Chapter XVII

Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were not detained long at Hartfield. The weather soon im proved enough for those to m ove who m ust m ove; and Mr.

Woodhouse having, as usual, tried to persuade his daughter to stay behind with all her children, was obliged to see the whole party set off, and return to his lam entations over the destiny of poor Isabella; – which poor Isabella, passing her life with those she doated on, full of their m erits, blind to their faults, and alway s innocently busy, m ight have been a m odel of right fem inine happiness.

The evening of the very day on which they went brought a note from Mr. Elton to Mr. Woodhouse, a long, civil, cerem onious note, to say, with Mr.

Elton’s best com plim ents, “that he was proposing to leave Highbury the following m orning in his way to Bath; where, in com pliance with the pressing entreaties of som e friends, he had engaged to spend a few weeks, and very m uch regretted the im possibility he was under, from various circum stances of weather and business, of taking a personal leave of Mr. Woodhouse, of whose friendly civilities he should ever retain a grateful sense – and had Mr. Woodhouse any com m ands, should be happy to attend to them .”

Em m a was m ost agreeably surprized. – Mr. Elton’s absence j ust at this tim e was the very thing to be desired. She adm ired him for contriving it, though not able to give him m uch credit for the m anner in which it was announced.

Resentm ent could not have been m ore plainly spoken than in a civility to her father, from which she was so pointedly excluded. She had not even a share in his opening com plim ents. – Her nam e was not m entioned; – and there was so striking a change in all this, and such an ill-j udged solem nity of leave-taking in his graceful acknowledgm ents, as she thought, at first, could not escape her father’s suspicion.

It did, however. – Her father was quite taken up with the surprize of so sudden a j ourney, and his fears that Mr. Elton m ight never get safely to the end of it, and saw nothing extraordinary in his language. It was a very useful note, for it supplied them with fresh m atter for thought and conversation during the rest of their lonely evening. Mr. Woodhouse talked over his alarm s, and Em m a was in spirits to persuade them away with all her usual prom ptitude.

She now resolved to keep Harriet no longer in the dark. She had reason to believe her nearly recovered from her cold, and it was desirable that she should have as m uch tim e as possible for getting the better of her other com plaint before the gentlem an’s return. She went to Mrs. Goddard’s accordingly the very next day, to undergo the necessary penance of com m unication; and a severe one

it was. – She had to destroy all the hopes which she had been so industriously feeding – to appear in the ungracious character of the one preferred – and acknowledge herself grossly m istaken and m is-j udging in all her ideas on one subj ect, all her observations, all her convictions, all her prophecies for the last six weeks.

The confession com pletely renewed her first sham e – and the sight of Harriet’s tears m ade her think that she should never be in charity with herself again.

Harriet bore the intelligence very well – blam ing nobody – and in every thing testify ing such an ingenuousness of disposition and lowly opinion of herself, as m ust appear with particular advantage at that m om ent to her friend.

Em m a was in the hum our to value sim plicity and m odesty to the utm ost; and all that was am iable, all that ought to be attaching, seem ed on Harriet’s side, not her own. Harriet did not consider herself as having any thing to com plain of. The affection of such a m an as Mr. Elton would have been too great a distinction. – She never could have deserved him – and nobody but so partial and kind a friend as Miss Woodhouse would have thought it possible.

Her tears fell abundantly – but her grief was so truly artless, that no dignity could have m ade it m ore respectable in Em m a’s ey es – and she listened to her and tried to console her with all her heart and understanding – really for the tim e convinced that Harriet was the superior creature of the two – and that to resem ble her would be m ore for her own welfare and happiness than all that genius or intelligence could do.

It was rather too late in the day to set about being sim ple-m inded and ignorant; but she left her with every previous resolution confirm ed of being hum ble and discreet, and repressing im agination all the rest of her life. Her second duty now, inferior only to her father’s claim s, was to prom ote Harriet’s com fort, and endeavour to prove her own affection in som e better m ethod than by m atch-m aking. She got her to Hartfield, and shewed her the m ost unvary ing kindness, striving to occupy and am use her, and by books and conversation, to drive Mr. Elton from her thoughts.

Tim e, she knew, m ust be allowed for this being thoroughly done; and she could suppose herself but an indifferent j udge of such m atters in general, and very inadequate to sy m pathise in an attachm ent to Mr. Elton in particular; but it seem ed to her reasonable that at Harriet’s age, and with the entire extinction of all hope, such a progress m ight be m ade towards a state of com posure by the tim e of Mr. Elton’s return, as to allow them all to m eet again in the com m on routine of acquaintance, without any danger of betray ing sentim ents or increasing them .

Harriet did think him all perfection, and m aintained the non-existence of any body equal to him in person or goodness – and did, in truth, prove herself m ore resolutely in love than Em m a had foreseen; but y et it appeared to her so natural, so inevitable to strive against an inclination of that sort unrequited, that she could not com prehend its continuing very long in equal force.