Chapter XVII

“Pray say no m ore. I feel that all the apologies should be on m y side.

Let us forgive each other at once. We m ust do whatever is to be done quickest, and I think our feelings will lose no tim e there. I hope y ou have pleasant accounts from Windsor?”

“Very.”

“And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are to lose y ou – j ust as I begin to know y ou.”

“Oh! as to all that, of course nothing can be thought of y et. I am here till

claim ed by Colonel and Mrs. Cam pbell.”

“Nothing can be actually settled y et, perhaps,” replied Em m a, sm iling

– “but, excuse m e, it m ust be thought of.”

The sm ile was returned as Jane answered,

“You are very right; it has been thought of. And I will own to y ou, (I am sure it will be safe), that so far as our living with Mr. Churchill at Enscom be, it is settled. There m ust be three m onths, at least, of deep m ourning; but when they are over, I im agine there will be nothing m ore to wait for.”

“Thank y ou, thank y ou. – This is j ust what I wanted to be assured of. –

Oh! if y ou knew how m uch I love every thing that is decided and open! – Good-by e, good-by e.

CHAPTER XVII

Mrs. Weston’s friends were all m ade happy by her safety ; and if the satisfaction of her well-doing could be increased to Em m a, it was by knowing her to be the m other of a little girl. She had been decided in wishing for a Miss Weston. She would not acknowledge that it was with any view of m aking a m atch for her, hereafter, with either of Isabella’s sons; but she was convinced that a daughter would suit both father and m other best. It would be a great com fort to Mr. Weston, as he grew older – and even Mr. Weston m ight be growing older ten y ears hence – to have his fireside enlivened by the sports and the nonsense, the freaks and the fancies of a child never banished from hom e; and Mrs. Weston –

no one could doubt that a daughter would be m ost to her; and it would be quite a pity that any one who so well knew how to teach, should not have their powers in exercise again.

“She has had the advantage, y ou know, of practising on m e,” she continued – “like La Baronne d’Alm ane on La Com tesse d’Ostalis, in Madam e de Genlis’ Adelaide and Theodore, and we shall now see her own little Adelaide educated on a m ore perfect plan.”

“That is,” replied Mr. Knightley, “she will indulge her even m ore than she did y ou, and believe that she does not indulge her at all. It will be the only difference.”

“Poor child!” cried Em m a; “at that rate, what will becom e of her?”

“Nothing very bad. – The fate of thousands. She will be disagreeable in infancy, and correct herself as she grows older. I am losing all m y bitterness against spoilt children, m y dearest Em m a. I, who am owing all m y happiness to y ou, would not it be horrible ingratitude in m e to be severe on them ?”

Em m a laughed, and replied: “But I had the assistance of all y our endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other people. I doubt whether m y own sense would have corrected m e without it.”

“Do y ou? – I have no doubt. Nature gave y ou understanding: – Miss Tay lor gave y ou principles. You m ust have done well. My interference was quite as likely to do harm as good. It was very natural for y ou to say, what right has he to lecture m e? – and I am afraid very natural for y ou to feel that it was done in a disagreeable m anner. I do not believe I did y ou any good. The good was all to m y self, by m aking y ou an obj ect of the tenderest affection to m e. I could not think about y ou so m uch without doating on y ou, faults and all; and by dint of fancy ing so m any errors, have been in love with y ou ever since y ou were

thirteen at least.”

“I am sure y ou were of use to m e,” cried Em m a. “I was very often influenced rightly by y ou – oftener than I would own at the tim e. I am very sure y ou did m e good. And if poor little Anna Weston is to be spoiled, it will be the greatest hum anity in y ou to do as m uch for her as y ou have done for m e, except falling in love with her when she is thirteen.”

“How often, when y ou were a girl, have y ou said to m e, with one of y our saucy looks – ‘Mr. Knightley, I am going to do so-and-so; papa say s I m ay, or I have Miss Tay lor’s leave’ – som ething which, y ou knew, I did not approve. In such cases m y interference was giving y ou two bad feelings instead of one.”

“What an am iable creature I was! – No wonder y ou should hold m y speeches in such affectionate rem em brance.”

“’Mr. Knightley.’ – You alway s called m e, ‘Mr. Knightley ;’ and, from habit, it has not so very form al a sound. – And y et it is form al. I want y ou to call m e som ething else, but I do not know what.”

“I rem em ber once calling y ou ‘George,’ in one of m y am iable fits, about ten y ears ago. I did it because I thought it would offend y ou; but, as y ou m ade no obj ection, I never did it again.”

“And cannot y ou call m e ‘George’ now?”

“Im possible! – I never can call y ou any thing but ‘Mr. Knightley.’ I will not prom ise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by calling y ou Mr.

K. – But I will prom ise,” she added presently, laughing and blushing – “I will prom ise to call y ou once by y our Christian nam e. I do not say when, but perhaps y ou m ay guess where; – in the building in which N. takes M. for better, for worse.”

