 14 Mrs. Elton was first seen at church. But though devotion might be interrupted, curiosity could not be satisfied by a bride in a pew, and it must be left for the visits in form which were then to be paid to settle whether she were very pretty indeed, or only rather pretty, or not pretty at all. Emma had feelings less of curiosity than of pride or propriety to make her resolve on not being the last to pay her respects, and she made a point of Harriet's going with her, that the worst of the business might be gone through as soon as possible. She could not enter the house again, could not be in the same room to which she had with such vain artifice retreated three months ago to lace up her boot, without recollecting. A thousand vexatious thoughts would recur. Compliments, charades, and horrible blunders, and it was not to be supposed that poor Harriet should not be recollecting too, but she behaved very well, and was only rather pale and silent. The visit was, of course, short, and there was so much embarrassment and occupation of mind to shorten it that Emma would not allow herself entirely to form an opinion of the lady, and on no account to give one beyond the nothing-meaning terms of being elegantly dressed and very pleasing. She did not really like her. She would not be in a hurry to find fault, but she suspected that there was no elegance, ease, but not elegance. She was almost sure that for a young woman, a stranger, a bride, there was too much ease. Her person was rather good, her face not unpretty, but neither feature nor air nor voice nor manner were elegant. Emma thought at least it would turn out so. As for Mr. Elton, his manners did not appear—but no, she would not permit a hasty or a witty word from herself about his manners. It was an awkward ceremony at any time to be receiving wedding visits, and a man had need be all grace to acquit himself well through it. The woman was better off. She might have the assistance of fine clothes and the privilege of bashfulness, but the man had only his own good sense to depend on, and when she considered how peculiarly unlucky poor Mr. Elton was in being in the same room at once with the woman he had just married, the woman he had wanted to marry, and the woman whom he had been expected to marry, she must allow him to have the right to look as little wise and to be as much effectively and as little really easy as could be. "'Well, Miss Woodhouse,' said Harriet, when they had quitted the house and after waiting in vain for her friend to begin. "'Well, Miss Woodhouse,' with a gentle sigh. "'What do you think of her? Is she not very charming?' There was a little hesitation in Emma's answer. Oh, yes, very, a very pleasing young woman. I think her beautiful, quite beautiful. Very nicely dressed, indeed, a remarkably elegant gown. I am not at all surprised that he should have fallen in love. Oh, no, there is nothing to surprise one at all, a pretty fortune, and she came in his way. "'I dare say,' returned Harriet, sighing again. I dare say she was very much attached to him. Perhaps she might, but it is not every man's fate to marry the woman who loves him best. Miss Hawkins perhaps wanted a home, and thought this the best offer she was likely to have. "'Yes,' said Harriet earnestly. And well, she might. Nobody could ever have a better. Well, I wish them happy with all my heart. And now, Miss Woodhouse, I do not think I shall mind seeing them again. He is just as superior as ever. But being married, you know, it is quite a different thing. No, indeed, Miss Woodhouse, you need not be afraid, I can sit and admire him now without any great misery. To know that he has not thrown himself away is such a comfort. She does seem a charming young woman, just what he deserves. Happy creature!" He called her Augusta. How delightful! When the visit was returned Emma made up her mind. She could then see more and judge better. From Harriet's happening not to be at Hartfield, and her father's being present to engage Mr. Elton, she had a quarter of an hour of the lady's conversation to herself, and could composedly attend to her. And the quarter of an hour quite convinced her that Mrs. Elton was a vain woman, extremely well satisfied with herself, and thinking much of her own importance. That she meant to shine and be very superior, but with manners which had been formed in a bad school, pert and familiar. That all her notions were drawn from one set of people and one style of living. That if not foolish she was ignorant, and that her society would certainly do Mr. Elton no good. Harriet would have been a better match. If not wise or refined herself, she would have connected him with those who were. But Miss Hawkins, it might be fairly supposed from her easy conceit, had been the best of her own set. The rich brother-in-law near Bristol was the pride of the alliance, and his place and his carriages were the pride of him. The very first subject after being seated was Maple Grove. My brother Mr. Suckling's seat. A comparison of Hartfield to Maple Grove. The grounds of Hartfield were small, but neat and pretty, and the house was modern and well-built. Mrs. Elton seemed most favourably impressed by the size of the room, the entrance, and all that she could see or imagine. Very like Maple Grove, indeed! She was quite struck by the likeness. That room was the very shape and size of the morning-room at Maple Grove, her sister's favourite room. Mr. Elton was appealed to. Was it not astonishingly like? She could really almost fancy herself at Maple Grove. And the staircase. You know, as I came in, I observed how very like the staircase was, placed exactly in the same part of the house. I really could not help exclaiming. I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, it is very delightful to me to be reminded of a place I am so extremely partial to as Maple Grove. I have spent so many happy months there. With a little sigh of sentiment. A charming place, undoubtedly. Everybody who sees it is struck by its beauty, but to me it has been quite a home. Whenever you are transplanted, like me, Miss Woodhouse, you will understand how very delightful it is to meet with anything at all like what one has left behind. I always say this is quite one of the evils of matrimony. Emma made as slight a reply as she could, but it was fully sufficient for Mrs. Elton, who only wanted to be talking herself. So extremely like Maple Grove, and it is not merely the house. The grounds, I assure you, as far as I could observe, are strikingly like. The laurels at Maple Grove are in the same profusion as here, and stand very much in the same way, just across the lawn, and I had a glimpse of a fine large tree with a bench round it, which put me so exactly in mind. My brother and sister will be enchanted with this place. People who have extensive grounds themselves are always pleased with anything in the same style. Emma doubted the truth of this sentiment. She had a great idea that people who had extensive grounds themselves cared very little for the extensive grounds of anybody else, but it was not worthwhile to attack an error so double-died, and therefore only said in reply. When you have seen more of this country I am afraid you will think you have overrated Hartfield. Surrey is full of beauties. Oh yes, I