when he married her, barely the daughter of a gentleman. But ever since her being turned into a Churchill, she has out-churchilled them all in high and mighty claims. But in herself, I assure you, she is an upstart. I only think—well, that must be infinitely provoking. I have quite a horror of upstarts. Maple Grove has given me a thorough disgust to people of that sort, for there is a family in that neighborhood who are such an annoyance to my brother and sister from the heirs they give themselves. Your description of Mrs. Churchill made me think of them directly. People of the name of Tubman. Very lately settled there, and then covered with many low connections, but giving themselves immense heirs, and expecting to be on a footing with the old established families. How year-and-a-half is the very utmost that they can have lived at West Hall, and how they got their fortune nobody knows. That came from Birmingham, which is not a place to promise much, you know, Mr. Weston. One has not great hopes from Birmingham. I always say there is something direful in the sound, but nothing more is positively known of the Tubman's. Though good many things, I assure you, are suspected. And yet, by their manners, they evidently think themselves equal, even to my brother, Mr. Suckling, who happens to be one of their nearest neighbors. It is infinitely too bad. Mr. Suckling, who has been eleven years a resident at Maple Grove, and his father had it before him, I believe, at least, I am almost sure that old Mr. Suckling had completed the purchase before his death. They were interrupted. Tea was carrying round, and Mr. Weston, having said all that he wanted, soon took the opportunity of walking away. After tea, Mr. and Mrs. Weston and Mr. Elton sat down, with Mr. Woodhouse, to cards. The remaining fiver left to their own powers, and Emma doubted they're getting on very well. For Mr. Knightley seemed little disposed for conversation. Mrs. Elton was wanting notice, which nobody had inclination to pay, and she was herself in a worry of spirits, which would have made her prefer being silent. Mr. John Knightley proved more talkative than his brother. He was to leave them early the next day, and he soon began with, Well, Emma, I do not believe I have anything more to say about the boys, but you have your sister's letter, and everything is down at full length there, we may be sure. My charge would be much more concise than hers, and probably not much in the same spirit, all that I have to recommend being comprised in, do not spoil them, and do not physics them. I rather hope to satisfy you both, said Emma, for I shall do all in my power to make them happy, which will be enough for Isabella, and happiness must preclude false indulgence in physics. And if you find them troublesome you must send them home again. That is very likely, you think so, do not you. I hope I am aware that they may be too noisy for your father, or even may be some incumbrance to you, if your visiting engagements continue to increase as much as they have done lately. Increase? Certainly, you must be sensible that the last half year has made a great difference in your way of life. Difference? No indeed, I am not. There can be no doubt of your being much more engaged with company than you used to be. Witnesses, very time. Here am I, come down for only one day, and you are engaged with the dinner party. When did it happen before, or anything like it? Your neighborhood is increasing, and you mix more with it. A little while ago, every letter to Isabella brought an account of fresh gayities, dinners at Mr. Kohl's, or Balls of the Crown. The difference, which Randalls, Randalls alone, makes in your goings-on, is very great. Yes, said his brother quickly, it is Randalls that does it all. Very well, and is Randalls, I suppose, is not likely to have less influence than here too far. It strikes me as a possible thing, Emma, that Henry and John may be sometimes in the way, and if they are, I only beg you to send them home. No, kind Mr. Knightley, that need not be the consequence. Let them be sent to Donwell. I shall certainly be at leisure. Upon my word, exclaimed Emma, you amuse me. I shall like to know how many of all my numerous engagements take place without your being of the party, and what I am supposed to be in danger of wanting leisure to attend to the little boys. These amazing engagements of mine, what have they been? Dining once with the Kohl's, and having a ball talked of, which never took place. I can understand you, nodding at Mr. John Knightley, your good fortune in meeting with so many of your friends at once here delight you too much to pass unnoticed, but you, turning to Mr. Knightley, who know how very seldom I am ever two hours from Hartfield, while you should foresee such a series of dissipation for me, I cannot imagine, and as to my dear little boys, I must say that if Aunt Emma has not time for them, I do not think they would fare much better with Uncle Knightley, who is absent from home about five hours where she is absent one, and who, when he is at home, is either reading to himself or settling his accounts. Mr. Knightley seemed to be trying not to smile, and succeeded without difficulty upon Mrs. Elton's beginning to talk to him. End of Volume 2, Chapter 18. Volume 3, Chapter 1 of Emma, by Jane Austen. The Slipper-Vox recording is in the public domain. A very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma, as to the nature of her agitation, on hearing the news of Frank Churchill. She was soon convinced that it was not for herself she was feeling at all apprehensive or embarrassed. It was for him. Her own attachment had really subsided into a mere nothing. It was not worth thinking of. But if he, who had undoubtedly been always so much the most in love of the two, were to be returning with the same warmth of sentiment which he had taken away, it would be very distressing. If a separation of two months should not have cooled him, there were dangers and evils before her, caution for him and for herself would be necessary. She did not mean to have her own affections entangled again, and it would be incumbent on her to avoid any encouragement of his. She wished he might be able to keep him from an absolute declaration. That would be so very painful a conclusion of their present acquaintance, and yet she could not help further anticipating something decisive. She felt as if the spring would not pass without bringing a crisis, an event, a something to alter her present composed and tranquil state. It was not very long, the rather longer the Mr. Weston had foreseen, before she had the power of forming some opinion of Frank Churchill's feelings. The Innscomb family were not in town quite so soon as he had imagined, but he was at Highbury very soon afterwards. He rode down for a couple of hours. He could not yet do more. But as he came from Randall's immediately to Hartfield, she could then exercise all her quick observation and speedily determine how he was influenced and how she must act. They met with the utmost friendliness. There could be no doubt of his great pleasure in seeing her, but she had an almost instant doubt of his caring for her as he had done, of his feeling the same tenderness in the same degree. She watched him well. It was a clear thing he was less in love than he had been. Absence, with the conviction probably of her indifference, had produced this very natural and very desirable effect. He was in high spirits, as ready to talk and laugh as ever, and seemed delighted to speak of his former visit and recurred to old stories. And he was not without agitation. It was not in his calmness that she read his comparative difference. He was not calm. His spirits were evidently fluttered. There was restlessness about him. Lively as he was, it seemed a liveliness that did not satisfy himself. But what decided her belief on the subject was his staying only a quarter of an hour and hurrying away to make other calls in high worry. He had seen a group of old acquaintances in the street as he passed. He had not stopped. He would not stop for more than a word. But he had the vanity to think they would be disappointed if he did not call. And much as he wished to stay longer at Hartfield, he must hurry off. She had no doubt as to his being less in love. But neither his agitated spirits nor his hurrying away seemed like a perfect cure. And she was rather inclined to think it implied a dread of her returning power and his great resolution of not trusting himself with her long. This was the only visit from Frank Churchill in the course of ten days. He was often hoping and tending to come, but was always prevented. His aunt could not bear to have him leave, such as his own account at Randalls. If he were quite sincere, if he really tried to come, it was to be inferred that Mrs. Churchill's removal to London had been of no service to the willful or nervous part of her disorder. That she was really ill was very certain. He had declared himself convinced of it at Randalls. Though much might be fancy, he could not doubt, when he looked back, that she was in a weaker state of health than she had been half a year ago. He did not believe it to perceive from anything that care and medicine might not remove, or at least that she might not have many years of existence before her. But he could not be prevailed on by all his father's