Chapter XVI

There she was welcom ed, with the utm ost delight, by her father, who had been trem bling for the dangers of a solitary drive from Vicarage Lane –

turning a corner which he could never bear to think of – and in strange hands – a m ere com m on coachm an – no Jam es; and there it seem ed as if her return only were wanted to m ake every thing go well: for Mr. John Knightley, asham ed of his ill-hum our, was now all kindness and attention; and so particularly solicitous for the com fort of her father, as to seem – if not quite ready to j oin him in a basin of gruel – perfectly sensible of its being exceedingly wholesom e; and the day was concluding in peace and com fort to all their little party, except herself. – But her m ind had never been in such perturbation; and it needed a very strong effort to appear attentive and cheerful till the usual hour of separating allowed her the relief of quiet reflection.

CHAPTER XVI

The hair was curled, and the m aid sent away, and Em m a sat down to think and be m iserable. – It was a wretched business indeed! – Such an overthrow of every thing she had been wishing for! – Such a developm ent of every thing m ost unwelcom e! – Such a blow for Harriet! – that was the worst of all. Every part of it brought pain and hum iliation, of som e sort or other; but, com pared with the evil to Harriet, all was light; and she would gladly have subm itted to feel y et m ore m istaken – m ore in error – m ore disgraced by m is-j udgm ent, than she actually was, could the effects of her blunders have been confined to herself.

“If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking the m an, I could have borne any thing. He m ight have doubled his presum ption to m e – but poor Harriet!”

How she could have been so deceived! – He protested that he had never thought seriously of Harriet – never! She looked back as well as she could; but it was all confusion. She had taken up the idea, she supposed, and m ade every thing bend to it. His m anners, however, m ust have been unm arked, wavering, dubious, or she could not have been so m isled.

The picture! – How eager he had been about the picture! – and the charade! – and an hundred other circum stances; – how clearly they had seem ed to point at Harriet. To be sure, the charade, with its “ready wit” – but then the

“soft ey es” – in fact it suited neither; it was a j um ble without taste or truth. Who could have seen through such thick-headed nonsense?

Certainly she had often, especially of late, thought his m anners to herself unnecessarily gallant; but it had passed as his way, as a m ere error of j udgm ent, of knowledge, of taste, as one proof am ong others that he had not alway s lived in the best society, that with all the gentleness of his address, true elegance was som etim es wanting; but, till this very day, she had never, for an instant, suspected it to m ean any thing but grateful respect to her as Harriet’s friend.

To Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first idea on the subj ect, for the first start of its possibility. There was no deny ing that those brothers had penetration. She rem em bered what Mr. Knightley had once said to her about Mr.

Elton, the caution he had given, the conviction he had professed that Mr. Elton would never m arry indiscreetly ; and blushed to think how m uch truer a knowledge of his character had been there shewn than any she had reached herself. It was dreadfully m ortify ing; but Mr. Elton was proving him self, in m any respects, the very reverse of what she had m eant and believed him ; proud, assum ing, conceited; very full of his own claim s, and little concerned about the

feelings of others.

Contrary to the usual course of things, Mr. Elton’s wanting to pay his addresses to her had sunk him in her opinion. His professions and his proposals did him no service. She thought nothing of his attachm ent, and was insulted by his hopes. He wanted to m arry well, and having the arrogance to raise his ey es to her, pretended to be in love; but she was perfectly easy as to his not suffering any disappointm ent that need be cared for. There had been no real affection either in his language or m anners. Sighs and fine words had been given in abundance; but she could hardly devise any set of expressions, or fancy any tone of voice, less allied with real love. She need not trouble herself to pity him . He only wanted to aggrandise and enrich him self; and if Miss Woodhouse of Hartfield, the heiress of thirty thousand pounds, were not quite so easily obtained as he had fancied, he would soon try for Miss Som ebody else with twenty, or with ten.

But – that he should talk of encouragem ent, should consider her as aware of his views, accepting his attentions, m eaning (in short), to m arry him ! –

should suppose him self her equal in connexion or m ind! – look down upon her friend, so well understanding the gradations of rank below him , and be so blind to what rose above, as to fancy him self shewing no presum ption in addressing her!

– It was m ost provoking.

Perhaps it was not fair to expect him to feel how very m uch he was her inferior in talent, and all the elegancies of m ind. The very want of such equality m ight prevent his perception of it; but he m ust know that in fortune and consequence she was greatly his superior. He m ust know that the Woodhouses had been settled for several generations at Hartfield, the y ounger branch of a very ancient fam ily – and that the Eltons were nobody. The landed property of Hartfield certainly was inconsiderable, being but a sort of notch in the Donwell Abbey estate, to which all the rest of Highbury belonged; but their fortune, from other sources, was such as to m ake them scarcely secondary to Donwell Abbey itself, in every other kind of consequence; and the Woodhouses had long held a high place in the consideration of the neighbourhood which Mr. Elton had first entered not two y ears ago, to m ake his way as he could, without any alliances but in trade, or any thing to recom m end him to notice but his situation and his civility.