am quite aware of that, is the Garden of England, you know. Surrey is the Garden of England. Yes, but we must not rest our claims on that distinction. Many counties, I believe, are called the Garden of England as well as Surrey. No, I fancy not, replied Mrs. Elton, with a most satisfied smile. I never heard any county but Surrey called so. Emma was silenced. My brother and sister have promised us a visit in the spring, or summer at farthest, continued Mrs. Elton, and that will be our time for exploring. While they are with us we shall explore a great deal, I dare say. They will have their Baruch Landau, of course, which holds four perfectly, and therefore, without saying anything of our carriage, we should be able to explore the different beauties extremely well. They would hardly come in their shays, I think, at that season of the year. Indeed, when the time draws on I shall decidedly recommend their bringing the Baruch Landau. It will be so very much preferable. When people come into a beautiful country of this sort, you know, Miss Woodhouse, one naturally wishes them to see as much as possible. And Mr. Suckling is extremely fond of exploring. We explored, to King's Weston twice last summer, in that way, most delightfully, just after their first having the Baruch Landau. You have many parties of that kind here, I suppose, Miss Woodhouse, every summer. No, not immediately here. We are rather out of distance of the very striking beauties which attract the sort of parties you speak of, and we are a very quiet set of people, I believe, more disposed to stay at home, than engage in schemes of pleasure. Ah! there is nothing like staying at home for real comfort. Nobody can be more devoted to home than I am. I was quite a proverb for it at Maple Grove. Many a time has Selena said, when she has been going to Bristol, I really cannot get this girl to move from the house. I absolutely must go in by myself, though I hate being stuck up in the Baruch Landau without a companion. But Augusta, I believe, with her own good will, would never stir beyond the park-pailing. Many a time has she said so, and yet I am no advocate for entire seclusion. I think, on the contrary, when people shut themselves up entirely from society, it is a very bad thing, and that it is much more advisable to mix in the world in a proper degree, without living in it either too much or too little. I perfectly understand your situation, however, Miss Woodhouse. Looking towards Mr. Woodhouse. Your father's state of health must be a great drawback. Why does he not try bath? Indeed, he should. Let me recommend bath to you. I assure you I have no doubt if it's doing Mr. Woodhouse good. My father tried it more than once, formerly, but without receiving any benefit, and Mr. Perry, whose name, I dare say, is not unknown to you, does not conceive it would be at all more likely to be useful now. Ah! that is a great pity, for I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, where the waters do agree, it is quite wonderful the relief they give. In my bath life I have seen such instances of it, and it is so cheerful a place that it could not fail of being of use to Mr. Woodhouse's spirits, which, I understand, are sometimes much depressed. And as to its recommendations to you, I fancy I need not take much pains to dwell on them. The advantages of bath to the young are pretty generally understood. It would be a charming introduction for you, who have lived so secluded a life, and I could immediately secure you some of the best society in the place. A line from me would bring you a little host of acquaintance, and my particular friend, Mrs. Partridge, the lady I have always resided with when in bath, would be most happy to show you any attentions, and would be the very person for you to go into public with. It was as much as Emma could bear, without being impolite. The idea of her being indebted to Mrs. Elton for what was called an introduction, of her going into public under the auspices of a friend of Mrs. Elton's—probably some vulgar dashing widow who, with the help of a boarder, just made a shift to live. The dignity of Miss Woodhouse, of Hartfield, was sunk indeed. She restrained herself, however, from any of the reproofs she could have given, and only thanked Mrs. Elton Cooley. But their going to bath was quite out of the question, and she was not perfectly convinced that the place might suit her better than her father. And then, to prevent farther outrage and indignation, changed the subject directly. I do not ask whether you are musical, Mrs. Elton. Upon these occasions a lady's character generally precedes her, and Highbury has long known that you are a superior performer. Oh, no indeed, I must protest against any such idea, a superior performer, very far from it, I assure you. Consider from how partial a quarter your information came. I am dotingly fond of music, passionately fond, and my friends say I am not entirely devoid of taste, but as to anything else, upon my honour my performance is mediocre to the last degree. You, Miss Woodhouse, I well know, play delightfully. I assure you it has been the greatest satisfaction, comfort, and delight to me to hear what a musical society I am got into. I absolutely cannot do without music. It is a necessary of life to me, and having always been used to a very musical society, both at Maple Grove and in Bath, it would have been a most serious sacrifice. I honestly said as much to Mr. E., when he was speaking of my future home, and expressing his fears, lest the retirement of it should be disagreeable, and the inferiority of the house, too, knowing what I had been accustomed to. Of course he was not holy without apprehension. When he was speaking of it in that way I honestly said that the world I could give up, parties, balls, plays, for I had no fear of retirement. Blessed with so many resources within myself, the world was not necessary to me. I could do very well without it. To those who had no resources it was a different thing, but my resources made me quite independent. And as to smaller-sized rooms than I had been used to, I really could not give it a thought. I hoped I was perfectly equal to any sacrifice of that description. Certainly I had been accustomed to every luxury at Maple Grove, but I did assure him that two carriages were not necessary to my happiness, nor were spacious apartments. But, said I, to be quite honest, I do not think I can live without something of a musical society. I conditioned for nothing else, but without music life would be a blank to me. We cannot suppose, said Emma, smiling, that Mr. Elton would hesitate to assure you of there being a very musical society in Highbury. And I hope you will not find he has outstepped the truth more than may be pardoned, in consideration of the motive. No, indeed, I have no doubts at all on that head. I am delighted to find myself in such a circle. I hope we shall have many sweet little concerts together. I think, Miss Woodhouse, you and I must establish a musical club, and have regular weekly meetings at your house or ours. Will not it be a good plan? If we exert ourselves, I think we shall not be long and want of allies. Something of that nature would be particularly desirable for me as an inducement to keep me in practice, for married