doubts to say that her complaints were merely imaginary or that she was as strong as ever. It soon appeared that London was not the place for her. She could not endure its noise. Her nerves were under continual irritation and suffering, and by the ten days end, her nephew's letter to Randalls communicated a change of plan. They were going to remove immediately to Richmond. Mrs. Churchill had been recommended to the medical school of an imminent person there, and had otherwise a fancy for the place. Already furnished house and a favourite spot was engaged, and much benefit expected from the change. Emma heard that Frank wrote in the highest spirits of this arrangement and seemed most fully to appreciate the blessing of having two months before him of such in your neighborhood to many dear friends, for the house was taken from May in June. She was told that now he wrote with the greatest confidence of being often with them, almost as often as he could even wish. Emma saw how Mr. Weston understood these joyous prospects. He was considering her as a source of all the happiness they offered. She hoped it was not so. Two months must bring it to the proof. Mr. Weston's own happiness was indisputable. He was quite delighted. It was the very circumstance he could have wished for. Now it would be really having Frank in their neighborhood. What were nine miles to a young man? An hour's ride. He would be always coming over. The difference in that respect of Richmond in London was enough to make the whole difference of seeing him always and seeing him never. Sixteen miles, nay, eighteen, it must be full eighteen to Manchester Street, was a serious obstacle. Were he ever able to get away, the day would be spent in coming and returning. There is no comfort in having him in London. He might as well be at end school, but Richmond was the very distance for easy intercourse, better than nearer. One good thing was immediately brought to a certainty by this removal, the ball of the crown. It had been not forgotten before, but it had been soon in knowledge vain to attempt to fix a day. Now, however, it was absolutely to be. Every preparation was resumed, and very soon after the church house had removed to Richmond, a few lines from Frank decided his aunt felt already much better for the change, and that he had no doubt of being able to join them for twenty-four hours at any given time, induce them to name its early a day as possible. Mr. Weston's ball was to be a real thing. A very few tomorrows still between the young people of Highbury and Happiness. Mr. Woodhouse was resigned. The time of year lightened the evil to him. May was better for everything than February. Mrs. Bates was engaged to spend the evening at Hartfield.  End of volume three, chapter one. Volume three, chapter two of Emma, by Jane Austen. This lipovox recording is in the public domain. No misfortune occurred again to prevent the ball. The day perched, the day arrived, and after morning of some anxious watching, Frank Churchill and all the certainty of his own self reached randles before dinner and everything was safe. No second meeting had there yet been between him and Emma. The room of the crown was to witness it, but it would be better than a common meeting in a crowd. Mr. Wesson had been so very earnest in his entreaties for her arriving there as soon as possible after themselves, for the purpose of taking her opinion as to the propriety and comfort of the rooms before any other persons came, that she could not refuse him, and must therefore spend some quiet interval in the young man's company. She was to convey Harriet, and they drove to the crown in good time, the randles party just sufficiently before them. Frank Churchill seemed to have been on the watch, and though he did not say much, his eyes declared that he meant to have a delightful evening. They all walked about together to see that everything was as it should be, and within a few minutes were joined by the contents of another carriage, which Emma could not hear the sound of at first, without great surprise. So unreasonably early, she was going to exclaim, but she presently found that it was a family of old friends who were coming, like herself, by particular desire to help Mr. Wesson's judgment, and they were so very closely followed by another carriage of cousins who had been entreated to come early with the same distinguishing earnestness on the same errand, that it seemed as if half the company might soon be collected together for the purpose of preparatory inspection. Emma perceived that her taste was not the only taste on which Mr. Wesson depended, and felt that to be the favorite and intimate of a man who had so many intimates and confidants was not the very first distinction in the scale of vanity. She liked his open manners, but the little loss of open-heartedness would have made him a higher character. Generable nevelence, but not general friendship, made a man what he ought to be. She could not see such a man. The whole party walked about and looked and praised again, and then, having nothing else to do, formed a sort of half-circle around the fire to observe in their various modes till other subjects were started, that, though May, a fire in the evening was still very pleasant. Emma found that it was not Mr. Wesson's fault that the number of privy counsellors was not yet larger. They had stopped at Mrs. Bates's door to offer the use of their carriage, but the aunt and niece were to be brought by the Elton's. Frank was standing by her, but not steadily. There was a restlessness which showed a mind not of ease. He was looking about, he was going to the door, he was watching for the sound of other carriages, impatient to begin, or afraid of being always near her. Mrs. Elton was spoken of. I think she must be here soon, said he. I have a great curiosity to see Mrs. Elton. I have heard so much of her. It cannot be long, I think, before she comes. A carriage was heard. He was on the move immediately. But coming back said, I am forgetting that I am not acquainted with her. I have never seen either Mr. or Mrs. Elton. I have no business to put myself forward. Mr. or Mrs. Elton appeared, and all the smiles and the proprieties passed. But Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, said Mr. Wesson looking about, we thought you were to bring them. The mistake had been slight. The carriage was sent for them now. Emma longed to know what Frank's opinion of Mrs. Elton might be, how he was affected by the studied elegance of her dress and her smiles of graciousness. He was immediately qualifying himself to form an opinion by giving her very proper attention, after the introduction had passed. In a few minutes the carriage returned. Somebody talked of rain. I will see that there are umbrellas, sir, said Frank to his father. Miss Bates must not be forgotten. And away he went. Mr. Wesson was following, but Mrs. Elton detained him to gratify him by her opinion of his son, and so briskly did she begin that the young man himself, though I know means moving slowly, could hardly be out of hearing. A very fine young man indeed, Mr. Wesson. You know I candidly told you, I should form my own opinion, and I am happy to say that I am extremely pleased with him. You may believe me. I never compliment. I think I am a very handsome young man, and his manners are precisely what I like and approve. So truly the gentleman, without the least conceder puppyism, you must know I have a vest disliked to puppies, quite a horror of them. They were never tolerated at Maple Grove, neither Mr. Suckling nor me had ever any patience with them, and we use sometimes to say very cutting things. Selina, who is mild almost to a fault, bore with them much better. While she talked of his son, Mr. Wesson's attention was chained, but when she got to Maple Grove, he could recollect that there were ladies just arriving to be attended to, and with happy smiles must hurry away. Mrs. Elton turned to Mrs. Wesson. I have no doubt of its being arch-carriage, with Miss Bates and Jane. Our coachmen and horses are so extremely expeditious. I believe which I faster than anybody. What a pleasure it is to send one's carriage for a friend. I understand you are so kind as to offer, but another time it will be quite unnecessary. You may be very sure I shall always take care of them. Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax escorted by the two gentlemen, walked into the room, and Mrs. Elton seemed to think it as much her duty as Mrs. Wesson's to receive them. Her gestures and movements might be understood by anyone who looked on like Emma, but her words, everybody's words, were soon lost under the incessant flow of Miss Bates, who came in talking and had not finished her speech under many minutes, after her being admitted into the circle or the fire. As the door opened, she was heard. So very obliging of you. No way, not at all. Nothing to signify. I did not care for myself. Quite thick shoes. And Jane declares, Well, as soon as she was within the door, Well, this is brilliant indeed. This is admirable, excellently contrived upon my word. Nothing wanting. Could not have imagined it. So well lighted up. Jane, Jane, look. Did you ever see anything? Oh, Mr. Wesson, you must really have had a lad in the lamp. Good Mrs. Stokes would not know her own room again. I saw her as I came in. She was standing in the entrance. Oh, Mrs. Stokes said I. But I had not time for more. She was now met by Mrs. Weston. Very well. I thank you, ma'am. I hope you were quite well. Very happy to hear it. So afraid you might have a headache. Seeing you pass by so often and knowing how much trouble you must have. Delighted to hear it indeed. Ah, dear Mrs. Elton, so obliged to you, for the carriage. Excellent time. Jane and I quite ready to not keep the horses a moment. Most comfortable carriage. Oh, and I am sure our thanks are due to you, Mrs. Weston, on that score. Mrs. Elton had most kindly sent Jane a note, or we should have been. But too such offers in one day. Never were such neighbors, I said to my mother. Upon my word, ma'am. Thank you. My mother is remarkably well. Gone to Mr. Woodhouse's. I made her take her shawl, for the evenings are not warm. Her large new shawl. Mrs. Dixon's wedding present. So kind of her to think of my mother, bought it at Wayne with you know. Mr. Dixon's choice. There were three others, Jane says, which they hesitated about some time. Colonel Campbell rather preferred an olive.  It was but a drop or two, but I am so afraid. But Mr. Frank Churcher was so extremely, and there was a mat to step upon. I shall never forget his extreme politeness. Oh, Mr. Frank Churcher, I must tell you my mother's spectacles. I've never been in fault, since the rivet never came out again. My mother often talks of your good nature. Does not she, Jane? Do not we often talk of Mr. Frank Churcher? Ah, here's Mrs. Woodhouse. Dear Mrs. Woodhouse, how do you do? Very well, I thank you quite well. This is meeting quite in fairyland. Such a transformation. Must not compliment. I know. I and Emma almost complacently. That would be rude. But upon my word, Mrs. Woodhouse, you do look. How do you like Jane's hair?  She did it all herself. Quite wonderful how she does her hair. No hairdresser from London I think could. Ah, Dr. Hughes, I declare. And Mrs. Hughes, must go and speak to Dr. Mrs. Hughes for a moment. How do you do? How do you do? Very well, I thank you. This is delightful. Is not it? Where's dear Mr. Richard? Oh, there he is. Don't disturb him. Much better employed talking to the young ladies. How do you do, Mr. Richard? I saw you the other day as you rode through the town. Mrs. Otway, I protest. And good Mr. Otway, and Miss Otway, and Miss Caroline, such a host of friends, and Mr. George and Mr. Arthur. How do you do? How do you all do? Quite well, I am much obliged to you. Never better. Don't I hear another carriage? Who can this be? Very likely the worthy coals. Upon my word, this is charming to be standing about amongst such friends, and such a noble fire. I am quite roasted. No coffee, I thank you, for me. Never take coffee. A little tea. If you please, sir, buy and buy. No hurry. Oh, here it comes. Everything's so good. Frank Churchill returned to his station by Emma, and as soon as Miss Pates was quiet, she found herself necessarily overhearing the discourse of Mrs. Elton in Miss Fairfax, who were standing a little way behind her. He was thoughtful. Whether he were overhearing too, she could not determine. After good many compliments to Jane on her dress and look, compliments very quietly and properly taken, Mrs. Elton was evidently wanting to be complimented herself, and it was, How do you like my gown? How do you like my trimming? How has Frank done my hair? With many other relative questions, I'll answer with patience for lateness. Mrs. Elton then said, Nobody can think less of dress in general than I do, but upon such an occasion is this, when everybody's eyes are so much upon me, and in compliment to the Westons, who I have no doubt of giving this fault chiefly to do me honour, I would not wish to be inferior to others, and I see very few pearls in the room except mine. So Frank Churchill was a capital dancer, I understand. We shall see if her style suit, a fine young man, certainly is Frank Churchill, I like him very well. At this moment Frank began talking, so vigorously that Emma could not but imagine he'd overheard his own praises, and did not want to hear more, and the voices of the ladies were drowned for a while, till another suspension brought Mrs. Elton's tones again distinctly forward. Mr. Elton had just joined them, and his wife was exclaiming, Oh, you have found us at last, have you, in our seclusion. How was this moment telling Jane? I thought you would begin to be impatient for tidings of us. Jane, replied Frank Churchill, with a look of surprise and displeasure, that is easy, but Miss Fairfax does not disapprove it, I suppose. How do you like Mrs. Elton? said Emma and a whisper. Not at all. You are ungrateful. Ungrateful? What do you mean? Then changing from a frown to a smile. No, do not tell me. I did not want to know what you mean. Where is my father? When are we to begin dancing? Emma could hardly understand him. He seemed in an odd humour. He walked off to find his father, who was quickly back again with both Mr. and Mrs. Weston. He had met with him in a little perplexity, which must be laid before Emma. It had just occurred to Mrs. Weston that Mrs. Elton must be asked to begin the ball, that she would expect it, which interfered with all their wishes of giving Emma that distinction. Emma heard the sad truth with fortitude. And what are we to do for a proper partner for her? said Mr. Weston. She will thank Frank odd to ask her. Frank turned instantly to Emma to claim her former promise, and boasted himself an engaged man, which his father looked his most perfect approbation of, and it then appeared that Mrs. Weston was wanting him to dance with Mrs. Elton herself, and that their business was to help to persuade him into it, which was done pretty soon. Mr. Weston and Mrs. Elton loved the way. Mr. Frank Churchill and Mrs. Woodhouse followed. Emma must admit the stance second to Mrs. Elton, though she had always considered the ball as peculiarly for her. It was almost enough to make her think of marrying. Mrs. Elton had undoubtedly the advantage, at this time, in vanity completely gratified, for though she had intended to begin with Frank Churchill, she could not lose by the change. Mr. Weston might be his son's superior. In spite of this little rub, however, Emma was smiling with enjoyment, that lighted to see the respectable length of the set as it was for me, and to feel that she had so many hours of unusual festivity before her. She was more disturbed by Mr. Knight least not dancing than by anything else. There he was, among the standard spy, where he ought not to be. He ought to be dancing, not classing himself with the husbands and fathers and list players, who were pretending to feel an interest in the dance, till their rubbers were made up, so young as he looked. He could not have appeared to greater advantage, perhaps anywhere, than where he had placed himself. His tall firm upright figure among the bulky forms and stooping shoulders of the elderly men was such as Emma felt must draw everybody's eyes, and, accepting her own partner, there was not one among the whole row of young men who could be compared with him. He moved a few steps nearer, and those few steps were enough to prove in how gentlemen like a manner, with what natural grace he must have danced, would he but take the trouble. Whenever she caught his eye she forced him to smile, but in general he was looking grave. She wished he could love a ballroom better, and could like Frank Churchill better. He seemed often observing her. She must not flatter herself that he thought of her dancing, but if he were criticizing her behavior, she did not feel afraid. There was nothing like flirtation between her and her partner. They seemed more like cheerful, easy friends than lovers. That Frank Churchill thought less of her than he had done was indubitable. The ball proceeded pleasantly. The anxious carers, the incestuous detentions of Mrs. Weston, were not thrown away. Everybody seemed happy, and the praise of being a delightful ball, which is seldom bestowed till after a ball has ceased to be, was repeatedly given in the very beginning of the existence of this. A very important, very recordable event, it was not more productive than such meetings usually are. There was one, however, which Emma thought something of. The two last dances before supper were begun, and Harriet had no partner. The only young lady sitting down, and so equal had been hitherto the number of dancers, that how there could be anyone disengaged was the wonder. But Emma's wonder lessened soon afterwards, on seeing Mr. Elton sauntering by. He would not ask Harriet to dance if it were possible to be avoided. She was sure he would not, and she was expecting him every moment to escape into the card room. Escape, however, was not his plan. He came to the part of the room where the sitters by were collected, spoke to some, and walked about in front of them, as if to show his liberty and his resolution of maintaining it. He did not admit being sometimes directly before Miss Smith, or speaking to those who were close to her. Emma saw it. She was not yet dancing. She was working her way up from the bottom, and had therefore leisure to look around, and by only turning her head a little, she saw it all. When she was halfway up the set, the whole group were exactly behind her, and she would no longer allow her eyes to watch. But Mr. Elton was so near, that she