Chapter XI

The lovers were standing together at one of the windows. It had a m ost favourable aspect; and, for half a m inute, Em m a felt the glory of having schem ed successfully. But it would not do; he had not com e to the point. He had been m ost agreeable, m ost delightful; he had told Harriet that he had seen them go by, and had purposely followed them ; other little gallantries and allusions had been dropt, but nothing serious.

“Cautious, very cautious,” thought Em m a; “he advances inch by inch, and will hazard nothing till he believes him self secure.”

Still, however, though every thing had not been accom plished by her ingenious device, she could not but flatter herself that it had been the occasion of m uch present enj oy m ent to both, and m ust be leading them forward to the great event.

CHAPTER XI

Mr. Elton m ust now be left to him self. It was no longer in Em m a’s power to superintend his happiness or quicken his m easures. The com ing of her sister’s fam ily was so very near at hand, that first in anticipation, and then in reality, it becam e henceforth her prim e obj ect of interest; and during the ten day s of their stay at Hartfield it was not to be expected – she did not herself expect – that any thing bey ond occasional, fortuitous assistance could be afforded by her to the lovers. They m ight advance rapidly if they would, however; they m ust advance som ehow or other whether they would or no. She hardly wished to have m ore leisure for them . There are people, who the m ore y ou do for them , the less they will do for them selves.

Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer than usual absent from Surry, were exciting of course rather m ore than the usual interest. Till this y ear, every long vacation since their m arriage had been divided between Hartfield and Donwell Abbey ; but all the holiday s of this autum n had been given to sea-bathing for the children, and it was therefore m any m onths since they had been seen in a regular way by their Surry connexions, or seen at all by Mr.

Woodhouse, who could not be induced to get so far as London, even for poor Isabella’s sake; and who consequently was now m ost nervously and apprehensively happy in forestalling this too short visit.

He thought m uch of the evils of the j ourney for her, and not a little of the fatigues of his own horses and coachm an who were to bring som e of the party the last half of the way ; but his alarm s were needless; the sixteen m iles being happily accom plished, and Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, their five children, and a com petent num ber of nursery -m aids, all reaching Hartfield in safety. The bustle and j oy of such an arrival, the m any to be talked to, welcom ed, encouraged, and variously dispersed and disposed of, produced a noise and confusion which his nerves could not have borne under any other cause, nor have endured m uch longer even for this; but the way s of Hartfield and the feelings of her father were so respected by Mrs. John Knightley, that in spite of m aternal solicitude for the im m ediate enj oy m ent of her little ones, and for their having instantly all the liberty and attendance, all the eating and drinking, and sleeping and play ing, which they could possibly wish for, without the sm allest delay, the children were never allowed to be long a disturbance to him , either in them selves or in any restless attendance on them .

Mrs. John Knightley was a pretty, elegant little wom an, of gentle, quiet m anners, and a disposition rem arkably am iable and affectionate; wrapt up in her fam ily ; a devoted wife, a doating m other, and so tenderly attached to her father

and sister that, but for these higher ties, a warm er love m ight have seem ed im possible. She could never see a fault in any of them . She was not a wom an of strong understanding or any quickness; and with this resem blance of her father, she inherited also m uch of his constitution; was delicate in her own health, overcareful of that of her children, had m any fears and m any nerves, and was as fond of her own Mr. Wingfield in town as her father could be of Mr. Perry. They were alike too, in a general benevolence of tem per, and a strong habit of regard for every old acquaintance.

Mr. John Knightley was a tall, gentlem an-like, and very clever m an; rising in his profession, dom estic, and respectable in his private character; but with reserved m anners which prevented his being generally pleasing; and capable of being som etim es out of hum our. He was not an ill-tem pered m an, not so often unreasonably cross as to deserve such a reproach; but his tem per was not his great perfection; and, indeed, with such a worshipping wife, it was hardly possible that any natural defects in it should not be increased. The extrem e sweetness of her tem per m ust hurt his. He had all the clearness and quickness of m ind which she wanted, and he could som etim es act an ungracious, or say a severe thing.

He was not a great favourite with his fair sister-in-law. Nothing wrong in him escaped her. She was quick in feeling the little inj uries to Isabella, which Isabella never felt herself. Perhaps she m ight have passed over m ore had his m anners been flattering to Isabella’s sister, but they were only those of a calm ly kind brother and friend, without praise and without blindness; but hardly any degree of personal com plim ent could have m ade her regardless of that greatest fault of all in her ey es which he som etim es fell into, the want of respectful forbearance towards her father. There he had not alway s the patience that could have been wished. Mr. Woodhouse’s peculiarities and fidgetiness were som etim es provoking him to a rational rem onstrance or sharp retort equally ill-bestowed. It did not often happen; for Mr. John Knightley had really a great regard for his father-in-law, and generally a strong sense of what was due to him ; but it was too often for Em m a’s charity, especially as there was all the pain of apprehension frequently to be endured, though the offence cam e not. The beginning, however, of every visit display ed none but the properest feelings, and this being of necessity so short m ight be hoped to pass away in unsullied cordiality. They had not been long seated and com posed when Mr. Woodhouse, with a m elancholy shake of the head and a sigh, called his daughter’s attention to the sad change at Hartfield since she had been there last.

“Ah, m y dear,” said he, “poor Miss Tay lor – It is a grievous business.”

“Oh y es, sir,” cried she with ready sy m pathy, “how y ou m ust m iss

her! And dear Em m a, too! – What a dreadful loss to y ou both! – I have been so grieved for y ou. – I could not im agine how y ou could possibly do without her. – It is a sad change indeed. – But I hope she is pretty well, sir.”