women, you know. There is a sad story against them in general. They are but too apt to give up music. But you, who are so extremely fond of it, there can be no danger, surely. I should hope not, but really when I look around among my acquaintance I tremble. Selena has entirely given up music, never touches the instrument, though she played sweetly. And the same may be said of Mrs. Jefferies—Clara Partridge, that was—and of the two Millmans, now Mrs. Bird and Mrs. James Cooper—and of more than I can enumerate. Upon my word it is enough to put one in a fright. I used to be quite angry with Selena, but really I begin now to comprehend that a married woman has many things to call her attention. I believe I was half an hour this morning shut up with my housekeeper. "'But everything of that kind,' said Emma, "'will soon be in so regular a train.' "'Well,' said Mrs. Elton, laughing, "'we shall see.' Emma, finding her so determined upon neglecting her music, had nothing more to say, and after a moment's pause Mrs. Elton chose another subject. "'We have been calling at Randalls,' said she, and found them both at home, and very pleasant people they seem to be. I like them extremely. Mr. Weston seems an excellent creature. Quite a first-rate favourite with me already, I assure you. And she appears so truly good. There is something so motherly and kind-hearted about her that it wins upon one directly. She was your governess, I think.' Emma was almost too much astonished to answer, but Mrs. Elton hardly waited for the affirmative before she went on. Having understood as much I was rather astonished to find her so very ladylike, but she is really quite the gentle woman. "'Mrs. Weston's manners,' said Emma, "'were always particularly good. Their propriety, simplicity, and elegance would make them the safest model for any young woman.' "'And who do you think came in while we were there?' Emma was quite at a loss. The tone implied some old acquaintance. And how could she possibly guess?' "'Nightly,' continued Mrs. Elton, nightly himself, was not it lucky, for not being within when he called the other day I had never seen him before, and of course as so particular a friend of Mr. Ease I had a great curiosity. My friend, nightly, had been so often mentioned that I was really impatient to see him, and I must do my caro sposo the justice to say that he need not be ashamed of his friend. Nightly is quite the gentleman. I like him very much. Decidedly, I think, a very gentleman-like man. Happily it was now time to be gone. They were off, and Emma could breathe. "'Insufferable woman!' was her immediate exclamation. Worse than I had supposed. Absolutely insufferable. Nightly. I could not have believed it. Nightly, never seen him in her life before and call him nightly, and discover that he is a gentleman, a little upstart, vulgar being, with her Mr. E. and her caro sposo and her resources and all her heirs of pert pretension and underbred finery. Actually to discover that Mr. Nightly is a gentleman. I doubt whether he will return the compliment and discover her to be a lady. I could not have believed it, and to propose that she and I should unite to form a musical club. One would fancy we were bosom friends. And Mrs. Weston. Astonished that the person who had brought me up should be a gentle woman. Worse and worse I never met with her equal. Much beyond my hopes." Harriet is disgraced by any comparison. Oh! what would Frank Churchill say to her if he were here? How angry and how diverted he would be! Ah! there I am, thinking of him directly. Always the first person to be thought of. How I catch myself out! Frank Churchill comes as regularly into my mind. All this ran so glibly through her thoughts that by the time her father had arranged himself, after the bustle of the Elton's departure, and was ready to speak, she was very tolerably capable of attending. Well, my dear! he deliberately began. Considering we never saw her before, she seems a very pretty sort of young lady, and I dare say she was very much pleased with you. She speaks a little too quick. A little quickness of voice there is which rather hurts the ear, but I believe I am nice. I do not like strange voices, and nobody speaks like you and poor Miss Taylor. However, she seems a very obliging, pretty-behaved young lady, and no doubt will make him a very good wife. Though I think he had better not have married. I made the best excuses I could for not having been able to wait on him and Mrs. Elton on this happy occasion. I said that I hoped I should in the course of the summer, but I ought to have gone before. Not to wait upon a bride is very remiss. Ah! it shows what a sad invalid I am. But I do not like the corner into vicarage lane. I dare say your apologies were accepted, sir. Mr. Elton knows you. Yes, but a young lady, a bride, I ought to have paid my respects to her if possible. It was being very deficient. But, my dear papa, you are no friend to matrimony, and therefore why should you be so anxious to pay your respects to a bride? It ought to be no recommendation to you. It is encouraging people to marry if you make so much of them. No, my dear, I never encouraged anybody to marry, but I would always wish to pay every proper attention to a lady, and a bride especially is never to be neglected. More is avowedly due to her. A bride, you know, my dear, is always the first in company, let the others be who they may. Well, papa, if this is not encouragement to marry I do not know what is, and I should never have expected you to be lending your sanction to such vanity-baits for poor young ladies. My dear, you do not understand me. This is a matter of mere common politeness and good breeding, and has nothing to do with any encouragement to people to marry. Emma had done. Her father was growing nervous and could not understand her. Her mind returned to Mrs. Elton's offences, and long, very long, did they occupy her? End of Volume 2, Chapter 14, read by Kara Schellenberg, in January 2010. Volume 2, Chapter 15 of Emma by Jane Austen. Emma was not required by any subsequent discovery to retract her ill opinion of Mrs. Elton. Her observation had been pretty correct. Such as Mrs. Elton appeared to her on this second interview, such she appeared whenever they met again, self-important, presuming, familiar, ignorant, and ill-bred. She had a little beauty and a little accomplishment, but so little judgment that she thought herself coming with superior knowledge of the world to enliven and improve a country neighborhood, and conceived Miss Hawkins to have held such a place in society as Mrs. Elton's consequence only could surpass. There was no reason to suppose Mr. Elton thought at all differently from his wife. He seemed not merely happy with her, but proud. He had the air of congratulating himself on having brought such a woman to Highbury as not even Miss Woodhouse could equal, and the greater part of her new acquaintance disposed to commend, or not in the habit of judging, following the lead of Miss Bates's goodwill, or taking it for granted, that the bride must be as clever and as agreeable as she professed herself, were very well satisfied, so that Mrs. Elton's praise passed from one mouth to another, as it ought to do, unimpeded by Miss Woodhouse, who readily continued her first