heard every syllable of a dialogue, which just then took place between him and Mrs. Weston, and she perceived that his wife, who was standing immediately above her, was not only listening also, but even encouraging him by significant glances. The kind-hearted, gentle Mrs. Weston had left her seat to join him and say, Do not you dance, Mr. Elton? To which his promptly reply was, Most readily, Mrs. Weston, if you will dance with me. Me? Oh, no, I will get you a better partner than myself. I am no dancer. If Mrs. Gilbert wishes to dance, said he, I shall have great pleasure, I am sure, for though beginning to feel myself rather an old married man, and that my dancing days are over, it would give me very great pleasure at any time to stand up with an old friend like Mrs. Gilbert. Mrs. Gilbert does not mean to dance, but there is a young lady disengaged, and I should be very glad to see dancing, Ms. Smith. Ms. Smith, oh, I had not observed. You were extremely obliging, and if I were not an old married man. But my dancing days are over, Mrs. Weston, you will excuse me. Anything else I should be most happy to do at your command, but my dancing days are over. Mrs. Weston said no more, and Emma could imagine with what surprise and mortification she must be returning to her seat. This was Mr. Elton, the amiable, obliging, gentle Mr. Elton. She looked around for a moment. He had joined Mr. Knightley at a little distance, and was arranging himself for settled conversation while smiles of high glee passed between him and his wife. She would not look again. Her heart was in a glow, and she feared her face might be as hot. And another moment a happier sight caught her. Mr. Knightley leading Harriet to the set. Never had she been more surprised. Seldom were delighted than at that instant. She was all pleasure and gratitude, both for Harriet and herself, and longed to be thanking him. And though too distant for a speech, her countenance said much as soon as she could catch his eye again. His dancing proved to be just what she had believed it, extremely good. And Harriet would have seemed almost too lucky if it had not been for the cruel state of things before, and for the very complete enjoyment and very high sense of the distinction which her happy features announced. It was not thrown away on her. She bounded higher than ever, flew farther down the middle, and was in a continual course of smiles. Mr. Elton had retreated into the card room, looking, and, with trust it, very foolish. She did not think he was quite so hardened as his wife, though growing very like her. She spoke some of her feelings by observing audibly to her partner.  Very good natured, I declare. Supper was announced. The move began, and Miss Bates might be hurried from that moment, without interruption, till her being seated at table and taking up her spoon. Jane, Jane, my dear Jane, where are you? Here is your tippet. Mrs. Weston begs you to put on your tippet. She says she is afraid there will be droughts in the passage, though everything has been done. When door nailed up, quantities are matting.  How well you put it on! So gratified! Excellent dancing indeed. Yes, my dear, I ran home, as I said I should, to help Grandma Mott to bed, and got back again, and nobody missed me. I set out without a word, just as I told you. Grandma Mott was quite well, had a charming evening with Mr. Woodhouse, a vast deal of chat and backgammon. Tea was made downstairs, biscuits and baked apple, and wine before she came away. Amazing luck in some of her throes. And she inquired a great deal about you, how you were amused, and who were your partners? Oh, said I. I shall not restore Jane. I left her dancing with Mr. George Otway. She will love to tell you all about it herself tomorrow. Her first partner was Mr. Elton. I do not know who will ask you next. Perhaps Mr. William Cox. My dear, sir, you are too obliging. Is there nobody you would not rather? I am not helpless. Sir, you are most kind, upon my word. Jane on one arm, and me on the other. Stop, stop. Let us stand a little back. Mrs. Elton is going. Dear Mrs. Elton, how elegant she looks. Beautiful lace. Now we all follow in her train. Quite the queen of the evening. Well, here we are at the passage. Two steps, Jane. Take care of the two steps. Oh, no. There is but one. Well, I was persuaded there were two. How very odd. I was convinced there were two. And there is but one. I never saw anything equal to the comfort and style. Candles everywhere. I was telling you if your grandma met Jane, there was a little disappointment. The baked apples and biscuits. Excellent in their way, you know. But there was a delicate fricassee, a 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 grandma might love better than sweetbread and asparagus. So she was rather disappointed. But we agreed we would not speak of it to anybody, refer of its getting round. To Jane, Mr. Woodhouse, who would be so very much concerned. Well, this is brilliant. I am all amazed. Could not have supposed anything. 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 drought. Where I stood 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 grandma? 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, unreceiving no answer at it, 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 earn myself to be completely mistaken, Mr. Elton. There is a littleness about him which you discovered, in which I did not, and I was fully convinced of his being in love with Harriet. It was through a series of strange blenders. 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.  I found Harriet more conversable than I expected. Emma was extremely gratified. They were interrupted by the bustle of Mr. Westing, calling on everybody to begin dancing again. Come, Ms. Woodhouse, Ms. Opley, Ms. Fairfax, what are you all doing? Come, Emma, such a companion, the example. Everybody is lazy, everybody 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 shown that you can dance, and you know we are not really so much, Brother and Sister, as to make it all improper. Brother and Sister, no indeed. End of Volume 3, Chapter 2. Volume 3, Chapter 3 of Emma, by Jane Austen. This Liberfox recording is in the public domain. This little explanation with Mr. Knightley gave Emma considerable pleasure. It was one of the agreeable recollections of the ball, which she walked about along the next morning to enjoy. She was extremely glad that they had come to so good an understanding respecting the Eltens, 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 Eltens, which for a few minutes had threatened to roll in the rest of her evening, had been the occasion of some of his highest satisfactions, and she looked forward to another happy result, the cure of Harriet's infatuation. From Harriet's manner speaking of the circumstance, before they quit at the ballroom, she had strong hopes. It seemed as if her eyes were suddenly opened, and she were unable 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 Eltens for supplying all the discipline of point of neglect that could be far the 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 of spirits fresh and up for the demands of the two little boys, as well as of their grandpa-paw, when the great iron sweepgater bent, 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 suffice to convince her that something extraordinary had happened. Harriet looked white and frightened, and he was trying to cheer her. The iron gates in 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 fainted must be recovered. Questions must be answered and surprises 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 parlored border 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 suddenly perceived, at a small distance before them, on a brother patch of greens barred by the side, a party of gypsies. A child on the watch came towards them to bag, 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 shortcut back to Highbury. The 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 her 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 clamor as an impertinent and look, but 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 tear 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, but 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 leaving 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 there for it later than he had intended, and being on foot was unseen by the whole party, to almost close to them. The terror which the woman and boy had been creating in Harriet was in 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 other beings such a set of people in the neighborhood 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 at suggesting certain ideas to the coldest heart and the studious brain. So Emma thought, at least. Could a linguist, could a grammarian, could even a mathematician, have seen what she did, had 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 recontre, 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 dancing to pass by to rescue her. It certainly was very extraordinary. And knowing as she did, the favorable 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 everything 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 fervor as she seized him and clung to his arm, with the 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. Everything 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 the 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 talked 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 dipsies. Poor Mr. Woodhouse trembled as he sat, and, as Emma have foreseen, would scarcely be satisfied with all 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 neighbors knew that he loved to be inquired after, as well as Miss Smith, were coming in during the rest of the day, and they 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 but in disposition was, and if he did not invent illnesses for her, she could make no figure in a message. The dipsies did not want 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 dipsies, and still tenaciously setting her right as she varied in the slightest particular from the original recital. End of Volume 3, Chapter 3. Volume 3, Chapter 4 of Emma by Jane Austen. 