Em m a grieved that she could not be m ore openly j ust to one im portant service which his better sense would have rendered her, to the advice which would have saved her from the worst of all her wom anly follies – her wilful intim acy with Harriet Sm ith; but it was too tender a subj ect. – She could not enter on it. – Harriet was very seldom m entioned between them . This, on his side, m ight m erely proceed from her not being thought of; but Em m a was rather inclined to attribute it to delicacy, and a suspicion, from som e appearances, that their friendship were declining. She was aware herself, that, parting under any other circum stances, they certainly should have corresponded m ore, and that her intelligence would not have rested, as it now alm ost wholly did, on Isabella’s letters. He m ight observe that it was so. The pain of being obliged to practise concealm ent towards him , was very little inferior to the pain of having m ade

Harriet unhappy.

Isabella sent quite as good an account of her visitor as could be expected; on her first arrival she had thought her out of spirits, which appeared perfectly natural, as there was a dentist to be consulted; but, since that business had been over, she did not appear to find Harriet different from what she had known her before. – Isabella, to be sure, was no very quick observer; y et if Harriet had not been equal to play ing with the children, it would not have escaped her. Em m a’s com forts and hopes were m ost agreeably carried on, by Harriet’s being to stay longer; her fortnight was likely to be a m onth at least. Mr. and Mrs.

John Knightley were to com e down in August, and she was invited to rem ain till they could bring her back.

“John does not even m ention y our friend,” said Mr. Knightley. “Here is his answer, if y ou like to see it.”

It was the answer to the com m unication of his intended m arriage.

Em m a accepted it with a very eager hand, with an im patience all alive to know what he would say about it, and not at all checked by hearing that her friend was unm entioned.

“John enters like a brother into m y happiness,” continued Mr. Knightley,

“but he is no com plim enter; and though I well know him to have, likewise, a m ost brotherly affection for y ou, he is so far from m aking flourishes, that any other y oung wom an m ight think him rather cool in her praise. But I am not afraid of y our seeing what he writes.”

“He writes like a sensible m an,” replied Em m a, when she had read the letter. “I honour his sincerity. It is very plain that he considers the good fortune of the engagem ent as all on m y side, but that he is not without hope of m y growing, in tim e, as worthy of y our affection, as y ou think m e already. Had he said any thing to bear a different construction, I should not have believed him .”

“My Em m a, he m eans no such thing. He only m eans – “

“He and I should differ very little in our estim ation of the two,”

interrupted she, with a sort of serious sm ile – “m uch less, perhaps, than he is aware of, if we could enter without cerem ony or reserve on the subj ect.”

“Em m a, m y dear Em m a – “

“Oh!” she cried with m ore thorough gaiety, “if y ou fancy y our brother does not do m e j ustice, only wait till m y dear father is in the secret, and hear his opinion. Depend upon it, he will be m uch farther from doing y ou j ustice. He will think all the happiness, all the advantage, on y our side of the question; all the m erit

on m ine. I wish I m ay not sink into ‘poor Em m a’ with him at once. – His tender com passion towards oppressed worth can go no farther.”

“Ah!” he cried, “I wish y our father m ight be half as easily convinced as John will be, of our having every right that equal worth can give, to be happy together. I am am used by one part of John’s letter – did y ou notice it? – where he say s, that m y inform ation did not take him wholly by surprize, that he was rather in expectation of hearing som ething of the kind.”

“If I understand y our brother, he only m eans so far as y our having som e thoughts of m arry ing. He had no idea of m e. He seem s perfectly unprepared for that.”

“Yes, y es – but I am am used that he should have seen so far into m y feelings. What has he been j udging by ? – I am not conscious of any difference in m y spirits or conversation that could prepare him at this tim e for m y m arry ing any m ore than at another. – But it was so, I suppose. I dare say there was a difference when I was stay ing with them the other day. I believe I did not play with the children quite so m uch as usual. I rem em ber one evening the poor boy s say ing, ‘Uncle seem s alway s tired now.’”

The tim e was com ing when the news m ust spread farther, and other persons’ reception of it tried. As soon as Mrs. Weston was sufficiently recovered to adm it Mr. Woodhouse’s visits, Em m a having it in view that her gentle reasonings should be em ploy ed in the cause, resolved first to announce it at hom e, and then at Randalls. – But how to break it to her father at last! – She had bound herself to do it, in such an hour of Mr. Knightley ’s absence, or when it cam e to the point her heart would have failed her, and she m ust have put it off; but Mr. Knightley was to com e at such a tim e, and follow up the beginning she was to m ake. – She was forced to speak, and to speak cheerfully too. She m ust not m ake it a m ore decided subj ect of m isery to him , by a m elancholy tone herself.