contribution, and talked with a good grace of her being, very pleasant and very elegantly dressed. In one respect Mrs. Elton grew even worse than she had appeared at first. Her feelings altered towards Emma. Offended probably by the little encouragement which her proposals of intimacy met with, she drew back in her turn, and gradually became much more cold and distant. And though the effect was agreeable, the ill will which produced it was necessarily increasing Emma's dislike. Her manners, too, and Mr. Elton's, were unpleasant towards Harriet. They were sneering and negligent. Emma hoped it must rapidly work Harriet's cure, but the sensations which could prompt such behavior sunk them both very much. It was not to be doubted that poor Harriet's attachment had been an offering to conjugal unreserve, and her own share in the story, under a coloring of the least favorable to her, and the most soothing to him, had, in all likelihood, been given also. She was, of course, the object of their joint dislike. When they had nothing else to say, it must be always easy to begin abusing Miss Woodhouse. And the enmity which they dared not show in open disrespect to her found a broader vent in contemptuous treatment of Harriet. Mrs. Elton took great fancy to Jane Fairfax and from the first. Not merely when a state of warfare with one young lady might be supposed to recommend the other, but from the very first, and she was not satisfied with expressing a natural and reasonable admiration, but without solicitation or plea or privilege she must be wanting to assist and befriend her. Before Emma had forfeited her confidence, and about the third time of their meeting she heard all Miss Elton's night air entry on the subject. Jane Fairfax is absolutely charming Miss Woodhouse. I quite rave about Jane Fairfax. A sweet, interesting creature, so mild and ladylike, and with such talents. I assure you I think she has very extraordinary talents. I do not scribble to say that she plays extremely well. I know enough of music to speak decidedly on that point. Oh, she is absolutely charming. You will laugh at my warmth, but upon my word I talk of nothing but Jane Fairfax. And her situation is so calculated to affect one. Miss Woodhouse, we must exert ourselves an endeavor to do something for her. We must bring her forward. Such talent as hers must not be suffered to remain unknown. I dare say you have heard those charming lines of the poet. Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its fragrance on the desert air. We must not allow them to be verified in sweet Jane Fairfax. I cannot think there is any danger of it, was Emma's calm answer. And when you are better acquainted with Miss Fairfax's situation and understand what her home has been with Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, I have no idea that you will suppose her talents can be unknown. Oh, but dear Miss Woodhouse, she is now in such retirement, such obscurity, so thrown away. Whatever advantages she may have enjoyed with the Campbells are so palpably at an end. And I think she feels it. I am sure she does. She is very timid and silent. One can see that she feels the want of encouragement. I like her the better for it. I must confess it is a recommendation to me. I am a great advocate for timidity, and I am sure one does not often meet with it. But in those who are at all inferior it is extremely prepossessing. Oh, I assure you, Jane Fairfax is a very delightful character and interests me more than I can express. You appear to feel a great deal, but I am not aware how you or any of Miss Fairfax's acquaintance here, any of those who have known her longer than yourself, can show her any other attention than. My dear Miss Woodhouse, a vast deal may be done by those who dare to act. You and I need not be afraid. If we set the example, many will follow it as far as they can, though all have not our situations. We have carriages to fetch and convey her home, and we live in a style which could not make the addition of Jane Fairfax at any time the least inconvenient. I should be extremely displeased if Wright were to send us up such a dinner as could make me regret having asked more than Jane Fairfax to partake of it. I have no idea of that sort of thing. It is not likely that I should, considering what I have been used to. My greatest danger, perhaps, in housekeeping, may be quite the other way in doing too much and being too careless of expense. Maple Grove will probably be my model more than it ought to be, for we do not at all affect to equal my brother, Mr. Suckling, in income. However, my resolution is taken as to noticing Jane Fairfax. I shall certainly have her very often at my house, shall introduce her wherever I can, shall have musical parties to draw out her talents, and shall be constantly on the watch for an eligible situation. My acquaintance is so very extensive that I have little doubt of hearing of something to suit her shortly. I shall introduce her, of course, very particularly to my brother and sister when they come to us. I am sure they will like her extremely, and when she gets a little acquainted with them, her fears will completely wear off, for there really is nothing in the manners of either but what is highly conciliating. I shall have her very often indeed while they are with me, and I dare say we shall sometimes find a seat for her in the Baroch Landau in some of our exploring parties. Poor Jane Fairfax, thought Emma. You have not deserved this. You may have done wrong with regard to Mr. Dixon, but this is a punishment beyond what you can have merited. The kindness and protection of Mrs. Elton. Jane Fairfax and Jane Fairfax. Heavens, let me not suppose that she dares go about Emma woodhousing me. But upon my honour there seems no limit to the licentiousness of that woman's tongue. Emma had not to listen to such parading again, to any so exclusively addressed to herself, so disgustingly decorated with a dear Miss Woodhouse. The change on Mrs. Elton's side soon afterwards appeared, and she was left in peace, neither forced to be the very particular friend of Mrs. Elton, nor under Mrs. Elton's guidance the very active patroness of Jane Fairfax, and only sharing with others in a general way, in knowing what was felt, what was meditated, what was done. She looked on with some amusement. Miss Bates's gratitude for Mrs. Elton's attentions to Jane was in the first style of guileless simplicity and warmth. She was quite one of her worthy's, the most amiable, affable, delightful woman, just as accomplished and condescending as Mrs. Elton meant to be considered. Emma's only surprise was that Jane Fairfax should accept those attentions and tolerate Mrs. Elton as she seemed to do. She heard of her walking with the Elton's, sitting with the Elton's, spending a day with the Elton's. This was astonishing. She could not have believed it possible that the taste or the pride of Miss Fairfax could endure such society and friendship as the vicarage had to offer. She is a riddle, quite a riddle, said she, to choose to remain here month after month under privations of every sort, and now to choose the mortification of Mrs. Elton's notice and the pinnury of her conversation, rather than return to the superior companions who have always loved her with such real