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, this began. Ms. Woodhouse, if you were 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 surprised, 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 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 away 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? Curried 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'd 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 you're 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 paying. 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 you spoke. However, now I will destroy it, and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence that you may see how rational I am grown. Can't you guess what this parcel holds, said she with a conscious look? Not the least in the world. Did he ever give you anything? No, I cannot call them gifts, but they are things I have valued very much. She held the parcel towards her, and Emma wrote 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 tumbridge-ware box, which Harriet opened. It was well lined, with the softest cotton, but accepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of cord blaster. Now, said Harriet, you must recollect. And now indeed I do not. Dear me, I should not have thought it possible you could forget what passed in this very room about cord blaster, 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 you not remember his cutting his finger with your new pen-knife, and your recommending a cord blaster? But as you had none about you, and knew I had, you had started 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.  Remember it. 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 cord blaster, 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.  Well, sitting down again, go on, what else?  I am sure I never suspected it. You did it so naturally. And so you actually put this piece, that cord blaster, 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 cord blaster 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 cord blaster never did. Emma was quite eager to see the 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 pocketbook. 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 he lent him another, and this was left upon the table was 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 sang we liked it, and Mr. Elton seemed 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 show you, or to say, except 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, simple ten 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 him. But Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court plaster? I have not a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the court plaster might be useful. I shall be happier to burn it, replied Harriet. It is a disagreeable look to me. I must get rid of everything. 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 has soon afterwards reasoned to believe that the beginning was already made, and could not but hope that the gypsy, 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 compliments, 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 anything like such an unreserved 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 it 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 would not affect to be in doubt of your meaning. Your resolution, or whether your expectation of never marrying, results from an idea that the person whom you might prefer will be too greatly your superior in situation to think of you. Is not it so? Oh, Miss Woodhouse, believe me, I am 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 surprised at you, Harriet, the service he rendered you was enough to warm your heart. Service? Oh, it was such an inexpressible application, 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, and 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 choose 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 before it is 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. Henceforth, I shall 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. Emma kissed her hand in silent and submissive gratitude. Emma was very decided and 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. End of Volume 3, Chapter 4. Volume 3, Chapter 5 of Emma by Jane Austen. The slipperbox recording is in the public domain. In this state of schemes and hopes and connivance, Jane opened upon Hartfield. To Highbury in general, it brought no material change. The Eltens were still talking of a visit from the Sucklings, and of the use to be made of the Baruchelandel, 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 for 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. Everything 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 heirs of imagination. She was not present when the suspicion first arose. He was dining with the Randall's family in Jane at the Elton's, and he has seen a look, more than a single look, at Ms. Fairfax, which, from the admirer of Ms. 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 Copper, in his fire at Twilight, myself creating what I saw, brought him yet stronger suspicion of there being of 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 Randall's 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 gentleman spoke of his horse. By the by, as I Frank Churchill to Miss Weston presently, what became of Mr. Perry's plan of setting up his carriage? Mrs. Weston looked surprised, 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 only to her persuasion, as she thought his being out in the 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? Bloss 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? Crying Mr. Weston. About Perry in 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. Replying to some 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 Innscomb many weeks ago, with all these particulars. But as she declared she never heard a syllable of it before, of course it must have been a dream. I am a great dreamer. I dream of everybody 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. I observed his father. I usually have had such a regular connected dream about people whom it was not very likely you should be thinking of it in school. Perry setting up his carriage, and his wife persuading him to it, out of care for his health. Just what will happen, I have no doubt. Sometime or other, only little premature. What an air probability sometimes runs through a dream. And at others, what a heap of absurdities it is. Well, Frank, your dream certainly shows 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 down before her guest to prepare her father for their appearance and was beyond the reach of Mr. Weston's hint. Why, to own the truth, crime is spades. We have been trying in vain to be heard the last two minutes. If I must speak on the 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 he is 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 coals 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 Grandma Ma's telling us of it when we got home? I forget where we had been walking to. Very likely to Randall's. Yes, I think it was to Randall's. Mrs. Perry was always particularly fond of my mother. Indeed, I do not know who is not, and she admitted 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 dropped a hint, because I know I do sometimes to 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. When 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 further remark or explanation. The dream must be borne with, and Mr. Knightley must take a seat with the rest around the large modern circular table which Emma had introduced at Hartfield, in which none but Emma could have had power to place there and persuade her father to use, instead of a small-sized pinbroke 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? This is a sort of dull-looking evening that ought to be treated rather as winter than summer. We had great amusement with those letters one morning. I want to puzzle you again. Emma was pleased with the thought, and, producing the box, the table was quickly scattered over with alphabets, which no one seemed so much disposed to employ as their two selves. They were rapidly forming words for each other, or for anybody else who would be puzzled. The quietness of the game made it particularly eligible for Mr. Woodhouse, who had often been distressed by the more animated sort, which Mr. Weston had occasionally introduced, and who now sat happily occupied in lamenting, with Tender Melancholy, over the