Emma. Джейн Остин
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a few decisive expressions; and she was so very much concerned at the idea of making him unhappy, and thought so much of what his mother and sisters would think and say, and was so anxious that they should not fancy her ungrateful, that Emma believed if the young man had come in her way at that moment, he would have been accepted after all.
This letter, however, was written, and sealed, and sent. The business was finished, and Harriet safe. She was rather low all the evening, but Emma could allow for her amiable regrets, and sometimes relieved them by speaking of her own affection, sometimes by bringing forward the idea of Mr Elton.
‘I shall never be invited to Abbey-Mill again,’ was said in rather a sorrowful tone.
‘Nor, if you were, could I ever bear to part with you, my Harriet. You are a great deal too necessary at Hartfield to be spared to Abbey-Mill.’
‘And I am sure I should never want to go there; for I am never happy but at Hartfield.’
Some time afterwards it was, ‘I think Mrs Goddard would be very much surprized if she knew what had happened. I am sure Miss Nash would – for Miss Nash thinks her own sister very well married, and it is only a linen-draper.’
‘One should be sorry to see greater pride or refinement in the teacher of a school, Harriet. I dare say Miss Nash would envy you such an opportunity as this of being married. Even this conquest would appear valuable in her eyes. As to any thing superior for you, I suppose she is quite in the dark. The attentions of a certain person can hardly be among the tittle-tattle of Highbury yet. Hitherto I fancy you and I are the only people to whom his looks and manners have explained themselves.’
Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about wondering that people should like her so much. The idea of Mr Elton was certainly cheering; but still, after a time, she was tenderhearted again towards the rejected Mr Martin.
‘Now he has got my letter,’ said she softly. ‘I wonder what they are all doing – whether his sisters know – if he is unhappy, they will be unhappy too. I hope he will not mind it so very much.’
‘Let us think of those among our absent friends who are more cheerfully employed,’ cried Emma. ‘At this moment, perhaps, Mr Elton is shewing your picture to his mother and sisters, telling how much more beautiful is the original, and after being asked for it five or six times, allowing them to hear your name, your own dear name.’
‘My picture! – But he has left my picture in Bond Street.’
‘Has he so! – Then I know nothing of Mr Elton. No, my dear little modest Harriet, depend upon it the picture will not be in Bond Street till just before he mounts his horse tomorrow. It is his companion all this evening, his solace, his delight. It opens his designs to his family, it introduces you among them, it diffuses through the party those pleasantest feelings of our nature, eager curiosity and warm prepossession. How cheerful, how animated, how suspicious, how busy their imaginations all are!’
Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger.
Harriet slept at Hartfield that night. For some weeks past she had been spending more than half her time there, and gradually getting to have a bedroom appropriated to herself; and Emma judged it best in every respect, safest and kindest, to keep her with them as much as possible just at present. She was obliged to go the next morning for an hour or two to Mrs Goddard’s, but it was then to be settled that she should return to Hartfield, to make a regular visit of some days.
While she was gone, Mr Knightley called, and sat some time with Mr Woodhouse and Emma, till Mr Woodhouse, who had previously made up his mind to walk out, was persuaded by his daughter not to defer it, and was induced by the entreaties of both, though against the scruples of his own civility, to leave Mr Knightley for that purpose. Mr Knightley, who had nothing of ceremony about him, was offering by his short, decided answers, an amusing contrast to the protracted apologies and civil hesitations of the other.
‘Well, I believe, if you will excuse me, Mr Knightley, if you will not consider me as doing a very rude thing, I shall take Emma’s advice and go out for a quarter of an hour. As the sun is out, I believe I had better take my three turns while I can. I treat you without ceremony, Mr Knightley. We invalids think we are privileged people.’
‘My dear sir, do not make a stranger of me.’
‘I leave an excellent substitute in my daughter. Emma will be happy to entertain you. And therefore I think I will beg your excuse and take my three turns – my winter walk.’
‘You cannot do better, sir.’
‘I would ask for the pleasure of your company, Mr Knightley, but I am a very slow walker, and my pace would be tedious to you; and, besides, you have another long walk before you, to Donwell Abbey.’
‘Thank you, sir, thank you; I am going this moment myself; and I think the sooner you go the better. I will fetch your greatcoat and open the garden door for you.’
Mr Woodhouse at last was off; but Mr Knightley, instead of being immediately off likewise, sat down again, seemingly inclined for more chat. He began speaking of Harriet, and speaking of her with more voluntary praise than Emma had ever heard before.
‘I cannot rate her beauty as you do,’ said he; ‘but she is a pretty little creature, and I am inclined to think very well of her disposition. Her character depends upon those she is with; but in good hands she will turn out a valuable woman.’
‘I am glad you think so; and the good hands, I hope, may not be wanting.’
‘Come,’ said he, ‘you are anxious for a compliment, so I will tell you that you have improved her. You have cured her of her schoolgirl’s giggle; she really does you credit.’
‘Thank you. I should be mortified indeed if I did not believe I had been of some use; but it is not every body who will bestow praise where they may. You do not often overpower me with it.’
‘You are expecting her again, you say, this morning?’
‘Almost every moment. She has been gone longer already than she intended.’
‘Something has happened to delay her; some visitors perhaps.’
‘Highbury gossips! – Tiresome wretches!’
‘Harriet may not consider every body tiresome that you would.’
Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and therefore said nothing. He presently added, with a smile,
‘I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must tell you that I have good reason to believe your little friend will soon hear of something to her advantage.’
‘Indeed! how so? of what sort?’
‘A very serious sort, I assure you’ – still smiling.
‘Very serious! I can think of but one thing – Who is in love with her? Who makes you their confidant?’
Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr Elton’s having dropt a hint. Mr Knightley was a sort of general friend and adviser, and she knew Mr Elton looked up to him.
‘I have reason to think,’ he replied, ‘that Harriet Smith will soon have an offer of marriage, and from a most unexceptionable quarter: – Robert Martin is the man. Her visit to Abbey-Mill, this summer, seems to have done his business. He is desperately in love and means to marry her.’
‘He is very obliging,’ said Emma; ‘but is he sure that Harriet means to marry him?’
‘Well, well, means to make her an offer then. Will that do? He came to the Abbey two evenings ago, on purpose to consult me about it. He knows I have a thorough regard for him and all his family, and, I believe, considers me as one of his best friends. He came to ask me whether I thought it would be imprudent in him to settle so