generous affection. Jane had come to Highbury professedly for three months. The Campbells were gone to Ireland for three months. But now the Campbells had promised their daughter to stay at least till mid-summer and fresh invitations had arrived for her to join them there. According to Miss Bates, it all came from her, Mrs. Dixon had written most pressingly. Would Jane but go, means were to be found, servants sent, friends contrived, no travelling difficulty allowed to exist, but still she had declined it. She must have some motive more powerful than appears for refusing this invitation, was Emma's conclusion. She must be under some sort of penance inflicted either by the Campbells or herself. There is great fear, great caution, great resolution somewhere. She is not to be with the Dixons, the decree is issued by somebody. But why must she consent to be with the Elton's? Here is quite a separate puzzle. Upon her speaking her wonder allowed on that part of the subject, before the few who knew her opinion of Mrs. Elton, Mrs. Weston ventured this apology for Jane. We cannot suppose that she has any great enjoyment at the vicarage, my dear Emma, but it is better than being always at home. Her aunt is a good creature, but as a constant companion must be very tiresome. We must consider what Miss Fairfax quits before we condemn her taste for what she goes to. You are right, Mrs. Weston, said Mr. Knightley warmly. Miss Fairfax is as capable as any of us of forming a just opinion of Mrs. Elton. Could she have chosen with whom to associate, she would not have chosen her. But, with a reproachful smile at Emma, she receives attentions from Mrs. Elton which nobody else pays her. Emma felt that Mrs. Weston was giving her a momentary glance, and she was herself struck by his warmth. With a faint blush she presently replied, such attentions as Mrs. Elton's, I should have imagined, would rather disgust than gratify Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton's invitations, I should have imagined, anything but inviting. I should not wonder, said Mrs. Weston, if Miss Fairfax were to have been drawn on beyond her own inclination by her aunt's eagerness in accepting Mrs. Elton's civilities for her. Poor Miss Bates may very likely have committed her niece and hurried her into a greater appearance of intimacy than her own good sense would have dictated, in spite of the very natural wish of a little change. Both felt rather anxious to hear him speak again, and after a few minutes' silence, he said, another thing must be taken into consideration too. Mrs. Elton does not talk to Miss Fairfax as she speaks of her. We all know the difference between the pronouns he or she and thou, the plainest spoken among us. We all feel the influence of a something beyond common civility in our personal intercourse with each other, a something more easily implanted. We cannot give anybody the disagreeable hints that we may have been very full of the hour before. We feel things differently. And besides the operation of this as a general principle, you may be sure that Miss Fairfax aws Mrs. Elton by her superiority, both of mind and manner, and that, face to face, Mrs. Elton treats her with all the respect which she has a claim to. Such a woman as Jane Fairfax probably never fell in Mrs. Elton's way before, and no degree of vanity can prevent her acknowledging her own comparative littleness in action, if not in consciousness. I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax, said Emma. Little Henry was in her thoughts, and a mixture of alarm and delicacy made her irresolute what else to say. Yes, he replied, anybody may know how highly I think of her. And yet, said Emma, beginning hastily and with an arch look, but soon stopping. It was better, however, to know the worst at once. She hurried on. And yet, perhaps, you may hardly be aware yourself how highly it is. The extent of your admiration may take you by surprise some day or other. Mr. Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons of his thick leather gaiters, and either the exertion of getting them together, or some other cause, brought the color into his face, as he answered. Oh, are you there? But you are miserably behindhand. Mr. Cole gave me a hint of it six weeks ago. He stopped. Emma felt her foot pressed by Mrs. Weston and did not herself know what to think. In a moment he went on. That will never be, however, I can assure you. Miss Fairfax, I dare say, would not have me if I were to ask her. And I am very sure I shall never ask her. Emma returned her friend's pressure with interest, and was pleased enough to exclaim, You are not vain, Mr. Knightley. I will say that for you. He seemed hardly to hear her. He was thoughtful. And in a manner which showed him not pleased, soon afterwards said, So you have been settling that I should marry Jane Fairfax? No, indeed I have not. You have sculpted me too much for matchmaking, for me to presume to take such a liberty with you. What I said just now meant nothing. One says those sort of things, of course, without any idea of a serious meaning. Oh, no, upon my word I have not the smallest wish for your marrying Jane Fairfax or Jane anybody. You would not come in and sit with us in this comfortable way, if you were married. Mr. Knightley was thoughtful again. The result of his reverie was... No, Emma, I do not think the extent of my admiration for her will ever take me by surprise. I never had a thought of her in that way, I assure you. And soon afterwards, Jane Fairfax is a very charming young woman, but not even Jane Fairfax is perfect. She has a fault. She has not the open temper which a man would wish for in a wife. Emma could not but rejoice to hear that she had a fault. Well, said she, and you soon silenced Mr. Cole, I suppose? Yes, very soon. He gave me a quiet hint. I told him he was mistaken. He asked my pardon and said no more. Cole does not want to be wiser or wittier than his neighbours. In that respect how unlike dear Mrs. Elton who wants to be wiser and wittier than all the world? I wonder how she speaks of the Coles, what she calls them. How can she find any appellation for them deep enough in familiar vulgarity? She calls you Knightley. What can she do for Mr. Cole? And so I am not to be surprised that Jane Fairfax accepts her civilities and consents to be with her. Mrs. Weston, your argument weighs most with me. I can much more readily enter into the temptation of getting away from Miss Bates than I can believe in the triumph of Miss Fairfax's mind over Mrs. Elton. I have no faith in Mrs. Elton's acknowledging herself the inferior in thought, word, or deed, or in her being under any restraint beyond her own scanty rule of good-breeding. I cannot imagine that she will not be continually insulting her visitor with praise, encouragement, and offers of service, that she will not be continually detailing her magnificent intentions from the procuring her a permanent situation to the including her in those delightful exploring parties which are to take place in the baroche landow. Jane Fairfax has feeling, said Mr. Knightley. I do not accuse her of want of feeling. Her sensibilities, I suspect, are strong, and her temper excellent in its power of forbearance, patience, self-control. But it wants openness. She is