departure of the poor little boys, or in fondly pointing out, as he took up a new stray letter near him, how beautifully Emma had written it. Frank Churchill placed the word before Miss Fairfax. She gave a slight glance around the table and applied herself to it. Frank was next to Emma, Jane opposite to them, and Mr. Knightley stood placed as to see them all, and it was his object to see as much as he could, with his little apparent observation. The word was discovered, and with a faint smile pushed away. If meant to be immediately mixed with the others, and buried from sight, she should have looked on the table instead of looking just across, for it was not mixed, and Harriet, eager after every fresh word, and finding out none, directly took it up and fell to work. She was sitting by Mr. Knightley, and turned to him for help. The word was blunder, and as Harriet exultingly proclaimed it, there was a blush on Jane's cheek, which gave it a meaning not otherwise ostensible. Mr. Knightley connected it with a dream, but how it could all be was beyond his comprehension, how the delicacy, though discretion of his favorite, could have been so late to sleep. He feared there must be some decided involvement, disingenuousness, and double dealing seemed to meet him at every turn. These letters were but the vehicle for gallantry and trick. It was a child's play, chosen to conceal a deeper game on Frank Churchill's part. With great indignation, did he continue to observe him, with great alarm and distress, to observe also his two blindy companions. He saw a short word prepared for Emma, and given to her with a look sly and demure. He saw that Emma had soon made it out, and found it highly entertaining, though it was something which she judged it proper to appear to censure, for she said, Nonsense, for shame! He heard Frank Churchill next to with a glance towards Jane. I will give it to her, shall I? And it's clearly heard Emma opposing it, with eager laughing warmth. No, no, you must not! You shall not indeed! It was done, however. The scallant young man, who seemed to love without feeling, and to recommend himself without complacence, directly handed over the word to Miss Fairfax, and with a particular degree of sedate civility, and treated her to study it. Mr. Knightley's excessive curiosity, to know what this word might be, made him seize every possible moment for darting his eye towards it, and was not long before he saw it to be Dixon. Jane Fairfax's perception seemed to accompany his. Her comprehension was certainly more equal to the covert meaning, the superior intelligence of those five letters is so arranged. She was evidently displeased, looked up, and seeing herself watched, blushed more deeply than he had ever perceived her, and saying only, I did not know the proper names are allowed, pushed away the letters with even an angry spirit, and looked resolved to be engaged by no other word that could be offered. Her face was averted from those who had made the attack, and turned towards her aunt. I, very true, my dear, card the latter, though Jane did not speak in a word, I was just going to say the same thing. It is time for us to be going indeed, the evening is closing in, and Grandma Ma will be looking for us. My dear sir, you are too obliging, we really must wish you good night. Jane's alertness and moving proved her as ready as her aunt ever conceived. She was immediately up, and wanting to quit the table, but so many were also moving that she could not get away, and Mr. Knightley thought he saw another collection of letters anxiously pushed towards her, and resolutely swept away by her, unexamined. She was afterwards looking for her shawl, Frank Churchill was looking also. It was growing dusk, and the room was in confusion, and how they parted Mr. Knightley could not tell. He remained heartfelt after all the rest, his thoughts full of what he had seen, so full that when the candles came to assist his observations, he must, yes, he certainly must, as a friend, an anxious friend, give Emma some hint, ask her some question. He could not see her in a situation of such danger without trying to preserve her. It was his duty. Pray, Emma, said he, may I ask him what lay the great amusement, the poignancy staying of the last word given to you in Miss Fairfax? I saw the word, and am curious to know how it could be so very entertaining to the one, and so very distressing to the other. Emma was extremely confused. She could not endure to give him the true explanation. For there her suspicions were by no means removed, she was really ashamed of having ever imparted them. Oh! she cried in evident embarrassment. It all meant nothing, a mere joke among ourselves. The joke, he replied gravely, seemed confined to you and Mr. Churchill. He had hoped she would speak again, but she did not. She would rather busy herself about anything than speak. He sighed a little while in doubt. A variety of evils crossed his mind. Interference, fruitless interference. Emma's confusion and the acknowledged intimacy seemed to declare her affection engaged. Yet he would speak. He owed it to her, to risk anything that might be involved in an unwelcome interference rather than her welfare, to encounter anything rather than the remembrance of neglect to such a cause. My dear Emma, said he at last, with earnest kindness. Do you think you perfectly understand the degree of acquaintance between the gentleman and lady we have been speaking of? A bit to a Mr. Frank Churchill, Miss Fairfax. Oh! yes, perfectly. Why do you make a doubt of it? Have you never at any time had reason to think that he admired her, or that she admired him? Never, never! she cried with the most open eagerness. Never, for the twentieth part of a moment, did such an idea occur to me. And how could it possibly come into your head? I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of attachment between them. Certain expressive looks, which I did not believe meant to be public. Oh! you amuse me excessively. I am delighted to find that you confront your safety like your imagination wander, but it will not do. Very sorry to check you in your first essay, but indeed it will not do. There is no admiration between them. I do assure you. Any appearances which have caught you have arisen from some peculiar circumstances, feelings where there are a totally different nature. It is impossible exactly to explain. There is a good deal of nonsense in it, but the part which is capable of being communicated, which is sense, is that they are as far from any attachment or admiration for one another as any two beings in the world can be.  I will answer for the gentlemen's indifference. She spoke with a confidence which staggered, with a satisfaction which silenced Mr. Knightley. She was in gay spirits, and would ever long the conversation, wanting to hear the particulars of his suspicions, every look described in all the wares and hows of a circumstance which highly entertained her. But his gaiety did not meet hers. He found he could not be useful, and his feelings were too much irritated for talk. That he might not be irritated into an absolute fever by the fire which Mr. Woodhouse's tender habits required almost every evening throughout the year. He soon afterwards took a hasty leave, and walked him to the coldness and solitude of Donwell Abbey. End of Volume 3, Chapter 5 Volume 3, Chapter 6 of Emma by Jane Austen The slipper-box recording is in the public domain. After being long fed with hopes of a speedy visit for Mr. and Mrs. Suckling, the Highbury world were obliged to endure the mortification of hearing that they could not possibly come till the autumn. No such importation of novelties could enrich their intellectual stores at present. In the daily interchange of news, they must be again restricted to the other topics, with which, for a while, the Sucklings coming have been united, such as the last accounts of Mrs. Churchill, whose health seemed every day to supply a different report, and the situation of Mrs. Weston, whose happiness it was to be hoped might eventually be as much increased by the arrival of a child as out of all her neighbors was by the approach of it. Mrs. Elton was very much disappointed. It was the delight of a great deal of pleasure and parade. Her introductions and recommendations must all wait, and every projected party be still only talked of. So she thought it first, but a little consideration convinced her that everything need not be put off. Why should not they explore to Box Hill, though the Sucklings did not come? They could go there again with them in the autumn. It was subtle that they should go to Box Hill, that there was to be such a party had been long generally known. It had even given the idea of another. Emma had never been to Box Hill. She wished to see what everybody found so well worth seeing, and she and Mr. Weston had agreed to choose some fine morning and drive thither. Two or three more of the chosen only were to be admitted to join them, and it was to be done in a quiet and pretending, elegant way, infinitely superior to the bustle and preparation, the regular eating and drinking and picnic parade of the Eltons and the Sucklings. This was so very well understood between them that Emma could not but feel some surprise and a little displeasure on hearing from Mr. Weston that he had been proposing to Mrs. Elton, as her brother