– But he had fancied her in love with him ; that evidently m ust have been his dependence; and after raving a little about the seem ing incongruity of gentle m anners and a conceited head, Em m a was obliged in com m on honesty to stop and adm it that her own behaviour to him had been so com plaisant and obliging, so full of courtesy and attention, as (supposing her real m otive unperceived) m ight warrant a m an of ordinary observation and delicacy, like Mr. Elton, in fancy ing him self a very decided favourite. If she had so m isinterpreted his feelings, she had little right to wonder that he, with self-interest to blind him , should have

m istaken hers.

The first error and the worst lay at her door. It was foolish, it was wrong, to take so active a part in bringing any two people together. It was adventuring too far, assum ing too m uch, m aking light of what ought to be serious, a trick of what ought to be sim ple. She was quite concerned and asham ed, and resolved to do such things no m ore.

“Here have I,” said she, “actually talked poor Harriet into being very m uch attached to this m an. She m ight never have thought of him but for m e; and certainly never would have thought of him with hope, if I had not assured her of his attachm ent, for she is as m odest and hum ble as I used to think him . Oh! that I had been satisfied with persuading her not to accept y oung Martin. There I was quite right. That was well done of m e; but there I should have stopped, and left the rest to tim e and chance. I was introducing her into good com pany, and giving her the opportunity of pleasing som e one worth having; I ought not to have attem pted m ore. But now, poor girl, her peace is cut up for som e tim e. I have been but half a friend to her; and if she were not to feel this disappointm ent so very m uch, I am sure I have not an idea of any body else who would be at all desirable for her; –

William Coxe – Oh! no, I could not endure William Coxe – a pert y oung lawy er.”

She stopt to blush and laugh at her own relapse, and then resum ed a m ore serious, m ore dispiriting cogitation upon what had been, and m ight be, and m ust be. The distressing explanation she had to m ake to Harriet, and all that poor Harriet would be suffering, with the awkwardness of future m eetings, the difficulties of continuing or discontinuing the acquaintance, of subduing feelings, concealing resentm ent, and avoiding eclat, were enough to occupy her in m ost unm irthful reflections som e tim e longer, and she went to bed at last with nothing settled but the conviction of her having blundered m ost dreadfully.

To y outh and natural cheerfulness like Em m a’s, though under tem porary gloom at night, the return of day will hardly fail to bring return of spirits. The y outh and cheerfulness of m orning are in happy analogy, and of powerful operation; and if the distress be not poignant enough to keep the ey es unclosed, they will be sure to open to sensations of softened pain and brighter hope.

Em m a got up on the m orrow m ore disposed for com fort than she had gone to bed, m ore ready to see alleviations of the evil before her, and to depend on getting tolerably out of it.

It was a great consolation that Mr. Elton should not be really in love with her, or so particularly am iable as to m ake it shocking to disappoint him – that Harriet’s nature should not be of that superior sort in which the feelings are m ost acute and retentive – and that there could be no necessity for any body ’s knowing what had passed except the three principals, and especially for her father’s being given a m om ent’s uneasiness about it.

These were very cheering thoughts; and the sight of a great deal of snow on the ground did her further service, for any thing was welcom e that m ight j ustify their all three being quite asunder at present.

The weather was m ost favourable for her; though Christm as Day, she could not go to church. Mr. Woodhouse would have been m iserable had his daughter attem pted it, and she was therefore safe from either exciting or receiving unpleasant and m ost unsuitable ideas. The ground covered with snow, and the atm osphere in that unsettled state between frost and thaw, which is of all others the m ost unfriendly for exercise, every m orning beginning in rain or snow, and every evening setting in to freeze, she was for m any day s a m ost honourable prisoner. No intercourse with Harriet possible but by note; no church for her on Sunday any m ore than on Christm as Day ; and no need to find excuses for Mr.

Elton’s absenting him self.

It was weather which m ight fairly confine every body at hom e; and though she hoped and believed him to be really taking com fort in som e society or other, it was very pleasant to have her father so well satisfied with his being all alone in his own house, too wise to stir out; and to hear him say to Mr. Knightley, whom no weather could keep entirely from them , –

“Ah! Mr. Knightley, why do not y ou stay at hom e like poor Mr. Elton?”

These day s of confinem ent would have been, but for her private perplexities, rem arkably com fortable, as such seclusion exactly suited her brother, whose feelings m ust alway s be of great im portance to his com panions; and he had, besides, so thoroughly cleared off his ill-hum our at Randalls, that his am iableness never failed him during the rest of his stay at Hartfield. He was alway s agreeable and obliging, and speaking pleasantly of every body. But with all the hopes of cheerfulness, and all the present com fort of delay, there was still such an evil hanging over her in the hour of explanation with Harriet, as m ade it im possible for Em m a to be ever perfectly at ease.