“Pretty well, m y dear – I hope – pretty well. – I do not know but that the place agrees with her tolerably.”

Mr. John Knightley here asked Em m a quietly whether there were any doubts of the air of Randalls.

“Oh! no – none in the least. I never saw Mrs. Weston better in m y life –

never looking so well. Papa is only speaking his own regret.”

“Very m uch to the honour of both,” was the handsom e reply.

“And do y ou see her, sir, tolerably often?” asked Isabella in the plaintive tone which j ust suited her father.

Mr. Woodhouse hesitated. – “Not near so often, m y dear, as I could wish.”

“Oh! papa, we have m issed seeing them but one entire day since they m arried. Either in the m orning or evening of every day, excepting one, have we seen either Mr. Weston or Mrs. Weston, and generally both, either at Randalls or here – and as y ou m ay suppose, Isabella, m ost frequently here. They are very, very kind in their visits. Mr. Weston is really as kind as herself. Papa, if y ou speak in that m elancholy way, y ou will be giving Isabella a false idea of us all. Every body m ust be aware that Miss Tay lor m ust be m issed, but every body ought also to be assured that Mr. and Mrs. Weston do really prevent our m issing her by any m eans to the extent we ourselves anticipated – which is the exact truth.”

“Just as it should be,” said Mr. John Knightley, “and j ust as I hoped it was from y our letters. Her wish of shewing y ou attention could not be doubted, and his being a disengaged and social m an m akes it all easy. I have been alway s telling y ou, m y love, that I had no idea of the change being so very m aterial to Hartfield as y ou apprehended; and now y ou have Em m a’s account, I hope y ou will be satisfied.”

“Why, to be sure,” said Mr. Woodhouse – “y es, certainly – I cannot deny that Mrs. Weston, poor Mrs. Weston, does com e and see us pretty often –

but then – she is alway s obliged to go away again.”

“It would be very hard upon Mr. Weston if she did not, papa. – You quite forget poor Mr. Weston.”

“I think, indeed,” said John Knightley pleasantly, “that Mr. Weston has som e little claim . You and I, Em m a, will venture to take the part of the poor husband. I, being a husband, and y ou not being a wife, the claim s of the m an m ay very likely strike us with equal force. As for Isabella, she has been m arried long enough to see the convenience of putting all the Mr. Westons aside as m uch as she can.”

“Me, m y love,” cried his wife, hearing and understanding only in part.

– “Are y ou talking about m e? – I am sure nobody ought to be, or can be, a greater advocate for m atrim ony than I am ; and if it had not been for the m isery of her leaving Hartfield, I should never have thought of Miss Tay lor but as the m ost fortunate wom an in the world; and as to slighting Mr. Weston, that excellent Mr. Weston, I think there is nothing he does not deserve. I believe he is one of the very best-tem pered m en that ever existed. Excepting y ourself and y our brother, I do not know his equal for tem per. I shall never forget his fly ing Henry ’s kite for him that very windy day last Easter – and ever since his particular kindness last Septem ber twelvem onth in writing that note, at twelve o’clock at night, on purpose to assure m e that there was no scarlet fever at Cobham , I have been convinced there could not be a m ore feeling heart nor a better m an in existence. – If any body can deserve him , it m ust be Miss Tay lor.”

“Where is the y oung m an?” said John Knightley. “Has he been here on this occasion – or has he not?”

“He has not been here y et,” replied Em m a. “There was a strong expectation of his com ing soon after the m arriage, but it ended in nothing; and I have not heard him m entioned lately.”

“But y ou should tell them of the letter, m y dear,” said her father. “He wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston, to congratulate her, and a very proper, handsom e letter it was. She shewed it to m e. I thought it very well done of him indeed. Whether it was his own idea y ou know, one cannot tell. He is but y oung, and his uncle, perhaps – “

“My dear papa, he is three-and-twenty. You forget how tim e passes.”

“Three-and-twenty ! – is he indeed? – Well, I could not have thought it –

and he was but two y ears old when he lost his poor m other! Well, tim e does fly indeed! – and m y m em ory is very bad. However, it was an exceeding good, pretty letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston a great deal of pleasure. I rem em ber it was written from Wey m outh, and dated Sept. 28th – and began, ‘My dear Madam ,’ but I forget how it went on; and it was signed ‘F. C. Weston Churchill.’ – I rem em ber that perfectly.”

“How very pleasing and proper of him !” cried the good-hearted Mrs.

John Knightley. “I have no doubt of his being a m ost am iable y oung m an. But how sad it is that he should not live at hom e with his father! There is som ething so shocking in a child’s being taken away from his parents and natural hom e! I never could com prehend how Mr. Weston could part with him . To give up one’s child! I really never could think well of any body who proposed such a thing to any body else.”

“Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy,” observed Mr.

John Knightley coolly. “But y ou need not im agine Mr. Weston to have felt what y ou would feel in giving up Henry or John. Mr. Weston is rather an easy, cheerful-tem pered m an, than a m an of strong feelings; he takes things as he finds them , and m akes enj oy m ent of them som ehow or other, depending, I suspect, m uch m ore upon what is called society for his com forts, that is, upon the power of eating and drinking, and play ing whist with his neighbours five tim es a week, than upon fam ily affection, or any thing that hom e affords.”

Em m a could not like what bordered on a reflection on Mr. Weston, and had half a m ind to take it up; but she struggled, and let it pass. She would keep the peace if possible; and there was som ething honourable and valuable in the strong dom estic habits, the all-sufficiency of hom e to him self, whence resulted her brother’s disposition to look down on the com m on rate of social intercourse, and those to whom it was im portant. – It had a high claim to forbearance.