and sister had failed her, that the two parties should unite and go together, and that as Mrs. Elton had very readily acceded to it, so it was to be, if she had no objection. Now, as her objection was nothing but her very great dislike of Mrs. Elton, of which Mr. Weston must already be perfectly aware, it was not worth bringing forward again. It could not be done without a reproof to him, which would be giving pain to his wife, and she found herself therefore obliged to consent to an arrangement which she would have done a great deal to avoid, an arrangement which would probably expose her even to the degradation of being said to be a Mrs. Elton's party. Every feeling was offended, and the forbearance of her outward submission left a heavy arrear due of secret severity in her reflections on the unmanageable goodwill of Mr. Weston's temper. I am glad you approve of what I have done, said he very comfortably, but I thought you would, such schemes as these are nothing without numbers, and one could not have too large a party. A large party secures its own amusement, and she is a good-natured woman after all, and one could not leave her out. Emma denied none of it allowed, and agreed to none of it in private. It was now the middle of June, and the weather fine, and Mrs. Elton was growing impatient to name the day, and settled with Mr. Weston as to pigeon-pies and cold lamb when a lame-carried horse threw everything into sad uncertainty. It might be weeks, it might be only a few days before the horse were usable, but no preparations could be ventured on, and it was all melancholy stagnation. Mrs. Elton's resources were inadequate to such an attack. It's not this most vexatious nightly, she cried, and such weather for exploring. These delays and disappointments are quite odious. What are we to do? The year will wear away at this rate, and nothing done. Before this time last year, I assure you we had had a delightful exploring party from Maple Grove to King's Weston. You had better explore to dawn well, replied Mr. Nightly. That may be done without horses.  They are ripening fast. If Mr. Nightly did not begin seriously, he was obliged to proceed so, for his proposal was caught out with the light and the, oh, I should like it of all things, was not plainer in words than manner. Dama was famous for its strawberry beds, which seemed a plea for the invitation, but no plea was necessary. Cabbage beds would have been enough to tempt the lady who only wanted to be going somewhere. She promised him again and again to come, much oftener than he doubted, and was extremely gratified by such a proof of intimacy, such a distinguishing compliment as she chose to consider it. You may depend upon me, said she. I certainly will come. Name your day and I will come. You will allow me to bring Jane Fairfax. I could not name a day, said he, to have spoken to some others whom I wish to meet you. Oh, leave all that to me. Only give me a carte blanche. I am Lady Patroness, you know. It is my party. I will bring friends with me. I hope you will bring Elton, said he, but I will not trouble you to give any other invitations. Oh, now you are looking very sly, but consider, you need not be afraid of delegating power to me. I am no young lady on her preferment. Married women, you know. Maybe safely authorized. It is my party. Leave it all to me. I will invite your guests. No, he calmly replied. There is but one married woman in the world whom I can ever allow to invite with guests she pleased to dongwell, and that one is Mrs. West, and I suppose. Interrupted Mrs. Elton, rather mortified. No, Mrs. Knightley. Until she isn't being, I will manage such matters myself. Ah, you are an odd creature. She cried, satisfied to have no one preferred to herself. You are humorous, and may say what you like. Quite a humorous. Well, I shall bring Jane with me, Jane and her aunt, the rest I leave to you. I have no objection at all to meeting the Hartfield family. Don't scruple. I know you are attached to them. You certainly will meet them if I can prevail, and I shall call all Miss Bates in my way home. That's quite unnecessary. I see Jane every day. As you like. It is to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightley, quite a simple thing. I shall wear a large bonnet and bring one of my little baskets hanging on my arm. Here, probably this basket with pink ribbon. Nothing can be more simple, you see, and Jane will have such another. There is to be no form or parade, a sort of gypsy party. We are to walk about your gardens and gather the strawberries ourselves and sit under trees. Whatever else you may like to provide, it is to be all out of doors, a table spread in the shade, you know. Everything is natural and simple as possible. Is not that your idea? Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural will to be have the table spread in the dining room. The nature and the simplicity of gentlemen and ladies, with their servants and furniture, I think, is best observed by meals with indoors. When you are tired of eating strawberries in the garden, there shall be cold and wheat in the house. Well, as you please, only don't have a great set-out, and, by the by, can I or my housekeeper be of any use to you, with our opinion. Pray be sincere, Knightley, if you wish me to talk to Mrs. Hodges, or to inspect anything. I have not the least wish for it. I thank you. Well, but if any difficulty should arise, my housekeeper is extremely clever. I will answer for it, that mine thinks herself full as clever, and will spurn anybody's assistance. I wish we had a donkey, a thing would be for us all to come on donkeys. Jane, Miss Bates, and me, and my carousel walking by. I really must talk to him about purchasing a donkey. In a country life I can see it to be a sort of necessary, for, that a woman have ever so many resources, it is not possible for her to be always shut up at home, and very long walks, you know, and summer there is dust, and in winter there is dirt. You will not find either between Donwell and Highbury. Donwell Lane is never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry. Come on a donkey, however, if you prefer it. You can borrow Mrs. Coles. I would wish everything to be as much to your taste as possible. That I am sure you would, indeed I do you justice, my good friend. Under that peculiar sort of dry, blunt manner I know you have the warmest heart.  Yes, believe me, Knightley, I am fully sensible of your attention to me, in the whole of this scheme. You have hit upon the very thing to please me. Mr. Knightley had another reason for avoiding a table in the shade. He wished to persuade Mr. Woodhouse, as well as Emma, to join the party, and he knew that to have any of them sitting down out of doors to eat would inevitably make him ill. Mr. Woodhouse must not, under the spacious pretense of a morning drive, in an hour or two spent at Donwell, be tempted away to his misery. He was invited on good faith. No lurking horrors were to upbray him for his easy credulity. He did consent. He had not been at Donwell for two years. Some very fine morning, he and Emma and Harriet could go very well, and he could sit still with Mrs. Weston, while the dear girls walked about the gardens. He did not suppose they could be damp now in the middle of the day. He should like to see the old house again, nexatingly, and should be very happy to meet Mr. and Mrs. Elton and any other of his neighbors. He could not see any objection at all to his and Emma's and Harriet's going there some very fine morning. He thought it very well done of Mr. Knightley to invite them, very kind and sensible, much cleverer than dining out. He was not fond of dining out. Mr. Knightley was fortunate in everybody's most ready concurrence. The invitation was everywhere so well received, that it seemed as if, like Mrs. Elton, they were all taking the scheme as a particular compliment to themselves. Emma and Harriet professed very high expectations of pleasure from it, and Mr. Weston unasked, promised to get Frank over to join them, if possible, a proof of approbation and gratitude which could have been dispensed with. Mr. Knightley was then obliged to say that he should be glad to see him, and Mr. Weston engaged to lose no time in writing and spared no arguments to induce him to come. In the meanwhile the lame horse recovered so fast that the party to Box Hill was again under heavy consideration, and at last Donwell was settled for one day, and Box Hill for the next, the weather appearing exactly right. Under a bright midday sun at almost mid-summer Mr. Woodhouse was safely conveyed in his carriage with one window down to protect of the South Fresco party, and in one of the most comfortable rooms in the Abbey, especially prepared for him by a fire all the morning, he was happily placed, quite at his ease, ready to talk with pleasure of what had been achieved, and advise everybody to come and sit down, and not to heat themselves. Mrs. Weston, who seemed to have walked their own purpose to be tired, and settled the time with him, remained, when all the others were invited or persuaded out, his patient listener and sympathizer. It was so long since Emma had been at the Abbey, that as soon as she was satisfied with her father's comfort, she was glad to leave him, and look around her, eager to refresh and correct her memory with more particular observation, more