reserved, more reserved, I think, than she used to be, and I love an open temper. No till Cole alluded to my supposed attachment it had never entered my head. I saw Jane Fairfax and conversed with her with admiration and pleasure always, but with no thought beyond. Well, Mrs. Weston, said Emma triumphantly when he left them. What do you say now to Mr. Knightley's marrying Jane Fairfax? Why, really, dear Emma, I say that he is so very much occupied by the idea of not being in love with her, that I should not wonder if it were to end in his being so at last. Do not beat me. Dinner parties and evening parties were made for him and his lady, and invitations flowed in so fast, that she had soon the pleasure of apprehending they were never to have a disengaged day. I see how it is, said she. I see what a life I am to lead among you. Upon my word, we shall be absolutely dissipated. We really seem quite the fashion. If this is living in the country, it is nothing very formidable. From Monday to next Saturday I assure you we have not a disengaged day. A woman with fewer resources than I have need not have been at a loss. No invitation came amiss to her. Her bath habits made evening parties perfectly natural to her, and Maple Grove had given her a taste for dinners. She was a little shocked at the want of two drawing-rooms, at the poor attempt at route cakes, and there being no ice in the Highbury card parties. Mrs. Bates, Mrs. Perry, Mrs. Goddard, and others were a good deal behind hand in knowledge of the world, but she would soon show them how everything ought to be arranged. In the course of the spring she must return their civilities by one very superior party, in which her card tables should be set out with their separate candles and unbroken packs in the true style, and more waiters engaged for the evening than their own establishment could furnish to carry round the refreshments at exactly the proper hour and in the proper order. Emma, in the meanwhile, could not be satisfied without a dinner at Hartfield for the Elton's. They must not do less than others, or she should be exposed to odious suspicions, and imagined capable of pitiful resentment. A dinner there must be. After Emma had talked about it for ten minutes Mr. Woodhouse felt no unwillingness, and only made the usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom of the table himself, with the usual regular difficulty of deciding who should do it for him. The persons to be invited required little thought. Besides the Elton's it must be the Weston's and Mr. Knightley. So far it was all, of course, and it was hardly less inevitable that poor little Harriet must be asked to make the eighth. But this invitation was not given with equal satisfaction, and on many accounts Emma was particularly pleased by Harriet's begging to be allowed to decline it. She would rather not be in his company more than she could help, she was not yet quite able to see him and his charming happy wife together without feeling uncomfortable. If Miss Woodhouse would not be displeased, she would rather stay at home. It was precisely what Emma would have wished had she deemed it possible enough for wishing. She was delighted with the fortitude of her little friend, for fortitude she knew it was in her to give up being in company and stay at home, and she could now invite the very person whom she really wanted to make the eighth, Jane Fairfax. Since her last conversation with Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley, she was more conscience-stricken about Jane Fairfax than she had often been. Mr. Knightley's words dwelt with her. He had said that Jane Fairfax received attentions from Mrs. Elton which nobody else paid her. This is very true, said she, at least as far as relates to me, which was all that was meant, and it is very shameful. Of the same age, and always knowing her, I ought to have been more her friend. She will never like me now. I have neglected her too long. But I will show her greater attention than I have done. Every invitation was successful. They were all disengaged and all happy. The preparatory interest of this dinner, however, was not yet over. A circumstance rather unlucky occurred. The two eldest little Knightleys were engaged to pay their grandpapa and aunt a visit of some weeks in the spring, and their papa now proposed bringing them, and staying one whole day at Hartfield, which one day would be the very day of this 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 Emma apprehended that it would be a ninth very much out of humour at not being able to come even to Hartfield for forty eight hours without falling in with a 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 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 favourable 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 him so, with the arrival of the little boys, and the philosophic composure of her brother on hearing 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 Miss 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 Miss Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet girl, and he could talk to her. He had 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, Miss 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 nightly 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 growing 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, mine are letters of friendship. I have often thought them the worst of the two, replied he coolly. Business, you know, may bring money, but friendship hardly ever does. Ah, you are not serious now. I know Mr. John nightly 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 which makes 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 in worse weather than today. When I talked of your being altered by time, by the progress of years, said John nightly, 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 offence. 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 a 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 mildest urbanity 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 grandmama and aunt are well. They are some of my very old friends. I wish my health allowed me to be a better neighbor. 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 the walk in the rain had reached Mrs. Elton, and her remonstrances now opened upon Jane. My dear Jane, what is this I hear? Going to 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. The spring, I always think, requires more than common care. Better wait an hour or two, or even half a day for your letters, than run the risk of bringing 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, eagerly rejoined Mrs. Elton. We will 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. The man who fetches our letters every morning—one of our men, I forget his name—shall inquire for yours, too, and bring them to you. 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, and upon my word I have scarcely ever had a bad morning before. 