She m ust not appear to think it a m isfortune. – With all the spirits she could com m and, she prepared him first for som ething strange, and then, in a few words, said, that if his consent and approbation could be obtained – which, she trusted, would be attended with no difficulty, since it was a plan to prom ote the happiness of all – she and Mr. Knightley m eant to m arry ; by which m eans Hartfield would receive the constant addition of that person’s com pany whom she knew he loved, next to his daughters and Mrs. Weston, best in the world.

Poor m an! – it was at first a considerable shock to him , and he tried earnestly to dissuade her from it. She was rem inded, m ore than once, of having alway s said she would never m arry, and assured that it would be a great deal better for her to rem ain single; and told of poor Isabella, and poor Miss Tay lor. –

But it would not do. Em m a hung about him affectionately, and sm iled, and said it m ust be so; and that he m ust not class her with Isabella and Mrs. Weston, whose m arriages taking them from Hartfield, had, indeed, m ade a m elancholy change: but she was not going from Hartfield; she should be alway s there; she was introducing no change in their num bers or their com forts but for the better; and she was very sure that he would be a great deal the happier for having Mr.

Knightley alway s at hand, when he were once got used to the idea. – Did he not love Mr. Knightley very m uch? – He would not deny that he did, she was sure. –

Whom did he ever want to consult on business but Mr. Knightley ? – Who was so useful to him , who so ready to write his letters, who so glad to assist him ? – Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached to him ? – Would not he like to have him alway s on the spot? – Yes. That was all very true. Mr. Knightley could not be there too often; he should be glad to see him every day ; – but they did see him every day as it was. – Why could not they go on as they had done?

Mr. Woodhouse could not be soon reconciled; but the worst was overcom e, the idea was given; tim e and continual repetition m ust do the rest. – To Em m a’s entreaties and assurances succeeded Mr. Knightley ’s, whose fond praise of her gave the subj ect even a kind of welcom e; and he was soon used to be talked to by each, on every fair occasion. – They had all the assistance which Isabella could give, by letters of the strongest approbation; and Mrs. Weston was ready, on the first m eeting, to consider the subj ect in the m ost serviceable light –

first, as a settled, and, secondly, as a good one – well aware of the nearly equal im portance of the two recom m endations to Mr. Woodhouse’s m ind. – It was agreed upon, as what was to be; and every body by whom he was used to be guided assuring him that it would be for his happiness; and having som e feelings him self which alm ost adm itted it, he began to think that som e tim e or other – in another y ear or two, perhaps – it m ight not be so very bad if the m arriage did take place.

Mrs. Weston was acting no part, feigning no feelings in all that she said to him in favour of the event. – She had been extrem ely surprized, never m ore so, than when Em m a first opened the affair to her; but she saw in it only increase of happiness to all, and had no scruple in urging him to the utm ost. – She had such a regard for Mr. Knightley, as to think he deserved even her dearest Em m a; and it was in every respect so proper, suitable, and unexceptionable a connexion, and in one respect, one point of the highest im portance, so peculiarly eligible, so singularly fortunate, that now it seem ed as if Em m a could not safely have attached herself to any other creature, and that she had herself been the stupidest of beings in not having thought of it, and wished it long ago. – How very few of those m en in a rank of life to address Em m a would have renounced their own hom e for Hartfield! And who but Mr. Knightley could know and bear with Mr.

Woodhouse, so as to m ake such an arrangem ent desirable! – The difficulty of disposing of poor Mr. Woodhouse had been alway s felt in her husband’s plans and her own, for a m arriage between Frank and Em m a. How to settle the claim s of Enscom be and Hartfield had been a continual im pedim ent – less acknowledged by Mr. Weston than by herself – but even he had never been able to finish the subj ect better than by say ing – “Those m atters will take care of them selves; the y oung people will find a way.” But here there was nothing to be shifted off in a wild speculation on the future. It was all right, all open, all equal. No sacrifice on any side worth the nam e. It was a union of the highest prom ise of felicity in itself, and without one real, rational difficulty to oppose or delay it.

Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in such reflections as these, was one of the happiest wom en in the world. If any thing could increase her delight, it was perceiving that the baby would soon have outgrown its first set of caps.

The news was universally a surprize wherever it spread; and Mr.

Weston had his five m inutes share of it; but five m inutes were enough to fam iliarise the idea to his quickness of m ind. – He saw the advantages of the m atch, and rej oiced in them with all the constancy of his wife; but the wonder of it was very soon nothing; and by the end of an hour he was not far from believing that he had alway s foreseen it.

“It is to be a secret, I conclude,” said he. “These m atters are alway s a secret, till it is found out that every body knows them . Only let m e be told when I m ay speak out. – I wonder whether Jane has any suspicion.”

He went to Highbury the next m orning, and satisfied him self on that point. He told her the news. Was not she like a daughter, his eldest daughter? – he m ust tell her; and Miss Bates being present, it passed, of course, to Mrs. Cole, Mrs.