exact understanding of a house and grounds, which must ever be so interesting to her and her family. She felt all the honest pride and complacency which her alliance with the present and future proprietor could fairly warrant, as she viewed the respectable size and style of the building, its suitable becoming characteristic situation, though in sheltered, its ample garden stretching down to meadows, wash by a stream of which the Abbey, with all the old neglected prospect, has garcely a sight, and its abundance of timber in rows and avenues, which neither fashion nor extravagance had rooted up. The house was large than Hartfield and totally unlike it, covering a good deal of ground, rambling in your regular, with many comfortable, and one or two handsome rooms. It was just what it ought to be, and it looked what it was, and Emma felt an increasing respect for it, as the residents of a family of such true gentility, untainted in blood and understanding. Some faults of temper John Knightley had, but Isabella had connected herself unexceptionably. She had given them neither men, nor names, nor places that could raise the blush. These were pleasant feelings, and she walked about and indulged them till it was necessary to do as the others did, and collect around the strawberry beds. The whole party were assembled, excepting Frank Churchill, who was expected every moment from Richmond. And Mrs. Elton, and all her apparatus of happiness, her large bonnet and her basket, was very ready to lead the way in gathering, accepting, or talking. Strawberries, and only strawberries, could now be thought of and spoken of. The best fruit in England, everybody's favorite, always wholesome. These the finest beds and finest sorts, delightful to gather for oneself, the only way of really enjoying them. Morning decidedly the best time, never tired, every sort good, hot but infinitely superior, no comparison, the others hardly eatable, hot boys very scarce, chili preferred, white wood finest flavor of all, price of strawberries in London, abundance about Bristol, maple grove, cultivation, beds when to be renewed, gardeners thinking exactly different, no general role, gardeners never do put out of their way delicious fruit, only too rich to be eaten much of, inferior to cherries, currents more refreshing, only objection to gathering strawberries, the stooping, glaring sun, tired to death, could bear it no longer, must go sit in the shade. Such for half an hour was the conversation, interrupted only once by Mrs. Weston, who came out in a solicitude after her son-in-law to inquire if he were come, and she was a little uneasy, she had some fear of his horse. Seats tolerably in the shade were found, and not Emma was obliged to overhear what Mrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax were talking of. A situation, a most desirable situation, was in question. Mrs. Elton had received notice of it that morning, and was in raptures. It was not with Mrs. Suckling, it was not with Mrs. Bragg, but in felicity and splendor it fell short only of them. It was with a cousin of Mrs. Bragg, an acquaintance of Mrs. Suckling, a lady known at Maple Grove, delightful, charming, superior, first circles, spheres, lines, ranks, everything, and Mrs. Elton was wild to have the offer closed with immediately. On her side, all was warm with energy and triumph, and she positively refused to take her friend's negative, though Miss Fairfax continued to assure her that she should not at present engage in anything, repeating the same motives which she had been heard to urge before. Still, Mrs. Elton assisted on being authorized to write an acquiescence by the Marl's post. How Jane could bear it at all was astonishing to Emma. She did look vexed, she did speak poignantly, and at last, with the decision of action unusual to her, proposed a removal. Should not they walk, when not Mr. Knight they shed them the gardens, all the gardens, she wished to see the whole extent. The pertinacity of her friend seemed more than she could bear. It was hot, and after walking some time over the gardens in a scattered, dispersed way, scarcely any three together, they insensibly followed one another to publish a shade of a broad, short avenue of limes, which, stretching beyond the garden at an equal distance from the river, seemed the finish of the pleasure grounds. It led to nothing, nothing but a view at the end over a low stone wall, with high pillars, which seemed intended in their erection, to give the appearance of an approach to the house which never had been there. Disputable, however, as might be the taste as a determination, it was in itself a charming walk, and the view which closed it extremely pretty. The considerable slope, at nearly the foot of which the abbey stood, gradually acquired a steeper form beyond its grounds, and at half a mile distance was a bank of considerable pepness and grandeur, well closed with wood. And at the bottom of this bank, favorably placed, and sheltered, rose the abbey mill farm, with meadows in front, and the river making a close and handsome curve around it. It was a sweet view, sweet to the eye in the mind, English verter, English culture, English comfort, seen under a sun bright, without being oppressive. In this walk Emma and Mr Weston found all the others assembled, and towards this view she immediately perceived Mr Knightley and Harriet distinct from the rest, quietly leading the way. Mr Knightley and Harriet, it was an odd tete-tete, but she was glad to see it. There had been a time when he would have scorned her, as a companion, and tarred from her with little ceremony. Now they seemed in pleasant conversation. There had been a time also when Emma would have been sorry to see Harriet in a spot so favorable for the abbey mill farm, but now she feared it not. It might be safely viewed with all the appendages of prosperity and beauty, its rich pastures, spreading flocks, orchard and blossom, and light column of smoke ascending. She joined them at the wall, and found them more engaged in talking than in looking around. He was giving Harriet information as to modes of agriculture, etc., and Emma received a smile which seemed to say. These are my own concerns. I have a right to talk on such subjects without being suspected of introducing Robert Martin. She did not suspect him. It was too old a story. Robert Martin had probably ceased to think of Harriet. They took a few turns together along the walk. The shade was most refreshing, and Emma found it the pleasantest part of the day. The next remove was to the house. They must all go in and eat, and they were all seated and busy, and still Frank Churchill did not come. Mrs Weston looked, and looked in vain. His father would not own himself uneasy, and laughed at her fears. But she could not be cured of wishing that he would part with his black mare. He had expressed himself as to coming, with more than common certainty. His aunt was so much better, that he had not a doubt of getting over to them. Mrs Churchill's state, however, as many were ready to remind her, was liable to such sudden variation as might disappoint her nephew and the most reasonable dependents. And Mrs Weston was at last persuaded to believe, or to say, that it must be by some attack of Mrs Churchill that he would prevent it coming. Emma looked at Harriet while the point was under consideration. She behaved very well, and betrayed no emotion. The cold repast was over, and the party were to go out once more to see what had not yet been seen, the old amy fish ponds, perhaps get as far as the clover, which was to begin cutting on the moral, or at any rate have the pleasure of being hot and growing cool again. Mr Woodhouse, who had already taken his little round in the highest part of the gardens, where no damps in the river were imagined even by him, stirred no more, and his daughter resolved to remain with him, but Mrs Weston might be persuaded away by her husband to the exercise in variety which her spirits seemed to need. Mr Knightly had done all in his power for Mr Woodhouse's entertainment. Books of engravings, drawers of medals, cameos, corals, shells, and every other family collection within his cabinets had been prepared for his old friend to wile away the mourning, and the kindness had perfectly answered. Mr Woodhouse had been exceedingly well amused. Mrs Weston had been showing them all to him, and now he would show them all to Emma, fortunate in having no other resemblance to a child than in a total want of taste for what he saw, for he was slow, constant, and methodical. Before the second looking over was begun, however, Emma walked into the hall for the stick of a few moments of re-observation of the entrance and ground plot of the house, and was hardly there when Jane Fairfax appeared, coming quickly in from the garden, and with a look of escape, little expecting to meet Mrs Woodhouse so soon. There was a start at first, but Mrs Woodhouse was the very person she was in question. "'Will you be so kind?' said she. When I am missed, ask to say that I am gone home. I am going this moment. My aunt is not aware how late it is, nor how long we have been absent, but I am sure we shall be wanted, and I am determined to go directly. I have said nothing about it to anybody. It would only be giving trouble and distress. Some are gone to the ponds, and some to the lime-walk. Till they all