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 insuperable difficulties therefore, consider that point as settled. Excuse me, said Jane earnestly. I cannot by any means consent to such an arrangement, so needlessly troublesome to your servant. If the errand were not a pleasure to me it could be done, as it always is when I am not here by my grandmamas. Oh, my dear, but so much as Patty has to do, and it is a 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 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 of bad 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 and hand, and exercise improves them. If you want any farther explanation, continued he smiling, they are paid for it. That is the key to a great deal of 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 must be chiefly confined to the females, for 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, unperceiving 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 in Yorkshire, that would be the way, I suppose, if I were very bad. No, I can pronounce his name without the smallest distress. 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, said Mr. Knightley. It is too small, want strength. It is like a woman's writing. This was not submitted to by either lady. They vindicated him against the base aspersion. No, it by no means wanted 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 we were in the other room, said Emma, and if I had my writing desk, I am sure I could produce a specimen. I have a note of his. Do you not 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 I can show it after dinner to convince Mr. Knightley. Oh, when a gallant young man like Mr. Frank Churchill, said Mr. Knightley dryly, writes to a fair lady like Miss Woodhouse, he will, of course, put forth his best. Dinner was on the 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 leading the way. Jane's solicitude about fetching her own letters had not escaped Emma. She had heard and seen it all, and felt some curiosity to know whether the wet walk of this morning had produced any. 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 complexion 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 Fairfax's feelings, and they followed the other ladies out of the room, arm in arm, with an appearance of goodwill highly becoming to the beauty and grace of each. End of Volume 2 Chapter 16, read by Kara Schellenberg in July 2011 in San Diego, California. 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 did Mrs. Elton engross 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 a 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, inquiries 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 looked forward to the summer in general. But have you really heard of nothing? I have not even made any inquiry. I do not wish to make any yet. Oh, my dear, we cannot begin too early. You are not aware of the difficulty of 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 round 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 circle. 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 in. Colonel and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by midsummer, 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 Campbells can hardly be more interested about you than I am. I shall write to Mrs. Partridge in a day or two, and shall 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. Till the time draws nearer, I do not wish to be giving anybody trouble. But my dear child, the time is drawing near. Here is April, and June, or say even July, is very near with such business to accomplish before us. Your inexperience really amuses me. A situation such as you deserve and your friends would require for you is no everyday occurrence, is not obtained 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 shot me. If you mean a fleeing at the slave trade, I assure you Mr. Suckling was always rather a friend to the abolition. I did not mean I was not thinking of the slave trade, replied Jane. Governance 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, repeated Mrs. Elton. I, 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 camels will be quite on my side. With your superior talents you have a right to move in the 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 delightfully, honorably, and comfortably settled before the camels 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 in 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 in 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, replied Mrs. Elton gaily, and resolving to be always on the watch, and employing my friends to watch also, that 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 whisper to Jane. Here comes this dear old bow of mine, I protest. Only think of his gallantry in coming away before the other men. What a dear creature he is. I assure you I like him excessively. I admire all that quaint old-fashioned politeness. It is much more to my taste than modern ease. Modern ease often disgusts me. But this good old Mr. Woodhouse, I wish you had heard his gallant speeches to me at dinner. Oh, I assure you, I began to think my carousel would be absolutely jealous. I fancy I am rather 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 over-trimmed. I have the greatest dislike 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 bride, you know, must appear like a bride. But my natural taste is all for simplicity. A simple style of dress is so 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 were but 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 is almost as glad to see him now as he would have been sorry to see him before. John Knightley only was in mute astonishment. That 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. A 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 to quit the tranquility and independence of his own fireside and on the evening of a cold, sleety April day rush 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, in 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 as 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 she knew she ought to be happy. Her congratulations were warm and open. But Emma could not speak so fluently. She was a little occupied in weighing her own feelings and trying to understand the degree of her agitation, which she 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 a 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 then 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. In finding himself close to Mrs. Elton and her attention disengaged, he necessarily began on the subject with her. End of Volume 2, Chapter 17, read by Laurie Ann Walden. Volume 2, Chapter 18 of Emma by Jane Austen. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. 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, smiled most 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 notice of it 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, I assure you, I hardly ever get a letter. And so you absolutely opened what 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 neighbors 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 on Mrs. Churchill's account. She has not been well the whole winter, and thinks Enscombe too cold for her, so they are all to move southward, without loss of time. Indeed, from Yorkshire, I think, Enscombe is in Yorkshire. Yes, they are about 190 miles from London, a considerable journey. Yes, upon my word, very considerable, sixty-five 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 how my brother, Mr. Suckling, sometimes flies about. You will hardly believe me. But twice in one week he and Mr. Bragg went to London and back again with four horses. The evil of the distance from Enscombe, 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, of being too weak to get into her conservatory, without having both his arm and his uncle's. 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 have 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 at Mrs. Churchill's making incredible exertions to avoid it. Selena says it is quite horror 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 second to 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 is no rule 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 want of 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, you seem shut out from everything in the most complete retirement. And Mrs. Churchill probably has not health or spirits like Selina to enjoy that sort of seclusion. 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 find 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 it 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 in company in the days of courtship, when, because things did not go quite right, did not proceed with all the rapidity which suited his feelings, he was apt to be in despair and exclaimed 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 have been at to dispel those gloomy ideas and give him cheerful reviews. The carriage—we had 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. You were mentioning May. May is the very month which Mrs. Churchill is ordered, or has ordered herself, to spend in some warmer place than Enscombe, 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 which one should have chosen for it. Days 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 a Mrs. Elton whether the uncertainty of our meetings, the sort of constant expectation there will be of his coming in 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 spirit and delight. I hope you will be pleased with my son, but you must not expect a prodigy. He is 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 are by no means implicitly guided by others. I give you notice that as I find your son, so I shall judge of him. I am no flatterer. Mr. Weston was musing. I hope, he said 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 as 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 has 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-churchiled them all in high and mighty claims. But in herself, I assure you, she is an upstart. 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 neighbourhood 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 encumbered with many low connections, but giving themselves immense airs, and expecting to be on a footing with the old established families. A year and a half is the very utmost that they can have lived at West Hall, and how they got their fortune nobody knows. They 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 Tubmans, though a 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 neighbours. It is infinitely too bad. Mr. Suckling, who has been eleven years a resident at Maple Grove, and whose 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. T. was carrying round, and Mr. Weston, having said all that he wanted, soon took the opportunity of walking away. After T. Mr. and Mrs. Weston and Mr. Elton sat down with Mr. Woodhouse to cards. The remaining five were 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 physique 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 and physique. 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 maybe some encumbrance 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. Witness this very time. Here am I, come down for only one day, and you are engaged with a dinner party. When did it happen before, or anything like it? Your neighbourhood 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 at 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 as Randalls, I suppose, is not likely to have less influence than here to fore. 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, cried 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 should like to know how many of all my numerous engagements take place without your being of the party, and why I am to be supposed in danger of wanting leisure to attend to the little boys. These amazing engagements of mine, what have they been? Dining once with the coals, and having a ball talked of which never took place. I can't understand you, nodding at Mr. John Knightley. Your good fortune in meeting with so many of your friends at once here delights you too much to pass unnoticed, but you— turning to Mr. Knightley— who know how very, very seldom I am ever two hours from Hartfield, why 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. And of Volume 2, Chapter 18, read by Kara Schallenberg, www.kray.org, in October 2011 in San Diego, California. 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 she 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 rather 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, though rather longer, than Mr. Weston had foreseen, before she had the power of forming some opinion of Frank Churchill's feelings. The Enscombe family were not in town quite so soon as had been 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 a 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 recur 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 Highbury. He had seen a group of old acquaintance 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 a discreet 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, intending to come, but was always prevented. His aunt could not bear to have him leave her, such was 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 proceed from anything that care and medicine might not remove, or at least that she might not have many years' existence before her, but he could not be prevailed on by all his father's doubt 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 in, 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 skill of an imminent person there, and had otherwise a fancy for the place. A ready furnished house in a favorite 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 near neighborhood to many dear friends, for the house was taken for May and 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 the 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 and 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 was no comfort in having him in London. He might as well be at Inskam. 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 at the crown. It had not been forgotten before, but it had been soon acknowledged vain to attempt to fix it a. Now, however, it was absolutely to be. Every preparation was resumed, and very soon after the Churchills had removed to Richmond, a few lines from Frank to say that 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, induced them to name as early a day as possible. Mr. Weston's ball was to be a real thing. A very few tomorrows stood 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. James had due notice, and he sanguinly hoped that neither dear little Henry nor dear little John would have anything to matter with him while dear Emma were gone. End of Volume 3, Chapter 1, read by Laurie Ann Walden.